Just Like That | Devotees of Shiva, Kanwariyas should soak in the spirituality

The miracle of procreation is also a gift of God and there is nothing wrong in associating Shiva with it. The Lingam is the replica of the dome of the cosmos

I am personally more inclined towards spirituality and philosophy, rather than conventional religious practice and ritual. But every Monday, I still do the Jal Abhishek (holy consecration) of the Shivalinga on my terrace. It gives me peace of mind, since in Hindu philosophy, the Shivalinga represents the cosmic consciousness of Brahman, whose experiential takeaway is Bliss and Awareness.

Varanasi, Jul 19 (ANI): Kanwariyas (Shiva devotees) carrying metal pots filled with water from the River Ganga during their annual Kanwar Yatra, in Varanasi on Friday. (ANI Photo)(Rajesh Journalist)

But for most devotees, rituals do have a major place in the worship of Shiva. In the season of Shravan—July and August—the Kanwariya Yatra takes place. Millions of devotees collect the holy water of the Ganga from Gaumukh, Gangotri, Benares, Prayagraja, and Sultanganj in Bihar, and Ayodhya, and carry it in on foot in ‘kanwars’—a bamboo pole to which two earthen pots of holy water are tied—to Shiva temples, including the twelve sacred Jyotirlinga across India.

Such kanwariyas can be seen in great multitudes all along the highways, and special traffic arrangements have to be made to facilitate their passage. This year there is controversy over an order passed by the UP and Uttarakhand State governments that requires shops and vendors along the routes to display the names of the owner, with the obvious intention of identifying Muslims and possibly Dalits, which to my mind is both an unnecessary and blatantly divisive move.

But this is not a political column. The lingam in Hindu worship has been an object of curiosity for foreigners. Such foreigners include those who have the academic credentials to be considered as Indologists, such as Wendy Doniger. Doniger writes that ‘there is convincing textual evidence that people in ancient India associated the iconic form of the lingam with the male sexual organ’. To my mind, this is a new form of Orientalist insouciance camouflaged as academic learning.

Perhaps, in the remote past, some people did, and some people do so even now, see the lingam in this manner. The miracle of procreation is also a gift of God and there is nothing wrong in associating Shiva with it. The Hindu faith permits such freedoms of interpretation. But against the conclusion of Doniger, there is overwhelmingly greater evidence to believe that most Hindus see the lingam as an aniconic representation of Mahadeva, shorn of material features, a replica of the dome of the cosmos; the central sthambha or pillar in the holy yajna that links the primal energy of the sky and the earth, aloof and detached, a reminder of what Shiva himself is in his essence, ajanmam (unborn), akhandam (indivisible) and nirakar (formless).

The Upanishads speak of the lingam as a sign of That, derived from the mahavakya or great sentence: ‘Tat tvam asi: That thou art’. ‘That’ stands for the all-pervasive Brahman, present in you as the Atman, which is your real Self, as distinguished from the transient and ephemeral empirical phenomena around you.

The Atharva Veda sees the lingam as a column of light without beginning or end, amatra or infinite, whose beginning and end even Brahma and Vishnu could not find. In two of the most revered sites of Shiva worship, Kedarnath in the Himalayas and Vishwanath temple in Kashi, the lingam is almost nirguna or attribute-less in its features, a mere piece of undefinable rock jutting from the earth below. For the vast majority of Hindus, the lingam stands for the cosmic energy personified as Shiva; it is the sign of the destroyer of evil that is Shiva; it is a mark of the benediction of Shiva; it is the eternally still icon in the midst of the ecstatic tandava, dance of destruction, of Shiva.

Indeed, the imaginative grandeur of Shiva’s real image comes through when in the Tandava dance he choreographs the cosmic cycle of creation, preservation and destruction. Here he is seen dynamically poised in the midst of his vigorously rhythmic portrayal of the endless swirl of the universe.

Around him is a frame of fire, representing the pulsating energy permeating the universe; in his upper right hand is the damru, a symbol of the primal sound of creation; in his upper left hand is a flame, pointing to the destruction of all things transient; his lower right hand benevolently extends the promise of grace and redemption; and his lower left-hand points downward to the demon below his feet, indicative of the ignorance that we must conquer. His movements, while in perfect harmony, are so fast and vigorous that the tongue of flame in his hand creates the illusion of a circle of fire. In the midst of this energetic dance, his face is the picture of calm, symbolic of his transcendence, where he is immanent in the dance of the cosmos but totally above it.

Shiva then is the object of ritual, but the subject of something far beyond it. The Kanwariyas fulfil their arduous pilgrimage as an act of faith. I think that they would do with even more dedication if they were simultaneously also more immersed in the profound philosophy that Shiva represents.

Pavan K Varma is author, diplomat, and former Member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha). Just Like That is a weekly column where Varma shares nuggets from the world of history, culture, literature, and personal reminiscences. The views expressed are personal