For over four decades the resonant voice of Ameen Sayani was the voice of Indian radio entertainment. On Radio Ceylon’s Geetmala and then All India Radio or Akashwani’s Vividh Bharti, Sayani’s radio hours brought us the pick of Hindi film songs interlaced with his attractive commentary in Hindustani. A child of the freedom movement, born into a family that hailed from Gujarat and was especially influenced by Gandhi, Ameen Sayani journeys through 60 years of India’s experiment with public broadcasting, culture and entertainment.

I was initiated into radio broadcasting at the age of seven by my elder brother Hameed who was a very fine broadcaster with the English section of All India Radio (AIR), Bombay. He used to take me along with him for smaller programmes and gradually I started lending my voice to radio plays and later on, to other broadcasts. It was not until 1949-50 that I shifted towards full-fledged broadcasting in Hindustani. I was a student from the Gujarati medium, then an English broadcaster and later I graduated towards broadcasting in Hindustani.

In expanse, my career has spanned decades of broadcasting. Geetmala was aired on Radio Ceylon for 38 years after which, in 1989, it started as a half-hour programme on Vividh Bharti. The material was the same in both but the songs were reduced in length for the half-hour version. On Radio Ceylon the entire song was played but as reception of Radio Ceylon became difficult in later years, I shifted to AIR. Vividh Bharti ran until quite recently, 1993-94. In fact, we celebrated Geetmala’s 42nd birthday on Doordarshan through a 31-episode series. I was also producing programmes and commercials for seven or eight countries across the world, countries like the UK, Mauritius, Fiji and Canada, Swaziland and Dubai.

The atmosphere at All India Radio in those days, pre and post-independence, was special. A motto hung over the entrance of the building: “Bahujan Hitai Bahujan Sukhai” – for the benefit of the people, for the happiness of the people – this was the proclaimed aim of broadcasting. AIR had, in those days, an army of the best writers, performers, musicians, and the best producers. The cream of talent used to gravitate towards AIR and it was considered a matter of great pride to be able to participate in any AIR programme. This was through the late forties and early fifties when AIR was perhaps one of the finest broadcasting organisations in the world, on par with the BBC.

They broadcast fabulous plays and features backed by first-rate newsreaders. Though the formal name, Akashwani, was adopted later, AIR was indeed like an akash wani (broadcast through the skies). Anything that was broadcast on radio was the absolute last word. It carried weight and creativity.

It was only about a decade after independence that AIR started receiving the first shock waves of bureaucratic and political interference that slowly began to affect its functioning. The first shock came of course with partition, the greatest tragedy we faced. Partition took the best of our talent away; many writers and producers migrated to Pakistan.

Finally, after all that bloodshed, on the night of August 14-15, with the hoisting of the national flag for the first time, I heard Nehru’s great “Tryst with Destiny” speech. Less than six months later, in January 1948, it was the shattering news of Gandhiji being killed that AIR broadcast on its airwaves. For us in the Sayani family, passionately fond of and devoted to Gandhiji, for me, growing up in the laps of the great leaders of the freedom movement, it was a very personal tragedy. Why this man, who was so peaceful, so non-violent, a man who spread love and goodness and goodwill? Why did anybody have to kill him off? As a schoolboy, my reaction was one of pain and bewilderment.

At the New Era School in Bombay, where I studied for seven years, I learnt Gujarati from the Balpothi (primer) from kindergarten onwards. These formative years were critical. Our school song, for instance, it was in Gujarati and its words, which made a lasting impression on me, embodied a fantastic concept of unity – love, affinity, neighbourliness and humility – it’s all there. I remember at New Era we also had a four-line motto that was, in fact, a four-language motto because it had all the four main languages of Maharashtra! The first was English, the name of the school, which was in English, the second was a Gujarati line, the third line was in Marathi and the fourth line was in Hindi. This is how it went: “New Era, Nau Jawan Badho Aage, Aami Jagat Che Nagreek Ho, Bharat Bhumi Jai Jai Ho (New Era; Youth, forge ahead; We are citizens of the world; Hail, hail to India)”.

So this fusion has always been part of my life and a part, I think, of the life of all Indians. As I keep saying, if we had been more inclusive and creative on the issue of language there would have been less separateness, less tension, we would have engendered an ability to understand the other. The maulvi saheb who used to teach me taught me about the opening prayers in the Koran, “Alhamdulillahi Rabbil Alamin”, which means, Praise be to Allah, lord of the worlds – master of the entire universe, not only the god of Muslims. Similarly, in the Rig Veda you will come across a line, “Ekam Sat Vipra Bahudha Vadanti” – there is only one truth, we look at it from different points of view. There is also a famous Sanskrit saying, “Vasudeva Kutumbam” – the whole world is one family.

As a schoolboy and a keen listener of the radio, I remember listening to all the beautiful film songs in all the farmaishi (request) programmes. The farmaishi list would be about a mile long and in school all of us youngsters used to wait in the common room hoping that our names and choice of song would sometimes feature. What music it was, the golden years of Hindustani music!

Slowly, with the golden age of Hindi cinema producing songs and music of incredible quality, I shifted over to broadcasting film music. I started with Radio Ceylon where thanks to my brother I got my breakthrough. Initially, it was difficult, as I had to speak neither English nor Gujarati but Hindi and I did not know Hindi or Urdu very well.

I inched my way into broadcasting in Hindustani with determination and hard work. I did have a background of written Hindustani. My mother was a shishsya (student) of Gandhiji and he had instructed her to start a regular publication, a fortnightly on adult education for neo-literates. Inspired and guided by him, she began it from our home and ran it for several years. Gandhiji had instructed her to start it in three scripts, the Hindi script (which is the Devanagari script), the Urdu script and the Gujarati script, which were the three main scripts used in Maharashtra. What vision! What simplicity of integration! Whilst three distinct scripts were used, each line read the same in simple, spoken Hindustani. It sounds trite and obvious but it was this vision that made Gandhiji what he was. It was an incredible stroke of genius from Gandhiji and reflected his awareness of the importance of a common language, a simple language that can bring people together, through which they can communicate with each other, which can build up a sort of affinity and integrate people into one whole body of people.

You see, in those days the only lingua franca was English and although Hindi, Urdu, were widely used and simple Hindustani was being promoted quite a bit, it was not officially the Indian language. I remember that at a very important session of the Congress Working Committee (CWC), Gandhi proposed that Hindustani be the national language, not Hindi. But at a subsequent CWC session after his death, by a majority of just one casting vote from the president, Hindi was chosen instead of Hindustani. Thereafter, we began to use a language that was barely understood by millions of our people.

So when the challenge of broadcasting in Hindustani was thrown at me, I found that my mother’s publication and its basis in and affinity with Hindustani helped me to slip into the role of broadcaster quite easily. Through Radio Ceylon I was communicating not only with Indians and the whole of Asia, Radio Ceylon used to be the popular radio station as far as the east coast of Africa. As producer and presenter of Geetmala, my main programme, I was learning how to speak simple Hindustani. I already knew how to write it but I was learning the correct accent of speech and the communication and nuances along with my listeners, using rich material that my mother used in Rahbar (Showing the Way), the magazine she published from our home right up to 1960. I used a lot of the material she used, the philosophy of life that this fascinating experience, the publication of Rahbar, provided, to link my Geetmala programme between songs, thematically.

My own experience with the Hindustani language, my learning it, grew with my programme and with my listeners. My listeners would write back with their choice of film songs and their views, sometimes in Marathi or in Punjabi or Gujarati or Telugu or Bengali. Gradually, as the programme grew in popularity, Hindustani was the language that the listeners shifted to.

My listeners and I grew together with a simple, common denominator language that was a tremendous connecting point between them and me. I believe that if the simple language of Hindustani had been our national language, many of our complications as a nation would not have arisen.

There is a very simple saying in Hindustani that has been part of my life and also an intrinsic part of the leadership of early India, “Todo Nahi, Jodo” – Don’t break, Unite.

All my life in broadcasting, which spans four decades, that’s what I’ve been trying to do, simplify concepts and communicate them with social relevance as connections between songs.

Why break up this beautiful nation, why break up this lovely conglomeration of cultures, of philosophy, of social habits, of colours, taste and attitude? There is no country anywhere in the world with so many diversities, so many colours and so much variety.

Instead of getting all that dynamite together, moulding it into an actual Saare Jahan Se Achcha, Hindustan Hamara (Our India, Unequalled in the entire universe), we have been breaking it, dividing its people. What is the point of the Sensex booming if our farmers are committing suicide? There are two or three main reasons for this disparity, this tension, this hatred. We do not know our own faith or religion and neither do we know the faith practices of our neighbours. I can say this because of my experience in holding the listener through Geetmala; my programmes always had an undercurrent of social relevance. No entertainment can ever exist or succeed without being close to life and no socially relevant programming can ever be successful unless it has a little or lots of bits of entertainment, a little bit of lure. So there has to be a mix, of both good and bad. Whether calamity or great achievement, both always got talked about on my programme.

For instance, man’s first step on the moon, Armstrong taking the first step, I made a whole programme on Geetmala, weaving this theme through everything with couplets referring to the moon, references to the moon, what repercussions this would have on us and so on. If there was a famine or calamity or a great leader died or a big festival, it was reflected somewhere in the programme and interspersed with songs or listeners’ comments.

