Dimensions of Social Life: Essays in Honor of David G. Mandelbaum [Reprint 2011 ed.] 9783110846850, 9783110106381

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David Goodman Mandelbaum 1911-1987

Dimensions of Social Life

New Babylon

Studies in the Social

Sciences

48

Mouton de Gruyter · Berlin · New York · Amsterdam

Dimensions of Social Life Essays in Honor of David G. Mandelbaum

Edited by Paul Hockings

Mouton de Gruyter · Berlin · New York · Amsterdam

1987

Mouton de Gruyter (formerly Mouton, The Hague) is a Division of Walter de Gruyter & Co., Berlin.

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Dimensions of social life. (New Babylon, studies in the social sciences; 48) 1. Ethnology. 2. Ethnology — South Asia. 3. Applied anthropology. 4. Mandelbaum, David Goodman, 1911—1987. I. Mandelbaum, David Goodman, 1911-1987. II. Hockings, Paul. GN325.D55 1987 306'.0954 87-10111 ISBN 0-8992-5292-3 (alk. paper)

CIP-Kurztitelaufnahme der Deutschen Bibliothek Dimensions of social life : essays in honor of David G. Mandelbaum / ed. by Paul Hockings. — Berlin ; New York ; Amsterdam : Mouton de Gruyter, 1987. (New Babylon ; 48) ISBN 3-11-010638-8 NE: Hockings, Paul [Hrsg.]; Mandelbaum, David G.: Festschrift; GT

Printed on acid free paper.

© Copyright 1987 by Walter de Gruyter & Co., Berlin. All rights reserved, including those of translation into foreign languages. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form — by photoprint, microfilm, or any other means — nor transmitted, nor translated into a machine language without written permission from Mouton de Gruyter, a Division of Walter de Gruyter & Co., Berlin. Typesetting: Asian Research Service, Hong Kong. Printing: Arthur Collignon GmbH, Berlin. — Binding: Dieter Mikolai, Berlin. Printed in Germany.

Foreword

Although British and occasionally other European anthropologists had done descriptive studies in Southern Asia for many decades before India and Pakistan gained their Independence, America came late on the scene. The first American cultural anthropologist to do fieldwork in India was David G. Mandelbaum.1 This he began in 1937, shortly after gaining a doctorate from Yale University, and his scholarly interest in the area has continued unabated ever since. In a Foreword such as this a full evaluation of his half-century career is out of the question, but some highlights are worth mentioning. An important phase of that career, during which Mandelbaum was associated with the early development of South Asian studies in his country, is remembered by Milton Singer in the few pages which follow (1-7). Born in Chicago in 1911, Mandelbaum did his undergraduate study at nearby Northwestern University (1928-32), where his athletic abilities made him a "letter man" and won his admission to a fraternity. But then he heard some lectures by Melville J. Herskovits, and soon decided anthropology was for him. At Yale he was able to work with Edward Sapir, Leslie Spier, and Clark Wissler, all three of them major figures in the discipline at that time. Under their inspiration it was only natural that Mandelbaum's dissertation should have been on a Canadian Indian group, the Plains Cree of Saskatchewan (1936). But then he went to India and was soon publishing papers on the tribes of Travancore and the nearby Jews of Cochin. And when health reasons (malaria) shifted him up into the Nilgiri Hills, he began a lifelong association with the Kota and Toda tribes there. One of his first studies in this region was the paper, "Culture Change among the Nilgiri Tribes" (1941a), which has been widely cited and reprinted several times. Then World War II caused a break in his teaching and research, though it brought him back to India and Burma as an officer in the Office of Strategic Services. Lucien M. Hanks, himself a civilian employee, recalls those days, over forty years ago: Captain David Mandelbaum was chief of the unit of OSS in Burma where I was assigned. He may have been the one who assigned me to handle the female spies. He censored my mail en route home, sending love from the censor to my wife, Jane Richardson Hanks, whom he knew in anthropological circles. He had an anthropologist's appetite for the wondrous curries that the cook at the school for female spies was making. I never met a better commanding officer. Coming back to civilian life with the military rank of Major, Mandelbaum

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Foreword

returned to his job as a professor at the University of Minnesota (1938-46), but soon moved to the University of California, where he is now Emeritus Professor of Anthropology, having spent four decades on the Berkeley campus. One of his first projects there was to edit the widely used Selected Writings of Edward Sapir (1949d, paper edition 1985). But for several years after that he was still building on his military experience, and in 1952 published another book, Soldier Groups and Negro Soldiers. It resulted from, first, a voyage home on a troop-ship full of Black soldiers, and secondly, his work with a research group set up by the U.S. Department of War to appraise the then controversial matter of racial desegregation in the U.S. Army. Mandelbaum's principal recommendations were in fact adopted by the military authorities to promote desegregation; no doubt they reflected a changing climate of opinion resulting from wartime experiences with Black soldiers in many fields of battle. That book was not to be his only excursus into applied anthropology, for in his recent work on fertility in India he has also made important policy recommendations (1954e, 1973a, 1974a, 1979b). Another sort of applied anthropology reached its fruition with the publication of two volumes on teaching anthropology (1963c), of which Mandelbaum was the senior editor and a major contributor. This widely appreciated reference tool grew out of a conference series he instigated that was funded by the National Science Foundation, and it had the virtue of bringing together the distilled teaching experiences of fifty of the world's top anthropologists. David Mandelbaum himself was already established as a major social scientist at least a decade before that conference. The nineteen-fifties were an important time in the history of American anthropology, for they witnessed a burgeoning of numbers in the profession, a serious attempt to develop an applied anthropology in the U.S. Trust Territories of the Pacific, an elaboration of the concept of civilization as a cultural type, the start of regional studies programs, and a development of the national character studies that had begun with Mead, Bateson, Benedict and others during the Second World War. In much of this Mandelbaum played a part; yet he was active during these years not only in research but on the executive board of the American Anthropological Association (1955-58), and as Chairman of his Department at Berkeley (1955-57). He was busy with Kroeber and others in planning the new Lowie Museum of Anthropology there (cf. Mandelbaum 1953c). And at the same time, as Milton Singer recalls, he was also deeply involved in the development of South Asian studies, something which up to that point in America had meant little but the occasional course in Sanskrit. Later Mandelbaum was to be appointed twice to the U.S. National Commission for UNESCO (1957-62, 1975-76). In 1976 too he was Chairman of the Anthropology Section of the American Association for the Advancement

Foreword

vii

of Science; and in 1979 he was honored with the Berkeley Citation for distinguished achievement and notable service to the University. It is easy to document Mandelbaum's formidable output of scholarly writing — indeed, we do so here (pp. 9-20). But another side of the man is without doubt his impact on his students. Some of the former undergraduates still remember seminars in his home, or the time when he led Ravi Shankar into the classroom and the master performed on his sitar, sitting cross-legged on the top of a desk. Many of the contributors to this Festschrift have mentioned the encouragement, the solicitousness, the seriousness with which he prompted his students' research efforts and later followed their careers. Harry Nelson (one of Mandelbaum's early graduate students at Berkeley) recalls for example how He was an excellent chairman, sympathetic and helpful. I had a great deal of freedom in what I did, but was given advice when needed... David was that kind of chairman and that kind of person. He made time no matter how busy he was, and when I sought him out at the Museum (the old one) where he probably was hiding from students, he was never nasty about it. . . Always a craftsman with his words, and encouraging every student to express herself or himself with the utmost clarity too, Mandelbaum is equally meticulous in the gathering and checking of his own field data. His fieldwork experience has covered the San Carlos Apache, 1933; Plains Cree, 1934-35; "Urbana", Connecticut, 1935-36; Chippewa, 1939; Burma, 1945; North India, 1963-64; South India, 1937-38, 1949-50, 1958,1968, 1969-70, 1973, 1975-76, 1978. Few modern anthropologists have ranged more widely in their research or have been more imaginatively productive in their use of the material so gained. Mandelbaum's substantive interests include social and cultural change, applied anthropology, psychological anthropology, religion, and the teaching of the discipline. His magisterial survey, Society in India (1970a), pulled together several of these interests, the experiences of all of his and his students' South Asian fieldwork, and an incredibly wide range of reading. A basic textbook in the subject, it still stands as his magnum opus. David Mandelbaum is a kindly man with many friends and admirers. Those who know him personally might almost have guessed that his very first article would have been on "Friendship in North America", and so it was (1936a). At about that same period one of his friends and classmates, Edgar E. Siskin, did him the double service of finding him a job, as director of a Jewish community center near New Haven (cf. Mandelbaum 1936c), and of introducing him to Ruth Weiss, a Vassar graduate originally from Tarrytown, New York. And in 1940 Maurice Zigmond, another of his classmates who was already a rabbi before he entered Yale, officiated at the marriage of

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Foreword

David and Ruth at a ceremony held near New York. Decades later anthropologist Zigmond officiated at the wedding of their son too. Of course, all of the contributors to this Festschrift consider themselves friends of David Mandelbaum in oneway of another; some have had the added privilege of studying under him. Among his former students whose names appear in this volume are Robert T. Anderson, Alan Beals, Paul Hockings, Harry Izmirlian, Harry Nelson, John Ogbu, Bryan Pfaffenberger, and Thomas Rosin. Then there are other friends and admirers who have also written papers, including Agehananda Bharati, Louis Dumont, S.N. Eisenstadt, Lucien M. and Jane R. Hanks, Francis L.K. Hsu, Glynn Huilgol, Pauline Kolenda, Moni Nag, Manning Nash, George Rosen, A.M. Shah, Milton Singer, M.N. Srinivas, Sylvia Vatuk, and the late M.S.A. Rao. Among three smaller groups of contributors are those colleagues now at the University of California, Berkeley, namely Gerald Berreman, Murray Emeneau, George Hart, John Ogbu and Nancy Scheper-Hughes (the latter two former students). Then there are his close co-workers in the rather specialized field of Nilgiri studies: Nurit Bird-David, M.B. Emeneau, Paul Hockings, William Noble, and Anthony Walker. And finally Emeneau might be mentioned again, along with Edgar Siskin and Maurice Zigmond, as fellow students of Mandelbaum during their days together at Yale, 1932-36. All thirty-three of us have benefited in diverse ways from our association with David Mandelbuam, and all join wholeheartedly in felicitating him on what happens to be the half-centenary of his first published contributions to the discipline of anthropology, which he obviously loves. P.H.

Notes 1.

A word of explanation: although I have stated (and he agrees) that Mandelbaum was the first trained cultural anthropologist from the U.S.A. to do fieldwork there, it would be churlish to omit mention of several predecessors. Two American men and a woman who went to India as Christian missionaries have left their mark on anthropology: one was Wilber T. Elmore, whose excellent study Dravidian Gods in Modern Hinduism (1915) earned him the Ph.D. degree of the University of Nebraska. Later the Wisers, William and Charlotte, produced two muchquoted studies, The Hindu Jajmani System (1936) and Behind Mud Walls (1930; expanded 1963 edition with a new Foreword by David G. Mandelbaum). Also beginning in the year 193S, and continuing still, Murray Emeneau, a Canadian by birth, has done unparalleled work in Indian ethnolinguistics and comparative linguistics (see this volume, pp. 263-273).

Contents

Foreword List of Tables List of Diagrams David Mandelbaum and the Rise of South Asian Studies: A Reminiscence Milton B. Singer David G. Mandelbaum: Fifty Years of Scholarship, 1936-1986

ν xiii xv 1 9

SECTION ONE: FAMILY, KINSHIP AND PERSONHOOD Authority, Power and Autonomy in the Life Cycle of the North Indian Woman Sylvia J. Vatuk Living the Levirate: the Mating of an Untouchable Chuhra Widow Pauline Kolenda Life History: Nonconformity and the Syntax of Metaexperience Harry Izmirlian Jr. The Psychodynamics of Nayar Family Life: the Matrilineal Puzzle Re-examined Glynn Huilgol The Armenian Godfather Complex Harry Nelson Of Siblings and Cousins: Some Notes on Toda Kinship in the Light of Recent Writings Anthony R. Walker

23 45 69

87 119

135

SECTION TWO: OLD TRIBES AND NEW Single Persons and Social Cohesion in a Hunter-Gatherer Society Nurit Bird-David Death Comes to an American Indian Tribe Maurice L. Zigmond The Lahushi Bakio: Birth of a New Tribe Luden Μ. Hanks and Jane Richardson Hanks

151 167 177

SECTION THREE: CULTURE AREAS AND CULTURAL THEMES Transcendental and Folk Aspects of Judaism Edgar E. Siskin Houses with Centered Courtyards in Kerala and Elsewhere in India William A. Noble

201 215

χ

Contents

The Right Hand is the 'Eating Hand': an Indian Areal Linguistic Inquiry Murray B. Emeneau Yankee City in Renaissance Milton B. Singer

263 275

SECTION FOUR: INVESTIGATING HEALTH AND DEVELOPMENT The Impact of Social and Economic Development on Mortality: a Comparative Study of Kerala and West Bengal Moni Nag The Chipko Movement in the Indian Himalayas Gerdd D. Berreman Urbanization and Social Change: Concepts and Techniques M.S.A. Rao Investigating Back Pain: the Implications of Two Village Studies in South Asia Robert T. Anderson Western Economists in South Asia: Some Afterthoughts on an Experience George Rosen Quarry and Field: Sources of Continuity and Change in a Rajasthani Village R. Thomas Rosin "Mental" in "Southie": Individual, Family and Community Responses to Psychosis in South Boston Nancy Scheper-Hughes

305 345 369

385

397

419

439

SECTION FIVE: CASTE IN INDIA Early Evidence for Caste in South India George L. Hart III Untouchability, the Untouchables and Social Change in Gujarat AM. Shah The Denial of Caste in Modern Urban Parlance Agehananda Bharati The Caste System and its Future M.N. Srinivas

467 493 507 525

SECTION SIX: STRATIFICATION AND ETHNICITY Ethnic Group Distribution and Political Influence in South India Alan R. Beals

541

Contents

Ethnicity in Peninsular Malaysia: the Idiom of Communalism, Confrontation and Co-operation Manning Nash Social Stratification in the United States John U. Ogbu Class, Caste and Caste-ism Francis L.K. Hsu

xi

559 573 601

SECTION SEVEN: THE INTEGRATION OF CIVILIZATIONS Pluralism, Pilgrimage and National Unity in Sri Lanka Bryan Pfaffenberger Tourism and English National Identity: Corkaguiney and the Nilgiris Paul Hockings Germany and Hitler's Anti-Semitism Louis Dumont Caste and the Construction of Other-Worldly Civilizations S.N. Eisenstadt

619

633 653 681

Biographical Notes

699

Index

705

List of Tables

Table 1. Table 2. Table 3. Table 4. Table 5. Table 6. Table 7. Table 8. Table 9. Table 10.

Table 11. Table 12.

Table 13. Table 14. Table 15. Table 16. Table 17.

Table 18.

Population Statistics (Nalli) Nayar and Tanjore Smarta Brahmins Compared Toda Terminological Distinctions between Kinsmen and Potential Affines Population of Newburyport, 1790-1980 Crude death rates in intercensal periods 1911-20 to 1961-70 Crude death rates in rural and urban sectors from Sample Registration Survey data, 1968 to 1978 Expectation of life at birth (in years) for males and females in various intercensal decades Infant mortality rate in intercensal decades 1911-20 to 1961-70 Male and female infant mortality rates for rural and urban areas Probability of death from birth to ages 2, 3 and 5 years (q2, q3, and q5) for males and females in rural and urban areas, 1972 Caloric intake per capita per day in rural and urban areas, 1961-62 to 1972-76 Percentage of caloric intake from different food groups and protein intake per capita per day in rural and urban sectors, 1971-72 Measures of relative inequality in rural consumption expenditure, 1957-58 to 1973-74 Per capita income at 1960-61 prices (NCAER estimates), 1950-51 to 1960-61 (Rupees) Per capita income at 1960-61 prices (CSO estimates), 1960-61 to 1970-71 (Rupees) Per capita net domestic product at factor cost (at current prices), 1959-60 to 1975-76 (Rupees) Ranking (in descending order) of Kerala and West Bengal in estimated per capita consumption expenditure among major Indian states and comparison with all-India average expenditure, rural and urban areas, 1957-58 to 1967-68 Urban population as a percentage of total population, 1921-71

71 111 138

280 306 306 307 307 308

309 311

312 313 314 315 315

316 319

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List of Tables

Table 19. Table 20. Table 21. Table 22. Table 23. Table 24. Table 25. Table 26. Table 27.

Table 28. Table 29.

Table 30. Table 31. Table 32. Table 33. Table 34. Table 35.

Selected indexes of medical facilities in Kerala and West Bengal in the 1960s and 1970s. Per capita government expenditure on medical care and public health (Rupees) Number of patients treated in selected years Percentages of institutionalized births and deaths in rural and urban areas, 1964-65 Percentages of total births attended by trained personnel in rural and urban households, 1964-65 Percentage literate by sex, 1951,1961, and 1971 Estimates of crude death rates and percentage literate in the rural areas of the Districts of Kerala, 1971-73 Percentage of children enrolled in school among the total population of age 6-10 years, and 11-13 years, 1978 Percentages of educational expenditure on primary, secondary and university education, 1969-70,1970-71, 1975-76 and 1976-77 Female enrolment as a percentage of all enrolment, by class level, 1960-61,1973, and 1978 The percentage of individuals showing x-ray evidence of degeneration in the spine either as narrowing of the intervertebral disc or as hypertrophic changes in the vertebral bodies. Bhil tribesmen in central India, laborers in heavy industry in Sweden, laborers doing light work in San Francisco Diagnosis by Ethnicity Rank Order of Most to Least Disturbing Psychiatric Symptoms Distribution of Major Farming Jatis Selected Specialist Jatis and the Number of Villages in which Varying numbers of Households are Present Nationwide Special Education Placement for Specific Racial/Ethnic Groups Caste and Caste-ism in Four Societies

320 321 323 323 324 325 326 329 330 330

387 444 456 549 552 574

610

List of Diagrams

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

Access to Authority, Power, and Autonomy at Different Life Stages Haradi and some Kin Reckoning of Patri- and Matriclan Affiliations Example of Extra-lineal Marriage Prohibition Map 1 - The Mae Kok Region Map 2 - Lahushi Habitat Some Descendants of Aipu India: Houses with Centered Courtyards India and Kerala: Pertinent Areal-Related Names House Plans from North and Central India House Plans from Dravidian India Houses in Kerala Palaces in Kerala - I Palaces in Kerala - II Uttarakhand, comprising the present mountain districts of Uttar Pradesh, India: 1. Dehra Dun, 2. Tehri Garhwal, 3. Uttarkashi, 4. Pauri Garhwal, 5. Chamoli, 6. Naini Tal, 7. Almora, 8. Pithoragarh

42 55 140 141 178 182 185 224 225 226 239 248 250 254

347

David Mandelbaum and the Rise of South Asian Studies: A Reminiscence Milton B. Singer The period of my most intensive and continuous professional association with David Mandelbaum came during the years 1954 through 1958, when I was collaborating with Robert Redfield on his Ford Foundation-supported project in the comparison of civilizations. In Berkeley during the winter of 1954 and the winter and summer of 1956, in Chicago during briefer periods in 1954 and 1957, at the Behavioral Sciences Center in Stanford, during the year 1957-58, Mandelbaum and I were in almost daily contact and conversation. The main subject of our conversations was usually India and Indian civilization. After about two years (1951-53) of exploring general methods for comparing civilizations, as well as some preliminary studies of Chinese and Islamic civilizations, with the help of John Fairbank, Arthur Wright, and Gustav von Grünebaum, Robert Redfield decided to focus his project on Indian civilization. In order to prepare myself for a trip to India in 195455, I attended classes at the South Asia Regional Studies Program at the University of Pennsylvania during the fall of 1953, and then at the University of California, Berkeley, during the winter of 1954. David Mandelbaum's course on Peoples of India at Berkeley was a useful complement to Norman Brown's indological lectures at Pennsylvania and Stella Kramrisch's slideillustrated lectures there on Indian art. Anthropological approaches and interpretations were stressed in Mandelbaum's course, although he also called attention to classic traveller's accounts such as the Abb£ Dubois' Hindu Manners, Customs, and Ceremonies (1906). I remember speaking to Mandelbaum's research seminar about M.N. Srinivas' Coorg monograph (1952). I had begun to read the Srinivas book in Philadelphia, but it did not come alive until Mandelbaum gave me a copy of the book and an opportunity to read it carefully. I think that it was at this time that I first saw how Srinivas' conceptions of "Sanskritic Hinduism" and "Sanskritization" could be linked to Redfield's conception of a civilization as a historic structure of little and great cultural traditions, a perception that proved fruitful in my Madras studies. Not only David Mandelbaum's formal lectures and classes about India but also the informal discussions outside of class with him and the many scholars to whom he introduced me were a constant source of stimulation

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and information. Berkeley in 1954 and especially in the winter of 1956, when, through Mandelbaum's sponsorship, I returned as a Senior Research Anthropologist at the Institute of East Asiatic Studies, was a booming center for South Asianists. Robert Park and Irene Tinker (who were organizing a major conference on Political Leadership), Joan Bondurant, Margaret Fisher, John Gumperz, McKim Marriott, Murray B. Emeneau, Stanley and Ruth Freed, Alan Beals, were some of the people whom we met at that time. Their acessibility and the excellent library and bibliographic services made our stay in Berkeley very productive and pleasant. The presence too of Alfred and Theodora Kroeber, and Reinhard and Jane Bendix, added a mellow and friendly flavor to our experiences of Berkeley. When we returned to Chicago for the spring quarter of 1954, I had an opportunity to extend my knowledge of India by listening to a group of anthropologists discuss their respective village studies, as possible modes of entry to a study of Indian civilization. The papers of this seminar were later edited by McKim Marriott and published in book form as Village India: Studies in the Little Community (1955). David Mandelbaum spoke to the seminar about his interpretation of the Kota world and their world view. In fact, he and McKim Marriott helped me plan the seminar while I was still in Berkeley. Mandelbaum and Gitel Steed, also a participant in the Indian Village Seminar, contributed to a meeting in Chicago of India specialists in 1954 on needs and priorities in Indian studies. W. Norman Brown, Robert Crane, Chadbourne Gilpatrick of the Rockefeller Foundation, Daniel Ingalls, S.M. Katre from Deccan College in Poona, Richard Park, Gitel Steed and Phillips Talbot attended this meeting along with Robert Redfield and me. One of the practical by-products of this meeting was a recommendation urged by Park that an Association for South Asian Studies be formed within the framework of what was then the Far Eastern Association. Another important event which occurred in the Spring of 1954 in Chicago was a conference on cities organized by Professor Bert Hoselitz, the economist. When Hoselitz invited me to contribute a paper to the conference, I suggested that Redfield and I do a joint paper on "The Cultural Role of Cities", since the other invited papers emphasized demographic, economic, and sociological dimensions of urbanization. The suggestion was accepted by Hoselitz and Redfield. While I was still in Philadelphia in the Fall of 1953, Redfield sent me a first draft of the paper's kernel, the sections on "types of cities" and "the city and folk society". These sections included Redfield's typology of cities and his important distinction between the "orthogenetic" and "heterogenetic" transformation of cities. Drawing on Redfield's book The Primitive World and Its Transformations (1953), I expanded the paper to include a discussion of primary and secondary urbanization, their consequences for ethos, world view and personality, and the idea of progress. My

David Mandelbaum and the Rise of South Asian Studies

3

recently acquired knowledge of Indian civilization was deployed to illustrate several of Redfield's abstract formulations. Robert Redfield then polished this expanded second draft into a third and final draft, which was presented to the Chicago conference in May of 1954 for discussion and comment by Gustav von Grünebaum, Chauncy Harris, John Wilson and others. That 1954 Chicago meeting on the needs and priorities for Indian studies laid the groundwork for a closely related meeting in Poona in the Fall of 1954 at the Deccan Postgraduate College. At the invitation of Dr. S.M. Katre, Norman Brown and I co-chaired this meeting, which was attended by a small group of distinguished Indian scholars, as well as by some American specialists (for a summary of the discussions and the names of participants, see Katre 1955). My meeting in Poona with Dr. V. Raghavan, the distinguished Sanskritist of the University of Madras, led to an initial visit to Madras City in December of 1954, and to a return in 1955, 1960-61, and 1964, to pursue my research on the problem of what happened to the great tradition of Sanskritic Hinduism under conditions of modern urbanization and industrialization. I have already referred to my presence in Berkeley during the Winter of 1956 under the auspices of the Institute for East Asiatic Studies. On that occasion I participated in David Mandelbaum's South Asia research Seminar, which met at his home, to hear and discuss reports of current research. I reported on the Redfield project and my Madras observations along the lines published in my initial field report ("The Cultural Pattern of Indian Civilization", 1955), and received many helpful suggestions from Mandelbaum and other members of the seminar. The discussions, along with my archival research in the Berkeley library, enabled me to finish collecting the documentation I needed to begin analyzing and drafting the full report of my 195455 visit to Madras. I did not have an opportunity to finish the analysis and writing of that report until 1957-58, when beginning in the summer of 1957 I became a Fellow at the Center for Advanced Studies in the Behavioral Sciences, Stanford. David Mandelbaum, who also became a Fellow there in 1957-58, had suggested that I might submit the complete Madras study to the University of California Press. This plan was forestalled when Thomas A. Sebeok, then editor of The Journal of American Folklore, invited me to edit a special issue of the Journal on India. The opportunity to publish in one issue of the Journal, and then in a single book, most of the articles I had collected for the Redfield project seemed a more urgent obligation than to publish my monograph on Madras, about half of which I included in the Traditional India volume (1958, 1959) and all of which was eventually included in When a Great Tradition Modernizes ([1972] 1980). In 1957-58 the Behavioral Sciences Center was still young and experimental. Under the direction of Ralph Tyler, its routines were relaxed and per-

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missive. About fifty fellows a year were selected to come for a period of nine to twelve months, representing most of the social science disciplines and several of the humanities. They were expected to work on their own projects in their individual studies on the Center grounds, but there were no punch clocks and no monitoring of a fellow's activities. In the preceding year one shy fellow was said to have done his serious thinking while perched in a tree. Lunch was served daily at the Center and, weather permitting, was eaten out of doors. Coffee breaks, sherry hours, and evening lectures helped to relax the daily routine. A staff of secretaries and one or two statisticians were available to help the Fellows design, type and reproduce their "output". At the mock graduation which ended the 1957-58 year, an award was given for the largest number of pages produced by a fellow during the year. Kenneth Burke and Talcott Parsons tied for first place, an honor marked by an equal number of "hash-marks" on the sleeves of their graduating sweatshirts, where there were also marks for athletics, etc. Since the Fellows lived within a few miles' radius of the Center, in Stanford, Palo Alto, Los Altos Hills and other suburbs, there was also a fair amount of social visiting and mutual entertaining, especially at the beginning of the year when the image of one big happy family prevailed. This practice gradually settled into a pattern of seeing a few friends regularly and the rest of the Fellows rarely or not at all. Because the process of selecting Fellows aimed to group those in any given year in clusters of converging or overlapping interests, such groups were expected to organize seminars and workshops on problems of special interest to their work. Outside specialists would also be occasionally invited to participate in these seminars, especially if their financing was nominal or could be arranged from outside sources. These seminars were usually open to all Fellows in residence. David Mandelbaum and I collaborated in 1957-58 on organizing and cochairing a seminar on the comparative study of civilizations. It met for about two hours twice a week in the late afternoons through February and March of 1958, to discuss papers circulated in advance of each meeting. The subject matter and format of the seminar was patterned after the Comparison of Cultures seminars which Robert Redfield and I had offered at least once a year since 1951 at Chicago. In fact, Redfield and several other participants in the Chicago seminars or in Redfield's Comparative Civilizations project also participated in the Center seminar. Redfield opened the seminar with a paper and discussion of "Civilizations as things thought about: anthropological approaches" in two sessions. Alfred Kroeber, who had come from Berkeley with his wife Theodora for the duration of the seminars, followed Redfield with a discussion of two papers, "The Role of Style in Comparative Civilizations" and "History and Anthropology in the Study of Civilizations".

David Mandelbaum

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The Swedish scoiologist, Boeije Hanssen, who was a Center Fellow, took two sessions to discuss "Peasantry and Gentry in Sweden". Two other regular Center Fellows presented papers; Ethel Albert spoke on "the World-view and complex Value-system of Urundi, Africa", and Charles Wagley on "Values and Ideal Patterns in Brazilian Family Life". Arthur Wright, who was then teaching at Stanford, prepared a paper and led a discussion on "The Study of Chinese Civilization". He was followed by the Indian geographer and anthropologist, Nirmal Kumar Bose on "East and West in Bengal". The last of the formal papers was presented and discussed by Gustav von Grünebaum on "The Analysis of Islamic Civilization (and Cultural Anthropology)". While there was general discussion of issues at each session by Joseph Ben David, Crane Brinton, Louis Gottschalk, Ward Goodenough, Dell Hymes, Talcott Parsons, John Tukey and other participating Fellows, two final meetings of the seminar were set aside for an analysis of the preceding discussions. On March 25 Kroeber brought for discussion a concise statement on "Holism and World View" in which he formulated some relations between holistic conceptions of "world view," "value system", "ideal pattern", and "self-image" suggested by the preceding discussions. Redfield, who had already returned to Chicago by then, responded almost by return mail when he received Kroeber's statement with an expression of pleasure and partial agreement; (see Kroeber 1963; Singer 1976) In the last session of the seminar on March 27, David Mandelbaum and I each attempted to summarize the results of the seminar and raised some questions about unresolved issues. One unresolved issue mentioned by Mandelbaum was the validity of a holistic approach to a comparative study of civilizations. He said that "in the privileged communication of the coffee hour" some scepticism was expressed about trying to study "the great amorphous hazy entities called civilizations" before learning about the parts in a piece-meal procedure. Mandelbaum defended the holistic and comparative approach by pointing out that it may well give us a better way of looking at the parts, and also that it gave him new questions to ask about his own studies. He was at the time just beginning his monumental book on Indian society (1970). Mandelbaum's defense of a comparative, holistic study of civilizations was vigorously supported by Talcott Parsons and Alfred Kroeber, among others. The participation of Kroeber and Parsons in this seminar, and their conversations at the Center, led, I believe, to their joint article on the complementarity of the concept of culture and society (Kroeber and Parsons 1958). In spite of the originality, distinction and high quality of the seminar papers and discussions, which were taken down and typed, efforts to arrange their publication as a symposium were unsuccessful. One university press, after considerable indecision, turned down the project on the grounds that

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David Mandelbaum

and the Rise of South Asian

Studies

symposium volumes were not generally profitable publication ventures. Eventually all the papers were published, either as journal articles or in collections of the author's works. Yet the seminar as a whole was different from and greater than the sum of the individual parts. Tracking down the individual papers in scattered journals and books cannot recover the dramatic confrontations and comparisons of different civilizations within a forum of different disciplines seeking to talk to one another. The Redfield project indeed aimed to break down the barriers of language and discipline to a dialogue of civilizations. Fortunately, the anti-holistic scepticism of the coffee hour did not prevent the publication of other project experiments in a conversation of cultures. The comparative civilizations seminar was not the only occasion on which Mandelbaum and I met at the Center. We also shared an interest in the relations of anthropology and psychology in American Studies, and participated in seminars and discussions dealing with this subject. I believe David was working on the question of sampling in national character studies at the time. I discussed with him, with Kroeber, and with John Tukey some aspects of this problem while I was writing the long paper on "Culture and Personality Theory and Research" (Singer 1961). After 1957-58, Mandelbaum and I met a number of times in Berkeley, Chicago, and Delhi and other places. Helen and I have remained friendly with Ruth and David over the years. Yet our relationship has never again achieved the creative intensity of those magical years just before and after my first trip to India, and during the 1957-58 seminars at the Behavioral Sciences Center.

References Dubois, Jean-Antoine 1906 Hindu Manners, Customs and Ceremonies, trans, by Henry K. Beauchamp (3rd ed., Oxford: Clarendon Press). Grünebaum, Gustav Edmund von 1962 "The Analysis of Islamic Civilization (and Cultural Anthropology)", Modern Islam: the Search for Cultural Identity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press). Katre, Sumitra Mangesh 1955 Interdisciplinary Indian Studies (Summary Report) (Poona: Deccan College Postgraduate and Research Institute). Kroeber, Alfred Louis 1963 An Anthropologist Looks at History, edited by Theodora Kroeber (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press).

David Mandelbaum

and the Rise of South Asian Studies

7

Kroeber, Alfred Louis, and Talcott Parsons 1958 "The Concept of Culture and Social System", American Sociological Review 23: 582-583. Mandelbaum, David Goodman 1970 Society in India (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press). Marriott, McKim (ed.) 1955 Village India: Studies in the Little Community (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Park, Richard L., and Irene Tinker 1959 Leadership and Political Institutions in India (Princeton: Princeton University Press). Redfield, Robert 1953 The Primitive World and its Transformations (Ithaca: Cornell University Press). Redfield, Robert, and Milton B. Singer 1954 "The Cultural Role of Cities", Economic Development and Cultural Change 3: 53-73. Singer, Milton B. 1955 "The Cultural Pattern of Indian Civilization", Far Eastern Quarterly 15: 25-36. 1958/59 Traditional India: Structure and Change, edited by Milton B. Singer (Philadelphia: American Folklore Society). 1961 "A Survey of Culture and Personality Theory and Research", Studying Personality Cross-Culturally, edited by Bert Kaplan (Evanston, 111.: Row, Peterson), 9-90. 1972 When A Great Tradition Modernizes: An Anthropological Approach to Indian Civilization (New York: Praeger Publishers; 1980 reissue at Chicago: University of Chicago Press). 1976 "Robert Redfield's Development of a Social Anthropology of Civilizations", American Anthropology: The Early Years, edited by John Victor Murra (Minneapolis: West Publishing Co.), 187-260. Srinivas, Mysore Narasimhachar 1952 Religion and Society among the Coorgs of South India (Oxford: Clarendon Press).

David G. Mandelbaum: Fifty Years of Scholarship, 1936-1986

Here is a complete bibliography of Professor Mandelbaum's writings to date: 1936a "Friendship in North America", Man 36: 205-206. b Review of Leonard Bloomfield, Plains Cree Texts. American Anthropologist 38: 114-115. c "A Study of the Jews of Urbana", Jewish Social Service Quarterly 13: 223-232. 1937a "Boom Periods in the History of an Indian Tribe", Social Forces 16: 117-119. b Review of Anathnath Chatterjee and Tarakchandra Das, The Hos of Seraikella. American Anthropologist 39: 543-544. c "The Indian Science Congress", Asiatic Review 33: 398-402. 1938a "Polyandry in Kota Society", American Anthropologist 40: 574-583. b Summary of 1938a, in Proceedings of the Twenty-Fifth Indian Science Congress, Calcutta, 1938 (Silver Jubilee Session). Part III Abstracts, (Calcutta: Royal Asiatic Society of Bengal [ 1 9 3 9 ] ) , 197-198. 1939a "Agricultural Ceremonies among Three Tribes of Travancore" Ethnos 4: 114-128. b "The Jewish Way of Life in Cochin", Jewish Social Studies 1: 423460. c Correspondence Course in Anthropology. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Extension Division). 1940a "The Art of Primitive Peoples", Primitive Art (Minneapolis: University Art Gallery), 3-7, 16-35. b The Plains Cree (= Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History 37, pt. II) (New York: American Museum of Natural History). c "New Roots for Refugees", Notes and News (New York) no. 62, June 11: 9-10. d "Geronimo", Re-America (Minneapolis) 1:8-9. 1941a "Culture Change among the Nilgiri Tribes", American Anthropologist 43: 19-26. b "Edward Sapir", Jewish Social Studies 3: 131-140. c "Social Trends and Personal Pressures, The Growth of a Culture Pattern", Language, Culture, and Personality: Essays in Memory of Edward Sapir, edited by Leslie Spier, Alfred Irving Hallowell, and Stanley Stewart Newman (Menasha, Wis.: Sapir Memorial Publication Fund), 219-238. 1942a Review of L. Krishna Anantha Krishna Iyer, The Travancore Castes

10

David G. Mandelbaum:

Fifty

Years of Scholarship,

1936-1986

and Tribes, American Anthropologist 44: 135-136. b "Basic Concepts in Anthropology", Essays in Anthropology Presented to Rai Bahadur Sarat Chandra Roy, edited by James Philip Mills, Kshitis Prasad Chattopadhayay, Biraja Sankar Guha et al. (Lucknow: Maxwell Co.), 11-18. 1943a "Wolf-Child Histories from India", Journal of Social Psychology 17: 25-44. b Review of Elsie Clews Parsons, Pueblo Indian Religion, Journal of American Folk-Lore 56: 76-77. c Review of L. Krishna Anantha Krishna Iyer, The Travancore Castes and Tribes, vols. 2 and 3, Journal of the American Oriental Society 61: 290. 1946a Review of John Clark Archer, The Sikhs, American Historical Review 51: 716-717. b Review of Sir George Raleigh Parkin, India Today, an Introduction to Indian Politics, Far Eastern Survey 15: 271. c Review of Khanderao Jagannath Save, The Warlis, American Anthropologist 48: 639-640. 1947a Review of John Henry Hutton, Caste in India, Middle East Journal 1: 343-344. b "Hindu-Moslem Conflict in India", Middle East Journal 1: 369-385. c Review of Tarakchandra Das, The Purums, an Old Kuki Tribe of Manipur, American Anthropologist 49: 108-109. 1948a "Clark Wissler", Science 107: 338-339. b Review of Dhirendra Nath Majumdar, The Matrix of Indian Culture, Social Forces 26: 473-474. c "The Family in India", Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 4: 123-139. d "Ceremony in Gwalior", Pacific Sepectator 2: 262-277. 1949a Materials for a Bibliography of the Ethnology of India (Berkeley: University of California, mimeographed), b "Population Problems in India and Pakistan", Far Eastern Survey 18: 283-287. c Review of Richard Olof Winstedt, ed., Indian Art, American Anthropologist 51: 478. d Editor, Selected Writings of Edward Sapir (Berkeley: University of California Press). e Review of Demitri Boris Shimkin, Childhood and Development among the Wind River Shoshone, American Journal of Psychiatry 105: 877. f Reprinting of 1948c in The Family: Its Function and Destiny, edited by Ruth Nanda Anshen (New York: Harper), 93-110. 1950a "Pacification in Burma" (with E.M. Law Yone), Far Eastern Survey 19: 182-187. b "The New Nation of Burma" (with E.M. Law Yone), Far Eastern Survey 19: 189-194.

