A long tree trunk, painted in turmeric yellow and crimson and mounted on some sort of central axis, spins slowly as it is pulled by a rope held by some men. From the tree trunk dangles a man, who has been tied to it with two pieces of cloth. He has hooks inserted into the flesh on his back. After he completes one full pivot, another person takes his place and the ritual continues. The crowd cheers uproariously with each rotation.
The ritual, called Sidi, is being played out in Hariharapura village in Hassan district, about 180 km from Bengaluru. Once every two years, Sidi is part of the Udusalamma festival held every March in honour of the devi, an incarnation of Durga. Till the 19th century, the hooks would directly fasten the person to the wooden pole and he would swing from them. This horror was banned by the British, and since then this modified version has been in vogue.
At least 15 Dalits have come from Chakenahalli, a nearby village, to participate in the age-old ritual. And a crowd of many hundreds is here to cheer them on. Four of the Dalits have the metal hooks inserted into the fleshy portion of their back. We could not see these at first because they had covered themselves with shawls. As they removed the shawls, a collective murmur went up in the crowd and everybody’s eyes were on them looking for the hooks.
Manjappa, Giddappa, Venkateshaiah and Devarajaiah represent four Dalit families of Chakenahalli. Manjappa is a constable with the reserve police, while the other men, all in their 40s and 50s, are agricultural labourers.
Rudre Gowda, 66, also from Chakenahalli, is believed to be the deity’s messenger. On important occasions and festivals, he claims, the deity enters his body and speaks though him, giving instructions to people about the festival. It is Rudre Gowda who inserts the hooks into the four men.
Besides the four men, many women, Dalit and non-Dalit, have arrived here to participate in the festival by fastening their lips shut with thin needles. It is Rudre Gowda again who pierces their lips with the needles and sews them shut. As we watch, it becomes clear that one needle is not sharp enough. Rudre Gowda rubs its edge on a rough stone and is then able to insert it successfully. But the woman is in pain. Dyamavva, a Dalit woman, explains to us, “It is painful only for the first few seconds.”
The price of paddy
The origins of Sidi are lost in time but the legend is that it is a voluntary punishment that the Dalits have taken upon themselves down the ages. “Many years ago,” says Krishne Gowda, who teaches in a government industrial training institute, “a Dalit family from Chakenahalli stole a few bags of paddy from a farmer. What they didn’t realise was that a couple of the bags had holes and the trail of spilt grain would lead the farmer directly to them. When they realised it, they prayed hard to the goddess Udusalamma and asked her to help them. The goddess heard their pleas and changed the colour of the paddy they had stolen to save them from being caught. The family took a vow to propitiate her every two years with Sidi as long as their progeny continues on earth.”
A Sidi participant, with the hooks in place, awaits his turn.
Over the years, that one family has grown and divided into many families, but these four families traditionally are the ones selected to do Sidi. Nobody remembers the incident or the custom’s real antecedents. “We have been told that our ancestors did something wrong many years ago. Nobody is sure if such a thing really happened,” says Manjappa.
The ritual actually begins five days before the main event when the four men go on a fast. They stop eating and are sequestered in separate rooms. “Fasting for such a long time is necessary,” says Krishne Gowda with authority. “Otherwise, it would be difficult to insert the hooks into their body.” He demonstrates how difficult by adding gruesomely that sometimes “a hammer has to be used to insert the hooks in properly.” There seems no scientific basis to this. Said K.R. Ashok, professor of anatomy in a Bengaluru medical college, “It’s only an assumption that fasting will help insert a hook into the body. They are mentally preparing to bear the pain and are fasting for four-five days.”
On the final day, the men are pierced early in the morning. They then set out on a procession behind an idol of the goddess. The men with the hooks, the women with the locked lips, and around 15 young Dalit men, who dance along the route. Their counterparts from the upper castes carry the idol.
Entertainment or punishment
This year, there has been trouble. A section of Dalits and a few pro-Dalit organisations have, for the first time in decades, protested against the inhuman and dehumanising ritual. Raju Sigaranahalli, 36, is the Holenarasipur taluk coordinator of Dalit Hakkugala Samiti, a Dalit welfare organisation. He and other leaders submitted a memorandum to the Hassan district administration on March 10 and asked for the custom to be stopped. The administration held a couple of meetings to convince the villagers to forego the custom. However, a large number of Dalits and other castes insisted on going ahead with Sidi. So, in the wee hours of March 25, before the police or the administration could stop them, the men were inserted with the metal hooks.
Says Rudre Gowda, “Sidi is the most interesting part of the festival. We invite friends and relatives particularly for this ritual.” Young people who work in Bengaluru, Mangaluru, and other towns in Karnataka, visit their villages especially during this month to witness Sidi.
At Hariharapura, the atmosphere is festive. Bullock carts and cars have streamed in from the seven surrounding villages. The festivities at the temple are ready to begin. A bed of coal embers is burning at one end. Here, again, the Dalits walk the coals first, when it is burning hottest. Next comes Sidi, the performance where the four Dalit men entertain the gathering. “For our men, it is punishment, for the audience it is entertainment,” says Chetan (name changed), who used to participate in Sidi earlier, but now refuses to do so.
The responsibilities associated with the festival are divided according to caste. The Brahmins look after the pooja and rituals inside the temple. “We Vokkaligas,” says Shivanna, “take care of the preparations, which include cutting a suitable tree for Sidi.” Apparently, Rudre Gowda has other duties. The deity tells him just which tree will suit for Sidi. On a particular day before the festival, he goes in search of it, followed by a bunch of Vokkaliga youth. “The tree is cut and we carry it on our shoulders. No matter how heavy it is or how far away from the village, we carry it on our shoulders. We are not allowed to use any carts,” says Shivanna.
Dalits are not allowed inside the temple. They look after the riskier bits of the festival, such as Sidi, preparing the hot coals, walking on it. They are also allowed to dance alongside the procession.
As the Sidi ritual goes on, Raju stays inside his house. “I am hurt, not because we did not succeed in stopping it, but because my own people opposed me. It has left me disheartened,” he says. Raju’s entire family is taking part in the festivities. He has had to face severe criticism from all of them. “I don’t know how long Dalits will continue with this exploitation,” he rues.
According to A.S. Prabhakar, professor of tribal studies at Hampi University, Sidi in most parts of north Karnataka is practised by other backward castes, while in south Karnataka, it is the Dalits. And, in fact, where other backward castes do the Sidi, Dalits aren’t allowed to even touch the pole.
In 2016, a young Dalit man of Hebbala near Belur in Hassan district died when the wooden pole broke while he was dangling from it. The death last year has intensified the few voices of protest against the ritual this year. So far, however, there is no consensus on stopping it.
