She cannot forget her ideal, her history, and asks her reflection: Am I any different from my devadasi mother, forced to leave the precincts of the temple? Has history repeated itself? Has the pattern come full circle? Am I now like my devadasi mother, becoming essentially expendable, valueless? She pauses, but briefly. It is time for the next performance. (Avanthi Meduri, "Bharata Natyam -- What Are You" 19)

Avanthi Meduri speaks from experience; she is a Bharata Natyam dancer and choreographer. She is also a soul-searching female scholar who raises significant questions regarding the place of Bharata Natyam as danced by a modern-day woman. The above quote represents a feminist investigation within a contemporary dance framework, yet the potency and persistence of such queries are timeless for any female dancer. When India's Bharata Natyam revival and reform movements gained momentum in the 1920s and 30s, dialectical tensions arose between the separate camps, their ideologies, and their activities; for the "perverted" dance of the devadasi was reconstructed as a nationalist emblem while the devadasi, herself, was legislatively barred from her religious profession. Interrogating this potent time period, many feminists have deconstructed the development of contemporary Bharata Natyam. They use material theory to point to the dancer's exploitation, commodification, and marginalization as the temple dance became secularized and the dancer became objectified, inscribed within patriarchal or Orientalist paradigms as a gendered, emblematic, or sociopolitical Other. These constrictions and inscriptions have also influenced modern choreographers as they tried to reclaim and empower the dance form by further reconstituting it, absorbing its "formal" technique and corporeal vocabulary into their own choreographic theory and dance compositions.

But, where does God fit into these arguments and strategies? Especially critical is an acknowledgement of both the devotional, spiritual journey which constitutes the art of Bharata Natyam and, more generally, the transcendental power of dance. This is where a divine tension [page 276] lies which can empower the dancing, female body. Significantly, when the dance is disconnected from its divine potential, it may sit as an inanimate object, ready for commodification and control. Further, when the dancing body is discussed separately from the spirit, it can be positioned as a material site of exploration and deconstruction by theorists. Yet, in Bharata Natyam, such concepts of dualism are nowhere to be found. Its dance journey is both religious sacrament and divine conduit, resulting in a realization of the oneness of self and the cosmos. In this same vein, the erotic/sexual (shringara) element of Bharata Natyam represents synthesis between opposites by which a new empowered entity can arise, exceeding each isolated binary unit. When genders maintain separate, fundamental essences, the energetic movement through multiple significations may result in a complex composition of wholeness. In this paper, I dialogically engage with feminists who have critically examined the material significations of Bharata Natyam in its contemporary configuration. I argue that aspects of their critiques fall short when they ignore the metaphysical power of the devotional dance. For a woman may progress through stages of Bharata Natyam; and in a sublime, performative moment -- a moment that has been achieved by "gendered" agency -- she may rise to the level of the superior being. In order to combine with Shiva, she meets him on the same plane.

According to Hindu belief, dance on earth would not have happened without the woman. As recounted in the Natya Shastra (100 BCE - 200 AD), Brahma, the Supreme One, created the fifth Veda (the scripture of drama) and presented it to Bharata who then composed the first drama and sought "the help of Shiva for the steps of the dance. Shiva taught the steps to his disciple Tandu and to Parvati [Goddess and consort/wife] and the harmony of the masculine and feminine in the dance was blended symbolically."(1) Thus is suggested a gender synthesis which underpins all dance; however, the female is not completely sublimated within this phenomenon. According to many legends, dance exists in its earthly incarnation thanks, in great part, to Parvati who "was the first teacher of dancing who brought the art down from the heavens to teach it to the people of the earth."(2) Dance, therefore, embodies harmony countered with gendered interplay and tension -- the force of which obliterates the ego while realizing [page 277] divine wholeness. In her article "Feminist Perspectives on Classical Indian Dance," Judith Lynne Hanna writes: "With pleasure he [Shiva] exuberantly dances out the creation of the universe. [. . .] Shiva's frenzied Tandava (virile, manly) dance causes chaos and represents the destruction of the world. For his creative dance, his consort Parvati's (tender, womanly) dance is imperative."(3)

