THE EMBODIMENT OF AFFIRMATION: ŚIVA IN TULSIDAS’ RĀMACARITAMĀNAS AS A SYMBOL OF SECTARIAN UNITY

By

DUSTIN HALL

A THESIS PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE SCHOOL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS

UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA

2019 © 2019 Dustin Hall To the community of scholars, friends, and family, whose patience proved unwavering in the composition of this thesis and who ensured its fruition with encouragement and inspiration ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I thank the Chair of my committee, Dr. Vasudha Narayanan, who is the very embodiment of patience, who is a ceaseless well of encouragement, and at whose feet

Wisdom and Inspiration surely find comfort. I thank Dr. Whitney Sanford, who is a fountain of endless advice and a true viśvamitrā, friend of the universe. I give a special thanks to Dr. Michael Jerryson, without whom I would have never found the courage to pursue an academic career, who is my guide and mentor, and who is the gurupranetā, leader of gurus. I give an extended thanks to Dr. Philip Lutgendorf, whose conversations with me provided invaluable insight that propelled this project forward. I also thank

Sarah Lowry, Christopher Nickel, Abby Kulisz, Joshua McKinley, Victoria Machado,

Amanda Nichols, my brothers Brandon and Sharid Hall, and my Uncle Mickey for their unyielding support and often-times tough love that helped me in this endeavor. Lastly, but most importantly, I thank my mother, Mary Hall, who is the foundation on which I build my life, who is my eternal support, who is the incarnation of Love, and the embodiment of selflessness. Thank you all; again and again, thank you.

4 INVOCATION

ॐ गंगणपतये नमः ॥

िवशेशं माधवं धुिणं दणपािणं च भैरवम् ।

वने काशी गुहां गङ् गां भवानी मिणकिणरकाम् ॥१॥

िशवं िशवकरं शानं िशवातानं िशवोतमम् ।

िशवमागरपणेतारं पणमािम सदािशवम् ॥२॥

नमः िशवाभां नवयौवनाभां परसरिशषवपुधरराभाम्।

नगेनकनावृषकेतनाभां नमो नमः शङ् करपावरतीभाम्॥३॥

ॐ

सतं िशवं सुनरम् ॥

5 TABLE OF CONTENTS

page

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ...... 4

INVOCATION ...... 5

PROLOGUE ...... 8

The Rāmacaritamānas ...... 10 Literature Review ...... 12 Methodology and Organization ...... 17

ŚIVA WITHIN THE RĀMACARITAMĀNAS ...... 24

The Śivacarita ...... 26 Invocations to Śiva ...... 28 Special Invocations: Brahman ...... 38

A RĀM-BHAKTĀ IN THE CITY OF ŚIVA ...... 43

A Mānas Disquieted ...... 47 Contempt ...... 52 A Note on the bhakti Movement & bhakti: Reconsiderations ...... 52 Competing Ideologies ...... 56 Unification ...... 60 Hinduism as a Religious Category ...... 64 Inclusivism and Syncretism ...... 73

CONCLUSION...... 77

BIBLIOGRAPHY ...... 79

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ...... 81

6 Abstract of Thesis Presented to the Graduate School of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Master of Arts

THE EMBODIMENT OF AFFIRMATION: ŚIVA IN TULSIDAS’ RĀMACARITAMĀNAS AS A SYMBOL OF SECTARIAN UNITY

By

Dustin Hall

May 2019

Chair Vasudha Narayanan Major: Religion

This essay examines Śiva’s role in Tulsidas’ Rāmacaritamānas. It seeks to answer why Śiva has as much importance as the poem’s protagonist, Rām, the incarnation of Viṣṇu. By means of textual & historical analysis, this work analyzes

Tulsidas’ composition of Śiva’s narrative frame and the socioreligious landscape of Kaśi contemporaneous to Tulsidas in order to understand why he emphasized Śiva’s narration of and participation in his epic poem. I argue that Śiva is not an extraneous character in the Rāmacaritamānas and treating him as such obfuscates the purport of the text as Tulsidas’ attempt to unify prominent Hindu sects during a reprieve of Mughal oppression in Kaśi.

7 PROLOGUE

Hindu epics, such as the Mahābhārata and the Rāmāyaṇa, are arguably the most beautiful pieces of literature one may ever read. They are magnanimous texts that describe the feats of great kings, queens, and citizens of ancient Bhārat (India). They recount in extraordinary detail entire lineages of families and their heroic, or not so heroic, adventures. They discuss at great length politics, law, religion, familial piety, social propriety, and the inner workings of traditions and beliefs. They are rife with beasts and ghouls, riddles and paradoxes, and curses and blessings. Time and space appear to be afterthoughts: their settings occur in other worldly places from time out of mind or even in an instant.1 Most prevalently, they describe both in horrible and majestic detail the numerous incarnations of powerful gods and goddesses and the epic wars they wage with demons and demonesses of equal valor.

Hindu epics often stand as authoritative texts for Hindu sects because they recount the extraordinary līlā-s (sportive, divine playings) in which gods and goddesses participate. Within the Mahābhārata, for instance, is the Bhagavadgītā, The Song of

Bhagavan, the god Kṛṣṇa, which stands as one of the most popular references of Hindu literature—even the current Prime Minister of India, Narendra Modi, gifted the emperor of Japan with a copy of it when he visited in September, 2014.2 And if one travels anywhere in the Hindu world, she or he will not find a place nor person which does not or cannot reference the many deeds of King Rām from the Rāmāyaṇa, either in sculpture, theater, or recital.

1 This is in reference to a lot of stories beginning in the naimiṣa forest, with the word naimiṣa being a derivative of the Sanskrit word nimiṣa, meaning “in an instant” or “in the blink of an eye.”

2 “Narendra Modi Gifts Gītā to Japanese Emperor, Takes a Dig at ‘Secular Friends,’” The Times of India, September 2, 2014, http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/Narendra-Modi-gifts-Gītā-to-Japanese- emperor-takes-a-dig-at-secular-friends/articleshow/41530900.cms

8 The gods and goddesses who are characters in these epics are not limited by the mundane rules and modes of normal human life. Kṛṣṇa, for instance, as a child, kills demons from his crib, frees trapped souls from trees he brakes while dragging a millstone, and opens his mouth to show his foster mother the universe contained within him, while, simultaneously, stealing butter and sporting flirtatiously with the girls in his village. So much so do these rules and modes not apply to the gods and goddesses of these epics that even the popular canon cannot contain them. The Rāmāyaṇa, for instance, has at least five different retellings, wherein one would be surprised to learn that who they thought was the villain/villainess in one turns out to be the hero/heroine in another.

If these gods and goddesses accomplish such extraordinary feats that they cannot be contained in one version of their own stories, imagine the seemingly incomprehensible behavior in which they may partake. One strange behavior is the worshiping of other deities despite being the incarnation of the Supreme Divine, themselves, as believed by their devotees. Kṛṣṇa, who is an incarnation of Viṣṇu, for instance, praises Śiva at length in the “Anuśāsana Parva” (The Book of Instruction) of the Mahābhārata: reciting the thousand names of Śiva at the behest of Bhīṣma, glorifying Śiva and his divine qualities, and singing of him devotional praises.

Many versions of the Rāmāyaṇa illustrate the same trans-devotional behavior of its central god, Rām. In Valmīkī’s Rāmāyaṇa, Rām builds a sacred alter to and worships

Śiva at the cusp of the bridge he built in order to cross the ocean and save his wife,

Sītā. In fact, there stands currently the Rāmeśwaram Temple, a temple dedicated to

Śiva, on the Rameswaram Island in Tamil Nadu to mark the very location this took

9 place. Likewise, the Adhyātmā Rāmāyaṇa features Śiva as a bhaktā (a devotee) of

Rām. However, one retelling of the Rāmāyaṇa depicts an unusual trans-devotional relationship between Rām, the central god of the story, and Śiva, the story’s narrator:

Tulsidas’ Rāmacaritamānas (also referred to as the Mānas).

The Rāmacaritamānas

Tulsidas’ Mānas recounts the familiar story of Rām and his beloved wife Sītā in

Avadhi, a Hindi dialect. Tulsidas composed his epic in poetic verse and structured it so it would ring familiar to his audience. A series of narrative frames that produce a rasa

(flavor) of the Mahābhārata and the Puraṇa-s book-ends the Mānas. The main narrative frame, Śiva’s recitation of Rām’s story to his spouse, Pārvatī, is reminiscent of the post-

Veda Upaniṣad-s, staging a teacher’s (Śiva’s) soothing of a student’s (Pārvatī’s) doubts.

In the same way, Śiva’s narrative frame is an homage to the Adhyātmā Rāmāyaṇa, as it is a story told by Śiva to Pārvatī and also seeks to answer the same theological question: was Rām divine or was Rām human? Lastly, Śiva’s narrative frame directly corresponds to the style of writing found in the Āgamas, which were and still are revered among Śaiva practitioners across the subcontinent.

The familiarity Tulsidas constructed in his Mānas lended it the ability to become one of the most influential pieces of Hindu literature, being revered by numerous Hindus across north and central India and throughout the diaspora. His choice to compose it in the vernacular did prove troublesome, however. Tulsidas wrote the Mānas in Kaśi,

Śiva’s city, and, as he was a member of the brāhmaṇa caste, it was expected of him to compose such a devotional work in Sanskrit. Wanting his love for Rām to spill over to the masses and not be held in the chalice of the elite, he devised a way to prove the worth of his poem to the Śaiva brāhmaṇa-s opposing him, despite his deviating from the

10 standard, scholarly language. A story in the Mūlagosāīṃcarita, a biographical account of

Tulsidas’ life, recounts the story. The Mūlagosāīṃcarita states that Tulsidas took his

Mānas to the main Śaiva temple in the city of Kaśi, and, there, a Sanskrit scholar placed the poem at the foot of the alter. The scholar stacked atop it the Śāstra-s, Purāṇa-s,

Upaniṣad-s, and Veda Saṁhitā-s and locked the temple doors for the night. Upon his return the next morning, he found the Mānas on top of the other texts and inscribed upon it the phrase “Satyam, Śivam, Sundaram” (“Truth, Auspicious, and Beautiful”).

Once Tulsidas discovered what had happened, he declared to the brāhmaṇa-s that this demonstrated even Śiva accepted the devotional value of his Avadhi poem. With

Tulsidas having structured his Mānas in ways that place Śiva in context of traditional

Hindu literature and with stories, such as that found in the Mūlagosāīṃcarita, making

Śiva a part of the the poem’s greater acceptance, it is clear that Tulsidas held Śiva at an esteemed level, arguably as much as he did Rām, the protagonist of the poem.

Not only did allusions to and stories of Śiva surround the composition of the

Mānas, Tulsidas absolutely saturated the poem with him, as well. Nearly half of the first division, the Bālakāṇḍa, focuses on Śiva and his wife Pārvatī. All of the kāṇḍa-s, except one, begin with invocations to Śiva, and, throughout the Mānas, narrators continually praise Śiva. Tulsidas even credits Śiva as the first author of the Mānas. This leads one to question why a poem about Rām would have such strong resonance with another deity, especially when a deeply devoted Rām-bhaktā, as Tulsidas was, composed it?

How did Śiva come to possess such importance? What was the purpose behind

Tulsidas’ decision to emphasize Śiva’s role? Why Śiva?

11 Literature Review

Contemporary scholarship neglects explaining why Śiva has a substantial appearance in the Mānas. Scholarly texts either focus solely on the Vaiṣṇava (Rām/

Viṣṇu) elements of the poem and disregard Śiva completely, or they produce arguments concerning a balance of ideology contemporary with Tulsidas’ work while providing little to no evidence to support this. Philip Lutgendorf, one the authorities on the Mānas, acknowledges Śiva perhaps more explicitly than most scholars but in limited and broad ways. First, in his entry in the Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism,3 he explores how Śiva- bhaktā-s influence Tulsidas’ life and only briefly describes any influence Śiva or Śiva- bhaktā-s may have had on his writing the Mānas. Lutgendorf explains how Tulsidas lived in “[Śiva’s] city” and references “‘oppression’ from [Śiva’s] servants…possibly indicating criticism or persecution for his popularization of [Rām] devotion and use of the vernacular.”4 Lutgendorf continues and describes stories in Nābhādas’ biographical account of Tulsidas’ life, wherein he elaborates more detailed interactions between

Śaiva brāhmaṇa-s and the poet-saint. One story tells of Tulsidas feeding a brāhmaṇa who has committed murder and has been expelled from his caste. The story reads:

Tulsidas, having come to know the crime of a brāhmana begging food from him, gives him food regardless of his denigrated social status. Under the scorn of Śaiva priests for having fed the criminal-brāhmaṇa undeserving of charity, Tulsidas insists the man had been purified and forgiven of his crime after following his’ instruction to recite the sacred Name, rām. Tulsidas proves this by having the brāhmaṇa offer food to a statue of Nandi, Śiva’s vehicle bull, at the famed Viśvanāth Temple.

3 This is the closest encyclopedic article on the Mānas, as Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism does not yet have an article on the Mānas itself; rather, it only has an article titled “Rāmāyaṇa” that mentions the Mānas as another version of the story of Rām.

4 Philip Lutgendorf, “Tulsīdās”, in: Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism, Edited by: Knut A. Jacobsen, Helene Basu, Angelika Malinar, Vasudha Narayanan. Consulted online on 16 October 2016 , Section: Life and Legend.

12 Miraculously, the stone Nandi accepts the priest’s food and eats it, leaving everyone astonished.5

Lastly in this article, Lutgendorf briefly mentions that the god Śiva’s appearance in the

Mānas as one of the poem’s narrators is an indicator of some sort of reconciliation between Vaiṣṇava and Śaiva sects during Tulsidas’ life but does not explain any reason for this interpretation.6

Though Lutgendorf only briefly mentions Śiva’s assigned role as narrator of the

Mānas in his article on Tulsidas in the Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism, he did develop this argument further in an earlier work. In his 1991 book, The Life of a Text: Performing the Rāmcaritmānas of Tulsidas, Lutgendorf explains the historical contexts and developments of the multifarious ways devotees have adapted the Mānas as performance. In his exploration of this phenomenon, he analyses the Śiva/Pārvatī narrative frame of the epic poem and states that it is an example of context-sensitivity within greater Hindu literature. He describes it as a way of “buttressing one of the prime theological positions—the fundamental compatibility of [Vaiṣṇavism] and [Śaivism]—by depicting [Śiva] as a model devotee of [Rām].”7 Ultimately, Lutgendorf’s work allows scholars to note an importance of narrative framing, but he does not seek to investigate any deeper why Tulsidas chose the Śiva/Pārvatī frame, itself.

Lutgendorf, in most his works, prioritizes analyses of Rām’s story in the Mānas, how Rām-bhaktā-s have created Rāmlīlā-s (narrative plays) founded on the poem, or other characters’ appearances (such as Hanuman), but he treats Śaiva elements as

5 Ibid.

6 Ibid.

7 Philip Lutgendorf, The Life of a Text: Performing the Rāmcaritmānas of Tulsidas, Berkeley : University of California Press, 1991, http://hdl.handle.net/2027/heb.02439.0001.001, 24.

13 tertiary. In another work, he does mention that Śiva is identified as the guru of the poem and he is praised before beginning any Rāmlīlā, but Lutgendorf stops there.8 In another work, he focuses on Hanuman, and he describes at great length the view that Hanuman is an avatar of Śiva; however, he makes it explicit that, within the Mānas, Tulsidas makes no connection to this and only praises Hanuman as such in other works.9

Footnoting this observation, he mentions that other scholars have argued Śiva revels in his own role as Hanuman in the Mānas, evidenced by the invocations to Śiva at the beginning of each kāṇḍa except the Sundarakāṇḍa (the kāṇḍa starring Hanuman and his exploits), but this is an aside that Lutgendorf is satisfied with leaving as such with no further development.

