The "sannyasi" and the Indian Wrestler: The Anatomy of a Relationship

Author(s): Joseph S. Alter

Source: American Ethnologist, Vol. 19, No. 2 (May, 1992), pp. 317-336
Published by: Blackwell Publishing on behalf of the American Anthropological Association
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/645039
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the
sannyasi
and the Indian wrestler: the
anatomy
of a
relationship
JOSEPH S. ALTER-Goshen
College
In this article I
propose
to examine the
relationship
between two
categories
of
person
in
northern India: the
world-renouncing sannyasi
and the Indian wrestler. I will show how the
Hindu wrestler models himself on a
particular conception
of ascetic
self-discipline
and how
the somatic basis of this
discipline gives
the wrestler a
unique
sense of self.1 In
India, wrestling
is far more than a
sport. Competition
is but the formal and somewhat
superficial aspect
of what
is in fact an elaborate
way
of life. The "intellectual" side of
wrestling
is what concerns
many
wrestlers.
They
dwell on the
complexity
of such issues as moral
propriety,
national
reform,
and
personal
self-control
(Atreya 1971, 1972, 1986;
Muzumdar
1950;
Patodi
1973, 1982;
K. P.
Singh
1972).
One must
emphasize
this fact when
trying
to
convey
a notion of who a wrestler
is and what
wrestling means,
for the unfortunate
image
which comes most
readily
to mind is
that of a
single-minded
and rather dull-witted
sportsman.
A more
appropriate image
of the In-
dian
wrestler,
one which I will
try
to
convey,
is that of a self-conscious
paragon
of
physico-
moral health.
the model of
sannyas
The
sannyasi
ascetic has been the focus of considerable interest
among
scholars of South
Asia, originally
because of the
subject's
orientalist
appeal (Farquhar 1918;
Oman 1905) but
more
recently
on account of Dumont's
study
of
sannyas
as the
linchpin
in a structural
logic
of
Hinduism
(1960, 1970)
and
O'Flaherty's interpretation
of asceticism in Hindu
mythology
(1973).
Oman
(1905)
and
Farquhar
(1918)
gave early general overviews,
to which
Ghurye
(1964)
added a more
comprehensive summary
(cf.
Das
Gupta
1969).
Thapar (1982, 1984)
has
supplied
a much needed historical
perspective,
which has been echoed
by
Lorenzen
(1978),
Olivelle
(1986), Burghart (1983),
and van der Veer
(1987) (cf. Cohn
1964;
Ghosh
1930).
More
recently
there have been a number of
theological
and
anthropological
studies of
specific
as-
cetics in various
parts
of South Asia
(Briggs 1973;
Carrithers
1979; Obeyesekere 1981; Parry
1982a, 1982b;
Sinha and Sarasvati
1978;
van der Veer
1988).
Narayan
(1988) has
provided
an
even more
specific,
narrative account of one
particular
sadhu's
perspective
on life.2
Indian
wrestling (pahalwani)
is a
disciplined way
of life that demands
rigorous
physical
and moral
training.
In this
regard
it is
analogous
to the Hindu life
path
of
world renunciation
(sannyas).
Here I show how Indian wrestlers use the model of
sannyas
to
help
define their
way
of life. Wrestlers
recognize
the
centrality
of the
physico-moral body
as a
defining
idiom of
identity.
Their
interpretation
of
body
discipline
thus sheds
light
on
general
theoretical issues
relating
to
identity
forma-
tion and
concepts
of the
person
in Hindu South Asia.
[India, wrestling, sannyas,
asceticism, identity, body discipline]
l
the
sannyasi
and the Indian wrestler 317
Given the nature of these recent
works,
it is no
longer completely
tenable to
speak
of
sannyas
as an
ahistorical, empirical category
of
being. Strictly speaking, only
contextualized
interpre-
tations of
sannyas
have
analytic validity. Sannyasis
and the monastic orders to which
they
be-
long
take
shape
and
change
in
particular
sociohistorical contexts. Even
so,
all
particular
sann-
yasis
are
modeled-by
themselves and
by
those who view them-on a
general conceptual
theme. In this
regard
the noninitiated
layperson
or the
theologian
is able to
speak-stereotyp-
ically
and
abstractly-of pan-South
Asian asceticism as such.
In the Hindu
worldview, sannyas
is the fourth
stage
in the fourfold life
cycle scheme,
ash-
ramadharma:
brahmacharya (apprenticeship), garhasthya (householdership), vanaprastha
(withdrawal),
and
sannyas (renunciation) (Kakar 1981:43).3
A
sannyasi
is one who has re-
nounced all material
possessions
and is no
longer
encumbered
by
social and ritual
obligations.
As a free individual he
pursues
divine
knowledge
on his own terms. To
engage
in this
pursuit,
a
sannyasi
must
develop
a
categorically
asocial attitude and
style
of life: he must
go through
life
naked, alone, wandering, celibate, begging, fasting,
and silent.
A
slightly
refined
layperson's
notion of
sannyas guides
the wrestler in
drawing
a
comparison
between his and the
sannyasi's lifestyle.
Wrestlers see
sannyas
as a
generic category
and are
not concerned with intersectarian differentiation or with
historically
mandated monastic
pro-
tocol. For the
wrestler, sannyas
is an iconic
category
of
person against
which he can measure
his own sense of self. He draws on the
polysemic
cultural construct of the fourfold ashrama
scheme,
but molds the
concept
of
sannyas
to fit his own
ideological image
of what constitutes
that
category.
Because wrestlers
coopt
the terms of
sannyas,
their view of
sannyas
is rather
idiosyncratic.
Wrestlers are
prone
to see the
sannyas/garhasthya opposition
in terms of a
sharp
dichotomy
between values of asocial
abnegation
on the one hand and materialist concerns
with
wealth, success,
and social
propriety
on the other. As
Burghart (1983)
and van der Veer
(1989)
have
pointed out,
this
seemingly rigid opposition may
in fact be fluid and flexible-
householders can be
"renouncers,"
and
"renouncers,"
in
turn,
can be
wealthy
merchants
whose
religious experience
is devotional. (Devotional
religiosity
is here
opposed
to more doc-
trinaire modes of
ritualized,
brahmanic
worship.) However,
wrestlers see
things
in
quite
Du-
montian terms: in their
view,
the relation between the asocial ascetic and the man-in-the-world
is one of
complementary opposition,
and the structural
principles
of
identity
are
irreconcilably
black and white
(Dumont 1960).
As a
consequence,
wrestlers find and force
opposition
where
many
others have rationalized some form of
synthesis.
In this
regard
it is instructive to consider Khare's
(1984)
work on a
burgeoning
Chamar ide-
ology
in the
city
of Lucknow. Khare shows how low-caste Chamars have
manipulated
the terms
of
sannyas
in order to establish an anticaste
identity
for themselves
(1984:30).
What makes the
Chamar case most
intriguing
is that it involves a nonbrahmanic
interpretation
of
sannyas,
an
interpretation
centered on the issue of
socially
contextualized ascetic values. The Chamars un-
dermine
hierarchy by disconnecting
caste holism from
other-worldly asceticism;
theirs is an
ideology
of
this-worldly
asceticism in which the
sannyasi's
anticaste
activity
takes on a tone of
moral reform. The Chamar ascetic
gives
a
"protohumanist" interpretation
to the
sannyasi's
in-
dividuality by inscribing
notions of freedom and
equality
onto the extant
concept
of
yogic
self-
realization. In a somewhat Gandhian
fashion,
the Chamar
sannyasi's peripatetic
life of self-
discipline
takes on a
clearly political
tone of
advocacy.
While the Chamars of whom Khare writes have criticized the caste
ideology
and thus marked
out for themselves a reformed
self-image,
one is left with the
nagging
sense that as their ideol-
ogy
coalesces into a sectarian form it falls victim to the terms of the
larger
Hindu worldview.
In
part
this is a
question
of
recognizing legitimacy
and
primacy-which
is to
say, power-for
who,
after
all,
is
accepting
the terms of this
ideology? Certainly
not those who subscribe to the
brahmanic view of
things,
and
probably
not other
ascetics,
who would find too much
"worldly
baggage"
in this low-caste reform
theology.
In other
words,
however
ingenious
and intrinsi-
318 american
ethnologist
cally meaningful
the Chamar
interpretation
of
sannyas may be,
it is still an
interpretation
sub-
sumed
by
the structural
logic
of a more
inclusive, hierarchical,
caste-based
ideology.
Like the Chamars of
Lucknow,
wrestlers are concerned with
reinterpreting
what it means to
be ascetic-like.
However,
the wrestler's
interpretation
is
guided
not
simply by
anticaste values
but
by
ideals of moral self-definition. The wrestler's
interpretation
is thus
radical,
for it seeks to
integrate
ascetic values into the
practice
of
everyday
life
by drawing
a direct line between as-
cetic
values, wrestling discipline,
and the moral
duty
of the common citizen. Like the Chamar
ideology,
the wrestler's
ideology
is
"weak,"
or of limited
persuasive power,
when viewed from
a
nonpartisan perspective
in which
skepticism, doubt,
or
antipathy
is the
primary
attitude to-
ward the wrestler's
predilections.
But the
wrestling ideology-however utopian
and idealis-
tic-is
strong
at
precisely
that
point
at which the Chamar
ideology
is
weak,
for it affords a non-
sectarian vision of the social order based on a meticulous reform of the individual
body.
Unlike
the
Chamar,
who
actually
becomes a
sannyasi-albeit
a reformed and nonbrahmanic one-
the wrestler
psychosomatically
reconstitutes himself and his worldview
by manipulating
sann-
yas categories
in order to become a different kind of
person altogether.
wrestling
The
spatial, social,
and substantive locus of a wrestler's life is his akhara
(gymnasium).
Con-
temporary
akharas are located in both
villages
and urban
neighborhoods.