Although legends such as these may suggest an essentialist reading regarding the "feminine" aspect of dance, another Goddess manifestation of Parvati -- Kali -- is the very antithesis of "tender, womanly" qualities. Goddess Kali is a powerful, destructive force which allows creation to occur. She is the ego destroyed -- a ground-scorching pathway to divinity. Dancer and scholar Kapila Vatsyayan speaks of the ideal Indian dancer who "rides the body" with the "fire of experience" in a quest toward obliteration of self toward "spiritual transcendence."(4) This concept is beautifully conveyed in the hymn to Kali recounted by Ananda K. Coomaraswamy: "Because thou lovest the Burning-ground, I have made a Burning-ground of my heart -- that Thou, Dark One, haunter of the Burning-ground, mayest dance Thy eternal dance."(5) Thus, Indian dance is inextricably connected to a multifaceted, female image of divine power. This mythic and spiritual connection can also speak to material strategies by feminists who wish to address the dance in its sociocultural context. Hanna writes:

Female images of the divine may empower some women both spiritually and socially to take control of their lives. Perhaps, as in other cultures with rituals of rebellion, powerful goddesses serve to present complementarities, compensation and alternatives to the male dominance models as well as to remind men not to exceed acceptable limits in their behavior towards women.(6)

[page 278] As stated above, sociocultural perspectives cannot be ignored when addressing feminism and dance in India. Specifically, a critical scholar must address and engage the Indian context in which Bharata Natyam was born and with which it is most often identified. Yet, this exploration can sometimes prove daunting and depressing for women. For, if Goddesses figure powerfully in the ancient Hindu scripture of India, their earthly counterparts do not fare as well. Scholar Wendy O'Flaherty looks at the scripture-sanctioned devaluing of women in the Vedas and major Indian epics and legends which were authored or controlled by high-caste males and are kinetically visualized by dance. She states that the image of a woman in the texts is that of an "insignificant receptacle for the unilaterally effective male fluid [. . .] -- a thing to be possessed."(7) Further, Hanna cites ancient Indian law which specifies that "in childhood, a woman must be subject to her father, in youth to her husband and, when her lord is dead, to her sons. A woman must never be independent."(8) In 1989, Vanaja Dhruvarajan stated that "while Indians have high regard for women as mothers, they devalue them as persons. The female principle is worshipped; yet in flesh and blood, females are humiliated, depersonalized, and dominated."(9) The material realities of many Indian women today -- many of which may be learning, teaching, and/or dancing Bharata Natyam -- do not often bespeak power, agency, or freedom from gender-scripted confines:

Indian women are routinely sold into marriage, and brothers are almost invariably favored over sisters. Successful and affluent women are sometimes unaware of the problems of the terrorism of drunken husbands, brutal landlords, or the starkness of poverty. Suman Krishan Kant's Women's Grievances Group organization receives complaints and directs investigations of attacks on women, many of them involving burning and scalding of brides by in-laws who feel they were short-changed on dowries.(10)

