About mid-way through my fieldwork at the Divya Dham Hindu temple in Woodside, Queens, I happened to read Shashi Tharoor’s new novel “Riot” (2001) about communal relations in a village in India. As I was reading the book I began to sense something strangely familiar to what I was seeing at Divya Dham in New York. It wasn’t Tharoor’s plot on communal relations that caught my attention. Rather, it was the way that Tharoor told the story that had remarkable parallels to my experience at Divya Dham. The book was written as a compilation of multiple participants’ perspectives of the same event (and what led up to it) in this strife-torn Indian village. It doesn’t take long for a reader to conclude that trying to view the events or the village, as an “objective”, uniform reality, is mere folly. Instead, there are multiple realities at play, each contingent upon a participant’s unique frame of reference. Similarly, with the exception of its physical features, there is no unified, single “Divya Dham” to write about. Instead, there are many Divya Dhams depending upon whom you ask. Just as multiple realities coexisted in the village portrayed in “Riot”, I discovered in Woodside that a temple is no different.

Objectively, Divya Dham is a temple/ashram complex housed inside a former electronics factory. It is an impressively huge space containing many representations of the Hindu pantheon of deities, as well as living quarters for a pujari (a Hindu priest), two brahmacharis[1] and guests. Some of the characteristics of the physical space have been documented or represented by others, so I will only allude to them in this paper. Instead, I will focus on the notion of Divya Dham as both a personal space and a social space for the people who worship there, work there, or are affiliated with it in some other way. Such role differences influence people’s experience and perception of the space such that it takes on different meaning for different people. In this paper I hope to portray these “multiple” realities as perceived by some of the individuals who have relationships with Divya Dham. I call them “stakeholders” because each has some personal relationship or stake with Divya Dham’s existence. Over the course of two months I tried to meet with a cross-section of stakeholders, who became my informants, including its founder, priest, devotees, and brahmacharis. I wanted to understand each stakeholder’s unique relationship with Divya Dham: why they go there or work there, what it means to them, and what they do there. I also wanted to see where the overlaps were (or were not) between these various views to determine if there was a “common culture” at Divya Dham that was shared amongst all stakeholders. Additionally, because Divya Dham is both an organizational and an economic entity that must cope with, and adapt to changes, I also wanted to see how change interacts reciprocally with the temple’s stakeholders.

To this end, I spent over 75 hours during the months of February and March 2003 on-site at Divya Dham. On some days I merely sat and watched the activities before me, trying to get a sense of the rhythm and pace of temple life. On other days I was included in activities like morning arati (described below) conducted by the brahmacharis. Such participant-observation gave me further insight into Divya Dham from an experiential perspective. Finally, I also spent time interviewing the various people that I have termed stakeholders to get their inside perspectives. What has emerged from this effort is a portrait of Divya Dham during a “slice” in time (February/March, 2003), when it paradoxically appears to be undergoing a major transition for some, yet continues to remain the same for others. I will refer to this theme while presenting my findings, including the commonalities, conflicts, issues, and concerns expressed by the stakeholders I met with. While I have captured many of their thoughts and sentiments verbatim, I would like to state the obvious caveat that their collective comments represent only those of the stakeholders I had access to. However, for some of the issues that were expressed, I have come to believe that my sample is in all likelihood representative of various discourses that are associated with broader populations of stakeholders at Divya Dham. I say this because many of my informants referred to discussions that they have had with others about the same discourse, and they indicated agreement within those populations. These references seemed to indicate a shared “common” view between people that I interpreted as collective sense making, rather than personal opinion.

 

The Vision

 

Let me start with some background about Divya Dham, especially as its main founder, Swami Jagdishwaranand, described it to me[2]. His vision will then serve as the “baseline” against which we can compare Divya Dham today. Swami-ji moved to America from India in 1965, which many people will remember for two relevant reasons. First, it was in 1965 that the United States changed its immigration laws, which opened the countries doors to a tide of immigrants from South Asia (Eck, 2001: 6). Second, this was also the period that spawned the so-called “counter-culture” movement where many young Americans sought spiritual lifestyles and esoteric knowledge as an antidote to what they saw as a very materialist society. In 1971, when Swami-ji started his first organization in America, the Geeta Ashram in Queens, New York, many of his students were “Americans from practically every background but Hindu” (Doherty, 1992). Over the years the Geeta Ashram became the Geeta Temple, which succeeded in attracting members of the growing Indian community as a major place for worship.

Swami-ji’s emphasis on spirituality as opposed to religious dogma certainly played a large role in his conceptualization of the Geeta Temple, and latter on, with Divya Dham as well. He told me, “I don’t believe in sects. Those who do don’t know God.” Using the metaphor of a roadmap he explained that if one wanted to go to California from New York, “There are many ways to do it. However, they all wind up in the same place.” As it says in the Geeta Temple brochure (Doherty, 1992), “Swami Jagdishwaranand believes that the basic tenets of all religions are the same, that caste and nationality are irrelevant to spirituality, and that ceremony is only an aid to devotion, rather than an end in itself.” Swami-ji summed it up quite succinctly in my interview with him, “My clothes are Indian, but my heart is humanity.”

