The Rites of Recitation

The preceding chapter introduced two basic criteria for regarding a verbal act as a performance: criteria termed "formal" and "affective." In performances where ritual is important, the formal criterion often reflects culture-specific notions of personal purity and of sacred space and time. Formal elements in ritual help to achieve the affective purpose of the performance—for example, the "sense of peace" that devotees say they derive from reading the Manas or even the miraculous benefits that they believe can result from certain types of recitation.

Bathing is an essential preliminary to nearly all Hindu ritual, and few people would dream of opening, much less reading, their Ramayan without first having bathed and put on clean clothes. In Banaras, the daily routine for many people begins with a sunrise bath in the Ganga followed by a round of visits to favorite temples. Morning Ramayan path^[*] is often incorporated into the latter activity and carried out within a temple, especially one dedicated to Sita-Ram or Hanuman.

Considerations of space are also important; many regular reciters favor a special seating mat (asan ) made of kus , a grass believed to have auspicious qualities, which has figured in rituals since Vedic times. The early morning equipage of the devout Banarsi may be considerable, what with a set of fresh clothes, a rolled-up mat for puja-path^[*] , a brass pot for Ganga water, a basket of flowers and vermilion powder, and a toilet kit for grooming and for applying a mark (tilak ) to the forehead. Once the asan has been spread, other items may be unpacked: small framed pictures of deities or even tiny statues installed on portable shrine stands, an incense burner and an oil lamp for ceremonial worship, pamphlet versions of hymns and invocations, and of course, the Book itself. Most devotees honor and protect the Manas by keeping it in a neatly sized bag made of ocher or crimson cloth. Others wrap it in an ocher shawl block-printed with Ram's name (Ram-namdupata^[*] ). As a preliminary to path^[*] , the book may be placed on a wooden stand and worshiped with flowers and incense. The ritual typically includes an invocation of Ganesh, the "remover of obstacles," and of Hanuman, the special patron of the Ramayan—the Hanumancalisa is the most popular text for this purpose.

The melodies to which the epic is chanted include several common ones in wide use today, as well as numerous regional and local—and countless individual—variations. In my fieldwork I was struck by the variety of melodies and singing styles used by devotees in their impromptu recitations. The distinctiveness of a given style would sometimes be noted with pride, as by the man who sang to me during a ferry ride across the Ganga, saying, "In my place in Bihar we don't sing the Ramayan like they do here; we have our own way" and then launching enthusiastically into a passage from Balkand^[*] . Katha programs also afford opportunities to hear varied styles of chanting, since each expounder typically has a preferred melody to which he or she intones all quotations from the epic.

In Banaras, two melodies dominate Manas performances. One is used in most of the local Ramlilas and is commonly called lilavani^[*] (the "voice" or "melody" of lila ). The Ramayanis who sing at the Ramnagar Ramlila say that this is the melody to which the epic is sung by the divine sage Narad. They contrast it to what they call Tulsivani^[*] , the melody used for most public recitation outside lila performances. In Ayodhya, some 150 kilometers northwest of Banaras, I found other melodies in use; one was identified to me simply as Avadh dhun —"the style of singing [dhun ] of Avadh [Ayodhya]."

Anyone who has spent time in Banaras in recent years can hardly have escaped hearing Tulsivani^[*] Given the frequency and (with amplification) audibility of Manas recitation programs, it forms a regular and unmistakable motif in the daily urban cacophony, and thanks to twenty-four-hour programs, it often echoes eerily through deserted bazaars and lanes during the midnight hours. Compared to lila -style chanting, which is strident and stylized and requires the antiphonal alternation of two groups of singers, Tulsivani^[*] is simpler and more lilting, does not alter the text, and may be rendered by a single performer. It is, so to speak, more "recitative." It appears to have become the standard melody for major public performances, and I heard it not only in the Banaras area but also in Ayodhya and New Delhi.

