Introduction
This paper has gone through so many permutations that it is nearly unrecognizable
from its original form. I began with the intent to compare Buddhist and Christian
“liberation theology,” a project born from my experiences at a progressive Jesuit high
school and a semester of Buddhist studies in Kathmandu, Nepal. Eventually I narrowed
my topic to the application of Buddhist and Christian liberation theologies in Asia. I
decided to focus on the work of a theologian named Aloysius Pieris, a Sri Lankan Jesuit
who attempts to combine Catholicism and Theravadin Buddhism into a new social
message for Asia’s poor. As of spring 2000, my plan was to use a URO grant to spend
the summer reading the works of Pieris and other theologians and then travel to India in
the fall with the Antioch College Buddhist Studies Program. I knew that the Antioch
program allows a month for independent study and travel, and looked forward to visiting
Pieris in Sri Lanka.
During the course of the summer, however, the political situation in Sri Lanka
rapidly deteriorated, and I realized that proper compassion for my mother necessitated a
change of topic. I began to read books and articles by theologians who referred to
themselves as “Dalit Christians,” and through them I discovered Ambedkar and the Dalit
Buddhists. I eventually traveled to India, but instead of visiting Sri Lanka I divided my
time for independent study between the Buddhists in Bombay and the Christians in
Bangalore, a center for Indian Christian activity.
The month spent interviewing and reading about Dalit Buddhists and Dalit
Christians was perhaps the most stimulating “academic” experience of my life, and it
1
sparked a near obsession with Dr. Ambedkar and the social movements that have
developed because of him. Here I use the term academic in the broadest possible sense,
for the power of this experience lay in the fact that it prompted both intellectual and
personal reflection. For example, I will never forget the end of my interview with
Samuel, a Dalit Christian and Marxist in Bangalore. He looked at me and my friend and
said, “So, what are you going to do with this?” I began to explain that I was working on
my honors thesis, the final project of my college career, but he soon cut me off. “No,” he
said, “I mean what are you going to do with this?” I can only hope that my inadequate
response was subsequently given value by public and private exploration of what it
means to take part in “religious studies.” Similarly, before I traveled to Bombay my
education had barely touched upon the caste system, Indian politics, Dr. Ambedkar, and
the Mahars. When I returned home, ready to work on my honors thesis, at very the least I
understood how much more there was for me to learn.
As is clear from this paper’s title, I have narrowed my focus further and dropped the
subject of Dalit Christians. This decision was dictated by time constraints only;
untouchables present an interesting challenge to the growing ecumenism of the Catholic
church and I hope one day to continue studying the developments that are occurring in
Southern India. My paper also lacks an in-depth analysis of the politics of
untouchability, a subject I began to learn about while writing a research paper on
untouchable human rights and Indian law. There will never be enough time to include
“everything,” but I would like to say that Ambedkar has influenced me most by
illustrating the extent to which religion and politics have mutual influence on each other.
2
There are numerous people I’d like to thank for helping me with this project. Linda
Hess has shared my enthusiasm for Ambedkar and has in turn shared of herself
immeasurably. Bob Gregg, and Mark Mancall have had tremendous impact on my
thinking and my Stanford experience in general. Peter Friedlander and Ellen Posman
were my two guides from Antioch, and I would not have learned nearly so much from my
time in Bombay if I had not been able to compare notes with Tom, Karen, and Becky. It
is not an understatement to say that I was overwhelmed by the kindness of the people I
interviewed in India. A few individuals stand out: Dr. Borhale, Fr. Frankie, and Samuel.
Lastly, I want my parents to know that I appreciate the support and freedom they’ve
given me—thank you for letting me travel so far and for being so fun to come home to.
3
Chapter 1
Purpose, Context, and Terminology
This paper explores the relationship between Ambedkar, Buddhism, and the Mahars
(Ambedkar’s subcaste, or jati). It constitutes one method of examining the process of
collective redefinition that the Mahars have engaged in as a result of their conversion to
Buddhism. I begin with a brief overview of the untouchable situation and an explanation
of my choice in terminology and subject. The second chapter then explores the linkages
between Ambedkar’s biography and the political history of the Mahars. It places
Ambedkar’s life within the context of Indian politics and history and argues that his
interest in religious conversion was a product of that context. The third chapter outlines
Ambedkar’s views on religion and his conscious reconstruction of Buddhism as an ideal
religion for the Mahars. The fourth chapter examines the ways that contemporary
Mahars have lived out Ambedkar’s Buddhist message, and the fifth synthesizes
Ambedkar’s theory with current Mahar practice to create a typology of the “Dalit
Buddhist myth.” Throughout, I emphasize the political and religious continuities
between Ambedkar’s experience, the Mahar’s experience, and the form of Buddhism that
has resulted from the two. I conclude by drawing on contemporary Dalit Literature to
summarize the Mahars’ relationship to Ambedkar.
Overview of Untouchability
The practice of untouchability in rooted in both the religion and culture of India.
Ancient Hindu texts such as the Vedas, provide insight into how Brahman priests
4
conceived the caste system during the second millenium BCE (Flood 36). They describe
four main castes (or varnas) which loosely correspond to the occupations of priest,
warrior/ruler, merchant, and laborer. There is little mention of untouchables, a fifth and
lowest group technically outside the system. The correctly order the universe, having
been present since the creation of human beings. These groups are viewed descending
order of karmic worth and are determined by birth. Untouchables, however, are largely
excluded from the Hindu epics, although Ekalavya in the Mahabarata and Shambuka in
the Ramayana are notable exceptions. Both tell the story of shocking atrocities that are
committed against otherwise praiseworthy individuals, thus giving testimony to the
precariousness of untouchables’ place in ancient culture. The Manu Smriti, dated between
the second century BCE and the third century CE, argues that interactions between castes
should be governed by complex laws of ritual pollution (Flood 56). This text condemns
untouchables to a life of segregation and degradation, linked closely to the fact that they
perform polluting tasks such as disposing of human and cow carcasses. It states, “Their
dress shall be the garments of the dead, they shall eat their food from broken dishes,
black iron shall be their ornaments, and they must always wander from place to place.
Their food shall be given to them by others in a broken dish; at night they shall not walk
about in towns and villages” (414-415). Whether or not the Manu Smriti describes the
situation of untouchables with historical accuracy, it is clear that Brahmanic Hinduism
regarded untouchables as an anathema to the caste system.
Much as Indian culture is often indistinguishable from Hindu culture, the caste
system and untouchability are integrated into nearly every facet of Indian life. The
historical origins of caste are unclear, although some hypothesize that it stemmed from
5
racial differences between the Aryans, who are said to have migrated to India from the
Northwest, and the darker indigenous Indians (the Sanskrit word for caste is varna, which
means color) (Mendelsohn and Vicziany 7). Today, however, even Roman Catholics in
southern India seat themselves according to caste during mass and follow principles of
ritual pollution involving physical touch and food (interview, Fr. Frankie).
Contemporary anthropological theory of untouchability centers on the debate
between continuity and discontinuity with respect to untouchables and greater Indian
culture (Deliege 30). Louis Dumont’s Homo Hierarchicus provides the standard example
of the former, which emphasizes the interdependence of all the groups in the caste system
(Deliege 39). Both Brahmans and untouchables are ultimately dependent on each other
to maintain the dichotomy between ritual purity and impurity (Deliege 39). Thus the
caste system creates a unified, though stratified, culture. However, a number of scholars
have attempted to refute Dumont’s assertions, in general arguing against the
comprehensiveness of the caste system as a form of societal governance. They conclude
that untouchables do not subscribe to the values imposed on them by caste and that their
relationship to Indian society is characterized by systematic exclusion (Deliege 43).
Lastly, some scholars, such as Deliege, have developed the convincing argument that
untouchables are both needed and excluded by the caste system. As Deliege writes,
“Untouchables are indeed an integral part of Indian society, as their essential economic
and ritual roles show; but they are, also and at the same time, excluded from this society,
and their marginal position is constantly underscored through various taboos and
discriminations” (67).
6
Whatever the origin and function of caste may be, it is clear that contemporary
untouchables suffer from a sense of shame that is associated with their low social and
ritual status. P. Mohan Larbeer, an Dalit Christian, writes, “When I was doing my
seventh standard, I came to know that I belonged to an untouchable community…I felt
very lowly and embarrassed and I tried to hide myself inside a shell, acutely aware and
conscious of my caste, and avoided discussing it” (375). Larbeer’s use of the words
“lowly” and “embarrassed” highlights the extent to which many untouchables have
developed what of my informants referred to as a “damaged psyche” (Fr. Frankie,
11/7/01). Deliege’s survey of untouchability, published in 1995, confirms that Larbeer’s
experience can be generalized: “Whatever their social position and merit, Untouchables
are ashamed of their social background and try to conceal it whenever possible. To be
forced publicly to acknowledge one’s caste is humiliating and insulting” (15). Before
they can mobilize to claim their fundamental human rights, untouchables must
themselves that they deserve those rights in the first place. Like Larbeer, many
untouchables try to hide themselves in a shell because they lack any sense of self-worth
that would allow them to be proactive about gaining social equality. Thus any
untouchable attempts to change Indian society must be accompanied by an alternative
way of defining the self.
The “Stinking Name”
Ambedkar writes, “Unfortunately, names serve a very important purpose. They
play a great part in social economy. Names are symbols. Each name represents
association of certain ideas and notions about a certain object. It is a label…The name
7
“Untouchable” is a bad name. It repels, forbids, and stinks” (“Away from the Hindus,”
419). Given the importance that Ambedkar and his followers have assigned to they
names they use to refer to themselves, I would like to explain my choices in terminology.
There are currently several words used to describe the group of individuals referred to as
"Scheduled Castes" by the Indian government: harijan, ex-untouchable, untouchable, and
dalit. Harijan is a name first proposed by M.K. Gandhi, translating into English as
“children of God.” It was chosen as an expression of all Indians’ equality under god, and
implies that untouchables deserve access to the Hindu religious practices previously
denied them. However, many untouchables argue that the term is paternalistic and
condescending and, given Gandhi’s own attitude towards untouchables, there seems to be
some merit to their critique. This makes harijan an undesirable choice for academic
writing.
Whereas harijan is supposed to connote patient and pious suffering, the term exuntouchable draws attention to the fact that all practices of untouchability were formally
outlawed in 1950, by Article 17 of the Indian Constitution. As the rather awkward
terminology of the Indian Census and other legal documents suggest, technically there
are no untouchables in India today. However, to use the term ex-untouchable ignores the
fact that Article 17 was followed by the Untouchability (Offenses) Act of 1955, the
creation of the Protection for Civil Rights Cell in 1973, the Scheduled Castes and
Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Act of 1989, and the Scheduled Castes and
Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Rules of 1995. In short, although the
Constitution declared untouchability illegal, it merely represents the first in a long series
of legal palliatives that have had little if any effect on the situation of untouchables. The
8
punishable acts listed by the Prevention of Atrocities Rules, which include forcing
someone to “drink or eat inedible or noxious substances,” forcing someone to beg or
become a bonded laborer, and “murder, death, massacre, rape, mass rape, and gang rape,
permanent incapacitation and dacoity,” give adequate testimony to the fact that
untouchability has been removed from India in name only (Atrocities Rules 1995). As
Robert Deliege points out, referring to untouchables as ex-untouchables disregards the
defining characteristics of their contemporary experience (18).
The term dalit has been chosen by untouchables to specifically emphasize
experiences that have often been ignored by the rest of Indian society. It is a Marathi
word that means “ground, broken or reduced to pieces generally,” although some
contemporary Dalit Christians argue that it is also found in Hebrew and Sanskrit (Zelliot
267 and Massey 1). By selecting the word dalit, untouchables self-consciously chose to
redefine themselves in terms of their social and psychological oppression. Although dalit
is the word most vocally supported by untouchables, it has certain political connotations.
It is associated specifically with the Dalit Panthers, more generally with Dalit Buddhists,
and has yet to gain wide acceptance beyond the Mahar community. Several scholars use
dalit because it is the only term resulting from the active agency of untouchables, but I
have hesitated to follow in their footsteps because it has only recently gained prominence
beyond Ambedkar’s community (Deliege 16). Describing all untouchables as dalits
implies a self-awareness of their situation that not all untouchables have. It also might
imply that I support both Ambedkar’s ideology and the political views of his followers.
This may be the case, but hope to achieve academic impartiality in this writing and then
9
find other, more appropriate, venues for convincing others of the worthiness of
Ambedkar’s cause.
Thus I use the term untouchable throughout the present paper (18). Few Indians
use the term; it is the property mainly of scholars and outside observers (Deliege 17). I
do, however, use the word dalit when referring to members of the Dalit sahitya
movement, as their community has clearly come to consensus about using the term. As I
am both a student and a foreigner to Indian culture, my choice gives voice to a distance
that already existed between my subject and me. However, it is extremely important to
note that this is not the word that Mahars use to refer to themselves (They would use
dalit, Dalit Buddhist, Neo-Buddhist, Mahar, or Ambedkarite.)
I also make a distinction between “Buddhism,” “Ambedkar’s Buddhism,” and
“Dalit Buddhism.” I use “Buddhism” only in reference to the teachings of the Buddha as
the Theravada, Mahayana, or Vajrayana vehicles traditionally understand them.
“Ambedkar’s Buddhism,” on the other hand, refers to the specific reinterpretation of Dr.
B.R. Ambedkar. As we will see, the differences between Ambedkar’s Buddhism and
traditional Buddhism are great enough—at least according to contemporary definitions of
Buddhism—to warrant a separate term for each. Yet I will also argue that Buddhism as
practiced by the Mahars differs greatly from Buddhism as presented by Ambedkar, and
thus I create a third category of Buddhism. I refer to this set of beliefs and practices as
“Dalit Buddhism.” Alternatively, I could have used the terms “Neo-Buddhism” or
“Ambedkarism,” but I chose Dalit Buddhism for the sake of consistency.
Why the Mahars?
10
This paper focuses only on the ways in which Ambedkar’s Buddhism was designed
for and lived out by the Mahar community. I chose this approach for several reasons.
First, all of my own observations are of Mahar Buddhists in Bombay. Second, there is
more anthropological and historical data available on Dalit Buddhism and the Mahars
than there is for other untouchable communities. This is largely due to the efforts of
Eleanor Zelliot, but other researchers such as Timothy Fitzgerald, Neera Burra, and
Johannez Beltz have also chosen to focus on Buddhism in Maharashtra. Third, the
Mahars constitute a diverse community that defies easily generalization, and making
additional conclusions about more than one sub-caste warrants a much longer paper than
the one I intended to write. Fourth, and most importantly, Buddhism has the greatest
number of adherents in the Mahar community (75% of Mahars claim to be Dalit
Buddhist) (Zelliot 127). This is due largely to the fact that Ambedkar was a Mahar, and
we shall see that there is a clear cultural link between the Mahars, Ambedkar’s ideology,
and his interpretation of Buddhism.
However, the reader should note that Ambedkar’s Buddhism was not intended for
exclusive use by the Mahars. On the contrary, it was conceived as a religion for all of
India’s untouchables and for oppressed people of the world in general. Although there
are clear parallels between the Mahars’ social and political needs and Ambedkar’s
Buddhist message, it would be a mistake to think that Ambedkar intended to create a
race-based or culturally determined religion.
