(quoted in Lutgendorf ibid.:367)
Here explicit equivalence is made between two different renderings of the Rāmāyaṇa, on the one hand, and the Veda, on the other, in an interactive polycentric grid that is claimed to disperse Vedic teaching among different constituencies. But in the course of history there have been many hundreds of Rāmāyaṇa adaptations in different vernaculars and locations throughout India, forming a vast complexus of texts (derived from the original Rāmāyaṇa) that have exercised this mediating function. In his essay entitled ‘Three Hundred Rāmāyaṇas,’ which he contributed to a book tellingly named Many Rāmāyaṇas (Richman 1991), A.K. Ramanujan goes on to make the following observation in a footnote: ‘When I mentioned Bulcke's count of three hundred Rāmāyaṇas to a Kannada scholar, he said that he had recently counted over a thousand in Kannada alone; a Telugu scholar also mentioned a thousand in Telugu. Both counts included Rāma stories in various genres. So the title of this paper is not to be taken literally’ (Richman 1991:48, footnote 3).16
The first major Hindu vernacular adaptation of which we have a record seems to be the eleventh-century Tamil poet Kampan's Irāmāvatāraṃ, ‘which remains the best-known Ramayan in Tamil-speaking regions ... Kampan's epic was followed by the ca. thirteenth-century Telugu Rāmāyaṇa of Buddharaja and by the fourteenth-century Bengali epic of Krittibasa’ (Lutgendorf ibid.:5).17 Let us look further at some of these alternative versions of the Rā., to indicate how the story of Rāma continues to take on new life, sometimes in very surprising ways. It will also give us fresh insights into the way the original momentum of orality – a mark of Hinduism – which resists narrative closure, continues to pervade the tradition. But first we must note that a similar history can be traced for the Mahābhārata, which in principle is susceptible to the same narrative flexibility as the Rā.
Thus in the case of the Bengali versions of the Rāmāyaṇa and the Mahābhārata, attributed to Kṛttibās (the Bengali form of his name; Kṛttivāsa in Sanskrit) and Kāśīrām (seventeenth century) respectively, we have two texts that are not meant to be faithful literary translations of their Sanskrit originals but creative reconstructions of traditional themes and stories in a relevant context. Consequently, they have made the ancient epics, accessible in their Sanskrit forms to only a few, live anew in a popular, vernacular garb. ‘Their interest is ethical, not literary, and the world they reproduce is not the ancient India of Vālmīki and Vyāsa but the Bengal of their own day’ (Ghosh 1948:76). These two renderings were extremely popular in Bengali-speaking areas for generations (they still are to a large extent), and being composed in the payār metre, the stock rhyming couplet of Bengali poetry, were easily committed to memory in whole or in part from an early age. Dineshchandra Sen, in his The Bengali Rāmāyaṇas, reveals that ‘at 7 years of age I had committed almost the whole of Krittivās’ Rāmāyaṇa to memory without any conscious effort’ (1920:170).18
Clinton Seely writes evocatively of a part of the Rāma-story with a difference (in Richman 1991). This is the great Bengali poet, Michael Madhusudan Dutt's (1824–73) Meghnādbadh Kābya (‘The Poem about the Slaying of Meghnād’). This is a poem:
retelling in nine cantos an episode from the Rāmāyaṇa .... Unlike more traditional Rāma tales, the poem ... focuses on Ravaṇa's son Meghanāda, telling of his third and final fight in defense of the rākṣasa [ogre] clan, his demise, and his obsequies. If one analyzes Dutt's characters closely, one finds that the main protagonists – Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and Rāvaṇa – are consonant with those characters as found in the most widely known Bengali Rāmāyaṇa, composed in the fifteenth century by Kṛttivāsa ... Nothing in Meghanādavadha Kāvya leads the reader to assume any other conclusion than that Rāvaṇa will eventually die at the hands of Rāma, as happens in the Rāmāyaṇa. But despite Dutt's rather remarkable adherence to traditional characterizations and events ... his poem engenders in the reader a response vastly different from that produced by the more traditional Rāma story.