The Samput^[*]

The most distinctive formal feature of all forms of parayan^[*] citation is the insertion, after each stanza, of a refrain that serves as an invocation or benediction. This is known as a samput^[*] terally, a "wrapper"—and indeed it serves as an enclosure or frame for each unit of recitation.

Just as Tulsivani^[*] now dominates public recitation, so a single samput^[*] has gained wide acceptance. Taken from Book One, it is a supplication to Ram in his child-form, uttered by Shiva as he commences his narration to Parvati:

mangalabhavan amangala^[*]hari | dravahu so Dasaratha ajira vihari ||

Abode of auspiciousness, remover of inauspiciousness,
may He who plays in Dashrath's courtyard be merciful!
1.112.4

The chanting of the samput^[*] is considered essential to the successful completion of a ritual recitation. In performances in which I participated, one of the reciters would occasionally neglect to include the refrain after a stanza; other participants would immediately stop the recitation and correct this mistake. Clearly the samput^[*] is (in Bauman's terms) one of the formal "keys" by which a reciter "assumes responsibility" for an act of Manas recitation-as-performance.^[32]

Although most public performances use the samput^[*] given above, reciters sometimes prefer other refrains. At the Kanak Bhavan Temple in Ayodhya, a nine-day program is held at the time of Ram's birthday each year under the direction of the temple's resident Ramayani, Ramsahay Surdas.^[33] Blind from birth, Ramsahay has committed the entire Manas to memory, and his chosen samput^[*] —a line spoken by King Manu when his penance is rewarded with a vision of Ram's transcendent form—seems touchingly appropriate for a blind singer in the bhakti tradition.

Lord, having seen your lovely feet,
now all my desires are fulfilled.
1.149.2

When recitation is undertaken to achieve some desired end, the choice of samput^[*] depends on the goal of the ritual, for it is well known that certain refrains can produce such desired effects as the cure of an illness, the birth of a son, or success in obtaining a job. The specialized uses of the epic are prescribed in the front matter of popular editions or in separate manuals sold in religious bookstalls. The special Manas issue of Kalyan^[*] , for example, includes a section on ritual uses aimed at securing both "supreme" or "spiritual" (paramarthik ) and "worldly" (laukik ) goals; the latter, incidentally, outnumber the former by nearly three to one. Most of these procedures involve the use of special refrains,

appropriately chosen from among the thousands of possibilities offered by the text. Thus, a devotee craving jnan , or spiritual wisdom, should conclude each stanza of his recital with the line

Earth, water, fire, wind, and atmosphere—
the body, composed of these five elements, is utterly base.^[34] 4.11.4

The significance of this line lies in more than just the familiar pañcatva (five-fold nature) doctrine it expresses, for the devotee would be aware (or would become aware in the course of the recitation) that these words, spoken by Ram to the grieving widow of the monkey-king Vail, "gave [her] jnan and removed delusion [maya ]" (4.11.3). Similarly, a person seeking "detachment from the illusory world and love for the Lord's feet" is directed to use as a samput^[*] the concluding couplet of Ayodhyakand^[*] :

The discipline of Bharat's conduct—
Tulsi says, whoever sings and hears of this
surely gains love for the feet of Sita and Ram
and indifference to the pleasures of this world.
2.325

The "worldly" applications of Manas recitation detailed in the same text range from such general objectives as the "removal of sorrow" to more specific ends: matrimony, the begetting of a son, even the production of rain. The effects of poison can be negated by a recitation using the following samput^[*] :

The power of the name is well known to Shiva;
[through it] the searing venom became as nectar to him.^[35] 1.19.7

For the much-desired boon of a son, a variant procedure is prescribed. The devotee is to commence a complete recitation from the 189th stanza of Balkand^[*] , beginning,

Once, King Dashrath, reflecting inwardly,
"I have no son," became sorrowful.
1.189.2

The reciter should then proceed to the end of the story, recommence it,

and conclude with the line immediately preceding the above half-caupai . In this ritual one might say that the entire epic is used as a samput^[*] to frame the cherished wish of the devotee.

