A friend of mine insisted on taking me around Amritsar. Vijay was working on an agricultural project with a local business and had come from Delhi for his cousin’s wedding. So I agreed to make a stop and hang out with him for a couple of days. Amritsar is a city located on the banks of a lake in North-Western India, in the state of Punjab, near the border with Pakistan. Vijay was very proud that his family was from this city. He told me that the name comes from amrita, ‘the drink of immortality’, and sarovar, ‘a lake’, the Lake of the Drink of Immortality. It is considered a holy place because of many references to it in myths and legends about the first shrines that were built in this area. The sage Valmiki is believed to have written the Ramayana around here and this is where Sita spent some time during the exile. A stunning temple, dating back to the 16th century stands in the middle of the divine lake. Vijay took me to Harimandir or the ‘temple of god,’ the Golden Temple of the Sikhs. Its gold plated dome reflects the dazzling sunlight onto the shimmering silver surface of the water, which sheathes the house of worship with heavenly luminosity.
Nowadays Amritsar is a cultural and educational center particularly related to Sikhism, a relatively recent philosophical-religious system that quickly spread over the Punjab area. It is the fifth most popular religion in the world whose followers are more than 25 million. Among them 75% live in India, but they represent a small minority – close to 20 million or only 1.9% of the total population (according to the 2001 Census of India). The etymology of the word is related to the verb root sikh, ‘study’. This new teaching was founded by Guru Nanak in the 15th century and further developed by nine other teachers. It shares characteristics with other new doctrines such as the sant mat and the bhakti movement that emerged from the well-established traditions of Hinduism as well as with Sufism, a mystical reforming school existing within the framework of Islam. All of them are focused on the intimate aspect of the relationship between a believer and God, on the inviolable love of the devotee towards God, independent of idol-worship, elaborate rituals, priests, and the follower’s social status. Guru Nanak’s message is that the individual can see God anywhere and in everything through the inner eye or the heart, a capability which can be developed through meditation leading to enlightenment and thus communication with God.
I was out for a stroll alone in and around the Jallianwala Bagh. This is a historical park, where on April 13, 1919, in spite of the British government’s ban on assemblies, a huge crowd gathered to celebrate the festival Vaisakhi, the Sikh New Year and was shot on by the British troops led by General Dyer. Several hundred people were killed. There is a monument here commemorating the massacre. I was staring at the brick wall preserved with traces from the bullets, when I heard a woman’s voice behind me speaking in English:
“The exact number of the victims is not important. All who died were innocent. This is what is important!”
I turned around and I saw a young woman smiling at me, wearing a colorful cotton salwar-kamiz set covered with small clusters of tiny yellow and orange flowers. A matching long scarf made of light thin fabric, sprinkled with the same patterns and with bright ochre borders, was thrown across her chest and over the shoulders, ending freely behind her back down to her waist. Her earrings were in the form of little domes with yellow-orange glaze and strings of colorful shiny little green-color beads hanging all around. There was a slight breeze that made the morning crisp and pleasant. From time to time it playfully lifted the edges of her scarf as if they were trying to peak from behind to see who she was talking to. What appeared unusual to me was a black turban tightly wrapped around her head. An ochre colored fabric was visible right at the bottom above her forehead, forming the inside of the turban.
After a quick exchange of personal information about each other, we switched to Hindi:
“I am so happy to see a foreigner inside the garden, you know, a foreigner who wants to learn about our history. I was looking at the signs, however, and there is no where information about Sikhism, explanation about the festival people were gathered for when this horrific event took place and that they were actually mostly Sikh.”
I agreed with her that it would have been useful and then she asked me enthusiastically if I wanted to walk with her and this way we would have some time to chat. Radhika spoke beautiful high-register Hindi, for which I complimented her from the very beginning. The majority of the people here, native Punjabi speakers, used Hindi mixed with plenty of Punjabi tones, sounds and words, and heavy-accented English words, which sometimes posed problems for me and I had to be always on my linguistic toes:
“We Sikhs believe that each individual’s goal is to rid him or herself from the cycle of rebirths by achieving oneness with God. This is a particular state of the mind which is hampered by five evils: kam ‘lust’, moh ‘attachment’, krodh ‘anger’, ahamkar ‘ego’ and lobh ‘greed’. However they can be overcome by the eight virtues: gyan ‘knowledge’, sat ‘truthfulness’, nyaya ‘justice’, santokh ‘self-control’, dhiraj ‘patience’, himmat ‘courage’, namrata ‘modesty’ and sabar ‘freedom from fear’. And reading every day five verses from the Shri Guru Granth Sahib ji also helps keep a person’s efforts to be one with God.”
