After 500 Years, Shri Ram Finds His Divine Voice. And So Too, It Seems, the Hindu-American Community

I don’t remember the first time I heard the name Rama. I suspect no one does. It is timeless or eternal — sanatani. 

I remember my Mom taking us to an Indian general store to borrow VHS tapes of Ramanand Sagar’s “Ramayan,” when we were just confused Indian-American kids in the ’90s. We always knew where to find them, passed the musty rows of luggage and steel kitchen utensils. 

I search my feelings and can’t seem to remember a time when I didn’t know the Ramayana. It feels all the while, we never saw anything new. My sister and I were wide-eyed in anticipation for the parts we liked most — Hanuman burning Lanka, and Lakshman defending Ma Sita from Surpanakha. 

For better or worse, I don’t remember thinking much about my identity while growing up. Unlike so many others in tortured relationships with their hyphenations, I always knew I was both Indian and American. They weren’t ever in conflict. Like the name of Shri Rama, it was, is, and would be. But as time went on, I learned that even these timeless parts of my life were subject to the vicissitudes of history — my parents, myself, and even my Gods. 

Faith may float above the fray but history catches up to us one way or the other.  

As kids, we have difficulty seeing people other than ourselves; as we age, we are forced to deal with the Other. It could be our parents’ expectations, our expectations of ourselves, or society’s understanding of both. 

The ones who immigrated to America internalized a great sense of the Other without ever fully giving up their identity. Either because of a feeling of responsibility to their new homeland or colonialism, they languished in a spiritual limbo, unable to either let go of it or fully celebrate it. They felt forced to place their own Lakshman-Rekha around themselves lest others see them as they feared — primitive, weird, pagan, people, unwilling to change, and ignorant of anything better.

I always thought of Hindus as the type of immigrants who kept their nose to the grindstone. They would rather do literally anything than complain because complaining did nothing for them.

But Shri Rama was always there, side by side with us in our spiritual vanvaas. 

The word prana means a “vital force, or life breath” and pratistha means “position, installation, consecration.” An attempt at English for “the prana pratistha of Ram Lalla” might be “to give life to Ram Lalla in his home.” To give Him his life breath. To give Him a voice. 

I always thought of Hindus as the type of immigrants who kept their nose to the grindstone. They would rather do literally anything than complain because complaining did nothing for them. This didn’t escape the notice of other Americans, who coined the term “model minority” for ethnicities like Indians and Asians who succeeded materially but rarely raised their voice for themselves. 

In the days leading up to the auspicious time, people from all over the world traveled to India for the prana pratistha of Ram Lalla — finally back in his home in Ayodhya. People from six continents of the globe brought something back to India that they took when Shri Ram went with them to all the far-flung places in the world — U.S., Canada, Thailand, Mauritius, the Caribbean, Australia, New Zealand, Nepal, Fiji, Indonesia and so many more. Where most have never even cracked open the Vedas, now they’re scanning the texts for proof of arcane rituals. Sanskrit — the devbhasha, the language of the Gods — can be heard casually on TV channels and social media around the world.

After 500 years, Shri Ram will find His divine voice. And so too, it seems, the Hindu-American community. 

I volunteer my time with groups like CoHNA (“Coalition of Hindus of North America”) which have sprung up in the past few years to advocate for the Hindu community. Rather than staying in our homes, we’ve come out into the streets and into the voting box as our true selves.

When I mention this, the first thing people ask me is “What is advocacy?” Contrary to popular belief, we aren’t a political outfit. We don’t advocate for any elected officials. The easiest answer is always: “Bringing our authentic selves to wherever you find yourself” — the library, PTA meetings, city council, the police department, the state legislature, and sometimes even the White House. 

Groups like CoHNA do just that. The time to stay silent is over.

On this auspicious occasion, let us consecrate our voices as we speak up for ourselves, our families, and our communities. Jai Shri Ram!

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Ashwin Arab is a volunteer with the Coalition of Hindus of North America.