Manu

V. Devadevan
A Prehistory of Hinduism

2
Manu V. Devadevan
A Prehistory of Hinduism

Managing Editor: Katarzyna Tempczyk

Series Editor: Ishita Banerjee-Dube

Language Editor: Wayne Smith

Open Access
Hinduism

3
ISBN: 978-3-11-051736-1
e-ISBN: 978-3-11-051737-8

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License.
For details go to http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/.

© 2016 Manu V. Devadevan

Published by De Gruyter Open Ltd, Warsaw/Berlin
Part of Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston
The book is published with open access at www.degruyter.com.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress.

Managing Editor: Katarzyna Tempczyk

Series Editor:Ishita Banerjee-Dube
Language Editor: Wayne Smith

www.degruyteropen.com

Cover illustration: © Manu V. Devadevan

4
In memory of U. R. Ananthamurthy

5
Contents

Acknowledgements
A Guide to Pronunciation of Diacritical Marks

1Introduction
2Indumauḷi’s Grief and the Making of Religious Identities
3Forests of Learning and the Invention of Religious Traditions
4Heredity, Genealogies, and the Advent of the New Monastery
5Miracles, Ethicality, and the Great Divergence
6Sainthood in Transition and the Crisis of Alienation
7Epilogue

Bibliography
List of Tables
Index

6
Acknowledgements
My parents, Kanakambika Antherjanam and Vishnu Namboodiri, were my
first teachers. From them, I learnt to persevere, and to stay detached. This
book would not have been possible without these fundamental lessons.
I was introduced to the traditions discussed in this work through the
poems and plays of the leading Kannada playwright, H.S. Shivaprakash.
Discussions with him, and with three other prominent Kannada litterateurs,
the late U.R. Ananthamurthy, the late Shantarasa, and Keshava Malagi, have
provided insights that were otherwise not available in most academic studies
on religious life in South Asia. Although their thoughts were framed by the
popular academic equations of religion, caste, class, political authority, the
ascetic ideal, and the ethical life, they brought to bear upon their
understanding, the significant questions of creativity and performance, which
presented these traditions in an altogether different light. I owe them a debt of
gratitude.
No less rewarding were my engagements with many a saint of our times.
Svami Vinaya Chaitanya, Guru Nirmalananda, Shaikh Riyaz-ud-din Chisti,
and Svami Vimala Sarasvati enriched my thoughts with their strikingly
original assessment of vedantic, Sufi and Buddhist cosmologies, and their
sympathetic appreciation of modern European thought from Descartes and
Spinoza to Wittgenstein and Bergson. I must also record my debt, although
intellectually less rewarding, to the late Fakira Channavira Svami IV and
Fakira Siddharama Svami V of the Shirahatti Matha, the late Puttaraja Gavayi
of the Viresvara Punyasrama in Gadaga, Sivalingesvara Kumarendra Svami
of the Savalagi Matha, Sivaratri Desikendra Svami of the Sutturu Matha,
Sivamurti Murugha Sarana of the Murugharajendra Matha, Chitradurga,
Bharati Tirtha Svami, the Sankaracharya of Sringeri, Visvesa Tirtha Svami of
the Pejavara Matha, Udupi, Virabhadra Channamalla Svami of the
Nidumamidi Matha, Bagepalli, and Saranabasavappa Appa of the
Saranabasavesvara Matha, Kalaburagi.
Much of what I have to say about the political economy in the pages that
follow springs from stimulating discussions I had with Y. Subbarayalu, with
whom I often agree, and K.N. Ganesh, whose positions I all too often don’t
share. For a long time, my understanding of religious traditions and practices
in Karnataka was primitive and dogmatic, due, in large part, to the influence
of counter-intuitive theories of religion propounded by a range of scholars
from James George Frazer and William James to Clifford Geertz and Talal
Asad. The late M.M. Kalburgi drew me out of the slumber of theory, threw
me into the rather-hostile terrain which this book explores, and helped me

7
acclimatize to this brave old world. Conversations with Romila Thapar,
Bhairabi Prasad Sahu, the late Ram Sharan Sharma, Uma Chakravarti, Vijaya
Ramaswamy, Rajan Gurukkal, S. Settar, M.G.S. Narayanan, B. Surendra Rao,
Kumkum Roy, and Chetan Singh, at various times, have been of considerable
help. More personal, although no-less intellectual, are my debts to Kunal
Chakrabarti, who has always been encouraging, and R. Mahalakshmi and
Shonaleeka Kaul, constant sources of inspiration. I have also benefitted from
the conversations I had with Surya Prakash Upadhyaya and Ashok Kumar M.,
colleagues at the Institute where I teach.
I have not had the privilege of meeting Sheldon Pollock, but the email
conversations which we shared have opened up for me new and stimulating
ways of engaging with premodern South Asia; nor have I had the privilege of
meeting David Shulman (although we are working together on a joint
project!). My telephone and Skype conversations with him and the exchange
of emails have enabled me to think beyond the accepted frontiers of my
discipline. I regret that I have known him only for two and a half years.
As usual, it was Kesavan Veluthat and Abhilash Malayil who had to bear
the burden of prolonged discussions on almost every theme discussed in this
book. They listened to me with patience for hours and hours every week, and
made interventions that were crucial in developing my arguments. They have
been my greatest teachers in history (although the latter is now masquerading
as my student).
Although this book was in the cards for a long time, I sat down in earnest
to work on it only after Ishita Banerjee-Dube urged me to do so on more than
one occasion. But for her, this work would have remained in cold storage for
many more years. Thank you very much, Ishita-di.
Thanks also to Katarzyna Tempczyk, Managing Editor of Theology and
Religious Studies in De Gruyter Open, who waited for the manuscript with
kind patience, when I failed to meet the deadline; and to Wayne Smith, the
Language Editor, whose efforts have enhanced the book’s readability to a
substantial degree.
The innocent questions of H.G. Rajesh have been the most difficult to
answer. I am indebted to him. I also thank him for accompanying me on a
3000-kilometre tour of Karnataka and southern Maharashtra in early August
2015, when I set out to have one last glimpse of the great landscapes and
centres of monasticism discussed in this work, before sending it to print. A
similar journey with Gil Ben-Herut in late June 2014 is unforgettable not only
for the discoveries we jointly made, but also for the stimulating discussions
that we had as we travelled from Bīdara, Basavakalyāṇa and Kalaburagi to
Kāginele, Abbalūru and Harihara.
Part of the research that went into the making of this book was carried
out with fellowships from the Department of Culture, Government of India

8
(in 2005), and the India Foundation for the Arts, Bangalore (in 2006), and a
joint research project, funded by the University Grants Commission of India
and the Israel Science Foundation (in 2014). I thank these funding agencies.
S.K. Aruni and Sangappa Karjagi of the Indian Council of Historical
Research, Southern Regional Centre, Bangalore, Vasanta Gowda of Mythic
Society Library, Bangalore, and R.F. Desai of Basava Samithi Library,
Bangalore, were always helpful, when I approached them for books, books
and more books.
M.S. Pramod and K.P. Pradip Kumar have been great sources of
encouragement for the last two decades. Manorama Tripathy, Gayatri
Deshpande, and Prabodh Kumar have stood by me in times of need. Aneish P.
Rajan, Ameet Parameswaran, Arathi P.M., Sreejith Divakaran, Ancy Bay,
Divya K., and K.D. Pradeep have been great pillars of support. The warmth of
Shail Shankar, Kavita Pandey, and Suman has been invaluable in my life as a
teacher in a sleepy town in the Himalayas. Shail and Kavita provided the
much-needed respites, and the smile of their wonderful little son, threeyear
old Cheeku (Akshat Mishra), added colours to it that I can scarcely forget.
This book was completed at 8:30 am on 30 August 2015 in
Bhubaneswar. Fifteen minutes later, at Dharwad in northwestern Karnataka,
two young men shot dead Professor M.M. Kalburgi, the greatest authority of
our times on premodern religion, language, and literature in Karnataka. It was
as if he stood by me like a guardian angel while the book was being written,
and left immediately after the work was accomplished. I weep in silence.

9
A Guide to Pronunciation of Diacritical Marks
In order to ensure uniformity, the diacritical marks used in this book follow
the Dravidian convention even for Sanskrit, Persian, Arabic, and other non-
Dravidian languages. Thus, Hāveri and kevalajñāna will be written as Hāvēri
and kēvalajñāna, Gurshāsp and Shāh as Gurśāsp and Śāh.

Vowels

a as o in mother
ā as a in park
i as i in bill
ī as ee in week
u as oo in book
ū as oo in root
ṛ as r in crystal
e as e in men
ē as a in sage
ai as y in cry
o as o in robust
ō as o in smoke
au as ou in ground

Semi-labial

ṃ as m in empire

Semi-aspirate

ḥ as ah in the exclamation, yeah, but with mild aspiration

Guttural or Velar Consonants

k as c in country
kh as kh in ask her
g as g in wagon
gh as gh in big hunch

10
ṅ as n in monk

Palatal Consonants

c as ch in charity
ch as chh in witch hunt
j as j in jungle
jh as geh in challenge him
ñ as n in bench

Retroflex or Cerebral or Lingual Consonants

as t in talk, but uttered with tongue bent upwards to touch the hard
ṭ
palate
as th in boat house, but uttered with tongue bent upwards to touch
ṭh
the hard palate
as d in rod, but uttered with tongue bent upwards to touch the hard
ḍ
palate
as dh in god head, but uttered with tongue bent upwards to touch the
ḍh
hard palate
as n in the American pronunciation of horn, but uttered with tongue
ṇ
bent upwards to touch the hard palate

Dental Consonants

t as th in three, but without aspiration

th as th in think
d as th in other
dh as theh in bathe her
n as n in native

Labial Consonants

p as p in province
ph as ph in stop him
b as b in beach
bh as bh in abhor
m as m in master

11
Liquids

y as y in young
r as t in aroma
l as l in love
v as w in wheat

Sibilants

ś as sh in ash
ṣ as sh in wash, but with tongue bent slightly upwards
s as s in secret

Aspirate

h as h in host

Dravidian liquids

as r in ring, but uttered with tongue slightly bent upwards to touch the
r
hard palate

Dravidian retroflex liquids

as l in blow, but uttered with tongue bent upwards to touch the hard
ḷ
palate
l as r in the American pronunciation of practice

12
1 Introduction
In the first half of the nineteenth century, a new religious consciousness began
to take shape in the Indian subcontinent. This was the great Hindu
consciousness. It was a phenomenon that was at once passionate and
compassionate, egalitarian and divisive, benevolent and virile. With a
checkered, sensitive history, it has pervaded religious life in India ever since,
integrating and dividing millions of Indians in its own ambivalent ways.
Historians trace the origins of the Hindu consciousness to the late eighteenth
century, when the scholarly study of Indian religious texts such as the Vēdas,
the Upaniṣads, and the Bhagavadgīta commenced under the aegis of the
Asiatic Society, established in Calcutta by Sir William Jones in 1784, but it
was not until the early decades of the nineteenth century that it was used as a
marker of identity. Raja Rammohan Roy is credited with the use of the word
‘Hinduism’ for the first time. Roy used the word in one of his writings in
1816, and again, in 1817. It came into circulation almost immediately. At
1

least one use of the word is known from 1818, and one from 1820, the latter
in the Asiatick Researches. By 1839, the word had already appeared in the
2

title of a book, Alexander Duff’s India and Indian Missions: Sketches of the
Gigantic System of Hinduism Both in Theory and Practice. Duff spoke,
3

among other things, of the theory of Hinduism, the origin of Hinduism, the
4 5

system of Hinduism, and even the territory of Hinduism. In fact, the use of
6 7

the word ‘Hindu’ as a marker of identity was already known by the time
Rammohan Roy spoke of ‘Hinduism’ as a religion. In the first volume of the
History of British India, published in 1817, James Mill used phrases such as
the Hindu religion, the Hindu system, Hindu expressions and beliefs, Hindu
8 9 10

ideas, the Hindu doctrine, the Hindu character, the Hindu law and the
11 12 13 14

Hindu society, — all expressions in which the notion of Hinduism as an

15

identity was manifestly embedded. However, for many years, the reach of the
expressions Hindu and Hinduism was limited to scholarly debates and
descriptions. Their scope as markers of identity was only feebly felt. Those
who identified themselves as practicing Hindus were few in number. As the
later half of the nineteenth century progressed, literate men and women in the
leading metropolises of India were beginning, in increasing numbers, to speak
of a religion called Hinduism to which they belonged. By the turn of the
century, it had evolved into one of the most compelling historical realities of
our times. So captivating was its impact that when the first World’s
Parliament of Religions was held in Chicago in 1893, its organizers identified
Hinduism as one of the religions to be offered a platform. By this time,
Hinduism was already being represented as the oldest religion in the world.
Among its representatives at the Parliament in Chicago was the redoubtable

13
Swami Vivekananda. On 11 September 1893, he thanked the “Sisters and
Brothers of America” for the warm and cordial welcome they had accorded,
and said: “I thank you in the name of the most ancient order of monks in the
world; I thank you in the name of the mother of religions”. On 19 16

September, he opined in his address to the Parliament that Hinduism was one
of the three religions of the world that have come down from prehistoric
times, the other two being Zoroastrianism and Judaism. Things evolved very 17

quickly in the following years. In 1906, a Hindu Sahayak Sabha was formed
in Lahore. On 4 August that year, Lala Lajpat Rai, Shadi Lal, Harkrishna Lal,
Raja Narendra Nath, Ram Saran Das, Ruchi Ram Sahini, Ram Bhaj Datta,
and Lala Hans Raj established a Hindu Sabha in the same city. In 1915, an 18

‘All India’ organization called the Sarvadeshak Hindu Mahasabha was

launched to protect the interest of the Hindus. The organization was renamed
Akhil Bharatiya Hindu Mahasabha in 1921. The trajectory of evolution was 19

rather spectacular.
How was Hinduism produced in the nineteenth century? Much ink has
been expended in addressing this question over the last three decades.
Attempts to explain Hinduism’s emergence in the late eighteenth and the
nineteenth centuries are regarded as constructionist, as they proceed from the
premise that Hinduism was constructed during the colonial period under
British influence, if not under British patronage or supervision.
Constructionism encapsulates several different positions. Some of them deny
the very existence of Hinduism. Robert E. Frykenberg, for instance, holds that
“there has never been any such thing as a single ‘Hinduism’ or any single
‘Hindu community’ for all of India”. More scathing is John Stratton
20

Hawley’s observation that Hinduism “is a notoriously illegitimate child”. It 21

is worth quoting Hawley at some length as it exemplifies this strand of

constructionism.
Hinduism—the word, and perhaps the reality too—was born in the 19th century, a notoriously illegitimate child. The
father was middle-class and British, and the mother, of course, was India. The circumstances of the conception are not
altogether clear. One heard of the “goodly habits and observances of Hindooism” in a Bengali-English grammar written
in 1829, and the Reverend William Tennant had spoken of “the Hindoo system” in a book on Indian manners and history
written at the beginning of the century. Yet it was not until the inexpensive handbook Hinduism was published by the
Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge in 1877 that the term came into general English usage.22

Other positions are more cautions; thus, Christopher John Fuller writes:
“Hinduism” as a term for that indigenous religion, became current in English in the early nineteenth century and was
coined to label an “ism” that was itself partly a product of western orientalist thought, which (mis)constructed Hinduism
on the model of occidental religions, particularly Christianity…. That linguistic development significantly reflects the
impact of modern Hindu reformist thought and the Hindus’ own search for an identifiable, unitary system of religious
belief and practice. Nonetheless, “Hinduism” does translate any premodern Indian word without serious semantic
distortion, and it still does not correspond to any concept or category that belongs to the thinking of a large proportion of
the ordinary people…. Yet that is not a decisive objection against employment of the term…. That “Hinduism” is not a
traditional, indigenous category, concept, or “cultural reality”—albeit an important negative fact—in no way nullifies an
analysis that demonstrates that Hinduism is a relatively coherent and distinctive religious system founded on common
structures of relationships.23

14
More often than not, the constructionist position has held that Hinduism was
invented by the British in the nineteenth century. J. Laine, an early
constructionist, does not share this position fully. Writes Laine:
the concepts ‘Hinduism’ and ‘religion’ were part of the intellectual baggage packed off to India with the eighteenth
century British, and with their introduction into Indian thought, Indians themselves used these terms in their efforts at
self-definition and understanding vis-à-vis the alien Englishmen. Even if the categories did not quite fit, the process of
cultural translation thus sparked by the need for self-understanding necessitated their use.24

Arguments against the British invention thesis are also made by Brian K.
Pennington, who holds that it “grants altogether too much power to
colonialism; it both mystifies and magnifies colonial means of domination
and erases Hindu agency and creativity”. Pennington also rejects the view
25

that the construction of Hinduism was carried out by reformers like Raja
Rammohan Roy. In his view, popular Hinduism was ‘manufactured’ by
initiatives that were opposed to both the colonial and the reformist projects.
The early nineteenth-century Bengali newspaper, Samācār Candrikā, is
identified as one such initiative. As far as the likes of the Samācār Candrikā
are concerned,
the phrase (“construction of Hinduism”) has broader implications, describing not only representational practices but also
the manipulations of ritual, belief, and their rationale that helped produce a cohesive Hinduism in tune with its
multiethnic, multireligious colonial environment…. Manufacturing this Hinduism proved to be an act less of promoting
particular items of doctrine or sites of authority—a strategy pursued especially by the Hindu reformer Rammohan Roy
and is religious organization the Brahmo Samaj—and more of patterning a general structure for Hindu action, social and
ritual.26

The constructionist position has not gone unchallenged. The absence of the
word Hinduism before the nineteenth century, it is argued, is no proof of the
absence of what the word might represent. In David N. Lorenzen’s
assessment, “the claim that Hinduism was invented or constructed by
European colonizers, mostly British, sometime after 1800 is false” because 27

“textual evidence against this claim is so overwhelming”. 28

Major historical changes in the economic and political institutions of India during the TurcoAfghan conquest, the Mughal
invasion, the consolidation of the Mughal polity, and the establishment of the British colonial regime undoubtedly
effected important changes in the religious traditions of India, but the rapid changes of early colonial times never had
such an overwhelming impact that they led to the construction or invention of Hinduism. Hinduism wasn’t invented
sometime after 1800, or even around the time of the establishment of the Delhi Sultanate. What did happen during the
centuries of rule by dynasties led by Muslim Sultans and Emperors was that Hindus developed a consciousness of a
shared religious identity based on the loose family resemblances of variegated beliefs and practices of Hindus, whatever
their sect, caste, chosen deity, or theological school.29

We may call this the primordialist position, although this view is by no means
oblivious to the changes brought about by historical developments of the
nineteenth and the twentieth centuries. While acknowledging the extensive
nature of the changes that Hinduism underwent during the colonial period, it
argues that Hinduism existed in India long before the arrival of the British.
Thus, according to Thomas R. Trautmann,

15
 there are a number of good reasons to be wary of saying that the British invented Hinduism. Many of the elements of the
way in which Hinduism is constructed by the British in the period of Indomania derive from Indians and Indian
sources…. The very (Persian) word Hindu for an inhabitant of India and follower of a certain religion shows that the
conception predated British contacts with India. In any case the British conception of Hinduism as the religion of the
natives of India is well along in its development in the seventeenth century, when Henry Lord wrote an account of what
we would recognize as Hinduism…. To adopt the view that the British had no conception of Hinduism before the new
Orientalism…would be to fall in with the propaganda of its own authority claims.30

A leading Indologist who shares the primordialist thesis on Hinduism is

Wendy Doniger. Her unjustly controversial work, The Hindus: An Alternative
History, which gives an account of the ‘the Hindus’, begins the story thus:
Once upon a time, about 50 million years ago, a triangular plate of land, moving fast (for a continent), broke off from
Madagascar (a large island lying off the southeastern coast of Africa) and, “adrift on the earth’s mantle,” sailed across the
Indian Ocean and smashed into the belly of Central Asia with such force that it squeezed the earth five miles up into the
skies to form the Himalayan range and fused with Central Asia to become the India subcontinent…. This prehistoric
episode will serve us simultaneously as a metaphor for the way that Hinduism through the ages constantly absorbed
immigrant people and ideas and as the first historical instance of such an actual immigration.31

The section where these words occur is entitled “Origins: Out of Africa”. If
the present writer was to attempt a history of the landmass we now call India,
it would in all likelihood commence on a similar note. Only that it would not
be called a history of the Hindus. Doniger makes her views clear in the
opening piece of an anthology of essays “on Hinduism” in premodern India.
“For the past few decades”, writes she,
scholars have raised several and strong objections to the use of any single term to denote one of the world’s major and
most ancient faiths. The name ‘Hinduism’ that we now use is of recent and European construction. But it is Eurocentric to
assume that when Europeans made the name they made the game. ‘Hinduism’ (dare I use the ‘H’ word, and may I stop
holding up my hands for mercy with quotation marks?) is, like the armadillo, part hedgehog, part tortoise. Yet there are
armadillos, and they were there before they had names. I would like to suggest some ways in which the disparate parts of
what we call Hinduism have in fact existed for centuries, cheek by jowl, in a kind of fluid suspension.32

She goes on to note:

It is true that before the British began to categorize communities strictly by religion, few people in India defined
themselves exclusively through their religious beliefs; their identities were segmented on the basis of locality, language,
caste, occupation and sect. Even today…most people in the country would define themselves by allegiances other than
their religion. There is, after all, no Hindu canon; ideas about all the major issues of faith and lifestyle—vegetarianism,
nonviolence, belief in rebirth, even caste—are subjects of debate, not dogma. And yet, if we look carefully, there are
shared ideas, practices and rituals that not only connect the diverse people generally called ‘Hindus’ today, but also link
the people who composed and lived by the Vedas in northwest India around 1500 BCE with the Hare Krishna converts
dancing in the streets of twenty-first-century New York.33

This, certainly, is not a piece of history a modern practitioner of the craft is

expected to produce. The vaidic people who lived “in northwest India around
1500 BCE” were still not familiar with the use of iron, while the group of ill-
informed dancers “in the streets of twenty-first-century New York” live at a
time when a manned mission to Mars is being worked out. The nature of the
relationship which the two share is by no means obvious. One wonders if this
is a piece of ‘connected history’ writ large? As far as tracing the antiquity of
34

Hinduism is concerned, this understanding of Hinduism is not qualitatively

different from Zaehner’s 1962 work, which the Guardian praised as “the best

16
short introduction to Hinduism in existence”. Zaehner’s Hinduism consisted
35

of the Vēdas, Brahman, mōkṣa or liberation, god, dharma, and bhakti. It was,
in other words, more of an intellectual history. Doniger’s concerns are almost
altogether different, as she engages with a wide range of topics such as gods
and goddesses, women and ogresses, violence and sacrifice, devotion and sex.
In her ‘alternative’ history, which is richer in details, sharper in analysis, and
oftentimes illuminating for its raw insights, even dogs, monkeys, and talking
animals find respectful space. This is, truly, a story coming from a gifted
chronicler of times at the height of her powers. Nevertheless, her Hinduism
and that of Zaehner share the same template of primordialism.
Most studies on Hinduism accept the fact that the term is hard to define.
There are no prophets and no books acceptable to everyone, no single
common deity worshipped by all practitioners. Yet, it is claimed that some
essential features of Hinduism can indeed be identified ‘if we look carefully’.
Exemplifying this position are these words of Gavin D. Flood:
while it might not be possible to arrive at a watertight definition of Hinduism, this does not mean that the term is empty.
There are clearly some kinds of practices, texts and beliefs which are central to the concept of being a ‘Hindu’, and there
are others which are on the edges of Hinduism…. ‘Hinduism’ is not a category in the classical sense of an essence defined
by certain properties, there are nevertheless prototypical forms of Hindu practice and belief.36

The differences between the constructionists and the primordialists have

produced a body of writings that is rich in documentation and spirited in
arguments. Yet, the cumulative light it sheds on how Hinduism was
constructed, or transformed, is by no means remarkable. This is due in large
to the fact that both groups approach Hinduism with an essentialist bent of
mind. The ‘illegitimate child’ thesis of the constructionists seems to be
suggesting that other religions like Islam and Christianity were not
constructed, or that the construction would have been legitimate had it
happened several centuries before the coming of the British (or the Muslims).
It also naively presumes that a religion like Hinduism can be constructed with
the help of a body of writings produced in the nineteenth century by the
British, or by Indian reformers, or by counter-manoeuvres like the one the
Samācār Candrikā has represented. In other words, it bestows undue
determinism and autonomy on discourse. If it was discourse that created
Hinduism, all we would need in order to undo it in our day is a
counterdiscourse. The world, unfortunately, is ontological, not discursively
constituted, as the present study will demonstrate.
The primordialist position, on the other hand, is often apologetic, and
expressed in the form of statements that are easy to falsify. Its arguments are 37

based largely on the fact that beliefs, practices, and texts identified as Hindu
in the nineteenth century existed for several centuries before the arrival of the
British. The occasional occurrence of the word Hindu, at least after the
fourteenth century, in Indian sources is also taken as evidence for the

17
existence of Hinduism before the colonial era. But the primordialists have
failed to produce evidence to the effect that a Hindu universe was imagined
before the nineteenth century in the same way as, for example, Christendom,
the Islamicate, or the respective Buddhist, Jaina, Sikh, and Jewish worlds
were imagined.
The essentialist approach of the constructionists and the primordialists
takes religion as an always-already formed entity, with an essential core of its
own. Changes caused by political, economic, and other factors are of course
acknowledged and extensively discussed. That most aspects of religion,
ranging from the institutional to the ritual, are subjected to transformation is
also accepted. Even so, the insistence that there is an identifiable set of
features inherent in a religion tends to essentialize the phenomenon.
Essentialism, per se, is by no means undesirable. In fact, the identification of
common traits, and their classification and categorization, constitutes one of
the methods through which information is processed for the purpose of
knowledge production. Essentialism is central to this mode of information
processing. It is through this imperative that the structuring of knowledge,
38

and the process of conceptualization through definitions and taxonomies,

become possible. Thus, essentialism is characteristic of at least some forms of
knowledge production. The problem with it begins to manifest when the
approach is generalized in order to essentialize everything. This is also true of
the urge to theorize that informs so much of our contemporary academic
pursuits.
Today, it is more-or-less an accepted maxim that theorizing is the only
way of producing valid knowledge about the human world. The validity of the
maxim itself has never been tested. It is assumed, for no sustainable reason,
that knowledge production is contingent upon the production of theory.
“Theories,” according to one definition, “are nets cast to catch what we call
‘the world’.” It has “promised the relief of new problems and new
39

interests.” These are sober views, more in the nature of an apology rather
40

than an argument for theory. Less temperate views exist. One of them, for
instance, tells us that a theory enables us to “decide whether or not some
newly discovered entity belongs to its domain”, and to assign domains
through arbitration when such decision-making involves a conflict. Well?
41

This means that theory is all about distinguishing an apple from an orange, an
aircraft from a submarine, a Hindu from a Muslim, a Brahmin from a Dalit.
Theory, then, is all about segregation, placing objects of inquiry in distinct,
unique, and well-demarcated domains, where there are no possibilities of
overlaps, exchanges, similarities or spillovers of any kind. Ensuring
distinction and difference in their pristine forms is what this approach to
theory is aimed at.
The urge to theorize every object of inquiry is in fact driven by the desire

18
to endow everything with distinct and unalterable attributes of its own. It is a
universal desire to particularize, to differentiate, to break up, and dismantle,
and to assign to every object its own space or domain. When brought to the
level of human beings, the message it sends out is too unambiguous to be
missed. There are no shared experiences or shared histories, no common
hopes and dreams, no common destinies either, no possibilities of realization,
transformation, forgiveness, or redemption. It affirms and celebrates a life of
self-assertion and chauvinism that nurtures indifference—if not intolerance
and hatred—for the rest of the world.
The essentialism that lurks behind the theory-bug is not free from the
effects of reification. It has its parallels in the unique-in-itself logic of the
commodity produced by the capitalist praxis of production, and is, clearly, a
classic instance of reification of the commodity logic. More dangerously, it is
also in reified harmony with the rhetoric of ethnicity, caste, religion,
separatism, hatred-nationalism, fundamentalism, and clash of civilizations,
which are all governed by the same logic of uniqueness and ontological
difference from the rest. What we see here is the infamous we-cannotlive-
together mentality in a thoroughly reified, and therefore unconscious, form. It
reminds us of Octavio Paz’s Mexican who “shuts himself off from the world:
from life and from death.” 42

We are not suggesting that difference is evil or that there are no

differences in the world. The existence of difference is what necessitates
theory in the first place. But the belief that theory alone can make knowledge
possible results in either affirming difference where they may not really exist,
or in undermining the presence or possibility of similarities, exchanges,
interfaces, and overlaps between different objects. A theory of the market, as
different from a theory of language or a theory of renunciation is
understandable. But a theory of the market, distinct from a theory of money,
commodity, trade, and inflation, can only offer us a tunnel vision of the
market.
The moral of the above discussion is plain and simple: the production of
knowledge is not at the mercy of theory. Theorizing as an academic enterprise
has its palpable limits. Its possibilities are not endless or extendable to every
object of inquiry. At the same time, these limits by no means exhaust the
possibility of generating valid knowledge about the human world. Inquiries
that do not culminate in a theory can be as fruitful, or even more meaningful,
than the ones that do. The desire to theorize everything is not found to be
springing from an examination of the possibility or otherwise of theorizing. It
is an a priori position, governed by the processes of reification in the
capitalist world of generalized commodity production. Its logic of uniqueness,
distinction, and difference is also the one that informs the marketing of cars,
cellphones, chocolates, and cigarettes on the one hand, and the passions that

19
drive the rhetoric of ethnicities, religious fundamentalism, and clash of
civilizations an the other.
Karl Marx theorized capital. Ferdinand de Saussure and Sigmund Freud
produced theories of language and the unconscious respectively, no matter
how unconvincing they were. Not all objects of inquiry enjoy similar
advantages. It is too early to say whether religion is open to theorizing or not.
It follows, then, that the question of identifying the essential core of Hinduism
—or any religion, for that matter—has not arisen.
This study is an attempt to trace a prehistory of Hinduism. The
geographical limits and the select traditions chosen for analysis presuppose
that it is a prehistory, and not the prehistory of Hinduism. Many such
prehistories are possible, which differ in varying degrees in their details. The
larger trajectory of historical development, though, is likely to be similar, if
not identical, as it is intricately entwined with the trajectory of the political
economy.
Our study proceeds from the presumption that Hinduism was imagined
and brought into existence in the course of the nineteenth century. To that
extent, it shares one of the central premises of the constructionists that
Hinduism is a new religion. Our starting point springs from the following
historical considerations.
We have already noticed that the word Hinduism, or its variants in any
Indian language, did not exist before the year 1816. Far more compelling is
the fact brought to light by an analysis of the context in which the word Hindu
figured in the sources before the nineteenth century. Let us look at two
instances of the use of the expression occurring in sources from the region
taken up for study in this work. One is from the corpus of Vijayanagara
inscriptions. Here, the king of Haṃpi is identified as ‘Hindūrāya Suratrāṇa’ or
‘Hindūrāya Suratāḷu’. The expression may be roughly translated as “a Sultān
among Hindu kings”. It is noteworthy that the word Hindu is placed in
43

juxtaposition with an Islamic term, Sultān. It is not an autonomous or

internally constituted marker of identity. In other words, the referent is
elusive. A religious identity—like all identities—is by definition, relational,
and therefore not altogether self-constituted. However, it has always been
possible for Buddhism, Jainism, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam to produce
self-descriptions without invoking the other. Such is not the case with the use
of ‘Hindu’ in the Vijayanagara inscriptions. The second instance is from the
Nandiyāgamalīle, the hagiography of the saint Koḍēkallu Basava that we will
take up for discussion in chapter 4. Hindu occurs twice in this text. Both
figure in the same scene of action, and in both cases, the word is placed in
contradistinction with Musalmāna, i.e., Muslim. Koḍēkallu Basava has set out
on a long journey, wearing a ‘Hindu’ footwear on one leg and a ‘Muslim’
footwear on the other. Towards the last leg of his journey in northern India, a

20
group of curious interlocutors ask him why he wore different footwear on
each leg. To this, the saint offers an explanation which they find convincing. 44

The point to be noted is that Hindu has no independent or self constituted

reference in this case too. It is a term that occurs as a relational expression,
vis-à-vis Muslim. What the word contained or signified is, therefore, not clear
to us in retrospect. Nowhere else in the text is Koḍēkallu Basava identified as
a Hindu.
These two instances capture in a nutshell the manner in which Hindu as a
marker of identity was deployed in the Deccan region before the nineteenth
century. The use of the term from other parts of the Indian subcontinent
follows this broad pattern. It occurs in a situation that warrants comparison
with Islam. Where this is not the case, the expression signifies India as a
geographical entity. The identification of Islam as a religion centered on the
Korān and the Prophet, and as characterized by monotheism and opposition to
idol worship, recurs constantly in the sources. This is clearly a selfdefinition
of Islam, although practitioners consistently deviated from these norms by
incorporating the worship of non-Islamic deities, polytheism, and adherence
to tomb-worship into their everyday practices. Scholarly discussions are not
duty-bound to accept such a self-definition as the essential constituent of
Islam; for scholarly engagements are professionally obliged to ask why such
self-definitions were arrived at, and not to take them at face value. Inasmuch
as such self-definitions of Hinduism were never formulated before the
nineteenth century, there arises the question why they were never attempted.
Genuine scholarship must raise this question, rather than decrying the recent
‘invention’ of Hinduism, or making apologetic statements concerning the
absence of Hinduism as a clearly-defined category before the nineteenth
century.
An attempt is made in this study to understand a set of religious
processes that unfurled between the eleventh and the nineteenth centuries in
the Deccan region, especially in the present-day Karnataka, and partly,
southern Maharashtra. The study is set against the backdrop of the changing
nature of the political economy over these centuries, and how religious
processes were constitutive of, or responded to, these changes. The
foregrounding of class relations is central to this enterprise. Although it is
now fashionable among a section of the academia to underrate the effects of
class in the Indian context, and to foreground caste in its stead, our study will
demonstrate why this view is misplaced.
It is generally presumed that religious identity is an essential component
of the human world. Thus, discussions on early Indian religion use
45

expressions like Buddhist, Jaina, vaidic or Brāhmaṇical, and so on, rather

uncritically to refer to the religion of the communities concerned. Chapter 2
of this study demonstrates why this presumption is historically unfounded. It

21
shows, through an examination of texts and inscriptions from the Deccan
region, that religious identities were created as a result of formidable
historical processes during the eleventh and the twelfth centuries. Chapter 3
discusses how a new religious orthodoxy emerged between the twelfth and
the fifteenth centuries in the Deccan region. This orthodoxy commenced in
the early twelfth century with Rāmānuja, who offered an ingenious
interpretation of vēdānta in his scheme of qualified monism (viśiṣṭādvaita).
Rāmānuja’s system was profoundly influential, and its impress was felt in the
systems developed by the pioneering dualist (dvaita) saint, Ānanda Tīrtha,
and the leading exponent of monism (advaita), Vidyāraṇya. New religious
forces in the fifteenth century, who were opposed to the tenets of advaita,
dvaita, and viśiṣṭādvaita, were nonetheless influenced by them, and produced
a rich body of exegetical works in the court of the Vijayanagara king,
Dēvarāya II. Chapter 4 explores how these fifteenth-century projects and the
changing class structure of the period paved way for innovative religious
practices in the region by way of pioneering the establishment of new
monastic institutions that were fundamentally different from the monasteries
of the preceding centuries. It also examines how the new monasteries
underwent further transformations in the course of the seventeenth and the
eighteenth centuries. Chapter 5 explores a great divergence in the practices of
renunciation that began to unfold from the late fifteenth century. It explains
how the divergence was governed by two diametrically opposite ethical
paradigms produced by the political economy, one centering on the ethic of
enterprise, and the other, on the ethic of complacency. Sainthood underwent
tremendous transformations in the eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries,
paving way for the rise of stand-alone saints, who neither built monasteries
nor were affiliated with any religious lineages. At the same time, existing
monasteries expanded their portfolio to include a set of new initiatives that
were crucial vis-à-vis programmes of the Christian missionaries. These
processes are taken up for examination in chapter 6. The study concludes with
an epilogue, which offers a prolegomenon for a fresh assessment of that great
phenomenon of the nineteenth and twentieth-century religious history, called
Hinduism.

1 Lorenzen 2006: 3.
2 Ibid.
3 Ibid., 4.
4 Duff 1840: 144.
5 Ibid., 297.
6 Ibid.
7 Ibid., 603.
8 Mill 2010: 264.
9 Ibid., 171; 470.
10 Ibid., 198.
11 Ibid., 215.

22
12 Ibid., 243.
13 Ibid., 304.
14 Ibid., 141, 156.
15 Ibid., 171, 429.
16 Paranjape 2015: 3.
17 Ibid., 5.
18 Bapu 2013: 16. Note that the All India Muslim League was formed in December 1906, four months after the establishment of
the Hindu Sabha.
19 On the Hindu Mahasabha, see Bapu 2013. Also see Gordon 1975.
20 Frykenberg 1989: 29.
21 Hawley 1991: 20.
22 Ibid, 20-21.
23 Fuller 2004: 10.
24 Laine 1983: 165.
25 Pennington 2005: 5.
26 Ibid., 140.
27 Lorenzen 2006: 2.
28 Ibid., 24.
29 Ibid., 36.
30 Trautmann 1997: 67-68.
31 These are the opening lines of chapter 2, Doniger 2009.
32 Doniger 2013: 3.
33 Ibid., 3-4.
34 The phrase ‘connected history’ is used here sarcastically and should not be mistaken for the idea made popular in South Asian
historiography by the two-volume Subrahmanyam 2004a and 2004b.
35 Zaehner 1962.
36 Flood 1996: 7.
37 One wonders if falsification is what authenticates their claims to the status of knowledge (in the Popperian sense).
38 However, such an exercise does not in itself constitute knowledge, as the early Jaina theorists of South Asia very clearly
understood.
39 Popper 2002: 37.
40 Jameson 1991: 182.
41 Balagangadhara 2005: 246.
42 Paz 1961: 64.
43 See Wagoner 1996 for a lively discussion. Also see Wagoner 2000.
44 Nandiyāgamalīle, 13.44 and 13.51.
45 See Balagangadhara 1994 for a poorly-informed critique of this position.

23
2 Indumauḷi’s Grief and the Making of Religious
Identities
Sometime towards the end of eleventh century, a devotee of Śiva pulled down
a Jaina temple (basadi) in Puligere—the present-day Lakṣmēśvara in the
Gadaga district of Karnataka—and installed an image of Sōmanātha in its
place. He was a merchant, and came from Saurāṣṭra. We do not know his
name. Kannada sources call him Ādayya, which seems to be an unlikely name
for a Saurāṣṭran merchant. The event seems to have caused great unrest in the
region, perhaps even bloodshed, if later day accounts are to be believed. It
certainly captured the Śaivite imagination, and over the centuries, it has been
recounted several times, mostly in ‘Vīraśaiva’ hagiographies. 46

Over half a century after the destruction of the basadi at Puligere, a

similar incident took place at Abbalūru—in the neighbouring Hāvēri district
—in which Jainas apparently tried to desecrate the Brahmēśvara temple.
Ēkānta Rāmayya, a devotee of Śiva, prevented the desecration by performing
a miracle. He severed his own head, and put it back again after seven days, to
the consternation of the Jainas assembled there. This was an act for which he
47

was allegedly honoured by the Kaḷacūri king, Bijjaḷa II. Like the merchant
from Saurāṣṭra, the saviour of Abbalūru has attained a pride of place in
hagiographic literature. 48

Devotees of Śiva, like Ādayya and Ēkānta Rāmayya, were known as

śaraṇas in the Kannada-speaking region. Harihara (ca. 1175), one of the
greatest ever poets of the Deccan region, was their first hagiographer. He
49

was a junior contemporary of many śaraṇas like Basava, Allama Prabhu,

Cannabasava, Akkamahādēvi, Maḍivāḷa Mācayya, and so on, who are known
for the vacanas they composed. According to Harihara, the śaraṇas were
50

part of Śiva’s entourage (gaṇa) in his abode, Kailāsa. Indumauḷi (Śiva) was
aggrieved by their sensual lapses, and sent them to earth to live a life of carnal
fulfillment. They also had a religious mission to accomplish, and the incidents
at Puligere and Abbalūru were part of this mission. But later day narratives,
mostly from the fifteenth and the sixteenth centuries, have attempted to
sanitize the lives of the śaraṇas, as the śaraṇas were believed to be too
infallible to fall prey to sensual calls. The authors of these works held that
Indumauḷi’s grief was caused by the destruction of dharma on earth, and that
it was the mission of the śaraṇas to restore the lost world. Ādayya and
51

Rāmayya were participants in this sacred mission.

Ādayya might have been the subject of legends by the time Harihara
composed a poem on him. Nearly a century separates the merchant from the
poet. Rāmayya on the other hand was closer in time to the poet. It is likely

24
that Harihara was already born when the Abbalūru incident occurred. He
might also have had access to firsthand, eyewitness accounts of it. Harihara
composed numerous hagiographic poems of varying length on the lives of the
Nāyanārs of Tamilnadu and the śaraṇas of Karnataka in the rhythmic
52

raghaṭa metres in what is called the ragaḷe genre. The ragaḷes on the
53

śaraṇas were original, while those on the Nāyanārs were based on legends
circulating in the temple networks and centres of pilgrimage. Cēkkilār’s
Periyapurāṇaṃ in Tamil (c. 1140), which contain hagiographies of the
Nāyanārs, was also based on these legends. 108 ragaḷes of Harihara are now
extant. A significant number of them have been identified by modern
scholarship as spurious. The Ādayyana Ragaḷe on Ādayya and the Ēkānta
Rāmitandeya Ragaḷe on Ēkānta Rāmayya are regarded as actual work of
Harihara’s. 54

The Puligere and Abbalūru incidents have been recounted in numerous

later day literary works in Kannada where they have assumed metonymic
proportions, exemplifying the triumph of Śaivism over Jainism. The story of
Rāmayya is also recorded in an undated inscription. While his life had
55

inspired an entire hagiographic kāvya composed in the mid-seventeenth

century by Śānta Nirañjana, a similar account of Ādayya’s journey to Puligere
was written in the late twelfth century by no-less a figure than Rāghavāṅka, a
redoubtable presence in the region’s history of letters, who served his literary
apprentice under the great Harihara, his maternal uncle. In fact, the
seventeenth-century poet, Siddhanañjēśa, composed a full-length
hagiographic kāvya on the poet: the Rāghavāṅkacarite (1672).
There is an interesting episode in Rāghavāṅka’s Sōmanāthacāritra.
Ādayya hails from a prosperous mercantile family in Saurāṣṭra. Soon after his
marriage, he leaves home on a trading tour of the south. During his sojourn at
Puligere, he meets a girl called Padmāvati. Her bewitching beauty
56

mesmerizes him. The girl is also drawn towards our hero by his charisma.
They fall in love at once, and in no time Padmāvati’s friends arrange for the
two to make love. The lovers spend many days in intense lovemaking. One
day, braced by his intention to marry Padmāvati, Ādayya asks whose daughter
she was, and of which family (kula), and of what faith (samaya) she belongs.
Padmāvati replies that she belongs to the Jaina faith (jainamata). Ādayya is
shocked by this reply. It throws him into a state of deep shame and sorrow,
for he had unwittingly fallen in love with a girl who was not only a non-
devotee (bhavi, literally ‘worldly’), but also of another faith (parasamaye). To
have a wife who professed by another faith is not merely unthinkable, but it
is, for the merchant, a very act of sin. He decides to desert Padmāvati, and
plans to cunningly sneak out of Puligere, but the girl learns of his designs.
She falls at his feet crying, “I can’t live [without you]; kill me of take me with
you.” Ādayya concedes eventually, but not before convincing her to become a

25
Śaiva. The girl agrees. She marries Ādayya after embracing Śaivism under the
counsel of the Ācārya of Hōjēśvara. Padmāvati’s parents are scandalized. Her
father Pārisaseṭṭi cries: “[N]o one in our line (anvaya) had ever become a
bhakta…. [Our] daughter has killed [and] brought disgrace on the glorious
Jaina faith (haduḷirda jinasamaya).” 57

This is an average story, the kinds of which are the staple of romances.
There is much to be desired of it, as far as shedding light on the human
condition with its perennial desires and denouements is concerned. However,
no mediocrity is forever deprived of redemption. The story of Ādayya’s
marriage to Padmāvati had the fortune of reaching the hands of Rāghavāṅka,
a giant of high-mimetic poetry and one of the greatest poets that ever wrote in
Kannada. With a forceful centering of the trope of valour, Rāghavāṅka
58

transformed the story into a tour de force of chivalrous piety. This, however,
does not alter the fact that the story, in its bear essentials, has nothing special
to offer: a man falls in love with a girl from another faith, and marries her
after converting her to his own faith. Can there be something less
intellectually rewarding?
Things cease to be as plain and simple once the historian’s gaze falls
upon it. The historian is professionally obligated to compare and contrast
things in relation to time, to ask if it was possible for a man in India to marry
a woman after converting her to his faith in, say, the fourth century, or the
sixth century, or the ninth century. The sources of information, available for
scrutiny, are not reassuring on this count. No such instances are recorded in
any South Asian texts or documents before the twelfth century—not once, to
be sure. How, then, did this become possible in the twelfth century? It is in
enabling us to ask this question that Rāghavāṅka’s account becomes
significant, as far as the purposes of the present study are concerned.
The story of Ādayya and Padmāvati brings to light a momentous
transformation in the nature of religious identities that occurred during this
period. It enables us to raise a set of fundamental questions concerning such
identities in particular, and religious practices in general. The episode
narrated above is compelling, because it presents the historian with a
drastically different picture of religious identities in the Indian subcontinent
when contrasted to earlier times. Padmāvati’s statement that she is a Jaina is
one of the earliest instances from the subcontinent’s literature where a
layperson is identified as belonging to a particular religion without being
initiated into it either as a renouncer of worldly life or as a listener/worshipper
(śrāvaka/upāsaka), but by the mere fact of being born to parents who profess
by that faith. Such identities were hitherto unknown in the subcontinent’s
history. They were altogether new in ethic, substance, and modes of
representation. As a matter of fact, the only known pre-Rāghavāṅka
references to the uninitiated lot being identified by their religion did not

26
antedate the poet by more that half a century. Literary instances include those
found in some of the ragaḷes of Harihara: the reference to Nāraṇakramita,
Saurabhaṭṭa, and Viṣṇupeddi, the Kaḷacūri king Bijjaḷa II’s ministers, as
Vaiṣṇavas in the Basavarājadēvara Ragaḷe, and a similar allusion to an
59

unnamed Cōla king in the Rēvaṇasiddhēśvarana Ragaḷe. Besides, there are

60

not more than half a dozen references to Vaiṣṇavas in epigraphic records,

none of them older than the twelfth century. A clearly discernable
61

transformation in the structure of religious identities had occurred by the early

decades of the twelfth century. The ragaḷes of Harihara and the
Periyapurāṇaṃ of Cēkkilar exemplify this transformation. In Pārisaseṭṭi’s
lament, that “our daughter has brought disgrace on our faith”, we have one of
the earliest instances of a family being identified by its religious persuasion.
A religious identity is now being inherited by a family of believers. For the
first time, Rāghavāṅka narrates the story of a man who finds himself at fault
for having fallen in love with a woman, and decides to desert her, because and
only because she belonged to a rival faith. Never was such a story told before
his time. And for the first time in the subcontinent’s history, Rāghavāṅka
speaks of conversion from one faith to another. 62

The historicity of the episode need not detain us here. Suffice it to say
that such a narrative would have appeared outlandish, if not impossible, two
centuries and a half before Rāghavāṅka’s time, when the great Paṃpa lived.
Paṃpa’s Ādipurāṇaṃ (CE 941) recounts the life-cycles (bhavas) of Ādinātha
until his accumulated karmas wither away and he attains kēvalajñāna to
become the first Jaina tīrthaṅkara. It also gives an account of the lives of
Ādinātha’s sons, Bharata and Bāhubali. The battle between the two brothers is
celebrated in Jaina lore. Bāhubali, as is well known, emerges victorious in it,
but he is overwhelmed with grief and remorse for having fought his own
brother, merely to acquire worldly fortune. He decides to renounce the world,
obtains jainadīkṣa (initiation into Jainism), and leaves for the forests. This
63

last point is of no mean consequence for our analysis. Bāhubali becomes a

Jaina by being initiated by a preceptor. He is not born a Jaina, although he is
the son of the first tīrthaṅkara. Paṃpa was rendering into Kannada a work
composed in Sanskrit a century earlier (CE 837)—the Pūrvapurāṇa of Ācārya
Jinasēna II. The Ācārya, too, did not fail to make this point. Even the son of
64

the first tīrthaṅkara had to become a Jaina. He could not be born as one. 65

An examination of the nature of religious identities before the eleventh

century points to an order of things that confirms this picture. Religious
identities were restricted to the renouncer, and often centered on the
monastery. Forsaking worldly life and becoming a renouncer after formal
initiation were prerequisites for assuming religious identities like Jaina,
Bauddha, Pāśupata, Kāḷāmukha, Mahāvrati, Ājīvika etc. Thus, these identities
turned out to be the exclusive preserve of saints and renouncers.

27
 It must be noted that many of the lay devotees, who generally patronized
the Order, were also initiated. They were, however, never identified as Jaina
or Bauddha or Mahāvrati. They were only listeners (śrāvaka) or worshippers
(upāsaka). There were also many layers of lay devotees, depending upon
66

their importance and proximity to the monasteries. Romila Thapar invokes a

beautiful metaphor to identify this layering as a “rippling out of the degrees of
support.” Not all lay devotees warranted initiation. Yet, it is remarkable that
67

text after text referred to religious identities only in the context of monks and
nuns, their monasteries, and the listeners and worshippers who patronized
them, and never to a human collective outside the monastic order. In the
Cilappadigāraṃ, for instance, it was only Kavundi, the Buddhist nun, who
bore a religious identity. No other character in the text—Kaṇṇagi, Kōvalan,
Mādhavi, Mānāygan, Mācāttuvan, Kauśikan, Mādari, the Pāṇḍya king, the
goldsmith, Ceṅguṭṭuvan, Iḷaṅgō Veṇmāḷ—assumed any such appellation.
There were no religious identities outside the monastery or beyond the world
of the wandering ascetics. Worshipping a deity was simply a part of everyday
life, not a marker of identity. Just as eating rice did not enable a person to be
identified as a rice-eater, and just as wearing cotton clothes, residing in a
thatched hut or making love never produced identities like cotton-wearer,
thatched-hut-dweller or love-maker, so also the worshipping of Śiva or Viṣṇu
or the Jina did not confer identities like Śaiva, Vaiṣṇava or Jaina. Thus, the
famous Anāthapiṇḍika, Āmrapālī, and Aśōka were only patrons of Buddhism,
not Buddhists. Those identified as Buddhist—or bhikkus, as they were called
—were essentially renouncers: Ānanda, Upāli, Mahākāśyapa, Śāriputra,
Maudgalyāyana, Aniruddha. There were, therefore, no religious conversions
either, before the eleventh century. Although historians have often written
about ‘religious conversions’ in early India—the conversion of Aśōka and
Nāgārjuna to Buddhism, and Mahēndravarman to Śaivism, for instance—
these were not conversions, as we understand them today, but initiations into
the order by a preceptor, either as an ascetic or a renouncer, or as a
listener/worshipper.
A dominant trend in contemporary South Asian Studies would argue—
although such argument has not been made specifically in the context of
religious identities— that it was ‘Enlightenment epistemology’ or ‘colonial
discourse’ that made us believe in religious identities as a given and
constituent condition of the human collective. This argument appears banal
68

in the light of the evidence on hand. The Indian subcontinent has been living
with such identities at least since the (late) eleventh century. Besides, there is
nothing in the modes of thought scandalously labeled ‘Enlightenment
epistemology’ or ‘colonial discourse’ to suggest that such positions were
nineteenth century inventions. Nonetheless, modern scholarship has, in large
measure, failed to appreciate, or at least state in categorical terms, that

28
religious identities are not an a priori constituent of human existence, and that
they were historically brought into existence through practices that were
deeply entrenched within the larger set of changes and transformations in the
political economy. In the last two hundred years, histories of religion have
only characterized religious identities as being subject to change and
transformation. There has been scant focus on the historical emergence of
such identities. Much has been written on religious ‘communities’ in history,
although what these communities consisted of in substance, and how they
differed from other forms of communities, is not clearly brought out. Most
studies presume ‘community’ to be a category obvious in itself, while some
manage with functional definitions that are not valid in other historical
situations, and many a time ambiguous even within the milieu under
examination.
The above discussion leads us to two obvious questions: first, in what
ways were the practices of renunciation adopted by those who assumed
religious identities through initiation into a chosen Order different from the
everyday practice of worshipping a deity?; second, what in the eleventh and
the twelfth centuries led to the historical emergence of religious identities
based on birth and familial affiliations, and not on practices of renunciation,
of which the Padmāvati of the Sōmanāthacāritra is an early representative? In
other words, how were religious identities configured before the great
transformation of the eleventh and the twelfth centuries? Why and how did
the great transformation occur, altering these configurations? What follows in
this chapter is an attempt to address these two questions.
At least four distinct expressions were used in premodern India to
designate religion: samaya, darśana, mata, and dharma. These call for
explanation, as they shed invaluable light on the question of what the
practices of renunciation before the eleventh century actually involved.
Whatever compelled men and women to forsake mundane lives and take
to renunciation may be a difficult question to answer in the present status of
knowledge. One of the pedestrian notions, widely held but never
systematically investigated, is that they were driven by a quest for truth.
Truth, in this understanding, is not reality or facticity, but the supreme,
transcendental determinant of the universe. At least two authorities in recent
times, Wilfred Cantwell Smith and Clifford Geertz, have tried to reaffirm a
place for truth in the sphere of religion. Smith distinguishes between personal
and impersonal truths, and tries to make a case for the former, arguing that the
latter “handles the natural world well, but comprehends the human world
ineptly”. He goes on to write:
Pilate’s unanswered question, What is Truth? whether expressed or latent, haunts every civilisation, and finally, I guess,
every man, woman and child. We may hope that our society will not cease to wrestle with it earnestly and nobly. In such
wrestling, even if we be maimed by it, there may surely be a blessing.69

29
While Smith’s wrestling session differs from the perspective of Mircea Eliade
in its approach to religion on many counts, it shares with the latter the
emphasis on subjective experiences and their inaccessibility to empirical
research. This, then, becomes an easy ground from which claims about truth
and its relationship with subjective experiences can be made, and arguments
concerning the personal and the inner world of emotions put forward, without
finding it necessary to critically explore them. In a very different vein, Geertz
writes: 70

A man can indeed be said to be “religious” about golf, but not merely if he pursues it with passion and plays it on
Sundays: he must also see it as symbolic of some transcendent truths (emphasis added).

Notions like these are Semitic in origin. That God and the world He created
are characterized by transcendental truths that must be known is an idea that
springs from the foundations upon which Semitic religious traditions are
generally based. In saying so, we are certainly not proposing to identify an
entity called Semiticism or essentialize it by disregarding complexities and
diversities, for the Semitic traditions also produced the Sūfis and the Gnostic
authors of what survives in the form of the Nāg Hammādi library. Our
purpose, rather, is to argue that the notion of truth is not an essential
component of religion. Truth as a transcendental category was rarely invoked
in early Indian thought, or in practices of asceticism and renunciation. The 71

word for truth, satya, had different meanings in different contexts. In the four
noble truths (chattari ariya sacchani) of the Buddha, the word signified
reality, or a fact about everyday life, that the world is full of suffering, that
suffering is caused by (carnal) desire, that suffering can be overcome by
overcoming (carnal) desire, and that it was possible to accomplish this
through an eight-fold path. Truth as facticity also informed the ontologies of
Nāgārjuna and Śaṅkara, as suggested in the latter’s case by the distinction
made between vyāvahārika sat and pāramārtthika sat. But in satyaṃ vada
(speak the truth), the well-known maxim from the Taittirīya Upaniṣad of the
Yajurvēda, it was employed as an ethical principle in opposition to asatya, lie.
Here, the word revolved around the idea of righteousness. Elsewhere, as in
the story of Hariścandra, and in the famous declaration of the Chāndōgya
Upaniṣad that truth alone triumphs (satyamēva jayatē), it was used in the
sense of adherence to a normative order that was considered moral, even if at
times it violated larger ethical concerns. In the Muṇḍakōpaniṣad, truth (tad
ētat satyaṃ) was seen as the possibility of realizing Brahman and in turn
becoming Brahman oneself. Satya assumed sublime connotations in some
traditions like those of the Nāthas, the Viraktas, and the Ārūḍhas. Here, it
often referred to that which was not affected by the past, the present, and the
future. But, it was not an appellation for permanence. It only meant that the
thing being referred to as satya was not affected by the vagaries of time. It

30
could, however, be brought into existence, sustained or destroyed by forces
other than time. That which was permanent was at times juxtaposed with
satya. It was called nitya. These meanings do not qualify to be regarded as
signifying a transcendental truth free from or beyond the grasp of ethical,
moral, creative, or logical reasoning and imagination. We, then, need to look
elsewhere to find an answer.
The problem we are trying to grapple with has occupied some of the
finest minds of our times. A satisfactory consensus is yet to emerge. Ours is 72

an attempt to offer an empirically verifiable description, drawing upon the

proposition that asceticism, renunciation, and religious practices need not be
—and cannot always be—understood in terms of truth. We need a cause that
is more compelling, more consistent, and more convincing, one that does not
yield to the rhetoric of subjective experiences and their inaccessibility. Is
suffering one such cause? Perhaps yes. Our emphasis, though, is on perhaps,
not on yes. In the current state of knowledge, we cannot be firm like Friedrich
Nietzsche, who in one of his later writings observed, rather emphatically:
“You have no feeling for the fact that prophetic human beings are afflicted
with a great deal of suffering; you merely suppose that they have been granted
a beautiful “gift,” and you would even like to have it yourself.” 73

A survey of the literature of various early religious traditions from the

subcontinent tells us that the question of suffering was one of their major
preoccupations. The first of the four noble truths attributed to the Buddha held
that the world was full of suffering, caused by (carnal) desire. The
Kathōpaniṣad of the Yajurvēda also declared that those who chose the course
of desire were destined to be drowned in it, and that the destruction of desire
74

alone could transform mortals (martya) into immortals (amṛta). It was 75

through knowledge that the Kaṭhōpaniṣad sought to overcome the world of

desire. The Muṇḍakōpaniṣad also emphasized knowledge (brahmavidyā) as
the means to overcome suffering, although, unlike the Kaṭhōpaniṣad or the
Buddhist thought, it did not seek to establish a relationship between suffering
and desire. In the Upaniṣadic scheme of things, the pursuit of knowledge was
intimately associated with the resolve to transcend suffering. The nature of
suffering formed one of the major preoccupations of Suhṛllēkhā, an
anonymous Buddhist text. Īśvarakṛṣṇa’s Sāṅkhyākārikā began by stating that
76

the assault of the three forms of suffering generates curiosity to learn how it
can be mitigated. The question of suffering and the means of overcoming it
77

were among the central concerns of the Jaina writer Kundakunda too. In his
Pravacanasāra, he asked: “Of what avail is [the distinction between] the
auspicious and inauspicious activities of the soul, if humans, dwellers of hell,
sub-humans and gods suffer miseries attendant on the body?” “A saint,”
78

Kundakunda said, “should, to the extent possible, aid his fellow saint
suffering from disease, hunger, thirst or exhaustion.” Time and again,
79

31
religious traditions in India took recourse to metaphors like ocean (sāgara)
and shackles (bandhana) to describe worldly existence marked by suffering
(bhava or saṃsāra). There is enough evidence to argue on the lines of Jeffery
Moussaieff Masson that the ideational justification behind the emergence of
renunciation in India was the desire to overcome pain. 80

Renunciation or asceticism was the means through which these traditions

sought to overcome suffering. Traditions differed from one another on the
question of what caused suffering. They also differed on the ways and means
through which it could be overcome. There was only one ideal, though, which
was unanimously accepted. It was believed that as long as one was in a state
of worldly awareness, i.e., a state of mind for carrying out the mundane
chores of life, one was condemned to live a life of suffering. The only way
out was to attain a state of awareness that offered an altered vision of the
world and one’s relationship to it. Such a vision had to be conceptualized in
advance. The practices of renunciation were meant to transform the mind
from its present state of awareness to the altered state. This shift was gradual
and evenly configured, and took a long period to accomplish. This movement
of the mind from one state of awareness to another was called samaya (sam +
aya, even/measured movement) and the altered image of the world obtained
at the end of long periods of practice was darśana (vision). Practices of
renunciation, aimed at attaining the chosen vision, were perhaps as old as the
Vēdas. Yāska declared in his Nirukta that one became a sage by virtue of
having attained the vision. The views held by different traditions concerning
81

the viability of different practices and the ethicality of the ultimate vision and
the practices leading to it, often resulted in polemical debates among their
proponents. These views were called mata (opinion). The logical stand
arrived at in the course of these polemics was a description and vindication of
the chosen vision. Mata was, therefore, the validation and justification of the
vision. And the word dharma—which of course had various other meanings
in different mundane contexts—referred to unswerving adherence to the
chosen samaya and darśana. The state of awareness considered the ultimate
goal differed from tradition to tradition and depended upon the ways in which
vision (darśana) and the practice leading to it were conceptualized. The
Buddhists referred to this state as nirvāṇa. The Jainas called it kēvalajñāna.
The Vīraśaivas conceptualized a scheme of six stages of progression
(ṣaṭsthalas) and the attainment of the sixth stage (aikyasthala) as their ideal.
The goal set by other traditions included transcending the six circles
(ṣaṭcakra) visualized as existing in the spinal column of the body, and
reaching the seventh circle—sahasrāra—beyond the body. Also imagined
was the attainment of states like vajrakāya, mōkṣa, mukti, jīvanmukti etc. The
practices prescribed for reaching these goals ranged from moderate ones like
the meditation-centered middle-path of the Hīnayāna (Thēravāda) Buddhists,

32
the knowledge-centered approach of the Advaitis, and the devotional
capitulation and trance-driven inaction of some schools of the Vaiṣṇavas, to
extreme forms like the pañca-makāra-siddhi of the Kāpālikas (indulging in
the five Ms: matsya, māṃsa, madya, mudra, and maithuna, i.e. fish, meat,
alcohol, money, and sexual orgy), consumption of urine and human excreta
by the Kaulas, and human sacrifice and partaking of human flesh by the
Aghōris. In the Jaina scheme of things, the ultimate goal—kēvalajñāna—was
not possible as long as the soul resided in the body. The soul had to find
release by ‘wiping out’ the body (sallēkhana). Theories of inviting and
embracing death were, therefore, of special interest to the Jainas. 82

Modern scholarship has generally referred to these states as freedom or

salvation. Particularly striking is the reference to the Buddhist state of nirvāṇa
as “Enlightenment.” That the Buddha attained Enlightenment is one of the
most uncritically accepted facts, repeated for over two centuries as if by rote. 83

What does it mean to say that a human being attained Enlightenment is a

question scholars of our times have shied away from asking. The
Enlightenment theory is a direct outcome of the relationship between religion
and truth, which modern scholarship has tried to forge. The word
Enlightenment, as used in scholarly discussions on Buddhism, presumes the
existence of a transcendental truth and that through nirvāṇa, the Buddha
gained privileged and perpetual access to it. But once the presumption that
truth as a transcendental ideal is a necessary component of religion is called
into question, the Enlightenment theory has to make way for an understanding
that is richer and grounded in verifiable forms of certitude.
We must pause here to clarify that the mitigation of suffering, which
preoccupies so much of the religious literature from the subcontinent, was an
ideal that had found wide acceptance in the contemporary milieu. However, it
does not explain why monks and nuns chose to organize themselves into
monasteries and Orders, and institutionalize the practice of renunciation. 84

“Fundamental to renunciation,” notes Alex Mckay in what is a matter-of-fact

statement, “is the need for economic support, without which a renunciate
lifestyle cannot be sustained”. A great measure of reciprocity between the
85

renouncer and the laity was therefore essential for the institutionalization of
renunciation. We have said little in the above discussion on the structure,
meaning, and complexity of these relationships of reciprocity, or on their
historical implications. Neither have we dwelt upon the political, economic,
and other secular functions of the renouncer. These were, historically
speaking, more important for contemporary religious life than the ideal of
mitigating suffering. 86

Back to the story. Before the eleventh century, religious identities

remained the preserve of renouncers or ascetics who chose the attainment of
altered states of vision—nirvāṇa, kēvalajñāna, vajrakāya, jīvanmukti—as

33
their goal. We have suggested that they were driven by the proverbial desire
to transcend desire, the hotbed of all sufferings. The old practices of initiation
did not come to an end, though. They have continued well into our times.
Hundreds of men and women continue to be initiated as practitioners year
after year. While the practices have continued, the identities they conferred,
and the meanings they generated, underwent a major transformation in the
eleventh and the twelfth centuries. How did this transformation take place?
One of the most significant changes in religious practices that occurred
towards the turn of the millennium was the inundation of the agrarian
landscape with temples, and the new forms of worship they brought into
existence. Temple-building was known in the region for over five hundred
years before the eleventh century. The seventh century temple complexes of
the Caḷukyas at Bādāmi, Aihoḷe, and Paṭṭadakallu, and the Kailāsanātha
temple of the Rāṣṭrakūṭas at Ellōra, have attracted great attention in our times,
especially due to their grand architecture. The Pallava temples of
Mahābalipuraṃ and Kāñcīpuraṃ are also well known. A good number of
these temples were rock-cut complexes meant for housing the renouncers and
their Order. The four caves carved out on the Bādāmi hill, and the
Rāvaḷaphaḍi and Jaina caves in Aihoḷe, are instances. Structural temples were
also built in large numbers, and were beginning to replace the construction of
rock-cut temples. Nevertheless, temple-building and temple-centered worship
do not seem to have been well-entrenched local practices until the end of the
tenth century, when temples began to dot the Deccan country in great and
hitherto unprecedented numbers. Town after town, and village after village,
took to frenzied temple-building. Temples were established in hundreds of
places by rulers and chiefs, merchants, peasant proprietors, and other elites.
The practice of worshipping a deity would henceforth gravitate towards this
new institution.
The feverish pace at which temples were built during this period can
hardly be overstated. Most basadis in Śravaṇabeḷagoḷa, the foremost Jaina
centre of South India, belong to the twelfth century. The Candragupta Basadi
on the Candragiri hill was perhaps built some time around the year 900. The
Cāvuṇḍarāya Basadi was built in the early decades of the eleventh century,
and the Nēminātha Basadi on its rooftop, shortly after. The remaining eleven
basadis on Candragiri appeared in the twelfth century: the Śāntinātha Basadi,
the Supārśvanātha Basadi, the Candraprabhā Basadi, the Kattale Basadi, the
Śāsana Basadi, the Pārśvanātha Basadi, the Majjigaṇṇana Basadi, the
Eraḍukaṭṭe Basadi, the Savatigandhavāraṇa Basadi, the Śāntīśvara Basadi, and
the Tērina Basadi. Of the six basadis in the town, five—the Nakhara Jinālaya,
the Bhaṇḍāri Basadi, the Dānaśāle Basadi, the Siddhānta Basadi, and the
Akkana Basadi—were built in the twelfth century and one—the Māṅgāyi
Basadi—in the fourteenth. There were no basadis in the town before the

34
twelfth century. 87

Bhālki in the Bīdara district, which is the northern-most tālūk of the

present-day state of Karnataka, produced its first temple in the late tenth
century, but between 1000 and 1200 CE, twelve temples came to be built in
the tālūk (Table 1):

Table 1. Temples built in the Bhālki tālūk of Bīdara district between 1000
and 1200 CE 88

Sl. No. Temple Place

1. the Traipuruṣa temple Bhālki
2. the Kapilēśvara temple Bhālki
3. the Uttarēśvara temple Bhālki
4. the Bhalluṅkēśvara temple Bhālki
5. the Vīradēva temple Bhātaṃbra
6. the Uttarēśvara temple Gōraciñcọḷi
7. the Bhōgēśvara temple Candāpura
8. the Kēśava temple Koṭagyāla
9. the Dhōrēśvara temple Iñcūru
10. xx (name lost) Lañjavāḍa
11. Jaina basadi Halasi
12. Jaina basadi Dhannūru

Meanwhile, the adjoining Basavakalyāṇa tālūk, where there were no temples

till the end of tenth century, produced thirty-three temples in the two hundred
years that followed (Table 2).
These figures from the northern end of Karnataka are comparable with
the ones coming from the south. The earliest known temples of the southern-
most tālūk, Guṇḍlupēṭe in the Cāmarājanagara district, belong to the late tenth
century: the Sōmēśvara temple of Bendavāḍi (now Haḷḷada Mādahaḷḷi) and an
image of Sūrya now found at the Cauḍēśvari temple in Kelasūru. In the
eleventh and the twelfth centuries, nine new temples appeared in the tālūk
(Table 3).
A temple appeared in the mid eighth century at Homma in the
neighbouring Cāmarājanagara tālūk during the reign of the Gaṅga king
Śrīpuruṣa, while what is today the Rāmēśvara temple was built at Heggoṭhāra
in the ninth century by Cāvuṇḍabbe, the daughter of Jōgabbe, a concubine of
one of Śrīpuruṣa’s successors. The late tenth century witnessed the
construction of three more temples in the taluk: the Hammēśvara temple at
Āladūru, the Bhujaṅgēśvara temple at Bāgaḷi, and the Aikēśvara temple at
Hoṅganūru. But in the two centuries that followed, fifteen temples came up in

35
the tālūk (Table 4).

Table 2. Temples built in the Basavakalyāṇa tālūk of Bīdara district between

1000 and 1200 CE 89

Sl. No. Temple Place

1. the Brahmadēva temple Basavakalyāṇa
2. the Malayavati temple Basavakalyāṇa
3. the Bhīmēśvara temple Basavakalyāṇa
4. the Svayambhu Hāṭakēśvara temple Basavakalyāṇa
5. the Mahādēva temple Basavakalyāṇa
6. the Koppēśvara temple Basavakalyāṇa
7. the Vināyaka temple Basavakalyāṇa
8. the Kēśava temple Basavakalyāṇa
9. the Sōmēśvara temple Basavakalyāṇa
10. the Nārāyaṇa temple Basavakalyāṇa
11. a second Nārāyaṇa temple Basavakalyāṇa
12. the Candraprabha Jinālaya Basavakalyāṇa
13. xx (name lost) Basavakalyāṇa
14. the Mahādēva temple Nārāyaṇapura
15. the Kēśava temple Nārāyaṇapura
16. the Mūlasthāna Dévarasa temple Nārāyaṇapura
17. the Kōdaṇḍa temple, Nārāyaṇapura
18. a goddess temple (name lost), Nārāyaṇapura
19. temple in the Harimūla Gāhaṇṇa street Nārāyaṇapura
20. the Kuṃbhēśvara temple Gōrṭā
21. the Nagarēśvara temple Gōrṭā
22. the Mallēśvara temple Gōrṭā
23. the Rudrēśvara temple Gōrṭā
24. a second Rudrēśvara temple Gōrṭā
25. Jaina temple of Padmāvati Gōrṭā
26. the Gōhilēśvara temple Gaura
27. the Kēśavadēva temple Gaura
28. the Rāmēśvara temple Mucaḷaṃba
29. the Sōmēśvara temple Mōrkhaṇḍi
30. the Tripurāntaka temple Tripurāntaka
31. the Paṃpēśvara temple Haḷḷi

36
32. xx (name lost) Sōḷadābaka
33. a Jaina basadi (name lost) Ujjaḷaṃ

Table 3. Temples built in the Guṇḍlupēṭe tālūk of Cāmarājanagara district

between 1000 and 1200 CE 90

Sl. No. Temple Place

1. the Rāmanātha temple Śītaḷavāri (now Beḷacalavāḍi)
2. the Vāsudēva temple Niṭre
3. the Mādhava temple Haḷḷada Mādahaḷḷi
4. the Vīranārāyaṇa temple Kallahaḷḷi
5. the Sōmēśvara temple Kandāgāla
6. xx (name lost) Saṃpigepura
7. a Jaina basadi (names lost) Saṃpigepura
8. the Biṭṭi Jinālaya Tuppūru
9. the Sarvalōkāśraya Basadi Kelasūru

Table 4. Temples built in the Cāmarājanagara tālūk of the same district

between 1000 and 1200 CE 91

Sl. No. Temple Place

1. the Trikūṭa (now Pārśvanātha) Basadi Cāmarājanagara
2. the Rāmēśvara (now Śaṃbhuliṅgēśvara) temple Ādalūru
3. the Mallikārjuna temple Marahaḷḷi
4. the Mūlasthāna temple Maṅgala
5. the Mūlasthāna temple Siṅganapura
6. the Mūlasthāna temple Homma
7. the Mūlasthāna temple Haḷē Ālūru
8. the Arkēśvara temple Haḷē Ālūru
9. the Kēśavēśvara (now Janārdana Svāmi) temple Haraḷukōṭe
10. the Sōmēśvara temple Tammaḍihaḷḷi
11. Pārśvanātha Basadi Maleyūru
12. the Vāsudēva (now Balavāsudēva) temple Kulagāṇa
13. a Caityālaya (name lost) Kallipusūru
14. xx (name lost) Puṇajūru
15. xx (name lost) Dēvaḷāpura

The inscription, which mentions the Trikūṭa Basadi of Cāmarājanagara, also

alludes to many other basadis at Arakōttara without naming any.

37
 The spectrum found at the northern and southern ends of Karnataka was
not unique, but representative of what was occurring in the rest of the region.
Two tālūks each from the Rāyacūru district in the Kṛṣṇa valley and the
Maṇḍya district in the Kāvēri valley may be examined as representative
samples from northern and southern Karnataka respectively.
The Dēvadurga tālūk of the Rāyacūru district, which had no temples
before the eleventh century, came up with thirty-five temples between 1000
and 1200 (Table 5). Twenty-seven of them were constructed at Gabbūru
alone.

Table 5. Temples built in the Dēvadurga tālūk of Rāyacūru district between

1000 and 1200 CE 92

Sl. No. Temple Place

1. the Mahādēva temple Gabbūru
2. the Mēḷēśvara (now Mēl Śaṅkara) temple Gabbūru
3. the Tripurāntaka temple Gabbūru
4. the Gavarēśvara temple Gabbūru
5. the Kēśava (now Veṅkaṭēśvara) temple Gabbūru
6. the Hariharēśvara temple Gabbūru
7. the Siddha Sōmanātha temple Gabbūru
8. the Śaṅkara temple Gabbūru
9. the Prasanna Kēśava temple Gabbūru
10. the Prasanna Rājēśvara temple Gabbūru
11. the Rāmēśvara temple Gabbūru
12. the Nāgabhūṣaṇa temple Gabbūru
13. the Brahma (or Nagara) Jinālaya Gabbūru
14. the Gojjēśvara temple Gabbūru
15. the Rāmanātha temple Gabbūru
16. the Vināyaka temple Gabbūru
17. the Viṣṇu temple Gabbūru
18. the Gaṇapati temple Gabbūru
19. the Sarasvatī temple Gabbūru
20. the Sūrya temple Gabbūru
21. the Umā Mahēśvara temple Gabbūru
22. the Sōmēśvara temple Gabbūru
23. the Jēḍēśvara temple Gabbūru
24. the Mallikārjuna temple Gabbūru

38
25. the Jinēśvara temple Gabbūru
26. the Kalidēvasvāmi temple Gabbūru
27. xx (name lost) Gabbūru
28. the Īśvara temple Hirērāyakuṃpi
29. the Bhōgēśvara temple Bāgūru
30. the Kapālēśvara temple Vīragōṭa
31. the Sōmēśvara temple Gaṇajāli
32. the Mallikārjuna temple Nilavañji
33. the Toreya Śaṅkaradēva temple Nilavañji
34. the Mallikārjuna temple Candanakēri
35. the Hemmēśvara temple Candanakēri

Temple-building was also widespread in the eleventh and the twelfth

centuries in the neighbouring Sindhanūru tālūk too. We learn from an
inscription at Diddigi that there were seven temples in and around the village
in the early tenth century: the Viṣṇu, the Subrahmaṇya, the Rāmēśvara, the
Sōmēśvara, the Bikēśvara, the Baḷari Mārakabbe, and the Baḷari Piriyakabbe.
But in the eleventh and the twelfth centuries, twenty-four new temples rose in
the tālūk (Table 6):

Table 6. Temples built in the Sindhanūru taluk of Rāyacūru district between

1000 and 1200 CE 93

Sl. No. Temple Place

1. the Karṇēśvara temple Rauḍakunde
2. the Kālēśvara (now Kālakālēśvara) temple Sālagunde
3. the Nāgēśvara temple Sālagunde
4. the Kēśava (now Murahari) temple Mukkundi
5. the Bācēśvara temple Mukkundi
6. the Viṣṇu temple Mukkundi
7. the Kalidēva temple Mukkundi
8. the Kapālēśvara (now Pāpanāśēśvara) temple Mukkundi
9. xx (name lost) Mukkundi
10. xx (name lost) 94
Mukkundi
11. the Bīcēśvara temple Jālihāḷu
12. the Svyaṃbhu Kalidēva (now Kallēśvara) temple Hirēberige
13. the Huliyamēśvara temple Dēvaraguḍi
14. the Viṣṇudēva temple Koḷabāḷu

39
15. the Agastyadēva temple Baḷagānūru
16. the Amṛtaliṅga temple Baḷagānūru
17. the Nakarēśvara temple Baḷagānūru
18. the Manōhara temple Baḷagānūru
19. the Cannakēśava temple Baḷagānūru
20. the Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa temple Baḷagānūru
21. the Mūlasthāna temple Oḷabaḷḷāri
22. the Bālabhāskara temple Oḷabaḷḷāri
23. the Kēsaradēva temple Oḷabaḷḷāri
24. xx (name lost) Māḍaśiravāra

The figures from the Maṇḍya district tell a similar story. In the year 776,
Kuṇḍacci, the daughter of Māruvarma of the Sagara family, obtained a
generous grant from Śrīpuruṣa through a request made by her husband
Paramagūḷa, and constructed the Lōkatilaka Basadi at Śrīpura. The town was
perhaps named after the king. This was the first temple to come up in the
Nāgamaṅgala tālūk of the Maṇḍya district. Another record from the early
tenth century mentions a grant made for the maintenance of a tank as part of a
dēvabhōga, which suggests that there stood a temple near the tank during this
period. These were the only two temples known from the tālūk till the end of
the tenth century. But between 1000 and 1200, as many as twenty-one
temples appeared in the tālūk (Table 7). Besides, a Śivaliṅga was set up at
Mūḍigere in the twelfth century, and named as Garañjēśvara Liṅga.