Over the years the Geeta Temple had been the primary location for Swami-ji to practice this spiritual, humanistic approach to religion, though the temple was clearly Hindu. But despite the success of the Geeta Temple, Swami-ji had “bigger” ideas out of which Divya Dham was born in 1993. He told me that he wanted to build “an unusual thing” by creating a space where he could make heaven “here and now”. He envisioned a place where people could go for “peace of mind”, that wasn’t only for Hindus. Instead, he wanted to build a temple where politics were minimized, and where people from all backgrounds, castes, classes, nationalities, languages, and religious beliefs could feel comfortable. He also didn’t want the temple labeled as a particular kind of temple from either the perspective of geography (e.g., Gujurati, South Indian, Guyanese, etc.), or deity (e.g., a “Shiva temple”, etc.). Swami-ji’s vision seemed to represent what has been referred to by Raymond Brady Williams (1998: 40) as “ecumenical Hinduism” in America. This new form of Hinduism “builds on tolerance by including in one religious fellowship the followers of many different regions, language groups and sects by gathering in one temple or shrine the images and rituals of many sects.”

But Swami-ji wanted to take this idea even further. For example, he wanted to include a statue in Divya Dham where the Ten Commandments, the Torah, and other religious scriptures were all engraved on the trunk of an elephant. While this particular statue has not been made yet, the thinking clearly stretches the notion of ecumenical Hinduism beyond Williams’ sectarian definition. Swami-ji also seemed taken by the notion of building a temple in proximity to the United Nations because of all it represents about unity and peace- two words that he used a lot in our conversations. Part of his educational vision was for Divya Dham to be a place where he could teach about peace and the unity of humanity. Therefore, he was very concerned with creating the right internal atmosphere of peacefulness, where “people would be satisfied because of the vibrations of this sacred space.” In fact, he named it Divya Dham (“Heavenly Abode”) to emphasize this notion, and although he refers to it as a temple, he did leave the term mandir (temple) out of the name.

To some, such a vision might seem incredibly difficult to translate into reality. However, Swami-ji’s energy, dedication, and faith must have been an inspiration to many, and together, they made Divya Dham happen. In fact, Swami-ji told me that he never had to seek out funds to build the temple; rather, “the money always appeared.” He also seemed proud of the fact that the people who assisted him in the effort were an eclectic group that even included “a Jewish man who helped me obtain the building in Woodside.” In keeping with his vision he installed numerous murtis (images of Hindu deities) that would appeal to a broad group of devotees rather than to one particular sect or group. I asked him, as well as the brahmacharis, whether they considered Divya Dham to have a main murti, and they all said that it does not, which is why there isn’t an “inner sanctum” to the temple. However, there is one shrine at Divya Dham that seems to embody what Swami-ji described to me as three areas of importance for Divya Dham: beautiful art, feeding the hungry, and education, and that is the shrine of Shiva (as Mahadeva) begging for food from Annapurna, mother of the universe. On the one hand, the murtis in this shrine can be considered beautiful works of art. From an educational perspective, as I was told by one of the brahmacharis, the shrine “shows people what the murti from the Annapurna temple in Varanasi, India is like, since many of our devotees have never been there. They can learn about its meaning right here in Queens.”[3] Finally, the inclusion of an Annupurna shrine within Divya Dham is symbolically linked to Swami-ji’s idea of feeding the hungry. In keeping with Swami-ji’s fondness for metaphor, I suspect that the notion of feeding the hungry can also be taken as nourishing the spiritual hunger in man, something that he has dedicated his life to doing.

Looking back, Swami-ji still talks fondly about Divya Dham as a place of power where all people can go for “recharging of their batteries.” A similar theme is found in a Divya Dham brochure (Pandey, 2001): “Divya Dham is such a holy place where the distance between the individual self and God is abolished and the person forgets the external world as soon as he enters the gate of this Asrama. A new atmosphere and a new scene presents itself and the person feels that he is in some holy Asrama of India.” This atmosphere is precisely what Swami-ji had in mind when he built Divya Dham. For the past 10 years he was able to maintain it as a “sister temple” to the Geeta Temple by providing leadership and guidance to its Board of Trustees. In short, Swami-ji’s vision seemed to become a reality for many years.

 

The Wave of Change

 

About two years ago, Swami Jagdishwaranand took ill, which made it very difficult for him to divide his time between the two temples. Although he did not elaborate on the details, he began to see internal politics and other events that caused him to question whether his vision was still being actualized and whether the “purity” of the space at Divya Dham was being compromised. An informant devotee[4] who wished to remain anonymous, also speculated that the temple was facing financial problems. This person informed me that the temple’s monthly mortgage alone is in the vicinity of $7000, most of which is funded from donations, along with a smaller contribution from events like weddings that are held in the temple' spacious upstairs hall. Achieving such income levels requires time, attention, and honesty of temple personnel. Unfortunately, because of his health, Swami-ji realized that he could no longer provide the requisite oversight. I got the impression that he began to question the continued viability of the temple without finding someone to lead a clean-up effort, so he decided to seek new management for Divya Dham. In describing the situation, he said, “You cannot get delicious fruit from an ugly tree.” To me, this speaks volumes. For Swami-ji to have made such a comment certainly alludes to the severity of the situation as he must have seen it, and despite his openness with me, I get the impression that clearly more was happening behind the scenes that contributed to his decision.