David G. Mandelbaum:

Fifty

Years of Scholarship,

1936-1986

11

c "The Indian Tribes of North America", Kroeber Anthropological Society Papers (Berkeley; mimeographed) 2: 51-78. Also in Collier's Encyclopedia with Bibliography and Index edited by Frank Webster Price, Charles Patrick Barry et al. (New York: Collier), 10: 453-489. d Review of three Deccan College Monographs, by Hashmukh Dhirajlal Sankalia, N.G. Dikshit, and Bendapudi Subbarao, Journal of the American Oriental Society 70: 324. e Review of Anthony Gilchrist McCall, Lushai Chrysalis, Land of Tranquility and Upheaval, Journal of the American Oriental Society 70: 323. 1951a "Upset in Nepal", The Story of Our Time, Encyclopedia Year Book, 1951, edited by Ellen Veronica McLoughlin (New York: Grolier Society, Inc. and Richards Co.), 114-116. b Review of Lawrence Kaelter Rosinger, India and the United States, American Historical Review 56: 356-357. c Social and Psychological Aspects of Military Service, Bibliography, 1940-1950 (Berkeley: University of California; dittoed). 1952a Soldier Groups and Negro Soldiers (Berkeley: University of California Press). b "Technology, Credit, and Culture in an Indian Village", Human Organization 11, no. 3: 28. Reprinted in The Economic Weekly (Bombay) 4: 827-828. c "Note on Kingsley Davis, The Population of India and Pakistan", American Anthropologist 54: 106. d Review of Stephen Fuchs, The Children of Hari; a Study of the Nimar Balahis in the Central Provinces of India, American Anthropologist 54: 397-399. e Review of Alfred W. Bowers, Mandan Social and Ceremonial Organization, American Anthropologist 54: 78-79. 1953a "A Guide to Books on India", American Political Science Review 46: 1154-1166. b "On the Study of National Character", American Anthropologist 55: 174-187. c "University Museums", American Anthropologist 55: 755-759. d Review of Alfred Louis Kroeber, Chairman, Anthropology Today, Man 53: 135-136. e Review of Adrian Curtius Mayer, Land and Society in Malabar, Pacific Affairs 26: 182-183. 1954a "Planning and Social Change in India", Human Organization 12, no. 1: 4-12 [Fall 1953], b "Form, Variation, and Meaning of a Ceremony", Method and Perspective in Anthropology, Papers in Honor of Wilson D. Wallis, edited by Robert Francis Spencer (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press), 60-102. c "Social Organization and Planned Culture Change in India," Economic Weekly 6: 579-581.

12

David G. Mandelbaum: Fifty Years of Scholarship,

1936-1986

d 37 sections on the ethnology of India in The New Century Cyclopedia of Names, edited by Clarence Lewis Barnhart (New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts), 3 vols., passim. e "Fertility of Early Years of Marriage in India", Ghurye Felicitation Volume, edited by Kanaiyalal Motilal Kapadia (Bombay: Gem Printing Works and Popular Book Depot), 150-168. 1955a "Psychiatry in Military Society - I", Human Organization 13, no. 3: 5-15. b "Psychiatry in Military Society — II", Human Organization 13, no. 4: 19-25. c Change and Continuity in Jewish Life (Glencoe, 111.: Plotkin Library, North Shore Congregation Israel), d "The World and the World View of the Kota", Village India, Studies in the Little Community, edited by McKim Marriott (Chicago: University of Chicago Press), 223-254. Reprinted in American Anthropological Association Memoir 85: 223-254. e "A Nineteenth Century Development Project in India: the Cotton Improvement Program" (with Seth Leacock), Economic Development and Cultural Change 3: 334-351. f "Segregation and the Armed Forces", Contemporary Social Issues, edited by Raymond Lawrence Lee et al. (New York: Crowell), 354-542. (Excerpts from 1952a.) g "Social Organization and Planned Culture Change in India", India's Villages, edited by Mysore Narasimhachar Srinivas (Calcutta: West Bengal Government Press), 13-18. (Reprint of 1954c.) h "Technology, Credit, and Culture in a Nilgiri Village", India's Villages, edited by Mysore Narasimhachar Srinivas (Calcutta: West Bengal Government Press), 93-95. (Reprint of 1952b.) i "The Study of Complex Civilizations", Yearbook of Anthropology - 1955, edited by William Leroy Thomas, Jr. (New York: WennerGren Foundation), 203-225. 1956a "Comments on Intercultural Education", Journal of Social Issues 12: 45-51. b Review of Shyama Charan Dube, Indian Village, American Anthropologist 58: 579-580. c "Social Groupings", Man, Culture, and Society, edited by Harry Lionel Shapiro (New York: Oxford University Press), 286-309. d "The Study of Complex Civilizations", Current Anthropology, edited by William Leroy Thomas, Jr. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press), 203-225. (Reprint of 1955i.) e Editor, Edward Sapir: Culture, Language, and Personality (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press), f "The Kotas in Their Social Setting", Introduction to the Civilization of India, edited by Robert Redfield and Milton B. Singer (Chicago: The College, University of Chicago), 288-332. (Also published as a separate booklet, 45 pp.)

David G. Mandelbaum:

Fifty Years of Scholarship,

1936-1986

13

1957a "The Kotas", Yearbook of the American Philosophical Society, 1957: 275-278 [ 1 9 5 8 ] , b The System of Caste in India: Part I. Social Order. (Berkeley: University of California; multilith). 1958a "Sapir, Edward", Dictionary of American Biography, vol. 11, pt. 2, Supplement Two to December 31,1940, edited by Robert Livingston Schuyler and Edward Topping James (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons), 593-594. b Reprinting of 1955c in The Jews: Social Patterns of an American Group, edited by Marshall Sklare(Glencoe, 111.: Free Press), 509-519. c The System of Caste in India: Part II. Regular Variations. (Berkeley: University of California; multilith.) d "Concepts of Civilization and Culture", Encyclopaedia Britannica (Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica Inc.), 5: 741-743 e "Badaga", Encyclopaedia Britannica (Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica Inc.), 2: 912. f "Kotas", Encyclopaedia Britannica (Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica Inc.), 13: 496. g " T o d a " , Encyclopaedia Britannica (Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica Inc.), 22: 266. h "The Social Uses of Funeral Rites", Eastern Anthropologist 12: 5-24. 1959a Review of Raymond William Firth, ed., Man and Culture: an Evaluation of the Work of Bronislaw Malinowski, American Anthropologist 61: 1099-1103. b "Concepts and Methods in the Study of Caste", Economic Weekly 11: 145-149. (Reprinted in Proceedings of the Regional Seminar in Techniques of Social Research (Calcutta: UNESCO Centre), 127132. c Review of Shyama Charan Dube, India's Changing Villages, American Anthropologist 61: 699-700. d "The Social Uses of Funeral Rites", The Meaning of Death, edited by Herman Feifel (New York: McGraw-Hill Book Co., Inc.), 189217. e "Kotas of a Nilgiri Village", Rural Sociology in India, edited by Akshayakumar Ramanlal Desai (Bombay: Vora and Co. and the Indian Society of Agricultural Economics), 245-247. (Revision of 1955h.) f Reprinting of 1954c in Rural Sociology in India, edited by Akshayakumar Ramanlal Desai (Bombay: Vora and Co. and the Indian Society of Agricultural Economics), 389-392. g Reprinting of 1948c in The Family: Its Function and Destiny, 2nd ed., edited by Ruth Nanda Anshen (New York: Harper), 167187. 1960a "A Reformer of his People", In the Company of Man, edited by Joseph Bartholomew Casagrande (New York: Harper and Bros.), 273-308. (Reprinted as Center for South Asia Studies Reprint No.

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David G. Mandelbaum: Fifty Years of Scholarship,

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13, Berkeley: University of California), b The Teaching of Anthropology in the United States (New York: Wenner-Gren Foundation Summer Symposia Program; multilith). c "Social Trends and Personal Pressures", Anthropology of Folk Religion, edited by Charles Miller Leslie (New York: Vintage Books), 221-255. (Enlarged version of 1941c.) d Review of Adrian Curtius Mayer, Caste and Kinship in Central India, and Edmund Ronald Leach, ed., Aspects of Caste in South India, Ceylon and North-West Pakistan, American Anthropologist 62: 891-894. e Reprinting of 1955g in India's Villages, edited by Mysore Narasimhachar Srinivas (2nd ed., Bombay: Asia Publishing House), 15-20. f Reprinting of 1955h in India's Villages, edited by Mysore Narasimhachar Srinivas (2nd ed., Bombay: Asia Publishing House), 103-105. g "Social Perception and Scriptural Theory in Indian Caste", Culture in History, Essays in Honor of Paul Radin, edited by Stanley Diamond (New York: Columbia University Press), 437-448. 1961a "Comments on Studies of Complex Societies", Current Anthropology 2: 214-215. b Review of Zekiye Suleyman Eglar, A Punjabi Village in Pakistan, Man 61: 199-200(no. 238). c "The World and the World View of theÄota", Social Structure and Personality, a Casebook, edited by Yehudi Aryeh Cohen (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston), 300-309. (Abridgement of 1955d.) d "Report on Teaching Conference", Current Anthropology 2: 508509. e "Anthropology in High Schools", Fellow Newsletter (Washington) 2, no. 8: 2-3. f "Culture Change and Social Conflict", The Challenge of the 60's (Palo Alto: Palo Alto Unified School District), 101-111. 1962a "Role Variation in Caste Relations", Indian Anthropology: Essays in Memory of D.N. Majumdar, edited by Triloki Nath Madan and Gopala Sarana (Bombay: Asia Publishing House), 310-324. b Review of McKim Marriott, Caste Ranking and Community Structure in Five Regions of India and Pakistan, Journal of Asian Studies 21: 434-436. c Reprinting of 1941 a in Bobbs-Merrill Reprint Series in Anthropology A-l 52 (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill Publishing Co. Inc.) d "Leslie Spier (Obituary)", Eastern Anthropologist 15: 172-175. e Review of Nirmal Kumar Bose, Cultural Anthropology, Eastern Anthropologist 15: 184-185. f "The Interplay of Conformity and Diversity", Man and Civilization: Conflict and Creativity, a Symposium edited by Seymour M. Färber and Roger H.L. Wilson (New York: McGraw-Hill Book Co., Inc.), 241-252. 1963a "The Transmission of Anthropological Culture", The Teaching of

David G. Mandelbaum: Fifty Years of Scholarship, 1936-1986

b c

d e f g

h i

1964a

b c

d e 1965a b c

d e

15

Anthropology, edited by David Goodman Mandelbaum, Ethel M. Albert, and Gabriel Ward Lasker (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press), 1-21. "A Design for a Curriculum", The Teaching of Anthropology, 49-64 (see 1963c). Co-editor, with Ethel M. Albert and Gabriel Ward Lasker, The Teaching of Anthropology and Resources for the Teaching of Anthropology (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press). Section Introductions in The Teaching of Anthropology, 25-26, 125-126,18M82,219-221,335-337,405-407, 555-558 (see 1963c). Review of Ake G.B. Hultkrantz, General Ethnological Concepts, American Anthropologist 65: 140-141. "Youth and Cultural Influences", Community Enlightenment Series on Youth (Berkeley: Berkeley Board of Education), 39-48. "Foreword", Behind Mud Walls 1930-1960, by William Henricks Wiser and Charlotte Melina Viall Wiser (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press), v-xii. Review of Leslie A. White, The Ethnography and Ethnology of Franz Boas, American Anthropologist 65: 1 136-1 139. Comments in Man and Civilization: The Potential of Women, a Symposium, edited by Seymour M. Färber and Roger H.L. Wilson (New York: McGraw-Hill Book Co. Inc.), 273-282. "Introduction: Process and Structure in South Asian Religion", Journal of Asian Studies 23: 5-20. Reprinted in Religion in South Asia, edited by Edward Burnett Harper (Seattle: University of Washington Press), 5-20. "Religion in India and Ceylon: Some New Formulations", Economic Weekly 16: 219-228. (Abridgement of 1964a.) Comments in Alcohol and Civilization, edited by Salvatore Pablo Lucia (New York: McGraw-Hill Book Co., Inc.), 242-252, 31 1-319, 321-323, 326-331, 335-338. Review of Herman Max Gluckman, ed., Essays in Social Relations, American Anthropologist 66: 1182-1184. Review of Mysore Narasimhachar Srinivas, Caste in Modern India, American Anthropologist 66: 1427-1429. Economic Development as Cultural Evolution (New Delhi: India International Centre Publications), Social Anthropology in India (New Delhi: India International Centre Publications). "Inclinazioni Sociali e Pressioni Personali", Uomo e Mito nelle Societa Primitive, edited by Charles Miller Leslie (Florence: Sansoni), 243-284. (Trans, of 1960c.) "Verrier Elwin 1902-1964: The Tribal World of Verrier Elwin", American Anthropologist 67: 448-452. "Anthropology as Study and as Career", Listen to Leaders in

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David G. Mandelbaum: Fifty Years of Scholarship,

f g

1966a b c

1967a

b

c d e

1968a

b

c

d e f g

1936-1986

Science, edited by Albert Love and James Saxon Childers (Atlanta: Tupper and Love), 177-192. "Alcohol and Culture", Current Anthropology 6: 281-292. "Social Uses of Funeral Rites", Death and Identity, edited by Robert Lester Fulton (New York: Wiley), 338-360. (Revised version of 1959d.) "Transcendental and Pragmatic Aspects of Religion", American Anthropologist 68: 1174-1191. (Revised version of 1964a.) Review of Harold R. Isaacs, The Ex-Untouchables, American Anthropologist 68: 1537-1538. "Une Riformatore del suo Popolo", La Ricerca Antropologica, Venta Studi sulle Societä Primitive, edited by Joseph Bartholomew Casagrande (Turin: Piccolo Biblioteca Elnaudi), 2: 355-396. (Trans, of 1960a.) Co-editor with Ethel M. Albert and Gabriel Ward Lasker, The Teaching of Anthropology, abridged edition (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press), "Pattern and Culture Area: Maintaining the Family Cycle in India", American Historical Anthropology: Essays in Honor of Leslie Spier, edited by Carroll Laverne Riley and Walter Willard Taylor (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press), 101-122. "Some Meanings of Kinship in Village India", Economic and Political Weekly 2: 237-240. Anthropology and People: The World of the Plains Cree (= University Lecture No. 12) (Saskatoon: University of Saskatchewan), Reprinting of 1941a in Beyond the Frontier: Social Process and Cultural Change, edited by Paul Bohannan and Frederick T. Plog (New York: The Natural History Press), 199-208. "Family, Jati, Village", Structure and Change in Indian Society, edited by Milton B. Singer and Bernard Samuel Cohn (Chicago: Aldine), 29-50. (Reprinted as Viking Fund Publications in Anthropology 47.) "Cultural Anthropology", International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, edited by David Lawrence Sills (New York: Macmillan Company and the Free Press), 1: 313-319. "Sapir, Edward: Contributions to Cultural Anthropology", International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, edited by David Lawrence Sills (New York: Macmillan Company and the Free Press), 14: 9-13. "Status-Seeking in Indian Villages", Trans-Action 5: 48-52. "Modernization in South Asia Studies" (with Alice Stone Ilchman), Asian Survey 7: 517-518. "Violence in America, an Anthropological Perspective", Economic and Political Weekly 3: 237-240. "Nilgiri People of India: an End to Old Ties", Vanishing Peoples of the Earth, edited by Robert L. Breeden etal. (Washington: National Geographic Society), 76-91.

David G. Mandelbaum: Fifty Years of Scholarship, 1936-1986 1969

1970a

b 1971a

b

c

1972a

b c d e 1973a b c d 1974a

b 1975a

b

17

"Social Groupings", Readings in Introductory Anthropology; Evolution, Human Paleontology, Physical Anthropology and the Beginnings of Culture, edited by Richard Gibbs Emerick (Berkeley: McCutchan Publishing Corp.), 77-94. (Reprinting of 1956c.) Society in India (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press) (Vol. I Continuity and Change; Vol. II Change and Continuity.) "The Life History of Gandhi", The Banasthali Patrika 6: 3-18. Rajasthan: Banasthali Vidyapath. "Methods in Cultural Anthropology", Anthropology Today, Gerald Duane Berreman et ah, consultants (Del Mar, Calif.: CRM Inc.), 325-337. "Social Groupings", Readings in General Anthropology, edited by Lowell Don Holmes (New York: Ronald Press), 385-401. (Reprinting of 1956c.) "Social Groupings", Man, Culture, and Society, edited by Harry Lionel Shapiro (New York: Oxford University Press), 358-381. (Revised version of 1956c.) "Alcohol and Culture", Cross-Cultural Studies in Behavior, edited by Ihsan Al-Issa and Wayne Dennis (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston), 529-547. (Reprinting of 1965f.) Review of Gandhi and Social Science, edited by Lalita Prasad Vidyarthi et al., American Anthropologist 74: 1376-1377. "Curing and Religion in South Asia", Journal of the Indian Anthropological Society 5: 171-186. Reprinting of 1970a (Bombay: Popular Prakashan), 2 vols, Reprinting of 1968b and 1968c. (New York: Macmillan Company and the Free Press). "Social Components of Fertility in India", Economic and Political Weekly 8: 151-172. "The Study of Life History: Gandhi", Current Anthropology 14: 177-206. "Badaga", Encyclopaedia Britannica 2: 1013-1014 (Chicago: Encylopaedia Britannica Inc.). (Revised version of 1958e.) "Toda", Encyclopaedia Britannica 22: 49-50 (Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica Inc.). (Revised version of 1958g.) Human Fertility in India: Social Components and Policy Perspectives (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press; Delhi etc.: Oxford University Press), "Some Effects of Population Growth in India on Social Interaction and Religion", Society and Culture 5: 65-104. "Variations on a Theme by Ruth Benedict", Psychological Anthropology, edited by Thomas Rhys Williams (The Hague: Mouton Publishers), 45-57. Reprinting of 1974b in Responses to Population Growth in India, edited by Marcus F. Franda (New York: Praeger), 62-91.

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David G. Mandelbaum:

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1936-1986

c Review of A Survey of Research in Sociology and Social Anthropology, Journal of Asian Studies 34: 247-249. d "Social Stratification among the Jews of Cochin in India and in Israel", Jewish Journal of Sociology 17: 165-210. 1976a Comment on Mukherjee, Current Anthropology 17: 87. b "Social Uses of Funeral Rites", Death and Identity, 2nd ed., edited by Robert Lester Fulton (Bowie, Md.: Charles Press), 344-363. (Revised version of 1965g.) c "Foreword", Aspects of Changing India, edited by S. Devadas Pillai (Bombay: Popular Prakashan), 5-7. d "Some Grounds for Belief", Anthropology and Humanism Quarterly 2: 4. 1977a "Beliefs and Births", Hemisphere (Canberra) 21: 26. b "Fertility, Society, F o o d " . (Boston: Cebar Productions; tape cassette of talk given at meetings of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, 1977.) c "Planning and Social Change in India", Anthropology and the Development Process, edited by Hari Mohan Mathur (Delhi: Vikas Publishing House), 70-87. (Reprinting of 1954a.) d "Caste and Community among the Jews of Cochin", Caste among Non-Hindus in India, edited by Harinder Singh (New Delhi: National Publishing House), 107-140. e "Ethnology as Science and Art", Economic and Political Weekly 12: 1539-1544. 1978a "A Village Called Rampura: Remembrance, Annotations, Comparisons", Contributions to Indian Sociology 12: 15-32. b "The Potentials of Anthropology", Anthropology for the Future, edited by Demitri Boris Shimkin et al. (= Research Report 4, Dept. of Anthropology) (Urbana-Champaign: University of Illinois), 24-41. c "New Directions for South Asian Anthropology", American Studies in the Anthropology of India, edited by Sylvia Jane Dutra Vatuk (New Delhi: Manohar Books), 1-24. 1979a The Plains Cree, an Ethnographic, Historical, and Comparative Study (= Canadian Plains Studies 9) (Regina: Canadian Plains Research Centre, University of Saskatchewan). (Enlarged version of 1940b.) b "Fertility, Society, and Food in India", Contributions to Asian Studies 13: 157-176. (Revised version of 1977b.) c Reprinting of 1972a in Behavior, Beliefs, and Alcoholic Beverages, a Cross-Cultural Survey, edited by Mac Marshall (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press), 14-29. d "Memorial to Theodora Kroeber Quinn", Journal of California and Great Basin Anthropology 1: 237-239. e Comments on Attwood, Current Anthropology 20: 513. 1980a "Anthropological Concepts and Applied Projects: Influences and Consequences", Practising Anthropology 2: 5-6, 20-22.

David G. Mandelbaum: Fifty Years of Scholarship, 1936-1986

19

b "Anthropology and the Challenges of Development", Economic and Political Weekly 15: 1898-1900. c "Kulturelle Bedingungen und Funktionen des Alkoholkonsums", Psychopathologie im Kulturvergleich, edited by Wolfgang Μ. Pfeiffer and Wolfgang Schoene (Stuttgart: F. Enke Verlag), 116-131. (Trans, of 1965f.) d "The Todas in Time Perspective", Reviews in Anthropology 7: 279-302. 1981a "A Case History of Judaism: Jews of Cochin in India and in Israel", Jewish Tradition in the Diaspora, edited by Mishael Caspi (Berkeley: Magnes Museum), 211-230. b "Prince Peter of Greece and Denmark 1908-1980", American Anthropologist 83: 616-617. c "Transnatural Curing", The Social and Cultural Context of Medicine in India, edited by Giri Raj Gupta (New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House), 237-265. d "Anthropology and the Challenges of Development", Ideas and Trends in World Anthropology, edited by Charles Eugene Frantz (New Delhi: Concept Publishers), 27-36. e "The Study of Life History", Field Research: A Sourcebook and Field Manual, edited by Robert G. Burgess (London & Boston: G. Allen Unwin), 146-151. 1982a "The Nilgiris as a Region", Economic and Political Weekly 17: 1459-1467. b "Some Shared Ideas", Crisis in Anthropology: View from Spring Hill, 1980, edited by Edward Adamson Hoebel, Richard L. Currier, and Susan Kaiser (New York: Garland Publishing),-35-50. c Resources for the Teaching of Anthropology, edited by David Goodman Mandelbaum, Ethel M. Albert, and Gabriel Ward Lasker (Westport, Ct.: Greenwood Press). (Reprinting of 1963c.) 1984a "Anthropology for the Nuclear Age", Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists 40: 11-15. b "Anthropology for the Second Stage of the Nuclear Age", Economic and Political Weekly 19: 1584-1587. (Expanded version of 1984a.) c Translation into Hebrew of 1975d, From Cochin to the Land of Israel, edited by Shalva Weil (Jerusalem: Kumu Berina), 60-91. 1986 New edition of 1949d, with new Foreword by the author. *

Completed but not yet published: a Women's Seclusion and Men's Honor. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. b "Development Disdained and Development Entrained: The Cases of the Toda Tribe and Kerala State in South Asia", (to appear in a Festschrift in Honor of M.N. Srinivas) c "Sex Roles and Gender Relations in India" (to appear in 1987 in a volume of papers from the Canvas of Culture Conference, Smithsonian Institution, June 1985)

David G. Mandelbaum: Fifty Years of Scholarship,

1936-1986

d "The Nilgiris as a Region", Blue Mountains: The Ethnography and Biogeography of a South Indian Region, edited by Paul Edward Hockings (New Delhi: Oxford University Press). (Revised version of 1982a.) e "The Kotas", Blue Mountains: The Ethnography and Biogeography of a South Indian Region, edited by Paul Edward Hockings (New Delhi: Oxford University Press). (Revised version of 1956f.) f "The Human Capacity for Peace" g "Myths and Myth Makers: Some Anthropological Appraisals of the Mythological Studies of C. Levi-Strauss" h "Folklore as Communication in Civilizations"

I

Family, Kinship and Personhood

Authority, Power and Autonomy in the Life Cycle of the North Indian Woman Sylvia J. Vatuk

Within the past decade there has been a spate of scholarship dealing with social roles and the social status of women in various cultures around the world; like colleagues working elsewhere, anthropologists and other social scientists in the South Asia field have recently begun in considerable numbers to try to define, analyze, and explain the complexities of the female condition in the societies of the Indian subcontinent. A review of cross-cultural literature, as well as of that dealing specifically with South Asia, reveals that a leading concern of scholars has been to document and account for what is very widely agreed to be the "domination" or "dominance" of men over women in most human societies.1 This concern is most often phrased in terms of the "status" of women within a particular society or, comparatively, within a selected set of societies or types of societies. While some individual scholars, to be sure, approach the problem of defining the term "status" in a commendably sophisticated manner, there is a preponderant tendency in the literature to treat it as a unitary construct. Furthermore there is a tendency to interpret "the status of women" in hierarchical and relative terms. So, for example, women in a given society are described as having a "high" status or a "low" status relative to men in that society. Or they are said to rank "high" or "low" relative to women in some other society with which their own is being compared. In writing about agrarian or peasant societies — particularly those with a patrilineal ideology of descent and patrilocal residence as in China, the Middle East and South Asia — it is part of the received wisdom that women's "status" is inferior to that of men of their own societies, and is also low relative to that of women in most other "types" of societies, particularly those of the industrialized West.2 The task for the social scientist thus becomes one of accounting for this assymetry in gender status, whether in terms of economic or production factors, symbolic constructs peculiar to the culture, or other factors. One corrective to this kind of over-simplified model of women's position in society is provided by those scholars who have attempted to separate out different spheres of social life — such as the familiar distinction between public and domestic domains — in which women play different kinds of roles, such that their "status" may be higher in one than in another (see

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Rosaldo 1974; Sanday 1974, for example). Other approaches have used a distinction between structural and symbolic status, or have sought evidence for the exercise of covert (ritual and/or secular) power by women that obviates the consequences of the overt, formal system of male dominance (e.g. Friedl 1967; Rogers 1975;Wadley 1980). Finally, some attempts have been made to disaggregate the notion of social "status" into some of its component elements, recognizing, as Rosaldo has expressed it, "that women's status is itself not one but many things, that various measures of women's place do not appear to correlate among themselves, and... that few of them appear to be consistently related to an isolable 'cause'" (1980: 401). 3 In this connection Lamphere has suggested distinguishing, in the first instance, between the exercise of authority and power, using the classical Weberian definitions of these concepts with some modification (1974: 99; see also Weber 1947). To this I would add a third component of status — that of personal autonomy: the ability to determine one's own activities and actions, free of the control (by virtue of either legitimate authority or power) of another person. In the same article, Lamphere makes another pertinent point on the usefulness of a dynamic, processual approach, in which one can show how "any particular woman's relationship to the allocation of power and authority changes as she grows older and her children mature" (1974: 99); the model here being the work of Goody and others on the developmental cycle of the family (Goody 1958). The notion that a woman's social position — both within the domestic domain itself and within the wider context of society at large — changes over the course of her life, in a way that is broadly patterned for all women in a given society, is not of course a novel one. With respect to the South Asian area, most ethnographic works provide documentation of this in their descriptions of the typical content of female family roles — as daughter, sister, wife, mother, daughterin-law, mother-in-law, or as child, adolescent, young woman, matron, old woman. 4 A propos this Festschrift volume, it may be especially appropriate to mention David Mandelbaum's contribution to bringing together and summarizing in a particularly insightful way much of the relevant literature on the changing roles of women at different phases of life cycle in his book, Society in India: Continuity and Change (1970: 82-94). What I propose to do here is simply to examine this well-known process in a systematic way and with special reference to the three dimensions or variables of women's "status" mentioned above, namely her ability to exercise, at different points in her life course, power and authority over others and personal autonomy where her own activities are concerned. And rather than attempt to generalize for South Asia as a whole — or even for a particular region of the subcontinent - I will limit myself to a specific caste community, namely the women of Raya caste in a formerly agricultural but now fully urbanized

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Power and Autonomy

in the Life Cycle of the Indian Woman

25

village within the boundaries of metropolitan Delhi. I have described this community and its women in some detail in earlier publications (Vatuk 1975a, 1982a, and 1982b).5 It should be noted that there is one rather serious methodological difficulty in any attempt to reconstruct a "typical" life course from ethnographic evidence gathered over a short span of time in a society undergoing rapid social change. Inasmuch as the community of Rayapur has undergone - and is still undergoing — dramatic alterations in terms of economic basis, social interrelationships, and style of life during the lifetime of the oldest women in the village, what emerges from a comparison of women at different stages in the developmental cycle in the years 1974-76 is not a Raya woman's "life cycle" that can be counted on to repeat itself in the same form generation after generation. Instead one has an assemblage of distinct points on a series of very different life trajectories. These commenced at different times in the past eighty years of Indian history: what the young married woman in Rayapur experienced in 1975 in the milieu of her conjugal extended family is not precisely what her mother-inlaw experienced twenty to twenty-five years before when she occupied a similar structural position in her husband's family home. Nor will old age hold for this younger woman the identical problems that face her motherin-law today. Notwithstanding these facts it appears to me that the cultural continuity within this community, even given a great deal of social change, is sufficiently strong to make the over-all pattern of the waxing and waning of power, authority and autonomy that I have derived through a comparative methodology broadly valid for women of all age cohorts, even though the specific conditions and issues within and over which they are exercised may differ for each cohort as they reach the respective stages of the life course. Throughout the discussion I will try to refer specifically to the cultural context within which power, autonomy and authority are actually exercised, or are attempted to be exercised, by the women concerned. That is, I will relate these rather abstract concepts to real substantive issues that have meaning and relevance for Rayapur women and which arise out of the circumstances and activities of their daily lives. Therefore, for example, I will not discuss the Raya woman's lack of freedom to seek employment outside the home, since the idea of doing so has never entered the minds of most of these women, and to those to whom it may have occurred it has not yet become a realistic or indeed a desirable option for them to pursue. On the other hand, the seemingly less significant question of whether one may go to a movie of an evening with one's husband is a live issue for many young married women, and for that reason it has a valid place in a discussion of the dynamics of day-to-day decision-making in the Indian joint family housefold.

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Personhood

Childhood and Adolescence A girl child is under the authority of all the senior members of the household - she has authority only over younger siblings in the strict age-based "pecking order" of children, but even the latter if male may turn the tables on her as she grows into adolescence. She must heed not only her parents, uncles and aunts and grandparents but also her older siblings, particularly brothers. However, her daily activities are most directly controlled by her mother and paternal grandmother — if the latter is living. Even if her parents have separated from the extended family for purposes of food preparation and budgets, the grandmother will remain an important force for moral guidance, since in this community very few couples have left the family premises even after household partition. These women direct a girl's domestic chores, set standards for her dress and grooming, and establish limits on her movements outside the home and on the kinds of activities she is permitted to engage in. In respect to more important issues, such as whether she shall remain in school after the elementary grades, her father and other senior men of the family will take a more direct role and will have the final word, regardless of her mother's views. The issue of mobility outside the home is a live one in most families with young girls, although it is not necessarily one on which there is open conflict or confrontation between the generations. Young girls usually accept as legitimate the authority of their elders to restrict their freedom of movement. They may even be heard to concede the wisdom of curtailing their mobility in the interests of protection from unwholesome influences, temptations and dangers. However, most young girls desire somewhat more freedom to explore the world beyond the walls of their home and community than they are permitted by their parents to have, and they tend to be somewhat more confident of their own ability to handle the perceived risks than are their mothers, fathers, and grandparents. A girl up to the age of puberty is generally fairly free to move around her immediate neighborhood, subject to the increasing domestic workload imposed by her mother and the obligation to care for younger brothers and sisters. But after she reaches puberty greater pressure is placed upon her to observe strict standards of modesty in dress and comportment, and her activities are subject to careful surveillance. While she may still visit female friends and relatives in the vicinity from time to time, permission must be sought for this on each occasion and too frequent "gadding about" is discouraged strongly. If she wishes to socialize with her peers she must find some valid reason or "work" to rationalize the necessity to go to another's home. A girl's selection of friends is carefully screened by her mother and other older members of the family, including her brothers, and any of these

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in the Life Cycle of the Indian Woman

27

may legitimately forbid her to spend time with girls of whom they do not, for any reason, approve. To visit male friends — or even to have male friends at all — is strictly forbidden. Even heterosexual friendships within the kinship circle, if the young people involved stand in a marriageable relation to one another, are carefully monitored, and opportunities for boys and girls to be alone together in the home even for brief periods are prevented from occurring whenever possible. A girl must seek special permission to leave the neighborhood: such decisions are often referred to the father or other senior man of the family by her mother. She may wish, for example, to go shopping with her girl friends or attend a movie, accept an invitation to a birthday party or the wedding of a schoolmate or participate in a school outing or other function. In any case a girl, up to the time of her marriage (nowadays usually between the ages of 18 and 24), may never go beyond the boundaries of Rayapur unaccompanied, whether by an older woman, a group of girl friends, or a brother or male cousin. If she attends college it may be necessary for her to go and return alone, but usually there are other students in the neighborhood and parents see that they travel together. It is insisted that college girls return home immediately after their classes end each day, although boys typically do not do so. Another sphere in which family authority is explicitly exercised over an unmarried girl is in the matter of her education. Many girls have no particular desire to continue their education beyond that decreed for them by their parents. But it is not uncommon for a girl to wish to study further — or to enter a field of study other than that which her parents consider suitable — and be prevented from doing so by senior members of her family. The issue often leads to protracted discussions among members of a family. Grandparents are particularly likely to oppose higher education for a girl - regarding it either as a waste of resources, a possibly bad moral influence, a distraction from the learning of domestic skills, or a detriment to her marriage chances. Unless some other family member with considerable influence is willing to support her against the older generation, she has little chance of success in pursuing her desired goals. The decision to stop a girl's education is usually related to plans for her marriage. A girl who is too well educated will have a difficult time finding a suitable mate, for it is felt that the husband should always be better qualified educationally than his wife. The additional period of study may also make her less eligible for marriage because of her age - as a husband ought to be older than his wife too. Furthermore, it is thought that an educated girl will find it more difficult to adjust to the confined life of a young daughterin-law in a typical Raya joint household. Whatever the specific reasons, this is an area in which a young woman is generally unable to exercise personal

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autonomy. She must submit to the authority of those senior to her in the family, regardless of her own wishes. Several scholars who have viewed the issue of women's status crossculturally have focussed on the matter of choice of mate as diagnostic of the degree of male dominance in a society. Among Rayas, neither young men nor young women normally select their own spouse. All marriages are by parental arrangement, and it is only very rarely that personal choice of a life partner even becomes an issue so far as young people are concerned. It is also very rare for a young woman to wish to remain unmarried. However, sometimes a girl wishes to delay marriage beyond the time that her family has planned for it. This is usually because, as I have explained above, she wishes to continue her studies, but other reasons may also be involved. While a young woman's marriage is invariably arranged by others, this is not to say that she has no influence or input in the choice of a husband. Discussion concerning her impending marriage, the search for a mate, and the negotiation process goes on in the family in the presence of the young woman, and although she is not expected to take an active role — indeed, she is expected to feign total disinterest and embarrassment if the subject is broached directly — most girls find ways of making known their views on the qualifications they consider desirable and on the relative merits of specific candidates as they are proposed. In most families of this caste at the time of my field research girls were not "shown" to potential grooms and therefore did not have the opportunity to see candidates for their hands personally. However, they were often able to learn a good deal about the men being considered through family members and other relatives. Such information is more readily available within the kinship network than it is in many north Indian castes, because the Rayas are few in number and most marriages link persons who are already related affinally in some way or who belong to villages in which relatives of the prospective partners live. If a young woman has very strong negative feelings about a particular potential mate, and if her reasons do not appear totally frivolous to her elders, they may be heeded. Thus although she cannot — and does not normally wish to — select her own mate from among young men known to her, a young woman usually has some limited power — at least in a negative manner — to influence the choice made for her by her elders. In this, as in other areas of life where a young woman's wishes may not accord with the intentions of those who have authority over her, the chief avenues through which she can hope to achieve her own ends are by tactful persuasion of those with whom she has a close and affectionate relationship on the one hand, and by passively displaying unhappiness - by refusal to speak or eat, moping, crying, etc. — on the other. Through observation of other female family members and through direct instruction as well, she

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Power and Autonomy

in the Life Cycle of the Indian Woman

29

learns very early to submit quietly and passively to authority, to respond to provocation with silence, and to avoid direct confrontation with authority figures. She is told that a woman can gain the highest satisfaction by suppressing her own desires in the interests of others'. At the same time she is told that if she wishes to gain her own way the only possibly effective means are indirect ones. Of course, women are not the only persons to use such strategies in this society. Men also utilize indirect tactics in response to unwelcome impositions by authority figures. But because women are for a greater part of their lives in a position of structural subservience to many of the significant others in their family milieu, it is to be expected that they should employ them more regularly, and as a principal rather than an occasional means of exerting influence. If one listens to the conversation of unmarried girls in Rayapur one is struck by the way their language is liberally sprinkled with phrases that reveal their awareness of being continually subject to the wishes and decisions of others. There seem to be few areas in which they perceive themselves as autonomous actors. Verbs like "allow", "permit", "deny", "refuse", and expressions in which the speaker is the object of another's action are extremely common when they are discussing their activities, interests, pleasures and problems. There is in Hindi a characteristic causative verb construction, which applies to most active verbs and carries the sense of "to cause to..." or "to make [someone]..." (thus kamä, "to do", karünä, "to make [someone] do"). Constructions of this kind are prolific in the discourse of late adolescent women in this community. I am not trying to suggest a pervasive aura of unhappiness and discontent among young Rayapur girls but — quite the contrary - simply to show that the dominant self-perception shared by them is of persons who are unable to act of their own volition in most arenas of their lives. This perception is probably greatly intensified in the present period because so many of the issues that arise for the young woman with respect to her personal autonomy are "modern" ones which cannot easily be dealt with by parents and other elders who have no experience to draw on from their own youth.