Table 7. Temples built in the Nāgamaṅgala tālūk of Maṇḍya district between

1000 and 1200 CE 95

Sl. No. Temple Place

1. the Saumyakēśava temple Nāgamaṅgala
2. the Bhuvanēśvari temple Nāgamaṅgala
3. the Pārśvanātha Basadi Kaṃbadahaḷḷi
4. the Śāntīśvara Basadi Kaṃbadahaḷḷi
5. the Mallikārjuna (now Īśvara) temple Lālanakere
6. the Madhukēśvara (now Mādēśvara) temple Lālanakere
7. the Pārśvanātha Basadi Yallādahaḷḷi
8. Jaina basadi (name lost) Daḍaga
9. Another Jaina basadi (name lost) Daḍaga
10. Another Jaina basadi (name lost) Daḍaga
11. Another Jaina basadi (name lost) Daḍaga

40
12. Another Jaina basadi (name lost) Daḍaga
13. Another Jaina basadi (name lost) Aḷīsandra
14. Another Jaina basadi (name lost) Cākēyanahaḷḷi
15. Another Jaina basadi (name lost) Elēkoppa
16. the Pañcakēśvara temple Beḷḷūru
17. the Maṇḍalēśvara (now Gaurēśvara) temple Beḷḷūru
18. the Hēmēśvara (now Īśvara) temple Doḍḍa
19. the Kalidēva (now Kallēśvara) temple Jaṭaka Kasalagere
20. the Pārśvanātha (also called Ekkōṭi) Basadi Kasalagere
21. the Śrīkaraṇa Jinālaya Bōgādi

To the southwest of the Nāgamaṅgala tālūk is the Kṛṣṇarājapēṭe tālūk.

Records from here support our proposition. While no temples are known to
have come up in the tālūk during or before the tenth century, twenty-one
temples appeared in the eleventh and the twelfth centuries (Table 8):

Table 8. Temples built in the Kṛṣṇarājapēṭe tālūk of Maṇḍya district between

1000 and 1200 CE 96

Sl.
Temple Place
No.
1. the Trikūṭa Jinālaya Hosahoḷalu
2. the Koṅgaḷēśvara (now Koṅkaṇēśvara) temple Akkihebbāḷu
3. the Brahmēśvara temple Kikkēri
4. the Mallēśvara temple Kikkēri
5. the Pañcaliṅgēśvara temple Gōvindanahaḷḷi
6. the Hoysaḷēśvara (now Īśvara) temple Teṅginaghaṭṭa
7. xx (name lost) Teṅginaghaṭṭa
8. the Aṅkakāradēva temple Toṇaci
9. the Nagarīśvara temple Toṇaci
10. the Karidēva temple Toṇaci
11. the Mariyadēva temple Toṇaci
12. the Mahādēva (now Basavēśvara) temple Toṇaci
13. the Bhōgēśvara temple Sāsalu
14. the Mahādēva (Mallēśvara) temple Nāgaraghaṭṭa
15. the Mākēśvara temple Hubbanahaḷḷi
16. the Karmaṭēśvara (now Īśvara) temple Māḷagūru
17. the Svayaṃbhu Aṅkakāradēva (now Basava) temple Hirēkaḷale

41
18. the Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa temple Sindhaghaṭṭa
19. the Saṅgamēśvara temple Sindhaghaṭṭa
20. the Jannēśvara temple Sindhaghaṭṭa
the Hoysaḷa Jinālaya (now Jinnēdēvara Basadi) at
21. Basti
Basti.

Karnataka has more than two hundred taluks. We have examined only eight
of them, which alone have yielded information about 170 temples built during
the eleventh and the twelfth centuries. These statistics are telling in their own
right. They cry out for explanation. But no attempts have been made to
97

explain them yet. Studies on temples have almost exclusively been directed
towards grand and sprawling temple complexes, their focus being primarily
on the structure and semantics of architecture, its relationship to the sacred,
and questions concerning polity, the economy, and at times, gender. The
changes effected by the mushrooming of small and medium-sized temples
across the lengths and labyrinths of the region in the eleventh and the twelfth
centuries have not attracted the attention it richly deserves. 98

If our statistics are to be believed, the emergence of temple-centered

religious practices was the single most important religious phenomenon to
have swept over Karnataka in the eleventh and the twelfth centuries. Forms of
worship also evolved into well-organized conventions. Inscriptions tell us that
rituals like nityābhiṣēka (the everyday anointing), aṣṭavidhārcane (the eight-
fold offering), and amṛtapaḍi (the rice-and-milk offering) were extensively
observed after this period. Practices like setting up the nandādīpa (perpetual
lamp), making gifts like oil, milk, rice, and gold to the temples, and setting up
idols, lamp-posts, pillars, and maṇṭapas (platforms) as part of offering
worship to the deities, were widespread in the region. Some of these practices
were new. Others drew upon practices known in earlier times when rockcut
cave temples were being built. Reference to the perpetual lamp is found as
early as in the Vākāṭaka records of the fifth century, and in Pallava records of
the eighth century. This was now expanding exponentially, while the making
99

of gifts—known in early historical Buddhist sites like Sāñcī and in the cave
complexes of western Deccan —became pervasive, leading to far-reaching
100

historical consequences.
It is in this transformed historical setting that Rāghavāṅka narrates the
story of Padmāvati who identifies herself as a Jaina without finding it
necessary to join an order of renouncers either as a nun or as a listener. And
as we have seen, she was also able to discard the Jaina faith and embrace
Śaivism, without affiliating herself to any monastic Order as a renouncer.
Even as Rāghavāṅka was composing his works like the
Sōmanāthacāritra and the Siddharāmacāritra to uphold the cause of Śaivism,

42
one of his Śaiva contemporaries, Brahmaśiva, found his faith less fulfilling,
and embraced Jainism. Shortly thereafter, he wrote the Samayaparīkṣe, the
first text of its kind from the subcontinent, in which he launched a
hardhearted tirade against all major faiths (samaya) of his time, concluding
that Jainism was the greatest of all faiths. Critiques of rival traditions were not
unknown in pre-twelfth century India. But they were significantly different
from Brahmaśiva’s project. More often than not, they took the form of critical
engagements with the logical foundations of the vision and the stipulated
practices of the rivals, and were more in the nature of systematically argued
debates. By Brahmaśiva’s time, religious identities outside the monastic
Order were firmly in place. The clash was now between human collectives
who chose to identify themselves by their religion, not between monastic
groups for whom the phenomenological primacy of their darśana was of
utmost importance. The Puligere and the Abbalūru incidents, with which we
began, were inevitable fallouts of this great transformation. Like the
destruction of the Babri Masjid and the Bamiyan Buddha in our own times,
the razing of temples was certainly not a demanding task in the twelfth
century. What was indeed difficult was to defend one’s own faith in a manner
that Brahmaśiva found apposite, no matter how poorly it was accomplished. It
took over a century and a half for the advaita school to produce a similar
vindication of their faith—the Sarvadarśanasaṅgraha of Vidyāraṇya—and
for the Jainas to produce another parīkṣe—the Dharmaparīkṣe of Vṛttivilāsa.
Many a temple had been desecrated by this time.
It was the emergence of temple-centered forms of worship that
eventually led to the transformation of religious identities in the Deccan
region during the eleventh and the twelfth centuries. It is then pertinent that
this discussion concludes with an attempt to account for the rise of temples.
The Deccan region witnessed a rapid phase of urbanization from the
mid-ninth century. This was a period of urbanization in most parts of the
subcontinent. After the pan-Indian decay of urban centres in the second and
third centuries, cities began to reappear across South Asia in the sixth
101

century. The urban decay of the second and third centuries was contingent
upon agrarian expansion, the genesis of shorter and more effective trading
networks as opposed to the erstwhile long-distance sārttavāha trade, and the
role played by the new regional elites in exploiting newer resources and
creating a sustainable surplus base at the local level. It was in this context
102

that the earliest states like the ones founded by the Kadaṃbas and the Gaṅgas
made their appearance in the region. By the sixth century, agrarian expansion
had considerably advanced, facilitating the advent of urban centres and the
revival of long-distance trade. By the early seventh century a strong
monarchy—the Caḷukyas of Bādāmi—was able to reign over these upcoming
cities. The surplus appropriation machinery in this milieu was effectively

43
organized around distinct agrarian localities, transformed into chiefdoms
called viṣaya or nāḍu. These chiefdoms came to be placed in a set of
103

hierarchical positions vis-à-vis the king, whose centrality then enabled him to
claim the status of a cakravarti or vijigīṣu, as modelled in the
Dharmaśāstras. Sēndraka Viṣaya, Vaḷḷāvi Viṣaya, Teggattūru Viṣaya,
104

Tagare Viṣaya, Paruvi Viṣaya, Vanne Viṣaya, Kovaḷāla Viṣaya, Sinda Viṣaya,
Kaivara Viṣaya, Marukara Viṣaya, Korikunda Viṣaya, Hoḍali Viṣaya,
Nīrggunda Nāḍu, Eḍetore Nāḍu, Kuluṅgijya Nāḍu, Morasa Nāḍu, Pudal
Nāḍu, Gañje Nāḍu, Badagere Nāḍu, Puramalai Nāḍu, and Beḷvola Nāḍu were
among the flourishing localities of Karnataka. These localities were complex
fields of conflict over resource appropriation. They also opened up avenues
for vertical political mobility and geopolitical integration.
As early as the fifth century, the royal elites had resorted to the use of
praśastis (eulogies) in their inscriptions in the Deccan region. The Tāḷagunda
pillar inscription, containing a praśasti of the Kadaṃba king Mayūraśarman,
is one such instance. The Guḍnāpura inscription of Ravivarman is another.
105 106

Royal titles like Mahārājādhirāja, Paramēśvara, and Pṛthvīvallabha were

increasingly used after the seventh century. Besides, titles specific to the
dynasties concerned were also invented. The Caḷukyas of Bādāmi used
Raṇarāga (lover of war) and Raṇavikrama (triumphant in war) as titles.
The situation began to change from the early ninth century onwards,
when a far more consequential phase of urbanization swept over the
subcontinent, expanding and altering trade relations, producing newer classes
such as traders who formed their own corporations, artisan groups organized
around relations of kinship, and provincial administrators whose control over
the resources of their region had rendered subversive tendencies more
prescient, and usurpations, much easier. The remarkable increase in the
number of inscriptions found after the ninth century points to these historical
shifts, but this profusion also seems to have taken the regality away from the
inscribed letter. Grants made by kings became fewer in number, while the
agrarian elites, locality chiefs, and royal functionaries became more involved
in making grants. Recording land transactions, and commemorating heroic
and ritual deaths (vīragallu and niśidhi respectively) increased substantially. 107

But the milieu was already inventing newer forms of political expression.
Genealogies were being forged, tracing family origins to the solar and the
lunar lines. Newer dynastic titles were being invented. The Gaṅgas used
Satyavākya (of truthful speech) and Nītimārga (of righteous path) as titles,
while the Rāṣṭrakūṭas invoked the idea of rain-maker by using titles with
varṣa (rain) as suffix, as in Amōghavarṣa, Akālavarṣa, Nirupamavarṣa,
Dhārāvarṣa, and Suvarṇavarṣa. They also used tuṅga (summit) as a title.
Prominent examples were Nṛpatuṅga, Śaratuṅga, and Jagattuṅga. Their
successors, the Cāḷukyas of Kalyāṇa, went a step further to become the Lords

44
of the Three World (Tribhuvanamalla or Trailōkyamalla), and the Sole Lords
of the World (Bhuvanaikamalla and Jagadēkamalla).
At the same time, the affluence generated by urbanization could afford
the invention of alternate forms of expression dearer than the setting up of
inscriptions. One of them centered on literary traditions that called for a deep
knowledge of language, grammar, metres, and prosody, and a class of urban
connoisseurs with their refined tastes. The other, and more influential
practice, was temple-building. 108

Temple-building was perhaps an expression of munificence or piety.

But, it was politically significant for another reason. Statecraft in peninsular
India had turned increasingly to the praxis of divine kingship after the seventh
century, and more pronouncedly, after the ninth century. The king was often
equated with Viṣṇu. The title Pṛthvīvallabha, by a double entendre, signified
the king as the lord of the earth, and also as Viṣṇu, the husband of the earth.
Most Caḷukya rulers were Pṛthvīvallabhas. Even in the early sixth century, the
Kadaṃba king Ravivarman had identified himself on similar lines as
Bhūvadhūtilaka (the vermillion mark of the earth bride) and Bhūmīśvara (lord
of the earth). By the eighth century, Śrī, which is another name of Viṣṇu’s
109

wife Lakṣmī, was being invoked. The Gaṅga king Paṭṭāṇi Ereyan, who
succeeded Śivamāra I in the early eighth century, used Śrīpuruṣa (the
Husband of Śrī) as his personal name. The first three stanzas of the
Kavirājamārga (ca. 850), which is the earliest extent literary text in Kannada,
carries a eulogy of Viṣṇu with the play of double entendre making it,
simultaneously, a eulogy of its patron, the Rāṣṭrakūṭa king Amōghavarṣa I
Nṛpatuṅga. 110

The praxis of divine kingship was a praxis, and not merely a flourish of
rhetoric occurring in inscriptions and literary texts. This is borne out by a
number of considerations. There was no distinction between the temple and
the palace in this scheme of things, as a temple-complex functioned as the
headquarters of the king. The Mānasāra, a text on architecture, assigns
positions to the deity, the king, his ministers, and his entourage within the
temple-complex. The structure hosting the deity was called dēvaharmya and
the one housing the king, the rājaharmya. The features and dimensions of
111

the throne meant for the deities and the king were mentioned, and a 112

hierarchy of thrones identified. The throne of Śiva and Viṣṇu was called
padmāsana, the other gods and the wheel-turning sovereign (cakravarti)
occupied the padmakēsara. The overlord (adhirāja) below the wheel-turning
sovereign was assigned padmabhadra. The other thrones were śrībhadra for
adhirāja and narēndra, śrīvilāsa for narēndra and pārṣṇika, śrībandha for
pārṣṇika and paṭṭadhara, śrīmukha for maṇḍalēśa, bhadrāsana for
paṭṭabhāga, padmabandha for prākāra, pādabandha for astragāha, and
subordinate thrones (upapīṭha) for all other lower rulers. Similar 113

45
hierarchical descriptions occur in the Mānasāra for the kalpa tree, 114

hairstyle, and grooming. What this prescriptive text indicates is that

115 116

kingship was imagined as being part of a divine hierarchy. It is for this reason
that the word prāsāda in Sanskrit signified both temple and palace, and the
words dēva, ṭhakkura, and bhaṭṭāraka, both the deity and the king. 117

The rituals for the king were also not different from the services to the
deity in the temple. The five great instruments (pañcamahāśabda) assigned to
the lords under the king (i.e., māṇḍalika or maṇḍalēśvara) were used in the
temple, and survives in the form of pañcavādyaṃ in the present-day temples
of Kerala. The daily services, including the anointing (abhiṣēka), followed a
118

similar pattern.
Divine kingship found its most energetic expression in Tamilnadu under
the Cōla kings, Rājarāja I and Rājēndra I, who both were identified with Śiva.
The deity at the Bṛhadīśvara temple at Tañjāvūr was called Uḍaiyār
Rājārājadēvar, which was also the name of the king. It has been observed that
“uḍaiyār or perumāḷ meant both the king and the deity, kōil meant both the
temple and the palace and the day-to-day routine of services in the temple
followed, to the last detail, the services in the palace”. 119

The growing power of the locality chiefs and landed elites in the tenth,
the eleventh, and the twelfth centuries posed a serious challenge to the
practice of divine kingship. This began with many a chief claiming divinity.
In his Vikramārjunavijayaṃ, Paṃpa narrated the story of the Mahābhārata,
equating his patron Arikēsari of the Vēmulavāḍa Cāḷukya line with Arjuna.
Similarly, Ranna equated his patron Satyāśraya with Bhīma in his version of
the Mahābhārata, entitled Sāhasabhīmavijayaṃ (also called Gadāyuddhaṃ).
Satyāśraya was not yet a king at this time, but a maṇḍalēśvara under his
father and the founder of the Kalyāṇa Cāḷukya state, Taila II. A third chief
who commissioned a work of this kind was Śaṅkaragaṇḍa, who bore the title
Bhuvanaikarāma. Ponna wrote the Bhuvanaikarāmābhyudayaṃ in his honour.
This work narrated the Rāmāyaṇa by equating the exploits of Śaṅkaragaṇḍa
with that of Rāma. Resonance of this literary innovation in Kannada was felt
120

in the distant Bengal in the early twelfth century, when the Pāla king
Rāmapāla commissioned Sandhyākara Nandi to write the Sanskrit
Rāmacaritaṃ. This work, based on the Rāmāyaṇa, narrated how Rāma had
lost Sītā and eventually succeeded in winning her back. It was also the story
of how Rāmapāla lost and regained sītā (furrow, and by a metonymic
extension, land or kingdom). 121

By the eleventh century, landed elites were beginning to build temples

on a large scale, and tacitly making claims to divinity. Temples were built in
which the deity was named after the patrons. The builders of the temple
placed themselves in a mirrorimage relationship with their deities, as if
suggesting that I am the reflection of god on earth, without altogether ruling

46
out the reverse possibility that god is indeed a reflection of my personality.
This development was to strike at the very heart of divine kingship as a
political praxis.
Three of the basadis which came up on the Candragiri hill in
Śravaṇabeḷagoḷa in the twelfth century were identified with their patrons.
While the basadis built by Cāvuṇḍarāya and Majjigaṇṇa bore their name, the
one built by the Hoysaḷa queen Śāntala came to be known after one of her
titles as the Savatigandhavāraṇa Basadi. Likewise, three of the basadis built
in the town were also identified after their patrons. The basadi built by
Hullarāja, the Hoysaḷa bhaṇḍāri (treasurer) was called Bhaṇḍāra Basadi, and
the one built by Āciyakka, the wife of the Hoysaḷa minister Candramauḷi, the
Akkana Basadi. A trader called Nāgadēva built a basadi for his nakhara
(corporate group of traders). It went by the name of Nakhara Jinālaya. 122

Numerous Jaina temples build during the eleventh and twelfth centuries
were named after their patrons. But Śaiva temples often had the deity itself
bearing the builder’s name. Temples built by nakharas (trading corporations),
gavares (roving merchants), telligas (oil-pressers), and those who worked in
the kammaṭas (mints) often named the deities in their temples as
Nakharēśvara, Gavarēśvara, Telligēśvara, and Kammaṭēśvara, respectively.
The Bhōgēśvara temple at Chandapura was built by Lakṣmīdhara
Caṭṭōpādhyāya in memory of his father Bhōgadēva. The Dhōrēśvara temple at
Iñcūru, and the Gojjēśvara and Jēḍēśvara temples at Gabbūru also seem to be
named after their builders. The Kalidēvasvāmi temple of Gabbūru was named
after Kallapayya, who commissioned it. The Hemmēśvara temple of
Chandanakēri was set up by Hemmaḍi Dēvarasa. The Kālēśvara temple of
Sālagunda was built by Nāca Daṇḍanātha in his father Kalidāsa’s memory,
while Bācarasa built the Bācēśvara temple at Mukkundi, and Bịcagāvuṇḍa,
the Bīcēśvara temple at Jālihāḷu. The Huḷiyamēśvara temple of Dēvaraguḍi
also appears to have derived its name from its patron. Unlike the setting up
123

of inscriptions, the building of temple commanded greater respect and was

symbolically better privileged in the race for vertical political mobility. The
catalytic role it played in marshalling popular support and gaining greater
access to resources through the new temple-centered redistributive machinery
can hardly be overstated.
Table 9 gives a list of Śaiva temples from the localities around Baḷḷigāve
where deities were named after the patron. These localities were spread over
the present-day Śikāripura and Soraba tālūks of the Śivamogga district, and
Hirēkērūru tālūk of the Hāvēri district.

Table 9. Śaiva Temples and Their Builders in the Localities Around

Baḷḷigāve, CE 1000-1250 124

47
These were the historical processes that foreshadowed and determined the rise
of religious identities outside the monastery. More dramatically perhaps, the
idea that sainthood involved renunciation came to be called into question. A
large number of men and women were initiated into Śaiva sainthood, but
continued with their worldly pursuits. These were the śaraṇas, the forebears
of Vīraśaivism. Some leading saints such as Allama Prabhu, Akkamahādēvi,
and Siddharāma took to renunciation, but most others emphasized the
significance of labour (kāyaka) and held to their professions. Monastic life
was not of any significance to them, as they believed that true renunciation
was possible even without renouncing worldly life. Basava, who was the most
influential among them, became a saint while retaining the office of the
treasurer of the Kaḷacūri king, Bijjaḷa II. Dēvara Dāsimayya remained a
weaver, practiced his profession, worshipped Śiva in his form as Rāmanātha,
and attained renown as a saint. In the same way, Maḍivāḷa Mācayya remained
a washer man, Nageya Mārayya a clown, Kannada Mārayya a burgler,
Mādāra Cannayya and Mādāra Dhūḷayya cobblers, Aṃbigara Cauḍayya a
ferryman, Heṇḍada Mārayya a toddy tapper, Bahurūpi Cauḍayya a performer,
Haḍapada Appaṇṇa a betel leaf carrier, Mēdara Kētayya a cane weaver,
Mōḷige Mārayya a woodcutter, Nuliya Candayya a rope maker, Āydakki
Mārayya a rice gatherer, Vaidya Saṅgaṇṇa a physician, Turugāhi Rāmaṇṇa a
cowherd, Kannaḍi Kāyakada Remmayya a barber, Eccarike Kāyakada
Muktināthayya a watchman, and so on. Note than most śaraṇas had their

48
profession prefixed to their names, although this was not seen in some
instances, like Uriliṅgadēva, Uriliṅgapeddi, and Ghaṭṭivāḷayya. In contrast,
female saints were not always associated with their profession. We learn of
Sūḷe Saṅkavva (a sex worker), Mōḷige Mahādēvi (a woodcutter), and Āydakki
Lakkamma (a rice gatherer), which are exceptions. The female saints were, in
general, known by their given names: Gaṅgāṃbike, Nīlāṃbike, Bonthādēvi,
Goggavve, Remmavve. In several instances, they were identified as the wife
(puṇyastrī, literally ‘sacred woman’) of a śaraṇa. Thus, Lakkamma the
puṇyastrī of Āydakki Mārayya, Kētaladēvi the puṇyastrī of Guṇḍayya,
Liṅgamma the puṇyastrī of Haḍapada Appaṇṇa, and Guḍḍavve the puṇyastrī
of Bāci Basavayya.
Most śaraṇas came from the labouring classes. The more affluent among
them were associated with temples, Basava with the temple in
Kūḍalasaṅgama, Allama Prabhu with the temple in Baḷḷigāve, and
Akkamahādēvi and Siddharāma with the temple in Śrīśailaṃ. Siddharāma
also built a temple in Sonnalige or Sonnalāpura (now Sōlāpur). Maḍivāḷa
Mācayya was the washer man of the Tripurāntaka temple of Kalyāṇa. There
were occasions when the association with the temple turned out to be violent,
and caused bloodshed in places like Puligere and Abbalūru. Generations to
125

come would valorize these acts of incandescent terror and make sparkling
pieces of poetry of them, oblivious that what it ultimately involved was the
choice of pyre or pyre, to be redeemed from fire by fire. But the greater
majority of the śaraṇas had no temples to look up to, nor the means to cause
carnage and bring down a rival shrine. At a time when rulers, landed elites,
and merchant corporations were building temples in large numbers, the
ferrymen, cobblers, toddy tappers, cane weavers, cowherds, and rice gatherers
could ill afford to emulate them. They could at best name the deities of their
choice after them. Nageya Mārayya chose to worship Mārēśvara, Mādāra
Dhūḷayya prayed to Dhūḷēśvara, Gajēśa Masaṇayya gave himself up to
Mahaliṅga Gajēśvara. The less fortunate śaraṇas perhaps believed that their
body was the temple, their legs the pillars, and their head the golden capstone,
and that they were simply moving temples, in a manner of speaking. Basava
gave voice to them in one of his vacanas:
The rich build temple for Śiva.
What shall I do, lord, poor that I am?

My legs are pillars,

Body, the shrine,
My head, my lord, is the golden capstone.

Kūḍalasaṅgamadēvā,
The standing will perish,
The moving will not pass away.126

49
 The poor built no temples. But the rich did, and in great numbers, as we
have seen. This was occasioned by a momentous process of transformation in
the political economy of the region, which involved the assertion of their
political presence by the locality chiefs, landlords, merchants, and other elites.
By the late twelfth century, the scope and meaning of political action and
relationships had undergone considerable pluralization. In this milieu rife
with subversion and insubordination, the emergent elites forged newer forms
of loyalty, association, and ties of dependence and reciprocation. Our
discussion has shown that the making of lineage groups and communities
based on religious identities were inevitable fallouts of this great historical
process. By the end of the twelfth century, forms of religious affiliation,
hitherto unknown, had come into being.
It was towards the consolidation of the new groups, communities,
identities, and affiliations that religious processes in the Deccan region would,
in the coming centuries, gravitate.

46 This account need not be accepted in its entirety. The Sōmanātha temple at Lakṣmēśvara shows few signs of destruction or
rebuilding. On the other hand, the Śaṅkha basadi of the town is of greater antiquity and carries extensive signs of rebuilding. This
basadi is likely to have been the scene of action, but it was not converted into a Śiva temple. A parallel tradition credits a certain
Sōmaṇṇa with installing the Śiva image in the basadi. This is recorded in works like the Basavapurāṇa, the Cannabasavapurāṇa,
the Vīraśaivāmṛtapurāṇa, the Gururājacāritra, the Pālkurike Sōmēśvarapurāṇa, etc. For a comparative discussion of the
evidence, see Kalburgi 2010 Vol.1: 322-332.
47 Ēkāntarāmitandegaḷa Ragaḷe, 231-380. On Rāmayya, see Ben-Herut 2012.
48 These are not rare instances from this period. A number of temples are known to have been destroyed in sectarian conflicts in
the region. For an overview, see Kalburgi 2010 Vol. 3: 36-51.
49 There is no consensus on the date of Harihara, although most scholars tend to place him in the early thirteenth century. Our
suggestion of an earlier date is borne out by the following considerations. Verses from his Girijākalyāṇaṃ figure in
Mallikārjuna’s anthology, the Sūktisudhārṇavaṃ, which was completed in 1245. A date later than 1245 for Harihara is therefore
ruled out. An inscription from Dāvaṇagere, dated 1224, states that Pōlāḷva Daṇḍanātha had composed the Haricāritra in the
ṣaṭpadi metre. Now, according to tradition and modern scholarly consensus, the use of full-length kāvyas in ṣaṭpadi was an
innovation made by Rāghavāṅka. Tradition identified him as “the master who established ṣaṭpadi” (ṣaṭpadīsaṃsthāpanācārya).
We must therefore place Rāghavāṅka’s works before 1224. Thus, a date of 1175 is reasonable for Harihara, Rāghavāṅka’s
maternal uncle. Besides, we also have the evidence of the Padmarājapurāṇa of Padmaṇāṅka (ca. 1400), which is a hagiographic
account of Harihara’s contemporary, Kereya Padmarasa. Harihara and Padmarasa lived in the Hoysaḷa court of Narasiṃha Ballāḷa
(i.e., Narasiṃha I, r. 1152-1173) at Dōrasamudraṃ. Padmaṇānka was a ninth-generation descendent of Padmarasa, which places
Padmarasa (and therefore, Harihara) in the late twelfth century. A further piece of evidence is that Padmarasa was the grandson of
Sakalēśa Mādarasa, a senior contemporary of Basava (d. 1167). If a birth date between ca. 1080 and ca. 1100 is accepted for
Mādarasa, then it can be safely held that the young Padmarasa and Harihara entered the service of Narasiṃha I between ca. 1160
and ca. 1170, and that Harihara, who retired to Haṃpi after serving at the Hoysaḷa court for a few years, was active as a Śaiva poet
in ca. 1175.
50 The word vacana can mean many things, from ‘speech’ to ‘a promise kept’. But in the eleventh and twelfth century literary
context, it was used to mean ‘prose’ in the dominant caṃpu (Sanskrit caṃpū) works, which deployed a mix of prose and poetry.
Early hagiographers like Harihara speak of these compositions as gīta, ‘songs’. Instances include Basavarājadēvara Ragaḷe,
9.195-207; Ibid., 10, sūcane; and Mahādēviyakkana Ragaḷe, 7.196. But the use of the word vacana for these compositions was not
unknown. Harihara’s nephew Rāghavāṅka refers to it in Siddharāmacāritra, 9.20; 9.27; 9.38. The word attained popularity in the
course of the compilation of the vacanas in the fifteenth century, wherein they were embedded into narrative texts in the form of
dialogues between the śaraṇas. Each vacana in the narrative was preceded by the statement that when so-and-so happened or
when Śaraṇa A made a statement, Śaraṇa B uttered the following vacana, literally ‘words’. The repeated use of this expression
on hundreds of occasion within these texts doubtless played a major role in transforming the expression vacana into a genre.
Ramanujan 1973 and Shivaprakash 2010 are accessible English translations of select vacanas.
51 The expression ‘from Indumauḷi’s grief’ (indumauḷiya besanadinda) occurs in Bhīma’s Basavapurāṇa, 2.56. The idea of Śiva
being in grief seems to have been generally accepted (although the narratives present Śiva in a pleasant mood with no signs of
grief as such). We come across ‘Indudhara’s grief’ (indudharana besanaṃ) in Rāghavāṅka’s Sōmanāthacāritra, 1, sūcane, and
‘Hara’s grief’ (harana besanaṃ) in Harihara’s Basavarājadēvara Ragaḷe, 2.
52 Sundaramūrtti, the ninth century Śaiva saint of Tamilnadu, identified sixty-three Śaiva saints— who lived between the sixth
and the ninth centuries in the region—as Nāyanārs, perhaps in response to the identification and canonization of sixty-three holy
men as śalākapuruṣas by the Jainas. Intriguingly though, the greatest of Tamil Śaiva saint poets, Māṇikyavācagar, does not figure

50
in this list of Nāyanārs. The hagiographies of the Nāyanārs are compiled in Cēkkilār’s Periyapurāṇaṃ.
53 The use of ragaḷe was found in the early caṃpu works of tenth-century poets like Paṃpa, as well as in inscriptions, like the
eleventh-century praśasti of the Jaina monk Indrakīrti (Hagaribommanahaḷḷi 15, Kannada University Epigraphical Series, Vol. 1).
However, Harihara was the first to use ragaḷe to compose full-length poems.
54 See Ben-Herut 2015 for a discussion on the cross-influences and connections across regions and languages, through which the
legends were circulated.
55 Epigraphia Indica V, pp. 213-265.
56 Note that Padmāvati is the name of a major Jaina deity. A Jaina image of Padmāvati is found in Kendhūḷi near Bhuvanēśvar in
Odisha, believed to be the place where Jayadēva (of the Gītagōvinda fame) was born. The image seems to have been appropriated
by the Vaiṣṇavas after the decline of Jainism in the region. Jayadēva perhaps worshipped Padmāvati, which is hinted in the
prologue to the Gītagōvinda: vāgdēvatā carita citrita cittasadmā / padmāvatī caraṇacāraṇa cakravartī, but legends from a later
date regard Padmāvati as Jayadēva’s wife. So the story goes, Jayadēva composed the Gītagōvinda in the temple of Jagannātha in
Puri (about sixty kilometres from Kendhūḷi), and Padmāvati, a brāhmaṇa dēvadāsī whom he had married, danced to its tunes. The
name Padmāvati figuring in the Ādayya legend may have a similar dimension.
57 Sōmanāthacāritra, 2.46-61.
58 Bharata’s Nāṭyaśāstra identified eight emotions or ‘essences’ (rasa) as central to an understanding of drama. The vīra-rasa,
i.e., the emotion of valour, is one of them. Udbhaṭa added a ninth emotion, śānta, the tranquil, to the list in the late eighth/early
ninth century. The rasa model was later extended to poetry, and informed poetics and literary practices for several centuries in
premodern India. On the rasa theory, see Raghavan 1940.
59 Basavarājadēvara Ragaḷe, 8.
60 Rēvaṇasiddhēśvara Ragaḷe, 1.113.
61 At about the same time (ca. 1200), a hagiography of Nārōpa (1016-1100)—the Mantrayāna Buddhist and the disciple of Tilōpa
—written in Tibet by iHa’i btsun-pa Rin-chen rnam-rgyal of Brag-dkar recounted a similar incident. Jñānacakṣumanta, the
minister of Śāntivarman, the chief of Śrīnagara in Bengal, seeks the hands of Vimalā, the daughter of Tiśya for his master’s son
Samantabhadra (Nārōpa). Tiśya initially refuses saying: “Your king belongs no doubt to an excellent family, but we are high caste
brāhmaṇas and not Buddhists. Since you are Buddhists I cannot give my daughter.” But the villagers persuade Tiśya and he
concedes. This is another early instance where a person (Śāntivarman) is identified as belonging to a faith by virtue of birth and
not by initiation, and where a proposal for marriage is turned down on religious grounds. See Guenther 1995: 16-17.
62 We come across instances of conversion in Cēkkilar’s Periyapurāṇaṃ, like the ones in the legend of Tirunāvukkarasar
(Appar). By the time Cēkkilar produced his work, the historical transformation we are alluding to had already begun to unfold,
and given the structure of religion in his time, it is obvious that what he had in mind was conversion from one faith to another. But
from the historian’s hindsight, it needs to be pointed out that these were, historically speaking, not conversions as Cēkkilar
believed, but initiations (dīkṣā) into the order. What makes Rāghavāṅka’s reference to Padmāvati’s conversion the first known
instance of its kind is the fact that he was speaking of a contemporary reality in contemporary terms, even if the historicity of the
event itself may be open to question.
63 Ādipurāṇa, 14.139.v
64 Pūrvapurāṇa, 36.105-106.
65 For a broad introduction to Paṃpa, see Thimmappayya 1977.
66 We do not know if lay devotees of Kṛṣṇa, identifying themselves as Bhāgavatas and Paramabhāgavatas, were formally initiated
to this status of laity-hood. What is certain, though, is that they did not constitute a self-conscious and self-representing
community outside the monastic fold.
67 Thapar 2000b: 902.
68 See Dirks 2001; Pandey 1990; and Inden 1990. Also see Asad 1993 and King 1999. Balagangadhara 1994 takes a controversial
position that religion itself was alien to most “heathen” traditions.
69 Smith 1997: 119.
70 Geertz 1973: 98.
71 In the interest of conceptual clarity, we propose to make a distinction (after Thapar 2010a) between the ascetic and the
renouncer, although it is not of consequence to the present study. Writes Thapar: “The renouncer is identified not necessarily with
a religious sect but with an order constituting an alternative life-style, in many ways contradictory to that of his original social
group. Thus he cannot observe caste rules, he must be celebate, he cannot own property, he must carry the distinctive outward
symbols of his order and he may be required to break various food tabus. The ascetic on the other hand lived in isolation, observed
the food tabus by subsisting on what was naturally available in the forest, stressed the fact of his brahmanhood (where he was, as
was often the case, a brāhmaṇa) by the austerities which he undertook. A further and fundamental distinction between the two
was that whereas the ascetics were figures of loneliness working out their salvation each one for himself, the renouncer was
concerned about other people and this concern was expressed in his desire to lead others along the path which he had found.”
(Thapar 2010a: 877).
72 Thapar 2010a: 876-913 makes the interesting suggestion that renunciation involved dissent, which she however notes, was
articulated rather ambiguously. The renouncer, according to this view, was trying to establish ‘a parallel society’ or ‘a counter-
culture’. See also Dumont 1960.
73 No. 316, Nietzsche 1974.
74 Kaṭhōpaniṣad, 2.3.
75 Ibid., 6.14.
76 Suhṛllēkhā, 41-114. Tradition holds that this was a letter written by Nāgārjuna to his friend and the Sātavāhana king,
(Gautamīputra?) Sātakarṇi.
77 Sāṅkhyākārikā, 1.
78 Pravacanasāra, 72.
79 Ibid., 252.
80 Masson 1980.
81 Nirukta, 2.11.

51
82 For an account of the Jaina theories of death, see Settar 1986 and 1990.
83 Collins 1998 offers a different explanation of nirvāṇa, laying emphasis on its narrative aspects. But “Enlightenment” remains
important in his scheme of things too, and he uses the term almost as uncritically.
84 This critique, directed at Masson 1980, is made in Thapar 2000c: 918-919.
85 Mckay 2015: 112.
86 Representative studies in this regard include Thapar 2000b … 2000c; Chakravarti 1987; Ray 1986; Ray 1994; Sen 2004;
Champakalakshmi 2011.
87 See the second revised edition of Epigraphia Carnatica, Volume 2, and Settar 1986.
88 Source: Culled from Kannada University Epigraphical Series, Volume VIII.
89 Source: Culled from Ibid.
90 Source: Culled from Epigraphia Carnatica (revised edition), Volume 3.
91 Source: Culled from Epigraphia Carnatica (revised edition), Volume 4.
92 Source: Culled from Kannada University Epigraphical Series, Volume VII.
93 Source: Culled from Ibid.
94 Perhaps the present-day Sōmaliṅgēśvara temple.
95 Source: Culled from inscriptions in Epigraphia Carnatica (revised edition), Volume 7.
96 Source: Culled from inscriptions in Epigraphia Carnatica (revised edition), Volume 6.
97 The enumeration is based on tālūk-wise distribution of inscriptions, which do not however correspond to the localities or
administrative units of the period under examination. Also, the figures do not represent the exact number of temples built during
the eleventh and the twelfth century, but only to the numbers made available to us by the corpus of published inscriptions based
upon what has survived. It is likely that important temples are left uncounted, as they are not referred to in the inscriptions,
although fieldwork by the present author confirms that such instances do not exist in these tālūks.
98 Recent attempts to study the temples of Karnataka from within the architectural perspective include Foekema 2003a and
2003b; Hardy 2001 and 2007; Michell 2002 and 2011; Sinha 1996. Also see Settar 2012.
99 No. 97, Mahalingam 1988.
100 Roy 2010a; Kosambi 1955.
101 On the great urban decay, see Sharma 1987. See also Chattopadhyaya 1994: 130-154 and Kaul 2010: 9-12 for a critique of the
urban decay thesis, and Devadevan 2009c: 11-12 for a reassessment.
102 Devadevan 2009c: 11-12.
103 For a discussion of nāḍu, see Subbarayalu 1973; Veluthat 1990; and Ganesh 2009. Also see Stein 1980 and Adiga 2006.
104 That the dharmaśāstras provided the model for kingship is a thesis persuasively argued in Veluthat 2012: 47-85 (i.e., chapter
1).
105 No. 4 in Gopal 1985.
106 No. 23, Ibid.
107 On memorial stones, see Settar and Sontheimer 1982.
108 Devadevan 2009a: 75-77.
109 No. 23, Gopal 1985.
110 Kavirājamārga, 1.1-3.
111 Mānasāra, 19.
112 Ibid., 45.1.
113 Ibid., 45.59-93.
114 Ibid., 48.1, passim.
115 Ibid., 49.4, passim.
116 Ibid., 50.1, passim.
117 The word ṭhakkura survives today in the name Ṭhākur, which has come to signify both a chief and a deity.
118 Devadevan 2009a: 52.
119 Veluthat 2009: 67.
120 The Bhuvanaikarāmābhyudayaṃ seems to be lost, as no surviving manuscripts are known.
121 On the Rāmacaritaṃ, see Roy 2010b.
122 See related inscriptions in Epigraphia Carnatica Vol 2.
123 See related inscriptions in Vol. VIII and VII of Kannada University Epigraphical Series.
124 Source: Hegde 2003: 92.
125 The dimension of violence in the Abbalūru incident, often downplayed in modern scholarly accounts, is discussed in Ben-
Herut 2012.
126 No. 820, Basavanal 1968 (translation mine).

52
3 Forests of Learning and the Invention of
Religious Traditions
A series of important political developments took place in the Deccan region
in the fourteenth century, with which the evolution of sainthood and its
ideology in the coming centuries was deeply interlaced. It had a long history.
An overview of this history will be instructive, as it will enable us to place the
subsequent discussions in a fruitful perspective.
The Cāḷukyas of Kalyāṇa (ca. 973-1200) were in control of large parts of
the Deccan region in the eleventh and the twelfth centuries. When their
127

power began to decline in the mid twelfth century, the Kaḷacūris of

Maṅgaḷavāḍa (now Maṅgalvēḍhā) began to assert themselves. The Kaḷacūri
chief Permāḍi had earlier entered into a matrimonial alliance with the
Cāḷukyas, which had enabled his family to exercise greater influence in the
affairs of the state. The agrarian infrastructure that he commanded from his
headquarters at Maṅgaḷavāda on the riparian belt of the Bhīma was among the
most formidable in the region. His son, Bijjaḷa II, began to assert his
independence in the wake of a conflict over succession between Sōmēśvara
III’s sons, Jagadēkamalla II and Mallikārjuna. Under Jagadēkamalla II’s
successor Taila III, the Cāḷukyan forces suffered serious setbacks following
attacks from the Kākatīya chief, Prōla. Taking advantage of this situation,
Bijjaḷa II usurped the throne in 1162. Taila III tried to retain a foothold, but
was killed by his Hoysaḷa subordinate, Narasiṃha I (r. ca. 1152-1173),
perhaps in 1163. Bijjaḷa II’s was not a successful entreprise, though. His rule
came to an end in 1167 following what seems to have been a case of regicide.
The killer, whom legends identify as Jagadēva, was apparently faithful to the
Cāḷukyas, and continued to espouse their cause, if evidence from epigraphy is
to be believed. Owing to the fact that Bijjaḷa II’s relationship with his
treasurer Basava had turned into friction towards the end of his life, later
Vīraśaiva accounts have appropriated Jagadēva’s act by identifying him as a
devotee of Basava. In subsequent accounts, the killing was jointly attributed
to Jagadēva and Mallibomma, both allegedly Basava’s followers. Bijjaḷa II
was succeeded by his son Sōvidēva who ruled up to 1176. What followed was
sheer confusion. Between the years 1176 and 1184, the throne was occupied
by at least five rulers, Maiḷugi, Saṅkama, Āhavamalla, Kannara, and
Siṅghaṇa. The Cāḷukyas returned to power briefly under Sōmēśvara IV, but
128

by this time, their realm had come to be parceled out between three prominent
warlord families, the Sēvuṇas of Dēvagiri, the Kākatīyas of Vāraṅgallu, and
the Hoysaḷas of Dōrasamudraṃ (Haḷēbīḍu), who carved out spheres of
influences in the Marathi, Telugu, and Kannada speaking regions,

53
respectively. They represented the great dryland polities, which contrasted in
many ways with the Cōlas of Tañjāvūr, the Cēras of Mahōdayapuraṃ, and the
eastern Cāḷukya chiefs of Veṅgi, who were rooted in wetland regions,
although their sway extended over dryland belts as well. By the early decades
of the fourteenth century, these successor states had also weakened
considerably.
Between the ninth and the thirteenth centuries, powerful peasant
proprietors and warlords had been enlisted into the service of the state across
much of peninsular India in various capacities, but mostly as revenue farmers
commanding militias of their own. Wetland polities also appropriated
mercantile groups for extracting revenue. This was most prominently seen
among the Cōlas and, to a lesser extent, among the Cēras. According to
129 130

Kesavan Veluthat, the corporate body of merchants, called nagaraṃ, “is

shown to have been held collectively responsible for the collection of land
revenues from its domain and to have handled its internal assessments and
collections in a manner as it saw fit”. Kenneth R. Hall identifies the
131

nagaraṃ as an administrative institution, stresses its role in collecting

132

revenue on behalf of the Cōla state, and notes that its “right to tax was
133

distinct from its private right over land”. But merchants did not figure in a
134

similar capacity in the dryland polities. In fact, the data made available by
inscriptions show that some of these states shared a difficult relationship with
the powerful merchant syndicates of the day. The Cannakēśava temple of
Belūru, built in the early twelfth century by the Hoysaḷa king Viṣṇuvardhana,
received grants, gifts, and donations from a number of people. Not one of
them was a merchant before the fifteenth century. At Śravaṇabeḷagoḷa,
135

merchants were more active on the big hill, whereas their presence was
almost negligible on the small hill, where functionaries of the Hoysaḷa state
dominated. Hoysaḷa relationship with the mercantile classes was anything
136

but cordial.
In the dryland belts of southern Karnataka, peasant proprietors who
gained greater access to state revenue succeeded in the course of the eleventh,
the twelfth, and the thirteenth centuries in developing and controlling rural
markets. A certain Ādigavuṇḍa obtained control of a (weekly?) fair and, with
the help of his brothers and sons, built a village from its proceeds in 1182,
after clearing the forests. An earlier case of obtaining the revenue of a fair
137

comes from Tekkalakōṭe in the Baḷḷāri district from the year 1020. Peasant 138

proprietors were beginning to gain a firm foothold over rural markets in the
south and in the Tuṅgabhadra valley. Inscriptions from this period mention a
large number of merchants, i.e., seṭṭis, in southern Karnataka, which, one
might argue, goes against our proposition that peasant magnates controlled
the rural markets. But there is evidence to show that these merchants
belonged to peasant proprietor families. An inscription from the time of

54
Ballāḷa II speaks of a Seṭṭigauṇḍa. That he was a peasant magnate is
underscored by the expression gauṇḍa (originally gāvuṇḍa from the Sanskrit
grāmavṛddha, now gauḍa). But he had seṭṭi, ‘trader’, as a personal name. His
two sons swore allegiance to the king, which is indicated by the stock
expression, tatpādapadmōpajīvi, ‘who lives by that lotus feet’. One of them,
Taḷāra Suṅkada Mahadēvaṇṇa, controlled the transit toll on the movement of
goods (suṅka). The other, Būciya Boppaseṭṭi, was a merchant.
Mahadevaṇṇa’s son-in-law was Kētamalla Heggaḍe, and as his title suggests,
he maintained village records. Elsewhere, he is referred to as Taḷāra Suṅkada
Kētamalla, suggesting that he inherited the rights to transit toll from his
father-in-law. Until recent times, Seṭṭigauḍa was a common name in the
139

Hāsana district and adjoining areas of southern Karnataka. A thirteenth

century inscription from Sōmavārapēṭe in Koḍagu district refers to several
peasant proprietors (gauḍugaḷu) as constituting the nāḍu-nakhara. This 140

compound expression is revealing: nāḍu (Sanskrit viṣaya) is a peasant

locality, and nakhara, the corporate body of local merchants. A group of
141

peasant proprietors, who managed the agrarian affairs of a locality, were also
in control of its mercantile initiatives.
By the twelfth century, individual merchants had emerged in southern as
well as northern Karnataka, who operated in their own capacity without being
aligned to any of the great merchant syndicates. This was the outcome of a
historically far-reaching development that took place after the tenth century,
and which has for some reason continued to elude the historian’s gaze, viz.,
the practice of making gift of money or gold as endowment to temples and
religious establishment in lieu of land grant, by the merchant syndicates. This
birth of interest-bearing capital gradually percolated into the realms of
agrarian production in the form of usury. The potentials that credit was
imbued with led to individual mercantile and moneylending initiatives.
Ādayya, with whose story we commenced this study, was one such merchant.
Pārisaseṭṭi, the father of Padmāvati whom Ādayya married, was another.
Neither of them was affiliated to any merchant syndicate of the day. The
growing power on the one hand of peasant proprietors and the supralocal
alliances they were successful in forging, and on the other of the individual
merchants who began to develop systems of agrarian credit, led to the decline
of organized mercantile groups. Great syndicates of the preceding centuries
such as the Ayyāvoḷe Ainūrvar or the Diśai Āyiratti Aiññūrruvar, the
Maṇigrāmaṃ, the Hañjamāna (Anjuman?), the Vaḷañjiyar, and many itinerant
groups called Nānādēśi, withered away, as did local merchant groups like the
nakharas or the nagarams. By the late thirteenth century, their presence had
142

become too feeble to be recorded, and by the close of the fifteenth century,
the last of the nakharas and the Hañjamānas, who unlike the other groups
seem to have resisted dissolution, had also vanished from the scene

55
completely.
The major peasant magnates were also in control of military bands that
were placed at the service of the state as and when called upon to do so. With
the increasing autonomy of the market-controlling peasant proprietors, it
became possible for rival powers to buy their loyalties. The individual
merchant represented a centrifugal tendency that was hard for the state to
contain. This was all the more so because, the northern peasantry was
gradually coming under the spell of the private moneylender, and was serving
his cause at the expense of the services it hitherto rendered as mercenary
troops to the state and its functionaries. This situation of precarious loyalties
weakened the Sēvuṇas, the Kākatīyas, and the Hoysaḷas to a considerable
extent. Beginning 1296, a series of invasions by the Khalji and the Tughlak
Saltanats of Dilli laid bare the vulnerability of these states.
Alā-ud-dīn Khalji was the first of the Sultāns of Dilli to raid the Deccan.
As early as 1293, when his uncle Jalāl-ud-dīn Khalji held the throne, he
carried out a campaign in central India around the areas centering on Bhilsa.
In 1296, he invaded Dēvagiri without the Sultān’s knowledge, defeated the
Sēvuṇa king Rāmacandra, and returned with rich booty. The Sultān was
assassinated shortly thereafter, on 21 July 1296, and Alā-ud-dīn enthroned. In
the first few years of his reign, Alā-ud-dīn was engaged in consolidating his
hold over north India. He ordered a campaign against Vāraṅgallu in 1302, but
his forces were defeated by the fierce troops of the Kākatīya king,
Pratāparudra II, in 1303. Three years later, in 1306, he ordered a campaign
against Dēvagiri. Alāud-dīn’s trusted eunuch general, Malik Kāfūr, led this
campaign, and returned after reducing Rāmacandra to submission. Malik was
sent again to the south late in 1309. With Rāmacandra offering military
assistance, Malik came to command a formidable army. Rāmacandra died
shortly thereafter. Malik’s campaign was extensive. It lasted up to 1311.
Malik reduced Vāraṅgallu with the help of the deceased Rāmacandra’s forces,
and coerced Pratāparudra II to acquiesce. The Hoysaḷa king Ballāḷa III, and
the Pāṇḍyan brothers of Madurai, Sundara Pāṇḍyan and Vīra Pāṇḍyan, were
defeated and forced to sue for peace. These victories were made possible due
to the support Malik Kāfūr was able to marshal from Pratāparudra II. Two 143

years later, in 1313, he marched again against Dēvagiri to rein in

Rāmacandra’s son and successor, Siṅghaṇa III, who was hostile to Dilli. Alā-
ud-dīn died on the fourth day of the year 1316. Half and three months later
and after a number of intrigues, his son Mubārak ascended throne on 18 April.
Three years later, in 1319, he attacked Dēvagiri. It was Mubārak who for the
first time commissioned governors in his conquered territory in the Deccan,
thereby departing from Alā-ud-dīn’s policy of subjugation for tribute.
Yaklakhī was appointed the governor of Dēvagiri, which brought an end to
the Sēvuṇa state. Mubarak had similar plans to annex the Kākatīya region. He

56
asked his trusted homosexual partner Hassan, upon whom he had conferred
the title of Khusrau Khān, to invade Vāraṅgallu. Khusrau Khān was an
influential figure in the early fourteenthcentury politics of Dilli. He succeeded
in killing Mubārak in 1320, and rose to the throne as Nāsir-ud-dīn. But
Khusrau’s rule lasted only for two months. He was killed by his opponent
Ghāzi Malik, who held Dīpālpur at the time. Ghāzi Malik succeeded Khusrau
to the Dilli throne as Ghiyās-ud-dīn Tughlak. Thus commenced the Tughlak
rule.
In the following year, 1321, Ghiyās sent his son Fakhr-ud-Dīn Jauna,
who now carried the title Ulugh Khān, to invade Vāraṅgallu and collect
tributes. Jauna had other plans. Instead of reducing Vāraṅgallu to a tributary
status, he wished to annex it to Dilli. But the campaign turned out to be a
disaster. Two years later, in 1323, Jauna invaded Vāraṅgallu again. This time
around, he succeeded in annexing it. Vāraṅgallu was renamed Sultānpur, the
Svayaṃbhu Śiva temple of the city razed, a mosque built in the vicinity of the
old temple, and a mint established to utter Tughlak coins. A century and a
144

half of Kākatīya rule was thus brought to an end. Ghiyās died in 1325. Jauna
succeeded him, adopting the name Muhammad bin Tughlak. Muhammad
aspired to bring much of the Deccan under Dilli’s control, and evolved a
number of strategies to this effect. The first of these was to appoint governors
in the region. This turned out to be an unsuccessful measure after his cousin
Bahā-ud-dīn Gurśāsp, the governor of Sagara, rebelled against him in 1326.
Soon thereafter, in 1327, Muhammad decided to move the capital of the
Saltanat from Dilli to Dēvagiri in order to contain recalcitrant tendencies
among the governors. In 1328, he ordered the people of Dilli to move to the
new capital, which was renamed Daulatābād. The project turned out to be a
disaster. Thousands died during the journey. Most migrants returned back to
Dilli by 1335. Jalāl-ud-dīn Ahsān Khān, the Tughlak governor of Madurai,
declared his independence and founded the Saltanat of Madurai in 1335.
Muhammad’s control over the Deccan became tenuous in the coming years,
and when he died on 20 March 1351, the region was effectively out of Dilli’s
reach.
Among the numerous acts of insubordination that led to the collapse of
Dilli’s authority in the Deccan, two were especially significant. The first of
these came from a recalcitrant Tughlak military official, Hassan Gaṅgu, who
held the title Zafar Khān. He occupied Daulatābad, and declared his
independence in 1345. Hassan assumed a regal name, Alā-ud-dīn Hassan
Bahman Śāh. In 1347, he moved to Kalaburagi, where the wheels of the
145

Bahmani state were fully set in motion. The second act was less rebellious in
nature. It came from Harihara I, Bukka I, Kaṃpaṇa I, Muddappa, and
Mārappa, the five sons of a certain Saṅgama. They had served their political
apprentice under the Hoysaḷas. The Hoysaḷa state had weakened to a great
146

57
extent following repeated raids from Dilli, but its territory was still not lost.
Unlike Dēvagiri, Vāraṅgallu, and Madurai, which were placed under
governors after overthrowing the Sēvuṇa, the Kākatīya, and the Pāṇḍya states,
respectively, Dilli had not succeeded in eliminating the Hoysaḷas. The
Saṅgama brothers were thus able to take advantage of the vacuum created by
the decline in Hoysaḷa influence, without engaging in confrontation with
Dilli. Harihara I seems to have commenced his independent rule in or shortly
before 1346, an act that is likely to have been inspired by Hassan Gaṅgu’s
defiance of Dilli a year ago. In his early years, he ruled from the Hoysaḷa
heartland. By the late 1350s, he had consolidated his position around Haṃpi,
known variously at the time as Hosapaṭṭaṇa, Vijayavirūpākṣapura, and
Virūpākṣapaṭṭaṇa, and since 1357, as Vijayanagara. The great initiative that
commenced with Harihara I and his four brothers was to have a lasting
impression on the praxis of statecraft in the region.
Like their immediate predecessors, both the Vijayanagara and the
Bahmani states were dryland polities. Burton Stein has gone to the extent of
saying that “Vijayanagara was to prove the grand apotheosis” of dryland
political formations. But contrary to Stein’s view, the Vijayanagara kings
147

were also in control of the riparian belts, as irrigation in the Vijayanagara

148

heartland was mainly tank-fed, and had to depend upon the great tank
watershed networks replenished through thousands of channels drawn from
the perennial rivers. Under this geopolitical dispensation, peasant proprietors
constituted the most dominant class that controlled the economy of the region.
There were intrinsic differences in the economy controlled by the
Bahmanis and the Vijayanagara rulers. The Bahmanis held sway over the
areas to the north of the Kṛṣṇa, and oftentimes, to the north of the
Tuṅgabhadra. The Vijayanagara rule on the other hand was concentrated to
the south of these rivers. The north was a blacksoil belt, parts of which fell
within the basaltic Deccan trap. There were considerable stretches of plains
too, although the general alignment of the land was towards the east. The
plains, and their great rivers like the Gōdāvari, the Bhīma, the Kṛṣṇa, and the
Malaprabha, played key roles in the evolution of the peasantry in this region.
As early as the first and second centuries CE, the north was able to support
petty chiefdoms and impressive Buddhist establishments like the ones found
in Sannati and VaḍagāvMādhavapura (Beḷagāvi). It was in this region that the
most important states of the Deccan, like the Bādāmi Caḷukyas, the
Rāṣṭrakūṭas, and the Kalyāṇa Cāḷukyas, arose. In sharp contrast, the south had
an undulating topography. Lowlands merged into the plains, hills skirted the
lowlands, fertile pieces of land lie scattered in the midst of granite outcrops.
Agriculture was extensively dependent on tank irrigation. The production of
grain surplus was less impressive, compared to the north. As a result, an
entrenched class of peasantry was slow to emerge in the areas to the south of

58
the Tuṅgabhadra. Few attempts were made to establish states here. Fewer
were actually successful.
One consequence of this difference was that the modes of surplus
extraction between the north and the south were substantially different from
each other. In the north, peasant localities called nāḍu were larger in size,
fewer in number, and managed more effectively through assessments and
extraction of taxes and rents by locality chiefs and peasant proprietors, who
worked closely with the state. Unlike the Cōla heartland, where the countless
distributaries of the Kāvēri, a perennial river, enabled the development of
extensive tank watersheds and the parcelling of agrarian land among
numerous claimants due to the availability of irrigation water in spite of poor
monsoon rains, which in turn paved way for the rise of hundreds of nāḍus, the
dryland belts to the north of the Tuṅgabhadra and the Kṛṣṇa suffered from
want of irrigation. The general eastward tilt of the land made the construction
of tank networks difficult, and at times, impossible. As a result, tanks were
built less frequently in the north. Incentives from smaller holdings were
therefore less attractive, although the fertility of the soil was impressive.
Consequently, holdings tended to be huge. As opposed to this, nāḍus
flourished in the south even when state control was tenuous. This was because
in the absence of extensive plain-land, small pieces of land were upturned for
cultivation. These were under the control of local peasant magnates. Scarcity
—both potential and real—forced the peasantry into raids and brigandage.
This is testified by the hundreds of hero-stones found in the south, recording
the death of ‘heroes’ in cattle-lifting adventures. Under these geographical
constraints, large holdings were not easily forthcoming. The number of nāḍus
was therefore greater in the south, and their size, smaller. And owing to the
unevenness of the terrain, which threw up numerous natural depressions and
made the eastward tilt of the land less prominent, it was possible to build
tanks in great numbers. Correspondingly, and in consequence, the number of
peasant proprietors was also larger. This made systematic assessments and
collection of revenue a tricky affair for the state. The ideal solution to the
problem was to establish tributary relationships with the big men of the
localities.
The invaders from Dilli seem to have clearly understood this difference
between the north and the south. In a recent study, Richard M. Eaton and
Phillip B. Wagoner have observed that the Tughlaks assigned iktās or revenue
assignments to the erstwhile chiefs under the Sēvuṇas and the Kākatīyas to
the north of the Kṛṣṇa. The iktādārs turned into instruments of regular tax
collection in these areas. To the south, however, the autonomy of the former
chiefs was recognized. These chiefs were identified as amīrs. They paid
tributes to the Tughlak state. Thus, the agrarian structure—which depended
149

upon the geography of the region—determined the nature of surplus

59
appropriation in the Deccan. The Bahmani state spread out its reach over the
areas where the Tughlaks had established iktādāri. The authority of the
Vijayanagara state extended over the landscape of the amīrs. This distinction
is crucial for the purposes of our study.
Very early in their existence, the Vijayanagara kings forged an alliance
with the maṭha of Śṛṅgēri. There is a popular legend, often presented as
history, which attributes the founding of the Vijayanagara state to
Vidyāraṇya, the pontiff of the Śṛṅgēri maṭha. This, nevertheless, is not borne
out by contemporary evidence. It is a story promoted by the Śṛṅgēri maṭha
only in the sixteenth century when the Saṅgama state, which supported them,
was not in existence any more, and the Tuḷuva rulers, who swore by
Vaiṣṇavism, promoted the cause of the Veṅkaṭēśvara temple of Tirupati. 150

According to Joan-Pau Rubiés, the Vidyāraṇya legend was meant to provide

dharmic legitimation to the new dynasty. Although the legend was from a
151

later date, the relationship between the maṭha and the Saṅgama brothers was
not. As early as 1346, the five brothers celebrated a vijayōtsava at Śṛṅgēri,
during which Harihara I granted nine villages to the pontiff, Bhāratī Tīrtha. 152

Ten years later, in 1356, Bukka I visited Śṛṅgēri, and made an endowment to
Vidyā Tīrtha. It was in 1375 that Vidyāraṇya received a grant. He was the
153 154

pontiff at the time. Considering the fact that Bhāratī Tīrtha died in 1374, it is
reasonable to suggest that Vidyāraṇya rose to become pontiff that year. The
role he played in making the Śṛṅgēri maṭha an influential establishment was
seminal, as was his role in advancing the cause of a new vaidic orthodoxy in
the region.
As Paul Hacker has shown on the basis of literary works, it is impossible
to trace the succession of teachers of the Śṛṅgēri maṭha to a date before the
mid decades of the fourteenth century. Epigraphic sources confirm this
155

picture. “The inscriptional evidence”, observes Hermann Kulke, “leaves no

doubt that Śṛṅgēri became an important place only under Harihara I and
Bukka I”. Inasmuch as the earliest known pontiffs, Vidyā Tīrtha and Bhāratī
156

Tīrtha, were recipients of Saṅgama munificence, we may venture a guess that

it was under them that the maṭha was established, and that the Saṅgama
brothers played a role in it that was by no means small. If this is true, the story
of Śṛṅgēri’s help in founding the Vijayanagara state must be dropped in
favour of the story of the latter causing the maṭha to be built!
Although popular as Vidyāraṇya, the pontiff was also known as
Mādhavācārya. This seems to have been the name given him after initiation
157

as a saint. ‘Vidyāraṇya’, forest of knowledge, was perhaps his title. It was an

apt title indeed, as his two widely influential works, the
Sarvadarśanasaṅgraha and the Parāśaramādhavīya, amply demonstrate.
Vidyāraṇya also wrote the Jīvanmuktivivēka. In this outstanding work, he
158

argued that knowledge of Brahman was not sufficient to cause liberation.

60
Rather, the destruction of latent desires (vāsanākṣaya), and of the mind itself
(manōnāśa), through the regular practice of yōga, and leading the strictly
disciplined life of a renouncer, “renouncing even the fact that he is a knower
of Brahman”, was essential for liberation. 159

Vidyāraṇya is also believed to be the author of the Śaṅkaradigvijaya,

which popularized the story of Śaṅkara travelling across India and
establishing maṭhas in the four corners of the subcontinent. Scholars,
however, are divided about Vidyāraṇya’s authorship of this work.
Vidyāraṇya’s younger brother, Sāyaṇācārya, was a greater forest of
learning. Bukka I (r. 1357-1377) and Harihara II (r. 1377-1404)
commissioned him to carry out the ambitious project of writing commentaries
on the Vēdas. The oeuvre that Sāyaṇa has left behind is at once prolific and
profound. More than a hundred works are attributed to him. A resume of his
160

works will place his significance in relief.

As he belonged to the Taittirīya school of the Kṛṣṇa Yajurvēda, Sāyaṇa
chose to commence his project by producing glosses on the Taittirīya
Saṃhita, the Taittirīya Brāhmaṇa, and the Taittirīya Āraṇyaka. This
accomplished, he took up the Ṛgvēda and its Brāhmaṇa and Āraṇyaka, viz.,
the Aitarēya Brāhmaṇa and the Aitarēya Āraṇyaka, for commentary, which
was followed by the Sāmavēda and eight of its Brāhmaṇas, viz., the Tāṇḍya,
the Ṣaḍviṃśa, the Samavidhāna, the Ārṣēya, the Dēvatādhyana, the
Chāndōgya, the Saṃhitōpaniṣad, and the Vaṃśa. The other commentaries he
wrote included the ones on the Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa, the Śaunakīya recension
of the Atharvavēda, and twenty adhyāyas of the Kaṇva Saṃhita. Sāyaṇa also
produced anthologies like the Subhāṣita Sudhānidhi and the Puruṣārttha
Sudhānidhi, and works on a number of topics, like Dharmaśāstras (the
Prāyaścitta Sudhānidhi), etymology (the Mādhavīya Dhātuvṛtti), medicine
(the Āyurvēda Sudhānidhi), poetics (the Alaṃkāra Sudhānidhi), and vaidic
rituals (the Yajñatantra Sudhānidhi). That this project was dear to the
161

Saṅgama rulers is borne out by the fact that they made scholarly assistance
available to Sāyaṇa. Harihara II granted an agrahāra to Nārāyaṇa
Vājapēyayāji, Narahari Sōmayāji, Paṇḍhāri Dīkṣita, Pañcāgni Mādhava,
Nāgābharaṇa, and Nāgabhaṭṭa for their assistance in producing the
commentaries. Sāyaṇa himself received a grant. In 1377, Harihara II
162

donated an agrahāra to a number of brāhmaṇas. Sāyaṇa was one of the

recipients. We learn from an inscription of the time of Kṛṣṇarāya (1513) that
163

there was a village called Sāyaṇapura close to the capital, Vijayanagara. The 164

village was perhaps founded, or renamed, in honour of Sāyaṇa. So close was

Sāyaṇa’s relationship with the state that Cezary Galewicz recently chose to
begin his monograph on the commentator by declaring that “[t]he legend of
the man known to Indian history by the name of Sāyaṇa will probably remain
forever tied to another legend, that of the empire of Vijayanagara.” 165

61
 The Śṛṅgēri maṭha adhered to the advaita (non-dualist) school of
Śaṅkara (ca. 788-820 CE). Or so it claimed, in spite of the tāntric influences it
was subjected to. It is very likely, then, that the maṭha was not favourably
disposed towards rival schools of thought and their establishments. One such
establishment existed in the coastal town of Uḍupi down the ghāts, viz., the
famous Kṛṣṇa temple with its eight affiliate maṭhas. The Kṛṣṇa temple was
the wellspring of the dvaita (dualist) school, which looked upon advaita as its
biggest opponent. Understandably enough, Śṛṅgēri shared a very difficult
relationship with Uḍupi.
The dvaita doctrine was systematically formulated in the thirteenth
century by the Vaiṣṇava saint, Ānanda Tīrtha (ca. 1197-98-1275-76). He 166

lived in Uḍupi for the better part of his life. He was a master of the vaidic
works such as the Saṃhitas, the Brāhmaṇas, the Āraṇyakas, and the
Upaniṣads. He is known to have studied advaita independently, as well as
under a teacher of considerable renown, before registering his disagreements
and setting out to build his own system. With his great erudition,
argumentative prowess, and charisma, Ānanda Tīrtha went on to exercise
great influence over the praxis of sainthood in southern India. We must
examine his life at some length.
Although there is no unanimity concerning the dates of Ānanda Tīrtha, a
manuscript of his Mahābhārata Tātparya Nirṇaya used by Bhandarkar
mentions Kali Era 4300 (CE 1199) as the date of his birth. While this date
167

does not occur in the printed version of text, the succession list preserved in
168

various monasteries mention 1197-98 as the year when Ānanda Tīrtha was
born. That Ānanda Tīrtha lived for seventy-eight years enables us to place his
death in the year 1275-76.
Ānanda Tīrtha is credited in hagiographic literature with the construction
of the Kṛṣṇa temple at Uḍupi and its eight affiliate maṭhas. There are no
169

means to ascertain the veracity of this claim. The earliest legends concerning
Ānanda Tīrtha are recorded in the Maṇimañjarī, written by Nārāyaṇa Bhaṭṭa,
the son of one of his disciples Trivikrama. This fanciful work in eight
chapters has, in fact, nothing much to tell us about Ānanda Tīrtha’s life. Only
in the eighth chapter is a terse and telescoped account given. There is no
reference to the construction of the temple or the maṭhas in this account. An
inscription from 1366 records a grant made by a certain Malliyadaṇṇāyaka to
the god of Uḍupi. The grant was made following the demise of a certain
170

Sōvaladēvi, who had earlier made a grant. This suggests that the temple
existed in the early half of the fourteenth century. However, the inscription is
found in the Anantēśvara temple, not in the Kṛṣṇa temple. The Kṛṣṇa temple
itself is known to have existed in the late fourteenth century. A grant was
made to it in the time of Harihara II in 1395. Another grant came its way in
171

1396. We might on the basis of these evidences conclude that the temple
172

62
existed in the later half of the fourteenth century. Given that Ānanda Tīrtha’s
death and the first known grant to the temple are separated only by a little
over a century, it is not unreasonable to accept that the temple was built
during Ānanda Tīrtha’s lifetime or within a few years or decades of his death.
Epigraphic reference to the maṭhas is not found before the seventeenth
century. A record from 1615, when Vēdavēdya Tīrtha, the adoptee
(karakamalasañjāta) of Vādirāja Tīrtha, held the pontificate, speaks of eight
villages (aṣṭagrāma) after which the maṭhas are named. However, the
173

existence of the maṭha during Vādirāja’s time is alluded to in legends

concerning his life.
If the account given in the Maṇimañjarī is to be believed, Ānanda Tīrtha
was born as the incarnation of Vāyu (the wind god) to destroy the doctrines of
Śaṅkara, who taught Buddhism under the veil of vēdānta. The account itself
is fanciful. It identifies Śaṅkara as the son born out of wedlock to a widow.
His real name is recorded as Maṇiman. He was an evil genius, who seduced a
brāhmaṇa woman, converted people to his faith with the help of magic, and
preached violence and immorality. His followers destroyed monasteries of
their opponents, and indulged in sinful acts like killing cattle, women, and
children. The teacher Satya Prajña was killed, and Prajñā Tīrtha converted to
their faith by force. However, this line of teachers continued to practice their
doctrine secretly. In this line was born Acyutaprēkṣa. Ānanda Tīrtha was his
disciple.174

The life of Ānanda Tīrtha is elaborately described on the lines of the

prevailing hagiographic conventions in Nārāyaṇa Paṇḍita’s Sumadhvavijaya.
Like the Maṇimañjarī, this work regards Ānanda Tīrtha as an incarnation of
Vāyu. Here is the story:
A brāhmaṇa called Madhyagēha Bhaṭṭa lived at Pājaka in
Paraśurāmakṣētra (the region between Gōkarṇa and Kanyākumāri) with his
wife. He had a daughter, but there was no one to take his line forward as his
two sons had died young. Madhyagēha Bhaṭṭa and his wife prayed to Lord
Anantēśvara for twelve years, and as a result, were blessed with a son. He was
named Vāsudēva.
As a child, Vāsudēva was intelligent, inquisitive, and adventurous, and
showed signs of wanderlust. The hagiographer attributes a number of miracles
to the young boy, including the slaying of a demon, and curing his teacher’s
son of a chronic headache by blowing wind into his ear. After initial
schooling in a gurukula, Vāsudēva decided to renounce worldly life and
become a disciple of Acyutaprēkṣa, much against the wishes of his father. But
before leaving, he prophesied that Madhyagēha Bhaṭṭa would be blessed with
another son. The prophecy came true. Acyutaprēkṣa initiated Vāsudēva into
sainthood, and conferred the name Pūrṇabōdha upon him. The boy was only
175

ten years old at this time.

63
 One day Pūrṇabōdha expressed his wish to travel to Kāśi, and take a
holy dip in the Gaṅgā. Acyutaprēkṣa was so deeply attached to his disciple
that he was pained by the thought of his departure. Gaṅgā appeased the guru
and the śiṣya by appearing in the lake Anantasarōvara nearby. The days that
followed were, however, marked by frictions between Acyutaprēkṣa and
Pūrṇabōdha. It began when Pūrṇabōdha defeated a vaiśēṣika scholar called
Vāsudēva in a debate, and impressed by it, Acyutaprēkṣa decided to teach
him a text of higher learning called Iṣṭasiddhi. This was an advaita text.
Pūrṇabōdha pointed to several mistakes in it, which Acyutaprēkṣa had to
concede. Pūrṇabōdha commenced a career in teaching, and began with
māyāvāda (i.e., the advaita of Śaṅkara). Acyutaprēkṣa now turned to a
recitation of the Bhāgavatapurāṇa. The manuscript he had was different from
the one that a disciple listening to it had in his possession. The disciple
pointed to the differences in some verses, whereupon Pūrṇabōdha, who was
also present there, declared which one of the two versions was textually
authentic. When challenged by Acyutaprēkṣa, he recited the subsequent
section of the text to the surprise of those assembled there. Acyutaprēkṣa
asked him when he had memorized these difficult sections, as he had never
seen him do so. Pūrṇabōdha revealed that he had learnt them in his previous
birth. Impressed by his scholarship, Acyutaprēkṣa subsequently nominated
him as his successor, and gave him the name Ānanda Tīrtha.
In the following days, Ānanda Tīrtha frustrated many scholars, including
Jyēṣṭhayati, a friend of Acyutaprēkṣa, and two Buddhist teachers,
Buddhisāgara and Vādisiṃha, in various debates. He then began his
discourses on the vēdānta by commenting on the Brahmasūtras, and
challenging the existing commentaries of the rival schools, especially advaita.
Upon the request of many eminent teachers of the day, including
Acyutaprēkṣa’s, he recited a new commentary on the Brahmasūtras.
Ānanda Tīrtha then set out on a tour of southern India in the company of
Acyutaprēkṣa. It brought him to places like Viṣṇumaṅgalaṃ near Kāsaragōḍǔ,
the Payasvini river valley, Tiruvanantapuraṃ, Kanyākumāri, Dhanuṣkōṭi,
Rāmēśvaraṃ, Śrīraṅgaṃ, and other nearby places. At all these places, he had
a sacred dip in the waters, and offered prayers. He also refuted rival teachers
in debates at many places and won a number of admirers and followers. His
next stopover was Śrīmuṣṇa. Here, he caused a water-tank called Daṇḍatīrtha
to be excavated. From there he returned to the Payasvini valley, where at
different places, he engaged in discourses and debates, defeating adversaries.
He then wrote a commentary on the Bhagavadgīta and presented it to
Acyutaprēkṣa and Jyēṣṭhayati.
Ānanda Tīrtha now turned to the north and travelled to Badarikāśrama
(Badrīnāth in Uttarakhand) with the intention of obtaining permission to write
a commentary on the Brahmasūtras from its celebrated author, Vēda Vyāsa.

