Hindus: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (The Library of Religious Beliefs and Practices)

by Julius Lipner

  Dīwālī

  Though Dīwālī, or Dīpāvali (to give it its Sanskrit name), is celebrated yearly throughout India, it has many variations. Dīpāvali means ‘a row of (oil) lamps’, so Dīwālī is basically a festival of lights, in fact, of illumination of various kinds. The festival may be celebrated for about 5 days, though its core lasts for 3 days or so. These days fall towards the end of the dark half of the lunar month of Kārttika (viz. some time towards the end of October or the beginning of November) when the moon has completely waned. The day of the new moon and the first day or two of the bright half of Kārttika are thus included in the time-span of the festival. Thus the darkness of new-moon night sets the scene for the illuminations that follow.

  The feast of Dīwālī does not have a single religious focus. Rather, it is a feast of renewal. Though there are regional variations, the celebration of Viṣṇu's or Kṛṣṇa's victory over the demon Naraka is the dominant idea, in some places, of the first core-day. Naraka means ‘hell’ or ‘nether-world’. Thus the divine power has overcome the darkness – the darkness of ignorance and the darkness of wrongdoing – represented by the underworld. This theme, symbolized by light, runs through the feast.

  Central to new-moon day is the worship of the Goddess Lakṣmī, in her trans-sectarian mode as giver of well-being and good fortune. Since Lakṣmī is the bestower of prosperity, the business community (in particular from western India) are especially observant of this aspect of the feast, and begin their financial year on this day: old account books are closed and new ones opened. The season is appropriate for this; the rains have passed, crops have been harvested, new winter seed is being sown. One can see why Lakṣmī is invoked.

  The association of Lakṣmīwith good fortune in the coming year is also a significant aspect of the Dīpāvali festival. During this festival, end-of-the-year motifs are clear. At this time ghosts of the dead are said to return, Bali, a demon, is said to emerge from the underworld to rule for three days, goblins and malicious spirits are about, and gambling, profligate spending, and boisterous activity are commanded. Throughout the festival Lakṣmī is invoked to ward off the dangerous effects of the returned dead and the emergent demon king and his hosts

  (Kinsley 1987:33–4)

  On the third core-day, the first day of the bright half of Kārttika, the dominant celebration is that of the myth of Viṣṇu overcoming the demon Bali. Bali was a great and generous king (Hindu demons’ are rarely all bad – some, in fact, are rather nice), who, to increase his sovereignty in the world, began the aśvamedha sacrifice. To curtail Bali's power, and to demonstrate that all real power belongs only to him, Viṣṇu approached Bali in the form of a dwarf (his vāmana-avatāra) and asked to be given as much territory as he could cover in three strides. Bali, noted for his generosity, agreed. Viṣṇu then began to expand. With his first stride he covered the earth, and with his second, the heavens. With his third stride he pushed Bali into the nether world (though the now submissive demon was rewarded with the promise of future greatness). We are also taught here that the Almighty can appear in the most unlikely of guises in order to accomplish his/her purposes. Viṣṇu with one leg raised high in a giant stride – Viṣṇu-trivikrama or’ Viṣṇu of the three strides’, memorializing this feat – became a popular theme in Hindu sculpture, and is much in evidence in museums containing Hindu art around the world. So, by timing and motif, the feast of Dīwālī cumulatively exalts the divine sovereignty over space, time, and the powers of darkness, as also the inventiveness of the divine power in its various manifestations.

  Hindus characteristically mark Dīwālī’s theme of illumination and renewal by lighting fireworks (sparklers, colourful fountains, rockets, crackers ...) – almost every house that can afford it has its own display – and by decorating balconies, window-sills etc. with rows of candles, lamps or other lights. In some places, people engage in games of gambling for a few days, usually with the help of cards, in the hope of winning the favour of Lady Luck (i.e. Lakṣmī). What with the fireworks and the lights and games, this is a festival of hope and fun.

  There is also the belief that these lights show wandering spirits, especially those of one's ancestors, the way to their next world. In northern India, especially around Mathura and Vrindaban, places sacred to the youthful Kṛṣṇa, cows and bulls are decked out and venerated as symbols of Kṛṣṇa and prosperity. In western India, however, there is a tendency to stress another motif – that of Rāma's return with Sītā to Ayodhyā, after he had rescued her from the ogre, Rāvaṇa's, clutches.