In searching for new leadership, Swami-ji spoke to many people and called upon many organizations both in the U.S. and in India, including the Swami Narayan organization, the RSS, and others. His “advisors” (a trusted circle of friends) told him not to give Divya Dham to a politically motivated organization. They told him, “You are sadhu” (holy man), and that he should seek out an organization that was similarly spiritually minded. I asked him what his main selection criteria were, and he replied, “I needed a pure person to think pure thoughts. That was the solution to Divya Dham’s problems.” Eventually, he spoke with a professor at Delhi University in India who told him about the Bharat Sevashram Sangha, based in Calcutta[5]. This professor then spent several days in Calcutta vetting the organization, which has a history dating to the early 1900’s, and branches in several countries including the United States. As Swami-ji put it, “He gave me a good report. They are a top class organization.”

Based on this, Swami-ji decided to contact the American Sevashram Sangha, headed by Guyana-born Swami Vidyananda based in Jamaica, Queens, only several miles from Divya Dham. After a series of discussions they determined that Divya Dham would fit with the mission of the American Sevashram Sangha, and eventually in 2001 the temple was “gifted” by Swami Jagdishwaranand directly to Swami Vidyananda. However, as I understand it from the anonymous informant[6], the transaction has yet to be fully executed despite public understanding that Divya Dham has been “taken over” by the American Sevashram Sangha. In fact, all of these events have occurred in the public eye, and there apparently has been much discussion and speculation among people in the Hindu community as to what happened at Divya Dham and why. During my interviews, I encountered a range of explanations and allegations including misconduct on the part of a pujari, financial shortfalls, growing political factions between the two temples, and issues surrounding the health of Swami Jagdishwaranand. Regardless of where the “truth” lies, these events clearly depict the organizational reality of the temple to this day. Despite the spiritual vision of its founder, in impersonal business terms, temples also have revenues and expenses, cash flows, personnel and physical plant issues that need attention in order to maintain viability and carry out their missions.

 

New Management

One of the most visible signs of the new management of Divya Dham was housing of two brahmacharis of the American Sevashram Sangha at Divya Dham: Govind and Vidur, both from Guyana. Prior to the change in management, the only resident was the pujari, Pandit Sharma, from India. Effectively, Divya Dham has become an extension of the Jamaica, Queens ashram with the arrival of the brahmacharis, which also represented a change for the pujari, who has had an established “routine” at Divya Dham for close to ten years. Some background on each of these stakeholders will help us to understand how they perceive the situation.

Brahmachari Vidur was born in Guyana in 1973[7]. His paternal grandparents were Indian immigrants to Guyana, but he describes both parents as Hindus who “believed in worship.” Vidur says, “When I was small, I was inclined toward spirituality. Everyday I went to our prayer room and did puja. I was also quite disciplined. I practiced yoga three times a day, and was inspired by reading about the great saints and sages.” He told me that he had an “inner feeling” that one day he would be like them by helping humanity. As he put it, he sensed “a higher calling.” So, at age 21, after hearing a talk by Swami Vidyananda, he joined the ashram of the Guyanese Sevashram Sangha. He thought that he would spend a year there and then return to his work as a machinist for a large company, but he “enjoyed” the life at the ashram and took his brahmachari vows in 1995. I asked him what it was like to take these vows, which include celibacy, and he replied, “As a boy, I shunned the parties and all. The appeal just wasn’t there for me. So that made it easier.” He also went through several self-induced “tests” in his teen years, including becoming a vegetarian, which probably strengthened his discipline and resolve. As I listened to Vidur I couldn’t help but see the similarities to the descriptions of Swami Pranavananda’s formative years as they are depicted by Smart (1985). I know that Vidur has read Smart’s book, “Prophet of a New Hindu Age” (it appears to be “required reading” for Sevashram Sangha initiates), and I wondered how the book has influenced Vidur’s own conception of his life retrospectively.

In 1997 Vidur received his saffron robe, indicating a senior brahmachari level. As he explained, “This meant that I took a vow of celibacy until death, and that I would dedicate my life to spreading the message of the mission (i.e., the Sangha).” For several years he held various roles within the Guyanese organization, including the management of their public relations. In 2002 however, he was asked by Swami Vidyananda to come to America, and he was posted to Divya Dham. He didn’t know what to expect in America, or at Divya Dham. When I asked him what his first impressions were, he spoke about the temple’s physical space, “I saw the vastness of it, and the murtis, and I was quite surprised!” However, it didn’t take long for him to also recognize another aspect about Divya Dham, the composition of the devotee population. As he put it, “This is an Indian-oriented area.” In fact, both he and Kuldip Bahl estimate that the current population of devotees is 90% Indian (mostly Gujurati, Punjabi, Bengali), and 10% Caribbean (mostly Guyanese or Trinidadian) with some Nepalese or “others”.