64
In the course of the journey, he held discourses at various places, and routed
advocates of rival schools in debate after debate. He also collected a number
of books during the journey. Upon reaching Badarikāśrama, he presented the
commentary on the Gīta to Lord Nārāyaṇa (Viṣṇu) at the Anantamaṭha, and
obtained his approval. In the following days, he performed penances.
Meanwhile, Vyāsa invited Ānanda Tīrtha to his āśrama in Uttara Badari.
Ānanda Tīrtha travelled across the snowcapped mountains and reached
Vyāsa’s āśrama. The two giants met in a divine union. There, Lord Nārāyaṇa
manifested in front of Ānanda Tīrtha in another form and asked him to write a
commentary on the Brahmasūtras. Work on the commentary began at
Badarikāśrama. Ānanda Tīrtha then travelled southwards and reached the
river Gōdāvari, where a teacher called Śōbhanabhaṭṭa became his disciple.
Ānanda Tīrtha returned to Uḍupi, where he presented his commentary on the
Brahmasūtras to Acyutaprēkṣa.
During his stay in Uḍupi, a storm caused a shipwreck in the sea. The
ship was coming from Dvārakā. Ānanda Tīrtha saved the ship from
destruction. The merchant who was sailing in the ship presented him with an
image of Kṛṣṇa in gratitude. Ānanda Tīrtha built a temple for Kṛṣṇa at Uḍupi,
and installed the image there. He then chastised a proud expert of yajñas, and
had his teacher’s son Vāsudēva perform a proper yajña. Then, he wrote the
Tantrasāra, which laid out the rituals to be observed in the Kṛṣ ṇa temple.
After this, Ānanda Tīrtha set out on a second voyage to Badarikāśrama
in the company of many disciples. He performed several miracles in the
course of this journey, including making a king excavate a lake, walking on
the river Gaṅgā along with his disciples, humbling highwaymen, and rescuing
his disciple Satya Tīrtha by killing the tiger that had attacked him. At Uttara
Badari, Vyāsa presented him with eight stone sculptures made sacred by the
presence of Lord Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa. Vyāsa also instructed him to compose the
Mahābhārata Tātparya Nirṇaya. On his return journey, Ānanda Tīrtha
walked over the river Gaṅgā once again. During his four-month monsoon
retreat (cāturmāsa) at Hastināpura, the Gaṅgā flowed down and bowed to
him. At Kāśi, his disciples turned arrogant, and challenged him to a wrestling
match. Ānanda Tīrtha defeated them effortlessly. Then he reduced the advaita
teacher Indrapuri in a debate. Upon reaching Kurukṣētra, he dug the earth and
revealed the mace used by him in his previous birth as Bhīma, the second of
the five Pāṇḍava brothers. At Hṛṣīkēśa (Ṛṣīkēśa), Lord Rudra invited him to
176

accept bhikṣā (alms) and made his devotee offer him bhikṣā. Ānanda Tīrtha
then came to Iṣupāta where he prayed to Paraśurāma. At Gōviṣaya (Goa), a
king invited him and offered thousands of plantains and milk. Ānanda Tīrtha
consumed them with ease. On another occasion at Gōviṣaya, he consumed
four thousand plantains and thirty pots of milk offered by a brāhmaṇa called
Śaṅkara. 177

65
 From Gōviṣaya, Ānanda Tīrtha returned to Uḍupi, and resumed his
discourses on his dvaita system. Śōbhanabhaṭṭa, whom we met earlier on the
banks of the Gōdāvari, arrived at Uḍupi, and was initiated as Padmanābha
Tīrtha. Another learned teacher came from the Kaḷiṅga country, became his
disciple, and returned home to attain fame as Narahari Tīrtha. Throughout this
period, Ānanda Tīrtha’s discourses continued in Uḍupi.
One evening, Lord Śēṣa appeared in the sky with his entourage, which
included the Sanaka brothers, to listen to the discourses. It created a great
178

sparkle of light in the sky. Ānanda Tīrtha’s audience was surprised by the
light. The great teacher explained to them how the light was caused, and
offered them a glimpse of Śēṣa and his entourage. Then Śēṣa revealed himself
and gave a colourful description of Vaikuṇṭha, the abode of Viṣṇu.
As the fame of Ānanda Tīrtha and his dvaita school began to spread far
and wide, a number of adversaries arrived on the scene to challenge him.
They approached Padma Tīrtha and Puṇḍarīkapuri of the Cōḷa country for
help. Puṇḍarīkapuri challenged Ānanda Tīrtha to a contest, and predictably
enough, he was defeated. Ānanda Tīrtha had entrusted the books in his
possession to a certain Śaṅkarācārya. The māyāvādi opponents believed that
our hero’s knowledge was based on his books. So they employed a certain
Padmanābha Tīrtha to steal the books. Learning of this, Ānanda Tīrtha came
179

to Ēkavāṭa with Jyēṣṭhayati, and humbled Padmanābha Tīrtha in a debate

without the aid of books. The books were entrusted to the village headman
with instructions to have them returned to Ānanda Tīrtha through the king.
The rest of the Sumadhvavijaya is rather dry (not that the events narrated
above are otherwise). At Prāgyavāṭa, Ānanda Tīrtha spent one of his monsoon
retreats. Here he spent his days in writing. It was here that the villagers
brought the books stolen by Padmanābha Tīrtha to him. Ānanda Tīrtha
refused to accept them, and advised them to have it returned through the king,
Jayasiṃha. The king met him, and was moved by his spiritual charisma. He
began to patronize the master, and became a trusted follower. Ānanda Tīrtha’s
adversaries were, nonetheless, unrelenting. They approached a certain
Trivikrama Paṇḍita and urged him to defeat Ānanda Tīrtha in a debate. But
Trivikrama Paṇḍita and his younger brother Śaṅkara were already great fans
of the dvaita school. A debate followed, which was more in the nature of a
humble Trivikrama Paṇḍita requesting Ānanda Tīrtha to clarify doubts on a
number of points. It ended cordially. The rest of Ānanda Tīrtha’s days were
spent, predictably, in discourses and debates, routing rivals in both physical
combats and intellectual exchanges, public works like building a check dam
with a boulder to prevent flood in the river Bhadra, and filling the dried up
lake of Daṇḍatīrtha in Saridantara by causing rain through a miracle. One of
his last acts was to rescue his younger brother, who lived a woeful life after
the death of his parents, from destitution. Ānanda Tīrtha initiated him as his

66
disciple, who in course of time attained fame as Viṣṇu Tīrtha. After living a
long life of play (līlā), Ānanda Tīrtha, who was by now popular as
Madhvācārya, dissolved in the unmanifest, as they say in hagiographic
parlance. He is believed to have suddenly vanished while discoursing on the
Aitarēya commentary to his students at the Anantēśvara temple in Uḍupi.
The image of Ānanda Tīrtha that was constructed over the centuries, and
recorded in the Sumadhvavijaya, has been crucial for the development of the
dvaita system and its sainthood. There is in this image a combination of a
number of attributes. Six of them are crucial for our purposes. One, Ānanda
Tīrtha is endowed with divinity, emphasized by the fact that he is an
incarnation of Vāyu, and meets with Vēda Vyāsa and Viṣṇu. Two, he is
known for his physical strength, represented by acts like slaying a tiger and
defeating men in wrestling encounters. Three, he performs miracles like
walking on a river. Note that unlike the miracles of future saints from other
traditions (discussed in chapters 5 and 6), these acts are not meant for the
benefit or welfare of others. Four, he travels far and wide, and wins over
people to his school, mostly through debates. Five, he is a rebel who rejects,
and fights against, orthodox learning. Six, he is the fountainhead of a new
school of knowledge. Of these attributes, valour and the performance of
miracles are certainly downplayed, and travel and divinity occupy an
intermediate position as if they are inevitable components of sainthood. The
greatest emphasis in the narrative is on the fact that the saint calls orthodox
knowledge into question, and develops and nurtures his own school. This
embedded hierarchy of attributes governed the image of sainthood in the
180

dvaita school in the succeeding centuries. In the lives of the saints of Ānanda
Tīrtha’s tradition, valour and miracles was always peripheral in importance in
articulating the personality of the saint, while travel and divinity were
consistently recorded. The defining feature of the saint, however, was the
challenge he posed to rival schools, and the force and conviction with which
he argued his case. Although the dvaita school soon became one of the most
deeply entrenched orthodoxies in the region, the noise it created by way of
constant opposition to Śaṅkara’s advaita enabled it to be represented as
doctrinally radical. Here was the orthodox, masquerading as revolutionary.
The Madhva tradition has carefully preserved records of its genealogy
beginning with Acyutaprēkṣa. Each maṭha had its own genealogy, too. Unlike
the list of early teachers produced by the Śṛṅgēri maṭha, these were not fully
invented genealogies, although many names are likely to have been smuggled
into them at different times. Corroborative evidences in a number of cases
establish the relative historical authenticity of the line of seers, although it is
not to be taken as completely foolproof. Fantastic lists of succession were not,
however, unknown, an instance of which is provided by Baladēva’s
commentary on the Brahmasūtras. 181

67
 Thus, the Madhvas of Uḍupi were the first in the region to produce a list
of succession with a relatively high degree of historical credibility that has
been carefully preserved and continued well into our times. In this, they were
in all likelihood inspired by the list of succession preserved by the
viśiṣṭādvaita schools of Tamilnadu. Here is one such list of dvaita teachers
182

of Uḍupi to the end of the nineteenth century: 183

Ānanda Tīrtha (or Madhvācārya)

↓
Padmanābha Tīrtha
↓
Narahari Tīrtha
↓
Mādhava Tīrtha
↓
Akṣōbhya Tīrtha
↓
Jaya Tīrtha
↓
Vidyādhirāja Tīrtha
↓
Kavīndra Tīrtha
↓
Vāgīśa Tīrtha
↓
Rāmacandra Tīrtha
↓
Vidyānidhi Tīrtha
↓
Raghunātha Tīrtha
↓
Raghuvarya Tīrtha
↓
Raghūttama Tīrtha
↓
Vēdavyāsa Tīrtha
↓

68
Vidyādhīśa Tīrtha
↓
Vēdanidhi Tīrtha
↓
Satyavrata Tīrtha
↓
Satyanidhi Tīrtha
↓
Satyanātha Tīrtha
↓
Satyābhinava Tīrtha
↓
Satyapūrṇa Tīrtha
↓
Satyavijaya Tīrtha
↓
Satyapriya Tīrtha
↓
Satyabōdha Tīrtha
↓
Satyasannidhāna Tīrtha
↓
Satyavara Tīrtha
↓
Satyadhāma Tīrtha
↓
Satyasāra Tīrtha
↓
Satyaparāyaṇa Tīrtha I
↓
Satyakāma Tīrtha
↓
Satyēṣṭi Tīrtha
↓
Satyaparāyaṇa Tīrtha II
↓

69
Satyavit Tīrtha

In his works, Ānanda Tīrtha is believed to have refuted the works of

twenty-one commentators who came before him. The commentators are
enumerated by Śēṣa, who was a disciple of Chalāri Nṛsiṃhācārya, the author
of a commentary on Nārāyaṇa Paṇḍita’s Sumadhvavijaya. The list includes
the redoubtable Śaṅkara and Rāmānuja. Ānanda Tīrtha’s works followed the
184

widely established tradition of expounding the doctrine in the form of

hermeneutically oriented commentaries on the prasthānatraya, and other
185

vaidic and brāhmaṇical works. Thirty-seven works are attributed to him.

These included a commentary on the Bhāgavatapurāṇa, the Bhagavadgīta,
the Brahmasūtras, Upaniṣads like the Aitarēya Upaniṣad, the Taittirīya
Upaniṣad, the Chāndōgya Upaniṣad, the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad, the
Īśāvāsya Upaniṣad, the Kaṭhōpaniṣad, the Kēnōpaniṣad, the Praśnōpaniṣad,
the Muṇḍakōpaniṣad, and the Māṇḍūkyōpaniṣad. Besides, he wrote
commentaries on parts of the Ṛgvēda, the Aitarēya Brāhmaṇa, and the
Aitarēya Āraṇyaka. His masterpiece was the Mahābhārata Tātparya Nirṇaya,
allegedly an exposition of the real meaning and spirit of the Mahābhārata. In
this work, he described the world as real and characterized by five distinctions
(pañcabhēdā), viz., the distinction between the self (jīva) and god (īśvara),
the distinction between one self and the other, the distinction between matter
(jaḍa) and god, the distinction between matter and matter, and the distinction
between matter and the self. This theory was the cornerstone of his dvaita
186

school.
Ānanda Tīrtha was the pioneer of the new vaidic orthodoxy in the
region. The dvaita doctrine he promulgated was certainly a serious challenge
to the advaitic orthodoxy, as it affirmed the reality of the world. The world,
according to this doctrine, was not māyā, but a substantial reality. But the first
step towards upholding the reality of the world was already taken a century
before Ānanda Tīrtha, when Rāmānuja systematized the tenets of the
viśiṣṭādvaita school. We must, therefore, dwell at some length on Rāmānuja’s
intellectual contributions in order to understand how he recast the debate on
the ontological status of the world.
Rāmānuja (ca. 1017-1137) was a profoundly influential teacher. He was
a disciple Rāmānuja (ca. 1017-1137) was a profoundly influential teacher. He
was a disciple of Yāmunācārya (ca. 966-1038), who in turn was the grandson
of Nāthamuni (ca. 900-950), who had compiled the works of the twelve
Vaiṣṇava saints of Tamilnadu, called Ālvārs, in the Nālāyira
Divyaprabandhaṃ. Rāmānuja thus had a rich intellectual legacy to inherit. It
was a combination of four elements: i) classical vēdānta articulated in the
form of commentaries on the prasthānatraya texts, ii) the ideal of devotion or
bhakti with its emphasis on intense personal relationship between the devotee

70
and the deity, iii) the temple-centred āgamic rituals of the tāntric Pañcarātra
tradition, and iv) the paurāṇic ontology narrativized in the Bhāgavatapurāṇa,
and more importantly, in the Viṣṇupurāṇa. 187

Rāmānuja made a significant departure from Śaṅkara’s scheme of things

when he identified the world as real and substantial. Matter was, therefore, a
188

major ontological factor in the articulation of his doctrine. The Buddhists had
reflected upon the nature of matter for a long time. But unlike the Buddhist
systems in which a specific god was absent, the doctrine of Rāmānuja had the
quality of a theology. God (in his form as Viṣṇu) was central to this system.
Recognizing the world as real and substantial, then, generated the need for
describing the difference between god and the world, and how they were
connected to each other. In his Śrībhāṣya, a commentary on the
Brahmasūtras, Rāmānuja elaborated upon this idea of difference in a matter
of fact way by emphasizing that the perception of difference and their
recapitulation during memory were possible only because each object had an
essential attribute of its own, which made it different from the other. In the
absence of such essential attributes, it would be impossible to distinguish
between, say, a horse, and an elephant. Rāmānuja argued that experience, in
189

its forms as knowledge, comprehension, and consciousness, is simply an

attribute of the experiencing self. The individual self, therefore, possesses an
190

attribute, viz., the faculty of knowing. It is not merely a reflection of the

supreme self devoid of attributes, as Śaṅkara had claimed.
This foregrounding of difference had its logical corollary in the fact that
the difference between the self and the body had also to be clearly
understood. Thus, reflections on the body came to occupy an important
position in this system of theology. Rāmānuja addressed this question by
regarding Brahman as śarīri, i.e., embodied, or the one endowed with a body.
Interpreting verses from the Viṣṇupurāṇa, he argued that Brahman possessed
a body, variously called śarīra, rūpa, tanu, aṃśa, śakti, and vibhūti by the
Purāṇa. In this theory of embodied Brahman, the śarīri was the substance, the
śarīra or body, its attribute. This was a radical move away from the manner in
which the Bhagavadgītā, an important prasthānatraya text, framed the
relationship between the body (dēha or śarīra) and the embodied one (dēhi or
śarīri). Although the Gītā dwelt at length on the (phenomenological) presence
of the body, its avowed position was that the body was, in the ultimate
analysis, corporal, and subject to decay, unlike the ātman, which was extra-
corporal, and eternal, indestructible, and immeasurable. The body, was,
191

therefore undesirable. Making this “undesirable” object substantial, and more

crucially, an attribute of Brahman, changed the way in which South Asian
traditions of renunciation in particular and intellectual traditions in general
looked at the world.
Isn’t there a distinction between the śarīri and the śarīra in Rāmānuja’s

71
scheme of things? Yes, there is, and this is one of its points of emphasis as
well. But the crucial point is that the śarīra is substantial (dravya) inasmuch
as the world is substantial, and at the same time, an attribute (guṇa) of the
śarīri. Everything that exists is identical with Brahman only by virtue of the
relationship of body and soul between them. Whatever is different from
Brahman exists as an entity only by being his body. It is thus that difference 192

(bhēda) and likeness (abhēda) are both affirmed simultaneously. How can a
substance be a substance, and at the same time the attribute of another
substance? The answer is provided through the simile of a lamp and the light
emanating from it. The light is real, and substantial in its own right. At the
same time, it is an attribute of the lamp that is also real and substantial. This 193

relational ontology, called dharmabhūtajñāna, endowed an attribute with

194

substance. Knowledge, i.e., brahmajñāna, involved a proper understanding of

this relational ontology and its causes. The intention to know could arise
without the intervention of god. As Elisha Freschi observes, “Intentions need
the support of God to be turned into actions but one can conceive
independently the desire to take refuge in God and this is the root of one’s
future attitudes and deeds.” 195

How was brahmajñāna to be known? Rāmānuja’s answer to this

question was simple and disappointingly prescriptive: brahmajñāna was to be
learnt from a guru. It is the guru who teaches the aspirant to say: “In me all is
born, by me all things are sustained and in me all things are dissolved. I am
the secondless Brahman” and that “I am that Brahman that illuminates all
things, which is truth, knowledge and bliss absolute”. The knowledge thus
acquired is a knowledge from the mediate (parōkṣa), which over time
becomes immediate (aparōkṣa). An intensely personal bond between the
196

guru and the disciple is called for, as P.N. Srinivasachari writes in his
monograph on the viśiṣṭādvaita:
the ātman, who belongs to Brahman, somehow superimposes on himself the idea that he belongs to prakṛti, sleeps in and
as matter in the praḷaya state, identifies himself with the body of a god or an animal or a man in creation and subjects
himself to the wheel of samsāra with all its hazards and hardships till he is made to realise his folly by a loving guru.197

The loving guru is therefore central to the acquisition of knowledge and the
practice of sainthood. Thus, an aspirant “cannot rely on the inner light of
reason without the grace of God and the guru”. 198

This emphasis on a personal and emotional bond with the guru cannot be
seen as an inherent trait of renunciation in South Asia. Some of the oldest
works on renunciation from the subcontinent present no signs of such
intimacy. In the Praśnōpaniṣad, for instance, the relationship the teacher
Pippalāda shares with his six students is remarkably formal. One may even
call it mercenary. Having learnt the knowledge of Brahman, the students pay
tributes to Pippalāda—in words and in kind—and leave him without

72
cherishing any emotional bonds. No residues of intimacy are left behind. We
never come across any attempt to establish an enduring bond between the
guru and the śiṣya. This seems to have been the case at least till the early
199

second millennium CE. In the absence of any attempt to address this question
historically, it is difficult to say when, why, and how the practice of
configuring the guru-śiṣya relationships in intimate terms gained currency.
All that can be said is that it was well known by the end of the twelfth century
when the forebears of the later day Vīraśaivas began to represent themselves
as being protected by the eight-fold armours (aṣṭāvaraṇa), beginning with the
guru. As far as I can trace, the earliest expression of the new chemistry
200

between the teacher and the student goes back to the Mantrayāna school of
Buddhism in Tibet. The story of Nārōpa’s (ca. 1016-1100) impassioned
engagement with his guru Tilōpa (ca. 988-1069) seems to embody the first
known instance of its kind. Nārōpa’s patience and conviction about the
infallibility of Tilōpa makes him endure a number of recurring ordeals that
the latter expects him to overcome. Nārōpa, nevertheless, remains unshakable
in his resolve and reverence for his guru. As intense as this is the
201

relationship the celebrated Milarēpa shared with his teacher Marpa, who was
the greatest of Nārōpa’s students. This new ideal seems to have soon found
202

its way into Nepal from where it was carried to the north Indian plains,
perhaps by the Nātha (Kānphaṭā or Bārāpanthī) yōgis. Gōrakṣa
(Gōrakhanātha), to whom the founding of the Nātha tradition of renunciation
is attributed, is said to have shared a close relationship with his guru,
Matsyēndra. 203

The position the guru enjoyed in South Asian systems of renunciation

after the twelfth century was ethically far-reaching, if not decisive. What it
involved was a displacement of agency (kartṛtva) and action (kriya). The self
freed itself from the burden of agency and action by investing them in the
guru, who, though real, functioned as an abstract figurehead as far as the
dynamics of this displacement was concerned. Thus, guru could be invoked
as a concept—as the Vīraśaivas did by including him in the aṣṭāvaraṇa—
without there being an explicit need to invoke a specific individual as guru to
whom obeisance is paid. This abstraction enabled the sixteenth-century poet
Mēlpattūr Nārāyaṇa Bhaṭṭadiri from the neighbouring Kerala to transform
everything in the world into a guru from which he has something to learn. If
the god-compassionate makes up his mind, anything can turn into a source of
learning. The earth teaches patience, the wind detachment, and the sky-
204

teacher (gaganaguru) immanence. Water teaches purity, fire omnipresence,

205

and the sun and the moon, changelessness behind the shifting hues and
shades. The hunter, the python, the ocean, the fly, the beetle, the elephant,
206 207

the bee, the deer, the fish, Piṅgalā the courtesan, the pelican, the child, the
208

virgin, the artisan, the snake, the spider, the hornet, and the body which
209

73
teaches renouncement by reminding us of its ultimate fate of ending up as
filth or ash, are all transformed into teachers. With agency and action
210

displaced from the self, what remained was the act—without the intentional
component—and its result. Both were designated as karma. The question of
agency was of course not completely dismissed, as the self was always said to
be susceptible to the burdens of accumulated karma. But the karma question
became less and less troubling over the centuries, particularly after the
fifteenth century, when many new techniques—like listening to the
Rāmāyaṇa, the Mahābhārata, the Bhāgavatapurāṇa, or stories from the
paurāṇic tradition, or chanting the god’s name, or visiting centres of
pilgrimage—were invented to secure liberation and freedom from the
backlashes of karma. Even heinous crimes such as brahmahatyā (killing a
brāhmaṇa) could be absolved with ease. The figure of the guru and its
avowed relationship with the self enabled the transformation of agency and
action— which were functionally real though conceptualized as displaced—
into a ritualistic, recursive, and therefore non-existent form, making the self’s
powers of volition ethically redundant. The displacement of agency and
action—which was more of a deferral than displacement—had a historically
significant outcome. It released the self from the question of responsibility.
The new self engaged in duty (also called karma), but without being
responsible or answerable to anyone. It produced knowledge and beauty,
wielded authority, created wealth, and longed for the realization of Brahman,
all for their own sake and not because the self nurtured a sense of
responsibility. It should therefore not be surprising that no Indian language
had an equivalent for the word ‘responsibility’ in its vocabulary, until words
like hoṇegārike, javābdāri, uttaravādittvaṃ, cumatala, zimmēdārī, and so on
were coined or appropriated in the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries to
signify it.
211

Invoking the guru was one way of transcending responsibility. There

212

were perhaps many other ways of doing it. One of them is of particular
interest to us. This was līlā, or the concept of a cosmic play as constituting the
universe.
Līlā was a worldview, or more appropriately, an ontology of the world. It
described the world as a play of the supreme self or Brahman, variously
identified as Rāma, Kṛṣṇa, Śiva, Viṣṇu, etc. Whether this supreme self was
endowed with essential attributes (guṇa) was of course a theological question
often debated. But its ability to orchestrate the cosmic play, either
213

consciously or through the mediation of śakti or māyā, was widely accepted

after the twelfth century, and more pronouncedly after the fifteenth century.
The visible and the invisible worlds, which constitute the universe, were the
unfurling of this play. The world did not exist as anything other than the play.
Thus, the supreme self was the cause of the world. According to some

74
traditions, Brahman created the world. According to others, the world was
always present without being subjected to creation or destruction, and merely
reflected in the form of the manifest world, like the city reflecting in the
mirror, due to māyā. 214

Rāmānuja is among the earliest teachers to argue that the manifest world
is a līlā of god. The Śrībhāṣya begins by invoking god as the one who creates,
maintains, and destroys the whole world with his sport. Rāmānuja accepts
215

the position of the Brahmasūtras that the world is but a mere play (of
Brahman) and that there was no motive behind creation. He further refutes
216 217

charges of partisanship and cruelty on Brahman for having created an unequal

world by endorsing the Brahmasutras’ idea of dependence (sāpēkṣa) in
creation. Brahman, says Rāmānuja, depends upon the karma of the souls for
creation. Hence a world full of suffering and inequality. This unconvincing
218

argument is based on the authority of the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad, that

virtue and vice lead to virtue and vice, respectively. How, then, did
219

Brahman create the first soul and the first karma? Rāmānuja states, on the
authority of the Kaṭhōpaniṣad, the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad, and the
Bhagavadgītā, that the soul, karma, and matter have no beginning. At the
220

same time, līlā is independent of the karma or past actions of Brahman, and
also not directed towards a goal in the future. “The Lord’s action”, as John
Braisted Carman summarizes it, “is not determined by karma, nor does he
have to achieve some unrealized goal, for all the Lord’s desires are already
fulfilled. When the Lord periodically creates, maintains, and destroys the
universe, he acts in sovereign freedom for the sheer joy of self-expression”. 221

So, it is the sheer joy of self-expression that makes god engage in the great
cosmic sport of creating matter (jaḍa) and the body (śarīra) (that are anyway
already in existence, as they have no beginning!), imbuing them with reality
and substance, and making them attributes of his own substance.
Rāmānuja was certainly borrowing the idea of līlā from the
Bhāgavatapurāṇa and Nammālvār’s Tiruvāymoli. In the Tiruvāymoli, god is
222

said to be playing in the poet’s heart without showing him the body. He is a 223

miracle-worker and a marvel of contradictions, who created the great

224 225

drama of the Mahābhārata war. These images might have gained wide
226

popularity after Nāthamuni incorporated them into the Nālāyira

Divyaprabandhaṃ, conferring them with canonical status. Rāmānuja had
access to these images; for wasn’t he the disciple of Nāthamuni’s grandson
Yāmunācārya? 227

The viśiṣṭādvaita was a revolutionary doctrine. It brought the world in

general and the body in particular to the centre-stage of reflection. Earlier
systems mostly deployed the body and the world for purposes of similes or to
establish their unreal and/or destructible status in relation to Brahman.
Medical treatises, like the Suśruta Saṃhitā, were of course professionally

75
obliged to discuss the body. But it was rare to find discourses on the body in
texts expounding religious systems. The Jaina theorists were among the
earliest to acknowledge the body as real. The Yōga school and the
Bhagavadgītā also laid emphasis on the body as real, and prescribed methods
for its nurture and/or control. However, not until the twelfth century did the
body figure as an essential object of reflection in South Asian systems of
thought. The viśiṣṭādvaita endowed the body and the world with an
ontological status that was at once real and substantial.
An understanding of the self or the supreme would henceforth be
incomplete without an understanding of the body. This was the first step in
the evolution of the consciousness that the body and the world were available
for reflections, and their ontologies open to causal explanations. Neither the
Bhagavadgītā nor systems like Yōga ever attempted to offer causal
explanations for the existence or creation of the body. That this worldly shift
in theology occurred at a time when the rank and file of landholders expanded
exponentially and brought forth a deeply entrenched class of peasant
proprietors who asserted their selfhood and worldly wealth in ways hitherto
unknown explains why the viśiṣṭādvaita became the most influential system
of theology in south India after the twelfth century, influencing even systems
that were antagonistic to it, as we shall see. Thus, when Ānanda Tīrtha
produced his doctrine of five distinctions, the idea that the world was real was
already known to south Indian theological systems for over a century. It was
in this context that Vidyāraṇya, the arch Advaiti of the fourteenth century,
advocated not only the destruction of latent desires (vāsanākṣaya), but also
the destruction of mind itself (manōnāśa). He certainly knew that the body
was real, although his denial of its reality was remarkable for its refined
reasoning.
Vidyāraṇya died in 1386. Sāyaṇa outlived him by only a few months. He
passed away in 1387. Twelve years later, the famous Chisti saint of Dilli,
Sayyīd Muhammad al-Hussaynī, better known as Hazrat Khvājā Bandānavāz
Gēsūdarāz, reached Daulatābād. The Bahmani ruler Firūz Śāh accorded him a
warm welcome, invited him to Kalaburagi, and offered him space to build his
khānkāh (hospice). Bandēnavāz, as the saint came to be known in the region,
was already seventy-nine years old at that time. He lived in Kalaburagi until
his death at the age on 101 on 1 November 1422. 228

Bandēnavāz was the son of Sayyīd Yūsuf al-Hussaynī of Khūrāsan, who

had become a disciple of Hazrat Nizāṃ-ud-dīn Auliyā in Dilli. His family
claimed descent from Muhammad, the Prophet. Yūsuf was popularly known
as Rājū Kattāl. Bandēnavāz was born in Dilli. At the age of seven, in 1328,
the family moved to Daulatābād when Muhammad bin Tughlak ordered
migration of the residents of Dilli to his new capital. Rājū Kattāl died in 1330
and was interred in Daulatābād. Three years later, in 1333, the family returned

76
to Dilli. In 1336, Bandēnavāz and his brother Sayyīd Candān al-Hussaynī
became disciples of the Chisti saint, Nāsir-ud-dīn Mahmūd, popularly known
as Cirāg-e-Dilli (the light of Dilli). Nāsir was the preeminent disciple of
Nizāṃud-dīn Auliyā, who had died in 1325. Under his tutelage, Bandēnavāz
turned into a recluse and spent long periods in isolation, lost in books and
meditation. Candān al-Hussaynī continued with his worldly pursuits.
Bandēnavāz was seriously affected by the cholera (or a spillover of the great
plague that caused the Black Death in Europe, Central Asia, and China?) that
struck Dilli in 1356. Nāsir-ud-dīn nursed him back to life, and recognized him
as his spiritual successor through the symbolic act of giving him his prayer
carpet, before dying in September that year. For the next fortytwo years,
Bandēnavāz lived in Dilli and attracted a wide following. He left Dilli on 17
December 1398 after learning of Tīmūr’s destructive march towards Dilli. He
travelled through Bahādurpūr, Gvāliyar, Jhānsi, Candēri, Vaḍōdarā and
Khaṃbaṭ, and reached Daulatābād late in 1399, from where he reached
Kalaburagi at the instance of Firūz.
The relationship between Firūz and Bandēnavāz remained cordial until
1403. In that year charges of heresy came to be made against Bandēnavāz on
the grounds that the works he taught in his hospice included the heretical
Fusus al-Hikhaṃ of Ibn al-‘Arabi (1165-1240). Firūz’s brother Ahmad Śāh
Bahmani, who was a claimant to the throne, threw in his lot with Bandēnavāz.
The Shaikh seems to have supported Ahmad’s claim to the throne. His
relationship with Firūz soared. In 1409, Bandēnavāz moved to a new location
away from the fort. The Sultān also grew contemptuous of the Shaikh as the
latter, who excelled in ecclesiastical learning, was poor in secular sciences
like rhetoric and geometry, which the Sultān had mastered. In 1422, when
229

Firūz was on his sickbed trying to promote his son as the next Sultān, Ahmad
paid a visit to Bandēnavāz, and on 21 September, usurped the throne after a
brief confrontation with Firūz’s forces. Firūz died on 2 October. A month
later, on 1 November, Bandēnavāz also breathed his last. Before his death,
Bandēnavāz nominated his son Sayyīd Asghar al-Hussaynī as his successor to
the khānkāh. Thus was introduced the principle of hereditary succession
among the Sūfis in the Deccan. Ahmad also granted land to the khānkāh,
230

although he soon stopped patronizing the Chisti order and turned to the
Kādiris of Iran as part of a change in royal policy. The control over land,
hereditary succession, the brief support extended by the Bahmani state, and
the image of a ripeold man rebelling against the Sūltan, these factors led to
the popularity of Bandēnavāz in the region. Shortly after his death, his
mausoleum in Kalaburagi became a leading centre of pilgrimage. It has
continued to be so well into our times.
Bandēnavāz was a proponent of sama’, the practice of listening to the
singing of mystical poetry to the accompaniment of percussion instruments.

77
The band sama’ (closed band), involving a limited audience and the use of a
tambourine, was his innovation. Singing turned out to be a powerful means of
propagating Sūfism in the Deccan.
Bandēnavāz was the Sāyaṇa of the Islamic world. He wrote prolifically
in Arabic, Persian, Urdu, and Dakhni, producing nearly two hundred books on
a variety of ecclesiastical themes. These included commentaries on the Korān
and the Hadīths.
The projects of Rāmānuja, Ānanda Tīrtha, Vidyāraṇya, Sāyaṇa, and
Bandēnavāz were harbingers of a greater project undertaken in the fifteenth
century at Haṃpi, whose impact was pervasive and whose consequences, far-
reaching. The impetus for this project seems to have come from
Mahaliṅgadēva, a resident of Puligere (where Ādayya destroyed a Jaina
basadi three centuries earlier). It was carried out under the able supervision of
Jakkaṇārya and Lakkaṇṇa Daṇḍēśa, two military commanders under the
Vijayanagara king Dēvarāya II (r. 1424-1446), who were also entrusted with
civil assignments as functionaries of the state. This project was instrumental
in the consolidation of beliefs, practices, and narratives that would eventually
come to congeal as Vīraśaivism.
Mahaliṅgadēva bore titles such as Puligerepuravarādhīśvara and
Vārāṇasīndra. He wrote the Ēkōttaraśatasthala and a commentary on Allama
Prabhu’s vacanas under the name, Prabhudēvara
Ṣaṭsthalajñānacāritravacanada Ṭīke. With this commenced the historical
enterprise of compiling the vacanas of the twelfthcenturies śaraṇas,
producing glosses on them, and composing hagiographies of the śaraṇas and
narratives of encounters between them. An early attempt in this direction was
made in 1369, when the poet Bhīma wrote the influential Basavapurāṇa, a 231

hagiographic account of the life of Basava, inspired by Pālkurike

Sōmanātha’s Basavapurāṇamu in the Telugu (ca. 1200). But the new
enterprise was more orthodox than Bhīma’s, and doctrinally rigorous and
elaborate. Mahaliṅgadēva’s disciple was Kumāra Baṅkanātha, who wrote the
Ṣaṭsthalōpadēśa and the Prabhudēvara Ṭīkina Vacana. Jakkaṇārya was
Baṅkanātha’s adopted son (karajāta), and his entry into Vijayanagara service
gave a great fillip to the project. Jakkaṇa was himself the author of the
Ēkōttaraśatasthala, inspired by Mahaliṅgadēva’s work of the same name.
Mahaliṅgadēva had another disciple, known by the title Girīndra. He wrote a
commentary on Jakkaṇa’s Ēkōttaraśatasthala.
Among the other illustrious participants in the project, Lakkaṇṇa
Daṇḍēśa has already been named. He wrote the encyclopedic
Śivatatvacintāmaṇi. Maggeya Māyidēva was another contributor, who lived
in Dēvarāya II’s time. He came from Aipura (also called Magge?) on the river
Malaprabha. He was the author of the Śatakatraya , the Anubhavasūtra, the
232

Ēkōttaraśatasthalaṣaṭpadi, the Ṣaṭsthalagadya, the Prabhugīta, and a few

78
vacanas. The works of Gurubasava, a lesser-known writer, were innovative in
form, framed as they were as dialogues between a guru and his disciple. He
wrote seven works, the Śivayōgāṅgabhūṣaṇa, the Sadgururahasya, the
Kalyāṇēśvara, the Svarūpāmṛta, the Vṛṣabhagīta, the Avadhūtagīta, and the
Manōvijaya. These are collectively known as Saptakāvya. At the instance of
Gururāya, a mahāpradhāna under Dēvarāya II, Candra alias Candraśēkhara
wrote the Virūpākṣāsthāna and the Gurumūrti Śaṅkaraśataka. Candra was a
polyglot, and claimed proficiency in eight languages.
The Vijayanagara court hosted a number of renouncers, who lived in
different parts of Karnataka at the time. Tradition identifies 101 of them, and
calls them the nūrondu viraktaru or the 101 Viraktas. Some of them were also
poets. Among them was Cāmarasa, the author of the outstanding hagiographic
account of the life of Allama Prabhu, the Prabhuliṅgalīle. This work was
recited to great appreciation in Dēvarāya II’s court. Kallumaṭhada Prabhudēva
was another Virakta known for his literary works. He composed the
Liṅgalīlāvilāsacāritra, and a commentary on the Mantragōpya attributed to
Allama. The recalcitrant Karasthala Nāgaliṅga, a goldsmith from southern
Karnataka, was a third Virakta credited with literary compositions. He wrote a
number of vacanas and a short work called the Karasthala Nāgidēva Trividhi.
Closely related to the Vijayanagara project was the work of
Śivagaṇaprasādi Mahādēvayya, who wrote the Śūnyasaṃpādane, a
narrativized anthology of twelfthcentury vacanas centering on the life of
Allama. It turned out to be a successful work, inspiring three more
Śūnyasaṃpādanes in the fifteenth and the sixteenth centuries, one each by
Halageyārya, Gummaḷāpurada Siddhaliṅga Yati, and Gūḷūru
Siddhavīraṇṇoḍeya.
It is not easy to characterize the nature of this great project, because
although they were addressed to a limited audience, they engaged with
multiple concerns and served multiple purposes. It tried to consolidate and
integrate the several Śaiva traditions that had sprung into life after the
organized groups of the earlier period, such as the Kāḷāmukhas and the
Kāpālikas, had begun to show signs of disintegration. Many disorganized
groups, like the Viraktas, the Ārādhyas, the Jaṅgamas, the Ārūḍhas, etc., were
brought together as part of this integration. Their orders of succession,
practices of renunciation, and systems of knowledge were elaborated, widely
commented upon, and defined as constituting Vīraśaivism. Saints from
various other traditions were also appropriated. For instance, Cāmarasa’s
Prabhuliṅgalīle speaks of Allama Prabhu confronting Gōrakṣa
(Gōrakhanātha, the founder of the Nātha or the Kānphaṭā tradition), at the end
of which the latter becomes his disciple. This legend is repeated in the
233

Śūnyasaṃpādane. Muktāyakka is another saint who figures prominently in

the works of this project. She might be none other than Muktābāi, the sister of

79
Jñānēśvara and a major figure in the Vārkharī tradition of Maharashtra.
These works were informed by a new image of selfhood that had been
evolving since the twelfth century. This self was the reified expression of men
and women who had in the course of the preceding centuries gained greater
access to wealth in the form of land and money, and begun to assert their
political authority at the locality and the regional levels. In other words, this
self was the creation of a class that was affluent, or at least confident about its
potentials of upward mobility. Like the individual merchant who began to
dissociate himself from the merchant syndicates, and like the peasant
proprietors who had begun to transact business independently of the nāḍu
assembly, this new self was beginning to assert its autonomy in different
ways. It was most ingeniously done with the help of discourses, reflections,
and commentaries on the human body.
In most traditions, the body was represented as foul, polluted, and
undesirable. A clear distinction was made between the body (dēha or tanu)
and the self (tānu) or the soul (ātman) that resides in it. The idea was to argue
that the self continued to be immaculate and incorruptible in spite of residing
in the despicable body. We must dwell upon this idea at some length.
In a popular vacana attributed to Basava, a distinction is made between
the body and the temple. We are told that things standing (sthāvara) will fall
apart, while the moving ones (jaṅgama) will not. It might appear that the
234

vacana is expressly making a case for the body. This, however, is not the
case. While it is not hard to find more such vacanas from a corpus exceeding
20,000, they add up in the narrativized anthologies to produce a cumulative
picture of the body as undesirable. There are numerous instances where this is
explicitly stated. Cripple me, blind me, deafen me, and place me at the feet of
your śaraṇas, says another vacana attributed to Basava. Elsewhere in the
235

corpus, we are told to worship the lord before age, grey, and death takes us. 236

More ruthless is the treatment of the body in the vacanas attributed to Akka
Mahādēvi. The body is dirt, we are told, and after it has known the Lord,
237

who cares if the body feeds a dog or soaks up water? All that perhaps
238

matters is a prayer: O Cennamallikārjunā, don’t say those you love have a

body. 239

Cāmarasa tries to offer a reasonable-sounding critique of the body. In the

conversation between Gōrakṣa and Allama, the latter says, “If kāya (the body)
is strengthened, then māyā (illusion) is strengthened; if māyā is strengthens,
then chhāyā (shadow, i.e. the unreal) is strengthened; there is no
accomplishment (siddhatana) if kāya, māyā, and chhāyā are strengthened.” 240

Gōrakṣa was the progenitor of a system that believed in kāyasiddhi. The

primacy this system gave the body, drew from the idea that the body and the
self were identical, and that the only way to overcome suffering was to
strengthen the body and make it hard like a diamond (vajrakāya). The Nāthas

80
developed yogic practices with this goal in mind. It is this worldview that
Allama challenges in the Prabhuliṅgalīle. His response to Gōrakṣa’s
declaration that “I am the body” is in the form of a time-tested trope: “can
241

the fool, who considers the dirty loathsome body that is a sewer of bone, skin,
shit, piss, and blood, know the self?” The conversation between the two
242

giants does not resolve the matter. There is a final round of physical
confrontation. Gōrakṣa insists Allama to strike him with a dagger. Allama
accepts it reluctantly, and strikes Gōrakṣa hard. The dagger hits Gōrakṣa with
a ‘khaṇil’ sound. The earth shakes, the mountains tremble to cast boulders,
but not a hair of Gōrakṣa’s is cut off. Amazing indeed is Gōrakṣa’s diamond
body (vajrapiṇḍaśarīra). But Allama is not impressed. “Will the
accomplished one’s body make a ‘khaṇil’ sound?”, he asks. Gōraḳsa is taken
aback by Allama’s response. If attaining a diamond body is not
accomplishment, what is? Strike me, and learn for yourself, replies Allama.
Gōrakṣa strikes him. The dagger passes through Allama’s body as if passing
through empty space. Allama remains unhurt. Gōrakṣa realizes that real
accomplishment lies in transforming the body into a void (bayalu or śūnya),
not in making it hard like a diamond. 243

Nijaguṇa Śivayōgi (ca. 1500), while endorsing the wretchedness of the

body, makes another interesting argument in the Paramānubhavabōdhe.
According to him, sometimes I say that “I am the body”, and at other times
that “the body is mine”. The latter implies possession, and we can possess
only things external to us; on the other hand, the former does not suggest
possession, but unity instead. Surely then, there is some confusion here about
the status of the body, which, Nijaguṇa argues, is reason enough to reject the
body. 244

Discussions concerning the body are elaborate in the Śūnyasaṃpādane

tradition. Halageyārya’s version of the text may be examined as an example.
Here, Siddharāma is represented as a believer in prāṇaliṅga. According to
this position, the body was the pīṭha (platform) hosting the prāṇa (breath),
which was the liṅga. What then was the need for an external object or symbol
(kuruhu)? Allama on the other hand swore by iṣṭaliṅga, i.e., an external object
of one’s choice, representing the liṅga. The iṣṭaliṅga was to be placed on
one’s palm (karasthala) and worshipped constantly. The emphasis was on the
togetherness (saṅga) of the body (aṅga) and the liṅga, and not their unity.
Allama held that the inner (antaraṅga) and the outer (bahiraṅga)
complemented one another. And so did the tangible (iṣṭaliṅga) and the
intangible (prāṇaliṅga), and the real and its symbol. One had to transcend the
symbolic, but this was to be done by holding on to the symbolic. It is for this
245

reason, perhaps, that Halageyārya’s Allama speaks not of the dissolution of

the body (dēha), but the dissolution of bodyconsciousness (dēhabhāva). 246

Like most of his contemporaries, Halageyārya framed his thought in terms of

81
binaries, but it sprang from deep reflections, and was marked by a profound
measure of ideational integrity. It is thus that he is unable to imagine the
unmanifest without imagining the manifest, just as light is impossible without
darkness, and truth unthinkable without untruth.
In his Anubhavāmṛta (ca. 1675), Mahaliṅgaraṅga made his rejection of
the body more explicit. Bones, nerves, and marrow are born of father’s filth,
mother’s blood turns into blood, flesh and skin, the distinction between man
and woman is merely of form, the body is not the self, but only a moving pot
of shit. Father’s filth ripens in the mother’s womb that discharges filthy
247

blood month after month to produce a filthy body that is not the self. Raṅga 248

also dismisses the view that the breath (prāṇa) is the self. What the
249

Anubhavāmṛta introduces to us is a sublime self that is incorruptible in spite

of its earthly associations. The eighteenth century saint Cidānanda Avadhūta
goes to the extent of saying that the long association which the self has had
with the body has made it as woe-begotten as the latter, but it remains
omnipotent enough to retain its resilience and inhibit the body’s
waywardness. The self may inhabit the body and deliberate through the filth
250

and refuse of the material world, but it retains an indestructible core whose
essence is too pristine to suffer wounds and scars on account of its
engagements with the profane world.
The emphasis of the above discussion was on the rejection of the body
that was widely advocated during and after the fifteenth century in the Deccan
region. We must not, however, regard this as springing from a deep desire to
see the body dissolve into the unmanifest. Such elaborate reflections on the
body point to the centrality the body had in the emerging systems of thought,
a fascination that brought the body to this central position, and a reification of
this fascination in the form of intellectual reflections. That it was the warmth
of the body that was desired, and not its disavowal, is underlined by the
parapraxis contained in these works. For wasn’t Akkamahādēvi on the look
out for a guru who could teach her how to unite with Śiva without the
dissolution of the body? The body is the ultimate form of possession.
251

Owning a body differs fundamentally from owing a house, possessing a piece

of land or acquiring an object of desire. For, unlike these, the body is not
merely a source but also the destination of desire. Libidinal experience can
have its source in an object external to the body, but the experience itself is
sensory, and therefore, primarily a bodily experience. And so is
accomplishment. It has to be sensed. Maurice Merleau-Ponty was perhaps
right when he identified the body as “the mirror of our being”. Small 252

wonder then that Allama Prabhu, in another instance of parapraxis, asks

Gōrakṣa who it is that attains siddhi after the body is destroyed. 253

It is tempting to prolong this discussion concerning the body. The

sources on hand offer rich material for this discussion. But our present

82
purpose has already been served. The rejection of the body was not a
rejection. It was the ruse of a new self that longed for a body.
The tradition of reflecting upon the body, inaugurated by the
viśiṣṭādvaita school, found fertile expression among the Śaivas of Karnataka.
So did the other two categories: guru and līlā. We have noticed earlier that the
guru was the first of the eight armours identified by the Vīraśaivas. The
revered guru was the only valid source of knowledge for an aspirant. He or
she imparted knowledge, and dispelled the darkness of ignorance. This,
however, was not in the form of instructions given in a monastery to a mute
and submissive student. For, the recipient of knowledge was a future teacher,
and had to be recognized for all practical reasons as an incipient guru. The
emphasis, therefore, was on imparting knowledge in a dialogic context. And
exemplifying this process of knowledge transmission was Basava’s anubhava
maṇṭapa, where Allama arrived and engaged in long debates with other
śaraṇas who accepted him as their teacher. The four extent Śūnyasaṃpādanes
embody this mode of representing the guru.
The idea of līlā also had a tremendous appeal to the Śaivas. But they did
not restrict its scope to representing the world as a play of the supreme, but
expanded it to incorporate the acts of the śaraṇas, which were also regarded
as līlā. Kallumaṭhada Prabhudēva’s work was befittingly called the
Liṅgalīlāvilāsacāritra. Here, he described creation as follows:
thus, the undivided, sphere-shaped, great embodiment of luminance, the Mahāliṅga, was divided into the liṅga and the
aṅga, as it worshipped itself and performed pūja in the sport of līlā. Thus was it divided into two: the Mahāliṅga gained
five faces and became the Liṅgamūrti known as the five-faced. When a part of the effective power of luminance of the
dynamism of the consciousness that illuminates the Liṅgamūrti was separated, it became the aṅga called ātma. The
Liṅgamūrti’s place was told in both the liṅga and the aṅga thus formed.

līlayā sahitaḥ sākṣādumāpatiritīritā

līlayā rahitaḥ paścāt svayaṃbhuriti kathyatē

When the Mahāghanaliṅga is līlā, he is called Umāpati. When līlā ceases, he becomes Svayaṃbhu (self-born). This is the
meaning of this text.254

Creation, for Kallumaṭhada Prabhudēva, was a divine sport, as it was for the
proponents of viśiṣṭādvaita. But as opposed to the viśiṣṭādvaitis, the acts of
the saints also were represented as līlā in the Vīraśaiva works. Every act of
Allama was regarded a līlā played by him, and his hagiography by Cāmarasa
aptly called Prabhuliṅgalīle. Accounts on the life of the saints could therefore
incorporate supernatural acts like miracles and magic. The representation of
the acts of the śaraṇa as līlā was governed by the idea that the śaraṇas were
members of Śiva’s entourage (śivagaṇa) who had incarnated on earth to carry
out a predestined mission, or play. The poet Bhīma considered even killing
Jaina saints, breaking up their heads, and the destruction of Jaina shrines by
the Vīraśaivas as acts of līlā. 255

By the sixteenth century, mundane acts of devotees were also being

83
referred to as līlā. Thus, in Śāntaliṅgadēśikan’s Bhairavēśvara Kāvyada
Kathāmaṇisūtra Ratnākara, Annadānēśvara is said to have obtained the
throne of Nīlagunda through līlā. Devotees of Śiva live in līlā, says Gubbiya
256

Mallaṇārya in his Vīraśaivāmṛtapurāṇa, and those who insult such devotees

will fall into the great abyss of hell, upside down. 257

We must now turn to one final aspect of the great Vijayanagara project.
This was by any reckoning the most influential outcome of the initiatives of
Mahaliṅgadēva and his peers. Strange as it may seem, the tradition it invented
has not yet been fully acknowledged as an invented tradition by modern day
historiography. Historians of our times have for some reason not extended
their gift of skepticism to bear upon this invented tradition. The result is that
the myth of Kalyāṇa, Basava, the anubhava maṇṭapa, and a great twelfth-
century revolution has lingered on in the academic repertoire as well as in the
popular imagination.
The city of Kalyāṇa rose to prominence in the early eleventh century. It
seems to have had humble beginnings in the late tenth century as an important
stopover on a trade route. It was an unpleasant city in terms of its geography.
There were no rivers nearby, the Bhīma and the Kārañja being many miles
away from the city. The land was dry, but capable of throwing up a
substantial surplus if properly irrigated, but the region was not topologically
conducive for building lake networks like those in southern Karnataka or the
Kāvēri delta. Agriculture tended to be rain-fed. In the neighbourhood of
Kalyāṇa was the village of Mayūrakhiṇḍi (Mōrkhaṇḍi), which resembled
Kalyāṇa in its topography. The Rāṣṭrakūṭas had ruled from here for a while in
the eighth century but moved to Mānyakhēṭa (Māḷakhēḍa) in the ninth
century. For some reason, the Cāḷukyas, who overthrew the Rāṣṭrakūṭas in ca.
973 and established themselves at Mānyakhēṭa, moved to the old base of the
Rāṣṭrakūṭas over half a century later. Kalyāṇa became their new headquarters.
They ruled from here for a century and a half in the eleventh and the twelfth
centuries.
The Cāḷukyas transformed Kalyāṇa into a great city and built a fort at a
strategic location. The Tripurāntaka temple (which has not survived) was a
major landmark of the city. Kalyāṇa hosted Vijñānēśvara, the great lawgiver
of the Mitākṣara fame. And here in the court of Vikramāditya VI lived
Bilhaṇa from Kashmir, who wrote in honour of his patron one of the most
celebrated work in Sanskrit: the Vikramāṅkadēvacarita. To him is also
258

attributed the Caura Pañcāśika. Kalyāṇa is also likely to have been the place
where the Cāḷukya king Sōmēśvara III wrote the Mānasōllāsa.
By the late twelfth century, the high noon of the city’s prosperity had
come to pass. Its importance declined after the Kaḷacūri chief Bijjaḷa II
usurped the throne in 1162. Bijjaḷa II and his son ruled from their
headquarters Maṅgaḷavāḍa, and had Kalyāṇa as one of their outposts

84
(nelevīḍu). The rebel Kaḷacūri claimant Kannara (Karṇa) tried to establish
himself at Kalyāṇa. Bijjaḷa II had appointed Basava, the nephew of one of his
functionaries Baladēva, as his treasurer, and had given his (adopted?) sister
Nīlāṃbike in marriage to him. Basava was a devout Śaiva who was born in a
brāhmaṇa family at Bāgēvāḍi (now Basavana Bāgēvāḍi). As a young boy, he
had rebelled against orthodox brāhmaṇa practices and torn away his sacred
thread. He stayed for a while at Kūḍalasaṅgama where the Kṛṣṇa meets the
Malaprabha, and studied under a Śaiva teacher. During his stay at
Maṅgaḷavāḍa as Bijjaḷa II’s treasurer, he organized feeding (dāsōha) for
wandering Śaiva saints, the Jaṅgamas. A number of Jaṅgamas reached
Maṅgaḷavāḍa to obtain his patronage. Among them was Allama Prabhu, a
drummerturned-saint from the city of Baḷḷigāve. The feeding was organized
with abject disregard for prevailing caste norms. Basava seems to have spent
a large amount of money on feeding. Charges were levelled against him of
misappropriating funds from the royal treasury. He was also accused of
violating norms of commensality, as he had partaken food from the house of a
low caste devotee of Śiva called Saṃbhōḷi Nāgayya. His relationship with
Bijjaḷa II deteriorated. Bijjaḷa II was killed in 1167 by a certain Jagadēva who
appears to have been a henchman of Sōmēśvara IV, the surviving scion of the
erstwhile Cāḷukyas. In the confusion that led to the killing of Bijjaḷa II,
Basava left Maṅgaḷavāḍa, and met his end at Kūḍalasaṅgama under
mysterious circumstances. Kaḷacūri rule ended in 1184, and Sōmēśvara IV
returned to power. His rule ended in ca. 1199. With this, the history of the
Cāḷukyas came to an end. Kalyāṇa also ceased to be the nerve centre of the
region’s political and economic life.
Harihara’s Basavarājadēvara Ragaḷe (ca. 1175) is the first hagiographic
account on the life of Basava. In this work, Basava is found to be active in
Maṅgaḷavāḍa. This is hardly surprising. Among the twelfth-century śaraṇas,
only some, such as Maḍivāḷa Mācayya, Bāhūru Bommayya, and Telugu
Jommayya are known to have lived in Kalyāṇa. What is of interest, though, is
the fact that apart from Basava’s nephew Cannabasava, Allama Prabhu is the
only major contemporary śaraṇa from among the composers of vacanas,
whom Basava is said to have ever met. In Harihara’s accounts, there are no
allusions to his meeting with Akkamahādēvi, Siddharāma, Maḍivāḷa
Mācayya, and the other important śaraṇas. Harihara is also silent on the
existence of the anubhava maṇṭapa, the hall of experience, where the śaraṇas
are believed to have met in order to discuss a wide range of issues from the
sublimity of the spiritual world to the waywardness of everyday life.
An important change occurred in the hagiographic accounts, when in
Pālkurike Sōmanātha’s Basavapurāṇamu, some of the śaraṇas met with
Basava. More importantly, the scene of action shifted to Kalyāṇa. Sōmanātha
was evidently relying on stories that circulated among the believers in centres

85
of pilgrimage like Śrīśailaṃ. Inasmuch as Bijjaḷa II had killed the Cāḷukya
king of Kalyāṇa and seized his throne, it was not difficult to imagine the
activities of his treasurer Basava in that city. Given the symbolic significance
of the city, Bijjaḷa II might have wished to bring Kalyāṇa under his control. In
fact, Harihara’s Kēśirāja Daṇṇāyakara Ragaḷe identifies Permāḍi (Bijjaḷa II’s
father) as the ruler of Kalyāṇa, although we know from history that Permāḍi
259

ruled from Maṅgaḷavāḍa as subordinate to Sōmēśvara III and Jagadēkamalla

II, and contracted matrimonial alliance with the family of his masters. The
discrepancy, which unwittingly crept into Sōmanātha’s account, reached the
Kannada world through Bhīma’s Basavapurāṇa. Bhīma’s work, and the
circulation of Sōmanātha’s poem in various forms, profoundly informed the
project of Mahaliṅgadēva, Śivagaṇaprasādi Mahādēvayya, Jakkaṇa, Lakkaṇṇa
Daṇḍēśa, and others. These works also formed the basis for most accounts
produced in the late fifteenth, the sixteenth, and the seventeenth centuries on
the lives of the śaraṇas.
There were many variants of this story. But there was consensus on its
broad outlines. Basava, the treasurer of Bijjaḷa II, was an ardent devotee of
Śiva, and the brother-in-law of his patron. He organized feeding (dāsōha) for
the śaraṇas, which attracted śaraṇas from as far away as Saurāṣṭra and
Kashmir. To further the cause of the śaraṇas, Basava set up the anubhava
maṇṭapa in which śaraṇas sat down to discuss and debate the nature of the
self, the essence of the supreme, and the right practices required for realizing
the supreme, and to criticize superstitions, rival belief systems, and
inequalities based on caste and gender. A throne called śūnya siṃhāsana was
created. Allama occupied this throne. The śaraṇas composed vacanas in large
numbers to expound their views and ideals.
The experiment turned out to be fatal, as the non-Śaiva orthodoxy forced
Bijjaḷa II to punish Basava for violating caste norms. At Bijjaḷa II’s bidding,
two śaraṇas, Haraḷayya and Madhuvayya, were blinded. This was done to
create terror among the śaraṇas. A great mayhem followed. A devout śaraṇa
called Jagadēva was instructed by his peers to take revenge on the king.
Accordingly, Jagadēva killed Bijjaḷa II. Basava left Kalyāṇa, and became one
with the liṅga (liṅgaikya) by drowning in the waters at the confluence of the
Kṛṣṇa and the Malaprabha in Kūḍalasaṅgama.
This was the story promoted through the works of Pālkurike Sōmanātha
and Bhīma. That the scene of action in these works was Kalyāṇa formed the
basis for most works produced as part of the Vijayanagara project under
Jakkaṇa and Lakkaṇṇa Daṇḍēśa, in which Kalyāṇa became a metonymy of
sorts. In the course of time, the story underwent further changes. A reason
was invented for the blinding of Haraḷayya and Madhuvayya. The former was
a Mādiga (tanner) and the latter a Brāhmaṇa, the new story contended. Under
Basava’s influence, the Brāhmaṇa had given his daughter in marriage to the

86
Mādiga’s son, a pratilōma marriage that shocked the orthodoxy, and forced
Bijjaḷa II to mete out the punishment on Haraḷayya and Madhuvayya.
Unfortunately, it is this version that is passed off as history in most
modern accounts. Expressions like Kalyāṇa-krānti (the revolution of
260

Kalyāṇa), Basavakrānti (the Basava revolution), Śaraṇa-caḷuvaḷi (the śaraṇa

movement), and Vacana-caḷuvaḷi (the vacana movement) evokes passionate
responses from the Kannada vernacular academia, bordering on the fanatic. 261

Not only has this story of revolution enamoured hundreds of Grade C

researchers, it has passed muster with such thoughtful scholars as D.R.
Nagaraj, M.M. Kalburgi, and A.K. Ramanujan. The academic, literary, and
popular works produced on Basava, his revolution, and its spillovers
(including anthologies of vacanas, and critical and popular editions of
Vīraśaiva literature) run into over a million printed pages. What is missed in
the process is a fascinating history of the making of the myth of Kalyāṇa, and
how the myth became a driving force behind several systems of renunciation
in the region after the fifteenth century. 262

127 For a history of the Kalyāṇa Cāḷukyas, see Gopal 1981.

128 On the Kalacūris, see Desai 1968. Also, Gopal 1981.
129 Hall 1980.
130 The Syrian Christian (Tarisāpaḷḷi) copperplates and the Jewish copperplates exemplify this. For the text of the Jewish
copperplates, see No. 39, Ramachandran 2007. It was believed for a long time that there were two sets of Syrian Christian
copperplates, recording two different grants. M.R. Raghavavarier and Kesavan Veluthat have recently shown that the so-called
second set of plates is only a continuation of the first set. In effect, therefore, there is only one set of plates. See Raghavavarier and
Veluthat 2013 for a revised text and a reassessment of the plates.
131 Veluthat 2012: 220.
132 Hall 1980: 51-63 (i.e., chapter 3).
133 Ibid., 58-59, passim.
134 Ibid., 62.
135 Cf. Bl. 1-93, Epigraphia Carnatica, (revised edition), Vol. 9.
136 Cf. inscriptions in Epigraphia Carnatica, (second revised edition), Vol. 2.
137 Bl. 240, Epigraphia Carnatica, (revised edition), Vol. 9.
138 Siraguppa 55, Kannada University Epigraphical Series, Vol. 1. Tekkalakōṭe was among the most prominent of neolithic
settlements in the Deccan region.
139 Bl. 373, Epigraphia Carnatica, (revised edition), Vol. 9.
140 No. 60, Epigraphia Carnatica, (revised edition), Vol. 1.
141 On the nāḍus of Tamilnadu, see Subbarayalu 1973 and Veluthat 1990. Adiga 2006 offers a discussion in the context of
Karnataka. Also see Ganesh 2010 for nāḍus in Kerala.
142 The Ayyāvoḷe 500 and Maṇigrāmaṃ syndicates are discussed at length in Abraham 1988. Also see Hall 1980;
Champakalakshmi 1996: 311-326 (i.e., chapter 5); Veluthat 2012: 218-222. The Hañjamāna was active in coastal Karnataka even
in the late fourteenth century (No. 350, South Indian Inscriptions, Vol. 7, record dated 1399) and the early fifteenth century (No.
349, South Indian Inscriptions, Vol. 7, record dated 1406), but vanished by the end of the fifteenth century.
143 Talbot 2001: 135.
144 Eaton 2005: 20-21.
145 Gulbarga, as renamed by the Government of Karnataka in 2014.
146 This is confirmed by contemporary inscriptions, although literary sources from a later date at times speak of the Saṅgamas as
serving the Kākatīyas. See Kulke 1993: 208-239 (i.e., chapter 11) for a discussion.
147 Stein 1989: 21.
148 Ibid.
149 Eaton and Wagoner 2014: 27.
150 Kulke 1993: 212-213.
151 Rubiés 2000: 262. It is, however, not clear why the early founders of Vijayanagara did not resort to seek ‘legitimacy’ through
such legends. The theory of legitimacy has been called into question in recent years. See Pollock 2007: 511-524.
152 Kulke 1993: 226-227.
153 Ibid., p. 227.
154 Ibid.

87
155 Cited in Kulke 1993: 235-236.
156 Ibid., 237.
157 Not to be confused with Madhvācārya (ca. 1197-98 - 1275-76), who propounded the dvaita system of vēdānta. We shall refer
to Madhvācārya by his alternate name Ānanda Tīrtha throughout this work, in order to avoid confusion.
158 On this work, see Fort 1998: 97-113, and Goodding 2011.
159 Goodding 2011: 96.
160 On Sāyaṇa, see Galewicz 2009.
161 Modak 1995: 17-18.
162 Galewicz 2009: 96-97.
163 Annual Report of the Mysore Archaeological Department 1915, p. 42. Modak 1995: 31-32 speaks of another agrahara,
Bukkarāyapura, granted in 1377 by Harihara II to sixty brāhmaṇas, including Sāyaṇa. He locates this grant in the Kṛṣṇarājapēṭe
tālūk (of Maṇḍya district, although Modak refers to it as Hāsana district). I have not been able to trace this inscription. A similar
inscription occurs in the Kṛṣṇarājanagara tālūk (of the neighbouring Maisūru district), though, in which Harihara II granted
Bukkarāyapura to several brāhmaṇas. However, Sāyaṇa’s name does not figure in the list of donees. If it is this grant that Modak
is referring to, then it is likely that he has misread the word Hoysaṇa (i.e. Hoysaḷa) occurring in it as Sāyaṇa. See Kn 77,
Epigraphia Carnatica, Vol. 5 (revised edition).
164 No. 277, South Indian Inscriptions, Vol. 4.
165 Galewicz 2009: 31.
166 On his dates, see Dasgupta 1991: 51-52.
167 Ibid., 51.
168 Ibid.
169 The eight maṭhas are Phalimāru, Adamāru, Pējāvara, Puttige, Sōde, Kṛṣṇapura, Śirūru, and Kaṇiyūru. The maṭhas were
apparently named after villages originally held by them.
170 No. 306, South Indian Inscriptions, Vol. 7.
171 No. 299, Ibid.
172 No. 183, Ibid.
173 No. 302, Ibid.
174 Maṇimañjari, 6-8. For a summary of this account, see Dasgupta 1991: 52.
175 Elsewhere, and more popularly, he is known as Pūrṇaprajña.
176 Bhīma is believed to be the son of Vāyu, and Ānanda Tīrtha, an incarnation of Vāyu.
177 Our hero seems to have been quite a foodie. The motif of consuming large quantities of food occurs again and again in the
Sumadhvavijaya. It compares with the gluttony of Bhīma in the Mahābharata.
178 According to the Purāṇas, Sanaka, Sanandana, Sanātana, and Sanatkumāra were four leading sages and the sons of Brahma.
179 Not to be confused with Śōbhanabhaṭṭa, who was given this name after initiation.
180 We call it embedded because it is implicitly woven into the narrative rather than being stated explicitly.
181 Dasgupta 1991: 56.
182 The viśiṣṭādvaita line of succession commenced with Nāthamuni, who compiled the works of the twelve Vaiṣ ṇava saints, the
Ālvārs, as the Nālāyira Divyaprabandhaṃ in the tenth century. He was succeeded by Puṇḍarīkākṣa, Rāmamiśra, Nāthamuni’s
grandson Yāmunācārya, and Rāmānuja in that order. See Farquhar 1967: 240-242. See also Dutta 2014 for an account of early
hagiographic representations of Rāmānuja.
183 Dasgupta 1991: 56. The historical significance of tracing such genealogies of succession will be discussed in chapter 4.
184 Ibid., 53.
185 The prasthānatraya or ‘the three movements’ are the Brahmasūtra of Bādarāyaṇa (i.e. Vēda Vyāsa), the Bhagavadgīta, and
the Upaniṣads. The vaidāntic traditions of India, which include the advaita, the dvaita, the viśiṣṭādvaita, the dvaitādvaita, the
śuddhādvaita, and many other schools, regard the prasthānatraya as the source of their authority. Most vaidāntic doctrines are in
the form of commentaries on the prasthānatraya.
186 Mahābhārata Tātparya Nirṇaya, 1.69-71.
187 The influence of the Bhāgavatapurāṇa’s order of things is only implicit and embedded in Rāmānuja’s works, his explicit and
long-standing engagement being with the Viṣṇupurāṇa.
188 See Bartley 2002: 27-68 (i.e. chapter 2) for a discussion.
189 Śrībhāṣya, 1.1.1.
190 Ibid. However, Rāmānuja hastens to clarify that experience itself has no attributes, as it is not an object to be known.
191 Bhagavadgītā, 2.18.
192 Śrībhāṣya, 1.1.1.
193 Srinivasacari 1943: 300.
194 Ibid., 33.
195 Freschi 2015: 292.
196 Srinivasachari 1943: 89.
197 Ibid., 136-137.
198 Ibid., 174.
199 We are discussing the relationship involved between the teacher and the aspirant disciple in the practices of renunciation, not
the formal gurukula education during brahmacarya.
200 The eight armours are guru, liṅga, jaṅgama, pādōdaka, prasāda, vibhūti, rudrākṣa, and mantra. For a discussion, see
Nandimath 2001: 326-32.
201 On Nārōpa, see Guenther 1995.
202 On Milarēpa, see Evans-Wentz 1950.
203 Briggs 2007: 229-34.
204 “tvat kāruṇyē pravṛttē ka iva nahi gurur lōkavṛttē‘pi bhūnan”, Nārāyaṇīyaṃ, 93.3.
205 Ibid.

88
206 Ibid., 93.4.
207 Ibid., 93.5.
208 Ibid., 93.6.
209 Ibid., 93.7.
210 Ibid., 93.8.
211 Here, we make a conceptual distinction between duty and responsibility. Duty is enforced by an external agency like state,
community, family, convention, law etc., whereas responsibility emerges from within, and is governed by one’s conscience.
212 Literature concerning the image of the guru in south Asia after the twelfth century is neither extensive nor compelling. See
Devadevan 2010c: 263-308 for a preliminary discussion. The importance of guru in the emerging religious systems of this period
has not gone unnoticed, though. “It is peculiar”, writes Galewicz, “for many religious traditions of medieval India, and most
characteristic of the group of works we are dealing with here, that the persons of gurus and the institution of the guru as such are
paid the highest possible respect.” Galewicz 2009: 54.
213 This refers to the saguṇa-nirguṇa debate.
214 The simile is from the popular Dakṣiṇāmūrti Stōtraṃ 1 (“viśvaṃ darpaṇa dṛśyamāna nagarī tulyaṃ”).
215 “akhila bhuvana janma sthēma bhaṅgādi līlē”, Śrībhāṣya, invocation.
216 “lōkavat tu līlā kaivalyaṃ”, Brahmasutras, 2.1.33.
217 “na prayōjanavattvāt”, Brahmasutras, 2.1.32.
218 Śrībhāṣya, 2.1.34.
219 Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad, 3.2.13.
220 Śrībhāṣya, 2.1.35. This is a major inconsistency in Rāmānuja’s system, but Rāmānuja seems to be in no mood to resolve it.
221 Carman 1994: 83-84.
222 Note, however, that the Bhāgavatapurāṇa was not of much importance for Rāmānuja, and even Vēdānta Dīkṣita. Rāmānuja,
instead, held the Viṣṇupurāṇa in high regard.
223 Tiruvāymoli, 6.9.5, as translated in Ramanujan 1993: 21. The Tiruvāymoli is a Tamil text, and the poet does not use the
expression līlā in it, although the idea is embedded in his imagery.
224 Ibid., 7.8.1.
225 Ibid., 7.8.3.
226 Ibid., 7.4.5.
227 The question of līlā awaits systematic historical research. Devadevan 2010c: 263-308 makes a set of preliminary assessments.
The essays compiled in Sax 1995 offer a good starting point for further research. Also see Hawley 1981.
228 The following account of Bandēnavāz’s life is based on Eaton 2005: 33-58 (i.e., chapter 2). Also see Papan-Matin 2010: 175-
178 and Jestice 2004: 311 for a brief biography.
229 Eaton 2005: 52.
230 Ibid., 55.
231 This epoch-making work has yielded the largest number of manuscripts for a Kannada literary text, after Kumāravyāsa’s
version of the Mahābhārata in the language, the Karṇāṭa Bhārata Kathāmañjari.
232 It is not unlikely that he was a weaver with the name, Maggada Māyidēva, i.e., Māyidēva of the Magga (‘the loom’).
233 Prabhuliṅgalīle, 19.
234 See Ramanujan 1973: 70 (No. 820) for the most popular translation of this vacana. Also see the discussion of this vacana (pp.
1-4), which is however marked by formalist over-reading.
235 Ibid., no. 59, p. 52.
236 Ibid., no. 161, p. 60.
237 Ibid., no. 12, p. 98.
238 Ibid., no. 117, p. 109.
239 Ibid., no. 157, p. 113.
240 Prabhuliṅgalīle, 19.37.
241 Ibid., 19.21.
242 Ibid., 19.22.
243 Ibid., 19.25-35.
244 Paramānubhavabōdhe 3.3.2. See 3.1-8 for an extensive argument. Also see Devadevan 2009b for a critique of this argument.
245 Śūnyasaṃpādane of Halageyārya, 252-260.
246 Ibid., 190. In Gūḷūru Siddhavīraṇṇoḍeya’s version, Allama says, without the manifestation of arivu (knowledge), kuruhu will
not be eliminated (Śūnyasaṃpādane of Gūḷūru Siddhavīraṇṇoḍeya, 3.106). In Halageyārya’s version it is marahu (forgetfulness)
that is said to remain as long as arivu in not manifest.
247 Anubhavāmṛta, 3.37.
248 Ibid., 3.38.
249 Ibid., 3. 40-43.
250 Jñānasindhu 27.23-45.
251 “What great teacher have I today, from whom the way of uniting with Śiva without the dissolution of the body can be
gained?” Prabhuliṅgalīle, 10.30. (Translation mine).
252 Merleau-Ponty 1962: 171.
253 Prabhuliṅgalīle, 19.26.
254 Liṅgalīlāvilāsacāritra, 3.7. (Translation mine).
255 Basavapurāṇa, 50.72-73.
256 Bhairavēśvara Kāvyada Kathāmaṇisūtra Ratnākara, 1.9.
257 Vīraśaivāmṛtapurāṇa, 3.10.51.
258 On the Vikramāṅkadēvacarita, see Bronner 2010.
259 Kēśirāja Daṇṇāyakara Ragaḷe, 1.31-32.
260 Instances are too many to be listed out. But see Desai 1968 and Chidanandamurthy 2007 for a general history. Also see

89
Ramanujan 1973; Schouten 1995; Ramaswamy 1996; and related essays in Kalburgi 2010.
261 See Devadevan 2009: 90-96, for a critique of this position.
262 Devadevan 2007.

90
4 Heredity, Genealogies, and the Advent of the
New Monastery
Bandēnavāz Gēsūdarāz initiated the practice of hereditary succession in his
hospice, which was a new development in the Deccan region. That the
hospice received a perpetual land grant from Ahmad Śāh Bahmani (r. 1422-
1436) was historically decisive in this context. Succession to the control of
land reinforced the principle of heredity, and consolidated the position of the
hospice as a political force in the region, placing the hospice on a firm
footing. It led to the creation of strong images of tradition and continuity that
came to be explored through representational strategies deployed in the
legends and hagiographies. A compelling model, based on heredity and
succession to landed wealth, was created for other monastic traditions to
emulate. Among the fallouts of this far-reaching development was the
evolution of lineages of succession within the monastery, both real and
imagined.
The principle of hereditary succession to landed wealth was pregnant
with potentials to bring forth radical transformations, not just in the realm of
monastic establishments, but also in other institutional domains. In an
insightful study of the emergence of the aṃbalavāsi (temple-dwelling) castes
in Kerala, Kesavan Veluthat has shown that groups like the poduvāḷs, the
vāriyars, etc., did not enjoy the status of distinct castes during the ninth, the
tenth and the eleventh centuries, when the Cēras of Mahōdayapuraṃ (ca. 844-
1122) held sway over large parts of Kerala. These groups were recognized as
so many brāhmaṇas, carrying out secular functions related to the temple. In
the course of time, they gained hereditary access to land by way of service
tenures granted in lieu of periodic remuneration. Hereditary control over land
consolidated their position within the temple and also as a closely-knit
endogamous group, leading to their evolution as castes. This is the most
263

ingenious explanation to date for the emergence of castes in India before the
institution underwent the great transformation of the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries as a result of the decennial census and the introduction of electoral
politics. There seems to have been no caste in premodern India that did not
264

enjoy hereditary access to land in some capacity or the other. This does not
mean that all castes owned land. Our emphasis is on hereditary access and
not on ownership. It involved a wide range of access in a variety of capacities
like owners, rentiers, tenants, occupants, holders of cultivation rights, and
agrestic labour, both bonded and free. There were a large number of groups
that exercised no hereditary control over land. Modern ethnography identifies
them as tribes. Thus, the nature of access to land is crucial for any discussion

91
on caste in premodern India.
The practice of granting land for religious purposes is as old as the later
vaidic period in India (ca. 800-600 BCE), and making land grants with the
265

generation of agrarian resources and revenue in mind, as old as the first

century BCE. In the Deccan region, land grants were widely prevalent after
266

the fourth century. Among the recipients of these grants were individual
brāhmaṇas, the corporate group of brāhmaṇas, temples, and Buddhist and
Jaina establishments. The grant made to the brāhmaṇas was called
brahmadēya. The temple grant was originally called dēvabhōga, and later,
dēvadāna. Historians identify these as eleemosynary grants. In Tamilnadu,
there were a few other forms of eleemosynary grants like paḷḷiccandaṃ,
śālābhōgaṃ, kaṇimuttūrrǔ and veṭṭāppērǔ. The paḷḷiccandaṃ was a Jaina
grant, and the śālābhōgaṃ, an endowment made to a school (śālā) that had
apart from imparting religious and secular knowledge, a leading military
function to perform. The nature of kaṇimuttūrrǔ and veṭṭāppērǔ are not clear
267

from the records. In Karnataka, inscriptions speak of grants like kīlguṇṭe (to
the family of a soldier who died fighting), bittuvaṭṭa (for the maintenance of a
tank), bālgalccu (a form of subsistence grant, or pension), aṇugajīvita (given
to a relative or a member of the royal family or an elite), and parōkṣavinaya
(in honour of someone else). 268

At least since the ninth century, the potential of money and gold as
interestbearing capital made the emergent elites gradually withdraw from the
practice of granting land. Land grants were made extensively, but
endowments of money or gold in lieu of land were made in greater numbers,
registering a new development in the praxis of charity. In many cases, a fixed
share of revenue or produce from a piece of land was also set aside as grant
instead of transferring ownership or cultivating rights. Inscriptions provide us
with numerous instances of land being given away for religious purposes. But
after the tenth century, it had turned into a less preferred practice vis-à-vis the
practice of granting revenue or gifting money and gold.
The rank and file of landholders had already swollen by the twelfth
century, making individual landholders a force to reckon with. Holding land
269

on a hereditary basis also made the family a deeply entrenched institution.

Inscriptions begin to enumerate family lines with much greater frequency.
Genealogy had until this time remained the preserve of kings and saints. In
the case of the later, it was the succession of saints or the guruparaṃparā that
was emphasized, not the order of succession in a given monastery. In
instances not related to kings and saints, records only named the Ego, and in
many cases, his or her father. Cases of enumerating more than two
generations were altogether rare. The Bedirūr grant of the Gaṅga king
Bhūvikrama, dated 634, provides one such example, in which five generations
are named, beginning with Bāṇa Vidyādhara Prabhumēru Gavuṇḍa, and

92
ending with the recipient of the grant, Vikramāditya Gāvuṇḍa. An 270

interesting instance from a village near Dāvaṇagere gives the genealogy of a

family of courtesans. It reads: “Maidamarasa’s concubine Kāḍacci, Kāḍacci’s
daughter Kāḷabbe, Kāḷabbe’s daughter Āycabbe, Āycabbe’s daughter
Kaḷiṅgabbe, Kaḷiṅgabbe’s lord Pallaharaki Paraki’s daughter Kaḷiṅgabbe,
Kaḷiṅgabbe’s son Parakayya”. This genealogy was doubtless a result of the
control over land the family enjoyed. The inscription is found in a village
called Kāḍajji, a clear indication that the village was founded by or in honour
of Maidamarasa’s concubine. 271

After the twelfth century, inscriptions carrying genealogies of the

families concerned increased in number by leaps and bounds. An inscription
from Gōvindanahaḷḷi, dated 1236, mentions Kētaṇa and Bōgayya I as the
father and grandfather, respectively, of the recipients of the grant, Bōgayya II
and his brother Murāri Mallayya. Note that Ego carries his grandfather’s
272

name, a common practice in southern India until recently. An inscription from

Beḷḷūru in the Nāgamaṅgala district is a veritable feast for the historian
hunting for genealogies. It commences with the name of Sindeyanāyaka, who
excelled in cattle-raids. He has three sons, matchless in valour:
Māceyanāyaka I, Ādityadēva, and Valleyanāyaka. Māceyanāyaka I’s sons are
Rāceyanāyaka, Māceyanāyaka II, Manaha, Malleyanāyaka, Cikkēnāyaka,
Sindeya, Śrīraṅga, Āditya, and Ballāḷa. Such was the Beḷḷūru family, which in
all likelihood established the village. In that village lived Bhaviseṭṭi. His wife
was Sūcikabbe. Their son, Kētiseṭṭi married Mañcave. Paṭṭaṇasvāmi and
Maṇḍalasvāmi were their sons. Maṇḍalasvāmi was the donor of the grant. He
was married to Mallave. His sons were Kētamalla and Kāḷeya. Mañcaseṭṭi and
Māḷeya were his sons-in-law. This description of the family, bordering on
273

madness, was unthinkable in the ninth or the tenth century. Hereditary access
to land had begun to find a number of reified expressions, among them
religious genealogies, castes, and entrenched familial legacies.
Understandably enough, the past, upon which stories of succession are based,
was also gaining in importance. It was in this context that the invention of
traditions, discussed in the preceding chapter, took place.
Complementing this development was the increasing monetization of
economic transactions. This process had commenced in the late ninth and the
early tenth century. By the late eleventh century, the value conversion of
coins had become possible. A glaring example of this is found in an
inscription dated 1098, where the conversion of lokki-ponnu (the coin minted
at Lokkiguṇḍi, now Lakkuṇḍi) into navilu-ponnu (the coin minted at
Navilūru?) is mentioned. Transactions were now being made increasingly in
274

cash. By the close of the fourteenth century, inscriptions came to be suffused

with details of payment in cash. Under the Vijayanagara rulers, remittance of
revenue to the treasury was invariably in cash, although collection continued

93
to be in kind. As early as 1348, an inscription from coastal Karnataka spoke
of “bārakūra parivarttanakke saluva bārakūra gadyāṇa”, i.e., the Bārakūru
Gadyāṇa payable at the Bārakūru exchange. An inscription from 1458
275

mentioned “bārakūra parivarttanakke saluva kāṭi gadyāṇa”, i.e., the Kāṭi

Gadyāṇa payable at the Bārakūru exchange. Prescribed in an inscription of
276

1386 was “maṅgalūru kāṭi gadyaṇa”, which brings to light the Kāṭi Gadyāṇa
of Maṅgalūru. The Kāṭi Gadyāṇa, circulating in coastal Karnataka, had
277

therefore different values at Bārakūru and Maṅgalūru, and the difference was
reckoned through the expression parivarttana, exchange or circuit. The
liquidity and exchange rate of coined money had attained remarkable
complexity by the fourteenth century.
Trading initiatives also became increasingly specialized. A thirteenth-
century inscription from Haḷēbīḍu refers to Akkiya Cavuḍiseṭṭi (Cavuḍiseṭṭi,
the rice merchant), Āneya Hariyaṇṇa (Hariyaṇṇa, the elephant trader), Hattiya
Kāmiseṭṭi (Kāmiseṭṭi, the cotton merchant), Nūlara Nakharaṅgaḷu (the yarn
dealers collective), Meṇsina Pārisadēva (Pārisadēva, the pepper merchant)
and Nūlara Nāgiseṭṭi (Nāgiseṭṭi, the yarn merchant). Rural markets to the
278

south of the Tuṅgabhadra were effectively under the control of local traders.
Merchants were also beginning to make their supralocal presence felt. In the
thirteenth century, some of them like Ēcayya and Baladēvaseṭṭi from Kopaṇa
(Koppaḷa on the northern banks of the Tuṅgabhadra) and Kētiseṭṭi of the shop
in Koṭṭuru (in the Tuṅgabhadra valley) were active in Haḷēbīḍu. Merchants
279

from northern Karnataka, Kerala, and Tamilnadu traded frequently in the

south. However, such supralocal mobility was not seen on the part of
merchants from southern Karnataka, which reinforces our suggestion (made
in chapter 3) that the southern merchants came from the peasant proprietor
class, whose interest in the local agrarian networks made them less prone to
take up itinerant pursuits.
In this context of monetization, alienating money by way of making
endowments to religious establishment was perhaps losing its preference. The
practice continued, but on a substantially lesser scale. By the late fourteenth
century, the older practice of making landed endowments returned to the
centre-stage. Brāhmaṇas, temples, and other religious establishment began to
receive land once again. In most cases, the grants were perpetual, providing
hereditary control to the recipients. The grants made to the monastery of
Śṛṅgēri by Harihara I and Bukka, and the endowment made to the Uḍupi
temple during the reign of Harihara II, are noteworthy examples of land
280

grants regaining their lost importance. These instances contrast sharply with
the grants made by the Cōla king Rājarāja I to the Bṛhadīśvara temple of
Tañjāvūr or the celebrated Tiruvālaṅṅāḍu copperplate grant of his son
281

Rājēndra I, where only a part of the revenue from the villages earmarked for
282

the purpose was made over. They also stand out vis-à-vis the 1117 grant of

94
the Hoysaḷa king Viṣṇuvardhana to the Cannakēśava temple he built at
Belūru, where only the transit toll (suṅka), including the revenue payable in
cash (ponnāya) from the villages listed, were given away. 283

By the late fifteenth century, the effects of hereditary control over land,
acquired through various means such as gift, purchase, and inheritance, were
also seen on the monasteries. A number of new monasteries emerged, each
with its own land, genealogy of seers, and stories about the past to tell.
While these developments were common to large parts of the Deccan,
the region to the north of the Tuṅgabhadra experienced two other
developments that had a telling effect on its political economy. The expansion
of the jāgīrdāri system under the Bahmani rulers rooted the already-strong
landed interests even more deeply. Given the large land holdings and the
militia that the landlords commanded, the possibilities of insubordination or
unrest among the subject peasantry were remote. At the same time, the
Bahmani state embarked upon a new enterprise. Under the merchant from
Iran, Mahmūd Gavān (1411-1481), who entered Bahmani service in 1453 and
became chief minister in 1458, the state became a preeminent trader,
exercising considerable control over long-distance trade, including naval
trade. This initiative was different from the earlier ones in South India during
the Cōla and the Cēra rule, where the state only facilitated trade and enlisted
traders into its service as revenue farmers. Under Gavān, the state became a
de facto trader, filling the vacuum left behind by the decline of great trading
syndicates such as the Ayyāvoḷe Ainūrvar, the Maṇigrāmaṃ, etc. Gavān was
in fact honoured with the title Malik al-Tujjar, Prince of Merchants, by the
Bahmani ruler Humāyūn (r. 1458-1461 CE). 284

This was a pioneering development. Soon, the prospects of trade came to

be exploited by more and more states and chiefdoms, and many of them
became active traders in the course of the sixteenth and the seventeenth
centuries. The arrival of the Portuguese, the Dutch, and the British
285

facilitated the expansion of this process.

