Tag Archives: widows

Widows in Vrindavan

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I worked again with Irene, a graduate student from Ca’ Foscari University of Venice, whose research topic was Hindu widows. I had already assisted her in October 2009 in Varanasi, but this time she wanted to visit Vrindavan. She had heard a lot about the widows from Bengal who live there, and about the city’s importance for Hindu widows. Since I did not know much about Vrindavan myself, I contacted my friend Yashu, who lives there, and he kindly promised to help. In fact, he arranged everything for us — hotel, food, and even many interviews.

Irene had already heard about the Bhajan Ashrams (ashrams where chanting sessions are organized) and wanted to visit them to see if it was possible to interview the women there. I had also heard about widows working in these ashrams, but I had no idea how many there were or how large they could be. To my surprise, there seemed to be at least one in every alley, and some were extremely large, housing three to four thousand widows under the same roof. These ashrams are generally run by wealthy religious people. Each widow who chants for three hours receives Rs. 2, along with a small portion of rice and lentils.

The ashrams usually run two or three shifts a day — the first beginning around 8:00 a.m. and the last ending around 6:00 p.m. However, not just any widow can join. They must first register with the ashram, after which their chanting time is scheduled. There are thousands of widows in Vrindavan, most of them — over 90% — from Bengal. Many do not speak Hindi. Some live in government ashrams, some in private ones, some rent small rooms, while others sleep on the streets or along the Yamuna River. Over 95% make a living by working in Bhajan Ashrams and begging. Most widows chant during the day and then beg in the mornings and evenings, when pilgrims are on their way to temples.

Vrindavan, known as the “city of temples,” has nearly 5,000 temples and is considered one of Hinduism’s holiest places. Each year, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims visit. Because of the religious devotion of visitors, donations are common — which makes Vrindavan an unfortunate hub for begging. It was painful to see how many widows depended on it for survival. When we asked the widows why they chose Vrindavan instead of other sacred cities like Varanasi or Haridwar, most said that Vrindavan is particularly popular among Bengalis. However, few knew the reason behind this. One non-widow woman shared a fascinating story:

She said that long ago, two brothers worked as cashiers in a king’s palace. One day, while busy with their work, they ordered water with sugar. By mistake, the servant mixed salt instead of sugar. The brothers drank it without noticing, so absorbed were they in their work. When the servant confessed his mistake, they were astonished that they hadn’t realized the difference. This made them reflect: If they could be so devoted to their worldly duty, why not apply the same devotion to God?

The brothers abandoned material life and came to Vrindavan, then a forest, to meditate. Their devotion was so powerful that even the king came to meet them. When he offered them any reward, they only asked him to repair the broken stones at the ghat where they meditated. To the king’s shock, the ghat was made of precious stones that were rarer than anything in his own palace. Realizing their spiritual greatness, the king then offered them as much land as their eyes could see from one spot — and that land became Vrindavan. This, people say, is why Vrindavan is so popular among Bengalis.

Despite Irene’s efforts, we managed to interview only about ten women. Most did not speak Hindi, which limited communication. We also visited two government-run widow ashrams: one by the central government and one by the state of Uttar Pradesh. The central government ashram was more organized, a new building with 500–600 rooms and about 2,700 widows living there. At first, a government helper allowed us to sit and talk with the women. But soon, another official stopped us, insisting we needed permission from the district magistrate. A similar thing happened at the largest Bhajan Ashram. Finally, when we reached the state-run ashram, a kind security guard let us conduct interviews discreetly. He warned us not to let the officers find out, explaining that both officers there were corrupt.

According to him, officers steal from the widows’ pensions. They first demand Rs. 300 from each widow to issue a pension registration card, which is supposed to be free. Then they claim the pension takes a year to start, when in fact it begins within days. This way, they pocket the widows’ entire first-year pension. Even afterward, they keep half of the monthly pension for themselves. With about 300 widows in the ashram, he estimated that they steal around Rs. 90,000 every month, while also bribing higher officials to remain silent. I was shocked and saddened to hear this. How could anyone exploit poor widows who survive on Rs. 2 and a handful of grains?

It also explained why officials at the central ashram had tried to stop us from interviewing women — they didn’t want their corruption exposed. Because of these obstacles, we shifted focus to interviewing widows who lived independently. Many shared heartbreaking stories. Most were married very young, lost their husbands early, were denied education, and eventually came to Vrindavan. Some left home because their own children neglected them. A few Bengali women told us they stay in Vrindavan for 11 months, save money and grains, and then return home briefly to give everything to their children.