Vidur describes his role at Divya Dham as “to preach.” But he adds the caveat “We don’t do this here yet. We hope to have Sunday sermons, but probably it will be mostly for the West Indian community.” He seemed uncertain as to whether the Indian devotees would participate. Vidur also contrasted his role to that of the pujari, in that “We (i.e., brahmacharis) distance ourselves from the ritual part of our religion. The pujari handles that part for householders.” Yet based on my observations at Divya Dham, the roles are more commingled. While the pujari was away in India, it was the brahmacharis who assisted with puja for devotees. Even upon the return of the pujari, I observed numerous instances where the brahmacharis continued to dispense prasad (food offered to the deity and returned with grace), especially at the request of devotees. Before I discuss the implications of this, I will provide some background on the other brahmachari, Govind, then on the pujari, Pandit Sharma.

Govind describes himself as “fourth generation Guyanese” whose family roots also go back to India[8]. Like Vidur, Govind says that he went to temple regularly as a child, and his father was the secretary of the local Hindu temple. In fact, Govind’s father was “instrumental” in getting Swami Purnananda to come to Guyana and start the Guyana Sevashram Sanga. In 1972, at the age of 15 Govind took diksha (the becoming of a disciple of a guru) with Swami Purnananda, but unlike Vidur, he did not immediately enter the Order or formally become a brahmachari. Instead, as a highly skilled engineer, he moved to Canada where he took a job as a machinist with Westinghouse for many years. However, he found this life spiritually unfulfilling and so he joined the Canadian Sevashram Sangha in Toronto for a period of time before moving to the U.K. Sevashram Sangha in England. There, he became disillusioned with ashram life, which was less spiritually oriented than he expected or needed, so he returned to Canada. During that time an “Indian Swami” asked him to come back to the Sangha, which he did, but again he decided to leave Canada, this time moving to the Sevashram’s location in Chicago for a few months. However, Govind had wanted to go to India for many years, and in the late 1990’s, he embarked on a visit that lasted several months. Govind relates strongly to his Indian heritage, and his “tour” of India was a very significant life experience for him. He describes the high point as the taking of his brahmachari diksha in Calcutta, at the head office of the Bharat Sevashram Sangha. One can view Govind’s journey to India as a pilgrimage of sorts that had great meaning for him in terms of his own identity.

Lessinger (1995: 157) talks about the “transnational” migrations of Indians, particularly the significance of returning to India (either for brief or prolonged periods) for those who have immigrated to the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. She describes a “shuttling” of Indian immigrants between these countries, as well as the maintenance of “social networks” that are not confined by national borders. I am not sure if the same phenomenon takes place for present day Guyanese of Indian decent whose ties with India stretch back generations, and whose ancestors migrated under very different circumstances. I have, however, noticed a strong curiosity and/or identification with India for several Guyanese Hindus that I met at Divya Dham (albeit an admittedly small sample, but enough to raise the question). For example, I met one Guyanese devotee at Divya Dham who frequently cooks for the brahmacharis, and who can quote long passages of the Vedas in Sanskrit and talk about places in India as a native would, but has never been there. On several occasions, he has expressed his desire to go, and how much that would mean to him. As with Govind, this journey- real or imagined- seems to be integral to his Hindu identity. However, given Govind’s role as brahmachari at Divya Dham, the strengthening of his ties to India also seems to place him in an interesting position which he describes as “somewhere between” the Guyanese and Indian aspects of the temple’s social space.

Govind believes strongly in the service mission of the Sevashram Sangha, which he also views as a component of his own spiritual growth. Both brahmacharis appear eager to work more closely with devotees in fostering their joint spiritual development. Whether it is conceived of as preaching or holding discussions on the scriptures (the Ramayana and the Bhagavad-Gita were both prominently mentioned in this context), such activities hold significance for both brahmacharis. In fact, the fundamentals of the role of a brahmachari within the Sevashram Sangha are described in detail in a manual called the Sangha Gita. I observed both brahmacharis reading this book on several of my visits to Divya Dham. It serves as a major source of protocol, “rules” and teachings for them and their peer brahmacharis in the various branches of the Bharat Sevashram Sangha around the globe.

With a few exceptions however, currently both brahmacharis appear to be more involved with day-to-day upkeep of the temple and the administration of events such as weddings. I had occasion to be at Divya Dham while a wedding was taking place in the upstairs hall, and I observed members of the wedding party coming downstairs to seek out the brahmacharis for things like jugs of water (apparently part of the wedding contracts), to complain about the temperature of the room (Divya Dham is perennially cold during the winter), and for other service-related transactions. It seemed to me that these “customers” did not have any special regard for the role-status of the brahmacharis as holy men. They were addressed as any catering hall employee might be, and sometimes the transactions were very tense. I wondered how they truly felt about this aspect of their role. One brahmachari was clearly ambivalent, expressing consternation on the one hand, and dismissing it on the other. Given that weddings are a source of revenue for the temple, and often temple VIP’s are included in the party (donors, trustees and the like), both brahmacharis indicated that carrying out these tasks are important to the temple.