[page 279] Yet, a specific female model from India's past suggests the possibility of sociocultural prestige and spiritual empowerment for the dancing woman. This model is the devadasi; with her lineage traced to India's classical or Sanskrit period, she is oft said to represent a 2,000-year-old tradition of temple or devotional dance. Historically attributed to the Tamil region, the devadasi danced a form of Bharata Natyam under the original moniker of sadir nac, sadir attam, or dasi attam. Dedicated to God through temple ceremonies, the devadasis became constituents of the temple as brides and devotional servants to the deity. Hanna writes that although a daughter might be given to the temple by her family to fulfil a vow or for financial reasons, a woman could also "offer herself out of devotion, for the prosperity of her family, or out of weariness of her husband or her widowhood." Thus, even though the devadasis came from and belonged to a hereditary community of temple dancers, musicians, and teachers (isai vellala), life as a devadasi could sometimes be a matter of choice for the woman. Hanna also details specific freedoms and modes of empowerment accorded the devadasis; they "learned to read and write, an opportunity denied other women. Furthermore, some dancers acquired wealth through gifts from admirers, owned land, and made large donations to temples."(11) Within this economical system, the devadasi also wielded power in her household where she was the primary wage earner, materially supporting her family. Furthermore, her public sphere reflected her private sphere; for in contrast to greater Indian society, the isai vellala was, by and large, a matriarchal community. Included in this fiscal/material paradigm of authority and agency was the devadasi's oft employed career strategy of inviting the solicitation of patrons (e.g., Brahmins or rulers -- never an Untouchable) who could provide additional assets in return for sexual or consort relations. Dangerous is the contemporary interpretation of this arrangement as prostitution with its connotation of victimization and powerlessness, however. For even more crucial than material wealth was the psychological security accorded the devadasi by her respected status in society. Scholar Amrit Srinivasan historicizes the place of the devadasi as follows:

As a woman with the protection of a living husband -- the deity and lord of the temple corporation -- the devadasi was provided with the excuse to enter secular society and [page 280] improve her artistic skills. [. . .] As a picture of good luck, beauty, and fame, the devadasi was welcome in all rich men's homes on happy occasions of celebration and honor [. . .] -- i.e., an adjunct to conservative domestic society, not its ravager.(12)

Yet, Srinivasan is also careful to point out the flip side of such a "revered," potent place in a society of men who had the power to revert icons to objects in order to proprietarily "own" a degree of sanctity. The following quote is lengthy but paints a vivid picture of the commodification of the devadasi by a patriarchal society, sanctioned by a patriarchal religion. Here, a devadasi's proclaimed freedom and empowerment may have been trumped by her conversion to pawn by the male powerbrokers with whom she necessarily dealt:

The fascination of a "wife-of-the-god" may be mythic just as the fascination for a bed in which Napoleon slept or a saint's relic. [. . .] It converts itself into exchange value when the socialite-client, collector or believer wishes to own the commodity in question or touch it for himself. Intimacy with a devadasi consequently demonstrated public success which visibly marked a man apart from his peers. Seen in this light, the devadasi represented a badge of fortune, a form of honor managed for civil society by the temple. [. . .] The temple for its own part was no disinterested participant -- the patronage extended to the devadasi was by no means passive. It recognized that her art and physical charms attracted connoisseurs (in the garb of devotees) to the temple [. . .]. She invited "investment," economic, political, and emotional in the deity.(13)

The conception and evolution of "devadasi as prostitute" became even more pervasive and problematic under British rule where "the imperialist hold economically weakened the Indian rulers who patronized the dancers." Further, the constitutive philosophy of temple dance (sadir), "wherein sexual ecstasy is a path to spirituality, was an anathema to the British."(14) [page 281] By the turn of the 19th century, the devadasi subsisted, as Avanthi Meduri writes, within an "uneasy political atmosphere with her former generous patronage vanishing;" thus, she was "forced to choose between economic necessity and man-made [British] rules of decorum." Significantly, Meduri lauds this "female professional" who, in the face of a changing political and social climate, became less discriminate in patron relations, choosing to "live on her own moral terms."(15) Unfortunately, such individual, gendered "moral terms" were ignored, obfuscated, or translated by the "moral authorities" (read "male moral authorities") of the day. In 1927 (at which time, there were still 200,000 temple dancers in the Madras Presidency alone), reform-supporter Mohandas Gandi wrote: "There are, I am sorry to say, many temples in our midst in this country which are no better than brothels."(16) Thus was provided the ultimate patriarchal, authoritarian declaration of devadasi decay and spiritual bankruptcy. Indeed, male authority had often inscribed and dictated the traditional role of the devadasi, compromising the agency or power she may have believed herself to have. Hanna goes so far as to describe the hereditary devadasi community as a "reproduction of patriarchy ensconced in religious sanctification." She writes: "Male Brahmins, the priestly caste, initially 'choreographed' the dance (received from the gods) which male professionals, non-Brahmins who came from hereditary families of teachers and musicians (nattuvanaras or gurus) [. . .] then taught to the devadasis."(17)

