Gendered Agency in Transcultural Hinduism and Buddhism 9781032559339, 9781032573090, 9781003438823

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Gendered Agency in Transcultural Hinduism and Buddhism

Focusing on complex entanglements of religion and gender from a diversity of perspectives, this book explores how women enact agencies in transcultural Hindu and Buddhist settings. The chapters draw on original, in-depth empirical research in various contexts in South Asian religious traditions. Today, in an increasing number of such contexts, women are able to undergo monastic and priestly education, receive ordination/initiation as nuns and priestesses, and are accepted as ascetic religious leaders. They are starting to establish new religious communities within conservative traditions, occupying religious leadership positions on par with men. This volume considers the historical background, contemporary trajectories, and potential impact of the emergence of these new and powerful female agencies in conservative South Asian religious traditions. It will be of particular interest to scholars of religion, women’s and gender studies, and South Asian studies. Ute Hüsken is Professor and Head of the Department of Cultural and Religious History of South Asia (Classical Indology) in the South Asia Institute at Heidelberg University, Germany. Agi Wittich holds a PhD in Comparative Religions from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel. Nanette R. Spina is Associate Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Georgia, USA.

Routledge Critical Studies in Religion, Gender and Sexuality Series Editors: Ulrike E. Auga, Adriaan van Klinken, Anne-Marie Korte and Jeanette S. Jouili

This book series is dedicated to the critical study of religion, gender and sexuality, in conversation and exchange with the broader qualitative social sciences and humanities. It publishes cutting-edge innovative research from both established scholars and up-and-coming researchers. Fundamentally concerned with “religion” as a field of imagination and power, the series explores the complex and dynamic relationship between religious knowledge, symbols and practices with categories of gender and sexuality in global contexts. An Epistemology of Religion and Gender Biopolitics, Performativity and Agency Ulrike E. Auga Transforming Bodies and Religion Powers and Agencies in Europe Edited by Mariecke van den Berg, Lieke L. Schrijvers, Jelle O. Wiering and Anne-Marie Korte Islamic Feminism Discourses on Religion, Gender and Sexuality in Contemporary Islam Lana Sirri Judith Butler and the Theology of Freedom Gunda Werner Religion, Gender and Race in Western European Arts and Culture Thinking through Religious Transformation Nella van den Brandt Gendered Agency in Transcultural Hinduism and Buddhism Edited by Ute Hüsken, Agi Wittich and Nanette R. Spina For more information and a full list of titles in the series, please visit: www.routledge.com/ religion/series/RCSRGS

Gendered Agency in Transcultural Hinduism and Buddhism Edited by Ute Hüsken, Agi Wittich and Nanette R. Spina

First published 2024 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2024 selection and editorial matter, Ute Hüsken, Agi Wittich and Nanette R. Spina; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Ute Hüsken, Agi Wittich and Nanette R. Spina to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-1-032-55933-9 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-57309-0 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-43882-3 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823 Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

List of Contributors

Introduction: Remarkable Women and their Mark on Religious Traditions in South Asia

vii

1

UTE HÜSKEN, AGI WITTICH, NANETTE R. SPINA

  1 From Matriarch to Divine Mother: Caste, Gender, and Deification in Hagiographies of Satīmā

17

ARKAMITRA GHATAK

  2 Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus: From Housewives into Founders of Guru-Bhakti Communities

38

MICHAL ERLICH

  3 Women’s Ritual Expression and Religious Agency: Om Śakti Communicating Innovation in Contemporary Hinduism

64

NANETTE R. SPINA

  4 Forgotten Priestesses: A ‘witch,’ a Queen and a Ritual Stew

84

TARA SHEEMAR MALHAN

  5 Women Sharing Bhakti, Women Singing Devotion: Friends, Teachers, and Leaders in the Hindu Diaspora

98

VASUDHA NARAYANAN

  6 Reinventing Selves: Religiosity and Female Agency in the Siri Tradition of Tulunad in India PAULINE SCHUSTER-LÖHLAU AND YOGITHA SHETTY

119

vi  Contents   7 Yoga’s Red Tent: Menstrual-Oriented Iyengar Yoga Practices

136

AGI WITTICH

  8 Womanhood and Female Agency in Bengali Vaishnava Sahajiya Tradition

167

AMNUAYPOND KIDPROMMA

  9 Encountering in a New Phase: Monastic Education for Buddhist Nuns in Sri Lanka

186

GIHANI DE SILVA

10 Against Marginality, Inequality, and Dependency: Remarkable Buddhist Nuns in Sikkim

204

MARLENE ERSCHBAMER

11 Global South Coalition for Dignified Menstruation

220

INTERVIEW WITH RADHA PAUDEL, CONDUCTED BY UTE HÜSKEN

12 The Changing Attitudes Towards Female Priesthood in Hinduism: Insights from Pune, Southern India

228

INTERVIEW WITH AARYAA ASHUTOSH JOSHI, CONDUCTED BY AGI WITTICH

13 Beyond Boundaries: A Modern Buddhist Nun’s Journey Towards Enlightenment

245

INTERVIEW WITH BHIKKHUNĪ AYYĀ PHALAÑĀṆĪ, CONDUCTED BY AGI WITTICH

14 Luminous Insight: An Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā of Dhammadharini (USA)

262

INTERVIEW WITH AYYĀ TATHĀLOKĀ, CONDUCTED BY NANETTE R. SPINA

Index

284

Contributors

Gihani De Silva is Senior Lecturer of Sociology in the Department of Social Sciences at the Sabaragamuwa University of Sri Lanka. Michal Erlich, Ph.D., is a researcher of contemporary lived Hinduism and well-being in urban India. Her dissertation is titled “Contemporary GuruBhakti Communities: Religion and Well-being in the Geographic and Socio-cultural Peripheries of Delhi.” In her research, she mainly explores issues related to internal migration, marginalized and hybrid communities, new religious movements, the tradition of guru devotion (bhakti), and female gurus. Marlene Erschbamer holds a PhD in Buddhist Studies and is an independent scholar based in Italy. Arkamitra Ghatak is Doctoral Student in the Department of Cultural and Religious History in South Asia at the South Asia Institute, Heidelberg University. She is a member of the Graduate Programme of Transcultural Studies at the Heidelberg Centre for Transcultural Studies. Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi, PhD, is Researcher at Jnana Prabodhini Sanskrit ­Sanskriti Samshodhika, Pune. Her areas of study are Hindu Religion, Indian Culture, and Women’s Studies. Amnuaypond Kidpromma is Lecturer of Religious Studies (South and Southeast Asia) in the Department of Philosophy and Religion, Faculty of Humanities at Chiang Mai University, Thailand. Vasudha Narayanan is Distinguished Professor of Religion and Director, Center for the Study of Hindu Traditions (CHiTra) at the University of Florida. Radha Paudel, PhD, is Author, Activist and Founder of the Global South Coalition for Dignified Menstruation, currently working at their secretariat office based in Nepal. Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī is the Abbess of the Aneñja Vihāra Buddhist Monastery in Rettenberg, Bavaria, Germany. Having taken the 311 vows

viii  Contributors as Bhikkhunī (2010), she lived in Thailand as a nun for 12 years before being appointed abbess of Aneñja Vihāra Bhikkhunī Training Monastery (2018). Pauline Schuster-Löhlau is Research Associate and the Chair of Indology at the Institute for Cultural Studies of East and South Asia at the University of Würzburg, Germany. Tara Sheemar Malhan is Associate Professor in the Department of History, Janki Devi Memorial College, University of Delhi, India. Yogitha Shetty is Assistant Professor of English at the Department of English in Government First Grade College, Saragur (University of Mysore), Mysuru, India. Ven. Ayyā Tathālokā (Tathālokā Therī) is international Theravāda Buddhist Bhikkhunī Preceptor, Founding Abbess and Senior Teacher of the Dhammadharini Sangha of California, and North America Coordinator of United Theravāda Bhikkhunī Sangha International.

Introduction Remarkable Women and their Mark on Religious Traditions in South Asia Ute Hüsken, Agi Wittich, Nanette R. Spina

Volume Overview This volume critically explores the ways in which women navigate and reshape religious norms and practices within traditions of South Asian origin by taking on religious leadership. The contributors investigate the historical context, contemporary trajectories, and potential implications of such dynamics, particularly within conservative religious frameworks. The central focus is on how women actively and purposefully bring about transformations within religious settings. Notably, the volume highlights the increasing opportunities for women to engage in monastic and priestly education, to undergo ordination or initiation as monastics and priestesses, to assume roles as ascetic religious leaders and ritual specialists, and even establish new religious communities within conservative traditions of South Asian origin. While there is no doubt that religious teachings and practices are always gender-specific, these values, rituals, narratives, and agents can have disempowering or empowering effects on women. Religious agency often transcends conventional notions of oppression and empowerment, manifesting in diverse ways. The contributions in this volume engage and explore such gendered dynamics at work in diverse religious settings. By presenting a rich array of case studies, the volume recognizes and highlights the nuanced nature of religious agency and its impact on women. The contributors to this volume utilize diverse methodologies; yet despite their varied approaches, they converge along three overarching trajectories that underpin their analyses. Firstly, they explore the tensions between the central and marginal positions of women within religious contexts. Secondly, they delve into the intersectionality that shapes the experiences of religious women, considering how factors such as class, caste, and ethnicity intersect with gender. Lastly, some of the contributors incorporate critical reflection on their own researcher positionality within their essays, acknowledging the potential biases and subjectivities that may influence their observations and interpretations. Through this multidimensional examination, the volume

DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-1

2  Ute Hüsken, Agi Wittich, Nanette R. Spina provides an important step towards understanding the complex dynamics at play when women engage with and reshape religious norms and practices. This volume presents examples of diverse religious categories of women including, among others, divine mother, guru, ritualist, witch, satsang leader, yoginī, renouncer, social activist, and member of a monastic community. All these women embody in specific and often unexpected ways religious authority and agency, manifesting for example as enhanced influence, as religious/ ritual authority in formal or informal settings, as their ability to lead religious communities and practices, or to interpret religious texts, or as their ability and will to make decisions regarding their own religious training or that of others. The contributors are positioned in multivalent ways with regard to religious traditions of South Asian origin. All of the contributors to this volume are women, researching the contexts and circumstances of women in Hindu and Buddhist traditions within diverse religious settings whether in South Asia or North America. Some of the contributors are religious leaders, religious practitioners, and activists themselves who reflect, each with one of the editors of this volume, on their own trajectories, and on their hopes for the future. Women as Religious Authorities Throughout history, women have frequently been excluded from positions of religious authority; patriarchal norms and other cultural restrictions have limited their religious agency. In many religious traditions, women are prohibited from leading religious services, teaching religious doctrines, or interpreting texts. Their ability to shape religious discourse and determine their own spiritual paths has been hampered as a result. In recent decades, however, there has been gradual growth and increased momentum for the empowerment of women (including self-empowerment) and remarkable work towards the expansion of women’s religious authority and agency (e.g., Babb 1984; Narayanan 2000, 2005; Pechilis 2004; Dempsey 2006; Pintchman 2007; Allocco 2013; Lucia 2014; DeNapoli 2014; Spina 2017; Mrozik 2014; Hüsken 2017; Langenberg 2018). This momentum has taken the form of campaigns for women’s ordination in certain religious traditions, women’s advanced religious or ritual education, and the formation of religious communities and organizations led by women. There are religious leaders, practitioners, and organizations that have begun to advocate for the rights of women to serve with authority as leaders, teachers, and ritual specialists. Sometimes they do so within religious organizations and communities that are already engaging women’s abilities and expertise in such areas (see the chapters by Spina; Narayanan; Joshi/Wittich; Tathālokā/Spina). As this momentum builds and interacts with factors of migration, globalization, and liberalization, tensions and questions arise, both of which push and pull forces within South Asian communities fueling debate around women’s bodies, roles, and forms of authority. One such example was the Supreme Court case (2018) in India regarding the Sabarimala Temple in

Introduction 3 Kerala (Acevedo 2018; More 2022) which barred women of menstrual age (10–50) from entering the temple; the case received much media attention and debate across India and was featured by international news outlets as well. The Supreme Court of India passed a landmark judgment in September 2018 which allowed the entry of women inside the Sabarimala Temple, overriding a long-standing ban. This was challenged later by way of review petitions in 2019 when the court referred the questions of law to a larger bench awaiting review (Menon 2020: 3). In this case, as in almost all contexts of women’s participation and leadership in religious activities dealt with in this volume, the physical fact of menstruation is a topic of central importance. The contributors to this volume engage with menstruation from diverse angles and varied settings. In the chapter on the Adhiparasakthi female ritual specialists and practitioners (Spina), we have an example where conventional prohibitions against menstruating women entering and performing rituals in the temple has been rejected. De Silva’s exploration of the topic extends to the experiences of a nun engaged in human resources training. By examining the rituals, practices, and beliefs surrounding this biological process in ­Hinduism (Hüsken/Paudel) and Buddhism (Erschbamer) and in the practice of yoga (Wittich), the contributors shed light on the profound connection between a woman’s physicality and her inclusion or exclusion from spiritual activities. In some contexts, there are female leaders, practitioners, healers, and likeminded women empowering one another whether through religious teaching, satsang, ritual training, or praxis. They may gather separate from men; however, this need not be the case necessarily. In other contexts, female leaders may also work together with the support of male advocates, alongside them, or in complementarity with them. The contributions to this volume show that there rarely exists an absolute or adversarial polarity. Rather, the individual case studies exemplify a spectrum that resists simple binaries regarding resistance and hierarchy (Spina; Tathālokā/Spina). Authority and Agency When discussing women’s religious authority and agency, we need to take a moment to distinguish between these concepts. Aspects of agency may be understood as having both internal and external components of manifestation, affecting not only one’s environment, but one’s disposition within oneself. Agency in this regard can focus attention on action and the power to produce effects (efficacy), as well as aspects of self-determination and the ability to implement attendant skills and capabilities, such as choice/decisionmaking, goal setting, problem solving, and self-advocacy. Authority, on the other hand (in mundane terms, rather than in the psychological or philosophical sense), may be either bestowed or withheld by external forces—whether institutional, societal, familial, or other. The relationship between the two is tenuous, uncertain. Agency and authority manifest differently at different times and places and may be more or less secured

4  Ute Hüsken, Agi Wittich, Nanette R. Spina by power structures or institutions. At times, agency is enhanced by authority; at other times, it can be suppressed; the polarities represent but two ends of a spectrum. Whether these variables are aligned or at odds (or even despite the odds sometimes), the effect of such dynamic constellations can present unanticipated results. Marginality and Centrality: Shifting Power Dynamics and Varied Spaces

Gender is always central within religious contexts, whether implicitly or explicitly acknowledged. Historically, the majority of recognized religious leaders, both in the past and present, have been men. This resulted in their greater visibility and prominence in the public sphere when compared to women. However, a notable shift is occurring as women increasingly assert their agency, claiming positions of leadership and actively assuming religious authority. More and more women gravitate towards the center of religious communities, challenging established gender dynamics. While researchers have tended to look at the center and neglect the margins, increasingly researchers are now also looking to the margins—where we find rich contexts of female agency and activity. Simultaneously, women find more fuzzy and less regulated forms of religious freedom in the private sphere and at the peripheries of institutional religious settings. While they may encounter limitations in the public realm, women often carve out spaces within the intimate spheres of their religious lives, where they can exercise their religious practices and beliefs more freely. These margins of institutional religious settings provide avenues for women to express and enact their spirituality on their own terms, away from the constraints imposed by traditional gender roles and norms. In Chapter  2, Erlich illustrates how female gurus found and lead small-scale marginalized urban communities. In Chapter 5, Narayanan argues that “While gurus and acaryas are central in imagining religious leadership in Hinduism, they may well be in the margins of the daily lives of middle-class, working South Indian Hindu women in American suburbia.” By acknowledging religious authority at the margins, our analyses underscore the multifaceted nature of women’s experiences within religious contexts. We highlight the evolving nature of women’s participation and leadership in religious communities, as well as the different dimensions of religious freedom they encounter. This recognition contributes to a more comprehensive understanding of the complex interplay between gender and religion, shedding light on the shifting power dynamics and the varied spaces where women actively shape and navigate their religious lives. Intersectionality Gendered religious subjectivities such as “Hindu women,” “Muslim women,” or “Buddhist women” cannot be separated from other positions such as

Introduction 5 caste, class, regional affiliation, skin color, age, migration history, regional identification, education, marital status, economic situation, and age—nor can they be understood in isolation from other religious subjectivities. The individual contributions pay close attention to a range of identity markers which commonly interact to create conditions and subjectivities. For example, Wittich embraces an intersectional perspective in her analysis (Valentine 2007), considering various axes of advantage and disadvantage that are inherent in the communications with participants and in how participants may position themselves or relate to researcher identities. As the contributions show, these intersectionalities do not simply relate to different layers of identity added upon one another but serve as a corrective to the commonly deployed notion of multiple identities, pointing instead towards the simultaneous operation of structures of oppression which make these experiences qualitatively different. By examining the intersections of various forms of oppression and privilege, we can gain a more nuanced understanding of the experiences of women in these Hindu and Buddhist communities. Several contributions explore concrete women’s experiences as multifaceted individuals who negotiate within and among various contexts. In this volume, the authors have meticulously explored and presented a diverse array of religious categories attributed to women. All contributions deliberately situate these classifications in unexpected and thought-provoking contexts, thus unveiling new dimensions of understanding. For instance, several contributions look into the transformative journey of a woman from the traditional role of a housewife to that of a revered guru (Erlich), a Divine Mother (Ghatak), or that of a priestess (Wittich & Joshi). This exploration challenges conventional notions of gender roles and reveals the potential for personal growth and spiritual leadership. Tara Sheemar Malhan unveils the role of a “witch” as a master-priestess, showcasing her profound knowledge, prowess, and the wisdom she imparts to her community. This reframing disrupts stereotypes associated with witchcraft and invites a reevaluation of the diverse manifestations of feminine spiritual power. By incorporating these diverse religious categories of women and situating them in unexpected ways, this volume invites a more nuanced understanding of the multifaceted experiences and contributions of women in the religious sphere. Reflexivity and Researcher Positionality The reflexive turn in sociology, in the late 1970s and onward, brought to the fore the ways in which the positionality of the researcher in the research field, or the studied experience, has an impact on both the research process, the data analysis, and the generation of data, or findings of the research (Bourke 2014; Mauthner and Doucet 2003). Positionality refers to the perspective, orientation, and situatedness of the researcher, as well as the position the researcher has chosen to adopt

6  Ute Hüsken, Agi Wittich, Nanette R. Spina in relation to a research task. It is more often than not shaped by religious faith, gender, race, culture, ethnicity, social class, age, linguistic tradition, and so on. Following Foucault’s (1980) conception of power/knowledge, the volume authors maintain that knowledge should be understood as a dynamic product of the power relations governing the specific context in which it is produced. Thus, instead of attempting to produce ‘authentic’ or ‘objective’ knowledge, we offer that research data is always ‘situated knowledge,’ which is specific to the context in which it is generated (Haraway 1991; Harding 1991). Self-reflection is a mandatory ongoing process in any research project as it gives the researcher the ability to identify, construct, and critique their position within the research process. This volume contains four contributions (interviews with Paudel, Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi, Ayyā Tathālokā, and Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī, Chapters  11–14) that each represent a dialogue between one of the editors of this volume and these female religious leaders and activists. These contributions allow us to hear how these women from South Asia, Europe, and North America, who negotiate cultural or religion-based challenges every day, reflect on issues crucial in all contributions to this volume. Narayanan and Wittich’s contributions are authored by scholar-­ practitioners who reflect on the entanglement of researchers’ identities within their fields of research and practice. These contributions highlight that the dichotomy of insider/outsider or researcher/practitioner is an oversimplification of the complex reality of positionality: Subjectivities are multiple and fluid (Bayeck 2022; Holmes 2020; Bukamal 2022). Indeed, the rigid insider/ outsider dichotomy is based on a stable notion of identity, which masks the complex power dynamics that actually emerge in research settings (Breen 2007; Dwyer and Buckle 2009), as well as the intersectional nature of identities, such as race, nationality, class, religion, caste, and sexuality (Ortbals and Rincker 2009). Importantly, all contributors to this volume are women, who research other women within their religious settings. Many contributors found that the common identification as women constituted a significant factor in the allocation of rapport and in access to data in the research process (see also Oakley 1981; Finch 1984). In fact, it seems to be a common range of experiences (social and biological) that reduces distance between female researchers and female participants and interviewees. In Wittich’s case study, women were comfortable speaking about certain issues among other women, as they felt women could relate to their experiences better or in some cases understand better (e.g., hatha yoga, menstruation) due to a common female physiology. Reflecting on the power imbalance inherent in fieldwork conducted by researchers from countries of the Global North in countries of the Global South, issues of social justice and research ethics emerge. Skin color may be considered here as one of the most prominent signals of power and privilege, marking foreigner, foreign interests, an unwelcome gaze, explicitly or

Introduction 7 implicitly associated with remnants of colonialism—Whiteness signaling the entire inheritance of the “colonial West.” While this remains true, in a South Asian setting, skin color may also signal whether or not one is an insider or an outsider, eliciting unique dynamics and different research access based on these and other factors. We maintain that our task as researchers is to understand power inequalities and their relationality, co-dependence, and constitutive force, as suggested by previous transcultural researchers (Holland et al. 2010). This volume offers a valuable combination of researchers from different regions of the globe, from different ethnic backgrounds, at different stages in their careers, in different positionalities, and utilizing various methods and approaches. Women-Centered Religious Studies and Feminist Scholarship Concepts which are central to feminist theory and have been central to scholarly debate in Western academic discussions, such as ‘gender equality,’ ‘gender dichotomy,’ and ‘religious docility,’ may become problematic when used as a priori assumptions (Mahmoud 2005; Abu-Lughod 1990; Starkey 2022). These are not universal categories of women’s experience, but rather reflect the cultural contexts and discourses from which they were derived. While it is important to recognize how differently feminism has developed in South Asian and in European and US-American settings, a detailed account would far exceed the scope of this section. At the same time, it is important to acknowledge that many scholars, if not most, tend to study what their fields emphasize as significant. That certain concepts from Western feminist discourse have been selected as organizing elements and focal points by the volume editors and contributors in their analyses is a result of their own intersectional locations as scholars and the academic discussions in which they take part. Yet it is equally imperative to recognize that these concepts possess the potential for transcultural engagement and resonance. The exploration of these concepts is an engagement with preceding and ongoing discourse within feminist scholarship. However, instead of simply assuming their applicability, the volume authors investigate their relevance within diverse cultural contexts. Through careful analysis and contextualization, the contributions to this volume are able to uncover the nuanced ways in which these concepts intersect with the lived experiences of women from and within various cultural backgrounds. Feminist scholar Chandra Mohanty, in her critical essay entitled “Under Western Eyes,” (1984: 337) argued that by using women as a category of analysis, there was a crucial assumption that all [women], across classes and cultures, are somehow socially constituted as a homogeneous group identified prior to the process of analysis. In 2003, she wrote “Under Western Eyes Revisited,” in which she reflects on her former essay and reiterates a key element of her original intent: “My most simple goal was to make clear that

8  Ute Hüsken, Agi Wittich, Nanette R. Spina cross-cultural feminist work must be attentive to the micropolitics of context, subjectivity, and struggle, as well as to the macropolitics of global economic and political systems and processes” (2003: 305). This volume brings together scholars, activists, and leaders from different geographic locations and traditions to participate in a sustained transcultural conversation that foregrounds several of these elements while situating the discussions within their own relation to authority and agency whether in the context of South Asia, Europe, or North America. The multinationality of the contributors adds a crucial dimension to their exploration, and the inclusion of voices from various regions and cultural backgrounds, such as the Nepalese activist, the Hindu-Indian priestess, and the American and German Theravada Buddhist nuns, are vital to the volume and provide an astute understanding and experiential awareness of women’s authority and agency from within these contemporary contexts. Transculturality and its Relation to Migration, Globalization, and Transnationalism

Transculturality refers to the exchange and interaction of cultures and the resulting transformation of cultural practices, material culture, and values. This process occurs through migration, colonialism, globalization, and other forms of sustained contact and exchange. These macro-processes have profound effects on the interacting cultures. In order to situate our authors’ contributions within their macro-settings as interconnected rather than severed from the larger cultural or institutional environments in which they take part, three related concepts should be clarified prior to discussion: globalization, diaspora, and transnationalism. As people and places are increasingly connected across the world through various processes and structural forms from language to religion, market economics to politics, climate, culture, ethnicity, transportation, and media, among other elements, globalization can be broadly understood as the increasing connection of cultural, economic, and political forces across the globe. To be sure, globalization is a concept both contested and applauded within scholarly debate. Within the broad discursive arena of the global/ local, there are two other terms that pertain to both the study of religions and the relationship between religion and migration (the movement, displacement, and relocation of people): 1) Diaspora (such as the Hindu diaspora or the Sri Lankan Tamil diaspora), and 2) Transnationalism. These concepts are relevant to the discursive ground of transculturality and hence engage this volume as they provide the means to identify and differentiate the scope of contexts and interactions that take place on macro-micro levels where and when the global intersects with the local in the lives of individual agents. According to Quayson and Daswani (2013: 4): As an analytical category, transnational communities are understood to transcend diasporas because such communities may not be derived

Introduction 9 primarily or indeed exclusively from the forms of co-ethnic and cultural identification that are constitutive of diasporas, but rather from elective modes of identification involving class, sexuality, and even professional interest. Examples of the former include Indian or Sri Lankan Tamil Hindu communities in the United States and Canada (Spina; Narayanan). An example of the latter may include Buddhist communities outside their tradition’s Asian homeland that find common ground through engagement with certain practices, teachings, monastic residences, and communities abroad (Tathālokā/ Spina) and (Phalañāṇī/Wittich). Transculturality thus is a dynamic and ongoing process that generates new cultural forms and allows for the reimagining and reinterpretation of established cultural practices. The new cultural expressions are neither solely rooted in one or the other cultural setting but are the result of these encounters. The process is neither unidirectional nor understood in terms of assimilation and adaptation, but the concept has rather been utilized to rethink such processes from a multidirectional, multivalent perspective—as transformation (Juneja and Kravagna 2013: 23). In contrast to the related concepts of interculturality and multiculturality which sustain a ‘hermetic and fixed idea of cultures’ which coexist or interact, transculturality is meant to transcend that discursive model (Juneja and Kravagna 2013: 24). Transculturality denotes a process of transformation which unfolds through sustained contact and relationships between cultures and through people on micro and macro levels. The volume researchers investigate the multiple ways in which difference is negotiated in transformative ways within specific encounters and relationships, whether across transnational, transregional, or transitional spaces. Outline of Chapters The first section of this volume (Section 1: New Religious Leadership in Hindu Traditions) contains three chapters that focus on constructing and reconstructing religious leadership in India. All these chapters analyze the novel ways in which female religious leaders are promoting agency among their female followers. The first two chapters are focused on specific female religious leaders, namely Saraswati Devi (Chapter 1) and Śrī Rājmātā and Śrī Rājeśvarī Devā Jī (Chapter 2). Chapter 3 is focused on transnational Hindu communities examining the Adhiparashakti tradition in India, the USA, and Canada. Arkamitra Ghatak (Chapter  1) explores the subject of female religious agency while arguing that traditional gender roles are maintained in the community. Her contribution, “From Matriarch to Divine Mother: Caste, Gender and Deification in Kartābhajā Hagiographies of Satīmā,” focuses on female religious agency in the Karthābhajā community in Bengal. Through textual analysis of the hagiography of Saraswati Devi which expresses her deification, Ghatak shows how hagiographies aid in legitimizing religious agency among low-caste and poor women. Taking a close look at the life

10  Ute Hüsken, Agi Wittich, Nanette R. Spina trajectory and circumstances of empowerment, she explains how miracles reinforce and legitimize the religious authority of Saraswati Devi as Satīmā and explores the strategies through which the community legitimized their heterodox rituals. Michal Erlich (Chapter 2) argues that some female religious leaders gain their guruhood through ‘metaphysical-soteriological’ and earthly associations, a novel term constructed by the author. In “Biographies of Enhanced Agency: From Housewives to the Founders of Guru-Bhakti Communities,” Erlich focuses on two female Gurus, Śrī Rājmātā and Śrī Rājeśvarī Devā Jī, who each founded religious communities. Erlich features research on two local communities on the outskirts of Delhi, India. Her research uses qualitative interviews and participant observation as ethnographic research tools. Through her analysis of oral biographies/hagiographies, Erlich explores how these women established themselves as gurus, demonstrating what the author refers to as “kalyāṇic agency.”. Rather than presenting empowerment as a form of resistance, this chapter argues for a model of self-made religious agency and authority grounded in the guru’s ability to establish herself as the focal axis of a network of associations that transcend defined traditional gender boundaries. Nanette R. Spina (Chapter  3) focuses on the Adhiparasakthi tradition and argues that this movement has both modified and challenged traditional views of gender and ritual authority from within a religious framework. Chapter 3, “Women, Ritual and Leadership: Om Śakti in India Communicating Innovation in Contemporary Hindu Tradition,” looks at an Indian Sakta tradition (Adhiparasakthi) based in Melmaruvathur, Tamil Nadu, and three of its North American transnational communities, focusing on how women’s authority and leadership are engaged within the tradition. The setting for Chapter 3 is international. Spina uses multi-site ethnographic research tools including interviews, participant observation, and qualitative textual analysis of the Adhiparasakthi literature. This study highlights women’s religious leadership and ritual performance in India and North America. Spina argues that prioritizing women’s ritual leadership and gender inclusivity in ritual performance within the tradition has not only challenged gender-based religious conventions (including those around women’s menstruation) but has expanded the purview of women’s religious expression and agency. The second section of this volume (Section 2: Empowering Reinterpretations of Female Practices and Femininity) has five chapters that focus on the transformative agency of ritual practices diverse in Hindu settings. The first chapter in this section (Chapter 4), authored by Tara Sheemar Malhan, is entitled “Reclaiming the ‘Witch’: A  Master-priestess from the Kathāsaritsāgara.” Through textual analysis of the narratives of the Kathāsaritsāgara, a Sanskrit text composed in the Early Medieval period by the court poet Somadeva, Sheemar Malhan examines the depiction of ‘witches’ as female practitioners of the Tantric tradition by focusing upon the story of Kālarātrī and Kuvalyavalī. Sheemar Malhan especially looks at the

Introduction 11 female practitioners’ use of ritual objects, rites of gore, and the antinomian presence of women as independent master-priestesses. The second chapter in this section (Chapter  5) is authored by Vasudha Narayanan, entitled “Sharing Songs, Singing Devotion: Women Teachers and Narrative Exponents in the Hindu Diaspora.” Narayanan’s research is set within the United States. She utilizes ethnographic methods to focus on three teachers, one in New Jersey and two in Illinois. Narayanan uses the distinctive oral histories of these female leaders “to illustrate the model of seva-facilitation-leadership” contextualized in these active learning and devotional spaces for the recitation of religious texts and prayers, bhajans, and satsang. Narayanan engages these contexts and the oral histories of these women and offers new nomenclature for discussing this category of honored women. In her analysis, she argues that “the agency of the women leaders is not one of intentional challenge or resistance, but through their activities, these women create new spaces of leadership” and performativity. In doing so, the quality of women’s participation in domestic and public spheres of performativity is enhanced; through their active participation, new communities of bhakti are created. The third chapter of this section (Chapter  6) is co-authored by Pauline Schuster-Löhlau and Yogitha Shetty, entitled “Reinventing Selves: Religiosity and Female Agency in the Siri Tradition of Tulunad in India.” Their research is set in Kavattar, Karnataka, South India in the context of the Siri tradition and the rituals of the annual Siri festival. Schuster-Loehlau and Shetty utilize both textual analysis and ethnographic methods in their research to explore the ways in which the female practitioners of the Siri ritual tradition and the female head of the Siri temple, Nina Shetty, are able to “exert agency in the largely male dominated religious landscape of Coastal Karnataka.” The fourth chapter in this section (Chapter 7), authored by Agi Wittich, is entitled “Yoga’s Red Tent: Menstruation Oriented Iyengar Yoga Practices.” Wittich examines how the ‘red tent’ contributes to either a feeling of agency or increased sense of coercion, depending on the participants’ disposition, intersectional identities, and specifically their ideological framing of their menstruation. Wittich uses qualitative interviews with leading Iyengar yoga teachers, as well as qualitative textual analysis of Iyengar yoga (IY) literature as her main research tools. Wittich’s analysis conveys how the intersectional identities of IY practitioners (stemming also from their international origins) affect the implementations of such practices by IY teachers and their acceptance among practitioners. The fifth chapter in this section (Chapter 8) is authored by Amnuaypond Kidpromma and entitled “Womanhood and Female Agency in Bengali Vaishnava Sahajiya Tradition.” Kidpromma discusses the unconventional lives and renunciant experiences of female renouncers, including their roles and active agency in the tantric rituals. Her research has been conducted using ethnographic methods including qualitative interviews with female practitioners of the Vaishnava Sahajiya tradition in Bengal, India. In this chapter,

12  Ute Hüsken, Agi Wittich, Nanette R. Spina Kidpromma argues that “Renunciation for Vaishnava women is neither to detach from male culture nor to escape to a solely female sphere.” Kidpromma cautions that those who render the notion of agency as an act of resistance to a dominant system, such as following one’s gendered dharma, misinterpret the concept as lacking in agency. From this research context, Kidpromma offers the perspective that being subordinate to male Sahajiya practitioners does not necessarily lead to the conclusion that these women practitioners are always and necessarily passive, submissive, and agentless; they do not adhere to such perceptions. She observes that “Women’s agency in the Vaishnava [Sahajiya] tradition is pronounced in their language of submissiveness rather than that of subversion.” The third section of this volume (Section 3: Education, Ordination, and Community in Buddhist Settings) contains two chapters that focus on education, ordination, and community in Buddhist settings. While both chapters deal with the education of nuns, they have different geographical settings in South Asia. The first chapter in this section (Chapter 9) is authored by Gihani De Silva and is entitled “Encountering in a New Phase: Monastic Education for Buddhist Nuns in Sri Lanka.” In this research, De Silva focuses on local issues such as the monastic education of Buddhist (silmātā and bhikkhunī) nuns through examining historical events that bring to the fore the appointment of a nun as a “director” or a “coordinating-instructor,” as well as financial findings of nuns’ education systems. Through her analysis and contextualized examples, she argues that “contemporary advances in Buddhist female monastic education intensify some divisions among Buddhist nuns’ communities while enhancing their agency.” The next chapter, Chapter  10, is authored by Marlene Erschbamer, and entitled “Against Marginality, Inequality and Dependency: Remarkable Buddhist Nuns in Sikkim.” Erschbamer’s ethnographic research in Sikkim, India was conducted utilizing in-depth interviews with silmātās, bhikkhunīs, and state officials. In this chapter, Erschbamer contextualizes the Buddhist education of nuns and their historical status more broadly, noting scholarship on the difficulties of access to education for nuns—then focusing on the Buddhist Sikkimese tradition in particular. The chapter discusses education for nuns, both silmātās and bhikkhunīs, which have “unregistered monastic education institutes with inadequate resources.” Erschbamer argues that “there is a common ground for negotiating with state authorities, rather than resistance, as both communities grapple with all of these constraints: the agency of these religious women is neither active nor passive, but rather results in creative conformity.” Section 4, Remarkable Trailblazers: Dynamic Leaders, Educators, Monastics and Activists, contains four interviews with exceptional women leaders from South Asia to North America. Chapter 11, “Global South Coalition for Dignified Menstruation,” is an edited interview with activist Radha Paudel by Ute Hüsken. Paudel is a nurse, author, activist, and the founder of the Global South Coalition for Dignified

Introduction 13 Menstruation, an initiative that aims to expose and abolish oppressive menstruation practices and attitudes towards menstruating persons. The interview revolves around the subject of how the female body and its functions, especially those bodily functions connected to fertility and procreation, are seen as major obstacles to their taking on leadership positions, as is common in many religious traditions. Paudel speaks of how a woman’s bodily functions connected to fertility and procreation are often mythologically explained as a woman’s “sin,” and additionally how the female body is depicted and evaluated negatively and women are blamed for it. This is both the outcome of and the reason for everyday discrimination of women—an attitude towards women which is also internalized by many women themselves. Chapter 12, entitled “The Changing Attitudes towards Female Priesthood in Hinduism: Insights from Pune, Southern India,” is an edited interview with Hindu priestess Dr. Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi by Agi Wittich. Joshi is also a researcher of the History of Religion, History of Philosophy, and Cultural History at the Saṃskṛt Saṃskṛtī Samśoḍhikā research center in Pune, India. She began teaching priesthood to women in 1990 and initiated a thread ceremony for girls, traditionally meant only for boys. She is affiliated with Jñāna Prabodhinī, a non-profit organization promoting education, social welfare, and community development. The interview focused on the societal acceptance and religious practices of Hindu female priestesses across various regions in India. While certain regions have witnessed a notable surge in embracing female priesthood, others continue to uphold conservative viewpoints that do not acknowledge women as priestesses. Joshi stated that social media has supported female priesthood and predicts a gradual and peaceful movement towards accepting women as priests. She emphasized the need for a significant change in Hindu religious perspectives to achieve this societal change. Chapter  13, entitled “Beyond Boundaries: A  Modern Buddhist Nun’s Journey Towards Enlightenment,” is an edited interview with Buddhist nun (bhikkhunī) Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī by Agi Wittich. Ayyā Phalañāṇī, born in Germany in 1959, was formerly an actress and comedian. She was ordained as a bhikkhunī at Aranya Bodhi Awakening Forest Hermitage in 2010. Since then, she has lived and taught in different monasteries in Thailand, Australia, and Germany. The central focus of the interview revolves around the subject of women’s ordinations and the evolving role of women within Buddhist communities. Ayyā Phalañāṇī discusses gender bias and discrimination within the Buddhist community, sharing her personal experiences. She emphasizes the significance of education and enlightenment to promote gender equality. She stresses the need to ensure that women are treated as spiritual leaders on par with men in all aspects of monastic life. Chapter 14, “Luminous Insight: An Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā from Dhammadharini Monastery (USA),” is an edited interview with the Venerable Ayyā Tathālokā Mahātherī by Nanette R. Spina. Ayyā Tathālokā is a Thervāda bhikkhunī preceptor and the founding Abbess of Dhammadharini Monastery and Aranya Bodhi Awakening Forest Hermitage, both in Sonoma

14  Ute Hüsken, Agi Wittich, Nanette R. Spina County, northern California (USA). In addition to these responsibilities, she is also a scholar, mentor, teacher, and foundation advisor. She participates internationally in several capacities, including ordination ceremonies, teaching, and conferences, among other activities. In the interview, Ayyā Tathālokā begins by identifying what she sees as some of the most significant challenges for the bhikkhunī sangha within Theravāda Buddhism. In this regard, she speaks about parity with the bhikkhu sangha as capable counterparts to monks rather than in any supplemental capacity, and the importance of greater integration within the catuparisā (four-fold Buddhist community). She shares some of the reasons behind these challenges (from her perspective) and offers insight into the work that is being done and what could be undertaken to move in a more beneficial direction for the good of the whole assembly. Ayyā Tathālokā shares examples from her experiences as an American student, renunciate in Asia, teacher/leader, and international bhikkhunī preceptor. Among other topics, she speaks about cultural conditioning, gender inclusivity, stories about karma that portray women in a negative perspective, agency and awakening, and the shift in attitude or mental transition that is required to lift and transcend these challenges for the good of the four-fold community (monks, nuns, laymen, and laywomen). This is not the first volume to address the relationships and intersections between women and religion in traditions of South Asian origin—and seeing that many issues remain to be explored further and addressed, it will not and should not be the last. As can be seen from the bibliographies and the discussions within the individual contributions, we owe our predecessors important insights. The case studies assembled in this volume contribute to the growing repository of diverse knowledge on women’s authority and agency in Asian religious traditions, making this scholarship more visible, and will hopefully inspire fruitful discussions and debate that include perspectives not only among feminist scholars and scholars of religion but also among those interested scholars, students, and individuals pursuing their own interdisciplinary studies and/or socially engaged work. References Abu-Lughod, Lila (1990): The Romance of Resistance: Tracing Transformations of Power through Bedouin Women. American Ethnologist, 17(1), 41–55. Acevedo, Deepa Das (2018): Gods’ Homes, Men’s Courts, Women’s Rights. International Journal of Constitutional Law, 16(2), 552–573. https://doi.org/10.1093/ icon/moy039 Allocco, A. L. (2013): From Survival to Respect: The Narrative Performances and Ritual Authority of a Female Hindu Healer. Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion, 29(1), 101–117. Babb, Lawrence A. (1984): Indigenous Feminism in a Modern Hindu Sect. Signs, 9(3), 399–416.

Introduction 15 Bayeck, R. Y. (2022): Positionality: The Interplay of Space, Context and Identity. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 21. https://doi.org/10.1177_ 16094069221114745 Bourke, B. (2014): Positionality: Reflecting on the Research Process. The Qualitative Report, 19(33), 1–9. Breen, L. (2007): The Researcher ‘in the Middle’: Negotiating the Insider/Outsider Dichotomy. The Australian Community Psychologist, 19(1), 163–174. Bukamal, H. (2022): Deconstructing Insider—Outsider Researcher Positionality. British Journal of Special Education, 49(3), 327–349. Dempsey, Corinne G. (2006): The Goddess Lives in Upstate New York: Breaking Convention and Making Home at a North American Hindu Temple. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. DeNapoli, Antionette E. (2014): Real Sadhus Sing to God: Gender, Asceticism, and Vernacular Religion in Rajasthan. New York: Oxford University Press. Dwyer, S. C., and J. L. Buckle (2009): The Space between: On Being an Insideroutsider in Qualitative Research. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 8(1), 54–63. Finch, J. (1984): ‘It’s Great to Have Someone to Talk to’: The Ethics and Politics of Interviewing Women. In Social Researching: Politics, Problems, Practice (ed. by C. Bell and H. Roberts). London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 70–87. Foucault, M. (1980): Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings 1972−1977. Ed. by Colin Gordon, Pantheon Books: New York. Haraway, Donna J. (1991): Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature. New York: Routledge. Harding, Sandra (1991): Whose Science? Whose Knowledge? Thinking from Women’s Lives. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Holland, S., E. Renold, N. J. Ross, and A. Hillman (2010): Power, Agency and Participatory Agendas: A Critical Exploration of Young People’s Engagement in Participative Qualitative Research. Childhood, 17(3), 360–375. Holmes, A. G. D. (2020): Researcher Positionality-A Consideration of Its Influence and Place in Qualitative Research-A New Researcher Guide. Shanlax International Journal of Education, 8(4), 1–10. Hüsken, Ute (2017): Theravāda Nuns in the United States: Buddhist Modernities: Re-inventing Tradition in the Globalizing Modern World. In Buddhist Modernities: Re-inventing Tradition in the Globalizing Modern World (ed. by Hanna Havnevik, Ute Hüsken, Mark Teeuwen, Vladimir Tikhonov, and Koen Wellens). London and New York: Routledge, 243–258. Juneja, Monica, and Christian Kravagna (2013): Understanding Transculturalism. In Transcultural Modernisms (ed. by Fahim Amir, Eva Egermann, Moira Hille, Jakob Krameritsch, Christian Kravagna, Christina Linortner, Marion von Osten, and Peter Spillman [Model House Research Group]). Vienna: Sternberg Press, 23–33. Langenberg, Amy (2018): An Imperfect Alliance: Feminism and Contemporary Female Buddhist Monasticisms. Religions, 9(6), 190–214. Lucia, Amanda J. (2014): Reflections of Amma: Devotees in a Global Embrace. Berkley: University of California Press. Mahmoud, Saba (2005): The Politics of Piety: The Islamic Revival and the Feminist Subject. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

16  Ute Hüsken, Agi Wittich, Nanette R. Spina Mauthner, N. S., and A. Doucet (2003): Reflexive Accounts and Accounts of Reflexivity in Qualitative Data Analysis. Sociology, 37(3), 413–431. Menon, Parvati (2020): Sabarimala and Women’s Identity in Kerala. Social Scientist, 48(3), 3–24. Mohanty, Chandra Talpade (1984): Under Western Eyes: Feminist Scholarship and Colonial Discourses. Boundary, 2(12/13), 333–358. https://doi.org/10.2307/302821 Mohanty, Chandra Talpade (2003): “Under Western Eyes” Revisited: Feminist Solidarity through Anticapitalist Struggles. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 28(2), 499–535. More, Shefali (2022): Right to Pray: Comparing Shani Shingnapur and Sabarimala. In Laughter, Creativity, and Perseverance: Female Agency in Hinduism and Buddhism (ed. by Ute Hüsken) (Religion, Culture, and History Series of the American Academy of Religion). New York: Oxford University Press, 153–172. Mrozik, Susanne (2014): “We Love Our Nuns”: Affective Dimensions of the Sri Lankan Bhikkhunī Revival. Journal of Buddhist Ethics, 21, 57–95. Narayanan, Vasudha (2000): Diglossic Hinduism: Liberation and Lentils. Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 68(4), 761–779. Narayanan, Vasudha (2005): Gender and Priesthood in the Hindu Traditions. Journal of Hindu-Christian Studies, 18(1), 8. Oakley, A. (1981): Interviewing Women: A Contradiction in Terms? In Doing Feminist Research (ed. by H. Roberts). London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 30–61. Ortbals, C. D., and M. E. Rincker (2009): Fieldwork, Identities, and Intersectionality: Negotiating Gender, Race, Class, Religion, Nationality, and Age in the Research Field Abroad: Editors’ Introduction. PS: Political Science  & Politics, 42(2), 287–290. Pechilis, Karen (ed.) (2004): The Graceful Guru: Hindu Female Gurus in India and the United States. New York: Oxford University Press. Pintchman, Tracy (ed.) (2007): Women’s Lives, Women’s Rituals in the Hindu Tradition. New York: Oxford University Press. Quayson, Ato, and Girish Daswani (eds.) (2013): A Companion to Diaspora and Transnationalism. Chicester: John Wiley & Sons. Spina, Nanette R. (2017): Women’s Authority and Leadership in a Hindu Goddess Tradition. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Starkey, Caroline (2022): Female Agency in Buddhism and Hinduism: Methodological Reflections and Collective Commitments. In Laughter, Creativity, and Perseverance: Female Agency in Hinduism and Buddhism (ed. by Ute Hüsken) (Religion, Culture, and History Series of the American Academy of Religion). New York: Oxford University Press, 249–274. Valentine, G. (2007): Theorizing and Researching Intersectionality: A Challenge for Feminist Geography. The Professional Geographer, 59(1), 10–21.

1 From Matriarch to Divine Mother Caste, Gender, and Deification in Hagiographies of Satīmā Arkamitra Ghatak 1. Introduction The Kartābhajās are the largest of the ‘deviant sects’ which emerged in postCaitanya Bengal, incorporating theologies from the Vaiṣṇava canon into the Sahajiyā dispensation of ‘mystical eroticism,’ rooted in early-medieval Tāntric and Buddhist traditions. Sarasvatī Devī (1752–1840), the matriarch of the Kartābhajās, led the sect after the death of her husband Rāmśaraṇ Pāl till her son Dulālcāṅd reached maturity, and then again after the death of her son till her own demise. Dulālcāṅd was the leader whose organizational prowess and liturgies helped to consolidate the theological premises of the sect. However, it was the reputation of Sarasvatī Devī as a miracle healer and bestower of prosperity that accounted for the popularity of the sect among the poor and diseased as well as barren women. This ultimately resulted in the deification of Sarasvatī Devī as Satīmā and the formation of a cult of veneration centered on her. Through hagiographical discourses on Satīmā, I therefore illustrate how deification served as a strategy to legitimize and refashion the religious agency of a low-caste woman. Her rise to the leadership of a sect operating at the fringes of Brahminical authority was contingent upon the absence of adult male figures of authority. It was also consolidated through syncretistic narratives of miracle-working and often conflicting negotiations with orthodox patriarchal power structures. There have been some studies on the history of the Kartābhajā community, most notably the work of Sumanta Banerjee, which charts the social conditions under which the Kartābhajā sect became institutionalized as a religious community. The works of Hugh Urban include translations from their liturgical corpus Bhaber Gīt and emphasis on the role of secrecy and crypto-language in the framing of religious power and practice within the community. None of these works adequately focus on Sarasvatī Devī or highlight the historical implications of her leadership of a religious community in early nineteenth-century Bengal. Such an exercise is indeed made difficult by the fact that sources about the historical Sarasvatī Devī are scant in comparison to the extensive historical resources, like accounts of Christian DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-2

18  Arkamitra Ghatak missionaries, available about her son. Many of the materials I rely on, therefore, are oral narratives of her miracle-making powers and beneficence which were published as hagiographies from the early twentieth century. While the historicity of events recorded in such narratives can be doubted, they provide insights into the challenges from Brahmanical orthodoxy to her leadership and the charismatic nature of the religio-spiritual agency she displayed in mediating such conflicts. This chapter seeks to move beyond reductionist paradigms that tend to generalize and a-historicize how women exercise religious agency in the South Asian context, reducing such exercises to binaries of inversion and subversion of established gender codes. Using methodologies from intellectual history, I conceptualize female agency as acts through which women carve for themselves a discursive space within the domain of ritual authority. As my study of Sarasvatī Devī in this chapter shows, such acts of exerting agency can take the form of overlapping strategies which are appropriated to negotiate the hierarchies of gender, caste, and political power within which notions of religious authority are entrenched. In a recent article, Paola Rebughini has underscored the benefits of applying the intersectional perspective to the study of agency, which, she argues, helps to simultaneously understand the situatedness of subjective action while also paying attention to structures within or against which such action is performed. As she highlights, “Intersectionality invites us to think about agency as situated in a temporary intersection where subjects give meanings to their action in a specific social location and in the immanence of a specific section of time” (Rebughini 2021). This chapter is therefore an attempt to apply the intersectional perspective to the study of historical agency in South Asia. When studied at the intersections of the historical contexts of gender, caste, and political relations in a particular society, subjective actions might simultaneously be found to be subversive as well as co-opting. The chapter will also address how deification becomes a discursive strategy to claim legitimacy for charismatic female figures operating at the margins of socio-political structures, which ironically obscure and erase the liminality and resistance to dominant structures which marked their historical agency as leaders. 2.  The Kartābhajās: Theology and Pantheon The Kartābhajās were the largest of the heterodox sects within the VaiṣṇavaSahajiyā tradition which emerged in early colonial Bengal and garnered a poor reputation among conservative Brahminical elites for their disregard of caste and gender hierarchies. They reiterate the Sahajiyā philosophy that sexuality and desire need not be suppressed: “when sublimated and transformed, they become the most powerful means to enlightenment and ecstasy,” which represents “the supreme state of sahaja, the ultimate experience of all things in their own original state, in blissful unity, beyond the dichotomies of the phenomenal world” (Urban 2001a: 3).

From Matriarch to Divine Mother 19 The Sahajiyās identified the guru as the source of religious authority who could initiate the disciple into the esoteric Tāntric practices, and rejected Brahmanical orthodoxy, Vedic injunctions, and icon worship. With the spread of Islam in Bengal, Sahajiyā traditions commingled with the mystical theologies and practices of different Sufi sects. This is reflected in the genealogy of the Kartābhajās who trace their origin to Āulcāṅd Fakir, a semi-legendary Sufi saint whose origins are obscure. In the 1760s, he initiated a low-caste sadgop called Rāmśaraṇ Pāl and his wife Sarasvatī Devī after he cured Sarasvatī of an illness, alongside twenty-one other disciples while residing in the couple’s house in Ghoṣpāṛā in Bengal. In later Kartābhajā narratives, the Fakir was transformed into a reincarnation of Caitanya as the sect took on a distinct Vaiṣṇava form. Āulcāṅd was a product of syncretic personality cults which emerged from the intermingling of Hindu, Buddhist and Sufi creeds following the Muslim conquest of Bengal in the thirteenth century. He taught an egalitarian creed called Satya Dharma (the Religion of the Truth), which substituted Vedic and Brahminical orthopraxy with simpler modes of worship and Sufi-Sahajiyā concepts like the body as the microcosm of the universe. Sumanta Banerjee opines that Āulcāṅd’s stress on the importance of the “guru . . . or the spiritual guide as the mediator between this world and the next world” later “underpinned the institutionalization of the religious creed” as its original name was replaced by the term ‘kartābhajā,’ which means ‘worshippers of the master’ (Banerjee 2002: 124–125). In 1779, Rāmśaraṇ Pāl inherited the leadership of the sect after the death of their guru, becoming the Kartā Bābā with Sarasvatī serving as his consort, the Kartā Mā. It was Rāmśaraṇ who crystallized the hierarchical structure of the sect with a network of intermediary gurus called mahāśaya who were to act as missionaries, spreading the creed across Bengal and recruiting disciples. Due to his decree that the disciples had to donate half of their annual income to the Kartā Mā,1 Ghoṣpāṛā emerged as a major pilgrimage center for the initiates of the sect and the financial conditions of Rāmśaraṇ’s family improved considerably (Banerjee 2002: 127–128). With Rāmśaraṇ’s death in 1783, Sarasvatī took charge of the gadi (ritual seat of the kartā at Ghoṣpāṛā) on behalf of her youngest son. Meanwhile, the sect started to disintegrate with the other disciples of Āulcāṅd and Rāmśaraṇ breaking away from the dynastic authority of the Pāl family and founding offshoot sects like Gupta Kartābhajās (Urban 2001a: 204–205). Sarasvatī’s son Rāmdulāl, better known as Dulālcāṅd, inherited the gadi when he turned sixteen and is highly regarded for his theological contributions. He codified the philosophy of the sect into a collection of songs known as Bhāber Gīt, which came to comprise the Kartābhajā liturgy. His organizational genius and erudition broadened the reach of the Kartābhajā sect beyond rural low-caste Hindus, Muslims, and Christian converts, even attracting members of the elite upper-caste and urban gentry. The Kartābhajās consider Dulālcāṅd to be a reincarnation of Āulcāṅd and Caitanya, on the basis of a narrative in which Āulcāṅd promised

20  Arkamitra Ghatak Sarasvatī Devī that he would be reborn as her son after his death. After the death of her son in 1833, Sarasvatī re-assumed charge of the affairs of the sect until her own demise in 1840; subsequently, the gadi passed to the descendants of Dulālcāṅd, often leading to succession disputes and multiple claimants of the property (Pāl, S. 1990: 162–165). Most of the Kartābhajā theology and ritual practices are esoteric, encoded in a cryptic manner through a metaphorical language2 in the Bhāber Gīt, hymns from which are sung during weekly and annual congregations. The creed conceptualized the divine as satya or ‘Truth,’ and the egalitarianism and liberal attitudes reflected in their theology and practices attracted low-caste Hindus and poor Muslims and Christians who felt alienated from orthodox Brahmanical and Muslim ritual domains. They also generated a space for women to participate openly in public congregations and feasts, which earned them the scorn of upper-caste orthodox Hindus and Muslims alike in the nineteenth century, which later led to allegations of sexually transgressive and licentious conduct. Additionally, the system of ‘proselytization’ through networks of intermediaries, and the collection of ‘rent’ from disciples in the fashion of a zamīndār (landlord), invited charges of hucksterism, fraudulence, and extortion (Urban 2001a). 3. From Kartā Mā to Satīmā Sarasvatī Devī was born to a landlord of the Govīndapur village and was the second wife of Rāmśaraṇ Pāl. According to Kartābhajā hagiographies, she was cured of a malady by Āulcāṅd with the help of water from a nearby pond called Himsāgar and mud from under a pomegranate tree. Like her husband, she received initiation from him and subsequently gained siddhi (or the ability to work miracles) by performing penance under the same tree, which has come to be intimately associated with Sarasvatī and is also ritually worshiped at Ghoṣpāṛā as Ḍālimtalā. While leading the sect on behalf of her son as the dowager Kartā Mā, she came to be reputed as Satīmā and was believed to be bāksiddhā (possessor of infallible speech), who could cure diseases, deformities, infertility in barren women, and bestow prosperity upon the poor (Pāl, S. 1990: 46). Two incidents can be found in her hagiographies (most notably the Satīmār Māhātmya) which, when widely disseminated as oral narratives through the networks of mahāśayas, likely crystallized her reputation as a possessor of miraculous powers. One such narrative concerns the birth legend of Bāṅkācāṅd, the foster son of Satīmā, who acquired a high position within the Kartābhajā pantheon by virtue of his devotion to Satīmā and yogic abilities. According to the legend, he was born in a deformed state, which caused his birth mother to leave the child with Satīmā. Satīmā then supposedly cured the child of the deformity with mud from under the Ḍālimtalā. Following that event, he was raised by her and called Bāṅkā (bent) as a reminder of his birth deformity and the miracle of its healing (Miśra 1918: 6–7). Another

From Matriarch to Divine Mother 21 narrative records an occasion when Satīmā, overcome with compassion for the plight of a newborn calf whose mother had just died after giving birth, resurrected the cow from death (Miśra 1918: 11–13). Sumanta Banerjee, while conceding that it is difficult to segregate the historical from the mythical elements in Kartābhajā lore, opines that Sarasvatī probably “acquired the skills of practical healing” using locally available plants from Āulcāṅd, who had cured her once in a similar fashion, and “combined them with the rituals of magical healing (like charms and spells),” which held great sway over contemporary rural society. She therefore eventually emerged “as a magicoreligious specialist with functions complementary to both a priest and a doctor” (Banerjee 2002: 133). While some legends attributed similar abilities to her husband, who could putatively cure lepers, what is noteworthy is that the rural masses identified such wish-fulfilling abilities more strongly with the female body of Sarasvatī, which came to be worshiped as the divine Satīmā. As I elaborate later in the chapter, this could be attributed to the contemporary religious context of Bengal, which already had a cluster of local folk goddesses who were worshiped for wish-fulfillment and healing, and Satīmā as a female deity could easily be incorporated within the pantheon. The creed of the Kartābhajā sect has somewhat faded in popularity in recent times and is limited to circles of devotees and the initiates who are engaged in its exoteric and esoteric practices. The figure of Satīmā and Ghoṣpāṛā, however, continues to enjoy popular appeal as a fertility cult, a site of divinely mediated healing and wishfulfillment, long after her death.3 A verse in Sahajtattva Prakāśa, a twentiethcentury text on the theology of the Kartābhajā sect composed by Manulāl Miśra, reiterates the healing abilities of Satīmā thus: Whoever places faith in Satīmā/Is relieved of leprosy and other afflictions/. . . By her grace the unthinkable happens/The blind can see and the deaf can hear/Whoever places oneself at her feet finds material fulfillment/With her power, she can grant sons to barren women. (Manulāl Miśra cited in Pāl, R. K. 1990: 46–47) This verse is reiterated in more recent hagiographic and theological expositions of the Kartābhajā sect which conspicuously highlight the name of ‘Ghoṣpāṛār Satīmā’ in the respective titles, therefore revealing that to date, Satīmā remains the leader most strongly associated with the sect in public memory (Pāl, S. 1990: 142). Even the annual congregation of the sect at Ghoṣpāṛā on Dol Pūrṇimā (the full moon night of the festival of Holi known as Dol Utsab in Bengal), which attracts initiates from across Bengal including present-day Bangladesh, is known as Satīmāyer Melā (the fair of Satīmā) in local parlance. This has prompted Banerjee to state that “the mothergoddess had not only literally outlived her guru, her husband and her son, but had also historically outshone all of them in popular tradition” (Banerjee 2002: 134).

22  Arkamitra Ghatak 4.  Female Agency as Divine Intercession It is worth noting that the Kartābhajā sect granted considerable religious autonomy and scope of empowerment to women. Besides being spiritual partners in Sahajiyā esoteric sādhanā (corporeal ritual practice), they could also serve as mā gosāi̇ṅs or gurus of the sect, gathering disciples of their own. As Sudhir Chakrabarty states, this generated possibilities of social mobility for these female gurus who could access “the inner domains of various homes of Calcutta” and therefore take an active and enthusiastic part in “spreading their faith” (Chakrabarty 1985: 39). Being able to enter the inner spaces of the high-caste and middle-class households, or antarmahal, where the women’s quarters were usually located, they could preach to and recruit women who enjoyed social respectability into the faith. This presence of female proselytizers, along with the reputation of Satīmā as a figure who could bless barren women with children, perhaps accounts for the large number of female devotees the creed was able to attract. Nevertheless, the works of Chakrabarty and Hugh Urban have also pointed out that while generating possibilities for women to accrue social capital as gurus, the very possibilities of social interaction free from gender discrimination exposed the Kartābhajā women to economic and sexual vulnerability. It was not uncommon for male leaders of the sect in the rural areas to subject them to sexual exploitation under the guise of making them sexual partners in esoteric rites or guptasādhanā (Chakrabarty 1985: 39 and Urban 2001a: 89). It is worth noting for the purpose of this chapter that despite granting women equal rights as agents of proselytization and as gurus, notions of religious authority within the Kartābhajā domains continued to reflect traditional gender roles. The male gurus of the sect, like Āulcāṅd, Dulālcāṅd, many of the recent kartās, and highly respected disciples like Manulāl Miśra are often associated with the intellectual labor of fashioning and consolidating the liberal universalistic theology of the sect. Their female counterparts or mā gośāiṅs in contrast mostly enjoy agency by claiming magical healing powers in the fashion of Satīmā, so that they are revered as incarnations of Satīmā herself (Urban 2001a: 84–85). Therefore, not only does the figure of Satīmā serve as a ‘living goddess’ who continues to draw a steady stream of supplicant devotees to Ghoṣpāṛā, but she also serves as the prototype for ritual roles that women in positions of religious authority are expected to embody. The wives of a few of the kartās who succeeded her were therefore also reputed as bāksiddhā and were believed to possess supernatural abilities (Pāl, S. 1990: 162–163). In the following section, I  contextualize the enduring association between healing and wish-fulfilling powers and the female body of Satīmā in the socioreligious backdrop of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Bengal. This contextualization will clarify how claims of miraculous abilities bolstered the precarious authority of Sarasvatī Devī in a fragmenting sect by appealing to existing folk religiosity far more successfully than Rāmśaraṇ’s claims of healing leprosy.

From Matriarch to Divine Mother 23 It is noteworthy that Kartābhajās trace the powers of Satīmā back to Āulcāṅd, who, after curing Sarasvatī, is said to have bestowed his powers upon her. Her image as a healer of infertility in barren women could also have emerged from the popular belief that Āulcāṅd chose to be immaculately born as her son Dulālcāṅd, secretly entering her womb. Hugh Urban argues that this trope of immaculate conception of a ‘divine child’ casts her and her son within the ‘Virgin Mother and Child’ archetype derived from Christianity, which propagates that Mary gave birth to Jesus Christ, the Son of God, as a virgin, conceiving him through divine intermediation (Urban 2001a: 53). I partially agree with Banerjee’s hypothesis that Satīmā had learned traditional healing techniques using local plants from her guru and had combined that knowledge with ‘magical’ healing rituals. However, I argue that he overlooks how strongly Āulcāṅd himself fits into the image of the miracleworking and wish-fulfilling pīr (Sufi saint) who is a recurrent figure in the syncretic folk religions of Bengal. The Kartābhajā narratives pertaining to Āulcāṅd attribute much more to him than ‘healing abilities,’ including feats such as crossing the Gaṅgā river on foot. He is further credited with putting the moral-spiritual mettle of people like Sarasvatī to the test, highlighting her resistance to the temptation of wealth despite her abject poverty, and therefore proving herself worthy to be his successor. According to the narratives, she was initiated into the ‘Religion of Truth’ (satya dharma) and inherited his powers. Such narratives and the very trope of Āulcāṅd as Caitanya-Kṛṣṇa in disguise or in reincarnated form (according to other hagiographies) strongly resemble the folklore surrounding the mythical figure of Satya Pīr worshiped by both Hindus and Muslims in Bengal. As Tony Stewart has pointed out, the cult of Satya Pīr, who is worshiped in Hindu households as Satya Nārāyaṇa, marked a Vaiṣṇava acknowledgment of the Sufi pīr as a center of local authority and his incorporation in the Vaiṣṇava pantheon as a form of Nārāyaṇa. The position of the pīr, however, remained somewhat marginal as he was assigned to “the lowest strata of the Brahmanical hierarchy.” He was placed squarely in the women’s ritual cycle of the vrata, which is dominated nearly exclusively by lesser images of divinity, especially the benign household goddesses, such as Ṣasṭḥī, Lakṣmī, et al., who are petitioned to make life easier and more fruitful. (Stewart 2000: 38) Stewart’s argument underscores that the Sufi Pīr, using his karāmāt or miracle-working to convert skeptics and fulfill the wishes of supplicants, shared a position and ritual function similar to local folk goddesses like Ṣasṭḥī, Lakṣmī, and Śitalā. However, they were usually worshiped by women as bestowers of fertility and material prosperity, protectors of children, and guardians against diseases like smallpox. Such intimate homologies between the cults of the pīrs and what June McDaniel calls “folk Shaktism,” the worship of local fertility goddesses associated with trees, mounds and snakes,

24  Arkamitra Ghatak by women, the rural poor and low-castes provided a favorable backdrop to Sarasvatī’s miracle-working abilities, garnering popular appeal (McDaniel 2004: 27–66). As the successor of Āulcāṅd and the possessor of wish-­ fulfilling abilities in a female body, she conflated and assumed in her person both the roles of the folk Goddess and the pīr, by virtue of which she could cater to both Hindu and Muslim religious sensibilities. As her powers of divine intercession came to be increasingly linked with the mud of the sacred pomegranate tree and the waters of the pond Himsāgar,4 which served as the paraphernalia of her wish-granting ritual, her identification with local fertility goddesses like Ṣasṭḥī (also frequently associated with sacred groves) was intensified. At the same time, the growing corpus of legends that surrounded her credited her with feats like taming wild tigers and persuading notorious bandits to abandon looting (Miśra 1918: 9–18). This bolstered her image as a protector-goddess somewhat like the syncretic ­goddess-figure of Bana-bibi (the deity of the forest, which is frequently evoked as a protective force against tigers, especially in the forested regions of Bengal). Due to this likeness, she transformed into a deity whose divine intervention could be sought against attacks of wildlife and bandits, which comprised two major threats faced by the rural populace in their quotidian life in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Bengal. By highlighting the socio-religious context, I  do not wish to downplay the agency of Satīmā in generating a prominent space for herself in the male-dominated realm of religious-spiritual authority, but to point out the overlapping ideological terrains of “folk Shaktism” and syncretic cults. This shared ideological terrain provided a suitable climate wherein Sarasvatī’s claims of miracle-working appealed to a large subaltern audience composed primarily of illiterate women and the poor, sick, and disabled who easily set her into the familiar frame of local wish-fulfilling goddesses. The other goddesses were inaccessible without the mediation of a village priest and evoked a devotion tempered with fear, for if not propitiated satisfactorily, these goddesses could turn vengeful and inflict harm (McDaniel 2004). Satīmā, in contrast, was directly accessible as a ‘living goddess’ who also enjoyed fame as a charismatic and benign matriarch willing to redress the grievances of those tormented by the vagaries of life and provide food for the poor and needy through frequent public feasts at Ghoṣpāṛā (Miśra 1918: 5). Some scholars, however, separate the practicing Kartābhajā initiates from the supplicants attracted by the cult of Satīmā (Banerjee 2002: 123–124), often overlooking the overlap between the two groups and glossing over the contribution of Sarasvatī as a guru, and reducing her to a deity of a fertility cult.5 I, on the other hand, argue that miracle-working was crucial to the leadership she provided to the sect. As a dowager leading the community on behalf of her son, she made strategic use of her ‘aloukik śakti’ (supernatural powers) to broaden the popularity of the Kartābhajā faith and initiated

From Matriarch to Divine Mother 25 many of her devotees, who sought material redress, into the Kartābhajā fold. Manulāl Miśra’s account of the legend concerning the dacoits, as bandits in colonial India were called, hints at this. Miśra claims that the dacoits, perturbed by the crackdown initiated by Warren Hastings (1732–1818), the Governor General of colonial Bengal from 1774 till 1785, sought Satīmā’s supernatural intervention to improve their prospects for successful burglary. After granting them a few successful loots to affirm their faith in her, Satīmā convinced the dacoits to give up robbery and became their guru, indoctrinating them into satya dharma. As is evident from the narrative, not only did these former dacoits embrace the Kartābhajā faith but they also subsequently became active Kartābhajā proselytizers, devoting themselves to spreading the message of Dulālcāṅd’s Bhāber Gīt far and wide (Miśra 1918: 13–18). While Dulālcāṅd incorporated liturgical elements familiar to his followers from Islamic and Christian traditions as he designed the ritual practices of the sect, like congregational worship on Fridays, ten commandments, and the rite of confession (dāyik majlis), such syncretist tendencies could be found in Satīmā’s cult as well. Her cult blended the Sufi tradition of worshiping the tombs of saints for intercession or ziyārat with rituals derived from folk goddess traditions like prostrations (danḍīkātā) and mānat or the tying of stones at Ḍālimtalā as a mark of registering their request to Satīmā for divine favor.6 Satīmā’s power to intercede with divinity on behalf of the needy and distressed also appealed to Christians interested in the Kartābhajā philosophy who could situate her within the prototype of the Virgin Mary. In fact, an offshoot of the Kartābhajās called the Gurusatyas broke off from the main sect and developed a theology merging Kartābhajā and Christian doctrines in a more pronounced manner, identifying Dulālcāṅd with Christ and Satīmā with the Virgin Mary, the Mother of God (Urban 2001a: 72). As Geoffrey Oddie has shown, even those Kartābhajās who subsequently converted to Christianity “considered the dust of the place [under the pomegranate tree at Ghoṣpāṛā] especially sacred, so much so that a touch or taste of it would help them in attaining their objective” (Oddie 1995: 337). It is noteworthy that it was Satīmā who had commanded that she be buried at Ghoṣpāṛā, where she would reside eternally with her powers of divine intercession (Pāl, S. 1990: 144). Such a discursive construction of Ghoṣpāṛā as nityadhāma (eternal abode), visually reinforced by the presence of the tomb (samādhi) of Satīmā and the sacred tree, strategically ensured that the ritual epicenter of the sect remained firmly rooted at Ghoṣpāṛā. Even as the charismatic authority of the later kartās waned, Ghoṣpāṛā continued to draw generations of Kartābhajās annually to the congregational festival on Dol Pūrṇimā to pray for intercession at the shrine-tomb of Satīmā, and in the process, affirm the hierarchies of the sect by paying respects to the reigning kartā.

26  Arkamitra Ghatak 5.  Agency as Simultaneous Subversion and Intermediation By the early nineteenth century, the Kartābhajās had drawn thousands of followers, ranging from uneducated rural masses to vaiśya and śūdra low-castes who belonged to the working and business classes in the nearby newly established colonial capital of Calcutta and women from diverse backgrounds. Sudhir Chakrabarty attributes their popularity and financial prosperity to their simple and egalitarian philosophy of truth. It attracted the neo-rich commercial classes who felt alienated from both the rigid Brahminical dominance in the ritual sphere of orthodox Hinduism, as well as the intellectual fervor of the highly educated members of the religious reform movement called Brāhmo Samāj (Chakrabarty 1985: 38). The prominence they gained in the social milieu of Bengal, along with their radical disregard for prevalent caste and gender restrictions (reflected in the leveling of social distinctions and free interaction between men and women of all castes), which marked communal activities like the feasts and congregations of the sect, made them objects of intense controversy and provoked ambivalent responses among the upper-caste elites. Some progressive high-caste elites, such as Jayanārāyaṇ Ghoṣāl, the zamīndār of Bhukailas in Calcutta, and the reform-minded poet Nabīncandra Sen, were impressed by the “harmony of Scriptures” in Dulālcāṅd’s songs. Many among the orthodox Hindus, on the other hand, attacked them viciously and branded them as fraudsters luring people, especially gullible women, by faking miracles and leading them astray. Orthodox detractors like the poet and composer of religious hymns (pāñchālī), Dāśarathī Ray, wrote satirical pieces on the Kartābhajās in which he ridiculed their reverence for Ḍālimtalā: “They don’t speak the name of God; they don’t walk on the path of devotional love, /Their only holy object is the dirt at the base of the Pomegranate tree!” (Urban 2001b: 142). With social opinion tilted strongly against them, especially among the orthodox echelons of Smārta Brahmans, Kartābhajā leaders and hagiographers who aspired to claim greater social respectability by purging the scandalous allegations associated with the sect came up with diverse discursive strategies for legitimizing their heterodox rituals. They did this by developing alliances with powerful patrons who enjoyed immense respectability as champions of Brahmanical orthodoxy (Sau 2017: 35). A Kartābhajā legend recounting Satīmā’s clash with Rājā Kṛṣṇacandra Ray, the eighteenth-century feudatory chief of Nadiā, which is widely circulated in hagiographies as the origin-narrative of one of their unconventional annual rituals, is illustrative of this agenda. As the narrative goes, Satīmā received divine instruction that the Kartābhajās were to observe Ratha or the chariot ceremony, a significant annual event for Vaiṣṇavas in Bengal due to Caitanya’s intimate associations with Lord Jagannāth, the royal deity of Purī (a major pilgrimage town in eastern India). They were to perform the ceremony in the lunar month of Baiśākha instead of the conventional custom of observing it in the month of

From Matriarch to Divine Mother 27 Āṣāṛha. Furthermore, instead of the Jagannāth triad, they were to place icons of Rādhā-Kṛṣṇa, a Nārāyaṇ-śīlā (a stone symbolizing the deity Nārāyaṇa in an aniconic state) and the quilt and footwear of Āulcāṅd on the chariot. When Kṛṣṇacandra, under whose jurisdiction Ghoṣpāṛā was located, heard of the arrangements, he forbade such a ceremony as it would violate the scriptures, but Satīmā continued with the preparations, defying Kṛṣṇacandra’s orders. On the day of the festival, Kṛṣṇacandra himself arrived to stop the event, ̣ commanding the assembled devotees to refrain from pulling the chariot. As the legend goes, Satīmā asked her six-year-old son Dulālcāṅd to sit on the chariot and told the monarch that as the sovereign of the land, the chariot would follow his orders should he request it to move. On his command, the chariot is said to have moved through divine volition without being pulled by the ropes, leaving Kṛṣṇacandra impressed. He is believed to have gifted them with generous land-grants, a chariot for the ceremony, and had also bestowed the ritual title of devamahānta upon the young Dulālcāṅd (Sau 2017: 34; Pāl, S. 1990: 203–209). The historicity of this encounter is difficult to verify even though the Kartābhajās did manage to secure generous patronage and five hundred bighās of land from Kṛṣṇacandra when Dūlālcāṅd was under seven years of age. Joel Bordeaux argues that Kṛṣṇacandra made the unusual decision of supporting a controversial group like the Kartābhajās at the same time as he was financing an orthodox branch of the Vaiṣṇavas “with an overt brahmanizing agenda.” This was a ploy to “play the ends of the Gaudiya Vaiṣṇava spectrum against .  .  . the more conventional Caitanya-centric groups who were .  .  . the real competitors to the [Śākta] traditions the raja wanted to spread” (Bordeaux 2015: 130). Whatever the motives of the Rājā may have been, Kṛṣṇacandra had acquired a legendary reputation as an ideal Hindu king with his support of Smārta Brahmans of Navadvīpa. He was also known as a champion of Śākta Hinduism, as the patron of the illustrious Śākta poets Bhāratcandra and Rāmprasād Sen and for pioneering the public worship of the goddesses Durgā, Kāli and Jagaddhātri. Securing his patronage was a major feat revealing the political astuteness of Satīmā and paving the way for the financial affluence of the Kartābhajās. She even secured patronage from Kṛṣṇacandra’s rival, the neighboring Rājā of Bardhamān, who gifted her an elephant and resources for its upkeep (Sau 2017: 35). It is not unlikely that the tale of the conflict between Kṛṣṇacandra and Satīmā is an exaggerated version of their encounter and subsequent negotiations. The role Satīmā constituted for herself (or was ascribed to her by some of her Kartābhajā hagiographers recounting this incident) sheds some insight into the gendered notions of spiritual agency operating within the sect. As is the case with other narratives related to Satīmā, she is believed to have used her miraculous ability to mediate between the divine and mortal realms to win the Rājā’s approval for a ceremony, which was overtly subversive of orthodox conventions. Not only was the timing of the ritual subversive, but she also substituted a prominent Vaiṣṇava deity with the relics

28  Arkamitra Ghatak of a Muslim fakir and her own young son Dulālcāṅd, a sadgop low-caste boy. Once Satīmā’s intuitive connection with divine will triumphs over the śāstric hegemony that the Rājā represents in this account, Kṛṣṇacandra is said to have given royal sanction for the annual observance of this akāl Ratha Utsab (untimely chariot festival). In doing so, he thereby bestowed upon this ‘invented ritual’ of Satīmā the same legitimacy enjoyed by the league of his own religious inventions in public goddess-worship which, contrastingly, were performed in strict accordance with Vedic and Tāntric conventions.7 Thus, while mounting a direct challenge to the ritual dominance of the orthodox upper-caste Vaiṣṇava Gosvāmis, Satīmā co-opts Kṛṣṇacandra, the sovereign of the land, as an (reluctant) ally in her magico-ritual act by conceding that the chariot will move only when he orders it. It is significant that despite being the protagonist of this encounter herself, Satīmā does not claim divinity for herself but for her son, whom she posts on the chariot as Āulcāṅd reborn, and who receives the hereditary ritual title of devamahānta from Kṛṣṇacandra. In the process, she casts herself (or is cast by her hagiographers) firmly in the instrumental but somewhat subordinate role of the intermediary, whose ability to mediate between the cosmic and mortal realms bridges together the spiritual sovereignty of the divine embodied in the future Kartā Dulālcāṅd and the temporal authority of Kṛṣṇacandra.8 6.  Deification as Discursive Strategy The institutionalization of a new ritual tradition in the form of the Ratha Utsab had implications in terms of the subsequent developments in Kartābhajā theology. As mentioned before, Sarasvatī Devī acquired prestige by popularizing the idea that Dulālcāṅd was a reincarnation of Āulcāṅd, born six years after the former’s death as a result of the fakir’s promise to be reborn as her son. Dulālcāṅd and other nineteenth-century Kartābhajās, who sought to counter the disrepute of their community as a bastion of hucksterism and superstition, re-molded the theology of the sect, drawing upon eclectic sources but investing it heavily with Vaiṣṇava overtones. As a result of this, Āulcāṅd came to be identified with Kṛṣṇa-Caitanya in later Kartābhajā narratives, which in turn divinized the identity of Dulālcāṅd as Kṛṣṇa-Caitanya in his capacity as the reincarnation of Āulcāṅd. Following the literary and ritual conventions of Gauḍiya Vaiṣṇava theology propounded by the followers of Caitanya, the deities of the Kartābhajās were reframed in terms of the cosmic geography of the Kṛṣṇa-Caitanya manḍala.9 The manḍala was a crucial organizational principle derived from Buddhist, Tāntric and Vaiṣṇava traditions, by virtue of which the Vraja pantheon (the divine associates of Kṛṣṇa who were part of his cosmic play, including his parents, brother Balarāma and cowherd friends) could be yoked to and replicated in the form of the companions of Caitanya, deemed as the avatāra of Kṛṣṇa. The underlying implication of the manḍala paradigm was that whenever Kṛṣṇa descended from his celestial abode Golok into the mortal plane as an avatāra, a cluster of

From Matriarch to Divine Mother 29 his divine associates also reincarnated with him (Stewart 2011). Satīmā thus came to represent Sachīmātā, the mother of Caitanya (Pāl, S. 1990: 142), and Dulālcāṅd and Bāṅkāchāṅd were identified with the Kṛṣṇa-Balarāmā and Caitanya-Nityānanda dyad. The charismatic persona of Satīmā and her position within the Kartābhajā sect were far too prominent for comparisons to stop at the figure of Sachīdevī, whose role in Vaiṣṇava hagiology is limited to that of a grieving mother of a world-renouncing Nimāi-Caitanya. Moreover, the detractors of the Kartābhajās often singled out the image of Satīmā as the refuge of the needy as their object of ridicule, mocking her claims of miracle-making as superstition. They projected her as the enabler of sexual promiscuity among the Kartābhajā women, even while challenging the legitimacy of her power on the grounds of caste. The satirical piece Jelepāṛār Saṅg betrays this scorn: A pure Muci [leather worker] by caste, I am Kartā Mā . . . ; The Barren woman to whom I show my Grace will hear the cry of a son! If a child-widow, wearing a Sari, becomes pregnant . . . When she takes refuge at my feet, she will have no fear! (Cited from Urban 2001a: 54) This discomfort of the orthodox section of Hindus with the figure of Satīmā, which fused Sufi, Christian and fertility-goddess images in her person, can be explained in terms of the threat it posed to the image of Hindu womanhood endorsed by contemporary Hindu-nationalist discourses. By the late nineteenth century, the Hindu revivalist agenda, which had become intimately tied up with the nationalist project, had constructed the female body as a “vehicle of its cultural authenticity” by firmly inscribing it within the delineated boundaries of Hindu scriptural tradition (Sarkar 2001: 235). The legitimate position of the ideal Hindu woman was within the confines of the inner sphere of the household, where she was to protect the sanctity of Hindu religiosity and moral order, uncorrupted by alien influences like Christian proselytization and Western education. This coincided with political mobilization along communal lines in response to colonial policies and increasing Hindu overtones within the nationalist discourse. By the early twentieth century, such developments led to frequent Hindu-Muslim hostilities and riots in eastern India, including Bengal, widening the fault lines between the communities. In such a social context, the liminality of syncretistic traditions like that of the Kartābhajās, which encouraged commingling and displayed the ‘fuzziness’ of folk religiosity, were perceived as threats to the sanctity of demarcated Hindu and Muslim communal identities. At the same time, women who did not submit to community discipline and their normative position within the inner sphere (antarmahal) (like the Kartābhajā women with their syncretic beliefs and undeterred presence in the public domain of Kartābhajā congregations) evoked fears of contaminating the caste and gender norms of the ritual

30  Arkamitra Ghatak domain. For the colonized elite suffering from the loss of political economy to the colonial rule of the British, the ritual sphere represented the only sovereign space left untainted by colonial hegemony. Women who transgressed and ruptured religious and public-private boundaries, therefore, were seen as doubly disruptive, both in straying from their normativized role as custodians of ritual purity and compromising the sanctity of the sovereign site of Hindu religiosity which embodied “the promise of” constructing a “future nationhood” along lines of a well-demarcated Hindu identity (Sarkar 2001: 228). This image of Satīmā, with its appeal among women and masses from diverse religious and caste backgrounds, became a very embodiment of the anxieties of the colonized Hindu elite, resulting in her disrepute as an “icon of superstition, hucksterism, and delusion of the poor” (Urban 2001a: 54). Such an image was a liability for the high-caste, urban bhadralok followers and admirers of Dulālcāṅd, such as his wealthy friend and disciple, progressivist Jayanārāyaṇ Ghoṣāl and Brahmo leader Vijaykṛṣṇa Gosvamī. Both of these intellectuals were impressed with the universalism and egalitarianism of Kartābhajā beliefs and practices which were transformed into a theology of reform by Dulālcāṅd, who was well-versed in Sanskrit, Persian and English and strategically attracted the reform-minded elites in early nineteenth-century Bengal. Later, as exploitative tendencies, succession disputes and ineptitude in successive kartās caused the sect to lose many followers to Christianity and damaged their public image further, the cult of Satīmā, centered around her tomb and the Ḍalimtalā, emerged as the singularly important node connecting the widely dispersed Kartābhajās with Ghoṣpāṛā. This factor, along with the anxiety to restore social respectability to the figure of Satīmā and the Kartābhāja creed, led to shifts in the portrayal of Satīmā in the theologies of the Kartābhajās in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries; the dowager matriarch was transformed into an avatāra of the Devī, the Great Goddess of the Śākta-Purāṇa tradition. Kubir Gosaiṅ, a guru and poet of the Sāhebdhanīs, a sub-sect of the Kartābhajās, thus invests Satīmā with a salvatory role of helping the distressed devotee cross the ‘oceans of the material world’ (bhabasāgar). He hails her as jagat-mātā or the ‘cosmic mother of the universe,’ therefore recasting Satīmā in terms of popular tropes derived from contemporary Śākta devotional poetry (Cited from Pāl, S. 1990: 142).10 Sumanta Banerjee assumes that ‘Satīmā’ was originally a colloquial abbreviation of Sarasvatī Devī’s name (Banerjee 2002: 133). However, as the following hymn composed by Pañcānan Adhikārī shows, Satīmā is explicitly identified with the Purāṇic goddess Satī, who committed suicide in protest against the insult to her husband Śiva, who was denied the invitation to a sacrifice arranged by her father. According to the mythical narratives, her corpse was subsequently dismembered and scattered across the Indic landscape, giving rise to fifty-one śakti-pīṭhs or zones of potent sacred power (Erndl 2004: 157–158). When Mahesvara split the body of Satī And the severed parts fell across Bhārata

From Matriarch to Divine Mother 31 Everyone knows fifty-one pīths have been mentioned, But the Śāstras say there are fifty-two, one having been left unrevealed. The key element was left attached to the Triśūl (of Mahesvara) It is the one that fell near the confluence of the three rivers. In the north-east of the Tribeṇī, the name of the place is Ḍubopāṛạ̄ Some say it is a secret pith, hence the name Satīmātā!11 The mūla bastu or key element at the edge of the triśūl (the trident of Śiva, with its phallic symbolism) hints at the esoteric sexual sādhanā of the Kartābhajās with its implicit allusion to the sexual union of Śiva and Satī, with the mūla bastu representing the yoni (vagina) of the goddess. However, the poetic imagery at the same time transforms the human remains of Satīmā entombed at Ghoṣpāṛā into the cosmic body of Satī and inserts Ghoṣpāṛā within what Diana Eck calls the “sacred geography” of India, as the 52nd śakti-pīṭh through an act of mythmaking.12 As Eck has shown, such claims of sacred sites connected to local goddesses being a śakti-pīṭh are quite common among the Śakti traditions of India. She calls it a “subscription myth” or “a story to which local Devī shrines have subscribed as a way of articulating the particular sanctity of their own place and connecting it with the larger systemic reality” (Eck 2012). However, the Kartābhajā claims are framed in the political context of the late nineteenth century, marked by the increasing identification of the Indian landscape as an ascetic mother-goddess, Bhārat-mātā. The discursive implications of such claims are therefore significant, as they mark the entry of the Kartābhajās into the Hindu nationalist discourse with the subtle framing of a land-goddessnationhood complex centered around the mūla bastu that Satīmā’s body at Ghoṣpāṛā represented. By the time the Satīmār Māhātmya (1918) was composed in the early twentieth century, from an intermediary in divine grace, which was how the historical Sarasvatī conceptualized her religious agency, Satīmā had been mythologized as Ādyā-Śakti, the metaphysical entity at the source of creation who had descended in the mortal frame as the savior of those in distress (Urban 2001a: 53). Such attributions of soteriological agency to Satīmā and her identification as the Great Goddess Devī situate her neatly within the folds of Śākta Hinduism while simultaneously elevating her from lowerorder folk goddess imageries. In the process of her transfiguration into a form which could evoke the veneration of the Hindu middle class, the liminality and the syncretic underpinnings of the religious agency exercised by the historical Sarasvatī Devī, which earned her the ire of Hindu elites, are glossed over. Such erasure becomes evident towards the end of the text of Satīmār Māhātmya, a hagiography which by its very name betrays the process of Sanskritization, evoking the Purāṇic text Devī-Māhātmya, which is popular among the high-caste Śāktas of Bengal. Miśra self-professedly responds to the allegations by “modern ignorant haters of religion who call the Kartābhajā creed a deviant innovation” by obscuring the historical mother-guru. He asserts that the epithet kartā mā does not refer to a person but the state of

32  Arkamitra Ghatak yogic theophany when the kunḍalinī (the esoteric power within the human body) meets the paramātmā or Supreme Reality (Miśra 1918: 22–23). It is noteworthy that such shifts in the Kartābhajā theologies of Satīmā emerge in the context of late nineteenth- and twentieth-century Bengali cultural universe, which came to be ideologically charged with Śākta devotionalism as the contemporary Hindu nationalist discourse deified the fledgling nation as mother-goddess in their struggle against colonialism. Md. Dilwar Hossain remarks that the rapid Hinduization13 of the sect as reflected in the deification of Satīmā can be attributed to the demographic changes that took place around Ghoṣpāṛā during the Partition of colonial India in 1947. A sizable number of original inhabitants of the region who were Muslims migrated to East Pakistan and were replaced by Hindu refugees coming in from East Bengal; they came to inhabit much of the land that belonged to the premises of the Kartābhajās (Hossain 2016). Additionally, Sipra Mukherjee argues that with the reform and modernization of Hinduism and Islamization in Bengal during the late nineteenth century, the oppression against Kartābhajās by the Brahmins decreased. This encouraged the sect to soften its “rebellion against orthodox Hinduism” and draw closer to the mainstream as “one of the successful popular Hindu sects that incline towards Vaishnavism” (Mukherjee 2014: 306–307). However, while deifying Satīmā as the Devī through the avatāra paradigm, neither are the gendered morphologies of cosmic and religious roles within the Kartābhajā theology deconstructed, nor is the Vaiṣṇava framework adopted by Dulālcāṅd discarded. Miśra emphasizes that the main purpose of the descent of the Devī as Satīmā is not to act as a messiah herself but to give birth to the primary messianic agent, Dulālcāṅd, who was to restore the cosmic balance in the world14 (Miśra 1918: 4). Even as she is transmuted from a fluid icon combining a folk goddess and Sufi pīr into the unambiguously Hindu Great Goddess, the function of Satīmā and the socially prescribed religious role for women within the sect remains that of intermediation. Be it that of facilitating the descent of the male messiah or of connecting the male practitioner to the divine as a sexual partner in esoteric and exoteric rituals, such a role remains inevitably secondary to the agency and significance of the Kartābhajā male15 (Urban 2001a: 89). It is worth noting that in recent years, the historical figure of Satīmā has started gaining some attention in popular culture, with a rising interest in Baul and other folk religions of Bengal. The traveler-writer Mimlu Sen writes: Satima, a simple village woman of the mid-nineteenth century, became famous for her sharp wit and lacerating tongue: a vac siddha woman. For she raised the delicate and explosive issue of the balance of power between sexes, accusing the Bengali upper classes of surrendering to their colonial masters. She said that Bengali men, feminized by the presence of their British colonists . . . incarcerated their daughters and wives, all the while indulging in debauchery and alcohol. To me, . . .

