The Case of a Lost Community of Sixteenth-Century Vrindāvan

Hagiography and Community Formation: The

Case of a Lost Community of Sixteenth-Century

Vrindāvan

Heidi Pauwels

Abstract: This paper studies the link between hagiography and religiouscommunity formation, analysing how sectarian communities are ‘imagined’ inhagiography. The immediate purpose of this article is to look at hagiographiesabout the sixteenth-century Harirām Vyās to investigate why no sect formedaround him, but how he instead came to be claimed by different sectariangroups. The more general relevance of this article lies in its methodology of howto read hagiographies as a literature subject to issues of genre, formand redaction criticism, and intertextuality, and in tracing how religiouscommunities can be constructed and how they fail.

Imagining communities in the image of holy men

This paper is intended as a contribution to understanding religious community for-mation as revealed by the imaginative rhetorics of hagiographic works. It studieshow religious groupings legitimise themselves by affiliation with holy men andhow they go about ‘imagining’ this affiliation in stories in praise of holy men. Inreferring to ‘imagined communities’, I take, of course, my cue from BenedictAnderson’s inspiring work, in which he analyses nationality (nation-ness andnationalism) as ‘cultural artefacts of a particular kind. To understand them prop-erly we need to consider carefully how they have come into historical being, inwhat ways their meanings have changed over time’ ([1983] 1991, 4). I am proposingto do the same for religious communities.1 What I present here is a case study ofthe formation – or, rather, failure of formation – of one such religious communityand how it gets absorbed into others.

The term ‘imagining’ is not intended as negative. By Anderson’s definition, a com-munity is imagined because ‘the members . . . will never know most of their fellow-members, . . . yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion’ (6). Hemakes it very clear that he does not mean to assimilate ‘imagination’ to ‘invention’,‘fabrication’, and ‘falsity’. Likewise, when I borrow his concept with regard to Hindureligious communities, I do not mean to imply that their affiliations with holy menare untrue, let alone that the communities thus formed are not real. To call them

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‘imagined’ is intended to stress the process involved in their formation and the posi-tive role played by human creativity and ingenuity. In that sense, such an approachcelebrates the power of imagination and divine inspiration.2

The community I am analysing here is that of the devotees who were instrumen-tal in the ‘rediscovery’ and ‘colonisation’ of the sites of Kṛṣṇa’s pastoral life in Braj,the countryside around Mathurā (just north of Agra) in the sixteenth century.Many of them set up images of Kṛṣṇa and Rādhā for worship, for which, eventually,temples were built, which still stand as major centres of pilgrimage. Several of thesixteenth-century holy men came to be regarded as founders and organisers ofVaiṣṇava sects,3 most of which still exist today and in some cases, their membersare now even a familiar presence on urban streets in the West. Many of the holymen of Braj helped create a new vibrant literature in the vernacular of the newly‘rediscovered’ region, the language known as Braj Bhāṣā, and poured their poetictalents into devotional songs (padas) to be sung in front of the images they setup. These songs are still popular, not only in the context of private or temple wor-ship but even on the international concert scene. Much then of what marks thecontemporary religious landscape of North Indian Hinduism finds its origin inthe activities of these early-sixteenth-century holy men.

My focus is in particular on one of them, Harirām Vyās. Vyās is not the mostfamous of the Kṛṣṇa devotees or bhaktas. He is not a household name amongdevoted Vaiṣṇavas, nor are his songs part of the canon of Braj poetry. Still, thereis good reason to devote scholarly attention to him. Harirām Vyās created some ofthe most beautiful poetry in Braj and was a creative reinterpreter of majorVaiṣṇava scripture (see Pauwels 1996). Of historical interest is that he is an eyewit-ness of the influential cultural and religious events in the sixteenth century and hecomposed several poems in praise of contemporary holy men that reveal the reli-gious climate of the time. Finally, he is of special interest for this paper becauseVyās figures prominently in narratives about the sixteenth century that were writ-ten by later generations. Hagiographers frequently included Vyās in their recon-structions of the past. Both Vyās’s hagiographic poems and the hagiographiesabout him provide information that challenges commonly held ideas about themore famous sixteenth-century Kṛṣṇa poets.

Hagiographies: Seemingly simple, rather complex

Stories about the sixteenth-century saints are still told in the communities ima-gined in their likeness. Indeed, if we want to study how these communities are ima-gined, or how articulations of self-identity are construed, the major sources arehagiographies.4 Recently, there has been a lot of interest in this genre5 and onecan take from these excellent studies a clue about methodology and how to readsuch hagiographic texts. Yet too often hagiographies are quoted out of contextand on the basis of poorly established editions. Sadly the same mistakes are perpe-tuated over and over again. There is a need to explicitly address the problem and

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offer methodological suggestions for working with these sources. In this article, Iwant to share my experience about studying hagiographic literature about thesixteenth-century pioneers of Rādhā-Krishna devotion in the Braj region. I hopethat this case study will be useful for future students tackling similar questionsof community formation in other times and places.

Of course, hagiographies are not the only set of sources to turn to in order tostudy community formation. The early pioneers of sixteenth-century Braj left arecord of their devotional activities in their poetry in praise of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa,their commentaries on Sanskrit classics, and their theological digests on the majortenets of what they believed. Legal and official documents, if preserved, providemuch-needed reality checks about the realia of daily life (Habib 1996; Horstmann1999). These sources are important in their own right and for corroboration ofour findings from hagiographic sources.

Still, much of the currently accepted mainstream view of the period is based onthe full-fledged narratives about the holy men, that is, on hagiographies. It isimportant to keep in mind though that these narratives are retrospective, theystarted appearing first only about half a century later, at the end of the sixteenth,and the beginning of the seventeenth century. Moreover, they have not come to usdirectly, but mediated by an oral and manuscript tradition and eventually by edi-tions that have sought to promote a specific agenda.

These hagiographic stories may seem straightforward, even naïve, but they arequite complex, speaking on different levels at once. First, of course, they tell usabout the sixteenth-century holy men, who they were and how they were per-ceived by their contemporaries. This is what they are mostly read for. Second, theyalso impart information about those who do the telling. They tell us a lot abouttheir authors and about the view of sainthood they held. The stories also maybetray more specific concerns: what the authors felt defensive about and what theysought to propagate. In other words, the hagiographies show not only how theauthor and his community imagined the saint but also how they imagined them-selves. In the process of narration, identities are forged, or reforged, communitiesare created, or consolidated. Third, it is important to consider that the hagiogra-phies have been retold over time, recorded in manuscripts, and spread as printedbooks. Often, the communities that cared to preserve the hagiographies have lefttheir stamp on the work they ‘re-produced’.

Thus, there are three levels – the saint, the hagiographer, and the storyteller.This means that hagiographies need to be questioned on three levels. We canask to what extent a story is true – here we are enquiring about the saint andhis contemporaries. However, we should not stop there. We should also ask whya story was told the way it was for the first time – here we are investigating thehagiographer and the community in which he told the story. Finally, we shouldponder why anyone would care to retell (or, as the case may be, write down, print,or put on the web) the story, and, of course, why there is an audience for it – herewe are enquiring about the communities in which the hagiography is preserved.

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Thus, stories about holy men are also about the often less-than-holy men who ima-gined themselves to be their community of followers.

The case of Harirām Vyās

Hagiographies as lieux de mémoire: Saving Harirām Vyās from oblivion

Hagiographic stories could be called, to put it in Indian terms, ‘storehouses of mem-ory’ (smṛtikośa). They can be seen as repositories of community identity, or, totranslate into terms of current historical analysis, as lieux de mémoire: ‘any signifi-cant entity, whether material or non-material in nature, which by dint of humanwill or the work of time has become a symbolic element in the memorial heritageof any community’ (Nora 1996, xvii).6 A crucial aspect of such a lieu de mémoire isthat it ‘enables successive generations to mediate their cultural myths by inculcat-ing them with their desires’ (Nora 1996, xiii). In that respect hagiographies fit thedefinition of ‘sites of memory’. If we follow the evolution of the stories about asaint, or his hagiology, we may find it contains different layers of meaning. Fromeach one we can cull information regarding how the contemporary communityimagined itself ‘in the saint’s image’, so to speak. I have carried out the archaeolo-gical excavation of one such Hindu ‘site of memory’. I present here some resultsfrom my case study of the hagiology surrounding the sixteenth-century Hindu holyman and bhakta Harirām Vyās (2002).

The case of Vyās is interesting, because he is, if not forgotten, rather neglectedin currently prevalent narratives of the early-sixteenth-century pioneers in Vrin-dāvan. This is symptomatic of a wider problem. Our knowledge about early Braj asit stands now is a case of a ‘foregone conclusion’, to borrow the title of a work byBernstein (1994). We know of these developments mostly through the lens of thelater hagiographies that became ‘mainstream’. There is a double case of what Bern-stein calls ‘backshadowing’. Projected back onto the past are first the concerns ofthe seventeenth-century hagiographers and in a second layer those of the 20th-century scholars.

What is striking in the case of our knowledge about early Braj is that it is heavilycoloured by only some hagiographies. The best-known hagiographies are of coursethose of the sects that were most successful in building their communities. Herestand out the Vallabhans, and the Gauḍīyas, followers of the influential late-fifteenth to early-sixteenth-century pioneers, Vallabha and Caitanya, respectively.Also well known are those of an influential sect devoted to the god Rāma, theRāmānandīs. Naturally, the hagiographies of the sects with the most resourcesare distributed most widely and are the ones that are readily available (on the dis-tribution of the Gauḍīya texts, see Dimock and Stewart 1999, 51–76). Some of themhave even been translated into English. It is not surprising that they have influ-enced the current picture we have of Braj. So far, scholarly literature onthe construction of sectarian identity has focused on the major groupings,


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the Rāmānanda-, Vallabha-, and Gauḍīya-sampradāya (Burghart 1978; Pinch 1996,1999; Barz 1992; Dimock and Stewart 1999; Stewart 1991, 1997).7 These are exam-ples of success in sectarian formation, given the prominence of these sampradāyasuntil the present time.

Important as the hagiographies of these sects may be, we should not let themmonopolise the narrative of the past. To avoid the hegemony of the successful,it is imperative that alternative narratives are made available, the stories of fail-ures and abortive movements. By studying the neglected Vyās I revisit six-teenth-century Vrindāvan to look at the unrealised possibilities of the past –what Morson and Bernstein call ‘sideshadowing’ (Bernstein 1994, 1–8). Instead offocusing on the figures most illuminated by the prevailing narratives, those whoflourish in the glare of actuality, I concentrate on one of those who hover aroundin the shadows. I seek to recover a voice from the margins, the little-heard voice ofa bhakta who was prominently present on the Vrindāvan scene at the time but whonever came to be part of the mainstream. Harirām Vyās is one of the few who left arecord not only of his devotion for Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa but also of his admiration forhis contemporaries (I have edited this as Vyās Bhakt-stuti, Pauwels 2002). He is aneyewitness, an insider, yet at the same time also an outsider, because he wouldhave no part in the newly institutionalising sects. He ‘imagined’, not a sectariancommunity, but one that was much broader based. He was in favour of a brother-hood of like-minded devotees and was bitterly disappointed by the growing sectar-ian rivalry.

Rather than studying how the hagiographies of the major sects succeeded increating communities, I propose to focus on the negative example, on the missedchance, the community that failed to form. Harirām Vyās makes for an excellentcase study, since he is the odd man out of three. He is part of a group of threeof the early pioneers who settled in Vrindāvan in the 1530s, called ‘the three Haris’,or Hari-trayī, together with his friends Hit Harivaṃś and Svāmī Haridās, regardedas founders or the Rādhāvallabha- and Haridāsa-sampradāya, respectively.8 Out ofthe three, Vyās is the only one who did not come to be regarded as the founder of aseparate sect, although he has arguably the same qualifications as his two friends.All three took up residence in Vrindāvan and have their samādhi (tomb) there, allthree set up an image of Kṛṣṇa for worship, and all three experienced a devotionalfervour that they expressed in a corpus of inspired poetry. In fact, Vyās’s poeticoeuvre is the largest of the three. The number of songs (padas) ascribed to him,as collected in anthologies of his works, called ‘Utterance of Vyās’, or Vyās Vāṇī,varies from 550 to 800, that of gnomic distichs (sākhīs) from 84 to 150. In contrast,only padas have been ascribed to the other two: 111 to Harivaṃś and 128 to Har-idās.9 So, even according to the more conservative estimates, Vyās’s oeuvre easilyeclipsed that of the other two poets. Why then, did no community form thatregarded Vyās as its founder?

Thus, the immediate purpose of this article is to look at hagiographies aboutHarirām Vyās to investigate why no community formed around him. I have already

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provided an alternative view of the pioneering generation in Vrindāvan by lookingat hagiographic poems by Vyās about his contemporaries (Pauwels 2009b), here Iam looking at hagiographies about him. The more general relevance of this articlelies in its methodology of how to read hagiographies and in tracing how religiouscommunities can be constructed and how they fail.

