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Review: Two books on Bauls

Posted by Steve D. in Book reviews, Gender, tantra | January 18th 2013 | About poster: Steve D.


In my recent post on syncretism I made mention of two books that I had recently read concerning the Baul tradition. I found both of these books helpful in relation to their attempts to understand religious difference and the negotiation of Identity, and what follows is a brief review of each.

My own attraction to the Baul tradition was largely triggered by the popular depiction of the Bauls as saffron clad wandering minstrels whose expression of the ecstatic spoke to my own interest in Bardic inspiration.

The first that I’d like to review is Seeking Bauls of Bengal by Jeanne Openshaw (Cambridge University Press, 2002). Openshaw’s book is a thorough and engaging account of her anthropological field work that largely took place in West Bengal between 1983 and 1990.
The first section of this books deals with the way in which various societal agendas have been projected onto the descriptor “Baul”. These agendas have included Bengali nationalism and the idealisation of the Baul as liberator from the restrictions of religious and social orthodoxy. Openshaw looks at the way in which visual depictions have been used to reinforce romanticised depictions of the Baul as “the other”- the outsider who represents wildness, syncretism and madness. She places specific emphasis on how the perception of the Bauls by the Bengali gentry (the Bhadralok) has shaped, classified and reduced the breadth of Baul complexity.

Openshaw provides a brilliant analysis of how many recent attempts to describe Baul practice has struggled to move beyond pre-existing notions of Parampara (succession) and Sampradaya (tradition). In trying to identify the component parts of Baul syncretism (Vaishnava, Nath, Sufi etc) observers have often lost the subtlety and local variance that seems to typify the more familial approach to Baul initiation where the focus appears more praxis focused and concerned with immediate living relationships. Quoting a song concerning the state of the “perfect Baul”:


“This time I shall be baul, I shall lose birth-group (jat) and lineage.
People will call me mad and laugh, but I shall merely watch and listen (without reacting)
When a person becomes baul, some show him affection, some ill-will.
I mean to enjoy the fun of it all.” (pg. 110)

One of the great strengths of this book in my view is that over half of it is given to her description of her interactions with the specific group of Bauls that she worked with and their own self-perception in relation to both identity and practice. These followers of the Baul Raj Khyapa self-identified more specifically as being “Bartaman Panthi” i.e. of the tradition/line that works the path of direct knowledge and unorthodoxy.

While being mindful at the outset of the dangers of exoticisation in relation to Baul identity much of the section on Baul sadhana in the book is concerned with the role and significance of sexual activity between practitioners and the complex array of ideas that relate to use of bodily fluids as an alchemical practice. In the section concerning Bartaman sadhana, over seventy pages is given over to a complex and nuanced exploration the sexual/alchemical practices employed by the group, with special focus being given to the “four moons” practice in which the practitioners makes ritual use of urine, faeces, semen and menstrual fluids.

In short, this is a highly recommended (and readable!) account of social anthropology that is masterful in its engagement with themes around identity, the process of religious synthesis and the use of the body within the context of post-colonial spiritual practice. For me the attraction of this work lies particularly in Openshaw’s insight that the fluidity of Baul identity in many ways echoed her own: “As one who finds herself perplexed or resistant when asked her identity, it came as no surprise that this is even more the case with many of those called Baul.” (pg. 113)

Given the above and complexity involved in trying to identify the practices of Bauls, it feels important to hear a first person narrative of someone working with a teacher who identified himself as such. To Live Within by Lizzelle Reymond provides us with her own account of working with her Guru Shri Anirvan that began in the early 1950’s. Such an account provides another important jig-saw piece in trying to gain a sense of who the Bauls were and are. Although the book contains in its appendices a collection of Baul songs and also an outline of how Baul tradition, the book is primarily a deeply personal account.

