I started working on this essay in 2020 but had to halt writing anything for a considerable period of time. Here I am sharing a slightly edited and expanded version of the same.
Many may consider mythical influences a dead and discarded topic for discussion. Those who think this may be propelled either by a completely superficial disregard for all mythology, or by a studied and clear view as to why exactly all elements of Hindu mythology rooted in Brahminism must be discarded. This essay will be of no use to either of these groups of people. My concerns behind writing this are entirely focused on the contradictions within the trans community, specifically with regard to the freedom of articulating, expressing and asserting one’s transness and the rules of engagement in communities. This essay is an attempt to highlight the truth of an abysmal consciousness that retains a stranglehold on the possibilities of transness and particularly transmasculinity in the Indian subcontinent.
If we step back from the present and take a long view of history we find that throughout periods of crisis, marginalized communities persist in creating and articulating transformative ideas in one way or another, especially because there is no other way forward. The question for the transmasculine communities here would be: why has this not occurred for us through time? Or has it occurred without being made available to transform the larger public space as we know it? In the last many years of a slow, but explosive growth in writing and discussions led and authored by transgender persons, we can trace a clear path of independent thought articulated by transfeminine writers, thinkers, political actors and artists. From Living Smile Vidya to Chandini Gagana, Grace Banu, Vijayarajamallika, Disha Pinky Shaikh, Shameebai Patil, Madhubai Kinnar, Harshini Mekhala, and so on, we have independent transfeminine representation from oppressed caste and class locations. They have been speaking, working and writing on issues cutting across politics, culture, and revolutionary thought transcending the limiting framework of a ‘human rights language’ established by immediate laws. In doing so, they have put forth principles of action, art and literature that serve to inspire every strata of society that may desire to be thus inspired. But most groundbreaking for the trans movement is the assertion, and the consciousness-building that has become possible through their assertions.
During roughly the same time, have we seen a proportional rise in independent transmasculine writing and representation from oppressed caste and class locations across the same yardstick of public and political life? Lest we be confused, this is not a question of visibility or invisibility. Nor is this a muted enquiry into articulating a set of tired intersectional identities. Anything can be made visible and invisible, anything can be listed and unlisted if those who have power in the society desire to do so. Any marginal identity can be tokenized and put on display by those in positions of power and the nature, degree, longevity or outcomes of such visibility and invisibility can never be determined by those being made visible/invisible. Therefore, this is not a question of visibility or proof of existence and such other defeatist pursuits.
Here, the question is of independent assertion, consciousness-building and free participation in public life. Even as recently as 2019, while speaking at a conference, Kiran Nayak, an Adivasi transman mobilizing movements across gender and disability ended his presentation on the note that a majority of transmasculine persons are living in fear[1]. In 2018, despite organized challenges across cities and demands to retract her book, a caste Hindu cis woman Nandini Krishnan was able to peddle transphobia in the name of human interest stories by placing herself as the mediator and translator of transmasculine life stories – including transmasculine persons well known in various social movements. Her unethical publication directly harmed the lives, occupations and mental health of a majority of oppressed caste/class transmasculine persons who were her ‘respondents’. In 2016, A Revathi, a trans woman, published A Life in Trans Activism that contains first-person narratives of transmasculine persons published for the first time in the English language. Absolutely unlike the garbage that is Krishnan’s work, Revathi’s book indeed provided a historic collection of written material documenting mostly transmasculine voices from oppressed caste locations. But we must accept that this too was a result of the research work and interviews undertaken and mediated by Revathi. The question of independent control of narratives and authorship continues to be relevant here. Before Revathi’s book one would be hard put to find written material authored by oppressed caste transmasculine persons and apart from the occasional article/interview/documentary as a ‘human interest story’, independent transmasculine persons leading representations on political issues is rare; if present and speaking they have been mostly from privileged social locations, very often with a pre-set political language or training and agenda, or in the very least supported by existing cis-led political activist spaces. It won’t be far from the truth to say that the national representation for transmasculine persons has grown in this trend.
