Censoring The Queer

The Asian Age.  | Devdutt Pattanaik

Traditional India is still more comfortable with hijras and kinnars and mangalmukhis.

Today, we revere sexless, bearded yogis who block all access to the enchanting sensual yoginis of yore.

In the 12th century, around the time when Jayadeva wrote the Gita Govinda — complex allegorical and mystical erotic poetry that introduced the world to Radha — another poet, Govardhana, wrote the Aryasaptati, in ornamental Sanskrit, where he invokes Lakshmi, goddess of fortune, who intimately embraces her lord, Vishnu, preserver of the world. But the details he provides surprise, even shock, us. His poetry elaborates how Lakshmi enjoys Vishnu in his female form, as Mohini, while she takes the superior or masculine position during the performance of love. Here, we find ideas of gender, sexuality and love, all topsy-turvy. This is also Hinduism. In fact, this is also Buddhism, for during this period, Buddha was not the monk who walked away from his wife. Instead, there are Pala and Nepala paintings that show Buddha erotically embracing his shakti, who is Tara; she is always on top. Gender rules are broken.

In the 12th century, around the time when Jayadeva wrote the Gita Govinda — complex allegorical and mystical erotic poetry that introduced the world to Radha — another poet, Govardhana, wrote the Aryasaptati, in ornamental Sanskrit, where he invokes Lakshmi, goddess of fortune, who intimately embraces her lord, Vishnu, preserver of the world. But the details he provides surprise, even shock, us. His poetry elaborates how Lakshmi enjoys Vishnu in his female form, as Mohini, while she takes the superior or masculine position during the performance of love. Here, we find ideas of gender, sexuality and love, all topsy-turvy. This is also Hinduism. In fact, this is also Buddhism, for during this period, Buddha was not the monk who walked away from his wife. Instead, there are Pala and Nepala paintings that show Buddha erotically embracing his shakti, who is Tara; she is always on top. Gender rules are broken.

In the 12th century, around the time when Jayadeva wrote the Gita Govinda — complex allegorical and mystical erotic poetry that introduced the world to Radha — another poet, Govardhana, wrote the Aryasaptati, in ornamental Sanskrit, where he invokes Lakshmi, goddess of fortune, who intimately embraces her lord, Vishnu, preserver of the world. But the details he provides surprise, even shock, us. His poetry elaborates how Lakshmi enjoys Vishnu in his female form, as Mohini, while she takes the superior or masculine position during the performance of love. Here, we find ideas of gender, sexuality and love, all topsy-turvy. This is also Hinduism. In fact, this is also Buddhism, for during this period, Buddha was not the monk who walked away from his wife. Instead, there are Pala and Nepala paintings that show Buddha erotically embracing his shakti, who is Tara; she is always on top. Gender rules are broken.

In today's neo-Vedantic Hindutva school of Hinduism, or “spiritual” Buddhism or Sufism, dominated by celibate leaders, desire is projected as weakness and cause of suffering. They would ban Govardhana. Even Jayadeva. Today, we revere sexless, bearded yogis who block all access to the enchanting sensual yoginis of yore. How did this happen? In this sexless, post-Independence ecosystem, driven by Marxist socialism, and now Hindutva reforms, fuelled by colonial hangover, Indians told themselves that their erotic past was something to be ashamed of. In such an ecosystem, what happened to gays, lesbians, transgenders, and other queer people, whose identity was rooted in their desires? They were deemed dirty, unholy, unworthy of even constitutional legitimacy. Indian writers pompously declare that “what is there in the Mahabharata is found nowhere”. But they also carefully edit out stories of Shikhandi (a female to male transgender), of Bhagashavana (who has sex as well as children as a man and as a woman), and of Brihanalla (a castrated male dancer), from their modern renderings, thus establishing a hetero-normative, even an asexual, India.

