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By:

Someshwar Gurumath

17 December 2024 at 9:53:55 am

We Need the Ritual, But Not the Ritualist

The purohita is often condemned as a symbol of Brahminical patriarchy until the same critics suddenly discover the uses of tradition. Purohita! Ah, here he comes, the Manuvadi, the alleged emblem of Brahminical hegemony, the agent of ritual hierarchy, the custodian of oppressive Sanskrit, the representative of “upper-caste privilege,” the last surviving relic of an allegedly fossilised social order. Give him a few more academic labels and he can probably be blamed for everything from...

We Need the Ritual, But Not the Ritualist

The purohita is often condemned as a symbol of Brahminical patriarchy until the same critics suddenly discover the uses of tradition. Purohita! Ah, here he comes, the Manuvadi, the alleged emblem of Brahminical hegemony, the agent of ritual hierarchy, the custodian of oppressive Sanskrit, the representative of “upper-caste privilege,” the last surviving relic of an allegedly fossilised social order. Give him a few more academic labels and he can probably be blamed for everything from patriarchy to global warming. He is the Brahminical gatekeeper, the custodian of ritual power, the agent of Sanskritic domination, the beneficiary of graded hierarchy, the reproducer of caste consciousness and, naturally, the fellow who has apparently been sitting in the same corner for a thousand years waiting to oppress somebody. The vocabulary is impressive. But what exactly do these grand terms mean when applied to an ordinary purohita? Tyrants with Mantras Brahminical hegemony, what a magnificent phrase! Brahminical hegemony makes him sound like the head of an invisible empire. Ritual hierarchy makes him sound like Hitler, keeping Jews in concentration camps. Sanskritic domination makes learning Sanskrit sound like the Taliban destroying the ancient Buddha statues. Gatekeeping suggests that he personally holds the keys to an enormous fortress called Hinduism. Reproduction of caste consciousness gives him the extraordinary responsibility of bombing the shelters of other communities every time he recites a ritual mantra. The vocabulary is certainly impressive; the purohita, apparently, is no longer a man performing a ritual but a one-man army of oppression. Now turn the page. Across Bharat, there are several temples where non-Brahmins serve as purohitas. They recite mantras, perform puja, conduct rituals and carry forward the traditions entrusted to them by their respective communities. So, if the mere act of reciting a mantra is supposedly an instrument of “Brahminical hegemony,” what happens when the person reciting it is not a Brahmin? Does the mantra suddenly lose its hegemonic power? Does the ritual hierarchy take a day off? Or does Sanskritic domination politely step aside and say, “Sorry, wrong person”? Perhaps the reality is a little more complicated than the vocabulary suggests. Hindu ritual traditions have never been a single, uniform system with one type of ritualist standing at its centre. Different temples, communities, sampradayas and regional traditions have had their own ritual specialists. The moment we acknowledge this diversity, the neat caricature begins to fall apart. Double Standards Our beloved former CM of Karnataka, Siddaramaiah Ji, what a man! He challenged Brahminical patriarchy, dismantled the Hindu Sanghi sect, and established AHINDA politics, becoming the great empire-maker of the AHINDA kingdom. He invited Banu Mushtaq to inaugurate Mysuru Dasara at Chamundi Hills! what a progressive leader! And now, according to posts circulating on X, this highly progressive leader invited Hindu priests to perform Gana Homa, Vastu Homa, and Griha Pravesha at his residence according to Hindu traditions. But wait, this man invited purohitas? The very Brahminical gatekeepers, custodians of ritual power, and agents of Sanskritic domination? “Oh, Siddaramaiah Ji! Perhaps he was inspired by his high-command leader Rahul Ji, who has publicly identified himself as a Kaul Brahmin. But then, one wonders, why stop there? If a purohita was invited for the Griha Pravesha, why not invite Rahul Ji or Banu Mustaq Ji as well? Udhayanidhi Stalin has made his well-known remarks on Sanātana Dharma, while his 2020 visit to the Dharmapuram Adheenam to seek blessings remains a rather curious footnote. The contrast is difficult to miss: Sanātana may be criticised in public, but a traditional Hindu institution can still be approached for blessings. And then there is U. R. Ananthamurthy. Through Samskara and much of his public intellectual life, he subjected Brahminical ritualism, orthodoxy and Hindu social practices to relentless