In contrast to the Vijayanagara state, which promoted rural monetization
and minted coins of lower denominations that circulated in the networks of
local trade, the Bahmani state was more drawn towards supralocal
transactions. The use of coined money by the Bahmanis in rural transactions
was less impressive. Coins uttered by the Bahmani mints were of higher
denominations, and used in large-scale trading and revenue transactions.
Their presence in routine local-level market transaction networks was feeble.
In a richly documented study, Phillip B. Wagoner has shown that it was the
Vijayanagara honnu that circulated in the local market networks of the
Bahmani territory. A large segment of the peasantry remained unorganized
286

and outside of the purview of active interventions from the state and the great
landed interests of the day. This peasantry inhabited the harsh terrains of

95
northern Karnataka, where the presence of the state had remained poor for
centuries. Recalcitrance was rife here. At the same time, expansion of
agriculture was also possible in these areas, although poor rainfall and the
absence of effective irrigational installations affected the volume of surplus
generated. Yet, there existed the strong likelihood of merchants—who turned
increasingly to the local markets after the state moved out of them to turn into
a major supralocal trader—to be attracted towards this virgin field. To what
extent this possibility was explored by the merchants is not clear. Like many
other aspects of the fifteenth and the sixteenth century political economy, it
continues to await study. There is, however, at least one major instance of
mercantile involvement with the peasantry that culminated in a significant
transformation of monasteries in the region.
Sometime in the last quarter of the fifteenth century, a saint called
Ārūḍha Saṅgamanātha arrived in Vijayanagara. He was also known as Diggi
Saṅgamanātha after the village Diggi in the Yādagiri district, where he lived
for some time. We know next to nothing about his life. Legends concerning
his acts float in abandon in the Yādagiri, Kalaburagi, Vijayapura, 287

Bāgalakōṭe, and Rāyacūru districts. As his name indicates, he belonged to the

Ārūḍha tradition, although legends told by the khānkāh of Candā Sāhēb of
Gūgi (Shaikh Candā Hussaynī) consider him to be a Virakta. Saṅgamanātha
288

and Candā Sāhēb were close friends, and influenced each other deeply. The
name Hussaynī suggests that Candā Sāhēb belonged to the family of
Bandēnavāz. Saṅgamanātha’s influence on him was so deep that he accepted
a saffron headgear, worn to this day by descendants of his khānkāh. Candā 289

Sāhēb’s influence on the Ārūḍha was as profound. Saṅgamanātha adopted the

green robe, cap, and other paraphernalia of a Sūfi. 290

At Vijayanagara (Haṃpi), Saṅgamanātha met a merchant called Basava.

It is likely that Saṅgamanātha gave him the name Basava. The twelfth century
Basava was a devotee of lord Saṅgamanātha of Kūḍalasaṅgama, whom he
also regarded as his guru. Was this old relationship being reenacted in the late
fifteenth century between the Ārūḍha and the merchant? Yes, as we shall
presently see.
Basava was the son of Malliśeṭṭi and Liṅgamma of Vijayanagara. He is
known to the vernacular academia as Koḍēkallu Basava after the place on the
river Kṛṣṇa where he eventually came to rest. We, too, shall call him
Koḍēkallu Basava to distinguish him from the Basava of the twelfth century.
The account of his life is known to us from the Nandiyāgamalīle, composed
by his descendent Vīrasaṅgayya. According to Basavalinga Soppimath, who
has carried out a mediocre study of Koḍēkallu Basava (under the guidance of
the illustrious M.M. Kalburgi!), Vīrasaṅgayya completed the work in 1589.
This conclusion is based, according to him, on the reference to the Rudra
Besiki ‘year’ mentioned by Vīrasaṅgayya. As an expression, Rudra Besiki is

96
not easily decipherable. But the stanza in question identifies Virōdhi as the
year. Virōdhi fell in 1589-90, but the other details do not correspond with
291

this year. The work was completed on a Monday on the fourteenth lunar day
in the month of Kārtīka. No Monday fell on a fourteenth lunar day in
292

Kārtīka in 1589. Virōdhi occurred again in 1649-50 and 1709-10. There is

one date in 1649, where all details mentioned by Vīrasaṅgayya fall in place:
18 October 1649. It was a Monday, the fourteenth lunar day in Kārtīka. This
must be identified as the date when the poet completed the Nandiyāgamalīle.
Soppimath argues that the poet was the great grandson of Koḍēkallu Basava,
although the person named here is neither the poet nor the great grandson of
Koḍēkallu Basava. The description in the Nandiyāgamalīle is as follows:
Koḍēkallu Basava’s son was Saṅgayya I, his adopted son Appājayya, his son
Saṅgayya II, his son through his wife Liṅgājamma, Vīrasaṅgayya, the son
293

(not named) borne him by his wife Nīlājamma, his son Basavarājayya, his
married son (not named), and his son Vīrasaṅgayya, the poet. The poet is,
294

therefore, eighth in line after Koḍēkallu Basava, meaning that at least two
centuries had elapsed between the time of our hero and his hagiographer. A
date of ca. 1450 for the birth of Koḍēkallu Basava, therefore, does not seem to
be unreasonable.
According to the poet, Liṅgamma and Malliśeṭṭi found Koḍēkallu
Basava in a forest, after the children they brought forth and the ones they
adopted had all died young. Malliśeṭṭi was a successful trader. Koḍēkallu
295

Basava was also trained to become one. At a young age, he is said to have
come into contact with the saint, Emme Basava. The poet does not supply us
296

with sufficient information on the nature of this contact. It is known that

Emme Basava was the proponent of kālajñāna, i.e., prophecy, as a form of
knowledge. Many of his kālajñāna compositions have come down to us. He
also received a grant from the Vijayanagara ruler Tirumalarāya, which seems
to have been confiscated by another maṭha under circumstances that are not
known to us. Later in his life, Koḍēkallu Basava emerged as a major
297

advocate of kālajñāna, which does not of course make it likely that he learnt
it from Emme Basava. For, Tirumalarāya’s inscription recording the land
grant to Emme Basava is dated 1543, when Koḍēkallu Basava, had he been
alive, would be an old man in his eighties or nineties. We must therefore
concede, against the testimony of the hagiographer, that it was the hero of the
Nandiyāgamalīle who influenced Emme Basava, and not the other way round.
Koḍēkallu Basava was married to Kāśamma, the daughter of the
merchant couple, Saṅgājamma and Paṭṭaṇaśeṭṭi Liṅgaṇṇa. Liṅgaṇṇa was
perhaps a moneylender, and known for the compound interest he charged, if
the expression cadura baḍḍi is any indication. Kāśamma was still a child at
298

the time of marriage. In the course of time, Koḍēkallu Basava became a

299

leading trader. It was at this juncture in his life that Ārūḍha Saṅgamanātha

97
reached Vijayanagara. Koḍēkallu Basava was immediately drawn towards
300

the Ārūḍha’s magnetic persona. Saṅgamanātha trained him in his system of

renunciatory practices, provided him with four ‘invisible’ servants, gave him
the eleven variants of his new script, and made him wear the robe of skin
(carmāṃbara). Before doing so, the saint made Koḍēkallu Basava realize
301

who he was in his fourteen previous births. In his first birth, Koḍēkallu
Basava was the embodiment of the letter Ōṃ (ōṃkārarūpa). In the second
birth, he was the thousand-headed one (sahasraśīrṣa). And then, he was born
as Pūrvācārya, Vṛṣabhēndra, Nandi, Atuḷabhadra, Bhōgēśa, Tirujnāni
Sammandhi, Hanuma, Rōmakōṭi, Allama Prabhu, Basava, Muhammad, and
Guptagaṇēśvara in that order. Note that four of them are historical figures.
302

Tirujnāni Sammandhi was one of the sixty-three Śaiva Nāyanārs of

Tamilnadu, Tirujñānasaṃbandhar. Allama Prabhu and Basava were
contemporaries in the mid-twelfth century. And Muhammad was the great
prophet who founded Islam.
Koḍēkallu Basava’s relationship with Saṅgamanātha does not seem to
have augured well with others in the city. A certain Gāṇigara Niṅgaṇṇa
(Niṅgaṇṇa, the oil presser) asked Koḍēkallu Basava to stay away from the
saint, and in consequence, lost his life. The merchant’s wife Kāśavva
303

levelled charges against Saṅgamanātha, and, like the oil presser, had to pay
with her life. Koḍēkallu Basava is said to have sent her to Śiva’s abode. 304

After killing his wife, Koḍēkallu Basava left Vijayanagara on horseback,

and reached Baḷḷigāve (where Allama had lived over two centuries ago).
Here, he met Nīlamma and expressed his desire to marry her. Nīlamma seems
to have been reluctant. When she asked why he sought her hand, Koḍēkallu
Basava replied that she was his wife, Nīlamma, in his previous birth as
Basava, and had angrily left him for not bestowing children upon her; he had
returned to redress her grievance. What transpired thereafter is not clear.
305

There was resistance to the alliance, either from Nīlamma, or from her
parents, the pañcavaṇṇige couple Cannājamma and Siddhayya, or from both
daughter and parents. Koḍēkallu Basava carried the girl away, forcefully.
They were pursued. In the encounter that followed, Koḍēkallu Basava’s men
succeeded in repulsing those who came looking for them. Some of the
pursuers (one hundred, according to the Nandiyāgamalīle) died fighting. 306

Cannājamma and Siddhayya gave in. Koḍēkallu Basava and Nīlamma

returned to Balḷịgāve, where their marriage was solemnized with great pomp
and show. 307

After their marriage, Koḍēkallu Basava and Nīlamma set out on a long
voyage along with their followers. They came to Rācōṭi (perhaps Rāyacōṭi in
the Kaḍapa district of Andhra), where Nīlamma gave birth to a son. The
308 309

boy was called Rācaṇṇa or Rācappa, possibly named after the place of his
birth. Their next station was Soṇḍūru (Saṇḍūru in the Baḷḷāri district, famous

98
for its Kumārasvāmi temple). The second son, Guhēśvara, was born here.
310 311

Kappaḍi (Kūḍalasaṅgama in the Bāgalakōṭe district) was their next

stopover. Here, Nīlamma gave birth to the third son, Saṅgayya I, also
312 313

known as Cannasaṅgayya and Karasaṅgayya. 314

The journey continued. It brought Koḍēkallu Basava to a coastal town in

the Koṅkaṇa country, which attracted rich trade and enterprise. Here, he met a
certain Kañcagāra Kaḷiṅga, who was obsessed with the desire of having a
vision of Lord Śiva. He had tried many paths, including Jaina and Muslim,
but without success. Koḍēkallu Basava showed him the right path, and
Kaḷiṅga had a glimpse of Śiva. Further on, Koḍēkallu Basava reached
315

Vaḍabāḷa, found the saint Nāganātha hidden in a forest in the form of a

serpent, fed him milk, and transformed him into a man. According to
316

Soppimath, the legend suggests that Koḍēkallu Basava initiated Nāganātha

into the Nātha tradition and sent him to Vaḍabāḷa. While this is an
317

interesting suggestion, there is no evidence either in the Nandiyāgamalīle or

in any other sources that Nāganātha of Vaḍabāḷa belonged to the Nātha
tradition. The encounter itself is unlikely although Soppimath affirms its
318

likelihood, as studies place Nāganātha and his disciples in the period

319

between 1354 and 1458. It must be noted here that according to oral
320

legends, Nāsir-ud-dīn Cirāg-e-Dillī (d. 1356) moved to the Deccan and settled
down here, where he came to be worshipped as Nāganātha. It is believed
321

that in the fair of Nāganātha, the palanquin cannot be lifted unless the
following dīn is called: “nāsiruddīn cirāg ki dōstāra dīn haraharā”. Similar 322

calls of Nāsir’s dīn are made in the traditions of Māṇikaprabhu and

Bakaprabhu in the Bīdara district. 323

From Vaḍabāḷa, Koḍēkallu Basava went to Ujjayini, where two traders

welcomed him, and offered him hospitality. We do not know if Ujjayini is the
famous town known by that name in Mālava, or Ujini in Baḷḷāri district,
which is known as Ujjayini in the Vīraśaiva literature. The former is not
unlikely in view of the fact that the next leg of his tour took Koḍēkallu
Basava to northern India. From Ujjayini, he is said to have gone to
Ausikandara. It is not possible to identify this place, although it seems to be
hinting at a name such as Sikandarābād, Sikandarpur or Sikandrā. It is
tempting to identify Ausikandara with Sikandrā, the new town built by
Koḍēkallu Basava’s contemporary and the Lodi Sultān, Sikandar Lōdi (r.
1489-1517). This is supported by the fact that the next town in the journey
was Pulabhāra where Koḍēkalla Basava succeeded in winning over the
Vaiṣṇavas through a miracle. Pulabhāra is certainly Bhilvāḍā in Rajasthan,
324

known for its Vaiṣṇava connections. However, the poet says that Koḍēkallu
Basava helped a family of peasants, Bommagoṇḍa, his brother Basavagoṇḍa,
elder sister Maiḷaladēvi, and a younger sister, in augmenting their agrarian
income, and received a gift from them. This makes the identification of
325

99
Ausikandara with Sikandrā tenuous. We must, however, bear in mind that the
Nandiyāgamalīle was composed nearly two centuries after the events
recorded there had taken place. The legends, under oral circulation, are likely
to have undergone a number of changes in the course of transmission. The
route described by the poet is also irregular, and shows no signs of coherence.
Koḍēkallu Basava left Pulabhāra and reached Mahā Cinna, which in all
326

likelihood is Mahā Cīna, the name by which China was known in India. That
Koḍēkallu Basava visited China cannot be accepted as a fact of history. It
had, however, a function to serve in the hagiography’s order of things, viz.,
the visit of a saint to places strange and unknown, and finding acceptance
there. After Mahā Cinna, Koḍēkallu Basava turned to the south, reached
Kurukṣētra where by the touch of his feet, those who had died in the battle
327

of Kurukṣētra—the Pāṇḍavas, the Kauravas, and their allies—came back to

life. He then continued the southward journey to reach Kalyāṇa.
328 329

At Kalyāṇa, he sat down to copy the scripts found engraved on a stone.

Soppimath posits that Muslim invaders were destroying the vacanas of the
twelfth century śaraṇas, and that Koḍēkallu Basava’s visit to Kalyāṇa was
meant to salvage as much of this literature as possible by copying them into
the obscure script, amaragannaḍa. There is no evidence to substantiate this
330

argument. When Koḍēkallu Basava was at Kalyāṇa, the lord of the world
(lōkapati) sent words for him. The name of the lōkapati is recorded as
Isupāśca. This, certainly, was Yūsuf Bādśāh or Yūsuf Khān, who founded the
Ādil Śāhi state of Vijayapura in 1489. Koḍēkallu Basava was not keen on
meeting the king. He was, however, forcibly taken to the Sultān’s palace
(perhaps in Vijayapura). Koḍēkallu Basava reached the royal harem, where
Isupāśca struck him with a dagger. Predictably enough, the dagger did not
hurt the saint. It passed through his body as if moving through water, in a
manner that brings Allama’s encounter with Gōrakṣa to mind. The king
331

became his devotee, and asked for a gift of five bundles of vacanas, and some
hair.
Inasmuch as Koḍēkallu Basava was hailed as an incarnation of
Muhammad the Prophet, the hair he gave Isupāśca came to be preserved in
Vijayapura as a relic of the Prophet’s. We know that the hair now preserved
in the Hazratbal mosque of Kashmir as Muhammad’s relic was brought from
Vijayapura. In all likelihood, this is the hair of Koḍēkallu Basava.
Koḍēkallu Basava was now on the final leg of his journey. He had
travelled widely, and performed many miracles. Nowhere did he convert
people to his faith. Even at Pulabhāra, where the Vaiṣṇavas became his
devotee, it is a glimpse of Viṣṇu that he showed the Vaiṣṇavas. In other
words, he made them gain a better understanding of their own faith. Did he
really travel to far off places like Bhilvāḍā and Kurukṣētra? Or was it only a
fiction introduced by the poet, or a figment of the imagination that crept into

100
the legend in the course of the two centuries when it transmitted orally? These
questions may be of interest to the positivist historian. What is more
interesting for our purpose is that in this long journey, his meeting with only
four classes of people are reported: merchants and artisans, peasants and their
family, saints and the saintly ones, and rulers and their men. If the poet did
not have a historically credible picture of the events concerning Koḍēkallu
Basava’s life, he certainly knew the classes that the merchant-turned-saint
engaged with, which might well have been those same classes that patronized
the maṭha in the poet’s own lifetime. Herein lies the real significance of the
Nandiyāgamalīle, as far as our analysis is concerned.
Having seen the world extensively, Koḍēkallu Basava decided to settle
down. He reached Sagara, near Diggi, where there was a settlement of
soothsayers. Very little is said about the soothsayers. Koḍēkallu Basava
criticized them for trading off great secrets (parama rahasyagaḷu) for a few
grains of millet. He told them that they could not achieve amaratva
332

(immortality) just by calling themselves (members of) Amara Kalyāṇa. We 333

thus learn that the soothsayers had constituted an assembly called Amara
Kalyāṇa. Koḍēkallu Basava prevailed upon the soothsayers, and succeeded in
transforming them into peasants. The soothsayer-turned-peasant families
334

came to be known as ettinavaru, ‘those with the ox’. This was the beginning
of Koḍēkallu Basava’s efforts to build a group of followers and found an
establishment of his own. The ettinavaru have remained devotees of
Koḍēkallu Basava to this day.
From Sagara, he moved northeastwards to Nāgāvi, where he won over a
certain Guṇḍa Basava and his son, Īrappayya, to his fold. This family is
335

known as kattiyavaru, ‘those with the donkey’. The family has retained its
336

ties with the monastery at Koḍēkallu to this day. The present pontiff of the
Koḍēkallu maṭha belongs to this “family of donkeys”. We know from other
sources that Guṇḍa Basava was a revered saint in and around Nāgāvi. He was
also a poet, who composed many ḍaṅgura songs. In these songs, he referred
337

to Nāgāvi as Dharma Kalyāṇa. His tomb is worshipped in Nāgāvi by

descendants of his family. Īrappayya is also held in high regard by the Nāgāvi
tradition.
It is of great interest that the first two groups of followers, whom
Koḍēkallu Basava enlisted into the service of his project, claimed affiliation
with Kalyāṇa. In the case of the soothsayers of Sagara, the word might not
have meant anything more than a congregation. Guṇḍa Basava’s allusion to
Dharma Kalyāṇa, on the other hand, seems to be making the claim that
Nāgāvi was as great, or as sacred, as Kalyāṇa itself.
After leaving Nāgāvi, Koḍēkallu Basava passed through Kulakundi, and
arrived at Koraḷibeṭṭa, where he cured a merchant called Maliśeṭṭi or
Mallaṇṇa of leprosy. He then reached Ikkaḷi, and brought the family of a
338

101
certain Mādappa into his fold. Mādappa’s father Rāghappa was initially
reluctant to join the Order, but became a devotee following a miracle in which
Koḍēkallu Basava appeared before him in the form of Śiva. Seven families
339

from Ikkuḷige are believed to have moved with him to Koḍēkallu as devotees.
Their descendants now live in Koḍēkallu, and the number of families has
increased to fifty.340

The great journey ended at Koḍēkallu. This was a pastoral settlement,

controlled by a hunter called Hanuma Nāyaka. Koḍēkallu Basava bought
341

land from the hunter, and also conferred recognition upon him as a king. 342

With Hanuma Nāyaka’s help, he transformed Koḍēkallu into a flourishing

village of trade and enterprise. Then he sat down at the hadduguṇḍu rock on
343

the outskirts of the village to compose his poems (vacanavākya). But he was344

back in action soon, perhaps for want of resources. He raised a band of troops,
raided villages, and sent the troops to fight the Bādśāh. The Bādśāh was
345

defeated, and forced to grant a few score (kelavu viṃśati) villages to

Koḍēkallu Basava. 346

What followed next was crucial. Although this is not explicitly stated in
the Nandiyāgamalīle (composed by a man poor in intellect), there is
circumstantial evidence in support of this development. Koḍēkallu Basava
believed in the legend, narrativized in Bhīma’s Basavapurāṇa and the works
of the great Vijayanagara project sponsored by Jakkaṇa and Lakkaṇṇa
Danḍēśa, that Basava hosted a large number of śaraṇas in Kalyāṇa in his day,
and organized the anubhava maṇṭapa in which the great pioneers of
Vīraśaivism discussed and debated on spiritual and worldly matters that were
of concern to them. Lakkaṇṇa Danḍēśa had perhaps believed that the
Vijayanagara project of compiling the vacanas, and consolidating the floating
legends on the śaraṇas into standardized hagiographies, were an attempt to
relive the great experiment of Kalyāṇa which, according to him, was a
historical fact, but as a matter of fact, was imagined into existence in the late
fourteenth and the early fifteenth century. Lakkaṇṇa Danḍēśa considered
Vijayanagara to be the new Kalyāṇa. He called it Vijaya Kalyāṇa. We 347

cannot be certain on whether or not he had developed a systematic view on

the idea of Vijaya Kalyāṇa. This seems unlikely indeed. By the time of
Koḍēkallu Basava, Kalyāṇa had turned into a powerful metaphor, and was
deployed to signify such villages, congregations, etc., as were sought to be
represented as sacred. Amara Kalyāṇa and Dharma Kalyāṇa are instances in
this regard that are known to us. The image of Kalyāṇa as sacred was not
restricted to narratives and traditions centering on Basava and Allama Prabhu.
The Saundaryalahari, a major text of the Śrīvidyā tradition, composed
sometime in the fifteenth century (and attributed to Śaṅkara by Vallabha and
many others who came after him) enumerates it in a list of eight holy cities. 348

Koḍēkallu Basava aspired to build upon this image. The idea that occurred to

102
him was ingenious. He decided to reenact the (imagined) anubhava maṇṭapa
of Basava. This would be the last Kalyāṇa, and the most perfect. He called it
Kaḍeya Kalyāṇa (the Last Kalyāṇa). It was also known as Amara Kalyāṇa,
which is perhaps due to the role played in the project by the soothsayers of
Sagara, who had once identified themselves as Amara Kalyāṇa.
As part of this initiative, Koḍēkallu Basava set up an anubhava maṇṭapa.
He put himself in the shoes of Basava. His wife Nīlamma might have played
the role of Nīlamma and Akkamahādēvi. An anubhava maṇṭapa was not
complete without an Allama or a Cannabasava. Who were to occupy these
349

positions? This question led to a dispute, which only points to the significance
of the experiment in the eyes of the participants. Koḍēkallu Basava chose
Paramānanda Guru of Hebbāḷa, a saint who hailed from Tamilnadu and was
teacher to his guru Ārūḍha Saṅgamanātha, to occupy the position of Allama.
A recalcitrant saint from Tamilnadu, Maṇṭēsvāmi or Maṇṭēliṅga, appears to 350

have claimed this position for himself. In hagiographic accounts of

Maṇṭēsvāmi, he is represented as Allama. We may venture the guess that one
of Koḍēkallu Basava’s sons, Guhēśvara, also aspired to the position of
Allama. The name Guhēśvara, which in all likelihood was a title, seems to be
pointing in this direction. 351

The position of Cannabasava was also in demand. Who occupied it is not

known. Koḍēkallu Basava’s son Saṅgayya I was known as Cannabasava. And
so was a saint from Sālōṭagi, known for his ḍaṅgura songs. Cannabasava of
Sālōṭagi was familiar with Koḍēkallu Basava and his project, although there
is no indication that he was a claimant to the office of Cannabasava. A third
Cannabasava lived in the village of Galaga. He was a member of the
Maṇṭēsvāmi faction. This is confirmed by the presence of the shrine of
Maṇṭēsvāmi’s disciple Gurubhāra Liṅgayya within the shrine housing his
tomb. He is likely to have been a candidate put up by Maṇṭēsvāmi for the
position of Cannabasava.
Following his failure to be crowned Allama, Maṇṭēsvāmi moved to the
south to establish a tradition of his own. He might have wished to call it the
First Kalyāṇa (Ādi Kalyāṇa) in striking contrast to Koḍēkallu Basava’s Last
Kalyāṇa. In the oral epic sung by the nīlagāras, he is said to have visited the
chaotic Ādi Kalyāṇa, and restored order. Maṇṭēsvāmi succeeded in winning
the support of Rācappa, the son of Koḍēkallu Basava. Rācappāji rebelled
against his father, left for the south with Maṇṭēsvāmi, and became a revered
saint among the small group of nīlagāras devotees who hold him and his
master Maṇṭēsvāmi in great esteem. It is not expressly stated anywhere that
352

Rācappāji rebelled against his father; however, to this day, the Koḍēkallu and
Maṇṭēsvāmi traditions share relationships that are far from cordial, pointing to
the unpleasant circumstances of the departure of Maṇṭēsvāmi and Rācappāji
from Koḍēkallu. Rācappāji and Siddappāji, another of Maṇṭēsvāmi’s

103
disciples, established close relationships with an emerging family of chiefs in
the Maisūru region. Ties of matrimony were also forged. It is this family that
eventually rose into prominence under Rāja Oḍeya (r. 1578-1617) and his
successors, and built the Woḍeyar (sic) state of Maisūru. 353

What became of Koḍēkallu Basava is not known. According to the

Nandiyāgamalīle, after obtaining villages as grant from the Bādśāh,
Koḍēkallu Basava met a certain Maḷeya Prabhu, who was eager to see Śiva
and fell at his feet to help him. Koḍēkallu Basava sent him to the abode of
Śiva. The reference, here, is to Maḷeya Mallēśa, a ubiquitous rainmaker
354

whom it is difficult to locate in history. His encounter with, and his death at
the hands of, Koḍēkallu Basava may point to a hostile encounter our hero had
with devotees from the Maḷeya Mallēśa tradition. Next, Koḍēkallu Basava
began to attract devotees from far and wide. Maṇṭēsvāmi of the Drāviḍa
country (Tamilnadu) was afflicted with leprosy, and was on the verge of
death. He asked his disciple Gurubhāra Liṅgayya to offer him a vision of the
guru. Gurubhāra Liṅgayya remembered Koḍēkallu Basava, and Koḍēkallu
Basava appeared in his mind to tell him where he lived. Accordingly,
Maṇṭēsvāmi left for Koḍēkallu, where he was received with kindness by
Koḍēkallu Basava and Nīlamma. The couple nursed him back to health, and
adopted him as a son. And then Koḍēkallu Basava left the world, asking
Maṇṭēsvāmi to raise an army and take care of it until his return in the next
birth. Before passing away, he sealed his writings in three boxes, had them
355

dumped into the river Kṛṣṇa, and asked king Bali of the Nāga world to
preserve and worship them until his return. 356

Koḍēkallu Basava, “the incarnation of Muhammad the Prophet”, had

lived a fabulous life indeed. He was endowed with a fertile imagination and a
sharp intellect. He composed poems that were splendid pieces of
craftsmanship, innovative in form, rigorous in semantic pursuit, and at times
more modern than most ‘modernist’ poetry of the twentieth century. But
Maṇṭēsvāmi’s rebellion and Rācappa’s departure might have left him
dejected. Kaḍeya Kalyāṇa collapsed. His third son Saṅgayya I also left
Koḍēkallu along with the Vaiṣṇava saint-poet Kanakadāsa for reasons that are
not clear. It will not be wrong to guess that Koḍēkallu Basava died a rich
man, powerful, influential, learned, and saintly, but profoundly sad.
What did Koḍēkallu Basava accomplish in the course of his seemingly
disoriented life that bordered on the tempestuous? In trying to address this
question, we must at the outset place the fact in bold relief that he came from
a family of merchants. The two women he married were also from merchant
families. Vijayanagara and Baḷḷigāve, the locations of his early years, were
flourishing centres of commerce. Among the places he visited was a coastal
town, bristling with trade and enterprise. When he finally settled down at
Koḍēkallu, he transformed the village into a trading centre. It was the

104
interests of the mercantile and artisan groups that Koḍēkallu Basava’s
enterprise represented.
In the course of his journey, he met an artisan, Kañcagāra Kaḷiṅga,
who’s spiritual needs he fulfilled. Towards the end, he met a trader, Maliseṭṭi,
whom he cured of leprosy. Neither of them made any presents to Koḍēkallu
Basava. They were not brought into the fold of the Koḍēkallu maṭha in any
capacity either. The Nandiyāgamalīle and other surviving traditions (both
written and oral) do not recognize any merchant or artisan group as early
followers of the Koḍēkallu tradition. We must then say that this was a
monastery of the mercantile groups, not a monastery for them.
This contrasts with Koḍēkallu Basava’s engagement with the peasantry.
At Ausikandara, he helped a peasant family to expand their agrarian income,
and secured their allegiance, although they were not made followers of the
monastery. The peasants showered rich gifts on him. At Sagara, he made the
soothsayers take to agriculture, and brought them into his fold. The
Nandiyāgamalīle captures in a nutshell the historical process through which
mercantile groups in northern Karnataka tried to establish coercive
relationships of dependence with the peasantry. It also demonstrates how
monasteries in the region were powerful enough to facilitate the expansion of
agriculture in the drier belts, regulate production relations of the day, coerce
the complacent peasantry to build ties of dependence with the enterprising
mercantile and artisan groups, and act as powerful centres of surplus
appropriation and redistribution.
Koḍēkallu Basava was also the representative of a major centrifugal
tendency. We have seen that a number of saintly genealogies and practices
had appeared in the region in the preceding centuries. Under Jakkaṇa and
Lakkaṇṇa Daṇḍēśa, earnest attempts were made to integrate many of these
into a single system called Vīraśaivism through new narratives, which were
polyphonic, had multiple nodes and internodes, but at the same time, centered
on the figure of Allama Prabhu or Basava. Disputes raged, concerns varied,
and the points of emphases differed from author to author. Nevertheless, the
narratives shared strong intertextual linkages, which enabled the development
of a semiotic pool from which participants in this great project drew their
vocabulary with gay abandon. In the process, the cryptic and the inaccessible
were being rendered familiar, if not always intelligible. Koḍēkallu Basava’s
project struck at the very heart of this centripetalism. He drew from the same
narrative structures, borrowed his vocabulary from the same semiotic pool,
but deployed them to charge traditions of renunciation at various places such
as Nāgāvi, Vaḍabāḷa, Galaga, Sālōṭagi, and Sagara—which had never
developed fully or had lost their original fortune—with a new energy. He
invested these traditions with a sense of autonomy in their own right, and
made them locally entrenched and capable of regulating production relations,

105
surplus appropriation, and redistribution. The production of narratives was
also scrupulously abjured, which explains why few among these new saints
had hagiographies composed in their honour, and none before the seventeenth
century.
That the Koḍēkallu tradition represented mercantile interests in the
expansion of agriculture in the drier reaches of northern Karnataka did not
exhaust its entrepreneurial spirit. Equally significant was the fact that it
represented mercantile interest in the emerging military labour market.
Mercenary recruits from the peasantry were a common feature of the armies
of the subcontinent until the end of the eighteenth century when, beginning
with Lord Wellesley’s Subsidiary Alliance, these armies began to be
systematically disbanded. It was common for renouncers to appear in the
army as warriors. They were also instrumental in recruiting mercenaries from
the peasantry. It is not surprising, then, that Koḍēkallu Basava is credited in
the Nandiyāgamalīle with raising an army. He helps Hanuma Nāyaka in
building a station of troops (pāḷya) that functioned as the headquarters of a
chiefdom. Besides, he gathered people to form a militia for himself, with
357

which he raided villages in the area. Koḍēkallu Basava is also said to have
358

sent his troops to fight the Bādśāh, i.e. Yūsuf Khān. We do not know if
359

Koḍēkallu Basava was alive in 1565, when decisive battles were fought in the
backyard of Koḍēkallu at places variously identified as Tāḷikōṭe, Rakkasagi,
Taṅgaḍagi, and Banahaṭṭi between a confederacy of the Deccani Sultāns, and
the Vijayanagara forces led by Rāmarāya, which culminated in a fatal blow to
Vijayanagara and the death of Rāmarāya. It would not surprise us to learn that
the Koḍēkallu militia had participated in this battle, although this is not borne
out by evidence. 360

Warrior-saints were found across many parts of south Asia between the
fifteenth and the nineteenth century. “After the creation of the Delhi
361

Sultanate around the fifteenth century,” writes Carl Olson, “warrior ascetics
became significant participants in the political realm, and they were identified
by carrying an iron lance.” As early as the late thirteenth century, warrior-
362

Sūfis like Shaikh Sarmast accompanied the invading Sultāns of Dilli. The363

cult of the warrior-saint was certainly entrenched in various parts of the

subcontinent by this time. By the fifteenth century, it had evolved into a form
of military labour entrepreneurship. This entrepreneurship was dependent
upon the peasantry, which provided mercenary labour. Thus, the peasant was
the backbone of the warrior-saint cult. 364

It is in this context of military labour entrepreneurship that another of

Koḍēkallu Basava’s initiatives assumes its importance. Northern Karnataka
has a rich tradition of fortunetellers, or people endowed with the knowledge
of time (kālajñāna). They were itinerant men and women who played a
significant role in the exchange of information and spread of rumours. The

106
men, known as sāruvayyas (i.e., ‘those who spread the word’), trace their
origin to Koḍēkallu Basava. The women, called koravis, begin their prophecy
by invoking the goddess Mahālakṣmī of Kolhāpura and Koḍēkallu Basava. 365

The sāruvayyas and koravis were not Koḍēkallu Basava’s innovations; the
latter are, for that matter, found even in other parts of south India. The
tradition of soothsaying seems to have existed in Karnataka before the time of
Koḍēkallu Basava. Its origins remain obscure. In all likelihood, their role in
the circulation of information and rumour was of no mean consequence. The
genius of Koḍēkallu Basava rests in the facts that he was able to give the
practice a new shape in the form of kālajñāna, and succeeded in organizing a
network of sāruvayyas and koravis, who brought their charismatic presence as
‘knowers of time’ to bear upon the assignment given to them of gathering
information and spreading rumour. For, as an entrepreneur in the military
labour market, Koḍēkallu Basava is sure to have known the importance of
information and rumour in the art of warfare. The invoking of his name by
sāruvayyas and koravis to this day is evidence for the foundational role he
played in orchestrating this network.
We must now ask an important question: What did Koḍēkallu Basava
represent? He was a successful merchant. He travelled widely, and succeeded
in convincing people of his greatness. He was devoted to his teacher, and
killed people who came in his way. He dressed weirdly, caused bloodshed,
performed miracles, cured people of diseases like leprosy, built a settlement
of flourishing trade and enterprise, conferred ‘kingship’ on a hunter,
confronted the king and brought him into submission, obtained land grants
from the king, bestowed riches upon the believers, caused people to change
their vocation, initiated the process of agrarian expansion in one of the driest
areas of the region, built a militia, raided villages, reinforced local production
relations and surplus appropriation, established a monastery, created new
forms of knowledge, divined the future, wrote poetry, and made Śiva appear
in front of his devotees. There should be no harm in suggesting, sarcastically,
that our hero might as well have found proof for Fermat’s Last Theorem, had
he been presented with it. Koḍēkallu Basava represented the acme of a new
selfhood that had begun to register its presence in the literary traditions of the
early fifteenth century and snowballed, from the late fifteenth century
onwards, into an ethic that would underwrite the dimensions of the individual
and his or her self-awareness.
Our protagonist’s case is by no means an exceptional one. William Pinch
makes the following observation in the context of renouncers in the Gaṅgā
valley:
Monks…had strong opinions that informed and were informed by the goings-on in Gangetic society. They were willing
and able (indeed expected) to leave behind the secure confines of the monastery, the contemplation of sacred texts and
images, and the cycles of ritual and worship, to engage themselves in society’s all-too-temporal concerns. Prior to 1800,

107
 such engagements included soldering, trade, banking, protecting pilgrimage sites and religious endowments, and enlisting
as mercenaries in the armies of regional states.366

In the course of the fifteenth and the sixteenth centuries, the political
economy in the region underwent further changes. With a substantial segment
of long distance trade coming under the state’s control, wherein the state
either traded directly or functioned as regulator with an eye on the revenue,
the exercise of control over rural markets began to develop a measure of
autonomy in its own right. This was especially true of transactions in grain
and sundry supplies, including oil and coarse cloth. Local trading networks
were now centred on agrarian products, which brought them under the control
of the landed elites. The increased demand for cash crop products reinforced
the local trader’s dependence on landlords. Among these cash crops were
cotton, oilseed, and betel leaves. New crops introduced by the Portuguese,
like red chili and cashew nut, might also have been under circulation,
although it is unlikely that these were in great demand before the nineteenth
century. In a hagiography of the seventeenth-century saint Sāvaḷagi Śivaliṅga,
we find mention of the peasant landlords bringing a group of traders under
their control. These were itinerant traders. They were many in number, and 367

dealt in nutmeg, masālā leaves, clove, areca nut, coconut, koraku, sugar,
manaki, etc. The peasantry had come under increased control of military
368

entrepreneurs and landlords through processes that we will take up for

discussion in chapter 5. In the new dispensation, where local mercantile
groups in northern Karnataka became increasingly dependent on agrarian
products, landlords found themself placed in an advantageous position that
was historically decisive.
From the sixteenth century, a large number of monasteries began to
appear in northern Karnataka. These represented the interests of the landed
classes, as they supplied agrarian products on the one hand, and controlled the
peasantry that supplied military labour on the other. Like the monastery
founded by Koḍēkallu Basava, these establishments functioned in a
centrifugal manner. There was another respect in which the new monasteries
369

were fundamentally different from the ones that existed in earlier centuries.
The older monasteries drew their authority from their scriptures or textual
traditions, or from the vision (darśana) they sought to accomplish, or the
practices of renunciation they had developed. The new monasteries also had
scriptures and books that were regarded as sacred. They developed their own
unique visions of the Supreme, as well as practices of renunciation that led to
the realization of these visions, but the scriptures, visions, and practices were
no longer sources of authority. They were only among the essential functional
components of the monastery, not the defining feature of what the monastery
represented. The new source of authority was the figure of the individual in
the form of a guru. The founder of the monastery was often the most revered

108
of the gurus. His word, both written and oral, and his ideals, represented
through legends, were worthy of adoration by the followers—notably worthy
of adoration, not emulation. The works of Koḍēkallu Basava and his son
Rācappa were preserved in the monastery in the form of manuscripts. The
manuscripts were worshipped during festival and other special occasions, and
read out like the chanting of mantras. Their study was open only to the
pontiffs and aspirants to the pontificate, and not to the followers.
The emphasis on the individual as the source of authority had two
important consequences: (1) having lost their authority, texts, visions, and
practices were now only secondary in importance, with bars removed from
subjecting them to revision, discarding them at convenience, and drawing
authority from sources of any other tradition; and (2) archetypal guru figures
could be brought into the imagined genealogies of these traditions,
irrespective of which tradition they actually belonged to. Thus, in the
Mahānubhāva tradition, we have the following genealogy of teachers: 370

Nāsir-ud-dīn Cirāg-e-Dillī alias Ādinātha alias Nāganātha

↓
Macchēndranātha
↓
Gōrakhanātha
↓
Gahinīnātha
↓
Nivṛttinātha
↓
Jñānēśvara
↓
Sōpāṇa
↓
Muktābāyi
↓
Visōbā Khēcara
↓
Cāṅgadēva
↓
Nāmdēv Siṃpi

The genealogy commences with a fourteenth century Sūfi saint of the

109
Chisti order from Dilli, who is regarded as the teacher of Macchēndranātha or
Matsyēndra, the mythical guru of the (eleventh-century?) founder of the
Nātha tradition, Gōrakhanātha. Saints of the Vārkarī tradition of Maharashtra,
such as Nivṛttinātha, Jñānēśvara, and Muktābāyi, also figure in this line of
teachers.
The Chisti Order metamorphosed into the Caitanya tradition in parts of
the Deccan. Here, as in the case of the Mahānubhāva line, Nāsir-ud-dīn
371

Cirāg-e-Dillī alias Nāganātha was identified as the founder. His disciples

were Ala-ud-dīn Lāḍlē Maśāik or Rāghava Caitanya of Āḷande, Bandēnavāz
or Kēśava Caitanya of Kalaburagi, and Śahāb-ud-dīn Bābā or Bābājī Caitanya
of Mayināḷa. Rāghava Caitanya’s line of disciples included Siddaliṅga of
Āḷande and Majuṃdār of Junnār, Bandēnavāz was teacher to Navakōṭi
Nārāyaṇa of Kalaburagi, and Śahāb-ud-dīn, the teacher to Tukārāṃ. In
372 373

addition to the Caitanya tradition, Nāsir-ud-dīn Cirāg-e-Dillī appears as the

teacher of a number of other traditions founded by the following gurus: 374

1. Datta Caitanya of Vaḍabāḷa

2. Rāmabhaṭṭa of Māṅgāvi
3. Raghunātha of Khilāri
4. Timmaṇṇa Dhanagāra of Indūru
5. Kṛsṇābāyi of Hirve
6. Ēkaliṅga Tēli of Maṇūru
7. Hegrāsasvāmi of Mahōḷa, and his three khalīfās, viz., Ajñānasiddha of
Narēndra, Narēndrasiddha of Vaḍabāḷa, and Siddhaliṅga of Mahōḷa
8. Varadamma of Maṇūru
9. Baḍavva of Mārḍi
10. Narasiṃha of Apēgāv
11. Bahirāṃbhaṭṭa of Paiṭhāṇ

In another legend, Allama Prabhu is represented as Alaṃ Kamāl-ud-dīn and

as the progenitor of five traditions: 375

1. Himavanta Svāmi of Muḷagunda

2. Siddharāma of Sonnalāpura
↓
Basava of Kalyāṇa
↓
Cannabasava of Uḷavi
3. the sixty-three purātanas (i.e, the Nāyanārs of Tamilnadu)
4. Amīn-ud-dīn of Vijayapura
↓

110
 Fakīrappa of Śirahaṭṭi
↓
Māḷiprabhu of Muḷagunda
5. Rāmaliṅga Āḷe of Kōlhāpura

That Sūfis like Nāsir-ud-dīn Cirāg-e-Dillī, Alā-ud-dīn Lāḍlē Maśaik,

Bandēnavāz, and Śahāb-ud-dīn Bābā were worshipped as Ādinātha or
Nāganātha, Rāghava Caitanya, Kēśava Caitanya, and Bābājī Caitanya
respectively, corresponds to the fact that many Siddha saints were worshipped
as Sūfis with Islamic names. Prominent among them were Allama Prabhu,
regarded as Alaṃ Kamāl-ud-dīn, and the seventeenth-century saint poet
Mōnappa or Mōnēśvara of Tinthiṇi, worshipped as Mōn-ud-dīn or Maunud-
dīn. The annual fair of Mōnappa at Tinthiṇi is also referred to as urus, a Sūfi
expression. The urus commences with the following call of dīn:
ēk lākh aiśī hazār pāñcō pīr paigaṃbar
jītā pīr maun-ud-dīn kāśīpati har har mahādēv

This may be loosely translated as: there are 1,80,000 saints, five of them are
prophets, Maun-ud-dīn is the living prophet, hail Mahādēv, the lord of Kāśī.
These historical developments cannot be attributed to the singular
initiatives of Koḍēkallu Basava, as antecedent developments are known to
have taken place. Ahmad Śāh Bahmani (d. 1436), who patronized
Bandēnavāz, is buried in Aṣṭūru in the Bīdara district. On his tomb is
inscribed the word ‘Allamaprabhu’ in Devanagari letters. The centripetalist
376

initiatives of Jakkaṇārya and Lakkaṇṇa Daṇḍēśa also involved the use of

teachers from diverse traditions, among them Gōrakṣa (Gōrakhanātha) and
Muktāyakka (Muktābāyi), and adherents of iṣṭaliṅga, like Allama, and
followers of prāṇaliṅga, like Siddharāma. There is a tomb-replica in
Māḍyāḷa, where Koḍēkallu Basava is worshipped as Allama. It was in the
377

hands of Koḍēkallu Basava, though, that these developments found

systematic expression and reinforcement. His ability to thoroughly integrate
them with the class interests of the day served as a model for organization of
class relations, and made the new monasteries of northern Karnataka a
historically decisive force and an entrenched phenomenon.
Even as Koḍēkallu Basava was refashioning the praxis of renunciation in
the north, the southern and coastal parts of Karnataka saw the rise of a
diametrically opposite tendency in the praxis of sainthood. This was the
Vaiṣṇavite dvaita sainthood promoted by the Kṛṣṇa temple of Uḍupi.
Vyāsarāya, Vādirāja, Śrīpādarāya, Purandaradāsa, and Kanakadāsa were the
preeminent representatives of this tendency, although all of them were not
adherents of dvaita. The lives of these saints shed precious light on the
378

concerns of this emergent tradition, and its spheres of engagement.

111
 Vādirāja was the pontiff of the Sōde maṭha, one of the eight monasteries
of Uḍupi. He was a disciple of the guru, Vāgīśa Tīrtha. The guru was a
devotee of Viṣṇu in his form as Bhūvarāha (the boar). Once, when he was
observing his four-month monsoon retreat at the Kuṃbhēśvara temple in
Kuṃbhāśi, a couple from the village of Hūvinakere, Sarasvatī Dēvi and
Rāmācārya, arrived to seek his blessings. They had no children. Vāgīśa
379

Tīrtha prophesied that Bhūvarāha would bless them with two sons. He urged
them to offer the first son to the Sōde maṭha. In due course, Sarasvatī Dēvi
gave birth to two sons. The elder son, born in ca. 1480, was named
Bhūvarāha. The couple handed him over to the guru. Vāgīśa Tīrtha initiated
the young boy into sainthood and renamed him Vādirāja, literally ‘a king
among debaters’.
Vādirāja studied under Vāgīśa Tīrtha and evolved into a master of
orthodox learning (such as logic, rhetoric, poetics, grammar, literature, and
vēdānta). His skills in debating were exceptional, and regarded within the
tradition as second only to Ānanda Tīrtha’s. The Vijayanagara king is
believed to have conferred upon him the title of Prasaṅgābharaṇa Tīrtha, a
jewel of oratory.
It is believed that each of the eight monasteries of Uḍupi was given
charge of the affairs of the Kṛṣṇa temple for a period of two months in a
circular roster. Vādirāja extended the period to two years. This was apparently
done to provide time for the pontiffs to travel far and wide to engage in
debates, and win over followers to their creed. Or so the modern-day
hagiographer of Vādirāja, Aralu Mallige Parthasarathy, would have us
believe. A pontiff, who was in charge of the temple for two years, would
380

take charge again only after fourteen years. Vādirāja put this valuable time to
use, travelled to Kerala in the south and Gujarat in the north, and toured
extensively in the Koṅkaṇ region, including Goa. At all places, he allegedly
excelled in debates, and defeated numerous rivals. As a result, the rank of his
followers began to swell.
Vādirāja visited many centres of pilgrimage across the subcontinent, and
wrote an account of these centres, entitled Tīrtha Prabandha. Divided into
four parts, the west, the north, the east, and the south, this work is of
considerable interest for understanding the significance of a centre of
pilgrimage to the dvaita practitioners of Uḍupi in the sixteenth century. Table
10 provides a list of these centres.
The list in the Tirtha Prabandha includes not only place-names, but also
a number of rivers: Nētrāvati, Payasvini, Suvarṇā, Varadā, Dharmagaṅgā,
Śālmali, Tāpti, Narmadā, Bāṇagaṅgā, Gōmatī, Kṛṣṇā, Gōdāvari, Kālindī,
Gaṅgā, Phalgu, Tuṅgabhadra, Kāvēri, Tāmraparṇi, and Ghṛtamālā. It also
refers to the mountain range of Sahyācala, and a forest, Naimiṣāraṇya.
It is clear from Table 10 that Vādirāja’s interest was mostly in coastal

112
Karnataka, which should not be surprising. What is of interest, though, is the
conspicuous absence of centres of pilgrimage in mainland Karnataka.
Harihara, Baṅkāpura, and the little-known Bidirahaḷḷi (Vēṇugrāma) are the
only places named. We shall return to this question in chapter 6. Even more
conspicuous is the absence of leading centres of pilgrimage such as Kēdāra
(Kedarnath), Ṛṣīkēśa, Haridvāra, Gaṅgōtri, and Yamunōtri in the north.
Śrīśailaṃ occurs in the list, but Siṃhācalaṃ does not. Śrīraṅgaṃ finds
mention, but not Kāḷahasti, although the river Suvarṇamukhi flowing nearby
is noticed. Uḍupi’s rival, Śṛṅgēri, is also missing.

Table 10. List of Pilgrimage Centres described in Vādirāja’s Tīrtha

Prabandha 381

113
 During his sojourn at Pūnā, Vādirāja noticed that Māgha’s Sanskrit
work, the Śiśupālavadha, was being honoured by the learned men of the city.
He challenged the greatness of this work, and spread the falsehood that a
greater work exists at Uḍupi and would be produced before them within
nineteen days. He then sat down to compose the Rukmiṇīśavijaya, completed
it in nineteen days, presented it to the scholars of Pūnā, and won praise for

114
it. In the following years, he wrote a number of other works, like the
382

Yuktimallikā, which was a summary of the essence of the Brahmasūtras, the

Lakṣābharaṇa, a commentary on the Mahābhārata, the Gurvarthadīpikā, a
commentary on Jaya Tīrtha’s Nyāyasudhā and Tatvaprakāśikā, and the
Pāṣaṇḍamatakhaṇḍana, a critique of rival schools. More than seventy works
in Sanskrit are attributed to him, many of them short stōtras in praise of god.
Vādirāja also wrote numerous songs in Kannada, and a handful of longer
devotional works too, like the Bhramaragīte, the Lakṣmīśōbhāne, the
Vaikuṇṭhavarṇane, the Tatvasuvvāli, the Svapnapada, the Guṇḍakriye, etc.
Vādirāja’s oeuvre was remarkable for its vast and encyclopedic learning.
His defence and exposition of the dvaita system were admirable for the deep
understanding they presented. However, Vādirāja was only adhering to the
system developed by Ānanda Tīrtha and Jaya Tīrtha, too faithfully so to
speak, without making original contributions to develop the system further.
He made no innovations in terms of arguments or descriptions of the
cosmology to expand and refine the system. On rare occasions, he used
proverbs with rustic wisdom as metaphors in his work. One such instance,
meant to proclaim Kṛṣṇa’s immanence, occurs in the Bhramaragīte: the wise
ones say that the aśvattha (pipal tree), which confers the required boon upon
the world, was born of crow’s droppings. In the Lakṣmīśōbhāne, he says:
383

who has ever hidden an elephant in a measuring bowl? Can a mother’s womb
hold Śrīhari, who ruled many ten million unborn eggs and atoms from the
pores of his body? One may certainly wish that this use of rusticity could be
384

consistently found in his works.

Some incidents in the life of Vādirāja are of interest to us. Once a
jāgīrdār in a town was celebrating his son’s wedding. Unfortunately, a snake
bit the groom, and he fainted. Learning that Vādirāja was camping in the
town, the jāgīrdār carried the groom to him. Vādirāja placed the groom on his
lap, and prayed to Goddess Lakṣmī for a remedy. Lakṣmī instructed him to
sing a song that described her marriage with Viṣṇu. Vādirāja sang the
Lakṣmīśōbhāne he had composed earlier. The groom was miraculously freed
of the venom. 385

On another occasion, a childless jāgīrdār approached Vādirāja with the

request to confer a son upon him. Vādirāja sent him back saying that he was
not destined to have a child in this life, and that he had to wait until his next
birth to have his wish fulfilled. The disappointed jāgīrdār met a magician,
who fulfilled his wish in exchange for an amount of five thousand gold coins.
Two thousand coins were paid immediately with the agreement that the rest
of the money would be paid after the child was born. When the child was
born, the contented jāgīrdār gave eight thousand gold coins to the magician,
far in excess of what he had originally promised. He showed off the child
proudly to Vādirāja, when the latter visited the village again. Vādirāja told the

115
jāgīrdār that it was not really a child but a demon implanted by the magician
with instructions to return back to him after slaying the jāgīrdār and his wife
at the age of six. He then sprinkled holy water from his jar on the child, and
lo!, the child was transformed into the demon. Vādirāja conferred special
powers on the demon and instructed him to kill the magician. The story urges
us to concede that Vādirāja’s timely intervention saved the jāgīrdār and his
wife from disaster. 386

Vādirāja was once hosted by the Jaina chief Tirumalarasa Cauṭa of

Mūḍabidari. In the pūjā chamber of the chief’s house was the beautiful image
of a Jina, made of emerald. “What image is this?” Vādirāja asked the chief.
“It is the Jina I worship,” Tirumalarasa replied. “No”, Vādirāja refuted, “this
looks like the image of Viṭṭhala”. He urged the chief to gift him the figure if
upon closer examination it turned out to be an image of Viṭṭhala. The chief
agreed. Vādirāja took the Jina image in his hands, where it transformed
miraculously into an image of Viṭṭhala. Tirumalarasa had no choice but to
forego the cherished emerald image. 387

Vādirāja spent his last years in Sōde. The chief of Sōde, Arasappa
Nāyaka, built the Trivikrama temple and installed the Lakṣmī Trivikrama
image there in honour of Vādirāja. In these years, Vādirāja oversaw the
construction of the Candramauḷīśvara, the Māruti, and the Śrīkṛṣṇa temples,
and the Dhavaḷagaṅga lake at Sōde. He passed away at Sōde, sometime after
1571. Conventional accounts have ascribed him a long life of 120 years,
388

placing his death in the year 1600.

There are many points of convergence between the lives of Koḍēkallu
Basava and Vādirāja. Both were great masters of their respective systems.
Both composed poetry, travelled widely, defeated adversaries, built temples
or monasteries. Yet, it is the differences that strike us most. Koḍēkallu Basava
was hostile to the king, although he promoted a petty chief. He built an army
and functioned as a leading warriorsaint. He performed miracles, and caused
qualitative changes in the economic conditions of his followers. Vādirāja on
the other hand maintained cordial relations with the Vijayanagara rulers and
the chiefs under them, such as the Nāyakas of Sōde and Keḷadi. Building an
army was not his forte. Nor are anecdotes told of how he brought material
prosperity into the lives of his followers. Vādirāja did not perform miracles,
certainly not on a scale comparable to Koḍēkallu Basava’s. He was able to
miraculously cure the son of a jāgīrdār of snakebite, but only with the
blessings of Lakṣmī, and by following a course mentioned by her. The story
of rescuing a jāgīrdār from the demon-child and the incident where the Jina
image metamorphosed into an image of Viṭṭhala have enough supernatural
content in them to qualify as miracles. But, Vādirāja is not revered within the
tradition as a miracle-worker. The respect he commands comes from the fact
that he was an embodiment, and vigorous promoter, of orthodox knowledge

116
and submissive devotion. To put the contrast between the two saints in a
nutshell, Koḍēkallu Basava represented the ethic of enterprise, Vādirāja, the
ethic of complacency.
Let us briefly examine the life of another major saint of the dvaita
tradition. Śrīpādarāya was born sometime in the early fifteenth century
(perhaps 1404) at Abbūru on the banks of River Kaṇvā in the Cannapaṭṭaṇa
tālūk of Rāmanagaraṃ district, between Beṅgalūru and Maisūru. His parents
Giriyamma and Śēṣagiriyappa gave him the name Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa.
Giriyamma’s elder sister was the mother of the saint Brahmaṇya Tīrtha,
whose maṭha exists in Abbūru. 389

Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa’s childhood seems to have been spent in poverty. His

parents owned a herd of cattle, which the boy took out for grazing. Once, the
saint Svarṇavarṇa Tīrtha of Śrīraṅgaṃ happened to be visiting Abbūru to
meet with Puruṣōttama Tīrtha, who had attained some renown in the region.
On the way, he chanced upon Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa and was attracted by the boy’s
character. He expressed his desire to have the boy as a disciple. Puruṣōttama
Tīrtha summoned Giriyamma and Śēṣagiriyappa, and urged them to hand
over Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa to Svarṇavarṇa Tīrtha, as he would initiate the boy into
brāhmaṇahood through the rite of brahmōpadēśa, and take care of his
schooling. That the boy’s cousin Brahmaṇya Tīrtha had to be given away to
the monastery was already cause for bitterness in the family. Giriyamma was
reluctant to give her son away. But the request had come from the revered
Puruṣōttama Tīrtha. She had no choice but to yield.
Svarṇavarṇa performed the rite of brahmōpadēśa, and began training the
boy. In some years’ time, Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa was initiated into renunciation and
recognized as Svarṇavarṇa’s successor to the pontificate. He was sent to
Vibhudēndra Tīrtha for higher learning. Under Vibhudēndra’s tutelage,
Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa became an expert in the dvaita system. A test of his
knowledge was held under the supervision of Raghunātha Tīrtha.
Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa excelled in the test by commenting upon a major text of the
system. It was Raghunātha Tīrtha who conferred upon him the name
Śrīpādarāya. In the course of time, Śrīpādarāya succeeded Svarṇavarṇa to
become the eighth pontiff of the monastery at Śrīraṅgaṃ. 390

Some years later, Srīpādarāya set out on a long pilgrimage, which

brought him to Paṇḍharpur in southern Maharashtra, which was the
preeminent centre of the Vārkharī tradition. Here, he found two large chests
on the banks of the river Bhīma. One of them contained an image of
Raṅgaviṭṭhala. Śrīpādarāya became a devotee of this deity and began
worshipping him. However, he failed to open the other chest.
In the course of his tour, Śrīpādarāya reached Muḷabāgilu in the Kōlāra
district of Karnataka. The place was associated with another saint, Akṣōbhya
Tīrtha, who is said to have drawn an image of Yōgānarasiṃha with cinders.

117
Akṣōbhya is also said, in a fictitious story, to have engaged Vidyāraṇya in a
debate at Muḷabāgilu, in which the redoubtable viśiṣṭādvaita master, Vēdānta
Dēśikan, acting as referee, declared Akṣōbhya victorious. Śrīpādarāya
decided to settle down here, and built a monastery on the outskirts of the
town.
The reasons for Śrīpāda’s migration from Śrīraṅgaṃ to Muḷabāgilu are
not clear from the hagiographies. In the early decades of the fourteenth
century, the Uttamanaṃbi family of Śrīvaiṣṇavas (of the Rāmānuja tradition)
had become powerful at Śrīraṅgaṃ. They were also successful in attracting
Vijayanagara support for their cause. It is likely that the Uttamanaṃbis
391

entered into conflicts with the dvaita school of Śrīpāda, forcing him to move
out of Śrīraṅgaṃ. Alternately, Śrīpāda might have aspired for patronage from
the Vijayanagara rulers. If he sought out royal support, we must conclude that
he made little gains until the 1470s and 80s, when the Saṅgama control over
southern India declined and the Sāḷuva aspiration to replace them became
manifest. Many a saint seems to have succeeded in forging a strategic alliance
with the Sāḷuvas. Kandāḍai Rāmānujadāsar was one such saint. “The
available evidence”, writes Arjun Appadurai, “makes it difficult to identify
this person. But it seems fairly certain that he rose from obscurity to
prominence by the appropriate manipulation of his “discipleship” to
prominent sectarian leaders and his trading of this credential for political
currency under the Sāḷuvas at Tirupati”. It is for this reason that the
392

Uttamanaṃbis had to make concessions for Rāmānujadāsar, although they

were still in control of Śrīraṅgaṃ. Like Rāmānujadāsar, Śrīpādarāya was
393

also successful in establishing a close relationship with the Sāḷuva state.

Sometime around the year 1475, Brahmaṇya Tīrtha passed away. His
young disciple Vyāsarāya (b. ca. 1460), whom Brahmaṇya had nominated his
successor, left for Kāñcīpuraṃ to continue his studies. From there, he reached
Muḷabāgilu, where he accepted Śrīpādarāya as his teacher. Śrīpāda turned out
to be a foundational influence on Vyāsarāya.
The relationship the guru shared with his new disciple was divinely
ordained, and is exemplified by a story. Once, Śrīpādarāya entrusted
Vyāsarāya with the task of carrying out the daily worship at the monastery in
Muḷabāgilu. In the course of his pūjā, Vyāsarāya chanced upon an unopened
chest. This was one of the two chests Śrīpādarāya had found at Paṇḍharpur.
No one had succeeded in opening the chest. Vyāsarāya picked up the chest,
and opened it effortlessly. From the box emerged Lord Veṇugōpāla, playing
his flute. In his ecstasy, Vyāsarāya picked up a sāḷagrāma stone placed
nearby, and began beating it like a drum and dancing it to the tunes. The other
disciples in the monastery were surprised by the miracle, and reported it to
Śrīpādarāya. No sooner did Śrīpādarāya arrive on the scene than Vēṇugōpāla
froze into an image. Śrīpādarāya realized that of the two images he had

118
retrieved from Paṇḍharpur, the image of Raṅgaviṭṭhala was meant for him and
that of Vēṇugōpāla for his disciple. Vyāsarāya was permitted to own the
image and worship it. 394

It was around the time when Vyāsarāya reached Muḷabāgilu that the
Saṅgama state of Vijayanagara was disintegrating. Sāḷuva Narasiṃha, who
had designs to establish a kingdom of his own, was very active during this
period. He established contacts with Śrīpādarāya and became one of his
leading benefactors. According to a legend, Sāḷuva Narasiṃha had put to
death the Tirupati temple priest and his son on charges of corruption. Thus, he
incurred the sin of killing a brāhmaṇa (brahmahatyādōṣa), which was one of
the five great sins (pañcamahāpātaka). He found no help from anybody in
securing release from this sin. At this time, news reached him that
Śrīpādarāya of Muḷabāgilu had freed a person from brahmahatyādōṣa with
the holy water from his conch. Sāḷuva Narasiṃha sought his help. Śrīpāda
sprinkled him with water from his conch, and released him from the great
sin. Whether or not this story is true, it clearly points to the favourable nexus
395

Śrīpāda was able to forge with the Vijayanagara state.

It is said that Śrīpādarāya’s opponents ridiculed him for making false
claims that he was endowed with powers to release men from the sin of
slaying a brāhmaṇa with water from his conch. Śrīpādarāya challenged them
to clean the dark spots caused on a white piece of cloth by the oil from the
gēru fruit. The opponents failed. Now, Śrīpāda poured water from his conch
and cleansed the white cloth, and brought the opponents into submission. 396

The rest of Śrīpādarāya’s life was spent in teaching, devotion,

composition of poetry, and defeating rivals. In one story told of him, Śrīpāda
figures as a glutton, like Ānanda Tīrtha, consuming huge quantities of raw
fruits and vegetables. When rivals ridiculed him for this, he is said to have
produced back from his belly all the food he had consumed. The fruits and
vegetables remained fresh. The rivals were beaten once again.
A long life of ninety-eight years is assigned to Śrīpādarāya, which places
his death in ca. 1502. Before his death, he nominated Hayagrīva Tīrtha as his
successor. Vyāsarāya would have been the ideal choice, had he not already
been pontiff of the maṭha at Abbūru when he had accepted Śrīpāda as his
teacher.
An important achievement of Śrīpādarāya was forging for the dvaita
tradition healthy ties of patronage and reciprocation with the Vijayanagara
state. To what extent was his role significant in the rise of Sāḷuva Narasiṃha
to the centre-stage of Vijayanagara polity can only be speculated. There is no
evidence that helps us to reflect upon this question at some length. But
Śrīpāda introduced Vyāsarāya to Sāḷuva Narasiṃha, which must be
considered a decisive move. In the years to come, Vyāsarāya became an
important mouthpiece, as it were, of the religion promoted by the state. It is a

119
matter of regret indeed that he ended up as one of the two greatest masters of
existing knowledge in the history of the dvaita system (the other being
Vādirāja), without causing innovations in the system built by Ānanda Tīrtha
and Jaya Tīrtha.
Śrīpādarāya’s life, like Vādirāja’s, stands out for the manner in which in
contrasts with Koḍēkallu Basava’s. Although a traveller, poet, and a leading
representative of his system, traits that most respected saints shared,
Śrīpādarāya raised no army, fought no battles, and performed no miracles that
was striking enough for him to be recognized as a miracle-worker. Nor is he
credited with public works like excavating tanks or causing agriculture to
expand. Unlike Koḍēkallu Basava’s engagement with Isupāśca and the other
kings he met during his fabled voyage, Śrīpāda’s ties with the state was
cordial and patronizing. References to the peasant and mercantile classes do
not occur in the stories told of him. He was, like Vādirāja, the figurehead of
orthodox learning that laid stress on the ethic of submission and complacency.
The comparison between Koḍēkallu Basava on the one hand, and
Vādirāja and Śrīpādarāya on the other, leads us to an important conclusion.
There had occurred in the course of the late fifteenth and the early sixteenth
century, a great divergence in the praxis of sainthood in the Deccan region.
Two distinct tendencies had emerged and gained deep roots: the first centered
on the ethic of enterprise, which involved acts and initiatives ranging from
public works and agrarian expansion to warfare and murder; the other
revolved around the ethic of complacency, which called for devotion,
submission, and singing praise of the Lord. This was a distinction of no mean
consequence. The image of the saint would henceforth oscillate around these
conflicting ethics. It is to this divergence that we must now turn.

263 Veluthat 2013: 132-144 (i.e., chapter 9).

264 Cf. Talbot 2001: 48-86 (i.e., chapter 2) for a discussion in the context of Andhra, where it is argued that caste was amorphous
and less frequently invoked. Stress is instead laid on ‘a typology of statuses’ (Ibid., 55-61). It may, however, be noted that many
of these ‘status’ titles are now caste titles. Also see Sharma 2007: 5-7 for an argument against the status theory.
265 Examples occur in texts like the Aitarēya Brāhmaṇa (Sharma 2007: 97) and the Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa (Ibid., pp. 90-91). That
the practice was known is confirmed by the reservations against it in some of the text, although Sharma notes that “actual
instances of land gifts are lacking” (Ibid., p. 91). Land grants continued in the 600-300 BCE period, as suggested by stray
references like the Buddhist ‘Lohicca Sutta’, Dīghanikāya 12.
266 The earliest known instance of this kind comes from the later half of the first century BCE. An inscription of the Sātavāhana
queen Nāganīka records the grant of two villages as part of a series of vaidic sacrifices organized under her aegis. At least 64,503
kārṣāpaṇas were spent on these sacrifices, in addition to 44,340 cows, and a number of horses, chariots, elephants, pots, silver
containers and clothes. See No. 3 in Mirashi 1981.
267 On the military roles of the schools, see Veluthat 2013: 152-164 (i.e., Appendix II).
268 Devadevan 2009a: 60.
269 Karashima 1984 discusses the evidence in the context of Tamilnadu. See also Karashima 2009: 9-10 for an interesting
summary. No comparable study exists for Karnataka.
270 No. 29, Ramesh 1984.
271 Dg. 17, Epigraphia Carnatica, Vol. 11.
272 Kr. 39, Epigraphia Carnatica, (revised edition), Vol. 6.
273 Ng. 80. Epigraphia Carnatica, (revised edition), Vol. 7.
274 Bellary 20, Kannada University Epigraphical Series, Vol. 1.
275 No. 231, South Indian Inscriptions, Vol. 7. The inscription does not give us the exact date, but only states that it was issued in
the Sarvadhāri year, when the Vijayanagara king Harihara held the throne. Sarvadhari occurred in 1348 and 1408. Harihara II

120
ruled from 1377 to 1404, but Harihara I was the king between 1347 and 1356, which enables us to identify the date as 1348.
276 No. 336, Ibid.
277 No. 189, Ibid.
278 Bl. 322, Epigraphia Carnatica, (revised edition), Vol. 9.
279 Ibid.
280 No. 299, South Indian Inscriptions, Vol. 7.
281 Inscriptions published in South Indian Inscriptions, Vol. 2, Part I and II.
282 No. 205, South Indian Inscriptions, Vol. 3, Part III.
283 Bl. 16, Epigraphia Carnatica, (revised edition), Vol. 9.
284 Eaton 2005: 65.
285 Subrahmanyam 1990.
286 Wagoner 2014.
287 Bijāpura (Bijapur), as renamed by the Government of Karnataka in 2014.
288 Tarikere 1998: 79.
289 Ibid.
290 Such exchanges are taken to be instances of religious synchronism by the vernacular academia. In an important, but poorly
articulated critique of this position, Tarikere 1998 argues that the synchronism thesis regards different traditions as autonomous
and watertight entities, which however was hardly the case in practice. Religious traditions were porous and, at the popular level,
they tended to enmesh into one another in complex ways that involved conflict, negotiations, exchanges, conciliation, acceptance,
and assimilation to an extent that made a distinction between one tradition and the other impossible.
291 Virōdhi is the twenty-third in a cycle of sixty years, used in traditional calendar systems in India.
292 Nandiyāgamalīle, 15.50.
293 For some reason, Soppimath declines to read the next stanza, and identifies this Vīrasaṅgayya, Koḍēkallu Basava’s
grandson’s grandson, as his great grandson and the poet. Soppimath 1995: 46.
294 Nandiyāgamalīle, 15.48-49.
295 Ibid., 8.7. Such tropes are not unknown in hagiographic literature from the region.
296 Ibid., 10.19.
297 Nj. 115, Epigraphia Carnatica, Vol. 3.
298 Ibid., 10.32. The word cadura is used elsewhere in the text the mean ‘clever’ (cf. 10.52 and 10.53). So, it is not unlikely that
the Paṭṭaṇaśeṭṭi who collected interest (baḍḍi) is referred to as the clever one. Soppimath however reads baḍḍi (or vaḍḍina, as it
apparently occurs in the version he consulted) as the name of a town to which Saṅgājamma and Liṅgaṇṇa belonged! See
Soppimath 1995: 50.
299 Nandiyāgamalīle, 10.49; 10.66.
300 Ibid., 11.26.
301 Ibid., 11.34-35.
302 Ibid., 11.32-33.
303 Ibid., 11.30.
304 Ibid., 11.44.
305 Ibid., 11.65.
306 Ibid., 11.71.
307 Ibid., 12.16-38.
308 Ibid., 12.44.
309 Ibid., 12.52.
310 Ibid., 12.57.
311 Ibid., 12.63.
312 Ibid., 12.65. It is here that Basava had died in 1168.
313 Ibid., 12.70.
314 Ibid., 12.69. The expression Karasaṅgayya suggests that the boy was a karajāta, i.e., an adopted son. An alternate and less
persuasive version refers to him as Karisaṅgayya, i.e., Saṅgayya, black (kari) in complexion.
315 Ibid., 13.3-23.
316 Ibid., 13.24.
317 Soppimath 1995: 53.
318 Soppimath in fact believes that Koḍēkallu Basava also belonged to the Nātha tradition. This only points to his poor
understanding of both the Koḍēkallu and the Nātha traditions.
319 Ibid., 54.
320 Ibid., 53, n. 40.
321 Tarikere 1998: 4; 42. The historical Nāsir is not known to have travelled to the Deccan region.
322 Ibid., 42.
323 Ibid.
324 Ibid., 13.40-42.
325 Ibid., 13.34-40.
326 Ibid., 13.43.
327 Ibid., 13.63.
328 Ibid., 13.65.
329 Ibid., 13.66.
330 Soppimath 1995: 57.
331 Nandiyāgamalīle, 14.5.
332 Ibid., 14.13.
333 Ibid., 14.14.

121
334 Ibid., 14.22.
335 Ibid., 14.26-37.
336 Ibid., 14.37.
337 Songs sung to the accompaniment of a percussion instrument called ḍaṅgura.
338 Ibid., 14.38-39.
339 Ibid., 14.40-49.
340 Soppimath 1995: 62.
341 Nandiyāgamalīle, 15.15.
342 From this humble beginning, Hanuma Nāyaka and his successors grew in strength, and eventually established the chiefdom of
Surapura. On the Surapura chiefdom, see Aruni 2004.
343 Nandiyāgamalīle, 15.18.
344 Ibid., 15.19.
345 Ibid., 15.20-21.
346 Ibid., 15.24-25. Later on in the narrative, it is stated that the number of villages granted was eighteen (daśa-aṣṭa), a
conventional number. Ibid., 15.28.
347 See the articles in Bhusanuramatha 1988.
348 Saundaryalahari, 49. The other seven cities are Vaiśāli, Ayōdhyā, Dhāra, Mathurā, Bhōgavati, Avanti and Vijayanagara. It is
the reference to Vijayanagara and Kalyāna (Kalyāṇi in the text), which enables us to place the text in the fifteenth century.
349 Cannabasava was Basava’s nephew through his sister Nāgavva.
350 It has also been argued that Maṇṭēsvāmi was of Telugu origin. See Jayaprakash 2005: 7-32 (i.e., chapter 2).
351 Guhēśvara is a corruption of Goggēśvara, the signature used by Allama in his vacanas.
352 On Maṇṭēsvāmi, see Indvadi 1999 and 2004.
353 On Rāja Oḍeya and the consolidation of Oḍeya political influence, see Simmons 2014.
354 Ibid., 15.29.
355 Ibid. 15.30-41.
356 Ibid., 15.43-46.
357 Nandiyāgamalīle, 15.20.
358 Ibid., 15.21.
359 Ibid.
360 Kodekallu lies at a distance of less than an hour’s journey on horseback from all these places.
361 Lorenzen 2006: 37-63, (i.e., chapter 2).
362 Olson 2015: 93.
363 Eaton 1978: 23-27.
364 In the context of north India, William Pinch has documented and commented upon the relationship, which the warrior-saint
shared with the peasantry. See Pinch 1996. Also see Pinch 2006.
365 Viraktamath 2005: 63.
366 Pinch 1996: 6.
367 The expression is nūrāru, literally 106, but used colloquially to indicate ‘hundreds’.
368 Sāvaḷagi Śrīśivaliṅgēśvarapurāṇa, 4.43.
369 This tendency was by no means restricted to saints and their establishments. It also governed the political developments of the
day. See Wink 1986.
370 Tarikere 1998: 56.
371 Of course, this was not a fully developed tradition in its own right and, in addition, it should not be confused with the Gauḍīya
Caitanya tradition.
372 Interestingly, Navakōṭi Nārāyaṇa is a title given to a chief called Śrīnivāsa Nāyaka, who later became a popular saint,
Purandaradāsa.
373 Tarikere 1998: 56.
374 Ibid.
375 Ibid.
376 Ibid., 67.
377 The worship of a tomb (gaddige) is popular in the region. This was introduced by the Sūfis. There are also tomb-replicas
(tōru-gaddige), where the replica of a tomb is worshipped in commemoration of a revered saint. On tomb worship in Karnataka,
see the discussion in Assayag 2004.
378 Kanakadāsa, for instance, was a follower of Rāmānuja’s viśiṣṭādvaita (evidence for which is presented in Kalburgi 2010 Vol.
4: 378-379), although he is regarded a dvaita saint by most scholars (which is not supported by evidence).
379 They are also known by the name Gaurī Dēvi and Dēvabhaṭṭa.
380 Parthasarathy 2011: 34.
381 Source: Tīrtha Prabandha.
382 Māgha’s Śiśupālavadha is generally regarded as the most difficult text in Sanskrit kāvya literature. To produce a work that
excels the Śiśupālavadha was to outshine and dethrone the best. This is not an uncommon tendency in hagiographic convention.
383 Bhramaragīte, 46.
384 Laksmīśōbhāne, 5.44.
385 Parthasarathy 2011: 103.
386 Ibid., 104-105.
387 Ibid., 105.
388 In 1571, Vādirāja received a grant from the Keḷadi chief Rāmarāja Nāyaka (No. 34, Jois 1991). So his death might have
occurred after this date.
389 Varadarajarao 1987: i.
390 This monastery is believed to have been founded by Ānanda Tīrtha’s disciple Padmanābha Tīrtha.

