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The Autobiography of a Female Renouncer
According to some of the classical sources that spell out the rules for renouncers, this stage of life is restricted to twice-born males. Renunciation is permitted neither for men of low caste nor for women. There are references in classical Indian texts to women who were masters of spiritual knowledge and even to women who are renouncers, but they are few. In traditional Hindu society, women are supposed to be subordinate to men. The following verses from The Laws of Manu are frequently quoted to illustrate this principle:
By a girl, by a young women, or even by an aged one, nothing must be done independently, even in her own house. In childhood a female must be subject to her father, in youth to her husband, when her lord is dead to her sons; a woman must never be independent. She must not seek to separate herself from her father, husband, or sons; by leaving them she would make both [her own and her husband’s] families contemptible.1
The wandering life of the renouncer is the very embodiment of independence, and it was not deemed appropriate for women.
This is not to say that women were not allowed religious experience. In some domestic contexts the wife is the chief ritual actor, and the home has generally been perceived to be the proper realm for a woman’s religious life, where she practices the asceticism peculiar to her social role, sacrificing herself for her family. The asceticism of the renouncer—wandering, fasting, studying, and meditating—has remained largely closed to women.
Today one does encounter female renouncers. They are called sannyāsinīs in Sanskrit, which is the feminine form of the word sannyāsin. But they are rare. Somewhat greater scope for women is allowed in modernist Hindu movements such as the Ārya Samāj.
The Ārya Samāj is a Hindu revivalist group that was founded in 1875. It advocates the reconstruction of Indian religion and society on the basis of the ideals of the oldest Hindu scriptures, the Vedas. Despite the ancient sources upon which it draws, the program of the Ārya Samāj is in many ways consistent with that of nineteenth- and twentieth-century social reformers. For instance, according to the Ārya Samāj the division of society into castes was not the same in Vedic times as in later classical Hinduism, so some Ārya Samājists have worked to change the caste system, especially trying to end discrimination against the lowest caste groups. Undoubtedly the most distinctive thing about the Ārya Samāj is its theology. It rejects the polytheism of contemporary Hinduism in favor of belief in a single supreme being. Because this God cannot be represented in any image, the Ārya Samāj condemns the worship of images that traditional Hindus practice.
One of the social reforms that the Ārya Samāj has advocated on the basis of Vedic models has been improvement in the status of women. In traditional Hinduism, women were not allowed to study religious and philosophical works. Svāmī Dayānanda Sarasvatī, the founder of the Ārya Samāj, rejected those rules and argued that women should be educated. Dayānanda’s followers opened schools for women to put his ideas into practice. Some of the oldest Hindu girls’ schools in northwest India are affiliated with the Ārya Samāj. Not everyone in the Ārya Samāj was willing to grant women equality with men, however. In the early history of the organization, a dispute developed among Ārya Samājists over whether women should have access to advanced professional education, or whether rudimentary schooling was sufficient. Still, the Ārya Samāj has been more progressive in this area than other Hindu groups.
The basic unit of the Ārya Samāj is the local chapter, the members of which gather on a regular basis for communal worship services. At these services, a simple sacrifice is conducted in which herbs and wood are offered in a fire. These services usually include a sermon, and often the preacher is a renouncer and an Ārya Samājist. One occasionally encounters female renouncers in this context, though they are certainly less common than male renouncers. The leaders of the local Ārya Samāj are more often than not men, but women are not excluded from positions of responsibility, and sometimes are elected as officers. Many Ārya Samājes also have regular services that are conducted by and for women, in which individuals can gain the kind of experience that is required for leadership.
The renouncer who adopts a life of seclusion is rather rare in Ārya Samāj circles. Ārya Samāj renouncers instead tend to carry on an active public life, traveling and preaching. Some have even held positions of responsibility in Ārya Samāj institutions after renunciation. The model for Ārya Samāj renouncers is Svāmī Dayānanda himself, who was by all accounts a dynamic preacher and eventually a person of some renown.
