The last couple of years have been depressing for all of us who don’t relish being divided and manipulated by people who make a fetish of their racial/cultural purity and aggressively celebrate that purity/exclusivity to the point of causing harm and damage to those they see as the “lesser others”. It’s happening in the US with The Trump promising to “beat” all outsiders, it’s happening in Europe with the rise of far right-wing parties and it is also happening in our country with alarming regularity.

Every time I read these accounts, I am amazed how these demagogues of different affiliations fail to learn from the history of human society — not the history of wars, nor of major political significance, but the stories that make up the humdrum nitty-gritties of ordinary lives.

One only has to look back at myths and rituals across societies to realise that at the point of “end-use” or daily living if you like, we the people have always been syncretic. We borrow stories and heroes and symbols from our neighbours, whoever they may be, mixing tales and rites to cook up a rich medley that can inform our humdrum lives with meaning and serve our fears and insecurities with the comforting blanket of myths and legends.

Two myth and ritual examples from Bengal bear testimony to this “grassroots syncretism”. Both illustrate that when common people are faced with grave risk to life and livelihood, when visceral, gut-wrenching fear seizes the human spirit, we forget our faith-labels. We are united in the same primal urge to be safe and to secure our loved ones. Thus when the villagers of 18th and 19th century Bengal, whether Hindus or Muslims, grappled with the ever-present menace of snakes, both turned to the snake goddess Manasa and propitiated her with common rituals. In parts of East Bengal (now Bangladesh), boat races with songs that extoll the powers of Manasa as well as celebrate the love of Behula-Lokhindor were very popular among the boat-people in the riverine districts. Hindus and Muslims participated in these boat-racing ceremonies during the rainy season when the snakes are at their most threatening. In fact, P K Maity writes in his definitive socio-cultural study on the cult of Manasa that post 1947 many of the boat racing songs in and around Sylhet took on a more pronounced Islamic character as the overwhelming majority of the boatmen who had stayed back were Muslims.

Just as Manasa worship (still practiced in many parts of Bengal) shows how common people can be united in adapting and adopting rituals in the face of a common threat, the legend of Bonbibi in the Sunderbans takes this syncretic impulse even further. This mangrove-covered delta is full of physical dangers but none more fearful than the great Royal Bengal Tiger. In this land of impenetrable forests and treacherous riverine tracts, it is no wonder then that the people who tried to eke out a living – the honey trappers and wood cutters — were united in their awe of the powerful beast that prowled the mangroves.
From their encounters, from the battle for survival between Man and untamed Nature was born the myth of Bonbibi. She is the protector of the people who took on the evil Dokhin Rai and his tiger-army. To the villagers on the fringes of the forest, to the honey-collector and the fisherman, it did not matter whether it was Allah or Durga who was supposed to nourish their spirit with the elixir of true faith. What they needed was an immediate source of security, someone they could access without intermediaries and some symbols that could be of immediate relevance to both the communities. Bonbibi was the answer to their needs; similar to many mother protectors in the Hindu pantheon but her origin can be traced to Medina and a Sufi fakir, both Islamic in character!

Bonbibi is then “imported” from the Holy Land of the Muslims to this piece of Bengal and her mission is to protect all the inhabitants there, both Hindus and Muslims. Bonbibi accompanied by her twin brother, Shah Jongoli , restores a new order in the land after her battle with Dokhin Rai, clearly demarcating the extent of Dokhin Rai’s authority( untamed Nature) as well as defining the limits of what men(irrespective of faith and origin) can access and extract from that great forest. From all the accounts of the Bonbibi “palas”(local theatrical performances), it is not clear to me, at least, whether Dukhey, the young boy in whose defence Bonbibi fights the final epic battle is Hindu or Muslim. But the beauty of this Sunderbans legend is that this detail is immaterial!

The tale of Bonbibi, Dokhin Rai, Dukhey may not be as ancient as other world myths, but the purpose is certainly “mythic’. It is the story of how Man must co-exist with Nature, how we must respect the powers of Nature and the eternal hope of Man that the weak and disenfranchised (Dukhey) can triumph over the greedy and wealthy (Dhona) as there will always be the Divine Protectors who will uphold the righteous. But what adds to the significance of this archetypical myth are the elements that make it transcend the narrow boundaries of any one faith, that make it possible for people from either faith to claim it as their own and celebrate it even today in 21st century through many re-tellings and ritual enactments!

