Servants of the Gods

“Deliver them that are carried away unto death, And those that are ready to be slain see that thou hold back. If thou sayest, Behold, we knew not this; Doth not he that weigheth the hearts consider it? And he that keepeth thy soul, doth not he know it? And shall not he render to every man according to his work?” — Proverbs 24:11-12 (ASV)

This is the hardest part of Amy’s story, and it can be told badly in two opposite ways. One is a lurid tale of a brave missionary rescuing innocent girls from wicked priests. The other is a tale of a prejudiced foreigner slandering an ancient tradition. Neither is true.

For centuries some temples in India, especially in the south, had women dedicated to the service of the god. In English they came to be called devadasis, from a Sanskrit word meaning “servant of god.” A girl was dedicated in a ceremony spoken of as a marriage to the god, and after it she could never marry a man. The tradition had a long and in some ways honoured history. Some owned property and were educated when most women were not, and they kept classical dance and music alive. The dance now known around the world as Bharatanatyam comes in large part from their art.

But by the nineteenth century, in many places, the tradition had changed. Girls were dedicated in childhood: given by parents who had made a vow or couldn’t support them, bought from poor families, or adopted by older temple women. Many were drawn, as they grew up, into a life of sexual exploitation. The girl had no say. By the time she understood, her life had been decided for her.

Amy met this through children. She once talked with a learned grandmother who could recite page after page of Tamil classics. “Consider the age of our great Religion, consider its literature—millions of stanzas!” the old woman said. Her little granddaughter joined in, chanting stanza after stanza, then ran off laughing to play. Later Amy saw two men leading that same child away to be married to the god. “All that brightness, all that intelligence,” she wrote. Notice what it shows: a family of real culture and learning. Amy didn’t think the people around her were savages; she thought something terrible was being done inside a refined world.

After Preena came, Amy began asking how many girls were involved and what happened to them. (Popular stories say she went in disguise, her skin stained with coffee; the details have been embroidered.) She never published what she learned.

The campaign that finally ended the practice was led by Indians. Dr. Muthulakshmi Reddy, the first woman in the Madras Legislative Council, brought forward a bill against it in the late 1920s. Moovalur Ramamirtham, from a devadasi family herself, campaigned for decades for her community’s women to be free to marry. In October 1947 the Madras Devadasis (Prevention of Dedication) Act was passed. Amy lived to see it. It was not her law, and it should be remembered as theirs.

Fairness asks one more thing. Not everyone in those communities welcomed the reform. Hereditary temple artists protested that they were being slandered for the sins of some, and that their art and livelihood were being destroyed. Historians such as Davesh Soneji have argued that reform writing, missionary and Indian alike, including Amy’s, fixed a picture of these women as nothing but victims, and did lasting harm to their descendants. You may not agree with all of that; the children Amy sheltered were small girls who never chose. But the women of those communities were people with their own voices and dignity, not just a problem to be solved.

The proverb at the top of this page takes away our excuse: “If thou sayest, Behold, we knew not this.” Once Amy knew, she couldn’t unknow it. She didn’t lead a campaign. She took in children, one at a time. Children are still exploited today. Once you know, you’re responsible too, and you can oppose an evil without despising the people around it.

One thing to do this week: if you ever think a child, or someone your own age, is being exploited or is unsafe, tell a trusted adult or a helpline where you live. That isn’t gossip; it’s what Proverbs asks.