With more than four-fifth of the population still professing the traditional faiths of Sanatana Dharma, the self-professed “federal democratic republic” continues to be as Hindu as it was in the days of Shah monarchy. Political implications of such a reality are difficult to assess. However, it affirms the hypothesis that modernity in economics and politics are not as incompatible with age-old traditions of culture and society, as is often assumed.[break]
A little known experiment of a “secular religion”—contradiction of terms notwithstanding—was tried but failed to take off in the sixteenth century Hindustan. One of its lessons points out towards the resilience and relevance of Hinduism in the life of commoners in much of South Asia. Even in Buddhist countries such as Burma and Sri Lanka and Islamic states like Afghanistan, Bangladesh and Pakistan, the idea of karma, kismet, or fate—the fundamental tenet of the Sanatana Dharma family—survives in everyday life in some or the other form.
Jalal-ud-Din Muhammad Akbar, better known as or Akbar the Great (1542-1605), was the third Mughal Emperor and founder of the short-lived religious movement named Din-e-Ilahi or the Divine Faith. Akbar realized that the longevity of the Mughal Empire in India depended as much upon trust and allegiance of its Hindu aristocracy and priesthood as upon the loyalty of the Muslim nobility and lay soldiery. In Din-e-Ilahi, he tried to create a shared ground of moral conduct and spirituality for the adherents of different religious faiths.
Din-e-Ilahi sought to prohibit common vices such as lust, sensuality, slander, and pride by terming them sinful. Virtues such as piety, prudence, abstinence and kindness were to be promoted. Akbar established Ibadat Khana (House of Worship) where it was possible for all religionists to pray in the manner prescribed by their faiths. Nobles, aristocrats and courtiers saw the merit in the religious trial and readily accepted the method. However, lacking symbolic deity, sacred scripture or devoted priesthood, Din-e-Ilahi failed to find favor among the masses. It floundered and then almost disappeared after the death of its founder.
Even in personal life, Akbar attempted to reconcile Islamic beliefs with Hindu practices through Sufi mysticism. The great emperor renamed Prayag as Allahabad since it was considered the Abode of Gods by a majority of his Hindu subjects. In Ain-e-Akbari, Abul Fazal mentions that Akbar always drank water from the Ganga River. Water in sealed jars from Haridwar was dispatched to wherever he happened to be in an empire that covered almost all of the northern and central parts of the Indian Subcontinent.
Stairway to heaven
At Har-ki-Paudi in Haridwar, it is easy to see why the Great Mughal considered holy water from the Ganga to be ‘the water of immortality.’ After originating in the Himalaya and passing through the Mahabharat and Shivalik mountain ranges, Ganga touches the Great Plains created by her mighty tributaries downstream and named after her. Devotees throng to the sacred spot all round the year, perhaps as much out of respect for the river that has created and sustained a civilization over the millennia as to pay tribute to their ancestors and wash away their sins by taking a dip in its all-cleansing flow.
On a clouded but misty morning of early December, gracefully flows the Ganga at Har-ki-Paudi—literally Shiva’s (Har-ki) Steps (Paudi). Incidentally, Hari-dwar (Doorway of Lord Vishnu) is sometimes also pronounced as Har-dwar (Doorway of Shiva) as roads towards Badrinath (Shrine dedicated to Lord Vishnu) on the banks of Alakhnanda and Kedarnath (Temple of Lord Shiva) along Mandakini divulge upstream from the sacred town. The flow of water is clear at this time of the year, but icy cold even to a touch.
Frosty air and freezing water don’t seem to be stopping hordes of devotees—Hindus from all corners of the world—from taking a dip at different bathing ghats of specially channeled flow. At platforms considered especially appropriate, relatives of deceased have brought the last remains of their loved ones to consign it to the cleansing stream of the holy river. A couple of bewildered tourists seem amused at the antics of monkeys on the banks and eagles on the river that sweep upon offerings of devotees in their characteristic ways. Such scenes, with minor modifications, have continued on the banks of the Ganga since much before most major religions of the world—Buddhism, Christianity, or Islam—came into being. What is it in Hinduism that had made it survive several onslaughts of monotheism and atheism alike for over many centuries?
