With Sharad Navratri concluded, a number of thoughts about the condition of women in Hindu culture invariably spring to mind.
I will confine myself to looking at the cultural situation of the majority of Indian women, which is to say, women in Hindu culture of which I am personally a part. However, I will consciously stay away from discussing the noticeably difficult and far-from-enviable position of women in non-Hindu cultures in India, lest I be suspected of minority-baiting in these perilous times. Whereas, as a devout Hindu myself, I can claim to speak with belonging, ownership and reform-minded good intentions.
In the traditional Hindu mind, the Devi or prime goddess of Hindu theology is enthroned on a pedestal to be worshipped as the sacred feminine. The position of Devi or Shakti is thus greatly exalted. She is worshipped as the Parashakti or Supreme Power, as the Jagadamba, the Universal Mother who created the male gods and their feminine counterparts.
How does this translate vis-à-vis the situation of mortal women? The reality is that Indian tradition is known to discount mortal women unless they deliver the goods in their prescribed role as a service sector. In particular, the position of the respectably married woman is supreme in Hindu society. As in any other transactional relationship, this status comes at a price.
Drawn from preceding centuries, the wifely virtues were postulated by 16th century poet Goswami Tulsidas of Varanasi. They went out as advice for wives given to Sita by Rishi Atri’s wife Anasuya: “Devotion of body, speech and mind to the feet of her lord, the husband, is the only duty, sacred vow and penance of a woman.” This is found in the Sri Ramacharitmanas, Aranya Kand, Verse Four, a book of pervasive and lasting influence across North India.
This job description was already detailed in the sub-universe of South India in the 13th century, in a hugely popular verse. Written by the Telugu poet ‘Baddena’ or Bhadra Bhupala in Neeti Saara, his treatise on morals, it says: “Karyeshu dasi, karaneshu mantri, bhojeshu mata, shayaneshu Rambha, roopeshu Lakshmi, kshamayeshu Dharitri, shat dharmayukta kuladharmapatni,” meaning “Like a servant in doing the household chores, like a minister in giving her husband intelligent advice, serving him food as lovingly as a mother feeds her son, as seductive and pleasing in bed as the celestial nymph Rambha, as beautiful as Mahalakshmi and as forbearing as Mother Earth: the woman who has these six qualities is the ideal married lady of the house.”
This verse holds up an ideal very much around in South Indian families even today. It encourages good conduct and pleasant, responsible behaviour. Alarmingly, though, there is not one verse in the entire corpus of classical literature that details the virtues required of a mortal husband. I verified this in 2008 with the renowned Sanskrit scholar Sundararama Dikshithar of Kumbakonam, a ninth century temple town and seat of learning in the Cauvery Delta. He had the absolute honesty to admit it after spending a sleepless night trying to think of an instance.
This ‘pragmatic’ attitude towards women sprang from the old Hindu belief that only a son could save a man from the hell called ‘put’. Hence the term ‘putra’ for son—the ‘deliverer from put’. A wife was the socially endorsed conduit for this outcome, of no earthly use unless she produced a fine, healthy son. Indian patriarchs in general did not see wives as precious individuals; any eligible woman from the caste-allotted gene pool would do to keep their lives going.
Religious discourses also rely heavily on the Bhakta Vijaya, the 18th century Marathi book that retold the lives of 108 important saints from the preceding five centuries. Its special focus is on saints between the 13th and 17th centuries from the ‘Varkari’ tradition, centred on Krishna as the deity Vitthala in Pandharpur. Its author, Mahipati, was a scribe turned hagiographer. Its tone and content uphold the patriarchal status quo that is unthinkingly repeated in 21st century religious discourses.
So, my earnest request to religious discoursers is to update the tone and tenor of stories from the Bhakta Vijaya in keeping with our Constitution that gives every citizen equal status and rights. This could greatly influence social attitudes and practices.
Hinduism is such a strong, vibrant culture that has been thought through to the last detail that it requires great courage for a Hindu woman to claim an individual identity. Her identity is usually subsumed in her husband’s and society is still noticeably wary of widows, divorcees, single women and women who have to live alone. It is frequently uncharitable to wives who do not bear healthy sons.
Regrettably, besides the respectably married mother of sons, only two other kinds of women are accorded dignity by tradition—old women and celibate renunciates. Of course, there were rebels and breakaways, but this was the holding pattern that prevailed across society for millennia. It holds even today in both deeply conservative and superficially modern swathes. This is despite over a century of Hindu reform, seen in the growing number of educated and working women in many spheres of national life. I may also claim to be a legatee and beneficiary of Hindu reform, owing my present freedoms to the courage of preceding generations of enlightened Hindu fathers who let their girls out of the box.
And so, I say that if we truly love the Devi, should we not, each of us, persuade society to be nicer to women?
(shebaba09@gmail.com)
Renuka Narayanan