There is no accurate
information on how common or
prevalent
akharas are: one wrestler
spoke
of three in his home
village
in the district of
Etawa,
Uttar
Pradesh,
and
many
of the urban wrestlers in their forties
or fifties mentioned a
village
akhara in which
they
had first started
wrestling. Perhaps
more
precisely
indicative of
wrestling's popularity
is the fact that
many
men in India with whom I
have
spoken-rickshaw drivers, college professors,
businessmen-have at least seer, an ak-
hara,
and most are able to name someone of their
acquaintance
who has wrestled. In Banaras
there are as
many
as 200
akharas,
of which
perhaps
half are active. Kumar
(1985, 1988)
argues
that akhara
participation
has declined because of
changing
values
concerning
the
form, place,
and nature of leisure activities. While this
may
be true-and
certainly
wrestlers lament the
pass-
ing
of a
golden age
when there
ostensibly
were more akharas and more
wrestlers-wrestling
remains a vital tradition in Banaras and much of northern India.4
An akhara is
typically
located in a cool area in the shade of
pipal, banyan,
and nim trees.
The akhara
compound
is
supposed
to be clean and well demarcated. At its center is an earth
pit
of
roughly square
or
rectangular dimensions,
ten to 15 meters on each
side,
often covered
by
a
cement, thatch,
or tin
pavilion. Surrounding
the
pit
is an area of
flat, packed
earth where
the wrestlers exercise.
Every
akhara has a source of
water, usually
a well. The earth of the
pit
is
brought
into the
compound
from a
riverbank,
the bottom of a dried-out
pond,
or a field where
the soil is found to be
particularly
soft. Once in the
pit,
it is mixed with
oil, turmeric,
and some-
times
rosewater, buttermilk,
and other substances to
give
it a smooth
texture, healing proper-
ties,
and a
pleasant fragrance.
Wrestlers
emphasize
the aesthetic
qualities
of the akhara com-
pound, seeing
it as a kind of
geomantic place
where
shade, wind, water,
and earth mix to create
an environment
charged
with
invigorating energy.
Without
exception
Hindu akharas are dedicated to
Hanuman,
the wrestler's
patron deity.
In
addition to Hanuman's
shrine, they usually
have smaller shrines dedicated to
Shiva,
other
gods
and
goddesses,
and local saints.
Thus,
an akhara is
regarded
as a sacred
precinct
and wrestlers
are careful to maintain the
compound
with an
eye
toward
purity.
As Kumar has
noted,
in some
instances it is difficult to tell whether the central
aspect
of an akhara is the
temple
or the wres-
tling pit,
for the two blur into each other to such an extent as to
preclude any sharp
distinction.
However,
as the wrestler sees
it,
his activities are distinct from the ritual and devotional life of
the
larger religious complex.
the
sannyasi
and the Indian wrestler 319
Since akharas are
usually open
to the
public, many
male nonwrestlers take
advantage
of
them
simply
for relaxation in the tradition of what Kumar has described as bahri
alang (going
to the
outside).5
In this
regard
the akhara is like a combination of health
spa, public park,
and
club-it is a
socially
defined
place
of healthful recreation. For the
wrestler, however,
the akhara
is not so much a
place
for
pleasant
relaxation and
revery
as it is a clean environment where he
can abandon himself to the
discipline
of a
particular regimen.
The distinction between recre-
ational
pleasure
and structured
self-discipline
is an
important point,
to which I will return.
Practically speaking,
a wrestler is someone who knows a
range
of the moves and counter-
moves that constitute the
specialized
martial art of classical malla
yuddha-wrestling.6
To be
a wrestler one must
practice hard,
eat
properly,
exercise
regularly,
and control one's
passions.
These are minimal criteria.
Most wrestlers are in their late teens and
early
twenties. Senior wrestlers remain
active,
how-
ever,
and are staunch advocates of
discipline
and
practice. Although physical training
is a cen-
tral
aspect
of the wrestler's
routine,
in fact the wrestler's whole life is a form of
self-preparation.
In the
wrestling
scheme of
things, everything
from defecation and
bathing
to
comportment
and
devotion is
integrated
into the
precise discipline
of a
daily regimen.
Wrestlers come to the ak-
hara
early
each
morning
to
practice
under the watchful
eye
of a
guru
or other senior akhara
member.
They
rehearse moves and countermoves
again
and
again
with a
range
of
variously
qualified
and
weighty partners
until the execution of a maneuver becomes a matter of habit.
Lasting
for about two or three
hours, practice
of this sort is referred to as
jor (literally, exerting
force). After
jor
is
completed
and the wrestler has
bathed,
he is
enjoined
to eat a mixture of
ghi
(clarified butter), milk,
and
ground
almond
paste
or chana
(chickpeas).
These
items,
in con-
junction
with the other
ingredients
in a wrestler's
diet,
are known
collectively
as khurak. In the
course of a
day
a wrestler who is at the
peak
of health can consume as much as two liters of
milk,
a half liter of
ghi,
and a
kilogram
or more of
almonds,
all in addition to his
regular
meals.
Most wrestlers eat less than
this,
but those who have access to
milk, ghi,
and
almonds-notably
Yadav
dairy
farmers-make a habit of
copious consumption.
Most Hindu wrestlers are
vege-
tarians and
abjure tobacco, liquor,
and other
intoxicants,
with the
qualified exception
of
bhang
(hashish).
After
resting
for a
good part
of the
day,
wrestlers return to the akhara in the
early evening
to
begin
their
vyayam (exercise)
routine.
Vyayam
consists of two
primary
exercises: dands
(jack-
knifing pushups)
and bethaks
(deep
knee
bends).
There are various
subtypes
of each of these
primary exercises,
but in
principle
all are
fairly simple.
What is more
significant
than how each
exercise is done is the number of each that the wrestler is called on to
perform.
A
strong young
wrestler will
regularly
do as
many
as 2000 bethaks and half as
many
dands a
day.
Each
type
of
exercise is done in sets of 50 or 100. The
rhythm
remains constant for one and a half to two
hours while the wrestler remains focused on one
objective
and fixed in one
spot.
A number of
wrestlers
pointed
out the
similarity
between the focused concentration of
vyayam
and the met-
ronomic recitation
(japna)
of sacred secret verses
(mantras)
in
contemplative
meditation.7 Once
the
vyayam
routine is
completed,
the wrestler
bathes, rests,
eats an
evening meal,
and is
asleep
by eight
or nine at
night.
Although vyayam, khurak,
and
jor
are
clearly
articulated
aspects
of the wrestler's
regimen,
even the most minute facet of the wrestler's life is linked
directly
to his
psychosomatic identity.
When, where,
and how to
defecate, bathe,
brush one's
teeth, walk, talk,
and
sleep
are
only
a
few of the
daily imponderabilia
for which
wrestling provides specific guidelines.
It is essential
to
keep
in mind that most
contemporary
wrestlers
are,
of
necessity,
also
shopkeepers, police-
men, postal clerks, electricians, purveyors
of coal and
gunnysack material, college teachers,
railway clerks,
and
porters,
as well as
peasant
farmers and
dairymen:
in other
words, your
av-
erage
wrestler
is,
in an
important way,
also
your average
man on the
street,
or at least the two
are not antithetical. While the
obligations
of work and
family pose important
time constraints
on the wrestler's exercise
regimen,
there is a close correlation between
being
a
good, healthy
320 american
ethnologist
wrestler and
being
a
productive,
self-motivated worker. The mundane terms of
everyday
life
inextricably
bind the two
arenas-although
not
always smoothly
or
coherently.
But the
wrestler,
so cast as a common
man,
is
really unique
when his structural
position
in
society
is taken into account. He is a social character cut in a
preeminently
asocial mode. Al-
though
a member of
society
with
family ties,
an
occupation,
and other
responsibilities,
the
wrestler,
like the
sannyasi,
is not concerned with his
position
in the domains of caste or class.
Akharas are
frequented by
men with doctorates and those who are
illiterate; by
the sons of
wealthy entrepreneurs
and the sons of
railway porters; by Brahmans, Rajputs, Yadavs,
and Cha-
mars; by
Hindus and Muslims. While Yadav
dairy
farmers are more
likely
to wrestle than either
Chamars or
Brahmans,
wrestlers are almost
always
vocal
opponents
of caste
segregation,
reli-
gious communalism,
and class chauvinism.
Although
their rhetoric on this
point
is often
very
compelling,
what is most
visually
dramatic is the close and intimate
physical
contact that wres-
tling requires,
a contact which demands a reassessment of notions of
purity
and
pollution.
The
anticaste drama of
wrestling
(which
I have discussed in detail elsewhere
[Alter
In
press a]) pro-
vides the wrestler with an
explicitly
nonhierarchical framework in which to situate his
actions;
and
this, too,
means that the
sannyasi
and the wrestler are
speaking
the same
language.
Ideally,
in
becoming
a wrestler one renounces other markers of
identity
in favor of a more
general,
basic sense of
self,
one that is neither social-in the sense of institutionalized roles and
obligations-nor directly implicated
in hierarchies of status and
power.
In other
words,
the
wrestler's
self-concept
is
highly
individualistic.
sannyasis
and wrestlers
Both
wrestling
and
sannyas
are chosen life
paths.
As the final
stage
in the ideal Hindu life
cycle, sannyas
is an elective
path
that
relatively
few Hindus follow. The
option
of
renouncing
the world
is, however, theoretically open
to
anyone
at
any
time of his life
(Ghurye 1964:78).
When a
boy
becomes a wrestler-which
may
mean
joining
an
akhara, recognizing
a
guru, or,
more
generally, disciplining
himself
through exercise, diet,
and devotion-he thinks of what
he is
doing
as a total commitment to a distinct
way
of life. It is somewhat
surprising
that
sannyas
is the model for this
commitment,
since one would
expect
that
brahmacharya (adolescent dis-
cipleship)
would be the more
appropriate
model
(cf.