We also noticed cultural differences. Many Bengali widows did not strongly believe that widowhood was punishment for sins in past lives, while most North Indian widows did. Curiously, although North Indians often say Bengal discriminates most against widows, the Bengali women we spoke with did not feel this way. Perhaps, sadly, they have normalized discrimination to the point where they no longer recognize it as injustice. We asked about widow remarriage. Interestingly, older widows (around 70) supported remarriage, while younger widows (40–50) believed it was a sin. Younger widows felt that widowhood was divine punishment, and if they tried to escape it by remarrying, they would be punished further — even becoming widows again in the next life. Perhaps older widows, having faced loneliness, understood the value of companionship more deeply.

Later, we spoke with a Sanskrit scholar and katha speaker to learn what Hindu texts say about widowhood. She explained that scriptures list several causes for widowhood: disrupting another couple’s marriage, engaging in extramarital relationships, or even physical relations during the menstrual cycle. She insisted these rules applied equally to men and women. Interestingly, this also suggests that love marriages were accepted in Hinduism, since forcing someone into an unwanted marriage is condemned.

After spending time in Vrindavan and Varanasi, I reached one strong conclusion: widows who stay with their families and find some work, however small, live far happier lives than those who depend on ashrams or begging. The situation in ashrams is tragic, worsened by corruption and lack of accountability. In my view, the only real solution is education. If women are educated and skilled, they can seek employment, support themselves, and live with dignity. The question is: when will the Indian government finally take women’s education seriously?

Dying in Varanasi

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I worked with a photographer named Jane Becker from Canada, who wanted to document widows and hospices in Varanasi. Since I had previously worked with a researcher from the University of Venice studying widows in the city, I already knew the places to take her. About two years earlier, I had also assisted a researcher from the University of Berlin who was interested in people coming to Benares to spend their final days. So I had some background knowledge on the subject. We decided to begin our work with hospices and ashrams. I first took Jane to an ashram near Assi Ghat, where we interviewed a few residents and she took some photographs.

The next day, I brought her to another ashram named Mumukshu Bhawan where more than 2,000 people live out the last stage of their lives. This ashram has separate sections—one for Sanyasis (renunciants) and another for families. The place was vast, filled with residents, and even housed a Sanskrit school. Although we visited, Jane did not photograph there. On the following day, we went to Kashi Mukti Bhawan, which was unlike any other place in Varanasi. The city has many hospices and ashrams where people stay to die, but this place was truly unique.

Kashi Mukti Bhawan is owned by the Dalmia family. The story behind its foundation is that when Mr. Dalmia once visited Varanasi, he noticed the large number of ashrams where people came to spend their final days. His grandmother also wished to spend her last days in the city. Inspired by this, he decided to build a free hospice for those who wanted to die in Varanasi. What makes Kashi Mukti Bhawan unusual is its rule: residents are allowed to stay for only 14 days. This may sound strict, but most people who come here are already in their final moments. The hospice does not admit anyone below the age of 60 or those who do not appear to be close to death.

The building has ten rooms, but during my visit, only one was occupied while the rest were vacant. There is also a temple inside where rituals are performed daily. The manager explained that until about four years ago, prayers were conducted 24 hours a day. However, as fewer people now come, the hours were reduced. In the past, all ten rooms would be full, but today there may be only one or two residents—or sometimes none at all. If a person is dying at Kashi Mukti Bhawan, a priest from the temple recites verses from the Ram Charit Manas for them four times a day, at least for five minutes each time. The belief is that hearing these sacred chants helps the dying soul attain salvation.

We interviewed a woman who had brought her father all the way from Sasaram, Bihar, so that he could die in Varanasi and achieve liberation. When asked why she chose Kashi Mukti Bhawan specifically, instead of another ashram, she explained that it was a family tradition—her relatives had also passed away here. She believed that not only was dying in Varanasi important, but that Kashi Mukti Bhawan offered the most ideal atmosphere, with constant chanting and spiritual rituals.

We also asked the manager why the stay was limited to 14 days. He explained that in most cases, two weeks is sufficient for someone in their final stage of life. In rare situations, if the person survives beyond 14 days but is still gravely ill, they may be allowed to stay for another week or two. Interestingly, he mentioned that there have even been cases where people came expecting to die, but instead recovered and returned home.

Overall, Kashi Mukti Bhawan felt profoundly different from the other ashrams in Varanasi, and I am eager to learn more about it.

