Sisters of Mercy and the Temple of Love

WORDS BY SARAH HARRIS, PHOTOS BY PEGAH FARAHMAND

Mala and Belavva at home waiting for their clients.

Mala and Belavva are best friends and members of an ancient Hindu cult of prostitution. They have each other’s names tattooed on the inside of their arms in black ink, alongside the initials of their favourite customers. The girls are known as devadasis, or “Servants of God”.

I met them in a remote village in Karnataka, South India and we sat on the floor of a mud hut and made chapattis together. The one I made tasted weird.

It was my first week filming a VBS documentary about this secretive religious practice, in which pre-pubescent girls are “married” to a Hindu goddess and sold into a lifetime of sex slavery.

“There is no religion now, only sex,” says Belavva, 19, who was just eight years old when her mother sold her to a local farmer for 200 rupees (£1.50). “Sometimes I get angry with my family and say, “How could you do this to me when you knew the consequences? How could you make me a prostitute instead of getting me married?” My family say, ‘If we had married you, we would have died of starvation.’”

As devadasis and members of the untouchable caste, Mala and Belavva are ostracised from mainstream society. “People look at us with disgust because we sell our bodies, but to tell you the truth, we are actually gods ourselves and to the families who depend on us. If we stop doing this work, then who will feed us?” asks Belavva. She recently contracted HIV, but is too afraid to tell her customers to wear condoms in case they stop coming to see her. She tells me: “We devadasis look good from the outside. Ugliness is hidden inside. Only if we look beautiful, people will come to us.”

The practice was made illegal in 1988, but low-caste families are still encouraged by pimps and sex traffickers to dedicate their daughters, for as little as £4. In this part of India, an estimated 1,000 girls are still dedicated every year.

For the next three weeks, we travelled through the remote villages and towns of Northern Karnataka, home to 25,000 devadasis, to find out how this illicit underground Hindu tradition continues to flourish in 21st century India. The more we found out, the creepier it became. You can see what we found in a film on

VBS

coming up later this month.

Ha ha ha. Two devadasi prostitutes laughing at my corn-shucking skills as I help them make chapatis on the floor of their mud hut.

We attracted quite a crowd when a dedication ceremony was acted out for us during the Saundatti festival.

The first of many glamorous 12-hour train rides around India. Shame the guy next to me was not as well prepared for the trip.

Malavva is raising her grandchildren on her own since her daughter, also a devadasi, died of HIV.

A revelation halfway through our trip: apparently men can be devadasis too. Pandu, a cross-dressing male sex worker, showed us how to trick customers into wearing condoms with a nifty slip of the tongue.

Sudir (left), our translator for the day, poses with his new boyfriend.

Malavva (left), 45, was sold into prostitution by her own mother when she was just 12. She now sells her body to truck drivers by the side of the road for the equivalent of 30p.

The most important event in the Yellamma calendar: Saundatti festival.

Sari shopping with the devadasis. The girls, who are all from the untouchable caste, don’t usually venture into town for fear of being stared at by the higher castes.

Sangli’s notorious red-light district, Gokul Nagar, which has helped this town earn its tragic reputation as having the second highest rates of HIV in the state.

This is Anita, the proud owner of her own brothel in Sangli. She gave us a tour of her house, showing us her impressive sari collection, colour TV and homemade “sex rooms”.

Welcome to one of the strangest hotels in India: an Indian Fawlty Towers with blood-stained sheets. Only one other whitey had ever stayed here before. I know that because they had mounted a photo of her on the wall.

Room service was furry white rabbits hand-delivered to our rooms for no apparent reason. As you can see from his expression, our cameraman Pierre was really pleased by this unusual treat.