11
Chapter 2
Ambedkar in the Context of the Mahars and Indian History
Ambedkar as Mahar: Early Life and Education
Ambedkar was born as a Mahar, a member of the largest untouchable sub-caste in
the state of Maharashtra. Eleanor Zelliot describes the Mahar’s traditional occupation as
that of the village servant or, balutedar, whose duties revolved around mundane aspects
of maintaining village order such as mending walls, acting as watchman, arbitrating in
boundary disputes, informing landowners of their duty to pay village dues, and sweeping
roads (87). Those Mahars not involved in balutedar work generally relied on agriculture
as a means of support. Additionally, Mahars removed the carcasses of dead cattle from
the village and regularly ate carrion beef, two practices that justified their untouchability
in the minds of the caste Hindu (Zelliot 88). As Zelliot writes, “The Mahar’s duties were
performed in the context of his untouchability; his touch was polluting and he did not
come into direct contact with a caste Hindu or enter a caste Hindu home. The temple, the
school, the village well were closed to him” (88). For example, one of Ambedkar’s
contemporaries remembers that he was not allowed to share the community water well
and was punished if he touched other students in school (Borhale 11-24-00). The aspect
of ritual pollution permeated every aspect of the Mahar’s relationship with their
surrounding culture, and they were generally believed to be dirty, frequent consumers of
alcohol, and morally lax (Zelliot 60). One unknown poet wrote, “Their (the Mahar’s)
houses are outside the village; there are lice in their women’s hair; naked children play in
the rubbish; they eat carrion” (Zelliot 60). Thus Zelliot cites a traditional Marathi
12
proverb: “Wherever there is a village there is a maharwada (the designated area outside
the village where the Mahars lived)” (87). In English, this phrase would approximate to,
“There’s a black sheep in every flock,” and it illustrates the way the Mahars were
inextricably bound to and yet rejected by the communities they lived in (Zelliot 87).
However, significant shifts in the Mahars’ social and occupational status had taken
place during the two generations preceding Ambedkar’s birth. Zelliot writes, “With the
advent of British rule, other opportunities for work were opened to the Mahar, his
traditional role being such that he was both free and pressed to take whatever new
vocation presented itself” (88). These new vocations often took the form of work on the
docks and in railways, roads, textile mills, and government industries such as ammunition
factories (Zelliot 89). Many of these jobs required Mahars to move to cities such as
Bombay, Pune, and Nagpur, and as urbanized members of the community pushed
increasingly for education and changes in social status, their relatives in villages followed
suit and began to shed both the duties and social customs that had once been associated
with their untouchability (Zelliot 89). Many Mahars also joined the British army, which
provided another means of escaping the constraints of traditional social hierarchies before
the British developed their theory of “martial races” that excluded the Mahars (Barbara
Joshi 50). Zelliot carefully documents the ways in which 19th century Mahar social
movements, led by men such as Jotirao Phule and Gopal Baba Walangkar (see “Mahar
and Non-Brahman Movements in Maharashtra”). She characterizes the Mahars as an
upwardly mobile social group who were eager to use recent changes in occupation as a
platform for increased social change. All of these factors suggest that the culture
surrounding Ambedkar during his youth was characterized by increasing political
13
awareness and social mobility. After passing through the crucible of Morningside
Heights, Ambedkar was able to return to India with both the confidence and the knowhow to effect radical political change for the Mahars.
The basic facts of Ambedkar’s early life epitomize this rapid development of Mahar
social consciousness that was in opposition to cultural and religious degradation.
Ambedkar was born in 1891 in a small village outside of Pune. His father moved the
family to Bombay because the village schools would not admit low-caste children
(Writings and Speeches, Vol. 10, 4). However, Ambedkar continued to suffer from castebased prejudice even while attending school in this new urban center (Moon 4).
Ambedkar studied at the Bombay Presidency School and then at Elphinstone College in
Bombay. The Maharaja of Baroda, a liberal reformer who funded many students from
Bombay Presidency, paid for the latter part of his college education. After Ambedkar’s
graduation, the Maharaja also sent him to Columbia University in New York. At
Columbia, Ambedkar received a Master’s Degree and a Doctorate of Philosophy in
Economics, Sociology and Political and Moral Philosophy (Moon 5 and Zelliot 157).
Ambedkar’s stay at Columbia coincided with a period of great development in political
and social thought. Men such as John Dewey and the anthropologist Alexander
Goldenweiser were in the midst of formulating theories that would become the
cornerstone of American thinking, and Ambedkar made an effort to study under as many
of these great minds as he could (80). Zelliot refers to Ambedkar’s study at Columbia as
an “exposure to optimistic, expansive, pragmatic body of knowledge” (80). He then
traveled to London and received a Doctorate of Science from the London School of
Economics and entrance to the Bar from Grey’s Inn (Zelliot 157). When Ambedkar
14
finally returned to Bombay in 1923, he was among India’s minority of college-educated
men and its most highly educated untouchable. He was also one of only three men in
Indian public life to have had an extended stay in the United States (Zelliot 79).
Yet Ambedkar’s education, though extraordinary, was not necessarily an anomaly
in the context of greater changes that were taking place in Mahar society. For example,
Ambedkar’s initial move to Bombay reflects the Mahar’s increasing tendency of Mahar
to migrate from rural to urban settings. In turn, his education in the United States gave
him first hand experience of the daily life and political theory of a country that did not
advocate religiously based social hierarchies. Thus, after passing through the crucible of
Morningside Heights, Ambedkar was able to return to India with both the confidence and
the know-how to effect radical political changes for untouchables.
Mahar as Politician: Ambedkar’s Political Career
Gail Omvedt argues that Ambedkar established his role as a leader of untouchables
in three ways: by submitting testimony to the Southborough Committee on Reforms,
appearing at two major untouchable conferences in 1920, and founding a journal named
Mooknayak, or the “Voice of the Mute” (145). Of these, the testimony to the
Southborough Committee is most significant because it introduces the idea of distinct
untouchable socio-cultural identity to Indian political theory (Omvedt 146). In what
Omvedt refers to as “an eloquent assertion of identity and claim to autonomy,” Ambedkar
argued that the protection of the rights of untouchables was contingent upon direct
representation of untouchables in legislatures. In his words:
The right of representation and the right to hold office under the state are the two most
important rights that make up citizenship. But the untouchability of the untouchables puts
these rights far beyond their reach. In a few places they do not even possess such
15
insignificant rights as personal liberty and personal security. These are the interests of the
untouchables. And as can be easily seen, they can be represented by untouchables alone
(Omvedt 146).
One should note that this argument for political preference contradicts the assertion of
cultural unity that was made by high caste leaders of the untouchable movement—many
of whom had not even wanted untouchables to be able to testify before the Committee
(Omvedt 145). Here, as elsewhere, he phrases the untouchables’ problems in terms of
fundamental rights, personal liberty, individual security, and the fulfillment of
citizenship. Thus he creates a clear connection between untouchability, which is arguably
a religious phenomenon, and the rights of citizenship, which are primarily political. This
allows him to propose that a legal system (legislature) can provide solutions for the
problems raised by a religious system (Hinduism). In prose reflecting the democratic
optimism that characterized the political theory of his American contemporaries,
Ambedkar voices his belief that democracy should be given priority over Hinduism. This
fusion of religion and politics largely foreshadows the justification he gave for religious
conversion in the 1930’s. At the time, however, Ambedkar’s argument was noteworthy
because it highlighted the differences between the methodology of untouchables and the
methodology of outside leaders of untouchables.
Ambedkar was further established as leader of the untouchable movement at the
Mahad Satyagraha of 1927 (Omvedt 150). During a staged protest, 1500 untouchables
drank out of a water tank that had been recently opened to them by an act of legislation.
In a speech that made several parallels between the struggles of untouchables and the
French Revolution, Ambedkar told his followers, “We are not going to the Chavadar
Lake merely to drink its water. We are going to the Lake to assert that we too are human
16
beings like others. It must be clear that this meeting has been called to set up the norm of
equality…Others will not do it” (Poisoned Bread 225). Yet caste Hindus attacked the
protestors, riots ensued, and Brahman priests insisted on “cleansing” the “polluted” water
tank. Ambedkar then organized another rally around the right to drink water, and here he
burned a copy of the Manusmriti in front of a crowd of 10,000 untouchables. Many
untouchables now refer to the initial move to drink common water as “Untouchable
Independence Day” (Omvedt 152).
Following the Mahad Satyagraha, the untouchable movement was increasingly
bound to the construction of Indian independence. Between 1929 and 1932 the British
initiated a series of Round Table Conferences with the goal of providing a format for
dialogue among Indians about the framing of their national constitution. The issue of
untouchable representation in legislature was raised repeatedly throughout these
conferences. Once again Ambedkar, as one of two untouchable representatives, stated
that the Depressed Classes constituted a distinct part of the greater Hindu community. In
the wake of similar demands that had been granted to Muslim and Christian minorities,
he asserted that untouchables should be given separate voting electorates and a number of
reserved seats in the legislature (Zelliot 132).
M.K. Gandhi was the most vocal opponent of Ambedkar’s plan, arguing against
both separate electorates and reserved seats in the legislature. Gandhi believed that
constitutional support of a distinct untouchable culture would create an irreparable rift in
Indian society (Zelliot 132). Gandhi had two primary objections to Ambedkar’s line of
reasoning. First, in stark contrast to Ambedkar, Gandhi believed that law would never be
able to solve the problem of untouchability (Joshi 44). Due to what Barbara Joshi refers
17
to as a “deep distrust of the coercive powers of the state”, Gandhi pressed for change in
the “hearts and the minds” of people over structural modifications of the political system
(44). Gandhi believed that lasting social change would occur only if caste Hindus
recognized the injustices of the caste system and then changed their actions accordingly.
The second ideological difference between Gandhi and Ambedkar was that Gandhi
opposed untouchability but did not reject the caste system. An article that he wrote for
Young India in 1926 outlines his thinking:
In accepting the fourfold division (of caste), I am simply accepting the laws of Nature,
taking for granted what is inherent in human nature, and the law of heredity. We are born
with some of the traits of our parents. The fact that a human being is born only in the
human species shows that some characteristics, i. e. caste, is determined by birth. There is
scope enough for freedom of the will inasmuch as we can to a certain extent reform some
of our inherited characteristics…A Brahmana may, by doing the deeds of a Shudra, become
a Shudra in this very birth, but the world loses nothing in continuing to treat him as a
Brahmana (Joshi 43).
In later years Gandhi also defended the concept of hereditary occupations but not the
prohibition of intermarriage and inter-caste dining (Joshi 43). He argued that once people
understood the value of all occupations they would give equal respect to all members of
society, and thus the caste system would provide division of labor without value
judgement. Yet two problems arise for untouchables if one accepts Gandhi’s arguments.
First, his view differs little from that of classical Brahmanism, which does not bode well
for his aim to change “hearts and minds” without radical the use of institutional reform.
Second, the last part of his statement, “the world loses nothing in continuing to treat him
(the errant Brahmin) as a Brahmana,” seems to promote apathy in the face of movements
for structural social change. Not only does Gandhi fail to explain exactly how a Brahmin
would be treated under the proposed system, but also one wonders if he means to imply
that the world loses nothing by continuing to treat a Sudra as a Sudra. If this is the case,
18
then the Gandhian vision of India leaves little—if any—opportunity for social mobility
on the part of the depressed classes.
The Ambedkar-Gandhi conflict embodies the conflict surrounding untouchable
leadership. Could untouchables rely on anyone other than another untouchable to
procure and maintain their fundamental rights? Both Ambedkar and Gandhi laid claim to
the same role. Ambedkar clearly structured all of his political thinking around the
concept of untouchability, yet Gandhi told the Minorities Committee in 1931, “I claim
myself in my own person to represent the vast mass of Untouchables” (Omvedt 171).
Zelliot writes of the Round Table Conferences:
The conflict between the two men (Gandhi and Ambedkar) can be defined in several
ways: Ambedkar’s stress upon the rights of the Depressed Classes versus Gandhi’s stress
upon the duty of the caste Hindus to do penance; Ambedkar’s complete rejection of caste
versus Gandhi’s defense of chaturvarna…as necessary to Hinduism; Ambedkar’s
rational democratic liberalism versus Gandhi’s appeals to traditional modes of thought;
and the inevitable clash between the aggressive demands of a minority group leader and
the slower, broader-based and somewhat paternalistic extension of rights by the majority
group reformer (133).
Omvedt is less neutral in her assessment of the difference in leadership that the two men
presented. She writes:
The point is that Gandhi, who feared a “political division…in the villages”, ignored the
division that already existed; in his warning against the spread of violence, he ignored the
violence already existing in the lives of the Dalits. Claiming to speak in the name of
untouchables, claiming to represent their “cause” and their “vital interests,” Gandhi was
not speaking from their perspective; he was not even speaking as a national leader; he
was speaking as a Hindu in his appearance at this Second Round Table conference (172).
Gandhi and Ambedkar thus presented two radically differing views on the best way to
alleviate the problems facing untouchables; the first is rooted in the caste Hindu
perspective and the second in the experiences and aspirations of untouchables
themselves.
19
Indeed, Ambedkar’s assertion that the rights of untouchables could never fully be
protected by caste Hindus seems to be proven correct when one examines the series of
events that lead to the Poona Pact in 1932. After the Third Round Table conference, the
British interceded into what they believed was a stalemate between the “depressed
classes” and caste Hindus by issuing the Ramsey MacDonald Award. This compromise
document gave untouchables an altered form of the separate electorates they desired
(Zelliot 166). Gandhi responded by undertaking a “fast unto death” until the provision
for separate electorates was removed. Zelliot writes, “Gandhi’s fast unto death against
separate electorates placed his life in Ambedkar’s hands” (133). If Ambedkar refused to
give up his ideal of separate electorates, the frail Mahatma would surely have died.
Moreover, once it became known that the cause of his death was related to issues of
untouchables in legislature, caste Hindus would have likely retaliated against the
untouchable community with extreme violence.
In light of the seriousness of Gandhi’s action, both in terms of the affects it would
have had on his own person and the dangerous situation it created for untouchables, it is
important to note that his motivations were connected as much to caste-based prejudices
as they were to a desire to promote the welfare of the Indian people. Zelliot, for example,
points out discrepancies between the reasons Gandhi used to justify his fast when talking
to untouchables and the explanation he gave close acquaintances. In a letter to
untouchable leaders he stated:
I have not a shadow of a doubt that it (separate electorates) will prevent the natural growth
for the suppressed classes and will remove the incentive to honourable amends from the
suppressors. What I am aiming at is a heart understanding between the two… (Zelliot 167)
Yet the next day he remarked to one of his friends:
20
Separate electorates for all other communities will still leave room for me to deal with
them, but I have no other means to deal with “untouchables.” These poor fellows will ask
why I who claim to be their friend should offer Satyagraha (non-violent resistance, i.e. the
fast unto death) simply because they were granted some privileges…”Untouchable”
hooligans will make common cause with Muslim hooligans and kill caste-Hindus (Zelliot
167).
Besides the fact that one statement appears to be motivated by ethical idealism and the
other by political expediency, one must ask how Gandhi could have expected
“honourable amends” and a “heart understanding” between untouchables and people of
high caste when he himself referred to them as “poor fellows” and “hooligans” in the
company of friends. In another conversation, this one on the subject of untouchable
conversion to Christianity, he exclaimed, “Would you preach the Gospel to a cow? Well,
some of the untouchables are worse than cows…I mean they can no more distinguish
between the relative merits of Christianity and Hinduism than a cow” (John Webster
114).
These remarks have been selected to illustrate the formidable gap that can exist
between untouchables and even the most well-intentioned Indian leaders. Gandhi was a
vocal opponent of untouchability and traveled some 12,000 miles across India to educate
people about the problems that arise from its practices; yet it is clear that his own view
was colored by paternalism and, as Omvedt points out, it is unlikely that he had a
thorough understanding of the untouchable experience. He claimed to be a leader of the
untouchables but he could never be a leader from the untouchables. Perhaps this would
not be so problematic if Gandhi did not seem to think that untouchables were incapable
of leading themselves. Gandhi’s behavior and the outcome of the Poona Pact convinced
many untouchables that they would have to turn to a member of their own community—
namely Ambedkar—if they wanted to effect real social change.