A fresh approach to thorny issues of sectarian appropriation

In studies of Braj literature since the nineteenth century, Harirām Vyās is onlymentioned in passing and usually classified as a follower of Harivaṃś (Growse[1873–74] 1880, 200; McGregor 1984, 90–1; Entwistle 1987, 169). To support this,scholarship on Vyās in Hindī is quoted. However, one should be aware that theHindī literature is influenced by partisans of one of the two sects interested inclaiming him as their own, the Rādhāvallabhans and Mādhva-Gauḍīyas (e.g., Snātak1957, 365–406; Bansal 1980, 244–56, respectively). These interest groups in the1930s produced each an edition of Vyās’s works.10 In the 1950s appeared a thirdinfluential edition with excellent scholarly introduction, published by one of Vyās’sdescendants residing in Datiyā, Vāsudev Gosvāmī (Gosvāmī 1952). This is a work ofmuch erudition, based on a lifetime of research on the topic, and has rightlyremained the basic source for the past five or so decades. However, the authortoo, as a descendant of Vyās, had a stake in the debate. Moreover, since its publica-tion new material has become available, which warrants an update not only of Vyāsscholarship but also of our view of the first generation of bhaktas in Braj.11

Previous scholarship has concentrated on the question of Vyās’s guru and, con-sequently, which sect he could be claimed to belong to. The amount of ink expendedover that question is quite disproportionate to its interest, as there are other aspectsof Vyās’s life and legend worthy of study. My focus is different. I am building on myearlier work, where I have focused on the community Vyās imagined himselfbelonging to, that is both which saints he associated with in Vrindāvan and withwhom of his historical predecessors he imagined an association (Pauwels 2009b).In this article I go further by determining what communities others imaginedhim to belong to and how they went about including Vyās in their community.So, the hagiographic sources about Vyās are analysed not so much for how theyprove or disprove one sectarian claim or another. Rather, I seek to establish howVyās is remembered in those texts and to compare that with how he appears fromhis own work. At the same time, I am looking at the hagiographies for clues regard-ing the reason for the absence of a Vyāsa-sampradāya. Thus, I expand the range ofquestions asked and ask questions at a different level.

In methodology too, there is room for improvement. So far, research on Vyās (ason other bhaktas) has been a matter of fact-finding, without much attention forhagiographic discourse. One could say, to draw a parallel with Western biblical stu-dies, that Vyās scholarship is stuck at the level of ‘the First Jesus Quest’. Mostly,hagiographies have been taken for granted as sources for historical knowledge.


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In contrast, my concern is to determine what is known about the hagiographiesthemselves. To understand the information provided by these texts, it is crucialto know who sponsored their creation and preservation and to what goal. It isimperative to analyse them for general bhakti hagiographic discourse, identifyingwhich elements in the hagiography are determined by the model of the ideal saintthe hagiographer had in mind. The hagiographers were working within a literarygenre, sometimes borrowing wholesale from other texts, sometimes merely allud-ing to them more obliquely. Narrative criticism will reveal formal, structural, andrhetorical perspectives of the stories. Identifying issues of intertextuality helps tounderstand fully the discourse of the hagiographers. Thus, the questions I askregard the historical relation between the different hagiographies, identificationof the smallest units and hagiographic themes, comparison of ‘doublets’, identifi-cation of sectarian redaction, and analysis of the hagiographers’ discourse. Onlywhen these layers of the hagiographies have been fully understood does it makesense to turn to the historicity of the saint’s life. Here, extrapolation from hagio-graphic sources and corroboration from newly discovered historical documentsbring new evidence to bear on the controversial issues regarding Vyās’s guruand offer possible explanations for the absence of a separate sect with Vyās asfounder.

Thus, the structure of the paper is as follows. First, I survey the hagiographiesabout Vyās, and as is the case for many other saints, these texts have not been pre-viously studied, some have not even been edited. To fully understand these sources,one needs to situate them in their sectarian context, addressing issues of patron-age, audience, and preservation.

Once the sources are carefully established, I turn to tracing the evolution of thelegend of Vyās. I touch subsequently upon each level the hagiographers addressed:general bhakti discourse, specific sectarian discourse and, finally, the historical facton which all this may be superimposed.

The general bhakti discourse section looks at the way Vyās’s life has come to beremembered as exemplary and how he himself came to be regarded as a saint, bystudying how the hagiographers have applied traditional hagiographic topoi to hisstory. This section studies the ‘texture’ of the hagiographies, the conventions of thegenre.

The sectarian background section concentrates on the question of which com-munities Vyās is imagined to belong to. How did he get appropriated by the hagio-graphers for their own purpose? I analyse the processes by which specific sectarianconcerns came to be projected onto Vyās and compare the sectarian rhetorics ofthe different sects. Here the focus is on the specific agendas of the individualauthors.

Finally, after thus tracing the evolution of the legend of Vyās, I turn to the his-torical facts surfacing in the stories. What was remembered about Vyās and howdoes that contribute to our knowledge of community formation? Here the methodis extrapolation from the hagiographic sources and corroboration with manuscripts

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and historical documents. This allows us to speculate about the reasons for theabsence of a Vyāsa-sampradāya and what we can learn about why some commu-nities fail and others thrive. I hasten to add that sifting the hagiographic materialfor underlying history is not intended to discredit the legend. After all, it is oftenthe legend that best highlights the underlying devotional significance of the sub-ject’s life and works.

The sources: Hagiographies and their sectarian background

There is an abundance of sources containing hagiographic stories about Vyās, toomuch to reproduce here exhaustively. Most of those stories have not been studiedcarefully, yet it is misleading to accept them at face value as pious sources of infor-mation, as is too often still done. To fully understand each hagiography on its ownterms, one needs to collect details about its author and his motivation for writing,including for whom – who the audience and/or patron was – or against whom – ifthe author takes a polemical or apologetical stance. Moreover, one should, as far aspossible, pay attention to the transmission of the hagiography and the circum-stances of its manuscript preservation and its edition. Soon we discover that thecontroversy about Vyās’s sectarian allegiance from the 1930s has deeper roots.In order to understand each hagiography in its sectarian context, I have classifiedthe sources by their sectarian affiliation.

Hagiographies of the Rādhāvallabha-sampradāya

Vyās’s close friend, Harivaṃś, came to be regarded as the founder of a sect knownas the Rādhāvallabha-sampradāya. Hagiographers of this sect have been mostprolific in generating stories about Vyās. Early on, they appropriated Vyās’scharisma for their sect by claiming that Vyās regarded their founder as his guru.They were very successful in their assertion, to the extent that it eventually wasaccepted by colonial writers, such as Growse ([1873–74] 1880, 200), who unquestio-ningly characterise Vyās as a follower of Harivaṃś.

The most influential and possibly the earliest work expressing the Rādhāvallab-han claim is Rasik-ananya-māl. Its influence lies not only in its sectarian agenda. Asthe earliest full narrative of Vyās’s life, it has set a trend for later hagiographies.Thus, its story line is still widely prevalent, and for this reason it deserves adetailed introduction. The work most likely dates from around 1650 and is usuallyascribed to Bhagvatmudit (Snell 1991, 15–16). Bhagvatmudit was initiated into theGauḍīya-sampradāya,12 and this affiliation is cited by the Rādhāvallabhans in orderto stress the value of the work as a non-partisan source. They argue that the Rād-hāvallabhan claim on Vyās must be true if someone from the rival sect affirms it.Yet, Rasik-ananya-māl obviously has the intention of establishing Harivaṃś’s prior-ity and does so directly as well as indirectly. It describes only saints that it regardsas followers of Harivaṃś. It also has an introductory Dohā in praise of Harivaṃś at


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the beginning of every chapter (parcaī). Only the dedication (mangalācaraṇa) at thebeginning of the work and, significantly, the introduction to the chapter aboutVyās mention Caitanya.

The seeming incongruity of a split allegiance of the hagiographer to Rādhāval-labha- and Gauḍīya-sampradāya has led to suspicions of erroneous ascription ormodification of the text.13 Such speculations too are coloured by modern sectariancontroversy and have not yet been confirmed by manuscript research.14 The workhas been edited several times by Rādhāvallabhan editors for devotional purposes. Iuse one of these popular Rādhāvallabhan editions (e.g., Purohit [1960] 1986).

Hagiographies of the Mādhva-Gauḍīya-sampradāya

The major challenge to the Rādhāvallabhan claim on Vyās comes from those whosee themselves to be in the Gauḍīya tradition. In his poetry, Vyās had praised hiscontemporary residents of Vrindāvan, the Caitanya followers Rūpa and Sanātana.However, the claim that he would have been initiated in the sect is late and seemsto date from the time that some followers of Caitanya had aligned themselves withthe Mādhva-sampradāya (see Entwistle 1987, 192–3).

The earliest evidence is found in a work that is attributed to the second half ofthe eighteenth century, the so-called Banglā bhakt-māl.15 The author is a KṛṣṇadāsBābā (or some claim Lāldās),16 who reportedly belonged to the guru-paraṃparā ofŚrīnivāsācārya (Tony Stewart, personal communication, 18 December 2000). Thework seems to be a Bengālī paraphrase of the authoritative Bhakt-māl by Nābhādāscum Priyādās’s commentary (see below). However, in the process the authoradapted it for his own sectarian purposes. He seems to have been partial to theGauḍīya position that asserted Mādhva affiliation since he claimed that Vyāsbelonged to the Mādhva sect.17

While it might be an overstatement to call the hagiography as a whole polem-ical, it contains at least one other controversial passage. Kṛṣṇadās claims thatHarivaṃś was a follower of Caitanya’s disciple Gopāl Bhaṭṭ, but that he wasexcommunicated by his guru because of a disagreement about the importance ofa Vaiṣṇava fast called ekādaśī vrata (Snell 1991, 25–7). From this, it appears thatthe hagiographer had an orthodox axe to grind, which turned anti-Rādhāvallab-han.18 So, though it is not clear what audience Kṛṣṇadās wrote for,19 it seemsobvious whom he wrote against. The offended party, the Rādhāvallabhans, have feltthe need to address the issue and, at least since the 1950s, frequently quote thisBengālī source in their scholarship to refute it.

The issue of the relation between Rādhāvallabhans and Gauḍīyas is capable ofunleashing strong passions, as is well exemplified by the case of a nineteenth-cen-tury Gauḍīya, a descendant of Gopāl Bhaṭṭ, Rādhācaraṇ Gosvāmī. He was taken tocourt in 1888 for defamation because he had written in a publication that Harivaṃśwas initiated by Gopāl Bhāṭṭ (Snātak 1957, 104–5; Snell 1991, 25 n. 4). This anecdoteis relevant here because Rādhācaraṇ lost the case and was made to revoke his

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claims because of lack of proof. Apparently, he did not know or chose not to quotethe Banglā Bhakt-māl passage on Harivaṃś. It may well be that the work was rela-tively unknown in that period in the Hindī area. Because of its controversial nature,a full study and critical edition of the work would be very welcome. I have relied onan edition that claims to be a correction of earlier printed versions and to be basedon one (unspecified) manuscript (Lahilī 1905).20 The editor includes the controver-sial passages, but in his preface, he feels the need to point out that the appropria-tion of Harivaṃś is false. His apologetical tone may well be inspired by thedefamation case of Rādhācaraṇ Gosvāmī a decade or two earlier. However, appar-ently the appropriation of Vyās had not called for the same emotional reaction, andthe editor does not apologise for including that element.

Hagiographies of the Haridāsa-sampradāya

Vyās’s other close friend, Svāmī Haridās, came to be regarded as founder of a newsect, the Haridāsa-sampradāya. Already in the sixteenth century, some of the mem-bers of the sect wrote eulogistic verses about Vyās, but from the mid-eighteenthcentury onwards, the stories about Vyās became more elaborate.

The first lengthy prose description of Vyās dates from late in the eighteenthcentury. It is found in the middle part (madhya khaṇḍa) of Nij-mat-siddhānt, a con-troversial hagiography dated 1763. The author, Kiśordās, collected oral traditionsabout the sect and its founder (Haynes 1974, 122–4).

It is important to realise that Kiśordās belonged to the ascetic (sādhu) branch ofthe Haridāsīs. The ascetics caused a sectarian schism when one of their leaders,Lalitkiśorīdev, founded a separate group around 1700.21 With his own followershe settled in a sandy wilderness near the Yamunā, which was fenced off with bam-boo screens and hence known as Taṭṭī Saṃsthān. The conflict between house-holders and ascetics took on rather mafia-like characteristics in connection witha related controversy regarding the image Bānke Bihārī. This image was in the careof the Gosvāmīs. Apparently, at the end of the seventeenth century, there was anattempt of theft on behalf of the ascetics (Haynes 1974, 106–7). There are many ver-sions of the story, but what all agree on is that the conflict turned violent (Entwis-tle 1987, 180).

One of the controversies between the Gosvāmīs and the ascetics concerned thespiritual allegiance of their founder-saint, Haridās. This issue became a bone ofcontention when the Jaipur king Jai Singh started pressing the different sectariangroups in Braj to confirm their sectarian credentials. The ascetics were in favour ofa link with the Nimbārka-sampradāya and wrote treatises to establish a philosophi-cal affiliation (Entwistle 1987, 156, 194).

Kiśordās’s guru Pītāmbardās is reputed to have defended the legitimacy of theHaridāsī ascetics at one of the debates organised by Jai Singh (Entwistle 1987,194). Following the example of his guru, Kiśordās’s main concern too was pressingthe claims of the ascetic branch against that of the householder Gosvāmīs. However


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rather than writing philosophical treatises, he worked on rewriting the history ofthe sampradāya in his hagiography.

This polemical stance is apparent in Kiśordās’s work when he goes as far as toaccuse the Gosvāmīs of an attack on the life of the prestigious ascetic leader Bihār-inidās (Nij-mat-siddhānt, avasān khaṇḍ, 98). Kiśordās also picked a fight with his con-temporary Rādhāvallabhans by publicising that some of the latter’s disciples haddefected to his own group (Gosvāmī 1952, 61). He did not skip any occasion to stressHaridās’s exceptional charisma. One famous example from his work is his story ofthe meeting of the famous musician Tānsen and the emperor Akbar with Haridāsand their acceptance of him as their guru (Delvoye 2001, 241–3; Rosenstein 1997,16–17). In short, Kiśordās’s work has to be understood as pushing an outspoken sec-tarian agenda.

While several of the stories as told by Kiśordās have become popular, his work isnot widely available because of the exclusivist attitude of the sect. Till the nine-teenth century, Haridāsīs were reluctant to circulate works regarded as ‘sacredutterance’ outside local circles. Their major works were published only at thebeginning of the 20th century. This happened within the context of a sectarian‘revival’ agenda, under the influence of the ascetics. At that time, Taṭṭī Saṃsthānhad a liberal mahant, Bhagvāndās, who secured the sponsorship of his rich followerHargulāl. They sponsored such reform-minded projects as a tuberculosis sanitor-ium (Mītal 1968, 553). It was Bhagvāndās who saw to it that Nij-mat-siddhānt waspublished in the 1910s (Kedarnāth 1911, 1915). Thus, the edition is implicatedfurther in the early-20th-century reform movement.

