Sabarimala: A personal odyssey
Part 1: Exploring the debate on women entry
Sabarimala almost hit the vortex of conflict this year too until the Kerala government decided not to ‘enable’ women activists (or worshippers) to have their darshan.
But there is still an uneasy calm, more so in the minds of devouts, as determined women continue to have that moment of ‘liberation’ with their ardent desire to establish their right for equality.
The entry of women aged 10 to 50 to the sanctum sanctorum has once again been a divisive and polarising force in Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s India. Whatever the political manipulations and maneuverings happening behind the scenes, the fact is established that even the so-called secular Kerala is divided.
On the one hand are liberals, leftists and women’s right campaigners who enjoy abundant support from similar-viewed media calling for abolishing what they term as a draconian legacy that challenges the notions of equality.
On the other are devotees, who prefer the status quo, and who, irrespective of their political ideology, are lumped as ‘Sanghis.’
It is hard in Kerala today to be an Ayyappa devotee without also incurring the tag of a Hindutva activist. Those who want any customs to prevail are perceived as regressive, retarded and chauvinistic, while the others wear the crown of an exalted intellectual and moral high-ground.
So is Kerala on a real path to intellectual renaissance, a move that is only stymied by these ‘class-conscious morons’ and ‘the chauvinistic Ayyappa devotees?’ Is Kerala under siege by the Hindutva morality brigade?
There are no easy answers because of the simple fact that we are talking about people, women and men in flesh and blood, each with one’s own set of beliefs, prejudices and conclusions.
As an Ayyappa devotee, my stand is firm: Ayyappa is for all, women and men, devotees or not. Ayyappa, like Almighty or Allah, is the omnipresent, the omnipotent, the all-knowing, the ever-merciful. And Ayyappa resides not only in Sabarimala but in every devotee’s heart, even if she or he fails to abide by human-made vows.
Ayyappa, unlike any other God in the Hindu mythology, stands for ultimate egalitarianism — in fact, he represents that rare (mythical) cosmic union of woman and man, the fusion of ying-and-yang, and in today’s era of sustainable living, the living-in-harmony of himan and nature.
I can think of no other multi-sub-texted fable that expresses everything that a mortal being’s life stands for — and much like Jesus Christ, making that ultimate sacrifice.
Look at the arcs that Ayyappa’s tales take you through: From his cosmic birth from the unison of the preserver (Vishnu) and the destroyer (Shiva) to his abandonment in the wild, to his adoption by a king, to braving the wild and taming the tiger (our own fears) only to realise perhaps the fickleness of being mortal….
Everything that Ayyappa did, as it has been told about the life of Prophet Mohammed (Peace Be Upon Him) in Karen Armstrong’s deeply researched Muhammad, was done in absolute terms. Nothing was half-hearted and everything was done unconditionally.
The tales of Ayyappa are also peppered with silences that prompt you to think, probe and find your own answers.
For one, why was Ayyappa insistent on not marrying Malikappuram, instead throwing at her a caveat that he will do so the year no new devotee comes to Sabarimala? Why, indeed, was she still allowed to have her presence right next to his temple-abode? Why keep the woman waiting, when all it could have taken was to invoke his universal powers to grant her the wish of marital life?
At a fundamental level, his decision is also to keep his word to his step-mom — that her son and heirs will never be threatened by anyone who blooms from Ayyappa. That his retirement to nature, away from power and foolish mortal glory, is set in stone, is absolute.
I am sure the learned and the interpreters — as well as the mischief-mongers who give twists to tales — have better, more philosophically empowered or foolishly belittling answers to these.
Whatever these are, it takes us to one of the roots of why women in the age of 10 to 50 are not allowed entry into the sanctum sanctorum.
I doubt it has anything to do with the concept of ‘impurity’ associated with menstruating women.
A fable so rich in wisdom cannot be so lame; perhaps, the tale could have been diluted to become more ‘palatable’ over centuries of oral story-telling or by those in power using the impact of story-telling to pervert the narrative to suit their needs.
Typically, though, in Kerala, menstruating women are frowned upon from entering temples and it only has to do with antiquated customs that still prevail in the country.
No amount of historical research will take you that one moment, one person, who imposed such regulations, and all that we can do is to live and let live — to each one’s own.
If it is alright for you to visit a temple while menstruating, no temple authority is going to stop you because after all, it is your private affair. The pact is between you and God. If you feel the right to go in and worship, menstruating or not, you are free to do so — because there is no infra-red scanner set to catch you in blood.
But when it comes to Sabarimala, the bar on women of 10 to 50 has more to do with the mythical narrative of Ayyappa. And that calls for a modicum of respect from anyone — devotee or not.
Note that word, mythical, here: after all, most of our beliefs rest in myths.
From the Immaculate Conception (that deprives Virgin Mary of the blight of the original sin — which is nothing but a sexual intercourse) to many more, every religion, every faith has fables and anecdotes that are part of their theological body. Even Buddhism has its legacy of fables.
Such fables are not fodder to grow religion but to establish a semblance of order and to weave in a bit of mystery that is inherent in faith. Faith, after all, moves mountains because that is what absolute faith does.
One doesn’t look for loopholes in fables or faith.
So long as Ayyappa is perceived as the forever celibate, so long as he keeps his own (probably carnal) desires at bay, there is no reason why an ardent devotee must be reminded of the flesh on his pilgrimage.
After all, not every mind is holy, and not every mind has the will to overrule every temptation.
That is but the most simplistic explanation for why women need not clamour for Sabarimala entry now, but it also embeds the most profound logic: A respect for the deity, a nod to his oath to celibacy, a bow to his own sacrifices.
If an Ayyappa devotee cannot honour that, there is little reason why they must be in Sabarimala.
As for those who break that respect, well, their journey must be made not with the glee of conquest but with heads low, in repentance of the disrespect.
Ayyappa won’t punish you, what may be, because, as every religion says, if you go to the God’s abode in humility, in piety, in belief, your pact with God (who is none other you, your barest of bare soul in its purest form) is made. And nobly so.
(Part 2: Memories of Sabarimala)
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