Kakar
1981). While certain
aspects
of a
young
wrestler's life do fit the
pattern
of
brahmacharya-absolute
devotion and
loyalty
to one's
guru,
for
example-the discipline
of
wrestling
is
all-encompassing
and not restricted to the
gurukul-like atmosphere
of the akhara.8
Thus,
while
many
wrestlers are of the
appropriate age
to assume a brahmachari
status,
the fact that
they
have turned their backs on
worldly pursuits
and are
actively engaged
in a
specific type
of
self-discipline-which
is in no
way designed
to
prepare
a
boy
for
becoming
a
garhasthya-makes sannyas
the more
appropriate analogue.
That
brahmacharya
does not serve as a model for the wrestler's
identity
is also a
consequence
of akhara
demographics.
While
many
wrestlers are between 15 and 18
years old,
a wrestler
who has made a name for himself
may
continue to wrestle well into his thirties.
Moreover,
older
men who wrestled
competitively
in their
youth
often return to the akhara in later
years
to wres-
tle
purely
for exercise. The
ideology
of
wrestling
and the
interpretation
of
self-discipline
are
largely
the
product
of these senior wrestlers' reflections on the
younger
wrestlers' more
rigor-
ous,
direct
experience.
Wrestlers
argue
that
they
are like
sannyasis
because
they subject
their bodies to a similar
disciplinary regimen.
The wrestler's
regimen
encodes a certain set of values in the wrestler's
physique; somaticity,
that
is,
is the locus of the
wrestler/sannyasi analogy,
an
analogy
that ex-
tends from the most banal and mundane to the most subtle.
the
sannyasi
and the Indian wrestler 321
appearances
On a
superficial
and often farcical
level,
wrestlers believe that
they
resemble
sannyasis.
Both
sannyasis
and wrestlers wear
langots (g-strings)
and
go
about their routines in a state of near
nakedness. Just as
sannyasis
cover themselves with the ashes from sacrificial fires and funeral
pyres (cf.
Parry 1982b),
so wrestlers cover their bodies in akhara earth. While the elements differ
substantially,
both are
charged
with vibhuti
(power).
The formal
appearance
of a besmeared
body
is
enough
to make the
analogy operative.
The
qualities
of the earth are
important
to the wrestler. Pure akhara earth is
regarded
as a
tonic and is
applied
to the
body
as a curative
agent.
It draws out heat and
poison
and
imparts
a
general
sense of
well-being. Covering
one's sweat-saturated
body
with earth has
powerful
emotive value. Wrestlers talk at
length
of the sense of comfort and satisfaction that is
experi-
enced on this visceral level. While
they employ powerful images
of
protection
and
security
to
explain
their identification with the earth of the
pit-which
is
always spoken
of in
strongly
maternal
terms-they
also describe
"rolling
in the earth" and
"rubbing
oneself with earth" as
quintessentially sensory experiences
that
bring everybody
down to the same level of elemental
unity. Occasionally
the
experience
is likened to that of the farmer who lives close to the earth
and
who,
as one commentator
put it, "daily
feels the soil between his toes and the dust on his
hands";
but more often it is likened to that of the
sannyasi who, having
chosen to
relinquish
the
luxury
of
shelter, lives, sleeps,
and eats on the bare
ground.
The
wrestler,
like the
sannyasi,
is "down to earth" in this sense. As
Atreya
writes:
The Indian wrestler who returns to the earth is a true
sadhu;
he is a
truly great sage
and
yogi...
He who has even once
experienced
the satisfaction of the earth cannot
forget
the
feeling.
The benefits
of
practicing
in the earth are
incomprehensible.
Great
wisdom, strength
and
energy
are all derived from
the akhara earth. He who abides
by
a
regimen
of
wrestling
in the earth remains
youthful
forever. ... He
is able to look on
problems
from the
vantage point
of a jivan
mukta
[literally,
one who is released or
freed from
life,
an ascetic]. 11972:32-33]
Like some
sannyasis,
wrestlers shave their heads
completely
or at least have their hair cut
very
short.
Though many sannyasis
have
long
hair rather than no hair at
all, sannyasis
and
wrestlers alike are
distinguished
from other men
by
their radical attitude toward hair as a
sym-
bol of
identity. Why
wrestlers are concerned with
cutting
and
oiling
their hair is as
complex
a
question
as
why
some
sannyasis
let their hair
grow
matted and
long
(cf.
Obeyesekere
1981).
Short hair-in
conjunction
with a
range
of other
symbols-represents
the
vitality
of
radically
controlled sexual
energy;
it also
symbolizes
the wrestler's
disregard
for
worldly
fashion
(Alter
1989:ch.
5,
In
press
b).
Despite
these
similarities,
one would not be
very likely
to mistake a
sannyasi
for a wrestler.
While a wrestler is
big, bulky,
and
muscular,
a
sannyasi is,
at least in the
popular imagination,
a thin
yogi.
The
sannyasi
has a
unique
costume: ocher
robe, staff,
rudraksha
beads,
and
begging
bowl
(Ghurye
1964:106). Moreover, sannyasis
do not work.
They beg
for a
living
and are
per-
ipatetic,
whereas wrestlers hold
jobs,
live in
communities,
and are
family
members. There is
thus an element of farce in the
analogy
between the wrestler and the
sannyasi.9
exercise, asans,
and
austerity
A
primary
dimension of
sannyas
is
tapas,
or
tap:
the
performance
of austerities that
produce
the "heat" of
enlightened
consciousness.
Tap
takes various
forms,
and
many
authors have
grown
enamored of the exotic nature of the
sannyasi's
self-mortification: the
ubiquitous
bed of
nails, self-mutilation, flagellation,
and extended
fasting,
to name but a few of the less
imagi-
native forms
(cf.
Oman
1905).
It is doubtful that the
public performance
of such austerities has
ever been a
primary
dimension of
sannyas, except, perhaps,
at fairs and
pilgrimage
centers.
The
spectacle
of mortification
may, indeed,
be linked to
specific
historical forces and
regional
322 american
ethnologist
trends.
Moreover,
the nature of the
sannyasi's
mortification has been misunderstood on ac-
count of its often
spectacular,
exotic form. As Staal has
noted,
the
sannyasi,
unlike his Francis-
can
counterpart
in
Europe,
does not do
penance
in order to
expiate sin;
he
engages
in a form
of self-control-in the most
extended, corporeal
sense of this term-that is directed at a man-
ifest
mastery
of the
very
substances of life
(1983-84:35;
also see
Parry 1989;
van der Veer
1989:460).
When a
sannyasi
sits under cold
running
water for
days
on end
during
the dead of
winter or meditates while
lying
on a bed of
nails,
he is not
making
atonement or
abusing
him-
self. He
is, rather, extending sensory
control to the end of self-realization
by way
of reconsti-
tuting
the individual substantial self on a transcendental
plane.
As with
physical appearance
and
dietary practice,
the wrestler
compares
himself to the sann-
yasi
on the
mundane,
substantial level of
tapas.
The
physical regimen
of exercise
is,
as he sees
it, analogous
to the
sannyasi's austerity.
On a number of occasions I was told that
being
a wres-
tler was like
"chewing
iron chana": an arduous
undertaking
that has merit
only
in its own
terms. Others said that as a wrestler one had to "wear a necklace of
pain"-a
somewhat
oxy-
moronic
metaphor suggesting
the emblematic character of
physical
fitness as a form of auster-
ity.
In
any case,
wrestlers
spend
hours
exercising
and
wrestling,
and
they
link these acts
directly
to a notion of
sannyasi-like self-discipline.
Commenting
on this
point
in
general, Atreya
writes:
Rishis
[sages]
have
provided
us with a divine
insight:
a consciousness of the
body
as
integral
to life as a
whole.
They
knew that one could not
progress
even one
step
toward self-realization without a
good,
strong
and
healthy body.
It is for this reason that exercise is a form of
religion
in India.
[1971:27-28]
Fitness, however,
is cast in a
particular light.
The wrestler is not
only big, strong,
and
healthy,
he is also balanced and refined. A wrestler who is
regarded
as
having successfully
endured the
"necklace of
pain"
is said to have a
"body
of one color"
(ek rang
ka
sharir). Color here refers
only
in
part
to the
radiant,
uniform
glow
of
healthy
skin. It refers
equally
to the fluid musculature
of a
body
that is not
separated
into distinct anatomical
parts;
to the
properly proportioned
thick-
ness of
thighs, chest, neck, elbows,
and
ankles;
to an
energetic biogenetic
balance of the three
psychosomatic properties,
sattva
(white, cool, calm, pristine), raja (agitated, red, aggressive),
and tama
(dull, dark, lethargic);
to a certain
bright
clearness in the
eyes,
a
spring
to the
step,
and an attitude of
composure
and control. In
explicit comparison
to the heated
energy pro-
duced
by
the
sannyasi's tapas,
the
"body
of one color" is often described as
ojasvi-radiant
with vital
energy.
At face value the
body
of the
sannyasi
stands
diametrically opposed
to this icon of health
and
strength.
The
gaunt,
emaciated
figure
of the
sannyasi
would almost seem to mock the wres-
tler's overt
corporeality.
And
yet, despite
obvious differences in
form,
the two
types
of disci-
plined body
have an
underlying
structural
similarity.
The
key
lies in the somatic
philosophy
of
yoga.
Raja yoga
is a
complex theory
of self-realization achieved
through
meditation and a
type
of
physical culture-stretching, breathing, bending-known
as asan
vyayam.
One learns the var-
ious asan
positions
in order to transcend consciousness
by developing
a
body
that is in
perfect
balance
(cf. Kakar
1981:16-36).
Although yoga
is not the exclusive
province
of the
sannyasi,
sannyasis
are often the most
accomplished practitioners
of the
art;
it is a
specific aspect
of their
more
general tap regimen.