In all my broadcast programmes, communication for me was the essence. I never let my listeners feel that I was preaching any kind of integration because integration can never be preached. For example, during the emergency, the government introduced its 20-point programme when an order was issued to both Doordarshan and AIR to make programmes on the 20-point programme! There were hundreds of proposals but none saw the light of day. Another time, there was this bureaucrat who called all of us producers and directed us to produce a television programme on humour! I remember saying, Sir, humour is always the soul of all conversation, you can put humour into as many things as you like, why do you say that you want only a humorous programme? Say you want an interesting programme. How interesting programmes are made is the producer’s lookout. If you like it, take it, if you don’t like it, don’t take it but don’t put a kind of maniacal handcuff on them, it will not work. Good work originates from within.

All India Radio still has the potential, it has the physical potential, it also has a tremendous number of excellent people still there and if they were allowed to come together and work in a conducive and creative manner it could have tremendous scope and reach, giving the new FM channels (whose chatty styles are quite interesting, actually) a run for their money.

So as a broadcaster I would narrate anecdotes, poetry, which spoke of my experience of our people, the goodness, sweetness, beauty, gentleness, affinity, getting together is the big thing for me. This is what I tried to do everywhere, I can’t pinpoint that I did this or that for integration. Everything I was saying was for integration.

When we started the programme it was as an experiment and I got to have a go at it because I was the juniormost in the group and they were only going to pay 25 rupees to the person who presented, produced and scripted the programme and even checked the mail it received! After the very first broadcast, we got 9,000 letters in response and I went mad checking them. Within 18 months, when the weekly listeners’ mail jumped to 65,000 letters a week, it became impossible to faithfully monitor so we decided to convert it into a simple countdown show.

We used our unique way of rating the most popular songs. First, we tied up with the 20-25 major record shops all over India that used to receive clear reports of popularity ratings and sales. We then discovered that we could still miss accurate ratings because there was often about a fortnight’s gap between demands for records (78 format) being expressed and stock being delivered. We then started depending upon the farmaishi list but realised at the end of six months that a lot of pulls and pushes were influencing this selection – film producers, music directors, who bought postcards in bulk and sent them to us (postcards, some ostensibly from Pune, some from Delhi, some from Kanpur, some from Madras, had actually been posted from one post office in Kalbadevi, Bombay, the postal franking showed us!).

So finally we hit upon a very good idea – lining up several small groups of listeners from all over India who were writing to us very regularly. They had formed radio clubs and they met every week, listened to the programme together and engaged in other related activities. So I started encouraging them and we built up as many as 400 clubs all over India, which used to regularly send us their weekly or fortnightly ratings and numbers. We used these as a basis to be collated with sales reports from record shops and voilà, we got 99.9 per cent accurate ratings.

Coming back to my form of communication, my method was simple, my language was simple. See, I feel communication must be straightforward, honest, understandable and simple. There should be no double meanings; there should be no kind of equivocation as they say. It should be a direct matter of one heart to another. You say what you mean and the other person understands what you are saying. There are two things wrong with our country, our lack of understanding of each other’s faiths coupled with our very confused communications. Especially official communication. I have also started a movement on the need for a national anthem that is understood by one and all.

(As told to Teesta Setalvad.)

Archived from Communalism Combat,  February 2008  Year 14    No.128, Culture

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March the 23rd (2016) is the 85th anniversary of the martyrdom of three of India’s great revolutionaries, Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukhdev, who were hanged at Lahore for working to overthrow the colonial, ‘firangee’ government. The British government thought that with the physical elimination of these freedom fighters their ideas and dreams of a secular and egalitarian independent India would also dissipate and disappear. The rulers were patently wrong as these revolutionaries and heir ideals continue to be an integral part of the people’s memory, their exploits sung far and wide in people’s lore.

On this 85th anniversary of their martyrdom we should remember, and not overlook the fact, that though it was the British colonial powers who hanged them, there were at the time organisations like Hindu Mahasabha, the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) and the Muslim League in pre-1947 India which not only remained alien to the ideals of these revolutionaries but also maintained a criminal silence on their hanging.

It is both comic, ironical and shocking therefore that, of these three communal outfits, it is the RSS — which consciously kept itself completely aloof from the anti-colonial struggle –that has, of late, laid claim to the tradition and contributions of these great revolutionaries. Literature is being produced and the discourse too seeks to appropriate them with false a-historic linkages to Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukhdev.

During the NDA I regime when its two senior swayamsewaks, Atal Bihari Vajpayee and Lal Krishan Advani ruled the country, they had made the astonishing claim that Keshav Baliram Hedgewar, founder of the RSS met Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukhdev in 1925 and continued attending meetings with these revolutionaries and even provided shelter to Rajguru in 1927 when he was underground after killing Sanders.[i]

In 2007, for the first time in its history, the Hindi organ of the RSS, Panchjanya came out with a special issue on Bhagat Singh. In the whole body of pre-Partition literature of RSS we do not find even a single reference to these martyrs. In fact, RSS literature of the contemporaneous period, is full of anecdotes showing its indifference to revolutionaries like Bhagat Singh.

Madhukar Dattatreya Deoras, known as Balasahab Deoras, the third chief of the RSS, narrated an incident when Hedgewar saved him and others from following the path of Bhagat Singh and his comrades. Interestingly, this appeared in a publication of RSS itself:
“While studying in college (we) youth were generally attracted towards the ideals of revolutionaries like Bhagat Singh. Emulating Bhagat Singh we should do some or other act of bravery, this came to our mind often. We were less attracted towards Sangh (RSS) since current politics, revolution etc. that attracted the hearts of youth were generally less discussed in the Sangh. When Bhagat Singh and his companions were awarded death sentence, at that time our hearts were so excited that some friends together [we] vowed to do something directly and planned something terrible and in order to make it succeed decided to run away from homes. But to run away without informing our Doctorji [Hedgewar] will not be proper, considering it we decided to inform Doctorji about our decision. To inform this fact to Doctorji was assigned to me by the group of friends.

“We together went to Doctorji and with great courage I explained my feelings before him. After listening to our plan Doctorji took a meeting of ours for discarding this foolish plan and making us to realize the superiority of the work of Sangh. This meeting continued for seven days and in the night from ten to three. The brilliant ideas of Doctorji and his valuable leadership brought fundamental change in our ideas and ideals of life. Since that day we took leave of mindlessly made plans and our lives got new direction and our mind got stabilized in the work of Sangh.”[ii]

Moreover there is ample proof available in the documents of the RSS that establish that the RSS denounced movements led by revolutionaries like Bhagat Singh, Chandrashekar Azad and their associates. There are passages in theBunch of Thoughts [collection of speeches and writings of Golwalkar treated as a holy book by the RSS cadres] decrying the whole tradition of martyrs:
“There is no doubt that such men who embrace martyrdom are great heroes and their philosophy too is pre-eminently manly. They are far above the average men who meekly submit to fate and remain in fear and inaction. All the same, such persons are not held up as ideals in our society. We have not looked upon their martyrdom as the highest point of greatness to which men should aspire. For, after all, they failed in achieving their ideal, and failure implies some fatal flaw in them.”[iii]
Golwalkar goes on to tell the RSS cadres that only those people should be adored who have been successful in their lives:
“It is obvious that those who were failures in life must have had some serious drawback in them. How can one, who is defeated, give light and lead others to success?”[iv]

In the whole body of pre-Partition literature of RSS we do not find even a single reference to these martyrs. In fact, RSS literature of the contemporaneous period, is full of anecdotes showing its indifference to revolutionaries like Bhagat Singh.

In fact, Golwalkar’s book has a chapter titled ‘Worshippers of Victory’ in which he openly commits to the fact that he and RSS worship only those who are victorious.
“Let us now see what type of great lives have been worshipped in this land. Have we ever idealised those who were a failure in achieving life’s goal? No, never. Our tradition has taught us to adore and worship only those who have proved fully successful in their life-mission. A slave of circumstances has never been our ideal. The hero who becomes the master of the situation, changes it by sheer dint of his calibre[sic] and character and wholly succeeds in achieving his life’s aspirations, has been our ideal. It is such great souls, who by their self-effulgence, lit up the dismal darkness surrounding all round, inspired confidence in frustrated hearts, breathed life into the near-dead and held aloft the living vision of success and inspiration, that our culture commands us to worship.”[v]

Golwalkar did not name Bhagat Singh but according to his philosophy of life since Bhagat Singh and his companions did not succeed in achieving their goal they did not deserve any respect. According to his formula the British rulers would and should be the natural object of worship as they were able to kill revolutionaries like Bhagat Singh.

It is difficult to find a statement more insulting and denigrating to the martyrs of the Indian Freedom Movement than this.

It will be shocking for any Indian who loves and respects the martyrs of the Freedom Movement to know what Dr. Hedgewar and the RSS felt about the revolutionaries fighting against the British. According to his biography published by the RSS, “Patriotism is not only going to prison. It is not correct to be carried away by such superficial patriotism. He used to urge that while remaining prepared to die for the country when the time came, it is very necessary to have a desire to live while organizing for the freedom of the country.”[vi]

‘Shameful’ is too mild a word to describe the attitude of the RSS towards these young freedom fighters, who had sacrificed their all in the struggle against the British colonial powers. The last Mughal ruler of India, Bahadurshah Zafar, had emerged as the rallying point and symbol of the Great War of Independence of 1857. Golwalkar while making fun of him said:
“In 1857, the so-called last emperor of India had given the clarion call—Ghazio mein bu rahegi jub talak eeman ki/Takhte London tak chalegi tegh Hindustan ki (As long as there remains the least trace of love of faith in the hearts of our heroes, so long, the sword of Hindustan will reach the throne of London.) But ultimately what happened? Everybody knows that.”[vii]

What Golwalkar thought of the people sacrificing their lot for the country is obvious from the following statement as well. He had the temerity to ask the great revolutionaries who wished to lay down their lives for the freedom of the motherland the following question (as if he was representing the British masters):
“But one should think whether complete national interest is accomplished by that? Sacrifice does not lead to increase in the thinking of the society of giving all for the interest of the nation. It is borne by the experience up to now that this fire in the heart is unbearable to the common people.”[viii]

Perhaps this was the reason that RSS produced no freedom fighter, not to mention no martyr in the movement against the colonial rule. Unfortunately, there is not a single line challenging, exposing, criticising or confronting the inhuman rule of the British masters in the entire literature of the RSS from 1925 to 1947. Those who are familiar with the glorious Freedom Struggle of India and sacrifices of martyrs like Bhagat Singh must challenge this evil appropriation of our heroes by the Hindutva camp which betrayed the liberation struggle. We should not allow these communal stooges of the British rulers to kill Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukhdev once again.

