"Vivah Panchami: Pilgrimage a travel liberty" by Krispi Raman Jaiswal

Krispi Raman Jaiswal is a law student who identifies herself as an intersectional feminist. Having worked for Madhesh for about 4 years now, she is also an UNFPA youth advocate for sexual and reproductive health and rights. She has directed the Documentary about Dom women of Madhesh, with the passion to serve women she thrives for culture, liberty and equality. 

“Pilgrimage” a holy walk to meet the almighty is the first glance that may come into our mind as we hear this term. But pilgrimage is a ticket to freedom of travel for thousands of women; Vivah Panchami a travel leverage for hundreds of women of Mithila, a chance to step out and explore a city that has the holy belief of Ramayana on the occasion of Ram Sita vivah.

Colorful Mithila is set up to welcome lord Ram the pahun of every Maithili household here in Janakpur. As the mangal geet starts, so starts the journey of this leverage.

No matter what age of a woman you are, you will still need an excuse that is valid and accepted enough in the society to travel. Walk way of Janaki temple filled with similar excused woman in veil and young woman having their hearts filled with hope.

Every evening is a chance for talks, glimpses of wedding rituals that takes them back to the times of emotions experienced. This embodies womanhood in the heart of a pilgrimage spot often in Janaki temple.

The barefoot walking rituals are commonly practiced, this is believed to purify their journey from their homes to the spot of pilgrimage.

The veil of color red and orange are embraced to the purest be it their soft cotton that have washed a number of times, matching the color theme of Mithila they accept their pahun while enjoying their time.

The morning bath rituals at Dhanushsagar is a must, you won’t find any women not being helped by another to ensure she gets to bathe in the midst of the pond in belief of sacral water from the Ganga itself.

The local market wrapped in winter shawls all around are the shares of currency to be Indian or to be Nepali, women speaking their mother tongue with the emphasis of how one of her maternal ancestors was from Janakpur making it easy for herself to be wrapped in the warmth shared by the visitors as she stays for the Vivah Panchami.

Ram Mandir is filled with travelers from Ayodhya, all around Mithila and Bihar. Each woman carries their bag filled with essentials to live and leverage finally granted to them.

A trade opportunity for many men in the market is created, women are seen buying colours of bangles matching their experience while the currency debate goes on, identifying the native of the traveller.

The bedding settlements are shared by many travelers while women find their group made for safety, support and easy journey for each other, helping them to make a place in the pilgrimage.

As filled with color as the Janaki temple is, so are the women here, beautiful and historically important. Each day of the week is a celebration for these women and an almighty opportunity to explore themselves.

Janaki Temple decorated for Vivah Panchami, followed by travelers across India and Nepal draped with colorful veils of pilgrims.

"The Cultural Village Janakpurdham, Nepal: A Photo Essay" by Komal Sahi, Pakkhee and Saahil Shokeen

Komal Sahi is a PhD scholar in Sociology at Jamia Millia Islamia university. Her research interests are urban sociology and neo religiosity vis-a-vis space. Based in Delhi, she is currently working on urban spaces through the lens of everyday mundane narratives and realities.

Pakkhee is an illustrator and artist, draws inspiration from her heritage, exploring identity, culture, and folklore. Her work blends themes of land, language, nature, and technology. As art director at Lahooti, she bridges indigenous and modern cultures through storytelling and creative expression.

Saahil Shokeen is a PhD research scholar in Sociology at Dr. B.R. Ambedkar University, Delhi, he hails from New Delhi. His research interest are sociology of religion , pilgrimage performativity and visual documentation. He is currently documenting and researching kawad yatra, an annual Shiva pilgrimage.

In the heart of Janakpur, a city known for its vibrant art and deep spiritual roots, the Cultural Village stands as a testament to the resilience and creativity of the Madhesi people. Conceived by conservationist Dev Narayan Mandal, this space is a living, breathing archive of traditions, craftsmanship, and community life. This essay explores how the village embodies placemaking, sustainability, and the rich heritage of Mithila culture. 

The cultural village. Photo courtesy of the authors.

Designed to replicate a traditional Maithili settlement, the place showcases stunning Mithila murals, clay-mud houses, and organic farming practices. Every aspect of the village embodies a commitment to heritage conservation, providing an authentic experience for visitors. It is more than a static exhibit—it is a space for interaction and cultural exchange. Local artisans, particularly women, actively preserve and promote Mithila art. Their murals, rich with folklore and social narratives, adorn the village, creating a dynamic connection between tradition and modernity.

A room at the cultural village. Photo courtesy of the authors.

A meal at the cultural village. Photo courtesy of the authors.

Guests can stay in traditionally styled thatched-roof mud houses adorned with Mithila paintings, dine on authentic Maithili cuisine prepared with locally grown ingredients, and engage with artisans and farmers. The slow-paced, immersive experience fosters a deeper appreciation for cultural and environmental sustainability.

Farming at the cultural village. Photo courtesy of the authors.

Beyond tourism, the village empowers local communities by providing employment and education opportunities. It fosters cultural pride and economic sustainability, reinforcing the importance of preserving heritage in a rapidly modernizing world. The Cultural Village in Janakpur is a remarkable example of placemaking, where tradition and sustainability converge. It stands as a model for heritage conservation, demonstrating how culture, ecology, and community can harmoniously coexist.

The Cultural Village in Janakpur is not just a space—it is an evolving narrative of resilience, creativity, and sustainability. In our fast-paced lives, how can we ensure that such cultural enclaves continue to thrive? Perhaps the answer lies in actively engaging with these traditions, supporting local artisans, and rethinking heritage as a shared responsibility. 

To bring this experience to life, The Cultural Village in Janakpur is documented through a photo essay that captures its vibrant traditions, artistic expressions, and everyday life. This project explores the visual journey of how heritage, sustainability, and community engagement shape this unique cultural space.

"Let me begin by telling you a story…" by Aishwarya Walvekar

Aishwarya Walvekar is a scholar specialising in Theatre and Performance Studies, with a strong background in both academic research and practical theatre experience. She is adept at merging theory with practice and is a recipient of EUTOPIA Co-Tutelle PhD Scholarship 2023. Aishwarya is committed to understanding the cultural, social and political nuances of performance while actively engaging in theatre production.

Do stories make places or do places make stories? Instead of diving into such a dichotomous understanding of the relationship between people, culture and politics, Aishwarya Walvekar through the short film displays the uncomfortable co-existence of religious belief systems and modern political values. In attempting to grasp this reality in South Asia through the location of Janakpurdham, Walvekar asserts and questions what place does ‘truth’ hold in such a milieu where religious beliefs, ideological advances, and heritage are constantly performed to churn up a vortex of multiple behaviours. Walvekar, thus, attempts to draw a cinematic ethnography which questions the ‘field’ but also the ‘eye’ and the body that experiences it through the form of storytelling and poetry. 

"A Nepali Hindu State: Unpacking the Demand for Hindu Nationalism in Janakpur’s Political Landscape" by Aakriti Suresh & Sushan Bhattarai

Sushan Bhattarai is an art historian and researcher specializing in the circulation of Himalayan art styles and the impact of climate change on highland heritage in Nepal. His current work focuses on documenting archaeological sites across the Central Himalayas, with a particular emphasis on those linked to the Khasa Malla Empire. He holds a B.A. in History and Environmental Studies from Amherst College.

Aakriti Suresh is a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of History, University of Bristol, UK. Her Ph.D. project sits at the intersection of environmental history, British empire, and South Asian Studies. She holds an M.Phil (University of Hyderabad, India) and an M.A in History (University of Delhi, India).

