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So whether an ancient king, a
colonial ruler or democratically elected legislators of the 20th
century polemicise over the legal solution, the fact remains
that the reform movements have had a paradoxical impact on the devadasis
— depriving them of their religious status and privileges
while also preventing their exploitation. Interpretation of
sacred texts, concern for public morality, health and opinion
have successively been cited to serve a death sentence to a once
empowered and matrilineal sub-group within society.
The British
colonial government initially accepted the religious character
of the devadasi tradition as well as their unique law
that included absolute ownership of property by women, adoption
of daughters and matrilineal inheritance favouring relatives
dedicated to temple service. It was the adoption of a homogenous
model of a single companionate marriage by the westernised
Indian elite of the 19th century and their
embarrassment at ‘native’ aberrations like polygamy,
polyandry and the tradition of devadasi dedication that
fuelled the reforms. Both the government and the governed
favoured a uniform patriarchal, Brahmanical social order.
Even the
substitution of a variety of regionally accepted terms by the
generic term devadasis, was a colonial invention. For
example, the rajkanyas dedicated to temples in the North
were chaste virgins belonging to upper castes. They had
peripheral religious duties and did not practice prostitution.
The kasabis (from the Arab word kasb, or
prostitute) of the Central Provinces were not only patronised by
wealthy men, but were financially sound themselves and skilled
in dancing. In Puri and parts of southern and western India, the
maharis were never from the untouchable castes and
theoretically at least, entertained only the king and the
Brahmins. Deeper south, the basivis permitted the
dedicated daughter to perform the last rites of parents who did
not have sons. They inherited family property and the society
was matrilineal.
However, their
freedom from social bondage came at a price. They were mostly
not allowed to marry, probably so that they could be exclusive
objects of pleasure. Not being allowed to stay with mere mortals
meant that they dwelt on the margins of mainstream society,
slowly perishing due to a dearth of patrons. Also, most of their
wealth and property was won through sexual favours. They had
negligible religious duties with little bargaining power in
society’s scheme. Nor did they have any say in socio-religious
or political matters. The auspiciousness tag was nominal too,
being different from the concept of ‘pure’.
Legislation alone
has done precious little for those involved in prostitution,
whether for economic reasons or religious ones. What the law
gave with one hand, it took away with the other. An in depth
study into the socio-religious reasons for the continuance of
this practice is required. Till then, ‘reluctant modernisers’
like us can carry on living and finding newer ways to make peace
with the world.
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a famous Kannada story by Ananda, The Girl I Killed, a devadasi
from a respectable landlord family offers herself to the
traveller–narrator who is collecting information on a nearby
temple. It is a mark of respect for her father’s revered guest
from the city. Shocked by the inhumanity of the practice, he
convinces her that it is despicable only to find her drowned in a
well the next morning. The point of the story is that interaction
between the modern and the traditional may seem tragic, but it is
inevitable.
