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The Ravana We Burn, the Ravana We Worship

The Ravana We Burn, the Ravana We Worship

Last updated on: October 21, 2026 at 12:03 am by Shweta Goyal

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The Ravana We Burn, the Ravana We Worship 2026-10-21T00:03:38+00:00 Shweta Goyal

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Traditional Dussehra puja at my Marwari family home, featuring Ravana’s figure made with wheat flour, cow dung, and sacred offerings. *Photo: Author’s collection.*

From the Gond communities of central India to the Brahmins of Rajasthan and the household rituals of Marwari families, the many faces of Ravana reveal India’s extraordinary religious diversity.

Every Dussehra, enormous effigies of Ravana rise above the crowds in towns and cities across India.

Children wait impatiently for the fireworks. Families gather to watch the ten-headed king of Lanka disappear into flames. The burning of Ravana, known as Ravana Dahan, celebrates Lord Rama’s victory and the triumph of dharma over adharma.

But something very different happens in other parts of India.

In a village in Madhya Pradesh, people gather before a statue of Ravana and offer prayers.

In parts of Rajasthan, families claiming descent from Ravana mourn his death rather than celebrate it.

In Maharashtra, some Gond Adivasi communities honour him as an ancestral or divine figure.

In Uttar Pradesh, there is even a temple that traditionally opens its doors to worshippers only once a year—on Dussehra.

And in some Marwari Baniya households, families draw Ravana’s figure on the floor using wheat flour, place small pieces of cow dung upon it, and perform a quiet ceremony with green barley shoots, sugarcane, fruits, grains, and lamps.

How can one festival contain such different ways of remembering the same person? The answer lies in a remarkable feature of Indian religious culture: characters from the epics do not always have one meaning for every community.

To understand why Ravana is worshipped, we must first understand the different Ravanas that live in Indian memory.

Ravana: The Villain Who Was Also a Scholar

In the Ramayana, Ravana is the powerful king of Lanka who abducts Sita and ultimately falls in battle against Rama. His actions make him a central example of adharma in the epic’s moral universe. Yet Ravana is also remembered in later Hindu traditions as an extraordinary scholar, a powerful ruler, a skilled musician, and an ardent devotee of Lord Shiva.

The famous Shiva Tandava Stotram is traditionally attributed to him, although its historical authorship is uncertain. This combination makes Ravana a complex figure.

He possesses knowledge, but does not consistently act with wisdom. He demonstrates devotion, but also pride. He commands extraordinary power, yet fails to recognise the consequences of his desires.

For some communities, Ravana’s learning and devotion remain worthy of honour even though his conduct is condemned.

For others, his significance goes much further. He is not primarily the villain of Rama’s story. He is an ancestor, a local deity, or a symbol of community identity.

These distinctions matter. Not everyone who honours Ravana is doing so for the same reason.

1. The Gond Communities: Ravana as an Ancestral Figure

Among some Gond Adivasi communities in central India, Ravana occupies a position very different from that of the conventional Ramayana villain.

In certain Gond traditions, Ravana is remembered as an ancestral king and is associated with the spiritual figure known as Ravan Pen.

In Paraswadi village in Maharashtra, for example, Gond communities have celebrated Dussehra with a procession honouring Ravana rather than burning his effigy.

This observance was documented in The Hindu in 2015. For participants in these traditions, honouring Ravana is connected with cultural memory, ancestry, and religious identity. This interpretation must not be generalised to all Gond communities, whose traditions are diverse.

It nevertheless challenges a widespread assumption: that every Indian community understands Ravana through exactly the same narrative framework.

A story can travel across a civilisation while acquiring different meanings among the people who preserve it.

2. Bisrakh: The Village That Remembers Ravana as Its Son

In Bisrakh, near Greater Noida in Uttar Pradesh, local tradition identifies the village as Ravana’s birthplace.

According to the belief, Ravana was born there to the sage Vishrava and Kaikesi. The village’s association with Vishrava is an important part of its religious identity, although this birthplace claim should be understood as local tradition rather than established historical fact. Some residents do not celebrate Dussehra by burning Ravana.

Instead, prayers are offered, and Ravana’s death is remembered with sadness. The distinction is understandable within their own cultural framework. Where many people see the defeat of a wrongdoer, these residents also see the death of someone they regard as belonging to their village.

An epic figure becomes part of local belonging. The story is no longer only about Rama and Ravana. It becomes a story about the relationship between a place and the person it remembers.

3. Mandsaur: Why Ravana Is Honoured as a Son-in-Law

In Mandsaur, Madhya Pradesh, certain local communities honour Ravana because of his wife, Mandodari. Local tradition associates Mandodari with the region and therefore regards Ravana as a son-in-law. This is a striking example of how kinship relationships shape religious customs.

