Worship and Devotion

Given that the early Aryas were a semi-nomadic people, it is not surprising to find a lack of interest in particular places or localities. The sacrifice would be performed by erecting brick altars for the occasion, and the fire could be carried from one place to the next.

Typologically in sharp contrast with early Aryan ‘mobile’ religion and with amorphous religious associations of towns in the Aryavarta, are the folk religions. As the Aryas spread out over the whole of India, they encountered innumerable hunter and agricultural societies with their different religions. Given the lack of information on most of the latter, any characterisation has necessarily to be hypothetical. But from information found in early Buddhist and Jain scriptures, and on Buddhist buildings (from the third century bce), from stray references in secular Sanskrit and vernacu­lar literature, and also because of the ‘multiple history’ explained above, it becomes possible to make certain general statements. These different relig­ions appear to be localised, which means that the objects of worship are perceived to be permanently resident in specific places. This in turn allowed for increasing complexity of the structures and modes of worship over the centuries in one and the same locality. Our earliest, indirect documentation comes from the Buddhist stupa, an edifice associated with such localised cults, though presumably with a transformed, Buddhist, motivation. In these local cults generally, offerings are made in a specific place with food, water, flowers, clothes, incense, perfumes, camphor and lamps. In many cases this will also involve the slaughter of animals, and alcohol. The rites are accom­panied by song, music and dancing. All this goes by the name of ‘puja’. The choice of the place itself may not have been arbitrary: crossroads, special trees, ponds, ant-hills, caves and springs appear to have been particularly favoured spots.

Parallel to all this runs a trend to give concrete form to the being believed to be permanently present in a given place. Even in modern India, one can still find the whole spectrum of the various pos­sibilities represented. At one end of this spectrum, there may be no formal sign at all, other than the conventional markings of a ‘sacred place of worship’ (a flag, clean earth, some line of boundary, etc.). Then we may find a stone, usually marked by a red spot on it or actually painted red. Next, the stone may be given a degree of sculpturing: chiselled-out eyes, a rough nose or mouth. When we come to Siva religion, the stone will have the shape of a liriga (often set inside a yoni). Particularly with the Vaisnavas, but also with the worshippers of the Goddess, we reach the other end of the spectrum: full-figure sculptures with all the details of, say, folds of dress, physiognomy and jewellery. This spectrum runs parallel to a shift in the understanding: whilst the uniconic stone may serve merely to mark the presence of a formless divine being, the iconic, sculptured images tend to be interpreted as the actual ‘body’ of the god. Yet all this has nothing to do with ‘idolatry’ (a charge often levelled against this type of religion), as we shall see below.

Given that a particular cult centre enjoyed popularity in a wider region and over a longer period of time, its formal structures could develop enormous complexity. In the extreme, we may end up literally with ‘temple towns’ (see for example Srirangam). In fact, any traveller to India will immediately encounter Indian religion through its temples, many thousands of which—small or very large—are scattered all over the country. The temple is indeed the most prominent mode for all types of the Indian religions to manifest themselves externally.

Just as we find a logical spectrum for the representa­tion of the divine being, the complexity of even the largest temple can be explained in terms of many such spectra. Thus one such spectrum would be: from improvised roof (say a stone placed horizontally on top of two vertical stones, protecting the central figure from the rains) to ‘hut’ to ‘house’ to ‘palace’. The sacred space may be demarcated by a line drawn on to the ground, or a simple fence, or even by tall and thick walls. The entrance could be built up as an arch or even as agopuram, massive towers above the heavy entrance gates. The images can multiply: as a king has his courtiers and queens, the god has his wives, attendants and the saints of the past who sang in his honour. Each one of these may acquire a separate shrine. The greater the complexity of the architectural structures, the greater is the need for maintaining contact between the god and his subjects. Thus festivals evolved during which the god is carried out from his palace and in procession blesses the town or the village. Obviously no large stone image could be used for this purpose, and thus there is a duplication of the statue in bronze or a variety of precious metals. The utensils ofptijd require proper, professional care in their production. Thus a flower garden provides the myriad of flowers used by the garland weavers; the food offered (used to feed sometimes hundreds of temple employees and pilgrims) has to be cooked in large kitchens and the grain stored in sizeable storerooms.