“I fear that if there are instances of violence here in Janakpur, it will have a ripple effect and will spread to Bihar,” said a local journalist who agreed to meet with us and discuss the rising strides of Hindu nationalism in the Madhesh Province of Nepal.

While researchers and analysts have extensively argued about India-led Hindu nationalism spreading to Nepal, this article seeks to explore the place Nepal holds in this project and how Hindu extremist activities in Nepal can be examined to de-centre Indian politics and explore if the Nepali Hindu nationalist narratives offer an alternate vision of building and accessing a Hindu Rashtra.

This article is based on interviews conducted by the authors in the town of Janakpur located in the Madhesh province of Nepal. The location and history of this town is particularly important for this piece as Janakpur, part of the Madhesh province of Nepal, is located at a mere distance of 14 kilometers from the India-Nepal border. Cross-border movements, shared languages and marital relations have long shaped the relationship between the people of Janakpur and various towns and villages in Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. Additionally, Janakpur is alive in the public memory of people as the capital of the ancient kingdom of Mithila, ruled by Raja Janak and the maternal home of Goddess Sita. According to the Ramcharitamanas, the famous Swayamwar of Lord Ram and Sita took place in Janakpur, a holy marriage that continues to be commemorated through the annual festival of Vivah Panchami.

An Indian newspaper on the counter of a shop in Janakpur, where the shopkeeper was interviewed. Photo courtesy of the authors.

First and foremost, this article does not aim at discrediting the role that India and Indian politics play in the surge of Hindu extremist activities in Nepal. Specifically in the province of Madhesh, geography and the fluidity of the border have played a crucial role in facilitating an easy import of Hindu extremist ideas from across the border into Madhesh. Given the proximity of the region to Bihar and the familial relations that exist between the people of ‘Mithilanchal,’ it should not come as a surprise that people in Janakpur are avid observers of Indian politics. A veteran journalist that we talked to confirmed that people in Madhesh are often up-to-date with Indian politics, and that “it is more likely that Madheshis would know the names of far-away districts in India, but would be unfamiliar with the regions and political developments within Nepal.” These observations prompted us to ask our other interviewees if they followed Indian media and the answer was a resounding confirmation. Aaj Tak, Zee News, India TV are popular amongst the people of Janakpur. Naturally, the misinformation disseminated by ‘Godi Media’ and the communal hatred fuelled by these channels has seeped into the social psyche of Janakpur. “Look at what Muslims are doing in France and in the UK. Wherever they go, they always create a ruckus. Their population is also increasing alarmingly,” commented a Hindu shopkeeper who owns a jewellery store in the neighbouring lanes of Janaki Temple in Janakpur. The impact and import of hateful vocabulary, as perpetuated by ‘Godi’ media, has also affected Muslim perceptions of their identity and affiliation to Nepal.

“We were invited by the Nepalese ruler to come and settle here,” an elderly Muslim social activist claimed. This comment is particularly interesting as it highlights the manner in which Nepali Muslims, having internalised the Indian right-wing rhetoric of ‘Muslims as invaders’ seek to distinguish themselves, carve out and justify their claim to Nepali territory and identity.

While many Nepalis experience the border as a bureaucratic entity—something to be crossed by presenting a passport or citizenship card at an official checkpoint, or through a shift in language—our interviewees in the Madhesh spoke instead of its fluidity. Many did not even consciously register when they had crossed to the other side. The border, then, is not an ever-present divide but a line that is activated primarily in moments of bureaucratic necessity—such as during elections or state-regulated transactions. Beyond rhetoric and exchange of ideologies, open/visa-free borders between India and Nepal also facilitate easy movement of people looking to instigate tensions as well as an easy access to weapons that have, in the recent years, been used to incite violence.   In a conversation with a veteran journalist, he described rising communal tensions, particularly how Hindu groups justified acts of violence as “protection” against alleged Muslim attempts to disrupt religious festivities and pujas. Yet, he acknowledged that many of these so-called “attacks” were, in reality, premeditated actions by Hindus—sometimes instigated by actors from across the border—deliberately designed to provoke communal violence. This rhetoric was echoed by locals, who framed Muslims as a looming threat, implying that retaliatory violence served as a necessary deterrent against perceived aggressions.

It is important to note here that the realities are more complex than a simplistic one-way traffic of ideas and bodies from India to Nepal. As indicated at the beginning of this essay, a journalist observed and commented that given the syncretic relationship between Bihar and Madhesh, inter-religious tensions in Madhesh had the potential of inciting violence in Bihar. Thus, with Madhesh taking the lead, we see a reversal of direction in which right-wing activities shape Nepal’s place in an India-led project of Hindu nationalism.

It is essential to note that ideas of Hindu nationalism, as much as they are imported from India, do not always end up being blindly implanted in Nepal. Their dissemination and impact in Nepal need to be situated within the geo-political realities of Nepali politics and identity. Ideas are, thus, adapted to the Nepali context, aimed at addressing issues that are specific to Nepal.

The experience of border-crossing, for instance, is highly subjective. When asked how they felt after crossing into India, participants offered varied responses. One remarked that “the only difference is that population density is higher on the other side, but goods are cheaper.” Their framing of the border suggests an acute awareness of multiple, coexisting interpretations of it—operating within the constraints of the nation-state, when necessary, yet maintaining a local and cultural understanding that transcends it. Additionally, it is important to consider how our presence as interviewers may have shaped their responses, with participants consciously articulating their experiences through the lens of the nation-state, knowing that this framework would be legible to us. The responses from locals in Janakpur indicate a fluid and context-dependent relationship with the border—one that is shaped as much by historical and cultural continuity as it is by the demands of the modern state.

When asked what a Nepali Hindu state meant, we encountered a range of responses that closely mirrored the rhetoric of pro-BJP media. However, when we pressed further on what a Hindu state would look like in a distinctly Nepali context, many participants struggled to articulate a clear vision. Notably, in contrast to the discourse surrounding Hindu statehood in the hills or the capital, Madhesi participants did not reference Nepal’s historical Hindu monarchy. The demand for a Hindu state in the hills is often tied to King Mahendra’s construction of Nepal’s national identity around two core tenets: Hinduism and the monarchy. However, neither this legacy nor the Rastriya Prajatantra Party (RPP)—a political force advocating for a return to Hindu monarchy and recently involved in protests for a Hindu state—was mentioned at all. This absence underscores a fundamental reality: the Nepali state, as historically envisioned, was structured to serve a privileged minority, while the majority—particularly Madhesis—were systematically excluded and subjected to both political and racial discrimination. 

For those in the Madhesh, then, the idea of a Hindu state is not primarily concerned with its national framework but rather with its localized function as a mechanism for implementing specific measures against Muslim communities, whom they perceive as a socio-political and demographic threat. This localized engagement with Hindu nationalism is not an abstract ideological commitment but rather a perceived pragmatic strategy—one that reinforces communal hierarchies and exerts control over contested social and political spaces.

Members of the Vishwa Hindu Parishad marching through Janakpur. Photo courtesy of the authors.

Communal tensions in Janakpur continue to escalate, exacerbated by the intensification of Hindutva politics across the border. As the Madhesh becomes further enmeshed in the ideological currents shaping adjoining Indian states, political forces in the region will inevitably have to recalibrate their strategies in response to this shifting terrain. Thus far, explicit sectarian mobilization along religious lines has remained largely absent, with political actors limiting their engagement to calls for peace during moments of heightened violence. However, this equilibrium appears increasingly tenuous. One interviewee highlighted how tensions often surge during Indian elections, as religious polarization is strategically weaponized to consolidate electoral support on both sides of the border. This dynamic underscores the extent to which transnational political processes, particularly those driven by majoritarian nationalism, are not only reshaping local contestations in the Madhesh but also creating new pressures for political actors to align with an emergent ideological paradigm. 