(The author taught political science at the University of Delhi. He is a well known writer and columnist)

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Greetings for the Season!

Faiths travelled across the seas first, then on horseback with the men and women who espoused their beliefs. Just as Buddhism travelled south and then east and north, Hinduism did too. Judaism, Christianity and Islam, sailed across the Arabian seas to settle on Indian shores, even before the conquests from the north.

As we savour this intermingling this season, in the midst of world turmoil and needless violence, let us light up the lives of the less fortunate, regardless of the faith she or he was born into.

Indonesia, a republic with a Muslim-majority population spread over 17,000 islands including Sumatra, Java, Sulwesi and others boasts a special cultural heritage –the Ramayana. Walk into the handicraft boutiques with their exquisite leather puppetry and the figures of the much loved Ramayana will be proudly on show. The celebrated popularity of the Ramayana here is a testament to the epic’s enduring cultural legacy. Yes, there is a Ramayana in Indonesia too; where, while the first half of the Indonesia Ramayana is similar to the Indian version, the second half includes the powerful Javanese deity Dhayana and his three sons.

Scripted in the old Javanese language, it became known as the Kakawin Ramayana. The text and performances, watched with joy among Indonesians even today, were centuries ago used to revive Hinduism at a time when Buddhism was well established in Sumatra, West and Central Java through shadow puppetry (Wayang Kulit and Wayang Purwa).

Historians trace the Kakawin Ramayana back to the Medang Kingdom (732-1006 AD) in Central Java when it was written in the old Javanese language. The other Indonesian version of Ramayana is the Balinese Ramakavaca, which is a developed version of the Kakawin Ramayana. The Javanese consider the Kakawin Ramayana, derived from an array of Sanskrit-based metrical patterns, as the ultimate in artistic expression and remains the lengthiest of all Old Javanese texts. A large number of preserved palm leaf manuscripts of Java and Bali attest to its popularity and adaptation.

Fascinatingly, the Kakawin Ramayana differs from the original Indian version in interesting e ways. According to several literary scholars, the source of the old Javanese Kakawin Ramayana was possibly the Sanskrit poem Bhattikavya written by Indian poet Bhatti around the 7^th century AD as the first half of Kakawin Ramayana is almost identical to the rendering of Bhattikavya. But Indian scholars find that the latter half almost indistinguishable from the original.

Though the characters of Rama, Sita, Lakshman, Hanuman, Ravan, etc. remain fundamental to its narrative, the Kakawin Ramayana also has several Javanese indigenous deities like Dhayana, (regarded as the Guardian God of Java Semar or ‘Twalen’ in Balinese literature) and four his sons called the four Punokawan or “clown servants”. However, these characters are most popular and figure prominently in all Wayang performances.

Sita, almost akin to the Janaki Ramayan in southern parts of India, is depicted powerfully. While a section of the north and western Indian Ramayana depicts her (more recently) paints her as a soft, demure and loyal woman, Indonesia’s Kakawin Ramayana portrays her as strong, individualistic and bold, depicted as fighting with Asuras in Ravana’s Lanka instead of waiting for Rama to rescue her!

It is not uncommon in Indonesian Wayang performances to see Sita’s character being played with her chin and head up in a defiant position. She is portrayed as a bit weak for desiring the golden deer, while Rama is shown as a wee bit imperfect since he trusted people over Sita after she was rescued from Lanka.

Hanuman is a much-respected and revered character in Indonesia as he figures in many of the historic dance and drama artworks such as Wayang Wong found in Javanese culture and Odalan celebrations and other festivals in Bali. In many medieval era Hindu temples, archeological sites, and manuscripts discovered in Indonesia, Hanuman features prominently along with Rama, Sita, Lakshmana, Vishvamitra, and Sugriva.

On the island of Java (Jakarta, the capital of Indonesia lies on the northwest coast of Java), the Ramayana is performed in many cities through wayang kulit or puppet shows that can last multiple nights and also through Wayang Wong tradition, a lovely theatrical dance.

In Java also stands the ancient heritage city of Yogyakarta, which, experts say, is derived from Ayodhya in India. Nearby is located Prambanan, a 10^th-century UNESCO World Heritage-Inscribed temple compound. It is famous for stunning reliefs illustrating the Ramayana. Residents with tourists enjoy the exquisite dance performance based on the epics that are performed here regularly. Often with the sun setting in the background an open air performance holds guests enthralled. Bali too — Uluwatu and Ubud—host Ramayana-themes dances for Indonesians and visitors.

Then there is Thailand where one of the classics of Thai literature is Ramakien (Ramakian), is the Thai version of the Ramayana. Researchers tell us that Indian traders brought Ramakien to Thailand. As trade and business ties became stronger, the popularity of Ramakien also became widespread. Also, it is learned that the name of the historic city of Ayutthaya (around 80 km from country capital Bangkok) is a transliteration from Ayodhya. Even in 2023, you can see paintings and statues depicting Ramakien are on display across Thailand. The plot of the epic has similarities, whereas the depictions of characters and stories differ. The Thai theatre dance –famed khan dance –also draws from the epic.

Khan, an ancient theatrical art included in the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, was originally performed only at the royal courts. The style combines graceful movements, war choreography, rituals, traditional music, narration, singing and poetry. Equally beautiful are the exquisite khan masks, jewellery and richly embroidered costumes, all of which require the highest skills in craftsmanship. Traditionally, all actors and dances wore the masks but today, some prefer a form of makeup influenced by Thai mural paintings.

Another Ramayana-based art form is nang yai, or grand shadow puppets, in which performers manipulate large, leather puppets while dancing to the melodies of the piphat (instrumental) ensemble.

Cambodia

It’s not just the famed Angkor Wat temple complex at Krong Siem Reap, located on a site measuring 162.6 hectares that is touted as the largest religious structure in the world. In  Cambodia, stone reliefs on temples from as far back as the 10^th century depict scenes from the Ramayana, and historian researchers say that the Cambodian version of the epic, the Reamker, dates to the 16^th or 17^th century. Again, while the kernel of the story is similar as the Indian Ramayana, it contains a few episodes unique to Cambodian culture. An example is that of an encounter between Hanumana and Savann Maccha, the mermaid, a favourite of Cambodian audiences, and this is often performed as a stand-alone piece in theatrical depictions, even today.

The Reamker dance form serves as an inspiration for various genres of performance in Cambodia – classical dance-drama, masked dance-drama, and shadow puppet plays. On special days, performances of the traditional shadow puppet shows. SbekThom, are also very popular. Key scenes from the Reamker are depicted in ancient sculptures at Angkor Wat too.

And then Myanmar….

In neighbouring Myanmar (Burma) –today the scene of violent turmoil– the oral tradition of the Ramayana is believed to date as far back as the reign of Kind Anawrahta (1044-77). The story – known as Yama Zatdaw in Burmese – was, it is believed, orally passed on from generation to generation up till the 16^th century, especially in oral courts. In later decades, it was turned into a Burmese classical drama, with music and songs.

Today, Ramayana performances are very popular in Burma and yama zat pwe (dramatic performances of the story), marionette stage shows are held very often. Its use of an exuberant, acrobatic, and highly stylised form of traditional Burmese dance as well as intricate costumes, marks it apart from all other versions of the Ramayana. Scenes from the Ramayana can also be found as motifs or design elements in Burmese lacquer ware and wood carvings.

Faiths travelled across the seas first, then on horseback with the men and women who espoused their beliefs. Just as Buddhism travelled south and then east and north, Hinduism did too. Judaism, Christianity and Islam, sailed across the Arabian seas to settle on Indian shores, even before the conquests from the north.

As we savour this intermingling this season, in the midst of world turmoil and needless violence, let us light up the lives of the less fortunate, regardless of the faith she or he was born into.

Greetings for the Season!

–Editors

The post Epics Journeys—How the Ramayana sailed to faraway lands, Indonesia, Thailand and more appeared first on SabrangIndia.

I truly believe that I was born a Nehruvian child, even though born into a Bengali household which swore by Subhas Chandra Bose in the clichéd Bose vs Nehru misplaced debate. The atmosphere around me was replete with respect and adherence to an objective connect between Tradition and Modernism, where Tradition was inspected through Modernist concerns.

My very literacy began with children’s versions of Ramayana & Mahabharata, while in our drawing rooms, a healthy debate took place, on various moral positions of the epic characters of these mighty mythologies. Taking apart both the mighty and the mundane, critically, was most common. Thus these mythologies gained a deep, critical respect in my heart, never blind faith.

Every evening, the harmonium would come out and my mother would practice Rabindra Sangeet in all its romanticism, Atul Prasad’s ballads in their spiritualism & Kazi Nazrul’s lores, in their revolutionary zeal…so even the music that penetrated my soul was diverse, myriad and therefore progressive in its appeal.

