Manasa, the Goddess of Serpents in Bangladesh

Manasa Devi

Bangladesh has a millenary culture that is not easy to summarize in a few lines. I have experienced this in recent months, during my talks with the exhibition of the photographs taken in Dhaka, in which I tried to tell the story of this country.

Although its national identity was formed relatively recently, in December 1971, with independence from Pakistan, its history has very ancient roots, ever since that territory – which we now know as Bengal – was called Vanga, an ancient word that means border, embankment. At the beginning of the centuries, the Aryan populations dominated and fought against the populations of Vanga (as it is also narrated in the Ramayana); Sasanka was the first legendary king who ruled these lands.

Starting from the 6th century, for over six hundred years, the Hindu and Buddhist kingdoms alternated: throughout the Brahmanic era the caste system ruled the whole society. But already in the first centuries, from time immemorial, there are traces of the custom of women to mark the base of the hair with vermilion, sindor, which will become the sign of married Hindu women, and a red dot between the eyes, while the hair they were treated with sesame oil or with the juice of the fruit called karanja, and to make their lips red they used to chew betel seeds.

In those days, for the women of ancient Bengal, the husband was the sun around which their entire existence revolved, and at his death, they could be burned with the corpse of the husband, or widowhood was made up of celibacy, austerity, and continuous remembrance of the deceased, so much so that in some royal epigraphs we read those certain rivers, such as the Lauhitya, were sprayed with the tears of the women whose husbands had been killed.

In 1204, Muslim rule in northern India began with Muhammad Ghori. The second era of Bengal, that of Arab merchants, Sufi mystics, sultans, and Mughal emperors, until 1757, when it became a colony of the East India Companies with the British, with death in a small battle in an orchard of mango in the Palashi village of the last Prince Mughal, Siraj-ud-Daula.

There were many conversions to Islam over this long period of time, although many were driven mostly by intolerance of the Hindu caste system.

But it was also the golden age of literature, with the Mahabharata and Ramayana translated for the first time into Bengali from Sanskrit by Krttivas and Kashiram Das.

I'll stop here because modern history is much better known.

But I believe it is essential to try to know also part of ancient history because it is the block of marble on which the centuries and recent years carve the shape of what happens in the present.

Traditions are such precisely because they have survived from ancient times and often have meanings that are no longer understood.

This applies not only to customs, such as chewing betel or marking the base of the hair in red, but also to the arts, music.

Just by studying the different forms of music that there are in Bangladesh, I found something very particular that I want to tell you.

About folk music.

Bengali folk music dates back to the 9th century, with the famous Charya songs.

The major genres of folk music are bathiali, baul, bhawaiya, gambhira and jhumur.

The baul genre is certainly the most famous, thanks also to Tagore who composed over three hundred baul songs, and to its most famous composer and poet: Lalon Shah from Kusthia, who lived in 1800. A basic music, played with poor instruments such as the ektara, a one-stringed instrument, the dugi drum, a bamboo flute called bashi and a simple movement of the body as a dance.

The bathiali is the kind of songs of the boatmen, sung in the hours spent crossing the rivers. The bhawaiya is characteristic of the high and arid lands of the Rangpur region, while the gambhira in the Rajshahi region: the term gambhira means Lord Shiva, even if it has now lost its initial meaning of devotional singing towards Shiva.

And then there is the jhapan genre which belongs to the community of snake charmers and which represents an important ethno-musical trend of Bengal.

Really very interesting.

It refers to a time when all the vast territory of Bengal was infested with poisonous snakes and nomadic tribes of snake hunters moved on boats to capture them and treat people who were bitten, sometimes even showing games with snakes.

During these activities they used to sing songs dedicated to Manasa Devi, the Goddess of Snakes: this is jhapan, as I found it described in a Bangladesh history book that I bought in Dhaka.

Since then I have been researching and I have found a nice article written by Lubna Marium, a Bangladeshi Dancer, Cultural Activist and Researcher, who describes the history of this type of popular music very well.

I draw on her article. 

