September 4, 1994: the Mandan at Raghunath and Nag Temples
September 4, 1994: The Mandan at Raghunath and Nag Temples
A group of temples encircle the village and danda (upper residences). Directly to the north of the danda is a small temple dedicated to Surkanda Devi, whose larger temple, several kilometers to the east of Mussoorie, is well known in Garhwal and often visited by Anidasu residents. Further to the Northeast is the temple of Bir Devta, also called Kedari Bir, as his usual dwelling place is thought to be the sacred pilgrimage site of Kedarnath, in northeast Garhwal. I had read of Bir (or "vir," a word reserved for great warriors) in other ethnographies of Garhwal (Berreman, Sax p. 49). In Anidasu he seemed best known as the sidekick of Jakh Devta, the most prominent or "biggest" devta in Anidasu. Jakh's temple, constructed of Deodar pine and by far the largest and most elaborate temple, is located at the far east corner of the danda. A second Jakh temple is found at the center of the village dwellings. Referred to as Jakh's nakli mandir, or "fake temple," it is used for a part of each year to house an image of the devta and a palanquin on which the image is transported through the village during the Jakh festival that immediately precedes the villagers' relocation to the upper dwellings. Also at the center of the village is a shrine, referred to as a temple, dedicated to the five Pandava brothers, heroes of the Hindu epic Mahabharata. This tiny shrine in Anidasu had fallen into serious disrepair when I arrived, reflecting the fact the that the Pandavas had not been worshipped there for some two years. Several hundred feet below the village is the temple of Canandgaun Devi, whose name comes from the belief that she had come to this location from the village of Canand.[1]
On three sides of the grounds, the mountainside drops off so dramatically as to gave it the effect of being suspended in air amidst other peaks and ridges. The small field, probably twenty by fifty yards, slopes gently to the south and ends in a precipice. At either end is a small temple made of rock and mud, fortified by a wooden door frame and covered with gabled slate supported by wooden beams. The temples stand no higher than five feet and provide just enough space for one or two villagers to crouch down inside. Nag Devta's temple stands at the south end of the grounds, Raghunath's at the north. Some fifteen adults and children are gathered together and waiting quietly in the general vicinity of the Nag temple. Some of them linger at the temple opening and watch a man inside as he makes preparations. Some sit on the ground near the temple in silence while others casually chat.
As more villagers trickle in the chatter increases. A few reunions take place with the arrival of a son or brother who works in Mussoorie or on the plains. As the number of children increases they grow tired with waiting and begin to play. Several girls are gathered together off to one side, some of them standing with arms around each others' shoulders. People are now scattered across the temple grounds and no single activity claims their focus. The atmosphere is leisurely and social, more akin in my experience to a picnic than any religious ceremony. Meanwhile, a handful of village elders, including fifty-year-old Kaur Singh, continue to carry out preparations for puja in both temples.
Kaur Singh emerges from the Nag temple with a small brass bell in one hand and a plastic bag filled with haldi (turmeric) in the other. Ringing the bell occasionally, he walks off through the small crowd of villagers toward the Raghunath temple. Inside and along the back wall of the Raghunath temple are four or five small pots in which barley seeds, planted eight days ago, have produced barley grass about five inches tall. Among the pots there burns a small cone of incense, and in front of them a thin strip of cotton fabric is stretched between two twigs. Kaur Singh crouches down in front of the barley grass. Around him are five or six metal cups and jugs of various sizes and a few plastic bags. The vessels are filled with milk, gh (clarified butter), and gon (cow's urine), all thought to be highly pure (pavitra, sahi) substances and so suitable as offerings to gods and goddesses. The bags contain turmeric, rice, sugar, grain, flour, and round pieces of unleavened bread (prs) made from wheat flour.
All of the ritual items (smagri) used in the mandan have been given by villagers or purchased with money received in equal measure from each family in Anidasu. Kaur Singh continues with the hariyli and prepares various foods and substances with the aid of another villager who sits at the temple's opening along with several children who are watching closely. Kaur hands him a bag of cooked rice, which the man empties into a metal plate (thli) and mixes with milk, turmeric, and gon, to produce the pure offering known as jyundyl.
An elderly bjgi named Kisandas arrives carrying his dhol -- a large brass drum with heads of goat skin. He stands for a while near the temple, bending slightly under the weight of his dhol, then sits down on his haunches to smoke a bidi and places his drum on the ground before him, close enough to play. Normally, Kisandas would be accompanied by his son, who would play the nangra, a small bowl-shaped drum whose high-pitched and rapid tattoo usually accompanies the powerful and low pounding of the dhol during the ritual. On this particular occasion, however, the son has gone unexpectedly to visit his wife in her natal village. On learning this, several village men become angry and a few begin to scold Kisandas heatedly. "At least two Bajgis must play," one man insists, "otherwise the devtas will not come". This claim produce debate, however, and attention shifts from Kisandas to the question of whether the devtas require the drums or not. "If the devtas want to come, they will come regardless of the drums and all the commotion," argues Bachan Singh. Others still disagree. Throughout, Kisandas claims plaintively that he told his son about the mandan but his sons simply do not listen to him. The debate dissipates as more villagers arrive and the issue of the absent nangara is left unresolved. One drum, apparently, will do.
