What's in a name? that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet

Both Orr’s book and Soneji’s article – two scholars whom I have had the chance to hear talk on campus in the last couple months - investigate the temple women traditions in India – both focusing on the traditions found in the south. The term chosen to be used in both of these pieces for reference to these women was problematic in the authors’ eyes. Soneji chose the term devadasi. Although there is a great deal of problems associated with this term – which Soneji clearly outlines - he decided to use it because “they [the temple women still alive today] insist on referring to themselves as devadasi, despite the extreme social stigma attached to this identity.” (Soneji 31) Soneji comments that the women favour the term devadasi because is links them to spiritual and temple traditions. Words such as bhogam or sani were offensive to the majority of the women in his study as “these terms appear to have acquired a more severely pejorative connotation in the early part of the twentieth century.” (Soneji 45 n.4) This is the same time when their identity as “prostitutes” was becoming more common and solidified. Orr sticks with the less overtly problematic term “temple women,” as she focuses on how their identity should be seen as defined by location – by the temple with which they are dedicated to. In this week’s response I wanted to focus on these women’s identity – mistaken or otherwise – as “prostitutes.”

Often when hearing about temple women this term comes up, alone with a number of questions. Did they have sexual relations with the priests, possibly as a form of worship? Did they have relations with patrons? Etc. Orr focuses on the Chola period and she believed the temple women were clearly sexually active at this time, but this was not significant to their identities (Orr 174). In Soneji’s article it is clear that these women did take lover’s – but having one lover who may have supported them as patron is not necessarily “prostitution.” Indeed Soneji writes “Most of the women I have encountered have had only one partner in their lives.” (Soneji 41) This is very similar to a marriage – the only difference is it is not official. I do not see how this could be mistaken for prostitution, even if the man did pay for his relations with the women so too do many husbands – who are expected in this society to take care of the woman’s financial needs.

Although Orr’s book does not focus on the issue of Temple woman’s reputation of prostitution it is still an important issue that appears multiple times in her book as she claims that it is beyond the scope of this particular study to interpret the significance of the term “prostitute” in the inscriptions she looked at (Orr 50). Although she does not focus on the issue she definitely takes measures to problematize this association – similar to Soneji’s work.

She outlines how their identity and association with “prostitution” has evolved over time and should not be seen as a constant across time nor place – as different regions across India viewed them differently, even if the devadasi tradition is often defined as a pan-Indic tradition. Though this very argument is problematic if one focuses on the “degeneration of the tradition from the past. This is due to the Orientalists romantisization of the past, of an imagined “golden age”. Therefore this focus on the role of the devadasis having evolved over time from a position of prestige to a position as “whores” is possible only an imagined evolution. We know little of the past – and especially little concerning the actual role of women as they are often left out (a topic discussed by Orr herself). It is therefore easy to imagine them once having more freedoms. For example, emphasis is often made on their being allowed to attained rituals in the Vedas, but not in later periods.

Soneji talks of Haimavati who remembers being mistaken for a jogin – Dalit prostitute – and expected to perform as a jogin would perform. He writes “She told me how requests for songs that implicated the -identities of devadasis as prostitutes became frequent” (Soneji 38) Over time in the “post –scocial reform period” these women started to gain a new identity as “whores.” Did this new form identity ultimately lead to their demise? It may not have been the prude British colonialist who were the first to apply such an identity to these women. Yet, if they are introduced to the women under the context of their new (mistaken) identity of “whore” it is easy to see how their prudish sensibilities were offended and thus banned the traditions. This banning of the traditions ironically caused a “self-fulfilling prophecy” (Soneji 39) as many young women indeed turned to prostitution once their temple funds stopped flowing.

It is difficult to define how these women were perceived at all stages in time. They have created their own pasts – reminiscing about their long disappeared prestige – as well as being victims of the romantisization of the West which elevated as long disappeared “golden age.” It does appear though – at some level – that over time in both the European and Indian imagination the temple women’s representation as a prostitute has become solidified, as this is generally a common term used in association with the traditions and obviously remains a large topic of concern.