In many Indian communities, the son-in-law occupies an honoured place within the extended family. For those who regard Ravana as their son-in-law, celebrating his death would conflict with their inherited understanding of family relationships.

A statue of Ravana in Mandsaur has been the focus of local rituals, including prayers performed during Dussehra. The exact historical relationship between Mandodari and Mandsaur is not established. The importance of the practice lies in the beliefs and customs preserved by the community. It shows that people may honour the same figure for reasons that are familial rather than primarily theological.

4. Jodhpur and Mandore: Ravana as an Ancestor

In Rajasthan, some Brahmin families in the Jodhpur and Mandore region claim descent from Ravana. For these families, Dussehra may be observed as an occasion of mourning.

Accounts describe the performance of shraddha and pind daan, rituals traditionally associated with remembering the dead and honouring ancestors. This is different from worshipping Ravana as a god.

Ancestral remembrance and divine worship are not interchangeable. A family may acknowledge an ancestor’s shortcomings and still consider it appropriate to perform rituals in their memory. Here Ravana is remembered not only as a character from an epic but as someone placed within a lineage.

The practice illustrates a deeper idea within Indian family traditions: ancestry creates obligations of remembrance that may continue across generations.

5. Kanpur: A Temple That Opens on Dussehra

In Kanpur, Uttar Pradesh, the Dashanan Temple has an unusual tradition. It is reported to open for worship on Dussehra, when devotees perform aarti and offer prayers to Ravana. The temple’s organisers have explained the practice by referring to Ravana’s learning and his devotion to Lord Shiva.

In a 2016 report, the temple’s annual opening was described as taking place on the very day when Ravana’s effigies are burned elsewhere.

The contrast is remarkable. In the public square, Ravana represents the destructive consequences of pride and wrongdoing. Inside the temple, devotees honour his scholarship and devotion.

This does not necessarily mean that the temple’s worshippers celebrate the abduction of Sita or reject Rama. Rather, their observance distinguishes particular qualities they admire from actions they do not necessarily endorse.

6. Ravangram: Where Ravana Is Called Ravan Baba

In Ravangram, in Madhya Pradesh’s Vidisha district, Ravana is honoured as a local protective figure. Residents refer to him as Ravan Baba, and a large reclining stone image is associated with local worship.

Accounts describe offerings and prayers during Dussehra and other important occasions. Unlike traditions that merely recognise Ravana’s scholarly accomplishments, here he holds a place in the religious life of the village.

This is an important difference. Some communities respect Ravana. Others mourn him. Still others actively worship him as a divine or protective figure.

We cannot understand the diversity of Dussehra simply by grouping all these observances together.

7. Saraswat Brahmins: Honouring Ravana’s Learning

In parts of Agra and Mathura, members of the Saraswat Brahmin community have organised prayers honouring Ravana. Some identify him with their Brahmin heritage and emphasise his learning and religious accomplishments.

For these devotees, Ravana is more than a simple representation of evil. Their observances also reveal how communities may contest dominant interpretations of a familiar religious narrative. That does not mean that all Saraswat Brahmins worship Ravana, or that all who honour him share identical beliefs.

It means that Ravana’s image remains more complicated than his familiar appearance as a ten-headed effigy.

8. Inside a Marwari Baniya Home: Wheat Flour, Cow Dung, Sugarcane, and Green Barley

The diversity of Ravana’s remembrance is not confined to temples and villages. It also appears within the intimate rituals of family homes.

In the Marwari Baniya tradition familiar to my family, we draw Ravana’s figure on the floor with wheat flour, or atta. Ten small pieces of cow dung are placed on the figure. Nearby are sugarcane, fruits, grains, a diya, and other offerings.

The ritual belongs to a larger Dussehra observance that connects Ravana’s image with natural materials, agricultural life, and household blessings. Accounts of Marwari Dussehra practices describe variations in both the number of cow-dung pieces and the arrangement of the ceremonial figure.

In some families, ten pieces are understood as Ravana’s ten heads. The historical origin of every element, however, is not firmly documented.

The wheat flour recalls the grain that feeds us. Cow dung, which modern urban life may regard simply as waste, has long had practical and ritual importance in Indian agricultural communities. It has been used as fertiliser, fuel, and a material for ceremonial forms. Sugarcane is associated with agricultural abundance and sweetness. Its precise purpose in this particular household puja may vary by family.

Together, the offerings reflect a world in which religion, food production, the household, and the natural environment were closely connected. But another part of the ritual is especially meaningful.

Why Do We Grow Jau During Navratri?

At the beginning of Navratri, barley seeds—known as jau—are planted and watered. During the following days, they germinate into delicate green shoots called jaware. By Dussehra, they are ready to be offered as auspicious greenery.

Across several North Indian traditions, these shoots are associated with prosperity, renewal, blessings, and the hope of a flourishing life.

