Interrogating the bhakti movement: The Sant Sohirobanath Project

Some months ago, the State government honoured the memory of Sant Sohirobanath by organising a book exhibition in tandem with a festival of devotional music. What a clever sleight of hand! Along with this column, there were other voices that protested the manner in which the state government is shamelessly promoting caste Hindu hegemony in Goa.

There were a number of arguments raised to defend the commemoration of the Sant when the government’s decision was revealed to the public. Of these, two were significant. The first suggested that the Sant was part of the bhakti tradition of the subcontinent and this was a good thing. The second suggested that it represented the validation of the spiritual in the face of the materialism that contemporary society seems to be mired in. This column will deal primarily with the suggestion that the bhakti tradition is an undeniably positive tradition.

The bhakti tradition has been much celebrated largely because it is seen as having challenged the hegemony of the brahmin and vedic priesthood over access to the deities. The bhakti movement is credited with enabling the common person, and especially lower caste persons, to have direct access to the deity and the salvation that this access promised.

There is indeed a robust anti-caste critique in the visions of those who are seen as a part of the bhakti movement. Gail Omvedt, a significant authority on dalit-bahujan assertion in the subcontinent, has penned a book titled Seeking Begumpura (2008) that references the utopia that animated the works of many dalit-bahujan sants and poets.

And yet, this is not sufficient reason for us to uncritically accept the bhakti movement as an unmitigated good. In her book Language, Politics, Elites and the Public Sphere (2001), Veena Naregal points out that the relations between the emerging dissenting devotional practices and the ruling elites is still not very well understood. She refers to the case of the celebrated bhakti poet Eknath to make her point. Naregal highlights that when castigated by his brahmin peers for writing in the vernacular languages, Eknath “claiming not to be a deviant, [he] justified his writing in the vernacular as a popularisation of the high religious texts” (p.15). Indeed, Naregal goes on to quote the celebrated scholar Sheldon Pollock, who argued that, “the work of vernacularisation was not necessarily a subaltern process, but actually represented attempts by political elites to re-articulate their authority in localised idioms” (p.15).

This insight can be further buttressed by the recognition of the fact that Eknath may not have been the only person of the period who was seeking to popularise brahmanical texts and create a political culture defined by Brahmanism. Naregal places Eknath within the period c. 1533-99. In her work on the politics around the Telugu language, Language, Emotion, Politics in South India: The Making of a Mother Tongue (2010), Lisa Mitchel makes a similar point about the eleventh century composition of the Mahabharata in Telugu by the poet Nannaya. Challenging the idea that fired with the love for his mother-tongue Nannaya was articulating a Telugu identity, Mitchell in fact argues that this composition of the Mahabharata can be seen “as an attempt to prevent the spread and expansion of already existing anti-brahmanical heterodox identity by expanding orthodox meanings and practices” (p. 50). By composing the Mahabharata in Telugu, Nannaya was actively countering an already established heterodox Jain identity that used Telugu as a medium for spreading itself. Looking at this history, she points out that the Telugu language was in fact a weapon, a medium and a tool for accomplishing a specific purpose, the expansion of elite culture and identity into new realms.

From his fieldwork in Karnataka, the eminent sociologist M. N. Srinivas also noted that the practice of Harikatha served to popularise a sanskritic theology among the non-brahmanical groups. Such Sanskritic practices exposed the populace to new ideas and values and hitherto unknown terms such Karma, dharma, papa, punya, maya, samsara and moksa which found frequent expression in the vast body of Sanskrit literature, sacred as well as secular.

Seen in this light the Bhakti tradition is not necessarily the innocent, liberating project that defenders of the Sohirobanath project make it out to be.