Literature was, also, of utmost importance in our household and I was encouraged to read World Classics along with Bengali Children’s literature from age four. Thus Charles Dickension dissection of David Copperfield, caught in Victorian mores and the chaos of the Industrial revolution brushed shoulders with indigenous fairy tales, in my reading palette.

Cinema was even more interesting, family viewing being the rule. Mrinal Sen’s angry political films were as much within my five year old gaze as children’s films.

The point being , there was no contradiction in my growing up mind, between East or West , Local or Global, Traditional or Modern, Art and Entertainment, the Progressive and the Spiritual…they were part of the same stream, same civilisational values as represented by Rammohan Roy (social reforms) or Vidyasagar (educational empowerment) or  Vivekanand

(spiritual robustness) or Jagdish Bose (scientific outlook) or Satyajit Ray (humanist aesthetics).

All of this being my Bengali heritage and all of them, encapsulated in a Nehruvian vision.

When I started teaching & training in Theatre Studies, almost every play I picked to direct or act was anti-establishment, each one of them. The common fervour was intellectually questioning, the voices were consistently progressive. Thus there was no escape from developing a personal voice which was always critically introspective of every issue and every force…bhakti was beyond belief in my young adult cultural education.

Somewhere along the mid-nineties, a rabid neo consumerism was taking root and youth culture suddenly turned frivolously aspirational, completely nonchalant about the medievalisation of a young Nation by the dark revivalist forces; kicking into our existence with the Ram Janmabhoomi movement via the Rath Yatra culminating into demolishing a historic mosque, creating a militant fundamentalist movement, while the Indian youth was basking in an Internet boom…ironical isn’t it?

And the young budding ‘could have been ‘ playwrights, unlike their predecessors of the 1970s and 1980s were now writing for an expanding Television’s (often) Anti-Culture. The anti-establishment voices were no more mainstream.

The 2000s brought in even more harsh contradictions. The millennium clock was supposed to ring in the eradication of Borders, the world was supposed to get flatter and globalisation was supposed to be the reigning culture…all of it was true at a technological, commercial plane, while India was torn apart by an acceptance of genocidal culture and ideas of ethnic cleansing as demonstrated by Gujrat 2002 .

And around the same time, what did we see in mainstream entertainment— Saas Bahu sagas, joint family jostles, in sharp definition, highly regressive, never ending mega rating / money churning soaps keeping so-called globalised Indians enthralled. Neo liberal economy, technological leaps, global travels, went hand in hand with normalisation of Hate & Revivalism.

We all know that post 2014, the Cultural Fraternity, Entertainment industry sometimes grudgingly but most times willingly decided to collaborate with the openly xenophobic Manuvadi agenda imposed from the top.

I personally realised that it’s as much a personal battle as a professional one. Around 2005, I exited from my very successful and well-paying TV Career, to rely totally on a mix of Theatre and art house cinema, having fought a few fair battles on the sets of TV soaps, refusing to shoot scenes which denigrate female characters in any manner. Though my income plummeted, I have no regrets, as I could not breathe artistically in a vapid, rabid Entertainment Scenario.

Post 2014, even cinema joined the revivalist agenda of religious and cultural nationalism. Two out of three offers were in that category, yet I resisted the mainstream monetary glow and refused multiple projects which pushed the agenda, sometimes subtly but surely. But I completely understand and empathise with those who cannot.  I will never judge those who have chosen to be part of these propaganda vehicles,  out of professional necessity, political propaganda by itself not so much of a problem, promotion of Hate definitely is, polarisation being the death knell of our diverse civilisational fabric.

I recognise that the conditions which were nurtured over the last several decades for  such divide and collaboration, were enabled also due to the relative hard lines of so-called progressives, self- justifying hypocrisy of the privileged liberal class, an arrogance of the intellectual echo chambers and general delusion of the neo liberal ruling class (I cannot exclude myself ) for the fascist anti- cultural forces getting such a leg up and the  hidden vitriolic elements crawling out of the holes into our mainstream media and Entertainment space.

I still adhere to the belief, passed down by my mentors, the late Safdar Hashmi, Habib Tanveer, and Ebrahim Alakazi among so many others. That culture will always be a personal struggle of communicating what is inherently essential, with the hope that even if a minority of an audience, gets swayed by progressive aesthetics and ideas, you present, they may out of a sense of awakened consciousness, share it with others and thus the spread of these universal principles will no longer remain within a minority.

That is the hope I carry, with a very realistic outlook that, human society moves in cycles of progress and regress and human beings remain an embodiment of both good and evil.

Gandhi & Tagore appealed to the Good. We should continue to do so, as Artists or Intellectuals.

(The author, Joy Sengupta, is a well-acclaimed actor in theatre and cinema. Apart from awards won for performances in Hazar Chaurasi ki Ma directed by Govind Nihalani and for the portrayal of Gandhi in the ipic play, Samy  and the Bengali film, Bilu Rakhosh,  Sengupta has worked with legendary directors  Habib Tanveer and Safdar Hashmi. He is a teacher of Theatre in Education and used theatre for projects on literacy and social work)

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‘In India, you become an engineer first and then decide what to do with your life.’

For those of us who grew up during the last decade of the 20^th century and the first decade of the 21^st century, one knows exactly what this means. The reason this adage holds true for millions of engineer-turned-whoevers in this country is because of the sheer incapacity of our systems to offer any freedom in choosing the purpose of our lives. We were made to find a purpose only within the economic realities of our class and the social realities of our caste.

Being a lower middle-class Savarna boy meant that we were to complete our engineering and find a job with a multi-national corporation (MNC) that would potentially offer us the opportunity to work in a first-world country. Once this dream was realised, we were to find a community to belong to and make that country our home. After that we were to re-produce, contribute in rearing an entire generation away from their roots and when they developed an identity in the new culture, guilt-trip them into accepting our roots as their own – basically exercise our patriarchal privilege on our off-spring, thus snatching away from them any agency over their own identity.

Nothing new, as far as middle class Indian parenting is concerned.

As somebody trying to break out of this cycle of hopelessness, I was successful in resisting this ‘Neo-liberal Indian Dream’ on two counts – one was a discovery, the other was a challenge.  The discovery was of finding a purpose in the performing arts. And the challenge was to break the cycle of guilt inherent to the Indian parenting set-up.

Resources were scant but hope was high. And of course, there were the good-old modern values. Those that taught you to look art as a mirror of society. And a society whose fault-lines were witnessed through lived experiences was the perfect candidate to be shown a mirror to.

Conflict

A mirror reflects, after all. Technically this meant that art is supposed to show society the way it is – the naked reality. It meant showing this naked reality with the intention of creating a shift in how one perceived it. It meant evaluating this reality against a human standard – a standard that a society set for itself.

At least, this was what we were taught by our earlier generations.

Questioning the standards that one is conditioned into needs a certain disengagement. Let us refrain from calling it objectivism. Because the first step towards being objective is to disengage. This disengagement is a long-ish process. And there are layers to it – emotional, psychological, physical. Moving from the personal to the social (and eventually political) needs, and takes, time.

That is why the initial expression of an artist is always localised. It comes from their immediate reality. And most of the times, it discounts privilege.

My earlier stories were thus about my immediate surroundings. Starting with a short film about the spirit of Bombay and then slowly moving on to cutting sarcasm about a certain police officer who would not allow the young to drink or romance peacefully were subjects that I thought were of prime importance. The Religious Divide bothered me but did not force me to question the reason behind it. Through one more short film, I had tried to connect it with the idea of God and its futility. But it did not address the consequent bigotry within humans.

And caste? That was completely out of the question – I was inert to it.

It took an incident like the death of Rohith Vemula for any understanding of caste privilege within me and the need to question the Savarna system that I was a product of.

What transpired in India after that had woken an entire generation up to a reality they were completely unaware of. The sheer apathy showed by the Indian media was followed by a counter-attack by powerful and regressive forces. This vicious counter-attack involved demonisation of the entire student community right after the JNU incident. These series of incidents were to have a lasting impact. This put into question the very meaning of art being a mirror of society.

The behaviour of the Hyderabad Central University Vice-Chancellor, Appa Rao Podille and the consequent response from the then HRD Minister, Smriti Irani, had led to the institutional killing of a bright student like Rohit Vemula. This shocker, for me, brought out the real meaning of what it meant to be ‘disadvantaged’ by birth in our country. Immediately after came the JNU incident. Student leaders were targeted by the State, misinformation was used as a major tool in manufacturing an ‘enemy of the people’ and very conveniently, this enemy was picked on the basis of their religion. This is more evident from the fact that of all the students who were targeted by the State at that time, Umar Khalid today happens to be the only one still behind bars after 1000 days of incarceration.

In such a scenario, it became immensely important as an artist (and more as a filmmaker since films have such a deep impact on the psyche of the Indian society) to respond to this new reality of the society around us. One could not just be satisfied expressing one’s immediate issues.

The idea of being ‘disadvantaged’ was gaining massive proportions – it was not just limited to a one-off incident that one could talk about, express concern and walk away. With new ways and waves of oppression came a greater understanding of the machinations functioning behind them.

Meanwhile social media started emerging as a powerful tool. And with its new ways of expression came a greater responsibility of cutting through the flak and standing out as a storyteller. Because story-telling had not remained the monopoly of those who had dedicated their lives to it. Now it was a house-hold item for consumption and the shorter the form, the better its reach. A story’s impact was evaluated through the number of hits on it and not by how deeply it affected one’s senses.

As a filmmaker, there was a double-edged challenge now – to understand my society at a wider level if I had to have any deeper understanding of it and to express that understanding in the quickest possible manner.