Referring back to their pan-Indic identity, Orr does make it clear that different terms were used in inscriptions across India to refer to these women – which would signal that they were indeed not viewed the same across the subcontinent. From the inscription found in the North 25% refer to the women as “prostitutes”. In Karnataka 29% of the inscriptions use a similar term. Yet in Andhra Pradesh and Tamil Nadu – the regions both these studies focused on – only 3% of the inscriptions which mentions temple women have any mention of them being associated with “prostitutes.” (Orr 49) In the Agama texts Orr looked at, interestingly, half of the references to the women associated with the temples are referred to in terms meaning “prostitute.” (Orr 215 n.14) Therefore the arguments set forth in both Soneji’s article and Orr’s book really only apply to the areas of study and not the entire subcontinent – these are traditions that should not be understood as pan-Indic. Both authors make this distinction clear. Orr states that the women may have been prostitutes in North India and Karnataka but not in Tamil Nadu – particularly not in the Chola period which is her time of study (Orr 50).

Our association of these women and their traditions with prostitutes and prostitution continues to need to be problematized and unravelled – but as Orr says the scope of the topic is far too vast (as is evident in my far too long post...)

Devadasi Women-the memory dancers

The first striking point in this article is the reference to identity as memory. The devadasi remembers “fragments of the past” from which they re-enact a past identity from which they have been expelled as “private journeys of recollection.” they are referred to as “embodied memories” and take on a great import and status than a fleeting recollection of events. Their memories determine their identities. This introduction to the article gives the eerie ghost-like sense to this class of women who once ousted from their well respected and secure position affiliated with a particular temple to a peripheral “shadow’ figure reflects marginalized peoples everywhere and the importance of recording these fleeting remnants of a culture.

In the article Davesh Soneji posits that this identity is linked to their training in dance and music and their traditional role in the community as “embodiments of enjoyment. Originally trained as part of a group and associated with a temple, they performed at ritual temple celebrations, the court and private events. With the abolishing of temple dancing through the Madras Devadasi act of 1947 temple dancing disappeared but continued in the private sector and eventually into the private realm of memory and nostalgia, yet even in the private realm there was the threat of arrest and public humiliation.


For private performances devadasi kalapam poets wrote stories in acts that were then interpreted through dance, that were performed sometimes over a period of days. Concert repertoire was called kacceri. The Andhar devadasi court repertory in the 19th and 20th century relied heavily on the Tanjuvur court repertory as it developed under the Maratha patronage as it developed in 19th c Tamilnadu. Some dances became systemized by the Tanjuvar quartet, dance masters whose ancestors had been serving in the court since the 17th century. Even in this brief summary it is evident that traditionally this was a diverse and rich art form.

The erotic poems (padams) such as the work of the 17th c poet Ksetrayya formed part of the public performances done at court and in homes. Tanjuvar court dance was a medley of different influences, aspects of indigenious Tamil culture, the Maratha culture of Northern Deccan, Teluga literary practice and even colonial modernity. The devadasi were hired on specific life occasions such as birth and wedding celebrations or for pure entertainment purposes at parties and would perform in exchange for gifts or fees. Performances at life events such as weddings showed status for the patron and as endowing “auspiciousness” to the bride through the symbolic transfer of her qualities as “an ever-auspicious” during the wedding process. In the ritual of tying the black beads of the groom’s wedding necklace she bestowed the blessing of long life.

Expulsion from the temple with the imposition of the new laws caused hardship for the temple dancers, they lost their land and livelihood and in many cases were sent to institutions (reform houses). Many began dancing in film or became prostitutes with their traditional social network removed. They also faced the derision and criticism of the Christian missionaries who viewed them as immoral.