By focusing on the question of representation and representatives, I am not dismissing the actual community work that has been happening on the ground. On the contrary, I am highlighting the erasure of oppressed caste/class transmasculine persons from public and political decision-making that has become possible due to the hierarchy of organizing and/or mediators that operate roughly in this descending order: cisgender het communities, cisgender queer communities, trans women, and finally caste-class privileged transmasculine persons. Before criticizing the ordering that I have provided, it would be prudent to try to answer the question: where are the independent oppressed caste transmasculine leaders of the so-called ‘national’ trans movements in India? Within this operational system, a cursory glance would be sufficient to confirm that a majority of oppressed caste/class transmasculine persons who have been primary community organizers at the local level and also primary targets of violence from within and outside the community, have been consistently pushed into insecure and exploitative political positions vis-à-vis public life, consciousness and independence.
Shikhandi, the eternal gatekeeper
At various points in time, trans people who occupy mainstream political spaces may have taken very clear stances against the ruling apparatus in general and the root religion in particular. Those among us who have had the opportunity to participate in public/private political discussions have also rejected mythical figures or stories for the simple reason that they have already rejected Brahminical Hinduism, even if only theoretically. But sometimes that is insufficient as the system maintains its stranglehold. If our study of Hinduism tells us anything, it is that it cannot be defeated with a single blow and its pervasive poisoning of the human consciousness doesn’t have a single magical antidote. Each and every marginalized and criminalized group in the hierarchy must have the tools to able to recognize the interconnected reasons for the disabilities enforced upon them within this system, such that no (less understood and politically undervalued) identity can be isolated, refurbished, misinterpreted and resold as yet another peg with which Hinduism seeks to constantly reinvent itself.
In trying to answer three questions, namely, why is there such a dearth of transmasculine representation, why are the handful of representatives present from overwhelmingly privileged social locations, and why are independent oppressed caste transmasculine interventions in public life limited/absent, I couldn’t help but trace a significant part of the answer to the ever-underlying and now resurgent myth of Shikhandi.
The myth of Shikhandi has been repeated very often and a simple internet search will offer you the bare bones of this myth that comes from the Mahabharata. It has always been around, but I am concerned by its resurgence in recent times. On the one hand we can see this resurgence as a part of the continuing project of Hindu queers making mischief. One of the chief architects of this is of course Devdutt Pattnaik, who has been at the forefront of peddling this mischief—he has been writing books and articles tirelessly to prove Shikhandi as the ultimate torchbearer of queer liberation. But we have to be equally concerned about the so-called progressives from within and outside the community who may have given uncertain sanction to this myth. In 2017-18, Faezeh Jalali’s play Shikhandi, inspired by Pattanaik’s flimsy writing, became known for ‘focusing on the in-betweens’. In the recent past innumerable media websites have repeatedly focused on Shikhandi as a ‘positive’, ‘celebratory’ character, and built up in no small measure the myth of it being ‘the first known trans-character’ and so on. Apart from Pattnaik, we must also note that Revathi’s book (A Life in Trans Activism) prefaces the transmasculine narratives with an uncritical narration of Shikhandi’s story. In 2018, a Deccan Chronicle news feature on a transmasculine activist, captioned his picture (with or without objection?) as Bengaluru’s Shikhandi[2]. In 2019, the Madras High Court’s Justice Swaminathan read the myths of Shikhandi and Mohini to ‘expand’ on the limits of ‘who can be a bride’[3]. These are just a handful of examples to point to the sheer extent to which Shikhandi continues to captivate the imagination of every element of transgender life — public and private, socio-cultural and legal.
It wouldn’t matter one bit were this indeed the universally applicable and positive image that it is made out to be. But it isn’t, and it is necessary to explain my position in some detail.
