THE SURVIVAL OF SUTTEE
A Fiery Old Ritual in the Modern Age
by William Dalrymple

On Sept. 4, 1987, Roop Kanwar, an exceptionally beautiful 18-year-old Rajasthani girl from the village of Deorala, mounted her
husband's funeral pyre and was burned to death. Two days earlier, her husband, Maal Singh, had complained of stomach pains.
Doctors at the local hospital said his condition was not serious, but that night Singh's appendix burst, and he died in the early hours of
the morning. The couple had been married only eight months and had no children. Now Kanwar was faced with the prospect of
spending the rest of her life as a childless widow. She would be expected to shave her head, sleep on the floor, wear only simple white
clothes, and perform menial tasks.

The next morning, the young widow appeared at the door of the family's 18th-century courtyard house dressed in her finest
wedding sari and decked in jewelry. She soon found herself leading a procession of more than 500 villagers along the narrow lanes of
Deorala. On reaching the cremation ground, Kanwar circled the funeral pyre three times. Singh's family raised his body--wrapped in a
white shroud, but with his face showing--onto the logs. Then Kanwar climbed up onto the pyre, rested her husband's head in her lap,
and commanded her 16-year-old brother-in-law to light the kindling. Brahman priests intoned Sanskrit prayers, and drums began to
beat. Within half an hour, Kanwar and her husband had both been reduced to ashes.

Last October, nine years later, 32 men were finally cleared of ritually burning Kanwar to death and attempting to revive the ancient
Hindu practice of suttee. The trial had rumbled on for nearly a decade and provoked a controversy that divided India.

In delivering his verdict, the judge was very clear: The villagers from Deorala were innocent, and the police case was a tangle of
inconsistencies and fabrications. But this did not close the case. The state government of Rajasthan has appealed the verdict.

It seems unlikely that anyone will ever know for sure whether Kanwar voluntarily submitted to her fate. But to understand the scale
of the furor prompted by this question is to understand the huge cultural diversity that exists in India. For ordinary villagers, suttee is
not only possible but actually a cause for celebration--but for the secular urban middle classes, the idea that such primeval barbarity
might survive is a source of profound embarrassment and horror.

As you drive into the arid thorn-scrub toward Deorala, about 250 miles southwest of New Delhi, you leave the 20th century far
behind. Occasionally, you pass small domed cenotaphs marking the site of some long-forgotten suttee. Under the dome are small,
primitive sculptures of a husband and wife standing side by side. The cenotaphs--known as chattris--are cool, peaceful spots, and
standing beside them, it is easy to forget the violence and brutality of the events they commemorate.

Historically, widow burning is not unique to India. In Rajasthan, it came to be associated with the warrior Rajput caste, who saw
suttee as an expression of martial valor. Suttee died out elsewhere in India after the British banned it in 1829, but in Rajasthan it has
lingered on in the more distant villages, with some 40 cases thought to have taken place since independence in 1947--most of them in
the district of Sikar, around Deorala.

Roop Kanwar was from a middle-class Rajput family and had grown up in the Rajasthani state capital of Jaipur. She had finished 10
years of schooling by the time her parents arranged for her to marry Maal Singh. Her family says that she was always unusually
religious. Both her own family and her in-laws have been unwavering in their assertion that Kanwar voluntarily gave herself up to the
pyre to ensure her husband's successful rebirth, to join her soul with the goddess Suttee Mata, and to bring good luck to her family and
village for seven generations. They say she firmly resisted all attempts to dissuade her from becoming a suttee and that she smiled
beatifically from the pyre as the flames danced around her.

The Hindu faithful of rural Rajasthan lost no time in turning Kanwar into a saint and a goddess: Within a fortnight of her burning,
750,000 people had turned up to worship at the site of her pyre. And when, soon afterward, then Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi's
government passed a law making the "glorification of suttee" a criminal offense, some 100,000 protesters took to the streets of Jaipur.

