India's Dying Goddesses: Environmental Degradation and Hinduism

My previous post alluded to a sort of schizophrenia that exists in the Indian (or shall I say Hindu) psyche; on the one hand, Indian religious practice reveals an affinity for the worship of feminine deities and yet, on the other, this affinity does not concretize itself culturally or socially in greater respect and regard for women. In many ways, India’s treatment of nature and the gifts that she provides reveals a remarkably similar mental fragmentation.

Hindus are known the world over for their tendency to deify nature and imbue it with consciousness and divinity. The metaphysical worldview popularized by Sripad Ramanuja in the twelfth century, goes so far as to regard the world as the body of God. This pantheistic vision (or more accurately, panentheistic vision) wherein divinity is seen to be present in every atom and molecule of this world, constitutes a radical departure from the strident dualism inherent in the Abrahamic worldview, which draws a clear and unalterable distinction between God and the material realm.

The heterogeneous nature of Hindu religious practice/theology means that there is very little that all Hindus agree on. Where they all do sing from the same hymn sheet, however, is in their admiration of and devotion to the sacred rivers of their subcontinent. The Ganga and the Yamuna, arguably two of India’s most prominent rivers, sustain the lives of millions of her inhabitants, providing essential water for myriad purposes. Their centrality to India’s national identity is explicable only, however, by looking at the theology and religious psychology that undergirds the devotion and admiration that they both receive from countless of India’s citizens.

The waters of the Ganga and the Yamuna feature prominently in the liturgical and ritual practices of Hindus. The sacred narratives in India’s religious literature have personified both rivers and assigned them each with a uniquely personal and idiosyncratic consciousness. This Indian tendency to deify nature provides a critical insight into the important role that consciousness plays in Hindu religious thinking; less abstractly, however, it reveals a poetic and artistic conception of this universe that stands in complete contrast to the rather arid Western view that perceives the world around us as constituting nothing but an impersonal permutation of matter.

 

You would have thought that this ‘artistic and poetic Hindu view of this world’ would have culturally conditioned Indians to treat nature with a heightened degree of respect. And, of course, if you go to India, you won’t be disappointed (at least in one sense). Take, for instance, the Ganga Arati that takes place every evening on the banks of the sacred river in the holy city of Haridwar. The visual spectacle on offer is a veritable feast for the eyes; pregnant with colour and ritual, the ceremony presents participants with a palpable sense of the divine.

This ‘palpable sense of the divine’, however, may soon become a thing of the past; Ganga’s mythical journey began in a bygone age when she was invited to consecrate the earth with the pristine and sanctifying beauty of her waters. Her sojourn has been a long and strenuous one; it seems to have taken its toll on her. The goddess has become frail, tired and weak; The River Ganges today ranks as one the world’s most polluted rivers, jeopardizing the lives of millions who depend on her for the very means of their sustenance. The rapacious nature of India’s consumerism is largely to blame for the environmental degradation that persists all over India. Huge amounts of commercial and industrial waste are pumped into the same waters that are venerated daily with such pomp and fervor. If this is not a schizophrenic mentality, then I don’t know what is!

I struggle to comprehend how it is possible to fragment your consciousness in such a way that you can continue to worship a river as a divine goddess and yet remain utterly indifferent to her physical condition. The onus, I think, is especially on the Hindu community to raise awareness of this issue and to try and mend and reform the ways in which they treat the sacred rivers of their land.

The goods news is that at least these problems are now being publicized. Of course, the Ganga, unfortunately, is not alone in her experience of mistreatment; for much of its 850-mile length, the Yamuna itself is one of the world’s most contaminated rivers (Yale University). Recently, a spate of protest movements have emerged in India in an attempt to persuade the government to bolster its efforts in addressing environmental degradation. Yale University itself, published a report last year detailing the extent of the problem at the Yamuna and provides encouraging evidence of how greater interaction between religious groups and scientific organisations can render far more effective, attempts to alleviate environmental problems.

