Katharine in India

Shahu and the Shankaracharya

• By Katharine
• 17 March, 2014
• 8 Comments

The New Palace

My two full days in Kolhapur proved fascinating, as I met historians, university faculty and students. Girish first took me to visit the New Palace, which is part museum and part home to the current Chhatrapati of Kolhapur, a descendent of the royal family that once ruled much of Maharashtra. Before entering the museum dedicated to the rule of Chhatrapati Shahu Maharaj, we watched emus and deer in the small zoological garden. A tree on the banks of the small lake looked like it was in full bloom; it was covered with gorgeous, migrating pink-and-white storks or herons. The museum was full of swords and guns, including a gold-plated shotgun; elephant-foot tables and round, spiked leg cuffs for controlling live elephants; stained glass windows and yellowing photos of historical figures; an antique and elaborately decorated baby swing; and other oddities redolent of another era. We had to remove our shoes before entering, but I didn’t mind, as the marble and stone floors were lovely and cool.  

Migrating storks in a tree outside the New Palace, Kolhapur

Later on Thursday, Girish took me to the library at Shivaji University, where they attempted (unsuccessfully) to find some books for me about the history of Karvir Peeth. He also introduced me to some university students he knew. Everyone we spoke with suggested other avenues of exploration and other people I should meet. At one point, this involved taking an auto-rickshaw to a coffee bar near the university to meet two members of a local historians group, then rushing off on the backs of their scooters (helmetless, of course) to meet a retired history professor and his friend, a bookstore owner, at the bookstore in the center of town, near the Mahalaxmi Temple. (The bookstore owner told me he sells a lot of spiritual books, including Swami Rama’s autobiography, Living With the Himalayan Masters, and Paramahansa Yogananda’s Autobiography of a Yogi.)

This is what I learned. Kolhapur’s reputation as a center of learning and socially progressive policies is largely the legacy of Chhatrapati Shahu Maharaj, or “King Shahu,” from the time he attained the age of majority in 1894 until his death in 1922, at age 48. A Maharaja under British rule, Shahu – a non-Brahmin adopted into the ruling family – fought Brahmin hegemony in the state of Kolhapur, to the benefit of the lower castes and the untouchables, who are not even considered part of the caste system.

Display boards featuring photos of past Shankaracharyas at Karvir Peeth

Shahu was brought up as royalty, yet a key incident in his life made him very sensitive to the discrimination faced by non-Brahmins. Shortly after becoming king, Shahu and some friends went down to the riverbank to perform religious rites with the court priest, who earned an extremely good income for performing religious rites for the king. One of Shahu’s friends told him the priest was offering only second-class prayers, not the first-class prayers for Brahmins he was supposed to recite. Offended, Shahu ordered the priest to recite the prayers due him as royalty. When the priest refused, insisting that Shahu was not entitled to such prayers because he was neither a Brahmin nor a member of the Kshatriya caste (the military and ruling caste), Shahu fired him. He then created a training program for non-Brahmins to study the holy texts and learn the prayers and rituals of Hinduism, such as the marriage rites, so non-Brahmins would not be completely dependent on Brahmin priests.

Brahmins had always been revenue agents in the villages of Kolhapur district by hereditary right, collecting heavy taxes from the farmers, often in excess of what was owed to the royal family and the state. Shahu abolished this system and established a civil service of salaried, government revenue agents. He faced terrible opposition from the Brahmins, but held firm – and went even further, reserving a large number of government positions for people from the less-favored castes and even untouchables. He also started many schools and colleges, as well as student hostels for students of all different faiths and castes. His progressive policies have still not been matched by the national Indian government, despite a century of agitation and movement in that direction.

An altar in the inner courtyard at Karvir Peeth

The histories of King Shahu and Swami Rama turned out to intersect in the person of Dr. Kurtkoti (also spelled Kurtakoti). Shahu appointed Dr. Kurtakoti as Shankaracharya of Karvir Peeth, an ancient center of religious learning and monastic life in Kolhapur, bringing him in from Bombay (now Mumbai) in 1918 because he believed Dr. Kurtakoti was sympathetic to the lower castes and untouchables. However, when Shahu abolished the Brahmin-controlled system of village revenue agents, Dr. Kurtakoti sided with the Brahmins and, in a fit of pique, left Karvir Peeth. After negotiations between Shahu and Dr. Kurtakoti failed, Shahu formally removed Dr. Kurtakoti as Shankaracharya. Dr. Kurtakoti then moved permanently to Nashik – about 500 kms away – with a handful of followers. Some online sources suggest Dr. Kurtakoti sued to recover the position and salary of Shankaracharya, but after decades of court battles (not unusual in India), he lost. Meanwhile, King Shahu appointed a non-Brahmin as head of another religious studies center – the first such appointment in India’s history – and sponsored that center for the rest of his life, ignoring Karvir Peeth and leaving the Brahmins there to their own devices.