In the 12th century, around the time when Jayadeva wrote the Gita Govinda — complex allegorical and mystical erotic poetry that introduced the world to Radha — another poet, Govardhana, wrote the Aryasaptati, in ornamental Sanskrit, where he invokes Lakshmi, goddess of fortune, who intimately embraces her lord, Vishnu, preserver of the world. But the details he provides surprise, even shock, us. His poetry elaborates how Lakshmi enjoys Vishnu in his female form, as Mohini, while she takes the superior or masculine position during the performance of love. Here, we find ideas of gender, sexuality and love, all topsy-turvy. This is also Hinduism. In fact, this is also Buddhism, for during this period, Buddha was not the monk who walked away from his wife. Instead, there are Pala and Nepala paintings that show Buddha erotically embracing his shakti, who is Tara; she is always on top. Gender rules are broken.

In today's neo-Vedantic Hindutva school of Hinduism, or “spiritual” Buddhism or Sufism, dominated by celibate leaders, desire is projected as weakness and cause of suffering. They would ban Govardhana. Even Jayadeva. Today, we revere sexless, bearded yogis who block all access to the enchanting sensual yoginis of yore. How did this happen? In this sexless, post-Independence ecosystem, driven by Marxist socialism, and now Hindutva reforms, fuelled by colonial hangover, Indians told themselves that their erotic past was something to be ashamed of. In such an ecosystem, what happened to gays, lesbians, transgenders, and other queer people, whose identity was rooted in their desires? They were deemed dirty, unholy, unworthy of even constitutional legitimacy. Indian writers pompously declare that “what is there in the Mahabharata is found nowhere”. But they also carefully edit out stories of Shikhandi (a female to male transgender), of Bhagashavana (who has sex as well as children as a man and as a woman), and of Brihanalla (a castrated male dancer), from their modern renderings, thus establishing a hetero-normative, even an asexual, India.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the 12th century, around the time when Jayadeva wrote the Gita Govinda — complex allegorical and mystical erotic poetry that introduced the world to Radha — another poet, Govardhana, wrote the Aryasaptati, in ornamental Sanskrit, where he invokes Lakshmi, goddess of fortune, who intimately embraces her lord, Vishnu, preserver of the world. But the details he provides surprise, even shock, us. His poetry elaborates how Lakshmi enjoys Vishnu in his female form, as Mohini, while she takes the superior or masculine position during the performance of love. Here, we find ideas of gender, sexuality and love, all topsy-turvy. This is also Hinduism. In fact, this is also Buddhism, for during this period, Buddha was not the monk who walked away from his wife. Instead, there are Pala and Nepala paintings that show Buddha erotically embracing his shakti, who is Tara; she is always on top. Gender rules are broken.

In today's neo-Vedantic Hindutva school of Hinduism, or “spiritual” Buddhism or Sufism, dominated by celibate leaders, desire is projected as weakness and cause of suffering. They would ban Govardhana. Even Jayadeva. Today, we revere sexless, bearded yogis who block all access to the enchanting sensual yoginis of yore. How did this happen? In this sexless, post-Independence ecosystem, driven by Marxist socialism, and now Hindutva reforms, fuelled by colonial hangover, Indians told themselves that their erotic past was something to be ashamed of. In such an ecosystem, what happened to gays, lesbians, transgenders, and other queer people, whose identity was rooted in their desires? They were deemed dirty, unholy, unworthy of even constitutional legitimacy. Indian writers pompously declare that “what is there in the Mahabharata is found nowhere”. But they also carefully edit out stories of Shikhandi (a female to male transgender), of Bhagashavana (who has sex as well as children as a man and as a woman), and of Brihanalla (a castrated male dancer), from their modern renderings, thus establishing a hetero-normative, even an asexual, India.