A group of ten or twelve boys search for dead branches and twigs among the pine trees that skirt the temple grounds, while other boys break the branches into smaller pieces in order to build a small bonfire off to the side of the field, midway between the two temples. Three or four men crouch down by a group of rocks. They are holding coconuts which they crack against a rock and then tear open by hand. Inside the Nag temple Kaur Singh pats down a thin layer of cow dung over a small piece of slate in the center of the temple. On this he lays a number of thin shoots of devdar wood in log-cabin style and then places several smaller dried shoots, mixed with leaves, in the center. He sets fire to the leaves. The fire offering is referred to as havan, after the Brahmanical fire sacrifice. Notably, however, the mandan does not require the presence or participation of a panat.
Kisandas begins to pound out a rhythm on his dhol, and one by one villagers begin entering the temple, where they crouch down to sprinkle an offering of ghi into the fire, place their hands together in supplication, and then back out to allow the next person to enter. Some of them place a small monetary offering in an empty thali or lay a flower near the small fire. After a time, the crowd shifts to the Raghunath temple where Kunvar Singh prepares to light a similar group of shoots and leaves. In order to complete the hariyali, the barley grass must still be cut inside both temples. It will then be offered, along with sections of coconut and the puris, to the gods.
I stand in a cluster of villagers near the Raghunath temple, watching Kunvar prepare the fire offering. He blows once on the conch shell while Kisandas continues his slow and repetitive rhythm. I lean over Bacan Singh to get a better glimpse inside, resting my hand on his shoulder. Suddenly Bacan is seized with such violent shaking that I and a few others nearly topple over backwards. He lets out a burst of gabbling, made by forcing breath between his lips while shaking his head rapidly from side to side. Kisandas gives four or five successive strikes to the dhol and then commences a new and faster rhythm, announcing the arrival of the god Raghunath. A circle of people forms around Bacan. Bacan tears off his shirt, exposing his upper torso, and begins to dance.
Bacan-Raghunath dances backward in a circular motion with rapid and tiny steps. He is bent so far forward that he faces the ground and he swings his arms in a pendulous motion by extending them straight out to the side and then crossing them in over his chest. His gabbling continues, punctuated by an occasional shout of "hep!" or "hoit!" Suddenly he stops dancing as though exhausted and signals for the bajgi to stop playing. Inside the temple Kaur Singh again blows on the conch shell and this seems to re-charge Bacan-Raghunath, who then enters the temple for a moment and emerges holding a whip (santh) with eight or nine linked-iron tails extending from a wooden handle. Grasping it with both hands, Bacan-Raghunath begins to whip himself in rapid and continuous strokes, swinging the iron tails up over his head and squarely across his back, then back down on the ground with a thud.
Close to Bacan stand several men and women who, like him, are known in the village to be pasuvas -- the ones chosen by a god as its vehicle for its akti (power) and presence among villagers. The shaking or trembling (kmpaymn) of the pasuva manifests the god's sakti and is often the first sign that a devta has chosen a given person as his or her pasuva. The word "pasuva" might also be translated as "beast" or "animal," as it seems to derive from the Hindi word pash or "animal."[2] A god, referred to as a devt, is believed to "come on" or "come over" his pasuva (devt us pe t hai), like a man might ride a beast of burden. Villagers also often speak of the devta's wind (hav) entering the body. The wind causes the violent trembling that signals the presence and power of the devta as well as his control over his pasuva. "The devta's sakti and control (vas)," said one villager, "begins when the devta's wind enters the body. This is why the person trembles (kmpn)." The devta "attacks" or "seizes" (pakarna) the person, taking sudden control of him (as I learned quite dramatically). Once the god comes, it is acknowledged as a being separate from its pasuva, and the latter typically claims to remember nothing of the events that transpire while the devta is present, including the god's words and actions.