From Matriarch to Divine Mother 33 having observed the life of the women of rural Bengal . . . it seemed that nothing had changed even now. (Sen 2010: 121–122) Such reconstructions demystify her persona from ‘goddesshood’ but tend to transform her into a feminist anti-colonial icon. Such efforts, however interesting, are more representative of the aspirations of the twenty-firstcentury urban Bengali middle class than her historical agency as a low-caste female religious leader seeking to bolster the prestige, cohesion, and financial prospects of her sect by employing her charismatic abilities. 7. Conclusion I have underscored in this chapter how Sarasvatī Devī, a low-caste woman who became the leader of a syncretistic sect due to the death of her husband and the minority of her son, employed her miraculous abilities and charismatic personality to attract a following among the disadvantaged and marginalized members of society (i.e., the poor, sick, disabled, and barren women) who flocked to her for improvements in their worldly condition. Her strategic proclamation of her son as the divine avatāra of the Sufi founder of the sect secured continuity when the sect was on the verge of collapse. She also managed to mediate alliances with powerful patrons like Kṛṣṇacandra Ray, which helped to constitute a hereditary patrilineal religious fiefdom for her descendants and bestowed legitimacy on the heterodox rituals of the sect, which were openly subversive of Brahminical scriptural hegemony. In subsequent parts of the chapter, I have shown how the image of Satīmā and notions of her spiritual-religious authority underwent slippages in Kartābhajā hagiographies as a response to slander and the changing communal and ideological context of the late nineteenth-and early twentieth-century Bengal. The historical Sarasvatī embodied a role that fused Sufi and folk goddess traditions, therefore catering to the sensibilities of the multireligious subaltern devotees who were drawn by her charismatic authority to the sect. In the course of generating social prestige for the Kartābhajā community, later male hagiographers inscribed her firmly within the Hindu tradition as an avatāra of the Great Goddess. However, the intra-cult gender dynamics of the sect required that even as a source of Supreme Power, the matriarch and the female members of the sect embrace a subordinate mediating function that keeps the position of the male practitioner and kartā dominant. Drawing on the methodologies of intellectual history and intersectionality, I  have moved beyond ahistorical dichotomies of inversion and subversion and treated female religious agency as a set of strategies, simultaneously subversive and co-opting, which a low-caste female actor employs to navigate the hierarchies of caste and gender and claim her position within the domain of religious authority in South Asia. The chapter also reveals the difficulties of

34  Arkamitra Ghatak recovering agencies of historical female leaders whose liminal acts of resistance and appropriation of authority through heterodox methods are often obscured by their hagiographers, who tend to over-write them with idioms approved by mainstream religiosity in a search for legitimacy. I  have thus underscored how concepts of female religious agency are constructed, exercised and altered in keeping with shifting socio-political contexts. I therefore argue through this chapter that the religious agency of women needs to be treated as a context-sensitive concept by showing that the terms in which it is enacted and encoded are strongly linked to the caste, gender and political dynamics which mark the ideological contexts in which women operate and are commemorated. Acknowledgments An earlier version of this chapter was presented at the online workshop “Female Religious Leaders and Dynamics of Female Agency in Religious Settings in South Asia” convened by the Department of Cultural and Religious History of South Asia, South Asia Institute, Heidelberg in August 2020. I am grateful for the remarks and feedback provided by the fellow participants, panelists and audience members in the course of the workshop which have helped shape the arguments I  make in this chapter. I  have also immensely benefited from the detailed comments and feedback by the editors of this volume in the course of sharpening and polishing the arguments I make in this chapter. I am also incredibly thankful to my supervisors Prof. Dr. Ute Hüsken and Prof. Dr. Hans Harder as well as other professors and colleagues at the South Asia Institute, Heidelberg and Heidelberg Center of Transcultural Studies, whose comments and discussions from time to time have greatly informed the insights produced here. I am particularly thankful to Prof. Dr. Michael Radich and Prof. Dr. Joachim Kurtz, as well as my fellow participants of the online workshop on Academic Writing in English organized by the HCTS in May 2021, for their suggestions on the quality of academic writing in the chapter. The material for this essay was collected on field trips at Ghoṣpāṛā, West Bengal in February and March 2020 which were funded by the German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD) as a part of my ongoing Doctoral Project. Notes 1 It seems likely that this collection of levy was inspired by the landlord-peasant relationship in colonial Bengal, with the peasant-tenant paying khājna or rent to the landlord for tilling and inhabiting the land and as a mark of his submission to his authority. The religious authority of the Kartābhajās was modeled upon this relationship with the guru, hailed as kartā and representing the master to whom the disciple owed his loyalty and servitude materially represented in the form of the monetary tribute. The fact that this tribute was paid to the Kartā Mā perhaps

From Matriarch to Divine Mother 35 reflects that Sarasvatī was entrusted with the financial responsibilities of running the establishment at Ghoṣpāṛā by her husband. 2 This metaphorical language or tyākśāli bol (language of the Mint) used by Dulālcāṅd employed metaphors of mercantile terms from contemporary colonial Calcutta, including that of the British East India Company calling themselves the Gorib Kompānī (the Company of the Poor) in contrast to the old Company, which represented orthodox Vaiṣṇavism with its caste and gender hierarchies in which the marginalized sections of society had no place (Urban 2001a: 8). The usage of metaphorical language, however, was part of the wider Sahajiyā ritual practice, which, as Glen Alexander Hayes argues, “allow for a visualized inner cosmos and body that is construed in terms of the metaphors” and the “religious adept . . . engages, and responds to, such metaphoric worlds as coherent reality not at all fictive illusion” (Hayes 2005: 24). 3 A section on the cult of Satīmā is included in Pradyot Kumar Maity’s comparative study on human fertility cults and rituals in Bengal (Maity 1989: 141–144). 4 This sacralization of the mud of the pomegranate tree goes beyond a symbolic association and implies a continuum between the deified body of Satīmā and the space where she had acquired her divine powers, which is believed to have been charged with the same sacredness and healing potential as her body. 5 Scholars like Sudhir Chakrabarty, while crediting Āulcāṅd, Rāmśaraṇ and Dulālcāṅd as leaders of the sect, almost overlook the contribution of Sarasvatī Devī, except briefly mentioning that she led the sect after the death of her husband and then again after the demise of her son (Chakrabarty 1985: 33). 6 As Md. Dilwar Hossain has shown, the egalitarian and syncretic nature of the Kartābhajās helped them gain popularity in Ghoṣpāṛā and neighboring regions which were inhabited by a large number of poor Muslims, tribes and low-caste Hindus, mostly sadgops, the caste to which the Pāl family belonged (Hossain 2016). 7 Ranjit Pāl compares this akāl Rath Utsab with akāl bodhan or the untimely evocation of the Goddess Durgā in autumn for the Durgā Pūjā, a prominent festival in Bengal whose beginnings are also intimately associated with Kṛṣṇacandra in ̣ public memory (Pāl, R.K. 1990: 65). 8 The Ratha festival has important political implications as it marks a deity as the cosmic sovereign of the land, surveilling his protectorate of devotees on a chariot procession. The original Rathayātra of Purī reveals intimate ties between the royal cult of Jagannāth and the Gajapati kings of Purī who drew their legitimacy as servitors of Jagannāth, the ‘Overlord of Orissa,’ as is evident from the ritual of chera pahamra in which the king sweeps the chariot of Jagannāth as a mark of his servitude (Kulke 1980: 31). Though their relationship was far from that of servitude, by acceding to Dulālcāṅd the right to preside over the chariot, Kṛṣṇacandra officially sealed the already existing Kartābhajā discourse of the overlordship of the Kartā over Ghoṣpāṛa and the body of the Kartābhajā disciples introduced by Dulālcānd’s father. 9 Tony Stewart has argued that the dhāma and manḍala principles allowed the Gaudiya Vaiṣṇava community to perpetuate itself by reconstituting the devotees in a congregation in terms of the Kṛṣṇa-Caitanya manḍala (Stewart 2011). This ritual convention, in my perspective, helped later Vaiṣṇava sects like the Kartābhajās to insert themselves into the Kṛṣṇa-Caitanya manḍala through the avatāra paradigm of the repeated reincarnation of Kṛṣṇa and his associates. 10 ebār jagatmātā satīmā bine/bhaba pārer upāy ār dekhine/ekbār badan tule cao ma netra mile/dāke dīner adhīn ei sontāne. Kubir Gosaiṅ cited in Pāl, S. (1990: 142). 11 Pañcānan Adhikārī cited in Pāl, S. (1990: 142).

36  Arkamitra Ghatak 12 While alternative scriptures give different numbers for śakti-pīṭhs, the most prevalent notion, which is alluded to in this hymn, is that of fifty-one sites enumerated in the Pīṭhanirnaya of the seventeenth-century text Tantracūdāmani (Eck 2012). 13 Hinduization reflects the process by which the heterodox and syncretistic elements within the Kartābhajā traditions were overshadowed and replaced by dominantly Hindu religious concepts and practices. 14 Hugh Urban highlights the similarity of this idea with the immaculate conception of the divine child Jesus by the Virgin Mary, even suggesting that “in his theological doctrine of Dulālcāṅd as the divine incarnation of Kṛṣṇa-Caitanya, with Satīmā as his holy mother, Miśra was trying to construct a kind of Indian answer to the Christian Virgin and holy Child” (Urban 2001a: 53). 15 Hugh Urban has similarly argued that while opening up limited possibilities of empowerment and increased social capital for women by giving them rights to guruhood and participation in public rituals, Kartābhajās did not ultimately conceive of any roles for women that did not “optimize and intensify the superior power of the male” (Urban 2001a: 89).

References Banerjee, Sumanta (2002): Logic in a Popular Form: Essays on Popular Religion in Bengal. Calcutta: Seagull Books Private Limited. Bordeaux, Joel (2015): The Mythic King: Raja Krishnacandra and Early Modern Bengal. PhD diss., Columbia University, USA. Chakrabarty, Sudhir (1985): Sāhebdhanī Sampradāy Tāder Gān. Calcutta: Pustak Bipaṇi. Eck, Diana L. (2012): India: A Sacred Geography. New York: Harmony Books. Erndl, Kathleen M. (2004): Śākta. In The Hindu World (ed. by Sushil Mittal and Gene Thursby). New York: Routledge, 140–161. Hayes, Glen Alexander (2005): Contemporary Metaphor Theory and Alternative Views of Krishna and Rādhā in Vaishnava Sahajiyā Tantric Traditions. In Alternative Krishnas: Regional and Vernacular Variations on a Hindu Deity (ed. by Guy L. Beck). Albany: New York State University Press, 19–32. Hossain, Md. Dilwar (2016): Drifts of Defiance: The Kartabhaja Sect in Bengal. Café Dissensus, July  19, 2016. Accessed November  20, 2020. https://cafedissensus. com/2016/07/19/drifts-of-defiance-the-kartabhaja-sect-in-bengal/ Kulke, Hermann (1980): Rathas and Rajas: The Car Festival at Puri. The Journal of Orissan History, 1(1), 28–39. Maity, Pradyot Kumar (1989): Human Fertility Cults and Rituals of Bengal: A Comparative Study. New Delhi: Abhinav Publications. McDaniel, June (2004): Offering Flowers, Feeding Skulls: Popular Goddess Worship in West Bengal. New York: Oxford University Press. Miśra, Manulāl (1918) [1325 B.S.]: Satīmār Māhātmya. Calcutta: Indralekha Press. Mukherjee, Sipra (2014): An Exploration of Multi-Religiosity within India: The Sahebdhani and the Matua Sects. In Multiculturalism and Religious Identity: Canada and India (ed. by Sonia Sikka and Lori G. Beaman). Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 301–317. Oddie, Geoffrey A. (1995): Old Wine in New Bottles? Kartabhaja (Vaishnava) Converts to Evangelical Christianity in Bengal, 1835–1845. The Indian Economic and Social History Review, 32(3), 327–343.

From Matriarch to Divine Mother 37 Pāl, Ranjit Kumār (1990) [1397 B.S.]: Ghoṣpaṛār Satīmā O Kartābhajā Sampradāy. Calcutta: Asian Printers. Pāl, Satyaśiva (1990) [1396 B.S]: Ghoṣpaṛār Satīmā O Kartābhajā Dharma. Calcutta: Pustak Bipaṇi. Rebughini, Paola (2021): Agency in Intersectionality. Towards a Method for Studying the Situatedness of Action. Socio (Online), 15. Accessed April 20, 2022. https://doi. org/10.4000/socio.11329 Sarkar, Tanika (2001): Hindu Wife, Hindu Nation: Community, Religion, and Cultural Nationalism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Sau, Amiya Kumār (2017): Satīmā o Sahajtattva. Kolkata: Subīr Kumr Pāl Devmahānta et al. Sen, Mimlu (2010): The Honey-Gatherers: Travels with the Bauls: The Wandering Minstrels of Rural India. London: Rider, a Random House Group Company. Stewart, Tony K. (2000): Alternate Structures of Authority: Satya Pīr on the Frontiers of Bengal. In Beyond Turk and Hindu: Rethinking Religious Identities in Islamicate South Asia (ed. by Bruce B. Lawrence and David Gilmartin). Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 21–54. Stewart, Tony K. (2011): Replicating Vaiṣṇava Worlds: Organizing Devotional Space through the Architectonics of the Maṇḍala. South Asian History and Culture, 2(2), 300–336. Urban, Hugh B. (2001a): The Economics of Ecstasy: Tantra, Secrecy and Power in Colonial Bengal. New York: Oxford University Press. Urban, Hugh B. (2001b): Songs of Ecstasy: Tantric and Devotional Songs from Colonial Bengal. New York: Oxford University Press.

2 Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus From Housewives into Founders of Guru-Bhakti Communities Michal Erlich1 1. Introduction I always touch the feet of Śrī Rājmātā first, for she is my guru and god . . . it is because of her śakti [power] that we have kalyāṇ [well-being] and we walk on the right path of bhakti.2 —Śrī Rājeśvarānand Śrī Rājeśvarī Devā Jī is more than my guru; she paves our life-path. Going to her is embarking on a pilgrimage (yātrā). She is śakti, the supreme provider of kalyāṇ.3 —Kaem Singh

This chapter explores the life journeys of two female gurus in Delhi— Rājmātā (1934–1999) and Rājeśvarī Devā (b. 1960). Both women were born into upper-caste kṣatriya families.4 In accordance with the traditional gender norms of higher-caste girls, they were destined for a housewife’s life, far from the public eye, and not for the life of a saint, let alone that of a guru leading an urban community. Their marriages were arranged without their consent at a young age, which caused them physical and mental suffering. As wives, they fulfilled their domestic and worldly duties (sāṃsārik dharm), served their husbands well, bore children, and took care of all the chores. They migrated to the poor peripheries of Delhi from their rural birthplaces for different reasons at different times. Rājmātā came to Delhi from Pakistan in 1947, during partition, while Rājeśvarī Devā followed her husband, whose career took him from Himachal Pradesh to the city. Being women in patriarchal society, migrants, and of the lower socio-economic class, they suffered from what Kimberlé Crenshaw coined as “intersectional disempowerment” (1991: 1245). However, in spite of the convergence of multiple forms of inequality and disadvantage in and around them, they transformed themselves into powerful and beloved gurus while they were settling into the city’s peripheries. In that transition, they found for themselves well-being, or—as they call it—kalyāṇ, and became a source of kalyāṇ for others.5 DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-3

Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus  39 Rājmātā funded the guru-bhakti community Śrī Rājmātā Jhanḍevālā Mandir (hereafter RMJM) in the neighborhood of Shahdara in East Delhi in the 1970s. Rājmātā and her community members are devotees of Vaiṣṇo Devī (also known as Jhanḍevālī), who is one of the manifestations of the goddess Durga. The community is now headed by Rājmātā’s fifty-year-old son, Śrī Rājeśvarānand. Rājeśvarī Devā is the founder and leader of Śrī Siddha Bābā Bālak Nāth Mandir (hereafter BBNM) in the neighborhood of Chhatarpur Extension in South Delhi. As the name implies, she and her followers are devotees of Bābā Bālak Nāth, an incarnation of Skanda (also known as Kārttikēya), the elder son of Pārvatī and Śiva.6 Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā are “hyperlocal gurus” in the sense that they are unknown outside the boundaries of their neighborhoods, or beyond a few streets surrounding their houses. Moreover, numerically, their communities comprise only several hundred devotees. This research is based on more than two years of fieldwork (during 2015–2017 and 2019) with both the communities. Hyperlocal guru-bhakti communities in the peripheries of India’s megacities, such as RMJM and BBNM, are a pervasive yet under-researched phenomenon. The existing academic scholarship on the topic of guru-bhakti tends to focus on famous, pan-Indian, international, wealthy hyper-gurus,7 such as Sathya Sai Baba and Mata Amritanandamayi, and on their numerous middle- and upper-class followers.8 This chapter is a part of my larger project on the everyday lived religion of small, peripheral, hyperlocal, and intimate guru-bhakti communities, aspiring to join the existing research in filling this knowledge gap.9 The gurus and devotees of these communities belong to the lower socioeconomic classes and often live in poverty. Like the gurus, devotees are mostly domestic migrants from North India. They have different cultural backgrounds, castes, and mother tongues. Still, they make up a community, sharing the hardships of the lower classes.10 In Delhi, as I came to know, female gurus are quite often the founders and leaders of such smallscale, marginalized, urban communities. When asked about their attraction to and participation in guru-bhakti communities, devotees of Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā told me time and again that their guru possesses kalyāṇ and has a divine śakti (power) to help others achieve complete (pūrā) kalyāṇ. The Hindi kalyāṇ is close, yet not equivalent, to the English term ‘well-being.’ Kalyāṇ is an essentially holistic, ideal state of being that encompasses both worldly and religio-­spiritual gains. The gurus and the devotees include three main spheres of life in kalyāṇ: (1) physical and mental health; (2) economic prosperity and social security, including employment, access to social services, and education, as well as upward mobility; and (3) religious and spiritual conduct and goals, such as fulfilling religious duties and living a righteous (dharmic) life, achieving inner peace (śānti) and eternal bliss (ānand), and even attaining soteriological goals such as mokṣ (liberation from endless rebirth) or union with the divine (Erlich 2022).11 On many occasions, as in the quotes that begin this

40  Michal Erlich chapter, devotees express their belief that only their guru can pave the path to god and pūrā kalyāṇ. The gurus provide kalyāṇ to their devotees through what we can label as religious capital, i.e., blessings, miracles, rituals, charms, mantras, and spiritual guidance as well as social capital, i.e., the gurus’ local network of businesspeople, politicians and police, doctors, and lawyers. The gurus and devotees do not perceive these two channels as separate. Thus, the gurus are believed to help devotees with all kinds of physical problems such as infertility and severe health issues, with mental and spiritual problems such as possession by a spirit, a tantric curse, and depression, and with other everyday struggles like unemployment, domestic violence and abuse, money distress, legal problems, and even housing shortage.12 This chapter asks how Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā, two common housewives, domestic migrants who were neither born nor nurtured to be religious leaders, gained such authority, established enhanced agency as the ultimate providers of kalyāṇ, and founded their own guru-bhakti communities. In order to explore how this surprising turn in their lives came about, I analyze the two gurus’ oral biographies, as they are narrated within their devotional communities.13 The focus of this chapter is not the performative aspect of the public telling and re-telling of the gurus’ biographies, even though such an act has a powerful effect on consolidating the guru’s agency and authority (DeNapoli 2014: 51–58). No doubt the two women’s agency and authority have more than one origin, such as their charisma, personal experience, intense devotion (bhakti), religious practice, care for their devotees, and even their theatrical ability to tell stories and sing bhajans (DeNapoli 2013). All these issues deserve careful attention and profound consideration. However, my specific interest is how agency and authority are explained and constructed in the communities’ vernacular discourse around Rājmātā’s and Rājeśvarī Devā’s life paths. What is the emic logic that explains their transformation from housewives into gurus? And what are the implications of the specific community narrative that emerges from the biographies for their devotees? The chapter is divided into four sections. The first section is an introduction to the mechanism that generates agency and transforms the housewives into gurus with a short theoretical discussion on agency. The second section narrates the biographies of Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā. The third section analyzes these biographies and argues for an associational model of hyperlocal female gurus’ agency and authority. The fourth section compares the case of the hyperlocal gurus’ authority with theories of hyper-gurus’ authority and examines the implication of the differences regarding the effect the biographies have on the devotees. 2.  Enhancing Agency: The Mechanism of joṛnā In this chapter, I argue for a model of self-made religious agency and authority grounded in the guru’s ability to establish herself as the focus of a network

Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus  41 of associations that transcend traditional gender boundaries without actually breaching them. The gurus and devotees at RMJM and BBNM use the Hindi verb joṛnā (to join, to unite) to describe the creation of different kinds of ‘auspicious and exceptional associations,’ which are both metaphysicalsoteriological and earthly. Joṛnā is the cognitive mechanism through which guru and devotees establish the associations between the four pillars of their community: guru, deity, sacred place(s), and devotees. In this four-fold association, the guru is the connecting medium, the center of gravity. As Jacob Copeman and Aya Ikegame put it, being “collectors of associations,” the gurus become vectors between divine and earthly domains (Copeman and Ikegame 2012: 17).14 In the communities’ collective imagination, the act of joṛnā generates transformation because it can expand something or someone beyond its ‘natural’ limits. By weaving new divine and social associations, the two ordinary housewives expand their self-definition and become goddesses, leaders, healers, teachers, the communities’ property owners, and gurus for many devotees. While the intersectionality mechanism limits their self-­definition and agency, the mechanism of joṛnā broadens them and thus establishes the gurus’ authority.15 The constant weaving of multiple associations (the mechanism of joṛnā) imbues the gurus with a new and enhanced agency—the power (śakti) to provide kalyāṇ. Agency here differs from the more classic definitions of feminist theories, which conflate agency with autonomy, free will, intentionality, and choice (McNay 2016). Often, ‘emerging agency’ is understood as the consequence of a conflict between the individual (or a group) and the society and its norms. For example, Naila Kabeer explains agency as “the ability to define one’s goals and act upon them” (how to earn a livelihood, whether to marry, when to have children, etc.) and as the power to live the way one wants even in the face of society’s opposition (Kabeer 1999: 437–438). Similarly, Meena Khandelwal in her book Women in Ochre Robes sees the agency of the female renunciates as their ability to live autonomous lives, which results from the rejection of their social role as devoted wives (2004: 200). Drawing on the anthropologist Tarini Bedi’s research on women in the Shiv Sena (political party), agency here is not an oppositional agency or “resistant” to broader social and religious structures of male power such as gender roles and castes. It is also not about feminist or anti-feminist, religious or secular stands (Bedi 2016: 13, 18). Rather agency is the “socio-culturally mediated capacity to act” (Ahearn 2001: 112, in Bedi 2016: 39). Similarly, according to Saba Mahmood, agency, or the ability to effect change in the world and in oneself, is culturally specific (Mahmood 2001). The meaning and sense of agency has its own immanent logic which emerges “through an analysis of the particular networks of concepts that enable specific modes of being, responsibility, and effectivity” (Mahmood 2001: 212). For that to happen, I use the most basic definition of agency—“the ability of individuals to have some kind of transformative effect or impact on the world” (McNay 2016: 39). In the peripheral guru-bhakti communities, the female gurus’ transformative effect is of a one specific kind: generating kalyāṇ within and around

42  Michal Erlich them. Hence, the gurus can be defined as kalyāṇic agents or as possessors of kalyāṇic agency. To define kalyāṇic agency, I find William Sax’s (2006, 2009) explanation and analysis of ‘healing agency’ to be constructive.16 According to Sax, Healing agency is always distributed in networks, among agents that are nonhuman as well as human, individual as well as collective .  .  . Agency is not exclusively a property of the doctor, the analyst, or the priest. It is also a property of the medications administered, the gods who afflict the patient with disease or help with its removal, the patient who agrees to wear the talisman or take the medicine, the circle of family and friends who confirm the diagnosis and participate in the cure—the list goes on and on. (Sax 2009: 133; see also Sax 2006)17 Much like healing agency, kalyāṇic agency is distributed among multiple agents—a deity, a sacred place, an individual devotee, and the whole community. The mechanism of joṛnā in the biographies highlights kalyāṇic agency as something which is rooted in “both individual and collective agency and circulates both as collective and personal self-definition” (Bedi 2016: 64). Flowing the mechanism of joṛnā also allows us to identify the focal points of this agency and the ways they assemble within the guru. The uniqueness of the two female gurus lies in their ability to weave around them new association (joṛnā) with all these (human and non-human) agents to gather, harness, and channel their powers. By doing so, they enhance their own agency in the specific form of kalyāṇic agency. 3.  Biographies of Transformations: From Housewives to Gurus The biographies of Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā are known by all their community members. They are stories that the gurus and devotees tell and retell in a particular way to other community members (and at times to outsiders) in everyday conversations and in special social and ritual contexts. Episodes from them are recounted in the gurus’ weekly public discourses (pravacan). Senior devotees retell them to newcomers. They have a ritualistic role in the communities’ founding-day celebrations (sthāpnā divas), annual pilgrimages (yātrā), and festivals. The gurus’ biography is a form of introduction and a source of pride, a story of success and achievement. As such, these narratives are the most accessible ones for outsiders and the first stories I heard, which everybody was pleased to tell. The gurus’ biographies are community narratives, i.e., stories about “the history of the community, explaining how it began, evolved and became what it is today, as well as narratives about important events and themes in the lives of typical and important members of the group” (Mankowski and Rappaport 2000: 481). Eric Mankowski and Julian Rappaport suggest that

Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus  43 an analysis of community narratives is a powerful and productive tool for understanding the specific fabric of a community, its power relations, and the transactional relationship between collective processes and individual lives (2000: 481). Community narratives also communicate to listeners the community’s nature, what makes it unique, and what one can gain from participating in it. Rājmātā’s and Rājeśvarī Devā’s biographies are syntheses of selective historical and wondrous events.18 They include events that the community as a collective has chosen to remember and that affirm the gurus’ authority and powers, such as miracles, possessions, and divine revelations. Mostly, narrators tend to highlight the gurus’ weaving of ‘auspicious and exceptional associations’ (joṛnā) and their enhanced kalyāṇic agency. In the peripheries of Delhi, among the lower socio-economic classes, devotees need a guru who can provide them with kalyāṇ. The retelling and rehearing of the biographies play a significant part in transforming the two housewives into gurus who are an abundant source of sacredness and kalyāṇ for their devotees. Devotees mostly told me parts of these biographies in connection with—and as explanations for—the miracles and positive transitions they have experienced, such as unexplained healing, sudden rehab from alcohol of a family member, and new employment opportunities. By narrating their guru’s biography, they explain and make present the existence of the sacred power their gurus embody, which has been instrumental in their own kalyāṇic transformation and will continue to facilitate ongoing transformation. In the context of the guru-bhakti community, the guru’s kalyāṇic agency and the devotees’ kalyāṇic future are co-dependent; the second cannot happen if the first is not established. Mostly, community members tell only fragments of their guru’s biography, assuming their audience has prior knowledge of the story.19 The relatively unified and cohesive linear accounts I present here were narrated to me at my request. Otherwise, the biographies are rarely told in one sitting or in a coherent manner that has a ‘beginning’ or an ‘end.’ I chose to provide full versions of the biographies as I recorded them (along with necessary edits). Rephrasing Robert Orsi’s definition of “lived religion” and how to study it, I  do so out of respect for “social agents/actors themselves as narrators and interpreters (and reinterpreters) of their own experiences and histories (1985: xx–xxi),” in the hope of providing them the stage they deserve and with the aim of giving the readers the chance to experience the effect of the biographies. While reading the biographies, I  suggest paying attention to the moments in which the narrators use the verb joṛnā and their usages of the noun kalyāṇ.20 3.1  From Rani Kapoor to Śrī Rājmātā Jī Mahārāj (1934–1999)

Rājmātā, the founder of RMJM, was born in Hafizabad, Pakistan as Rani Kapoor. She was the youngest of eight children. During the violent

44  Michal Erlich

Figure 2.1  Rājmātā. Courtesy of her son Rājeśvarānand.

India-Pakistan partition in 1947, she fled with her family to India, where they settled in the refugee camp of Kashmiri Gate, Delhi. Due to poverty, she was married off at the age of fourteen and moved to her in-laws’ one-room apartment, where she continued to face many difficulties. The following narrative of Rājmātā’s life journey is based on the account of the Guru Rājeśvarānand,

Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus  45 the youngest son and successor of Rājmātā, and it holds some of the most popular episodes of her life. At the time of the partition, people were extremely miserable . . . It was so bad that parents were killing their daughters by throwing them into wells or getting them quickly married to another household. When the Kapoor family came to India, they were struck by extreme poverty. Immediately their daughter, Rani, was married off to Dariyalal Vohra, a fruit and vegetable seller, at the age of fourteen. After the birth of her first daughter, Rani began suffering mental (mānsik) and physical (śārīrik) illnesses (rog) due to bearing a child at too young an age. She had TB [tuberculosis] and also what people today call ‘depression.’ Dariyalal decided to take Rani to the cave shrine of Vaiṣṇo Devī at Katra [Jammu] to bow (māthā ṭeknā) before the goddess, as she was suffering multiple illnesses for a long time. It was well known that Vaiṣṇo Devī can cure all kinds of sickness and provide kalyāṇ to her followers and whoever visits her cave. After the arduous climb of fifteen-twenty kilometers on the mountain called Trikuṭā, Rani entered the cave tired and exhausted. There Rani stood in front of Vaiṣṇo Devī’s three piṇḍīs [outcropping stones manifesting the goddesses Mahālakṣmī, Mahāsarasvatī, and Mahākālī]. At first, she said, “I do not see any Devī, but only rocks” and refused to conduct pūjā [ceremonial worship] and receive darśan [auspicious sights].21 At that moment, Vaiṣṇo Devī and Rani got united (juṛ gayī) and became one (ekjuṭ ho gayī). The Devī entered (praveś ho gayī) with all her supernatural powers (alaukik param-śakti) into Rani’s heart, mind, and body. For forty days, Rani was semiconscious, shaking, fainting, and experiencing extreme mood swings that we call caukī (possession).22 During those days, it was not clear to her family what was going on and whether it was a case of mental illness, possession by a ghost, her own drama, or the goddess. When her condition stabilized, she and her husband returned to Delhi. In Delhi, Dariyalal Vohra and Rāj Rani [her new name after she visited Katra]23 maintained marital relations. With gaps of one to two years, she gave birth to eight children. She performed all her earthly responsibilities (sāṃsārik dharm) as a mother and a wife, taking care of cleaning, cooking, washing, and bearing children. Simultaneously, she also followed a religious practice (pūjā paṭh) by conducting all-night vigils (jāgraṇ), devotional gatherings (satsaṅg), and possessions (caukī). Whenever she heard drum beats or devotional songs (bhajan), her head started swiveling (jhūmne lagā).24 Her husband used to be annoyed with this, her own parents and brothers told her to stop this drama, and her in-laws told her to earn money for the family rather than waste time.

46  Michal Erlich Nevertheless, there was no way of stopping Rāj Rānī’s religious path. At times, she was so poor that there was not even an incense stick around, so she used to tear pieces of her dupaṭṭā25 to light lamps in pūjā. Because she was so connected (juṛī huī thī) to the cave of Vaiṣṇo Devī, she took a vow to visit it every year. Once, she even sold her gold chain (maṅgalsūtra) in order to get there. Gradually, life continued. Some people believe that she is connected (juṛī huī haiṁ) to Vaiṣṇo Devī and a true saint. Rāj Rani performed powerful miracles that gathered many devotees around her. Whatever wish one had was fulfilled (pūrī hotī thī) by coming to her. People with severe illnesses became healthy. Very poor people got money and property after coming into her shelter (śaraṇ). People who had legal cases pending in court received swift favorable outcomes. Childless couples were blessed with a son after coming to her feet (caraṇ). She was completely selfless. She even gave her own baby girl to a childless female devotee!26 They all joined her (juṛ gaye), served her (sevā kī), and said, “She has power (śakti)” and “She brings kalyāṇ.” They made her their guru (nām liyā),27 united with her (ek ho gaye the), and named her Śrī Rājmātā Jī Mahārāj. In 1979 she left her in-laws’ home and established the first Śrī Rājmātā Jhanḍevālā Mandir [RMJM] in Kabool Nagar [neighborhood of Shahdara]. Today, when I do darśan of Śrī Rājmātā I see Vaiṣṇo Devī; when I do darśan of Vaiṣṇo Devī I see Śrī Rājmātā. It is like that. They are one and I am united (juṛā hūṁ) with both of them. Yet I always touch the feet of Śrī Rājmātā first, for she is my guru and god . . . It is because of her I sit today on this guru throne (gaddī).28 3.2  The Becoming of Sant Śrī Rājeśvarī Devā

The guru Rājeśvarī Devā, the founder and leader of BBNM, is a tall, impressive woman, with a severe appearance and powerful presence. However, she is compassionate and always has a kind smile for her troubled devotees. She looks straight at those around her and listens intently to their words. She tends to be impatient with disturbances and gets upset in the face of devotees’ inappropriate behavior. She is always dressed in a long, saffron-colored, cotton kurta, a petticoat, and a headdress of the same color and fabric. She also wears a necklace of Śiva’s seed-beads (rudrākṣa mālā) and a gold charm (sīṅgī).29 Unlike Rājmātā, whose biography I collected from her family and devotees, Rājeśvarī Devā narrated her own life story to me. Given that she is only sixty years old, her biography remains unfinalized and lacks the mythological quality of Rājmātā’s story. However, it offers a first-person perspective on the path she has taken, and a window through which we can glance at the ways she constructed her own agency and authority. I  recorded this during two personal interviews with her:

Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus  47

Figure 2.2  Rājeśvarī Devā. Courtesy of the BBNM temple foundation.

I have been united (juṛī huyī hūṁ) with Bābā Jī [Bābā Bālak Nāth] since a young age. I was six years old when I saw a photo of Bābā Jī at the house of my uncle. Suddenly I  heard a voice saying, “You are mine; I am yours” (tū merī maiṁ terā). Who spoke? I did not know at that time. But since that moment I am connected (juṛī hūṁ) to him . . . Every day, I went to my uncle’s home to stand in front of Bābā Jī’s picture . . . There I got śānti (peace of mind) and śakti.

48  Michal Erlich Years passed like that, and the moment of my marriage came. The wise men (mahāpuruṣ) told my father, “Do not get her married, for her heart belongs to god.” But my father did not believe them. He arranged my marriage forcefully and against my will because a daughter of a sāheb [honorable man] cannot remain like that, unmarried. After the wedding, I experienced lots of troubles and sufferings. I only wanted to close my eyes and sit. I did not know anything about this [meditation]. When I was sitting, I had no idea what was happening to me. I was not conscious . . . When I opened my eyes, my husband’s family members were knocking on the door from the outside. They were angry, scolding, calling me mad and all kinds of names—it was really bad. Sometimes, in the winter, they would pour cold water on me while I was sitting by the open window in deep meditation, but I did not feel a thing. I used to work the hardest, take care of everything. I took care of all my responsibilities and much beyond. I  would say to my in-laws and my [own] family, “Who is suffering on my account? I am fulfilling all my responsibilities toward my extended family and all those who are related to me. Where is the problem? If for a little while something happens to me, can you not just leave me alone? Why do you torment me?” In my life I have played every role. I have played the role of daughter, daughter-in-law, mother, and wife—I have played all these roles and, according to me, I have played them well. I gave birth to two sons and fulfilled my duties as a wife and a mother. But these people would not listen. They would say, “She is crazy.” They took me from place to place in order to make me all right. Some of them thought that there was sickness (bīmārī) or some supernatural force (ūparī chīj), like an evil power (daitya śakti), upon me. While we were going from one place to another, we met a saint (mahārāj). He said, “She has divya śakti [divine power] in her.” He cautioned them that they would have to accept it, or else they would face much suffering. After that meeting, I started shaking (kampan) and having vibrations for the first time. I realized that the thing which is in me is divya śakti. I searched further in me to know, “What is this?” The first time Bābā Jī came to me, he said, “You must give kalyāṇ to all people. You should sit [in meditation]. You do not need to do a thing. Even if you will give a pinch of sand to someone and this person will take it with a true heart then he or she will achieve kalyāṇ.” So I just give a pinch of ash (bhabhūtī),30 a few dos and don’ts, and it works. The śakti of Bābā Jī does the real work. I do not do a thing. The power31 inside me is god, śakti is god, kalyāṇ is god. Because of this power, whatever thing I give to people generates kalyāṇ in them. If I say something to them or put my hand on them or just look at them, they receive kalyāṇ. After Bābā Jī came to me, the Mahārāj Jī said that “You have to go on the religious path or you will not know peace (śant) . . . You are united (juṛī hain) with him [Bābā Bālak Nāth] now.”

Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus  49 Everything I know is from within me (andar se). I read books, but I do not get much understanding from them. Only if I realize a thing from within do I  believe it. Mantras come to me in my dreams. The secret mantra with which I cure (ṭhīk kartī hūṁ) people came to me in a dream once upon a time. To some people, I chant this mantra over the phone, and they get cured. I moved with my husband from Sarkaghat [Himachal Pradesh]32 to Delhi in 1978. He got a job as a clerk in the customs department, and we stayed in a government apartment at Pushap Vihar. I  started my satsaṅg (community of devotees) from there . . . In the beginning there were thirty-forty people, and gradually there were a hundred and more. Later I was united (juṛī huyī thī) with this place [BBNM] in Chhatarpur [2005]. Bābā Jī himself guided me here from his cave [in Diyoṭsiddh, Himachal Pradesh]. This place is full of power . . . Every Sunday, hundreds come for satsaṅg. They have all been united with me (juṛe hue hain), here they get kalyāṇ. I keep on working for others, I do not live for my own sake. It is all for the sake of the people. For everyone’s kalyāṇ. All kinds of people come here—the dumb, the blind, so many barren women. A couple who did not have a child for twenty years got a son. They all had so many treatments and operations, but then they came here, and they were immediately cured. Those who had an issue of a ghost (pret bādhā) or the ones who had a problem in the body (tan) or in the mind (man) or with finance (dhan), they were all cured.33 I have complete, unwavering faith (aṭūṭ bharosā) and indestructible belief (aṭūṭ viśvās) in him [Bābā Bālak Nāth]. I am united with him (juṛī huyī hūṁ). He said to me, “You have to do the sevā of the people, to give them kalyāṇ.” Therefore, I must give time [to devotees] and lead a simple life. This path is open to all, not only to me. We are all part of the supreme being (paramātmā). It is our duty to give sevā, to perform sādhanā (religious practice). It is the only way to kalyāṇ.34 4. Self-Made Deified Gurus: The Art of Weaving Auspicious Associations I suggest that the biographies of the two women have the perlocutionary effect of imbuing them with kalyāṇic agency. The biographies sketch a larger movement in the life of Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā; that is, from passivity to enhanced agency, from lack to plenitude, from distress to well-being, from housewife to powerful religious leaders. Thus, the biographies also create a dichotomy between being a housewife and a guru. In their guruhood state, Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā are constructed as achievers of kalyāṇ and as gurus who have a profound kalyāṇic impact on others. The proof of their own kalyāṇic accomplishment is their recovery from mental, physical, and social distress; their ability to influence and improve the lives of others in

50  Michal Erlich favorable ways; the gathering of devotees around them and the establishment of a community; their becoming financially capable as the owners of a temple building and other community property. Kalyāṇ, as a holistic state that covers all aspects of human life, is manifested through the almost-legendary triumph of the two housewives in all aspects of life. Yet achieving kalyāṇ is not enough for becoming a guru. Rather, it is the ability to provide kalyāṇ for others, just like the gods do, that makes these women gurus or kalyāṇic agents. The mechanism of joṛnā is what generates the women’s kalyāṇic agency. Gradually, as the narratives progress, the verb joṛnā is used to mark the creation of new metaphysical-soteriological and earthly associations between each woman and a deity—and subsequently with sacred places, individual devotees, and finally with a whole community. These associations are the plot’s catalyst since they mark moments of the gurus’ self-transformations. As young women, Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā were associated only with their families and households as proper women of their age and caste. In that stage of life, the biographies depict them as mostly passive with almost no agency, i.e., no ability to influence their own lives or the lives of others. They were married against their will, gave birth against their will, and were taken from one place to another. Each new association expands these women’s identity beyond their earlier, limited, unidimensional definition as housewives and enhances their power (śakti) to provide kalyāṇ for others. As the focus of these associations, they contain, mobilize, and channel the powers of the other (human and non-human) agents, and in doing so, transform their own lives and deeply influence the lives of others. The following paragraphs analyze these associations and their agentic potential. The first, most emphasized and repeated association is the soteriological union with the divine. From a theological, religious perspective, the gurus’ intimate association with the community’s deity is the source of their power and authority. The salvific moment of their union with the divine transformed them from disturbed and subaltern women into gurus imbued with the power (śakti) to generate kalyāṇ. In that dramatic episode in Katra’s cave, Vaiṣṇo Devī “entered with all her supernatural powers into Rānī’s heart, mind, and body.” Devotees believe that thenceforth, “Śrī Rājmātā is united (juṛī huyī hain) with Vaiṣṇo Devī.” Similarly, Rājeśvarī Devā uses the verb joṛnā to describe her union with Bābā Bālak Nāth and his divine powers. She often says, “I am united (juṛī huyī hūṁ) with Bābā jī.” Narrators also tend to validate the guru-deity association by emphasizing similarities between guru and goddess. Just as the deities work miracles and heal devotees, so do the two gurus, who dedicate all their efforts to the kalyāṇ of their community’s members.35 Devotees often state that “just like the goddess, Śrī Rājmātā took personal care (sevā krī) of her devotees” and ascribe to her the goddess’ supreme power (param-śakti) and ability to bring about kalyāṇ to those who worship her. The intense guru-deity association is also manifested in their direct communication with the deities and the orders they

Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus  51 receive from them. Rājeśvarī Devā asserts that Bābā Bālak Nāth instructed her “to do the sevā of the people, to give them kalyāṇ” and that “the śakti of Bābā jī does the real work. I do not do a thing.”36 The biographies reinforce the association between gurus and deities by telling of ritual performances in which the gurus embody the deity. In the case of Rājmātā, devotees refer to those moments as caukī, because Vaiṣṇo Devī “took a seat” in her. Senior devotees at RMJM often recall Rājmātā moments of possessions. For example, Satya Sharma, an eighty-year-old devotee, told me while narrating her guru’s biography that Mā jī and the Devī were united (juṛe hue the) in that cave. I saw her many times [during possessions] in her original shape (rūp) as Vaiṣṇo Devī before my eyes (sākśāt darśan) . . . When the Devī entered Mā jī (praveś kartī thī), she was the supreme power (param-śakti) .  .  . We only asked for her blessings (āśīrvād) by placing our heads to her feet (māthā ṭeknā), and we all got kalyāṇ.37 The senior devotees also describe how, during devotional songs (bhajan) for Vaiṣṇo Devī, Rājmātā’s head would spin ecstatically, her body move around in circles, her hair flew loose, and her voice changed, indicating that the Devī was possessing her. For her devotees, in times of caukī, Rājmātā was Vaiṣṇo Devī, the supreme power (param-śakti). She provided them with a real (sākśāt) darśan of the Devī and fulfilled all their wishes. Rājeśvarī Devā refers to moments of intense union with Bābā Bālak Nāth as “vibrations.” She tends to use this English word as well as the parallel Hindi word kampan. According to her, in moments of religious worship of Bābā Bālak Nāth, the devotees’ body intensely vibrates: “When a devotee’s mind-heart (man) is fully connected (juṛte hai) to god, an uncontrollable ticklish feeling spreads throughout the body, which causes the vibrations.”38 Rājeśvarī Devā’s vibrations can be subtle and tender or extremely ecstatic, as her whole body shakes until her hair is loose.39 The second association that the biographies establish is between a guru and the mythological dwelling place of the community’s deity in the far Himalayas. As pilgrimage destinations for hundreds of years which still attract countless devotees, these sites have the supreme authority of sacred places imbued with the deity’s qualities and the power to generate kalyāṇ. Through her association with the sacred place, the guru becomes a living embodiment of the sacredness and kalyāṇ of that place. Devotees of Rājmātā often state that “she was connected (juṛī huī thī) to the cave shrine [of Vaiṣṇo Devī],” which is reflected in her unbreakable vow to go on a pilgrimage there every year, even at the cost of selling her gold wedding jewelry (maṅgalsūtra). Years later, Rājmātā transformed the basement of her temple in Shahdara into the cave shrine of Vaiṣṇo Devī, which devotees believe to be as genuine and sacred as the mountain cave. Similarly, Rājeśvarī Devā connection to Bābā Bālak Nāth’s cave-shrine in Himachal Pradesh was so powerful that the deity

52  Michal Erlich guided her from there all the way to the specific place in Chhatarpur, where she established the community’s temple and another similar cave-shrine. The third association is between each guru and her devotees. In the biographies, devotees are united with the gurus and follow them as a direct result of the gurus’ ability to provide them with kalyāṇ. Devotees and gurus almost always use the verb joṛnā to describe their relationship. When devotees say, “I  am connected (juṛī/juṛā hūṁ) with Guru Mā Jī for twenty years,” they mean they received initiation from her twenty years ago. In RMJM and BBNM, gurus and devotees believe that the ritual of initiation is a moment of sacred and intimate union between a guru and a devotee, which is mutually binding for life.40 Knut Axel Jacobsen notes that the ability to provide initiation is “central in the definition of the guru,” as it is only gurus who are allowed to initiate others (Jacobsen 2018). Creating such long-term, binding relationships is the basis for a guru to establish a community and exercise her role as a guru. The auspicious guru-bhakt association is a source of kalyāṇ not only for the devotees but also for the gurus. After devotees connect with a guru, they donate property, money, time, labor, and useful networking, which are necessary to consolidate the guru-bhakti community. Thus, the devotees are a powerful kalyāṇic resource for the gurus’ personal economic growth, which is a sign of the gurus’ achievement of the earthly, material aspects of kalyāṇ. Ideally, these resources are employed for the welfare of the community— food and clothing for the needy, medical treatment for the sick, and education for the children. As the community grows, the gurus are associated with more people and create around them a network of connections with local police, politicians, hospitals, lawyers, and potential employers. Thus, when a devotee is in trouble, they can pull strings and provide help. Devotees consider this kind of material assistance to be a manifestation of the guru’s kalyāṇic power, an expression of her mercy (kṛpā), a prasād (an auspicious propitiatory gift), and even a miracle (camatkār). The one-time act of creating the associations is not sufficient for establishing the two women’s authority as gurus. Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā create associations and constantly maintain them by retelling their own stories and conducting related rituals. They maintain their association with the divine by performing repeated possessions and immersing themselves in devotional practice. They maintain their association with the pilgrimage site by traveling there repeatedly and even reconstructing it around them in Delhi. Both gurus transformed their Delhi abode into the ‘original’ pilgrimage site by establishing the cave-shrines of the deities within the communities’ temples. The gurus’ associations with devotees are institutionalized through initiation rituals, weekly communal gatherings, one-on-one meetings, and their readiness to exempt the devotees’ problems personally. As discussed here, they also maintain their own family’s associations and identities as mothers and wives.

Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus  53 4.1  Being a Guru and a Housewife Mā [Vaiṣṇo Devī] came to Rājmātā in a dream She said, ‘the path you have chosen is hard, Like walking on the sharp edge of a sword, To walk this path as a householder is an even more difficult task.’ —Narendra Chanchal41

Rājmātā’s and Rājeśvarī Devā’s family ties are an additional association that they did not initiate, but rather chose to keep. As we can see in their biographies, the two housewives’ journeys were laden with family struggles and their transformation into gurus closely follows their physical departure from their in-laws’ houses. This separation is a crucial moment in the narratives. Their families did not believe in their association with the divine. They saw their odd behaviors as the result of disease, evil possession, mental illness, or ‘drama.’ As they continued to establish new associations, tension intensified between their identity as housewives and their new identity as powerful gurus. This tension is evident in many of the biographical episodes. For example, Rājmātā handed over her newborn daughter to a barren devotee. In other episodes that were not narrated here, devotees proudly tell how she never abandoned a religious commitment for a family crisis, even during the various episodes of the sudden deaths of her daughter, husband, and son-in-law. In her biography, Rājmātā destroys symbols of marriage in favor of her religious practice: she set her dupaṭṭā on fire to worship the goddess because she did not have money for oil lamps (dīyā) and sold her gold wedding jewelry (maṅgalsūtra) to pay for a pilgrimage. Similarly, Rājeśvarī Devā often tells of her in-laws’ abusive behavior towards her. During an interview at their home, she said, “My family members do not understand me to the extent I  would like them to. Their lack of understanding is natural. I  just think, How can I  help them? What is my role in that situation? and fulfill it.”42 Rājeśvarī Devā also never wears a maṅgalsūtra (auspicious thread) around her neck as most married women do, but rather a necklace of Śiva’s seed-beads (rudrākṣa mālā), stating that her highest commitment is to divine rather than worldly relationships. However, as Ute Hüsken argues, in the context of women’s religious agency, “an important challenge is to recognize . . . ‘agency’ as present in both resistance and assertion, which often go hand in hand” (2022: 14). In both cases estrangement from the family was not definite or absolute. Rājmātā’s and Rājeśvarī Devā are not renunciant. Both proudly embraced their identity as housewives and fulfill worldly duties (sāṃsārik dharm) as women, wives, and mothers. In the model that emerges from their biographies, local female guruhood is located in the social world and not in renunciation. Renunciation here is not a condition for guruhood. Rājeśvarī Devā herself, family members, and devotees of both gurus emphasize these women’s ability to

54  Michal Erlich fulfill all worldly duties as wives and mothers. Rājeśvarī Devā states, “I had to get married, have children, raise them, and get them married. These are my saṃskārs, duties of the current birth.”43 Becoming gurus, goddesses, leaders, healers, teachers, and community property owners only stretched the boundaries of Rājmātā’s and Rājeśvarī Devā’s initial identity. This balanced narrative of creating new associations while preserving and even nurturing previous ones is consistent with the idea of achieving complete kalyāṇ. Being in a state of both earthly and spiritual well-being, Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā embody the ideal of kalyāṇ. They are married women and mothers who carried out their worldly duties, gained society’s respect, and have achieved economic abundance, as well as accomplished gurus who are united with the gods and their divine powers. 5.  Authority of Female Hyper-Gurus and Female Hyperlocal-Gurus The last part of this chapter looks at another perlocutionary effect that the gurus’ biographies have on the devotees who first listen and later narrate them. To do so, a brief comparison between the authority of female hypergurus and local gurus is needed. I  suggest that for the devotees, and even more so, the female devotees, the biographies of the local gurus are a source of empowerment and inspiration. As identified by scholars of South Asian gurus, such as Karen Pechilis (2012), Amanda Lucia (2014a), and Maya Warrier (2005), guru authority is mostly established through two paths: traditional authority or self-claimed authority. Traditional authority is the inheritance of a famous guru lineage (guru-sampradāya) or initiation into a prestigious guru tradition (paramparā/ gurukul) (Pechilis 2012: 114). As defined by Weber, it is the “authority of the ‘eternal yesterday’,” identified with the preservation of tradition, religious institutions, and priestly order (Weber 1946: 78). In the Indic context, this type of authority is mostly passed on from one high-caste male to another of the next generation, almost entirely excluding the lower castes and women. The self-claimed type of guru authority, as Lucia argues in Innovative Gurus (2014), is mostly based on personal experience. Contemporary independent and charismatic hyper-gurus in India, who develop pan-Indian and international movements, draw their authority less from traditional and inherited lines than from their own claims of religious mastery (Lucia 2014a: 241). Lucia demonstrates how much like Weber’s charismatic prophet, selfclaimed gurus (such as Sathya Sai Baba and Mata Amritanandamayi) must be innovative and creative to establish authority. This type of authority is used by both high- and low-caste gurus, both men and women. In the case of hyper-gurus, the self-claims of religious authority are reflected in their portrayal as more than human. Their biographies are imbued with mythical ideals and an overall spiritualization (Hallstrom 1999: 21). This tendency is connected to the avatār theory, in which gurus and saints are presented in hagiographies as living incarnations of gods on earth (Lorenzen

Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus  55 1983). Their presence among us is merely a part of their divine play (līlā) (Chatterjee 1993: 46–47).44 Warrier defines “avatār-gurus” as “divine incarnations whose life on earth is intended to address a specific worldly need or problem at this time of declining dharma (righteousness)” (Warrier 2005: 36). The authority of many gurus and saints since the nineteenth century has been established through avatāric claims (Mlecko 1982). The saint Ramakrishna (1836–1886) was portrayed as an avatār of Viṣṇu; Anandamayi Ma (1896–1982) was considered an incarnation of the Devī; and Mata Amritanandamayi and Satya Sai Baba are believed to be avatārs of the Devī and ŚivaŚakti, respectively (Warrier 2003: 255). In hagiographies, the gurus’ avatāric nature is made evident through multiple miraculous stories from early childhood and tales of exceptional states of consciousness (Hallstrom 1999: 25; Charpentier 2010: 221–222; Chatterjee 1993). For example, the rebirth of Vishnu in the form of Ramakrishna was announced to his father in a dream (Chatterjee 1993: 46–47). Mata Amritanandamayi was born with a beaming smile on her face and at six months walked and talked.45 Anandamayi Ma is said to have entered a trance state during gatherings of devotional chanting (nām-kīrtan) at the age of two (Hallstrom 1999: 25). Many female hyper-gurus draw their authority and legitimacy not only from personal experience and self-claims of being an avatār-guru but also, as Pechilis demonstrates, from their “refusal of the socially defined role of woman” (Pechilis 2012: 122). This refusal is mostly expressed in their rejection of a spouse (Pechilis 2004). Pechilis explains that “whether married, refusing marriage, or ignoring marriage, the female gurus put spiritual practice and teachings first. In rejecting sex as a definition of marriage, wife, and women, they also refuse to sexualize their identity” (Pechilis 2012: 123). As renunciates, the female hyper-gurus do not have children of their own, yet they use the title ‘Mā’ in their name, claiming the post-sexual authority of a mother for all their devotees. The title ‘Mā’ charges them with further authority, as it associates them with the goddesses who are also commonly called ‘Mā’ by devotees (Pechilis 2012: 123).46 Rājmātā’s and Rājeśvarī Devā’s biographies do not follow the female hyper-gurus’ model of authority. However, there are some similarities between the two cases. Most fundamentally, the female hyper-gurus and the hyperlocal ones have not been initiated into any prestigious guru tradition. They are self-made in the sense that the basis for the growth of communities of followers around them is their own claim to religious authority (Lucia 2014a: 241). As Antoinette DeNapoli argues in the case of local women sadhu-gurus, “they create their individual lived traditions . . . on their own and outside of established institutional structures” (2014: 20). In another case study, DeNapoli demonstrates how a local female guru by the name Trikal Bhavanta Saraswati drew her agency consciously and strategically on the claim of being svayambhū śaṅkarācāryā, self-made Śaṅkarācāryā, in contrast to being part of a male-dominated lineage (2022). It is also the case that, much like the hyper-gurus, Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā are seen by

56  Michal Erlich their devotees as more than human, as immediate sources of godliness, grace, sacredness, and power (Lucia 2014a: 242). Yet several crucial differences require us to formulate a different model for the hyperlocal gurus’ authority. Firstly, unlike the hyper-gurus, Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā do not claim to be avatārs. Their authority is not based on close identification with a specific deity from birth.47 Thus, there are almost no miraculous stories associated with their childhoods. On the contrary, as we have seen in the biographies, their authority is the outcome of their ability to establish kalyāṇic agency by creating new metaphysical-soteriological and earthly associations (joṛnā) throughout their adult lives. Secondly, unlike the avatār hyper-gurus, these hyperlocal female gurus are not associated with pan-Indian gods and goddesses such as Śiva, Viṣṇu, or Śakti. Rather, as hyperlocal and approachable gurus, they are associated with local and more accessible deities—Vaiṣṇo Devī and Bābā Bālak—who are themselves understood to be earthly manifestations of the pan-Indian gods Durga and Śiva, respectively. It seems that this kind of association is compatible with their ambitions. Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā do not aspire to be hypergurus or even small-medium scale gurus who will “change the direction of the world” (DeNapoli 2022: 233). Rather, these hyperlocal gurus are rooted in the immediate surroundings where they operate. Thirdly, unlike female hyper-gurus, Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā did not transgress their defined gender role and did not withdraw from their families. The gurus’ fulfillment of their housewife roles is a source of pride for the devotees, and it also gains the respect of the surrounding society, which is linked (even if not officially) to the ­community—the two housewives who transformed into gurus were not marked as women who fell out of their worldly duties (sāṃsārik dharm). Thus, the maintenance and care of the family association is another significant source of their agency and authority.48 These differences mark the new model of hyperlocal female gurus’ agency and authority, and moreover they transform the biographies into a manual of ‘how to become agentic’ for the devotees. The gurus’ biographies tell that every devotee can walk on a similar path. Unlike the hyper-gurus, who are said to be avatārs of the gods, and whom a devotee can thus follow but not emulate, Rājmātā’s and Rājeśvarī Devā were not born for their roles as a guru but rather achieved kalyāṇ on their own. Similarly, unlike female sadhus and gurus who took vows of renunciation, setting a path that goes against orthodox Hindu (even Brahminical) gender norms, Rājmātā’s and Rājeśvarī Devā did not renounce their family role as mothers and wives. The devotees are fully aware of this and often state that their guru was once just like them, suffering from illness and poverty, and then they proudly count her successes. The devotees conceive the gurus’ achievements to be within their reach, as they identify with the starting point of the gurus’ lives. Many of them cope with the hardship of migrating into the city, physical and mental illness, financial difficulties, and domestic distress. They approach the guru with the hope of improving their lives and achieving kalyāṇ. The gurus also

Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus  57 believe that their achievement can be emulated. In the words of Rājeśvarī Devā, “This path is open to all, not only to me. We are all part of the supreme being (paramātmā). It is our duty to give sevā, to perform religious practice (sādhanā), it is the only way to kalyāṇ.” It is clear that if the gurus were elevated from others as avatārs and sannyāsinīs (celibate renouncers), other women of the community could follow them but could not walk the same path. In the specific case of female devotees, the biographical narratives also provide social validation for other women’s participation in guru-bhakti communities. The path of Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā to kalyāṇ and guruhood did not require rupturing their existing social associations and renouncing family duties. Rather, it was a balancing act of fulfilling their duties towards their families as well as their deities and devotees. Moreover, the religious path that led them to kalyāṇ contributed to their families’ prosperity as they became a source of pride and income. The emphasis on this in the biographies provides legitimacy to other women to spend time outside their homes in order to visit the local temple, be a part of a guru-bhakti community, and engage in religious practice without being a source of concern for the family. Interestingly, as an afterthought, female devotees enter these guru-bhakti communities with almost no agency, just as the gurus had less agency early in their lives. In Delhi’s marginalized spaces, this is the result of intersectional struggles facing poverty, low caste, patriarchal norms, and migration. The life stories I have collected of female devotees suggest that they too form ‘new auspicious and exceptional associations,’ uniting with the guru, the community’s deity, sacred places, and other devotees. Thus, like the gurus, they enhance their agency and eventually achieve a higher level of kalyāṇ.49 Notes 1 Michal Erlich is grateful to the Azrieli Foundation for the award of an Azrieli Fellowship. She is deeply indebted to Ehud Halperin for his comments and valuable guidance. 2 Interview with Rājeśvarānand. RMJM temple complex, Shahdara, Delhi. Fieldwork notes, December  3, 2015. Rājeśvarānand rephrases here a well-known couplet by the famous sixteenth-century bhakti poet Kabir, saying, “Guru and God are in front [of me], whom should I bow to first? My devotion is [first] for the Guru, as it is he who led me to God.” This couplet is one of the most often repeated sayings of the bhakti tradition. It states that the guru is the main object of devotion for a devotee. All interviews and other fieldwork texts were recorded in Hindi, and translation is by the author. 3 Interview with Kaem Singh, BBNM temple complex, Chhatarpur, Delhi. Fieldwork notes, April 23, 2017. 4 Kṣatriya is a member of the second varṇa (social orders), which is associated with the ruling class and warrior aristocracy. Rājmātā was born into a Kapoor family, one of the Punjabi Khatri castes, and Rājeśvarī Devā was born to a Thakur family, one of the Kshatriya castes of Himachal Pradesh. 5 This chapter follows the call of Sarah-Jane Page and Andrew Kam-Tuck Yip (2020) to study religious setups through the prism of intersectionality alongside

58  Michal Erlich the complexity of religious identities. This chapter does so by looking into female gurus’ agency and authority. 6 Vaiṣṇo Devī and Bābā Bālak Nāth are popular regional deities in the areas of greater Punjab (Panjab, Haryana, Delhi, and parts of Himachal Pradesh). 7 I borrow the term hyper-gurus from Jacob Copeman and Aya Ikegame, who use it for high-profile, charismatic, popular, and extremely wealthy gurus (Copeman and Ikegame 2012: 4–5). 8 For example see Rudert (2017); Lucia (2014b); Srinivas (2010); Warrier (2005); Babb (1986). 9 This research joins the already-existing scholarship that examines contemporary local and small- or medium-scale gurus in other parts of India, among them: Kirin Narayan’s ethnography of medium-scale male guru of middle- and upperclass devotees in the town of Nashik (1992); Daniel Gold’s ethnography of a local male guru’s community in the Radhaswami tradition in Gwalior, Madhya Pradesh (2015: ch. 5); Aya Ikegame’s study on local gurus in Karnataka and their caste-based communities (2012); Antoinette E. DeNapoli’s ethnographic works on Rajasthani female sadhus and gurus (2013, 2014, 2019) and her work on the relatively small female guru, Trikal Bhavanta Saraswati, who fights for women’s rights from within the Hindu tradition (2022). However, the focus of these works is beyond mega-cities and that is a significant development. I find that hyperlocal communities living in the margins of mega-cities are still missing. 10 The members of these communities belong to all types of castes. Indeed, lower castes are more prone to poverty, yet being a member of the higher castes does not imply that they are also in the higher socio-economic classes in the urban space, governed mostly by the neoliberal economy. 11 For more on the concept of kalyāṇ in guru-bhakti communities and the spread of the term in the Hindi-Hindu public spheres during the twentieth century see Erlich (2022) 12 For more on the means to kalyāṇ and the path to kalyāṇ in such hyperlocal gurubhakti communities see Erlich (2022: 20–29). 13 I use the term ‘biography’ rather than ‘hagiography,’ which is an idealized biography of well-established saints. For the life stories of hyperlocal, small-scale gurus, the term ‘biography,’ which is free from additional meanings, is more suitable. 14 Copeman and Ikegame use “collectors of associations” in the context of hypergurus. They refer to such gurus’ agency as “expansive agency” and examine the ways gurus expand themselves through various mediums, such as association with multiple gods/goddesses and deities, extending their territory of influence, and using electronic media (2012: 13–20). In the case of hyperlocal gurus, I suggest “enhanced agency” to describe a less grandiose transformation, even if very substantial, and one that can be emulated by the gurus’ devotees, as discussed in the last part of the chapter. 15 The theological and soteriological ideal of ‘union with’ is inherent to Indic thought since the Vedic period. In the Brāhmaṇas, an epistemological system called bandhus (connection, association, tie) “establish(es) homologies among the various categories of existence” (Smith 2007: 211). One expression of this ideal is the Upaniṣadic identification and unification of the self (ātman) with “the all-important force that animates the world (brahman)” (Patton 2007: 46). The soteriological union (saṃyōga) between a devotee and a deity is at the heart of bhakti theology. Lord Krishna states in the Bhagavad Gītā (VI.15) that “the yogin whose mind is subdued goes to nirvana, to supreme peace, to union with Me (matsaṃsthām)” (Sargeant 2009: 286). 16 In his definition of ‘healing agency,’ Sax follows Ronald Inden’s (1990) description of ‘complex agent,’ which he uses for analyzing early medieval Indian political

Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus  59 formations, which consisted of individual persons’ agency as well as the agency of collective institutions and deities (Sax 2009: 94). 17 For further reading on the agency of non-human agents such as deities, places, rituals, and social systems see Ronald Inden (1990), William Sax (2006, 2009), and Ehud Halperin (2016). 18 James McClenon coined the term ‘wondrous events’ to refer to a variety of human experiences that defy scientific explanation and are the basis for religious ideologies (McClenon 1994). 19 In my PhD dissertation, I provide more episodes of the biography based on account of other family members and devotees and discuss the differences between the versions, their meanings, and implications. Due to length restrictions, I  do not elaborate on that here. 20 By retelling and analyzing the biographies of Rājmātā and Rājeśvarī Devā, this research also joins scholarship that examines the biographies of contemporary female gurus and their relationship to the phenomenon of Hindu sainthood, such as Lisa Hallstrom’s work on Anandamayi Ma (Hallstrom 1999), Maya Warrier’s (Warrier 2005) and Amanda Lucia’s (Lucia 2014b) studies of Mata Amritanandamayi’s organization, Angela Rudert’s recent work on Anandmurti Gurumaa (Rudert 2017), Marie-Thérèse Charpentier’s study of Indian female gurus (Charpentier 2010), and the volume edited by Karen Pechilis (Pechilis 2004). This chapter expands the boundaries of this new scholarly genre by focusing on hyperlocal female gurus, who are worshiped at the margins of Hindu society, far from the hyper-gurus’ limelight. 21 Darśan is the auspicious exchange of ‘seeing’ between a devotee and the divine. For more on darśan, see Eck (1981). 22 The word caukī (lit. seat or throne) is used to describe possession by the goddess Vaiṣṇo Devī. It is a state in which Vaiṣṇo Devī takes a seat, as it were, within a devotee. Caukī is also an evening gathering of devotees for bhajans and satsaṅg. In this case, the devotees invite the goddess to take a seat on the throne in the place of devotion. For more on the performance and ritual of caukī see Erndl (1993). 23 It is not clear whether she renamed herself or whether devotees started to call her Rāj Rani, recognizing her new identity and her union with Vaiṣṇo Devī. The title ‘Rāj’ (lit. king; lord, master, ruler) is often given to gurus, being the head of the community and the ones who sit on the guru-throne. 24 Rhythmic rotation of the head and loose, unbraided hair are physical manifestations of possession by the Vaiṣṇo Devī as well as other deities, and also by unwelcomed beings (Smith 2007). 25 A shawl-like scarf that is an essential part of the traditional Punjabi and northern Indian women’s outfit (shalwar kameez). It covers the entire torso and head of (usually married) women as a symbol of modesty. 26 The giving away of her daughter to a barren devotee is one of the most narrated episodes of Rājmātā’s life, as it proves her unending commitment to the wellbeing of her devotees. The child, who is now a woman, and her adopted parents are devotees in RMJM, and she is even an active volunteer (sevak). There are more episodes of Rājmātā’s life in which she prioritized her devotees over her immediate family. For example, she does not break a vow of silence and asceticism (maun vrat), even when one of her daughters suddenly dies during the 1984 Nav’rātri festival. 27 Nām lenā is an initiation ritual in which devotees receive a new name or a mantra from a guru. 28 Interview with Rājeśvarānand. RMJM temple complex, Shahdara, Delhi. Fieldwork notes, December  3, 2015. Surely the biography of Rājmātā provides

60  Michal Erlich Rājeśvarānand with the legitimization of inheriting the guru-throne and leading the community. I do not elaborate here on the issue of the inheritance of the guruthrone due to length constraints. 29 Sīṅgī is an open, pipe-like charm made of gold or silver. Gurus ritually chant mantras through it. Devotees wear it for protection from all evils. 30 Bhabhūtī (also vibhūti) is ash from a sacred fire (dhūnī) that the gurus use to protect and heal devotees. 31 Underlined words were originally in English. 32 Sarkaghat is in Mandi district, Himachal Pradesh. The family of Rājeśvarī Devā’s husband was originally from there. 33 Interview with Rājeśvarī Devā. BBNM temple complex Chhatarpur Extension, Delhi. Fieldwork notes, February 2, 2017. 34 Interview with Rājeśvarī Devā. BBNM temple complex, Chhatarpur, Delhi. Fieldwork notes, February 6, 2017. Interview with Rājeśvarī Devā. The house of Rājeśvarī Devā’s in-laws, Sarkaghat, Himachal Pradesh. Fieldwork notes, July 23, 2017. 35 The association between guru and deity also shapes the community’s identity as Śāktas, Śaivas, or Vaiṣṇavas, which in turn shapes its customs and festivals. It establishes an intimate and mutual bond between the whole community and its deity. 36 For more on female gurus’ divine duty of “doing god’s work” as a source of agency and authority, and on the rhetoric of “disclaiming agency,” i.e., acting on behalf of the divine, see DeNapoli (2014: 58–61). 37 Interview with Satya Sharma. Sharma’s home, Jagat Puri, Delhi. Fieldwork notes, May 16, 2017. 38 Rājeśvarī Devā’s Establishment Day public talk. BBNM temple complex, Chhatarpur, Delhi. Fieldwork notes, April 17, 2017. 39 Rājeśvarī Devā does not use terms associated with possession, nor does she speak in voices or converse during vibrations. This practice is vastly different from the hyper-gurus’ bhāvas (Lucia 2014: 76–82), as she encourages all members of the community to experience this union with the deity, and many of them often do. 40 In some traditions, individuals can receive initiation (dīkṣā) from more than one guru, whether they leave one guru and following another or simultaneously follow several gurus’ teachings. Other traditions, including those in RMJM and BBNM, favor total loyalty to only one guru (Jacobsen 2018). 41 A stanza from a devotional song composed and performed by the famous bhajansinger Narendra Chanchal about Rājmātā. 42 Interview with Rājeśvarī Devā. The house of Rājeśvarī Devā’s in-laws, Sarkaghat, Himachal Pradesh. Fieldwork notes, July 23, 2017. 43 Interview with Rājeśvarī Devā. The house of Rājeśvarī Devā’s in-laws, Sarkaghat, Himachal Pradesh. Fieldwork notes, July 23, 2017. 44 Amanda Lucia emphasizes the performative aspect of the avatār-gurus. Female gurus reveal their divine personas through bhāvas, the embodiment of the god or goddess by the guru (Lucia 2014b: 76–82). 45 See: “Amma’s Childhood—Amma, Mata Amritanandamayi Devi.” Online with Amma. Accessed December 6, 2020. www.amritapuri.org/amma/life. 46 While most female hyper-gurus are renunciates, meaning they are not married and have no children, there are other cases of medium-scale gurus of the middle class who live the life of a housewife. However, even in this case, as Marie-Thérèse Charpentier argues, one of the gurus’ strategies is to “subordinate married life to the role of spiritual master.” She adds that by “ejecting the role of a dutiful and virtuous wife, they gain the opportunity to assert their autonomy and agency” (Charpentier 2010: 299). 47 We can see this also in DeNapoli’s study of local female sadhu and gurus. In the case of the hyperlocal female Rajasthani sadhu-gurus, they are not believed to

Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus  61 be avatars; rather, they had developed “an intense relationship or ‘connection [dorī]’ ” with the god or goddess (2014: 58). In the case of the local guru Trikal Bhavanta Saraswati, she was not born into sainthood. She was a social welfare worker who took a vow of renunciation after her children grew up and completed their college studies (2022: 235–234). 48 Similarly, DeNapoli argues that Rajasthani female sadhu-gurus draw authority from domestic practices of caring for others, which she also refers to as “gendered performances of renunciant domesticity” (2013: 132). Thus the gurus’ practices of caring, loving, cooking, and serving their devotees “mirror the feminine values of care, community, and connection through which they readily constitute their leadership and authority” (2013: 130). Yet, unlike the hyperlocal gurus of Delhi’s peripheries, these sadhu-gurus are female renouncers, and their identity as sadhus is primarily based on their renunciation. 49 I discuss in detail this process of walking in the footsteps of the gurus in my PhD thesis.

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62  Michal Erlich Erndl, Kathleen M. (1993): Victory to the Mother: The Hindu Goddess of Northwest India in Myth, Ritual, and Symbol. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gold, Daniel (2015): Provincial Hinduism: Religion and Community in Gwalior City. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hallstrom, Lisa Lassell (1999): Mother of Bliss: Anandamayi Ma. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Halperin, Ehud (2016): Palanquins of the Gods: Indigenous Theologies, Ritual Practice, and Complex Agency in the Western Indian Himalayas. Religions of South Asia, 10(3), 300–323. Hüsken, Ute (2022): Introduction: Female Agency in Buddhist and Hindu Contexts. In Laughter, Creativity, and Perseverance: Female Agency in Buddhism and Hinduism (ed. by Ute Hüsken). New York: Oxford University Press, 1–22. Ikegame, Aya (2012): The Governing Guru: Hindu Mathas in Liberalising India. In The Guru in South Asia: New Interdisciplinary Perspectives (ed. by Jacob Copeman and Aya Ikegame). London and New York: Routledge, 46–63. Inden, Ronald (1990): Imagining India. London: Basil Blackwell. Jacobsen, Knut Axel (2018): Gurus and Ācāryas. In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism Online. Accessed December 6, 2020. https://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/ brill-s-encyclopedia-of-hinduism/guru-s-and-acarya-s-COM_9000000033?s. num=0&s.f.s2_parent=s.f.book.brill-s-encyclopedia-of-hinduism&s. q=diksa#d49798466e574. Kabeer, Naila (1999): Resources, Agency, Achievements: Reflections on the Measurement of Women’s Empowerment. Development and Change, 30(3), 435–464. Khandelwal, Meena (2004): Women in Ochre Robes: Gendering Hindu Renunciation. Albany: State University of New York. Lorenzen, David N. (1983): The Life of Sankaracarya. In Experiencing Siva: Encounters with a Hindu Deity (ed. by Fred W. Clothey and J. Bruce Long). New Delhi: Manohar Publications, 156–175. Lucia, Amanda (2014a): Innovative Gurus: Tradition and Change in Contemporary Hinduism. International Journal of Hindu Studies, 18(2), 221–263. Lucia, Amanda (2014b): Reflections of Amma: Devotees in a Global Embrace. Berkeley: University of California Press. Mahmood, Saba (2001): Feminist Theory, Embodiment, and the Docile Agent: Some Reflections on the Egyptian Islamic Revival. Cultural Anthropology, 16(2), 202–236. Mankowski, Eric S., and Julian Rappaport (2000): Narrative Concepts and Analysis in Spiritually-Based Communities. Journal of Community Psychology, 28(5), 479–493. McClenon, James (1994): Wondrous Events: Foundations of Religious Belief. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. McNay, Lois (2016): Agency. In The Oxford Handbook of Feminist Theory, 39–60. Accessed June 25, 2021. https://doi.org/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199328581.013.2. Mlecko, Joel D. (1982): The Guru in Hindu Tradition. Numen, 29(1), 33–61. Narayan, Kirin (1992): Storytellers, Saints and Scoundrels: Folk Narrative in Hindu Religious Teaching. New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers. Orsi, Robert A. (1985): The Madonna of 115th Street: Faith and Community in Italian Harlem, 1880–1950. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Biographies of Enhanced Agency and Self-Made Gurus  63 Page, Sarah-Jane, and Andrew Kam-Tuck Yip (2020): Intersecting Religion and Sexuality: Contributing to an Unfinished Conversation. In Intersecting Religion and Sexuality (ed. by Sarah-Jane Page and Andrew Kam-Tuck Yip). Leiden: Brill, 1–22. Patton, Laurie L. (2007): Veda and Upaniṣhad. In The Hindu World (ed. by Sushil Mittal and Gene Thursby). New York: Routledge, 37–51. Pechilis, Karen (2004): Introduction: Hindu Female Gurus in Historical and Philosophical Context. In The Graceful Guru: Hindu Female Gurus in India and the United States (ed. by Karen Pechilis). New York: Oxford University Press, 3–50. Pechilis, Karen (2012): The Female Guru: Guru, Gender, and the Path of Personal Experience. In The Guru in South Asia: New Interdisciplinary Perspectives (ed. by Jacob Copeman and Aya Ikegame). London and New York: Routledge, 113–132. Rudert, Angela (2017): Shakti’s New Voice: Guru Devotion in a Woman-Led Spiritual Movement. London: Lexington Books. Sargeant, Winthrop (trans.) (2009): The Bhagavad Gita: Twenty-Fifth-Anniversary Edition. Albany, NY: Excelsior Editions. Sax, William (2006): Agency. In Theorizing Rituals: Classical Topics, Theoretical Approaches, Analytical Concepts (ed. by Jens Kreinath, Jan Snoek, and Michael Stausberg). Leiden: Brill, 473–481. Sax, William (2009): God of Justice: Ritual Healing and Social Justice in the Central Himalayas. New York: Oxford University Press. Smith, Frederick M. (2007): The Self Possessed: Deity and Spirit Possession in South Asian Literature and Civilization. New York: Columbia University Press. Srinivas, Tulasi (2010): Winged Faith: Rethinking Globalization and Religious Pluralism through the Sathya Sai Movement. New York: Columbia University Press. Warrier, Maya (2003): The Seva Ethic and the Spirit of Institution Building in the Mata Amritanandamayi Mission. In Hinduism in Public and Private: Reform, Hindutva, Gender and Sampraday (ed. by Antony Copley). New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 254–289. Warrier, Maya (2005): Hindu Selves in a Modern World: Guru Faith in the Mata Amritanandamayi Mission. Abingdon, Ontario and New York: Routledge Curzon. Weber, Max (1946): Politics as a Vocation. In Max Weber: Essays in Sociology (ed. by H. H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills). New York: Oxford University Press, 77–128.