Vyās’s veneration for Haridās is further elaborated upon in several sections (pra-sangas) of Lalit-prakāś. This hagiography was written early in the nineteenth cen-tury, as an elaboration of Nij-mat-siddhānt. Its author was Sahcarīśaraṇ orSakhīśaraṇ, who also belonged to the ascetic branch. He was the mahant of TaṭṭīSaṃsthān from 1821 and authored several other polemic ‘histories’ of the sect, eachtime taking Nij-mat-siddhānt as his point of departure (Entwistle 1987, 221; Mītal1968, 480). Like the other works, this text too was published at the behest of thereform-minded mahant Bhagvāndās in the beginning of the 20th century (Caturvedī1931; for background, see Mītal 1968, 552). Thus, while reading the Haridāsī hagio-graphies, one needs to be aware not only of the inter- and intrasectarian rivalriesunderlying the motivations of the authors, but also of the reform agenda of theearly-20th-century patrons of their publications.

Hagiographies without sectarian interest in Vyās

It comes as a relief to find that several other hagiographers did not bother aboutthese sectarian controversies, even when initiated in one of the sects that had aninterest in Vyās. One such ‘neutral’ source with regard to rivalry between Kṛṣṇaitegroups dates from the late-sixteenth to early-seventeenth century: the famousBhakt-māl, written by the great hagiographer Nābhādās (or Nārāyaṇdās, see Pinch

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1999, 383).22 Notwithstanding his fame, the historical Nābhā has remained ashadowy figure. According to the hagiographers, he was of low caste (some say bar-dic, others Dom), abandoned by his parents in childhood, but adopted by Rāmā-nandī sādhus and raised in the monastery at Galta, which was sponsored by theroyalty from nearby Amer (Pinch 1999, 367–8 and 383–8). Nābhādās identifies hisguru and source of inspiration for his work as Agradās for whom he gives a pedi-gree tracing back to Rāmānuja via Rāmānanda.

One of the major agendas of Nābhādās was to establish the credentials of hissect, the Rāmānandī-sampradāya. Yet, he included in his work bhaktas from allsects (for his Vaiṣṇava catholicism, see Pinch 1999, 394–9) and devoted one verseChappāī (92) to Vyās.23 The major problem with Bhakt-māl is that its Chappāīsare terse. They allude to the main incidents in the lives of the holy men eulogised,but are often cryptic.

Since Bhakt-māl is so cryptic, most editions of this work combine it with the mostfamous commentary, Bhakti-ras-bodhinī by Priyādās. This work is datable to 1712(Gupta 1969, 59). Priyādās is selective and does not comment on all of Nābhā’sChappāīs, and sometimes he is quite brief. However, he has devoted no fewer thansix Kavittas to the life story of Vyās. Although he belonged to the Gauḍīya-sampra-dāya, he did not elaborate on the guru question.24

Vyās figures prominently in a mid-eighteenth-century prose hagiography, Pad-prasang-mālā. This work is attributed to Sāvant Singh of Kishangarh (1699–1764/5),whose pen-name was Nāgrīdās. He was the crown prince of the small Rājasthānīprincipality of Kishangarh, but retired to Vrindāvan after his brother usurpedhis throne. Although he reiterates the Rādhāvallabhan account of the ‘conversion’of Vyās by Hit Harivaṃś, his work was not written out of sectarian concerns fororthodoxy. In fact, the sectarian allegiance of Nāgrīdās himself has been debatedbetween the Vallabha- and Nimbārka-sampradāya (Entwistle 1987, 210). At anyevent, the king seems to have been especially inspired by Vyās, to whom hedevotes more anecdotes than to anyone else (nine in the edition), and whosepoetry he also quotes in chapters (prasangas) on other bhaktas (e.g., in the chapteron Jayadeva). Nāgrīdās’s work was edited in the prestigious Nāgarīpracāriṇī Sabhāseries (Gupta 1965).25

Vyās’s story is told also in Lokendra-brajotsav, a pilgrimage account of BhavānīSingh, the king of Datiyā in the late-nineteenth century. Bhavānī Singh was theadoptive son of the previous ruler and had come to the throne as a minor duringthe so-called Mutiny amidst harem intrigues. The British deposed of his rivals and aBritish Officer ruled Datiyā during his minority, introducing many reforms beforethe rightful king finally took over in 1865. Bhavānī Singh received the title ofLokendra at the 1877 Imperial Assemblage at Delhi. He continued his adoptivefather’s religious largesse and instituted a yearly Rām Līlā in 1880 (Luard 1907,104–5). This king’s pilgrimage to Braj and Citrakūṭ in 1890-1 (VS 1947–48) wasdescribed by a certain Pratītrāy Lakṣmaṇ Siṃha, but the real source of inspirationfor Lokendra-brajotsav was the minister of the king, who was a descendant of Vyās.


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This may be why Vyās’s life story was included in the work along with a genealogyof Vyās’s descendants. Lokendra-brajotsav was published by the Naval Kiśor Press inLucknow. It has never been reprinted and is now difficult to obtain.

There are several other hagiographies, but the discussion here is limited to theabove-mentioned sources, to which I will refer by abbreviation. For the readers’convenience I include a chronological overview of the sources and the abbrevia-tions in Table 1, which also has bibliographical references.

The general Bhakti Discourse: Hagiographic Topoi

The stories about Vyās told in different hagiographies share many common ele-ments. A first reading results in the impression that basically all hagiographies,even those of rival sects, tell the same legends with minor variations. One istempted to boil down all the material to the commonalities and present a ‘barebones’ overview of what is remembered about Vyās. This is exactly what many sec-ondary works touching upon him do, with a bit of selective arrangement accordingto the author’s taste. However, such an approach misses out on a good deal. Todraw a parallel with music, it is like focusing on the basic notes of the rāga asrepeated over and over again by the tanpura, and neglecting the virtuoso interpre-tations of the other instruments.

More productive is to concentrate on the variations on the theme. A good way todo so is by closely comparing the different versions of each theme, or ‘doublets’.Taking a cue from biblical form and redaction criticism, one can break the hagio-graphies down into their smallest units or building blocks. One can then organise

Table 1. Hagiographic Sources quoted for Vyas’s Life and Legend.

Date Author Work Vyos ref. Abbr.

End 16th C? Nabhadas Bhakt-māl 92 (87)45 BhMca. 1650 Bhagvatmudit? Rasik-ananya-māl parcaī 246 RAM1712 Priyadas Bhakti-ras-bodhinī Kavitta 368–7347 BhMṭca. 1750 Kr

˙s˙n˙adas (Laldas) Banglā bhakt-māl Caritra 10048 BBhM

fl. 1723–64 Nagrıdas Pad-prasang-māl prasanga 27–3549 PPMca. 1750 Kisordas Nij-mat-siddhānt madhya khaṇḍa NS

235–48, 358–950

fl. 1821-37 Sahcarısaran˙

Lalit-prakāś (pūrvārddha) LP185–24151

1892 PratıtrayLaks

˙man

˙Sim

˙ha

Lokendra-brajotsav 157–9352 LB

The references in the table are to the verse numbers unless otherwise indicated; thereferences in the footnotes are to page numbers.

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by general theme and analyse how this oral material was re-redacted by eachhagiographer according to his particular interests.

A reduction of the hagiology about a saint to a few stories about him would fallshort in yet another way. At the same time that such an approach does not do jus-tice to the details, it also misses out on the generalities by presenting as typical forthe saint what is typical for many others as well. The legends told about Vyās evokea strong feeling of déjà vu in anybody who is familiar with the life stories of otherbhaktas or even saints from other religions. Legends about saints transmit ideolo-gical messages that are common for many hagiographers. They are part of a gen-eral discourse of bhakti. Hence, the stories often have less to do with Vyās and morewith the didactic concerns that the hagiographers wanted to convey to their audi-ence. Thus, it is important first to identify the main topoi, or conventionalisedtopics, that they illustrate.26 Although none of these themes are unique to Vyās,it is relevant to study which, out of a choice of many, have most consistently beenassociated with Vyās.

Nomenclature and classification of topoi

The main topos associated with Vyās seems to be respect for and adoration of fellowbhaktas. Other prominent themes concern conflict and resolution. Most prominentare stories about the conflict between asceticism (vairāgya) and worldly responsi-bilities (gṛhasthatā), and between orthodoxy (dharma) and bhakti (the ‘pharisee’and the believer). Also popular are stories on the conflict between spiritual andmundane power (the saint and the king), and between learning and bhakti (the pan-dit and the devotee). Further there is the theme of the intimate relationship of thesaint with his image (mūrti). Vyās displays other characteristics typical of a holyman, including some of the more antisocial ones, such as irascibility and stubborn-ness. Finally, the hagiographers portray Vyās as participating in the divine world ina specific role, as a handmaiden (sakhī) in the love-play of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa. In thatfunction, he comes close to deification as he turns into an object of devotionhimself.

Examples of all these topoi and characteristics can be found in legends aboutother saints of the bhakti movement. Other scholars may have given these differentnames or classified them in different systems. Rather than classify by theme, onecould categorise by motif, such as ‘test of the holy man’ and ‘feast for the sādhus’. Inhis magisterial study of North Indian hagiographic patterns, W. Smith has orga-nised the topoi and motifs he distinguishes more or less chronologically, as theymight occur in the life of the holy man. Thus, he offers a chapter on ‘satsang’, underwhich he discusses among others the respect saints show for each other, roughlyoverlapping with my topos of adoration of fellow bhaktas (Smith 2000, 117–34).The conflict between ascetic and householder falls under his chapters on marriageand renouncing the world (45–77). That between orthodoxy and bhakti is compar-able to his section on the Brahman opposition (199–227), that between the king and


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the saint fits the rubric meeting the emperor (159–76). The saint’s relationship withhis mūrti is discussed under ‘the svarūpa image’, a subsection under the chapter ondarśana (105–11). Character traits of the holy men are discussed in the chapter on‘Appearance, personality, powers’ and the irascibility of the saint is discussed under‘tejas’ and stubbornness under ‘character’ (82–9). The saints’ deification is partlydiscussed in the section on divine visions (97–105).

Yet another way of classifying is by main genre. In his pathbreaking study of thehagiology of Guru Nānak of the Sikhs, McLeod distinguishes between narrativeanecdotes and discourses (1980, 82–105). Such a distinction, however, is not usefulfor the material regarding Vyās.

One could also organise the material according to the different levels of concernof the hagiographer. Friedlander, in his study of the hagiography on Raidās, drawsa distinction between a ‘social’ level where the hagiographer is concerned withintercaste relations, a ‘communal’ level of sectarian rivalries, and a didactic ‘perso-nal’ level, by which is meant the exemplary nature of the saint described (Friedlan-der 1996, 106–22). The term ‘communal’ with its association of Hindu–Muslimenmity is misleading though. It may be preferable to speak of the discourse of sec-tarian appropriation. What Friedlander calls the ‘social’ and ‘personal’ level arereally two parts of a general discourse of bhakti. What he categorises as ‘social’is better referred to as the topos of the conflict between two different poles, namelybhakti and dharma (in the case of Raidās, especially caste dharma and notions ofpurity). Doing so draws attention to a tension inherent in the ideology of bhaktiand is wider applicable as it allows for the possibility of different solutions alonga continuum of ‘more’ or ‘less’ dharma-centred attitudes of the hagiographers.The term ‘personal’ too is misleading as it creates undue associations of individu-alism, whereas it is intended to refer to the personality of the saint not as an indi-vidual but as an example. In general, these levels seem too broad as categories to beuseful for analysis and it seems more productive to categorise under more nar-rowly defined topoi. The legend of the contest between the Brahmins and Raidāsbefore the king, for instance, is not analysed most profitably by identifying it asoperating at the social level. That remains vague and does not allow for compari-son. Rather, one could say that this story is an illustration of the topos of the con-flict between bhakti and dharma, which takes a radical view. In its foregroundingthe pandits of the court, the incident has also elements of the topos of the conflictbetween bhakti and learning. In addition, there are elements of the topos of the con-flict of worldly and spiritual power, since the debate takes place in front of theking. Finally, it fits within the motif of the ‘test of the holy man.’

Comparing topoi in hagiographies with the saint’s own poetry

The analysis of the hagiographies in the light of topoi concentrates on the discourseof the hagiographers rather than the historical veracity of the stories. However, thestories do have relevance for the historical saint. In our case, since the overall

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concern of the hagiographers as well as of Vyās was bhakti, we can expect there tobe an amount of overlap between their poems. Most of the themes of the hagiogra-phies can be illustrated with padas from the extant Vyās Vāṇī. The hagiographersthemselves frequently do so, sometimes explicitly with the aim to ‘prove’ the his-toricity of what they tell. However, since Vyās is an exponent of the bhakti move-ment, it is only natural that he is concerned with the same themes as thehagiographers from the same movement. Hence, using Vyās’s padas as proof forthe stories is redundant. One may safely assume that Vyās would have agreed withthe general thrust of the stories, but there is little or no material to prove theirhistoricity. In the following more detailed discussion, I am not so much concernedwith whether the stories actually happened, but whether the stories of the hagio-graphers stress the same main concerns of Vyās as they appear from his own songs.

The main hagiographic topos associated with Vyās is veneration of fellow bhak-tas. Nābhādās stressed in his refrain of the Chappāī devoted to Vyās that bhaktaswere the main object of his devotion (bhakta iṣṭa ati vyāsa ke). Other hagiographersmake the point by using the device of a didactic story. In one story Vyās is testedby a mahant, who is asking him for food, before he has a chance to offer the food heis preparing to his image. Vyās is shown to make serving bhaktas a priority overserving God. Bhakti is shown to prevail even over its object, the image of God him-self. Here, the hagiographers reflect Vyās’s own concern as appears from hispoetry. Vyās’s privileging the veneration of holy men above even God is expressedmost poignantly when he asserts: hari hūṃ teṃ haridāsa lāgata pyāre ‘Better thanGod, I like his devotees’ (Pauwels 2002, 2.4).

