The flamboyant head of the Kinnar Akhara at the Kumbh
Laxmi Narayan Tripathi, head of the Kinnar Akhara at the Kumbh, practises her religion without shedding her flamboyance. Manavi Kapur meets the transgender rights activist who wears different masks
In Sector 12 of the Kumbh Mela area in Prayagraj, Laxmi Narayan Tripathi’s Kinnar Akhara is quite a tourist spot. “Yeh raha Kinnar Akhara, chale jaao
(This is the Kinnar Akhara, go inside),” beams a saffron-clad sadhu. Tripathi’s is the first transgender collective to find representation at an ultra-conservative Hindu extravaganza. Inside, under a large tent, five transgender women, all part of the
akhara, are seated on chairs to bless a neverending queue of devotees. But Tripathi is not among them.
Adjacent to this tent, Tripathi’s quarters have been cordoned off. At all times, four to five men sit chatting and swatting away stray visitors. Those with “special permission” or government passes are ushered in. These bouncers tell those waiting to keep their visits short. “Maai is not feeling well,” one of them declares. Tripathi’s distinctive tent features colours of the rainbow, an obvious reference to her work as an LGBTQ activist. She sits on a divan like a goddess on her throne, wearing a bright kanjivaram sari and makeup that makes her eyes and lips pop. She also sports an elaborate gold-and-saffron tilak on her forehead.
One would assume that visitors to her
akhara have come primarily to satisfy their curiosity. But most men and women are, in fact, there to seek her “blessings”. Kinnars, also known as hijras, or eunuchs, intersex or transgender people, occupy a unique place in Hindu culture, particularly among superstitious Hindus. Living on the margins of society, they are both feared for their curses and revered for their powers to offer boons. When a middle-aged couple seeks some answers from her as to why they are not able to have a child, she whispers a solution to them, and hands the couple a coin and some rice.
Tripathi finally meets my eye and her gaze is unflinching. She smiles widely and offers me the chair near hers, unlike the devotees who sit on the floor. She switches languages — from Hindi to English — and roles — from self-styled goddess to transgender rights activist, TEDx speaker and participant on the popular reality television show, Bigg
Boss. “I have struggled at every juncture inmy life, but it is part of the process to achieve your place in history,” she says. “Our community has been split from society and we have lost all our dignity. This akhara has been about reclaiming that.”
Tripathi, born to orthodox Brahmin parents in Thane, Maharashtra, suffered years of abuse as a transgender woman. She learned Bharatanatyam to try and overcome her trauma, and danced at Mumbai’s famed dance bars before they were shut down. Her life’s story has been widely recorded through documentaries, television interviews and her autobiography, Me Hijra, Me Laxmi. Her presence at the Kumbh seems to be an extension of this celebrityhood. And her religiosity a consequence of her upbringing in a Brahmin household.
At present, 13 akharas, or seminaries, are recognised by the Akhil Bharatiya Akhara Parishad. Hindu seers, saints and god-men and -women are affiliated to these akharas. Tripathi lobbied for her akhara to be recognised as the 14th in the order, but her efforts met with unrelenting resistance from the
akhara body. Given that sentiment, her presence at the Kumbh is quite a feat. “I was clear that I wanted the kinnar community to find its rightful place in the Vedic Sanatan Dharma,” she says. And she is surprised neither by the outcome nor by the footfall.
The controversy has only helped enhance Tripathi’s popularity. The Juna Akhara eventually took her akhara into its fold and allowed her to take the dip with them at the Sangam, the confluence of the rivers Ganga and Yamuna. Mahant Kamal Puri, secretary of the Juna Akhara, isn’t sure why his akhara allowed this. “This is a decision of the leader of our akhara. At the end of the day, they [the transgenders] are also human,” he says. “I don’t really think this was a bad decision.” His disciple, Prateek Chaitanya Bhrahmachari, is more vocal with his reservations. “In the Hindu religion, all are welcome. But can everyone be given the status of an akhara? Have the kinnars been told about the protocol, the tradition of abstinence and about the origins of the akhara system itself?” he wonders.
Ankita Tiwari, a transgender sadhvi who prefers to call herself a sakhi (female friend), is asking visitors for dakshina. One would assume that she is part of the Kinnar Akhara. “Well, only for this Kumbh. Otherwise, as you can see, I am a sakhi and not a kinnar,” she says, gesturing to her simple saffron sari and covered head. “We don’t dress like
them or participate in celebrations like the kinnars do,” she adds.
Tripathi, though, does things her own way. She is deeply religious, but also has not shed any degree of her characteristic flamboyance. While speaking to journalists, she locks eyes with a young sadhu seated inside her tent. “What’s your name, beta?” she asks. Rendered nearly speechless by the sudden attention, he mumbles something indistinct. “I love you,” she declares. Another admirer-cum-devotee is seated on the floor close to her divan and reads out dramatic couplets he has written for her. “Tu ek nar usspe gumaan karta hai. Main ek kinnar, mere mein kitne nar (you take pride in being a man. I am a kinnar, I embody countless men),” he says. He repeats it thrice for my benefit and insists I record it as having been recited by Tripathi.
Drawing Tripathi’s attention back to this interview is a task. The men want a hug and a selfie and the women want to know when they will get married or have children. Her mother is on video call and Tripathi shifts the phone till she gets the light and angle right. A young man touches her feet and blushes when she declares to all those present that he is “very cute”. A policeman is next and she stops him before he can fully bend to touch her feet. “You are the true saint. Don’t put the emblem on your uniform on the floor,” she tells him. It is like watching a live performance and the audience waits to see what’s next.
Everyone wants to know what’s next for Laxmi,” she laughs. So, is it politics? She grimaces: “I can’t do all that.” But willingly or not, she has placed herself at the centre of the religion-politics nexus with her views on the Ram Mandir in Ayodhya. “I am the acharya
mahamandaleshwar of my akhara. I am not Christian or Muslim. What is wrong in wanting to celebrate my Ram?” she asks. “Rulers have broken the dignity of Ram to showcase their power, just as they have snatched the rights of the kinnars.”
Her comments have drawn the ire of LGBTQ activists. But Tripathi is unfazed. “I don’t ask anyone to follow what I believe in. Even Germany restored what Hitler destroyed. Why should we not have history restored in Ayodhya?”
“All things considered, this is a huge victory for the transgender community,” says
‘I WAS CLEAR THAT I WANTED THE KINNAR COMMUNITY TO FIND ITS RIGHTFUL PLACE IN THE VEDIC SANATAN DHARMA’
Preeti Singh, a professor of history at Delhi University’s Khalsa College. She is among the several visitors who have waited nearly an hour to meet Tripathi. “The kinnars have been eulogised in history, right up to Vedic times. They began to lose prominence in the Puranic era,” she says. Singh is here with her husband, R P Singh, an Uttar Pradesh cadre Indian Administrative Services officer, and three members of her family. Two professors from Allahabad University also form part of the contingent. “All of us share an academic interest in the history of transgenders in India,” explains Singh.
Tripathi is used to this kind of attention. When I persist on what’s next for her, she relents a little. “Right now, I am enjoying being in the bosom of Ganga and staying here in peace at the Kumbh,” she says, flipping back her long tresses. “But we are going to do many things,” she announces cryptically. And there’s no better stage than the Kumbh for this performance.