She reached into her purse and took out a box of supari, small pieces of dried up areca nut wrapped in menthol silver leaves, the local equivalent of mints. She poured some in my palm and put a few in her mouth to chew on. Then I asked why she was wearing a turban like the men and she answered:
“It’s called dastar and wearing it symbolizes devotion, self-respect, determination, courage. You know, it’s like a spiritual crown. Our Gurus teachings are for all, men and women. Why shouldn’t I wear it? Yes, we are different biologically, but there is so much more in life that we can choose to be. And I made my choice. It was about ten years ago. I was 25 and my parents were putting so much pressure on me to get married and have children. At the same time, my brother was still single and they never pushed him in this direction. I was like, why do people tell me what to do, why should I do all this and he can decide for himself? I remember my grand-mother reading to me from page 473 of the Shri Guru Granth Sahib ji that man is born from a woman; within woman, man is conceived; to a woman he is engaged and married. Man is friends with woman; through woman, the future generations exist. So why call her bad? From her, kings are born. From a woman, woman is born; without woman there would be no one at all. Also, she made me repeat after her a ‘Sati‘ is not she who burns herself on the pyre of her husband. A ‘Sati‘ is one who lives contented and embellishes herself with good conduct. It is on p. 787.”
Then she added that she decided to read and study herself the teachings in the Guru Granth. This is the holy book of Sikhism which was composed and collected over several generations of Gurus and proclaimed by the last one as his only successor. Thus it became the ultimate guide and teacher worshipped by all Sikhs.
“I decided that I will live my life following the real tradition of equality and devotion. You must have heard the name of Guru Govind Singh. In 1699 on the day of Vaysakhi he stood in front of the gathered crowd and asked if there were people who would sacrifice their life for their religion. One man came out and the teacher invited him inside his tent. After a little while Guru Govind Singh appeared with his sword covered with blood and asked if there was any other person ready to die to defend the Sikh beliefs. A second man stepped in front of him and they went inside the tent. Afterwards, three more men volunteered their life for their religion. After the last one, the teacher raised his bloody sword up in the air and called the five men by name. They came out wearing the same clothes and turban as their guru. He pronounced them the first members of the equal society, which he called Khalsa, ‘pure’. He sprinkled them with amrita, then he kneeled in order for them to perform his initiation. This demonstrated the equality between teacher and student. In order to avoid social disparities among his followers rooted in their family names Guru Govind Singh introduced the name Singh or ‘Lion’ for all the men to embody courage and for all the women the name Kauri or ‘Princess’ to signify honor. Everyone is to carry this name for life. In this way women can keep their independence from men even after marriage. Thus, the foundations of equality in our society were laid.”
“So, what have you decided to do?”, I inquired further.
“To help the weak, to take care of the troubled, to develop my mind and spirit.”
“But how do you this and support yourself?”
“I have an M.S. in biology. This was what my parents always wanted. I didn’t find a job, however, that would make me feel like laying down my heart and soul in it. I was always interested in social issues. Gradually, with one of my colleagues I started being involved in the Sikh Party Akali Dal, but the more I learned about politics, the more I detested the mindset they had. I mean, I couldn’t continue devoting my time and effort to it anymore — there are so many self-involved, opportunistic and unwise men in it. You cannot ignore reality, you know, you cannot avoid thinking about consequences. All the turmoil in the 80s. So many people died in the Golden temple, you know about this, right? Indira Gandhi ordered the Indian Army to enter and shoot people inside. Awful! And she paid with her life for this mistake. Why did I even start talking about politics?”
“So, did you go back to the field of biology, then?”
“No! No way! I enrolled myself in a film and media program. My parents were disappointed, of course, but they loved me and supported me. Now I make documentaries. I find sponsors and make the films I want. I am independent this way. I mostly work with non-government organizations.”
“Why?”
“Oh, well, there is too much corruption and greed there and too much money goes into private pockets and doesn’t reach its destination. I don’t like this. I am actually, in a way, a colleague of yours. I also work in the field of education. I make documentaries that educate the public.”
“About what?”
