Nam Kamana

Making a name for oneself is another manifestation of the general synoptic theme being traced here. It is specifically focused on the issue of public identity (see plate 10). What is striking about a dangal, in contrast to the akhara, is that identity is reduced to what appears to be mundane pride and a simple narcissistic concern for fame and social status. In the dangal pit it does not so much matter whether a wrestler is a true brahmachari, whether he is a vegetarian, whether he massages his guru’s feet and washes his clothes, or whether he is Hindu, Muslim, Jat, Yadav, Thakur, or Chamar. It matters only whether he wins or loses. One can certainly surmise that a winner probably has the character of a good wrestler, but in the drama of victory and defeat these concerns are subordinated to the immediacy of a simple dichotomy: success or failure. It is on this point that the dangal is dramatically different from the akhara regimen and ritual. While dangal preamble is cloaked in a mantle of pomp—swagat, prizes, dramatic pit entries, stylistic self-presentation—the contest itself strips away the larger dramatic context to reveal a simple confrontation.

A whole hierarchy of status and fame is based on this dichotomy. There are the wrestlers who earn a name for themselves by winning. They become well-known and respected champions, even though, like all wrestlers, they sometimes lose. One must not underemphasize the degree to which a wrestler benefits from fame, even though the benefits are not necessarily material in nature. To have a name is a primary end in itself: to be recognized while walking down the street, to be invited in for a glass of milk, to see one’s name in the newspaper, to be fawned over, to be talked about, to be allowed to move to the front of a line at the bank or post office, to be given free rides on public buses, and so forth.

A wrestler’s success reflects directly on his guru. Fame is directly translated. Similarly, a wrestler’s status reflects on his akhara. When he wins his akhara brothers also win, and when he loses all of the members of the akhara sink with him.

Less explicitly linked to the fact of winning or losing, but still implicated in the quality of each bout, is the status of the dangal organizers and their guests. A bout well fought reflects well on everyone associated with it. When I asked why people organized dangals, why people were given swagat, why people donated money to sponsor dangals, why people in the crowd gave money to successful wrestlers, and why wrestlers compete, the answer was, inevitably, for public recognition, “so that one’s name will be known.” Whether as king, court wrestler, or village pradhan, to “have a name” is to be firmly rooted in the larger world of social, political, and economic relations.

Except for a wrestler who is regularly successful, the dangal is not a way to make a name for oneself. The dangal is more a mode of expression than a functional device to gain recognition. It is not a medium through which to achieve status, but a context in which to express identity. The names of the organizers and chief guests are writ large on the dangal stage. However, a person must already be well known and respected to be accorded the honor of swagat. Even if an unknown person puts up thousands of rupees to organize a dangal, he will be overshadowed by someone who is already a respected, powerful person in the community.

Because of the stark dichotomy of success and failure played out again and again in every bout, there is an illusion that everyone’s status is at risk. In every victory there is the exhilarating possibility of unbounded fame and in every defeat the collective shudder of possible ignominy. However, the organizers and luminaries do not stand to lose status and respect any more than they can expect to achieve status and respect through a dangal. The dangal only tells a story of status by calling out a litany of names earned in other arenas.

In this drama the risk is vicarious for all but the wrestlers themselves. It is their very real success and failure which lends credence to the event as a whole and which makes the play of status and honor meaningful.