(ibid.:137)
Seely analyses skillfully how Dutt, by a masterly interjection of similes (taken from extraneous religious contexts likely to engender sympathy in the Bengali Hindu reader) associated with the action of the main text, undermines support for the Rāma-camp and evokes fellow-feeling for Rāvaṇa and his associates. By what was an innovative approach of Dutt's coupled with great poetic skill, Rāvaṇa was cast in the light of a tragic hero, and a new poignancy which ‘invites us to enter the emotional world of humanized [ogres], to share their collective mourning, and to feel the tragedy of a father [who has lost his son]’, entered the Bengali emotional repertoire.19
We thus see how through the distinctive phenomenon of polycentrism, whereby a particular text can generate multiple language- and region-bound adaptations of its core-story or parts thereof, the formal distinction between canon and creative re-telling, between śruti and smṛti, becomes blurred so as to allow the authority and supposed teaching of the former to be disseminated by the latter; as a result, the original text has taken on new life by way of a polycentric grid of fresh re-tellings, and in the process Hindu culture is enriched in contextually relevant ways.
The techniques for renewing tradition, for re-living the smṛti-text, are various. Just as the Veda was made effective by performative utterance, so the smṛti-text can be renewed by enactment. The major purpose of Lutgendorf's work on the Mānas is to demonstrate how text and performance in the audience's experience are essentially inseparable (hence the title, The Life of a Text: Performing the Rāmcaritmānas of Tulsīdās). A time-immemorial and still popular practice for ensuring the vitality of a sacred text has been its public recitation and/or enactment. The recitation may be conducted on the basis of reading or memorization, and is called pāṭha; it may be in Sanskrit or in the vernacular. In either case it may be accompanied by a gloss in the appropriate vernacular. Pāṭha can go on for days or for much shorter periods (with or without breaks);there can be one Pāṭhaka, viz. reciter, or several. The venue may be a temple or its courtyard, a patron's house, a public open space (park, square, etc.) appropriated for the purpose, or a theatre or hall, and pāṭhas may even be broadcast on radio or television.
Acting out the sacred texts is also widespread. There are variations here too: impromptu performances on street-corners; advertised performances in theatres; village dramatization, often under the aegis of a patron, by wandering minstrels or itinerant acting troupes; television serials (and their video spin-offs) etc. The material is drawn from the epics, the Purāṇas, well-known works like the Mānas, or local folklore. Often the performers, especially in rural contexts, belong to a particular caste which has traditionally dedicated itself or some of its members to this form of livelihood; sometimes they are members of a professional group in the modern, Western sense. In one way or another, then, by traditional or modern methods, Hindus are able to grow in the awareness of their ancestral tradition by these processes of acculturation. Lutgendorf has shown how, for the Mānas, the practice of both Pāṭha and dramatization of the text has either become more popular in certain respects or has been able to resist a modern, secularizing mentality (see especially Chapter 6 of his book). No doubt, in certain other respects the pressures of modern life have had a dampening effect on the performance of the text. In general, however, both Pāṭha and dramatization of the sacred text are alive and well in the Hindu way of life.
Let us look now at further examples of text-enactment. First, we will consider the Rāmlīlā of northern India. This includes dramatizations and tableaux of the Rāma-story, or of some of its main episodes. Līlā is usually translated as ‘play’, but this is misleading, for ‘play’ is often associated with activity that is motiveless or lacks responsible intentionality. This is certainly not the case, as we have seen, with respect to Rāma's actions in the world. Līlā in such contexts stands, rather, for acts of ‘outreach’ by the agent concerned towards particular individuals or the world in general; in the ca
se of Rāma- (or Kṛṣṇa-) līlā, it represents part of the divine economy of salvation. Such acts spring without ulterior motive from the deity's providence; they are not necessitated meta-physically by extraneous forces and so are spontaneous (hence, perhaps, ‘play’), but they do not lack a providential motive, whether this be for the benefit of the virtuous or the punishment of the wicked.