This then is what grassroots syncretism is all about — in the defining moments of birth and death, in the defining principles of how we will manage our symbiotic relationship with Nature, we are united in our strengths as well as our vulnerabilities. If only, we remembered it and nurtured this more, we would leave this world a better place for the coming generations.

RUKMINI GUPTE

The question is – Why was Ganesha’s head severed and replaced with an elephant head?

Was it just an accident that Shiva beheaded Ganesha in the battle, not knowing who he was?

Not really.

If you look closely at the stories from Indian mythology that refers to severing of the head, it is apparent that severing of the head is a recurring pattern. For instance, the Rig Veda mentions Indra cutting off Dadhyanc’s head. While Shatpath Brahmana narrates how Vishnu’s head was ‘accidently’ cut off when ants gnawed off the strings of a flexed bow on which he was resting his head. The Gods then placed a horse head over Vishnu’s shoulders and named him Hayagriva. Shiva when humiliated by Daksha- his father in law, became furious and severed his head. He later replaced Daksha’s head with a goat head. One can count more than a few examples, that show the severing of human head and replacing it with an animal head is a significant mythological motif. Therefore, one can ascertain that Ganesha’s head being replaced by an elephant head is a deliberate mythological trope.

But what does this pattern symbolize?

Death and rebirth is a persistent motif in sacrificial rituals. It is clearly enacted in the brahmanical rite of passage like Uapanayan, where the young boy initiate has to symbolically pass through the cycle of death and rebirth.
In the upanayana ritual the boy leaves his parental home to go his Guru’s ashram for higher education – but only after he symbolically dies and is reborn as his guru’s child. (This ritual is conducted in a ‘womb hut ‘ or dikshitavimita , where the student ( shishya) is placed doubled up in a fetal position in his guru’s lap). Having performed uapanayana, the boy is considered as dvija or twice born, and this symbolic death is represented by shaving off his hair (rite known as chudakarman) which is equated to the severing of one’s head.

Ganesha is the son of Parvati and not of Shiva. (This is reversed in case of Skanda- Karttikeya who is the son of Shiva, and not of Parvati ) . According to the story- Ganesha took upon himself the role of a loyal guard to Parvati. When Ganesha blocked Shiva’s entry into Parvati’s abode even after learning that Shiva is Parvati’s husband, a battle breaks out and Shiva beheads him. An anguished Parvati reproached Shiva for ‘killing’ her son and Shiva agreed to bring him back to life by attaching a new head to Ganesha’s body. Here Ganesha the son of Parvati dies but is reborn to Shiva as his son, the elephant headed Ganesha. Shiva then establishes Ganesha as the head of his ganas as gananayak. By this process Ganesha completes the cycle of death and rebirth and becomes the son of Shiva and Parvati.

So is there any significance for the elephant head?

Puranic tales provide a variety of accounts to explain this anomaly, including a tale about how Shiva and Parvati assumed the form of elephants and made love and thus giving birth to Ganesha with an elephant head. The most common tale that gained currency is the one in which Shiva severs Ganesha’s head and replaces it with the elephant head. Some tales also ascribe the source of the elephant head to various supernatural elephant entities in Indian mythology, such as Indra’s mount- Airavata, or the demon Gajasura whom Shiva defeated in a battle.
The elephant symbol is well entrenched in the South Asian mythology , and can be traced back to the Mohenjodaro civilization. It symbolizes rain or the water element and is therefore closely linked to agrarian symbols of fertility. Ganesha’s elephant head therefore suggests his primary role as a fertility god. The popular Ganesha festival is primarily a harvest festival, and a celebration of abundance and prosperity. Being a fertility god, sacrifice and initiation are inherent in the character of Ganesha. This again reiterates why severed head motif is central to Ganesha’s identity.

VIDYA KAMAT

Once there was a wizened old jogi who lived in a forest. He was very virtuous and kind, and there was no soul who received any harm on account of him. One day it so happened that a party of jogis was chasing a cobra in the forest. Fleeing before his hunters, the cobra came to the old jogi to seek refuge with him and said “A party of jogis is chasing me. Please find a way to hide me.” The jogi asked, “Where can I hide a big, giant snake like you?” The snake replied, “Open your mouth wide and I will go inside your belly. Once those searching for me are gone, I will come out.” The kind jogi trusted the snake’s word. He opened his mouth and the cobra went inside his belly.