 

In the 12th century, around the time when Jayadeva wrote the Gita Govinda — complex allegorical and mystical erotic poetry that introduced the world to Radha — another poet, Govardhana, wrote the Aryasaptati, in ornamental Sanskrit, where he invokes Lakshmi, goddess of fortune, who intimately embraces her lord, Vishnu, preserver of the world. But the details he provides surprise, even shock, us. His poetry elaborates how Lakshmi enjoys Vishnu in his female form, as Mohini, while she takes the superior or masculine position during the performance of love. Here, we find ideas of gender, sexuality and love, all topsy-turvy. This is also Hinduism. In fact, this is also Buddhism, for during this period, Buddha was not the monk who walked away from his wife. Instead, there are Pala and Nepala paintings that show Buddha erotically embracing his shakti, who is Tara; she is always on top. Gender rules are broken.

In today's neo-Vedantic Hindutva school of Hinduism, or “spiritual” Buddhism or Sufism, dominated by celibate leaders, desire is projected as weakness and cause of suffering. They would ban Govardhana. Even Jayadeva. Today, we revere sexless, bearded yogis who block all access to the enchanting sensual yoginis of yore. How did this happen? In this sexless, post-Independence ecosystem, driven by Marxist socialism, and now Hindutva reforms, fuelled by colonial hangover, Indians told themselves that their erotic past was something to be ashamed of. In such an ecosystem, what happened to gays, lesbians, transgenders, and other queer people, whose identity was rooted in their desires? They were deemed dirty, unholy, unworthy of even constitutional legitimacy. Indian writers pompously declare that “what is there in the Mahabharata is found nowhere”. But they also carefully edit out stories of Shikhandi (a female to male transgender), of Bhagashavana (who has sex as well as children as a man and as a woman), and of Brihanalla (a castrated male dancer), from their modern renderings, thus establishing a hetero-normative, even an asexual, India.

 

In the 12th century, around the time when Jayadeva wrote the Gita Govinda — complex allegorical and mystical erotic poetry that introduced the world to Radha — another poet, Govardhana, wrote the Aryasaptati, in ornamental Sanskrit, where he invokes Lakshmi, goddess of fortune, who intimately embraces her lord, Vishnu, preserver of the world. But the details he provides surprise, even shock, us. His poetry elaborates how Lakshmi enjoys Vishnu in his female form, as Mohini, while she takes the superior or masculine position during the performance of love. Here, we find ideas of gender, sexuality and love, all topsy-turvy. This is also Hinduism. In fact, this is also Buddhism, for during this period, Buddha was not the monk who walked away from his wife. Instead, there are Pala and Nepala paintings that show Buddha erotically embracing his shakti, who is Tara; she is always on top. Gender rules are broken.

In today's neo-Vedantic Hindutva school of Hinduism, or “spiritual” Buddhism or Sufism, dominated by celibate leaders, desire is projected as weakness and cause of suffering. They would ban Govardhana. Even Jayadeva. Today, we revere sexless, bearded yogis who block all access to the enchanting sensual yoginis of yore. How did this happen? In this sexless, post-Independence ecosystem, driven by Marxist socialism, and now Hindutva reforms, fuelled by colonial hangover, Indians told themselves that their erotic past was something to be ashamed of. In such an ecosystem, what happened to gays, lesbians, transgenders, and other queer people, whose identity was rooted in their desires? They were deemed dirty, unholy, unworthy of even constitutional legitimacy. Indian writers pompously declare that “what is there in the Mahabharata is found nowhere”. But they also carefully edit out stories of Shikhandi (a female to male transgender), of Bhagashavana (who has sex as well as children as a man and as a woman), and of Brihanalla (a castrated male dancer), from their modern renderings, thus establishing a hetero-normative, even an asexual, India.

