Siddalingaiah, folklorist and Dalit leader, could talk about village deities for hours. His extensive research and travel within Karnataka had acquainted him intimately with their myths and festivals. The devotees of a goddess were once keen to build a small temple for her. But the goddess spurned the idea. The perplexed devotees begged her for an explanation. She asked them: “Does everyone have a house?” One of the devotees said he did not have one. She then replied, “I don’t want a house until all of you have one.” Village deities cherish freedom. A goddess once discouraged her devotees from building a shrine for her. She wanted to be left free to wander as she pleased whereas the shrine door would restrict her movements. The doorless shrine her devotees then built for her still exists on the outskirts of Bengaluru.

The devotees of another goddess, Bisilamma, were also keen to build a shrine for her. The goddess pleaded with them to build one without a roof. She clarified: “I want to shiver in the cold, burn in the sun and get drenched in the rains.” Identifying with the hardship of those struggling for shelter, she invited suffering for herself.

Siddalingaiah realized at a young age that the god-human relation was more intimate and humane among the lower castes and villagers. Usually, purohits are the intermediaries between the gods and the upper caste devotees. Only they are allowed inside the inner sanctum of a temple while the devotees offer their respects to the deity from a distance. In contrast, Siddalingaiah observed, the distance between the god and the devotees in folk religion is much less, if not non-existent. There is freedom to scold, criticize and even condemn gods. An elderly person once asked a deity on behalf of the people: “Where were you all these days? Have you forgotten us?” The goddess retorted, “Is yours the only village? I need to look after the seven worlds. Do you know how difficult my work is?” The elderly person persisted, “We work so hard. Don’t you see that?’ The goddess shot back, ‘Am I working any less?”

Deities from different villages can be siblings or enjoy any other kin relation. Siddalingaiah’s study, Grama Devategalu (Village Deities, 1997), records a story of sister deities. The childless deity, Madduramma, visited her sister, Patalamma, who had a hundred and one children, in the neighbouring village. She wanted to ask her to let her adopt one of her children. On learning of her sister’s intentions, Patalamma hid all her children. One of her children, Sidiranna, though, was seen playing outside. Taking this child with her, Madduramma turned all the hidden children into stone. The villagers still worship the stone idols of these children. Sidiranna visits from the neighbouring village to offer respects to his mother first before doing so for his foster mother.

Deities of different castes can be related too. For instance, Kalamma is a deity of the craftsmen, Banashankariamma of the weavers, Hattimaramma of the Dalits: they are all sisters. Anjaneya is their brother in a few villages. Upper castes consider him their deity in some villages.

During festivals, the deities weep when their brothers or sisters do not arrive in time. Until the arrival of her sister, Beechnalliamma, from the neighbouring village, Haleooramma does not take a step at her festival. Festivals are sometimes organized to let sister deities meet.

“Affection, love, and large-heartedness,” Siddalingaiah noted, “are the primary qualities of village deities.” In the festivals of village deities, different castes come together to celebrate it as a community festival. The central thought behind these festivals is the well-being of all. And, he added, there is the celebration: “the festivals of village deities celebrate the grandness of life.”

Urban migrants in cities usually visit their villages for the festival of their deities. In cases where migrant families from the same village live in the same neighbourhood in Bangalore, they arrange for their village deity to visit them in their area.

In the accounts of folk religion that he gathered for the monthly magazine of Samudaya, the influential left theatre movement in Karnataka, in the early eighties, which were published later as Avataragalu (Incarnations, 1982), Siddalingaiah sought to demystify local religious practices. In Gulbarga district, young women freely abuse a male deity called Kui once a year. And, in Bidar, women line up to thrash a male deity called Nathuram with chappals. Both of these deities, Siddalingaiah explained, were known to have lusted after the wives of other men and now live in fear of their devotees. Making the gods a part of the social world and denying them their divine status is another of his logical attempts at unmasking religious life as a worldly affair, as a social delusion. In the past, Siddalingaiah noted, it was common to see gold coins falling out of Lakshmi’s hands. In recent times, rupee notes have taken the place of the gold coins. If the coins and rupees are phased out of the economy, he writes, there can be no doubt that cheque books will fall out of the Goddess’ hands. Again: Gods address the lower-class individuals in the singular, and the rich with terms of respect. This sort of conduct, Siddalingaiah wrote, is seen in police stations. What then is the difference between the police and our Gods?

Folk religious practices left Siddalingaiah puzzled at times. After possessing a devotee, a deity called Doddaswamy would start whistling with his fingers in his mouth. His devotees are expected to address him only through whistles. Another deity from Gulbarga district, Gajalakshmi, expected her devotees to bare all their teeth in her presence.

I have translated below, in shortened form, a few of my favourite accounts of village deities found in Siddalingaiah’s Avataragalu.

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In Aradavalli village, a devotee was greatly disappointed that his God hadn’t granted his wishes. His disappointment soon turned into anger. Grounding dried chillies into a powder, he made his way to the deity’s temple. “God hasn’t resolved my problems. I’ll make him suffer now. I’ll rub chilli powder on his body.” He threatened those who tried to dissuade him. “I’ll rub this on your faces if you try to stop me.” His resolve pained many of the devotees. While a few became curious about what might transpire, a few others could barely hold back their tears.