122
391 Appadurai 1981: 88.
392 Ibid., 89.
393 Ibid.
394 Varadarajarao 1987: x-xi.
395 Ibid., viii-ix.
396 Ibid.

123
5 Miracles, Ethicality, and the Great Divergence
The discussions in chapter 4 ended with the suggestion that a great divergence
began to take shape in the praxis of renunciation in the Deccan region in the
late fifteenth century. We must now set out to explore and unpack this
divergence.
Two prominent trends in renunciation made their appearance in this
period. Each articulated itself in a form that was remarkably different from
the other, although it is unlikely that this was done consciously to meet
doctrinal, epistemological, or eschatological ends. There were, as a matter of
fact, shared hagiographic motifs, similar emphases on doctrinal issues, and
overlaps and exchanges between them. All the same, their boundaries were
not too porous to be infiltrated by the other to an extent that would obliterate
the uniqueness found embedded in them.
The two sets of traditions were not monolithic blocs, but internally
differentiated tendencies engulfing a wide range of monastic traditions and
practices of renunciation. We may, for the sake of convenience, call them the
dāsa and the siddha ethic, respectively, for want of better expressions.
However, these broad umbrella-categories must not blind us to the fact that
the dāsas comprised of saints who followed diverse traditions like dvaita, and
the teṅgalai (southern) and vaḍagalai (northern) schools of viśiṣṭādvaita, or 397

that the siddhas consisted of Vīraśaivas, Ārūḍhas, Avadhūtas, Pañcācāryas,

Nāthas (also called Avadhūtas), Dattas, Viraktas, etc., and adherents of
diverse practices like kaivalya, karasthala, iṣṭaliṅga ārādhane (of which the
karasthala was a variant), prāṇaliṅga ārādhane, khaṇḍajñāna, kālajñāna,
nītijñāna, bōdhajñāna, and so on.
The defining features of these traditions were certainly not new and yet,
they were very infrequently noticed before the fifteenth century. The great
initiatives that began with Mahaliṅgadēva and Śivagaṇaprasādi
Mahādēvayya, and carried forward in the court of Dēvarāya II at
Vijayanagara by Jakkaṇa and Lakkaṇṇa Daṇḍēśa, brought the siddha ethic to
the centre-stage, and facilitated its propagation. Although the days of Jakkaṇa
and Lakkaṇṇa Daṇḍēśa saw the high-noon of Vīraśaiva doctrinal creativity, it
was only towards the later half of the fifteenth century and the early sixteenth
century that it developed a genuinely popular appeal. We have already seen
how this took shape in northern Karnataka in the hands of Koḍēkallu Basava.
In southern Karnataka, the process took the form of composing hagiographies
and exegetical literature. Gubbiya Mallaṇārya wrote the monumental
Vīraśaivāmṛtapurāṇa in 1530-31. It is by far the most ambitious exposition of
Vīraśaiva doctrines after the Śivatatvacintāmaṇi of Lakkaṇṇa Daṇḍēśa.
Seventeen years earlier, in 1513-14, he had written the Bhāvacintāratna,

124
which claims to be a Kannada rendition of the story of Satyēndra Cōḷa. Some
decades before Mallaṇārya, another prominent saint of southern Karnataka,
Tōṇṭada Siddhaliṅga, wrote the Ṣaṭsthalajñānasārāmṛta (ca. 1470), which
was a treatise on the ṣaṭsthala system.
Around the year 1485, a major change occurred in the political landscape
of South India. The Saṅgama state of Vijayanagara collapsed, and the throne
usurped by Sāḷuva Narasiṃha. The Sāḷuvas ruled for two decades. During
their last years, political control was effectively in the hands of the Tuḷuva
chief, Narasa Nāyaka. He died in 1503. Two years later, in 1505, his son
Tuḷuva Narasiṃha seized throne. Thus began the Tuḷuva rule, which lasted up
to 1565. The most famous ruler in this line was Kṛṣṇarāya (r. 1509-1529).
398 399

Under the Sāḷuvas and the Tuḷuvas, the Vijayanagara state became ardent
promoters of Vaiṣṇavism. Royal support to the Śṛṅgēri maṭha declined. The
focus of attention shifted to the Veṅkaṭēśvara temple in Tirupati. This shift
was accompanied by a change in the doctrinal preferences of the
Vijayanagara rulers. They moved away from advaita to patronize saints who
offered a critique of Śaṅkara’s influential system. Thus did saints like
Vallabha gain in importance in the capital city of Vijayanagara; “it was
Vallabha’s victory over the Māyāvādīs that ultimately led to his formal
authorization in matters doctrinal.” 400

This was in keeping with the larger assertion of Vaiṣṇava devotionalism

across large parts of the subcontinent in the sixteenth century. Vallabha,
Rāmānanda, Kabīr, Tulsīdās, Sūrdās, Kēśavdās, Rāidās, and others in the
Gaṅgā valley, Mīrā in Rajasthan, and Caitanya in Bengal, were leading
advocates of Vaiṣṇava devotionalism. Ceruśśēri, Tuñjattǔ Rāmānujan
Eluttaccan, Pūndānaṃ Naṃbūdiri, and Mēlpattūr Nārāyaṇa Bhaṭṭadiri
espoused its cause in Kerala. In Odisha, it began with Śāraḷādāsa in the mid
fifteenth century and snowballed into a far-reaching historical phenomenon
under the pañcasakhās (five comrades), Baḷarāmadāsa, Jagannāthadāsa,
Acyutānandadāsa, Yaśavantadāsa, and Śiśu Anantadāsa, in the early sixteenth
century. The pañcasakhās, especially Jagannāthadāsa, developed strong ties
of friendship with Caitanya, and were also supported by the Sūryavaṃśi
Gajapati king, Pratāparudra. To the west of Odisha, in the Marāṭha country,
Ēknāth, and later, Tukārāṃ and Bahinābāyi in the seventeenth century, were
the chief advocates of Vaiṣṇavism. They belonged to the Vārkharī tradition
that was given shape and direction in the thirteenth and the fourteenth
centuries by Jñānēśvara, Muktābāyi, Nāmdēv, and Cōkhāmēlā.
Annamayya, based in Tirupati, was the leading sixteenth-century voice
of Vaiṣṇava devotionalism in the Telugu-speaking region. In Karnataka,
Uḍupi rose as the preeminent centre of Vaiṣṇavism under the charismatic
leadership of Vādirāja. The Haridāsas, including Vādirāja, Vyāsarāya,
Śrīpādarāya, Kanakadāsa, and Purandaradāsa, became influential propagators

125
of this emergent creed.
The great divergence between the siddha and the dāsa ethics unfurled
across many domains. We will examine some of them briefly.
Let us begin with the question of place. The siddhas were always known
after the place where they lived for a long time, or where they eventually
came to rest. Thus, Koḍēkallu Basava, Diggi Saṅgamanātha, Vaḍabāḷada
Nāganātha, Galagada Cannabasava, Sālōṭagi Cannabasava, Nāgāvi Īrappayya,
Tinthiṇi or Varavi Mōnappa, Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa, Sāvaḷagi Śivaliṅga,
Muḷagundada Māḷiprabhu, Gūgi Candā Sāhēb, Indūru Timmaṇṇa Dhanagāra,
Mahōḷada Hegrāsasvāmi, and so on. This contrasts with the dāsas, who
almost invariably were never identified between the fifteenth and the
eighteenth centuries with a place. Kanaka’s close association with the village
of Kāginele is known from his songs in which ‘Kāginele Ādikēśavarāya’
occurs as a signature. But he was never known as Kāginele Kanakadāsa. No
such place-name prefix occurs in the names of Vādirāja, Vyāsarāya,
Purandaradāsa, Śrīpādarāya, or Annamayya either.
Complementing this fact is another interesting difference. The dāsas
often affiliated themselves with important political and commercial centres,
or centres of pilgrimage, such as Vijayanagara, Tirupati, Paṇḍharpur, and
Uḍupi. Kanakadāsa is known to have travelled to Uḍupi and Tirupati.
Purandaradāsa also was associated with these two places in addition to
Panḍharpur. Vādirāja was pontiff of the Sōde maṭha at Uḍupi, and visited
Tirupati. Śrīpādarāya lived for many years in Śrīraṅgaṃ, and is known to
have maintained close ties with the Vijayanagara court in Haṃpi, besides
travelling to Paṇḍharpur. These centres went on to develop their own
sthalapurāṇas or sthalamāhātymas, i.e., sacred legends on the greatness of
the place. Some of them even made their way into the great Sanskrit paurāṇic
texts. For instance, an account of Tirupati occurs in the Sanskrit
Skandapurāṇa. This contrasts with siddha centres like Koḍēkallu, Sāvaḷagi,
Varavi, Śirahaṭṭi, Kaḍakōḷa, Diggi, etc., none of which ever produced a
sthalapurāṇa or a sthalamāhātyma, although it was not difficult to find entry
into the Skandapurāṇa, which was regarded as a scrapbook of sorts. 401

The next question that warrants reflection is the extent to which the
dāsas and siddhas were commemorated. This may be examined by comparing
the degrees to which their presence was historically felt or remembered at
places associated with them. The case of Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa and Kanakadāsa
serve as exemplary instances.
Śirahaṭṭi is a sleepy little town in the Gadaga district of Karnataka, lying
at a short distance from the Kappattaguḍḍa range. It is also the headquarters
of the tālūk. The neighbouring town of Lakṣmēśvara, the good old Puligere,
has a longer history, and a more powerful mercantile presence. We have seen
that Mahaliṅgadēva belonged to this town, and that Ādayya built the

126
Sōmēśvara temple here. Lakṣmēśvara also commands a greater agrarian
hinterland than Śirahaṭṭi. Besides, it is better connected, as it lies on the
Hāvēri-Gadaga highway, and is closer to Savaṇūru, where Abdul Raūf Khān
established a chiefdom after obtaining a mansabdāri of 6000 rank from the
Mughal ruler Auraṅgzēb in 1686. Other important towns like Aṇṇigere,
402

Guḍagēri, and Saṃśi, and leading hubs of commerce, like Hubbaḷḷi (Hubli),
Gadaga, and Hāvēri, are easily reached from Lakṣmēśvara. Yet, it is the
relatively backward Śirahaṭṭi that has been the headquarters of the tālūk. This
is due in large part to the importance Śirahaṭṭi has in the religious history of
the region. The town is home to the shrine and tomb of Fakīrappa (d. ca.
1725).
The saint has a ubiquitous presence in the town. There is a cinema hall in
front of the maṭha. It is named after Fakīrappa. The degree college (i.e.,
college for undergraduate education) in the town is also named after him. It is
not uncommon to find shops and business establishments in Śirahaṭṭi bearing
his name. Fakīrappa is to Śirahaṭṭi what Veṅkaṭēśvara is to Tirupati or
Jagannātha is to Puri. He is, verily, the defining feature of the town.
A hundred kilometres to the south of Śirahaṭṭi is the village of Kāginele.
It nestles in the midst of rich maize fields and areca nut orchards, and is
fifteen kilometres south of the district headquarters, Hāvēri. The place is
associated with the name of Kanakadāsa, known for his devotional songs
(kīrtane). Kāginele’s contrast with Śirahaṭṭi cannot be more striking.
Kanakadāsa is nowhere to be seen in the town. An image of the saint is found
in the Ādikēśava temple. This was installed sometime in the mid twentieth
century by devotees from Nañjanagūḍu near Maisūru. There is no information
on where in the village he lived, or where he was eventually laid to rest.
Kanakadāsa’s presence in Kāginele is too remote even to be considered
marginal. 403

The differences between Fakīrappa and Kanakadāsa are crucial for the
purposes of our analysis. They were not constituted idiosyncratically or
doctrinally, nor were they determined by the degrees of influences the two
saints were able to exercise. They follow a clearly discernable pattern along
the lines of the siddha-dāsa divergence that can be seen elsewhere in the
region. Take the village of Tinthiṇi, for instance. It lies on the desolate rocky
stretches of the Śōrāpura doab on the river Kṛṣṇa, but attracts a steady stream
of pilgrims (ranging from one hundred to two thousand every day) to the
shrine of Mōnappa, where his tomb is worshipped. Life in Tinthiṇi gravitates
towards this shrine. The annual fair, which is known after the Islamic fashion
as urus, attracts 75,000 to 100,000 devotees. Mōnappa’s presence is equally
404

ubiquitous in Varavi, where he lived for some years. Varavi is in the Gadaga
district, only three kilometres away from Fakīrappa’s Śirahatti. The pattern
found in Śirahaṭṭi, Tinthiṇi, and Varavi also occurs in many other siddha

127
centres established between the late fifteenth and the mid eighteenth
centuries. The shrine hosting the tomb of Śivaliṅga in Sāvaḷagi, twenty
kilometres northwest of Gōkāk in the Beḷagāvi district, provides one such
instance. The shrine is the heart of Sāvaḷagi, and Śivaliṅga, the purpose and
meaning of the village. Over 75,000 devotees arrive to attend the annual fair
of Sāvaḷagi. Even in a city like Kalaburagi, which was politically powerful for
many centuries and where the tomb of Bandēnavāz attracts a large number of
pilgrims, the presence of Śaraṇabasava is overarching. His temple is a major
landmark in the city, and one of its most prominent centres of pilgrimage. It
draws a crowd of over 200,000 devotees during the annual fair. Similarly,
Koḍēkallu Basava has a towering presence in Koḍēkallu, although his shrine
stands no comparison to the respect that the tombs of Fakīrappa, Mōnappa,
Śivaliṅga, and Śaraṇabasava command in Śirahaṭṭi, Varavi, Sāvaḷagi, and
Kalaburagi, respectively. This is due in large to the secrecy that the Koḍēkallu
tradition maintained as far as their literature, forms of knowledge, and rituals
were concerned. Access to Fakīrappa, Mōnappa, Śivaliṅga or Śaraṇabasava
was easier. In contrast, Koḍēkallu Basava seems to have inspired greater awe
and fear than respect, if the picture drawn between the lines in the
Nandiyāgamalīle is any indication. Yet, nearly 75,000 people arrive during
the annual fair held in his honour. 405

The shrine of Śrīpādarāya on the outskirts of Muḷabāgilu in the Kōlāra

district (one hundred kilometres east of Beṅgaḷūru) is an important dāsa
centre. It draws few devotees. Many in the town have never heard of
Śrīpādarāya or know of the existence of his shrine in their neighbourhood.
Less than 5000 people visited the shrine during the annual fair until recently
(which has increased in the last two decades to over 50,000, courtesy, the
intervention of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh and the group of Hindu
Right organizations called the Sangh Parivar functioning under its aegis). And
unlike the fairs of Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa, Tinthiṇi Monappa, or Sāvaḷagi
Śivaliṅga, the fair at the Muḷabāgilu shrine is not in honour of Śrīpādarāya,
but held in the name of the deity he worshipped. A dāsa centre’s difference
with a siddha centre cannot be more striking.
There are no commemorative shrines or installations for any of the
dāsas, no fairs held for them, no worship carried out for their relics and
remains. All that has remained are their literary works, most of them in the
406

form of short songs called kīrtane or dēvaranāma, and memories—some of

them bright, some faint—about their devotion preserved by the Vaiṣṇava
monasteries. The songs and legends enjoyed no popularity, as they circulated
only among the residents and followers of the monasteries. In a striking
reversal of fortune in the late nineteenth century, the Sindhi- and Marathi-
inspired professional theatre troupes in Kannada, and the emerging academic
discipline of Kannada Literature, began to foreground the dāsas, to the

128
disadvantage of the siddhas. Plays on the dāsas were written and performed.
Songs were composed in their honour. Their literary works were published in
cheap chapbook form as well as in the form of carefully researched critical
editions. Their songs were taught in schools, and school textbooks carried
chapters about their life and work. In consequence, the Anglophone academia
and much of the literate population in today’s Karnataka have some
familiarity with the names of Kanakadāsa and Purandaradāsa, if not a
reasonable historical understanding, but they know scarcely anything about
Koḍēkallu Basava, Kalaburagi Śaraṇabasava, Tinthiṇi Mōnappa, Śirahaṭṭi
Fakīrappa, or Sāvaḷagi Śivaliṅga.
A third point of divergence between the siddhas and the dāsas concerned
the performance of miracles. Most siddhas performed miracles, most dāsas
didn’t. This resonates with the contemporary development in Europe, where
the Roman Catholic Church maintained belief in miracles performed by men
and women, and conferred sainthood upon them, while the emergent
Protestant traditions of the sixteenth century believed that the power to
perform miracles was rested only in God.
Miracles, or magical powers, had a long history in south Asia. Early
Buddhists from the sixth century BCE are said to have mastered this art, even
as the puritans among them, including the Buddha, abjured it. Monks were
instructed not to practice miracles in the presence of lay devotees. The Pālī 407

canon was strictly opposed to the display of supernatural powers. According

408

to one story in the Pālī Vinaya, a rich man in the city of Rājagṛha was in
possession of a begging bowl made of sandalwood. He hung it on a long
bamboo pole and declared that a śramaṇa or a brāhmaṇa who was an Arhat
and possessed magical powers may take it. Six masters, including Pūraṇa
Kāśyapa tried, but failed. At that time, the bhiṣkus Piṇḍōla Bhāradvāja and
Maudgalyāyana (Moggallāna) happened to pass through the place, seeking
alms. Piṇḍōla Bhāradvāja asked his companion to claim the begging bowl, as
he was an Arhat and possessed supernatural powers. Maudgalyāyana refused,
and instead urged Piṇḍōla Bhāradvāja to take the bowl, as he was also an
Arhat in possession of magical powers. Piṇḍōla Bhāradvāja agreed, rose into
the sky, took possession of the sandalwood bowl, and descended after circling
the city of Rājagṛha three times. He was received with great respect and
fanfare by the crowd, and the rich man offered him expensive food as alms in
the bowl. It is not surprising, therefore, that Maudgalyāyana is one of the
409

most revered monks in early Buddhism, while Piṇḍōla Bhāradvāja—who took

pride in his supernatural powers and made a public display of it—a saint
criticized widely. It must be noted, here, that the object of criticism was not
the possession of magical powers, but its public display. Thus, the Buddha’s
preeminent disciple and successor, Mahākāśyapa, is never criticized for
learning of the master’s demise through his magical vision and reaching

129
Kuśīnārā by flight. There is, in fact, pride about his supernatural
accomplishments, which comes through in the words he is said to have
spoken to the fellow monk, Ānanda.
He who could imagine that my three knowledges, my six superknowledges and my mastery of the powers could be
hidden away, could just as well imagine that a sixty years old elephant could be hidden by a palm leaf . . . could just as
well imagine that the flow of the Ganges river could be checked by a handful of dust . . . could just as well imagine that
the wind could be imprisoned in a net.410

In the Deccan region, instances of miracles begin to occur at least from the
early twelfth century. We have seen in chapter 2 how, in the twelfth century,
Ēkānta Rāmayya severed his head and put it back in front of the Jainas in
order to uphold the supremacy of Śiva. Harihara recounted this miracle in his
Ēkānta Rāmitandeya Ragaḷe. The head was cut off from the torso, and
411

carried to the major Śaiva centres of the day, such as Puligere, Aṇṇigere,
Keṃbhāvi, Kūḍalasaṅgama, Sonnalige, and Haṃpi, before bringing it back to
Abbalūru and putting it back after seven days. Rāmayya’s contemporary
Rēvaṇasiddha, who lived in Maṅgaḷavāḍa and was perhaps known to Basava,
is reported in an inscription dated 1188 to have performed miracles. Among
his miracles were walking of water and bestowing riches on a devotee. On
one occasion, the earth is said to have shaken when some people objected to
the use of the word ‘siddha’ by Rēvaṇasiddha. 412

What is worthy of note in the two instances is that emphasis is laid only
on the powers a true devotee of Śiva commanded. No attempt is made to
identify the saints as miracle-workers.
In Harihara’s hagiographies on the śaraṇas, the performance of miracle
is nearly conspicuous by its absence. Leading śaraṇas like Allama and
Akkamahādēvi perform no supernatural acts. Neither does Basava. A handful
of miracles occur in the presence of Basava, mostly to vindicate him of the
charges levelled against him. Note that the miracles happen; Basava does not
perform them. In rare instances, when Harihara mentions the miracles
performed by a śaraṇa, there is no attempt to represent him as a miracle-
worker. The ragaḷes on Śaṅkara Dāsimayya and Musuṭeya Cauḍayya are 413 414

prominent examples. Miracle figures only as one of the attributes of śaraṇa

devotionalism, and a largely minor one inasmuch as Basava, Allama Prabhu,
and Akkamahādēvi had no use of it.
The picture is considerably altered by the fifteenth century. In texts like
the four Śūnyasampadanes and Cāmarasa’s Prabhuliṅgalīle, Allama makes a
proud display of his supernatural powers. The ability to perform miracles is
one of his defining traits. He is a master of līlā. Accounts on the life of
Basava come to be saturated now with the miracles he allegedly performed. In
Siddhanañjēśa’s Gururājacāritra, Basava is identified as the one who
“showed the eighty-eight famous holy miracles to Bijjaḷa, the Lord of the
world”. By the sixteenth century, the performance of miracles had evolved
415

130
into a marker of identity.
Miracles are less prominent and scarcely emphasized in the legends on
the dāsas between the fifteenth and the eighteenth centuries. A well-known
story told of Kanakadāsa demonstrates what miracles meant to the dāsa
traditions. According to this story, the priests did not allow Kanakadāsa into
the Kṛṣṇa temple in Uḍupi, as he belonged to a low caste. The saint began to
sing in grief, “Open the door and offer me (a chance of) service, Hari”. And 416

Hari (i.e., Kṛṣṇa), the all-knowing and merciful, obliged. Kanaka was
standing on the rear of the temple. The image in the sanctum, therefore,
turned a full 180 , and the wall on the rear collapsed, offering the saint a
o

glimpse of the lord. The image faces this wall today, and a window known as
kanakana kiṇḍi (Kanaka’s hole) exists. The window offers a faint glimpse of
the god from the outside to devotees who are short on time to line up in the
queue to have a vision of Kṛṣṇa from inside. 417

In this story, the dāsa made no miracle. He only petitioned to his deity. It
was Kṛṣṇa who caused the miracle. A siddha on the other hand would not
petition the god. He would perform the miracle on his own, as Maṇṭēsvāmi
did in Ādi Kalyāṇa.
In the epic of Maṇṭēsvāmi sung by the nīlagāras of the Maisūru region,
the saint is said to have gone on a visit to Ādi Kalyāṇa, ruled by the king
Basava. Basava had installed a bell without tongue and a trumpet without
horn at the gate of the fort. The bell would toll, and the trumpet would sound,
only when a śaraṇa greater than Basava visited the city. Basava organized
feeding (annadāna) to the Jaṅgamas in Ādi Kalyāṇa everyday. Thousands of
Jaṅgamas came from far and wide to partake of the feeding. Most of them
were false Jaṅgamas. Basava had instructed the gatekeeper Kaṭugara
Saṅgayya that good (i.e., clean) Jaṅgamas must be given entry into the city
first, and that the dirty ones with leprosy and other diseases allowed only after
the good ones had left. Now, Maṇṭēsvāmi was Maṇṭēsvāmi, the father of
recalcitrant renunciation in the region. Violating established conventions was
his pastime. He arrived at the gate, disguised as a leper. Kaṭugara Saṅgayya
refused him entry, and beat him up when the saint insisted. Miraculously
enough, it hurt Basava and his wife Nīlamma, who were inside the fort, and
not Maṇṭēsvāmi on whom the gatekeeper’s physical blow had fallen. And
then, the great sounds emerged from the bell without a tongue and the trumpet
without a horn. It was a clear sign to Basava that a śaraṇa greater than him
had arrived. Basava and Nīlamma set out looking for him. Maṇṭēsvāmi
decided to take the couple to the dirtiest areas outside the town. So he rushed
to the street of Haraḷayya, who belonged to the Mādiga (tanner/scavenger)
caste, and fell into the garbage pit near his house. Basava and Nīlamma
located him. But when Basava held one of Maṇṭēsvāmi’s legs and tried to pull
him out of the pit, the leg ripped off from the body. Nīlamma advised him to

131
place the leg on a white cloth. Next, Basava pulled the other leg, which also
came off. Similarly, both hands were pulled out from the body. And so was
the head from the torso. Finally, Basava gave the head to Nīlamma, tied the
rest of the body into a bundle, and carried it to the city. On the way,
Maṇṭēsvāmi transformed the bundle into a bag of meat and the head into a pot
of wine. The Jaṅgamas, who had assembled for food, were in for a rude
shock. They rushed out of the city and took a dip in the lake in its vicinity to
cleanse themselves of the pollution caused by meat and wine. They also
washed their clothes, and spread them out to dry. Maṇṭēsvāmi arrived at the
lake and convinced them that these purification rites remained incomplete as
long as the liṅgas worn by them were not immersed into the lake. The
Jaṅgamas agreed, and dropped their liṅgas into the water. With his magical
powers, Maṇṭēsvāmi caused the liṅgas to vanish. It caused great commotion
among the Jaṅgamas. Now, upon instructions from Maṇṭēsvāmi, the
Jaṅgamas began to clear the water from the lake in search of their liṅgas, but
could not retrieve them. Some of them left after picking up whatever pebble
they could lay hands upon. Others pretended that they would come back on
the following day, and left the city. In this way, Maṇṭēsvāmi purged Ādi
Kalyāṇa clean of false Jaṅgamas. Only the true śaraṇas remained: Basava,
Nīlamma, and eight others, viz., Holeyara Honnayya, Mādigara Cannayya,
Maḍivāḷa Mācayya, Gāṇigara Dāsappa, Aṃbigara Cauḍayya, Īḍigara
Kyātappa, Turukara Bīrayya, and Haḍaga Lampaṇṇa. 418

The motif of making the liṅga vanish occurs even in the story of
Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa. He is said to have performed this miracle once when he
was denied entry into the Murugharājēndra maṭha at Citradurga, and again 419

at Ḍaṃbaḷa and Śirahaṭṭi, when traders refused him alms. 420

A further point of divergence between the dāsas and the siddhas is

related to the question of caste. The siddha centres were located in areas
where conflicts over control of resources were less acutely felt. Here, caste-
based differentiations were hardly registered. Caste, or the inequalities and
exploitations based on it, rarely figured in the hagiographies or literary
compositions of the siddhas in the sixteenth century. Nor is a fight against
caste or a critique of the system mentioned in many of their traditions. Among
the rare instance where caste (jāti) occurs is a khaṇḍajñāna song of Koḍēkallu
Basava’s, where he declares that pollution (sūtaka) based on caste does not
exist for the devotee (bhakta). 421

On the other hand, in the dāsa centres, where control over resources led
to greater conflicts, caste appeared more prominently, although instances
were never too many in number. A remarkable occurrence is the denial of
entry to Kanakadāsa into the Kṛṣṇa temple of Uḍupi. The sixteenth century
was characterized by an overwhelming presence of Nāyakas (military
entrepreneurs turned revenue farmers), who were mostly of bēḍa (hunter) or

132
kuruba (shepherd) origins, and therefore, outside the contours of the caste
system. Only now were they being enlisted into the order of castes. Leading
political houses like the Tuḷuvas of Vijayanagara and the Oḍeyas of Maisūru
were of kuruba extraction. These groups were prominent sources of
patronage, a fact the brāhmaṇical institutions of Uḍupi and Tirupati could
scarcely ignore. There was, therefore, an uneasy accommodation of these new
groups. Most dāsa institutions swore by the varṇāśrama system, and adhered
to the caste system scrupulously, in spite of the fact that the emphasis was
more on the lineage (kula) than on caste as an endogamous group. Yet, room
was made available for critiques of the caste system. Who is a holeya (a caste
of agrestic slaves and bonded labourers), wonders Purandaradāsa, and offers
the following answer: a holeya is the one who does not adhere to virtues, who
does not listen to the story of Hari, who as a servant wishes ill of the king,
who loves a whore, who does not repay his debts, who is wayward, who is
unfaithful to his salt, who desires his wife cowardly, who does not give alms
when he is rich, who kills by poisoning, who does not speak in a
straightforward manner, who is haughty about his purity, who fails to keep his
word, who helps no one, who spoils others’ life by deceit, who speaks lie,
who consciously stays away from his religious duties, who longs for others’
wives, who does not respect teachers and elders, who does not remember
Purandara Viṭhala. Thus, the term holeya must be appreciated as a signifier
422

of vice, not as a marker of caste conferred by birth. Purandaradāsa draws a

similar picture of the holeya and the holati (feminine gender of holeya) in
another of his songs: the holeya and the holati are not the ones found in the
holagēri (the street of the holeyas); rather, the one who falls pray to his wife’s
charms and speaks harsh words to his parents is a holeya, the one who hates
her husband after becoming arrogant for having given birth to a son is a
holati, the one who learns lessons from a teacher and yet causes worries to the
elders is a holeya, the one who submits to another man and constantly
disappoints her husband is a holati, the one who turns unfaithful to his salt
and fights his master is a holeya, the one who repeatedly accuses her husband
for their present state of poverty is a holati, the one who sows his seeds in
another woman is a holeya, the one who quarrels, faints of epilepsy, speaks
ill, and conspires is a holati, the one who takes no pity for the weak and stays
fearless is a holeya, the one who is always hatching conspiracies in her mind
is a holati, the one who is disrespectful to the offerings of Hari is a holeya, the
one who favours other faiths, and accuses others is a holati, the one who does
not bow down to the feet of Nārāyaṇa is a holeya, the one who rejects
Purandara Viṭhala Nārāyaṇa is a holati. 423

The picture drawn by the above discussion seems to be suggesting that

two distinct trends in renunciation, with their own internally constituted logic
of functioning, arose in the Deccan region after the late fifteenth century. It is

133
important to allay this essentialist picture, as it was not the siddha or the dāsa
ethic per se that led to the unfurling of this differentiation. Rather, it was the
political economy that determined the manner in which it found expression.
Thus, when we say that the dāsas generally did not have place-names
prefixed to their names, we must point to the important exception of
Kākhaṇḍaki Mahipatirāya, an important dāsa. He lived in the heartland of the
siddhas in northern Karnataka, and worked more on the siddha lines that the
region warranted, although he was a Vaiṣṇava saint. Jagannāthadāsa’s father
Byāgavaṭṭi Ācārya’s is another example from northern Karnataka for a dāsa
saint with a place-name prefix. On the other hand, the region to the south of
the Tuṅgabhadra was more conducive to the dāsa ethic. A number of siddhas
lived here. Few among them performed miracles. Stories of miracles are most
enthusiastically narrated in the legend of Maṇṭēsvāmi. He, however, was a
marginal saint confined to the nīlagāras of the region in and around the
Maisūru district. Although his maṭha at Boppēgauḍanapura was close to the
Oḍeya rulers of Maisūru, Maṇṭēsvāmi never enjoyed popularity on a scale
even distantly comparable to that of Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa or Sāvaḷagi Śivaliṅga.
This, in spite of the fact that replicas of his tomb are preserved and
worshipped at a number of shrines in different parts of Karnataka (which,
however, attracts few devotees). Miracle was not of much use to the political
economy of southern Karnataka. Thus, an important miracle-worker, Tōṇṭada
Siddhaliṅga, is known for his charisma, knowledge, and the long years of
penances that he carried out, rather than for the miracles he is believed to
have performed. Better known as Yeḍiyūru Siddhaliṅga after the place where
he was buried, he is among the few siddha saints in southern Karnataka to
have a place-name prefixed to his name. 424

We have observed that the dāsas of Karnataka were scarcely known

beyond the monastic circuits before the late nineteenth century. This should
not be taken as a distinctly dāsa trait. For Annamayya enjoyed wide
popularity in the neighbouring Telugu-speaking region. And so did Ēknāth
and Tukārāṃ in Maharashtra, and Tulsīdās in the Gaṅgā valley. The
popularity of the Vaiṣṇava saints of the fifteenth and the sixteenth centuries
depended on two factors. One, they attained renown and a following if they
had, like the siddhas, intervened into the political economy in a momentous
manner to usher in substantial positive changes in the lives of men and
women towards whom those efforts were directed. Two, they were well
known and held in great reverence if they had rendered the Rāmāyaṇa, the
Mahābhārata, the Bhāgavatapurāṇa, or the Bhagavadgīta into the vernacular
languages. Thus, while very few outside the monastic circuits concerned
425

knew of Kanakadāsa, Purandaradāsa or Śrīpādarāya before the nineteenth

century, Kumāravyāsa (or Gadugina Nāraṇappa), who rendered the
Mahābhārata into Kannada, was a household name among the region’s

134
literate population and also among such of the illiterates that had the privilege
of listening to the public reading (pravacana) of the epic. Ceruśśēri, who
wrote the Kṛṣṇagātha in Malayalam based on the tenth book (daśama-
skanda) of the Bhāgavatapurāṇa, and Eluttaccan, who rendered the
Rāmāyaṇa and the Mahābhārata into the language, enjoyed similar
popularity in Kerala. In Odisha, only two of the five comrades
426

(pañcasakhās) of the sixteenth century were popular among the masses,

Jagannāthadāsa, who wrote the Odia Bhāgavatapurāṇa, and Baḷarāmadāsa,
who composed the Jagamōhana Rāmāyaṇa (and the radical Lakṣmīpurāṇa).
The names of the other three, Acyutānandadāsa, Yaśavantadāsa, and Śiśu
Anantadāsa, were rarely invoked. It was the fifteenth century saint Śāraḷādāsa
—the author of the Odia Mahābhārata—that was more widely known. 427

It is against the historical template of siddha-dāsa divergence that we

must place the larger developments in religious life and practices of
renunciation between the early sixteenth and the late eighteenth centuries.
We must now briefly turn to the siddha knowledge systems. The siddhas
had a long history of intellectual innovation. Emblematic of their ingenuity
are the multiple traditions and forms of argumentation that went into the
making of the Vīraśaiva literature promoted by Jakkaṇa and Lakkaṇṇa
Daṇḍēśa. We are, however, not suggesting that unlike the dāsas of the
sixteenth century and after, the siddhas were endowed with a logical acumen
and sharp argumentative powers. Not often do we come across instances of
original reasoning in their works. The argument that Nijaguṇa Śivayōgi made
in order to emphasize the distinction between the body and the self in one
such case. This argument, which we have cited in chapter 3, centres on the
confusion caused by the two statements, “I am the body” and “the body is
mine”. Even in such brilliant works as Mahaliṅgaraṅga’s Anubhavāmṛta or
428

the Śūnyasaṃpādanes, one looks for novelty of arguments or reasoning in

vain. Where, then, did the siddha ingenuity lie?
An examination of the siddha corpus tells us that their intellectual
pursuits were largely directed towards system-building. It involved the
production of analytical as well as descriptive works that were in the form of
almanacs, manuals, and ethno-histories. The fifteenth-century Vīraśaiva
project had already gone to great lengths in explicating systems like the
ṣaṭsthala and the ēkōttaraśatasthala. The essentials of Vīraśaiva knowledge
categories were laid out in Lakkaṇṇa Daṇḍēśa’s Śivatatvacintāmaṇi.
Expanding upon these works, Gubbiya Mallaṇārya produced a comprehensive
account of the Vīraśaiva categories of knowledge in his encyclopedic
Vīraśaivāmṛtapurāṇa. These works constituted almanacs of knowledge
categories. To this very class belongs Nijaguṇa Śivayōgi’s Vivēkacintāmaṇi, a
dictionary of categories in the knowledge concerning renunciation that also
included such secular knowledge as mathematics, weights and measures, etc.

135
 Nijaguṇa’s Paramānubhavabodhe and Mahaliṅgaraṅga’s Anubhavāmṛta
laid out distinct paradigms of visions (darśana) for the renouncer and the
prerequisites and practices enjoined upon a practitioner. An early work under
this paradigm was Kallumaṭhada Prabhudēva’s Liṅgalīlāvilāsacāritra. The
four Śūnyasaṃpādanes also fall under this category of texts. These works
must be categorized as manuals related to the cosmologies of renunciation.
Hagiographic literature formed a third class of writings. Harihara,
Rāghavāṅka, and Pālkurike Sōmanātha had produced the earliest specimens
of this class in the late twelfth and the early thirteenth century. Bhīma’s
fourteenth-century Basavapurāṇa and Cāmarasa’s fifteenth-century
Prabhuliṅgalīle expanded upon the conventions laid by Harihara and his
peers. Between 1500 and 1700, siddha hagiographies snowballed into a
widely sought-after form of literature, especially in Kannada. These included
not only full-length accounts akin to Siṅgirāja’s Amalabasavarāja Cāritra
and Ṣaḍakṣaradēva’s Basavarājavijayaṃ on Basava, Cannabasavāṅka’s
Mahādēviyakkana Purāṇa on Akkamahādēvi, and Rudra’s Karasthala
Nāgaliṅgana Caritre on Karasthala Nāgaliṅga, but also works that narrated
the lives of hundreds of siddhas in the manner of anecdotes. Prominent
among these were Siddhanañjēśa’s Gururājacāritra, Śāntaliṅgadēśikan’s
Bhairavēśvara Kāvyada Kathāmaṇisūtra Ratnākara, and Adrīśa’s 429

Prauḍharāyana Kāvya. These works qualify to be called ethno-histories of

sainthood.
What is conspicuously missing in the siddha literature is an ethnography
of places or centres of pilgrimage. This is significant, and we shall return to
this question later in this chapter.
Even as the siddha knowledge systems were making great strides
towards new forms of articulation and canonization, the political order of
southern Karnataka began to undergo systemic changes that transformed the
dynamics of religion in a big way. Sometime in the mid 1540s, the
Śaṅkarācārya of Śṛṅgēri went on a pilgrimage to Kāśī. When he did not return
for a long time, his worried disciples decided not to keep the pontificate
vacant for any longer, and appointed another seer as Śaṅkarācārya. And
dramatically enough, Narasiṃha Bhārati returned in 1547, and upon reaching
Kūḍali in the Śivamogga district (where the rivers Tuṅga and Bhadra meet),
he learnt of the developments at Śṛṅgēri. The chief of Santēbennūru,
Sītārāmappa Nāyaka, or perhaps one of his near relatives, approached
Narasiṃha Bhārati, and urged him to settle down at Kūḍali. The seer agreed,
and a maṭha was set up there, inaugurating a parallel establishment. 430

This is too naïve a story to be accepted at face value, particularly

because the relationship between Śṛṅgēri and Kūḍali has been bitter and
hostile ever since. In all likelihood, the Santēbennūru chiefs succeeded in
creating a rift among the seers at Śṛṅgēri, or at least managed to manipulate

136
an existing friction in the great monastery to their own political advantage.
The earliest known record of the Santēbennūru chiefs comes from Hirē
Māḍaḷu. It tells us that Hanumappa Nāyaka set up a Śivaliṅga and made gifts
of cow (gōdāna) and land (bhūdāna). There are two other records from Hirē
431

Māḍaḷu, perhaps from the same period. Both are in Marathi. One of them
432

refers to an ināṃ grant made by Hanumappa Nāyaka to a certain Dādāji

Rāvu. The next known record of these chiefs is from the Kūḍali maṭha.
433 434

This is from the year 1558. It tells us that Hanumappa Nāyaka, the son of
Sītārāmappa Nāyaka, dispossessed a certain Tirumala Dīkṣita of his
possession rights over five villages, conferred by the king (rāyadatta). These
villages were located in the Harakēri Hōbaḷi of the Śivamogga Hōbaḷi in
Gājanūru, belonging to the Vēṇṭhe of Āraga. The Dīkṣita had allegedly picked
up a quarrel with Vidyāraṇya Bhārati, the pontiff of Kūḍali. This unruly act
incurred the wrath of the Santēbennūru chief. Hanumappa Nāyaka took away
the villages from Tirumala and made them over to the pontiff. Four years
later, in 1562, Hanumappa Nāyaka’s son Billappa Nāyaka (referred to in this
record as Pillappa Nāyaka) sent the gauḍa (peasant leader) of Cikkagaṅgūru
to Maluka Oḍeya, who held the amaraṃ rights over Dummi Sīme, to lodge a
complaint against the atrocities of his ṭhāṇādār, Dilāvara Oḍeya (Dilāvar
Khān). But the gauḍa was killed on his way by Dilāvara’s men. What ensued
is not clear, but Maluka was made to grant some land in the Cikkagaṅgūru
Sthaḷa to the children of the deceased. More importantly, he was forced to
hand over the amaraṃ rights over Dummi Sīme to Billappa Nāyaka. It was 435

not the state, nor any enforcing agency, which compelled him to do so. This
tempts us to suspect that the transfer of rights was more in the nature of a
confiscation made by a bullying Billappa Nāyaka. Three years later, in 1565,
Billappa Nāyaka and his brother Keṅgappa Nāyaka appointed Liṅgaṇṇa, the
brother of a certain Appābhaṭṭa, to the office of the sēnabhōva (secretary) of
Santēbennūru Sīme-Sthaḷa. This record identifies the Nāyaka brothers as
436

agents (kāryakke kartaru) of Rāmarāya, the de facto Vijayanagara ruler.

The trajectory is aggressive and calculated enough. In 1547, they break
up the Śṛṅgēri maṭha, in 1556, they make an ināṃ grant, in 1558, they are
impudent enough to revoke a grant made by the king, in 1562, they obtain the
amaraṃ “rights over Dummi Sīme by means not so fair, and in 1565, they are
in the service of the state!
The last of these dates is important. It was around this date that a number
of Nāyakas began to assert themselves, so much so that the first known
reference to many Nāyaka households which were to exercise control over
different parts of southern Karnataka in the seventeenth and the eighteenth
centuries, are found from this period. The Nāyakas of Bāṇarāvi, near Baḷḷari,
established their sway over the region in 1564. Dādayya Nāyaka, the
437

founder of the Harapanahaḷḷi line of Nāyakas, is first heard of in 1565. The 438

137
case of the Santēbennūru Nāyakas was no different.
A record from Kūḍali identifies a certain Dhūmarāja as the progenitor of
the Santēbennūru line. He is said to have arrived from Vijayanagara to settle
down at Basavāpaṭṭaṇa. Popular legends consider him the general of the
439

Vijayanagara army. In his monograph on these chiefs, Abdul Sattar opines

440

that ‘Dhūmarāja’ is a normative name that seems to have come into vogue
because of the control these chiefs exercised over the Dhūmaguḍḍa hill. But 441

it is likely that Dhūmarāja is the same as Bhūmarāja, whom many Nāyaka

families in the Baḷḷāri region identify as their progenitor. According to the
442

Santēbennūru kaifiyat, produced not earlier than 1780, Hanumappa Nāyaka

obtained Madakari Nāḍu in Uccaṅgi Vēṇṭhe as an amaraṃ from the
Vijayanagara king, Rāmarāya. We are then told that he established a fort at
Raṅgapura or Raṅganāthapura, and renamed it Santēbennūru. The chiefs
443

moved to Basavāpaṭṭaṇa at a critical juncture in their history, but had to soon

relocate again to Tarikere in the mid seventeenth century. However, they
continued to affiliate themselves with Santēbennūru. The Ānandapuraṃ
444

copper plates of Keḷadi Sōmaśēkhara Nāyaka refer to them as the Pāḷegāras of

Tarikere. The Tarikere kaifiyat says that they belonged to Uccaṅgidurga,
445

from where they moved to Basavāpaṭṭaṇa after obtaining a sanad from the
Sultān of Dilli (sic) to administer the region. The Hodigere kaifiyat credits
446

Hanumappa Nāyaka’s son Keṅgappa Nāyaka with the construction of the

Hodigere fort. Interestingly enough, this kaifiyat states that a claim was
447

made concerning the administration of Dummi Nāḍu by Puṭṭamallappa and

Timmappa, the sons of a certain Īśvarayya, and that Keṅgappa Nāyaka
ratified the claim after examining the documents they produced. Nevertheless,
the Nāyaka placed the fort under the command of Rāma Nāyaka, Keñca
Nāyaka, three hundred vālekāras, and twenty-five kāmāṭis. This seems to be
echoing Billappa Nāyaka’s confiscation of the amaraṃ rights over Dummi
Sīme from Maluka Oḍeya in 1562.
That Rāmarāya granted the amaraṃ of Madakari Nāḍu to Hanumappa
Nāyaka is sheer fiction. But the kaifiyats point to two major aspects of the
sixteenth century Nāyakas: physical mobility, and the building of forts. With
the progressive weakening of the Vijayanagara state after the defeat in the
battle of 1565, the Nāyakas became a force to reckon with. In the seventeenth
and the eighteenth centuries, their rank and file expanded exponentially, so to
speak, although only some of them, like the Keḷadi Nāyakas in Karnataka,
and the Nāyakas of Madurai, Ceñji, and Tañjāvūr in Tamilnadu, were
powerful enough to function as state-like polities. Monasteries, temples, and
other religious establishments in southern and coastal Karnataka were to a
large extent at the mercy of the Nāyakas. That the Nāyakas were powerful
enough to make land grants to religious establishments, or build temples and
monasteries, was indeed worthy of note. Most leading peasant proprietors

138
were in control of sufficient resources to engage in such acts of munificence.
What made the Nāyakas compelling was, inter alia, their power to break up
such mighty religious centres as the Śṛṅgēri maṭha, although few instances of
the actual exercise of such power are known. Who were the Nāyakas?
Burton Stein identifies them as representatives of a new form of
‘supralocal chieftainship’ in south India. Placing them in the league of the
448

‘big men’ of the period, Stein characterizes their presence as unprecedented in

the region’s history. More importantly, he locates the early seventeenth
449

century decline of the Vijayanagara state in the conflict that the nexus
between the state and these supralocal chiefs came to engender. Stein’s
450

argument has been cited with approval on some occasions, mostly by

revisionist historians, but it remains by and large neglected. There are two
reasons for this neglect. One, much of Stein’s work draws upon arguments
made in secondary works rather than on documentary evidence from primary
sources like inscriptions and literary texts. A systematic study of primary
sources presents a picture very different from the one that Stein draws. Two,
his discussion of precolonial polities of South India is based on the
segmentary state model, which holds that peasant localities were autonomous
in their origins and existence, and chose to acknowledge only the nominal or
ritual sovereignty of the state. Historians challenging this thesis have almost
exclusively focused on Stein’s discussion of the Cōla state in order to present
evidence to the contrary, ignoring his position on the Nāyakas. A year before
Stein brought out his controversial work, Nicholas Dirks published an article
on what he called a ‘south Indian little kingdom’. This was followed by a
451

paper on a ‘little king’ three years later, and by an influential monograph

452

after five more years. Dirks presented the Nāyakas as the greatest controllers
453

of land in the Vijayanagara state, with an estimated 75% of all land being held
by them as amaraṃs. He refused to treat amaraṃ as a specific tenure
454

involving revenue-farming rights, and argued instead that it represented a

relationship of service and gift engineered by ‘displays of ritual kingship’ on
the part of the state. This involved a pattern, or rather, a vicious circle:
455

service→hope or expectation of gifts like land, titles, emblems, honours,

privileges, and so on→new opportunities to offer service. This is too
456

idealized a picture and is hardly of help to us in understanding statecraft and

kingship, for it reduces political hierarchies to a mere play of hyper-
reciprocity. According to Norbert Peabody, Dirks fails to take note of the fact
that “the constitution of warrior rule through the management of land had
vital economic concomitants involving distinct strategies of maximization”,
and that appreciating these polities in isolation may not do justice to their role
in the making of “a field of overlapping polities, paramount powers, and
political dependencies” which characterized most political maneuverings in
this period.457

139
 Noboru Karashima argues that the Nāyakas were feudal lords who rose
to prominence as part of the Vijayanagara state’s administrative apparatus in
the later half of the fifteenth century, when bureaucracy had begun to make
way for feudal tendencies. He identifies four distinct conditions that,
according to him, make a political formation feudal:
(1) the basic direct producers are not slaves but peasants who own the means of production themselves; (2) local
magnates who possess superior rights to land that the peasants cultivate, subdue the peasants under their control, and
extract surplus produce by means of extra-economic coercion; (3) political power assumes a hierarchical structure which
is sustained by land grants among the ruling class and also by a certain ideology; and (4) commodity production is not
generalized but limited only to the surplus portion which is appropriated by the exploiting class.458

This description is sharp and rigorous, but at the same time, too broad for us
to accept. It encapsulates tendencies that were not specific to the Nāyaka
period, but were prevalent with varying degrees of intensity even in the
twelfth, the ninth, and the seventh centuries. Besides, we believe that in the
interest of methodology and to ensure common ground for the advancement
of knowledge, a phenomenon like feudalism is best discussed with a clearly
identified referent in mind, instead of relying upon descriptions whose points
of emphases vary from historian to historian.
Karashima traces the origins of the Nāyakas to the new group of non-
brāhmaṇa landholders who arose in south India in the thirteenth and the
fourteenth centuries. These lords were subsequently enlisted into the service
459

of the Vijayanagara state, which transferred them to far-lying areas of their

territory. The state exercised absolute control over them. The Nāyakas paid
one-third of their income from the assigned territories to the states, besides
maintaining an armed regiment, which had to be pressed into service when
demanded by the king. Karashima believes that their role as leaseholders of
temple land was one of the major sources of their authority and income,
which eventually is said to have made some of them immensely powerful
when the influence of the Vijayanagara state began to dwindle. The 460

importance which Karashima attaches to the leasing of temple land and to the
transfer of Nāyakas is somewhat inflated, but otherwise, this is the most
measured piece of scholarship on the Nāyakas produced in the last three
decades.
Velcheru Narayana Rao, David Shulman, and Sanjay Subrahmanyam
present the Nāyakas as ‘semi-autonomous actors’ who rose to prominence in
the Tamil country in the sixteenth century. They posit that the Nāyakas
461

migrated from the Telugu country and occupied the dryland belts of
Tamilnadu, where they played an entrepreneurial role in expanding
agricultural production, and created a new economy. While for Karashima,
the role of the Vijayanagara state was crucial in the emergence of the
Nāyakas, Narayana Rao, Shulman, and Subrahmanyam underplay this
dimension. Instead, they argue that the Nāyaka system was brought into

140
existence by the Kākatīya state. That the Nāyakas were not created by the
462

state but only enlisted into its service is more than proved by the presence of
the Nāyar militia in Kerala and the Nāyaks in Odisha and Chhattisgarh,
regions that were never administered by the Kākatīya or the Vijayanagara
kings.
In his study of the Hāgalavāḍi Nāyakas, D.N. Yogeeshwarappa presents
an alternate thesis. He observes that the Vijayanagara state was characterized
by three distinct tendencies, feudal, integrative, and decentralized. The
Nāyakas represent the first of these, the feudal tendency. Yogeeshwarappa
463

also seems to suggest that the subservient status of the Nāyakas under
Vijayanagara rule did not prevent them from exercising a set of choices.
Dismissing the view that the arrival of Yerimādi Nāyaka, the founder of the
Hāgalavāḍi line, from Tuṃmaḷa in Andhra to the Tumakūru region of
Karnataka was an administrative transfer ordered by the state,
Yogeeshwarappa argues that this was indeed a migration, undertaken with the
desire to take control of a politically less-active region and establish ones own
fortunes there. That in doing so they enlisted themselves into the service of
464

the state points to a choice the Nāyakas were able to exercise in obtaining
amaraṃs from the king.
An interesting discovery of Yogeeshwarappa’s is of some interest to us
in the ensuing discussion. The vernacular academia does not make any
specific distinction between the terms, Nāyaka and Pāḷegāra (Poligar in
English sources). The two are often used interchangeably. The latter is also
used extensively in Anglophone accounts without clearly identifying how it
differs from Nāyaka. Yogeshwarappa suggests that Pāḷegāra (Pāḷegāḷḷu in
Telugu and Pāḷaiyakkārar in Tamil) may be a word of Tamil origin. He 465

notes that it never figures as a title of self-representation in contemporary

records from Karnataka. Except a solitary inscription of 1654 from the
Maṇḍya district, in which one of the signatories is referred to as a Pāḷegāra,
records invariable refer to the self as Nāyaka. The word Pāḷegāra is reserved
for the other, which, Yogeeshwarappa says, points to the low esteem this
word commanded. 466

Inasmuch as Nāyaka and Pāḷegāra were different appellations referring

to the same group, it becomes possible to make a fresh assessment of the
Nāyakas in the light of the available evidence concerning the Pāḷegāras. The
Pāḷegāras were primarily military entrepreneurs, who controlled bands of
mercenary troops (pāḷya in Kannada, pāḷaiyaṃ in Tamil) drawn from the
peasantry and other dispossessed sections of the population. These troops
were deployed in warfare and raids of plunder. The Pāḷegāras also supplied
troops to rulers, chiefs, and warlords in their raids and military campaigns. In
the course of the late seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries, this practice
developed into one of the most lucrative enterprises in the region. Hundreds

141
of Pāḷegāra entrepreneurs arose, building pāḷyas and recruiting mercenary
troops into their service. The magnitude of this enterprise is borne out by the
fact that more than one hundred pāḷyas exists in the city of Beṅgaḷūru alone.
Most of them are named after the persons who established them, Munireḍḍi
Pāḷya, Pāpareḍḍi Pāḷya, Gauḍara Pāḷya, Subēdār Pāḷya, Divānara Pāḷya,
Mohammad Sāb Pāḷya, Maṅgammana Pāḷya, and Kāmākḍi Pāḷya, to name a
few. Note that the last two are named after women. 467

Some of the more powerful Nāyakas or Pāḷegāras enjoyed revenue-

farming rights under the Tuḷuva and Aravīḍu kings of Vijayanagara, and
continued to extract land revenue, transit tolls, and other forms of dues even
after the collapse of these states. Among them were the Keḷadi and the Ballaṃ
Nāyakas. Others, like the Santēbennūru Nāyakas, forcefully confiscated such
rights. Yet others, like the Nāyakas of Hāgalavāḍi, Harapanahaḷḷi, and
Bāṇarāvi, established their own pockets of influence where they controlled
revenue. Thus, the position taken by Stein, Dirks, Karashima, Narayana Rao,
Shulman and Subrahmanyam, and Yogeeshwarappa, concerning who the
Nāyakas were, all give us a true but partial picture. What was common to the
Nāyakas was their military entrepreneurship. Many of them commissioned
works of literature, carried out public works like expanding irrigation
networks in the dryland belts, caused expansion of agriculture and the spread
of rural market networks, and nurtured agrarian commercialism to various
extents. Yet, the ownership of pāḷyas was what defined them as a class apart.
While military entrepreneurship did not develop into deeply entrenched
forms of military fiscalism before the late seventeenth century, the smaller
Pāḷegāras were already creating deeply asymmetric relationships with temples
and monastic establishments of southern Karnataka by the mid sixteenth
century. Not many of them extended support to the religious establishments.
Consistent patronage came only from a few prominent chiefs, like the
Nāyakas of Keḷadi and the Oḍeyas of Maisūru. 468

By the seventeenth century, chiefs had to face increasing demands for

revenues and tributes from the Ādil Śāhis and the Marāṭhas from the north,
and the Keḷadi Nāyakas and the Maisūru Oḍeyas from within the region. A
good number of these chiefs were Nāyaka migrants from Andhra, who
established forts and pāḷyas in overwhelming numbers. Of itinerant origins as
they were, the Nāyakas were less deeply rooted in the production relations of
southern Karnataka. Their fabled mobility enabled them to move from one
headquarter to another with ease. We have seen how the Santēbennūru chiefs
moved into Santēbennūru, and shifted to Basavāpaṭṭaṇa and later, to Tarikere.
In times of threats, even a powerful house of Nāyakas was found to be on the
move. The Keḷadi Nāyakas moved to Ikkēri, and later, to Bidanūru, when
faced with Ādil Śāhi attacks—reason why they are also known as the
Nāyakas of Ikkēri and Bidanūru. One line of the Keḷadi house settled down in

142
Koḍagu. Similar movements were noticed in other houses also. A prominent
Nāyaka line branched off into two, one settling down at Ballaṃ in the Hāsana
district of Karnataka and the other moving to Ceñji in Tamilnadu. 469

Temples and monasteries of fifteenth and sixteenth-century southern

Karnataka were founded by the local elites. Most of these elites were
brāhmaṇically oriented, some of them, Vīraśaiva. By the mid sixteenth
century, the brāhmaṇas of southern Karnataka began to face a new
predicament. Their dominant position in the contemporary milieu was for
centuries underwritten by their monopoly over literacy and religion, and the
influence they could thereby exercise over political establishments. A gradual
decline in their position began to be felt after the sixteenth century. This was
caused by the absence of strong polities like the ones hitherto represented by
the Hoysaḷa and the Vijayanagara states. Newer polities, including important
ones like the Keḷadi Nāyakas and the Maisūru Oḍeyas, recruited them, but on
a substantially lesser scale. Most Nāyakas of southern Karnataka lacked an
establishment of literate functionaries. Besides, owing to the growing
mobility that the new political economy offered, brāhmaṇa migrants from the
neighbouring Tamilnadu, Andhra, and Maharashtra were successful in finding
employment here. The arrival of brāhmaṇas from neighbouring regions did
not constitute a major threat in itself, at least up to the late eighteenth century.
Rather, the growing presence of Muslims and the Marāṭhas posed the real
challenge, as functionaries under them were expected to work with languages
other than Sanskrit and Kannada, viz., Persian and Marathi. This opened up
greater avenues of employment under the chiefs for brāhmaṇa as well as non-
brāhmaṇa groups proficient in these languages. Few brāhmaṇas in southern
Karnataka fitted this bill.
Under these circumstances, the more enterprising of the brāhmaṇical
groups turned increasingly to building temples and monasteries with their
energies directed largely towards land management and agrarian production.
The Vīraśaivas of southern Karnataka also set out on a similar course.
As early as the late fifteenth century, Tōṇṭada Siddhaliṅga had brought
revolutionary changes in and around Yeḍiyūru where he caused the orchard
economy to expand significantly. According to legends, Siddhaliṅga was born
to Jñānāmbe and Cannamallikārjuna (unlikely to be their real names) in the
village of Haradanahaḷḷi in the Cāmarājanagara district to the south of
Maisūru. The village was known for its trade in areca nut, coconut, and other
cash crops. At the age of eight, Siddhaliṅga was sent to the Gōsala maṭha to
become a renouncer. Siddhaliṅga lived there for many years, and studied
under the pontiff, Gōsala Cannabasava. He also performed many miracles,
which included feeding the stone image of a bull, and lighting a lamp with
water when it had run out of oil. Eventually, he was appointed pontiff of the
monastery. But Siddhaliṅga was a saint; and as the lives of the saints

143
examined in chapters 3 and 4 seem to suggest, a saint was not saintly enough
unless he travelled widely. Siddhaliṅga obtained the consent of Gōsala
Cannabasava, and set out on a long voyage in the train of 701 devotees.
During this voyage, he performed a number of miracles. At Tiruvaṇṇāmalai in
Tamilnadu, Śiva appeared before him, and offered him a garland. In Kerala,
Siddhaliṅga convinced people to give up black magic, and initiated them into
Śiva worship. In Siddhagaṅga, which was known for its endemic water
scarcity, he caused a stream to flow from a rock. Thus continued his travels
and regular displays of supernatural powers. Finally, he arrived at the village
of Kaggere on the banks of the river Nāgini. Here, a certain Naṃbiyaṇṇa
invited him for food, but before the feast commenced, highwaymen attacked
the village. The villagers fled to seek shelter under the chief of Niḍugallu.
When they returned twelve years later, they found a cow pouring its milk on
its own over an anthill. Surprised by this miracle, they removed the anthill to
find Siddhaliṅga lost in meditation. Siddhaliṅga eventually woke up, blessed
Naṃbiyaṇṇa and the other villagers, and moved to the nearby Yeḍiyūru,
where he came to rest. The temple at Yeḍiyūru houses his tomb.
The Yeḍiyūru temple owns substantial orchard lands, where coconut
cultivation yields an impressive income. The temple was one of the earliest
establishments in southern Karnataka to engage in what Max Weber would
call monastic landlordism. In the sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries,
470

many other temples and monasteries in the region became increasingly

involved in land management. Most of them were under the control of
brāhmaṇas. With employment under the state and access to revenue coming
from their position as state functionaries on the wane, the brāhmaṇas ventured
into landlordism as a safe and effective means of resource augmentation.
Copperplate inscriptions of land grants preserved at the Rāghavēndra
maṭha in Nañjanagūḍu exemplifies this neo-brāhmaṇical landlordist tendency.
The maṭha is in possession of sixteen inscriptions. All of them are charters of
land grants. Their contents are summarized in Table 11.

Table 11. Copperplate Inscriptions of Land Grants in Possession of the

Rāghavēndra Maṭha in Nañjanagūḍu 471

144
145
 The Rāghavēndra maṭha inscriptions have a very interesting story to tell.
From the details in Table 11, it is seen that five of the first seven records were
clearly spurious, while one recorded a grant made to another establishment.
Three grants were made to the maṭha in Haṃpi. The Haṃpi maṭha is likely to
have been the recipient of two more grants. Six grants were made to the
maṭha at Kuṃbhakōṇaṃ. This maṭha might have received two more grants,
although this is not clearly established from the purports. The maṭha at
Nañjanagūḍu, where the records are now found, was endowed with only one
grant. The last inscription points to the likelihood that a second grant came its
way.
Although the picture is hazy, a reasonable conclusion may be drawn. A
maṭha of Lord Rāma existed near the Vijaya Viṭṭhala temple in Haṃpi in the

146
sixteenth century. It either moved to Kuṃbhakōṇam or merged with an
existing monastery there after the defeat of Vijayanagara in 1565. A branch of
this monastery was opened in Nañjanagūḍu in the seventeenth century under
circumstances that are not known to us. This monastery held control over
some of the lands originally given to the maṭha of Kuṃbhakōṇaṃ. Whether
this was a peaceful arrangement, or involved conflict, can only be speculated
upon. What is evident, though, is that the Nañjanagūḍu monastery forged
many records in the name of Vijayanagara rulers like Kṛṣṇarāya, Rāmarāya,
and Śrīraṅgarāya to lay claims over lands in the Tuṅgabhadra, Kṛṣṇa, and
Malaprabha valleys.
Temples and monasteries under brāhmaṇa and Vīraśaiva control were
now beginning to attach as much land to their establishment as possible. We
have noticed earlier in this chapter how Santēbennūru Hanumappa Nāyaka
confiscated five villages granted to Tirumala Dīkṣita by the Vijayanagara
ruler in the Harakēri Hōbaḷi of the Śivamogga Hōbaḷi, and made it over to the
new monastery established by him at Kūḍali. The Śṛṅgēri maṭha succeeded
briefly in taking control of these lands, only to be restored to Kūḍali again.
The five villages kept swapping hands between the two maṭhas for a long
time, and remained a bone of contention between Śṛṅgēri and Kūḍali.
Although temples received grants, such instances were relatively fewer
in number. By far, the most prominent recipients of grants after the mid
sixteenth century were the maṭhas. In the fifty-five years of the sixteenth
century beginning with the year 1545, as many as nine grants were made to
maṭhas by, or during the reign of, the Keḷadi Nāyakas, viz. the Nirāsi maṭha
of Nagara in 1545, the Virūpākḍa maṭha of Śaṅkaranārāyaṇa twice in 1563,
the Umāmahēśvara Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa maṭha in 1563, the Hosakere maṭha in
1569, the Cauḷikere maṭha in 1578, the maṭha to the southwest of the
Sōmanātha temple in Maṇigārakēri in 1580, a maṭha at Mūḍakere in 1585,
and the Mahattina maṭha at Caṃpakasarasi in Ānandapura in 1592. 478

Instances began to multiply manifold in the seventeenth century.

Under the historical circumstances outlined in the preceding pages, the
brāhmaṇical temples and monasteries of southern Karnataka became
increasingly inward-looking, and conspicuously orthodox. With consistent if
not extensive incomes coming from the lands they held, they directed their
energies towards land management and the regulation of production relations
that the agrarian regime precipitated.
We have seen in chapter 3 that peasant proprietors of the dryland belts to
the south of the Tuṅgabhadra were also in control of the rural markets in
earlier centuries. With increasing fiscalization of the economy on the one
hand, and the arrival of the Nāyakas and the consolidation of their authority in
the region on the other, there occurred a major change in this dynamics. The
Nāyakas and other chiefs established a number of forts on the major trade

147
routes. These forts were often garrisoned, and a body of troops stationed
there. More importantly, they functioned as outposts for the collection of
revenues, especially transit tolls (suṅka). Some inscriptions of the Keḷadi
Nāyakas refer to these forts as suṅka-durgas, forts for transit toll collection. 479

Reference is also made to suṅkada-ṭhāṇe, toll station, and to a durga-ṭhāṇya

480

(sic), ‘the fort station’. Marketplaces (pēṭes) were established close to these
481

forts. Collection of transit toll was mostly in kind. The inscriptions refer to the
toll on the transit of paddy as durgada bhatta, the fort’s paddy. The goods
482

were sold in the marketplaces, and the proceeds remitted to the treasury. A
sharp increase was seen in the cultivation of commercial crops like areca nut
and coconut. This was especially true of the coastal and the Malenāḍu (the
Western Ghat) areas.
Inscriptions of the Keḷadi Nāyakas contain richly detailed references to
grant of lands where commercial crop cultivation figured prominently. In a
grant made in 1642 by Vīrabhadra Nāyaka, mention is made of 8780 areca
nut trees, of which 821 were saplings, 2001 young trees, and the remaining
5958, yielding revenue. Of these, 4798 trees were assessed at one rate, and the
other 1160, at another rate. A grant made in 1702 by Basavappa Nāyaka I,
483

recorded on a set of copperplates found at Bhāratīpura, refers to the 500 trees

belonging to the Śṛṅgēri maṭha and the 5500 trees held by the Tīrthahaḷḷi
maṭha, in addition to several others, like the 1050 trees of Nellisaruhāna, the
1450 trees of Yeḍaguḍḍe, the 200 trees of Marēkoppa, and vṛtti tenures with
1810 trees in one instance, 110 in another, 30,000 in a third case, 9222 in a
fourth, and so on. The record doesn’t tell us what trees they were, but since
484

most trees mentioned in other grants are areca nut, and at times coconut, the
trees mentioned here might be either of these. As brāhmaṇas and other elites
like the Vīraśaivas turned to land management and attached land to their
temples and monasteries in increasing numbers, the control that the peasant
magnates once exercised over land began to weaken, leading to increased
subjugation and exploitation of the peasantry. At the same time, a new class
of merchants appeared in the region to become leading clients for the produce
coming from the lands held by temples and monasteries. They procured the
surplus from these lands, and sold them in the rural markets. As a result, the
peasantry came to be dispossessed of its control over rural markets. The rural
markets were now effectively under the grip of the Nāyaka and other chiefs,
merchants, and the temples and monasteries.
The significance of temples and monasteries in the regimes of agrarian
production and rural markets was less intensely felt in many parts of southern
Karnataka, primarily due to the lesser intensity with which commercial crop
cultivation occurred here. This, however, was not the case in the coastal and
the Malenāḍu regions, where coconut, areca nut, pepper, and other crops were
turning out to be decisive in the emerging economy of the seventeenth and the

148
early eighteenth centuries. The active presence of the Portuguese from the
sixteenth century onwards, and the arrival of the English East India Company
in the seventeenth, created new demands for these crops. This demand was
powerful because the European companies supplied the goods not only to
Europe, but also to many parts of Asia, as they were engaged in brisk inter-
Asia trade as well. The companies were also in need of rice. Coastal
Karnataka, where paddy cultivation was extensive, could however meet very
little of the demand for rice.
Understandably enough, it was in the coastal and the Malenāḍu regions
that the subjection and exploitation of peasantry was most cruelly felt. Here
again, the agrestic labourers on the paddy-growing wetlands had a relative
advantage, as paddy cultivation was labour intensive and called for a constant
supply of labour. On the other hand, agriculture in the orchards, where
coconut, areca nut, pepper, and other crops were raised, was less labour
intensive, and open to mercenary labour. The possibility of the peasantry
being dispossessed from access to land was much greater here.
Neobrāhmaṇical landlordism emerged as a powerful historical force in these
regions.
One far-reaching consequence of the rise of this neo-brāhmaṇical
landlordism, with its ability to dispossess the peasantry of its control over the
means of production and its potentials for drawing mercenary labour from
within the region and beyond, was that it was able to build great centres of
pilgrimage that attracted a steady clientele from far and wide. Such centres of
pilgrimage came up in the coastal and Malenāḍu regions, where the new
landlordism was most developed. Uḍupi, Gōkarṇa, Śṛṅgēri, Subrahmaṇya,
Kollūru, and Śaṅkaranārāyaṇa were among the prominent centres of
pilgrimage here. Note that nineteen of the forty-two western centres of
pilgrimage named by Vādirāja in his Tīrtha Prabandha (Table 10) were from
these areas. This contrasts with southern Karnataka, where neo-brāhmaṇical
landlordism was not as widespread or powerful. No centres of pilgrimage
(with the exception of the Jaina centre of Śravaṇageḷagoḷa) arose here, that
could match the greatness of Uḍupi, Gōkarṇa, or Śṛṅgēri. Although important
temples commanding landed wealth existed at Śrīraṅgapaṭṭaṇa, Nañjanagūḍu,
and Mēlukōṭe, their potentials as centres of pilgrimage were rarely explored
before the nineteenth century. Vādirāja mentions only two centres of
pilgrimage from here, Harihara and the obscure Bidirahaḷḷi (Vēṇugrāma).
Both were, strictly speaking, not in the south but on the banks of the
Tuṅgabhadra, and shared greater historical ties with the north.
Neobrāhmaṇical landlordism was also not deeply entrenched in northern
Karnataka in the fifteenth and the sixteenth centuries. Correspondingly, this
region also drew a blank as far as centres of pilgrimage were concerned. The
siddha centres were hubs of activity and commanded a wide following. But

149
these were centres that had forged tributary relationships with a specific set of
communities who paid tributes to the monasteries in exchange for the
military, the medical, and the other ‘magical’ services they offered.
The precarious conditions forced upon the peasantry by the new political
economy in the coastal and the Malenāḍu region had its logical corollary in
the dāsa ethic of complacency that the brāhmaṇical establishments promoted.
This ethic called for devotion and surrender to the supreme god. Uttering the
god’s name (nāmasmaraṇe) and singing his praise were the cornerstones of
this mode of devotion. The story of the Kṛṣṇa image in Uḍupi turning
backward and the rear wall of the temple falling apart, so the great devotee
Kanakadāsa may have a glimpse of god, captures the submissiveness and the
ethic of complacency that the temples and monasteries of the brāhmaṇical
classes idealized and advocated. Action, especially in its radical, rebellious,
and recalcitrant variants, was to be abjured. For, in the ultimate analysis, the
world was a play of the god. Human agency as such did not exist, and volition
on the part of human beings was only the substance of fairytales. Human
destiny was predestined to be a scene in the god’s cosmic play, and all human
acts unfurled in the fullness of time as enactments of the divine līlā. Once this
truth was understood, all that was called for was an emotionally involved
appreciation of the god’s greatness, and an intense longing for a vision of his
face.
In the songs that the dāsas composed in great numbers, an emotionally
drawn picture of god occurs against a domestic setting. Its goal was directed
towards generating responses of pity and sympathy for the submissive
devotee. All that the songs expressed in so many words was that without
Kṛṣṇa, the days were dark, the nights devoid of the colour of dreams, and life
lacking in purpose, meaning, and fulfillment. Here are a few lines from one of
the most popular kīrtanes of Vyāsarāya’s:
Kṛṣṇa, come quickly,
Show your face.

The yellow dress from Kāśī,

Flute in the hand,
Sandal (wood paste) applied on the body….485

Here are lines from another of his songs:

(Say) Kṛṣṇa Kṛṣṇa Kṛṣṇa three times
to bring him to mind.
He will be pleased, grant release,
And bear all burden.

What if all Vēdas and Śāstras are read

And their essence known?
No match to the name of Makarakuṇḍaladhara….486

150
These ripples of submissive devotion initiated by Vyāsarāya turned into huge
tides in the hands of Purandaradāsa and Kanakadāsa. Purandara sang:
Raṅga, come,
Pāṇḍuraṅga, come,
Śrīraṅga, come,
Narasiṃha, come,

Child, come,
My father, come,
Mukunda, the beloved of Indira, come….487

Here are lines from another of his song:

Can’t you say, “Kṛṣṇā”?
No trouble at all, if you remember Kṛṣṇa.

When the human-birth comes,

When there is a tongue,
Can’t you say, “Kṛṣṇā”….488

A third example from the same bard:

Come, mother Bhāgīrathi,
Show the people,
Show me bathing to the people….489

Purandara was almost obsessed with seeing and showing.

Come running, Vaikuṇṭhapati,
I want to see you till the mind is sated.
Do not harass, Merciful One,
I beg you, Raṅgayya….490

Purandara wrote a large number of songs. The concerns expressed in them are
too diverse to be exhausted by a handful of examples. Yet, they share a set of
common features. They are mostly set against a domestic backdrop, are
dialogic in nature, carry an emotional appeal, long for the physical presence
of Kṛṣṇa, and conspicuously lack in intellectual content. The songs of
Kanakadāsa are no different, although they invoke the trope of wonder at least
on some occasions, and come up with strategies of representation that are,
sometimes, lively and original. His song on the elephantfaced god Gaṇēśa is a
good example. It is in the form of an address to Gaṇēśa’s mother:
Our mother Śāradā, Umāmahēśvarī,
Who is it that dwells in you?
Is it the proud Gaṇanātha,
The son of Kammagōḷa’s enemy?

Who is he
With black features on the face,
Ears large as a winnowing sieve,
With sharp tusks?
Is it the chivalrous Gaṇanātha
The son of the three-eyed

151
 With the broken moon?....491

The following lines from another of Kanaka’s songs invokes a sense of

wonder in a striking manner:
Are you in māyā, or is māyā within you?
Are you in the body, or is the body within you?
Is the void in the temple, or the temple in the void?
Is the eye in the intellect, or the intellect in the eye?
Or, are both the eye and the intellect in you, Hari?

Is sweetness in the sugar, or the sugar in the sweetness?

Or, are both sweetness and sugar in the tongue?
Is tongue in the intellect, or intellect in the tongue?
Or, are both tongue and the intellect in you, Hari?

Is the fragrance in the flower, or the flower in the fragrance?

Or, are both flower and fragrance in the nose?
Or, when the matchless Kāginele Ādikēśavarāya breathes?
Is nothing in me but all in you?492

A third example from Kanaka’s oeuvre where Kṛṣṇa is praised:

Beloved, come,
Our god has arrived.

Our Raṅga became the red-eyed Mīna (fish)

And slew Sōma the rogue, ho!
He slew Sōma the rogue
And gave the Vēdas to the Golden Bodied, ho!

In the vast forest,

Our Raṅga stood lifting the hill, ho!
He stood lifting the hill
And made the gods great, ho!

Our Raṅga became a wild boar, Dear,

And slew the Golden Eyed, ho!
He slew the Golden Eyed
And gave the earth to the Lotus Born, ho!....493

The integrity of the dāsa mental economy begins to strike us when we notice
that the songs, and other writings of the dāsas, had precious little to tell us
about the body. Where the siddhas repeatedly invoked the body and almost
never ceased from reflecting upon its composition and its relationship with
the self, questions concerning the body never figured in the dāsa oeuvre.
Other than the sensory urge to have a glimpse of Kṛṣṇa or hear about him, the
body had little significance in the dāsa scheme of things. Why, after all,
should the submissive ones have longed for a body? Unlike the siddhas, there
was no enterprise the dāsas had on hand, no public works to be carried out, no
armies to be built, no wars to be fought. The question of reflecting upon the
body simply did not arise. They pictured the playful Kṛṣṇa in their minds, and
portrayed a self that was fully disembodied and existing as an ideal rather
than substance.

152
 In terms of intellectual content, the songs drew a near cipher. Even the
Sanskrit commentaries of Vādirāja, like the Mahābhārata Tātparya Nirṇaya
Bhāvaprakāśikā, the Tantrasāraṭīkā, the Mahābhārata Lakṣālaṅkāra, the
Taittirīyōpaniṣad Bhāṣyaṭīkā, the Kaṭhōpaniṣad Bhāṣyaṭīkā, the
Talavakārōpaniṣad Bhāṣyaṭīka, and the Māṇḍūkyōpaniṣad Bhāṣyaṭīkā,
contained precious little in terms of intellectual innovation, although they
were monumental pieces of learning. Occasional sparks of argumentative
ingenuity were seen only in the works of Vyāsarāya, although the arguments
were easily falsifiable from within the contemporary conventions of
reasoning. The larger corpus of dāsa literature only explicated what Ānanda
Tīrtha had ingeniously written three centuries ago, and what Jaya Tīrtha had
attempted to systematize in the fourteenth century. The commentaries of
Vādirāja and others were perhaps meant to serve as textbooks for the students
of the monasteries.
One might suggest that the dāsas abjured the production of knowledge in
its entirety. Knowledge, for them, was not open to expansion or innovation, as
it had already been brought into its final form by Ānanda Tīrtha and Jaya
Tīrtha, whose works marked a great intellectual closure. Had Umberto Eco
written a Name of the Rose set against the sixteenth and the seventeenth
century world of the dāsas, we do not know what shape it would have taken.
But there certainly would be one line from the great novel that he would put
in the mouth of an influential dāsa pontiff: “There is no progress, no
revolution of ages, in the history of knowledge, but at most a continuous and
sublime recapitulation”.
The world of the dāsas remained stable, lost in its orthodoxy, intellectual
deficit, exploitation, submission, and complacency, until the nineteenth
century. But the world of the siddhas underwent tremendous transformations
after the seventeenth century. We must now turn to this story of
transformations.