The jogis chasing the cobra searched around, and went away when they could not find the snake. The cobra was feeling very cool and comfortable inside the jogi’s belly and did not come out. And the belly grew day by day but the cobra forgot all about his promise and remained inside.

One day the jogi was fast asleep and his mouth was wide open. Deciding to enjoy some fresh air, the cobra extended his head from the jogi’s mouth. It so happened that a cat was sitting close-by, and seeing the cobra’s head protrude out of the jogi’s mouth, she crept near stealthily. Striking like lightning, the cat caught the cobra’s head in her mouth and pulled him out whole. With her sharp claws she killed the cobra in no time.

The jogi had now awakened. Seeing the cobra lying he dead highly commended the cat, and said, “Mother Cat, from today onwards you shall be the snake’s enemy. I grant you the freedom. Now you should leave the forest and go and live among humans. Everyone shall eat your leavings and what you jump over no one will eat.*”
Hearing these words, the cat prepared to depart to live among the humans. At the time of departure the jogi stroked the cat and as the fingers of his fingers were smeared with black colour, the cat’s fur was marked with black lines running across its body. From that day every cat has carried a black line and every cat is an enemy of the snake.

(*The jogi with his blessing effectively raised the cat’s status to that of a person. An animal’s leftovers are not fit to be eaten, but a person’s leftovers can be eaten. In Sindh, if a person crosses over or jumps over food it is deemed unfit for human consumption, but it can be eaten if an animal has jumped over it.)
(Translated from the Sindhi by Musharraf Ali Farooqi)
STORY COLLECTED BY: Musharraf Ali Farooqi
STORY TOLD BY: Muhammad Soomar Sheikh of taluka Badin in Lower Sindh
LOCATION: Sindh, Pakistan

Since time immemorial, ‘Maya’ has been a source of intrigue. Just what is Maya? Is it an elusive illusion, or is it a mirage, which leads an individual to temptation, only to face reality with a harsh lesson and at times quite harsh. Maya has led to many realisations and understanding of it has generally been one-directional, i.e. from the perspective of a story or the lesson learnt. For want of any other way, here is one more perspective of Maya, which was told to Andre Malraux (a French novelist & art theorist) in Varanasi, by a passerby, who forced Malraux to listen to the story. The incident was recorded in Malraux’s ‘Anti Memoirs’, which goes as follows –

Narada, the itinerant divine sage roaming the three worlds, sowing seeds of discord and inveterate experimenter, goes up to Vishnu and demands that ‘Maya’ be explained to him. Vishnu is silent. Narada is not one to be denied. He insists so persistently that the god has to answer him.

‘Maya cannot be explained, it has to be experienced,’ said Vishnu. ‘If you can’t explain what you create, then I won’t believe in you,’ retorts the never-say-die sage. Quickly deserting his serpent couch for the fate of gods in whom humans do not believe is shrouded in uncertainty–Vishnu beckons him to follow.

Walking together, they reach a desert where Vishnu sits down under a tree and exclaims, ‘I am so tired, Narada! Take this lota (a vessel to carry water) and get me some water from that oasis. When you return I will explain Maya to you.’ Eager to plumb the mystery, Narada speeds off to the oasis and finds a well there beside a hut. He calls out, and a lovely girl opens the door. Looking into her eyes, Narada is reminded of the compelling eyes of Vishnu. She invites him in and disappears indoors. Her parents come out and greet the guest, requesting him to rest and eat after his journey through the burning sands before he returns with the lota of water. Thinking of the lovely girl, Narada agrees. Night falls, and they urge him to leave in the cool morning. Awakening in the morning, Narada looks out and sees the girl bathing beside the well. He forgets about the lota of water. He stays on. The parents offer him their daughter’s hand in marriage. Narada accepts, and settles down here. Children arrive; the parents-in-law die; Narada inherits the property. 12 years go by. Suddenly the floods arrive–floods in the desert! His house is washed away. His wife is swept away. Reaching out to clutch her, he loses hold of his children who disappear in the waters. Narada is submerged in the floods and loses consciousness.
Narada awakens, his head pillowed in someone’s lap. Opening his eyes he gazes into the eyes of Vishnu, seated at the desert’s edge under that same tree, those eyes that remind him of his wife’s. ‘Narada,’ asks Vishnu, ‘where is the lota of water?’ Narada asked, ‘You mean, all that happened to me did not happen to me?’ Vishnu smiled his enigmatic smile.