Alongside these trends towards sometimes stagger­ing size and complexity went the development of ritualism. There was obviously the need to codify the innumerable daily, seasonal and special ritual ceremonies: how to bathe the images, how to dress them, how to express the devotional submission of the community to the god, etc., and also how to construct the buildings themselves. Only professionals could learn all this, and thus a number of mostly hereditary traditions arose which specialised in these matters. As in the case of the philosophical systems, such traditions developed their own metaphysics and theologies, thus providing a wider frame for this ritualism. Thus with the Vaisnavas, we find for example the Pancaratrins (with their sizeable Samhitas) and the Vaikhanasas (who claim to represent one Vedic sdkha). With the Saivites, a whole literature called the Agamas evolved. As to the overall symbolic model for the temple ritual, the treatment of a respected guest provides the inspiration in more limited contexts; the whole paraphernalia of a king’s court and courtly ritual, that for the larger temples.

Whatever the individual theology may be that was developed in such traditions, it is clear that the image of the deity tended to be regarded as his or her ‘embodiment’. That means, the deity itself is not the stone or the metal: by its own nature, the manifested divine is beyond such material constraints. Moreover, food offerings are not literally perceived to be eaten by the deity: the physical contact with the deity’s ‘body’ purifies it and renders it fit for human consumption. Thus it is not justified to treat all this as ‘idolatry’. Among Vaisnavas, a particular theological concept evolved, that of the arcavatdra. Similar to the historical ‘incarnations’ of Visnu, we now have permanent ‘incarnations’ in the areas, the temple images. Generally speaking, an enormous literature arose for thousands of these temples all over India which tells stories about how the god came to abide permanently in a given temple, what kind of miraculous features are associ­ated with it and what benefits certain individuals gained from visiting the temple. These are the Sthala-puranas, repertoires of localised mythology.

A considerable amount of the Indian religious reality is at least to some extent connected with temple worship. This is a form of devotion very few religious movements could altogether ignore. Thus even the Jains constructed temples on a large scale, installed images of their Tirthankaras (i.e. the Mahavira and his predecessors) in them, and instituted pujd (often by hiring Hindupujdris for the purpose). There is no reason to doubt the presence also of Buddhist temples in India; very likely the Hindu idea of the Buddha being one of Visnu’s avataras was developed in such a temple environment. Even radical antinomian movements that began by totally rejecting temple worship tended to end up worshipping images of their founders and saints in temples (as, for example, in the case of the Nathas). But the religious significance of the temple varies with different groups. Thus in the strictest terms of Jain doctrine, no Tirthankara can actually embody himself in a temple statue.

But it does mean that from the viewpoint of an individual member of Indian society, he is surrounded by a (random) collec­tion of different temples. In most cases this person will not bother to study the theologies that would be integral to each individually. He may visit many temples, for different reasons probably unique to him, and worship there. Visits of Hindus to Muslim shrines and even Christian churches are com­monplace. But temples want to have an appeal beyond the immediate neigh­bourhood. Great efforts are made to celebrate the seasonal festivals on as lavish a scale as possible, and thereby attract large numbers of pilgrims. It is difficult to say what factors account for the popularity of certain temples; it need not be size (whch often is the direct result of visits by large groups of pilgrims). In terms of‘sanctity’, there is little to choose between them, for each Sthala-purana tries to make the most grandiose claims. Theologically, there is often no need at all for it, since the same Visnu is encountered in all the different Visnu temples. Thus we must assume a whole cluster of motives (including unconscious and random ones) to be at work here.

Visiting the local temples and going on pilgrimage are two important modes of expressing religion in concrete terms. But others may be mentioned. First there are the festivals which are annually celebrated in the homes of people (thus comparable to Christmas, etc.). Naturally they follow the traditional Indian calendar, and thus often the name itself includes the particular day. For instance, Nag-pancanu, a festival held in honour of the Nagas (i.e. ‘mythologised’ serpents), falls on the ‘fifth day’ (pahcami) of the month Sravana (July/August); Ganes-caturthi, in honour of the elephant­headed ‘god of learning’ Ganesa, is celebrated on the ‘fourth’ day (caturthP) of Bhadra (August/September). Once again, given the size and variety of India and its religions, we need not be surprised to find enormous regional and social differences in what festival is celebrated and how it is interpreted. Sometimes a festival is purely regional, like the Durga-puja in Bengal during the month of Asvin (about October). But often one can recognise a common core, as in the spring festival of Holi or the autumn festival of Divali/Dipavali. But how even such ‘pan-Indian’ festivals are given a religious significance depends on the area, caste and religious allegiances of people. It is therefore basically wrong to claim that ‘Hindus celebrate x’ and offer one such religious interpretation, as if that exhausted the subject. All that can be said is that certain festivals gave gained wide recognition all over India and may have entered into the Dharma-s'dstras; any Krsnaite, Ramaite, Vaisnava, Saivite, etc. symbolism of it is in most cases secondary.