Was the devadasi simply fooling herself, believing to possess spiritual and secular authority that was all the time allotted, controlled, and measured by her male patrons, conductors, teachers, and authors? Are we fooled today as we idealize her social, sexual, spiritual power? Did this woman even exist? Srinivasan cites the power of the traditionally male guru who "exercised control over the dancer" while the dasis "feared and respected" them as "teachers and artists and informal religious leaders of the community whose curse could ruin a girl's career and prospects." Furthermore, returning to the "commodification" argument, power over the dasi often seemed to equate money and/or acquisition of property for men. [page 282] Srinivasan describes the dasi as the "proverbial goose that laid the golden egg" for male teacher/conductors, for if "handled properly," she could yield "dividends over the years in the shape of fees and gifts."(18) This relationship, in many ways, persists today and must be reconciled with the "empowered" devadasi legacy claimed by the contemporary Bharata Natyam dancer. Hanna writes that a modern-day guru still "expects respect and credit for a piece he has taught a dancer. [. . .] He tends to be jealous if one studies with another teacher or creates her own dances. If a dancer wishes to be creative, she breaks the dependency mold. Then the dancer has to find another [teacher]."(19) This gendered social tension between male authority and dasi recognition could also be seen within her hereditary community as male members became increasingly frustrated by their lack of complete dominance over their women. "The privileged access of women artists to rich patrons and their wealth underscored more sharply their absolute non-availability to their own men. The antagonism felt [. . .] was in recognition consequently of the power and influence the devadasis had as women and as artists."(20)

The debate over the role of the devadasi in society reached a boiling point in the 1920s and 30s as she was denounced by British colonizers as a seedy symbol of a perverse and backward Indian culture. Yet, what is more complex and troubling is her appropriation by Indian nationalists in their fervor to declare an independent state replete with ancient, holy traditions. As factions were formed, the "reformist" (or "anti-nautch"(21)) group squared off against the "revivalist" movement in a "religious" war. Reformists proclaimed the devadasi to be a "prostitute" who must be removed, and revivalists claimed her to be a "nun" who must be reconstituted and re-presented to a "respectable" Indian public.(22) To both, however, the "sociohistoric complexity of the structure that enabled the devadasi to devote herself to [page 283] perfecting her art was ignored." Each side maintained a "conviction that somewhere a pure custom had been polluted and must be cleansed."(23) Although there were women involved in the debate (famously, Rukmini Devi), many men were also invested in the struggle; they figuratively pulled at the arms of the devadasi, restricting her dance while claiming her as a means to accomplish their own political agendas. Brahmin priests decried the regulatory measures taken by the government to outlaw temple dedications as infringements on their own religious freedoms (not to mention the wealth and power brought to the temple through the dasi). Indicative of this is an account by Rustom Bharucha who describes the opposition to reform by S. Sathyamurthy in the Madras Congress as motivated by "no real concern for the devadasis themselves" but as a "concealed attempt to preserve a Brahmanic hegemony in matters of religion and culture." Bharucha asserts that Sathyamurthy represented other upper-caste men who feared the abolition of devadasis would serve to precipitate a non-Brahmin demand for "the abolition of temple priests, who were Brahmins. [. . .] He was merely safeguarding his community's [Mayruam] vested interests sanctified through religion."(24) Not all men were working against reform measures, however. Uttara Asha Coorlawala details the diverse male demographic siding with the reform movement:

The non-Brahmin Backward Classes, disgruntled by the educational and professional advantages gained by the pro-nautch Brahmins, and the Untouchables/Depressed classes under British legislation which deliberately fostered casteism, joined the anti-nautch campaign to gain support for their own political ends. This comprehensive group included male members within the devadasi community, who participated in performances as musicians and teachers [. . .] and felt that their own artistic contributions were slighted.(25)

In any case, the devadasi seemingly lost a battle in which she was ironically relegated to the sidelines. In 1930, Bill No. 5 was passed by which devadasis were absolved of their services [page 284] to the temples; their material interests were then converted to land grants or deeds (pattas) to be administered by the government. Devadasis had previously been allotted temple land shares as part of their dedication and service. In that men could not previously inherit these shares (as could the dedicated sisters), "the process of converting traditional usufructury rights to public land (attached to office) into private taxable property favored the men over their womenfolk" as men controlled the marketplace and could purchase the previously unavailable land.(26) Furthermore, as part of this "liberating" process, the "freed" devadasi was often forced to convert her remaining wealth into a dowry in order to attract a husband and, thereby, acquire social respectability. In 1947, the Congress Ministry dealt a final death blow to the devadasi, passing the Madras Devadasis Act which officially abolished all temple dedications.

In the politically charged period surrounding the 1930 and 1947 legislative acts, the revivalists also scored critical victories which must be taken into account in any analysis of Bharata Natyam as it exists today. As the revivalists worked to return the dance to its "pre-prostitution" glory, their restoration became a zealous project of redefinition, reconstitution, and re-population.(27) They renamed the dance Bharata Natyam to remove any nominal vestiges of the devadasi who was inextricably linked to the old moniker, sadir. The revivalists -- led by female pioneers such as Brahmin Rukmini Devi -- worked to make the art "respectable" for a new caste of dancers. The Madras Music Academy -- a new academy formed by the revivalists (and still recognized as a prominent Bharata Natyam academy today) -- passed a 1937 resolution dictating that "in order to make dancing respectable, it is necessary to encourage public performances thereof before respectable people."(28) With this sweeping declaration, the revivalists moved the dance out of the temple and into the public forum while claiming the dance as property of the upper classes. As Srinivasan points out, however, the "dance technique remained unchanged and was learnt from the original nattuvanars [conductors] and [page 285] performers."(29) Therefore, the movement needed to be underpinned by an incorruptible philosophy and, in a sense, protected from itself so that it could not degenerate again as in the past. Rukmini Devi publicly danced Bharata Natyam in concert form and wrote treatise upon treatise as to its purely devotional function (sans "devadasi" sexuality). As more Brahmin women followed suit, Bharata Natyam was re-presented as "art" and danced by a new caste of women positioning themselves as the dance's authoritative guardians of respectability. The dancers and scholars were also intent on "purifying" the tradition by asserting an unquestionably sacred linkage to the Natya Shastra and other classical epics; the revivalist camp turned to text as an authoritative means by which to reinvent the dance and its lineage. Srinivasan notes:

Ancient dance-dramas were revived by Sanskrit scholars and introduced into the female genre. [. . .] The more erotic and bawdy songs of the devadasi's repertoire were excluded. The low-key approach to shringara or the artistic convention of love between man and woman in the dance mimetic sequence was justified as a means of reducing its overt eroticism and replacing it with an "inward essence."(30)

In A Dictionary of Theatre Anthropology, Eugenio Barba and Nicola Savarese refer to the revivalists' research and reconstruction process as a "restoration of behavior" which, in some ways, negates the hereditary power often cited by the contemporary Bharata Natyam dancer as part of her sacred history. As Bharata Natyam was codified according to ancient texts, the "new" dance became the definer of the "old" or ancient form of sadir; meanwhile, the current form of sadir was claimed to be a "faded, distorted remnant of some ancient classical dance" and denied its place as a dance in its own right. Regarding the "smoke and mirror" strategy to reinvent sadir as a legitimate Bharata Natyam progenitor, Barba and Savarese write, "The ancient classical dance is a projection backward in time. [. . .] A dance is created in the past in order to be restored for the present and future."(31)

