Towards an Historical Sociology of the Purāṇas: Are the Purāṇas Really Concerned About Society?

Abstract

The aim of this paper is to canvass the possibility of what a sociological study of the Purāṇas might be. That is, whether this be the view(s) of society presented in the Purāṇas or the social conditions which may have produced the genre and individual texts within it. I argue that there is a very clear intertextual relationship between the Purāṇas and the Mahābhārata, even where there are considerable narrative differences. On the one hand, I see the Purāṇas as partly being conservative and adaptive texts fully accepting the brahmanical view of society developed in the Mahābhārata. On the other hand, they seem to have also accepted the existence of a wide variety of social groups arising in the early centuries of the Common Era and their corresponding occupations. I also raise the question of the sociological implications of devotional practices, which are so dominant in the Purāṇas. Finally, I study a few chapters from the Mārkaṇḍeya Purāṇa, which, in the manvantara section, raises the possibility of varṇasaṃkara, gender relations, and the treatment of brahmins by members of other varṇas.

1. Introduction

What could a sociological study of the Purāṇas encompass? Does it mean the social conditions under which a text as part of the complete genre was composed, the extent to which these conditions were a factor in shaping the text/genre and how the genre should be received and interpreted. Or does it mean the extent to which the Purāṇas offer teachings trying to mould or reinterpret existing or new social practices? With some difficulty, because of their original oral nature, each of these possibilities is relevant in the study of the Purāṇas. Any one individual Purāṇa may reflect a more developed social awareness than another, yet all are in some measure dependent on the structural narrative conditions—the juxtaposition of mythic and didactic/educative styles—of the genre in which they appear. In addition, the mythic narratives in the Purāṇas are highly pictorial, designed as they are to be entertaining as well as educational.

What should be stated at the beginning is that once composed, perhaps in the early centuries of the Common Era, the Purāṇas have retained their measured popularity, just like the Mahābhārata1 and the Rāmāyaṇa, being translated into vernacular languages and revised constantly.2 We could ask what the socio-cultural conditions are that enabled this process to continue until the present day, but it would be impossible to answer, except that the Purāṇic narratives respond to widespread devotional religiosity and are entertaining. Mostly, we are constrained to the early periods of their composition because, perhaps with the exceptions of the 9th-century Bhāgavatapurāṇa, we mostly only have available the early versions of the Purāṇas, even when written manuscripts are much later. And it is this period on which I focus in this article. However, even in contemporary versions of Purāṇas, the idea of tradition and antiquity is present in the word purāṇa itself. In this sense, it might be argued that the purāṇa as a genre is always looking back to the past, which gives the genre its status amongst brahmins and the lower varṇas. Yet they are also integrative in bringing in bhakti “devotion” as a central feature and the pañcalakṣaṇa, their own five generic characteristics in terms of content, differentiating them from other genres.

Arguably, the purāṇa as a genre communicates the vision of a society and socio-religious-political values already developed as normative, especially in the MBh. This is demonstrated by the many instances of intertextuality with the MBh (e.g., MkP. 1, 3–17, AgniP., chap. 14, BrahmaP. 26, 6, ViṣṇuP. 3, 4, 5, just to name a few) and to a lesser extent the Rāmāyaṇa. As such, the Purāṇas take up material from the past and integrate it with new material. This is so even where its strongly devotional ambience must have simply reflected the socio-religious conditions at a time when the genre emerged. Whilst the Purāṇas do not anchor themselves within the MBh, there can be no doubt that they have a self-aware and complex relation with it, as they mention it so often.

Accordingly, it is useful to ask what function the Purāṇas perform that makes them different from the MBh. Is it that they successfully demonstrate a period and view of the world where the changed status of the brahmins has really become manifest and accepted in their movement away from Vedic ritualism to devotional performances? And is it, as I think, likely, that they are consolidating the role of brahmins in a socio-political world where polities are fragmented, society3 is much broader in class roles and ethnic groups than several hundred years before, and the brahmins are feeling confident in their new roles, whilst maintaining one foot in the Vedic past? The Purāṇas are adaptive of tradition and what is received from the past, not necessarily confrontational.