Posted below is the Yale University report that I’ve just mentioned; it makes for an interesting read and I encourage you all to share it with your family/friends: http://environment.yale.edu/magazine/spring2011/the-yamuna-river-indias-dying-goddess/P0/

I want to end this post on a request. A few years ago, Professor David Haberman wrote a book entitled River of Love in an Age of Pollution: The Yamuna River of Northern India. The book was published by the University of California Press and is available to purchase on Amazon. The book itself makes for an incredible read; it outlines, in comprehensive detail, the relationship between ecology and theology and offers an insight into Hinduism’s response to the environmental problems of India. I have a tremendous amount of respect for Professor Haberman and I admire his work highly. If you have any interest in what I’ve written about today, please please go out and buy the book; you will not be disappointed I promise you. I read the book a few years ago and I absolutely loved it- if you’re concerned about India’s environmental problems and want to start somewhere- start with the book!

India's Problem With Women

India stands largely alone in its celebration of the feminine aspect of divinity; the goddess figures prominently in the religious landscape of the country and her divine manifestations permeate the religious consciousness of the nation in a way that marks India out for its devotion to the supreme feminine. Hindu theology itself paves the way for a sacred feminine archetype by regarding the goddess as the embodiment of all material energy, or Shakti. Interestingly, at least where puranic Hinduism is concerned, the gods themselves are often paired up with feminine counterparts who serve as the mediums by which devotees can approach their deities.

You would have thought, that culturally at least, all of this would have translated into a deep and profound sense of respect for women in India. Unfortunately, as the Guwahati molestation episode in the subcontinent makes clear, the treatment of women serves as a shocking and repugnant departure from the consciousness that guides the veneration of goddesses in India. The mentality that gives rise to such neglect and disregard of women appears to be so deeply embedded in the cultural and social fabric of the country that many legitimately question how far the country can succeed in reforming its ways.

The article below, from The Guardian, highlights the extent of the problem.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2012/jul/23/why-india-bad-for-women?newsfeed=true

Dharma, Devotion, And The Bhagavatam

S.B. 1.2.6

sa vai puḿsāḿ paro dharmo

yato bhaktir adhokṣaje

ahaituky apratihatā

yayātmā suprasīdati

‘The supreme dharma for all humanity is that by which men can attain to loving devotional service unto the transcendent Lord. Such devotional service must be unmotivated and uninterrupted to completely satisfy the self’.

Most narratives in Indian religious literature take the form of questions and answers. The Bhagavatam is no exception to this trend. In this verse, the speaker, Suta Goswami, begins his attempt to answer the questions put to him by the sages of Naimisaranya. Saunaka Rishi, elected by the sages to speak on their behalf, put forward six questions that he felt the speaker, Suta Goswami, was particularly qualified to answer.    

Before I turn to inspect this verse in more detail, let’s have a quick look at the Rishi’s six questions. He commences his series of questions by requesting the speaker to explain what he has ascertained to be the absolute and ultimate good for the people in general. In his second question, the Rishi invites the speaker to ‘select the essence of all [the] scriptures and explain it for the good of all living beings, that by such instruction their hearts may be fully satisfied’. In the third question, Saunaka Rishi, expresses his desire to hear the wonderful sports of Krishna by asking why Krishna decided to appear as the son of Devaki and Vasudeva. According to Viswanath Chakravarti Thakur’s commentary, the Rishi’s fourth question constitutes an inquiry into the lila’s of Bhagavan’s avataras or incarnations. In his penultimate question, Saunaka Rishi, requests Suta to elucidate the different incarnations of God and explain their significance. Saunaka Rishi concludes his series of questions by asking ‘since Sri Krishna, the Absolute Truth, the master of all mystic powers, has departed for his own abode, please tell us to whom the religious principles have now gone for shelter’.

According to Vishwanath Chakravarti, the Bhagavatam itself (that is, all 18,000 verses of it) constitutes an attempt to answer, in detail, the aforementioned six questions. In other words, through the medium of stories, narratives, conversations, and so on, the Bhagavatam tries, (and succeeds remarkably, if I may say so) to address the sages’ inquiries and, in so doing, equips us all with the knowledge and understanding by which we can deepen our relationship with God and heighten our state of consciousness.

 

Text number six, that is, the verse under inspection, constitutes Suta Goswami’s attempt to answer Saunaka Rishi’s first question. So, according to Goswami, the ultimate and absolute good of humanity is best served by engaging in Bhagavan’s devotional service, or bhakti. The Sanskrit phrase used here is paro dharma, which literally means supreme occupation. The lucidity of the verse helps to enhance its edifying value; the message here is clear- bhakti reigns supreme and as the paro dharma or the supreme occupation, engagement in it serves to promote the interests and welfare of all. By equating the paro dharma with bhakti, this verse appears to be saying something significant about the nature of alternative religious experience and its subservience to bhakti.