Pitched against the supporters of suttee is the full weight of the Indian civil machine--the police, the state government, national
feminist organizations, and most of the national media. Kanwar's marriage, they said, was a failure, and it was hinted that she might
even have been having an affair. Moreover, the opponents contended that she was well educated and not particularly religious. It was
suggested that Kanwar had been pressured into the suttee by her in-laws and then been drugged with opium, which was responsible for
her "beatific calm."

Police decided to treat Kanwar's death as suspicious and eventually charged no fewer than 37 villagers--ranging in age from 16 to
70--with murder. (Three men died during the nine years the case took to complete; two others, who were minors when the allegations
were made, were charged and tried separately.)

The Indian papers began to send teams of reporters to Deorala to prove that Kanwar's suttee was involuntary. Soon stories began to
appear, airing increasingly grisly versions of the immolation. The SUNDAY OBSERVER of Bombay quoted an unnamed farmer, who
said that Kanwar attempted to get off the funeral pyre three times and was forced back onto it by irate villagers.

The Women and Media Committee of the Bombay Union of Journalists sent a task force to the village and said that, according to an
unnamed "Congress Party worker," Kanwar had been dragged screaming through the village by 600 fanatical villagers, a version of
events that has gone down in the feminist literature on the subject as gospel truth--though the anonymous Congress Party worker has
never been named.

Despite considerable police pressure on the accused, including the possible use of physical force, the prosecution failed to produce a
single witness who actually claimed to have seen Kanwar compelled to become a suttee. Still, the chief secretary of Rajasthan, M.L.
Mehta, the official who decided to appeal the judge's verdict, is absolutely adamant that a voluntary suttee is impossible in modern
India. "It is a preposterous idea," he said. "You think a literate woman would choose to go from her house in a procession to have
herself burned to death? It is so unlikely, it is next to impossible to believe."

The same conviction drove M.M. Mehrishi, superintendent of police charged with investigating the suttee. Now retired, he admits
that he never believed there was any chance that Kanwar could have freely chosen to go to her death.

Yet what both the chief secretary and superintendent of police found so impossible to conceive is quite unsurprising to the ordinary
villagers of Rajasthan. They believe that the peasant men of Deorala have been made victims of a very public, Salem-style witch hunt to
satisfy the secular incredulity of India's urban elite.

Kripal Singh Shekhawat is one of the best-educated men of Deorala, an engineer now working in Madras. Like everyone else in
Deorala, he claims to have been away on the day of the suttee, but admits he was proud of what Kanwar had done: "Our Rajput women
are very valorous," he said. "What she did has made the whole village respect her and the whole of Rajasthan respect this village. It's
complete nonsense that she was forced."

Kripal's next-door neighbor, retired village schoolteacher Narayan Singh, says that the police "picked up everyone: the shopkeepers,
the old men, even the boys playing in the street. The bastards booked the entire village....Many of us were beaten."

It was only after many hours of interviews that I found one eyewitness who would admit on the record that he had been present at
the suttee. Inder Singh said that he was the oldest man in the village, although he was unsure exactly what his age was: well over 90, he
thought. "Of course I was here," he said. "And not just me: The whole village, everyone was here, no matter what they say now....She
was not forced.

"It is not a suttee if it is forced. When the fire was lit, she just sat there with her husband's head on her lap. She seemed to feel no
pain. When the gods want something, they can do anything. In the past, when the gods willed it, the great warriors of India fought
on--even when their heads had been cut off."

Inder Singh moved closer to me and whispered in his cracked voice: "This is the Kaliyug, the Age of Kali, the epoch of
disintegration. Ungodly things are happening all around us. These people from the towns have made us stop worshipping the goddess
Suttee Mata in public. But in our hearts we still do. Who can stop us?"--"Sunday Telegraph" (conservative), London, March 2, 1997.

INDIA TODAY
(New Delhi, India)
Nov. 29, 1999, pp. 31-33

Copyright 1999 Living Media India Limited. All rights reserved. Printed in India.