Other scholars of the Mānas either fail to acknowledge any importance of Śiva or repeat Lutgendorf’s observations. Ramdas Lamb, an authority on the Rāmnāmī Samaj, a religious sect devoted to the name of Rām and who hold the Mānas in the highest esteem, recounts the aforementioned “trial” tale of the Mūlagosāīṃcarita but considers

Śiva’s relationship to the Mānas no further.10 A majority of his other works focus solely on the Vaiṣṇava (Rām/Viṣṇu) elements of the poem. Another scholar, Linda Hess wrote an essay exploring the narrative framing of the Mānas, the literary device from whence

Lutgendorf derived his conclusions, but she glossed over Śiva’s importance as one of the poem’s narrators. Hess, rather, spends a great deal of time navigating and trying to

8 Philip Lutgendorf, "Ram's Story in Shiva's City: Public Arenas and Private Patronage,” in Culture and Power in Banaras: Community, Performance, and Environment, ed. Sandria Freitag, Berkley: University of California Press, 1980, 34.

9 Philip Lutgendorf, Hanuman’s Tale: The Messages of a Divine Monkey, New York: Oxford University Press, 2007, 58.

10 Ramdas Lamb, "Personalizing the Ramayana: Ramnamis and Their Use of the Ramacharitmans,” in Many Ramayanas, The Diversity of a Narrative Tradition in South Asia ed. Paula Richman, Berkley: University of California Press, 1994, 237.

14 simplify the narrative frames of the poem, but aside from identifying Śiva and Pārvatī as basic narrators, she only argues that the “narrative ‘frames’ in the [Mānas], like a bewildering series of layers in many other Indian texts, are a way of demonstrating the meaning of māyā or līlā.”11 She, in no way, tries to answer why Tulsidas chose the narrators he did.

In another of Hess’ works, she explores a tradition founded on the Śiva/Pārvatī narrative frame of the Mānas called “the śaṅkā tradition.”12 In this tradition, any reader of the Rāmacaritamānas can call in to a radio station or write to an authority on the

Mānas and ask questions about the poem that leaves them with great doubt. The question-and-response method is modeled after Pārvatī’s many doubts that she presents to Śiva in the Mānas, which he ultimately answers with the retelling of Rām’s sportive adventures. In Hess’ explanation of the longest śaṅkā source she analyzed, found in Pandit Ramkumar Das’ Ratnāvalī, Hess connects the narrative framing of the

Mānas to the way the Śaiva Āgama-s also use it: “By adopting such a frame, [Tulsidas] links his text with the broad stream of [Śaiva Āgama-s]—part of a general intention to link the worship of [Śiva] with that of [Viṣṇu-Rām] that is evident throughout the

Mānas.”13 Her echo of Lutgendorf’s observations begins to lend credence to Śiva’s presence in the Mānas, but, like other scholars, she does not develop this further.

11 Linda Hess, "Staring at Frames Till They Turn into Loops: An Excursion through Some Worlds of Tulsidas,” in Living Banaras: Hindu Religion in Cultural Context, ed. Bradley R. Hertel and Cynthia Ann Humes, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993, 84.

12 In this tradition, pious Hindus, or “Lovers,” ask scholars questions regarding a variety of doubts, śaṅkā- s, they have about the Mānas.

13 Linda Hess, “Lovers’ Doubts: Question the Tulsi Rāmāyaṇ,” in Questioning Ramayanas: A South Asian Tradition, ed. Paula Richman, Berkley: University of California Press, 2001, 31.

15 Only one scholar argues Lutgendorf and Hess’ observations and expands them:

Usha Devi Shukla, a prolific writer on the use of the Mānas in the Hindu diaspora. In one work, focused on the use of the poem in the South African Hindu diaspora, Shukla spends a significant amount of time developing Tulsidas’ historical framework and his ideology. She explains that the sociopolitical atmosphere contemporaneous with

Tulsidas was saturated with conflict as “unity among Hindus was lacking in all spheres of life” and how this problem “concomitant with Muslim rule did not ease the situation.

Muslim proselytization of Hindus continued, the ills of the caste-system persisted and the masses were still depressed.”14 She continues by elaborating the inter-Hindu struggle between sampradāya-s (disciplines of thought), whether God was saguṇa (with attributes) or nirguṇa (without attributes).15 She also argues that Tulsidas was a Smārta

Brāhmaṇa and not simply a Rām-bhaktā by evidence of his invocations to all deities in the Mānas,16 though I feel this argument is weakly supported. Based on this evidence, and with uncanny precision, Shukla delivers an argument that both echoes Lutgendorf and Hess’ reconciliatory observations and answers some of the questions left in their wake:

Through his Divine Hero, Śrī [Rām], [Tulsidas] reconciles [Rāmānuja’s viśiṣṭādvaita] and [Śaṅkara’s] advaita and the different bhakti movements. He makes Lord [Viṣṇu] and Lord [Śiva] devotees of each other, thereby bridging the gap between the [Vaiṣṇavas] and the [Śaivas]. He strengthens Hindu beliefs by reconciling [nirguṇa] and [saguṇa] bhakti and he sets before the people the ideal leader to help solve the sociopolitical problems of the Hindus.17

14 Usha Devi Shukla, Rāmacaritamānasa in South Africa, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers Private Limited, 2002, 43 & 44.

15 Ibid. 44.

16 Ibid. 45.

17 Ibid. 44.

16 What strengthens Shukla’s expansion of the argument is her attention paid to the sociopolitical climate of the time and her observation that Rām/Viṣṇu and Śiva act as bhaktā-s to one another.

Regarding Shukla’s attention to the sociopolitical climate, it is not the case that other scholars are ignorant to this; Lutgendorf, especially, has written on such topics as the bhakti movement and influential poet-saints of the same time period (referred to in this thesis as a medieval period). However, current literature lacks an adequate suturing of medieval movements with choices made by poet-saints in their works, but Shukla begins to do so. Regarding Shukla’s attention to whom is a devotee of whom, she is offering an argument that is contrary to Lutgendorf’s previously mentioned: that Śiva is subordinate to Rām/Viṣṇu. This is demonstrative that there are multiple interpretations of the gods’ relationship to each other within the poem, and scholarship has yet to address this. Furthermore, it leaves scholars to question: how could Śiva and Rām be devotees of one another if Tulsidas sought to promote Rām devotion with his poem; would this not render each divinity as being equal and negate Rām’s sole salvific abilities? Tulsidas must have had a prime directive for including Śiva in such a controversial way, and there remains a dearth in scholarship that attempts to answer this question.

Methodology and Organization

Philip Lutgendorf, Linda Hess, and Usha Devi Shukla are the foundation of this thesis. Lutgendorf and Hess argue that, based on how Tulsidas used Śiva as part of his narrative framing, Śiva’s appearance facilitates harmony between Śiva and Rām devotees, but I argue that Tulsidas’ decision to assign Śiva such a role in his poem unifies Śaiva and Rāma sects. This is based on the observations of the sociopolitical

17 environment and the relationship between Śiva and Rām, upon which Shukla expands but to which other scholars only allude. Though Shukla elaborates the complexities and hardships of medieval India, I feel that her connections between that hostile environment and Tulsidas’ composition choices for his Mānas can be further detailed.

This essay will perform both textual and historical analyses of the Mānas as its methodology. The textual analysis will accomplish two goals: it will demonstrate that

Śiva is a critical element of the Mānas and to what extent, and it will further develop

Śiva and Rām’s relationship. Regarding the first goal, I analyze two substantial portions of Tulsidas’ poem dedicated to Śiva: the Śivacarita (the portion of the poem describing the deeds of Śiva) and characters’ invocations to him (voiced by Tulsidas and dramatis persona). Regarding the second goal, I connect elements from the Śivacarita and the invocations to both support Shukla’s argument that the two deities are bhaktā-s of each other and push beyond it, arguing Tulsidas’ use of the reciprocal bhaktā relationship between Śiva and Rām equates the two gods in value, illustrating Tulsidas’ desire to erase the stark divide between the Śaiva and Rāma sects.

Having illustrated via textual analysis Tulsidas’ desire to erase the divide between the two sects, the historical analysis will explicate the sociopolitical context contemporaneous to Tulsidas living in Kaśi and seek to answer why he would propose this unity. I begin with elements external to the indigenous, Indian-subcontinent populous by providing a brief history of Kaśi, herself, in order to demonstrate the impact

Muslim invasion had on the socioreligious climate of the city during the medieval,

Mughal period. The reader will find that the non-Muslim population suffered tremendous loss as its new rulers laid claim to the land, but, serendipitously, when Tulsidas took up

18 residence in Kaśi, Emperor Muhammad Akbar reigned and proved to be a significant sponsor for the redevelopment of non-Muslim peoples affected by the tyranny of his predecessors. This reprieve afforded Tulsidas a safe, political environment to advocate the strengthening of the Hindu community.18

Next, I outline a dialogue internal to the Hindu community that predated Muslim invasion. This is what is commonly known as the bhakti movement, a pan-Indian movement focused on bhakti, devotion. Supplementing work that scholars have already completed (e.g., John Hawley, David Lorenzen, and Andrew Nicholson), I highlight elements of the bhakti movement and the conflicts its elements generated between

Hindu traditions during the medieval period. My focus on the bhakti movement will briefly problematize preconceived notions of its development and spread, outline essential categories scholars use to create a typology of traditions based on devotion, and posit the utility of David Lorenzen’s refined method for creating a more accurate typology of bhakti traditions than exists currently. I then apply this analysis of bhakti and the bhakti movement to the elements of devotion Tulsidas describes as valuing in his

Mānas and other applicable works and compare these to two of his contemporaries,

Rāmānanda and Kabir. I find that each poet-saint envisioned an ideal religious community founded on certain metaphysical and socio-ideological views. For

Rāmānanda, the ideal religious community valued the physical manifestation of God as

Rām and did not value the traditional caste system. Kabir envisioned a community that valued an un-manifest form of God, be it a Hindu god or otherwise, and did not value the caste system, as well. Tulsidas, contrary to both his contemporaries, valued both the

18 The terms “Hindu” and “Hinduism” are catchall terms throughout this thesis for communities that are now included in this religion but were not considered a single, religious entity contemporaneously to Tulsidas.

19 manifest and un-manifest form of God and did value the caste system, the dissolution of which, caused my Muslim invasion, was symptomatic to the strengthening grip of the kaliyuga (an age according to Hindus steeped in immorality and godlessness). Tulsidas devoted himself to the manifest Rām and the un-manifest name, rām, and held strong beliefs in the efficacy of the caste system to maintain order in society. He also observed that Śiva devotees in Kaśi valued the same things, so I argue he composed Śiva as he did in his Mānas to advocate for unity amongst Śaiva and Rāma sampradāya-s, denoting a pivotal moment in history that would lead to modern Hinduism.

I understand that the word “Hinduism” did not exist during Tulsidas’ time period, at least not in the same way that people popularly understand it now: as a term describing a single, indigenous, Indian religion. For this reason, I continue and formulate a vocabulary compatible with Tulsidas’ time period. In order to accomplish this, I rely on the work of Andrew Nicholson, who explored the dialogue of unification within philosophical sampradāya-s among Indian thinkers. Nicholson’s analysis of the philosophical sampradāya-s’ development leads him to make an argument that I seek to parallel: one person observed consistencies and inconsistencies throughout a specific social domain and argued that the apparent, starkly divided traditions were complimentary and, in truth, parts of a unified whole. Nicholson’s work focuses on

Vijñanabhikṣu, a prolific writer but under appreciated philosopher, whose contributions to the Indian philosophical domain significantly impacted the acceptance of the modern

ṣaddarśana, the six philosophical schools of Hinduism. I chose to focus on Nicholson’s work because Vijñanabhikṣu was a contemporary of Tulsidas, Rāmānanda, and Kabir.

While I cannot prove that Vijñanabhikṣu and Tulsidas or the others ever sat down

20 together and discussed their thoughts, I have no doubt that Tulsidas, being a part of the brāhmaṇa intelligentsia, would have been exposed to Vijñanabhikṣu’s ideas.

Nicholson evaluates how Vijñanabhikṣu assessed whether philosophical sampradāya-s qualified as āstika, affirming, or nāstika, denying, based on which groups believed: 1) the Vedas held ultimate authority, 2) the Vedas and various authoritative texts accurately described the nature of Brahman, and 3) these texts outlined the appropriate means of mokṣa, liberation. Basing my own argument on Nicholson’s evaluation, I extrapolate David Lorenzen’s method of categorizing bhakti traditions and formulate my own checklist for Tulsidas. Do devotees: 1) believe in a god who physically manifested into this world and whose exploits are of a divine nature, 2) believe that God is also un-manifest, all pervasive, omnipotent, and whose divinity can be realized through meditation on a name, and 3) believe that the caste system is the manifestation of a perfect society for the purpose of maintaining order? Tulsidas believed that Rām-bhaktā-s and Śiva-bhaktā-s fulfilled all three categories, so I create the term āstikasampradāya, affirming tradition, as a term to substitute “Hinduism” but with the same connotation of unity. Evidently, just as I argue Tulsidas’ advocating for unity amongst Śaiva and Rāma sampradāya-s denotes a pivotal moment in history, so, too, could one say Vijñanabhikṣu’s contribution to the philosophical domain achieves the same ends. In this way, Tulsidas and Vijñanabhikṣu appear to be the fathers of what is known as modern Hinduism: Tulsidas from a sectarian front and Vijñanabhikṣu from a philosophical one.

Finally, the only question left to answer is why Tulsidas would feel he needed to advocate for unity, and my last section is dedicated to answering this. Earlier, I

21 explained how some scholars simply posit that Tulsidas chose to assign Śiva a narrator’s role because the gesture functioned as a mode of reconciling the divide between the Śaiva and Rāma sects, of which Tulsidas experienced the harsh consequences evidenced by the harassment he suffered that Philip Lutgendorf explained. Andrew Nicholson adds another dimension to this argument by citing Paul

Hacker, who argues Tulsidas was an inclusivist trying not to reconcile differences between Śiva and Rām bhaktā-s but to absorb Śiva-bhaktā-s into the Rāma sect.

Nicholson acknowledges that inclusivism could be a positive thing, as it allows pluralistic societies to function without many issues, but he does not accept that Tulsidas was an inclusivist. Instead, Nicholson argues that Tulsidas was a syncretist, brining together groups who shared more commonalities than not for the protection of the groups as a whole. Again, my argument parallels that of Nicholson’s, but I do argue Tulsidas was an inclusivist, albeit not as severe as one as Hacker argues. Were Tulsidas not an inclusivist, I do not believe he could propagate Rām devotion as widely as he had done in Śiva’s city, so, to some extent, it would have been advantageous to exercise some amount of inclusivism. Nicholson’s syncretist argument, on the other had, could not be more perfect. Time and again throughout this thesis, I bring to the fore the fact that

Muslim invasion had devastating consequences to the non-Muslim populous native to the subcontinent. With the advent of Muhammad Akbar’s rule and the reprieve from persecution occurring when Tulsidas lived in Kaśi, the sociopolitical environment afforded Tulsidas the opportunity to unite groups who shared his values in order to strengthen their chances of survival. In these ways, Tulsidas’ inclusion of Śiva in his

22 Rāmacaritamānas allowed him, as an inclusivist and a syncretist, to advocate for unity amongst Śaiva and Rāma sects to ensure their political stature holistically.