Viewed in the light of breadth of Openshaw’s work it might be easy to critique Raymond’s’ account given the inevitable romanticism contained within it. Personally I think to do so would be both disingenuous and failure to realise that a deepening of our understanding must be made up of such accounts. As with Openshaw’s focus on the Raj Khyapa “family”, Reymond’s work provides us with further insight into the heterogeneity of a “tradition” that places such a central value on spontaneity and the challenging of orthodox religiosity.

Given the relatively early date of Reymond’s account (1971), the thematic intersects with Openshaw’s work lend her account a feeling of authenticity. Following her account of her meeting her Guru and the manner in which he interacted with other seekers, the second half of the book is largely given over to her description of his teachings to her. She acknowledges that Shri Anirvan whilst identifying as “a simple baul” also had a vast knowledge of Vedanta derived from his time as a Hindu Sannyasin. While his teachings contain an emphasis on the Shiva/Shakti dyad that seems in keeping with the teachings of the Bartaman Panthi, one can quite readily detect not only concepts drawn from Samkhya traditions but also the overt referencing of the Gurdjieff Work (the teaching of which Raymond was dedicate the rest of her life). Such synthesis is most probably due to the lens employed by Raymond in recounting his insights, but the extent of such conceptual fluidity may well be in keeping with the spirit of his self-identification as a Baul.

It is worthy of note that in Reymond’s subsequent role as a Fourth Way teacher, she was often criticised for the level of innovation that she introduced. One could frame such creativity as being in keeping with what we know of Baul sadhana. Reymond’s account is a good read and an interesting piece of spiritual

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Some additional items for research.

LL has recently emphasized that he practices in the lineage of something called Baul Hinduism, which is indigenous to Bengal. He claimed to be in the lineage of a guru named Ramsuratkumar (note to researchers, a variant spelling is Ramsurat Kumar), now dead. There are some printed biographies of Guru R, and these mention LL, for Lozowick and his followers brought welcome support to this guru. Indian gurus appear gain in prestige when they start attracting Westerners.

In the mid-1990s, Lozowick was interviewed in Andrew Cohen’s magazine

[www.enlightennext.org]

However, Lozowick also seems to have had a long interest in Gurdjieff material

‘Members of of Lee Lozowick’s Hohm community devoted an entire issue of their magazine Eclipse to Gurdjieff, with the apparent intention of recruiting people to Hohm lectures.’

And…this article by a Lozowick student describes a visit to Paris. They went to Café de Paix, a Gurdjieff landmark. It may also capture the inner dialogue of a dedicated LL student—which does not seem Hindu at all, but sounds more Fourth Way.

(quote from article)

[sonic.net]