“In Bangladesh, after the scorching heat of grishsho, or summer, comes the monsoons and with it come welcome thunder, lightning and pouring rainfall.  But, in rural areas, with the downpour, comes the menace of snakes that spread a pall of fear.  Thus, all over the countryside, amongst the marginalized communities, be they Muslim or Hindu, householders organize performative rituals to appease the mighty Goddess of Serpents, Manasa Devi.  As the legend goes, she is the mind-born daughter of Shiva, whom the hapless Brahmin merchant Chand Saudagar refused to worship.  Manasa retaliated by taking the life of Chand's youngest son Lokkhindor.  Thus began the epic battle between Lokkhindor's newlywed bride Behula, and the mighty Serpent Goddess.  Behula resolutely carried her dead husband's body on a raft over the river to the great God Shiva, overcoming obstacles at seven 'ghats' or wharfs to finally compel Manasa to give back Lokkhindor's life.” (Lubna Marium)

This legend is still represented every year today, on the Tangail rivers, during the last day of the month of Srabon – Srabon Shongkranti – with colorful boats and various actors dressed to interpret the parts of Baula, Lokkhindor, Manasa. The different groups compete with their colorful boats stopping at each “ghat”, like Baula's journey, culminating in the representation with the jiyoni, 'bringing back from dead', or the last act:  bring the hapless Lokkhindor back to life.

Known as “Shone Dala”, the Offering of Srabon, these performances are in fact effective rituals performed against a manot, or a pledge, by a householder to appease Manasa Devi in the hopes of obtaining benefits from her, both for good health of the family, both to overcome other minor obstacles. The artists, although popular bards and village actors, are all also religious healers, “ojha”, revered for their ability to cure minor ailments with their wealth of knowledge about herbs and natural cures. Each performance begins with the “ojha” offering worship to Manasa and with the pronunciation of mantras. 

In the article it is underlined – and here is the very interesting part for me – how, with surprise, all the actors of this event, the ojha, the head of the family, the afflicted and the spectators, are Muslims, testifying to the practices of assimilation and the pluralism of rural Bangladesh, especially among the marginalized.

“The tradition of this assimilative tradition goes far back into history.  Manasa is basically the primordial, definitely pre-Aryan female fertility goddess, whom the Brahmins refused to acknowledge. That she has survived, not just the Aryan onslaught, but also that of Buddhism, Islam and Christianity and continues to be revered, is testimony to the power of this rustic female deity.  Not surprisingly, the worship of Manasa is a cross-border cultural practice shared by Bangladesh, India and Nepal, going to further elaborate the power of this Goddess.”

Writes the researcher.

Manasa is celebrated in many regions with sung rhymes, panchalis (a long story that celebrates the glory of a deity) and vratakatha (rhymes and tales sung on the occasion of the fulfilment of a vow), changing its name according to the reason in which it is represented this ancient myth: “Poddor Nachon” in Kushtia and Pabna; “Behular Lachari” in Tangail and Ghatail, “Behular Bhashan” in Mymensingh. Each has its own kind of performance, for example in West Bengal it is celebrated as “Jhapan”, while in Assam as “Ojha-pali”.

The long history of this practice and the historical reasons for the Manasa cult within the Muslim community has been well documented in the past.

In 1917 Rai Saheb Dineshchandra Sen writes: “The Muhammadans are now mostly the 'rojahs' or physicians of serpent bites in Bengal. They recite incantations and 'mantras' for the cure of not only those who are bitten by serpents but also of those said to be possessed by spirits.  From generation to generation, these 'rojhas', mostly Muhammadans, as I have said, have been practitioners of this art.  They no doubt sprang from the Hindu and Buddhist families and did not, after they were converted to Muhammadan faith, give up a calling which had been a source of their maintenance from remote times”.

Thus concludes her beautiful article Lubna Marium: “It is cultural practices like these that define the plural nature of Bangladesh.  And, it is this plurality of beliefs that makes us a tolerant and liberal nation.  It is time to recognize these practices and strengthen them.”

 

Even if we are talking about a minor cult, rural practice, and little-known folk musical genre, I think it is still useful for understanding the dynamics of history.

As was also clear in the recent interview with the Indonesian writer Agustinus Wibowo, it's clear how popular culture and traditions are fluid and do not advance over the centuries by watertight compartments.

The interpenetrations make the cultural heritage of peoples and nations more stratified and fascinating.

Complexity is a quality that can sometimes resonate even in the hiss of a snake.

Italian version