Bacan seems initially to have resisted the presence of Raghunath (or perhaps Raghunath resisted coming), yet other villagers seem concerned that the devta stay. Kaur Singh stands nearby with the thali of jyundyal (the mixture of rice, milk and turmeric). Throughout the mandan, jyundyal is applied periodically to the forehead of each pasuva, usually by the handful and often with some force. The jyundyal is an offering and can hasten the devta's initial seizure (pakarna) of its pasuva or, if the devta is already present, it increases the intensity of the god's actions. When Kaur Singh offers the jyundyal, however, Bacan waves him away. Kisandas stops playing the dhol for a moment but someone shouts "play, play" and he resumes. Once again Bacan-Raghunath trembles violently and begins to whip himself. Kaur Singh again approached with the jyundyal and, placing one hand behind Bacan's head, applies it firmly to Bacan's forehead. At this, Bacan-Raghunath begins to speak. Still shaking his head from side to side and dancing backwards in rapid steps, he lets out a staccato "nawp nawp naw naw nawp". The villagers instantly recognize these sounds as Raghunath's own language, even though they cannot understand it. Each devta, they believe, has its own "god-language" (devt-bhsh), identifiable by all but comprehensible only to other devtas. In the course of a mandan, the devtas who choose to dance will speak to each other in their own separate languages and to villagers in Hindi (less frequently in Garhwali).
Khem Singh stands by quietly with arms folded and head lowered. Bacan approaches and applies a handful of jyundyal firmly to Khem's forehead for several seconds. Then, placing his left hand on the back of Khem's neck and pulling his head down low, he leads him into the center. At first Bacan moves very slowly and concentrates his attention on Khem. Then he locks his hands behind Khem's neck and with a burst of gabbling pulls him forward and shakes him. Nearly falling over, Khem pulls his shirt up over his head and begins to dance. He clutches his hands together, trembling and twisting his head. With four loud reports on the dhol, the bajgi begins a new rhythm. With this it becomes clear that Khem is claiming to be Raghunath as well, for only Raghunath is associated with the santh in Anidasu. My questions as to Khem's identity get mixed responses. Some say it is Raghunath, other say Bir. Khem moves to the temple and grabs the whip from where Bacan had left it. He begins to whip himself. With this, Bacan-Raghunath dances and swings his arms even faster.
Bacan and Khem dance from side to side within the circle, applying jyundyal to the other pasuvas and pulling each one into the center, in the apparent effort to invite, even force, other devtas to come and dance. Several times Bacan stands dancing directly in front of a pasuva, shouting to him. Khem Singh wraps the iron whip around his neck and dances backwards around the circle. When Bacan turns to Khem Singh and speaks, the latter redoubles his shaking and recommences to whip himself. Occasionally, other villagers walk through the center and apply the jyundyal or sprinkle the dancing gods with milk and gont.
Bacan rushes to Sobat Singh and grabs him by the collar with both hands, shaking him and pulling him forcefully into the center. Keeping a hold with one hand, Bacan extends the other for jyundyal and when it arrives he applies it forcefully to Sobat's forehead while still pulling him about the circle. Sobat smiles with embarrassment as he is tugged about, and then grasps Bacan's arm and himself holds a handful of jyundyal to Bacan's head. Bacan dances faster, letting out another loud "hep!" But Sobat is still unaffected. He stands for a few minutes and accepts a small amount of goat's milk from another villager. He drinks a small portion from his cupped hands and then places the rest over his head. Khem Singh throws a handful of jyundyal toward Sobat, who again dips his hand in the goat's milk but this time sprinkles the villagers standing at either side of him. Suddenly Sobat is seized with a burst of trembling. His arms extended, he falls to the center as though hurled forward. The Bajgi's rhythm changes again. Barely keeping his balance, Sobat lunges in different directions. He twists his head from side to side and swings his arms rapidly in and out, occasionally holding them crossed firmly over his chest. His god-language is also distinctive, a stream of sibilants and clipped consonants barked out in manic sentences and a kind of insistent, almost scolding tone -- "hai be snogot kshni nau shneen nyau! hai be shaub niynyau!" It is Anidasu's most prominent devta, Jakh (or so he claims). Jakh's barking phrases are joined by Raghunath's renewed "nawp na nawp na na!" But Jakh breaks away from this interchange, turns and slaps his hands down flat over both heads of Kisandas' drum. A moment of silence, and then Sobat shakes his finger at Kisandas to scold him. Suddenly he becomes quiet again and stands erect, breathing heavily. He walks over the temple and leans on it to catch his breath. The other gods continue to dance quietly for a few moments until once again someone shouts to Kisandas, "play! play!" He does, and Sobat seems to be jolted by the sound but is not seized again.
Rather, it is Ranabir Singh who was seized this time, and unexpectedly so, for he is not known to be a pasuva nor has there been any indication of a god's desire to "come over" him. Ranabir has been standing by, occasionally applying jyundyal or sprinkling milk and gont over the dancing gods and then tossing a bit to each side. When he is seized, Ranabir douses himself with the entire cup of milk held in his hand. His arms stiffen at his side, he bends his head forward and back, and then falls to the ground where he sits with legs crossed, hands in his lap, head twisting in all directions. Immediately, villagers and gods alike are concerned to establish the nature and identity of the being that has seized Ranabir, for it is possible that he is not a god but some kind of malicious spirit, such as a aint or a dgbht.