The Arti

If special observances mark the beginning of a systematic recitation and a ritual frame encloses each of its constituent units, some symbolic act would seem equally necessary to mark its end. The usual concluding event in devotional worship is the arti ceremony, in which the deity is offered lights, incense, and other gifts while a devotional hymn (itself called an arti ) is sung. Popular editions of the Manas include a standardized arti written not to Ram but to the Manas itself, and this is normally sung at the conclusion of each installment in a path^[*] . Like Tulsi's own narrative frames, its lyrics depart from the story in order to emphasize its eternal retelling; they cite each of the epic's divine narrators, placing Tulsidas himself in the position of honor. An opening refrain is repeated at the conclusion of each verse.

(refrain:) [We sing] the arti of the holy Ramayan,
which tells the lovely fame of Sita's lord.

Sung by Brahma and many others, by the sage Narad,
by Valmiki, learned in holy wisdom,
by Shuka, Sanak and his brothers, by Shesh and Sharada,
the fame of which is narrated by the Son of the Wind.

Sung by the Vedas and the eighteen Puranas,
containing the essence of the sastras and all holy books,
a treasure to sages; to good people, their all-in-all,
the quintessence of truth, with which all are in accord.

Eternally sung by Shambhu and Bhavani,
by the profound sage Agastya,
recounted. by Vyas and all the great poets,
dear as life to Kak Bhushundi and Garuda.

Removing the Kali Age's stain, dulling the taste of material things,
the lovely adornment of the Lady Liberation,
the herb of immortality destroying worldly afflictions,
father, mother, and in all ways, all to Tulsi!^[36]

Practitioners Of Mas Parayan^[*]

The thirty-day recitation of the Manas is typically an individual activity; unlike other forms of recitation to be discussed shortly, it does not involve the services of professional reciters. It usually takes place in the morning as part of the devotee's daily puja-path^[*] , conducted either at home or in a favorite temple. Each neighborhood Hanuman temple has its regular clientele; the most devoted reciters are apt to be older men and women who have leisure to spare for devotional activities. They are usually educated, middle-class householders with grown children, who have entered the third phase in the classic Hindu scheme of life: a vanaprastha that involves not physical departure for the forest but rather a psychological withdrawal from worldly activities and a dedication of more time to religious aims. Such people represent an important category of participants in Manas- related activities, for which they have both the time and inclination; devoting their mornings to recitation, they spend their afternoons in attendance at Katha programs, listening to expounders narrate the epic.

But lest I give the impression that Manas recitation is popular only among the elderly, I would cite the example of Rita, a young Banarsi woman. The youngest daughter of a prosperous business family, Rita had steadfastly pursued an advanced degree, worked as a teacher, and resisted her elder brother's efforts to "marry her off" (indeed, she once remarked acidly to my wife, "Here, when you get married, your life is finished"). She was approaching the age of thirty, and her brother, who despaired of ever finding a match for her, could only shake his head ruefully and remark upon "the problem with too much education for the ladies." This woman's closest friend was another unmarried woman of similarly "liberated" views and a life-style—including her own motor-bike and pilot's license—unusual for her provincial city.

Given that the Manas is not celebrated, these days, for its liberated views on the role of women,^[37] it had not occurred to me that either of these young women might be an avid reader of the epic. In fact, they both were. During a nine-day recitation at a popular Hanuman temple, I was surprised to find the two of them in daily attendance with well-worn pocket editions in hand. In a subsequent interview, Rita told me that she had acquired the habit of daily path^[*] from her parents, who were lifelong Ramayan devotees. As a child, she had recited simple texts like the Hanumancalisa , but as she grew older her love for the Manas stead-

ily increased, to the point that she was now nearly always engaged in one or another kind of parayan^[*] and could state that "such mental peace as one gets from Ramayan path^[*] cannot be gained from any other book."