In addition to assisting devotees with their puja as I mentioned above, there are two additional exceptions to the brahmacharis’ administrative tasks that are important to note. First, despite Vidur’s comment on their lack of involvement in rituals, I did observe them conducting twice-daily arati, the honoring of the temple’s deities with light. This ritual takes almost an hour to complete because of the numerous deities at Divya Dham, including the murtis of 51 Shakti Peethas installed on the second floor of the temple. Each murti is “addressed” during arati, which commences at the polychrome painted image of Swami Pranavananda that was installed when the Sevashram Sangha took over. On the morning I participated in the arati, it ended with a spectacular window view of sunrise on the New York skyline, including Swami Jagdishwarand’s beloved United Nations. On that day the pujari was in India, but I understand that the brahmacharis continue to conduct the arati while he is in residence as well.

The second set of activities has to do with congregational events held at the temple. Here, I noticed two categories of events: those that are scheduled as part of a ritual calendar and those that were held independently. Scheduled events include activities like a monthly full moon celebration that involves Indian dances and the congregational singing of bhajans, or devotional hymns; the celebration of Swami Pranavananda’s birthday in February, where there is a special arati followed by a communal prasad in the morning (on the occasion I observed, the brahmacharis conducted the arati); and more traditional Hindu celebrations like Shiva Ratri, among others. For each event the brahmacharis make the necessary preparations, including cooking and organizing the physical space.

During my fieldwork I only observed one independent event (not linked to the ritual calendar) conducted by the brahmacharis, a “Maha Mandir Milan”. In India, Swami Pranavananda originally conceived of “Hindu Milan Mandirs,” or “Unity Centers” in the mid 1930’s (Smart, 1985: 106). He believed that because Hinduism was primarily not a congregational religion, Hindu solidarity would not be achieved without some form of institutional arrangement. Using the power of his growing Sangha (which he modeled on the Buddhist Sangha), he sent his missionaries to villages in Bengal and beyond to set up Hindu Milan Mandirs “where the Hindus of all classes and creeds will get together regularly and occasionally through various religious functions and social welfare activities. This will bring in fellow-feeling, cooperation and cohesion among Hindu masses. The Hindu Milan Mandirs will in fact be the centers of religious inspiration, social reform, educational enterprise, and cultural propaganda” (Smart, 1985: 106). A modified form of this practice is still used for community building by the Sevashram Sangha, who brought it to Divya Dham. A temple flyer described the event as “A Congregation of Mandirs”, meaning a gathering of various temples and Hindu religious organizations. The flyer continues, “You and your Mandir are invited to participate in an evening of devotional bajans and classical songs. All participating Mandirs will be given 10 minutes on the program.” During the one Maha Mandir Milan that I attended, the turnout consisted of about 100 participants who were mostly West Indian (i.e., primarily Guyanese) devotees from the Jamaica temple. Had other Mandirs attended, it would have been interesting to see how they used their “10 minutes” in the collective setting, and how any discussion would have been moderated. Given Divya Dham’s devotee composition, I wondered how the various groups would have interacted and what role the brahmacharis would have played.

For both brahmacharis, Divya Dham seems to represent one more stop on their individual spiritual journeys. Neither referred to it as their home, even in a temporary sense. Nor did they refer to it as a work place in the same way that both described previous “jobs”. It is more like a place where they happen to be living in order to carry out the ashrams service mission and to develop themselves spiritually. As we will see, this contrasts with my findings from Divya Dham’s pujari, Pandit Sharma. Pandit Sharma came to America from India in 1991 as a pujari for the Hindu Center on Kissena Boulevard in Queens[9]. Two years later when Swami Jagdishwaranand was looking to hire a pujari for Divya Dham, some of Pandit Sharma’s acquaintances put him in touch with Swami-ji and he was hired. I asked him why he came to America and he replied, “God knows- I don’t know.” Similarly, he doesn’t differentiate between doing this job in India or in the various temples in Queens. Referring to his status as a Brahmin, he simply stated, “This is our duty.” He indicated that he wasn’t always certain that he was going to work as a pujari despite his Brahmin caste and that he started at age 21. He describes his role as “knowing what puja to do” for the various requests that devotees make, including officiating at weddings. He also said that he gets invited to devotee’s homes to do “house puja”. According to Williams (1988: 45), it is customary to give gifts to Brahmins for such services, but it is becoming commercialized in the United States. I asked Pandit Sharma if he received any “gift contributions” for doing this, and he replied that devotees make a donation to the temple. As an employee of the temple he gets a salary, which also differentiates his position from the brahmacharis’. Interestingly, several of my informants echoed Williams and believe that most pujari have a “vested commercial interest” in their roles, and that many accept gifts for performing their services. One informant said that because of this, certain temples in America are “better” than others for pujari, based upon the wealth of the community and the temple. He told me to remember that pujari are householders and have to support families from their earnings.

I tried to engage Pandit Sharma in a discussion about the changes at Divya Dham and what they meant to him and to the temple. He said that they didn’t matter, and that he performs his duties just as he has over the years. I observed him during puja with devotees, and noted that in some instances, after dispensing prasad, he would chat in Hindi with some devotees. He told me that he has known many of them for several years. Given this history, the relationships he has built, his notion of duty, and the fact that he has lived in this space for ten years, one can begin to sense some of the differences between his life at Divya Dham and those of the brahmacharis.