  The Pūrṇa Kumbha Melā

  This gathering or fair (melā) offers one of the most impressive spectacles among Hindu religious festivals and celebrates the spilling of the nectar of immortality (amṛta) from its container or jar (kumbha) onto the earth. First the background story: this takes us back to the great event, mentioned in an earlier context, of the churning of the primeval waters by the ‘gods’ (devas) and the ‘demons’ or – a better translation here – anti-gods (asuras) in order to extract the amṛta or the essence of immortality. In due course, the nectar emerged in a jar borne by the divine physician Dhanvantari. Viṣṇu, in the guise of the siren Mohinī (‘the Charmer’), was asked to apportion it between the two rival sides, but the inevitable dispute broke out and in the ensuing melee, the kumbha was spirited away to the world of the devas. The kumbha took twelve (human) years to reach its destination. Every 3 years one drop of nectar fell to earth – one each at Hardwar, Nasik, Ujjain and Prayaga (modern Allahabad) – four drops in all. So every three years, successively, the festival is celebrated in these places. The grandest celebration, the so-called ‘Full Kumbha Festival Gathering’ (pūrṇa Kumbha Melā), is held at Prayaga once every 12 years. Prayaga has this distinction because it is situated in what is traditionally regarded as one of the holiest places of religious Hinduism: the confluence (saṃgama) of three rivers – the Yamunā, Ganges and (subterranean, invisible, and mythical) Sarasvatī.

  Conjunctions of all kinds – of the day and night, of the yugas or epochs, of rivers – are regarded as specially charged religiously. They must be handled with care. The exact period of the festival is reckoned by a particular conjunction of Jupiter, the sun and the moon. The full Kumbha gathering at Prayaga in 1989, from 14 January to 10 February, when the sun and moon were in Capricorn and Jupiter was in Taurus, was an especially sacred occasion because there was a lunar eclipse at the time (another conjunction). A dip in the waters of the confluence at the high point of the festival is equivalent to performing innumerable aśvamedha sacrifices and circumambulations of the Motherland (thus is the ancient Vedic ritual subsumed and superseded by later rites and practices): sins and impurities are washed away and the merit attained is incalculable. Indeed, if the conditions are right, one might even be within reach of karmic heaven if not of final liberation or Mokṣal

  Pilgrims, not only from India but from around the world, start arriving weeks beforehand. As the climax of the Mela approaches, they pour in, wave upon wave, from every walk of life, caste and sub-caste: rich and poor, young and old, householders with their families, male and female ascetics, religious leaders and gurus of numerous sects, Vaiṣṇava, Śaiva and Śākta and other allegiances too. The currents of people streaming in are continuous;most of the pilgrims carry little bundles of possessions, some carry their very young in their arms or their very old on their backs, the immense ebb and flow of this human tide a fitting image of the great stream of saṃsāra. (It was estimated that at the high point of the 1989 festival between 15 and 20 million people were present – no doubt a conservative estimate.) The journey itself to the site is a pilgrimage, bringing merit and expending sin and bad karma for the pilgrim.

  Slowly, in the bustle along the river-bank, a city of tents, many provided by the local municipality, takes shape. Some shelters are grand affairs, others are barely adequate to protect from the swirling, choking dust and the bitter cold of the northern winter nights. Li
ttle smoke-streaked fires and portable stoves spring to life. The smell of cooking, a vast medley of the aromas of regional dishes, fills the air. But in certain places, the stench of the thousands of provisional latrines built by the municipality is overpowering.

  Itinerant hawkers and rows of makeshift shops ply their trade, selling cheap toys and trinkets, shawls and blankets, flowers and garlands (especially of marigolds, for the making of offerings and to place around the necks or at the feet of holy teachers and others), sweetmeats, savoury snacks, fruits and vegetables, different kinds of shells and coloured powders (vermilion is in particular demand: suitably daubed in the parting of the hair on the forehead, it is the mark of a still-married woman, and mixed with oil it is smeared on images and other holy objects as a sign of their spiritual vitality), bead and berry necklaces (the first ornamental, the second the symbol of ascetic practice), peacock plumes, plastic water-containers, and a host of other desirables for the captive crowds. In the cramped conditions, everyday contact is indiscriminate, a far cry from the studied distinctions of life practised in the outside world. Everywhere the tramp of feet, the stifling dust, the colours and hubbub of the immense, congested human mosaic overwhelm the senses. This will last for days.

