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By:

Someshwar Gurumath

17 December 2024 at 9:53:55 am

The Sacred Speaks for Itself

To understand a Devata requires not just intellectual freedom but familiarity with the traditions and lived experiences through which the sacred is encountered. The term “Devata” evokes bhakti, reverence, ecstasy, surrender, and a profound emotional experience (bhāva) that transcends intellectual understanding. Unlike the Abrahamic conception of “God,” “Son of God,” or “Prophet of God,” the Hindu Devata is inseparable from the land, sacred geography, collective memory, narratives, temples,...

The Sacred Speaks for Itself

To understand a Devata requires not just intellectual freedom but familiarity with the traditions and lived experiences through which the sacred is encountered. The term “Devata” evokes bhakti, reverence, ecstasy, surrender, and a profound emotional experience (bhāva) that transcends intellectual understanding. Unlike the Abrahamic conception of “God,” “Son of God,” or “Prophet of God,” the Hindu Devata is inseparable from the land, sacred geography, collective memory, narratives, temples, and lived experience. Savarkar describes the Hindu civilizational domain as “Ā Sindhu-Sindhu Paryanta”—from the Indus to the seas. Its Devatas are deeply rooted in this sacred terrain: Rāma in Ayodhyā, Kṛṣṇa in Ayodhyā, and Hanumān in Kishkindha, associated with Hampi–Anegundi. Śiva and Śakti likewise permeate Bharat, with the Śakti Pīṭhas preserving sacred memory through geography. In nearly every region of Bharat, one can find a temple, tīrtha, narrative, festival, sacred hill, river, or local tradition linked to Rāma, Kṛṣṇa, Śiva, Śakti, Hanumān, or another Devata. These Devatas are not abstract entities detached from the geography of Hindu civilization; rather, they are tangible personalities of devotion, whose presence is experienced through this geography and the communities that have maintained these traditions over generations. The land itself becomes sacred through layers of memory, worship, pilgrimage, and devotion. Central to this sacred imagination is Bhāratamātā—Bhārata as mother, as sacred land, and as an ancient civilizational presence. A notable strength of Hindu civilization is that the sacred is encountered not solely in an abstract theological domain but throughout the land itself. The Devata resides in the bhāva of the devotee, within the temple, the tīrtha, the narrative, the festival, and the memory of the civilization. Consequently, these Devatas cannot be regarded merely as convenient metaphors for an interpreter's preferred theory. They are integral to a living civilizational world, which must be approached with respect above all else. Unique Integration An additional dimension of the Hindu conception of Devata lies in its diverse ways of divine manifestation and human encounter. Devatas may be experienced through avatāra, darśana, worship, ritual, mystical experience, or intimate relationships with devotees. This does not deny divine encounters in other religions but highlights Hindu civilization’s long coexistence of multiple forms of divine presence. The śaraṇas, Nāyaṉmārs, Āḻvārs, and saints recount deeply personal encounters. Bedara Kannappa’s complete surrender to Śiva is believed to have prompted divine manifestation through the liṅga. Śrī Rāmakṛṣṇa Paramahaṃsa’s experiences with the Divine Mother similarly illustrate Devata as tangible presence, prayer, guidance, and relationship. The Hindu perspective integrates the concept of Devata as both a personal entity and a cosmic force. For example, Śiva and Śakti can be perceived as divine figures and as significant metaphysical entities. In Hinduism, there is no requirement to choose between viewing the Devata as a personal presence or as a cosmic principle. Contemporary discussions on consciousness have examined human experiences of perceived divine or unseen voices. Julian Jaynes's contentious bicameral mind theory suggests that ancient humans might have interpreted internally generated voices as those of gods. Although this theory remains a subject of debate and cannot be considered definitive evidence of divine communication, it highlights the necessity of acknowledging the complexity of human consciousness when evaluating such experiences. Hindu civilization presents a distinctive relationship with Devatas as an ongoing engagement rather than mere remembrance. Devatas are spoken to, sung to, offered food, carried in processions, visited, celebrated through festivals, and remembered across generations. Whether understood as theological truths, mystical experiences, or psychological phenomena, their civilizational significance remains undeniable. The UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples and SDG 11.4 emphasize preserving cultural, religious, and spiritual heritage. This raises a vital question: should enduring traditions first be understood on their own terms before being reinterpreted through external frameworks? The inquiry extends beyond identifying who possesses the authority to interpret a Devata. A more profound question arises: who holds the adhikāra to discuss an ongoing relationship experienced by millions? Forms of Adhikāra To speak of adhikāra is not to deny anyone the freedom to study or critique Hinduism. But can one claim the authority to define a Devata without understanding the philosophical categories, sacred history and lived traditions through which that Devata is experienced? Modern scholarship itself recognizes positionality—that an interpreter’s location and relationship to a community can shape its representation. Likewise, śāstra, sampradāya, sādhana, upāsanā, lived practice and reverence may provide different forms of adhikāra. Freedom of speech gives everyone the right to express an opinion, but freedom to speak is not the same as adhikāra to interpret. We do not own or appoint the Devata, nor decide what the Devata must become to satisfy our theories. If Ayyappa is understood as a Naishṭhika Brahmacāri, that tradition cannot simply be dismissed for convenience.
And perhaps this is where the Hindu understanding of adhikāra takes us to its most profound conclusion. We spend our time asking who has the authority to interpret the Devata, who is qualified to speak about the Devata, and who can claim the right to define the sacred. But in the Hindu understanding, the ultimate adhikāri is the Devata Himself. We do not appoint Him. We do not define Him. We approach Him—with bhakti, with śāstra, with upāsanā and with surrender. And when the Devata chooses, He reveals Himself; when the Devata chooses, He manifests; when the Devata chooses, He speaks. The stories of our saints and devotees are filled with precisely such moments of divine revelation. Therefore, perhaps the true adhikāra is not the confidence to speak over the Devata, but the humility to listen to Him. We may interpret, we may question, we may study—but ultimately, the Devata remains the final authority. And perhaps that is the deepest lesson of a civilization that has lived with its Devatas for millennia: we do not possess the sacred; the sacred possesses us. (The writer is a Bengaluru-based author and scholar. Views personal.)