A possible further sign of this integrating process and acceptance of the past-understood in the acceptance of the sanctity of the Vedas, is found in the manvantara narratives, where the precise details of the composition and organisation of the Vedas and their schools are often given (e.g., AgniP. 271, also 259–62). The Saṃhitās, Brāhmanas, and occasionally, the Āraṇyakas, are often mentioned, though never the Upaniṣads. The different Vedic schools are also listed. All this means that the ancient tradition is very well represented as providing a textual foundation for culture and society. In addition, it serves to bolster the position of the brahmin class, a constant in the Purāṇas, as having its foundation in Vedic tradition.4

Another characteristic to be taken into consideration with possible relevance to their conception of society is the extent to which the Purāṇic narratives, especially the manvantara or “periods of Manu” descriptions, engage in certain kinds of classification and naming of individual species and the naming of the members of those species (see, e.g., BḍP. 2, 3, 6–7, where different dynasties of mythical beings, apsaras, gandharvas, birds, etc., are enumerated), and the actual description of groups in the specific manvantaras given in MkP. 64, 76, 98. Who would want to know this, and who would remember them all? Are they statements about the complexity of society or statements of lineage continuity, the latter being likely? Some of these lists could easily induce one to envision the Purāṇas as texts of classification, even if they are much more than this in their ideological intentions.

Existing studies by Saxena (2019) and Desai (1968) are useful in cataloguing many of the specific social conditions, occupations, gender relations and marriage within specific Purāṇas. Saxena, however, is insightful in the sense of describing how adaptive certain Purāṇic narratives were in defining the sense in which the Purāṇas show the influence of the brahmins in attempting to mould their status and ritual positions in apparently changed cultural and social positions, but she does not really go beyond this.

2. Society?

What word (s) in the Purāṇas could be found that would translate what we mean by the word “society”, itself a contested concept? Would it be samaya (usually “assembly”) or saṃgrāma (usually “battle”), or a combination of sam with something else? It is very likely that the idea of a society was simply implied in a description of the four varṇas, where functionally they are interrelated into a whole. Collectively and individually, this grouping allows a group of people with recognised differences, but agreeing on the basic direction of the social system and brahmin authority, to hold together with a certain degree of coherence. Importantly, it also facilitates an active contrast with whatever groups lie outside of them, groups which also have to be socially and economically integrated in some way. The basic lineaments of society along the lines of varṇāśrama, defining specific social class and stages of life within the individual classes—with all of its weaknesses—have already been spelled out in the MBh5. The Purāṇas, in their own way, continue exploring these weaknesses, especially in the sections detailing the lineages found in the manvantara narratives.

At the most elementary level, the allusions to society—to say “description” would be too formal—in the Purāṇas are essentially that of the MBh and the Dharma literature, where the description of the varṇas is given more formally. There are three possible elements to this: firstly, the centrality of the four varṇas in describing a society considered normative in terms of inheritance, division of labour, socio-ritual status and economic functions; secondly, those from the varṇa-based society who make the explicit decision to leave society in order to become ascetic saṃnyāsins–described in a variety of ways–leaving from one of the varnas, usually brahmin or kṣatriya; and, thirdly, those acknowledged as existing outside of society, such as the Caṇḍālas, Pukkasas and others.6 The very existence of this third group is essential because it defines specific groups of people who can be contrasted with those who live within the varṇa framework and thus gives this society a greater sense of cohesion.7 To these it may be possible to add a fourth, even if it is difficult to define: the idea of a social attitude defined by devotees and ritualists, as the individual Purāṇas are so preoccupied with this, irrespective of the deity who may seem to predominate in the text, and irrespective of varṇa. Yet these are really part of the first two groups.

As such, the Purānas are operating with an implied view of society comprising individual classes, individual munis or “sages,” and despised groups, which, in totality, operate as a kind of coherent whole, all functioning within a clearly developed devotional universe. There are two visions here: one is of individual groups with all their defining characteristics, and the second concerns how this would operate as a whole, or how it could be conceptualised as a whole. Of these two, the second is both implied and presented explicitly. And that it is so often present in the text may give us a glimpse as to how society functioned in some kind of actuality in the early centuries CE.

Bronkhorst offers an insightful view of what potentially is the gap between an idealised view of society and the power structures behind this when he writes about the MBh, in a paragraph that could equally apply to the Purāṇas (here referring to the āśramas as brahmanical sanctuaries): “Our reflections so far have led us to the following. There are good reasons to think that the āśramas which we find so often depicted in brahmanical literature correspond to an idealized vision as to what brahmanical settlements looked like or should look like. Their idealized depiction also had political purposes, among them to induce kings and those around them to grant land to Brahmins. These idealized depictions could fulfil this aim if they convinced those in power that by creating such settlements they could harness brahmanical power and use it for their own benefit” (Bronkhorst 2011, p. 99).