23 ŚIVA WITHIN THE RĀMACARITAMĀNAS

Introduction: The first section of this work is a textual analysis designed to extricate from Tulsidas’ Rāmacaritamānas a majority of the important elements and passages that highlight Śiva and his prominent appearance in this beautiful poem. It is important to note that this analysis is not exhaustive, as I only give a preliminary analysis of portions of the text that stand out in the English translation. One will discover throughout this section that the Mānas is absolutely saturated with Śiva and that his presence is symbolic of a special purport. Nearly half of the poem’s first division, the

Bālakāṇḍa, in fact, focuses on Śiva and his wife Pārvatī with little to no focus on Rām.

In addition to illustrating the healthy space within the Mānas that Śiva occupies, I will extricate and explain excerpts praising the Lord of Pārvatī (Śiva), as well as excerpts that develop and expound Tulsidas’ own religious ideals, unexpectedly inclusive of Śiva in a unique way.

I commence this project simply by identifying Śiva’s most apparent role as narrator of the Mānas and by briefly retelling the Śivacarita: the stories associated with

Śiva leading to his revealing the Rāmacaritamānas to Pārvatī. I continue by examining the various invocations to Śiva found throughout the Mānas, particularly those made by

Tulsidas and those he composes in the voices of dramatis personae. Regarding

Tulsidas’ invocations composed in his own voice, I analyze these in an effort to establish the relevance of Śiva to Tulsidas’ own theological views and to demonstrate that Śiva is an essential element to the poem: as its author, as guru to Tulsidas and his readers, and as the agent of causality in the pursuit of god-realization along with the composition and completion of the Rāmacaritamānas, itself. Regarding the invocations Tulsidas composes in the voices of dramatis personae, I specifically analyze those of Sītā, Rām,

24 Yājñavalkya, and Viṣṇu (of whom Rām is an incarnation). Sītā’s invocations to Pārvatī before her marriage to Rām draws a much overlooked parallel between Śiva/Rām and

Pārvatī/Sītā.1 Without any doubt, this moment in the poem is carefully crafted by

Tulsidas to elucidate the fact there is no difference between the two pairs of deities: he renders equal the lives’ of both pairs to demonstrate they are one and the same. Rām’s,

Yājñavalkya’s, and Viṣṇu’s invocations to Śiva add to his importance by exemplifying him as an equal to Rām. Rām’s and Yājñavalkya’s invocations construct a reciprocal devotionalism (wherein Śiva is a bhaktā of Rām and Rām is a bhaktā of Śiva) as well as a dependency of devotion to one being complete only if there is devotion to the other; and Viṣṇu’s invocations proclaim the greatness and salvific power of a deity’s sacred name(s).

I conclude this section with a unique set of invocations to Brahman (the non- qualified and uninvolved representation of the Supreme, or Absolute) by Tulsidas.

These are innovations located in the Mānas’ prologue neither to Śiva nor any other deity but to all that is good and all that is wicked in the universe, and they connect in an artistic way to another verse later in the Śivacarita. The analysis of these special invocations further support the argument that Śiva and Rām are equals by means of

Tulsidas’ descriptors of each god as complementary manifestations of Brahman. All of these invocations serve as the creative way in which Tulsidas exemplifies unity between various devotional expressions and between the contemporaneous Śaiva and Rāma traditions.

1 While this particular section focuses on invocations to Pārvatī and not Śiva, it is rare that popular Hindu sources, especially those regarding Śiva, discuss the two deities separately. With this acknowledgment, I would like to suggest further research be done regarding the Devī and her role within the Mānas, as well, both Pārvatī and Sītā.

25 The Śivacarita

Tulsidas’ Rāmacaritamānas can be broken into three distinct stories, according to

Charlotte Vaudeville: the Śivacarita, the Rāmacarita, and the Bhuśuṇḍicarita.2 The

Rāmacarita is the main narrative of the poem that tells the acts of Rām. Tulsidas uniquely adds the Śivacarita and the Bhuśuṇḍicarita as narrative bookends to the

Rāmacarita, and they explore the various acts of Śiva and Bhuśuṇḍi. While the poem focuses on the great lake of the deeds of Rām, the divinity of Rām, and the power of His name, it, in and of itself, is equally a poem about the great deeds of Śiva and how he came to hear (or tell) the story of Rām, including the minor role Bhuśuṇḍi plays in Śiva’s tale. For this reason, the fact that the Rāmacaritamānas is as much Śiva’s story as it is

Rām’s, I wish to begin the textual analysis with the Śivacarita.

A majority of the Śivacarita takes place within the Bālakāṇḍa, the first division of the Rāmacaritamānas. As with most Hindu epics, the story begins with a prologue to set the narrative. Bharadvāja, who is overly concerned and shameful about his doubt regarding whether the mortal Rām of Ayodhyā is the same divine Rām worshiped by holy men and gods throughout the cosmos, approaches the great sage Yājñavalkya in order to dispel his doubt. Yājñavalkya does so by recounting to him how Satī/Pārvatī once had the same doubt and how it was dispelled by Śiva narrating the

Rāmacaritamānas. Bharadvāja wishes to hear the Rāmacaritamānas in full and

Yājñavalkya tells it to him, beginning with the Śivacarita.

The Śivacarita begins with the doubt, bewilderment, and immolation of Śiva’s wife, Satī. Seeking to reconcile her doubt that the mortal Rām is the same as the divine

2 Charlotte Vaudeville, Étude sur les Sources et la Composition du Rāmāyana de Tulsī-Dās (Paris Libraire d'Amérique et d’Orient: Libraire d'Amérique et d’Orient, 1955).

26 Rām, she approaches Śiva and asks him for help. Serendipitously, her doubt arises at the same time Rām is alive and enacting his great deeds, already banished to the forest with his brother and wife. Śiva instructs Satī to go and see for herself whether Rām is mortal, divine, or both and to return and relay her encounter. Satī ventures into the forest and hides in waiting for her chance to see the auspicious three. Finally, taking advantage of the opportunity to see Rām, she gazes at him and becomes enchanted.

She sees the mortal Rām and Sītā but loses herself in a vision where all she knows to be real, including herself, are but Rām and Sītā. Dazed by her experience, she returns to Śiva and lies to him, telling him she saw nothing of note. Śiva is aware of her dishonesty and so rebukes her, claiming she is an unworthy wife. Over time, though each still loves the other deeply, they become distant from one another in their relationship. One day, Satī’s father hosts a great sacrifice but does not invite his daughter nor Śiva. Nervously, still feeling the burden of their unsettled relationship, she begs of Śiva to go. He agrees that it would be good for her to stay with her father for some time but does not agree to her leaving immediately because they had not been invited to the event. Since Satī insists on going, Śiva relents and sends her with attendants and a warning that fate cannot be evaded. Upon her arrival at her father’s sacrifice, she is not greeted properly nor warmly and discovers that no portion of the offering is reserved for her husband. She retaliates and rages against her father, after which she immolates herself as a demonstration of her loyalty to Śiva.

This is a unique turning point in the story. At this moment, Tulsidas uses the

Śivacarita to connect Śiva directly to Rām. When Śiva learns of his wife’s self- immolation, he, bereft of his love, wanders the forest in mourning—an empathetic

27 allusion to the grief Rām felt when Sītā was abducted by Rāvaṇa. As Śiva wandered and mourned, he found consolation from his miseries by hearing the Rāmacaritamānas from Bhuśuṇḍi, hearing a recounting of the miseries Rām endured wandering in the forest loveless, as well. Tulsidas uses this episode to simultaneously demonstrate the power of his Mānas as well as equate the two deities, illustrating that Śiva is no different than Rām for both suffered and triumphed the same.

The first portion of the Śivacarita ends with the reincarnation of Satī as Pārvatī, her wedding to Śiva, and her doubts being answered by hearing Śiva recite the

Rāmacaritamānas before Tulsidas commences with the Rāmacarita proper and finishes his epic with Śiva’s remaining narrative. In this portion, much like the Adhyātmā

Rāmāyaṇa, Pārvatī expresses the same doubts as her former incarnation, but this time she listens to Śiva’s stories with a pure and open heart, winning the favor of her husband and the grace of Rām. The Bālakāṇḍa, being significantly dedicated to the

Śivacarita in order to set the narrative for the Rāmacaritamānas as a whole, exemplifies that Tulsidas’ inclusion of Śiva is of great import. Yet, there is more to add even to this great story of the deeds of Śiva.

Invocations to Śiva

Aside from the Śivacarita, one of the easiest ways to recognize that Śiva is an important character in the Mānas is to simply read the numerous verses dedicated to him throughout the text. In fact, one will not have to go too far before coming across the first of these kinds of verses, for Śiva is praised at the very beginning, in verse two of the Bālakāṇḍa. Tulsidas says, “I salute Bhavani and Shankar [Pārvatī and Śiva], embodiments of reverence and faith, without whom perfected ones are unable to see

28 God within themselves” (1.0.2).3 Tulsidas does include invocations to other gods and goddesses in his prologue and at the beginning of each kāṇḍa, calling upon them in order to ensure success of his poem, as well. We see invocations to Gaṇeṣa;

Saraswatī; Sūrya; Chandra; Uma/Pārvatī; Hanuman, Rām, Rām’s brothers, and Sītā.

However, excluding the protagonists of the Rāmacarita (Hanuman, Rām, Rām’s brothers, and Sītā), Tulsidas invokes the other gods and goddesses delicately and descriptively but does not dwell on their attributes or stories. These are short and sweet invocations popularly found at the beginning of many Indian texts, poetic or otherwise.

Continually, though, Tulsidas praises Śiva, no less often with Pārvatī, and he also depicts other characters doing the same. Understanding the contexts surrounding these invocations provides for us evidence that they are, no doubt, more purposeful than coincidental.

Tulsidas’ Invocations: As Narrator. Tulsidas’ invocations to Śiva, those he writes assuming the position as narrator and not as other characters, are the first of which I will analyze. Though a majority are located in the Bālakāṇḍa, all are invocations for the purport of calling on Śiva’s grace before Tulsidas or his readers write/read any kāṇḍa of the Mānas,4 and, within some of these invocations, we can see how Tulsidas envisioned the sacred characteristics of Śiva. To Tulsidas, Śiva is the all merciful (4.1.2;

3 Tulsidas, The Epic of Ram, trans. Philip Lutgendorf, vol. 1 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2016), 2.

4 Except the Sundarakāṇḍa. For more information, see Philip Lutgendorf’s Hanuman’s Tale: The Messages of a Divine Monkey (Oxford University Press, 2007), 58.

29 7.0.3),5 the granter of desires (7.0.3),6 the reliever of distress (3.0.1),7 and the “sun that opens the lotus of dispassion” (3.0.1).8 Śiva is also the one who delivers people from the powers of Kāma (Love) (7.0.3),9 the punisher of the wicked (6.0.3),10 and the destroyer of sins, both as a result of the Kaliyuga (6.0.2)11 and generally speaking

(3.0.1).12 Tulsidas also likens Śiva to a tree whose roots are the roots of dharma

(3.0.1)13 and whose fruit is that of the tree of Paradise (6.0.2).14 And, notwithstanding,

Śiva, to Tulsidas, is the granter of the final beatitude, mokṣa (6.0.3),15 and the beloved of Rām (3.0.1).16

Another set of Tulsidas’ invocations as the narrator of the Mānas to Śiva are the invocations describing Śiva as the primordial author of the Mānas. Tulsidas states twice in his prologue: “[Śiva] crafted this beautiful saga, then in his grace told it to Uma. He also gave it to [Bhuśuṇḍi] the crow…From him, [Yājñavalkya] obtained it, and he sang it to [Bharadvāja]” (1.30.2-3);17 and, “This Rāmacaritamānas is a delight to sages for it is

5 Tulsidasa’s Shriramacharitamanasa, ed. and trans. R. C. Prasad (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers Private Limited, 2009), 425 and 571.

6 Ibid. 571.

7 Ibid. 385.

8 Ibid.

9 Ibid. 571.

10 Ibid. 485.

11 Ibid.

12 Ibid. 385.

13 Ibid.

14 Ibid. 485.

15 Ibid.

16 Ibid. 385.

17 Tulsidas, The Epic of Ram, trans. Philip Lutgendorf, vol. 1, 71.

30 [Śiva’s] own lovely, sanctified composition…The great god fashioned it and kept it in his mind till at a stable time, he told it to [Pārvatī]. For this reason, [Śiva] gave it the noble name Rāmacaritamānas, after joyfully searching his heart” (1.35.5-6).”18 One inconsistency in Tulsidas’ Mānas is the chronology regarding who told the tale first and to whom. Aside from these stanzas in the epic poem, were one to try and follow the series of narrative frames Tulsidas creates and the stories within depicting the lineage of telling and retelling the Mānas, it would be easy to get confused. This will either cause the reader to become frustrated with the poem’s origins or the reader may interpret this as a technique of poetic genius. Either way, Tulsidas answers the reader’s doubts with the above stanzas naming Śiva as the primordial originator of the epic poem, which eventually came to Tulsidas’ ear and then to contemporary readers.19

Tulsidas also depicts the guru as the embodiment of Śiva in his preliminary invocations. Again, found in the prologue of the Mānas, Tulsidas says: “I salute the guru, ever abounding in knowledge, the very embodiment of Shankar, through whose sheltering grace the crooked moon is everywhere revered” (1.0.3).20 While this may appear as a trivial detail, Tulsidas highly revered his guru and develops a philosophy surrounding the importance of having a competent and capable guru to guide one in their devotion to their chosen god, either Śiva or Rām. He illustrates this as he continues his prologue, saying:

18 Ibid. 83.

19 For more information and an analysis for such complex chronology, see Linda Hess’ "Staring at Frames till They Turn into Loops: An Excursion through Some Worlds of Tulsidas,” in Living Banaras: Hindu Religion in Cultural Context, ed. Bradley R. Hertel and Cynthia Ann Humes (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993), 73-101.

20 Tulsidas, The Epic of Ram, trans. Philip Lutgendorf, vol. 1, 3.

31 I adore the pure feet of my guru, an ocean of kindness, God in human form, whose speech is a spray of sunbeams in the massed darkness of delusion. I worship the dust of my master’s holy feet, fragrant and lovely as lotus pollen, medicinal powder of the root of immortality that surprises the whole clan of worldly ills. Pure ash on the [Śiva-body] of virtue, generating blessedness and bliss, it takes tarnish from the heart’s mirror, and, worn on the brow, commands all virtues. His toenails are gemstones, whose radiance, but recalled, gives the heart divine sight. That effulgence cracks deluding darkness—how fortunate the one whose heart it fills! The clear inner eyes are uncovered, erasing sin and sorrow of world night, and glittering gems of [Rām’s] deeds are seen, in whatever mine they lie, hidden or manifest (1.0.0e-1.1.1-4).21

The sanctity of the guru/śīṣya (teacher/student) relationship Tulsidas further explicates in the marriage counseling episode of Pārvatī. In this instance, the Sapta Ṛṣi-s (Seven

Sages) test Pārvatī regarding her dedication to marry Śiva. They try to persuade her not to listen to Nārada’s counsel because, more often than not, Nārada’s words wreak havoc in the lives of whom he advises. Her reply is curt but she explains, “You [the

Sapta Ṛṣi-s] have rightly called this body rock-born, and I remain stubborn, even at risk of life. Gold, too, comes out of stone, and even when burned, does not forsake its nature. I will not abandon [Nārada’s] instruction, heedless of whether I make a home or wreck it. Anyone lacking faith in a guru’s words finds no joy or success even in dreams” (1.80.3-4).22 Tulsidas makes it clear that one may not break the bonds between guru and śīṣya, for the bond is sacred. For Tulsidas, the guru must be treated as a god and worshipped reverently; what the guru says is absolute truth.