  Pilgrims cluster round various naked or ochre-robed holy men (sādhus), seeking their darshan or a blessing or a word of advice, and making offerings of food, flowers, or money. Some of these sādhus are in the midst of extraordinary mortifications, undertaken to build up tapas or to expend karma. One is in the seventh year of a vow not to sit or lie down for 12 years, so he stands on one foot, suspended by a rope around his waist. Another sits with right hand upraised – he has maintained this position continuously for years and the muscles of his arm have atrophied. Yet another has nearly completed a vow not to speak for 10 years: his face, daubed with white, communicates by whistles, grunts and vivid expression. And so it goes on – from place to place, impressive tableaux of ordeals endured and still to come. The pilgrims see that the age-old ascetic practices of their faith are still alive and that some souls seem to be on the threshold if not in the actual embrace of final release, and are reassured by these continuities with the past.

  For the more questioning perhaps, religious lectures and discussions, both private and public, are freely available, the medley of teachings on offer sometimes reinforcing, sometimes challenging, traditional wisdom. Groups of minstrels wander from camp to camp, singing devotional songs and receiving money and food in return. Rich businessfolk distribute food, money and clothing to holy men and women and to the less advantaged, ‘to purify their minds and their wealth’.

  The processions of the different sects and religious groups to and from their various camps, are an outstanding feature of the festival. Here, richly caparisoned and painted with colourful powders in various patterns, the elephant of a sādhu dressed in saffron makes stately progress, his holy rider swaying in a festooned howdah-perch with an attendant flicking a fly-whisk over him, and his devotees filing in front and behind; there – the column of a female guru enthroned on a crowded float pulled by a tractor wends its way. Some processions boast noisy brass bands, others make do with loudspeakers blasting a garish mix of sacred music and the latest Bollywood songs. Particularly spectacular are the ranks of nāgas or naked ascetics, processing in their separate ākhaḍas or sectarian regiments, their perfectly nude or G-string clad bodies smeared with whitish ash to indicate that they are dead to the world; they wear garlands of marigolds around their necks or ludicrously entwined in their matted hair. Some sport staves, others brandish tridents, lances or swords – a reminder that they have martial histories stretching back perhaps to medieval times (see Chapter 12).

  In the wake of these processions, some pilgrims, usually women, prostrate themselves reverently on the ground, or gather into little jars the sanctified dust trampled by holy feet. These will be souvenirs of the Melā, or some may be sold. Religious practices – worship in temples on site, prayer meetings, discourses, darshans, dips in the sacred river – continue into the night. On certain days and at the end of the festival, some holy places are brightly illuminated, while thousands place small oil lamps on the placid waters of the river to be borne away by the gentle currents. Hindu religious festivals are as much social occasions – a chance to enjoy life – as opportunities to improve life's material and spiritual prospects.

  Crowds bathe ritually in the holy waters daily. But on the most auspicious day, that of amāvāsya or the new moon, everyone wants to take a sacred dip. This is the moment all have been waiting for. From dawn, seething masses of people heave towards the river-bank. First to enter, in a sequence arranged beforehand (lest quarrels break out over jealously guarded rights of precedence), will be the regiments of nāgas. They process noisily towards the river's edge, their unclad bodies seemingly oblivious to the morning chill, some blowing blasts on large, coiled trumpets, others chanting mantras, still others dangerously waving their lances and tridents or flashing gleaming swords in the early sun. They rush into the cold waters, gasping and splashing joyfully.

  Then the ordinary folk, from babes in arms to the very old, surge into the river, fulfilling the observance for which so many have travelled so arduously across the land. For most of the day along the bank hardly a square inch of ground is visible under the teeming crowds. Finally, spiritually uplifted and satisfied, the great mass of humanity – impressive in its commitment, touching in its faith – slowly disperses in the days that follow. In a brief compass of sacred space and time, across the everyday barriers of caste, sex and sect, we have caught an elusive glimpse of the tenuous unity of the great family tree of religious Hinduism.