The varṇas are taken as a given in dividing social classes, occupations and mutual obligations between those born into the classes. So are the āśramas in their other meaning referring to the possible different stages in the life of a male, mainly of the brahmin varṇa. And also taken as given is the role of the gṛhastha—householder—and the king as unifying nodes within the society and kingdom—the latter two being virtually synonymous in different functional ways. Bear in mind the gṛhastha operates both in the horizontal society/economy of those people still living—by gift-giving to various parties, especially to the brahmins—and the vertical economy of the deceased by sacrificing to the pitṛs and the devas.8 Sages, such as munis, of course, are everywhere in the narratives, even though they live outside of society, yet possess all the correct knowledge about the brahmin gṛhastha’s role. Even so, we might ask whether this is really about society or really about political rule and the role of the king at the centre of society? Lineage is fundamentally important, especially in regard to the vertical integration of individual families with their ancestors, but also for dynastic continuity.

Directly related to varṇa, understood as the normative arrangement of society, is varṇasaṃkara, understood as “the mixture of members of social classes in terms of performing functions and marriages outside of those ordained for their class”, and the strong support for the role of the gṛhastha are the two central themes of the manvantara narratives.9 The latter seems to be implied in certain manvantara descriptions (see below for an analysis of one taken from the MkP.), given that these narratives involve humans, animals, rākṣasas and apsaras interacting on intimate levels, all having considerable closeness to humans. It surely is significant that the compound varṇasaṃkara hardly ever occurs in the Purāṇas,10 especially since mixing of the varṇas through marriage and conduct is so strongly frowned upon. Yet cracks are definitely implied in the lists of forbidden actions and in the narratives of broken lineages often found in the manvantara narratives. Marriage remains central as the lineage has to be maintained and the correct rituals must be performed, a point also made by munis, who themselves are never married.

Given the acceptance by the Purāṇic compilers of the kind of social construction so elaborated and explored in the MBh and the Dharma texts, there was likely no need for justification to be given as to the orthoprax nature of society. As such, there is no sense in which the Puṛāṇas convey a new view of society, except in the emphasis they place on bhakti and the use to which devotional activity can/must be performed by individuals and groups, irrespective of their birth varṇa. This is as much individualistic as it is social in the sense of involving groupings of people, especially at festivals, with tīrthayātras also involving individuals.

3. Social Cohesion

One could argue that the varṇa conception of society implies a theory of social and economic cohesion. This is especially so given that the varṇas are defined in terms of a particular division of labour, one interdependent for the functioning of the entire society.11 Adherence to varṇa rules enables an expectation of individual behaviour and correct relations with others, suggesting the possibility of social cohesiveness because of the predictability of individual behaviour within a particular class. This applies even where difference is evident, as in the case of the wandering ascetic—as opposed to the vanaprastha “forest dweller” who lives in an āśrama—a brahmin community located in the forest, which still functions as a social environment. Cohesion is fundamentally important in all societies where there exists a potentially high degree of difference amongst various groups of people, as defined by those who purport to give guidance as to how the society should run in an ideal sense. Once again, this idea of cohesion has already been well rehearsed in the MBh and the dharma texts, though the normative aspects of these may have been foreign to most hearers.

Related to varṇasaṃkara as a fundamental concept, here, the term maryādā could be used, as it refers to a social boundary which should not be transgressed.12 The important point to be made is that society still holds together even where many individuals occasionally transgress the rules, for which they receive the appropriate censure.13 That means the normative rules and the possibility they may be broken are the basis of a cohesive society. Furthermore, AgniP. 152, 1–2 is surely interesting here, if I have understood it properly: “A brahmin, living by the actions as laid down (in chap. 151), could live by means of the rules of livelihood (dharma) of the kṣatriya or vaiśya or śūdra, but not what derives only from the śūdra A brahmin may engage himself in agriculture, trade, keeping cows and usury. But he should abstain from taking milk, jaggery, salt and meat and using red-dye.”14 Normally, this would apply only in times of distress (āpad), but this term is not used in this passage.

There are a number of chapters in each Purāṇa dealing with what might be called adharmic behaviour.15 Many of the examples relate to expressions of impurity, especially in relation to brahmins, which is hardly surprising. Do they do anything other than reinforce the details of the varṇa system and the possibility of brahmin pollution, reflecting yet again the capacity of the Purāṇas to adapt and their traditionality? They all focus on individuals interacting with each other, individuals who are already members of specific varṇas, the rules of which they are seemingly infringing.

In contemporary Indian society, the influence of the varṇas is still present, especially within the village context and the countryside, though it remains a society that tolerates a considerable degree of identity difference, measured in a range of ways. In contrast, the epics and Purāṇas seem to indicate a society where difference is much less, yet which is present all the same. The mythic narratives and the extended narrative plot of the MBh depict differences, and in the descriptions of the different yugas, they define the development of society from individuals (kṛtayuga) down to actual society dominated by massive social and behavioural differences, as in the kaliyuga. It is seemingly in their listing of bad and impure practices that the Purāṇas are pointing towards different forms of unacceptable behaviour that define social differences within the framework of normative behaviour. In this sense, we can glimpse the possibility of a working society, a society fully aware of what constitutes social cohesion and the considerable difficulty in attaining this, if it can ever be fully attained.