The topos of conflict between asceticism (vairāgya) and worldly responsibilities(gṛhasthatā) is illustrated in two stories in the hagiographies. One story featuresa quarrel with his wife, the other how he fed the wedding banquet of his daughterto holy men rather than the wedding guests. Vyās’s devotion is shown to clashhead on with his role as husband and father. The hagiographers echo Vyās’sown subordinating family life to spiritual matters. He contrasted biological familyunfavourably with the bhakti one (Pauwels 2002, 2.5). Vyās proclaims that his ownallegiance is first to bhakti, over his family. Later versions of the story of his daugh-ter’s wedding banquet provide a resolution of the tension by adding a miraculoushappy-ending. From his poetry, Vyās does not appear as someone in search of com-promise, as would fit this resolution scenario. So the earlier hagiographers seem tobe closer to his intuitions. However, there is an interesting divergence: whereas thehagiographies mention Vyās’s problems with his wife and daughter, Vyās’s ownpoetry is most clear about his disillusion with his sons, a topic on which the hagio-graphers are practically silent.

The subjugation of orthodoxy (dharma) to bhakti is also a mainstay in Vyāshagiology. Nābhādās stated that Vyās broke with orthodoxy to braid an ankletfor the rāsa-līlā. Nearly all hagiographers specify that he tore off his sacred threadto fix the anklet on Rādhā’s feet that had broken during the rāsa-līlā. Some hagio-graphers stress that his antinomian act met with approval; others foreground the


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opposition Vyās had to face. Later, this story is supplemented with one in which heaccepts food from the hand of the low-caste devotee. While there is no precise cor-respondence between sacred thread and anklet incident in Vyās’s songs, the themeof accepting prasāda from low castes is clearly close to Vyās’s heart (Pauwels 2002,2.5). In this case the later hagiographers seem closer to Vyās’s spirit.

The conflict between spiritual and mundane power appears in the hagiogra-phies early on in connection with Vyās’s association with a king (later identifiedwith Madhukar Śāh from Orcchā) who seeks to lure him away from Vrindāvan.The famous emperor Akbar, a favourite for the role of antagonist of many saints,does not show up in the stories about Vyās till the mid-nineteenth century.A comparison of the stories with Vyās’s songs from Vyās Vāṇī shows that Vyāswas indeed concerned with affirming the priority of divine over mundane power.His disdain for bhaktas lobbying for material grants from kings is very outspoken(Pauwels 2002, 6.4). From his poetry, Vyās appears more vehement in his con-demnation than he does in the stories, where he is portrayed as reluctant tocross the king. However, the criticism in the poems is directed to colleagueswho seek royal grants rather than to royalty per se. The hagiographers are moreinterested in enhancing the prestige of the saint by ascribing to him influenceover the king.

Finally, the conflict between learning and bhakti is well illustrated by the story ofVyās’s own conversion from proud, arrogant scholar to ardent bhakta. Usually, thisfeat is ascribed to Hit Harivaṃś, thus the story is tied up with the issue of Vyās’ssectarian allegiance, to be discussed below. Again, for this topos too, Vyās’s poetryoffers much to substantiate that he values bhakti above scholastic learning (seePauwels 2002, 2.5). This does not necessarily mean, though, that he had been astern pandit before his change of heart. One might suspect that the hagiographerswere not inspired by Vyās’s songs as much as by his name. The title ‘Vyās’, virtuallysynonymous with ‘pandit’, may well have sparked the stories. The hagiographersmust have felt that his name conflicted with his primary inclination to bhakti.The hagiographic recipe for dealing with unwanted characteristics of a saint isto relegate them to a period before the saint’s conversion. Vyās’s role as a pandit,implicit in his name, could have been stressed in order to highlight the contrastwith his ‘real’ identity as a bhakta.

In summary, it is useful to study how the topoi stressed in the hagiographychange over time and how they may or may not dovetail with the voice of the poethimself, as can be reconstructed on the basis of existing manuscript evidence. Thisshows shifts in ideals and concerns of the communities studied.

Sectarian appropriations

After the discussion of the ideological messages that the different hagiographershold in common, that is, the cross-sectarian topoi, this section analyses wherethe hagiographers differ, according to their specific sectarian appropriations of

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Vyās. The results further illuminate the evolution of the legend of Vyās and alsoshed light on the origins of the debate about his sectarian allegiance, which is stillpart and parcel of ‘Vyās scholarship’ today.

Often, hagiographers have a sectarian axe to grind and are intent on showingthe superiority of one particular saint for whom they cherish a special devotion,whether their own guru or the founder of their sect. Stories about other saintsare used as a vehicle for exalting this preceptor. Rādhāvallabhans mainly tell Vyās’sstory to prove he was initiated by Harivaṃś, Haridāsīs stress that he veneratedHaridās, and Mādhva-Gauḍīyas claim he belonged to their sect. The specific sectar-ian interest of the hagiographers differs, but the means by which they make theircase are similar.

Sectarian rhetoric of the Rādhāvallabhans

Hagiographers of the Rādhāvallabha-sampradāya were the first to use stories aboutVyās to promote their sectarian cause and have been the most active in this enter-prise. They claim that their founder, Harivaṃś, was the guru of Vyās. It is not tillmiddle of the seventeenth century that sectarian activity picks up. Rasik-ananya-mālis the first to take an explicitly polemical stance and relate at length the circum-stances of the initiation.

As pointed out earlier, Rasik-ananya-māl is devoted to the account of the con-version of several bhaktas by Harivaṃś. Likewise, the main event in the story ofVyās (vyāsa caritra) is his conversion by Harivaṃś. The author does not hide hisintentions but makes it clear from the very outset that his motive in writing thestory of Vyās is connected to his devotion for Harivaṃś (RAM 1). The author’spolemical intent is quite explicit also in two of the concluding Dohās (Purohit[1960] 1986, 2:6).

This self-avowed sectarian claim is substantiated in several ways. For the analy-sis of these methods, the story (parcaī) can be divided into three phases: prepara-tion, conversion, and post-conversion. In the first phase, the author takes care toset the stage for conversion by introducing Vyās’s need and (symbolic) search for aguru, which proves to be unsuccessful (RAM 5–11). This device serves two purposes.First, it explains the mature age of Vyās at the time of his initiation into the Rādhā-vallabha-sampradāya: he arrived there only after a long spiritual search. Second,the list of names of holy men whom Vyās tentatively considered as his guru dove-tails nicely with that of saints praised in Vyās’s extant songs. They are generallyreckoned to belong to a different group of devotees, the so-called Sants, propoun-ders of nirguṇa bhakti, that is of devotion to a God without personal attributes (onthis issue, see Pauwels 2009b). By thus stressing that these songs were sung by Vyāsbefore he met Harivaṃś, the hagiographer seems concerned to show that they donot detract from the former’s later exclusive affection for the latter. Here he hasapplied a common hagiographic technique: ascribing unwanted deeds of the saintto a pre-conversion stage.


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The hagiographer carefully crafts the transition from the search to the choice ofa guru. A visiting saint by the name of Navaldās is brought on stage to link Vyāsand his future guru. Navaldās sings and explains a song by Harivaṃś that fills Vyāswith sweeping love (RAM 15). He decides to go to Vrindāvan in order to make Hari-vaṃś his guru.

The second phase of the story consists of the meeting between Vyās and Hari-vaṃś. The hagiographer here manipulates the topos of the pandit and the holy mandiscussed above. As Vyās arrives in Vrindāvan, keen to debate, Harivaṃś is cookingfor his image, Rādhāvallabha. Harivaṃś immediately extinguishes the cooking fire.Vyās wonders why not debate while continuing to prepare the food.

Vyāsa kahī doū kina kīje, mukha sauṃ caracā kari sukha dījeKaribau dharibau kara kau dharma, kahibau sunibau mukha śruti marma(Purohit [1960] 1986, 2:25–6)Vyās said: why not do both [at once]? You need [only] your mouth to debate andmake me happy.The task of hands is do work and hold things. Ears and eyes know the trick oflistening and speaking.

Harivaṃś explains that one can only do things well one at a time. At thispoint the hagiographer quotes a song by Harivaṃś that deals with the conceptof exclusive devotion (ananyatā) to God at the expense of all other interests. Therefrain of the song is vaha ju eka mana bahuta ṭhaura kari, kahi kaunaiṃ sacu pāyau:‘If you bet your heart on many horses, what truly will you get?’ (RAM 28–9). Thissong is relevant only at a superficial level. There actually is a tension between thesong and the incident, because one would expect that in the realm of exclusivedevotion the cooking of a meal for God would take priority over anything else. Ser-vice to God after all has eternal value, while a discussion with a passing panditseems rather more mundane. The incongruity is one of the loose ends the hagio-grapher has left that provides us a glimpse of his craftmanship. One suspects thathe has used a popular story according to which Vyās first met Harivaṃś while thelatter was preparing the meal. The hagiographer has adapted this story for his spe-cific purpose by enriching it with a pada by Harivaṃś that serves to establish the‘authenticity’ of the incident. In the edition and the manuscript, only the first lineof the song is quoted, so it is not immediately apparent that the song as a wholedoes not fit the narrative context.

After the song follows the instruction: Vyās’s desire for establishing his superior-ity in debate is gone. He admits defeat and asks for initiation (dīkṣā) (RAM 31–32).Harivaṃś, convinced of his dedication, gives him his mantra (RAM 33). The conver-sion episode concludes with the dramatic incident of Vyās’s immersing his books inthe Yamunā (RAM 34), a symbolic farewell to his old life of erudition.

In the third phase of the story, Vyās’s new lifestyle after his conversion isdescribed. The hagiographer models this new lifestyle on that of Harivaṃś, implying

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that Vyās copied Harivaṃś’s. The discovery of Vyās’s image (mūrti) is directlyascribed to the grace of Harivaṃś (RAM 40).27 The phrasing in this part of RAM isoften reminiscent of the influential Nābhādās’s Bhakt-māl.28 Since the latter workmust have been familiar to the hagiographer’s public, it lends the story a moreauthoritative ring.

Throughout his story, the hagiographer supports his claims either by directlyquoting from Vyās’s songs or by making indirect reference to them. He pointsout himself the importance of ‘internal evidence’ in the concluding Dohās ofRAM, where he argues that the words of the disciple (śiṣya) must provide final proofin deciding who his guru is. From RAM 44 onwards the author presents Vyās’s songsin a Rādhāvallabhan light by using the device of contextualisation, that is, provid-ing a ‘historical’ context. Nearly all the songs he explicitly quotes occur in the old-est Vyās Vāṇī manuscript found so far. The first song quoted is a hymn to Harivaṃś(Pauwels 2002, pada 11). This is contextualised by stating that Vyās made Rādhāval-labha his own (RAM 43) and wanted to thank Harivaṃś for his grace (RAM 44). Thenext song has the refrain ‘Rādhāvallabha is my beloved’ (rādhāvallabha meraupyārau). This is taken to refer to Harivaṃś’s image, Rādhāvallabha, and the authorcomments that Vyās finally, after many births, found the true essence of life. In thenext quotation, Vyās refers to a guru without naming him. The contextualisationmakes it clear that Harivaṃś is to be understood. Finally, two songs in which Vyāslaments his loneliness (viraha) after Harivaṃś’s death (Pauwels 2002, padas 14 and15) are quoted to substantiate the overall argument.

Sectarian rhetoric of the Haridāsīs

The hagiographies of the Haridāsīs, just like those of the Rādhāvallabhans, reflectin their interpretation of Vyās’s hymns a growing sectarian consciousness. Thestarting point of the Haridāsī hagiographers is Vyās’s eulogy of Haridās (Pauwels2002, pada 17). The popularity of this song is attested early on, but a full-length nar-rative appropriating Vyās for this sect is taken up as late as the mid-eighteenthcentury, in the controversial and apologetic hagiography Nij-mat-siddhānt, by Kiśor-dās. The main theme of the work is Svāmī Haridās’s exceptional personality, whichis said to have impressed all his contemporaries. Vyās is described, not as formallyinitiated, but as having the intuition that Haridās is his true guru (sadguru). Vyās’seulogy of Haridās is quoted as proof (NS 241).

Many of Kiśordās’s phrases are reminiscent of Nābhādās’s Bhakt-māl, especiallyin the description of Vyās when he meets Haridās (NS 235). Others refer to the com-mentary by Priyādās, as is the case in his summary of the event at the end of thework (NS 359). It seems that the author wants to depict his story as an elaborationof some allusions made by Priyādās (BhMṭ 373). Kiśordās thus derives authorityfrom other hagiographers in both content and form. He also uses Vyās’s hymnsto support his sectarian discourse.


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As mentioned before, the historical context of Nij-mat-siddhānt is one of sectarianschism and intersectarian debate. Kiśordās sought to support the Nimbārka con-nection. A general ‘fundamentalist’ trend, a return to the founder’s writings, canalso be discerned at the time. Kiśordās’ guru, Pītāmbardās, wrote among others acommentary on Haridās’s poetry, which came to be accepted by all splinter groups(Haynes 1974, 117–22). A manuscript of Haridās’s poetry was commissioned, mostlikely in 1758 (Haynes 1974, 131–2). In that context, it seems hardly coincidentalthat hagiographers developed an interest in Vyās’s song in order to enhance theprestige of the founder of the sect.

Sectarian Rhetoric of the Mādhva-Gauḍīyas

The Mādhva-Gauḍīyas in turn have produced a sectarian account of Vyās’s life in aBengālī hagiography by Kṛṣṇadās, called Banglā bhakt-māl. At the very outset of thechapter on Vyās, his spiritual lineage is given:

śrīmān mādhavendra purī gosvāmīra/ śiṣya yei śrī mādhava29 śānta śiṣṭa dhīrat~�ara śiṣya śrīla harirāma ye gos~�ai/ ataeva vaṃśa t~�ara mādhavī sampradāyī30

(BBhM 100:4-5; edition by Lahilī 1905, 364)31

The Reverend Gosvāmī Mādhvendra Purī had a disciple Śrī Mādhav, whowas peaceful, educated, and patient.His disciple was Reverend Gosvāmī Harirām, so his lineage was of theMādhvī-sampradāya.