21
Ambedkar eventually signed the Poona Pact to make Gandhi break his fast, and
doing so required him to trade his goal of separate electorates for a significantly increased
number of reserved seats. For Ambedkar, the Poona Pact constituted a direct insult to the
untouchables’ cause and caused him to doubt the efficacy of using political means alone
for the creation of radical change. As it turns out, Ambedkar’s concern was not
unfounded. The system of reservation of seats as outlined in the Poona Pact was
incorporated into the Indian Constitution in nearly exactly the same form, the end result
being that untouchables were consigned to vote for their representative from
constituencies in which they are always a minority (Robert Deliege 193-194, Selected
Articles of the Indian Constitution). In short, the power of untouchable representation
was all but negated by the way in which their representatives were elected.
Ambedkar realized that he had forfeited a powerful political safeguard for
untouchables, and felt that he had been forced to do so because of a stubborn politician
who merely pretended to be a religiously motivated leader. One of Ambedkar’s recently
published papers, “Gandhi and His Fast”, re-examines the Round Table conferences, the
Ramsay MacDonald Award, and the Poona Pact. This 70-page document shows that
Ambedkar never recovered from the way in which the safeguards of the Ramsay
MacDonald Award were lost. He concludes: “…there has been a tragic end to this fight
of the untouchables for political rights. I have no hesitation in saying that Mr. Gandhi is
solely responsible for this tragedy” (Writings and Speeches, Vol. V 355). Thus Omvedt
writes that the Poona Pact brought Ambedkar to the “final disillusionment” with Gandhi
and with Hinduism, proving to him that untouchables would never be able to gain the
equality they sought while remaining with their native religion (176).
22
Thus Ambedkar’s approach to politics marks the confluence of two distinct
movements: the Mahar struggle for social equality and the pan-Indian struggle for
independence. Although the goals of these groups were not mutally exclusive, the sociocultural differences between their respective leaders quickly lead to the perception of a
political dichotomy on both parts. On the one hand, there were Indian nationalists,
exemplified by Gandhi, who advocated cultural and political unity as the only way of
preserving indigenous India in the face of the British raj. Untouchable activists, on the
other hand, acknowledged that in some ways their community had benifitted from British
government. In addition, their social project assumed the existence of societal divisions
along catse lines. Although they advocated independence, they also viewed the creation
of a new government as a means for bringing their dream of social equality to fruition.
Thus the defining moment for the untouchable movement occurred at an event
orchestrated by both British and Indians: the signing of the Poona Pact in 1932. The
events surrounding the pact were significant, not only in proving unequivocally that
Ambedkar was the political leader of India’s untouchables, but also in laying the
foundation for Ambedkar’s conversion to Buddhism in 1956.
23
Chapter 3
Ambedkar and Religion
In 1935 Ambedkar made the following public announcement: “Because we have the
misfortune of calling ourselves Hindus, we are treated thus…I had the misfortune of
being born with the stigma of an Untouchable. However, it is not my fault; but I will not
die a Hindu, for this is in my power” (Zelliot 206). Despite the radicalism of Ambedkar’s
proclamation there were few internal protests from the Mahar community, and one year
later a Mahar conference in Bombay unanimously passed a resolution to convert from
Hinduism (Ambedkar Writings and Speeches 403, Zelliot 207). We have reviewed the
political and historical factors that contributed to Ambedkar’s decision to convert from
Hinduism. However his choice also stemmed from a modern understanding of religion
and its functions. This understanding gave primacy to the social nature of religion, and it
would lead him to choose and reinterpret Buddhism as the ideal religion for the
untouchables.
Understanding of Conversion
A recently published manuscript entitled “Away from the Hindus” explains
Ambedkar’s understanding of religion and conversion. It responds to four common
arguments against the religious conversion of untouchables: 1) conversion can make no
real change in the status of untouchables, 2) all religions are true and good, and thus
changing religion is futile, 3) the conversion of untouchables is motivated by political
rather than religious reasons, and 4) the conversion of untouchables is neither genuine nor
based on faith (Ambedkar 403). Ambedkar answers these objections in reverse order,
24
stating first that there are numerous examples throughout history of groups that have
converted because of compulsion, or deceit, or with the hope of political gain (404). In
contrast to these early conversions, and to contemporary religion (referred to as a “piece
of ancestral property”), the conversion of untouchables would follow their careful
examination of what they value in religion, thus constituting the “first case in history of
genuine conversion” (405). Second, Ambedkar explains that untouchables would gain no
new political protections under the constitutional law of India if they were to change their
religion (405). Third, he warns against essentializing religion. Ambedkar writes that the
“science” of comparative religion has created the false notion that all religions are good
and that there is therefore no reason to discriminate between them (406). Although he
gives no examples, he states that religions clearly differ in their conceptions of “the
good” and that because of this it is possible to assess the merits of one religion with
respect to another (406).
These three arguments attempt to justify the act of conversion from historical,
political, and academic perspectives. He shows that religious conversion is an act
supported by past examples, the newly emerging “science” of comparative religion, and
contemporary political realities. He associates it with ancient history and modern
scholarship. In this way he advocates a contemporary act of conversion by placing it on a
continuum with both tradition and modernity. Not only does conversion constitute a
symbolic act that has been taking place for thousands of years, but also individuals are
better equipped to make conversions than they ever have been before. In short,
conversion is legitimate both in terms of the need it fulfills and the methods that are used.
25
Ambedkar then proposes that religious conversion will serve untouchables
positively. He begins by examining the content and function of religion. “The primary
things in religion are its usages, practices and observances, rites and rituals,” he states,
“Theology is secondary. Its object is merely to nationalize them” (407). Ambedkar’s
unorthodox use of the word “nationalize” implies a fundamental relationship between
religious and political systems. Theology, like the political process of nationalization,
unifies disparate groups and practice under a common—in this case religious—label. Yet
just as distinct groups and individuals comprise the heart of a modern nation-state, so
varied practices and rituals provide religion with its unique characteristics. In this way
Ambedkar tries to show that one who describes religion must give priority to religious
practice of religious dogma.
Ambedkar concludes that religion is fundamentally social in both origin and
function (409). It originated not through the supernatural but through what Ambedkar
refers to as “Savage society”; its purpose is to “emphasize and universalize social
values”, and its function is to “act as an agency of social control” (410). He quotes the
Encyclopedia Britannica:
The function of religion is the same as the function of Law and Government…It may not be
used consciously as a method of social control over the individual…Nonetheless the fact is
that religion acts as a means of social control. As compared to religion, Government and
Law are relatively inadequate means of social control (410).
Thus, as Gauri Viswanathan notes, part of Ambedkar’s project is to deconstruct the
commonly accepted dichotomy between religious and political systems (235). Yet
whereas Ambedkar used the link between religion and politics to argue for political
26
solutions to untouchability before the Southborough Committee, here he uses it to justify
an overtly religious act.
Ambedkar’s choice of order in which to respond to the four criticisms of conversion
now becomes clear. Having legitimized comparative analysis of conversion, he can show
that this comparison should focus on the ways that religion governs society through ritual
and practice. Not surprisingly, he turns to Hinduism and uses a series of examples to
demonstrate that Hinduism cannot offer a model for society that is amenable to
untouchables (412). These examples are organized around classical Hindu definitions of
untouchability that are provided in texts such as the Manusmriti (412). He concludes that
untouchables suffer from two burdens as a result of Hinduism: social isolation and a
sense of psychological inferiority (413).
Ambedkar asserts both of these problems can be solved through religious
conversion. A new religion will address the problem of social isolation by providing a
new community, referred to as “kinship,” which will counter old forms of social
isolation. Ambedkar writes, “If for the Untouchables mere citizenship is not enough to
put an end to their isolation and the troubles which ensue therefrom, if kinship is the only
cure then there is no other way except to embrace the religion of the community whose
kinship they seek” (418). Once again, it is clear that Ambedkar’s thought has shifted
since the Southborough Committee. Ambedkar’s aim had been to develop true
citizenship for untouchables—defined in terms of representation and the right to hold
office—through the enactment of political controls. Yet history presented Ambedkar
with a troubling dilemma: untouchables were able to procure the rights to representation
and office but, due to the outcome of the Poona Pact, they were still powerless in the
27
realm of Indian politics. Thus he abandons “citizenship” in favor of “kinship” a more
nebulous term that denotes membership in a common religious community. Political
systems, he implies, are too abstracted from common experience to solve a problem that
is rooted in the untouchables basic understanding of himself and his relationships with
others. Whereas he once viewed the solution to untouchability in terms of the
relationship of one community to another (i.e., untouchables and caste Hindus), here he
phrases it in terms of a single community’s ability to improve its relationship with itself.
Ambedkar argues that a corresponding label must accompany a new form kinship.
This label is needed as an assertion of independence to individuals outside the
community and it provides the untouchable with a new way of regarding herself. This
section is the most forcefully worded portion of his essay, and it comes to the heart of
what religious conversion means to Ambedkar:
Unfortunately, names serve a very important purpose. They play a great part in social
economy. Names are symbols. Each name represents association of certain ideas and
notions about a certain object. It is a label…The name “Untouchable” is a bad name. It
repels, forbids, and stinks…the Untouchables know that if they call themselves
Untouchables they will at once draw the Hindu out and expose themselves to his wrath
and his prejudice…For to be a Hindu is for Hindus not an ultimate social category. The
ultimate social category is caste, nay sub-caste if there is a sub-caste (419).
This leads Ambedkar to his final conclusion:
…two things are clear. One is that the low status of the Untouchables is bound upon with
a stinking name. Unless the name is changed there is no possibility of a rise in their
social status. The other is that a change of name within Hinduism will not do. The
Hindu will not fail to penetrate through such a name and make the Untouchable and
confer himself as an Untouchable.
The name matters and matters a great deal. For, the name can make a revolution in the
status of the Untouchables. But the name must be the name of a community outside
Hinduism and beyond its power of spoilation and degradation. Such name can be the
property of the Untouchable only if they undergo religious conversion. A conversion by
change of name within Hinduism is a clandestine conversion which can be of no avail
(420).
28
These statements show that the content of religious conversion is, according to
Ambedkar, a change in the way an individual or group view themselves with respect to
society. It is a social phenomenon; religious labels are like all other linguistic signifiers
in that they have little value if there is no second party to witness their use. Ambedkar
does argue that a change in this outward label will eventually lead to interior changes
such as increased self-esteem, but it is important to note that personal enhancement is
contingent upon a change in how untouchables present themselves to the world. Thus
religious conversion allows untouchables to restructure, from the outside in, the
definitions that Hindu society has previously projected upon them.
Following his conversion speech of 1935, Ambedkar began a public search for a
religion that would be most appropriate for untouchables. He considered Islam,
Christianity, Sikhism, Arya Samajism, and Buddhism, all of which openly recruited
Ambedkar and his followers (Zelliot 207). Eventually he chose Buddhism, a religion that
was both native to India and a minority in Indian culture (there were only 180,000
Buddhists in India according to the 1951 census) (Zelliot 187). It should be noted that
Buddhism’s Indian origins were extremely important to Ambedkar, who frequently
referred Christianity and Islam as “foreign” religions that would further alienate converts
from Indian culture (Viswanathan 234). However, Ambedkar formally outlines his
reasons for choosing Buddhism in an article for the Maha Bodhi Journal entitled
“Buddha and the Future of His Religion”. He writes that he prefers Buddhism to
Christianity and Islam because the Buddha never claimed to have divine origin or
powers, he prefers Buddhism to Hinduism because the Buddha opposed the caste system
and stood for equality between individuals (30, 31). “The social gospel of Hinduism is
29
inequality,” he states, “On the other hand Buddha stood for equality. He was the greatest
opponent of Chaturvarna” (33). Buddhism, in addition to providing a new name for
untouchables, would assure that this name is fundamentally anti-caste and anti-Brahman.
The Buddhist label is also rooted in “liberty, equality, fraternity” and does not “sanctify
or ennoble poverty” (38). Untouchables are liberated from insults involving caste and
class and are provided for in that poverty will not tied to this new moral system.
Buddhism therefore provides untouchable with a kinship association that connotes
rationality, egalitarianism, and social change—all of which are requirements for a
religion which provides just social governance (38).
Ambedkar’s Buddhism
There are three primary components of Ambedkar’s Buddhist message. The first is
the anti-Brahmanical, or destructive element. In this respect Dalit Buddhism is the most
recent in a long line of protest movements that have aimed to de-legitimize caste Hindu
appropriation of social and political power. The second component of Dalit Buddhism is
a myth of origin, and the third is a unique form of Buddhist doctrine as presented in The
Buddha and His Dhamma. Together, the myth of origin and The Buddha and His
Dhamma comprise the constructive core of Ambedkar’s Buddhism. In turn, the
destructive and constructive elements of Dalit Buddhism combine to provide an alternate
worldview that legitimizes and stimulates Mahar social struggles.
Anti-Brahmanism
30
Trevor Ling states that that untouchables in modern India can use two methods to
achieve social mobility. The first is to appropriate the symbols and lifestyle of the upper
castes, and the second is anti-brahmanism, which Ling defines as rejecting the culture
and values of the “Brahmanical Great Tradition” while adopting of alternative cultural
traditions (73). Quoting M. M. Thomas, Ling describes anti-Brahmanism as “the one
modern pattern of social thought which is distinctly Indian in origin and character…(it is)
the awakening of the non-Brahmans to their essential rights of human existence which
caste has denied them for ages” (74). He gives examples of several social movements in
India that have used rejection of caste an impetus for action. He then places Ambedkar
within this tradition of “anti-Brahmanic” social activism (78). He cites well-known
examples such as Ambedkar’s announcement to convert to Buddhism and his depiction
of Brahmanism in The Annihilation of Caste to demonstrate that Ambedkar associated
social equality with the destruction of the caste system (80-81).
Buddhism provides Ambedkar with an alternative cultural tradition that makes his
rejection of caste-based Hindu values complete. This is most evident in the twenty-two
vows that Ambedkar prescribed for the convert from Hinduism to Buddhism. Several do
not even mention Buddhism; and instead aim at separating new Buddhists from their
Hindu past. The anti-Brahmanic vows follow:
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
19.
I shall not recognize Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesh as gods, nor shall I worship them.
I shall not recognize Rama and Krishna as gods, nor shall I worship them.
I shall not recognize Gowrie and Ganpati as gods nor shall I worship them.
I do not believe in the theory of incarnation of God.
I do not consider the Buddha as the incarnation of Vishnu.
I shall not perform shradh for my ancestors, nor shall I give offerings to God.
I shall not perform any religious rite through the agency of a Brahman.
I hereby reject my old religion Hinduism which is detrimental to the prosperity of
human kind which discriminates between man and man and accept Buddhism (Pandyan
138).
31
If one imagines 40,000 converts at Nagpur as they repeat these vows in unison she begins
to understand the sociological significance of the Ambedkarite rejection of Hinduism.
Ambedkar’s initial presentation of Buddhism includes an itemized list of forbidden
Hindu practices, and as converts swear to abstain from these practices they effectively
sever themselves from a Hindu past. In theory, there was no way of regarding a
conversion to Buddhism as anything other than a formal rejection of Hinduism. Thus
Dalit Buddhism, in its destructive form, is both necessitated and defined by a desire to
de-legitimize the caste system.
Myths of Origin
Ambedkar’s myth of origin has both a political/historical and a religious aspect.
Ambedkar develops the new account of untouchable origins most fully in Who Were the
Shudras? How they came to be the Fourth Varna in the Indo-Aryan Society and The
Untouchables: Who Were They and Why They Became Untouchables? These books are
among the earliest attempts to make a formal study of the Indian caste system, and their
explicit aim is to present an alternate understanding of caste for both the uneducated and
the intellectual. Briefly, Ambedkar’s thesis in The Untouchables is that untouchability
has no origin in race or occupational differences, and that it constitutes an unjust
discrimination concocted by Brahman Hindus (242). He refers to ancient untouchables
throughout as “Broken Men,” an ancient tribe of individuals who had a culture and
religion distinct from that of the Hindus (279). These Broken Men were the first
Buddhists and the last ancient Indians to give up the practice of eating beef. He makes a
special note, however, that the Broken Men were not the same as the “Impure” (242). He
32
argues that untouchability was a product of Brahman contempt for Broken Men, due to
their heretical religion and the continuation of eating beef (242). He states, “The Broken
Men hated the Brahmins because the Brahmins were the enemies of Buddhism and the
Brahmins imposed untouchability upon the Broken Men because they would not leave
Buddhism” (317). Thus Ambedkar severs untouchability from its previous associations
with race, purity, and occupation, and links it instead to the practice of Buddhism.