There is a strain of rhetoric in this country that resorts to challenging unpalatable research by claiming foreign bias. However, no less a person that the renowned Dalit-bahujan activist, Mahatma Phule was sceptical of the texts produced by the bhakti poets of Maharashtra. In his polemical tract Shetkarayacha Aasud (Cultivator's Whipcord, [1881] 2002) Phule suggests that the bhakti tradition emerged as an ideological response to the liberation that Islam was providing. “From amongst the bhat brahmans, Mukundaraja and Dnyanoba lifted some imaginary parts from the Bhagavat-bakhar, and wrote tactical books in Prakrit called Viveksindhu and Dnyaneshwari and crazed the ignorant farmer to such an extent that the farmers started to think of the Mohammedans as low, along with the Quran, and started hating them instead.” Bhakti, then, rather than uplifting the marginalised, befuddled their minds, made them hate their liberators and pushed them deeper into the hands of their brahmanical oppressors. We know enough about the nature of the Hindu Right’s vigorous assertions, both in Goa and India, to be aware that the sudden celebration of Sant Sohirobanath probably has nothing to do with any love for promoting universal brotherhood. On the contrary, it has probably more to do with snipping bahujan-dalit assertion in Goa, and casting non-Hindus as enemies.

Phule was in fact categorical on this point. In Ghulamgiri (Slavery, [1872] 2002), he asserts that “There were several brahman authors like Mukundaraj, Dnyaneshwar and Ramdasa, among the plenty that mushroomed all over, who wasted their talents in composing silly books. None of them dared to even touch the rope of bondage tied around the necks of the shudras. Obviously, they lacked the courage to renounce such wicked practices and deeds openly. So they made a distinction between ‘Karma Marga’ (the Path of Action) and ‘Dnyana Marga’ (the Path of Knowledge), assigning every wicked practice to the former and atheist opinion to the latter. Then they wrote heaps of hollow books like these and allowed their selfish brahman brothers to continue robbing the shudras.”

We would do well to learn from Phule that just as some of the bhakti poets were using vernacular languages to extend the reach of brahmanical power, contemporary Hindu nationalist associations, and the state itself, are using bhakti to sanskritise Dalit-Bahujan groups and convert them into brahmanised Hindus. This strategy would not have been problematic had it led to genuine empowerment of the Dalit-Bahujan groups. As noted by Ronki Ram, the problem with Sanskritisation is that this process reinforces the structural logic of Hinduism by asking Dalits to internalize the very same social system that they ought to contest in the first place. Sanskritisation forces Dalit-bahujans to imbibe outmoded cultural patterns of the upper castes without seeking any radical change in the hierarchical and oppressive structures of the brahmanical social order.

Dr. B.R. Ambedkar minced no words about the regressive impact of a narrowly defined Bhakti. In his final speech to the Constituent Assembly on 25 November, 1949, he pointed out that “in India, Bhakti or what may be called the path of devotion or hero-worship, plays a part in its politics unequalled in magnitude by the part it plays in the politics of any other country in the world. Bhakti in religion may be the road to the salvation of the soul. But in politics, Bhakti or hero-worship is a sure road to degradation and to eventual dictatorship.”

Seen in the light of scholarship and enlightened activism, the uncritical celebration of the Bhakti tradition through the symbol of Sant Sohirobanath does not bode well. It only presages the continued brahmanisation of Hindus of Goa, and worsens the shackling of the dalit-bahujan groups who are being directed to expend their energy on religion, rather than the assertion of the rights that are being denied them.

(A version of this post was first published in the O Heraldo dated  6 March 2014)

Pointing a finger at secularists: A response to Teotonio de Souza

It is always a tragedy when an argument is misunderstood. Something of the sort seems to have happened when Teotonio de Souza, in his op-ed column in this paper (2September, 2014), mounted a critique of my denunciation of the Goa Government’s Sant Sohirobanath project.  The immediate concern was the government’s decision to rename the Government College of Pernem after the Sant. 

According to de Souza, I drew up a comparison between Sant Sohirobanath and St Francis Xavier to argue that Sant Sohirobanath served the saffronisation of Goan culture by the State in violation of constitutionally guaranteed secularism, while suggesting that the state’s administrative assistance in the exposition of the relics of St. Francis Xavier was, “well within the bounds of secular ethics.” In reality, I said no such thing.

