in the twentieth century, the rasaor “flavor” created by the voice of a cowherd
girl taunting Yas ́oda ̄ about the toddler Kr.s.n.a’s mischief, has been one that Hindu
devotees have enjoyed in song and in dance. In other verses, the male poet in the
voice of the mother or friend spank and scold Kr.s.n.a for his alleged mischief.
The voices are many; the masks, numerous; the moods, ranging from distress
to delight.
In what ways does this role-playing inform us about gender? Some may argue
that in the laments of the lovesick woman as well as in the ritual with
Namma ̄l
̄
va ̄r, the portrayal projects a social, “patriarchal” relationship on to and
replicates the male–female social power structure in the human–divine rela-
tionship. This, indeed, is true in many instances, where the deity is seen as the
supreme “Man” (Purus.ottama) and the woman’s “lowliness” is exalted. In some
cases, it is not just a “lowering” of a male to assume the role of a female, but
that of a low-caste cowherd girl as well (Hawley 1986). Should we then look at
gender like caste assume that since a woman seems obviously lower than men
in Hindu society the male poets assume the female role?
Such a concept of gender would be correct, but only partiallycorrect. As we
just saw, the “helpless” woman is just oneof the voices the male poet takes; he
also takes those of a mother in command of her child; an excited cowherd girl;
a lover who wants to proclaim “her” love to the whole village; a sophisticated,
worldly-wise courtesan; and a wrathful lover, among other roles. In some rare
cases, the male poet also takes on the voice of a father. In the following poem,
Kulacekara A ̄l
̄
va ̄r (ca. eighth century ce) speaks in the voice of Ra ̄ma’s father,
who, as we see in the poem is separated from his son:
The words of Ra ̄ ma’s father Das ́aratha:
Without hearing him call me “Father” with pride and with love,
Without clasping his chest adorned with gems to mine,
Without embracing him, without smoothing his forehead,
Without seeing his graceful gait, majestic like the elephant,
Without seeing his face (glowing) like the lotus,
I, wretched one,
having lost my son, my lord,
still live.
(Kulacekara A ̄l
̄va ̄r, Perumal Tirumoli9.6)In this and other poems, it is the ache of the separation that comes through; the
role is one which depicts the vehemence of this distress. In some ardent poems,
the poet assumes the role of a woman who is “possessed” by a male deity whom
she loves; thus the cries are both plaintive and powerful. Namma ̄l
̄
va ̄r, the same
poet who spoke so achingly about “her” lover’s absence, says in the voice of the
“heroine’s” mother:
“It is I who created the earth and the sea,
It is I who am the earth and the sea...
It is I who ate the world and the sea578 vasudha narayanan