Epilogue

It is at this time when Annie Zaidi’s story ‘Two Way Street’ came to me. A ten pager that Annie had carved out while waiting for a meeting in an obscure office in Bombay spoke of all the changes I was seeing around me in a way that only Annie could. The depth of her understanding combined with the brevity of her thought was a breath of fresh air for a mind like mine that was still trying to find its own language of expression.

I started working on the script almost immediately. Through innumerable pitches to prospective producers, the drafts kept changing shape as the nature of tolerance around kept shifting. Every few days a new incident of intolerance towards minorities would come to the fore and a new attempt needed to be made to make the script relevant to this new low of hate that we were witnessing. After a few drafts, I actually gave up.

The more one tried to incorporate the intensity of the prevalent violence against minorities in the script, the more it started getting rejected by investors. Nobody wanted to touch it. Well, it was not a good business proposition to talk about prevailing hate, you see. A non-existent romance one can talk about. But not seething, burning hate. It just did not fall in line with market standards. Hate could be expressed on the streets but not spoken about in our stories. Unless one found a market for it. The script itself became an ‘untouchable’.

The next challenge was to then make the story palatable to the market. One good thing about capitalism is that its loyalty is only towards opportunity. While socialists fought for values, capitalists resisted for the sake of opportunity. And opportunity is a two way street (pun intended).

If the market was not conducive to one story, we decided to make it into four stories. Four stories of hate and prejudice. Then it becomes a package, you see? A similar package of lust was already famous in the OTT markets. A lot of people were working on such packages. It had just become the flavour of the season to deal with stories in packages. It was then that it dawned upon us that it was not that our stories did not find place in the market. It was how we were packaging them.

Consequently, it was not that our politics did not have a place in society. It was about how we were expressing this politics.

This intervention formed the backbone of the treatment for Two Way Street. We were living in an opportunistic time. Hate had become an industry that had a large market. If we spoke about it in exactly the same way as it was expressed on the streets, then we were to be of the same category as those who were benefitting from it. Hence, it was imperative for us to find a way of expression that was unique to our politics. If our politics stood for inclusion, it was because we believed that that was the inherent value on which our society was built. And so, our expression needed to derive itself from something that is inherent to the hate we were seeing around. And it’s projection needed to have an inherence that resonated with the market.

With this learning, we went back into the market. This time armed with an expression which was unique to our politics and a package that seemed familiar to those backing us. The trick worked and magically, we had a producer. Although they were funding only 50% of the costs, we were confident of building a team of artists who would work with us for the sake of our politics. The rest of the 50% would come from their labour. This calculation worked for the market and for us too. A win-win situation as they call it and today, we find ourselves on course to make an anthology of four short films around the subject of ‘Inherent Prejudice’.

The first film Escort dealt with the subject of ‘able-ism’. After winning Best Screenplay at the Venice Shorts, it is well on its way in the festival circuit.

Our second film, Two Way Street has had five selections and an award for Best Director. It is gathering the response that we expected.

It is a film that has taught us the importance of having a malleable stance in our expression while staying true to our values in these ever-changing and ever-shifting times. It is a film that evaluates the hate spread within our society and offers tools for resistance – tools that might seem miniscule when thought about but become larger when implemented, tools emanating from the values the founding fathers of our country set for us, tools that have helped us make this film in these crazy times.

The plan is to now carry this learning ahead and apply it to the forthcoming stories. After all, since Art is a mirror to society and the society of today is in more of a flux than ever before, it is imperative that our expression from now on keeps evolving itself and as artists we are ever ready to shape-shift based on what the universe around us becomes.

Art thus can also mirror a universal need. And I am glad that for now, in this moment, the work I am engaged in with and after Two Way Street, meets that need. 

(Asmit Pathare straddles the world of theatre and films. He is a screenwriter, filmmaker, stage lighting designer and a theatre-maker.)

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Lord, I have always been curious about the reasons behind people’s deep connection to Your story and the diverse ways in which communities worship You. Why are you central to the imagination of this land? I hope you won’t feel betrayed by my introspection. I want to explore Your place in our collective imagination as a community.

Confining You within a singular perspective would overlook the vastness of this land and its culture. Your story reflects countless communities’ experiences, beliefs, and aspirations.

Reflecting on Hanuman’s Bhakti, I question whether his pure and pristine devotion surpasses all human acts depicted in Your story as Maryada Purushottam. Examining various communities’ beliefs tells me that the “Idea of Ram” (I mean you, Lord Ram) and its ideals are more significant than your singular story. The image of You in the consciousness of communities has no bounds. If You are Anantatma (infinite soul), You are also Anantaroopa (have infinite forms).

जो रमता नहीं, वह राम नहीं। टिकना तो मौत है।

The essay “बहता पानी निर्मला” by सच्चिदानंद वात्स्यायन ‘अज्ञेय’ concludes with the statement,जो रमता नहीं, वह राम नहीं।.

During a conversation with our school Hindi teacher, Lal Bahadur Singh, affectionately known as Singh-sir, my fellow comrade raised an intriguing query about Ram mentioned in our reading material. Specifically, he sought clarification on whether this Ram resembled the Maryada Purushottam Ram seen in the popular television series during our formative years. In response, Singh-sir expressed a peaceful dissent, suggesting that the two Ram figures were distinct entities. With infinite patience and meticulousness, in a characteristic pedantic way, he spoke about the idea of Ram in Indian consciousness.

“According to Surdas, Ram represented the physical form of Sagun Ram Prince of Ayodhya while Kabir’s Ram is a spiritual entity transcending physical boundaries and manifesting as Nirgun. However in the essay the word ‘Ram’ symbolises ‘parivartan,’ meaning change or metamorphosis. The essayist Agay’s worldview is described as ‘Ramta Ram’, emphasising the importance of wandering and exploring new experiences. The author concludes that embracing change and exploring new paths embody the divine essence while remaining stagnant risks spiritual demise.”

Limiting the interpretation of Ram to a singular idea undermines the vastness and richness of collective memory and culture. Ram’s essence is interwoven with mythology, folklore, literature, and spiritual wisdom, permeating the collective consciousness. Instead of restricting Ram to one interpretation, we should embrace the plurality of his existence. Allowing the idea of “Ram” to thrive in the boundless realm of human imagination and philosophical exploration.

AK Ramanujam was a celebrated poet, scholar, linguist, philologist, folklorist, translator, and playwright who believed that Lord Ram could not be limited to one interpretation. He argued that Ram is a complex and multifaceted character with various aspects.

In a famous couplet written by Allama Muhammad Iqbal, a prominent philosopher, poet, and politician from the Indian subcontinent. This couplet is from his Urdu poetry collection  Bang-e-Dara.

है राम के वुजूद पे हिन्दोस्ताँ को नाज़

अहले-नज़र समझते हैं इसको इमाम-ए-हिन्द। 

India is proud of Rama’s very name

To the discerning, he is Imam-e-Hind

In this couplet, Iqbal honours the You as a revered figure in the Hindu faith in India. He recognises India’s pride in its spiritual and cultural heritage associated with You. Poet Iqbal refers to those with insight and understanding as “ahle-nazar” and highlights their recognition of You, Lord Ram as India’s spiritual and symbolic leader. Using the term “Imam-e-Hind,” ( which means “Spiritual Leader of India.”), Iqbal conveys Your position of reverence and leadership in the Indian context.

Mappila Ramayanam is a captivating folk song tradition of the Malabari Muslims or Mappilas in Kerala, India. Originating in the 16th century, these songs tell the story of Ramayana in a way adapted to the local culture and language. This showcases the syncretic nature of Kerala’s traditions. Passed orally through generations, Mappila Ramayanam is an excellent example of the harmonious coexistence of Islam and Hinduism. The songs contain Islamic influences that praise Allah, Prophet Muhammad, and Islamic teachings and even criticise idolatry while promoting values of justice, mercy, and compassion. This unique fusion of Islamic and Hindu elements creates a rich and enchanting musical experience.

In Mappila, Ramayanam’s performances are a sight to behold! One will witness a lively group of male singers accompanied by traditional drums and instruments. What makes it even more enchanting is how characters from Your story (Ramayana) are humorously portrayed, bringing a lighthearted perspective to the story. These performances are a hit at weddings, special events, and among tourists, immersing them into the rich culture of the Mappilas. Moreover, it’s a perfect way to bridge the gap between different faiths and gain a unique insight into the vibrant tapestry of Kerala’s cultural heritage. In this tradition, you are called Lama, and Ravana is addressed as Lavana; in this tradition, You are even addressed as Sultan ( which in Arabic means Monarch).

Your story ( Ramayana) is called “Paumachariya” or “Padmacharitrasa” in Jainism and is believed to be written by the poet Vimalasuri. Unlike other versions, the Jain adaptation highlights non-violence, righteousness, and the principles of Jain ethics. Interestingly, it is your brother Lakshmana who kills the demon king Ravana in the Jain version, rather thanYou, as You are deemed to be an enlightened individual who would never partake in violence, in line with the principle of non-violence (ahimsa) in Jainism. Moreover, Ravana is depicted more humanely in this version and is not portrayed as entirely malevolent.

Similarly, in Buddhism, the Your story is can be read in “Dasaratha Jataka” and is considered one of the Jataka tales, which recount the previous lives of the Buddha. The Buddhist version of the You incorporates Tathagat’s  teachings and moral lessons, emphasising the importance of compassion, detachment, and the practice of the Buddhist path towards enlightenment. Additionally, in the Buddhist version of the Ramayana, there is a significant departure from the traditional narrative. This version portrays You and Sita as siblings rather than husband and wife. Perhaps The Buddhist belief influences this alteration in celibacy and renunciation, emphasising detachment from worldly relationships and desires.