What I mean, is that, by definition at least, there can only be one supreme occupation or paro dharma and if that’s bhakti, the implication that follows is that alternative religious practices, such as karma yoga or Jnana yoga, cannot be said to enjoy this supreme status, regardless of how important they are in the eyes of their practitioners. This proposition may come across to many as being quite parochial or even dogmatic. After all the ineffability of religious experience and the myriad religious dispositions that exist, all seem to suggest that no one religious path can be considered supreme. I think, there is a degree of validity to this view and it would be imprudent to dismiss it outright. In many ways, of course, the Bhagavad Gita appears to lend itself quite congenially to such an interpretation; by detailing the nature of different religious practices and demonstrating how they should be performed properly, the Gita seems to be embracing the idea that all genuine religious practices share equally in the capacity to uplift, enlighten and liberate.

This conclusion is nice and comforting, not least because it paves the way for greater tolerance and broadmindedness among different religious traditions. The alternative conclusion, that there is one supreme religious path, appears to offend our post-modern sensibilities, which caution against parochialism and the acceptance of objective truths. As heartening as this conclusion is, I don’t necessarily think that it represents the original intent and spirit of our religious literatures. Of course, by writing in this way, I render myself vulnerable to the challenge that I can’t possibly know what the original intent and spirit of our literature is; and given the myriad commentaries that exist on our texts, claiming to possess inside knowledge of this nature does, I readily admit, make me sound rather presumptuous!

I don’t want to expend too much time on this issue; you’re either for the view that you can discover the proper import of a text by dedicated religious practice and adherence to past saints and teachers or simply against it. I would, however, argue, that at least where the Bhagavad Gita is concerned, the Vaishnava conclusion that bhakti supersedes all other religious paths does seem to constitute the most natural and plausible interpretation of the text (look, for instance at Chapter 6 at verse 47, where the superiority of devotion is unequivocally affirmed). The centrality of bhakti to religious experience is also acknowledged by some of the non-theistic traditions of India; foremost among such traditions is the path of Advaita Vedanta, popularized many centuries ago by the great thinker Sripad Adi Sankaracharya. Sankara, himself, recognizes the importance of bhakti by rendering jnananistha or fidelity to knowledge (without which mukti is unobtainable) conditional on the result of bhakti (Sankara’s Gita Bhasya).

So to recap, I’ve been making the point that according to the verse under inspection (S.B. 1.2.6) bhakti constitutes the paro dharma or the supreme occupation. I tried to draw out the implications of this proposition by arguing that if any conclusion is entailed by this verse, it is most obviously the idea that religious practice can be graded or hierarchically arranged, such, that bhakti or devotional service to God constitutes the apogee of religious experience and practice. There is, of course, an additional aspect to this verse that I want to consider but before I do that, lets look more closely at the nature of bhakti.

What I write now will overlap, at least to some extent, with some of the content of my previous post. I apologize if you find this repetition annoying but I hope that by the end of the post you see some utility in it. If bhakti constitutes the paro dharma, as this verse claims, it’s important to know something about its nature. The definition of bhakti that I offered in my previous post sought to express Rupa Goswami’s understanding of devotion as he articulates it in his remarkable work on bhakti, the Bhakti Rasamrta Sindhu. I want to spend a bit of time looking at this definition in a bit more detail. Again, I remind you that there will be some overlap here with yesterday’s post but I hope that you’ll enjoy this journey of discovery into devotion.

Let me begin by quoting a translation of Rupa Goswami’s definition of bhakti:

‘The cultivation of activities that are meant exclusively for the pleasure of Sri Krishna, performed through all endeavors of the body, mind and speech, and which is not covered by jnana (knowledge aimed at liberation) and karma (reward-seeking activity), and which is devoid of all desires other than the aspiration to bring happiness to Sri Krishna, is called uttama-bhakti, pure devotional service.’

Many of the ideas expressed in this verse are self-explanatory. There are, however, certain words or concepts that are in need of further clarification. The first part of this verse underscores a point that I made in my previous post; it grants legitimacy to Prabhupada’s translation of bhakti as devotional service since it instructs us that bhakti requires ‘cultivation’ or anusilana. Cultivation in this context means engagement in some form of devotional expression and understood thus, bhakti requires more than a particular state of mind. In fact, in his summary study of the Bhakti Rasamrita Sindhu, Prabhupada expresses this idea incisively: ‘this devotional service is a sort of cultivation. It is not simply inaction for people who like to be inactive or devote their time to silent meditation’.