Ambedkar’s preface to The Untouchables implies that the new understanding of
untouchable origins was meant to be a starting point for further revolutions in thought.
He writes:
The existence of these classes (untouchables) is an abomination. In any other country the
existence of these classes would have led to searching of the heart and to investigation of
their origin. But neither of these has occurred to the mind of the Hindu…(239)
What is strange is that Untouchability should have failed to attract the attention of the
European student of social institutions…This book may therefore, be taken as a pioneer
attempt in the exploration of a field so completely neglected by everybody. The book, if I
may say so, deals not only with every aspect of the main question set out for inquiry,
namely, the origin of Untouchability, but it also deals with almost all questions connected
with it (241).
Ambedkar’s book provides an assertion of untouchable self-definition in the face of
intellectual apathy and religious discrimination. Its purpose is to shift the way
untouchables think about themselves and the way caste Hindus and scholars view
untouchables. Thus Ambedkar’s response to the question of untouchable origins
constitutes of a dual triumph of rationality over uninformed religious tradition and of
equality over caste. Although he admits to having used a certain amount of “imagination
and hypothesis” to fill in historical gaps, Ambedkar clearly wants others to view his work
as an empirical historical study. “I have at least shown that there exists a preponderance
of probability in favour of what I have asserted,” he writes, “It would be nothing but
33
pedantry to say that a preponderance of probability is not sufficient basis for a valid
decision” (Kadam 13). This places his analysis of caste outside the traditional Hindu
paradigm; therefore it challenges his critics to follow his move if they wish to respond to
him in kind. As both Lynch and Zelliot document, the notion of using mythic tradition to
explain unpleasant social conditions was not new to untouchable communities.
Ambedkar’s project, however, was the first to accomplish this in the name of rational
historical inquiry and the scientific method.
The Buddha and His Dhamma
It is important to establish at the outset that Ambedkar significantly altered the
teachings of the Buddha from previous presentations in writing The Buddha and His
Dhamma. Some critics nevertheless go to great lengths to prove that Ambedkar’s
Buddhism does not depart from traditional Theravadin orthodoxy. D.C. Ahir, for
example, attempts to associate each section of The Buddha and His Dhamma with the
Pali Canon, yet the chart he creates is vague and difficult to verify. Additionally, when
Ahir reaches his conclusion it becomes clear that the outcome of his project was
predetermined. “Wherever the modern Bodhisattva (Ambedkar) has added something of
his own,” Ahir writes, “it is only to present the Buddha’s teachings in the right
perspective” (112). On the other hand, Christopher Queen cites two unpublished studies
by Adele Fiske which carefully analyze Ambedkar’s use of Pali scriptures. He writes,
“Fiske documents Ambedkar’s repeated use of omission, interpolation, paraphrase, shift
of emphasis, and rationalization in passages that are presented as, in Ambedkar’s words,
‘simple and clear statement(s) of the fundamental Buddhist thoughts’” (48). Richard
34
Taylor assesses The Buddha and His Dhamma in a similar manner: “He has taken what
seemed to him the most relevant parts of several Buddhist traditions, edited them,
sometimes drastically, added material of his own, and arranged them in an order” (146).
These remarks suggest that a discussion of The Buddha and His Dhamma should
dispense with the question of if Ambedkar changed Buddhist doctrine and focus on why
and how this change occurred.
Ambedkar himself makes no pretense of directly transmitting traditional Buddhist
doctrine, and his introduction outlines four ways in these teachings are lacking: 1) The
Buddha could not have had his first great realization simply because he encountered an
old man, a sick man, and a dying man. It is unreasonable and therefore false to assume
that the Buddha did not have previous knowledge of something so common. 2) The Four
Noble truths “make the gospel of the Buddha a gospel of pessimism.” If life is composed
entirely of suffering then there is no incentive for change. 3) The doctrines of no-soul,
karma, and rebirth are incongruous. It is illogical to believe that there can be karma and
rebirth without a soul. 4) The Bhikkhu's purpose has not been presented clearly. Is he
supposed to be a “perfect man” or a “social servant”? (Introduction, no page number
given). Although there are numerous other ways in which Ambedkar crafted his book
specifically to meet the needs of untouchables, an examination of these four major
reinterpretations provides sufficient illustration of Ambedkar’s creation of a Buddhism
for untouchables. More specifically, it shows that Ambedkar’s Buddhism is centered on
a self-conscious activism that meets the needs of untouchable social movements.
Ambedkar’s first major reinterpretation involves the Buddha’s reununciation of
worldly life. Whereas traditional biographies of the Buddha emphasize the empathy the
35
young prince felt when he first encountered sufferring, Ambedkar highlights the strength
of the Buddha’s social conscience during a conflict over water rights. According to
Ambedkar, the Buddha advocated rational and a peaceful resolution of a tribal water
conflict but was unable to gain political leverage because he lacked a majority vote (27).
He then went into exhile and became a renunciant because it was the only way to prevent
the Sakyas from going to war with a neighboring tribe (28). Ambedkar omits any
mention of old age, sickness, and death. In this account, Buddha’s renunciation is
motivated by political exigencies rather than a desire find ultimate truth. Thus the
Buddha becomes a figure similar to a minority politician in contemporary India: his
concerns are social and rational, he clearly has an exceptional moral conscience but he is
not a god, and his reality is shaped by politics that are ultimately beyond his control. The
Buddha’s political difficulties mirror the problems untouchables have gaining proper
representation in the Indian parliament, and the discussion of water rights was a familiar
topic after the Mahad Satyagraha. These changes, though unorthodox, create a character
for the Buddha that is easily understood by the untouchable community.
Ambedkar subjects the Four Noble truths to the same type of interpretation. His
description of the first sermon at Deer Park follows:
The centre of his Dhamma is man and the relation of man to man in his life on earth. This
he said was his first postulate. His second postulate was that men are living in sorrow, in
misery and poverty. The world is full of suffering and that how to remove this suffering
from the world is the only purpose of Dhamma. Nothing else is Dhamma. The recognition
of the existence of suffering and to show the way to remove suffering is the foundation and
basis of his Dhamma…A religion which fails to recognise this is no religion at all…The
Buddha then told them that according to his dhamma if every person followed (1) the Path
of Purity; (2) the Path of Righteousness; and (3) the Path of virtue, it would bring about the
end of all suffering (121-122).
Ambedkar makes several obvious changes to traditional Theravadin doctrine. The first
Noble Truth of suffering becomes the “second postulate,” and the most important
36
characteristic of Buddhism becomes its concern for human relationships. The second
Noble Truth, that suffering arises from mental craving, is also described in social terms,
as “sorrow, misery and poverty.” In turn he refers vaguely to the third Noble Truth of
Cessation as the “removal of suffering.” Queen’s detailed analysis of Ambedkar’s
presentation of the Four Noble Truths reveals still more ways in which they have been
altered to create a message of social activism. As the Buddha’s teachings continue it
becomes clear that the Path of Purity is the Five Precepts, the Path of Righteousness is
the Eightfold Path, and the Path of Virture is the Ten Paramitas, or perfections (Queen
56). Yet Ambedkar does not present any of these concepts in their traditional format.
Several elements of the Eightfold Path and the ten perfections are also reinterpreted for a
social context. The goal of Eightfold Path, for example, is “to remove injustice and
inhumanity that man does to man,” rather than nirvana (Queen 57). Nirvana itself is then
described as the realization of two fundamental problems: “that there was suffering in the
world…and how to remove this suffering and make mankind happy” (Queen 57).
These changes speak specifically to untouchables in a number of ways. First, there
is a distinct element of anti-Brahmanism in Ambedkar’s rendering of the Four Noble
Truths. “Nothing else is Dhamma,” he states, and “A religion which fails to recognize
this is no religion at all.” Although Ambedkar does not criticize other religions in this
section—as he does in other chapters of the book—these statements bear close
resemblance to his earlier attacks on Hinduism. It is likely that converts who read The
Buddha and His Dhamma would know exactly what he was referring to. By
incorporating anti-Brahmanism into the Four Noble truths—by all accounts the central
teaching of Buddhism—Ambedkar once again legitimizes the use of Buddhism to oppose
37
old traditions that are unsatisfactory. Second, as Queen notes, Ambedkar understands
that the traditional presentation of suffering—which places the “blame” on the cravings
of each individual—would alienate Buddhism from the socially and politically oppressed
(59). Thus suffering is described in transitory terms as “sorrow”, “misery”, and
“poverty.” These unpleasant states lend themselves more easily to remedy than the
traditional Buddhist understanding of suffering as an intricate network of mental
cravings. The focus on craving also lends itself to manipulation by people of power, who
can advocate renunciation instead of responding to the materially based claims of the
dispossessed. Third, by placing the Four Noble Truths, the Eightfold Path, and the Ten
Perfections in a social context he provides religious justification for untouchable social
movements. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, his definition of nirvana is not only
easily understandable but theoretically attainable within a single lifetime.
Ambedkar’s explanation of karma and rebirth further legitimizes both the source
and the goal of untouchable social activism. He defends the concept of rebirth but
changes the concept of the soul. Each time a person is reborn his or her soul is then
divided and recombined with parts of many other peoples’ souls. There is no single soul
that is reborn over and over again (333). Thus Ambedkar establishes that there is no
inheritance of traits from one lifetime to the next—a direct rebuttal to the Gandhian view
of caste. This negates the idea that current social injustices are a result of past misdeeds
and assures untouchables that their new framework does not contain the possibility for
religiously sanctioned hierarchy. He also explains that karma works only within one
lifetime and cannot affect future lives (340). A this-worldly emphasis on karma gives
added significance to societal changes, as each life is now a unique and unrepeatable
38
opportunity for change and growth. The task of improving one’s situation in life thus
acquires the utmost importance. Whereas traditional conceptions of karma and rebirth
render material changes insignificant on a cosmological scale, Ambedkar’s
reinterpretation implies that they have ultimate importance. Thus untouchables are
vindicated in their sense of social outrage and are informed once again of the importance
of social struggle.
Lastly, Ambedkar’s reinterpretation of the role of the monk shows untouchables
that Buddhism takes a proactive stance towards radical change. Monks should not be
content merely to serve society—they are instead the active participants and creators of
history. He writes that the Bhikkhu’s duties are to proselytize for Buddhism and serve
the laity. The bhikkhu is commanded specifically to “fight to spread dhamma” (447).
“We wage war, O disciples, therefore we are called warriors,” the Ambedkar’s Buddha
tells his disciples, “Where virtue is in danger do not avoid fighting, do not be mealymouthed” (447). Monks are not hermetic ascetics who are focused on the attainment of
otherworldly states. Rather, they constitute the driving force behind a revolution in mind
and body. This and other statements show the reader that Buddhism is a dynamic and
forceful source of social change. Dhamma is the correct governance for society and the
use of force is perfectly acceptable in the endeavor to spread it. In short, these passages
provide precisely the kind of motivation that a burgeoning social movement of oppressed
people would need.
It is now possible to summarize the salient characteristics of Ambedkar’s Buddhist
doctrine. Buddhism for untouchables is a fundamentally social message. In addition, this
message must be understood as proactive instead of passive. It both demands and
39
provides a means for social change. It is impossible to interpret Ambedkar’s Buddhism
as acceptance of the status quo, and several key elements such as the new understanding
of suffering, karma, and nirvana are easily identifiable with the experiences of the
oppressed. Therefore Ambedkar’s Buddhism is self-consciously aware of what it is as
well as what it is not (i.e. Hinduism). This and the other aspects of Ambedkar’s
Buddhism mentioned above relate directly to the experiences of the untouchables, and
thus The Buddha and His Dhamma provides an ideology suited specifically for the
present conditions of Mahar life.
Ambedkar’s Relationship to Buddhism
Ambedkar’s relationship to Buddhism is characterized by a variety of political,
religious, and historical factors. On the one hand, it is clear that the political failure of
the Poona Pact provided the primary catalyst for his decision to convert to Buddhism.
Ambedkar realized that citizenship would never lead to full realization of rights if the
government did not also implement a corrective electoral framework for untouchables.
As Viswanathan writes:
Ambedkar sought to expose the wide gap between the secular commitment to the removal
of civil disabilities and the secular state’s persistent functioning within a majoritarian ethic.
His primary objective thus lay in demonstrating that modern secularism was essentially a
universalist worldview stalling the processes of enfranchisement and creating the
conditions for partial, rather than full, citizenship (215).
This analysis recognizes that Ambedkar’s adoption of Buddhism was basically an attempt
to replace the ideal governance of secular democracy with religious morality. Having
realized that an emphasis on rights in terms of citizenship and political participation
would never procure equality for untouchables, he created an alternate system—based on
kinship and religion—that would circumvent the weaknesses of India’s electoral policy
40
and would allow untouchables to achieve the goals which they sought (Viswanathan
216).
However, Ambedkar’s Buddhism is not simply a reactive ideology that aims to
accomplish political ends through religious means. This is shown by Queen’s perceptive
description of Ambedkar’s Buddhism as a form of postmodern religious reconstruction.
Drawing on the work of Peter Berger, Queen begins with the concept of modernity,
which he defines as the “universalization of heresy”, or the “exercise of personal choice”
(45). Berger writes, “In the matter of religion, as indeed in other areas of human life and
thought, this means that the modern individual is faced not just with the opportunity but
with the necessity to make choices as to his beliefs. This fact constitutes the heretical
imperative in the contemporary situation” (30). Queen recognizes that Ambedkar’s
extraordinary education, especially his time spent at Columbia, introduced him to this
type of modern worldview. He writes of Ambedkar’s time at Columbia, “Ambedkar
cannot have missed the progressivist and modernist zeitgeist that permeated Morningside
Heights, including Columbia University Graduate School, Columbia Teacher’s College,
and Union Theological Seminary, all within a few blocks of Ambedkar’s apartment”
(64). Queen notes that this was the pinnacle of the Social Gospel movement in liberal
Protestant movement, and indeed Ambedkar’s frequent exchange of “gospel” for
“dhamma” indicates that his thinking was shaped by this foreign movement of Christian
social activism (64). K. N. Kadam’s analysis of the numerous parallels between
Ambedkar’s thought and that of John Dewey further supports Queen’s argument that
Ambedkar was influenced by the thinkers he encountered at Columbia (1-33). Thus, in
addition to its political significance, Ambedkar’s decision to leave Hinduism embodies
41
the modern man’s rejection of tradition. His subsequent reinterpretation of Buddhism is
then a deliberate exercise of Berger’s “heretical imperative.”
Ambedkar must have realized that his religious quest embodied a method of
intellectual inquiry that was viewed as the pinnacle of philosophical discourse at the time.
Queen goes so far as to argue that Ambedkar related to religion in terms of a postmodern
rejection of traditional “metadiscourse,” and that his reconstruction of Buddhism was an
act of postmodern faith (66). Yet regardless of whether Ambedkar should most properly
be considered as modern or postmodern (whatever this term may mean), it is clear that
his religious project has philosophical significance distinct from—perhaps even
surpassing—its impact on Indian politics.