Despite the complex interplay of political and cultural forces competing for dominance in the Madhesh, Muslims find themselves increasingly excluded from institutional representation. One of the interviewees, a prominent Muslim leader, reflected on the shifting nature of political inclusion, contrasting the Panchayat era with the present. He noted that, during the Panchayat system, Muslims were actively appointed to government positions, a practice that, while far from equitable, at least afforded some degree of institutional recognition. However, with the consolidation of majoritarian politics, this space has effectively collapsed, as Hindu leaders no longer feel compelled to advocate for Muslim representation. The social activist himself played a pivotal role in diffusing communal tensions in recent years by leveraging his longstanding relationship with the mahant or head priest of the Janaki Mandir and organizing a meeting at the Chief District Officer’s (CDO) premises. His intervention not only illustrates the significance of interfaith relationships in managing sectarian flashpoints but also highlights the extent to which conflict resolution in the Madhesh is often relegated to informal networks rather than institutional mechanisms.

While Muslims constitute the second-largest demographic group in the Madhesh and represent a substantial voting bloc, the assertion of a distinct Muslim political identity remains fraught with tension. The social activist acknowledged this dilemma, expressing concern that any visible articulation of Muslim political agency risks being framed as a provocation—an act that could be seized upon to justify further communal polarization. This apprehension also speaks to the paradoxical role of state security forces in the region. On one hand, he emphasized that the presence of security personnel is often the only tangible safeguard preventing large-scale violence against Muslims. On the other, the history of state security forces in the Madhesh is marked by systemic repression, with law enforcement frequently deployed as an instrument for Kathmandu to assert its authority over the region. This duality raises critical questions about the extent to which state institutions function as neutral arbiters of security versus enforcers of a historically exclusionary political order.

A jeep displaying a banner of the Hindu Swayamsevak Sangh Nepal. Photo courtesy of the authors.

Despite the gravity of these developments, much of what is unfolding in Janakpur remains absent from broader national discourse. Conversations in Kathmandu continue to revolve around federalization and the procedural mechanics of governance, while the intensification of Hindutva politics in the Madhesh is largely overlooked. The demand for a Hindu state, though superficially similar across different regions, manifests in distinct ways depending on local political, historical, and demographic contexts. As one journalist we interviewed noted, any escalation of communal violence in Janakpur has the potential to trigger unrest not only across the Madhesh but also in India, given the deep cross-border entanglements of identity, politics, and economic life. The emergence of an explicitly Hindutva-driven political movement in the Madhesh would not only deepen existing fractures within regional politics but could also stall key development initiatives, reinforcing structural inequalities that have long defined the region’s relationship with the central state.

The entrance of a mosque located opposite the Janaki Temple. Photo courtesy of the authors.

Given these risks, there is an urgent need to recognize and engage with the ideological shifts currently taking place. The failure of the provincial government to preemptively establish mechanisms for interfaith dialogue and conflict mediation reflects a broader inability—or unwillingness—to grapple with the implications of rising religious majoritarianism. If left unaddressed, the consequences of this ideological transformation will not remain confined to the Madhesh but could fundamentally reshape Nepal’s political trajectory in ways that remain dangerously underestimated.

"Betwixt and Between: A Walking Elegy on Janakpur" By Israr Hasan

Israr Hasan is a Bachelor of Social Science graduate from BRAC University Bangladesh with a degree in Economics and a minor in Anthropology.

When Bangladeshis travel to Nepal, Janakpur rarely features on their itinerary. Far from the luscious mountain ranges of Pokhara and the dizzying roundabouts of hilly terrains in Kathmandu, Janakpur largely remained a city unknown to me. As with any other place, the medium of walking as a method is a deeply imbued mediator of the senses helping to understand the surroundings we live in.

Statue of a Hindu deity. Photo courtesy of the author.

As one engages in aimless wandering around Janakpur—whether on solitary walks or with a group—one encounters a city in mediated transition, reflective of the larger Nepali state. Nepal, once known as the world’s only Hindu kingdom, has transitioned into a multi-party secular democracy, much to the chagrin of its neighbours, whose democratic credentials are increasingly eroded by majoritarian populism, corruption, and foreign interference. Upon leaving the airport premises, visitors are greeted by towering eight-foot statues of Ram and Hanuman dotting the cityscape, figures central to Janakpur’s history. The city itself takes its name from Janaka, the father of Sita, the wife of Ram. To complement these larger-than-life statues, Janakpur asserts its significance through words—most prominently in the form of large posters for Vivah Panchami, the annual commemoration of the union of Ram and Sita. This festival serves as a celebration of love, heritage, rituals, and a collective sense of belonging, transforming the city into a living pilgrimage site. The languages observed on these posters  oscillate between Hindi, Maithili, and Nepali.

While navigating Janakpur’s main city, one notices a muscular and proud Hinduism etched onto its buildings. If one squints their eyes harder, they view the internet-famous angry Hanuman flag which traces its origin to Kerala. A local female artist, rooted in Janakpur, contrasted it with the past saying that “growing up, we would see the youthful warm smile of Hanumanji all over Janakpur, and today it is an angry silhouette in any public space”. Embedded in  Madhesh, which has been a restive region in the drive for autonomy and greater civil liberties in the not-so-near-past, anger often serves as premium fuel for enacting change. The anger she was speaking here was different. Reeling from the shocks and constant newsheadlines of  real and imagined attacks in Bangladesh on “the other”, the difference was that it carried a different colour of imagination. A single colour became a denominator of affinity. Of kinship and loyalty.  All too near yet all too distant.

In a sea of small buildings - new and dilapidated - one notices that they are all painted in the colour saffron. Saffron, the colour identified with the Hindu Right in India, is plastered all over the city indicating a strong linkage between faith and identity. In the same vein, one notices a different sort of resilience - rare as it catches the eye yet powerful - of a star and crescent flag fluttering in an ocean of orange coloured buildings and triangular and rectangular flags of orange and saffron. “Everytime someone influential comes from the border, there is a strong impulse to colour the buildings all orange, including ours”, complained Asgar Ali, a Muslim politician who lived in the contours of Rahim Path. On the way to Rahimpath, especially during the time of Vivah Panchami, cries of Jai Shri Ram are heard with horses and bands syncing in mutual awe, confidence, and sheer power. During festivities, such as these, it had been reported that these vehicles come from across the border with Indian title plates. A local interlocutor whispers to me that this is the Vishwa Hindu Parishad, a fiery rightwing party in India which supposedly has branches in Nepal. As a Bangladeshi Muslim with an internationalist and fiercely secular outlook, I found myself navigating the shifting currents of this city—its ripples pulling me into immersion, yet always drawing me back to the surface.