  Durgā Pūjā

  This is the great autumnal festival of Bengal – Bengal's answer to the celebration of Daśhrā which takes place at the same time in other parts of the country. Durgā Pūjā exalts the Goddess as Mahiṣa-asura-mardinī, ‘the destroyer (mardinī) of the buffalo (mahiṣa) demon (asura)’ (or, in one compound-expression, Mahiṣāsuramardinī). We can summarize the story from the Devī-Bhāgavata Purāṇa (850+ C.E.) as follows: a demon called Rambha, having pleased Śiva by his austerities, obtained a boon from him that he would have a son who would conquer the three worlds. The son born as a result of this favour took the form of a buffalo (hence Mahiṣāsura), and in time became so powerful and unruly that he conquered the world of the gods’ (devas). The gods eventually complained to Viṣṇu, who informed them that Mahiṣa had received a promise from the deva Brahmā that no man would be able to kill him. But, continued Viṣṇu, if all the gods got together with their wives (or śaktis) and released energy (tejas), then all this energy combined could produce a woman strong enough to dispatch the buffalo-demon. So, the gods banded together and in prayerful fashion released and combined their energy, and a beautiful, young, eight-armed Goddess, Durgā, was produced as a result. The gods endowed her with various distinctive weapons.

  For his part, Mahiṣa sent a messenger to the comely Goddess to say that he wanted to marry her. But Durgā’s answer was to rebuke the messenger; to punish her for this, Mahiṣa marched against her with a large army. After a protracted battle, the warrior-Goddess eventually killed Mahiṣa with her own hand(s). It is the image of Durgā slaying the buffalo-demon with a spear that lies at the centre of her worship (pūjā) during the festival.

  This may be the story behind the image of Durgā worshipped, but in the popular Bengali imagination the festival is the occasion for celebrating Durgā’s return for 10 days from her marital abode to her parental home. In Hindu culture such a return is reason for great joy; one puts aside wifely responsibilities and relaxes in the familiar environment in which one grew up. Thus, though the underlying theme of the festival may be the triumph of the power (śakti) of the Goddess over evil and chaos (represented by Mahiṣāsura), the atmosphere is one of joy and camaraderie. Bengalis often compare the atmosphere of Durgā Pūjā to that of Christmas; it is a time for giving gifts, especially new
clothes.

  The festival is celebrated over 10 days in the bright half of the lunar month of Āśvina (which runs from about mid-September to mid-October). Usually the rains have come to an end, the weather is pleasant and the prospect of a new harvest is in the air. So, as in the case of Dīwālī, this is a season of renewal and well-being, and this spirit adds to the festivities.

  From a socio-religious point of view, the most important days of the festival are the last five. Let us focus on what happens in Kolkata, the capital of the state of West Bengal, for this provides the model for Bengalis everywhere else. Though Durgā’s is the central image worshipped, she is invariably flanked by smaller images of four more deities in the tableaux created for the occasion: those of Sarasvatī (who presides over all forms of knowledge and artistic expertise) and Kārttikeya on her left, and Lakṣmī and Gaṇeśa on her right (we have already mentioned earlier what the latter three deities represent). Orders have been placed with the artisans of the locality of Kumartuli in Kolkata to make the images weeks earlier. Many of these artisans claim descent from a family of kumārs (‘fashioners of images from clay’, ‘potters’ – hence ‘Kumartuli’), whose caste name was Pāl and whose home was in Krishnanagar, a place in Nadiya district north of Kolkata. The sponsors of the images are of two kinds: (i) individuals who wish to celebrate the pūjā in their homes as an act of personal devotion, and (ii) committees acting on behalf of local communities of worshippers (this kind of community-pūjā is called bāroyāri pūjā from a practice thought to have begun in the latter half of the eighteenth century when ‘12’ (bāro) Brahmin ‘friends’ (iyār) banded together to organize the first urban community-worship of Durgā).1 Generally, the community-pūjās are the more elaborate: they have the financial advantage of money accrued from (almost compulsory!) subscriptions raised in their catchment areas, which do not necessarily follow municipality zones or divisions. Sometimes a single large street may have two or even three community-pūjās. The tableaux are housed in makeshift shelters or pandals, constructed for the period of the celebrations and then dismantled when it is over. Hundreds of these pandals spring up over the city. During the Durgā Pūjā of 1990, for instance, when I made particular inquiries about the matter, some 2000 pandals were scattered around greater Kolkata (not to mention the tableaux in private homes, some of which can be quite elaborate).