3 Women’s Ritual Expression and Religious Agency Om Śakti Communicating Innovation in Contemporary Hinduism Nanette R. Spina 1. Introduction On October  19, 2023, the beloved founder of the Adhiparasakthi Hindu tradition passed on leaving a remarkable legacy of humanitarian service in spirituality, education, and healthcare. The research for this chapter was conducted during Bangaru Adigalar’s lifetime. As this volume was already in production, I was not able to take into account the dynamics unfolding during and after his passing. The Hindu Adhiparasakthi tradition [Ātiparācakti (Tamil), Ādiparāśakti (Sanskrit)] known popularly as Om Śakti is also a vibrant transnational spiritual movement that overtly foregrounds women’s leadership and ritual authority. The mission objectives expressly focus on cultivating spiritual and psychological well-being, a practical dedication to improving conditions within human society, and a commitment to the educational and spiritual uplift of women (Natarajan 1997: 72; Chandrasekharan and Sambandam 2004: 196–197). A core aim of this spiritual movement is to serve humanity and actively work towards positive social change. Central to this tradition is the guru’s directive communicated through aruḷvākku (voice-divine), which has implemented an innovative structure of ritual authority instantiating women’s leadership and ritual performance within the tradition. This directive is practiced alongside an egalitarian discourse on nondiscrimination. The utterance of aruḷvākku or ‘divine-voice’ is generally understood by devotees as a source of guidance and healing from the Goddess Adhiparasakthi. This chapter foregrounds the ways in which humanitarian equity is promoted within the Adhiparasakthi organization and how this value has both modified and challenged traditional views of gender and religious authority from within a religious framework, expanding women’s religious expression and agency across transnational contexts. The central organizing principles in this volume focus on three themes: marginality/centrality, positionality, and intersectionality. In the following sections, I discuss the role of women’s ritual performance and leadership as a central aspect of this tradition. The prioritizing of women as ritual specialists/practitioners and leaders is a major focal point of this study as this DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-4

Women’s Ritual Expression and Religious Agency 65 feature is centrally significant among the transnational community. While Hindu women’s ritual authority has historically been marginalized in the public sphere, within the Adhiparasakthi movement (among others) we see a current within modern Hinduism actively and increasingly bringing women’s ritual leadership to the foreground (e.g., Babb 1984; Pechilis 2004a; Dempsey 2006, 2014; Narayanan 2000, 2005; David 2009; De Napoli 2014; Lucia 2014; Spina 2017a, 2017b). Historically, Hindu orthodox ritual authority has been the domain of male Brahmin priests, restricted according to śāstric tradition in both caste and gender. The Adhiparasakthi movement has implemented innovations in worship that include women’s ritual leadership as well as collective styles of ritual participation. Incorporated within the ritual repertoire are popular forms of puja in which performers participate individually within collective rites such as vilakku puja (Spina 2017a: 207). By inviting women to perform rites in the temple and implementing collective forms of worship, ritual authority and participation has been extended to a broader portion of society, removing a form of social discrimination (Spina 2018b: 139). While women are given priority as ritual performers, men are not excluded from these opportunities, and they do participate as well. Within this framework, women’s ritual authority and leadership also serve to demonstrate a form of protest against gender inequality in both social and religious domains. For women choosing to participate in this tradition as ritual performers and specialists (whether in India or abroad), they are not only expressing their religious agency, they are expressing their agency in a manner that departs from or runs counter to orthodox (śāstric) norms, (i.e., in ways that orthodox regulations do not permit). Moreover, they are doing so in the public space of the Mother temple and worship centers abroad. In this framework, ritual also serves to convey a language of innovation and collective values. As Catherine Bell comments, “Hence, rituals as a performative medium for social change emphasize human creativity and physicality: ritual does not mold people; people fashion rituals that mold their world” (Bell 1997: 73). Within the transnational Adhiparasakthi movement, this expression of gender equality and nondiscriminatory ethics, which is demonstrated through ritual daily, communicates both institutional support for women and a means of enacting this tradition’s particular interpretation of Hindu socio-cultural and religious values. 2.  Approach and Methodology My approach to the study of female leadership in Hindu tradition is based on a method of “dialexis” and “hermeneutics of intersubjectivity” (Sherma 2011: 2–3). Religious Studies scholar Rita Sherma refers to dialexis as “a form of intellectual engagement ‘across styles’ that takes as its starting point an adequate accounting of contextualized signification” (Sherma 2011: 2). The hermeneutical orientation of intersubjectivity approaches the ‘Other’

66  Nanette R. Spina “not just as an object of study, but also as a subject from whom one can learn” (Sherma 2011: 2). The ongoing projects with the American Adhiparasakthi communities and earlier data from 2017 field research in Toronto, ON combine mixed methods research including surveys (2017), participant observation, interviews, informal group discussions, ritual instruction, volunteer service with devotees, meetings with leadership, festival and ritual participation in India and North America (2019–2020), as well as participation on digital platforms, meetings and livestream events (during the pandemic in late 2020–2021). Additionally, I traveled to India in conjunction with these diaspora groups for festival and ritual occasions in 2019 and early 2020. Within my broader research, I focus on questions of ritual authority and who is entitled to wield it, as well as how perspectives on authority continue to be shaped and inculcated within religious groups. This research project has also been informed by a collection of source material compiled from the Adhiparasakthi organization and external sources. These materials include publications, temple histories (oral and published), newspaper and journal articles, pamphlets, newsletters, and web material drawn from American, Canadian, and Indian sources. My field research with the Adhiparasakthi communities has been as a scholar-participant interacting with regional groups in North America (Wisconsin, New Jersey, and Toronto, Canada) and at the main temple and cittar pīṭam (Skt. siddha pīṭha) in Melmaruvathur, India. I have used pseudonyms for all interlocutors. 2.1 Demographics

For general reference to the three Adhiparasakthi communities noted in this chapter, I have included a short demographics section. In Toronto, the majority of the Adhiparasakthi community migrated to Canada during the 1990s from Sri Lanka (although not all) due to the complexities of civil war and displacement (1983–2009). Canada, and Toronto in particular, currently hosts the largest Sri Lankan Tamil population outside Sri Lanka. Over time, the Tamil community has grown and established a thriving cultural enclave especially in the Scarborough district of Toronto where many Sri Lankan Tamils have settled. The Adhiparasakthi community is mainly comprised of first/second-generation immigrants and refugees, mostly from the Jaffna region. In recent years, the third generation has now established themselves within the broader Toronto community. Families have educated their children in Canada and sponsored additional family members from abroad through reunification efforts (Spina 2017a: 71, 259, 2018a: 63). In the United States, there are several Adhiparasakthi communities. I am most familiar with those in Wisconsin and New Jersey where they have recently broken ground for the construction of a new temple (Columbus, NJ) September 2023. While these communities are also largely Tamil, they are comprised mainly of immigrants from India (with a small percentage of

Women’s Ritual Expression and Religious Agency 67 Sri Lankans). This is largely due to variations in immigration laws between the United States and Canada. Among the Sri Lankan devotees with whom I have spoken, several said that they had moved to the USA from Canada primarily for career reasons and family unification. Within these immigrant communities there are first, second, and third generations. While some families are fortunate to have all three generations together in the same location through successful family reunification efforts, other families have family members, for example, parents (or siblings) who visit annually, traveling back and forth from abroad. The American communities tended to have a higher socioeconomic status than those in the Canadian context and the conditions for emigration were entirely different; many Sri Lankan Canadians migrated due to the civil war. The first-generation Indian immigrants in the United States (Adhiparasakthi communities) largely migrated as skilled professionals bringing family post-1965.1 At the Adhiparasakthi temple in India, one sees people from all walks of life including a socioeconomic spectrum, caste/class diversity, gender, age, nationality, and a cross-section of people from both urban and rural locations. Melmaruvathur is situated in the countryside with highway access to Chennai. There are many middle-class devotees and visitors to be sure, but not exclusively so. Serving the village communities in the area has always been an important objective. As I spoke with volunteers during festival time, a devotee from New York pointed out to me that at the cittar pīṭam “we are all serving together in collective efforts regardless of our caste/class or outside professions.”2 This point was again mentioned on another occasion by a group of diaspora devotees with implicit emphasis on the ethics of cooperation and the fulfillment they experienced working on special events and festival preparations together (Spina 2018a: 62). From my initial experiences on site, speaking with pilgrims and visitors, the constituency at the temple festival suggests a range of diversity in socioeconomic background, urban/ rural, age, gender, caste/non-caste, and geographically diverse groups, consistent with the vision and intent of the Adhiparasakthi organization’s directive on nondiscrimination. 2.2  Transnational Community and Communications

The transnational Adhiparasakthi network currently has centers in several geographic regions, including North America, continental Europe, the United Kingdom, Scandinavia (Sweden), Australia, Malaysia, Singapore, Sri Lanka, and Dubai (UAE), among others. The Melmaruvathur Adhiparasakthi temple is the site of annual religious festivals that draw tens of thousands or more from India and abroad. As such, devotees have opportunities to meet and/or sustain communication with associates over time. For that reason, this has been one of the primary means by which devotees themselves connect and maintain relationships across borders, now greatly enhanced by the use of digital communications.3

68  Nanette R. Spina The Melmaruvathur Cittar Pīṭam (Skt. siddha pīṭha) is the central sacred space for this tradition, while at the same time there are affiliate worship centers called śakti pīṭams/mandrams in India and abroad.4 As local worship centers maintain some form of social media or digital presence, lateral or non-centralized communications and collaborations are becoming more utilized as well. Such conversations have been orchestrated across borders and time zones with relative ease and with the use of digital media applications. In this regard, the way people connect and build community transnationally today is changing through the increasingly popular use of communications tech which seemed to be augmented during the Covid-19 pandemic (2020–2021). There are now live video and Zoom events (2020–2022) shared on media platforms and apps (e.g., announcements, communication, ritual praxis, organizing seva (service) activities, images & podcasts, travel info, updates, etc.). The Adhiparasakthi monthly magazine first published in the 1970s called Sakthi Olhi is now available in several languages including English. Since 2020 the Cittar Pīṭam media department launched the Bangaru Amma Global YouTube channel (with English translation) as well. 3.  Melmaruvathur Adhiparasakthi History 3.1  The Goddess

The popular Om Śakti spiritual movement dedicated to the Goddess Adhiparasakthi [Ātiparācakti] is based in Tamil Nadu, India, about ninety km south of Chennai in the village of Melmaruvathur, its founding location. Today the village houses the Melmaruvathur Cittar Pīṭam (Skt. siddha pīṭha), named for the abode of twenty-one cittars (Skt. siddhas, accomplished ones) in jīva samādhi (union with the divine) said to have lived there long ago (Times Group 2012). The Melmaruvathur Cittar Pīṭam is set on a massive campus that includes the temple for the Goddess Adhiparasakthi, a colossal circular meditation hall, two hospitals, and several educational institutions among other facilities. The Goddess Adhiparasakthi is both Tamil and pan-Indian; in this aspect, she is different from most local and regional Tamil deities (Narayanan 2009: 533). Her mūrti (an image of a deity that when consecrated holds divine energy) and the svayambhū liṅga discovered on the site in 1966 (an aniconic symbol of generative energy within Hindu tradition) are honored in the temple with ritual performance daily. Within this tradition, Adhiparasakthi is understood to manifest herself in myriad forms. In this regard, the composite image is one that transcends gender. For devotees, Adhiparasakthi is identified with Śiva and Śakti, but at the same time transcends both (Narayanan 2009: 534). The svayambhū liṅga, traditionally associated with Śiva, is spoken of as “the abode of Sri Adhiparasakthi” and “worshiped as the Divine mother” (Moorthy 1986: 10; Times Group 2012: 69); similarly, the guru Adigalar is also the abode of the

Women’s Ritual Expression and Religious Agency 69 goddess, and he (She) is called ‘Mother’ (Amma). In this tradition the goddess is worshipped as Supreme Śakti and Divine Mother. Both the goddess and the guru are referred to by devotees as Amma, which means ‘mother’ in Tamil. Any differentiating factors must be derived from the contexts of the conversation. 3.2  Images: Aniconic and Iconic Svayambhū and Mūrti

According to the history of this tradition in Melmaruvathur, long before the temple sanctum was built, a cyclone swept through the village in November 1966. During that storm a tree on Gopala Nayaker’s family land (Adigalar’s father) was uprooted, revealing an anthill, and underneath that abode the smooth oval rock svayambhū (self-manifest) was revealed (Chandrasekharan and Sambandam 2004; Times Group 2012). In the mid-1970s, a small structure was built near the anthill where the svayambhū was discovered, marking the holy significance of that place. The book Divine Light describes the early days of Adigalar’s childhood, his encounter with a cobra, and the discovery of the svayambhū, connecting the anthill, snake (cobra), and Goddess within the Tamil ethos. The authors note, “A cobra has also been sighted near the anthill, making true her words that She will protect her people in the snake form” (Times Group 2012: 53). Amy Allocco’s contemporary ethnography on nāga (snake) worship shows another variation on this connection in South India. Allocco states: The snake goddess takes the form of an anthill (puṟṟu, sometimes referred to as a termite hill or white-ant hill), which is conceived by some to be a svayambhū (self-manifest) eruption of the goddess from the earth. These conical earthen mounds may be relatively small or grow to be as many as six or more feet in height and are often decorated with vermilion and turmeric powders, nīm fronds, and flower garlands. (Allocco 2013: 232) In John Irwin’s research (1982: 339), he affirms that in India “anthills have played a significant part in the consecration of temples, the warding off of evil, calling divine witness and securing material prosperity.” He further adds that “while nowadays these shrines are mainly concentrated in the south, there is abundant evidence that they were once common throughout India” (Irwin 1982: 339). These interconnected elements of Goddess, cobra, and anthill blend together manifestations of Śakti that combine both regional and pan-Indian representations. In the early years of the tradition (1970s), devotees would come to ask Amma for blessings and guidance in the humble outdoor structure near the anthill where the svayambhū was discovered. In 1974, a small structure was built, and people continued to come for aruḷvākku there. It was not until 1977 that the main sanctum sanctorum and putru [puṟṟu] mandapam

70  Nanette R. Spina (aruḷvākku hall) were constructed. Regarding the blending of these local and pan-Indian elements, Vasudha Narayan notes: In the rise of the Ātiparācakti Temple in Melmaruvathur, a case history in the Hindu tradition can be observed in which local and pan-Indian elements merge and in which some traditional motifs are retained, while other established concepts are rejected. (Narayanan 2009: 530) The Goddess’s image or mūrti was designed under the direction of Adigalar and sculpted by Ganapati Sthapati.5 On a full moon day at 3:00 a.m., the image of the Goddess was installed in the sanctum under Adigalar’s guidance. Eventually the svayambhū was brought to reside near the mūrti of Adhiparasakthi in her sanctum, which was constructed over the anthill on that land (Times Group 2012). The mūrti of the Goddess is thirty-six inches high and is seated in the sanctum sanctorum facing east. Her right hand holds a lotus bud and her left hand is placed in chin mudra (the difference from the dhyānaśloka prescription is intentional, where the right hand is showing the mudra) (Times Group 2012: 55). 4. Aruḷvākku or “Divine Voice” Sri Bangaru Adigalar (1941-2023), the spiritual leader of this tradition was born to Gopala and Meenambal Nayaker (Naicker) on March  3, 1941 (Chandrasekharan and Sambandam 2004; Times Group 2012). As noted in oral and hagiographical accounts (Chandrasekharan and Sambandam 2004; Thamarai Thulasi Trust 2006; Adigalar 2008; Times Group 2012), Adigalar was a young man when he began to speak in what came to be known as aruḷvākku, rendered in English as ‘words of grace,’ ‘divine voice,’ or ‘voice of the Goddess.’ In 1968, he married Thirumathi Lakshmi; they were both teachers.6 The temple literature cites the first occurrence of aruḷvākku in 1970 (see also Narayanan 2013). As Adigalar matured, occurrences of aruḷvākku became more frequent. The identification of Adhiparasakthi with Bangaru Adigalar has grown over the years. In the early years of his youth, the goddess is said to have spoken through him intermittently, gradually increasing over time, and culminating in the experience of constant presence or Oneness with the Goddess. The guidance of aruḷvākku continued through Adigalar’s lifetime. Devotees regard Adigalar as a beloved guru-avatar whom they affectionately call Amma. That gender difference may be less marked in the context of extraordinary people such as gurus, saints, and renunciants is a notion found among followers of Hindu-based guru traditions (see Hallstrom 2004; Pechilis 2004a, 2004b). The leadership of Bangaru Adigalar (Amma) is not affiliated with a sectarian tradition (sampradāya) or lineage (paramparā). This is also true of several Indian gurus, including Mata Amritanandamayi (Lucia 2014: 107),

Women’s Ritual Expression and Religious Agency 71 Anandamayi Ma (Hallstrom 2004: 151), and Satya Sai Baba (Srinivas, S. 2014; Srinivas, T. 2010), among others. As Vasudha Narayanan comments, such gurus are not tapping into the orthodox lineages but rather into the themes of universality and neo-Vedanta (Narayanan 2004: 150). In this regard, variations in methods concerning ritual, meditation, and teachings generate both new and traditional modes of expression. Today, tens of thousands of visitors (foreign and domestic) visit Melmaruvathur. Devotees come on pilgrimage, for Amma’s darshan, to perform practices and rituals in the temple, to offer selfless service (thondu/seva), for festivals, and to receive aruḷvākku. Aruḷvākku has generally been offered on Tuesdays, Fridays, and Sundays and on amavasai (new moon) and pournami (full moon) days. As noted earlier, among devotees aruḷvākku is considered a source of both healing and spiritual guidance. Amma has offered aruḷvākku in the putru mandapam (aruḷvākku hall) for individuals and/or families; however, aruḷvākku may take place anywhere (Thamarai Thulasi Trust 2012: 13–14). For example, aruḷvākku has been given for the ACMEC trust and other governing bodies. 5.  Mission and Service As stated in Glory to the Mother Divine Amma Melmaruvathur, aruḷvākku is the source of guidance from which the directives for the Adhiparasakthi mission came (Chandrasekharan and Sambandam 2004: 88–89). The four pillars of the movement are devotion, charity, service, and meditation (Times Group 2012: 73). The directives of the Adhiparasakthi spiritual movement have been set forth as the following: (1) to inculcate faith in the divine and foster spirituality, (2) to raise the status of women both socially and spiritually, (3) to promote the cause of education and health, and meet the cultural needs of the society, and (4) to cater to the needs of the weaker sections of the society and the helpless suffering masses through self-help measures and philanthropic undertakings, and to interest and enthuse them in spiritual activities as well (Chandrasekharan and Sambandam 2004: 88–89). The directives encouraging women to hold positions of ritual leadership have been instrumental in shaping this tradition. In alignment with aruḷvākku, widows (often discriminated against in society)7 (Reddy 2004; Jensen 2005) are given access to educational and vocational training institutions and encouraged to participate in religious rituals as well. To support and empower these objectives, educational opportunities have been made available for women under the auspices of the Adhiparasakthi Charitable, Medical, Educational and Cultural Trust (ACMEC), established in 1978, and the Adhiparasakthi Siddhar Peetam Women’s Trust, established in 1989. The priority emphasis for implementing the guru’s directives continues to inform and shape the structure and mission of this movement in India and abroad. The Melmaruvathur Adhiparasakthi Spiritual Movement Trust (MASM)

72  Nanette R. Spina works to coordinate functions across the network. Currently, Thirumathi Lakshmi Bangaru Adigalar serves in leadership for both ACMEC and MASM. Through the work of these organizations, the small local village now hosts an impressive educational center for higher learning including a polytechnic institute (1983) and several colleges.8 The Melmaruvathur Adhiparasakthi Institute of Medical Sciences (MAPIM) and Research established in 2008 supports PhD-level research. In addition, there are two major hospitals. The first hospital, established in 1986,9 has been serving 750 villages for over 30 years; the second state-of-the-art hospital was completed in 2019–20.10 In addition to these major institutions, there are several outreach organizations.11 These organizations are geared to help provide basic needs for people, such as food and clothing, and to help serve the rural villagers by raising awareness about matters of health and spiritual well-being. When I spoke with Uma (pseudonym), one of the organizers, about ‘outreach,’ she said that “they do not teach religion or religious dogma,” but rather “they provide information about wellness and also the spiritual/physical benefits of meditation.”12 Women play a prominent role within all institutions as well as the daily activities of the temple. 6.  Contemporary Tradition 6.1  Non-Discrimination and Social Intersections

While women are extended priority as ritual performers, men are not excluded from these opportunities, and they do participate. By extending such performance opportunities, relatively new modalities in worship have been implemented; this appeals not only to the women of the community, but to the men as well conscious of delimiting Hindu caste restrictions. On the occasions when I have spoken to men regarding ritual performance at the temple, very often one of the first points noted is that “anyone may perform rites in the temple without regard for caste, without discrimination based on caste” (Spina 2018a: 62). Devotees at both the temple and the mandrams often wear red during worship, a color associated with the goddess and a symbolic reminder that the divine dwells within all. The red clothes are said to signify that which is the same across humanity, the color of blood, and the custom is described in this way: “The red clothes that Sri Adigalar and his devotees wear is seen as a great leveler as it signifies the colour of blood that symbolizes universal bonding” (Times Group 2012: 9). There is a familiar slogan (with a couple of variations among devotees) that affirms, “One Mother, One humanity,” and “One Mother, One family” (Mangudi 2020: 13, 23). While I  was doing fieldwork, I  had the opportunity to listen firsthand to accounts from devotees regarding their experiences within this tradition. Some recounted occasions when they had asked Adigalar for guidance on life matters. When I asked devotees what was most special to them about their

Women’s Ritual Expression and Religious Agency 73 guru (given the choice of many gurus in India), a number of respondents mentioned similar points, including aruḷvākku, personal transformations, accounts of extraordinary experiences and events, humanitarian service, and Amma’s profound sense of compassion, among others. One middle-aged male devotee visiting Melmaruvathur from Canada (Vivek) pointed out to me that their guru “lived as a simple person, rather than a VIP,” and was also a householder rather than an ascetic. Both aspects were prominent in our conversation and highly significant to his experience. In the publication Amma: The Eternal Truth (2008: 37), author Ramamoorthy describes the tradition in this way: “Amma not only brings people together physically and mentally through the Om Sakthi Movement but also binds them spiritually and elevates them by sustaining their faith through experiential reality.” Three significant characteristics of the Adhiparasakthi movement for diaspora devotees when describing their participation were: (1) inclusivity, regarding the nondiscriminatory ethics and ritual participation enacted at the temple in India and worship centers; (2) the opportunities for women to assume leadership roles as ritual specialists; and (3) the use of Tamil as a ritual language (rather than Sanskrit). Firstly, all people (regardless of caste/ non-caste, class, marital status, age, sect, religion, or gender) may participate in rituals at the Adhiparasakthi temple and mandrams. By extending ritual opportunities in this way, relatively new modalities in worship have been implemented, which appeals to both men and women. Diaspora devotees’ priorities and preferences shed light on the criteria and choices they make to participate. From a broad selection of orthodox sects and guru-led traditions in North America, practitioners have ample opportunity to choose where they spend their time, money, and energy, where they find the most fulfillment, and what ethical choices they want to set as examples for their children. For all of these reasons, one’s selections and decisions denote important features of religious values and agency. Extending ritual authority and ritual participation to a wider portion of society has removed an historically embedded form of socio-religious discrimination. During my international fieldwork, women as well as men have acknowledged a profound appreciation for this aspect of their tradition. In this movement, there is a concerted effort towards gender equality in both social and ritual contexts. These aspects were emphasized by devotees not only for their egalitarian appeal but because people felt they had ethical value. Often these aspects are the first things that people want me to know. 6.2 Ritual Performance and Religious Agency: Communicating Innovation through Ritual

With regard to women’s religious expression and agency, the Adhiparasakthi movement seeks greater empowerment for women in both social and religious terms and focuses attention at the intersection of caste and gender. The term ‘intersectionality’ was originally coined and substantiated by

74  Nanette R. Spina American scholar Kimberlé W. Crenshaw as a conceptual foundation with initial applicability based in jurisprudence and black feminist epistemology. In an expanded sense, the intersectional paradigm has been employed to articulate and analyze the co-constitutive powers of race, gender, class, and sexuality within human experience, as well as the forces that shape intersecting identities and/or intersecting categories of experience. In a 2013 publication “Toward a Field of Intersectionality Studies: Theory, Application, and Praxis,” (Cho et  al. 2013), Crenshaw and co-authors articulate a shift in focus away from identity politics towards foregrounding political and structural inequalities, which I am guided by as well, (albeit in a different context). In this section, my approach likewise foregrounds “the social dynamics and relations that constitute subjects, displacing the emphasis on subjects (and categories) themselves as the starting point” (Cho et al. 2013: 796). In this way, I am able to address the socio-religious and structural inequalities that have come to bear upon women in this context while attending to the intersection of caste and gender and focusing on the innovative structure of women’s ritual authority and leadership within the Adhiparasakthi movement. I contend that the priority consideration for humanitarian equity promoted within the Adhiparasakthi organization has both modified and challenged traditional views of gender and religious authority from within a religious framework. These innovations have enhanced women’s religious expression and agency within the tradition and have taken root in the North American diaspora communities as well. 6.3  Gender and Socio-Religious Conventions

In the Adhiparasakthi tradition, women’s ritual leadership is a prioritized feature of the ritual structure. This structure promotes opportunities for women to assume formal leadership roles as ritual specialists in India and abroad. In doing so it has afforded women access to a public dimension of worship and ritual life that has not been readily available. Historically, this dimension of ritual in temples has been denied to women based on orthodox purity precepts and Brahmanical ritual authority limited by caste and gender. In Brāhmaṇical Dharmaśāstric tradition, orthodox caste and gender restrictions within śāstric literature are found in Dharmaśāstric scriptures; that is, Manusmṛti, Gautama Dharmasūtra, Baudhāyana Dharmasūtra, and Vasiṣṭha Dharmasūtra (Jamison 1996: 15). These restrictions have generally forbidden women from roles in ritual leadership. Regarding innovations beyond śāstric restrictions, Amanda Lucia comments: Even a cursory glance at the bhakti movement, which guaranteed access to the experience of the divine for all persons, suggests a radically democratic upheaval of traditional restrictions of religious authority. Beginning with the Vaiṣṇava Ālvārs in the sixth century and continuing through the eighteenth century of the common era, bhakti not

Women’s Ritual Expression and Religious Agency 75 only challenged traditional gender hierarchies, but caste hierarchies as well. Both low castes and women found solace in the circumvention of Brāhmaṇical orthodoxies that restricted their access to holy texts, rituals, practices, and experiences. (Lucia 2014: 229) 6.3.1 Menstruation

While female ritual specialists are not singularly unique, some of the distinctiveness of this movement is owed to the options it presents to women practitioners beyond caste and gendered norms. For example, the Adhiparasakthi movement explicitly rejects prohibitions against women performing rituals or entering the temple during their monthly cycles (Narayanan 2009; Spina 2017a: 247; Thamarai Thulasi Trust 2004). Historically, women have been prohibited from entering and worshipping in temples during their menstrual cycles. One reason for this barrier in Hindu orthodox traditions is that during women’s monthly cycles and certain events including post-childbirth, one is considered to be in a ritually impure state; this is part of well-­established social conventions in India and the diaspora. Regarding socio-religious structures that produce gender inequalities, the following example illustrates how for some women, certain aspects of the structure may be internalized and operate even outside the structure itself. In her book Kerala Christian Sainthood (2001), Corinne Dempsey notes that “the fact that a menstruating woman will rarely enter a temple during her period is well known in India.” In her study of Indian Catholic women in Kerala, she further adds that even while the church hierarchy discourages such purity taboos among Kerala Catholics, Hindu notions of purity/pollution carry over into Christian worship, and some women will not enter certain churches or shrines of Catholic saints during their menstrual cycles (Dempsey 2001: 71–72). During an informal conversation among women about menstruation and ritual performance in Toronto, Deepa (pseudonym) asked me rhetorically, “Why shouldn’t women be entitled to perform puja in the temple?” (Spina 2017a: 247). From my diaspora research with the women at the Adhiparasakthi temple in Toronto, some women’s thinking about ‘pollution’ has already changed, and these women appreciate a basis for empowerment within a Tamil religious framework. Vasanthi, the female president of the temple society in Toronto, explained the idea to me in this way: “Menstruation is natural for women, Amma said there is no reason that we should not come to worship. Why should we feel ashamed or impure? It is natural” (Spina 2017a: 168). As I gradually asked more women what they thought, among the responses, there were two salient iterations that stood out and small group who were still contemplating. One, there were women who said that they had drawn their own conclusions and did not accept the notion that the natural process of menstruation causes a state of pollution and two, there were women who said they found support in the guru’s directive and a

76  Nanette R. Spina perspective of acceptance among the broader transnational Adhiparasakthi community (Spina 2017a: 246). In the Adhiparasakthi tradition we have an example of a Hindu tradition that overtly prioritizes female ritual specialists, departing from a socially embedded structure of male ritual authority (Brāhmaṇical) restricted by caste and gender. The implications and instantiation of female religious authority raise and recast direct questions as to ‘Who is entitled to wield religious/ ritual authority and why’? As my research continues, I am looking towards the younger generation of women practitioners to gauge how the reverberations of these innovations might continue, perhaps prompting new questions about caste and gender inclusivity and restrictions in the years to come. 6.3.2  Performance and Agency

As noted, in the Melmaruvathur temple, women may enter during their monthly cycles and are able to perform all forms of puja.13 In alignment with aruḷvākku, widows are encouraged to participate in religious rituals as well. The women with whom I have spoken appreciate that this movement does not recognize orthodox caste- and gender-based restrictions, particularly the fact that women are able to perform rituals for the Goddess directly in the temple sanctum without the intervention of priests. What is significant in that notable observation is the recognition that in the temple, one sees women with ritual authority in the public realm performing unmediated ritual actions for themselves and others. By creating structural access and opportunities within the Adhiparasakthi organization for women to pursue ritual authority/leadership at the interstices of caste or gender, the personal decisions about participation move to practitioners themselves. That is to say, one becomes able to decide for oneself how and to what extent one would like to learn and/or participate. In that regard, there is an expansion in the scope of religious expression and agency (a) due to increased opportunity, and (b) through the action of making personal choices/decisions about how/when and where one might participate in public forms of ritual expression. Through such measures, the purview of women’s religious and ritual agency is enhanced. Speaking on women’s ritual performance of homams and puja at the Rush temple in upstate New York, Dempsey notes, “Temple rituals function not only to confer divine blessings upon those within their purview; they also give religious credibility and authority to those who have mastered them” (Dempsey 2014: 112). At the Melmaruvathur temple in March 2020, women gathered daily in the temple, arriving during the dark early morning to prepare for the abhiṣeka (ritual bathing) rite for the Goddess and svayambhū in the hours before sunrise. For weeks, I attended these early morning rites alongside a Tamil ritual specialist from Toronto. For those with whom we spoke, some performing rituals for the Goddess and others attending the abhiṣeka each morning, this opportunity was greatly valued. Having the

Women’s Ritual Expression and Religious Agency 77 opportunity to participate as a ritual performer was welcomed and treated with grace, humility, and care. Another point to note, in ritual terms, is that ritual performance and/or leadership may be interpreted as increased proximity to sacred power. On that note, in the Adhiparasakthi context, the source of sacred power is the ‘Divine Mother.’ In this transnational community, the central means by which this relationship with the divine is cultivated and maintained is through devotion and ritual. Through women’s leadership and direct ritual participation at the temple and mandrams, female religious authority, expression, and agency are affirmed. Women ritual specialists, as well as devotees who are visiting from mandrams within India and abroad (whether learning/training or experienced in ritual forms) are encouraged to participate in ritual performance. Visiting from various mandrams in India and abroad, groups of devotees arrive daily during and after festival days to offer puja to the Goddess. The temple has ritual specialists in residence who oversee and assist in orchestrating ritual performance among visiting participants. In addition, there are a number of rituals performed as part of the ritual calendar including monthly pujas conducted on new moon and full moon days, annual festivals (Spina 2017a: 177–178),14 pilgrimage (Narayanan 2014: 531),15 velvi [fire rites] and vilakku-kālasa pujas (e.g., collective congregational style pujas) among others; women are intricately involved in all of these ritual events. One can acknowledge that the directive eschewing gendered purity restrictions constitutes a significant paradigmatic shift in values regarding what it means to be female in this Hindu religious context. These innovative aspects of women’s ritual authority and leadership are affirmed and demonstrated through ritual practice daily in the Adhiparasakthi temple and mandrams. By choosing to participate in this tradition, women as ritual performers are expressing their religious agency publicly, and in some ways counter to śāstric norms. 7.  Inclusivities and Worldviews 7.1  Social Inclusivity

Through the transnational network, this spiritual tradition in Melmaruvathur, India is able to ground and communicate innovation in female ritual authority and leadership transnationally. The cittar pīṭam in Melmaruvathur welcomes all and does not discriminate on the basis of race, creed, caste, age, gender, or religious affiliation. Expressions of bhakti (devotion) often characterize devotees’ orientation to practice. This approach to the divine is described in the devotional literature noting that: “Siddhars believe that love and devotion are enough to attain the Supreme. The Divine Mother teaches the same to Her devotees” (Times Group 2012: 24). In the current context of the Adhiparasakthi spiritual movement, foregrounding women’s participation and leadership is aimed at supporting

78  Nanette R. Spina women in ritual as well as socioeconomic contexts. Firstly, the move towards social equality begins with a move towards equal opportunity; and second, equal opportunity in these contexts is understood in terms of rebalancing dynamic forces, rather than posing social oppositions. In order to work towards the social/spiritual upliftment of women, part of the social mission of the Adhiparasakthi movement has aimed to increase women’s means for socioeconomic advancement in society through education, vocation, and leadership, especially helping to provide means and opportunities for widows. In this way, the provisions for women’s leadership and participation within this movement extend beyond ritual performance to assist women in achieving their own practical life goals as well.16 7.2  Inclusivity in the Field

During my fieldwork at Adhiparasakthi sites in India and North America, I have encountered a variety of devotees for whom the guru’s presence, guidance, and teachings, coupled with their own personal experiences and understanding, more than substantiate the value of this tradition in their lives. Within a spectrum of views, I have also met a few people who were visiting or undecided or whose views on gurus are still in flux. One might ask, “What is the appeal for visitors in such cases?” Drawing from my research, there are several reasons: some people are searching for greater understanding in their lives; others come with spouses or family members or friends to attend festival events or offer charitable service. Some have been participating in this manner for a long time. The framework of the Adhiparasakthi spiritual movement is such that it does not present a closed system of belief or religious dogma. One gentleman, Sushil (pseudonym), a retired professional and the spouse of a devotee, shared with me that in the beginning he was quite skeptical of gurus but would accompany his wife to Adhiparasakthi functions at her request. Born in India, they emigrated to the USA decades ago. He described himself as “a man of science.” He shared with me that it took him a very long time before he thought of himself as a devotee: “not months,” he said, “but years later and only after certain personal experiences occurred.” He said he began to experience a transformation, one that changed both his mind and heart. Another gentleman, Selva (pseudonym), also a middle-aged professional and the spouse of a devotee in the USA, said that while his views on religion are somewhat different from his wife’s, he respects her beliefs and those of her family. He said that “he accompanies her sometimes” to functions when invited or joins her on certain Adhiparasakthi occasions but mainly to offer service (seva). He emphasized that humanitarian service has been the most important experience for him and further clarified his point by saying with a gentle smile, “Service to humanity is my religion.” In these examples, it is significant to acknowledge that not everyone participating does so for the same reasons, or even for so-called ‘religious’ reasons

Women’s Ritual Expression and Religious Agency 79 for that matter. Even a sense of conviction towards one system of belief or another can fluctuate or change over time. The Adhiparasakthi movement, like other Hindu traditions, does not require adherence to a particular creed, and non-Hindus are welcome to participate as well. This spiritual movement, as some devotees like to call it, welcomes practitioners from all religions. Visitors come for guru darshan and attend rituals and events. In the examples here, lack of ‘conformity’ in belief/worldview was not seen as a deterrent, nor even a reason for exclusion; on the contrary, the end result was ‘inclusivity’ without discrimination and without conformity. Those who wanted to participate even incrementally were welcomed to do so, and repeatedly, without expectation. It is these aspects, often associated with markers of modern Hinduism, that allow for expanding the parameters of the community in ways that transcend social, religious, and even national boundaries (see also Waghorne 2014; Heelas 2008: 127). 7.3  Inclusivity in Philosophical Perspectives

From a practical level to a more abstract or metaphysical level, we see that the concepts of masculine and feminine are not being constructed as antagonistic or opposing forces, but rather in terms of complementarity. Illustrating this conceptual point within Adhiparasakthi literature, Chandrasekharan and Sambandam (2004: 12) invoke the image of Ardhanarishvara, the half male-half female representation of divinity, noting that, “This [Ardhanarishvara] is the most beautiful and perfect concept and visualization of the full equality, balance and harmony of the masculine and feminine in an ideal human being” (Chandrasekharan and Sambandam 2004: 177). This conceptual construction may then be apprehended from both physical and metaphysical viewpoints, towards an Advaita or nondualist understanding of relationships between male/female, humanity/divinity, and those dynamics of Śiva/Śakti within the self. For those more philosophically inclined, further correlations are noted by Chandrasekharan and Sambandam in Glory to the Mother Divine. In that book, they link philosophical interpretations to the following sacred forms symbolically: the svayambhū liṅga—representing Advaita (nondualism); Goddess/Mother deity—representing Viśiṣṭādvaita (qualified nondualism) and for some, Adigalar, guru, representing a form of Dvaita (dualism) (Chandrasekharan and Sambandam 2004: 163–164). Within this schema, there is an intentional and inclusive ambiguity that leaves room for multiple interpretations. In this regard, there is a certain sense of inclusivity without demanding conformity in creed. Speaking with reference to the Sai Baba movement, Tulasi Srinivas observes what she refers to as a “grammar of diversity.” In this regard, she states, “The creation of a grammar of diversity rests on the possibility of a matrix of possible meanings in which interpretation constitutes agency” (Srinivas, T. 2010: 329). The matrix of possible meanings is engaged by a strategic ambiguity “that allows devotees the power of agency

80  Nanette R. Spina both in picking the required ingredients for their personal transformation, as well as in reading the material and spiritual work and interpreting it” (Srinivas, T. 2010: 329). This matrix of possible meanings is also present within the Adhiparasakthi tradition, signifying aspirations in favor of agency and diversity. As such aspirations reach into the diaspora, a ‘grammar of diversity’ may well enhance transnational appeal also. 8. Conclusion In the Adhiparasakthi movement we have an example of Hindu tradition in which rituals are not only conducted by lay officiates (without caste discrimination), but one that overtly prioritizes female ritual specialists, challenging a socially embedded paradigm of male ecclesiastic authority (Brāhmaṇical) limited by caste and gender. In some ways, this innovative structure of female ritual authority reconsiders and recasts ideas about caste- and gender-based restrictions on religious authority and who is entitled to wield it. In this chapter, I  have illustrated how the Adhiparasakthi movement instantiates women’s ritual authority and leadership as a concrete example of support for women. This denotes both the democratizing influence seen in modern Hinduism as well as an articulation of the socio-religious concerns that this movement seeks to improve in society through educational, vocational, and ritual channels. I have argued that the priority consideration for humanitarian equity promoted within the Adhiparasakthi organization has both modified and challenged traditional views of gender and religious authority from within a religious framework and has helped expand the purview of women’s religious expression and agency in this tradition. Notes 1 With the Immigration Act of 1965, the former quota system (which allowed only a given number of immigrants from certain countries to enter), the Immigration Act of 1924, was abolished and replaced with an immigration law that: (a) established a preference system based on professional skills and training in accordance with occupational needs in the USA; and (b) allowed for family reunification. During the same time period, foreign immigration policy shifted, and more South Asian immigrants began arriving in the USA. There are also Adhiparasakthi communities in New York, Texas, and Illinois which I have not yet visited. 2 During an academic conference in which I was presenting a paper, I was asked by a colleague if I had met any Brahmin devotees visiting the temple; the answer is yes, I have. 3 Here, “digital communications” refers generally to any type of communication that relies on the use of technology. 4 Alternatively transliterated Ātiparācakti in Tamil and Ādiparāśakti in Sanskrit. I  have selected the spelling used in Adhiparasakthi/Om Sakthi literature. Additionally, when community members are speaking English, the word ‘temple’ is often used interchangeably with the word ‘mandram,’ which implies a smaller worship center satellite to Melmaruvathur. 5 At the time (1977), Ganapathi Sthabathy was the Principle at the School of Sculpture at Mahabalipuram (the town also known as Mamallapuram). Mahabalipuram

Women’s Ritual Expression and Religious Agency 81 is a town in Chengalpattu district in the southeastern Indian state of Tamil Nadu, best known for the UNESCO World Heritage Site of the 7th and 8th century Hindu Group of Monuments at Mahabalipuram; perhaps the most famous of which is the Shore Temple dedicated to Shiva. 6 They have four children, all of whom are now married (Times Group 2012: 47). The immediate family members participate in the spiritual tradition and continue to offer their time and service as well. 7 See Jensen (2005); Reddy (2004). 8 College of Engineering (1984), College of Arts  & Sciences (1988), College of Pharmacy (1993), College of Nursing for Women (1994), College of Physiotherapy and Paramedical Sciences (1994), College of Agriculture (1999), Engineering College for Women (2001), and a Dental College and hospital. 9 The first hospital (1986), now associated with the Melmaruvathur Adhiparasakthi Institute of Medical Sciences and Research and established in 2008, “has various clinical specialties providing outpatient and inpatient services in which all the services and facilities are provided free of cost.” Retrieved from: www.mapims. org/about-us, accessed May 30, 2022. 10 A state-of-the-art multi-specialty hospital, this hospital houses a free pharmacy and offers assistance to cases with insufficient financial resources. The hospital has various clinical specialties providing outpatient and inpatient services. Departments include General Medicine, Chest and TB, Psychiatry, Dermatology, General Surgery, Ophthalmology, ENT, Orthopaedics, Anaesthesiology, OBG, Radiology, Plastic Surgery, Nephrology, Urology, Neurology, Cardiology, Casualty, and a Blood Bank. 11 In 2019, Banguru Adigalar was awarded the Padma Shri Award, one of the country’s highest civilian awards, conferred to recipients for their distinguished contributions in several areas including spirituality and social service. The Hindu Net Desk. 2019. “List of Padma Awardees-2019.” The Hindu. January  26, 2019. Accessed August 1, 2020. 12 Another example of outreach is Eye Care. Every year the department of Ophthalmology at MAPIMS conducts a Mega Eye Camp. The Eye Camps offer cataract surgery and treat other ophthalmological disorders and refraction errors as well. Every year, the Eye Camps perform more than 1400 cataract surgeries. 13 Ritual ablutions are part of one’s regimen on these days and call for adding a particular herbal mixture with turmeric to one’s bathing. For more on menstrual taboos in the Hindu context and origins, see Apffel-Marglin (1985). 14 There are several major festival occasions celebrated, including Taipūcam, Cittirai festival (full moon), the birthday of Bangaru Adigalar (March 3), Tamil New Year (April), Ātipūram, and Navarātrī. 15 Narayanan notes that, “Women pilgrims, particularly from the lower socio-­ economic classes women make pilgrimages to Melmaruvathur through the year” but especially for the Taipūcam and Ātipūram festivals, where pilgrims number in the tens of thousands. Here, “The pilgrimage rites are similar to the ones performed by male devotees to the Ayyappan temple in Sabarimala” (Narayanan 2009: 531). 16 To that end, the Melmaruvathur temple, mandrams, medical and educational institutes, and charitable trusts have been created expressly to help women pursue these objectives (Spina 2017a).

References Adigalar, Lakshmi Bangaru (trans.) (2008): Thamarai Thulasi Trust. In Melmaruvathur, a Soul’s Perception (Biography of Golden Son of Melmaruvathur—Adigalar). Anna Nagar: Thamarai Thulasi Trust. Allocco, A. (2013): Fear, Reverence, and Ambivalence: Divine Snakes in Contemporary South India. RSA, 7, 230–248.

82  Nanette R. Spina Apffel-Marglin, Frederique (1985): Female Sexuality in the Hindu World. In Immaculate and Powerful: The Female in Sacred Image and Social Reality (ed. by Clarissa Atkinson and Constance Buchanan). Boston: Beacon, 9–60. Babb, Lawrence A. (1984): Indigenous Feminism in a Modern Hindu Sect. Signs, 9(3), 399–416. Bell, Catherine (1997): Ritual Perspectives and Dimensions. New York: Oxford University Press. Chandrasekharan, E. C., and C. Thirugnana Sambandam (2004): Glory of Mother Divine-Amma Melmaruvathur. Melmaruvathur: Adhiparasakthi Charitable, Medical, Educational and Cultural Trust. Cho, Sumi, Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw, and Leslie McCall (2013): Toward a Field of Intersectionality Studies: Theory, Application, and Praxis. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 38(4), 785–810. David, Ann R. (2009) Gendering the Divine: New Forms of Feminine Hindu Worship. International Journal of Hindu Studies, 13(3), 337–355. Dempsey, Corinne G. (2001): Kerala Christian Sainthood. New York: Oxford University Press. Dempsey, Corinne G. (2006): The Goddess Lives in Upstate New York: Breaking Convention and Making Home at a North American Hindu Temple. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Dempsey, Corinne G. (2014): Women, Ritual, and Ironies of Power at a North American Goddess Temple. In Hindu Ritual at the Margins: Innovations, Transformations, Reconsiderations (ed. by Linda Penkower and Tracy Pintchman). Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina, Press, 106–125. De Napoli, Antionette E. (2014): Real Sadhus Sing to God: Gender, Asceticism, and Vernacular Religion in Rajasthan. New York: Oxford University Press. Hallstrom, Lisa L. (2004): Anandamayi Ma, the Bliss-Filled Divine Mother. In The Graceful Guru: Hindu Female Gurus in India and the United States (ed. by Karen Pechilis). New York: Oxford University Press. Heelas, Paul (2008): Spirituality of Life: New Age Romanticism and Consumptive Capitalism. Oxford: Blackwell. Irwin, John C. (1982): The Sacred Anthill and the Cult of the Primordial Mound. History of Religions, 21(4), 339–360. https://doi.org/10.1080/08952irwin841. 2014.928486 Jamison, Stephanie W. (1996): Women, Sacrificed Wife/Sacrificer’s Wife: Ritual, and Hospitality in Ancient India. New York: Oxford University Press. Jensen, R. (2005): Caste, Culture, and the Status and Well-being of Widows in India. In Analyses in the Economics of Aging (ed. by D. A. Wise). Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 357–376. Lucia, Amanda J. (2014): Reflections of Amma: Devotees in a Global Embrace. Berkley: University of California Press. Mangudi, Selva (2020): God-in-Human Form: My 40 Years of Experience with the Universal Power. Malacca: Om Sakthi Offset Printers. Moorthy, K. K. (1986): Melmaruvathur and Her Miracles. Tirupati: Adhiparasakthi Charitable, Medical, Educational and Cultural Trust. Narayanan, Vasudha (2000): Diglossic Hinduism: Liberation and Lentils. Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 68(4), 761–779. Narayanan, Vasudha (2004): Gurus and Goddesses, Deities and Devotees. In The Graceful Guru: Hindu Female Gurus in India and the United States (ed. by Karen Pechilis). New York: Oxford University Press, 149–178.

Women’s Ritual Expression and Religious Agency 83 Narayanan, Vasudha (2005): Gender and Priesthood in the Hindu Traditions. Journal of Hindu-Christian Studies, 18(1). Narayanan, Vasudha (2014): Melmaruvathur Movement. In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism, Volume 5. Religious Symbols, Hinduism and Migration: Contemporary Communities Outside South Asia, and Some Modern Religious Groups and Teachers (ed. by Knut Jacobsen, Angelika Malinar, Vasudha Narayanan, and Helene Basu). Leiden: Brill, 531–534. Natarajan, V. S. (1997): Amma, Melmaruvathur. Melmaruvathur: Adhiparasakthi Charitable, Educational, Medical and Cultural Trust. Pechilis, Karen (2004a): Introduction. In The Graceful Guru: Hindu Female Gurus in India and the United States (ed. by Karen Pechilis). New York: Oxford University Press. Pechilis, Karen (2004b): Gurumayi, the Play of Shakti and Guru. In The Graceful Guru: Hindu Female Gurus in India and the United States (ed. by Karen Pechilis). New York: Oxford University Press, 219–243. Ramamoorthy, R. (2008): Amma: The Eternal Truth. Melmaruvathur Adhiparasakthi Charitable, Medical, Educational and Cultural Trust. Chennai, India: Associated Printers. Reddy, P. Adinarayana (2004): Problems of Widows in India. New Delhi: Sarup & Sons. Sherma, Rita (2011): Introduction. In Woman and Goddess in Hinduism: Reinterpretations and Re-envisionings (ed. by Tracy Pintchman and Rita D. Sherma). New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1–16. Spina, Nanette R. (2017a): Women’s Authority and Leadership in a Hindu Goddess Tradition. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Spina, Nanette R. (2017b): Women’s Leadership and Transnational Currents: The Adhiparasakthi Community in Toronto, Canada. International Journal of Hindu Studies, 21(2), 211–235. Spina, Nanette R. (2018a): Across Boundaries and Borders: Women’s Leadership and Diasporic Innovations in a Hindu Goddess Tradition. Practical Matters Journal in Religion, 11, 1–13. Spina, Nanette R. (2018b): In Relationship with the Goddess: Women Interpreting Leadership Roles and Shaping Diasporic Identities. In Modern Hinduism in Text and Context (ed. by Lavanya Vemsami). London; New York: Bloomsbury Publications, 137–145. Srinivas, Smriti (2014): Satya Sai Baba and the Repertoire of Yoga. In Gurus of Modern Yoga (ed. by Mark Singleton and Ellen Goldberg). New York: Oxford University Press, 261–282. Srinivas, Tulasi (2010): Winged Faith: Rethinking Globalization and Religious Pluralism through the Sathya Sai Movement. New York: Columbia University Press. Thamarai Thulasi Trust (2004): Melmaruvathur Amma’s Oracle. Melmaruvathur: Adhiparasakthi Charitable, Medical, Educational and Cultural Trust. Thamarai Thulasi Trust (2006): Melmaruvathur Amma’s Miracles. Melmaruvathur: Adhiparasakthi Charitable, Medical, Educational and Cultural Trust. Thamarai Thulasi Trust (2012): The Magnificent Miracles of Bangaru Adigalar the Amma. Melmaruvathur: Pamphlet. Times Group A  Spiritual Connect Initiative (2012): The Divine Light: Devotion, Charity, Service, Meditation. Chennai: Bennet, Coleman & Co. Ltd. Waghorne, Joanne Punzo (2014): From Diaspora to (Global) Civil Society. In Hindu Ritual at the Margins: Innovations, Transformations, Reconsiderations (ed. by Linda Penkower and Tracy Pintchman). Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 186–207.

4 Forgotten Priestesses A ‘witch,’ a Queen and a Ritual Stew Tara Sheemar Malhan

1.  Introduction: Narratives, Texts, and Ritual Performers My chapter comes from a historico-textual perspective to locate women’s agency as performers of magico-religious ritual in the Sanskrit narratives of the Kathāsaritsāgara (KSS) or The Ocean of the Rivers of Story (Mallinson 2007). The focus is on the string of stories concerning the ḍākinī Kālarātrī and her disciple queen Kuvalyāvalī.1 A  wide variety of cults and religious systems were prevalent in early medieval Kashmir, including Buddhist and Śaiva Tantric schools. The practitioners and philosophers belonging to the Tantric beliefs were a prominent part of the society of Kashmir, but are noticeably denigrated in various texts (Dyczkowski 1989: 1–15). The chapter offers insights into the remote past reflected in the literary culture which can be linked with both the cosmopolitanism, underlined in the use of Sanskrit, and in the regional specificity of the textual genre. The manner in which the ritual praxis was imagined in the narratives can offer us some clues about the historical presence and role of women as ritual specialists. The chapter is crucially connected with other chapters in the volume that examine the contribution and role of women in spatially and temporally diverse religious contexts. The term Tantra is widely known, understood in various ways, and many times is sensationalized in contemporary contexts (Bishop 2020). Though aspects of magic can be found in many religious rituals, including the Vedic (Einoo 2014), Tantra has a particular meaning connected with the texts that expounded the fundamentals of an extremely varied practice in space and time. Generally Tantric systems shared a secretive—ritualistic, esoteric, ­soteriological—training, initiatory requirement, and resulted in gaining of super-human powers (siddhi) which were executed on the material realm. A more commonly known aspect of Tantra is the wider participation of women as adepts, practitioners, and participators in rituals. The participation of women distinguished it from more orthodox practices, where priestly functions in formal contexts were monopolized by men of the brahman varṇa. The participation of women is connected with the philosophical prominence of the feminine principle as śakti and seen as more prominent DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-5

Forgotten Priestesses 85 among the early Śāktas, whose practices are viewed as heterodox in that they did not recognize the supremacy of the Vedas (Chakravarti 1996: 82–85). R. S. Sharma has associated Tantra with a more inclusive social base on the premise that it included women and initiates from various social strata into its fold (Sharma 2001: 235–265). More recently, the participation of women in Tantric ritual has been critiqued as being devoid of agency since they were primarily positioned as facilitators in a male-centered ritualism. It is opined that they were given the role of passive partners in ritual coitus, used as sources of the caru offering comprised of mixed sexual fluids, while any discussion about their spiritual or material benefit was ignored (Hatley 2019). Recent opinions demonstrate a gradual ‘sanitization’ of mainstream Tantra (Golovkova 2019) of the earlier rituals involving ‘forbidden’ substances and coitus (Williams 2017). This implied that the earlier inclusive approach was abandoned, while Tantric ritual turned towards use of symbolic substances. The chronological evolution of various religious cults in Kashmir and their patronage by the different dynasties and groups of brahmans has been traced by Alexis Sanderson (Sanderson 2009). As mentioned earlier, Kashmir was home to a wide variety of religious cults, many of which were of the lefthanded or vāma bhāva lineage. The KSS can add to our present knowledge of magico-ritual praxis by demonstrating how women practitioners were imagined in narratives, particularly when creating their agential capacity as wielders of religious knowledge and independent performers of ritual. It would be useful to briefly discuss the genre of the KSS, particularly in terms of deriving meaning from it to decode the representation of women practitioners of Tantric ritual. The KSS is a vīra (heroic) and śṛṅgāra (erotic) rasa (sentiment)-dominated composition meant primarily for entertainment. It was composed in the last quarter of the 11th century by the court poet Somadeva for the amusement of queen Sūryamatī.2 Kashmiri fiction is supposed to reflect traditional and folkloric poetic imagination, and even though it is composed in Kashmir, it locates its action in the Central Himalayas and in the Vindhya forest of central India (Silk 2020). Conclusions derived from the narratives need not be limited to the region of Kashmir, since kāvya literature also contained more universal images of Sanskrit cosmopolitanism. It is also very interestingly argued, as a reversal of the notion of cosmopolitanism, that second-millennium Sanskrit poetry was ‘regional’ (Bronner and Shulman 2006). The KSS is considered to be part of a Kashmir-­specific literary genre called the ślokakathā or story in verse format (Obrock 2015). Thus, we can subject the text to region-specific conclusions as well as a trans-historical understanding. The production of kāvya took place under the patronage of the court, which is suggested to be the primary space for the creation of Sanskrit ‘literary culture’ (Pollock 2003: 114, 119). However, Sanskrit kāvya was also produced in the social sites of the monastery, village

86  Tara Sheemar Malhan or village school, the temple, and urban dwellings (Pollock 2003: 114, 119). Its audience was wide and varied, and, it does hold true for most texts that “the text is, in a sense, its own context” (Doniger and Kakar 2002: xii). The use of the term ‘witch’ calls for a revision, especially in Indic contexts. In contemporary society it is used as a ruse for targeting women (Rosati 2017).3 In my opinion it would be more suitable to refer to women practitioners of magico-rituals as priestesses, which then would imply that they were authorized to perform the sacred rites and be regarded as leaders in religious ceremonies. The practice of magic by women under the guidance of a female teacher and priestess is revealed in detail in the story of queen Kuvalyāvalī and Kālarātrī. At one level it demonstrates the independent and secret practice of Tantra by women teachers along with the ‘gory’ rituals. On the other hand, it builds the notion that those under the influence of ritual practice controlled by women would face an inversion of the outcome. A contrast is built between intention and effect through the narrative device of reversal. The counter-productive depiction is all the more severe in the context of the royal household as it leads to the destruction of the royal male offspring, which is one of the principal desires of kings and queens in the stories, and one of the main goals sought to be achieved via the ‘approved’ ritual practices of vrata and tapas (Sheemar Malhan 2017).4 2.  Tapas, Vrata, and Mantra-Siddhi The present work focuses on an aspect of ritual practice that relates to the female performers or ritual specialists as agents in a complex and dynamic ritual landscape that was stripping Tantrism of the very basis of its earlier popularity: the participation of women and shudras. The orthopraxis represented in the KSS as rituals that were ‘approved’ are tapas, or vrata. The text represents Tantric practices termed mostly as mantra-siddhi (or kārmaṇa) as disapproved or underhand ritual. Vrata has been defined as a vowed religious observance, a religious act of devotion and austerity, performed to fulfill specific intentions or desires (Chakravarti 2001: 235–236). Vrata is also connected with tapas, ārādhanā or prayer, and niyama or regulation because the performer has to restrain his sense organs while observing the vrata. Both ārādhanā and vrata are reflected in the narratives as highly beneficial in terms of efficacy. These practices, which do not require the mediation of ritual specialists, figure as being performed individually as well as collectively. The four main functions of vrata as performed in the royal context are for the purpose of acquiring offspring, courage, learning, and wealth (Sheemar Malhan 2017: 197–203). Magic is an essential element in many religious rites, and vrata and tapas might also contain elements of magic. However, there are significant points of departure between the two practices as portrayed in the KSS—magic-ritual practice involves an amount of secrecy and is connected with spaces like the cemetery or hidden groves; rituals involve use of human and animal blood

Forgotten Priestesses 87 and tissues; has both male and female ritual specialists;5 is more connected with the attainment of sinister goals like raising the dead to life, conspiring against the king, taking revenge, obtaining magical objects which granted power (like a magical sword), bringing super-human beings into one’s power (like a yakṣiṇī/nature spirit or a vetāla/animated corpse) to achieve earthly material objectives. The main point of divergence becomes the use of ritual objects, rites of gore, ritual copulation, social inclusivity, and the presence of women (and shudras) as independent master-priestesses or ritual specialists, the supposed ‘witches.’ The practices of magic are disapprovingly portrayed as repulsive and evil when performed by men; when women are involved, they are projected as leading to disaster. This is clearly expressed in the KSS in a story which mentions the rejection of a certain brahman suitor by a princess on the basis that he was addicted to unlawful acts (vikarmastha), had deserted the Vedas (vedavarjita), and so had fallen from his high position (Kathā: IX. 2 103–116).6 Throughout the translation of the KSS, C.H. Tawney categorizes the women, termed as yoginī/ḍākinī/śākinī, using the single term ‘witches.’ These categories actually have three basic connotations within the Tantric milieu of the text; these are as participants in rituals, as superhumans and/or as Goddesses, and as practitioners. This is similar to threefold classification of the role of women in early Śakta texts as partners in ritual (dūtī or śaktī), superhuman yoginīs possessing supernatural powers and worshiped as objects of the ritual, and the practitioners who perform the ritual, similar to the male sādhaka (Torzsok 2014: 342). It would be better to refer to female Tantric practitioners as priestesses since ‘witch’ has a particularly Christian connotation and an adverse one which seems to have stuck to the terms yoginī/ḍākinī/śākinī in general, though the semantics of these varied according to chronology and religious context. As priestesses they would be authorized to perform the sacred rites of a religion and be regarded as leaders in religious ceremonies. Generally, the so-called ‘witches,’ or rather priestesses, are represented as practicing magical rites in secret and their knowledge is limited to their small circle. In addition, these women appear to not follow the gender norms and to subvert them at various levels. 3.  Kālarātrī and Kuvalyāvalī The lengthy series of events connected with the ritual path of Kālarātri begins with Queen Kuvalyāvalī, who is caught by King Ādityaprabha (of Śrīkaṇṭha) performing a ritual in the antaḥpura/royal household (Kathā III. 6.48–53; Penzer 2001, vol II: 95–116).7 The queen’s ritual affiliation was not known to the king and she conducted it when he had gone for a hunt. When the king saw her, she quickly grabbed her clothes and begged to be forgiven, telling him that the ritual was meant to ensure his prosperity. Further, she narrated to him the manner in which she had obtained the rites of magical power (siddhi).

88  Tara Sheemar Malhan The events began when she still lived in her father’s house and was enjoying herself in the garden with her friends during the spring festival. Upon the insistence of her friends, she went to worship a boon-granting image of Gaṇeśa in a secluded part of the garden to acquire a husband without difficulty. After she had finished worship, she suddenly saw that her companions had flown up by their own power and were playing in the fields of the air (gaganāṅgaṇe) (Kathā III. 6.100–104). On being questioned about the nature of their magic power (siddhi), they told her that these were the magic powers of witches’ spells (ḍākinīmantrasiddhi) and they were the result of the eating of human flesh. Their teacher (khyātā gurū) was a brahman woman named Kālarātrī. The princess was also eager to acquire the power of flying in the air (khecarī siddhi) but was hesitant to eat human flesh (nṛmāṁsa). However, she succumbed to the desire for power and requested that she be instructed (upadeśa) in that science. Kālarātrī’s dramatic entrance is enhanced due to the graphic description of her appearance as being “monstrous” (vikaṭākṛti) (Kathā III. 6.107–113).8 Under her guidance, the princess, completely naked and standing in the middle of a circle, performed a ceremony to worship Bhairava. Kālarātrī sprinkled the princess with water and gave her various mantras and human flesh that had been offered in sacrifice (bali) to the gods.9 Upon completion of the ceremony and eating of the flesh, the princess immediately flew up to the sky (gagan/ambar) and then descended at her teacher’s (gurū) command. In her girlhood (bālya) the princess had become a member of a society of witches (ḍākinīcakra) and told the king that in their meetings they had devoured many men. The queen also narrated the story of Kālarātrī, her teacher. She was earlier the wife of a brahman named Viṣṇusvāmin, a skillful instructor (upādhyaya) of the Vedic knowledge (vedavidyāviśārada) in Kanyākubja (Kathā, III. 6.115–185). She had made overtures towards one of his handsome young pupils named Sundaraka, who refused to liaise with her. As revenge, she accused him of attempted rape. Her husband had Sundaraka beaten and thrown out by the other pupils, and Sundaraka took shelter in a cow shed (gauvāṭa) during the night. While he was crouching unobserved in a corner of that cow shed, Kālarātrī arrived, accompanied by a crowd of witches.10 The terrified Sundaraka called to mind the magical formula (mantra) that drove away rākṣasas. Distracted by it, she could not see him hiding in a corner. Kālarātrī and her friends (sakhī) recited a magical formula that enabled them to fly up into the air along with the cow shed to Ujjayinī. Sundaraka witnessed the event hidden in the cow shed and memorized the formula. The cow shed was made to descend by another mantra into a garden of herbs (śākavāṭikā). The women went and sported in the cremation-ground (śmaśāna) among the other ‘witches.’ Kālarātrī finally returned home with her pupils (śiṣyā) placing the cow shed, which was her vehicle (govāṭavāhana), in its original place.

Forgotten Priestesses 89 Sundaraka left the house of his teacher (upādhyaya) and went to stay with his friends, eating at the alms house for brahmans. He chanced to meet Kālarātrī at the marketplace, and she approached him once again. He again refused her on grounds of righteousness, stating that she was like a mother to him and the wife of his teacher. She again complained to her husband, who went and stopped Sundaraka’s supply of food at the alms house. Sundaraka was disgusted and wanted to leave that country. He knew the spell to go up but not the one to come down; he had heard it before but could not remember it. He went to the cow shed and hid, waiting for Kālarātrī. She came with her followers, and they once more went through the air to Ujjayinī and descended into the garden of herbs. Though he heard the spell that caused descent from the air, he failed to retain it again. The reason given for his failure at retention was that magic practices cannot be thoroughly learnt without explanation by a teacher (vinā hi gurvādeśena sampūrṇaḥ siddhayaḥ kutaḥ). He collected some roots there while the witches had gone to the cemetery. They all returned to their native country. Subsequently, Sundaraka had some adventures which resulted in him gaining the position of king along with a city, palace, many women, and prosperity. But he roamed around with his city and palace in the sky because he did not know the spell to come down. Finally, he met a siddha who roamed in the air (ākāścārī) and gave him the mantra/spell to descend from the air to return to Kanyākubja. He informed the king of the city about the practices of Kālarātrī. She appeared before the king upon being summoned, fearlessly (nirbhyā) confessing everything. The king ordered that her ears be cut off as punishment, but she disappeared. The king announced that she was forbidden to live in his kingdom. The narrative returns to Kuvalyāvalī, who claims that she was the śiṣyā of Kālarātrī, but her power was even greater than her teacher since she was also a pativratā. She convinced the king to be initiated into her ritual practices to conquer all the other kings by magic power (yoga siddhi). The king was hesitant to eat human flesh but she threatened to commit suicide, and he agreed since “how can men who are attracted by the objects of passion remain on the good path (supatha)?” (Kathā III. 6.186–217) Her plan was to sacrifice the brahman named Phalabhūti on the basis that his high status would make the results efficacious. To achieve their purpose, they initiated (dikṣita) the royal cook (sūpkāra) into their practices. They told the cook to secretly kill Phalabhūti and cook his flesh for them. But by mistake, the prince Candraprabha was killed by the cook and eaten by them. After that the remorseful king informed his ministers, anointed Phalabhūti as the king, and entered the fire with the queen to purify himself of the guilt. In the end, the assertion that the hegemonic discourse of the text seeks to build a rhetoric of negativity around Tantra by emphasizing its ill results can be bolstered by the fact that the story is connected with the brahman Phalabhūti, whose good practices are hailed as leading to good results.

90  Tara Sheemar Malhan These ‘good’ practices are placed in direct contrast with the ‘bad’ practices within the narrative in terms of the result. The lesson or moral the story is meant to convey is precisely this. Phalabhūti was a brahman to whom king Ādityaprabha had given patronage prior to the events relating to discovery of Kuvalyāvali’s ritual leanings. The king had been amused by the repeated utterance of certain words after the evening offering to Agni made by Phalabhūti. He would say that he who does good will obtain good and he who does evil will obtain evil (bhadrakṛt prāpnuyād bhadram bhadram cāpy abhadrakṛt) (Kathā III. 6.35–49).11 In the end, the king repeated the same words before relinquishing his kingdom. 4.  Boundaries and Intersections The story of Kālarātrī and Kuvalyāvalī in the KSS is a comprehensive sketch of magico-ritual praxis under the direct control of women. Tantra appears as a widespread popular belief system in the KSS (Sheemar Malhan 2017: Ch. 5), but the rhetoric attempts to dissuade the audience of its efficacy as a system and it is definitely considered antinomian. Repeated use of certain terms visibly connected with the magico-ritual belief system requires further investigation to fully grasp the import of the narrative. These are mantra, siddhi, gurū-śiṣyā, dīkṣā, ḍākinī, and the name Kālarātrī itself. Other prominent terms of particular significance to Tantric contexts are khecarī, ḍākinī-cakra, maṇḍala, śmaśāna, and śākavāṭikā. The representation of Kālarātrī as a teacher, a khyatā gurū, requires some discussion. She was clearly the leader of a band of women who were her disciples/śiṣyās, initiated/dikṣitā into her practice which conspicuously included recitations and knowledge of mantras, and the power gained and transferred is termed as siddhi. The female disciples could further initiate others, even men, as the queen Kuvalyāvalī does. It is already well established that in the Tantras women are given the right to initiate persons in matters of religious and spiritual practices (Chitgopekar 2002: 82–111).12 They have the authority to become priestesses and gurus, initiate disciples, run their own respective āśramas, and hold positions of power in the religious sphere. However, while the narrative does create the image of Kālarātrī as powerful, it mentions at one place that Queen Kuvalyāvalī was more powerful as she was also pativratā or the devoted wife. This seems to be standard patriarchal discourse inserted into a story about the practice of magic to uproot its base. But the final fate of the queen is not in tandem with this, since she and the king enter the fire to atone for their crime and guilt. Kālarātrī, on the other hand, the teacher, the leader, is unrepentant and escapes punishment, and the king lamely banishes her. The narrative emphasizes the importance of the guru when stating that Sundaraka could not memorize the spell because he was not initiated. In this context Kālarātrī is an empowered personality, a priestess-teacher. But she is also of the brahman varṇa, and a wife of a renowned teacher. In

Forgotten Priestesses 91 the context of orthodoxy and hegemonical Brahmanical system, her position is not that of a teacher, which is kept secret; rather, it is her position as a wife and member of a varṇa that becomes paramount. In the space of orthodoxy, she becomes marginal and deviant; the appellation ḍākinī itself implies this marginality and deviancy. As a householder, her sexuality remains the source of tension and transgression. Kālarātrī as a mortal intersects with Kālarātrī as a goddess. The goddess Kālarātrī is connected with war and victory in the KSS. She is mentioned in another case as the invincible Canḍikā placed by Shiva to guard the southern opening of a cave opening on Mount Kailasha (Kathā XV 1.70, 89–104). Naravāhandatta worships her to obtain victory in a battle. The invocation of Bhairava by the priestesses places their practice within the larger context of the Vidyāpīṭha Śāktas who were prominent in Kashmir (Hatley 2019) and who emphasized female divination. Hatley has argued that there was the possibility of women as autonomous ritualists within the tradition. Our Kālarātrī, the priestess-teacher, is a good example of homologization in the textual imagination.13 This is a very empowering trope for women. A central aspect of Tantric practice was self-identification of the practitioner with the deity, and this was crucial in the performance of all rituals; this is of special importance for us. As such, the text does not make any direct connection of the priestess with the goddess. But the name is symbolically suggestive. However, ultimately she is banished from the kingdom, which in a way was an out-casting of socio-religious dissent since one was removed from habitable space to the margins by the king, the coercive power of hegemonic patriarchy. This fusion of gender, varṇa, and ritual performance identified with marginalized groups can be found in other places in the text as a fall from social place and association of Tantric practice with social strata placed at the margins of society. For example, four young foreign merchants take help from a female mendicant (pravrajikā) named Yogakaraṇḍikā to procure the chaste wife Devasmitā (Kathā II. 5.45–196). Her disciple (śiṣyā), Siddhikarī, becomes a maid in the house of Devasmitā to achieve this purpose, and she is referred to as dhūrtā, or cheat, and ḍomba, which was used for outcaste groups. The connection of Kālarātrī with the cow shed is also significant in this context since it was a space associated with menstruating women who were regarded as temporarily ‘impure.’ The fall from the social status of practicing brahmans has been pointed out in the context of the early Kaula system in Kashmir. Their pivotal figure, Matsyendranātha, had low social origins, though for the Kaulas themselves, it was ascension within the ritual system that mattered (Williams 2017: 141). The second significant aspect of the narrative is the use of the term ḍākinī and siddha repeatedly for Kālarātrī and her circle of adepts (ḍākinī-cakra). It is pertinent to highlight the difference between the ḍākinīs, yoginīs, and śākinīs, though many times they are used interchangeably. The terms are difficult to define precisely since there appears to be a wide divergence in

92  Tara Sheemar Malhan their meaning depending upon time and space, genre of literature, and religious context. The polythetic definition of yoginī enlists certain fundamental traits associated with them (see Hatley 2013: 21–31).14 Another way of understanding refers to them as the patron deities of those who followed the heterodox path known as the Kaula Marga connected with the earlier practice called Clan practice or kula-dharma, which later became somaticized as Tantra (Chitgopekar 2002: 91–92).15 In the KSS, a female ascetic (tāpasī) is referred to as yogīśvarī and as having supernatural powers (Kathā X. 9.215–254). The connotation of yoginī is largely positive in the text and used for practitioners who used their power in the aid of men (and so Brahmanical patriarchy) and not to destroy or devour them. This is the case when the brahman Vāmadata is helped by a siddhayoginī, also called yogeśvarī, who becomes his mother-in-law and initiates him in the science (vidyā) of Kālasaṅkarśiṇī (Kathā XII. 1.50–66). The Purāṇas club together yoginīs, ḍākinīs, and śākinīs, associating certain traits with them: the cakra or circle; disguised as mendicants; specializing in seduction; great conversationalists; skilled in drawing pictures; having knowledge of medicine, herbs, and midwifery; proficient in the arts and in performing; bestowing magical power on believers, especially the ability to fly; able to enter bodies, revive the dead, and foretell the future; causing destruction of enemies and success of armies, etc. (Chitgopekar 2002: 105–107). However, the yoginīs can be very distinctly differentiated from the ḍākinī, and to understand this distinction is important to place it in the scheme of larger textual semiotics. Shaiva Tantric sources associate the ḍākinī with cruelty and ritual violence, who attain their power through inverted (viloma) methods (see Hatley 2013, 2016). 5. Conclusion We can now locate the representation of the ḍākinī-cakra of Kālarātrī. They have all the powers connected with priestesses of magico-religious systems, especially the power of flying through the sky (khecari), mantra-siddhi, knowledge of herbs, and association with cremation grounds, but they also devour men. The semiotics of this are very strong. The insistence upon the eating of human flesh, especially of men, may not refer to actual cannibalism, but rather to their antinomian religious praxis of being independent of male leadership and thus patriarchal gender roles. The passages in the KSS relating to Kālarātrī’s attempted seduction of the young handsome student Sundaraka are significant. Her confidence in courting him is in blatant contradiction to her representation as being very ugly and fearsome, and the text states that Kāma makes “great sport with ugly people as his laughingstock” (Kathā III. 6.119–120). But it also states that he was tempted and resisted.16 Such physical descriptions are a well-known narrative device within Sanskrit culture to connect body with character and emphasize the negativity of the antithetical. The point to note is that priestesses of Tantra were connected

Forgotten Priestesses 93 with sexual freedom and were adept in the art of seduction. The versatility of the human yoginī included the necessity to mediate between strīdharma and religious life. This led to a ‘deep ambivalence’ in textual sources that presents her as having power of attraction and at the same time a repellent gruesomeness (Dunn 2019). Thus, the master priestess is attractive and repulsive at the same time. In contrast to the religious praxis under female initiative, the utilization of magic by Sundaraka, which he had secretly ‘learned’ from the women, brought about auspicious results since his conduct is presented as being righteous. While overall the KSS disapproves of magico-rituals, male practitioners do succeed in achieving results like getting super-human beings into their power through spells, who then become the means to fulfill their wishes (Sheemar Malhan 2017: 207–210).17 Magico-ritual specialists are also depicted as assistants in anti-normative actions, as when Manahsvāmin takes the help of Mūladeva, a master of magic arts, to gain his love interest, the local princess (Kathā XII. 22.1–30). The role of female practitioners in assisting male protagonists is depicted more positively, as seen earlier in the case of Vāmadatta and the siddhayoginī. If we narrow down the points of contention, we arrive at two major aspects of Tantric practice that are the fundamental subject of interdiction via the narrative discourse; both are related to power. One is the power in the hands of women as specialists, and the other is the connection with the monarchy. Issues of space and secrecy become relevant in this context. Throughout, it is emphasized that the practice of the ḍākinī-cakra was done in secret, which is in keeping with general structure of Tantric systems where initiation was the sole access to the inner belief and ritual performance. But the space of the royal household, the inner apartments (antaḥpura), become the location of ritual performance and ultimately King Ādityaprabha is instructed in the ritual. The tragedy for Kuvalyāvalī lies at the intersection of gender, political power, and ritual access. For the king, too, ritual autonomy is fatal, particularly under the influence of a Tantric cult led by a woman. The king, being initiated, also becomes a practicing ritualist. This is presented as a conflict with his royal responsibilities, protection of varṇa (especially brahmans, whose killing was the highest śāstric offense), and ensuring the continuity of the lineage by producing male progeny. Noticeably, in the end he is divested of kingship, which passes on to the brahman Phalabhūti. The connection between royal power and Tantric practice through the concept of the maṇḍala has been made to show how Tantra itself shifts from being a mainstream bulwark of the state with the royal courts as clienteles of Tantric specialists, when the king is a Tantric practitioner, to potentially subversive, antinomian, and covert when he is not (White 2000: 25–36). The KSS pronounces that when the king is inside the circle it will lead to tragedy, a narrative device so that kings don’t enter the circle. When kings are not part of it, then the circle itself becomes a threat to their power. In that case,

94  Tara Sheemar Malhan the practitioner is put outside the circle of the kingdom. A  general trend can be seen in the literature of Kashmir contemporary to KSS to critique the ‘depravity’ and ‘licentiousness’ of Tantric cults and the lifestyles of kings who surrounded themselves with such teachers, as was the case with Kalaśa, the son of Queen Sūryamatī, for whom the KSS is proclaimed to have been composed (Dyczkowski 1989: 14–15). The struggle for royal patronage must have been particularly intense in a context when various cults co-existed. It has been pointed out that in the texts we can find silhouettes of real women whose knowledge was appropriated by Sanskrit-speaking uppercaste men (Mukhopadhyay 2020).18 The narrative device interdicts female ritual agency, contrasting intention and effect through reversal; that is, by subverting the situation and presenting an inversion of the outcome. The difference between the approved austerities and disapproved magic becomes apparent when considered from the dominant perspective of the KSS. Austerities brought about the goals of human life according to the law of dharma. Magic is used for extraordinary purposes and is decidedly antinomian; this social non-conformity is magnified in the independent practice of master priestesses. This clearly connects with the way the discourse around rituals is built in the KSS. Somadeva discourages magico-ritual practice by women in general, and especially the power of the women adepts, yet is very familiar with the milieu and details of magical rites. Most significantly, in the courtly context, they are presented in a way as ‘infiltrating’ the harem and causing the destruction of the royal house. Ultimately, this might be the message for the courtly context: to sever ties with Tantra. Notes 1 A ḍākinī is generally understood to be a malevolent super-human being or a human Tantric adept in Brahmanical contexts; in Buddhist contexts she is a “soteriologically necessary giver of knowledge, powers and inspiration” (Scherer 2018). The word is derived from √ḍī root which signifies flying or passing through the air. 2 The most popular of the translations is that of C.H. Tawney, edited by Penzer in ten volumes and utilized in the present work. 3 Rosati has shown how in Assam many cases are reported of women murdered or beaten because they were suspected of practicing witchcraft and black magic. Popular superstition regarding witchcraft is closely linked to contention over the ownership of fields. 4 Vrata is a vowed observance, and tapas refers to more extreme forms of physical practices of abstention, fasting, severity of living in the KSS. 5 There is considerable representation of wandering female mendicants or pravājikās, tapasvinīs, or at one place yogeśvarī, and they too are ritual specialists, but the nature of the practice of the ‘witches’ and the wandering ascetics vary since the ascetic would fall in the worldview of orthopraxy, though it does show that there were very thin lines dividing the practice of different forms of religion in the text. 6 His connection is certainly with Tantric practice as he is said to worship Goddess Caṇḍī, chant charms, and have the power of bringing a person back to life, one of the special powers connected with those who had obtained siddhi through

Forgotten Priestesses 95 magico-rituals. I  have used The Kathâsaritsagâra of Somadevabhatta edited by Durgaprasad and Parab (1930) throughout the chapter, abbreviated to Kathā, followed by book, chapter and verse/s in the citation numerals. 7 The ritual involved worshiping the deities (devīdevārcana) stark naked, horripilating, eyes half closed with a large patch of red lead on her forehead, lips trembling in muttering charms (japa) in the midst of a great circle (mahāmaṇḍala) strewn with various colored powders, offering blood, spirits, and human flesh. 8 Her eyebrows met, she had dull eyes, a depressed flat nose, large cheeks, widely parted lips, projecting teeth, a long neck, pendulous breasts, a large belly, and broad expanded feet. 9 Mantra is variously translated as incantation, spell, prayer or song of praise, sacred formula addressed to any deity, Vedic hymn or sacrificial formula, mystical verse, or magical formula (www.learnsanskrit.cc). In Tantric contexts, it is used in the meaning of a magical formula. 10 She had a sword in her hand, looked terrible, and was uttering a hissing sound with wind and flames issuing from her mouth and eyes. 11 His repetition of the words sounded amusing in Sanskrit and made the king and court laugh. 12 Chitgopekar points out that it is evident from the list of masters of several texts and from an impressive range of textual sources that many men received their first inspiration and subsequent initiation from female ascetics or yoginīs. Women’s full participation is consistent with the loose structure of Tantric circles. There was no clerical body or institutional structure to which women or men had to appeal to authorize their practice or authenticate their progress. The informal organizational structure was centered on individual teachers and their disciples. 13 Homologization is discussed in detail by Williams (2017). 14 These seven traits are: manifestation in/as mortal women; organization into clans/kula like the seven or eight matṛs/mothers of the Brahmanical system whose part/aṃśa they are; theriomorphism; danger, impurity, and power with their primary locus being the charnel ground (śmaśāna); protection and transmission of esoteric teachings; flight (khecarī). 15 The Yogini-Kaula was a religious system which was orally transmitted by a line of female ascetics, the yoginīs. The yoginīs are said to have heard knowledge from Shiva and kept it within their own line of transmission (kula), and so it was essential to have oral transmissions in the Kaula schools in secret. 16 How could he be tempted if she was so gruesome?! 17 For example, the story of Adityaśarman, who gets a yakṣiṇī into his control with the help of a mendicant, or Devadatta, who is aided by a mahāvratin named Jalapada to become a vidyādhara. 18 He speaks of the textualized female vocalization and non-textualized female presences as embodied speeches, turned into silence by textual, cultural, and political erasure.

References Bishop, S. (2020): Touch in Contemporary Tantra: Transgression, Healing, and Ecstasy in Women’s Constructions of Selfhood.  Edinburgh Research Archive— Divinity thesis and dissertation collection. Bronner, Yigal, and David Shulman (2006): A Cloud Turned Goose: Sanskrit in the Vernacular Millennium. The Indian Economic and Social History Review, 43(1). Chakravarti, Kunal (1996): Texts and Traditions: The Making of the Bengal Purāṇas. In Tradition, Dissent and Ideology: Essays in Honour of Romila Thapar (ed. by R. Champakalakshmi and S. Gopal). New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 55–88.

96  Tara Sheemar Malhan Chakravarti, Kunal (2001): Religious Process: Purāṇas and the Making of a Regional Tradition. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Chitgopekar, Nilima (2002): The Unfettered Yoginīs. In Invoking Goddesses: Gender Politics in Indian Religion (ed. by Nilima Chitgopekar). New Delhi: Shakti Books, 82–111. Doniger, Wendy, and Sudhir Kakar (trans.) (2002): Kamasutra. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Dunn, L. M. (2019): Yoginīs in the Flesh: Power, Praxis, and the Embodied Feminine Divine. Journal of Dharma Studies, 1(2), 287–302. Durgaprasad Pandit, and K. P. Parab (eds.) ([1889] 1930): The Kathâsaritsgâra of Somadevabhatta. Bombay: Nirṇaya-Sâgar Press, 4th edition revised by Wâsudev Laxmaṇ Śâstri Paṇśîkar. Dyczkowski, Mark S. G. (1989): The Doctrine of Vibration. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Einoo, Shingo (2014): Vedic Predecessors of One Type of Tantric Ritual. Cracow Indological Studies, 16(December), 109–143. Golovkova, A. A. (2019): From Worldly Powers to Jīvanmukti: Ritual and Soteriology in the Early Tantra s of the Cult of Tripurasundarī. The Journal of Hindu Studies, 12(1), 103–126. Hatley, Shaman (2013): What Is a Yoginī? Towards a Polythetic Definition. In ‘Yogini’ in South Asia: Interdisciplinary Approaches (ed. by Istvan Keul). London: Routledge, 21–31. Hatley, Shaman (2016): Converting the Ḍākinī: Goddess Cults and Tantras of the Yoginīs between Buddhism and Śaivism. In Tantric Traditions in Transmission and Translation (ed. by David Gray and Ryan Richard Overbrey). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 37–86. Hatley, Shaman (2019): Sisters and Consorts, Adepts and Goddesses: Representations of Women in the Brahmayāmala. In Tantric Communities in Context: Sacred Secrets and Public Rituals. Vienna: Austrian Academy of Sciences Press, 49–82. Mallinson, James Sir (trans.) (2007): The Ocean of the Rivers of Story by Somadeva, vol. I, Clay Sanskrit Library. New York: New York University Press and JJC Foundation. Mukhopadhyay, A. (2020): The Authority of Female Speech in Indian Goddess Traditions. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Obrock, Luther James (2015): Translation and History: The Development of a Kashmiri Textual Tradition from ca. 1000–1500. Unpublished PhD diss., University of California, Berkeley. Penzer, N. M. (ed.) (2001 [1924–28]): The Ocean of Story: Being C.H. Tawney’s Translation of Somadeva’s Kathā Sarit Sāgara 1–10. New Delhi: B.R. Publishing. Pollock, Sheldon (2003): Sanskrit Literary Culture from Inside Out. In Literary Cultures in History (ed. idem). Berkeley: University of California Press. Rosati, P. E. (2017): The Cross-Cultural Kingship in Early Medieval Kāmarūpa: Blood, Desire and Magic. Religions, 8(10), 212. Sanderson, Alexis (2009): The Hinduism of Kashmir, published as the entry “Kashmir”. In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism, Volume One: Regions, Pilgrimage, Deities (ed. by Knut A. Jacobsen) Leiden and Boston: Brill. Handbuch der Orientalistik. Zweite Abteilung, Indien, vol. 22, pp. 99–12. Scherer, Bee (2018): Buddhist Tantric Theology? The Genealogy and Soteriology of Tārā. Buddhist-Christian Studies, 38, 289–303.

Forgotten Priestesses 97 Sharma, R. S. (2001): Early Medieval India Society. New Delhi: Orient Longman. Sheemar Malhan, Tara (2017): Plunging the Ocean: Courts, Castes and Courtesans in the Kathāsaritsāgara. New Delhi: Primus. Silk, Jonathan A. (2020): A Resurgent Interest in “Hindu Fiction”. Indo-Iranian Journal, 63, 263–306. Torzsok, Judit (2014): Women in Early Śākta Tantras: Dūtī, Yoginī and Sādhakī. Cracow Indological Studies, 16, 339–367. White, David G. (ed.) (2000): Tantra in Practice. New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Williams, Benjamin L. (2017): Abhinavagupta’s Portrait of a Guru: Revelation and Religious Authority in Kashmir. PhD diss, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA.