Red Card in Warsaw

Poland’s presidential election hands a narrow win to the nationalist opposition, threatening gridlock and testing Europe’s democratic resolve.

In a dramatic result, Karol Nawrocki, a nationalist historian backed by the right-wing Law and Justice party (PiS), narrowly won Poland’s presidential election. With 50.89 percent of the vote, Nawrocki edged past Rafał Trzaskowski, the liberal mayor of Warsaw and the government’s candidate, in a stunning reversal that has thrown Prime Minister Donald Tusk’s fragile reformist coalition into a defensive crouch. What should have been a consolidation of Poland’s liberal revival has become a moment of reckoning. Observers say the results could stall Tusk’s ambitious pro-European agenda and plunge the country into renewed political trench warfare.


Though largely ceremonial, the presidency in Poland carries a potent veto power. As in France’s Fifth Republic, cohabitation between president and parliament can either yield pragmatic compromise or deadlock. For the past 18 months, Tusk’s coalition had navigated a tense cohabitation with outgoing president Andrzej Duda, himself a PiS loyalist. Trzaskowski’s defeat means that Duda’s political clone will now continue to wield the veto pen, an impediment Tusk can ill afford as he tries to reverse a decade’s worth of democratic backsliding.


Nawrocki, 42, a former head of the Institute of National Remembrance, campaigned on an unabashedly nationalist and Eurosceptic platform. His past, replete with property scandals and allegations of orchestrated street fights, only seemed to burnish his appeal among conservative voters disillusioned with what they perceive as an out-of-touch liberal elite. His win was celebrated not only in PiS circles but also across the Atlantic as US President Donald Trump hailed him as a “winner” on Truth Social, highlighting Nawrocki’s ‘spiritual’ affinity to Trump.


The scale of the challenge facing Tusk is immense. His coalition came to power pledging to restore the independence of courts, liberalise abortion laws and mend ties with Brussels. With Nawrocki in the presidential palace, most of that programme risks being torpedoed by veto. Overriding a presidential veto requires a 60 percent supermajority in parliament, something Tusk does not have and is unlikely to gain.


The stakes extend well beyond Poland. As Europe grapples with war in Ukraine, tensions with China, and uncertainty in Washington, the cohesion of the European Union is being tested. Poland, long a linchpin of NATO’s eastern flank and a frontline state in the response to Russia, has been drifting into the Eurosceptic camp. Nawrocki’s election signals a likely deepening of ties with Viktor Orbán’s Hungary and other anti-Brussels regimes, further complicating EU unity on matters ranging from migration to judicial reform.


This latest phase of Poland’s political saga is the culmination of a broader historical struggle between two visions of the nation. One is cosmopolitan and liberal, aligned with Brussels and anchored in a post-Cold War consensus of European integration. The other is nationalist and revisionist, drawing from Poland’s romanticised past, wary of foreign influence, and obsessed with sovereignty. The Law and Justice party, which ruled Poland from 2015 until late 2023, embodies the latter. It used its years in power to pack the courts, politicise the media and wage a culture war over ‘traditional’ values - all in the name of defending Polish identity.


The 2023 parliamentary elections were supposed to mark a turning point. Tusk’s victory was hailed in Western capitals as the beginning of a democratic renaissance. But as this week’s presidential vote reminds us, political inertia in Poland is hard to overcome.


Poland now enters a period of uneasy cohabitation, where the president and parliament pull in opposite directions. With a hostile head of state, a bitter and organised opposition, and mounting external pressures, Tusk’s government must now govern by negotiation and not ambition.


Poland’s modern history is a pendulum swing between openness and isolation, between liberal reform and conservative backlash. Nawrocki’s win is not the end of Tusk’s experiment, but it is a blow. What remains to be seen is whether Poland, and by extension the European Union, can find a path through the resulting stalemate or whether the past, once again, will get in the way of the future.

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