The author does not spend any time substantiating his claim with an initia-tion story but launches immediately into the most famous legends about Vyās,familiar from Nābhādās’s Bhakt-māl and Priyādās’s commentary.32

In comparison to his rivals, this hagiographer makes an unsophisticated claim.He has presented his work as a Bengālī version of the prestigious Nābhādās’sBhakt-māl and simply added verses with a sectarian spiritual lineage for Vyās. Itis interesting that he does not make Rūpa and Sanātana Vyās’s gurus, as wouldbe natural given the extant padas by Vyās in their praise. Instead, he seems touse for his point of departure the one mentioning by Vyās of a Mādhavdās, whosename might have inspired the link with the Mādhva-sampradāya.

Did the hagiographers get it right?

In the previous section, we easily could quote poems by Vyās in agreement withthe hagiographers’ general topoi. Here we have no such luck. In fact, he would havemost strongly disagreed with their sectarian preoccupations. On the surface, Vyās’sadmiration for Harivaṃś, Haridās, and Rūpa and Sanātana would justify the hagio-graphers in appropriating Vyās for their sectarian purposes. Yet, the communitieshe is imagined to belong to here are very different from the one he himself

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imagined. The hagiographers’ communities are demarcated along strict sectarianlines, precipitating the very rivalry Vyās saw in the making and reacted so stronglyagainst (Pauwels 2003). The sectarian hagiographies became the ‘arena’ in whichthese rivalries were fought out. Ironically, the ecumenical Vyās was claimed by sev-eral different sects and his life story became for the parties concerned a site to pro-mote the community they imagined, a ‘repository of memory’, or lieu de mémoire oftheir own.

What to learn from this foray into analysing sectarian rhetorics? Although theRādhāvallabhan, Haridāsī, and Mādhva-Gauḍīya hagiographers had conflictingclaims, their sectarian rhetoric has many similarities. They use very similar tech-niques. The most popular one is appealing to the authority of other influentialhagiographies, either directly or indirectly. Everyone takes care to sound likeNābhādās’ Bhakt-māl. Citations of songs by Vyās are another popular device to sub-stantiate sectarian claims. We could call this a fundamentalist tendency, withattention for the original scripture, the words of the founder-saint and his contem-poraries. Finally, elements that do not fit the hagiographers’ agenda may beredacted out or consigned to a pre-conversion stage. What all the hagiographieshave in common is that they do not aim at establishing historical facts but at claim-ing sectarian superiority.

Still there is something to be gleaned about the history. The first documentedcase of sectarian appropriation is hardly a century after Vyās’s floruit, the middleof the seventeenth century. The Rādhāvallabhans are the first to claim Vyās.Their claim is defensive, but it is not clear against whom. I would speculate,because they are trying to come to terms with Vyās’s poems in praise of theSants, that it was on the basis of these poems that Vyās’s allegiance with Hari-vaṃś was doubted. The attack must have been fairly strong because at least twosectarian hagiographies devoted to defensive rhetoric date to the second half ofthat century. The Rādhāvallabhans were successful in their claim in that it wasaccepted by non-Rādhāvallabhans, such as, to name just one, Nāgrīdās in hisPad-prasang-mālā.

It is not till the middle of the eighteenth century that we see counterclaimsdocumented. In the second decade of that century, the Gauḍīya author Priyādāswas still silent on the topic of Vyās’s sectarian allegiance.33 However, a few decadeslater, the Banglā Bhakt-māl advances its claim for a Mādhva affiliation. It seems nocoincidence that around the same time the Haridāsīs too put forward their claimon Vyās.

What might have prompted these hagiographers into action? The suddenemergence of a Mādhva-Gauḍīya hagiographic claim about Vyās in the mid-eighteenth century is not an isolated phenomenon. In this period, the Gauḍīya-sampradāya was also otherwise preoccupied with questions of sectarian alle-giance, in particular the establishment of a link with the older and prestigiousMādhva-sampradāya (Elkman 1986, 2–50; Entwistle 1987, 191–4; Horstmann2009, 40–130). The interest in proving the Gauḍīyas orthodoxy is related to the


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arrival of their image of Govindadeva in Amer, and the subsequent policy of SavāīJai Singh of Amer (later Jaipur) to establish the orthodoxy of parties at his court(Horstmann 2009, 45–9). The sectarian (sampradāya) debates took place first in1718, and again in the 1730s. This might explain Priyādās’s silence on the issueof Vyās’s guru. When he wrote his work in 1712, the Gauḍīya-sampradāya maynot yet have been so involved in efforts to increase its prestige. However, a dec-ade or so later, sectarian demarcation was the order of the day, and it must havebeen in such a climate that Kṛṣṇadās authored his work around 1750. His contro-versial caritra of Harivaṃś, in which his Gauḍīya guru took offense to Harivaṃś’snot keeping the ekādaśī fast, seems designed to distance the Gauḍīya-sampradāyaof the more embarrassing unorthodox subgroups associated with it. The associa-tion of Vyās with the Mādhvas may well betray a sympathy for the Mādhva-Gauḍīya linkage. The latter in turn is a clue to the connection with Jai Singh’sdebates, because it is not until then that some Gauḍīyas align themselves withthe Mādhva-sampradāya.

Similarly, the Haridāsī claim on Vyās is embedded in a work that seeks to estab-lish a Nimbārkīya affiliation for the Haridāsīs. It seems that from the second quar-ter of the eighteenth century, Vyās is just one factor in the big sectarian reshufflegame played for official recognition and, one might add, with monetary rewards asthe stakes.

The missing Vyāsa-sampradāya

Tracing the legends tells us a good deal about the history of the public image ofVyās. We have learned how Vyās came to be appropriated by several sects fromthe seventeenth century onwards. What remains a mystery is why no sect hadformed in his name by then. Why is there no ‘Vyāsa-sampradāya’?

The case of the missing Vyāsa-sampradāya provides an instructive negativeexample for sociologists of religion interested in the origin and growth of ‘sects’in Hinduism. The case is all the more compelling because, as pointed out earlier,Vyās’s situation was very similar to that of his contemporaries Harivaṃś andHaridās, in whose names new sects were established. Just like them he had settledin Vrindāvan where his samādhi is still worshiped, he had ‘discovered’ an imagethat was set up for worship and he had created a corpus of songs that could be sungfor the worship of this image. Still, although all the possible foci of sectarian activ-ity were present, this potentiality was not realised. No sect sprang up after hisdeath. His Vāṇī was not preserved as a body of sectarian literature but was insteadtransmitted rather casually, though without much tampering. His image did notbecome the focus of significant ritual activity and left Vrindāvan almost withouta trace (Pauwels 2002, 8.3.3).34 Vyās seems to be a failure on all counts. To top itoff, he has been claimed by rival sects who are fighting over his name. What worsefate could befall an ‘ecumenical’ figure?

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The many versions of Vyās’s ‘testament’

There are no hard and fast explanations for the absence of a Vyāsa-sampradāya,but something can be gleaned from the hagiographic stories. For answers aboutVyās’s legacy, one naturally turns to the story about his ‘testament’. This storyrecurs in several sources, which gives us the opportunity to analyse some doublets.The story of Vyās’s testament is told for the first time by Priyādās (BhMṭ 373):

Bhaye suta tīna bāṃṭa nipaṭa navīna kiyau, eka ora sevā eka ora dhana dharyau haiTīsarī ju ṭhaura syāma baṃdanī au chāpa dharī, karī aisī rīti dekha baṛau soca paryauhaiEka ne rupayā liye eka ne kiśora jū koṃ, śrī kiśoradāsa bhāla tilaka lai karyau haiChāpe diye svāmī haridāsa nisi rāsa kīnau, vahī rāsa lalitādi gāyau mana haryau hai(Gaṇeśdās and Rāmeśvardās 1982, 3:142)He had three sons. For dividing [his possessions], he devised a novel method. Onone side he placed the worship [of his mūrti], on the other, his wealth.On the third side [he] placed black powder35 and the seal. Such he did, and see-ing [this strange arrangement], there was great consternation [among his sons].One took the rupees, another Kiśorajū [the mūrti]; Śrī Kiśordās took the tilakaand put it on his forehead.Svāmī Haridās gave the seal [to Kiśordās]. At night he created a rāsa [song]; 36

this was sung by (about) Lalitā and the others.37 It enchanted the mind.

Most commentators refer to this story as the ‘testament’ of Vyās, but it can-not be historical that Vyās decided on his deathbed to have his son initiated bySvāmī Haridās, since Vyās survived Haridās. This is clear from internal evidencefrom the earliest records of Vyās Vāṇī, such as the padas in which he expresseshis grief (viraha) over Haridās’s death (Pauwels 2002, padas 17, 27.3, 31.1, 32.1, 46.8).

Why would the hagiographer, Priyādās, come up with such a fanciful incident?Whenever something is belaboured in the hagiographies, it should alert us to anunderlying problematic fact. In this case it may be that Vyās’s (apparently mostdevoted) son was initiated into the sect established by Haridās.38 Priyādās’s justifi-cation is very circumspect. By placing the initiation in the context of Vyās’s immi-nent death, he implies that Vyās could not initiate his own son. By emphasisingthat the ‘raw material’ for the initiation (the black powder and the seal) was partof Vyās’s bequest to his son, he implies Vyās’s approval. The care with which Priyā-dās presents his argument shows that his reference to Kiśordās’s initiation into thesect established by Haridās was not made casually.

Although it cannot be said with certainty that Vyās’s son was actually initiatedby Haridās himself (with his father’s consent or not), it is clear that he was laterregarded as a Haridāsī. Even the staunch Rādhāvallabhan hagiography Rasik-ananya-māl tells about Kiśordās’s initiation, though not in the context of a ‘testa-ment’.39 It is simply stated that Kiśordās came and adorned Vrindāvan with his


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presence, which pleased Svāmī Haridās, and someone (seemingly Vyās, but the lineis ambiguous) had him initiate Kiśordās.40 The author is very explicit about theinitiation (lakhi svāmī haridāsa sihāye, tinahīṃ ke ye śiṣya karāye, RAM 50); moreover,he stresses Kiśordās’s respect for Haridās and devotion to his image Kuñjabihārī (ihimata ye svāmī kauṃ mānaiṃ, kuṃjabihārī soṃ hita ṭhānai, RAM 51). It is remarkablethat the initiation by Haridās is mentioned at all, because it seems to contradictthe author’s claim that Vyās was fully engaged in the Rādhāvallabha-sampradāya(Mītal 1968, 376). This would seem to confirm the link between Vyās’s son andHaridās.

On the other hand, two other doublets do not mention the initiation. The Bengālīhagiographer Kṛṣṇadās, who similarly has Vyās’s sectarian engagement in theMādhva-(Gauḍīya-)sampradāya to defend, tells the story of the division of thegoods without bringing up the issue of the son’s initiation (BBhM 100:28–33). Like-wise, Nāgrīdās in his Pad-prasang-mālā admires Vyās’s youngest son Kiśordās for hispoetic skills. He provides us even with the text of his rāsa song, which he says isfamous with directors of rāsa-līlā (rāsadhārīs). However, he does not mention Har-idās either (PPM 56).41

Another mitigating factor is that Haridāsī sources themselves are late in exploit-ing the sectarian capital of the incident. It is only in the middle of the eighteenthand beginning of the nineteenth century that it appears in Haridāsī hagiographies.Two late sources, Nij-mat-Siddhānt and Lalit-prakāś, tell the story of the division ofgoods as a test by Vyās of his sons without any connection to his death. In the for-mer work, Vyās is looking for a way to honour Haridās and decides upon dividinghis possessions (NS 243). After his brothers have made their choice, Kiśordās getsthe tilaka and chāpa, but he assures his father that they would have been his firstchoice; hence, he is considered worthy of becoming a disciple of Haridās. Further,the incident of the divine rāsa-līlā with the song by Kiśordās is elaborated. This isforegrounded – as the hagiographer says, echoing RAM – because the song of thedisciple is viewed as proof of whom he considers his guru (NS 247). In Lalit-prakāśtoo, the author stresses that the division of goods is a deliberate test (parīkṣā) ofVyās’s sons (LP 221) and at several points emphasises its public character (LP224, 226, and 230).

That this story has been retold with different emphases over and over again bylater hagiographers illustrates its importance. It is well worth asking what is com-municated here. The key points are that Vyās’s most ‘worthy’ son did not inheritthe image and that he became a Haridāsī.42 Since the mūrti is an important poten-tial focus of devotion, the fact that it was inherited by a less charismatic son mayexplain why no ‘Vyāsa-sampradāya’ was formed in the years following Vyās’sdeath. Whereas the Rādhāvallabha and Bānkebihārī images became foci of ritualactivity, Vyās’s image seems to have fallen into oblivion. What the hagiographersays about Vyās’s tilaka may be a way of stating that Vyās’s legacy merged into thatof a different sect. The tilaka is another important potential identification symboland represents another missed chance at community demarcation. The incident of

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the rāsa song (or rāsa-līlā) created (staged) by Kiśordās might be interpreted in thesame way: Vyās’s son’s main talent, the creation of devotional poetry, was notchannelled for the purpose of establishing of a canon in a new ‘Vyāsa-sampradāya’.Instead, the son’s name became connected with the Haridāsīs.

A Vyāsa-sampradāya in nineteenth-century Datiyā?