The gist of the tale, barring the minor variations and interpretations, involves Amba’s reincarnation as Shikhandi. It goes as follows:
Bhishma abducts Amba and her sisters to marry his brother Vichitravirya. In doing so he destroys her life as she refuses to marry the brother and is no longer suitable for wedded life. Amba seeks revenge on Bhishma, but no one can kill Bhishma, protected as he is by his vow of celibacy. Amba is reborn to Drupada as Shikhandi with the one purpose of killing Bhishma. Shikhandi is supposed to be born a man as per the promise of Shiva to King Drupada, but is ultimately born as Shikhandini a female child. Drupada raises her as a man, trained in warfare. The genitalia obsessed narrative goes on to say that Shikhandi is married to Hiranyavarma’s daughter, who is appalled that she is married to a ‘female’. Facing the threat of war from Hiranyavarma, Shikhandi escapes to the forest where a member of the Yaksha tribe – Sthuna – offers his genitals to complete his transition to Shikhandi. This is then verified by Hiranyavarma and a war is averted.
Krishna deploys Shikhandi in battle so that Bhishma will lay down his arms. This helps Arjuna kill Bhishma and ultimately Shikhandi is killed – cut in half – by Ashwatthama.
Let us try to understand this from the perspective of an affirmative and anti-caste trans ideology. What is the social location of Shikhandi and what is the trajectory of the story? Shikhandi is a twice-born, a Kshatriya, who is trained in warfare from a young age. Shikhandi is a child whose identity is hidden from him/her and the family is required—in pursuit of so-called Dharma—to maintain the farce and direct the life and narrative of this child with the sole aim of preparing him/her for the war, revenge and all-out bloodshed. In pursuit of maintaining these lies surrounding identity, the family also forces Shikhandi into a marital relationship with a Kshatriya woman who is aghast at the absence of a phallus in this endogamous conjugal exchange and decides to drum up a whole circus about it, leading to a threat of war from her family. Embarrassed and facing a threat to life, Shikhandi is forced to flee into the forest. Since the tale has to keep Shikhandi alive they draw up a story of ‘exchange of genitalia’ that involves Sthuna, a member of the Yaksha tribe who lives all alone in the forest. Shikhandi’s troubles do not cease until a return is made to the kingdom and a proof of manhood is submitted for the satisfaction of King Hiranya Varma and his entire court of advisers. It may well be said here that the only role of Hiranya Varma in the entire narrative, like the present-day DM and Medical Officers, is to verify Shikhandi’s genitalia.
Pattanaik may write up this tale in his saffron dream world as Shikhandi being ‘always welcome on Krishna’s chariot as he/she is’[4]. But a discerning reader can agree that there are only two reasons for Shikhandi being ‘welcomed’—being born a Kshatriya and bearing ‘verified genitalia’; and only one reason for Shikhandi’s presence in the tale—to quietly provide service in exacting revenge and maintaining status-quo. The reason Bhishma refuses to fight Shikhandi is because he ‘knows’ of Shikhandi’s ‘past’: a firm statement that this past cannot, will not be erased, and any life lived must be silent and ending in death.
The first question to be asked: is Shikhandi truly a transgender character? The fundamental principle of trans ideology (one that we must repeat ad infinitum in the Indian context), will always be the right to self-determination, equality and dignity, that has absolutely nothing to do with human genitalia. Shikhandi does not at any point profess or assert a self-determined identity, desire or purpose. Shikhandi does not have a voice in any of these proceedings, and only suffers one imposition after another until death. Of course, many artists and writers may be inclined to pick the character and reinterpret it for their creative tendencies or for their current fascination with gender identity, but the extent of interpretations and possibilities will be limited to the twice-born castes and the warrior clans accepted as caste Hindus, and caste Hindu cis women (or cis women married to caste Hindu men) who are willing to serve out the life sentences enforced upon them. Indeed, one can go so far as to argue that it would only be appropriate that Shikhandi be the patron saint for VHP’s Durga Vahinis. After all, who is Shikhandi but the forcefully masculinized incarnation of a Kshatriya unattached woman (unattached to husband, father or brother) Amba whose only purpose is to help re-establish the so-called Dharma? This fits in very well with the Durga Vahini’s scheme of operation, so why this active interest to impose it on transgender persons, especially transmasculine persons?
