Prostitutes of God,” a documentary by Sarah Harris, claims to expose the realities of the Devadasi system in India, but does it truly give voice to those it documents? Through selective storytelling and a Western gaze, Harris reduces a complex interplay of caste, gender, and economic struggle into a simplistic narrative of religious exploitation.
This article critically examines the documentary’s biases, centering the voices of Devadasis themselves to reveal the deeper truths Harris overlooks.
Anitha: A Story of Success
In the town of Sangli, Maharashtra, Sarah Harris conducts her first interview. She tells viewers Sangli is her first destination because it is “the red light district, home to many Devadasi sex workers.” However, the interview is not particularly successful, as the translator struggles to accurately interpret Harris’ questions.
Despite this, one message is clear – Anitha, the Devadasi whom Harris attempts to interview, expresses a strong sense of agency over her circumstances.
“This is my house and I conduct my business over there. Nobody has brought me here. Nobody has kept me here. I became a Devadasi only because I decided so. I wanted to be a sex worker to start a business and make money.” – Anitha, Devadasi
Anitha challenges conventional narratives surrounding trafficking, which often emphasize force, fraud, and coercion as outlined in the Trafficking Victims Protections Act (TVPA). Instead she asserts her autonomy and self-determination, albeit within the constraints of her socio-economic reality.
While Anitha takes pride in her identity as a Devadasi, her perspective is not universal. This complexity becomes evident in Harris’ next interview.
Belva & Mala: The Caste System’s Grip
Harris’ next interview takes place in Mudhol, Karnataka, where she describes “traveling to the outskirts of this transit town” to speak with two young Devadasis: Beleva, 19, and Mala, 14.
They are Devadasis, dedicated to the goddess Yellamma.
As their stories unfold, it becomes evident that India’s caste system plays a far greater role in shaping their experiences than religion alone – an overarching theme throughout many of the interviews.
Beleva tells Harris “we belong to the Madiga caste.” This caste, considered one f the lowest in India’s hierarchy, confines them to strict limitations. Belva further explains that they “don’t go into the main village because higher caste people cannot touch us…We just don’t belong there.”
Despite hearing this firsthand, Harris fails to deeply engage with the implications of caste oppression. Instead, she takes the girls on a shopping trip – seemingly to provoke reactions from shopkeepers. Later, she narrates, “Shopkeepers wouldn’t even look them in the eye.”
But does this moment serve to expose systemic discrimination? Or does it exploit the girls’ exclusion for dramatic effect?
Devadasi Narratives vs. Harris’ Perspective
Harris presents the Devadasi tradition as the sole cause of child trafficking in India. However, the lived experiences of Devadasis and insights from experts suggest otherwise. THe ritual is not the root cause – it is a symptom of structural inequality.
Beleva’s testimony directly counter’s Harris’ framing:
“…even if we went to school, how would it make any difference? It means nothing in this village. If you don’t want to become a Devadasi, there is no way to earn enough money.” –Beleva, Devadasi
Similarly, G. Sriamappa, from the organization Every Child in India, elaborates on the financial realities that lead families to dedicate their daughters:
“Girl children in our society are treated more as a liability, in the sense that there is always the cost of marriage. They feel they don’t want to educate the girls…And when this comes to the poorest families, if they get a female child, they think that ‘Ok…how can we work this liability into an asset?’ The system of traditional ritual prostitution, or what we call the Devadasi system, is one of the coping strategies…”
-G. Sriamappa, Every Child in India
These insights highlight poverty, gendered beliefs, and a lack of social safety nets as the true driving forces behind familial trafficking. Yet, Harris only briefly acknowledges these factors, reducing the issue to the Yellamma tradition.
Sativva: Devadasi Rituals and The Full Moon Festival
Throughout Prostitutes of God, Harris showcases the devastating effects of trafficking. At the Full Moon Festival, in Saundatti-Yellamma, Karnataka, viewers gain insight from social activist and former Devadasi, Sitavva, who provides an inside look into the ritual practice of becoming a Devadasi.
The Full Moon Festival is a significant event in the Yellamma calendar. However, Harris believes Devadasi dedication ceremonies are taking place behind closed doors. Excluded from the Yellemma Temple, she turns to Sitavva.
Sitavva consents to stage a mock dedication ceremony, offering viewers a look into how she and other young girls became Devadasis.
As previously noted, many families with financial need dedicate their daughters as a means of survival. The devastating consequences of this practice become increasingly clear in Harris’ final interview in Surrole, where she meets three generations of Devadasi women from the same family.