literary and intellectual scrutiny. Yet the irony becomes particularly striking at the end. When his own final samskara had to be performed, the rituals were conducted according to the Madhva Brahmin tradition, with Vedic chants and a team of priests. Contemporary reports stated that these rites were carried out in accordance with his wishes. So, apparently, the purohita who can become the villain of a literary critique can still become rather important when one’s own final journey arrives. The Brahminical ritual world may be questioned, dissected and challenged in intellectual discourse, but when it came to his own samskara, Ananthamurthy wanted the Madhva tradition to perform the very ritual that would accompany him on his final journey. And then there is Prakash Raj. A vocal critic of Hindutva politics and someone who has repeatedly questioned what he sees as majoritarian and Brahminical politics. Yet when his wife visited Kukke Subramanya seeking the deity’s blessings, he reportedly responded that she was a devotee and that he respected her faith. Fine. But then comes the obvious question: why should her devotion deserve respect while the devotion of millions of ordinary Hindus deserves ridicule or suspicion? Is her faith somehow more respectable because she happens to be his wife? Are the emotions of ordinary Hindus who stand in the same queue, fold their hands before the same deity and place their faith in the same tradition somehow less worthy of respect? If one genuinely believes in respecting another person’s faith, perhaps that principle should not stop at the family doorstep. And then cinema adds another layer of irony. In Seethamma Vakitlo Sirimalle Chettu, Prakash Raj plays the father, and Lord Rama appears in the film’s concluding emotional sequence. So the cultural symbols that can become targets of ideological criticism can also become perfectly acceptable when they enter a temple, a family story or a commercial film. One may reasonably ask: where exactly does ideology end and professional convenience begin? Perhaps the gods have discovered that ideological boundaries become remarkably flexible when faith belongs to the family and Itihasa belongs to the box office. Sadly, this is the situation, faith is respected when it is personal, but ridiculed when it belongs to millions of ordinary Hindus. Perhaps the real test of progress is not learning to respect one’s own circle, but learning to respect the faith of those outside it too. Casual Ridicule Sadly, this is the situation we have created. People become extremely cautious when it comes to criticising certain communities, religions and religious leaders, carefully choosing every word lest it offend someone. But when the subject is the purohita, that caution mysteriously disappears. On Facebook and other social-media platforms, slang, ridicule and even abusive language are casually thrown at purohitas, as though the person performing a religious duty has somehow become an acceptable target for public humiliation. The most striking part is that this is often done in the name of being progressive. So, I have a simple question for them: if you do not believe in the system, why do you have to ridicule the person who performs it? If you do not accept the ritual, don't participate in it. If you don't believe in the mantra, don't recite it. But why turn the purohita himself into an object of abuse? For many, purohitya is more than a profession; it is a lifelong dedication to learning mantras, preserving rituals and serving a devata and community. India’s ritual traditions are equally diverse. Across villages, temples and Grama Devata traditions, numerous non-Brahmin communities have preserved and performed their own forms of worship for generations. Respect should not depend on whether the purohita is Brahmin or non-Brahmin; the responsibility itself deserves dignity. The purohita is not merely a man standing before a fire, but a human being carrying tradition and responsibility. We may question a ritual or reject a belief, but disagreement need never become humiliation. (The writer is a Bengaluru-based author and scholar. Views personal.)

Why a Caste Census Is Crucial for Maratha Reservation?

Writer: Pratik Irpatgire
Pratik Irpatgire
May 23, 2025
3 min read

Caste-based Maratha reservation exposes Maharashtra’s evolving political dynamics, resurfacing as both a legal and an electoral strategy.

Ideally, elections in a democracy should focus on development, education, agriculture, and good governance. However, in Maharashtra—especially in rural areas—local polls are often driven by caste politics rather than real developmental issues. This undermines democratic progress, social harmony, and merit-based leadership.