For the modern devadasi performance, memory and identity are inextricably linked.
Part of their identity centered around their relationship as women with upper-caste men and the lack of menstrual pollution in their community, aspects that were different from other women. Historically it was accepted for upper caste married men to maintain relationships and even have families with the devadasi. The central point upon which social reform led by Dr. Reddi for the devadasi revolved as their sexuality, whereby using the rhetoric of victimization, their very open sexuality was distorted and presented as oppressive. Clearly this was a misrepresentation. The terms the devadasi used to refer to themselves clearly distinguishes themselves as distinct and proudly not a “householder” but “sani” wife of the lord. They do not refer to themselves as married but as “initiation of the virgin”. Therefore in their own self definition of identity they do not refer to themselves in any way as victimized or oppressed. They usually had a relationship with one man only and this was often arranged by the family much like an arranged marriage. Because of their status as “auspicious women” they do not observe the pollution associated with their periods or with death.. Many of the dances are preserved by few devadasi today. They try to maintain their matrifocal households, pride in their knowledge and origins through which their identities were formed in the fragile shifting modern society.

I found this article intriguing. The fabric of the identity of these women is so intimately tied to so many other aspects of the traditional religion and customs of the society they are like a living “memory mirror” reflection of the society itself, unique and fascinating. These women were obviously both powerful and important. Particularly interesting is the reference to dance was hand gestures “mudras” where the movement of hands is mimesis for the story…a compelling and very culture specific art form. I would have liked to have been given more of the historical origins to this and to the devadasi tradition as a whole to put it more fully into the larger framework of Indian cultural history.

The 'Other' Side of the Devadasi

Leslie Orr and Davesh Soneiji, did an excellent job in reframing the context in which devadasi (temple women) have been viewed socially by Western scholars after British colonization. What they attempt to do is try to restore a tradition that not only has been lost to the social reform movement, but also has been greatly misinterpreted. They focus on a very important point, the fact that self interest (colonial powers) have focused on manipulating certain situations for the purpose of their own political agenda. They stress that women who were devadasi were not in fact victimized, oppressed or being abused for sexual fulfillments, but that they were in fact agents in shaping their own faiths. Soneiji illustrates through the lives of devadasi’s how these women actually enjoyed what became not only part of their identity but their profession (whether sexual relations were involved or not). This however is an argument that greatly meets his bias, one is left to question what part of the population actually suffered from being sold into this type of profession? The fact that children were involved in this institution makes me question this. In other words, one could certainly argue that since these woman start as children they are manipulated to think a certain way. It is one thing to support this institution in terms of wrong political agendas, but not right to support it when there are human rights abuses.

The fact that the temple was generating money that the state did not have a control over was one of the reasons for its elimination. This is very central in the moves that these women made from the temple (public) to the court (more controlled) to the home which is totally inclusive. It has almost evolved into a practice that is no more accessible but is reached only through ‘illegal’ means. More specifically the sanctions put on them make it a lot harder for the survival of these institutions. Therefore, I agree with the argument put forward that the government forces these institutions out for reasons of controlling the flow of money. However, the fact that these women need money for their survival should be taken into consideration. The government who at first tries to subdue these institutions for monetary reasons, has now created an atmosphere that leads to more degradation than before. More specifically, now these women are forced to become prostitutes, because they are cut out of support that they were once getting.

The last interesting point is how Soneiji illustrates that past experience plays a prominent role in one’s identity. To illustrate, he speaks to many women who still hold onto the memories of when they were temple women. He shows then how these women are socially and ritually shaped by these past experiences, that even though there are religious conventions that state that women cannot be menstruating when doing ritual acts, they do not hold to this up to present day. What is problematic is that the author does not take into account how with historical changes these identities could have been changed or informed. This assumes that one’s identity is stagnant. However, this is problematic. Sometimes identities change according to social acceptance. For example, now that it is a little more acceptable to have sex changes, one’s identity can take a dramatic turn. In this respect, one’s past memories holds no significance in such an individual’s life.

These authors illustrate how modernity can do more violence to a cultural perspective. In other words, the fact that colonists come in and try implement western ideals, is in fact imposing a matrix that is not even called for. What if these women were happy with their surrounding circumstances? This is the question that is definitely being addressed. In other words, maybe the situations were such that the woman felt they were not being oppressed or victimized.

