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[page 275]
Pamyla A. Stiehl
Bharata Natyam:
A Dialogical Interrogation of Feminist Voices in Search of the Divine
Dance
She cannot forget her ideal, her history,
and asks her reflection: Am I any different from my devadasi mother,
forced to leave the precincts of the temple? Has history repeated itself?
Has the pattern come full circle? Am I now like my devadasi mother,
becoming essentially expendable, valueless? She pauses, but briefly.
It is time for the next performance.
(Avanthi Meduri, "Bharata Natyam -- What Are You" 19)
Avanthi
Meduri speaks from experience; she is a Bharata Natyam dancer and choreographer.
She is also a soul-searching female scholar who raises significant questions
regarding the place of Bharata Natyam as danced by a modern-day woman.
The above quote represents a feminist investigation within a contemporary
dance framework, yet the potency and persistence of such queries are timeless
for any female dancer. When India's Bharata Natyam revival and reform
movements gained momentum in the 1920s and 30s, dialectical tensions arose
between the separate camps, their ideologies, and their activities; for
the "perverted" dance of the devadasi was reconstructed as a
nationalist emblem while the devadasi, herself, was legislatively barred
from her religious profession. Interrogating this potent time period,
many feminists have deconstructed the development of contemporary Bharata
Natyam. They use material theory to point to the dancer's exploitation,
commodification, and marginalization as the temple dance became secularized
and the dancer became objectified, inscribed within patriarchal or Orientalist
paradigms as a gendered, emblematic, or sociopolitical Other. These constrictions
and inscriptions have also influenced modern choreographers as they tried
to reclaim and empower the dance form by further reconstituting it, absorbing
its "formal" technique and corporeal vocabulary into their own
choreographic theory and dance compositions.
But,
where does God fit into these arguments and strategies? Especially critical
is an acknowledgement of both the devotional, spiritual journey which
constitutes the art of Bharata Natyam and, more generally, the transcendental
power of dance. This is where a divine tension [page
276] lies which can empower the dancing, female body. Significantly,
when the dance is disconnected from its divine potential, it may sit as
an inanimate object, ready for commodification and control. Further, when
the dancing body is discussed separately from the spirit, it can be positioned
as a material site of exploration and deconstruction by theorists. Yet,
in Bharata Natyam, such concepts of dualism are nowhere to be found. Its
dance journey is both religious sacrament and divine conduit, resulting
in a realization of the oneness of self and the cosmos. In this same vein,
the erotic/sexual (shringara) element of Bharata Natyam represents
synthesis between opposites by which a new empowered entity can arise,
exceeding each isolated binary unit. When genders maintain separate, fundamental
essences, the energetic movement through multiple significations may result
in a complex composition of wholeness. In this paper, I dialogically engage
with feminists who have critically examined the material significations
of Bharata Natyam in its contemporary configuration. I argue that aspects
of their critiques fall short when they ignore the metaphysical power
of the devotional dance. For a woman may progress through stages of Bharata
Natyam; and in a sublime, performative moment -- a moment that has been
achieved by "gendered" agency -- she may rise to the level of
the superior being. In order to combine with Shiva, she meets him on the
same plane.
According
to Hindu belief, dance on earth would not have happened without the woman.
As recounted in the Natya Shastra (100 BCE - 200 AD), Brahma, the
Supreme One, created the fifth Veda (the scripture of drama) and
presented it to Bharata who then composed the first drama and sought "the
help of Shiva for the steps of the dance. Shiva taught the steps to his
disciple Tandu and to Parvati [Goddess and consort/wife] and the harmony
of the masculine and feminine in the dance was blended symbolically."(1)
Thus is suggested a gender synthesis which underpins all dance; however,
the female is not completely sublimated within this phenomenon. According
to many legends, dance exists in its earthly incarnation thanks, in great
part, to Parvati who "was the first teacher of dancing who brought
the art down from the heavens to teach it to the people of the earth."(2)
Dance, therefore, embodies harmony countered with gendered interplay and
tension -- the force of which obliterates the ego while realizing [page
277] divine wholeness. In her article "Feminist Perspectives
on Classical Indian Dance," Judith Lynne Hanna writes: "With
pleasure he [Shiva] exuberantly dances out the creation of the universe.