“I started out with focus on HIV prevention and safe sex education. I somehow heard about the National AIDS Control Programme when it was first established, I think in 1987 and it had three main sectors of activities surveillance, blood screening, and health education, which was what I was interested in. Although independent of their funding I liked their agenda and my first film was one about the spread of the disease among the professional truck drivers who have many sexual partners in many states of the country. Then when they get married, they continue the casual promiscuity on the road, come back home and infect their own families. I also worked on a documentary about female child trafficking. Although India has the Immoral Traffic Protection Act, it is still a big problem. It mostly happens with illiterate villagers who are tricked to give their girls away on the false pretext of marriage agreement or employment promise, then they are sent to brothels in the bigger cities and forced into prostitution. After the needed training they serve about 20 men a day. Of course, they have unprotected sex, because usually they have no idea about AIDS, let alone awareness of prevention. They contract it and thus they spread it around. You do the math. Some of them were able to escape, but it didn’t make their life easy at all. They were ostracized, their families isolated them when they learned that they were terminally ill, HIV positive. From this I moved on to another project about child trafficking and child labor. I have a company now, even a few employees. Local and international agencies contact me, inquire and order my films. Who knew?”
“What about your family? Are they happy with you now?”
“Oh, my father and mother love my films. The older they get, the more enthusiastic they are. They think I am able to make a change in our society. And you know, I don’t remember how it started but they always want to see the raw footage before the final version. I have special shows for them and their friends. We have private parties. They are funny this way. They are really proud of me now. But it took them time to warm up to my work. It took me time to get here as well. I was searching, you know, for years. Now I love my life. It’s like I found my mission both in my professional and personal life.”
“What do you mean by ‘personal’?” I asked.
“Well, I decided not to get married. You know in Punjab there are far fewer girls than boys. Why should I be a part of this farce… become a prize for someone who competed with others for me… everyone is obsessed with marriage… just to have a husband, when I actually don’t want one. I don’t care what people will say… and to tell you the truth, it’s mostly women who frown upon me and keep asking me why and when I will get married, and insist that I need to get married. Why do we, women, do this to ourselves, why do we continue this narrow-mindedness and impose it on our own daughters? Are we no one without a husband?!”
She made me think of Ismat Chughtai a progressive Urdu writer and feminist who vehemently criticized through her works women’s unconscious participation in the process of perpetuating the same double-standards and restrictions which existed in their lives and caused them unhappiness and despair. She reminded me of the protagonist in my favorite novel by Chughtai entitled The Crooked Line who is a defiant, non-conforming young woman taking a difficult road. The path that Radhika had chosen was also quite crooked and rebellious. She continued:
“I love kids, though. So I took home two kids from the street, orphans.”
“You adopted them?”
“No. Not really. I mean, not on paper. Too much hassle and too much money. But they have lived with me for seven years now since they were very young. The boy was about one and the other was around three.”
“How did you find them?”
“They found me! They came to me on the street asking for money or food. The older girl was so cute, holding her baby brother’s hand. I asked her where her mother was and she took me to her. They lived on the street, under a tree. They had three rugs and two pots. The mother was sick. She might have been raped. She died a few months after I saw her for the first time. I was afraid the kids were HIV infected, but they weren’t. I couldn’t figure out what the story of this miserable soul was. It took me sometime to figure out how I could keep them with me at home. They grew up so fast. They are in school now and are excellent students. Smriti loves art and Akshay is into cricket.”
“What religion are the kids? Do you go to temples for service and pray? Which festivals do you celebrate with them?” My curiosity was growing.
“They are not Sikhs, yet. I expose them to all kinds of practices and customs. They know my family and love our traditions but how they will identify themselves when they grow up, I don’t know. They will have to figure this out for themselves. There is no pressure from my family about that, neither on me nor on them. We are against any forceful conversion, you know. We respect all people equally no matter what their age, sex, beliefs or job is. We are against the purda [veil] and the sati tradition [burning of the widow along with the deceased husband]. Sikhism is against many popular superstitions, such as menstrual impurity, or widows causing bad luck to others. Women can divorce and have a second marriage without being ostracized. They can serve in the army. Many women are successful engineers, doctors, scientists. We are so proud that not only is our Prime Minister Sikh [Manmohan Singh], but that he is one of the most successful ones and the most influential Indian politician worldwide.”
We sat on a bench under the thick branches of a huge banyan tree. It is quite a unique type of tree because its seeds germinate on the branch, creating new roots in the air, which reach down to the ground, start feeding off of it and gradually become the trunk of a newly formed tree that is still attached to the old one, but that has its own branches and leaves. I looked up and it occurred to me that the banyan tree was a fitting metaphor for the uninterrupted and perpetual process of emergence, expansion, renewal, integration, amalgamation and development of the philosophical and religious ideas and traditions in India.