The Rāmlīlā of northern India continues to be very popular, the more famous dramatizations drawing many thousands of people of all castes to its various locations. It is based largely on Tulsī's Mānas, and is usually accompanied by recitation from the text. The Rāmlīlā is supposed to have been started by a disciple of Tulsī in about 1625, though there is evidence to indicate that the practice of acting out incidents from the lives of various avatars was already current in some parts of the subcontinent. The performers tend not to be professionals; those who act the roles of Rāma, his brothers, and Sītā, are usually Brahmin children, chosen for the purity represented by their caste. They are called svarūps, viz. the ‘personifications’ of the characters themselves. This gives us an important insight into the role of the audience. Attending the Rāmlīlā is not only a pious deed but also an actual participation in, a real viewing (darśan) of the symbolic reality of the narrative itself. During the Rāmlīlā the audience are truly caught up in the re-enactment of Rāma's annual return to the earth.
The Rāmlīlā can be a more or less elaborate celebration, ranging from simple 3–5 day enactments or tableaux to portrayals based on a full recitation of the Mānas lasting for well over a month. The most famous is probably the yearly Rāmlīlā celebrated at Ramnagar, close to the heart of the city of Benares.
Although the Rāmlīlā is particularly associated with the first ten days of the bright fortnight of Ashvin [September–October], not all Banaras productions fall within this period, and some do not occur during the month of Ashvin at all. The Ramnagar production begins its epic recitation on the third or fourth night of the bright half of Bhadon [August–September] and has its final ceremony in the dark fortnight of Karttik [October–November], more than forty days later. Most other productions, which typically range from ten to thirty days, fall within this period, but a few do not.
(Lutgendorf 1991:268)
There are other ways, of course, of appropriating smṛti, of bringing sacred narrative into the lives and hearts of people. Whilst growing up in Bengal, I sometimes saw various performances called jātrās, which were associated with religious festivals. These were generally dramatizations of episodes taken from the epics and performed over several days, usually in the evenings, on makeshift stages under very large awnings able to accommodate an audience of several hundred people. The actors, who belonged to professional troupes, were all male (including those who took on women's roles); they were decked out in gaudy period costume and threw themselves wholeheartedly into the most melodramatic of performances not without a generous measure of slapstick and humour, to the delight of all. Jatra can also mean a purposeful journey of some kind, such as a pilgrimage, and this is what these plays are. They sacralize space and time, drawing the audience into the religious event they celebrate; they instruct and renew tradition, perpetuate a cultural identity, and bestow the spiritual fruit of participation (not least in the form of good karma). Such jātrās seem to have declined appreciably in number in recent times, though they still occur on a smaller scale from place to place.
In recent times, the new media for animating smṛti have been television, radio, the recording industry (cassettes, CDs and DVDs), and the internet. Now that television has been opened up to global networks in India, dedicated channels, available around the world, have been established for teaching, pāṭha and commentary. The serialization of the Rāmāyaṇaand Mahābhārata in the late 1980s and early 1990 son Doordarshan, Indian government-run national television, has become legendary. The Rā., largely based on the Mānas version, was serialized first, beginning in January 1987. It was scheduled to run weekly for about an hour, for 52 episodes, but popular demand forced three extensions, followed by a sequel based on the seventh Book of the Sanskrit narrative. The success of this serialization engendered the production of the Mbh. on a similar model. Like the Rā., it was shown weekly during prime time on Sunday mornings, and ran for nearly a hundred episodes. This production too was hugely popular: ‘the nation virtually grinds to a halt every Sunday morning when the Mahabharat hour approaches’, reported India Today (31 January, 1990:54).
But these serials were received not only as entertainment. They were intended as non-sectarian productions calculated to encourage national integration in what is a ‘secular’ nation-state constitutionally (it is significant that the script-writer for the Mahabharat was a Muslim). ‘Numerous claims were made for the [productions’] contemporary social and political relevance ... [B]oth serials crossed the boundaries between great and little traditions, between elitist and popular versions, not least in the didactic roles given to the principal women characters, Sītā and Draupadī. These characters were made to express liberal and/or patriotic attitudes on several contemporary female issues, such as marital and maternal expectations, and dowry. Thus the serials were intended to express Hindu stories, no doubt, but with an Indian, that is, non-exclusivist message’ (Lipner 2001:333).20
Hindus – it is significant that we can use such a homogenizing term here – responded with a characteristic sense of religious participation. ‘In Umbergaon, where the [Ra.] is being shot, villagers drop down on their knees when they see hero Arun Govil [who played Rāma] because they feel Ram has come back ... [and] they keep pictures of Govil and Dipika [who played Sītā] ... in their houses and religiously garland them’ ... Another viewer declared, ‘Ramayan touches my soul, my heart cries with it and I feel as if I am participating in it’ (India Today 1987:70–1).21 Such ‘alternative Vedas’ permeate the very life-sap of the Ancient Banyan, and extend their influence through all levels of society.
