Glasgow’s own ‘Basivi’

The brush in 31-year-old Gail Robertson’s scrawny hands rustled through the dust that covered the splintered copper ladle, which had just been excavated from a forgotten Vijayanagara empire ruin, not far from the world heritage site Hampi in North Karnataka. Then, pushing back his pince-nez spectacles to the bridge of his nose with his soft and tiny (‘girlish’) fingers, he waved to his fellow archaeologists from the Archaeological Survey of India - a sign that he was done for the day. Gail catalogued his new findings, while carefully wrapping the brittle copper ladle in cellophane tape and placing it in the inner pouch of his leather satchel. On the way back to his hotel near the Hospet Railway Station, he stopped at a non-descript village. He pulled out a fifty-eight-year-old moth-eaten map, sketched by a British archeologist, titled ‘The Basivi streets of Hampi’, and stood admiring the precise hand-made sketches and the stencil-like plume pen strokes. Gail had spent more than three years at Queensland University, researching the Devadasis of Southern India. He had learnt through his work that a Devadasi was a girl ‘dedicated’ to a temple of worship for the rest of her life. During the initial years of their existence, Devadasis were respected dancing girls who were ‘married’ to their craft. They lived close to temples and were concubines to wealthy patrons, who financed their dance performances on a temple stage. But, as time passed, due to poverty, lack of cultural funding in temples and disrespect for dance, Devadasis were forced to become ‘religious prostitutes’. This practice carried on for more than eight centuries, till it was outlawed - as late as 1982, in Karnataka. The Devadasis of Karnataka were known as Basivis.

Gail was moved by the story of the Devadasi Basivis and was very keen to know if any of them still existed, decades after India’s independence. Painstakingly meandering through the narrow lanes of the village, with the help of the old map, Gail enquired from the local people (in broken Kannada) if any Basivis were still alive. Most of the villagers had not even heard of the term, let alone of a woman still practising the ‘profession’. As Gail turned back in disappointment, he heard a ‘beautiful’ voice call out to him. “Did you say Basivi?” the voice asked. Gail turned back and saw a beautiful dusky woman, perhaps a few years older than him. She was wearing a cotton sari, her hair neatly tied in a bun, and her coconut-oiled hair adorned by jasmine flowers. He replied, “Yes, I did. Can you help me?” “Perhaps,” she responded, in a familiar western accent, “because I am one of them.” Gail gaped at her, and his flabbergasted look said it all. “You are what? A Basivi? But your accent? You seem to be from England!” “Scotland,’ she corrected him, and continued, “My Kannada-speaking mom married a Scottish tourist. I was born in Glasgow and educated at Manchester. My late grandmother lived in this village. She was a Basivi. Though my parents have never come back to India, I come here twice a year to discover my roots. I learn classical dance from my grandma’s friend, an eighty-year-old dance teacher, Devamma. Not many people know that she was a Basivi in her youth.” The woman continued, “Look, the Devadasi was not a bad system. It was an avenue for girls who wished to dance. Given the circumstances during the medieval years, there were no patrons who would finance them or accept them as part of society. So, being dedicated to God and dance, they served as concubines to wealthy men. To them it was a marriage to dance. Their girl children followed in their footsteps.” Gail was not convinced, ‘Prostitution in the name of art cannot be accepted. Let us not forget that it was an exploitative practice.” The woman smiled and replied, “I agree. But just about every traditional practice has been misused; and that is precisely why it has now been outlawed by the government. The present generation has not even heard of the practice. And there are no surviving traditional Devadasis today. However, there are some people who still believe in these traditional beliefs. I am one of them.” As Gail looked at her closely, she asked, “Are you surprised?” He replied, “No, I am not. But tell me, how can one fall in love with a Basivi?” She laughed loudly and answered, “Well, I do not know. A Devadasi loves only dance. But why are you asking me this question?” Gail sheepishly responded, “Perhaps I may fall in love with one. Can I see you dance?” She looked at him and said, “Yes, why not? I am practising tomorrow at seven, at the fourth house at the end of this lane. That is where Devamma lives. She also cooks amazing ‘Bise Bele Bath’ rice.” As she turned to go, Gail held her hands and asked, “What is your name?” Pat came the reply, “Rajamma. Ok, my ‘real’ name is Ruth Jones, but Devamma still calls me Rajamma, my grandma’s name. She feels that my grandma has returned from the dead when she sees me dance.” Gail kissed her goodbye and, with a spark in his blue eyes, quipped, “Well, Rajamma. We have a dance-date, tomorrow, at seven.” Before Ruth could react, Gail pedalled off into the crimson sunset.

The Writer is a renowned Kuchipudi Danseuse and Choreographer

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