Does that answer your query of Maya? If it doesn’t, then you know why Maya is elusive!

STORY COLLECTED BY Dr. Pradip Bhattacharya
STORY TOLD BY Prof. P. Lal
TEXT SOURCE ‘Anti Memoirs’ by Andre Malraux published in 1967
LOCATION Varanasi
IMAGE CREDIT
IMAGE DETAILS

The Kamakhya temple in Guwahati has captured the people’s imagination for hundreds of years. Its tantalising tales of tantra, mantra and vashikaran and equally intriguing rites and rituals has lured in tourists, scholars and believers from across the world. The sanctum sanctorum of the temple is a cave which is devoid of any image. It has a natural underground spring which flows through a yoni-shaped cleft in the bedrock. The inner sanctum is a deep dark underground rocky chamber into which one descends by a flight of steep steps. The “Matra Yoni” which is inscribed on a rock is covered with silk sarees and is constantly moist by underground spring water.

The Kamakhya temple is considered to be a shakti peetha. This is one of the many stories associated with the temple (For the stories around the temple, read Kamakhya’s Web) but in every tale linked to the temple, there is an underlying element of devi worship. This suggests that this is a place of worship of woman divine or, the mother goddess. The temple remains one of the holiest sites in India for tantra practitioners who associate it with powerful creative force of the mother goddess.

Among the many aspects of the goddess celebrated here, there is one which celebrates menstruation. Devotees believe that the Devi menstruates during a unique festival called Ambubachi which is observed during the Indian month of Ashaad (towards the end of June). They believe that every year on the seventh day of Ashaad, the pool containing the uterus turns red. The temple remains closed thereafter for a period of three days. On the fourth day, the doors of the temple are opened for lakhs of pilgrims who throng the temple during this festival. Offerings to the goddess are usually flowers, but might include animal sacrifices. In general female animals are exempt from sacrifice, a rule that is relaxed during mass sacrifices.

Ambubachi (or, otherwise) festival kamakhya temple draws various Shakti and Shaiva tantra practioners recognised by their respective red or black garments. Whilst in orthodox Hindu rites and rituals male dominance is an accepted norm and a female is considered impure when she menstruates, Tantric rites grant female the status of Shakti, and she is considered to have the potential to unlock her divine powers especially during her menstrual cycle. Assam and its surrounding areas are well known for various Tantric Cults with their equally exotic practices. The Sanskrit term ambuvaci from which local Assamese term ambubachi or ambubasi is derived literally means “issuing for of water”. Whilst to believers it is celebration of menstruation of goddess kamakhya, the very celebration at the onset of monsoon in the month of ashaad is nothing but homage to fecundity of mother earth which comes alive with the onset of monsoon.

The history of Assam is closely linked to the history of Sri Sri Kamakhya. The Shakti temple is mentioned in various Puranas including Kalika Purana and Yogini Tantra which establishes the temple and therefore Assam as a springboard for Shakta Tantra. The temple stands between two ethnic hill groups – the khasis of the Austro-Asiatic group who follow the matrilineal system and the Garos. Sex worship and animal sacrifice was common amongst these tribal people in the ancient past. While on the one hand, the worship of the yoni of the goddess in Kamakhya represents veneration of procreative power of nature, on the other hand it stands as testimony to magical influence and continuation of tribal culture and non-Aryan practices. The temple snuggled in the verdant Nilachal hills thus symbolises the ‘fusion of faiths and beliefs.

ANURADHA DHAR BOSE

We all gathered around my sister to listen to her holiday experiences from Sikkim and Gangtok- northeastern town of India, sharing border with China. Suddenly, in an animated tone she said “ Oh I must tell you the story of Harbhajan baba ! A soldier who mans the Indo China border.” We all bust in smiles “ What’s the deal sis? Isn’t a soldier supposed to patrol the border?”

