Gorakhpur is a city in the eastern part of the state known as Uttar Pradesh. It is mentioned in many legends and myths of Jainism, according to which the founder of Jainism known as Mahavira, translated as ‘the Great Hero’, lived in this area. Jainism, like Buddhism, originated around the 6th century BC and is a philosophical-ethical system based on the principles of control over the senses, overcoming desire and emotional attachment, truthful speech, thoughts and conduct. He is the 24th and the last tirthankar or great spiritual teacher according to the tradition. Mahavira was able to achieve these objectives through meditation and austerity and he was called Jina which means ‘conqueror’ implying that he conquered his senses. His followers believe that the universe is eternal and indestructible and has no creator. It consists of jiva, ‘conscious soul’ and ajiva, ‘matter’, which in turn consists of qualities and atoms. The Jains claim that there is a soul in every object and that its consciousness is present in a latent state in the inanimate objects. Karma is a material substance that is attached to the body of a soul based on the actions of the body. It is considered the binding force between soul and matter and thus relates to the vicious cycle of cause and effect. Liberation from this bond is the ultimate goal achievable only through rigorous discipline and austerity. Central to this is the idea of ahimsa, non-violence. Two main branches of Jainism were formed after the death of Mahavira.
The first is Digambara, ‘garment’ (ambara) of ‘air’ (dig). The monks following this tradition walk naked; they own only a copper bowl and a broom made of peacock feathers with which they swipe the path in front of their feet to avoid stepping on and killing living beings. The second school is called shvetambara, ‘white’ (sveta) ‘garment’ (ambara), which also allows nuns to practice self-discipline as prescribed by Jina. Jainism has made great contributions not only to Indian philosophy. Because they rejected the complex religious and ritualistic content of the Brahmanical tradition, jain scholars made great innovations and advancements in architecture, mathematics, astronomy and art14. Today over five million Jains live in India and hundreds of thousands live outside of the country. They are the smallest religious minority group (0.4% according to the 2001 Census of India) after the Zoroastrians or the Parsees who are followers of an ancient Persian religion (0.01%), and as per the recent census of Government of India GOI, they have the highest literacy rate. It is estimated that they contribute more than 5% of the GDP.
Gorakhpur is also historically important because around the 12th century a great ascetic meditated here. His name was Gorakhnath and he is considered to be the founder of hatha yoga, the practice of right breathing and meditation that has been attracting thousands of followers from the West. The city was named after this famous teacher. In addition, around the 15th century one of the most unique poets of India wrote his religious-philosophical poetry in the vernacular spoken in this area, instead of in Sanskrit, which was becoming too complex and incomprehensible for the common people. Kabir was born in a Muslim family but grew up in a Hindu setting. Thus he is considered by many to be a universal guru, revered by Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs and Sufis. He is a mystic who retained the idea of rebirth and karma, but objected to caste-based social hierarchy, idol-worship and pilgrimage. Kabir is venerated by the Bhakti movement, a newly formed school within the framework of Hinduism that advocates the intimate and personal loving relationship between the individual and the deity, irrespective of age, gender, language and caste without the mediation of priests. Kabir is also highly esteemed by the Sufi mystics within the Islamic tradition, who supported the principles of asceticism and self-devotion not as a result of fear of punishment or expectation of reward, but as an expression of pure love to God15. His ideas were also an inspiration for a new religion, Sikhism, whose holy book Gurugranth includes a great number of his verses, according to which moral purity and discipline is the way to unite with god.
I knew Gorakhpur because of Geeta Press, a large publishing company from where I had ordered books in the past. Recently, however, the city was acquiring fame because of its mayor – the first hijra, or transgender, or cross-dresser or eunuch, elected to such a high position. The media had made quite a lot of noise about her before and after the elections, and I arrived here with the hope of finding a way to meet with her.