397 The viśiṣṭādvaita tradition in Karnataka had its headquarters in Mēlukōṭe, which is not examined by us in this study for want
of space.
398 Of no mean importance is the fact that the Bahmani state also began to disintegrate at about the same time, when in 1489,
Yūsuf Ādil Khān established the Ādil Śāhi state at Vijayapura. The Bahmani state finally collapsed in 1527.
399 The Kṛṣṇadēvarāya of modern historiography.
400 Hawley 2015: 209. See ibid, 190-229 (i.e. chapter 5) for an engaging discussion on this shift.
401 The Skandapurāṇa is pejoratively called the Kantalpurāṇaṃ (scrap purāṇa) in Tamil, as it turned out to be a ‘scrap-bag’ into
which any place seeking respectability could infiltrate. See Doniger 2013: 233-234.
402 Devadevan 2010a.
403 Things have of course changed over the last decade. When I visited Kāginele in 1998, no one to whom I spoke knew of any
site or remains associated with Kanakadāsa. That the saint was associated with their village was not part of their living memory,
but a fact known to them only through his songs in which ‘Kāginele Ādikēśavarāya’ was used as signature. This state of affairs
continued during subsequent visits in 1999, 2001, 2002 and 2004. During my next visit in 2006, ‘memories’ concerning
Kanakadāsa had begun to circulate.
A rectangular stone column lying in a corner of the village near the lake had come to be identified as the saint’s tomb. This
column was originally regarded by the Muslim residents of the village as the tomb of a Sūfi saint called Ādaṃ Śippi. It was now
being represented as the tomb of Kanakadāsa, although tomb-worship was alien to the dāsa traditions. This ‘retrieval of memory’
was part of the political mobilization of the Kuruba (traditionally shepherd) caste, to which Kanakadāsa allegedly belonged. (It is,

153
however, suggested in Kalburgi 2010 Vol.4: 376-377, on firmer grounds that Kanakadāsa came from the Bēḍa (hunter) caste.)
This mobilization was carried out under the guidance of the Bharatiya Janata Party, the influential political group representing the
Hindu Right, which had joined the Janata Dal (Secular) to form a coalition government in February 2006, and which came to
power on its own (with three seats short of a simple a majority) in May 2008. Similar mobilizations were attempted by other
parties, such as the Congress (I). When the Congress (I) came to power in May 2013, it was a prominent leader of the Kuruba
caste, Siddaramaiah, who was elected Chief Minister of Karnataka. He continues to occupy the position when these pages are
being written. When I visited Kāginele again in 2009 along with the Kannada historian S. Purushottama, the Government of
Karnataka had already set up a Kāginele Abhivṛddhi Prādhikāra (Kāginele Development Authority), and offices, administrative
buildings, and a library had developed. Steps were under way to renovate Kanakadāsa’s ‘tomb’. Five years later, I had occasion to
go to Kāginele once again. This time, I was travelling with the historian from Israel, Gil Ben-Herut. We reached there early in the
morning on 22 June 2014, and found the beautifully renovated ‘tomb’ already under worship. The priest blessed us and offered us
the prasāda of Kanakadāsa. By this time, the Muslims of Kāginele had set their eyes on the humble tomb of Saṅgayya I (the son of
Koḍēkallu Basava) in the village, which resembled ‘Muslim’ shrines in its architecture. When I visited Kāginele again on 5
August 2015 along with the Kannada historian H.G. Rajesh, the priest of Saṅgayya I’s shrine informed that Muslims had claimed
it to be the tomb of Ādaṃ Śippi, and had filed a case to restore its control to them!
404 On Mōnappa, see Padashetti 1992 (a mediocre work, originally written as a PhD dissertation under M.M. Kalburgi’s
guidance).
405 The Hindu Right has a strong presence at the temple of Śaraṇabasava, but it has not yet succeeded in penetrating into the
Koḍēkallu, Tinthiṇi, Sāvaḷagi, and Śirahaṭṭi maṭhas in significant numbers.
406 It is interesting to note that dāsa ‘tombs’ are identified and worshipped at some places in Karnataka today. These include the
Vādirāja Bṛndāvana at Sōde and the Nava Bṛndāvana near the village of Ānēgondi (off Haṃpi), where nine such ‘tombs’ exist.
Inasmuch as dāsas were cremated and not buried, and the ashes and bones never preserved, the question of erecting tombs does
not arise. We can say with certainty that stories of the dāsa ‘tombs’ are fairly recent in origin, certainly not older than the
nineteenth century. The history of these ‘tombs’ awaits research.
407 Ray 1994: 65.
408 Ibid., 134; 139.
409 Ibid., 153.
410 Ibid., 106.
411 Ēkāntarāmitandegaḷa Ragaḷe, 231-380.
412 See Pavate 2009: 28-31, for the text of this inscription.
413 Śaṅkara Dāsimayyana Ragaḷe, 1.171-188. Note that the miracle is called a līlā (1.187).
414 Musuỵeya Cauḍayyana Ragaḷe, 81-134.
415 Gururājacāritra, 1.6.
416 “bāgilanu teredu sēveyanu koḍo hariyē”. This is among the most famous of Haridāsa songs in Kannada. For the text, see
Parthasarathy 2013: 1133.
417 I am not sure if a vision of the deity in the sanctum sanctorum is possible from the kanakana kiṇḍi. Not once have I been
successful in seeing Kṛṣṇa from the hole, not even when few visitors lined up before the sanctum, blocking the vision.
418 Maṇṭēsvāmi, 2 (‘Kalyāṇada Sālu’).
419 Siddharama Svami 2002: 18-21.
420 Ibid., 51-54.
421 No. 25, Soppimath 1998.
422 Parthasarathy 2013: 1843.
423 No. 402, Karanth 2008.
424 Gubbiya Mallaṇārya is another southern saint to be known after his village, Gubbi. It is all too rare to find place-name
prefixes among the siddhas of south Karnataka.
425 One saint, who neither changed people’s lives nor rendered works such as the Rāmāyaṇa into the vernacular, was Pūndānaṃ
in Kerala. Although a popular figure today, we do not know how much renown he enjoyed between the sixteenth and the
nineteenth centuries.
426 The Bhāgavatapurāṇa is also available in Malayalam and is attributed to Eluttaccan, but scholars are more or less united in
their opinion the authorship is open to question.
427 I cannot, however, comment on when the saints Narasiṃha Mehatā of Gujarat, Mīrā of Rajasthan, or Sūrdās, Kabīr, Rāidās,
Kēśavadās and others of the Gaṅgā valley attained their present popularity, i.e., whether they were widely known before the
nineteenth century (and if so, which ones and why) or were smuggled into limelight in the nineteenth century in the course of
writing histories of literature and religion or plays meant to be performed by professional theatre troupes.
428 Paramānubhavabōdhe 3.3.2.
429 Tradition and modern scholarship identify this poet as Adṛśya, as this is the name recorded in most extant manuscripts.
However, Kalburgi 2010 Vol. 4: 396-398 persuasively argues that this poet’s original name was Mallēśa, that Mallēśa is a
corruption of Maleyēśa (the lord, īśa, of the hills, male), and that the poet Sanskritized the name to Adrīśa (the lord, īśa, of the
hills, adri), of which Adṛśya is a later-day corruption. Some manuscripts indeed record the name as Adrīśa. We accept this
suggestion and call the poet Adrīśa.
430 Nadig 2001: 262-63.
431 Doc. 19, Nadig 2008. A total of fifty-seven documents belonging to or alluding to the Santēbennūru chiefs are compiled in
this volume, which include stone and copperplate inscriptions, letters, and sanads. In addition, nine kaifiyats are also included. In
the notes below, Doc. refers to the documents and Kaif. to the kaifiyats in this volume.
432 Doc. 17 … 18, Ibid.
433 Doc. 18. Ibid.
434 Doc. 4. Ibid.
435 Doc. 1, Ibid.
436 EC 7 (1), Cn 62.

154
437 Pujarhalli 2004: 61.
438 Sadashivappa 1996: 85.
439 Nadig 2008: 10.
440 Ibid., 8.
441 Sattar 1997: 5.
442 Pujarhalli 2004, passim.
443 Kaif. 1.
444 They are, however, also known as Tarikere Nāyakas.
445 Doc. 41.
446 Kaif. 9.
447 Kaif. 3.
448 Stein 1980: 369.
449 Ibid, 370.
450 Ibid.
451 Dirks 1979.
452 Dirks 1982.
453 Dirks 1987.
454 Ibid., 44.
455 Ibid., 42.
456 Ibid., 44
457 Peabody 2003: 82.
458 Karashima 2002: 30-31.
459 Karashima 1992: 117-30.
460 Ibid., 136
461 Narayana Rao, Shulman and Subrahmanyam 1992: 29.
462 Ibid., 36-37.
463 Yogeeshwarappa 1999: 7.
464 Ibid., 29-30.
465 Ibid., 5.
466 Ibid., 8-9.
467 See Devadevan 2010b for a historical survey.
468 On religious patronage of the Oḍeyas, see Simmons 2014.
469 Ota 2008.
470 Weber 1958: 257. Weber uses the expression in the context of Buddhist monasteries in Sri Lanka. Romila Thapar borrows the
idea to explain landlordism in Indian monasteries. See Thapar 2000a: 220.
471 Source: Nj. 110 to Nj. 125, Epigraphia Carnatica, (revised edition) Vol. 3.
472 This is a spurious inscription because the date is too early for Krsnaraya (r. 1509-1529).
473 This record is spurious because the region where the grant was made was not under the control of Śrīraṅgarāya in 1576. A gift
after purchase is of course possible, but the grant makes no allusion to purchase of land by the donor.
474 This is spurious because the engraver was Maṅgaṇācārya, son of Vīraṇṇa, who was also the engraver of the pervious record.
The two records are separated by sixty-three years. Maṅgaṇācārya is also named as the engraver of the first record, dated 1490.
475 This is spurious because of the same reason mentioned in note 474 above.
476 Cavappa belonged to the Tañjāvūr region in Tamilnadu, and is unlikely to have made a grant in the Kṛṣṇa valley, unless it
was a gift after purchase. Since it is not stated to have been purchased by him before donation, this is a spurious record.
477 The recipient did not belong to the tradition of this maṭha. Evidently, the grant made over to him was confiscated by the
Rāghavēndra maṭha.
478 Nos. 5, 13, 27, 21, 26, 28, 30, 41 and 43, Jois 1991.
479 Nos. 72 and 78, Ibid.
480 No. 195, Ibid.
481 No. 206, Ibid.
482 Nos. 56, 78, 80, 89, 135, 141, 148, 201, 203, 304, 246, 259, etc in Ibid., are random instances.
483 No. 98, Ibid.
484 No. 212, Ibid.
485 Parthasarathy 2013: 545.
486 Ibid.
487 No. 760, Karanth 2008.
488 No. 12, Ibid.
489 No. 592, Ibid.
490 Parthasarathy 2013: 445.
491 No. 1, Kavyapremi 1995.
492 No. 47, Ibid.
493 No. 77, Ibid.

155
6 Sainthood in Transition and the Crisis of
Alienation
The Marāṭha warlord Śivāji died in the year 1680. He, more than anyone else,
had mastered the art of political conceit in the seventeenth century, and
perfected strategies of guerilla warfare developed earlier in the century by
Malik Aṃbar. His was by far the greatest threat to the Mughals before the
494

invasion of Nādir Śāh from Iran, as it involved guerilla strategies they had
hitherto not confronted. Guerilla warfare consisted of avoiding direct
encounters, but cutting off supply lines, and resorting to multiple attacks at
vulnerable locations away from the battlefield. Śivāji had deployed these
495

tactics against the Ādil Śāhis with a remarkable measure of success. This had
enabled him to make strong inroads into northern and northwestern
Karnataka, especially after he treacherously killed the Ādil Śāhi general Afzal
Khān on 10 November 1659. By the time of Śivāji’s death, the Marāṭhas were
in control of many strategic locations in coastal Karnataka, the Western
Ghats, and the adjoining regions to the east. Efforts were afoot to consolidate
these gains by deploying functionaries to collect revenue. These portfolios
called for a class of literate personnel faithful to the Marāṭha cause. The
avenues for employment thus generated were to attract the Citpāvan and
Karāḍ brāhmaṇas, who migrated from the Koṅkaṇa region to various parts of
Marāṭhavāḍā. They also moved in considerable numbers into northern and
496

northwestern Karnataka. Sārasvata and Dēśasta brāhmaṇas also found

employment under the Marāṭhas. A credit network centering on Pūnā
497

emerged, with brāhmaṇa bankers controlling it. By the mid decades of the
498

eighteenth century, neo-brāhmaṇical landlordism evolved powerfully in many

parts of northern and northwestern Karnataka. Marāṭhi brāhmaṇas were the
major stakeholders in this enterprise.
In 1686, six years after the death of Śivāji, the Ādil Śāhī state of
Vijayapura collapsed following a protracted struggle with the Mughals.
Auraṅgzēb annexed the Ādil Śāhi territories to the Mughal state, and formed
the new suba of Karnataka out of some parts of the annexed territories. As a
token of gratitude for the services rendered to the Mughals by the late Abdul
Karīm Khān, Auraṅgzēb rewarded the deceased’s son Abdul Raūf Khān with
a mansabdāri rank of 6000, conferred the title Dilēr Khān upon him, and
499

placed him in charge of the new suba. Raūf Khān established the city of
500

Savaṇūru, twenty kilometres to the south of Lakṣmēśvara, and made it his

headquarters. Vijayapura was deserted within a few decades. The revenue,
which the Ādil Śāhis had commanded, was now distributed among the
successor chiefs in different parts of the region. In northern Karnataka, claims

156
were made on the Ādil Śāhi revenue by the Gōlkoṇḍa rulers, and later, by the
Nizāṃs of Haidarābād from the east, and the Marāṭhas from the north and
northwest. The Surapura chiefs, whose line began with Hanuma Nāyaka upon
whom Koḍēkallu Basava had conferred ‘kingship’, was an important
pretender to a share of this revenue. Raūf Khān of Savaṇūru was another
claimant, and by far, the most successful. His suba yielded Rupees
20,040,000 every year, a little over a fourth of the Rupees 78,400,000 that the
Ādil Śāhi state collected as revenue during the reign of Muhammad Ādil Śāh
(r. 1626-1656). 501

Increased cultivation of commercial crops from the seventeenth century,

and their trade through the routes along the Western Ghats, made the ghats
and the areas near them gain in importance. The early Marāṭhas seem to have
understood the significance of this emerging phenomenon. Land revenue
from the commercial crop orchards, and the income they yielded through
proceeds and transit tolls, were too sizeable to be ignored. The Marāṭhas
directed great energies towards the control of this region. It was, in all
likelihood, for the same reason that Raūf Khān moved from Vijayapura to
Savaṇūru.
If the areas adjoining the ghats offered rich markets for political
entrepreneurship, literate brāhmaṇas, and mercantile and military labour,
there is no reason why it should not have attracted a similar market for
renunciation, more so when many renouncers in northern Karnataka were also
military entrepreneurs. Tinthiṇi Mōnappa seems to have been aware of this
possibility. He moved from Tinthiṇi in the Śōrāpura dōāb, to Varavi, near
Lakṣmēśvara. His friend Cannavīra left Vijayapura, wandered extensively,
and eventually settled down at Śirahaṭṭi, three kilometres away from Varavi,
where he attained renown as Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa. From the village of Sāvaḷagi
near Kalaburagi, the saint Śivaliṅga moved closer to the ghats, and settled
down in a hamlet on the banks of the Ghaṭaprabha, twenty kilometres
northwest of Gōkāk. The hamlet eventually came to be known as Sāvaḷagi
after the village from where Śivaliṅga came.
The lives of these saints resembled those of the earlier siddhas in several
respects. Like Ārūḍha Saṅgamanātha, Koḍēkallu Basava, Maṇṭēsvāmi, and
others, they travelled widely. They performed miracles, encountered kings
and brought them into submission, excavated tanks, caused rain. But there
were three notable additions to their portfolio: they organized feeding in their
monasteries, they blessed barren couples with children, and they forged real
(and not imagined) relationships with saints of other tradition, including the
Sūfis.
Representative of this new sainthood is the life of Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa
(ca. 1650-1725), a saint whose life is suffused with stories of miracles.
Fakīrappa was born in Vijayapura. It is said, after a trope concerning the birth

157
of the siddhas that was well established by the seventeenth century, that his
parents Śivayya and Gauramma had no children for a long time. Upon the
suggestion of a friend, Gauramma approached the great Chisti saint of
Vijayapura, Khvājā Amīn-ud-dīn Alā (1597-1675). The Khvājā blessed her
with a child and instructed her to hand over the child to his hospice,
whereupon she would be blessed with another child whom the family could
own for itself. Thus was born the prodigious Cannavīra. But the couple failed
to keep their word, and refused to give away the child to Amīn-ud-dīn. As a
result, Cannavīra died. Realizing their lapse, Śivayya and Gauramma prayed
for mercy. Amīn forgave them, and brought Cannavīra back to life. The child
was handed over to the hospice, and the couple blessed with another child.
Cannavīra grew up to become the preeminent disciple of Amīn-ud-dīn. He
evolved into a great miracle-worker at a young age. The Ādil Śāhi Sultān of
Vijayapura learnt of his supernatural powers, and decided to test the young
prodigy. At his bidding, Amīn ordered Cannavīra to offer namāz sitting on
502

water. To the shock of the Sultān, Cannavīra took his mat, walked on the
waters of the nearby lake, and offered namāz sitting on the waters. The
503

Sultān realized that Cannavīra was a boy with divine powers. He became a
follower of the boy instantly. This was the commencement of a great career in
miracle-working. Cannavīra soon came to be revered as Fakīrappa. 504

As with the other saints whose lives we have examined so far, a long
voyage occupied the next leg of Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa’s life. He left Vijayapura
after the demise of Amīn, who assured him that he would meet him again in
the next birth, when he will be born at Gōnāḷa as Mōnappa in a family of oil
pressers.505

In the course of this great voyage, Fakīrappa performed a number of

miracles. When he reached the village of Baṇḍeppanahaḷḷi, a communal
dispute among the villagers had begun to take the form of a riot. Fakīrappa
intervened, and restored peace. This was apparently done with the help of a
miracle. He lit a lamp with water instead of oil, and asked Baṇḍeppa
506

(seemingly the founder of the village) to place it at an assigned location for

three days. The lamp continued to burn even after three days. The feuding
villagers were convinced of Fakīrappa’s divinity, and on his advice, built a
monastery in the village.
The next miracle happened at Kauḍīmaṭṭi. Here, Fakīrappa chanced upon
a young girl Kamala, who was about to commit suicide by throwing herself
into a well. She had taken the decision following long years of torture by her
mother-in-law, Kāḍamma. Fakīrappa persuaded her to return home. No
sooner did Kamala reach home than news arrived that Kāḍamma’s daughter
Gauramma had committed suicide by jumping into a well. The news came as
a rude shock to Kāḍamma. Even as she was trying to come to terms with it,
Fakīrappa arrived on the scene. He informed Kāḍamma that her daughter was

158
tortured by her in-laws, which forced her into suicide. It was a kārmic
reaction to Kāḍamma’s cruel behaviour towards her own daughter-in-law.
Kāḍamma realized what the siddha was hinting at, and pleaded with him to
absolve her of the sins committed and bring her daughter back to life.
Fakīrappa acquiesced, and the deceased Gauramma sprang back to life.
We find karma invoked again in the next miracle. This story is about
Sundaramma, a woman from an affluent family who showed no devotion
towards god, had scant regard for elders, and constantly insulted the devout.
The result was that she had no children. Sundaramma learnt of Fakīrappa’s
powers, and approached him with request for granting a child. Under the
siddha’s magical influence, she abandoned vanity, became a deep believer in
god, and was blessed with a son.
The journey of the miracle-worker continued. In Muddēbihāḷa the pontiff
of the Hirēmaṭha insulted Fakīrappa and, in consequence, contracted chronic
stomachache. He prayed to Fakīrappa for mercy, and was cured of the illness.
In gratitude, the pontiff became a devotee of Fakīrappa, and renamed his
monastery as Śivayōgi maṭha. Fakīrappa also helped a couple from the
Śivayōgi maṭha to overcome their poverty by gifting them a cow, which
brought forth two bullocks and helped them in agriculture. The couple
prospered, and their wealthy descendants continue to pay tributes to
Fakīrappa to this day. In Śirōḷa, our hero met a young widow, Girijamma,
whose child had died of snakebite. Fakīrappa brought the child back to life.
He was then approached by a childless woman Gaṅgamma with prayers to
bless her with a son. Gaṅgamma’s prayers were also answered favourably.
Fakīrappa’s next destination was Citradurga, where he stayed for a long
time at the Murugharājēndra maṭha. When he approached the gates of the
maṭha, he was denied entry, as he was not wearing a liṅga. Like Maṇṭēsvāmi
before him, Fakīrappa tried to force himself into the maṭha, and like Kaṭugara
Saṅgayya before them, the gatekeepers pushed him out forcibly. Impulsive
that he was on the one hand, and a miracle-worker on the other, Fakīrappa
made the liṅgas worn by the gatekeepers disappear, to their great dread. He
then vanished from the scene, and miraculously appeared in front of the
pontiff inside the monastery. The liṅgas of the gatekeepers were restored after
they begged for forgiveness.
The pontiff accorded Fakīrappa a warm welcome. Fakīrappa took up the
responsibility of maintaining the cattle pen in the maṭha, and seems to have
put in place an arrangement for surplus production of milk, leading to
additional revenues to the maṭha. He might also have deployed the bullocks
effectively in the agricultural fields held by the monastery.
Anecdotes of several miracles are told about Fakīrappa during his
Citradurga days. These supernatural acts were performed in front of the boys
with whom Fakīrappa took the cattle out to graze. In one such story, he is said

159
to have picked up a cobra that bowed down to him, and dropped it in an
anthill. On another occasion, a tiger arrived on the scene when he was grazing
his herd with the boys. The herd and the boys fled, but Fakīrappa remained
where he was, with a smile on his face. The tiger came to him, and bowed
down to his feet. The saint sat on the tiger and rode around for a while,
making a display of his prowess. In a third story, Fakīrappa distributed
sweetmeats and food of their choice to the boys from a bag he was carrying.
According to this story, the cowherds carried lunch packets every day when
they went out to graze the cattle. On one day, one of the boys came without
his packet, as his mother was busy preparing sweetmeats and other delicacies
to throw a feast at noon. The boy decided to go home for lunch. Fakīrappa
and the other boys urged him to stay, and share the food they had brought.
The boy refused, saying that he ate roṭṭi (bread of wheat or millet flour)
everyday and was sick of it, and that he didn’t want to miss a feast. As the
boy left, Fakīrappa asked the other cowherds what their choice dishes were,
and miraculously produced them one after the other from his bag. The friends
now called out to the boy who had left for home, and told him what was
happening. The boy returned, shyly. Fakīrappa produced a feast for him from
his bag, and gave out a message: there is always happiness in sharing food
with others and eating together. This, however, is not the message that the
historian draws from the anecdote, as we shall see later in this chapter.
After a long stay at the Murugharājēndra maṭha, time came for Fakīrappa
to depart. He left for Haidarābād, to have an audience with the Nizāṃ. Once
again, he was denied entry, and once again, Fakīrappa miraculously entered
the palace, this time ending up in the queen’s apartment. The news of an
infiltrator in the queen’s apartment spread throughout the palace, and the
Nizāṃ rushed to the spot with a dagger in his hand, and a convoy of troops
behind him. To his surprise, it was not a grown up man that he saw there, but
an infant in the queen’s lap. The queen was found breast-feeding the baby.
What miracle, the Nizāṃ wondered: a baby in his barren queen’s lap, and she
suckling it. When he asked for an explanation, the queen said that she had no
cue of what was happening, and told him that a Fakīr appeared in her
apartment, fell into her lap, metamorphosed into a baby and made her suckle.
The Nizāṃ stood dumbfounded. Now, Fakīrappa resumed his original form.
The Nizāṃ fell to his feet, pleaded for forgiveness, and offered him half his
kingdom. Fakīrappa refused to take the kingdom, and instead, urged him to
maintain law and order in his realm, and restore harmony between the
communities that were engaged in conflict and violence. He also asked for
507

the dagger the Nizāṃ had brought to kill him. The Nizāṃ offered Fakīrappa
the dagger. There is preserved in the Śirahaṭṭi maṭha a dagger that is carried
by the pontiff every year during the annual fair. This is believed to be the one
presented by the Nizāṃ. In all likelihood, the dagger was given by Raūf

160
Khān, the Navāb of the nearby Savaṇūru, or by the head of the Jummā Masjid
in Lakṣmēśvara with which Fakīrappa seems to have maintained healthy
relations.
From Haidarābād, the miracle-worker went to Dilli where he met the
Mughal ruler Akbar. He assumed the form of a five-coloured parakeet and
508

flew into the hall where Akbar was holding court. The king was surprised to
see the bird, and asked his renowned courtier Bīrbal what omen it signified. A
parakeet is always a great omen, Bīrbal replied. Now, Fakīrappa turned back
to his original form. He asked Akbar to bring him the sacred stone and
pendant that his guru Cannabasava had left in the palace. Your guru
Cannabasava left a stone and a pendant in my palace? Akbar asked in
disbelief. Yes, Fakīrappa replied; it is kept in a casket in the basement of the
fourth room in the northern quarter. The king and his entourage rushed to the
basement of the said room, and discovered a casket there. In the casket were a
sacred stone and a pendant. Akbar agreed to give it to Fakīrappa if he
performed one more miracle. Here we go, Fakīrappa said; the royal elephant
of yours has fallen dead in the stable. The king rushed to the stable and found
that Fakīrappa’s words had indeed come true. He appealed to him to restore
the mammoth back to life. Fakīrappa stroked the animal, and it rose from the
ground as if it was waking up from a long sleep. Pleased with the līlā, Akbar
bowed to the saint, gave him the stone and the pendant, and presented him
with a battle shield.
The Nizāṃ of Haidarābād gave him a dagger, and the Mughal king of
Dilli, a shield. Whether or not these events, or something remotely resembling
it, really occurred, is a question that need not deter us here, as the story is
certainly not misplaced or devoid of meaning. For, isn’t it figuring in an
account of a warrior-saint’s life? Daggers, swords, and shields are powerful
symbols in the political imagination of a warrior-saint tradition, and the story
of acquiring them through defiance is meant to be a political statement in its
own right.
From Dilli, Fakīrappa returned to the countryside of northern Karnataka.
There lived in the village of Sagarakannōṭa a widow called Avvaliṅgavva.
She belonged to a family of peasants, and had two sons, Bharamagauḍa and
Sōmanagauḍa. Following the demise of her husband, she lost her access to
property, and was regularly ill treated by her brothers-in-law and their wives.
A friend of hers advised her to approach Fakīrappa for help. Avvaliṅgavva
prayed to Fakīrappa in her mind, and began to look out for the wandering
saint. One night, Fakīrappa appeared to her in a dream, and advised her to
move to Māgaḍi. Avvaliṅgavva obliged. Fakīrappa met with Avvaliṅgavva in
Māgaḍi, and asked her to find work, as this would enable her to tide over her
current state of poverty. He then went to Kadaḍi, where the village headman
had passed away some days ago without leaving an heir behind. The villagers

161
gathered around Fakīrappa, and requested him to find a suitable headman for
their village. Fakīrappa informed them of Bharamagauḍa, Avvaliṅgavva’s
son, who he said would make an ideal and efficient village headman. The
villagers agreed to the seer’s proposal, and Bharamagauḍa was appointed the
headman of Kadaḍi.
The next destination in Fakīrappa’s tour was Dundūru, a village that
faced acute water scarcity. Like a master water-diviner, he identified a place
that would throw up sweet water, and caused a well to be excavated on the
spot. He built a monastery in the village and planted a jasmine vine. The half-
acre garden of jasmine found today at Dundūru is believed to have developed
from the vine planted by Fakīrappa.
Aṅkuś Khān was the ruler of Lakṣmēśvara at this time. One night, he
509

was playing chess with his wife when the lamp began to run out of oil. As it
was late in the night, there were few servants in the palace, and the ones on
duty were unable to find oil. Aṅkuś Khān asked the guard to spread news in
the town through tom-tom that whoever prevents the lamp from getting
extinguished will be given a reward of their choice. Fakīrappa arrived at the
palace in the company of Avvaliṅgavva and Sōmanagauḍa, and replayed the
miracle he had performed earlier at Baṇḍeppanahaḷḷi. He asked Sōmanagauḍa
to pour water from his jar into the lamp. No sooner was it done than the wick
sprang back to life. Aṅkuś Khān was pleased. When he asked Sōmanagauḍa
what reward he wanted, he received the most unexpected reply. The
instruction Sōmanagauḍa had received from Fakīrappa was to ask for the
Khān’s kingdom. “Give me your kingdom”, Sōmanagauḍa said. Ankuś Khān
was now in a dilemma. Fakīrappa decided to intervene. “You have no
children. Your wife is barren. Who do you think will succeed to your
kingdom after your death? Hand over the kingdom to Sōmanagauḍa and
accept him as your son.” Aṅkuś Khān agreed to the proposal on the condition
that Sōmanaguaḍa and his family adopt the title of Khān, and administer the
kingdom by wearing a green headgear and an Islamic necklace. Sōmanagauḍa
agreed to these terms, and became a ruler. To this day, his ‘Hindu’
descendants bear the title, Khān.
Continuing his journey across the villages and towns of the region,
Fakīrappa reached Ḍaṃbaḷa. Here, a merchant’s wife refused him alms, and
as a result, the liṅgas worn by members of the family disappeared.
Predictably enough, the liṅgas were restored after the people expressed
remorse and begged for mercy. In a mosque in Ḍaṃbaḷa, Fakīrappa freed a
group of saints from their addiction to poppy leaves.
During his stay at Ḍaṃbaḷa, an arrogant saint called Bhārati arrived there
and challenged the chief, Veṅkappa Dēsāyi, to organize a debate with him.
The chief was helpless. He knew of no scholars in his territory that had the
genius to take on Bhārati. A debate was certain to be humiliating, and so it

162
eventually turned out. Everyone who dared to confront Bhārati was defeated.
It so happened that an imbecile brāhmaṇa boy was serving Fakīrappa with
great devotion at this time. He was the butt of ridicule, not only for his limited
intellect, but also for serving a wandering saint against the advice of fellow
brāhmaṇas. Now, Fakīrappa decided to send the boy to debate with Bhārati,
much to the consternation of the townsmen. The boy arrived at the venue,
declared that he had no knowledge of Vēdas, Śāstras, Purāṇas, or any of the
other such great sciences as grammar, logic, rhetoric, metrics etc., but was
endowed with the blessings of the guru. With this solemn declaration, he
began debate. And what a prodigy the boy turned out to be! He defeated
Bhārati with hardly any effort.
At the end of his great journeys, Fakīrappa decided to settle down at
Śirahaṭṭi. Here, he dug a little well to the north of the village, built a
hermitage, made it his abode, and resumed his life of performing miracles.
The hermitage eventually became a monastery. As in Ḍaṃbaḷa, he caused
liṅgas of a merchant’s family and his guests vanish when the merchant
refused him alms. And again as in Ḍaṃbaḷa, the liṅgas were given back to
them when the merchant fell at his feet in remorse.
Sometime after Fakīrappa had settled down at Śirahaṭṭi, an eminent peer
of his reached Varavi, three kilometres from Śirahaṭṭi. His name was Tinthiṇi
Mōnappa. He had set out on a journey from the village of Tinthiṇi near
Koḍēkallu, where he had lived for many years. At Varavi, he founded another
maṭha, and gained renown as Varavi Mōnappa. One day, he came to Śirahaṭṭi.
Fakīrappa immediately identified his guru, for wasn’t Mōnappa an
incarnation of his guru Khvājā Amīn-ud-dīn? Mōnappa took Fakīrappa to
Lakṣmēśvara to perform another miracle. An old woman called Piḍḍavve had
died without repaying a loan she had incurred. Mōnappa and Fakīrappa
approached the dead body and said, “You can’t go away without repaying the
loan. We bid you return and pay the money”. What next? The dead body
started breathing again. Piḍḍavve repaid the loan, and Mōnappa and
Fakīrappa blessed her to live for some more years.
By this time, Fakīrappa had acquired a group of faithful devotees. He
travelled to Kōḷivāḍa with some of them, and built a monastery there. It is
said that when he reached the village, nobody came to welcome him or pay
respects to him. Dyāmavva, the deity of the village, was upset by this, and
prevailed upon the villagers to become devotees of Fakīrappa. She also
performed a miracle and compelled a trader from Hubbaḷḷi to donate land for
the monastery.
Few siddha accounts speak of a devotee blessed by a saint overstepping
his advice. The story of Fakīrappa provides one such instance. Avvaliṅgavva
was in a state of destitution. With the blessings of Fakīrappa, her first son
Bharamagauḍa had become the headman of a village, and her second son

163
Sōmanagauḍa, a ruler. Avvaliṅgavva was now on the verge of death. She
desired to have a sprawling tomb built in her honour, and sought Fakīrappa’s
consent for the same. Fakīrappa tried to dissuade her from this misadventure.
He prediced that her tomb would remain unkempt, deserted, and neglected by
everyone. But Avvaliṅgavva decided not to oblige. She spent a fortune on
building a tomb for herself. After her death, she was buried there. But
eventually, Fakīrappa’s prophecy came true. The tomb survives in Śirahaṭṭi to
this day in a state of utter neglect.
Fakīrappa had lived a long life. He had performed countless līlās. It was
now time for him to depart. One day, a band of street performers came to
Śirahaṭṭi. Fakīrappa invited them to his monastery and asked them to perform.
A fifteen-year old boy was the cynosure of the performance. Fakīrappa
realized the boy’s potentials and asked the bandleader to offer him to the
monastery. The bandleader refused, as the boy was the most sought-after
performer of the band. The band left Śirahaṭṭi, but made no progress, as no
village appeared in sight even after walking on and on for many hours. The
bandleader realized what had gone wrong. He returned to Śirahaṭṭi, begged
Fakīrappa for forgiveness, and offered the boy to the monastery.
The following day, Fakīrappa summoned the elders of the village, and
announced that the boy would be the next pontiff of the Śirahaṭṭi maṭha. The
elders were hesitant, as they regarded a boy from a caste of performers unfit
for the lofty position of a pontiff. “You are right”, Fakīrappa said with
sarcasm, “the boy is from an impure caste. Let us purify him in fire, as there
is no greater purifier than fire”. Accordingly, a bonfire was made, and, the
boy put in the blaze to the dread of the elders. The next day, Fakīrappa
summoned the elders again, and cleared the ash from the bonfire in their
presence. And what did the elders see there? The boy, hale and healthy,
unburnt, and unaffected by the fire! “The boy has been purified in fire. He is
not of low origins anymore. He will be our successor”, Fakīrappa announced.
He then outlined the rituals, fairs, and ceremonies that should be performed in
the monastery after his demise. He also ordained that the pontiffs would be
known, in the consecutive order of succession, as Fakīra Siddharāma, Fakīra
Śivayōgi, and Fakīra Cannavīra. 510

Shortly after these arrangements were made, Fakīrappa assumed the

form of a serpent, and disappeared into an anthill. His tomb is believed to be
built over this anthill.
Fakīrappa was the paradigmatic miracle-worker of the late seventeenth
and the early eighteenth century. He was among the three greatest saints
renowned for supernatural powers that northern Karnataka had ever seen (the
other two being Sāvaḷagi Śivaliṅga and Kalaburagi Śaraṇabasava). It was for
this reason that he became widely influential in the subsequent times, and
monasteries in his honour built extensively during the late eighteenth, the

164
nineteenth, and the twentieth centuries. Today, there are forty-eight known
maṭhas of Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa in Karnataka. At least four of them were
apparently built during his lifetime, viz. the maṭhas at Śirahaṭṭi,
Baṇḍeppanahaḷḷi, Dundūru, and Kōḷivāḍa. Table 12 gives a list of the known
monasteries of Fakīrappa.
Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa’s story is similar to the hagiography of the earlier
saint, Koḍēkallu Basava, in several respects. The saint composed no poetry.
Neither did he promote trade or develop a distinct darśana of his own. Yet, he
was a warrior-saint, carried out public works extensively, shared a
relationship with the rulers that was far from cordial, and actively engaged
with the peasantry. However, the context of his initiatives, and their impacts,
were markedly different. Fakīrappa was functioning in an age of rural scarcity
and large-scale dispossession of the peasantry and other classes from their
traditional access to land. Acts like excavating wells, causing rain, finding
employment for his dependents, and helping them tide over poverty resonated
very differently with the rural illiterate masses. In this connection, it must be
stressed that the stories of Avvaliṅgavva and the couple from the Śivayōgi
maṭha in Muddēbihāḷa do not seem to be adequately emblematic. For,
Fakīrappa was a warriorsaint, and is likely to have recruited a large number of
dispossessed peasants into his militia. Such instances are not recorded in the
extant hagiography, presumably because the hagiography was compiled in the
twentieth century, when the image of the saint-as-warrior with a band of
troops was long-forgotten and patently unfamiliar to an institution that had
chosen to preach peace between Hindus and Muslims. Yet, vestiges of the
warrior past have survived. The pontiff of the Śirahaṭṭi maṭha meets his
devotees once in a year on horseback, carrying the dagger in his hand. The
pontiff at Sāvaḷagi also continues to this day to ride a horse with a sword in
his hand during festivals. In contrast to the Pāḷegāras of the south who also
had militias with peasant recruits in them, Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa, Sāvaḷagi
Śivaliṅga, and the other warrior-saints of the north presented a compelling
personality: a holy man, making the dispossessed peasant fight, literally, to
earn a living. This new saint was, therefore, simultaneously an embodiment of
clairvoyance, credibility, and contingency.

Table 12. Places where Fakīrappa Monasteries Exist 511

165
The era beginning with the mid seventeenth century was typified by
widespread dispossession of the peasantry from their traditional access to land
in the dryland belts of the Deccan. It threw up thousands of Avvaliṅgavvas,
Bharamagauḍas, and Sōmanagauḍas across the region. This resulted from a
decline in labour demand caused by a growing preference for commercial
crops that were less labour intensive. Its inevitable corollary was that in the
precarious labour market generated by the commercial crop plantations, the
peasantry had to remain glued to the paddyproducing wetlands, or the dryland
belts where other grains like jowar (white millet) and ragi (finger millet)
grew. This opened up a new chapter in reinforcing forced or bonded agrestic
labour and strengthening the forces of exploitation. That this was
accompanied by the rising acquisition of landed wealth by brāhmaṇa,
Vīraśaiva, and other ritual and literary elites brought in the dimension of caste
on a scale hitherto unknown in the history of the region.
This development also affected the prospects of sainthood. The new
siddhas like Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa, Sāvaḷagi Śivaliṅga, and Tinthiṇi Mōnappa
had to engage with this emerging situation. Mōnappa more than anyone else
decried the institution of caste in his vacanas. In one of his vacana, Mōnappa
says:
The pearl is born in a shell,
The diamond is born in a stone,

166
 Once the great śaraṇas are born in fire / in the low caste
Can one say, Basavaṇṇa, that my line or his line is great?512

Here, like many other siddha poets, Mōnappa plays on the word hole. The
word signifies the fireplace. But it is used, through a corruption of the word,
to indicate the holeya caste. The holeya was an agrestic labourer or slave who
worked in the fields, hola. Mōnappa uses it to create a double entendre that is
at once sharp and moving. Elsewhere, he says:
The word does not vanish, the hole does not fill.
Those who violate the norms and decrees
Are pure holeyas by caste, Basavaṇṇa.513

Further,

Caste customs exist when there is cooked rice,

Vows and daily rituals, when there is water.
When cooked rice and water deplete,
What if the poor live in a palace?514

Mōnappa has more such vacanas, which criticize caste prejudices. One of
them ridicules those who refuse cooked rice but consume with great relish the
milk and the ghee (that a dirty animal yields). What an irony that the milk
515

from the flesh (of the cow) and sweet that the insect (i.e., the honeybee) yields
are never disregarded, but the śaraṇas born of fire are looked down upon as
low caste. Here, Mōnappa is echoing Kanakadāsa, who in the sixteenth
516

century had sung: don’t they offer the lotus, born in filth, to the flower-
navalled one; don’t the brāhmaṇas on earth drink the milk produced in the
cow’s flesh? 517

These were simple words, without much reasoning or intellectual content

behind them. Yet, they had a profound appeal in the illiterate world of the late
seventeenth and the early eighteenth centuries, when raids, plunder,
protracted warfare, recurring droughts, and scarcities, and the entrenchment
of the neo-brāhmaṇical and Vīraśaiva landlordism led to large-scale
dispossession on the one hand, and the reinforcement of caste prejudices on
the other. One way, through which the dispossession of the peasantry was
mediated, was by generating employment in the mercenary militias of the
monasteries. It was a potentially lucrative employment, as it carried with it
the prospects of securing wealth through loot and plunder. Another mode
through which monasteries addressed the crisis of dispossession and scarcity
was feeding (dāsōha or annadāna). Saints carried out regular begging tours,
variously called haṇḍi bhikṣā, taḷa bhikṣā, etc., in the company of disciples
and followers to gather resources for feeding. At times, they received
endowments of land. Fakīrappa seems to have organized feeding in his
monastery at Śirahaṭṭi. Feeding has been known in the monastery for much of

167
its recorded history. What is unique about the dāsōha held in the Śirahaṭṭi
monastery is that devotees had—and continue to have—the privilege of
entering the kitchen, cooking their own food, and offering them to their kin
and other followers. Sāvaḷagi Śivaliṅga was also involved in feeding. The
Sāvaḷagi Śrīśivaliṅgēśvarapurāṇa says that he protected people during a
severe drought. Arrangements were made, among other things, for a granary
518

when the maṭha at Sāvaḷagi was constructed. The maṭha continued the
519

tradition of feeding, and one of its pontiffs, the tenth seer from the village of
Karīkaṭṭi, who assumed charge in 1885 and passed away in 1901, was known
by the name, Annadāna Svāmi. The temple of Siddhaliṅga at Yeḍiyūru also
held regular feeding for its devotees. It is in this context that the story of
Fakīrappa producing choice food for his friends from him bag becomes
meaningful. Feeding in times of distress was indeed the logic behind the
miracle of rainmaking and the establishment of maṭhas by Fakīrappa and
Sāvaḷagi Śivaliṅga at a number of locations throughout their journey.
Kalaburagi Śaraṇabasava (1746-1823) was as renowned for feeding as
for the miracles he performed. Known for his powers of conferring children
on barren women, he charged an exorbitant fee for the service, and raised it to
the status of an industry. The rich were expected to pay one thousand rupees
towards dāsōha for being rewarded with a child. Diggāvi Gurubasava and
520

his wife from the village of Harasūru were among the couples that availed of
this service. Those unable to pay this huge amount had other choices open to
521

them. Offering one thousand roṭṭis (breads made of millet flour) for dāsōha
was one of them. Presenting one thousand pieces of firewood for the dāsōha
kitchen was another. The poorest of devotees had the choice of presenting one
thousand flowers for pūja, or making one thousand circumambulations
around the monastery, or chanting the name of Śiva one thousand times as fee
for being blessed with a child. 522

At least since the sixteenth century, annadāna had begun to figure as a

dominant aspect of the political economy of munificence. This is confirmed
by inscriptional as well as literary references. For instance, as early as 1556, a
Keḷadi Nāyaka inscription recorded a grant made for feeding of brāhmaṇas.
The grant was made, when Keḷadi Sadāśiva Nāyaka was chief, by a certain
Cikkadānayya to the feedinghouse (annatsatra) of the agrahāra (brāhmaṇa
settlement) of Tyāgarti to feed three brāhmaṇas everyday. Instances 523

increased in number in the subsequent period. Thirteen years later, in 1569,

when Saṅkaṇṇa Nāyaka was the Keḷadi chief, a merchant called Timmaseṭṭi
endowed land to the Sōmēśvara temple of Hosakēri for the daily feeding of
six brāhmaṇas. Another eleven years later, in 1580, the merchant Īśvaraseṭṭi,
524

son of Gaṇapaseṭṭi, and (his wife?) Saṅkamaseṭṭiti, gave a grant to the newly
built maṭha to the southwest of the Sōmanātha temple in Maṇigārakēri for
feeding six people everyday. Such instances multiplied in the seventeenth
525

168
century. Feeding appeared as a prominent ideal in literary sources too.
Hagiographies regularly spoke of Basava as an incarnate saint who organized
feeding in Kalyāṇa. Here is how Śāntaliṅgadēśikan introduces Basava to his
readers:
In Kalyāṇa, when Basavēśvara Dēva was offering the desired food to ninety-six thousand over one lakh Caramūrtis and
making arrangements to offer the desired food to the Viṭa-Jaṅgamas sporting with twelve-thousand sacred girls….526

We have noticed in chapter 5 how in the legend of Maṇṭēsvāmi, Basava was

identified as a great benefactor of the Jaṅgamas, organizing annadāna for
them regularly, and how Maṇṭēsvāmi intervened to rid Ādi Kalyāṇa free of
the false Jaṅgamas. This story emphasizes in so many words that the
527

undeserving ones are not to be allowed to partake of the food offered during
an annadāna. With lesser recalcitrance and drama, and with a greater measure
of venomous resolve, Ādayya’s wife Padmāvati makes the same point in the
Bhairavēśvara Kāvyada Kathāmaṇisūtra Ratnākara. She was, as we have
seen in chapter 2, a Jaina who fell in love with Ādayya and married him after
converting to Śaivism. Once, her father Pārisaseṭṭi was hosting a group of
Jaina saints. As there was a shortage of food, Pārisaseṭṭi and his wife took the
saints to Padmāvati, who was preparing food to be offered to Śiva. She
ignored the requests for food made by her parents. When they persisted, she
said, “I cannot feed dogs with the food meant for the Lord”. Finally,
Pārisaseṭṭi held her back with force while his wife carried the food to the
saints.528

Adrīśa, in his Prauḍharāyana Kāvya, tells us the story of a certain

Viśvanātha who refused food to a sage, Bhīmamuni, and incurred his wrath to
be born as a man-eater. Viśvanātha was then born as a brahmarākṣasa in the
garden of king Candraśēkhara of Mahadadhipura in Kashmir. After many
twists and turns, he attained release from the curse, and offered annadāna.
This part of the story also speaks of the greatness of jaladāna (offering water)
and kanyādāna (offering a virgin in marriage). The story of Viśvanātha is
529

followed by another anecdote, which underlines the greatness of offering

food. An account of a chief, strikingly named Annadānēśvara, is given in
530

Siddhanañjēśa’s Gururājacāritra. 531

The institution of feeding was advantageous in the larger politics of

munificence, as the regular and recurring act of performance involved in it
carried greater resonance than making one-time endowments in the form of
land, or capital in the form of cash and gold. It constantly invoked the donor
and underlined his piety and benevolence. The results were therefore
immediately gratifying for the donor, and in a manner of speaking, for the one
who partook of the food as well. And in a land of endemic poverty, it was
never difficult to find people who were in need of food.
Feeding was not a new phenomenon in the region. It had a long history,

169
and we learn from inscriptions that it was widely practiced for several
centuries. But the prominence it attained as a value in and after the sixteenth
century was certainly unprecedented. This was by no means restricted to the
Deccan region. In their influential study of the Nāyaka court-life of
Tamilnadu, Narayana Rao, Shulman, and Subrahmanyam found annadāna
pervasive enough to recognize it as a ‘newly prominent institution’. 532

In the Deccan region, annadāna was also coeval with, and constitutive
of, a series of crucial developments in the realm of the political economy. As
monetization came to be deeply entrenched even in rural areas, demands for
revenue from land was increasingly made. After the collapse of the Ādil Śāhi
state in the late seventeenth century, military entrepreneurship expanded by
leaps and bounds. Military labour, drawn from a peasantry rapidly undergoing
dispossession and in need of alternate sources of livelihood, was mostly
deployed in raids of plunder that often culminated in wide spread devastation
of the countryside. These raids were primarily aimed at extracting tributes
from local chiefs and military entrepreneurs. The Marāṭhas excelled in this
business due to their superior use of guerilla manoeuvers.
As early as the late seventeenth century, agricultural production in the
region had to encounter a new situation when the struggle between the
Mughals, the Ādil Śāhi, the Kutb Śāhis, and the Marāṭhas had thrown up a
large presence of military deputations. The need to ensure constant supply of
grains to the military camps was putting greater strain on the peasantry. A
series of drought and epidemics in the late seventeenth century also had a
severe toll on agricultural production. Writes Eaton:
Firstly, a devastating cholera epidemic, which was said to have killed 150,000 people of the Bijapur plateau, commenced
the year fallowing Aurangzeb’s conquest and lasted for three years. Then in 1696 the Bhima River flooded, drowning
many and ruining a year’s harvest in one of the Bijapur plateau’s most productive regions. Worse still was the terrible
famine that scourged the western Deccan in 1717 and plunged the economy of the area into severe instability. As a result
of these calamities both the city and much of the Bijapur plateau suffered widespread death and desertion. A census taken
by Aurangzeb after the fury of the cholera epidemic had abated (around 1690) showed that the city of Bijapur had lost
over half of its former population in just the several years following the Mughal conquest.533

It was in this context that the feeding initiated in the siddha monasteries
produced lasting images of the siddhas as humane, benevolent, gift giving,
and life saving.
Although production slumped, monetization and rising prices ensured a
steady flow of revenue. As the eighteenth century progressed and military
534

entrepreneurship increased, military supply lines also expanded exponentially.

A partial estimate for the year 1786, based on very limited sources, has shown
that 500,000 soldiers were stationed in Karnataka in that year. This, in all 535

likelihood, is only half the actual figure, as estimates for the number of
soldiers with the Pāḷegāras of the south, the chiefs in the Western Ghats and
coastal Karnataka, and the warrior-saints of the north, are not easily
forthcoming. Very few forts yield information concerning the number of

170
garrison soldiers. Considering these facts, an estimate of one million soldiers
in Karnataka at any given time in the late eighteenth century can by no means
be overdrawn. Military evolved to become the greatest labour market after
agriculture, and left deep marks of devastation in its trail.
And then came the inevitable, almost abruptly. As the eighteenth century
came to a close and the nineteenth century commenced, the great militaries
began to be disbanded everywhere in the region. Military entrepreneurship
came to an end, almost with a whimper. This was occasioned by Lord
Wellesley’s policy of Subsidiary Alliance, one of the wisest policies to have
come from the English East India Company. The Company forced the Nizāṃ
of Haidarābād into submission, and defeated and killed the Maisūru ruler
Tīpū Sultān in the Fourth Battle of Maisūru in 1799. Both states were made to
sign the treaty of Subsidiary Alliance, under the terms of which the rulers had
to disband their armies, and host cantonments of the Company’s army at their
own cost. Article II of the treaty, concluded with Maisūru on 8 July 1799,
said:
The Honourable East-India Company Behaudur agrees to maintain, and his Highness Maha Rajah Mysore Kistna Rajah
Oodiaver Behauder agrees to receive a military force for the defence and security of his Highness’s dominions; in
consideration of which protection, his Highness engages to pay the annual sum of seven lacs of Star Pagodas to the said
East-India Company, the said sum to be paid in twelve equal monthly instalments, commencing from the 1st July, A.D.
1799. And his Highness further agrees, that the disposal of the said sum, together with the arrangement and employment
of the troops to be maintained by it, shall be entirely left to the Company.536

This was a humiliating arrangement for the Indian rulers, but a farsighted one
indeed. With Subsidiary Alliance, the reign of endemic warfare of the
eighteenth century was over. Its effects on the dispossessed peasantry were
enormously harsh, though. The prospect of gaining wealth through organized
campaigns of plunder had suddenly become a thing of the past. One million
soldiers, supporting families whose cumulative population was at least five
million by the lowest possible reckoning, were out of work in Karnataka. At
the same time, access to land had become a more distant hope than before.
Never in the bygone days was the angst of dispossession and alienation felt as
chillingly in times of peace. Things changed very quickly in the coming
decades, and soon, an unfamiliar world, the kind of which was never once
imagined in the premodern history of the subcontinent, was beginning to take
shape.
In the early decades of the nineteenth century, the British, and the Indian
rulers, such as the Nizāṃ of Haidarābād and the Divān of Maisūru, initiated a
series of public works, like building roads, bridges, and reservoirs. They also
brought into existence a police force and a bureaucracy, in which the terms of
employment were not based on hereditary rights. As newer projects like the
establishment of schools, hospitals, printing presses, telegraph lines, and
railway lines commenced, and the governments established offices,

171
departments, and commissions to take care of a wide range of activities like
health, public instructions, commerce, and communication, a new labour
force emerged that had few things in common with the erstwhile forms of
labour. A secular labour market had made its arrival. Work in this new labour
market was not governed by principles of inheritance and succession. It was
based on a process of recruitment that was, in principle, impersonal and
bureaucratic. In other words, the labour in the secular labour market was
abstract labour. The centuries-old equation between inheritance of profession,
and the inheritance of land by way of service tenures and other personalized
arrangements, began to wither away rapidly. This was the thin wedge of the
political economy that eventually led to the liquidation of the old world, and
ushered in the new.
The praxis of sainthood was not insulated from these developments. It
began to go through a crucial phase of transition after the closing decades of
the eighteenth century. Miracle-workers continued to thrive and, like their
sixteenth, seventeenth, and early eighteenth century predecessors, built
influential monasteries in different parts of the region. At the same time, a
new class of stand-alone saints appeared. Most of them did not associate
themselves with leading saints, lineages, or monasteries. Few among them
built monasteries of their own. A handful of others were fortunate to have
maṭhas built in their name after their demise. These saints may be called the
tatvapadakāras for want of a better name, as a number of them composed
short songs in a genre called the tatvapada.
Śiśunāḷa Śarīf is the best known among the tatvapadakāra saints. Born
ten miles to the south of Hubbaḷḷi in the village of Śiśunāḷa on 7 March 1819,
Muhammad Śarīf was the son of Hajjūmā and Hazrat Imām Sāhēb. As with
many siddhas, the story goes that the couple had no children for many years.
They appealed to the saint Khādar Śah Vali of Hulagūru, who conferred upon
them a son. Śarīf had his early education at the Kūli maṭha in the village, and
passed the Mulki (matriculation) examination. He also spent many hours with
manuscripts of the Rāmāyaṇa, the Mahābhārata, the Dēvīpurāṇaṃ (of
Cidānanda Avadhūta), and the Prabhuliṅgalīle. He was also attracted towards
popular performance genres like bayalāṭa, and took active part in them. He is
said to have read the works of Sarvajña and Sarpabhūṣaṇa Śivayōgi with great
enthusiasm and devotion. 537

Śarīf might have been proficient in the Persian language, but he also
learnt the Mōdi script, used extensively by the Marāṭha chiefs in their revenue
and other records. Śarīf was obviously seeking employment with the new
bureaucracy. He found a job as a Primary School teacher, and is said to have
worked for some years in the schools of Maṇḍiganāḷa, Kyālakoṇḍa, Pāṇigaṭṭi,
Eribūdihāḷa, and Guñjaḷa. It was around this time that he met the Smārtha
538

brāhmaṇa, Gōvindabhaṭṭa, of the village of Kaḷasa. Impressed by his vast

172
learning and reclusive bent of mind, Śarīf became his disciple.
Śarīf’s conjugal life was short-lived. His wife Fātimā died a few months
after delivering a baby girl. Now, Śarīf became fully absorbed in reading and
meditation under Gōvindabhaṭṭa’s tutelage. A widely popular anecdote is told
about the brāhmaṇa guru and his Muslim disciple in which the people
objected to Gōvindabhaṭṭa imparting religious training to a man without a
sacred thread. An angry Gōvindabhaṭṭa carried out the investiture of Śarīf
with due rites. It was on this occasion that Śarīf sang his popular song, hākida
janivārava, sadgurunātha..., i.e. the great lord guru put the sacred thread on
me.
After Gōvindabhaṭṭa’s death, Śarīf settled down at Śiśunāḷa, and began
to wander sporadically. But unlike the great saints of the preceding centuries,
he did not travel widely across the subcontinent from Kāśi and Badari in the
north to Kanyākumāri and Dhanuṣkōṭi in the south. His destinations were the
towns and villages in parts of the old Dhāravāḍa district. He went to
539

Yalavigi, where he composed a tatvapada in praise of an orchard raised by a

certain Rāmajōgi. He travelled to Śirahaṭṭi where he met the (eighth?) pontiff
of the monastery of Fakīrappa, and sang a tatvapada in his honour. Thus were
spent his days, in wandering, composing and singing songs, begging. The last
decades of his life were plagued by severe poverty and threats from
moneylenders who had given him loans on various occasions. Śarīf died on 7
March 1889, on his seventieth birthday.
The tatvapadas of Śarīf offer a glimpse of his world in particular and the
world of the tatvapadakāra saints in general. It was a world becoming
increasingly obscure and unintelligible. For several centuries, the inheritance
of access to land and profession had in its reified manifestation enabled a self-
understanding in which the self and the world, the soul and the body, and the
sacred and the profane, were meaningfully intertwined into each other in a
manner that nurtured a consciousness based on plenitude, with a great
measure of cognitive if not ontological flexibility between the self and the
other. The profane world with the strange bigotries of its men and women was
not only open to contempt, criticism, reassessment, and reform, but carried
within it potentials to provide similes and metaphors for the sacred. As in a
number of vacanas attributed to Allama and Akkamahādēvi, the world could
participate dialogically in the explorations concerning the divineness for the
self. The new world was different. It had lost, to a substantial extent, its
power of becoming similes and metaphors of the sacred. Unlike Koḍēkallu
Basava or Maṇṭēsvāmi or Sāvaḷagi Śivaliṅga or Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa, the
tatvapadakāras were generally not seen travelling widely, performing
miracles or composing literatures that tried to explore the self or the sacred
and its relationship with the rest of the world. Rather, they already knew
perfectly well what the self was, and where its sources and sacredness lie.

173
Unlike the early hagiographies of Basava, Allama Prabhu, Akkamahādēvi,
and Siddharāma, composed by Harihara, Rāghavāṅka, and Pālkurike
Sōmanātha, where the saints are seen going through critical stages of conflict
in their mind, or the later hagiographies by Cāmarasa and his successors,
where the saints are in full control of the world around them which they
change through their miracles, the tatvapadakāra saints are in a strange
predicament. They already know what they are; they have access to the
farthest corners of the sacred. The sacred is a given that they are endowed
with, and the crises and conflicts in their lives contribute precious little to an
understanding of the sacred, or to greater levels of self-awareness. What they
do not really know are the mysteries of the mundane world with its burden of
day-to-day engagements that are filled with uncertainty. Thus, the activities
and relationships of the mundane world cease to serve as similes and
metaphors of the self or the sacred. The tatvapadakāras explored many a
possibility of transforming the world around them into similes and metaphors,
but the results are far from reassuring. Here, for instance, is one song by Śarīf
where Rāmajōgi’s orchard is deployed as a metaphor.
Look at the garden, my friends!
Look at the play of the great guru!

[The garden] of dharma that became a wonder

with its true knowledge of Brahman,
To destroy a million karmas.

Having become the field in a field / having become void in the void
And with branchless roots,
When the fruits weighing down
sways in the breeze,
[Look at the garden] of those who make it rise up one by one!

[Look at the garden] Rāmajōgi of the great village on earth,

With Yalavigi as its name,
Raised with love,
And where, in the tender forest,
Rāma dwells!

Areca nut, the coconut fruit,

The grace of the banana shoots that sway,
[Look at the garden] of the dark and beautiful song,
with its metre, class, and rhyme,
That our Lord of Śiśunāḷa built in the end!540

An attempt is made in the third stanza to present the orchard as a metaphor for
the six yogic cakras that rise one after the other, but without much success.
And an attempt is made in the last stanza to present the orchard as a song with
the prescribed requirements of prosody, again with little success. Here is
another popular song of Śarīf’s in which the act of swallowing is placed in
relief as a metaphor.
The hen swallowed the monkey,
Look, little sister?

174
 The goat swallowed the elephant,
The wall swallowed the lime,
The percussion swallowed the actress that came to play….

The cavern swallowed the hill,

The ant swallowed the cavern,
The soul swallowed the feet of Gurugōvinda.541

Contrast these poor metaphors drawn from the world around him with Śarīf’s
firm and majestic expression of the knowledge of the self: “I am not what
they call ‘I’,” he says. “I am not the human life. I am not the stuff that
declares you to be Nārāyaṇa, Brahma, and Sadāśiva. I am not this human
body, nor old age and death, not the pleasure of boon and glory, nor am I the
curse of forgetting. I am not the mother, the father, or the son, I am not the
Lord of the world. I am not caste and lineages, nor am I the pollution of love.
I am not the learning or the Vēdas, I am not the one that is merely debating. I
am not the one that dwelt in the self-awareness of nāda, bindu, kaḷā, bhēda,
and vastu. I am not the difference between you and I, I am not the different
forms. (Lord) Śiśunāḷa will not manifest unless I am wiped out, but I am not
the stuff you can wipe out.” The late eighteenth-century saint Sōmekaṭṭe
542

Cannavīra, who was not a stand-alone saint but had a monastery to identify
with, would not have agreed more with these words of Śarīf’s. Here is what
Cannavīra had to say in one of his songs about the self: “You are Śiva, my
dear, do you have an Other? Find out for yourself the difference between You
and I. Learn for yourself, with your own reflection. Stay forever, by knowing
the difference between knowing and forgetting. Find the abode of the
supreme, and learn for yourself, my dear. Mingle in the essence of the world,
and know it for yourself. You are the path for nāda, bindu, and kaḷā. Know
the beginning and the end, and you will realize that you are the soul; the
Ōṃkāra of the beginning is subjected to your consciousness, my dear. Look at
what stands on top of the Tripuṭagiri hill, and dance, my dear. You will find it
shining, like the rays from a prism. You, yes my dear, You are Cannabasava,
the teacher on your forehead.” 543

Śarīf’s understanding of the self is echoed in a song of one of his

contemporaries, Nīralakere Basavaliṅga, who was also not a stand-alone
saint.
I am Brahman, I am the world.
There is nothing other than me, it’s true.544
Who else, without me?
I am non-dual, it’s true.

I am the one that was knowledge, it’s true,

I am the one that was forgetfulness, it’s true.
I am beyond turīya,
transcending knowledge and forgetfulness, it’s true.

I am the one that was aṅga,545 it’s true.

I am the one that was liṅga, it’s true.

175
 I am the one that was saṅga546
between aṅga and liṅga, it’s true.

I am the one that was the eye, it’s true.

I am the one that was the scene, it’s true.
I am the one that was the vision
between the eye and the scene, it’s true.

I am the one who was the teacher, it’s true.

I am the one who was the holy disciple, it’s true.

I am the one who was the secret

between the teacher and the student, it’s true.

I am the one that became I, it’s true.

I am the one that became you, it’s true.
Nīralakerevāsa, bright as a million suns,
I am the one without a sign, it’s true.547

The stand-alone tatvapadakāras had appeared at a time when

dispossession from traditional access to land and profession was rife. Existing
identities, based on caste or religion, were centered mostly on the logic of
inheriting access to land and profession. This logic was now undergoing
disintegration. But caste was yet to undergo its great modern transformation,
and Hinduism was still in an incipient form. Under these circumstances, the
only identity that was immediately accessible to people of the Deccan region
was the places to which they belonged. In the context of dispossession, the
longing for a place might have been all the more tantalizing. The siddha
saints had explored this possibility for nearly four centuries by appending
place-names like Vaḍabāḷa, Diggi, Koḍēkallu, Tinthiṇi, Śirahaṭṭi, Sāvaḷagi,
and so on as prefixes to their names. This became a generalized practice
among the siddhas in the nineteenth century. Saint after saint came to attach
place-name prefixes to their names: Śiśunāḷa Śarīf, Nālatvāḍada Vīrēśa
Śaraṇa, Garagada Maḍivāḷappa, Hosaḷḷi Būdisvāmi, Nāgarahaḷḷi
Śaraṇabasava, Naragundada Vīrappajja, Navalagundada Nāgaliṅga, and so
on. Table 13 gives a list of nineteenth and twentieth-century tatvapadakāras
from the Haidarābād Karnataka region. Note how place-names figure
548

invariably as prefix in all cases.

The disintegrating identities of caste and religion, derived from the
inheritance of access to land, affected the dāsa saints too. As it turned out,
they were also to adopt place-name prefixes in considerable numbers in their
attempt to explore alternate sources of identity. Unlike Kanakadāsa,
Purandaradāsa, Vādirāja, and Śrīpādarāya in the fifteenth and the sixteenth
centuries, Karnataka now had dāsas named Maisūru Veṅkaṭaramaṇadāsa,
Bāgēpalli Subrahmaṇyadāsa, Harapanahaḷḷi Rāmācārya, and Kūḍligi
Madhvācārya. Table 14 gives a list of these dāsa poets.
While the new order with hereditary access to land and profession on the
decline produced a number of stand-alone saints, the monasteries also became

176
deeply rooted in landedness and expanded their influence over the peasantry
by bringing them under their grip as followers in increasing numbers. It was
possible to deploy the surplus labour released by the armies disbanded after
the Subsidiary Alliance towards this end. Many monasteries developed a
hierarchy of followers. The monasteries also won over large sections of the
population as devotees by extending the networks of feeding among the
dispossessed. We have seen how a saint like Kalaburagi Śaraṇabasava
mobilized resources for this purpose.

Table 13. Nineteenth and Twentieth-Century Tatvapadakāras from the

Haidarābād Karnataka Region 549

Sl. No. Name of the Tatvapadakāra

1. Marakundi Basavaṇṇappa
2. Niḍuvañci Bhadrappa
3. Dhummanasūra Siddhaprabhu
4. Kohinūra Hussanasāb
5. Bhūtāḷe Śillappa
6. Bōrgi Rehamānsāb
7. Keñcā Maḍivāḷaśeṭṭi
8. Huḍugiya Gurupādappa
9. Maṅgalagi Nannādsāb
10. Aṣṭūru Narasappa Māstar
11. Muddinavāḍi Azīz Paṭēl
12. Rāmapurada Bakkappa
13. Bidanūru Gaṅgamma
14. Harasūru Aṇavīrappa
15. Kaḍakōḷada Maḍivāḷappa
16. Cennūra Jalālsāb
17. Khainūra Kṛṣṇappa
18. Ainole Karibasavayya
19. Telugabāḷa Rēvaṇṇa
20. Kaḍlēvāḍada Siddhappa
21. Mōṭanaḷḷi Hassansāb
22. Bēnūru Khāki Pīr
23. Dēvāṅgada Guṇḍappa 550

24. Rastāpurada Bhīma

25. Kāḷagi Maśāksāb

177
26. Jāvaḷagi Guruvarēṇya Śaraṇa
27. Mādana Hipparagā Siddharāma
28. Rājōḷada Murugharājēndra
29. Siragāpurada Baṇḍeppa
30. Kauḷūru Siddharāma
31. Jaṃbagi Śaraṇappa
32. Sāvaḷagi Muhammadsāb
33. Kōnāpurada Rāmappa
34. Kvānaḷḷi Honnappa
35. Mahagāvi Vīrāsāb
36. Niṃbōḷi Tippaṇṇa
37. Kalkaṃbada Rukm-ud-dīn Sāb
38. Dēvāṅgada Aṃbārāya
39. Dēvāṅgada Ānandarāya
40. Kūḍalūru Basavaliṅga
41. Gūgallu Parappayya
42. Gabbūra Haṃpaṇṇa
43. Nīralakere Basavaliṅga
44. Santēkallūru Ghanamaṭhada Nagabhuṣaṇa
45. Aravali Bijali Vastādi (i.e. Ustād)
46. Gabbūra Ayyappajja
47. Dēvadurgada Cannamalla
48. Veṅkaṭāpurada Khēmaṇṇa
49. Hosapēṭeya Ayyappa Panthōji
50. Tāḷapaḷḷi Veṅkayya
51. Baḷagānūra Marisvāmi
52. Dēvadurgada Ādi Amāteppa
53. Gabbūra Mārtāṇḍappa
54. Gōnuvāra Baḍēsāb
55. Rāmadurgada Shēikh Abdul Bābā
56. Rāyacūru Hanumantavva
57. Rāyacūru Yaramāreppa
58. Mañjarlāda Khādarsāb
59. Jahīrābādina Tippaṇṇatāta
60. Hosūru Tippaṇṇa
61. Kalmalāda Tāyaṇṇa

178
62. Hērūru Virupaṇṇa
63. Vaḍaki Tātayya
64. Tāḷakēri Basavarāja

Table 14. Nineteenth and Twentieth-Century Dāsa poets with place-name

prefixes
551

Sl. No. Name of the dāsa poet

1. Ēri Nārāyaṇācārya
2. Karajagi Dāsappa
3. Liṅgasugūru Yōgīndrarāya
4. Modalakallu Śēṣadāsa
5. Kōsigi Svāmirāyācārya
6. Tirupati Pāṇḍuraṅgi Huccācārya
7. Harapanahaḷḷi Kṛṣṇācārya
8. Cikkōḍi Ācārya
9. Maisūru Veṅkaṭaramaṇadāsa
10. Kuñcūru Hanumantācārya
11. Burli Hanumantaraṅgarāya
12. Surapurada Prēmadāsa
13. Savadi Rāmacandrappa
14. Kinnāḷada Śrīnivāsadāsa
15. Kākhaṇḍaki Rāmācārya
16. Varavaṇi Rāmarāya
17. Surapurada Ānandadāsa
18. Maḍakaśirāda Bhīmadāsaru
19. Bennūru Rāmācārya
20. Harapanahaḷḷi Rāmācārya
21. Harapanahaḷḷi Śrīpatidāsa
22. Surapurada Bhīmācārya
23. Puṇe Rāghavācārya
24. Mēlnāṭi Lakṣmaṇārya
25. Surapurada Gōpati Viṭhaladāsa
26. Keṃbhāvi Dāsācārya
27. Aḍakalaguṇḍa Bhīmācārya
28. Hōḷi Śēṣagirirāya
29. Sagara Kṛṣṇācārya

179
30. Surapurada Hējīb Kṛṣṇarāya
31. Keṃbhāvi Surēndrarāvu Kulakaraṇi
32. Śaṅkhavaraṃ Veṅkaṭarāghavācārya
33. Bīranūru Kṛṣṇācārya Jōṣi
34. Huṇasīhoḷi Bhīmarāvu Kulakaraṇi
35. Bāgēpalli Subrahmaṇyadāsa
36. Mānvi Guṇḍācārya
37. Gōkāvi Bhīmācārya
38. Citradurgada Rāmacandrarāya
39. Heḷavanakaṭṭe Giriyamma
40. Harapanahaḷḷi Bhīmavva
41. Mudnūru Hanneraṅgadāsa
42. Askihāḷa Gōvindadāsa
43. Kallūra Subbaṇṇācārya
44. Gadvālada Subbaṇṇadāsa
45. Santēbennūru Rāmadāsa
46. Mānā Madurai Dāsa
47. Liṅgasugūru Svāmirāyācārya
48. Gōrābāḷa Hanumantarāya
49. Citradurga Śrīnivāsarāya
50. Doḍḍabaḷḷāpurada Rāghavēndradāsa
51. Bāgēpalli Sēṣadāsa
52. Hoḷēnarasīpurada Bhīmarāya
53. Saragūru Veṅkaṭavaradācārya
54. Galagali Avva
55. Narēgalla Rāmaṇṇa
56. Kamaladāni Nārāyaṇarāya
57. Aihoḷe Bhīmarāya
58. Huyilagōḷa Nārāyaṇarāya
59. Savaṇūru Dūrappadāsa
60. Niḍaguraki Jīvūbāyi
61. Gadvāla Satyācārya
62. Harapanahaḷḷi Veṅkaṭadāsa
63. Karajagi Tīrthappa
64. Honnāḷi Dāsa
65. Kūḍligi Madhvācārya

180
66. Savaṇūru Bādarāyaṇadāsa
67. Santekelūru Varadēśadāsa
68. Ciṭṭūru Śrīnivāsarāya

Śaraṇabasava also practiced agriculture, and encouraged devotees to take

to the farm. During his visit to Parvatābād, he found the area affected by
552

draught and scarcity of food. A famine was looming large over the horizon.
The saint made an appeal for donation of grains and other foodstuffs, set out
on begging tours, and launched feeding, which is said to have averted the
famine. Śaraṇabasava also encouraged several other saints and landlords to
553

practice dāsōha on a large scale. One such saint who initiated feeding was
Daṇḍarāya Śaraṇa of Avarādi. Ādidoḍḍappa Śaraṇa of Kalaburagi was
554

another. Others include Mallikārjunappa Gauḍa of Bidanūru, and Balavanta

555

Śaraṇa of Nāganūru. Balavanta Śaraṇa was the son of Dhūḷavva and

556

Śaraṇappa, a child conferred upon the couple by Śaraṇabasava with the

bidding that the boy will grow up to become a leading practitioner of dāsōha.
Śaraṇabasava is said to have incurred debts while generating resources
for feeding. Not always did he succeed in repaying the loan. Among the
557

moneylenders who failed to recover their loans was a certain Kallappa of

Moraṭagi. After many appeals and threats, he employed a goon of Marāṭha
origins, Rāmji Dāda, for recovering the loan. What followed is
understandably banal. Rāmji reached Śaraṇabasava’s monastery with a group
of gangsters, was overwhelmed by Śaraṇabasava’s charisma and the piety he
practiced, and was persuaded by the saint to give up his rowdy life and
commence feeding. In the meantime, Kallappa’s loan had been repaid, quite
predictably, through a miracle. 558

The practice of feeding instituted by the monasteries, whether by design

to create a huge following, or by a genuine concern for the suffering masses,
was of no mean historical consequence. It shielded the region from the
devastations of famine that turned out to be so frequent in the nineteenth
century. Not that famines were unknown in South Asia before the nineteenth
century or that they never resulted in widespread devastation. However, the
emerging world of dispossession from hereditary access to land and
profession is sure to have made the situation graver than before. Millions died
in the great famines of the nineteenth century in Bengal, Odisha, and Andhra.
The famine of 1866 wiped out a third of Odisha’s population. Not one case
559

of famine was reported from Karnataka for much of the nineteenth century,
except from the Baḷḷāri region, contiguous with the famine-prone Rāyalasīma
district of Andhra, and Mysūru in the south.
In its report submitted in 1880, the Indian Famine Commission of 1878
recorded that the Deccan region was subjected to a severe famine in 1792,

181
and again in 1803. Whether this region included Karnataka is not made clear.
However, no other case of famine was reported until 1878 (when the report
terminates) for the Karnataka region. One instance of scarcity is reported for
the Deccan in 1845, again without clearly indicating if Karnataka was part of
it. The scarcity was occasioned by scanty rainfall in 1844. In contrast, scarcity
was reported in northern Deccan in 1825 and 1834. Besides, in the Baḷḷāri
region, which was more arid and infertile than many other parts of Karnataka
and where fewer monasteries existed, a famine was reported in 1854, and
another in 1866. It is also worthy of note that although Karnataka is known
for its droughts, which in some places like Citradurga occurs every alternate
year, the Famine Commission noticed ‘principal droughts’ in the Deccan only
in 1802 and 1876. The first of these led to a famine in 1803, but the drought
of 1876 had no such implications in northern Karnataka. In Maisūru, though,
the 1876 drought led to a famine in 1877. Note that few monasteries existed
in the Maisūru region, and fewer practiced feeding. In sharp contrast to the
situation in Karnataka, the Madras Presidency, including coastal Andhra,
witnessed famines in 1783, 1792, 1807, 1813, 1824, 1833, 1866 and 1877.
Scarcity affected Haidarābād in 1833 and 1854, and famine visited the region
in 1792, 1803, 1866 and 1877. 560

At a time when large parts of South Asia were reeling under famine and
scarcity, the drought-prone regions of northern Karnataka present us with a
situation that can only be regarded a miracle. And why not? The great
miracle-workers of the region had performed the humble miracle of
organizing feeding in times of plenty as well as in times of distress. As a
result, the droughts and scarcities are only likely to have taken away hundreds
of lives, not millions as in the Bengal and Madras presidencies.
It was in the world of famines and scarcities in the Madras presidency
that Christian missionaries were most active. Here, they arranged for feeding,
of course on a far lesser scale than the siddha monasteries of northern
Karnataka. They also established schools, hospitals, and churches, and carried
out missionary work under their banner. Thousands of people were converted
to Christianity. At about the time of the 1866 famine, a certain Mahimā
Gōsāyī was active in Odisha, redefining the practice of sainthood, and more
significantly, mobilizing resources to feed people in the ṭuṅgis he set up at
different places for the purpose. The following that he won over in the course
of this work were to eventually congeal into a new faith called Mahimā
Dharma, which now has over half a million followers in Odisha. 561

Northern Karnataka did not witness the emergence of any new religious
faith such as the Mahimā Dharma. Nor did Christian missionaries succeed in
winning over converts in this region. The presence of Christianity continues
to be feeble here. Attempts to carry out missionary work were of course not
unknown. Between 1837 and 1851, five missions of the London Missionary

182
Society were established in the Dhāravāḍa region, one each in Dhāravāḍa
(1837), Hubbaḷḷi (1839), Beṭagēri (1841), Malasandra (1841), and
Guḷēdaguḍḍa (1851). “The native population”, observed the missionary,
562

Joseph Mullens, “…have a…hold upon the Hindu religion and the law of the
caste. It was long therefore before the gospel began to tell upon them, and
drew its converts”. And it was a group of goldsmiths and coppersmiths that
563

they succeeded in converting. Among the ‘Nudi Lingaits’, Mullens noticed

564

the German Missionaries of Dhāravāḍa and the London Missionaries of

Beḷagāvi ‘making the most rapid progress’. Here is his description of the
565

extent of progress made:

On one occasion, a Lingait priest, with two hundred of his followers came to visit Mr. Albrecht at Dharwar. The visit
occurred on a Sunday morning, and the whole company attended public worship, behaving in the most proper and orderly
manner. They brought with them a number of Christian books which they had previously received and assured the
missionary not only that they constantly studied them, but were convinced that they were true, while their own books
were false. They even asserted also their full belief in the Lord Jesus and called themselves his disciples. A year or two
later Mr. Würth of Hoobly, travelling through the country, came upon another band of these disciples with their guru.
They had never seen a missionary but had received a large number of Canarese tracts, one or two theological treatises,
and a Canarese New Testament. They also professed their faith in the Lord’s divinity and quoted passages to prove it.

And then comes the anti-climax.

Many of the Lingaits continued to visit the missionaries; and at length in the year eighteen hundred and forty-eight, four
were baptized. One of these was a priest and from the influence he possessed proved very zealous and useful in bringing
his former disciples and companions to the missionary. In the same year, three young men, Lingaits, two of whom were
priests, came in to Dharwar from a village a hundred miles distant. They had received some tracts at second-hand and
were greatly struck with their contents. A young christian [sic] came into their village, read over the books with them, and
induced them to go with him into a temple at some distance that they might worship God together in secret. By degrees as
they continued to study these books, they obtained a clear knowledge of the gospel and seemed thoroughly to be
converted men. They were soon after baptized. Similar baptisms of Lingaits have also taken place in Belgaum.566

This, then, was the ‘rapid progress’ made: success in converting four people
at one mission, three at another, and so on. Northern Karnataka was not in
need of the Christian missionaries. They had their own miracle-working saints
and their monasteries that offered them food in times of distress, and
eminently addressed their spiritual needs.
We have now come to the end of what we have chosen to call a
prehistory of Hinduism. This prehistory commenced with the emergence of
religious identities in the eleventh and the twelfth centuries, passed through
many a vicissitude from knowledge, travel, and warfare, to penance, miracles,
and feeding, and in the end reached a strange world of alienations and
dispossessions. It was this new world that gave birth to Hinduism. The
manner in which it happened is very important in the light of the prehistory
we have traced. We must therefore end this study with a prolegomenon that
point to signposts of this process, and opens up fresh avenues for
understanding what Hinduism is.