“Yes. But he is dead long ago!” she said in a bit of huff. Now it was our turn to feel alarmed. “You mean a dead soldier patrolling the border?” “Yes and trust me there is a shrine for him. We visited the shrine on our way to Nathula Pass and paid our homage. ” We all huddled around her for the full version of Harbhajanbaba’s legend.

Harbhajan Singh was an ordinary sepoy in Indian army in mid 60s posted on Sino-Indian border near Nathula pass. One day as he was escorting a caravan of mules from one post to other he got swept away in the flowing stream. For two days Indian army carried out a search for his body but they failed to find it. Few days later, one of the colleague of Harabhan Singh dreamt of Harbhajan , telling him how he died and where to find his body. He also told him he is still doing his border patrolling duty. His dear friend just felt that he is too grief stricken by his friend’s death and probably his dream is a result of anxiety and sadness he felt so ignored the dream. Few days later he dreamt again the same dream where Harbhajan gave a detailed instructions of the place where his body was lying and asked him to build a Samadhi for him. This time his colleague reported it to his senior and an army search party was deputed to carry out a manhunt for his body. To the surprise of all, body was found exactly in the same place as described by Harbhajan in the dream. A Samadhi was built as per Harabhajan’s wishes.

Few days later Indian Jawans patrolling the Sino -Indian border saw a lone soldier in Indian army uniform riding on a horse patrolling the border. The man did not belong to their regiment. Meanwhile Chinese post too from other side of the border confirmed the sighting of a lone soldier riding a horse. It was believed that Harbhansingh, as promised was on his patrolling duty. Since then it is believed that Harabhanjan singh has given timely warnings to Indian army of possible dangers from Chinese army and loopholes in Indian surveillance systems. His warnings have been proved very accurate so far. Indian army has a great reverence for this holy ghost who is still committed to his duty.

Harbhansingh’s Samadhi contains three rooms. In one of the rooms there is a bed and his army uniform is laid on it, with his boots kept by the side of bed. According to the belief every morning the uniform is crumpled and boots are covered with dirt suggesting that someone might have used them overnight.

Ceremoniously every day his boots are polished and freshly ironed uniform is laid on the bed. This ritual is carried out till this date. Indian army has accepted the holy ghost as part of its serving troops and every year in September Harbhajan Singh is sent on an annual leave to his home town in Punjab. Army has continued to pay him the salary and his rank is raised to that of Captain. Every year Captain Harbahjan Singh accompanied by two soldiers and a trunk with his belonging travels in train to his home town and similarly returns back on his duty after a month long leave. The army maintained this tradition, till Captain Harbhan Singh ‘retired’ from the service few years back.

Today Harbhajanbaba’s shrine is located amidst lush green forest land against the picturesque backdrop of waterfalls of Nathula Pass near the river Teesta civilian devotees from all religions, locals, trekkers as well army personnel stop by to pay him respect, believing that this holy ghost protest them from calamities and danger of this difficult terrain.

It is believed the Chinese army sets aside a chair for this lone Indian soldier when they meet Indian army for their monthly flag meet.

Story collected by Vidya Kamat

Story told by Vinaya Shinkre.