The Young Married Woman Despite the young unmarried woman's lack of autonomy, young married women uniformly regard the period before their marriage as a time of relative freedom in comparison with their present situation. They speak of how "free" — äzäd — they had been in their natal homes, in contrast to the "bondage" - bandhan - of married life. Before children are born the young

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married woman has authority over no one in her new family; any power she might exercise over her husband or others must wait until she has consolidated her relationships within the household over a period of years. And as for personal autonomy, she has less than in her parents' home, or so at least she feels, since the absence of autonomy is not accompanied by the atmosphere of tender loving concern and care that surrounded her previously and provided the very rationale for the restrictions imposed on her. A number of recurring issues related to autonomy arise for newly married women in Rayapur. First, they must conform to stricter standards of modesty in their conjugal home and village or neighborhood. They must become accustomed to a new form of dress and to the observance of pardä — veiling the face before elder males within the home and outside. 6 Furthermore, they must become accustomed to being confined to the home at nearly all times (except when leaving the neighborhood for some legitimate purpose such as a visit to the natal home). There is some variability from one family to another in the strictness with which this seclusion is enforced and the length of time it continues, but for all young married women it is a part at least of the early experiences of married life. Although it is accepted that a young married woman should spend frequent and lengthy periods of time with her parents during the first few years of marriage, her husband and his parents have the acknowledged right to control the timing and duration of such visits and even to refuse them altogether if it is inconvenient for them to allow her to be absent, or if they are for any reason on bad terms with her family. A woman at this stage of life is not free to go home for a visit whenever she wishes. Even if her in-laws do not bar such a visit she must always wait to be "invited" home by her parents or brothers and be "called f o r " by some man of her family who will accompany her on the journey. Then she must await her in-laws' decision (and that of her husband) whether to "send" her with this kinsman or not. Later she must wait until her husband or other male relative of his "comes to bring her back". She may under no circumstances simply return to her conjugal home on her own initiative, even if properly accompanied, after such a visit. Thus one way in which a man can initiate an effective marital separation is by simply neglecting to go and fetch his wife from her natal home. On the other hand, if she should leave for a visit to her parents without the explicit permission of her in-laws, and unaccompanied by a brother or cousin, her act is interpreted as "running away" from her husband. If she is at her natal home and wishes to remain for a longer time she may be able to persuade her father to "refuse to send her" with her husband when he calls for her. But she cannot directly refuse to return or even express reluctance without endangering the marriage and her relationship with her parents-in-law. The continuance of friendships with girls she was close to before marriage

Authority, Power and Autonomy in the Life Cycle of the Indian Woman

31

is another issue that often confronts young married women with opposition from husband and/or in-laws. Whatever the reasons, these people often object to a wife (or daughter-in-law) maintaining contact with close female friends — and even if they raise no specific objections to such friendships their over-all authority to restrict her freedom of movement makes it difficult for her to find the opportunity to meet and socialize with girls she knew before marriage. The same applies to making new friends within her conjugal village or neighborhood: unless these live in the same house, or themselves are free to move about the village, the newly married woman will have no opportunity to come into contact with peers of her own age and status. Even with respect to her relationship with her husband a young married woman is subject to considerable control by senior members of the household. Her husband generally spends little time at home, and even when he is there the two cannot talk to one another in the presence of older members of the family. They can be alone together only at night, in their own bedroom. In most families they are rarely allowed to go out together of an evening or on Sunday when the husband is off work. Most young women are very eager to enjoy outings with their husbands - to see a film or to visit friends or colleagues of his in another part of the city. Men also enjoy such excursions but they are not usually as concerned about the issue as are their wives, since they themselves are not confined to the home at any time. They are however usually willing to please their wives by taking them out, as long as it is agreeable to their parents. The latter, unless they are very "modern", see no "need" for a young couple to go out alone together — it never having been customary in their society for a man and wife to spend leisure time together. Parents do not have the recognized authority to curb an adult married son's freedom to go where he pleases, nor even to insist that he spend any of his time at home. Even unmarried young men are relatively independent of parental control in such matters. But a man's mother and father are considered fully justified in exerting their authority over his wife in such a way as to control their spending leisure time together in this way. The matter of continuing their education is one which concerns many young married women in Rayapur. Since many consider their education to have been interrupted b y marriage and because, despite the pressure of work in a joint household, some feel bored and idle for much of the day, they often express the desire to be allowed to study further after marriage. In most cases they do not wish to actually attend school or college (which would normally be out of the question in any case), but rather to study "privately" for a high school, intermediate, or college diploma. Leaving aside the question of how many of these women would actually be able to complete a program of study in this way, given the amount of free time at their disposal and the

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entire milieu in which they would have to cope with its demands, it is only very rarely that permission is given to a woman even to make the attempt. The primary objections to young married women studying revolve, as one would expect, around the belief that time given to studies would interfere with their proper performance of household duties. With respect to all of these issues, the position of a young woman is seen by her not so much as one of submission to the domination of njen but rather of subjection to the authority of other women, pre-eminently the mother-in-law. The problem of women's lack of power is typically conceived of - by scholars and laymen alike — in terms of male/female relations. It is commonly taken for granted that if women do not have power or personal autonomy in some sphere of life, this is because men have it instead. But in the context of Rayapur it is clear that the problem of authority relations in the family is as much a matter of woman/woman interactions as it is of the relationship of women and men. The oft-quoted statement from Manu about women being properly under the life-long control of men — first father, then husband, then son — is one way of phrasing the position of women with respect to the autonomy dimension of their social status. But Rayapur women do not necessarily — or only — perceive of their own position in terms of this model. They do not see the constraints on their activities as imposed specifically by men, probably because during most of their life control is administered by other women acting either on their own initiative or at the behest of men or of other women who in turn hold positions of authority over them. It is interesting in this connection to note a feminine version of Manu's injunction, volunteered by several of my Raya informants, that sees a woman's life in terms of three successive phases of subordination to other women, namely mä kä räj, säs kä räj, and bahü kä räj ("rule of the mother, the mother-in-law, and the daughter-in-law"). When young married women speak of their husbands' role in the setting of limitations on their activities, they are likely to portray their mates as sympathetic potential allies, who are themselves unable to act independently because they too must submit to the authority of the elders. These men are thus often seen by their wives as being compelled to enforce their parents' standards upon their wives, or as doing so out of proper filial respect, despite their own personal preferences. There is probably some truth in this view. On the other hand, it is quite clear that in most matters adult sons are not seen to submit unquestioningly to their parents' wishes, and there is often considerable dissension in these families over financial matters, lifestyle and personal habits, among other things. While direct confrontations between father and son over such issues are not common, few sons are so respectful of their mother that they will refrain from arguing a point where their own wishes are at stake. And even in the absence of confrontation the expedient

Authority, Power and Autonomy

in the Life Cycle of the Indian Woman

33

of simply doing as they please, regardless of parental disapproval, is freely employed. It seems clear that it is quite convenient for a young man to allow his parents to set standards for his wife's conduct, and to bear the responsibility for constraining and controlling her activities. This is particularly so during the early years of marriage when the couple is just beginning to establish a relationship and when such issues, if they had to be worked out between the two of them alone, could create unpleasant marital tensions. Whether or not a man shares completely his parents' views on the proper behavior of a new bride of the house, it is doubtless wise for him to refrain from involving himself directly in the matter, and to play with her the role of understanding ally or — alternatively — if he wishes to assume a more traditional attitude, defender of his parents' right to assert their authority. Furthermore by allowing his parents — most particularly his mother — free rein in this area, he is able to justify — to himself and to them — reserving other spheres of his life for exercise of his own personal autonomy. And it is not totally unagreeable, for most young men in this cultural milieu, to have a wife who is confined to the home and always at one's disposal.

Young Women and Material

Resources

Control over money and other material resources is one important means by which an individual can gain access to power and a certain amount of personal autonomy, even if on the ideological level he or she is not in a position of legitimate authority over others. To what extent is such control in the hands of women in the early stages of their adult lives? Unlike young men, unmarried girls are rarely given regular pocket money by their parents. They must ask for money for specific purposes and account for its expenditure. However, there are numerous ceremonial occasions as well as informal encounters with kinsmen at which females classified as "daughters" or "sisters" (in contrast to "wives" or "daughters-in-law") are customarily given small cash gifts by older married relatives, both men and women. 7 Such money may be kept for a girl's own personal use and she may spend it as she pleases. As long as she remains unmarried she has no obligation to use any of it to make presents to others, and so these gifts serve a purely consumption function at this stage of life; the amounts involved are too small to be translated into any kind of power or influence over others. Young married women also do not receive regular spending money in most families - they must ask their mother-in-law or husband if they wish to purchase something for their personal use. However, most young women have some private store of cash received as described above in the form of gifts from natal kin. Particularly when she is first married a woman receives

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Family, Kinship and Personhood

fairly substantial amounts, both from natal relatives and friends and certain categories of relatives of her in-laws. Although she should inform her motherin-law of what has been received by her from conjugal kin or associates (in part this is done in order to enable the older woman to make return gifts where and when appropriate), she is usually permitted to retain the money herself and need not account to anyone for its expenditure. In addition, each time she returns to her natal home for a visit she is sent back with cash gifts, as well as clothing and other goods, only part of which is intended for her in-laws. But now that she is married she begins to assume obligations to give cash gifts to other young women who are in turn related to her and her new husband as "sisters" or "daughters", and these obligations will increase throughout her life, markedly so when she becomes the mistress of an independent household apart from that of her mother-in-law. Thus her private fund becomes not only a means of acquiring personal luxuries for herself and later for her children, but also a major means of building social relationships within her kinship network and the village community as a whole. In evident recognition of the importance of control over material assets for the personal autonomy of a woman, there is a stereotyped pattern of suspicion — by men of their wives, and by older women of their daughtersin-law and younger sisters-in-law — that if given the opportunity the newcomers will attempt to divert the resources of the conjugal household to their natal kinsmen or to the exclusive unit of themselves and their young children. It is considered natural that a woman would want to do this, particularly in the early years of marriage, before she has come to identify her own interests with those of the conjugal joint family. Partly for this reason a young married woman is generally not given direct access to food stores or to the cash or other assets of the family. Her mother-in-law typically retains the keys to the larder for many years, doling out the amounts needed once a day or before each meal. There is considerable variation from one family to another in the way that joint finances are handled. In some the oldest woman is in charge of the entire household budget and controls the earnings of all of the male members: they hand over their pay to her and she returns them some pocket money for their personal expenses. In other cases the father of the family handles all of the finances, providing his wife with a fixed housekeeping allowance. However, it is in fact rare for earning sons to contribute their entire earnings to the joint household; in fact in some households in which the father has substantial earnings from properties or investments the working sons keep all of their earnings for themselves and their own nuclear family units, relying on the household head to carry all of the regular expenses of running the joint household. More usually, employed sons give their

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in the Life Cycle of the Indian Woman

35

mother or father a negotiated and fixed portion of their wages or salary, keeping back the rest for their own use. Some of this may then be turned over to the wife, but at least in the early years of marriage a man usually requires an accounting for any money she may spend. Therefore there is usually little scope at this stage of life for a woman to exert power through the control of material resources, except for her personal fund, whose source lies outside her conjugal joint family household. In this period of early married life one can observe patterns of control over women which are imposed in direct reponse to two major threats which the new bride is perceived as presenting to her new family. First is the fear of her disgracing the family through sexual misconduct or the appearance of it: the various forms of seclusion and restrictions on her activities and social interaction with outsiders effectively prevent this. Second is the fear of her power to destroy the family through its impoverishment, by diverting or squandering its commonly owned resources. The limitation o f her direct access to money and food supplies counters this threat.

The Mature Married Woman As children are born and begin to grow, the extent to which older members of the family exert authority over a married woman gradually diminishes. As she is gradually able to solidify the exclusive bond between herself and her husband, through the sexual relationship and the development of a shared interest in the children who are an outcome o f it, she becomes less subservient in her own behavior toward her mother-in-law, and her husband in turn begins in most cases to assert more openly his allegiance to her and his special concern with their nuclear unit within the larger joint family. Eventually the younger couple may even separate from the joint family, at least to the extent o f setting-up a separate cooking hearth within the family-owned house. If they do not separate, the mother-in-law, if alive, gradually withdraws voluntarily from her central role as manager of the household, or is forced out of this dominant role by the daughter-in-law. The established married woman has learned by this time how to exert some power and influence over her husband; her mother-in-law usually comes to realize this and is compelled to accede to her daughter-in-law's growing self-assertion for fear of losing her son's attention and regard completely. It is in this period that the locus of authority, from the point o f view of the woman, begins to shift from the mother-in-law to the husband himself. Her personal autonomy increases somewhat, but she must now acknowledge the direct authority of her husband and act within the limits he sets for her. In this period a woman is increasingly placed in charge o f the management

36

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Personhood

of her own home, and her husband is unlikely to take a direct interest in how she does this as long as the household runs relatively smoothly and his personal needs are promptly met. If by this time a woman has demonstrated that she is frugal and competent she may begin to be given a regular household allowance with the authority to budget expenditures herself. Or she may be allowed by her husband to charge purchases at local shops, to be paid for by him at the end of each month. Some husbands turn over the greater part of their earnings to such a wife — as they may have done earlier to their mother — keeping only pocket money for themselves and trusting the wife to build up a fund of savings from what she is able to set aside after taking care of the day-to-day running expenses of the home. Whatever the particular arrangement , in the middle years most women gradually increase their control over material resources and gain considerable autonomy in terms of expenditures for the household and for themselves and their children personally. At the same time they gain control over food supplies and the preparation and distribution of food to family members and guests. By manipulating the provision of food and the gift-giving network a woman is increasingly in a position to exert influence over the wider social field within which the family is operating. A man's prestige and the prestige of his family within the kindred, caste, and local community still depend in large part upon his ability and willingness to provide hospitality to others, and on the scale at which the family participates in reciprocal exchange relationships. But in both of these arenas it is the woman who is directly involved in providing and serving food, in calculating the amounts to be distributed and determining the proper recipients, and in keeping track of past exchanges. As long as she remains a junior member of a joint family she will continue to defer to her mother-in-law in matters of this kind, but she will be developing her own skills and a small network of her own, building toward the day when she will be in control herself as the mistress of an independent household. During these middle years a woman is generally very busy in her home, particularly if she and her husband have separated from the extended family household. There are fewer external constraints to her leaving the confines of her home, but she is too much occupied with her work to exercise her freedom to move about very often. She does find time, usually in the afternoons, to visit close neighbors and chat with them while knitting, making handmade noodles, or doing other tasks which are portable, require little concentration, and can be accomplished while sitting down. Although her husband probably does the major shopping for food and household supplies, she may go out to the local shops to buy small items when needed, and occasionally may go with some female friends to the market on the main road to shop for clothing or household utensils or for gifts to present at an upcoming wedding or other ceremonial. Rarely she and a woman friend

Authority,

Power and Autonomy

in the Life Cycle of the Indian Woman

37

may plan an afternoon movie excursion, or a visit to friends or relatives elsewhere in Delhi, taking their young children by bus. She now visits her natal home more seldom than before, and for shorter periods, but she is increasingly in a position to decide when she wishes to go and is able to travel by herself if her parents live within the city of Delhi itself. However, even at this period she will prefer to have someone accompany her when she leaves Rayapur, even if only a young child. Any activities in which such a woman engages outside her own home must however be fitted into her husband's schedule, and unless the occasion is quite exceptional, and she has made arrangements with him beforehand, a husband has a legitimate expectation that she should always be at home when he returns from work in the evening and that his meals should not be delayed or curtailed because of any outside engagements or preoccupations of his wife. Participation in religious activities often becomes an issue over which a man tries to exert authority over his wife during this stage of life. Young married women who are still under the control of a mother-in-law must perforce restrict their religious observances to private worship at the household shrine, unless they are taken by the older woman to a bhafan-singing gathering or some similar event in the neigborhood. But as a woman gains a somewhat more autonomous position with regard to her own activities, she may wish to participate more actively in such forms of group worship as temple bhajans and lectures by locally popular gurus. It is not uncommon for husbands to object and to forbid their wives to participate in this kind of gathering, either because of opposition to these particular forms of religious worship or simply because they take women away from the home and draw them into association with outsiders. A woman in this stage of life must generally submit to her husband's authority in this as in other matters. Similarly, a husband may wish to prevent his wife's association with persons with whose family he is on bad terms, or whose influence over his wife he distrusts, and here again she generally feels that she must obey his wishes. However, in terms of authority and power over others a woman's "status" rises markedly in this stage of life: her young children of both sexes and her older daughters are under her direct authority as it is one of her major responsibilities to see to their socialization and control. Her growing sons come less and less under her immediate supervision, particularly as they begin to move outside the home among their peers, but she retains in most cases considerable influence over them by virtue of the close emotional bonds developed in their earlier years. A woman enters a fourth stage of her life when her children begin to marry, and particularly when daughters-in-law begin to be brought into the

38

Family, Kinship and Personhood

newly forming joint household. By this time, in most cases, a woman's mother-in-law has either died or is no longer actively involved in household management. The mother of young adult sons and daughters is intimately and actively involved in the process of choosing mates for her children, although initial approaches and direct negotiations are generally handled by her husband and/or. other senior males. She is also involved in the arrangement of marriages of nieces and nephews, goes with other female relatives to view prospective daughters-in-law and welcomes visiting women from other families to view her own daughters. Through her access to and control of the female gossip network she can play a key role in locating and checking out potential candidates and typically has considerable influence in making a final choice, at least through the elimination of those she finds for some reason particularly unsuitable. When the marriages are ready to take place, such a woman is responsible for collecting together the many gifts which must be presented — in the form of a dowry and trousseau when a daughter is wed, jewelry and clothing for an incoming bride in the case of a son's marriage, and appropriate grifts as well on the marriage of the child of a husband's brother or sister. In addition, if the marriage involves her own child, she must see that gifts are readied for each of the key persons in the kindred to whom clothing and other items must be distributed at such a time (Vatuk 1975b). A wise mother has been accumulating goods for these purposes since the time of her own marriage, and her efforts have been stepped up in recent years as her children approach marriageable age. But there are nevertheless always many purchases to be made in the last months, and the woman of the house is typically left in charge of making these, as much as possible out of funds which she has been able to save over the years. She also has considerable control over the arrangement of the festivities, the planning of the menu for the wedding feasts and setting up the specifically women's rituals and singing sessions which are an important part of the whole series of wedding events. In the latter she depends heavily for guidance on her mother-in-law or other senior women who have had experience in those matters, but the responsibility is ultimately her own.

Early Old Age When her daughters-in-law have begun to take up residence a woman thinks of herself as entering old age. This is the time of life when a woman can theoretically begin to take her ease, delegate the drudgery of housework to the younger women, and luxuriate in the kinds of personal service which it is the duty of a daughter-in-law to provide. Typically she begins to establish

Authority, Power and Autonomy

in the Life Cycle of the Indian Woman

39

a division of labor in which she handles the "outside" work, while her sons' wives work "inside" the home: cooking, cleaning, washing the clothes, and the like. Now she has the time and the social sanction for moving freely around the village and outside it as she pleases. She is defined culturally as being past the period of sexual desirability and therefore this freedom no longer poses a threat to the honor of her husband and his family. Typically a woman's social sphere expands dramatically at this stage of life, and her level of social participation also greatly increases. She is free to take as much or as little direct interest in the running of her household as she likes, and as long as she retains firm control over her daughters-in-law she will not be criticized for neglecting household duties in favor of outside activities. This is the period of greatest personal autonomy for a woman. She is no longer to any great extent under the authority even of her husband, in terms of the kinds of activity she engages in or how much time she devotes to them. Women of this age often become very much involved in religious activities of a communal character — although by no means all aging woman do so. It is interesting to compare the comments of older women with those of women in their middle years concerning this kind of participation. Many of the latter explained their failure to attend temple bhajans and the like by their husband's disapproval. Aging women, on the other hand, tended to discuss their religious activities entirely in terms of personal inclination, and if their religious participation was slight they commonly attributed this to their own disinterest, or to the pressure of household responsibilities, the necessity of caring for milch animals, and so on. Several in fact made specific reference to their husband's disapproval of their devotion to a locally popular guru or their heavy involvement in bhajan groups, but reported that they continued to follow their own inclinations in these matters despite their husbands' attitude. The difference is doubtless in part related to the fact that this latter period of life is, in terms of their cultural conceptions, a time to turn toward introspection and the development of one's individual spiritual worth. It is appropriate that such concerns should begin to take priority over the cultivation of social bonds, and even if necessary over the duty of a woman to defer to her husband's wishes. In line with the view that one should begin gradually to withdraw from household and worldly activities when one's sons are married, it is considered proper at this stage of life to cease sexual relations. Women of this age group encountered in 1975 had spent their earlier married years in an agricultural milieu, in which it was customary for adult men to sleep in an outbuilding rather than in the main house with their wives. Most had never had a separate room to share with their husband, although currently young couples are invariably provided such a private space within a joint household. Even if an older couple were inclined to continue an active sex life after their

40

Family, Kinship and Personhood

sons married, it is for this reason difficult for them to do so without arousing attention and comment from other members of the family and kin network, not to mention neighbors. Most older men even today sleep in an outbuilding or in a men's guest room in the main house, along with other men or boys, while their wives share a room with grandchildren or unmarried daughters. While some couples by this time have developed a close and intimate relationship and find that the onset of old age permits them to enjoy one another's company more easily, with fewer social constraints than formerly, a more common pattern seems to involve a distancing of husband and wife, at least in terms of the amount of time spent together. Although they may indeed talk more freely together and on a more egalitarian footing than they did at earlier periods, for the most part older men spend very little time at home, except at meals. Couples who have not been on good terms for years find it a simple matter at this stage to stay out of each other's way and interact only minimally. Whatever the individual case, one might say that if an older couple is obviously very close, it is something more to be remarked upon by others than if they live effectively apart. Of course, there is no question in the latter instance of any kind of formal separation or divorce: such marital separations as do occasionally occur in this society invariably take place within the first year or two of marriage. In addition to religious involvement and general sociability on an informal basis and in connection with ceremonial events in the village and caste community, a woman at this time of life is most active in the networks of reciprocal gift-giving. Financially, she is in firm control, having at least a substantial household budget to manage, if not the family's entire assets. While she may not make major purchases without consulting her husband and earning sons, she nevertheless acts fairly autonomously on a day-to-day basis. In addition to money made available to her by her husband, she is also usually able to prevail upon her sons to hand over to her the better part of their earnings and this enhances her power in the household considerably.

Later Old Age As time goes on, however, as a woman's daughters-in-law in turn become acclimatized to their new situation and begin to exert increasing influence over their respective husbands, and to assert their own autonomy vis-a-vis their mother-in-law, a woman gradually descends from this peak level of authority and power and enters the later stage of old age. At this time she retains her hard-won autonomy — at least as long as her health continues — but loses her basis of legitimate authority over others within the family, except perhaps to a limited extent in moral matters over the young un-

Authority, Power and Autonomy

in the Life Cycle of the Indian Woman

41

married girls of the household. She gradually has to assent to the takeover of managerial control by whichever daughter-in-law has remained with her in a joint household — all except one are likely by now to have set up separate hearths, if they have not actually moved out of the parental home. Such an old woman is free to spend her time as she likes within the limits of her physical capacities, and there is little in the way of work responsibilities to hinder this. Women of this age group seem to do a considerable amount of visiting, often going for fairly lengthy stays at the homes of relatives, in other parts o f Delhi or in the rural Raya caste villages in neighboring U.P. State. The pattern of lengthy stays with natal kin - now brothers or brothers' sons rather than parents — is revived on a small scale, and any wedding or other ceremonial in the kindred will serve as an opportunity for a visit o f several days' duration, as will any family crisis, a death or illness in a related household, for example. She will regularly be consulted on the proper performance of rituals by younger women of her kindred and local caste group, and given a certain amount of deference and precedence in the serving of food within her household. But her time for directing the affairs of the family in any active sense has past, and any power she may retain to influence household decisions derives only from such close bonds of affection and regard as she may have been able to cultivate with her sons and their wives and children during the early and middle years of her life.

Conclusion I have attempted here to present descriptively a picture o f the changing patterns of access to authority, power, and personal autonomy at different stages in the life course of women of the Raya caste in an urbanized village in northern India. With reference to this community one can observe that the values on each of these dimensions of "status" generally rise throughout the life span toward a peak in early old age, after which a woman's degree of autonomy is retained at a fairly constant level, while the amount of power and authority a woman exercises typically declines sharply. In Diag. 1 an attempt has been made to represent graphically this developmental process, as its characteristics have emerged from an analysis of the specific circumstances o f these particular women's lives. It is o f course to be understood as an approximation, and it is clear that for other Indian women, under diverse social and economic conditions, and at different points in the caste hierarchy, the stages o f life depicted may be shortened or lengthened, the angle o f rise and fall o f the three variables may be steeper or less steep, and so on. However, in a general way the literature as well as my own field experience tend to confirm the over-all pattern as characterizing the life course o f Indian

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Family, Kinship and Personhood

Diag. 1 Access to Authority, Power, and Autonomy at Different Life Stages

women of diverse communities in the subcontinent. The exercise has perhaps demonstrated the usefulness of a multidimensional and developmental approach to the issue of the "status of women", not only in South Asia but elsewhere in the world as well. 8

Notes 1.

2.

3. 4.

5. 6.

See several recent reviews of the cross-cultural literature on women and gender roles: for example, Lamphere (1977), Quinn( 1977), Rapp(1979), Rogers (1978), and Rosaldo (1980). See also Huilgol's paper in this volume. Such a view is presented, for example, in Michaelson and Goldschmidt's cross-cultural comparative analysis of the position of women in a number of peasant societies (1971). Similar statements are to be found in earlier publications by Quinn (1977), Lamphere (1974) and Whyte (1978) as well. Manisha Roy's cultural psychological study of the upper middle class Bengali woman's life course is one of the more detailed and insightful analyses of this process (1975). Field research in this community was supported by NIMH Grant No. R01 MH 24220, and by the American Institute of Indian Studies. A good description of pardä practices among Hindu women is provided by Jacobson. Although based on field data from central India, her

Authority,

7.

8.

Power and Autonomy

in the Life Cycle of the Indian Woman

43

description holds true in most respects for the Raya women considered here (1982). See my articles on north Indian kinship categories (1969) and on giftgiving patterns (1975b) in this region of India. Although based upon research among Gaur Brahmans, the descriptions found there conform in broad outlines to Raya practice as well. This is a revised version of a paper originally presented at the annual meetings of the Association for Asian Studies, in March 1981 at Toronto.

References Friedl, Ernestine 1967 "The Position of Women: Appearance and Reality", Anthropological Quarterly 40: 98-105. Goody, Jack (ed.) 1958 The Developmental Cycle of Domestic Groups (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Jacobson, Doranne 1982 "Purdah and the Hindu Family in Central India", Separate Worlds: Studies of Purdah in South Asia, edited by Hanna Papanek and Gail Minault (Columbia, Mo.: South Asia Books), 81-109. Lamphere, Louise 1974 "Strategies, Cooperation, and Conflict among Women in Domestic Groups", Woman, Culture and Society, edited by Michelle Zimbalist Rosaldo and Louise Lamphere (Stanford: Stanford University Press), 97-112. 1977 "Review Essay: Anthropology", Signs 2: 612-627. Mandelbaum, David Goodman 1970 Society in India. Vol. I: Continuity and Change (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press). Michaelson, E.J., and Walter Rochs Goldschmidt 1971 "Female Roles and Male Dominance among Peasants", Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 27: 330-352. Quinn, Naomi Robin 1977 "Anthropological Studies on Women's Status", Annual Review of Anthropology 6: 181-222. Rapp, Rayna 1979 "Anthropology", Signs 4: 497-513. Rogers, Susan C. 1975 "Female Forms of Power and the Myth of Male Dominance: a Model of Female/Male Interaction in Peasant Society", American Ethnologist 2: 727-756. 1978 "Women's Place: a Critical Review of Anthropological Theory", Comparative Studies in Society and History 20: 123-162.

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Rosaldo, Michelle Zimbalist 1974 "Women, Culture and Society: a Theoretical Overview", Woman, Culture and Society, edited by Michelle Zimbalist Rosaldo and Louise Lamphere (Stanford: Stanford University Press), 17-42. 1980 "The Use and Abuse of Anthropology: Reflections on Feminism and Cross-Cultural Understanding", Signs 5: 389-417. Roy, Manisha 1975 Bengali Women (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Sanday, Peggy R. 1974 "Female Status in the Public Domain", Woman,Culture and Society, edited by Michelle Zimbalist Rosaldo and Louise Lamphere (Stanford: Stanford University Press), 189-206. Vatuk, Sylvia 1969 "A Structural Analysis of the Hindi Kinship Terminology", Contributions to Indian Sociology 3: 94-116. 1975a "The Aging Woman in India: Self-Perceptions and Changing Roles", Women in Contemporary India, edited by Alfred deSouza (New Delhi: Manohar Books), 142-163. 1975b "Gifts and Affines in North India", Contributions to Indian Sociology 9: 155-196. 1982a "Changing Patterns of Marriage and the Family in an Urbanized Village in Delhi, India", Towards a Political Economy of Urbanization in Third World Countries, edited by Helen Icken Safa (New Delhi: Oxford University Press), 119-150. 1982b "The Family Life of Older People in a Changing Society: India", Aging and the Aged in the Third World, Part II: Regional and Ethnographic Pespectives (= Studies in Third World Societies 23), edited by Jay Sokolovsky and Joan Sokolovsky (Williamsburg, Va: College of William and Mary), 57-82. Wadley, Susan Snow (ed.) 1980 The Powers of Tamil Women (= Foreign and Comparative Studies/ South Asian Series 6), (Syracuse, N.Y.: Maxwell School of Citizenship and Public Affairs, Syracuse University). Weber, Max 1947 The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, translated by A.M. Henderson and Talcott Parsons (New York: Oxford University Press). Whyte, Martin King 1978 The Status of Women in Preindustrial Societies. (Princeton: Princeton University Press).

Living the Levirate: the Mating of an Untouchable Chuhra Widow Pauline Kolenda "Mandelbaum (1957: 257) says that the 1891 census of India suggested that 60 percent of the population of Madras allowed and practiced widow remarriage." (Kolenda 1982: 198) "Where widows can remarry, the levirate is commonly preferred; a brother of the deceased husband becomes the next husband or at least he has the right of first refusal. Generally a second marriage, whether for a man or a woman, is marked with a much simpler wedding than was the first and is not as prestigious an arrangement as the first might be." (Mandelbaum 1970:78) *

Haradi alternated between laughter and tears in our conversations with her. Her tears flowed when she spoke of her departed husband, Pratap. In the following passage, she praises his handsome appearance and explains the reason why she cannot marry either of his chacha-taü brothers (his father's brother's sons). He was a very good-looking man. You can't find the likes of him in the whole basti now. He was as tall as Kantu, well built and very fair and good. An honest man like him we can never find. He was in Lahore at the time of the riots [during the Partition of 1947], and he ran home from there saying, "My wife is alone." He left all his belongings in Lahore and even money and came back. Twice during his service in Lahore he came home to take me to Lahore, but all the people here in the basti told him not to take me, because then "the woman will breathe the city air." He was very fond of children. He would sleep with Kati and other children, fondle them, and he used to get annoyed when I drove them out. He would say, "You are jealous because you do not have any children of your own." I said, "Yes, if God has not given us our own, why should we look upon other people's children? They create unnecessary dirt." When I was expecting a baby, he said, "Now God will give us children too, and then you need not be jealous." When I had the stillborn baby, however, many people would not come [due to birth pollution]. They said, "She has a stillborn child," but he used to help me with everything... He used to cook all kinds of herbs for me and spend all the morning doing that... When I had serious dysentery, they all thought I was going to die. He ran in all directions calling doctors, and many people gathered. He

46

Family, Kinship and Personhood kept beating his head against the wall. People told him, "If she dies, you will get another woman," but he said, "No, I cannot find another one like her." He came in despite other people's objecting, and he sat down beside the bed and took my hand. I, the wretched one, was saved however, and he died. [Haradi's husband, Pratap, went into considerable debt in order to finance the wedding of his dead brother's son, Chiteru. This included a loan of one hundred rupees from Kalu, his chacha-taü ka bhäi (his father's brother's son).] Haradi explained: Kalu demanded his money many times, and every time my husband said, "We will give it to you." They were two — Kalu and his brother, Swami, while my husband was alone. His brother, Prithvi, was not here. One night in Phagun (February-March) they quarreled on the chaupäxä (men's sitting platform), and Kalu and Swami said, "You Sasuräs (fathers-in-law) [referring to Pratap and Prithvi], you will both die, and we will keep your widows." My husband came straight home and placing his pagfi (turban) at my feet, he said, "In this quarrel, one of us must die — either Kalu or I. And as I am alone, if I die, you must destroy yourself in any way. Do anything. Go away anywhere, but do not live with Kalu or Swami." Ram [the headman] was listening; he told my husband, "Don't be crazy. Brothers should not quarrel. Don't say such things to your wife." But Pratap asked me many times not to live with Kalu or Swami. He died two months later in the middle of Baisakh (April-May). When he died we put a white cloth over him which he had bought for a dhoti (waistcloth) and shirt. Kalu all the time now, when he quarrels with me, taunts me saying, "We provided the shroud for your dead husband." And I reply, "Don't worry. I will put one on you when you die." *

This is the story of Haradi, a widow, aged about 30, of the Untouchable Sweeper (Chuhra) caste community in the village of Khalapur in northern India. A lithe graceful small woman with a moonface of oriental cast — waxy yellow with somewhat slanted eyes — she loved to sing and dance and tease her devars (husband's younger brothers), both real ones and those in relationship within the Chuhra colony. She was the delight of the devars but also of her other neighbors, both men and women. She was respectful to elderly women, going to help them bathe when they needed it, washing their backs, massaging their necks. She did her sweeping work for her Rajput and other higher caste jajmam well, going regularly and doing a thorough job. But before Hardi's story, some background1 is needed. The Chuhra basti (colony) was on the west side of Khalapur. Usha and I used to cross the bridge at the east front of the village and walk along the north side road that edged the canal, passing Rajput houses of Canal patti, and then the houses of Watercarriers, and then Rajput houses of Western patti. Sometimes the Rajput or Watercarrier women would call us in, coming

Living the Levirate: the Mating of an Untouchable Chuhra Widow

47

to the doorways of their windowless compounds to beckon, "Ä jao. Ä jao. (Come in. Come in.)" And we would stop and visit them for a while. Four or five women of a joint-family would cluster around us after we had been seated on a string cot and would examine our clothing. If I was wearing something from America, they would feel it and ask if I had made the machine-produced lace of a sleeve or the embroidery of a Guatemalan skirt. Then after a few minutes we would leave, and they would go back to their spinning-wheels or vegetable-cutting or grain-cleaning. All these activities were carried on in the open paved central space, bordered by single rows of separate rooms in which grain, food and implements were stored, or where clothing and jewelry were kept in metal trunks. Only in rainy weather did sleeping or cooking take place inside. Most of women's life went on in the courtyards beneath the clear blue skies and bright sun of the North Indian plains. But on the whole we were not especially noticed as we made our way to the Untouchable Sweepers' (Chuhras') colony. Some people accounted for our twice-daily trips as the egg-buying expeditions of non-vegetarians. They knew we ate eggs. When Bai Mai, a leading Bania shopkeeper and moneylender, would come to our project house to give me lectures on Hinduism, he would comment on the smell of eggs, and when on rarer occasions his wife came, she would even hold her nose because the odor of our breakfast presumably lingered on so strongly. It would have been difficult for any of us to have got to know the Untouchable Chuhras intimately if we had not been a group of researchers. Another anthropologist and his wife, as well as the psychologist and the linguist, together with their assistants, worked much of their time with the dominant land-owning caste of Rajputs. An Indian graduate student in anthropology was studying the high priestly caste of Brahmans. The leaders of the village were being attended to. Thus two of us ethnographers, along with our interpreter-assistants, could concentrate on Untouchables. The other worked with the Chamars, the field laborers, traditionally leather workers, and I worked with the Sweepers who made dung cakes (used for fuel in cooking hearths) in the higher castemen's cattle-yards, and cleaned the latrines to be found in booths on the rooftops of high caste women's quarters. Right after breakfast, Usha and I would leave the project house where we social researchers lived. It was just across the dirt road from the new high school, a few hundred feet up from the bridge crossing the canal to the village. Originally there was hope that we might live within the village itself, but the building of the new high school that had just been completed meant that all extra housing was taken by the teachers and students who had come in from the outside, So the Cornell University project had built its own housing and compound; the anthropologist field director and his wife, John and Pat

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Family, Kinship and Personhood