Bhakti itself, of course, is dynamic and enables itself to be expressed in a variety of ways. In the Bhagavatam itself, the precocious Prahlad enumerates nine practices of bhakti that he regards as being particularly potent in respect of their ability to bestow prema or love for God. Foremost among these nine practices are shravanam (hearing the glories and pastimes of God), kirtanam (reciting the divine names of God) and smaranam (remembering God and his pastimes). The practice of bhakti produces immeasurable amounts of bliss and brings us in touch with the deepest core of our very being. When asked to identify the sva dharma or the constitutional position of the jivatma (the individual being), Chaitanya Mahaprabhu responded with the following: ‘jivera swarupa hoye Krishna nitya das’. Essentially, the crux of Chaitanya’s response is that all of us, whether we acknowledge it or not, are servants of God and so service to him constitutes our most natural occupation. The joyful nature of bhakti is therefore explicable on this basis; practicing bhakti reengages us with our eternal occupation and reinforces our everlasting relationship with God.

 

Thus far, I’ve described the positive aspects of bhakti, i.e. what it consists in. Rupa Goswami’s verse, however, begins by instructing us on what pure devotion is not. Two important terms that he uses are: anyabhilasita-sunyam and jnana-karmady-anavrtam. Let’s explore these two terms in greater detail. The first term- anyabhilasita-sunyam – entails the idea that a pure devotee should cultivate his or her bhakti with only one objective in mind- that of attaining prema bhakti­ or pure devotion. The implication here is that bhakti should only be performed for the sake of bhakti. As the Bhagavatam instructs: ‘bhaktya sanjataya bhaktya’ bhakti is produced only by bhakti. If, while engaging in bhakti, our interest is in obtaining something extraneous to bhakti, we’re not engaging in pure devotion. Instead, what we’re practicing is an adulterated form of devotion that, though initially useful, can never grant us pure devotion unto God.

In the second term, jnana-karmady-anavrtam, Rupa Goswami seeks to express the idea that pure devotion should not be encumbered with the desire for knowledge (jnana) and an interest in engaging in reward-seeking activity (karma). The idea that karma or an interest in it can problematize the practice of pure devotion is easier to accept; after all, such activity tends to stimulate desire for material goods and strengthens our material attachment. I suspect that what many would find more difficult to accept is the suggestion that the desire for knowledge impairs the quality of devotion. In order to clarify what’s going on here we’ve got to distinguish between different types of knowledge and consider which type is being discouraged in the present verse.

What is clearly not being discouraged in the present verse is knowledge of God’s nature (which entails his pastimes and so on). This sort of knowledge is essential insofar, as without it, devotion itself becomes meaningless; after all, how can you possibly be devoted to somebody you don’t know! What Rupa Goswami is trying to discourage here is interest in knowledge that results in monistic union in God or liberation. This sort of knowledge has been extolled in certain sections of India’s religious literature, but Rupa Goswami wants nothing to do with it. Knowledge that results in monistic union with God is anathema to the ideals of pure devotion; devotion, properly so called, requires the existence of two entities- the object of devotion and the devotee. If devotion is to endure past the stage of liberation, the individuality of the devotee must endure; if there is any union, it must be a mystical one based on deep love and mutual affection. Pure devotion permits no other kind of union.

A Leaf, A Flower, A Fruit And Some Water- Is That It!? Devotion and The Gita

Every passage of scripture possesses intrinsic instructive value and yet I’ve always found that there are certain sections or particular verses of scripture that resonate with me more powerfully than other verses or sections. Now and then I intend to dedicate some of my blog posts to certain scriptural passages, which I find particularly compelling and inspiring. I am going to get this process underway today by focusing on a particular verse of the Bhagavad Gita that captured my attention the first time I studied the text almost four to five years ago; I hope that my analysis of the verse here will serve some value in my readers’ lives by either enhancing your understanding of the text or by provoking in you greater interest in the subject matter.

The verse that I'm focusing on is verse number 26 from the ninth chapter of the Bhagavad Gita:

patram puspam phalam toyam 
yo me bhaktya prayacchati 


tad aham bhakty-upahrtam 
asnami prayatatmanah

‘If one offers me with love and devotion a leaf, a flower, a fruit or some water, I will accept it’.