My effort was to distinguish between the manner the state has unilaterally taken it on itself to pluck the Sant out of relative obscurity, while in the case of the Exposition, there is a non-statal body that actively organises the event and receives the state’s support in organising it, post factum. As a student of the manner in which states across the world deal with the challenge of secularism, I am well aware of the delicate balance that is involved every time the state steps in to intervene in religious affairs. As such, my argument was much more cautious than de Souza makes it out to be.

de Souza suggests among other things that I was “misusing” the figure of St. Francis Xavier and crafting an imaginary scenario possibly with the intention of stoking communal tensions. The truth, however, is that I did not produce the comparison with St. Xavier out of thin air, but within the very real context of the position of secularism in India and Goa. Hindu nationalists have systematically raised the cry of “minority appeasement” in the context of state support of non-Hindu institutions or events. Their loud clamouring against this support is then used to justify further patronage to Hindu institutions and events. Perhaps de Souza would have preferred had I pointed out that the services that the state of Goa offers to the Exposition is similar to the kind of service that it offers to the zatras, especially the more important ones, across the state. Indeed, in retrospect, I realise that I ought to have included these examples as well.

Nevertheless, the very fact, that I may have needed to also talk about Hindu feasts to justify my argument and thus make it sound secular, is illustrative of the burden under which non-Hindu and non-upper castes persons in this country labour when trying to secure space in the public sphere. Indeed, whenever minoritised groups raise arguments critical to establishing an egalitarian system, they are accused of engaging in identitarian politics, or, as de Souza phrases it, “not more than politics of culture”. It needs to be pointed out that the so-called identity politics is not merely about identities alone but in fact fundamentally about distributive justice.

Even though de Souza would have readers believe that I think the state’s association with the Exposition is “well within the bounds of secular ethics” -- I am not entirely sure that it is. It was because of my doubts about the nature of this association that I was so restrained in presenting the Exposition as an example. In very many ways, the State not only offers assistance to the Catholic ecclesiastical hierarchy in the organisation of the event, but also uses the event in many ways. In addition to the symbology of being one of the more significant patrons, the state government also exploits the Exposition for its value to the tourist industry, just as it has now begun to milk the bigger Goan temples for their interest to tourists. To make this argument is not to necessarily or unilaterally condemn the practice, but to highlight something uncomfortable in this arrangement. As the work of scholars such as Talal Asad demonstrates, such discomfort is an integral part of the problem of secularism. Our job is to see how we can enable the possible resolutions of the dilemmas that inevitably present themselves in the operation of this imperfect system.

In addition to accusing me of attempting “to put a wedge that could promote conflict between the Hindu and the Catholic communities” de Souza also claims that I am trying to “divide the Hindu community by presenting Sant Sohirobanath as a symbol of high Marathi culture, and not representative of the Bahujan Samaj.” Once again, he misunderstands and misrepresents my argument. There are already historical and contemporary divisions among those who call themselves Hindu. Postcolonial Goan history is the history of the assertion of the Bahujan samaj in Goa against the dominance of the Saraswat Brahmins. Further, I was not presenting the Sant as a symbol of high Marathi culture, but rather pointing to the manner in which the Sant is being co-opted to aid Saraswat, and brahmanical, hegemony in Goa. I was trying to draw attention to the point that there is no single strand of Marathi culture in Goa, but multiple strands. To this extent my aim is to make explore the varied dimensions of Marathi culture in Goa. Too often this culture is presented as a monolithic monster that Goans, and especially Catholics in Goa, should be afraid of. To be sure, crafting monolithic identities of Catholic and Hindu (as he does) does more to fuel communal tensions. These monolithic identities occlude the similar interests that bahujan of both faith traditions and impoverish political imagination.