4. What Do the Narratives of Royal Lineages Tell Us?

These narratives of royal ineages occur in the manvantara narratives, describing particular periods of patriarchs named Manu, and involve munis, kings, wives/queens and some—notably in the MkP.—stories of love, disregard, cursing and wooing.16 They also gravitate between the city and the forest. Equally, they bring into play mythical figures such as rākṣasas, piśācas and apsaras who play a role in the romantic connections, and are filled with descriptions of passions and emotions. The myths are very pictorial and vivid, and I have used here some of the relevant chapters of the MkP. to illustrate this. I have not found these exact kinds of plots in other Purāṇas I have examined, suggesting they may be unique to the MkP.

The problem is to assess the values being rehearsed and communicated to a Purāṇic audience. We already know the centrality of kingship, the gṛhastha, the varṇas and the horizontal and vertical networks of the gṛhastha in terms of which he operates. Are we then being told in these myths how fundamental the maintenance of living lineages is as one of the foundations of society? And do they just apply to royal lineages or to all lineages? What happens in these myths is surely a long way from what everyday life must have been like, but it is certainly not totally divorced from it, and this is part of the attraction of the narratives. As such, they must tell us something about this life(s) and its ideals, the latter certainly being easier than the former. Mythology is not just a false story, as the popular understanding regards it. Rather, it communicates in an accessible form some of the fundamental ideologies and structures of a given society. In this sense, the Purāṇic myths might contribute to an understanding of how the Purāṇic narratives present some of the possible fractures in society.

It is also necessary to concede that in these narratives, the status of brahmins is also being explored. Is that at all surprising, given that the brahmins are lauded in the Purāṇas and still accorded their high status? The following set of chapters from the MkP. could be seen to explore this, and the sense the brahmins still derive their identity in part from their connections to Vedic ritual (kriyā), even if this is household ritual as opposed to śrauta sacrifices. Women of different statuses are attracted to brahmins, but we might ask whether this is simply because they are brahmins.

5. The Svārociṣa Manvantara in the MkP.

I have included this section, briefly analysing six chapters (58–63) from the section of the MkP. dealing with the Svārociṣa manvantara. It goes into greater detail in dealing with succession, birth and marriage/union within particular lineages, more so than is found in other Purāṇic narratives of the manvantaras. I do not know why the MkP. enters into such detail on this. It seems to be implicitly dealing with inter-varṇa relations, though this is only stated once at 66, 37, in a passage referring to possible consequences when a wife is not properly protected: “When a wife is not being protected there will be a mixture of varṇas. King, that will cause your ancestors to fall from heaven.”17

The following offers a brief summary of the relevant chapters.

Chap. 58: There was a certain eminent brahmin (dvijātipravara) in the town of Aruṇāspada on the Varūṇa river, who was more handsome than the āśvins, twin heavenly gods. He is the ideal grḥastha but decides he wants to travel the earth. A brahmin guest arrives and describes the sights to him and then gives him a magic ointment, which allows him to travel far and enables him to return home in a day. When the first brahmin is far away, the ointment gets washed off his body, and he can no longer travel rapidly. He sees many apsaras, “nymphs”, on the mountains, and this gives him great delight. Yet (vs. 28ff.) he is extremely worried about not being able to perform his rituals, diverted as he is by the great beauty around him. He hopes to see an ascetic who will tell him how to get home to perform the rituals.

Varuthinī, a beautiful, illustrious apsaras, daughter of Muli, sees the muniśreṣṭham (the brahmin) and falls in love with him. She speculates about his identity, hoping he will fall in love with her as she will gain much merit. The young brahmin sees her, very beautiful, and introduces himself. Varuthinī explains who she is and declares her love for him.

However, the brahmin is not interested and simply wants to go home to perform the necessary rituals. He asks her how he can go home. But she does not want him to abandon her, and so she embraces him, only for him to push her away. She continues to try and persuade him to stay, saying how beautiful it is there and what pleasure he will have. He pushes her away again, saying, “Don’t touch me, evil woman! Go elsewhere to some other man who is like yourself. You have been definitely implored (yācitā) by me, yet nonetheless you have still approached me. The oblation to the gods, offered evening and morning, sustains the eternal worlds; the whole of the three worlds is established on the oblation to the gods, foolish woman” (vs. 61–63).