We can consider now a fairly localized instance of smṛti, belonging to the little tradition, which can function as a Veda or scripture-substitute, even though no reference may be made to the Vedas proper at all. This is the performance of the epic of Pābūjī (for a detailed treatment see J.D. Smith 1991).
Pābūjī seems to have been a historical figure – the Rajput chief, in the early fourteenth century, of a village and its environs in what is now the state of Rajasthan. The epic that has grown around Pābūjī is a complex but stirring one. It tells of various battles he fought to safeguard his tiny realm or the honour of various members of his family (even to the extent of raiding Rāvaṇa, the ogre-king of Lakā, for female-camels!), of the complicated events of Pābūjī’s prospective marriage, and of his eventual ascension into heaven in a palanquin. The story embraces feats performed by Pābūjī’s companions (at least one of whom resembles Bhīma and Hanumān in nature) and a (posthumous) nephew; Deval, a form of the Goddess, also plays a prominent part. It is all very entertaining and rather long (its full narration, with breaks, can run to over 40 hours over successive nights, starting invariably at nightfall, though such performances hardly ever occur). The epic is sung or chanted in a Rajasthani dialect, by a professional male performer (bhopo) of the Nayak caste, who usually accompanies himself on a simple fiddle. This instrument can be played with great skill. A companion, often the bhopo’s wife, may also perform with him. At times the singer performs dancing movements. The epic is enacted throughout Rajasthan by a number of these wandering reciters and is still popular.22 Castes including the Brahmin that follow the epic, are the upper-caste Rājpūts and Jāṭs, and most commonly the lower-caste, pastoral Rebaris. The Nayak caste of the bhopo is among the lowest in the hierarchy of Rajasthan, and is listed officially as a Scheduled Caste (viz. Untouchable).
Though not devoid of virtuosity and entertainment – good-natured banter between performer and audience is commonplace – in theory the performance is basically a religious event for those concerned. T
his revolves around the paṛ, a large painted cloth scroll about 15 ft by 5 ft. The paṛ depicts scenes from the life of Pābūjī, who is generally regarded as divine by the audience, and acts as a backdrop to which the epic is sung. Indeed, it acts as a mobile temple-icon;its installation before each performance is accompanied by various rituals associated with temple worship such as cleaning the place of worship, burning incense and waving a flame in a circle (ārati) in front of Pābūjī’s image by the bhopo, and the making of cash offerings. In other words, Pābūjī is believed to be present at least when the paṛ-icon is activated during the performance, and the role of the bhopo is not simply that of epic singer but also of priest. This demonstrates yet again that Hinduism has different forms of priesthood depending on context, ranging from the traditional practices of Brahmins to the ministry of low castes and dalits.
In fact, it seems that the cult of Pābūjī is beginning to be Sanskritized, e.g. by associating the epic of Pābūjī with the Rāma story, and Pābūjī himself, through pictures in the paṛ, with established deities in the ‘great tradition’, and by regarding Pābūjī and other characters as avatāras of Sanskritic deities and personages, though Brahmin involvement is still small. Pābūjī seems to be worshipped for very worldly ends – sound health, animal welfare, prosperity, a good marriage, a successful childbirth, etc. Traditional Vedic spirituality of seeking mokṣa or liberation and mention of the Vedas is still virtually absent. But Pābūjī may become ‘Brahminically respectable’ in time – if his epic survives! At present his epic acts as a scripture-substitute for his worshippers, and may well be their main if not only source of religious sustenance and orientation. There are other examples of such localized epics and their transmission (see Blackburn et al. 1989).
Hindus: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (The Library of Religious Beliefs and Practices) Page 31