India was once a land where queerness was not judged, and having different sexual attitudes wasn’t censured

there iS so much to Indian Mythology that remains hidden. There is so much that no one speaks of – of probable hidden desires, of stories that somehow don’t find an audience because we are probably too “civilized” for our own good. Take queerness, for instance. It isn’t only modern, Western or sexual, says mythologist Devdutt Pattanaik in his book, and compiles many overlooked tales from the vast written and oral traditions of Hinduism to help us analyse that Indian mythology was never ashamed of its sexual orientation and expression. Devdutt tries to uncover stories in mythology about men and women, about gender bender, about situations where roles were reversed for good reason and, sometimes, for no reason at all. The story about Shikhandi, which opens the collection, is well known. Born as a girl but raised as a son, Shikhandi was Amba in previous life. Amba sought revenge against Bhishma, who abducted her and her sisters from their swayamvara for his brother Vichitravirya. She was then reborn as Dhrupada’s daughter Shikhandi, who was used to defeat Bhishma in the battle of Mahabharata.

But what was Shikhandi’s life like, really? A man trapped in a woman’s body, Shikhandi was married off to a princess who ran away when she discovered that her husband was a woman. To bring her back and save his father’s kingdom from being attacked by his father-in-law’s army, he took the help of a yaksha named Sthuna who lent Shikhandi his manhood. Shikhandi, the author says, would be called a female to male transsexual whose body is genitally changed. However, tellers of this tale have preferred to portray him as a eunuch or a man who feels like a woman indicating a “patriarchal bias even in the queer space”.

Discussing one’s sexuality was never taboo in ancient Indian times; in fact, in several myths these tales are part of the great epics. Men turn into women and women seek sexual encounters with men who are not their husbands without heartburn or fear of being ostracised, thus proving that ancient civilizations did not consider sex taboo.

Over time, as communities found it necessary to protect their identity by setting down rules and marking out acts of taboo, patriarchal systems gained prominence and religious codes came into practice. As a result, gender and caste biases and puritanism crept into the stories. They acquired a didactic tone to gain religious sanction and approval from those in power. Storytellers took on, or were forced to do so, the burden of preaching and teaching values, behavioural attitudes and morality.

Thus, we have a story in which a queen prefers the company of women, but Arjuna is so enamoured by her that he forces himself into her bed in the form of a serpent. While it may have been entirely acceptable for women to be sexual partners, as patriarchal systems came into place, there was growing discomfort with the attitude which, perhaps, prompted some enterprising storyteller to embed a man into an all-women’s world. Several tales in the book illustrate this — from Mahadeva, who became a woman to deliver his devotee’s child; Chudala, who became a man to enlighten her husband; Samavan, who became the wife of his male friend; Narada who forgot he was a man; Indra who took the form of a Brahmin to make love to his wife when he was away; Krishna who crossdresses in times of war and peace for various reasons, to more gods and demons and kings and queens who are not rigid about sexuality and gender.

This book is a work that transcends orientation and gender and has many playful, touching, and stirring stories that reveal the unique Indian way of making sense of queerness. A personal favourite is the tale of hermitwarriors Nara and Narayana, who had grown all powerful. Stories about their valour had spread far and wide. Riding on a single chariot, the duo made for a fearsome couple; they vanquished asuras with ease and conducted such severe penance that had even the gods shaking with fear. The two were close friends — in some texts they are guru and shishya and in others, they share a more equal relationship — and had sworn to a lifetime of celibacy.

But as usually happens, the king of gods, Indra, was worried and feared the duo’s growing strength and their asceticism as much as he abhorred their celibate status. So he sent an army of apsaras to break their penance and seduce them. Nara saw the apsaras approaching and turned to Narayana who drew a beautiful woman on his thigh using the stalk of a mango leaf. An apsara emerged from the thigh (uru in Sanskrit) and thus Urvashi was born; without a mother and with two fathers. Urvashi went on to become one of Indra’s favourite apsaras,while Arjuna and Krishna were believed to be avataras of Nara and Narayana. This story is part of the Bhagvata Purana, but if we were to place Nara and Narayana within a contemporary narrative, how would we categorise them? As parents of Urvashi, who would be the mother and who the father? Would they be members of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender (LGBT) community? Or would they be part of an ascetic cult where men can make babies? Depending on how you answer these questions, you define your approach to an issue that has vexed many: how accepting or tolerant was ancient Indian society of the LGBT community?

Throughout the book, none of the stories judge, classify or label the protagonists. These classifications or labelling probably happened in the minds of the interpreters. It was the reader, the preacher or the commentator who ascribed a moral to the tale. It is the same today — in the debate against and for recognition to the LGBT community, stories from the past are being used to present a position that suits the popular sentiment and helps avoid conflict. This is the core theme and the premise on which Pattanaik bases his book — that queer behaviour did not invite censure from society. According to him, Indian society was comfortable with the idea of queerness. It was experimental and non-judgmental about sexual attitudes and society didn’t shy away from engaging with the conflicts arising out of queer behaviour.

This book does a great job putting across a collection of stories that capture the essence of ancient Indian society’s approach to sexual behaviour. In today’s times of intolerance, this one’s a must-read.