 

Traditional India is still more comfortable with hijras and kinnars and mangal-mukhis (male to female eunuchs and transgenders who join a particular quasi-religious community). They are seen as the third sex. But mention gays, and lesbians, and there is stiff resistance. LBTQI is seen as “Western”, as they refuse traditional marginalisation and demand mainstreaming. When themes of man-boy love in Sufi poetry and biographies of Muslim kings and saints are presented, many “traditionalists” qualify them as contamination brought in by Muslim invaders. When queer stories of Mohini and Ardhanareshwara from the Puranas are pointed out, they are dismissed as perverted interpretations of Westernised minds who don’t understand Indian metaphor. Thus, a limited, censored version of India’s past is constructed that is anything but sanatan dharma (timeless doctrine).

In the 12th century, around the time when Jayadeva wrote the Gita Govinda — complex allegorical and mystical erotic poetry that introduced the world to Radha — another poet, Govardhana, wrote the Aryasaptati, in ornamental Sanskrit, where he invokes Lakshmi, goddess of fortune, who intimately embraces her lord, Vishnu, preserver of the world. But the details he provides surprise, even shock, us. His poetry elaborates how Lakshmi enjoys Vishnu in his female form, as Mohini, while she takes the superior or masculine position during the performance of love. Here, we find ideas of gender, sexuality and love, all topsy-turvy. This is also Hinduism. In fact, this is also Buddhism, for during this period, Buddha was not the monk who walked away from his wife. Instead, there are Pala and Nepala paintings that show Buddha erotically embracing his shakti, who is Tara; she is always on top. Gender rules are broken.

In today's neo-Vedantic Hindutva school of Hinduism, or “spiritual” Buddhism or Sufism, dominated by celibate leaders, desire is projected as weakness and cause of suffering. They would ban Govardhana. Even Jayadeva. Today, we revere sexless, bearded yogis who block all access to the enchanting sensual yoginis of yore. How did this happen? In this sexless, post-Independence ecosystem, driven by Marxist socialism, and now Hindutva reforms, fuelled by colonial hangover, Indians told themselves that their erotic past was something to be ashamed of. In such an ecosystem, what happened to gays, lesbians, transgenders, and other queer people, whose identity was rooted in their desires? They were deemed dirty, unholy, unworthy of even constitutional legitimacy. Indian writers pompously declare that “what is there in the Mahabharata is found nowhere”. But they also carefully edit out stories of Shikhandi (a female to male transgender), of Bhagashavana (who has sex as well as children as a man and as a woman), and of Brihanalla (a castrated male dancer), from their modern renderings, thus establishing a hetero-normative, even an asexual, India.

 

Traditional India is still more comfortable with hijras and kinnars and mangal-mukhis (male to female eunuchs and transgenders who join a particular quasi-religious community). They are seen as the third sex. But mention gays, and lesbians, and there is stiff resistance. LBTQI is seen as “Western”, as they refuse traditional marginalisation and demand mainstreaming. When themes of man-boy love in Sufi poetry and biographies of Muslim kings and saints are presented, many “traditionalists” qualify them as contamination brought in by Muslim invaders. When queer stories of Mohini and Ardhanareshwara from the Puranas are pointed out, they are dismissed as perverted interpretations of Westernised minds who don’t understand Indian metaphor. Thus, a limited, censored version of India’s past is constructed that is anything but sanatan dharma (timeless doctrine).

(Devdutt Pattanaik is a renowned writer who has written around 40 books. He is the author of Shikhandi and other queer tales they don't tell you, Zubaan Books)

In the 12th century, around the time when Jayadeva wrote the Gita Govinda — complex allegorical and mystical erotic poetry that introduced the world to Radha — another poet, Govardhana, wrote the Aryasaptati, in ornamental Sanskrit, where he invokes Lakshmi, goddess of fortune, who intimately embraces her lord, Vishnu, preserver of the world. But the details he provides surprise, even shock, us. His poetry elaborates how Lakshmi enjoys Vishnu in his female form, as Mohini, while she takes the superior or masculine position during the performance of love. Here, we find ideas of gender, sexuality and love, all topsy-turvy. This is also Hinduism. In fact, this is also Buddhism, for during this period, Buddha was not the monk who walked away from his wife. Instead, there are Pala and Nepala paintings that show Buddha erotically embracing his shakti, who is Tara; she is always on top. Gender rules are broken.