5 Women Sharing Bhakti, Women Singing Devotion Friends, Teachers, and Leaders in the Hindu Diaspora Vasudha Narayanan 1. Searching for a Category: Falling Between the Cracks of Patriarchal Radars About twenty years ago, when I was in Chicago on work, I went to see my cousin who lived in the suburbs. She said she was having her Tiruppugazh1 music-group over for a class, followed by singing at her home that day. By the time I arrived, the music had started; about thirty women and ten men were there with binders in hand, singing the 15th-century songs composed by Arunagiri Nathar in praise of Murugan, a very popular deity in Tamil Nadu. The teacher, Mrs. Raji Krishnan, a member of the community, was seated in front, facing the singers. She taught them a new song from Tiruppugazh in a traditional Carnatic music raga, and then they sang some of the ones they had learned in the earlier months. She taught with patience and with joy, and some members of the group struggled to follow her lead. As I heard them, I could recognize some of the songs and sing along. This was not because they were popular through media or recordings in India, but because I, along with a group of about ten women, had learned the songs from another teacher who had taught them to us with the same tunes and in the same style. Our teacher in Florida was also an accomplished singer steeped in Carnatic music and had learned these songs from her mother and aunts in Chennai, India. Not only was the music similar, but the format and concept of the evening event were remarkably alike, with the teacher of devotional music taking center stage. Something clicked in my mind. I remembered friends from various towns telling me about similar classes they had attended, and I began to notice a pattern. Soon, I  started to encounter more groups in many suburbs of the United States and heard about others in Canada. My school friend, Lalitha Srinivasan, told me that she had started to learn the Tiruppugazh in a similar setting in Toronto, with a revered woman teacher, the famous ‘Tara Mami’ (‘Aunt Tara,’ an affectionate and respectful reference to a well-known teacher, Mrs. Tara Krishnan). This was in 1982, in what may well have been one of the earliest of such classes. Tara Mami (d. 2017) had been a disciple of Guruji Raghavan (1928–2013), who had tuned about 505 of the 1035 DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-6

Women Sharing Bhakti, Women Singing Devotion 99 extant songs of the Tiruppugazh and had taught hundreds of students over the decades. We will pick up on this discussion of lineages and networks a little later in this chapter when discussing the classes taught by Mrs. Poorna Sethuraman of Naperville, IL. 1.1  Identifying the Groups and the Teachers of Bhakti

Not only were the Chicago and Gainesville, FL music sessions similar in texture, but there was a remarkable pattern that emerged in observing these music classes in the many suburbs of North America. While the content of the classes differed, depending on the repertoire of lengthy prayer-songs the teacher was interested in, in all of them I encountered a woman teacher who had learned both vocal Carnatic music as well as the bhakti songs in India. These teachers get a group of women together and train them to sing songs with devotion and delight—and for no monetary compensation. The exercise was and continues to be a labor of love—or bhakti. While participating and observing the groups, I  have noticed that the groups of learners are primarily composed of South Indian, middle-class, largely professional suburban women; many (though not all) are over thirty-five or forty years old, and they all generally meet for one evening every week. In a few cases, the teachers teach one section for peer-age women and a special one for children, but there are also women teachers who focus primarily on children. There is seldom any explanation of the verses or time spent on the ‘meaning’ of the songs; the focus is on the music. The songs are easy, catchy tunes and the music itself is a performative commentary. The women teachers, whatever their age, carry considerable authority and clout; they often get their groups to sing in local temples and other homes on festive occasions, creating new rituals in the diaspora, and the groups wear similar-colored sarees, frequently color-coded for the occasion. The content of the teaching differs; some teachers focus on the Tiruppugazh, others on the Divya Prabandham (8th—9th century CE Tamil poems addressed to Vishnu), some on the Narayaneeyam (16th-century Sanskrit work composed by Narayana Bhattar to Krishna in the temple in Guruvayur), the Saundarya Lahari (c. 8th-century Sanskrit poem attributed to Shankara), and other longer works. These groups, gathering under the teaching aegis of a woman singer, are different from other cultural activities frequently seen in Hindu communities in the United States. They are not classical music or dance classes for which the teachers charge a modest fee. Here, in the devotional group singing context, a woman in the community teaches the reasonably long Tamil or Sanskrit works as a way of promoting bhakti; she gets a group of like-minded people together and thinks of this as doing seva or service, without monetary compensation. Although the long works attributed to Shankara, the Alvars, or Arunagiri Nathar are all set in Carnatic music ragas now, the classes are not traditional Carnatic music lessons where one traditionally learns the

100  Vasudha Narayanan songs of Tyagaraja, Dikshitar, or Shama Sastry, among others. The Carnatic music classes emphasize the musical aspect of the compositions; here, in the bhakti classes, the works of Shankara, Alvars, et al. are ‘devotional’ works which have been set to Carnatic music ragas or sometimes even taught as a repetitious chant in a particular meter. In some cases, as in reciting the Tamil songs of the Alvars, instead of singing the songs, the groups learn to recite the works in a traditional way, breaking the words and sentences at specific points—a technical art the teacher has studied with her own teacher for many years. These classes are also quite different from the ubiquitous bhajan groups we see in suburbs in the United States or Canada; in fact, many of the women who come to these special teaching and singing sessions are also members of other regular bhajan groups. Unlike a bhajan group where several people take turns in leading the songs and the format is more egalitarian, here in the bhakti-music classes, there is a liminal and fluid hierarchy. The bhakti-music classes led by women are just that; they are taught by women to members of the community who come to the classes to share their devotion and walk in the performative path that the teacher will show them. And while the classes are going on and in other social contexts, the woman-teacher’s leadership is recognized by men and women in the community, even though she may be younger than many of them. In these devotional contexts, the performative piety of the teacher is the cultural capital which, in terms of hierarchy, trumps age, gender, economic class, and caste. I would also like to distinguish the teachers of these women’s groups from another set of community leaders. Hundreds of Hindu men and women in the diaspora spend their time volunteering several hours a week, some even working full time, for organizations such as the ‘Chinmaya Mission’ and the ‘Art of Living.’ These volunteers are committed to either spiritual gurus, a particular mission, or to an ideology, and spend endless hours teaching meditation to teenagers or adults or children’s classes (bal-vihar). But the women leaders I will be writing about in this chapter are not working for a specific living guru or institution. Many do work with a temple or teach under the aegis of a temple and other educational institutions. They are not, however, attached to any one of these institutions exclusively, and they frequently teach in multiple places. Shanthi Chandran of North Carolina, for instance, said she would lead her women’s group called ‘Smaranam’ (‘remembrance’) and teach them in a room in the Hindu Bhavan, but also sing in the Hindu temple at Cary and in other places. Vishnupriya Venkatapathi in New Jersey is committed to teaching devotional works from the Sri Vaishnava tradition and has taught at the local Sri Vaishnava sectarian institutions such as the ‘Andavan Ashram’ and the ‘Jeeyar Educational Trust,’ in addition to running other classes in Carnatic music and organizing plays. The women teachers are not identified with any specific institution such as the Chinmaya Mission when they conduct these classes of devotional music, but at other times they may also volunteer with various organizations and teach formal Carnatic

Women Sharing Bhakti, Women Singing Devotion 101 music classes, in addition to having their circle of bhakti singers who are their peers. The women who teach these devotional songs are members of the local community socially, but also have an elevated status in relevant contexts because of their performative knowledge of the traditional devotional texts and ability to transmit them with piety and authority. Even though the songs are frequently lofty philosophical works (unlike bhajans) and are laden with meaning, verbal commentaries are generally not deemed to be necessary, either in India or in the diaspora. Occasionally, the teacher may pause to summarize the benefits of learning a set of songs, or a member of the group may volunteer to explain their meaning. A  particular verse is sung to heal someone, the teacher might say; another set of verses would be effective in bringing monetary prosperity or fame; sing this, the teacher may advise, if you want a young person in your home to get married. The performative commentary, singing with the right bhava and raga, or recitation with the proper protocols is the goal. The teachers also introduce small rituals in connection with the songs; thus, singing the marriage of Murugan with Valli becomes a performance in itself. The women who teach lengthy bhakti works, such as the Divya Prabandham, the Narayaneeyam, the Tiruppugazh, the Tamil Siva Puranam and so on, week after week, for years on end, build upon a background of several years of training, but also continue their own learning process. They also ‘actively choose’ to teach and spread bhakti among their peers; in other words, they have agency in doing it. We will come back to this point later to compare it with the case of some gurus who feel that they may not have had much of a choice about divine possession or experiences, or who feel it is their divinely ordained mission to convey their experiences to others. While most of the suburban teachers do not aspire to be movers and shakers, their students, whatever their age, look up to them as community builders or leaders who show them the path of devotion through the performing arts. These women singers are the unsung transmitters of the Hindu traditions in the diaspora. They are not gurus, they are not acharyas; nor are they tutors one pays to learn an art. They are active, vibrant singers, pillars of the local Hindu community who fly under the radar of the category of ‘religious leadership’ for several reasons. I  will note a couple of these reasons now and come back to this discussion towards the end of the chapter. The first reason is that they do not seek the recognition of being spiritual teachers. Secondly, and more importantly, there is no box to put them in, no name or title to categorize them. Gurus and acharyas are central in imagining religious leadership in Hinduism, but they are frequently in the margins of the daily lives of middle-class, working South Indian Hindu women in American suburbia. Here, other hierarchies operate, and it is the women teachers who sing and express devotion who become the leaders of weekly recitation of Sanskrit and vernacular prayers. These women are not known by a leadership name and do not fit into a known classification of leaders; and without

102  Vasudha Narayanan a recognizable nomenclature, they are not noticed by those outside the communities. Yet they are at the center of weekly satsangs, leading dozens of families from local neighborhoods in music and recitation of religious texts and long prayers. Such prayers are ordinarily traditional; occasionally, as we will note in the case of Anu Srinivasan, who teaches songs on the childgoddess Bala, there are new works which are even said to be ‘revealed,’ or come in a vision to someone the women leaders may know. Although there is no name within the largely patriarchal language of religion in America to describe them, people in the South Indian communities immediately recognize the genre if one were to ask the correct questions. When talking to Professor Deepak Sarma about child goddesses, I told him about Bala and the devotee-teacher who taught bhakti songs in Chicago. He immediately said his mother knew someone like that in the Tampa Bay area. His mother, Kasthuri Sarma, indeed did know someone in the neighborhood who taught these long prayers and traditional songs; Mrs. Shanthi Chandran had just moved into the retirement community in Florida and had started a group like this after having run one in North Carolina for almost thirty years. In conversation with George Hart, Professor Emeritus of Tamil from the University of California-Berkeley, I only had to say, “Weekly classes in Divya Prabandham or Tiruppugazh,” and he promptly said, “Oh yes, my wife Kausalya was part of a group like that in the Bay Area. Latha Sridharan teaches there.” A friend in Houston immediately knew a couple of groups in the larger metropolitan area; there is Maha Krishnan, she said, who teaches the Tiruppugazh and other songs. These are the everyday leaders, people we talk with, sing with, and who show the way by singing in the frontlines. 1.2  Insider and Outsider: Positioning Myself Within the Frames

This chapter is about friends who teach and others, including family members, who are students. And all of them are sahrdayas, of the same heart, having empathy, with similar aspirations. It is a discussion of connections, networks, and lineages, and above all, about women who lead and work with the community members and temples in celebrating festive rituals on auspicious days. Much of my writing here is from ‘within’ the groups, so to speak; yet I  am also outside, in that I  know of other groups across the country and connect them intellectually and have consciously reflected on the contributions and role of the women leaders. Knowing these women socially and as peers meant I had a fair amount of information just by being part of their networks and knowing their life stories. Nevertheless, in conceptualizing a chapter like this and as it evolved, there were gaps in my information which were filled by conversations, links to social media (YouTube videos, Zoom classes), recordings and pictures sent by them. Like all of them, I speak Tamil and come from a similar social background; some are very good friends of my cousins, hence communication and picking up nuances has been easy. Yet, I had not identified these women as a

Women Sharing Bhakti, Women Singing Devotion 103 genre in an intellectual way until I thought this chapter through for over two years. In an initial version of this text, I wrote about these women as representing one kind of leadership and juxtaposed them with others who had a public presence. And then, between 2015–2021, as my interactions with them continued and I  discussed this phenomenon with other South Indian friends across the US, I  began to realize how widespread it was, and then began to connect the dots. But there was no name for these leaders, and ‘naming’ them has become a part of my discussions with these women leaders and with other colleagues; hence, I  have eschewed the traditional endnotes acknowledging my indebtedness to X or Y in helping me come up with a category and have brought them into the body of my discussions. I began this chapter with an incident about the familiar group dynamics of a woman teaching the songs of bhakti and how I had been a part of a similar circle in Gainesville, FL. This chapter has secular academia as its intended audience, but I write from the subjectivity of an Indian-American, middleclass, female and ‘colored’ immigrant, a participant in a community that is rich with Tamil-Hindu culture, and who relates to approximately the same socio-economic-personal spaces as the women in this text. While being part of the groups socially and for ritual matters gave me a rich understanding of what transpires in the weekly meetings, the relationship of the teachers and the students, which women find their way to the group, and how they come, there are still some unspoken protocols which affect the content of this chapter. One does not discuss issues of caste or community in such gatherings. Caste is not an obvious category in these circles; it is never articulated or discussed. Language is frequently a binding factor, but the words, phrases, and style of speaking are different in various castes and communities; thus, if one comes from South India, and one wants to think about it, one can know very soon through the kind of dialect and phrases used, the caste or community of any person from that general region. In the case studies I am presenting here, the members of the groups almost always came from South India, in many cases Tamil Nadu, and from several castes and communities. The women (and some men) who learn these songs and are part of these groups come from different castes, but many of the women leaders discussed come from a Brahmanical background. Although this has changed now in India and in the diaspora, in the 1960s and early 70s, the time when the women leaders discussed in this chapter were growing up in Madras-connected culture,2 it was mainly Brahmin families that emphasized the cultural value of Carnatic music for young women. Except for anecdotal evidence that many (though by no means all) teachers are brahmin, as a member of the social groups and as a friend of these women, I have chosen not to write about caste in this chapter. This may be seen from some perspectives as an important gap; it is in my case a conscious decision I have made out of respect for the women I have come to know over many years. If asked, members of the group may say that bhakti is an equalizer. It is, in some respects; older women learn these songs from women who are sometimes

104  Vasudha Narayanan half their age. The traditional hierarchy in that case is eschewed; and as discussed earlier, in a few cases, men also learn (and with great respect) from the women. The women friends I write about have become part of this chapter and are all part of the subjective ‘we’ and ‘us.’ In writing about them, I am writing about my life as well. This chapter will seek to understand the dynamics of this religious leadership, so vital in so many neighborhoods in America, by discussing the contributions of three women leaders in enriching the cultural and spiritual lives of other women and children in the community. We will also explore the meanings of ‘agency’ and ‘leadership’ in religious life among Hindu women in American suburbia and find a category for them. These women leaders see themselves as doing ‘seva’; if pressed, they think they are doing seva to a cause (transmitting the teachings of the Divya Prabandham or the words of the child-goddess, ‘Bala’). They also ‘facilitate’ bhakti in others by ‘teaching’ other women and, in some cases, men and children the Tiruppugazh, the Sahasranamas, and so on. While for some scholars outside of Hinduism this ‘leadership’ may mean breaking through some barriers that have been imposed on women in accessing sacerdotal roles, many Hindu women may not think of such functions as having much consequence and have instead created their own roles and rituals in public spaces through music. Further, none of them are in the culture of resistance; their activities are part of and an extension of their daily exercises of bhakti and social interaction. While the occasional visit of a male (or, occasionally, female) guru is certainly a time for devotees from various traditions to congregate and pay their respects, we see regular, consistent leadership in women who are at the center of devotional communities of middle-class Hindus. One may well ask: is the category of ‘priest’ considered important in the Hindu traditions? Women have hitherto been barred from many of these roles until the 20th century in Judaism and Christianity. In India, however, priesthood has several unique connotations and is frequently connected with brahmanical roles as well as ritual knowledge. Unlike in the Christian world, Hindu men and women do not necessarily aspire to be priests in India; although they are respected in rituals, their social class is not necessarily deemed high. Religious officiants in South India are primarily Brahmin men with three distinct roles: (a) those who specialize in temple rituals, (b) in domestic ritual, and (c) those who interpret and comment the sacred texts. While in general the ritual specialists in the temples and domestic spaces are treated politely, it is those who are exponents of the scriptures (harikatha performers) who command respect for their knowledge and erudition (Narayanan 2005). Verbal learning and interpretation, however, are only one part of the transmission. For millennia, one can argue, it is through the performing arts such as storytelling, music, and dance (and now through television, YouTube channels, etc.) that the transmission of Hinduism has taken place; and those

Women Sharing Bhakti, Women Singing Devotion 105 leading in these forms of transmission, generation after generation, have been women. After looking at three case studies here, I will suggest a possible new category to understand the leadership of these women in US suburbia, a classification which I hope will be useful to identify more people like them.3 2.  Anuradha Srinivasan and Devotion to the Child Goddess Bala4 Anu Srinivasan is in her early fifties; she has lived in a North Chicago suburb since 1989 with her husband and works in a large insurance company during the day. She was born into a Sri Vaishnava family, and while Sri Vaishnavas ordinarily worship Vishnu and his various manifestations and the Goddess Lakshmi, she is a devotee of Bala, the child-goddess, who is identified more with the Devi (Parvati or Durga). Anu teaches songs and prayers to a small group of devotees; although there are about thirty families in her listserv, about ten to fifteen came to the monthly meetings that were held in the homes of the members. While the classes were in person until the pandemic, they moved to a Skype platform in spring 2020, and then transitioned to Zoom in early 2022. There is also a WhatsApp group active for the members of this class. Anu teaches prayers and songs that have been revealed over several years to her cousin Asha, who lives in England. Anu, her sister who lives in India, and her cousin Asha started a temple to Bala in Malur on the outskirts of Bangalore, and it is flourishing now. Anu says she has always loved classical South Indian music but learned it formally only for three years. It all began with her grandmother, who was a Bala devotee, and her uncle, who also started to have visions of this child goddess. Bala (‘child’) is a youthful form of Ambal or Devi and has a distinct personality separate from Kanyakumari, the virgin-goddess. A song which was addressed to Bala and released to Asha identifies her with Sivakamasundar in Chidambaram, Meenakshi in Madurai, and so on. A website devoted to the Bala temple built by Anu and her family under the auspices of the Balambika Divya Sangam (BDS) near Bangalore describes her thus: Sri Bala Tripurasundari is the child form of Sri Lalitha Tripurasundari. Her mantra provides a shishya’s entry into Srividya. The Lalithopankhya states that Sri Bala is a nine-year-old form of Sri Lalitha Devi and stays with her mother at all times, as she is a manifestation of Lalita Tripura Sundari devi. In Bala Tripurasundari Moolamantram, she is described as the divine combination of wisdom of Goddess Saraswati, magnetic energy of Goddess Maha Kali and the prosperity of Lalitha Tripura Sundari. (http://malurbalambikatemple.com/ retrieved June 2018) Her origins are not known, and she is not mentioned in the traditional Puranas. Certainly, she was not a popular deity in the temples when I was growing

106  Vasudha Narayanan up. Speaking anecdotally, I can say her worship was certainly known in the early 20th century, when my grandmother also became acquainted with this form of divinity. The goddess has grown in popularity since the 1980s in Tamil Nadu, and a small house-temple in Nemili near Kanchipuram has become especially well-known. Here, the murti of the goddess Bala is only a few inches high but is kept on a pedestal with elaborate decorations around her. Since she is a little child-goddess, she is offered candy, chocolates, and cookies (‘biscuits’ in India), and the prasad is then distributed to school children nearby. I met Anu Srinivasan at various music fests in the Chicagoland area as well as at family weddings. She is a good friend of my cousin, who attends her classes and bhajans regularly. I had heard about her bhakti for the child-­ goddess and her teaching the Thousand Names of Bala (Bala Sahasranamam). When I asked her about it, she sent me some videos of women doing a ritual kummi dance in praise of Bala. Over the years, I got to hear more about her activities and about her being a key person in the building of a Bala temple near Bangalore. This Bala-bhakti is now transnational in nature. Anu’s uncle apparently had visions of the goddess for a short while; eventually, it stopped. But Anu’s cousin Asha, who was in engineering college, started to have visions of Bala; the goddess would also possess her. After these incidents, Asha would be drained of all energy. She had to be particularly careful about diet; in case she ate out at a restaurant or had onions or garlic (considered to be either tamasic or rajasik foods, depending on different classifications), the possession would be fiercer than at other times. Anu says that Asha had spoken of it as “an energy similar to a 1000 times electric shock waves going through her.” The goddess would prophesize good things which would happen to various people. Eventually, Asha stopped giving prophecies and spends now her time in contemplative pursuits and teaching various texts like the Devi Bhagavatam and the Upanishads to a group of devotees. Although she was not formally schooled in them and she has no guru, her interpretations come from her spiritual experiences of the revelations received by the goddess Bala. Anu and her sister in India are very close to their cousin Asha. Asha is married and lives with her husband and children in England. She was teaching but gave it up to spend her time in spiritual pursuits. Starting in 2009, Bala revealed several bhajans and the goddess’ many names to Asha and she taught them to Anu. More recently, Bala wanted the family to build a temple for her and revealed a likely spot to Asha. A temple has been built in Malur (near Kolar Goldfield Road) on the outskirts of Bangalore, under the auspices of the Balambika Divya Sangam, or BDF. Renowned temple architect Muthiah Sthapati designed the plan, and there is a resident priest. The temple website has an admirable list of activities and the bhajans that have been revealed to Asha (http://malurbalambikatemple.com/aanmavinisai.html). Anu said that “the main aim behind building this temple [to the child goddess Bala] is to expose this energy and the experience which we have to the

Women Sharing Bhakti, Women Singing Devotion 107 general public. This is so everyone can experience her and get her blessings.” Anu’s older sister who lives in Bangalore is the vice president, and Anu is the treasurer. When I commented that while it looks like her family built the temple, it is the women who seem to have taken a leadership role, she laughed and said yes, though she quickly added, “But the men were behind us and although they have not been visible, they have been very encouraging.” “Mainly,” added Anu, “my sister, my cousin, and I have done a lot for this [enterprise].” Anu has taught the revealed bhajans as well as the Bala Sahasranamam (‘Thousand Names of Bala’) to a small group of her friends over the last few years. They meet regularly to recite these prayers and sing the songs. Unlike the other groups, this one is slightly different in that the weekly meetings are designed as a worship ceremony, or puja, rather than as a class, so the teaching takes place in a more subtle way. All the participants in this group have a collection of songs revealed to Asha Manohar. Words for new songs are given in the WhatsApp chat group. The group listens to Anu singing in the puja and learns by hearing; occasionally, Anu sends recordings of herself or someone known to the family singing a song in the WhatsApp listserv. The puja session has Bala songs in a more generic South Indian Hindu bhajan format. The evening begins with “suklam bharadaram,” the opening sloka of the Vishnu Sahasranamam (‘The Thousand names of Vishnu’), there is a ‘dhyana,’ or meditation prayer, two bhajans to Bala sometimes sung by one of the devotees, recitation of the thousand names of Bala, and two more bhajans to Bala. Anu’s home or the home of one of the participants used to be the venue for what used to be the monthly meetings where she taught and led the prayers and bhajans. With the pandemic, there was a greater desire on the part of regular participants to have more sessions through Skype, and now they meet every Friday. Although the pandemic is over, the weekly meetings are still online, with Zoom replacing the original Skype sessions. Anu says that “Now after Covid, every Friday, we sing to Bala for positive energy for welfare of the world.” The weekly meetings are about forty-five minutes long, which is an abbreviated version of what used to be the monthly meeting. Every four weeks, however, they all recite the Lalitha Sahasranamam (which is omitted in the other weeks), and then perform the puja, which is about an hour and fifteen minutes long. The group which meets regularly is small (about twelve) with more people who come at different times. Prior to the pandemic, Anu’s group did the recitation, the singing and, on special occasions, ritual folk dancing called kummi to celebrate festivals. Anu has taught the kummi to go with the Bala songs, but in the Skype (now Zoom) sessions, in general, Anu does the recitation and the main puja. Her husband does an aarti in the end of the puja, waves the camphor light for Bala, and then offers the light to the group participating virtually in the puja. Anu occasionally asks if anyone would like to

108  Vasudha Narayanan recite the prayers, but in almost all sessions, one or two women volunteer to sing the Bala songs. This practice continues in the post-pandemic era. The teaching continues on a virtual platform; since the pandemic began in 2020, Anu has been sending recordings of the songs and their lyrics through WhatsApp, so that the men and women in the group can learn to sing them. Unlike other groups, this one does not perform in local temples but does sing the songs in domestic gatherings in friends’ homes. Anu calls her work a service to the community; like the others discussed in this section, it is a ‘labor of love.’ She gets the songs from her cousin, to whom these songs ‘come’ by the grace of the goddess. The divine source of these words, the simple tunes, and the moving visualization brought about by the songs bring the other participants into the fold. Her training as a Carnatic music singer also helps in the singing and leading of the songs. Cultural and spiritual resources make what she considers to be ‘service and a religious teaching’ activities that bring her peace. The participants are all South Indian, middle-class and, for the most part, middle-aged. While there are one or two men occasionally, all others are women. Most of them are professionally employed in very good jobs in the Chicago area. Some of them have already been Bala devotees. One of the regular attendees, for instance, is my aunt, Mythili Rajagopalachari (b. 1936), a long-time devotee of this form of the goddess, who visits Bala’s home templeshrine in Nemili regularly. For my aunt, Anu is so connected to the goddess because she has the right attitude (bhava); she says that she looks “forward to Anu’s ‘alankaram’ [the way Anu dresses up and adorns the deity] and ‘naivedyam’ [the food that is offered to the divine]. She puts so much thought and love into it as if she were doing it for her own child” (Personal communication). My cousin, Ranjani Iyengar, who has been attending this group regularly, says: “Anu is in flow when she sings and chants and that energy is contagious. The songs to Bala are very endearing and the tunes easy to sing along with. I enjoy being able to sing even without formal training.” Anu is a peer but more than a friend; when it comes to these matters, she invites others to share her devotion and becomes a teacher by transmitting the goddess’s words, revealed to her cousin Asha, to other seekers in the Chicagoland area. 3.  Recitation of the Divya Prabandham in New Jersey Vishnupriya came to New Jersey soon after she got married and started to teach the Divya Prabandham around 2004. The Divya Prabandham is a collection of twenty-four works, poems composed by twelve poet-saints (Alvars) who lived between the 7th and 9th centuries CE, which together are considered the Tamil Veda. Vishnupriya worked in the IT sphere for a while, but in 2010 she wanted to go back to India with her family. For professional reasons, the family came back to New Jersey a year later and settled down there. She had grown up in a very devotional environment in a Sri Vaishnava Brahmin family, always hearing the songs of the Alvars, the twelve poet-saints.

Women Sharing Bhakti, Women Singing Devotion 109 Her mother, Kothai Venkatapathy, also teaches the Divya Prabandham in Chennai. Writing about them, ‘Anudinam,’ a Sri Vaishnava website says: Smt. Kothai Venkatapathy and Smt. Vishnupriya Srinivasan [referring to Vishnupriya’s married name] have been giving Thematic presentations on Nalayira Divya Prabhandham for a very long time since 1990. Hailing from the family of Sri. U. Ve. Karapangadu Venkatachariyar Swamy [a renowned Sri Vaishnava scholar], Smt. Kothai Venkatapathy has been doing Kalakshepams/Upanyasams since 1990. She has initiated and completed lot of Temple projects like Temple Renovation and various other Srivaishnava Temple Kainkaryams since then and also started taking classes on Divya prabhandham. In addition to Kalakshepams, initiated by her Guru Sri Srirama Bharathi, she has been giving Thematic Musical Presentations on Divya prabhandham in India. (Namasankeerthanamum Devaghaanamum, website, New Jersey, 2012) I met Vishnupriya’s mother, Kothai Venkatapathy, around 1991 just when she had started to teach the Divya Prabandham in Chennai. My mother was one of a small group of women learning from her, and I wrote about Kothai Venkatapathy’s work in my book, The Vernacular Veda. I  lost touch with her, but in 2001, Mrs. Venkatapathy wrote to me to say that her daughter Vishnupriya now had a baby girl whom they named Vasudha and graciously added: “I hope that my granddaughter who bears your name will also, by the grace of the Lord and the devotees, be able to serve the community as you have.” Vishnupriya contacted me in 2017 to tell me about her teaching the Divya Prabandham, organizing plays about the Sri Vaishnava teachers (acharyas) and poet-saints (Alvars). She has, like the others in this chapter, shared pictures and videos of her activities. Just as Anu Srinivasan focuses on Bala, Vishnupriya’s activities all radiate from the poetry and philosophy of the Sri Vaishnava tradition. She regularly teaches women in the community to sing and present shows on specific themes. Vishnupriya and her mother have also given performances in the community on specific themes, such as one on the story of the Ramayana as seen in the works of the Alvars (Ramayanam in the Divya Prabandham) in 2010, and one on Andal’s long poem, the Nacchiyar Tirumoli, in 2012. Vishnupriya’s impact on the community is on two levels. The first is in the immediate New Jersey area where she works with children. The second is her teaching children on a national level through social media. She writes and directs plays and short shows in beautiful Tamil on the lives of the Alvars and the acharyas and teaches their stories to children in the New York-New Jersey area and spends endless hours working with them on how to act out the roles. Although the children, having been born and raised in America, know very little Tamil, she patiently explains the meaning in an accessible

110  Vasudha Narayanan way, transliterates the Tamil into English, and coaches them. Hearing the stories and role-playing at an impressionable age, the children seem to assimilate the ideas and worldviews in a recreational and fun-filled environment quite easily. Through the children, the parents get involved, and she often teaches the Alvar songs to many of the mothers as well. In 2012, the children staged the life of Manavala Mamunigal (1370–1450), one of the most influential Sri Vaishnava theologians of the Tenkalai branch, and in 2013 and 2014, she taught the children to enact the lives of two poet-saints, Andal and Kulasekara Alvar (c. 8th-9th century CE). All these were staged in the Vishnu (Srinivasa) temple, which is part of the Jeeyar Education Trust (JET US) monastic—devotional complex in New Jersey (www.jetnewjersey.org).5 In 2015, she also did a summer camp on the Sanskrit Bhagavata Purana with twenty young people, and at the end of it they had a competition. Since 2017 marked the 1000th anniversary of Ramanuja (1017–1037), the most important philosopher in the Sri Vaishnava tradition, the play Vishnupriya wrote that year for the children to perform was about him. This play was very popular and was performed on great demand in three different temples in that area: in the Srivari Sri Balaji Temple in Franklin and the Guruvayurappan Temple in Morganville, both in New Jersey, and in the Sri Ranganatha Temple in Pomona, New York.6 In addition to teaching the local children about the Sri Vaishnava teachers and poets, Vishnupriya’s most sustained and influential activity has been teaching children all over the US how to recite the works of the Alvar songs. She does this in weekly classes through ‘tele-bridges’ on the phone and has been doing it without break since 2012. The Sri Vaishnava community holds the works of the Alvars to be equivalent to the Sanskrit Vedas and performs this equivalence in rituals. Reciting the classical devotional poetry of the Alvars is not easy for adults or children in India; for children who grow up in the United States, it is extra hard. The lines have to be broken in very specific places to maintain the rhythm, and the intonation has to be right. For the last nine years, Vishnupriya has taught children and some adults largely under the auspices of the ‘Vedics Foundation.’ In addition, she also teaches women locally and through social media to recite these verses, separating words and phrases at precise moments. As though this were not enough, Vishnupriya wanted to do something special in 2020 to mark the 650th anniversary celebration of Manavala Mamunigal’s birth. She trained eighteen children to recite long Sanskrit and Tamil works of Manavala Mamunigal, works which are very difficult, like the Devaraja Mangalam, the Devarajashtakam, the Upadesa Rathna Malai, and the Yathiraja vimshati, and had them perform for a competition held by the Vedics Foundation.7 She could not have been prouder when they won prizes in many categories in a competition held by the Vedics Foundation—a branch of an organization founded by the traditional but very progressive Sri Vaishnava leader, Chinna Jeeyar.8 Her young students from various parts of the United States recited with ease and confidence complicated and long

Women Sharing Bhakti, Women Singing Devotion 111 prayers composed by the renowned Sri Vaishnava teacher who lived around the 14th and 15th centuries. Some of them mentioned their teacher, Vishnupriya Venkatapathy, and noted with pride that she hails from a well-known lineage of teachers and Sri Vaishnava scholars. Like the other women in this chapter, Vishnupriya does not charge any fees for these activities. This is seva—donations go to several causes which Vishnupriya recommends every now and then. Most of these are to do with building structures or helping in the devotional ornamentation of the deities in Sri Vaishnava temples. The driving force behind Vishnupriya’s energetic activities (kaimkaryam, or loving service as it is known in the Sri Vaishnava community) comes from her strong faith and adherence to the teaching of Ramanuja, the great Vedanta teacher and social reformer. Vishnupriya teaches the Sanskrit and Tamil works composed by the teachers of this tradition; she refers to Ramanuja as “world-teacher” (jagadacharya). He was and is a “world-teacher,” she says, because “he wanted to bring everyone under one tree.” This, she calls vasudhaiva kutumbakam—all beings on this planet are family. Devotion to Vishnu (‘Sriman Narayana’) is central to all this, and Vishnupriya says that in this degenerate age of kali, one can show devotion in specific ways that are seen in the words of Andal, a 9th-century woman poet. This is by thinking of Sriman Narayana (Vishnu) with our minds, singing his praise, and offering pure flowers in worship—in other words, through thought, word, and deed. Vishnupriya’s teaching recitation and singing and acting out the dramas on the lives of the Alvars and acharyas come from her direct interpretation of this belief. Specifically, she says she wants to nourish younger ones from very tender age and [teach] them the sacred words of the Alvars, acharyas, the paeans of praise (stotras) and their life-stories (vaibhavam) which will stay with them throughout their life, and I believe that this will definitely guide them in future. 4.  Poorna Sethuraman Poorna Sethuraman came to the United States in 1991, shortly after she got married. The following year, a South Indian friend encouraged her to start teaching the Tiruppugazh, which she had learned when she was an undergraduate student in India. She has taught dozens of adults over the years and is now teaching a separate class for children as well. Although there are ‘floaters,’ that is, students who are transient, many stay on for years and bond. About thirty women take part in her regular Tiruppugazh classes, which in the pandemic were conducted through a free conference telephone call. At its height there were about a hundred participants in the conference calls for children (with the youngest being about six years old), and it has now settled down to about twenty to thirty attendees in every session. We do not use a Zoom or Webex platform, she says, because the visuals are sometimes very

112  Vasudha Narayanan distracting. But the group has always been large, enthusiastic, and over the years, they have grown close “like a family.” And how did all this begin? We can speak about it in two stages: the first to briefly trace and work with lineages and networks of how the singing of the Tiruppugazh evolved and spread in North America, and the second about how Poorna Sethuraman comes to be a community leader by initiating and supervising the rituals performed with the songs in temples and homes. We encountered the Tiruppugazh at the beginning of this chapter. Arunagiri Nathar (15th century) composed the Tiruppugazh, a collection of songs addressed to Murugan in several places including the six ‘battlegrounds,’ or sacred temple towns marking the boundaries of Tamil Nadu. Of the 1035 songs said to be composed by Arunagiri Nathar, Sri A.S. (‘Guruji’) Raghavan (1928–2013) set about 505 songs to music over the years. He started teaching them in 1958 in Delhi. It was a movement that swept the Tamil middle class in many parts of the world; today, just as Ravi Varma’s pictures of Lakshmi and Saraswati become the way in which many Hindus imagine the deities, it is Guruji Raghavan’s tunes that are intrinsically associated with Arunagiri Nathar’s songs. His teaching a few students started a whole movement; his disciples taught others, and soon Guruji Raghavan’s tunes were being taught all over India. By 1982, one of his main disciples, Tara Krishnan, started to teach in the Toronto area, and my high school friend, Lalitha Srinivasan, was one of her first students in what became a very large and well-known group. One of Guruji Raghavan’s third- or fourth-generation students was our teacher in Gainesville, FL. His disciples created an umbrella organization called the ‘Lovers of Tiruppugazh’ (Tiruppugazh anbargal), with branches all over the world. Poorna Sethuraman’s group is the Chicago chapter. Poorna’s own journey began just before she joined college in India. She speaks with affection and gratitude not just about her teacher who taught her the Tiruppugazh but also about her teacher’s husband, who kept the group together with his care. Poorna and her sister started to learn the Tiruppugazh from Alamelu Santhanam in Chennai when she was around seventeen years old. Alamelu Santhanam had learned these songs from someone who had been Guruji Raghavan’s disciple. Alamelu and her husband (‘Santhanam mama’ or ‘Uncle Santhanam’) wanted it to be a good experience for all the students so that they would come regularly. Uncle Santhanam treated them as family members, giving them homemade ‘tiffin’ (snacks), and encouraging the students by taking them on various trips to sing in different temples. They would sing in the temples first, and then go sightseeing. For instance, she said, when on a trip to the southern areas of Tamil Nadu, near the city of Tenkasi, they sang in the Murugan temple first, and then went to see the beautiful Kuttralam waterfalls. Santhanam Mama would chaperone the all-girls’ group; they sang in many forums, including the Mylapore Fine Arts Sabha (a prestigious concert hall) and the Tiruppugazh festival in Delhi. What we hear about is how Poorna’s learning experience was made extraordinarily pleasant by her teacher

Women Sharing Bhakti, Women Singing Devotion 113 and her teacher’s husband; transmission and learning were accompanied by happy associations. They were also instrumental in helping her set up her own music-study group in the Chicago suburbs. Soon after Poorna moved to Chicago, she went to the Balaji (‘Venkateswara’) temple in Aurora and heard Tara Krishnan of Toronto singing the Tiruppugazh there. She automatically started to sing with her as she knew all the words, as did another lady in the audience, Radha Sivakumar. A friend who heard them encouraged Poorna to start her own classes in Aurora. Her former teachers, Mr. and Mrs. Santhanam, came to Chicago in 1992, and Poorna Sethuraman started teaching alongside Radha Sivakumar. The Tiruppugazh songs are “very powerful” says Poorna, and she believes that when women are menstruating it is not correct to sing this work. Thus, it helped to have another teacher as a partner. Later, Radha Sivakumar moved back to India, but in 1995, Poorna’s sister Sowmya Kumaran, who is a dance teacher, came first to Champaign, IL, and then to Aurora. They both now live in Naperville, IL, and the two sisters teach the Tiruppugazh together. The classes were held every other week, but there were breaks for Thanksgiving and Christmas; over summer, many of them, including Poorna and her sister, would go to India. It was after the Covid-19 pandemic that the classes moved to a virtual platform; the membership increased steadily, and the music classes and rituals are thriving. In late 2022, the classes started to slowly become in-person again. Poorna Sethuraman and her group sing for two hours every year at the big Sri Balaji Temple in Aurora to mark a day sacred to the deity Murugan. The festival is on ‘Skanda Sashti,’ the sixth day of the waxing moon in the month between October 15 and November 14, when Murugan, or Skanda, is said to have been born; the ten-day celebrations conclude with him killing a demon. When Poorna’s group sings the songs about Murugan’s victory over evil, the temple priests briefly enact the battle (sura samharam) with great fanfare. This is the most important festival day for the devotees of Murugan, and because all major events are held over the weekends in Hindu temples in the US, Poorna and her group have sung at this temple on the Saturday following Skanda Sashti. The next day, Sunday, is the ritual celebration of Murugan’s wedding with Valli (Valli Thirumanam). Guruji Raghavan set the wedding songs to music. When he visited Chicago in 1997, Poorna, with his blessings, began to celebrate the Valli Thirumanam or Kalyanam; that is, a performance of the god Murugan’s wedding to Valli, a woman from the hill tribes.9 This was done at the Balaji temple in Aurora, IL. This was the first time that this popular ritual was choreographed and enacted in the United States, she believes. This tradition has continued; under the leadership of Poorna, the group sings all the songs connected with the rituals of a regular South Indian wedding, step by step. In the years that they have been celebrating it in the large Balaji Temple at Aurora near Chicago, as she and her group sing the songs, key rituals are enacted by the temple priests. When Poorna’s group sings the songs to welcome the bridegroom, for instance, the priests

114  Vasudha Narayanan bear Murugan in a palanquin and bring him into the temple; later, there is an exchange of garlands marking the wedding, the utsava murtis; that is, the festival or moveable icons of Valli and Murugan (who are the bride and bridegroom) are made to sit in a decorated swing (unjal) and sway to the music of the traditional songs meant for the occasion. Poorna Sethuraman and the group continue to perform this ritual in the Balaji Temple in Aurora. These songs are well-recognized by the largely South Indian audience that hums along with the singers. While for Poorna the enactment of Murugan’s wedding has more frequently been in a temple context, in other parts of the country, this has been done in domestic spaces. In Gainesville, FL, for instance, the group I have participated in for over twenty years has celebrated the event in people’s homes as well as in temples. Poorna Sethuraman also told me that in 2020, at the request of one of its members, her group did rituals to celebrate the Valli Kalyanam, the celestial wedding of Murugan with Valli, the maiden from the hill tribes, virtually. When it is not virtual, families gather together with all the sweets and savories and traditional food made for a Tamil wedding. 5. Marga Darshini or Marga Sakhis: Women, Friends Show the Way The three women leaders we got to know in this chapter are exemplars of many dozens of such teachers across the country. It is of course hard to know how many of them there are in the United States and in Canada. Very seldom does a local woman gain an iconic reputation such as ‘Tara Mami,’ Mrs. Tara Krishnan of Toronto, whom we encountered in the beginning of this chapter. As one of the early disciples of Guruji Raghavan, she taught the Tiruppugazh to dozens of women over the decades. Like her, the women we encounter here teach other women and children, enriching their lives socially, culturally, and spiritually, but unlike her, most of these women have only local recognition. These are the ‘go-to’ women locally for cultural matters. There are multiple reasons why these women are not studied or prominent outside the immediate community. There is no name or category to classify these women-leaders, these unsung women who sing the culture into the community. They are not ministers, priests, deacons, gurus, or acharyas; they do not belong to any of the categories of religious leadership known in the American religious world or in the official history of the Hindu tradition. Ramlakhan (2022) has given us categories of leadership in the Trinidadian communities, but that classification is not known in the South Asian diaspora in America. Another reason that the women teachers are not well-known is because they do not command an internet presence. This is not because they lack the technical know-how; many of them in the learning group, in fact, may be professional IT people. It is because the women leaders only teach people they know and are vetted by someone in the group. And so the groups tend to

Women Sharing Bhakti, Women Singing Devotion 115 be intimate, seldom exceeding forty or fifty, and frequently hovering around thirty, with between ten and twenty active participants. While the women teachers do not generally seek outside recognition, the local Indian communities (primarily south Indian) know that these women and their groups are wonderful to have at community events and religious rituals. These events include rites of passage such as the naming ceremony of a child, weddings, personal events such entering a new home (griha pravesam), and festivals including Navaratri rituals, the birthdays of Ganesha, Krishna, or Rama, Sivaratri, or Skanda Sashti. They have the right songs for the occasions, and often the collective ‘hive mind,’ or the collective wisdom of this group, offers guidance to the local people on how one can do the domestic rituals. Our local group in Gainesville, FL, has sung at several weddings, in temples, and in homes for many such rituals. If they are not gurus or acharyas, what can we call these women? They are preceptors of a certain kind. A  self-definition of these teachers is that they only do seva, or service, and this may suggest that they are sevikas; but this term does not recognize their agency, their leadership, the role that they play in the weekly meetings as transmitters of culture. In searching for the right nomenclature, my conversation partners were Prea Persaud and Varun Khanna, scholars of Global Hinduism and Sanskrit, and my cousin Ranjani Iyengar, who is part of some of the music learning groups and is herself a teacher. All of them were sensitive to the role played by these women in the diasporic community. We went through several terms and kept searching for others. The sound of the sacred word is the way to the divine for these women, and it is this path that they show to and share with the others; it is in this sense that they are marga-darshini, those who show the path. They are social leaders on the one hand, and social peers and friends on the other. I  had thought of them as marga-bandhus, comrades on the path, but was hesitant to use the term ‘bandhu’ since it has a male connotation, and ‘bandhvi,’ the feminine form, is not a very familiar word. Yet they are friends, and they show the way; it was here that Professor Prea Persaud and Professor Varun Khanna (Swarthmore College) thought I could tweak marga-bandhu to marga-darshini or marga-darshika, ‘showers of the path.’ This term captures the spirit of how the leaders are perceived; yet, from another perspective, they are also marga-sakhis, friends in the path. 6. Reflections The marga-darshikas discussed in this chapter are a new genre whose force is particularly felt in the diaspora. While there are similar women teachers in India, the participation of laypeople in temple activities is limited and the multiple strands of authority and leadership in the sub-continent compete. In the diaspora, however, there is an active engagement of both men and women in religious rituals and temple affairs, and women’s devotional

116  Vasudha Narayanan agency in claiming new leadership roles is quite striking. The leadership is obviously performative; we see this in Anu Srinivasan doing the puja to the goddess Bala, the introduction of these rituals in temples as we see with Poorna Sethuraman, and the active role-playing and recitation of texts in several Vaishnava religious institutions that we observe with the students of Vishnupriya. The agency is in the sphere of devotion; I have argued earlier that in the field of bhakti, hierarchies are reordered (Narayanan 1998). In almost all these cases, the agency of the teacher transforms the devotional milieu of the community through performance and in a nonconfrontational way. Mian points out that Saba Mahmood “complicates the relationship among agency, resistance, and social transformation, arguing that female agency is not reducible to feminist resistance” (Mahmood 2005: 157, cited in Mian 2022: 505). Mian also cites the work of Rinaldo (2013: 19, cited in Mian 2022: 505): Anthropologists of religion have built on Mahmood’s interventions in productive ways. For example, in her study of feminism in Indonesia, Rachel Rinaldo points out that “docile or nonliberal agency does not exhaust the possibilities for agency among pious women.” Rinaldo ­suggests “two additional modes of pious agency . . . among Indonesian women activists—pious critical agency and pious activating agency.” The former implies critical engagement with religious texts and institutions, while the latter is ‘the capacity to use interpretations of religious texts to mobilize in the public sphere.’ The agency of the marga-darshikas is not one of intentional challenge or resistance, but through their activities, these women create new spaces of leadership and become the ‘go-to’ people for families in the diaspora who seek ritual music for weddings, naming ceremonies for children, and so on. In some cases, they also co-opt the activities of priests at home, or enlist the cooperation of temple priests in enacting the stories of Murugan and Valli. Others, by training circles of women and new generations of children to skillfully recite or sing, enhance the cultural capital of their students. These activities enhance the quality of women’s participation in domestic and public spheres of performativity and through their active participation, create new communities of bhakti; the rituals constitute what Castelli calls “imaginative reconstitution of traditions and practices” (Castelli 2001: 4). Notes 1 The Tiruppukaḻ is popularly spelt as Tiruppugazh and since it is well-known in the latter form, I have retained it. 2 The name ‘Madras’ was changed to ‘Chennai’ in 1996. I have used ‘Madras’ when referring to the culture of the city in the pre-1996 times; this is also the preferred name among the women born in India in the 1950s to 1980s.

Women Sharing Bhakti, Women Singing Devotion 117 3 I am grateful to my cousin, Ranjani Iyengar, who introduced me to two of the three women I have portrayed in this chapter. 4 I got to know Anu Srinivasan through my cousin Ranjani Iyengar, who lives in the Chicagoland area, and met her at family events like weddings. I am also part of a Zoom yoga group with her, I am friends on Facebook with members of her family, and I have also attended her devotional Skype sessions online. The account reported here has been pieced together with what she has told me over the years, especially between 2018 and 2020, the chat in the WhatsApp group that she has created, as well as the regular singing on the Friday Zoom meetings. I also had some specific questions for her, and she graciously allowed me to record her answers. In 2018, Anu also sent me recordings of kummi dances in honor of Bala. 5 The play in October 2012 was called Mamunaigal Vaibhavam and the titles of the shows in 2013 and 2014 were Soodikkodutha Sudarkkodi (‘The radiant one who wove garlands;’ also an epithet of the poet-saint Andal), and Kulasekhara azhwar vaibhavam. 6 The play performed in different locations can be viewed at www.youtube.com/ watch?v=AQ4KnvCl76c and www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yHXwmCUO9Y. 7 www.youtube.com/results?search_query=vedics+foundation, and www.youtube. com/watch?v=SYIoNmC_tqo. 8 See Jeeyar Educational Trust, https://chinnajeeyar.org/main-our-team/jeeyar-­educationaltrust-jet/; ‘Vedics’ is a part of this umbrella organization, which also includes active humanitarian and environmental sub-groups. Chinna Jiyar’s official name is HH Sri Sri Sri Tridandi Chinna Srimannarayana Ramanuja Jeeyar Swamiji. 9 The word kuratti has historically been translated as ‘gypsy’, but given its pejorative connotations, I have chosen to use a phrase, ‘woman from the hill tribes’, suggested by Professor Srilata Raman.

References Castelli, Elizabeth A. (2001): Women, Gender, Religion: Troubling Categories and Transforming Knowledge. In Women, Gender, Religion: A Reader (ed. by Elizabeth A. Castelli, with assistance from Rosamond C. Rodman). New York: Palgrave, 3–25. Mahmood, Saba (2005): Politics of Piety: The Islamic Revival and the Feminist Subject. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Mian, Ali (2022): Religion. In The Routledge Global History of Feminism (ed. by Bonnie G. Smith and Nova Robinson). New York: Routledge, 498–514. Narayanan, Vasudha (1998): Brimming with Bhakti, Embodiments of Sakti: Deities, Devotees, Performers, Reformers and Other Women of Power in the Hindu Tradition. In Feminism in World Religions (ed. by Katherine Young). Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 25–77. Narayanan, Vasudha (2005): Gender and Priesthood in Hinduism. Journal of Hindu Christian Studies, 18 (Spring), 22–31. Ramlakhan, Priyanka (2022): Hindu Women in the Gendering of Religious and Ritual Authority in Trinidad. In Laughter, Creativity, and Perseverance: Female Agency in Buddhism and Hinduism (ed. by Ute Hüsken). New York: Oxford University Press, 175–191. Rinaldo, Rachel (2013): Mobilizing Piety: Islam and Feminism in Indonesia. New York: Oxford University Press.

118  Vasudha Narayanan Websites 1—Guru AS Raghavan Thiruppugazh—Smt. Maha Krishnan & Team. www.­youtube. com/watch?v=WqJ5_Nl-jws Guruji AS Raghavan Tiruppugazh. www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkXbbuxvBuo Learn Thiruppugazh from Smt Tara Krishnan. www.youtube.com/watch?v=poi YXRh-qSQ Malur Sri Balambika Temple (Bala Temple Website). http://malurbalambikatemple. com/index.html Vedics Foundation’s MM650 Celebration Competitions. www.youtube.com/results? search_query=vedics+foundation and www.youtube.com/watch?v=SYIoNmC_tqo

6 Reinventing Selves Religiosity and Female Agency in the Siri Tradition of Tulunad in India Pauline Schuster-Löhlau and Yogitha Shetty

1. Introduction Within feminist scholarship, the question of ‘agency’ has been associated with different notions like action, creativity, power, free will, freedom of choice, and the possibility of change—most of them emphasizing the category of ‘individual choice’ and ‘autonomous’ subjecthood. However, scholars like Saba Mahmood (2005, 2009), Orit Avishai (2008) and Mary Keller (2002) have helped us expand our understanding of female agency in particular by (re-)directing our attention to the larger socio-cultural and religious contexts within which women constitute themselves. These scholars have demonstrated how female agency can be located well outside the compliance/transgression paradigm and also outside the normative liberal assumptions regarding the freedom of the individual. Even when women, being determined by their socio-cultural context and economic resources, may not ‘seem’ to have any access to power nor any possibility to act according to their free choice, they still have a sense of control and agency within spaces they have created for themselves, and precisely because they have found a creative way to carve out such spaces for themselves. In religious contexts, in particular, the agency of women unfolds in multifarious ways. Looking at women’s agency with regard to orthodox Islam and Judaism while pondering the question of why educated ‘modern’ women would comply with restrictive religious practices, Saba Mahmood (2005) and Orit Avishai (2008), respectively, have proposed the following two approaches: delinking the concept of agency from the goals of progressive politics, Saba Mahmood argues that “agentival capacity is entailed not only in those acts that resist norms but also in the multiple ways in which one inhabits norms” (Mahmood 2005: 15). Similarly, Avishai locates agency in observance and defines religious observance as “a mode of conduct and being,” or what she calls “doing religion” (Avishai 2008: 412). She also alludes to the idea that religious observance entails discipline, since it can be an onerous task to follow specific rules and regulations prescribed by one’s religion.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-7

120  Pauline Schuster-Löhlau and Yogitha Shetty Further, rethinking female agency within the Indian context, Nair also asserts that Developing a complex and dynamic conception of female agency which does not pose these paradigms [women as victims or as rebellious heroines] as contradictory or exclusive is essential for feminist historical knowledge, especially as it confronts the figure of woman as “always already victim.” (Nair 1994: 83) She further proposes that the question of female agency “must be posed within specific contexts and placed along a continuum where various forms of agency may coexist” (Nair 1994: 83). Informed by the analyses of these scholars, we attempt in this chapter to bring to the fore the way women associated with the Siri tradition experience their religious subjectivity within the larger Tuluva socio-religious milieu, and thereby to provide another instance of religious women’s agency in the South-Asian context. As part of the Siri ritual tradition, a number of women gather at so-called Siri ālaḍɛs (shrines) on the full moon nights between December and May, in more than 20 locations (Arunkumar 2015) within a small stretch of around 200 kilometers on the Southwest coast of India, called Tulunad, and get ‘possessed’ by a family of seven female deities (sirikulu), with the major deity being Siri. Each one of the women, referred to as siris,1 identifies herself with one of these deities, and sings portions from the long ‘epic’ (pāḍdana) which relates the tragic fall of Siri’s family. Further, among the many Siri ālaḍɛs, one in particular has been managed by a woman, Nina Shetty, for nearly three decades now. This chapter is an attempt to understand the various forms of agency that coexist within this almost-all-female religious tradition of the region, bound together by the singular force of the female deity—Siri. Against the backdrop of diverse perspectives on female agency referred to earlier, and beginning with the understanding that agency can only be located within the articulations of the Siri women and Nina Shetty, this chapter attempts to conceptualize female agency as it unfolds around the divine power of Siri. In order to learn more about the selfhood and agency of women surrounding Siri, we proceed as follows: • Firstly, we start with the story of Siri and her progeny as recollected by the people of Tulunad. Siri’s unconventional life journey is a source of strength and inspiration for many Tuluva women in real life, and Siri’s various social transgressions are significant for any discussion of a powerful female subjectivity. • Secondly, we shift our focus to the ritual manifestation of the Siri ‘myth’ during the annual night-long Siri jātrɛ (cf. Skt. yātrā). The Siri jātrɛ is a ritualistic space where women perform their religious service (sēvɛ), come together to express themselves, and to establish an alternative family. In

Reinventing Selves 121 short, we look at how the women performers ‘do religion’ in a designated space, as well as the way their religious observance affects their daily life and social relations. • Lastly, we dwell on agency as claimed by the female head of a Siri worship center. We discuss how an ‘outsider,’ equipped with the social and economic capital, attempts to transform the Siri temple under her control. Thus, all our thematic concerns are centered around the worship of the sirikulu, or Siri female deities, as it unfolds in the lives of women of different socio-cultural backgrounds. We hope to add to the existing theoretical formulations on women’s subjectivity by reflecting upon an otherwise underrepresented religious milieu in South India. 2.  The Siri Pāḍdana and Tuluva Women’s Memory of Siri The Siri narrative and ritual tradition is native to the Tulu-speaking regions of Coastal Karnataka and northern Kerala,2 popularly known as Tulunad— ‘the country of the Tuluvas.’ The area in question is bound by the mountain slopes of the Western Ghats in the East and limited by the Arabian Sea in the West. Due to this secluded geographical location, the region has been able to maintain its rich and rather unique language and culture, including vibrant oral traditions and elaborate rituals to worship hundreds of local deities. An important social institution immanent in Tulu culture and society is the matrilineal system of inheritance, called tammale-arvatta kaṭṭụ (lit. ‘unclenephew custom,’ Kannada aḷiya santāna). According to this system, property is handed down to the sister’s son who, as a custodian, is supposed to maintain the family’s wealth for his sisters and provide for them, particularly in the event of a separation or their husbands’ premature death. The system, along with other material benefits, offers Tuluva women a strong base in the form of a maternal home (tameri3), and provides them with a relatively high status, rendering them confident and independent.4 The significance of family, lineage, and prosperity, or in other words, ‘matrilineality,’ are central motifs in the Siri pāḍdana5 as well. As the first part of this chapter dwells on the way female power and a model of Tuluva womanhood unfolds in the narrative of Siri, we bring in a detailed summary of the Siri pāḍdana as sung by Kargi Shedti (Alva 2009). This story of Siri and her lineage runs as the necessary backdrop of this entire chapter. Once, a pious yet childless old man by the name of Berma Āḷva of the Aryabannarụ lineage, affectionately called Ajjerụ, ‘grandfather,’ lived in Satyanāpura palace. Seeing how lonely and grief-stricken he was, god Bermerụ took pity on the old man and gave him the boon of an arecaflower spathe from which a female child, Siri, was born. Growing up, Siri was married to her cousin Kānta Āḷva of Basalūru manor house,

122  Pauline Schuster-Löhlau and Yogitha Shetty and got pregnant soon after. However, at the pregnancy ritual (bayakε) for her and her unborn child, she found out that her husband had betrayed her: He presented her with a festive saree that had been worn by his lover, courtesan Siddu, and was thus ritually impure. Humiliated, Siri rejected the saree and instead wore one given to her by Ajjerụ. She then returned to Satyanāpura, where she gave birth to her son Kumāra, without the presence or blessings of the child’s father. While he inquired about Kumāra’s stars, astrologers warned Ajjerụ against looking at the child’s face, but fate ensured that he did see it, resulting in Ajjerụ’s death. Siri and the family’s maidservant Dāru were devastated when they learnt of the old man’s tragic death. They sent word to Kānta Āḷva, but he failed in his duty to come and arrange for Ajjerụ’s funeral. With the help of Siri’s miraculous powers, the two women managed to perform the last rites. After Ajjerụ’s demise, a distant but powerful relative attempted to take over the governance of Satyanāpura palace. Siri was not willing to accept the offer he and the men of the village council had made, and decided to leave her birthplace, cursing it to be reduced to ashes and barren. Finally, she divorced her husband and went on a journey with Kumāra and Dāru. The three of them were forced into many trials, which were all overcome due to Siri’s miraculous powers. Anticipating Siri’s second marriage, Kumāra, who had grown at a supernatural speed, requested his mother to send him to the invisible, supernatural realm of māya (cf. Skt. māyā): Siri wished to extend her maternal lineage and to bring forth a female sibling for Kumara, thus deciding to remarry. Kumara, however, would not accept any man other than his father at his mother’s side, and Dāru decided to follow him. Soon after, Siri married Koḍsara Āḷva, after getting the consent of his first wife, Sāmu Āḷvedi. Siri became pregnant, and gave birth to a baby girl, Sonnɛ. Shortly after her daughter’s birth, Siri decided to join her son, Kumāra, in the māya-world, and disappeared. Sonnɛ grew up at the home of Gurgalāḍi Chandu Pergaḍɛ, together with her foster sister Giṇḍɛ. When Sonnɛ was old enough, she was married to Guru Mārla of Urkitoṭṭu palace. After making a vow to Lord Bermerụ, the couple had twin daughters, Abbaga and Dāraga. One day, Sonnɛ and her husband got a marriage proposal for the two girls, and Sonnɛ felt that it was bad luck to reject the first proposal. She then proceeded with the preparations for her daughters’ wedding to the twin brothers Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa without fulfilling her promise to god Bermerụ. Therefore, the god, in the disguise of a poor Brahmin, chose to intervene: He made Abbaga and Dāraga play a fateful game of cennε, in which the girls started to quarrel, and Abbaga crashed the cennɛboard on Dāraga’s head, who died immediately. Shocked by her dreadful actions, Abbaga jumped into a nearby well. The two girls joined the

Reinventing Selves 123 realm of māya, where they served on either side of god Bermerụ with golden fans in their hands. The story of Siri is one of the most memorized and documented pāḍdanas in the region. At the outset, it’s the predominance of women and their emotional turbulences that captures our attention, and it is precisely this aspect of the narrative which Siri women emphasized during their interaction with us. The struggles of the central deity Siri, first against her husband and then against a group of men who attempt to restrict her within the walls of Satyanāpura palace, as well as the pain of childbirth, her attempt to offer a female-family to her son Kumāra, and her choice to remarry and later embrace māya (her exit from the worldly life) are recollected intimately by the Siri women, who tend to associate these incidents with their personal life. Siri’s chastity, fidelity, and integrity6 are highlighted in the narrative time and again—qualities the Siri women honor by following the example of their divine role model. While Siri’s qualities are one source of her power and resilience, her (inner) strength and miraculous powers can be traced back to her divine origin. Several Siri women stated that Siri was the daughter of satya, that is, of divine truth, and therefore satya (truth) was within her and made her a righteous and powerful woman. Notwithstanding her divine descent, Siri had to endure and rise up against the discriminatory and oppressive structures of a society that despite its matrilineal orientation, operated on the lines of patriarchy. The men and women associated with the Siri tradition also find the genesis of a unique practice called kai pattavunu (lit. ‘binding hands’) in the story of Siri. It is through this traditional practice that a woman is married off a second time in Tuluva society. Rooted in the matrilineal social organization, the practice of kai pattavunu legitimized a woman’s remarriage, thereby not subscribing to the taboos surrounding the remarriage of women in conservative societies. Ratna, one of the Siri women, emphasized Siri’s role in the founding of this practice: It is only because Siri married again that the tradition of remarriage became a part of Tulunad and its social system. It is only because Siri cursed [her first husband] and went ahead to marry again, that it got incorporated into our caste culture. No second marriage, if not for Siri! (Ratna, Personal Interview, 2014) The same is also reiterated by kumāra (a man ‘possessed’ by Siri’s son Kumāra, and a facilitator within the Siri ritual) Ramananda Shrigar: “The opportunity of a second marriage for women is because of Siri. It’s there in the story” (Shrigar, Personal Interview, 2016). Further, in the context of Siri’s self-determining agency, it is important to take into account the specific arrangements of property within the matrilineal

124  Pauline Schuster-Löhlau and Yogitha Shetty system (tammale-aravatta kattụ), which affects the lives of most Tuluva women in significant ways: Tulu scholar Saigeetha Hegde says: The entire Siri epic is based on the matrilineal family system of Tuluvas. It is only because of the existence of such a social system or the undeterred assurance of her maternal family or her right to property back home that Tuluva women have retained immense confidence. This selftrust bequeathed traditionally is evident among the Tuluva women. Be it Siri or any other woman of this day. (Shetty, Documentary, 2014). The entwined nature of matrilineality and Siri worship is apparent in the words of Girija, a Siri woman: In our family the number of women was way less. We saw better days once our mother stood [in the Siri ritual]. She was the only one then. We were born after a vow and it [Siri ‘possession’] started on more women in the family. (Girija, Personal Interview, 2015) Girija’s account demonstrates how the female line of family is crucial for Tuluvas and how it is Siri who is worshipped in order to continue with matrilineality. The Siri women fondly recollect how Siri promised Kumāra to provide him a female family by remarrying, and they also remember poignantly the pains of childbirth Siri undergoes. Siri’s struggles and losses, such as the death of her beloved Ajjerụ, the struggle over Satyanāpura palace, the failure of her marriage, having to leave her home, and the loss of her children are remembered by Siri women also as illustrations of ‘how much a woman suffers in her life.’ And while we can understand Siri’s refusal to wear a defiled saree, her audacity at performing Ajjerụ’s last rites (a male’s duty), her relinquishing of all claims over Satyanāpura palace and burning it down, divorcing her husband and re-­ marrying as actions of resistance, of autonomous selfhood and of emancipatory potential, these instances are interpreted as ‘the difficulties Siri had to face.’ Indeed, many women see parallels to their own lives. A Siri woman further explained that Siri is important because she demonstrates how women can face and cope with the challenges of life, instead of despairing and taking extreme steps such as considering, or committing, suicide—“this is not the way,” said Leela Shedti (Shedthi, Personal Interview, 2016). While Siri’s life, as recollected by the women of Tulunad, offers them a model of virtue and righteousness, her deified form is expressed in annual rituals called Siri jātrɛ. These rituals constitute an intimate space for the women to identify themselves with the Siri deities (sirikulu) and as siris, thereby claiming an identity from among the pantheon of the sirikulu. It is to this ‘(being) chosen’ selfhood of the Tuluva women that we turn our a­ ttention now.

Reinventing Selves 125 3. The Siri Ritual Tradition and the siris’ sēvɛ as a Source of Female Agency As alluded to earlier, during the annual Siri ceremonies—popularly known as Siri jātrɛ—tens to hundreds of women gather as mediums at the ālaḍɛ premises to invoke the goddess Siri and her progeny.7 The women who gather to offer their religious service identify themselves with one of the female characters of the Siri pāḍdana, and continue to be recognized as her throughout the ritual night. They form smaller groups of five to ten siris or more,8 standing at different places in and around the ālaḍɛ. White cloth is laid on the ground (called daliya pāḍunu), with the women standing on it and offering their service. Each Siri group is ‘guided’ or ‘controlled’ by the male member of the Siri family: Kumāra, Siri’s son.9 The women sing portions from the Siri pāḍdana, transform themselves into siris, communicate with the kumāras, and offer blessings to the devotees gathered. With intermittent breaks, they remain in a state of trance until dawn. Their night-long mediumship ends by shedding the areca-flowers in their hands. The Siri ritual stands as a stark contrast to other forms of worship in Tulunad in terms of the ritual space being almost exclusively occupied by women, with a small number of kumāras occupying the crucial role of the facilitator.10 While women are usually either onlookers or logistics providers during the ritual offerings to other deities, in the Siri ritual, the women occupy a prominent position as the tangible vehicles of the sirikulu. Moreover, women are central to both the Siri narrative and the associated Siri jātrɛ that uses the Siri pāḍdana as a referential text. Interestingly, all other female deities periodically worshipped across the region are mediated by men, even when the deity invoked is a goddess. Thus, within the male-dominated public religious sphere of Tulunad, the Tuluva women seem to possess ritual autonomy during the annual Siri ceremonies. Revolving around women, the Siri ritual is both a curative and an expressive space for many Tuluva women. An ‘afflicted’ woman11 is initiated into the Siri group early in her life, either as a curative aid or as a response to the deity’s call to serve. Once she realizes the need to offer her service to one of the Siri deities, either the kumāra or the other siris assist the novice in ‘identifying’ her ‘other-self.’ The novice stands amidst the other women in the ritual, in her specified group, prompted by kumāra and the senior siris to identify herself as one of the women in the pantheon of seven female deities— Siri, Sonnɛ, Giṇḍɛ, Sāmu, Abbaga, Dāraga, and Dāru. The novice identifies the Siri deity that has chosen her and continues to both serve and be that particular deity throughout her life. What starts out as a case of unwanted, uncontrollable ‘spirit possession,’ prior to the identification of the possessing entity and the woman’s initiation into a group of siris, is later transformed into ‘possession mediumship’ over the years, with the newcomer learning to cope with and control the event of ‘possession.’ Thus, being ‘possessed’ by one of the Siri deities is a desired form of mediumship and not an enforced presence of an unsolicited spirit anymore. The siris believe that they have been chosen by a Siri deity, and in subsequent

126  Pauline Schuster-Löhlau and Yogitha Shetty years, it is they who choose to offer their corporeal services to the deity inhabiting their bodies. The women also express a strong affinity with ‘their’ particular Siri deity and find traces of similarity in the difficulties they face at different stages of their life in the Siri pāḍdana. It is a selfhood that lends them the most intimate connection and solace, equipping them with an alternative self of a Siri reflecting their own predicament in life. The Siri women often refer to their worship of the Siri deities as deverna kelasa, “work of/for God”; Sirina kelasa, “work of Siri”; or sēvɛ, “religious service.” The experienced siri Kargi Shedti, for example, recounted the tale of her initiation in the following words: I was about 14 years old when I was initiated as Siri. . . .I was initiated into the work of Siri one year after my marriage. Afterwards, with my good health, I have not missed any annual Siri festival. When there was impurity, then only I did not go. . . .I do whatever service I can. If I cannot go, at that time, I will leave it. (Alva 2009: 592, 601) So, once initiated into the ritual tradition of Siri, it is the sense of ‘service,’ of ‘observing’ their duty as a Siri woman that drives the women to offer their corporeal services year after year. In this context, we find Avishai’s understanding of religious women’s agency as religious conduct or the ‘doing’ of religion, located in observance, useful, at least to some extent. The Siri women do not practice their religious subjectivity against any ‘secular Other,’ the ‘Other’ that Avishai has noted in the case of Jewish women’s practice of niddah.12 The Siri women’s service as the Siri deities’ vehicles also comes with a set of rules, such as following taboos and purificatory rites prior to the Siri jātrɛ.13 In addition, many siris have stated that their participation in the night-long ritual is an emotionally and physically exhausting affair.14 However, most of the rules and practices connected to this tradition are open to interpretation and adaptation, as well as to practices of material substitution (kai parakɛ) for the siris’ corporeal service. Thus, the ritual codes which guide the practice of female possession during the Siri jātrɛ are not obligatory in prescription. A famous kumāra, Muttappa Kulal, reiterated how he, as a kumāra, cannot compel any Siri woman to stand on the daliya to offer her services: “They say, ‘we cannot stand [on the daliya], we are too aged to stand. We will leave after offering kai parakɛ.’ They come at least once in three years” (Kulal, Personal Interview, 2016). Another kumāra, Ramananda Shrigar, also shared that “offering kai parakɛ is their choice. We cannot say anything in this regard” (Shrigar, Personal Interview, 2016). What is striking here is the relative autonomy a Siri woman has in determining the mode of offering her sēvɛ to Siri. Most of the time, it is the women’s wish to serve their goddess. Girija from Bolyottu ālaḍɛ puts it this way: I have happiness. It is fine even if there is no well-being at home. It gives me immense happiness once we come and stand here. Only one thing in mind . . .when will we stand on the daliya? (Girija, Personal Interview, 2015)

Reinventing Selves 127 Indeed, we found that many Siri women agreed that, in return for their sēvɛ, they were granted the sirikulu’s blessing, ensuring that they and their families would stay healthy and happy. Thus, contrary to the negative, biased evaluation of the Siri ‘possession’ ritual from outside that stigmatized and victimized the Siri women as poor, uneducated, and vulgar women who had fallen prey to superstition,15 and academic engagements that perceive ‘possession’ as deprivation,16 what we understand from the words of the siris and kumāras is that there is a substantial degree of ritual autonomy that the Siri women enjoy, and that possession is desired and embraced for life. Further, ‘possession’ within the Siri tradition is more of a communitarian act than an individual experience, and the Siri ritual is an opportunity to build an alternative ‘Siri family.’ Within Tuluva society, the institution of family running in the line of the women is of paramount importance, and this aspect strongly resonates during the Siri jātrɛ as well. As the women adopt alternative identities during the ritual night, the ritual arena transforms into an alternative familial space for them. The siris build a world of female companionship sharing the common identity of Siri and her progeny. They form smaller groups of spiritual relatives, memorize Siri, recollect her agonies, and find fellowship in distress. Even more importantly, the women derive strength from this temporal spiritual kin-group. Girija’s words emphasize how the notion of family binds them all together: There’s only the mother-son part for us to sing. For them, it is elder sister-younger sister. If Sonnɛ-Giṇḍɛ stand on the daliya, it is only their part [which is sung]. But, isn’t Kumāra maternal home for all of us? He must go to each of us. (Girija, Personal Interview, 2015) Even the role of kumāra is perceived only within the structures of maternal families. Kumāra symbolizes the ever-present maternal home, or tameri, that Tuluva women can rely upon. Further, while the siris’ self-image is usually positive, being chosen and well-respected mediums of the Siri deities, there has also been a negative external perception of the Siri jātrε due to sensationalist media coverage that sexualized the siris’ bodies and interpreted their interactions with the kumāras in terms of inappropriate female behavior, even promiscuity. This development has led to restrictions where the women’s freedom to perform their sēvɛ is concerned: Many siris do not feel comfortable participating in the Siri ritual anymore, fearing for their reputation. Therefore, they prefer to offer kai parakε and return home. Even so, some women choose to go against the wishes of their families and offer their corporeal service to the sirikulu because they feel that it is good and sacred, and because it is part of who they are. There are also women who choose to make a material offering because it is what they want. In both cases, the Siri women demonstrate their agency in the sense that they demonstrate “the capacity to realize [their] own interest against the weight of custom, tradition, transcendental will, or

128  Pauline Schuster-Löhlau and Yogitha Shetty other obstacles” (Mahmood 2009: 20). This definition of agency seems to also hold true for the actions of and innovations introduced by Nina Shetty, the female head of the temple at Kavattar, in regard to taking control of the temple and the popular Siri festival there. 4. Agency as Performed by the Female Administrator at the Kavattar Siri ālaḍɛ Nina Shetty17 is the head of the Sri Mahalingeshwara Abbaga-Daraga temple/ Siri ālaḍɛ in the small village of Kavattar in Dakshina Kannada district of Karnataka, which is popularly known as ‘Kavattar ālaḍɛ.’ The temple she heads is prominent for the worship of the Siri deities, which involves a very popular Siri jātrɛ that is attended by many Siri women. Nina is based in Mumbai, spending a few months at Kavattar every year. She refers to the temple as a “private temple” and herself as its “head/owner.” She and her family had to fight a long battle in court to reclaim their property, which they seemed to have lost to another kin family.18 Nina has been the head of the temple for over twenty years now but nevertheless is still addressing issues grounded on questions of gender equality. Against this backdrop, we attempt to understand Nina’s religious agency, which is primarily based on her own account of the leadership roles and challenges. Nina’s role as the head of the Kavattar temple has a trajectory of its own: From a Mumbai-based metropolitan city-woman assuming the role of the head of a village temple through legal struggle to a woman searching for the significance of Siri, Nina’s relationship with Siri and her worship has undergone a remarkable transformation. As we have seen, her affiliation to the temple and its rituals began only after the family claimed its right over the temple. In the initial decade of being the head of the temple, arriving in the remote South Indian village felt like a “vacation” to her. Nina recalls: “I didn’t know the ABCD of it. It was just a holiday home for us in Bombay. It was like a short holiday for a long time” (Shetty, Personal Interview, 2014). To her, the place was a welcome change from everyday life in the city, but it did not hold much of a spiritual attraction for her. However, over the years, her relationship with the locale, its residing deities, and its people has undergone a significant transformation, and she has come to know and understand the place much better. Throughout the interview, Nina shows great interest in all the issues related to her task of managing the temple, such as local ritual practices and the history of the place. She has also made efforts to gather details about Siri and the significance of the Siri ritual in her temple. For instance, Nina has commissioned a translation of Siri’s story from Tulu into English,19 intending to publish it as a booklet. She has also approached Tulu researchers to learn more about the different aspects of Siri worship. Even more, Nina shares having experienced the emergence of a spiritual self in the course of her journey as the female head of the temple at Kavattar, connecting with “Siri and my

Reinventing Selves 129 Ishwara,”20 as she says, thus establishing an intimate relationship with the female deity of the land and her personal God. She says “Siri” has grown to be a driving force behind her reformatory activities. Nina wants her son (who lives in Chicago, USA) to take over the temple management eventually and know the significance of Siri worship. Nina has brought about many reforms for the benefit of the devotees visiting the temple/Siri ālaḍɛ every year: under her aegis, she has had a well built near her house, which can be used by the villagers as well. In addition, washrooms and toilets have been constructed and the shrine of the popular bull-shaped deity Nandigōṇa has been renovated. Since there are no hospitals or doctors in Kavattar, she has allowed her house and the temple premises to be converted into a platform for government medical aid to be distributed to the villagers. With good money coming in from the temple, Nina wants to reinvest that money to improve the temple’s infrastructure: she has plans to build a kitchen to prepare food for the devotees, and to repair and extend the road leading to the temple so that buses can bring devotees directly to the temple’s main entrance. In addition, she wants to provide boarding to the devotees. Altogether, Nina Shetty is of the opinion that things should develop and improve steadily. She confidently states that she is not afraid to make the necessary decisions, and that she acts cautiously, always having a back-up plan and spending the money entrusted to her carefully. Over the last two decades, Nina has established her authority over the temple at Kavattar as its female head. She has had to steer through various gendered challenges and has transformed from a mere outsider who came to Kavattar for a short holiday into a caring, understanding, and responsible leading figure in the local society and in the religious affairs of the village temple, growing new roots there. Furthermore, she is motivated “to set up the system in such a way that my son should be in a position to take over.” However, in the largely male-centric religious milieu of Tulunad, assuming the role of a female head of a temple demands multiple levels of negotiation. For instance, Nina Shetty pointed out how she had to repeat her ‘instructions’ multiple times in order for people to follow them. Her “instructions, not orders” were more often than not met with reluctance to obey, and Nina perceived this as a characteristic of the “male-dominated society.” She was aware of the way patriarchy worked and undermined a woman’s headship in the traditional set-up, identifying the power tussle as a result of a “bit of an ego” on the part of the largely male-centered religious public. Yet over the years, Nina has also noticed an increased obedience to her, and has seen an understanding among the villagers that “they have to follow” her instructions and that there is no alternative. Nina has had to make many efforts to establish complete authority over the temple and the people associated with it. She continues to navigate through the priests’ and others’ resistance to the changes she seeks to introduce in the local ritual/worship system.

130  Pauline Schuster-Löhlau and Yogitha Shetty What adds to the complexity of Nina Shetty as the female head of the temple is her identity as an English-educated metropolitan woman from outside. In his interview about the temple rituals, the erstwhile head priest of Kavattar temple frequently mentions the “English-learnt outsiders” who have compromised the temple’s age-old sanctity. The claim that the temple is a “private” property irks the priest, and he also expresses reservation about the “reforms” that have been introduced. What Nina has termed as “reforms” were perceived by him as dilutions of the traditional practices: Changes like expanding Nandigōṇa’s (a local deity in bull-form) shrine, asking the priests’ presence during agelụ (a religious offering of special dishes), handling the deities’ baṇḍāra (cf. Skt. bhāṇḍāra, a paraphernalia chest), etc. were deemed transgressions of the traditional religious set-up. Thus, the attempts of an “outsider” to “reform” and “facilitate” certain structures and procedures have not been received well by the people who have executed the rituals at the temple in a specific way for decades. The locals’ refusal to address Nina as “ajila” appears to be another indication of the reluctance to accept a woman’s control over the land and its belongings. “Ajila,” according to the priest, is the title conferred only on the heads of the traditional manor houses (guttu or būḍu) who have been accorded headship through the formal ritual of gaḍi pattunu or gaḍi patta.21 As “they,” implying Nina, have not been conferred with gaḍi-status, the priest refuses to address “them” as “ajila.” This disinclination to address the female head by the title of “ajila” also becomes evident when Nina explains that she is invited by the villagers to participate in the rituals (a formal practice of inviting the heads standing outside their home) by addressing her as “ajilere kutumba” (“ajila’s family”) but not as “ajila.” The usage of the generic terms “they/them” or “ajilere kutumba” instead of ajila alone perhaps shows the people’s discomfort with a female head. Nina is obliviated under the generic terms of “they” or “family,” neither of which acknowledges her individual identity as the female chief of the religious area in question. The locals’ discomfort with the emerging new female is evident in the circuitous language they resort to when having to address it. To elaborate in Nina’s own words: See, when a lady takes over, I  have to do something for the people to listen to me, not only look after them. It becomes very difficult. Instructions, not orders. Even for aḷiya santāna and all that, it is a male-­ dominated society, no? If my son is there, he will be ajila. (Shetty, Personal Interview, 2014) Nevertheless, undeterred and least interested in any propagation for herself, Nina aspires to continue serving Siri and her Ishwara through her headship over the Kavattar temple. Nina’s agency reflected in the actions she can take possibly also derives from her privileged social and economic background.22 She came to be in charge of her family’s ancestral land and the Siri ālaḍɛ/Mahalingeshwara temple located on it through the aid of modern

Reinventing Selves 131 legal and administrative apparatuses. Moreover, she has the social status, resources, and the administrative network that enable her to make informed choices, to organize and delegate the tasks around the temple, and plan for its future. In addition, the temple’s profit accumulated over the years provides her, as the proprietor, with the opportunity of further developing the infrastructure and positive image of the Mahalingeshwara temple and the popular Siri jātrɛ at Kavattar. Nina Shetty, as the head of a Siri ālaḍɛ, stands as a unique case of how a woman is heading one of the most prominent religious centers in the region, and how she can keep the Siri women in mind while introducing reformatory steps under her leadership. 5. Conclusion In this study, we have discussed how women positioned at different axes of class and power claim agency and religious authority through their differential attachments with Siri, the transgressive divine. Siri herself, a woman protesting against constricting patriarchy, offers a model of emancipation and choice for the women recollecting her by singing her song and by offering their services as her vehicles during the Siri ritual. Her protest against patriarchy’s attempts to confine her, her trials and tribulations, the struggles of her progeny, the end of her lineage etc. are a source of common grief and strength for the Siri women. For the women embodying the Siri deities during the Siri ritual, Siri also becomes the center around whom they constitute their alternative female selves: The siris ‘become’ the deity they most identify with, creating an alternative familial space within their Siri group throughout the night. On the one hand, the mediating bodies of the siris could be interpreted as a discursive space within which the agency of the possessing female is preserved: Siri in all her defiance of patriarchal control remains in the somatic-receptive power of the Siri women, thereby thwarting assumptions of a victimized body under spirit possession, as disseminated, for example, by biased and sensationalist media coverage and by mainstream ideas of women’s propriety. While from an outsider’s perspective, for example an urban middle-class man or woman, the Siri ‘possession’ ritual appears to be a space where women and their bodies get exploited and ideas of decency and progress are thrown over, the siris believe that they have been chosen by one of the divine sirikulu, and that their role as the deities’ mediums is good and sacred. They perceive it in terms of a religious service or “work of Siri,” which is rewarded in the form of blessings and special powers. The siris’ “performing religion,” their observance, in the ritual as well as in the mundane setting, provides them with a distinct “Siri identity”23 and empowers them, for example by elevating their social position as powerful and respected mediums of the sirikulu. On the other hand, Nina Shetty’s religious subjecthood in relation to Siri is of a different nature: Being an urban, English-educated, ‘modern’ woman, the head of the Kavattar temple/Siri ālaḍɛ perceives Siri and Ishwara as her

132  Pauline Schuster-Löhlau and Yogitha Shetty gods and the religious space of the temple as a peace-offering place. Siri is a female deity whom Nina serves through her developmental activities in and around the temple. Nina’s agency, which is carried out in the modern realm of legalized headship and legitimate control over the land and resources, seems to originate mostly in her privileged social position, whereas the Siri women’s agency arises from religious observance. However, being women, both the siris and Nina Shetty have to claim agency and religious authority themselves, because traditional society would not attribute such independence and influence to them: The Siri women need to negotiate their position within the religious space by stressing their connection and powers derived from their close connection to and role as the sirikulu’s mediums, that is, their sēvɛ, as well as by forming an all-women fellowship of their own through the alternative family of Siri. In everyday life, too, the Siri tradition is a vital part of their day, as many siris orientate themselves by the norms and values represented in the Siri pāḍdana. The Siri women’s piety is also the finding of an “alternative mode of being and existence,” as Avishai (2008: 423) has put it. The siris draw strength from their affiliation to the ‘mythical’ world and the shared religious experience as Siri’s kinswomen. They can express themselves through their alternative ‘Siri identity’ and exercise agency as mediators between the human and the supernatural within the protected and sacred space of the Siri ritual. Moreover, the agency they exert within the ritual context, in many cases, translates into selfconfidence and spiritual power that helps them make choices and changes in everyday life. In other words, the siris’ agency derives from Siri, through their role as the sirikulu’s chosen mediums, and through their observance of their duties towards the divine. Similar to Siri resisting male dominance, Nina also needs to negotiate priestly resistance to her headship and to the ‘developmental’ activities she undertakes. She is conscious of the way patriarchy challenges her power. Nina addresses these power struggles with the help of modern legal and administrative apparatuses: For instance, she brought the District Commissioner to Kavattar to resolve the issue of the handling of valuable baṇḍāra (a deity’s traditional paraphernalia). More recently, owing to differences of opinion, she appointed a new chief priest to the Kavattar temple. The ‘possessed’ bodies of Siri women and the control exercised by Nina need to be interpreted within their own subjective experiences positioned at different ends of socio-economic power. In this light, lending interpreting agency to the women and using their personal accounts as (sufficient) theoretical resources and reflections might offer richer insights into the religious subjectivity of the women in question.24 The ‘possession’ tradition of Siri, for instance, is also unique in terms of the communitarian space it ensures, a phenomenon which is difficult to comprehend within the theoretical formulations around individual possessed bodies and personal experience of the divine. We can therefore perceive women’s agency here as a “capacity for action that historically specific relations of subordination [also] enable

Reinventing Selves 133 and create” (Mahmood 2009: 15). We conclude with the words of Muttappa Kulala, the chief kumāra of the Siri ālaḍɛ at Pangala: “Without anything in her hands, Siri has shown us how to live. And that is important” (Kulal, Personal Interview, 2016). Notes 1 We also use the expression ‘Siri women’ synonymously. Further, we write siri, when we allude to the women participating in the Siri ritual, and ‘Siri’ when we refer to the mythical character of the Siri pāḍdana. 2 Dakshina Kannada and Udupi districts of Karnataka State, and Kasaragod district of Kerala State. 3 A popular saying in Tulu goes, kandogụ puni gatti bodu, ponnagụ tameri, “A strong fence is the necessity of a paddy field, as is a maternal home for a woman.” 4 The socio-cultural implications of the tammale-arvatta kaṭṭụ reverberate to this day, although it has apparently lost much of its practical influence, with more mainstream patriarchal ideas and structures dominating Tuluva society now. With the arrival of the colonial legal system and the modern nuclear family, the local practice of inheritance through the female line was replaced by the largely prevalent patrilineal practice as of the early 20th century. 5 A ‘folk myth,’ a ‘ballad,’ or an ‘oral epic’ in terms of Western literary terminology, belonging to a native oral-performative genre of the Tulu-speaking region called pāḍdana. 6 It needs to be noted that we are talking of alternative conceptions of these traits here, in contrast to patriarchal notions of chastity and fidelity, such as that of the pativratā. The concept of the pativratā is derived from orthodox Hindu/Brahminic ideology and refers to a chaste, devoted, and loyal wife who dedicates her life to the well-being of her husband. This ideal is a social construct of patriarchal cultures, meant to constrain women’s movements and to give the husband and/or the male family members total control over her mind and body, in particular over her sexuality- and to maintain the status quo of this system. 7 For a discussion of the terms ‘spirit possession’ and ‘possession mediumship,’ see Claus (1979). 8 In general, these clusters are formed around the women’s caste identities. 9 We use the name Kumāra when we refer to the mythical character of the Siri pāḍdana, and the term kumāra, with a minuscule at the beginning and in italics, when we allude to the ‘mediator’ of the Siri ritual. 10 The kumāra initiates the mediumship state at the beginning of the Siri ritual; he guides the siris, interrogates them, and initiates them into a particular Siri group. His chief role is the process of bāyi buḍpavunu, the ‘opening the mouths’ of Siris to identify the deity inhabiting their bodies. Thus, the otherwise marginal Kumāra of the Siri pāḍdana acts as a kind of non-Brahminic priest and medium within the ritual setting, possibly performing a larger role because public rituals are the domain of men. 11 Symptoms of ‘affliction’ include, among others, fainting spells, problems with concentration, lethargy, loss of appetite, depression, and aggressiveness. Usually, all these somatic and mental problems are subsumed under the expression “I was not feeling well” by the siris and kumāras recounting their early experience with ‘spirit possession.’ 12 Niddah is a part of Jewish law that “prescribes an elaborate system of menstrual defilement and purification and a regimen that regulates women’s behaviour and dress before, during and after menstruation and culminates in purification in the miqveh, the ritual bath” (Avishai 2008: 413f).

134  Pauline Schuster-Löhlau and Yogitha Shetty 13 Kargi Shedti explained that siris had to maintain ritual purity, especially in the week prior to the Siri festival, by bathing and praying more than usual and by avoiding non-vegetarian food, alcohol, and sexual relations. In addition, if a woman was impure due to her menses, childbirth, or a death in the family she was not allowed to participate in the Siri ritual. Ideally, the woman would then send someone in her family to give a material offering (kai parakɛ) and join her group of siris again the following year. 14 One siri, Leela Shedti, asked: “Who [wants to be] without sleep, who [wants to be] standing [on the daliya] the whole night, why should we struggle that much?” (Shedthi, Personal Interview, 2016) thereby pointing to the fact that the women had to be very devoted to persevere. 15 See Griebl and Sommer (2011) for details. 16 See Keller (2002) for details. 17 Nina Nithyananda Shetty was interviewed by Ashok Alva and K.L. Kundanthaya (both affiliated to the Regional Research Centre for Folk Performing Arts, RRC, Udupi) at Kavattar on 2 July 2014. The extensive, one-and-a-half-hour-long interview has been videotaped and provides the material on which this section of the chapter is based. This interview with Nina Shetty was followed by another one (on the same day) with the chief priest at the time, Padmanabha Bhat. 18 Nina explained that her family got their ancestral home back in 1990 and the temple in 1995, and she became in charge of the temple the same year. As Nina preferred not to divulge details about this process, we are unaware of the ancestral history of this headship. We are also unsure if her control over the land and temple is founded on the tammale-aravatta kattụ principle of inheritance. 19 As Nina was brought up in the neighboring state of Maharashtra, whose lingua franca is Marathi, she is unable to read and write in Kannada script. Therefore, she commissioned the translation in English, which she is adept in. 20 Ishwara is one of the three major deities within the Indian religious cosmos, and almost all the Siri ālaḍɛs are enshrined in the premises of an Ishwara/Shiva temple, as in Kavattar, with Mahalingeshwara also being a form of Ishwara. 21 In general, the practice of gaḍi pattunu or patta is not as prevalent in the region as it was earlier. Therefore, when Nina was asked whether she was given pattastatus, she expressed ignorance, being unaware of this formal rite. It was the head priest of the temple who mentioned that gaḍi pattunu was not practiced any more in recent days and that even the current head did not have it. 22 Nina’s family belongs to the dominant caste of Baṇṭs in the region. 23 For details see Schuster-Löhlau 2020: 140–154. 24 An example is the way the Siri women interpret their own mediumship service as a death rite offered to Berma Āḷva, or ‘Ajjerụ,’ Siri’s ‘grandfather.’ This interpretation provides a paradigm shift in understanding the Siri tradition, challenging many scholarly engagements (see Alva 2018).

References Alva, Ashok (ed.) (2009): Kargi Śeḍti hāḍiruva Sirikāvyalōka: Kannaḍa Anuvāda Sahita. Uḍupi: Karnāṭaka Jānapada Raṅgakalegaḷa Adhyayana Kēndra. Alva, Ashok, and Yogitha Shetty (trans.) (2018): Is ‘Siri Jatre’ the Women’s Mass Possession Tradition of Tulunad—a Death Rite? Shodha, 7(2), 109–119. Arunkumar, S. R. (2015): Udupi Jilleya Siri Aladegalu. Bangalore: M/s Panchajanya Publications. Avishai, Orit (2008): ‘Doing Religion’ in a Secular World: Women in Conservative Religions and the Question of Agency. Gender and Society, 22(4), 409–433.

Reinventing Selves 135 Claus, Peter J. (1979): Spirit Possession and Spirit Mediumship from the Perspective of Tulu Oral Traditions. Culture, Medicine and Psychiatry, 3(1), 29–52. Griebl, Lea, and Sina Sommer (2011): Siri Revisited: A Female ‘Mass Possession Cult’ without Women Performers? In Between Fame and Shame: Performing Women— Women Performers in India (ed. by Heidrun Brückner, Hanne M. de Bruin and Heike Moser). Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz (Drama und Theater in Südasien 9), 135–152. Keller, Mary (2002): The Hammer and the Flute: Women, Power & Spirit Possession. Baltimore and London: The John Hopkins University Press. Mahmood, Saba (2005): Politics of Piety: The Islamic Revival and the Feminist Subject. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Mahmood, Saba (2009): Agency, Performativity, and the Feminist Subject. In Pieties and Gender (ed. by Lene E. Sjørup and H. R. Christensen). Leiden: Brill, 11–45. Nair, Janaki (1994): On the Question of Agency in Indian Feminist Historiography. Gender and History, 6(1), 82–100. Schuster-Löhlau, Pauline (2020): “Leaving the Country, I  Shall Be Free”—South Indian Oral Epic Traditions as Sources of Personal and Shared Identities. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz (= PhD thesis, Würzburg, 2019). Shetty, Yogitha (director) (2014): Landscapes of Ritual World: Siri Worship. Documentary. Mysore: Bhasha Mandakini, Central Institute of Indian Languages. Interviews Girija (Bolyottu 2015). Personal Interview. Kulal, Muttappa (Nainadu 2016). Personal Interview. Ratna (Daregudde 2014). Personal Interview. Shedthi, Leela (Nellikar 2016). Personal Interview. Shetty, Nina Nithyananda (Kavattar 2014). Personal Interview. Shrigar, Ramananda (Pangala 2016). Personal Interview.

7 Yoga’s Red Tent Menstrual-Oriented Iyengar Yoga Practices Agi Wittich

1. Introduction Since adolescence, I have had mixed feelings towards menstruation. It was painful and uncomfortable; it forced me to be more self-aware and changed the way I  dressed and moved. Nevertheless, it was a natural and healthy sign that connected me to a greater idea of womanhood’s cyclic nature. So, when I  first learned of Menstruation-Oriented Iyengar Yoga (IY) in 2007, I was filled with reverence and joy. I thought, “Here is a postural yoga practice designed to soothe my pain and enhance my sense of connectedness to myself.” I  longed to tell my IY teacher about my menstruation since I  felt respected and looked after. I was happy to retire to a secluded space in which I could retire, rest, and rejuvenate, as the specialized postural practice promised to do so. Imagine my surprise when I  discovered during this research that not all women share my excitement and appreciation towards these practices. I understood that some women would rather keep their menstrual identity a secret to avoid these practices and continue their ‘normal’ postural practice with the rest of the class. I became more aware of the complex discourses underpinning Menstruation-Oriented IY practices among female IY practitioners globally. As I analyze in this chapter, when one engages in these postural practices, she is doing gender on the one hand, and at the same time, she is doing religion as well. IY is a well-known modern transnational and cross-cultural yoga tradition founded and named after Bellur Krishnamachar Sundararaja (BKS) Iyengar (1918–2014). With many centers globally, IY is practiced in over 80 countries and has been hailed as the most widespread and influential school of yoga, respected across contemporary yoga milieus worldwide (De Michelis 2005: 194). Menstruation-Oriented IY is part of a broader concept and term I coined1 earlier, ‘Women-Oriented Iyengar Yoga,’ which refers to all yoga practices and theories constructed by the IY tradition to accommodate women’s bodily, mental, cultural, and sociological needs (Wittich 2017: 2020).

DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-8

Yoga’s Red Tent 137 I associate Menstruation-Oriented IY with the metaphorical term of the ‘Red Tent’2 since it stands for the ambivalence and complexity of these practices’ meanings, both for its members and IY. The Red Tent is a designated area for menstruating women during yoga classes, similar to the ‘menstruating hut’ common in South Asia (Ghimire 2005; Robinson 2015). The practice of menstruating huts is related to bias against women, health and hygiene issues, impurity, and sin (Seymour 2008). In contrast, the term ‘Red Tent’ is also the title of a historical novel authored by Anita Diamant (1997), in which it denotes a place where women gather to rest and renew. It is also where women interact and support each other by providing a place that honors and celebrates women. The different interpretations of this term express the ambivalence the IY’s Red Tent evokes among its female students. Menstruation-Oriented IY is central and prevalent in IY globally. It is taught in IY teachers’ training courses and teachers’ assessments. It frequently appears in IY’s literature and is widely discussed in IY classes and workshops. Still, despite these practices’ centrality and systematized characteristics, as I understand them to be, the IY does not recognize them as a sub-category of IY practices. Despite the widespread status of these practices, they have not yet been the focus of previous scholarly research.3 Jennifer Lea (2009) examines the notions of practices and self-care by interviewing IY members. She studies how IY tradition practice creates ways of knowing, experiencing, and forming the self and possibilities for freedom and liberation. Lea concludes that although yoga practice has the potential to be curative and therapeutic, it could come across as oppressive by operating to “place” people in problematic ways without their choosing (Lea 2009: 85–86). In a way, this chapter continues exploring how IY members understand IY postural practices, emphasizing aspects of agency and gender performativity. Julie Lynne Hodges (2007) examined IY female members’ experiences of their postural practice, highlighting the self-transformational aspect of their practice.4 She concludes that women’s primary motivation was to enhance their physical well-being as part of their self-care maintenance, while some more experienced women were driven by maintaining mental and emotional health and pursuing an internal and stable sense of self-identity (Hodges 2007: 214– 215). This chapter addresses the motivation of IY members when adhering to or resisting specific IY postural practices. 2.  Methodology and Positionality The findings in this chapter are based on qualitative textual analysis of relevant IY literature, as well as semi-structured in-depth interviews with both Iyengar family members (including Geeta, Abhijata, and Sunita Iyengar), and with 37 female IY teachers from different nationalities (including the USA, RSA, UK, EU, Australasia, and Israel), as part of my Ph.D. research. Between

138  Agi Wittich 2015 and 2019, I visited the Ramamani Iyengar Memorial Yoga Institute in South India, participated in and observed IY classes, discussed menstruationoriented practices with various IY practitioners and teachers, and spent many hours in the Institute’s library. My positioning is unique, as I have been an academic, a yoga practitioner since 2005, and a certified IY teacher since 2014. I  identify as a scholarpractitioner (Singleton and Larios 2020). I  acknowledge that my identity, positioning, and situatedness contributed to the research question and the findings of this chapter. Overall, the findings are based on a comprehensive analysis of Menstruation-Oriented IY through qualitative textual analysis of relevant IY literature and qualitative interviews with IY teachers. In this way, I have obtained data ‘directly’ from the phenomenon in question. Through direct interaction with empirical material for my work, I have sought to interpret this phenomenon in terms of the meanings IY members bring to them. As a qualitative researcher, the story that I tell and how it was relayed to me and the stories I have collected are unavoidably influenced by my position and experiences. For example, my positioning as an IY member and teacher proved to be especially significant when interpreting interviews or contextualizing Sanskrit texts within the IY tradition. In order to minimalize bias, I constantly reflected on my work and findings (Lindlof and Taylor 2002) and my competence to represent the experiences of others to strengthen further the validity, reliability, and transparency of my research. 3. From Prohibition to Praxis: The Becoming of Menstruation-Oriented Iyengar Yoga The first written mention of Menstruation-Oriented IY that I found was in BKS Iyengar’s well-known book, Light on Yoga (1966). In his book, Iyengar advises women to avoid postural yoga during menstruation (Iyengar, B. K. S. 1966: 59–60). This advice also appears in Yoga: A Gem for Women (1983), authored by BKS Iyengar’s eldest daughter Geeta.5 Even though the IY’s general advice for menstruating women is to avoid the postural practice altogether, in IY literature, women enduring gynecological problems are advised to practice specific postural routines which have beneficial effects. For example, BKS Iyengar advises women who endure menorrhagia, i.e., abnormally heavy, prolonged bleeding, prolapsed uterus, and ovarian disorders, to adhere to a specific postural practice (Iyengar, B. K. S. 1966: 59, 494–502). Geeta Iyengar assigns specialized postural practices to common menstruation-related sensations, such as tightness, tension, numbness, heaviness, burning sensation, dizziness, or discomfort (Iyengar, G. 1983: 86–88). I argue that what I frame as Menstruation-Oriented IY emerged from these specialized instructions originally meant to alleviate menstrual dysfunctions and discomforts and stand as an alternative to earlier recommendations to avoid postural yoga practice during menstruation. As I  will elaborate on

Yoga’s Red Tent 139 later, these postural practices imply that menstruation is a ‘condition’ that needs to be ‘treated’ in a ‘special’ way. I found that Menstruation-Oriented IY practices were not widespread or widely practiced before the 1990s. Indian IY teacher Nalini, for example, told me in an interview that when she began practicing with the Iyengars in the early 1960s, she did not know of any restrictions on postural practice for menstruating women. Similarly, European IY teacher Giana recounted how in the 1970s, she practiced with the Iyengars “inappropriate postural practices” during her menstruation. In her interview, Giana mentioned intense handbalancing postures and backbends without knowing or being told they should be avoided. American IY teacher Jackie recalled in an interview how in the 1980s, after telling BKS Iyengar that she was menstruating, he instructed her to practice intense backbends: “We were doing backbends. Moreover, I said I had my period, and Guruji dropped me back 55 times. I counted them.”6 Also, American IY teacher Lucile said that up until the 1990s, the knowledge of Menstruation-Oriented IY was not known by all: “We knew nothing about it, nobody knew anything, about how to practice, as a woman . . . it was like we were in the Dark Ages.” I attributed the development of the practice and the distribution of knowledge regarding Menstruation-Oriented IY to several events and publications in 1997. That year, Geeta Iyengar assembled the first International Women’s Intensive workshop. During a week-long workshop comprising 61 female IY teachers from various countries, Menstrual-Oriented IY practices (alongside Women-Oriented IY practices) were systematized in the forms of specialized sequences, adjustments, and postural adaptations. Following the workshop, Geeta Iyengar organized a postural yoga demonstration entitled “The Role of Yoga in Women’s Life,” in which IY teachers demonstrated some of the modifications and variations taught in the workshop (Iyengar, G. 1997a). My first IY teacher, who was present in this workshop, often mentioned it in her classes whenever the issue of Menstruation-Oriented IY came up. She spoke of this workshop with awe and of the knowledge she received there as precious and of great value. Not long after the women’s workshop, important publications regarding Menstruation-Oriented IY practice saw light. First, IY teacher Lois Steinberg published her notes from the women’s workshop and a schematic table (possibly enigmatic to the non-IY teacher), assigning modifications to 51 yoga postures and breath control techniques (Steinberg 1997). Second, Geeta Iyengar published two articles7 in the quarterly Iyengar periodical Yoga Rahasya. The women’s workshop, public demonstration, and these publications were the cornerstone for disseminating Menstruation-Oriented IY. Another influential text is a transcription of Geeta Iyengar’s talk in Poland, entitled The Practice of Women During the Whole Month (2002), which circulates online on several Iyengar websites. Later, during the 21st century, three books on Menstruation-Oriented IY were published by IY teachers (Sparrowe 20028;

140  Agi Wittich Steinberg 2006; Clennell 2007). These books offered explanations and depictions of Menstruation-Oriented IY postural practices for different phases of the menstrual cycle and referred to related pathologies, together with specially adjusted and altered sequences. Menstruation-Oriented IY mainly comprises static postures9 that usually involve the usage of yoga props and are said to promote relaxation, rest, and rejuvenation.10 Geeta Iyengar instructs menstruating women to: stick to the practice of those asanas that help women keep themselves healthy and that do not create an obstruction to the menstrual flow. Those asanas have to be selected which do not make her run out of energy or bring any hormonal disturbance. (Iyengar, G. 2009) I found the advice for restful and rejuvenating postural practice during menstruation in IY literature and interviews with IY teachers. For example, in The Woman’s Yoga Book: Asana and Pranayama for all Phases of the Menstrual Cycle (2007), IY teacher Clennell offers postural sequences entitled “Calming the Mind” (87), “Restoring Lost Energy” (99), “Effortless Practice” (Clennell 2007: 122), but also “Excessive and Prolonged Bleeding: Stabilizing the System” (Clennell 2007: 203), “Scanty Periods: Strengthening the System” (Clennell 2007: 211), and “Irregular Menstruation: Reestablishing the Rhythm” (Clennell 2007: 227). In an interview, American IY teacher Robin expressed the importance of a rest-inducing yoga practice during menstruation. Likewise, Australasian IY teacher Jane spoke to me about adhering to a less strenuous practice. Two Indian IY teachers explained that rest was an action done in seclusion (Pushpa) as a form of relief that removes tiredness and irritation (Priya). Furthermore, Israeli IY teacher Ora emphasized how these practices enhance intellectual stress and physical strain avoidance. IY literature and teachers warn against the dangers of a ‘general’ postural practice instead of Menstruation-Oriented IY. IY maintains that menstruating women may harm themselves if they practice a ‘general’ postural yoga sequence (Clennell 2007: 18; Steinberg 1997: 10–27; Iyengar, G. 1983: 87).11 For example, on the first page of The Woman’s Yoga Book: Asana and Prāṇāyāma for All Phases of the Menstrual Cycle, IY teacher Bobby Clennell warns menstruating women that they will pay “the price” if they choose to ignore their “internal needs” (which should result in turning to ­Menstruation-Oriented IY) and go on with their ‘general’ IY postural practice (Clennell 2007: 1). “The price” is causing harm to ones’ health, especially erupting one’s menstrual cycle, which is believed to result in gynecological pathologies, infertility, and even cancer.12 Still, as I discuss later in this chapter, some IY members choose to “take their chances” and practice general postural IY while menstruating. One reason for their defiance is their resistance to the implication of these practices regarding gender, i.e., the way these practices do gender or make IY members perform gender.

Yoga’s Red Tent 141 4.  The Red Tent as Gender Performativity Menstruation-Oriented IY practices are performances of gender and engage in ‘doing gender.’ I argue that these practices ‘make’ a woman. I follow Simone De Beauvoir (1949), who claimed that women are not born as women since one’s biological sex does not assign gender but that they become women through social constructs. The female body, she explained, is constructed as otherhood, while the male body stands as the norm. This conceptualization, de Beauvoir claimed, creates inherent inequality and bias towards women— this point is crucial when considering that Women-Oriented IY opposes ­‘general’ IY. Judith Butler’s (1990) analysis of how one has learned the performance of gendered behavior is also relevant to this chapter. Since she concluded that these “performances” are imposed upon females (and males) by normative heterosexuality social norms, in other words, Butler argues that gender is an outcome of action rather than mere conceptualization and that the individual contributes to it through action. Thus, every time an IY teacher instructs menstruating women to practice Menstruation-Oriented IY practices, and when the practitioners comply, both teacher and practitioner engage in “doing gender” (West and Zimmerman 1987). Thus, the engagement of IY members in Menstruation-Oriented IY postural practice enacts gender performance, enhances gender binary, and, as I discuss later, emphasizes bias. I recognize the reinforcement of womanhood through four practices: first, the identification, or labeling, of female IY practitioners as ‘menstruating women.’ Second, the assigned postural practices of Menstruation-Oriented IY. Third, the materialization of the metaphorical ‘Red Tent.’ Fourth, the power dynamics of the ‘panopticon’ within the Red Tent as understood by Foucault. In the following section, I will describe and analyze these aspects. 4.1  Identifying and Labeling Menstruating Women

Menstruation-Oriented IY practices are preceded by publicly disclosing one’s menstrual status, even if many women would rather keep it to themselves. In some IY classes, the IY teacher asks aloud before each class starts whether there are menstruating women present. In some cases, female practitioners “tell you when they come into class that they are on the menstrual cycle,” American IY teacher Jenifer explained in an interview. In my experience as an IY female practitioner in IY classes in Israel, India, France, Hungary, Spain, and Belgium, and with IY teachers from Israel, India, Europe, the USA, and Australasia, this was the case. However, given the widespread nature of IY worldwide, it is possible that IY teachers may ask their female students to notify them more discretely in some countries. Only through the disclosure of their menstruating identity are women given Menstruation-Oriented IY postural practice. A helpful terminology to better understand the meaning of this act is suggested by Laura Fingerson, who uses the term “menstrual identity” to denote how women’s menstruation labels

142  Agi Wittich them and defines their identity (Fingerson 2006). She argues that women are motivated to keep their menstrual identity private due to social constructs of gender behavior. When women are menstruating, Fingerson argues, their body is doing something “out of the ordinary” since the “dominant myopic view of what the body is and how it should act and look is that of the male body” (Fingerson 2006: 16). For a long time, scholars point out that in Western and Asian settings, society has signaled to girls and women to keep their menstruation hidden as a secret while encouraging them to buy and use the most deodorizing and sanitizing products (Delaney et  al. 1988; MorenoBlack and Vallianatos 2005; Freidenfelds 2009; Jackson and Falmagne 2013; MacRae et al. 2019; Rubinsky et al. 2020). IY teachers acknowledged in interviews that sometimes women keep their menstrual identity hidden or private. However, this is frowned upon by IY teachers since it denotes dishonesty, disobedience, and lack of respect for the IY. It is also understood as a lack of understanding of the said “value” of Menstruation-Oriented IY, especially when considering “the price” of not following these practices during menstruation, as discussed previously. I argue that menstruating practitioners also receive dual labeling as women and as dirty, impure, and sinful. Before menarche occurs, girls are taught in the same way as boys. The negative labeling is linked to menstruation’s negative connotation that menstruation carries in both Western and non-Western societies (Marván et al. 2006; Bobel 2010). The labeling of female practitioners as women is perhaps more apparent. While biologically, menarche merely denotes various bodily changes and the commencement of childbearing age (Marino et  al. 2013; Newton 2016; Perianes and Ndaferankhande 2020), in the social context, it marks a milestone at which a “girl” has become a “woman” (Biswas and Kapoor 2004). Similarly, in IY, the commencement of women’s menstruation cycle, or menarche, is “the first stage of womanhood” (Clennell 2007: xi). Within the Hindu textual corpus, as established by earlier scholars, menstrual fluid is perceived as having negative qualities compared to other vital substances (Doniger 1973). It is regarded as a sign of sin, related to the mythical story of Indra’s Curse (Smith 1991: 230) since women’s menstruation is perceived as a result of women taking on a third of the god Indra’s sin of brahminicide. Moreover, most orthodox Hindu menstrual taboos derive from menstruation’s negative associations (Hembroff 2010), which are by definition harmful and associated with disharmony. Rules to restore harmony are usually set out so that the appropriate actions can instill dharma—these ideas resonate with the IY and with references to menstruation in Āyurvedic terminology. The IY tradition’s framing of menstruation originates from the Āyurvedic model of the body and its fluids (Iyengar, B. K. S. and Iyengar, G. 2002). According to this model, menstrual blood is a waste product, or mala, which should be excreted and discharged from the body (Agrawal et al. 2020). In the interviews, American IY teacher Lori referred to menstrual blood as a “waste product” that should not be retained in the body. Indian IY teacher Priya

Yoga’s Red Tent 143 referred to it as a “toxin” produced by the “trauma” a woman’s body goes through during menstruation. The concept of menstrual blood as toxic waste resembles the term rajasvala, meaning full of impurity or covered with dust, which is how menstruating women are described in the Manusmriti (Leslie 1989: 283). Thus, framing menstruation as a negative rather than a normal or neutral phenomenon bears an implicit message to menstruating women in the IY tradition. This negative framing, I argue, impacts women’s understanding of themselves and their interpretation of Menstruation-­Oriented IY altogether, as IY teachers echo them in classes. As I analyze in the following section, Menstruation-Oriented IY postural practices are intended to instruct women to move in ‘another’ way in their postural yoga practice, contrasted with the ‘normal’ or ‘general’ way IY practitioners ought to move. 4.2  Moving “Differently” When Menstruating

The ideal postural yoga practice in IY is the ‘general’ one. The IY literature defines levels of yoga practitioners by “levels of eagerness and intensity,” ranging from mild to most intense when the latter is favored (Iyengar, B. K. S. 1993: 76–77). The postural practice that is advised for each level is following the level of the student. Thus, one can infer from the level of one’s postural practice to one’s level as a yoga practitioner. My research findings suggest that female IY practitioners engage in the ‘alternative’ postural yoga practice a lot, at least a quarter of a month, every month. In an interview, American IY teacher Charlotte said, “This has been talked about a lot among teachers.” She added, “We have trouble maintaining that level of practice.” For example, Figure 7.1 depicts the classical posture of upaviṣṭakoṇāsana (WideAngeled Seated Forwards posture), similar to the depiction of the ‘classical’

Figure 7.1 Classical Upaviṣṭakoṇāsana

144  Agi Wittich posture (Iyengar, G. 2000: 58), and Figure 7.3 depicts the classical posture of Adhomukhaśvānāsana (Downward-Facing Dog posture), similar to the depiction of the ‘classical’ posture (Iyengar, B. K. S. 1966: 110). Figures 7.2 and 7.4 depict Menstruation-Oriented recommended variations using various yoga props. In Figure  7.2, props give support under the buttocks, the inner heels, and a rope around the shoulder blades. In Figure 7.4, a rope is used to reduce the weight on the hands and palms and to aid in the elongation of the spine. Another prop is used to support the head. These are said to create more abdominal space and avoid fatigue. Menstruation-Oriented IY is an alternative to the more ‘general’ IY postural practice, as briefly mentioned previously. The ‘general’ or ‘normal’ postural yoga practice is described in IY literature, which is considered to be the “pure” form postures that are practiced entirely to their final stage, “independently,” without the use of props, and “originally,” without any

Figure 7.2 Menstruation-Oriented Upaviṣṭakoṇāsana

Yoga’s Red Tent 145

Figure 7.3 Classical Adhomukhaśvānāsana

Figure 7.4 Menstruation-Oriented Adhomukhaśvānāsana

adjustments (Iyengar, B. K. S. 1999). Modified postural IY practice is meant for those who aspire to practice IY but cannot achieve the ideal or “normal” postural practice. Also, Menstruation-Oriented IY practices are understood by IY members as a gentle and mild form of postural practice. For example, American IY teacher Lois Steinberg contrasts Menstruation-Oriented IY with “stronger” postural practice (Steinberg 2006: 192). This claim was repeated in interviews with IY teachers who regard Menstruation-Oriented

146  Agi Wittich IY practice as gentler and less vigorous than “normal” postural yoga practices. Thus, I  conclude that the ‘alternative’ postural practice ascribed to menstruating women is inferior and is perceived as having less value from the standpoint of the ideal postural practice. 4.3  Separating Menstruating Women and the Materialization of Red Tent

Implementing Menstruation-Oriented IY includes separating menstruating women from the rest of the class to a degree. This separation occurs either by instructing them with alternative postural practice, ranging from mild modifications or alterations involving yoga-prop usage, or instructing them to follow a complete alternative postural sequence while the rest of the class follows the ‘general’ postural practice. I see these ‘alternative’ postural practices, ascribed to menstruating women, as an example of how female practitioners’ menstrual identity is visually accentuated, and menstruating women are visibly separated from ‘the rest’ of the group. In other words, when entering an IY classroom, it is often easy to detect which women are menstruating by how they engage in the postural yoga practice. The extent of separating menstruating women from the rest of the class, or incorporating them into the class, greatly depends on the teacher. Menstruating women are not always given a separate practice but are sometimes incorporated into an IY class. For example, American IY teacher Libby explained that she usually includes menstruating women in her classes by giving them posture adjustments. When teaching a “very big” class with an assistant, she sometimes separates the menstruating women and gives them a particular practice. Israeli IY teacher Laila shared that since she did not like to be separated from the rest of the class, she incorporated menstruating women into her classes as much as possible. For me, it depends on the menstruating woman and her inclining. When women wish to be a part of the ‘general’ class, I tend to incorporate them to the maximum. However, when menstruating women complain of pains and discomforts, seeking a restful and gentle practice, I follow the standard recommendations of Menstruation-Oriented IY. As an IY practitioner, I usually prefer to adhere to alternative postural practices, as I find them soothing and more fitting. Sometimes menstruating women practice a postural yoga sequence specific to their condition, i.e., Menstruation-Oriented IY, rather than join the general class. An IY teacher might choose to separate a group of menstruating practitioners from the rest of the class if the class practices a vigorous postural practice sequence, such as jumping into standing postures or an advanced backbend sequence. For these reasons, some IY teachers use laminated ‘menstrual sequence’ charts that act as an alternative to the ‘normal’ postural practice taught in the class, as described by American IY teacher Chris Saudek, who created such laminated charts. These laminated sequences also assist the teacher in managing the class, according to Israeli IY teacher Laila and American IY teacher Jenifer: “You just tell them to place their mats and give them the sequence of postures

Yoga’s Red Tent 147 and tell them how long they have to hold them or whatever, as the class moves on.” In this way, IY teachers ascribe an alternative ­Menstruation-Oriented IY postural sequence to menstruating women while teaching the rest of the class a ‘normal’ postural practice. The separation of menstruating women is also spatial. Some IY teachers provide a designated area to practice Menstruation-Oriented IY practice. As mentioned earlier, I  use the ‘Red Tent’ metaphor for Menstruation-­ Oriented IY since it reflects the ambivalence and complexity of its meanings. The term ‘Red Tent’ is similar to the term ‘menstruating hut,’ common in South Asia (Ghimire 2005; Robinson 2015), as well as to the title of a historical novel by Anita Diamant (1997). Various factors, such as the number of menstruating women and overall participants, the experiences of the menstruating women, and the class theme, determine the location of the Red Tent. The metaphorical red Tent frequently materializes In the corner of the practice room, according to interviews conducted with IY teachers, which is also my experience as an IY practitioner. For example, American IY teacher Robin explained that menstruating women are given “their own separate program in the corner, back in the room,” since “women do have to take care of themselves.” British IY teacher Julie said that menstruating women are visible when one enters the practice hall since they are grouped in the corner. Likewise, South African IY teacher Gavin described how she was told, together with other menstruating women at the “back of the class,” not to practice inversions but to practice “a sequence to do there.” One practical reason for placing the Red Tent in the back corner of the room, rather than in the center of the room or even in the first row under the watchful eye of the teacher, is because of the location of yoga props in an IY classroom, that menstruating women are supposed to use during their MenstruationOriented postural practice. However, the secluded location does not mean that menstruating women are hidden from the eyes or supervision of the IY teacher. I  argue that intense and internal supervision is taking place in the Red Tent, in addition to the IY teacher’s scrutiny. 4.4  The Red Tent as a Panopticon

The Red Tent functions as what Foucault termed a metaphorical panopticon. According to Foucault, a panopticon is a social construct that enables constant supervision, induces conscious visibility in the individual, and assures the functioning of power (Foucault [1975]1976: 201). In the case of IY’s Red Tent, menstruating female practitioners are grouped together visibly, as discussed earlier, and are expected to conform to Menstruation-Oriented IY postural practices. According to Foucault, the group within the panopticon observes the individual, while the individuals also observe each other. The constant and mutual supervision especially concerns what should and should not be done.

148  Agi Wittich The Red Tent is visible in IY classes. I attribute this visibility to its location in the corner of the room, the usage of yoga props, and its recurrent appearance. “Obviously, you see that,” said British IY teacher Julie to me in an interview, “where you’ve got the people with the menstruation in one corner.” Likewise, American IY Marci noted that once entering the classroom, “you saw from the very first instance that people were in the corner with a period.” Thus, identifying the Red Tent occurs instantly and is evident for IY members. As a menstruating IY practitioner, I  know where to find the Red Tent. When I participate in a class or a workshop with an unfamiliar IY teacher, I would identify as menstruating and follow any further instructions. IY teachers expect the formation of the Red Tent in their classes, knowing their students, and since menstruation is usually a monthly occurrence, IY teachers can predict when the Red Tent is most likely to materialize. As British IY Julie narrated in an interview, “Obviously you’re always aware . . . you should be always aware of the menstrual phases of the women, I think I’m aware of that, all my students, and what they need to do.” This constant awareness that Julie expressed is not unexpected to me. As an IY practitioner, I  was not surprised when my teachers predicted that I  was menstruating. Usually, it correlated with other IY practitioners’ menstruating time. As an IY teacher, I often predict when the Red Tent will materialize, and my students usually joke about the synchronicity of their menstruation. Apart from a probable prediction of menstruation, some IY members feel their menstruation is visible to their teachers. This was the case for Indian IY teacher Nalini when she first met BKS Iyengar (here referred to as Guruji). She narrated in an interview that: I had menstruation, and I was very shy. So I didn’t know what to say, and this much I  knew that everyone’s supposed to be telling us that you’re menstruating, okay? So I’m thinking and I’m very shy with a heavy feet I’m walking, and Guruji calls me like this, “Hey, come here. You are menstruating today.” I was like, “How do you know that?” The power dynamics of administering compliance among female IY practitioners in a metaphorical panopticon were mentioned to me by the teachers I interviewed. For example, American IY teacher Marci told me that menstruating women must comply: “even if it was your favorite day of back bends, you couldn’t do them.” Through this example, she emphasized the constrictions that are put in place upon menstruating women. In an interview, South African IY teacher Gavin narrated how she was told, together with other menstruating women at the “back of the class,” not to practice inversions but to practice a specialized postural sequence instead. My experience as a female IY practitioner is similar to what I  have described. When practicing in a Red Tent, other female practitioners might remark or comment on my practice when it seems to them as not complying with Menstruation-Oriented IY. For example, when I attempt to practice a

Yoga’s Red Tent 149 ‘general’ posture instead of a ‘modified’ one or neglect to use a specific yoga prop. Such remarks may come from within the Red Tent or outside of it, from other IY practitioners or the IY teacher. A clear example of the restrictions menstruating women endure is the prohibition of practicing inverted postures13 during menstruation; these are yoga postures in which the head is lower than the torso and the hips so that the hips are perpendicular to the floor. This prohibition is probably the most severe among Menstruation-Oriented IY since BKS Iyengar asserts that they should be practiced “on no account” during menstruation (Iyengar, B. K. S. 1966: 59–60), and Geeta Iyengar affirms that there is “no doubt” about the omission of inverted postures during menstruation (Iyengar, G. 2009). Instead, menstruating women are given alternative postural practice. For example, the shoulder stand, sālamba sārvāṅgāsana, depicted in Figure 7.5, is a regularly practiced inverted posture in IY classes. Menstruating women are

Figure 7.5 Classical Sālamba Sārvāṅgāsana

150  Agi Wittich instructed to practice an alternative posture, such as a supported variation of setubandha sārvāngāsana, depicted in Figure 7.6. As shown in the picture, the posture is practiced with yoga props, making it easy to immediately recognize women’s menstrual identity. Inverted postures hold great importance in the IY and are practiced for a long duration. These postures are called “the king and queen” and “the father and mother” postures and are both inversions (Iyengar, B. K. S. 1966: 189). As such, they are practices for increasing durations of time: for short durations in beginners’ classes, prolonged duration in intermediate classes (Iyengar, G. 1983: 40–43, 81–91), and can last for 50 minutes or more in advanced classes (Iyengar, B. K. S. 1966: 190–206, 213–237). The result of these restrictions is that menstruating women are not allowed to follow when the IY teachers instruct practitioners to practice inverted postures. In a Red Tent, menstruating women would not attempt to practice inverted postures since they know their peers and the IY teacher will scrutinize them. This may come in the form of concern for one’s health since the consequences of inverted postural practice during menstruation are believed to be severe. According to IY literature, it is believed to cause menstrual irregularities, abnormalities, and disorders, such as “cramping, insufficient or excessive menstrual flow” (Clennell 2007: 18–19), as well as a complete and abrupt arrest of menstrual bleeding, retrograde menstruation, fibroids, cysts, endometriosis, and even cancer (Iyengar, B. K. S. and Iyengar, G. 2002). The Red Tent employs power over the bodies of female IY practitioners, as it sets a “correct” way of behavior and movement, with relation to gender as a norm. This form of control over one’s body and movement implores the question

Figure 7.6 Menstruation-Oriented Setubandha Sārvāṅgāsana

Yoga’s Red Tent 151 of individual agency within the Red Tent, which will be discussed in the following section. 5.  Female Agencies in the Red Tent In the case of Menstruation-Oriented IY, the question of agency among female IY members is central to this chapter. As I use the term, agency involves the individuals’ ability to make their own choices, pursue their rights, goals, and aspirations, and ultimately affect desired change in their lives. However, this chapter acknowledges many agencies rather than ‘agentically’ resisting or accepting them, forming a single story that is easy to comprehend. I argue that individual agencies, manifested in Menstruation-Oriented IY, echoed an ongoing negotiation between individual desires, beliefs, and religious ethos. I understand agency manifests as resistance to social norms. A  relevant observation to this chapter is that of anthropologist Saba Mahmood, who conceptualized agency as “the capacity to realize one’s interests” against the weight of custom and tradition (Mahmood 2005: 8), and individual freedom as the ability to act out of one’s “own will,” rather than abiding by tradition, cultural, or social norms. I agree with Mahmood that in order not to confuse agency with deplorable passivity and docility, it is essential to analyze specific concepts that enable specific modes of being, responsibility, and effectivity (Mahmood 2005: 14–15), distinguishing between women’s pious aspirations and their desire for empowerment (Mahmood 2005: 203). In recent years a substantial feminist literature has developed focusing on the practices and agency of religious women (Bracke 2003, 2008; Braidotti 2008; Bilge 2010; Bucar 2010; Parashar 2010; Burke 2012; Shaikh 2013; Zion-Waldoks 2015). In the case of IY members, within the context of Menstruation-Oriented IY I exhibit three types of agencies, similar to the typology offered by Burke (2012): “resistant agency” refers to when IY members resist, challenge, and seek to modify Menstruation-Oriented IY; “instrumental agency” refers to when they accrue benefits from the IY practice, including health benefits, as well as when they feel emotionally or psychologically empowered by their practice in the contexts of their everyday lives; “compliant agency” refers to when they seek to live up to or embody IY norms for a wide variety of reasons internal to the IY practice itself. This type of agency is distinctly positive or affirmative, as it is neither defined by its opposition or resistance to IY norms nor by its instrumental aims but by its immanent affirmation of these norms themselves (Mahmood 2005; Bracke 2008; Bilge 2010). Different forms of agencies, I argue, stem from the specific discourse of IY, which creates distinct conditions of enactment for IY members. “Resistant agency” and “instrumental agency” are connected to the Neoliberal Feminist discourse, while “compliant agency” is connected to the religious or traditional discourse. In the following section, I will discuss and analyze the different types of agencies I locate among IY members in Menstruation-Oriented IY.

152  Agi Wittich 5.1  Resistance Agency in the Red Tent

From a Neoliberal Feminism point of view, Menstruation-Oriented IY coerces female IY members and limits individual agency in terms of freedom of action and choice. Neoliberal Feminism encourages individual women to focus on their aspirations, well-being, and self-care. Andrea Jain, for example, studies contemporary yoga through the lens of neoliberal theory and argues that the commodification of contemporary yoga adheres to neoliberal social norms (Jain 2020). Also, Judith Mints uses neoliberal feminist theories, focusing on ideological gender norms and embodiment, when she examines authenticity in a diverse environment of transnational cultural exchanges within contemporary yoga (Mintz 2018). As became apparent in interviews with IY teachers who express Neoliberal Feminist views, the exposure of female practitioners’ menstrual identity came across as defiance of privacy; specialized postural practices were described as depriving IY members of their desired ‘normal’ or ‘general’ practices; the spatial separation from the rest of the class was defined as constraining, coercive, and patronizing. Whenever menstruating IY members intentionally hide their menstrual status, they enact resistance agency.14 American IY teacher Cathy narrated how her student told her that she hid her menstruation from other IY teachers since she wanted to avoid the “argument” regarding the avoidance of specialized postural practice and the continuous of “general” practice, adding that “it’s none of their business.” Similarly, American IY teacher Jackie related how her students hid their menstruation from her when they did not want it to “interrupt” their regular postural practice. These narrations correlate with contemporary European and North American society’s expectation that menstruating women continue with their everyday activities and manage their discomforts with prescribed painkillers in order to ensure a “well-managed, constantly productive modern body” (Freidenfelds 2009: 74). Placing menstruating IY members in the corner gives rise to negative feelings among some IY members, such as exclusion, isolation, segregation, and deprivation. Israeli IY teacher Laila shared with me that on hearing the instruction that “menstruating [one] should go to the corner,” she felt “exclusion.” Also, European IY teacher Regina recalled how when she heard the teacher say, “All the ladies in period must not stand in the center of the hall [but] go to that corner,” she “always felt like excluded.” Accordingly, scholars point out that since separation during menstruation is uncommon in Western society, and the notion of equal rights regardless of gender is believed to be prevailing, separation is sometimes understood as a negative process, mainly due to the restrictions that often accompany it (Buckley and Gottlieb 1988). Menstruation-Oriented IY comes across as oppressive when it labels and separates IY members, without their choosing, from the ‘norm’ (Lea 2009: 85–86).

Yoga’s Red Tent 153 5.2  Instrumental Agency of Empowerment and Healing in the Red Tent

Another form of agency I  located among IY members concerning ­Menstruation-Oriented IY was ‘instrumental,’ i.e., serving as a means to an end. Enhancing agency among religious women can be achieved through reflecting religious and liberal norms informing their lives, according to Jeanette Jouili (Jouili 2011: 50). I  identified two main aims that IY members pursued: the first was a sense of empowerment, and the second was health benefits.15 Thus, when IY postural practice is perceived as enhancing the individual’s psychological or physical well-being, it is an effective way to achieve this goal. Alessandra Rosen analyzed contemporary yoga through Neoliberal Feminist theories and concluded that yoga is a social practice with semiotic logic of valorized qualities in contemporary society (Rosen 2019). I recognized instrumental agency in the cases when IY members expressed their admiration of IY postural practice as promoting well-being. Rather than an oppressive and limiting site, for some IY members, the Red Tent is conceptualized as providing a safe and empowering space in which they are allowed to rest and practice a suitable and rejuvenating postural practice. According to IY teachers, Menstruation-Oriented IY empowers its members by connecting them to their bodily sensations. Australasian IY teacher Jane said she encouraged menstruating women to feel the effects of the “general” postural practice, paying close attention to bodily signals, such as “shakiness.” Once the individual recognized these internal bodily signs, explained Jane, she should infer that “it’s time for you to go lay down, you take a time out.” So the choice to adhere to Menstruation-Oriented IY is of the IY member and per her inner bodily sensations. Likewise, American IY teachers emphasized in interviews that these postural practices create a sense of “present-ness” (Sage) among IY members, carry them “within” to the “vital” (Abigail), create “mind-body connection,” a “holistic sense of self,” so that “You’re not trying to be some other way, that you can really be with what’s happening, and be with it fully, and let your practice support you” (Cathy). As an IY member, I have often heard my colleagues discuss empowerment through these specialized postural practices. IY members sometimes see the Red Tent as an empowering site that serves to reestablish a positive relationship with one’s body. One study found that sexualized violence survivors experienced significant healing through postural yoga practices since it provides comprehensive healing through an experience of embodiment (Arnoldin 2016). IY teachers conveyed to me in interviews that they perceive Menstruation-Oriented IY as accentuating female bodies, promoting inclusiveness, body acceptance, the visibility of women, and empowering women through legitimizing their presence in the public sphere. An IY practitioner and blogger wrote that the specialized postural practice makes IY members feel “comfortable enough with ourselves and our bodies to say when we need the special practice” (Isaacs 2013). According to my experience in IY classes as a menstruating individual, the specialized

154  Agi Wittich postural practices did make me feel more welcomed in classes, insinuating that although I am not meant to practice ‘as normal,’ I still have a place, and I even get a ‘special’ practice to follow. Apart from connecting IY members to their inner selves, these practices lead individuals to a different way of experiencing their bodies and understanding themselves as women. The Red Tent helps to “honor the changes that take place in our bodies” (American IY teacher Jackie), encourages women to “look after themselves, to value being a woman” (Australasian IY teacher Katelyn), connects women to what they are feeling and offers them an opportunity “to come into themselves” and “be natural” (American IY teacher Abigail). Furthermore, it is said to “actually serve” women, as expressed by American IY teacher Cathy: “Oh, look, this is really for me, as opposed to practices that are basically based on a man.” In this sense, they act as a tool for self-transformation since they are understood to be a woman’s way of reclaiming her body as her own and help her determine how she can best understand her experience of menstruation. The most common form of agency I found in my research was ‘instrumental agency’ due to the perceived health benefits of Menstruation-Oriented IY. While BKS Iyengar generally notes that these specialized practices establish healthy physiological functions (Iyengar, B. K. S. 2000–2008: 59), Geeta Iyengar explains that they are believed to promote a regular and “easy” menstrual cycle (Iyengar, G. 1995: 141–142), balance hormones, assist in the healthy development of the reproductive system, and prevent menstrual disorders (Iyengar, G. 2007: 30–31). I recognized an instrumental motivation in numerous interviews with IY teachers. For example, American IY teachers stated in interviews that Menstruation-Oriented IY maintains a “proper hormonal system,” “nourishes” the endocrine system (Robin), can “assist” and “regulate” the hormonal system (Charlotte, Lara), and leads to a “balanced attitude” (Sage). IY teacher Clennell attests in her book that she has “observed how women’s lives have been transformed as a result of practicing yoga with attention to their cycles.” She writes that “a woman becomes an active participant in her own health care” and that through the postural practice, women are “reclaiming the power to heal ourselves” (Clennel 2007: 2). As an IY teacher, I have heard of many IY members affirming the physiological benefits of these practices. With great intimate detail, some of my closest colleagues shared with me how their menstrual cycle has become regular and unpainful due to the specialized postural practice. The notion of instrumental agency of IY members correlates with studies that indicate that engaging in physical activities increases one’s feelings of agency, physical empowerment, and a sense of independence (Heywood and Dworkin 2003). In a way, Menstruation-Oriented IY caters to individuals’ cross-cultural circumstances, prioritizes their preferences, facilitates a space in which they can partake in the yoga practice, and empowers them while doing so.

Yoga’s Red Tent 155 5.3  Compliance Agency in the Red Tent

The third kind of agency I  have located among IY members regarding the Red Tent was a compliance agency. When IY members agentically comply with Menstruation-Oriented IY, they exercise their choice to implement these postural practices concerning their own free will and a religious component of the right thing to do. I acknowledge that some IY members comply with these practices, not out of reverence to them but out of respect for the IY teacher. Since this form of compliance also builds on the recognition of a traditional or religious system, I  see both forms of agency as echoing the definition of “religious agency” (see Mack 2003; Mahmood 2005; Leming 2007) and denoting the enactment of behaviors, emotions, and intellectual strategies that enable individuals to negotiate their overlapping identities. The literature on religious women’s agency confronts and challenges the “false consciousness” thesis (Bracke 2003; Bilge 2010) of many secondwave and modern neoliberal feminisms. According to this thesis, individuals participating in patriarchal religious traditions act against their objective interests and are simply passive and docile objects of patriarchy. Still, many individuals actively choose to comply with religious practices and traditions that appear to be “conservative” (see Avishai 2008), “gender-traditional” (Burke 2012), and that further women’s subordination. I argue that IY members that comply or uphold the Red Tent enact a form of “religious agency” and engage in “doing gender.” Suzanne Newcombe studied IY and concluded that “serious,” or instead “dedicated,” practitioners of IY find a sense of meaning and purpose in their lives through their yoga practice (Newcombe 2005: 319). For example, American IY teacher Lia told me in an interview that “Gradually, with a practice over a long period of time, and a sincere practice, it becomes a deeply contemplative practice. That’s my path [to God].” Further, the religiosity, or rather spirituality, of IY was articulated in interviews with IY teachers. For example, European IY teacher Giana said that for her, “yoga is the god inside me,” and European IY teacher Regina expressed that yoga is a form of prayer and a way “to reach god.” Based on disseminating the meaning of the IY teaching method, these descriptions correlate with Eliott Goldberg’s conclusion that postural practice is a form of “embodied spirituality,” which can transform yoga practitioners and grant them insight and revelation into their lives (Goldberg 2016). So, instead of understanding the Red Tent as a restrictive and coercive ‘religious’ norm, I  see it as a ‘dynamic tool kit,’ or a ‘cultural repertoire’ that enables IY members to negotiate the exigencies of the multicultural and rapidly evolving society they live in. Another helpful term to understand IY members’ form of compliance agency is that of “doing religion,” coined by Orit Avishai. Avishai’s term emphasizes how individuals perform religious observance and inhabit religious norms (Avishai 2008). She posits those individuals “strategize and appropriate religion” to fulfill their objectives, enabling them to navigate

156  Agi Wittich patriarchal forms of domination (Avishai 2008: 409). Since IY is not strictly a religion but a spiritual tradition,16 IY members can “find their own way,” as American IY teacher Jackie articulated. According to Jackie, IY is not specifically geared to “Hindu religion,” so the belief in a specific God is replaced by a “belief in yourself.” She inferred that “yoga says you can find your own way.” Furthermore, the reasons behind IY members’ agentic compliance with the Red Tent vary. Priya, an Indian IY teacher, explained how her acceptance and approval derive from how she was taught to respect her menstruating body as a child. Pamela and Marci, American IY teachers, explained how the Red Tent honors one’s body. Australasian IY teacher Katelyn expressed how she sees these practices as a way of rejoicing in womanhood. 6. Conclusion Menstruation-Oriented IY is a salient example of how traditions do gender and how its members interpret religion. This ambiguity is what I recognize as a negotiation between identities, ideologies, and beliefs. I  maintain that when compliance and resistance to a religious movement are understood as an agency, we can better understand the mediation of cross-cultural individuals in the transnational IY community. This chapter explored the complex dynamics that influence the choices, beliefs, and actions of female practitioners of Menstruation-Oriented Yoga (IY) as part of an examination of their agency. The three forms of agency identified—resistant, instrumental, and compliant—provide a nuanced understanding of how these women negotiate their identities within the larger contexts of societal norms, individual aspirations, and religious values. As emphasized by Saba Mahmood’s framework of agency, the manifestations of agency are far from uniform and instead reflect the intricate interplay between agency and constraint. As a response to the perceived limitations imposed by Menstruation-Oriented IY, resistance agency emerges, revealing the tension between personal autonomy and prescribed practices. Instrumental agency, which is rooted in the pursuit of autonomy and health, highlights how specialized postures enable practitioners to connect with their bodies and assert control over their health. Compliant agency, on the other hand, reveals a deeper layer of religious significance, as practitioners align themselves with traditional values and spirituality while actively participating in the practice. Women’s engagement with Menstruation-Oriented IY is influenced by a multiplicity of motivations and beliefs, as illustrated by the diverse forces at work within Menstruation-Oriented IY. This chapter illuminated how these forms of agency are intertwined with contemporary feminist and neoliberal discourses, as well as traditional and religious conceptions of womanhood and spirituality. By contextualizing agency within this multifaceted framework, we gain insight into how women negotiate their identities in a global landscape that is rapidly changing.

Yoga’s Red Tent 157 This chapter analyzed the ways in which the Red Tent engages in gender performativity and wields power over the bodies of female IY practitioners. Labeling them as “menstruating women” reinforces the gender binary, and reading between the lines of what “menstruation” means for IY members associates them with prejudice. The Red Tent then creates a separation within the IY classroom, where menstruating women are frequently segregated to a corner. There, they are constantly monitored by their peers and the IY instructor, and they are required to adopt a “alternative” posture. According to my research, neoliberal values are linked to IY members’ resistance to the Red Tent or their use of it to achieve their objectives. When IY members realized that these practices were invading their privacy, coercive, and restricting their freedom of action and choice, they opted out and enacted resistance. When Red Tent members complied out of a desire to obtain psychological or physical benefits, they exercised instrumental agency. In these instances, I maintain that members did not engage in doing gender because they did not adopt the core values of the Red Tent. IY members who actively comply with the Red Tent participate in both doing gender and doing religion. While the Red Tent dictates gender performativity by prescribing the proper movements for a menstruating woman, implying traditional or religious values, agentic-compliant IY members perform this religious practice and inhabit religious norms according to their interpretation. As was made clear through interviews, IY members are not specifically aligned with religious norms; rather, they interpret the meaning of this practice based on their understanding. I contend that in this manner, IY members reshape and reinterpret the Red Tent’s values in accordance with their identities. In a sense, IY members who engage in instrumental agency also engage in gender, as they utilize the Red Tent to achieve their own neoliberal goals, such as health benefits, self-transformation, empowerment, connection to themselves, reestablishing a positive relationship with their bodies, and a fundamentally different understanding of themselves as women. Notes 1 ‘Menstruation-Oriented Iyengar Yoga’ is a term I framed to describe the systematized postural yoga practice that has been created to suit menstruating women in IY, as understood by IY literature and IY teachers. In IY literature this practice is referred to as yoga postures for the menstrual cycle (Clennell 2007), “menstrual sequence” of yoga postures (Saudek 1997; IYNAUS 2016), āsana sequence for menstruation (Steinberg 2006), yoga menstrual sequence (Schachtel 1989), the menstrual series (IYMV 2021), and among IY teachers and members it is called menstrual practice (Isaacs 2013) or Iyengar Yoga for menstruation (Cook 2022). 2 I came across the association of Menstruation-Oriented IY and the Red Tent in a vlog post by Isaacs (2013), entitled Yoga’s ‘Red Tent’: Iyengar yoga and the menstrual practice. Isaacs noted briefly that “Many religious traditions hold to the view that women ought to be segregated while menstruating—e.g. the red tent” and did not analyze the comparison she has made. In this chapter I aim to comprehensively examine the meanings of this association.

158  Agi Wittich 3 The IY tradition has been the subject of academic studies in the past two decades. For example, scholars of modern yoga have researched the IY tradition, BKS Iyengar’s contribution to the development of contemporary yoga, and specifically his practical yoga teachings (Sjoman 1999; Alter 2004; De Michelis 2005; Newcombe 2005, 2014; Smith and White 2013; Ciołkosz 2014, 2015, 2017; Goldberg 2016). Suzanne Newcombe (2007, 2008, 2014, 2018) was among the first to research the subject of contemporary yoga and females. In her studies she explored the ways in which yoga classes supported females’ traditional, as well as more independent, identities. Mark Singleton (2010) pointed to a gender division that was formalized in the earliest expressions of modern European gymnastics, in which females were expected to cultivate physical attractiveness and graceful movement, which overlap with contemporary yoga (Singleton 2010: 160). Anya Foxen (2020) continued this exploration. 4 Hodges was the first to address (however briefly) IY practices that are WomenOriented, rather than studying women practitioners of yoga. Hodges mentions “specific female practices,” which she describes supporting women’s three primary life cycles (i.e., pregnancy, menstruation, and menopause; Hodges 2007: 141–148). 5 This advice aligns with instructions for menstruating women in earlier yoga manuals, such as in Yogic Physical Culture or the Secret of Happiness (Sundaram 1929: ii), where women are warned explicitly against practicing postural yoga during menstruation. 6 Here the meaning of “drop back” refers to the movement of transitioning from one posture to another, in such a manner that the feet are moved toward the floor when the spine is arching backward. Here the interviewee referred to the transition from standing to ūrdhvadhanurāsana, i.e. upward facing bow posture. 7 Namely, Physiology of Menstruation  & Common Menstrual Disorders (Iyengar, G. 1997b), and Yoga Practice During Menstruation: A Synopsis (Iyengar, G. 1997c). 8 As an IY teacher and practitioner, I haven’t heard of this publication prior to this research, and neither were they recommended to me during my teacher-training course. The reason might be that it was not written under the guidance of Geeta Iyengar personally. Later publications received more attention from IY teachers. 9 The recommended postural practice is one that will provide rest and relief, but also one that will not interfere with the natural process of the body. The practice aims to soothe conditions such as cramps, fatigue, and headache. Recommended yoga postures may include supported a variation of lateral standing poses, sitting postures, seated forward bending poses, seated gentle twists, and supine poses. 10 These insinuations resemble the advice given by American physicians to menstruating women to avoid strenuous exercise during the early 20th century. An analysis of the post-colonial synthesis of Western ideas regarding menstruation as a disease and menstruating women as requiring rest in order to heal, stemming from medical practitioners and physicians, and Eastern ideas regarding menstruating women as impure and full of dirt could be of great value. However, it is outside of the scope of this chapter, and is the main focus of another text I am currently working on. 11 Especially harmful practices are the ones that are viewed as contrary to rest during menstruation. These include postures that “stress,” “tighten,” or “strain” the lower abdomen and the uterus (Clennell 2007: 18; Steinberg 1997: 10–27); “those that heat the body and pressurize the lower abdominal organs. . .and may cause flooding or clotting of menstrual blood” (Clennell 2007: 18); “those that prevent the relaxation of the abdomen” (Steinberg 1997: 10); and those that “reverse” or “obstruct” the natural blood flow (Iyengar, G. 1983: 87), “make

Yoga’s Red Tent 159 her run out of energy,” or cause “hormonal disturbance” (Iyengar, B. K. S. and Iyengar, G. 2002). 12 For example, European IY teacher Giana recounted that her period stopped for several months after consciously practicing yoga with “power.” British IY teacher Julie conveyed in an interview how she noticed that one student (who was trying unsuccessfully to conceive) was practicing the “wrong” postures at the “wrong” time. She said: “I went through everything she was practicing. . .I could see that there was [sic] distinct things that she was doing wrong at different times of the month. Like, she would be practicing very intense backbends the wrong end of the month, or she would be doing too many inversions when the period was due, things like that.” 13 Inverted postures include poses such as śīrṣāsana and its variations, sārvāṅgāsana and its variations, hālāsāna, adho mukha vṛkṣāsana, piñca mayūrāsana. 14 In this chapter I do not regard the cases when menstruating individuals choose to avoid IY classes altogether. This point came up in interviews with IY teachers. To me, in these cases IY members enact avoidance, rather than resistance agency, and it is outside the scope of this chapter. 15 While the effects of Menstruation-Oriented IY were yet to be studied, numerous scientific studies focus on the effects of IY postural practices. For example, the positive effects of the practice of IY have been studied regarding wellbeing (Bowden et al. 2012), flexibility (Amin and Goodman 2014), depression (Woolery et al. 2004; Pilkington et al. 2005; Shapiro et al. 2007; Streeter et al. 2017), and mental health (Shapiro and Cline 2004; Harner et al. 2010). Many studies focus on the positive effects of IY practice on the symptoms of cancer survivors (Blank et al. 2005; Bower et al. 2005, 2012; Duncan 2008; Speed-Andrews et al. 2010, 2012; Banasik et  al. 2011; Lötzke et  al. 2016), for alleviating lower back pain (Williams et al. 2003, 2005; Nambi et al. 2014; Crow et al. 2015), benefiting the cardiac and blood system (Khattab et al. 2007; Cohen et al. 2011), and treating irritable bowel syndrome (Evans et al. 2011, 2014). 16 I define “Iyengar Yoga” as a tradition rather than a school since I  argue that it does not only educate regarding the practice of yoga. Rather, I  argue that it comprises the transmission of knowledge, customs, and beliefs, from teacher to students, over generations, in a wide sense. Moreover, IY members recognize the source of their knowledge in the ancient sage Patañjali, as well as in Sanskrit literature, which were mediated through the teachings of BKS Iyengar, the Iyengar family, and later through IY teachers. Today, teachers continuously develop and transmit the IY tradition’s knowledge by regularly teaching IY classes and workshops. As part of the dissemination of IY teaching, high-level certification IY teachers also conduct teacher training programs, teacher assessments as part of the teacher certification process, and some also publish IY books. Read more in Wittich 2020.

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162  Agi Wittich Heywood, L., and S. L. Dworkin (2003): Built to Win: The Female Athlete as Cultural Icon. 5 vols. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Hodges, J. L. (2007): The Practice of Iyengar Yoga by Mid-aged Women: An Ancient Tradition in a Modern Life. Doctoral diss., University of Newcastle, Callaghan. Isaacs, T. (2013): Yoga’s ‘Red Tent’: Iyengar Yoga and the Menstrual Practice. In Fit Is a Feminist Issue: Feminist Reflections on Fitness, Sport, and Health. January  15, 2013. https://fitisafeministissue.com/2013/01/15/yogas-red-tent-iyengaryoga-and-the-menstrual-practice/ Iyengar, B. K. S. (1979 [1966]): Light on Yoga. New York: Schocken Books. Iyengar, B. K. S. (1993): Light on the Yoga Sūtra of Patañjali. Wellingborough: The Aquiarian Press/Thorsons. Iyengar, B. K. S. (1999): “Yoga—Head to Toe,” interview for BBC Radio 4 by Mark Tully in Pune. Printed in Yoga Wisdom and Practice. Iyengar, B. K. S. (2000–2008): Astadala Yogamala: Collected Works. 8 vols. New Delhi: Allied Publishers. Iyengar, B. K. S., and G. Iyengar (2002): Basic Guidelines for Teachers of Yoga. Pune: Yog Publishing. Iyengar, G. (1983): Yoga: A Gem for Women. Chennai: Allied Publishers. Iyengar, G. (1995): Yoga for Children: A Complete Illustrated Guide to Yoga (ed. by Swati Chanchani and Rajiv Chanchani). Pune: UBS Publishers’ Distributers Pvt. Ltd. Iyengar, G. (1997a): The Role of Yoga in Women’s Life. In Yoga in Action. Pune: RIMYI. Recorded Demonstration. Iyengar, G. (1997b): Physiology of Menstruation and Common Menstrual Disorders. In Yoga Rahasya. Volume 4. Mumbai: LOYRT. Iyengar, G. (1997c): Yoga Practice during Menstruation: A Synopsis. In Yoga Rahasya. Volume 4. Mumbai: LOYRT. Iyengar, G. (2000): Preliminary Course (for Beginners). In Yoga in Action. Mumbai: YOG Publishing. Iyengar, G. (2007): Yoga-Sadhana: Mobility in Stability. Tours: ATOURY. Iyengar, G. (2009): The Practice of Women During the Whole Month. Based on a lecture given in Czestochowa, Poland, 29th of April 2002. Printed and published by the Iyengar Yoga Association (UK). Iyengar Yoga Maida Vale (IYMV) (2021): The Menstrual Series as Taught by BKS Iyengar and Geeta Iyengar. https://iymv.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/Men strual_Sequence.pdf Iyengar Yoga National Association of the United States (IYNAUS) (2016): Menstruation Sequence at RIMYI. https://iynaus.org/research/menstruation-sequence-rimyi Jackson, T. E., and R. J. Falmagne (2013): Women Wearing White: Discourses of Menstruation and the Experience of Menarche.  Feminism  & Psychology,  23(3), 379–398. Jain, A. R. (2020): Neoliberal Yoga. In Routledge Handbook of Yoga and Meditation Studies (ed. by Suzanne Newcombe, Karen O’Brien-Kop). London: Routledge, 51–62. Jouili, J. (2011): Beyond Emancipation: Subjectivities and Ethics among Women in Europe’s Islamic Revival Communities. Feminist Review, 98(1). Khattab, K., A. A. Khattab, J. Ortak, G. Richardt, and H. Bonnemeier (2007): Iyengar Yoga Increases Cardiac Parasympathetic Nervous Modulation among Healthy Yoga Practitioners. Evidence-Based Complementary and Alternative Medicine, 4.

Yoga’s Red Tent 163 Lea, J. (2009): Liberation or Limitation? Understanding Iyengar Yoga as a Practice of the Self. Body & Society, 15(3), 71–92. Leming, Laura M. (2007): Sociological Explorations: What Is Religious Agency? The Sociological Quarterly, 48(1), 73–92. Leslie, J. (1989): The Perfect Wife: The Orthodox Hindu Woman According to the Stridharmapaddhati of Tryambakayajvan. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Lindlof, T. R., and B. C. Taylor (2002): Asking, Listening, and Telling. Qualitative Communication Research Methods, 2, 170–208. Lötzke, D., F. Wiedemann, D. Rodrigues Recchia, T. Ostermann, D. Sattler, J. Ettl, and A. Büssing (2016): Iyengar-Yoga Compared to Exercise as a Therapeutic Intervention during (Neo)adjuvant Therapy in Women with Stage I—III Breast Cancer: Health-Related Quality of Life, Mindfulness, Spirituality, Life Satisfaction, and Cancer-Related Fatigue. Evidence-Based Complementary and Alternative Medicine, 2016. Mack, Phyllis (2003) Religion, Feminism, and the Problem of Agency: Reflections on Eighteenth-Century Quakerism. Signs, 29(1), 149–177. MacRae, E. R., T. Clasen, M. Dasmohapatra, and B. A. Caruso (2019): ‘It’s Like a Burden on the HEAD’: Redefining Adequate Menstrual Hygiene Management throughout Women’s Varied Life Stages in Odisha, India. PLoS One, 14(8). Mahmood, S. (2005): Feminist Theory, Agency, and the Liberatory Subject. On Shifting Ground, 111–152. Marino, J. L., S. R. Skinner, D. A. Doherty, S. L. Rosenthal, S. C. C. Robbins, J. Cannon, and M. Hickey (2013): Age at Menarche and Age at First Sexual Intercourse: A Prospective Cohort Study. Pediatrics, 132(6), 1028–1036. Marván, M. L., C. Morales, and S. Cortés-Iniestra (2006): Emotional Reactions to Menarche Among Mexican Women of Different Generations. Sex Roles, 54(5–6), 323–330. Mazzoni, Cristina (2002): Maternal Impressions: Pregnancy and Childbirth in Literature and Theory. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Mintz, J. R. (2018): What Is Critical Yoga Studies? Gender, Health, and Cross-­Cultural Consumption of Yoga in Contemporary North America. Diss., Graduate Program in Gender, Feminist, & Women’s Studies, York University, Toronto, Ontario. Moreno-Black, G., and H. Vallianatos (2005): Young Women’s Experiences of Menstruation and Athletics. Women’s Studies Quarterly, 33(1/2), 50–67. Nambi, G. S., D. Inbasekaran, R. Khuman, and S. Devi (2014): Changes in Pain Intensity and Health Related Quality of Life with Iyengar Yoga in Nonspecific Chronic Low Back Pain: A Randomized Controlled Study. International Journal of Yoga, 7(1), 48–53. Newcombe, S. (2005): Spirituality and ‘Mystical Religion’ in Contemporary Society: A Case Study of British Practitioners of the Iyengar Method of Yoga. Journal of Contemporary Religion, 20(3), 305–322. Newcombe, S. (2007): Stretching for Health and Well-being: Yoga and Women in Britain, 1960–1980. Asian Medicine, 3(1), 37–63. Newcombe, S. (2008):  A Social History of Yoga and Ayurveda in Britain, 1950– 1995. Doctoral diss., University of Cambridge, Cambridge. Newcombe, S. (2014): The Institutionalization of the Yoga Tradition: “Gurus” B.K.S. Iyengar and Yogini Sunita in Britain. In Gurus of Modern Yoga (ed. by M. Singleton and E. Goldberg). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 147–170.

164  Agi Wittich Newcombe, S. (2018): Spaces of Yoga: Towards a Non-Essentialist Understanding of Understanding of Yoga. Yoga in Transformation: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives, 551–573. Newton, V. L. (2016): Everyday Discourses of Menstruation. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Parashar, Swati (2010): The Sacred and the Sacrilegious: Exploring Women’s ‘Politics’ and ‘Agency’ in Radical Religious Movements in South Asia. Totalitarian Movements and Political Religions, 11(3–4), 435–455. Perianes, M. B., and D. Ndaferankhande (2020): Becoming Female: The Role of Menarche Rituals in “Making Women” in Malawi. In The Palgrave Handbook of Critical Menstruation Studies. Singapore: Palgrave Macmillan, 423–440. Pilkington, K., G. Kirkwood, H. Rampes, and J. Richardson (2005): Yoga for Depression: The Research Evidence. Journal of Affective Disorders, 89(1–3), 13–24. Robinson, H. (2015): Chaupadi: The Affliction of Menses in Nepal. International Journal of Women’s Dermatology, 1(4), 193–194. Rosen, A. (2019): Balance, Yoga, Neoliberalism. Signs and Society, 7(3), 289–313. Rubinsky, V., J. N. Gunning, and A. Cooke-Jackson (2020): “I  Thought I  Was Dying:” (Un)Supportive Communication Surrounding Early Menstruation Experiences. Health Communication, 35(2), 242–252. Saudek, Chriss (1997): Menstrual Sequence. Self-published at La-Crosse. Schachtel, Richard (1989): About the Yoga Menstrual Sequence. Yoga in the Iyengar Tradition—Where the Art of Yoga Is Our Passion, Kilda Iyengar Yoga School. Selfpublished at The Center of Yoga of Seattle, USA. www.yogaha.com.au/iyengaryoga-menstruation-sequence/. Seymour, K. (2008): Bangladesh: Tackling Menstrual Hygiene Taboos. UNICEF Sanitation and Hygiene, Case 10. Shaikh, Khanum (2013): Gender, Religious Agency, and the Subject of Al-Huda International. Meridians: Feminism, Race, Transnationalism, 11(2), 62–90. Shapiro, D., and K. Cline (2004): Mood Changes Associated with Iyengar Yoga Practices: A Pilot Study. International Journal of Yoga Therapy, 14(1), 35–44. Shapiro, D., I. A. Cook, D. M. Davydov, C. Ottaviani, A. F. Leuchter, and M. Abrams (2007): Yoga as a Complementary Treatment of Depression: Effects of Traits and Moods on Treatment Outcome. Evidence Based Complementary and Alternative Medicine, 4(4), 493–502. Singleton, M. (2010): Yoga Body: The Origins of Modern Posture Practice. New York: Oxford University Press. Singleton, M., and B. Larios (2020): Anglophone Yoga and Meditation Outside of India. In Outside of India (ed. by S. Newcombe and P. Deslippe). Routledge Handbook of Yoga and Meditation Studies. Routledge. Sjoman, N. E. (1999): The Yoga Tradition of the Mysore Palace. New Delhi: Abhinav Publications. Smith, F. M. (1991): Indra’s Curse, Varuna’s Noose, and the Suppression of the Woman in the Vedic Śrauta Ritual. In Roles and Rituals for Hindu Women (ed. by J. Leslie). Varanasi: Motilal Banarsidass Publications, 17–46. Smith, F. M., and J. White (2013): Becoming an Icon: B.K.S Iyengar as a Yoga Teacher and as a Yoga Guru. In Gurus of Modern Yoga (ed. By Mark Singleton and Ellen Goldberg). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Yoga’s Red Tent 165 Sparrowe, L., and P. Walden (2002): The Woman’s Book of Yoga and Health: A Lifelong Guide to Wellness. Boulder: Shambala Publications. Speed-Andrews, A. E., C. Stevinson, L. J. Belanger, J. J. Mirus, and K. S. Courneya (2010): Pilot Evaluation of an Iyengar Yoga Program for Breast Cancer Survivors. Cancer Nursing, 33(5), 369–381. Speed-Andrews, A. E., C. Stevinson, L. J. Belanger, J. J. Mirus, and K. S. Courneya (2012): Predictors of Adherence to an Iyengar Yoga Program in Breast Cancer Survivors. International Journal of Yoga, 5(1), 3–9. Steinberg, L. (1997): Iyengar International Women’s Intensive Course Notes. Self-published. Steinberg, L. (2006): Geeta Iyengar’s Guide to a Woman’s Yoga Practice. Urbana: Parvati Productions. Streeter, C. C., P. L. Gerbarg, T. H. Whitfield, L. Owen, J. Johnston, M. M. Silveri, and A. M. Hernon (2017): Treatment of Major Depressive Disorder with Iyengar Yoga and Coherent Breathing: A Randomized Controlled Dosing Study. The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 23(3), 201–207. Sundaram, S. (1929): Yogic Physical Culture or the Secret of Happiness. Bangalore: Brahmacharya Publishing House. West, C., and D. H. Zimmerman (1987): Doing Gender. Gender and Society, 1(2), 125–151. Williams, K. A., J. Petronis, D. Smith, D. Goodrich, J. Wu, N. Ravi, and L. Steinberg (2005): Effect of Iyengar Yoga Therapy for Chronic Low Back Pain. Pain, 115(1–2), 107–117. Williams, K. A., L. Steinberg, and J. Petronis (2003): Therapeutic Application of Iyengar Yoga for Healing Chronic Low Back Pain. International Journal of Yoga Therapy, 13(1), 55–67. Wittich, A. (2017): Iyengar Yoga for Women: A Practising Tradition in the Making. Religions of South Asia, 11(2–3), 231–253. Wittich, A. (2020): Her Yoga: Women-Oriented Iyengar Yoga—Between Innovation and Tradition. Doctoral diss., The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Dept. of Religious Studies, Jerusalem, Israel. Woolery, A., H. Myers, B. Stemlieb, and L. Zeltzer (2004): A Yoga Intervention for Young Adults with Elevated Symptoms of Depression. Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 10(2). Zion-Waldoks, Tanya (2015): Politics of Devoted Resistance: Agency, Feminism, and Religion among Orthodox Agunah Activists in Israel. Gender and Society, 29(1), 73–97. Interviews with Iyengar Yoga Teachers   1. Abigail, interview with author, audio recording, Skype, August 5, 2016.   2. Cathy, interview with author, audio recording, Tel Aviv Yaffo, Israel, July 6, 2017.   3. Charlotte, interview with author, audio recording, Skype, April 18, 2016.   4. Gavin, interview with author, audio recording, WhatsApp, July 20, 2016.   5. Giana, interview with author, audio recording, Pune, India, December 5, 2015.   6. Jackie, interview with author, audio recording, WhatsApp, February 2, 2016.   7. Jane, interview with author, audio recording, Pune, India, December 14, 2016.

166  Agi Wittich   8. Jenifer, interview with author, audio recording, phone call, April 14, 2016.   9. Julie, interview with author, audio recording, Skype, July 12, 2016. 10. Katelyn, interview with author, audio recording, WhatsApp, March 27, 2016. 11. Laila, interview with author, audio recording, Tel Aviv Yaffo, Israel, November 5, 2016. 12. Lara, interview with author, audio recording, WhatsApp, June 10, 2016. 13. Lia, interview with author, audio recording, Skype, December 31, 2015. 14. Libby, interview with author, audio recording, Skype, June 6, 2016. 15. Lucile, interview with author, audio recording, Pune, India, December 7, 2015. 16. Marci, interview with author, audio recording, Skype, August 25, 2016. 17. Nalini, interview with author, audio recording, phone call, December 19, 2016. 18. Ora, interview with author, audio recording, Jerusalem, Israel, October 13, 2016. 19. Pamela, interview with author, audio recording, Pune, India, December 5, 2015. 20. Priya, interview with author, audio recording, Pune, India, December 13, 2016. 21. Pushpa, interview with author, audio recording, WhatsApp, September 19, 2017. 22. Regina, interview with author, audio recording, Pune, India, December 10, 2015. 23. Robin, interview with author, audio recording, phone call, July 14, 2016. 24. Sage, interview with author, audio recording, Skype, July 2, 2016. 25. Saudek Chriss, interview with author, audio recording, Skype. 2016.

8 Womanhood and Female Agency in Bengali Vaishnava Sahajiya Tradition1 Amnuaypond Kidpromma

1. Introduction The Hindu textual traditions may have various kinds of narratives that portray women as independent and defiant and challenging the gender norm; however, the classical portrayal of women is still that of being submissive, passive, and dependent, commonly identified by Orientalist scholars (Gross 2009). Sharada Sugirtharajah states that biased patriarchal treatises such as the Laws of Manu are the means used to understand and assess how women are positioned in the Hindu tradition (Sugirtharajah 2002). Gloria Raheja and Ann Gold, cited in Hancock, have stated that the portrayal of Indian women as subordinated and submissive agents is ‘half-true,’ and it not only misrepresents Indian women, but also ‘Orientalizes’ the South Asian culture (Hancock 1999: 23–26). Hancock adds that South Asian women are not subordinated but marginalized, owing to the fact that they were not recognized as important actors in the field (Hancock 1999: 23–26). Another stereotypical perception disseminated as the result of Orientalist scholars enhancing their submissive image is that Indian women are not the agents of their own actions. Such a perception is based on the view that agency derives from the act of resistance and that those women who do not resist against the dominant hegemony are seen as ‘lacking in agency’ (Mahmood 2006). However, agency in another understanding provides a way to explore the extent to which women can gain some control over their lives (Sahu et al. 2016). Saba Mahmood argues that a ‘particular notion’ of progressive agency imposed by liberalism, which comprehends autonomy in terms of power and agency in resisting, “limits our ability to understand and interrogate the lives of women whose sense of self, aspirations, and projects have been shaped by non-liberal traditions” (Mahmood 2006: 33). Indeed, in many non-liberal Asian contexts, the way local women exercise their agency is not in agreement with the kind of resistance advocated by progressive liberal traditions. Instead of fighting the dominant system, women conform to it but without losing their agency. For example, in Egypt, Abu-Lughod demonstrates that wearing a veil does not always imply a woman lacking agency (Abu-Lughod 2013). Egyptian women use the veil as their personal choice DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-9

168  Amnuaypond Kidpromma to express their piety, political stance, and so on. Knight points out that in the Indian Baul tradition, Baul women exercise their agency by making themselves ‘encumbered actors’ (Knight 2011). In addition, DeNapoli states that the vernacular performance of female sadhus underlines the oppression they are subjected to by society, but that it also contains “the seeds for their empowerment and the development of their śakti” (DeNapoli 2014: 87). In this context, women’s notion of empowerment and śakti are alternatively and creatively expressed through singing to their God, which is not considered as explicitly resisting the normative culture. She adds that many female sadhus disclaim their own intention to become ‘proper’ sadhus, holding that it is God who wants them to follow in this renunciant path. By disclaiming one’s agency, DeNapoli argues how they exercise their ‘instrumental agency’ (DeNapoli 2014). That is, they defer to God to choose for them rather than they themselves making the decision. Biswamitra Sahu et al.’s study of women’s agency in marital negotiation in Karnataka suggests that agency is not always overt and if women decide to go along with arranged marriages, it does not mean that their interests are not reflected in the choice of spouse or that they lack agency, although the decision may at times counter their intentions (Sahu et al. 2016). As a matter of fact, there is a range of agency that women in different contexts adopt, which starts from conformity at one end and hard resistance at the other. In the context of this study, resistance does not appear to be the means Vaishnava women adopt to proclaim their self-autonomy and exercise their agency. Instead, as we shall see later, the agency of Vaishnava female renouncers is expressed in conforming to dominant values in their renunciant community. The Vaishnava Sahajiya tradition2 was believed by scholars such as Dimock and S. Dasgupta to exist in Bengal before the time of Caitanya (1486–1533 CE), a great Bengali saint who popularized Bengali Vaishnavism. Its doctrine and some fundamental characteristics are contained in Buddhist texts called carya-padas, written during the 8th to 9th centuries, which imply the existence of its practitioners during that period (Dimock 1991: 35). Hayes provides that Vaishnava Sahajiya practitioners were Hindu Tantrikas who lived in Northern India from the 6th to the 19th centuries (Hayes 2000: 308). Many things about Vaishnava Sahajiyas, such as date of origin, authorship of texts, or social standing, are obscure and unclear to scholars (Dasgupta 1969). This is partly because, as claimed by Dimock and Hayes, Sahajiya Bengali manuscripts were written unsystematically and in a confusing way, and no written commentaries exist to help readers understand particular phrases or keywords, and since the tradition involves sexo-yogic practices, authors have tended to cover their Sahajiya identity by hiding their authorship (Hayes 1995; Dimock 1991). During the Bengali Renaissance period, Vaishnava Sahajiyas were heavily marginalized and excluded from Bengali Vaishnavism. They were perceived as chotolok (choto means small and lok means person or people), implying that Vaishnava Sahajiya practitioners,

Female Agency in Bengali Vaishnava Sahajiya Tradition 169 unlike bhadralok (noble people), were dishonorable and made the Vaishnava tradition impure (ashuddha) (Fuller 2003). Scholars such as Hayes (2012: 42) consider that Vaishnava Sahajiya is a Bengali vernacular Tantric tradition. It focuses on problems of everyday life, the body and desire. This tradition was influenced by the earlier Tantric tradition, together with the devotion to Radha and Krishna, called Bengali Vaishnavism (Dimock 1991; Hayes 2000). It should be noted that Bengali Vaishnavism is a bhakti tradition that worships the god Vishnu, who appears in the form of Krishna and his favorite consort Radha. Nonetheless, the tradition incorporates various beliefs and practices, which consequently developed into different sects of Vaishnavism. Krishna-focused Vaishnavism has been widely practiced throughout India, especially in the Bengal region (Openshaw 2007). Sahajiya’s main practice is to realize the Ultimate Truth in one’s body through imitation of the love play (lila) of Radha and Krishna (Hayes 1995). Esoteric rituals (yugal sadhana) are claimed to be natural means (sahaja) leading practitioners to a state of realization of the divine in one’s body which is also called ‘sahaja.’ Although the literal meaning of ‘sahajiya’—nature, simple, spontaneous, or born together—does not connote any negative meaning, the social meaning of the term ‘sahajiya’ signifies the subordinate status of Vaishnava Sahajiya. The term has become loaded with negative connotations because it implies unconventional sexual activities, e.g., a sexual relationship with a guru and the practice of non-marital sex. Esoteric practices together with the lower class and caste background of practitioners are the source of Sahajiya’s marginalization and exclusion (Sarbadhikary 2015: 111). This is because most Bengalis are quite conservative in regard to sexuality (Hayes 1995: 334). A person involved in unconventional sexual activities would not generally be accepted by Bengali society. This fact induces Sahajiya practitioners to hide their esoteric practices and Sahajiya identity from the community. The importance of esoteric ritual also infers to the importance of women in the Vaishnava path to liberation. Women are claimed to be perfect in nature without undergoing any rituals. On the contrary, men are perceived as imperfect and needing women in order to make themselves perfect (Openshaw 2007). Nevertheless, Vaishnava female renouncers seem to be part of a patriarchal system, helping male sadhus to maintain the dominant male tradition. In fact, these women are the gatekeepers of Vaishnava rules and regulations, and they enforce these rules on every member. For example, it is a sadhuma who takes up the role of instructing lay devotees to address a sadhubaba or guru in a proper manner, she maintains food customs and the sadhu hierarchy. In some cases, it is the sadhuma who supports her male partner’s womanizing behavior by finding or supplying more women for him. It is also almost as if the sadhuma acts in collaboration with the dominant power in society by being subservient and providing service to her male counterpart in exchange for a revered space in the community.

170  Amnuaypond Kidpromma This study, however, argues that the Vaishnava female renouncers’ seeming acquiescence to patriarchy does not lead to the conclusion that women in the Vaishnava context are submissive agents who are not in charge of their own lives. One way in which Vaishnava female renouncers try to find advantages in their way of life is to align themselves with the conventional Hindu and Vaishnava Sahajiya male-confined tradition. In contrast to the portrait of an individual renouncer who stays outside the world,3 this study shows that Vaishnava renouncers, especially female renouncers, are not able to live outside society. They are individuals outside the world but are not individualistic. They live in a collective community in which social norms and expectations vis-à-vis women play their roles in both domestic and renunciant domains. Women thus need to exercise their power and agency within this patriarchal framework. Accordingly, the notion of agency this research renders is not articulated in the language of resistance, and we do not see how their agency is expressed in their socio-economic contexts unless we pay close attention to the context of the agents. The female agency in Vaishnava tradition is not described in terms of resistance to male domination. It is not about women marching on the road to protest against patriarchy. It is also not about women wanting to become like men and take over their privileged position. Sahajiya women do not want to be above men. Many of them are satisfied to be merely above other women or, in other words, be at the top of the bottom. To Sahajiya women, female agency is about how to live harmoniously by following virtues constructed under the ideal of ‘womanhood’; being a devout wife and a mother of a son. Vaishnava women’s conforming and submissive agency provides an important case assuring us that there are “other modalities of agency whose meaning and effect are not captured within the logic of subversion and resignification of hegemonic terms of discourse” (Mahmood 2011: 153). 2.  Method and Positionality This study adopted an ethnographic method in which participant observation of the daily lives of Vaishnava sadhus becomes the key method to access data. During the fieldwork, I worked with 43 male and female sadhus affiliated to 26 ashrams. Their ashrams are dispersed across Birbhum, Bardhaman, and Nadia district of West Bengal, India. The empirical data have been gathered for almost a year, across three winters from 2016 to 2018. During those three years I was not present in the field in other seasons, but I managed to telephone the sadhus regularly in order to maintain a good relationship and get updates on their lives. While conducting fieldwork, there was a question of whether I should be initiated, become Vaishnava, and accordingly become an ‘insider.’ If I  had taken initiation, I  would have been able to participate in and learn about some secretive rituals, but it would have limited me to work with only the guru or the lineage of the guru who initiated me. The push and pull between

Female Agency in Bengali Vaishnava Sahajiya Tradition 171 myself and my informants about whether I should take initiation or not was resolved a few months later. After spending regular time with them in various contexts, they gradually started to open up and tell me about their secret practices that I was not qualified to know about as a non-initiate. In fact, the sadhus benefited from my presence at the ashram on the grounds that having a foreigner visit them regularly indicated their authenticity, thus attracting more locals to the ashram. Eventually, through Bengali kinship, I  became affiliated to them, which allowed me access to the Vaishnava cycle as a member of their community. Indeed, there were some activities that we could not do together since I was not initiated. However, since I had come under their supervision, they always made sure I was given everything I needed. Initially, when I started collecting data as novice anthropologist, I was so happy to be welcomed into every ashram I visited. The kindness of renouncers made me ignore some of the risks that I possibly took when I was in the ashrams. I roamed alone without any visible marital marks or symbols and often traveled with groups of renouncers; people were inclined to think that I was that kind of lose woman who was abandoned and thus seek a shelter from a sadhu. This perception unfortunately allowed local men and women to approach me in bizarre ways. There was a female sadhu who asked me to have sex with her male partner. She tried to convince me that I would not lose anything, but instead would gain joy (ananda) since her partner was a well-practiced sadhu. I was utterly shocked but strongly denied the request. I  wondered what benefit she would get from asking me to sleep with her partner. Being sexually harassed is always a concern for female researchers and can be a reason for them to opt out of fieldwork. However, in the rural Indian context, not just female researchers but women in particular often encounter harassment in their daily lives, sometimes in contact with strangers and sometimes from their own kin. I, as a female researcher, to a certain extent shared similar experiences that local women go through. These experiences allowed me to understand why many local women did not want to become independent or live on their own, but sought shelter from their Bengali men, some of whom were not good men. The way of life in the villages made me aware that social expectations from family and community were intense. As mentioned to me by some of my informants, they dared not be different from what society had prescribed for them because the price to pay for being different was too high. Indeed, the consequences of being different would not be easy for any woman living in such a conformist society. 3.  Vaishnava Women and Their Path to Renunciation 3.1  Reasons to Become a Renouncer

From my fieldwork data, the main reason to undergo renunciation for women is because there is limited or even no social space for women to express

172  Amnuaypond Kidpromma themselves outside the religious domain. Women who cannot meet social expectations tend to be discriminated against and are generally marginalized by society. There are many cases of women who run away from violent circumstances involving in-laws and husbands. Many Vaishnava women were in arranged marriages and only met their husbands a few days before getting married. Many of them had violent and drunk husbands, which was one of the reasons that led them to opt for renunciation. It is worth noting that, in India, once a woman is married off, she becomes a stranger to her own family. Although some women who run away from their in-laws can return to their natal family, many of them are not accepted back by their own parents. One of my informants, PL Ma, lived with her in-laws for six months at the age of 14, and then decided to run away from her husband, back to her natal family. But her parents, instead of giving her shelter, asked her to return to her drunkard husband. She refused to go back and then decided to renounce altogether, along with a widower from her natal village, who was almost 40  years older than her. The only way the two could be together without violating social rules was by undergoing renunciation and entering the Vaishnava tradition. Her decision to take refuge in renunciation allowed her to escape from social expectations and in-laws and a violent husband, and at the same time be provided for with the socially accepted status of sadhuma. There are young women from poor families whose parents cannot afford to pay a dowry for their marriage, and thus they give their daughters away to much older Vaishnava male renouncers. KN Ma was given to Babaji when she was 14 years old. Babaji visited her village and saw her, and asked her father if he would allow his daughter to become a renouncer and live with him. KN Ma’s father was happy to give KN Ma to Babaji. He told her that he was too poor to afford a dowry for her wedding. There are other cases of widows whose husbands passed away when they were young and could not find any shelter outside the religious realm. ML Ma and MD Ma shared similar tragedies after the deaths of their husbands. ML Ma’s husband died when she was only 13  years old, and she was not allowed to live with her in-laws or go back to her natal family. She also could not remarry.4 She was wandering around aimlessly until she found shelter in a Vaishnava ashram. She underwent initiation and stayed with her guru until he arranged for her to become a female partner of her guru brother, ND Baba. MD Ma had a slightly different story, as her late husband left her with three children. She raised her children alone until all of them were married off, and then in her late twenties she underwent renunciation and stayed at the ashram with her guru, who is the same guru that ML Ma and ND Baba have. MD Ma was also paired with her guru-brother, though their joint renunciant life was not successful because of her partner’s womanizing behavior. SM Ma and FK Ma had been renouncers in a conventional way, similar to a marriage arrangement in the secular sense. When they were 16  years of age, their parents, who were Vaishnava renouncers and devotees, respectively, arranged for them to marry Vaishnava sadhus. Like householders,

Female Agency in Bengali Vaishnava Sahajiya Tradition 173 their parents and gurus sought help from matchmakers who were sadhus and could help them to get marriage proposals from single male sadhus. Once the families were satisfied, the malachandans, or weddings in a profane sense, were arranged. SM Ma told me that it was her own will to become a sadhu instead of remaining a lay woman. She said that she wanted to meet God while young but also wanted to be released from the future burden of becoming a daughter-in-law and a mother. There are also women who want to marry men from different castes but are not allowed to do so by their families, thus they seek license to be together in the Vaishnava renunciant domain. SK Ma is such a woman and underwent initiation together with a man from a different caste. In addition, there is a case of a Naga sadhu who underwent malachandan to a girl he loved and then became a Vaishnava sadhu.5 Of the majority of the female sadhus I  studied, more than ten of them underwent initiation in order to follow their husband’s wishes. They initially did not want to become sadhumas, and at the same time they did not want to live alone at home as widows (whose husbands symbolically die in terms of a householder identity). They stated that their husbands would not have any problems if they chose not to follow them and remained householders. Although their husbands did not coerce them to become renouncers— for them it was meaningless to live on their own—they decided to renounce together with their husbands. A woman may undergo initiation together with a man who can give her shelter, or she may undergo it alone and stay with a guru until he finds her a suitable partner. In cases of either a single male or female sadhu, the process of seeking a partner replicates the conventional process. The guru takes responsibility for finding partners for disciples and arranges marriage for them. If a guru cannot match a couple among his disciples, he may find one among his guru brothers’ disciples or from other lineages. He may also seek help from a matchmaker who is a Vaishnava sadhu. The malachandan is a ceremony for garland exchange, indicating the right of a couple to live together as pair-renouncers (yugal sadhu). As suggested by Openshaw (2007), malachandan is equivalent to a marriage ceremony for householders. Many studies promote the view that Vaishnava is a tradition whereby an individual has the freedom to choose his or her own partner, given that inter-caste marriage is allowed. However, from my observation, there are many Vaishnavas who accepted traditional arranged marriage or ‘arranged malachandan’ in practice. This practice thus contrasts with the Vaishnava ideal of freedom in choosing a partner. The new couples normally accept their fortune and show little or even no conflict with the guru’s decision, and although their partners may not be as kind as they might want them to be, at least the female renouncer does not need to deal with in-laws. In addition, since the sadhus have their own community comprising guru kinship and peer group, if anyone acts inappropriately, he or she will get warnings from their guru, or guru brothers/sisters who are senior to them.