[. . .] Shiva's frenzied Tandava (virile, manly) dance causes chaos and
represents the destruction of the world. For his creative dance, his consort
Parvati's (tender, womanly) dance is imperative."(3)
Although
legends such as these may suggest an essentialist reading regarding the
"feminine" aspect of dance, another Goddess manifestation of
Parvati -- Kali -- is the very antithesis of "tender, womanly"
qualities. Goddess Kali is a powerful, destructive force which allows
creation to occur. She is the ego destroyed -- a ground-scorching pathway
to divinity. Dancer and scholar Kapila Vatsyayan speaks of the ideal Indian
dancer who "rides the body" with the "fire of experience"
in a quest toward obliteration of self toward "spiritual transcendence."(4)
This concept is beautifully conveyed in the hymn to Kali recounted by
Ananda K. Coomaraswamy: "Because thou lovest the Burning-ground,
I have made a Burning-ground of my heart -- that Thou, Dark One, haunter
of the Burning-ground, mayest dance Thy eternal dance."(5) Thus,
Indian dance is inextricably connected to a multifaceted, female image
of divine power. This mythic and spiritual connection can also speak to
material strategies by feminists who wish to address the dance in its
sociocultural context. Hanna writes:
Female images of the divine may empower some women
both spiritually and socially to take control of their lives. Perhaps,
as in other cultures with rituals of rebellion, powerful goddesses serve
to present complementarities, compensation and alternatives to the male
dominance models as well as to remind men not to exceed acceptable limits
in their behavior towards women.(6)
[page
278] As stated above, sociocultural perspectives cannot be
ignored when addressing feminism and dance in India. Specifically, a critical
scholar must address and engage the Indian context in which Bharata Natyam
was born and with which it is most often identified. Yet, this exploration
can sometimes prove daunting and depressing for women. For, if Goddesses
figure powerfully in the ancient Hindu scripture of India, their earthly
counterparts do not fare as well. Scholar Wendy O'Flaherty looks at the
scripture-sanctioned devaluing of women in the Vedas and major
Indian epics and legends which were authored or controlled by high-caste
males and are kinetically visualized by dance. She states that the image
of a woman in the texts is that of an "insignificant receptacle for
the unilaterally effective male fluid [. . .] -- a thing to be possessed."(7)
Further, Hanna cites ancient Indian law which specifies that "in
childhood, a woman must be subject to her father, in youth to her husband
and, when her lord is dead, to her sons. A woman must never be independent."(8)
In 1989, Vanaja Dhruvarajan stated that "while Indians have high
regard for women as mothers, they devalue them as persons. The female
principle is worshipped; yet in flesh and blood, females are humiliated,
depersonalized, and dominated."(9) The material realities of many
Indian women today -- many of which may be learning, teaching, and/or
dancing Bharata Natyam -- do not often bespeak power, agency, or freedom
from gender-scripted confines:
Indian women are routinely sold into marriage, and
brothers are almost invariably favored over sisters. Successful and
affluent women are sometimes unaware of the problems of the terrorism
of drunken husbands, brutal landlords, or the starkness of poverty.
Suman Krishan Kant's Women's Grievances Group organization receives
complaints and directs investigations of attacks on women, many of them
involving burning and scalding of brides by in-laws who feel they were
short-changed on dowries.(10)
[page
279] Yet, a specific female model from India's past suggests
the possibility of sociocultural prestige and spiritual empowerment for
the dancing woman. This model is the devadasi; with her lineage traced
to India's classical or Sanskrit period, she is oft said to represent
a 2,000-year-old tradition of temple or devotional dance. Historically
attributed to the Tamil region, the devadasi danced a form of Bharata
Natyam under the original moniker of sadir nac, sadir attam,
or dasi attam. Dedicated to God through temple ceremonies, the
devadasis became constituents of the temple as brides and devotional servants
to the deity. Hanna writes that although a daughter might be given to
the temple by her family to fulfil a vow or for financial reasons, a woman
could also "offer herself out of devotion, for the prosperity of
her family, or out of weariness of her husband or her widowhood."