Ambedkar’s Buddhism is also infused throughout with the culture and history of the
Mahars. Zelliot skillfully explains how Ambedkar’s leadership and his use of Buddhism
places him within the tradition of other Mahar social movements (197-217). His decision
to convert was motivated by Indian national politics, and the way he approached
conversion was influenced largely by modern thought from the West, but the specifics of
his interpretation are rooted most firmly in his experiences of untouchability in
Maharashtra. The twenty-two vows, the myth of origin, the alterations in the Buddha’s
biography, and the departures from traditional Buddhist teachings all constitute a
projection of the Mahar experience onto Ambedkar’s religion of choice. In this way
Ambedkar’s Buddhism constitutes a response to the past as well as a compelling
illustration of the possibilities for the present and future.
42
Chapter 4
Ambedkar’s Buddhism as Lived by the Mahars
The Buddhism one finds in the daily life and practice of Mahars differs
significantly from the principles described in The Buddha and His Dhamma. These
differences, which vary according to location and socioeconomic situation, range from
minute reinterpretations to fundamental contradictions. This chapter draws on Timothy
Fitzgerald’s tripartite analysis of Buddhism in Maharashtra to describe the basic forms
that Dalit Buddhism takes today. I first consider Fitzgerald’s theoretical classifications of
Dalit Buddhism as, 1.) rural Buddhism as a variant of Hinduism, 2.) intellectual
Buddhism as secular rationalism and social democracy, and 3.) Buddhism of the
Trailokya Bauddha Mahsangha Sahayaka Gana (TBMSG). I then add a fourth possible
classification of Dalit Buddhism: secular political Buddhism. This provides a framework
for the following chapter’s analysis of Dalit Buddhism as a whole.
Fitzgerald’s description of rural Buddhism relies overwhelmingly on negative
terms. Although he does write that rural Mahars have begun to refuse to perform
traditional duties such as scavenging and have given up the practice of eating beef, he
cites their recognition and practice of sub-caste hierarchy and untouchability, lack of
intercaste marriage, and worship of Hindu gods and goddesses as evidence that they
practice “the kind of Buddhism which has not really changed anybody or anything very
radically” (20). He notes, however, that his evidence is indirect and relies solely on
descriptions given by individuals he refers to as “community spokesmen” (21). He
defines these spokesmen as, “men who in most communities tend to be looked up to by
their neighbours for their education, wisdom and/or experience, and who are relied on to
43
speak for the community” (33). Thus, although this category is useful, he admits that the
description he provides is “incomplete and tentative” (19).
Neera Burra’s study of village life provides futher detail of this first type of Dalit
Buddhism. She notes that although 70 out of the 102 respondents to her questionnaire
classified themselves as Buddhist, none of them had taken Ambedkar’s 22 vows (160).
She argues that this reflects both a lack of knowledge about the vows and a general
hesitancy to take oaths that characterizes rural society (160). Additionally, there were
statues of Hindu gods and goddesses—alongside pictures of Ambedkar and the
Buddha—in every household she visited (161). Over half of the people she interviewed
said that they prayed to all gods, including Hindu deities, and she documents the
persistence of traditional Hindu concepts of karma, dharma, and the transmigration of the
soul persisted as well (161, 162).
Burra characterizes the religious practice of rural Mahars as fundamentally Hindu
with a Buddhist exterior. For example, she describes how the premarriage activities of
the Mahars are still Hindu (one example is matching horoscopes), yet the marriage
ceremony itself consists of placing garlands over the bride and groom as they stand in
front of pictures of Ambedkar and the Buddha (165). This dichotomy between private
Hindu practice and public Buddhist practice marks other rituals as well. She summarizes,
“In the absence of a machinery to get the religion—as interpreted by Ambedkar—
internalized, ignorance, ambivalence and misinterpretation are widespread. All this
would suggest that the spiritual content of the Buddha’s message—again as interpreted
by Ambedkar—has not gone home” (160).
44
At the same time, Burra notes that Dalit Buddhists now participate with great
enthusiasm in Hindu festivals and ceremonies that were previously forbidden to them
(166). This and other positive changes allow her to conclude that the Dalit Buddhist
movement is a “symbol of identity transformation” rather than a true religious conversion
(168). “The Buddhist identity is important mainly for the outside world,” she writes,
“There is an attempt to emphasize one’s distinctiveness and this is achieved by different
methods. The inner core may remain Hindu but this in no way reflects a betrayal of the
cause” (168). Thus rural Dalit Buddhist practice is distinguished from other forms of
Buddhism primarily by its continued reliance on Hindu themes and rituals ( Fitzgerald
20).
Fitzgerald’s referts to the second type of Dalit Buddhism as “intellectual Buddhism
as secular rationalism and social democracy” (21). He refers to it as the “ideal type” of
Buddhism, articulated by well-educated men who are often leaders in their communities
(22). Usually these men have had some training at a Buddhist temple and they often
officiate in Buddhist ceremonies for other members of the community (22). Most,
however, do not meditate (22). Fitzgerald writes that these men equate Buddhism with
“equality, human dignity, self-help, rejection of caste inequality, rejection of reliance on
supernatural agencies, accpetance of scientific rationality, modern education, democracy,
and the rights of the individual” (22). They also follow Ambedkar’s interpretation of
traditional Buddhist doctrines such as karma, rebirth, and nirvana (22). Fitzgerald
characterizes this process as a “secularization” of soteriology (22).
The educated men I interviewed in Bombay usually model their lives and their
thinking after Dr. Ambedkar, and their view of Buddhism shares his rational secularism.
45
For example, the only man who spoke English at Gautam Nagar (a Buddhist community
of 3,000 in the Dadar neighborhood) told me that the meaning of Buddhism is
“education, the value of human life, and cooperation.” He emphasized that Buddhism is
not based on blind faith, and that the Buddha was a man and not a god. Sagar Lokhande,
a barrister at the Mumbai Municipal Courts, told me that the principles of Buddhism
hinged on “natural justice” and the “rights of the human being.” He also stressed the
importance of rationality, empiricism, and education. Anant Shamukla, the president of
the Dr. Ambedkar College of Economics and Law, continually returned to the themes of
self-respect, dignity, and honor throughout our hour-long interview. He prominently
displayed the following quote by Ambedkar on his desk: “The People’s Education
Society’s objective is not merely to give education but to give education in such a manner
as to promote intellectual, moral and social democracy. This is what modern India needs
and this is what all well wishers of India must promote.” Lastly, Arjun Dangle, a Dalit
poet and editor of Poisoned Bread: Marathi Dalit Literature , made sure to contrast the
“correct” understanding of Buddhism with that of the common Dalit Buddhist who does
not go to the temple to worship, has not read The Buddha and His Dhamma, values
Buddhism only for its political use, or merely worships Ambedkar like a Hindu deity.
Although I did not classify them as such at the time, most of the men I interviewed in
Bombay fit this model of the Dalit Buddhist practitioner.
Fitzgerald’s final classification of Dalit Buddhism is based on differences in
soteriology. He focuses on the practice and interpretations offered by the TBMSG, a
branch of Sangharakshita’s Friends of the Western Buddhist Order. Sangharakshita, a
western Buddhist monk, founded the Friends of the Western Buddhist Order in 1964 in
46
London. It currently has worldwide branches such as the TBMSG that teach basic
Buddhist doctrine and meditation (Beltz 1060). In India, the TBMSG has played a major
role in filling the vacuum of Dalit Buddhist leadership that resulted from Ambedkar’s
death. Thus the vast majority of Indians associated with the TBMSG are also followers
of Ambedkar.
The TBMSG’s message of social action begins with the individual practioner and
then movies outward to encompass the rest of society. It teaches that Buddhist practice
focuses on the achievement of transcendental knowledge of the self (Beltz 1059). This
understanding then forms the basis of a new society, which focuses on the needs of the
individual and emphasizes by social equality (Beltz 1059, Fitzgerald 24). In India, the
TBMSG specifically rejects the caste system (Fitzgerald 24). Meditation, according to the
TBMSG, will automatically lead to a desire to perform compassionnate service for the
community (Fitzgerald 24). Fitzgerald writes that Dalit Buddhists who are associated
with the TBMSG represent the more “spiritual” side of Dalit Buddhism (23). Their
interpretation of Buddhism is compatible with Ambedkar’s because it emphasizes
rationality, moral action, and social reform (Fitzgerald 24). However, the TBMSG strives
for total political nonpartisanship and many of its members view nirvana not in
materialist terms but as a transcendent state of awareness (Fitzgerald 25).
I attended two meetings of the TBMSG while in Bombay. The first was a weekly
meeting at the Dr. Ambedkar School of Economics and Law. Thirty-two men and three
women meet for one hour on Tuesday nights to listen to a dharma talk and engage in
group meditation1. The students who directed us to the meeting seemed unfamiliar with
1
It is important to note that the meeting did not usually have foreign participants and that practitioners did
not know beforehand that we were going to attend.
47
the TBMSG. They merely told us that “Buddhist followers of Ambedkar” gathered once
or twice a week to “worship” at their college. Very few, if any, of the practitioners were
students at the College of Law and Economics.
The service consiststsed of a 45-minute dharma talk followed by 15 minutes of
vipassana meditation. The majority of the dharma talk was in Marathi, but the speaker
included some English phrases so that my three American companions and I could
understand important sections of his lesson. He emphasized the Buddhist principles of
equality and fraternity and the importance of basic practices such as the five silas.
Buddhism meant two things to the speaker: commitment and life-style. He stated that
they were engaging in the “real path of dhamma practice,” and that “through our practice
we get recognized by other people.” “You are your worldly master,” he told the
congregation at one point. He reiterated a similar point later and stated, “Don’t have any
god.”
The second TBMSG event I attended was the dedication of a new statue of the
Buddha. This gathering of perhaps 250 people included many of the same individuals
who had been at the weekly meeting at the college. This group consisted almost entirely
of families, although men still outnumbered women as in the first meeting. No monks
were present, and we were the only foreigners. Once again, dharma talks were followed
by a brief period of meditation. This time, however, the speakers almost exclusively used
Marathi, and thus I can provide few details about their understanding of Buddhism. I did
note that the vast majority of practitioners were comfortable chanting in Pali, which they
had learned from a “prayer book” that consisted of Marathi transliterations of Pali. I do
48
not know how many people learned the Pali chants by reading them on their own and
how many learned them by repetition in the meetings.
Although my observations do not contradict Fitzgerald’s assertion that the TBMSG
has a more “transcendental” and “spiritual” focus than the other forms of Dalit
Buddhism, I would feel uncomfortable categorizing them as such. To a relatively
ignorant observer these meetings seemed to be no different from any other gathering of
committed Dalit Buddhist practioners. The only indication of the differences that
Fitzgerald describes was in the meditation, which as far as I could tell was not a core part
of the practice of the academics and businessmen I interviewed. It is also possible that
the emphasis on commitment to the teachings, the Buddhist lifestyle, and the spiritual
“dhamma revolution” indicates a soteriology that is less materialistic than that of the
other Buddhists I talked to—although again I did not think so at the time. It was not even
clear to me why they associated themselves with the TBMSG, as I saw no western
leaders and the focus of every speech was on Ambedkar, not Sangharakshita. Also, in
contrast to Fitzgerald’s statement that the TBMSG strives to remain politically neutral, I
received the impression that at least one of the speeches at the dedication ceremony was
of a political nature.
Johannes Beltz’ study of the TBMSG in Maharashtra provides more information on
the type of Buddhism that Fitzgerald seems to be describing. He interviewed several
memebers of the TBMSG at a retreat center outside Pune, many of whom described a
Buddhist message of increased spirituality. For example, one practioner explains:
I was born Buddhist. But in reality, no one can be Buddhist without practicing the
dhamma. To be Buddhist from birth is not possible…I took refuge in the Buddha, the
dhamma, and the sangha. I think that I am on the path of the Buddha. I want to become a
49
dhammamitra (a lay leader in the TBMSG. A Buddhist is more than a physical man. He is
spiritual…I would like to become 100% Buddhist (1062)2.
Another tells him:
I consider myself Buddhist because I believe not in God but in humanity. I practice
Buddhism. I want to positively develop my personality and help others…Through
meditation, we augment our state of consciousness to become better men (1063).
These statements embody the spirituality and humanism of Buddhism as envisioned by
Sangharashita. Meditation lies at the center of individual practice, and only through
knowing oneself does one enter a state where he or she truly begins to help others. In
addition, these practitioners negate a materialistic understanding of the world. “A
Buddhist is more than a physical man,” one states, “He is spiritual.” This explains why
“no one can be Buddhist without practicing the dhamma”: meditation and action are two
aspects of the same teaching, and to engage in one without the other is, according to the
TBMSG, to ignore the meaning of Buddhism.
Several of Beltz’ subjects also draw a sharp a distinction between “Dalit” Buddhists
who do not practice and “real” Buddhists who do. “The Dalit movement results in bad
social conditions for untouchables,” one Dhammacari asserts, “It is for politics. The
Dalit movment does not have a positive approach to Buddhism…My personal experience
is different. I have developed my personality. I do not call myself Dalit. I consider
myself Buddhist” (1065). An employee at the University of Pune went so far as to state,
“The leaders of the Dalit movement are selfish and corrupt. They are demagogues and
want to suppress other currents of Buddhist thought. They waste a lot of energy, time,
and money…The TBMSG serenely runs the buddhist movement and continues the work
of Dr. Ambedkar with respect….There is no love between the activists” (1066).
2
Beltz’ article is written in French. Translations are my own with the help of Abby Dean.
50
Beltz cites the public debate between Gopal Guru, a Dalit Buddhist and professor at
the University of Pune, and Dhammacari Lokamitra, a member of the TBMSG who was
born in England, as an example of the growing conflict between “spiritual” and
“political” Buddhism. In February 1991 Guru wrote an article for Economic and
Political Weekly entitled “Hinduisation of Ambedkar in Maharashtra” in which he attacks
the reinterpretation of Ambedkar’s message by Hindu nationalists and “transcendental”
Buddhist groups. He is particularly critical of the TBMSG, which he describes as a “selfproclaimed Buddhist organization with foreign connections” (340). He writes that their
emphasis on “transcendental meditation” as a form of social outreach removes the
political aspect of Ambedkar’s message (341). He states:
His (Ambedkar’s) conversion movement though overtly cultural was inherently
political inasmuch as it created among the dalits a tendency to negate the cultural
domination of the upper castes…The Trailoky a Buddha Mahsangh is doing exactly
the opposite by confining the dalits within the four walls for ruminating on
transcendental meditation which is in effect making the dalits quite inattentive to
the problems of the dalits (341).
This view of Buddhism takes Ambedkar’s blending of political and religious ideologies
to an extreme. Religion is inherently political and material, and an overt emphasis on
spirituality implies a dismissal of more pressing material and social problems at hand.
For Guru, meditation seems to constitute an active choice to disengage oneself from
social action and thus negates Ambedkar’s social philosohpy.
Lokamitra’s rebuttal cites several passages from The Buddha and His Dhamma
which emphasize that mental states of mind are an integral part of practicing the dharma.
He draws a careful distinction between achieving a “trancelike” state and increasing
awareness through meditation (1303). He holds that spirituality, or knowledge of the self,
is an integral part of Ambedkar’s Buddhism and that it does not conflict with social
51
action (1303). He then lists several ways that the TBMSG provides social aid. In
addition to providing traditional forms of social service such as education and healthcare,
Lokamitra writes that the TBMSG initiates untouchables into true Buddhist pratice. “The
sad fact is that many Buddhists still worship the old gods,” he writes, “thus unwittingly
maintaing the old religious conditioning” (1304). After they attend a retreat organized by
the TBMSG, however, they take the 22 vows, learn meditation, and study a Buddhist
text—often one written by Ambedkar (1304). He concludes: “Buddhism becomes
meaningful to them as never before…Most of them will go home and throw out the
pictures and murtis of the old gods, having eradicated their psychological dependence on
them” (1304).