Swami Rama claims in Living with the Himalayan Masters that he was “Shankaracharya of Karvirpitham” from 1949 to 1952, appointed by Dr. Kurtkoti as his successor. The Kolhapur historians assured me this was impossible because Dr. Kurtakoti never regained his seat – and although in some peeths the Shankaracharyas have the right to appoint their own successors without any outside interference, in Kolhapur the ruler always had the right of approval and removal. At the Shahu Research Centre at Shivaji University, the research associate who’d given me a ride on her scooter the night before showed me volumes of Shahu’s papers, as well as a biography of Shahu based on primary source documents, proving that Dr. Kurtakoti had been removed as Shankaracharya in 1919. The historians told me that as far as anyone knows, Dr. Kurtakoti never set foot in Kolhapur again – and that any successor appointed by him would not have been at Karvir Peeth, because the monks there had long since chosen a new Shankaracharya, who would have appointed his own successor.

A step-down bathing tank fed by the Panchaganga River, at Karvir Peeth

However, when I visited Karvir Peeth, the current Shankaracharya told a different story. I visited on Friday with two young women, both graduate students at the university, and a member of the Maharashtra skeptics and rationalists association. We got a thorough tour of the monastery from a younger devotee. This young man showed us all the various idols around the central courtyard, as well as a kind of throne in one corner where the Shankaracharya sits when hearing people’s petitions or blessing pilgrims. We also saw two bathing tanks (one a bathtub for the exclusive use of the Shankaracharya, and one outdoors fed with water from the nearby Panchaganga River), the cow byre, and several places where former Shankaracharyas had achieved mahasamadhi (died or been cremated – it’s unclear which). Each of these last was marked by a small shrine with a Shiva lingam and yoni. Indeed, most of the monastery’s devotions seemed to be dedicated to Shiva, although there were images of other gods, especially Ganesh. Also present were multiple images of and tributes to Adi Shankara, the 11^th century prophet who established the system of peeths for study of the Vedas and dedication to the monastic life. Adi Shankara is usually depicted with a folio representing the four Vedas he’d memorized by the age of 16.

Hanuman, the monkey god who aided Rama, in a shrine at Karvir Peeth

The young monk chided one of my translators for wearing stretch jeans under her tunic instead of traditional Indian “pajamas,” as they call the pants in a two-piece outfit. I caught the gist of the conversation, even though it took place in Marathi. Both young women were devout, holding their hands in prayer position and touching the base of each shrine. (They later told me they believe in God or the gods – primarily Shiva, who is very popular in Southern India – but not in all the superstitions that have sprung up around the religion.) At one shrine, we were instructed to hold out our right hands. A monk carefully poured in a little milk: We dipped down on one knee before the idol, drank the warm milk, and then spread what remained over our hair (OK, I cheated and skipped the hair part) to purify ourselves. The young monk also told us he had the gift of reading palms: I extended my left hand and he told me, among other things, that I didn’t believe in God and that I had one son. He also told me I was the first woman ever to visit the monastery seeking God.

Chanting monks around a sacred fire, Karvir Peeth

In another courtyard, a group of monks chanted vigorously, rocking back and forth next to a holy fire, where they were burning incense (and probably ghee). Each of the shrines and idols was decorated meticulously with small, carefully aligned red and white flower buds, in contrast to the generally dusty, dirty, cobwebbed state of the buildings. The monastery’s main courtyard also featured several large display boards with a history of the monastery (in Marathi), including one with a chronological list of all the Shankaracharyas. There were also poster-sized pictures of several previous Shankaracharyas. When I inquired whether Dr. Kurtakoti and/or Swami Rama (under any of his monastic or secular names) were listed, I was told by my translators that they were not, but the young monk said “some names are missing.”