Widows in Varanasi

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I worked with a student named Irine from the University of Venice who wanted to study widows in Varanasi, focusing specifically on the issue of prostitution among widows in widow ashrams. She explained that her interest was sparked by the film *Water*. Although I found the subject compelling, I was initially uncertain about finding widows to interview about prostitution. Nevertheless, the topic intrigued me, so I agreed to collaborate with her. I conducted some research and discovered a government-run widow ashram near my home.

Upon visiting, we found about 18 widows living at the ashram. The facility was in poor condition: while there was a garden and open space, the building itself appeared to be from the early 1900s and was not well maintained. An office staff member informed us that a wealthy pilgrim from Kolkata had once visited Varanasi, met a widow at a ghat, and was moved by her story. This encounter led him to fund the construction of the ashram, which was later handed over to the government. It is currently managed by the Department of Women Welfare for Uttar Pradesh.

This is the only government-run widow ashram in the entire state of Uttar Pradesh. The woman in charge of the office was receptive to Irine’s project and allowed us to interview the widows. The ashram is divided into two sections: one for widows who are able to care for themselves and another for those who are physically unfit. Each widow receives only Rs. 550 (US$ 12) per month from the government. We were told by both the widows and the office in charge that no government funds had been received for the past three months, leaving the widows without any financial support.

The office in charge mentioned that local donors, who regularly contribute to the ashram, are essential for the widows’ survival. Without these donations, the government stipend alone would be insufficient. It is difficult to imagine how one could survive on Rs. 550 a month. The widows who are capable of managing on their own live on the ground floor, while those who are older or in poor health reside on the first floor. The government provides each widow with a small gas stove for cooking, but they must prepare their own meals. The ashram has a kitchen where food is prepared for those who cannot cook for themselves, with the cooking done by office staff. There is also a washing machine for laundry, though I am unsure who operates it.

The rooms are spacious, with four beds in each. Irine was particularly interested in exploring the issue of prostitution among widows, but I was uncertain how to approach this sensitive topic with women who were all over 65, with some over 80. We decided to visit the ashram multiple times, building rapport with the widows and staff to see if any information might emerge. We also inquired about other widow ashrams in Varanasi and were directed to two additional locations. One was very close to my place, called Mata Anandmayi Ashram.

At Mata Anandmayi Ashram, we discovered that it primarily functions as a religious school for girls. The peon mentioned that there were over 20 widows there as well, but the manager was extremely uncooperative. He denied that they housed any widows, which was puzzling. We were unable to speak with anyone other than the rude manager and peon. We then visited Birla Ashram at Chowk, Varanasi, which was established by the Birla family. There were around 20 widows residing there, but we couldn’t speak with any of them on our first visit.

We encountered a woman who was not a widow but was staying there thanks to her IAS officer husband, who had arranged a room for her due to her religious interests. She was uncooperative and prevented us from speaking with the widows. She asked us to return after a few days as she wanted to consult someone in Kolkata first. We returned after a few days and fortunately, the woman was not present. We managed to speak with a widow, but she was busy at the time. She told us that most of the widows at Birla Ashram work as cooks in various households and that the ashram only provides them with a room.

The disparity in support and conditions between the ashrams was striking. Some widows, particularly those who were unable to work, seemed to receive little more than a place to stay. When a widow dies, the ashram informs the family; if no one comes, the body is cremated, sometimes traditionally and sometimes using an electric burner. The stories of the widows were both heartbreaking and enlightening. Many were forced to leave their homes due to harsh circumstances: some were expelled by their own children or daughters-in-law, while others chose to leave to avoid being a burden. A common thread among them was early marriage, with some married as young as 6 or 7 years old.

I met several women married at such a young age, and many lost their husbands by the time they were only 10, never having lived with them. One remarkable woman from Chennai, who was the most educated and articulate of all the widows we met, shared a particularly poignant story. Married at seven, she spent four years living with her parents before moving in with her husband at eleven, only to be separated from him for a year due to family traditions. After her husband’s death, she lived with her parents and later with her sister. Feeling like a burden, she initially came to Varanasi to commit suicide but was saved by a boat rower and sent to the ashram. Her story was deeply moving and highlighted her resilience.

She described South Indian widow traditions, which differ somewhat from North Indian practices. For instance, after a husband’s death, a South Indian widow’s head is shaved, and she is separated from others while sarees are thrown at her from a distance. In South India, widows are permitted to wear either white or red sarees, whereas in North India, only white is allowed. The practice of throwing sarees is not something I have heard of in North India, but considering the conditions faced by widows, it’s not entirely inconceivable.

