Hinduism in its Form

As I sit and drink a chai in a small shop hovering over the Lakshman Jhula suspension bridge overlooking the "Yoga Capital of the World," I can't help but overhear a passionate discussion behind me between three Hindu men discussing the fact that India is a Hindu nation. Now, I don't want to get into it too much because the elections have just passed and the mudslinging and religious divisions have not died down yet after the divisive and (in my opinion) unethical call to arms by many fervent politicians. I have avoided so far jumping into the alphabet soup of Indian politics, with her hundreds of parties and political blocs, not because it's not interesting but because it is exhausting. The polling, the protests, the votes by caste, the votes by religion, the mafia bids, the realignment of political allies and parties is beyond this little bird's comprehension and desire to comprehend - like a Bollywood movie gone badder. As the last of the polling tides finishes up in the world's largest "democracy," the results will take still another month or so to come in before we know who will be next to take power and inform our wavering expectations. But this entry is not meant to be concerned with politics (as I have said, I've avoided it for a reason) but religion, which I am trying to tease out from the former as best I can.

I was raised a Christian, but upon turning away from my monotheist upbringing, I pulled a lot of teachings and world views from Hinduism over the years. There is something very comforting about being surrounded by 30 million gods and goddesses who, not unlike Greek deities, have human attributes and falability that allows for some sort of approach, a chink in the stone to act as a handhold while scaling the spiritual mountain. Sometimes when things are tough, it is helpful to invoke the pot-bellied, elephant-headed god Ganesh to remove my obstacles. And there is the demure-looking Lakshmi showering gold upon our heads during financial crisis, Saraswati on the lotus, strumming a sitar and embodying knowledge for all her Hindustani students during exams, and Hanuman, with his hunky manly chest and creepy monkey face, showing utter devotion, strength and energy in his service to God. I do not believe that these gods exist in a literal sense any more than Zeus, Achilles or Aphrodite, though I found using mantras and invoking their names (meaning my own inner attribute with a funny monkey face) quite helpful from time to time. But in a very prescient sense, these gods are real. As real as Jesus is to Christians and Mohammad is to Muslims, the blue-skinned Krishna plays his flute for the Hindus as a creation of collective consciousness that binds Hindu to Hindu, and thus to a "Hindu nation."

My play of mind with the benevolent and, frankly, charismatic Indian gods has now become uncomfortable as I enter into the more devout regions of Hinduism. As much as a godhead has provided support to me throughout my life, I find that upon further examination (when I realize the existence of that support as a support and not as some sort of higher reality) the notion of God vanishes and a literal interpretation of the scriptures becomes suffocating. I watch as Hindu pilgrims prostrate before idols of Ram, Krishna, and Shiva, and a subtle sense of uneasiness takes over my being. I know that for the many Muslims in this country to worship an idol is the purest form of blasphemy, and yet there are idols on nearly every street corner, in every rickshaw, and overlooking every chai shop in India. From history we know that the precarious religious balance struck in India's streets can, in moments, become a bloodbath. Partition, the murder of Indira Gandhi by her Sikh bodyguards, the Gujurat riots and current Christian/Hindu violence in Orissa show that Hindus are not as all-embrasive as they can seem in their day-to-day living. But here Hinduism is in full force and with zeal, and I find my formerly benevolent love for Hindu scriptures and epics up for critical discussion and questioning.

What I realize is that as much as I exist, this concept called "Mallory" with a name and form and thousands of attributes that others consign to me, Shiva also exists. Christ has been dead for two thousand years (or perhaps he never existed), and yet he is a fact today as any human identity. As an idea, as a construct of the collective conscious, as a story to be rejected or accepted, Shiva, Christ, and Mohammad are facts in this modern world: real beings that have political and personal impact in our lives. And an uneasy fear takes shape in me as I march up the Ganga from Varanasi to Rishikesh and on to Uttarkashi and Gangotri (all Hindu sites of pilgrimage) and feel the sway of these invisible gods. I feel the fervor of those who chant mantras under their breath, bow to statues of smiling, effeminate gods, and dip in the holy Ganga. In one moment what can be so beautiful can also ignite hate, which is the unfortunate power of dogma. It almost seems irresponsible at this point (excuse me, please, for the offense) to purport a faith or belief system that, at the end of the day, serves to divide humanity, separating one person from another. For me, this is the basic seedling of violence, a force that creates divisions, hierarchy and authority outside of one's own reasoning and insight. In this religious outpost of what I perceived to be one of the more accepting religions of the world, I have been reminded once again that any religion can become a force that separates us from our own human experience and thus fractures the potential understanding of unity beyond division... the basis of tolerance.