Hijra is a commonly used term used to signify the third sex in Northern India, Bangladesh and Pakistan. The word stands for all the cases that do not correspond to the stereotypical concept of what the two genders are. Usually, hijra refers to men, who look like and live like women. When a child is born as a hermaphrodite with genital abnormalities, or when a boy likes to dance, wears women’s clothes and is fascinated by jewelry, or when a young man is a homosexual, they are either sent by their family to the ostracized hijra community or they befriend them and ultimately join them. They accept a new female name, they start wearing a sari, jewelry and make up. Many of them consider themselves both as Muslim and Hindu, some convert to Islam to avoid discriminating attitudes in the hierarchical Hindu society, but many of them worship plenty of Hindu deities and especially the androgynous Shiva, Devi Bahuchara and others16. Some are pressured into castration, which is an extremely painful operation, performed usually without anesthesia, but often preceded and followed by a special diet which also includes narcotics. Most certainly, having in mind the questionable hygienic conditions and medical competence, many cases of complications and even death have occurred. Sometimes hijras choose to take hormones to grow breasts, but this clearly requires plenty of money, which they don’t always have. They live in communities in big compounds with one being a teacher or a guru, teaching the young, the chela, to find and distribute work and keep the books. Some work as prostitutes, others are beggars, some keep secret relationships with men and there are those who even have clandestine love marriages. Typically, however, they make their living by dancing and singing at weddings, anniversaries, or when a new baby boy is born. They have a network of domestic servants and cooks in their area and thus secure sources of information about such events and celebrations. On the one hand, their blessings are considered auspicious and therefore they are invited to people’s houses. On the other, when they come uninvited, although annoyed at their presence, people receive them as guests quite courteously, because, they fear their curses. I have seen mothers put a hand over their children’s eyes and send them inside the house until their uninvited guests finish their somewhat lewd and risqué performance. Depending on the mood and the local traditions, the party can actually get really fun and amusing. At the end of ceremonies, these special visitors receive sweets, sugar, fabric, gifts and cash donations. Once in a while, if the hosting family exhibits a lack of hospitality or generosity towards the hijras, these unusual guests might be tempted to lift their saris and expose their deformed genitalia and thus insult the host in front of friends and relatives. Most feared, however, are the curses that may rain down on not only the whole family but its future generations as well. I have been warned to stay away from them many times:
“Their curses come true! Always! We have heard so many cases. Just stay away from them. Never cross their path! And if you run into them, give them what they want! Don’t annoy them!”
There are areas where these hijras have no records in official registers and are thus unable to obtain passports, to vote, or to receive social security or pension. Outside of the sex-business it is difficult for them to get jobs and even if they do find something it will be at the lowest level, where they are usually deprived of civil rights and legal defense. Recently, their communities have started to organize, to help and support each other, share different experiences and success stories. It is difficult to obtain official statistics about them, but they claim they are more than a million. They refer to themselves always in the grammatical feminine gender. You recognize them on the street by the gaudy jewelry and heavy make-up, by the insistent stare, by their derisive smiles, their loud voices and the distinctive clapping of hands with open palms and fingers fully extended.
I had always tried to personally meet with hijras and know more about them. I had several failed attempts to talk to a few in Banares, but I know now that I approached them in the wrong way and certainly they responded by being arrogant and openly sexual, and the encounter always ended up with bargaining for what their reward should be. They don’t easily talk about their intimate life, they rarely let people visit them at home, they live in a close knit community, and therefore continue to be veiled in a certain kind of mystery. However, a few locally famous dancers, I succeeded in talking to when I offered to pay them beforehand. They showed me also a few dance moves, sang a couple of songs and told me a few stories. It is really difficult to arrange a meeting with them. They weren’t very generous and fifteen or twenty minutes later they just left. If one was ready to empty one’s pocket, they would open up a bit more, no doubt about it. But I was always controlled by the fear factor and never dared to insist. I always had trepidations about being made fun of in the middle of the street, because I knew they wouldn’t have second thoughts if I aggravated or provoked them for some reason.
Asha Devi, the mayor of Gorakhpur, was in a different situation. The local and national printed media followed her, waiting for her to commit a mistake or do something socially unacceptable to ruin her political career. I was hopeful after I had called several people with connections here and there, through friends’ friends and relatives that I was going to have a chance to meet with her. I had an envelope with a thousand rupees ($25-30) in case I needed to express appreciation to someone for their help. Several days went by and I still didn’t even know the exact location of her office. Many would just suggest to me that I go straight to her office and knock at her door. But I thought that this was impossible. I had my presumptions about the impenetrable jungle of Indian bureaucracy and that I should always avoid it at all costs in order not to get trapped in it. I could imagine how many layers of administrative staff and offices I would have to knock on, go through and wait in front of for hours, completely forgotten in the midst of intense heat and humidity as well as a vast array of stinging, biting and poisonous fauna and flora…
My departure date was right around the corner and after I had exhausted all options, one morning I put the video camera in my bag, along with two bottles of water, a granola bar and a couple of bananas and decided to storm City Hall. My rickshaw driver just smiled when I told him what my plan was for the day and he asked me if I visited the local temple. He insisted that he first dropped me there to get the blessing of the priest and when I came back he said he knows I will meet Asha Devi. When reached the gate I asked the guard at the gate whether this was where her office was. Before I had finished my question, he nodded. A man in a brown uniform came running from somewhere, as if he knew what he was needed for and was just waiting to be called. He told me to follow him, which I readily did, trying to explain in the meantime who I was and why I wanted this meeting. I didn’t have any idea where he was taking me, but at least I was inside and was going to do my best before I gave up, I was telling myself. This time I had two envelopes in my bag, I wanted to be prepared. We passed through a couple of dim offices with vacant chairs and empty desks and at the next door, which was ajar, I was in and the man quickly disappeared. Well, there she was at her desk. She got up and greeted me.