During the night sojourn in Rahimpath, in the midst of green and orange flags identified with the respective communities of the area, I came across a Nepali flag on a mosque standing still while the orange and green flags endlessly fluttered in the background. . In my 8 days  in Janakpur, between the battles of colours, the triangular flag was visible only once.  Asgar Ali, a man known in the social milieu of Janakpur, lamented that mutual struggle for a separate Madhesi identity as early as 2017 was put behind on the backfoot. Asgar Ali’s house was one of the very few houses that could resist the paint job of Saffronisation that had engulfed the houses of his neighbours and co-religionists.  As is common in many parts of South Asia, Urdu is engraved on Muslim owned households and business catering in tailoring,  and cobbling - two activities synonymous with contributions of Muslims to the festival of Vivah Panchami.  Conversant in fluent Urdu, Asgar dai mentioned the primacy of Urdu to Muslim culture in Janakpur viewing it as integral to an identity bound by link to a past of prestige and power.  This showed another cleavage of language reminiscent of the wider struggles over the ownership of Urdu as a Muslim language, strikingly similar to the contexts of greater South Asian Muslims. In nearby Mithileshwar, the landscape was replaced by mosques as one entered the labyrinthe neighbourhood of Hindus and Muslims residing on far flung lanes. The mosques, to my great curiosity, had the name of the mosque engraved in Maithili with the day of its establishment according to the Nepali calndar. In a casual conversation with a group of Muslim elders, they casually remarked to me that “30 generations of us have been Muslim living on this soil, on this land speaking Maithili.” 

Doorway decorated with religious images. Photo courtesy of the author.

The doors are marked and segmented by religious symbols. A common marker here is the spectrum of class with doors made of crunched- out wood and dilapidated walls bearing stickers and pictures of gods integral to the story of Ram, including Ram itself, and the 786 number alongside a crescent and star. Hinduness and Muslimness seem to assert themselves with the same gusto.  Yet, as one wanders through the city, it is not uncommon to see Hindus and Muslims conversing, rubbing shoulders in the marketplaces, their daily lives intertwined despite the visible markers of difference. As we finished our conversation with the Muslim elders, I bid them farewell with my Salam to which they folded their hands to respond with both Namaste and Walaikum Salam.

Doorway marked with the crescent moon and star. Photo courtesy of the author.

As I travelled to Dhanusagar—first on foot, then by car—I was spellbound by the vibrancy of colours animating the premises: sari-clad women moving gracefully, the heartfelt chatter of children darting through the crowds, the murmured recitations of mantras, and an overarching atmosphere of belonging. Dhanusagar, believed to be the site where Shiva’s bow was found, stands as a pilgrimage point woven with devotion. The scene was a rich tapestry of Hanuman masks, incense curling into the air, and memorabilia of Ram and Sita. Even as an outsider to this faith, I couldn’t help but stand in awe of the deep reverence it inspired in millions. Pilgrims from across Nepal and India—particularly from Bihar—flocked to the site. Not far from here, Janakpur Dham Rail Station, one of Nepal’s only two operational railway lines, further underscored the transnational nature of this pilgrimage. The station’s posters and banners, adorned with images of Ram and Sita, reinforced a growing Hindu brotherhood, transcending borders even amidst the tensions that occasionally mark India-Nepal relations.

Signboard. Photo courtesy of the author.

A kilometre away from the Cultural village, located on the outskirts of the city, where we were staying, there is a large roadside signboard which does not escape the eye on either side of the road. Written in Nepali, the signboard declares boldly that this is “a safe Hindu village”. In consternation, the walker, if he can read, might ask from whom? Located between two orphanages-cum-schools, the sign is adorned with fresh, bright orange flags signalling their recent placement. The message, silent yet resounding, lingers in the mind of any passer-by who cares to read.

Every road carries a story in Janakpur, steeped in historical and mythical significance. As one walks through the city, visiting its numerous temples, including the famous Janaki Mandir, ponds, lakes, and mosques, the intertwined threads of sacral order and harmony gradually reveal a deep uncertainty about the future. The city evokes a sense of awe, as it aspires to something greater, yet remains at a crossroads. For an outsider, it’s often too much to see and too early to make conclusions. Just as walking involves various movements, orientations, and distractions, Janakpur finds itself in diverse trajectories of being steeped in time yet simultaneously searching for its place. The quest for belonging lurks in the background for the city to reveal itself.

The author would like to thank all the organizers, especially Dr. Sabin, Dr. Sasanka, the Cultural Village, the artists, the interlocutors, and the participants of the Winter School for the enriching knowledge-sharing experiences, punctuated by lively discussions and endless cups of tea.

"A Letter Song: Simultaneity of the Crisis" By Sharayu

Sharayu Wadekar is an architectural historian, a researcher and a storyteller.

“ I am Sharayu, a student of Architecture and History.

I always thought I think in terms of spatiality- an interdisciplinary understanding of real-life vocabulary into that of personal desire.

A desire to make sense of this world that keeps falling out of my institutional dialect. “

The world has problems, and universities have disciplines

- Garry Brewer

What are the different ways of seeing. Photo courtesy of the author.

I don't know who I am writing to, but I think it's you, as a woman, we share an invisible relationship with this place, Janakpurdham. In contrast, I am a visitor or a tourist, another one to have walked this land as you—as they claim did Sita, Ram, and Janak. Don't you think Ram occupies the slogans and flags, while Sita is considered a visitor? Do you think she is a visitor, too?

Part 1

How do you construct a landscape? Is it constructed already or do people exist to shift and move across the land of multi-marginalized species through the perception of an ancestral memory and desire to multiply?

Part 2

Who is a pilgrim?

Just Like a classic Bojack horseman 10-second monologue- I thought I was a researcher before I came to this place before I met people. Then I heard them and I thought I was only a visitor.

I wanted to write a letter. I didn’t want to ‘edit’ the challenges, or reinforce or counter question over ‘authenticity’ because nothing is authentic. People move, landscapes change, and time makes every assumption queer.

Vivaha Panchami is an event. For a lot of women in Bihar and the people of Janakpurdham. Who are these women from Bihar and Janakpurdham- how are these distinctions perceived?

Janakpurdham - a place that can be theorized into volumes if we engage alphabetically and politically. But does this question deepen the crisis it seemingly portrays?

So what is the crisis exactly about?

Is it the friction between the temporary displacement of gendered bodies in space- almost like a spectacle of a certain kind of public within the public domain? A huge mass movement of cross-border bodies through a religious crucible that maps the atmosphere into peripheral spatiotemporally across the existing geo-political landscape densified with social, and cultural complexities.

Walls of god. Photo courtesy of the author.

Part 3

A recurring motif in Janakpurdham’s religio-heritage-driven landscape- is a pond. These ponds become not only a kind of landscape but places of asserting and maintaining an ideology- performativity of its reproduction. These ponds, ostensibly communal spaces, have been circumscribed into the orbit of temple complexes, becoming extensions of a Hinduized ideology. The construction of this ideology is not subtle; it is loud, sharp, and firm- the tolls of bells reinforced by rituals like the three types of aartis performed on the same pond or the casual assertion of control through temple-sponsored festivals. What is most telling, however, is how these ponds, one of the common's land are now sites of exclusion, gendered in how they are accessible, while ideologically, and psychologically restricted. Who gets to claim the pond? And what kind of claims are that for the ‘commons’? The question is less about physical proximity and more about symbolic ownership, a performance of control that masks itself as a nostalgic tradition.


The roads- I see women walking barefoot- to the temple and the farms. The long roads cut straight through the fields and fences such that the traces of bricks and mortar follow until around the temple precinct, as dust, concrete, and people. These runover boundaries then translate through farms that slip through as forests and plantations, turning institutions into thresholds of radical conversations and conversions, public land into fields of exclusion, and kin-caste-based economy.

The cultural heritage precinct map. Photo courtesy of the author.

Part 4

At the heart of everyday dynamics is labor, both visible and invisible. The ponds do not maintain themselves; the temples do not build or clean themselves; the streets do not organize themselves for festivals. This labor is carried out by the very bodies that these spaces marginalize; Dalits, women, Muslims, and other oppressed groups based on their degrees of ability. Their labor sustains the city’s religious-heritage and infrastructure, yet their presence remains at the thinning of its narrative.