The youngest representative of the family, a daughter, recently passed away from HIV. The remaining women share their experiences:
“My mother dedicated me to earn money to feed the family.”
Initially, she enjoyed her work, stating, “I made enough money to buy nice clothes. I had cash in my hand!” But over time, her family turned on her, leaving her destitute. Now she begs for food while raising her late daughter’s two sons.
The family’s experience underscores the role of economic necessity in perpetuation of familial trafficking. Their story, like many others, is intertwined with caste-based discrimination, limited opportunities, and social exclusion.
Narratives of Agency: What Harris Missed
Despite the struggles faced by Devadasis, many of the women interviewed speak of their choices within their constrained realities. While not free from systemic oppression, they exercise agency where possible.
Belva, for instance, acknowledges the limitations of her situation but emphasizes its immediate benefits:
“We may feel sad. We may be illiterate, but at least the family can have two meals per day.”
-Beleva, Devadasi
Next in Harris’ journey, is a trip back to Sangli, where she is invited to meet Pandu, another Devadasi. Introducing Pandu to viewers, Harris remarks, “We were told she was different, but we weren’t prepared for just how different.”
However, Harris does not clarify what makes Pandu “just so different.” As viewers meet Pandu, they clearly state, “I am gay. I do sex work, and I am gay.” This leaves the audience to wonder—was it Pandu’s sexuality that made Harris feel unprepared to meet them?
Notably, Pandu never identifies their pronouns within the interview. While Harris initially introduces Pandu using “she,” for the remainder of the interview, she shifts to referring to Pandu with “he/him.” This inconsistency raises questions— are these reflective of Pandu’s pronouns, did Harris make an assumption, or was this an editorial choice that shaped how Pandu was presented?
Pandu openly expresses their identity and takes pride in their appearance:
Agency is also notably present in Pandu’s interview. A Devadasi who exists outside of the gender and sexual binary. Pandu openly expresses themselves early on, stating,
“I love to wear a sari. It makes me feel sexy.”
Pandu’s experience highlights the intersections of caste, gender, and sexuality.
While they embrace their identity, they also face violence and discrimination for existing outside rigid societal norms.
“Just days ago when I was passing by these miscreants, they began to tease me. They said, ‘Come with me, I will **** you… I will **** your mother.’” – Pandu, Devadasi
Despite these challenges, Pandu remains resilient and reaffirms their identity:
“I have no regrets… I am able to dance if I want, live well, I can freely roam anywhere and do whatever I want. Nobody can stop me from going anywhere. Nobody has a right over me. I can boldly tell society, this is my life and I will live properly. Nobody can restrict me… I am a Devadasi and also a sex worker, just as the women are.”
Yet, instead of acknowledging Pandu’s resilience, Harris reduces their story to a broader, oversimplified narrative:
“Pandu may want a better life for his daughter, but for many other Devadasis, there’s a lot of money to be made in recruiting the next generation.”
Effectively, Harris erases Pandu’s depth, failing to honor their lived experience.
Harris’ Cultural Insensitivity and Western Gaze
Harris’ portrayal of the Yellamma tradition as the primary driver of trafficking oversimplifies a complex issue. In doing so, she dismisses the economic and caste-based factors that the Devadasis themselves highlight. Worse, her descriptions of Hindu traditions often come across as dismissive, reducing deeply symbolic religious imagery to stereotypes.
From characterizing Hindu gods as having “blue skin and gold bikinis” to describing the Full Moon Festival as a “heaving shanty town,” her tone borders on mockery. While there is a connection between child trafficking and religious practices, Harris’ framing paints an overly simplistic, moralizing picture—one that fails to recognize the socio-economic realities at play.
Her oversight extends to historical factors as well. Harris briefly acknowledges that Devadasis once held a prestigious status as royal dancers but ignores how Western missionary interventions in the 19th century contributed to their marginalization. When missionaries condemned the practice, many Devadasis were pushed into the underground economy, heightening their vulnerability to exploitation. Yet, Harris makes no meaningful attempt to examine the role of colonial influence, instead positioning herself as an outsider bringing moral clarity to a “backward” tradition.
Prostitutes of God: A Documentary Made by the Documented
Ultimately, Prostitutes of God offers insight not through Harris’ narration, but through the voices of the Devadasis themselves. Their firsthand accounts provide the true depth of the issue—one shaped by poverty, caste oppression, and systemic inequality.
Harris’ documentary may claim to be an exposé, but it is the Devadasis who tell the real story.