A further important form of religious expression in the home (apart from domesticpu/a and the festivals mentioned above) is the vrata. These are rituals usually involving some form of voluntary deprivation (fasting, sexual abstinence, etc.), often in fulfilment of a vow (vrata means, amongst other things, vow). Among the higher castes, a brahmin may be employed to recite the ‘story’ (kathd) which narrates the benefits of such a vrata and its divine origins. Such ritualised readings of other, major religious works (like the Bhagavadgita, Devimdhdtmya, Bhdgavata-Purdna) may also take place as part of public festivals.

Naturally, there is yoga, which does not necessarily require any external structure. However, it may well be practised as part of daily visits to a temple. A more committed approach would involve leaving the fetters of society behind and turning itinerant mendicant. Alternatively, there is the institution of the matha or dsrama (ashram), comparable to monas­teries in the case of permanent residents, and to retreat houses in the case of temporary visitors. Yoga is not a necessary part of matha or dsrama life, since the more emphatic theistic traditions may not cultivate it and concentrate on pujd, bhakti and so on instead.

More important than the external forms through which religion expresses itself is the inner content. However, this is an area which does not lend itself easily to direct scrutiny. Nevertheless, there are certain obvious misconceptions which ought to be avoided here. Thus the Indian material makes it abundantly clear that what we would call ‘theology’ does not necessarily describe religious content in an integral or adequate manner. Obviously a theological system is easily recognised; moreover, it presents a religious content in a rational, accessible manner. But it would be a grave mistake to describe the whole of the Indian devotional traditions merely in terms of a set of theological systems. Often the concern of Hindu theologians has been marginal to the actual devotion with which it aligned itself. More often, religious movements did not, or not fully, conceptualise their own religious premisses. That means that what will be said in a separate section about the various philosophical and theological strands in Hinduism can, and in fact must, be regarded as an enterprise at least relatively indepen­dent of the actual devotion. The case of the Goddess mentioned above is a good illustration.

The early texts that offer us a monotheistic concep­tion also provide the key term for the devotion associated with it: bhakti. For instance in theBhagavadgitd, this bhakti denotes a fundamental loyalty to Krsna which expresses itself through the cultivation of yoga and adherence to the established (Hindu) Dharma. In its highest form, it becomes ‘love’, and that as a mutual relationship between Krsna and the devotee. Historically, this rather abstract bhakti becomes predominantly associated with temple wor­ship: in the temple image the devotee finds most frequently the concrete divine presence to which he reacts with bhakti. For the first time, this is documented for south India where in the context of Siva and Visnu temples a highly ecstatic type of bhakti emerged. Here bhakti also acquires a concrete form of expression which then gains universal popularity in India: the song (to be sung by a professional, or by a group of devotees). Most frequently, it is called kirtan or bhajan. In fact, an enormous literature evolved over the centuries in all the vernaculars and also in Sanskrit. Famous poets contributed to this store, and sometimes the genre reaches the sophistication of classical Indian poetry (as in Anandavardhana’s poem in honour of the Goddess, or Vedantadesika’s hymns addressed to Visnu). Often such religious songs were collected and turned into the sacred scripture of a particular religious com­munity; their poets become ‘saints’ and receive ritual treatment. Thus in the Tamil country we have the Alvars and Nayanars (500-1000 ce). Their often extremely sophisticated poems were collected in the Divya-Prabandham and the Tiru-Murai respectively, and these corpora were integrated into Sri- Vaisnavism and the (south Indian) Saiva-Siddhanta. Moreover, the poetry (and devotion) of the Alvars provided the basis for many passages in the famous Bhdgavata-Purdna (ninth or early tenth century). From the thirteenth century, Maharastra had its ‘sants’ (most famous among these arejnanesvar, Namdev and Tukaram), who in connection with the cult of Vithoba of Pandharpur composed thousands of poems of a Krsnaite/Vaisnavite nature. From the fifteenth century onward, the region around Mathura attracted many pilgrims and devotees. The scenes of Krsna’s youth were ‘rediscov­ered’ by them. Many founders of Krsnaite movements settled here perma­nently or at least established close links with their representatives there. Some of these movements managed to formulate theologies within the Vedanta (like that of Caitanya’s disciples, or of Vallabha). Many others contented themselves with the composition of vernacular poetry and provided a less rigid structure for the religious practice of their followers. Different aspects of Krsna’s life tended to be emphasised. It was his early mischievous child­hood on which the Vallabhites focused, or his love for the cowgirl Radha, which was marked by separation, on which the Caitanyaites concentrated.

