By Pralay Kanungo
It is often said that Hinduism, unlike most religions, does not have a founder, a book or a church. On this basis, it is assumed that Hinduism is not a missionary religion, and that it has evolved gradually over time, rather than being self-consciously developed as a religious identity (these arguments have been contested; see Sharma, 1992; Frykenberg, 1989). It would be naïve, however, to suggest that Hinduism has been oblivious to identitarian concerns and averse to mobilisation. On the contrary, mobilisation of Hindus—from ancient times to the present—has taken place in various ways and forms. It might be more accurate to say that Hinduism evolved and was simultaneously constructed through discursive processes of mobilisation—straight as well as subtle, piercing as well as placatory.
From Adi Sankara to the medieval Bhakti Saints, and from modern Hindu preachers like Dayananda and Vivekananda to the postmodern ‘new-age’ Hindu gurus, there have been multiple quests for community and identity. These religious figures and reformers, through their ideas and actions, mobilised their followers within a plural and diverse universe of Hinduism, both in terms of philosophy and praxis. If mobilisation invariably makes a distinction between the self and the other, for centuries these dynamics were focused on competing sects, sampradayas and traditions from within this loose Hinduism. Subsequently, with the emergence of a more demarcated Hinduism, religions like Islam and Christianity, which originated outside the territorial boundary of Hindustan, became Hinduism’s distinct other and vice versa, particularly since the mid-19th century. Thus, the Cow Protection Movement, anchored on a powerful Hindu symbol, mobilised Hindus against Muslims. The pro-Hindi language movement, which was simultaneously anti-Urdu and anti-Muslim, unleashed the rhetoric of ‘Hindi-Hindu-Hindustan’ (Dalmia, 1997; Freitag, 1989). The Kumbh Mela, primarily a site for the mobilisation of different Hindu sects and for demonstration of sectarian supremacy, became a site for nationalist and Hindu nationalist mobilisation as well (Maclean, 2008). While precolonial states patronised religious sects and communities, encouraging them to mobilise and expand, the colonial state adopted a strategy which encouraged the process through which community mobilisations turned communal.
During the anti-colonial struggle, the nationalist leader B. G. Tilak reoriented the relatively private Ganapati festival into a public celebration to mobilise Hindus, sharpening the communal divide. V. D. Savarkar’s Hindutva demarcated a sacred Hindu territory and excluded Muslims and Christians as the other on the basis that their ‘holy land’ was elsewhere. The Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) leaders K. B. Hedgewar and M. S. Golwalkar carried forward Hindutva politics by conceiving of India as a Hindu nation, projecting Muslims and Christians again as enemies. In postcolonial India, the Sangh Parivar aggressively played out the politics of Hindu identity during the Ram Janmabhoomi agitation; Hindu religious symbols and icons were used to mobilise Hindus. Sadhus and gurus became part of the Hindu nationalist movement (McKean, 1996). The contours of Indian nationalism were defined by the semantics of Hinduism when Lord Ram was projected as the National Hero.
The rise of the BJP to the centre stage of Indian politics over the past two decades has pushed Hindutva’s mobilisational agenda further. The Sangh Parivar has adopted a multi-pronged mobilisational strategy: on the one hand, continuing with its usual long term, low-key routine mobilisations through daily shakhas and sustained activities by affiliates like the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (Katju, 2003), Vanavasi Kalyan Ashram (Kanungo and Joshi, 2009), Seva Bharati (Jaffrelot, 2005) and the Vivekanand Kendra (Kanungo, Chapter 9 in this volume); on the other, it engaged in extremely violent mobilisations in the 2002 anti-Muslim riots in Gujarat and the 2008 anti-Christian riots in Orissa. Simultaneously, it also pursued some issue-based mobilisations, such as the Ram Sethu agitation (2007) and the Vishwa Mangal Go Gram Yatra (2009), invoking Hindu religious symbols and icons.