Unfaithful Devadasi’s: Questioning the “Prostitute” Implications of Devadasi’s

I really enjoyed this weeks readings they were very interesting. Leslie Orr provides a convincing argument in her book towards what it meant to be “temple women”, and the functions she had as such. By defining “temple women”, Orr brings up a very interesting and convincing point. Why were these women classified as prostitutes or dancers with sexual connotations? If this were the case then why would they be associated with a holy, pure and sacred institution? Clearly, the main function of the devadasi had nothing to do with prostitution, and Orr outlines this. The term devadasi is a colonial term that has colonial meaning attached to it. The role of prostitution was attached to the devadasi when colonial powers came in, because it was another way for them to obtain and maintain power. Indian reformers gave them this title because it kept them oppressed with no place in society. I think the whole devadasi institution threatened male authority. As these women started to play larger roles in the temple this lead to recognition in the public sphere, which is something that was never granted to them before. What better way to get rid of this threat than to declare that the women were prostitutes? If these women claimed that they were married to God, how could they be prostitutes? Doesn’t cheating lower their morality?

Clearly the role of the devadasi was reinterpreted by colonial powers as they came into India and applied their perspectives on this art of women. The South Indian interpretation of these women was divorced from this interpretation completely. I refer to this as the “secularization” of the devadasi. Where we have the South Indian devadasi as opposed to the secular one (prostitute).

Soneji’s Article, “Living History, Performing Memory: Devadasi Women in Telugu-Speaking South India”, is narrow in its scope because it fails to include a proper definition of “temple women”, he clearly explores one sort of temple women and fails to offer other functions that they performed. His presentation of temple women would be related to what Orr defines as palace women. What Soneji clarifies is the changing roles of these women. He discusses the performances of devadasi’s in temples to raise monetary funds, and their performances in the courts as a form of entertainment, but for gifts, and lastly the move of the devadasi from these institutions into the home where she performs strictly for monetary funds. In this scenario we see the devadasi moving away from her temple identity to something other then a temple women or servant. When she is removed from the temple, can we still call her a devadasi, or does she become something else? I believe that the devadasi is tied to the temple and thus, cannot be seen outside of it. I believe what started out as a service strictly for the temple and God turned into a service that was performed solely for economic gain.

What is very interesting about this is that these women were accorded the status of temple women through their donations to the temple in the earlier periods, but as time goes on these women give themselves this status separate from the temple. Soneji illustrates that women continued to identify themselves as temple women separate from the temple and perform services for others outside of the temple. Can they give themselves this status? Is this just another way to make money? The only reason I can come up with as to why these women continue to identify themselves as devadasi’s after its out ruling, is that these women still have a sense that this title in some way or the other classifies their union with God and allows them to participate in the realm of the religious, something that was never really accorded to them in the past.

Dancing Once th Music Has Stopped: The Reflections of South Indian Devadasis

Davesh Soneji
“Living History, Performing Memory: Devadasi Women in Telugu-Speaking South India”

This was a thoroughly enjoyable article. It’s only Sunday, so I may yet address Orr (or the extent of which I managed to plough through by Tues), but since Soneji’s article is fresh in my mind, I thought, ‘why not write about it?’ At the onset of his paper, he asserts that for retired women (e.g., the five women mentioned: Manikyam, Anusuya, Varahalu, Seshachalam, Maithili) to call themselves devadasis (which he parenthetically defines as “women artists who served I temples and/or courts”) is problematic since they do not retain the markers thereof, i.e., public song and dance, temple ritual, tax-free land, home-blessings. However, as Soneji’s fieldwork aims to demonstrate, these women maintain their devadasi status through memories where they identify themselves to past activity.