This erasure of labor is not incidental; it is structural, built into the fabric of a city that prioritizes symbols over people. The issue of access extends beyond the physical and into the ideological. Consider the Manusmriti sold in local libraries, a text that codifies caste-based exclusion as divine law. Its presence in Janakpurdham’s intellectual spaces is not an accident but a statement; a reminder of the ideological underpinnings that justify and perpetuate exclusion. It is a chilling juxtaposition: a city that claims to honor Sita, a symbol of devotion and resilience, simultaneously endorses a text that denies dignity to so many of its kind.

Yet, to reduce Janakpurdham’s problems to the dominance of symbolism and heritage would be to oversimplify a more complex reality. While these forces are undeniable, they interact with other dynamics like economic inequality, gendered labor, and the commodification of landscapes in order to create a more nuanced landscape of exclusion. The Hindu tea vendor’s (who worked as a human pulley in Mumbai, India) cartography along road expansions is not separate from the Muslim community’s exclusion from ponds or the women’s brief reclamation of streets during Vivaha Panchami. These are not isolated but interconnected, intersectional- in broader structures of categorized marginalization.

How do we proceed from here? How do we narrate stories in binaries when this effort only simplifies the atmospheres of terror, crisis, resistance, and rebellion? Can we translate the comfort the Muslim men share within the premises wrapped in the walls of the mosque? The lived fabric is made of many narratives, like that of Mamta didi, a Dalit reporter who ‘collects stories’ of other Dalit women in Janakpurdham with a bare trust in the state or other fellow Hindus. When asked about her views on Janakpurdham, she shows numbness. Her landscape of life runs along making everyday needs meet- she is quite indifferent to the celebration of sita and ram.

The many heads of many divine. Photo courtesy of the author.

Part 5

As I write this, I am acutely aware of my position, as physical through the systematic mobility from peripheries to the city, as a visitor, a researcher, and a participant in the academic-industrial complex. Am I contributing to the very exclusion I seek to critique? Is my writing another form of erasure, one that prioritizes analysis over observation, over engagement, over action? These are uncomfortable questions, but they are necessary. To engage critically with Janakpurdham, or any city with a history of religious heritage, is to confront not only its exclusions but also our complicity in them. These are often shaped as dilemmas rather than moments of eureka.

The two degrees of exclusion in Janakpurdham, religious heritage construction and collateral infrastructure are not unique to this city. They are symptomatic of a broader pattern in South Asia, where history is weaponized to justify inequality, and modernity is wielded as a tool of displacement. What makes Janakpurdham particularly poignant is its scale: a relatively small city that encapsulates the broader struggles of access, labor, and belonging. Its ponds, roads, and festivals are microcosms of a larger narrative, one that demands critical engagement.

As a visitor from a place of privilege, the challenge before us is not merely to document or reinforce these exclusions through deviation but instead to disrupt them- to complicate these obvious manifestations. This requires a shift of focus, like a psychedelic trip that trembles the land and becomes fluid from critiquing the symptoms to addressing the structures, from analyzing the visible to uncovering the invisible. It means questioning not only the dominance of Hindutva but also the ideologies of progress and modernity that enable exclusion and their marriage. It means acknowledging the labor that sustains these spaces and ensuring that this labor is not erased from their right to narratives.

It is not so much about who gets these structures built but who builds them? Can we move beyond this passive role to actively disrupt these structures, to challenge not just the manifestations of exclusion but their ideological foundations? To write about Janakpurdham is to participate in its construction. The deeper we inquire, the more assumptions start to tremble. In this case, question becomes, what kind of construction are we enabling and why now?

Women overlooking Sita Palace. Image credit unknown.

"Balancing tradition and modernity in a changing world" By Anuradha Kodagoda

Anuradha Kodagoda is a journalist and critic, and a film producer. With this blend of expertise and experience. She is the Deputy Features Editor in Sunday Observer, a flagship English newspaper in Sri Lanka. She is also a member of International Cinephile Society (ICS) and a regular contributor of ICS website and Celluloid Cinema magazine published by Dhaka International Film Festival.

Mithila Painting. Photo courtesy of the author.

Where the past dances with the present, the Cultural Village of Janakpur, Nepal, emerged as a living gallery hosting an inspiring workshop led by Sapana Sanjeevani, founding artist of Payal Sapana Paints, which illuminated the storied tradition of Mithila Art. I was swept away by this artistic tide and was fortunate to be part of the International Winter School 2024, titled ‘Pilgrimage as Placemaking in South Asia’. This immersive one week journey took place in the historic city of Janakpurdham, Nepal, a locale rich in stories and colour. Amidst many field visits, presentations and workshops, a workshop on Mithila Art collaborated by Payal Sapana Paints, a spirited collective of feminist Mithila artists and Incredible Mithila, a local organisation dedicated to preserving cultural and natural heritage stood out as a highlight.

Photo courtesy of the author.

In this unique workshop, several female artists participated alongside Sapana, including Rupa Devi from Madhubani, Bihar, India; Anjana Prajapati and Sushma Sah from Manjusa Art, Bhagalpur, Bihar; Hareram Yadav from Siraha, Nepal; Ritu Karn from Bara, Nepal; Sejal Karn from Parsa, Nepal; Dipa Karn from Dipa Art Gallery in Janakpur; Bina Kumari Karn from the Cultural Village Art Gallery; and Rubi Pathak from Mahottari, Nepal. Marking this unique collaboration, the group of Mithila artists created a beautiful mural near the railway station in Janakpur vividly showcasing their collective talent and vibrant cultural heritage.

History of Mithila Art

Mithila Art, also known as Madhubani painting, is a traditional art form that has flourished in the Mithila region of Nepal and parts of India, especially Bihar. This vibrant art is characterised by its knotty patterns, three primary colours and symbolic imagery, reflecting the cultural, social, and religious nuances of the communities it represents. At the workshop, Sapana, alongside other female artists, shared insights into this unique art form and its evolution.

The very first time one sees Mithila art, it evokes memories of the human anatomy drawings we created as children. According to historical accounts, Mithila Art originated in this region, where King Janak immortalised the legendary wedding of Rama and Sita through the brushstrokes of artists at that time, recreating the imagery for those who could not attend the wedding and setting the stage for generations of vibrant creativity.

“The origins of Mithila Art are steeped in history, with roots believed to extend back over 2,500 years. This art form was initially employed to depict significant cultural events, notably during the marriage of Lord Rama and Sita. Artisans were commissioned to paint walls with scenes from the majestic wedding ceremony to share the experience with those who could not attend” Sapana said.

Artistic characteristics

“Mithila Art is truly a treasure trove of creativity,” Sapana said. “It’s distinguished by two primary styles, Kachni which showcases intricate line work that twists and turns like knotted threads and Bharni which bursts forth with vibrant fills of colour.”

Traditionally, Mithila artists sourced pigments from nature, using extracts from flowers, herbs, and leaves. “This bond allows them to express their surroundings in a vibrant and organic way,” Sapana said. “Mithila art isn’t just pretty decorations; it’s a visual language that embodies a sense of place-making.” she further added.

Sapana explained how artists creatively utilised available spaces, whether on walls or mud surfaces, as their canvases to assert their identities and carve out their spaces in the world. “Imagine taking the very walls of your home and turning them into a canvas for your story. That’s what Mithila artists do,” she said.

Photo courtesy of the author.