Although this woman's conventional reverence for the Manas seemed to present a contrast to her independent attitudes on other matters, her remarks suggested that she regarded her personal involvement with the text as itself contributing to her feeling of independence. Thus, when I asked if she felt any special devotion toward the highly revered Ramanandi leader who had sponsored the nine-day program she attended, she brushed aside the question: "I myself do so much puja-path^[*] , what need do I have of any guru?" Similarly, when asked who among modern expounders of the Manas she considered noteworthy (a question that usually elicited from devotees a ranked list of personal favorites), she forthrightly remarked that, since she herself was constantly reading the Manas , she saw no need to listen to other people's views on it, adding, "My mother respects these people, but I don't bother with them." Her greatest encouragement in Manas recitation, she said, had come not from her family but from her female friend, who was likewise devoted to the text; she mentioned several other young women in the neighborhood who also recited the epic regularly.^[38] For these women, as for many other private reciters, the Manas and the structured discipline of parayan^[*] recitation provides a highly valued means of personal access to the transforming power of the sacred word. Paradoxically, the affirmation of faith in the cultural epic can even foster, as in Rita's case, a feeling of personal independence from the authority structures of joint family and organized religion—the very structures that the epic is often seen as upholding.

Manas As Marathon

Like thirty-day recitation, akhand^[*]path^[*] —the recitation of the Manas within a twenty-four-hour period—tends to be an individual or family activity, although public programs sponsored by temples, ashrams, or civic organizations occasionally take place in Banaras, and even family programs may involve the services of paid reciters. The most important point about this kind of recitation is that it be "unbroken" (akhand^[*] ). Given the scale of the epic, such a performance is necessarily a tour de force requiring the kind of dedication and stamina usually reserved, in the contemporary West, for endurance sporting events. Indeed, even though such a reading is normally understood to require twenty-four

hours, there is nothing (apart from human frailty) to prevent its accomplishment within a shorter period—one woman proudly told me that she had completed a recitation in eighteen hours; moreover, she knew someone who had done it in sixteen. Given such Olympian dedication to speed, one will understand that little attention can be paid to the niceties of diction and comprehension, and the recitation at times seems little more than a blur of sound interrupted periodically by a recognizable samput^[*] .

One motive for undertaking such a path^[*] is to obtain greater familiarity with the text, and several Ramayanis told me that they had performed many of these recitations as part of their effort to commit the epic to memory—this knowledge being an essential qualification for a professional expounder. Rameshvar Prasad Tripathi, an elderly expounder of Allahabad, told me that during one period of his youth he had undertaken the discipline of reciting the entire epic daily, gradually gaining speed until he was able to complete the whole of it in eleven hours (the record among my interviewees!).^[39] Such a rapid-fire rendition of a religious text—and judging from my experience of twenty-four-hour performances, I would have to suppose that an eleven-hour rendering of the Manas might sound more like the buzzing of bees than the words of Tulsidas^[40] —is not, in the Hindu context, viewed as peremptory or disrespectful, since the text, as a mantra, is understood to be inherently potent and efficacious, regardless of the speed at which it is recited. Further, to appreciate or understand the text means first of all to "know" it, and this in turn implies having it "situated in the throat" (kanthasth^[*] —the Hindi idiom for "memorized"). To this end constant repetition, however rapid and mechanical, is regarded as a valuable means.

A Family Celebrates Divali

My first exposure to twenty-four-hour path^[*] came soon after I had set-tied into a flat in a middle-class neighborhood in the southern part of Banaras. While walking to the corner shop one morning, I heard the unmistakable strains of Tulsivani^[*] wafting from a side street and followed the sound to a modest one-story house set in a small garden. It was the home of Mr. Sharma, a retired Banaras Hindu University ad-

ministrator, who told me that the path^[*] was an annual affair organized by his family on the eve of Divali, the Festival of Lights, which falls on the moonless night of the month of Karttik (October/November): "My son comes from Delhi for the holidays, and he and his friends arrange it." Sharma invited me to join in at any time and added that I must be sure to come the following morning for the conclusion of the ceremony, when there would be a big crowd and also a distribution of sweets.