He insists that the gārhapatya and the other two fires are more important to him than her. Again, she tries to persuade him. He responds by saying that striving after delights (bhogārthāya) is not for a brahmin. Now she threatens suicide, which will bring bad merit on him. He says his teachers have told him one should not covet another’s wife (parastriyaṃ vs. 73). Then, he evokes the gārhapatya fire, makes an act of truth that he wants to go home and that he has not coveted another man’s wife (paradāre vs. 79).

Chap. 59: The brahmin worships the fire on the mountainside. It pervades him, making him even more desirable to the apsaras who become passionate (anurāga). In consequence of the sacrificial fire, the brahmin is able to return home and perform all the rites. He leaves her crying, whilst she keeps mooning for him, sobbing and utterly disconsolate. Then, she reproaches herself, saying the fire of her love will consume her.

A gandharva, “heavenly musician,” named Kali falls in love with her. He had previously been rejected by her. Now he wonders if she has been mistreated by some muni’s curse (vs. 17). He discovers what had happened, and immediately assumes the brahmin’s appearance (rūpaṃ dvijanmanaḥ). She sees him and reveals her love for him, thinking he is the brahmin she first saw. He says his rituals suffer harm while he is there, but she responds, saying he will acquire dharma by saving her. Kali tells her not to look at him whilst they are making love.

Chap. 60: They make love for a long time, she still believing him to be the brahmin. Kali departs–still in the brahmin’s appearance–and she gives birth to a son, Svarocis (vs. 4), who took his appearance from the gandharva’s inner strength (vīrya) and from her concentrating (cint) on the brahmin. As a combination of such, he shone with splendour, learnt archery, the Vedas, and the knowledges (vidyās).

Svarocis goes wandering on Mt Mandara and sees a lonely young woman (kanyā) who asks him to save her, and then explains her situation. She is the daughter of the vidyādhara “heavenly musician” Indīvara, and is named Manoramā, born of Marudhanvan’s daughter. She had gone to Kailāsa with Vibhāvarī, daughter of the vidyādhara Mandāra, and Kalāvatī, daughter of the muni Pāra. There, she sees a very thin brahmin muni wasted away by tapas and laughs at him (16). He curses her to be overcome (abhibhū) by a rākṣasa “night demon”. Her two friends (Vibhāvarī and Kalāvatī) curse him in turn, accusing him of compromising his brahminhood (brāhmaṇyam akṣantyā vs.19) due to his intolerance, since the performance of austerities is the controlling of anger (krodhasaṃyamanaṃ tapaḥ). In turn, he curses one to become a leper (kuṣṭham), the other to have her body wasted away (kṣayaḥ) (vs. 21ab).18

To Svarocis, she says a demon has been stalking her for three days and asks him for help. She gives him a weapon to use, one which originally came from Rudra. The rākṣasa approaches, and Svarocis (vs. 32) let him seize her so that the brahmin’s curse (vs. 17–18 earlier) would come true. The rākṣasa seizes her, and Manoramā screams out, “Save me, save me,” and then Svarocis attacks and injures him. The rākṣasa then thanks him, saying he has now been delivered from a curse (vs. 37) placed on him by a muni named Brahmamitra, himself a brahmin.

Svarocis asks why he was cursed. He says that I am Indīvara (son of Nalanābha, king of the vidyādharas), the father of this girl (Manoramā, whom he was supposed to be stalking). He had asked the muni, Brahmamitra, to teach him Ayurveda, but he did not, even though Indīvara treated him with respect. Indīvara finally learnt this text by making himself invisible as the muni was teaching it to his students, and listening in. After eight months, he began laughing, and he was then cursed to become a rākṣasa, a curse to be lifted only when, with his memory gone, he wishes to eat his own daughter (vs. 50). When he is struck by his daughter’s weapon, the curse will be lifted, and he will resume his status as a vidyādhara. This happens, and he gives Svarocis his daughter to be his wife, and also knowledge of Ayurveda.

However, his daughter, even though in love with Svarocis, refuses the offer because the two young girls she is with are still suffering (duḥkhārtā vs. 59) from curses placed upon them, so she will suffer as well. He offers to make her two friends well again, with the knowledge of Ayurveda he has been given.

Chap. 61: Svarocis finally marries her, restores Vibhāvarī and Kalāvatī to health and also marries them (vs. 19). Kalāvatī was the daughter of a young brahmin student named Pāra, learned in the Vedas. In spring, an apsaras named Puñjikāsthalā (vs. 5–6) had approached Pāra. They made love, and Kalāvatī was produced, but she was abandoned by her mother. She was going to commit suicide until Satī stopped her, and predicted her marriage to Svarocis and her giving birth to a Manu. She accepts Svarocis and gives him special knowledge.