The practice is not limited to Marwari households. Related customs can be found across northern India, while Nepal’s Dashain festival also includes the growing and distribution of barley shoots known as jamara. There is a simple but profound image in this ritual. A seed must be nurtured before it grows.

We can prepare the soil, provide water, and protect the plant, but growth unfolds in its own time. The seed becomes a reminder that meaningful development requires care and patience.

Why Do Sisters Place Jau Behind Their Brothers’ Ears?

In my family’s tradition, the green barley shoots are given to brothers, who place them behind their ears. This is not merely a decorative gesture.

In regional practice, the shoots are regarded as auspicious and given with blessings for wellbeing, prosperity, and good fortune. The sister takes something that has grown during the days of worship and offers it to her brother. A blessing that could have remained an unspoken wish becomes a physical act.

Why specifically behind the ear?

There is no single firmly established historical explanation. The custom varies between communities, and similar practices also appear in other North Indian festivals. Rather than inventing a scriptural origin, perhaps we can appreciate what the act visibly accomplishes.

The blessing is received. It is worn. And it is carried beyond the place of worship. What begins as a ritual of growing barley becomes a ritual of sustaining family relationships.

Does Worshipping Ravana Mean Rejecting Rama?

This is perhaps the most important question. The answer depends on the particular tradition.

Some worshippers honour Ravana’s learning and devotion while accepting the broader moral framework of the Ramayana. Some communities honour him through ancestry or kinship. Some Adivasi traditions preserve understandings of Ravana that differ substantially from mainstream Sanskritic narratives. And some family rituals include representations of Ravana without making him the sole focus of worship. These positions should not be treated as identical.

In the Ramayana, Rama’s struggle against Ravana remains central to the narrative of dharma. But religious practices are also shaped by regional history, oral traditions, community identity, and local understandings of sacred figures.

Recognising this complexity does not require us to abandon the ethical questions raised by Ravana’s conduct. It invites us to examine them more carefully.

Ravana’s Greatest Tragedy: Knowledge Without Wisdom

What makes Ravana philosophically fascinating is that he is not portrayed merely as ignorant. He is remembered as a figure of extraordinary ability. Yet his learning does not prevent his downfall.

The Bhagavad Gita offers a useful psychological framework for considering this contradiction.

In Chapter 2, verses 62–63, Krishna describes how continued attachment can develop into desire, anger, delusion, and eventually the loss of sound judgment.

These verses are not written about Ravana specifically. Nevertheless, they illuminate an important distinction between what a person knows and how a person acts.

Knowledge is the possession of information and understanding. Wisdom requires discernment, restraint, and the ability to act in accordance with what is right.

Ravana’s tragedy, viewed through this philosophical lens, is not that he lacked intellectual power. It is that his accomplishments did not protect him from destructive choices.

We encounter the same problem in modern life.

An educated person may still be arrogant.

A successful leader may still misuse authority.

A deeply religious individual may still behave unjustly towards others.

Intellectual achievement and moral maturity do not always develop together.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons Ravana continues to provoke reflection. He reminds us that greatness in one area of life does not guarantee greatness in every other.

What the Many Traditions of Ravana Teach Us

Every year, as Ravana’s effigies burn, we are reminded of the triumph of dharma over adharma. That remains a powerful message of Dussehra. Yet across India, other communities preserve additional ways of remembering him.

For some, Ravana is a symbol of knowledge.

For others, an ancestor.

For others, a respected son-in-law.

For some, a spiritual figure associated with their own community’s history. And for families such as mine, his image appears in a household ritual surrounded by wheat flour, cow dung, sugarcane, and barley shoots.

These traditions do not all convey the same message. Nor do they need to.

Their coexistence shows how a civilisation can preserve multiple religious memories, even when those memories stand in tension with one another.

There is something valuable in learning to recognise that tension without immediately erasing it.

We can condemn harmful actions without denying the complexity of the person who committed them.

We can honour learning without confusing it with wisdom. And we can preserve inherited rituals while remaining curious about their origins.

When a sister places green barley shoots behind her brother’s ear, she is passing on a blessing.

When a family remembers an ancestor, it is preserving a relationship across generations.

When devotees honour Ravana’s scholarship, they are directing attention to qualities they consider valuable. And when the enormous effigy of Ravana burns, the familiar moral message of Dussehra remains: power without righteousness ultimately destroys itself.

Perhaps the most meaningful way to approach these traditions is not to ask which community possesses the only interpretation of Ravana. It is to ask what each tradition is trying to remember.

Because a festival is more than the performance of a ritual. It is also an act of memory.

One Ravana is burned. Another is mourned. Another is worshipped. And through these different acts, India continues to debate what makes a person worthy of remembrance—and what makes a life truly great.

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