When I asked wrestlers if their
vyayam
exercises
corresponded
to
the asan
vyayam
of the
yogi, they responded
that the two activities
belonged
to different realms:
a
bethak, dand,
or
wrestling
move was
simply
not an asan.'0
However, yoga
has a broader
meaning,
one that makes it more relevant to the concerns of
the wrestler. What is
important
is not the form of
bodily discipline
but its more abstract
objec-
tive: self-realization. In other
words,
on the
plane
of transcendent consciousness-harmonic
integration
with Brahman-the different
shapes
of the wrestler's and the
sannyasi's
bodies are
incidental. In
yogic terms,
health is achieved
through,
but not
in,
the
body.
While wrestlers
employ
some
elementary aspects
of
yogic physical
culture in the form of
pranayama
(breath
control), they
consider
wrestling
a
subdiscipline
of
yoga
in its
broadest,
nonsomatic sense-
the
sannyasi
and the Indian wrestler 323
that
is,
as a
general philosophy
of health consciousness. The coordinates of this
philosophy
are
the
moral, intellectual,
and emotional
principles
of fitness known as
yama
and
niyama (Atreya
1965:11).11
Yama and
niyama
mandate a moral code of conduct that
includes, among
other
things, continence, honesty,
internal and external
cleanliness,
and the
contemplation
of God.
A
sannyasi
who
practices
asans without
yama
and
niyama
is
simply
a
thin,
lithe
man, just
as a
person
who does dands without adherence to
yama
and
niyama
is not a wrestler but a
corporeal
brute. Both forms of
discipline
take on
significant meaning only
from this common
point
of
reference where morals and muscles meet.
While
wrestling may
be a
part
of
yoga
in this
sense,
the wrestler and the
sannyasi
nonetheless
understand the
body
in
very
different
ways.
The
sannyasi's
attitude toward his
body
is tran-
scendental. This does not mean that he sees or tries to see his
body
as
illusionary;
in
fact,
as
Staal has indicated
(1983-84),
transcendent self-realization is a function of a
multilayered sym-
biosis of mind and
body,
rather than a sublimation of the
physical body by
the intellectual
mind. Transcendence is achieved not
by
a
mystical
arithmetic of mind over matter but
by
a
complete synthesis
of these two
aspects
in the whole
person
of the ascetic.
Samadhi,
in which
the
body appears
lifeless but is not
dead,
reflects this
perfect
state of somatic transcendent con-
sciousness. What the
sannyasi
has achieved is a
complete
dissolution of self into the ultimate
reality
of Brahman.
Having
achieved mukti
(release),
he is freed from the endless
cycle
of sam-
sara
(rebirth).
In tune with the
general principles
of
yama
and
niyama,
the wrestler is
certainly sympathetic
to this kind of self-dissolution. In
fact, many
akharas have shrines
commemorating
the samadhis
of former wrestlers.
Although
I was unable to discern whether these were the samadhis of wres-
tlers who later became ascetics or of ascetics who were in some sense
wrestlers,
what is note-
worthy
is that the two dimensions are
enough
alike to warrant direct and
easy
translation. That
is,
it is
perfectly logical
for a wrestler to achieve the end of a
sannyasi
with
only
a
slight
modi-
fication of terms.
Significantly,
Zarrilli has found this to be true
among
south Indian martial
artists as well
(1989:1307).
For the most
part, however,
the wrestler does not have a transcendent attitude toward his
body.
His is a manifest
physico-moral identity firmly
rooted in the ethical world of
protocol
and
duty.
Whereas the
sannyasi
comes to terms with himself in the
godhead,
the wrestler comes
to terms with himself in the here and now of
everyday
life. As I have discussed more
extensively
elsewhere:12
A
sannyasi
trains his
body
so as to leave the
world;
the wrestler trains his
body
so as to be immune to
worldly things
but to remain in the world. The
sannyasi
moves
away
from the
world, discarding
the
trappings
of social
life;
the wrestler moves
through
the
world, cloaking
himself in a mantle of ascetic
values. In this
regard
the wrestler's
strength
stands for
many
of the same
things
as the
sannyasi's austerity.
However,
the wrestler's
disciplinary practices-exercise, diet,
self-control-are structured in
manifest,
social terms rather than in terms of transcendental
abnegation. IAlter 1989:455]
brahmacharya
If there is one
thing
which links wrestlers to
sannyasis,
it is that both
categories
of
person
advocate absolute
celibacy.
A
key symbol
of the
sannyasi's
world renunciation is his
mastery
of sensual desire.
Significantly,
the Hindu
sannyasi
does not renounce
sexuality,
at least
pri-
marily,
on moral
grounds.
To be
sure,
he
regards
sex as
polluting
and sexual
preoccupation
as
a
sign
of moral
weakness,
but to focus on
pollution
and
morality
is to focus on the mores and
taboos of
interpersonal
contact. The
sannyasi
in fact sees
sexuality
as a central
aspect
of the
integrated, energized body.
Control over
sexuality generates
a different kind of
physico-moral
fortitude than does a total denial of
sexuality,
and it is the
power
of controlled
sexuality
with
which the wrestler and the
sannyasi
are concerned.
In the Hindu
worldview,
semen is a vital force that
plays
an
integral part
in
maintaining
a
person's
overall health
(Carstairs 1958;
Edwards
1983;
Kakar
1981; Obeyesekere
1976).
In a
324 american
ethnologist
cosmological sense,
semen is also a vital source of
dynamic energy (shakti), part
and
parcel
of
the
very
substance which drives the universe
(O'Flaherty 1973; Wadley
1975). By controlling
his
sexuality,
the
sannyasi
is
tapping
into this
powerful
life
force; by
not
engaging
in
sex,
he
stores
up
his semen
and, through yoga
and
meditation,
is able to channel its
energy
to the end
of self-realization. Sex is not
easily controlled,
and diet in
particular plays
an
important
role in
cooling
the fires of
passion
and
building up
resilient sexual
energy.
Because food is of such vital
importance
in
many spheres
of Hindu life
(cf.
Appadurai 1981;
Daniel
1984;
Marriott
1968, 1976;
Zimmermann
1988), sannyasis
consider its
use, quality,
and
nature
potentially dangerous.
Food contains the essence of
life-energy,
which can either
bring
the
body
into harmonious balance or throw it into imbalance (cf.
Parry 1989:500).
The
degree
of
harmony
or imbalance is related to the
guna (psychosomatic quality)
of
particular foods;
some are
designated
as
sattva,
others as
raja,
and still others as tama
(cf.
Beck
1969;
Khare
1976). Food also
plays
a crucial role insofar as it influences the balance of the three
bodily
humors-wind, bile,
and
phlegm.
An imbalance in the
body,
caused either
by
a
preponderance
of one or another
guna
or
by
the action of an
enraged
or inhibited
humor,
results in some form
of illness
(cf.
Daniel
1984:173-175;
Kakar
1981:47-49; Raheja 1988:46-47).'3
For the
sannyasi
and the
wrestler,
somatic imbalance is most
dangerous
as it relates to sexual
energy. Sexuality
has to be
carefully
controlled and therefore a
particular
diet must be
followed;
to eat
haphazardly
is to run the risk of
losing
control. As a
general rule, sannyasis
eat
very
little
of
anything,
and
they
tend to eat
fairly benign
items.
They
subscribe to the
disciplinary regimen
of
fasting.
By contrast,
wrestlers are
extraordinary
eaters of
specific types
of food:
ghi, milk,
and al-
monds,
as mentioned
above,
but also
fruits, vegetables, legumes, grains,
and other standard
items. On one level wrestlers eat to
put
on bulk and to
develop
muscle. Stories abound about
famous wrestlers who could consume
upward
of a
25-kilogram
canister of
ghi
in a week and
of wrestlers in the
Punjab
whose
monthly
ration included 40
kilograms
of almonds. Even less
spectacular
diets are still remarkable.
Many
wrestlers consider two liters of milk and a half
kilogram
of
ghi per day
normal fare.
With
regard
to
type
and
quantity
of food the wrestler and the
sannyasi
seem to be diametrical
opposites,
a fact
that, again,
contributes to the farcical
aspect
of the
analogy.
But in order for
the farce to work there must be a fundamental
similarity
between these
seemingly opposed
dietetics. The
similarity
can be found in
part
in the wrestler and the
sannyasi's
common concern
with balance and
harmony.
As
primary ingredients
in the wrestler's
diet,
milk and
ghi
are
powerful symbols
of sexual
energy.
Elsewhere I have
argued
that the
symbolic logic
of
wrestling
life in
general
and its die-
tetics in
particular
is a
highly complex dynamic
of interrelated forces
(Alter 1989:ch.
7).
Simply
put, however,
wrestlers drink milk and eat
ghi
to build their store of
energized
semen. These
two substances also lower the natural heat of the
invigorated body
so that once built
up,
the
store of semen will not be
spilled, spent,
or wasted but be channeled into the
development
of
a
strong, healthy physique.
What the wrestler achieves
by copious consumption
the
sannyasi
achieves
by opposite
means.
By fasting
the
sannyasi
is able both to channel and to
develop
the
power
of his semen-semen
produced
not
by
means of exercise and
eating
but
by
means of
the heat
generated by
meditation and various forms of
austerity.
There is
another,
more immediate basis for
drawing
a
comparison
between these two die-
tetics: both the wrestler and the
sannyasi
are
dependent
on others for food. While the
sannyasi
begs
and receives donations of "leftover"
food,
the wrestler
depends
either on his
family
re-
sources or on the resources of a
patron.
Unlike the
sannyasi,
the wrestler does not
accept
food
from
just anyone;
he does not
completely
dissociate himself from the world of food transactions
and
responsibilities by begging.
For the
wrestler, eating
remains a social act insofar as he is
dependent
on a
specific
class of donor.
Ideally,
a wrestler should not have to work but should
be
supported by
members of his
family.