Theologically, this verse is deceptively simple. At first sight, it appears as if Krishna’s stipulation entails no more than the simple instruction to offer him four items, patram (a leaf), puspam (a flower), phalam (a fruit) and toyam (some water). Bhagavan promises to accept the offering of such items and that seems to be it with the verse. There is nothing extra that is going on, or so it seems. The salient word in this verse, however, is ‘bhakti’ which literally means ‘devotion’. Clearly then, to appreciate, to the fullest extent, the significance of this text we’ve got to say something about what it means to offer something in devotion.

Devotion in this context, it should be stressed, means more than piety or ordinary religiosity. In fact, Krishna attempts to clarify this point in the verse by referring to the word bhakti twice in the same text; he begins with the phrase bhaktya prayacchati, which literally means to 'offer in devotion', and then proceeds in the second sentence of the verse to use the phrase 'bhakti upahrtam', which again literally means ‘offered by the process of bhakti’. If we define 'bhakti upahrtam' in the context of this passage to mean ‘offered by the process of bhakti’ then the verse suddenly becomes tautologous: the verse would then read: ‘ I accept that which is offered by devotion from whoever offers by devotion’.

Viswanath Chakravarti Thakur, in his commentary on this verse, points out that the word bhaktya in this context should be taken to mean ‘a person endowed with genuine devotion’. If we adopt the Thakur’s suggestion, and understand the word bhaktya to be referring to a pure or real devotee then the verse acquires fresh meaning and a coherence that it previously lacked. This notion of a real devotee or of pure devotion is central to a proper and full understanding of this text and so I want to examine this issue in some detail.

So to recap very quickly, in the verse quoted above, Krishna promises that if a pure devotee offers him, with devotion, a leaf, a flower, a fruit, or some water, he will accept that offering of devotion. According to the Gita, Krishna is Bhagavan or the personal Absolute and part of his supremacy entails not requiring anything from anybody. In other words, this verse under inspection should not be interpreted as a qualification of Krishna’s self-sufficiency; if in this verse Krishna is requesting anything, it’s a request for love and devotion. Clearly, in terms of the objects of this world, there is nothing that we can offer him that he doesn’t already possess. Therefore, if there is anything that we can truly offer him (if offering means more than simply returning to God what was properly his in the first place) then we have to offer that which is central to our very being: our love and devotion.

In whom we choose to repose our love and devotion in is a decision that Bhagavan himself doesn’t interfere with. Therefore, in this beautiful verse, Krishna invites us to reconsider our objects of devotion in this world and by promising to accept our offerings of love, puts himself forward as the ideal object of devotion. In true egalitarian spirit, the verse also appears to indicate that the preeminent position of devotion renders utterly irrelevant the background or status of the devotee doing the offering. It may not seem like it, but this is an extraordinary affirmation of the potency of devotion; the idea that devotion supersedes everything else including birth, status, gender, caste and so on constitutes, in many ways, a radical departure from the more caste-conscious and gender specific mentality that prevails around India today and which finds religious expression in a number of ritually oriented literatures.

I’ve written a lot about the need for devotion but I haven’t really explained what genuine devotion is or who a genuine devotee is. I said earlier that the idea of devotion, as articulated in this context, transcends the more limited and less spiritual notion of piety or religiosity. Devotion or bhakti, in my tradition (Chaitanya Vaishnavism), is understood as constituting passionate attachment to the unmotivated and uninterrupted service of the Lord. This sentence is packed with meaning and there are a number of themes that we need to unpack.

By adopting the phrase ‘passionate attachment’, I am trying to articulate the idea that genuine devotion to Krishna properly entails adopting a course of conduct wherein one actively and physically serves God according to their capacity. Srila Prabhupada quite intentionally avoided translating the word bhakti as simply devotion; instead he opted for the expression ‘devotional service’. Prabhupada’s selection of words here was not arbitrary; he was revealing something quite profound about his understanding of what bhakti involves. Bhakti for Prabhupada and other Vaishnava teachers is not just about an emotive disposition towards Krishna; rather it involves actually engaging in his service by, for instance, reciting his name, serving his murti, remembering his divine activities (as they are narrated in the scriptures) and so on and so forth.