“Mr. Lee is driving. He is the center of so much to so many seekers. A modern day spiritual master for whom the sacred and the ordinary blend into one. All moments are about being. Today he is driving his friends around Paris. We have a day to kill before our rooms become available at 7pm……
“Most striking of all, of course, was the Eiffel Tower looming in the immediate distance. I recall once arguing with a school mate in the 4th grade about the reality of flying saucers. I was certain at the time that they did exist while my school mate was quite positive they did not. He argued along the lines that seeing was believing. I argued back that he had never seen the Eiffel Tower but he believed that it existed, etc. etc. We never resolved our argument , but the Eiffel Tower became for me a symbol of faith, knowledge, verification, and trust.
Here it was. Large, imposing, a lot of steel. We wound our way down to its base and I stood under it at the geometric middle to look up and see the vast mass supported above me. Mr. Lee noted that the first time he visited the Tower, he walked all the way up to the top. I longed to perform a similar feat of bravado, but the propriety of the moment precluded it. That urge did find refinement and resonance with inner considerings about whether I was being held back in my Work because of my current life situation. Fortunately I was able to let the bubble go and allow it to float away on the breeze carrying a wave a pigeons skyward.
Later in the day we made our way to the Cafe de le Paix where Gurdjieff liked to hang out. It sits across the street from the old Paris Opera House (Nationale Institute de Musique), and it has been in operation since 1850. We took a table on the street although we discussed that Gurdjieff would probably have taken a table inside which would be more conducive for intimate discussion. Our waiter was a stout, bald, French man wearing the pride of his culture, a black vest, and a white apron. I had a double espresso, Robert a tea, Mr. Lee a decaf espresso, Michelle a cappuccino, and Rob a mocha supreme. Gurdjieff sat here. Was it as stylized then. The place seemed a little gaudy for our tastes. Certainly expensive. Traffic whizzed by. We sat.
Mr. Lee comments on how he enjoys watching the flow. Our conversation turns to spiritual teachers and groups. We (primarily Mr. Lee and Robert) discuss Andrew Cohen, Arnaud Desjardin, students, relationships to the school, and the French spiritual student. The French are not as “New Age” jaded as the Americans. They still retain an innocent enthusiasm that many Americans have exchanged for a sort of “been there, done that” attitude. As we sat and watched the world expand and contract around us, I was reminded of a parable I had once written about a student talking to Mr. G. in a Paris cafe. My own observations from that afternoon may not have amounted to more than the scraps of paper the student held in the story, but my impressions from that moment still persist.
We discussed trying to get reseated inside to bring us closer to the Gurdjieff experience. The waiter would have none of it. He explained in animated French that there is a different bar tender inside, and that waiters cannot be expected to work in conditions where people are always moving between seats, etc. etc. etc. By this time in the day, our jet lag was acute, my nose was flowing freely from airline allergies, and we were becoming hungry. I suddenly realized what Work my ordinary self was enduring, and yet I felt acutely awake. I realized that this is Work. Exhausting the machine so that all that is left is being. Loud cars, honking and fuming, stuffy waiters, people crowding past each other like hive animals, sun, clouds, spring rain, and sitting. Sitting at two little round tables watching the world and my inner state go by.
Sitting with spiritual teachers at the Cafe de le Paix is the ultimate reminding factor. Being with my own teacher is practice enough because we know each other so well, but spending time with Mr. Lee is particularly stressful for my little self. When I am clear, I can simply be with him and that is that. If I consider, then I have started to feel like I need some sort of feedback from him to tell me how wonderful I am. And if I do not get this feedback, then my little self has started to worry what he thinks of me. I have wanted to be on my best behavior so he will think well of me, and yet he is one who doesn’t think of me at all. No act I do will change who I am at this time. And it will certainly not change Mr. Lee’s impression. He does what is necessary in the moment. Telling me how wonderful I am is the wrong thing to do because that is food for the little self.
A teacher is very much like space itself. A teacher sees and permits all manifestations without judgment or comment. One simply exists in his or her presence. If the teacher is your teacher then they can interact with you in such a way that the little self will get upset and you have the opportunity to observe that. And what you observe is not the outer shell of response, the Android part, but the hiding, contracting, essential part. The part of me that wants to be told how wonderful I am obviously is masking my inner shyness cramp that thinks the world cannot like me. So I got to practice just being and not worrying about it. Sitting at the Café then was an exercise in being.

Robert and Mr. Lee talked more about teachers, students, our visit tomorrow to see a Sufi teacher. I talked a little, but I was mostly silent. I was silent sort of like one gets silent after smoking dope. Everything was accentuated, everything intense. I had little to say. The only voices that wanted out were ones that just had things to prove.
(Its interesting that what this student called the ‘propriety of the moment’ kept him frm doing what he said he wanted to do—climb the Eiffel Tower. What a shame that in visiting Paris, he let his own desire to do something, something he might never be able to do again, pass merely because he felt he had to follow the lead of a guru. The teacher had climbed the Eiffel Tower—what a shame the student didn’t permit himself the same pleasure. This to me signals what can go wrong in these unhealthy, spiritually rationalized dominance- submission games. MBTF)

There is a chapter on Lozowick in the first edition of Georg Feursteins’ book Holy Madness.

However, Feurstein later became involved with Lozowick in some capacity. His second edition of Holy Madness was re-issued through Hohm Press and contains changes.