Thus, even though the devadasis came from and belonged to a hereditary
community of temple dancers, musicians, and teachers (isai vellala),
life as a devadasi could sometimes be a matter of choice for the woman.
Hanna also details specific freedoms and modes of empowerment accorded
the devadasis; they "learned to read and write, an opportunity denied
other women. Furthermore, some dancers acquired wealth through gifts from
admirers, owned land, and made large donations to temples."(11) Within
this economical system, the devadasi also wielded power in her household
where she was the primary wage earner, materially supporting her family.
Furthermore, her public sphere reflected her private sphere; for in contrast
to greater Indian society, the isai vellala was, by and large,
a matriarchal community. Included in this fiscal/material paradigm of
authority and agency was the devadasi's oft employed career strategy of
inviting the solicitation of patrons (e.g., Brahmins or rulers -- never
an Untouchable) who could provide additional assets in return for sexual
or consort relations. Dangerous is the contemporary interpretation of
this arrangement as prostitution with its connotation of victimization
and powerlessness, however. For even more crucial than material wealth
was the psychological security accorded the devadasi by her respected
status in society. Scholar Amrit Srinivasan historicizes the place of
the devadasi as follows:
As a woman with the protection of a living husband
-- the deity and lord of the temple corporation -- the devadasi was
provided with the excuse to enter secular society and [page
280] improve her artistic skills. [. . .] As a picture of
good luck, beauty, and fame, the devadasi was welcome in all rich men's
homes on happy occasions of celebration and honor [. . .] -- i.e., an
adjunct to conservative domestic society, not its ravager.(12)
Yet,
Srinivasan is also careful to point out the flip side of such a "revered,"
potent place in a society of men who had the power to revert icons to
objects in order to proprietarily "own" a degree of sanctity.
The following quote is lengthy but paints a vivid picture of the commodification
of the devadasi by a patriarchal society, sanctioned by a patriarchal
religion. Here, a devadasi's proclaimed freedom and empowerment may
have been trumped by her conversion to pawn by the male powerbrokers with
whom she necessarily dealt:
The fascination of a "wife-of-the-god"
may be mythic just as the fascination for a bed in which Napoleon slept
or a saint's relic. [. . .] It converts itself into exchange value when
the socialite-client, collector or believer wishes to own the commodity
in question or touch it for himself. Intimacy with a devadasi consequently
demonstrated public success which visibly marked a man apart from his
peers. Seen in this light, the devadasi represented a badge of fortune,
a form of honor managed for civil society by the temple. [. . .] The
temple for its own part was no disinterested participant -- the patronage
extended to the devadasi was by no means passive. It recognized that
her art and physical charms attracted connoisseurs (in the garb of devotees)
to the temple [. . .]. She invited "investment," economic,
political, and emotional in the deity.(13)
The
conception and evolution of "devadasi as prostitute" became
even more pervasive and problematic under British rule where "the
imperialist hold economically weakened the Indian rulers who patronized
the dancers." Further, the constitutive philosophy of temple dance
(sadir), "wherein sexual ecstasy is a path to spirituality,
was an anathema to the British."(14) [page
281] By the turn of the 19th century, the devadasi subsisted,
as Avanthi Meduri writes, within an "uneasy political atmosphere
with her former generous patronage vanishing;" thus, she was "forced
to choose between economic necessity and man-made [British] rules of decorum."
Significantly, Meduri lauds this "female professional" who,
in the face of a changing political and social climate, became less discriminate
in patron relations, choosing to "live on her own moral terms."(15)
Unfortunately, such individual, gendered "moral terms" were
ignored, obfuscated, or translated by the "moral authorities"
(read "male moral authorities") of the day. In 1927 (at which
time, there were still 200,000 temple dancers in the Madras Presidency
alone), reform-supporter Mohandas Gandi wrote: "There are, I am sorry
to say, many temples in our midst in this country which are no better
than brothels."(16) Thus was provided the ultimate patriarchal, authoritarian
declaration of devadasi decay and spiritual bankruptcy. Indeed, male authority
had often inscribed and dictated the traditional role of the devadasi,
compromising the agency or power she may have believed herself to have.