Ironically, it is nearly 300 years later, at the end of the nineteenth century, in thecircles of descendants of Vyās in Datiyā, that factors indicative of sectarian forma-tion can be identified. A first element is that Vyās is identified as the incarnation ofthe sakhī Viśākhā. If not originating in this period, the deification of the foundercertainly gains in importance as it makes its way into the hagiographies (Pauwels2002, 6.8). A second element is that claims were made to the effect that the originalimage of Vyās was in Datiyā (Pauwels 2002, 8.3.3). Thus, a potential focus for sec-tarian formation resurfaced at this point. Furthermore, the work that comes closestto a sectarian manifesto for the ‘Vyāsa-sampradāya’, Śrī Madhukar Śāh Sevak Vāṇī,seems also to come from Datiyā circles in this period.43 In this work, repetitionof the name of Vyās is promoted as the road to liberation and participation inthe divine play, or nikuñja-līlā. This work also gives directions for ritual, especiallythe application of the tilaka (ninth prakaraṇa). Here, as well as in the collections of‘birthday felicitation’ (janma badhāī) songs (Pauwels 2002, 6.8), Vyās’s birth isdescribed as a reenactment of the divine janma līlā (first prakaraṇa).

This trend towards strong sectarian self-identification in circles of Vyās’s des-cendants seems to coincide with a proliferation of documents establishing the gen-ealogical lineages descending from Vyās. A late-nineteenth-century genealogy(guru-śiṣya-vaṃśāvalī) from the former Royal Library of Datiyā gives a substantiallydifferent lineage than that given in Lokendra-brajotsav (see Gosvāmī 1952, 33–5).From a slightly later period (1928) date the claims of a related branch of Gosvāmīsthat they are descendants of Vyās (genealogy in Rādhālāl’s Saundarya-sāgar).

What were the historical circumstances in Datiyā that might have given rise tosuch a revival of interest in Vyās? At the end of the nineteenth century, Garībdās,a descendant of Vyās, was the first minister of Datiyā. He was one of the sourcesof inspiration for the pilgrimage report of the Datiyā king, Lokendra-brajotsav (Gos-vāmī 1952, 35). In a passage devoted to him in the account of Vyās’s descendants inthat work, he is described as the guru of the king (LB 191–4). Another branch of des-cendants of Vyās had traditionally served as royal gurus for the Bundela kings ofBānpur. In 1857, during the so-called Mutiny, their patron sided with the famousqueen of Jhānsī, as a consequence of which he lost his kingdom. The royal family,complete with guru, moved to Datiyā (Gosvāmī 1969, 99). One might speculate thatsuch a concentration of royal gurus, all descendants of Vyās, in one place, in com-bination with the declining power of their patrons, may have stimulated rivalry,perhaps even a power struggle. However, the activity of the Vyās-vaṃśīya Gosvāmīswas not restricted to Datiyā. Around the same time, another descendant of Vyās


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apparently held the position of royal guru in Charkhārī, another small Bundela prin-cipality (Gosvāmī 1952, 36–7). The ruler of Charkhārī had been loyal to the British in1857, but died soon afterwards and the British interfered during the minority of thecrown prince (Luard 1907, 210). In a small town, Khānpur, in the principality of Koṭā,around 1869, some descendants of Vyās seem to have been involved in a legal casefor which they presented a document tracing their genealogy (Gosvāmī 1952, 49).

Historical research into the relations of Vyās’s descendants among themselvesand with Bundela royalty in this period is beyond the scope of this study, but itseems clear that, at least in late-nineteenth-century Datiyā, the different branchesof Vyās’s descendants were concerned with establishing their legitimacy. This wassimultaneous with a push towards sectarian formation and deification of theirancestor. Actually, it seems paradoxical that this process of self-identification,and revival of interest in a common forefather, Vyās, which might have led to sec-tarian formation by rallying around him, resulted from rivalry between lineagesand the splitting up in different groupings.

Conclusion

Hagiographic strategies

The evolution of the legend of Vyās is instructive regarding sectarian community-building strategies. It is a schoolbook example of the appropriation of the charismaof an important figure for sectarian purposes. The prolific and apparently impor-tant and well-known Vyās was time and again cast in the role of a devotee of sec-tarian founders or important gurus of the hagiographers’ sects. The appropriationcould be more or less intense. Sometimes Vyās was simply asserted to be a memberof the sect; elsewhere his initiation was elaborately told with careful staging and/or he was portrayed as a committed disciple. Often, the hagiographer would appro-priate Vyās’s potential foci of sectarian formation, such as his image and poetry, byascribing them to the influence of his own sect’s guru. Vyās’s songs in praise ofholy men, including those regarded as sectarian gurus, lend themselves well tosuch an appropriation, but the sectarian hagiographers quoted them selectivelyand interpreted them in an exclusive way. This is one important way in which sec-tarian claims are buttressed: by quoting supporting ‘primary’ evidence from theoeuvre of the saint appropriated. A second way is to suggest that the sectarianinterpretation is supported by earlier, authoritative hagiographies. This may beaccomplished by direct quotes or, more subtly, by word choices reminiscent ofthe targeted hagiography. Thirdly, elements that are not congenial to the sectarianinterpretation are either redacted out or relegated to a pre-conversion stage.

Notwithstanding the sectarian rivalries, the stories told about Vyās are very simi-lar. There is a high degree of intertextuality. All hagiographers seem to have accessto the same oral sources: stories and songs by and about holy men must have beenfloating around orally. The hagiographers used the same stories and songs by Vyās,

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but selectively for their purpose. They may quote directly and contextualise or theymay use the material in a more sophisticated way. Incidentally, this reveals which ofVyās’s songs were popular at the time the hagiography was written. In any case, inthe hagiographies we find a strong awareness of other texts. This intertextuality hashardly been studied and is a fruitful field for further investigation. It is important tounderstand the way this intertextuality is understood by the tradition itself. Vyāsdescribes it in terms of the culturally loaded image of food leftovers. Leftoversare normally seen as polluting and to be avoided. Vyās, however, regards the saint’swords/leftovers as delicious, because through this ‘testimony’ a taste of the divinerasa is offered (Pauwels 2009b). Divine rasa never goes stale, each re-chewing onlyadds to the relish. What Western criticism tends to think of as derivative is valueddifferently: the words of the saints are prasāda or divine grace.

Oral song or printed hagiography: Horizontal or vertical communities

Since our project is to uncover how communities are imagined, some reflection onthe medium by which communities are imagined is in order. In his own work, Vyāsuses the medium of songs or padas. Such songs are potentially powerful commu-nity-builders. They are intended to be sung in group, the congregation chimingin with the refrain. The communality of the event is important, as is the repetitionof the refrain, designed to drive the major point home and to inculcate certain atti-tudes in the participating devotees. Leading a group to sing the same song in praiseof a holy man is a powerful means of community formation, in line with BenedictAnderson’s concept of unisonality ([1983] 1991, 145). That the songs are indepen-dent, contained, individual units makes them a particularly apt vehicle for imagin-ing communties along horizontal lines: many saints can be remembered in a‘parallel’ way.

Vyās is not concerned with constructing a Stammbaum for himself. Whereasthese next-generation Rāmānandī, Gauḍīya, Vallabhan, Rādhāvallabhan, and Hari-dāsī hagiographers were busy constructing vertical lineages for their sectariancommunities, Vyās emphatically was not. Although he pays obeisance to his guru,he does not give his own spiritual affiliation in the form of a well-defined lineage ofdiscipleship or guru-paraṃparā (Pauwels 2002, 8.3.1). The community he imagines isnot drawn along vertical lines of descent, but is rather one of horizontal affiliationsof spiritual ‘kin’. Vyās imagines an extended family of bhaktas in which all devotees,past and present, are treated more or less on a par, as brothers, as fellow-travellersalong the same path. Such a ‘consciousness of kinship through broad, historicallyuntraceable generic relationships’ can well be called ‘clan’, a sociological termapplied to the religio-historical phenomenon of the Sants by Gold (1987, 18–20).44 This seems to fit very well the case of Vyās. He even uses a term that fits thatdescription strikingly when he speaks about his family, or kuṭumba (see pada 42 inPauwels 2002). To celebrate this horizontal, family-like community, the song is thevehicle par excellence.


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Vyās’s hagiographers, on the other hand, went about their task mostly via a dif-ferent medium. They created narratives, construed quite purposely as repositoriesof memory, as revised histories of the communities the hagiographers belonged to.The assumption of chronology inherent in the genre makes it particularly suitedfor establishing sectarian lineages and imagining communities along vertical lines.This genre also moves away from oral performance to being written in manu-scripts, which in turn are open to manipulation. Already in the eighteenth century,there seem to have been cases where sectarian rivalry inspired interpolation inmanuscripts and the circulation of different versions among interested parties.The narratives did not only exist in oral performance. The texts were treated asautonomous entities, containing information that may be called upon to supply‘proof’ in real-life controversies. At the same time, the narratives tend to becomelonger and longer as time goes on, supplying more and more detailed information.This process of accretion may be inspired by a desire to ‘fill in the gaps’ left by ear-lier narratives.

A new element comes into play when the hagiographies are printed anddistributed on a larger scale. Contrary to the importance Anderson attaches tothe printing press, this technology did not seem to have a momentous impacton the hagiographies and their mode of constructing communities. It is not untilthe 20th century that the printing of some hagiographies (of the Haridāsīs)moved them outside the sectarian circles in which they had been jealouslyguarded until then. However, by this time, printing technology had been aroundfor a while, so the change cannot be attributed to the availability of new mediaper se. The agents of this change were inspired by reformist ideas and Westerndiscourses (followers of Bhagvandās, mahant of Taṭṭī Saṃsthān). It may be thatthis also goes hand in hand with an increasing desire to treat hagiographic textsas documents from which factual information is to be culled. However, as wehave seen, the tendency to use hagiographies to prove certain sectarian claimsis not new.

The transmission of Vyās’s own poems may also have undergone a change con-nected with their appearance in print. The first edition of Vyās’s collected poemsby the Rādhāvallabhans took place in a context strongly influenced by the colonialenvironment. It was officially undertaken by a ‘Sabhā’ or ‘organization’. Govar-dhanlāl, the Gosvāmī who inspired the foreword, was an active editor of local news-papers, as well as a Braj poet and religious leader (see Mītal 1968, 558–9). Theavowed purpose of the edition is to counter the slander heaped upon SanātanaDharma by reformist intellectuals. In the foreword, the Rādhāvallabhan way of lifeis praised as a remedy for the intellectual quandaries of contemporary Westernisedyouth, and an explicit parallel is drawn with the conversion of the restless panditVyās to true wisdom by Harivaṃś (Akhila Bhāratavarṣīya Śrī Hita RādhāvallabhīyaVaiṣṇava Mahāsabhā 1934, t). Vyās is set up as an exponent of true indivisibleHinduism, as the ultimate broad-thinking Hindu unconcerned with intellectualdebates, confident in his conviction (ibidem, th).

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Ironically, the Rādhāvallabhan edition with its aim to show the underlying one-ness of the besieged Hindu Dharma seems to have given strong offense to otherKṛṣṇa sects. The reaction it caused was stronger than that caused by previouslyredacted sectarian manuscripts: whereas manuscripts tend to remain in privatehands, the edition was, so to speak, ‘let loose’ on the wider world. The scale of cir-culation was larger. The descendants of Vyās in Vrindāvan, who considered them-selves to be Mādhva-Gauḍīya, felt a dire need to counter with another full edition,not just a ‘correction’ of certain disputed songs and distichs. The author of the fore-word is most upset about the fact that the Rādhāvallabhan claim has gained enoughcirculation to be repeated in standard scholarly works, such as Rāmcandra Śukla’sHindī Sāhitya kā Itihās (Rādhākiśor Gosvāmī 1937, solah), and he feels that research-ers should check their sources more carefully. The intent is to provide materialthat will be perused by such scholars, as the author speaks of the need to lookat ‘internal evidence’.

What is striking in the whole debate is the attention to textual criticism. In acertain sense, this seems to be a new development: the manuscript transmissionof Vyās’s poems does not show a significant divide along sectarian lines, but theeditions see themselves as strictly divided. It is tempting to connect this increasingconcern about text criticism with the availability of printing technology and colo-nial academic discourses of authenticity. Still, I hasten to add that the technologyand discourse are appropriated to serve sectarian concerns that are hardly new,and the old modes of argumentation persist in conjunction with the concern fortext criticism.

Finally: The community that was not

This exploration in the history of the development of the Vrindāvan communitiesinforms our initial question about successful community formation and the failureof other imagined communities to come true. What have we learned from the caseof the failed community? Theoretically, chances for the formation of a Vyāsa-sampradāya were as strong as those of the sects of Harivaṃś and Haridās. I havespeculated that the lack of charisma of Vyās’s son who inherited the custody ofthe image may have been a factor that prevented a Vyāsa-sampradāya to be estab-lished. From his poetry we know that Vyās himself was disappointed enough withhis offspring that he as much as disowned them. There may have been one son whocould have followed in his father’s footsteps, but Vyās seems to have been instru-mental in redirecting that son’s talents and instead he came to contribute to theformation of the Haridāsa-sampradāya.

It may be that the ‘less worthy’ son who inherited Vyās’s image was able tosecure financial patronage for it. In Akbar’s farmān of 1598, one of the ‘additionalgrants’ is to a ‘Jugalakiśora devāla’, which was assigned 125 bīghas of land from thehamlet (nagla) in the village, Dosaij, now a mohallā of Vrindāvan (Mukherjee andHabib 1988, 103). The location of the grant is close enough near Vyās’s samādhi,


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the contemporary headquarters of Vyās devotion in Vrindāvan. Could it be thatthis Yugalakiśora was Vyās’s image? It also seems probable that at least one ofthe images connected with Vyās did later come to be installed in a temple withthe support of Bundelā rulers (Pauwels 2002, 8.3.3). Vyās’s samādhi too was builtwith royal support. Notwithstanding all this evidence of royal patronage, noVyāsa-sampradāya developed. Mere monetary support seems not to be enoughfor the line of a saint to flourish into a sect.

It is not until the late-nineteenth century that we can detect a trend towardssectarian formation among Vyās’s descendants. Ironically, here we find the oppo-site taking place: scarcity of patronage drives sectarian formation. The revivedinterest in Vyās seems to have been inspired by rivalry between different branchesof Vyās’s descendants for royal support. They invoked Vyās to buttress their pres-tige. Their ancestor would not have approved.