Soneji, as an ethnographer, hopes to gain insight into these embodied memories, but insight into what, I wonder – into the past, or into these women’s personal recollected experiences thereof? These are by no means mutually exclusive, but they must not be conflated. He argues that identity may be produced through acts of memory (31) and that these devadasis of Andhra employ such a memory-wrought sense of identity in order to “affirm their subjectivity in the present”. I wasn’t sure if he was at all interested in claiming the survival of devadasi performance in the community as a whole. But by the end, I think it’s clear he is referring only to these women’s nostalgic realities. Indeed, these private renditions of ancient performances are living artifacts, covertly attesting to the survival of Devadasi performance in South Asia. However, to what extent is an artifact “living”? (I suppose we need look no further than Davis book, and hopefully we can draw parallels next class.) It is, of course, existent, but existent as a relic. These nostalgic performances are reenactments of past performances, not extensions thereof. The key, I think, is the absence of audience. But this begs the question as to whether a performance requires an audience. I am tempted to say yes, in some sense. What I mean, is that a chef who hasn’t cooked in 50 years, may very well consider himself a chef, and may even self-identify as a chef, but is he contributing to the culinary world in any meaningful way? Sure, he may make his own meals, but is he then a chef-proper? If so, aren’t we all? In any case, these private expressions of memory are not living performances which serve to enliven the culture. Is Soneji’s focus then, these women, or their surrounding culture? For him to say that devadasi performances are alive in these woman (arguing the inextricability between memory, identity, and performance existing within them) is different from saying that it thrives within their culture. Toward his conclusion, he states that these isolates relics they may not be socially effective, but are effective on the level of individual identity.

As an aside, I can appreciate the issue of naming which he addresses at the outset. Although Sanskrit culture associates the term ‘devadasi’ with homogenized pan-Indian understandings of these often-sexual performers. He refers to these women as kalavantulu (those trained in music and dance), which are only a sub-set of bhogam, or women serving as “embodiments of enjoyment”, referring to their “non-normative sexuality”. This goes beyond the services of the kavalavati category, but is apparently comparable to the connotations of a devadasi in general. So, basically, he uses the term devadasi to refer to kalavati, and not bhogam. In harnessing the vernacular culturally-specific terminology, he a) emphasizes how problematic existent terminology can be in implicitly propagating misrepresentation, b) demonstrates the various meanings and connotations which a term such as “devadasi” can hold in from differing perspectives. I definitely need to be mindful of this in future employment of terms such as “aesthetics”, “kavya”, etc.

Soneji talks of troupes of kavalantulu arising in late nineteenth century which operates as professional guilds of sorts. They performed both in temples and in private settings, though the repertoire for each was the same. He demonstrates the tripartite context of postcolonial devadasi performance: temple, court, and residence. We are told that the private variety of such dance survived the Madras Devadasi (Prevention and Dedication) Act of 1947, but eventually perished due to an amendment of this act in 1956 which prohibited such dancing at all social affairs. This amendment, as we learn through saddening testimony, robbed these women of their art, their status, and their livelihood. Soneji argues that such dance has survived, but occurs behind the scenes, without an audience.

Also, he mentions that “in the early twentieth century, when traditional systems of patronage were dismantled, in a self-fulfilling prophecy, some younger devadasis indeed turned to prostitution” (39). However, where is the source of this information? Is it not feasible that although there clearly is a thriving non-sexual artistry at work, that the association between sexuality and this type of artistry (as exemplified by the “businessmen from the city, tax collectors, and ministers” who frequently requested songs subtly implicating these dancers as prostitutes ) was prevalent before this? Could it not be that there have always been a subset of devadasis who engaged in some form of prostitution? If this was not the case, then the association between devadasis and prostitutes would have originated in the early twentieth century and not before.