A proper devotee, then, engages in the service of Krishna by engaging in some form of devotional expression. Again, however, we can advance our understanding further by highlighting other prominent characteristics of pure devotion. Two characteristics of such devotion involve, in my view, the need for devotional service to be unmotivated and uninterrupted. The two terms appear to be self-explanatory but I still think its important to elucidate their exact relevance here.

More often than not, on the rare occasion that we do engage in some form of devotional expression, we do so with ulterior motives in mind. We’ll sit down with a rosary in our hands as we progress in our recitation of God’s name, we silently petition God, imploring him to assist us in myriad ways (for students, the most common is exam success). I don’t want to sound overly dismissive and unduly harsh but such devotional expression, as if it needed to be said, does not constitute proper devotional practice. Of course, we all experience problems and the fact that we even turn to God during such times is at least evidence of our belief and trust in God; in an age of growing disbelief, that is, in and of itself, commendable. But we must strive to improve the quality of our devotion by disentangling our devotional practice from any consideration bar attachment to the service of God. Unmotivated bhakti, therefore, means bhakti that is not performed with the view of achieving a certain material outcome.

 

Bhakti must also be uninterrupted. My decision to write about unmotivated bhakti first was purely intentional; in one sense, motivated bhakti can never be uninterrupted. The problem is, if we make our practice of devotion conditional on the attainment of a particular (material) goal then inevitably our practice will suffer in the long term; if we do attain our goal, we cease to practice our devotion with the same level of enthusiasm and fervor and if our devotional efforts appear unsuccessful, out of frustration we decide to retire our bhakti. Either way, our bhakti suffers.

Coming to think of it, uninterrupted bhakti can also mean something else. There are some traditions in Hinduism which view bhakti as a useful meditative exercise that can assist in the participant’s journey of self-discovery. According to these largely non-theistic traditions, upon self-realization, bhakti has no further utility in the life of the participant. This understanding of bhakti as a utility-enhancing tool that can be dispensed with as one chooses is anathema to the Vaishnava understanding of and emphasis on the enduring status of love and devotion in religious experience. This issue, of course, admits of a much greater degree of complexity and I intend to revisit this area in a future post.

Pushti Marga, Singing Krishna and Devotional Experience

A few months ago, I finished reading A. Whitney Sanford's Singing Krishna: Sound Becomes Sight in Paramananda’s Poetry. I reviewed the book on my Shelfari account and I’m posting the brief review here for the benefit of my readers. 

'Singing Krishna' is beautifully written; rich in detail and emotion, this study of Paramananda's classic poetry deserves to be called a classic in its own right. The author's familiarity with the theology and textual background of Braja devotional poetry enables her to identify the nuances and subtleties of Paramananda's poetry which would otherwise go unnoticed to the uninitiated. Sanford's guiding commentary on the poetry enables the reader to participate in the enactment of the poetry themselves and provides them with the framework and apparatus with which they can explore their own connection (and perhaps, place) in the poetry.

It's difficult to find anything in the book that warrants major criticism. It would, however, have been useful if the author had provided a transliteration of the poetry- this would enable the reader to read the poetry in its original language. Since this work purports to explicate the role of Paramananda's poetry in the ritual cycle of Krishna's service, it would have been that much more useful if the author had drawn more explicit connections between the periodic ritual performances and the poetry. All in all, a wonderful work that I thoroughly recommend'

As the review points out, I think that the author, A. Whitney Sanford, did a truly impressive job in conveying the devotional spirit and theological richness of the Pushti Marga tradition. I remember reading the book and thinking how much my own tradition can learn from the way the Pushti Marg tradition structures its rituals and practices its devotion. As is common with most of the Krishna-centered bhakti traditions, Pushti Margi’s divide the cycle of Krishna’s daily life into eight divisions, each division corresponding, in turn, to a particular lila and bhava, pastime and (dominant) emotion or mood.

This division of Krishna's daily life into eight periods is known traditionally as ashtayam lila. Many of the devotional movements that emerged in Braja during the 16th and 17th centuries have instituted, in their temples, some variation of the ashtayam seva; in Vaishnavism the deity or murti is worshipped and served as a conscious, living form of Krishna; a svarupa that requires constant care and attention. In other words, proper devotional participation in deity worship requires all of Krishna's needs to be attended to. As Krishna's lila or playful sports change throughout the day, his needs similarly vary depending on the occasion.