Lastly, I call attention to a couple of invocations that depict Śiva as the “active agent” behind all endeavors. That is to say, Śiva is he upon whom one calls before taking on a task, for his grace provides a successful result, much like the popular Hindu

21 Ibid. 7 and 9.

22 Ibid. 165.

32 god Gaṇeṣa. Tulsidas says, “May Uma’s lord be favorable to me and make my tale a source of blessed joy. Recalling that holy couple, receiving their gift of grace, I narrate

[Rām’s] saga with an eager mind. By [Śiva’s] blessing, even my speech will shine like night adorned by the moon and stars…If Hara and Gauri [Śiva and Pārvatī] bless me, even for an instant, everything I say about the power of verse in common speech will prove true” (1.15.4-5 and 1:15).23 Specifically, we see Tulsidas calling upon the grace of

Śiva and Pārvatī in order to allow the Avadhi poem be successful. Even the mythos surrounding the Tulsidas’ composition of the Mānas, as indicated in the introduction of this thesis, illustrates Tulsidas’ doubts about language usage and is resolved by Śiva’s grace.

Tulsidas’ Invocations: As Dramatis Personae. In addition to his own invocations, Tulsidas pays reverence to Śiva through the voices of other characters in his Rāmacaritamānas, i.e., as dramatis personae. Previously I mentioned that Tulsidas does invoke other gods and goddesses in his Mānas, albeit minimally, but there is an exception regarding one of these goddesses: Pārvatī. Often coupled with Śiva and revered equally to him in a majority of the preliminary innovations, later in the Mānas,

Pārvatī takes on agency of her own. Tulsidas reveres her independently and just as devoutly as Śiva, removing her subordination to him. In one particular instance, through the voice of Sītā, Tulsidas elevates Pārvatī’s divinity as equal to Śiva’s by attributing to her the power to grant Sītā’s marriage to Rām.

In Sītā’s episode, prior to marrying Rām, she seeks the blessing of Pārvatī in hopes of Rām being able to accomplish the arduous task of breaking Śiva’s bow and, thus, becoming her husband. Tulsidas writes:

23 Tulsidas, The Epic of Ram, trans. Philip Lutgendorf, vol. 1, 43 and 45.

33 Worried by the weight of [Śiva’s] bow, she went, beholding [Rām’s] dark form within…[Sītā] returned to Bhavani’s abode [the temple of Pārvatī], saluted her feet, and spoke, hands joined in prayer, “Hail to you! Daughter of the monarch of mountains, Hail! Cakor hen to the moon of Mahesh’s [Śiva’s] face, Hail! Mother of elephant-headed and six-faced gods and mother of the world, with body bright as lightning! You have no beginning, middle, or end and even the Veda does not know your infinite sway. Cause of cosmic origin, existence, and dissolution, you enchant the world and play at your own whim, and among good, husband-worshiping wives, mother, you are reckoned first. Your endless glory cannot be told even by a thousand Sharadas and Sheshas!” (1.235.1-4).24

The prayer continues for another three verses until Pārvatī answers Sītā’s praises, saying, “Hear, [Sītā], my unfailing blessing. Your heart’s yearning will be fulfilled!

[Nārada’s] words are ever clear and true. You will get the groom your heart adores. He who is adored by your heart, that handsome dark bridegroom will be yours. Mercy’s treasury, all-comprehending, he knows your virtue and your love” (1.236.4-5).25

What is so intriguing about this episode is the fact that it mentions “[Narada’s] words” which are “ever clear and true.” This mimics, almost verbatim, the episode in the

Śivacarita involving Pārvatī and Nārada regarding Pārvatī’s marriage to Śiva. Like Sītā,

Nārada once visited Pārvatī’s family and counseled that she would marry one who is

“worthless, disreputable, orphaned, indifferent, and careless of all affairs, a yogi with matted hair and dispassionate heart, naked, and strangely adorned—such a husband will this girl find, for so it is written on her palm” (1.67.4).26 This sounded to Pārvatī’s parents a horrible fate, but it provoked love in her own heart. Her parents repeated twice that what Nārada had said “cannot be false” (1.68.4 and 1.71.4),27 and Pārvatī, herself,

24 Ibid. vol. 2, 115. (Emphasis is author’s).

25 Ibid. 117.

26 Ibid. vol. 1, 143.

27 Ibid. 145 and 149.

34 revered Nārada’s words to be as true as a guru’s. The significant difference between

Pārvatī’s own prophecy of marriage and that of Sītā’s: Pārvatī had no need to propitiate a deity because she had Śiva already in her heart, whereas Sītā did propitiate Pārvatī in order to fulfill her own fate. This is indicative of Śiva’s and Pārvatī’s power and evidence of Pārvatī’s agency in enacting a critical episode in the Mānas. Additionally, it draws a parallel between the lives of Śiva/Pārvatī and Rām/Sītā, suggesting Tulsidas is arguing the two couples are equal.

Of the dramatis personae invocations Tulsidas writes, none are more important than those in Rām’s, Yājñavalkya’s, and Viṣṇu’s voices. Tulsidas has Rām and

Yājñavalkya speak of reciprocal devotion plainly and composes Viṣṇu’s reciprocity via invoking the sacred power of Śiva’s names. The power of sacred names, to Tulsidas, extend far beyond any physical incarnation of a deity, both in space and time, and can grant deliverance (mokṣa) to any devotee who recites them reverently. This reciprocity between Śiva and Rām illustrates Tulsidas’ own relationship with the two gods: one as the god of his heart and the center of his devotion (Rām) and one as the god of his home and the center of the city’s devotion (Śiva). Moving beyond Lutgendorf and Hess’ arguments that Śiva functions solely as a conciliatory mechanism between Śaiva and

Vaiṣṇava traditions in the Rāmacaritamānas,28 I argue that the relationship between

Śiva and Rām that Tulsidas creates in his poem is demonstrative of Tulsidas’ belief that

Śiva-bhaktā-s and Rām-bhaktā-s revere gods who are, in essence, the same.

28 See Philip Lutgendorf, The Life of a Text: Performing the Rāmcaritmānas of Tulsidas (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 24 and Linda Hess, “Lovers’ Doubts: Question the Tulsi Rāmāyaṇ,” in Questioning Ramayanas: A South Asian Tradition, ed. Paula Richman (Berkley: University of California Press, 2001), 31.

35 Tulsidas’ invocations of Śiva in the voice of Rām construct the foundation for the argument that Śiva-bhaktā-s and Rām-bhaktā-s revere the same gods. Tulsidas nearly chides any Rām-bhaktā-s who feel Śiva is inferior when he has Rām say, “He who is opposed to [Śiva] and is called my worshipper can never dream of attaining to me; he who is opposed to Shankara and yet aspires after faith in me is doomed to perdition, stupid and dull-witted as he is. Those who are devoted to Shankara and are hostile to me, and those who are opposed to [Śiva] but would fain be my servants, shall have their abode in the deepest hell for a full aeon” (6.2.4 - 6.2).29 Tulsidas also writes Rām saying to Nārada, “Without the grace of the triple cities’ foe [Śiva], no one finds loving faith in me, sage…Bearing this in mind, go wander the earth, for now illusion will never assail you” (1.138.4).30 Likewise, when earlier in the Bālakāṇḍa Yājñavalkya is quelling

Bharadvāja’s doubts by telling him the Śivacarita, Tulsidas creates reciprocal devotion between the deities by having Yājñavalkya say, “Blessed is your birth, great sage

[Bharadvāja], for Gauri’s [Pārvatī’s] lord is dear as life to you. One who does not adore

[Śiva’s] pure feet can never be pleasing to [Rām]. Guileless love for Vishvanath [Śiva], lord of the world, is the true sign of a devotee of [Rām]…Who is dearer to [Rām] than

[Śiva], brother?” (1.104.2-4).31

Another case of devotional reciprocity by dramatis personae, also found in the

Bālakāṇḍa, is when the sage Nārada invokes a curse upon himself due to his vain behavior. In this instance, it is Viṣṇu that engages in this special reciprocity. Viṣṇu is displeased with Nārada’s pride for having thwarted Kāmadeva (the god Love) and

29 Tulsidasa’s Shriramacharitamanasa, ed. and trans. R. C. Prasad (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers Private Limited, 2009), 487.

30 Tulsidas, The Epic of Ram, trans. Philip Lutgendorf, vol. 1, 277.

31 Ibid. 219.

36 Indra’s (the King of Gods) plan to disrupt Śiva’s deep meditation in the Himalayas.

Nārada boasts of his victory over desire to anyone who would listen. He recounts his episode to Śiva, and Śiva warns him not to tell Viṣṇu for any reason. Headless of Śiva’s warning, Nārada finds Viṣṇu and boasts of his triumph. Viṣṇu, sensing the conceit in

Nārada’s soul, bewitches him into thinking he has a chance to marry the most beautiful woman to live but does not tell him he changed his appearance into that of a monkey.

Once Nārada discovers Viṣṇu had tricked him, he becomes overly embarrassed and irrationally angry. Viṣṇu instructs Nārada in this fashion in order to dispel the illusory powers (Sanskrit: māyā) he placed on him: “Repeat Shankar’s [Śiva’s] hundred names and your heart will at once find peace. For none is as dear to me as [Śiva]—never, ever abandon this conviction” (1.138.3).32 Consequently, because of his anger once discovering Viṣṇu’s trick, Nārada curses Viṣṇu to incarnate as a mortal who will lose his wife but will find her with the help of monkeys. This episode is Tulsidas’ explanation of how Rām came to be born and why/how he finds victory over his troubles.

While it may appear trivial to extricate one stanza regarding the recitation of

Śiva’s hundred names and argue a case of reciprocal devotion, Tulsidas writes at length in his prologue about the sacred power of a name. Tulsidas discusses the great feats

Rām accomplished and all of the benefits the world inherited from Rām’s presence on earth, but the power of the name, Tulsidas reiterates, extends beyond Rām’s physical incarnation and delivers innumerable evil-doers from the hells they would inherit, dries up the ocean of birth and death, surpasses both Brahman and Rām, and grants boons even to those who give them (1.24-25).33 Of all the gods and goddesses that Tulsidas

32 Ibid. 277.

33 Ibid. 59 and 61.

37 invokes in his Mānas, it is only Śiva’s and Rām’s names that have such power and are worthy of reverence.

To further emphasize Tulsidas’ reciprocal relationship between Śiva and Rām as well as the belief in the power of Śiva or Rām’s name, Tulsidas places the name of Rām on Śiva’s tongue, as he had done the name of Śiva on Rām’s tongue. Tulsidas writes, “I reverence rām, the great Raghu’s name…the supreme mantra [Śiva] constantly repeats, and his teaching, bestowing release in [Kaśi]…Hearing [Śiva] declare it equal to a thousand names, Bhavani [Pārvatī] repeats it with her beloved. Pleased by her heart’s devotion, Hara [Śiva] made that jewel of wives his own ornament. [Śiva] knows well the name’s power, for it turned deathly poison into nectar for him” (1.19.1-4).34

Special Invocations: Brahman

There is a final set of special invocations Tulsidas includes in his Mānas, which he writes as his own words and is a reflection of his personal philosophy. These invocations further support Tulsidas’ aim at equating both Śiva and Rām as supreme gods of the universe. First, Tulsidas pays obeisance to all virtuous persons that they may grant their grace in his completion of the Mānas. He writes, “I revere the feet of the gods of this earth, who dispel all doubts born of delusion. Good people’s company is the mine of all merit, and I salute them with loving words. The deeds of sadhus are like the cotton plant, with its dry, stainless, many-fibered fruit, which suffers pain to cover others’ flaws and wins praiseworthy fame in the world….I praise the equanimity of saintly ones, who favor and oppose no one, like an auspicious flower offering that bestows equal fragrance on both hands” (1.2.2-3 and 1.3a).35 Next, Tulsidas pays obeisance to all

34 Ibid. 51.

35 Ibid. 9 and 13.

38 persons who are vicious that they may also grant their grace in his completion of the

Mānas. He writes, “Next, I sincerely praise the legion of scoundrels, who, without cause, return bad for good, who find their profit in others’ loss, rejoice in their ruin, and mope over their success. Eclipse demons to the moon of the gods' renown, they are thousand-armed heroes in hurting others, who peer with myriad eyes at others’ blemishes and whose minds fall like flies into the ghee of their joy…I praise those villains as angry world-serpents, thousand-mouthed in recounting others’ faults. Then, too, I hail them as like King Prithu, with ten thousand ears to hear others’ sins. Again, I salute them as akin to Indra, who is ever bolstered by strong liquor, cherishes the thunderbolt of cruel words, and peers thousand-eyed at others’ flaws” (1.4.1-2 and

1.4.4-6).36

Tulsidas continues praising the wicked for another six verses before he begins to make a connection between the virtuous and vicious. He writes that he reverences the feet of both saints and scoundrels because they impart sorrow but in different ways: “… separation from one [the virtuous] steals away the soul and mere association with the other [the vicious] gives bitter pain;” then he continues and reduces this dichotomy to its fundamental meaning: “Though arisen together in this world, they differ in nature like lotus and leech. Like nectar and liquor, the holy and the wicked are born of the world’s one fatherless sea. By their own kind or unkind acts each garners the prize of fame or disgrace. Nectar, moonlight, holy [Gaṅgā], and saints, poison, wildfire, polluted stream, and savage hunter—all know the merit and demerits of each, but favor whatever suits their nature. The good accrues goodness, the wicked, wickedness, as nectar is lauded

36 Ibid. 15.

39 for immortality and poison for dealing death” (1.5.2-5).37 His aim in this series of invocations is to dull the borders demarcating good and evil one observes in the world.

What Tulsidas wishes for his readers is that they see God’s creation as singular rather dual. Tulsidas says, “Good and ill are both offspring of the creator, but sacred lore has methodically delineated them. The Veda, epics, and [purāṇa-s] all proclaim Brahma’s creation as a blend of virtue and vice, pain and pleasure, sin and merit, day and night…”

(1.6.2-3).38

As astonishing as it may seem to see Tulsidas reverence all that is good and evil in the world, to ask of it all their grace to complete his Mānas, and to posit that creation is inherently dual-natured, what is most substantial is how he values these natures equally and embodies them in both Śiva and Viṣṇu. In the Śivacarita, when Pārvatī is performing intense tapas (penances) as a means to win Śiva’s love, Tulsidas writes that she is tested by the Sapta Ṛṣi-s to make sure she is worthy of being his wife. At one point they speak slanderously against Śiva and reckon him to be vile and terrible, and

Pārvatī retaliates curtly, saying, “Mahadev may be the abode of demerit, and Viṣṇu the home of all virtues, yet whoever beguiles your heart is the one for whom you yearn!” (1.80).39 I argue that this verse Tulsidas does not place in the text by accident.