Parallel to Hindutva mobilisations, another interesting development has been the proliferation of a large number of Hindu religious gurus: from Ravi Shankar to Ramdev, and from Asharam Bapu to Mata Amritanandamayi. Though they represent different kinds of gurudoms, disseminate diverse discourses and demonstrate myriad performative practices, all of them have the capacity to mobilise Hindus, cutting across class, caste, region and power structure; their pervasive presence in the public spheres, particularly on television channels, has contributed to the production of a virtual community of Hindus (James, 2010). Many of these religious leaders may not act in tandem with Hindutva forces, but in some cases the relationship has been complimentary—while Hindutva extends state patronage to the gurus, on their part, the gurus facilitate Hindutva’s entry among new social groups and into new geographical regions.
Both Hinduism and Hindutva have entered into the diasporic public spheres as well. A spurt in migration of Hindus in the postcolonial period has led to the emergence of a ‘Hindu diaspora’ (Vertovec, 2000; Rukmani, 2001). As overseas Hindus have always looked at religion as a major succour to their survival and identity in lands where they are in a minority, Hinduism has been transplanted in diverse diasporic locations and mobilisation of Hindus has taken place in multiple directions through multiple agencies. On the one hand, the process of temple-building in the United States (Eck, 2000) and campaigns in the United Kingdom over the representation of Hindu images (Zavos, 2008) have become rallying points in mobilising Hindus. On the other hand, Hindutva has extended its network to mobilise the ‘Hindu diaspora’ by adopting a multi-pronged strategy, by redefining and softening its strident home-made majoritarian doctrines and practices, conforming to the principles of multiculturalism, whilst simultaneously mobilising Hindus claiming minority rights. Thus, Hindutva uses all sorts of rights and privileges available under multiculturalism to mobilise overseas Hindus, particularly in America (Prashad, 2000; Rajagopal, 2001; Kurien, Chapter 7 in this volume) and Britain (Bhatt and Mukta, 2000) to promote its politics.
The section begins with Tanika Sarkar’s chapter on ‘Hindutva’s Hinduism’, which explores the paradoxical relationship between Hindutva and Hinduism. While Savarkar conceptualised Hindutva in terms of territory and culture, discarding faith, he nevertheless deployed faith to construct a Hindu identity. Savarkar’s ideological heir, the RSS, adopts a similar tactic by distancing itself from overt religious activities, yet simultaneously dabbling with Hindu beliefs and rituals through its affiliates like the Vishva Hindu Parishad (VHP). Sarkar’s ethnography of a VHP temple at Delhi demonstrates how poor aesthetics, unkempt ambience, disinterest in doctrinal and religious matters, and marginalisation of the priest, clearly mark the disjunct between Hindutva religiosity and Hinduism. She observes that the primary purpose of the VHP temple is not to be a public place of worship, but to establish its position as the representative of Hindu temples; here, worship is a necessary but auxiliary activity. Moreover, under Hindutva’s influence, some temples have become sites of communal mobilisation; for instance, tridents were distributed in temples prior to the 2002 Gujarat pogrom. Sarkar further argues that just as Hindutva’s Hinduism has invented Bande Mataram as a new hymn and Bharat Mata as a new Goddess, it has also invented the pogrom as new kind of festival. War becomes worship and killing of the other is celebrated. Hence, she observes, a pogrom can become a collective public ritual—a festival of death, noting that some victims of the Gujarat riots mistook the rioters as a barat (wedding procession). Thus, Hindutva mobilises Hindus not through Hindu religiosity but through discourses and spectacles of communal violence.