Mīrāṃ, the author of Mīrāṃ Ātma-Kathā, was born in 1929 in a village called Mehetpur in the Punjab. As a child and young woman she was called Kamlā, and only adopted the name Mīrāṃ upon initiation as a renouncer, but for simplicity’s sake we will call her Mīrāṃ throughout this introduction. Mīrāṃ was the eighth girl in her family. Disappointed that she was not a boy, Mīrāṃ’s parents were joyful a couple of years later when they finally had a son. Despite the many children, Mīrāṃ’s family was well off. Her father owned a cloth store, and later a flour mill, brick kiln, and orchards. Mīrāṃ attended a girls’ school in her village affiliated with the Ārya Samāj, which was supported by substantial contributions from her father. Though she was a bright student, Mīrāṃ’s formal education did not extend beyond secondary school because nothing more was available in her village.
Although Mīrāṃ’s father was a committed Ārya Samājist, he was too busy with his work to devote a great deal of time to her religious education. Mīrāṃ was exposed to different forms of Hinduism, and even engaged in religious practices inconsistent with the Ārya Samāj’s philosophy. As Mīrāṃ grew she became more narrowly committed to the teachings of the Ārya Samāj, and she also became more active in the affairs of the local chapter. In addition to preaching, especially to women’s groups, Mīrāṃ’s religious convictions led her to serve the poor and members of lower-caste communities. When she was around eighteen years old, Mīrāṃ came to the realization that marriage might constitute an obstacle to her religious work, and she resolved not to marry. At first Mīrāṃ’s parents objected to her decision, but eventually they acquiesced in the face of her determination.
Until her late thirties, Mīrāṃ remained at home serving her family. At the same time she worked to perfect herself by various spiritual exercises. Eventually she became a well-known preacher, and she was invited by Ārya Samāj groups throughout the Punjab to speak on special occasions. For several years Mīrāṃ contemplated the idea of leaving her family to live at the Vanprasth Ashram, an Ārya Samāj religious center in the town of Jwalapur near Hardwar in Uttar Pradesh. Finally in 1966, Mīrāṃ was able to convince her parents to go along with this. They moved from their village to Delhi, to live with her younger brother, and the family home was rented out. Mīrāṃ took up residence in the ashram. In April of 1966 a special ceremony was conducted to initiate her as a permanent celibate student.
Mīrāṃ’s early years in the ashram were marked by continuing experimentation with various spiritual disciplines and by further education in language, religion, and philosophy. By 1969 she was being drawn into an active life of public preaching again. Eventually a regular routine developed of residence in the ashram during the winter months and traveling to speaking engagements through the rest of the year. In the winter, Mīrāṃ concentrated on writing articles for Ārya Samāj newspapers and composing books that she distributed on her preaching tours. Most of Mīrāṃ’s books are religious in character, such as collections of sermons, commentaries on scriptural verses, and hymns. As people came to know of her through her preaching and writing, Mīrāṃ received more and more invitations to speak. She maintained a heavy schedule, sometimes speaking in two neighboring towns on a single day.
Most organizations paid Mīrāṃ a fee for her speeches, sometimes a substantial amount. Rather than spend this money on herself, Mīrāṃ donated it to the poor or used it to support her publications. Although Mīrāṃ at one time begged as a part of her initiation as a renouncer, she never had to depend on charity for her living. Her father had arranged it so that the rent from the family home went to Mīrāṃ. Eventually Mīrāṃ decided to sell the house. She donated a part of the proceeds to charity, and deposited the rest in the bank for her maintenance. Because of the financial support that ultimately derived from her parents, Mirāṃ was able to use her speaking fees for some good purpose other than her own needs.
For several years Mirāṃ had wanted to become a renouncer, but she postponed her decision because her mother had forbidden it. After her mother’s death, and with the blessing of her younger brother, Mīrāṃ was initiated as a renouncer on April 13, 1979. This ritual was theoretically a turning point in Mīrāṃ’s life, and the event is one that she describes at some length in her autobiography. Yet she maintained her earlier routine, writing in the winter months and traveling and preaching when the weather was better. Her renunciation did not mark an absolute break from her family. On the contrary, she became a renouncer only with her brother’s permission. Still, there is no denying that within the context of the Hindu tradition, Mīrāṃ is a woman of outstanding independence. This continued up to 1985, when she wrote her autobiography, Mirāṃ Ātma-Kathā, and it is still true today.
