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

January 7, 2025

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.

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.

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

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

January 7, 2025

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.

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—

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.

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.

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?

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.

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?

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.

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

January 7, 2025

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

January 7, 2025

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