Though some seventy verses away from Tulsidas’ praise of the virtuous next to that of the vicious, this verse grabs the readers’ attention and reminds them of Tulsidas’ previous invocations. Therefore, Tulsidas is positing that Śiva and Viṣṇu—and ergo

Rām—are gods of equally-deserved reverence, they are equal expressions of the

37 Ibid. 17.

38 Ibid. 19.

39 Ibid. 165.

40 singular Absolute, Brahman. This argument is furthered substantiated by Tulsidas concluding his dual-natured invocations saying, “The creator has fabricated a world full of dull and sentient, good and evil. Saintly souls, like holy haṃsas [swan or goose], sip virtue’s milk and discard the water of sin” (1.6).40

The Śivacarita and Tulsidas’ invocations to or regarding Śiva, those he composed to reflect his own voice or the voices of others, illustrate how pervasive Śiva is in Tulsidas’ Rāmacaritamānas and demonstrate the importance of Śiva’s role for the development of Tulsidas’ philosophy. The Śivacarita is the cornerstone of the Mānas, on which Tulsidas not only constructs the frame of the Rāmacarita of his epic poem but also builds a foundation for further, poetic allusions to the parallel lives shared between

Śiva and Rām. Additionally, it serves to substantiate the importance of Śiva’s appearance in the Mānas as no mere coincidence because only Śiva (and, by proxy,

Pārvatī), out of all the gods and goddesses present, Tulsidas develops into an active participant as well as a narrator of the Rāmacarita proper. By means of invocations in the voices of dramatis personae, most importantly those of Rām, Yājñavalkya, and

Viṣṇu, Tulsidas renders Śiva accessible to Rām-bhaktā-s on the perimeter of or who stand in opposition to Śiva devotion. Lastly, by means of his special invocations to the virtuous and vicious natured peoples, his explanation of the meaning behind these natures, and his understanding that they are intrinsic to Brahma’s creation, Tulsidas connects the Śivacarita to the invocations of dramatis personae and posits his personal philosophy: Śiva and Rām are equally valuable but polar representatives of the physical manifestation of the Absolute Brahman. For Tulsidas, there is naught which is separate from Brahman: be it the virtuous embodied as Rām and all of his glorious līla, his divine

40 Ibid. 19.

41 play, or the wicked, tricky, and ghastly embodied as Śiva and all of his glorious līla, neither is lesser than the other and both are worthy of devotion.

42 A RĀM-BHAKTĀ IN THE CITY OF ŚIVA

Introduction: While the first section of this thesis illustrates thoroughly but not exhaustively myriad appearances of Śiva in Tulsidas’ Rāmacaritamānas and draws preliminary conclusions regarding the usefulness of such illustrations, the second section analyzes the historical context surrounding the construction of Tulsidas’ epic. It is simple enough to open a text, point, and say, “There is our evidence,” but if the evidence is not substantiated with proper investigation into the world of a text’s author then the one making such arguments is no more crafty than a practitioner of bibliomancy. Thus, this section steps out of the Ayodhyā and Kailaśa of the Mānas and into the mānas (lake) of Kaśi, wherein Tulsidas lived, contextualizing Tulsidas’ poetic techniques and giving deeper meaning to Śiva’s role.

This section begins with a brief description of the advent of Mughal reign in northern India and its effects on the population. The start of the Mughal Empire proved difficult for non-Muslim peoples, as emperors sought not only to wrest control over the economic domain of its conquered lands but the religious domain, as well. Over time, some emperors, more so than others, learned to foster balance between the Muslim and non-Muslim communities. Emperor Muhammad Akbar was one such ruler who encouraged and even sponsored the rebuilding and sustaining of non-Muslim communities that were heavily attacked by emperors past. One important city to Akbar’s kingship was Kaśi: a major economic hub along the Gaṅgā river connecting Akbar’s territories along the modern day Bay of Bengal to the north-western reaches of the

Indian subcontinent. And, too, Kaśi was an invaluable city to the indigenous inhabitants of the subcontinent, as it was one of the most sacred pilgrimage sites for non-Muslim people and an intellectual center that incubated great ideas propounded by great

43 thinkers. Serendipitously, Tulsidas was one such great thinker who lived in Kaśi contemporaneously to Akbar’s rule.

Prior to the external changes that took place as a result of Mughal conquest, there existed internal changes that had long occupied the attention of native Indian revolutionaries, so I transition to discuss the bhakti movement. The bhakti movement was one toward devotion among practitioners of various Hindu divisions, and Kaśi, respectfully, existed as an axis Mundi for this renaissance, as well. However, recent scholarship has changed the way those who study Hindu traditions consider the development and spread of this movement. Incorporating this new scholarship, I problematize the bhakti movement’s most popular notion: that bhakti is solely dependent on the metaphysical preferences of the divine. This is to say that the most popular formula for categorizing bhakti traditions identifies whether or not a group is devoted to a form of the divine that has attributes, i.e. saguṇa (embodied in a material form such as the god Viṣṇu, Rām, or Śiva), or that is attribute-less, i.e. nirguṇa (not embodied; with no material form). Conversely, I seek to demonstrate the usefulness of including another element of bhakti, which has not seen as much academic attention, in order to facilitate a more refined taxonomy of traditions and/or to illustrate the complexities that exist therein. This subtle element is that of social ideology: whether a group adheres to (either theoretically or in practice) the hierarchical stratification of society, i.e. varṇadharma, or it does not, i.e. avarṇadharma.

Equipped with discussions regarding some of the prominent external and internal challenges non-Muslim, North Indian citizens faced, I focus the next section on Tulsidas and his contemporaries in Kaśi. Tulsidas, the well-traveled, learned, and fervently

44 devout poet-saint he was, completed his Mānas in Kaśi during Muhammad Akbar’s rule and would have had contact with, or, at minimum, been aware of, his intellectual contemporaries and would have engaged in religiophilosophical debate, devising a methodology for capitalizing on Akbar’s sponsorship of non-Muslims while taking into consideration new religious ideas generated by contact with both Islam and the bhakti movement. Locating Tulsidas thus, I compare and contrast his religious views with two, more renown poet-saints also known to have lived in Kaśi during, or close to, the same time: Rāmānanda (to whose lineage Tulsidas allegedly belonged) and Kabir. Analyzing how each approached bhakti as a part of their religious views, I depict each poet-saint’s envisioned, more sustainable, and diverse religious society. Each leader had for themselves a model representing the most functional religious system that adhered to principles each felt was most valuable to society. For Tulsidas, the sectarian rift between the Śiva-bhaktā-s and the Rām-bhaktā-s was unnecessary, as he felt there was no incompatibility between the highest ideals each community valued. Tulsidas’ efforts contemporaneous with Muhammad Akbar’s sponsorship, then, is one of the most important events in the unification of Hinduism.

Hinduism, in and of itself, is a loaded term. Before illustrating how Tulsidas envisioned his unifying efforts, his “Hinduism,” so to say, the term must be disambiguated; the next section thus addresses my usage of this designation. During

Mughal reign in India, there was no term “Hinduism” that defined one collective of such diverse rituals, authoritative texts, worshiped Gods and Goddesses, and traditions resembling what we now understand as Hinduism proper. For a surety, however, taxonomies classifying communities who strongly dissociated themselves from Muslims,

45 Buddhists, Jains and others and who associated themselves with communities that shared similar rituals, texts, Gods and Goddesses, and traditions did exist. So, it is in this section that I explain how I gloss the term “Hinduism” as it would have meant to

Tulsidas: āstikasampradāya, translated as traditions which are affirmers. Though

Tulsidas does not explicitly use “āstikasampradāya” in his Mānas or any other of his writings (nor anything along the lines of “Hindu,” “Hindus,” or “Hinduism,” when identifying the commonalities he notes between Śiva-bhaktā-s and Rām-bhaktā-s) I support my usage of the term by locating Tulsidas with Vijñanabhikṣu, another Kaśi intellectual contemporaneous with him, though from a more philosophical perspective.

Founding my connections on Andrew Nicholson’s thesis regarding

Vijñanabhikṣu’s categorization of āstika and nāstika sampradāya-s—traditions that are affirmers and those that are deniers—I explicate the tripartite usefulness of such categorization. First, it demonstrates that the conversation of unification among traditions that would come to be known as Hinduism was, in fact, well thought out and discussed among erudite thinkers. The terms themselves have been defined by many commentators of various religious and philosophical texts and in just as many ways.

This variety in interpretation is the second purpose for Vijñanabhikṣu’s categorization: the malleability of the terms means that, within reason, any one thinker can validate his inclusion and exclusion of groups under each term; thus, Tulsidas is free to identify who is an affirmer and who a denier. Third, Vijñanabhikṣu’s categorization solidifies the reason for such interpretation; that is to say that the opportunity granted by the reprieve in persecution to unify large groups proves advantageous in a time of unpredictable turmoil. Tulsidas, as well as his contemporaries, were in a prime position to advocate for

46 and encourage new religious models among those whom they thought were best suited to perpetuate their ideals and survive during and beyond Muslim rule. For Tulsidas, those he considered a part of his āstika group, his āstikasampradāya, his “Hinduism,” were those who adhered to specific devotional and socio-idealogical values consequential of his own experiences and of the bhakti movement, i.e. those who conceptualized the divine as saguṇa and nirguṇa (both with and without attributes) and those who adhered to the varṇadharma (that is, adhered to the caste system). His life experiences, his values, and his personal devotion to Rām were the foundation of his religious model, and, after his interactions with Śiva-bhaktā-s in Kaśi, he saw no difference between his devotional conceptualizations and theirs, though personally suffering the brunt of the dissent between them and Rām-bhaktā-s. Thus, Tulsidas made Śiva an integral part of his Rāmacaritamānas, for without him there could be no successful cease and desist from what he thought was otherwise pointless quibbling; no greater symbol for unity did Tulsidas envision than the God Śiva, himself.

A Mānas Disquieted

Knowing Tulsidas completed his Mānas while living in Kaśi is important for discerning why he included Śiva in his work. Kaśi is a prized city to Śaiva Hindus. For time out of mind, she has been a sacred pilgrimage site for ascetics, holy ground for the devout, and the most auspicious place for a Hindu to die due to her proximity to the holy

Gaṅgā river. For nearly two thousand years of her earliest history, Kaśi was a hub for intellectual and religious development. Rarely in the crosshairs of political conquest and always cherished by her rulers, the city fostered a safe environment for her citizens to engage in religious and philosophical production. However, at the end of the twelfth century CE, the advent of the Delhi Sultanate brought about wide spread destruction

47 and new religious thought, challenging and crippling all sectarian flourishing in the city; meanwhile, the bhakti movement was spreading across the subcontinent, recalibrating religious sentiments among all strata of society.

The converging of these two historical events stirred a profound dialogue of identity amongst communities, and Tulsidas was a significant voice among the many who offered her or his believably rightful solution to the mayhem in which the people found themselves. For non-Muslims, this dialogue focused on answering who was, according to Andrew Nicholson, āstika (an “affirmer”) and who was nāstika (a “denier”) regarding three main areas of concern: methods for liberation, identifying the divine as having (saguṇa) or not having (nirguṇa) qualities, and whether or not caste was an adequate means of social order. During the time in which Tulsidas lived, there was a brief moment of reprieve from the destructively conservative reign of the initial Muslim rulers, when Muhammad Akbar rose to power. Under these new and favorable conditions for non-Muslims, finding a consensus among those who were āstika and nāstika meant identifying which sectarian tradition(s) would find support from their ruler as much as discerning who was among the orthodox and the heterodox.

Kaśi: A Narrative. From the city’s earliest history, when it was just the Rājghāt plateau surrounded by an ancient forest, Kaśi has been a center for religious and philosophical development. During a one thousand year period (c. fourth cent. BCE to sixth cent. CE), there was a gradual trend of spiritual focus that moved from the sacrifice (Aryan/Brahmanical religion), to the inner universe of each person (śramana movements), finally, to the deity who was the creator, sustainer, and destroyer of all that existed, including the sacrifice and the inner universe (a theistic proto-Hinduism).

48 Evolving along side these movements were the well-established elemental religions who worshiped the yakṣa-s, bhairava-s, and other divine beings until eventually being absorbed in the folds of theism and lending to it ritual practices, attendants on deities, and incarnations of deities themselves. By the end of the sixth century CE, there existed strong sectarian devotional movements (e.g. Buddhists, Vaiṣṇavas, Śaivas, Śāktās, and

Sauryas); theistic movements, in particular, rose in popularity amongst Kaśi’s rulers through the late eleventh century CE, culminating with the advent of the Gāhadavāla kings, when Kaśi entered her golden era.

Inscriptions show that the Gāhadavāla kings believed themselves to be the protectors of the tīrtha-s, or pilgrimage sites; identified themselves as worshipers of

Śiva; and made large amounts of sponsorships to temples dedicated to the gods Śiva,

Viṣṇu, and Sūrya. They dedicated vast amounts of resources to support the religious communities in Kaśi, and in their attempts to find unity amongst the other kingdoms in the northern part of the subcontinent, they came in conflict with the Chāhamānas to the west. The finale of the Gāhadavāla reign came about while both the Gāhadavālas and

Chāhamānas quarreled and were blindsided by the advancing Muslim armies of

Muhammad Ghūrī. In 1192 CE, Muhammad Ghūrī took hold of the Chāhamāna kingdom, and shortly after, in 1193/94 CE, he beheaded King Jayacandra and defeated the Gāhadavāla kingdom, as well. Kaśi felt the blow of the defeat first hand: nearly all of her temples were looted and razed, and in their place were built mosques. The

Buddhists of the city took such a large hit that they never recovered, and Buddhism no longer existed in Kaśi. With such destruction, the Delhi Sultanate had begun.

49 For five hundred years after the establishment of the Delhi Sultanate (1206 CE), the Gaṅgā plain was under Muslim rule. This period of time was chaotic and threatened religious life throughout the area. Kaśi, having just reached her religious pinnacle in her golden era, suffered greatly, as her temples were destroyed at least six times over.

Though suffering in the din of Muslim rulership, non-Muslim theistic traditions in Kaśi saw brief moments of support and held on to what small chances they could to recapture something of their lost glory.

One such moment was during the reign of Muhammad Akbar (1556-1605 CE), who was a liberal Mughal emperor. Akbar was like salve for the wounded Śaivas,

Vaiṣṇavas, Sauryas, Śāktās, and others in Kaśi, as he came to rule after the Lodīs seized power from the Sharqīs and destroyed a large part of the city. He permitted, even sponsored, the reconstruction of their temples—including the famous Viśvanātha

Temple, the Śaiva temple in which Tulsidas’ Rāmacaritamānas found acceptance by

Śiva himself—and allowed his non-Muslim allies to participate in reconstructing ghāts throughout Kaśi, as well. However, Akbar was not a permanent remedy. After his rule, his grandson, Shāh Jahān, reversed his policies and persecution of non-Muslims commenced once again. But for a brief moment, Akbar’s reign provided a window of revitalization for the Śaiva, Vaiṣṇava, and other traditions in Kaśi and the greater Gaṅgā plain.

It was during Akbar’s reign when Tulsidas lived in Kaśi, and, while living there, he developed a love both for the city and her patron god, Śiva. Tulsidas does not dedicate any but one verse in his Mānas to Kaśi, but his other major works praise the city at great length. In his Vinaya-Patrika, Tulsidas praises Kaśi in various ways, describing her

50 as the city of liberation and also praising her for being the abode of Śiva and Pārvatī. He also likens Kaśi to Kāmadhenu, the wish-granting divine cow.1 In the Uttarakāṇḍa of his

Kavitāvalī, he describes Kaśi through a series of metaphors: he likens the men of the city to Śiva and the women to Pārvatī, and the city’s superintendent and judge he refers to as epithets of Śiva, Kāla Bhairava and Dandapāni Bhairava respectfully.2

However, Tulsidas was not without affect from living in Kaśi amidst the chaos of the Muslim dynasties, and this, too, colored his perspective of the city he loved. He wrote in his Kavitāvalī:

Home of the Goddess and the God, the Ganges, dwelling-place of saints and excellent sages, wiping away at a glance the ill-fates written on the foreheads of the evil, [Tulsidas] makes lamentation, O compassionate [Rām,] such is the sad condition of [Kaśi] brought about by the terrible Dark Age. The Dark Age as disarmed and confounded the four estates of life and the castes, each one has let fall its bounds as though they were but bundles, Shankar’s ire is made manifest by means of the pestilence and each day the Lord’s wrath doubles poverty and anguish (VII. 182-183).3

Tulsidas could see evidence of the Kali Yuga taking root everywhere within Kaśi. He saw a dramatic shift in social stratifications as the traditional caste system began to fall apart; he saw his brothers and sisters weakening under the pressures of sectarian rifts; and he saw poverty, starvation, and disease increase. He felt he was witnessing the city he so loved slipping into oblivion.