Mīrāṃ’s autobiography is 284 pages long. Other than a one-page introduction, it is not divided into chapters. Written in very simple Hindi, Mīrāṃ Ātma-Kathā is not a great literary work. Although it contains passages that describe the author’s spiritual exercises, much more of the text is given over to accounts of preaching tours, and it is unlikely to become a spiritual classic. Yet the book does give the reader an understanding of one woman’s life as a renouncer. And it was written for a lofty goal, to show other women that such a life is possible. After describing her own work as a renouncer, Mīrāṃ writes, “I have written an autobiographical book for this reason, so that this tradition will continue unbroken after my death when other women read it and leave home.”
In the first selection of the following translation Mīrāṃ describes her initial decision not to marry, the beginnings of her ascetic practice, and her continuing involvement with the Ārya Samāj. The second selection concerns Mīrāṃ’s departure from home to live in the Vanprasth Ashram, including some of the financial arrangements that had to be made. It begins with Mīrāṃ seeking the advice of Mahātmā Ānand Svāmī, a noted Ārya Samāj leader. The final selection comes from the end of the account of Mīrāṃ’s initiation as a renouncer, a ritual directed by a scholar named Rāmprasād. It includes speeches that she and her brother made at that time, as well as some indication of her continuing work as a preacher after her initiation. The translation is from Ārya Mīraṃyati, Mīrāṃ Ātma-Kathā (Jwalapur: the author, 1985), pp. 18-22, 65-69, and 217-24.
Further Reading
See J. E. Llewellyn, The Arya Samaj as a Fundamentalist Movement (Delhi: Manohar Book Service, 1993). Also relevant are Catherine Ojha, “Female Asceticism in Hinduism: Its Tradition and Present Condition,” Man in India 61:3 (September 1981), 254-85; and Katherine Young, “Hinduism,” in Women in World Religions, edited by Arvind Sharma (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987), pp. 59-103.
THE DECISION NOT TO MARRY
In 1947, when my age was around eighteen, Pakistan was created. In just those days a certain change began in my life. Sometimes I would go sit in a deserted place and think, “If I am bound in the bonds of marriage then all my work of service will be lost. This life is invaluable. I should make it fruitful by spending it in social service.” Thinking thus, I made a firm decision, “I will not marry.” I told my mother about this and said, “You tell father for me.” When my father heard he began to say, “How can this be? I have already seen a young man. I have made the arrangements for an engagement.” He had called my uncles from Delhi for this. They had both come. The next morning they all sat together and they sent my mother saying, “Call Kamlā and bring her here.” I went and my father began to say, “You should marry. I have found a husband.” In answer I said, “I have no desire to get married. My heart tells me that I should remain unmarried and serve society.” At this my grandfather began to say, “Did anyone ever keep their daughter unmarried?” I did not think it appropriate to say more at this time. When they were all elder to me, should I talk back to them over and over? During a conversation a day or two later I gave my mother my final answer, “On the day that everyone is going to force me to marry I will run away. Then what will it profit anyone?”
Hearing this, everyone was silent. The entire family had to bow before my firm desire. There was no limit to my happiness. A second chapter began in my life from this point. My father was very wealthy, as I have written earlier. Because I was the daughter of a rich man I wore gold jewelry and fine silk clothing. Now I thought, “If I am going to remain a celibate student, why shouldn’t I wear plain jewelry?” I took off all the gold, which some years later I gave away in the dowry of a poor girl. I took off the imported cloth and gave it to people. I had two or three outfits made of pure hand-spun cloth and I began to wear them. There was a small village nearby where hand-spun cloth was made in those days, which I got for six annas per yard.
In the same way there was a change in my daily routine, too. From morning until going to bed at night I followed a regular program. The whole day passed and I did not know where it had gone. In the hot weather I slept alone on the roof of the third story of our house. At night I would go to sleep after repeating God’s name over and over and a Vedic verse, using a rosary to count. I kept a diary. At night I would sit and take stock in it, to see that I had not lied that day, or become angry, or spoken harsh words to someone. If I had committed one of the those sins then I would repeat God’s name for another round of the rosary as a penance. If there were two lapses, then I would do this two times. If five or seven, then I would say that many rosaries. I would not go to bed without doing this. I even kept a cane with which I would strike myself on the back three or four times thinking, “Why this oversight? Now you will have to engage in spiritual exercises and make yourself a master of them.”