Hitchcock, and the other anthropologist in Khalapur the first year, Toshio Yatsushiro and their Indian research assistants had spent much of the first year of the three-year project managing the building of the long nine-room barracks — eight double rooms for the researchers, plus a kitchen-dining room — as well as separate quarters for the cooks. Those of us who came in the second year found that the housing and wall of the compound had been built, rapport had been established with the villagers by our predecessors, and our fieldwork could begin immediately. Usha and I would often spend the morning in the Chuhra basti, Usha translating my questions into Hindi and translating the Chuhras' answers into English, I taking notes. We were usually concentrating on some particular cultural institution — this month, the jajmäni system, another month, kinship — but we inevitably became involved in whatever human events were occurring in the lives of the Chuhras. We learned about the levirate in the course of listening to the daily gossip. We would return to the project house for lunch. In the hot months we, like everyone else, napped in the first part of the afternoon. If it was colder, I would type notes until three. Then Usha and I would have tea and a couple of vitamin pills (for strength) and work among the Sweepers until six when it was supper time. In the evening I would again type notes. Only rarely did we go into the village at night. There was no electricity then, in the mid1950s, and it was a mile or so to walk to the Bhangi basti in the dark. We did occasionally go, of course, to attend a special ceremony or to hear some crucial decision taken in the Chuhra men's council. *

Beside the large women's quarters and men's sitting platform of the Rajputs of Western pattTwas the waist-high brick shrine with a bulbous peak on top and a small indentation to accept food offerings and diyäs (small clay oil lamps) dedicated to the village-god, Bhümiyä. The Bhümiyä is typically located in North Indian villages, as this one was, on an outer boundary. It stood on a slight hillock above the roadway looking out over a stagnant pond, perhaps a hundred feet across in both directions. Beyond the pond was the Chuhra colony of the western part of the village. There was another colony of Sweepers in the southeastern part of the village with whom the western basti Sweepers had enmity, because it was men of that colony who had helped to arrange the sale of Haradi, as will be told below. As is customary all over India for Untouchables, the Chuhras lived "outside" the clean castes' village (Dumont 1970: 134). Here they were separated by the pond; beyond them was only unoccupied sun-baked ground, a western-pairt Rajput's cattle-yard, and then the fields. We would go around the pond to the rows of adobe women's houses forming two three-sided rectangles side by side, open toward the pond, built not on flat ground but

Living the Levirate: the Mating of an Untouchable Chuhra Widow

49

on a gentle incline. The round solid brick well stood near the place where an outer wall of each of the two rectangles came together. The two rectangles, along with two men's platforms, constituted the main structures of the basti. The whole basti could not have covered much more than 1000 square feet. Whichever way we entered, we faced the two men's sitting platforms (chaupärä). One belonged to Jhanki's kunbä (patrilineal group), one to Ram's. To the south of Jhanki's were his women's quarters, behind a compound wall where his two sons' wives and children lived. Across from his sitting platform was a small compound belonging to an ex-daughter-in-law of Jhanki's kunbä and her subsequent husband and their two married sons, their wives and children. The husbands, of course, slept on the men's sitting platform at night in the roofed, moghul-arched men's dormitory at the back. The ex-daughter-in-law, Sumi, was now a woman in her fifties. As a girl in her teens, she had gone through the first round of wedding ceremonies (the shädi) with Jhanki's father's brother's eldest son. Before the second set of wedding ceremonies (the gaunä) her bridegroom died, and she went through these rites with the groom's younger brother, a boy much younger than herself, following the Chuhras' rule of prescriptive levirate. It was then that she took up residence with her mother-in-law in her husband's parental household. As often seemed to happen when a mature woman married a child-groom, she eventually had an affair with an older man — in fact, with her husband's father's elder brother Shyam, a man with whom she should have had an avoidance relationship. She should have kept her face covered in his presence at all times and should not even have spoken to him; he was a kind of father-in-law to her, and thus should have been treated with the restraint a married woman should show all men outside her own patrilineage who were older than her husband. The lovers had no choice but to be found out and punished by the Chuhra men's council, or to run away. They ran away and worked in Hyderabad, a city in Sind where Shyam, the childgroom's father's brother, worked on a municipal sanitation crew, and Sumi worked as a servant in the homes of Europeans. The couple had two sons. After some years Shyam died, and Sumi entered another secondary mating with a Chuhra from Khalapur, a man of Ram's kunbä who was also working in Hyderabad. This couple also had two sons. After many years of absence Sumi and Jammal and the four sons returned to the basti. Sumi's child-groom had died long before, and Jhanki was glad to have a family to swell the numbers of his smaller kunbä, chronically at odds with Ram's kunbä. Perhaps they had returned because the sons needed to be married, and it is easiest to arrange marriages when living within one's own caste community. So this family's bagar (women's quarters), a tiny single room, was built on a patch of wet soil right on the edge of the pond, across from Jhanki's chaupäfä. Behind Ram's sitting-platform along three walls forming a rectangle were

50

Family, Kinship and Personhood

the quarters of women whose husbands were descended from bhänfis (daughters' sons) or säläs (wives' brothers) of Ram's patrilineage. Although, like most North Indian castes, the residence rule for the Chuhras was patrilocal — a couple should live with the husband's patrilineal relatives after marriage — there was among the landless Chuhras a good deal of deviance from the rule. Frequently a daughter who had been married out returned with her husband and children to live with her patrilineal kin; or a brother, dissatisfied in his father's village, joined his sister who had married into the basti. So Ghasitu, now an elder in his seventies, had been the son of a daughter who had returned. Now his two sons, men in their prime, were the beginnings of a new patrilineage. In the other way, Kantu's father had joined his sister Kreshani, who had married into the basti, so Kantu and the sons of his dead brother founded a new patrilineage. This same woman Kreshani's two married daughters had also returned with husbands and children. Each daughter had had a son, both now married, who would also start new patrilineages. There were six houses of bhänjäs and one house of a sälä's son, while there were only six houses headed by men descendant from Ram's male ancestors in a strictly male line; these six were properly patrilineal and patrilocal. In addition there was the house belonging to Gyarsi who had married Sumi and Shyam's son, Tikku, who had died. Now Gyarsi remained in her first husband's home but had taken, in a kind of leviratic secondary mating, her mother-in-law's brother's son, her dead husband's mother's brother's son. The advantage of this uxorilocal mating, the widow living in the house she had shared with her dead husband, was that the ghar jamai (uxorilocal son-in-law) could not easily sell her, protected as she was by her dead husband's ftasft'-men. In the seventeen houses of Chuhras there were never more than 100 people during the twenty months that Usha and I knew them. There was a certain amount of flux in their population as daughters came to stay with their parents, and daughters-in-law went to visit their parental villages. Some of the men worked in sanitation crews in cities of the region; all of the adult men had done so at one time or another. So men came and went. One or two families moved in and one or two families moved out during the time we were there. The men could absent themselves from the village, because the jajmani work was carried on very largely by the women. A pair, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, or mother and daughter, or two brothers' wives, would serve a dozen or so jajmäns, higher caste clients — cleaning their latrines and cattle-yards where they patted the animal dung into cakes, which when dried, served as fuel for cooking.

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51

Culture as Constituted The general Hindu idea which the Chuhras of the Western colony also accepted was that although a man could marry more than once, a woman could marry only once; she should have in her lifetime only one husband (Dumont 1964: 82). Among the higher Hindu castes of India - for example, the Rajputs, Banias and Brahmans of Khalapur — a widow remains celibate, staying in her dead husband's house and raising her children or being cared for by her adult sons. Among lower castes widow remating is widely practised (Singh 1947: 169;Crooke 1907: 209; Mandelbaum 1957: 257; Dube 1955: 122; Mayer 1960: 234-235; Carstairs 1957: 136; Dumont 1957: 180; Beals 1962: 31; Lewis 1958: 190-191; Vatuk 1980: 289). The Hindi term used in Khalapur was karawa — the widow comes in karawa and "sits with" (baith dena) her new mate. Anthropologists (O'Malley 1932: 92; Blunt 1969: 72; Dumont 1970: 111) refer to the custom as a secondary marriage or an inferior form of marriage; from the native view, it is not a marriage but a permanent liaison. I hesitate to use the term which some British observers used for widow remating among Hindu peasants, "concubinage", because the children of the secondary marriage had full status as offspring of their father. In Khalapur among some clean castes like the Watercarriers and Potters, and among some unclean or untouchable castes like the Chamar agricultural laborers or the Chuhra Sweepers, there was a rule of levirate (a widow should mate with her husband's brother). The levirate is not as widespread as widow remating, but it is widespread among middle and lower castes in northern India (Singh 1947: 169); it is less prevalent in southern India (Karve 1965: 224; Chattopadhyay 1922: 41). The commencement of the leviratic liaison is only briefly ceremonialized and feasted (Singh 1947: 167;Crooke 1907: 93; Stevenson 1930: 67; O'Malley 1932: 93; Kolenda 1982: 202) in comparison to the lengthy set of double ceremonies for the wedding of a virgin. The workings of the levirate are not well-known. In Khalapur I came to know only the way the levirate worked among the Chuhras of the Western colony (see Kolenda 1982 for a theoretical treatment and p. 201 of that article for a brief description of the levirate as I found it in Jaipur District, Rajasthan, among Jats.). The proscriptive rule, always followed among the Chuhras of Khalapur, was that a widow must marry her dead husband's unmarried brother. Since siblings of the same sex marry in order of age, an unmarried brother of a married man usually is younger, but it is possible that an elder brother is a widower or is for some other reason unmarried. The widow was supposed to be assigned to a new mate at the thirteenth day ceremony after her dead husband's cremation. Her father or brother usually attended the ceremony

52

Family, Kinship and

Personhood

and agreed that she should go in a secondary mating to the husband's unmarried brother.

Culture as

Lived-in

The assignment of a widow to her dead husband's brother at the end of the death period often resulted in the situation in which Sumi had found herself, mated to a child-groom. Often the women so assigned did not wait until the boy had grown up to become sexually active again; such women often took lovers and, like Sumi, ran away with them. Whether the couple was ever accepted back into the colony or not after running away depended on whether the lover was also a Chuhra; if he were a Muslim or a Chamar or a man of some other caste, they would never be accepted; if he was a Chuhra, the likelihood for re-acceptance after some years of absence, as in Sumi's case, was good. If the lovers were caught in an illicit affair, the Chuhra man might be required to pay the woman's dead husband's family for the widow; otherwise they would separate her from the lover and sell her. A man of another caste or religion could not legitimize the mating by paying the woman's dead husband's family for her. The proscriptive levirate rule was inadequate, not just because childgrooms were immature and unready to mate with the widow of an elder brother, but because it was a rule that did not succeed in allotting many widows. It was not unusual for the husband's younger brother to be married already; in that instance the custom was that the widow, as well as the man and his wife, must all accede to the polygynous arrangement that would result if the widow joined the household. The general community assessment was that co-wives fight all the time. Neither Chuhra widows nor married brothers' wives agreed to the polygynous solution without hesitation, so this solution was rarely chosen although, as we shall see, Haradi did prefer it. Then there was the common possibility of a dead husband having no brothers. To allow for these two kinds of failure of the leviratic rule, that the dead man's brothers were all married or that there was no brother, it was customary for the Chuhra elders to suggest that the widow accept a substitute for the husband's full brother and take as a mate the dead husband's cousin — usually, his father's brother's son; more rarely, a mother's brother's son or even more rarely, a father's sister's son; or even a more distant cousin of the dead husband might be proposed. Hindi kinship terminology uses the same term bhäi for all male cousins; they are all called "brother". However, the distinction between a man's full brother, and a "cousin-brother" is carefully noted, and the distance makes a difference. If a woman mates with her dead husband's full brother, he cannot sell

Living the Levirate: the Mating of an Untouchable Chuhra Widow

53

her. There is the idea that she came as a virgin to ths whole household of the first husband, that she came in a sense as a virgin tD the husband's brothers as well as to the husband. This entails the rule that the husband's full brother cannot sell the leviratic mate. The rule seems to liinge on the ideal of the lineal-fraternal joint family; the woman comes in marriage to that joint household. However, cousin-brothers are not considered tc be part of the husband's household, and the introduction of a factor of lateral genealogical distance from the original husband entails the secondary husband's right to sell the woman. The Hindu pollution concept, so important in understanding caste ranking and untouchability (Kolenda 1978: 62-85; Stevenson 1954; Davis 1983; Marriott and Inden 1973), extends to the purity of women (Yalman 1963). A woman is impure for any sexual partner subsequent to the partner to whom she was taken as a virgin. The Chuhra modification of this Hindu ideal seems to be that she is pure for all the men of the patri-fraternal contingent of her husband's joint-family (his brothers and father) but she is not pure for a man outside that family. Once she is t a t e n by a second mate she is impure and presumably "spoiled" and thus saleable. This is not stated explicitly by the Chuhras but it is a Hindu way to account for this right of the cousin-brother of the dead husband to sell the secondary wife (see also Kolenda 1982: 206.) If a cousin-brother accepting the widow takes her to live in another village, he must pay her first husband's male family member for her; if on the other hand he resides in the iame village as the dead husband, he does not pay for her, but may sell her. A woman who has been bought can be resold. Women are usually sold to widowers, because widowers generally have a hard time convincing the guardians of young virgins 1:0 arrange marriages with them. Widowers may be left with children to raise md may have no choice for a mate except to buy a widow. The sale of a widow by her dead husband's cousin-brother or by anyone else is usually by deception. I never heard of a widow consenting to being sold. If she is sold by dece ption, it is done secretly and she may lose her entire complement of relatives, both those of her natal village and those in her first husband's village, for none of these is likely to be informed about her whereabouts, at least for some time, and there is not likely to be anyone in the buyer's village whom she knows (although fortunately for Haradi, there was in the village into which she was sold a man related to a man of her dead husband's village). It is this alienation from all her relatives, the deception and secrecy, the lack of ceremonialization or of any public affirmation that sharply distinguish the sale of a woman from marriage by brideprice, a custom also prevalent in India, especially among lower castes. A woman who is sold is stigmatized; there is the implication that she has engaged in an illicit affair; often women who are sold are already pregnant through such an affair. A wife who has come to a family in a first

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Family, Kinship and Personhood

marriage or a virtuous widow should not be sold. Among the 27 adult Chuhris of the western colony who had married into the basti, 15 were still married to their first husband, 6 were in leviratic marriages, 2 were elderly widows and 3 were women who had been sold to men of the basti; one other widow had taken a lover who had paid her dead husband's family men for her. It was not an unusual destiny for a widow or (even though it was against the rule) for a wife to be sold although, as we shall see with Haradi, a widow may try hard to avoid being sold. While North Indian kinship culture seems to place a heavy emphasis upon the sibling relationship as one of solidarity, needless to say, the real relationships in which people live do not always follow these ideals of loyalty and love. Hostility between brothers is common, but even more common is hostility between cousin-brothers, who are the sons of full brothers. Such patrilateral parallel cousins belong to households founded by men who once shared a household and then separated, men who belonged to the same parental and later the same joint family. When brothers divide a joint household they seldom do it without bad feelings. Thus the cousin-brothers inherit their fathers' hostility; there have probably been bad feelings between their households for much of their lives. By implication, the widow may have good reason to fear that if she agrees to "sit with" her dead husband's cousinbrother, he may be motivated to sell her. The marriages of virgins are arranged in India. The widow who has not been automatically assigned to sit with her dead husband's unmarried brother has choice, or at least veto power over her subsequent mate. Her agreement must be taken concerning her mating with either her husband's married brother or with her husband's cousin-brother. She may also choose to remain a celibate widow. However, if she chooses to be a celibate widow and she is still in her childbearing period of life, she is likely to be under pressure from the elders of her caste-community to accept a man who can be construed to be a brother of the dead husband.

Haradi's

Story

The story of Haradi (see Diag. 2) is pieced together from twenty-two conversations which Usha and I had over a year and a half with Haradi herself as well as thirteen other members of the Chuhra community. Of these Kali, Mahendi, Bhuli, Kishandai (Chuhris), and Kantu (a Chuhra) are cited in the passages below.

Living the Levirate: the Mating of an Untouchable

55

Chuhra Widow

Diag. 2 Haradi and some Kin

Γ i

ϊί

Prithvi

A

=

Chither

= ο

1

Pratap

= ο Haradi

1 I^ö 1 = Ο

Κα! u

Swami

Ο Suti

Outline of Haradi's Career as a Widow 1946 1946-48

Widowed, at about the age of 23. Remained in village where she worked w th Prithvi's wife, wife of her dead husband's brother, absent in Eelhi. When Prithvi failed to return, both women went to their parental villages. 1 9 4 8 4 9 In her home village, her brother and h s wife made Haradi feel unwelcome so she returned to her dead husband's village. 1950 Elders suggested that Haradi "sit with" Mahinder, her dead husband's father's father's brother's dau|>hter's son. After a short time, Haradi turned him out of her house. 1952 Haradi was sold by her dead husband's brother's son Chiter, who was under pressure to pay off debts frorr the expenses of his own wedding. Haradi was rescued by the elders and devars of the western Chuhra basti of Khalapur. 1953 At Mangal's wedding, elders suggested that Haradi "sit with" Kalu, her dead husband's father's brother's son. Both Kalu's wife and Haradi refused that arrangement. 1954-56 Haradi was under pressure from Kalu to "sit with" either himself or his brother, Swami. 195? Haradi "sat with" Prithvi, her dead husband's full brother. 196? Haradi died. Haradi, born in Manohar village, had a father who married three times and took widows to wife (karäwa) twice. Haradi told us: My mother came last [thus in a karäwa widow remating], I had only one full brother, Radhu. Only one of my father's first four wives had a child, a girl married in Kishan village.... I don'l remember much about

56

Family, Kinship and Personhood

my mother. She died when I was about 6 years old. People tell me she looked like me. She died at about my age [30]. At first, we both [Haradi and Radhu] went to live with our bhuwä (father's sister) in Surenderpur village. My bhuwä nursed my brother. Then one of our previous mothers who had run away earlier came back, and we returned to Manohar village. She lived with us there. My father was as old as Jammal [perhaps late sixties] and looked like him also. We liked everything about him. He kept us very well and loved us very much. He had lots of money, but when he died my raw's (father's elder brother's) son took all the money, as my brother was very young and I was married here. My father kept asking for me when he was dying, but I could not go. I went later. When I reached there, everything in our house had been removed by my raw's son who had pretended to take my brother into his house. Haradi was very popular with the Sweepers of the basti because she loved to joke and tease, to dance and sing, often making up songs presented extemporaneously. North Indian culture prescribes avoidance between a woman and men older than her busband who are not of her own patrilineage, but it also prescribes a joking relationship with men younger than her husband in his patrilineage and by extension in his residential community. Haradi loved to indulge in joking with her devars. Thus I recorded in my notes: Haradi was teasing old Dharmi (a really ancient widow, perhaps in her seventies), telling us how Dharmi's wedding had been arranged. Haradi laughed, "I told my sasurä (father-in-law) to go and look for a bride for my dädasarä (husband's father's father). Then I plastered the house [in preparation for a wedding] and had a man stand beating the drum, so everyone would know that my dädasarä had brought a new wife." Here the joke is in the age reversal, a grand-daughter-in-law having arranged her grandmother-in-law's wedding. Similarly in the next joke, she plays on the absurdity of a woman in her thirties being mated with a boy of twelve and having to keep her face covered from men in their late teens and twenties, because they were men older than her adolescent husband: "If I become Suku's (a boy of twelve) wife, I'll have to keep ghungaf (face covered with end of sari or head-covering) from you (to Moti, a male of early twenties) and from Nathu (a boy of 17)." The reader may refer to the beginning of the paper for Haradi's perceptions of her dead husband and for the reason why she could not marry either of her husband's chacha-taü brothers (father's brother's sons), Kalu and Swami. Haradi's husband, Pratap,had had two brothers. One, the father of Chither, was dead, but the other, Prithvi, who had a reputation for being a gambler, was still alive in 1956, working in Delhi. Pratap and Prithvi had quarreled over the division of the house and utensils when their joint family divided into two nuclear families. Kali told us that Prithvi lived in the city not

Living the Levirate: the Mating of an Untouchable Chuhra Widow

57

because he liked the city but because of the quarrel with his elder brother. "He said when he left, "I'll never come back." Pratap turned Prithvi and his wife out." When Haradi was first widowed in about 1945, she lived and worked with Prithvi's wife, but this woman returned to her home village in about 1948 because Prithvi had been away in Delhi so long without returning. Neither Prithvi nor his wife were ever seen in the Chuhra colony during our time there in 1954-56. We asked Bhuli why Haradi had not gone back to live in her natal village. Bhuli said that Haradi was very independent. She hid indeed gone to live in her home village for three or four months after he husband's death, but her brother said she should get mated. "After all," he said, "ours is a working caste (kaum), and you should have a man." Her brother's wife complained about Haradi being dependent upon them for food and support, and Haradi, being sensitive, did not like that, so she returned to live in her mother-in-law's house, from which no one could eject her. "It's hers as long as she lives," Bhuli said. Bhuli praised Haradi's chastity, pointing out that if Haradi had every had an affair she would have become pregnant, but that had not happened. Later on, the Chuhra elders had proposed that Haradi "sit with" a man who was her dead husband's father's father's daughter's son and thus a father's cousin-sister's son to her husband. My notes read: Mahendi, an elderly lady, then urged Haradi to sing us a song, "Oh, my Mahinder, don't go to the gram fields." Haradi said she couldn't sing it because there were men present. We told Moti and the others to go, but Moti said that Haradi wasn't at all modest or shy about singing with them (devars) present. Mahendi explained thai many years ago, after Haradi was widowed, the elders — Ram, Ghasitu and her brother, Radhu — decided that Haradi should be made to sit with Phatu's brother, Mahinder (her husband's father's father's brother's daughter's son, a distant cousin-brother). Haradi complained about him — that he smelled — and she would sing this song to him, "Oh, my Mahinder, don't go to the gram fields." Haradi would not sing the song but she offered to show us how he walked. She got up and jerked one shoulder and then the other, imitating Mahinder's walk. Haradi then went away. Mahendi told us that the elders had had Haradi "sit with" Mahinder. Laughingly she said that when Mahinder was in :he house, Haradi would be out. When Haradi was in, Mahinder was out. 5>he only stayed with him a few days. "He was so greedy for something he didn't get," laughed Mahendi "that he would go and collect the dung all alone and not ask Haradi to work at all. She would cook his food, but when he came and said, "Come in the house and give me food," stie would say, "Take it. It's there." "I don't want to live with him," she would tell other people. Upon coming into her house, he had taken his share of grain from his

58

Family, Kinship and

Personhood

brother. She kicked Mahinder and his grain out of her house. So then Mahinder left the village. No one knows where he is now." Bhuli told us on another occasion, "But Mahinder was just like a wandering dog. He'd come once a month. He didn't want to keep her [Haradi], and she didn't want to stay there, so they broke up. Kalu and Swami have always been afraid she'd take another man." Kali also told us that Mahinder had been arrested for "loitering at night". Kali didn't know where he was now. She said, "Many times letters come, sometimes from Saharanpur, sometimes from Jalabad or Roorki [cities of the region]. He used to live here; for a while, he came every ten or fifteen days, but he hasn't come for a year. Maybe he has been arrested." She said that he had no family; both his wife and two daughters had died. "He was a man older than Phatu (thus past 40). He didn't steal. He was whimsical. He'd go pick someone's dung one day; then he'd do some service somewhere else the next day." Although Haradi had managed up to 1956 not to settle down with any of her husband's chacha-tm (father's brothers' sons) or maman-phuphi ke bhäis (mother's brothers' or father's sisters' sons) she was once sold — by her husband's dead brother's son, Chiter. One of the Sweeper men, Sukhar, told us the story: Pratap-ki-bahu (Pratap's wife — Haradi) was taken by Chiter by deceit and sold by him in Nangal village. A year and a half ago, Chiter had two sons. The elder one was sick. Chiter said to his wife, "Let us go to Devton, and see a medical man there." He told his chachi (father's younger brother's wife), Haradi, to come along. Suti, his wife, and the two children all went too. After they had been to the doctor, Chiter suggested that they take a tonga (horse-drawn cart) home. Chiter had already received the money for Haradi, so he had had a great deal of money. "Chachi," he said, "let us go in a tonga." "No," she said, "it is too expensive. Let us go on foot. Besides there is no pakka (paved) road to Khalapur." Chiter suggested they take a tonga to Gyarsipur village, then walk from Gyarsipur to Khalapur. He pushed Haradi into a tonga, and the tonga shot off toward Nangal village. Haradi didn't realize where they were going because she was all the time talking. Two miles this side of Nangal village, the wheels of the tonga broke, so they started walking. They entered Nangal village. Haradi said, "Is this Gyarsipur village?" Chiter said it was. He had taken her where he had sold her. The people of Marchwa (the southeast quarter of Khalapur Chuhras) — three men, Paltu, Saresh, and Balwant — were also involved in this sale of Haradi. Chiter had taken five hundred rupees. They had each taken one hundred. These men had already arrived in Nangal village. No one from our basti knew about the transaction at all. The people of Nangal village were expecting them. They had a good feed. The women went into the house and the men stayed out, and they ate with good will. Now Suti, Chiter's wife, was in the house. To go home, Chiter wanted to get Suti

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Chuhra Widow

59

out, but without Haradi. He sent in a messenger saying that Chiter's father was there and that Suti should come out. Haradi need not come out because samdhi and samdhin (daughter-in-law's father and son-in-law's mother) should not see each other. Haradi said, "I'll come too, for I must go home." Suti said, "No, I'll be back." So she came out with her two children. Later when it was getting late, Haradi said, "Where is my bahü (daughterin-law)?" She tried to get out but they stopped her. The man who had bought Haradi had a grown-up daughter with two small children. She caught hold of Haradi and said, "Where are yoa running away to? You have come to be my mausi (mother's sister) [thus equating the man's second wife with his first as sisters]." Haradi realized what had happened. She started crying, shouting, and abusing people. The man who had bought her, Kaliram, came in and some others caught hold of her. She ran and ran. She ran to the top of the roof, and along the way her ornä (head covering) had been snatched off, and she stood on the roof saying, "May you people of Gyarsipur village die! May your sons and grandsons die, and everyone else die t o o . " She threw stones and cowdung at them. The people laughed and laughed. The people of the village gathered around. They said, "You have brought her here by decei:. She doesn't even know where she is. You should send her back if she doesn't want to live here. Don't shout and cry!" The Sweepers there who had brought her caught her and put her in a guarded room. She lay on the chärpai (string cot). Then she put her chärpai on end and with the help of a couple of baskets and her ornä (head covering), she climbed over the wall and came out of Nangal village. She walked until she came to another village, Surwan. She didn't go into this village, but there was a stream there. She thought, "If I try to cross this stream, I'll die." So she sat there. By this time, the people of Nangal village were out searching for her. They came along where she was in Surwan saying, "We don't know where our bahü went." She said to them out loud, "I'm sitting right heie. My brain is not right. I have gone mad." So the people of Nangal took hsr back. Manpal's sälä (wife's brother) is from Nangal village. He came visiting in Khalapur. He told Manpal, "I have tried to make a home for Kaliram, but such a wife we have bought for him! She refuses to eat or drink. She cries and weeps all the time. She is mad, t o o . " Manpal asked where he had bought her. He said, from Khalapur. They knew that Haradi was missing, but Chiter had said that he had married her off and that she was happy and had been married by her own will. They realized that this couldn't be true if she was weeping and crying. So on thi: next day after the sälä had come, several men of the basti - Swami, Chaman, Phatu, and Kalu's wife (Kalu himself was working in the city of iiloorki) went to Nangal village. When they got to Nangal village the people there wouldn't let them see Haradi. They didn't even let Kalu-ki-bahü (Kalu's wife) see her, because they were afraid that she would talk her into coming away. The Nangal

60

Family, Kinship and Personhood people said, "We won't let you take her away. In case you decide about the money, we'll give her back." By this, they meant that the Khalapur people should return the money Chiter had gotten for her. The Khalapur people said, "In case you don't give back our bahü, if she is in any way harmed we will take revenge on you, your children, and your grandchildren." Saying this, they came back to Khalapur. The next day they went with a letter from the village sarpanch and pradhän (elected officials, both Rajputs, members of the dominant caste). They had a big form with the signatures of sarpanch, pradhän, and influential men of the village on it. They told the Sweepers, "Seeing these signatures, they should send her back. If they don't, the whole village will accompany you there next time." They went to Nangal village and stayed there for the night. The whole village of Nangal was alert that night in case they should try to take the bride and run away with her. Another part of the Khalapur Sweepers had gone to find Chiter. On the day after selling Haradi, he had gone away — to his in-laws, (his wife's natal village). He did not know that the Sweepers had decided to demand her back. Nangal, Chaman and Mangal went to find Chiter. (Nine men: Kantu, Ghasita, Manpal, Itwari, Moti, Gana, Phatu, Sohu, Kishan had gone to Nangal village.) Chiter had already spent quite a bit of the money, but they got from him what was left and took some other money from him. Chaman, Ram and Kalu each contributed 50 rupees. And they got 100 rupees from the people of Marchwa (the other Chuhra quarter of Khalapur) by having a panchayat at which it was decided that they should contribute too. Thus they got enough money together to buy Haradi back. They got the money from the Marchwa quarter people by threatening them. The Chuhra (Sweeper) panchäyat of both bastis, the elders of Marchwa themselves agreeing, threatened the men from Marchwa who had been in on the plot. They threatened them with punishment and said they would sue them for the money. The Nangal sarpanch also handed down some punishments. When those men were taken to Nangal, both the men from Marchwa and Chiter were tied up by their hands from the roof from which they hung for an hour. Then they had to sit with their ears between their knees for an hour, and they had to apologize thoroughly for acting so wickedly. Each man was fined ten rupees by the Nangal sarpanch too. Both Chiter and his wife had to pay ten rupees. They saved Suti, Chiter's wife, from being hung by her hands and so on, because it would have been an insult to have a bahü punished in that way. They got her out of these punishments by saying that she did not know what was happening, that she had no knowledge of what Chiter was doing. She actually started saying, "My son was ill, and I went to show him to a doctor. I was called away by deceit." The Nangal panchayat was a full panchayat of that village. Many people from Khalapur and from "all four sides" attended. Some relatives such as Baliram's daughter's people from Karcha near Nangal attended. Chiter

Living the Levirate:

the Mating of an Untouchable

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and the Marchwa men were present. It was t h ; regular panchäyat that decided the punishment. Haradi had not c o m e home yet. The Khalapur men had got Chiter to go t o Nangal by telling him, "What's done is done. C o m e , let us g o and bring her b a c k . " This was after they had gathered the rupees for Haradi. T h e y had told the Marchwa men to come in the same way. It was the Khalapur Sweepers w h o had gone to the sarpanch in Nangal village and told him, " T o d a y it is our bahü. T o m o r r o w it will be someone else's. These men should be fined and punished as much as possible." T h e y felt that if these men had trapped our basti, they should be punished. There was no question of punishing Kaliram, the man w h o had bought Haradi, because he had not troubled her in any way. He had behaved very decently t o her. He had paid for her honestly. All of the Khalapur delegation had talked to the Nangal sarpanch. Ram and Ghasitu, elders, had done most of the talking but they had all chimed in. Later the men were punished b y a Sweeper panchäyat (caste-men's council) held in Khalapur. The men from Marchwa, and Chiter were fined five rupees each. This was after the Nangal punishments. This m o n e y was taken and kept by the panchäyat for an emergency. There was also a case filed in the gawn panchäyat (village elected panchäyat), but the Marchwa people probably bribed the sarpanch, so that hi; asked that the case be taken to our o w n biraderi panchäyat (caste chapter panchäyat). Both panchäyats should have punished these men. The sarpanch in Nangal told us that they should be punished in Khalapur. All he could punish them for was breaking the laws of Nangal. T h e law of Nangal that had been broken was selling a w o m a n without her ccnsent. The case with the sarpanch at Nangal was initiated by the Chuhras o f Nangal. T h e y wanted t o have made the first report in case anything w t n t wrong. T h e y had told him, "We have bought a w o m a n , and she doesn't fit in very well. We think she has been sold t o us by d e c e i t . " T h e y wanted to report first, so that if there was a report against them they w o u l d n ' t be held part of the plot.

Had the letter with the signatures of the importar t men had any influence upon the Chuhras of Nangal? "The Nangal people were not trying to be unreasonable. They said, 'Give us back our money. We'll give you back your bahü' (daughter-in-law)," How had the people in the Sweeper basti treated Chiter after this? Haradi was angry with Chiter for a long time. For six months n o one in the basti spoke t o Chiter. T h e y wouldn't let Iiim smoke their hukkäs. Finally he apologized thoroughly and said t o all the people of the basti, " I did a great misdeed." He said this t o chacha (Ghasitu) and to Ram and t o all the men met together. He put his shoe on his head and clasped his hands. A l l the men were there. Chiter said, " Y o u are m y bäbäs (father's fathers). Excuse me. In the future, I w o n ' t do s u : h a thing again." Chiter had decided to make this apology himself.

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Chiter indeed had so little community support that he left the bosti soon after our arrival and his wife Suti returned home with her child. She told us, "My child is well only at my mother's. He is never well here. We have no one of our own here; no elder here looks after us. The whole basti dislikes us, so I am going home." The community's image of Chiter was of a lazy fellow who had run away and was loafing somewhere, a man who never took the advice of the elders, and did not wish to obey them or show his respect for them. In the spring of 1956, Swami's wife died, leaving three small children, and Swami's brother Kalu now pressured Haradi to marry his brother. She still continued however to have the support of the community in her refusal to sit with a chacha-taü bhäi of her husband's. Bhuli told us: On Chaudas day recently, Haradi was getting ready to go the melä (fair). Kalu went and asked her whose permission she had taken to go. Haradi doesn't have any real jeths (husband's elder brothers), devars (husband's younger brothers) or husband so whose permission should she take? She was just going herself. Kalu went and pulled her out of her house and beat her, pushed her and gave her a slap and said, "You go and have affairs with everyone. Why don't you sit with him (Swami) instead of going around to other people?" After all, Haradi is young. She likes to dress up and wear nice clothes. She talks pleasantly to people, and sometimes she laughs and jokes with younger men who are devars in relation. For all this, he accused her of being flirtatious. Haradi has a [bhatiji] (brother's daughter) married into Marchwa quarter. Sometimes she goes there, so he accused her of having affairs with people there. Haradi told me, "See, I should have died the death of a worm, and worms should eat me up. Everything bad should happen to me if I have done anything bad." Kalu abused her calling her "sali" (wife's sister) and "säsu" (mother-in-law). Haradi told me, "If they trouble me too much, I might have to go away somewhere." Swami had been nice and said, "No, no, let her alone. We don't want her. Let my children live. I don't want her." (We asked if the bare admi (big men) of the basti couldn't force Haradi to sit with Swami.) No, no, everyone's sympathy is with her when she doesn't wish to go there. The whole village - the pradhän (headman of the village) and the jemindars (landholders of the village), everyone is with her. They told her if she was troubled at all, she should come to them and they would take care of her. Her brothers also told her, "If they trouble you, and it is not your wish, tell us, and we will come and rape their daughters." Haradi continued to be under pressure while we were there to sit with Kalu, so that he might take on the debts which her husband Pratap had owed. Haradi explained to us that as a widow she is not obligated to pay these, but whatever man she decides to re-marry would have to shoulder these debts.