The paintings themselves are a riot of colour, primarily featuring three striking hues: red, green, and yellow, all highlighted with bold black outlines. “These colours come from nature, connecting the art directly to the vibrant world we live in,” she said. Explaining the primitive nature one can witness in Mithila paintings compared with the realist painting tradition, Sapana said, “The figures in Mithila paintings often prioritise expression over anatomical accuracy; it’s all about conveying the essence of life rather than realism,” Sapana gestured towards a painting adorned with unique borders. “Look at those. The borders frame each piece, adding to their charm often filled with intricate patterns that draw the eye in. Every detail tells a story.”

Throughout history, Mithila Art has predominantly been practised by women in the community. The subjects are as diverse as the artists themselves, ranging from enchanting scenes of mythology and nature to poignant social commentary. “Mithila Art reflects what we see, experience and feel in our daily lives, it’s a living, breathing representation of community. It is a woman’s art, handed down through generations. Women express their lived experiences and stories through this art, creating a connection among themselves.” she added.

In Sapana’s words, Mithila art is not just an aesthetic endeavour, it’s a powerful vehicle for storytelling, social reflection and cultural identity, an endlessly vibrant gallery of human experience.

From tradition to livelihood

The commodification of Mithila Art has significantly shifted its role within the community, transforming the way artists engage with their craft. Traditionally viewed as a leisure activity for many women, creating art was a way to share stories, celebrate cultural rituals and beautify their homes. However, as the demand for Mithila artworks surged in local and international markets, this tradition evolved into a viable livelihood for numerous artists. The vibrant colours and intricate designs that once adorned the walls of homes are now sought after by collectors and enthusiasts worldwide, allowing artists to earn an income and gain recognition for their work.

Yet, with this commercialisation comes challenges that threaten the authenticity of the art form. As Mithila Art adapts to meet market demands, there is a growing concern about losing the cultural essence that is intrinsic to its identity. The process of commodification can sometimes overshadow the traditional practices and meanings that have been handed down through generations, leading artists to navigate a delicate balance between heritage and modernity.

In discussions around this evolving landscape, Anjana Prajapati and Sushma Sah from Manjusha Art said the critical importance of using the art form as a platform to address pressing social issues. “Through our paintings, we don’t just showcase beautiful art, we address topics like citizenship rights and social justice that deeply affect our community,” Anjana said. Anjana believes that art can serve as a medium for activism, shedding light on challenges faced by marginalised communities and igniting conversations that may otherwise go unheard.

The need for a distinct and resonant voice within the broader narratives of culture and identity is paramount for these artists. Sapana articulates this sentiment, advocating for the continuous evolution of Mithila art. “While we admire tradition, we also have to infuse contemporary issues that resonate with us today,” she said.

This evolution is not just about incorporating modern themes; it’s about ensuring that the art remains relevant to current generations while honoring its roots.

By intertwining traditional techniques with contemporary themes, Mithila artists are crafting a new narrative that reflect their lived experiences and responds to the realities of their communities. This approach allows them to reclaim their identities and assert their voices in a world that is constantly changing, while also fostering a sense of solidarity and empowerment among women in the community.

Challenging stereotypes and promoting change

One of the critical aspects of Mithila Art is its power to challenge stereotypes associated with women in the Madhesi community. Sapana articulates this sentiment, stating, “Mithila Art is not just about colours, rituals, or patterns; it’s a rich language of self-expression and empowerment for women.” The shared commitment among the artists to reclaim their narratives shapes how they approach their work.

The collective of female artists has been using their art to propel conversations around personal and social issues, often integrating themes of feminism and societal expectations. Ritu Karn from Bara adds, “As younger artists, we are tasked with upholding these traditions while also carving our paths and expressing modern narratives.”

The highlight is that Mithila art goes beyond aesthetic values. Rupa said, “This art form tells our stories. While we paint, we give voice to women’s issues, rights and cultural narratives that deserve to be heard.”

The future of Mithila Art

Photo courtesy of the author.

Looking ahead, the future of Mithila Art can be viewed as a blend of tradition and innovation. As younger generations engage with diverse mediums and techniques, they continue to redefine what Mithila art can represent. Their involvement is crucial to ensuring that the art form not only survives but thrives in a contemporary context.

“It is essential that we give agency to artists to decide how to express and reinterpret their stories. The art should reflect who we are today, not just what we were.” said Sapana. The support of local and State initiatives will be vital for the growth and recognition of Mithila Art as a significant cultural heritage that continues to evolve with its community.

In essence, Mithila Art stands as a powerful medium of expression for women, reflecting their identities, stories, and aspirations against the backdrop of cultural traditions that have persisted through generations. As artists such as Sapana Sanjeevani and her cohorts continue to innovate and inspire, this art form remains an essential space for dialogue, empowerment and resilience.

"Odes to Janakpur" By Shranup Tandukar

Shranup Tandukar is a Poet, editor, and writer who has worked with international literary magazines and published in national and international publications. He also has experience working for different national and international journals, media houses, literary magazines, and art spaces and has participated in various local, national, and international literary workshops, seminars, and competitions.

1.

The best way to read about a city is by walking through

its roads, alleyways, narrow paths between houses

where you can peek into open windows and see life unfolding.

I know nothing about Janakpurdham and so, I walk—

2.

There is a story. A myth. A memory. A history. A khichadi of this and that. She met him and he met her and they met them and so on:

Once upon a time in a land where there were as many people as ponds and as many ponds as temples, a saint came from a distant land. He had heard of this magical place where everyone had achieved happiness. He went around asking everyone, why are you all so happy? They answered him, why not? All day he walked through every alleyway and peeked into every open window but he couldn’t find what he was looking for. In the evening, his exhausted body lets out a sigh and stretches beside a pond. On his neck was a pendant that shone golden with the dying rays of the evening sun. Some people were bathing in the pond. Children were laughing, women washing clothes. He wanted to take a dip in it as well. When he emerged from the waters that felt just warm enough, like an embrace, his neck felt lighter. The pendant was nowhere to be found. At night, he left the city heart-broken. Years later, in another land of light which had the holiest of rivers, he dipped into the river’s shores to rid his body of sins and found his neck heavier when he emerged.

3.

Two men on bikes try to drive through a wedding crowd, lost in conjugal reverie. Their horns as if perpetually in pain, blare and yet no one neither hears nor cares. I realize one thing about Janakpurdham: the city is alive, bursting, angry, joyous, insolent, impatient—the road beneath my feet blurs, turns into a pond sloshing inside a plastic bottle, leaning to the side where it’s tilted. A shopkeeper drapes an orange plastic tarp on the pavement and on top of it, puts idols, trinkets, posters of Sita&Ram on display. A row of bikes sit and sway along to the wedding music. Sometime during the night, the city must have gone to sleep because every morning, the city’s dreams appear as new murals on a wall of a random street.

4.

Nothing is being asked and yet we are here looking for a meaning of this place that exists nowhere else but in our memories. No other reason why people still come or remember us other than the trinity—fish, paan, makhana—everything is connected within these three things. Sun never sets inside our eyelids. If you have nothing to lose, you become fierce. If you have everything to lose, you can become free. The subaltern speak and no one listens because faith, by definition, transcends rationality. In the sanctum sanctorum of a temple thronged by a million devotees, you don’t have to die to be judged. Everything is a story—the vice, the virtue, and the body—the coherence between the three is what we seek. And I realize one thing about Janakpurdham: there are undercurrents of violence flowing beneath our feet. Before, they needed to bore thousands of feet underground to reach it and now it’s only 200 or even 50. If the will to dominate is a human failing, which one of us can rise above it?

5.