He has a vested interest
in,
but no direct
responsibility
the
sannyasi
and the Indian wrestler 325
for,
the cows and buffalos his father or
patron
owns.
Significantly,
the food that the wrestler
accepts
from his
family
is
supposed
to be in a
raw, unprocessed
form. The wrestler must make
his meals with his own
hands,
for if someone else
prepares
his food it
may
be contaminated
with
dangerous
emotions. As one wrestler told
me,
"If
you
eat food
prepared by
a lustful
person,
you yourself
will become lustful."
Thus,
the wrestler is a somewhat
marginal family member,
at once
dependent
and
independent,
a consumer but not a
producer.14
In effect the wrestler is
a kind of
sannyasi-within-the-family
character. Consider this
passage
from
Jawalamast
Pahal-
wan's
biography:
Although
he came from a
family
of modest
means,
his brothers had achieved a
degree
of
prosperity.
Even
so, Jawalamast only
took
enough
from them to
support
himself as a wrestler. The rest he left in their
hands. This
ascetic, simple
and honest man devoted himself
completely
to
wrestling.
Never
marrying
or
otherwise
encumbering
himself with
worldly obligations,
he worked to
uplift wrestling
until he left this
world in 1900. [Malhotra 1981:33-34]
Wrestlers
regulate
not
only
diet but a whole
range
of behavior in order to
keep
the fire of
passion
from
raging
out of control.
Regular defecation, bathing
in cool rather than warm
water,
washing
one's feet before
sleeping,
not
sleeping
on a full
stomach,
not
riding
tandem on a
bicycle,
not
watching
animals
copulate, and,
as far as
possible, avoiding
the
company
of
women are all
prescriptions
for
achieving celibacy.
K. P.
Singh points
out that wrestlers
fully
appreciate
the virtue of a
"regular
routine" in
controlling
their
sexuality:
For [the wrestlerl
sex is like a celluloid
image-fleeting
and without substance. His-mind is like a cinema
screen which remains
pure
white
despite
a
myriad
of
flashing images....
His task is
rigorous
and he
remains well detached from the colorful world. [1972:26-27]
While the mundane mandate of a desexualized
everyday
life is
fairly
consistent and
straight-
forward,
the issue of
sexuality
becomes more
complex
when the wrestler's diet and
vyayam
regimen
are examined
together.
Wrestlers tend to
disagree
about the connection between
vyayam, khurak,
and self-control: some
argue
that a diet of
ghi, milk,
and almonds is
by
nature
sattva and thus does not inflame
passion; others, however,
are not so
sure,
for
they recognize
that
anything
in
large quantities-even
milk and
ghi-can
cause an imbalance in the
bodily
humors,
an imbalance that
may
lead to inflamed
sexuality. Moreover,
buffalo
milk,
from which
most commercial
ghi
is
made,
is not as sattva as cow
milk,
which is
problematic
in its own
right.
For the most
part,
wrestlers
argue
that
vyayam
is a mechanism
by
which the
dynamic energy
of food is
changed
into the
potential energy
of stamina and
physical strength. Significantly,
exercise also
changes
food into semen and
generates
heat that can throw the
body
into drastic
imbalance, exciting
one's sexual
passion.
The wrestler thus tries to create more and more
highly
energized
semen while
ensuring
that the
energy
manifests itself as "the
body
of one color"
rather than as sensual lust.
Although
there is no direct
parallel
between the fire of
raja
passion
and a
body
overheated
by
exercise or overfilled with
food,
wrestlers feel that careful
manage-
ment is
required
to
keep
one from
turning
into the other. In a
sense, then,
when wrestlers are
exercising
and
eating they
are
playing
with fire. For this reason the akhara
provides
a
cool,
soothing atmosphere
where the earth of the
pit
absorbs the sweat of
potential passion
and the
water of the well
reintegrates
the wrestler into the more
stable, temperate
climate of
everyday
life.
In
all,
the wrestler must walk a fine line between
developing
his
strength
and
controlling
his
sexual
passion.
In this
regard
he differs from the
sannyasi:
whereas the
sannyasi
controls his
sexuality
in absolute
terms,
the wrestler invokes his
sexuality
in order to
change
it into the
manifest terms of his social
identity.
I was told a number of times that wrestlers found it far more
difficult to be celibate than
sannyasis
did. Not
only
must wrestlers live in the
world,
but
they
must
actually tempt
fate. As one wrestler
explained:
A wrestler's life is like that of a sadhu. The sadhu lives in his
hermitage.
He
worships
and does his
prayers.
The wrestler lives in his house and is
entangled
in the world of
maya [illusion].
He is in the
garhasthya
326 american
ethnologist
ashrama. Even in this condition he must
practice
self-control. The sadhu lives
apart
from the world. The
wrestler lives in a
house,
but he must dissociate himself from the concerns of a householder. He must
close his
eyes
to it [his household
responsibility]
and wrestle. The wrestler and the sadhu are alike be-
cause
they
must both remove themselves from the
garhasthya
ashrama and be absorbed in God. And
yet
the wrestler is tied to his
family.
He must live close to his wife [when he does
get
married]
and
yet
turn
away
from
temptation.
A
person
will never be a wrestler until he becomes like a sadhu and averts
his
eyes
and closes his mouth to the world.
The
sannyasi's celibacy
is
metaphysical
to the extent that it is a means to an
end,
one
step
on the road to self-realization. In
contrast,
the wrestler's checked
sexuality
is
integrated
into his
manifest social
identity.
It becomes emblematic of who he is and what he advocates in addition
to
being
an
aspect
of his
regimen.15
bhang, bhog, masti,
shauk
In her historical
study
of leisure
among
the artisans of
Banaras,
Kumar includes a
chapter
on
the
place
of akhara culture in urban life
(1988:111-124).
She shows that the akhara
regimen
is
part
of a
system
of refined
pleasure
known as bahri
alang,
or
"going
to the outside." Bahri
alang
is a kind of
structured,
almost affected
leisure, involving
not
only
established cultural
activities such as
drama, music,
and
religious ceremony
but also more mundane
pursuits
from
which men
get
visceral and aesthetic
satisfaction-bathing, defecating, washing
clothes. From
the
perspective
of bahri
alang,
the culture of the
akhara,
which Kumar
rightly
characterizes as
"multifunctional and multivocal" (1988:11
2),
is
"strictly
a matter of shauk"-that
is,
a
hobby
or an infatuation.
The shauk of the Banarsi
is,
of
course,
a
very
serious
affair,
and one should not assume that
making
a
"hobby"
of such mundane activities as
bathing
and
washing
clothes is in
any
sense
petty
or
insignificant. However,
one must
distinguish
between those for whom
wrestling
is
purely
shauk and those tor whom it is a form of
disciplined self-development.
This distinction
is,
I
think, implicit
in Kumar's
discussion,
for she
emphasizes
the
"regimen" aspect
of akhara
activities
(1988:115)-diet, exercise,
and
wrestling-just
as she talks about the
pleasure
de-
rived from
covering
oneself with mud or from
reflectively relaxing
in the shade of a tree.
In
my experience,
the
"shaukiya wrestler"-preoccupied
with
pleasure
and aesthetic self-
gratification-can
be
easily distinguished
from the
disciplined
wrestler who abides
by
a bal-
anced
regimen
of
copious consumption,
does hundreds and hundreds of dands and
bethaks,
and
daily engages
in an hour or more of
physically exhausting wrestling practice.
The
shaukiya
wrestler is concerned more with
"feeling good"-in
the
deeply important
sense of which Ku-
mar writes-than with
developing
a
strong, disciplined physique.
In the
city
of Banaras the
distinction between
pleasure
and
discipline
has to some extent become
blurred,
but
compar-
ative material from Delhi and Dehra
Dun,
as well as the
popular
literature on
wrestling pub-
lished in
Delhi, Rajasthan, Maharashtra,
and
Madhya Pradesh, firmly supports
the contention
that wrestlers see their
program
as one of
dispassionate
self-control
(Atreya 1978;
Dev
1972;
Krishnananda
1985;
Pathak
1974).
Although
the
disciplined
wrestler and the Banarsi
shaukiya
have much in common in terms of their
respective
akhara
experiences, they
differ fundamen-
tally
in their
perception
of how what
they
do relates to who
they
are. Their uses of and attitudes
toward
bhang (hashish),
for
example,
reflect these
differing perceptions.
Kumar
says
that
every
akhara must have a
place
where
bhang
is
prepared
for
postpractice
consumption (1988:112).
In a similar vein,
Lynch
notes that
bhang consumption
is an
impor-
tant
part
of the mastram
identity
of Mathura's
wrestling
Chaube Brahmans
(1990:101). He con-
vincingly
demonstrates how
bhang
induces or enhances the emotional
passion
of
masti, which,
as the Chaubes
experience it,
is "a care-free
lifestyle
with a sense of emotional and
physical
well
being" (1990:98).
As
Lynch indicates, many
Indians
regard bhang
as
"morally good"
and
"religiously
valuable"
(1990:100),
and some believe that the intoxication it
produces
is sattva
in nature.
Moreover,
since
bhang
is a
religious
substance that is said to be used
regularly by
the
sannyasi
and the Indian wrestler 327
Lord Shiva and Krishna's brother
Balram,
devotees
may legitimately
consume it in the context
of
worship
and devotion. On this level of
interpretation, Lynch argues
that
bhang
intoxication
serves to conflate
religious experience
with a
powerful
emotional state:
To drink a
heavy
dose [of bhang]
is to actualize and
experience
an emotional
oneness, peace,
nonat-
tachment,
and true self-awareness
approaching
the blissful
pleasure
(ananda) that is union with
divinity
and
self-integration. [Lynch
1990:1011
It is
easy
to see how this kind of
experience
can also be
part
of the Banarsi ethos of which Kumar
writes
(1985, 1986:50-51).
