Before The Death Throes

By Tulsi Swarna Lakshmi

“At the temples of eternal Lord Civa,
Of the beautiful six-faced Muruka
Of the white complexioned Baladeva
Of the blue-skinned Tirumal,
And of Indra whose parasol
Was decked with strings of pearls,
Vedic rites by Brahman prescribed
Were without a flaw observed.

To the four orders of heavenly spirits,
The eighteen kinds o aerial spirits,
And the numerous indigenous deities
Were offered special ceremonies of worship.”

– Ilango Adigal, Cilappathikaram

People, whether primitive or modern, instinctively align themselves with collective practices, beliefs, philosophies, taboos, myths, and lore that distinguish one group from another – a tendency known in anthropology as schismogenesis. These cultural elements are passed down through generations, often without conscious deliberation or inner exploration. They are thrust upon individuals by birth or adapted in response to economic, social, and political challenges and possibilities associated with their chosen identity. The frictions and affiliations between different groups define any society.

Even today, primitive societies possess a rawness that many find attractive. Some individuals embrace these practices with fervent belief, while others revel in them as cultural spectacles. These inherited practices and beliefs actively shape our worldviews, behaviors, and sense of self. As we navigate life’s complexities, we adapt to and adopt various cultural elements in response to the challenges and opportunities that come with our identities. Modern society, despite its technological advancements and global interconnectedness, often works to preserve certain traditional practices. This preservation can serve as a method of social control, maintaining established power structures and ideologies.

This ‘chiseled’ image shows only the feet of three men – our eyes are instinctively drawn to the sickle, held firmly by one of them. The sickle seems almost like an extension of his hand, and the earth appears to expand from his firmly rooted black legs. In the background, a decoratively dressed crowd suggests the gathering is for an event. While the event could be any occasion, the presence of the sickle indicates its ritualistic nature, further emphasized by the stark ash markings signifying that it has undergone some form of pooja, hinting at a sacrificial ritual.

This image contrasts with often sensationalized depictions of cultural practices deemed “photo-worthy.” Typically, photographers approach such events with a predetermined narrative, seeking to capture images that will shock or awe their audience. The result is frequently a collection of gruesome, blood-tainted images presented with a romanticized tint, either decrying the practice’s cruelty or celebrating it as a natural habit of former hunters and gatherers. However, the photograph in question takes a different approach. It is neither sensational nor merely illustrative. Instead, it encourages the viewer to look deeper, to question the complex web of historical, cultural, and personal factors embedded in the scene.

Photographs have long served to illustrate narratives, providing visual evidence to support textual descriptions. Often, spectacular or deeply tragic photographs are designed to provoke an immediate emotional response—awe, shock, or sorrow. Over time, our ability to read such images has been conditioned to elicit expected reactions.

Moving beyond this surface-level engagement requires a different approach. Rarely are photographs created with the explicit intent to provoke further analysis of the social, political, and cultural aspects that led to their creation. Unveiling the hidden narrative behind such images requires extensive research—not only of the society depicted but also of the artist and their journey.

The work of Abul Kalam Azad exemplifies this more nuanced approach to photography. Even during his brief stint as a photojournalist, Azad consistently avoided capturing sensational works. His series “Divine Façade,” created after the Babri Masjid collapse, doesn’t directly reference the controversial event. Instead, it contrasts humans with built heritage, challenging viewers to reconsider their priorities and passions.

This approach differs from many colonial-era photographs, where human subjects were often dwarfed by monumental architecture, emphasizing the grandeur of buildings over people’s lives. Through his conceptual work, Azad questions these misplaced passions and priorities, highlighting ongoing societal issues that persist beneath the surface of spectacular events. Other series by Azad, such as “Dal Lake” (created during the Hazrat Bal siege) and “Three Lovers” (produced during a deeply personal period in the artist’s life), further demonstrate his commitment to provoking thought rather than merely illustrating events or creating spectacle.

