at 85 the frail sashimoni is oldest surviving devadasi in odisa we handhold her down memory lane there is a strange romance associated with the word devadasi a romance that only gets more enigmatic what with records saying that the number of devadasis in puri has now been seeing a sharp decline from 25 about 100 years ago to nine in the 1956 gazette of odisha to four in the 80s to just two who are now alive to tell the tale myths abound and so do memories of the days when devadasis or maharis were regarded and respected as those great women who could control natural human impulses their five senses and submit themselves completely to god as one walks down the busy bylanes of puri in search of devadasis it seems like a convoluted journey through history rediscovering for ourselves why an 800yearold tradition is now only surviving on the merit of memories the question any idea where one can find a devadasi is met with vacant stares while some shrug off saying thats all part of history others claim to have faint knowledge a helpful panda decides to be the guide and takes one down a very narrow bylane close to the temple damp with the rays of the morning sun playing hide and seek one ambles down to a house that supposedly belongs to the adopted son of the devadasi the panda walks in before one dares and asks if this is the house of the mahari an elderly gentleman peeps out nodding in affirmation i am her son he says with a quivering voice before we begin wondering if devadasis were supposed to practice celibacy or not he says adopted the strange part about walking into a devadasis house is that one still doesnt know what to expect is it fair to suppose that it ought to smell of history and culture or is decadence supposed to stare in the face this house in the backyard of the temple is bereft of any excesses the gentleman frail either with age or illness climbs up the stairs to bring down some old brittle dogeared photo album to supplement the tales of his mother devadasis we were told were of two types while the first category was called the bhitar gayani singers of the sanctum sanctorum the rest were called the bahar gayani and had to perform rituals outside the inner temple as one waits in anticipation for the devadasi to arrive the mind fumbles to conjure up images of an old lady who would walk down the stairs to handhold one down memory lane the reverie gets a jolt when one is told but she is dead and all we now live with is her stories stories of how the practice of bhitar gayani almost ended when my mother kokil prabha devadasi died at the age of 78 the trance breaks and the search for another relic begins the panda tad apologetic about not