Chap. 62: Svarocis lives with his wives in the mountains. He hears a male goose speaking with a female cakravākā, the first one saying how happy he (Svarocis) and his wives seem, implying that such is uncommon. His judgement is contradicted by the female bird, who says, “These women are not cherished (dayitāḥ) by their husband, nor is this husband cherished by them. They are just an amusement (vinodamātram) as any other attendant might be”19 (vs. 15). Svarocis hears this and wonders if it is true. Then, he sees a buck surrounded by does. The buck criticises Svarocis, saying he is a laughing stock who is addicted to desires and is not dharmic, because a man gazed upon by many females with lustful glances is a laughing stock. And also because “There will be decline day after day in his lawful duties; and he is always intently followed by one wife, whilst strongly attached to the desires of others.”20

Chap. 63: Svarocis hears the birds, and the does (who were discarded by the buck) speaking and thinks of leaving his wives (vs. 1–2). Instead, his love for them increases, and he produces three sons from them, whom he settles in separate kingdoms.

Later, he goes into a forest and aims his bow at a boar. Then, a doe approaches him and asks that he shoot her instead, as this will free her from pain. He asks why, and she says: “Without him on whom, though his heart is devoted to other females, my mind has fixed its place, I must die; what other remedy is there”21 (vs. 16).

He says she loves Svarocis. He says he is a human, she an animal. How can they have a union? He embraces her, then she assumes a heavenly body, declaring she is a goddess (devatā) of the forest who must give birth to a Manu, hence Svarocis must love her. He produces a son in her, full of fiery energy like his father, named Dyutimat, but also became known as Svārociṣa.

Svarocis wanders around and hears an old goose with his mate, and the goose asks why she still wants pleasures (bhoga), especially since he is old. She goes on to make a case that the whole world is about pleasures, that even brahmins perform sacrifices to gain pleasures. But the male duck says that the mind of those not attached to pleasures rests on the highest goal. He gives the ascetic view, saying that Svarocis “has sunk in the watery mire of affection.” Svarocis hears this, then goes and performs austerities with his wives until he reaches heaven (vs. 42).

6. Interpretation

This summary of these chapters does not do justice to the richness and colour of the narrative; however, I hope it does illuminate the main themes found there. It attempts to convey the high level of emotion and passion expressed by the main characters, chapters which would have been very colourful and attractive to hearers. In some respects, the narrative is dominated by the position of the brahmin and the centrality of his performance of the daily rituals, for the correct performance of which he needs a wife.22 The possession of several wives, even for a king like Svarocis, is frowned upon, though it must have occurred often in practice, as demonstrated multiple times in the MBh. But does the emphasis on the performance of the rituals indicate that some brahmins were not performing them and so not retaining the Vedic heritage in a conspicuous manner? I ask this because the Purāṇas as texts expressing adherence to tradition seem to focus on what could diminish the Vedic life-stage ritual activity of brahmins, even where devotional rituals are given pride of place in the narratives.

It may also be significant that the brahmins found in these chapters are either ascetics or close to being such. Apart from the first one who refuses to marry the apsaras, none of the others could be called gṛhastha. The latter, above all, remains a powerful symbol of Vedic tradition in a society that had been changing dramatically since the highly visible institutionalisation of asceticism—in the sense of āśrama brahmin forest encampments and Buddhist monasteries—and the almost universal application of devotional practices.

Also surely significant is the extent of mixed relationships in these chapters, relationships producing kings and other Manus. I hesitate to describe these as marriages as no such ceremonies are described, though in the case of Svarocis, offspring arise from his three wives. Svarocis himself is born from the union of a gandharva and an apsaras, where the latter thinks the father (Kali) is a brahmin. Kalāvatī, his third wife, comes from the union of an apsara and a brahmin, whereas Vibhāvarī is the daughter of a gandharva. He himself is married to the union of a gandharva disguised as a brahmin and an apsaras. Another of his wives is a gandharva, whilst another was born as the offspring of a brahmin.

The lineage produced by Svarocis is very much a mixed one, in the sense of a mixture of species, though all seemingly located in the forest, the place of the ascetic. I speculate as to whether the mixed species marriages and the curses point towards varṇasaṃkara, and marriage and sex outside the appropriate varṇa. Does it do this by implication, or am I reading too much into it? A close reading of the other manvantara narratives would pay dividends in this regard. Yet at the same time, the connection of brahmins with Svarocis’ own birth and those of his wives seems also important in a patrynomic sense.

The curses that are applied by brahmins—with the counter curse of the two women—are a result of non-brahmins, two gandharvas, apparently ridiculing brahmin activity, Varuthinī, because she laughed at a brahmin’s physical appearance and Kali, because he wrongly listened to a brahmin teaching his students. Again, one might suggest this represents a disrespect towards brahmins by those outside of that varṇa, an apsaras and a gandharva, respectively. A disrespect in that they were not acting in the manner appropriate for their species/class. It could also indicate the declining behaviour of brahmins towards those of lower varṇas or those outside of the varṇa system. Or the declining status of some brahmins, which the Purāṇas attempt to counter.