Lord Rama,

Do you see ( I know you do!! ),  that Your story (Ramayana) is a significant source of spiritual guidance and inspiration that reinforces the teachings and principles of Jainism ,Buddhism and even Islam? It provides narratives that demonstrate virtues like selflessness, perseverance, and self-discipline. Additionally, it serves as a medium for artistic creativity and cultural expression within these traditions. Jain ,Buddhist and Muslim communities have passed down their interpretations of  Your epic through storytelling, poetry, music, dance, and visual arts, contributing to the diversity and richness of their cultural heritage.

Every time your story is retold (Anantaroopa), it gains a new and distinct element that reflects the values and beliefs of the community. This helps them feel a sense of ownership over your story and adds to its richness and tradition.

I realised that even our household of three had three Rams. My mother sees You as Sagun Ram (has a form), embodying the qualities of Maryada Purushottam, who guides her to be mindful of her responsibilities towards herself, her family, her relatives, and society. Those who know her would know Maryada is responsibility and dignity

Lord Ram, You are detached and stoic for Akka. Despite losing the kingdom and the hardship of Vanwas, You never complained. Embracing love, You accept Sabri’s berries after she tastes them to ensure they’re sweet.

In contrast, my understanding of Ram is Nirgun ( formless) was discovered through poetry, love, travel, and interactions with inspiring people.

My quest is not for a singular truth but an attempt to comprehend Your infinite essence, Anantatma. As a finite being, I acknowledge the limitations of this pursuit. Your Immortal story as told in the tradition of one community, to Your divine presence in the other, I wish to wander like a traveller exploring the vast landscapes of knowledge and spirituality.

नक़्शे में मैं अब भी देखता हूँ। वास्तव में जितनी यात्राएँ स्थूल पैरों से करता हूँ, उससे ज्यादा कल्पना के चरणों से करता हूँ। लोग कहते हैं कि मैंने अपने जीवन का कुछ नहीं बनाया, मगर मैं बहुत प्रसन्न हूँ, और किसी से ईर्ष्या नहीं करता। आप भी अगर इतने ख़ुश हों तो ठीक-तो शायद आप पहले से मेरा नुस्खा जानते हैं-नहीं तो मेरी आपको सलाह है,”जनाब, अपना बोरिया-बिस्तर समेटिए और ज़रा चलते-फिरते नज़र आइए।” यह आपका अपमान नहीं है, एक जीवन दर्शन का निचोड़ है। ‘रमता राम’ इसी लिए कहते हैं कि जो रमता नहीं, वह राम नहीं। टिकना तो मौत है।

हीरानंद सच्चिदानंद वात्स्यायन ‘अज्ञेय’

Exploring, Yours,

Venkat

The author is a financial professional with a master’s degree in economics; also interested strongly interested in the arts, academia, and social issues related to development and human rights.

Also Read:

To Lord Ram, we must talk spirituality and politics

To Lord Ram, I write again for Hope

To Lord Ram, a letter of remorse and resolve

The post Lord Rama Anantatma & Anantaroopa: He who is the Infinite Soul & who has infinite forms appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The Musalmans and a United Nation-India

Today, November 11 is the 128^th Birth Anniversary of Maulana Azad. In 1992 he was posthumously awarded India’s highest civilian award, the Bharat Ratna. He was 70 years when he passed away on February 22, 1958.

Maulana Abul Kalam Azad was twice elected President of the Indian National Congress, in 1923 and again in 1940. This excerpt from his historic address made at the Ramgarh Session of the grand old party are soul searching on the observations on the minorities and the syncretic fusion of religions on the sub-continent. The rest of the address may be read here.
 
“In 1923 you elected me President of this National Assembly. For the second time, after seventeen years, you have once again conferred upon me the same honour. Seventeen years is not a long period in the history of national struggles. But now the pace of events and world change is so rapid that our old standards no longer apply. During these last seventeen years we have passed through many stages, one after another. We had a long journey before us, and it was inevitable that we should pass through several stages.

“We rested at many a point no doubt, but never stopped. We surveyed and examined every prospect; but we were not ensnared by it, and passed on. We faced many ups and downs, but always our faces were turned towards the goal. The world may have doubted nur intentions and determination, but we never had a moment’s doubt. Our path was full of difficulties, and at every step we were faced with great obstacles. It may be that we did not proceed as rapidly as we desired, but we did not flinch from marching forward.

“If we look back upon the period between 1923 and 1940, 1923 will appear to us a faded landmark in the distance. In 1923 we desired to reach our goal; but the goal was so distant then that even the milestones were hidden from our eyes. Raise your eyes today and look ahead. Not only do you see the milestones clearly, but the goal itself is not distant. But this is evident: that nearer we get to the goal, the more intense does our struggle become. Although the rapid march of events has taken us farther from our old landmark and brought us nearer our goal, yet it has created new troubles and difficulties for us. Today our caravan is passing a very critical stage. The essential difficulty of such a critical period lies in its conflicting possibilities. It is very probable that a correct step may bring us very near our goal; and on the other hand, a false step may land us in fresh troubles and difficulties.

“At such a critical juncture you have elected me President, and thus demonstrated the great confidence you have in one of your co-workers. It is a great honour and a great responsibility. I am grateful for the honour, and crave your support in shouldering the responsibility. I am confident that the fulness of your confidence in me will be a measure of the fulness of the support that I shall continue to receive. 
 
“I am a Musalman and am proud of that fact. Islam’s splendid traditions of thirteen hundred years are my inheritance. I am unwilling to lose even the smallest part of this inheritance. The teaching and history of Islam, its arts and letters and civilisation, are my wealth and my fortune. It is my duty to protect them.

“As a Musalman I have a special interest in Islamic religion and culture, and I cannot tolerate any interference with them. But in addition to these sentiments, I have others also which the realities and conditions of my life have forced upon me. The spirit of Islam does not come in the way of these sentiments; it guides and helps me forward.

“I am proud of being an Indian. I am a part of the indivisible unity that is Indian nationality. I am indispensable to this noble edifice, and without me this splendid structure of India is incomplete. I am an essential element which has gone to build India. I can never surrender this claim.

“It was India’s historic destiny that many human races and cultures and religions should flow to her, finding a home in her hospitable soil, and that many a caravan should find rest here. Even before the dawn of history, these caravans trekked into India, and wave after wave of newcomers followed. This vast and fertile land gave welcome to all, and took them to her bosom. One of the last of these caravans, following the footsteps of its predecessors, was that of the followers of Islam. This came here and settled here for good.

“This led to a meeting of the culture-currents of two different races. Like the Ganga and Jumna, they flowed for a while through separate courses, but nature’s immutable law brought them together and joined them in a sangam. This fusion was a notable event in history. Since then, destiny, in her own hidden way, began to fashion a new India in place of the old. We brought our treasures with us, and India too was full of the riches of her own precious heritage. We gave our wealth to her, and she unlocked the doors of her own treasures to us. We gave her what she needed most, the most precious of gifts from Islam’s treasury, the message of democracy and human equality.

“Full eleven centuries have passed by since then. Islam has now as great a claim on the soil of India as Hinduism. If Hinduism has been the religion of the people here for several thousands. of years, Islam also has been their religion for a thousand years. Just as a Hindu can say with pride that he is an Indian and follows Hinduism, so also we can say with equal pride that we are Indians and follow Islam. I shall enlarge this orbit still further. The Indian Christian is equally entitled to say with pride that he is an Indian and is following a religion of India, namely Christianity.

“Eleven hundred years of common history have enriched India with our common achievement. Our languages, our poetry, our literature, our culture, our art, our dress, our manners and customs, the innumerable happenings of our daily life, everything bears the stamp of our joint endeavour. There is indeed no aspect of our life which has escaped this stamp. Our languages were different, but we grew to use a common language; our manners and customs were dissimilar, but they acted and reacted on each other, and thus produced a new synthesis. Our old dress may be seen only in ancient pictures of bygone days; no one wears it today.

“This joint wealth is the heritage of our common nationality, and we do not want to leave it and go back to the times when this joint life had not begun. If there are any Hindus amongst us who desire to bring back the Hindu life of a thousand years ago and more, they dream, and such dreams are vain fantasies. So also if there are any Muslims who wish to revive their past civilization and culture, which they brought a thousand years ago from Iran and Central Asia, they dream also, and the sooner they wake up the better. These are unnatural fancies which cannot take root in the soil of reality. I am one of those who believe that revival may be a necessity in a religion but in social matters it is a denial of progress.

“This thousand years of our joint life has moulded us into a common nationality. This cannot be done artificially. Nature does her fashioning through her hidden processes in the course of centuries. The cast has now been moulded and destiny has set her seal upon it. Whether we like it or not, we have now become an Indian nation, united and indivisible. No fantasy or artificial scheming to separate and divide can break this unity. We must accept the logic of fact and history, and engage ourselves in the fashioning of our future destiny. 

Conclusion
“I shall not take any more of your time. My address must end now. But before I do so, permit me to remind you that our success depends upon three factors: unity, discipline, and full confidence in Mahatma Gandhi’s leadership. The glorious past record of our movement was due to his great leadership, and it is only under his leadership that we can look forward to a future of successful achievement.
The time of our trial is upon us. We have already focussed the world’s attention. Let us endeavour to prove ourselves worthy. “
 
(Source: Congress Presidential Addresses, Volume Five: 1940-1985, ed. by A. M. Zaidi (New Delhi: Indian Institute of Applied Political Research, 1985), pp. 17-38)

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Today is Vishu. It was very late last evening when I finally made up my mind to set up a Vishu Kani. I did think about it earlier in the day but the futility and emptiness of the whole exercise successfully discouraged me. Not to mention all the work that had to be done. Of course these days one could get Dunzo to do the shopping, but still there was too much to do and all for just one person living in a studio apartment, where’s the joy in that? Instead I did something I really like to do, I sat on the couch and had tea and biscuits. I thought about the festivals we celebrated when I was young. All the people, the hullabaloo about the arrangements and the food and having to take snacks and payasam to your neighbours on large trays covered with lace cloth and what not.