The image before us freezes a pivotal moment in a sacrificial ritual, a practice deeply rooted in human history and still alive in pockets of our modern world. The rituals we see echoed in this photograph resonate with practices observed in Afro-Arabian and Mediterranean cultures, creating a mosaic of shared human experience. From the blood-soaked altars of Aztec temples to the sacred groves of pre-dynastic Egypt, from the sacrificial fires of early Mesopotamia to the ritual slaughter described in the Old Testament, we see a common thread of cultural resonance expressed through offering.

Today, we might witness similar scenes unfolding in the depths of the Amazon rainforest, in certain African tribal communities, or among isolated groups in Papua New Guinea. In South India, parallel practices among Hindu and Muslim communities in Kerala and Tamil Nadu illustrate the pervasive nature of sacrificial rituals across religious boundaries. Yet, as we delve deeper into the image, we notice distinctive elements that set it apart. The presence of a specific ash tri-mark on the sickle speaks to a particular cultural context. In contemporary terms, these features are associated with Hindu identity and Saiva factions.

However, it would be an oversimplification to label this scene as strictly Hindu-Saiva. As has been repeatedly asserted, the Hinduism we know today did not exist in ancient Tamilakam. Instead, the religious landscape was a vibrant mosaic of pagan practices and mother goddess fertility cults. What we observe in this image is the result of centuries of evolution, an amalgamation and appropriation of contemporary Hinduism – a reflection of the dynamic nature of religious practices and their ability to adapt to changing social and cultural contexts. This evolution is not unique to South Asia but is observed globally. The fundamental principles and group mentalities that once bound tribal factions have taken new forms, expressions, and names across various cultures. This social progression can be viewed as both linear and spiral, with ancient practices finding new life, meaning, and representation in modern contexts.

This photograph, then, is not merely a snapshot of a ritual. It’s a window into the complex interplay of tradition and transformation, a visual narrative of how ancient beliefs find new expressions in the modern world. For instance, the ancient Egyptian practice of mummification has parallels in modern cryonics, while the Roman practice of augury finds echoes in contemporary fortune-telling methods. The Aztec ritual of human sacrifice to ensure the sun’s daily rise has transformed into metaphorical sacrifices in various modern religions. These examples illustrate how primitive practices evolve and adapt to new cultural contexts while retaining their essential functions, demonstrating the remarkable resilience and adaptability of human belief systems across time and space.

There are no taints of blood on the sickle. Nor does the ground show traces of a life having ended. These absences mean that the ritual killing is yet to come. That way, the photograph captures a moment of anticipation before the sacrifice. The posed stances of the men and the angle of the crowd indicate that the focal point of the event lies just beyond the frame, to their right. The image conveys a mood of assured, restful waiting. There’s little movement or agitation visible; everyone present seems to understand their role in the unfolding drama. This sense of calm belies the intense mental and physical ordeals that many participants will soon undergo.

Devotees who have participated in preparatory rituals and fasting will later engage in acts of extreme devotion. Some will walk to the temple dressed in yellow or red, their bodies pierced with needles. Others will carry fire-pots, subjecting themselves to intense heat and pain. These acts of self-mortification are seen as a way to gain the favor of the gods or to avert their anger.

The ritual itself follows a prescribed sequence. Idols of the gods will be carried to a designated pavilion. The sacrificial animal—be it a goat, buffalo, or cow—will be ritually asked if it is willing to be sacrificed. This step, which may seem strange to modern sensibilities, represents an important evolution in sacrificial practices.

In the past, the panic and stress induced in the animal during sacrifice were thought to release harmful hormones, potentially tainting the offering. The current practice, with its emphasis on the animal’s willingness, attempts to address this concern. It is also made comfortable – and be fed as it stands in the center of the crowd. Though symbolic, this progression from earlier, more barbaric practices shows how religious rituals can evolve in response to changing social norms and scientific understanding. It’s a fascinating example of how religion and science can intersect, reflecting and influencing each other in both historical and contemporary contexts.