Location : Nathula Pass, Sikkim

Inputs from

Not colours, but sticks and stones; that is how Holi is celebrated in a village near Mathura. Better known as the festival of colours, Holi brings about water-drenched, colourful euphoria among the people in most parts of the country. But the Lath Mar Holi celebrated at Barsana near Vrindavan in Uttar Pradesh is a different game altogether.
Lathmar HolI? What is that?
A literal translation would be ‘Beating Sticks Holi’. In this, the women of Barsana beat up the men who come from the neighbouring village of Nandgaon to play Holi with them.
Why do they do that? And why do the men come every year to get bashed up?
Barsana is believed to be the birthplace of Radha who was Krishna’s lover and divine consort. The story goes that Krishna slapped mud or a brown coloured powder on her cheeks because she was fairer than him. Radha beat him with a stick for this and when he brought his gang of guys from Nandgaon, Radha and her friends beat them all up. The men came with colours and water. Even today the men of Nandgaon where Krishna grew up come to Barsana and the ritual is replayed. The men rush in praying colours and water and try to get to a temple dedicated to Radha in order to hoist a flag on its roof. They come padded and well-armed with protective shields. The women await their arrival with sticks in hand and start raining down their sticks on their backs as soon as they start trooping in, in groups. Some men are forced to dress up in skirts and sarees too! While the men try and get to the temple, the women make every attempt to block their path and not let them anywhere near it.
Really? That’s how it started?
Well, that’s what we have heard. But it is also possible that the ritual is aboriginal in its origins. Over the years, the practice grew popular and was made part of the larger mythological narrative.
Aboriginal practices? Such as?
Lighting of bonfires, dancing in streets, shouting obscenities, throwing mud at each other, playing pranks on women, women playing on the swings (dolayatra), throwing water at each other etc; these are all aboriginal practices. In some cases communities often got together to hurl abuses at a god or each other or garland deities with shoes — Holi is a fertility festival and probably was celebrated by aboriginal people in a similar fashion. But what we have retained today is the lighting of bonfires and splashing water and colours on each other.
Sounds fun?
Of course it is. It was also a lot of fun when it was first played eons ago. It was also a festival meant to denote the end of a year. That is why we light a bonfire which, in a way, is how you bring closure to the past and set the stage for all things new in the New Year.
I am confused– is this a New Year Celebration?
Not exactly. In the Hindu calendar, Holi comes before the year ending festivals that are celebrated by most communities sometime around the middle of April. It is a harvest festival. But the LathMar Holi carries some traces of the way the new year-year end festivals were celebrated.
Like what?
During ancient times in Europe, the Maypole and in India during the Vedic period, the Indradvaja festival was celebrated. For this, a pole was erected in the centre of the village, it was decorated with flowers and fruits and people drank, partied and danced around it. At the end of the celebration the pole was set on fire. The belief was that fire would kill evil and usher in a new beginning. Holi or Hutasani means that which is brought to closure by fire. Also soon after Holi, the New Year is brought in by several communities in the country.
And is Holi celebrated in March every year?
It could be in February or March. The celebrations are during spring. The festival period starts ten days before full moon of Phalgun (February – March). But the Holi or bonfire happens only on the last day or the full moon day of Phalgun. In Manipur, the Holi festival lasts the entire 8-10 days.
Interesting. And is there any other story of Holi ?
Yes. There is a story that says Holi was celebrated by burning the demoness Holika, sister of demon king Hiranyakashipu and father of Prahlad. In south India, Holi was celebrated as the lamentation of Rati wife of Kama who was burned by Shiva.
(You can read the full story here.)

Information collected by: Vidya Kamat
Text Source: Hindu World: An encyclopedic Survey of Hinduism By Benjamin Walker.
Location: All India

Every time I visited my grandparents’ house in Salcette Goa, I would accompany Thomas, who worked in our house, to the shrine outside the village. In reality there was no temple or a shrine or even an idol at the spot, but a huge Banyan tree with a hollow base which looked like it was the entrance into a tiny cave. Unlike other temples where there is an idol which is decorated with flowers and perfumes and the place is buzzing with devotees, this shrine was stark, empty and devoid of any decorations. However, there were signs that oil lamps were being lit regularly as dark soot had blackened the roots of the Banyan tree.
Every Wednesday, we would walk up to the village boundary where the tree was located with a bottle of country liquor and a roti or bread made of husk with a preparation of meat placed on top. We would also carry a small bottle of oil to light the lamp. I had also seen people leaving leather shoes and rough woolen shawls (kambal) under this tree. Thomas would light the lamp and then ask me to place the food and liquor at the base of the tree. Our offerings were always made after the sunset. Before leaving we would fold our hands in reverence, circumambulate the tree once and quietly walk away without talking. Thomas would warn me not to look behind.
Curious about the entire proceedings I once asked my granny: “For whom do we carry this food?” She said, “He is our Rakhno.” Rakhno in the language of the region (Konkani) means protector. A guardian spirit. For us Rakhno was a village spirit who protected all of us. We worshipped him and at the same time feared him.
No one knew how he looked but there were many opinions — some said that he was a tall man who was dressed like a shepherd. He wore a woolen shawl on his shoulders and carried a wooden staff. Some believed that he carried a sword rode a horse and always moved with a band of followers. What everyone agreed on was that he had a fearsome gaze and that if you looked into his eyes you would either end up dead or crazy.
My mother had her own story of Rakhno which I have tried to tell in her words, as I remember it:
“Once I and my friend went to the riverside to play. The river was little distance away from the centre of the town. We were there a long time and got so busy gathering pebbles that we did not realize that the sun had set and night was approaching. We were alone and the darkness made us afraid so we began to cry. Suddenly we heard a male voice calling out to us. “What are you two girls doing so late in the evening?” His voice was rough and commanding.
Frozen with fear, we could not speak. We could not see him but the voice was clearly emanating from a few feet away. He rebuked us for being out so late and said he would drop us home. “I will walk behind you” he said. “Now get moving”, he ordered.
We clutched each other and began walking. We could hear the sound of leather shoes marking the road behind us. It was a peculiar sound, that which you hear when someone walks in a new pair of shoes. He was probably carrying a wooden staff which he banged on the ground with every step he took. His footsteps were very heavy so we presumed he must be a tall man. We reached my friend’s home and the sound of the staff stopped. In a gruff tone he asked my friend to run into her house. “Don’t look back”, he warned. I realized I was all alone. I could see the lights of my house in the distance. I began to run but my feet were getting heavy. I was sweating and panting profusely and as soon I stepped onto the doorway I collapsed. I don’t remember anything after that…”
My Granny believed it was Rakhno who had safely brought her daughter home. Since then she had set up this practice of sending food to this village deity every Wednesday.