What we also find here is considerable emphasis on emotion, passion, and anger, from members of both genders, though this is not easy to interpret, especially since the rules surrounding marriage in the three higher varṇas are highly regimented, even if there is some concession made to passion. Equally, we see examples of women standing up for themselves in a way that may be unexpected, an attitude also found even more strongly in the chapters immediately following this. Varuthinī pushes her love for the young brahmin in a manner that could be called unrelenting, even to the point of contradicting him. Manoramā initially refuses a marriage offer with Svarocis, and her two friends have both cursed a brahmin, only one of them being of brahmin descent. In both cases, arguably, the emphasis is on themselves and not just on the man.

Perhaps related to this is the emphasis in chaps. 62–63 on whether a husband can satisfy more than one wife, with the cakravākā saying he cannot, and the goose saying he can. This is followed by the buck saying he cannot, and a doe who is prepared to accept her husband, even though he has other wives. Finally, there is the other goose who rejects his wife’s wanting sex even in old age. In one sense, this emphasis points towards a puritanical view of marriage. Equally, it may reflect the critique of unrestrained desire we find so often in these texts, especially in descriptions of the ideal brahmin.

In addition, it is the brahmins who are presented as being seemingly against the rest, and emphasising ritual performance, Vedic learning and tapas above all else. And, perhaps surprisingly, there seems to be virtually no devotional material to be found here. This is likely because we are dealing with myths of lineages, not the devotional narratives usually associated with Viṣṇu and Śiva, although the inclusion of the Devīmāhātmya may be an exception here.

In summary, there seems to be five basic themes in these chapters: the importance of a brahmin having a wife in order to perform his daily kriyā rituals; the idea of varṇasaṃkara occurring within society more frequently than thought; the idea that the royal lineage is not always pure but still acceptable; the consequences of disrespect to brahmins and where this leads; and the capacity of women to stand up for themselves. Later chapters also rehearse these themes, especially the first one, as they depict the consequences of the wife leaving the husband. In no case, though, are the basic parameters of the varṇa system questioned, and they are only modified slightly.

7. Bhakti and Its Integration into Brāhmaṇical/Hindu Society?

The Purāṇa genre has to be considered as one whose goal is to both conserve and integrate. As already stressed, it still sanctifies the Vedas, Vedic ritual, and brahmins as social exemplars, as being unquestioned arbiters on all matters social and religious. In that sense, the genre can be regarded as conservative in retaining strong traditional values which uphold a particular view of society and the role of elites within it. All of this is placed within a specific consolidated vision of cosmogony and cosmology. This brings into play the three gods of the trimūrti, the goddess, and the extensive mythology associated with them. It is both highly pictorial in its descriptions and distinctive in illustrating the functions of the principal deities in the Hindu pantheon. These topics likely define the uniqueness of the Purāṇa genre, as they partly go beyond the social conservatism found elsewhere.

Beyond this is the other fundamental feature of the genre Purāṇa, if not the feature that really defines it. This is that the Purāṇic narrative is characterised by everything dealing with bhakti: devotional theology, mythic narratives, ritual practices, and pilgrimage. All of these have occurred earlier in the MBh to some extent,23 though not with such concentration. Such practices and the mythology and philosophy associated with them would have been widely accessible in early historical India from the early common era onwards, as would have been the devotional practices associated with Buddhism in most of its manifestations.

Any body of literature attempting to inculcate the widespread devotional practices, involving temple and image worship, with traditional Brahminism centred on brahmin prestige and Vedic sacrifices, would have had a difficult task, though the two streams of thought/practice were not necessarily incompatible. Even if they laid stress on different practices to some extent, they could still be brought together in a number of ways, continuing to exist as individual streams, allowing some overlap. Brahmin status as religious specialists could be maintained even with the expansion of socio-religious practices, not requiring the expenditure involved in the performance of the large śrauta sacrifices and the emergence of brahmins performing rituals for money for the lower classes. This class of priests, especially given that they are brahmins, is sometimes criticised for performing devotional rituals at the village level (von Stietencron 1977).