I was invited to come in and sit on a soft brown leather armchair on the other side of her heavy dark mahogany desk. There were about ten more chairs, probably for more guests, lined up along the wall. On that wall were two portraits, one of Mahatma Gandhi – the father of the nation, and one of Jawaharlal Nehru, the first prime minister of independent India. Heavy burgundy colored velvet curtains blocked the sunlight on one side and two floor fans in the opposite corners and one on the ceiling moved the hot air around. I was sweating profusely and the hot tea they brought in with biscuits did not help much. I introduced myself, and awkwardly tried to express my surprise at being admitted to her presence with such ease, but she stopped me in mid-sentence and clarified:
“This is the way I always keep my door, open for ordinary citizens so that they see that I am one of them and nothing is going on secretly under the table.”
She elaborated further that people were tired of the Congress and the Bharatya Janata Party, the two most powerful parties, whose representatives did not use government funds appropriately and did not initiate any useful city projects.
“I proved to the community that I can actually fulfill my duties with honesty and efficiency,” she announced proudly. “It took only two years and now the bridge that connects the station with the main road is almost complete.” She continued: “A few more roads are fixed and also expanded. Anyone on the street will tell you that traffic jams are not as bad as before. And it’s going to get even better! Electricity is also on the agenda along with our bad sewage system and clean water. But I am getting tired, because when I go back home in the evening I have to work to make a living.”
“Isn’t the mayor’s salary good?”
“What salary are you talking about? I get no money for this work! The money is needed by the poor! I just release funds. This is why my working day continues when I get back home. I change clothes and with my friends, we go out to make some money. There a few young ones that still need my support. But business is great. People know me and invite us to perform.”
“Will you continue working as a performer if you go further into politics?” I asked.
“No, no. Politics I hate. I will never be a politician. I like my life. Why ruin it? People have respect for me. Why lose it? It wasn’t my idea at all to become a mayoral candidate. People insisted that I run a campaign. They organized everything and voted for me. I agreed, just to show the politicians that if they don’t listen to what the voice of the masses is, their days are counted. All they listen to is the noise of money! Corruption is what is killing us in India! Wide-spread corruption! But a hijra party can show them how politics can be conducted honestly. People trust us. We don’t have extended families with a lot of relatives to give them high positions. We don’t have children, so we don’t need to steal for their sake. Neither do we need more property.”
She was a tall large woman with a round face and big arms and hands with a few rings on her chubby fingers. She spoke loudly, used a lot of facial expressions and hand gestures, and looked at me in the eyes. Her voice was strong, her intonation curving up at the end of every phrase and her pronunciation unusually nasalized. Her conversation was punctuated by the jingle of dozens of bangles she had on both wrists. She wore a light blue silk sari with a border that was covered with floral motifs in the style of the gorgeous white chikankari embroidery, a well-known style from Lukhnow, and once in a while, with nimble feminine movements she pulled the end of the sari over the top of her head or tucked under it the lock of hair that kept falling along the side of her face.
“What difference does it make if I was born a boy? I do everything that a woman does!” She leaned on the desk, opened the palm of her right hand, curved her right thumb inwards, touched with it the joint lines of her straight pinky one by one and counted all the duties she performed:
“One, I cook, two, I wash dishes, three, I clean.” Then she moved on to the ring finger:
“Four, I dance, five I sing… Why is it my fault that nature made me so … that I cannot have children? Should I be punished for that?”
In 2003 she was removed from office on the legal basis that the state election commission allowed her to run for a seat reserved for women and that she was born a man Amarnath Yadav. After a long and intensive petition campaign by Gorakhpur’s citizens she was successfully reinstated back to the mayor’s office.
“Of course, there are people who think that we hijras are evil. People despise us, condemn us, fear us, or don’t acknowledge us, and they don’t let the media cover our way of life or even cases of harassment by police. But we are getting stronger. We are uniting. We are helping each other. We are entering the field of local and national politics, searching for legal protection of our rights and soon changes will happen. Just wait and you’ll see.”
When I met her several years later during another trip she had completely retired and told me excitedly that she had found a suitor for her daughter. I was surprised since I didn’t know she had any children and she explained that several years ago she had found a girl who seemed to be alone in the world on the streets and had taken her in and raised her as her daughter. Now the girl was getting married to a young man from a good family and she was so proud of her achievement.
“See, there are happy endings after all.” A few years ago I wanted to hear what she thought about the Seatbelt Crew and I wanted to arrange another visit with her while I was in India, but she had just passed away from a kidney failure.
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14 See for more Paul Dundas. The Jains, Psychology Press, 2002. Also, see Schubring, Walther (Trans.) The Doctrine of the Jainas: Described after the Old Sources. Delhi: Motilal Benarsidass Publishers, 2000
15 See for more Bly, Robert. Kabir: Ecstatic Poems. Beacon Press, 2004.
16 See for more Reddy, Gayatri. With Respect to Sex: Negotiating Hijra identity in South Asia. Chicago University Press, 2005. Also, Nanda, Serena. Neither Man Nor Woman: The Hijras of India. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth Pub. Co., 1999.