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63

Since the debts were taken to marry off Chiter, Chiler's motivation in selling his chachi had been to clear some of those debts. Thus the bridegroom in whose behalf the debts had been taken might also t e expected to pay them off. Indeed at one time, before the sale of Haradi, when Chiter was very ill, the bhagat treating Chiter found that it was the ghost (bhüt) of Pratap that was stuck to Chiter, and the bhüt pronounced through Mangal the shaman (bhagat) that he was making Chiter sick because he had not repaid these debts and had been bothering his wife, Haradi. Kali told us that Mangal had not been able to control the bhüt of Pratap very well, because "he was a real chacha (father's younger brother) of Chiter's and even the gods (devtäs) cannot have much control over spirits playing on members of their own family." Pratap had demanded that a cow be given in his name, and that cow was still in the basti in 1956; it could never be sold, Kali i:old us. Kali also pointed out to us that Pratap's bhüt observed Haradi closely and made her sick whenever she wanted to leave the basti for a visit elsewhere. Kali warned, "Now you'll see. She wants to go to her bhänja's (sister's son's) wedding (in another village), and she will surely come home sick." Last year at Holi some of the visitors thought :hat Haradi had thrown color on them (it was actually another woman). fCalu, hearing them say, "Haradi is our sali. That is why she threw color on us," came in with a lathi (a weighted bamboo pole used as a weapon) and tcld Haradi, "You do not get remarried or sit with us, but go out after other people who visit. I will cut off your genitals." She said, "First bring your w ife and cut off hers and then bring your daughter and cut hers, and then cut mine!" "After that, he abused me no more." Another Sweeper, Bhuli, told us that Kalu's wife's parents said when Haradi became a widow, "It is not Haradi who has been widowed, but it is our daughter. Her husband has eyes only for Haradi, and our daughter will be neglected." Bhuli affirmed that Haradi did not want to marry either Kalu or Swami and she told her people (her brother) not to give a rupee to either of them (the gesture of agreement to her "sitting with" one of them). Kishandai, another Sweeper however assumed thai; there had been a sexual relationship between Haradi and Kalu, and said that if Haradi had a baby by Kalu, it would be perfectly legitimate and accepted as the child of a leviratic second husband. Kalu's wife would of course be jealous. Kishandai sighed, "What can a woman do? No woman likes another one in her house. They have twenty-four hour disputes." Since Haradi likes to laugh and joke, she sometimes does so with men of the village or basti who are devars in relationship to her, Bhuli told us. Kalu even went to her home village and told her people that their daughter was going "bad." They sent back word that she should "sit with" Kalu, or they

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would never come to see her again. Haradi said, "Let those copulators never come. I don't care." While there has been some friction between Swami's wife and Haradi, because the former feared that Haradi might "lure" her husband, Haradi and Kalu's wife seem to get along well. Kalu's wife does have to bear a certain amount of teasing. Thus when Kalu once went to fetch Haradi from her home village, a number of women teased his wife saying that Kalu had gone to "get a new wife." Kati explained Haradi's acceptance of the basic rule of the levirate, that a widow should marry her husband's full brother. She said, "If a woman's husband dies, and if any of her devars (husband's younger brothers) or jeths (husband's older brothers) are single, then she can live with one of them. Mostly, that is only if one is single. Sometimes it happens that two wives live together, but then there is much quarreling. For example, if two live together and one is given clothes and jewelry by the husband and the other isn't, there is a quarrel. Now with Haradi and Kalu's wife, when Haradi's husband died, both Swami and Kalu wanted her, but she wouldn't sit with either because she said, Ί don't want to sit in a full house, one where there are women and children. Why should I go there? I will spend my days here. If Prithvi my jeth comes, I will stay with him."' We asked about Prithvi. "His wife lives at her mother's house. She hasn't come back here for the past five or six years. If he came, Haradi could stay with him. She still says, 'If you find him, I'll stay with him.' When Haradi's husband died and Prithvi ran away, those two (Prithvi's wife and Haradi) lived and worked together. Then Prithvi's wife went away." Haradi is a childless widow who refused either to take one of three leviratic mates or to be sold. When we returned to Khalapur for a brief visit in 1967, we learned that Haradi had finally remarried her husband's full brother, Prithvi, the man who had been lost in Delhi. He evidently had reappeared meanwhile. In 1974 when we again visited, we learned that she had died. To summarize Haradi's career as a widow — she successfully resisted pressures from her brother, the Sweeper basti panchäyat, and from the man in question himself, to remarry her married husband's chacha-taü ka bhäi (father's brother's son). She managed this, first, by claiming a promise made to her husband that she would not marry either of his two chacha-taü ke bhäis; secondly, by citing the regularity with which co-wives quarrel, and thus that she and Kalu's wife would quarrel; and third, by maintaining a reputation for chastity, based on the very real fact that she had not become pregnant. Furthermore she was regular in her sweeping work done for highercaste households in the village, so these clients thought well of her. She had also won the support of the elder Chuhras by showing unusually great respect

Living the Levirate: the Mating of an Untouchable Chuhra Widow

65

to them, and she was pleasant and entertaining to the other Chuhra women and to her devars (husband's classificatory [basti] younger brothers). When her husband's dead brother's son tried to sell her wi .hout her permission, she not only won the sympathy of the people to whom she had been sold but had the immediate aid of the elders and of the othsr adult men of her first husband's basti. Haradi had indeed briefly tried "sitting with" a d istant cousin of her dead husband's, but she broke off that relationship with the sympathy and support of the community, because he was a wandering fellow who was not a solid member of the Chuhra community. She eventually did conform to the prescriptive levirate rule that a widow should marry her husband's full brother. We do not know, however, whether Prithvi, the husband's full brother, was married or not at the time she mated with him; her willingness to enter that polygynous situation was indicated right after her first husband's death when she lived with Prithvi's wife until this woman, deserted by her husband, returned to her natal village. How are we to understand Haradi's story? I do not think we should see Haradi as manipulating the cultural rules in pursuit of her own self-interest as Marett, Malinowski, Bailey, Barth and Turner have written (Kuper 1975; 30, 38), nor is she to be understood as a person in a situation in which norms are in flux or in conflict as Leach and Gluckman (Kuper 1975: 191) have written. Haradi conformed to the social norms of the Chuhra community. She had fun within the prescribed joking relationship with husband's younger brothers, and she fulfilled the more onerous norms of "sitting with" a husband's real brother, doing her jajmäni work, and doing respectful chores for older women. The norms themselves however aie not totally patriarchal in this patrilineal-patrilocal culture. They do allow the widow choice of a mate if there is no dead husband's unmarried full brother. And Haradi used the right of choice steadfastly, especially with respect to the cousin-brothers whom her husband hated, and she disputed her lot of being sold, quite within her rights as a virtuous widow. Perhaps what Haradi represents is a woman who took full advantage of the rights built into her small social system, but did the duties required of her by the other norms impinging upon her. By so doing, she won the support of most of the members of her small community and with that their protection. By some scorings, she may be seen as both a brave and good woman.

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Personhood

Notes 1.

I carried on field work among the Chuhras of Khalapur (Saharanpur District, Uttar Pradesh) between October 1954 and May 1956 as a postdoctoral fellow of the Cornell University India Project. Usha Bhagat (now Mrs. Mahendra Dave of Tarzana, California) was my research assistant during the years in Khalapur.

References Beals, Alan R. 1962 Gopalpur (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston). Blunt, Edmund Arthur Henry 1967 The Caste System of Northern India with Special Reference to the United Provinces of Agra and Oudh (London: Humphrey Milford, Oxford University Press; Delhi: S. Chand; orig. 1931). Carstairs, G. Morris 1957 The Twice-Born, a Study of a Community of High-caste Hindu (London: Hogarth Press). Chattopadhyay, K.P. 1922 "Levirate and Kinship in India", Man 22: 36-41. Crooke, William 1907 Natives of Northern India (London: Archibald Constable). Davis, Marvin 1982 Rank and Rivalry: the Politics of Inequality in Rural West Bengal (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Dube, Shyama Charan 1955 Indian Village (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul). Dumont, Louis Charles Jean 1957 Une Sous-Caste de l'Inde du Sud, les Pramalai Kallar (Paris: Mouton). 1964 "Marriage in India: the Present State of the Question, Part 2" Contributions to Indian Sociology 7: 77-102. 1970 Homo Hierarchicus: the Caste System and its Implications (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Karve, Iravati 1965 Kinship Organization in India (Bombay: Asia Publihsing House). Kolenda, Pauline 1964 "Toward a Model of the Hindu Jajmani System", Human Organization 22, no. 1: 11-31. 1978 Castein Contemporary India (MenloPark,Cal.: Benjamin/Cummings). 1982 "Widowhood· among 'Untouchable' Chuhras", Concept of Person: Kinship, Caste, and Marriage in India, edited by Akos Ostör, Lina Μ. Fruzetti and Steven Barnett (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press), 172-220.

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67

Kuper, Adam J. 1975 Anthropologists and Anthropology: the British School 1922-1972 (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books). Lewis, Oscar 1958 North Indian Village (Urbana-Champaign: University of Illinois Press). Mandelbaum, David Goodman 1957 "The Family in India", Introduction to tae Civilization of India: Changing Dimensions of Indian Society and Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago, Syllabus Division orig. in Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 4: 123-139), 241-262. 1970 Society in India (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press). Marriott, McKim, and Ronald B. Inden 1973 "Caste Systems", Encyclopaedia Britannica ; Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica Inc.), 3: 982-991. Mayer, Adrian Curtius 1960 Caste and Kinship in Central India (Berkeley: University of California Press). O'Malley, Lewis Sydney Steward 1932 Indian Caste Customs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Singh, Mohinder 1947 The Depressed Classes: Their Economic and Social Condition (Bombay: Hind Kitab). Stevenson, Henry Noel Cochrane 1954 "Status Evaluation in the Hindu Caste System", Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 4: 45-65. Stevenson, Margaret Sinclair 1930 Without the Pale: Life Story of an Ouicaste (London: Oxford University Press). Vatuk, Sylvia Jane Dutra 1980 "The Aging Woman in India: Self-Percepticns and Changing Roles", Women in Contemporary India and South Asia, edited by Alfred deSouza (Delhi: Manohar Books), 142-163. Yalman, Nur 1963 "On the Purity of Women in the Castes cf Ceylon and Malabar", Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 3, pt. 1: 25-58.

Life History: Nonconformity and the Syntax of Metaexperience Harry Izmirlian Jr.

In the article "The Study of Life History: Gandhi," David Mandelbaum (1973) makes a poignant observation that I'm sur; is shared by most anthropologists. He writes When an anthropologist goes to live among the people he studies, he is likely to make some good friends among them. As he writes his account of their way of life, he may feel uncomfortably aware that his description and analysis have omitted something of great importance. His dear friends have been dissolved into faceless norms; their vivid adventures have somehow been turned into pattern profiles or statistical types (Mandelbaum 1973: 178). The presentation of life histories seeks to redress this imbalance and as Langness observes "comes out of a movement at this time toward what might be called person-centered ethnography" (Langness and Frank 1981: 1). But also, and equally important, biographical materials provide the anthropologist with data on the micro-level of the individual and the macrolevel of society such that their mutual relevance and integration may be documented and analysed. When considering experiences, perceptions and ultimately the world views of individuals, it becomes clear that the anthropologist is in a position to deal with what is perhaps the central question in behavioral studies — namely how and in what ways do some individuals conform i:o the cultural script and conversely how and in what ways do some individuals deviate from that script? Spiro raised the conformity question over twenty years ago when he wrote "how do human societies get their members 1:0 behave in conformity with cultural norms? Or alternatively, how do they induce their members to perform culturally prescribed roles?" (Spiro 1961 : 100) In a later article and referring to culture and personality research, he argues that personality has always been seen as the explanandum whereas it should become explanans (Spiro 1972: 585). In other words, focus should be shifted to the impact of personality on culture and society. In this paper certain life experiences will be presented of two persons — the first an example where behavior and cultural model approach congruence, the second a case where behavior and cultural model are at variance. Thus one question to be addressed is what sorts of experiences in the latter induce

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nonconformity as opposed to experiences in the former that dispose toward compliance to culture. 1 Biographical information that is provided relates to this specific issue. For both persons the data result from experiences remembered and reported. Thus the emphasis is upon a conscious level of articulation that begins at about the school age of five or six. 2 I did not attempt to unearth specific unconscious experiences for either individual by projective or other techniques. The paper divides into four parts. In the first part a general account of the cultural and social features of the village is provided. In the second part life experiences are presented. The third section deals with the rather special role that each person plays in village society, while in the last part life experiences of each are integrated into a substantive and theoretical analysis on the conformity/nonconformity question.

Part 1: The Village My first exposure to the village Nalli was during ten months of 1961 and 1962. During 1965-1966 I restudied the village and incorporated it into a structural and person-oriented comparison with two other villages.3 My most recent contact in the area was for about a month in early 1979. Thus my relations with these persons extend over a period of eighteen years although virtually all of the data that form the basis of this analysis come from the first two visits. The village is located in Punjab, India. More specifically, it is situated in the district Ludhiana, ten miles south of a city of the same name, the district's chief administrative center. One hundred and sixty-two families break down to 145 Sikh 4 families and 17 Hindu families. The dominant caste in the village as well as the state is Jat-Sikh, an agricultural group numbering 90 families in 1966 (see Table 1.). Master Gurdial Singh and Sukdev Singh, the two subjects to be considered here, belong to the Ramgarhia caste-group (traditionally carpenters and blacksmiths). The two men are near contemporaries (4 years apart) and the only male child of their families (other males did not survive beyond infancy). The cultural values of Jat-Sikhs and Ramgarhias merit comment. Jat-Sikhs believe themselves to be the true Sikhs; other castes have come in by the back door as it were. Jat-Sikhs perceive that they possess inordinate quantities of strength and courage, qualities that they believe to be relatively lacking in other Sikh caste-groups. Ramgarhias accord to Jat-Sikhs their claim to secular dominance, but insist that Ramgarhia piety as evidenced in their closer compliance with religious prescription (e.g. proportionately fewer Ramgarhias violate proscriptions against smoking and trimming the beard) makes them

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as good Sikhs as anybody. While Jat-Sikh behavior tends to be boisterous and self-assertive, Ramgarhias adopt a demeanor of reticence. It is against this general cultural and social background that we may view the life experiences of Sukdev Singh and Master 5 Gurdial Singh. Sukdev Singh's behavior and life experiences fit within the typical cultural idiom for Ramgarhias.

Table 1. Population Statistics (Nalli)

Persons

No. of Families 1962

1966

1962

1966

89 21 28 19 21 11 2 2 3 31 7

90 21 25 18 26 11 2 2 3 30 7

633 128 196 138 171 72 21 10 23 196 29

663 130 186 131 216 76 26 12 23 188 34

145

145

984

1052

5 4 5 2 1

5 4 5 2 1

21 23 18 18 7

21 23 17 18 7

Hindus Sikhs

17 145

17 145

87 984

86 1052

Village Total

162

162

1071

1138

Sikhs: Jat-Sikh Grewal clan Dhariwal clan Nanek clan Sada clan Ramgarhia Darzi Jhinwar Nai Chamar Bhangi Hindus: Brahmin Khatri Sonar Bania Nai

The fluctuation in Jat-Sikh families between 1962 and 1966 reflects the fusion and fission of these families. For further information on these phenomena, see chapter 6 of The Politics of Passion: Structure and Strategy in Sikh Society (Izmirlian 1979).

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Part 2: Life Experiences Sukdev Singh was born in 1919. His childhood as he recalls it was unremarkable. He attended school for about three years and even then sporadically. Presently he neither reads nor writes. Education for a person like himself (a Ramgarhia, a poor person) was unnecessary: his work did not require it. Indeed, he observes, some matriculates (high school graduates) are wastrels, roaming about the village with nothing useful to occupy their time. The thrust of his energies is on his work and his family (he needs to arrange for the marriage of two daughters). His biradri (clan mates) in the village are few and he is generally on cordial terms with them. 6 He attends their ceremonies and they his — but generally he believes in minding his own business. His father had early in life conveyed to him the value of not meddling in other people's affairs since it was of no use and would frequently lead to disadvantageous entanglements. His relations with his father were good. (He died in 1962). He had always been treated with respect. His father was a good Sikh, having taken his initiation, observed the Sikh symbols and followed instructions of temple priests. Sukdev Singh himself follows his father's example. His attitude toward Jat-Sikhs is ambivalent. On the one hand they are powerful (because of their numbers and the fact that they own land), yet on the other hand he and many Ramgarhias are better Sikhs since they observe the Sikh symbols more fastidiously. Still, the several Jat-Sikh patrons for whom he works treat him fairly. If one behaves properly, others will respond in kind. Sukdev Singh's exposure outside the village is limited. He goes to Ludhiana rarely, perhaps once every three months. He has been to Amritsar (the holy city of the Sikhs about four hours' distance by train) not more than three or four times. He visited a relative in Delhi for about a week in 1959 — but apart from visits to relatives living in other villages within about a twenty mile radius almost all of his time, past and present, has been spent in village Nalli. Master Gurdial Singh was born in 1915. The reality of his caste identification surrounds him like a shroud because Ramgarhias are carpenters and viewed as menials by Jat-Sikh farmers. Even in his early boyhood his parents and his caste were a source of embarrassment to him: They were illiterate, you know. Possibly the most difficult thing for me to live with in early childhood was the knowledge that Ramgarhias were laghis (dependent clients) and received no respect. The Zemindars (JatSikh farmers) controlled the village like lions. I was in the second or third standard and Nambardar Ajit Singh7 had just rendered a decision on some dispute between a Ramgarhia and a Jat-Sikh. As the Ramgarhia was about

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to raise a question, Nambardar Ajit Singh slapped him down with his fists. Of course, I knew before this that Nambardar Ajit Singh was a leader in the village, but now I saw that he was a king of the village. As t h e b o y grew up, he could find little in c o m m o n with his f a t h e r . His occupation and his obsequious demeanor t o Jat-Sikhs were repulsive to Master Gurdial Singh. It was not surprising t h a t to; should value education while his father could see little use for it. He was a good student. While in the f o u r t h standard, the visiting Inspector of Schools was profuse in complimenting him for his reading of Persian. His second uncle ( o n his m o t h e r ' s side) encouraged him t o continue his studies, b u t his adolescent period in school was not altogether harmonious. He had numerous conflicts with teachers whose role as disciplinarians was especially grating. Indeed between the ages of f o u r t e e n and sixteen he dropped out of school completely. It was a vague and confused time for him. He wandered about t h e village and t o o k u p wrestling and sports, b u t continued t o s t u d y and read on his o w n . He passed his matriculation examination in 1932 and left for Labore. The city was a revelation. Its spaciousness and t h e spendor of its gardens contrasted sharply with the cramped style of life in Ludhiana city. He m a d e his living b y tutoring students in preparation for t h ; i r examinations. On o n e occasion a Ramgarhia Sikh f r o m a village near Nalli solicited his aid in getting registered at the Sikh National College. They were told that it was t o o late t o register for school. Prior to their departure the warden of the college spoke to t h e m . When he discovered that Master Gurdial Singh was f r o m a village not far f r o m his own, the warden instructed thu registrar to admit the s t u d e n t . 8 The period in Lahore was pleasant. He h i d friends and relatives in the city, so life was n o t lonely. Shortly before World War II, he returned to Nalli. He married b u t stayed there only briefly. He left for Calcutta with a friend. Master Gurdial Singh worked near Calcutta for several years as an ind e p e n d e n t contractor bidding on individual jobs. On one occasion his bid was t o o low and he could n o t meet expenses. An American army sergeant based nearby came t o his rescue and delivered a truckload of bricks w i t h o u t charge. Master Gurdial Singh had previously m e t him o n t h s road where his jeep h a d b r o k e n d o w n and he'd acted as his interpreter. Later the t w o m e n met and drank together. This relationship flowered into a friendship and Master Gurdial Singh was disheartened w h e n the soldier was transferred in 1944. His w o r k as a contractor brought him in contact w i t h British personnel as well. He speaks very positively of t h e foreigners he m e t during this period. In 1945 Master Gurdial Singh returned t o P u n j a b . He decided t o complete his educat i o n a n d b e c o m e a teacher. When Independence came in 1947, Master Gurdial Singh's sympathies lay with t h e National Congress party. This was consistent with his aversion

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toward Jat-Sikh agriculturists whose commitment was for the Sikh religious party, the Shiromani Akali Dal (SAD). While pursuing his education for a teaching degree, he became active in Congress circles. When Master Gurdial Singh's father died in 1953, Partap Singh Kairon, then Home Minister, was visiting in Ludhiana. Congress party workers in Ludhiana city informed him of the funeral being held for Master Gurdial Singh's father. Partap Singh Kairon attended the funeral and suggested to Master Gurdial Singh that he become active in village politics. With the support of Jat-Sikhs, Master Gurdial Singh was elected sarpartch (headman) of the village council, a post he occupied for the next 25 years. During the period 1953 to 1956, Master Gurdial Singh enlisted the support of villagers toward a number of development projects (e.g., improvement of drains and well facilities, pavement of village paths and construction of a children's playground). Government grants made possible these projects and in 1956 Nalli was chosen as the most improved village in the state. Until late 1957 Master Gurdial Singh's popularity in the village was great and his support virtually unanimous. In early 1958 however he came into open conflict with a prominent Jat-Sikh who had in 1953 induced him to become sarpartch. Master Gurdial Singh discovered that this man (Lai Singh) was carrying on a clandestine affair 9 with his eldest daughter, a woman whose marriage had failed and who had returned to live in her natal village. The affair had been discovered in late 1955 but Master Gurdial Singh did not come into open breach with this man until early 1958 since, as he put it, he had to wait for the right time. The following events created the right time. In October of 1957 a daughter of a neighbor and friend of Lai Singh was "abducted" 1 0 by two Jat-Sikh boys also of the village. Lai Singh's assistance was solicited by Master Gurdial Singh as well as the girl's father. After some days, Lai Singh was successful in returning the girl, but not without repercussions in his relationships with the families of the two boys, since he was forced to threaten them with police action. Relations between Lai Singh and Master Gurdial Singh began to deteriorate. Lai Singh began attempting to undermine the position of the sarpartch, stating that it was only due to his influence that Master Gurdial Singh had been named sarpartch and that he could just as easily remove him from office. The matter came to a head in January 1958 during the Lohri 11 festival in the village. On this day Lai Singh's nephew visited Nalli. He became drunk and abusive. As he passed before the sarpartch's house, the male members of the two JatSikh families who had previously been alienated by Lai Singh's police threats as well as Master Gurdial Singh's son attacked the Lai Singh group. Blood was shed on both sides though no fatal injuries resulted. Master Gurdial Singh and

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Lai Singh had openly split. The latter joined the party headed by Nambardar Ajit Singh and the sarpanch was now supported by these two Jat-Sikh families. Master Gurdial Singh's actions above were encou :aged by his alliance and contact with a man of substantial importance in the district and state. In the 1957 state assembly elections, Master Gurdial Singh assisted Mukarn Singh in his campaign to be elected to the state legislative assembly. Mukarn Singh was the warden who had aided Master Gurdial Singh at the Sikh National College in Lahore some years before. On the occasion of their renewed meeting Master Gurdial Singh reminded Mukarn Sinjjh of the school incident. The two men grew quite close and it would appear that Master Gurdial Singh's ability as a public speaker contributed grsatly to Mukarn Singh's success in the election.

Part 3: Some Special

Roles

A consideration of the kind of impact that each of these persons has on village society and culture requires first, the specification of a social and cultural domain in which the behavior of each has input; second, that social categories which emerge as a consequence of analysing activities within that domain have empirical and conceptual relevance foi the conformist/nonconformist dichotomy. Activities within the political domain meet these conditions. Also village political structure depicts a surprising portrait of stability — a leader who occupies the post of sarpanch from 1953 to 1978 and a formal structure which persists throughout this 25 year period. These facts are to a large degree understandable in terms of Master Gurdial Singh's distinctive role; also the analysis in the last section of this paper builds on the information provided here. Political structure is delineated through the analysis of political support during elections. In Nalli we can view political participation in t e r n s of two distinguishable classes of persons: those who are members of groups that participate almost continually in the political process and those whose participation is restricted to election times. I call the former class active political groups and the latter politically nonactive villagers. The basis of voting for persons of both classes differs but in predictable ways. Briefly, in active political groups the individmil's vote is based on his commitment to his group. Commitment means here simply that an individual's vote is influenced by his prior investment as a grovp member. The electoral response of politically nonactive villagers breaks down into three subclasses: some whose vote is conditioned by their status as landless persons, others whose vote is influenced by caste and religion, and finally those for whom

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personal oppositions (almost exclusively within kin groups) form the basis of their vote. I call these categories of nonactive persons landless, communal and oppositional. Village political structure is thus viewed in terms of active political groups and nonactive villagers. Political action in the former produces clearly differentiated roles of leaders and supporters among members of these groups. There are three major active groups; one supports the Akali party and the other two support the Congress party. The leaders of each of these groups maintain contacts with politically influential men outside the village. Members of active groups articulate their interests to their leaders. Political nonactives are to some degree isolated within the network and in scale of priority have their interests served last. Implicit in the above discussion is the notion of position: that is, the notion that the location of a group or person with respect to other groups and persons and with respect to access to information and influence (let us call this content) has a crucial bearing on the way in which the interests and demands of any particular sector come to be articulated. In this sense, leaders of active groups have the greatest access to content, political nonactives have the least, and members of active groups, by virtue of their contacts with their leaders, fall somewhere in between. Differential access to content also has important consequences for the way each social unit contributes to the maintenance of the political structure. Let us consider the social forces that tend to perpetuate the political structure of Nalli. These forces are discussed as they relate to the positions that major leaders, active group members and nonactive villagers occupy. A village (or any social collectivity, for that matter) may be united in some social contexts and divided in others. Moreover parts of the social system may be permanently posed against each other, while other parts may vary from opposition in some situations to congeniality in others. At election times members of active groups are in permanent opposition to one another. Only when a prestigious outsider (e.g., a government official) visits the village do the major leaders and their supporters present a united front. On certain occasions two leaders will combine to oppose a third, but such combinations are not random. Nambardar Ajit Singh (the Akali leader) never combines with Rajinder Singh (an opportunistic Congressman) because the two men have been bitter enemies since the early 1930s. Thus Master Gurdial Singh is on occasion able to ally himself with either of the other two. The presence of three leaders in Nalli is structurally important for the maintenance of open communication between major leaders. Simmel called attention to the peculiarities of a three-person situation noting that "the way the position of the third person impinged upon the other two, whether this position be as mediator, as holder of the balance of power or as constant

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disturber of the solidarity engaged by the other two", was important (Mills 1953: 429). To the extent that opposition between units in a system is disintegrative, to that extent will disintegrative effects be checked by the balancing possible in a three-person group. As Simmel also noted, dyadic situations are less integrative than triadic ones; cleavage of a system into hostile halves can produce a stalemate with no satisfaitory outcome for either party, whereas the possibility of a coalition or mediation in a triad makes for a better balance of oppositions, thus promoting integration. In Nalli none of the three major leaders possesses enough power to eliminate the opposition. In some situations where two leaders ally themselves there may be opportunities to crush one opponent, but that might create a dyadic power block one not easily resolved. Another possibility is that the supporters of the defeated leader would join one of the remaining groups, thus making it more powerful than the other. Leadership in Nalli is an intricate game of strategy in which coalitions endure long enough to result in gain for those in th e coalition but not long enough to defeat completely the opponent outside it. Master Gurdial Singh must intentionally balance both of these possibilities. He is aware of their importance, for when he and Rajinder Singh we: e allied, he would not accede to the latter's request to crush Nambardar Λ jit Singh, reasoning that supporters of the defeated group might join a rival group. Supporters of active groups are in a mutual relationship with their leaders: each provides a resource to the other. In general, leaders provide their supporters with aid in court cases and getting government loans. Supporters reciprocate in a variety of ways: money, human resources and common ideology. One further evidence of this mutuality and interdependence between leaders and their supporters is through the expression of cross-group associations among supporters of all three active groups. In the interim period between elections leaders continue to remain isolated from each other while supporters engage in activities which remind leaders that they possess the potential of joining rival groups. Thus because their external contacts and perspectives are not so wide as those of leaders, the relevance of outside networks eludes them and they consequently maximize (by action not overt intent) opportunities for communication with each other in the village with the consequent potential for flexibility in group affiliation. In Nalli maintenance of the political structure depends on the factors previously discussed — the intentional balancing of forces on the part of the leaders and the covert intentional acts of actives in maintaining internal networks. The roles of nonactives in this model would appear to be relatively minor. They exert little apparent control on a social field that appears vague to them. Structurally, however, one might observe that nonactives by implicitly acceding to the proprietary eminence of active groups (the positional

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status of leaders and supporters) contribute to the stability of the political structure providing the minimal requirement for the legitimacy of the regime. But additionally, in what ways might our life experience information contribute to our understanding of political stability? Master Gurdial Singh realizes that his extra-village contacts provide him with the leverage necessary for maintaining power in the village — but conversely he recognizes that his utility to men such as Mukarn Singh depends on his leadership position in the village. Thus Master Gurdial Singh must be capable of functioning in both perspectives, within and outside the village. He may appeal to voters on the basis of caste and religion (as will be noted below) or on the basis of enlightened self-interest or even social idealism. In the city and with outside political contacts he may espouse positions quite at variance with those in the village. What is significant here is not the multiplicity of positions - nor even their contradictions and inconsistencies - but rather the fact that he is capable of appreciating the insularity and nonabsoluteness of either sphere which is a product of his capacity to discrminate between features common and distinctive to each sphere. Earlier experiences of distantiation and alienation from parent, caste and religion and subsequent attraction to nontraditional values create the necessary background for this flexibility. Sukdev Singh's structural role in the present political structure is indeed implicit — but a consideration of his caste and religious conformity in conjunction with the present political scene adds another dimension to our understanding. Prior to 1952, and during the 30 year period when Nambardar Ajit Singh was the most prominent leader in the village, conformist behavior there was functional to the status quo; caste, religion and traditional leadership represented the models to which one conformed. In the post-1952 period Sukdev Singh, as a communal nonactive, still conformed to religion and caste models (previously this presented a consistent pattern with the traditional leadership of Jat-Sikhs). The form that leadership takes after 1952 (an elected Ramgarhia leader attempting to solicit support for a Congress candidate) contradicts caste and religious values. Thus, while in the period prior to 1952 conformist behavior effected automatic compliance to traditional values of caste, religion and leadership, in the period after 1952 conformist behavior in the first two was no longer necessarily consistent with conformist behavior in the last. Moreover the individual was now obliged to reveal his commitment by voting and be subject to solicitation and scrutiny by leaders and others regarding that vote. One reaction to this situation is an even more conservative religious posture, a more intense commitment to religious and caste values. This appears to be the course of action adopted by Sukdev Singh. In the village council election of 1963 he supported Master Gurdial

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Singh; (the election was close and Master Gurdial Singh made appeals to Sukdev Singh and other communal Ramgarhias on the basis of their common caste membership and his importance to them as :i representative of their interests) but he would not support Master Gurial Sirigh's recommendation to vote for the state legislative candidate who was not of the Sikh religious party. Sukdev Singh simply explained that he must follow the advice of the Guru at the Sikh Temple. 12 In sum then, political integration is viewed here lot simply as the operation and adjustment of alliance and opposition (structure) but in terms of the sum and balance of the particular responses of individuals each of whose position has its own peculiar attributes and ambiguities in the political field. While Master Gurdial Singh's personal experience creates a leader capable of functioning in a world of multiple codes, 13 Sukdev Singh's experience creates a perspective that is limited but internally consistent. When under the new form of leadership that consistency is threatened, his religious and caste values become more polarized, for they now serve to relieve him from the onerous burden of choice, the anxiety of equivocation.

Part 4: The Conformity/Nonconformity

Question

The reference to anxiety in the previous sentence is significant for it forms the basis of our analysis of conformist/nonconfcrmist behavior. I think it need hardly be defended that anxiety and separation are associated phenomena in human experience, dramatically so in eirly infantile experience. There is ample documentation that infantile anxiety is overcome and allayed by attachment to mother as a social being in addition to her being a provider of discrete rewards (Brown 1959; Parsons 1964;Mahler etal. 1975); further, that such attachment comes to be diffused to other social beings both within and outside the family. Hence social learning is the process whereby human beings acquire a stock of experience shared by others The individual concedes that his experience is not after all so private; and also that his private experience may not be a legitimate basis of social communication and that, indeed, others may know more about his experience than tie himself. Thus society or what it represents or who represents it occupies (because it is so conceded by the individual) a superior position vis-ä-vis the individual. To the extent that one internalises this ethic, one is structured and psychologically dependent upon society, but one has also suceed;d in insulating oneself from the anxiety of separation, the anxiety of personal, individual mortality. Moreover the reality and impressiveness of society and its creations convince the individual of the propriety of the form of life that society encourages (Brown, chap. 15). This means structural conformity. Thus structure alleviates

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personal anxieties by providing the matrix (the word itself is linguistically related to mater) within which individuals function. Since structure represents such a repository of security, it raises the question of how the nonconformist individual becomes weaned from this dependence. There appears to be a sequence of critical experiences which are descriptively relevant in accounting for Master Gurdial Singh's nonconformity to caste and religious values. Rejection of male parent as a model initiates the sequence. 14 But in order for such rejection to translate itself effectively to an ongoing contradiction of father's position, it is necessary that the individual need identify with a social reality external to father's position and that the social reality be implicitly or explicitly evaluative of it. Such a social reality is forged through education out of which emerges a symbol system to which father has little access. Furthermore, father's negative attitudes are countervailed by the social affirmation that Master Gurdial Singh receives from a kinsman and a prestigious outsider. Later in Lahore, he encountered Ramgarhias whose demeanor differed substantially from their counterparts in the village. They were not nearly so reticent: some drank, and such gatherings would include Jat-Sikhs. In his late teens and early twenties, Master Gurdial Singh was a welcome and popular participant where amidst euphoria and alcohol he would intone Urdu verse and song. His subsequent expanded perspective from his life in Calcutta, more education and ultimately teaching brings him into the orbit of district and state politicians with an increasing involvement in Congress circles. Thus each step in the sequence increasingly strengthens an external perspective that successfully comments upon and incorporates the rejected perspective. Master Gurdial Singh did not agree with his father's deferential attitude toward Jat-Sikhs when it was clear to him that he possessed abilities that surpassed Jat-Sikhs in the classroom. Education, languages, symbols and receiving the approbation of others provide experiences which consistently place father and traditional religious and caste values in a "lower frame". In other words the single and consistent hierarchy of caste and religion (Sikh religious organization bears some resemblance to the Catholic Church) is controverted by the presence of other hierarchies and more importantly awareness that no single hierarchy can claim exclusive commitment. The two notions in the last sentence — a multiplicity of hierarchies and the importance of psychological sensitivity to that multiplicity — are the basis upon which we turn to a theoretical consideration of nonconformity. While separation for the structured conformist is allayed by attachment to female and later male parent, (leading ultimately to a consistent and unified social field and cultural code), Master Gurdial Singh's alienation from male parent and separation from traditional institutions is mediated by a symbiosis which incorporates a social and cultural reality that provides the possibility of

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"creative adjustment". The term is Stonequist's and ;he perspective suggested is similar to that of his classic study on marginal man. In his discussion of the life cycle of marginal man, he distinguishes between three phases: in the beginning nonawareness of conflict, later marginality when conflicting value systems constitute a crisis situation finally to be resolved in varying degrees of adjustment. Stonequist (1937) sees the last phase largely in terms of the individual's capacity to resolve conflict on the basis of personal adjustment of one sort or another. How such adjustment takes place is unclear because the emphasis in the work is situational rather than developmental. Parsons' work on socialization addresses itself to the developmental dimension. Father plays the crucial role of introducing male child to universalistic values of the society at large. Parsons' (1964) analysis of this process has special reference to societies where paiticularistic values in the family differ markedly from universalistic values epitomized in Western society. One can argue that in the Indian situation cultural values of family and society appear much more consistent and continuous as compared with the west. Thus, kin principles of evaluation are implicit in the larger entities as opposed to so-called rational bureaucratic standards of evaluation that are presumed to exist in Western societies. In Master Gurdial Singh's case, alienation from father pushed him toward values which contradicted particularistic values that accorded with caste and religion. Thus, Parsons' analysis could accommodate itself to the Indian situation with the above qualification that family and wider societal roles may be congruent. As with Stonequist we are able to rationalize the relationship between the individual and a multiplicity of cultural codes; but how a "creative adjustment" takes place is also unclear from Parsons because he sees th e process in terms of the requirement of society for a specific kind of role. A perspective is required which accounts for the individual's active relationship to a multiplicity of codes. In the description of critical experiences in this section, we noted that Master Gurdial Singh developed a perspective which placed father, caste and religion in a "lower frame". If we designate relations with father as experience, Master Gurdial Singh's subsequent relations provide him with what might be designated metaexperience. The formal character of this dichotomy (the language of metastatement) has become a persistent metaphor in a bewilderingly diverse variety of intellectual endeavors. The process is fundamental to the nature of criticism itself, e.g., any body of theory if it is to be commented on by still another body of theory requires a frame of reference that is both outside of itself and yet contains it. Thus relativity and quantum mechanics transcend the classical physics of the nineteenth century precisely because the former operates at a higher level of abstraction than the latter. Coult (1966) describes this in terms of the difference between a structural

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explanation and a psychological explanation, Bateson (1972) as the contrast between communication and metacommunication, and Russell in terms of the Theory of Logical Types (Wilden 1972). Although not explicitly acknowledged, the statement-metastatement metaphor appears in the work of Foucault and symbolic anthropologists. Hence Foucault addresses himself in his volume on sexuality not to the issue of sexual repression since the seventeenth century (a thesis he questions) but rather to the question of how repression became an object of discourse since that time. He documents with compelling cogency that sex became a focus of scrutiny and discourse by religious and political institutions in order more fully to control and penetrate what was previously an unexplored and private sector of the personality. In a slightly different context the authors of the book Symbolic Anthropology (Dolgin et al., 1977) observe that it is not the differences per se which are the object of their concern but rather when those differences at a certain point take on significance. If we can agree that the statement/metastatement relationship permeates the discourse of philosophy, science and other symbolic enquiries into the nature of action, it should come as no surprise that this dynamic is employed in characterizing the developmental process in human maturation. We made reference to Parsons' model in which the maturational process is described as progressive social expansion coupled with the transformation of biological needs into symbolic needs. Piaget views maturation as an instinctual unfolding in which later phases perceptually and intellectually transcend and incorporate earlier ones. Mahler et al. (1975) describe the process as a dialectic between separation and symbiosis. Thus separation and anxiety are overcome by symbiotic attachment to mother. As noted previously familial affect comes to incorporate broader social segments to which the individual conforms. The condition of conformity represents an end point — a kind of homeostatic stability for the conformist. We may now suggest how the nonconformist becomes weaned from this structural dependence. In the light of our comments on experience and metaexperience two things appear decisive: the crucial importance of father as a model of rejection and the development of metaexperience capable of commenting on the experience rejected. A child's relationship to father is, of course, fraught with ambivalence 15 but in the case of conformists it is resolved in father's favor. For nonconformists the case is otherwise — though for nonconformity to take a nonpathological form it would appear critical that the child's communication relationship to father be transcended by metamessages which enable the child to reinterpret and place in larger context the initial message of father. In the Zen tradition, one must kill one's father in order to transcend him (Mishima 1971). In Master Gurdial Singh's case affinities with education, foreigners,

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politicians provide a cultural platform that enables him to vitiate father's cultural reality; but it also permits him to perceive the distinctiveness of Ramgarhia culture and society and more importantly the luxury of commenting psychologically on Ramgarhia and Sikh culture from an expanded perspective. What is significant then is not simply his identification with other cultural values and social groups but rather that identification and exposure t o a number of symbolic codes interjects the individual as both a named (symbol) and involved (praxis) actor whose beha\ior is perceived by the person himself to have a separate and distinct impact on his cultural and social environment. Again it is not the differences per se which are the object of concern but rather when those differences at a certain point take on significance. For the structured conformist, the differences never take on significance, for his reality is enmeshed in a cultural fabric whose separateness is never perceived. Potential differences are not encountered since they become mediated through other people. Hence, in contrast to nonconformist behavior, the individual's perception of himself rarely interposes itself between himself and other cultural codes. In sum then, Master Gurdial Singh's life experiences have permitted him at a number of junctures to establish security systems outside of traditional family, religious and caste organizations. Further, such affiliations have resulted in a personal self-consciousness which in many circumstances permits him to take a relativistic and flexible position regarding any single cultural code. Ultimately the formal properties of metaperspectives have become substantive. Socially, of course, his role as village leader is adaptive to the transition that village, state and nation were undergoing when what had been largely the insulated system of the village was increasingly involved in larger political and social networks. Master Gurdial Sing! plays a critical role in that transition.