Hanna goes so far as to describe the hereditary devadasi community as
a "reproduction of patriarchy ensconced in religious sanctification."
She writes: "Male Brahmins, the priestly caste, initially 'choreographed'
the dance (received from the gods) which male professionals, non-Brahmins
who came from hereditary families of teachers and musicians (nattuvanaras
or gurus) [. . .] then taught to the devadasis."(17)
Was
the devadasi simply fooling herself, believing to possess spiritual and
secular authority that was all the time allotted, controlled, and measured
by her male patrons, conductors, teachers, and authors? Are we fooled
today as we idealize her social, sexual, spiritual power? Did this woman
even exist? Srinivasan cites the power of the traditionally male guru
who "exercised control over the dancer" while the dasis "feared
and respected" them as "teachers and artists and informal religious
leaders of the community whose curse could ruin a girl's career and prospects."
Furthermore, returning to the "commodification" argument, power
over the dasi often seemed to equate money and/or acquisition of property
for men. [page 282] Srinivasan describes
the dasi as the "proverbial goose that laid the golden egg"
for male teacher/conductors, for if "handled properly," she
could yield "dividends over the years in the shape of fees and gifts."(18)
This relationship, in many ways, persists today and must be reconciled
with the "empowered" devadasi legacy claimed by the contemporary
Bharata Natyam dancer. Hanna writes that a modern-day guru still "expects
respect and credit for a piece he has taught a dancer. [. . .] He tends
to be jealous if one studies with another teacher or creates her own dances.
If a dancer wishes to be creative, she breaks the dependency mold. Then
the dancer has to find another [teacher]."(19) This gendered social
tension between male authority and dasi recognition could also be seen
within her hereditary community as male members became increasingly frustrated
by their lack of complete dominance over their women. "The privileged
access of women artists to rich patrons and their wealth underscored more
sharply their absolute non-availability to their own men. The antagonism
felt [. . .] was in recognition consequently of the power and influence
the devadasis had as women and as artists."(20)
The
debate over the role of the devadasi in society reached a boiling point
in the 1920s and 30s as she was denounced by British colonizers as a seedy
symbol of a perverse and backward Indian culture. Yet, what is more complex
and troubling is her appropriation by Indian nationalists in their fervor
to declare an independent state replete with ancient, holy traditions.
As factions were formed, the "reformist" (or "anti-nautch"(21))
group squared off against the "revivalist" movement in a "religious"
war. Reformists proclaimed the devadasi to be a "prostitute"
who must be removed, and revivalists claimed her to be a "nun"
who must be reconstituted and re-presented to a "respectable"
Indian public.(22) To both, however, the "sociohistoric complexity
of the structure that enabled the devadasi to devote herself to [page
283] perfecting her art was ignored." Each side maintained
a "conviction that somewhere a pure custom had been polluted and
must be cleansed."(23) Although there were women involved in the
debate (famously, Rukmini Devi), many men were also invested in the struggle;
they figuratively pulled at the arms of the devadasi, restricting her
dance while claiming her as a means to accomplish their own political
agendas. Brahmin priests decried the regulatory measures taken by the
government to outlaw temple dedications as infringements on their own
religious freedoms (not to mention the wealth and power brought to the
temple through the dasi). Indicative of this is an account by Rustom Bharucha
who describes the opposition to reform by S. Sathyamurthy in the Madras
Congress as motivated by "no real concern for the devadasis themselves"
but as a "concealed attempt to preserve a Brahmanic hegemony in matters
of religion and culture." Bharucha asserts that Sathyamurthy represented
other upper-caste men who feared the abolition of devadasis would serve
to precipitate a non-Brahmin demand for "the abolition of temple
priests, who were Brahmins. [. . .] He was merely safeguarding his community's
[Mayruam] vested interests sanctified through religion."(24) Not
all men were working against reform measures, however. Uttara Asha Coorlawala
details the diverse male demographic siding with the reform movement:
The non-Brahmin Backward Classes, disgruntled by
the educational and professional advantages gained by the pro-nautch
Brahmins, and the Untouchables/Depressed classes under British legislation
which deliberately fostered casteism, joined the anti-nautch campaign
to gain support for their own political ends. This comprehensive group
included male members within the devadasi community, who participated
in performances as musicians and teachers [. . .] and felt that their
own artistic contributions were slighted.(25)
In
any case, the devadasi seemingly lost a battle in which she was ironically
relegated to the sidelines. In 1930, Bill No. 5 was passed by which devadasis
were absolved of their services [page 284] to
the temples; their material interests were then converted to land grants
or deeds (pattas) to be administered by the government. Devadasis
had previously been allotted temple land shares as part of their dedication
and service. In that men could not previously inherit these shares (as
could the dedicated sisters), "the process of converting traditional
usufructury rights to public land (attached to office) into private taxable
property favored the men over their womenfolk" as men controlled
the marketplace and could purchase the previously unavailable land.(26)
Furthermore, as part of this "liberating" process, the "freed"
devadasi was often forced to convert her remaining wealth into a dowry
in order to attract a husband and, thereby, acquire social respectability.