494 On Malik Amber and his innovation of guerilla warfare, see Gordon 1998: 42-45.

183
495 Ibid., 45.
496 Ibid., 194.
497 Ibid., 144.
498 Ibid.
499 Mansabdāri was a system of revenue and military tenure created by the Mughal ruler Akbar (r. 1556-1605). See Richards
1993: 63-68.
500 Devadevan 2010a.
501 Ibid.
502 The reference is perhaps to Ali II (r. 1656-1672).
503 In other accounts, this miracle is said to have been performed by Amīn-ud-dīn himself. See Hanif 2000: 36-41 for a brief
account of Amīn. Also see Eaton 1978.
504 Fakīrappa (from Fakīr) is a common name among the Vīraśaivas in the region even to this day. Other Islamic names adopted
by the Vīraśaivas include Pīraṇṇa (from Pīr) and Husēnavva (from Hussain).
505 The reference is to Tinthiṇi Mōnappa. On this saint, see the rather mediocre Padasetti 1992, which is the only existing study
on him. While hagiography places the birth of Mōnappa after the demise of Amīn (insofar as he is treated as a reincarnation of the
latter), the available historical evidence shows that the two saints were contemporaries. Tinthiṇi is on the river Kṛṣṇa, and lies
twenty-five kilometres to the east of Koḍēkallu. It does not take more than five hours to travel from Tinthiṇi to Koḍēkallu by foot.
It took me three hours and forty minutes to cover this distance in 2002. In 2013, when I was older by eleven years and heavier by
nineteen kilograms, I walked in the opposite direction from Koḍēkallu to Tinthiṇi in four hours and twenty-five minutes.
506 We have seen in chapter 5 that Tōṇṭada Siddhaliṅga is also credited with lighting a lamp with water.
507 The first full-length hagiography of Fakīrappa, composed in the traditional ṣaṭpadi metres, was completed by Dyāmpurada
Canna as late as 1945. This period of widespread communal hatred unfurling against the backdrop of the impending partition of
India is likely to have influenced the poet. It is under this historical circumstance that Fakīrappa’s relationship with Amīn-ud-dīn
came to be interpreted as exemplifying, and intended to send out the message of, harmony between the Hindus and the Muslims.
508 Note that we are reproducing a hagiography for purposes of historical analysis; Akbar died in 1605, at least half a century
before Fakīrappa was born.
509 Aṅkuś Khān was an influential and widely popular Ādil Śāhi official, who built the Jummā Masjid of Lakṣmēśvara in 1617.
He is unlikely to have been alive when Fakīrappa arrived in the region towards the close of the seventeenth century or in the early
years of the eighteenth century. Aṅkuś Khān enjoys a wide following in this region, and is revered as a Sūfi saint.
510 The Śirahaṭṭi maṭha has had thirteen successors so far, conveniently named as Fakīra Siddharāma Svāmi I, Fakīra Śivayōgi
Svāmi I, Fakīra Cannavīra Svāmi I, Fakīra Siddharāma Svāmi II, Fakīra Śivayōgi Svāmi II, Fakīra Cannavīra Svāmi II, Fakīra
Siddharāma Svāmi III, Fakīra Śivayōgi Svāmi III, Fakīra Cannavīra Svāmi III, Fakīra Siddharāma Svāmi IV, Fakīra Śivayōgi
Svāmi IV, Fakīra Cannavīra Svāmi IV and Fakīra Siddharāma Svāmi V.
511 Source: Siddharama Swami 2002: 228-229. Table 12 updates the information and rectifies the errors contained in the source.
512 Araganji 2001: 142.
513 Ibid., 144.
514 Ibid., 143.
515 Ibid., 144.
516 Ibid., 143.
517 No. 120, Kavyapremi 1995.
518 Sāvaḷagi Śrīśivaliṅgēśvarapurāṇa, 12.20-23.
519 Ibid., 14.51.
520 Hiremath 1991: 177. The work under reference seems to be based on Hiremath’s PhD dissertation, entitled
Śaraṇabasavēśvararu Hāgū Avara Parisarada Sāhitya (in Kannada). I have not had access to this dissertation.
521 Ibid., 161.
522 Ibid., 177.
523 No. 8, Jois 1991.
524 No. 26, Ibid.
525 No. 30, Ibid.
526 Bhairavēśvara Kāvyada Kathāmaṇisūtra Ratnākara, 394.
527 Maṇṭēsvāmi, 2 (‘Kalyanada Salu’).
528 Bhairavēśvara Kāvyada Kathāmaṇisūtra Ratnākara, 283.
529 Prauḍharāyana Kāvya, 8.
530 Ibid.
531 Gururājacāritra, 1.9.
532 Narayana Rao, Shulman and Subrahmanyam 1992: 203.
533 Eaton 1978: 270.
534 Devadevan 2010a.
535 Devadevan 2010b.
536 Treaties and Engagements with Native Princes and States in India, Concluded for the Most Part in the Years 1817 and 1818,
ii.
537 Gubbannavara 1999: xxx.
538 These may not have been the places where Śarīf actually worked. At a time when institutions imparting modern education did
not exist in several leading towns and commercial centres of the region, it is unlikely that remote and thinly populated villages
such as Maṇḍiganāḷa, Kyālakoṇḍa, Pāṇigaṭṭi, Eribūdihāḷa and Guñjaḷa were endowed with Primary Schools.
539 The old Dhāravāḍa districts were divided into the Dhāravāḍa, the Gadaga, and the Hāvēri districts by the Government of
Karnataka in 1994.
540 No. 123, Gubbannavara 1999.
541 No. 253, Ibid.

184
542 No. 225, Ibid.
543 Sōmekaṭṭe Cannavīra Svāmigaḷa Kṛtigaḷu, 23.94. The word niṭila, forehead, in the last line appears to have been used to
fulfill the requirements of the second-syllable rhyme (which rule, however, is violated in the first line of the last stanza). What
Cannavīra perhaps intended was nikhila, universal.
544 ‘nija’, one’s own. This is among the earliest instances in Kannada where the word is used to mean ‘truth’.
545 ‘aṅga’, body.
546 ‘saṅga’, union.
547 No. 94, Nīralakere Basavaliṅga Śivayōgigaḷa Svaravacanagaḷu.
548 The districts of Bīdara, Kalaburagi, Yādagiri, Rāyacūru and Koppaḷa, which were earlier under the Nizāṃ of Haidarābād, are
together known as Haidarābād Karnataka.
549 Source: Sabarad 2000.
550 Dēvāṅga is the name of a village in the Āḷande tālūk of Kalaburagi district, and should not be mistaken for the weaver caste,
also called Dēvāṅga.
551 Source: Parthasarathy 2013: 1856-1859.
552 Hiremath 1991: 176.
553 Ibid., 93.
554 Ibid., 97-99.
555 Ibid., 99-101.
556 Ibid., 102-104.
557 Ibid., 92.
558 Ibid., 102-103.
559 On the demographic and economic consequences of this famine, see Mohanty 1993. Mohanty estimates that death toll in the
1866 famine was “higher than one million”, Ibid., 57.
560 Report of the Indian Famine Commission, 1880, Part – 1, p. 21-22. Also see Digby 1878.
561 For an introduction to the Mahimā Dharma, see Eschmann 1978 and Bahinipati 2009. For advanced discussions, Banerjee-
Dube 2001 and Banerjee-Dube and Beltz 2011.
562 Mullens 1854: 41.
563 Ibid.
564 Ibid.
565 Ibid., 42.
566 Ibid., 43-44.

185
7 Epilogue
In the preceding chapters, we have traced a prehistory of Hinduism. This is
only one of the many possible prehistories of its kind. The geographic region
identified for study, and the limited number of traditions of renunciation
chosen for analysis, restrict its scope and details. It is not an exhaustive
account of the traditions within the region either, as we have not said a word
about many important religious centres such as Śrīraṅgapaṭṭaṇa, Mēlukōṭe,
and Mantrālaya, or about influential saints such as Sarvajña, Sarpabhūṣaṇa
Śivayōgi, and Kaḍakōḷada Maḍivāḷappa. Several other prehistories of
Hinduism can indeed be written, both within the region and beyond. Such
accounts have the potential to yield historical information that is as yet
unknown to the Anglophone academia. They offer fresh perspectives and
possibilities of understanding that are, to say the least, intriguing in their own
strange ways. More importantly, they point to the intellectual limits of the
existing historical, Indological, and anthropological scholarship concerning
religious life in South Asia.
In the light of what the foregoing discussions tell us, we may venture to
outline a frame of reference through which a fresh assessment of the
development of Hinduism in the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries can be
carried out.
There are a number of focal points in the story told in the preceding
chapters. Two of them are of decisive significance for understanding how
Hinduism was constructed. The first is the saint, occurring in various guises
to engender the ethics of enterprise and complacency. Religious life in
premodern India tended to gravitate towards him—and, at times, her—to a
considerable extent, although this was hardly the sole feature of religion, as
far as its practitioners were concerned. The second point of focus is class
relations, figuring largely on an occupational plane in the form of complex
and deep-rooted relationships between the peasantry, the trading and artisan
groups, and the political elites. What happens to these two focal points in the
course of the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries is central to our
understanding of the development of Hinduism.
Before entering into this discussion, an important aspect of the political
economy of the preceding century, brought into relief in chapters 5 and 6,
needs to be emphasized again. During the later half of the eighteenth century,
the peasantry in the Deccan region faced large-scale dispossession from their
traditional access to land due to extensive monetization of landed wealth. In a
technical sense, this must be understood as an instance of alienation,
involving a de facto dispossession from the means of production. Eighteenth
century sources tell us that dispossession from land (and, therefore, from the

186
means of production) led increasingly to slavery or bonded labour in its
agrestic form. Classical economic theory, especially in its Marxist variant,
identifies dispossession from the means of production as a central feature of
the capitalist economy. We must, with a measure of caution, make an attempt
to revise this position. For, instances of dispossession were fairly common in
the Deccan region for well over a millennium before the eighteenth century,
and had begun to occur on an increased scale after the sixteenth century.
However, the dispossessed had the (inevitable) choice of taking to begging, or
getting absorbed as slaves or bonded labour, both agrestic and domestic. 567

One of the earliest examples of this kind comes from the story of
Niṃbiyakka, narrated by Harihara in the late twelfth century. When
Niṃbiyakka and her father lost all their possessions, they decided to take to
begging. But modesty forbade them from begging in the place of their birth.
So the two travelled to another city, where under the shelter of anonymity,
they commenced a new life as beggars. Then came the worse, when the father
was afflicted with a disease. With no other choice of survival available to
them, the father urged Niṃbiyakka to save his life by becoming a tottu, a
slave offering sexual services to her master. A dutiful daughter that she was,
568

Niṃbiyakka promptly submitted. In the following centuries, tottus, slaves,

569

and bonded labourers became a regular feature of the labour market.

However, a new possibility had opened up by the eighteenth century. The
dispossessed could become a stand-alone saint. Cidānanda Avadhūta, whom
we have mentioned on a couple of occasions before, is an exemplar of this
new possibility.
Cidānanda’s life is recounted in the Cidānandāvadhūta Cāritra, a
hagiography by his disciple Ayyappa. According to this work, the Avadhūta
is born Jhaṅkappa to the couple, Annamma and Lakṣmīpati, in the village of
Hiriya Harivāṇa near Ādavāni. Following the partition of the family property
among the brothers, Lakṣmīpati’s fortunes begin to decline. He moves to the
village of Hebbāḷa near Gaṅgāvati with his wife and son to find work. Soon,
Lakṣmīpati and Annamma pass away, and Jhaṅkappa is orphaned. He is
raised by Paṃpakka, the daughter of a village functionary, Nāgappa. Within 570

a few years, the boy is initiated into renunciation as Cidānanda. He travels

widely, and becomes a master of haṭhayōga and rājayōga. He also turns out
to be a poet of great merit. Among his works are the Dēvīpurāṇaṃ and the
Jñānasindhu. Although his story resembles the accounts of earlier saints like
Koḍēkallu Basava, Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa, Tinthiṇi Mōnappa, and Sāvaḷagi
Śivaliṅga in its broad outlines, the differences are too significant to be
overlooked. Firstly, Cidānanda is said to be the legitimate son of Annamma
and Lakṣmīpati, and not a child conferred by a saint. Secondly, very little is
said about the miracles he performed. Thirdly, Cidānanda built no monastery,
nor did he identify with an existing one. He stood alone, dispossessed of land

187
and family, encountering alienation in its stark form. Cidānanda was truly a
stand-alone saint in its archetypal manifestation.
It was possible for the dispossessed to become a saint even in earlier
times, as the life of Ānanda Tīrtha’s brother Viṣṇu Tīrtha in the thirteenth
century suggests. This trend continued into the nineteenth and the twentieth
centuries. Nīralakere Basavaliṅga was one such saint, who was sent to a
monastery at a young age when his parents could not raise him due to
poverty. An alternative possibility was to attach oneself to a monastery in
some capacity or the other. This pattern is typified by the life of Bidanūru
Gaṅgamma, who ended up in a monastery to become the mistress of its
pontiff, who sired her son Kaḍakōḷada Maḍivāḷappa to the consternation of
the town’s orthodoxy. However, the stand-alone saint, without a monastery
571

to support him or her, was clearly a new development.

It was in this context of dispossession, disbanding of armies (discussed
in chapter 6), and the rise of the stand-alone saint that a historically far-
reaching development began to unfurl across different parts of South Asia in
the nineteenth century. This was the genesis of a secular labour market. Under
the aegis of Indian rulers and chiefs (who presided over the ‘princely states’)
as well as under the British administration, initiatives were undertaken to set
up schools, colleges, hospitals, industries like cotton mills, paper mills, and
printing press, railway and telegraph lines, etc. The state was beginning to
play an increasing role in the development and control of infrastructure such
as roads, bridges, irrigational installations, and other public utilities on a scale
hitherto unknown in the subcontinent’s history. The functioning of the state
was thoroughly reorganized along modern bureaucratic lines. These
developments led to the emergence of a new labour market that was secular in
nature, and not determined by lineage, caste, and religion, at least in theory.
In any case, the new labour market was not organized around principles of
hereditary succession. The secular labour market, with its homogenizing
abstract labour, was the cornerstone that eventually dismantled the old world
and ushered in the new. The making of modern South Asia is generally
attributed to forces like colonialism (and colonial modernity), nationalism, the
arrival of the printing press, the great decennial census operations,
introduction of modern education, and the development of newer forms of
knowledge. None of these explanations appear to be persuasive. Modern
South Asia was brought into existence by the secular labour market and its
abstract labour, in the making of which colonialism and the other forces at
best played roles of varying significance. We have seen that Śiśunāḷa Śarīf
was a schoolteacher before becoming a saint. Aṣṭūru Narasappa Māstar and
Hosapēṭeya Ayyappa Panthōji were also schoolteachers. Dēvadurgada Ādi
Amāteppa was a revenue official of the Nizāṃ of Haidarābād, perhaps a
member of the Nizāṃ’s Local Fund Committee. None of these positions was

188
inherited.
With hereditary labour coming under increasing disfavour, the
longstanding relationship between the inheritance of access to land on the one
hand, and the inheritance of labour on the other, came to be liquidated.
Simultaneously, and perhaps in consequence, absolute ownership of land with
clearly defined, and legally sanctioned titles began to emerge as the norm.
The prevailing practice of multiple tiers of control over land and multiple
shades of access to its proceeds began to gradually wither away, culminating
in the great land reforms of the later half of the twentieth century. The
dissolution of the land-labour relationship also led to the weakening of the
centrality once enjoyed by lineage groups (kula, vaṃśa, etc.); for the
inheritance of land did not ensure inheritance of labour anymore. This is the
reason why most South Asians today are able to remember their grandfather
and some of his activities, and in many cases, recall at least the name of their
great grandfather if not his acts, but have absolutely no knowledge about the
generations preceding him. This is a far cry from the world brought to us by
the inscriptions, literary works, and texts like the vaṃśāvalis and kaifiyats,
where the acts of many generations in the family line are recorded. Modern
South Asians have mastered the art of speaking about five thousand years of
their nation’s past, but cannot trace the genealogy of their own families
beyond their great grandfather!
The brāhmaṇas and the scribes were the most powerful groups that stood
to benefit from this process. Two factors contributed to the advantageous
position they enjoyed. One, in the predominantly illiterate world of South
Asia, they had a neartotal monopoly over the use and abuse of writing. Two,
they did not constitute castes in their own right, but were literacy-driven
classes. Different group of castes with their own theories and practices
represented the class of brāhmaṇas and scribes in their respective regions, so
that the Mādhvas of coastal Karnataka had precious little to share with the
Naṃbūdiris of Kerala, who in turn had few things in common with the
Mohāpātras of Odisha or the Dēśpāṇḍes of Maharashtra. The Hinduism that
was in the making served the class interests of these literate groups.
The new secular labour market did not gravitate towards a lineage group.
Rather, it drew upon a community of the working class, so to speak. The
identities which this class sought to forge were, therefore, not lineage based,
but community oriented. The model for such a community was provided by
the production relations governing the new urban working class, with its
hierarchies, associations, cooperation, and divisions of labour. It is also likely
that the British military cantonments of the nineteenth and the early twentieth
centuries produced images of a close-knit, cohesive, and homogenizing
community, which reinforced the idea of the community modelled after
working class production relations. These developments made it possible for

189
the idea of community-based identities to be gainfully articulated. This was
how nationalisms and sub-nationalisms, in their secular, religious, ethnic, and
linguistic variants, found expression in South Asia. And this was how caste,
imagined as a community based on principles of endogamy and exogamy,
came to be redefined as the central institution of the South Asian world. The
great religious community of Hinduism was also created in this context of
community-based identities.
How was Hinduism created? We may bring our study to a close by
making a set of preliminary remarks that address this question. The theory
and history of Hinduism, and its practice, were brought into existence by the
upwardly mobile, literate, and mostly male intelligentsia of the nineteenth
century. This intelligentsia consisted of the upper class and the white collared
sections of the middle class. The lower class and the lower rungs of the
middle class were not privy to this historical enterprise. The peasantry was
also conspicuous by its absence.
This class character informed the histories of Hinduism that came to be
written. It was a largely text-based history, in which religious works of
antiquity in Sanskrit, like the Vēdas, the Upaniṣads, the Purāṇas, the
Rāmāyaṇa, and the Mahābhārata, occupied the central place. Śaṅkara’s
system of advaita became the theoretical fulcrum of this new religion. Hope,
inaction, and prayer were its ideals. (Note that hope, inaction, and prayer in
the form of petitioning were also the ideals of the Moderate phase of the
Indian National Congress.) Knowledge sprang from the written word in its
new guise as the printed book. This meant that the living saint as a repository
of knowledge was no longer of any use. Thus, saints and their genealogies
came to be sidelined in the histories of Hinduism. If the names of selected
saints (such as Śaṅkara, Rāmānuja, Kabīr, and Tulsīdās) were regularly
invoked, it was because they had allegedly gained a clear understanding of the
ancient vaidic wisdom, or had fought against oppression and inequality that
stained the otherwise spotless fabric of the wonder called Hinduism. Contrary
to contemporary understandings concerning forms of secular knowledge,
these histories did not understand ethics, morality, and spiritual knowledge as
processes subject to change, revision, and rejection, but as eternally true
revelations contained in the scriptures. This order of things did not warrant
the presence of the living saint, for what the saint had to say was now made
available in the printed book, the new repository of knowledge. Inasmuch as
the focus was on knowledge and values, and not on labour or enterprise, the
histories of Hinduism had no reason to provide space for the peasantry, who
embodied labour and enterprise as substance as well as metaphor. Thus was
created the foundations of a new religion, which cherished spiritual
knowledge and values in their written form, and sidelined the ideals of labour
and enterprise. In other words, Hinduism was created by the abolition of the

190
saint and the peasant. This mode of representing Hinduism attained full-
blown proportions in the twentieth century.
Alienation from traditional access to land and profession had severe
psychological implications. It created a deep sense of void, and lasting images
of loss: loss of possession, belongingness, and meaning. Paradigms of self-
awareness that were deeply engrained in the psyche for many centuries were
overthrown by the secular labour market and the great anxieties and
uncertainties it precipitated. Alienation was now absolute. With possibilities
of exercising control over the means of production becoming a distant dream,
a lasting sense of vacuum and victimization crept in. The new identities that
came to be forged by the existential need for selfawareness were profoundly
informed by this sense of victimization, and a craving for retributive justice.
Nationhood was one such identity. Caste as a closed endogamous group was
another. The making of Hinduism in the late nineteenth and the early
twentieth centuries was determined by the same existential imperative.
It is not surprising, therefore, that the earliest attempts to articulate
Hinduism by the Indians were often made in response to Christian missionary
initiatives. Advocates of Hinduism carried out spiteful propagandas against
Christianity and its missionaries. The sense of void and victimization caused
by being uprooted from the inheritance of access to land and profession
shaped the modern Indian’s unconscious, and made alienation a defining
feature of the modern individual. By a reified extension, a desire for
retributive justice also became a necessary component of the unconscious. In
its conscious forms of articulation, Christian missionaries appeared as the
target of attack. Conscious attempts in this direction are too many and too
familiar to be enumerated. However, inasmuch as alienation in general
functioned unconsciously in the efforts to articulate Hinduism, one notices
that grievances against the Christians were recorded even from the most
unlikely quarters. Swami Vivekananda was among the tallest representatives
and exponents of Hinduism in the nineteenth century. His eclectic approach to
other religions is well known, as is his deep admiration for Christianity. Yet,
he took time to make the following remarks at the World’s Parliament of
Religions in Chicago:
Christians must always be ready for good criticism, and I hardly think that you will mind if I make a little criticism. You
Christians, who are so fond of sending out missionaries to save the soul of the heathen—why do you not try to save their
bodies from starvation? In India, during the terrible famines, thousands died from hunger, yet you Christians did nothing.
You erect churches all through India, but the crying evil in the East is not religion—they have religion enough—but it is
bread that the suffering millions of burning India cry out for with parched throats. They ask us for bread, but we give
them stones. It is an insult to a starving people to offer them religion; it is an insult to a starving man to teach him
metaphysics. In India a priest that preached for money would lose caste and be spat upon by the people. I came here to
seek aid for my impoverished people, and I fully realised how difficult it was to get help for heathens from Christians in a
Christian land.572

In his Hinduism: Doctrine and Way of Life, C. Rajagopalachari, expressed his

reverence for Christianity by alluding to how the modern world had moved

191
away from its values.
It is indeed a miracle that earnest Christians preserve both their faith and their psychological health under the conditions
of current national and international activities. The State permits, aids and abets the wholesale infringement of what is
daily read and formally taught as the word of Christ. Yet, almost all the citizens of the State profess religion and believe
themselves to be Christians. They duly celebrate Christian rites and festivals. The reign of relentless private competition,
the right to make maximum private profit at the expense of others and the exploration of every advantage got by accident
or acquired by enterprise, so that the differences between man and man may grow in geometric progression, are all plain
denials of Christ.573

Yet, Rajagopalachari did not fail to express his grievance against Christian
missionaries in India for the harm done to Hinduism.
The claim may to outsiders seem strange, especially to those whose knowledge of Hinduism has been derived from the
information supplied by the Christian missionaries of an older generation. As we are not, however, living in the times of
the proselytizing Christian missions whose one function was to show that Hinduism was good for nothing, it may be
hoped that the claim made in this book will receive a fair examination at the hands of sincere thinkers.574

Thus, grievance and a sense of victimization were to be seen not only among
the ideologues of Hindutva, like Vinayak Damodar Savarkar and Madhav
Sadashiv Golwalkar, but also among sober spokesmen of Hinduism, as
exemplified by the critiques of Vivekananda and Rajaji.
In the twentieth century, Islam became the chief target against which the
unconscious longing for retributive justice found its conscious expression.
The rest— from the partition of the subcontinent in 1947 to the demolition of
the Babri Masjid in 1992, the Gujarat communal pogram of 2002, and the
lynching that occurred at Dadri when these pages were being written—is
history.
The making of Hinduism was not a smooth process, though. Action
oriented themes were beginning to register their presence as early as the late
nineteenth century in opposition to the advocacy of hope, inaction, and
prayer. Representatives of this tendency—Swami Vivekananda, Dayananda
Saraswati, Bal Gangadhar Tilak, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi—were to
draw inspiration from the Bhagavadgītā. The Gītā itself was poorly
understood, and continues to be so. But two of its sayings became great
religious slogans: i) one has a right only over action, never over the fruits of
action, and ii) I (Lord Kṛṣṇa) appear whenever dharma is debilitated and
575

adharma triumphs; I return in every age to protect the virtuous, destroy the
wicked, and establish dharma. Vivekananda was one of the earliest
576

exponents of action-oriented Hinduism. The Arya Samaj, which the Hindu

orthodoxy of the day strongly reproached, was another powerful advocate of
action. The living saint had a substantial role to play in this alternative
understanding of Hinduism. Nevertheless, his presence was not decisive or
central to the process. Nor was his a monastic sainthood. There was no
emphasis on the genealogies either. Against this backdrop emerged the
Extremist faction of the Indian National Congress, which embodied a saintly
countenance while at the same time advocating action. Tilak and Aurobindo

192
were the trendsetters in this regard. Things changed remarkably when Gandhi
took charge of the national movement. With him, the image of the saint (with
a monastery, but without a lineage of teachers) became central once again.
Gandhi brought his saintly image to bear upon the peasantry, whom the
Moderates and the Extremists had consistently ignored. Only with the
participation of the peasantry did the national movement attain the shape of a
mass movement. In consequence, the rank and file of Hinduism expanded
exponentially. The peasantry’s ethic of labour and action had to be
incorporated into Hinduism now. It was not a one-way traffic though. The
religious practices of the peasantry were substantially altered in the process. It
is from this class character of Indian nationalism and its relationship with
Hinduism that the source of tension between Gandhi on the one hand and the
Extremists and the Hindu hardliners on the other arises.
Similar tensions mark the history of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh
(RSS), the most important and influential organization of the Hindu
orthodoxy. This is manifested in the deep differences between Madhav
Sadashiv Golwalkar, who became the second chief (sarsanghchalak) of the
RSS in 1940, and Madhukar Dattatreya Deoras, who succeeded him in 1973.
Golwalkar was an advocate of ‘constructive work’, which included initiatives
in community development, vocational training, and employment, the
promotion of indigenous (dēśi) goods and products, and rescue and
rehabilitation works in times of natural disasters, wars, and insurgency.
Besides, it also involved training in martial art and self-defense in the śākhās,
and establishing educational institutions where the curriculum was focused on
‘character building’ and the cultivation of a ‘Hindu national consciousness’.
There was a battle to be waged against ‘enemies of the nation’—precisely the
Muslims and the communists— but this was postponed to an indefinite future,
to be realized in the fullness of time. The insider critic, Sanjeev Kelkar, aptly
summarizes the message it sent out to the activist:
It offered them a target larger than their life but demanded only moderate sacrifice and moderate courage. It gave them a
sense of power, of being together and being a part of an organisation. It gave them confidence to face the disadvantages in
life at a time when India was poor, starved and had locked itself into a state of stasis. This brand of patriotism and
heroism did not demand the courage of revolutionaries.577

Golwalkar abjured publicity, rarely appeared before the media, and presented
a saintly image that promoted his vision of ‘character building’. Deoras was
sharply opposed to this order of things, and shared a very difficult relationship
with Golwalkar. As soon as he took charge as sarsanghchalak, he worked out
a new plan of action for the RSS. He insisted on direct political action, and
appeared frequently in the media. The Anti Congress movement (or the JP
movement) that was taking shape in the country in the early 1970s under the
leadership of Jayaprakash Narayan, provided a platform for bringing the
Hindu right into the political mainstream. In the course of the next two

193
decades, the RSS succeeded in reaching out to the peasantry and the
backward castes. Groups that had remained outside the fold of the Hinduism
that arose in the late nineteenth century were now vigorously mobilized into
the service of Hindu nationalism. The siddha monasteries became important
loci of organizing Hindu activism and militancy at the local level.
From the early 1980s, the Sangh Parivar began to address the question of
Hinduness or Hindutva at the level of legends, symbolism, rituals, and
everyday practices. Its intensity increased in the 1990s and the first fifteen
years of the twentyfirst century. It involved many calculated strategies,
measures, and initiatives. Devotion to Rāma, and reclaiming his place of
birth, Ayōdhyā, as a sacred centre for all Hindus, was one such initiative, and
by far the most scandalous of all. It found expression through Ramanand
Sagar’s popular television serial, Rāmāyaṇ, the Bharatiya Janata Party leader
Lal Krishna Advani’s rath yatra of 1990, and the kār sēva that culminated in
the destruction of the Bābri Masjid at Ayōdhyā on 6 December 1992. Another
programme of the Sangh parivar was to intervene and cause changes in the
rites and ceremonies related to marriage and conjugal life. Women in Odisha
were introduced to the maṅgalsūtra—hitherto alien to the region—as the arch
symbol of marriage. The practice of applying vermillion (sindūra) at the spot
above a woman’s forehead, where the hair is parted, was unknown to Kerala.
The Sangh Parivar successfully introduced it in the state in the late 1990s.
Other means adopted to develop Hinduism as a popular religion at the level of
practice include the generalization of festivals like Dīpāvaḷi (Divāli),
Vināyaka Caturthi, Navarātri, Karvā Chauth, Rakṣābandhan, Hōlī etc.
Ceremonies like the Satyanārāyaṇa Pūja, Akṣaya Tṛtīya, and Guru Pūrṇimā
were now performed widely, yōga, astrology, and Āyurvēda were redefined as
legacies of the Hindu intellect, satsaṅgs and sessions of bhajans and kīrtans
were performed day after day in temples and āśrams, the neoconservative
opposition towards conversions to Christianity and Islam reinforced through
propaganda, and new centres of pilgrimage invented in different parts of the
country, including some, like Vaiṣṇōdēvi and Amarnāth, in the strife-ridden
Jammu and Kashmir. Like a Christian visiting a Church or a Muslim offering
namāz, the Hindus were expected to become absorbed into the newly-defined
religious universe of their own with the consciousness that this was ordained
upon them by their religion. These efforts were successful to a large extent.
Only now are we witnessing the real beginnings of Hinduism as faith,
canon, practice, and identity. We are on the threshold of a new era. This is
one of the great moments in the religious history of the Indian subcontinent in
particular and humankind in general, when close to a sixth of humankind,
with its large number of assorted traditions, beliefs, practices, rites, rituals,
and legends, are being united, and directed towards a common destiny. It is a
tragedy that this project, like the great enterprise of Ādayya and Ēkānta

194
Rāmayya, is proceeding along ethically misbegotten lines. It is moving on the
lines directed by the venomous Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh and the
virulent Sangh Parivar that it has brought into existence. Inevitably enough,
this great unification is governed by hate, suspicion, mistrust, intolerance, and
finally, deep violence, both physical and psychological. There is certainly no
hope in the foreseeable future, because although progressive forces of our
times have the power to unite and give Hinduism a new shape, purpose,
direction, and meaning, Hinduism will still continue to be a reified face of the
unconscious, craving for retributive justice, an unconscious created by far-
reaching historical forces that in the course of the late eighteenth, the
nineteenth and the twentieth centuries dispossessed men and women in the
subcontinent of their traditional inheritance of access to land and profession.
Hinduism was born of an historically-created alienation. The many and varied
results of this alienation not only remain with us today, but have also grown
from strength to strength. A ‘progressive’, ‘humane’ and ‘peace-loving’
Hinduism cannot therefore be free from the deep psychological longing for
retributive justice, even if peace and nonviolence is what it overtly preaches.
A ray of hope will appear over the horizon, only when the alienation
characterizing our lives and times, is historically liquidated. Only then will a
new Hinduism come into existence.

567 The choice was indeed inevitable, for hasn’t Sartre told us that “we are condemned…to make a choice”?
568 Tottu is a form of domestic slavery involving sexual services as well. It is interesting that in Harihara’s Mahādēviyakkana
Ragaḷe (3.76), the king, Kauśika, offers to be Akkamahādēvi’s tottu, if she agrees to marry him!
569 Niṃbiyakkana Ragaḷe, 49-68.
570 Cidānandāvadhūta Cāritra, 1.
571 The pontiff was Mallikārjunappa Gauḍa of Bidanūru, a peer and associate of Kalaburagi Śaraṇabasava.
572 Paranjape 2015: 16.
573 Rajagopalachari nd: 16.
574 Ibid. 19.
575 “karmaṇyēvādhikārastē, mā phalēśu kadācana”, Bhagavad Gītā, 2.47.
576 “yadā yadā hi dharmasya glānir bhavati bhārata, abhytthānaṃ adharmasya tadātmānaṃ sṛjāmyahaṃ; paritrāṇāya
sadhūnāṃ vināśāya ca duṣkṛtāṃ dharmasaṃsthāpanārthāya saṃbhavāmi yugē yugē”, Ibid., 4.7-8.
577 Kelkar 2011: 56.

195
Bibliography
The primary sources discussed in this book, and cited at appropriate places in
the footnotes, are too extensive to be fully included in this bibliography. Only
secondary sources and primary sources that are either independent collection
of inscriptions (not part of epigraphy serieses like Epigraphia Carnatica and
South Indian Inscriptions) or anthologies of short poems (generally not
exceeding hundred quartains, sestets and octaves in length) are listed.
Abraham, Meera. 1988. Two Medieval Merchant Guilds of South India. New Delhi: Manohar Publications.
Abu-Lughod, Janet L. 1989. Before European Hegemony: The World System A.D. 1250-1350. New York: Oxford University
Press.
Adiga, Malini. 2006. The Making of Southern Karnataka. Hyderabad: Orient Longman.
Ahmed, Aijaz. 1992. In Theory: Nations, Classes, Literatures. New York: Verso.
Ahmed, Aziz. 1969. An Intellectual History of Islam in India. Chicago: Aldine.
Aiyangar, S. Krishnaswami. 1991 [1921]. South India and Her Muhammadan Invaders. New Delhi: Asian Educational Services.
Alam, Muzaffar and Sanjay Subrahmanyam. 2008. Indo-Persian Travels in the Age of Discoveries, 1400-1800. New Delhi:
Cambridge University Press.
Ali, Daud (ed). 1999. Invoking the Past: The Uses of History in South Asia. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Altekar, Anant Sadashiv. 1934. The Rashtrakutas and their Times. Poona: Oriental Book Agency.
Appadorai, A. 1936. Economic Conditions in Southern India (1000-1500). 2 Vols. Madras: University of Madras.
Appadurai, Arjun. 1981. Worship and Conflict Under Colonial Rule: A South Indian Case. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Araganji, Dhulendra. 2001. Śrī Maunēśvara Mahātme. (in Kannada). Gadag: Paru Prakashana.
Arasaratnam, S. 1978. “Indian Commercial Groups and European Traders, 1600-1800: Changing Relationships in Southeastern
India”. South Asia, 1 (2): 42-54.
Aruni, S.K. 2004. Surapura Samsthāna: Historical and Archaeological Study of A Poligar State in South India. Delhi: Bharatiya
Kala Prakashan.
Asad, Talal. 1993. Genealogies of Religion: Discipline and Reason of Power in Christianity and Islam. Baltimore and London:
The Johns Hopkins University Press.
Assayag, Jackie. 2004. At the Confluence of Two Rivers: Muslims and Hindus in South India. New Delhi: Manohar.
Bahinipati, Priyadarshi. 2009. The Mahimā Dharma: Interpreting History, Trends and Tradition. Bhubaneswar: Gyanajuga
Publication.
Balagangadhara, S.N. 1994. The Heathen in His Blindness: Asia, the West, and the Dynamic of Religion. Leiden: Brill.
Banerjee-Dube, Ishita. 2001. “Issues of Faith, Enactments of Contest: The Founding of Mahima Dharma in Nineteenth-Century
Orissa”. In Hermann Kulke and Burkhard Schnepel (eds), Jagannath Revisited: Studying Society, Religion, and the State
in Orissa. New Delhi: Manohar, pp. 149-177.
Banerjee-Dube, Ishita and Johannes Beltz (eds). 2011. Popular Religion and Ascetic Practices: New Studies on Mahima Dharma,
New Delhi: Manohar.
Bapu, Prabhu. 2013. Hindu Mahasabha in Colonial North India, 1915-1930. Oxon: Routledge.
Bartley, C.J. 2002. The Theology of Rāmānuja: Realism and Religion. London and New York: Routledge.
Basavanal, S.S. 1968. Basavaṇṇanavara Ṣaṭsthalada Vacanagaḷu. (In Kannada). Bangalore: Government of Karnataka.
Bayly, C.A. “State and Economy in India over Seven Hundred Years”. The Economic History Review – New Series, 38 (4): 583-
596.
Bayly, Susan. 1989. Saints, Goddesses and Kings: Muslims and Christians in South Indian Society, 1700-1900. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Ben-Herut, Gil. 2012. “Literary Genres and Textual Representations of Early Vīraśaiva History: Revisiting Ekānta Rāmayya’s
Self-Beheading”. International Journal of Hindu Studies, 16 (2), pp. 129-187.
__________. 2015. “Figuring the South-Indian Śivabhakti Movement: The Broad Narrative Gaze of Early Kannada Hagiographic
Literature”. Journal of Hindu Studies, 8 (3), pp. 274-295.
Bhusanuramatha, S.S. (ed). 1988. Vijaya Kalyana. (in Kannada). Hampi: Kotturusvami Matha.
Breckenridge, Carol A, and Peter van der Veer (eds). 1993. Orientalism and the Post-Colonial Predicament: Perspectives on
South Asia. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.
Briggs, George Weston. 2007 [1938]. Gorakhnāth and the Kānphaña Yogīs. New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
Bronner, Yigal. 2010. “The Poetics of Ambivalence: Imagining and Unimagining the Political in Bilhaṇa’s
Vikramāṅkadevacarita”. Journal of Indian Philosophy, 38 (5), pp. 457-483.
Carman, John Braisted. 1994. Majesty … Meekness: A Comparative Study of Contrast and Harmony in the Concept of God.
Michigan: Wm. B. Eerdmans.
Chakrabarty, Dipesh. 2000. Provincializing Europe. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Chakravarti, Uma. 1987. The Social Dimensions of Early Buddhism. Delhi: Oxford University Press.

196
Champakalakshmi, R. 1996. Trade, Ideology and Urbanization: South India 300 BC to AD 1300. New Delhi: Oxford University
Press.
__________. 2011. “The Maṭha: Monachism as the Base of a Parallel Authority Structure”. In Idem. Religion, Tradition, and
Ideology: Pre-colonial South India. Oxford Collected Essays. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, pp. 286-318.
Champakalakshmi, R. and Sarvepalli Gopal (eds). 1996. Tradition, Dissent and Ideology: Essays in Honour of Romila Thapar.
New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Chattopadhyaya, Brajadulal. 1994. The Making of Early Medieval India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Chaudhuri, K.N. 1985. Trade and Civilization in the Indian Ocean: An Economic History from the Rise of Islam until 1750.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
__________. 1990. Asia before Europe: Economy and Civilisation of the Indian Ocean from the Rise of Islam to 1750.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Chekki, Dan A. 1997. Religion and Social System of the Vīraśaiva Community. Westport: Greenwood Press.
Chidanandamurthy, M. 1966. Kannaḍa Śāsanagaḷa Sāṃskṛtika Adhyayana. (In Kannada). Mysore: Prasaranga, University of
Mysore.
__________. 1978. “Kannada Language and Literature during the Chalukyas of Badami (c. 540-750 A.D.)”. In M.S. Nagaraja
Rao (ed), The Chalukyas of Badami (Seminar Papers). Bangalore: The Mythic Society.
__________. 2007 [2003]. Basavaṇṇanavaru. (In Kannada). Revised edition. Bangalore: Sapna Book House.
Collins, Steven. 1998. Nirvana and Other Buddhist Felicities: Utopias of the Pali Imaginaire. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Das Gupta, Ashin. 1994. Merchants of Maritime India, 1500-1800. Aldershot: Variorum.
Dasgupta, Surendranath. 1991 [1922]. A History of Indian Philosophy, Vol. 4. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
Desai, P.B. 1968. Basaveshwara and His Times. Dharwar: Karnatak University.
Deshpande, Madhav. 1993. Sanskrit and Prakrit: Sociolinguistic Issues. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
Devadevan, Manu V. 2007. Kalyāṇada Mithika Itihāsa. (In Kannada). Report submitted to the Department of Culture,
Government of India.
__________. 2009a. Pṛthviyallodagida Ghaṭavu: Karnāṭakada Ninnegaḷu. (In Kannada). Heggodu: Akshara Prakashana.
__________. 2009b. “Bhāṣe Pramāṇavādāga”. (in Kannada). Kannada Sahitya Parishat Patrike, 87 (1-4): 106-113.
__________. 2009c. “Shadow Lines: The Advent of Territoriality in South Asia”. Phalanx, 4, pp. 1-17.
__________. 2010a. “The Ravaging Hand: Abdul Karim Khan and the Decline of Bijapur”. Deccan Studies, 8 (1), pp. 59-72.
__________. 2010b. “Pāpareḍḍigaḷa Prapañca”. (in Kannada). Hosathu, December 2010.
__________. 2010c. The Historical Evolution of Literary Practices in Medieval Kerala (ca. 1200-1800 C.E.). Unpublished PhD
dissertation, submitted to the Mangalore University.
Digby, William, 1878. The Famine Campaign in Southern India (Madras and Bombay Presidencies and Province of Mysore)
1876-78. 2 Volumes. London: Longmans, Green, and Co.
Dirks, Nicholas B. 1979. “The Structure and Meaning of Political Relations in a South Indian Little Kingdom”. Contributions to
Indian Sociology, 13 (2), pp. 169-206.
__________. 1982. “The Pasts of a Palaiyakarar: The Ethnohistory of a South Indian Little King”. The Journal of Asian Studies,
41 (4), pp. 655-83.
__________. 1987. The Hollow Crown: Ethnography of an Indian Kingdom. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
__________. 2001. Castes of Mind: Colonialism and the Making of Modern India. Delhi: Permanent Black.
__________. 2006. The Scandal of Empire: India and the Creation of Imperial Britain. New Delhi: Permanent Black.
Doniger, Wendy. 2009. The Hindus: An Alternative History. New York: The Penguin Press.
__________. 2013. On Hinduism. New Delhi: Aleph.
Duff, Alexander. 1840. India and India Missions: Including Sketches of the Gigantic System of Hinduism, Both in Theory and
Practice; Also Notices of Some of the Principal Agencies Employed in Conducting the Process of Indian Evangelization,
…c. …c. second edition. Edinburgh: John Johnstone, Hunter Square.
Dumezil, Georges. 1988. Mitra-Varuna: An Essay on Two Indo-European Representations of Sovereignty. Translated by Derek
Coltman. New York: Zone Books.
Dumont, Louis. 1960. “World Renunciation in Indian Religions”. Contributions to Indian Sociology, 4, pp. 33-62.
Dutta, Ranjeeta. 2014. From Hagiographies to Biographies: Rāmānuja in Tradition and History. New Delhi: Oxford University
Press.
Eaton, Richard M. 1978. Sufis of Bijapur: 1300-1700. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
__________. 2005. A Social History of the Deccan, 1300—1761: Eight Indian Lives. The New Cambridge History of India I.8.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Eaton, Richard M. and Phillip B. Wagoner. 2014. Power, Memory, Architecture: Contested Sites on India’s Deccan Plateau, c.
1300-1600. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Eschmann, Ancharlott. 1978. “Mahimā Dharma: An Autochthonous Hindu Reform Movement”. In Ancharlott Eschmann,
Hermann Kulke and Gaya Charan Tripathi (eds), The Cult of Jagannath and the Regional Tradition of Orissa. New Delhi:
Manohar, pp. 375-410.
Evans-Wentz, W.Y. 1950. The Book of the Tibetan Dead. London: Oxford University Press.
Farquhar, J.N. 1967 [1920]. An Outline of the Religious Literature of India. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
Flood, Gavin D. 1996. An Introduction to Hinduism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Foekema, Gerard. 2003a. Architecture Decorated with Architecture: Later Medieval Temples of Karnataka, 1000-1300 AD. New
Delhi: Munshiram Mahoharlal.
__________. 2003b. Calukya Architecture: Medieval Temples of Northern Karnataka Built During the Rule of the Calukya of
Kalyana and Thereafter, AD 1000-1300. 3 Vols. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal.
Fort, Andrew O. 1998. Jīvanmukti in Transformation: Embodied Liberation in Advaita and Neo-Vedanta. Albany: State
University of New York Press.
Foucault, Michel. 2005. The Hermeneutics of the Subject: Lectures at the College de France, 1981-82. Edited by Frederic Gros,

197
 Francois Ewald and Alessandro Fontana. Translated by Graham Burchell. New York: Palgrave-Macmillan.
Freschi, Elisa. 2015. “Free Will in viśiṣṭādvaita Vedanta: Rāmānuja, Sudarśana Sūri and Veṅkaṭanātha”. Religious Compass, 9
(9), pp. 287-296.
Fritz, John M, George Michell and M.S. Nagaraja Rao. 1984. Where Kings and Gods Meet: The Royal Centre at Vijayanagara,
India. Tuscon: University of Arizona Press.
Frykenberg, Robert E. 1989. “The Enigma of Modern “Hinduism” as a Concept and as an Institution: A Reappraisal with Special
Reference to South India”. In Günther D. Sontheimer and Hermann Kulke (eds). Hinduism Reconsidered. South Asian
Studies No. XXIV. New Delhi: Manohar, pp. 29-49.
Frykenberg, Robert E. and Pauline Kolenda (eds). 1985. Studies in South India: An Anthology of Recent Research and
Scholarship. Madras: New Era Publications.
Fuller, Chrisopher John. 2004. The Camphor Flame: Popular Hinduism and Society in India. revised and expanded edition.
Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press.
Gai, G.S. (ed). 1996. Inscriptions of the Early Kadambas. New Delhi: Indian Council of Historical Research.
Galewicz, Cezary. 2009. A Commentator in Service of the Empire: Sāyaṇa and the Royal Project of Commenting on the Whole of
the Veda. Publications of the De Nobili Research Library, Vol. 35. Wien: the De Nobili Research Library.
Ganesh, K.N. 2009. “Historical Geography of Natu in South India with Special Reference to Kerala”. Indian Historical Review,
36 (1), pp. 3-21.
Geertz, Clifford. 1973. The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays. New York: Basic Books.
Gonda, J. 1956-57. “Ancient Indian Kingship from the Religious Point of View”. Numen 3 (1): 36-71, 3 (2): 122-155, 4 (1): 24-58
… 4 (2): 127-164.
Goodding, Robert A. 2011. “A Theologian in a South Indian Kingdom: The Historical Context of the Jīvanmuktiviveka of
Vidyāraṇya”. In Steven E. Lindquist (ed), Religion and Identity in South Asia and Beyond: Essays in Honor of Patrick
Olivelle. London and New York: Anthem Press, pp. 83-100.
Gopal, B.R. 1981. The Chalukyas of Kalyana and the Kalachuris. Dharwad: Prasaranga, Karnatak University.
__________ (ed). 1985. Corpus of Kadamba Inscriptions Vol 1. Sirsi: Kadamba Institute of Cultural Studies.
Gordon, Richard. 1975. “The Hindu Mahasabha and the Indian National Congress, 1915 to 1926”. Modern Asian Studies, 9 (2),
pp. 145-203.
Gubbannavara, Shivananda. 1999 [1981]. Barako Pada Barako. (In Kannada). Bangalore: Kannada Sahitya Parishat.
Guenther, Herbert V. 1995 [1963]. The Life and Teachings of Nāropa. Boston and London: Shambala.
Gururajachar, S. 1972. Some Aspects of Economic and Social Life in Karnataka: A.D. 1000-1300. Mysore: University of Mysore.
Hall, Kenneth R. 1980. Trade and Statecraft in the Age of the Cōlas. New Delhi: Abhinav Publications.
__________ (ed). 2001. Structure and Society in Early South India: Essays in Honour of Noboru Karashima. New Delhi: Oxford
University Press.
Hardy, Adam. 2001. “Tradition and Transformation: Continuity and Ingenuity in the Temples of Karnataka”. The Journal of the
Society of Architectural Historians. 60 (2), pp. 180-199.
__________. 2007. The Temple Architecture of India. Chichester: John Wiley … Sons.
Hawley, John Stratton. 1981. At Play with Krishna: Pilgrimage Dramas from Brindavan. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton
University Press.
__________. 1991. “Naming Hinduism”. Wilson Quarterly, 15 (3), pp. 20-34.
__________. 2015. A Storm of Songs: India and the Idea of the Bhakti Movement. Cambridge, Massachusetts and London:
Harvard University Press.
Hegde, Rajaram. 2003. “The Dynamics of Devotional Cults: Saivism in Medieval Karnataka”. Journal of Karnataka Studies, 1,
pp. 86-112.
Heitzman, James. 1997. Gifts of Power: Lordship in an Early Indian State. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Hiremath, S.M. 1991. Śaraṇabasavaprabhe. (in Kannada). Gadag: Vidyanidhi Prakashana.
Hocart, A.M. 1970. Kings and Councillors: An Essay in the Comparative Anatomy of Human Society. Chicago: University of
Chicago Press.
Inden, Ronald. 1990. Imagining India. London: Basil Blackwell.
__________. 2006. Text and Practices: Essays on South Asian History. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Inden, Ronald B, Jonathan S Walters and Daud Ali. 2000. Querying the Medieval: Texts and the History of Practices in South
Asia. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Indvadi, Venkatesha. 1999. Maṇṭēsvāmi Paraṃpare. (In Kannada). Hampi: Prasaranga, Kannada University.
__________ (ed). 2004. Maṇṭēsvāmi Kāvya: Sāṃskṛtika Mukhāmukhi. (In Kannada). Hampi: Prasaranga, Kannada University.
Jackson, William J. 2007. Vijayanagara Visions: Religious Experience and Cultural Creativity in a South Indian Empire. New
Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Jaffrelot, Christophe. 2010. Religion, Caste … Politics in India. Delhi: Primus.
Jameson, Fredric. 1991. Postmodernism Or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism. London and New York: Verso.
Jayaprakash, Banjagere. 2000. Kannaḍa Rāḍṭrīyate. (In Kannada). Bangalore: Krantisiri Prakashana.
__________. 2005. Uliya Uyyale. (In Kannada). Bangalore: CVG Publications.
Jestice, Phyllis G. (ed). 2004. Holy People of the World: A Cross-Cultural Encyclopedia, Volume 1. Santa Barbara, California:
ABC-Clio.
Jois, Keladi Venkatesh. 1991. Keḷadi Arasara Śāsanagaḷu. Dambal-Gadag: Shri Jagadguru Tontadarya Samsthanmath.
Kailasapathy, K. 1968. Tamil Heroic Poetry. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Kalburgi, M.M. 1973. Kavirājamārga Parisarada Kannaḍa Sāhitya. (In Kannada). Dharwar: Karnatak University.
__________. 2010. Mārga. 6 Vols. revised edition. (In Kannada). Bangalore: Sapna Book House.
Kalgudi, Basavaraj.1988. Madhyakālīna Bhakti Mattu Anubhāva Sāhitya Hāgū Cāritrika Prajñe. (In Kannada). Bangalore:
Karnataka Sahitya Academy.
Karanth, S.S. (compiled). 2008 [nd]. Purandaradāsara Padagaḷu. (in Kannada). Hubballi: Sri Vaibhavalakshmi Prakashana.
Karashima, Noboru. 1984. South Indian History and Society: Studies from Inscriptions, A.D.850-1800. New Delhi: Oxford

198
 University Press.
__________. 1992. Towards a New Formation: South Indian Society under Vijayanagar Rule. New Delhi: Oxford University
Press.
__________. 2002. A Concordance of Nāyakas: The Vijayanagara Inscriptions of South India. New Delhi: Oxford University
Press.
__________. 2009. Ancient to Medieval: South Indian Society in Transition. Oxford Collected Essays. New Delhi: Oxford
University Press.
Kaul, Shonaleeka. 2010. Imagining the Urban: Sanskrit and the City in Early India. Ranikhet: Permanent Black.
Kavyapremi. 1995. Kanakadāsara Hāḍugaḷu. (in Kannada). Dharwad: Samaja Pustakalaya.
Kelkar, Sanjeev. 2011. Lost Years of the RSS. New Delhi: Sage.
King, Richard. 1999. Orientalism and Religion: Postcolonial Theory, India and “the Mystic East”. New Delhi: Oxford University
Press.
Kosambi, D.D. 1955. “Dhenukākaṭa”. Journal of the Bombay Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, 30, pp. 50-71.
Kulke, Hermann. 1993. Kings and Cults: State Formation and Legitimation in India and Southeast Asia. New Delhi: Manohar.
Kuppuswamy, G.R. 1975. Economic Conditions in Karnataka: A.D.973-A.D.1336. Dharwar: Karnatak University.
Kurtkoti, Keertinath. 1998. Pratyabhijñāna (In Kannada). Dharwad: Manohara Granthamala.
__________. 2003. Adhyayana Mattu Pārāyaṇa (In Kannada). Dharwad: Manohara Granthamala.
Laine, J. 1983. “The Notion of ‘Scripture’ in Modern Indian Thought”. Annals of the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, 64
(1-4), pp. 165-179.
Lal, Mohan. 1992. Encyclopedia of Indian Literature: Sasay to Zorgot. New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi.
Liceria, Sister M., A.C. 1972. Social and Economic History of Karnataka, c. AD 1000-1300. Unpublished PhD dissertation
submitted to the Patna University, Patna.
Lorenzen, David N. 1972. The Kapalikas and Kalamukhas. New Delhi: Thomson Press.
__________ (ed). 2004. Religious Movements in South Asia, 600-1800. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
__________. 2006. Who Invented Hinduism: Essays on Religion in History. New Delhi: Yoda Press.
Ludden, David. 1985. Peasant History in South India. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Mahalingam, T.V. 1988. Inscriptions of the Pallavas. New Delhi: Indian Council of Historical Research and Agam Prakashan.
Mallappa, T.N. 1974. Kriyasakti Vidyaranya. Bangalore: Department of Publications and Extension Lectures, Bangalore
Univesity.
Marr, John Ralston. 1985. The Eight Anthologies—A Study in Early Tamil Literature. Madras: Institute of Asian Studies.
Marx, Karl. 1909-10. Capital: A Critique of Political Economy. 3 Vols. Translated by Ernest Untermann. Edited by Frederick
Engles. Chicago: Charles H. Kerr and Co. Co-operative.
Masson, J. Moussaieff. 1980. The Oceanic Feeling: The Origins of Religious Sentiment in Ancient India. Dordrecht: D. Reidel
Publishing Company.
Mckay, Alex. 2015. Kailas Histories: Renunciate Traditions and the Construction of Himalayan Sacred Geography. Leiden:
Brill.
Merleau-Ponty, M. 1962. Phenomenology of Perception. Translated by Colin Smith. London and New York: Routledge.
Michael, R. Blake. 1992. The Origins of Vīraśaiva Sects: A Typological Analysis of Ritual and Associational Patterns in the
Śūnyasaṃpādane. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
Michell, George. 2002. Pattadakal. Monumental Legacy. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
__________. 2011. Badami.Aihole.Pattadakal. London: Deccan Heritage Foundation.
Mill, James. 2010 [1817]. The History of British India, Volume 1. New York: Cambridge University Press.
Mirashi, Vasudev Vishnu. 1981. The History and Inscriptions of the Sātavāhanas and the Western Kshatrapas. Bombay:
Maharashtra State Board for Literature and Culture.
Modak, B.R. 1995. Sayana. Makers of Indian Literature. New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi.
Mohanty, Bidyut. 1993. “Orissa Famine of 1866: Demographic and Economic Consequences”. Economic and Political Weekly,
28 (1-2), pp. 55-57 … 59-66.
Mugali, R.S. 2007 [1953]. Kannaḍa Sāhitya Caritre. (In Kannada). Mysore: Geeta Book House.
Mullens, Joseph. 1854. Missions in South India. London: W.H. Dalton.
Nadig, Santhebennur Sumateendra. 2001. “Santēbennūru Nāyakaru”. In Rajaram Hegde and Ashok Shettar (eds),
Malekarṇāṭakada Arasu Manetanagaḷu. (in Kannada). Hampi: Prasaranga, Kannada University.
__________. 2008. Santēbennūru Nāyakaru. (in Kannada). Bangalore: Directorate of Karnataka State Archives.
Nagaraj, D.R. 1999. Allamaprabhu Mattu Śaiva Pratibhe. (in Kannada). Heggodu: Akshara Prakashana.
__________. 2004. “Critical Tensions in the History of Kannada Literary Culture”. In Sheldon Pollock (ed), Literary Cultures in
History: Reconstructions from South Asia. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, pp. 323-382.
Nandi, Ramendranath. 1973. Religious Institutions and Cults in the Deccan (c. A.D. 600-A.D. 1000). New Delhi: Motilal
Banarsidass.
__________. 1986. Social Roots of Religion in Ancient India. Calcutta: K.P. Bagchi and Company.
__________. 2000. State Formation, Agrarian Growth and Social Change in Feudal South India (c. A.D. 600 – A.D. 1200). New
Delhi: Manohar.
Nandimath, S.C. 2001. Theology of the Śaivāgamas: A Study of the Doctrines of Śaiva Siddhanta and Veerasaivism.
Thiruvananthapuram: International School of Dravidian Linguistics.
Narasimhachar, D.L. 2015 [1971]. Pīṭhikegaḷu Lēkhanagaḷu. (in Kannada). Mysore: D.V.K. Murthy Prakashana.
Narasimhacharya, R. 2005 [1907-29]. Karṇāṭaka Kavicaritre. 3 Vols. (In Kannada). Bangalore: Kannada Sahitya Parishat.
Narayanan, M.G.S. 1996. Perumals of Kerala: Political and Social Conditions of Kerala Under the Cēra Perumals of Makotai.
Calicut: Published by the author.
Narayanan, M.G.S. and Kesavan Veluthat. 1978. “Bhakti Movement in South India”. In S.C. Malik (ed), Indian Movements:
Some Aspects of Dissent, Protest and Reform. Simla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study.
Narayana Rao, Velcheru, David Shulman and Sanjay Subrahmanyan. 1992. Symbols of Substance: Court and State in Nayaka-

199
 Period Tamil Nadu. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1974. The Gay Science: With a Prelude in Rhymes and an Appendix in Songs. Translated by Walter
Kaufmann. New York: Random House.
Nilakanta Sastri, K.A. 1955. The Colas. Madras: University of Madras.
__________. 1966. A History of South India from Prehistoric Times to the Fall of Vijayanagar. Madras: Oxford University Press.
Olson, Carl. 2015. Indian Asceticism: Power, Violence, and Play. New York: Oxford University Press.
Orr, Leslie C. 2000. Donors, Devotees and Daughters of God: Temple Women in Medieval Tamilnadu. New York: Oxford
University Press.
Ota, Nobuhiro. 2008. “A Study of Two Nayaka Families in the Vijayanagar kingdom in the Sixteenth Century”. Memoirs of the
ToyoBunko, 66, pp. 103-129.
__________. 2015. “Who Built ‘the City of Victory’? Representation of a ‘Hindu’ Capital in an ‘Islamicate’ World”. In Crispin
Bates and Minoru Mio (eds), Cities in South Asia. Routledge: Oxon and New York, pp. 27-44.
Padashetti, M.M. 1992. Tinthiṇi Mōnappayya: Ondu Adhyayana. (in Kannada). Gadaga: Virashaiva Adhyayana Samsthe.
Pandey, Gyanendra. 1990. The Construction of Communalism in Colonial North India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Papan-Matin, Firoozeh. 2010. Beyond Death: The Mystical Teachings of ‘Ayn al-Quḍāt al-Hamadhānī. Leiden: Brill.
Paranjape, Makarand R. 2015. Swami Vivekananda: A Contemporary Reader. New Delhi: Routledge.
Parthasarathy, Aralu Mallige. 2011 [1988]. Śrī Vādirāja Saṃpuṭa. (in Kannada). Bangalore: Sneha Book House.
__________ (ed). 2013. Haridāsara 10000 Hāḍugaḷu. (In Kannada). Edited with the assistance of Ha. Ra. Nagaraja Acharya.
Bangalore: Sri Haridasa Sangha.
Pavate, Shivakumar. 2009. Maṅgaḷavāḍa Mattu Itara Lēkhanagaḷu. (In Kannada). Mysore: Akhila Bharata Sharana Sahitya
Parishat.
Paz, Octavio. 1961. The Labyrinths of Solitude: Life and Thought in Mexico. New York: Brave Press.
Peabody, Norbert. 2003. Hindu Kingship and Polity in Precolonial India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Pennington, Brian K. 2005. Was Hinduism Invented? Britons, Indians, and the Colonial Construction of Religion. New York:
Oxford University Press.
Perlin, Frank. 1987. “Money-Use in Late Pre-Colonial India and the International Trade in Currency Media”. In John Richards
(ed), The Imperial Monetary System of Mughal India. Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Pinch, William R. 1996. Peasants and Monks in British India. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press.
__________. 2006. Warrior Ascetics and Indian Empires. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Polanyi, Karl. 2001. The Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time. second edition. Boston:
Beacon Press.
Pollock, Sheldon. 1984. “The Divine King in Indian Epic”. Journal of the American Oriental Society, 104 (3): 505-528.
__________. 1985. “The Theory of Practice and the Practice of Theory in Indian Intellectual History”. Journal of the American
Oriental Society, 105 (3): 499-519.
__________. 1989. “Mimamsa and the Problem of History in Traditional India”. The Journal of American Oriental Society, 109
(4): 603-610.
__________. 1993. “Ramayana and the Political Imagination in India”. The Journal of Asian Studies, 52 (2): 261-297.
__________. 1995. “Literary History, Indian History, World History”. Social Scientist, 23 (10-12): 112-142.
__________. 1998a. “The Cosmopolitan Vernacular”. In Journal of Asian Studies, 57 (1): 6-37.
__________. 1998b. “India in the Vernacular Millennium: Literary Culture and polity, 1000-1500”. In “Early Modernities,”
special issue. Edited by Samuel Eisenstadt and Wolfgang Schluchter. Daedalus, 127 (3): 41-74.
__________ (ed). 2004. Literary Cultures in History: Reconstructions from South Asia. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
__________. 2005. The Ends of Man at the End of Premodernity. Amsterdam: Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences.
__________. 2007. The Language of the Gods in the World of Men: Sanskrit, Culture and Power in Premodern South Asia. New
Delhi: Permanent Black.
Popper, Karl. 2002 [1959]. The Logic of Scientific Discovery. London and New York: Routledge.
Poulantzas, Nicos. 1973. Political Power and Social Classes. London: New Left Books.
Pujarhalli, Virupaksha. 2004. Baḷḷāri Jilleya Pāḷeyagāraru. (in Kannada). Hampi: Prasaranga, Kannada University.
Raghavan, V. 1940. The Number of Rasas. Adyar, Madras: The Theosophical Publishing House.
Raghavavarier, M.R. and Kesavan Veluthat. 2013. Tarisāppaḷḷippaṭṭayaṃ. (In Malayalam). Kottayam: Sahityapravarthaka
Sahakaranasangham.
Rajagopalachari, C. nd. Hinduism: Doctrine and Way of Life. New Delhi: The Hindustan Times.
Ramachandran, Puthusseri. 2007. Kēraḷacaritrattinre Aṭisthānarēkhakaḷ. (In Malayalam). Thiruva nanthapuram: State Institute of
Languages.
Ramanujan, A.K. (trans). 1973. Speaking of Śiva. Harmondsworth: Penguin.
__________ (trans). 1981. Hymns to the Drowning. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press.
__________. 1999. The Collected Essays of A.K. Ramanujan. Edited by Vinay Dharwadkar. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Ramaswamy, Vijaya. 1996. Divinity and Deviance: Women in Vīraśaivism. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Ramesh, K.V. (ed). 1984. Inscriptions of the Western Gangas. New Delhi: Agam Prakashan, Indian Council of Historical
Research.
Ray, Himanshu Prabha. 1986. Monastery and Guild: Commerce under the Sātavāhanas. Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Ray, Reginald A. 1994. Buddhist Saints in India: A Study in Buddhist Values and Orientations. New York and Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Report of the Indian Famine Commission, Part 1, Famine Relief. 1880. London: George Edward Eyre and William Spottiswoode.
Richards, John F. 1993. The Mughal State. (The New Cambridge History of India I.5). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Roy, Kumkum. 2010a. “Women and Men Donors at Sanchi: A Study of Inscriptional Evidence”. In Idem. The Power of Gender
… the Gender of Power: Explorations in Early Indian History. Oxford Collected Essays. New Delhi: Oxford University
Press, pp. 38-52.
__________. 2010b. “The Artful Biographer: Sandhyākāranandi’s Rāmacaritam”. In Idem. The Power of Gender … the Gender

200
 of Power: Explorations in Early Indian History. Oxford Collected Essays. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, pp. 358-
369.
Rubiés, Joan-Pau. 2000. Travel and Ethnography in the Renaissance: South India Through European Eyes, 1250-1625.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Sabarad, Basavaraj (ed). 2000. Haidarābād Karnāṭakada Tatvapadagaḷu. (In Kannada). Hampi: Prasaranga, Kannada University.
Sadashivappa, Kum. Ba. 1996. Harapanahaḷḷi Pāḷeyagāraru. (In Kannada). Bangalore: Kannada Sahitya Parishat.
Saletore, B.A. 1934. Social and Political Life in Vijayanagara Empire. 2 Vols. Madras: B.G. Paul … Co.
Salje, W. 1998. “On Changing Others’ Ideas: The Case of Vidyāraṇya and Yogavāsiḍṭa”. Indo-Iranian Journal, 41 (2), pp. 103-
124.
Sattar, P. Abdul. 1997. Tarikereya Pāḷeyagāraru. (in Kannada). Pandavapura: Sri Lokapavani Prakashana.
Sahlins, Marshall. 1985. Islands of History. Chicago … London: The University of Chicago Press.
Said, Edward. 1979. Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books.
Sax, William (ed). 1995. The Gods at Play: Lila in South Asia. New York: Oxford University Press.
Schouten, J.P. 1995. Revolution of the Mystics: On the Social Aspects of Vīraśaivism. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
Sen, Tansen, 2004. Buddhism, Diplomacy, and Trade: The Realignment of Sino-Indian Relations, 600-1400. New Delhi:
Manohar.
Settar, S. 1986. Inviting Death: Historical Experiments on Sepulchral Hill. Dharwad: Institute of Indian Art History, Karnatak
University.
__________. 1990. Pursuing Death: Philosophy and Practice of Voluntary Termination of Life. Dharwad: Institute of Indian Art
History, Karnatak University.
__________. 2012. Somanathapura. Second edition. Bangalore: Ruvari.
Settar, S. and Günther D. Sontheimer (eds). 1982. Memorial Stones: A Study of Their Origin, Significance and Variety. Dharwad:
Institute of Indian Art History, Karnatak University.
Sewell, Robert. 1900. A Forgotten Empire (Vijayanagar): A Contribution to the History of India. London: Swan Sonnenschein …
Co., Ltd.
Shamba Joshi. 1999. Śaṃbā Kṛti Saṃpuṭa. 6 Vols. (In Kannada). Edited by Mallepuram Venkatesha. Bangalore: Kannada Book
Authority.
Sharma, R.S. 1987. Urban Decay in India: c.300-c.1000. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal.
__________. 2007. Material Culture and Social Formations in Ancient India. Second edition. New Delhi: Macmillan.
Sheik Ali, B. 1976. History of the Western Gangas. Mysore: University of Mysore.
Shivanna, K.S. 1992. The Agrarian System of Karnataka (1336-1761). Mysore: Prasaranga, University of Mysore.
Shivaprakash, H.S. (trans). 2010. I Keep Vigil of Rudra. New Delhi: Penguin.
Shulman, David (ed). 1995. Syllables of Sky: Studies in South Indian Civilization in Honour of Velcheru Narayana Rao. New
Delhi: Oxford University Press.
__________. 2001. The Wisdom of Poets: Studies in Tamil, Telugu, and Sanskrit. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
__________. 2012. More Than Real: A History of the Imagination in South India. Cambridge, Massachusetts and London:
Harvard University Press.
Siddharama Swami, S.J.F. 2002 [nd]. Śirahaṭṭiya Śrī Jagadguru Fakīrēśvara Caritre. Shirahatti: Shri Fakeereshwaramath.
Simmons, Caleb. 2014. “The Goddess and Vaiṣṇavism in Search of Regional Supremacy: Woḍeyar Devotional Traditions During
the Reign of Rāja Woḍeyar (1578-1617 CE) Indian History, 1, pp. 27-46.
Sinopoli, Carla M and Kathleen D. Morrison. 1995. “Dimensions of Imperial Control: The Vijayanagara Empire”. American
Anthropologist (New Series), 97 (1): 83-96.
Sinha, A.J. 1996. “Architectural Invention in Sacred Structures: The Case of Vesara Temples of Southern India”. The Journal of
the Society of Architectural Historians, 55 (4): 382-399.
Smith, Wilfred Cantwell. 1997. “A Human View of Truth”. In John W. Burbridge (ed), Modern Culture from a Comparative
Perspective. Albany: State University of New York Press, pp. 99-119.
Soppimath, Basavalinga. 1995. Koḍēkallu Basavaṇṇa: Ondu Adhyayana. (In Kannada). Kodekallu: Kodekallu Basaveshwara
Adhyayana Samsthe.
__________ (ed). 1998. Koḍēkalla Vacanavākya, Vol. 1. (In Kannada). Hampi: Prasaranga, Kannada University.
Srikantaya, S. 1938. The Founders of Vijayanagar. Bangalore: The Mythic Society.
Srinivasachari, P.N. 1943. The Philosophy of Viśistādvaita. Adyar: The Adyar Library.
Stein, Burton. 1980. Peasant State and Society in Medieval South India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
__________. 1989. Vijayanagara. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Subbarayalu, Y. 1973. The Political Geography of the Chola Country. Madras: Tamilnadu State Department of Archaeology.
__________. 1982. “The Cola State”. Studies in History (new series), 4 (2): 265-306.
Subrahmanyam, Sanjay. 1990. The Political Economy of Commerce: Southern India 1500-1650. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
__________. 2004a. Explorations in Connected History: From the Tagus to the Ganges. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
__________. 2004b. Explorations in Connected History: Mughals and Franks. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Sundaram, K. 1968. Studies in Economic and Social Conditions of Medeival Andhra (1000-1600). Madras: Triveni Publications.
Talbot, Cynthia. 1991. “Temples, Donors, and Gifts: Patterns of Patronage in Thirteenth-Century South India”. Journal of Asian
Studies, 50 (2): 308-340.
__________. 2001. Precolonial India in Practice: Society, Region, and Identity in Medieval Andhra. New Delhi: Oxford
University Press.
Tambiah, Stanley J. 1976. World Conqueror and World Renouncer: A Study of Buddhism and Polity in Thailand against a
Historical Background. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Tarikere, Rahamat. 1998. Karnāṭakada Sūfigaḷu. (In Kannada). Hampi: Prasaranga, Kannada University.
Thapar, Romila. 2000a. “Dissent and Protest in Early Indian Tradition”. In Idem. Cultural Pasts: Essays in Early Indian History.
New Delhi: Oxford University Press, pp. 213-234.

