Issue 17
Army of Gods
By Chris FlynnPhotos By Sudeep Lingamneni
Illustration By Damien Correll
Photos by Sudeep Lingamneni
illustration by Damien Correll
India stops in October. Difficult as it may be to believe, the world’s second most populous nation grinds to a halt to celebrate the festival of Navratri, a 10-day explosion of color and sound during which the female goddess Shakti is worshipped over nine nights in accordance with the lunar calendar. The festival culminates on the tenth day with Dasara, which commemorates the victory of Lord Rama over the demon Ravana. Regional variations may occur, but in general the country unites to rejoice in the triumph of Good over Evil. Hindus do so by dressing up as gods.
The story goes that Rama’s mother Kaikeyee was tricked into exiling him for 14 years. His brother Lakshmana and wife Sita Devi kept him company on the ashram (a religious retreat designed for peaceful meditation), but word of his identity soon spread and it wasn’t long before the demon Shoorpanakha showed up demanding one of the brothers marry her. A disagreement quickly ensued and after she threatened to kill Rama’s wife, she was set upon by Lakshmana, who cut off her ears and nose.
Shoorpanakha’s own brother happened to be the demon King Ravana, who was maddened by his sister’s disfiguration and kidnapped Rama’s wife as revenge. Thus begins the Ramayana chronicles, which follow Lord Rama’s travels and adventures as he searches for his wife and ultimately faces a showdown with Ravana.
Modern day Hindus celebrate Rama’s victory in a festival that must seem like madness to an outsider. Crowds that can number in the hundreds of thousands dance to a mixture of classical Indian music and heavy Tamil pop beats. Huge generators spewing black smoke are towed by four-wheel drives to power the spotlights and speakers. Enormous Bollywood-style dance numbers are enacted in town squares, heavily made-up troupes competing fiercely to be the most popular. On the ninth day the use of weapons is celebrated, a concept linked to the legend of the Shami tree, where the Pandavas gods once hid their divine weaponry. The modern equivalent are the tools used in everyday life, the indispensable objects that earn the average Hindu his livelihood. Laptops and taxis are worshipped on this day, as are shovels and cellphones. They are decorated with flowers and blessed, ensuring success for the future.
Finally, there are the costumes. Men dress as women, women as monkeys, mortals as gods, until the final day of Vijayadashami, which culminates in a ritual burning of Ravana effigies, huge and menacing. Dasara is Burning Man in every town and city of the nation at the same time, 10 days during which the gods of old regain their armies.
Photographer Sudeep Lingamneni spoke to SWINDLE about his experiences of Dasara:
How did you come to take these photos?
I never planned or imagined I would become a photographer. It just happened. In 2004 my father died, just before my 27th birthday, so I decided to travel through India for a year and discover the country of my birth. Although I was born in Andhra Pradesh, I was raised in Boston and Melbourne, so I don’t speak Hindi or my mother tongue, Telugu. I found myself walking for hours, photographing what I saw. The hours became days, which became months. When I wondered what I was doing, I realized I was seeking some sort of truth, in relation to myself. Photography was connecting me in the most intimate, emotional way with the landscape around me and the people that inhabited it. India was teaching me to watch, and wait on life. The camera was becoming part of me, an extension of my arm, of my being. In many ways it vanished altogether, and the images I took in India were nothing more than my emotional experience, my interaction with the people I met along the way.
Did you know about the Dasara festival before you went to India?
Yes, the Dasara Festival celebrates the victory of forces of good over forces that resist man’s progress toward light. I’m always in search of light. Sudeep means “pure bright light.”
Well timing is everything, right? I was in Chennai early September street photographing for about a month, but towards the last week of September progress came to a halt. To a full stop, in fact. I was stuck in the mud just trying to weather the monsoon storms, which had arrived early with the north-east winds. The rainfall came down hard and fast. It’s a beautiful thing watching the rain come down. I reckon the gods must have been taking a leak all at the exact same time. India has thousands of gods, so it’s like a two-and-a-half month wait until mid-December for the pissing to stop. I was bunkered down and was doing the rounds of my favorite street eatery joints. It was dark, gloomy and the streets looked like rivers. Cars looked like boats. I was drinking cups and cups of chai and getting fat from eating too many idlis and dosais whilst watching everything unfold. To be honest I was getting depressed fast watching this concrete jungle around me become a sinking city. Tired with my struggle of trying to keep clean, warm and dry.
Waiting for the gods to settle the rain down or just stop pissing seemed like it was going to take forever. I needed to take pictures, so I needed to bail. I’m always researching, trying to keep my eyes peeled for people, places, and events so I decided to get on that super highway and spend a few days researching. The Internet blessed me and she let me in on the best-kept secret in India. She told me the rest of the gods were celebrating at a countryside region called Kulasekarapattinam. I got on a 15-hour government bus the next day, which was 100 rupees worth of hellish insomnia. She neglected to tell me that part. Who says travelling is always fun? You could not pay me all the money in the world to take that bus again.
How did you cope not speaking the language?
I coped with a warm smile and lots of eye contact. No one in this world is really a stranger. You’re only a stranger if you can’t look someone in the eye. But getting around and finding places can be difficult with a language barrier problem. I’ve always had a bad sense of direction anyway, so the language problem just made matters worse.
The Tamil people have good hearts, a helping nature and take great pride in their culture. They don’t choose to speak much English even if they do know how. They are very proud of their own language and culture, which I think is fantastic. They are much like the French in that regard. To be honest, I really don’t want to live in a world that just speaks English. That would be very boring to travel in.
Do you think ancient traditions are important in modern life?
You really have to understand where you come from to understand where you’re heading. My ancestors have such beautiful traditions, why would I ever want to abandon those? That would mean I would be living a life with no culture and no direction.