Having addressed most of de Souza’s specific comments, it is now time to reflect on the overall thrust of his article. It is significant that de Souza did not take any position vis-à-vis the project at the heart of my discussion, viz. the renaming of the college after Sant Sohirobanath. His silence seems to imply approval of the project. This position would not be surprising given that de Souza generally speaks in the voice of the upper-caste secular nationalist. This is a voice that would prefer that discussions of caste-based oppression not be spoken about, prefers identities to be national and sees the nation as composed of monolithic religious groups who are ideally represented by upper-caste members of that faith tradition. When voices do speak up against the upper-caste Hindu biases of state governance, Indian secular nationalism dismisses it as identity politics, just as de Souza does my arguments. This dismissal is effected not only by Hindu nationalists, but also the dominant elites within these minoritised groups; the latter fearful that their privileges as representatives of the faith tradition will be challenged.

With this understanding of the operation of Indian secularism, de Souza’s position is not surprising. Learning from the recent past indicates that contemporary Goa needs to negotiate different ways to secure a secular environment, one that is honest about the fractures and systemic injustices in our society. Simply sweeping them under the carpet and celebrating the largely upper-caste bonhomie across religions alone is not going to work.

(A version of this post was first published in the O Heraldo dated 19 Sept 2014

I would like to acknowledge the useful comments of my colleagues in the Al Zulaij Collective. )

Sant Sohirobanath and secular death

I read with some concern the news that the Government of Goa is officially celebrating the tercentenary of the birth of Sant Sohirobanath Ambiye. Towards this end, the government has chosen to rename the Government College in Pernem Sant Sohirobanath Ambiye College of Art and Commerce, publish a compilation of his works, as well as establish a chair in his name at Goa University for research in Marathi language and Goan Marathi literature.

All of these actions are a matter of grave concern not only because they violate the constitutionally guaranteed secular character of the Indian state, but because it also represents the creeping manner in which recent times have seen a systematic saffronisation of cultural space within Goa.

While there are many understandings of what secularism constitutes, the common sense understanding within India is that the State will desist from promoting one religious tradition over others. In the case of renaming the college of Pernem, this understanding of secularism is exactly what the government of Goa has violated. This act of the state government has privileged a Hindu faith tradition over all other traditions within the State (and the country). It would be unthinkable that a Muslim or Christian saint would be honoured by the Indian or Goan state in this manner. To do so would raise cries of “pandering to minorities” and “pseudo-secularism”.  Given that similarity of treatment is fundamental to the practice of secularism, it seems that state government must necessarily change its decision regarding the renaming of the Government College in Pernem.

But this is not the first time that the state government has demonstrated its bias in promoting a particular brand of Hindu faith traditions. The choice of Sant Sohirobanath does not seem to be innocent, but part of a larger trend where members of the Saraswat caste have been held up as embodiments of Hindu culture, which is then passed off as Goan culture. Take, for example, the manner in which under the earlier tenure of Chief Minister Parrikar, in 2002, his government sought to commemorate the 125 birth centenary of Varde Valaukikar, also known as Shenoi Goembab, as Konkani Asmitai year. While Valaulikar has garnered some fame as a proponent of the Konkani language in the Nagri script, what has largely been suppressed is the fact that he was an activist for the Saraswat caste who sought to create a space for this caste group in the city of Bombay. This action was part of a larger movement that sought the creation of a homeland for the Saraswats in Goa, with the specific intent of allowing them to dominate it as their fiefdom.

There is also the choice of D.D. Kossambi whose name has been employed to distinguish the ‘Festival of Ideas’ that the state government has organised in Goa since 2008. In itself this particular action is innocuous, and yet when viewed with the other choices of the state government one begins to see a larger pattern through which Saraswat  patriarchal figures alone are identified as worthy of honour. There have been other men who have been honoured, but as in the case of the naming of the auditorium of the Ravindra Bhavan in Margão, this has often been after a bitter struggle for such recognition by bahujan groups.