While the Sharmas' path^[*] was primarily a family affair, it was hardly a private one. There was the obligatory loudspeaker, rented from a local caterer and mounted on a corner of the roof to announce to the neighborhood that a Manas recitation was in progress. Inside, the front sitting room had been cleared of its modest furniture. The stone floor was spread with cotton carpets covered by white sheets, and a ghee-fed lamp burned brightly before a shrine alcove. In the center of the room was a low, cloth-covered table on which stood a microphone, some flowers and incense, and numerous well-worn copies of the Gita Press edition of the Manas . There was a holiday atmosphere in the house, as relatives, friends, and neighbors came and went throughout the day. The visitors would sit for a while listening to the recitation or, if they wished, take up a copy of the text and join in. A minimum of two hired reciters—priests from a nearby Hanuman temple—were always chanting; they were sometimes joined by others. The priests, who would receive a modest payment at the end of the ceremony, were expected to see that all ritual aspects of the path^[*] were carried out properly.

My most vivid memory of this particular path^[*] is of its midnight shift, to which I returned after spending the evening with my family. At first I thought that the program had been halted, for no sound of amplified chanting echoed through Sharma's lane and I had difficulty, in the pitch dark, locating the proper house. The silence, it turned out, was due to the loudspeaker's having been shut off at 10:00 P.M. , a remarkable and (in my experience) unparalleled act of consideration for the neighbor-hood—as the sleep requirements of nonparticipants are not normally taken into account by the organizers of Banarsi religious events. The interior of the house presented a contrast to the morning's scene of bustling activity. Several cotton mattresses had been added to the nearly empty front room, and a few young people were sleeping on them. At the central table, the hired reciters were still seated on either side of the now-extinguished microphone, working their way sleepily through the latter part of Book Three. At about midnight there were sounds of stirring in the next room, and four young people—two boys and two

girls—emerged. Four more copies of the Manas were quickly passed around and the new arrivals joined in. At about 1:00 A.M. one of the priests left off reciting, crawled over to a nearby mattress, and woke another youth, who immediately sat up, yawned once or twice, quickly positioned himself at the table, and began to recite; the other replaced him on the mattress, pulled a sheet over himself, and (to judge from the snoring sounds that almost immediately emerged from the sheet) fell asleep. An hour or so later Mr. Sharma himself appeared, beaming and looking refreshed, and took up a position at the table. Thus, the relay continued through the night.

The twenty-four-hour performance was completed on schedule at about 8:30 the following morning, after a pell-mell chase through Uttar kand^[*] that slowed down only for the final verses of the epic, which were intoned with a certain solemnity, perhaps as a signal to members of the household that the great task was coming to an end. Upon the completion of the final benedictory sloka , the chanters launched into namsahkirtan —the singing of the name of Ram to harmonium accompaniment. This continued for more than an hour, while the room gradually filled with family members and neighbors. The ladies of the household appeared with brass platters heaped with fruits and sweets, and Mr. Sharma garlanded the numerous images in the family shrine. By 10:00 A.M. the room was packed with people. Incense and a small brass oil lamp were lit, all the copies of the Manas were stacked together on the central table, and a daub of vermilion was applied to the topmost volume. Everyone rose to sing the usual arti while one of the priests waved the flickering lamp before the books. The hymn concluded with shouts of "Raja Ramcandra-ji ki jay!" (Victory to King Ramchandra!), followed by the distribution of prasad .

Afterward, most of the male guests remained in the front room, chatting and munching their sweets, but the ladies quickly disappeared into the inner courtyard. A few minutes later the sound of a double-headed drum and finger cymbals could be heard, joined by female voices singing and laughing. I quickly gathered from the broad smiles on the men's faces that the songs contained galiyam^[*] —ribald and abusive terms, usually dealing with joint-family relationships—such as are sung at North Indian marriage celebrations. The whole atmosphere became light-hearted as the infectious gaiety of the singing women in the courtyard was caught even by the men in the front room. The music seemed a joyous release of pent-up energy and a female response to the male-dominated solemnity of the twenty-four-hour path^[*] (although women

had also, at times, joined in the recitation); the offering of such a thematic counterweight on ceremonial occasions is one of the characteristic roles of women's folksongs in North India.^[41] When I asked Sharma about the singing, he remarked good-naturedly that, in his family, the path^[*] was not considered really complete until the women's songs were sung.