The debate between Guru and Lokamitra illustrates the complex nature of
intraBuddhist debates in India. For example, this argument between a politically minded
academic and foreign representative of the TBMSG implies the existence of a third party
whose voice is not heard: the villagers who “sadly” continue to worship Hindu gods and
are trapped by ancient religious “conditioning.” Additionally, Guru and Lokamitra raise
issues of spirituality, materialism, meditation and social action, all under the sub-heading
of more pan-Indian conflicts such as native ideology versus foreign ideology, and the
meaning of a “Hindu” nation. Lastly, Guru’s line of reasoning necessitates the inclusion
of what I refer to as a fourth category of Dalit Buddhism, that of the secular political
Buddhist.
Whereas the intellectual focuses on Buddhism’s rationalism, humanism, and
principles of social democracy, and the member of the TBMSG focuses on Buddhism as
a path to inner and outer knowledge, the political Buddhist views his religion primarily in
52
terms of its political connotations and functions. This is exemplified by Guru’s response
to Lokamitra, printed in the July 1991 issue of Economic and Political Weekly. He
writes, “Thus I am adding a political dimension to Buddhism, but it is Ambedkar who
tried to enthuse it in Buddhist teaching and practice to help the ‘dalit’ masses understand
that the solution to their problems lies in their radical politicisation and not in
spiritualism” (1699). For Guru, Buddhism constitutes a way of doing politics on both an
ideological and practical level. Thus he goes out of his way, for example, to criticize the
TBMSG’s policy of political neutrality and avoidance of social confrontation: “I reassert
that TBMSG’s activities lead to the killing of political initiative of ‘dalits’ who are trying
to confront the state and other communal forces not through the meditation but on the
street, well outside the four walls of Dhyan Sadhana class room” (1698).
I observed this type of “street Buddhism” at the annual remembrance of
Ambedkar’s death in Bombay. Hundreds of thousands of dalits gather in Shivaji Park
every year to celebrate the day of Ambedkar’s death, and I was told by every Buddhist I
talked to that the observation of Abmedkar’s birth and death were the major religious
events of the year. Most milled around the park area and either talked to friends, ate food,
or entered the maze of stalls that sold a plethora of Ambedkar and Buddhist
paraphernalia. There were at least three speaking platforms set up. The speeches,
however, were saved for the afternoon, and as the day wore on I noticed that women and
children were being replaced by increasing numbers of energetic young men. They
traveled in groups of 20 or 30, often pushing their way through the thick crowds,
chanting songs and waving flags. Many had blue scarves printed with the Buddhist
wheel and the words “Jai Bhim” tied around their heads, necks, or arms. These men did
53
not seem concerned with rational humanism or transcendent spirituality. They felt
marginalized by mainstream Hindu society, and Buddhism gave them a political cause to
rally around.
At the same time, however, this day illustrated that the different types of Dalit
Buddhism often share the same space without conflict or debate. I am left with two
oustanding impressions of the celebration of Ambedkar’s death: first is the scene just
described, and second is the line, thousands of people long, to enter the shrine containing
Ambedkar’s remains. These individuals waited patiently in the Bombay heat for hours,
usually talking among themselves but never pushing or surging forward. Some prayed.
Women marked by a uniform white salwar kameez and blue ribbon directed the line, and
I did not see anyone hassle them. Although I did not enter the temple, I assume that those
who did enter it made a brief offering or gesture of reverence before Ambedkar’s statue.
The ritual seemed similar in purpose to a traditional Hindu Darsan. Their attitude of
quiet faithfulness presented sharp contrast to the agitated faces of the men I encountered.
It is quite possible that these urban Mahars, eager to use traditional Hindu means to pay
homage to Ambedkar, constitute yet another category of Dalit Buddhists.
In short, although the Mahars are a distinct group within Indian culture, the ways
they live out the ideology presented by their leader vary greatly. Polarizing concepts
include karma, rebirth, dharma, meditation, spirituality, materialism, politics,
individuality and social action. Polarizing social categories include the urban, rural,
educated, uneducated, and in many cases, old and young. These themes and social
conditions, however, are merely central points around which different groups of Dalit
54
Buddhists can rally. While the reference points seem static, the categories themselves
appear to be more fluid.
This offers a cautionary statement for those who may be eager to equate
Ambedkar’s thinking directly with that of his community or vice versa. Ambedkar,
Ambedkar’s Buddhism, and the Mahar community are merely the loci for numerous
personal and communal interactions that comprise the forms of Dalit Buddhism that we
have been examining. In turn, many of the differences between Dalit Buddhism and
Ambedkar’s Buddhism stem more from the inevitable overlap of religion and culture than
the conscious religious reconstruction that Ambedkar engaged in. The Mahars’ most
radical departures from Ambedkar’s message are caused by the vagueness of the
distinction between Hindu culture and Indian culture. As Viswanathan notes, even the
beginning of Ambedkar’s political career was marked by ambivalence about what
constitutes Hinduism and what constitutes India. This caused him to devote tremendous
time and energy to a temple entry campaign—even as he denounced Brahmans and
traditional Hindu religiosity in writings such as Annihilation of Caste (235). It should
therefore come as no surprise that rural Dalit Buddhists have used their newfound selfconfidence to engage in traditionally Hindu forms of worship. Indeed, the Gandhian
notion of Hindu nationalism was based on observations of village life that would still
hold true in many parts of India today. For villagers, most societal roles that are available
for reclamation are also related to Hinduism in some way.
Similarly, those pockets of Dalit Buddhism that bear closest resemblance to
Ambedkar’s Buddhism are comprised of individuals whose lives are most similar to
Ambedkar’s life. Urban intellectuals, Fitzgerald’s “ideal Buddhists”, have usually read
55
The Buddha and His Dhamma and have no qualms stating that the vast majority of Dalit
Buddhists, unlike themselves, have little or no understanding of Ambedkar’s message.
Thus Dalit Buddhism is an evolving set of practices and beliefs; it is a religious work in
progress.
56
Chapter 5
The Dalit Buddhist Myth
Having established a broad picture of Ambedkar’s Buddhism as it is lived out by
the Mahars, we can now return to the three core elements of Ambedkar’s Buddhist
message. How, if at all, do they inform contemporary practice? Based on Ambedkar’s
own words, one might predict that The Buddha and His Dhamma would have the most
influence on the Mahars’ daily lives. However, one can quickly establish that this is not
the case. One also finds that although anti-brahmanism and alternate myths of origin
have had great impact on the Mahars, they too fail to encapsulate Dalit Buddhism as it
exists today. This chapter discusses these complexities and attempts to construct a
typology of the Dalit Buddhist myth that takes both Ambedkar’s message and the actions
of his followers into account. In turn, it becomes clear that the aspect of the Dalit
Buddhist myth that has had the greatest impact on the Mahar’s lives is something that
was not part of Ambedkar’s original message at all.
The Three Elements of Ambedkar’s Message
In theory, The Buddha and His Dhamma would serve as the philosophical,
ideological, and religious template for Dalit Buddhist communities. As one critic states,
“The Buddha and His Dhamma is a true guide for all the Buddhists. It is the best basis
for propagating the Dhamma, at least in India” (Ahir 110). There are several plausible
models that would explain how a narrative text such as The Buddha and His Dhamma
could become the “just governance” for society that Ambedkar holds a good religion
should be. Charles Hallisey and Anne Hansen, for example, provide a useful framework
57
for understanding the inner moral transformation that result from repeated exposure to the
Jataka tales. They hold that narrative has the unique ability to “prefigure,” “configure”,
and eventually “transfigure” moral life (323). They place their work on a continuum with
the writing of Martha Nussbaum, Dominic LaCapra, and Paul Ricoeur by asserting that
language creates a process by which a reader can internalize moral structures (305).
Hallisey and Hansen gather sufficient field evidence to show that an inner moral
transformation takes place when individuals hear the Jataka tales repeatedly throughout
their lives, and it seems plausible that the narrative aspects of The Buddha and His
Dhamma might lend themselves to a similar process (305).
However, field data suggests that The Buddha and His Dhamma does not occupy a
central place in Dalit Buddhists’ lives. This is due as much to the high illiteracy rates
among Mahars as to the general lack of agreement about whether Ambedkar’s Buddhist
message was primarily political (as exemplified by Guru) or spiritual (as exemplified by
Lokamitra). One basic difficulty I found was that copies of The Buddha and His
Dhamma are extremely rare, even in urban centers like Bombay. This and the
discrepancies in practice that were outlined in the previous chapter make a strong
argument against the influence that Ambedkar’s alteration of traditional Buddhist
doctrine has had on the Mahars on the whole.
On the other hand, the anti-brahmanical element is the primary source of the initial
psychological changes that take place as a result of the adoption of Buddhism. This is
shown in Adele Fiske’s study of Dalit Buddhists in Maharashtra and North India. During
1966-1967 Fiske conducted a survey in an attempt to understand the view of Buddhism
that had developed because of Ambedkar. She distributed questionnaires in English and
58
in Marathi to Dalit Buddhists of varying sex, age, location (urban versus rural), and
socioeconomic background. When she asked, “Why did you become a Buddhist,” the
most frequent answer by far was “Rejection of Hinduism” (38 out of 114 responses, or
33%). Fiske writes, “The negative answer accounts for 33 percent; the other answers are
all positive, i.e. 67 percent. The rejection of Hinduism is, however, more clearly and
emotionally stated than is the positive choice of Buddhism” (107). Although “liking for
Buddhism” was the second most popular response to Fiske’s question, the vagueness of
this reply suggests that most informants did not have extensive knowledge of Buddhism.
Fiske reports that explanations of preference for Buddhism usually ran along the lines of,
“I liked the Buddhist religion,” or it gives “mental health and makes us a man in the real
sense” (108). Although both of these answers assign positive attributes to Buddhism,
neither provides enough detail to suggest that the individuals Fiske interviewed had more
than a cursory knowledge of Buddhism before conversion. Thus it seems that first-hand
experiences of the prejudices of the caste system—not appreciation of Buddhist
doctrine—provided the primary catalyst for the rejection of one religion in favor of
another.
Despite their ignorance of Buddhist doctrine, however, the individuals in Fiske’s
study clearly felt that Buddhism had brought them positive psychological change. As
Fiske writes, “Almost all of them claim that the new religion has actually improved their
lives, not externally but internally, psychologically” (119). The anti-brahmanical element
of Dalit Buddhism provides one link between an uninformed adoption of Buddhism and
an almost instantaneous increase in self-esteem and perception of self-worth. Even if
converts did not remember each of the twenty-two vows, for example, they were bound
59
to remember the central theme of rejection of Hinduism. Thus many Dalit Buddhists
understand what Buddhism is not before they focus on what it is. The conversion
experience can be powerful because the ideological victory over caste is expressed in
concrete actions on the part of the convert. David Pandyan’s analysis of the vows,
though stated rather awkwardly, gives important insight into the way they function for the
Buddhist convert. “These vows,” he writes, “mark a separate identity for the NeoBuddhists, simple and straight. There is no need to read the voluminous canonical
literature that is there in Buddhism. There are complicated doctrines in Buddhism…But
Neo-Buddhism is a simple and straight faith” (140). By equating Buddhism with antiBrahmanism, Ambedkar allows the Buddhist label, even without content, to be an
instrument of social and psychological change.
At the same time, however, it is important not to overestimate the pervasiveness of
anti-brahmanism throughout the Mahar community. Whereas Fiske’s study suggests that
a strong sense of anti-brahmanism existed in early converts, Burra’s study, conducted
twenty years later, shows that it does not characterize all religious practice. Although one
must be careful not to extrapolate Burra’s findings to the entire Mahar community, they
do offer a cautionary statement for the way one characterizes anti-brahmanism. Contrary
to what Ambedkar writes, the Mahar rejection of caste does not always entail rejection of
Hindusim. When the Mahars align themselves with Buddhism they adopt a new social
and psychological paradigm that is characterized foremost by the victory of equality over
caste; only secondary is the victory of Buddhist practice over Hindu practice.
Anti-brahmanism sparks a psychological deconstruction of the caste system, and in
turn Ambedkar’s new myth of origin provides the foundation for the creation of a new
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Mahar identity. The link Ambedkar creates between the origins of Buddhism and
untouchability operates in three ways. First, it recasts the role of untouchables in terms
of the Hindu caste system by de-legitimizing the caste system as a whole (Lynch 105).
Second, it gives them a sense of ownership of the Buddhist religion. Religious
conversion becomes a return to a distant and less oppressive past; the untouchables regain
their unrightfully usurped social status and their original religion. Conversion is thus an
act of defiance and a logical reordering of Indian social structures. Third, the myth allows
the Mahars to reclaim the geographical space they inhabit. Taylor lists several ancient
Buddhists monuments in Maharashtra such as Ajanta, Karli, and Ellora, that have now
been claimed by the Mahars (140). In Nagpur, the place of the 1956 conversion, people
now believe that Ananda was the ancient chief of the Nagas and that these Nagas were
the ancestors of the first Nagpur Mahar Buddhists (Taylor 141). “Anywhere in
Maharashtra, with the Buddhist sites near at hand,” Taylor writes, “this becomes a
completely credible myth of origin” (141). Gary Tartakov documents this process in “Art
and Identity: the Rise of a New Buddhist Imagery.” He writes, “Though they have not
been able to take direct possession of these monuments…they have been able to assert
their new identity through visits that amount to pilgrimage. And in this they gain the
access to a cosmic identification, denied them in many Brahmanical shrines” (180).
When I asked Dalit Buddhists in Bombay about their places of worship they often tried to
direct me to Ajanta, Ellora, Nagpur, and even Bodh Gaya. At the time I found this very
frustrating: all I wanted was to find a neighborhood shrine. However, after reading
Taylor’s and Tartakov’s accounts, it occurs to me that geographical reclamation is an
61
important process for a community that has been consigned to live outside common
village boundaries for thousands of years.
The Mahar adoption of anti-Brahmanism and a new myth of origin illustrates two
crucial aspects of the way their collective self-definition has changed after conversion to
Buddhism. First, Buddhism gives them the power to discard an ideology of caste that is
psychologically and socially oppressive. This has undoubtedly led to increased self
worth and self respect, yet is not awlays contingent on the adoption of Buddhist doctrine.
It seems to prove Ambedkar’s prediction that, “the name can make a revolution in the
status of the Untouchables” (“Away from the Hindus” 420). Second, psychological
change is not always accompanied by rejection of all forms of Hindu culture. On the
contrary, in many ways the adoption of Buddhism has given untouchables a venue for
fuller participation in traditionally Hindu expressions of religiousity and community.
Although anti-brahmanism and myths of origin are clearly an integral part of the
Mahars’ Buddhism, I would argue that they do not encompass the Dalit Buddhist
phenomenon. The new myth of origin is more a point of departure than a plan for present
and future action. In turn, the forms of anti-Brahmanism are dependent on the differences
between Dalit Buddhists that were described in the previous chapter. The resulting
variation is so great that one must question the extent to which it could serve as a
unifying principle or practice for Dalit Buddhists. Neither the myth nor anti-brahmanism
could be used as justification for either position in the Guru-Lokamitra debate. Although
anti-brahmanism and myths of origin are those aspects of Dalit Buddhism that can be
traced most easily to Ambedkar’s thinking, the above analysis suggest that Dalit
Buddhists must have a common believe in additional concepts as well.
62
Alternatively, what if the figure of Ambedkar is the defining element of Dalit
Buddhism? The Guru-Lokamitra debate supports this hypothesis. Though these men are
at religious loggerheads, they both return continually to Ambedkar for justification of
their arguments. Lokamitra writes, “I am afraid the project Gopal Guru is talking about is
not that of Ambedkar but of those who have attempted to use Ambedkar’s conversion to
Buddhism to serve their own political ends” (1304). Guru offers the following rejoinder:
“Lokmitra and his TBMSG are free to sell their package of spiritual Buddhism and
synthesise it with anything but not with Ambedkar’s Buddhism. Because it does not
allow such synthesis” (1699). Both judge the other’s reasoning as flawed specifically on
the grounds that it represents a misinterpretation of Ambedkar’s message. As Guru
acknowledges, he is bothered not so much by the TBMSG’s false Buddhist doctrine as he
is by the fact that it has been associated with Ambedkar. Ambedkar is thus both founder
and standard bearer of contemporary Dalit Buddhism. As such, any explanation of the
movement would be incomplete if it did not address the Mahars’ view of him.