Once Svāmī Kṣamānand came to the Ārya Samāj. I and my father thought that in the morning we would arrange a sacrifice and sermon, and have some people over to eat. I got up at four in the morning to make the lentils and went to the back room to get a big pot. Just when I had set foot outside the room, the ceiling fell in. When everyone in town had come to hear the svāmī’s sermon, at the very beginning he said, “Let us together thank God out of whose mercy Kamlā just barely escaped injury. This was the result of her good deeds.” Everyone was surprised to hear this. After the sermon, everyone expressed their good wishes to my mother and father.
Previously we did not offer sacrifice daily in our house. There were sacrifices in the women’s samāj on Tuesdays and in the men’s samāj on Sundays. On one occasion, Mahātma Ārya Bhikṣu came. We arranged a sacrifice and sermon at our home. Many people gathered to hear him. When the mahātmā began to perform the sacrifice he asked, “Sir, you don’t have any bad habits, do you?” Father said, “I smoke a pipe and have stomach trouble.” He said, “Then I will perform a sacrifice. First vow, ‘I will not smoke a pipe.’ ” Father gave his word and he kept it, so that he did not smoke up to his death. The second question was, “Do you sacrifice in your home daily?” Father said, “No. I have to go out to the fields early in the morning, so I don’t have time.” He said, “Do it in the evening when you come back from the well.” For a few days we performed the sacrifice in the evening, but it did not seem right. So we began to do it every day in the morning. Even if I was sick, no matter how much I had to do, still we did not neglect the sacrifice. If I had to go some place, I would only go if I took the things for the sacrifice along.
DEPARTURE FOR THE ASHRAM
Then I said to him [Mahātmā Ānand Svāmī], “Father, I don’t feel like going back home. My desire is to start living in Vanprasth Ashram.” He began to say, “Daughter, what will you do if you start living in the ashram now? You have a good deal of work at the Ārya Samāj at home. Along with that there is the care of your mother and father. Beyond that you can do whatever good thing you want.” The svāmī knew my father well. He was aware of all these matters because of that. I complied with his order and went back home. Once there, I began to do the work of the Ārya Samāj as before. Daily services continued in a good manner. There was happiness and relaxation at home. In town I encountered love and sympathy. But my mind told me, “I should go to the ashram and learn the Vedas and other religious works and the Sanskrit language, and study the books written by Dayānanda.”
When my age was thirty-seven, one evening I was conversing with my father. I indicated to him, “My heart says that I should go now and live in Vanprasth.” At that time, without answering, he sat silent. The next morning, when he was getting ready to go to work after breakfast, he said to me, “Kamlā, were you saying last night that you will go to the Vanprasth Ashram? I have seen the ashram. The happiness that you have here you won’t find there. Here everyone accepts what you say. They sit at home and work. There, gathering wood in the forest, no one loves anyone else. Everyone is busy with their own work.” He said this. I replied, “It’s not like that.” Then he began to say to me, “No, no. Come near me and let’s talk.”
I went and stood beside him. He was sitting in a chair in the courtyard. He put a stool in front of me and said, “Sit down.” I began to speak my piece and I said, “You have done so much work for the Ārya Samāj throughout your life. Now my wish is that I go to the ashram and engage in spiritual exercises and give up all my activities here. You have done a good deal of work. You have given so much to charity, you have helped the poor. Your fame has spread not only throughout the city but in all of Jallandhar District. But now you have become weak. So I want to make sure that you will not be troubled.” He listened to what I had to say along these lines, and then a little later he went off to work.
Now only a week had passed when in the evening he returned home and began to say, “Listen, Kamlā. I accept your decision.” Hearing this I was amazed, “What’s this?” He said, “Today I made a deal to sell the land in the orchard that is in your name. But I only have a verbal agreement, it won’t be written out until tomorrow. Tomorrow he will bring a down payment.” I was happy beyond words. It was as if a pauper had found a treasure. Until late in the evening we three sat and talked about what we would have to do. I said, “In the house we will keep a tenant, and the factory we can give to someone to live in for free.”