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Bangladeshi women who find themselves choking on conservativism have long been able to join these roaming bards, whose teachings are disseminated via song and passed down through oral tradition. Bauls typically visit villages to perform songs and impart spiritual wisdom in exchange for offerings of food and cash. Some travel in groups while others live with family members.

The women who defy social norms to become Bauls are usually shamed for it. "One of the reasons we are outcasts is because we smoke weed," says Rumana, who was a lawyer from a wealthy family before becoming a Baul 22 years ago. "I think it is the way to get enlightened but society doesn't accept it."

She wears a red bandana and struts among her male peers, breathing out weed smoke like a dragon. She says she projects a maternal aura to avoid being objectified by men from the towns and villages.

"Women are not just to be desired," she says. "I live my life in such a way that emphasizes my motherhood; not my womanhood."

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Given the above and complexity involved in trying to identify the practices of Bauls, it feels important to hear a first person narrative of someone working with a teacher who identified himself as such. To Live Within by Lizzelle Reymond provides us with her own account of working with her Guru Shri Anirvan that began in the early 1950’s. Such an account provides another important jig-saw piece in trying to gain a sense of who the Bauls were and are. Although the book contains in its appendices a collection of Baul songs and also an outline of how Baul tradition, the book is primarily a deeply personal account.

Viewed in the light of breadth of Openshaw’s work it might be easy to critique Raymond’s’ account given the inevitable romanticism contained within it. Personally I think to do so would be both disingenuous and failure to realise that a deepening of our understanding must be made up of such accounts. As with Openshaw’s focus on the Raj Khyapa “family”, Reymond’s work provides us with further insight into the heterogeneity of a “tradition” that places such a central value on spontaneity and the challenging of orthodox religiosity.

Given the relatively early date of Reymond’s account (1971), the thematic intersects with Openshaw’s work lend her account a feeling of authenticity. Following her account of her meeting her Guru and the manner in which he interacted with other seekers, the second half of the book is largely given over to her description of his teachings to her. She acknowledges that Shri Anirvan whilst identifying as “a simple baul” also had a vast knowledge of Vedanta derived from his time as a Hindu Sannyasin. While his teachings contain an emphasis on the Shiva/Shakti dyad that seems in keeping with the teachings of the Bartaman Panthi, one can quite readily detect not only concepts drawn from Samkhya traditions but also the overt referencing of the Gurdjieff Work (the teaching of which Raymond was dedicate the rest of her life). Such synthesis is most probably due to the lens employed by Raymond in recounting his insights, but the extent of such conceptual fluidity may well be in keeping with the spirit of his self-identification as a Baul.

It is worthy of note that in Reymond’s subsequent role as a Fourth Way teacher, she was often criticised for the level of innovation that she introduced. One could frame such creativity as being in keeping with what we know of Baul sadhana. Reymond’s account is a good read and an interesting piece of spiritual biography.

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Killing the guru : Anti-hierarchical tendencies of B?uls of Bengal = Tuer le guru : Tendances anti-hiérarchiques des B?uls du Bengale
Auteur(s) / Author(s)
OPENSHAW J. (1) ;
Affiliation(s) du ou des auteurs / Author(s) Affiliation(s)
(1) Centre of South Asian Studies, University of Cambridge, Cambridge, CB2 1SD, ROYAUME-UNI
Résumé / Abstract
The conferral of immense symbolic importance on so-called B?uls by educated, urban Bengalis from the end of the 19th century derives from and has contributed to various kinds of essentialisation of the category b?ul. Assumptions of uniformity and continuity have resulted in a scholarly over-emphasis on the role of the institutional guru.

The A. argues that the authority of this guru is far from absolute, even in theory. It is undermined by the plurality of gurus, the option of internalising or universalising the notion of the guru, and the crucial role of self-cultivation on the part of disciples.

Moreover, esoteric practice necessitates a male-female pair, and the theoretical and practical importance conferred on women by B?uls tends to subvert the predominantly male guru lineages (Hindu, Muslim or mixed), as does a readiness to divinise human beings as such, rather than only perfected human beings.