1 Rana Singh, “Tulasi’s Vision of the Lifeworld in the Middle Ages,” in Cultural Landscapes and the Lifeworld. Literary Images of Banaras, Pilgrimage & Cosmology Series: 6, Varanasi: Indica Books, 2004, ISBN: 81- 86569-45-6, 116.

2 Katāvalī, trans. F.R. Allchin (New York: A.S. Barnes & Co., Inc., 1964), 198.

3 Ibid. 203-204.

51 Contempt

The harsh reality of Kaśi’s religiopolitical environment burdened Tulsidas but also inspired in him a means to solve the problem. Tulsidas saw to it that he find a way to end the quibbling between and unite what he believed to be the most substantial traditions in order to strengthen religious sentiments overall in the face of the unpredictable and tumultuous Muslim rule. His means to achieving such an end was realized through bhakti, devotion, and he was not alone in this endeavor. Poet-saints like Rāmānanda, Nanak, Vallabhacharya, Mirabai, and Kabir all shared this same historical, bhakti stage with Tulsidas, and two of them were known to live in Kaśi during or around the same time as him: Rāmānanda and Kabir.

A Note on the bhakti Movement & bhakti: Reconsiderations

Before proceeding, there needs must be a brief discussion outlining contemporary thought on the bhakti movement and bhakti. Prior to Mughal reign in

India, the Brahmanical elite held authority and superiority along sectarian demarcations within what would become known as Hinduism, particularly that of the Vaidika,

Vaiṣṇava, Śaiva, Saurya, and Śāktā sects. However, with the advent of Mughal reign and the populous’ interaction with Islam, there were growing dispassionate feelings for the control on which the Brahmanical elite held to rites and rituals over those who were not brāhmaṇa-s, those who were not educated in Sanskrit and its literature, and especially those in the śudra caste, the untouchables, throughout the subcontinent and in Kaśi. The desire for connection to religious experiences swelled beyond the banks of the initiated and onto the grounds of the laity, as devotion usurped inaccessible ritual and text. This change in access to, interpretation of, and participation in widespread religiosity has come to be known as the “bhakti movement.” But recent scholarship has

52 problematized this popular notion of a trans-continental, concrete “movement,” and the implications of such has developed a more significant understanding of how bhakti came to occupy the core of modern Hinduism.

John Hawley and David Lorenzen are two scholars leading the dispute/ reconsideration regarding the popular notion that the bhakti movement and bhakti are whole and part of a unified mode of thought and action that appears to be concrete, with a distinct nascence both in time and place and agreeably acknowledged by participants therein. They have brought forth evidence that sufficiently problematizes this, and I wish to advocate for and perpetuate their arguments. En brief, I will outline their positions and support that this is a more comprehensive approach to the matter before returning to the discussion on contempt between competing ideologies and explicating how these reconsiderations of the bhakti movement and bhakti relate to Tulsidas’ efforts of unification in his Rāmacaritamānas.

Regarding the bhakti movement and how it spread, what stands as popular knowledge is often a story scholars cite from the first division of the Bhāgavata Purāṇa: a tale of a once thriving and beautiful woman, Bhakti, born in Draviḍa, who, on her travels from the south to the north of the Indian subcontinent with her two sons, found herself degenerating until she reached Vṛndāvan and was restored to her once splendid form. This tale lends scholars a credible, south-to-north narrative of the bhakti movement: it is recorded in a first millennia text and it poetically depicts bhakti migrating from the Tamil south, up the western coast of the subcontinent, reaching and nearly dying out near Gujarat, and, at last, being revitalized in the north-central part of the land.

In his introduction to the International Journal of Hindu Studies, Hawley notes that,

53 though he is unsure of the exact date this story was first cited as the explanation of the spread of bhakti, sometime between Surendranath Dasgupta’s 1940 revision of his

History of Indian Philosophy and Krishna Sharma’s 1987 Bhakti and the Bhakti

Movement: A New Perspective, this “parable” had become the accepted standard.4

To problematize this, Hawley cites four theses from scholars working in conjunction on the bhakti theme presented in the journal; Vasudha Narayanan is whom he cites first. By exploring the spread of bhakti in the Tamil speaking south of India,

Narayanan argues that the south-to-north motion of bhakti was not a streamlined, continental endeavor but most likely a regional endeavor first, as southern influences spread northward in the Tamil South, eventually spreading further northward throughout the subcontinent as a result of pilgrims coming to, adopting, and then returning home with these influences. Christian Novetzke, Shukla-Batt, and Shandip Saha, the three remaining scholars Hawley cites, complicate the longitudinal spread of bhakti further, as they depict a more lateral movement in their arguments. Each argues a fervent spread of bhakti across the north of the Indian subcontinent in their works: Novetzke examining the creation of bhakti publics across Maharashtra; Shukla-Batt’s exploration of Mīrābāī’s movement from Rajasthan to Gujarat; and Saha’s investigation of Vallabhite sect- formation from Vṛndāvan to Gujarat.5 Upon his examinations of these scholars’ claims and his additional investigations into both Hindi and English sources describing the spread of bhakti, Hawley concludes, “the essential point is clear…nothing about the

4 John Hawley, “Introduction,” in the International Journal of Hindu Studies, 11, no. 3 (2007), 220-21, doi: 10.1007/s11407-008-9047-y.

5 Ibid. 215-12.

54 bhakti movement is simple fact…if there ever was any such ‘bhakti movement’ process to begin with.”6

The constituent elements of bhakti, vis-a-vis the “bhakti movement,” David

Lorenzen reconsiders in his contribution to Sushil Mittal’s and Gene Thursby’s The

Hindu World. Lorenzen begins by explaining general information about bhakti and its use in the taxonomy of religious traditions in India. The term “bhakti” is a Sanskrit word that means “devotion” or “devotion to a personal deity or holy person.” It carries with it the connotation of participating and sharing in sacrificial offerings or other activities of worship that highlight one’s feelings of adoration for her or his object of devotion; thus, a devotee is a bhaktā. Dependent on this translation, there exists a long scholastic history categorizing religious traditions in India based on metaphysical preferences for a deity: either a bhaktā is devoted to a deity who is imbued with attributes (saguṇa) or one who is attribute-less (nirguṇa). This general information neither Lorenzen nor I argue is useless. In fact, Lorenzen continues by saying this saguṇa/nirguṇa categorization has proved quite useful in demarcating the boundaries of related religious systems across the subcontinent, but he does argue that expanding beyond the solely metaphysical preferences of devotion to another element intrinsic to bhakti does allow for a more precise taxonomy of bhakti traditions in India.7 The additional element that he argues provides this: social ideology.

Lorenzen explains that, in the early centuries of the Common Era, already something resembling modern Hinduism, wherein bhakti occupies a central role, was

6 Ibid. 221-22.

7 David Lorenzen, “Bhakti,” in The Hindu World, ed. Sushil Mittal and Gene Thursby (New York: Routledge, 2004), 185-86.

55 taking shape.8 He lists a variety of elements that existed within this formulation, e.g. theological, ritual, convivial, ceremonial, and philosophical/metaphysical; the last of which he describes is the socio-ideological: “a religiously legitimated social, legal, and political system (dharma) based on caste (jāti) and class (varṇa).”9 It is by categorizing bhakti traditions in association with both their metaphysical and socio-ideological preferences that scholars can more accurately conceptualize relationships amongst them rather than by their metaphysical preferences, alone. For instance, Lorenzen exemplifies that, by taking into account the socio-ideological element of devotion, movements such as the loosely organized followers of the poet-saint Mīrābī and the better organized Liṅgāyatas or Vīraśaivas, typically reverent to the divine as saguṇa, can be more accurately associated with their heretofore opposite organizations that are reverent to the divine as nirguṇa, attribute-less.10 Thus, Lorenzen explores bhakti traditions based on those that support, either theoretically and/or concretely, the hierarchical caste system, the varṇāśramadharma, i.e. varṇadharmī movements, and those that either theoretically and/or concretely oppose it, i.e. avarṇadharmī movements.

Competing Ideologies

Having placed bhakti at the center of focus, due to a movement by the laity away from Brahmanical, sectarian control, and having put forth a contemporary understanding of the bhakti movement—as not a “movement” per se but a hindsight, Hindi and English construction to explain the manifesting of bhakti’s core position in modern Hinduism—

8 Ibid. 186.

9 Ibid. 186-87.

10 Ibid. 186.

56 and of bhakti—an element in said “movement” that extends beyond metaphysical preferences, alone, and encompasses socio-ideological ones, as well as many others— we are now in a position to examine how ideological pundits contemporaneous to

Tulsidas, including, especially, Tulsidas himself, interpreted the importance of bhakti during a brief reprieve in oppression that allowed them to reach and influence the general populous in Kaśi, encouraging advantageous, religious unity.

What we can garner from the aforementioned exposition, then, is that Tulsidas was not a leader or a part of the bhakti movement in any conscious sense; rather, his ideas as portrayed in his Mānas become part and parcel of our current understanding of how perceptions of bhakti congealed into the bhakti movement. By understanding this, we can decenter the focus from his Rām devotion to a broader focus on other elements of devotion within his poem, i.e. that of Śiva devotion. Additionally, having deciphered a broader view of bhakti itself, as incorporating more than just saguṇa/nirguṇa distinctions of the divine and incorporating socio-ideological elements, as well, we can, again, divert focus away from a solely Vaiṣṇava interpretation of the Mānas to a more inclusive one, in a way similar to how Lorenzen had done with relating predominately saguṇa sampradāya-s with nirguṇa sampradāya-s based on their stance on varṇāśramadharma.

So what were the competing ideologies Tulsidas faced while living in Kaśi? As mentioned above, several poet-saints and erudite thinkers expounded answers to the turmoils brought about by Muslim rule; Rāmānanda and Kabir were two of Tulsidas’ contemporaries with whom we can compare Tulsidas. Both Rāmānanda and Kabir lived in Kaśi, so Tulsidas would have had more direct influence from them rather than others.

57 It is true that Tulsidas traveled prolifically, though, and, undoubtedly, he had been influenced by others where he had gone. Nevertheless, having spent a majority of his years in Kaśi, we can assuredly place Tulsidas in conversation with Rāmānanda and

Kabir. Rāmānanda, as with others influenced by the zeitgeist of Mughal Kaśi, held the opinion that religion was not for the elite, priestly caste but, instead, for the laity. Though he was a bhaktā (devotee) of the saguṇa divine, worshiping Rām in his earthly, bodily form, he also had no regard for the caste system and allowed anyone to join his teaching sessions, including a barber and a woman. Because of this, he would fit as an avarṇadharmī participant.

Kabir posited another view for the religious people of Kaśi. He came from a family lineage of weavers who converted to Islam from Hinduism, but he was frustrated by the confines of religion, altogether, and wished not to claim himself as either Muslim nor Hindu. For Kabir, the divine, no matter how one may understand it, was to be found within an individual and not through organized religion or in icons. For this reason, he very strongly despised Kaśi, not only because its conquering religion, Islam, prescribed strict codes of conduct for prayer &c. but also Hindus depended on their pilgrimages to holy ghāt-s (sacred bathing pools) within the city and needed a priest to officiate rituals and dispense appropriate merits. Because of these views, he both rejected a stance on worshiping the divine as material/embodied and the need for a hierarchical social system that further divided not only various religions but also participants within their own respected practices. Thus, Kabir can be categorized amongst the nirguṇa/ avarṇadharma groups, though his abhorrence to religious systems in any form problematizes this simple categorization.

58 Tulsidas had a mixture of stances that seemingly appeared both similar as well as different to those of Rāmānanda and Kabir. Like Rāmānada and Kabir, Tulsidas wanted to bring religion to the laity, so he composed his Mānas in Avadhi instead of completely in Sanskrit, much like Rāmānanda and Kabir who spoke and taught in the vernacular, as well. Additionally, he agreed with Rāmānanda that the divine exists in material and bodily form, but he also was in alignment with Kabir, believing that the divine dwelt inside of an individual just as much as it existed throughout all of creation, corporally. It was also important to Tulsidas for persons to foster their devotional relationship with the divine as much as they performed their daily duties. This opinion, that the divine is both saguṇa and nirguṇa, is the dividing point between Tulsidas and

Rāmānanda and Kabir. Further distinguishing himself from his contemporaries, Tulsidas had an appreciation for hierarchy/caste and the structure it provided for society.

Repeatedly throughout his poem and other works, Tulsidas praised the guru/śiṣya

(teacher/student) relationship as well as acknowledged the esteem of the priestly caste.

David Lorenzen quotes a portion of the Bhuśuṇḍicarita in the Rāmacaritamānas (as translated by Hanuman Prasad Poddar) to illustrate this fact:

Listen, Garuda, and I will tell you something about the dharma of the Kali Yuga. The dharma of the four classes (varṇadharma) and four stages of life does not exist. Men and women are opposed to the Vedas. Brāhmaṇs sell the Vedas and kings oppress their subjects. No one respects the sacred teachings…Śūdras teach knowledge to Brāhmaṇs. They put on sacred threads and accept improper alms…Men and women who have no knowledge of brahman speak about nothing else…Śūdras debate with Brāhmaṇs and say: “Are we something less than you? Whoever knows brahman is a true Brāhmaṇa.”11

With the language being so strong, Lorenzen states that Tulsidas' social conservatism is not only “striking” (which I interpret as meaning “severe”) but “also [illustrates] that he is

11 Ibid. 201.

59 implicitly attacking the low-caste devotees of avarṇadharmī bhakti [e.g.] Kabir…who had achieved great popularity in the decades before [Tulsidas] composed his epic.”12 For

Tulsidas, then, the divine was both embodied and bodiless and social hierarchy maintained order and purity among practitioners. But Tulsidas agreed with one of his contemporaries in another regard: that with Kabir and the desire for the collapse of boundaries between sects. For Kabir, this desire was a matter of not wanting to be identified with either Hinduism or Islam, as religion was something personal and transcendent above sectarian systems. However, for Tulsidas, this desire was a matter of ceasing the pointless quibbling amongst Hindu sects, or sampradāya-s. There was no doubt that Tulsidas adhered to Hindu beliefs—not Muslim, Buddhist, nor Jain beliefs.

But, whether the divine be embodied or formless, and insofar as there was a way to maintain social order, then he saw no point in contention between sampradāya-s, especially when given the opportunity to stand together and unify during a time the persecution of Hindus was staved; the Rāmacaritamānas would stand as his unification proclamation.

Unification

How did Tulsidas envision Hindu unification? Was it a simple matter of advocating for the divine to be sarvaguṇa, omnicorpus, and to adhere to the varṇāśramadharma; or did unification manifest in a particular way? Superficially, a researcher could derive one of two hypotheses: 1) based on the diversity of deities incorporated in his Mānas, Tulsidas desired to unify all Hindu sampradāya-s while choosing to revere Rām; or 2) mayhap he sought only to unify the Śaiva and Rāma sampradāya-s, as his narrative-corpora-major focuses on Śiva and Rām, respectfully.