The next day those people came and gave a down payment of eleven hundred rupees and had the deed written, and the matter was settled. I was even more joyful. Now we began to sell household items. Some we distributed to the poor for free. For the house we got a tenant for five rupees per month, and we made out a lease. We included the five rupees rent so that in future the tenant would not try to claim ownership of the house.
On the day that the land sale had to be registered I had to go along, since it was in my name. Sardār Hajārsimh was the registrar in Nakodar. His message came to take me along. I, my father, and the purchaser all three went to the court in Nakodar. I told my father, “I don’t know anything about these matters. You think about it and have the transaction registered.” Later in the afternoon the registration was completed and twenty-three thousand rupees were counted and placed my hands. I gave the money to my father. And I blessed the farmer who was standing there. “May God make this land profitable for you.” I was very happy it had been sold. For me it was a fetter. And today God broke this fetter and opened the way to go from home to the ashram. After this I and my father went to Punjab National Bank in Nakodar and deposited the money in my father’s name.
I went to the bazaar to buy the things that I would need for living in the ashram at that time. And then we both went back to Mehetpur. One person we met on the road said, “What did you do? You gave away land worth one hundred thousand rupees for twenty-three thousand.”
Another said, “What did you do? Are you going to move away and leave all of us?” I was listening to all of this as I went along and thought to myself, “What has happened is only what is good for me. What else should we have done?” When we, father and daughter, came to the house, then my father said to my mother, “Look. Your daughter has come with the things that she needs to move to the ashram. Even now she is separated from us.” My mother’s idea was, “Go to the ashram, but just don’t become a renouncer. Then how would I be able to see my most beloved daughter?”
RENOUNCING
Now Professor Rāmprasād said, “Some time should be given to Mīrāṃ.” As soon as I sat on the stage many people loaded down my neck with garlands. I humbly said to everyone with respect, “Today a desire that I have had for years has been fulfilled. Dropdī Devī, my mother who gave me birth, used to say, ‘Daughter, don’t wear the orange clothing in front of me.’ After her death I made a firm decision that now I will definitely becoming a renouncer. For this purpose, from that time I began to read very carefully about the duties of a renouncer in Saṃskar Vidhi and Satyārth Prakāś, which were written by Svāmī Dayānanda. Now my age is fully fifty years, too.
“Whatever work I have done until today has been the result of such firm decisions. Even when my mother and father died I didn’t go home. Some people who live in the ashram said, ‘You should go home.’ But once I had taken a vow it would never be broken. For some years I had given up going to marriages and such things in the family. I have upheld this vow until now. What was all of this? It was the preparation for renouncing that was being done.
“I have served the Ārya Samāj since childhood. I have spent my entire life up to today in the work of the Vedic religion. During whatever life I have left, God willing, I will continue to work in this way by word and by my writings. And upon leaving this body, in my next life I will be born a human. After wearing a loincloth and performing asceticism in the jungle I will come back to the world and do the work of the Vedic religion. In the same manner as before, I will not take for myself whatever fees I receive. Rather I will give them wherever there is a need.
“I want to say one thing especially to all of you. This is it. My private desire is that I live for twenty-five more years and will continue to do the work of the Vedic religion. And at the end, like Vidyānand Videh, I will abandon this perishable body on the stage, giving a sermon.
“In the future what God desires will come to pass. This body is made up of the five elements. It could be that illness will come sometime. You will have to care for me. Don’t say, ‘Go home.’ I will allow only you to help me. If you don’t look after me when I am sick, then I will drag my bed into the meeting hall and I won’t let you have services.” At this people on all sides began laughing. “Now in just a few minutes I will go to beg for alms. My request to all of you is just to place one rupee in my begging bowl. Because whatever donations I get I will have to distribute.
“Yes, there is a rule that renouncers must beg. This is what I want. Whenever I return from traveling far for Vedic preaching and I need food, then I will beg for alms.” In the end I said, “My prayer to God is that he will protect the honor of my body.” After speaking, I got down from the stage.
Then the secretary of the ashram said, “Kamlā’s brother Maheś has come from Delhi. I request that he also say something on this occasion.” I began to think, “My beloved Maheś has never given speeches in public. How will he talk?” But he began to speak in very beautiful words.
