Swadhyay skit on Janmasthami in US: Some uncomfortable questions

By Rajiv Shah 

One day after Janmashtami, to be exact, on September 5, during my stay in the US, I was taken to two separate celebrations in a town on the East Coast, ostensibly to keep me engaged among NRIs.

While one of them had, apart from the ritualistic puja at a temple in the name of Radhe Krishna, located around a small pond on the outskirts, dance and song performances, it was the second one that interested me the most.

Held in the sprawling lawns of a well-laid-out housing society about 30 kilometres from the place where we were staying, the second celebration had none of the ritualistic puja of Lord Krishna that I had witnessed at the first one. There was not even an image or statue of Lord Krishna on display.

Indeed, the celebration was a complete contrast to the temple event, where a pandit — a Brahmin with a choti — had guided the entire proceedings.

The second celebration was confined to an entertaining skit, meant to convey what was presented as Lord Krishna's worldview. The performers were around a dozen young boys, all dressed in white kurtas and black trousers.

Even as our car reached the society's open ground, I spotted the young boys standing together in a group. I wondered why they were dressed in white, but did not have the courage to ask. Was it because someone had passed away?

My apprehensions soon proved unfounded.

I was courteously offered a garden chair on which I could comfortably sit and watch the skit by an NRI who told me that he had come to the US about 35 years ago and had settled there for good. As with the previous celebration, only NRIs had gathered here to watch the performance. There were no Americans, white or Black.

The young boys were very enthusiastic. After all, they had to convey the message of Pandurang Shastri Athavale, whose sect, Swadhyay Parivar, is currently headed by his daughter, Dhanashree Talwalkar.

At the very outset, we were told not to click photographs or record videos of their performance.

"It's a spiritual skit," the main leader among them declared.

It was quite another matter that, following the performance, I found several videos and images of similar skits performed elsewhere in the US, including one that can be seen here.

Why this double standard, I could not understand. Was it because the young boys did not want themselves to be identified on social media, which is now being meticulously scanned by US immigration officials while making decisions on visa applications?

A few of the performers were professionals, while others were students pursuing courses at different US universities.

The skit depicted different aspects of social life in India, with an invisible "matki" — an earthen pot — as its central symbol, which had to be cracked.

Every performer wondered what the mythical "matki" contained. Was it power, money, food?

Finally, it transpired that it contained the message of the Bhagavad Gita — the philosophical worldview of Lord Krishna that He had imparted to Arjun while serving as his charioteer during the battle of the Mahabharata.

I became curious when the performers shouted slogans of workers' unity in their fight for a decent living. However, the demand for economic emancipation was rejected.

The message was clear: there was no point in craving for "roti". The main thing, the performers suggested, was to acquire and pursue the spiritual message of the Bhagavad Gita contained in the mythical "matki".

And what was this message?

"Universal brotherhood," it was emphasised, in which all human beings had one goal to pursue: the spiritual upliftment of humanity.

Coming from a skit in which only boys participated, I asked myself: wasn't this patently patriarchal? Why was "universal sisterhood" left out?

Scanning through videos and images of similar skits performed elsewhere, I found that no girls appeared to be involved as actors.

The small gathering of around 200 NRIs — I was an exception, being only a visitor — was told, after watching the very well-enacted performance, that around Janmashtami, some 17,000 groups were performing such skits across the globe.

I learned that the script was developed and adapted to suit local requirements. For instance, while Athavale stood for prohibition and vegetarianism, the skit I watched did not contain even a single word about either.

A Swadhyay Parivar source offers this explanation: rather than functioning as political agitation or moral lecturing, their skits frame abstinence from alcohol and the adoption of a vegetarian lifestyle in terms of personal dignity and spiritual self-worth.

Yet the skit that I watched chose not to promote either.