12 Ibid.

60 Regarding the first hypothesis, the prominent argument among scholars about

Tulsidas and his Mānas is that he was a pure Vaiṣṇava, being wholly devoted to and worshiping the saguṇarūpa embodiment of Viṣṇu, i.e., Rām, and also on account of his being a descendant of Rāmānanda. Other scholars, such as Usha Devi Shukla and

Ramchandra Shukla, however, problematize such a strict interpretation of Tulsidas’ devotion and identify him as a Smārta Vaiṣṇava. Usha Devi Shukla defines a Smārta as one who “sees God in all the different forms found in Hinduism…[and] all the different forms represent the One and Eternal Supreme Being. Even then, among the different forms, the bhaktā may choose an iṣṭa devatā (personal Deity) whom he sees as the

Supreme Being.”13 Throughout both his Mānas and other compositions, there is no doubt one will discover Tulsidas’ devotion to Rām is the centerpiece of his religious expression, but, when reading Tulsidas’ Rāmacaritamānas especially, one notices immediately that each kāṇḍa does begin with an incantation to nearly all deities contemporarily understood to be within the Hindu fold. In addition, following such incantations and prior to the beginning of the other narrative frames of the Mānas,

Tulsidas spends a significant amount of time making obeisance to all that is created in the world (i.e. the good and bad, the benevolent and maleficent, and the divine and demonic). Furthermore, though Tulsidas’s guru, Naraharidāsa, was a self-proclaimed

Rāmanandī, a disciple of Rāmānanda, Tulsidas is not recorded as having claimed as much. In this regard, then, it is accurate to associate Tulsidas as a Smārta Vaiṣṇava, equally reverent to and understanding the divine as existing in all deities/things, while choosing to represent all of Hinduism as embodied in Rām, his iṣṭa devatā.

13 Shukla, Rāmacaritamānasa in South Africa, 31. Emphasis original to Shukla.

61 Despite the universality of Tulsidas’ commencing invocations, however, and regarding the second aforementioned hypothesis, what is most strongly depicted in his

Mānas, as a whole, is his attraction to the dialogue between the Śaiva and Rāma sampradāya-s, as exemplified via the narrative core of his epic poem—devoted to Rām

—being framed by a significant Śaiva narrative. Diana Eck explicates in her work that, by time of medieval India, during Muslim rule, a majority of Hindu sects (such as worship of the Sun or of Gaṇeṣa) had dissipated, assimilated, or substantiated themselves as a sect proper on the fridge of a patriarchal society;14,15 hence, Tulsidas found himself betwixt the tensions of the two prevalent and most powerful sampradāya- s, the Vaiṣṇava and the Śaiva, in Śiva’s city, nonetheless, whence he resided. It is my conclusion to support the latter of these two hypotheses but not without qualification.

One must acknowledge that both hypotheses could exist simultaneously—that Tulsidas, a product of a patriarchal power, sought to unify the two competing sects, the Vaiṣṇava and Śaiva, while his universal incantations served as a description for his vision of unification, of his true Hinduism.

But the argument of unifying Hinduism is heavily laden with academic weight and must be exercised thoroughly in order to complete this work. In doing so, two questions must be posed: 1) How, exactly, are the terms “Hinduism” and “unification” defined, both in this thesis and especially contemporaneously to Tulsidas’ lifetime; and 2) During

Akbar’s reign, could the reprieve of Hindu persecution theoretically support Hindu

14 Eck, “Benares in Historical Perspective,” Banares.

15 Goddess worship/tantra is an example of a sect considered heresiarchic—having moved away from or having distorted the patriarchal orthodoxy. I refer to this sect as “heresiarchic” or with the term “heresy” in the Christian sense, as it is described in Andrew Nicholson’s etymology of the term, in his work, Unifying Hinduism (p. 178), because it is a perfect case-in-point that qualifies how a sect can later be included in an over-arching category such as “Hinduism” while having been, at some point and by certain groups in power, previously declared anathema.

62 unification? The current understandings of Hinduism, both popular and academic, are in toto a result of the colonial era, when Occidental powers sought to crystalize their understanding of an unfamiliar, Oriental populous, whom contributed to, borrowed from, and reimagined their own understanding of themselves, independently and in relation to their Occidental occupants, in order for both Oxidant and Orient to achieve and maintain an advantageous recognition during a vigorously globalizing era. Due to these factors, quite simply, Hinduism in the twenty-first century CE is not what “Hinduism” was in the late sixteenth/early seventeenth centuries CE, during Tulsidas’ life, so I pose the first of the aforementioned questions in order to contextualize accurately Hinduism in this thesis.

To be referred to as a “Hindu,” relating to one who is a practitioner of “Hinduism,” was a term nearly non-existent when Tulsidas was writing his Mānas, yet terms did exist, inclusively and exclusively, to identify groups of individuals who shared, contestably, appropriate and/or inappropriate values, which we can identify retrospectively as being elemental to or synonymous with the modern understanding of

Hinduism. This thesis will propagate the terms “āstika” and “nāstika,” as posited and defined by Andrew Nicholson, to identify who was (āstika) and was not (nāstika) a Hindu contemporaneous to the completion of Tulsidas’ Mānas. In addition, the contestability of appropriate vs. inappropriate values, or who was āstika and who was nāstika, serves as a liaison to defining “unification.”

However, as with the complexity associated with defining Hinduism in this thesis,

“unification,” Nicholson explains, harbors the ability to go beyond the inclusivist understanding of āstika/nāstika, for which I pose the second of the aforementioned

63 questions. In lieu of the reprieve in duress for Hindus during Akbar’s reign, I emphasize

Nicholson’s theoretical parameters for the need of a higher unification, one which attains a mode of syncretism, unifying parties who may be both āstika and nāstika, in order to maintain recognition and power and to survive future persecution. Thus, the answering of the two questions serves as a comprehensive defining of Tulsidas’ “unified

Hinduism.”

Hinduism as a Religious Category

How did the contemporaries of Tulsidas define “Hinduism,” and in what forms did

“unification” appear? When defining “Hinduism,” one approaches simultaneously the initial understanding of “unification;” that is, those who share common values, whether they be philosophical, theological, and/or behavioral &c., and are thus unified under one identifying term, as a this and a not that. Working from academia’s current understanding of Hinduism to the form in which it took contemporaneous to Tulsidas, I begin with the two provenances often argued by contemporary Hindus and scholars of

Hinduism, explained by Nicholson but of little novelty to the field of Hindu studies, in general. The first provenance, that posited by self-identifying Hindus, is that of the sanātanadharma, the Eternal Dharma,16 and those who hold this view believe that

Hinduism has existed since the beginning of all Indian history, evidenced by the writings of poets and philosophers. On the contrary, regarding the second provenance, that posited by scholars of modern history, anthropology, and postcolonial studies, and partly in response to propagators of the first provenance, Hinduism is a new religion, having not existed until the nineteenth century CE, when Britains sought to find a religious system analogous to that of Western systems but found only fractured rites un-unified

16 Dharma here being loosely understood as “religion.”

64 by any philosophical or theological framework, and then “invented” a religion, which, in turn, was internalized by English-educated Indians and promoted as Hinduism proper.

This contemporary, dual provenance dialogue, supports what I stated previously: that the current understanding of Hinduism as a religion proper is, indeed, a consequence of a type due to colonialism, something like a cultural creolization.17 But my opinion is also aligned with that of Nicholson: that “The idea of Hindu unity is neither a timeless truth nor a fiction wholly invented by the British to regulate and control their colonial subject.”18 In fact, in his work, Nicholson provides ample evidence to show that a dialogue regarding the unification of persons later to be called Hindus, but not referred to as “Hindus” or practitioners of “Hinduism,” not only existed among pre-colonial, Indian thinkers (specifically between the twelfth and sixteenth centuries CE), but it was aggressively argued and, most importantly, was impressively synthesized by a popular intellectual and prolific writer contemporary to Tulsidas, both in time and place: i.e.

Vijñanabhikṣu.

Vijñanabhikṣu appears to have been a man of few personal words but a profound thinker and prolific writer on philosophical ideology. We know that Vijñanabhikṣu referenced scarcely any familial, political, or historical evidences in his writings, problematizing dating and locating the philosopher, but his bibliography was substantial and influential to the way people conceptualize Hinduism contemporarily. Regarding dates and locations of Vijñanabhikṣu, Nicholson best hypothesizes that he lived in the

17 Admittedly, I am positing a theoretical term, “cultural creolization,” that hypothesizes a parallel but symmetrical consequence of cultures coming together like that of languages.

18 Andrew Nicholson, Unifying Hinduism: Philosophy and Identity in Indian Intellectual History (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010), 2.

65 vicinity now known as Uttar Pradesh during the late sixteenth century CE.19 Nicholson posits this conclusion as a result of cumulative studies by scholars, whom estimated dates/locations based on disciples of, perceived philosophical influences in, and dialectical variations of Vijñanabhikṣu’s writings, and Nicholson’s conclusion places

Vijñanabhikṣu in the same location and time as Tulsidas. Regarding Vijñanabhikṣu’s writing, he is primarily known for his Sāṃkyapravacanabhāṣya (his commentary on the

Sāṃkhyasūtra-s) and his Yogavārttika (his subcommentary on the Yogasūtra-s), but he also compiled vedāntika works (works based on Vedāntic philosophies), which

Nicholson states make up the majority of his extant corpus,20 and these include the

Vijñānāmṛtabhāṣya (his commentary on the Brahmasūtra-s), the Vedāntāloka (his collection of commentaries on multiple Upaniṣad-s), and the Īśvaragītābhāṣya (his commentary of the Īśvaragītā section of the Kūrma Purāṇa). These vedāntika works

Vijñanabhikṣu considered to be obligatory for the Vedāntin philosophical sampradāya-s, meaning it was from these three texts Vijñanabhikṣu prioritized Vedāntins to draw references and conclusions for there own formulations of Vedāntic ideas.

Having been hypothetically a part of the same geographical and historical conditions as Tulsidas, it can be best concluded that the two influential figures (one philosophical (Vijñanabhikṣu) and the other devotional (Tulsidas)) were also a part of the same intelligentsia, rendering a real possibility that ideas were exchanged between them. We cannot say that Vijñanabhikṣu and Tulsidas had ever sat together and talked amongst themselves, mayhap leading one to name the other within their works; but not all influences need be garnered in person nor named in order to exist in any one idea. It

19 Nicholson, Unifying Hinduism, 6.

20 Ibid. 6-7.

66 is nearly unavoidable, then, to conclude that within the northern, Indian-subcontinent intelligentsia, during the late medieval period, there was, with reasonable certainty, a crossover of ideas between Vijñanabhikṣu and Tulsidas.

Nicholson argues that Vijñanabhikṣu advocated for unification among philosophical sampradāya-s, and it is the idea of unification that I argue is the main influence shared between Tulsidas and Vijñanabhikṣu. The pandits’ conceptualization of unification may not have been identical, but they were certainly symmetrical and perpendicular in the sense of their ends and the means to their ends: a fully conceptualized idea of a singular religiophilosophical body (i.e. Hinduism), separate from Buddhists, Jainas, and Muslims, propagated by either poetical or philosophical treatises, to be accepted by the populous in order to gain recognition during a time of perpetual, tumultuous, and unpredictable changes in sociopolitical power. The vocabulary of the two pandits never included the term Hinduism, but the results of their efforts later came to be known as such. Tulsidas artistically depicted this singular religiophilosophical body as a mānas (a lake) swelling with devotion for Rām and resting at the feet of Śiva (at the base of Mt. Kailaśa),21 while Vijñanabhikṣu sophisticatedly gave this same body the nomenclature āstika (affirmer) in stark contrast to those whom deviated from his envisioned unification, the nāstika (deniers). By juxtaposing

Vijñanabhikṣu’s identifying markers, āstika and nāstika, with the subtle dialogue of the bhakti movement, in which Tulsidas was immersed, it will become apparent Tulsidas’ use of Śiva in his Mānas was a call for unification, and to not see Śiva as such obfuscates the purport of the Mānas in total.

21 The lake known as Mānas rests at the base of Mt. Kailaśa. This lake is popularly known to have been visited by Sītā, the wife of Rām. See “Chapter 5: Kaśi in the Eyes of Hindus” for further elaboration on the importance of this poetic device.

67 Who, then, qualifies as being āstika, an affirmer, and who as being nāstika, a denier, to Tulsidas? To answer this, we must not focus our attention on the “who;” rather, we must focus on the “what:” what is being affirmed and what is being denied? It is no surprise to say that what is being affirmed or denied has changed over the centuries and is dependent on which group or individual is seeking to define the terms.

According to Nicholson’s explanations, it appears the earliest delineations of affirmation or denial philosophically depended on whether or not an individual or group recognized the Veda as authoritative,22 which, based on this delineation, we can identify contemporarily-understood Hindus were making this argument; but this is not as straight-forward as it appears. For instance, before the tenth century CE, the demarcation of authority was orthopraxic in nature: whether or not one prescribed to the correct, ritual injunctions of the Veda. Based on this, traditions such as Sāṃkhya and

Yoga were considered nāstika, deniers of Vedic authority, as they adhered to obligations of non-violence and found the sacrificial rituals in the Veda as inappropriate, while those associated with the Mīmāmsa tradition were āstika, affirmers of Vedic authority, for they adhered to the absolute pervasiveness and correctness of Vedic ritual. After the tenth century CE, with the rise and acceptance of the Vedānta tradition, the demarcation of

Vedic authority became orthodoxic in nature: whether or not one believed the Veda was the center of correct knowledge, be it that it revealed true statements on the nature of reality or that it contained the proper knowledge for final liberation. It is because of this shift from orthopraxy to orthodoxy that, contemporarily, scholars and Hindus alike recognize the ṣaddarśana (the six philosophical traditions) as being a part of Hinduism,

22 Nicholson, Unifying Hinduism, 168.

68 as āstika, we may say, while Buddhism, Jainism, and the materialist traditions are, with certainty, nāstika.

However, during the late sixteenth century CE, at the time of Tulsidas and

Vijñanabhikṣu, even the ṣaddarśana were not fully accepted as a unified group to pandits seeking to hierarchically order which person or persons were āstika or nāstika, especially by Vijñanabhikṣu—he had an abhorrence to the Advaita Vedānta tradition, in particular. But it was Vijñanabhikṣu who, according to Nicholson, produced the strongest argument for unity amongst groups whom he considered āstika, which are a majority of the traditions currently associated with Hinduism. For Vijñanabhikṣu, to qualify as āstika, a tradition must have seen that the Veda is authoritative and have drawn from it correct interpretations regarding the highest knowledge, i.e. the nature of

Brahman and/or the means to liberation from saṃsāra, the cycle of birth and death.

Based on this criteria, Vijñanabhikṣu posited that Vedānta and Yoga were the superior traditions considered āstika (Vedānta was free of interpretive error about the nature of

Brahman, and Yoga was free of interpretive error about liberation from saṃsāra), but he included the other traditions (Sāṃkhya, Nyāya-Vaiśeṣika, and Pūrva Mīmāṃsa) within the āstika category, despite their discrepancies. He excluded Advaita Vedānta completely, deeming it nāstika, for, although it did view the Veda as authoritative, he felt the tradition misinterpreted it and “therefore [Advaita Vedānta] leads to the destruction of those who choose it.”23

Feeling that the remaining traditions were all aspects of the same whole, rather than discrete traditions with a mere common ground of Vedic authority, Vijñanabhikṣu had to render their disagreements as misunderstandings in order to establish

23 Ibid. 182.

69 unification. In his Sāṃkyapravacanabhāṣya, he sought to reconcile a troubling passage in the Padma Purāṇa that listed his āstika traditions with those he felt were nāstika.