The two epics are dominated by their overriding narrative plots, which virtually run their entire length. This is not so for the Purāṇas as a genre, which does not have overriding plots, though the pañcalakṣaṇa could have potentially functioned as such, as it does for the genre as a whole. Yet where the pañcalakṣaṇa narratives occur, they tend to be pervaded by devotional material, especially by the myths associated with the principal deities and the modes of ritual practice that should be applied to them, though this usually occurs outside of the pañcalakṣaṇa narratives and is given in didactic form. Need this, though, contribute to what we might need to know about social structure and social acceptance? It appears not to, and relates in no recognisable way to the lineages making up so many of the manvantara narratives. Nonetheless, if we are to take seriously the idea of a sociology of Purāṇa literature, the predominance of devotional narratives of various kinds must be given serious consideration. But once again, as if with varṇāśrama, it seems as if the centrality of bhakti and pūjā is simply assumed, with no need for any kind of justification, perhaps because it had earlier also become so prominent in the MBh. And the other salient point is that devotional acts could be performed by any member of a varṇa and by those outside of it without contradicting the normative duties associated with that varṇa.

We also have to ask here to whom the Paurāṇikas were directing their recitations? Clearly, with the devotional material, they were directing it at devotees and those, mainly brahmins, who would perform the rituals of devotion. The second book of the LiP stresses this very strongly, and I suspect the audience was kṣatriyas and vaiśyas—who possessed wealth—as the devotee is consistently advised to give material possessions of all kinds to the brahmins.

Finally, to inject a reservation into my argument, I ask how the devotional rituals and myths have any sociological implications, reflecting as they do views of the varṇa found outside of the mythological narratives. We draw much from these myths because they reflect some elements of everyday life. Yet devotional practices could be performed by anyone and do not imply a shift in social structure. Devotion is essentially a form of religious practice, and it may not have extensive social implications. But given the Purāṇas are full of devotional material, some attempt must be made to correlate this material with those other passages interspersed with social material

8. Conclusions

There is no explicit reason why we should see the Purāṇas in any sense as texts dealing with society. They are not dharmaśāstras or gṛhyasūtras—both dealing with behaviour in society as much with society in a macro sense—though they do contain material inspired by both. And given their heritage and constant efforts to sustain a sense of traditionality based on Vedic and brahmanic teachings, the Purāṇīc composers24 do consistently give support in the manvantara narratives to the creation of the varṇas and a rejection of social individualism, except if it occurs within the confines of the fourth āśrama, where the brahmin man can become a wandering ascetic. Yet they have emerged in various social situations at particular times, and their popularity continues up to the present day.

Given the centrality of the varṇas and the other two groups discussed above, in what sense can we talk about society or a society? What we are given is an ideal or normative vision of how societal groups should function in relation to each other in a manner we can call hierarchical, where interaction is to a considerable extent defined by bodily interaction, and defined with a high degree of precision. The levels of impurity are much more severely defined in relation to those within and outside of the varṇa system.

The Purāṇic cosmology creates a very detailed triple loka system, where there is a high degree of complexity. It might justifiably be asked how much this is a metaphor for a society whose normative idealism, reflected in the literature, is contradicted in actuality. The physical–environmental picture also relates to the social footprint, as nagara, grāma, janapāda, āraṇyaka and tīrtha all form part of the horizontal built environment network in which the householder must operate.

The huge number of names listed in the manvantara narratives bespeaks a high degree of vertical complexity, especially since so many are collapsed into lineages, implying many generations. In contrast, the MkP. myths analysed earlier seem to work with a lineage operating over two or three generations—at least where the lineages begin. Above all, these give the sense of varṇasaṃkara even if this is expressed through the intermixture of different species.

The contrast between the yugas is also central, pointing to Kali as a representation of the present age. The idealised society still exists even within the complexity of inter-varṇa marriage, the widespread presence of outsiders and of munis who are usually presented in a positive light even where they are irascible.

I suggest the extensive material in Purāṇas about devotional practices—performance of pūjās, construction of temples and images, listening to kathās being recited, reciting names of the divinity—implies a largely settled society. This must be one where there is a sufficient economic surplus to fund the actual ritual offerings—especially given by kings and the political elite—and the more material aspects of devotion, especially including pilgrimages. It is especially the latter, which both costs money, yet brings wealth into those communities located on the well-known pilgrimage paths.

I have also raised the question of how many of the brief allusions to the idealised society are formulaic—likely because they are so well known—and how many are not. The Purāṇas are not texts dealing with sociology in the modern sense, so it is a mistake to expect them to be more than formulaic, though the MkP. seems to go against this. The formulaic material is there because all the fundamental features of society/polity/economy have already been worked out thoroughly in the MBh. and the dharma literature. To this, the Puṛāṇas merely have to offer a few add-ons, especially concerned with bhakti in all its manifestations–and pilgrimage for the upapurāṇas, which also take much from the mahāpurāṇas.

However, in the final analysis, the Purāṇic narratives assume society to be a complex phenomenon that goes beyond the rather formulaic vision offered by the varṇāśrama. This is often hinted at rather than explored systematically.