One core difference is the emphasis that both brahmacharis put on spirituality and the work of their mission, with Divya Dham serving as a “new” venue for activities in these areas. In some instances, these activities may take more of a collective or congregational form, though that remains to be seen. On the other hand, while certainly not negating this, the pujari emphasized the individuality of Hindu worship by stating, “People have different natures, different ideas of God, which is why we (i.e., Hindus) have different murtis. People can worship God in their own way.” While he sees the temple as one place where such worship can take place, clearly the devotee’s home worship is important too, as is his role in both locations.

A second difference is that the pujari is Indian and speaks several Indian dialects, while the brahmacharis are from Guyana and speak English with only some Hindi. Kuldip Bahl[10], a householder devotee from India acknowledged that for some Indian devotees, the fact that the pujari speaks Indian dialects may contribute to their comfort, and that some people may have difficulties understanding Guyanese accents. It is difficult, however, to determine the impact of this difference for Divya Dham. One devotee who primarily worships at the Geeta Temple (where Swami Jagdishwaranand is located) told me “Many people in the Indian community talk about “The Guyanese” having taken over Divya Dham.”[11] Apparently, there are those in the community who have expressed concern over these changes.

From the discussion above, one can begin to see how Divya Dham is a very different space for the pujari and the brahmacharis. During my temple visits, I observed hardly any interactions between them, either in the temple, or in the adjacent living quarters. At times, the pujari would leave the temple and the brahmacharis would take over in assisting devotees with puja, but it did not appear to be a coordinated shifting of responsibilities. Despite my attempts to understand their views and actions in more detail, neither party wanted to comment on the other beyond what I have already mentioned. Additionally, I have no way of knowing whether their interactions are in keeping with other temples where the space is shared by a priest and ashram initiates. It is also unclear what their roles have been in creating a discourse of change with devotees, and how that has impacted things like attendance and donations.

I know that Swami Jagdishwaranand is aware of the discourse regarding Divya Dham within the community, since he maintains communications with many devotees at the Geeta Temple who also worship at Divya Dham[12]. He believes that “positive thought, love, and unity” are what are needed at Divya Dham now. His comment reminds us that temples are human organizations, complete with factions, diversity, and differences. Temples have to find various means of seeking common ground and overcoming differences among devotees. As Williams (1988: 39) says, “A person is not a Hindu in general, but rather each person is a Hindu in particular”, referring to the fact that they are part of a tradition with specific deities, sacred texts, patterns of worship, an authoritative body of leaders and teachers, and prescribed obligations and duties. This diversity seems to hold the potential for creating centrifugal forces that could pull people apart rather than bring them closer together. Clearly, to prevent such an outcome strong leadership is important. This notion is echoed by Hanson (1999: 349), who attributes the success of the Sri Maha Vallabha Ganapati Devasthanam in Flushing, New York to “the visionary who founded it, a record of sound leadership and organization,” among other factors.

 

The Solutions

 

A person who is taking an active role in trying to sort out these issues and to reinvigorate Divya Dham is Kuldip Bahl. Kuldip first came to America in 1973 to attend graduate school, obtaining his MBA and MA degrees from Marquette University. As a businessman he has both lived and worked in this country over the past thirty years. Though he currently lives in New Delhi, he still spends two to three months a year in New York. Kuldip grew up in a Hindu family, and he describes his father as a “devout Vaisnavite” who read the Gita every morning. Kuldip was formerly educated by Jesuits at St. Joseph’s in Darjeeling, which he feels has contributed to his “very ecumenical” upbringing. He attributes his interest in spirituality, however, to his father’s influence. In 1983 Kuldip took diksha with Swami Tryambakananda, who was a direct disciple of Swami Pranavananda. Since then he has been very active in the Bharat Sevashram Sangha and believes strongly in their mission. As he put it, “It is important to safeguard Hindu interests and promote Hindu spirituality,” both of which are goals of the Bharat Sevashram Sangha. In 2001 he was asked to join the governing body of the organization as a householder, which he did. In addition, Kuldip has studied at the Ramakrishna Mission and the Divine Life Society; he is an active member of the Vishwa Hindu Parishad, the RSS, and ISKCON too. Taken together, all of these studies, influences, and affiliations have left Kuldip with a broad-based spirituality and a commitment to uniting Hindus of all backgrounds for their common good.

Kuldip was asked by the Bharat Sevashram Sangha Head Office to go to New York and assist the American Sevashram Sangha. Kuldip took residence at Divya Dham and after a short period of time, he began to formulate recommendations to present to Swami Vidyananda. To that end, Kuldip has focused on ways to bring devotees into the temple, get beyond divisive issues, and earn revenue to sustain the temple economically. Both he and the brahmacharis would like to see some form of congregational worship on Sundays. To create further links with the Jamaica temple community (there already is a congregational worship there on Sunday mornings) they are recommending that “split sessions” be held, with Jamaica in the morning and Divya Dham in the afternoon. Kuldip believes that this will create a sense of community within Divya Dham and appeal to a segment of the devotees. Because he is sensitive to the Guyanese-Indian concerns, he also believes that it would be productive for both Swami Jagdishwaranand and Swami Vidyananda to jointly hold services. This would show solidarity and reinforce continuity between the two leaders. It would also focus on their common Hindu identities rather than their differences. Kuldip noted that it was ironic that one of the key symbols of the Sevashram Sangha, who some are apparently calling “The Guyanese” is the shrine to Swami Pranavananda, an Indian. Kuldip thought that if anything, this should have helped these devotees to see the Indian roots of the organization. Another recommendation is for Divya Dham to start various classes and study groups on topics such as the Vedas, the Ramayana, even yoga. To boost revenues, he wants to more vigorously market the large upstairs hall for weddings and other functions and to use some space that is currently unused to open a small temple shop that could sell books, religious items, clothing and the like. Finally, he wants to put together several pilgrimage trips to India for devotees. The temple would make a small profit, and devotees would have the opportunity to visit several sacred sites in India and learn more about Hinduism and spirituality. The key to such endeavors will be overcoming the current inertia and ensuring that someone is accountable for leading these efforts to successful outcomes.