MEDIEVAL MADNESS
by Subhash Mishra

An Act of Desperation by a Distraught Widow in the Backward Bundelkhand Region Becomes a Cause for a Grand Religious Celebration
by the People

At day break on November 11, Satpura was just another dusty, nondescript hamlet in the backward Bundelkhand region of Uttar
Pradesh. By sundown, the sleepy village had been transformed into a hub of an impromptu, cacophonous carnival. For miles around one
could hear the chanting of mantras and blowing of conches as hundreds of chattering men and women--with children merrily prancing
alongside--made a beeline for a small plot of land on the outskirts of Satpura in Mahoba district. The coconuts, the incense sticks, the
flowers and the red "chunri" that the people carried and the general festive atmosphere pointed to a grand religious celebration. It wasn't.

By some twisted logic, the village folk were celebrating the macabre death of a woman who had burnt herself alive on the funeral pyre
of her husband after he died of tuberculosis that morning. The poor Dalit woman who single-handedly looked after her ailing husband--the
villagers refused to accompany her to the cremation ground because he had TB--has suddenly become an object of worship. She's the
satimata, a new icon in the region. Shunned when alive, she has nearly acquired the status of a goddess now.

Life was anything but exalted for Charanshah, 50, wife of Manshah Ahirwar, 55, a Dalit farmer. His protracted illness forced her to
take on the task of looking after the large family. The six acres of rocky agricultural land didn't provide enough to feed the family. After he
died on November 11, Charanshah had to arrange his funeral herself. Recalling the incident, a relative Prakashrani says, "Charanshah
asked family members to accompany the body with a band and orchestra. But as no one took her seriously, she lapsed into silence."

Most "eyewitnesses" are confident Charanshah committed sati, but since they all tend to glorify such suicides, it is difficult to say what
really happened. Says her son Shishupal: "She circumambulated the lit pyre four times, folded her hands and then climbed on to it without
screaming or shouting. Before we could rush to rescue her, she was burnt to ashes."

The news of the "sati" spread faster than the blaze that engulfed her and people immediately began converging on the spot. By the time
the Additional District Magistrate Chintamani and SP Ravi Kumar reached the spot--they were informed only in the evening--nearly 2,000
people from adjoining villages had already gathered at the site.

Satpura was witnessing a frenzy of religious ritual and activity. Myth and superstition overtook rationality and humanity. The police
stepped in to try and stem the hysteria created by the incident. It cordoned off the area and detained five members of the family, some of
whom said the police was using force. "The police forced us to say that Charanshah was insane and she committed suicide," her son
Shishupal told media people. Three days later, the police registered a case of suicide--believe it or not--against the dead Charanshah.

In order to play down the episode, H.R. Phogat, DIG Chitrakoot Dham, has warned the people against glorifying the incident. The
police claim to have received the inquiry report which declared that the widow was insane and suffered hysterical fits. But it has failed to
produce any medical reports to corroborate the claim. Reacting to the incident, S.P. Srivastava, IG (crime), says, "The incident and its
glorification by the people establishes the fact that myths and superstitions are so deeply rooted in our society that reforms have not
reached them." He further said it was a simple case of suicide by a woman, but had been blown out of proportion as a case of sati by the
locals.

Sati or suicide, a new lore has been added to the innumerable sati tales in the region, which has seen nearly 25 women burn themselves
on their husbands' pyres in as many years. Javitri Devi of Jaari, a small village in Banda district, is one of the prominent ones. A huge
temple was built in 1979 in her memory from the money collected in the impoverished village which did not even have a dispensary.
Rameshwar Prasad, the temple's priest, says on an average 15 people visit the "sati mandir" and during Navratri thousands come to "seek
blessings from the satimata". Several such sati mandirs and chabutaras dot the region's landscape, which has few other essential
amenities.

After Rajasthan, Bundelkhand has had the maximum number of sati incidents in the country, with the three districts of Mahoba, Banda
and Hamirpur accounting for more than a dozen.