The ashtayam lila or Krishna's eternal eightfold daily pastimes involve, according to the Pushti Marg tradition, the following activities: Krishna is woken in the morning, dressed shortly thereafter and then instructed to carry out his cow-herding duties. At midday the Lord returns home for his midday meal where he is offered a lavish feast. His midday lunch is followed by a quick nap until he is woken again and allowed to resume his cow-herding past times. After an additional snack, Bhagavan begins preparations to bring his cows home. As the sun dips over the horizon, Shyamsundar returns with his herd of cows only to be greeted by the restive gopis, who have suffered all day in separation from their beloved Lord. The final period of the day sees Krishna retire to his bed chamber for the duration of the evening. He's had a long tiresome day and welcomes the opportunity to secure some rest. 

What distinguishes the Pushti Marg tradition from its Vaishnava counterparts is the aesthetically rich configuration of its rituals and darshans. The sanskrit word 'darshan' means 'to see' or 'to view' and in the ritual context refers specifically to the periods wherein the deity of Krishna is made available for public viewing. There are eight darshan periods the day, each of which corresponds to the divisions of Krishna's daily life or his ashtayam lila. These darshan periods are known, traditionally, by the following names (listed in chronological order): Mangala, Shringar, Gval, Raj Bhoga, Utthapan, Bhog, Sandhya and Shayan.

What I find so attractive in Pushti Marg is its unrivalled ability to create remarkable darshan experiences that enable devotees to tangibly participate in the deity's ashtayam lila. For most temples, the darshan periods, visually at least, look generally quite similar. In other words, though they may be a change in the deity's clothing or another slight modification to the ritual structure, by and large, there is nothing that visually distinguishes one darshan period from another. With the Pushti Marg, things are radically different; each darshan period is configured in such a way so as to enable devotees present to perceive and realize the actual lila that the deity performs during the particular darshan period. So, for example, at Nathdwara (a site of huge religious importance for the Pushti Marg tradition- it houses the deity of Srinathji), the Raj Bhog darshan commences with the blowing of trumpets and playing of drums (so as to announce to all present the commencement of the darshan). Privately, the Lord will be seated behind a beautiful facade of a regal pavilion made usually from one of a number of materials (typically, either, gold or silver). A pichoi (decorated backdrop) detailing the lila of the period enhances the visual experience and embellishes the temple setting. All in all, the darshan experience constitutes a veritable feast for the eyes and acts as a beautiful stimulant of devotion.

Surdas

In my view, what really adds to the darshan experience and renders it utterly unique is the Pushti Marg practice of Haveli Sangeet. Haveli is the name that the Pushti Margis use to refer to their temples and sangeet, of course, refers to song or music. In Pushti Marga, temple musicians offer a variety of bhajans and padas (sacred poems) to the deity, all of which are sung in accordance with the season, darshan period and bhav or dominant mood. The actual selection of the poems will vary from Haveli to Haveli but more often than not they are selected from the compositions of the Asthachap poets- a famous entourage of eight devotional poets all belonging to the Pushti Marg tradition. Four of the poets, Surdas, Paramanandadas, Kumbhandas and Krishnadas, were disciples of Sripad Vallabhacharya a leading figure in the Bhakti Movement of the 15th and 16th century.

Asthachap Poets

By reciting and singing only those poems that detail the deity's lila of the relevant darshan period, the Haveli Sangeet experience enhances the devotees ability to participate directly in the ashtayam lila of Bhagavan. In fact, this recognition of music's capacity to stimulate and enhance devotional experience is precisely what Sanford is getting at when she speaks about 'sound becoming sight' in the poetry of Paramananda. 

In the Chaitanya Vaishnava temples that I've visited, this meticulous approach to the aesthetics of the darshan period seems to be lacking. The ornamentation and dress of the deity (what we call shringara) is often elaborate and thoughtfully arranged but, in and of itself, this doesn't really provide the laity with a setting or a mood conducive enough to facilitate participation in the ashtayam lila. The darshan experience and rituals performed do not, for example, indicate the lila or bhava of the period. The problem is exacerbated, in one sense, by the style of kirtan that is performed during the darshan and arati period.  