Ganneri and Sen explore the nuances of mobilisation of Hindu women in Mumbai by the women affiliates of two Hindutva organisations—the RSS and Shiv Sena. Examining the role of icons and symbolism they show how upper-caste/class women of the Rashtra Sevika Samiti and the lower-caste/class semi-literate women cadre of the Shiv Sena represent texts, myths and legends about Hindu Goddesses, martial queens and women leaders, to mobilise diverse groups of women. Though the RSS and Sena women practice different modes of iconisation, both remain committed to militant motherhood, especially embodied in the character of Jijabai, the mother of the great Hindu nationalist icon Shivaji. Ganneri and Sen interestingly argue that the women cadre of these Hindutva organisations creatively interpret as well as innovatively create episodes within various historical narratives to elevate their position in a male-dominated Hindutva movement. Though the process of mobilisation of Hindu women has the potential to go beyond the limits set by the Hindutva leadership, it certainly remains within the confines of Hindutva’s violent political rhetoric.
Focusing on the transnational contours of Hindutva, Deepa S. Reddy explores how multiculturalism enables ethnicised identities to negotiate with religion and culture outside India, and carve out spaces of either benign celebration or outraged expression. Thus, she argues that transnational Hindutva takes shape at the point of intersection between two sets of distinct, ongoing conversations: those with the multiculturalist state, and those within the Indian/Hindu community, both in India and elsewhere. Multiple localities are often conjoined: thus, when a UK Royal mail Christmas stamp travels on letters to India, it acquires new meanings; and when the India Development and Relief Fund (IDRF) raises ‘humanitarian’ donations to fund a development project in a Gujarat village, it may be seen as manifestation of Hindutva’s ‘hate politics’. Extending Hansen’s ‘vernacularisation’ of Hindutva to the transnational context, Reddy finds the emergence of a global vernacular, which is at once local, national and supra-national.
Arun Chaudhuri explores the dynamics of Hindutva’s mobilsations in the American context. While Hindutva organisations such as the Vishwa Hindu Parishad of America (VHPA) and the Hindu Swayamsevak Sangh (HSS) increased their public presence in the US during the 1990s, in recent years the politicisation of Hinduism in the US has produced an American Hindu activism going beyond familiar characterisations of Hindutva as a long-distance nationalism or a hardened ideology of certainty. Chaudhuri highlights some of the changing directions of contemporary American Hindu activism, including a range of domestic Hindu lobbying, anti-defamation mobilisations and academia-oriented mobilisations, among other things. In the context of American Hindu activism’s multiplying set of political projects and its increasingly public orientations, he discusses its changing claims on the political jurisdiction and political belonging of American Hindus, and in particular its mobilisation of rearticulated narratives of persecution towards increasingly abstract claims on identity, community and representation. Chaudhuri also discusses the implications of the uncertainties and anxieties that animate American Hindu political interests.
Ritu Khanduri discusses Hindu mobilisation in the context of a growing Hindu visuality in the United States, with the increasing use of images of Hindu deities by global corporations and business houses to market anything from play station games and compact discs, to thongs, burgers, shoes, faucets and puppets. She explores how various Hindu organisations, including American Hindus Against Defamation (AHAD), the Hindu American Foundation, iVarta (or India Cause), Hindu Janjagruti Samiti and Hindu Human Rights, mobilise Hindus to protest over misrepresentation and offensive misuse of sacred symbols, particularly through the Internet. Analysing images, petitions, public comments and news on this offensive misuse, Khanduri shows the connections between Hindu visuality and public politics in the diaspora, and explains how Internet-based Hindu mobilisation both goes beyond the boundaries of the US and brings together a coalition of diverse political subjects.
Thus, Hindu mobilisation in the contemporary period traverses multiple sites, involving multiple agencies. While individual gurus and sects continue to attract Hindus and create communities around themselves, both in India and overseas, Hindutva organisations are also clearly present in many environments, making a systematic and strategic effort to mobilise Hindus beyond caste, class, sect, region and even, to some extent, nation. The othering, being contextual, may not always manifest hostility and violence; for instance, mobilisations on the issue of ‘Hindu hurt’ have followed divergent patterns both at home and in the diaspora. In addition, Hindus are mobilised by many agencies—state as well as non-state—and media channels such as Internet discussion groups have increasingly been playing a key role. The chapters in this section demonstrate these diverse trajectories and influences.
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