174  Amnuaypond Kidpromma Records show that Vaishnava women outnumber men because the community is open to all castes, accepting women from all backgrounds, particularly ‘loose’ women (Openshaw 2007). Also, since many male sadhus are much older than their female partners (about 20 to 30 years age difference)— they pass away before their female partners, who are left as single sadhumas. A  widowed sadhuma usually stays single for the rest of her life (while a male renouncer tends to find a new partner if his partner dies) because of the pressure from social conventions and lay society, on which she relies for socio-economic support. These are perhaps some of the practical reasons why Vaishnava women outnumber men. 3.2  Vaishnava Women’s Renunciant Goal

Many women who choose a renunciant path often find themselves subject to contradictory values and practices, and they also face different kinds of tension in their lives.6 It has been suggested in the Saṃnyāsa Upaniṣads that once a person renounces the world, he renounces all social expectations (Olivelle 1992). This view seems to apply more in the case of a male practitioner taking renunciation. When a male renounces, he can, to a certain degree, go beyond social expectations. As noted by Knight, male Bauls are carefree and unencumbered by social restraints (Knight 2011: 6). In contrast, the cultural expectations of Baul women are more confining and it is more challenging to step away from them (Khandelwal et al. 2006: 2). In addition, some women themselves are more likely to be attached to this worldly value and to continue to follow social conventions, even though they have already undergone renunciation. It appears that values that collective communities in rural Bengal hold for its members are the factor yet reality that prompt women to remain dependent on their family members. To them, being dependent does not infer limitation of freedom but women’s fulfilment and personhood. Likewise, women choose to be Vaishnava renouncers because of their disadvantaged situation in life. What seems to be the most significant reason to make them leave the household domain is a desire to be a ‘normal Bengali woman’ who has a family and protection from male members. As mentioned earlier, many women who become Vaishnava renouncers are women who did ‘not belong’ or were ‘independent’ and thus abandoned by their family and/or community. This state of independence, instead of giving them a sense of self-autonomy, freedom, or empowerment, gave them much insecurity in life. Having no one to rely on was the most terrifying life condition for them. They did not know how to live or whom to live for. Consequently, an independent status was not preferred by most, if not all, Vaishnava women in this study. To these women, being ‘dependent on’ and/or feeling a sense of belonging to someone or something was how they defined their personhood. Their lives were valued by themselves and others once they were ‘dependent’ on others. That said, they become Vaishnava female renouncers in order to maintain (in the case of wives whose husbands chose to be renouncers) or (re)gain (in

Female Agency in Bengali Vaishnava Sahajiya Tradition 175 the case of widows and single women from poor families) the status of wifehood, so that they can be dependent upon their sadhu partners. As a matter of fact, renunciation for these women means to attain or maintain and secure the status of a respectable wife or, in other words, stay as dependents. The status of wifehood would not be possible if they remained as householders. Indeed, like the model of Brahmanical renunciation, Vaishnava renunciation is meant to detach them from family ties, community, and whatever symbolically marks them as householders. However, this does not imply they want to renounce womanhood, wifehood, or motherhood, and the duties and responsibilities that come with these identities. As a result, women who renounce in the Vaishnava tradition do not leave their domesticity, but instead shift to include their domesticity in the renunciant domain. They leave the domestic domain of householders to enter the domestic domain of renouncers, which they perceive brings them security and peace of mind. Perhaps the female nature of nurturing, caring, and giving, and the social and spiritual benefits they receive from maintaining and perfecting this nature in the renunciant domain, are reasons why ‘complete detachment,’ ‘renunciation,’ or ‘independence’ is thought to be beyond the bounds of their potential. 3.3  Women’s Religious Piety and Practices 3.3.1  Devotional Services

Indeed, sexo-yogic ritual is said to be the core religious practice for Vaishanava renouncers. However, the ritual seems to be the first priority for male sadhus, whilst females prioritize the services they provide to their male partners. In their view, male sadhus need more practice to control their bodies and minds, and require support from their female partners, both in the religious context and in their day-to-day living. Hence, providing support to male sadhus, instead of spending time focusing on their own religious practice, is considered essential for female renouncers with a partner. Vaishnava women draw devotional services (seva) to be their main practice for attaining higher spiritual levels. Seva practiced in actual social contexts also contributes positively to the practitioners’ spiritual liberation. Sarbadhikary and Warrier have stated that seva helps people progress in their religious practice, leading them into the realm of God (Sarbadhikary 2015; Warrier 2003). Seva, as suggested in Lucia’s study, means ‘selfless service’ to one’s guru and it is considered one of the religious practices that brings a practitioner to his self-realization. She points out that in the context of Amrittanandamayi, when disciples provide seva to their gurus, the practice also helps develop their ascetic ethics (Lucia 2014: 193). This is because one’s body and mind need to be refined and completely disciplined when offering seva. I employ the term ‘seva’ referring to how this is intended among Vaishnava female sadhus as devotional service towards ‘a particular chosen deity.’ In their tradition, each female renouncer is likely to have her own personal deity in human form, as either her partner or guru. Vaishnava female

176  Amnuaypond Kidpromma renouncers make use of devotional services (seva) as an alternative practice in their renunciation. The various forms of devotional services practiced by them show their detachment, and as they serve their partners selflessly, they realize sahaja. The devotional services that they perform for their male partners and gurus, as well as their peers and lay communities, cannot be done without sacrificing their personal comfort and disciplining their minds to detach themselves from their emotions. These women, regardless of their different day-to-day issues and how they negotiate them, share common experiences in terms of their religious expression. All Vaishnava female sadhus conduct seva to the gods and the public; however, they have different ways to express their devotion. Some females choose serving and caring for their male partners as their path, whilst others see helping other members as their way to connect to God (Krishna). Some may teach esoteric rituals to their disciples as their way, while others worship tombs (samadhi) of their deceased partners or gurus. Different forms of services performed by female renouncers reveal their status of belonging: being with a partner or without a partner. If a renouncer is with a partner, her devotional service centers on an individual: her male partner. But if she is without a partner, her devotional service will be offered to some public entity: the gods and the community. The female renouncers with partners focused their devotional service on their male partners, comforting them at home; cooking, cleaning, and performing rituals with them, and in some cases even finding or arranging women to escort them. In the case of single female renouncers, their service was to provide services to their community, late partners, disciples, or even their natal family. In their day-to-day lives, the sadhumas with whom I  closely associated spent most of their time at the ashram doing household chores. Males would help only when female sadhus could not work, such as when they were ill or not at the ashram. A female sadhu’s day starts with cleaning the ashram and cooking breakfast, then cleaning up after her partner and fetching water for household use. Then she works on the grains collected from alms, either drying them outside in the sun or grinding and storing them in a safe place where no mice and/or humans could take them. After that, she starts cooking lunch. She usually takes a bath after cooking and again cleans everything after the meal is finished. Due to their purity concerns, a person is not allowed to eat while serving food, and as a result, a female sadhu serves her partner first and makes sure he finishes his meal before she starts eating her meal. A sadhu couple normally takes an afternoon nap after lunch and wakes up around 4 to 5 p.m. The sadhuma then prepares tea for everyone. This is the time when devotees visit the ashram to have conversations with the sadhubaba. While the sadhuma is preparing tea and snacks for visitors, the sadhubaba talks to them. The conversation can be diverse, but the most popular topics are generally politics, health, or Vaishnava sadhana.7 The sadhuma sometimes joins the conversation when she finishes her work in the kitchen, but usually continues preparing dinner. Dinner is served around 8 to 9 p.m., depending

Female Agency in Bengali Vaishnava Sahajiya Tradition 177 on the ashram. She goes to bed once she finishes cleaning and tidying the ashram, but her work does not finish even after the kitchen door has closed. Another service, which is performing an esoteric ritual with her male partner, resumes at bedtime. Most sadhumas insisted that for them, there were no difficulties (kashta), but joy (ananda) in doing domestic chores and providing support to their partners. They expressed their bhakti to both human gods and God in their daily lives through all the work they do. All the females with partners I came across preferred to be busy with chores at the ashram rather than wandering for alms. These chores were considered as Vaishnava female practitioners’ religious piety. In the early stages of fieldwork, I wondered about their day-to-day lives; about what made them so confident in saying that God looked after them when they mainly do the cooking and cleaning. Even when I spent considerable time with them and became part of their daily lives, I was still not certain if these domestic activities led them to be with God. It seemed that sadhumas had little time or no time at all to train their bodies and minds through the practices of meditation or yoga in the same way as their male partners. I asked many female sadhus when they practiced meditation or yoga, but most of them said that they spent most of their time doing household chores. They even seemed to ignore these practices, and mainly focused on giving services to their partners, gurus, and disciples, and occasionally went out for alms. I sometimes shared my personal experience of living with the sadhumas with SM Ma, one of the female sadhus I studied, and I asked her, “How can you be with God if you only cook and clean for others all the time?” SM Ma smiled and said, “Our minds are with god though our action is cooking.” On another occasion, when I  went out for madhukari (collecting alms) in the village with MD Ma, we often collected many kilograms of rice, grains, and potatoes. I volunteered to carry them by putting a bag full of grains on my shoulders in the same way that villagers do. The bag was very heavy, and the weather was incredibly hot. When I finished carrying the heavy bag and arrived at the ashram, I complained to MD Ma, saying, “Being sadhuma is difficult. There is too much hard work for them.” She smiled and said, “All the work we do is provided by God and it is seva.” From an outsider’s point of view, it seems that both lives in the domestic sphere, the householder’s and the renouncer’s, are not different. Female sadhus carry heavy loads similar to women who are householders. Their dayto-day lives are filled with household chores: cleaning, cooking, feeding their partners and serving devotees, plus earning income from alms collection. Nonetheless, Vaishnava female sadhus do not see themselves as submissive wives whose lives are burdened with serving their partners. It may be compulsory for householders to take full responsibility for domestic work, but it is seen as a choice for them. They could choose to go out for alms collection and let their partners look after the domestic work, but they prefer to be in the kitchen and enjoy themselves cooking and cleaning. In fact, their view of the household chores represents their understanding and practice following

178  Amnuaypond Kidpromma devotion path (bhakti marga) as described earlier; that is, every action can be religious practice if one sets her mind to God. Vaishnava sadhumas do not see their domestic work as valueless but as their path of renunciation, which leads them to a peaceful state of mind (shantaman). Indeed, most chores done by sadhumas involved feeding and serving their male partners, but it is the cleaning, cooking, and serving that make them ‘true’ female renouncers. It appears that female renouncers with partners are respected and have more choices than single ones. This is partly because they can gain social and financial support from their male partners. With this support, a female sadhu can obtain a revered space as a female guru (guru ma), and even have disciples to comfort and support her. Female sadhus are also protected by their partners and have fewer worries about sustaining life or being harassed by other male sadhus or laypersons. Some females with partners do not go for alms collection; they just stay at the ashram taking care of the household like an ordinary homemaker. Some female renouncers also comfort their male partners by finding other sexual consorts for them. GS Ma once told me that everything she does is seva. When she had a serious illness and needed an operation, she was unable to provide any sexual service to her husband for at least two months. Her husband, GS Baba, was well known for his womanizing and seemed to be in need of practicing an esoteric ritual almost every day. Since GS Ma could not perform the ritual with him due to her operation, to fulfil her devotional duty, she asked her female disciples to stay at the ashram, which implied that they had to perform the esoteric ritual with GS Baba. I was not too surprised to hear that many female disciples stayed the night in order to serve their gurus. There were a few more female renouncers in the Santiniketan area who found sexual consorts for their male partners. I found out later that FK Ma, who had earlier asked me to sleep with her male partner, also asked her other female disciples to do the same. Her partner, GP Baba, is a well-known womanizing sadhu and I was told that he performs esoteric rituals with his female disciples and even female neighbors who live near the ashram. In addition, in a personal conversation in 2016, Openshaw stated that during her time in the field, there were female sadhus who managed their male partners by providing other women to satisfy them. We can interpret this action as another form of ‘devotional service’ that female sadhus offer to their male partners as part of their duty towards them. It seemed to me that this was perhaps one of the ways in which subordinate women reacted to their womanizing partners. Indeed, FK Ma and GS Ma could not stop their male partners from womanizing and instead of ignoring or walking away from them, they chose to have some input into the situation. Choosing sexual consorts for their partners also meant they could exert certain power over the other women they chose, so that their interaction and relationship were under their eyes. It kept them in the game (that they would never win). From the conversations with single sadhumas, single sadhubabas, as well as those sadhus with partners, they all agree that what appears to be a source

Female Agency in Bengali Vaishnava Sahajiya Tradition 179 of kashta for single female renouncers was their single status, causing them to get less respect from or be disrespected by disciples and devotees, and at times sexually harassed by male cohorts, having insufficient income, and not being able to achieve religious goals through yugal sadhana, the Vaishnava conventional ritual. It is worth noting that their problems were not shared by single male renouncers because the gender of the latter allows them to maintain their revered position even though they are single. In addition, they can find new female partners easily, even at a very old age. For them, as told by MT Baba, the only pain of being single was having to do all the household chores, to clean and cook by themselves. Nonetheless, single sadhumas appear to have more freedom in their lives compared to other sadhumas. Their freedom is apparent when they travel and interact with other sadhus, visiting any places they like and interacting freely with male strangers. A female with a partner has to pay attention to her male partner’s attitude and act according to his wants and wishes. In contrast, single female renouncers have no one they need to worry about. And yet single sadhumas with such freedom have insecurities in their lives. In many ways, this freedom is not wanted by these sadhumas because it does not offer them a preferred and stable life. That is, having male partners to protect and support them will limit their freedom, but it makes and marks their security in life and respectability. I recall the moment when SM Ma and I were talking and criticizing other female sadhus’ behaviour. When I mentioned a single female sadhu’s life, SM Ma said, “Everyone has their own way to make their living. I am lucky that I have my partner. I don’t have to do what I don’t want to do.” Her statement suggested her understanding of the problems (kashta) those single sadhumas encounter and her preference to be a sadhuma with a partner. 3.3.2  Sexo-Yogic Ritual

Vaishnava female renouncers generally seem to be satisfied with how they are treated by their male partners in ritual contexts, but I wonder if their expression of satisfaction is a compensation to what they sacrifice in the sexual intercourse that bears no procreation—being reproductive but not allowed to produce any children. Losing semen, even for the act of procreation, implies losing important life essence. The sexual intercourse between a husband and a wife is meant for procreation; the woman ‘takes’ the man’s substance, shortening his lifespan, so, logically speaking, the wife is seen as a danger to her husband’s life even if she is faithful (Caplan 1987: 283). In contrast, a mother demonstrates herself to be a true giver by nurturing or by ‘giving’ her own bodily fluids in the form of breast milk to her child. Vaishnava female renouncers, although they are regarded as mothers by their male partners and peers, are prohibited from having biological children. They claim that unlike the sexual intercourse of husband and wife, the esoteric ritual underlines women as a true giver like a mother. They claimed that

180  Amnuaypond Kidpromma during the sexual ritual they are wives who have sexual intercourse with their male partners and mothers who give their own bodily fluids to their children, meaning their menstrual blood is ingested during intercourse by their male partners. Their fluid is equivalent to breast milk because it contains seed that can nurture the male body. As a result, Vaishnava female renouncers are of the view that they are a real mother on the account of their feeding their own bodily fluid to their partner. Women’s role in tantric sexual activity is often described as a means to an end for men (Openshaw 2007; Caplan 1987: 284). McDaniel claims that women in the tantric tradition are instruments for male practitioners’ religious goals (McDaniel 1989: 274). White also suggests that tantric female practitioners have less autonomy in tantric rites that take sex as a means to harness numinous power (cited in Biernacki ed. Keul 2013: 217). Spivak makes the point that in tantric sexo-yogic practice, women do not exercise their own sexual agency but merely act as sexual objects for men (Spivak 2001). In refuting Spivak, McDaniel and White write that in the Vaishnava esoteric ritual women are not always passive agents in the process of the esoteric ritual and the act of sexual intercourse. The female renouncers I interviewed claimed that the female body plays a predominant role in the success of the esoteric ritual. Their emotions during intercourse implicitly and explicitly affect men’s seminal retention. During sexual intercourse, Vaishnava male practitioners are trained to withdraw their sexual fluids in order to sublimate their sexual force to a kind of generative power. It is not known if women can ingest mixed fluids as men do. It should be noted that the physical distinction between male and female bodies allows men to ingest and women to absorb fluids (Khandelwal 2001; Sarbadhikary 2015). So, in the Vaishnava context, the male ingests female fluids either during the esoteric ritual or takes sexual fluids in combination orally, believing that taking mixed fluids can limit the damage of emission and rejuvenate his body and strength. It was described that a male practitioner cannot successfully withdraw his semen without his partner’s cooperation; various techniques are found by women themselves to control their bodies and indirectly their partners’ bodies. During a personal discussion in 2017, Openshaw describes how before performing an esoteric ritual, to make sure that the woman’s body does not get too excited so that she might arouse her partner to ejaculate, some female renouncers put some ice or cold objects on their stomachs before the ritual starts in order to cool down their bodies. According to Sarbadhikary, a woman’s sacred place is located in her genitals and absorbing for a woman is a natural process which cannot be controlled (Sarbadhikary 2015). This implies that women cannot control fluids in the same way as men. In contrast, Vaishnava female renouncers claim that females, in the same way as males, can also take in fluids through their genitals by pulling them upwards and storing them in a sacred place between their two eyes. I challenged some female renouncers by referring to academic

Female Agency in Bengali Vaishnava Sahajiya Tradition 181 studies on Vaishnava that hold that women’s bodies are different and thus are not able to take in fluids in a similar manner to men. To this, they replied that the books I read were wrong and told me to believe their words instead, that women ingested fluids and pulled (tule) them up into their heads. Some female renouncers showed me how to do it through a heavy contraction of the stomach, followed by their breathing practice done consonantly. My study does not go into detail to investigate whether female renouncers’ understanding of sexual acts is scientifically valid or how often they have made mistakes, losing the control of their bodies. Instead, I tried to understand women’s point of view regarding a hydraulic system of ingesting and pulling up seed to the top of a female body. Their reference to this model entails women’s partaking in the esoteric ritual. These women believe that they can control their bodies and can restore their generative power. Thus, they view the practice as benefiting not only men but also women. In this way, female renouncers seem to gain more confidence which, I argue, builds up their subjectivity and enhances their self-esteem. It seems that to successfully perform an esoteric ritual, the female partner’s collaboration plays a significant role. The control over her own body and emotions implicitly affects the body of her male partner. Thus, women’s experience in the esoteric ritual is reflected in them as active ritual agents who can not only control their own bodies but also their partners’ bodies, and in this way, female renouncers become empowered in the spiritual domain. These women, on the other hand, instead of claiming success in esoteric ritual as their own, view their success as the result of collaborative work, or even as an achievement of their male partners. Interestingly, when I  discussed the erotic ritual with female renouncers, they always emphasized the capability of their male partners. Many female renouncers told me that: “Baba is very good, so we have no children,” referring to success in the erotic ritual being due to the male partner. In contrast, male renouncers did not view their success as depending on their female partners, though they accepted that they were dependent on their essence. In men’s worldview, women were still seen as passive agents in sexual matters. 4.  The Agency of Vaishnava Women “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire” was a logical sentence from Nyāya-Sūtra that always appeared in Indian logic classes during my undergraduate years. After I moved towards social anthropology, the aforementioned logical statement was replaced in light of people I  worked on in real contexts. At my fieldwork site in India, the logical truth is that “where there’s smoke [from the kitchen and cooking area], there’s sadhuma.” It appears that Vaishnava women’s religious and social lives are located in the ‘kitchen.’ There they meet God (bhagavan) and friends and are happy and peaceful in this ‘renouncerdomestic’ domain. “I don’t know what else to do if I don’t cook,” ML Ma stated when I asked if she felt cooking every meal was a burden for her.

182  Amnuaypond Kidpromma I am not certain if cooking and domestic chores are the only way that women can express their religious piety. However, for Vaishnava female renouncers, domestic work is the means to connect with the gods and establish a sense of self-identity. All the household chores they do are devotional services (seva), which bring them peace of mind (shantaman) or a state of sahaja. Female renouncers’ state of sahaja is described in feminine language and is associated with what they see as meaningful to them, which is to be a ‘good Bengali woman’ who follows the convention of being a wife and mother. Womanhood is underlined by Vaishnava female practitioners as a key character of their ‘true self,’ and it makes renunciation possible for them. Mother love expressed through nurturing and offering other services to their male partners, gurus, and devotees is a means to let them attain their religious goals. That said, for Vaishnava female renouncers, renunciation starts with domesticity. Their joint renunciation (yukta-bairagya) suggests a degree of relatedness rather than detachment. Sexuality is another domain in which female Vaishnavas claim their agency. It provides room for women to exercise their agency, take an active part in performing rituals, and sometimes take control over the ritual. To be successful ritual actors, women are not only to practice the esoteric ritual, but also to learn about nature and changes of the body. Young women taking initiation into the Vaishnava community are helped by more experienced women to understand their bodies and how their bodies and sexuality work, as well as contraceptive techniques. They are helped to deal with the changes in their bodies which later build up their confidence and empower their womanity. Renunciation for Vaishnava women is neither to detach from male culture nor to escape to a solely female sphere. To a degree, their renunciation is to maintain male-dominant renunciation. The Vaishnava women I  met never mentioned the seemingly unfair system they abided by. They did not see male sadhus as their rivals. They never wanted to take over the sadhubabas’ revered space or to turn the whole system upside down and put themselves at the top of the system. They only wished to be above other women, i.e. ‘at the top of the bottom.’ Instead of challenging the male-dominant system to gain higher status, Vaishnava sadhumas are likely to support this system, letting men stay at the top. In any area that males are incapable of managing on their own, women do not hesitate to assist them. Female sadhus show their gratitude and sympathy towards the imperfection of the male body. They are of the view that supporting their partners is their duty, as sadhumas and the success of male sadhus are their success. It cannot be denied that women whose lives are portrayed in this study are controlled by men to a degree and can also be seen as marginalized and subjected to some forms of exploitation. The devotional services female renouncers offer to their male partners are accepted as the dharma of Vaishnava women, which is similar to the ‘stridharma’ of Indian female householders on the ground, involving caring for and nurturing men. For those who render the notion of agency as an act of resistance to the dominant system, following

Female Agency in Bengali Vaishnava Sahajiya Tradition 183 one’s dharma is often interpreted as lacking in agency. However, this chapter argues that being a marginalized victim and sometimes subordinated by the male members does not necessarily lead to the conclusion that these women are always passive, submissive, and agentless. It is noteworthy that the lives of Vaishnava female renouncers are not completely individualistic nor free, and they must abide by many kinds of communal norms in their renunciant community. Moreover, the disadvantage of being socially and sometimes economically ‘dependent’ affects their life choices; they often end up choosing to be paired up with a partner and living as a coupled renouncer (yugal sadhu), which makes them ‘dependent actors’ rather than individuals living outside the world. Accordingly, women’s agency in the Vaishnava tradition is pronounced in their language of submissiveness rather than that of subversion. That being said, conforming to the dominant ideology provides them with a way of spiritual life. It allows them to show their ‘ability to be agents of their own acts.’ Notes 1 I feel grateful for the endless support and mother love of Professor Hiroko Kawanami and Dr. Jeanne Openshaw, who are my PhD Supervisor, my non-biological mother, and my great woman. 2 The term ‘sahajiya’ is believed to be a scholarly constructed term. It will only be used in this section and then, once we explore the Sahajiya tradition further, the term ‘Sahajiya’ will be replaced by ‘Vaishnava,’ in order to align with the informants’ perceptions of themselves. 3 For more see Dumont (1960). Against Dumont, see Tambiah (1981) and Burghart (1983). 4 Narayanan (1999) provides that only women from high castes are not allowed to remarry, while poor and low-caste women from rural villages do remarry. However, to my knowledge, this is only true for some. Many village women cannot afford to remarry due to the question of dowry and stigma. If some do manage to remarry, they seem to get the worst men, for whom they need to provide everything in exchange for symbolic protection. 5 Eventually their couple-sadhu life was not successful, so the male sadhu returned to the Naga community and the sadhuma returned to the householder realm. Their hair was shaped to signify failure on the renunciant path. 6 On the tensions that female renouncers encounter in different traditions, see Khandelwal et al. (2006). 7 I mostly worked in the kitchen with the sadhumas. I often asked sadhumas what sadhubabas were discussing with bhaktas. To their knowledge, they believed that their partners discussed sadhana, health, and politics. Sometimes, I had conversations with sadhubabas, and the conversation was usually about sadhana and some tips on staying healthy.

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9 Encountering in a New Phase Monastic Education for Buddhist Nuns in Sri Lanka Gihani De Silva

1. Introduction​ In recent years, a major area of concern for scholars of Buddhism has been the status of Buddhist nuns, particularly in the Theravada Buddhist world. In general, these studies have focused on one of two forms of female renunciation: the communities of fully ordained bhikkhunīs, who have received higher ordination (upasampadā) and who adhere to the 331 rules prescribed in the Vinaya Piṭaka, the code of monastic discipline; and ‘precept mothers,’ communities of female ascetics who follow eight or ten core precepts but who have not undergone higher ordination. Precept mothers are known by various names throughout South and South East Asia, including silmātās in Sri Lanka, mae chis in Thailand, thilá shins in Myanmar, and don chis in Cambodia, among others. While precept mothers shave their heads in the same manner as bhikkhunīs, they often wear robes of different colours and are perceived by scholars, laity, and monks as having a lesser spiritual status. Bhikkhunīs, are concerned with their position; this concern arises from their ordinations being considered illegitimate by many monks and most governments in South Asia, which believe that a pure bhikkhunī lineage died out sometime over the last thousand years, and that modern bhikkhunīs do not have a ‘pure’ or proper ordination status. These forms of diminished status for both groups of Buddhist nuns have been the subject of scholarly work conducted over the last few decades. In this study, I use the term ‘Buddhist nuns’ collectively to refer to the many forms of female renunciation. The scholarship on Buddhist nuns has revealed that the difficulties of access to education are a common feature in Asian countries (Bartholomeusz 1994; Gutschow 2004; Havnevik 2000; Tsomo 2000). For centuries, Asian Buddhist nuns have been marginalised religiously, which is also due to a lack of educational opportunities. Most alternative forms of female renunciants have a low monastic status compared to the male saṅgha (bhikkhu), and lack of education prevents them from enhancing their renunciatory status. Since Buddhist nuns have historically had limited access to monastic education, scholars have highlighted extensive educational options as a critical means of improving their marginal position. According to Monica Lindberg Falk, who DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-10

Encountering in a New Phase 187 studied mae chis in Thailand, “education legitimates mae chis ordained position and is also crucial for the religious practice of fulfilling their vocation towards others” (Falk 2007: 225). Making educational opportunities available to Buddhist nuns or prioritising Buddhist education in state policies, on the other hand, is a difficult task in a context where male monastic regimes and state authorities still dominate religious bureaucracies. In the case of Sri Lanka, silmātās (precept mothers) are the only group of Buddhist nuns who are officially registered by the state, and who rely on the state religious bureaucracy (Salgado 1998). The government authorities have established a bureaucratic structure and rules for silmātās to follow. Silmātās rely on government aid for education, both in terms of funding and teacher training, but their educational institutes are unregistered, and funding and teacher training support is inadequate. Even though there was an increasing need for Buddhist nuns’ education in Sri Lanka from the late 1940s on, state funding was not organised as it was for monks. Silmātās were permitted to attend monks’ pirivena (monastic schools for monks), but still these silmātās (or their family members or the nunnery) were responsible for transportation, accessories, and other expenses. In contrast, monks were supported by private benefactors, affluent temples, and state funds. Kim Gutschow observes a similar situation in the Zangskar (a sub-district of the Indian union territory of Ladakh), “where nuns’ education becomes a burden for the family, while monks (son) would bring them easiness, as he could afford highly valued monastic education, ultimately bring privilege and private profit as well” (Gutschow 2000: 111). Buddhist nuns are disadvantaged educationally due to these gender-based distinctions. The lack of education for Buddhist nuns in Sri Lanka and its repercussions is a complicated issue that has been compounded by state decisions. It was a watershed moment in contemporary Sri Lankan history when, in 2019, Buddhist nuns’ educational institutes were registered. For the first time, the Ministry of Education called for the establishment of a position of ‘director’ for registered Buddhist nuns’ educational institutes. The two groups of Buddhist nuns (silmātās and bhikkhunīs) have reacted differently to these developments. The text unravels these responses in terms of negotiations, accommodations, and conflicting interests. In-depth interviews with silmātās, bhikkhunīs, and government officials were done as part of the research. The agency of the Buddhist nuns concerning these developments has been complex. No groups of nuns expressed resistance to the parties lagging behind to register their educational institutes. Instead, the appointed coordinating instructor nun demonstrated a form of creative agency by accommodating the different groups. Silmātās took further steps to work closely with the Department of Buddhist Affairs (DBA) in order to increase their input into the educational institutes. The agency of these nuns is neither active nor passive but is most appropriately described as ‘creative conformity.’

188  Gihani De Silva 2. Monastic Education for Buddhist Nuns in Sri Lanka: Historical Precedents Buddhist education began to flourish in Sri Lanka after Buddhism’s inception there from the third century BCE. Formal monastic education was available to both bhikkhus and bhikkhunīs. As Nirmala S. Salgado mentioned, the female laity benefitted from this formal education when the two-fold saṅgha flourished (Salgado 1996: 63). She also speculates that, similar to modern religious women, Buddhist women may have participated in study groups, meditation, and religious rituals in the early centuries (Salgado 1996: 64). However, monastic education became male-centred with the demise of the bhikkhunī order in the late 10th century (Gunawardene 1979: 39). A ­ ccording to the scholarly monk Walpola Rahula, bhikkhus were the primary agent of formal education for clergy and laity throughout history (Rahula 1956: 287–302). The colonial encounters altered the pre-colonial setting of Buddhist education administered solely by the saṅgha. The colonisers, mainly British, used education as a tool to colonise the country in the political, social, economic, and cultural realms. English-language education was highly promoted in missionary schools, while diminishing the saṅgha’s importance in Buddhist teaching (Bond 1988: 16–22). Thus, Buddhist education’s resurrection was one of the prime tasks of the Buddhist revival movement in the late 19th and early 20th centuries (Bartholomeusz 1994). However, according to Michael M. Ames, Theosophist members in the early Buddhist revival movement were critical of ineffective and unsatisfactory Buddhist temple (pansala) schools (Ames 1967: 28). “The Theosophist society implemented ‘Western’ structure and techniques which they knew to be efficient” (Durham 2015: 14). Buddhist leaders focused on monastic education and secular education as a part of the Buddhist revival in the late 19th century. However, most Theosophical establishments concerning education emulated British Christian organizations and symbols, such as Young Men’s/Women’s Buddhist Associations (YMBA/YWBA), Buddhist Sunday school, and Buddhist army chaplains (Durham 2015: 15). Later, Rahula criticized education based on British models, which disregarded the saṅgha’s role in disseminating Buddhism (Rahula 1974). The bhikkhus were inspired by this message and organised as a powerful force in the post-independent period of the 1950s. Enhancing women’s education was among the most important priorities during the Buddhist revival period (Bartholomeusz 1994: 49–50). Buddhist women were treated as powerful means of spreading Buddhism as nurturers of the nation to educate the new generation (Bartholomeusz 1994: 66). The most influential Buddhist leader, Anagarika Dharmapala,1 and Madam Convaro Countess, a Theosophist member, established the Sanghamitta Upasikaramaya (a non-bhikkhunī nunnery) and the Sanghamitta School project to promote Buddhism in the late 1890s. However, the school project failed and was abandoned owing to arguments between Dharmapala and the Countess

Encountering in a New Phase 189 over the financing of the school and nunnery. “The first Buddhist schools for girls run by laypeople have flourished to this day, whereas those run by the nuns (who are generally less educated than laity) have not been so successful” (Salgado 1996: 65). Salgado attributes this situation to a dearth of educational options and financing for Buddhist nuns (Salgado 1996: 65). While secular education for women in the country was considered necessary, Buddhist nuns’ education primarily declined post-independence. Buddhist nuns received little attention and lost their elite sponsorship in the late 1940s. An alternative form of a female renunciant group called silmātā emerged in the early 20th century, after the dismissal of the bhikkhunī order around the 10th century in Sri Lanka. Sister Sudharmacari is the first modern female renunciant in Sri Lanka (Bloss 1987: 11), with the lay name Catherine de Alwis; she was David de Alwis Goonatillika’s daughter, who was Mudaliyar (colonial title and office in Ceylon) of Raigama Korale. She was brought up in the Anglican faith. Catharine’s father died when she was 25, and she was deeply distressed. While grieving her father’s death, she converted to Buddhism and left her ancestral home, Bentara, for Kandy. Catherine met some of the Burmese thila-shins led by the ex-Burmese Queen Sein don, who was on a pilgrimage to the Temple of the Tooth Relic in Kandy (Bloss 1987: 10). With the support of some elite Kandyan families, Catherine eventually travelled to Burma to study with Burmese monks and in particular, with a female Buddhist renunciant named Mahā Upasikā, who subsequently ordained her and gave her the name ‘Sudharmacari.’ Upon returning to Kandy in 1905, she was warmly welcomed by the Kandyan elites. They formed the Sudharma Society and purchased a property in Katukale, Kandy, to build an upāsikārāmaya as a retreat for pious Buddhist laywomen. British Governor Sir Henry Blake’s wife, Lady Edith Blake, opened ‘Lady Blake’s Upāsikārāmaya’ in 1907. According to Bartholomeusz, Lady Blake’s Upāsikārāmaya served as a home for both “professed nuns (younger women) and the lay sisters (aged women)” (Bartholomeusz 1994: 98). A few of Sudharmacari’s early pupils included well-known lay nuns like Panadure (Dunagaha) Sumanavati, Shilacari and Gunawati. Unlike the traditional upāsikā, householders who dressed in white and observed eight or ten precepts on pōya days (or permanently at the end of their lives), the lay nuns associated with the Lady Blake’s Upāsikārāmaya wore ochre robes with a white blouse. This attire, according to Bartholomeusz, was a “metaphor for their dual, and somewhat paradoxical, status as lay monastics” (Bartholomeusz 1994: 99). This new usage shifted the connotation of the term ‘upāsikā.’ From a term connoting those women who fled to a life of meditation in their own homes once their family responsibilities were completed, it came to connote women who observed precepts on full moon (pōya) days (Bartholomeusz 1994: 99). This subtle change in the meaning of upāsikā would become important over time. In this sense, Sister Sudharmacari served as a role model for developing a new class of Buddhist female renunciants throughout the country.

190  Gihani De Silva When Sister Sudharmacari died in 1939, after 30 years of religious service, Ceylon’s political and religious landscape changed. The aristocracy began to use religious idioms to oppose the colonial government. One strategy used by politically active elites was to establish a new upāsikārāmaya in Biyagama, in which they could train as dasa sil upāsikā-s. This upāsikārāmaya was run by the committee Vihara Maha Devi (VMD) samitiya (Bartholomeusz 1994: 112). The new upāsikārāmaya in Biyagama was ceremonially opened on 25 October 1936 by Mrs D. S. Senanayaka, wife of the first prime minister of independent Ceylon. The Buddhist political elites, such as H. Sri Nissanka and D. B. Jayathileke, who patronised the VMD Upāsikārāmaya at Biyagama were influenced by the teachings of Dharmapala. They expected that the lay nuns trained at the VMD would be able to replace the Christian nuns who had performed social work under colonialism with trained Buddhist lay nuns. Bartholomeusz, Obeyesekere, and Gombrich relate this group of women to ‘male anagārika,’ a role invented by Dharmapala as intermediary between laity and monk (Gombrich and Obeyesekere 1988: 287; Bartholomeusz 1994: 55). Speeches delivered by D. S. Senanayake and D. B. Jayathilaka emphasise the importance of ‘educating women’ (Gombrich and Obeyesekere 1988: 287–288) who are then to be involved in ‘national work’ (Bartholomeusz 1994: 112– 113). For these reformers, the most important religious work for lay nuns was to support the nation, and they expected that the work done by lay nuns from the VMD projects would shape the destiny of Ceylon. In 1945, the VMD committee handed over nearly all of its responsibilities for the upāsikārāmaya to the All-Ceylon Buddhist Congress (ACBC), an organisation with similar interests to the VMD: to protect and foster Buddhism. According to Bartholemeusz, the VMD Committee’s acquiescence of authority mirrored the country’s political changes in the 1940s and 1950s. The Buddhist lay elites employed the VMD project to show their displeasure regarding the British government’s negligence over protecting the sāsana (dispensation). When the country gained independence, Buddhism appeared to be emancipated as well, and the lay elites focused on the country’s governance. While these Westernised elites—the governing party, the United National Party (UNP)—offered some patronage to Buddhism, they did not want to confront Christian organisations (Wilson 1974: 16). They attempted to continue the policies of the British to keep the separation of religion and state and treat all religions alike. S.W.R.D. Bandaranaike’s (Sri Lanka’s fourth prime minister) Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP) replaced the UNP government soon after independence, with support from the populism of panca mahā balavēgaya (village-level elites).2 The vocation of female renunciation underwent a comparable transformation during the early decades of independence (post-1950s); the majority of female Buddhist renunciants came from rural origins. Research by Bartholemeusz and Kusuma Devendra shows that these women were impoverished

Encountering in a New Phase 191 due to a lack of sponsorship, were socially ostracised, and institutionally ignored (Bartholomeusz 1994: 130; Kusuma 2010: 201–221). The absence of state assistance for female renunciants’ education and training and social expectations for women’s gender roles (becoming spouses and mothers) and the loss of aristocratic sponsorship contributed to a lack of resources and recognition. This situation changed in the 1980s due to two related trends: the re-engagement of Colombo-based elite women (including several Western nuns) in matters of female renunciation, and the state’s desire to upgrade silmātā status. The elite interest in female renunciation originated with the presence in the early 1980s of a number of foreign converts to Buddhism; for example, the German-born American nun Khema. Sister Khema moved to Sri Lanka in 1981 after having travelled widely in several countries. She was well-known among Colombo’s English-speaking elites, and she exerted influence on the women of this social class to improve the education of female renunciants. She was willing to consider abandoning the traditional silmātā vocation and replacing it with upasampadā for silmātās to ensure a religious vocation comparable to that of the bhikkhu. Most silmātās, however, were not interested in upasampadā (Bloss 1987: 25–26). They preferred to enjoy the freedom of ten precept ordination and did not want to contend with bhikkhus in such an undertaking. The Colombo-based elite women, who appeared to be dedicated to improving the status of silmātās, began to make pleas to J.R. Jayawardane’s (the President of Sri Lanka from 1978 to 1989) wife to enhance the status of silmātās. For instance, Mrs Elina Jayawardane formed a separate division for silmātā under the Commission of Buddhist Affairs as an answer to a letter sent by Kusuma Devendra, who worked closely with Sister Khema (Bloss 1987: 27). The unit began to oversee the requirements of silmātās, such as issuing identity cards and providing preliminary needs like minimum food and shelter for destitute silmātās. Hence, the state attitudes towards silmātās were largely driven by this ‘discourse of deprivation’ (Salgado 1998: 44). Nirmala Salgado traces the state activities in relation to silmātās “in a Buddhist revivalist (or nationalist) frame of reference, which was also institutionally androcentric” (Salgado 1998: 44). It allowed women to pursue a full-time vocation in religion amid institutional conditions that reinforced traditional cultural expectations for men and women (Sponberg 1992: 13). The state began to oversee the matters of silmātās, beginning from creating a ‘map’ and ‘census’ of island-wide silmātās and their ārāma. Eardley Ratwatte, the first commissioner for Buddhist Affairs, was involved mainly in undertaking this mapping and census, and it “instilled among the nuns a sense of awakening, unanduwa” (Salgado 1998: 45). The Department of Buddhist Affairs (DBA) had sent the questionnaires to the island-wide silmātā and based on this data, the department registered the silmātās for the first time. They later organised small-scale monthly meetings, beginning in Colombo in December 1983.

192  Gihani De Silva The state paid considerable attention to the institutionalisation of the silmātā movement, which occurred between the mid-1980s and the mid1990s. Abhaya Weerakoon, who was replaced by Eardley Ratwatte in January 1985, was the Commissioner for Buddhist Affairs. Under his watch, the DBA formalised the monthly meetings and expanded them to other districts such as Anuradhapura, Gampaha, Kandy, Kalutara, and Kurunegala (Salgado 1998: 48–50). Working at the district-level organisations was a new experience for silmātās, since they elected district representatives (president, secretary, three vice-presidents, and a few junior representatives), and subsequently convened in Colombo as a nation-wide organisation. It was the catalyst for the inception of Sil Mātā Jātika Maṇḍalaya (SMJM), or the National Silmātā Organisation, in 1986 (Salgado 1998: 50). Salgado underscores how the state (the DBA) promoted the institutional androcentric frame of reference, for instance, by requiring district level silmātā organisations to be administrated by senior monks and conducted in temples (Salgado 1998: 49). Although the monks no longer administer the current district-level silmātā association meetings, the election procedures for district representative silmātās are now conducted by the government agent or district secretary to strengthen the relationship between the state officers (other than the DBA) and the silmātās (the DBA officer in charge of silmātās, interview by the author, Colombo, 9 January 2020). The DBA, which was influenced by Protestant ideals (Gombrich and Obeyesekere 1988), according to Salgado extended their involvement in promoting silmātā education, from assisting daily classes at a girls’ school in Colombo (Salgado 1998: 46–47). Later some pirivena (monastic schools), such as Gampaha Vidyaravinda pirivena started privately accommodating the silmātās for pracīna exams (on Buddhist studies and Oriental languages) in 1985 (Samadhi 2013: 80). However, Goonathilake pointed out that it was not until 1995 that the government lifted the ban on the ten-precept nuns’ admission to pirivena (Goonatilake 2001: 3). In addition to this, silmātā education centers for silmātās were established in Madivela, Koralaima (1971), and Lady Blake—Kandy (1987). During my MPhil fieldwork in 2012, the head silmātās of one of these education institutions complained about the lack of state facilities. A small portion of funds only goes to central institutions such as Koralaima and Madiwela (Fieldwork at Minuwangoda Sīlamata Education Institution, 2012). Thus, there was a system of disparity amongst Buddhist nun’s education institutions. Even when the state did not register the education institutions, silmātās voluntarily established education centers, or converted some of their living quarters into monastic schools. For instance, Sri Sanghamitta education center was founded in 1983 by Mathale Dharmadhaira Silmātā. She had frustrating experiences of seeking education, for, during her youth, the only way for Buddhist nuns to gain education was through the monks’ temples. Believing that a separate school for Buddhist nuns would make it easier for nuns to pursue education. (Cheng 2007: 26)

Encountering in a New Phase 193 Cheng recounted the challenges the head nun, instructors, and living silmātās experienced because of limited finances during her fieldwork at the education institution in 2002. They depended on the money they collected from the students, lay donors, and scarce state funding. This situation was similar in the rest of the island-wide unregistered education centers. When some silmātās established a new education center, they did not receive even the low level of funding at first hand. Ten years after Cheng’s 2002 research, I conducted fieldwork at a newly built small education centre in the Gampaha area. The head nun of the education centre did not obtain the initial financial support provided to two primary education institutes in the same province. According to the head nun, there was a disparity among the silmātā education centres in obtaining the allocation (Interview with a head silmātā, Gampaha, May 2012). Since the late 1990s, Sri Lankan bhikkhunī communities established monastic education institutions, though the state does not recognise the status of fully-fledged bhikkhunīs.3 The bhikkhunī educational institutions confront significantly more challenges than the silmātā educational institutions without state recognition and facilities (Kalubovila 2010; Karunaveera 2013). These institutions are funded by lay patrons, monks, and well-wishers of the bhikkhunī community in Sri Lanka. The situation of some bhikkhunī educational institutions is challenging. These Buddhist nuns have faced numerous challenges with their unregistered educational institutions; their struggle is continuous, even in the context of some state regulations, which are described in the next section. 3.  Agency of Religious Women Decades of debate concerning feminists’ theorising about women’s agency reflects how scholars have grappled with the concept of agency. However, I do not explore this large body of scholarship about how scholars understand women as actors in gender-traditional religions, rather than simply be acted upon by male-dominated social institutions. According to feminist theorist Lois McNay (2000: 10), agency is the capacity for autonomous action in the face of often overwhelming cultural sanctions and structural inequalities. In other words, people exhibit agency when they act in unexpected ways, despite how actions are shaped by social institutions (Giddens 1979). Gender has a complicated relationship with agency. Gender-traditional religions focus on male centredness, while women’s agency is marginalised, or remains submissive. These religions tend to emphasise ontological differences between men and women. Although the doctrine and practices of these religions might vary, they understand gender roles in similar ways. There are four different approaches to understand agency of religious women. ‘Resistance agency’ focuses on the agency of women who participate in gender-traditional religions and attempt to oppose or modify some feature of the religion. ‘Empowerment agency’ examines how women who practise gender-traditional religions understand religious doctrine or practice in

194  Gihani De Silva ways that empower them in their daily lives. ‘Instrumental agency’ focuses on non-­religious effects of religious practise. Finally, the ‘compliant agency’ approaches on the numerous and different ways in which women adhere to the requirements of gender-traditional faiths (Burke 2012: 122–133). To summarise, comprehending Buddhist nuns’ agency requires expanding these four dimensions of agency. Buddhist nuns, for example, who are the initial agents of this discussion, do not confront the saṅgha or state authority. The pre-conceived secular liberal framework of women’s empowerment, on the other hand, is questionable. It limits our ability to perceive the full range of women’s behaviours and their repercussions. As a result, I propose to use Bucar’s conceptualisation of creative conformity of religious women’s agency, which Wei-yi Cheng (2007) refers to in her study on Sri Lankan Buddhist nuns. Based on fieldwork conducted in Iran in 2004, Bucar argues the following: Agency as creative conformity moves away from an idea of empowerment that depends on an autonomous place of perfect freedom. In contrast, creative conformity considers self-representation of women who still see themselves as existing within the structure of other representation, and as operating inside those lines. (Bucar 2010: 682) Religious women’s agency, as Cheng pointed out, can no longer be viewed as either active or passive. In fact, like the nuns’ educational initiative detailed by Cheng in her study, Buddhist nuns can claim actions of change as their own, rather than as something promised to them by male agents or feminists. Similarly, in my research, Buddhist nuns, particularly bhikkhunīs, exercise creative agency in a system where their educational demands are rarely met. 4. ‘Pirivena’ for Buddhist Nuns and ‘Director’ for Pirivena Pirivena is a long-standing term used for monastic schools of monks in Sri Lanka. The term pirivena or parivena means living quarters or Buddhist monks’ official residence (Mós 2014). Today a pirivena is an educational institution for bhikkhus, where the laity too can obtain an education. There are three levels of pirivena: primary, secondary, and vidyaratana (Mós 2014). However, the monastic education institutes for Buddhist nuns are not designated as pirivena, even though both silmātās and bhikkhunīs have used the name to identify their education centres on several occasions. The current Buddhist nuns’ educational institutes are now under the pirivena section of the Ministry of Education, following the state registration of sīlamātā education facilities. Instead of the term pirivena (meheṇi pirivena, or at least meheṇi educational institution), the Ministry uses the term ‘Sīlamātā educational institutions.’ Silmātā education centres and bhikkhunī education centres are both classified as Sīlamātā educational institutes. Due to the uncertain

Encountering in a New Phase 195 renunciatory status of the Buddhist nuns’ communities, none of the parties, even state ministries, silmātās, or bhikkhunīs, can use the term pirivena, because the term meheṇi is equivalent to bhikkhunī, a fully ordained nun, which is not legally sanctioned in the country. While silmātās have no issue labelling their educational institutes with the title ‘Sīlamātā’ but not as ‘pirivena’ or ‘meheṇi pirivena,’ the bhikkhunī community is dissatisfied. Using the term ‘sīlamātā’ to describe bhikkhunī educational institutes is problematic from the perspective of bhikkhunīs. Since 2004, the DBA and the DRP (Department of Registration of Persons) have not issued Identity cards or passports to non-silmātās. The bhikkhunī communities opposed their names appearing on ID cards under the title ‘silmātā’ on the grounds that it is insufficient to describe the ‘higher Vinaya’ they observe. Bhikkhunīs petitioned the Supreme Court in 2013 in a concerted effort to improve the status of bhikkhunīs (Schonthal 2018). However, this petition remains unresolved. The bhikkhunī groups have also sought assistance from the Human Rights Commission of Sri Lanka (NHCSL). This body concluded in 2015 that the DBA could have made efforts to resuscitate the bhikkhunī order with suitable measures after a six-year investigation (which began on October 20, 2009). Sunanda Kariyapperuma, however, the current ­Commissioner-General of Buddhist Affairs, admits that “the tradition (seeking advice from chief monks) has become the law following court rulings over certain disputes” (Pathirana 2019). Although there is no legal prerequisite to seeking advice or counsel from chief prelates (chief bhikkhus), the tradition still has a powerful influence rather than recommendations from various institutions. The Ministry of Education appointed a ‘director’ to oversee the tasks of formalising and organising Buddhist nuns’ educational institutes. Currently, a bhikkhu serves as the director of the pirivena. Initially, the ‘director’ (Buddhist nun) was a post similar to the monks’ pirivena. The Minister summoned both silmātā and bhikkhunī heads of the educational institutions (a total of eleven) to elect a Buddhist nun. The following is how the elected bhikkhunī narrated the incident. According to her, one of the head bhikkhunīs from a bhikkhunī educational institution (privately funded) immediately proposed a bhikkhunī’s name without leaving a moment to the silmātās to respond in that meeting (Coordinating-Instructor bhikkhunī, in an interview with the author, 9 November  2019). Silmātā attendees made no complaints during the forum, but they petitioned against the elected stance afterwards. The Minister had to convene another meeting to enquire into the petition. He dismissed the plea because of the chosen bhikkhunī’s educational credentials (MA degree holder). Gender traditionalism was displayed when senior silmātās contested the selection of a bhikkhunī and sought the director bhikkhu (male monastic pirivena) to oversee the responsibilities of the designation if the Ministry failed to elect a silmātā. According to a senior silmātā, they preferred the director bhikkhu to oversee silmātā pirivena, despite observing the condescending demeanour of bhikkhunīs (Executive member of SMJM, in discussion with the author, 21 November  2019). Silmātās’ responses to

196  Gihani De Silva the bhikkhunī director are not new, as this was a similar response they made against the revival of the bhikkhunī order in the country (De Silva 2015). The allegations levelled by each other are to be expected, given the rivalry between bhikkunīs and sīlmātās as well as the ambiguous environment of female monasticism in Sri Lanka. 5.  Responses of the Bhikkhunīs The proposed ‘director’ position for sīlamātā educational institutes was eventually altered to ‘coordinating instructor’ by the Ministry of Education due to mounting controversy. However, the Ministry expected the appointed bhikkhunī to fulfill all the duties, similarly to the bhikkhu director who oversees the duties of the pirivena. Thus, it is still interesting to investigate the role of this coordinating instructor bhikkhunī, even after all these dramatic incidents. As previously stated, her appointment was recalled due to a petition. Therefore, she had to prove that she is not working on behalf of bhikkhunī educational institutes only, but also for the silmātās (Coordinating-­Instructor bhikkhunī, in discussion with the author). She exhibited no resistance to either silmātās who have petitioned her or to the state authorities who had degraded her position to ‘coordinating instructor.’ The coordinating instructor immediately assumed her duties with the role of enhancing the physical resources of the educational institutes. She first assumed the tasks of the oldest education institutes of silmātās, and she attended bhikkhunis’ education institutions later. These educational institutes lacked resources since the government had not allocated money for them for a long time. The coordinating instructor negotiated with the issue by using privately generated money (Coordinating-Instructor bhikkhunī, in discussion with the author). She collected money from private donors and rebuilt the necessary facilities for those institutes. This key step towards negotiations seemed to change the attitudes of senior silmātās, who were initially against appointing a bhikkhunī to oversee the duties of their education institutes. Following that, the coordinating instructor bhikkhunī provided certain amenities for a few more educational institutes at their request. However, this act did not last for long. The coordinating instructor bhikkhunī had to cease providing physical resources with private funds, for unknown reasons (Coordinating-Instructor bhikkhunī, in discussion with the author). While the programme implemented to improve the physical resources of the educational institutions was temporarily terminated, the coordinator bhikkhunī moved to take over a long-term human resource development training programme. Unlike the previous physical resource initiative, the government funded this programme. Here, she intended to focus on academic training for instructors at the educational institutions. There were several rounds of workshops for English, Math, Science, and Information Technology. The coordinating instructor bhikkhunī attended all the programmes

Encountering in a New Phase 197 to facilitate the training. In certain instances, when government funds were insufficient to accommodate the program, she housed the instructors (nuns and female laity) in her nunnery. In my opinion, the commitment of the bhikkhunī coordinating instructor in accomplishing the prescribed responsibilities in a challenging atmosphere has made history. Yet, there was no assurance that she would secure the designation of coordinating instructor for another consecutive year. It is fascinating to see how the coordinating instructor bhikkhunī improved her administrative qualifications to match the director post of educational institutions of Buddhist nuns over the years (Nadungamuwa 2020). Further, the Ministry of Education has upgraded her position to assistant director of the Buddhist nuns’ educational institutes for the first time in 2020 (Kumarage 2020). All this suggests that the passion of one individual bhikkhunī working for the Buddhist nuns’ community changed the educational sector of Buddhist nuns, which had up to that point been neglected by the authorities. This reflects her creative agency that raised the Buddhist nuns’ marginality and low social status to a recognisable level. Further, this creative agency mirrors the intentions of the rest of the bhikkhunī community that is willing to work with other Buddhist nuns groups, bhikkhus, and the state authorities to enhance their community.4 Thus, these bhikkhunīs’ agency is not always a form of active or passive resistance, but a creative conformity, despite their conflicting agendas and interests. The bhikkhunī community in Sri Lanka still perceives itself as part of the mainstream Buddhism, which may support a thriving Buddhist nuns community in the country, despite the fact that all the uncertainties continue to work against them. 6.  Responses of Silmātās Silmātās are often considered by researchers, monastics, and laity to be a passive, subordinated, and liminal alternative female renunciant group, existing on the edges of mainstream Sri Lankan Buddhism, limited to following the eight or ten precepts instead of the 311 precepts of the bhikkhunīs. I argue against such assumptions, asserting that the silmātās have agency within their organisation and have a certain religious authority and status within Sri Lanka because of their current status as the only group of state-sanctioned female renunciants. This status allows them to engage critically and constructively with state authorities on a range of policies. They have built productive and important institutions such as the district associations and, through the work of strong leaders, have managed to create cohesive and proud communities (De Silva 2022). As the only officially recognised and registered community of female Buddhist renunciants in Sri Lanka, the silmātās receive government support and praise in honorary awards and titles. They have used their legal status to advance social programmes and support female Buddhist renunciants who lack legal status (De Silva 2022). They continued to campaign

198  Gihani De Silva for fully registered educational institutions after the institutionalisation of the silmātā national organisation in the late 1980s. Education for female renunciants is an important policy implementation identified by the Report of Presidential Commission of Buddha sāsana/dispensation (2002). However, these recommendations have not been fully embraced by the former governments since 2002. From a bureaucratic standpoint, it was critical to register Buddhist nuns’ educational institutions in areas where unregularised Buddhist education centres were growing. On the one end, the registration is necessary for reducing inequalities, as certain silmātā educational facilities are underfunded compared to the thriving bhikkhunī education centres. On the other hand, some bhikkhunī education centres receive foreign funds and donations, owing to the global networking of bhikkhunī communities. The state has not taken this foreign fund as an alarming threat as, since the 1980s, they promote foreign funds as much as possible from various countries such as Japan, South Korea, China, and Taiwan. However, in my discussions with certain state officers at the DBA, they suggested that the rule that all the Buddhist nuns’ educational institutes must be registered is the best way to keep track of the foreign funds they receive. According to the silmātā community, the registration of Buddhist nuns’ educational institutions is one of the outcomes of their long-standing struggle for education. They have been seeking registration for silmātā education institutes at many of their annual conventions. There was always a demand from families to accommodate their female children in silmātā nunneries. However, silmātās abstain from ordaining young girls due to their lack of educational opportunities for these youngsters. Instead, they tended to ordain middle-aged or older women. A senior silmātā explained how the new registration of educational facilities has catered for this issue. When mothers abandon their young girls, fathers become helpless. We could not accommodate these female children as our pirivena-s were not registered earlier. Since the registration, our silmātā community can accommodate them without any hindrance. There is no more need to send them to schools, where other children attend. (Senevirathna 2019) The registration of educational institutions has regularised the practice of accommodating female children from impoverished families into nunneries and educational institutions. Although many such girls wanted to become young novices, they were mostly sent to schools. Those who attended school with other children tended to drop out of the school or nunnery. As a result, upon silmātās’ request, the DBA has held rounds of discussions with state Ministries on topics such as Social Welfare, Child Care, and Probation to find a potential way to allow these underprivileged girls to be taken lawfully into silmātās’ care and custody (DBA officer, in discussion with the author, Colombo, 20 January 2020). This strategy has proved successful as

Encountering in a New Phase 199 it resolves silmātās’ burning issue of attracting sufficient student intake for their educational institutions. Silmātās are now allowed to take these girls into their classrooms while also supporting them with housing, food, and other requirements. Additionally, it resolves a social issue: girls coming from broken families, resulting from feminisation due to Middle Eastern migration. Some of these children ended up in orphanages, lacking sufficient care and protection. However, it is quite interesting to note how the respondent senior silmātā blamed mothers migrating to the Middle East, rather than family and societal issues. I argue that silmātās’ interest in increasing the student intake in their educational institutes has been influenced by a steady increment of members in the bhikkhunī community in Sri Lanka. It is no surprise that bhikkhunī communities were compelled to increase their membership in the face of uncertainty. This is how a silmātā sees this development. They began ordaining very young children. Those novices lack vision and a role model to emulate. Their preceptors violated the Vinaya/rules. Those preceptors’ objective in monasticism is not to multiply quality, but to multiply quantity. They simply shave novices’ heads and don robes. (District (a) secretary silmātā, in discussion with the author, 25 January 2020) This statement is a reflection of silmātās’ displeasure and growing concerns over the bhikkhunī community. This concern escalated when the bhikkhunī community announced that their membership had reached 8,000 (Dissanayaka 2019). According to a district secretariat silmātā, chief monks did not take bhikkhunīs’ statement positively but showed their displeasure. What matters to silmātās are the chief monks’ responses towards the growing number of bhikkhunī communities in the country. Based on bhikkhu’s responses, silmātās accuse the bhikkhunī community of endangering the life of young novices who are required to obtain ID cards. The following are the thoughts of a secretary from another district. They [bhikkhunīs] accuse us for failure to provide ID cards. It is strange that they ordain younger ones as if these children cannot sit for state examinations. If rules do not allow for such ordinations, why do they do it? Knowing all these rules, they still ordain children to increase their community. When those kids grow up they realise that they cannot obtain an ID card. They become disappointed. Some disrobe. Some of them come to us to get the certificate of disrobe and they at least are not aware of being different than silmātā, which prevents them obtaining an ID. (District (b) secretary silmātā, in discussion with the author, 29 December 2019)

200  Gihani De Silva According to the secretary silmātā, most girls who become novices, or at the very least their guardians, are completely unaware of the differences between the religious vocations that they choose. They are at risk because of the uncertainty surrounding their ordination and their inability to sit for government exams without an ID card. According to some reports, novices must obtain special permission from the Minister of Education before sitting for any exams (Pathirana 2019). Some newcomers have disrobed since they are unable to continue their education. Silmātās believe that this will deter young individuals from seeking monastic education and will lead to the closure of monastic educational institutes. In this context, the leading silmātās will rule out the possibility of choosing a silmātā coordinator/director for Buddhist nuns’ educational institutes in the coming years. 7. Conclusion In Sri Lanka, there have been several developments in the education of Buddhist nuns. The formal incorporation of Buddhist nuns’ educational institutes into systematised monastic education (pirivena) did not occur until 2019. Therefore, the registration of Buddhist nuns’ educational institutions, and the appointment of a coordinating instructor to oversee the duties of the director post (for these educational institutions) are milestones in the recent history of Buddhist nuns in Sri Lanka. Most importantly, both statesponsored silmātās and unsanctioned bhikkhunī communities benefited from the sīlamātā educational institutions. However, when a bhikkhunī was appointed to the post of coordinating instructor, while opposition was raised to this appointment, some existing divisions among the Buddhist nuns’ community were mounted. Having understood the need of a whole Buddhist nun community, the appointed bhikkhunī worked creatively by ignoring the rejections. On the other side, silmātās’ responses towards these developments were unsurprisingly adverse in a context where they serve as the oldest alternative group of renunciant in the country. Despite all these fractions and divisions, neither community shows a resistance against the saṅgha or state authorities. Instead, they see themselves as existing within mainstream Buddhism. Without resistance, they find creative ways to deal with the authorities and make their representation within the larger structure of mainstream Buddhism. Notes 1 Anagarika Dharmapala as lay elite, who was instrumental in founding the ‘Mahā Bodhi Society’ and the Buddhist Theosophical Society for the upliftment of Buddhism, desired a resurgence of Buddhist female renunciation in Sri Lanka. 2 This fivefold great force encompassed Village headmen, Buddhist monks, the ayurvedic physicians, the school teachers, the farmers, and the wage earners. 3 The new bhikkhunī order was established in the late 1990s, when Sri Lankan Buddhist nuns took part in one of the first international ordinations in Sarnath, India, in 1996, and in a second one in Bodhgaya, India, in 1998. From 1998 to

Encountering in a New Phase 201 this date, higher ordination ceremonies are continually held in Sri Lanka among different bhikkhunī communities such as Dambulla, Naugala, and Dekanduwala. Additionally, there are also international ordinations organised by the Sakyadhita Bhikkhunī training centre and the Dekanduwala bhikkhunī training centre. 4 Today, the designation of coordinating instructor is highly appreciated among bhikkhunī communities in Sri Lanka. This well-received stance was noted as an achievement by the deputy chief monk of the Dambulla Golden-rock temple, a proponent of the bhikkhunī community in Sri Lanka. (The deputy chief monk, Dambulla Golden-Rock temple. “Admonition Speech,” December  21, 2019, Sripali School Auditorium, Audio recorded by author. All Island Bhikkhunī Congress Sanghamitta procession.)

References Ames, Michael M. (1967): The Impact of Western Education on Religion and Society in Ceylon. Pacific Affairs, 40(1). Bartholomeusz, Tessa J. (1994): Women under the Bo Tree Buddhist: Nuns in Sri Lanka. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bloss, Lowell W. (1987): The Female Renunciates of Sri Lanka: The Dasasilamatawa. Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies, 7–31. Bond, George D. (1988): The Buddhist Revival in Sri Lanka: Religious Tradition, Reinterpretation and Response. Columbia, SC: University of Carolina Press. Bucar, Elizabeth M. (2010): Dianomy: Understanding Religious Women’s Moral Agency as Creative Conformity. Journal of the American Academy of Religion (September), 662–686. Burke, Kelsy C. (2012): Women’s Agency in Gender-traditional Religions: A Review of Four Approaches. Sociology Compass, 6(2), 122–133. Cheng, Wei-Yi (2007): Buddhist Nuns in Taiwan and Sri Lanka: A Critic of the Feminist Perspective. London and New York: Routledge. De Silva, Gihani (2015): The Response of Dasasilmātās’ to the New Bhikkhunī Order: A Socio-Anthropological Study of the Fragmentation of Buddhist Female Clergy in Sri Lanka. Unpublished MPhil diss., University of Colombo, Colombo. De Silva, Gihani (2022): Vigilant Steps: A  Study of Buddhist Female Renunciant Groups in Contemporary Sri Lanka. Doctoral diss., The University of Otago, New Zealand. https://ourarchive.otago.ac.nz/handle/10523/12742. Dissanayaka, Chandani (2019): There Are Eight Thousand Buddhist Nuns Who Do Not Have the Right to Vote. Lankadeepa, November 10, 2019. Durham, Hannah C. (2015): Sangha and State: An Examination of Sinhalese-­ Buddhist Sangha and State: An Examination of Sinhalese-Buddhist Nationalism in Post-Colonial Sri Lanka Nationalism in Post-Colonial Sri Lanka. Senior Project, Bard College. Falk, Monica (2007): Making Fields of Merit: Buddhist Female Ascetics and Gendered Orders in Thailand. Copenhagen: Nias Press. Giddens, Anthony (1979): Central Problems in Social Theory: Action, Structure, and Contradictions in Social Analysis. Berkley, CA: University of California Press. Gombrich, Richard, and Gananath Obeyesekere (1988): Buddhism Transformed: Religious Change in Sir Lanka. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Goonatilake, Hema (2001): A Silent Revolution: The Restoration of the Bhikkhuni Order in Sri Lanka. Paper presented at Sri Lanka Studies Conference, October, Jaipur, India.

202  Gihani De Silva Gunawardene, R. A. L. H. (1979): Robe and Plough: Monasticism and Economic Interest in Early and Medieval Sri Lanka. Arizona: University of Arizona. Gutschow, Kim (2000): Novice Ordination for Nuns: The Rhetoric and Reality of Female Monasticism in Northwest India. In Women’s Buddhism, Buddhism’s Women: Tradition, Revision, Renewal (ed. by Ellison Banks Findley). Boston: Wisdom Publication. Gutschow, Kim (2004): Being a Buddhist Nun: The Struggle for Enlightenment in the Himalayas. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press. Havnevik, Hanna (2000): Tibetan Buddhist Nuns. Oslo: Norwegian University Press. Kalubovila, Thushari (2010): At a Young Age, Left the Lay Life in Search of Nirvana. Divaina, November 21, 2010. Karunaveera, H. M. Ranjith (2013): The Devotee (Female) Who Built the Monastery for Five Years in Adaulpottha Sushiksha Hermitage. Divaina, June 22, 2013. Kumarage, Manjula (2020): Meheni Halpandeniye Supeshala Is Appointed as Assistant Educational Director for meheni pirivena at Ministry of Education. Ada Newspaper, November 30, 2020. Kusuma, Kolonnawe (2010): The Dasasil Nun: A Study of Women’s Buddhist Religious Movement in Sri Lanka with an Outline of Its Historical Antecedents. Dehiwala: Buddhist Cultural Center. McNay, Lois (2000): Gender and Agency: Reconfiguring the Subject in Feminist and Social Theory. Maiden, MA: Polity Press. Mós, Sean (2014): The Pirivena System of Buddhist Education in Sri Lanka. Accessed October  21, 2020. www.buddhistdoor.net/features/the-pirivena-systemof-buddhist-education-in-sri-lanka. Nadungamuwa, Sadun (2020): An Assistant Director of Education, for Meheni Supeshala. Mawbima, November  30, 2020. http://mawbima.lk/backend/uploads/e_ paper?MB-1-16-2020-11-30-MB.pdf. Pathirana, Saroj (2019): “Sri Lanka’s Bhikkhunī Nuns and Their Fight for Identity Papers. BBC News. Accessed August  17, 2020. www.bbc.com/news/worldasia-49979978. Rahula, Walpola (1956): History of Buddhism in Ceylon: The Anuradhapura Period (3rd Century B.C.—10th Century A.C.). Dehiwala: The Buddhist Cultural Centre. Rahula, Walpola (1974): The Heritage of the Bhikkhu. New York: Grove Press, Inc. Salgado, S. Nirmala (1996): Ways of Knowing and Transmitting Religious Knowledge: Case Studies of Theravada Buddhist Nuns. Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies, 19(1), 61–79. Salgado, S. Nirmala (1998): Buddhist Nuns, Nationalist Ideals and Revivalist Discourse. Nethra, 2(January–March). Samadhi, Lakshapatiye (2013): Meheṇivata. Dehivala: Buddhist Cultural Center. Schonthal, Benjamin (2018): Litigating Vinaya: Buddhist Law and Public Law in Contemporary Sri Lanka. Buddhism, Law & Society, 3, 17–25. Senevirathna, Bandara (2019): The Advent of Silmātā-s in Heladiva (Documentary). Colombo: Win Won Live TV, The Department of Buddhist Affairs. Sponberg, Alan (1992): Attitudes Toward Women and the Feminine in Early Buddhism. In Buddhism, Sexuality, and Gender (ed. by Jose I. Cabezon). Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. The Report of Presidential Commission of Buddha sāsana. (2002): Sri Lankan Department of Government Printing. https://www.lankaweb.com/news/items/2012/05/01/2002report-of-the-presidential-commission-on-the-buddha-sasana/

Encountering in a New Phase 203 The Temporary Recognition List of Sīlamātā Education Institutions. Accessed November 5, 2020. www.pirivena.sch.lk/sinhala/newsline/selamatha.pdf. Tsomo, Karma L. (ed.) (2000): Innovative Buddhist Women: Swimming against the Stream. Richmond, Surrey: Routledge. Wilson, A. Jayaratnam (1974): Politics in Sri Lanka, 1947-1973. London: The Macmillan Press.

10 Against Marginality, Inequality, and Dependency Remarkable Buddhist Nuns in Sikkim Marlene Erschbamer1 1. Introduction Tibetan Buddhist nuns often lived on the fringes of monasteries, both in terms of physical location and social status. However, in the history of Sikkim, a few female practitioners negotiated this form of dependency and marginality. In spite of the prevailing male norms and dominations, they have stepped out of the shadows of their cultural, religious, and social roles. Even more, they took leading positions in a religious environment. Based on these achievements, these nuns became remarkable in a Buddhist setting. Only sparse information is available about Buddhist nuns in Tibet and in Tibetan-influenced societies along the Himalayas, such as in Sikkim.2 Female adepts and teachers, although known in their time, were often marginalized or excluded from historical and cultural memory (Gianotti 2020: 42).3 While women were active in religious life (Schaeffer 2005: 103), their roles and deeds within Buddhist communities were seldom written down (HolmesTagchungdarpa 2014: 159). As a result, these women have gradually disappeared from (or never made it into) the historical and cultural memory.4 Practicing women mainly acted quietly in the background and continued their practice with difficulties (Willis 2014: 87). Even more, “nuns have been less respected than monks, and were regularly the object of derogatory comments and generalized prejudice” (Samuel 2012: 211). Nuns’ lives were thus filled with inequality and marginality when compared to the possibilities and chances of Tibetan Buddhist monks.5 Monks could gain religious power and become socially and politically influential. Berthe Jansen stated that “[i]n Tibet, as in other countries where Buddhism was adopted as the dominant religion, monasteries came to be major players in politics, economics, culture, art, and society as a whole” (Jansen 2018: 1). The reality of Tibetan Buddhist nuns was different. Generally, women were seen as lacking a man’s intellect, having a weaker mind, and possessing higher vulnerabilities to temptations (Aziz 2014: 26). Being born a woman implied the accumulation of bad karma in former lives. As a result, women were deemed inferior to men. This gender difference becomes evident when looking into how language was adopted to address DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-11

Against Marginality, Inequality, and Dependency 205 women and men: The commonly used term to denote a woman or a wife was ‘kyemen’ (skye dman), which means ‘low born, ignoble’ or, in the words of Heinrich Jäschke, “born a human being, it is true, but only a female” (Jäschke 2003: 28). This “refers to the Buddhist belief that the best rebirth to have is that of a man, since men are considered better equipped to attain enlightenment” (Makley 2014: 52). Consequently, men were addressed with more exalting and dignified terms, such as ‘kyebagyal’ (skye bas rgyal), which signifies ‘victorious by birth’ (Aziz 2014: 25–26; Diemberger 2007: 9–10; Chotsho 2014: 230). As a result of this gender image, access to education became a marker of gender inequality, and Tibetan women had less access to education (Havnevik 1989: 118; Makley 2014: 52). As stated by Karma Lekshe Tsomo “due to cultural conditioning, social expectations, and their own delusions of incapability, the range of religious opportunities for women was far more limited than for men. These limitations were most substantially felt in the area of education” (Tsomo 2014: 156). Education is an important achievement on the spiritual path in Tibetan Buddhism. Of all subjects, philosophy is a central Buddhist pillar, and its study is regarded essential (Tulku 2000: 2–4). Buddha Śākyamuni, for example, has centered his teachings around philosophical topics, such as the Four Noble Truths. These include questions on and interpretations of the causes and nature of the cyclic existence (saṃsāra). However, in pre-1950s Tibetan Buddhist societies, almost no nun was allowed to study Buddhist philosophy. They neither were allowed to obtain the highest degree in Tibetan Buddhism, the Geshe degree, which is equivalent to a Western PhD (Tseyang 2014: 83).6 In comparison to Tibet and its old monastic tradition, the situation in Sikkim was different. The first monasteries in Sikkim were established during the seventeenth century. Since then, the monks’ community has grown gradually (Ardussi et  al. 2021: 92, 132; Balikci 2008: 60; Tsering 2008). However, there were no Sikkimese centers for higher Buddhist studies up to the twentieth century. Only few Sikkimese monks could afford to travel to the head monasteries in Tibet to study Buddhist philosophy (Balikci 2008: 60). Still, education must be mentioned as a marker of inequality also in a Sikkimese context. Sikkim has been visited and influenced by various Tibetan Buddhist personages. They sought shelter, found new donors, and taught Buddhism in this region of the Himalayas. More importantly, they came from places where men traditionally had more opportunities for education and religious careers than women.7 Hence, they brought these ideas with them while they traveled in Sikkim. Notably, there are no records of Sikkimese nunneries before the twentieth century.8 Lieutenant Colonel Laurence Austine Waddell (1854–1938), an explorer and Tibetologist who traveled to Sikkim in the 1890s, observed that “[n]uns are admitted to a few monasteries, but their number is extremely small, and individually they are illiterate, old, and decrepit” (Waddell 2010: 258–259).

206  Marlene Erschbamer There are different reasons why nunneries had not been established in Sikkim before the twentieth century. Several monasteries accumulated political and economic power. Monks were often advisors to the king and performed important state rituals (Ardussi et  al. 2021: 132–138). Nuns might not have fit into this picture of monasticism. Even more, celibate monasteries, as found in Tibet, were never successfully established in Sikkim. Often, the monks met only for rituals in the monasteries. This resulted from the lack of agricultural labor. In order to support the family and the fields, as expected by Sikkimese society, a man needed a wife and an income. ­Therefore, monks frequently lived as married men with their families and tilled the fields when they were not needed for performing rituals (Balikci 2008: 24, 60–62). Similarly, women were needed as laborers in the family and on the fields. Besides, women had other opportunities to devote themselves to Buddhist practices, including Mani Lhakhang or Mani Amla communities (HolmesTagchungdarpa 2014: 163–165).9 These village-structures gave room to women for fasting practices and for reciting the mantra ‘oṃ maṇi padme hūṃ’ connected with Avalokiteśvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion. The mani lhakhangs were usually part of monasteries, and the women and nuns were instructed by monks who were installed to guide these practitioners. Consequently, Mani Amla women and nuns remained dependent on monasteries and on the male tutors who directed these structures. However, a general shift in gender equality occurred in Indian exile, when Tibetan Buddhist nuns were influenced by Western nuns and their feminist ideals, including Western notions of gender equality (Schneider 2012: 114).10 In addition, Western sponsors made it feasible for Tibetan nuns to devote themselves intensively to Buddhist studies. The Tibetan Nuns Project, for example, was established in 1987 to provide nuns with higher Buddhist teachings. The possibility to study extensively the canonical and philosophical texts led to the first Geshema degrees awarded to nuns in 2016 (Tibetan Nuns Project 2019).11 In terms of education being a marker of inequality, nuns have thus gotten an opportunity to defy marginality.12 This study will contextualize Tibetan Buddhist nuns who played an active role in Sikkim. It will focus on nuns who emerged from prevailing dependency and marginality and became part of the cultural memory. Therefore, I denote these women, their lives, and achievements as remarkable. In a first step, remarkable Buddhist women who lived in or visited Sikkim, including Jetsün Mingyur Paldrön, Pelling Ani Wangzin, Khandro Padma Dechen, and the sisters Damchö Dolma and Ganga Lhamo, will be set in context. Then, a contemporary Tibetan Buddhist nun born in Sikkim, Karma Sonam Palmo, will be presented and examined. Her life will exemplarily demonstrate how the possibilities of nuns have changed in a Tibetan Buddhist environment in Indian exile. Contrary to social norms, these Buddhist nuns have broken out of marginality, inequality, and dependency, and assumed an active role in their communities. The following research questions shall be examined: what made these nuns remarkable? How did they achieve something extraordinary

Against Marginality, Inequality, and Dependency 207 in a religious or social context? Which markers favor or prevent female agency in a Tibetan Buddhist context? Wherever possible, nunhood will be examined from a women’s perspective that also includes a larger social context. Makley argued that this “would entail placing it within the context of a very different relationship (from that of monkhood) to the family and within the context of the particular situations in which women strategize” (Makley 2014: 52). Due to the influence of feminist ideas in Indian exile, Tibetan Buddhist nuns now sought possibilities that were once reserved for monks. As a result, the monks’ potential achievements have become relevant when addressing female agency of nuns. Therefore, such considerations will be examined while contextualizing Tibetan Buddhist nuns in Sikkim. All these results stem from textual studies. 2.  Remarkable Buddhist Nuns in Sikkim The Tibetan nun Jetsün Mingyur Paldrön (1699–1769) represented a counterexample to the gender norms mentioned here. She took active positions in Buddhist communities in Tibet as well as in Sikkim. In addition, she influenced high-ranking Tibetan Buddhist monks, the childlike fourth Sikkimese king, Gyurme Namgyal (1707–1733), and other aristocracy. This was revolutionary in an eighteenth-century environment. Her origins and the encouragement of her influential father made her privileged. This helped her to break out the prevailing inequality, marginality, and dependency of ‘normal’ nuns. In Buddhist religious life, gender was not the only marker of inequality within ordained communities, but also origin, privilege, and social status. Additionally, all of these are interconnected, which is why it is important to consider them when talking about the rights of men and women, or more precisely, of monks and nuns in a Buddhist setting (Melnick 2018). For example, Jetsün Mingyur Paldrön originated from a family that emphasized the importance of educating women. Her father, Terdag Lingpa (1646–1714), decreed that all daughters of his lineage would receive the same educational opportunities as his sons. In addition, all daughters received the title Jetsün (rje btsun). Nuns from aristocratic families usually bore this title that referred to their origin (Makley 2014: 54). These women held higher positions in nunneries compared to less privileged women from lower classes (e.g., Erschbamer 2019; Makley 2014: 55). In addition, Jetsün Mingyur Paldrön was supported and respected in her religious ambitions, which was contrary to the prevailing social status of many Tibetan nuns. Social status was a notable marker of inequality in a religious setting. Nuns were often less valued and less supported in their religious life compared to monks (Liang 2020: 308). However, Jetsün Mingyur Paldrön’s father made her a lineage holder and commissioned her to teach the Buddhist doctrine to others. In 1717, the Dzungar Mongols invaded Tibet and threatened members of the Nyingma tradition, to which Jetsün Mingyur

208  Marlene Erschbamer Paldrön belonged. To escape oppression and persecution, she accepted an invitation by a high Nyingma Lama, Lhatsun Jikme Pawo (b.1682), to Sikkim. Once she arrived in Sikkim, she received a royal welcome. She shaved her head and donned the robes of a nun. The young king, Gyurme Namgyal, allowed her to transmit many teachings to faithful people, including the king himself and high monks (Ardussi et al. 2021: 154–156; Bhutia 2014; Khandro and Paldrön 2015: 18, 43–47; Tshering 2002: 175–177; Melnick 2014: 91–95; Mullard 2011: 168–170). Although she was highly respected and taught high monks, she was not granted equal rights as a male teacher because of being a woman. For instance, it was recorded that she gave her teachings in front of a stūpa below Pemayangtse Monastery and not inside the monastery. This resulted from the rule that, as a woman, she was not allowed to enter these monastery grounds (Ardussi et al. 2021: 155). Alison Melnick summarized Mingyur Paldrön’s time and activities in Sikkim: Surprisingly, Mingyur Peldrön’s exile in Sikkim is marked not with sorrow but with joy and spiritual accomplishment on all sides. Not only do the general population and the aristocracy and leadership benefit, but Mingyur Peldrön herself also progresses in her own spiritual practices. (Melnick 2014: 94) Jetsün Mingyur Paldrön’s agency was highly respected and remembered in Sikkim. She was, however, not the only woman who took an active role in Sikkim and who shaped the land as a female religious figure. Another well-­remembered nun is Pelling Ani Wangzin (1870s–1920s). She too was born into a privileged family that supported her religious plans. As stated by Amy HolmesTagchungdarpa: “Pelling Ani Wangdzin was unusual—she forfeited the life of a conventional Sikkimese Lhopo aristocrat to follow the path of a Tibetan Buddhist yoginī and became a renowned teacher within her c­ommunity” ­(Holmes-Tagchungdarpa 2014: 160). Like Jetsün Mingyur Paldrön, her origin and her family’s support made her privileged in comparison to other women. In her teens, she dressed like a bhikṣuṇī, a fully ordained nun. However, the existence of a bhikṣuṇī lineage in Sikkim is not proven. Supported by her family, she traveled across the Himalayas to Nepal and Tibet. After studying Tibetan Buddhist teachings and practices, she returned to Sikkim and started to take an active role in a religious setting. She began teaching and introduced the Avalokiteśvara practices to her devotees. Finally, she established a teaching center in Pelling. Pelling Ani Wangdzin had never held any official religious position, but she still deeply inspired Sikkimese women. Her legacy lives on in Sikkimese Mani Amla communities in the form of oral narratives and the religious practices that she once introduced (Holmes-Tagchungdarpa 2014). The third historical example consists of the Tibetan Khandro Padma Dechen (1923–2006). She became a respected Buddhist teacher, who was supported in her activities by the Sikkimese royal family (Thogmed 2006:

Against Marginality, Inequality, and Dependency 209 139–140). Notably, she is remembered as the most accomplished female practitioner of Tibetan Buddhism in Sikkim (Vandenhelsken and Wongchuk 2006: 88). Born into a noble lawyer family in Eastern Tibet, her father enabled her basic education, such as reading and writing. Besides being privileged in terms of receiving education and royal support, her origins and social status paved the way for her to take an active position. At the age of 13, she became the consort of a great Tibetan master, yogī Trulzhik Rinpoche (1897–1962). Together, they traveled through Tibet, Nepal, and Bhutan as well as to Andhra Pradesh and Arunachal Pradesh in India to practice meditation. In 1946, they visited Sikkim. The eleventh Sikkimese king, Tashi Namgyal (1893–1963), asked them to oversee the erection of the Dodrul stūpa in Deorali. Furthermore, Khandro Padma Dechen traveled extensively across Sikkim in her younger years and gave spiritual advice to devotees. She also collected statues and scriptures for Chorten Monastery, which became her main residence. There, she was actively involved in all religious ceremonies as chief patron (Gyatso 2012: 137–140; Thogmed 2006: 140–141). Chorten Monastery was established as a practice place by her first consort, Trulzhik Rinpoche. Her second consort, Dodrupchen Rinpoche (1927–2022), expanded it into a flourishing monastery (Balikci 2008: 62–63; Thogmed 2006: 140; Vandenhelsken and Wongchuk 2006: 88). In both cases, Khandro Padma Dechen helped her consorts with the establishment of religious sites, along with turning into a venerated and accomplished female practitioner. However, there were also women who independently set up practice places in Sikkim. The sisters Damchö Dolma and Ganga Lhamo founded practice places for nuns that, unlike the mani lhakhangs, were not subordinate to a monastery. In other words, they established a largely independent place run by and dedicated for nuns, where they could devote themselves to Buddhist practices. In 1980, the nun Damchö Dolma built Taktse Nunnery, also known as Urgyen Chokhorling. It was built below her father’s small hermitage at Taktse, close to the Sikkimese capital of Gangtok.13 This nunnery became a home for women from Sikkim and Bhutan. It was one out of only two nunneries listed by the Ecclesiastical Affairs Department (2012a).14 After her passing, her sister, the nun Ganga Lhamo, looked after the nunnery. Additionally, Ganga Lhamo established a small drupkhang (sgrub khang), a house or building used for meditation. This structure allowed entry into a three-year-and-threemonth retreat, known as losum-dasum (lo gsum zla gsum; Ecclesiastical Affairs Department 2012c; Swami 2006: 161–164). Out of 25 meditation places or drupkhang listed by the Ecclesiastical Affairs Department of Sikkim, this was the only one led exclusively by nuns and for nuns. Nonetheless, the nuns never became fully independent and remained partly marginal compared to monasteries. While the administration of the monastery was held by senior nuns, some of whom taught the younger nuns, the nuns relied on instructions from visiting monks. The studies included memorization and recitations of only basic philosophical texts and not higher

210  Marlene Erschbamer Buddhist studies (Swami 2006: 162). To conclude, founding a largely independent nunnery and meditation place for nuns made Damchö Dolma and Ganga Lhamo remarkable in a Buddhist setting in Sikkim. The common element in all these examples is that markers such as education, origin, social status, and privilege substantially influenced the chance to assume active roles in a religious setting. Each of these women left a lasting mark on the religious communities in Sikkim. While this marked some progress, Tibetan Buddhist nuns in Sikkim have continued living marginal and unequal roles. For example, nuns traditionally had fewer sponsors and thus received less financial support than monks, caused by a widespread belief that supporting monks brings greater merit (Swami 2006: 165). Additionally, nuns from the Taktse nunnery argued that their menstrual cycle prevented them from achieving the same level as monks (Swami 2006: 165). One possible explanation for this reasoning is that, in a Tibetan Buddhist context, menstruation was viewed as a physical enemy opposed to religious purity (Makley 2014: 52). Nevertheless, few contemporary Tibetan Buddhist nuns negotiated prevailing prejudices and became role models for female agency. 3.  The Tibetan Buddhist Nun Karma Sonam Palmo Karma Sonam Palmo is a contemporary example of a remarkable Buddhist nun. Her life and achievements for female agency in a religious context made her a role model for nuns who aspire to step out of dependency and marginality. In addition, Karma Sonam Palmo’s life represented an example of how gender equality and educational opportunities changed within a Tibetan Buddhist environment in Indian exile. She started off from conditions that differed substantially from the nuns discussed in Section Two. For example, she lived in times with different gender norms and in a different environment, both of which generally offered more opportunities for Tibetan Buddhist nuns. Karma Sonam Palmo was born into a Tibetan refugee family in Sikkim that belonged to the Karma Kagyu tradition of Tibetan Buddhism. She defined herself as “a Tibetan Buddhist nun belonging to the Karma Kagyu Lineage of Tibetan Buddhism” (Palmo 2020). In 1959, Karma Sonam Palmo’s parents, along with many other Tibetans, left Tibet due to the difficult political situation. They followed the example of high spiritual dignitaries, such as the Karmapa.15 In Sikkim, they found a new home in the surrounding area of Rumtek Monastery, which had been established by the Karmapa as his main seat in Indian exile. In the mid-1980s, when she was in her mid-teens, Karma Sonam Palmo joined the nuns’ community of Rumtek monastery. The community was headed by five Tibetan nuns and consisted of 20 to 25 nuns in total. A few nuns came from other Sikkimese areas or from Bhutan, but most were descendants from Tibetan exiles who lived around this monastery, such as Karma Sonam Palmo (Palmo 2020). In the early 1990s, she decided to leave this monastery and to move on, both literally and metaphorically.

Against Marginality, Inequality, and Dependency 211 The controversy surrounding the incarnation of the Karmapa made her discontent.16 Therefore, she left her monastic community in Sikkim. She first joined a nunnery in Nepal but then moved to Sarnath, Varanasi, in North India, where she studied Buddhist philosophy at the Central Institute of Higher Tibetan Studies, which is a Buddhist university.17 Hence, she escaped from marginality caused by the limited educational opportunities that Tibetan Buddhist nuns traditionally faced in Sikkim. After nine years of study, she graduated with an Ācārya degree, equivalent to a Western master’s degree (Palmo 2020). Considering the importance of studying philosophy in a Tibetan Buddhist environment, this was an important step towards independence for Karma Sonam Palmo. These studies also paved the way for her to occupy active positions in spaces of religious authority later on. In addition, she possessed the courage to immerse herself in the Western educational system abroad and to become a scholar. Karma Sonam Palmo took part in an exchange program between the Central Institute of Higher Tibetan Studies in India and the University of Tasmania in Australia. Since she had already completed her master’s degree in the form of an Ācārya, she enrolled in a PhD program in the School of Philosophy and Gender Studies (Palmo 2020). In 2013, she submitted her PhD thesis, entitled Gender and the Soteriology Debate in Buddhism: Is a Female Buddha Possible in Non-­Esoteric Buddhism? (Palmo 2013) She concluded in her thesis that in all Buddhist traditions there exists a possibility of interpreting a female Buddhahood, but “certain interpretations of the Buddha’s teachings and doctrines can create gender-biased views derived from social and cultural factors” (Palmo 2013: 225). After her PhD, she returned to India and joined the Central Institute of Higher Tibetan Studies as Research Associate, where she started working on Buddhist lexicography from Sanskrit to Tibetan (Palmo 2020). Her department’s aim was to restore ancient Indian sciences and literature that were preserved in Tibetan but lost in the original Sanskrit version. To summarize, Karma Sonam Palmo transcended prevailing gender roles and expectations in a Buddhist society. With her successful studies and research, she proved that women were capable of higher Buddhist studies. Additionally, Karma Sonam Palmo has become a female Buddhist teacher. In Sikkim, she explained simple teachings to a general audience and taught higher Buddhist philosophy to students. She matriculated as a Visiting Assistant Professor at the Namgyal Institute of Tibetology in Sikkim to teach the philosophical text Abhidharmakośabhāṣya for the institute’s two-year MA program in Buddhist and Tibetan Studies.18 As she explained, she was delighted to get the opportunity to teach and to deal intensively with this topic, which is a meaningful task to her. Finally, Karma Sonam Palmo assumed female agency in an area in which Tibetan Buddhist nuns have not yet been active in Sikkim: she established herself as an author of Buddhist topics. While still studying Buddhist philosophy, she heard about the ‘Basic Buddhist Teachings Project’ launched by the

212  Marlene Erschbamer Namgyal Institute of Tibetology in Gangtok, Sikkim. She contacted the Namgyal Institute and expressed her interest in this project. During the following summer vacation, she met with representatives. Following this, the director from the Namgyal Institute, Mr. Tashi Densapa, commissioned her to write a book about Basic Buddhist Teachings for a generally interested Sikkimese audience. Given the traditional roles women and nuns played in Tibetan Buddhist societies, this was an outstanding achievement and development. She worked on this project from Sarnath, where she wrote on selected Buddhist topics in a very simple and concise form (Palmo 2020). The book was intended to provide answers and background knowledge to all who want to learn why basic Buddhist practices are being carried out, which includes practices such as lighting butter lamps, incense offerings, and prostrations. As a Tibetan Buddhist from Sikkim, she perceived that such a book would be of great value to all Buddhists who perform these practices in their daily life. Finally, the book was published in 2012 (Palmo 2012). The Sikkimese press appreciated the publication as follows: The Director of the Institute was keenly aware that a lot of youngsters keep coming to the Institute to enquire about the basic aspects of Buddhism, as opposed to the generations above them that just took their religion for granted. He wanted to publish a very concise and precise book that would answer all the little questions that make Buddhism the wonderful living religion and philosophy it is. (SikkimNow! 2012) Generally, only a few nuns had acted as authors in the history of Tibetan Buddhism (Diemberger 2007: 83; Ehrhard 2009: 192, 201). In the case of Sikkim, this was the first time a Tibetan Buddhist nun tackled such a task. A few decades earlier, it would have been unlikely that a Buddhist nun would volunteer as an author and be commissioned to write a book for the general public. Overall, Karma Sonam Palmo’s life exemplified how the possibilities of Tibetan Buddhist nuns changed in Indian exile. Her authorship and teachings of elementary and advanced Buddhist studies made her a remarkable Tibetan Buddhist nun that became active in Sikkim. Hence, she escaped from a traditional marginality and dependency of nuns and assumed a central role in society. 4.  Discussion and Conclusion By analyzing Tibetan Buddhist nuns in Sikkim, the intersection of social identities, or rather categories of inequalities, have become evident. Such categories comprise markers that include gender, education, origin, privilege, and social status. Gender has played a crucial role in determining the opportunity to devote oneself to higher Buddhist studies, which was regarded as one possible way to reach Buddhahood. Women and nuns have

Against Marginality, Inequality, and Dependency 213 been ascribed a reduced intellectual ability, a weaker mind, and a higher susceptibility to temptation. Therefore, they were denied access to education in general and, especially, to higher philosophical education. The possibility of religious education and, simultaneously, a religious career developed into one marker of gender inequality within Tibetan Buddhist communities. Besides education, origin, privilege, and social status were decisive in determining opportunities within such a religious environment. However, a shift in gender equality took place in Indian exile, among others, due to the influence of Western concepts, including feminism and related ideas of equality. As a result, nuns started taking on more active roles within Tibetan Buddhist communities. They have demonstrated that, contrary to the long prevailing opinion, they have intellectual abilities for higher Buddhist studies. Consequently, origin, privilege, social status, and gender have lost their influence as barriers to higher ­Buddhist studies or, at least, have become less important to decide whether one can take an active role in a religious setting. Each one of the women addressed here represented an outstanding example of female agency in Sikkim in their respective time. Hence, they have become remarkable. In this context, various similarities can be observed. Circumstances and markers, such as origin, education, privilege, and social status, favored their agency. In addition, these women have traveled and left their homeland. Consequently, they have received various Buddhist teachings and, more significantly, were exposed to new impressions, experiences, and ideas. Compared to other Tibetan Buddhist nuns, they have had the opportunity to broaden their horizons through traveling. This appears to be a decisive factor in whether they have assumed agency in their lives, especially relevant for Tibetan Buddhist nuns living in or visiting Sikkim. Unlike in Tibet, there were neither nunneries nor centers for higher Buddhist studies in Sikkim until the twentieth century. However, Pelling Ani Wangdzin and Karma Sonam Palmo seized female agency after traveling and returning to Sikkim. Other Tibetan Buddhist nuns, such as Jetsün Mingyur Paldrön and Khandro Padma Dechen, came to Sikkim on their journeys, where they took an active role in society. Finally, their lives and deeds have been recorded and preserved, and thus they are remembered. In other words, they have become part of the historical and cultural memory. In summary, Mani Amla communities in Sikkim and Tibetan Buddhist nuns in India belong to minority communities in South Asia. They have been and still are surrounded by divergent newly emerging cultural institutions and ideas. Influenced by, among others, Western norms and ideas, they have increased their opportunities for equality—especially in terms of receiving higher education. Regardless of the prevailing image of and prejudice against women, some remarkable Tibetan Buddhist nuns have shaped the Buddhist environment in Sikkim. They have seized female agency and partially overcome the prevailing marginality, inequality, and dependency in a religious setting.