In the car on our way to Janakpurdham Chadani tells us about the hundreds and thousands of pilgrims that come to this city to witness the celebration of Sita and Ram sleeping under the open night air where Venus twinkles like a little child and pilgrims live sleep eat for a day or two and the city swells like a pregnant mother and the Ganga Sagar sees devotees cleanse the dirt from their body with its waters and so I am curious to see this pond this heart of the city pulsing with breath and I walk towards the pond slipping through wedding processions that never seem to end and at the pond are groups of boys vertically glued to their phones occasional gun sounds coming from their phones their eyes locked to the screen and bodies keep adding to the shores as priests bring out three statues to the piers and the catchy religious songs blasting through the speakers are replaced by hymns in Hindi and a line of women clad in red and yellow saris with clay pots filled with the pond’s water placed on their head linked with each other through a white cloth make their way from the shore to the the exit to pour the water onto the thirsty earth where a new house with echoes of children resounding with laughter will soon be built and again on the pond’s shore, a boy with a garland of marigold around his neck, his face stoic and concentrated, carries a palmful of water that he cups with both hands, his feet bare, from the pond to the outside where his body disappears between the crowds and a family sits just in front of the three piers, the mother, the father, the daughter and the mother wears a red and yellow bandana that has nothing but “ram ram ram ram” written again and again and she has come here after hours and hours on a packed bus that smelled of vomit and dank socks and sweat but that was over now and all that mattered was the aarti that she came all this way for and as soon as the three priests started the crowd that was now teeming was transfixed clapping singing praying and a boatsman on a blue liferaft could be heard saying as it ended, I promise you that if you come to hear the aarti two or three times you will feel something in your heart something will change in you.

6.

What happens when you meet the Other? The one who was the demon hiding in the shadows of your room, the villain in your mother’s bedtime stories, the ghost that chased you at night. What happens when the Other meets you?

7.

In Janakpurdham, the boy sleeps inside a small room. He knows the ins and outs of this city that feels distant almost reachable like the outline of a shore in a misty morning. Today he was driving when he got into a fight with another man on the road who raged and told him to go back to where he came from. If it had been his fault, he would have simply apologised and moved on. If he knew where he came from, he would have simply returned. Once, he spent days in a stupor lost in a trance of sounds that glimmered and lights that vibrated. He lost himself once and still he has been searching. You leave your house and your body, image, and identity is in flux. When his mother calls, he can hear his sisters’ laughter in the background.

8.

What is commonly seen is commonly lived.

On the temple premises, a tree sprouts wings. A woman strings a line from its torse to a metal pole. She hangs clothes—saris, shawls, shirts—newly washed and wrung to dry. I duck underneath it to pass by.

"A Visual Journey Through Vivah Panchami" By Anuradha Kodagoda

Anuradha Kodagoda is a journalist and critic, and a film producer. With this blend of expertise and experience. She is the Deputy Features Editor in Sunday Observer, a flagship English newspaper in Sri Lanka. She is also a member of International Cinephile Society (ICS) and a regular contributor of ICS website and Celluloid Cinema magazine published by Dhaka International Film Festival.

This photo essay was first published in the Sunday Observer and has been republished here with permission.

"The Muslim Janakpur: An Ethnographic Portrait" by Shajeem Fazal & Swati Bakshi

Shajeem Fazal is a PhD candidate at the Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, IISER Bhopal.  For his PhD dissertation, he is working on Panegyric literature in the context of South India. His research interests include anthropology of the ‘Everyday’ and Ethics.

Dr. Swati Bakshi received her PhD from the Center for Research and Education in Arts and Media (CREAM) from the University of Westminster, UK. Her research areas include the intersections of space & place, gender, popular culture and society.

Mithleshwari Nohayi. Photo by Swati Bakshi. December 7, 2024

This essay is an invitation to think about the entanglement of Muslims with Hindus in the outskirts of Janakpur. A singular attention to the history of Hinduism's arrival in Janakpur obscures other modalities of citizenship for Muslims and other ethnic groups. In our work, we look at how Muslims in Janakpur connect to a past in which they do not have a significant role in constituting the idea of the ‘Hindu sacred city’. Nor do they have an active role in the construction of religious myths and performances such as Vivah Panchami. 

Can we imagine a Muslim time in a city that runs on an Hindu mythological time? With an ethnographic study and comparative analysis of two different mohallas (neighbourhoods): Mithileshwari Nohayi (fig 1.1) and Dashrath Nagar near Pagla Dharamshala, the authors demonstrate how the rising Hindu nationalism has altered their relationship with the Vivah Panchami festival and the need to locate these concerns within the history of Muslims in the state. Our interest in this study not only relates to how Muslims respond to Hindu majoritarianism in terms of individual and social action, but also in how the circulation of affects creates a different space for them to engage with themselves. Our ethnography suggests that our interlocutors have traditionally been able to participate in the grand festivities that take place around the Vivah Panchami festival in Janakpur. But an uncertain environment of ambiguities, suspicions and distrust has necessitated that Muslims renegotiate their religious self in terms of what constitutes haraam (forbidden) or halaal (allowed). In both of these field sites, people met at the mosque not only to discuss matters of faith, but also how to engage with the Hindu community.

Fig 1.1. Mithleshwari Nohayi. Photo by Shajeem Fazal. December 7, 2024

Often, our ethnographic interlocutors informed us of the ambiguities concerning their participation in Hindu festivals such as Vivah Panchami. Early in our fieldwork, we learned that most of the proclamations coming from the mosque in two of our ethnographic sites were related to concerns about being a 'better Muslim'. Still, the women interlocutors had doubts and uncertainties about whether they should participate in these festivals at all, as it is haram for them to do so. We propose that such notions of moral perfectionism have been created by the complexities of Hindu-Muslim proximity and it is the heterogeneity of everyday life that allows them to do so (Das 2017, 248). Such notions of suspicion of others should be placed in the larger context of political conflict, as anthropologists such as Naveeda Khan (2012) show in her instrumental work 'Muslim Becoming'. For instance, the mother of one of our interlocutors Fayiza, a researcher from the North-South Collective, often worried if at all they should send her son to the school that has sewn ‘Om’ on the upper pockets of the uniform. In the light of these conversations exploring the threads of community relationship, identity and belonging, we present two ethnographic vignettes as windows to explore the central concerns of this study:

Ethnographic Scene 1

In this particular section, we will give a brief picture of how the everyday life of Muslims in one of these mohallas is organised. Our first site of study, Mithileshwari Mohayi, Ward No. 3 Janakpur, is a quiet Muslim mohalla with pukka houses on both sides of the street. Some houses display flags that include the Nepalese national flag as well as the Islamic flag showing the holy mosque in Medina. When you ask them why? The oldest man in the community tells you that it's part of our identity and a way to show respect to who we are. The identity is also reaffirmed through the sacred half moon and a star sign in green colour welded on the Iron gates.

Fig.1.2. Treatises on the Hajj and Umrah. Photo by Shajeem Fazal. December 7, 2024.