While the masti of
bhang
intoxication is considered
essentially good
and
wholesome, Lynch
notes, drinking marijuana
also makes one
"lusty"
or
sexually impassioned
(1990:101).
Chaubes, among
others
(cf. Marglin 1990; Toomey 1990),
feel that eroticism is not antithetical
to ascetic ideals.
Among
the Rasik Ramanandi ascetics of whom van der Veer
writes,
the notion
of emotional
passion
as a form of ascetic service is
highly developed (1989:463, 464).
Shiva of
course
exemplifies
the
synthesis
of these
"logical
contraries"
(O'Flaherty
1973).
All this
said,
the information I
gathered
on
wrestling
in
Banaras, Delhi,
and Dehra Dun in-
dicates that wrestlers-some of whom are Chaubes and some of whom are Banarsi
shaukiyas-
have an ambivalent atti.tude toward
bhang.
Their ambivalence stems from the fact that
bhang
induces the
passion
of masti on the one hand and the focused concentration of ascetic
tapas
on the other. Whereas
many
Indian individuals and
groups
are comfortable with the inherent
tension of this
symbiosis, disciplined
wrestlers are not. On the whole
they
tend to take a
dog-
matic stand on the
issue, arguing
that a wrestler
may
take
bhang only
when the
regular regimen
of akhara activities fails to establish a refined balance of
emotion, physical development,
and
moral
propriety. If,
for
example,
a
young
wrestler has
difficulty controlling
his
sexuality, bhang
may
be
prescribed
as a
remedy
of last resort. In other
words, bhang
is not an
integral part
of the
wrestler's
regimen.
As I
pointed
out at the
beginning
of this
article,
wrestlers tend to see ascetic renunciation in
absolute,
black-and-white terms. Somewhat
naively, they interpret
the ascetic's use of
bhang
in terms of a
rigid opposition
between emotion and
discipline.
In their
view, bhang
should
simply
be a
calming agent,
an
anaphrodisiac by
means of which the
sannyasi-like
wrestler
may
achieve
greater
self-control.
They
view
bhang
used in the context of recreation or leisure as a
dangerous
narcotic not unlike
liquor
or
tobacco,
the
consumption
of which
produces
addiction
and the wanton
bhog (enjoyment)
of
pure self-indulgence (Atreya 1975a, 1975b).
While
many
of the akharas in Banaras have an area for
grinding
and
preparing bhang,
I have
never seen wrestlers
preparing
or
using bhang
in their akharas. It is
certainly possible
to rec-
oncile the attributes and effects of
bhang
with akhara culture in
general.
For the mastram
Chaube, physical
exercise and
bhang
intoxication are
emotionally complementary.
For the
Banarsi
shaukiya, bhang, earth,
and water enhance the mood of reflective leisure. But for the
disciplined
wrestler such uses of
bhang
entail too much
dangerous
emotion. One wrestler I
spoke
with stated
explicitly
that the
regimen
of
wrestling
was
quite
distinct from the
shaukiya
aspect
of various leisure activities. He went on to
say
that
consuming bhang
would turn the
regimen
of
wrestling
into
just
another form of
leisure,
like
going
to
popular films, wearing stylish
clothes,
or
flying
kites.
akharas and akharas
Although
the term akhara
usually
refers to a
wrestling gymnasium,
monastic
sannyasi orga-
nizations are also known as akharas. In its monastic sense the term is most often used to distin-
guish
between various
groups
of
Naga sannyasis,
who are a
subgroup
of the
larger
Dasnami
order
(Ghurye
1964:6).
Of
particular
interest is the fact that
many
of these Dasnami
sannyasi
akharas took an active
part
in
defending
Hindu shrines from Muslim invaders at various times
328 american
ethnologist
during
the eras of
Mogul
and British
imperialism
(Ghosh 1930; Ghurye 1964:110-127;
Lor-
enzen
1978;
Sarkar
1950;
van der Veer
1987).
Whatever the details of their
complex history,
it is clear that
sannyasi
akharas were-at various times and to various
degrees-training
schools
in the martial arts and
weaponry (Ghurye 1964:116).
And the
sannyasis
did not
simply
take
up
arms in self-defense. For the
Nagas
in
particular, fighting
became an
integral aspect
of the as-
cetic
identity.
The
Nagas
were able to translate their
tap
into
truncheons,
in a kind of
religious
inversion of the swords into
plowshares progression,
and to
put
their skill at
developing
an
immunity
to
pain
to use in offensive combat
(Ghurye
1964:122).
The
practice
of various martial
arts-club
swinging, lancing, swordplay, archery,
and
wrestling-remained
consistent with the
general
notion of self-realization
through
renunciation.
Contemporary Nagas
continue to
practice
various martial arts in a less combative environ-
ment. As
Ghurye notes,
some monastic akharas
sponsor wrestling, gymnastics,
and other forms
of exercise
(1964:127).
In the course of
my
research I saw one
Naga
akhara
where, ironically,
the
sannyasis
wrestled
along
with a number of
Muslim, Brahman, Thakur,
and Yadav "secular"
wrestlers. There is also a defunct
Naga wrestling
akhara on the bank of the
Ganges
at Mani-
karnika Ghat in Banaras. A
single
room with an earthen
floor,
it
appears
to have been an akhara
in the
wrestling sense,
but one used
by
those who were affiliated with a
larger Naga
akhara in
an
ascetic,
monastic sense.
However, despite
the obvious
parallels
of form and
content,
wrestlers told me
repeatedly
and without
exception
that the two
types
of akhara had
nothing
to do with each other
(cf.
also
Kumar
1988:118).
I did not have the
opportunity
to solicit the
opinion
of the
Nagas
on this
matter,
but wrestlers
explained
that
Nagas
do not
compete,
nor do
they
consume milk and
almonds in
large quantities: they
are
sannyasis first, practicing wrestling only
as an
ancillary
form of
self-discipline. Although
secular wrestlers are unanimous in
opposing
themselves to
the
wrestling Nagas
in these
terms,
van der Veer
(personal communication)
has observed that
at least some Ramanandi
Naga sannyasis
wrestle
competitively and, presumably,
eat a diet
much like that advocated
by
the secular wrestlers of Banaras. In his collection of wrestler bio-
graphies,
Malhotra recounts the
history
of
Mangal Das,
a
wrestling sannyasi
who trained in one
of the
many
akharas around the
Hanumanghari temple
in
Ayodhya.
Malhotra's account is
rather
ambiguous,
for it never
says
that
Mangal
Das was an ascetic in the
Naga sense-although
of this there is little doubt-but it does
say
that
Mangal
Das was a wrestler who lived
in,
trained
with,
and was revered
by
the
community
of
sannyasis
in
Ayodhya.
With these
complex
and
seemingly contradictory
cases in
mind,
we
may
well ask
why
"sec-
ular" wrestlers find it so
important
to maintain the fiction of a
sharp
distinction between them-
selves and
sannyasis
who wrestle. The answer lies in the wrestler's
understanding
of asceticism.
From the
perspective
of the
householder,
a
sannyasi
is someone who has renounced the
world,
someone who
(given
a strict
interpretation)
has no ties to
community, state,
or nation. In terms
of
power-to
achieve
enlightenment, magically
influence the course of
events, change form,
and so on-the
sannyasi
is a
pure
individual whose
relationship
to God and "Self" is more
important
than his
relationship
to other
people
or the institutions of
society.
The
wrestler,
how-
ever, clearly
identifies himself as a
family
and
community member,
as a member of
society.
From the wrestler's
perspective, wrestling
should not be directed
purely
toward
spiritual
tran-
scendence;
it should be
integrated
into the world of
everyday life;
it should transcend the mon-
astery.
The
Nagas
threaten to undermine
wrestling's
social
significance by turning
the whole
thing
into
just
another form of ascetic self-control. Put another
way,
the wrestler must be able
to
discipline
his
body
without
becoming
a
sannyasi,
even
though
his
discipline
is
very sannyasi-
like.
So,
from the
disciplined
wrestler's
perspective,
the two akharas are
homonymic,
and the
analogy
between them is
something
on the order of a
complex pun
on the nature of
power.
K. P.
Singh,
one of the most
poetic
writers on the
subject
of
wrestling,
weaves
together
these
parallel meanings
thus:
the
sannyasi
and the Indian wrestler 329
A wrestler should not
only
be a wrestler. He should do other work as
well,
and he should make himself
capable
of that work. Then
people
in other walks of life will become familiar with
wrestling
and will
turn to it. In this
way wrestling
will not be exclusive but will become
public
and inclusive.
Everyone
will
enjoy
it and will
experience
the satisfaction it
imparts
because
they
will have no sense of its limitations.
Whether it is
wrestling
in the
akhara, reading deeply
in
books,
or
contemplating
serious
issues,
all
ways
of
navigating
the ocean of life will be
regarded
as
having equal
merit. A
g-string
and a
begging
bowl are
the
symbols
of
renunciation, symbols
in accordance with which the wrestler too must
develop
an aver-
sion to the routine of life. Wealth and
luxury
must be dealt a fatal blow. The
lamp
of asceticism must be
lighted.
In
short,
servitude and
slavery
must not be tolerated under
any
condition. [1972-73:15]
Hanuman and the ascetic bhakta
Every wrestling
akhara is dedicated to Lord
Hanuman,
the heroic
warrior-disciple
of the God-
King
Ram.'6 As van der Veer
notes,
the
story
of Ram's
exile,
as described in Tulsi Das's Ra-
macaritamanasa,
is a
story
of the
power
of detachment
played
out in a world alive with
passion,
intrigue,
and
deception
(1989:462).
Although Ram,
his brother
Lakshman,
and Hanuman are
all cast in the role of
ascetic,
Hanuman's ascetic
power-his ability
to
change
form at will and
his
superhuman strength-is
embodied to a
greater degree
than Ram's or Lakshman's. Where
Hanuman is said to be as
big
as a
mountain,
with
thighs
the size of tree
trunks,
Ram is at once
more
humanly
incarnate-in terms of his stature and
mobility-and
more
nearly supernatural
and
incomprehensible
on the level of divine consciousness.