214  Marlene Erschbamer Notes 1 I show my gratitude to the organizers from Heidelberg University and the participants of the online workshop ‘Female Religious Leaders and Dynamics of Female Agency in Religious Settings in South Asia’ in August 2020. Special thanks are due to Ute Hüsken, Nanette R. Spina, and Agi Wittich for their effort in editing this volume. I thank Anna Balikci-Denjongpa and the Namgyal Institute in ­Sikkim, who always have an open ear for my questions and concerns. Finally, I am deeply grateful to Karma Sonam Palmo for agreeing to share information about her life and experience as a Tibetan Buddhist nun in South Asia.   A note on Tibetan names and terms: Important Tibetan terms are given in parentheses according to the Wylie’s transliteration system, e.g., Chogyal (chos rgyal). For the transcription of Tibetan names, I mainly followed the established Sikkimese version. 2 During the eighth century, the Tibetan king Trisong Detsen, one of three Tibetan Dharma kings, called Chogyal (chos rgyal) in Tibetan, introduced Indian Buddhism in Tibet, from which different Buddhist traditions developed. Together they make up Tibetan Buddhism, a form of Mahāyāna and Vajrayāna Buddhism. From the Tibetan Plateau, Tibetan Buddhism spread to the neighboring Himalayan countries, including Bhutan, parts of Nepal, and North India. The areas that were once influenced by Tibet and Tibetan Buddhism became known as Tibetan Cultural Area (Erschbamer 2015). 3 Besides joining a nunnery in their early years, women had few possibilities to lead a religious life. They could, for example, take basic vows while staying with their families. Alternatively, women could wait until their children were old enough and then take full novice vows to join a nunnery for intense practice. Finally, a few women left all worldly affairs behind and led a life in solitude as an ascetic (Gianotti 2012: 202–203). 4 With some exceptions: particularly noteworthy is the secular history of Sikkim and the House of Namgyal, partly written by the ninth Sikkim Chogyal’s Tibetan wife, Gyalmo Yeshe Dolma (Ardussi et al. 2021). Other exceptions include the life writings of the Tibetan Buddhist nun Orgyan Chokyi (Schaeffer 2004), the Tibetan princess and founder of a religious dynasty Samding Dorje Phagmo (Diemberger 2007), the Tibetan nun and lineage holder Jetsün Mingyur Paldrön (Melnick 2014), and the Tibetan yoginī Kunga Trinle Wangmo (Sheehy 2020). Finally, in 2011, Tibetan nuns from Larung Gar in Sichuan Province started collecting and publishing Buddhist texts about and by women (Baimacuo and Jacoby 2020: 7–10). In contrast, numerous Tibetan texts address the lives and impacts of male Buddhist personalities. 5 Gender inequality that favored the marginalization of nuns has a long history in a Buddhist context. The Cullavagga of the Theravāda Vinaya, for example, includes narratives that address the Buddha’s attitude towards gender equality and the establishment of the Buddhist Order of nuns. According to them, Mahāpajāpatī Gotamī—aunt and foster mother of the Buddha—asked three times for permission to accept women into the Buddhist Order. The Buddha refused without giving a reason. Then the disciple Ānanda interfered and discussed this issue with the Buddha. The latter admitted that, in principle, women had the same ability to gain Enlightenment as men. As a result, Mahāpajāpatī Gotamī was allowed to join the Order. However, she had to accept and follow eight important rules, aṭṭha garudhamma in Pali. Buddhist nuns still have to follow them today, while monks do not (e.g., Anālayo 2015; Hüsken 1997, 2000; and 2010). According to Herrmann-Pfandt (2014: 2–4), these rules reflect the dichotomy between a social subordination of women and a religious equality of the sexes regarding the ability of achieve Enlightenment. Overall, the different rules that nuns had to follow

Against Marginality, Inequality, and Dependency 215 in comparison to monks display a gender-based perception. On the one hand, women were perceived differently because of physical qualities, which include menstruation, pregnancy, or breastfeeding. On the other hand, they were also perceived differently because of their nature, which is said to include a tendency to termagantism (Hüsken 2018: 217). Consequently, the social convention was a subordination of women. 6 Nonetheless, there are records of Tibetan Buddhist nuns that have accepted their lower role compared to monks. For example, Orgyan Chokyi defined women as “the most significant symbols of suffering [and] samsara embodied” (Schaeffer 2004: 8). Similarly, a senior nun from Sikkim stated that the different monastic rules and opportunities between nuns and monks were justified. Ultimately, women were and still are subordinate. Therefore, she saw no need to change these rules (Swami 2006: 164–165). Nevertheless, I will focus on Buddhist nuns whose lives differ from this general image of women. 7 For a list on formative Tibetan Buddhist personages that visited Sikkim, see Erschbamer (forthcoming). 8 For comparison, 618 nunneries were reported in Tibet before the communist invasion of the 1950s (Tsomo 2014: 145). While some of them were established in remote areas (Tsomo 2014: 145), others were built closer to the villages than monasteries. This led to the villagers calling the nuns for help to cultivate the fields (Gutschow 2004: 6; Jansen 2018: 97; Makley 2014: 54; Samuel 1993: 310). Consequently, these nuns spent much of their time doing physical work outside the monastic walls instead of mastering higher Buddhist teachings (Cassinelli and Ekvall 1969: 297, 311). 9 As per definition of the Government of Sikkim (2019), a ‘mani lhakhang’ is a place for nuns and lady devotees, named ‘nyamos,’ to offer prayers under the guidance of a tutor. The one-story building includes prayer wheels, a shrine room, and a clearly visible image of Avalokiteśvara. At least one male tutor and eight nuns or nyamos should ensure that all monthly rituals and all other Buddhist events are carried out. In total, 163 mani lhakhangs are listed by the Ecclesiastical Affairs Department of Sikkim, which are located throughout the state (Ecclesiastical Affairs Department 2012d). Most mani lhakhangs belong to the Nyingma (rnying ma) tradition of Tibetan Buddhism, the most widespread form in Sikkim. Others belong to the Kagyu (bka’ brgyud) tradition, either Karma Kagyu (kar ma bka’ brgyud) or Barawa Kagyu (’ba’ ra ba bka’ brgyud). The latter is an offshoot of the Drukpa Kagyu (’brug pa bka’ brgyud) tradition (Erschbamer 2017: 200–218). 10 Concepts such as feminism or gender equality are Western ideas and therefore traditionally foreign to Tibet and the Himalayan region. Nevertheless, Tibetan Buddhist women tried to improve the situation of women, for example, their education opportunities or social and monastic status. These contributions might be comparable to Western feminist ideas and movements (Baimacuo and Jacoby 2020). 11 Geshema (dge bshes ma) is the female form for Geshe (dge bshes), the degree awarded to monks. It developed within the Gelug (dge lugs) tradition of Tibetan Buddhism and is the highest level of education within Tibetan Buddhism, comparable to a Western PhD in Tibetan Buddhist philosophy. As stated by Tarab Tulku, “[p]resumably around the eighteenth century, the term Geshe started to be used to designate a particular academic degree. After the Geshe degree was firmly established, the term Geshe was restricted to this degree of Buddhist philosophy only” (Tulku 2000: 19). 12 Monastic education of Buddhist nuns also changed in other parts of South Asia, such as in Sri Lanka (De Silva, chapter 9). 13 In the 1950s, her father traveled from Ladakh to Tibet and further on to Sikkim. He was a doctor Lama who gave medical advice in his small hermitage at Taktse (Ecclesiastical Affairs Department 2012c; Swami 2006: 161–162).

216  Marlene Erschbamer 14 The other nunnery is Bongyong Ani Gonpa. It follows the Nyingma tradition of Tibetan Buddhism and was established in 2005 by a woman named Kesang Chunyalpa (Ecclesiastical Affairs Department 2012b). 15 The Karmapa is the head and supreme lama of the Karma Kagyu tradition of Tibetan Buddhism, the largest of the many traditions that are grouped together as Kagyu traditions. After the Dalai Lama, he is the most influential religious personage within Tibetan Buddhism. His incarnation lineage goes back to the twelfth century. 16 After the sixteenth Karmapa had died in 1981, the search for his reincarnation began. Two candidates were identified, and both were enthroned, which resulted in a controversy as to which of the two was the true throne holder. 17 Since Tibetans have exiled in India, followers have succeeded in building up religious structures in many historical Buddhist locations. For example, the Central Institute of Higher Tibetan Studies (CIHTS) at Sarnath became a symbol of Indian-Tibetan cooperation. The Institute is probably the most important Tibetan cultural institution in India. It was established by the Indian Government as per wishes of the Dalai Lama to preserve Tibetan Buddhism and Tibetan culture. The subjects that are offered at the university include Buddhist philosophy, Tibetan medicine, Tibetan astrology, and Tibetan fine arts. Besides this, old Indian literature is being restored that was lost in the original language but has been preserved in Tibetan translations (Huber 2008: 368–371; Palmo 2020). 18 The Abhidharmakośabhāṣya is the commentary in prose of the Abhidharm­ akośakārikā, both written by Vasubhandu, an influential Buddhist philosopher who lived in the fifth century. These texts were only preserved in Tibetan and Chinese translations (Dhammajoti 2016).

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218  Marlene Erschbamer on Tibetan Women (ed. by Geshe Lhakdor). Dharamsala: Library of Tibetan Works and Archives, 1–22. Holmes-Tagchungdarpa, Amy (2014): The Legacy of a Female Sikkimese Buddhist Teacher: The Lineage of Pelling Ani Wangdzin and Gendered Religious Experience in Modern Sikkim. In Eminent Buddhist Women (ed. by Karma Lekshe Tsomo). Albany: State University of New York Press, 159–167. Huber, Toni (2008): The Holy Land Reborn: Pilgrimage & the Tibetan Reinvention of Buddhist India. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Hüsken, Ute (1997): Die Vorschriften für die Buddhistische Nonnengemeinde im Vinaya-Piṭaka der Theravādin. Berlin: Reimer. Hüsken, Ute (2000): The Legend of the Establishment of the Buddhist Order of Nuns in the Theravāda Vinaya-Piṭaka. Journal of the Pali Text Society, XXVI, 43–69. Hüsken, Ute (2010): The Eight Garudhammas. In Dignity & Discipline: Reviving Full Ordination for Buddhist Nuns (ed. by Thea Mohr and Jampa Tsedroen). Boston: Wisdom Publication, 143–148. Hüsken, Ute (2018): Gender and Early Buddhist Monasticism. In Saddharmāmṛtam: Festschrift für Jens-Uwe Hartmann zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. by Oliver von Criegern et al.). Vienna: Arbeitskreis für Tibetische und Buddhistische Studien, 215–230. Jansen, Berthe (2018): The Monastery Rules: Buddhist Monastic Organization in PreModern Tibet. Oakland: University of California Press. https://doi.org/10.1525/ luminos.56. Jäschke, Heinrich A. (2003 [1881]): A Tibetan-English Dictionary. Mineola: Dover Publications. Khandro, Mindrolling Jetsün Rinpoche, and Mindrolling Jetsün Dechen Paldrön (2015): Mindrolling History Project. Accessed June  24, 2020. www.­ mindrollinginternational.org/lineage-and-history/mindrolling-history-project/. Liang, Jue (2020): Questioning Women: Ye shes mtsho rgyal and Other Female Disciples in Zhus lan Literature. Revue d’Etudes Tibétaines, 55, 292–317. Makley, Charlene (2014 [1997]): The Meaning of Liberation: Representations of Tibetan Women. In Feminine Wisdom: Collection of Articles on Tibetan Women (ed. by Geshe Lhakdor). Dharamsala: Library of Tibetan Works and Archives, 39–59. Melnick, Alison (2014): The Life and Times of Mingyur Peldrön: Female Leadership in 18th Century Tibetan Buddhism. PhD diss., University of Virginia, USA. Melnick, Alison (2018): Beyond the Recovery of Women: The Evolving Study of Gender in Tibetan Buddhism. Religion Compass, 14(5), 1–10. https://doi.org/10.1111/ rec3.12287. Mullard, Saul (2011): Opening the Hidden Land: State Formation and the Construction of Sikkimese History. Leiden: Brill. Palmo, Karma Sonam (2012): Basic Buddhist Teachings (ed. by Tenzin C. Tashi). Gangtok: Namgyal Institute of Tibetology. Palmo, Karma Sonam (2013): Gender and the Soteriology Debate in Buddhism: Is a Female Buddha Possible in Non-Esoteric Buddhism? PhD diss., University of Tasmania, Australia. https://eprints.utas.edu.au/17559/. Palmo, Karma Sonam (2020): Sikkimese Buddhist Nuns. Email, June 24, 2020. Samuel, Geoffrey (1993): Civilized Shamans: Buddhism in Tibetan Societies. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press. Samuel, Geoffrey (2012): Introducing Tibetan Buddhism. Oxon: Routledge.

Against Marginality, Inequality, and Dependency 219 Schaeffer, Kurtis R. (2004): Himalayan Hermitess: The Life of a Tibetan Buddhist Nun. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Schaeffer, Kurtis R. (2005): The Autobiography of a Medieval Hermitess: Orgyan Chokyi (1675–1729). In Women in Tibet (ed. by Janet Gyatso and Hanna Havnevik) New York: Columbia University Press, 83–109. Schneider, Nicola (2012): The Ordination of dGe slong ma: A Challenge to Ritual Prescriptions? In Revisiting Rituals in a Changing Tibetan World (ed. by Katia Buffetrille). Leiden: Brill, 109–135. Sheehy, Michael R. (2020): Materializing Dreams and Omens: The Autobiographical Subjectivity of the Tibetan Yoginī Kun dga’ Phrin las dbang mo (1585–1668). Revue d’Etudes Tibétaines, 56, 263–292. SikkimNow! (2012): ‘Basic Buddhist Teachings’ Made Accessible. SikkimNow! July 9, 2012. Accessed October 24, 2020. http://sikkimnow.blogspot.com/2012/07/ basic-buddhist-teachings-made.html. Swami, Swati (2006): A Structural Analysis of the Bhutia Society and Position of Bhutia Women in Sikkim. PhD diss., University of North Bengal, India. http://hdl. handle.net/10603/137522. Thogmed, Tulku (2006): Khandro Rinpoche Pema Dechen (1923–2006). Bulletin of Tibetology, 42(1 + 2), 137–154. Tibetan Nuns Project (2019): Geshema Degree. Accessed October 22, 2020. https:// tnp.org/geshema-degree/. Tsering, Tashi Josayma (Jo sras bKra shis tshe ring) (ed.) (2008): Bras ljongs nang dgon sde khag gcig gi chags rabs yid cha: Brief Accounts of the Monasteries of Sikkim. Gangtok and Dharamsala: Namgyal Institute of Tibetology  & Amnye Machen Institute. Tseyang, Jangngöpa (2014 [2008]): Traditional Tibetan Education  & Tibetan Women. In Feminine Wisdom: Collection of Articles on Tibetan Women (ed. by Geshe Lhakdor). Dharamsala: Library of Tibetan Works and Archives, 78–84. Tshering, Khenpo L. (mKhan po lha tshe ring) (2002): mKha’ spyod ’bras mo ljongs kyi gtsug nor sprul pa’i rnal ’byor mched bzhi brgyud ’dzin dang bcas pa’i byung ba brjod pa blo gsar gzhon nu’i dga’ ston: A Saga of Sikkim’s Supremely Revered Four Pioneer Nyingmapa Reincarnates and Their Torchhearers. Gangtok: Khenpo L. Tshering. Tsomo, Karma Lekshe (2014 [1987]): Tibetan Nuns and Nunneries. In Feminine Wisdom: Collection of Articles on Tibetan Women (ed. by Geshe Lhakdor). Dharamsala: Library of Tibetan Works and Archives, 145–158. Tulku, Tarab (2000): A Brief History of Tibetan Academic Degrees in Buddhist Philosophy. Copenhagen: Nordic Institute of Asian Studies. Vandenhelsken, Mélanie, and Hissey Wongchuk (2006): Tibetan Masters and the Formation of the Sacred Site of Tashiding. Bulletin of Tibetology, 42(1 + 2), 65–92. Waddell, Laurence Austine (2010 [1894]): Lamaism in Sikhim. In The Gazetteer of Sikhim (ed. by Herbert H. Risley). Delhi: Low Price Publications, 241–392. Willis, Janice D. (2014 [1984]): Tibetan Ani-s; The Nun’s Life in Tibet. In Feminine Wisdom: Collection of Articles on Tibetan Women (ed. by Geshe Lhakdor). Dharamsala: Library of Tibetan Works and Archives, 85–103.

11 Global South Coalition for Dignified Menstruation Interview with Radha Paudel, conducted by Ute Hüsken1

Ute Hüsken:

In the context of your activism, you are engaged in various programs, talks, and discussions on dignified menstruation  across the globe. Notably, in 2011 you also led a campaign against sexual harassment in public transport and a movement against sexual abuse at Tribhuvan University. While you are clearly engaged in many causes to help the underprivileged and are active for a more just world, today we would like to know more about your activities in connection with discriminating menstruation practices.   Your work and outlook are extremely relevant for the topic of our workshop, and I  am sure that your perspective will give the other participants and presenters a lot to think about. Could you lay out the field for us, and depict concrete menstruation practices that incited you to become an activist against them? Radha Paudel: I will present a specific practice in a specific place to make things very clear. I will talk about menstruation practices in Nepal.   Nepal. . .is a secular country, and Hinduism is the dominant religion (81.3%), followed by 9% Buddhists, and 4.4% Islam, 1.4% Christianity. Menstruation is a taboo, associated with stigma and restrictions for not only menstrual blood but also for the person herself and her belongings, also places she touches or where she lives. [During menstruation,] girls and women are following more than forty types of restrictions related to touch, eating, mobility, or other participation in social life (see Paudel 2018b). Regardless of caste, class, religion, or region, restrictions during menstruation are everywhere where Nepalese are living. The only difference is in the names, forms, severity, and visibility. The bottom line principle is separation due to the perception of menstrual blood as impure and dirty. The duration of the restricted period varies from place to DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-12

Global South Coalition for Dignified Menstruation 221 place. Married women are restricted to four days of bleeding for regular activities and to seven days or nine days for religious activities.   For the first day of menstruation, girls and women are not allowed to touch the house, temple, plants, any male members of the family, water sources, faith healers, holy books, etc. Thus, they stay either in a menstrual hut, or a cow shed, or a [separate] room, or in the corner of the room, or a tent; they are separated. Likewise, they are not allowed to eat milk and milk products, meat and meat products, citrus fruits, pickles, prasād [= food that was offered to a god], etc. During the second day of the menstruation, this is more or less the same, and the practices vary a bit from the third day of menstruation. Few of them take baths and are considered clean for the kitchen but not for religious activities. Usually, they wash and dry their clothes separately. Few of them do the same on the fourth day of menstruation. Mostly, married women bathe and follow the procedure of purification on the fifth day of menstruation.   To get rid of the impurity, they need the purification process called chokhyaune during every menstruation such as bath, changing the clothes, washing all the belongings she used for five days, wiping the place where she sleeps, and using oil on the head, drinking a gahut [= urine of a cow], spraying ‘golden water’ [= water that is prepared by dipping the gold in it].   The purification process for the first time [of menstruation] is a bit different. Here, the parents put the red tika [= red colour on the forehead] and may or may not give gifts. Also, the number of days of exile is different, ranging from 7 days to 11 days, 15 days, or 21 days. Ute Hüsken: What is the local explanation of these practices? Radha Paudel: Menstruation has different names and vary from place to place. In west Nepal, people call it chhui [= the state of contamination due to blood], chhaupadi [= chhau + padi, being in a bloody condition], chhau [= blood], phadkine [= separated] and pakaha lagne [= exiled], mahinabaari [= monthly period], rajaswala [= bleeding] and masikdharma [= monthly bleeding], masik chakra [= monthly cycle] are more common in formal communication and urban areas.   In elite families in Kathmandu, the satirical identification of menstruation is panditni bhayeko [= becoming a priest], with a positive and negative connotation, as it is a special condition when people cannot touch the person. Also, maharani [= someone who asked for separation due to

222  Interview with Radha Paudel, conducted by Ute Hüsken her special position, similar to a great queen], pudo or par sareko or panchhiyeko [= exiled], maita gayeko [= literally saying that mother went for the maternal house, means not available to do house chores]. Phuteko [= broken] is more common among Hill Brahmins in western, central, and east Nepal. Red dot [= bleeding] and minus [= deduction from regular activities] are used among educated urban girls while communicating among themselves (Paudel 2018a). Among Muslims, menstruation is called haibaj, mahabari, mahina, apak, npak (impure and dirty). Newars in Kathmandu call it majhu in Newari.   Regardless of the name, region, and religion, menstrual blood is considered impure (ashuda) among Hindu, Buddhist, and Napak, apak among Muslim. Likewise, the stigma and taboo always apply.   Hindus cannot do regular activities because of fear of god. The god will get angry and send misfortune to the family god, head of the family, family members, and domestic animals, and something will be wrong in the community. The plants are rotten and spoiled, cows and buffalos are not giving milk or milk becomes sour, limits the ghee, etc. Buddhists claim that they are not like Hindus and that they are not following restrictions during menstruation. They are referring to the menstrual huts in west Nepal. But in fact, they are not doing puja (worship), not participating in any religious or cultural activities, not sleeping in a regular bed, washing and drying in secret, etc. Similar kinds of practice prevail among Muslims as well. They do not like to take risks against god’s wish. They also do not know about the physiology of menstruation. Only, they know that menstruation is mandatory as a virtue of women who is childbearing. In the same vein, the concept of impurity and being a god’s curse for menstrual blood was used in the Rig Veda and then transferred to other religious books such as Vedas, Puranas [Garuda Purana, which is used for death rituals], and Epics. Likewise, the Chanakya Niti 6.3 and 11.12 [= Arthaśāstra] says that a woman is only purified after ­menstruation. The man should have sex only after she washed her whole body. Another book called Rishipanchami claims that the menstrual blood is contaminated blood (Subedi 2014). Ute Hüsken: Do different people explain this practice differently? Radha Paudel: Despite the similarities in menstrual perceptions and practices, there are some differences prevailing during menstruation. Religious people usually explain that the restrictions

Global South Coalition for Dignified Menstruation 223 during menstruation are important for the sake of family and community. But they cannot explain how or why. On the other hand, even educated women media activists justify that the menstrual restrictions are good for the sake of taking rest. Yet, in fact, women are working so hard in the field, farms, and doing other work during menstruation. They are deprived of the participation from the kitchen to the parliament.   Few girls and women are found happy in the following ways while following menstrual restrictions: 1) they would get rid of irritations from senior family members (more freedom), 2) they would have enough time to pay attention to the work at the farm, 3) they are eligible for marriage because of the confirmation of fertility, and 4) sometimes, they would have friends to stay at the shed and have the opportunity to share. Ute Hüsken: How does the practice impact the women, the community, and the family? Radha Paudel: The taboos, stigma, and restrictions during menstruation affect various aspects of the lives of girls and women immediately and in the long run. There is an impact on health, education, and empowerment. The self-identification [with impurity], and emotional and mental health illnesses due to the stigma, taboos and restrictive practices are associated with menstruation. They experience surprise, shock, disgust, anger, stress, and depression during even regular menstruation.   They do not know why they follow a such long list of Dos and Don’ts. It is a profound experience of being inferior and powerless within themselves, family, and community. They are therefore of poor psychological wellbeing (Ryff and Keyes 1995). They equally experience confusion and shyness due to menstruation. Often, they think that they are experiencing menstruation as a virtue of women or as a curse from the god, as written in religious books. They experience the fear and scare that is created by the seniors of the family, neighbourhood, and faith healers, about the consequences if the restrictions are not followed as they are instructed.  .  .  . Sometimes, they experience the feeling of isolation and live with suicidal thoughts. Women experience physical illness as well related to the reproductive tract, such as infections of the urinary tract, infections associated with menstruation, such as chronic and dull back pain, chronic itching around the vagina, white discharge, etc. Because of deprivation from access to nutritious food and water, they

224  Interview with Radha Paudel, conducted by Ute Hüsken











experience chronic malnutrition and gastrointestinal sickness. Rape, murder, physical abuse, accidents, animal bites, snake bites, insects bites, fire, cold, infections, etc. [are profound dangers the women experience in the menstruation huts] (Nemade et al. 2009). In many cases, they are allowed neither access to water for drinking nor access to a toilet for urination—that situation also is a stressor (Sahoo et al. 2015).   According to the WHO’s health definition, menstrual girls and women are compromised in their health rights constantly due to restrictions during menstruation. Restrictions create risks and vulnerability (Garg and Suneela 2016; Sumpter and Torndel 2013). Due to restrictions during menstruation, children are deprived from having adequate time to work on their assignments because they are busy assisting their menstrual family members at home.   On the other hand, the girls and women who are menstruating are also deprived of learning and studying because they are asked not to touch study materials due to consideration of the holy materials of books. If they live in a menstrual hut or in a separate place, they experience additional factors that hinder the learning, such as poor light, ventilation, space, and security. Likewise, their learning and education ability is distracted if their accommodation is not friendly for the menstruation, such as in the school or municipality office. They are equally mentally distracted due to the fear of leaking and stigma toward premenstrual symptoms.   In these circumstances, they remain absent for 3 to 5 days or drop out of school or any other activities, depending on the context. Dropping out from assigned performances eventually makes them stop or drop out—then they are trapped in child marriage. Eventually, the girls and women lose their self-confidence, motivation, and determination within themselves, their family, and their community, and also feel anger, stress, frustration, and isolation; they feel low, inferior, and powerless within themselves—this is a form of violation of human rights.   As a part of socialization, girls and boys learn the practices about menstruation from their family members. Girls consider themselves that they would be in a state of impurity later and that they are inferior, lower, more powerless than boys.   Boys socialize as pure, powerful, and persons with privileges. Such perception and mindset interrupt the enabling

Global South Coalition for Dignified Menstruation 225 environment for learning and education at various levels because psychological empowerment is more than selfperception. In this vein, the building of self-esteem and self-agency is built from childhood. Because of learning the restrictions from childhood and imposing the restrictions during menstruation, girls struggle within themselves and question the essence of their own birth. They are not happy as a girl due to a state of inferiority. Later, when they have menstruation, they constantly argue with their family members. When they start to move from home, they start to fight with society. There is no weapon but also no peace. Restrictions during menstruation have impacted the empowerment of girls and women at large. Girls grow up feeling isolated, inferior, and controlled due to the state of menstruation. These impacts are overlapping and interconnected with education and health as well. The menstruation impact is itself very complex and multifaceted.   During menstruation, the right to participate and to mobility is violated at individual, family, and societal levels. For instance, they limit their participation in the kitchen and in any cultural activities, and family and society also limit them for the same. Because of these (restrictions), their rights as defined by the constitution of Nepal and international human rights instruments such as the right to food, right to dignity, right to mobility, right to education, and so on. Ute Hüsken: Is there local resistance against the practice? Radha Paudel: Before 2017, there was high resistance to talking about menstruation. In general, it is becoming more accessible, especially since the Ministry of Women, Children and Senior Citizen stood for Dignified Menstrual Day on December 8, 2019. However, the people who are educated, working as teachers, health workers, NGO workers, and government who are supposed to work for menstruation, have resistance against menstrual activism.   Being a pioneer activist for dignified menstruation in Nepal and beyond, I have experienced a variety of threats to my life, including blaming, media mobilization, public threatening, isolation, [being accused of being a] promoter of Christianity, dollar farming, life killing, etc. These kinds of perceptions and behaviours are the signs of deep silence and ignorance everywhere, such as health, education, NGO sector, government, and everywhere.   The frontline workers such as health workers, teachers, NGO workers, government people, policymakers, and

226  Interview with Radha Paudel, conducted by Ute Hüsken

Ute Hüsken:

Nepalese people who have been living abroad for decades are also following the menstrual restrictions proudly in the name of culture. The blaming as anti-Hindu and dollar farming is also associated with ignorance, but they are in denial to accept the fact and they put me down for the sake of popularity and power. Thank you very much for these clear and important  statements.

Note 1 The interview was conducted on July 7, 2020, at 4:15 pm Nepalese time, 12:30 pm Berlin time; program used: BigBlueBotton [heiCONF].

Further Reading and Works Referred to During the Interview Ahearn, Laura M. (1998): A Twisted Rope Binds My Waist: Locating Constraints on Meaning in a Tij Songfest. Journal of Linguistic Anthropology, 8(1), 60–86. Bennett, Lynn (1976): The Wives of the Rishis: An Analysis of the Tij-Rishi Panchami Women’s Festival. Kailash: A Journal of Himalayan Studies, 4(2). Das, R. P. (2003): The Origin of the Life of a Human Being. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers Private Limited. Doniger O’Flaherty, Wendy (1973): Asceticism and Eroticism in the Mythology of Siva. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Doniger O’Flaherty, Wendy (1979): The Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology. Berkeley: University of California Press. Garg, S., and T. Suneela (2016): Menstruation Related Myths in India: Strategies for Combating It. Department of Community Medicine, Maulana Azad Medical College, New Delhi, India, 4(2), 184–186. https://doi.org/10.4103/2249-4863.154627 Grujovska, Marija (2020): The Ṛṣipanñcamī Vrata in Nepal: Text and Context. Master thesis to obtain the degree of Master of Arts at the Ruprecht Karl University of Heidelberg, Faculty of Philosophy and History, South Asia Institute, Dept of Cultural and Religious History of South Asia. Holland, Dorothy C., and Debra G. Skinner (1995): Contested Ritual, Contested Femininities: (Re)Forming Self and Society in a Nepali Women’s Festival. American Ethnologist, 22(2), 279–305. Jamison, Stephany (1996): Sacrificed Wife/Sacrificer’s Wife. New York: Oxford University Press. Jamison, Stephany (2018): Strīdharma. In The Oxford History of Hinduism: Hindu Law, A New History of Dharmaśāstra (ed. by P. Olivelle and D. R. Davis Jr.). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Leslie, Julia (1989): The Perfect Wife: The Orthodox Hindu Woman According to the Strīdharmapaddhati of Tryambakayajvan. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Leslie, Julia. (1996): Menstruation Myths. In Myth and Myth Making (ed. by J. Leslie). New York: Routledge. Llewellyn, J. E. (2006): Two Critiques of Women’s Vows. In Dealing with Deities: The Ritual Vow in South Asia (ed. by W. P. Harman and S. J. Raj). Albany: State University of New York Press, 235–246.

Global South Coalition for Dignified Menstruation 227 Nagarajan, Vijaya Rettakud (2007): Threshold Designs, Forehead Dots, and Menstruation Rituals. In Women’s Lives, Women’s Rituals in the Hindu Tradition (ed. by Tracy Pintchman). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Nemade, D., S. Anjenaya, and R. Gujar (2009): Impact of Health Education on Knowledge and Practices About Menstruation Among Adolescent School Girls of Kalamboli, Nava-Mumbai. Health and Population: Perspectives and Issues, 32(4), 167–175. Paudel, Radha (2018a): A Pabitra Ragat. Kathmandu: Kathmandu Publication. Paudel, Radha (2018b): Dignified Menstruation is Everyone’s Business. Kathmandu: Radha Paudel Foundation. Ryff, C. D., and C. L. M. Keyes (1995): The Structure of Psychological Well-Being Revisited. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 69(4), 719–727. Sahoo, K. C., K. R. S. Hulland, B. A. Caruso, R. Swain, M. C. Freeman, P. Panigrahi, and R. Dreibelbis (2015): Sanitation-related Psychosocial Stress: A  Grounded Theory Study of Women across the Life-course in Odisha, India. Social Science & Medicine, 139, 80–89. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.socscimed.2015.06.031 Sharma, Nitka (2014): From Fixity to Fluidity: Menstruation Ritual Change among Hindu Women of Nepalese Origin. Diss., University Press of Colorado, Boulder. Smith, F. (1992): Indra’s Curse and Varuna’s Noose and Suppression of the Women in the Vedic Śraut Rituals. In Role and Rituals for Hindu Women (ed. by J. Leslie). Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers Pvt. Ltd. Subedi, M. S. (2014): Saralikrit Haritalika ra Rishipanchami Pujabidhi. Lalitpur, Nepal. Sumpter, C., and B. Torondel (2013): A Systematic Review of the Health and Social Effects of Menstrual Hygiene Management (PLoS ONE). London, United Kingdom: Department of Disease Control, London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine.

12 The Changing Attitudes Towards Female Priesthood in Hinduism Insights from Pune, Southern India Interview with Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi, conducted by Agi Wittich Introduction The research on contemporary female Hindu priestesses has been on the rise for the last two decades. Vasudha Narayanan (2005: 3) mentioned a thread ceremony of ten female Brahmins in Pune at Shankar Seva Samiti. She explained that this group “valorize Sanskrit texts which speak of women wearing the sacred thread and argue that it is perfectly within the bounds of traditional orthodoxy to retrieve and make such texts and rituals relevant.” Similarly, Joshi maintains that women have the right to the thread ceremony and female priesthood. In 2012, Suchitra Shenoy-Packer interviewed female priestesses from Pune. Her research focused on the narratives and experiences of female Hindu priestesses. Female Hindu priesthood, she said, was a non-traditional career choice for women. She concluded that female priestesses face their position as outsiders within Hindu communities by enacting professionalism, experiencing a female gaze, and doing meaningful work as a calling. All these points were raised in the interview with Joshi. Shenoy-Packer (2013) also analyzed media reports about female Hindu priests in Pune and interviewed 12 priestesses from one institution that trains female priests. She examined their stories through the lenses of embodied, emotional, spiritual, and aesthetic (performative) labor. She discovered that priestesses dispersed resistance and redefined competence by resolving discordant aspects of their professional reality through communication and strategy. Ute Hüsken (2016) researched female priestesses in Jñāna Prabodhinī, the organization Joshi is associated with. Hüsken analyzed the history of female performances of Hindu rituals in Maharashtra since the 1930s, the lessening of support male priests receive today, and the success of popularizing female priesthood. She also examined the current arguments against the female priesthood and the rivalry among female priestesses. Hüsken (2022: 201) also studied a school for girls in Varanasi that trains them to recite Vedic texts and perform ritual practices, such as a sacrificial fire. In her research, she discovered that people specifically request the services of female priestesses since they “are not only performing the rituals but are also lecturing, explaining the meaning of the rituals and mantras to their clients.” Joshi DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-13

The Changing Attitudes Towards Female Priesthood in Hinduism 229 emphasized this in her interview as a strategy that the female priestesses of Jñāna Prabodhinī also use. Dr. Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi is a priestess and has been a researcher of the History of Religion, History of Philosophy, and Cultural History at the Saṃskṛt Saṃskṛtī Samśoḍhikā research center in Pune, India, since July 2005. The research center focuses on studying and preserving Indian culture and heritage and is affiliated with Jñāna Prabodhinī, a non-profit organization that promotes education, social welfare, and community development. Joshi achieved a Ph.D. in Sanskrit from the University of Tilak Maharashtra Vidyapeeth, Pune, in 2014. Joshi received the prestigious Shankarrao Mangavkar Prize for achieving first rank in the subject of Veda in 2008. Joshi received personal coaching from Mr. Yashwant Lele, the most senior priest from the Jñāna Prabodhinī organization. He encouraged Dr. Joshi to become a teacher, and at the age of 19, she started performing as priest and teaching. Joshi has been teaching priesthood for the last 25 years while also concentrating on her research based on the Hindu religion and tradition. Methodology Dr. Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi’s qualitative interview was conducted via the virtual platform Zoom. The interview questions focused on the present condition of female priesthood in India. The interview was transcribed and then thematically analyzed. Whenever appropriate, references were incorporated into the transcribed interview. Before the interview, Dr. Joshi received the questions using a dialogic approach, and an email conversation proceeded to explain any ambiguities and acquire written material. The final chapter was sent to Dr. Joshi for her assessment and permission before publication. Interview Wittich: Can you please describe your journey towards becoming a Hindu priestess and how you were able to obtain the necessary training and education? Joshi: I am Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi from Pune, India. In 1991 I came across one NGO named Jñāna Prabodhinī in Pune. Jñāna Prabodhinī is an educational organization that runs various activities in rural areas, in urban areas, and they are working in the education sector also. In Jñāna Prabodhinī there is one department called Sanskrit Saṃskṛtī Samśoḍhikā. In this particular department, they teach Sanskrit and Indian language and tradition.   Fortunately, in my college days, when I  was in my second academic year in BA Sanskrit, I  came across one scholarship from Jñāna Prabodhinī, and I received that scholarship in 1999. According to the norms of that scholarship, the student who gains the scholarship should participate in one of the projects run by the

230  Interview with Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi by Agi Wittich department. So from 1999 to 2002, I was a part of this department, and involved with various small projects regarding Sanskrit, drama rakṣa, stotra, some yoga projects, some projects related to Hindu religion, and tradition. While I was doing this research, our head of the department encouraged me. As I was a student of the Sanskrit language and I was pursuing my masters in 2000 at the University of Pune, he suggested I learn priesthood activity.   Being a student of Sanskrit, it was a comparatively easy journey for me because I was learning the Vedas, a specialization of Vedic studies at the University. So he [the head of department] encouraged me to gain knowledge of priesthood. And I gained personal coaching from Mr. Yashwant Lele, who was the senior most priest from the Jñāna Prabodhinī organization. He taught me personally various verses, and some rituals. At that time, he was 70. He was searching for some eligible candidate who could teach priesthood. He encouraged me to do that, so that at the age of 19 or 20, I already started teaching priesthood also. At the same time, I received both opportunities, namely that I perform priesthood, and I was also teaching priesthood. For the last 25 years, I have been teaching priesthood also. Nowadays, I am concentrating on my research based on Hindu religion and tradition. I  am not a regular priestess nowadays, for the last 10  years, but I  am still teaching priesthood regularly. Wittich: How do you think the ritualistic approach towards women’s religious activity has evolved over time? Joshi: In 1999, at the age of 19, I was a college-going student at that time and—being a lady—there was a very interesting part I have experienced, that at that time in 1999, in different kinds of communities, people were not ready to accept the priesthood of women or any lady. But the scenario changed slightly in 2002–2003 because, in Jñāna Prabodhinī, we have been teaching priesthood to women also from 1990. This was a revolutionary movement in the religious section of India. From Vedic times we have references to the ceremonies of girls and women. But during the Smṛti period, this particular tradition was stopped because invasions took place in India—for the security of small girls or ladies or women this tradition got stopped and vanished completely actually. But my organization Jñāna Prabodhinī took a revolutionary step, and they started performing thread ceremony of girls.1   In our Educational Center, we regularly perform the thread ceremony of girls, and our women priests also undergo this thread ceremony. From 1990, we took care that if any lady is going to perform priesthood for the society, she should undergo the thread ceremony. That way she would get the right to perform the rituals and chant Vedic mantras. But still, society was not ready to

The Changing Attitudes Towards Female Priesthood in Hinduism 231 accept this reform movement or revolutionary movement, because people are of very static minds, and they have a great impact of traditional knowledge systems on their minds. But we constantly tried to encourage them to welcome women into the priesthood. Still, the situation was bad at that time. We had only four or seven women priests at that time, including myself, who were performing priesthood in the society.   But at that time in 1999 and 2000, people were directly asking us, “Oh, we do not want to invite any lady for the priesthood. If you have any other contact with male priests, kindly give us them because our family members, elder members of the family, will not entertain you. They won’t accept your priesthood as you do not have this right.” So we tried to explain the tradition, but still, there was much hesitation in their mind.   However, from 2000 to 2003, we experienced that when people started experiencing the priesthood of women instead of the priesthood from a man, [they saw that] women are more sensitive and sensible in their job of the priesthood, and they easily got involved with the family members. They can easily access the kitchen directly in the traditional Indian family. If they want something that is missing, they can ask the host to visit their kitchen directly, and they can interact with his wife also. .  .  . And they were very sincerely performing the rituals. They were very cool and calm and explained all the rituals well. When people started experiencing this, slowly and gradually, they started accepting the women’s priesthood. . . . Last year, I think the Indian film actress Dia Mirza had her marriage ceremony in Kolkata performed by a lady priest from Kolkata. From that particular day, we are getting many more invitations. Women’s priesthood is [now] the epitome and the center of this tradition. Wittich: You said that you were encouraging them to take the female priestesses. How were you encouraged? Joshi: We started an experiment with the senior male priest: we sent a female priest also, as his company. Then people started realizing that the female who was accompanying a male priest was also performing very nicely or very confidently, similar to the male priest. Sometimes, the performance of a female is much better than that of a male priest. So, that was our experimental part. I was tremendously curious about the tradition of why the priesthood of females was stopped or vanished from the religious activities in Hinduism. I was pursuing my M. Phil after completion of my MA at that time. I was supposed to write a dissertation. So I have chosen the subject of women’s priesthood in Hindu tradition and started gathering many different references from secondary sources. I used external references, and I took some interviews

232  Interview with Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi by Agi Wittich with male priests and also with a few female priests who were present at that time. And with these references, I started writing articles in different bulletins, and I  have started delivering some lectures for my NGO. We all tried a lot.   Then we encourage some newspaper agencies and some reporters to conduct interviews with female priests. And we requested that they publish these interviews in their newspapers, so that people can be aware of that. Because at that time, WhatsApp and YouTube were not available. Only the newspaper was available. None of the social media was available. But it worked. Actually, as I have said earlier, accompanying a male priest was also a very successful experiment by us; it worked. Wittich: And today, are you using YouTube and social media? Joshi: Yes. We are using YouTube, Facebook, Instagram, and all the social media. And nowadays, we do many interviews, especially during the Covid period of two years; many interviews were conducted on various platforms regarding female priesthood. This was also a good opportunity. Wittich: Can you please describe any experience when you have had to navigate gender bias or discrimination within the Hindu Priestess or community? Joshi: I’m talking about the representative of this particular group of women we have now, 20 to 35, women priests from our organization. My personal experience was that one of the family members of one of my friends passed away, and we needed to perform the funeral rites. In Hindu culture and tradition, there is a great barrier that women priests should not perform the priesthood for the last rites, the funeral rites. It is the authority of traditional male priests. While performing the funeral rites of my friend’s father, I was only 20 or 21 years old. So male priests were resisting that. [They said:] “How do you get this right to perform this particular ritual because the last rite ritual is very important in the Hindu tradition?” But I told them that I had learned all these methods, and I am very sure that I will be able to perform this ritual also with confidence because many times people have fear in their mind. If anyone passes away, we need to perform all the rituals on the dead body. So we need a different kind of courage. But in our organization, we have already started performing funeral rites of people as a lady priest also. It was a tremendous experience in my life. After that, we started encouraging women priests also [and told them:] “You should take this as an opportunity and be confident and visit the graveyard.” They started performing this rite also, and at that time, we experienced very much resistance from society. Now, if the father passes away, we allow the daughter to perform the funeral rites. Or if the husband passes away, we allow

The Changing Attitudes Towards Female Priesthood in Hinduism 233 the wife also to perform the funeral rites. Because in the Hindu tradition in Maharashtra still people are following the traditional methods; they are not encouraging daughters or wives to perform these things. So women’s priesthood is another challenge for society, regarding the funeral rites and the ancestral worship rite also. In Hindu tradition we perform the śrāddha ritual after death, on the 11th or 12th day. Śrāddha means ancestor worship.2 In the traditional method, women priests are not supposed to perform this particular rite, but in our organization, we encourage female priestesses. And we are performing funerals as well as the ancestral worship. But regarding ancestral worship, still nowadays, people have hesitation in their minds. They are asking ridiculous questions like: “If a woman priest will perform this, will the dead person get salvation, if she will perform the rite?” They think that if the male priests perform the ritual, then only the dead person will get salvation. These kinds of imaginary things are still in people’s minds. Still, we are encouraging women priests that usually go to the graveyard also to perform the ancestral worship—and people accept it. Wittich: Can you describe any other challenges or obstacles women face in participating in or leading ritualistic activities within the Hindu community? Joshi: Yes. Now, in the last month itself [= February 2023], one of my old friends who is always performing rituals from our organization, she and another female priest went to perform one marriage ceremony. It was pre-decided for three months. And during the discussion [of the procedure], the host gave them the idea that their traditional male priests would participate in this ritual also. So my friend suggested not to disturb them while performing the marriage ceremony first, and that first of all, they [= the two female priests] will perform from their side. And if the male priests wanted to perform something, they could do it later. But when they started the ceremony of the marriage, surprisingly, a troop of four male priests, traditional male priests, came there, and they tried to hold back the situation. Both women told them just to sit for some time, and suggested: “Please, that we can perform some of the rites from the marriage ceremony, and then after that, you come again on the stage and you start performing.” But it was a great obstacle because our female priest had started the marriage ceremony, they did some two–three rituals and the ceremony had started already. But the [male] troop came and interfered, and then they took charge of that ritual. Not that they did not allow both the lady priests to perform all the rituals, but it was really an insulting and embarrassing experience they had to take. So still these things are going on in small villages and where people are

234  Interview with Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi by Agi Wittich still influenced [by traditional ideas regarding priesthood]. But still, we are trying. Wittich: Do you feel that in a big city like Pune it is easier than in small villages or rural areas? Joshi: Yes, it is comparatively easy in big cities, because people are educated; they have experience with globalization. But in small villages still, we are not getting that much acceptance. So it is difficult in small villages or subparts of urban areas. Where our new suburbs are evolving. People still are not able to accept this in the countryside. Wittich: How do you think the ritualistic approach towards women’s religious activities impacts their sense of identity and belonging within the community? Joshi: Before the community, there is an important point that their family members needed to start to accept. Because for many years, they have experienced male priesthood and suddenly, one lady from a particular family, a traditional family, is going somewhere and she starts learning priesthood. Then the family, they are like, “Why is she doing this? Is there any need to perform? We are not expecting your hard-earned money from the priesthood. So just stay calm and cool in the house and do your household responsibilities.” It was like this at that time, during 2000–2002. But then, after a realization that any lady from a particular family is performing well in society, and that people accepted her priesthood, and that people are appreciating her efforts, the family members started to encourage her performance in the community. So this is the first part, and then, in the community, it is a wonderful experience that we are performing in different kinds of communities. We are creating social structures, or we are bridging the gaps between the community and the family. So it is a wonderful idea, and women priests are definitely doing their jobs well.   So, they are shaping the community during this new era, giving a new perspective to the new generation. So now what we are experiencing is that particularly for a marriage ceremony, the bride and groom decide, or they insist towards their family members “We should invite the lady priest to perform these kind of rituals.”   This is happening in Maharashtra because nowadays, people are getting an education. Most of the family members are settling down. So their visions are getting broader, but still we are experiencing that in North India, particularly, they still have some rigidity in their mind. In Gujarat, in Madhya Pradesh, in Delhi, and in the big cities also. The local people, or native people, they are not ready to accept the woman priesthood. In Kolkata, there was a revolutionary movement, and there are 3-4 priestesses,3 who are

The Changing Attitudes Towards Female Priesthood in Hinduism 235 performing well in Navaratri pooja,4 but in UP, Bihar in Gujarat, still they are not accepting the priesthood of women. Wittich: How do you see the role of women in the Hindu priesthood evolving and modern times? And what do you believe has contributed to this change? Joshi: Experiencing that any woman is performing the ritual, in our organization, we are trying to encourage people for self-­ priesthood. That we suggested to them if they are enshrining the Lord Ganesha during the Ganesh festival,5 they should learn all the rituals, and they can perform for their own family. So this is a new contribution to the new era, a new generation. Many girls and many women are participating in our workshops. They are learning to perform certain Poojas. They are learning to perform their own household pooja. Or we are performing the Deepavali Lakshmi Pooja6 during the Diwali Festival. So we are conducting workshops to educate people that they are not supposed to depend on the priesthood of any other person. On their own they learn, and they can do it on their own. So many women, many college-going girls, many school-going girls also, from 8th and 9th standard, are also coming to participate in our workshops and they are trying to learn all these things. And they are performing for their own family. So it’s a wonderful startup, actually.   So they can get at least encouragement. I don’t think that they can pursue this as their own profession, but regarding their own family also, they started this new journey. And family members are also accepting their priesthood.   As I have mentioned earlier, in Maharashtra particularly, many women are getting an education. In fact, in rural areas also, their visions are expanding. They are looking for their future and are coming across this particular thing through various social media. Because we are writing articles, we are posting different kinds of videos. We are posting different kinds of news articles based on this subject. So, people came across this, and they started realizing the importance of women’s priesthood.   In Maharashtra, we are able to see this change, but because people are changing their minds due to education, and due to pursuing some modern concepts worldwide. But still, in other parts of the country, people still have hesitation in their minds. While speaking about Maharashtra, there are some traditional centers— there is one village named Nashik. This is a very traditional and religious, holy place in Maharashtra. In Nashik, people are not accepting women, because they have an influence of male priests, and they have a big community of male priests. Because people are visiting there—people are performing various kinds of rituals— they wanted to discourage people not to involve women priests in

236  Interview with Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi by Agi Wittich the rituals. So, in Pune or Mumbai, or in cosmopolitan big cities, people are ready to accept.   We are performing inter-religious marriages also. Lady priests are also performing inter-religious marriages. This is a big change, but it is due to the education and perspective the people are getting from globalization. But still, there are people who do not come across this kind of fact, or they are not changing their minds. So still there is still a little bit of a gap we are still experiencing. Wittich: Can you say a few words about the inter-religious marriages that you perform? Joshi: Yes, we are performing inter-religious marriages. We ask them whether they are going to change their religion. Because by performing the Vedic tradition of the ceremony, both the bride and groom should be Hindus. But now. . .some people are explaining to us that they are atheists. They called themselves atheists. So, we are performing their marriage ceremonies also. Recently we have performed a marriage ceremony of a Sikh groom and Tamil [Hindu] bride or Christian groom and Hindu bride or vice versa.   In my own experience in inter-religious marriages, both bride and groom are curious to know the meaning of the ritual. When we are performing this, our female priests are explaining all these things wonderfully. So they come to us, and they request us to perform this ritual. It is a wonderful journey, and as a part of my research, I  am trying to learn more about how various religions deal with the marriage ceremony. For example, I  did one course during lockdown which was conducted by the University of Harvard, about what is Sikhism. I have learned the traditional method of marriage in Sikhism. Here is one Gurudwara in Pune. So I visited their place, I met their senior priests, and I asked them about the marriage ceremony, and I got information on how they perform it. So we are here trying to do some research, some study also. And we are also learning how they’re performing their marriage ceremony, and how their religious elders try to explain all these things. So it is a really wonderful journey. We are trying to pursue it. Wittich: Did you have experience with Muslim or Zoroastrian religions as well? Joshi: Actually, we performed two such marriage ceremonies. The bride was Persian, an Iranian bride actually. And they perform the marriage ceremony in the Agiary.7 Our priestess visited there, and they performed the ritual, they offered something to the Holy Fire, and we have also experienced the same things, they sprinkle, their priests sprinkle the holy water. And that particular ceremony was performed by both priests, from the Zoroastrian priests also, and from our female priestesses also. It was quite interesting. We

The Changing Attitudes Towards Female Priesthood in Hinduism 237 learned so many things from each other, and both families were interesting. We visit the Agiary, and we perform there. Wittich: How do you balance traditional Hindu practices with more modern and progressive beliefs in your role as a priestess? Joshi: Actually, there is still a lot of struggle till today that we are experiencing because traditional methods are a little bit different than our method in Jñāna Prabodhinī. In Jñāna Prabodhinī we are performing rituals as per the new tradition. But we are not insulting or avoiding the ancient tradition.  .  .  .While performing our rituals, in the modern era and with modern methods, we are trying to explain why we make changes in the rituals. This is the key part while performing the religious ceremonies by the Jñāna Prabodhinī method, which is developed by our organization. We try to balance both the ancient scriptures, and at the same time, we are taking the needs of the new era into consideration. I create the booklets for various kinds of rituals, for example marriage ceremonies, as I have mentioned earlier.   If we are going to perform a marriage ceremony for an interreligious marriage. I suggest to the priestess how they are going to perform the ritual and what is the need of a particular family. Like this, in our organization, we do research here and we refer the same in our work or a study while performing any kind of ritual; also when we perform funeral rites, in the graveyard. In a few minutes, we explain the importance of that ritual. While performing ancestral worship, we also try to explain all about the ritual and sub-rituals to the family members. So it is having a great impact on the family and the community, and we are successfully balancing between the traditional method and the new methods. Wittich: In what ways do you think ritualistic practices can help women navigate and cope with social pressures and gender expectations? Joshi: Religion is a key part of society. And in every religion, people have faith regarding religious activity and social norms and values. While performing, we should start on our own. Any lady who is going to perform any ritual, first of all, should complete her household duties for household religious activities, and then she should start her work. So I think this is a journey that begins from ourselves.   It starts with ourselves. And we can put our own example to society, how we are performing in our own families. While we are chanting different kinds of mantras and verses, it is just like a meditation. . . .while chanting Gayatri Mantra, we purify our mind, body, intellect. . . . We should perform . . . our own upāsanā, or our daily prayers. It is mandatory for all our male and female priests also that they should pursue their own spiritual journey for their own personal development. So while

238  Interview with Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi by Agi Wittich chanting different kinds of mantras, we recite different kinds of verses, and we encourage women priests not to chant it only as a part of the ritual. Let the meaning of that particular verse in your mind. Because you can absorb it first in yourself, and then you can chant. It will be helpful for your progress as well as it will enhance the quality of the ritual also. I hope you are getting what I am trying to say. Wittich: In what ways do you think the inclusion of women as priestesses can help shift traditional power dynamics within Hindu society? Joshi: I don’t think, actually, that in the next 20 to 30 years we will be able to change these dynamics, because there are many groups and subgroups of male priests in India, and they have their own groups and communities. And they have contact with their own hosts, so it is a little bit difficult to change the dynamics of society. But yes, we are changing the perspective of society. We are showing through our work that women also have the same right in the religious field because the Hindu religion is very. . .flexible. And we have various scriptures that encourage women to perform all these activities. But the dynamics are different even in the modern era. We are trying to change the face of society while performing our traditional rituals.   One point here I  want to raise is that we encourage women to perform religious activities during their menstruation periods.8 We are encouraging them that menstruation is not an inauspicious thing; it is just nothing but a purification of your body. And it is a natural phenomenon. Just like you are passing the urine, it is because it is a necessary function of your body. Similarly, menstruation means the purification of your body. So, do not hesitate to participate during your menstruation period.   Because in India, during the Ganesh Festival and the Navaratri Festival, many women and girls are visiting the medical store and ask for pills that can delay their menstruation. And many gynecologists are also telling them that they are not supposed to take this kind of pill. So as religious leaders and as priestesses, we are encouraging them not to take these kinds of pills, which will harm their own bodies and mind. We are encouraging them to perform within their menstruation periods also, and we are explaining to them that this is a very natural phenomenon and not to consider themselves as inauspicious. Wittich: Are they taking the pills to postpone their period? So that they can be period-free during the festivals? Joshi: Yes. . . .I have also written one research paper based on this tradition; the menstruation of the earth and menstruation of the rivers are treated as auspicious in religious scriptures.9 . . . in my public speeches also, I am trying to encourage women . . . . During one television symposium during the Ganesh festival, I  encouraged

The Changing Attitudes Towards Female Priesthood in Hinduism 239 many of them and not to take this kind of pills and that they should consider themselves pure during all the religious activities.   Our priestess also performs during this period. If they are not comfortable physically, then we give them the liberty to choose whether they are willing to perform one or not during their menstruation. But many ladies are performing during that period.   We are also encouraging widows to participate in the marriage ceremony of the other girls or the ancestral worship ritual of their husbands.10 Because widows also meet great resistance in the Indian traditional communities that they should not perform. They should not be a part of any religious ceremony or any activity in the family, but we’re encouraging widows also. And nowadays, we see that particular change in our society that widows are coming and participating.   And in fact, we are encouraging some divorced ladies or single parents.11 There are many singles parents and mothers. They want to perform the thread ceremony of their son, and in the traditional practice the father is the main person in that particular ritual. But we are trying to encourage the mother that in Hindu tradition, our tradition is “mother is the first Guru,” or first teacher, so the mother should perform this ritual instead of the father. This is a revolutionary change we are trying to make in society, and people are accepting that also. Wittich: How do you envision the future of the Hindu priesthood and the role of women within it in the coming years and decades? Joshi: As I  mentioned earlier, we need 10 to 15 more years to change the complete scenario. We have started some revolutionary movements. I personally don’t want to use the word revolution, but still, we need to accept that, because it is our transition from the Vedic period women have all these rights, but people are rejecting this. So we need to use the word revolution for something great; we are doing it for the community; but I think that according to Hindu religion, first of all, we need to see a change of perspective towards our religion. Religion means a way of life. As said in the Mahabharata, it is nothing but a way of life, and if we can accept that definition, it will be easier to accept a woman’s priesthood. Because the right of gaining knowledge is similar for both men and women. We need to accept that. And if we accept this, it will happen. But we need 10 to 15 years to see the whole change in the scenario.   Because there are many people in India who stick to their own religious, ancient practices and traditions, and it is really difficult to get all of them completely. And in fact, we should respect the tradition also and the traditional face of people.   Yes, as a woman priest, I always want to see change in the society, but we are not supposed to force change. We do not have the right to try to change the complete mind of any person.

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  For example, if elder persons from my family are following their traditions and faith for many centuries, it is not easy to change them in one single night. Over a period of time, gradually, they will change, but still, those who want to perform the traditional rituals with the male priests they can do that. We still try to pursue our own profession.   Because often, many reporters insist that “woman priesthood is the great need of the era.” I  always try to explain to them: “Yes, but if anyone suddenly came and tried to say to you ‘You are following this tradition, but now you need to start this new tradition,’ this is quite difficult for you as a person. The people need some time. . . .we can put our work in front of them and see if they can experience that we are doing good for the community, for the society, and for the nation also. Then they can accept it. But we need to give them some time, and we do not force our own thoughts on them. Let them try and let them think about it. Let them experience it.”   I put myself in that situation, and then I think: Being a woman priest, I  have studied all the references from ancient scriptures, but the situation was different then. And now the situation is also changing. So we are not supposed to compare that situation; accept the situation as it is. Be in the present. Try to bring our past again into the present. But still, accept the facts of the present, and then we will be able to change the scenario. As a researcher, I am trying from my side by performing the rituals and by studying various kinds of scriptures. I’m trying to add in my own ideas.   I have a 10-year-old daughter. I am trying to teach her all these things, and she loves to make all these things a pooja, all these things in the family.   But when I got married, in my in-laws’ family it was very difficult. They were not ready to accept my priesthood. Because traditionally they used to invite male priests. And now in our family, they’re encouraging me to perform. They accept my priesthood also. But the elders from the family, because we have a strong family, sometimes have hesitation in their minds. I need to accept that. If I am going to force them, it shows that I’m not giving them respect as being elders. So I  need to balance both things at the same time, I need to extend these things to my in-laws, and at the same time, I need to explain all these things to my daughters. So, I’m just trying to bridge the gap between the religious face of our activities. I should start this from my own family, and I’m trying to do this thing from my family for my community. And for the nation also. Wittich: Would you like to add anything [or] points to raise? Joshi: Yes. I  would like to raise one particular point. That in Maharashtra, or in India, people, especially girls, we are encouraging

The Changing Attitudes Towards Female Priesthood in Hinduism 241





college-going girls to learn priesthood. But they’re not ready to accept this as a profession. As I  mentioned earlier, we are conducting some workshops on some small poojas or rituals. So they are learning and performing. But we have this among the male priest-dominant community in India—they are pursuing this as their own occupation—many males have this occupation and are very proud to be a priest. But in India, when any young boy is pursuing his priesthood, and if he wants to get married, no one is ready to give him their own daughter because of their earning situations and more aspects. So they are inviting priests, but they are not ready to accept any young priest as their son-in-law.   Girls are also not looking towards this profession with pride. They say: “This is not my job. This is not my cup of tea. I’m not going to learn priesthood” or “I’m not going to marry a male priest.” This should change when talking about the women’s priesthood. One should also respect the male priests also who are performing and who are doing this as their passion. . . .they went to the gurukul, they were there for 25 years, and they are learning all this by traditional methods. But after returning, when they want to settle into their own life, they are not getting girls for marriage. This is another difficult problem we are facing in society. At the same time, girls are not ready. Today, they will learn dance, they will learn music. They will learn drawing and photography. They are pilots. They are going in the Armed Forces also, but they are not ready to learn priesthood.   We have tried one collaboration with the University of Pune. We wanted to design a course of the priesthood, especially for girls, so they can accept this occupation. It is a wonderful idea. But we did not get any response. But I want to see this as a women priest and as a researcher. I want to encourage young girls to learn all these things. We are ready to teach them. They can see this as their occupation, and if they can accept this as their occupation, then only we can have a great impact on society. Because, at that time, we are very few. We need to grow in numbers.

Conclusion In conclusion, Jñāna Prabodhinī has taught women priesthood since 1990 and initiated a thread ceremony for girls that grants the right to perform rituals and chant Vedic mantras. Though the practice faced resistance due to contemporary customs, traditional knowledge systems, and fixed mindsets, societal attitudes have gradually shifted since the early 2000s. Female priestesses’ professionalism and dedication won over the hearts of families and communities, and the acceptance of female priesthood has increased in some regions of India, though it remains a challenge in rural areas and some cities. The use of social media and online interviews to promote female priesthood

242  Interview with Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi by Agi Wittich has been successful, and the trend of inviting female priestesses to perform marriage ceremonies is gaining popularity. However, Joshi acknowledges that a significant change in the Hindu religious perspective is needed. While the shift towards accepting women in the priesthood is gradual and peaceful, changing traditional mindsets will take time and effort. Further research on women’s priesthood in the Hindu religion could focus on several areas. Firstly, the impact of globalization and modernization on traditional Hindu beliefs and practices related to gender roles and women’s participation in the priesthood should be researched. Such research could also help identify the factors contributing to changing attitudes towards female priesthood in different parts of India. Secondly, further research could be conducted on the experiences of female priestesses in different regions of India, including the challenges they face, the strategies they use to overcome these challenges, and the impact of their work on their communities. Thirdly, future research could focus on the perceptions and attitudes of younger generations towards female priesthood and how this changes over time. Understanding the younger generation’s approach to the female priesthood would help to identify the factors that contribute to changing attitudes and acceptance of female priesthood, particularly in the context of modernization and globalization. Notes 1 The thread ceremony, upanayana, is a rite of passage in Hinduism. It may mark the acceptance of a student by a teacher, an individual’s initiation into a school, or symbolize a spiritual “second birth.” It is a prerequisite for learning the Vedas and becoming a Brahmin priest. While mainly men undergo this rite, in some areas in India, in recent years, women have been undergoing it as well. For example, there are testimonies of girls in Mumbai, Maharasthra (Jaisinghani 2009) and in Mania, Bihar (IANS 2014) that have gone through the thread ceremony. Joshi mentioned her paper titled “Concept of Women Priesthood in Hindu Religion” (2018), in which she examines the historical status of women’s participation in priesthood in Hinduism. The paper examines the role of women in ancient Vedic rituals and the restrictions that emerged over time, which limited women’s participation in priestly activities. 2 Ancestral ritual, or śrāddha, is a Hindu ritual that pays respect and give thanks to one’s parents and ancestors on their death anniversary. 3 The four priestesses are Nandini Bhowmik, Ruma Roy, Semanti Banerjee, and Paulomi Chakraborty. The head priestess is Bhowmik. A former student of Lady Brabourne College and a guest of the Sanskrit department in Jadavpur University, she has officiated over numerous religious ceremonies. A Bengali movie, Brahma Janen Gopon Kommoti, based on her story, also released last year (Deb 2021). Unfortunately, other female priestesses, such as Sanskrit teacher Anita Mukhopadhyay, Amrita Mukhopadhyay, and Chobi Adhikari, are not called by puja organizers to perform (Sen and Ganguly 2020). 4 Navaratri, or Navaratri Puja, is an annual Hindu festival that pays tribute to the goddess Durga. The festival lasts for nine nights and ten days, commencing in the month of Chaitra, which corresponds to March/April in the Gregorian calendar, and is celebrated again in the month of Ashwin. The festival is observed for

The Changing Attitudes Towards Female Priesthood in Hinduism 243 various reasons and its celebration differs across the diverse regions within the Hindu Indian cultural sphere. 5 The Ganesh festival, also known as Gaṇeśa Caturthī, is a Hindu festival that celebrates the birth of the Hindu deity Ganesha. The festival entails the placement of Ganesha’s clay idols in private households, as well as on stages in public locations. During the festival, the chanting of Vedic hymns and Hindu texts is also customary. 6 Lakshmi Pooja (Lakṣmī Pūjā) is a Hindu festival that honors Lakshmi, the goddess of prosperity and the primary deity of Vaishnavism. This occasion is commemorated on the third day of Diwali in various parts of India. 7 An Agiary is a site of worship, also known as a Fire Temple, among Zoroastrians. The essential element of an Agiary is the sacred fire, which is kept burning continuously as a symbol of the Zoroastrian faith. Fire, according to Zoroastrians, indicates the presence of their supreme deity, Ahura Mazda. 8 Menstruation is seen as a sign of impurity, as blood is considered a pollutant in Hinduism. Women are therefore often required to observe certain restrictions during their period, such as refraining from visiting temples or performing worship, and avoiding cooking or touching certain objects that are considered sacred. In some Hindu traditions, menstruating women are also considered unclean and are required to live in isolation during their period, away from other family members. This practice, known as chhaupadi, is now illegal in Nepal and has been widely criticized for its harmful effects on women’s health and well-being (read more in Paudel & Hüsken in this volume). 9 Dr. Joshi wrote a paper titled “The Concept of menstruation of women and its symbolism with menstruation of The Earth and Rivers” in 2017. In the paper, she cites religious scriptures. She asserts that while the menstruation of the earth and rivers is considered auspicious, only women’s menstruation is considered inauspicious. 10 In some Hindu communities, widows are considered to bring bad luck or negative energy, so they are often excluded from religious ceremonies and are not allowed to wear certain types of clothing or jewelry. They may also be required to shave their heads and wear white clothing as a sign of mourning. 11 Divorced women may be seen as having failed in their duty as a wife and may also be excluded from certain religious rituals. This exclusion is based on the idea that a woman’s spiritual purity is linked to her marital status, and divorce may be seen as a sign of moral impurity.

References Deb, A. (2021): Durga Puja in Bengal: Four Female priestesses to Conduct Rituals at Kolkata Pandal. News 18. www.news18.com/news/india/durga-puja-four-femalepriests-4108652.html Hüsken, Ute (2016): Hindu Priestesses in Pune: Shifting Denial of Ritual Agency. In The Ambivalence of Denial. Danger and Appeal of Rituals (ed. by Ute Hüsken and Udo Simon). Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 21–42. Hüsken, Ute (2022): Tradition, Innovation, and Resistance? In Laughter, Creativity, and Perseverance: Female Agency in Buddhism and Hinduism (ed. by Ute Hüsken). Religion, Culture, and History Series of the American Academy of Religion. New York: Oxford University Press, 192–214. Indo Asian News Service (IANS) (2014): A Village in Bihar, Where Girls Wear the Sacred Thread ‘Janeu’. Biharprabha. A  Village in Bihar, Where Girls Wear the Sacred Thread ‘Janeu’ (biharprabha.com)

244  Interview with Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi by Agi Wittich Jaisinghani, Bella (2009): Thread Ceremony for Thane Girl. Times of India. https:// timesofindia.indiatimes.com/toireporter/author-Bella-Jaisinghani-16925.cms, 29 May, 2009. Joshi, A. (2017): The Concept of Menstruation of Women and Its Symbolism with Menstruation of the Earth and Rivers. Research paper presented in the INDICA conference Feminine in Hinduism, 26 March 2022. Joshi, A. (2018): Concept of Women Priesthood in Hindu Religion. www.researchgate.net/publication/329557978_Researcher-Title_of_the_paper-Concept_of_ Women_Priesthood_in_Hindu_Religion Narayanan, V. (2005): Gender and Priesthood in the Hindu Traditions.  Journal of Hindu-Christian Studies, 18(1), 22–31. Sen, D., and R. Ganguly (2020): Kolkata Women Priests Find Themselves Out of Work This Durga. Times of India. http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/77853226.cms?utm_source=contentofinterest&utm_medium=text&utm_ campaign=cppst, 31 Aug, 2020. Shenoy-Packer, S. (2012): A  Serendipitous Religious (Non) Career: Female Hindu Priests Navigate a Non-traditional Occupation.  The International Journal of Religion and Spirituality in Society,  2(1), 125. DOI: 10.18848/2154-8633/CGP/ v02i01/51198. Shenoy-Packer, S. (2013): Her Holiness: The Purohitas of Pune, India: Female Hindu Priests as Embodied, Emotional—Spiritual, and Aesthetic (Performative) Laborers. Journal of International and Intercultural Communication, 6(3), 183–202.

13 Beyond Boundaries A Modern Buddhist Nun’s Journey Towards Enlightenment Interview with Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī, conducted by Agi Wittich Introduction Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī was born in Germany in 1959 and named Daniela Doerpinghaus. A former actress and comedian, she was raised in a Catholic home. Several years ago, she left the stage to live a quiet life in a village in Spain. In 1982, she met the Dalai Lama and became interested in Buddhism. She was ordained as a bhikkhunī at Aranya Bodhi Awakening Forest Hermitage in Northern California in 2010. She has lived and taught in different monasteries in Thailand, Australia, and Germany. She is a well-respected teacher, offering talks on YouTube,1 and a has written a blog titled “Silly Nun”. Currently (2023), she is the abbess of the Aneñja Vihāra Buddhist monastery in Rettenberg, Bavaria, Germany. In Theravāda Buddhism,2 fully ordained female monastics are referred to as bhikkhunīs. Like fully ordained male monastics (bhikkhus), they adhere to the monastic code (vinaya): They shave their heads, wear robes, and practice monastic behavioral and ethical rules, including study of the Buddhist teachings (dhamma/dharma) and daily meditation. Bhikkhunīs are responsible for teaching and guiding people on the path to enlightenment, as well as providing a supportive environment for those interested in following the Buddhist path. In recent years, there has been a rising effort to ordain more bhikkhunīs. In the past decades, the study of Buddhist nuns has received considerable interest, with a growing body of research devoted to understanding their distinctive roles and experiences within Buddhist traditions, nuns’ ordination, Buddhist philosophy concerning nuns, and research conducted in different countries. Numerous scholars have analyzed texts that provide insights into the life experiences of Buddhist nuns. Weingast (2020) provides a contemporary adaptation of the text Therīgāthā (“Songs of the Elder Nuns”), which is thought to have been authored at the time of the Buddha by early Buddhist nuns. The poems are a tribute to the experiences of the first Buddhist women, including princesses, courtesans, discontented wives in arranged marriages, and passionately lovestruck women. In his work, Weingast portrays the

DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-14

246  Interview with Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī by Agi Wittich hardships, resilience, and compassion of these remarkable women. Similarly, Muldoon-Hules (2017) provides insights into the lives and experiences of nuns from the Avadānaśataka through the presentation of their stories. Additionally, early female Buddhist monastics have also been studied. For instance, Tsomo (2021) offers a comprehensive overview of women in Buddhist traditions, shedding light on the historical and present roles of women in diverse Buddhist settings. Chaturvedi (2022) analyzes the agency and experiences of Buddhist nuns in the early bhikkhunīs’ history. Swenson (2020) investigates the senses and karma in the ordination tales of Buddhist nuns, analyzing the importance of subjective experiences within their spiritual journey. In addition, LaFever (2017) presents a biographical method for comprehending Buddhist nuns and their relationship with women’s empowerment. Furthermore, Fink (2020) examines the complex approach to development, agency, and leadership among modern Buddhist nuns. Also, Roloff (2021) investigates the potential revival of the Mūlasarvāstivāda bhikṣuṇī lineage in the Tibetan Canon. Several academics centered their attention on gender equality, women’s right to ordination, and women’s involvement in Buddhist monasticism. Jacoby (2020) investigates gender equality in the context of Tibetan Buddhist nuns, offering light on the dynamic evolution of this tradition. Schneider (2023) similarly investigates gender asymmetry and nuns’ agency in Asian Buddhist traditions, providing insights into nuns’ power dynamics and roles in these contexts. In addition, Park (2017) investigates the intersection of women and Buddhist philosophy, focusing on the philosophical perspectives that shape the understanding of women’s roles in Buddhist traditions. Moreover, Mrozik (2020) explores the complexities of the debate over the ordination of Buddhist nuns. Also, Lindberg Falk and Kawanami (2018) examine the monastic discipline and community roles of Buddhist nuns, shedding light on the intricacies of their practices and regulations. The resurgence of Buddhist nuns in India and their role in recovering respect and democracy in the light of shifting societal dynamics have also been the subject of research (Gautam 2021). Other studies have focused on female Buddhist nuns in various countries in Asia, including Vietnam (Cheng 2022; Sinh 2022), Taiwan (Li 2022), Myanmar (Roy 2020), and South Korea (Choi 2022). Also studied by scholars are the female Buddhist monastics in Western settings. Hüsken (2017) investigates the modernization and traditionalism of Theravāda nuns in the United States, providing insights on the problems and adaptations they encounter in their new cultural settings. Overall, these studies offer a variety of perspectives on Buddhist nuns’ unique contributions, challenges, and experiences in different cultural, historical, and sociopolitical contexts. This chapter is situated within this body of scholarship on Buddhist nuns and aims to provide fresh insights into the situation of contemporary Theravāda Buddhist nuns, characterized by transculturality and intersectionality. The story of Ayyā Phalañāṇī contributes significantly to understanding

Beyond Boundaries 247 the roles, ordination practices, and experiences of women in contemporary Buddhist monasticism. Interview Wittich: How do you think the approach towards women’s ordinations has evolved, and has female religious agency changed in recent years and in different cultural environments? Ayyā Phalañāṇī: To understand how it evolved we have to look back in time, even before the Buddha’s time. When there was an order, women most probably also wished to join. In the Jain order, women recluses were permitted. Although ordaining female recluses did not start with the Buddhist dispensation it was clear that the Buddha intended to create a community of bhikkhus3 and bhikkhunīs,4 and upāsakas,5 and upāsikās. Thus, it was just a matter of time for the bhikkhuni order to be initiated. Probably female recluses were not a common sight, but their admission into the order was possible approximately 5  years after the installation of the bhikkhu order. Throughout the past 2600 years it was always possible somewhere for female monastics to receive ordination.   Surely there were times and countries where it was difficult or impossible to become a bhikkhunī. In India, Pakistan, and Afghanistan where Buddhism had formerly spread, it was wiped out by other religions like Islam, Christianity, and Hinduism. The freedom women had gained through the Buddha’s teachings was lost again with the arrival of new belief systems. Religious and cultural changes defined the role of women, and those changes most probably have had an influence for the remaining Buddhist women and on their entering the Buddhist order. Wittich: Which countries do you recognize as still having bias, and which countries do you recognize as being more free and allowing? Ayyā Phalañāṇī: I would say among the countries that are biased against women are the Theravāda Buddhism countries, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, also Sri Lanka and Myanmar.6 In these countries a woman can live as bhikkhunī but she will not face harm. In Myanmar, a woman would still go to jail if she becomes bhikkhunī; she will be forced to disrobe and face very harsh conditions. Although this would not happen in Sri Lanka or Thailand, bhikkhunīs are not fully recognized by the monks. The bias in these countries comes from within large parts of the saṅgha and not

248  Interview with Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī by Agi Wittich so much from lay people or politics. Living in Thailand as bhikkhunī for almost 12  years, I  experienced mostly friendliness and acceptance, by laypeople and even by many monks. It’s basically the male part of the saṅgha7 that has concerns.   In countries like Germany, America, or Australia, there is by far not so much bias. In these countries a woman who wishes to become a bhikkhunī can enter the path and do so. That is for Theravāda Buddhism; in other Buddhist traditions, like Mahāyāna, women never faced the same problems. In Mahāyāna Buddhism, female monastic lineages were always available. Wittich: What inspired you to become a Buddhist nun? Could you describe your journey to becoming a Buddhist nun and how you obtained the necessary training and education? Ayyā Phalañāṇī: I was introduced to Buddhism by my Catholic religions’ teacher at the age of ten, and I instantly knew that I liked it. At the age of fifteen, I started to get interested in philosophy and read a lot, including Kant, Sartre, and the Bible. When I  was about nineteen, I  met the Dalai Lama and started to read the Buddhist scriptures, the suttas, and felt tremendously inspired. Of course, I  couldn’t understand many of the Buddhist concepts and ideas like the Eightfold Noble Path8 or the Four Noble Truths9 at that age, but I understood that it’s good to develop mettā, karuṇā, muditā, and upekkhā.10   At the age of twentytwo or twentythree, I did my first meditation retreat in Japan. I loved it so much that I could imagine living as a nun. But on the other hand, I was very much in love with a young man and didn’t feel like this was the right moment to go into the monastery. Then events took over, I  enjoyed and lived my life, studied in Paris, became an actress for theatre, then a comedian. I lived a life that many people would envy. Nonetheless, at the age of fourtyfour I was tired of it, and I settled in Spain. I had lived many of my dreams—and yet it was not fulfilling.   When I  was working as comedian on a cruise ship, I read a sutta in the Samyutta Nikāya of Talaputa,11 the comedian or theater director, and I  had read his verses in the Theragāthā.12 One evening, when I was performing I experienced a situation when I instantly knew that I had to stop acting. During my act a woman at a table laughed very, very hard about my comedy. She screamed laughing, her mouth stood open, and she was drooling, spittle and food fell out of her mouth. She screamed: ‘Stop, stop,

Beyond Boundaries 249 I  can’t hold it anymore I’ll pee my pants.’ I  don’t know what happened in this moment, but it struck me very hard: ‘I can’t continue this!’ I  always had thought I  do something good, something wholesome when I  made people laugh and loved to see them with tears of laughter. In this moment I understood what the Buddha said. Comedians do not go to the heaven of laughter; they rather go to the hell of laughter.   I had seen it. After this cruise I quit acting. Back home in Spain, I was looking to do another retreat at Sōgen-ji in Japan, with Harada Rōshi.13 I applied for a stay. When I heard back from them after a long time, I had already booked a trip to Thailand. There I did my first Vipassana retreat. That was in 2007. And in that retreat, it became clear to me that I needed to become a nun. I went back to Spain, arranged everything and headed back to Thailand to ordain.   This was done so hurriedly that I didn’t really know what I was getting into. I thought that I would become like a monk with these brown robes. With the same set of rules. I had no idea that in Thailand, you would become a Maechi14 with eight precepts,15 and that’s it. When it became clear to me that you only become Maechi and you do not become like a bhikkhunī, I thought of dropping out and not doing it. But I thought, “No, I’m doing it for one year. Then I go back and become a big, famous meditation teacher in Spain”. So far, that was the plan.   Within this one year, I was quite fortunate. The monk who taught me knew of my aspiration to be in the brown robes and become a bhikkhunī, so he trained me. He allowed me to live by the Vinaya as much as possible. I started to take the ten precepts.16 I was unofficially trained as a bhikkhu, not as a bhikkhunī. I was given the bhikkhu pāṭimokkha17 and some vinaya books to study and was told to behave like that. Also, I received teachings and was guided through meditation retreats. Wittich: What made you realize in Thailand that this is what you want? Ayyā Phalañāṇī: When I came to Thailand, I loved almost everything about the country and the people. In those meditation retreats, I realized that I was not such a good person as I thought I would be. That I had bad thoughts and bad intentions sometimes and was still capable of behaving like an idiot. The meditation method of Ajahn Tong would reveal all

250  Interview with Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī by Agi Wittich









unwholesomeness that there was. I  cried a lot in these retreats and saw so much suffering that it was hard to bear up with.   In one retreat I realized how deluded I was to think that I  could go back to Spain after one year of retreats and become a meditation teacher. It became clear to me that if I want to ever be a good meditation teacher, I need to be a nun for a long time and do many more retreats. In this time, I  developed a strong urgency to practice and do nothing else, to dive deeper into the abyss of human nature defiled by greed, hatred, and delusion. There was no more going back. In the end it was due to this urgency and the respect for my teachers that I decided to stay in Thailand.   After one year of training and meditating the monk who taught me had to go to America. So I went to Wat Rampoeng Tapotaram,18 in North Thailand, in the area of Chiang Mai. At that time, I was clad in dark brown robes. Ajahn Tong Sirimangalo had allowed me to wear brown robes like some sayalays in Myanmar. Ajahn Tong was my teacher’s teacher and a brilliant monk and meditation master. He was always supportive of women and was not against bhikkhunī ordination.   Everyone who comes for a meditation retreat in Wat Rampoeng must fill in the application form; one of the questions is: ‘Why do you come to this monastery?’ My answer to this question was: “because I want to become an arahant19”. This shows, for one, how deluded I  was, but also, it shows the real urge that I  had. I  put myself under a lot of pressure and felt that I would go crazy when I am not becoming an arahant in the near future. It didn’t work out that way. I had to learn to live without becoming an arahant.   My teacher took me seriously when I said that I need to become an arahant. For three and a half years, he guided and pushed me through meditation retreats. Retreats were only interrupted for the visa report; apart from a few days every three months, I was meditating and had to talk to my teacher every day about meditation. When I came to meet him and told him that I practiced less than 12 hours, he would scold me and tell me that this is not enough for one who wants to become an arahant. There were times when I wanted to give up, but he never gave up on me. I am very grateful for his support, although I  did not become arahanta, but just realized that I need to calm down, be still

Beyond Boundaries 251





and peacefully agree, that every moment is good, perfect. I didn’t stop practicing and did not forget the final goal, but understand now that force and willpower are not the means to experience freedom from suffering—purifying the mind from greed, hatred, and delusion is the way.   During retreats I  was not allowed to use the internet, but on the way to visa report I  started to contact Ayyā Tathālokā20 at Aranya Bodhi Hermitage. In 2010, I  was lucky enough to be invited by her to come and join and officially become a sāmaṇerī.21 A bhikkhunī ordination ceremony would take place later that year. Ayyā Tathālokā said that if I  have a letter from my teacher, stating that I trained well in the precepts necessary, that he allows me to become a bhikkhunī, and that I can come back to him and his monastery to continue my training, then it might be possible that I would receive bhikkhunī ordination. My teacher wrote this very, very beautiful letter of support. It was like winning the lottery; it unexpectedly opened the doors for my bhikkhunī ordination. I  am tremendously grateful to him. After all these years, I still get teary and have goosebumps all over because of gratitude for the support of Ayyā Tathālokā, the bhikkhunī saṅgha, and my teachers Ajahn Suphan and Ajahn Tong.   After training with Ayyā Tathālokā as a sāmaṇerī, with this wonderful letter of support from my teacher, together with the confirmation that I trained in the ten rules and the bhikkhunī saṅgha observing me, it was decided by the saṅgha that I  would receive bhikkhunī ordination. This happened to take place on August 28 in 2010. Nowadays it would most probably not happen as smoothly as it did for me then. Today the saṅgha requires that a woman train two years as sāmaṇerī or as sikkhamānā,22 a trainee instead of training two years with six rules, as is stated in the pāṭimokkha. I  fully support this approach. Now I am training women myself to become bhikkhunīs. It is a beautiful and difficult task. Two years of training gives the aspirants time to develop, to grow into being part of the saṅgha. This has proven to be very beneficial. However different saṅghas hold it in regards to the training, an ordination valid as long as the minimum requirements— as in the pāṭimokkha—are met. These are: training with six rules for two years, as I already said. After some training with the Ayyā Tathālokā in Aranya Bodhi Hermitage, I went back to Thailand to continue meditation with my teachers at Wat Rampoeng

252  Interview with Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī by Agi Wittich Wittich: Can you describe any experiences where you have had to navigate gender bias or discrimination within the Buddhist community? Also, how do you navigate the intersection of your gender identity, cultural background, and religious practice? Ayyā Phalañāṇī: To begin with: I am under the impression that I encountered far less gender bias than other women, although it is difficult for me to say why this is so. One reason might be that I do not want or wait for the approval of monks or men but generally do what I think is right. When I need to know something, I’ll ask. Another aspect might be that I do not agree that Buddha or his teachings were in any way biased against women. If there is something in the texts that appears to be biased, I try to look at it from different angles and to understand in which way it could be meant as beneficial and supportive. This is the only way I can imagine the Buddha has taught and thought.   In my young age, as a Zen practitioner, I  didn’t meet so much bias in the meditation groups. Later I practiced mainly alone. Earlier I mentioned that I loved almost everything about Thailand and its people. This was, in fact, only part of the picture. There were instances I witnessed which were quite terrible. Actually, the first monk I met in Thailand flashed me. In a big touristy place in a corner where I rested, he just lifted his robes and showed me his male parts. I looked straight into his eyes, shook my head, and went away. Later when I tried to talk to another monk about it, I was told not to make such a fuss about it. The second encounter was at least as saddening as the first. I thought of going back home. Fortunately, I remembered my wish to go on retreat, skipped all touristy activities, and went to the monastery. My teachers were just wonderful, and I did not experience any bias from them.   The longer I  lived in Thailand, the more I  understood that the Thai women themselves are biased. Countless times I  heard women say that it is unfortunate to be born as a woman, that it is because of bad karma that one is born as a woman, and even that women are inferior to men. Of course, I also heard that women cannot ordain as bhikkhunīs. Surprisingly, I  heard these things mainly from the mouths of women. Very few times it came from monks. Since my teachers and the monks I had to deal with never said anything discouraging or biased, I didn’t see any problem.   As a German citizen, gender inequality was something of the past, something that I  fought in my youth. I  was

Beyond Boundaries 253 not raised to submit, and my mind was set to: ‘If a man can do, I  can do, too.’ If there was bias, I  didn’t feel it applied to me. So, having grown up and being supported by my parents in this, it didn’t occur to me that becoming a bhikkhunī or being the same as a bhikkhu would not be possible. In my generation gender equality and emancipation was huge; we used to wear those purple overalls23 and voice all inequalities.   Also, we had one very famous role model, Ayyā Khemā.24 She was German and Jewish, born as Ilse Kussel. She lived as a bhikkhunī in Germany. Aneñja Vihāra, a training monastery for bhikkhunīs, where I  am living now, exists because of her—she did not found it; unfortunately, she died in 1997—yet she inspired our monastery. Here in this area of Bavaria and all over Germany, she is well known and has many centers. So, knowing that she lived in Germany as a bhikkhunī, I could not be convinced when it was said that bhikkhunīs do not exist. Wittich: What do you think has contributed to the change that we see today in the role of women in Buddhist leading roles? Ayyā Phalañāṇī: Well, there are some very, very strong women. Some of them are still with us; others are already gone. Very strong pioneers. A woman who became a bhikkhunī in the 80s of the last century had to be very strong. She had to be a character. But there were enough of these women who dared and there were monks with hearts full of compassion. This combination of strong women becoming nuns and compassionate monks who would accept them into the order is what has made all the difference. Once there are pioneers who walk the dangerous path, impossible to walk, there will be those who follow after. I’m not the first generation of pioneers. I  already have better conditions, and those after me will have an even easier path. The pioneers were groundbreaking; they did the unthinkable. We owe it to them that now a woman who wishes to become a bhikkhunī can just go ahead and become one, as long as she meets the requirements. I am of the second batch. The bhikkhunīs before me might not have been able to build a bhikkhunī saṅgha, but they paved the way for it.   Many people, male and female, doubted that a bhikkhunī saṅgha could really be reestablished. Many doubts were voiced, that women can’t just live together in harmony, that when there is more than one woman there is quarreling, that women are not strong enough, etc. In the pioneer years bhikkhunīs needed to prove themselves;

254  Interview with Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī by Agi Wittich they needed to get by and stand their ground. There was no time or capacity for community building. Their energy was needed to protect, explain, and sustain themselves. This period in time is over, bhikkhunīs exist, there is no more debating it. Now, because of their efforts, we can use the energy to grow communities. This is truly inspiring, a moment to breathe in and be grateful to those women. One more thing is important to consider in regards to the change we see—that is: women communities are now more and more independent. A community of women who are subordinate to men will always fight and never find harmony. Only when women are responsible for themselves not being dependent can their community start to heal and grow. Monks as friends and equals will heal many wounds that tradition and culture has caused. Monks as bosses to whom nuns are subordinate will create a pecking order among the women and cause disharmony. Wittich: You are continuing their lineage. Ayyā Phalañāṇī: At least I  try to. It is important for bhikkhunīs to have their own lineage, to have role models and heroines to look up to or to be inspired by. I do what I can, but also see my limitations caused by stubbornness and tiredness. There are young women who want to walk the path the Buddha has shown. They need help and guidance. For the growth and wellbeing of the young and arising bhikkhunī saṅgha, we have to become learned and skilled ourselves, and to train others to become strong, knowledgeable, and competent. For the time being the inspiration to continue the path must come from within ourselves. There are not enough role models and heroines yet. When we can continue what has started, there will be a bhikkhuni lineage in the near future. Times change quickly. In the 80s of the last century, people laughed in your face when you wanted to become bhikkhunī. Wittich: Was this only in Thailand? Ayyā Phalañāṇī: No, this can still happen everywhere. When a renowned teacher says that bhikkhunīs cannot exist, then students everywhere in the world will repeat this without thinking and investigating. It requires bravery to trust your own guts and to do what needs to be done. This is the same all over the world, I reckon. Wittich: I  must ask about the sexual harassment that you mentioned. Was this a one-time happening? Have you heard of other bhikkhunīs experiencing similar things? Was this an exception?

Beyond Boundaries 255 Ayyā Phalañāṇī: I don’t know. I know of some, but not many. It’s almost breaking my heart when I say that, because there are so many excellent monks and so many good men out there in this world. On the other hand, there are plenty of men who feel entitled to sexual rights, who think harassing women is fun and who just live their toxic masculinity. This is certainly not a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. (And I  must admit that women too have the capacity to do unwholesome things.)   I have met brilliant, wonderful, goodhearted, wellbehaved monks, and I  can’t blame them for anything at all. This must be said. But as long as people are unenlightened, there are actions done out of greed, hatred, and delusion. Among ordained and among not-ordained people. This is why striving for arahantship is so important. The more we can rid ourselves of delusion, the better we are protected from harm and doing unwholesome deeds that keep us in the samsaric cycle. Buddha showed us the way to end delusion; we should really make use of it. Not too sure if I can, but if I can inspire women and men to also leave their moha25 behind and grow some wisdom, then mission accomplished. Wittich: How do you envision the future role of women within Buddhism in the coming years and decades, and what are your hopes for the future of female religious agency in Buddhism? Ayyā Phalañāṇī: As far as I know we are in a quite exceptional situation here in Germany. We have this one monastery for bhikkhunīs, Aneñja Vihāra, that is well established, and two more Theravāda bhikkhunī monasteries are presently evolving. At Aneñja Vihāra, we recently (July 2, 2023) performed a bhikkhunī ordination ceremony for three women. Thus, there are now up to five bhikkhunīs, up to two sāmaṇerīs, two anagārikās, and more women who seek to enter the path. Both other places also seem to flourish and develop well. I did not see this coming when I took on the lead of Aneñja Vihāra in April  2018. Within Europe, Germany is the country with the most Theravāda bhikkhunīs, and we are starting to build connections to other European countries, like Spain and Italy, to get the bhikkhunī lineage started there, too. So far we are, as nuns and religious figures, well liked, and as soon as possible after the training of young nuns is completed, we would like to go out, guide retreats, give talks, take part in spiritual care in hospitals and hospices, etc. We are not sure yet where

256  Interview with Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī by Agi Wittich it will go, because it depends so much on the individuals, and the main objective for a Theravāda bhikkhunī should always be enlightenment. I see bhikkhunīs as teachers of the Dhamma.26   Aneñja Vihāra27 is about 15 years old now. The other two monasteries28 are smaller and much younger but run by competent young bhikkhunīs. It is going in a good direction. Wittich: In the rest of the world? Ayyā Phalañāṇī: Not too sure. It seems in Asia, in Malaysia, and some other countries, bhikkhunīs are becoming strong. This is great! They have their own places and live the holy life. But in Asia there is often the attempt to ask for the bhikkhus’ permission and the urge to be accepted by the bhikkhus. I have seen a bhikkhunī associations’ website; when you look at the page “about us”, above all, on top of the list is [a picture and the name of] one single bhikkhu, and then beneath follow smaller pictures and names of the bhikkhunīs. This, for me, is unacceptable. Yet there are a lot of wonderful and inspiring things happening.   The Asian bhikkhunīs seem to be in accordance with this. It is not up to me to judge which approach is better. Maybe it is wise to strive for the bhikkhus’ approval instead of presenting them facts and expecting them to cooperate. The latter is the approach that has worked for me so far. The Buddha’s teaching does not subjugate bhikkhunīs and place them beneath the bhikkhus. Bhikkhus obviously had closer contact to the Buddha; thus it was just fair that the bhikkhus teach the bhikkhunīs. Monks have a tendency not to be too enthusiastic about teaching nuns, but they are to share their knowledge and uplift nuns when asked, and nuns shall ask every two weeks. It is a symbiosis. If one sees it like this, it is a privilege and joy to ask the bhikkhus for ovāda29 every two weeks.   There is a pāṭimokkha rule that states that we are allowed to ask only once every two weeks for the ovāda. At some point this has been turned into “the bhikkhunīs must ask the bhikkhus every two weeks for their teaching”. No. It is not like that. We need teaching, but we should respect a bhikkhu’s need for viveka,30 solitude. Hence, we do not ask more often than once every two weeks. Fair enough. We really have to understand that the Buddha was without any trace of taints, without any greed, hatred, or delusion. He was known as Mahākaruniko, the great compassionate one. There is no way that he was biased.