Vallabhacharya

I remember visiting Bhaktivedanta Manor (a beautiful ISKCON temple situated in Watford) for the Mangal Arati period early one morning. The congregational recitation of the Hare Krishna maha mantra forms a key part of the liturgical set-up at the temple; I have no problem with this. The problem that I sometimes experience is that the style and pitch of the kirtan, if conducted improperly, can often interfere with the appropriate mood of the period. So, for example, at Mangal Arati, early in the morning when Krishna is being woken up, what I'd expect to find is a soothing low-pitch kirtan that helps to enhance the serenity of the occasion. Instead, I was confronted with an incredibly loud and high pitched kirtan where its participants, on the face of it at least, appeared to be competing with one another on decibal units.  It may just be me, but I find that such practices detract from the darshan experience and inhibits the sort of devotional feeling that I referred to earlier.

India's Presidential Election

In my introductory blog post, I set the parameters for the content of my posts by pointing out that my posts would be confined to issues relating to the theology and practice of Chaitanya Vaishnavism. Upon consideration, I've decided to dispense with these narrow parameters and write instead on any issue that interests me. That being said, I still envisage that the vast majority of my posts will be dedicated to some aspect of Hinduism but at least with this modification in place, I now have the scope to write on a broader range of issues. Since I am on the topic of broader issues, let me turn my attention to the victory of Pranab Mukherjee in India's recent presidential election.

Pranab Mukherjee

The office of the president of India is a titular post and its largely ceremonial nature means that most presidents lack the power and constitutional mandate to effect deep change either politically or societally. However, I would warn against trivialising Pranabda's electoral win. Mukherjee's stature and the fragmented nature of India's political system all militate against such a trivialisation. Let me explain.


Pranab Mukherjee's electoral victory means that he replaces Pratibha Patil as President of India. Patil's election as president in 2007 was a largely low-key affair with many in the subcontinent criticising her political inexperience and servile treatment of the Gandhi family. It's hard to avoid the conclusion that Patil's tenure as president marked the lowest point in the history of India's presidential post. When you consider the stature of previous occupants of the Rashtrapati Bhavan, like S. Radhakrishnan and Z. Hussain, Patil's election in '07 appears to constitute an anomaly. The truth, however, is that bar some exceptions, the symbolic and titular nature of the Indian presidential post has contributed, in recent years, to the post's decline in significance and importance. 


Pranab's election, although not entirely controversy-free, should restore some of the post's significance and bolster its standing in the eyes of India's citizens. His political credentials and the sheer duration of his political career endows him with an influence that extends across the breadth of the nation. For a president of India, influence is vital. 

Pratibha Patil

The fragmented and fractious nature of India's political system coupled with the growing influence and prominence of regional parties, means that, in the words of The Economist 'a hung parliament is almost certain after the next general election in 2014'. Why does this matter? Well, in moments such as these, it is the president of India who has the opportunity to request certain parties to form a coalition. This ability to play a defining role in the formation of a coalition endows Mukherjee's post with a significance that it ordinarily lacks. This explains, at least to some extent, why the Congress Party (and its allies) are in such high spirits following the success of their presidential candidate. 


As anybody familiar with the financial press will know, India's growth has deteriorated over the past few years. Dr. Manmohan Singh has been criticised publicly for his political ineptitude but I think Pranab Mukherjee has got to take some blame for India's declining fortunes as well. After all, it was Mukherjee who presided over India's economy as finance minister for three years. During his tenure, GDP growth fell from an impressive 8% a year ago to just over 5% this year. His departure has left vacant the post of finance minister and therefore invites the possibility for somebody more economically astute to take over. Whether this actually materialises remains to be seen; for the time being Dr. Singh has taken over the finance portfolio as he struggles revive a floundering economy. 


It would be silly to question Singh's economic credentials or personal integrity. There is no doubting that he does command respect internationally for his remarkable intellectual prowess and humble demeanour. I think, more than anything, the problem with him is one of appearance. His humility comes across to many in India as political diffidence and his unwavering loyalty to Sonia Gandhi reinforces the ubiquitous perception of him as Gandhi's puppet (or shall I say poodle!). 

Dr. Manmohan Singh

The ruling coalition, the United Progressive Alliance, seems to lack both the political will and necessary expertise which makes the implementation of key political/economic initiatives over the next two years seem very unlikely. I hope that I am proved wrong but we may just have to wait until after the general election to see a reinvigorated India. I'm prepared to wait that long- the question is, are India's citizens? What happens over the next two years may well decide the fate of the Congress Party.