201
__________. 2000b. “Renunciation: The Making of a Counter-culture?” In Idem. Cultural Pasts: Essays in Early Indian History.
New Delhi: Oxford University Press, pp. 876-913.
__________. 2000c. “The Householder and the Renouncer in the Brahmanical and Buddhist Traditions”. In Idem. Cultural Pasts:
Essays in Early Indian History. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, pp. 914-945.
Tharakeshwar, V.B. 2003. “Translating Nationalism: The Politics of Language and Community.” Journal of Karnataka Studies, 1
(1): 5-59.
Thimmappayya, Muliya. 1977. Nāḍōja Paṃpa, second revised edition. (in Kannada). Edited by M. Keshava Bhat. Mysore:
Geetha Book House.
Trautmann, Thomas R. 1997. Aryans and British India: New Perspectives on Indian Pasts. Berkeley: University of California
Press.
Varadarajarao, G. 1987 [1973]. Śrīpādarājara Kṛtigaḷu. (in Kannada). Mysore: Institute of Kannada Studies, University of
Mysore.
Veluthat, Kesavan. 1990. “The Role of Nāḍu in the Socio-Political Structure of South India (AD c. 600-1200)”. In H.V.
Sreenivasa Murthy, B. Surendra Rao, Kesavan Veluthat and S.A. Bari (eds), Essays on Indian History and Culture:
Felicitation Volume in Honour of Professor B. Sheik Ali. New Delhi: Mittal Publications, pp. 85-98.
__________. 2009. The Early Medieval in South India. New Delhi: Oxford Univeristy Press.
__________. 2012. The Political Structure of Early Medieval South India. second edition. New Delhi: Orient Blackswan.
__________. 2013. Brahman Settlements in Kerala: Historical Studies. revised and enlarged edition. Thrissur: Cosmo Books.
Venkataramanayya, N. 1935. Studies in the History of the Third Dynasty of Vijayanagara. Madras: University of Madras.
Vidyashankar, S. 2013-14. Vīraśaiva Sāhitya Caritre, in 4 Volumes. (In Kannada). Bangalore: Priyadarshini Prakashana.
Viraktamath, Shivananda S. 2005. Amarakalyāṇa. (In Kannada). Hospet: Nudi Prakashana.
Wagoner, Philip B. 1996. “‘Sultan Among Hindu Kings’: Dress, Titles, and the Islamicization of Hindu Culture at Vijayanagara”.
Journal of Asian Studies, 55 (4): 851–880.
__________. 2000. “Harihara, Bukka, and the Sultan: The Delhi Sultanate in the Political Imagination of Vijayanagara”. In David
Gilmartin and Bruce B. Lawrence (eds), Beyond Turk and Hindu: Rethinking Religious Identities in Islamicate South Asia.
Gainesville: University Press of Florida, pp. 300-326.
__________. 2014. “Money Use in the Deccan, c. 1350-1687: The Role of Vijayanagara Hons in the Bahmani Currency System”.
Indian Economic and Social History Review, 51 (4): 457-480.
Weber, Max. 1958. The Religion of India: The Sociology of Hinduism and Buddhism. Translated by Hans H. Gerth and Don
Martindale. Glencoe, Illinois: The Free Press.
Wink, André. 1986. Land and Sovereignty in India: Agrarian Society and Politics under the Eighteenth-Century Maratha
Svarajya. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Yocum, Glenn E. 1973. “Shrines, Shamanism and Love Poetry: Elements in the Emergence of Popular Tamil Bhakti”. Journal of
the American Academy of Religion, 41 (1): 3-17.
Younger, Paul. 1995. The Home of the Dancing Sivan: Traditions of the Hindu Temple in Citamparam. New York: Oxford
University Press.
Yogeeshwarappa, D.N. 1999. Hagalavadi Nayakaru. (in Kannada). Hampi: Prasaranga, Kannada University.
Zaehner, R.C. 1962. Hinduism. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

202
List of Tables
Table 1. Temples built in the Bhālki tālūk of Bīdara district between 1000
and 1200 CE
Table 2. Temples built in the Basavakalyāṇa tālūk of Bīdara district between
1000 and 1200 CE
Table 3. Temples built in the Guṇḍlupēṭe tālūk of Cāmarājanagara district
between 1000 and 1200 CE
Table 4. Temples built in the Cāmarājanagara tālūk of the same district
between 1000 and 1200 CE
Table 5. Temples built in the Dēvadurga tālūk of Rāyacūru district between
1000 and 1200 CE
Table 6. Temples built in the Sindhanūru taluk of Rāyacūru district between
1000 and 1200 CE
Table 7. Temples built in the Nāgamaṅgala tālūk of Maṇḍya district between
1000 and 1200 CE
Table 8. Temples built in the Kṛṣṇarājapēṭe tālūk of Maṇḍya district between
1000 and 1200 CE
Table 9. Śaiva Temples and Their Builders in the Localities Around
Baḷḷigāve, CE 1000-1250
Table 10. List of Pilgrimage Centres described in Vādirāja’s Tīrtha
Prabandha
Table 11. Copperplate Inscriptions of Land Grants in Possession of the
Rāghavēndra Maṭha in Nañjanagūḍu
Table 12. Places where Fakīrappa Monasteries Exist
Table 13. Nineteenth and Twentieth-Century Tatvapadakāras from the
Haidarābād Karnataka Region
Table 14. Nineteenth and Twentieth-Century Dāsa poets with place-name
prefixes

203
Index
Abbalūru 1, 2, 3, 4
Abbūru 1, 2
Abdul Karīm Khān 1
Abdul Raūf Khan 1, 2
abhēda 1
abstract labour 1, 2
Acyutānandadāsa 1, 2
Acyutaprēkṣa 1, 2
Aḍakalaguṇḍa Bhīmācārya 1
Ādalūru 1
Ādavāni 1
Ādayya 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Ādayyana Ragaḷe 1
adhirāja 1
Ādi Kalyāṇa 1, 2, 3
Ādidoḍḍappa Śaraṇa 1
Ādigavuṇḍa 1
Ādikēśava temple (of Kāginele) 1
Ādil Śāhi(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Ādinātha (alias Nāganātha) 1, 2
Ādinàtha (Tīrthaṅkara) 1
Ādipurāṇaṃ 1
Āditya 1
Ādityadēva 1
Adrīśa 1, 2
advaita 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Advaitis 1, 2
Afzal Khān 1
Agaḷavāḍi 1
āgamic rituals 1
Agastyadēva temple 1
Aghōris 1

204
agrarian commercialism 1
- credit 1
- elites 1
- expansion 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
- hinterland 1
- income 1, 2, 3, 4
- infrastructure 1
- land 1
- localities 1
- production 1, 2, 3
- products 1
- regime 1
- resources 1, 2
- structure 1
agrestic labour(ers)/slaves 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Āhavamalla 1
Ahmad Śāh Bahmani 1, 2, 3
Ahōbala 1
Aihoḷe 1
Aihoḷe Bhīmarāya 1
Ainole Karibasavayya 1
Aipura 1
Aitarēya Āraṇyaka 1, 2
- Brāhmaṇa 1, 2, 3
- Upaniṣad 1
Ājīvika 1
Ajñānasiddha 1
Akālavarṣa 1
Akbar 1, 2
Akhil Bharatiya Hindu Mahasabha 1
Akkamahādēvi 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
Akkihebbāḷu 1
Akkiya Cavuḍiseṭṭi 1
Akṣaya Tṛtīya 1
Akṣōbhya Tīrtha 1, 2
Alā-ud-dīn Hassan Bahman Śāh (also see Hassan Gaṅgu) 1

205
Alā-ud-dīn Khalji 1
Ala-ud-dīn Lāḍlē Maśāik 1
Āladakaṭṭi 1
Alaṃ Kamāl-ud-dīn 1
Ālaṃddoreya Kaṭṭaḍa 1
Alaṃkāra Sudhānidhi 1
Āḷande 1, 2
Ālayya 1
Aḷīsandra 1
Allama Prabhu 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11
Ālvārs 1, 2
Amalabasavarāja Cāritra 1
Amara Kalyāṇa 1,
amaragannaḍa 1
amaraṃ(s)/amaraṃ rights 1, 2
Amarnāth 1
aṃbalavāsi 1
Aṃbigara Cauḍayya 1, 2
Amīn-ud-dīn Alā, Khvājā 1, 2, 3, 4
amīrs 1
Amōghavarṣa 1
Amōghavarṣa I Nṛpatuṅga 1
Āmrapālī 1
Amṛtaliṅga temple 1
Ānanda 1, 2
Ānanda Tīrtha 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11
Ānandapura 1
Ānandapuraṃ copper plates 1
Anantamaṭha 1
Anantaśayana 1
Anantēśvara temple (of Uḍupi) 1, 2
Anāthapiṇḍika 1
Ānegondi 1, 2
Ānehosūru 1
Ānēkallu 1
Āneya Hariyaṇṇa 1

206
aṅga 1, 2
Aniruddha 1
Aṅkakāradēva temple 1
Aṅkuś Khān 1
annadāna 1, 2
Annadāna Svāmi 1
Annadānēśvara 1, 2
Annamayya 1, 2
Annamma 1
Aṇṇigere 1, 2
anubhava maṇṭapa 1, 2, 3
Anubhavāmṛta 1, 2
Anubhavasūtra 1
aṇugajīvita 1
Apēgāv 1
Appābhaṭṭa 1
Appadurai, Arjun 1
Appājayya 1
Arabic 1
Ārādhya(s) 1
Āraga Vēṇṭhe 1
Araḷihaḷḷi 1
Ārāṃbaṇṇa 1
Āraṇyakas 1
Aravali Bijali Vastādi (i.e. Ustād) 1
Arikēsari 1
Arkēśvara temple 1
Ārṣēya Brāhmaṇa 1
Ārūḍha Saṅgamanātha (also see Diggi Saṅgamanātha) 1, 2, 3, 4
Ārūḍha(s) 1, 2, 3
Arya Samaj 1
asceticism 1
Asiatic Society 1
Askihāḷa Gōvindadāsa 1
Aśōka 1
aṣṭāvaraṇa 1

207
astragāha 1
Aṣṭūru 1
Aṣṭūru Narasappa Māstar 1, 2
Atharvavēda 1
ātman 1, 2
Atuḷabhadra 1
Auraṅgzēb 1, 2, 3
Aurobindo 1
Ausikandara 1, 2
Avadhūta(s) 1
Avadhūtagīta 1
Avarādi 1
Avvaliṅgavva 1, 2
Āycabbe 1
Āyirdharma 1
Ayōdhyā 1, 2, 3
Āyurvēda Sudhānidhi 1
Ayyāvoḷe Ainūrvar 1, 2
Bābājī Caitanya 1
Babri Masjid 1, 2, 3
Baccanahāḷu 1
Bācēśvara temple 1, 2
Bādāmi 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Badarī 1
Badarikāśrama 1
Baḍavva 1
Bāḍigi Būdīhāḷa 1
Baḍni 1
Badrīnāth 1
Bāgalakōṭe 1, 2, 3
Bāgēpalli Sēṣadāsa 1
Bāgēpalli Subrahmaṇyadāsa 1, 2
Bāgēvāḍi 1
Bāgūru 1
Bahādurpūr 1
Bahinābāyi 1

208
Bahirāṃbhaṭṭa 1
Bahmani(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Bāhubali 1
Bāhūru Bommayya 1
Bailahoṅgala 1
Bakaprabhu 1
Bālabhāskara temple 1
Baladēva (Brahmasūtra commentator) 1
Baladēva (treasurer to Bijjaḷa II) 1
Baladēvaseṭṭi 1
Baḷagānūru 1
Baḷagānūra Marisvāmi 1
Baḷarāmadāsa 1, 2
Balavanta Śaraṇa 1
Balavāsudēva temple 1
bālgalccu 2
Bali 1
Ballāḷa (of Beḷḷūru) 1
Ballāḷa II 1
Ballāḷa III 1
Ballaṃ 1
Baḷḷāri 1, 2, 3, 4
Baḷḷigāve 1, 2, 3, 4
Bamiyan Buddha 1
Bāṇa Vidyādhara Prabhumēru Gavuṇḍa 1
Bāṇagaṅgā 1
Banahaṭṭi 1
Bandaḷike 1
Bandānavāz Gēsūdarāz, Hazrat Khwāja (also see Bandēnavāz) 1, 2
Bandēnavāz 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Baṇḍeppa 1
Baṇḍeppanahaḷḷi 1, 2, 3
Baṅkalagi 1
Baṅkāpura 1, 2
Bannikoppa 1
Baṇṭanūru 1

209
Bārakūru 1
Bārakūru Gadyāṇa 1
Bārāpanthī yōgis (also see Nāthas) 1
Basava 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15
Basava temple 1
Basava-krānti 1
Basavagoṇḍa 1
Basavakalyāṇa 1,
Basavana Bāgēvāḍi 1
Basavāpaṭṭaṇa 1, 2
Basavappa Nāyaka I 1
Basavapurāṇa 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Basavapurāṇamu 1, 2
Basavarājadēvara Ragaḷe 1, 2, 3
Basavarājavijayaṃ 1
Basavarājayya 1
Basavēśvara temple 1
Basti 1
bayalāṭa 1
bēḍa 1, 2
Beḷacalavāḍi 1
Beḷagāvi 1, 2, 3, 4
Beḷḷūru 1, 2
Beṅgalūru 1, 2, 3
Bennūru Rāmācārya 1
Bēnūru Khāki Pīr 1
Beṭagēri 1
Bhadra 1, 2
bhadrāsana 1
Bhagavadgīta 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Bhāgavatapurāṇa 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Bhairavēśvara Kāvyada Kathāmaṇisūtra Ratnākara 1, 2, 3
bhajans 1
bhakti 1, 2
Bhālki 1
Bhalluṅkēśvara temple 1

210
Bhandarkar 1
Bharamagauḍa 1, 2, 3
Bharata 1
Bhārati 1
Bhāratī Tīrtha 1
Bhāratīpura 1
Bharatiya Janata Party 1, 2
Bhātaṃbra 1
bhaṭṭāraka 1
Bhāvacintāratna 1
bhavi 1
Bhaviseṭṭi 1
bhēda 1, 1
bhikkus 1
Bhilsa 1
Bhilvāḍā 1
Bhīma (Pāṇḍava) 1
Bhīma (poet) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Bhīma (river) 1, 2, 3
Bhīmamuni 1
Bhīmēśvara temple 1
Bhōgēśa 1
Bhōgēśvara temple 1, 2, 3, 4
Bhramaragīte 1
Bhūmarāja 1
Bhūtāḷe Śillappa 1
Bhuvanaikamalla 1
Bhuvanaikarāma 1
Bhuvanaikarāmābhyudayaṃ 1
Bhuvanēśvari temple 1
Bhūvarāha 1
Bhūvikrama 1
Bīcēśvara temple 1, 2
Bidanūru (of Keḷadi Nāyakas) 1
Bidanūru (of Gaṅgamma) 1, 2, 3
Bidanūru Gaṅgamma 1, 2

211
Bīdara 1, 2, 3, 4
Bidirahaḷḷi 1, 2
Bijāpura/Bijapur (also see Vijayapura) 1, 2
Bijjaḷa II 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Bīḷagi 1
Bilhaṇa 1
Billappa Nāyaka 1
Bīranūru Kṛṣṇācārya Jōṣi 1
Biṭṭi Jinālaya 1
bittuvaṭṭa 1
Biyapaseṭṭi 1
bōdhajñāna 1
Bōgādi 1
Bōgayya I 1
Bōgayya II 1
Bommagāvuṇḍa 1
Bommagoṇḍa 1
Boppadēva 1
Boppādēvi 1
Boppēgauḍanapura 1
Bōrgi Rehamānsāb 1
Brahma Jinālaya 1
Brahmadēva temple 1
brahmadēya 1
brahmahatyā 1, 2
brahmajñāna 1
Brahman 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Brāhmaṇas 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21
Brāhmaṇical 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Brahmaṇya Tīrtha 1
Brahmaśiva 1
Brahmasūtras 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Brahmēśvara temple 1, 2
Brahmēśvara temple (of Abbalūru) 1
Brahmin 1
brahmōpadēśa 1

212
Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad 1, 2
Bṛhadīśvara temple (of Tañjāvūr) 1, 2
British 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Būciya Boppaseṭṭi 1
Buddha, the 1, 2, 3
Buddhisāgara 1
Buddhism/Buddhist 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11
Bukka I 1, 2, 3
Burli Hanumantaraṅgarāya 1
Byāgavaṭṭi Ācārya 1
Caitanya 1
Caitanya tradition 1
Cākēyanahaḷḷi 1
Cakratīrtha 1
cakravarti 1, 2
Caḷukya(s) 1, 2, 3
Cāḷukya(s) (of Kalyāṇa) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Cāḷukya(s) (of Veṅgi) 1
Cāmarājanagara 1, 2, 3
Cāmarasa 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Caṃpakasarasi 1
Candā Hussaynī, Shaikh 1
Candā Sāhēb 1, 2
Candanakēri 1
Candāpura 1
Candēri 1
Candra Puṣkariṇī 1
Candramauḷīśvara temple (of Sōde) 1
Candraprabha Jinālaya 1
Candraśēkhara (king) 1
Candraśēkhara/Candra (poet) 1
Cāṅgadēva 1
Cannabasava 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Cannabasavāṅka 1
Cannājamma 1
Cannakēśava temple 1

213
Cannakēśava temple (of Bēlūru) 1, 2
Cannamallikārjuna 1
Cannapaṭṭaṇa 1
Cannasaṅgayya (also see Saṅgayya I) 1
Cannavīra (also see Fakīrappa) 1
Carman, John Braisted 1
caste(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17
Cauḷikere maṭha 1
Caura Pañcāśika 1
Cavappa 1
Cēkkilār 1, 2
Ceñji 1, 2
Cennūra Jalālsāb 1
centre(s) of pilgrimage 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11
Cēra(s) 1, 2, 3
Ceruśśēri 1, 2
Chalāri Nṛsiṃhācārya 1
Chāndōgya Brāhmaṇa 1
Chāndōgya Upaniṣad 1, 2
Chhattisgarh 1
Chicago 1, 2
China 1, 2
Chisti order 1
Chisti saint 1, 2
Christendom 1
Christian missionaries 1, 2, 3
Christianity 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Cidānanda Avadhūta 1, 2, 3
Cikka Moraṭi 1
Cikkadānayya 1
Cikkagaṅgūru 1
Cikkakereyūru 1
Cikkakūḷḷi 1
Cikkamuccalaguḍḍa 1
Cikkēnāyaka 1
Cikkōḍi Ācārya 1

214
Cilappadigāraṃ 1
Ciñcala 1
Cinna Cavappa 1
Chirāg-ē-Dillī (also see Nāsir-ud-dīn) 1, 2
Citpāvan brāhmaṇas 1
Citradurga 1, 2, 3
Citradurga Śrīnivāsarāya 1
Citradurgada Rāmacandrarāya 1
Ciṭṭūru Śrīnivāsarāya 1
Cōkhāmēlā 1
Cōla country 1
Cōla(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
colonial discourse 1, 2
community (ies) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
Daḍaga 1
Dādāji Rāvu 1
Dādayya Nāyaka 1
Dadri 1
Dakhni 1
Dalit 1
Ḍaṃbaḷa 1, 2
Daṇḍarāya Śaraṇa 1
Daṇḍatīrtha (of Saridantara) 1
Daṇḍatīrtha (of Śrīmūṣṇa) 1
ḍaṅgura songs 1, 2
Darbhaśayana 1
darśana 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Das, Ram Saran 1
dāsa centre 1, 2
- ethics 1, 2, 3, 4
- institutions 1
- literature 1
dāsa(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
dāsōha 1, 2, 3
Datta Caitanya 1
Datta, Ram Bhaj 1

215
Daulatābād 1, 2
Dāvaṇagere 1, 2, 3
Dayananda Saraswati 1
Deccan 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21
- trap 1
Deccani Sultāns 1
dēha/dēhi 1, 2, 3
Deoras, Madhukar Dattatreya 1
Dēśasta brāhmaṇas 1
Dēśpāṇḍes 1
dēva 1
dēvabhōga 1, 2
dēvadāna 1
Dēvadurga 1
Dēvadurgada Ādi Amāteppa 1, 2
Dēvadurgada Cannamalla 1
Dēvagiri 1, 2
dēvaharmya 1
Dēvaḷāpura 1
Dēvāṅgada Aṃbārāya 1
Dēvāṅgada Ānandarāya 1
Dēvāṅgada Guṇḍappa 1
Dēvaraguḍi 1, 2
Dēvarājapura 1
dēvaranāma 1
Dēvarāya II 1, 2, 3
Dēvatādhyana Brāhmaṇa 1
Dēvīpurāṇaṃ 1, 2
Dhannūru 1
Dhanuṣkōṭi 1, 2, 3
Dhāravāḍa 1, 2, 3
Dhārāvarṣa 1
dharma 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Dharma Kalyāṇa 1, 2
dharmabhūtajñāna 1
Dharmagaṅgā 1

216
Dharmaparīkṣe 1
Dharmaśāstras 1
Dhavaḷagaṅga 1
Dhōrēśvara temple 1, 2
Dhūḷavva 1
Dhūmarāja 1
Dhummanasūra Siddhaprabhu 1
Diggāvi Gurubasava 1
Diggi 1, 2, 3, 4
Diggi Saṅgamanātha 1, 2,
Dilāvara Oḍeya/ Dilāvar Khān 1
Dilēr Khān 1
Dilli 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Dīpālpur 1
Dīpāvaḷi (Divāli) 1
Dirks, Nicholas 1, 2
Diśai Āyiratti Aiññūrruvar 1
dispossession 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Divān of Maisūru 1
Divānara Pāḷya 1
divine kingship 1, 2
Doḍḍa Jaṭaka 1
Doḍḍabaḷḷāpurada Rāghavēndradāsa 1
Doḍḍadēvarāja 1
Doniger, Wendy 1
Dōrasamudraṃ 1, 2
dryland belts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
- polities/political formations 1, 2, 3
Duff, Alexander 1
Dummi Nāḍu/Sīme 1
Dundūru 1, 2
durga-ṭhāṇya 1
durgada bhatta 1
Dutch 1
dvaita 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Dvārakā 1, 2

217
Dyāmavva 1
Eaton, Richard M. 1, 2
Ēcayya 1
Ēkaliṅga Tēli 1
Ēkānta Rāmayya 1, 2, 3, 4
Ēkānta Rāmitandeya Ragaḷe 1, 2
Ēkavāṭa 1
Ekkōṭi Basadi 1
Ēknāth 1, 2
Ēkōttaraśatasthala (of Jakkaṇārya) 1
Ēkōttaraśatasthala (of Mahaliṅgadēva) 1
ekōttaraśatasthala (system) 1
Ēkōttaraśatasthalaṣaṭpadi 1
eleemosynary grants 1
Elēkoppa 1
Eliade, Mircea 1
Ellōra 1
Emme Basava 1, 2
Ēṇabhairavakṣētra 1
English East India Company 1, 2
Enlightenment (Buddhist) 1
Enlightenment epistemology 1
Ennāpura 1
Ēri Nārāyaṇācārya 1
Eribūdihāḷa 1
essentialism 1
ettinavaru 1
Europe 1, 2, 3
European colonizers 1
Fakhr-ud-Dīn Jauna 1
Fakīra Cannavīra 1
Fakīra Siddharāma 1
Fakīra Śivayōgi 1
Fakīrappa (also see Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa) 1, 2, 3, 4
famine(s) 1, 2, 3
Fātimā 1

218
feeding (also see annadāna and dāsōha) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
feudal lords 1
- tendencies 1, 2
feudalism 1
Firūz Śāh 1
Flood, Gavin D. 1
Fourth Battle of Maisūru 1
Freschi, Elisha 1
Freud, Sigmund 1
Frykenberg, Robert E. 1
Fuller, Christopher John 1
Fusus al-Hikham 1
Gabbūra Ayyappajja 1
Gabbūra Haṃpaṇṇa 1
Gabbūra Mārtāṇḍappa 1
Gabbūru 1, 2
Gadaga 1, 2, 3, 4
Gadāyuddhaṃ 1
Gadvāla Satyācārya 1
Gadvālada Subbaṇṇadāsa 1
Gahinīnātha 1
Gājanūru 1
Galaga 1, 2
Galagada Cannabasava 1
Galagali Avva 1
Galewicz, Cezary 1, 2
Gaṇajāli 1
Gaṇapaseṭṭi 1
Gaṇapati temple 1
Gandhi, Mohandas Karamchand 1
Gaṇēśa 1
Gaṅgā (river) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5,
Gaṅga(s) 1, 2, 3
Gaṅgamma 1
Gaṅgāvati 1
Gaṅgōtri 1

219
Gāṇigara Dāsappa 1
Gāṇigara Niṅgaṇṇa 1
Garagada Maḍivāḷappa 1
Gauḍara Pāḷya 1
Gaura 1
Gauramma (blessed by Fakīrappa) 1
Gauramma (Fakīrappa’s mother) 1
Gaurēśvara temple 1
Gautamakṣētra 1
gavarēs 1
Gavarēśvara temple 1, 2
gāvuṇḍa 1
Gayā 1
Geertz, Clifford 1
German Missionaries 1
Ghaṭaprabha 1
Ghāzi Malik 1
Ghiyās-ud-dīn Tughlak 1
Ghṛtamālā 1
Giṇivāla 1
Girijamma 1
Girīndra 1
Giriyamma 1
Goa 1, 2
Gōdāvari 1, 2, 3
Gōhilēśvara temple 1
Gojjēśvara temple 1, 2
Gōkāk 1, 2
Gōkarṇa 1, 2, 3
Gōkāvi Bhīmācārya 1
Golwalkar, Madhav Sadashiv 1
Gōmatī 1
Gōnāḷa 1
Gōnuvāra Baḍēsāb 1
Gōpīcandana 1
Gōrābāḷa Hanumantarāya 1

220
Gōraciñcọḷi 1
Gōrakhanātha (also see Gōrakṣa) 1, 2, 3, 4
Gōrakṣa 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Gōrṭā 1
Gōsala Cannabasava 1
Gōsala maṭha 1
Gōvindabhaṭṭa 1
Gōvindanahaḷḷi 1, 2
Gōviṣaya 1
Gubbiya Mallaṇārya 1, 2, 3, 4
Guḍagēri 1
guerilla warfare 1
Gūgallu Parappayya 1
Gūgi 1
Gūgi Candā Sāhēb 1, 2
Guhēśvara 1, 2
Gujarat 1, 2
Gujarat communal pogram 1
Gulbarga 1
Guḷēdaguḍḍa 1
Guḷḷūru 1
Gūḷūru Siddhavīraṇṇoḍeya 1, 2
Gummaḷāpurada Siddhaliṅga Yati 1
Guṇḍa Basava 1
Guṇḍakriye 1
Guṇḍlupēṭe 1, 2
Guñjaḷa 1
Guptagaṇēśvara 1
guru 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
Guru Pūrṇimā 1
Gurubasava 1
Gurubhāra Liṅgayya 1
Gurumūrti Śaṅkaraśataka 1
guruparaṃparā 1
Gururājacāritra 1, 2, 3, 4
Gururāya 1

221
Gurvarthadīpikā 1
Gvāliyar 1
Hacker, Paul 1
Haḍaga Lampaṇṇa 1
Hadīths 1
Hāgalavāḍi 1
Hāgalavāḍi Nāyaka(s) 1
hagiography(ies) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19,
20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27
Haidarābād 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Hajjūmā 1
Halageyārya 1, 2
Halasi 1
Haḷē Ālūru 1
Haḷēbīḍu 1, 2
Hall, Kenneth R. 1
Haḷḷada Mādahaḷḷi 1, 2
Haḷḷi 1
Haḷḷūru 1
Haṃpi 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11
haṇḍi bhikṣā 1
Handrāḷu 1
Hañjamāna 1
Hans Raj, Lala 1
Hanuma 1
Hanuma Nāyaka 1, 2
Hanumappa Nāyaka (also see Santēbennūru Hanumappa Nāyaka) 1, 2
Haradanahaḷḷi 1
Harakēri Hobaḷi 1, 2
Haraḷayya 1, 2
Haraḷukōṭe 1
Harapanahaḷḷi 1, 2
Harapanahaḷḷi Bhīmavva 1
Harapanahaḷḷi Kṛṣṇācārya 1
Harapanahaḷḷi Rāmācārya 1, 2
Harapanahaḷḷi Śrīpatidāsa 1

222
Harapanahaḷḷi Veṅkaṭadāsa 1
Harasūru Aṇavīrappa 1
Haridāsa(s) 1, 2
Haridvāra 1
Harihara (place-name) 1, 2, 3
Harihara (poet) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Harihara I 1, 2, 3
Harihara II 1, 2
Hariharēśvara temple 1
Harimūla Gāhaṇṇa street 1
Hariścandra 1
Hāsana 1, 2, 3
Hassan (also see Khusrau Khān) 1
Hassan Gaṅgu 1
Hastināpura/Hastināvatī 1, 2, 3
Hastināvati 1
haṭhayōga 1
Hattiya Kāmiseṭṭi 1
Hāvanūru 1
Hāvēri 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Hawley, John Stratton 1
Hayagrīva Tīrtha 1
Hazratbal mosque 1
Hebbāḷa 1
Hebbāḷa (near Gaṅgāvati) 1
Heḷavanakaṭṭe Giriyamma 1
Hēmēśvara temple 1
Hemmēśvara temple 1, 2
Hērakallu 1
hereditary access to land 1, 2, 3, 4
- control over land 1, 2
- labour 1
- land holding 1
- rights 1
- succession 1, 2, 3
hero-stones (also see vīragallu) 1

223
Hērūru Virupaṇṇa 1
Himavanta Svāmi 1
Hīnayāna 1
Hindu(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
- consciousness 1, 2, 3
Hindu Sabha 1
Hindu Sahayak Sabha 1
Hinduism 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Hinduism: Doctrine and Way of Life 1
Hindutva 1, 2
Hirē Māḍaḷu 1
Hirēberige 1
Hirēkaḷale 1
Hirēkērūru 1
Hirēmaṭha 1
Hirērāyakuṃpi 1
Hiriya Harivāṇa 1
Hirve 1
Hodigere 1
Hodigere kaifiyat 1
Hōjēśvara 1
holati 1
Hoḷēnarasīpurada Bhīmarāya 1
holeya 1, 2
Holeyara Honnayya 1
Hōlī 1
Hōḷi Śēṣagirirāya 1
Homma 1, 2
Honnāḷi Dāsa 1
Honnamaṭṭe 1
honnu 1
Hosahoḷalu 1
Hosakere maṭha 1
Hosakēri 1
Hosaḷḷi Būdisvāmi 1
Hosapaṭṭaṇa 1

224
Hosapēṭeya Ayyappa Panthōji 1, 2
Hosūru Tippaṇṇa 1
Hoysaḷa Jinālaya 1
Hoysaḷa(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Hoysaḷēśvara temple 1
Hṛṣīkēśa 1
Hubbaḷḷi/Hubli 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Hubbanahaḷḷi 1
Huḍugiya Gurupādappa 1
Hulagūru 1
Huliyamēśvara temple 1
Humāyūn 1
Huṇasīhoḷi Bhīmarāvu Kulakaraṇi 1
Huraḷi 1
Hūvinakere 1
Huyilagōḷa Nārāyaṇarāya 1
Ibn al-‘Arabi 1
Īḍigara Kyātappa 1
Ikkaḷi 1
Ikkēri 1
iktādārs/iktās 1
Imām Sāhēb, Hazrat 1
ināṃ grant 1, 2
Iñcūru 1, 2
Indian Famine Commission 1
Indian National Congress 1, 2
Indian reformers 1, 2
Indrapuri 1
Indumauḷi 1
Indūru 1
Indūru Timmaṇṇa Dhanagāra 1, 2
initiation 1, 2, 3, 4
inter-Asia trade 1
interest-bearing capital 1, 2
Iran 1, 2, 3
Īrappayya 1, 2

225
Īśāvāsya Upaniṣad 1
Islam/Islamic 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
Islamicate 1
iṣṭaliṅga 1, 2, 3
Iṣṭasiddhi 1
Isupāśca 1, 2
Iṣupāta 1
īśvara 1
Īśvara temple 1, 2
Īśvarakṛṣṇa 1
Īśvaraseṭṭi 1
Īśvarayya 1
jaḍa 1, 2
Jagadēkamalla 1, 2
Jagadēkamalla II 1, 2
Jagadēva 1, 2, 3
Jagamōhana Rāmāyaṇa 1
Jagannāthadāsa 1
Jagannāthadāsa (saint from Odisha) 1, 2
Jagattuṅga 1
jāgīrdār/jāgīrdāri 1, 2
Jahīrābādina Tippaṇṇatāta 1
Jaina 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
Jaina basadi/temple 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Jainism 1, 2, 3, 4
Jakkaṇārya/Jakkaṇa 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
jaladāna 1
Jalāl-ud-dīn Ahsān Khān 1
Jalāl-ud-dīn Khalji 1
Jālihāḷu 1, 2
Jaṃbagi Śaraṇappa 1
Jammu and Kashmir 1
Janārdana Svāmi temple 1
jaṅgama 1, 2
Jaṅgama(s) 1, 2, 3, 4
Jannēśvara temple 1

226
jāti 1
Jāvaḷagi Guruvarēṇya Śaraṇa 1
Jaya Tīrtha 1, 2, 3, 4
Jayaprakash Narayan 1
Jayasiṃha 1
Jēḍēśvara temple 1, 2
Jhaṅkappa 1
Jhānsi 1
Jina 1, 2
Jinasēna II 1
Jinēśvara temple 1
Jinnēdēvara Basadi 1
jīva 1
jīvanmukti 1, 2
Jīvanmuktivivēka 1
Jñānāmbe 1
Jñānasindhu 1
Jñānēśvara 1, 2, 3
Jōgarasa 1
Jones, Sir William 1
Judaism 1, 2
Jummā Masjid (of Lakṣmēśvara) 1
Junnār 1
Jyēṣṭhayati 1, 2
Kabanūru 1
Kabīr 1, 2, 3
Kāḍacci 1
Kadaḍi 1
Kāḍajji 1
Kaḍakōḷa 1, 2,
Kaḍakōḷada Maḍivāḷappa 1, 2, 3
Kadaṃba(s) 1
Kāḍamma 1
Kaḍapa 1
Kaḍeya Kalyāṇa 1, 2
Kādiris 1

227
Kaḍlēvāḍada Siddhappa 1
Kaggere 1
Kāginele 1, 2
kaifiyats 1, 2, 3
Kailāsa 1
kaivalya 1, 2
Kākatīya(s) 1, 2, 3, 4
Kākhaṇḍaki Mahipatirāya 1
Kākhaṇḍaki Rāmācārya 1
Kāḷabbe 1
Kalaburagi 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Kalaburagi Śaraṇabasava (also see Śaraṇabasava) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Kaḷacūri(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Kāḷagi Maśāksāb 1
Kāḷahasti 1
kālajñāna 1, 2, 3
Kālakālēśvara temple 1
Kāḷāmukha(s) 1, 2
Kaḷasa 1
Kalburgi, M.M. 1, 2
Kālēśvara temple 1, 2
Kāḷeya 1
Kalidēva temple 1
Kalidēvasvāmi temple 1, 2
Kalidēvaṭhakkura 1
Kaligāvuṇḍa 1
Kālindī 1
Kaḷiṅga 1
Kaḷiṅgabbe 1
Kalkaṃbada Rukm-ud-dīn Sāb 1
Kallahaḷḷi 1
Kallappa 1
Kallēśvara temple 1, 2
Kallipusūru 1
Kallumaṭhada Prabhudēva 1, 2, 3
Kallūra Subbaṇṇācārya 1

228
Kalmalāda Tāyaṇṇa 1
kalpa tree 1
Kalyāṇa 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Kalyāṇa-krānti 1
Kalyāṇēśvara 1
Kāmākṣi Pāḷya 1
Kamala 1
Kamaladāni Nārāyaṇarāya 1
kāmāṭis 1
Kaṃbadahaḷḷi 1
Kammārakaṭṭe 1
kammaṭas 1
Kammaṭēśvara 1
Kaṃpaṇa I 1
Kanakadāsa/Kanaka 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
kanakana kiṇḍi 1
Kañcagāra Kaḷiṅga 1, 2
Kāñcīpuraṃ 3, 4, 5
Kandāḍai Rāmānujadāsar 1
Kandāgāla 1
kaṇimuttūrrǔ 1
Kannada 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13- 14, 15
Kannada Mārayya 1
Kannara (also see Karṇa) 1, 2
Kānphaṭā yōgis (also see Nāthas) 1, 2
Kaṇvā 1
Kaṇva Saṃhita 1
kanyādāna 1
Kanyākumāri 1, 2, 3
Kapālēśvara temple 1
Kāpālika(s) 1, 2
Kapilēśvara temple 1
Kappaḍi 1
kār sēva 1
Karāḍ brāhmaṇas 1
Karajagi Dāsappa 1

229
Karajagi Tīrthappa 1
Karasaṅgayya (also see Saṅgayya I) 1
Karashima, Noboru 1
karasthala 1, 2
Karasthala Nāgaliṅga 1, 2
Karasthala Nāgaliṅgana Caritre 1
Karasthala Nāgidēva Trividhi 1
Karidēva temple 1
Karīkaṭṭi 1
karma(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Karmaṭēśvara temple 1
Karṇa 1
Karnataka 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21,
22, 23, 24, 25
coastal - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Haidarābād - 1, 2
northern - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
northwestern - 1
southern - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11- 12
Karṇēśvara temple 1
Karvā Chauth 1
kāryakke kartaru 1
Kasalagere 1
Kāśamma 1
Kāsaragōḍǔ 1
Kashmir 1, 2, 3
Kāśi 1, 2, 3
Kaṭhōpaniṣad 1, 2, 3
Kaṭhōpaniṣad Bhāṣyaṭīkā 1
Kāṭi Gadyāṇa 1
kattiyavaru 1
Kaṭugara Saṅgayya 1, 2
Kauḍīmaṭṭi 1, 2
Kaulas 1
Kauḷūru Siddharāma 1
Kaurava(s) 1

230
Kāvēri 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Kavīndra Tīrtha 1
Kavirājamārga 1
kāvya 1, 2
kāyasiddhi 1
Kēdāra (Kedarnath) 1
Kēdāraśakti 1
Keḷadi 1, 2, 3
Keḷadi Nāyakas 1, 2, 3, 4
Keḷadi Rāmarāja Nāyaka 1
Keḷadi Sadāśiva Nāyaka 1
Keḷadi Sōmaśēkhara Nāyaka 1
Keḷadi Saṅkaṇṇa Nāyaka 1
Kelasūru 1, 2
Kelkar, Sanjeev 1
Keṃbhāvi 1
Keṃbhāvi Dāsācārya 1
Keṃbhāvi Surēndrarāvu Kulakaraṇi 1
Keñcā Maḍivāḷaśeṭṭi 1
Keñca Nāyaka 1
Keṅgappa Nāyaka 1
Kēnōpaniṣad 1
Kerala 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12
Kēsaradēva temple 1
Kēśava Caitanya 1
Kēśava temple 1, 2
Kēśavadēva temple 1
Kēśavdās 1
Kēśavēśvara temple 1
Kēśirāja 1
Kēśirāja Daṇṇāyakara Ragaḷe 1
Kētamalla 1
Kētamalla Heggaḍe 1
Kētaṇa 1
Kētiseṭṭi 1
Kētisetṭị of Koṭṭūru 1

231
kēvalajñāna 1, 2
Khādar Śah Vali 1
Khainūra Kṛṣṇappa 1
khalīfās 1
Khalji(s) 1
Khaṃbaṭ 1
khaṇḍajñāna 1, 2
khānkāh 1, 2
Khilāri 1
Khūrāsan 1
Khusrau Khān 1
Khyāḍa 1
Kikkēri 1
kīlguṇṭe 1
Kinnāḷada Śrīnivāsadāsa 1
Kirēsūru 1
kīrtane/kīrtans 1, 2, 3, 4
Koḍagu 1, 2
Kōdaṇḍa temple 1
Koḍēkallu 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Koḍēkallu Basava 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12
Kōḍikāla 1
Kohinūra Hussanasāb 1
kōil 1
Kokyūru 1
Koḷabāḷu 1
Kōlāra 1, 2
Kōlhāpura 1, 2, 3
Kōḷivāḍa 1
Kollūru 1, 2
Komrakere 1
Kōnāpurada Rāmappa 1
Koñcagēri 1
Koṅgaḷēśvara temple 1
Koṅkaṇa 1, 2
Koṅkaṇēśvara temple 1

232
Kopaṇa 1
Koppa 1
Koppaḷa 1, 2, 3
Koppēśvara temple 1
Koraḷibeṭṭa 1
Korān 1, 2
koravis 1
Kōsigi Svāmirāyācārya 1
Koṭagyāla 1
Kōṭēśvara 1
Kṛṣṇa (deity) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Kṛṣṇa (river) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
Kṛṣṇa temple (of Uḍupi) 1, 2, 3, 4
Kṛṣṇa Yajurvēda 1
Kṛsṇābāyi 1
Kṛṣṇarājapēṭe 1, 2
Kṛṣṇarāya 1, 2, 3, 4
Kṛṣṇavēṇi 1
Kūḍalasaṅgama 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Kūḍali 1, 2
Kūḍali maṭha 1, 2
Kūḍalūru Basavaliṅga 1
Kūḍligi Madhvācārya 1, 2
kula 1, 2, 3
Kulagāṇa 1
Kulakundi 1
Kulke, Hermann 1
Kumāra Baṅkanātha 1
Kumāradhārā 1
Kumārasvāmi temple (of Saṇḍūru) 1
Kuṃbhakōṇaṃ 1, 2
Kuṃbhāśi 1, 2
Kuṃbhēśvara temple 1
Kuṃbhēśvara temple (of Kuṃbhāsi) 1
Kuñcūru Hanumantācārya 1
Kundagōḷa 1

233
Kundakunda 1
Kuppagadde 1
Kurtakōṭi 1
kuruba 1, 2
Kurukṣētra 1, 2, 3
Kuśīnārā 1
Kvānaḷḷi Honnappa 1
Kyālakoṇḍa 1
Lahore 1
Laine, J. 1
Lakkaṇṇa Daṇḍēśa 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Lakkuṇḍi 1, 2
Lakṣābharaṇa 1
Lakṣmēśvara (also see Puligere) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Lakṣmī 1, 2, 3
Lakṣmīpurāṇa 1
Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa 1
Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa (name of Śrīpādarāya) 1
Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa temple 1, 2
Lakṣmīpati 1
Lakṣmīśōbhāne 1
Lal Krishna Advani 1
Lal, Harkrishna 1
Lal, Shadi 1
Lālanakere 1
land grants 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13
landed elites 1, 2, 3
landholders/landlords 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Lañjavāḍa 1
Lēpagiri 1
līlā 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
liṅga 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Liṅgājamma 1
Liṅgalīlāvilāsacāritra 1, 2, 3
Liṅgamma 1
Liṅgamma (mother of Koḍēkallu Basava) 1

234
Liṅgaṇṇa 1
Liṅgasugūru Yōgīndrarāya 1
Liṅgasugūru Svāmirāyācārya 1
Local Fund Committee 1
locality(ies) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
locality chiefs 1, 2, 3, 4
Lōkarasa 1
lokki-ponnu 1
Lokkiguṇḍi 1
London Missionary Society 1
Lord Wellesley 1, 2
Lorenzen, David N. 1
Macchēndranātha (also see Matsyēndra) 1
Māceyanāyaka I 1
Māceyanāyaka II 1
Madakari Nāḍu 1
Maḍakaśirāda Bhīmadāsaru 1
Mādana Hipparagā Siddharāma 1
Mādappa 1
Māḍaśiravāra 1
Mādēśvara temple 1
Mādhava temple 1
Mādhava Tīrtha 1
Mādhavācārya 1
Mādhavīya Dhātuvṛtti 1
Madhukēśvara temple 1
Madhuvayya 1
Madhvācārya (also see Ānanda Tīrtha) 1, 2
Madhva(s) 1
- tradition 1
Mādhvas 1
Madhyagēha Bhaṭṭa 1
Madhyavāṭa 1
Mādigara Cannayya 1
Maḍivāḷa Mācayya 1, 2, 3, 4
Madras Presidency 1

235
Madurai 1, 2
Māgaḍi 1, 2
Maggeya Māyidēva 1
Māgha 1
Mahā Cīna/Mahā Cinna 1
Mahābhārata 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Mahābhārata Lakṣālaṅkāra 1
Mahābhārata Tātparya Nirṇaya 1, 2, 3
Mahābhārata Tātparya Nirṇaya Bhāvaprakāśikā 1
Mahābhārata War 1
Mahadadhipura 1
Mahādēva temple 1, 2, 3
Mahādēviyakkana Purāṇa 1
Mahagāvi Vīrāsāb 1
Mahākāśyapa 1, 2
Mahālakṣmī of Kolhāpura 1
Mahaliṅgadēva 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Mahaliṅgaraṅga/Raṅga 1, 2
Mahānubhāva tradition 1
Maharashtra 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Mahattina maṭha 1
Mahāvrati 1
Mahēndraśaila 1
Mahēndravarman 1
Mahimā Dharma 1
Mahimā Gōsāyī 1
Mahmūd Gavān 1
Mahōdayapuraṃ 1, 2
Mahōḷa 1
Mahōḷada Hegrāsasvāmi 1, 2
Maidamarasa 1
Maiḷaladēvi 1
Maiḷugi 1
Maisūru 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12
Maisūru Veṅkaṭaramaṇadāsa 1
Majuṃdār 1

236
Mākēśvara temple 1
Māḷagūru 1
Māḷakhēḍa 1
Maḷali 1
Malaprabha 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Malasandra 1
Mālava 1
Malayavati temple 1
Malenāḍu (also see Western Ghat(s)) 1
Māḷeya 1
Maḷeya Mallēśa 1
Maḷeya Prabhu 1
Maleyūru 1
Malik al-Tujjar 1
Malik Aṃbar 1
Malik Kāfūr 1
Māḷiprabhu 1, 2
Maliśeṭṭi/Mallaṇṇa 1, 2
Mallāpura 1
Mallave 1
Mallēśvara temple 1, 2
Malleyanāyaka 1
Mallikārjuna (anthologist) 1
Mallikārjuna (king) 1
Mallikārjuna temple 1, 2
Mallikārjunappa Gauḍa 1, 2
Malliśeṭṭi 1
Malliyadaṇṇāyaka 1
Maluka Oḍeya 1, 2
Mānā Madurai Dāsa 1
Manaha 1
Mānasāra 1
Mānasōllāsa 1
Mañcaseṭṭi 1
Mañcave 1
Maṇḍalasvāmi 1

237
maṇḍalēśa 1
maṇḍalēśvara 1
Maṇḍalēśvara temple 1
Maṇḍiganāḷa 1
Māṇḍūkyōpaniṣad 1, 2
Māṇḍūkyōpaniṣad Bhāṣyaṭīkā 1
Maṇḍya 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Maṅgala 1
Maṅgalagi Nannādsāb 1
Maṅgaḷavāḍa/Maṅgalvēḍhā 1, 2
maṅgalsūtra 1
Maṅgalūru 1
Maṅgamma 1
Maṅgammana Pāḷya 1
Māṅgāvi 1
Maṇigārakēri 1, 2
Maṇigrāmaṃ 1, 2
Māṇikaprabhu 1
Maṇiman 1
Maṇimañjarī 1
Mañjarlāda Khādarsāb 1
Mañjeyanāyaka 1
Mañjuguṇi 1
Manōhara temple 1
Manōvijaya 1
mansabdāri 1, 2
Maṇṭēsvāmi/Maṇṭēliṅga 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Mantragōpya 1
Mantrālaya 1
Mantrayāna 1, 2
Maṇūru 1
Mānvi Guṇḍācārya 1
Mānyakhēṭa 1
Maraḍūru 1
Marahaḷḷi 1
Marakundi Basavaṇṇappa 1

238
Mārappa 1
Marāṭha country 1
Marāṭha(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Marathi/Marāṭhi 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Mārḍi 1
Marēkoppa 1
Mariyadēva temple 1
Marpa 1
Māruti temple (of Sōde) 1
Marx, Karl 1
Masson, Jeffery Moussaieff 1
mata 1, 2
maṭha(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18
Mathurā 1, 2
Matsyēndra 1, 2
Maudgalyāyana/Moggallāna 1, 2
māyā/māyāvāda 1, 2, 3, 4
māyāvādī 1, 2, 3
Mayināḷa 1
Māyitammana Mucaḍi 1
Mayūrakhiṇḍi 1
Mckay, Alex 1
Mēl Śaṅkara temple 1
Mēḷēśvara temple 1
Mēlnāṭi Lakṣmaṇārya 1
Mēlpattūr Nārāyaṇa Bhaṭṭadiri 1, 2
Mēlukōṭe 1, 2, 3
Meṇsina Pārisadēva 1
merchant syndicate(s) 1, 2
merchant(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
Mexican 1
Milarēpa 1
military entrepreneurs/entrepreneurship 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
- labour 1, 2, 3, 4
- labour market 1, 2
Mill, James 1

239
Mīrā 1, 2
miracle(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12- 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19
- worker(s)/working 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
Mitākṣara 1
Modalakallu Śēṣadāsa 1
Mohammad Sāb Pāḷya 1
Mohāpātras 1
mōkṣa 1, 2
Mōn-ud-dīn/Maun-ud-dīn (also see Mōnappa) 1
Mōnappa 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
monastery (ies) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19,
20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32,
monastic landlordism 1
Mōnēśvara (also see Mōnappa) 1
monetization 1, 2, 3
rural - 1
Moraṭagi 1
Mōrkhaṇḍi 1, 2
Mōṭanaḷḷi Hassansāb 1
Mubārak 1
Mucaḷaṃba 1
Mūḍabidari 1
Mūḍakere 1
Muddaḷagādri Nāyaka 1
Muddappa 1
Muddēbihāḷa 1, 2
Muddinavāḍi Azīz Paṭēl 1
Mudhōḷa 1
Mudnūru Hanneraṅgadāsa 1
Muhammad Ādil Śāh 1
Muhammad bin Tughlak 1, 2
Muhammad Śarīf (also see Śiśnāḷa Śarīf) 1
Muhammad, the Prophet 1, 2, 3, 4
Mukkundi 1, 2
Muktābāi 1
Muktāyakka 1, 2

240
mukti 1
Muḷabāgilu 1, 2
Muḷagunda 1
Muḷagundada Māḷiprabhu 1
Mūlasthāna Dévarasa temple 1
Mūlasthāna temple 1, 2
Mullens, Joseph 1
Muṇḍakōpaniṣad 1, 2
Muṇḍaragi 1
Munireḍḍi Pāḷya 1
Murahari temple 1
Murāri Mallayya 1
Murugharājēndra maṭha 1, 2
Muslim(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11
Nādir Śāh 1
nāḍu 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
nāḍu-nakhara 1
Nāg Hammādi library 1
Nāga world 1
Nāgābharaṇa 1
Nāgabhaṭṭa 1
Nāgabhūṣaṇa temple 1
Nāgamaṅgala 1, 2, 3
Nāganātha (also see Vaḍabāḷada Nāganātha) 1, 2
Nāganūru 1
Nāgappa 1
Nagara 1
Nagara Jinālaya 1
Nāgaraghaṭṭa 1
Nāgarahaḷḷi Śaraṇabasava 1
Nagaraj, D.R. 1
nagaraṃ 1, 2
Nagarēśvara temple 1
Nagarīśvara temple 1
Nāgārjuna 1, 2
Nāgāvi 1, 2

241
Nāgāvi Īrappayya 1
Nāgēśvara temple 1
Nāgini 1
Naimiṣāraṇya 1
Nakarēśvara temple 1
Nakhara(s) 1, 2
Nālatvāḍada Vīrēśa Śaraṇa 1
Nālāyira Divyaprabandhaṃ 1, 2, 3
Nallūru 1
nāmasmaraṇe 1
namāz 1, 2
Naṃbiyaṇṇa 1
Naṃbūdiris 1
Nāmdēv 1
Nāmdēv Siṃpi 1
Name of the Rose 1
Nammālvār 1
Nandi 1
Nandikēśvara 1
Nandiyāgamalīle 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Nañjanagūḍu 1, 2, 3
Nānmādipānallūr 1
Naragundada Vīrappajja 1
Narahari Sōmayāji 1
Narahari Tīrtha 1, 2
Nāraṇakramita 1
Narasa Nāyaka 1
Narasiṃha (of Apēgāv) 1
Narasiṃha Bhārati 1
Narasiṃha I 1, 2,
Nārāyaṇa 1, 2, 3
Nārāyaṇa Bhaṭṭa 1
Nārāyaṇa Paṇḍita 1, 2
Narayana Rao, Velcheru 1, 2
Nārāyaṇa temple 1
Nārāyaṇa Vājapēyayāji 1

242
Nārāyaṇapura 1
Narēgalla Rāmaṇṇa 1
Narēndra 1
narēndra 1
Narendra Nath, Raja 1
Narēndrasiddha 1
Narmadā 1
Nārōpa 1, 2
Nāsir-ud-dīn Mahmūd 1
Nāthamuni 1, 2, 3
Nātha(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Nattaguḷi 1
Navakōṭi Nārāyaṇa 1
Navalagunda 1
Navalagundada Nāgaliṅga 1
Nāvalūr 1
Navarātri 1
navilu-ponnu 1
Navilūru 1
Nāyakas of Ceñji 1, 2
Nāyakas of Madurai 1
Nāyakas of Sōde 1
Nāyakas of Tañjāvūr 1
Nāyanārs 1, 2, 3
Nāyar militia 1
Nēgināḷa 1
Nellisaruhāna 1
Nēnasidēva 1
neo-brāhmaṇical landlordism 1, 2, 3, 4
Nētrāvati 1
Niḍaguraki Jīvūbāyi 1
Niḍugallu 1
Niḍuvañci Bhadrappa 1
Nietzsche, Friedrich 1
Nijaguṇa Śivayōgi 1, 2
nīlagāras 1, 2, 3

243
Nīlagunda 1
Nīlājamma 1
Nīlāṃbike 1, 2
Nīlamma (wife of Basava) 1
Nīlamma (wife of Koḍēkallu Basava) 1, 2
Nilavañji 1
Niṃbiyakka 1
Niṃbōḷi Tippaṇṇa 1
Nīralakere Basavaliṅga 1, 2, 3
Nirāsi maṭha 1
Nirukta 1
Nirupamavarṣa 1
nirvāṇa 1
niśidhi 1
nītijñāna 1
Nītimārga 1
Niṭre 1
Nivṛttinātha 1
Nizām (of Haidarābād) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Nizām-ud-dīn Auliyā, Hazrat 1
Nṛpatuṅga 1
Nudi Lingaits 1
Nūlara Nāgiseṭṭi 1
Nūlara Nakharaṅgaḷu 1
Nūpuragaṅgā 1
nūrondu viraktaru 1
Nyāyasudhā 1
Oḍḍaṭṭi 1
Oḍeya(s) 1, 2
Odia Bhāgavatapurāṇa 1
Odia Mahābhārata 1
Odisha 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Oḷabaḷḷāri 1
Olson, Carl 1
pādabandha 1
Padma Tīrtha 1

244
padmabandha 1
padmabhadra 1
padmakēsara 1
Padmanābha Tīrtha (disciple of Ānanda Tīrtha) 1, 2, 3
Padmanābha Tīrtha (rival of Ānanda Tīrtha) 1
padmāsana 1
Padmāvati (deity) 1
Padmāvati (wife of Ādayya) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Paiṭhāṇ 1
Pājaka 1, 2
Pāḷegāra(s)/Pāḷaiyakkārar/Pāḷegāḷḷu 1, 2, 3
Pālī canon/Vinaya 1
Pālkurike Sōmanātha 1, 2, 3, 4
Palla 1
Pallaharaki Paraki 1
Pallava 1
Pallava temples 1
paḷḷiccandaṃ 1
pāḷya/pāḷaiyaṃ 1, 2
Paṃpa 1, 2, 3,
Paṃpakka 1
Paṃpēśvara temple 1
pañcabhēdā 1
Pañcācāryas 1
Pañcāgni Mādhava 1
Pañcakēśvara temple 1
Pañcaliṅgēśvara temple 1
pañcamahāpātaka 1
pañcamahāśabda 1
Pañcarātra 1
pañcasakhas 1, 2
pañcavādyaṃ 1
pañcavaṇṇige 1
Pāṇḍava(s) 1, 2
Paṇḍharāpura (also see Paṇḍharpur) 1
Paṇḍhāri Dīkṣita 1

245
Paṇḍharpur 1, 2
Pāṇḍya(s) 1, 2
Pāṇigaṭṭi 1
Pāpanāśēśvara temple 1
Pāpareḍḍi Pāḷya 1
Parakayya 1
Paramānanda Guru 1
Paramānubhavabodhe 1, 2
Paramēśvara 1
Parāśaramādhavīya 1
Paraśurāma 1
Paraśurāmakṣētra 1, 2
Pārisaseṭṭi 1, 2, 3, 4
parōkṣavinaya 1
pārṣṇika 1
Pārśvanātha Basadi 1, 2
Pārśvanātha Basadi (of Śravaṇabeḷagoḷa) 1
Parthasarathy, Aralu Mallige 1
Pāṣaṇḍamatakhaṇḍana 1
Pāśupata 1
paṭṭabhāga 1
Paṭṭadakallu 1
paṭṭadhara 1
Paṭṭaṇaśeṭṭi Liṅgaṇṇa 1
Paṭṭaṇasvāmi 1
paurāṇic ontology 1
- texts 1
- tradition 1
Payaraṇipāḷyaṃ 1
Payasvini 1, 2
Paz, Octavio 1
Peabody, Norbert 1
peasant locality (ies) (also see nāḍu) 1, 2, 3
- magnates 1, 2, 3
- proprietors 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
peasantry/peasant(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17

246
Pennington, Brian K. 1
Periyapurāṇaṃ 1, 2
Permāḍi 1, 2
Persian 1, 2, 3, 4
perumāḷ 1
pēṭe(s) 1
Phalgu 1, 2
Piḍḍavve 1
pilgrimage 1, 2, 3
Pillappa Nāyaka 1
Pinch, William 1
Piṇḍōla Bhāradvāja 1
Pippalāda 1
poduvāḷs 1
Poligar 1
ponnāya 1
Portuguese 1, 2, 3
Prabhāsa 1
Prabhudēvara Ṣaṭsthalajñānacāritravacanada Ṭīke 1
Prabhudēvara Ṭīkina Vacana 1
Prabhugīta 1
Prabhuliṅgalīle 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Prāgyavāṭa 1
Prajñā Tīrtha 1
prākāra 1
prāṇaliṅga 1, 2, 3
prāsāda 1
Prasaṅgābharaṇa Tīrtha 1
Prasanna Kēśava temple 1
Prasanna Rājēśvara temple 1
praśasti 1, 2
Praśnōpaniṣad 1, 2
prasthānatraya 1, 2
Pratāparudra (Gajapati king) 1
Pratāparudra II (Kākatīya king) 1
Prauḍharāyana Kāvya 1, 2

247
pravacana 1
Pravacanasāra 1
Prayāga(s) 1
Prāyaścitta Sudhānidhi 1
Prōla 1
Prophet, the 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Protestant traditions 1
Pṛthvīvallabha 1, 2
Pudukkuḍi 1
Pulabhāra 1, 2
Puligere (also see Lakṣmēśvara) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Puligerepuravarādhīśvara 1
Pūnā 1, 2
Puṇajūru 1
Pūndānaṃ Naṃbūdiri 1, 2
Puṇḍarīkapuri 1
Puṇe Rāghavācārya 1
Purandara Viṭhala 1
Purandara Viṭhala Nārāyaṇa 1
Purandaradāsa/Purandara 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
purātanas 1
Purī 1
Pūrṇabōdha (also see Ānanda Tīrtha) 1
Puruṣārttha Sudhānidhi 1
Puruṣōttama Tīrtha 1
Pūrvācārya 1
Pūrvapurāṇa 1
Puṣkara 1
Puṭṭamallappa 1
Rācappa/Rācappāji/Rācaṇṇa 1, 2, 3
Rāceyanāyaka 1
Rācōṭi 1
ragaḷe 1, 2, 3
Rāghappa 1
Rāghava Caitanya 1, 2
Rāghavāṅka 1, 2, 3, 4

248
Rāghavāṅkacarite 1
Rāghavēndra maṭha (of Nañjanagūḍu) 1
Rāghavēndra Tīrtha 1
Raghunātha 1
Raghunātha Tīrtha 1, 2
Raghupakaṭle 1
Raghūttama Tīrtha 1
Raghuvarya Tīrtha 1
Rai, Lala Lajpat 1
Rāidās 1, 2
Rāja Oḍeya 1
Rajagopalachari, C./Rajaji 1, 2
Rājagṛha 1
rājaharmya 1
Rājarāja I 1, 2
rājayōga 1
Rājēndra I 1, 2
Rājōḷada Murugharājēndra 1
Rājū Kattāl (also see Sayyīd Yūsuf al-Hussaynī) 1
Rakkasagi 1
Rakṣābandhan 1
Rāma Nāyaka 1
Rāmabhaṭṭa 1
Rāmacandra 1,
Rāmacandra Tīrtha 1
Rāmacandrapura 1
Rāmacaritaṃ 1
Rāmācārya 1
Rāmadurgada Shēikh Abdul Bābā 1
Rāmajōgi 1, 2
Rāmaliṅga Āḷe 1
Rāmanagaraṃ 1
Ramanand Sagar 1
Rāmānanda 1
Rāmanātha 1
Rāmanātha temple 1, 2

249
Rāmānuja 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Ramanujan, A.K. 1
Rāmapāla 1
Rāmapurada Bakkappa 1
Rāmarāya 1, 2, 3, 4
Rāmasētu 1
Rāmāyaṇ (tele-serial) 1
Rāmāyaṇa 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Rāmayya 1
Rāmēśvara temple 1, 2, 3, 4
Rāmēśvaraṃ 1, 2
Rāmji Dāda 1
Raṇarāga 1
Raṇavikrama 1
Rāṇēbennūru 1
Raṅgaviṭṭhala 1
Ranna 1
Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh/RSS 1, 2
Rastāpurada Bhīma 1
Rāṣṭrakūṭa(s) 1, 2, 3, 4
rath yatra of 1990 1
Rauḍakunde 1
Ravivarman 1
Rāyacōṭi 1
Rāyacūru 1, 2, 3
Rāyacūru Hanumantavva 1
Rāyacūru Yaramāreppa 1
reification 1, 2, 3
relational ontology 1
religious identity(ies) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
renunciation 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16
Rēvaṇasiddha 1
Rēvaṇasiddhēśvarana Ragaḷe 1
revenue farmers 1, 2, 3
revenue-farming rights 1, 2
Ṛgvēda 1, 2

250
Rōmakōṭi 1
Roman Catholic Church 1
Roy, Raja Rammohan 1, 2
Ṛṣīkēśa 1, 2
Rubiés, Joan-Pau 1
Rudra 1
Rudra (poet) 1
Rudrēśvara temple 1
Rukmiṇīśavijaya 1
rural markets 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Ṣaḍakṣaradēva 1
Sadgururahasya 1
Ṣaḍviṃśa Brāhmaṇa 1
Sagara 1, 2, 3, 4
Sagara family 1
Sagara Kṛṣṇācārya 1
Sagarakannōṭa 1
Śahāb-ud-dīn Bābā 1, 2
Śahāpura 1
Sāhasabhīmavijayaṃ 1
Sahini, Ruchi Ram 1
Sahyagiri 1
Śaiva(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9,
non - 1
śālābhōgaṃ 1
sāḷagrāma 1
Sālagunde 1
sallēkhana 1
Śālmali 1
Sālōṭagi 1, 2
Sālōṭagi Cannabasava 1, 2
Saltanat of Madurai 1
Sāḷuva Narasiṃha 1, 2
Sāḷuva(s) 1, 2
Samācār Candrikā 1, 2
Sāmavēda 1

251
Samavidhāna Brāhmaṇa 1
samaya 1, 2, 3, 4
Samayaparīkṣe 1
Śaṃbala 1
Saṃbhōḷi Nāgayya 1
Śaṃbhuliṅgēśvara temple 1
Saṃhitas 1
Saṃhitōpaniṣad Brāhmaṇa 1
Saṃpigepura 1
Saṃśi 1, 2
Sanaka brothers 1
Sandhyākara Nandi 1
Saṇḍūru 1
Saṅgama 1
Saṅgama(s) 1, 2, 3, 4
Saṅgamēśvara temple 1
Saṅgayya I 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Saṅgayya II 1
Sangh Parivar 1, 2
Saṅkama 1
Saṅkamaseṭṭiti 1
Śaṅkara (advaita saint) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Śaṅkara (brāhmaṇa of Gōviṣaya) 1
Śaṅkara (brother of Trivikrama Paṇḍita) 1
Śaṅkarācārya (disciple of Ānanda Tīrtha) 1
Śaṅkarācārya of Śṛṅgēri 1
Śaṅkara Dāsimayya 1
Śaṅkaradigvijaya 1
Śaṅkaragaṇḍa 1
Śaṅkaranārāyaṇa 1, 2, 3
Śaṅkara temple 1
Śaṅkhavaraṃ Veṅkaṭarāghavācārya 1
Sāṅkhyākārikā 1
Śaṅkōddhāra 1
Sannati 1
Sanskrit 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

252
Śānta Nirañjana 1
Śāntaliṅgadēśikan 1, 2, 3
Santēbennūru 1, 2
Santēbennūru Hanumappa Nāyaka 1
Santēbennūru kaifiyat 1
Santēbennūru Rāmadāsa 1
Santēkallūru Ghanamaṭhada Nagabhuṣaṇa 1
Santekelūru Varadēśadāsa 1
Śāntīśvara Basadi 1
Śāntīśvara Basadi (of Śravaṇabeḷagoḷa) 1
Saptakāvya 1
Saragūru Veṅkaṭavaradācārya 1
Śāraḷādāsa 1, 2
Śaraṇa-caḷuvaḷi 1
śaraṇa(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
Śaraṇabasava 1, 2
Śaraṇappa 1
Sārasvata brāhmaṇas 1
Sarasvatī Dēvi 1
Sarasvatī temple 1
Śaratuṅga 1
Saridantara 1
Śarīf (also see Śiśunāḷa Śarīf) 1
Śāriputra 1
śarīra/śarīri 1, 2
Sarmast, Shaikh 1
Sarpabhūṣaṇa Śivayōgi 1, 2
sāruvayyas 1
Sarvadarśanasaṅgraha 1, 2
Sarvadeshak Hindu Mahasabha 1
Sarvadēva 1
Sarvajña 1, 2
Sarvalōkāśraya Basadi 1
Sāsalu 1
Śatakatraya 1
Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa 1, 2

253
ṣaṭcakra 1
satsaṅgs 1
ṣaṭsthalas 1
Ṣaṭsthalagadya 1
Ṣaṭsthalajñānasārāmṛta 1
Ṣaṭsthalōpadēśa 1
Sattar, Abdul 1
Sattigēri 1
Satya Prajña 1
Satya Tīrtha 1
Satyābhinava Tīrtha 1
Satyabōdha Tīrtha 1
Satyadhāma Tīrtha 1
Satyakāma Tīrtha 1
Satyanārāyaṇa Pūja 1
Satyanātha Tīrtha 1
Satyanidhi Tīrtha 1
Satyaparāyaṇa Tīrtha I 1
Satyaparāyaṇa Tīrtha II 1
Satyapriya Tīrtha 1
Satyapūrṇa Tīrtha 1
Satyasannidhāna Tīrtha 1
Satyasāra Tīrtha 1
Satyāśraya 1
Satyavākya 1
Satyavara Tīrtha 1
Satyavijaya Tīrtha 1
Satyavit Tīrtha 1
Satyavrata Tīrtha 1
Satyēndra Cōḷa 1
Satyēṣṭi Tīrtha 1
Saumyakēśava temple 1
Śaunakīya recension 1
Saundaryalahari 1
Saurabhaṭṭa 1
Saurāṣṭra 1, 2, 3

254
Saussure, Ferdinand de 1
Savadi Rāmacandrappa 1
Sāvaḷagi (near Gōkāk) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Sāvaḷagi (near Kalaburagi) 1
Sāvaḷagi Muhammadsāb 1
Sāvaḷagi Śivaliṅga (also see Śivaliṅga) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Sāvaḷagi Śrīśivaliṅgēśvarapurāṇa 1
Savaṇūru 1, 2, 3, 4
Savaṇūru Bādarāyaṇadāsa 1
Savaṇūru Dūrappadāsa 1
Savarkar, Vinayak Damodar 1
Sāyaṇācārya/Sāyaṇa 1, 2, 3
Sāyaṇapura 1
Sayyīd Asghar al-Hussaynī 1
Sayyīd Candān al-Hussaynī 1
Sayyīd Muhammad al-Hussaynī (also see Bandēnavāz) 1
Sayyīd Yūsuf al-Hussaynī 1
secular labour market 1, 2, 3, 4
Semitic traditions 1
Śēṣa (commentator) 1
Śēṣa (deity) 1
Śēṣagiriyappa 1
Seṭṭigauṇḍa 1
seṭṭis 1
Sēvuṇa(s) 1, 2, 3
Shulman, David 1, 2
Siddaliṅga (of Āḷande) 1
Siddappāji 1
siddha centre(s) 1, 2, 3, 4
- ethic(s) 1, 2, 3
- knowledge systems 1
- literature/corpus/accounts 1, 2
siddha(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11
Siddha Sōmanātha temple 1
Siddhagaṅga 1
Siddhaliṅga (of Mahōḷa) 1

255
Siddhanañjēśa 1, 2, 3, 4
Siddhapuri 1
Siddharāma 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Siddharāmacāritra 1, 2
Siddhayya 1
Śiggāvi 1
Sikandarābād 1
Sikandarpur 1
Sikandrā 1
Śikāripura 1
Sikh 1
Siṃhācalaṃ 1
Sindagi 1
Sindeya 1
Sindeyanāyaka 1
Sindhaghaṭṭa 1
Sindhanūru 1
Siṅganapura 1
Siṅghaṇa 1
Siṅghaṇa III 1
Siṅgirāja 1
Sirabaḍagi 1
Siragāpurada Baṇḍeppa 1
Śirahaṭṭi 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
Śirahaṭṭi Fakīrappa 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Śirōḷa 1, 2
Śirugāpura 1
Śirūru 1, 2
Śiśunāḷa 1
Śiśnāḷa Śarīf 1, 2, 3
Śiśu Anantadāsa 1, 2
Śiśupālavadha 1
Śītaḷavāri 1
Sītārāmappa Nāyaka 1
Śiva 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15,
Śivagaṇaprasādi Mahādēvayya 1, 2, 3

256
Śivāji 1
Śivakḍētra 1
Śivaliṅga 1, 2
Śivaliṅga 1, 2
Śivamāra 1
Śivamogga 1, 2
- Hōbaḷi 1, 2
Śivatatvacintāmaṇi 1, 2, 3
Śiva temple 1
Śivayōgāṅgabhūṣaṇa 1
Śivayōgi maṭha 1, 2
Śivayya 1
Smārtha brāhmaṇa 1
Smith, Wilfred Cantwell 1
Śōbhanabhaṭṭa 1
Sōde 1, 2, 3
- maṭha 1, 2, 3
Sōḷadābaka 1
Sōlāpur 1
Sōmanagauḍa 1, 2
Sōmanātha 1
Sōmanāthacāritra 1, 2, 3
Sōmarāja 1
Sōmavārapēṭe 1
Sōmekaṭṭe Cannavīra 1
Sōmēśvara III 1, 2
Sōmēśvara IV 1, 2
Sōmēśvara temple 1, 2, 3, 4
Soṇḍūru 1
Sonnalāpura 1, 2
Sonnalige 1, 2
Sōpāṇa 1
Soppimath, Basavalinga 1
Soraba 1
Śōrāpura 1
- doab 1, 2

257
Sōvaladēvi 1
Sōvidēva (Kaḷacūri king) 1
Sōvidēva (nāḍu chief) 1
Sōviseṭṭi 1
śrāvaka 1, 2
Śravaṇabeḷagoḷa 1, 2, 3
śrībandha 1
śrībhadra 1
Śrībhāṣya 1, 2
Śrīkaraṇa Jinālaya 1
Śrīkṛṣṇa temple (of Sōde) 1
śrīmukha 1
Śrīmuṣṇa 1, 2
Srinivasachari, P.N. 1
Śrīpādarāya/Śrīpāda 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Śrīpura 1
Śrīpuruṣa 1, 2, 3
Śrīraṅga 1
Śrīraṅga (deity) 1
Śrīraṅgaṃ 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Śrīraṅgapaṭṭaṇa 1, 2
Śrīraṅgarāya 1, 2
Śrīśailaṃ 1, 2, 3
Śrīvidyā tradition 1
śrīvilāsa 1
Śṛṅgēri 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
stand-alone saint(s) 1, 2, 3, 4
Stein, Burton 1, 2, 3
sthāvara 1
stōtras 1
suba of Karnataka 1
Subēdār Pāḷya 1
Subhāṣita Sudhānidhi 1
Subrahmaṇya 1, 2
Subrahmaṇya temple 1
Subrahmanyam, Sanjay 1, 2

258
Subsidiary Alliance 1, 2, 3
Sūcikabbe 1
Śucīndraṃ 1
Sudhīndra Tīrtha 1
Sūfis 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Sūfism 1
Suhṛllēkhā 1
Sultān(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Sultān(s) of Dilli 1, 2, 3, 4
Sultānpur 1
Sumadhvavijaya 1, 2, 3
Sumatīndra Tīrtha 1
Sundara Pāṇḍyan 1
Sundaramma 1
suṅka 1, 2, 3
suṅka-durga(s) 1
suṅkada-ṭhāṇe 1
śūnya 1
śūnya siṃhāsana 1
Śūnyasaṃpādane 1, 2, 3, 4
Surapurada Ānandadāsa 1
Surapurada Bhīmācārya 1
Surapurada Gōpati Viṭhaladāsa 1
Surapurada Hējīb Kṛṣṇarāya 1
Surapurada Prēmadāsa 1
Sūrdās 1, 2
Surēndra Tīrtha 1
Sūrya temple 1, 2
Sūryavaṃśi Gajapati(s) 1
Suśruta Saṃhitā 1
Suvarṇā 1
Suvarṇamukhi 1
Suvarṇavarṣa 1
Svāgyāḷa 1
Svapnapada 1
Svarṇavarṇa Tīrtha 1

259
Svarūpāmṛta 1
Svayaṃbhu Aṅkakāradēva temple 1
Svayambhu Hāṭakēśvara temple 1
Svayaṃbhu Śiva temple (of Vāraṅgallu) 1
Svyaṃbhu Kalidēva temple 1
Taila II 1
Taila III 1
Taittirīya Āraṇyaka 1
- Brāhmaṇa 1
- Saṃhita 1
- Upaniṣad 1, 2
Taittirīyōpaniṣad Bhāṣyaṭī 1
taḷa bhikṣā 1
Tāḷakēri Basavarāja 1
Tāḷapaḷḷi Veṅkayya 1
Taḷāra Suṅkada Kētamalla 1
Taḷāra Suṅkada Mahadēvaṇṇa 1
Talavakārōpaniṣad Bhāṣyaṭīka 1
Tāḷikōṭe 1
Tamil 1, 2, 3, 4
- country 1
Tamilnadu 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15
Tammaḍihaḷḷi 1
Tāmraparṇi 1, 2, 3
Tāṇḍya Brāhmaṇa 1
Taṅgaḍagi 1
Tañjāvūr 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Tantrasāra 1
Tantrasāraṭīkā 1
Tāpti 1, 2
Tarikere 1, 2
tatvapadakāras 1, 2
Tatvaprakāśikā 1
Tatvasuvvāli 1
Tekkalakōṭe 1
telligas 1

260
Telligēśvara 1
Telugabāḷa Rēvaṇṇa 1
Telugu 1, 2, 3
- country 1
- speaking region 1, 2
Telugu Jommayya 1
temple-building 1, 2, 3
temple(s) 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23,
24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34
Teṅginaghaṭṭa 1
ṭhakkura 1
Thapar, Romila 1, 2, 3
theory 1
Thēravāda 1
Ṭhoḷali 1
Tibet 1, 2
Tigari 1
Tilak, Bal Gangadhar 1
Tilōpa 1, 2
Tiḷuvaḷḷi 1
Timmappa 1
Timmaseṭṭi 1
Tīmūr 1
Tinthiṇi 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Tinthiṇi Mōnappa 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Tīpū Sultān 1
Tīrtha Prabandha 1, 2, 3
Tīrthahaḷḷi maṭha 1
tīrthaṅkara 1
Tirujñānasaṃbandhar/Tirujnāni Sammandhi 1
Tirukaḷappūr 1
Tirukōyilūr 1
Tirumala Dīkṣita 1, 2
Tirumalarasa Cauṭa 1
Tirumalarāya 1, 2
Tirupati 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

261
Tirupati Pāṇḍuraṅgi Huccācārya 1
Tiruvālaṅṅāḍu copperplate grant 1
Tiruvanantapuraṃ 1, 2
Tiruvaṇṇāmalai 1, 2
Tiruvāymoli 1
Toṇaci 1
Tōṇṭada Siddhaliṅga 1, 2, 3, 4
Toreya Śaṅkaradēva temple 1
tottu 1
Trailōkyamalla 1
Traipuruṣa temple 1
Trautmann, Thomas R. 1
Tribhuvanamalla 1
Trikūṭa Basadi 1
Trikūṭa Jinālaya 1
Tripurāntaka 1
Tripurāntaka temple 1, 2
Tripurāntaka temple (of Kalyāṇa) 1, 2
Trivikrama 1
Trivikrama Paṇḍita 1
Trivikrama temple 1
Tughlak(s) 1, 2, 3
Tukārāṃ 1, 2
Tulsīdās 1, 2, 3
Tuḷuva Narasiṃha 1
Tuḷuva(s) 1, 2, 3, 4
Tumakūru 1
Tuṃmaḷa 1
Tuṅgabhadra 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Tuñjattǔ Rāmānujan Eluttaccan 1, 2
Tuppūru 1
Turukara Bīrayya 1
uḍaiyār 1
Udri 1
Uḍupi 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
Ujini 1

262
Ujjaḷaṃ 1
Ujjayini 1
Uḷavi 1
Ulugh Khān 1
Umā Mahēśvara temple 1
Umāmahēśvara Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa maṭha 1
Umberto Eco 1
Upāli 1
Upaniṣads 1, 2 3, 4, 5
upapīṭha 1
upāsaka 1, 2
Uppinaṅgaḍi 1
urban centres 1
- connoisseurs 1
- decay 1
- working class 1
urbanization 1, 2
Urdu 1
usury 1
Uttamanaṃbi(s) 1
Uttamaraṅgappa Kāḷakakōḷa Voḍeyāri 1
Uttara Badari 1
Uttarakhand 1
Uttarēśvara temple 1
Vacana-caḷuvaḷi 1
vacana(s) 1, 2, 3,-72, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
vacanavākya 1
Vaḍabāḷa 1, 2, 3, 4
Vaḍabāḷada Nāganātha 1
Vaḍagāv-Mādhavapura 1
Vaḍaki Tātayya 1
Vaḍeyāri 1
Vādirāja/Vādirāja Tīrtha 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Vādisiṃha 1
Vaḍōdarā 1
Vāgīśa Tīrtha 1, 2

263
vaidic orthodoxy 1
- people 1
- period 1
- religion 1
- rituals 1
- wisdom 1
- works 1, 2
Vaikuṇṭha 1
Vaikuṇṭhavarṇane 1
Vaiṣṇava(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12
Vaiṣṇōdēvi 1
vajrakāya 1, 2, 3
Vākāṭaka 1
Vaḷañjiyar 1
Vālappanikōvil 1
vālekāras 1
Vallabha 1, 2
Valleyanāyaka 1
Vaṃśa Brāhmaṇa 1
vaṃśāvalis 1
Varadā 1
Varadamma 1
Varadēndra Tīrtha 1
Vārāṇasīndra 1
Vāraṅgallu 1, 2, 3
Varavaṇi Rāmarāya 1
Varavi 1, 2, 3, 4
Varavi Mōnappa (also see Tinthiṇi Mōnappa) 1, 2
vāriyars 1
Vārkharī tradition 1, 2, 3
varṇāśrama system 1
Vāsudēva (also see Ānanda Tīrtha) 1
Vāsudēva (vaiśēṣika scholar) 1
Vāsudēva (son of Acyutaprēkṣa) 1
Vāsudēva temple 1
Vasudhēndra Tīrtha 1

264
Vāyu 1, 2, 3
Vēdanidhi Tīrtha 1
vēdānta 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Vēdānta Dēśikan 1
Vēdas 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
Vēdavēdya Tīrtha 1
Vēdavyāsa Tīrtha 1
Veḷande 1
Veluthat, Kesavan 1, 2
Vēmulavāḍa Cāḷukya 1
Veṅgi 1
Veṅkappa Dēsāyi 1
Veṅkaṭāpurada Khēmaṇṇa 1
Veṅkaṭēśvara 1
Veṅkaṭēśvara temple 1
Veṅkaṭēśvara temple (of Tirupati) 1, 2
Veṇugōpāla 1
Vēṇugrāma 1, 2
Vētravati Narasiṃha 1
veṭṭāppērǔ 1
Vibhudēndra Tīrtha 1, 2
Vidyā Tīrtha 1
Vidyādhirāja Tīrtha 1
Vidyādhīśa Tīrtha 1
Vidyānidhi Tīrtha 1
Vidyāraṇya 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Vidyāraṇya Bhārati 1
Vijaya Kalyāṇa 1
Vijaya Viṭṭhala temple (of Haṃpi) 1
Vijayanagara 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15
Vijayapura 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Vijayavirūpākṣapura 1
Vijayavoppula Maḷavarāya 1
Vijayīndra Tīrtha 1
vijayōtsava 1
vijigīṣu 1

265
Vijñānēśvara 1
Vikramāditya Gāvuṇḍa 1
Vikramāditya VI 1
Vikramāṅkadēvacarita 1
Vikramārjunavijayaṃ 1
Vimānagiri 1
Vināyaka Caturthi 1
Vināyaka temple 1, 2
Vīra Pāṇḍyan 1
Vīrabhadra Nāyaka 1
Vīradēva temple 1
vīragallu 1
Vīragōṭa 1
Virakta(s) 1, 2, 3, 4
Vīranārāyaṇa temple 1
Virāndavarankūru 1
Vīraśaiva(s) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
- categories of knowledge 1
- doctrines 1
- hagiographies 1
- landlordism 1, 2, 3
- literature 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
- project 1
Vīraśaivāmṛtapurāṇa 1, 2, 3, 4
Vīrasaṅgayya 1
Virūpākṣa maṭha 1
Virūpākṣapaṭṭaṇa 1
Virūpākṣāsthāna 1
viṣaya 1, 2
viśiṣṭādvaita 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
viśiṣṭādvaiti(s) 1
Viṣṇu 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
Viṣṇu Purāṇa 1, 2
Viṣṇu temple 1, 2
Viṣṇu Tīrtha 1, 2
Viṣṇudēva temple 1

266
Viṣṇumaṅgalaṃ 1
Viṣṇupāda 1
Viṣṇupeddi 1
Viṣṇuvardhana 1, 2
Visōbā Khēcara 1
Viśvanātha 1
Viṭṭhala 1, 2
Vivēkacintāmaṇi 1
Vivekananda, Swami 1, 2
Vṛddhācalaṃ 1
Vṛndāvana 1
Vṛṣabhācala 1
Vṛṣabhagīta 1
Vṛṣabhēndra 1
vṛtti tenures 1
Vṛttivilāsa 1
Vyāsa/Vēda Vyāsa 1, 2, 3
Vyāsarāya 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Wagoner, Phillip B. 1
Weber, Max 1
Western Ghat(s) 1, 2, 3
wetland(s) 1, 2
- polities 1
- regions 1
Woḍeyar 1
World’s Parliament of Religions 1, 2
Yādagiri 1, 2, 3
Yaḍavāḷa 1
yajña(s) 1
Yajñatantra Sudhānidhi 1
Yajurvēda 1, 2
Yaklakhī 1
Yalavigi 1
Yallādahaḷḷi 1
Yāmunācārya 1, 2, 3
Yamunōtri 1

267
Yaśavantadāsa 1, 2
Yāska 1
Yatnaḷḷi 1
Yeḍaguḍḍe 1
Yeḍiyūru 1, 2, 3
Yerimādi Nāyaka 1
yōga (practice) 1
Yōga (school/system) 1, 2
Yōgānarasiṃha 1
Yogeeshwarappa, D.N. 1
Yōgīndra Tīrtha 1
Yuktimallikā 1
Yūsuf Khān/Yūsuf Bādśāh 1, 2, 3
Zaehner, R.C. 1
Zafar Khān 1
Zoroastrianism 1

268
269
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements 7
A Guide to Pronunciation of Diacritical Marks 10
1Introduction 13
2Indumauḷi’s Grief and the Making of Religious Identities 24
3Forests of Learning and the Invention of Religious
53
Traditions
4Heredity, Genealogies, and the Advent of the New
91
Monastery
5Miracles, Ethicality, and the Great Divergence 124
6Sainthood in Transition and the Crisis of Alienation 156
7Epilogue 186
Bibliography 196
List of Tables 203
Index 204

270