Beyond Boundaries 257 Wittich: It sounds like friendship instead of hierarchy. Ayyā Phalañāṇī: Yes, the Buddhist order is based on friendship. The Buddha said, “Friendship is all of the holy life”. This doesn’t stop at any gender. This refers to all. To the fourfold saṅgha of bhikkhus, bhikkhunīs, upāsakas, and upāsikās. Wittich: Do you have anything to add? Ayyā Phalañāṇī: I could add that I feel fortunate to live in a time and age where becoming a bhikkhunī is possible. It is still possible to encounter the true Dhamma. Becoming an arahant is still possible. I have so much gratitude for all those who practice the Buddha’s teaching, who spread the word without diluting it too much with their own defilements. It’s very important that bhikkhus and bhikkhunīs exist in the world and strive to live the holy life as envisioned by the Buddha. There are secular groups of Buddhists who are disparaging bhikkhus and bhikkhunīs, claiming “being lay people is better”. We should never forget that after his enlightenment and before his death Buddha spoke of the fourfold assembly of consisting of bhikkhus, bhikkhunīs, upāsakas, and upāsikās. We together are the four pillars on which the Buddha’s teaching stands firmly in this world. If one pillar is missing or the pillars are not supportive of the others—Buddhism can’t stand firm and remain established where it already is established and gain a foothold and inspire people where it is still not known. It is the responsibility of the fourfold saṅgha to keep the Buddha’s teachings alive. Discussion Ayyā Phalañāṇī’s interview sheds light on the presence of female religious monastics in Theravāda Buddhism. It emphasizes that women seeking ordination and spiritual leadership roles are not new, but that acceptance and recognition of female religious leaders have varied historically and culturally. Ayyā Phalañāṇī describes her journey of becoming a bhikkhunī, illuminating the obstacles and biases women have encountered in their pursuit of spiritual leadership roles. Despite the difficulties, she emphasizes the progress made by pioneering women who paved the way for the acceptance and recognition of Bhikkhunīs in Europe and North America, especially Germany and the United States. The interview discusses gender equality in the Buddhist monastic community. Ayyā Phalañāṇī emphasizes the significance of treating women as equals to men and advocates for Bhikkhunīs to stand beside Bhikkhus with equal rights and opportunities. Ayyā Phalañāṇī’s journey as a Bhikkhunī exemplifies how women in the religious traditions of South Asia navigate and

258  Interview with Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī by Agi Wittich transform religious norms. She discusses the historical context of Buddhist women’s ordination, their active pursuit of ordination, and spiritual leadership roles within Buddhism. Her position as a Bhikkhunī is an example of a woman assuming religious leadership within a conservative religious framework, as she overcame biases and cultural barriers to pursue her calling as a fully ordained nun. In addition, Ayyā Phalañāṇī emphasizes the importance of training more Bhikkhunīs equipped with knowledge and understanding of the teachings and the ability to create an environment in which women can fully participate in religious leadership positions. In conclusion, the interview with Ayyā Phalañāṇī sheds light on the evolving Buddhist attitude towards women’s ordinations and the shifting terrain of female religious agency. Contributing to the larger discourse on gender dynamics within the religious context, Ayyā Phalañāṇī’s journey exemplifies the ongoing challenges and progress in achieving gender equality and inclusivity within the Buddhist monastic community. Notes 1 Her talks are available on Buddhist Insights’ YouTube channel: www.youtube. com/@BuddhistInsights 2 Theravāda Buddhism is one of Buddhism’s major schools and is prevalent in Southeast Asia, Sri Lanka, and some parts of South Asia. In countries like Thailand, Myanmar, Cambodia, Laos, and Sri Lanka it has been the dominant religious and cultural force for centuries. Its teachings emphasize the importance of personal effort, meditation, and the observance of ethical precepts in achieving enlightenment and liberation. Monastics play a vital role as religious leaders and educators in these countries. 3 A bhikkhu is an ordained monastic in Buddhism, or a Buddhist monk. They follow a specific set of rules as they renounce worldly life and adopt a monastic lifestyle. Bhikkhus play a leadership role in the Buddhist community and are looked up to as examples and sources of guidance. 4 Bhikkhunī is a female monastic in Buddhism or a Buddhist nun. Bhikkhunīs follow the Vinaya, a set of rules, just like bhikkhus. Few women could take full monastic vows in the Theravāda tradition over the last decades. 5 Upāsaka means a “lay devotee” of the Buddha, who is not a member of a monastic order. Upāsakas play an important role in the Buddhist community, as they support the monastic order and participate in religious activities. Female lay devotees in Buddhism are called upāsikās. 6 In Burma, the full ordination of bhikkhunīs is not legally recognized, and the practice of living as a thilashin, a female renunciant, is the only option for women who wish to renounce. Thilashins are not fully ordained members of the saṅgha, and their status is closer to that of sāmaṇerīs, novice nuns. 7 A saṅgha is a community of fully ordained monastics. 8 The Noble Eightfold Path outlines the path to liberation from suffering and the attainment of enlightenment at the core of the Theravāda Buddhist teachings. It consists of eight interconnected practices or factors that work together to cultivate wisdom, ethical conduct, and mental discipline. These include Right View, Right Intention, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood, Right Effort, Right Mindfulness, and Right Concentration (Hervey 2012).

Beyond Boundaries 259 9 The Four Noble Truths are a fundamental teaching in Buddhism that outline the path to liberation from suffering and the attainment of enlightenment. They are: (1) Life always involves suffering. (2) The cause of suffering is craving or attachment, which arises from ignorance of the true nature of reality. (3) The cessation of suffering is attainable by eliminating craving and attachment. (4) The path to the cessation of suffering is the Noble Eightfold Path. 10 Mettā is translated as loving kindness, karuṇā is compassion, muditā is sympathetic joy, and upekkhā is equanimity. These are the “Four Immeasurables” in Buddhism and are considered essential for cultivating a compassionate and loving heart in Buddhism. They are practiced through meditation, reflection, and daily life interactions to develop a deep sense of connection, empathy, and well-being for oneself and others. 11 The Saṃyutta Nikāya is a collection of Buddhist texts in the Sutta Piṭaka, which is one of the “three baskets” that compose the Pāḷi Tipiṭaka of Theravāda Buddhism. The sutta is about a man named Talaputa who led a group of actors and asked the Buddha if it is true that actors are reborn in heaven. The Buddha tells Talaputa that actors are reborn in the hell of Avīci, the hell of unending suffering since actors are constantly stimulating the senses of others and that this leads to negative states of mind. 12 The Theragāthā is a Buddhist text that is part of the Sutta Piṭaka. It is a collection of short poems in Pali in which the bhikkhus recount their struggles and accomplishments on the path to enlightenment. The poems provide insights into the personal experiences, challenges, and spiritual journeys of these early Buddhist monks. 13 Harada Rōshi is a highly respected Rinzai priest, Zen teacher, author, and calligrapher. He is the head abbot of Sōgen-ji, a 300-year-old temple in Okayama, Japan. He has many American and international Zen teachers among his students. Harada Rōshi is also a world-class calligrapher and has published several books on Zen and calligraphy. 14 A Maechi is a female Buddhist renunciant who has not taken the full ordination as a bhikkhunī, and is closer to sāmaṇerīs, novice nuns. They are not allowed to perform certain religious duties, such as leading a monastic community or giving ordination to others. Maechis are often involved in social welfare activities, such as caring for the sick and elderly, and are highly respected in Thai society. They wear white robes and shave their heads, similar to bhikkhunīs and bhikkhus. 15 The Eight Precepts are a set of rules that include abstaining from killing, stealing, sexual activity, telling lies, intoxicating drinks and drugs, eating after noon, entertainment, beautifying the body, and using luxurious and comfortable seats and beds. The Eight Precepts are intended to develop meditative concentration, prevent distractions, and cultivate a sense of detachment. They are also observed to simplify daily routines, not get caught up in sensual desire, and focus inwardly on meditation. 16 The Ten Precepts are a set of rules and are similar to the Eight Precepts, but with two additional precepts: Abstaining from accepting money and from singing, dancing, playing music, and attending shows. 17 The bhikkhupāṭimokkha is a set of rules that govern the behavior of Buddhist monks in the Theravāda tradition. The rules cover a wide range of topics, including ethical conduct, meditation, and monastic discipline. 18 Wat Rampoeng Tapotaram is a Buddhist temple located in Chiang Mai Province, Thailand. It is considered one of the most revered temples in northern Thailand. The temple is highly regarded for its historical significance, architectural beauty, and spiritual importance in the region.

260  Interview with Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī by Agi Wittich 19 The term arahant refers to a person who has eliminated all the unwholesome roots which underlie the fetters and will not be reborn in any world upon their death since the bonds that bind a person to the illusionary world have been finally dissolved. 20 Ayyā Tathālokā is an American-born Theravāda bhikkhunī and Buddhist teacher. She is the first Western woman to be appointed as a bhikkhunī preceptor (PavattiṇīUpajjhayā). She received the full bhikkhunī ordination in 1997 and co-founded the Dhammadharini monastery in California in 2005. She has contributed to the going forth and full ordination of many women in the Theravāda tradition, in various countries, including Australia and the United States. 21 A sāmaṇerī is a female novice monastic in Buddhism. They are in a period of training and preparation before taking the full ordination as a bhikkhunī. 22 A sikkhamānā is a trainee undergoing training to become a fully ordained nun. It refers to a woman who has taken the initial steps towards becoming a fully ordained monastic but has not yet taken the full ordination. The two-year training period is not required by all Theravāda bhikkhunī traditions. 23 Purple overalls were a symbol of the women's movement in the mid-1970s. The overalls were usually worn by workmen and were adopted by the women’s movement as a way of challenging gender stereotypes and promoting gender equality. The purple overalls were part of a broader movement for women’s rights in Germany, which culminated in the passage of laws granting women equal rights in the German constitution, which declared that the state would promote the implementation of equal rights and take steps to eliminate disadvantages that now exist. 24 Ayyā Khemā (1923–1997) was the first Western woman to become a Theravāda Buddhist nun, who founded several Buddhist centers around the world and promoted the establishment of the International Association of Buddhist Women in 1987. 25 The term moha refers to delusion, confusion, or ignorance, and is considered one of the unwholesome roots or mental factors that lead to suffering and hinder spiritual progress. 26 The term dhamma refers to the teachings of the Buddha, including the Four Noble Truths, the Eightfold Path, and more, and the ultimate nature of reality. 27 Aneñja Vihāra is a Buddhist monastery located in Rettenberg, Bavaria, Germany. The monastery was founded in October 2006 and follows the Theravāda Forest tradition. Aneñja Vihāra is one of the few monasteries in Europe that offers training for women in the Theravāda tradition. 28 The two monasteries are Dhamma-Stiftung Kloster-Hassel Monastery Village located in Hassel, and Lilienhof-Sirisampanno Kloster located in Estorf. 29 The term ovāda refers to a sermon or exhortation given by the Buddha or a respected teacher to guide and instruct the monastic community or lay followers. The ovāda-pāṭimokkha is recited and observed by monastics during the uposatha ceremony, which is held on the full moon and new moon days, and includes teachings on ethical conduct, meditation, mindfulness, and the path to liberation from suffering. 30 The term viveka refers to detachment, seclusion, and separation. It is considered an important aspect of Buddhist spiritual practice, as it allows practitioners to cultivate inner peace, clarity, and insight.

Sources Chaturvedi, N. (2022): Indispensable for Dispensation: The Agency and Experience of Buddhist Nuns in the Early History of the Bhikkhunī Saṅgha. Studies in Religion/ Sciences Religieuses, 51(4), 538–557.

Beyond Boundaries 261 Cheng, W. Y. (2022): Gender Roles in Transmitting Vietnamese Buddhism to Taiwan: Two Case-studies of Vietnamese Buddhist Nuns.  Journal of Global Buddhism, 23(1), 32–45. Choi, H. (2022): Zen Buddhist Nuns Go Global: Temple Food in South Korea. Food, Culture & Society, 1–16. Fink, S. (2020):  The Feminist Buddha: Buddhist Nuns in Contemporary Chengdu and Their Nuanced Approach to Progress, Agency, and Leadership. Doctoral diss., University of British Columbia Library, Vancouver. Gautam, H. (2021): Reclaiming Dignity and Democracy: The Re-emergence of Buddhist Nuns in India. Words & Silences, 10(1). Hüsken, U. (2017): Theravāda Nuns in the United States: Modernization and Traditionalization 1. In Buddhist Modernities (ed. by Hanna Havnevik, Ute Hüsken, Mark Teeuwen, Vladimir Tikhonov, Koen Wellens). New York: Routledge, 243–258. Jacoby, S. (2020): Gender Equality in and on Tibetan Buddhist Nuns’ Terms. Religions, 11(10), 543. LaFever, K. (2017): Buddhist Nuns in Nepal and Women’s Empowerment: A  Biographical Approach. In  Women’s Studies International Forum, vol. 64. Oxford: Elsevier, 41–50. September. Li, Y. C. (2022): Taiwanese Nuns and Education Issues in Contemporary Taiwan. Religions, 13(9), 847. Lindberg Falk, M., and H. Kawanami (2018): Monastic Discipline and Communal Rules for Buddhist Nuns in Myanmar and Thailand. Journal of Buddhism, Law & Society, 3(Specia), 39–68. Mrozik, S. (2020): Sri Lankan Buddhist Nuns: Complicating the Debate over Ordination. Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion, 36(1), 33–49. Muldoon-Hules, K. (2017): Brides of the Buddha: Nuns’ Stories from the Avadanasataka. New York: Lexington Books. Park, J. Y. (2017): Women and Buddhist Philosophy. In Women and Buddhist Philosophy. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Roloff, C. (2021): The Buddhist Nuns’ Ordination in the Tibetan Canon: Possibilities of the Revival of the Mūlasarvāstivāda Bhikṣuṇī Lineage. Bochum; Freiburg: Projekt Verlag. Roy, S. (2020): Victims or Agents? A Feminist Reading of Lived Experiences of Buddhist Nuns in Myanmar. In Research in the Social Scientific Study of Religion, vol. 31. Leiden: Brill, 453–469. Schneider, N. (2023): Gender Asymmetry and Nuns’ Agency in the Asian Buddhist Traditions. Religions, 14(2), 285. Sinh, N. T. (2022): The Rise of Vietnamese Nuns: Views from the Buddhist Revival Movement (1931–1945). Religions, 13(12), 1189. Swenson, S. A. (2020): Following Feeling: Karma and the Senses in Buddhist Nuns’ Ordination Narratives. Journal of Global Buddhism, 21, 71–86. Tsomo, K. L. (2021): Women in Buddhist Traditions. In Women in Buddhist Traditions. New York: New York University Press. Weingast, M. (2020): The First Free Women: Poems of the Early Buddhist Nuns. Boulder: Shambhala Publications.

14 Luminous Insight An Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā of Dhammadharini (USA) Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā, conducted by Nanette R. Spina Introduction Bhikkhunī (Ayyā) Tathālokā Therī is an American-born member of the Buddhist Monastic Sangha; the first non-Sri Lankan woman to receive bhikkhunī ordination via the Theravāda tradition in the modern period. Ven. Bhikkhunī Tathālokā first received instruction in Mindfulness and Insight practices at age ten, beginning yoga and meditation retreats in college, and later studying and training with European, Indian, Korean, Thai, Burmese, and Sri Lankan meditation teachers, with special interest in Thai Forest and Burmese Vipassana traditions. Her personal practice and teachings are profoundly influenced by the Buddha Dhamma as contained in the canonical Early Buddhist Suttas, together with the teachings and practices of Theravāda Forest and Insight meditation. Born in 1968, Ven. Bhikkhunī Tathālokā “went forth” in the life of a spiritual seeker in 1987, leaving college to formally begin entry into monastic life as an anagārikā (a “left home one” with the five precepts plus celibacybrahmacāriya and other precepts) in early 1988. After several years in Europe and in India, where she formally undertook further renunciate ordination with ten novice precepts, she began a search for the ancient bhikkhunī sanghas in East Asia. Ven. Tathālokā formally received pabbajjā and nissāya (the traditional Buddhist “going forth” to become a novice under dedicated apprenticeship) with her senior bhikkhunī mentor in Korea in 1993, followed by formal sāmanerī ordination precepts under her bhikkhunī mentor’s auspices in 1995. Finally, after nearly ten years of monastic life, she received full bhikkhunī upasampadā higher ordination with Sri Lankan & Thai Theravāda Bhikkhu Sangha in California in November 1997, with the late Buddhist leader Ven. Dr. Havanpola Ratanasāra Nāyaka Mahāthera as preceptor. After higher ordination, Ven. Bhikkhunī Tathālokā began extensive Buddhist Sutta Dhamma  & Vinaya studies and intensive meditation retreats. After her foundational studies, she entered into and completed a traditional three-year retreat. Accepting her bhikkhunī mentor’s request to return to Asia, the post-retreat years were spent teaching and furthering her research studies at Sangha colleges in Korea and Thailand. While in Thailand, she also explored meditation monasteries and dedicated time for long walking DOI: 10.4324/9781003438823-15

Luminous Insight 263 pilgrimages (Thai: tudong, Pali: cārika). In 2004, she was invited back to the United States, her home country, with the mission of supporting women aspiring to Theravāda bhikkhunī life. Upon her return, she joined the founding of the Theravāda Bhikkhunī Association of North America (originally known as the North American Bhikkhuni Association). In 2005, with strong encouragement from local senior Theravāda monks, she launched Dhammadharini Vihara, the first residential monastic community for Theravāda bhikkhunīs in the western United States, supported by the newly founded Dhammadharini Support Foundation, a US registered religious non-profit organization; the first dedicated to supporting Theravāda bhikkhunī teachers, aspirants, and trainees in residence in the United States. Inspired by Buddhist Forest traditions, in 2008 “Ayyā T” (as she is affectionately known) went on to co-found Aranya Bodhi, a rustic off-grid forest hermitage for bhikkhunīs on the Sonoma Coast, followed later by Dhammadharini Sonomagiri Bhikkhunī Ārāma (Dhammadharini Monastery) in the Sonoma Mountain area of San Francisco’s North Bay. In 2009, with more than 20 years of monastic life experience and with the required twelve vassas as a bhikkhunī, Ven. Bhikkhunī Tathālokā became the first contemporary Theravāda bhikkhunī outside Sri Lanka to be appointed and serve as a bhikkhunī preceptor (bhikkhunī pavattinī-upajjhāyā). In the years since, she has served as a Buddhist Dhamma and meditation teacher, a mentor, guide, and Vinaya teacher for the Dhammadharini Sangha, and an advisor to Theravāda bhikkhunī projects internationally. As a bhikkhunī, she has served as a preceptor in more than 60 ordinations, with monastic students from seventeen countries around the world. Methodology The qualitative interview with Ayyā Tathālokā Therī was conducted via the Zoom virtual platform in August  2023. We met for the Zoom interview along with Sāmaṇerī Thāvirā, her assistant. Together, they joined the Zoom meeting from their location at the Aranya Bodhi Forest Hermitage in California (USA) during the traditional three-month annual Theravāda observance of the Vassa, the traditional ‘Rains retreat.’ Ayyā Tathālokā received a list of questions prior to the interview, and we communicated further regarding refining and altering questions. During our communications, I received written correspondence including responses to questions that I  had asked regarding her personal journey towards becoming a bhikkhunī. The interview was transcribed and then thematically analyzed. Whenever appropriate, explanatory terms and clarifications were incorporated into the transcribed text. The material presented here is a shortened version of the original transcript due to chapter length requirements. The final chapter draft was sent to Ayyā Tathālokā and Sāmaṇerī Thāvirā for their assessment and permission before publication.

264  Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā, conducted by Nanette R. Spina Interview 1. From your perspective as a female Buddhist scholar practitioner, what do you consider to be the most significant issues for women and women’s leadership in the Theravāda Buddhist sangha (saṃgha) today? Tathālokā Therī:

 hank you, yes. So, this is really a deep and broad T question. I see the largest issues really being parity and integration. With regards to parity, I  mean having full expectations and full support for women in Buddhism. By full expectations, I  mean expectations that women are fully capable in Buddhism in terms of what we might call “Buddhism’s Prime Directive.”1 From parity, also there is the element of value; valuing that capability and really seeing that as being important and part of Buddhism’s essential mission: to be really giving such value and then backing that up with training, support, ordination, full participation, and full partner participation in leadership.   The other side of this then is related to what I  was saying about integration. I’ve witnessed, particularly amongst Buddhist male monastic leadership (and also non-monastic leadership), real doubts about what women’s role might be if women are to be fully present in Buddhist leadership and teaching. Just really not having so much of a paradigm of “Like how does that look?”— and the notion that that is good—excellent, something valuable and supportive to Buddhism as a whole. Not something that is peripheral, or on the side, to fill a gap in counseling/supporting lay Buddhist women, in ways that male monks and male Buddhist leaders are not able to do. And so . . . “we have these bhikkhunīs, or female teachers, who are able to fill that little gap on the side there” . . . Not that. Tathālokā Therī:  A  leading monk in Bangkok mentioned to me that men—and even male monks—good-spiritedly are happy to compete with one another. It’s like competing in sports and you’re all . . . basically for the same country or something like that . . . and you can, with good spirit, compete with one another. And so, there is so much support for advancement .  .  . in the male monastic community, and Buddhist scholarship or in various kinds of programs or projects or teachings or asceticism or things like this, with what is considered a ‘healthy’ and ‘natural’ sense of male competitiveness. But the male monastics really don’t have a sense of how that works if female

Luminous Insight 265

Tathālokā Therī:

Tathālokā Therī:

monastics and female Buddhist leaders are in those positions. They say, ‘Men’—and this is Asian Buddhist men, particularly Theravāda Asian Buddhist men (but I think it is probably true in Tibetan Buddhism as well, where they have not had bhikkhunī or bhikṣuņī sanghas for a long time—‘Men don’t want to compete with women in that kind of way.’ If we use the sports analogy, then it might be like making men go to play women’s sports, and they feel that would be emasculating. The sense is that if men need to compete with women that brings them (the men) down, not that this raises everybody up together and gives everyone the best opportunities and examples and support; but that it’s emasculating to men, so men don’t want to compete with women. Because the analogy was given with women’s sports, where in all kinds of sports women are normally playing against women, we would need a different kind of analogy to understand Bhikkhunīs’ ‘right’ participation. Somehow the leaders in the men’s monastic community don’t necessarily have readily available analogies that show how that can be good. How that is not emasculating, and how it is not bringing men down, but that it’s really to manifest the maximal support all around. That this is something that the Buddha catuparisā or ‘fourfold community’ can do in partnership with one another towards greater benefit for everyone. So, I see this mental transition as being most important. If the support is not there, and the vision is not there, and the value is not there, what has happened and what is still, I think, largely predominating, is that karmic stories get told. And these karmic stories say that the reason women are not in those positions is because they have bad karma, that bad karma is debilitating, and because of having bad karma, they are also not worthy; and then supporting women is also not as valuable. So, in terms of the karma or merit of giving support—the whole value of giving in Buddhism—there is this idea (that we really don’t see in the canonical early Buddhist teaching) of then giving support to women, whether material support, support for training, or support for education— all of that—is not seen as being as meritorious as giving such support to men. Because the thought is that the fruits (merits/rewards) from that giving are not going to be able to mature and develop well; the space for such ideas isn’t there and is not open; there is a glass ceiling.

266  Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā, conducted by Nanette R. Spina The crops will be stunted. So then for the givers, donors, and the supporters: their gifts are not going to be able to bear great fruit. This becomes a debilitating cycle. So, our task lies in how to turn this debilitating and disabling cycle into a rehabilitating and enabling cycle. This is really so much of what we are working with. Spina: Thank you, that was a very helpful explanation. Tathālokā Therī:  It certainly was not brief, I’m afraid. I’m just thinking about how to express that briefly. This is Sāmaṇerī Thavira’s good, really, really strong point. If I  think about what I’m calling “Buddhism’s Prime Directive,” it is all about that shift in view, and then a shift in attitudes and shift in behaviors, that opens up all of our human potentialities, and is enormously rehabilitating and enabling. Maybe I should just say habilitating, not rehabilitating. If we look at this as being a revival, then we can say rehabilitating, but if we look at this as being the vision and mission of the Early Buddhist Teachings, then we can just say habilitating and enabling. Spina: Thank you. I can see what some of the main challenges have been. Is it also the cultural values in part that may be reinforcing the problem? How much of the monks’ attitude is steeped in their culture and reinforced by cultural values, I wonder? Tathālokā Therī: That part is so, so big. And so, what happened with the culture in places where the bhikkhunī sangha has come to be absent for centuries, if not millennia?—which for Theravāda Buddhism and Himalayan Buddhism is still the vast majority of the places and of the communities. What happened is that we have things that are prescribed by the Buddha in the Teachings that are not happening. For example, the bhikkhus maybe are not studying about the bhikkhunīs’ monastic discipline in the way they are prescribed to, because they just think it is not necessary. So then, that whole transmission of teaching is not happening. And because of not having those studies and not learning, there is so much ignorance and unfamiliarity. And so, we see that sense of unfamiliarity, and not having this as part of their training and education, is so enormous. Tathālokā Therī: Then, there is the Storytelling [matter]. In Theravāda Buddhism at least, Storytelling (the stories of the great disciples of the Buddha) is so important; but the bhikkhus (monks) will largely, if not entirely, tell stories of the great bhikkhus, the male monastics, only. I have spoken

Luminous Insight 267

Tathālokā Therī:

Tathālokā Therī:

with them about this, and they say they are afraid that if they tell the stories of the great bhikkhunīs, then women might get inspired and might want to emulate them; but because there is no bhikkhunī sangha, that would cause a problem. So, they deliberately curtail themselves and don’t tell those inspiring stories of bhikkhunīs to Buddhist laywomen followers. (They even curtail themselves with regard to telling the stories of the upāsikā disciples of the Buddha—the highly knowledgeable, highly practiced, and highly dedicated laywomen followers and practitioners—and even teachers and leaders—from the Buddha’s lifetime, in this regard as well.) The bhikkhu teachers will be choiceful and not talk about all [those women disciples of the Buddha], but they will talk about the ones like, almost always, Visākhā. This is because of Visākhā’s offerings of food and material requisites to the bhikkhu sangha. So, there are deliberate choices being made, which really narrow things down on the one hand, to those who are the leading bhikkhus, and on the other, to those who are leading female supporters of the bhikkhu sangha. It is making a sort of a twofold paradigm. Not only bhikkhunīs, but also upāsikas get cut off in a way, in this process of narrowing from a fourfold to twofold Buddhist community. For the men, the idea is that if they are really devoted, then they should ordain, right?—in this twofold paradigm. And there is not so much of a place for the women because they can’t ordain in this now purely male ideal monastic paradigm; the best they can do in the way this is taught is to be really leading, outstanding laywomen (upāsikā) supporters of the bhikkhu sangha. So, then the bhikkhu sangha (in this paradigm) has a fear. I have talked about this explicitly with leading bhikkhus—the fear that if those who are the great leading laywomen supporters are allowed to ordain, then who is going to feed the bhikkhus? Who is going to support the bhikkhus? Won’t that be a loss for the bhikkhu sangha? The bhikkhu sangha has considered itself to be THE pillar of the Buddhā’s Sāsana (Dispensation) for a long time now (as compared to the ‘four pillars’ of the ‘fourfold community’ concept). So then, it seems like everything will fall apart because that one pillar won’t be supported properly. So, this is the big fear that’s there. Even though there may be some study of the teach ings that mention fourfold community and all of this,

268  Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā, conducted by Nanette R. Spina it commonly gets framed as a merit that was only active in the Buddha’s lifetime and shortly afterwards; that it’s not something that is part of this era or for today, and can only happen again when another Buddha, another Sammā Sambuddha, the next Buddha, Maitreya (Pāli: Metteya), appears in the world. This is how it is commonly spoken about. These are the underlying fears there. These fears are also then related to different elements in the culture that see and compare women with being like floods, floods of impurity that are destructive, or like diseases in the crops which bring famine and loss. These stories, these ideas are not all from Buddhism, but they’re there so strongly; these are some big challenges. So, a large part of what I have done is reviving the telling of the older stories: of the great leading women disciples of the Buddha: the bhikkhunīs, and the upāsikās— beyond just the famous laywoman supporter, Visākhā. And with truly telling stories of fourfold or manifold Buddhist communities again and letting people see how we can be allies, how this can be growth, gain, and of benefit for all of us—not a loss for Buddhism, nor for the bhikkhu sangha. Spina: Thank you, you have certainly given us a lot to think about. Is there anything else you would like to add? Tathālokā Therī: Yes, what this means for us here, now more than 35 years after the first bhikkhunī ordinations of Theravāda women, and nearly 20 years after founding Dhammadharini .  .  . People had imagined with the reappearance of the bhikkhunī sangha that it would be almost entirely female supporters—and the bhikkhunīs would be teaching and giving counseling almost entirely to women— and that would be filling a gap in spaces that the bhikkhu sangha couldn’t. But what I really see over time is that this [teaching and counseling] is not just for women. Yes, there absolutely is the benefit for women; that’s true, but it’s not “only” for women—it’s really for all of us. We find the number of male supporters of our community to be really growing and increasing over time. And it’s not only women who find having bhikkhunīs and women teachers valuable. We hear again and again from men how this is really offering something that they’re not finding from their male teachers, not that the male teachers are missing anything. It is just that [in] having a variety of teachers— and somehow for their p ­sychology—­ having women teachers and women leaders and women practitioners

Luminous Insight 269 who are exemplars, they’re noticing it is fulfilling something for them that is really valuable and beneficial and supportive for them in their growth, in their spiritual path. Spina: I think that is a really important point. On that note, are you referring to the North American context specifically or the broader sangha? Tathālokā Therī: I  am seeing this in the North American context; and I want to say that at least for me, as my activities have been so much not only in North America, but also in Australia and New Zealand and in South Asia and in Southeast Asia, that it’s hard for me to separate this out in my experience. But if we talk about North America, then I want to say, absolutely yes; I am seeing that here mostly in North America. Why I say that is because I am thinking about the last couple of years, the COVID years [2020–2022], not traveling and just being here.   Also, for online teachings or online programs, I’ve seen, for example, the number of participants from India—whether they are Indian internationals or whether they are joining online from India—has just grown enormously. Those participants are mostly women, but they’re not only women. I  don’t want to say half; I think probably one-third male. Not always, sometimes it might be half, sometimes it might be a quarter. I will average out to a third. Spina: That’s great to hear. Tathālokā Therī: And that’s their choice. They have a lot available online to them right now, and for whatever reason, that’s their choice. I would say so from Sri Lanka also—so, particularly participants from South Asia. I am seeing a lot more men regularly showing up, and not only online, but also here in person. For example, we had an Indian-American (living in the United States from India), male, [working] in scholarship and teaching, also [practicing] meditation, spirituality, and things like this. He was writing a book and wanted to come spend time with our community— specifically, with our bhikkhunīs’ community. He came to interview, volunteer, also to support and serve—all of these things. Afterward, he expressed what a valuable time it was for him.   And that is actually not abnormal for us these days. For those who are here for our Vassa this year [annual three-month Buddhist observance of the “Rains” in one location]. Now here with us in the serving and supporting

270  Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā, conducted by Nanette R. Spina capacity—[Speaking to Sāmaṇerī Thāvirā] .  .  . “What percentage of those who are here serving and supporting are male and what percentage female?” This is really a surprise for this year, actually. Sāmaṇerī Thāvirā: One-third men. Tathālokā Therī: One-third men. And then if we talk in terms of gender . . . Sāmaṇerī Thāvirā:  In recent years we’ve had several transgender people come to stay with us, including trans women, trans men, and nonbinary people. Some have practiced renunciation with us together wearing white, undertaking the eight precepts, and others have served as lay stewards. We have a non-binary bhikkhunī member of our community. Tathālokā Therī: Well, I feel wonderful and happy about this. So, I have seen the amount of male participation actually grow and grow over time. And we have also—especially in the last five years—really actively, consciously been trying to think about how to open up [to expand] not only from a twofold sangha to a fourfold sangha (catuparisā)—but thinking more as a ‘manifold’ sangha. That we don’t necessarily have to just be looking in terms of gender binaries—but that the meaning of ‘fourfold sangha’ is inclusivity; explicit, deliberate inclusivity—that—that’s the spirit.   So different people could think about it in a different way, and think: No, the Buddha was thinking in binary terms only and Buddhists should think in binary terms only. This is not my perspective. My perspective is that the meaning is much more of inclusivity and how to serve our diverse humanity—and to support and open up our growth and deepest aspirations in the spiritual life/ holy life as well as our human psychological potentials for wellbeing, welfare, and awakening—and as much growth as is possible amongst diverse ­communities—all as part of our global sangha. Spina: Yes, as human beings. Tathālokā Therī: Yes, yes. So, that is my thought. That is what I have been trying to do . . . Loving that heart, that spirit of receptivity and support. That’s making strides. 2. This question relates to transculturality: denoting a process of transformation that unfolds through extended contacts (micro and macro)—such as cultural interactions, migration/immigration, and also through ­circulations of information, ideas, communications, technology, and media, etc.

Luminous Insight 271 Could you elaborate somewhat on this topic/process from your own experience and perspective—as a female Buddhist scholar-practitioner and Westerner (American) who has decades of Buddhist education, specialized religious training and leadership experience, and years of residence and study in several Asian cultures?   Is there an experiential benefit that you might associate with the idea of transculturality? Tathālokā Therī:

 es, thank you. I will just say that initially encountering Y meditation, chanting, Dhamma teachings, ­monasticism— these things in the United States in the Western context, even in the American university context—there was so much of interest to me there. And it was entirely different to go to Asia and then experience these teachings and practices immersed in Asian Buddhist culture, and I found that enormously valuable—in a way that is practically incomparable to what I  had experienced before that in the United States or in Europe, before I went to India and to East Asia and Southeast Asia. So, that is so, so important and also helpful to see how so many things really make so much more sense. Tathālokā Therī:  How things work—becomes much more clear embedded in their living cultural context. And having said that, I  made a conscious choice to come back to the United States and back to an area that is not my home area, that is Northern California—where multiple Buddhist traditions were present in a highly dynamic way—and taking the ancient teachings and practices and bringing them to meet the contemporary situations, where people are at—looking at how to make that dynamic living connection for benefit in these contexts—and among the different Buddhist traditions and different religions in dialogue with one another.   In my first, I  think, ten or even fifteen years back in the United States, in California, I  regularly actively participated in Monastic Interreligious Dialogue, MID/ DIM—which is between monastics of different religions, particularly Buddhist monastics and Christian monastics, but with some Hindu monastic participation as well. Also, I  interfaced with different religions, representing Buddhism with our local interfaith council, and in our Western Buddhist Monastic Conferences (now Gatherings) between all different traditions of Buddhism that are present here in North America. Tathālokā Therī: In my first years back in the United States, I found this of so much interest and value, just really, really dynamic.

272  Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā, conducted by Nanette R. Spina One time I served as the co-organizer of one of the Western Buddhist Monastic Conferences, and our theme was, “True to the Source.” The whole idea was, as someone said: “not throwing the baby out with the bath water.” But it’s more like: How do you really remain true to the Source, to the essence, to the effective teachings and practices, and also be really, even excellently, meeting the circumstances of the times? What people are experiencing now—what their needs are. What is there in the Buddhist teaching that meets them where they’re at and is helpful in the ways that we think the Buddha would have intended for them? I found this so exciting, interesting, and dynamic, and a realm of so much potential and vibrancy, that was so different than what I had experienced in Asia in the traditional Asian Buddhist or traditional Asian cultural context.   Another example comes from my times in India being with Buddhism, with Buddhism not so enormous in the culture in India contemporarily, like it is in say Sri Lanka or Thailand. This experience in Buddhism in India was, and is, so very, very different—and I  found it really important and valuable in the process to continuously look back and touch those traditions, and to think about, and really look at—what is essential and what is cultural? And with this question of “What is essential?”—the further question of “How can that meet ‘what is cultural’ here?”—whatever this living, vibrant, dynamic situation is right here and now. Spina: Thank you. Sāmaṇerī Thāvirā: I was also thinking that the first four Khmer bhikkhunīs, who are with us now for Vassa, are a good example of international women who have had the space to be able to go ahead; without that [intercultural aspect which can be so supportive of such deep reflection and insight], it is much more difficult. Tathālokā Therī:  Yes, those who are the internationals—really, due to their years of living in the West—their sense of capability, and access to education and resources, and sense of possibility; all of that is very different, than for Cambodian women who are primarily in Cambodia. It’s enormously different. And I see that as being why this is so much more possible for these Cambodian international bhikkhunīs, in the international context, in the North American context, in the Western context. I want to say also, with regard to the Theravāda bhikkhunī revival,

Luminous Insight 273

Tathālokā Therī:

Tathālokā Therī:

that if we look at who we call “the first bhikkhunī in Sri Lanka”: the late venerable Bhikkhunī Kusumā; you know, she was also so well internationally connected and educated. She taught widely internationally after her higher ordination as a bhikkhunī, not only in Sri Lanka. We’re missing her now. [Speaking to Thāvirā] She passed away last year? Year before . . . not so long ago. I mean, who now is the international voice of the Sri Lankan bhikkhunīs? They are actually missing having someone like that. She was first—and she was actually asked to step up and to be first—due to those capabilities, those experiences. It’s the empowerment that she had, due to having that education and those connections, that others didn’t have in the same way. If we look at Thailand, and who we are calling “Thailand’s first bhikkhunī ˮ also, Venerable Bhikkhunī Dhammanandā—with education in India and in Canada and very strong international connections—I think that’s been an enormous part of what enabled her to be able to go ahead. There are different aspects to it. I mean there are even the very mundane practical aspects; down to that very mundane kind of ground level: there is a kind of confidence that those who have only one passport and speak only one language and have a much lesser level of education or connectivity [would find] hard to imagine. It’s much harder for them in those situations. If we look at Himalayan Buddhism also, then the Westerners were not the only ones, but among the first, to go with their Tibetan teachers’ direction and blessing to another country for higher ordination. It was in that dynamic interchange—between Asian women renunciates of Himalayan traditions with those Westerners, and Tibetan Buddhism coming out into the West—in that dynamic place of interchange—that space really started to open up. We saw this with Sri Lanka and Thailand and with the Himalayan traditions. We’re seeing this now more recently with Cambodia. But I don’t want to paint the picture that it is just Westerners who have been leading this, because that is not right. Sometimes people get that idea, and it’s really not so. Those who are the Asian internationals have been in every case there at the forefront; but sometimes they’re not being noted in the Western scholarship. I’m not exactly sure why that is. I  have noticed that sometimes if it’s a Westerner who is going to be ordained, their name will be published.

274  Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā, conducted by Nanette R. Spina If  three Westerners, their names are published; but if it’s three Asians who are to be higher ordained, it might be just mentioned: “three women from Ladakh were ordained.” That might be what’s published, without their names—why is that? I just ask myself. Spina: So, through the work and visibility of female internationals in leadership and in the international context, these are really key elements for exchange/change—and also contextualizes these interactions in terms of transculturality as well. Tathālokā Therī: Thank you [Sāmaṇerī Thāvirā] for also affirming young male allies. I want to say that, even if we look at the leading bhikkhu male allies of bhikkhunīs, many of those who have really shown up are also those who have had time in international contexts. For my own late most venerable preceptor—a leading senior bhikkhu from Sri Lanka—it was only when he came to California (in this case, Southern California) and then saw Taiwanese bhikkhunīs leading things here and developing a monastery themselves in California, and just capable to do everything—that his mind, vision, and view of ‘what is possible’ changed due to the power of their living example. He was just shocked because that was never his experience of Buddhist ten-precept ‘officially-lay’ nuns in Sri Lanka. In Sri Lanka, Buddhists have the stories of Saṅghamittā [daughter of the Indian emperor Aśoka who was a fully awakened Indian Buddhist arahatī bhikkhunī missionary who came to Sri Lanka to give women bhikkhunī ordination in the 3rd century BCE] and the stories of the ancient bhikkhunī disciples of the Buddha; but he said he just never saw any nuns in that kind of situation in Sri Lanka while he was growing up. It just blew his mind. I mean, his whole paradigm needed to shift, just seeing what it was like with these Taiwanese bhikkhunīs here in southern California, and what they were capable of. And he thought [laughing], “We’re missing all that in Theravāda Buddhism. We’re missing all that. It’s not something that is only for the time of the future Buddha Maitreya or the past Buddha. Look what they’re capable of right now.” With that paradigm shift he became an enormous ally, a groundbreaking leader and ally. 3. This question has to do with a focal point for the edited volume on women’s agency. The concept of resistance and therefore notions of women’s

Luminous Insight 275 agency has long been complicated. The contributions share an interest in ways to theorize/retheorize forms of religious authority as generated and embodied by women. Could you comment on this idea from your perspective and experience?   I am thinking also about what you’ve said regarding female bhikkhunī internationals and religious leaders like yourself (and your senior female mentors) who do work in cooperation with supportive bhikkhus and lay associations in a way that is complementary. And at the same time, female leaders both inspire and empower other women in their own right, from their place of authority and wisdom within the tradition. Tathālokā Therī:

Tathālokā Therī:

I  am interested in this retheorizing of forms of reli gious authority as generated and embodied by women. I am interested in that part, and I would say this is an active place of exploration for me. For me, the question, “What is a bhikkhunī?” is emblematic of this. Some people understand bhikkhu-nī to mean female-bhikkhu, and that this simply means there are male bhikkhus and there are female bhikkhus, and female bhikkhus do what male bhikkhus do. And it’s just that women also have the opportunity to be a bhikkhu like men. For example, one of our co-leading bhikkhunīs here in the US, who has been a bhikkhunī for more than ten years and is older than me (though not in monastic years, but by birth), she is really an advocate for that. She says that’s all she wants—just to not be blocked as a woman: to be able to do what she saw and was so inspired by in the male bhikkhus; to be able to live that life and to do what they are doing—and not to be blocked from that due to being female. For her, that’s the best and most important thing—that is what she is interested in, for herself and for others who feel likewise—supporting them and allowing them to have that opportunity as well. I affirm that. And also, I recognize that many people do not think that a bhikkhunī is just a female bhikkhu. There are many people who think that a bhikkhunī is something else. Sometimes this gets theorized in negative ways; ways that see bhikkhunīs as being junior to or less capable or less meritorious or less essential, than bhikkhus are. And sometimes it gets theorized in ways that I  find far more interesting and, at least for myself and my own vision and practice, much more fertile ground for exploration. This is where I am thinking about and seeing “retheorized forms of religious authority that are generated and embodied by women.” I  feel that all of

276  Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā, conducted by Nanette R. Spina



Spina:

these different categories or locations, or all these different manifestations of embodiment and identity that human beings have, may be valid grounds for practice and for awakening. And also, then, for sharing and for enabling others. Many people are attracted to those with whom they share some kind of sense of identity; something that makes them feel like, “They—whether she, or he, or they—are like me in some way that is important. And because she/he/they are manifesting something that I am interested in and I share a connection with them, a connection in terms of identity; somehow, that means the path is also open for me, and that my chances of being able to do this are greatly increased because of that.”   So really, I see this as not being only manifestationally important along gender binary lines, but as being something that is far broader and more multifaceted. However, if we look at it in terms of gender binaries, then I think yes, again, I do affirm this. [And as far as] what male bhikkhus do—opening that up to women who have like aspirations and may be able to do that too, as much as possible—yes. Great. Thank you.

4. What changes do you see or would you like to see for the Theravāda bhikkhunī sangha in the 21st century? What are some of the doorways that are being opened? Tathālokā Therī:

In terms of the contemporary movement, we’re seeing now, like 35  years after a number of bhikkhunīs from South Asia and Southeast Asia undertook bhikkhunī ordination, and 25 years since the first fully Theravāda bhikkhunī ordinations. This year, 2023, is the 25-year anniversary since the appointment of the first bhikkhunī preceptors in Theravāda Buddhism. And I  see that as being really important. And this is something that is still being negotiated and explored. What it is to have bhikkhunī preceptors, which do appear canonically in the early Buddhist teaching. Who are they? What are they? What are they now? I am one of them, and I’m living the unfolding and this exploration. And most of my co-coordinators of United Theravāda Bhikkhunī Sangha International (UTBSI) are bhikkhunī preceptors from different countries, all from Asian Theravāda Buddhist traditions, other than myself. This is something that we’re really exploring together.

Luminous Insight 277 Spina: Tathālokā Therī:

Tathālokā Therī:

Tathālokā Therī:

Witnessing and groundbreaking. Witnessing live. I  think one of the most extraordinary aspects of the UTBSI that we’re continuously negotiating with is patriarchy. One of the most important ways for any dominant group to get into power and stay in power is to keep the others divided and disempowered, competing with each other or working against one another. That’s one of the most common, even ancient ways of staying in power. And for patriarchy, this is certainly an important aspect. And so, we—United Theravāda Bhikkhunī Sangha International—being united in the way that we are, coming together, offering programs together, as leading bhikkhunīs from different countries in Theravāda Buddhism, this is something quite unique. Sakyadhita International Association of Buddhist Women has already been around for more than 35 years now—and the offering of Sakyadhita International has been tremendous. UTBSI is only a little bit more than one year old—a year-and-a-half old and so it’s really a newbie in this regard. Also, we are seeing the generative process for launching the Global Bhikkhunī Council, which is meant to be not only Theravāda, but multitraditional for the global Bhikkhunī Sangha—Buddhist women renunciates and Buddhist nuns from traditions all around the world. There is something that I  picked up a couple of years ago as my banner. According to traditional Theravāda Buddhist counting, some years ago, 2016 to 2017 CE was the 2600-year anniversary of the founding of the bhikkhunī sangha. I thought at that time, “What is my banner for this 2600- year anniversary?” The banner I  raised at that time was and is, “From Renascence to Renaissance.” The late 20th to 21st century renascence has meant the rebirth or the revival of the Theravāda Bhikkhunī Sangha. Then I  asked myself, what does renaissance mean? And to me, renaissance means that we once again have bhikkhunī arahants. This is the true revival, not only of full ordination, but of full realization, full awakening. So, they (Pāli. arahants, Skt. arhats) are rumored to exist amongst the bhikkhu sangha in Theravāda Buddhism, at least a number of them. Other Buddhist traditions also consider that they have living fully awakened male monastic masters or nonmonastic tantric masters, whom they consider to have attained the pinnacle of their

278  Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā, conducted by Nanette R. Spina

Tathālokā Therī:

Spina: Tathālokā Therī: Spina: Tathālokā Therī:

traditions. I would like to think about how to support such amongst the Theravāda Bhikkhunī Sangha—again, to me, this would be the primary factor for renaissance: at least a few bhikkhunīs who are thought to be ­arahants—arahatīs—that is, fully awakened ones. And another quality of such renaissance would be to have more places where we really have fully active and wellintegrated fourfold or manifold Buddhist communities present. With the Buddhist Society of Western Australia (BSWA), we are now seeing that. They really do have a fourfold community and so it’s really one of the first, and I think we’ll see that spreading. Here, in Northern California, we do as well, but not in the same way. We’re not all under the same umbrella, so we don’t have any bhikkhus’ community and bhikkhunis’ community that are in the same association yet. I am pleased to see this growth and development. I served as the bhikkhunī preceptor for the first Theravāda Bhikkhunī Ordination there in Western Australia fourteen years ago (and here for the first all-Theravāda dualSangha Bhikkhunī Ordination in the Americas thirteen years ago). In the last couple of years, I’ve been regularly contacted by people, especially men, who are monastic life aspirants, and who want to be part of such a fourfold community, which includes all four pillars, including bhikkhunis. They ask me, “Where is there any other place besides the BSWA?” .  .  . “Are there any other options?” They say, “I really want to be part of a fully integrated, full participation fourfold community of the Buddha,” like that. “Where are the places? Where can I  go?” I  am increasingly frequently being asked such questions by men who are aspirants to Buddhist monastic life. That’s significant. That’s very significant. It is. It’s awesome. It is, yes. There is something else that I also have seen that is increasing. That is, those who are younger bhikkhus, especially young Asian bhikkhus in Asia (but not only in Asia), writing to me or contacting me privately asking how to navigate the challenges of their situation with the Bhikkhu Sangha. Wanting to be harmonious within the traditions; not wanting to cause a schism or grave conflict and not wanting to destroy their own monastic lives or to be cut off. And really feeling like they need to be part of

Luminous Insight 279 progressive change, growth, and development in the traditions, and feeling like this is what’s needed and this is what’s called for. They ask, “How can we support this in a harmonious way that is respectful and in line with the Buddhist teachings?” I  don’t name any names because they have contacted me privately, but this has just been increasing over time, not only amongst Westerners and women. In my experience, rather, the greatest increase is actually amongst young male bhikkhus, young Asian men who have ordained with the Bhikkhu Sangha. Spina: I’m glad to hear about this increase over time. I wouldn’t necessarily have known otherwise. Tathālokā Therī: This is the thing: you don’t read about this in any academic papers. And probably none of them are going to give interviews, although they might under condition of anonymity. They are our next generation coming up, so I think about not only supporting those who are aspiring to become bhikkhunīs here, but really for the whole community. I support them too. And I see that as being part of my role as a senior bhikkhunī and as a bhikkhunī preceptor, to offer in these ways, to the whole community, including the young bhikkhus. Spina: Beautiful. Tathālokā Therī: In terms of the 21st century and next generation, the last thing that I wanted to mention, which I think I did briefly before, is that from just last year—with the first official Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya tradition bhikṣuṇī ordinations given in Bhutan, in the Himalayan region—all three of the still-existing old Sāvakayāna (Skt. Śrāvakayāna) Vinaya ordination lineages now have bhikkhunīs (Skt. bhikṣuṇī) and thus, also fourfold communities once again. You might be familiar with there originally being just one such Vinaya lineage starting with the Buddha, and then by the Aśokan period branching into eighteen schools and lineages. There are three of those that are still alive, living ordination lineages. The Theravāda school based in the Pāli texts is one. In East Asian Buddhist traditions, the ordination lineages of the old Dharmaguptaka school also live on; as do the Mūlasarvāstivāda ordination lineages in Tibetan and Himalayan Buddhism. It is just last year in Bhutan that they had the first large-scale Mūlasarvāstivāda bhikṣuṇī ordination. This historic— herstoric—ordination was attended and supported by the king and queen, and queen mother, and national royal preceptor of Bhutan.

280  Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā, conducted by Nanette R. Spina Tathālokā Therī:

Tathālokā Therī:

Tathālokā Therī:

S o, wow! My hair is going zing, zing—to mention it. It’s more than a year now; and they plan to continue. So many auspicious signs manifested at that time. And that’s something that we haven’t seen at that level yet in Theravāda Buddhism. In none of the traditionally Theravadist Buddhist countries or kingdoms has that happened yet. Bhikkhunī ordinations have been revived, and thousands of women have ordained, but not yet with such royal or state level support and recognition. So, with these higher ordinations in Bhutan, plus the increasing numbers of geshema, (m. geshe; f. geshema) [a Tibetan Buddhist monastic degree similar to a doctorate] in terms of high-level education and training, and with so many hundreds of the nuns—and bhikṣuṇīs—who are now graduating within Himalayan Buddhism—there is nothing comparable happening in Theravāda Buddhism. Despite the fact that Theravāda bhikkhunī ordinations have now surpassed 5000, I  think. Nothing yet comparable in Asia, not in the West. Not yet. So, Bhutan, I hope, is a healthy comparison. [Laughing] Look what they’re doing! “Rise up,  Theravāda bhikkhunīs! Get with it!” We should be doing that, too. You know, hundreds of excellent highest-level Theravāda bhikkhunī Tipiṭaka master graduates—and Bhikkhunī Vipassana masters graduating from retreats also.

5. On religious authority and agency: Could you share with us some of your thoughts/insight regarding the interaction of authority (i.e., having power or control in a particular sphere) and agency (i.e., action, power to produce an effect) from your perspective? Tathālokā Therī:

Tathālokā Therī:

I would just like to say initially, in terms of action and power to produce an effect, I see this as being very core in the Four Noble Truths—at the heart of the Buddhist teaching, what the Buddha himself realized and first taught. So, action and power to produce an effect—In terms of the definition of Right View in the Noble Eightfold Path: Right View (with regard to the Four Noble Truths, causation and cessation)—is at the core. Why am I saying this? Because I see and I understand that this is an empowered perspective that is a highly traditional, even hyper-traditional, empowered perspective, based in the Early Buddhist Teachings; I  see all of us as having

Luminous Insight 281

Tathālokā Therī:

Tathālokā Therī:

agency, and it is just a matter of whether we’re aware of it, and whether that agency is active—activated—or not. I see this as being essential—this is the whole effective aspect of how practice and awakening and liberation happens in the Early Buddhist Teaching. Not just by happenstance or just according to past merits from past lives, but in terms of ‘How do we work with this effectively in the present, ourselves?’ and ‘How do we communicate that to others?’ So, I don’t see this as being something fringe, or something unique for women, or even something religious—or anything like that. I  see this as being the power and agency that we all have, and that the Buddhist teaching is meant to awaken—for us to then take effective intentional action. Understanding effective action: that’s understanding there will be effects. This is conditional causation: really, to develop the skills to work positively, effectively in a liberating manner with regard to conditional causation or causal conditionality. To say this simply in English, it’s not just one cause, one effect: it’s about conditions. Then those conditions become causes, and then they become effects, which again immediately become causes—causal conditions. This is how the Dhamma wheel gets rolling. It’s how we can engage the path effectively. So, I see this as being really central in the Early Buddhist Teachings—and not something that women in Buddhism are supposed to be outside of or something only for men—the idea that women do not or cannot or should not have such agency—not in the Early Buddhist Teachings, absolutely not; that would be aDhamma. Thus, my basic view is ‘we have that agency.’ We have the capability; so, it’s a matter of generating awareness of the power, agency, and even authority, that I believe we actually in a way already have. But it’s to come to understand—to see and understand that— and then to train ourselves in how to work with that wisely. And this is just so, so core in the Early Buddhist Teachings. Any kind of views that are disabling that say ‘because of gender you shouldn’t think so, because you’re female you shouldn’t think so, or this belongs to somebody else, this belongs to those who are male’— those [views] belong to the culture or traditions that are, at that point—­ diverging from true Buddhadhamma. This is where “Buddhist” culture and traditions may (and sometimes, even often, do) diverge from the core

282  Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā, conducted by Nanette R. Spina teachings, practice, and effects—the empowering and liberating effects—of that Buddhadhamma. I like to think and speak in this way myself, and practice accordingly, and try to encourage others to see, speak, and practice accordingly as well. Spina:  Yes, that is an empowered perspective, and inspiring to contemplate—from the Buddhist teachings—that as human beings, we already do have that kind of potential and that it can be employed, should be employed for one’s development, and in the service of the greater good. Thank you. Tathālokā Therī: So, Sāmaṇerī Thāvirā had an idea about this question that she has been wanting to share, and I don’t know if she still wants to— Sāmaṇerī Thāvirā: I  was just thinking about—My own internal definition of agency would have to do with your ability to see the choices of this sort of spectrum of actions that are available for you to take, and feel that you can choose between them. And not sort of have whole categories of those actions being cut off from you. Tathālokā Therī: Yes. Sāmaṇerī Thāvirā: Not that everyone has to do all those things, but something more about—Am I  limited in my options to just this small path that’s been established, or do I have other options open to me?   I feel like so much of the practice is about saying ‘I thought I was limited,’ and ‘I thought that this was the way I  had to respond to these things,’ and actually, ‘I have more options available.’ It’s absolutely the same in process. Tathālokā Therī: Yes, I agree. Tathālokā Therī: Who gets to define these things? And this is where I feel and say, “we all have agency” and “we all have authority.” Because some people may think someone has the right to define them. And I  think, okay, they have the right to think whatever they want to think because that’s their right, but we ourselves have our own right. Always, for all of us, I think, if we’re awake to a particular degree, we have the right to that. We have the authority for that self-definition and manifestation. Spina: Yes, I agree. Tathālokā Therī: Also, it is defining us. Then I  think, okay, that’s my choice whether I  accept .  .  . whether I’m interested in accepting someone else’s definition or not. ‘Is it helpful

Luminous Insight 283 to me to look at and take on that definition?’ ‘Is that supportive and helpful to me?’ That’s my choice, right? That’s how I see it. For all of us.   It is just a matter of—Are we choosing knowingly or unknowingly? Are we doing so, understanding and believing in our ability to choose or not? Are we doing so in ways that are beneficial and helpful to ourselves—that are activating and actualizing our potentials, or not? Spina: Thank you so much, Ayyā Tathālokā, for giving the interview today. Much appreciation and warmest wishes! Tathālokā Therī: Thank you, and I  appreciate having this time together today. Blessings from the forest! May all go well, may all be well. This concludes the interview. Note 1 The ‘Prime Directive of Buddhism,’ meaning: “To offer the very best inspiration, encouragement, examples and all expedient means of comprehensive support for practicing the Path of Awakening, and all means of support possible for valorising and expediting the sharing of that Path by those with knowledge and experience in it.”   The term was proposed and articulated by Ven. Ayyā Tathālokā in her 2018 conference paper entitled, “Norms Engineering & HerStory,” presented at University of Toronto International Bhikkhunī Forum in Canada and again at the South Asia Institute Workshop, Heidelberg University, Germany (2020) entitled, “Female Religious Leaders and Dynamics of Female Agency in Religious Settings in South Asia,” convened by Dr. Ute Hūsken.

Index

Note: Page numbers followed by “n” with numbers refer to notes. Abu-Lughod, Lila 167 Adhiparasakthi Charitable, Medical, Educational and Cultural Trust (ACMEC) 71 – 72 Adhiparasakthi tradition 64, 74, 76, 80 agency: authority vs. 3 – 4; compliant 151, 155 – 156; disclaiming 60n36; emerging 41; empowerment 193; enhancing 40 – 42, 58n14; expansive 58n14; female 22 – 25, 116, 120, 170, 207, 213; by female administrator 128 – 131; healing 42, 58n16; historical 18, 33; instrumental 151, 153 – 154, 168, 194; kalyāṇic 10, 42 – 43, 49 – 50; lacking in 167; mechanism of joṛnā 40 – 42; performance and 76 – 77; power and 281; religious 2, 18, 31, 34, 65, 155; of religious women 193 – 194; resistance 151, 152, 193; ritual 76, 94; soteriological 31; spiritual 27; as subversion and intermediation 26 – 28; of Vaishnava Women 181 – 183; see also female agencies Agiary 236, 237, 243n7 “ajila” 130 All-Ceylon Buddhist Congress (ACBC) 190 Ames, Michael M. 188 Amma (Mother) 69, 71, 73 Amma: The Eternal Truth (Ramamoorthy) 73 Amritanandamayi, Mata 55 Anandamayi Ma 55, 71 Andavan Ashram 100 Anuradha Srinivasan, devotee of Bala 105 – 108, 117n4

aruḷvākku/“divine voice” 64, 69 – 71 Arunagiri Nathar 98, 112 Āulcāṅd 19 – 20, 23, 24, 27, 28 authority: agency vs. 3; marginality and centrality 4; religious, women as 2 – 3; traditional 54 avatār theory 54 Avishai, Orit 119, 132, 155 Ayyā Phalanāṇī 246 – 257 Ayyā Tathālokā 6, 251, 260n20, 262 – 283 Bābā Bālak 56 Bābā Bālak Nāth 39, 51, 58n6 Bābā Bālak Nāth Mandir (BBNM) 39, 52 Bābā Jī 47 – 49 bāksiddhā (possessor of infallible speech) 20, 22 Balaji Temple at Aurora 113 – 114 Balambika Divya Sangam (BDF) 105, 106 Banerjee, Sumanta 17, 19, 21, 23, 30 Bangaru Adigalar 64, 70, 81n11 Bāṅkā 20 Bāṅkāchāṅd 20, 29 Bartholomeusz, Tessa J. 190 Baudhāyana Dharmasūtra 74 Bell, Catherine 65 Bengali Vaishnava Sahajiya tradition, womanhood and female agency in 167; devotional services 175 – 179; method and positionality 170 – 171; sexo-yogic ritual 179 – 181; Vaishnava women, agency of 181 – 183; Vaishnava women path to renunciation 171 – 175; see also

Index  285 religious piety and practices of women; Vaishnava women Bengali Vaishnavism 169 Bhaber Gīt 17, 19, 20, 25 bhajans 100, 107, 183n7 bhakti 99, 103; teachers of 99 – 102 Bhāratcandra 27 Bhārat-mātā 31 bhikkhunīs: community 193, 197 – 199, 201n3 – 4, 269, 278; educational institutions 193, 195; monasteries 255; non-binary 270; ordination 251, 260n21, 274, 280; preceptor 14, 263, 276 – 279; responses of 196 – 197 Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalanāṇī 6, 245 Bhikkhunī (Ayyā) Tathālokā 262 bhikkhunī community 193, 195, 199, 200, 200 – 201n3, 201n4, 280 bhikkhunī saṅgha 251, 253, 266, 267, 268, 277 bhikkhu pāṭimokkha 248, 259n17 bhikkhus 188, 191, 194, 197, 247, 256 – 257, 258n3 – 4, 259n12, 259n14, 266 – 267, 275 – 276, 278 – 279 bhikkhu sangha 267, 268, 277, 279 Blake, Edith 189 Blake, Henry 189 Bordeaux, Joel 27 Brāhmaṇical Dharmaśāstric tradition 74 Brahmanical orthodoxy 18, 26 Brāhmo Samāj 26 Buddha Śākyamuni 205 Buddhism 3, 188 – 191; Himalayan 266, 273, 279 – 280; Mahāyāna 248; Theravāda 14, 247 – 248, 258n2, 266, 274, 276, 277, 280; Tibetan 205, 209, 210, 212, 214n2, 214n9, 214n11, 216n14 – 15, 216n17, 273, 279 – 280 Buddhist nun: journey towards enlightenment 245 – 258; in Sikkim 204, 207 – 212 Buddhist nuns, monastic education for 186, 188 – 193; agency of religious women 193 – 194; bhikkhunīs, responses of 196 – 197; pirivena 194 – 196; silmātās, responses of 197 – 200 Buddhist Society of Western Australia (BSWA) 278 Burke, Kelsy C. 151 Butler, Judith 141

Caitanya 19, 28, 29, 168 carya-padas 168 castes: equality of 67, 72 – 76, 80; higher-, girls 38; low-caste female actor 33 – 34; lower 58n10; low-, gurus 54; intersection of, and gender 72 – 75; Kartābhajās and 26 – 28, 35n6; Kartābhajās and Satīmā, 29 – 30, 33 – 34; Chakrabarty, Sudhir 22, 26, 35n5 Chandrasekharan, E. C. 79 Chaturvedi, N. 246 Cheng, Wei-yi 194 Chinmaya Mission 100 Chorten Monastery 209 contemporary tradition: gender and socio-religious conventions 74 – 77; non-discrimination and social intersections 72 – 73; ritual performance and religious agency 73 – 74 Copeman, Jacob 41 Countess, Madam Convaro 188 Covid-19 pandemic 68, 113 creative conformity 187, 194, 197 Crenshaw, Kimberlé W. 38, 74 ḍākinī 87 – 88, 90 – 94, 95n1; see also yoginis/yoginī ḍākinī-cakra/ḍākinīcakra 90 – 93 Ḍālimtalā 20, 25, 30 Daswani, G. 8 De Beauvoir, Simone 141 Dechen, Khandro Padma 208 – 209 deification 17 – 18; as discursive strategy 28 – 34 Dempsey, Corinne 75 DeNapoli, Antoinette 55, 58n9, 60n36, 60 – 61n47, 61n48, 168 Densapa, Tashi 212 Department of Buddhist Affairs (DBA) 187, 192, 195, 198 Devendra, Kusuma 190, 191 devotional services 175 – 179, 182 Dharmapala, Anagarika 188 – 189, 190 dialexis 65 Diamant, Anita 137, 147 diaspora, Hindu traditions in 8, 98; Anuradha Srinivasan, devotee of Bala 105 – 108, 117n4; Divya Prabandham 108 – 111; identifying groups/categorization 98 – 105; marga darshini/marga sakhis 114 – 115;

286 Index Poorna Sethuraman 111 – 114; reflections on 115 – 116 discrimination 13, 65, 72 – 73, 79, 232, 252 divine intercession, female agency as 22 – 25 Divine Mother 69, 77 “divine voice” 70 – 71 Divya Prabandham 101, 104, 108 – 111 Dol Pūrṇimā (full moon night of festival of Holi) 21, 25 Dolma, Damchö 209 Dulālcāṅd 17, 19, 20, 23, 25, 27, 28, 29, 30, 32, 35n2, 35n8 Durgā 27, 35n7, 39, 56, 105, 242n4 Eck, Diana L. 31, 59n21 empowerment 10, 22, 36n15, 75; agency 193; and inspiration 54; instrumental agency of 153; physical 154; psychological 225; of women 2, 73, 168, 194, 246 enhancing agency 40 – 42, 58n14; see also agency enlightenment, Buddhist nun’s journey towards 245 – 258 esoteric ritual 169, 179, 181, 182 esoteric sexual sadhana 31 – 32 Falk, Monica Lindberg 186 “false consciousness” thesis 155 female agencies: compliance agency in the Red Tent 155 – 156; as divine intercession 22 – 25; instrumental agency of empowerment and healing in the Red Tent 153 – 154; in Red Tent 151 – 156; resistance agency in the Red Tent 152; Siri Ritual Tradition and the siris’ sēvɛ 125 – 128 female guru 178 female priesthood in Hinduism 228 – 242 feminist scholarship 7 – 8 fertility/infertility 13, 20, 23 – 24, 40, 140, 223; fertility cult 21, 24, 35n3; goddess 24, 29; Satīmā, healer of infertility 23, 29 Fingerson, Laura 141 – 142 Fink, S. 246 “folk Shaktism” 23, 24 forgotten priestesses 84; boundaries and intersections 90 – 92; Kālarātrī and Kuvalyāvalī 87 – 90; narratives, texts,

and ritual performers 84 – 86; tapas, vrata, and mantra-siddhi 86 – 87 Foucault, M. 6 Ganapati Sthapati 70 Ganesh Festival 235, 238, 243n5 Gauḍiya Vaiṣṇava theology 28 Gautama Dharmasūtra 74 Geeta Iyengar 138 – 140, 154 gender: centrality within religious contexts 4; dichotomy 7; equality 7; inequality 214n5; religious subjectivities, intersectionality of 4 – 5 gender and socio-religious conventions 74; menstruation 75 – 76; performance and agency 76 – 77 gender bias 13, 232, 252 gender norms 29, 38, 56, 87, 152, 210 gendered religious subjectivities 4 – 5 gendered roles 22, 41, 92, 191, 193, 211, 242 gender performativity, Red Tent as 141; identifying menstruating women 141 – 143; moving “differently” when menstruating 143 – 146; Red Tent as a panopticon 147 – 151; separating menstruating women and materialization of Red Tent 146 – 147; see also menstruating women; Red Tent gender-traditional religions 193 Ghoṣāl, Jayanārāyaṇ 26, 30 Ghoṣpāṛā 19, 20, 21, 24, 25, 27, 30, 31, 32, 35n1 Ghoṣpāṛār Satīmā 21 globalization 8 Goldberg, Eliott 155 Gombrich, Richard 190 Gosain, Kubir 30 Gosvamī, Vijaykṛṣṇa 30 guru-bhakti communities 39, 41, 52 gurus 22: being a guru and a housewife 53 – 54; from housewives to 42 – 49; as religious authority source 19 Gurusatyas 25 Gutschow, Kim 187 hagiographical discourses/accounts 17, 70 Hastings, Warren 25 hermeneutics of intersubjectivity 65 Himalayan Buddhism see Buddhism Himsāgar (pond) 20, 24

Index  287 Hindu religion/religiosity 29 – 30, 156, 230, 239, 242 Hinduism 26; female priesthood in 228 – 242 Hinduization 32, 36n13 Hindu-Muslim hostilities 29 Hodges, Julie Lynne 137 Holmes-Tagchungdarpa, Amy 208 Hossain, Md. Dilwar 32, 35n6 household pooja 235 housewives: being a guru and a housewife 53 – 54; from housewives to gurus 42 – 49 Human Rights Commission of Sri Lanka 195 hyper-gurus, female 54 – 57 hyperlocal-gurus, female 54 – 57

Jayathilaka, D. B. 190 Jayawardane, J.R. 191 Jeeyar Education Trust (JET) 100, 110 Jeeyar, Chinna 110 Jnāna Prabodhinī 229 – 230, 237 joṛnā, mechanism of 40 – 42 Joshi, Aaryaa Ashutosh 229, 242n1 Jouili, Jeanette 153

identity, women’s 50, 53 – 55, 130, 137, 276, 182; chosen, as Siri deities 124, 127, 131; hiding 168, 169; menstrual 136, 141 – 142, 146, 150, 152 Ikegame, Aya 41, 58n9 Innovative Gurus (Lucia) 54 instrumental agency 151, 153 – 154, 156 – 157 intersectionality 4 – 5, 18, 73; of religious subjectivities 4 – 5 Interview with Aaryaa Ashutosh Joshi 229 – 242 Interview with Ayyā Tathālokā 264 – 283 Interview with Bhikkhunī Ayyā Phalañāṇī 247 – 257 Interview with Radha Paudel 220 – 226 Irwin, John 69 Iyengar Yoga (IY) practices, menstrual-oriented 136, 157n1, 159n15; female agencies in the red tent 151 – 156; gender performativity, red tent as 141 – 151; methodology and positionality 137 – 138; from prohibition to praxis 138 – 140; see also female agencies; gender performativity, Red Tent as

Kabeer, Naila 41 kai pattavunu 123 Kālarātrī 87 – 90, 91 kali 27, 111 kalyāṇ 38, 39 – 40, 43, 50, 52, 54 Kanyākubja 88, 89 Kariyapperuma, Sunanda 195 Karma Sonam Palmo 210 – 212 kartā 25, 32, 34n1, 35n8 Kartā Mā 19, 20 – 21, 31, 34n1 Kartābhajā 17, 18 – 21, 23 – 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32 – 33, 34n1; Ratha Utsab 26 – 27, 28; theology and ritual practices 18 – 20; and women empowerment 22 – 25 Kathāsaritsāgara (KSS) 84 – 85 Kaula Marga 92 Kavattar ālaḍɛ 128 Kavattar Siri ālaḍɛ, female administrator at 128 – 131 Kawanami, Hiroko 246, 183n1 Keller, Mary 119, 134n16 Kerala Christian Sainthood (Corinne Dempsey) 75 Khandelwal, Meena 41, 183n6 Khanna, Varun 115 Kothai Venkatapathy 109 Krishna-focused Vaishnavism 169 Kṛṣṇa-Caitanya 28 – 29, 35n9 Kṛṣṇacandra 27, 28, 35n7; conflict with Satima 27 – 28 KSS see Kathāsaritsāgara Kubir Gosaiṅ 30 Kuvalyāvalī 87 – 90, 93

Jacobsen, Knut Axel 52 Jacoby, S. 246 jagadacharya 111 Jagaddhātri 27 Jagannāth, Lord 26, 35n8 Jansen, Berthe 204 Jäschke, Heinrich 205 Jayanārāyaṇ Ghoṣāl 26

LaFever, K. 246 Lakshmi, Goddess 23, 105 Lalitha Sahasranamam 107 Lea, Jennifer 137 Lhamo, Ganga 209 Lindberg Falk, M. 246 Lingpa, Terdag 207 Lucia, Amanda 54, 58n8, 59n20, 74

288 Index Mā 55 mā gosāi̇ṅs 22 Maechi/ mae chis 186 – 187, 248, 259n14 magical healing 22 – 23 magico-ritual practices 28, 85 – 90, 92 – 94, 95n9 Maha Krishnan 102 Mahā Upasikā 189 Mahākaruniko 256 Mahārāj Jī 48 mahāśaya 19, 20 Mahāthera, Havanpola Ratanasāra Nāyaka 262 Mahmood, Saba 41, 119, 151, 156, 167 masculine 79; toxic masculinity 225 Manavala Mamunigal 110 manḍala 28, 35n9, 90, 93 mandrams 73, 77, 81n16 Mani Amla communities 208, 213 Mani Lhakhang/Mani Amla communities 206 mani lhakhangs 206, 209, 215n9 Mankowski, Eric 42 mantra-siddhi 86 – 87 Manusmṛti 74 marga darshini/marga sakhis 114 – 115 marginality 204 – 207 Mata Amritanandamayi 39, 55, 70 McDaniel, June 23, 180 McNay, Lois 193 Melmaruvathur Adhiparasakthi history: goddess 68 – 69; Svayambhū and Mūrti 69 – 70 Melmaruvathur Adhiparasakthi Institute of Medical Sciences (MAPIM) 72 Melmaruvathur Adhiparasakthi Spiritual Movement Trust (MASM) 71 – 72 Melmaruvathur Cittar Pīṭam 68 Melnick, Alison 208 menstrual blood 142 – 143 menstrual identity see identity, menstrual menstruating women 157; identifying and labelling 141 – 143; and materialization of Red Tent 146 – 147; moving “differently” when menstruating 143 – 146; see also gender performativity, Red Tent as; Red Tent menstruation 3, 243n8; differences in practices during 222 – 223; gender

and socio-religious conventions 75 – 76; global south coalition for 220 – 226; local explanation 221 – 222; local resistance against the practice 225 – 226; practice impacting women, community, and family 223 – 225 metaphorical language 20, 35n2 ‘metaphysical-soteriological’ 10 Mints, Judith 152 Miśra, Manulāl 21, 22, 25 mission and service 71 – 72 Mohanty, Chandra Talpade 7 – 8 monastic education for Buddhist nuns in Sri Lanka 186, 188 – 193; agency of religious women 193 – 194; bhikkhunīs, responses of 196 – 197; pirivena 194 – 196; silmātās, responses of 197 – 200 Mongols, Dzungar 207 mother love 182 Mrozik, S. 246 muditā (sympathetic joy) 248, 259n10 Mukherjee, Sipra 32 mūla bastu 31 Muldoon-Hules, K. 246 Mylapore Fine Arts Sabha 112 Mythili Rajagopalachari 108 Namgyal, Gyurme 207, 208 Namgyal, Tashi 209 Nandigōṇa 130 Narayaneeyam 99, 101 narratives, texts, and ritual performers 84 – 86 National Silmātā Organisation 192 Newcombe, Suzanne 155, 158n3 niddah 127, 133n12 Nina Shetty 128 – 132, 134n17 Nissanka, H. Sri 190 nondiscrimination 3, 65, 67, 73 Obeyesekere, Gananath 190 The Ocean of the Rivers of Story 84 Om Śakti Movement 68 – 69, 73 Openshaw, Jeanne 173, 183n1 oppression 5 Orsi, Robert 43 Pal, Ramsaran 19 Paldrön, Jetsün Mingyur 207 – 208 Park, J. Y. 246 pativratā 89, 90, 133n6

Index  289 Paudel, Radha 220 – 226 Pechilis, Karen 54, 59n20 Persaud, Prea 115 Phalabhūti 89 – 90 pīr (Sufi saint) 23, 24 pirivena 187, 192, 194 – 196 Poorna Sethuraman 99, 111 – 114 positionality, of researcher 5 – 7 possession mediumship 125 power: dominant 169; generative 180 – 181; magic 88; religious 17; sacred 43, 77; skin color as signal of 6 – 7 private temple 128 privilege 5, 210 – 211, 213, 256; skin color as signal of 6 – 7 proselytization 20 Quayson, A. 8 Raghavan, A.S. 112 Raghavan, Guruji 98 Rājeśvarānand, Śrī 38, 39 Rājeśvarī Devā (b. 1960) 38, 39, 46 – 49, 51, 53, 57 Ramakrishna 55 Ramamani Iyengar Memorial Yoga Institute 138 Ramamoorthy, R., 73 Ramlakhan, Priyanka 114 Rāmprasād Sen 27 Rāmśaraṇ Pāl 17, 19, 20, 22 Rani Kapoor 43 – 46 Ranjani Iyengar 108, 117n3 Rappaport, Julian 42 Ratha Utsab (chariot ceremony) 26 – 27, 28 Ray, Dāśarathī 26 Rebughini, Paola 18 Red Tent: compliance agency in 155 – 156; as gender performativity 141 – 151; identifying and labeling menstruating women 141 – 143; instrumental agency of empowerment and healing in 153 – 154; moving “differently” when menstruating 143 – 146; as a panopticon 147 – 151; resistance agency in 152; separating menstruating women and materialization of 146 – 147; see also gender performativity, Red Tent as; Iyengar Yoga (IY) practices, menstrual-oriented; menstruating women

reflexivity and researcher positionality 5 – 7 Religion of Truth 23 religious authorities, women as 2 – 3 religious docility 7 religious freedom, of women 4 religious piety and practices of women: devotional services 175 – 179; sexo-yogic ritual 179 – 181 resistance agency 151, 152, 193; see also agency Rinaldo, Rachel 116 Rinpoche, Dodrupchen 209 Rinpoche, Trulzhik 209 ritual expression and religious agency of women 64; aniconic and iconic Svayambhū and Mūrti 69 – 70; approach and methodology 65 – 68; aruḷvākku/“divine voice” 70 – 71; contemporary tradition 72 – 77; demographics 66 – 67; gender and socio-religious conventions 74 – 77; Goddess 68 – 69; inclusivities and worldviews 77 – 80; inclusivity in philosophical perspectives 79 – 80; inclusivity in the field 78 – 79; Melmaruvathur Adhiparasakthi history 68 – 70; menstruation 75 – 76; mission and service 71 – 72; non-discrimination and social intersections 72 – 73; performance and agency 76 – 77; ritual, communicating innovation through 73 – 74; social inclusivity 77 – 78; transnational community and communications 67 – 68; see also contemporary tradition ritual, communicating innovation through 73 – 74 Roloff, C. 246 Rosen, Alessandra 153 Sabarimala Temple, entry of women in 2 – 3 sacred geography 31 sādhanā (corporeal ritual practice) 22, 31 Sadhubaba 169, 178, 182, 183n7 sadhuma 169, 173, 174, 176 – 177, 178, 179, 181, 182, 183n5, 183n7 sahaja 169, 176, 182 Sahajiyā philosophy 17, 18 – 19 Sahu, Biswamitra 168

290 Index Sai Baba movement 79 śākinī 87, 91 – 92; see also yoginis/yoginī Śāktas 27, 31, 85 Sakthi Olhi 68 śakti pīṭams/mandrams 68 śakti-pīṭhs 30, 31, 36n12 sālamba sārvāṅgāsana 149, 149 Salgado, Nirmala 188, 191 sāmaṇerī 251, 260n21, 262 Sāmaṇerī Thāvirā 282, 283 Sambandam, C. Thirugnana 79 Samyutta Nikāya of Talaputa 248, 259n11 Sanderson, Alexis 85 Sarasvatī Devī 17, 19 – 20, 22, 28, 31; birth of 20; conflict between Krsnacandra and 27 – 28; as Satīmā 17, 20 – 21; supernatural powers 24 – 25; took charge of gadi 19; transformation into deity 24 Saraswati, Trikal Bhavanta 55 Sarbadhikary, Sukanya 175, 180 Ṣasṭḥī 23 – 24 Sathya Sai Baba 39 Satī 30, 31 Satīmā, hagiographies of 17; agency as simultaneous subversion and intermediation 26 – 28; deification as discursive strategy 28 – 33; female agency as divine intercession 22 – 25; Kartābhajās 18 – 20; from Kartā Mā to Satīmā 20 – 21; see also Sarasvatī Devī Satīmār Māhātmya 20, 31 Satīmāyer Melā (the fair of Satīmā) 21 satya dharma (religion of the truth) 19, 23, 25 Satya Nārāyaṇa 23 Satya Pīr 23 Satya Sai Baba 55, 71 Satyanāpura palace 122, 124 Saudek, Chris 146 Sax, William 42, 59n17 Schneider, N. 246 self-made deified gurus 49; being a guru and a housewife 53 – 54 self-reflection 6 selves, reinventing 119; Kavattar Siri ālaḍɛ, female administrator at 128 – 131; Siri Pāḍdana and Tuluva women’s memory of Siri 121 – 124; Siri ritual tradition and siris’ sēvɛ as a source of female agency 125 – 128

Sen, Mimlu 32 Sen, Nabīncandra 26 Senanayaka, D. S. 190 setubandha sārvāngāsana 150, 150 sexo-yogic ritual 179 – 181 sexual exploitation/harassment 22, 171, 178 – 181 sexual intercourse 179 – 180 sexual promiscuity 29 sexuality 18, 91, 127, 124n13, 169, 182 Sharma, R. S. 85 Shedti, Kargi 121, 126, 134n13 Shedti, Leela 124, 134n14 Shenoy-Packer, S. 228 Sherma, Rita 65 Shiva 56 Shrigar, Ramananda 127 siddhayoginī 92, 93 siddhi (ability to work miracles) 20, 88, 90, 94n6 sikkhamānā 251, 260n22 Sil Mātā Jātika Maṇḍalaya (SMJM) 192 Silmātā, Mathale Dharmadhaira 192 Siri ālaḍɛs 120, 125, 130 – 131, 133 Siri jātrɛ 124, 125, 126, 127, 128 Siri pāḍdana 125, 126, 132 Siri ritual 125 – 128, 132 Śiva 30, 31 Siva Puranam 101 Skanda Sashti 113, 115 skin color, as signal of power/privilege 6 – 7 SLFP see Sri Lanka Freedom Party ślokakathā 85 Smārta Brahmans 26, 27 social inclusivity 77 – 78 spirit possession 125 Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty 180 śrāddha ritual 233, 242n2 Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP) 190 Śrī Rājeśvarī Devā 46 – 49 Śrī Rājmātā Jī Mahārāj (RMJM) 38 – 39, 43 – 46, 51 – 53 Sri Sanghamitta education center 192 Śrī Siddha Bābā Bālak Nāth Mandir 39 Sri Vaishnava community 110 Srinivas, Tulasi 58n8, 79 Stewart, Tony 23, 35n9 subscription myth 31 Sugirtharajah, Sharada 167 suklam bharadaram 107 Supreme Reality 32 Supreme Śakti 69

Index  291 Sūryamatī, Queen 94 svayambhū 69 – 70, 76 svayambhū liṅga 68, 79 Swenson, S. A. 246 Taktse Nunnery 209 tammale-arvatta kaṭṭụ 121, 133n4 Tamil 64, 68; communities 66 – 67; deities 68 – 69; New Year 81n14; plays in 109 – 110; poems to Vishnu 99; as ritual language 73; Siva Puranam 101; songs of the Alvars; Sri Lankan, community 66; veda 108; works promoting bhakti 99 Tamil Nadu 10, 68, 80n5, 98, 103, 106, 112 Tantra 84 – 86, 89, 92 – 94 Tantric system/context 84 – 87, 90 – 94, 94n6, 95n9, 95n12, 169 Tantric sexual activity, women’s’ role in 180 tapas 86 – 87 Tara Krishnan 112, 114 Tara Mami 98, 114 Tathālokā, Bhikkhunī 262, 263 Tawney, C.H. 87 Thailand 186, 187, 247 – 252, 254, 258n2, 262 – 263, 273 Theragāthā 248, 259n12 Theravāda bhikkhunī 263, 272 – 273 Theravāda Buddhism see Buddhism Tibetan Buddhist monks 210 – 212 Tiruppugazh 98 – 99, 101, 104, 111 – 112, 114, 116n1 tradition: Buddhist 28, 246, 248, 271, 277; Buddhist Forest 263; contemporary see contemporary tradition; Himalayan 273; Hindu 79, 101, 104, 231 – 233, 239; Iyengar Yoga as 136 – 138, 142 – 143, 158n3, 159n16; Kagyu 216n15; Sahajiyā 19; Siri ritual 125 – 128; Sufi 25; syncretistic 29; Tāntric 10, 28, 169, 180; Vaishnava Sahajiya 168 – 170, 172 – 173, 175, 183 transculturality 8 – 9 transformations, biographies of 42; from Rani Kapoor to Śrī Rājmātā Jī Mahārāj (1934–1999) 43 – 46; Śrī Rājeśvarī Devā 46 – 49 transnational communities 8 – 9; and communications 67 – 68 transnationalism 8

Tsomo, Karma Lekshe 205, 246 Tulunad 120 – 121, 125 United National Party (UNP) 190 United Theravāda Bhikkhunī Sangha International (UTBSI)276, 277 Upadesa Rathna Malai 110 upādhyaya 88, 89, 242n1 Upanishads 106 upāsakas 247, 257, 258n5 upāsikārāmaya 189, 190 upāsikās 247, 258n5, 267 – 268 Upaviṣṭakoṇāsana 143, 144 Urban, Hugh 17, 22, 23, 36n14 – 15 Urgyen Chokhorling 209 Vaishnava Sahajiya 168 – 170 Vaishnava women: agency of 181 – 183; reasons to become a renouncer 171 – 174; renunciant goal 174 – 175; women’s religious piety and practices 175 – 181 Vaiṣṇava 23, 26, 27, 28, 32 Vaiṣṇo Devī 39, 50, 51, 56, 58n6, 59n24 Vasiṣṭha Dharmasūtra 74 vasudhaiva kutumbakam 111 Vedic knowledge 88 Vedics Foundation 110 verbal learning 104 – 105 Vidyāpīṭha Śāktas 91 Vihara Maha Devi (VMD) 190 vilakku puja 65 Virgin Mary 25, 36n14 “Virgin Mother and Child” archetype 23 Vishnu 56 Vishnu Sahasranamam 107 Vishnupriya Venkatapathi 100, 108, 111 Viṣṇusvāmin 88 Vraja pantheon 28 vrata 86 – 87, 94n4 Waddell, Laurence Austine 205 Wangzin, Pelling Ani 208 Warrier, Maya 54, 55, 58n8, 59n20 Weerakoon, Abhaya 192 Weingast, M. 245 witch/es 5, 86 – 90, 94n3, 94n5 women: agency of religious women 193 – 194; -centered religious studies and feminist scholarship 7 – 8;

292 Index Colombo-based elite 191; community of 254; education 188 – 190; empowerment of 2, 22 – 25; entry in Sabarimala Temple, Kerala, India 2 – 3; freedom 247; intersectionality of religious subjectivities 4 – 5; Kartābhajā 22, 29; leaders 114, 268 – 269; participation of 84 – 86; practitioners 12, 75 – 76, 85 – 86, 158n4, 268 – 269; priesthood of 230 – 231; as religious authorities 2 – 3; religious freedom of 4; religious piety and practices of 175 – 181; Sahajiya 170; Siri Pāḍdana and Tuluva women’s memory of Siri 121 – 124; social capital for 36n15; teachers 99 – 100, 114 – 115, 268 – 269; virtue of 223; workshop 139; see also

menstruating women; religious piety and practices of women; ritual expression and religious agency of women; Vaishnava women Women in Ochre Robes (Meena Khandelwal) 41 wondrous events 43, 59n18 Yathiraja vimshati 110 yoga 177; contemporary 152 – 153, 158n3; practitioner 143, 158n4; see also Iyengar Yoga (IY) practices, menstrual-oriented Yogakaraṇḍikā 91 yogeśvarī 92, 94n5 yoginis/yoginī 87, 91 – 94, 95n12, 95n15 yogīśvarī 92