Ambedkar’s Place in Dalit Buddhism
Although Ambedkar understood his own leadership role in Dalit Buddhism, he did
not intend to become an integral part of the religion he espoused. None of his writings
indicate that he wished to become Dalit Buddhism’s central figure or the Mahars’ patron
saint. On the contrary, he advocated rationalism and explicitly denounced hero worship.
Thus, unlike the other elements of Dalit Buddhism, Ambedkar’s role in Dalit Buddhism
cannot be studied through his writings and speeches but only through contemporary
expressions. Thus, unlike the other elements of Dalit Buddhism, one cannot begin to
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describe Ambedkar’s role in Dalit Buddhism through writings and speeches but must turn
directly to contemporary expressions of Dalit Buddhist devotion. This section will
reconsider the four types of Dalit Buddhist practitioners, examining how each express
their view of Ambedkar. Together, their images, words, and actions portray the
intricacies of the common belief that Ambedkar provides the sustenance and future hope
for Dalit Buddhism.
Fitzgerald writes, “One of the most impressive characteristics of the (rural)
Buddhists is their love and admiration for Dr. Ambedkar.” Indeed, it seems that rural
Dalit Buddhists provide the most overt examples of veneration for Ambedkar, usually in
the form of visual imagery and folk songs. Burra writes that every family in the village
she studied had installed images of Ambedkar alongside those of Hindu gods and
goddesses, and nearly one third of her respondents asserted that Ambedkar was a god
(161). In addition, many homes had pictures of Hindu deities and pictures of Ambedkar,
but no pictures of the Buddha (164). This reflects the commonly accepted belief that the
Buddha was Ambedkar’s guru, and thus the two figures are viewed as interchangeable in
rural Maharashtra (Burra 165).
Indira Junghara documents the adoption of Ambedkar into Mahar song traditions.
The songs for her study were collected in a village of 900 people that is about fourteen
miles west of Nagpur (96). Several songs emphasize important events in Ambedkar’s
academic and political careers. However, many take adoration one step further and refer
to Ambedkar as both an avatar and a god. For example, “Ambedkar, the Avatar of
Bhimaraya” concludes:
Making the Constitution in 1931, the protector of the poor left us
In 1962, leaving the downtrodden to grieve. The avatar of Bhimaraya appeared.
To this fortunate land of ours, appeared the avatar of Bhimaraya…
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With all my heart I sing your deeds, please make my pen succeed…
To this fortunate land of ours, appeared the avatar of Bhimaraya.
Through his grace, millions of the poor and downtrodden are bettered (113).
The song does not mention the Buddha directly at all, and the only indirect reference
might be the use of the word “compassion” in describing the way the world regarded
Ambedkar (113). This song leaves no doubt that Ambedkar’s role as spiritual guide and
savior has greatly surpassed that of the Buddha, suggesting that perhaps Buddhism is
important only insofar as it is connected to Ambedkar. It is equally clear that Ambedkar
is not regarded as a human being. Junghare writes that the Mahars transformed
Ambedkar into an avatar of a deity, in this case the deity Bhimraya (“Bhim the King”)
(100). This change removes the finality of Ambedkar’s death, which can now be
regarded as the temporary disappearance of the incarnation of a god (100). The process
of deification offers one possible explanation for the historical inaccuracies of the song
(the Constitution was written in 1951, and Ambedkar died in 1956) (Junghare 104).
Thus, for rural Mahars Ambedkar moves from being identified as political leader, to
religious leader, to guru, to avatar, and finally, as another song entitled “Bhima
Everywhere” shows, to god. “Bhima is overhead, Bhima is beneath,” it begins, “Bhima
is in front, Bhima is behind. Oh my friend, nothing is here without him. He is
everywhere, he is everywhere” (116). Here, Ambedkar becomes the supreme
cosmological deity (Junghare 101). As Junghare writes, “He is omnipresent, omnipotent,
and omniscient” (101). He also represents the unity of god and universe—he is ultimate
reality—and therefore union with Ambedkar is union with the world.
Junghare explains that the rural deification of Ambedkar is due to two processes
that follow the typical pattern of making an Indian mythical hero. She refers to one
process as “descending,” or the way in which a god is said to have incarnated in the form
65
of a human hero (103). Junghare writes, “whenever there is chaos, tyranny, and injustice,
the god comes down to earth in human form in order to bring order and peace to the
community” (103). One can find evidence of this belief even in ancient texts such as the
Bhagavad Gita, where Krishna offers a similar explanation of his earthly presence to
Arjuna. Junghare argues convincingly that both the Buddha and Ambedkar are viewed as
avatars of the same supreme being, and that this is a lived expression of the Vedic
philosophy of monism (104). This was exemplified in the first folk song examined
above. The second process Junghare describes is “ascension,” by which the hero is made
into a deity (103). This is illustrated quite clearly by the second folk song. Junghare
concludes, “To his followers, Ambedkar is everything: god, saint, teacher, leader, father,
and mother” (102). Thus, once again rural Dalit Buddhism proves the limitations of antibrahmanism: both descent and ascent are fundamentally Hindu, yet they are used as
expressions of devotion for Ambedkar and Buddhism.
Scholarly essays and highly educated Dalit Buddhists emphasize two characteristics
of Ambedkar. First, they exhibit extensive knowledge of and reverence for Ambedkar’s
educational and political accomplishments. For example, K. P. Bhagat writes that as a
child Ambedkar “studied every day from 2 a.m. until dawn. He was not permitted to
learn Sanskrit instead of Persian at school because he was a dalit” (76). Bhagat’s article,
entitled “Dr. Ambedkar: the Modern Messiah of India,” has eighteen different headings
in less than ten pages, each corresponding to an event in Ambedkar’s life as a student,
politician, or political theororist. These headings, though stylistically awkward, draw
attention to the fact that each event in Ambedkar’s life has great significance for
contemporary Dalit Buddhist scholars. As I was told repeatedly in interviews with
66
educated Dalit Buddhists, Ambedkar was often the only example of an educated
untouchable they had as a child, and has served as their primary inspiration in pursuing
their own studies and career ambitions.
Second, some educated Dalit Buddhists use scholarly analysis to define Ambedkar
as the cosmological equivalent of the Buddha. D. C. Ahir structures Buddhism and
Ambedkar around the argument that Ambedkar was a modern bodhisattva. He uses Pali
scriptures to designate five criteria for the life of a bodhisattva, and anylizes each to
prove that Ambedkar’s life matches this pattern. He gives examples of Ambedkar’s
perfection of the Four Fields of Mindfulness, the Four Right Efforts, the Four Roads to
Powers, the Five Spiritual Faculties, the Five Mental Powers, the Seven Elements of
Enlightenment, and the Eightfold Path (38). Together, these comprise the thirty-seven
principles of Enlightement, all of which Ahir adopted from the Buddhist Dictionary (37).
In an interesting combination of religion and politics, Ahir also quotes extensively from
the transcripts of the Round Table Conferences to show that Ambedkar practiced the
dictate of Right Speech from the Eightfold Path. He then concludes with examples from
other Buddhist cultures, such as the Sri Lankans and the Tibetans, who worship their
gurus. He writes, “There seems nothing wrong in showing such veneration to Dr.
Ambedkar…A fundamental difference between Buddhism and other religions is that
while others worship their gods, the Buddhists worship their Gurus” (135).
Perhaps the best articulation I found of the “type two” Buddhist view of Dr.
Ambedkar was put forth by Dr. P. T. Borhale, the former president of Siddharth College
of Law and the first untouchable mayor of Bombay. Borhale, now in his late seventies,
talked with me and three other students for nearly two hours in his old office at the
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Siddharth College. His response to our questions can be summarized in one simple
statement: “I want you to understand Babasaheb.” Borhale made numerous parallels
between Ambedkar’s life, referring to Nagpur, for example, as the “new Buddha Gaya
established by Babasaheb.” The implication was that every place Ambedkar came into
contact with was now sacred in terms of Ambedkar’s revolution of dharma, and he calls
his first meeting with Ambedkar as a “blessing.” “Babasaheb’s mission is nothing but
human rights,” he stated at another point, “Let us hope the whole world comes together
and the dream of Babasaheb Ambedkar is fulfilled.” Borhale said that he prays for the
eventual rebirth of Ambedkar, Asoka, Christ, and Muhammed so that the world can be
ruled with justice and morality.
Borhale’s words illustrate the extent to which Ambedkar’s example permeates the
lives of highly educated Buddhists. When I interviewed the president of the Dr.
Ambedkar College of Economics and Law I asked him, “Do you think Dr. Ambedkar is a
god?” He replied without hesitation, “Dr. Ambedkar is more than a god, because he has
done the impossible for the community.” He qualified his description by stating that only
two individuals had ever gone to parinirvana: the Buddha and Dr. Ambedkar. I have to
admit that his words surprised me: it seemed that he expressed a “superstitious” belief
more suited to an uneducated person in a village than an urban academic. However, I
now find a certain amount of truth in his assertion. If one defines a god as one who can
do the impossible, then what better candidate than a man who obtained two PhD’s and
helped draft the Indian constitution, all during a time when he could not even drink from
a water source that the rest of his society shared? I would argue that many educated Dalit
Buddhists, having struggled with discrimination themselves, combine their knowledge of
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Ambedkar’s biography with their knowledge of Buddhism to make the same connections
that Ahir, Shamukla, and Borhale do.
Members of the TBMSG, however, view Ambedkar in a slightly different way.
According to Beltz, “The face of Ambedkar is not the central reference one uses to
identify oneself with Buddhism. Certainly, it always has an important role in its
discourse. But the appearance of Buddhism is defined by ethical comportment and a
particular spiritual state” (1062). Yet once again my experiences with the TBMSG
suggest that Ambedkar has more significance than might be inferred from this statement.
The importance assigned to Ambedkar as the bearer of the Buddhist message cannot be
underestimated. At the weekly meeting, the speaker stated that Ambedkar was a
bodhisattva and a “person worthy for puja (worship).” He established a timeline of
Indian Buddhism that began with Ambedkar, stating that the Dalai Lama’s arrival from
Tibet, Anagarika Goenka’s emigration from Burma, and Shangarakshita’s exit from the
United Kingdom “all support Dr. Ambedkar’s dhamma revolution and confirm that Dr.
Ambedkar’s revolution is the only solution.” Even Thich Nhat Hanh’s dharma activities
in Thailand were thought to be a result of the Ambedkar catalyst for Buddhist revolution.
As noted previously, I was unable to understand the majority of the speeches at the
dedication ceremony. However, the final speaker did make sure to state one sentence in
clear English: “People have arrived here from the USA to study our lives and lifestyle,
and particularly the work of Dr. Ambedkar. We welcome you.” (Then he insisted that
we four students come to the front of the gathering and address the crowd. Everyone
responded quite positively when the one male among us responded simply with “Jai
Bhim” (“Victory to Ambedkar”) when the microphone was passed to him.)
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For the members of the TBMSG that I encountered, Ambedkar is a prophetic figure
who brought the great teachings of the Buddha specifically to their community. Their
pride in Ambedkar is linked to their simultaneous pride in the Buddha’s teachings. These
Mahars are certain that the “dharma revolution” that started in their own community is
beginning to spread to the wider world. In turn, this infuses their actions with a greater
sense of confidence. It is not clear to me whether Buddhism derives its greatness from
Ambedkar, or if Ambedkar derives his greatness from Buddhism. Given the feelings of
kinship that many Mahars have for Ambedkar, it is possible that some combination of the
two describes the situation.
One of the best visual depictions of Ambedkar’s relationship to the “political”
Mahars is on an inexpensive wall calendar that I purchased at a booth at the gathering for
Ambedkar’s death in Bombay. Each month has a separate page that is dominated by a
large black and white illustration. The first picture is of Ambedkar, the poet-saint Kabir,
Mahatma Jotiba Phule3, and the Buddha. The caption states that these provide vision of
the correct way (Hess). Subsequent illustrations provide alternating images of the
Buddha and Ambedkar. Some are clearly biographical: the Buddha accepting a bowl of
milk from Sujata, Ambedkar leading the Mahad Satyagraha, the Buddha’s birth and
renunciation, and Ambedkar seated at a desk with a copy of the Indian Constitution and
another caption that refers to Ambedkar as the architect of the constitution4. There are
also images of the shrine built over Ambedkar’s ashes in Bombay, another shrine built to
commemorate the conversion grounds in Nagpur, and an ancient Buddhist ruins. These
3
Phule was a 19th century reformer and the organizer of the first anti-Brahman movements among the
Mahars (Zelliot 37).
4
Ambedkar was chairman of the 1947 drafting committee for the Indian Constitution and the Law Minister
in the first cabinet after independence.
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images combine to provide a clear link between Ambedkar, political statesman and
champion of untouchables, and the Buddha, spiritual leader and first propagator of the
dharma. The calendar is meant to be an expression of communal pride in its two greatest
leaders, a sentiment which is emphasized by the inclusion of the burial and conversion
shrines. All of the images look like they were taken out of a children’s textbook and are
non-confrontational in content.
The last picture, however, is dominated by small child who is draped in rounds of
ammunition, carries a knife in his outstretched right hand, and wears a small amulet
around his neck that reads “Jai Bhim”. His head is tilted upwards, his eyes look off into
the distance, and directly behind him—gazing at whoever holds the calendar—is a
somber Ambedkar. Plumes of white smoke swirl around the two figures. The caption
reads: “It is a great sin to tolerate the oppressor’s oppression” (Hess). The picture is both
dynamic and emotional, and the use of eyes make the reader an active participant in the
drama that is going to unfold.
The elements of this image combine to present Ambedkar as a political leader cum
deity who, through the inspired teachings of the Buddha, will give the young Mahars the
tools to struggle towards their destiny. The child is the first figure in the calendar who is
not historical. Thus he seems to represent the active agency that is forming the Mahar’s
future. His young age suggests purity of purpose, further supported by his resemblance
to popular Hindu images of young Krishna. Yet he has tools of war at his disposal and is
clearly, as can be seen from the way he holds the knife, not afraid to use them.
Ambedkar, as a spiritual presence behind him, seems to provide the impetus for the
child’s struggles. Whereas previous images seemed to suggest that the Buddha and
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Ambedkar were equally important, the picture that represents the future lacks any
Buddhist iconography. Yet the amulet the child wears is in the shape of amulets
commonly worn with the names of Hindu gods on them. The fact that instead the amulet
refers to Ambedkar strongly suggests, as does the juxtaposition of pictures of the Buddha
and Ambedkar, that he has been elevated to a level that is higher than human in
Maharashtrian society. When this final image of Ambedkar and the child are taken in
context with the preceding pictures, it becomes clear that the calendar contains a
powerful message: Ambedkar, having followed Phule and Kabir and adopted the message
of the Buddha, is the true spiritual and political leader of the Mahars. The ideology he
has synthesized from that of his predecessors will lead the Mahars to their ultimate
destiny. This destiny is understood in the context of militant political revolution, and
Ambedkar’s justification of social revolt has now been translated into a command. Thus
Ambedkar becomes a militant messiah, specifically suited in training and in purpose to
help the urban Mahars achieve the future glory of social equality.
We have now examined several different depictions of Ambedkar: deity, guru,
bodhisattva, scholar, politician, and social agitator. Each portrayal emphasizes a certain
aspect of his biography, be it political or religious or a combination of the two. The
events that are emphasized are those which correspond most closely to the historical
experience of the community that produced the given image or words. This makes
simple sense, yet it comes to the heart of Ambedkar’s success as a spiritual and political
leader.