In the good old days we would wake up very early in the morning, even before sunrise, look at the Vishu Kani, have a full fledged Sadhya for lunch, receive lots of money from all the elders, sometimes even from cousins who were just a year older but only after they made you fall at their feet.

Vishu is a festival celebrated mostly by Malayalees. I think some Tamils and Mangaloreans also celebrate it. It’s our harvest festival. That’s one of the things I like about it – it connects us back to earth. But there’s another reason I like Vishu. Most other festivals are about someone killing someone else. Sometimes I’ve wondered how, for example, the Sri Lankans might feel about Indian Hindus bursting crackers because one of ours killed one of theirs and apparently many lost their lives, on both sides. Remember this was not a cricket match. If it was up to me I would be like hey sorry that guy had to go ya, he was a nasty piece of work, not just that he had too many limbs and too many heads but also the fact that he kidnapped this lovely lady who was mostly minding her own business. Anyway, what I’m saying is, times were hard, we killed someone, can’t we be a bit more restrained about it?

If at this point you are tempted to say, ya but Deepawali is not celebrated because Ravana was killed but because Rama, Sita and everyone came back to Ayodhya, thank you very much. Please for now park that on the side because when we were young we were told that Deepawali was celebrated because Krishna killed Narakasura and that’s why we have oil bath and eat idli on that day. Whaaat? What’s the connection you ask? Sigh, I wish I knew. I have no idea why we eat Idlis but what I mean to say is that we are not dealing with the atomic number of Hydrogen so there’s always more than one reason to celebrate. Otherwise imagine how events apparently occurring in two different yugas could result in one festival. Even Onam, the other festival that Malayalees celebrate, has a little bloodshed associated with it. Very little thanks to the method of execution employed. The rule of thumb is that

festival = someone died

therefore

yay.  

There are exceptions of course.

Imagine your neighbour is an asshole and you hate him, every time you park your car he comes out and shouts at you, he stones street dogs, he cribs about couples cuddling in the local park and about kids playing on streets, he sweeps his front yard and dumps everything in front of your house, he steals flowers from your garden, basically a rotten human being, and then one day like it usually happens, he dies. Parapara! You don’t run to the nearest shop to buy crackers and celebrate this event do you? You might take a day off and quietly have a drink with a few friends and talk about some aspect of his life that was not so bad. Ya, like you say something to the effect of yes yes all that is correct but he never let his wife sweep the front yard, he always did it himself. See, that’s a graceful way to celebrate when someone exits the world.

So that’s why I like Vishu. No one died, no one killed anyone, not even an animal not in a duel, not through treachery, not even of natural causes or sacrifice or willingly.  None of the above. Pretty good no? Wow who dreamt up this one? That’s the thing with imagination, until it’s not there it’s not there and then one day someone says, I think we can have a nice festival and their friends are like, who died? No one died. Just a festival to celebrate the harvest. Look at the flowers, the greenery around, we have mangoes and jackfruits and just like that everyone is in agreement and they start tucking into a ripe jackfruit with hands oiled all the way up to their elbows and there you go. That’s probably how Vishu came into being.

One of the things that we do during Vishu is set up a nice array of things. Things you love and want in life for the coming year, remember it’s our new year too. Then, first thing in the morning go and look at it. Kanni, literally means a sight. A symbolic first image. For example if you woke up in the morning wondering if you should make tea or just wait till your sister wakes up so that she can make you tea and exactly at that time your neighbour, the asshole, (no he didn’t die, that was a hypothetical situation),  is passing your house and he makes a guttural sound and spits a yellow blob of phlegm right in front of your house, you will probably first make a sound of disgust and then say “nalla kani”, literally “Nice thing to see first thing in the morning” what it means is “Yuck what a disgusting sight to see in the morning, my day is gonna be pretty fucked up”. If you are confused at this point I don’t blame you, not to worry I’ll quickly explain. Malayalees, the people who speak Malayalam that is, have an inherent sarcasm that makes them rely on the subtle art of subtexting, say something and mean the exact opposite. So, If seeing your neighbour spit can screw up your day it is possible that you try and see some nice nice things on the first day of the year and it could make the rest of the year decent at least, that’s the hope. That’s what Vishu Kani is, a beautiful arrangement to keep the dread of the coming year to a medium rare and bearable level.

We seem to love yellow things so, the Kani has, for example,  the Mangalore cucumber, some people call this Madras cucumber and others call it Sambar cucumber, Konna poove; that’s a lovely yellow flower commonly known as Golden Shower, Bananas, Mangoes, new clothes especially ones with a  gold border, books, pens and pencils, rice and other grains, a lit lamp. As a child I remember photos of beautiful gods, intricate calendar art with magical shades of blue, green and reds depicting such benevolent, slightly chubby gods. They looked like they might let me sit on their lap and maybe even tell me a story. So different from the depiction of gods these days that look like people who spend hours in the gym –   I don’t think I would have anything much to chat with them about. They’ll probably only have stories of how many pull ups they can do now and how no one can mess with them, And some gold (if you own any), money and coins, betel leaf and areca nut, but most important-a mirror.

The way I remember this playing out is, we would help set all this up and then tidy the house and go to sleep. In the morning my mother would wake me with her palm held over my eyes keeping them closed and lead me slowly to the Kani so that when I opened my eyes I saw an image of myself reflected in the mirror surrounded by all these beautiful things. It felt good. I must have been eight or nine and I remember wondering how my mom managed to see the kani without anyone guiding her to it. I never asked her, I never found out. I know now that adults are good at navigating life pretty much blindfolded.

So yesterday when I was wondering if all this Kani and what not makes sense to me, aren’t they just empty rituals? I remembered that beyond the Kani and the sadhya, the money and payasam there was something that made it meaningful for me. Because as a child when I stood looking at that image with sleepy eyes my mom who stood right next to me also became part of my image of hope. Late last night I set up Kani and early this morning I stumbled and stood in front of it. My reflection looked back at me blankly surrounded by all the things that I had set up and as I stood there just looking, I remembered my mother and I slowly smiled and my reflection smiled back at me. I think I can get through this year. 

(The author is a theatre performer and director. He lives in Bangalore)

Related:

Everyday Love: When Diwali becomes that much more special

Diwali has been celebrated by Muslims for centuries

Eid is an occasion to celebrate humanity and brotherhood

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The Mughal court became a site of cultural production in the early modern world. It was a curious confluence of “Islamicate” and “Indic” cultures. Like any other dynasty with the desire to rule, the Mughals, contrary to the present state-sponsored communal (mis)understanding, did not rupture the existing socio-cultural fabric of the land. Besides introducing Timurid and Mongoloid traditions, they appropriated existing courtly norms and iconographies to legitimise their reign. Take, for instance, the ritual of Jharokha-darshan introduced by Akbar, which stems from the Hindu practice of beholding the deity in the sanctum sanctorum. Another instance of Mughal multiculturalism would be the presence of Jain and Brahmin intellectuals and the production of Sanskrit texts in the court. According to the historian Audrey Truschke, Sanskrit offered the Mughals “a particularly potent way to imagine power and conceptualise themselves as righteous rulers”. The illustrations in a Persian translation of the Ramayana, commissioned by Abdul Rahim Khan-i Khana (completed in 1598 C.E.), now called the Freer Ramayana, depicts the characters of the great epic in settings akin to Fatehpur Sikri. In the same spirit, the Mughals celebrated festivals like Holi and Diwali with pomp and splendour, besides Naurouz and Eid. In fact, Naurouz too is a pre-Islamic festival of Persia, which was retained by the new Islamic rulers after the decline of the Sasanian Empire, with the Arab conquest in 651C.E.

Sparklers in Words: Diwali in Literary Texts

…during the Dewali… the ignorant ones amongst Muslims, particularly the women, perform the ceremonies. They celebrate it like their own Id and send presents to their daughters and sisters…. They colour their pots… fill them with red rice and send them as presents. They attach much important and weight to this season…

These are the words of Sheikh Ahmed Sirhindi (1564-1624C.E.), a Hanafi jurist of the 16th century. This particular tract shows that Diwali was also celebrated by the common Muslim, outside the court. Jean de Thévenot, the French polyglot and traveller who visited India in the 17th century, chronicled the aristocratic celebration of Diwali. “The Gentiles being great lovers at Play of Dice, there is much Gaming, during the five Festival days… a vast deal of Money lost… and many People ruined.” According to historian R. Nath, Abu’l Fazl recorded the unique practice of lighting the aakaash diya, or the lamp of the sky using the Surajkrant, in Ain-e-Akbari:

At noon of the day when the sun entered the 19th degree of Aries, and the heat was the maximum, the (royal) servants exposed a round piece of shining stone (Surajkrant) to the sun’s rays. A piece of cotton was then held near it, which caught fire from the heat. This celestial fire was preserved in a vessel called Agingir (fire-pot) and committed to the care of an officer.

Besides the regular camphor candles (kufuri-shama) on candlesticks of gold and silver to illuminate the palace, the aakaash diya was lit atop a 40 yards high pole, fuelled by maunds of binaula, or cotton-seed oil.