The source of Hanuman's divine
power
is his absolute
celibacy,
his total control over the
latent
energy
(shakti)
of semen (van
der Veer
1989:463;
Wolcott
1978).
It is in this sense that
Hanuman is an
ascetic,
a fact
clearly
reflected in the
disciplinary practices
of the various Ra-
manandi
sannyasi
suborders described
by
van der Veer. The
Tyagis
in
particular
seek to
"ig-
nite" the heat of
tapas by internalizing
the
power
of semen
(1989:462-464).
Similarly, Nagas
see
celibacy
as central to the
disciplinary practice
of
wrestling
and exercise
through
which
they
"refine their bodies"
(1989:463).
What is
unique
about Hanuman's asceticism is that it is couched in terms of service and
devotion to Ram. As I have written elsewhere
(Alter
In
press a,
In
press b),
Hanuman's character
is defined in terms of three interrelated attributes:
shakti,
bhakti
(devotionalism),
and brahma-
charya. Significantly,
these attributes become
powerful agencies
for action
only
when con-
ceived in terms of Ram's
overarching divinity.
Without
Ram,
Hanuman has no
power
of
any
kind. For the Ramanandi
Nagas
and
Tyagis,
Hanuman serves as a model of devotion and ser-
vice to Ram's ultimate
divinity. Thus,
as van der Veer
observes,
the Ramanandi takes on the
role of Hanuman and other actors in the
larger
"devotional theater" of the Ram
story,
so trans-
forming
"the desires that motivate human action into
positive,
devotional
energy" (1989:465,
462).
In other
words,
the Ramanandis' is a
program
of self-realization couched
purely
and une-
quivocally
in terms of individual
religious experience.
As van der Veer
clearly argues,
devotional
discipline
is
eminently
concerned with a refined
elaboration of aesthetics and
emotion; among
the
Ramanandis, humility
and servitude "must
be refined in a devotional sentiment of total surrender"
(1989:465).
Hanuman is the
perfect
embodiment of such
emotion,
and the Ramanandi is
rightly
characterized as an
impassioned
slave of Ram. For the
wrestler, however,
Hanuman is an
object
of devotion and service in his
own
right
rather than
simply
a conduit to the
greater-and
more
abstract-glory
of Ram's love.
Much of the
popular mythology
about Hanuman derives from Tulsi Das's
corpus
and is there-
fore couched in terms of the Ram
story. However,
as evidenced
by
other strains of
scripture,
myth,
and
folklore,
Hanuman is considered an incarnation of Shiva (Dixit
1978:11-1
7).
Wres-
tlers tend to
emphasize
this side of Hanuman's
character,
a side that
brings
Shiva's ascetic
qual-
ities into
sharp
focus. In akhara
temples,
Shiva
lingams (phallic
icons)
are often found in close
association with Hanuman
figures,
and
during
the
daily morning
incantation Shiva's name is
invoked more often than Ram's. When asked about their
relationship
to
Hanuman,
wrestlers
say
that
they
derive their
skill, strength, energy,
and wisdom from
"thinking
on him." In other
330 american
ethnologist
words,
when wrestlers think of themselves as
sannyasi-like, they
think more in terms of the
independent
Shiva
analogue
than in terms of the
Naga
or
Tyagi sannyasi's
Ram-oriented service
and devotional asceticism.
Moreover,
service and devotion become somewhat "secularized" in the
wrestling
arena.
By
secular I do not mean
nonreligious,
for Hanuman's form is
worshiped
in the akhara and his
power
and
knowledge
are
sought by
means of both ritual and devotion. For the
wrestler,
Han-
uman becomes an
integral part
of
everyday
emotional
experience.
He is
substantially, formally,
empirically,
and
sensually present
at all times in all
places.
As wrestlers
repeatedly pointed out,
there is no such
thing
as a
representation-a symbol-of
Hanuman. In a tactile and emotional
sense a "calendar art"
image
of Hanuman is
Hanuman, just
as a book about Hanuman is Han-
uman;
this fact was
brought
home to me when a wrestler ran his hand
through
the
pages
of one
of
my
Hanuman
worship manuals, touching
the words in the same
way as,
on other
occasions,
he touched the akhara earth or the vermilion
paste
with which he anointed Hanuman in the
akhara.
In the context of the
akhara,
Hanuman is the nexus of what it means to be of
service,
to be
humble,
to be
strong,
to be celibate. And he is all of these
things
in a
way
that is both
highly
personal and, fundamentally,
of
public significance.
One must not
only
"think on Hanuman"
but also "act like
Hanuman"; celibacy, humility,
and service become moral virtues and char-
acter traits rather than
simply spiritual
exercises mandated
by
a
particular
form of ascetic de-
votionalism. To be
sure,
this sociomoral dimension does not indicate a radical
change
in the
fundamentally
somatic terms of the
respective disciplinary regimens.
What has
changed
is that
the
purely
individualistic emotion of the bhakta
(devotee)
has become the wrestler's
impas-
sioned commitment to
morality
in
everyday
life.
conclusion
Aside from its obvious
sportive dimension,
which I have not considered
here, wrestling
is
largely
a matter of
defining
the self
by selectively attributing
value to certain ideals and somatic
principles.
As Khare has noted with
respect
to the Chamars of
Lucknow, sannyas provides
a
powerful conceptual
framework for social criticism in
general
and the
reworking
of caste iden-
tity
in
particular.
The Chamar's
critique
is effective
because,
as Dumont has noted
(1960,
1970), sannyas
is a central
category
in the
larger
structure of Hindu
society; rethinking
what it
means to be a
sannyasi can, therefore,
be a
way
of
undermining
the
ideological
edifice of hi-
erarchical relations. As a
pure
individual who has renounced
worldly obligations,
the
sannyasi
is the antithesis of the caste-based
garhasthya,
whose
identity
is
wholly
the
product
of his
ritual,
familial,
and social
obligations.
In a
sense,
the Chamar's radical nonbrahmanic
interpretation
of
sannyas
is based on a tacit
recognition
of the
sannyasi's key
structural
position
in the
logic
of brahmanic Hinduism.
Only
because
sannyas
is a
symbol
of
proto-equality
does its
integra-
tion into the subaltern world of the
socially
conscious Chamar make sense as a
strategy
of em-
powerment.
While the strict
opposition
between
sannyas
and
garhasthya-the opposition
on which this
Dumontian
critique
is based-has been
rightly
criticized
by
a number of scholars
(for
example,
Burghart 1983;
van der Veer
1987),
I found that
many
wrestlers offered a rather structural model
of
sannyas
very
much in
keeping
with Dumont's notion of
complementary opposition.
The
wrestler cannot be a
sannyasi,
for he
works,
earns a
living,
and raises a
family; yet
he cannot
simply
be a
garhasthya,
for he must be celibate and must
regularly
countermand the
prescripts
of hierarchical
separation by grappling-if
he is a Brahman or
Rajput-with
men classified as
impure.
To an
extent, then, wrestlers,
like the Chamars of
Lucknow,
are
guilty
of
reifying
sann-
yas
as a static
category
of
being,
an ideal
type. Only
in this
way
are
they
able to
compare
themselves to the
sannyasi
without
blurring
what are
regarded
as
significant categorical
differ-
ences between themselves and others.
the
sannyasi
and the Indian wrestler 331
What is
unique
about
wrestling
is its
casting
of self-definition in
primarily
somatic terms.
What the wrestler borrows from the
sannyasi
is a
self-conception
rooted in a
disciplinary
me-
chanics of
psychosomatic development.
The tradition of those who have
sought
to
integrate
ascetic
principles
into social and
political
life is
certainly
a
long
one: the Chamars of
Lucknow,
among others-Gandhi,
for instance-are clear
examples.
But in both Gandhian
political phi-
losophy
and Chamar
theology, advocacy gives
rise to a
purely
intellectual
ideology-a theory
of
practice
that uses the
body
as a means of
achieving
certain
changes
in
perception,
but not
as an end in itself.
Wrestlers,
on the other
hand,
conflate
body discipline, self-perception,
and
ideology
in a radical
way and,
in so
doing,
make a
powerful
statement about the essential con-
nections between the
individual,
the
body,
and
society
as a whole.
notes
Acknowledgments.
This article is
part
of a
larger study
on Indian
wrestling
undertaken as a doctoral
dissertation
project
in the
Department
of
Anthropology
at the
University
of
California, Berkeley. Support
for the research was
provided by
a
Fulbright-Hays
Doctoral Dissertation Research Grant. I am also
grateful
to the Mabelle McLeod Lewis Memorial Fund committee for
providing
funds that
supported
a
year
of un-
interrupted writing during
which time
many
of the ideas in this article were
developed.
I would like to
thank Gerald D. Berreman for
providing guidance
and
encouragement.
Nicole Constable has read various
drafts of the article and
provided
invaluable comments and criticisms. I am also indebted to Elizabeth
Traube for
providing
the
early inspiration
for the
project.
I am
grateful
to Don Brenneis and four
anonymous
reviewers for the American
Ethnologist
for their
insightful
comments on an earlier draft.
Indian
wrestling
is
certainly
not
exclusively
Hindu. There are numerous Muslim wrestlers
today,
and in
fact, many
famous Indian wrestlers of the
past-Gama,
Imam
Baksh,
Sadiki-were Muslim
(Ali 1984;
B.
Singh 1964). Hindu and Muslim
wrestling
differ
very
little from each
other,
and
many
wrestlers would
argue
that there is no
significant
difference at all.
However,
the
wrestling way
of life that I discuss in this article
is Hindu in
tone, character,
and structure.