Path^[*] as Protection/Propitiation

Another unbroken recitation in my neighborhood was held to mark the birth anniversary of the eldest son of one of four brothers in a prosperous joint household. The path^[*] , which began at 10:00 A.M. on the morning before the birthday, was conducted almost entirely by hired reciters, and family members showed little interest in the progress of the recitation. The performance concluded the following morning with a Vedic fire ceremony (havan ) conducted by another hired specialist, with the father of the boy whose birth was being celebrated serving as yajamana , spooning oblations of ghee and rice into a fire kindled in a metal receptacle in the living room. This was followed by the usual Ramayan arti and the distribution of prasad , whereupon each reciter was given twenty-one rupees and a cotton shawl. After the Brahmans were dismissed, the living room was rearranged in preparation for a Western-style birthday party complete with balloons, gifts, and refreshments for invited guests, including many business associates of the boy's father.

Although the parents stated only that they were conducting the path^[*] to observe the birthday of their son, I noted that no such ceremony was held to mark the birthdays of the other sons in the family. Eventually I learned that prior to the birth of this boy, two children of the couple had died in infancy. The third pregnancy had naturally been an occasion of much anxiety, and although the whole subject was now avoided by family members, it appeared that the annual ceremony was a reflection of this stressful episode in family history. To have merely "celebrated" the birthday in modern style, without some gesture in the direction of larger powers, would have been unacceptable, and so a sponsored akhand^[*]path^[*] with all the trimmings—loudspeakers, priests, and a high-class Vedic finale—was the most appropriate way for people of their status and level of education to mark the occasion.

Such ceremonies provide another illustration of the prestige of the Manas and its adaptability to the needs of popular religious practice. They offer educated, middle-class families an opportunity to engage in socially sanctioned, merit-bestowing religious activities that require a minimum of personal involvement and to give patronage to Brahmans, who are of course happy to offer such prepackaged programs. This is not to suggest, however, that the sponsors of such programs lack a personal involvement with the Manas ; the sponsor of the program just described was actually a devoted reader of the epic. Nor does the fact that sponsors hire outsiders to recite the text and themselves refrain from participation in all but the most obligatory parts of the ritual indicate a disregard for the Manas . The mechanical recitation of sacred scripture on hire is one of the things that Brahmans are supposed to do, and the act, it is thought, automatically diffuses benefit to all, just as the jasmine creeper diffuses scent regardless of whether one takes any special notice of it.

There is another reason for the choice of professionals for such recitations: akhand^[*] path^[*] is not something that one sponsors simply because one likes the Manas —there are simpler and more enjoyable ways to read the epic. Unbroken recitations are rituals aimed at procuring results. The more potent the ritual, the more onerous the "assumption of responsibility" for its correct performance, and the more hazardous the risk of error. What was true of Vedic sacrifices is also true of Vedicized Manas recitation: both become the domain of specialists who increasingly assume custodianship not merely of the ritual but also of the text.

The sponsorship of an akhand^[*]path^[*] bestows not merely blessings but also prestige, especially if the sponsor can afford the conspicuous trimmings common to these events. The ceremony places the sponsor in a patronage relationship with local priests: a new variation on the traditional jajman reciprocity;^[42] the orientation of the ritual around the Hindi cultural epic makes the ceremony more comprehensible and accessible to patrons. The implications of the popular view of the Manas as "Hindi Veda" are discussed in the concluding chapter, but we can already recognize the Veda-like role of the text in important household observances. Its corresponding role in great public ceremonies—an-other domain of ritual specialists—is taken up in the next section.