The Divine Light

mage courtesy The Chester Beatty Library

The divine light is an integral part of the Mughal imperial ideology. In paintings depicting the emperor, the halo, borrowed from Christian iconography, surrounded the face of the sovereign from Jahangir’s time. Catherine Asher highlights the importance of the light imagery in Abu’l Fazl’s Akbarnama, in which Akbar is described as an emanation of God’s light. The canopy was believed to set apart the radiance of the legitimate, divinely-guided sovereign from that of the sun. In comparison to erstwhile Islamic rulers, who were called zill-e-ilahi, or the shadow of God on earth, Akbar was loftier — he was also the farr-i-izadi, or the light of God, and thus the perfect man, insaan-i kamil. In paintings, the sovereign’s divine effulgence is shown in contrast to the nefarious darkness of the masses. As John F. Richards points out, the light imagery is traced back to the Timurid-Mongol notions of kingship, in particular, to the myth of Aalnquwa, a Mughal (Mongol) princess “from whose forehead shone the lights of theosophy” (anwar khuda shinasi) and the “divine secrets” (asrar’ ilahi).” Legend has it that she got impregnated by a ray of light while sleeping in her tent, and the triplet born from this divine fertilisation was called nairun, or light-produced. According to Abu’l Fazl, this divine light travelled down from one generation to the next, and was manifested in the persona of Akbar. Though the divine light was not related to Diwali, it shows the imperium’s obsession with the light imagery, as a sacred source of legitimation.

Ignitions in the Gunpowder Empire
Although the Mughal state is no longer seen as a “military patronage state”, gunpowder and the artillery played a significant role in the making of the empire, which has been described as a “patchwork quilt”. Stephen P. Blake writes that Dussehra and Diwali marked the beginning of the campaigning season, and a review of the horses and elephants of the imperial and noble households commenced the celebrations under Akbar and Jahangir. A similar military ritual, symbolic of the ruler’s power, was seen in the Mahanavami celebrations in the Vijayanagara Empire. Perhaps somewhere, there’s a connect between Mughal militarism and the celebration of Diwali. The gunpowder technology was invented in China, and the Mongols used it in warfare. Although Kaushik Roy opines that the Arthashastra bears reference to saltpetre, or agnichurna as the powder that creates fire, the technology got diffused to different parts of Eurasia with Mongol invasions, and the Chagatai Turks brought firearms to India. Tarikh-e-Ferishta, written in between 1606-07 C.E, mentions that the envoy of Hulegu Khan was welcomed with a pyrotechnics display on his arrival in Delhi in 1258 C.E. A blinding display of pyrotechnics or aatish bazi marked the Shab-i Barat and Diwali celebrations in Mughal India. In Calcutta, people still refer to firecrackers as “aatosh-baaji”, a Bengalised version of the original Persian term.

In paintings like The Marriage Procession of Dara Shikoh (circa 1750 C.E.), currently in the National Museum, we see a series of firecrackers dazzling the dark sky. In another painting from the late 18th century by Hashim II, we see court ladies dressed in brocaded fineries, burning sparklers and watching fireworks from a riverside terrace-pavilion, with two gilded candelabra adding to the brightness of the celebration. The celebrations in Shahjahanabad escalated with the coming of Muhammad Shah ‘Rangile’. The gilded Rang-Mahal, with its enamelled and pietra dura artistry, became the venue for Diwali celebrations. His predecessors performed rituals borrowed from the Indic repertoire, like tula-daan or jashn-e-wazan, in which the king was weighed against materials and these materials were distributed amongst the poor. The tradition of chappan thal, which perhaps has its roots in the contemporaneous Krishna Bhakti practices of Braj, became a part of the Mughal cuisine. Sweets like ghevar, peda, jalebi, phirni, kheel and falooda were characteristic of the Diwali air. The Mughal dastarkhwan was laden with the choicest of dishes, just like in Naurouz. The Mughal Diwali or Jashn-e-Charaghan was extensively recorded in court muraqqas under the rule of Rangile. Fanoos or lanterns were released, and chiraghs or lamps illuminated the urban core of Shahjahanabad.

Diwali would begin with a ritual royal bath for which water was brought from seven holy wells, and the emperor was given an aromatic bath while pundits and maulanas chanted sacred hymns. Then the emperor, dressed in soft muslin, would visit the harem to meet his wives and concubines. In the court, his courtiers, according to their status in the administrative hierarchy, were supposed to present a symbolic tribute to the emperor, called nazrana. Though the celebrations suffered a setback during Nadir Shah’s invasion in 1739 C.E., the celebrations continued till the reign of Bahadur Shah ‘Zafar’, notwithstanding the acute financial constraint and the shrinking resources of the empire. With the emergence of the regional or provincial Mughal courts, such as those in Awadh and Murshidabad,  in the 18th century, Jashn-e Charaghan became an integral part of these courts as well, in the wee days of colonialism. With the aroma of honey and almond wafting through the heavy air of decadence, the kufuri-shama casting silhouettes of a glorious past, and Nazeer Akbarabadi’s nazms resonating with a sense of coexistence, the last Mughal Diwalis were a curious confluence of tears and laughter.

Somok Roy studies history at Ramjas College, University of Delhi.

Courtesy: Indian Cultural Forum

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Image Courtesy: PTI

Interestingly, it was and remains essentially a very vibrant folk festival, like Bhai Dooj, that has no role for the priest and no compulsion to visit temples. Since it yielded no grants to either, Brahmans usually stayed away from this economically unviable festival. It was thus not linked with some convenient legend taken from the vast repertoire of the Vedas, Upanishads, Mahabharata or Ramayana. Because it was never ‘mainstreamed’ outsiders hardly know much about it.

There is a weak link, however, that not many are aware of and the story goes that Draupadi was advised by the sage, Dhaumya to perform Chhatt puja to Suryadev, to help the Pandavas. There is another legend that Rama and Sita also offered this puja to the sun god during this period of the year when they returned from exile to Ayodhya. Though most Rama worshippers do not perform this puja, Rama may will have listened to his wife, like all of us do. Sita’s origins were in Janakpur of Mithila, which is really the epicentre of this worship. The tradition is, however observed all over in Bihar-Jharkhand and adjoining regions, the Madhesh tract of Nepal, as well as in far off Fiji, West Indies and Mauritius: wherever Biharis went.

Nowadays, however, hordes of priests have started occupying vantage points in the water and worshippers have, willy nilly, to shell out some dakshina for compulsory mantras and short courses in sanskritisation.

It is my submission that Chhatt is the first celebration of bright light and the sun, after the blackest night of the year, ie, Kartik amavasya when Indians light billions of lamps to dispel the dark. But Bengalis, who just have to be different, however welcome this amavasya to worship their dark goddess Kali and her ghoulish companions of the night. Chhatt Puja was originally a women’s festival to thank the sun god for all the munificence and the bounty conferred, but it is interesting to note how the menfolk joined later on. They also worship a goddess called Chhatti Maiya, who is equally important and invoked for her boons. She is sought to be identified with Usha, the Vedic goddess of dawn — but these are just weak attempts to sanskritise a popular utsav.

The unique character of this festival is that it worships both dawn and dusk, the rising sun as well as setting sun. It is actually a four day festival that starts on the fourth lunar day after the dark amavasya of Kartik, namely, Chaturthi, Panchami, Shasthi or Chhatt and finally Saptami. Chhatt Puja is the occasion for the most colourful dresses to come out and there is a lot of folk songs and dancing as well. Even in distant Mauritius, for instance, Chhatt songs and dances are an integral part of the nation’s culture that was brought in by labourers from Bihar. As fasting is mandatory, people take anticipatory steps by consuming a lot of freshly reaped rice, puris, bananas, coconuts and grapefruits before beginning their rituals.

The first day is actually popular as Nahay Khay and the holy dip in water body is taken on this day, preferably in the river Ganga. Womenfolk, who observe this festival, take only a single meal on this day and among many this consists of just lau or lauki boiled with rice. They get into the water upto their knees or waist and pray in the direction of the sun. This is followed by an ancient custom for married women to smear each other’s forehead with ochre vermillion, right along the line of the nose to the tip. It is likely that the sindoor khela among the married women of Bengal on Vijaya Dashami may have originated from this. After all, our sarbajanin Durga pujas are just a century old. The second day of Chhatt is called Kharna, on which total fasting is observed without a drop of water, from sunrise to the sunset. Devotees have their food only after offering it first to the sun god at sunset. This is a rich repast consisting of ‘payasam’ or ‘kheer’ made rice and milk, ‘puris,’ hard baked wheat flour cakes called thekuas and bananas, which are distributed to one and all. On the third and main Chhatt day, fasting without water is again observed and the evening offerings or sandhya arghya is an elaborate ritual when oblations are made to the setting sun. Bamboo trays are held in its direction containing the much favoured thekuas, coconuts, bananas and other fruits. This is followed by the ‘Kosi’ ritual in homes when lamps are lit to honour the sun, but are kept under cover of five cane sticks. The fourth day of Chhatt is considered the most auspicious and worshippers gather in large numbers on the banks of rivers with their family and friends for the final morning ritual of offering ‘arghyas’ to the rising sun. The fast is then broken with a bite of ginger with sugar, thus marking the end of the rituals. A volcano of joy, feasting and merriment then bursts all over.

What benefits does this puja confer? Many believe in it as a fertility rite for both humans and harvests, while other swear by its curative powers. There is also a theory that ancient yogis and rishis obtained energy directly from the sun’s rays by exposing their bodies to the sun, while on fast. When one observes how when other events and pujas damage or destroy the environment with chemical paints and other poisonous substances, that include firecrackers, Chhatt stands out as a really commendable environment-friendly worship that uses only bio degradable items. I hope we now understand the significance of this wonderful celebration by Biharis a little better.

Author is Chairman of Board of Governors, Centre For Studies In Social Sciences, February 2017 to present · Kolkata
 

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