[page 286] Regardless of whether or not ancient lineage can be proven, the contemporary Bharata Natyam, as danced by a woman, cannot be disassociated from its 20th century lineage and revivalist context. Here, I suggest that the revivalist project may be viewed in two different feminist lights: 1) In terms of material feminism, the powerful Brahmin women may represent a socioeconomic group who disenfranchised and marginalized their "sisters" -- who reinscribed the patriarchal order by negating a possible subversion of the norm by disempowering and dismantling the "matriarchal" society of the devadasi. 2) The movement may, however, suggest female empowerment as the Brahmin women claimed a "public victory," saving a spiritual art denoted as "feminine" and raising it to a place of prestige in a secular, male-dominated society. In either case, ownership, authorship, and translation became defining aspects of the dance. Coorlawala writes:

What was achieved by the bill (1947) was to clear the way for nondevadasi women from respectable families to study dance. The reconstruction of the sadir dance was undertaken by Westernized and Sanskritized Brahmins. [. . .] Sadir was reclaimed as Bharata Natyam, the purest and most "authentic" traditional dance of the Natya Shastra.(32)

As the above quote refers to the "Westernized" reconstruction of sadir, an astute observer might also find inherent in Bharata Natyam the dangerous (and often gendered) phenomenon of Orientalism. In Edward Said's terms, Orientalism is a "Western style for dominating, restructuring, and having authority over the Orient. [. . .] The Orient cannot represent itself."(33) When a woman dances, Orientalism becomes another strategy of gendered authority and control. Further, when Bharata Natyam is danced or presented by a female Westerner, the resulting Orientalist paradigm can "reaffirm the West's superiority, as it takes a Western woman to understand and represent the essence of the East."(34) Although this interpretation may read [page 287] somewhat essentialist, limiting, and paranoid (Only Asian women can authoritatively claim the dance?), there is historical precedence of Orientalism in the revival of Bharata Natyam, its spiritual appropriation by Westerners, and, consequently, its contemporary configuration. In 1926, American modern dancer Ruth St. Denis, having previously gained notoriety for her "nautch" dances, toured India and created a sensation on the concert stage with these sanctioned -- yet, blatantly inauthentic -- works. (St. Denis' earliest "nautch" dances were choreographed and performed throughout the 1910s and into the early 1920s -- years before she actually visited India and witnessed its nautch dancers.)(35) Curiously, she was lauded by the upper, educated classes in India for her respectful and artistic treatment of "Indian" dance. In Orientalist fashion, she stated with religious fervor: "I am beginning to see that I already possessed the soul of India. [. . .] I see that I was sent to the Orient to give a truth as well as receive one."(36) Although St. Denis was influential, the 20th century revival movement is more often associated with Western ballet dancer Anna Pavlova who toured India in 1929 and famously asked Brahmin scholars and politicians: "Where is your dance?" This same woman asserted her power as a dance prophet, sent to incite the rebirth of Indian dance through Western dance authority. She stated: "The East had always fascinated me. One of the greatest ambitions remaining to me was to subjugate the Orient to my art, proving its power over people of any race or color."(37) Indeed, Pavlova is inseparable from the resurrection mythos of Bharata Natyam; revivalist dancer Rukmini Devi credited Pavlova "with a pivotal contribution to India's rediscovery of its own dance forms."(38) Through the "Pavlova" connection, the Western influence and authorship runs deep and was fully realized through the political efforts and dance of Devi, herself:

She [Pavlova] apparently met Rukmini Devi Arundale socially on a luxury liner somewhere between Australia and London, and urged her to study Indian dance. So it came about that Rukmini Devi studied sadir, which she later renamed Bharata Natyam and performed in public. This Brahmin lady -- married to the British head of the [page 288] Theosophical Society, Lord Arundale -- founded the institution of dance called Kalakshetra in Madras.(39)