In any other religion, questioning the very logic of the faith would perhaps be considered sacrilegious. After all, religions tie ‘believers’ together—the very word owes its origin to Latin term ‘religare,’ which means to reconnect or to bind—into a system considered beyond the pale and outside the domain of questions of rationality. A sadhu at Brahmakund of Har-ki-Paudi merely gives a hearty laugh and answers laconically without a hint of offence or pretence, “Ohi to, jara socho!” Rough translation from Hindi: “That is what. Just think for a while.”
Thinking comes naturally while looking up at the temples atop the surrounding hills from the bank of the Ganga. Hinduism is like the circulation of water from the mighty river. It goes down to the sea, evaporates into the atmosphere, rains in the mountains, and then comes back again to quench thirst, to irrigate fields and wash away every sin. On being told that the explanation sounded profound even if not very convincing, the sadhu gives yet another laugh, “Profundity, my dear friend, disappears with the ashes after the last rites. Purity remains. If you insist, fluidity is the true strength of the Sanatana Dharma. Like the Ganga, it just flows!”
Fluidity of faith
Religion is not as irrational as it is made out to be by atheists and conformists alike. It has not just survived but continued to gain strength despite spectacular advances in sciences. After receiving human footsteps, the sanctity of the moon should have disappeared. The planet continues to be a deity for many faiths.
Multiple declarations of the death of god by various sages, philosophers, poets and scientists have failed to bury the idea in the sands of time. The reason behind its enduring relevance is simple: Religion performs certain functions in such a straightforward manner that no other discipline of science, philosophy or arts has been able to match its efficacy to this date.
Philosophers of religion argue that the “ultimate problems” of existence—fear of natural calamities, uncertainty of health and life, rampant injustice in society, resource scarcity that makes survival difficult, hostility of others in everyday life, and unpredictability of future events—force people to throng to different faiths. Sociologists credit the solidarity among adherents for the continued significance of religion. Indeed, a combination of sacred creed (inviolable set of principles or beliefs) and the spirit of sacrifice (voluntary relinquishing of property, honor or even life) can produce an intoxicating mix of bonding and solidarity.
Economists advance their own reasons behind the utility of religion. Charity is the mainstay of the capitalist order. If it were not for the practice of tithing—‘to take the tenth of’—in practice since the days of Abraham in Judaism and early Christianity; the sanctity of Jakaat contribution among Muslims; and the desirability of Daan (donations) among Hindus and Buddhists, great advancements would never have been possible. Investment in the uncertainty of the future would have never materialized and material progress would have been slowed down if not stunted altogether.
From Bill Gates to Warren Buffet, every billionaire realizes in his heart of hearts that a future without philanthropy can only be an open invitation to anarchy. The trouble is, charity for its own sake has failed to find favor. Religious sanction is what makes philanthropy a promising prospect. Builders of ghats at Haridwar from ancient times did not do it for name, fame or prosperity. They sponsored such acts as part of religious duty. Charity, however, is a feature common to most religions. What sets Hinduism apart is indeed its fluidity.
In the Akshardham Temple in New Delhi, an official of the religious trust sounds even more reflective than the sadhu of Haridwar. To a visitor from Nepal, he says without malice, “You know, your country is constitutionally a failed state. Yet it survives. Why so? Because it’s a Hindu country. In Hinduism, nothing fails.”
Apostasy is an alien concept in Hinduism: Once a Hindu, always a Hindu, no matter how hard one denounces one’s faith or avows atheism. Like “secular religion,” “theocratic republic,” too, is an oxymoron. The Hindutwa forces seem to be banking upon that assumption when they advocate a religious state. A republic would then cease to exist without anyone saying so.
To Hindus who talk highly of Hinduism’s diversity and tolerance, all one needs to show is the lot of artisans, craftsmen, weavers, skinners, cleaners, and disposers of carcasses in the Hindu society. Hinduism is a great religion, no doubt about it. However, its greatness in the modern age can only be saved through secularism. The sadhu at Haridwar would probably laugh at the suggestion, but utter the same refrain: “Ohi to! Jara socho!”
The writer is one of the widely read political analysts in Nepal.
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