The leap year of 2024 was marked by major elections in Maharashtra, with both Lok Sabha and Assembly polls dominated by the volatile demand for Maratha reservations. With local body elections ahead, caste-based reservation demands are expected to intensify further.


Reservation politics have major social implications, and the Maratha quota demand is no exception in Maharashtra. For decades, it has fuelled political debates and mass movements. In 2024, ahead of elections, the State Government granted Marathas—around a third of them—a 10 per cent reservation in education and jobs. The law is now under Constitutional Court review.


Despite these efforts, Maratha leader Manoj Jarange has given the government a deadline of 6 June 2025 to fulfil key demands—chiefly, the blanket issuance of Kunbi certificates to Marathas for inclusion in the OBC category. Failing this, he has threatened an indefinite hunger strike in Mumbai starting August 2025. This development, along with potential counter-demands from OBC groups, could significantly impact the state’s political climate ahead of the upcoming local body elections.


The legal position

The legal battle over the Maratha reservation has been a rollercoaster with several twists. In 2019, the Bombay High Court upheld the SEBC Act, 2018, granting Maratha reservation. However, in 2021, the Supreme Court struck it down, ruling that it breached the 50% cap on reservations. In 2024, the Shinde-led government passed a new SEBC law granting a 10% quota to Marathas, but this too is currently under High Court scrutiny.


With local body elections approaching, the issue is expected to resurface. Notably, many Marathas still lack access to education and employment. It is therefore essential for the state government to gather the necessary data to establish the community’s social and economic backwardness, enabling reservation within the constitutional framework.


The Kunbi tag?

Kunbis, an agricultural community mainly in Maharashtra, Goa, Karnataka, and parts of Gujarat, are concentrated in Marathwada and Vidarbha. Though distinct, they are often seen as a subgroup of Marathas—while all Kunbis may be Marathas, not all Marathas are Kunbis.


The Kunbi’s identity dates back to Maharashtra’s formation. In 1979, the Second Backward Classes Commission recognised Marathas as a forward caste. A request to include Marathas, with Kunbis, on the Central Backward List was rejected after detailed hearings, as they weren’t deemed socially backward.


Class within a class

For any community to be recognised as a backward class, it must be socially and educationally disadvantaged. The Maratha community, particularly in western Maharashtra, has long held influence in politics, administration, sugar cooperatives, and educational institutions. Despite these advantages, many within the community claim to lack access to education and employment.


Conversely, Kunbis from Marathwada and Vidarbha are recognised as socially and educationally backward and are already included in the OBC list. This raises a key question: can all Marathas holding Kunbi certificates be classified as OBC, even if they enjoy a sound socio-economic and educational status?


Under Article 16(4) of the Indian Constitution, the State may make provisions for communities inadequately represented in public services. However, given the strong presence of Marathas in state services, granting blanket OBC status to all Marathas with Kunbi certificates would challenge the constitutional principle of genuine social and educational backwardness.


Is caste alone enough?

Article 15(4) of the Indian Constitution empowers the state to make special provisions for the advancement of socially and educationally backward classes. However, current demands for the Maratha reservation often hinge on economic grounds. A plain reading of Articles 15(4) and 16 shows no mention of economic backwardness as a criterion. To include 'economically backward' groups, a constitutional amendment would be required, raising complex debates on the Constitution’s basic structure.


The Supreme Court’s landmark Indira Sawhney judgement clarified that caste, not solely economic status, defines backwardness under Article 16(4). Economic criteria alone cannot justify a reservation. This distinction between 'caste' and 'class' risks reinforcing entrenched caste identities, particularly in rural Maharashtra, where caste still shapes access to education and employment.


Many landless or marginal Maratha farmers in Marathwada and Vidarbha are socially and educationally backward. The state should prioritise its SEBC inclusion, with or without Kunbi certificates, based on verifiable data.


Maratha reservation is as political as it is legal, often resurfacing during elections to sway voters rather than drive real progress. Without solid data, lasting reform is unlikely. A caste-based census in Maharashtra is vital to assess true backwardness and shape a fair policy.


(The writer is a lawyer practicing in Mumbai. View personal.)

 
 
 

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