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Reluctant inheritors
of a tainted legacy?
 Respected
in the past, heirs to wealth and property, patrons of the arts and now reduced
to little more than sex workers, Chinmayee Manjunath tracks
the life of devadasis
Friday
is the sacred day of Renuka Yallamma, the goddess worshipped by the devadasis.
For centuries, devadasis have trekked to Yallamma Gudda in Savadatti, Belgaum,
to appease their deity. On this damp Friday afternoon, however, I watch
Devi, a devadasi, cajole her little daughter Maheshwari to do her homework.
We are seated in the courtyard of her hovel in Kotkal, a tiny village half-an-hour
away from Savadatti. The temple, the goddess and her traditions are alien
to Devi’s life. A devadasi in the 21st century has more to worry about.
She needs to feed her children and ensure a roof over their heads. Apart
from Devi, there are five other devadasis here. To find them has been the
work of an entire morning, and a peek into the ugly underbelly of the socially
ostracised.
Today
the only sign of the shared fate of devadasis is the green bangles
on their hands. The younger ones sport roses and jasmine in their
hair. None of them are married and most of them have children, the
result of liaisons they have entered into to fend off hunger |
‘Devadasi’
can be literally translated as ‘a servant of god’. But colloquially,
the word refers to women considered married to god. A devadasi is a nitya
sumangali, eternally free from widowhood. The origins of the practice are
still disputed but historians agree that by the 10th century the number
of devadasis in a temple was a sign of the clout it enjoyed. Respected in
the past, heirs to wealth and property, patrons of the arts and now reduced
to little more than prostitutes, devadasis have a history that is as enthralling
as it is poignant.
And no other place is as much a witness to this transformation as the Renuka
Yallamma temple in Savadatti, an innocuous town on the border between Karnataka
and Maharashtra. Before one reaches the main temple complex, the first stop
is Jogula Bhavi, where pilgrims cleanse themselves in a huge tank. The place
is teeming with cars and buses, disgorging devotees who have taken vows
that they will fulfil now. To the sound of high-pitched chanting, they cover
themselves in neem leaves and offer plates filled with bhakri (a kind of
roti) and pulses to an earthen deity.
 But
mention the word ‘devadasi’ here and you are greeted with blank
looks. “They don’t come here except on Randi Poornima,”
says one woman. Randi Poornima, she explains, is when devadasis from different
parts of the state congregate at the temple and perform the rituals handed
down to them over generations. Seeing my disappointment, she adds, “But
just check the temple, some may be there.” Later, the devadasis in
Kotkal are amused by the fact that I visited Savadatti. “Why? They
don’t even acknowledge our existence now,” smiles Devi.
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July 17, 2004
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