I would like to venture some additional explanations for the aborted Vyāsa-sam-pradāya. Not only did Vyās not have a charismatic son to carry on his name, he alsois not remembered to have had a charismatic follower that might have carried onhis legacy. The king Madhukar Śāh – if indeed he was a disciple of Vyās – wouldhave been too busy with political affairs (Pauwels 2009a). With the exception ofa certain obscure Dev (Gosvāmī 1952, 17), no other names are remembered andVyās’s own poetry does not give us a clue regarding whether he had a circle of fol-lowers either. Daniel Gold has observed that the second phase of religious commu-nity formation often involves a charismatic figure who is a dedicated disciple of theguru (Gold 1988). In Vyās’s case, this condition was not met, and that may well havebeen a major factor in his ‘failure’.

We may also speculate that the very fact that Vyās imagined his community sobroadly and along horizontal lines might have thwarted any tendency towards sec-tarian demarcation. His insistence on veneration of other holy men, including hiscontemporaries, and his singing in their praise is not exactly compatible with thepromotion needed to turn him into a founder of a sect himself. Did Vyās’s glorifi-cation of other holy men sabotage his own chances of becoming venerated as afounder of a sect? Vyās’s inclusive attitude would have abhorred sectarian forma-tion in his name, but of course, there are enough examples illustrating that a guru’swishes do not necessarily deter followers determined to venerate him.

There was one community that Vyās did imagine himself to be part of, the onethat was closest to his heart and that comes over as the most real in his poetry.Vyās’s poems are a celebration of his satsanga with his two friends Harivaṃś andHaridās (Pauwels 2009b) in both the mundane and the supramundane Vrindāvanin their identities as sakhīs. If Vyās would have approved of any sect, it would havebeen one that followed in the tradition of this ‘Holy Trinity’. This community hasbeen called the Hari-trayī, but it is a 20th-century construction in the sense that itsname was not invented until the 1950s. An alternative name, based on Vyās’s ownpoems, would be Hari-sahacarī or ‘Hari’s girlfriends’. The failure of the Haritrayī-sampradāya to come established in the sixteenth century is no mystery. Obviously,

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the appearance of individual sects in the name of the other two Haris preemptedany such development.

The factors involved in the failure or success of sectarian communities can ofcourse not be adequately measured by the case of Vyās alone. However, the caseis instructive. Where Vyās’s horizontal ‘clan’ approach failed, the communities thatat some point imagined themselves along vertical ‘lineage’ lines are the ones thathave survived. Tracing spiritual allegiance back to a charismatic guru seems to be astrong precondition for the success of a community. There are few Hindu groupingsthat survive without such a guru-paramparā.

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Bhagvānprasād, Sītārām Śaraṇ ‘Rūpkalā’, (Ed.), (1903–09) 1977. Gosvāmi Nābhājī kṛt ŚrīBhaktamāl: Śrī Priyādāsjī praṇīt ṭikā-kavitta, Śrī Sītārāmśaraṇ Bhagvānprasād Rūpkalā viracitBhaktisudhāsvād tilak sahit. Reprint. Lucknow: Tejkumār Book Depot.

Caturvedī, B., (Ed.), 1931. Lalit Prakāś. Lucknow: Tālukdār Press.Gaṇeśdās, B., Rāmeśvardās, R., (Eds.), 1982 (VS 2039). Śrīmad Gosvāmī Śrī Nābhājī kṛt Śrī

Bhaktamāl, Śrī Priyādāsjī kṛt kavittamayī Bhakti Ras Bodhinī ṭīkā sahit, vol. 3, third ed.Vrindāvan: Rāmānand Pustakālay.

Garge, R., (Ed.), 1960. Nābhājī kṛt Śrī Bhakta Māl, Bhakti Ras Bodhinī ṭīkā evaṃ Bhakti Rasāyanīvyākhyā sahit. Vrindāvan: Viyogī Viśveśvar Nimbārkācārya Pīṭh.

Gosvāmī, R., (Ed.), 1937 (VS 1994). Śrī Vyās Vāṇī: Siddhānt aur Ras sahit.Mathurā: Agravāl Press.Gosvāmī, V., 1952 (VS 2009). Bhakta kavi Vyāsjī . Mathurā: Agravāl Press.Gupta, K., 1965. Nāgrīdās granthāvalī, vol. 2. Ākar Granthmālā, 9. Benares: Nāgarīpracāriṇī

Sabhā.Hitdās, S., 1998. Rasik Ananya Śrī Harirām Vyās kṛt Śrī Vyās Vāṇī sampūrṇa. Vrindāvan: Hit

Sāhitya Prakāśan.Jhā, N., 1978. Bhaktamāl: Pāṭhānuśīlan evaṃ vivecanā. Patna: Anūpam Prakāśan.Kedarnāth, C.L. [Vaiśya], (Ed.), 1911. Nijmat Siddhānt: Śrī Mahant Kiśordāsjī kṛt, vol. 1. (Ācāryya

Khaṇḍ). Lucknow: Anglo-Oriental Press.Kedarnāth, C.L. [Vaiśya], (Ed.), 1915. Nijmat Siddhānt: Śrī Mahant Kiśordāsjī kṛt, vol. 2. (Madhya

Khaṇḍ). Lucknow: Anglo-Oriental Press.Kṛṣṇadās, K., (Ed.), 1915 (VS 1971). Bhakta Māl arthāt Rām Rasikāvalī. Bombay: Lakṣmī

Venkateśvar Steam Press.Lahilī, D., (Ed.), 1905 (BE 1312). Bhakta Māl grantha. Calcutta: Bangavāśī Electro-Machine Press.Purohit, L.P., (1960) 1986. Rasik Ananya Māl: Mūl evaṃ gadya rūpāntaraṇ. Reprint. Vrindāvan:

Veṇu Prakāśan.Siṃha, P.L., 1892. Lokendra Brajotsava. Lucknow: Naval Kiśor Press.

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Anderson, B., (1983) 1991. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread ofNationalism, second ed., rev. and ext. London: Verso.

Bansal, N., 1980. Caitanya sampradāya: Siddhānt aur sāhitya. Agra: Vinod Pustak Mandir.Barz, R.K., (1976) 1992. The Bhakti Sect of Vallabhācārya. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal.


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Bernstein, M.A., 1994. Foregone Conclusions: Against Apocalyptic History. Berkeley: University ofCalifornia Press.

Burghart, R., 1978. ‘The founding of the Ramanandi sect’. Ethnohistory 25(2), 121–39.Callewaert, W.M., Snell, R., (Eds.), 1994. According to Tradition: Hagiographic Writing in India.

Khoj: A Series of Modern South Asian Studies, vol. 5. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz.Delvoye, F. ‘Nalini’, 2001. ‘L’appropriation de Tānsen, permier musicien de la cour d’Akbar,

par les traditions sectaries krishnaïtes’. In: Mallison, F., (Ed.), Constructions hagiographiquesdans le monde indien: Entre mythe et histoire, pp. 221–55. Paris: Librairie Honoré Champion.

Dimock, E.C. Jr., Stewart, T.K., 1999. Caitanya Caritāmṛta of Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja: A Translation andCommentary. Harvard Oriental Series, 56. Cambridge, MA: Department of Sanskrit andIndian Studies.

Elkman, S.M., 1986. Jīva Gosvāmin’s Tattvasandarbha: A Study on the Philosophical and SectarianDevelopment of the Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava Movement. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.

Entwistle, A.W., 1987. Braj: Centre of Krishna Pilgrimage. Groningen Oriental Studies, 3.Groningen: Egbert Forsten.

Friedlander, P.G., 1996. ‘The struggle for salvation in the hagiographies of Ravidās’. In: Leslie,J. (Ed.), Myth and Mythmaking: Continuous Evolution in Indian Tradition, pp. 106–23. CollectedPapers on South Asia, 12. Richmond: Curzon Press.

Gold, D., 1987. The Lord as Guru: Hindi Sants in the Northern Indian Tradition. New York: OxfordUniversity Press.

Gold, D., 1988. Comprehending the Guru: Toward a Grammar of Religious Perception. AmericanAcademy of Religion, 57. Atlanta, GA: Scholar’s Press.

Gosvāmī, V., 1952. (VS 2009). Bhakta kavi Vyāsjī. Mathurā: Agravāl Press.Gosvāmī, V., (Ed.), 1969. ‘Harirām Vyās janma badhāī’. Bhāratīya Sāhitya 14(3–4), 99–128.Growse, S.F., (1873–74) 1880. Mathurā, a District Memoir, second ed., rev. and enl. Mathurā.

North-Western Provinces and Oudh Government Press.Gupta, R., 1969. ‘Priyādās: author of the Bhaktirasbodhinī’. Bulletin of the School of Oriental and

African Studies 32, 57–70.Habib, I., 1996. ‘A documentary history of the Gosā’ins (Gosvāmīs) of the Caitanya sect at

Vṛndāvana. In: Case, M.H. (Ed.), Govindadeva: A Dialogue in Stone, pp. 131–59. New Delhi:Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts.

Haynes, R., 1974. Svāmī Haridās and the Haridāsī Sampradāya. Ph.D. dissertation. University ofPennsylvania, Ann Arbor, MI: University Microfilms.

Horstmann, M., In collaboration with Heike Bill, 1999. In Favour of Govinddevjī: HistoricalDocuments Relating to a Deity of Vrindaban and Eastern Rajasthan. Manohar: Indira GandhiNational Centre for the Arts.

Horstmann, M., 2009. Der Zusammenhalt der Welt: Religiöse Herrschaftslegitimation undReligionspolitik Mahārājā Savāī Jaisinghs (1700–1743). Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.

Lorenzen, D.N., 1991. Kabir Legends and Ananta-Das’s Kabir Parachai. Albany: State University ofNew York Press.

Luard, C.E., 1907. The Central India State Gazetteer Series, vol. 6. Eastern States (Bundelkhand)gazetteer. Lucknow: Naval Kishor Press.

Mallison, F., (Ed.), 2001. Constructions hagiographiques dans le monde indien: Entre mythe ethistoire. Bibliothèque de l’ École des Hautes Études Sciences Historiques et Philologiques338. Paris: Librairie Honoré Champion.

McGregor, R.S., 1984. Hindi Literature From Its Beginnings to the Nineteenth Century. In: Gonda, J.(Ed.), A History of Indian Literature, vol. 8.1.6. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz.

McLeod, W.H., 1968. Guru Nānak and the Sikh Religion. Oxford: Clarendon Press.McLeod, W.H., 1980. Early Sikh Tradition: A Study of the Janam-sākhīs. Oxford: Clarendon Press.Mītal, P., 1968. Braj ke dharma sampradāyoṃ kā itihās. Delhi: National Publishing House.

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Mukherjee, T., Habib, I., 1988. ‘Akbar and the temples of Mathura and its environs’. Papers ofthe Indian History Congress, 48th session, pp. 234–50. Dabolim: Goa University.

Nora, P., (Ed.), 1996. Realms of Memory: Rethinking the French Past (Goldhammer, A., Trans.).New York: Columbia University Press.

Pauwels, H., 1996. Kṛṣṇa's Round Dance Reconsidered: Harirām Vyās's Hindi Rās-pañcādhyāyī.London Studies on South Asia 12. London: Curzon Press.

Pauwels, H., 2002. In Praise of Holy Men: Hagiographic Poems by and About Harirām Vyās.Groningen Oriental Studies, 18. Groningen: Egbert Forsten.

Pauwels, H., 2003. ‘Paradise found, paradise lost: Harirām Vyās’s love for Vrindāvan and whathagiographers made of it’. In: Granoff, P., Shinohara, K. (Eds.), Pilgrims, Patrons, and Place:Localizing Sanctity in Asian Religions, pp. 124–80. Vancouver: University of British ColumbiaPress.

Pauwels, H., 2009a. ‘The Saint, the Warlord, and the Emperor: discourses of Braj Bhakti andBuṇḍelā Loyalty’. Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 52, 187–228.

Pauwels, H., 2009b. ‘Imagining religious communities in the sixteenth century: Harirām Vyāsand the Haritrayī’. International Journal of Hindu Studies 13(2), 102–22.

Pinch, W.R., 1996. Peasants and Monks in British India. Berkeley: University of California Press.Pinch, W.R., 1999. ‘History, devotion and the search for Nabhadas of Galta’. In: Ali, D. (Ed.),

Invoking the Past: The Uses of History in South Asia, pp. 367–99. Delhi: Oxford UniversityPress.

Rosenstein, L., 1997. The Devotional Poetry of Svāmī Haridās: A Study of Early Braj Bhāṣā Verse.Groningen Oriental Studies, 12. Groningen: Egbert Forsten.

Smith, W.L., 2000. Patterns in North Indian Hagiography. Stockholm: University of Stockholm.Snātak, V., 1957 (VS 2014). Rādhāvallabha sampradāya: Siddhānta aur sāhitya. Delhi: National

Publishing House.Snell, R., 1991. The Eighty-Four Hymns of Hita Harivaṃśa: An Edition of the Caurāsī Pada. Delhi:

Motilal Banarsidass; London: School of Oriental and African Studies.Stewart, T.K., 1991. ‘When biographical narratives disagree: the death of Kṛṣṇa Caitanya’.

Numen 38(2), 231–60.Stewart, T.K., 1997. ‘When Rāhu devours the moon: the myth of the birth of Kṛṣṇa Caitanya’.

International Journal of Hindu Studies 1(2), 221–64.Śukla, R., [1911] 1972 (VS 2029). Hindī sāhitya kā itihās. Nāgarīpracāriṇī Granthmālā, 53. Rev.

and enl. ed. Benares: Nāgarīpracāriṇī Sabhā.