The fundamentals that persistently bog down a transgender person seeking active participation in social life are the rules of engagement with fellow humans, and the limits and possibilities of a full life therein. As we seek entry into the various realms of socio-political life in this suffocating society, it becomes a matter of habit for the ruling classes to deploy real and mythical gatekeepers who can maintain their order. Shikhandi, we can argue, is chosen for such a purpose. There are many mythical characters in the universe of Hinduism that have been shown to shed or take on various gender positions (let us not call them identities, as identities involve the investment of self) through magic, deceit, curse, error, and any other irrational reason one can find. From Ardhanareeshwar to Mohini and from Ila to Chudala, tales abound that have absolutely no value for a meaningful life. But Shikhandi offers a start-to-finish tale that assists them in imposing the rules of life for transgender persons, especially transmasculine persons, and also design the relationship between transfeminine and transmasculine persons.
These rules are what writers like Pattanaik cleverly ignore as they set up these interpretations of their myths. Shikhandi’s story offers a strict frame within which a transmasculine person born into a twice-born caste may live out their life (and consciously or unconsciously impose it on other ‘lesser’ transmasculine persons) without disturbing the status-quo, and in a roundabout way it also seems to impose a warped and graded terms of relationship – – tied to the exchange of genitalia – – between transfeminine and transmasculine persons in general. Shikhandi is only allowed to live within the boundaries of his home, without claims to decision-making, land, property or even a legitimate voice, head out to war when called upon, remove himself from the ‘pure’ space of the household – run away to a forest – to transition and return with certifiable manhood (that can be called into question at any point). Such a life is to be lived in shame and embarrassment (the occasional use of terms such as ‘brave’ car-warriors notwithstanding), in absolute submission. This is a singular and sure-shot narrative that places the entirety of transmasculine life upon the pivot of surgical transition (and achieving a masculinity marked by silence, war and violence to the end of maintaining the system), making sure that such transition and its details are made available for constant scrutiny and erasure, ending in death.
This pivot very often also becomes the singular point of ‘shared experience’ between transmasculine persons, as articulated by caste-Hindu transmasculine persons, the point of entry and exit from community spaces, and the point that also ends the journey towards building collective political consciousness, for building such a vast political consciousness is seen to be unrelated, even inconsequential, to a livable life. Some may very well argue that this has changed rapidly in the current times, or that these myths don’t have any implication today (the trans act begs to differ), but allow me to offer a simple example by way of how deep this thinking goes. In a well-known documentary that was released a few years back, one that travelled internationally even, there was an interview of a transmasculine person who spoke about his transition and went on to say that his family has accepted him on the condition that he will never seek to marry anyone. A condition that he has accepted. Therefore the questions we must ask of the Shikhandi tale is this: Can any principle of self-determination be applied here if the so-called ‘acceptance’ of transition is accompanied by civil, social and mental arrest of the individual? What happens to transmasculine persons who refuse to follow the path imposed by the narrative of Shikhandi? What are the possibilities of life—public and private—available for those transmasculine persons unwilling and unable to have their identities certified by this internal gatekeeper of their identity? These are the questions that become essential to us when we reject the Shikhandis inside and outside the community, and seek to navigate and narrate new paths of assertion.
On the relationship between transfeminine and transmasculine persons
Ideally, connected by a shared, yet distinct, experience of transness all members of the community would have to operate from a principle of equality towards each other. But in Shikhandi’s tale we can also see how the community formation is itself being attacked from the very beginning. Shikhandi is said to have been saved by the Yaksha leader Sthuna, who is then punished for it by Kubera, the King of Yakshas. According to the epics Yakshas are ‘mythical/magical’ beings, but as Dr Ambedkar has written (in ‘Ancient India on Exhumation’ appearing in Revolution and Counter-revolution), “…Along with the word Deva occur the names of Yaksha, Gana, Gandharva, Kinnars. Who were they? The impression one gets on reading the Mahabharat and Ramayan is that they are imaginary beings who filled the horizon but did not exist. But the Yaksha, Gana, Gandharva, Kinnaras were also members of the human family.” While I cannot adequately speak to the history and community of Yakshas, suffice to say that they may well be among the tribes whose lands and lives were colonized. There is no adequate explanation provided for why Sthuna is living all alone in the forest, and there are some who would wish to interpret Sthuna as a transfeminine individual. Whether or not this is the case (and it’s not for us to impose or assume such an identity), it is only reasonable to remind ourselves that there have always been trans communities towards whom trans individuals ran for shelter (as we continue to do today).