When we finally met with the Shankaracharya himself, he said that both Dr. Kurtakoti and Swami Rama had been at Karvir Peeth, but that their names were not listed because they had left; the list was only for Shankaracharyas who had stayed and died in office. He said Swami Rama left because he didn’t like all the pomp and circumstance and meetings with people, and just wanted to meditate – a too-perfect echo of Swami Rama’s own account in Living With the Himalayan Masters. The Shankaracharya showed us the rooms where Swami Rama supposedly had slept and meditated, the tank where he bathed, and the area that had been the kitchen while Swami Rama was in residence. 

The Shankaracharya of Karvir Peeth, in the front office with a picture of Swami Rama

Finally, he took us to the front business office, an apparently non-consecrated area where the monks interact with the public. It featured a single, ancient computer and a landline telephone (although everyone – the Shankaracharya included – had a mobile). There, on a card table with some office flotsam and jetsam, a large, framed photo of Swami Rama sat leaning against the wall. This was the same photo featured in Swami Rama’s autobiography, supposedly showing him as Shankaracharya of Karvir Peeth. The current Shankaracharya picked the photo up, untucked part of his orange robe, and polished the dust from the glass, then set the photo down again. He then sent someone to fetch another, smaller photo supposedly showing Swami Rama’s installation ceremony.

The Shankaracharya proudly told me that he had visited Swami Rama’s ashram in Rishikesh for three months, at the invitation of Swami Veda Bharati – formerly known as Dr. Usharbudh Arya, and one of Swami Rama’s chief disciples and self-proclaimed successors. The Shankaracharya and his entourage had also visited a small town that was supposed to be Swami Rama’s birthplace, again courtesy of Swami Veda. I asked if Swami Veda had given him the photographs of Swami Rama, and he said yes, proudly adding that Swami Veda had also given (financial) aid to Karvir Peeth. I asked if there was anyone still at the monastery who had known Swami Rama as Shankaracharya. He said no – no real surprise, given that it would have been more than 60 years ago. Before we left, he performed puja and offered us each a ball of prasad, carefully dropping it into our outstretched palms so as not to touch us. (We also had to maintain a distance of about 3 or 4 feet from his holy personage at all times.)

As welcoming as the monks were, I’m afraid I have to be very suspicious of what the present Shankaracharaya told me. Their story about Swami Rama dovetails way too perfectly with his autobiography, much of which I now know to be complete fiction. Their support of this story may have been bought: They received the photos of Swami Rama, financial aid, and a trip to Rishikesh from Swami Veda Bharati, who has a huge personal and professional stake in upholding Swami Rama’s reputation and autobiography. And the historical timetable and facts just don’t add up – Dr. Kurtakoti lost his post as Shankaracharya of Karvir Peeth 30 years before he supposedly made Swami Rama his successor there.

I find the research of Swami Jnaneshvara, another disciple of Swami Rama, much more credible. Swami J writes on his website that he visited Nashik in the late 1990s, and that some former followers of Dr. Kurtakoti there told him that Dr. Kurtakoti initiated Swami Rama as a Dandi Swami with an eye to making him his successor, but that Dr. Kurtakoti never regained the title of Shankaracharya – and that in any case, he never returned to Karvir Peeth. This version of Swami Rama’s relationship to Dr. Kurtakoti aligns with the documented history of Dr. Kurtakoti’s life and his dispute with Shahu, the Maharaja of Kolhapur.

Madhuri and Rohini at Shivaji University, Kolhapur

So great was the local interest in my research that the head of the political science department and Gandhi Studies Center at Shivaji University, Dr. Bharati Patil, invited me to return as a guest lecturer! I promised to write up everything I’d learned in a somewhat scholarly fashion and send it to her. And who knows? Maybe when Jeff’s in college, John’s retired, and my stomach is willing to consider spicy food again, I’ll come back. I loved Kolhapur, where there is so much political liberalism, and yet great old-fashioned courtesy and respect for others and a leisurely, considered approach to life. Most of all, I want to see what becomes of the young women who translated for me at the monastery and accompanied me around the university. Madhuri is an accounting student who loves Bollywood films, hones her English by watching Hollywood films, has a great sense of humor, and has a strong sense of social justice and equality among men and women. Yet she lives in a girls’ hostel (or dorm) with a curfew of 8 p.m. and expects that her parents – her father farms soya, peanuts, and sugar cane in a nearby village – will arrange her marriage. Rohini, a graduate student in history who had previously interviewed the Shankaracharya, was also very sweet. Thank you, Madhuri and Rohini, for all your kindness and help!