In today's neo-Vedantic Hindutva school of Hinduism, or “spiritual” Buddhism or Sufism, dominated by celibate leaders, desire is projected as weakness and cause of suffering. They would ban Govardhana. Even Jayadeva. Today, we revere sexless, bearded yogis who block all access to the enchanting sensual yoginis of yore. How did this happen? In this sexless, post-Independence ecosystem, driven by Marxist socialism, and now Hindutva reforms, fuelled by colonial hangover, Indians told themselves that their erotic past was something to be ashamed of. In such an ecosystem, what happened to gays, lesbians, transgenders, and other queer people, whose identity was rooted in their desires? They were deemed dirty, unholy, unworthy of even constitutional legitimacy. Indian writers pompously declare that “what is there in the Mahabharata is found nowhere”. But they also carefully edit out stories of Shikhandi (a female to male transgender), of Bhagashavana (who has sex as well as children as a man and as a woman), and of Brihanalla (a castrated male dancer), from their modern renderings, thus establishing a hetero-normative, even an asexual, India.

 

Traditional India is still more comfortable with hijras and kinnars and mangal-mukhis (male to female eunuchs and transgenders who join a particular quasi-religious community). They are seen as the third sex. But mention gays, and lesbians, and there is stiff resistance. LBTQI is seen as “Western”, as they refuse traditional marginalisation and demand mainstreaming. When themes of man-boy love in Sufi poetry and biographies of Muslim kings and saints are presented, many “traditionalists” qualify them as contamination brought in by Muslim invaders. When queer stories of Mohini and Ardhanareshwara from the Puranas are pointed out, they are dismissed as perverted interpretations of Westernised minds who don’t understand Indian metaphor. Thus, a limited, censored version of India’s past is constructed that is anything but sanatan dharma (timeless doctrine).

(Devdutt Pattanaik is a renowned writer who has written around 40 books. He is the author of Shikhandi and other queer tales they don't tell you, Zubaan Books)

In the 12th century, around the time when Jayadeva wrote the Gita Govinda — complex allegorical and mystical erotic poetry that introduced the world to Radha — another poet, Govardhana, wrote the Aryasaptati, in ornamental Sanskrit, where he invokes Lakshmi, goddess of fortune, who intimately embraces her lord, Vishnu, preserver of the world. But the details he provides surprise, even shock, us. His poetry elaborates how Lakshmi enjoys Vishnu in his female form, as Mohini, while she takes the superior or masculine position during the performance of love. Here, we find ideas of gender, sexuality and love, all topsy-turvy. This is also Hinduism. In fact, this is also Buddhism, for during this period, Buddha was not the monk who walked away from his wife. Instead, there are Pala and Nepala paintings that show Buddha erotically embracing his shakti, who is Tara; she is always on top. Gender rules are broken.

In today's neo-Vedantic Hindutva school of Hinduism, or “spiritual” Buddhism or Sufism, dominated by celibate leaders, desire is projected as weakness and cause of suffering. They would ban Govardhana. Even Jayadeva. Today, we revere sexless, bearded yogis who block all access to the enchanting sensual yoginis of yore. How did this happen? In this sexless, post-Independence ecosystem, driven by Marxist socialism, and now Hindutva reforms, fuelled by colonial hangover, Indians told themselves that their erotic past was something to be ashamed of. In such an ecosystem, what happened to gays, lesbians, transgenders, and other queer people, whose identity was rooted in their desires? They were deemed dirty, unholy, unworthy of even constitutional legitimacy. Indian writers pompously declare that “what is there in the Mahabharata is found nowhere”. But they also carefully edit out stories of Shikhandi (a female to male transgender), of Bhagashavana (who has sex as well as children as a man and as a woman), and of Brihanalla (a castrated male dancer), from their modern renderings, thus establishing a hetero-normative, even an asexual, India.