But what is noteworthy here is the morbidity, shaming and criminalization that marks the relationship between Sthuna and Shikhandi. Sthuna is criminalized for supporting Shikhandi, Shikhandi owes Sthuna for life, Sthuna’s lack of masculinity is vilified, deemed a curse and its return to existence ultimately tied to the death of Shikhandi. In the relationship between Shikhandi and Sthuna, the absolute violence, vacuity, lack of creativity and narrow-minded determinism that shapes the Hindu imagination on masculinity and femininity as human essences, and the only possible relationship between the two is made utterly clear. But this is also unsurprising because it is important that Shikhandi return to the caste-Hindu fold and not make community with a forest-dwelling Sthuna. Without a recognition of this baseness, and in the absence of historically affirmative stories and representations of intra-community togetherness, how can there be an articulation of an affirmative politics by oppressed caste transmasculine persons?
In almost every articulation by transmasculine persons, we find certain arguments repeated – almost to the point of becoming tautologies. That people only think of transwomen when they think of the identity of transgender, transmasculine people don’t have close-knit community spaces, and transmasculine persons don’t have the same concerns as transfeminine persons. But it is very rarely that we find any historical reasoning being provided for the existence of such ‘facts’. The most simplistic reasoning offered by ‘experts’ who are not interested in studying sociological and historical conditions, depends on one or other form of biological determinism. We hear statements such as ‘they are assigned x, we are assigned y, which changes the way of being socialized’ and so on (But Shikhandi was socialized as a man, right?), which neither transforms our thinking nor resolves these enforced differences, and most definitely does not offer an adequate reasoning for why transmasculine persons were robbed of historically existing community spaces. If we recognize an affirmative history as one where there were always communities of transgender persons–of all non-binary identities–living as part of society, then at what point were these communities broken up, fitted into the caste hierarchy, ghettoized and put into competing relationships with each other? Can mere restatements for equality be sufficient to alter the systemic hierarchy? What are the fundamental ways in which affirmative action will have to be practiced within the community to undo the specific harm, fear and isolation imposed upon caste oppressed, homeless transmasculine persons? Will those transmasculine persons, who may have been willing to uncritically play the part of Shikhandi or to impose such narratives on transmasculine persons from oppressed caste locations, be able to discard these notions? These questions have an immediate bearing upon the access to socio-cultural and legal rights for oppressed caste transmasculine persons.
The only politically acceptable relationship between transfeminine and transmasculine persons as created (and continuing to this day) under narratives such as Shikhandi is that of indebtedness. That is, transmasculine existence is a debt to the sacrifices (along the lines of Sthuna?) of transfeminine communities. Equality, liberty and fraternity cannot co-exist under the arch of indebtedness. And enforcing a unidirectional relationship of indebtedness — a caste patriarchal way of life — presumes that we have nothing to learn from each other, give to each other and build with each other towards creating a robust and liberatory trans ideology. And because current history and narratives only record tight-lipped stories of medical transition or familial violence, there is no understanding of the roles that may have been played by unknown and erased transmasculine engagement in community building and ideological concerns.
The most natural and fruitful relationship between any two trans persons for the reason of their shared experiences of disabling environments would be of nurture, fellow-feeling, equality, love and care. Feelings that, one might say, are central to the notion of community itself. But the excesses imposed by narratives and rules such as the ones mentioned above have been instrumental in stealing from many of us the very space of community by demanding the adherence to ways of life that crush our souls. It has created a hierarchy of gatekeepers (that extends all the way from the social justice department to the natal family to the trans community) who are willing to work in tandem with each other to ensure that an affirmative language of transness, rooted in self-determination, and a trans ideology for a full life is never built.
The fear of speaking and living oppressed trans masculinities
In recent times, a post by trans person Devon Price[5] has found considerable traction for asking transmasculine persons to step away from panels on trans issues if there is no trans femme representation. The post is incredibly silent on race representation of trans persons in general and transmasculine persons in particular.