Nicholson states and quotes Richard Garbe’s translation of the passage: “It makes sense that the Buddhists, Jainas, and Cārvākas [the materialists] are included in this list. But the inclusion of Sāṃkhya, Nyāya-Vaiśeṣika, and Pūrva Mīmāṃsa creates difficulties for Vijñanabhikṣu…[He] declares,

Or it may be that in order to impede the knowledge of those who are wicked, in certain parts of the believers’ systems (āstikadarśana [the affirming traditions]), teachings have been set down that are contrary to scripture. These systems lack authority just in those parts. But on their main topics, which are not opposed to revealed scripture or traditional texts, they are authoritative. Only on this ground is the Padma Purāṇa justified in its criticism of all schools other than Vedānta and Yoga.24

So, for Vijñanabhikṣu, the contradictory elements between each āstikadarśana were designed to cause the “wicked” confusion or impede their knowledge, while the overarching commonalities between them served the purposes of the “good.” This is to say that the discrepancies between the āstikadarśana thwarted those whose goals were contrary to final liberation (mokṣa) and aid those with a pure mind in attaining this goal.

I wish to avoid belaboring Nicholson’s arguments and return to my own: that of

Tulsidas and Vijñanabhikṣu cohabiting a circle of intellectual influence and embarking on similar projects of unification. We have problematized the definition of Hinduism and acquired new terminology appropriate to the time period (āstika, nāstika, and

āstikadarśana), located Vijñanabhikṣu within the same time and place as Tulsidas, exercised Vijñanabhikṣu’s ideas of unification based on Vedic authority and correct interpretation of the nature of Brahman and liberation therein, but we must turn now to juxtaposing Vijñanabhikṣu’s philosophical efforts with that of Tulsidas’ devotional ones.

24 Ibid. 180-81.

70 Knowing there existed a shared, symmetrical, intellectual domain (one half focused on jñana (philosophy/Vijñanabhikṣu) and the other on bhakti (devotion/Tulsidas)), if we extrapolate Vijñanabhikṣu’s understanding of āstika requirements and the purport for discrepancies between but an overarching unity amongst the āstikadarśana, could we discern a similar pattern with Tulsidas’ emphasis on Śiva in his Rāmacaritamānas and confidently argue that Tulsidas sought to unify the sampradāya-s he believed to be

āstika, i.e. āstikasampradāya?

As explicated previously, the bhakti movement consisted of various dialogues, each placing persons in groups based on specific criteria, and we see that this is in comparison to the pandits within the philosophical sphere who sought to identify certain jñana traditions as āstika or nāstika. David Lorenzen delineated the movement into two subgroups: 1) saguṇī/nirguṇī and 2) varṇadharmī/avarṇadharmī. Regarding the saguṇī/ nirguṇī subgroup, Tulsidas arguably accepted both as āstika. He was undoubtedly reverent to and found ecstatic joy in worshiping Rām physically, but he also held in the highest esteem the name Rām, believing it transcended even Rām’s physical form.25

This corroborates well with the views of his predecessor, Rāmānanda, and his contemporary, Kabir. All three felt that God was readily available to all persons: be it that worship of God not be excluded by caste (Rāmānanda), one’s personal relationship with

God not be manifest in sacred pilgrimages or in stone but developed internally (Kabir), and God is able to be worshiped reverently either in form or name (Tulsidas).

Regarding the second grouping of the bhakti movement, varṇadharmī/ avarṇadharmī, Tulsidas had clear ideas who was āstika and who was nāstika. As

25 niraguna tem yehi bhamti bada namaprabhau apara, kahaum namu bada rama tem nija bicara anusara. “The glory of the Name is thus immeasurably greater than that of the attributeless Absolute; and I declare that in my judgement the Name is greater than Rām too” (Bālakāṇḍa, 1.24).

71 Lorenzen pointed out, one interpretation of Tulsidas' Bhuśuṇḍicarita is as an attack on the low-caste devotees of the avarṇadharmī; not only in his Mānas does Tulsidas iterate this opinion, but in his other major writings, as well. This means that Tulsidas undoubtedly favored the social stratification of caste, rendering those who adhered to the varṇāśramadharma as āstika and those who opposed it as nāstika, and placed

Tulsidas in direct opposition to Rāmānanda and Kabir.

What we can garner from this, then, is Tulsidas’ vision of the āstikasampradāya, of his Hinduism: it consists of those who revere either the attributable or attribute-less forms of God as well as hold to the varṇāśramadharma. Knowing this, does Tulsidas’ use of Śiva as a prominent character in his Mānas support the argument that his inclusion of Śiva is not extraneous and serves as a poetical device calling for unification among those who qualify as āstikasampradāya, i.e. the Śaiva and Rāma sampradāya- s? In short, yes. We see, now, that the textual analysis in the first section of this thesis provides us with the appropriate evidence that Śiva’s presence in the Rāmacaritamānas juxtaposes the two sampradāya-s artistically and demonstrates each fulfills the necessary requirements to be āstikasampradāya; ergo, serving as a call for unification.

The invocations to Śiva in both Tulsidas’ voice and those he composes in the voices of dramatis personae demonstrate that within the Śaiva sampradāya there is the worship of Śiva in attributable form. The passages describing the power of Śiva’s name and those that revere Śiva as a complimentary component to Rām as part of the Absolute demonstrate that within the Śaiva sampradāya there is the worship of Śiva in attributeless form. And, lastly, having the Bhuśuṇḍicarita a part of Śiva’s narrative frame, wherein those who opposed the caste system were frankly insulted, demonstrates that

72 within the Śaiva sampradāya there is the adherence to the varṇāśramadharma.

Therefore, in light of the reprieve from oppression during Akbar’s reign of the Mughal

Empire, Tulsidas includes Śiva as a prominent character in his Mānas in order to poetically illustrate that both the Śaiva and Rāma sampradāya-s fulfill the requirements to be āstika and this serves as his call to no longer quibble but to unify into his one

āstikasampradāya, his Hinduism.

Inclusivism and Syncretism

The question left to be answered, now, is: Why? An answer currently given by scholars explains it as a simple matter of inclusivism—a method of absorption of discrete entities into one. Earlier in this thesis, we saw that scholars reduce Śiva’s role to a mere, reconciling symbol for the differences between the Śaiva and Rāma sampradāya-s, and Paul Hacker, the scholar whom, Nicholson explains, propagated the term inclusivism within Hindu studies, makes the strongest elision of Śiva and the

Mānas as such. Nicholson quotes Hacker:

In Banaras, a city in which the cult of Śiva was predominant, [Tulsidas] proclaimed devotion to [Rām]. His ingenious safeguard against possible hostility from the alien sect was his teaching that worship of Śiva was all right, because Śiva himself was the foremost and noblest worshiper of Rāma. In this way [Tulsidas] did not encroach on the religion of Śiva but claimed it in its entirety for his own. It seems that this method was employed especially by such religious groups as felt themselves inferior to their environment.26

To an extent, Hacker’s identification of Tulsidas and his Mānas as prime examples of inclusivism is accurate, and to argue otherwise would be to deny that the dialogue in this thesis, thus far, has been one of inclusivism, of āstika vs. nāstika. Nicholson explains that inclusivism serves positive functions for a fractured society: it brings

26 Nicholson, Unifying Hinduism, 187.

73 hierarchical order to an otherwise chaotic system, and it supports a viable, pluralistic environment.27 At a micro level, then, inclusivism was useful for reconciling the conflicts

Tulsidas felt unnecessarily existed between the Śaiva and Rām sampradāya-s. By recognizing that neither one tradition believed in the Absolute or adhered to the social stratification with any significant difference from the other, Tulsidas was able to advocate understanding and coexistence.

But Hacker’s suggestion that Tulsidas had “claimed [Śaivism] in its entirety for his own,” reveals a problem with relying solely on inclusivist reasoning. Hacker is defining inclusivism as a clear and distinguishable tradition usurping what truly belongs to another and claiming it for itself, and this belies the positive functions of inclusivism that

Nicholson speaks of earlier. In fact, this renders the nature of inclusivism as a means to mark a superior identity while framing others as inferior, different, and/or wrong variations of the superior one. Furthermore, Nicholson exposes a serious problem with

Hacker’s claim: that it “presupposes that the actual boundaries between religions are clear and self-evident and that historians are the proper adjudicators of each religion’s true belongings.”28 In this section, we have seen how demarcations between traditions have ebbed and flowed, in Kaśi alone; and, in Tulsidas’ Mānas, at minimum, his obeisances to Śiva, Rām, Gaṇeśa &c. at the beginning of each kāṇḍa further problematizes the confident ease of demarcating traditions that Hacker exhibits. Yes,

Tulsidas was inclusive insofar as traditions that worshipped the saguṇa or nirguṇa forms of the Absolute and adhered to the varṇāśramadharma he considered āstika, which, in his place and time, happened to be the predominant Śaiva and Rāma sampradāya-s in

27 Ibid. 186.

28 Ibid. 188.

74 contention; but his reason for spot-lighting Śiva in his Mānas was not to say that Śaivas were Vaiṣṇavas, rather it was to say that Śaivas and Vaiṣṇavas were a part of a single tradition, one greater than the two traditions individually. This conclusion alludes to something other than inclusivism.

Inclusivism is one-half of Tulsidas’ reason for giving Śiva such a prominent role in the Rāmacaritamānas; the other half is syncretism. The term “syncretism” is contemporarily understood to refer to the merging of religions and/or philosophies that are properly separate, and Nicholson redirects his readers to examine the etymology of the word before writing off persons as syncretists. I argue the same regarding Tulsidas and his attempt to unify the āstikasampradāya-s. According to Nicholson, “[T]he original

Greek term synkrētismós…referred to a custom of people on the isle of Crete to overcome local feuds and to form a sacred alliance in order to withstand foreign aggression.”29 Tulsidas saw to it that, with his aptitude for inclusivism, the feud between the Śaiva and Rāma sampradāya-s be settled, for there was but a brief period of religious sympathy under the rule of the Mughal Emperor, Akbar. The nāstika traditions, such as Buddhism and Jainism, were either nearly nonexistent or of very little threat at the time of Tulsidas, so there was not much need to exercise the negative inclusivism, that Paul Hacker defined, to unify the āstikasampradāya against those that were nāstikasampradāya. However, because of Islam, a significantly aggressive and fully supported entity in the late medieval period of India, the need to establish both a positive inclusivism and syncretism certainly demanded his attention. What is contemporarily understood as Hinduism was supported by Akbar, as demonstrated by his sponsoring of temples to be built across the lands he controlled—temples which

29 Ibid. 190.

75 were previously, as well as soon to be, destroyed with the absence of such a sympathetic ruler—so to unite was a means of survival rather than of intellectual fitness.

Tulsidas portrayed Śiva in a principle role in his Mānas to call for a secession of trivial quibbling amongst brothers and establish a unified, singular, religiopolitical entity:

Hinduism.

76 CONCLUSION

Śiva is not an extraneous character in Tulsidas’ Rāmacaritamānas; his appearance showcases the artistic skill of the epic’s author and stands as a symbol of unification. The above textual analysis demonstrates Śiva’s pervasiveness throughout the Mānas and his utility in connecting Tulsidas’ audience, both Śaiva and Rāma alike, to stories and ideas with which they were already familiar. Undoubtedly a Rām-bhaktā,

Tulsidas chooses to devote as much religious fervor to Śiva by means of his incessant invocations to him, both in his own voice, in the voice of other characters’, and even

Rām’s own voice. Tulsidas resolves doubts in the minds of devotees about the abilities of the divine by means of Śiva’s own words. And Tulsidas juxtaposes and equates Śiva and Rām in order to expound his own philosophy: the divine is both attribute-less and with attributes, it is all vices and all virtues, and it is no more accessible through Vedic injunctions, adherence to social hierarchy, and devotion to Śiva and/or his name than it is through Rām.

But textual analysis alone is not enough to answer why Tulsidas would have such need to praise Śiva in such the way he has. The above historical analysis illustrates the harsh religious, social, and political environment in which Tulsidas found himself, demanding from him an answer for such a dilemma. Kaśi, his home, saw the severe consequences of strong-armed, Muslim rule, the harbinger of decimation for all non-

Muslim religions, but, within that tumult, there came its silence and a moment to reflect and rebuild. Beating strong in the hearts of the religious and the intelligentsia, the bhakti movement gave strength to these adherents to begin conversing during this quiet reprieve about different ways to unite the people and thrive. Rāmānanda, Kabir,

Tulsidas, and others all spoke out, offering solutions she or he felt was most reliable.

77 For Tulsidas, his ideas included uniting the affirmers of the saguṇa/nirguṇa divine and the varṇadharma as he saw them expressed optimally in the Śaiva and Rāma sampradāya-s. He chose then, purposefully, to include Śiva in is Rāmacaritamānas to demonstrate how the unity of the āstikasampradāya-s could be realized, and, with this unity, in the eyes of the Mughal rulers in the northern regions of the Indian subcontinent,

Hinduism would not convert nor disappear. Vasudha Narayanan repeatedly told us students, “When it comes to Hinduism, rarely does one use the conjunction ‘but;’ the conjunction ‘and’ is often more appropriate.” Regarding Tulsidas’ Rāmacaritamānas, her words are true as ever: it is not the case that Śiva is present but it is Rām’s story; it is the case that Śiva is present because it is a story about Śiva and Rām.

78 BIBLIOGRAPHY

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Hess, Linda. "Staring at Frames Till They Turn into Loops: An Excursion through Some Worlds of Tulsidas.” In Living Banaras: Hindu Religion in Cultural Context, Edited by Bradley R. Hertel and Cynthia Ann Humes. Albany: State University of New York Press. 1993. 73-101.

Kavitāvalī. Translated by F.R. Allchin. New York: A.S. Barnes & Co., Inc. 1964.

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Lutgendorf, Philip. "Ram's Story in Shiva's City: Public Arenas and Private Patronage.” In Culture and Power in Banaras: Community, Performance, and Environment. Edited by Sandria Freitag. Berkley: University of California Press. 1980. 34-61.

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79 Nicholson, Andrew. Unifying Hinduism: Philosophy and Identity in Indian Intellectual History. New York: Columbia University Press, 2010.

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Singh, Rana. “Tulasi’s Vision of the Lifeworld in the Middle Ages.” In Cultural Landscapes and the Lifeworld. Literary Images of Banaras. Pilgrimage & Cosmology Series: 6. Varanasi: Indica Books. 2004. ISBN: 81- 86569-45-6, 112-128.

Tulsidasa’s Shriramacharitamanasa. Edited and Translated by R. C. Prasad. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers Private Limited. 2009.

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80 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Dustin Hall was born in San Antonio, TX. but spent a majority of his life in

Northeast Ohio. He attended Youngstown State University in Youngstown, OH., where he was awarded a Bachelor of Arts summa cum laude in religious studies and minored in linguistics. He also attended the University of Wisconsin-Madison for an accelerated, intermediate-Sanskrit language program. For his master’s degree, he came to the

University of Florida to study under Dr. Vasudha Narayanan, an esteemed scholar of

Hindu traditions. Upon completing his master’s program, Dustin intends to continue with higher education in pursuit of a PhD. in Indology and Sanskrit studies. His desire is to become a college professor and a prominent scholar of Hindu traditions and Sanskrit literature.

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