Soneji’s work outlines a fascinating distinction between the sphere of the family and the sphere of the devadasi, and the construction and regulation of sexuality manifesting in each sphere. I get the sense that the presence sexual services in the repertoire of a devadasi by no means imply that all other skills and services are subsumed or eclipsed by their sexuality: they are dancers, who can be sexual, not prostitutes who can dance. They were not ultimately defined by their relations with men, nor their ability to produce children. In this context neither marriage nor reproduction is a requisite aspect of womanly life. An equally fascinating dimension to devadasi-ship is the unique relationship they enjoy to the purity-pollution dichotomy. This is the first I have heard, among those concerned with ritual purity in the Hindu context, where menstruating women would not be considered impure. Likewise, this is the first I’ve heard of any community exempt from the impurity of death upon losing a loved one. I’m hoping someone out there studying purity and pollution catches wind of the devadasi scenario. However, I think that the very act that they are exempt from ritual purity does not reneder their artistry as separate from the religious sphere, but ironically, binds them tighter to it. They are always ritually pure!

This brings us to the million dollar questions: to what extend does this craft belong in the sphere of religion versus that of aesthetics? To what extent does it straddle both. Of course there were devadasi performances at homes, but were these not at occasions such as marriages and festivals, indeed occasions heavily imbued with religious overtones? Also, the unique social status of these devadasis, as operating slightly outside the rubric of social expectation (marriage, children, etc.), is conferred on them due to a relationship they enjoy with the sacred sphere. They aid in ritual acts and dance for the enjoyment of the gods. I’m sure we’ll have lots to discuss on Wed. And now the even bigger question, because it directly pertains to the lives of these women, what is a dancer who is forbidden to dance? One of the most disheartening realities of this work is that these women who reconstruct their identity from “scattered fragments of remembrance, knowledge, and experience” will soon enough become themselves such fragments. Once they cross the threshold of death, their skills, knowledge, and personal identifications will die with them: These women who so vividly remember will only be vaguely remembered.

Living Images-the icon as transcendence within immanence.

The devotional poetry of the Tamil saints exemplifies the premise of Davis's book "Living Images". The itinerate poets wandered from temple to temple singing praises to the living embodiment of the Gods in the material icons and expressing their personal relationship with these images. This relationship models the penultimate Hindu view of the way in which the devotee should approach the image; as simultaneously site for the possibility of transcendence contained in the immanent manifestation in material form. As the poet Sambandhar wrote of his experience of Siva in his aspect as Vrsabhabahana:

A heron feather and the bright datura
Adorn his matted hair
His flame red body
Is covered with white ash
Over his girdle and loincloth
He has bound a tigerskin
Encircled by lovely snakes
Thus, with anklets ringing,
The Lord of Citticcaram shrine
Comes riding on his bull.

In this devotion description of the iconography the poet is describing his aesthetic of devotion. He is not simple describing physical objects as found on the small descriptions of the deity when displayed in a museum he is describing the living divinity inherent in the image. As Davies succinctly puts it "The poet conflates the image and God." What the poet sees is grounded within the premise that God is simultaneously transcendent and immanent, ubiquitous and yet forcefully present in certain places.

This is the premise of the entire book that Davis has so adroitly woven through his various examples of the lives of various images and their "lives" throughout history. The primary power that shapes the trials and tribulations, honours and status of the Hindu image originates in the belief by the devotee that these physical representations are inseparable from the living presence to the divinity itself. Through this premise the devotional fabric of the medieval India culture shapes the course of the events of these images and their confrontations and encounters with other cultures who may not adhere to this same framework. He carries the premise into his style of presentation in the book by calling the stories he presents biographies, the life story of the image through the passage of time.

In many cases the images go into hiding and re-emerge to become part of the social fabric of the cultures that come into contact with them. Beginning with the Didarganj yakshi that emerges from the riverbank of the Ganges Davis illustrates that images have lives. The image encounters the two societies present in Didarganj at that time (1917), the local devotees who enshrine the image and incorporate it into their living rituals unhesitatingly and unquestioningly and the British officials who assert their authority and superiority over the local community and carry it away to a museum. The image has different value for these two audiences, cult value for the villagers and exhibition value for the British officials. The illustrations that Davis uses act as a brilliant foil for the points he makes about the various societies of influence on the images. Davis's theory is both modern and creative, allowing a comprehensive look into the complex, rich and sophisticated society within which these images originated.