More disturbing is the choice of the relatively unknown figure of Krishnadas Shama to identify Goa’s premier intellectual centre, the Central Library. Set up under the Portuguese rule, this institution benefitted tremendously from the efforts of a number of native sons, not least of whom was Ismael Gracias, a significant curator of this public institution. Given that secularism has often accompanied a republican culture that privileges persons who distinguish themselves in the realm of public service, it is a shame that individuals like Gracias were passed over in favour of Shama. In fact, not much is known about Shama except that he is the possible author of brahmanical texts, like the Mahabharata, in proto-Konkani. While Konkani nationalists have chosen to promote Shama as the father of the Konkani language, this is merely a dubious assertion given that Shama could have been associated with propagating brahamanical myths among a local population that was profoundly influenced by Jainism, Buddhism and Islam. To this extent, Shama too emerges not as a secular figure, but one aligned with promoting brahmanical hegemony. With this history in mind, it appears that this choice of Shama is in keeping with the Sangh Parivar’s attempts to brahmanise Hinduism, destroying all other forms of non-brahmanical Hinduism, and leaving brahmanical groups in complete control of this complex faith tradition.

Add to this the choice of the state government to name one of the stadia set up for the Lusophone games after Syama Prasad Mookherji, founder of the Bharatiya Jana Sangh, and an associate of the RSS. 

The choice to name the college after this brahmin saint should also be seen in the manner in which the Parrikar-led government sought to hand over government schools to RSS-backed ‘educational’ institutions. Clearly, through these various choices in naming public institutions, the Parrikar-led BJP government is seeking to create a legitimacy for the RSS and its program of Hindutva.

Seen in light of these various facts, it becomes obvious that the celebration of the centenary of this largely 

anonymous Sant Sohirobanath, is a part of a larger programme to saffronise the Goan public sphere. In his defence of the state government’s decision to officially celebrate the centenary of this saint, Nandkumar Kamat has suggested that “Saints of all religions belong to the whole mankind [sic because their sainthood helps us all to be good human beings.” While this may be true in principle, under a secular regime the choice of integrating them into daily life is an option of individuals, not an obligation of the state. The government in this case is integrating this saint into the official culture of the territory.

Persons who would object to the protest we mount in this letter would no doubt point to continued state support for the exposition of the relics of St. Francis Xavier every decade. There is a difference, however, in that as far as my understanding goes, the exposition of Saint Xavier is organised by the church, and the state steps in largely to coordinate public order. The initiative rests largely with the Catholic Church which is the primary celebrant. In the case of Sant Sohirobanath on the other hand, it appears that it is not a civil society organisation that is seeking the support of the state, but the state that has taken it upon itself to celebrate the event officially. This is a crucial distinction and must be underscored.

The action of the state government is not merely a violation of the secular nature of the state, but tantamount to laying the grounds for communal conflict in Goa. With its choice of setting up a chair in the Goa University under the name of this saint for the study of Marathi literature in Goa, the state government is effectively further saffronising Marathi culture and literature in Goa. Most people will recollect the manner in which ever since the 1960s the Marathi language had been twined with Hindu nationalism in Goa. However, it should not be forgotten that while Marathi in Goa has a brahmanical heritage, it also was, and continues to be, the language of dalit-bahujan assertion against brahmanical hegemony in our state. To this extent, the Marathi language can also be the source of a profound commitment to a secular polity. To name a chair after a religious figure pollutes the secular aspects of the tradition of the Marathi language in Goa, and complicates the resolution of historical differences that since at least 1961 have deliberately sough to keep Hindu and Catholic bahujan suspicious of each other’s traditions.

The renaming and other celebrations of Sant Sohirobanath by the government of Goa must be protested vociferously, not merely because it violates the secular fabric of constitutional governance in the state, but also because it is part of a blatantly casteist agenda in Goa.

(A version of this post was first published in the O Heraldo on 22 Aug 2014)