Once the sacrificial animal has symbolically granted its permission, in today’s South India, a non-Brahmin priest from a traditional family performs the ritual. It’s noteworthy that Brahmins once led these ceremonies. The priest, having undergone fasting and purification, executes the act swiftly and decisively—the animal’s head must be severed in a single swing of the sickle. Any misstep is considered a grave error before the gods, potentially resulting in a curse. The suddenness also means that the animal being sacrificed isn’t alerted to the possibility of being killed.

Following the sacrifice, attention shifts to another powerful symbol of devotion and purification: fire. A pyre prepared by the gathered men will be lit, and – men and women and children – devotees will walk across eight feet of hot coals. This act of faith and endurance serves as a powerful climax to the ritual, embodying the transformative power of devotion and the willingness of believers to endure hardship for their convictions.

By presenting this scene in a rather non-dramatic way, Abul Kalam Azad encourages viewers to question the naturalness of current social constructs. He urges us to look beyond peripheral narratives and analyze the layers of identities we cling to. In doing so, he suggests that shattering these social constructs—or at least examining them critically—may be the only way forward for a society grappling with the legacy of its past and the challenges of its present.

One of the most striking aspects of the photograph is what it doesn’t show. There’s no overt violence, no blood, no visible suffering. Instead, we see men in a ready-to-kill posture, awaiting devotees who will soon walk through fire. This representation of an unfolding act of pain and suffering, captured in a moment of calm anticipation, creates a powerful tension.

The absence of the sacrificial animal, the unperturbed crowd, the lack of blood on the iron-age tool—all these elements contribute to a sense of familiarity and normalcy that is almost unsettling. The presence of the young girl in the far-right corner, with her toy glasses and steady gaze, further normalizes the scene. It’s a reminder that what might seem ancient and superstitious to outsiders remains an integral part of many people’s lives and identities.

The image holds significance beyond its depiction of ritual practice. The iron sickle at the center of the frame is not just a ceremonial object; it’s a tangible link to the Iron Age, a pivotal period in human history. The classification of the Iron Age in South India has been a key factor in debates surrounding the Aryan invasion theory, a contentious topic in Indian historiography.

Recent archaeological evidence suggests an earlier onset of the Iron Age in South India, around 1000 BCE, than previously thought. This finding challenges the notion that Aryans triumphed over Dravidians due to their superior iron technology. This shift in understanding necessitates a reexamination of South India’s history, an aspect that Azad subtly encourages viewers to explore further through his work.

This seemingly simple photograph transforms into a potent symbol of human complexity. It depicts individuals who fiercely battle nature for survival while adhering to practices outsiders might deem archaic or unscientific. It portrays people who, despite acknowledging the sometimes brutal acts attributed to their deities, unite in celebration of these very gods.

Moreover, it portrays people willing to sacrifice their own comfort, and sometimes even their lives, for their convictions. Yet these same individuals often endure in silence as political and religious powers belittle and mock their very existence. In this way, the image embodies not only the specific ritual of sacrifice but also the broader conflicts, lives lost, and territories ravaged in the name of identity and belief.

Azad’s work encourages us to look beyond the surface, to question our assumptions, and to consider the deep historical and cultural currents that shape our world. In doing so, he challenges us to engage more deeply with the complexities of human culture and the enduring power of ‘sacrificial ritual’ in shaping our collective identity and the roles that men and women are called to fulfill within it.

This photograph feels ‘timeless’. Apart from the specific styles of dress—saris and dhotis being relatively recent innovations in the long sweep of human history—the scene captured could easily have taken place two thousand years ago. The rituals, the tools, the sense of communal purpose—all these elements have remained remarkably consistent over millennia.

The key distinction, however, may rest in the identity of the sacrificial figure. In ancient times, it wasn’t an animal offered, but a warrior or chieftain, ready to embrace self-sacrifice.