Many
of the
general points
about
wrestling
as
such-diet,
ex-
ercise, self-discipline,
self-control-would
apply equally
to Muslim
wrestlers,
but the
sannyasi analogy
would not.
Although
Indian
wrestling
is not
exclusively Hindu, however,
it is
exclusively-and self-consciously-
male. For this reason I
deliberately
use masculine
pronouns throughout,
even when
referring
to
sannyasis.
Although
there are female
sannyasis,
wrestlers model themselves on a male
prototype.
21n addition to the formal
designation, sannyasi,
wrestlers use a number of more or less
synonymous
colloquial designations.
The term sadhu (mendicant) is
very common,
as is baba
(father, grandfather,
or
ascetic).
In some contexts the honorific
maharaj (literally, great king)
is used to
designate
a
sannyasi
of
renown. The title sant
(saint) may
be
given
to a
person
whose status is
equivalent
to that of a
sannyasi,
the
title rishi
(sage)
or muni (saint or hermit) to someone who is
sannyasi-like
in his character.
3For the
wrestler,
the
garhasthya stage
is the most
problematic.
It denotes a condition of
duty-bound
involvement in the
spheres
of ritual and sacrificial
obligation, political association,
and economic welfare.
By implication
a
garhasthya
is a
person
who is
eminently worldly,
a
person
who must deal with
passion,
sexuality, greed,
and material
gratification
of all kinds.
Although
wrestlers are familiar with the classical distinction between
vanaprastha
and
sannyasi, they
do
not seem to use it to make sense of the
ways
in which
particular
ascetics act or to
classify "grades"
of
ascetic behavior. A
person
is either a
garhasthya
or a
sannyasi,
but never a
vanaprastha.
4Wrestling
is
primarily
a northern Indian
sport.
As far as I have been able to
determine,
it is not
partic-
ularly popular
in the southern states of Tamil
Nadu, Kerala,
and Karnataka. In the central
part
of
India,
Kolhapur, Sangli, Miraj,
and other districts of Maharashtra are well known as
wrestling centers,
as are
parts
of
Haryana,
eastern Uttar
Pradesh,
and
Bengal
(cf.
Rosselli 1980)
in the north and east.
5"Going
to the outside" is a
colloquial phrase
that refers to a constellation of leisure activities
entailing
participation
in the
open, public space
of the Banaras urban environment. One
goes
outside to
defecate,
wash
clothes, bathe, prepare bhang,
visit
temples,
walk
along
the
riverbank, swim,
listen to
music,
and
take
part
in
many
other forms of recreation.
6Wrestling
in India dates back to at least the time at which the Mahabharata and
Ramayana
were com-
posed
in written
form,
and
probably
well before then (Muzumdar 1950; Raghavan 1979;
Rai
1984;
L.
Singh
1982-83). Although early
accounts of
wrestling
are scant and rather
oblique,
two
texts,
the
12th-century
Manasollasa of
King
Somesvara
(Srigondekar
1959) and the
13th-century Mallapurana
of the
Gujarati Jyes-
thimallas (Das 1968;
Sandesara and Mehta
1964), provide fairly
detailed outlines of malla
yuddha during
the
early
medieval
period.
7Zarrilli has noted that the south Indian martial art of
kalarippayattu explicitly recognizes
the
power
of
"single-point
concentration"
(ekagrata) (1989:1302).
In
fact,
it seems that the
practitioners
of
kalarippay-
332 american
ethnologist
attu conflate the
spiritual
dimension of meditation with the somatic
discipline
of
exercise, training,
and
combat to a much
greater
and more
comprehensive
extent than do the north Indian wrestlers.
8A
gurukul
is a Hindu institution of education modeled on the
relationship
between a
guru
and his dis-
ciples.
In a
gurukul, disciples
are cast in the mold of devout adolescent brahmacharis who
regard
their
guru
as the source of absolute truth.
9The farcical nature of this
relationship
was
played
out on various occasions in one Banaras akhara I
regularly
visited. A
sannyasi
would come to the akhara to bathe and cover himself with earth before
spend-
ing
the better
part
of the late afternoon
walking through
the
city begging
for alms. While he was in the
pit
applying
earth to his
body,
some of the wrestlers would entice him to
engage
in a little
friendly wrestling.
Inevitably
one of the wrestlers would
put
a
quick
move on the
unsuspecting sannyasi
and
pin
him to the
ground,
much to the amusement of the
younger
wrestlers and the
feigned chagrin
of the
complaisant
as-
cetic.
'00n this
point
the north Indian wrestlers differ
greatly
from the south Indian martial artists. Where the
kalarippayattu experts
seem to use
yogic
theories of
physical culture-breathing, stance, balance,
and
channeled
energy-to explicate
and
develop
their art (Zarrilli 1989:1 300-1
301),
the wrestlers do
not, per-
haps
to some extent because most advocates of a
wrestling way
of life are rural men who have had little or
no formal
training
in classical
"high
culture." More
significantly, however,
wrestlers
regard yogic physical
culture as a contrived form of self-control that
emphasizes
the
purely metaphysical
dimension of somatic
consciousness.
They
do not make much of the common Hindu cultural distinction between the
"gross
body"
of muscle and bone and the "subtle
body"
of
prana (breath),
cakra
(centers),
and nadi
(conduits).
Elements of the "subtle
body"
are
important,
but for the wrestler
they
do not seem to constitute a distinct
set of attributes
clearly
articulated within his own
body, maybe
in
part
because the wrestler's
"gross body"
is
magnified
to such an extent that it subsumes all other dimensions.
However,
what the wrestler refers to
as his
body, sharir,
includes what in the West would be referred to as distinct
mental, ideational,
or
psy-
chological aspects-a
fact that enables muscles to take on a
clearly
moral tone.
aYama and
niyama
constitute the first two
steps
of ethical
preparation
in the
Raja yoga
tradition (Kakar
1981:21).
They
are rules for
everyday life-nonviolence, truthfulness, continence,
and the like-that
lay
the foundation for the six
subsequent steps leading up
to samadhi.
12This
point may
become clearer if we consider the role of citta in the
yogic
scheme. Citta is "that
part
of the
psychic organization
which
represents
the
elemental,
instinctual drives of the
organism" (Kakar
1981:22). While the
perfect
state of citta is
unidimensional,
with "I" and "other"
existing
in a blissful state
of balanced
harmony,
in most
people
citta is
agitated
and imbalanced. The
sannyasi's goal
is to achieve
complete
self-dissolution
through
samadhi
by training
himself to "see
through"
the emotional
agitation
of
greed, lust, hate, anger, frustration,
and so forth in order to
comprehend
citta in its
perfect
state. To an
extent,
the wrestler turns this
process
inside out
by seeking
a social reconciliation of emotion
through
ex-
ercise and action rather than a
psychic synthesis through
meditation and
enlightenment.
3As Zarrilli has
noted,
the South Asian martial art of
kalarippayattu
is
integrally
related to these
general
theories of illness and health. The
practitioners
of
kalarippayattu
have an
extremely sophisticated
under-
standing
of the "fluid
body's"
humors and
saps (1989:1292-1294).
14Since
many
wrestlers
work,
the extreme ideal is
rarely
realized in
practice. Nevertheless,
some wres-
tlers receive a
stipend
of almonds and
milk,
and most wrestlers take
responsibility
for
preparing
their own
milk-ghi-almond
tonic.
15At issue here is the
problem
of
establishing self-discipline
as the
primary
referent for
public morality.
For the
sannyasi
the referent of
abnegation
is never
public morality;
it is
purely
individual self-realization.
As K. P.
Singh,
a
prominent wrestling advocate, writes,
wrestlers are not the
only
ones who have
sought
to
give
the values and
experience
of renunciation a certain ethical tone:
Gandhi controlled
himself, kept
himself in check and was a brahmachari. He was a
great
saint and a
reformist. He freed the nation. And Gandhi's
discipline
of self-control was not contrived.... His was
the work of the world and he would shoulder his burden of work
taking only
the name of God for
support.
Gandhi was
greater
than
Shankaracharya. Shankaracharya
advocated the
complete separation
of men
from
women,
but Gandhi said that all men and women should be as brothers and sisters.... What an
excellent method of
uprooting
the evil of
sensuality!
What a
grand
vision! What
insight
to turn
sensuality
into a
feeling
of
respect
and honor. We must all live in
society
and we must
purge
the evils of social life
from our
thoughts....
We must tire our
bodies,
focus our minds and cleanse our
thoughts.
We must
adopt
commitment and
independence
as our
way
of life.
[1972:31; emphasis added]
Many
wrestlers see themselves as
following
in Gandhi's
footsteps.
His
advocacy
of a wholesome
diet,
yogic fitness,
and
disciplined thought complements
the wrestler's ideal of moral fitness. From this
perspec-
tive,
strict asceticism disconnects emotion and
experience
from
action,
since it would be
logically
incon-
sistent,
in the wrestler's
estimation,
for a
"pure sannyasi"-which
is to
say
a
self-proclaimed
or
formally
initiated one such as
Shankaracharya-to engage
himself in a
sociopolitical
cause.
This,
I
think,
is the
distinction K. P.
Singh
is
making
between those who
radically
dissociate themselves from women in order
to achieve self-control and those who redefine their social
relationships
with women in order to make their
self-control serve a moral
purpose.
'6Hanuman is a
popular
heroic
figure
in the
16th-century epic Ramacaritamanasa, by
Tulsi Das. He is
the dutiful and devout
agent
of Lord
Ram,
an incarnation of Vishnu. Hanuman
helps
Ram and Ram's
the
sannyasi
and the Indian wrestler 333
younger
brother Lakshman
destroy
the evil
kingdom
of Lanka. Elsewhere I have discussed Hanuman's role
vis-a-vis
wrestling
in
general (Alter 1989:399-435) and the wrestler's
physique
in
particular
(Alter
In
press
b),
but here I focus on his ascetic attributes.
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