Notes 1. Our emphasis will be on experiences of the nonconformist: the other case is presented as an example of the typical cultural model against which the first is contrasted. 2. Other informants confirmed the accuracy of concrete events and circumstances. Opinions and interpretations are those of the subjects themselves since it is their perspectives which are the objects of delineation. 3. The product of this research is published in rr.y book, The Politics of Passion: Structure and Strategy in Sikh Society. 4. Sikhism is a distinct religion in India, its adherents numbering about ten million are concentrated in Punjab state. The religion took root in

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5.

6. 7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

Family, Kinship and Personhood the early sixteenth century; monotheism, a holy book and distinctive visual symbols mark Sikhism off from Hinduism. The Sikh image is nurtured by a martial tradition that spans over 300 years. The title "Master" designates one's status as a teacher. The text here refers to this man with this title, although it did not come to be appropriately applied until 1949. For much of the period (until 1976) he was on bad terms with his classificatory cousin who had not repaid a loan. The term "Nambardar" refers to the hereditary title of a clan head who is and was responsible for collecting the agricultural tax of Jat-Sikh farmers within his own clan which occupied a division within the village called a patti. There are four such pattis in Nalli each headed by a Nambardar but between the years 1922 and 1953 Nambardar Ajit Singh was the most powerful leader in the village. This man becomes a Member of the Legislative Assembly in 1957 and has considerable influence on Master Gurdial Singh's own career as a politician. The status of a family depends in large part on the reputation of its members. One index of status is the capacity of members of the family to protect the reputation of female members. When such is compromised, it reflects adversely on the entire family. In light of note 9, the term "abduction" is employed to describe any unsanctioned separation of a female member from the family, even when such separation is at her own volition. Lohri is a festival which celebrates the birth of male children during the previous year. It is observed by the entire village and, like almost all festivals in which Sikhs participate, much liquor is consumed. Quarrels and fights on such occasions are not uncommon. Sukdev Singh has expressed the notion that one must be a stronger Sikh now because of so many changes (his reference was to political parties and factions). Further, that amidst such changes, the guru at the Sikh temple was the true guide. Eisenstadt makes a point that appropriately applies to the situation of leaders and nonactives. He states that the leaders usually act in terms of several sets of institutional norms and attempt to resolve the inconsistency by arranging them hierarchically ... The recipient of communication, on the other hand, acts to a much larger extent within one set of institutional norms (1955: 163). As noted previously, the focus here is on conscious experience as reported by the informant. I do not attempt to adumbrate a causal chain that links conscious experience to any level of the unconscious, or speculate on a clinical scenario that might reasonably lead to rejection of father as a role model. Freud's work is a testimony to this ambivalence; thus rebellious sons must repress and sublimate their hostility, converting it into cultural products.

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References Bateson, Gregory 1972 Steps to an Ecology of Mind (New York: Ballantine Books). Brown, Norman Oliver 1959 Life against Death (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press). Coult, Allan D. 1966 "The Structuring of Structure", American Anthropologist 68: 438443. Dolgin, Janet L., David S. Kemnitzer, and David Murray Schneider (eds.) 1977 Symbolic Anthropology (New York: Columbia University Press). Eisenstadt, Shmuel Noah 1955 "Communication Systems and Social Structure: an Exploratory Survey", Public Opinion (Quarterly 19: 153-157. Foucault, Michel 1980 History of Sexuality, vol. 1 (New York: Vintage Books). Izmirlian, Harry 1979 The Politics of Passion: Structure and Strategy in Sikh Society (Columbia, Mo.: South Asia Books). Langness, Lewis L., and Gelya Frank 1981 Lives: an Anthropological Approach to Biography (Navato, Cal.: Chandler and Sharp Publishers). Mahler, Margaret S., Frederick Pine, and Anni Bergman 1975 The Psychological Birth of the Human Infant: Symbiosis and Individuation (New York: Basic Books). Mandelbaum, David Goodman 1973 "The Study of Life History: Gandhi", Current Anthropology 14: 177-206. Mills, Theodore M. 1953 "Power Relations in Three-Person Groups", Group Dynamics: Research and Theory, edited by Dorwin Cartwright and Alvin Zander (Evanston, 111.: Row, Peterson and Co.), 428-442. Mishima, Yukio (pseud.) 1971 The Temple of the Golden Pavillion (Berkeley: Berkeley Publishing Corporation). Parsons, Talcott 1964 Social Structure and Personality (London: Free Press of Glencoe). Spiro, Melford E. 1961 "Social Systems, Personality, and Functional Analysis", Studying Personality Cross-Culturally, edited by Beit Kaplan (Evanston, 111.: Harper & Row), 93-127. 1972 "An Overview and Suggested Reorientatior ", Psychological Anthropology, edited by Francis Lang Kwang Hsu (Cambridge, Mass.: Schenkman Publishing Co.), 573-607. Stonequist, Everett Verner

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1937

Personhood

The Marginal Man: a Study in Personality and Culture Conflict (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons). Wilden, Anthony 1972 System and Structure, Essays in Communication and Exchange (London: Tavistock Publications).

The Psychodynamics of Nayar Family Life: the Matrilineal Puzzle Re-examined Glynn Huilgol

Feminist Perspectives

and the Androcentric

Problem

Nayar family life has often been held to be virtually unique. In fact when George Murdock made his famous claim in 1949 that the nuclear family was a universal feature of human social organisation, Kathleen Gough's response to this consisted of a discussion of Nayar family life, on the assumption that if a negative instance disproving Murdock's claim were to be found then there was no need to look beyond the Nayars, who provided the most remarkable instance of a set of alternate options. Further, the Nayars had been discussed in the West, on and off, over a long period of time. If we disregard for the moment the Greek and Roman authors who drew upon the accounts of traders who plied their way from the Persian Gulf and the Mediterranean to the coast of South India in antiquity, then European awareness of Nayar social organisation is consequent upon the re-opening of the trade routes by Vasco da Gama, who landed in Calicut in 1498. The best summary description of the substance of the stories of the sixteenth through nineteenth century traders, travellers, missionaries and imperialists is to be found in Briffault (1927: 1 -700 / / . ) and it is more recently recapitulated by Fuller (1976: 1-16). The striking nature of the data meant that it c a n e to be used in the construction of feminist and gynocentric Utopias. The first currently known about is an "anonymous" pamphlet that circulated in eighteenth century London, which can fairly safely be attributed to Mary Wollstonecraft (Jeffrey 1977); in the nineteenth century it appeared in the writings of the Swedish social reformer, critic and ideologue Karl Almqvist (Berg 1975). In the 1930s Helen Diner, who drew heavily upon Briffault, rhapsodised over the "little Nair lady" whose love life was unt esmirched by the sordid economics of Western-style monogamatic servitude (Diner 1973: 124-27). Even more recently, and without reference to the revised interpretation that had emerged in the work of formally trained anthropologists, the Nayars took their place in the gynocentric mythologies of Elizabeth Gould Davis (1971) and Evelyn Reed (1975).

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In the meantime it was inevitable that the Nayars would draw the attention of anthropologists. Kathleen Gough (1952a, 1952b, 1955, 1959a, 1959b) and Joan Mencher (1962, 1963, 1965, 1966a, 1966b; Mencher and Goldberg 1967) have provided the largest corpus of the most detailed and useful research papers; and Chie Nakane (1962), a Japanese scholar, has also done field work in Kerala as a corollary of her general interest in matrilineal societies. (She has also written, in more detail, on the Khasis and Garos of Assam.) It is of some interest that those scholars who have been most involved in analyzing the Nayar data have been women, and that the androcentric bias of mainstream anthropology (which has been receiving increasingly critical attention from understandably irritated feminist scholars) can be quite easily documented yet again in this research area. Specifically, Geogre Murdock (1949: 3) resorted to outright mendacity when he said that there were no sources which supported Ralph Linton's identification of the Nayars in a way that would have put them outside Murdock's reductionist universalism. Radcliffe-Brown, whose integrity at a fundamental level is suspect since Elizabeth Salter (1971) enquired into personal aspects of his academic work in Australia, discusses the Nayars in his well-known introductory chapter to African Systems of Kinship and Marriage (Radcliffe-Brown 1950). Despite his awareness of and interest in who defers and who gives deference in any given interaction, he nevertheless has simply omitted to ask the questions that are required by the Nayar data. David Schneider (1961: 1-29), in his crucial theoretical chapter on matrilineal kinship (upon which Alice Schlegel (1972) has based her therefore flawed analysis of male dominance) is ultimately dependent on a tautology, on begging the question and assuming what surely would have to be proved — namely that in all societies males have authority and females care for children because these are pan-cultural and universally found components of sex role differentiation. Fuller (1976) and Jeffrey (1976) have found the Nayars worthy of full-length books. While Fuller's work is very thorough he has still managed studiously to deflect attention from the key issues of sex dominance patterning, primarily by concentrating on the trees and rarely inviting attention to the wood. Jeffrey, on the other hand, is predominantly a hostile observer. A paper presented by him at the Asian Studies Association of Australia conference in 1976 was essentially concerned with the popularity of communism in Kerala, which he sees to be a consequence of the plight of distressed young men, basically roleless in a "decaying" matrilineal system. (Readers astonished at this mid-'seventies flowering of the preoccupations of American scholarship in the 'fifties and early 'sixties should also know that his book gives more than adequate coverage of the legislative coercion that caused this so-called "decay"). His values are androcentric and right-

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wing, disguised by an ethical commitment at an explicit level to equality rather than hierarchy, and to achievement rather than ascription: his work nicely illustrates among other things the consequences of allowing Western academic paradigms to be formulated almost exclusively by males. The cognitive bias imparted by the sex of the scholar can also be detected in the work of Indian academics, although the detailed insider knowledge available here is a valuable compensation. For a nicely ludicrous example to illustrate the point, I offer K. Raman Unni's (1958: 123) observation that among the Nayars: "A husband could divorce his polyandrous wife, but such cases, in the opinion of my informants, might be much less than those of the wife divorcing one of her husbands". So why have female scholars and feminists beer so selectively interested in Nayar society? In a sentence, the sexual freedom of Nayar women seemed to give the lie to the idea that male dominance, understood in terms of the double standard of the West, in terms of the m.ile's control over female sexuality, was necessary for "civilisation" — for the Nayars apparently combined a paradisiacal degree of sexual freedom with high civilisation. The question of male dominance is peculiarly vexing to the women's movement today. In the movement's initial phase the appeal was made for women to unite to overthrow the patriarchal institutions which were then said to have prevailed for five millennia (or thereabouts) of human history. If many blanched at such a task can we be surprised? Subsequently, the suspicion gained ground that male dominance was not as universal as supposed, and various strategies were developed to disaggregate the assertion, the core of all of them being a concern to break apart the nexus between the apparent universal subordination of the female and the corollary of this, the acceptance at a level of psychic organisation not susceptible to consciousness, that the female is something less than the male Of all possible responses to the proposition that males are universally dominant, none is so intrinsically appealing to women scholars as the discovery and presentation of empirical evidence of the existence of societies where the female, not the male, is more important — where life itself revolves around women, where worship is perhaps of the Great Mother, where children take their names from their mother, where men move on marriage to the residence of the wife, and so on. The strategy of this branch of feminist scholarship is of course to prove, by the production of concrete data, the legitimacy of conceptualising a functioning social system in which there is no feasible way women can be stigmatised as the tiresome subjects of that tacked-on chapter, "The position of women", in that greater work, The History of Mankind. This way of dealing with the universality of male dominance is forthright, clear-cut, and satisfying. It does not involve explanation, compensation, re-definition, or any other torturous manoeuvring. It merely

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says, look, there is another way things can be done, and here is the proof. Matrilineal societies, tracing and organising kinship relations and more often than not their patterns of residence around the mother, were long claimed to be the surviving examples of a primitive matriarchal stage posited as normative in the evolution of human social formations. The concept of the primitive matriarchy, as is well-known, was a postulate of Johann J. Bachofen (1967 [1861] who, in the mid-nineteenth century, constructed an evolutionist stage theory of human social history that was an accepted part of anthropological theory until the rise of the post-Malinowski structural-functionalist paradigm in the late 1920s and 1930s. Since evolutionist theories were not disproved but merely superceded by structuralfunctionalist scholarship, feminists have shown a revived interest in the primitive matriarchy, in the hope of finding somewhere, anywhere, an exemplary model of a social formation not characterised by male dominance. Unhappily academic respectability would appear to be denied to those who make too simple an equation between matriliny and matriarchy. The grounds are well known, viz., (i) matriarchy implies rule by women, and there is no known society in which the political sphere is controlled by women, and (ii) in the domestic and kinship spheres the matrilineal system is merely an organising principle determining how the social universe will be broken into units. It in no way signifies either the supremacy or the independence of women. Rather, the mother's brother is normatively found to be head of the household and in a position to command deference from, and the behavior of, his sister and her children. Further, it is the mother's brother who is the effective decision-maker with respect to any of the property that may belong to the kin group. This point of view was first cogently argued, with apparently exhaustive documentation, in the Schneider and Gough magnum opus, Matrilineal Kinship (1961). They said that matrilineal societies could in no way be described as matriarchal, that Bachofen's primitive matriarchy was a will o' the wisp fantasy, that all known societies were found to be male dominant. Since Gough had worked extensively on the Nayars, and since the Nayars were a central focus of the book, it looked as though the romantic hopes pinned upon the model of a far-away culture had collapsed under the scrutiny of scholarship. What we had instead was the matrilineal puzzle: male dominance asserting itself in the context of a social structure in which a great number of particular features would suggest it safe to predict its absence. The situation now in fact became ideologically even more devastating for feminists than if the Nayars and other matrilineal cultures had never been introduced into the discussion in the first place. For now it could be argued by scholars with a bent towards listening to people like Steven Goldberg

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(1977) that even when women had a great number of manifest advantages and freedoms, the male nevertheless would always be found to be dominant. This paper attempts to answer two questions that seem to me to arise, then, from the currently accepted scholarship in this area. First, can we explain why a male would seek or be granted a role of authority and dominance in a matrilineal, polyandrous family system such as that of the Nayars? Secondly, does the demonstration that male dominance operates as a correlate of matrilineal descent systems mean that male dominance is a universal and inescapable feature of human social organisation? And it will be contended that although matrilineal societies may not be useful to feminists in the way initially anticipated, that a careful analysis of the psychodynamics of Nayar family data (and by extension, of other matrilineal family life) substantiates a theoretical explanation of male dominance derived from the psychoanalytic tradition and from ego psychology. In consequence, it remains possible to argue that matrilineal societies provide data which validate the broader proposition that male dominance is a caused phenomenon — and not a universal, natural, or necessary feature of human life. There has been recent criticism by a number af scholars that it is inadequately precise to use a catch-all concept like "irale dominance". Perhaps this is an appropriate point to say that the meanings of dominance that I think are most crucial, and which I am concerned to explore are: (i) the ideological assignment of superiority in cultural terms, in terms of the prevailing world view of a given society. The notion of marked and unmarked categories is useful here. That sex which is unmarked is culturally assigned a superior status. (ii) that sex whose representatives are assigned ultimate powers of decisionmaking or control over others. In most societies that we are familiar with, these two aspects of dominance are usually congruent — and it seems logical, in that prestige and power are demonstrably linked correlates. Yet even at this poir t a degree of incongruity is apparent in the Nayar data. For while it is true t lat, in the person of the karanavan, males may be described as possessing sex-ascribed authority (i.e., legitimate power to control others — even to the point of being able to require a sister or a niece to dismiss her sambandham partner) we should observe that the ideology (or cultural system of values) assigns major human relevance to women. This is seen not only in the tracing of the lineage through the female but also in the worship of female deities, chieily the goddess Bhadravali (or Bhagavati). We should be clear then that the claim that males are dominant in matrilineal societies, including the Nayars, rests necessarily only upon the claim that males are always found to occupy statuses of ultimate decisionmaking authority — and that there is no claim that in matrilineal societies, including the Nayars, males are always the locus of cultural value (cf. Rosaldo 1974).

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Given that there is now such a voluminous literature on the Nayars it is tempting to assume familiarity with it, and to proceed with the theoretical points at issue. Since this is unfair as well as important, I must now sketch the most salient features of Nayar life.

Ethnographic

Background

The Nayar castes comprise about twenty per cent of the population of Kerala, the elongated and tropical state stretching along the south-west coast of India and historically cut off from the rest of the subcontinent by the Western Ghats. Kerala has three ecological belts - the coastal strip, the gently rising areas of the foothills (of greatest size and importance in terms of both area and population), and behind the foothills the highland region. The political divisions, created from the amalgamation of adjacent small "kingdoms", run from east to west, cutting across the geographical divisions. From north to south, the political regions have been defined historically by the boundaries that separated Malabar, Cochin and Travancore. Culturally, anthropologists distinguish regional variations between North Kerala (i.e. North Malabar), Central Kerala (South Malabar and Cochin) and South Kerala (Travancore). Some slight variation in cultural typology can also be distinguished between the north and south of Travancore. The current political boundaries of the state of Kerala were formally drawn in 1956 on the basis of language usage — the people speak Malayalam. The linguistic areal unity is indicative of the general cultural unity despite the minor regional variation pattern noted. And for our purposes we should stress that matrilineal descent was normative for the whole area. For even though patriliny was a well-established and observed alternative system of organizing kinship in the region, the majority of all Malayalam-speaking people, not only the Nayars, followed the matrilineal mode, at least until very recently. There are some grounds for arguing that despite their status in the literature as a separate caste, it is probably better to think of the Nayars as a sub-population rather than as a caste. For the fissioning process which creates endogamous sub-groups within a given caste seems inadequate to account for the range of the Nayar castes, not only having endogamous boundaries operative on a regional basis, but also dividing the Nayars vertically in any given location, in such a way that there are three broad status levels which can be distinguished: the land-holding and military Nayars at the upper end of the Nayar status spectrum are in fact the most numerous, and are responsible for the Nayars fitting Srinivas' description of a "dominant" caste; on the other hand there are Nayar castes who are relatively poor tenant farmers; and there are Nayar service castes, who are dhobis and barbers. As a demon-

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stration of some of the difficulties of using varna categories in discussing the social system "on the ground" in India, the Nairnudri would classify all Nayars as sudras, a description patently useless in understanding much at all about social relationships in Kerala. In 1792 the British defeated Tippu Sultan who was invading Calicut, and in return for "protecting" the Zamorin ("king" I of Calicut from defeat at the hands of the Muslim army from Mysore the British usurped political control to the extent that they were able to consolidate the small kingdoms that had more or less characterised the Malayalam-speaking region up to that point, into the three basic areas of Malabar, Cochin and Travancore. From our perspective the most significant British intervention into the social system however was the disbanding of the Nayar armies in 1809. Insofar as the family structure correlated with the military roles of Nayar men, this meant that long-term changes were instigated by this disruption of a stable system. It has been suggested that initially the consequence > were felt more rapidly in North Malabar, where a lower density of settlement seems to have predisposed husbands to become part of the matrilineal residence group. In Central Kerala, with its higher density agriculture, there was less motivation to change from the "visiting" pattern by which adult males lived with their sisters and went to see their wives after the evening meal. (Incidentally this proposed sequence, from matrilineality to matrilocality, initially in North Malabar, is relevant to refining the thesis that matrilocality normatively precedes matrilineality; cf. Ember and Ember 1971). While we are concerned with the social systeir as it was immediately prior to the impact of the most recent trends, perhaps we should note that the "traditional" Nayar family system, although ad versely affected by late nineteenth century social pressures favoring monogamy, did not receive its final blow until the passage of the Hindu Law Code in 1955. In the 1930s marriage and inheritance laws had been passed which banned polygamy, whether polygynous or polyandrous, and which allowed partition of estates that had hitherto been impartible. This was a serious attack on past custom. But it was only after Independence that the undermining of the taravad was finally accomplished, and with the demise of the agricultural estate which was the productive base for the matrilir eal household, the latter could no longer remain a viable concept. To the stress on monogamy as the only legal basis for marriage, the Hindu Law Code added the imposition of land ceilings and a tax structure which made partition not merely advantageous but virtually necessary for survival. Those whe feel, as I did, that this was an unforgiveable meddling with a rare, in fact unique, form of social organisation will find, as I did, that further investigation makes the picture more complicated. Nevertheless any simplistic equation of the processes of social change in Kerala with "evolutionary progress" is manifestly inappro-

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priate, and a close study of social change in Kerala may be a useful way to ground macro-level theorising in a contextual density made possible by the availability of information on changes of great magnitude occurring so recently in a highly complex and sophisticated society. In order to understand most fully why Nayar life looked so good to Western women we will modify customary anthropological method, and look first at Nayar family life from the perspective of a female. The cultural centrality of the female is perhaps initially indicated by the fact that she is taken through a greater number of life cycle rituals. Mencher (1965: 185-87) enumerates the pulikudi (tamarind juice drinking), th.e milkgiving ceremony, the rice-giving ceremony, the Saraswathi puja (or first writing), the sambandham (or social acceptance or recognition of the current sexual partner) and the death ceremonies as rituals common to both sexes. But beyond these, the girl has her ears bored at age five to six to allow her to wear heavy gold toda earrings. And she also has the talikettu kalyanam (the first, ritual, short-lived marriage announcing her maturity and her right to a bedroom of her own), and the terandu kalyanam (the celebration at puberty of her first menstruation). (Against this there is the boy's relatively low-key celebration of his sixteenth birthday.) The social construction of sexuality is based on the assumption that sexual relationships are a pleasant and enjoyable part of life, and the social structure is such that the sexual relationship is allowed to remain just that — a sexual relationship. It is not overloaded as the basic dyadic bond upon which all other social institutions rest. In a household established on the basis of matrikin linkages there is relatively little need for concern or control over sexuality. What control is exerted is predicated on a concern for status, but no woman or man is locked into an obligatory show of erotic interest in a partner who may not be repudiated on pain of the collapse of all the ordinary routines and maintenance mechanisms of everyday life, and the disruption of all ties of affect to others. The Nayar marriage system was recognisable as such neither to early travellers nor to scholars. If the tali-tying ceremony was a marriage, why did the groom leave after four or five days, gifted and feasted handsomely but unlikely to re-enter the girl's life again in any meaningful way? If the iaft'-tying ceremony was not a marriage, why did the couple maintain contact to the point where the woman and her children kept appropriate death observances when the fa/i'-tier died, as a woman would for her husband in other parts of Hindu India, and which would seem to indicate that the tying of the tali involved the couple in the acquisition of "common bodily substance"? Moreover both the tali itself and the associated ceremonial features parallel the symbolic accompaniments of marriage of more orthodox character elsewhere in India.

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On the other hand some have proposed that mar riage is for the legitimation of children, for the determination of social paternity. Now paternity is a near meaningless role script among the Nayars. What we would see as the father's role is taken by the mother's brother, ego's uncle. But disregarding this, it seems to have been important for a woman to have one of her sambandham partners to acknowledge paternity should she become pregnant. It is thought that this was some kind of check that her child was not fathered by a man of lower caste. But it also means that the ritual attribution of paternity to the tali-tier, or first "husband", was completely undercut even as a social fiction. The talikettu kalyanam could in fact be held a1; any time prior to the girl's first menstruation. (If she reached menarche early, before the ceremony had been organised, she should theoretically have been outcasted but social practice has dictated the swift organisation of the ri :es). A certain flexibility seems to have been promoted by the expense of the ceremony and the desire to have a number of girls go through it at the same time. But normatively it just preceded menarche, while the puberty ceremonies then made it acceptable for the girl to receive lovers in the room she was allocated when she received the tali. (The tali incidentally was a small gold leaf hung as a pendant on a chain around the neck.) The toft-tier seems usually to have been selected by the girl's mother, generally from an enmgar taravad — that is, from one of the three or four neighboring households with institutionalised affinal links with ego's taravad. In the case of the very high status Nayars, the ia/i-tier might be a Nambudri brahmin. More recently, with the erosion of traditional usages, the ia/i-tier might be the same man for several girls, or the mother herself might do the tying. This suggests to me the erosion of its original purpose as a defloration ceremony, with some parallels with the ius primus noctis of medieval European tradition — though with the difference that the higher status of women in Kerala meant that there was no "submission" to defloration, which seems to have been conceptualised as a service, for which the fcz/i-tier was thanked and presented with something appropriate to the maintenance of reciprocity. It is worth noting that the celebration of the girl's first menstruation involved feasting and visiting from the neighboring enangar taravads — and also included elements of isolation that in other contexts are sometimes interpreted as signifying the essential uncleanness of women, or their social rejection. (This kind of interpretation is sometimes fo und side by side with an interpretation of the parallel initiation rites of boys which also involve a time of isolation from the community generally, as in some ways emancipating them from the world of women and children, conceptualised as inferior). Such an interpretation of the isolation of Nayar girls is more clearly inadequate and irrelevant than is usually the case.

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The adult sexual life of the Nayar women, while "free", was not totally random. As already noted, there was some social concern that the boys and men with whom she slept were to be of equal or higher caste status, and her relationships could in fact be vetoed by the elders of the taravad. While there is little undistorted description of the sexual life of Nayar women (which tends to be minimised or maximised according to the perspective of the scholar, and perhaps according to the interest of the overseas scholar in being made welcome once again for field research in Kerala) it would seem most probable that in adolescence a girl would have more lovers, and that a greater stability in fewer ongoing liaisons would develop as she became older, had more children, and so on. The term, sambandham, used to describe established relationships, signifies intimacy, or intimate friendship. Perhaps we should add that it is quite clear that as well as regularised sambandham relationships, both men and women were absolutely free to enjoy occasional, marginal, peripheral relationships that were never serious enough to be elevated even to the quite casual status of the sambandham relationship, provided these minor relationships did not contravene status considerations. Because this sexual freedom was not in the context of the palm trees and sandy beaches of a Pacific island with a relatively simple social system, but instead in the context of a complex culture, it could usefully become a source of data with which to challenge the destructively universalist import of Sherry Ortner's (1974) otherwise provocative article on Nature and Culture. Ortner has argued that female sexuality has generally been decried as exemplifying lower aspects of human nature in a standard polarity where man is equated with culture, society, spirit and intellect, while woman is identified with nature, the flesh and general mindlessness, and in fact that this is not merely generally the case but necessarily so. If she were correct the whole feminist critique of society and social history would have to be abandoned. So it is heartening to find a society in which civilisation and the valorisation of sexuality (and of women) occur in conjunction. Another point worth mentioning about the structuring of households on the basis of the matrikin, rather than the husband-wife tie, is that this form of the household, in the same way as the nuclear family but with less likelihood of disruption, also provides young boys with a situation in which they can grow to maturity while experiencing daily interaction with older and adult males. Since life is not meant to be easy and we are not meant to find simple answers, there are of course a number of other things that can be said about Nayar family relationships. But first perhaps we should re-establish that dominance oriented behaviors are characteristic of Nayar males and are behaviors that are integrated into the social system at a normative level. First, within the taravad, it is necessary to accept as ultimately warranted

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the conclusion that in the last resort - despite the very real advantages women have, as women, in Nayar society, and despite the fact that the karanavan can be described in some regions in some periods of time as the instrumental agent of the enangar assembly (and therefore only the appointed agent of the collective will of a number of associated taravads) - we are obliged to accept that males do occupy and act out the role scripts of the possessors of final (albeit constrained) authority. Within the taravad formal respect and ritual submissiveness govern exchanges between juniors and seniors sometimes of only slight age difference, and this is particularly noticeable in exchanges between men, or between women and older men. Secondly, the extremely rigid status order which characterised Kerala as a geographical area, which was articulated not o ily in the exfoliation of endogamous units (carefully ranked) from within the Nayar castes but also in the willingness of Nayars to defer to Nambudris, and the insistence they laid upon obtaining obsequious, excessive deference from the far greater number of those who were defined as inferior castes, suggest that the Nayars were emotionally committed at some deeply embedded level of their personality to the articulation of strictly hierarchised and authoritarian forms of social order, and that they could not be content merely with the realities of, say, economic superiority. Thirdly, we must remember that the overt definition of the social role of the Nayar male was as warrior. Accounts of Nayar E rmies doing battle prior to British intervention are of considerable interest here. It seems that the battles were highly ritualised, and that while real deaths did ensue with each encounter, nevertheless the wars must be considered to have been in some sense a kind of game. Armies did not fight after sundown, or before sunup; settled, cultivated lands were carefully avoided; and the whole business had the air of carefully staged charades. Moreover the chief goal was prestige: the local king desired to command more soldiers than the neighboring king. Seeking prestige and seeking dominance or socially validated and emphasised roles of authority seem to be two ways of talking about the same basic motivational pattern. Fourthly, and perhaps most terrifyingly, during the recent unlamented "Emergency" when Indira Gandhi mobilised every proto-fascist impulse of Dumont's Homo Hierarchicus some of the worst, most brutal atrocity stories came from Kerala. This is not the place to explore lhat matter, but it is not irrelevant — only too long and too painful. (In Australia we are more conscious of the militarist fascism of the Indonesian elites, with their ruthless "occupations" of East Timor and West Irian. It is similarly not irrelevant that in the area generally, as well as in Java and among the Minangkabau of Sumatra in particular, "matrifocality" has been a long entrenched sociocultural norm).

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Male Dominance and Identification

Theory

There are two ways of explaining male dominance that nowadays obtain general credence in Western society. One is that it represents at a social institutional level the reproductive necessity for the male to control the female in coitus. The second is that social power, accruing to those who have greater access to and command over resources of value, automatically earns social prestige through the capacity of the powerful to dictate the ideological glasses through which the rest of the community will perceive and cognise their world. Hence male dominance derives essentially from the division of labor and the consequent control by males of resources of greater value. While it would be feasible to discuss the second proposition for somewhat longer than the first, neither seems particularly apposite to the Nayar situation: for "male dominance" among the Nayars is of the mother's brother (or karanavari) over the matrikin, not of man over his sex partner (and indeed "dominance" is singularly absent as a motif relevant to sexual relationships); and while the karanavan and males in general may have had some interest in controlling the agricultural resources of the taravad, men were nevertheless content for as long as the system was viable to attribute "ownership" of the collective property to the inheriting female of each new generation. They nevertheless manifested overtly aggressive behaviors, and established "pecking orders" of dominant and subordinate, primarily within the universe of male social interactions, but with some spill-over into demands for deference made upon females. It is essential that we remember at all times that we are dealing with an assumption that is very strongly grounded in our culture, that male dominance is "natural" — that is, that male dominance is "biogrammed" by differences between the sexes in such innate endowments as levels and kinds of hormones. Virtually the only critique of this position comes from those who, aware that the empirical data show cross-cultural as well as within-culture variation 1 in ways of correlating sexuality and dominance, have turned to a historical materialist or ecological determinist explanation, arguing for a causal link between male control over a greater resource base and male dominance. Randall Collins (1971) may be consulted for the most recent version of this kind of argument. I have argued elsewhere (Huilgol 1978) that the ecological determinist approach while interesting is ultimately inadequate, and that we must turn to those (in particular, Chodorow 1971, 1974, 1976) who have linked male dominance to a normative cross-cultural difference between the sexes in the way they internalise their respective gender identities. This allows for cross-cultural variation while recognising the normative character of male

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dominance. This is because this kind of analysis makes the process of acquiring gender identity a variable which is sexually non-specific, and which causes sex differences in both interpersonal and socially institutionalised patterns of dominance. The male's empirically observable control over a larger resource base becomes, in this argument, not so much the cause of his political "clout" as the product of his personality organisation. While it is also true that it is finally more useful to speak in terms of a set of correlates which are mutually interactive, in the way described by Barkow (1967), our primary need is to establish that male dominance is a social, not a na tural phenomenon, and that we must go beyond a linear causal model wliich supposes economic variables to comprise the uncaused causes of human social arrangements. Since I cannot rely on a general acquaintance with the psychoanalytically based approach derived from Chodorow, I will outline here the essential propositional sequence of what, for want of a bet :er shorthand term, can be referred to as identification theory. First, the processes by which a child develops a sense of self, an individual identity, is by identification with, and holistic incorporation of the behavioral traits and values of those who are cognitively known to be the same kind of person that the child is. However, the process by which the child internalises the social role implications and personality dimensions of its biological sex category — that is, the child's internalisation of masculinity or femininity — is governed by the affective bonding which develops prior to the period in which the child's cognitive maturation permits the effect of labelling (as a boy or a girl) to have any significance. There are two kinds of motivation to identity with another person — the first derives from an intimacy which provokes a feai of loss of love — therefore if one becomes like the loved person, that person can never be lost, since he or she is retained within one's self; secondly, if the other has superior power, then becoming the same as that other eliminates the threat of that power, eliminates one's vulnerability, and rewards ο le with access to power over others. (Burton and Whiting (1961) have argued that intimacy alone is not sufficient to provoke identification, and the superior power theory is an unnecessarily strong formulation, that identification occurs essentially as a consequence of status envy and the compulsion :o control the resources controlled by the envied person. But this is a refinement which need not concern us here, since the baby's or infant's experience of intimacy with a parent always occurs in conjunction with the parent's greater capacity to mediate resources.) In the relevant literature idem ification predicated on affection and intimacy is referred to variously as anaclitic, developmental or personal, while identification based on power is termed aggressive, defensive or positional — these being three pairs of terms used initially by Sigmund Freud, Mowrer and Slater. (Aggressive identificatian was successfully re-

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christened "identification with the aggressor" by Anna Freud. See Huilgol (1978), for expansion of this point.) The process by which identity is acquired has predictable consequences which are independent of the substantive specifications concerning what is being internalised. Identification with a person, on the basis of everyday interaction and affection, leads to a reality-oriented awareness of human possibilities. Identification with a social role, either conveyed in terms of cultural stereotypes in the absence of an appropriate role model, or conveyed through rules abstracted from the behavior of a model who is powerful and feared, leads through anxiety to compulsive behaviors designed to lower anxiety by manipulative skill with respect to the human environment. In all cultures the biology of mothering makes the mother the most logical major caretaker for human infants. Even in societies where this norm is challenged, as for instance, it is challenged among Tamil brahmins, the mother is still the primary caretaker for the first nine or so months of life, when breast milk is the basic nourishment of the baby. Because both males and females normatively experience mothering as their first social relationship, the scales of difficulty in achieving gender identity are consistently tipped against males. Gender identity is the most important single component of a person's sense of self, in that, unlike age status, it persists through time, changing incrementally but not essentially.

Male Dominance

in Nayar

Culture

What I will now propose is that the patterning of family interactions in the taravad is such as to create in male children a strong need to assert themselves as "men", and this occurs in conjunction with a "pedestalisation" of females, when the young boy's close and loving bond with his mother is first formalised and then generalised to apply to all other females. I am also proposing that among Nayars the distance between the child and the adult male who provides his role model is sustained at such a profound level that the child internalises masculinity almost entirely in terms of cultural stereotypes, and his initial and close identification with his mother is never really replaced with a sex-appropriate gender identity. This is why his masculinity is always in jeopardy, and why there is a high level of aggressiveness in selfassertion as well as a need to make sharp and overt distinctions between himself and females, primarily in this context by the maintenance of social distance and formal respect relationships. Insofar as he does successfully internalise masculinity as an identity component it is through identification with the status advantages of senior males — i.e. through "identification

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with the aggressor", or "status envy", which impels the boy to strive for the attainment of dominance as essential to manhooc . Furthermore even when the adult male has successfully constructed a masculine persona for himself, his persisting underlying assessment that women are the true locus of social significance m;iy be deduced from his willingness to worship female deities and ancestresses, and from the willingness of Nayar husbands in, say, North Kerala, even while establishing neolocal residence for their wives, to build the new establishments in close proximity to their wives' matrikin. We should also realise though that if the Naya: man were to relax his vigilance and his guard over himself, or were to fail 1o develop a proper sense of the appropriate superordination and distance to be kept between himself and the women, if he were to give free expression to Iiis underlying conviction that women had the best of the sex division-of-laboi game, that women were people and he was only a man — and if he were iri consequence to openly express pleasure and interest in, say, playing with the children and infants — then all members of the taravad would convey to him their sense that he was essentially unmanly, essentially of no account. Social prejudices and expectations strongly upheld the imperative that a "real man" was essentially a warrior, or administrator, independent (alienated?), and "above" the "trivia" of daily life (Mencher 1965). That the Nayar man's social distance and emotional coolness, his orientation to martial exploits and latterly to "achievement" and leadership roles, is not only induced but demanded — this would seem to intensify the subliminal sense of rejeclion and marginality that is the heritage of the male in such a social structure; this sense of rejection and marginality which is the source of his aggressive self assertion and dominance behaviors should then be seen to be sustained by women, possibly as a service to the female strategy of retaining effective centrality within the domestic domain. Now, however plausible this explanation of "male dominance" as a predictable correlate of matriliny may be judged, the sceptical may be forgiven for classifying the argument as interesting but unpioven. To offer proof of irrefutable cogency is indeed difficult, and certainly not possible here. However, the case can be strengthened in two ways. First, I can point out that parallels can be drawn between the Nayars and the Trobrianders, the Iroquois, the Ashanti, and the Minangkabau — that is, the argument appears to hold for those other matrilineal societies of which I have some knowledge. Secondly, and perhaps more excitingly, a counter case can be developed where the same variables can be shown to be operative, but with the opposite sex, and a sex-reversed outcome: where women become dominant and alienated, men affectionate and unconflicted. Pursuing this approach became

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possible because Kathleen Gough, with her profound interest in all levels of social behavior and her acute focus on salient detail, has given us an account of another community in Tamilnad which, while she can hardly be thought to have had our research needs in mind, is astonishingly useful as a source of data almost exactly fitting the specifications.