The practice is linked to the socioeconomic backwardness of the region, where there are few schools and the nearest hospital is
hundreds of miles away. Manshah had to go to a town in Madhya Pradesh for treatment. Social reform movements have yet to make a dent
in the region and the status of women is dismal. "Being a widow is perceived as a disgrace, while sati culture is glorified," says Kusuma
Kushwaha, a city corporator, who added that in this situation it should not be surprising if anyone commits suicide or sati.

Till a few years ago, even the district administration ignored the practice. One of Jaari residents recalls that when the Javitri Devi
incident took place nearly 20 years ago, the police had actually made arrangements for the people to have darshan of the sati mandir and the
Transport Department had issued special permits for the Jaari route for the buses. Nor has it ever discouraged the people from visiting sati
temples and chabutaras in Banda and Mahoba. The Bundelkhandis also have a tradition where a couple visits a sati temple immediately
after their marriage and the bride promises the satimata she will stay with her husband throughout her life and thereafter do "as you did".

What's amazing is that even educated people in the region find nothing wrong with such customs. "All this is a part of our tradition and
customs," says Anil Upadhyaya, former principal of a degree college and a local historian, who actually defended sati and condemned the
government for interfering in "voluntary sati". In fact, the people of the region are proud that they have given so many satimatas. They
seem to have the support of local politicians in this. Jeevan Lal Chaurasia, a BSP leader from the region, demanded that the people be
allowed to worship the spot where Charanshah died and called upon the police to "stop interfering in religious faith of the people".
Obviously, a comment made with an eye on the vast Dalit Hindu vote bank. In fact, most local politicians have stopped short of
condemning the glorification of the incident.

As the crowds keep coming, the district administration is vigilant. A riot-control vehicle, two extra contingents of the PAC and a huge
posse of policemen have been deployed. But local people are unfazed by these measures. "Main to yahan per sati mandir banwaoonga" ("I
will get a sati mandir made here"), says Charanshah's nephew Garibe. Force is obviously not the weapon to fight a mindset like that.

* * *

ROOP KANWAR: NOTHING BUT EMBERS

Twelve Years Ago They Cheered As She Burnt on Her Husband's Pyre. She's Now a Faint Memory.

The forlorn platform of bricks and stone, the worn out red "chunri" and the thick layer of dust and cobwebs on the conches and bells
bear testimony to the fact that not many people visit the place. The police have ensured at least that.

But 12 years ago, this bit of land--a Rajput cremation ground in Deorala village in Rajasthan's Sikar district--had exploded into
prominence when an 18-year-old widow Roop Kanwar burnt herself to death on her husband's funeral pyre as a frenzied mob applauded.
Police say Kanwar was forced by her in-laws to die with her husband.

Since the incident first hit the headlines and seared the conscience of a nation, policemen maintain a constant vigil at the site to prevent
the people from glorifying it. But it's difficult to change the way people think. Secretly they still worship her as satimata.

Whenever locals pass by, they bow their heads in reverence. Some even call on Sumer Singh, Roop Kanwar's father-in-law and the
main accused in the case registered after the incident. They also take a look at her room, where a huge colour photograph of the dead
couple stares down at them.

The Satpura incident has revived memories of Roop Kanwar's death. Though her in-laws have been charged with forcing her on the
pyre, village elders insist it was sati. "A forced burning could never invite respect from the masses," says a ex-serviceman who watched
Kanwar on the pyre. "In Rajasthan sati is as glorious as braving death in war." Says Thakur Onkar Singh Babra, a retired IAS officer in
Jaipur: "Banning glorification is no solution, only education can prevent such instances that are not really a part of our tradition."

At the site of the gruesome incident, the canisters from which ghee was poured by the kilos lie rusted and broken now. But once they
kept the pyre ablaze. Sati or murder--the sight of someone being burnt alive only evokes horror, but numbed by custom the crowds had
cheered. As they are doing now in Satpura.--Rohit Parihar