In 1947, the Congress Ministry dealt a final death blow to the devadasi,
passing the Madras Devadasis Act which officially abolished all temple
dedications.
In
the politically charged period surrounding the 1930 and 1947 legislative
acts, the revivalists also scored critical victories which must be taken
into account in any analysis of Bharata Natyam as it exists today. As
the revivalists worked to return the dance to its "pre-prostitution"
glory, their restoration became a zealous project of redefinition, reconstitution,
and re-population.(27) They renamed the dance Bharata Natyam to remove
any nominal vestiges of the devadasi who was inextricably linked to the
old moniker, sadir. The revivalists -- led by female pioneers such
as Brahmin Rukmini Devi -- worked to make the art "respectable"
for a new caste of dancers. The Madras Music Academy -- a new academy
formed by the revivalists (and still recognized as a prominent Bharata
Natyam academy today) -- passed a 1937 resolution dictating that "in
order to make dancing respectable, it is necessary to encourage public
performances thereof before respectable people."(28) With this sweeping
declaration, the revivalists moved the dance out of the temple and into
the public forum while claiming the dance as property of the upper classes.
As Srinivasan points out, however, the "dance technique remained
unchanged and was learnt from the original nattuvanars [conductors]
and [page 285] performers."(29)
Therefore, the movement needed to be underpinned by an incorruptible philosophy
and, in a sense, protected from itself so that it could not degenerate
again as in the past. Rukmini Devi publicly danced Bharata Natyam in concert
form and wrote treatise upon treatise as to its purely devotional function
(sans "devadasi" sexuality). As more Brahmin women followed
suit, Bharata Natyam was re-presented as "art" and danced by
a new caste of women positioning themselves as the dance's authoritative
guardians of respectability. The dancers and scholars were also intent
on "purifying" the tradition by asserting an unquestionably
sacred linkage to the Natya Shastra and other classical epics;
the revivalist camp turned to text as an authoritative means by which
to reinvent the dance and its lineage. Srinivasan notes:
Ancient dance-dramas were revived by Sanskrit scholars
and introduced into the female genre. [. . .] The more erotic and bawdy
songs of the devadasi's repertoire were excluded. The low-key approach
to shringara or the artistic convention of love between man and
woman in the dance mimetic sequence was justified as a means of reducing
its overt eroticism and replacing it with an "inward essence."(30)
In
A Dictionary of Theatre Anthropology, Eugenio Barba and Nicola
Savarese refer to the revivalists' research and reconstruction process
as a "restoration of behavior" which, in some ways, negates
the hereditary power often cited by the contemporary Bharata Natyam dancer
as part of her sacred history. As Bharata Natyam was codified according
to ancient texts, the "new" dance became the definer of the
"old" or ancient form of sadir; meanwhile, the current
form of sadir was claimed to be a "faded, distorted remnant
of some ancient classical dance" and denied its place as a dance
in its own right. Regarding the "smoke and mirror" strategy
to reinvent sadir as a legitimate Bharata Natyam progenitor, Barba
and Savarese write, "The ancient classical dance is a projection
backward in time. [. . .] A dance is created in the past in order to be
restored for the present and future."(31)
[page
286] Regardless of whether or not ancient lineage can be proven,
the contemporary Bharata Natyam, as danced by a woman, cannot be disassociated
from its 20th century lineage and revivalist context. Here, I suggest
that the revivalist project may be viewed in two different feminist lights:
1) In terms of material feminism, the powerful Brahmin women may represent
a socioeconomic group who disenfranchised and marginalized their "sisters"
-- who reinscribed the patriarchal order by negating a possible subversion
of the norm by disempowering and dismantling the "matriarchal"
society of the devadasi. 2) The movement may, however, suggest female
empowerment as the Brahmin women claimed a "public victory,"
saving a spiritual art denoted as "feminine" and raising it
to a place of prestige in a secular, male-dominated society. In either
case, ownership, authorship, and translation became defining aspects of
the dance. Coorlawala writes:
What was achieved by the bill (1947) was to clear
the way for nondevadasi women from respectable families to study dance.
