Many Nepalis may still be in a holiday mood as Dashain, the country’s most significant Hindu festival with the longest holiday, is just over. The importance of Dashain for Nepalis living in and out of the country cannot be exaggerated. Actually, Dashain is not a pan-Hindu affair; however, over the years, high-caste hill rulers have constructed it—specifically the red tika—as a powerful symbol of national and cultural identity.

I also celebrated Dashain this year, albeit in a secular way. I didn’t participate in any religious function or apply the red tika on my forehead; I put a black tika instead. My black tika is not against Dashain or the Hindu religion as such. It’s my symbolic protest against the persistently anti-Dalit rituals and customs associated with many festivals, including Dashain. I’d like to consider this my satyagraha. I will resume putting the red tika in Dashain once Dalits are treated equally in the communities, especially in the places of worship.

Festivals perpetuate untouchability

Following the age-old tradition, Nepal’s President Ram Chandra Paudel and Prime Minister Khadga Prasad Oli issued a statement this Dashain, praising the festival’s significance in strengthening social harmony and goodwill. Well, this observation may be true for others, but not Dalits.

What Dashain has done is it has normalised and popularised caste hierarchy and the subordination of Dalits. The festival sees Dalits being openly excluded and humiliated at the holy sites, at homes and in neighbourhoods. There have been some changes over the years, of course, but many of the ancient customs and rituals that pulverise Dalit’s self-respect and dignity are still widely practised.

It’s sad that although the Hindu monarchy has gone, its legacy continues to bite Dalit communities hard. And the democratically elected governments and parliaments have largely turned a blind eye to this persistent problem. They refuse to mention the fact that underneath public celebration and jubilation, many Dalits are deeply hurt. And no writer, journalist, analyst, or politician dares to speak against the tradition.

That includes Dalit activists, too. Mainstream Dalit discourse is still shy about discussing issues related to religion and culture; all it focuses on is the constitution and law. The law isn’t that bad, but it’s difficult to precisely enforce it due to the strong religious and cultural resistance to change, as seen during Dashain rituals in Durga temples.

Does the Goddess discriminate?

Essentially, Dashain is Durga upasana—the worship of the goddess Durga, who symbolises power and victory over evil. This Dashain, I visited some historical temples of goddesses located near Kathmandu. I observed some of the rituals and also interviewed the priests and Dalits working there—mainly the temple drummers from the local Damai community.

I also visited the temple of Palanchowk Bhagawati in Kavrepalanchowk District, which was built by King Mandev long before the formation of the modern Nepali state. The temple is famous among Nepalis, especially during occasions like Dashain.

When I arrived, nitya puja—the daily worship by the priest–was going on. Devotees were waiting in a queue; they’d be allowed to worship after the puja was completed. A few Brahmins were reciting verses from Devi Bhagwat. The Newar priest was busy chanting inside the temple, ringing a little bell with one hand and offering flowers to the statue with the other.

Just outside the temple, in front of the door, stood a Damai man beating his drum. His family has been performing for the goddess for many generations; however, his father, grandfather and ancestors have never been allowed into the temple.

Once the nitya puja was over, the priest came out and offered red tika to his staff, well-wishers and locals. He also blessed them by sprinkling the holy water. But he didn’t come near the drummer, let alone apply the tika on his forehead! He was given the tika on a leaf. And that leaf, too, wasn’t given on his hand—it was thrown at his drum. All this happened in front of everybody. I later asked the drummer if he felt humiliated, and he replied no. He’s always treated as an untouchable at the temple door. Besides, he’s given the tail end of the sacrificed goats and buffaloes, symbolising his social rank and position.

I was surprised to hear that even in such a big temple close to the capital city, local Dalits have no access. The priest would claim that there’s no discrimination there. In a sense, he’s right: He doesn’t ask anonymous devotees about their caste background. But the fact is that local Dalits, whom he and his staff recognise, can’t enter the temple.

Next, I visited the temple of Goddess Bhairavi atop a hill in the historical fort of Nuwakot. The temple stood before the seven-storey durbar erected by Prithvi Narayan Shah. Talking to both the priest and a Damai man drumming and cleaning up the temple compound, I learnt that local Dalits aren’t allowed into the temple here, either.

The same rule applies to smaller temples of goddesses popularly worshipped during Dashain. No Dalit was allowed to worship inside the temple in my village in northern Gorkha. The local upper castes rejected Dalit’s legal right to practise their religion on the grounds that the deity would be offended by physical contact with a lower caste. When angry, the fearsome and vengeful goddess could cause death and destruction in the community.

What do you expect when people are blatantly discriminated against in the house of God? People would find it only natural to segregate Dalits in their homes, villages and towns. Herein lies the fundamental cause of the persistent caste domination, humiliation and violence across the country.

Dashain is also guilty regarding its traditional political economy, namely the patron-client system. This system is highly exploitative and humiliating. Dalits are required to serve upper-caste people with their traditional skills throughout generations for little return.

During festivals like Dashain, these tailors, blacksmiths and shoemakers visit their clients’ homes and eat and drink there. Dalit patrons aren’t allowed to enter the homes and eat outside separately. They cannot touch the water taps and must do their dishes. To humiliate them further, they are offered the tails and neck bones of the animals slaughtered for the Dashain celebrations.

Way forward

It’s not possible to describe here the many other ways in which big festivities like Dashain are used to legitimise the segregation and domination of Dalits through religious/spiritual and cultural methods. The most serious problem here is that nobody seems bothered by it. Marx was probably right: Religion does seem to act like opium.

This opium has dulled the senses of the masses, the rulers, and, ironically, the victims themselves. It’s time we raised our voices against such a systematic violation of constitutional and legal provisions against caste discrimination.

By applying the black tika on the most auspicious day of tika during Dashain, I’m asking a serious question on behalf of ordinary Dalits to both the state and religious authorities: Does our physical touch really offend your gods and goddesses so much?

If it’s the gods themselves segregating us, we have no choice but to turn to a different religion in search of different, perhaps more egalitarian, gods. If it’s the people that segregate Dalits, shouldn’t these religious people abide by the modern law of the land? Does the constitution and law become null and void during religious rituals?