Fundamentally, such statements asking or demanding fellow oppressed community members to ‘speak’ or ‘not’, ‘participate’ or ‘not’, comes from a place of power and an adequate exposure to public life. It is one thing to say that having gained from my exposure to public life ‘I’ now choose to step away on account of the following reasons, and quite another to impose that choice as the only universal moral on a globally variegated community of persons.
There are anecdotes (privately shared, for fear of censure) of oppressed caste/class transmasculine persons who had left home and become associated with different organizations, being forced to act as ‘security guards’ and ‘bouncers’ outside queer parties in cities such as Mumbai, and being given food and drinks outside the venue, such that they never participate in such spaces. Because drag and other ‘cultural’ programmes required the participation of transwomen, those who could perform these would be allowed in.
In 2016, at a community consultation on trans rights held at Delhi, there were all in all four or five transmasculine persons, all from oppressed caste and class locations, out of whom only two spoke. When the time to speak did come, a majority of cis and trans persons came forward with the criticism that ‘transmen are not visible, they don’t speak at all – what can we do?’ In one instance, a transman broke down stating that ‘we have been here all along, none of you are listening, do you want us to yell?’ and removed himself from the conference room.
In another instance, somewhere around 2018-19, a feminist discussion purportedly organized by a well-known publishing house, decided to not invite transmasculine persons as that would not be ‘representative’ of the politics of feminism as espoused by them and so they would not be able to find an ‘accurate’ space for such persons on the panel.
If we look at the decision-making structure of shelter and other political spaces intended for transmasculine persons we find an overwhelming representation of cis women, with trans persons relegated to associate or lower positions.
We may keep listing such issues and incidents tirelessly.
To be able to speak/express oneself freely and endlessly is associated with toxic and privileged (cis)-masculinity. At the same time, to repress one’s thoughts and feelings and manipulate others through the sheer force of such repression is also a trademark of toxic and privileged (cis)-masculinity. But what actually makes both these acts and expressions toxic and privileged is the fact that they do NOT invite censure or barriers of any kind to a full life. That is, they are both (as long as done by cis-men) considered, even in the critique of it, somewhat natural. The truth, however, is that these forms of toxic presentations can exist in all bodies and in whichever space (public or private) it gets a chance for unchecked expression it will naturally become present. The simplest definition of natural is, after all, an environment that enables.
If you return to Kiran Nayak’s short presentation, you will see that he ends with an apology for taking ‘more than allotted’ time. I would submit that this desire to apologize for one’s existence pervades the transmasculine consciousness here, particularly the oppressed caste/class transmasculine consciousness, making it difficult to understand and articulate what liberatory transmasculinity actually might be, what it could actually become for each individual, without the spectre of a silencing Shikhandi and ‘his’ many pallbearers.
In 2020, a series of unfortunate decision made me come face to face with someone who asked me the following question: “what does it mean to be a man in our society”. This question has reached us directly or indirectly at some point in time – before, during or after transition. I responded that the question be directed at cis-men, as I am not one. My struggles with masculinity are equivalent to my struggles with femininity, irrespective of how a handful of people may ‘perceive’ me. Some may choose to suppress one struggle over the other. Some may seek community with overt expressions of one over another. These decisions are unfortunately not fully free choices that trans people can make. It is mediated by the extent of their consciousness, ideologies of self-respect and the very real physical barriers to living in this oppressive country. As long as I am a trans person I must and will have to shape myself by engaging with both, as it exists in me and as it is imposed from the world outside. Whether we can honestly talk about this with each other yet remains to be seen.
But we must begin by eliminating Shikhandi, and the associated entrapments of forced silencing, war, chivalry, shame and indebtedness.
[1] See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=174NsEsmTcY
[2] https://www.deccanchronicle.com/nation/current-affairs/080918/a-moment-of-pride-but-what-about-prejudice.html
[3] https://www.news18.com/news/buzz/mahabharatas-shikhandi-and-krishna-helped-madras-hc-uphold-transwoman-also-a-bride-2114427.html
[4] https://devdutt.com/on-krishnas-chariot-stands-shikhandi/
[5]See https://www.instagram.com/p/C713zoNps-4/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==