World of Philosophy

Author(s): Christopher Key Chapple, Intaj Malek, Dilip Charan, Sunanda Shastri, Prashant Dave
Publisher: Shanti Prakashan

Page 204

Mariyamman: Does She Remove the Stings?
Insert Them, Or Exemplify Ways to Transmute Them? An Enquiry into Whether the Goddess is Empowering to Women
Jodi Shaw
Introduction: Garlands, Stings, and Devi
In December 2009 I visited India for the first time. We were a group of Western pilgrims who traveled on a plush bus in order to Temple hop across Tamilnadu. Many of us were yoga teachers, or former yoga teachers, known to one another if not through years then through shared studies, and practices. One early evening darshan found us in the inner sanctum of a Saivaite temple in time for the milk abhiseka of the Siva Lingam. One of the priests led us through repeated chants of "aum namah Sivaya" while other priests performed the offerings, and the bath. The mantra, the incense, the barely glimpsed crowd whose chants wafted our way on route to the god, the thick temple walls almost made liquid that seemed to drip, as the milk turned the linga white then black again all this swirled inside me. At the end the priests held up garlands of flowers and motioned us to come forward. At previous temples, more often then not, they would place a garland around the leader of our group, but there had been a couple of occasion when flowers had been placed over mine. I was up front, and thus close to one of the priests. I stood waiting, head slightly bowed, still intoxicated. I did not grasp that he was withholding it from me; his smile was so broad and welcoming that his words initially passed over me, "gents only, gents only." One of the young men in our group who stood behind me recoiled when he heard that, he no longer wanted to be there, said when we were leaving, "let's get out of here." Another man who had made this same trip twice before said to me as we left, "this is the first time they have let us into the inner sanctum." For my part I had felt layers of stings, the sting of the impropriety of being a foreigner, the rush of old insecurities and shames, the sting of knowing if I had been further back in the crowd it would have meant less, and of course the deep sting of exclusion. The next time a garland was given to one of the men the women took turns wearing it on the bus, but I could not.
This story courses underneath my questions about female empowerment. Outside of the familiarity of my native categories those of another culture pulsed like a siren. I suspect if I were Indian, since I most likely would not have stepped forward to receive the garland, I would not have noticed. (I by no means wish to speak for Indian women, but rather try to imagine what I would be like if I could untangle my sense of self from my culture, and place it within another.)
Of course, there is another story that underlies that one, a secret de
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