Again in the south, from the early beginning of the second millennium onwards, the cult of Rama began to flourish. Kampan’s Tamil Ramayana illustrates the process of deification which the epic figure of Rama was undergoing. Closer to Rama’s home country in north India, Tulsidas, in his Rdmcaritmdnas (The Lake of Rama’s Deeds) expressed the culmination of this development by envisaging Rama as God (i.e. Bhagavan) and not as a vat dr a.

The devotional poetry in honour of other gods and God-figures is far less well studied. Saivite material seems to be particularly amorphous. But in eighteenth-century Bengal, Ramprasad Sen composed bhakti-songs in honour of the Goddess which immediately gave rise to a popular tradition of composing, and singing, such ktrtans. Of an even more recent date are the popular cults of Ganesa in Maharastra and of Aiyappan in Tamilnadu (to mention only two examples).

With the regional gods we often find religious ‘pro­fessionals’ who specialise in the ritualised recitation of poetry, stories and even plays in honour of and about, say, Y ellamma (Maharastra and south), or Khandoba/Mallari (Maharastra and Karnatak). Of distinctive, often striking, external appearance, these professional religious performers (who belong to lower castes in most cases) can be found all over India. Their individual insti­tution may either be hereditary, or they may have been offered at birth to a par­ticular temple. Their devotional rituals tend to be performed in people’s homes or on the street, and this is another feature which adds to the ‘random’ avail­ability of many different religious cults and institutions in any one locality.

Thus, for most individuals in Indian society, the religious life expresses itself through domestic pujd and vratas, visits to temples and mathas, singing bhajans or ktrtans, celebrating the popular festi­vals, patronising wandering performers and consulting svdmis or gurus. Only a small part of this variety has been codified in the Dharma-sdstras, like the ‘sacraments’, samskaras, of higher castes—the sacred thread ceremony, marriage, etc. Some aspects may have acquired a strong textual, theological and institutional basis. But most of it has been handed down loosely from generation to generation and has been developed by individual groups.

By now it should be clear how many ‘random’ fac­tors actually determine an individual’s religion. In addition, there are strong family and caste traditions of allegiance to a particular form of religion. Yet there remains ample scope for the individual in his choice of what he relates to among the many things on offer in his society. Moreover, we must not ignore the important role of charismatic figures. These may be itinerant mendicants, people associated with a temple or a matha, or religious ‘amateurs’. More often than not, they are performers of some kind, gifted poets or singers or story-tellers. Their role may simply be to combine entertainment with edification, to perform rituals, or to advise on spiritual matters. But sometimes their charisma is powerful enough to create new social structures, by bringing together whole groups of families (and indi­viduals) in a new form of religious allegiance. Since the scale of personal, religious commitment varies enormously in India, it is very difficult to decide when such a new structure ought to be called a ‘sect’ or a ‘religious system’. Criteria developed in the West simply do not help here. Where such a new movement is consciously antinomian, it is relatively easier to identify it. The majority, nevertheless, tend to regard themselves as ‘orthodox’, which given the purely functional role of the Vedas can mean a wide range of things. But one point is clear: we are dealing here with one aspect of social dynamism which contradicts any rigid conception of the Indian ‘caste system’. Social structures, orthodox or antinomian, created by such charismatic figures, very frequently override existing caste barriers, and in turn may give rise to new castes themselves.

To acknowledge these flexible aspects of traditional ‘Hinduism’ is not the same as uncritically accepting fashionable ideas about ‘tolerance’. Any religious leader, however much he may emphasise his ‘orthodoxy’ and display ‘orthopraxy’, inevitably challenges others. In fact the heavy emphasis on proving one’s orthodoxy (in the most elaborate case, by writing a Sanskrit commentary on the Bhagavadgita, the Vedanta-Sutras or the Bhdgavata-Purana) evinces the existence of pressures in Indian society to con­form. And the history of Hinduism does know of violent interreligious struggles. Thus the much advertised ‘ tolerance’ is a matter of degree and form; it may express itself in areas where the Western traditions have not shown it.

The enormous variety of religious expressions we have observed in this exploration of epic and puranic religion is due to the fact that the ‘Hindu’ can express his religion spontaneously, whilst drawing on a wide spectrum of given symbols and models. The absence of any centralised practical and doctrinal authority has been mentioned above. But all this does not mean that India did not reflect on its own religious realities. It has been pointed out above how such reflections are expressed in mythical symbols (the ‘Trinity’, the avatar as, etc.) But over and above this level of reflection, India produced a most imposing tradition of philosophical and theological enquiry, on the basis of the religious realities mentioned so far. Historically, Buddhists, Jains and Hindus shared, in their own specific ways, in this enterprise. It is time for us to turn to these developments.