Notes1 In fact, Anderson himself has suggested that nationalism has ‘a strong affinity withreligious imaginings’ (10), but he continues with a sweeping sketch of the grand‘religious communities’ preceding the advent of nationalism (12-19). It is of coursenot Anderson’s purpose to dwell on how these grand communities themselves areconstituted by a myriad of smaller communities, each of which has a history of itsown. By seeking to apply his term to sixteenth-century Indian religiouscommunities, I do not mean to imply that they are imagined similarly as nationsare. Indeed, Anderson argues that the nation is a profoundly new way of ‘imagining’,citing the deficit of hierarchical religious and political ideas and the advent of print-capitalism, along with, in the colonies, census, map, and museum. One of the mainbreaking points with traditional imaginings, according to Anderson, is the loss of a‘conception of temporality in which cosmology and history were indistinguishable’([1983] 1991, 36). However, typical of the religious community that I study here isexactly its construing in an ahistorical perspective, mixing cosmology and history.


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2 To speak of imagined communities seems particularly apt in a religion that validatesimagination as a powerful tool to establish contact with the divine. In the Kṛṣṇabhakti communities I am studying here, the believer is invited to tune in to awavelength beyond that of ordinary reality and to participate in a divine play (līlā)where imagination is given free rein. Impulsive whim is valued above strictobedience to rules. The method par excellence of becoming involved in thissupramundane world is by play (līlā) in the sense of playacting. Appropriately, one ofthe favourite themes in Kṛṣṇa bhakti is dressing up and cross-dressing, by which thedevotees mimic the love of Kṛṣṇa and his lover Rādhā for masquerade. But the divineplayers also love to be unmasked; they drop clues to their true identity and play, inshort, a theological hide-and-seek. In that sense, the goal of this study is alsoappropriate, in that it aims to pick up on the clues dropped by the devotees of thedivine players of hide-and-seek. Here is where the analysis of hagiographic discoursecan be seen as not being against the grain of the religion but very much in tune withit. In the process, I hope to bring a taste of the aesthetic pleasure (rasa) to be enjoyedfrom catching a little glimpse, a darśana, of the truth, all the time remaining awarethat this irreverent unveiling only makes sense if the veil is there in the first place.

3 I want to qualify my use of the term ‘sect’ to translate sampradāya. This term isproblematic when applied in an Indian context (for an example, see Haynes 1974,70-81). It should not be understood in the occidental sense of ‘secessionistmovement’. Rather, in the Hindu context it is to be understood as ‘succession ofpreceptors embedded within a larger tradition’ (see, e.g., Burghart 1978). I have usedthe term for convenience, because of the lack of a better, short English alternative.

4 On the history of the term and its applicability to the Indian context, see Mallison(2001, vii-xx).

5 Hagiography of South Asia has been up and coming in the past four or so decades,ever since McLeod’s pioneering studies of Sikh hagiography, Ph. Granoff’s work onJaina religious biography, Lorenzen’s work on Hindu bhakti (e.g., 1991), and Smith’swork (2000) on patterns in North Indian hagiography, to name only a few. Animportant volume, edited by Callewaert and Snell, appeared in 1994 and should becomplemented with a more recent one, edited by Mallison (2001). This volume hasan excellent bibliography and brings to the attention of the scholarly world theresearch of scholars who tend to publish mainly in French and unfortunately havebeen largely ignored in English-biased research.

6 This term has gained currency thanks to Pierre Nora’s historical project to identifywhat constitutes French national feeling and ‘Frenchness’ by analysing sites ofimportance to the nation. From a geographical term, relating to monuments andsites, it broadened into a metaphorical sense to refer also to texts (from the literarycanon to children’s texts), important incidents of history (such as l’affaire Dreyfus),and important personae (such as Jeanne d’Arc; see Nora 1996, xv-xviii).

7 Much exciting work is currently forthcoming on this topic: Rebecca Manring andTony Stewart are both working on the formation of the Gauḍīya community, andVasudhā Dalmia on that of the Puṣṭi-mārga. There is one earlier study on thesectarian formation of the Haridāsīs (Haynes 1974).

8 Both Harivaṃś and Haridās have also been the subject of Western studies (Haynes1974; Rosenstein 1997; Snell 1991).

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9 To Harivaṃś are also ascribed two Sanskrit works, namely Yamunāṣṭaka andRādhāsudhānidhi, though there is controversy about this (see Snell 1991, 37-46).

10 The first one, in support of the Rādhāvallabhan claim, was edited in two volumes bythe Akhila Bhāratvarṣīya Śrī Hita Rādhāvallabhīya Mahāsabhā (1934); the second, insupport of the Mādhva-Gauḍīya claim, was edited by one of Vyās’s descendantsresiding in Vrindāvan, Rādhākiśor Gosvāmī (1937). Both books are very difficult toobtain, though recently a slightly rearranged and even more militantly sectarian newversion of the old Rādhāvallabhan Vyās Vāṇī was published locally by Hitdās (1998).

11 All of the editions claim to be based on manuscript material, but the date of themanuscripts used is mostly nineteenth century, postdating Vyās by three centuries.My contribution has been scholarly editions of selected works by Vyās, based onmanuscript material that I have collected during field trips in India. The manuscriptsI use go back at least a full century before the manuscripts used for the existingeditions (1996; 2002).

12 Chappāī 198 of Nābhādās’s Bhakt-māl is devoted to Bhagvatmudit but does not give aclue as to his sectarian allegiance. In his commentary (Kavitta 626–9), Priyādās saysthat he was a disciple of Haridās, a pūjārī of the Govindadeva temple, which wouldmake him a follower of Caitanya. Several documents of the Govindadeva templeconfirm that Haridās was adhikārī from 1593 till 1611 (Habib 1996, 132, 142–3).However, nothing is known of Bhagvatmudit in these documents.

13 Bansal (1980, 277–84) doubts that Bhagvatmudit was indeed the author.14 I have consulted a manuscript dated 1778 (VS 1835), preserved at VRI (Accession No.

4389); however, this manuscript is sectarian: it was clearly written in aRādhāvallabhan milieu. So, as expected, it did not show major variants comparedto the popular editions. An older manuscript (VS 1799) is said to be preserved in theCaitanya Pustakālay in Patna (reference from Dr. Nareścandra Bansal, personalcommunication, January 1988), but I have not had an opportunity to consult it.

15 Another work attributed to the same author is dated 1762 (see Snell 1991, 25).16 Apparently, one of the editors claims this to be the real name of the hagiographer,

but the later sources that mention the work seem to know only of Kṛṣṇadās (CarolSalomon, personal communication, February 2001).

17 Although I am not able to assess Kṛṣṇadās’s own sectarian position as unambiguously as Iwould want to, it is clear that his work has influenced theMādhva-Gauḍīya appropriationof Vyās in 20th-century scholarship (for some sources, see Gosvāmī 1952, 65–6).

18 It may also be that not the hagiographer, but the earliest editors of the text wereresponsible for the anti-Rādhāvallabhan rhetoric (Carol Salomon, personal commu-nication, February 2001).

19 It appears that this hagiography has remained largely unknown, as it is rarelyquoted in Bengālī Gauḍīya sources (Tony Stewart, personal communication, 18December, 2000).

20 There is also a vulgate edition, which, unfortunately, was not available to me; it ispublished from Basumati Sāhitya Mandir in Calcutta, edited by UpendranāthMukhyopādhyāy (see Snell 1991, 350).

21 Lalitkiśorīdev’s dates are uncertain. McGregor (1984, 164) gives the putative dateshanded down by the sect as ‘1676–1766?’ (see Entwistle 1987, 186; Haynes 1974, 116and 120).


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22 The dates of this work are debated: according to McGregor (1984, 108–9) it wasfinalised before 1600, but according to Jhā (1978, 1:40–5) it was later, probablybetween 1600 and 1631 (VS 1657–88).

23 There are many editions of this important hagiography, several of which have theirown sectarian emphasis (the most famous editions are Gaṇeśdās and Rāmeśvardās1982; Garge 1960; Bhagvānprasād [1903–09] 1977). However, for our purpose, itsuffices to say that the Chappāī about Vyās is found in all editions with no significantvariants. There is a critical edition by Jhā (1978), according to which the Chappāī onVyās is in the oldest manuscripts and there are no major variants.

24 Again, there are no noteworthy variants in the texts of the different editions. Mosteditions include commentaries on Priyādās’s commentary, which differ substan-tially, but this does not need to detain us here.

25 This edition is mainly based on an earlier edition of Nāgrī’s works, called NāgarSamuccay, published in Bombay in 1898. The editor has taken into consideration oneundated manuscript from the Nāgarīpracāriṇī Sabhā collection (Gupta 1965, 2:1).Interestingly, the latter manuscript has only four out of nine ‘chapters’ devoted toVyās, but even so he remains one of the most prominent bhaktas in the work, sincethe manuscript has fewer chapters on other saints too.

26 I use the term topos here loosely for a general theme that has been conventionalised,rather than in the more specific sense of the highly developed analytical frameworkof literary studies.

27 This reference occurs in the edited text of RAM only; it is not confirmed by thereading in the manuscript.

28 The hagiographer uses, e.g., the terms tilaka and dāma in RAM 37. One suspects toothat the author’s care to refer to Vyās’s sādhu sevā is influenced by Nābhādās’srefrain: bhakta iṣṭa ati vyāsa ke (RAM 35, 36). Nābhādās’ incident of Vyās fixing Rādhā’sbroken anklet with his sacred thread is mentioned briefly in RAM 42.

29 The editor provides a variant: śiṣya śrī mādhava nāma.30 The editor provides a variant: t~�ara vaṃśa mādhavī sampradāi.31 I am very grateful to Dr. Carol Salomon for her kind and patient help with the

translation of this text. All mistakes are of course entirely my own.32 He relates the story of the wedding banquet fed to the sādhus (BBhM 100:7–13),

Vyās’s accepting food from the hands of a low caste (BBhM 100:14–21), and his usinghis sacred thread to replace the broken string of the anklet for the dancerimpersonating Rādhā (BBhM 100: 22–5), the division of his goods among his sons(BBhM 100:28–33) and the quarrel with his wife about her lack of devotion for holymen (BBhM 100:37–45; for a discussion of these stories, see Pauwels 2002, 6.2–3).After the initial statement, the sectarian claim does not surface again.

33 This is all the more surprising because Priyādās mentions Bhagvatmudit in his Bhakt-sumariṇī 229 (see Gaṇeśdās 1982, 43). If Bhagvatmudit was indeed the author of theRAM, one would have expected Priyādās to have been familiar with his work and theclaim that Vyās belonged to the Rādhāvallabha-sampradāya.

34 The image in Pannā presently associated with Vyās has only loose connections withits ‘discoverer’.

35 According to Snell (1991, 208, 235), baṃdana stands for ‘the yellow pigment used inthe making of tilakas’.

Heidi Pauwels 89

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36 This seems to be the understanding of many hagiographers, because they (andmodern scholars) add a poem by Kiśordās at this point. One commentary tells howsurprised Vyās was at the skill of his son, which emphasises Haridās’s role in thepoetic creativity of Kiśordās (Gaṇeśdās and Rāmeśvardās 1982, 3:143).

37 The reference to ‘Lalitādi’ is interesting in the light of the theory (Pauwels 2009b)that this term in Vyās’s and Harivaṃś’s poetry refers to the three friends of theRasik-trayī in their role as sakhī.

38 All, except one commentary (Bhagvānprasād [1903–09] 1977, 610), explicitlyinterpret the ‘giving of the seal’ as an initiation.

39 The initiation of Kiśordās is not told in connection with Vyās’s death, although theauthor proceeds immediately afterwards (RAM 52) to say that Śyāmā and Śyāmacalled Vyās to join them in their palace (vyāsa sakhī niju mahala bulāī).

40 Rasik-ananya-māl portrays Kiśordās as Vyās’s eldest son, whereas Priyādās, by givingpriority of choice to the other two sons, seems to indicate he was the youngest. Onecommentator of Priyādās’ work assures us though that Kiśordās would have takenthis ‘last choice’ even as his first choice (Gaṇeśdās and Rāmeśvardās 1982, 3:142–3).

41 This prasanga is found in the manuscript consulted by the editor (Gupta 1965, 2:17).42 Only one hagiography differs in telling the story, Rām-rasikāvalī written in 1846

attributed to Raghurāj Singh, the ruler of Rīvā (1833–79). One chapter (56) of thiswork relates Vyās’s life story (vyāsadāsa kī kathā) (Kṛṣṇadās 1915). Here the son whochose the image of Yugalakiśora is initiated by Haridās. An interesting detail is thatVyās’s wife does not agree with Vyās’s way of distributing his goods. This gives thehagiographer the occasion to quote one of Vyās’s songs to explain himself.

43 I am grateful to Vāsudev Gosvāmī of Datiyā for allowing me to consult his personalcopy of the work.

44 I have already drawn attention to the applicability of Gold’s term to Vyās’s conceptsin Pauwels (1994).

45 The first reference is to the standard editions, such as those of Bhagvānprasād([1903–09] 1977, 603–4), Gaṇeśdās and Rāmeśvardās (1982, 3:124–6), and Garge (1960,577). The second reference is to the critical edition by Jhā (1978, 2:32).

46 See Purohit [1960] 1986, 2:4–6. Throughout the following chapters, the references,preceded by RAM, are to the line-number in the chapter on Vyās (Vyās Parcaī) of thisedition.

47 See Gaṇeśdās and Rāmeśvardās (1982, 3:126-45), Garge (1960, 577-83), andBhagvānprasād ([1903–09] 1977, 604-10).

48 See Lahilī (1905, 364–6). The caritra consists of 63 unnumbered couplets, which I willrefer to by sequential number. It also contains one pada by Vyās. A transliteration ofthe Bengālī text is provided in Pauwels (2002, Appendix 3). I am grateful to CarolSalomon for her help with understanding this text.

49 See Gupta (1965, 2:377–82). Missing in the manuscript are prasangas 29–30, 32–3, and35, see Gupta (1965, 2:17).

50 See Kedarnāth (1915, 107–14, 166).51 See Caturvedī (1931, 46–54).52 See Siṃha (1892, 14–17).


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The Case of a Lost Community of Sixteenth-Century Vrindāvan

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