I Knew Ganesha Was Alive When He Began Drinking Milk Through His Trunk In 1995

As a child growing up in Bombay, my favourite of the festivals that livened up the otherwise-quite suburban streets of my hometown was the weeklong celebration of Ganesha Chathruti in the autumn. Living a stones throw from the beach, meant that all the local processions inevitably led down, or around, my little street – statues held high, laddus for all, hymns sung through megaphones, lorries loaded with people on their way to the Arabian sea to immerse Lord Ganesha in its waters. I loved the pomp, the loudness, the life that got infused into the city throughout this festival, the larger-than-life statues that took weeks to build…only to be sent off into the salty waters of the sea. It all seemed so animated and colourful in contrast to the midnight masses that marked the biggest celebration of my own faith tradition!

This week’s Davis reading reminded me about that time in my life when I had first-hand interaction with the living Saiva tradition. Yet somehow, whilst reading, I realized that I was much like the museum visitors in Washington, paying to appreciate the statues of Siva and Parvati. There was a distance between me and that living religious experience – the distance allowed me to appreciate the events of Ganesha Chathruti as more of an aesthetic experience – one to be watched from the balcony, rather than one to be experienced on a spiritual plane.

I believe that this is what Davis means when he says, “an Indian image does not appear to us in a museum the same as it does to Indian worshipers in a temple” (17). Siva worshipers in India engage in an active interaction of worship as opposed to the passive divide that exists between object and observer in an aesthetic setting, such as a museum. This is illustrated in the different perspectives of the lingum figure…Where to the Western aesthetic eye, it is insignificant and hence not thought of as worthy of being in museum displays, to the Indian worshiper, the linga is “regarded as the root manifestation of divinity and the emanating source of all other temple images” (Davis, 18)…In other words, not only is it intrinsically divine, it is also the essence of the divinity in that temple.

This past weekend, I spent the better part of Saturday visiting three different places of worship. One of them was the Shri Swaminarayan Mandir at Highway 427 and Finch in north Toronto. Once again, I was playing the role of observer – removed from the tradition and admiring the religious and architectural richness from the outside, looking in. Since my tour group arrived at about 11AM, our guide in the temple told us that we would be unable to go upstairs to the main place of worship because until 11:30AM, “God was having lunch.” I looked up through the skylight of the havelli and thanked Jung for his theory of synchronicity because had I not been reading Davis’s chapter on living images, I would not have been able to fully appreciate God’s lunchtime! Our tour guide also explained that the statues of the deities are regulary bathed, redressed for bedtime, sleep at night, and are fed three meals a day – much like if they were living, breathing beings…which for all intents and purposes, they are believed to be.

Similarly, Davis states that the Siva and Parvati images of Tiruvengadu would have appeared to their viewers “not as simple metal icons, but as living beings covered over in the material and social adornments of their livelihood” (20).

Saivas believe that the divine presence is invoked by ritual and comes to inhabit the statue. For this reason, for the south Indian Saivas, religious icons like the stone linga and the bronze image of Siva at Tiruvengadu are, in fact, fundamentally living and divine beings.

On the other, aesthetically minded, hand the figures of Siva and Parvati are admired for their art quality. They are evaluated as “art objects” that are to be awarded careful treatment. I found this very interesting – that in the West, we treat art objects almost religiously – ensuring proper moisture levels and optimum lighting; we use hushed voices to point out this detail and that. Almost ritually, we in the West know how to operate around objective art. Which leads me to wonder, what happens when art is no longer objective – but rather subjective of a living religion?

I find it interesting that temple worshipers are traditionally separate from the actual divine subjects – having the temple priest interact with the gods on the public’s behalf. This vicarious relationship with the statues is still considered an active interaction with a living God. On the other hand, the visitor to a museum is also removed from the statue – whether it be by a physical barrier like a glass case, or a velvet rope, or polite space…however, this objective aesthetic experience can also produce something akin to rasa, no? And couldn’t we argue then, that that is a religious experience?