 

Another Voice

 

Despite all of these concerns and the changes in management, in fact, the physical space at Divya Dham remains the same, and devotees can worship there as they always have. While some devotees may be concerned about the changes, I did interview an Indian immigrant couple that worship there, who had no idea that there were any changes occurring at the temple[13]. To illustrate such differences in people’s perceptions and expectations, I’d like to share their comments. Rajeev and Vandana came to America from Mumbai in mid-1998 when Rajeev took an expatriate assignment with a financial services company. They learned about Divya Dham from their cook who has been in this country longer than they. They wanted to find a temple that was accessible to their Manhattan residence, and they had visited several others including the Ganesha Temple in Flushing. Vandana said, “We found Divya Dham to be more quiet, more peaceful, and less commercial than some of the other temples where you have to pay more money for certain pujas, and they even had pricelists. We like to donate what we want.” Rajeev commented, “We want to see the deities, pray a bit, thank the Lord, and get out of there,” referring to the fact that they typically go there on weekends, and they are not interested in anything other than doing their individual puja. I asked them if they ever talked with the person who dispenses their prasad, and they had not. Rajeev replied, “We don’t engage with the pujari. At some temples when you start conversing, they pull you in. They tell you that if you donate a certain amount you’ll negate something negative in your astrological chart and things like that.” Rajeev and Vandana view Divya Dham as a place where they can go to meet their individual needs without getting involved in any temple activities or politics. As they put it, their interactions at Divya Dham are private.

Both indicated that temples are not necessary for their practice of Hinduism, but they go because “we feel good about it.” Rajeev added that he goes to temple more in this country than he did in India, a fact that he attributes to growing older, and to their distance from “home” (i.e., India). Speaking of Divya Dham in particular, he said that he feels comfortable there because he sees the same deities that he grew up with as a kid. In particular, Vaisnodevi “resonates” with both of them, and they mentioned how it reminded them of other cave-like replications of Vaisnodevi that they have seen in India. This notion of familiarity has actually been raised by several of my informants, including the brahmacharis, who have discussed the notion with various devotees. Kuldip Bahl speculated that it probably added to the comfort that some devotees experienced at Divya Dham, especially to those who may not have been back to India for a long time. However, Williams (1988: 31) disagrees. He states that, “The immigrant who says as he enters a temple ‘it feels just like India’ is simply engaging in nostalgia.” He further quotes R.K. Narayan, “Building imposing Indian temples in America, installing our gods there and importing Indian priests to perform the pooja ritual and preside at festivals is only imitating Indian existence and can have only a limited value. Social and religious assemblies at temples in America might mitigate boredom, but only temporarily.” Based on what my informants told me, I wouldn’t categorize any of their experiences as simple imitation or nostalgia. To each of them, their worship is an authentic experience that provides them with darsan (direct auspicious sight) of a very real deity, real-time. Kuldip Bahl cited numerous conversations that he has had with devotees where they explained to him that a particular murti has provided them with divine guidance in their lives or made other interventions. It strikes me that nostalgia looks longingly into the past, whereas these types of experiences are very much of the present moment. Within a temple, I suspect that devotees are sensitive to many semiotic signals (Daniel, 1984) that hold a great deal of significance for them and contribute to the “resonance” that was described by Rajeev above. That many happen to worship in similar or identical ways to what they did in India might better be positioned as “habit” rather than imitation of some more genuine experience of their past.

Several additional points emerged from my interview of Rajeev and Vandana. Interestingly, Vandana called Divya Dham a “Gujurati temple” because she noticed that many of the flyers that they have stacked by the shoe storage bins were in Gujurati, as were the names on the donor plaques. I thought that this was significant in light of the changes at Divya Dham and the segment of the population who see the temple as taken over by “The Guyanese.” Rajeev and Vandana did not know that the brahmacharis were Guyanese, and the fact that the temple is under new management holds no special interest or concern for them. Additionally, they had not noticed the picture/shrine to Swami Pranavananda, because they go right to the murtis that they want to worship. When I pointed it out to them, they didn’t attribute any significance to it, or that the American Sevashram Sangha installed it.

In summary, Rajeev and Vandana may represent a broader segment of devotees who come to Divya Dham with the same or similar expectations and intentions. To this segment, Divya Dham holds virtually no significance as a social space. It is more of an extension of their private worship. To that end, it holds unique meaning to each, depending on their individual conceptions of God, worship, and the role of a temple to this process.