The Mahars’ connection to Ambedkar stems from the fact that they can easily
connect his life to theirs. They see in him their own struggles and goals, projected onto
72
the screen of Indian national history. He shared their background but, as Shamukla
reminded me, he did more than anyone would have thought possible. This idea
permeates nearly every aspect of Dalit Buddhism: even the formal Western clothes and
determined facial expression that mark Ambedkar’s appearance in popular art contradict
popular stereotypes of the Mahars (Zelliot 61). Because of this close identification, his
accomplishments become their accomplishments, and his methods become theirs. In
some cases Ambedkar’s success legitimizes the practitioner’s choice of the Buddhist
path. However, it often seems that Ambedkar is linked to Buddhism in little more than
name only. In these cases Ambedkar legitimizes his followers’ social and political
rejection of caste oppression. In every instance Ambedkar provides an example of and
hope for the possibilities of the future.
The Mahar Relationship to Religion: The Dalit Buddhist Myth
Myth provides one possible context for understanding the Mahars’ relationship to
Buddhism. E. R. Leach, in his landmark study of the tribal politics of highland Burma,
argues for an organic conception of myth that focuses not on its continuities over time but
on its contradictions and inconsistencies (265). “Sacred tales,” he writes, “have no
special characteristics which make them any different from tales about local happenings
20 years ago. Both kinds of tale have the same function…which justifies the particular
attitude adopted by the teller at the moment of the telling” (277). This allows him to
conclude that opposing social factions will also develop opposing myths that are meant to
legitimize their particular points of view (277). Owen Lynch astutely applies this
understanding of myth to the development of Dalit Buddhism. He uses it to explain the
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way that Ambedkar became a cultural hero and icon of Buddhism for the Jatavs in Agra,
a tribe that has significant linguistic and cultural differences from the Mahars. He
suggests that there is a “Neo-Buddhist” myth that provides motivation and strategy for
the community it serves. I would argue that Dalit Buddhism has resulted in the
development of an equally pertinent myth for the Mahars, and that this myth provides a
new means of understanding the Mahar’s past, present situation, and the potential for
their future. This then forms the content and constructive substance for a Dalit Buddhist
paradigm for social change.
Lynch’s interest lies in investigating why and how Ambedkar, a Mahar, was so
fully accepted and integrated into Jatav culture (98). To this end, he provides several
comparisons between Jatav myths of origin and the new myth of origin that was
presented by Ambedkar. He views Ambedkar as a Weberian “exemplary prophet” who
has now become the “chief hero” of the myth that he himself created (110). However,
Lynch seems to imply that the entire “Neo-Buddhist myth” is encapsulated by
Ambedkar’s explanation of why and how untouchables arrived at their current situation.
However, it has been shown that the myth of origin is not the unifying factor in Dalit
Buddhism, and that this role must instead be assigned to Ambedkar.
Characterizing Ambedkar as the “prophet” of the developing Dalit Buddhist myth
would lose sight of the fact that today the Mahars, not the deceased Ambedkar, shape
their religion. To illustrate this point, we can return to Leach’s definition of myth as a
sacred tale that justifies “the particular attitude adopted by the teller at the moment of
telling.” The myth of origin is characteristic of Buddhism as told by Ambedkar; the Dalit
Buddhist myth must instead correspond to Buddhism as told by the Mahars. With this in
74
mind, I would argue that what Lynch refers to as the Dalit Buddhist myth might better be
referred to as a “myth of origin,” and that it should be understood primarily as a point of
departure for untouchables, rather than a description of a future reality. It comprises the
first element of the Dalit Buddhist myth. The second is anti-brahmanism, understood
broadly as a rejection of any part of Hindu culture.
The remainder of the Dalit Buddhist myth is encapsulated in the complex
relationship between the Mahars and Ambedkar. At one time I hypothesized that
Buddhist doctrine, or The Buddha and His Dhamma, might be the aspect of Ambedkar’s
Buddhism which influences people’s daily lives and practices the most. However,
although this does describe the situation for some Mahars, it seems that the vast majority
remain unfamiliar with Ambedkar’s Buddhist doctrine. Thus Ambedkar’s figure fills in
the gaps that are left by the Dalit Buddhist myth of origin and anti-brahmanism. He is the
inspiration, motivation, and justification for the Dalit Buddhist movement. His life
illustrates the possibilities of the future, and since his death those possibilities have
become the center of a cult of worship that dominates contemporary Dalit Buddhism.
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Conclusion
Ambedkar and the Language of Dalit Sahitya
Dalit sahitya represents the choice, made by untouchable writers in the 1960’s, to
reflect the unique experience of untouchability instead of remaining within the
constraints of traditional Maharathi literature (Zelliot 269). In contrast to more organic
forms of Dalit expression such as rural folk songs or urban iconography, the literature of
Dalit sahitya is part of a self-conscious body of work which centers around the careful
reflection on what it means to be a Dalit Buddhist. Although early Dalit sahitya writers
rarely focused on Ambedkar or Buddhism, references to both are increasingly found in all
forms of Dalit literature (Zelliot 1992,12). As Zelliot notes, the way these writers
understand the word “Dalit” limits the “true Dalit writer” to a Mahar Dalit Buddhist
(269). Thus Dalit sahitya, also unlike scholarly works, portrays Dalit Buddhism by
drawing only the language and experience of Mahars. A brief examination of some
poems shows that even though the Dalit poet revels in depicting a chaotic, uncertain
world, Ambedkar is always viewed as an unchanging source of liberation and pride. In
turn, the poetry that has emerged from the Dalit sahitya movement provides an eloquent
summary of the relationship between Ambedkar, his interpretation of Buddhism, and the
Mahars.
Dalit poets often bombard the reader with sensory descriptions to evoke the squalor
and lawlessness of the urban slums that many of them grew up in. As Namdeo Dhasal
writes in “Poverty as My Own Independent Piece of Land”:
I am the headless body of a rat with a pyramid rising
above me
Meat and fish
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Rice and eggs
Bootleg liquor and the flowers of white champak…
And beds, and a house with a leaking roof…
I too have poverty as my own independent piece of land (73).
Dalit writers use language to give legitimacy to lives that are often regarded as shameful
by the rest of Indian society. In “On the Way to Durgah” Dhasal states, “I grew up
nourished by roadside shit/ Saying ‘Give me five cents/ I’ll give you Five punches’/ On
the way to Durgah” (72). By using offensive and words and images, they seek to shock
the reader out of social complacency. These poems are the urban underground come
alive, and the use of a highly intellectual means of expression shows that the authors are
certain that their lives are as valid as any in the human experience.
Their emphasis on untouchable reality often leads to an enthusiastic embrace of
iconoclasm, especially with regard to Hindu religion. Keshav Meshram, for example,
titles a poem “One Day I Cursed that Mother-Fucker God.” It begins with an irreverent
description of the way his neighbor, “a born-to-the-pen Brahman,” and fat university
scholars reacted to defamation of Brahma (117). Meshram’s string of insults then brings
the pathos of the untouchable experience to life:
Whipping him with words, I said
“Bastard!
“You could never do such things.
“Would you chop a whole cart of wood
for a single piece of bread?
“Would you wipe the sweat from you bony body
with your mother’s ragged sari?
“Would you wear out your brothers and sisters
for you father’s fix?
“Would you work as a pimp
to keep him in booze?
“Oh Father, Oh God, the Father!
“First you’d need a mother
one no one honors
one who toils in the dirt
one who gives and gives of her love.”
one day I cursed that mother-fucking God (118).
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This poem presents an indictment of the complacency of Hindu society and a God who is
immeasurably removed from his own experience. Dirt, poverty, prostitution, and
alcoholism are part daily life for the author, and his family, the most highly valued substructure in Indian society, has disintegrated. Yet Meshram’s poem, a prayer to
iconoclasm and untouchability, does not just attempt to make marginalization into a form
of art. His curses provide a picture of all that is antithetical to traditional Hindu culture,
effectively turning the values of the Vedas and Hindu epics on end. Meshram makes it
clear that the god of the Brahmans is not his god, and moreover he rejects their religious
framework as a source of authority in his life.
Dalit poets also feel free to depict Buddhism in nontraditional ways, although here
they break with tradition to create a positive picture of religion. For example, Daya
Pawar’s “Buddha” vocalizes Ambedkar’s reinterpretation of the Buddha as an active
participant in society:
I never see you
in Jetawana’s garden
sitting with closed eyes
in meditation, in the lotus position;
or
in the caves of Ajanta and Elora
with stony lips sewn shut
taking the last sleep of your life
I see you walking, talking,
breathing softly, healingly,
on the sorrow of the poor, the weak;
going from hut to hut
in the life-destroying darkness
torch in hand,
giving the sorrow that drains the blood
like a contagious disease
a new meaning (127).
The poem creates an arresting image of the Buddha as a social savior who spreads
compassion, healing, and strength. This Buddha contrasts sharply with Dalit sahitya’s
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frequently used images fat Brahmans, corrupt politicians, and smug Hindu gods. Yet
perhaps the most noteworthy aspect of the poem is its emphasis on the author’s
experience as a source of truth in interpretation. Pawar’s description of the Buddha
relates directly to his experiences as an untouchable. His use of the first person, for
example, shows that religious authority ultimately rests with the individual. Pawar does
not seek external justification for his vision of the Buddha, and in this he embodies
Ambedkar’s assertion that religion was created for man and not man for religion.
Although marked by a great difference in language, these Dalit poems recall the
thought of John Dewey, the noted modern philosopher and one Ambedkar’s professors at
Columbia. Dewey argues, “…any genuinely sound religious experience could and
should adapt itself to whatever beliefs one found intellectually entitled to hold…Inquiry
and reflection have become for the educated man today the final arbiter of all questions
of fact, existence, and intellectual assent” (Kadam 21). In this clear articulation of
Berger’s “heretical imperative,” Dewey asserts the primacy of personal experience over
religious dogma. Observation, not tradition, acts as the litmus test for religious
legitimacy. Dalit authors may not share Dewey’s high regard for intellect and education,
but their conscious choice of material reality over transcendent religious doctrine
illustrates a shared belief that “inquiry and reflection have become…the final arbiter of
all questions.” Religion also provided Ambedkar with an arena for the exercise of
conscious, creative choice. As a unique blend of political, religious, and social
ideologies, his interpretation of Buddhism provides another striking example of the
modern need for heresy. Thus Dalit sahitya, as a form of self-conscious expression,
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exemplifies one form of Dalit Buddhism that seems to regard religion from Ambedkar’s
modern standpoint.
However, the cult of personality that has developed around Ambedkar is a notable
exception to this hypothesis. Ambedkar’s authority, in contrast to that of the Buddha and
other figures in Indian culture, never seems to require experiential validation. Walman
Kardak, for example, describes a culture without morality in which petty villagers have
power, the narrator’s daughter is raped, and his brother burns down his home (93). This
world is filled with profanity but Ambedkar is always a separate presence, a king among
men. The author’s only point of departure from his surroundings is “King Bhim,”
depicted as an otherworldly figure who provides an essential element of resistance. Thus
Kardak writes, “Bhim was with me, my head was held high/ But today I have diminished
the Bhim in me” (93).
Dhasal, usually an unreserved critic, also views Ambedkar as an omnipotent,
unchanging presence. For example, “Ambedkar: 1980” explores the various definitions
that have been imposed on Ambedkar. Dhasal refutes any categorization of Ambedkar’s
accomplishments, writing, “Academician/technician/politician/scientist/philosopher/5
these men will define you any which way/ But you lived like a man” (56). He implies that
labels are manipulated by a group referred to pejoratively as “these men,” who the reader
later identifies as Brahmans and paternalistic social reformers. Dhasal then describes
Ambedkar as a figure who refuses to be co-opted by any community, whether Dalit or
Brahman. He writes:
I’ve cursed you too, but
you gave us the tongue
5
Italicized words are written in English, the rest of the poem is in Marathi.
80
I’ve even sunk you in the water6, but
you gave us the water
We’ve done things to you, even so,
anything can be done to you
But the question remains of my loyalty
my honesty
Who are you?
Who were you?
Whose are you? (Zelliot 311)
These lines differ from most Dalit writing about Ambedkar because they confront rather
than praise and express skepticism instead of certainty. Yet Dhasal’s doubts center
around himself—not Ambedkar—and this is precisely where the strength of Dhasal’s
devotion lies. Dhasal realizes that his curses are only possible because of self-confidence
that was given to him by Ambedkar. In what is probably a reference to the Mahad
Satyagraha, he writes that Ambedkar provides the water he uses to incorporate his leader
into Hindu practice. However, no actions affect Ambedkar. As Dhasal explains,
“Anything can be done to you/ But the question remains of my loyalty.” Thus problems
arise not from Ambedkar but from his followers, who are ignorant and falter in their
loyalty. The three questions at the end of the stanza imply that Ambedkar embodies the
one principle worth searching for, the one ideology that cannot be subject to
reinterpretation.
The poetry of Dalit sahitya illustrates a great ambivalence that characterizes even
the most reflective and self-conscious Dalit Buddhists. On the one hand, Dalit writers are
eager to break with tradition and reconstruct the truths that are offered to them in a
thoroughly modern way. Yet Dalit writers conspicuously avoid subjecting Ambedkar to
the freedom of heresy. On the contrary, they view him as an inherently legitimate source
of inspiration and revelation. “Ambedkar: 1980” reflects the obstacles inherent in any
6
It is common Hindu practice to submerge clay images of deities at the end of
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search for truth, but noticeably avoids questioning the legitimacy of the search itself.
Ambedkar will always be available to the Mahar community, it is now their task to
discover the truth he embodies. As Dhasal writes in another poem, “From Dr.
Ambedkar”: “You are the only one, charioteer of our chariot/ Who comes amongst us
through fields and crowds,/ And protest marches and struggles./ Never leaves our
company/ And delivers us from exploitation/ You are the one/ The only one” (Zelliot
300). By alluding to Lord Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita7, Dhasal shows that Ambedkar
is the ultimate teacher and savior of the Mahars. Even more significantly, Ambedkar is a
figure that is inconceivable from the human point of view. Just as Krishna’s revelation
required Arjuna to transcend all previous experience, so Ambedkar is the one entity not
altered by the life experience of the Mahars. Dhasal’s poem, like traditional bhakti
poetry to Krishna, creates dialogue between a human and his otherworldly object of
devotion. Recalling Queen’s discussion of modernity and postmodernity, one could say
that Dalit Buddhists have created an alternate “metadiscourse” around the figure of
Ambedkar. Ironically, they apply modern skepticism to all things except the bearer of
their modern message.
This is at once a great strength and great weakness of Dalit Buddhism. The
predominance of Ambedkar partially explains why no untouchable group has shared the
Mahars’ success in using Buddhism to redefine themselves. Many of the changes in the
Mahar community are due to a tradition of social resistance and upward mobility.
However, the widespread adoption of Buddhism is probably linked most closely to the
Mahars’ simultaneous appropriation of Dr. Ambedkar. It is important to realize that most
the Ganesh and Durga festivals (Zelliot 316).
7
Krishna pretended to be Arjuna’s chariot driver, until he revealed
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Mahars identify themselves first with Ambedkar, and then only through him with
Buddhism. Thus other groups without the same cultural affinity for Ambedkar have
largely failed to adopt his message. At the same time, however, Ambedkar’s role in the
Dalit Buddhist myth is one way in which Mahars can use the usually problematic
“Hinduness” of Indian culture to their advantage. As Dhasal’s poetry shows, the rapid
augmentation of Ambedkar’s presence in the Mahar community is closely related to
forms of devotion that had long been present in Indian society. Ambedkar was easily
incorporated into a pre-existing framework of devotional poetry, songs, art, and ritual
practice. Yet his message is fundamentally anti-Hindu and anti-caste. Through this, even
the most simplistic methods of worshipping Ambedkar can use Hindu culture as a
weapon against itself in an extremely profound way.
himself in one of literature’s most memorable theophanies.
83
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