“Members of this assembly, who are worthy of honor and welcome, you have been sitting for a long time and you must be tired. I don’t want you to have to sit here much longer. Today is a day of great good fortune that my older sister has taken the initiation into renunciation. Her becoming a renouncer is a matter of pride not only for our family, but it is a matter of pride for the whole Ārya world. Respected sister, you are mine no longer, now you belong to everyone. My only hope is that you will look after them now.
“I thank you all very, very much who have come here from far away. It is such great good fortune that the best scholars and renouncers of the Ārya Samāj community have come in great numbers to give their blessings to my sister.
“I bow my head at the feet of the residents of the ashram. I am especially very grateful to the officials who made such fine arrangements. I am a householder, busy in my work. But I feel myself blessed at having the opportunity to be among you.”
Then there were the final prayers. Professor Rāmprasād said, “Everyone remain seated. Now the begging of alms is to be done.” When I took the begging bowl in my hand and extended it to my beloved brother Maheś to beg for alms, tears began to flow in the eyes of Tejkaur and some other men and women. I wanted to go on, but from all sides people surrounded me and in my bowl placed money, fruit, boxes of sweets, and books.
In the end the chief officiant of the ritual, Ācārya Priyavrat, placed five rupees as alms in my bowl, and with very great respect he bowed at my feet. And he began to say, “From today you are our mother.” After that he said, “I want to say one thing to you. Your new name Mīrāṃyati is very good. But you certainly should add the word Ārya at the beginning of your name, so that no one will think, ‘This is a traditional Hindu woman.’ ” I accepted his suggestion, and began to write my name Ārya Mīraṃyati.
In the end my book, Yajña Mahimā, was distributed to all, instead of leftovers from the offering. I don’t like to distribute halvah and things like that. So I distributed this book. Then people could go home and learn something from these leftovers. All my family came to my room. Professor Rāmprasād said, “You should eat food given as alms for at least three days.” All the women in my part of the ashram came to say, “Take alms from us.” For three days I ate only food given as alms in this way.
The next day, April 14, was the day of the final ceremony of the celebration of the raising of the banner against religious hypocrisy in Kankhal. I had received a special invitation from Dr. Hariprakāś. As soon as the sacrifice was finished he stood up and said, “It is our highest good fortune that yesterday our sister was initiated as a renouncer and now she is present in our midst. I request that she come on stage and give us all her blessing.”
I said, “It is a thrill that we are all gathered here to celebrate the raising of the banner against religious hypocrisy by Dayānanda. If Dayānanda had not come then, who knows, maybe we would all be worshiping images like others and spending hours in ringing temple bells.
“It is the fruit of Dayānanda’s mercy that I have entered the fourth ashram. If my mother and father had not been made Ārya Samājists, then how could I have arrived at this point? Today I am doing Vedic preaching here, and I am also distributing literature that I have written there. I have distributed books written by me in all the educational institutions of Parampuri. I have myself gone to Har ki Pairi [a center of traditional Hinduism] to distribute them. I am extremely happy to have done such work. May God give us all strength so that we all together can do even more preaching of the Vedic religion.” When I had done speaking, then Dr. Hariprakāś stood up and he started to say, “Now we will all welcome our mother.” He told the photographer, “Take a picture.” And he gave me a copy of a Vedic verse in a large frame and placed a garland around my neck.
Right away I had to go from there by car to the Gurukul Mahāvidyālaya in Jwalapur. I saw that the arrangements were not finished. When I asked, they gave me the answer, “Professor Śersiṃh’s wife had not come. For this reason the women’s conference was postponed. Even so your lecture is scheduled.”
I gave an exposition on Ārya culture. And then I said, “Send me quickly. Because from twelve o’clock I keep a vow of silence.”
The next day after this, there was a celebration at our ashram. Women from the Hardwar women’s samāj came and began to say, “Mother, you have arranged the celebrations at the Jwalapur women’s samāj. Please arrange a celebration for our samāj as well. If not more, it should be at least for one day, that is our wish. But we do not have any money and none is coming in, so how can we do it?” I said, “Take however much money you need from me. I will give you assistance, but you must exert some effort, too.” Having discussed all this I explained things to them. I wrote an announcement and they took it with them.
Note
1. Georg Buhler, trans., The Laws of Manu (New York: Dover Publications, 1969; first published as vol. 25 of The Sacred Books of the East in 1886), 5.147-49.