"Female Dominance"

in a Tamil Brahmin

Subculture

Kathleen Gough spent some time in the Tanjore district of Tamilnad between 1951 and 1953. Her paper, on "Brahmin Kinship in a Tamil Village" was published in 1956: the village she called Kumbapettai (which may or may not be its real name). She thought it important to point out that because of the effects of social changes which speeded up considerably after 1947, many or at least a significant number of men and women had left the village for work opportunities in towns and cities such as Madras and Bangalore. Because of this, those with whom she lived in the village were more tradition-bound than would be true if a genuinely random sample of the population were to be studied. She thought this admirable for the particular reason that it gave her access to ways of living and thinking and organising social relationships that were already dated and quite likely to disappear in the foreseeable future. The castes whose kinship system she sought to understand were Smarta Brahmins, who worship both Siva and Vishnu, not the Vaishnava Ayengars. The kinship system was patrilineal, and the co-resident domestic group was normatively a patrilocal extended family. Her purpose in writing this paper was to contrast Brahmin patterns of kinship with Adi-Dravida patterns. But I am only going to extract her observations on Brahmins. Further, I am going to stress data that she herself embedded in a context where it disappears a little from view. For instance she speaks of male authority as normative, as buttressed by the Brahmin male's control over Adi-Dravida tenants (the Brahmins of Kumbapettai are the dominant landholding caste) and Adi-Dravida agricultural laborers, and says that land ownership by the patrilineally extended family also strengthens the normative authority of males. However, she notes without commenting further that the Brahmin men do almost no manual labor but spend a greater part of the day in the home, absorbed in ritual and in kinship relations. Further she observes that men are engaged primarily in asymmetrical relationships of authority and subordination, tending as a consequence to place correspondingly little emphasis upon the solidarity of peers; but she fails to comment specifically, although it is clearly true, that women are also ranked in clearly demarcated statuses which govern all their interactions. In particular, I would say that in my opinion our understanding of the

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"position of w o m e n " in such a family system is heavily distorted by the common insistence on taking the new bride on her entry into married life as the point of reference for gauging women's relative status. For some time I have been unhappy with the proposition that women suffered total oppression in Old China. This propaganda out of the New Peking was strong, and our acceptance of it heavily conditioned by our predisposition to believe that women are always victims. But in Old China, as in the Tanjore Brahmin family, the bride's mother-in-law, her husband's mother, clearly had strong control over her son, both in terms of legitimated authority grounded in age and through a strong emotional sway. Moreover t i e asymmetrical bonding between mother and son is the prime dyadic relationship in this kind of family, and all other relationships are a pale reflection of it. But it is not an affection-based "anaclitic" relationship which required "individuation" of the male child, but rather a relationship in which the instrumental roles and the domestic authority of the mother (and the grandmother) are the crucial precipitants of the young boy's identification with the female, and of the pervasive "cross-sex identity" easily noticed as the core element of the Brahmin male's personality organisation and cultural style. It is usually assumed that b o t h patrilineal descent, and its frequently found correlate of patrilocal residence, should be understood to be markers of male status superiority in a socio-cultural system. The prevalence of patrilineal descent systems has, in fact, been another cause for feminist despair, through its connotation of the universal existence of patriarchy. It struck me that this is as ill-grounded a despair as the despair which rests on the notion that "eve« in matrilinies" male dorrinance is normative. For the key characteristic of the patrilineal, patrilocal organisation of kinship and residence is that it operates to allow sons to stay with their mothers. As such it is testimony to the normative familial authority of women in patrikin-oriented social structures, in particular those social structures which lack a developed non-domestic sphere. Realising this also makes a number of other phenomena comprehensible — including the incorporation (or usurpation) of feminine motifs in the psychology and culture of the male, and the very often stressful character of sexual life. Gough (1956) suggests that the Sanskritic religious tradition is responsible for a strong tendency observable in the Brahmin family for males t o devalue sensuality, and to emphasise the values of other-worldliness, the fate of the soul after death, and the need to acquire religious merit through the ascetic control of libidinal and aggressive impulses. However, it would seem far more plausible to invert this causality, and see the Sanskritic religious tradition as shaped and accepted because of its congruence with the psychodynamics of the relationships in this kind of family. If we look directly at the most important elements of the religious teach-

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Personhood

ings, insofar as they are useful in unravelling the psychological meanings of family life, we find that Shiva's role as father of all mankind is stressed. This would seem to be most important as a doctrine which reinforces the imperative that filial piety should at all times be a paramount value, that sons ought at all times to be respectful to and controlled by their fathers. From this we can infer that men place a good deal of significance on fatherhood, an inference which is supported by other data. On the other hand it is also important to note that these Brahmins also finance and become involved in the worship of the village goddess, despite her manifestly nonsanskritic origins. For those who are acquainted with the Brahmin subcultures of India and who may wish to argue that, for instance, it is considered normative that the husband should be considered as a god, to be worshipped by his wife, and that this hardly seems congruent with the interpretation I have been developing here, I should like to make the counter suggestion that it is more fruitful to note that the husband-wife dyad is of relatively low affect. A husband is far more mindful of his mother than of his wife. The wife, in turn, is far more mindful of her sons than of her husband. The primacy of the mother-son bond in this family structure derives from the qualitative difference imparted by her structured uninvolvement with her infants (both before and after weaning). On the other hand, the fatherchild dyad clearly mimics "the mother-child relationship", as ideally conceived. Paradoxically it is this very mimicry that prompts the father-child bond to be nurturant, close, oral and symbiotic. A son therefore internalises masculinity on the basis of his identification with a father who is his most salient caretaker following remarkably closely the pattern by which in other cultures girls internalise femininity. In a similar reversal a daughter must find out what it means to be feminine by virtue of watching a mother and grandmother who are clearly important and status-laden decision-makers in the domestic arena, but whose very preoccupations with management and operation of the household keep them from developing the interactional symbiosis with their daughters that would be the necessary foundation for girls to acquire their gender identity anaclitically. Moreover the grandmother, the father's mother, corresponds closely in her significance to the young boy, to the significance of the father to his daughter in the standard "ideal-typical" Victorian era family which generated Freudian theories concerning the universality of penis envy in women. Like the paternal patriarch's, hers is both a protective and a power role, and if the Victorian girl is affected with penis envy it is difficult to hold back from the conclusion that the Brahmin youth experiences status envy vis-a-vis his grandmother, who effectively controls the domestic world which bounds his horizons, which triggers a corresponding syndrome which for want of a

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better name we could well dub " w o m b envy". For the grandmother is female as well as powerful, and the most salient aspect ok female sexuality is the capacity to have children. It is hard not to see some kind of connection between the power and sex of the grandmother and the grown man's interest in and in a sense his usurpation of roles which can so easily be classified and dismissed, as they are in so many societies, as women's work. That the father is prompted by a degree of jealousy of the female n a y be deduced precisely f r o m the subsidiary detail that he forges the dyadic bond with his son (and daughter) through f o o d , and that many of the cultural symbols are couched in oral terms. Among these Tamil Brahmins, then, it is clear that the status of the woman in the household is sufficient incentive for the girl to abandon anaclitic identification with her father and t o inte rnalise the cultural role script for the feminine. On the other hand, whil; the boy's affectionate closeness to his father ensures his internalisation of his social status and sense of gender as a male, at the same time the power and authority of the women in the household ensure that the substantive contsnt of masculinity comprises compensatory assertions of essentially ferrule traits and culturally articulated equivalents of female biological peculiarities. Such an interpretation is very much strengthened by looking at the form of initiation undergone by Brahmin boys. The upamyana ceremony is clearly articulated as a second birth. During the ceremony the father "gives b i r t h " to the boy and the boy is granted an access of sakti, that is, he is endowed with the creative force or power of the female. After the upanayana the bonds of solidarity with males are strengthened, as the y o u t h looks to his guru as a parent figure: Brahmins have long been the intellectuals, the culture carriers in India. Without being dogmatic about it I would like to offer a suggestion that teaching is a "natural" sex role for women, and that Brahmin cultural norms are in part also to be seen as rooteci in a modeling by males in a male and perforce "cultural" domain, of female biosocial behaviors. A few other points along the same lines that seem worth noting are, for instance, that: while he is supposedly superordinale to his wife, the young husband leaves the control of her daily activities to his mother — to whom, it must be remembered, he himself continues to show considerable deference — we remember: "he consults her constantly about his wife and children and may borrow money f r o m her without his father';; knowledge," and while he may not do this or that without the formal permission of his father, he normatively makes all requests through his mother, thus leaving her position quite clear as t h e major power broker. Thus the formal deference of wife to husband is largely a matter of etiquette, expressing, as much as anything else, a degree of distance in the emotional relationship. Furthermore the husband-wife relationship can be

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seen as further evidence of the power and authority the young boy learns to attribute to his grandmother, and of his aggressive identification with his grandmother, an identification which (because power - or status — envy is a stronger motivational precipitant than affectionate dependency) is stronger at a non-conscious level than his anaclitic identification with his father. Thus the demand for deference from his wife seems from another aspect to be but the demand that she offer him the very same deference that he initially extended to his mother (and grandmother). There is a simple pattern of reversal of both the age and sex variables. As such it confirms the interpretation which sees the female as an authority figure, and which argues that the maturation pattern of the male includes identification with and incorporation of the female, precipated by her perceived power. Because I am offering an interpretive gloss on her data which differs from her own, and because I do not wish to be accused of misrepresentation, I need to cite extensively from Gough's paper (1956: 834-838, 841-842 reprinted here by kind permission of the author). The sense of immediacy that derives from reading a first-hand account of personal field work is a bonus that should not be disregarded. She writes: In childhood, a son is typically treated with indulgence by both parents. He is suckled for six to nine months, and knows for long after this that he may turn to his mother for solace in need or misfortune. Nevertheless, the occupational roles of husband and wife, the structure of the orthodox patrilineal extended family, and the religious values of Brahmans, appear regularly to demand a certain degree of mutual deprivation in the relations of mother and son. Unity of the extended family depends on the solidarity of the patrilineally related males around whom it is built, and on the subordination of women to their husbands. Very early, a father claims his son as the special object of his care, and typically tends to show jealousy of the attachment between the child and his mother. Customary moral values demand that a wife, often at some personal cost, place her devotion to her husband above that to her children. A myth, quoted by many Brahmans, tells how a young wife, prevented by her sense of duty from disturbing her husband asleep on her lap, allowed her son to fall and be burnt to death in the kitchen fire. Siva, pleased with her piety, restored the child to life. In fact, in everyday life in the home, a young mother is prevented by household tasks and by partial seclusion in the kitchen from regularly tending her children after the age of one or two. They are then monopolized by the father, who has greater leisure than the mother and who is at home for a large part of the day. In an extended family household, the child is also cared for by the father's parents and sometimes by the father's widowed aunt or sister, all of whom tend to support the father's rather than the mother's claims in the child. The father and father's mother tend to indulge the child with constant attention and with food,

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not forcefully to inhibit his aggression, but to make strong emotional demands on him and to delay the development of autonomy and of skills. Children of five, for example, do not wash or cress themselves and are seldom permitted to walk outside the house or to play alone. The relationship of father and son becomes one of close mutaal dependence, typified in statements about the giving and receiving of food. In connection with this dependence of fathers and sons, Brahmans frequently quote a proverb: "Children and the gods must be amply fed, otherwise they may wander a w a y . " Men from adolescence to middle age who remain in the village are often heard to remark that they cannot disobey the father on whom they depend for food. In old age a father and his son are ideally spoken of as tenderly protecting one another. Although the father normally retains ultimate control of his lands until his death, ei:her he or the son may manage them, and the two are concerned to provide each other with food. After death, the father's spirit is spoken of as a pitiful, starving creature which must be fed to prevent it from perishing in the land of the dead, and to strengthen it so that it may be born again Not to feed the father's spirit with gingelly seeds on each new moon day and with rice-balls on each anniversary of the death, is the worst impiety a bereaved son could commit. At the age of five to six, a boy is ceremonially initiated into the art of writing and goes to school in the house of a Brahman of the street ... However, he is not yet a member of his caste. He is referred to jokingly as a Südra or low caste fellow, and may not take par: in ceremonies requiring the repetition of Sanskrit formulae... Until about twenty years ago, Brahman boys were initiated into caste by the upanayana ceremony at the age of seven to ten. In this lengthy ceremony, a boy is presented with the sacred thread of a Brahman. His father binds round his waist a girdle of sacred gr iss and whispers into his ear the Gäyatri mantra, the most sacred and secret knowledge of Brahmans. This formula is a prayer to the sun to be endowed with its strength. Many Kumbapettai Brahmans, however, do not know its literal meaning. They speak of the mantra as though it were a female ieity, a goddess of great sacredness, and say that it is possessed of sakti or spiritual and magical power. Now sakti though it is said to be a female force and to be embodied in the person of Pärvati, the consort of Siva is a quality desired by men. It is, moreover, said to be acquired not only from ' he recitation of Sanskrit texts and in the fervent worship of Siva, but also from control of bodily functions, and in particular from the conservation of semen by sexual abstention. From these and similar statements I conclude that, in the upanayana ceremony, a father symbolically endows his son, now a separate social personality, with a creative power which in one aspect is sexual, but which is also regarded as a sublimated spiritual force. Following initiation, a boy was traditionally sent into the service of a guru from whom he learnt to recite portions of the Vedas and to perform the many ceremonies of his caste. He was required to live with other disciples

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in the guru's house, daily to collect cooked rice food from houses of the street for his own and his guru's food, and to obey theguru as a paternal figure... Brahman boys were formerly married at about the age of sixteen. With the modern exigencies of education, improverishment, and frequent urban work, they marry at about twenty to twenty-five. Proposals come from the girl's side, and marriage is arranged by the parents. Very recently, young men have been allowed formally to see and approve of their parents' choice. Such a formal meeting was not traditionally permitted and was often unnecessary when marriage might take place between cross-cousins who had grown up together, between a boy and his elder sister's daughter, or between members of the same street. Marriage brings about changes in the relationship to the parents. If a youth remains in Kumbapettai, his wife is established in the household as the subordinate of her husband and her mother-in-law. The young husband has the right to command her; she may not leave the house and garden without his consent, usually given only for marriages and festivals. The control of her daily activities he leaves to his mother, but he is her ultimate guardian... After marriage a son also draws closer to his mother again. He consults her constantly about his wife and children, and may borrow money from her without his father's knowledge. But while he lives in the village and while his father is alive, a man does not attain to the full responsibility of an adult of his street. He may not represent his family nor make gifts in his own name at marriage or public ceremonies. Even after the father's death and the division of the family property, a young man should out of courtesy make gifts in the name of his father's eldest living brother and consult him on every important occasion. A married man may not leave the village, visit kinsfolk, or permit his wife to visit her natal family, without the consent of his father, usually requested through his mother... I once asked a Brahman of thirty-five who had a wife and one child but who spent much time helping me in my work, whether he had no other obligations to fulfil. "I am only a young boy, madam!" he replied, "my father is alive - what is my responsibility?" While his mother is alive, and he lives in her house, a man's sexual relations with his wife are gravely curtailed. In the fourteen houses [in this study] where a married couple lived with the husband's mother or father's sister, the husband was permitted to sleep with his wife only on Fridays, an auspicious day for begetting. On other nights a man sleeps on the outer verandah of his house or of the house of a friend; his wife sleeps beside her mother-in-law... The asymmetrical unity required between men of the extended family appears to demand a partial repudiation of emotional ties with women. This tendency is strengthened by the religious values of Brahmans which enjoin strict control of sexual and other libidinal impuses. For it is believed that by such ascetic abstention from bodily and worldly pleasures

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the individual may acquire spiritual strength, and that he may after death and a period in the ancestral world be reborn in a high estate or, at best, may altogether escape the cycle of rebirths and realize union with the divine. Yet sexuality is in other contexts highly valued as the means of begetting a son. The position of women in the kinship system is thus paradoxical. As mothers they are revered, but as marital partners they tend to be devalued. A girl child, like a boy, is usually pampered and indulged by both parents, especially by her father. But like: a boy before initiation, a girl acquires no social personality until her mairiage; she is regarded as an appendage of her father... It is believed that by unequivocal obedience and devotion to him she may acquire great spiritual and even magical power, as does a male devotee by unremitting devotion to Siva. A proverb says that "She who on rising worships not God but her husband, if she says, 'Let it rain,' it will rain." Her complete obedience to her mother-in-law, strictly required of every young Brahman wife, is an extension of that to her husband. She must without murmuring undergo stern discipline and hard physical chastisement from both. The wife tends to be devalued as a sexual partner. The special sexual attributes of women — their menstrual and birth pollutions — are much feared by men and scrupulously avoided as dangerous and ritually unclean. Y e t in myth and usually in fact, the wife is respected as the mother of sons. Polygynous marriage very seldom occurs unless the first wife is barren. The mother is so greatly valued because she possesses what no man has: the procreative power to perpetuate the patrilineal line. This dilemma arises of course to some extent ir all patrilineal systems: descent, though traced through men, is achieved through women. The Brahmans attempt to solve it by assimilating a wife to her husband. She is regarded as one flesh with him and is likened to a part of his being through whom he prepetuates himself. More then this, she is mystically stated to be the very embodiment of the spiritual and procreative strength of her husband. Like Pärvati in relation to Siva, the wife is the personification for her husband's sakti or spiritual and procreative power. Brahmans will freely admit in certain contexts that a man if. nothing without a wife. Without her beside him as his dharma pattini or "helpmeet in the performance of duty", he is not permitted to perfo :m the fire-sacrifice of a householder or to perform any of the greater yäßams or fire-sacrifices to the Vedic gods. Without a wife he cannot beget and may not even adopt a son, and his soul, unpropitiated, cannot attain to the abode of his ancestors.

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Comments: Gender Identity and the Identification in the Tanjore Brahmin Community

Process

First, the young child is not frustrated, and the early period in which there is a non-individuated symbiotic relationship with the mother is generally unremarkable. However, during the period in which individuation can occur, the father takes over the nurturant, loving, indulgent, parenting role we more usually associate with mothering. Gough (1956) suggests there is an element of jealousy in this behavior, that the father seeks not entirely to share, but to take over, the care of his son (and, it later transpires, his daughter also). The women of the father's kin group also participate in child care, and the interactions of all are such as to inhibit the development in the child of a sense of separateness from others. In one sense it seems as if the period of non-individuation from the mother is followed by a period of non-individuation from others in general: thus the child's maturational pattern is one of non-conflictual development. The structuring of household duties is the crucial factor facilitating the father's takeover of the primary nurturant role, since the wife-mother is responsible for a lot of the domestic chores, especially the cooking, which in Indian households is a long, extensive daily routine. We must also note as a persistent thread not only the emulation of women, the internalisation of "female" roles, but also the element of fear of women, and Gough's toss-aside comment that "Brahmans will freely admit in certain contexts that a man is nothing without a wife". Gough has offered very little explicit comment on the maturational patterns for girls. However, right at the end of the paper she has said that "a Brahman girl's attachment to her father, who pampers her as a baby, early becomes stronger than that to her mother, and this attachment seems later to be largely transferred to the husband"; that "Brahman women appear to be essentially oriented toward men rather than toward each other," and that "the bond between mother and daughter in particular is weaker after marriage" — of course in part because she goes to her husband's natal home, but also I would suggest because Brahmin girls experience the same kinds of ego and identity problems in becoming women as I have suggested is more commonly found to be a problem for boys to become men. And similarly, the cross-sex identification is with a nurturant opposite-sex parent, the own-sex status is culturally validated as more significant, and own-sex family role model (the grandmother) is both powerful and to some degree distant, so that femininity is internalised as a set of behavioral rules and/or cultural stereotypes, and the psychological process of abstracting the deep structure of femininity for a Brahmin woman leads to an ego strength claimed for males in our own society. These observations are schematically presented in Table 2.

The Psychodynamics of Nayar Family Life

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the entrance into the storage area for valuables under one of the grain rooms. There is an attached northeastern kitchen, and the supplementary storage shed to its north is a later addition. The northwestern kitchen is an exception, but results from some family members wishing to have their own living arrangements. In the traditional manner, there is a separate family temple to the south. The Maharajas of Travancore once used the palace at Padbanabhapuram (Diags. 9 and 13). This city surrounded by massive wills was once the capital of Travancore, a state which extended to Cape Comorin. While most of Travancore was allotted to Kerala after Independence, the southern portion with Padbanabhapuram became a part of Tamil Nadu. The palace, now in a museum officially linked to Kerala, is significantly a double-storied structure based upon the apadana design. In order to live in a dwelling with more than one story when the traditional system still flourished in Travancore, a person had to be a member of royalty or a member of a privileged family honored by royalty. Thus even to the present there is a noticeable absence of doublestoried houses in the rural areas that were once mthin Travancore. The resulting landscape impression provides a marked contrast with Malabar in northern Kerala, where large two- and three-storied houses are by no means rare. As all the rosewood trees in Travancore were royal trees, owned by the Maharaja, the use of this wood to add the finishing 1 ouches in dwellings was also a royal prerogative. The ground floor of the squared palace at Padbanabhapuram has a centered northerly-southerly oriented courtyard surrounded by a veranda.

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Diag. 13 Palaces in Kerala — I Upper Floor

r

Sitlmj "Filiform

Ground Floor Cenrtyard

PADBANABHAPURAM The P a l a c e (& O l d e s t

Structure)

c o n s t r u c t e d by 1550 A

Storage Room

D

Kitchen

—HlStiin

VIJAYA VILAS (PALACE) TRIVANDRUM, Poojapura

Verandah Portion! Gallery two floors:

Pujapura

Puja-1 pur a Q'Garbhagriha

NORTH MATHIRAPPILLY, near v k Krisno

CHERANELLOOR

P i l l a i s House, o v e r 100 y e a r s o l d t

Storage Shelves

1 Mortar J Peslle a Floor-level Fireplace

3 Waist-level Platform

a Grinding Slone

I

C M a s a l a Stone

5 Masala

D Mortar I Pestle

Ε Washroom with sink (S)

Fireplaces Stone

Houses

with Centered

Courtyards

in Kerala and Elsewhere

in India

251

The veranda is protected by a roof projected outward from the higher floor level. Laterite was used to make the thick walls. The surrounding outer veranda is edged by wooden walls and screens designed for subdued lighting. The southwestern segment, probably used as an audience chamber, has embedded wooden pieces in the smooth floor to delineate this corner of the palace. An intricately sculptured wooden pillar stands at the corner. Near the courtyard there is the entrance to an escape tunr el which is said once to have run for a long distance. On the upper floor there are narrower laterite walls and wooden walls. The surrounding outer verjnda is enclosed with a distinctive wooden screen vertical from the base anc. then slanting outward to the overhanging roof. The inner centered space is surrounded by a narrow veranda also enclosed by a wooden screen on the outer edge. An aboveground-level walk leads into the southwestern corner room. This is a delightful room with a wooden sitting platform and subdued lighting ideal for the tropics. With the exception of the northeastern segment of the ground floor, the Iranian apadana is clearly reflected on both floors. The emplacement of stairs in corner squares, one overlying the other, was also an Iranian practice. There is some probability that astrologers and members of the carpenter caste (the asaris, the traditional design bearers from one generation to another) use the apadana outline while designing a house, and particularly when assigning the grain room and two adjacent rooms :o either a southern or western alignment (note that the center grain room in each example given is slightly broader than the two adjacent rooms). However, the overall apadana is not reflected in the smaller houses. Thus in this respect the palace at Padbanabhapuram offers a contrast. This raises the question, Do all the squared two-storied palaces with centered courtyards in Kerala strongly reflect the apadanal If so, the apadana was closely followed in palace architecture. Kaudiar Palace in Trivandrum, still a temporary residence of the former Maharaja of Travancore and the unused palace of the Raja of Chirakkal in Malabar are both squared structures with at least :wo stories and centered courtyards. I do not know if they reflect the Iranian apadana. Because of its two courtyards, the Vijaya Vilas (Palace) in Poojapura, Trivandrum (Diags. 9 and 13), is in the traditional system called an eight quarters (ettukettu) house. However, rather than being a traditional Kerala house, this structure was doubtlessly inspired by Roman architecture. It might in part be based upon the plan of an excavated Roman villa at Pompeii. The similarity does not stem from ancient contacts, but from the far later British presence. In Trivandrum, where this palace was built in this century and prior to Independence, there was an English Resident and other British officials, some Catholic priests, and the children in the royal families were tutored by the British. While Indians at the time die to a major degree continue their cultural ways, some admired and adopted British ways and

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preferences in a dual manner. In the construction of the Vijaya Vilas for members of a royal family probably getting along well with the British, one can imagine the large role which an Englishman intent on furthering Classical Revival may have played in its planning and execution. The abundance of latrines in the palace would please British expatriates, and is probably attributable in part to their influence. The most Roman characteristics of the palace are (1) the emphasis upon a central axis, (2) the front later Corinthian atrium and a back Corinthian peristyle straddling the axis, (3) a striving for balance to each side of the axis (perfectly executed up to the back dining and kitchen area), (4) the front vestibule, (5) the prayer room (pujappura) adjacent to the atrium, and (6) the supplementary posts erected near the atrium and designed to impress. Characteristics typifying Malayali cultural preferences are (1) the verandas on all sides, (2) the back open shaded area extending from a square back courtyard, almost centered in an incomplete square, to two outer walls, (3) the tulasi plant grown on a centered pedestal in the front courtyard, and (4) the indoor and open shaded (on the back veranda) kitchens. The open shaded and indoor kitchens have their parallel in the desert of Rajasthan. To bring out some cultural traits dating back for thousands of years in India, details are provided for the different features in the kitchens. The sacred tulasi plant receives special attention from Hindus all over India and, as indicated already for the Mandi District in Himachal Pradesh, is often planted on pedestals. The addition of another floor in the front provides a more impressive facade. By having a porch with fronted steps, the driver of an automobile or carriage coming into the grounds can easily tell where to drive to. Excepting the unusually large number of formalized bedrooms with latrines behind, resulting from British influence, V.K. Krisna Pillai's house at North Mathirappilly, near Cheranelloor (Diags. 9 and 13) is a traditional eight quarters (ettuketpi) house. It has laterite walls and lacks wooden partitions, but notice how the traditionally important grain room (ara), the womb house (garbhagriha) for a deity's image, and the prayer room (pujappura) have wooden walls! The northeastern outward-extended kitchen with a well next to it, the two courtyards surrounded by open shaded areas, and the verandas on each side of the house basically reflect Malayali preferences. As we know already, the tetrastyle order of posts related to each courtyard is also commonly chosen. The stairs in the house only provide access to storage areas on levels above rooms, and are not linked to a second story. The Mankeezh» Vedu- (House) in Muttathara, Trivandrum (Diag. 14), is also a traditional etpikettu house. It was constructed in two phases which were probably separated by a period of over thirty years. Squares were the basis of design in each phase, and apart from the palace at Padbanabhapuram this house offers the best evidence for the use of the apadana. The design used

Houses with Centered

Courtyards

in Kerala and Elsewhere in India

253

in t h e first phase m a y be u n i q u e , b u t it might also be o n e among several in t h e traditional system. A n apadana was used, b u t t h e southeasterly square and middle eastern p o r t i o n were t h e n removed. In :he earliest house there was p r o b a b l y a kitchen in the northeasterly square. The centered square courtyard here was approximately bisected, b u t in order t o have a courtyard which c o n f o r m e d with the house outline a northeasterly extension was t h e n added t o the courtyard (anganam). T h e pride of place assigned t o the three grain r o o m s (aras 1-3) and a grain bin (pathayam) built with w o o d into t h e southeastern rectangle with a f r o n t porch is indicative of t h e p r o f o u n d conceptual meaning which these features must haν 2 in Malayali thinking. They are also significant features in o t h e r Malayali houses w i t h o u t centered courtyards. A long grain bin (pathayam) is also aligned between t h e courtyard and t h e rectangle w i t h w o o d e n walls. A f o u r t h rectangular grain r o o m (ara 4 ) is located in the southwestern corner of t h e first hoase unit, and there is a r o o m in the northwestern corner. I conjecture that the separate northern kitchen and servants' quarters ended the use of t h e northeasterly extension as a kitchen. This could have resulted f r o m British influence, for t h e y o f t e n had kitchens separated f r o m their houses. A f t e r the second back unit was built o n t o t h e house and a kitchen was provided in 11s n o r t h w e s t e r n corner, the separate kitchen and servants' quarters were a b a n d o n e d . The back unit is based u p o n a square extended backward f r o m close to t h e back edge of the f r o n t courtyard a n d m a d e flush with the southerly edge of the f r o n t unit. A square courtyard (anganam 2 ) was t h e n centered in this square. T h o u g h the southerly centered r o o m and t w o adjacent square rooms were narrowed and pinched into the space available, t h e y perfectly illustrate t h e aligned side units of a n apadana. The squared house at P a d b a n a b h a p u r a m is a tw;lve quarters (paturantukettu) house w i t h a surrounding veranda and a northeasterly kitchen extended outward (Diag. 14). The centered grain r o o m a n d t h e centered courtyard n o r t h of it are in an easterly rectangle. Their basic arrangement, paralleling that of the f o u r quarters ( m l u k e t t u ) house at Poovarani, in Palai, is probably a f u r t h e r expression of the integral system in the traditional architecture of Kerala. By adding t h e t w o westerly courtyards, a squared unit w i t h inward focusing in each quarter was f o r m e d . T o demarcate where a higher floor is followed b y a lower floor next t o each western courtyard, edging w o o d e n planks were set alongside t h e higher floor. The floor of t h e f r o n t p o r c h b e f o r e t h e grain r o o m is also edged o n t h e o u t e r side w i t h a long w o o d e n plank, a n d several posts are inset into it. With the exception of the kitchen walls m a d e with bricks and m o r t a r , all t h e oi;her walls in t h e house are of w o o d . A pit centered behind t h e grain r o o m is used f o r access t o space for valuables (niltvara) below the grain r o o m . The family temple t o the south has a narrow veranda o n three sides, w o o d e n walls, and a f r o n t o p e n section w i t h a higher floor edged b y w o o d e n planks.

254

Culture Areas and Cultural

Themes

Diag. 14 Palaces in Kerala — II

Houses with Centered Courtyards in Kerala and Elsewhere in India

255

The Padma Vilas (Palace) in Trivandrum, completed in 1913 AD, during the heyday of the British presence, is probably the only sixteen quarters (patinärukettu) house in Kerala (Diag. 14). It was the residence of the Dewan (The Prime Minister) of Travancore. The reflections of both Roman and English influences in the palace are to a major degree counteracted by Malayali influences. The triumph of Malayali traditions is revealed in (1) the verandas on all three sides of the main rectangular structure, (2) the primary entrance facing eastward, (3) the northeasterly kitchen, (4) the abundant use of wood in the walls, (5) the brick walls surrounding the kitchen and other utilitarian areas in the back, (6) the open shaded areas surrounding each courtyard, with shaded portions extending to the outer walls in all four instances, and (7) the tulasi plant grown in a centered pedestal in the third courtyard back. Indeed, the British and Indian designei-s of this palace were in a sense more Roman than the Romans! Have the archaeological remains of a single Roman villa with four courtyards aligned on an axis ever been found? Yet it is also worth noting that the back courtyard ν/as displaced westward because of the pre-eminent wish to provide a substantia l northeastern kitchen. As each of the first three courtyards is encompassed by twelve posts and the last courtyard is encompassed by fourteen posts, each post order can be labeled Corinthian. The two front courtyards (anganams) were thought of differently from the courtyard with a garden farther back. Front areas near the courtyards, once with functional counterparts (near atriums) among the Romans, were more public areas (esepecially anganam 1). The area associated with the courtyard and garden farther back, with its functional counterpart (near a peristyle) among the Romans, was more private and for the enjoyment of family members. The back utilitarian area, with a well and kitchen, adjacent to the back courtyard probably reflects British influence as well. A common practice among the British was to have the kitchen and related utilitarian rooms (perhaps for servants as well) at the back of the house, if not separate and behind it. To permit a grand coming to and fro, there is a portico to shelter a car. Steps from the portico lead to the main entrance. A front double-storied section of the pahce, with brick walls, provides a more impressive facade. Now however this building has been divided into governmental offices.

Summary and Conclusions In terrestrial-celestial modeling, a square model with corresponding centered courtyard may first have been developed in Mesopotariian cities shortly after 3500 BC. The use of a similar model for the construction of temples honoring deities was apparently customary by 2700 BC in both :igypt and Mesopotam-

256

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Themes

ia; from about 2600 BC, there is a clear record of the model's use for palaces. By about 2000 BC, it was used there for lesser dwellings. Urban houses at the same time, and with a limited distribution within the Indus Civilization, were probably inspired by the same model — even if they show little conformity with the ideal. At Persepolis, by about 500 BC, one of the two standardized variants of the square apadana model had been invented by the Iranians. This ideally has a centered square courtyard, four square corner rooms, and between them longer columned rooms of the same width as each corner room. After the hiatus in monumental architecture which followed the decline of the Indus Civilization and which lasted for over a thousand years, the impact of Irano-Graeco-Buddhist influences led to the renaissance of monumental architecture by 250 BC. While the basic square terrestrial-celestial model was significant to the resultant spread of centered courtyard houses, the Iranian apadana eventually appears to have become a guiding model in the construction of many houses in India. The Buddhist monastic rectangular version of the apadana may also widely have played an influential role. These are some suggestive findings resulting from the survey of centered courtyard houses in India. They have mainly been related to royalty, the elites and wealthier people, and are widely distributed in India. In Rajasthan they occur in their simplest square form, and a front room with an entrance and offset doorway on the opposite side is also present there. The use of this room is characteristically widespread in northern India, and it was so designed to fulfill purdah (enhanced privacy for women) requirements. Elsewhere in northern India there are variant and more complex square to rectangular centered courtyard houses, some of which (as in the Mandi District of Himachal Pradesh) are also double-storied. In the Indian core region extending from Malwa to the Ganga-Jamuna Doab, a large centered courtyard dwelling type has been identified and particularly related to the Jats by Professor Mukeiji. Apart from the provision for cattle keeping within the dwelling, the courtyard wherein livestock may move appears to represent a preserved link with the ancient past. Livestock were then corraled by pastoral nomads in the center of each encampment. Particularly in eastern Uttar Pradesh and adjacent portions of Bihar, courtyards with a longer northerlysoutherly axis are so designed for additional sunlighting the year round. In their terrestrial-celestial modeling, these may be inspired by the model used in far earlier Buddhist monasteries (and particularly those at Nalanda) within the broader region. While R.L. Singh (1957) also proves the existence of square courtyards, his study based on over 1000 observed houses also reveals the existence of houses near Varanasi which have one, two and even three centered courtyards. Because the influence of the apadana appears so strongly in Orissa and

Houses with Centered Courtyards in Kerala and Elsewhere in India

257

in Andhra Pradesh, and because Ashoka is historically linked with territory in both states, the introduction and promotion of the model in his reign can be suggested. Though also found in simple centered courtyard houses of Rajasthan, the open shaded space extending from centered courtyard to outer wall or walls is characteristic in Southern homes. Sinei: some Southern houses have a southern entrance, highly undesirable in the North, a variant system of house orientiation is also present. By contrast with the North too, many Southern houses have a sitting platform to each side of the front (often centered) entrance. Because Subrahmanyam's (1933) plan of a house in Tamil Nadu bears some resemblance to the plan of Buddhist monasteries at Nalanda, the question of whether it could be derived from the spread of Buddhist monastic orders into the South is raised. Because of their maleoriented front courtyards and female-oriented rear courtyards, there is a need for further investigation of large double-storied houses in the Satara and Pune districts of Maharashtra. Farther south and in Karnataka, a house at Chikkamaralli bears some resemblance to the ancient Greek pastas and Roman atrium with alae houses — but this could b i entirely coincidental. Because courtyard shapes at nearby Hebbale are determined by the number of surrounding pillars in pairs (4 to 16), there is «ilso a parallel with the Roman atrium and pillar systems. Lastly, at Thannimani in the same region, Gowdas in each lineage have a large ancestral home winh centered courtyard. In contrast to the village-dwellers in most of India, the Malayalis of Kerala (including those living in urbanized areas with higher population densities) usually have houses scattered over the landscape. Despite their similarities, especially the presence of open shaded areas extending from courtyards to outer walls, (1) the abundant use of wood, (2) the prominent positions assigned to the grain storage rooms, and (3) the specific system of quartering, are characteristics which set these Malayali houses apart from other Southern houses with centered courtyards. The Kerala houses with four quarters, eight quarters, twelve quarters and sixteen quarters form a unique series. Despite the Roman (via the British) influences present in the eight quarters Vijaya Vilas and the sixteen quarters Padma Vilas palaces in Trivandrum, and other British influences, the series generally reflects Malayali and Indian traditions. While the double-stored four quarters palace at Padbanabhapuram offers the clearest evidence for the use of the Iranian apadana in Kerala, we thus far only have clues as to its probable use in the initial design of other houses. The importance of the simple square with centered square opening shows clearly in the design of centered courtyard houses in Kerala. While terrestrial-celestial modeling seems to be widely related to the construction of centered courtyard houses in India and Kerala, the many details as to how astrologers and traditional craftsmen (in Kerala, the asaris or carpenters, for example) design and execute actual plans remain virtually

258

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Themes

unknown. While we have a few indications of how the centered courtyards are ritually associated with terrestrial-celestial models and serve as avenues in approaching the Universal Spirit or deities, many actual examples of the rituals need to be known. Thus this contribution is only a beginning, and I hope that scholars all over India will some day enlighten us to a far greater degree.