 

Conclusion

 

What has happened to Swami Jagdishwaranand’s vision over the past ten years?

Swami Jagdishwaranand’s vision for Divya Dham is very much alive in the physical space that he created within the temple. But its continued success will not result from his selection of murtis or the creation of a peaceful environment alone. Changes in the social and organizational space have introduced new dynamics that seem to have increased the potential for divisiveness among some of the temples stakeholders. Given the history of Hindu temple building in America, with sects, factions and politics in abundance, the changes at Divya Dham are certainly not novel. Narayanan (1992: 175) discusses the building of a new temple in Orlando, Florida where conflict emerged regarding decisions about deities and worship before the temple was even constructed. She quotes a devotee, “It is a pity that a temple that was meant to unite our Hindu community here has become the focal point of our division.” Fenton (1988: 176) cites similar conflicts at the Sri Venkateswara Temple in Pittsburgh, which he describes as “ideological divergence and the survival of Indian regionalism.”

At Divya Dham, to achieve a new level of homoeostasis or balance, the changes will need to be managed. Williams (1988: 52), cites the Gita Mandal in Indianapolis, Indiana as a temple that has faced such concerns. To prevent social barriers (language, caste, etc.) from dividing the congregation, it conducts various activities in English, with Sanskrit the only Indian language used, and that is only for chanting. Additionally, Brahmins are not required for the performance of rituals. As a temple official put it, “God understands English very well.” At a minimum, Divya Dham will have to face the paradox of simultaneously maintaining its focus on the individual worship that so many devotees value, while changing “just enough” to appeal to a broader, more heterogeneous population. Either way, its mortgage payments will depend on it. In short, what appears to be a static house of worship or a “simple” setting for ritualized religious activity can also be seen as a dynamic human institution that is constantly evolving to adapt to a changing environment.

 

Postscript

 

Since the completion of my fieldwork, several of the changes recommended by Kuldip Bahl have been initiated at Divya Dham and Swami Vidyananda has also taken temporary residence there. He has been holding his Sunday congregational worship at Divya Dham in lieu of the services at Jamaica. This has attracted a larger number of Guyanese devotees to Divya Dham. Additionally, construction on a temple store has commenced and should be complete in April. Mr. Bahl has also announced dates for the pilgrimage trip to India to raise funds for the temple. It is scheduled to coincide with Durga Puja in late September 2003. Finally, Pandit Sharma, the pujari, has left the temple quite suddenly. It is unclear whether Swami-ji will replace him with another pujari, or if the brahmacharis will take over puja inside the temple. A new temple flyer states that for poojas a “priest of choice is available” upon arrangement with the temple.

 

References

 

Bhaskarananda, Swami. 1998. “The Essentials of Hinduism”. Chennai: Sri Ramakrishna Math.

 

Daniel, E. Valentine. 1984. “Fluid Signs: Being a Person the Tamil Way”. Berkeley: University of California Press.

 

Doherty, A. 1992. “A Brief Introduction to Geeta Temple”. New York: Geeta Temple Ashram, Inc.

 

Eck, Diana L. 2001. “A New Religious America”. San Francisco: Harper Collins.

 

Eck, Diana L. 1998. “Darsan: Seeing the Divine Image in India”. New York: Columbia University Press.

 

Coward, Harold, et. al. 2000. “The South Asian Religious Diaspora in Britain, Canada, and the United States. Albany: State University of New York Press.

 

Fenton, John Y. 1998. “Transplanting Religious Traditions: Asian Indians in America”. New York: Praeger.

 

Hanson, Richard S. 1999. “Sri Maha Vallabha Ganapati Devasthanam of Flushing, New York,” in T.S. Rukmani, ed., “Hindu Diaspora: Global Perspectives.” Montreal, Canada: Concordia University.

 

Hawley, J. S. 2003. “Global Hinduism in Gotham,” in Tony Carnes and Fenggang Yang, eds., Asian American Religions: Borders and Boundaries (New York: New York University Press).

 

Jasper, Daniel. 2001. “The Incorporation of Hinduism in New York”. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the Association for the Sociology of Religion. Anaheim, California.

 

Lessinger, Johanna. 1995. From the Ganges to the Hudson: Indian Immigrants in New York City”. New Jersey: Allyn and Bacon.

 

Narayanan, Vasudha. 1992. “Creating South Indian Hindu Experience in the United States,” in Raymond B. Williams, ed., “A Sacred Thread: Modern Transmission of Hindu Traditions in India and Abroad”. Chambersburg, PA: Anima Publications.

 

Pandey, Ram Chandra. 2001. “Divya Dhama: The Heaven on the Earth”. New York: Divya Dhama & Geeta Temple Ashram.

 

Smart, Ninian. 1985. “Prophet for a New Hindu Age”. London: George Allen and Urwin.

 

Tharoor, Shashi. 2001. “Riot “. New York: Arcade Publishing.

 

Vertovec, Steven. 2000. “The Hindu Diaspora: Comparative Patterns”. London: Routledge.

 

Williams, Raymond Brady. 1998. “Religions of Immigrants from India and Pakistan”. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.