The overwhelming multiplicity of Hindu gods is often a source of confusion. When viewed as part of a trans-local “Hindu” religion, the variety of deities is coalesced under several generic names, particularly “Śiva,” Viṣṇu,” and “Śakti.” In regional communities, local deities are often brought in congruence with the Hindu cosmogonic system by being considered as distinct incarnations—avatāras—of the major gods. Nevertheless, even when formally conceptualized through so-called “Hindu” religious terms and structures, these deities feature distinct regional characteristics, and the devotees’ relationships with them could be realized only within the context of the local community.

This distinct relationship between regional divinities and their local communities is the phenomenon addressed by Nadav Harel’s AVATARA. The film focuses on the manifestations of the female Hindu goddess (“Śakti”) among the Khas population of the Karsog Valley, in northern India. This is a little-studied region in the district and erstwhile kingdom of Mandi, which is situated in the very heart of Himachal Pradesh and thus offers an especially salient example of the state’s Khas society and culture. By bringing together multiple voices and images from the daily life and ritual activities of these communities, AVATARA provides a captivating cinematic “thick description” that teases its audience into experiencing the Goddess’s effect on the people’s lives and imagination.

An air of mystery envelopes this short film from the opening shot, which shows the misty green mountain terrain of the Karsog Valley, accompanied by the rhythmic singing of the women working in the rice fields, the dramatic tone of the village storyteller, and the chirping of birds and crickets. The scenes shift thoughtfully between indoors and outdoors, clamor and silence, intensity and serenity. Without any voice-over commentary, AVATARA guides the spectators to interpret the various visual manifestations of the goddess from three perspectives, based on the conversations and actions they witness on screen. The first is the mythical perspective: two short mythological accounts are narrated by a farmer woman and a local storyteller. The first describes the formation of the local hilly landscape by the goddess, using her sickle, in an act of wrath that resulted from an exchange she had with a cunning (human) blacksmith. In the other narrative, the goddess warns the local king of a coming drought and demands, as a form of expiation that will prevent the danger, a sacrifice of the king’s son, but eventually settles on the son’s young bride, who is then buried alive. The goddess who features in these accounts appears to be merciless, violent, and capricious, and the story’s motifs bear resemblance to other goddess traditions from the Himachal Pradesh area.

The second perspective is the individual conception of the goddess by various local interlocutors, in their own words. This personal manifestation differs from the goddess’s rather threatening mythical image. The goddess, conventionally called “mother” by all, seems a part of the local cultural identity and of the people’s inner world. They describe her as a young maiden, who came from beyond the mountain pass. One may meet her in a dream or in one’s mind, and although her appearance may at times suggest danger or trouble, it is generally a much anticipated and favorable divine revelation, a personal communication with the goddess, in one’s own language.

The third perspective is provided by the film’s temple scenes. These are the most intense moments of the film, showcasing instances of direct communication with the goddess through a medium, a human male priest from whose throat the goddess speaks. In one scene, we witness a series of exorcism sessions performed by the medium. Another scene shows a family visit to a mountain temple, where one of the family elders takes the role of the medium and his wife addresses the goddess through him, and eventually they perform an animal sacrifice. (The sacrifice is depicted briefly yet graphically in the film, therefore a content warning is required prior to screening.) In a third scene, a man comes to ask the goddess—via the medium—for a loan. This point of view reveals the temple’s function as a social and financial institution, in which the goddess—speaking through the mediums—is considered the physician, the family counsel, and the patron. The film does not depict any worship of the mūrti, that is, the stone or bronze images of the goddess, which is the standard form of worship in the Hindu context. One may assume that even if such a standard form of worship exists, it is not the main feature of this cult.

AVATARA depicts a manifestation of the local goddess of the Khas people that is extremely tangible yet widely open to interpretation. Thus, it is not only a beautiful film but also an excellent teaching tool that demonstrates the complexity and range of religious experience in a relatable manner and sets it elegantly within local daily life. Moreover, the film problematizes the tendency to narrow down and simplify the various expressions of South Asian religions into mainstream cults. AVATARA could be a valuable resource to be used in comparative religions and anthropology classrooms, especially in conjunction with a recently published article by Arik Moran, that complements the film with the relevant context and detailed explanations (“Encountering the Goddess in the Indian Himalaya: On the Contribution of Ethnographic Film to the Study of Religion,” Religions 12, 11 [2021]).