After reaching the temple, the aggrieved devotee stepped inside and began to rub the chilli powder all over the deity’s idol. Within moments, someone outside started howling in pain. The frightened devotees soon realized that the deity had possessed one among them. They held him tightly, “Who are you?”

God: “Me?! I’m the God who is being attacked with chilli powder.”

Devotees: “What do you want from us?”

God: “Stop putting chilli powder on me!”

Devotees: “Why?”

God: “It hurts a lot!”

Aggrieved Devotee (AD): “You said you would help me. Why didn’t you keep your word?”

God: “Stop hurting me first. I’ll take care of your problem later.”

AD: “You are lying.”

God: “I’m God. I never lie.”

AD: “I don’t believe you! I’ll put some more chilli powder on you.”

God: “I can’t bear this pain anymore.”

AD: “I’ll give you one more week.”

God: “Guaranteed! Stop rubbing the chilli powder!”

The possessed spirit slowly took leave. Everyone made their way home with much joy and relief. The discovery of a new way of having their wishes fulfilled also filled them with a secret delight.

*

A Dalit neighbourhood in Bengaluru had once organized a ceremony for Goddess Annamma from the Majestic area. Revered and feared by her devotees, she was often invited by various neighbourhoods. It cost thousands of rupees to have her visit from her temple in Majestic.

The evening was grand and festive. The entire neighbourhood was decked up for the ceremonious occasion. Every household was filled with joy. The devotees surrounded the goddess with lamps. While the stately goddess sat under a pandal on the main road, everyone was scurrying around, attending to some task or another. Hundreds of people partook of the ceremony that began at ten in the night. The celebrations continued all night.

Around four in the morning, a man was seen rushing towards the deity. His eyes were wild. He was gnashing his teeth. The devotees somehow managed to hold him back. It soon became clear that another deity, Village Annamma, had possessed him. He then ran towards the Kabaddi ground opposite the main road. The others followed him as he led them to a small shrine in a corner of this ground. It had been built with four small stone slabs. A small stone planted on the ground inside this shrine was the idol of Village Annamma (VA).

Village Annamma: “Fools! Have you forgotten me?”

Devotees: “No, we haven’t! Can we ever forget you?” VA: “You haven’t come to me in so long. And now, all this special attention on the bitch from Majestic!”

Devotees: “Please forgive our mistake, mother. We will give you your due soon.”

VA: “Don’t I see how you are paying your due to me? I’ll show you what I can do!”

Devotees: “Please don’t punish us. We are your children, all said and done.”

The devotees quickly set about tidying her shrine. They offered her a cock in sacrifice. The Goddess was placated somewhat at their response.

At this time, Majestic Annamma possessed a devotee. She rushed towards Village Annamma’s shrine, “I’m a city deity. All the village deities should be under my control. Who is that speaking against me?”

The devotees were bewildered. Restraining Majestic Annamma wasn’t easy.

A scuffle between the two deities followed. A little later, the person whom Village Annamma had possessed was found with his teeth broken and the one possessed by Majestic Annamma was in tattered clothes.

*

In Srirampura, God Muneshwara possessed a man regularly. He had numerous devotees.

An elderly devotee would visit him every week to seek his help to rid his son of difficulty. Before taking leave, he would give two rupees as a token offering. One day, the deity became furious, “Two rupees won’t do!”

Devotee: “What is this? I’ve always offered you two rupees.”

Deity: “Dirty fellow! I’ve no choice but to ask for a bigger offering. Put down three rupees at least.”

Devotee: “Why raise it all of a sudden?”

Deity (roared): “Why raise it?! Any idea how much a kg of rice costs? Do you know the cost of kerosene these days? Even a cinema ticket costs a lot now. If you only offer two rupees, how can I lead my life?”

Devotee (searching his pockets): “I see your point, my Lord.”

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Kariyamma, a deity in Chikmagalur, asked her devotees for a pen and some paper. She wanted to write a letter to her elder brother, Lord Manjunatha at Dharmasthala. The devotees never knew that the deity had a brother. She hit back, “What had you thought of me? I’ve relatives all over. Even in far off places like Bengaluru and Bombay.”

The deity made a series of scratch marks on the paper. She would pause to think before making each one of those marks. After the letter was done, it was mailed to Lord Manjunatha at Dharmasthala. The devotees were delighted to see a letter passing between Gods. A reply from Dharmasthala arrived two weeks later. The deity was jubilant. Everyone gathered to read the letter. The reply turned out to be brief: “Please send a letter only if you can write in Kannada. Do not send meaningless scratch marks.”

The deity had wished to brag that she was literate. After this episode, she kept out of letter writing altogether.

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Never high-decibel, and always gentle, affectionate and witty, Siddalingaiah’s accounts of folk religion end up being a moving experience more than anything else. Since his early writings on village goddesses, he came to show less interest in viewing religion as a cover for social games and care more for the deeper meanings behind it.

In an interview I did with him several years ago, Siddalingaiah explained: “Mockery was central to Avataragalu. Because of my rationalist background, I used to make fun of gods for a few years. But I don’t think like that anymore. For example, people suddenly start lashing themselves with a whip. I would have probably made fun of this earlier. I would like to look at it differently now. This person is inflicting self-violence (sva-himse). Why is he doing this? What are its origins? I would ask such questions now.”

This is an extract from a chapter of the book Another India by Chandan Gowda. The chapter is titled, 'The World of Village Deities'. The extract has been published with the author's permission. The book will be released on September 12.

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