When we asked all the widows why someone becomes a widow, they all agreed with the belief that it is due to some sin from their past life. However, they felt that the sins of widowers are not as severe. Widows are expected to follow stringent rules, such as abstaining from tasty food, not interacting with men, not going out, not wearing colorful clothes, and avoiding celebrations. Most widows believed these restrictions were necessary to atone for their sins and avoid punishment in the afterlife.

Regarding remarriage, only a few widows felt it was acceptable; most viewed contemporary widows who remarry or dress in colorful clothes negatively. The general sentiment was that widows should adhere strictly to traditional practices. The prevailing view among the widows was that they were marginalized and discriminated against, particularly in Varanasi. They are often excluded from weddings and considered bad luck. It is disheartening to see such practices, which seem disconnected from the core values of Hinduism, which I believe should emphasize equality and respect for all individuals.

This experience has taught me a great deal. The systemic issues and historical practices that have contributed to the plight of women in India are profound. While education is crucial for addressing these problems, the current state of educational and social reform suggests that change may be slow. It is clear that addressing these deep-seated issues requires not only better education but also comprehensive social and policy reforms.

End of life – Sadhus and Sanyasis

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According to Hindu Dharma, there are four stages of life known as Ashrams: Brahmcharya, Grihastha, Vanaprastha, and Sannyasa. The Brahmcharya Ashram represents the student phase, which ideally ends by the age of 25. While one can continue to study beyond this age, marriage is generally expected to follow. The Grihastha Ashram begins at 26 and lasts until around 50, during which individuals are expected to marry and build a family. Vanaprastha, the stage from 50 to 75, is a time for preparing for the final stage of life, Sannyasa.

During Vanaprastha, individuals are expected to fulfill their familial responsibilities, such as marrying off their daughters and helping their sons become self-sufficient. They should also start preparing for Sannyasa by engaging in meditation and rituals. Sannyasa, which starts at around 76 and continues until death, involves renouncing worldly attachments and living a life of asceticism. Sannyasis, or renunciates, do not stay at home but reside in monasteries, which are available in every Indian city, where they live free of cost.

To become a Sannyasi, individuals must perform various rituals, the most significant being the symbolic renunciation of their physical body. They often stand naked in the river while reciting mantras, symbolically discarding their worldly self. Though they remain physically alive, they perform all the rites usually done posthumously, signifying their detachment from earthly life. Consequently, Sannyasis’ bodies are never cremated; instead, they are submerged in the river. Once they have entered Sannyasa, they are bound by strict rules.

These include prohibitions against handling money, dealing with fire, cooking, and consuming flavorful food. They must beg for their sustenance, purify their food by washing it, and repeat the name of Lord Ram 21,000 times daily. They traditionally wear orange clothing, symbolizing their devotion to Hinduism. Brahmin Sannyasis carry a staff, which is also submerged with their body upon death; no other caste members receive this staff. Sannyasis typically reside in monasteries with other Sannyasis, dedicating most of their time to repeating the name of Lord Ram.

They might receive occasional visits from their families, but generally lead solitary lives. During my work with researchers, I met numerous Sannyasis, and their stories were consistently surprising. Most expressed a profound eagerness for death, often stating that they hope to meet their end soon. I once spoke with a 70-year-old woman who had lived in a monastery for 30 years, waiting for death. She was the first female Sannyasi I had encountered. She explained that while females do not undergo the same rigorous rituals as males, they follow similar rules and live in separate sections of the monasteries.

She came to Varanasi with her husband, who had tuberculosis. After his death, she continued to live in the monastery, awaiting her own. Despite the unconventional nature of her life, she was deeply content and looked forward to her final moment. In contrast, I also spoke with a male Sannyasi, around 70 years old, who had embraced Sannyasa at 35 due to personal tragedies. Though he appeared quite ill, he too was happy discussing his impending death. I found it intriguing how people could be so content discussing their end.

Another Sannyasi I met had turned to Sannyasa to escape legal consequences. Accused of multiple murders, he sought refuge in Varanasi and became a Sannyasi to evade the authorities. He continued to live a relatively comfortable life, with family visits and monetary support, which was contrary to the austere image of Sannyasa. My experiences with various Sannyasis revealed a wide range of motivations and circumstances. Many seemed to view Sannyasa as a form of penance or a path to liberation. Despite a recent decline in the number of Sannyasis, Varanasi remains a unique destination where people come to conclude their earthly journeys.