Bhavan, Beware of Bhaktas

“In all religions, the exchange aspect of sacrifice is quite overt (p. 105), but nowhere more so than in Rome where the formula invoked was ‘Do ut des’ (I give that you should give).”@ 

This concept resonates with the famous Sanskrit mantra, ‘dehi; dadami’—meaning, ‘give me so that I can give you.’ However, there is no specific reference for this mantra in Hindu scripture. Nevertheless, this idea of reciprocal benevolence remains alive across cultures, but with a twist: if the gods are not careful, bhaktas, may end up the victors in these exchanges.

‘The ethnographic literature on sacrifice is filled with examples of sharp practices haggling, and raw self-interest in setting and fulfilling the terms of exchanges with the Gods.%  For example, among the Swazi, their priests select an especially fine cow and devote a whole series of rituals to make it licabi, suitable for sacrifice. Then, during the last several days, they place an old, inferior cow in the enclosure with the licabi cow, and when the time comes, it is the old cow that is sacrificed, since this is, in the words of the distinguished Raymond Firth (1901-2002), the “most economical way of meeting one’s ritual obligations.”&

This reminds me of three stories that play on this same idea—each highlighting the resourcefulness of devotees in their “negotiations” with the divine.

In one tale, a poor devotee promises God that if he provides 100 rupees, he’ll break a coconut worth ten rupees in thanks. Moved by the vow, God orchestrates for a passerby to drop a 100-rupee note in the devotee’s path. The devotee gratefully picks it up, thanks God, and says, “Thank you so much for being generous to me. You just gave me what I desperately needed. But where is your ten rupees?”

In another story, three Christians discuss their approach to giving one-tenth of their income as tithe. The first explains, “After receiving my salary, I gather my family and, after prayer, draw a small circle. I throw the money up and tell God, ‘All that falls within the circle is yours; the rest is ours.’” The second, hearing this, criticizes the first, saying, “You’re cheating God. I do the same, but I draw a larger circle, and whatever lands outside it belongs to Him.” The third, rebuking both, insists, “I throw all the money into the air and tell God, ‘Take as much as you want and drop the rest to us.’”

Yet another story tells of a farmer who, weary of poor harvests, accuses God of not understanding the hardships of farming. In response, God offers to help with the harvest, but the farmer, still wary, insists he’ll share. Not knowing farming, God agrees to a split: whatever grows above ground will belong to Him, and whatever is in the roots to the farmer. The farmer then plants groundnuts, giving himself all the peanuts and leaving God only the stems and leaves. Realizing his mistake, God renegotiates for the next season, claiming everything below ground. The farmer plants millet, leaving the grains for himself and only the stalks for God. Finally, God, determined to avoid being outwitted, proposes that everything on the cob belongs to the farmer. The farmer plants corn and, as before, ends up with all the grain. After repeated attempts, God concedes that farming truly is hard work and promises to bless the farmer’s harvest without further haggling.

The dynamics of reciprocity between deity and devotee can also be seen in a popular folk tale surrounding the Tirupati Balaji temple. According to this story, in times of scarcity, the temple priests would place the Utsava Murti (the processional deity) outside the temple, chaining him with a golden chain under the sun. This act symbolized the expectation that the deity, if he wished to avoid discomfort, would need to encourage his devotees to provide more offerings. This symbolic ritual reflects the intimacy and expectations in the devotee-deity relationship, with the deity seemingly held accountable for ensuring a flow of blessings and prosperity.

With the immense wealth now pouring into the Tirupati temple, this ritual is no longer necessary. Lord Venkateswara’s temple has become one of the wealthiest temples globally, thanks to the generosity of millions of devotees who view him as the “Lord of Wealth” (Sri-Nivasa). The story speaks to how, in earlier times, people saw deities as family members with obligations to the community. Yet, as with the previous stories, there is no verified historical or scriptural record substantiating this tale—it remains in the realm of folklore.

Balaji may be fortunate in being treated with reverence, albeit in humorous ways, but deities in Taiwan are less lucky.  Because, ‘Chinese who patronize the folk temples in modern Taiwan not only withhold their offering until after they have received the object of their petition to a God, but they often enter the temple and beat the idol with sticks when a prayer goes unanswered.’ [Stark op. cit. 106)

Ultimately, unless gods remain alert and cautious, it seems they might find themselves outmaneuvered by their clever devotees. Human ingenuity and self-interest are woven deeply even into the fabric of faith, reminding us that divine generosity must be met with a watchful eye on the creative devotion of the faithful.

4-11-2024

References

@ Simon Price, “Sacrifice, Offerings and Votaries,” in Religions of Ancient World: A Guide, edited by Sarah Iles Johnston, 344-346. Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard Univ. Press, 2004;   in Rodney Stark, Discovering God, Harper One, NY, 2008, p. 106.

% Stock Rodney, and Roger Finke, Acts of Faith: Explaining the Human Side of Religion.  Berkely: Univ. of California Press. 2000, pp.100-2

& Firth, Raymond. “Offering and Sacrifice: Problems of Organization.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 93 (1963): 12-24, p. 20.