Arun Ezhuthachan's Sacred Sins Looks At Devadasi Culture In Contemporary India

In 2008, journalist Arun Ezhuthachan decided to investigate whether the banned dance bars of Mangaluru would continue illegally. What he stumbled upon, however, was an intricate web of old beliefs and new-age oppression - the modern devadasi. Young girls were dedicated to temples, only to end up as mistresses of upper-caste men and abandoned once they were older. Speaking to locals, NGOs and the devadasis themselves, Arun began to follow the whispered clues to these forsaken women in all corners of India.

Revealing how the oppression of women continues to be veiled by religion, this explosive journalistic account brings to light an India ridden with casteism, patriarchy and abject poverty. The heart-wrenching stories and shocking revelations of Sacred Sins will leave you dismayed, appalled and blazing for change.

Here's an excerpt from Arun Ezhuthachan's Sacred Sins

The city of Davanagere is on the western side of Karnataka, about 265 kilometres from Bengaluru on NH4 and 284 kilometres from Mangaluru. Davanagere is also the headquarters of its eponymous district, which was formed when Chitradurga district was split up in 1997.



The pilgrim centre of Uchangi is another 30 kilometres east of Davanagere. Uchangi was historically significant as the capital of the Pandya kings. I grew interested in this temple town when I read several newspaper accounts which reported that a Durga temple atop a hill here was a hotspot for devadasi initiation rituals. According to my friends in the Karnataka press, such activities continued unabated despite being legally banned.



I arrived in Davanagere on the day of the full moon in Magha along with three friends, scriptwriter KR Hari, Sibi from Kodungallur, and Rathish from Kodagu. Hari had come here earlier to see the Maghapournami festivities when he was an engineering student. Rathish was my translator, as it was essential to grasp the nuances of the dialect spoken in these interior areas. We hailed a cab to Uchangi right from the railway station itself.

Our cab driver, Kumar, was delighted when we told him we had come all this way to pay our obeisance at the Durga temple hearing

of its fame. As he grew more enthusiastic, the car seemed to accelerate further. Kumar regaled us with several tales of the temple.

All his stories invariably had the same central theme of the goddess’s unquestionable power.



The devadasi system was banned in Karnataka in 1982. However, the practice continued in Uchangi both covertly as well as openly. The orthodox refused to accept the ban, seeing it as an encroachment into tradition. This was clear from Kumar’s words when he said, ‘Bans exist only on paper. Can the government prohibit divine customs? No. That is why the system continues here with the blessings of goddess Uchangi. These matters are related to the culture of our village and cannot be ignored. The priests in the temple will vouch for it. They say that if the tradition is discontinued, our village will plunge into destruction, which is why they support it. Even the parents of the girls bring them voluntarily despite the ban. Who else but the mother-goddess is responsible for this? Laws are just an eyewash, sir; these things will continue. The government is also aware of this. They will have to pay heed to people’s faith. How else can they get the votes that keep them in power?’ he ended ominously.



We had covered half the journey, leaving behind Davanagere and several remote villages. Corn fields were on either side of the road, the dull yellowish hue of their leaves on the verge of fading. Scattered tree houses that were used as watchtowers were built in the middle of the fields, breaking the monotony. Once we crossed the maize fields, we could see clusters of small homes – some thatched, some tiled – dotting the landscape, which slowly gave way to vast expanses of sunflower fields. It appeared as though

an entire ocean of yellow flowers had been torn asunder by a black tape – the road that seemed to stretch endlessly.



My heart sank as I surveyed the road. I felt that the taxi was not going quick enough for us to reach the temple by the evening. The timing was crucial to get a comprehensive view of the rituals that are related to the devadasi tradition.



However, events later that evening made it clear as to how laws and bans become totally irrelevant when all sections of a society as well as the government jointly believe in retaining the status quo.



As we got closer to the temple, the roadside became more interesting. Groups of people were travelling with young girls in tow, who wore festive clothes, were bedecked in flowers and bore salvers that carried offerings to the deity.



Older women with matted hair also accompanied them, instructing the younger girls to move aside when vehicles passed by. Some of the older women were also carrying offerings. ‘These are the older jogammas (devadasis),’ Kumar explained. ‘The younger ones are to be initiated as new jogammas. The photo you see on the plates is of the goddess Uchangi.’



It seemed that the little girls had about them the mild curiosity of someone who had come to watch a festival from somewhere far away without actually participating in it. Only a few eyes betrayed the traces of what was to happen.



The older women, on the other hand, had the air of being in control, directing every motion of the younger girls. There were several groups consisting of only old jogammas too.



Kumar then pointed to the distance and said, ‘That is the Uchangi temple.’ Beyond the sunflower fields was a hillock, atop which a small light was visible. It was quarter past six, and it was growing dark. I began to feel restless as I wished to take a picture of the temple in natural light. The road to the temple grew more and more crowded. Swarms of jogammas now descended on the road, their fervent but unfamiliar chants of ‘uda, uda’ reverberating in the air.



It was nearly seven by the time we reached the valley that led to the temple. We had to cross a sunflower field through a dirt road before the uphill climb. By then, the cries of ‘uda’ had become loud enough to drown out our conversations. We bid goodbye to Kumar and joined the crowd ascending the hill.

Extracted with permission from Arun Ezhuthachan's Sacred Sins, translated by Meera Gopinath and published by Hachette India

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