Story Collected by : Vidya Kamat

Told by : Sitabai Pai Panandiker

Location: Salcette . Goa
Tags: Village spirit God, Rakhno, Village guardian, belief, meat, food offerings,

Deep in the rolling hills outlying the Great Rann of Kutch, some 65 odd kilometres from Bhuj, is a centuries old Hindu monastery steeped in medieval traditions and customs, its actual age disputable. There is not another soul for miles; the only sound heard being that of the peacocks singing in the surrounding forests. Within the monastery’s thick limestone whitewashed walls a sole yogi, with a handful of companions, keeps an exclusive tantric monastic order alive—the Kanphata (slit ears) sect founded by the sage Dhoramnath.

The traditional founder of the Indian sect of slit eared yogis is Gorakhnath but in Western India, Dhoramnath, his fellow disciple introduced the Kanphata doctrines into Kutch at the end of the 14th Century. Legend claims that Dhoramnath stood on his head for 12 years on top of Dinodhar Hill, an inactive volcano behind the monastery, in self-imposed penance for a curse he inadvertently made. Upon being urged by the gods to cease his penance he agreed on condition that whatever his eyes first saw would turn barren. And thus the Rann of Kutch was created. A temple dedicated to him stands on the hill.

Shrines and vermillion smeared stones dedicated to yogis having taken samadhi dot the monastery grounds. While the monastery exteriors are plain, clad in limestone with vermillion marks, its interiors in contrast are a riot of colour. Walking through corridors, arches and rooms, I enter the inner sanctum of the main temple around which I circumambulate in pitch darkness. My exploration ends on the roof overlooking a sea of domes topping the shrines, listening to the birds sing to each other in a beautiful, almost eerie, surreal world. 🙂

The monastery, however, is unfortunately also derelict and falling apart. Which is sad, taking into consideration the colossal amount of heritage it holds in its midst, including an eclectic collection of colourful 18th Century Kamangari wall paintings and intricate jaali work on its walls.

Kanphata yogis worship the Hindu god Shiva and are distinguished by the large earrings they wear cutting through the hollow of their ears, hence the name “slit ears”. Seated cross-legged chatting with the resident yogi, he and his companions explain the sect’s emphasis on acquiring supernatural powers instead of following orthodox practices of prayers and meditation. Referred to as Maharaj, the yogi, I am told, is renowned in the region and community for his uninterrupted meditation during the full nine days of navratri. Apart from slitting their ears, the ideology of the Kanphata Yogis incorporates elements of mysticism, magic, and alchemy absorbed from both Shaivite (devotees of Shiva) and Buddhist esoteric systems, as well as from Hatha Yoga.

Dusk is starting to fall. As I stand amid the old, desolate, Prussian blue hills and flame smeared sky with silence for company, the magic of Kutch, today replete with tantric traditions and ancient fossils, the stark beauty of the place envelops me within its fold. Did I just say it was beautiful? Let me repeat it nevertheless, for words and images are not always sufficient in capturing or chronicling such moments. These are instead etched in our memories to turn our eyes dewy when we remember certain days gone by.

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