Anthropologist Malinowski insists on looking at the “routine of a man’s working day, the details of his care of the body, of the manner of taking food and preparing it; the tone of conversational and social life around the village fires, the existence of strong friendships or hostilities, and of passing sympathies and dislikes between people” (Malinowski quoted in Fernando and Fadil 2015, 66). Such attention helps us to unravel the domestic intricacies and also to study how larger structures of social life are developed. Many interlocutors with whom we interacted, described how their day usually begins with prayer followed by domestic chores and ends with the same prayer at the end of the day. Sometimes they tend to miss the wajib (obligatory prayer) because of the gendered nature of domestic work. The way the houses are built and maintained with flags atop of it, is very much related to their conception of the sacred and the profane. Although the pilgrimage to holy Mecca becomes a distant dream to our informants, it still shapes the eternal expectations and piety. In the case of Mithileshwari Nohayi, there are only a few Hajjis (who have performed the Hajj) and they told us how careful and considerate they are after performing the Hajj to Mecca. The mosque has treatises (Fig.1.2) in which it prescribes the modalities of performing the Hajj including the circumambulation one does during the Hajj. As we mentioned earlier that people consecrate their houses with flags depicting the holy Medina, also suggests the strong prophetic tradition that informs their daily lives, and their perception of the sacred. Their idea of a year is also centred around waiting for festivals such as Milad U Nabi, Eid Ul Adha, Eid Ul Fitr. In other words, an entire year is anticipated around these festivals. 

In Mithileshwari Nohayi, a curious teenage boy and his mother welcome us into their  home. We ask her if she participates in the Vivah Panchmi festivities, “No, we don't, it's haraam”, she firmly replies. The young boy explains that it's risky to go because people might recognize and ask us to leave. We have heard this has happened before”. The older men of the mohalla gathered at the mosque confirm this. An elderly man in his 70s reminisced that he used to go to the Janaki temple to see the rituals and procession. But that is no longer possible. “The Indian virus is affecting the fabric of Hindu Muslims relationships”, a middle-aged man tries to explain to us. “Earlier Vivah Panchmi was a festival where everyone could participate but now anything related to Janaki Mandir is moving away from the Muslims. There was love and harmony but it's no longer the same. In some other districts Muslims are advanced, they send their children to schools so that they do government jobs. With education they reach their potential. They fight local elections and become ward president. But here there is an internal tussel. There is no education, if people are educated they are concerned about their generations. Here people just come and eat”.

The circulation of affect has its genealogy to the public sphere circumscribed by the exchange of hate and violence Muslims face in Janakpur as well as in India. Ethnography informs us how Muslims employ registers of speech which has its initial trace to what happens for Muslims in India. If one tends to locate the ethics of Muslims in Janakpur it is almost impossible to draw its boundaries to the region alone rather demands an attention to expand the scope of study. 

During our preliminary fieldwork in Janakpur we happened to meet Asghar Ali, a religious leader in the locality of  Rahim Path. Asghar Ali was mostly agitated throughout the conversation regarding the significance of a mosque next to the Ram Mandir in Janakpur. We discussed issues related to Hindu Majoritarianism in India and how much the Muslims in the neighbourhood were informed about this matter. As we were leaving, Asghar Ali asked one of the authors to stay back. He said that being a Muslim, the author will understand the situation in a much better and nuanced manner. Later he added “It is all because of Allah’s Shukur that things are happening well. You will better understand.” A first hand impression of this statement can be read in relation to the religious identity of the particular author and the normative way in which Asghar Ali identified the corresponding author as a Hindu from India. The authors understand Asghar Ali's statement as an act of affirmation, both as a citizen and as a religious person in Janakpur. He invites us to ask the immediate question: What does it mean to be a Muslim in Janakpur? What is his idea of Hinduism? Where does it come from and what kind of social relationship has he developed with the Hindu community? One cannot fully fathom this conversation unless we identify these registers of language and speech and their connection to what is happening in India.

Ethnographic scene 2

At our second site Dashrath Nagar near Pagla Dharamsala we met with Fayiza in her home. While the young researcher had political opinions originating from her fieldwork, Fayiza’s mothers observations were rooted in her more than a decade long lived experience in Janakpur. Fayiza’s mother repeatedly mentioned the ailments she had, including diabetes and many others, and cited names of Hindu doctors who helped her heal. She informed us how her doctors happily participated in the Eid celebrations on her invitation. But what exactly is the significance of this moment? Can we trace the genealogy of such a moment where it could be traced not only within the history of conflicts but rather in the ethical dispositions that Muslims have learned encountering hate speech and violence. For instance, while we were speaking to the elderly people at the mosque, Alam Bhai intervened in his firm voice about his encounter with the Hindu state. “Local politics and politicians have abandoned us. Earlier I used to go to the Janaki temple and see it from the inside but now the Hindu Samrat Sena is threatening the Muslims to stay away…”. This is similar to the experience of Fayiza’s mother. She recounted that she was active in local politics in the region and that the leadership used to involve people from different communities to discuss the organisation of festivals such as Vivah Panchami. It is also important to note that the cracks in Hindu-Muslim relationships became acutely visible during the Corona pandemic when the notions of shared space and cultural relationships were challenged. At tea shops Hindus would tell Muslims to go away. They were discriminated against as corona spreaders.

As the common public sphere shrank, how did Muslims perceive the role of the state in their daily lives? Fayiza, the 23-year-old researcher, is still processing the findings of her extensive fieldwork with Muslim communities in eight districts of Janakpur. Underscoring some of her findings, she mentioned that there are common concerns in different districts, such as education and development. She also mentioned how religious leaders conceptualize the role of citizenship in relation to the state in their daily lives. Fayiza mentioned that in one of the districts, "Maulvi Saheb told us that the government should help us by appointing teachers in madrasas and imams in masjids. There is no political leadership for the Muslims. They face problems for basic things like getting a birth certificate and so on".

The authors understand the Maualvi's statement about getting a birth certificate as related to the idea of being a citizen, but it is also important to note how the state is perceived at the level of being a Muslim in terms of fulfilling one's religious leadership duties. Because normally it's the ulema who would appoint the imams, but in this case it's the other way around, the Maulavi sahab expects the state to pay attention to these matters. Our interest here is to see the negotiations that take place in this context between the Maulvi as a religious leader and the state. In the middle of the conversation, she also told us that there is a fear among the Muslims because they are in the minority. In her words, "Even if they have good relations with the Hindus, there is no guarantee that things will not go wrong.

Our ethnographic encounters at the outskirts and in the central part of Jankapur, shows a pattern of peripheral relationships and marginal position of Muslims, their struggle for equal citizenship rights and a quest to maintain cultural ties with the city of Janakpur that they call home. The absence and invisibilization of these questions, concerns and fears in the overarching Hindu identity of Janakpur necessitates a deeper anthropological engagement with the community. In a lecture given by Anthropologist Sasanka Parera as part of the Winter School held in Janakpur city in 2024, he said that when we talk about placemaking through pilgrimage we should not only focus narratives that corroborate the idea of place but we need to look at absent narratives that complicate the dominant notions and understanding of place. The name Janakpurdham, its significance in the Ramayana circuit with constructed temples, vivah rituals and pilgrimage assert the city's Hindu identity while erasing other socio-cultural identities such as the Muslims who have lived in Janakpur city and surrounding areas for generations. 

References

Das, Veena. 2011.  “Moral and Spiritual Striving in the Everyday: To Be a Muslim in Contemporary India” in Pandian, Anand and Ali, Daud. Eds. Ethical Life in South Asia. Oxford University Press, New Delhi, 232-252.

Fadil, Nadia, and Mayanthi Fernando. 2015. “Rediscovering the ‘Everyday’ Muslim: Notes on Anthropological Divide”. HAU: Journal of Ethnographic Theory 5 (2):59-88.

Khan, Naveeda. 2012. Muslim Becoming: Aspiration and Skepticism in Pakistan. Duke University Press, Durham & London.

The authors would like to thank Dr. Sabin Ninglekhu and Dr. Renny Thomas for their support and guidance in completing and publishing this ethnographic piece