The reconstruction of the sadir dance was undertaken by Westernized
and Sanskritized Brahmins. [. . .] Sadir was reclaimed as Bharata
Natyam, the purest and most "authentic" traditional dance
of the Natya Shastra.(32)
As
the above quote refers to the "Westernized" reconstruction of
sadir, an astute observer might also find inherent in Bharata Natyam
the dangerous (and often gendered) phenomenon of Orientalism. In Edward
Said's terms, Orientalism is a "Western style for dominating, restructuring,
and having authority over the Orient. [. . .] The Orient cannot represent
itself."(33) When a woman dances, Orientalism becomes another strategy
of gendered authority and control. Further, when Bharata Natyam is danced
or presented by a female Westerner, the resulting Orientalist paradigm
can "reaffirm the West's superiority, as it takes a Western woman
to understand and represent the essence of the East."(34) Although
this interpretation may read [page 287] somewhat
essentialist, limiting, and paranoid (Only Asian women can authoritatively
claim the dance?), there is historical precedence of Orientalism in
the revival of Bharata Natyam, its spiritual appropriation by Westerners,
and, consequently, its contemporary configuration. In 1926, American modern
dancer Ruth St. Denis, having previously gained notoriety for her "nautch"
dances, toured India and created a sensation on the concert stage with
these sanctioned -- yet, blatantly inauthentic -- works. (St. Denis' earliest
"nautch" dances were choreographed and performed throughout
the 1910s and into the early 1920s -- years before she actually visited
India and witnessed its nautch dancers.)(35) Curiously, she was lauded
by the upper, educated classes in India for her respectful and artistic
treatment of "Indian" dance. In Orientalist fashion, she stated
with religious fervor: "I am beginning to see that I already possessed
the soul of India. [. . .] I see that I was sent to the Orient to give
a truth as well as receive one."(36) Although St. Denis was influential,
the 20th century revival movement is more often associated with Western
ballet dancer Anna Pavlova who toured India in 1929 and famously asked
Brahmin scholars and politicians: "Where is your dance?" This
same woman asserted her power as a dance prophet, sent to incite the rebirth
of Indian dance through Western dance authority. She stated: "The
East had always fascinated me. One of the greatest ambitions remaining
to me was to subjugate the Orient to my art, proving its power over people
of any race or color."(37) Indeed, Pavlova is inseparable from the
resurrection mythos of Bharata Natyam; revivalist dancer Rukmini Devi
credited Pavlova "with a pivotal contribution to India's rediscovery
of its own dance forms."(38) Through the "Pavlova" connection,
the Western influence and authorship runs deep and was fully realized
through the political efforts and dance of Devi, herself:
She [Pavlova] apparently met Rukmini Devi Arundale
socially on a luxury liner somewhere between Australia and London, and
urged her to study Indian dance. So it came about that Rukmini Devi
studied sadir, which she later renamed Bharata Natyam and performed
in public. This Brahmin lady -- married to the British head of the [page
288] Theosophical Society, Lord Arundale -- founded the institution
of dance called Kalakshetra in Madras.(39)
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