Breaking Free from the Shackles of Tradition: The Struggle of Karnataka's Manjhi Devadasis
Pramod Indaliya
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Koppal/Bengaluru: “I was not even ten when my parents devoted me to Marula Siddeshwara,” Pratyushamma (name changed) said, as she broke her silence with a deep breath. Marula Siddeshwara is a local godman, associated with lord Shiva.
Sixty-year-old Pratyushamma is a Manjhi (former) Devadasi in Pirehalli (name changed) village of Koppal district in North Karnataka. She practiced the Devadasi tradition for almost two decades.
“I was a Devadasi, hence it [the tradition] was followed by my girl child,” she admits, pointing to her daughter, Shobha, who is in her 30s. “This is the rule of the temple; we didn’t have the agency to go against it.”
Under the Devadasi tradition in South India, girls were dedicated to temples for lifelong service. There has been a long-drawn debate regarding how it came into existence. Each region in the southern part of the country has its own cult and myth of origin of this tradition.
In Kalyan Karnataka, a territory in the northern part of Karnataka which is considered one of the state’s most backward regions, there are almost ten cults that follow this tradition. The Yellamma cult is one of the most famous cults – which is linked to the mythological tale of Jamadagni and Renuka. This story links the Devadasi tradition to Dalits, who are pushed to devote at least one girl child from the family to the temple. Social insecurity, economic backwardness and blind faith are responsible for the greater participation of Dalits in this tradition. Dalit activist Ruth Manorama coined it as ‘organised crime against Dalit women’.
It is believed that Devadasis were initially dancers in temples, but over time this tradition became corrupt leading to their exploitation by priests and other dominant men. “I didn’t get any dancing or singing training at the temple. Our duty was to worship and keep fast,” Pratyushamma recalled, which suggests that dancing is no longer central to the Devadasi tradition since the last few decades.
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Scholars of medieval history suggest that this tradition was exploitative since its inception. “Before the eleventh century, when temple women were assigned specific duties, there is only mention of the word ‘Sule’ (prostitute) in inscriptions. In the eleventh century, a time when the temple as an institution was expanding, the word ‘patra’ (singing/dancing girl) was gradually attached to them,” Aloka Parashar and Usha Naik pointed out in the chapter ‘Temple Girls of Medieval Karnataka’ in the book Religions of the East.
In an article in EPW, Janki Nair mentioned that “(T)here are no known direct references to dancing in the temple in the oldest books of dance theory, the Natyashastra and Abhinaya Darpana; the first mention of it is in the 11th-century collection of stories, the Kathasaritsagara.”
“In our village, Devadasis were allowed to have one child with one man. That man formed relationships with us while having his own family and we also worked on his farm doing hard labour without any payment,” Pratyushamma says.
Although Devadasis are often perceived as engaging in prostitution, their situation differs significantly, as they also provide unpaid labour, unlike prostitution, which typically involves clearly defined transactions between two parties.
The name of the father is not mentioned in the records of their children because it is considered normal in this tradition for a man to stay with a Devadasi for a while and leave her after a child is born. “Furthermore, the next generation of Devadasis is not allowed to interact with their biological fathers,” Shobha adds.
Not only do Devadasis suffer from social stigma and economic marginalisation, but their future generations also face challenges, especially in rural areas bound by blind faith in tradition.
Pratyushamma and a few other Manjhi Devadasis lived on the premises of Marula Siddeshwara’s temple, even after the Karnataka Devadasis (Prohibition of Dedication) Act, 1982. They moved out only after the Karnataka government introduced the rehabilitation programme for them in 1982.
“All Manjhi Devadasis from other villages received land, but we only got housing schemes and pensions,” Pratyushamma said.
According to district-wise surveys conducted by the state's Women and Child Department, in 1993-94 and subsequently in 2007-08, there are a total of 46,660 Devadasis in Karnataka. However, as per a 2018 study by the Karnataka State Women's University, there are more than 80,000 Devadasis in the state.
The government of Karnataka started a land distribution scheme for landless Devadasis. Under this scheme, the government buys land from villagers and distributes it among Manjhi Devadasis. However, in many villages, villagers are unwilling to sell their land for this scheme, this author found out during a field visit.
A study by the Karnataka Evaluation Authority and Karnataka’s Women's Development Corporation showed that only 54.29% of the houses built under the Devadasi Rehabilitation Programme included a hall, kitchen and toilet and the rest were not well constructed. Furthermore, 69.7% of the houses took more than two years to be constructed, and 36% of these houses lacked proper water connections.
Pratyushamma received Rs 30,000 loan through a government initiative called economic improvement through income generating activities, under the Devadasi Rehabilitation Programme, and now runs a small shop and sells snacks. The problem with such small-scale initiatives is that they are confined to the locality of Manjhi Devadasis, where isolated locations limit their potential for lasting economic prosperity.
Pratyushamma and other Manjhi Devadasis faced systematic structural violence in the name of ritual and tradition, and now they struggle with the hope for a better tomorrow. “We came out of this system, and now my granddaughters go to school,” she told us proudly. However, the next generation of Manjhi Devadasis is not free from challenges. Nazar P.S., who works with NGO Visthar to support the next generation of Devadasis explained, "In such a deep-rooted patriarchal society, their agency to make decisions is limited, particularly regarding education, livelihood, and personal freedom.”
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He also draws attention to new challenges posed by modern development. “Online systems for welfare schemes and educational access have further complicated matters. Limited digital literacy or infrastructure create barriers rather than opportunities.”
According to government officials, there have been no cases of active Devadasi practice or dedication in the last few years. However, villagers recounted how the last dedication occurred two years ago, when parents pushed their 21-year-old daughter into the Devadasi tradition as a measure to save her from illness.
Asha V, human rights activist, who has been working on the Devadasi issue for more than 25 years as director of Visthar said, “Older Manjhi Devadasis still continue some of their rituals, including visiting homes in the village on Tuesdays or Fridays for begging and performing worship at the temple of Yellamma or other goddesses”.
Forty two years after enactment of the Karnataka Devadasis (Prohibition of Dedication) Act of 1982, the change has been gradual. Social awareness and responsibility are crucial to combat such deeply rooted evils, but the government must also take action on two fronts – abolish this tradition and ensure that Manjhi Devadasis no longer face social and economic marginalisation.
This article is based on a discussion with Manjhi Devadasis during the author's fieldwork in Koppal.
Pramod Indaliya is an MA Development student at Azim Premji University, Bengaluru.
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