 

Traditional India is still more comfortable with hijras and kinnars and mangal-mukhis (male to female eunuchs and transgenders who join a particular quasi-religious community). They are seen as the third sex. But mention gays, and lesbians, and there is stiff resistance. LBTQI is seen as “Western”, as they refuse traditional marginalisation and demand mainstreaming. When themes of man-boy love in Sufi poetry and biographies of Muslim kings and saints are presented, many “traditionalists” qualify them as contamination brought in by Muslim invaders. When queer stories of Mohini and Ardhanareshwara from the Puranas are pointed out, they are dismissed as perverted interpretations of Westernised minds who don’t understand Indian metaphor. Thus, a limited, censored version of India’s past is constructed that is anything but sanatan dharma (timeless doctrine).

(Devdutt Pattanaik is a renowned writer who has written around 40 books. He is the author of Shikhandi and other queer tales they don't tell you, Zubaan Books)

In the 12th century, around the time when Jayadeva wrote the Gita Govinda — complex allegorical and mystical erotic poetry that introduced the world to Radha — another poet, Govardhana, wrote the Aryasaptati, in ornamental Sanskrit, where he invokes Lakshmi, goddess of fortune, who intimately embraces her lord, Vishnu, preserver of the world. But the details he provides surprise, even shock, us. His poetry elaborates how Lakshmi enjoys Vishnu in his female form, as Mohini, while she takes the superior or masculine position during the performance of love. Here, we find ideas of gender, sexuality and love, all topsy-turvy. This is also Hinduism. In fact, this is also Buddhism, for during this period, Buddha was not the monk who walked away from his wife. Instead, there are Pala and Nepala paintings that show Buddha erotically embracing his shakti, who is Tara; she is always on top. Gender rules are broken.

In today's neo-Vedantic Hindutva school of Hinduism, or “spiritual” Buddhism or Sufism, dominated by celibate leaders, desire is projected as weakness and cause of suffering. They would ban Govardhana. Even Jayadeva. Today, we revere sexless, bearded yogis who block all access to the enchanting sensual yoginis of yore. How did this happen? In this sexless, post-Independence ecosystem, driven by Marxist socialism, and now Hindutva reforms, fuelled by colonial hangover, Indians told themselves that their erotic past was something to be ashamed of. In such an ecosystem, what happened to gays, lesbians, transgenders, and other queer people, whose identity was rooted in their desires? They were deemed dirty, unholy, unworthy of even constitutional legitimacy. Indian writers pompously declare that “what is there in the Mahabharata is found nowhere”. But they also carefully edit out stories of Shikhandi (a female to male transgender), of Bhagashavana (who has sex as well as children as a man and as a woman), and of Brihanalla (a castrated male dancer), from their modern renderings, thus establishing a hetero-normative, even an asexual, India.

 

Traditional India is still more comfortable with hijras and kinnars and mangal-mukhis (male to female eunuchs and transgenders who join a particular quasi-religious community). They are seen as the third sex. But mention gays, and lesbians, and there is stiff resistance. LBTQI is seen as “Western”, as they refuse traditional marginalisation and demand mainstreaming. When themes of man-boy love in Sufi poetry and biographies of Muslim kings and saints are presented, many “traditionalists” qualify them as contamination brought in by Muslim invaders. When queer stories of Mohini and Ardhanareshwara from the Puranas are pointed out, they are dismissed as perverted interpretations of Westernised minds who don’t understand Indian metaphor. Thus, a limited, censored version of India’s past is constructed that is anything but sanatan dharma (timeless doctrine).

(Devdutt Pattanaik is a renowned writer who has written around 40 books. He is the author of Shikhandi and other queer tales they don't tell you, Zubaan Books)

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