Notes 1.

2.

Fieldwork in Kerala was supported by the Fulbright-Hays Faculty Research Study Program, Office of Education, U.S. Department of Health, Education, and Welfare. The illustrations complementing this contribution were completed with the aid of a grant from the Faculty Research Council of the Graduate School, at the University of Missouri, Columbia. To simplify what can be a complex problem in documentation, the names of individuals closely related to the Village Survey Monographs, the 1961 Census of India, were assigned as editors and then alphabetically listed in the bibliography which follows. Specifically in Egypt at El Lahun, in the reign of Sesostris II (Dyn. XII), 1897-1879 BC, and at Eastern Village in the Amarna Period, probably by 1370 BC;Badawy 1966: 22-23; Peet and WooUey 1923: 52-54, pi. 16. Also in early Greek settlements, at Megara Hyblaea, Sicily, founded by 750 BC; at Poseidonia, Italy, founded by 500 BC; and in Etruscan Italy, at Marzabotto, founded around 500 BC; Ward-Perkins 1974: 22-25 and figs. 29, 30, 34, 42.

References Ahmed, M. 1966 Census of India, 1961, Vol. XII, Orissa, Part VI. Village Survey Monograph: 4. Baulagadia, edited by M. Ahmed (Delhi: Manager of Publications). Badawy, Alexander 1966 A History of Egyptian Architecture, vol. 2 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press). Balasubramanyam, K. 1965 Census of India, 1961, Vol. XI, Mysore, Part VI. Village Survey Monograph: 1. Iggalur, edited by K. Balasubramanyam (Delhi: Manager of Publications). 1971 Census of India, 1961, Vol. XI, Mysore, Part VI. Village Survey

Houses with Centered Courtyards in Kerala and Elsewhere in India

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Monograph: 33. Hebbale, edited by K. Balasubramanyam (Delhi: Manager of Publications). Bhargava, R.C., and G.R. Gupta 1965 Census of India, 1961, Vol. XIV, Rajasthan, Part VI-B. Village Survey Monograph: 3. Mudh, edited by R.C. Bhargava and G.R. Gupta (Delhi: Manager of Publications). Bhatnagar, K.S. 1966 Census of India, 1961, Vol. VIII, Madhya Pradesh, Part VI. Village Survey Monograph: 8. Richhari, edited by K. S. Bhatnagar (Delhi: Manager of Publications). Buschmann, Κ.Η. 1954 "Settlements and Habitations in India", Geographical Review of India 16, no. 3: 19-39, and no. 4: 13-37. Chandhoke, S.K., and K.B. Singh 1974 "Village Housing Conditions in the B h a n t p u r Region, Eastern Rajasthan, India", Ekistics 224: 67-72. Crawford, Harriet E.W. 1977 The Architecture of Iraq in the Third Millennium B.C. Mesopotamia (= Copenhagen Studies in Assyriology 5) (CDpenhagen: Akademisk Forlag). Dar, Saifur R. 1976 Taxila and Hellenism (Lahore: Ubaid-ul-Haque Nadvi). Frankfort, Henri 1954 The Art and Architecture of the Ancient Orient (Baltimore: Penguin Books). Fujiwara, Kenzo, P.D. Mahadev, and P. Boregowda 1980 "Settlement Patterns and House Types", Geographical Field Research in South India, 1978, edited by Kenzo Fuj wara (Hiroshima: Geography Department, University of Hiroshima), 89-98. Ghirshman, Roman 1963 Perse (Paris: Gallimard). Ghosh, A. 1965 Nälandä (New Delhi: Archaeological Survey c f India). Gibson, McGuire, et al. 1978 Excavations at Nippur: Twelfth Season (= Oriental Institute Communications 23) (Chicago: Oriental Institute). Gowda, K.U.N., and C. Purnachandra Rao 1965 Census of India, 1961, Vol. II, Andhra Pradesh, Part VI. Village Survey Monograph: 16. Pasarlapudilanka, edited by K.U.N. Gowda and C. Purnachandra Rao (Delhi: Manager of Publications). Graham, J. Walter 1966 "Origins and Interrelations of the Greek House and the Roman House", Phoenix 20: 3-31. Gupta, U.C., and Bahori Lai 1975 "Typical Rural Dwellings in the Bundelkhand Region", Geographical Review of India 37: 189-195.

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Higgins, Reynold Alleyne 1970 The Greek Bronze Age (London: British Museum). 1973 The Archaeology of Minoan Crete (London: The Bodley Head). Kapur, Dharam P., and Rikhi R. Sharma 1969 Census of India, 1961, Vol. XX, Himachal Pradesh, Part VI. Village Survey Monograph: 29. Bir, edited by Dharam P. Kapur and Rikhi R. Sharma (Delhi: Manager of Publications). Lauer,. Jean-Philippe 1936 La Pyramide a Degres: I'architecture (Cairo: Institut Frangais), 2 vols. Lawrence, Arnold Walter 1957 Greek Architecture (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books). Lloyd, Seton 1978 The Archaeology of Mesopotamia (London: Thames and Hudson). Marshall, John Hubert 1960 A Guide to Taxila (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). 1973 Mohenjo-Daro and the Indus Civilization (Delhi: Indological Book House), 2 vols. (orig. 1931). Masters, Allene 1957 "Housing in an Indian Village", Population Review 1: 52-56. Mishra, Shiv N. 1969 "Human Dwellings in Sonpur Region (U.P.)", National Geographical Journal of India 15: 8-23. Mitra, Asok 1966 Census of India, 1961, Vol. I, Part IV-A (iiij. Report on House Types and Village Settlement Patterns in India (Delhi: Manager of Publications). Mukerji, A.B. 1962 "Bhawanti House Type in Andhra Pradesh", Geographical Outlook 3: 16-22. 1971 "Jat House Types", Geografia 1: 27-37. Nambiar, P.K. 1964 Census of India, 1961, Vol. IX, Madras, Part. VI. Village Survey Monograph: 9. Thadagam, edited by P.K. Nambiar (Delhi: Manager of Publications). 1965 Census of India, 1961, Vol. IX, Madras, Part VI, Village Survey Monograph: 13. Kadukkara, edited by P.K. Nambiar (Delhi: Manager of Publications). Nambiar, P.K., and K.C. Narayana Kurup 1968 Census of India, 1961, Vol. IX, Madras, Part VI. Village Survey Monograph: 30. Thiruvalavayanallur, edited by P.K. Nambiar and K.C. Narayana Kurup (Delhi: Manager of Publications). Noble, William Allister 1981 "The Architecture and Organization of Kerala Style Hindu Temples", Anthropos 76: 1-24. Pandey,J.N. 1975 "Rural House Types in the Middle Ganga Plain, Paras Rampur

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Census of India, 1961, Vol. XIV, Rajasthan, Part VI-C. Village Survey Monograph: 3. Bujawar, edited by Shamsher Singh and G.R. Gupta (Delhi: Manager of Publications). Sinha, Vishwanath P. 1969 "Houses and House Types of the Chota Nagpur Plateau", Geographical Knowledge 2: 91-101. Spate, Oskar Hermann Khristian, and Andrew Thomas Amos Learmonth 1967 India and Pakistan, a Regional Geograph (London: Methuen & Co. Ltd.). Subrahmanyam, K.M. 1938 " F o u r Main House Types in South India", Journal of the Madras Geographical Association 13: 168-175. Suryanarayanan, K.L. 1965 Census of India, 1961, Vol. XI, Mysore, Part VI. Village Survey Monograph: 2. Thannimani, edited by K.L. Suryanarayanan (Delhi: Manager of Publications). Tobler, Arthur J. 1950 Excavations at Tepe Gawra (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, for the University Museum). Vats, Madho Sarup 1974 Excavations at Harappä (Varanasi: Bharatiya Publishing House). Walton, James 1959 "Rajput Folk-Building in Malwa, Central India", Ethnos 24: 109120. Ward-Perkins, John Bryan 1974 Cities of Ancient Greece and Italy (New York: George Braziller). Westphal-Hellbusch, Sigrid, and Heinz Westphal 1964 The Jat of Pakistan (Berlin: Dunker & Humblot). Wheeler, Robert Eric Mortimer 1968 Flames over Persepolis, Turning-Point in History (New York: Reynal & Co. Inc.). Wycherley, Richard Ernest 1962 How the Greeks Built Cities (London: Macmillan & Co. Ltd.).

The Right Hand is the 'Eating Hand': an Indian Areal Linguistic Inquiry Murray B. Emeneau This paper is presented to David Mandelbaum with the greatest admiration for his broad and deep interpretations of so many aspects of the culture of India, and with gratitude for the great pleasure and profit that we shared in our joint Nilgiri experience in 1937-1938. My areal linguistic studies have been founded, in a sense, on our common interest at that time in the possibility of defining culture areas within the subcontinent. This paper is the outcome of an attempt at semantic analysis within that framework. *

§1. Of the three, or probably four or even five, major ways of eating,2 that which involves the use of the hands alone withou: implements is possibly one of the most usual worldwide (that is, in aboriginal pre-Western-influenced days). It may be expected that, given some predominnnce of righthandedness in mankind, in this method of eating the use of the right hand for inserting the food in the mouth would also predominate. That this should become prescriptive is by no means to be taken for granted, since eating aided by a knife in the right hand to cut bite-size fragments off the food must usually, given righthandedness, involve or have involved handling the food with the left hand, and the use of knife and fork has resulted in a European (cum British) norm of putting food into the mouth with fork held in the left hand, as distinguished from the American norm of using the fork held in the right hand. §2. A prescriptive rule that food should be put in the mouth with the right hand only is well-known for certain cultural areas, viz. the Indian subcontinent and the contiguous Moslem Near East. In both it is not simply a matter of predominant righthandedness (though it cannot be ruled out that originally this may have been an important factor). The matter is culturally more complicated, in that there is emphasis in both ureas on a strict separation of functions for the two hands, the left being used for body-cleansing, especially after excretion, and the right for eating. Well-known is the Near Eastern punishment of cutting off the offender's rij;ht hand; he is thereby shamed since he must use the same hand for both functions. 3 Muslim practice and attitude in this matter spread far from the Near East proper, into Africa, Indonesia,4 the Soviet Union in Asia, and particularly the Indian subcon-

264

Culture Areas and Cultural Themes

tinent, where Pakistan and Bangladesh are officially Muslim in religion and the population of the Republic of India has a very large Muslim component. §3. However, for the Hindu population of India this rule is only part of the very pervasive and complex cultural matter of ritual pollution and purity. This is basic in the organization of Hindu society and in the regulation of the daily life of the subdivisions of that society and the individuals within those subdivisions. No further exposition is needed here; it is central in all anthropological accounts of Hinduism, and one need only refer to David Mandelbaum's chapter 11 of Society in India (1970: 192-205). As he lucidly says there (p. 195): "It is not only people who are graded on a scale of pollution and purity. The sides of the body, for example, have different degrees of pollution and purity. The right side is the more pure. The right hand is used in eating rather than the left which is used for more menial tasks, as in washing the body after defecation." That this rule is observed at all levels of this complexly hierarchical society need not be proved; it is abundantly exemplified in Mandelbaum's account, drawn from the reports of observers of many social groups at many periods. That this strongly stressed cultural trait should be reflected in language would not be surprising. And indeed there is a body of relevant data in the dictionaries and vocabularies, but no study has previously been made, and there is (so far as I know) no mention of it in the anthropological literature. §4. Dravidian India presents a considerable body of the data that have been recorded so far. These may be examined against the background of what Dravidianists would take to be the normal words for the right hand and the left hand. Terms for "right hand" are in the southern languages and one or two others derived from *val "strong; strength" (DED A2\ljDEDR 5276): Tamil vaia-kkai, valan-kai, Malayalam valan-kai, Kota val kay, Toda pas koy, Kodagu balate kay, Kannada bala key/gey, Tulu balata kai, Telugu vala ceyi, Parji vela key. For "left hand" similar combinations are found ending in *kay "hand", the first member being derived from *itay, *itam "left (side, hand, etc.)" (DED 3811DEDR 449): 5 Tamil itai, itam, Malayalam itam, etam, Kota er, Toda or, Kodagu edate, Kannada eda, Tulu eda, damma, datta, Telugu da-, da-, edama, Kolami edama (recorded by Hislop; < Telugu), Naiki of Chanda däkiyan, Gondi dema. The Telugu forms present problems, edama is the modern form, appearing in the literature from the thirteenth century on; the expected metathesized form *dema does not appear in this language, but dema is recorded for the Gondi dialects of Adilabad and Sironcha (southwestern dialects). 6 A metathesized form *de- is expected in Telugu, but instead da-, da- appear in the literature down to the fifteenth century (d- > dbetween the eleventh and thirteenth centuries); ä is still unexplained (but one

The Right Hand is the 'Eating Hand': Areal Linguistic

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265

may compare Tulu damma, datta with a in the first syllable).7 These terms for right and left hand are presumably to be regarded as representative of general Dravidian (? proto-Dravidian). Instances of terms based on the cultural trait in which we are interested, or of terms borrowed from Indo-Aryan (or in the case of Brahui, from Persian) are either demonstrably or presumably secondary. §5. Examination of Tamil shows that there is a colloquial displacement of the terms for "right hand", which are those found in the literature, by cönu-kkai. This form is given in the Tamil Lexicon, but without any literary attestation; it also records cörru-kai. These have a penological feature, rr, that is not to be expected in any colloquial form, and in fact the colloquial form that has been heard is (as expected) cöttu-kkai8 The first member of the compound is the oblique stem of com "boiled rice" (DED 2360IDEDR 2897), here used as attribute of the following noun; the compound means "the food hand". For "left hand" the Lexicon records pi-kkai, piccän-kai, piccai-kkai, all meaning originally "the excrement hand" (DED 3455/ DEDR 4210). The second has been heard paired with the colloquial cöttu-kkai. There is in the record also Malayalam cörru-kai "right hand", presumably a colloquial form. Considering the position of this language as a late off-shoot from Tamil, a unitary origin should be thought of for these "right hand" terms in these two languages. Tulu also, according to Manner's dictionary, which has no indication of the dialect attribution of any of its items, has picca, picce "left hand", i.e. "excrement hand". This is geographically a "southern" language, and some relationship of these forms with the Tamil terms for the left hand must be posited, although no exact statement can yet be made. §6. For "right hand" Telugu is recorded as ha\ing vala ceyi. This, in fact, is the old literary term. By the thirteenth century, in the author Tikkana, it is beginning to be displaced by kudi ceyi, and by the fifteenth century (the author Srinätha) the latter is the only term found. It is the only modern colloquial form. Although modern speakers are not aw ire of the etymological origin of this term, it is to be related to the verb kuducu "to eat, drink, suck, enjoy, experience, suffer" (DED 1378/DEDR 1654). This verb in South Dravidian is *kudi "to drink", which in some of the languages (but not in Kota or Toda) is in general use down to the present. In Telugu, "to drink" must have been the earliest meaning, then extended to "to eat", 9 and then metaphorically to "to enjoy, etc." The "right hand" term kudi ceyi, then, originated as "the eating hand". The verb kuducu was replaced by tinu "to eat" (DED 2670/DEDR 3263) and tfrjägu "to drink" (DED 2593/ DEDR 3174), in about the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, except for the vulgar and taboo use madda k/gudu- "to suck the per is", which is a survival of the general meaning "to suck (e.g. breast, teat)". 1 0 fhis general loss of the

266

Culture Areas and Cultural

Themes

verb left kudi ceyi "right hand" practically isolated, and resulted in popular loss of awareness of the etymology. It becomes an obvious etymology, however, upon examination of the following group of data. §7. Of the languages which are to be roughly classed as Central Dravidian, the following have terms for "right hand" which contain forms that are clearly related to the verb *tin- "to eat", and which mean originally "the eating hand": Naiki of Chanda tina ki, Paiji tinda key, Gadba (Ollari) tiyan ki, Gondi (dialects of the south — Adilabad, Sironcha of Chanda, Muria, Maria, Koya) tina k/gay, tirtaq kay, tindana kay, etc., Pengo tina key, Manda tina ki, Indi tina ki, Kui tini kaju, Kuwi tPini kiyu (see §8), Kurux tiriä xekkhä, Malto tina qeqe. Several problems are presented which admit of only partial solution. §8. These forms derived from the verb *tin- are not reconstructable prima facie to a proto-form. Several of them are verb forms labelled "relative participle", "verbal adjective", or the like (meaning: "who eats", "with which he eats", etc.), being formed differently in the different languages: Gadba (Ollari) tiyan (present-future or indefinite; tiy-ari)\ Kui tini (future; ti-ni)\ Gondi (Muria) tindana may be the non-past adjective, although the suffix is given (e.g. for Koya) as -äna;Parji tinda may be related to the future relative participle tindan (tind-an), but deletion of final -n is unexplained. Kolami has a continuative verbal adjective, which for this verb would be tina. Although this language does not have *tina ki· in the earlier record (but recently unna kiyy has been recorded; see §9), several languages have what seem to be corresponding forms, though the languages are not described as having verbal adjectives of this type: Gondi (Koya) tina gay, Pengo tina key, Manda tina ki, Indi tina ki,11 Kurux tinä, Malto tina may also be corresponding forms. The Kui future relative participle tini, and also Pengo tini, are to be analysed as having the future (non-past) suffix -n- followed by the adjective suffix -/, i.e. ti-n-i. The closely related language Kuwi also should have tini or ti?ni, which have been recorded in the field, though ti?ini and tPni have also been recorded, and the form given in Israel's grammar (1979) is ti?ini. It must be noted that the short stem ti- actually appears as ti9- before vowels in Israel's description. The largest verb class in Kuwi has as future suffix -in(rather than -n-). It appears that tpini "right" has been formed analogically as if it belonged to this class, i.e. ti?-in-i. The form given by Israel, ti?ini (as well as tPni), has retroflex t by analogy with the retroflex initial d- of the borrowed Indo-Aryan word for "left", *debri, which appears in this language as tebri; the complicated end result is: ti?ini, *debri ti?ini, tebri, with voicelessness from ti?ini and retroflexion from *debri (for the Indo-Aryan form, see § 11). Parji has both vela key and tinda key, the grammar gives no indication of difference of usage.

The Right Hand is the 'Eating Hand': Areal Linguistic Inquiry

267

Kurux and Malto do not have the verb *tin- "to eat", using instead *mök(DED 4212IDEDR 5127) and *un- (DED 516IDFDR 600). That they originally had *tin- is evidenced by their still having the transitive tind"to feed by hand"; the derivation of "right hand" is obvious. §9. Three of the central languages are still unrepresented in the lists given for "right hand". For Kolami my earlier work cloes not have the item; it is now to be found in Pat. (1973: 27): unna kiyy. For Gadba (Ollari) tiyan ki was the earlier recorded form; the recent publication of Konekor Gadaba by Peri Bhaskara Rao (1980) records unan kiy. The Konda grammar has no term, but uner kiyu was recorded (so Bh. Krishnamurti by letter). These three terms have forms derived from *un- "to drink", which (like Telugu kuducu) in some of the languages has also the extended meaning "to eat" (e.g. Gadba, Konda, Kui, Kurux). Since we do not yet have wellstructured accounts of the meanings of *tin- and *un- in the Dravidian languages in this area, it is impossible even to guess why *un- was favored over *tin- in generating terms for "right hand" in these three languages. In Kolami the form is the regular verbal adjective; the forms in the other two languages are not related to their verbal adjectives. §10. In the same area in which the Central Dra vidi in "eating hand" terms are found, viz. the contiguous mountainous areas of eastern Madhya Pradesh, Orissa (Bastar, Koraput, etc.), and northern and northeastern Andhra Pradesh, there are found languages of another family, Mundc. or, more specifically, South Munda. 12 For several of these languages infoimation is at hand that the right hand is designated "the eating hand", forms being derived from *jom Ho eat' and *ti 'hand': Kharia (P.) jonom tiRemo (Bonda) su-sum= ti, Gta 9 (Didei) n V Os so Ο Γ - Γ - (Ν c-

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tions. Nonetheless, urbanization, as traditionally defined, is not related to the observed morality differential between the two states.

Health Facilities and their

Utilization

The types and numbers of medical and public health facilities and medical and paramedical personnel levels in Kerala and West Bengal (compared in Table 19) tend to balance out: while West Bengal has a higher doctor (allopathic)/population ratio than Kerala, the latter has a higher nurse/ population ratio. Kerala has a clear advantage in primary health centers, however. Primary health centers are the main providers of medical and public health facilities in the rural areas of India. Each administrative unit known as a Block with a population of around 100,000 is supposed to have one primary health center and a number of subcenters. By 1977-78 Kerala had 163 primary health centers in its 144 Blocks and West Bengal had 316 in its 335 Blocks. All centers in Kerala had met their quota of two doctors in 1973. Only 30 percent of those in West Bengal had done so in 1970, and as recently as 1977 10 percent of West Bengal's centers still had not yet filled their quota. This is remarkable in view of the lower doctor/population ratio in Kerala.' Apparently, the West Bengal government found it more difficult than the Kerala government to attract doctors to work in the rural primary health centers. Perhaps the same reasons also account for the lesser number of subcenters in West Bengal compared to Kerala. In 1977 there were 11.0 subcenters for each primary health center in Kerala while the corresponding figure for West Bengal was only 6.2. There is little difference in the per capita government expenditure for health in the two states — Kerala's expenditure being slightly higher than West Bengal's in most years (Table 20). The proportion of government expenditures on indigenous medical systems was not significant in any state. Table 20. Per capita government expenditure on medical care and public health (Rupees)* Kerala W. Bengal India Source 2.5 2.4 1959-60 N.A. India CBHI (1963: 2.8 2.4 N.A. 1960-61 India CBHI (1963: 1963-64 3.7 3.3 2.6 P. Bardhan(l 974: 1971-72 7.2 6.7 6.4 India CBHI (1976: 8.7 1972-73 8.6 N.A. India CBHI (1969: 1973-74 8.7 7.7 7.6 India CBHI (1976: 14.1 12.3 India CBHI (1978: 1975-76 10.6 •Public heath excludes sewerage and water supply.

203-13) 203-13) 1297) 168) 13) 165) 23)

322

Investigating Health and Development

In both Kerala and West Bengal indigenous medical facilities are quite popular, particularly in rural areas.9 They are supported to some extent by the state governments. In Kerala the ayurvedic system is more popular than the homeopathic system; in West Bengal the reverse is true. Prevention of Epidemic Diseases. No accurate data are available to compare the prevalence of an incidence of mortality from epidemic diseases in Kerala and West Bengal. Epidemics of cholera, plague, malaria and smallpox are known to have occurred in both states at least since the middle of the nineteenth century. Although preventive programs such as vaccination and inoculation against smallpox and cholera seem to have been equally extensive in recent years (India CBHI 1976: 70), preventive actions against infectious diseases were initiated at a much earlier date in Kerala. The native rulers of Travancore and Cochin (parts of present Kerala), supported by Christian missionary institutions, took a more active role in encouraging public health measures than the British rulers and zamindars (landlords) of West Bengal. The former enforced sanitary measures in temples, bazaars, and other public places and developed a paramedical public health and sanitation infrastructure from the second half of the nineteenth century (Mitra 1978: 232). As early as 1905-06, in the ceremony that opened Trivandrum Civil Hospital, the Maharaja of Travancore made the following statement: I take this opportunity earnestly to impress this fact on the minds of all my native subjects and to urge them to seek for themselves, for their children, for their friends, and for their servants, the great protection of vaccination. They will see the strength of my conviction in the fact that there is no member of my own family that has not had this protection conferred at an early age. (Nagam Aiya 1906: 524-25). There is no evidence of comparable interest in promoting public health among the rulers and elites of West Bengal although Calcutta, its capital city, was the seat of the first modern medical institution in India. Utilization of Health Care Facilities. There is clear evidence that the people in Kerala use the available medical facilities much more than those in West Bengal do. Although the total population in Kerala is only about one-half that in West Bengal, the absolute number of patients admitted to hospitals and dispensaries was higher for Kerala in both 1959 and 1964 (years for which data are available). The number of outpatients was slightly lower for Kerala in 1959 and slightly higher in 1964 (Table 21). The differences in number of women outpatients in connection with pregnancy and childbirth and diseases of early infancy are sharper.

The Impact of Social and Economic

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Mortality

323

Table 21. Number of patients treated in selected years. All Diseases Outpatients Kerala 1959 1964

6,008,925 9,693,317

Inpatients

W. Bengal

Kerala

W. Bengal

6,242,255 9,461,31 1

355,820 532,327

286,616 436,915

Pregnancy and Childbirth Outpatients

1959 1964

Inpatients

Kerala

W. Bengal

Kerala

W. Bengal

169,611 337,826

90,584 141,979

60,281 86,592

121,434 194,146

Diseases of Early Infancy (Out- and in-patients combined) Kerala

W. Bengal

1961

39,952

8,178

1970

29,947

12,879

Source:

For 1959 India CBHI (1963: 150-51); for 1964 India CBHI(1968: 153); for 1961 and 1970 India CSO (1979b).

Significantly greater utilization of preventive and curative medical facilities in rural areas in Kerala compared to rural areas in West Bengal is reflected in the percentages of institutionalized births and deaths and also in the percentages of births attended by trained personnel (Tables 22 and 23).

Table 22. Percentages of institutionalized births and deaths in rural and urban areas, 1964-65. Kerala Rural Urban Births Deaths Source:

13(1) 8(1)

32 26(1)

W. Bengal Rural Urban 6(4) 3(5)

50 13(6)

India Rural Urban 3 2

30 12

India CS(1971: 83-88) from NSS 19th Round July 1964-June 1965. Figure in parentheses denotes rank order among 17 states in descending order.

324

Investigating Health and Development

Table 23. Percentages of total births attended by trained personnel in rural and urban households, 1964-65. Kerala Rural Urban

W. Bengal Rural Urban

India Rural Urban

16(1)

35 (5)

3 (7)

42(3)

5

30

9(3)

14(8)

9(4)

21(2)

4

16

Types of Attendants Physician or qualified nurse Trained dai or midwife

Source: India CS (1971: 83-88) from NSS 19th Round, July 1964-June 1965. Figure in parentheses denotes rank order among 17 states in decending order. In 1964-65 rural Kerala was foremost among the states of India in institutionalized births (13 percent) and deaths (8 percent), whereas West Bengal ranked fourth (6 percent) and fifth (3 percent) in births and deaths, respectively. During the same year rural Kerala was also foremost among the states in births attended by physicians or qualified nurses (16 percent), whereas rural West Bengal was seventh (3 percent). West Bengal was in a more favorable situation than Kerala with respect to institutionalized birth in urban areas; but since more than three-quarters of the population in both states live in rural sectors, the over-all percentages of institutionalized births and births attended by physicians or qualified nurses were considerably higher in Kerala. It seems plausible that greater utilization of medical facilities — both preventive and curative — in Kerala is a major determinant of the morality differential between Kerala and West Bengal. The question arises: why do people in Kerala utilize the available medical facilities more than the people in West Bengal, particularly in rural areas? It naturally leads us to a comparative analysis of the accessibility of medical facilities in the two states. Accessibility of Medical Facilities. One major reason for more effective utilization of medical facilities in Kerala is their easier accessibility to the people living in rural areas. The distribution of health centers in rural Kerala is better than that in rural West Bengal. The accessibility of these centers depends mostly on their "catchment" areas and transportation facilities. The average catchment areas of primary health centers in Kerala and West Bengal do not differ much (about 239 sq. km. in Kerala and 179 sq. km. in West Bengal in 1977-78). But there are large differences among the catchment areas of the subcenters. The average catchment area of the subcenters was about 22 sq. km. in Kerala and 99 sq. km. in West Bengal in 1977-78 (India

The Impact

of Social and Economic

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on Mortality

325

CBHI 1978: 66-67). 1 0 The difference is partly due to the higher population density in Kerala (549/sq. km. in 1971) than in West Bengal (499/sq. km. in 1971). But it is primarily connected to the fact that the average number of subcenters attached to each primary health center is much higher in Kerala (Table 19). Not only do more people in rural Kerala live closer to the health centers, they also have better transportation facilities for visiting these centers. Moreover these transportation facilities make it easier for health extension personnel to visit households. The road network in Kerala is more extensive than that of West Bengal. In 1974-75 the road lengths per 100 sq. km. were 301 km. in Kerala and 64 km. in West Bengal (West Bengal 1978:101-103).' 1 The ratio of public service vehicles to population is much larger in Kerala than in West Bengal. 12 The water transportation in Kerala is also more extensive. 13 If medical facilities are more accessible to the inhabitants, they can be expected to utilize them better. But are there other factors responsible for better utilization of medical facilities in Kerala than West Bengal? Moreover, what led to the improved distribution of medical and other social services in Kerala? In an attempt to answer these questions I shall discuss below in some historical depth the structure of the educational system and the political awareness of rural poor in the two states.

Literacy and Structure of the Educational

System

West Bengal ranks higher than average among Indian states in terms of literacy, but Kerala far out-distances all other states. Sixty percent of the population of Kerala were literate in 1971, compared with 33 percent in West Bengal and 30 percent in India (Table 24). Kerala's superiority in female Table 24. Percentage literate by sex, 1951, 1961, and 1971* MALE Kerala

FEMALE

W. Bengal India 34(2) 40(3) 43(4)

25 34 40

MALE AND FEMALE

Kerala W. Bengal India Kerala W. Bengal India

1951 1961 1971

50(1) 55 (1) 67(1)

32(1) 39(1) 54(1)

12(3) 17(3) 22(4)

8 13 19

40(1) 47(1) 60(1)

24(2) 29(4) 33(5)

17 24 30

Source:

Bhattacharjee and Shastri ( 1 9 7 6 : 72-74) compiled from various Census of India publications. Figure in parentheses denotes rank order among 1 5 major states in descending order. *Total population used for calculating percentages includes population in the age group 0-4.

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Investigating Health and

Development

literacy is even more marked. In 1971, 53 percent of females in rural Kerala were literate compared with estimates for West Bengal and rural India of only 15 percent and 13 percent respectively (Mitra 1979: 7). There is evidence from several countries that maternal education plays a major role in determining the level of infant and child mortality (Caldwell 1979: 396-400). 14 The data for 1971-73 on crude death rates and percentage of literates in the rural areas of the districts of Kerala indicate that the districts of Kerala that belonged to the Malabar area of the former Madras state all have higher crude death rates and lower proportions literate than those districts that belonged to the former native states of Travancore and Cochin (Table 25). A high correspondence between the rank orders of the districts by crude death rate and by percentage literate indicates a strong negative correlation between literacy and mortality level. Table 25. Estimates of crude death rates and percentage literate in the rural areas of the Districts of Kerala, 1971-73 Crude Percentage Death Rate Literate (CDR) (PL)

Districts

Rank in CDR (in descending order)

Rank in PL (in ascending order)

A. Travancore-Cochin Trivandrum Quilon Alleppey Kottayam Ernakulam Trichur

7.6 7.7 8.4 6.1 7.1 8.6

62 63 70 77 65 61

8 7 6 10 9 5

6 7 10 9 8 5

12.9 11.9 8.8 9.1

47 48 58 55

1 2 4 3

1 2 4 3

9.2

60

B. Malabar Palghat Malappuram Kozhikode Cannanore Kerala State Source:

Kerala BES (1975)

Literacy decreases mortality levels by increasing awareness about the need and right to use public facilities, including medical facilities (Panikar 1979: 1809). Higher female literacy in Kerala has contributed significantly toward higher utilization of maternal and child health services by the women of the state (Tables 21-23). They are also less inhibitive regarding physical

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examinations and more open to traveling to the health centers without male escorts. Indirectly higher literacy in Kerala has contributed, along with a few other favorable conditions, a higher level of political participation of the rural poor, which in turn has forced the state government in the postIndependence era to cater to their health needs along with other needs. The Educational Traditions in the Two States. West Bengal is traditionally known as a very advanced state in India regarding higher education. The pioneering efforts of a number of British and Bengali educators at Calcutta, the capital of West Bengal, during the nineteenth century led to the establishment of modern schools and colleges there. The first woman Bachelor of Arts degree holder in India graduated from the University of Calcutta in 1883. How, then, did literacy in Kerala, particularly among women, become higher than in West Bengal? The answer lies in the fact that at all times — pre-British, British and post-Independence — primary level education and the education of women have been emphasized in Kerala, whereas, particularly during the British rule but also after Independence, the educational structure in West Bengal was elitist and urban-oriented. During the first five centuries of the Christian era, most of the area belonging to the present Kerala state placed great emphasis on providing education for the masses using temples as centers (Ramakumar and Nair 1979). Nonformal education was imparted to both men and women through Puranic stories and devotional songs. The matriarchal Nayar caste of Kerala was particularly interested in the education of women (Nagam Aiya 1906: 474). There was no comparable development of education through temple culture in West Bengal. There was no matriarchal caste in West Bengal interested specifically in the education of women. Indigenous schools gradually grew up in both states, but by the end of the nineteenth century every village in Kerala reportedly had a school (Nagam Aiya 1906: 455), while in West Bengal only one village out of five had one (Mitra 1967: 445). During the British rule of India circumstances favored the promotion of primary education in Kerala and of higher education in West Bengal. The native rulers of Travancore and Cochin were very interested in the spread of education and provision of health services among the masses of population. As early as 1817 the queen of Travancore announced "that the State shall defray the entire cost of the education of its people in order that there may be no backwardness in the spread of enlightenment among them, that by diffusion of education theymaybecome better subjects and public servants..." (cited in UN 1975: 125). The educational efforts of the native rulers of Travancore and Cochin were greatly influenced by Christian missionaries who pioneered the modern system of education both among Christians and non-Christians and particularly among the poor and among women (Nagam Aiya 1906: 445480; Velu

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Pillai 1941: 79). In 1971, 21 percent (the highest in India) of the population of Kerala were Christian, compared to less than 1 percent in West Bengal. The Syrian Christian missionaries are reported to have come to Kerala in the 1st century A.D., but Christian activities in education effectively started in the early nineteenth century through British Protestant missionaries. The native rulers and the Dewarts (ministers) responded to the efforts of missionaries favorably. The first school for girls in Travancore was started by the missionaries in 1819. In 1887 the Government of Travancore opened a school to train female teachers. In the census of 1901 Travancore was foremost among Indian states in female education. Educational development in West Bengal under British rule took a different course. The introduction by the British of a system of land revenue, known as the "permanent settlement," in the Bengal Presidency (of which West Bengal was a part) called into existence a large intermediary class with heritable tenure on land holdings. This class was generally interested in collecting rents from rural tenants and did very little to promote educational advancement among the tenants and laborers. Moreover, the "permanent settlement" impeded the levy of any new tax on land, making it difficult for the zamindars (landlords) to finance welfare measures for the rural poor, even if they were so inclined (Mitra 1967: 434-53). They were attracted toward the Calcutta metropolis — the seat of British power in India — and, along with a growing middle class of professionals, became strong advocates of secondary education in the English language rather than primary education in the vernacular. Previously it was believed that secondary education in English was given higher priority by the British administrators and traders because they needed the services of native English-educated clerks, but modern historians argue that it was more a response to the high demand for such education from middle-class Bengalis of the Calcutta metropolis eager to qualify for the new jobs created by the British as well as to assimilate new ideas, thoughts, and political traditions of Western countries (Mukherjee 1968: 14-45).' 5 As a result there was a bias toward secondary education in urban areas in the allotment of educational funds. While primary education in the rural areas of Bengal remained neglected, the founding of Hindu College in Calcutta in 1817 was followed by a rapid growth of such institutions in the Calcutta metropolis (Mitra 1967: 436). A few Christian missionaries and philanthropists campaigned for primary education in the vernacular, but the majority tended to support higher education in the English language. There were some efforts by Christian missionaries in the 1810s and 1820s to open primary schools for women in Calcutta and its vicinity but they yielded discouragingly poor results (Mitra 1967: 452-53). Only children of the very poor castes attended these schools and their attendance was reportedly purchased, often by small cash rewards. The prevailing social order

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in Bengal prescribed early marriage of women and threatened educated women with the grim prospect of spinsterhood and widowhood. Not all caste Hindus were opposed to female education on principle. Some girls of aristocratic families were educated privately at home. But there was a general reluctance to entrust girls to Christian women teachers at the schools. The first girls' school in Calcutta, which struggled to survive, was started in 1849 by a British philanthropist and government official named J. E. D. Bethune. 16 In 1885 the government asked Iswarchandra Vidyasagar, a well-known Bengali educator and social reformer, to open 20 girls' schools in four districts of Bengal. His untiring efforts bore almost no results, partly because of inadequate government financial support, partly because of social prejudice against female education. Expenditure and Enrollment. The characteristic features that distinguished the educational structures of Kerala and West Bengal in the British era continued in the post-Independence era. The higher emphasis on education in Kerala is reflected in the higher educational expenditure. In 1960-61 the Kerala government spent 35 percent of its revenue on education, while the corresponding estimates for West Bengal and for India as a whole were both only 19 percent (Rudolph and Rudolph 1969: 1040). 17 The greater priority given to lower-level education in Kerala is reflected in enrollment and expenditure figures by level of education shown in Tables 26-27. During the period of 10 years from 1960-61 to 1970-71, the per-pupil expenditure on primary education more than doubled in Kerala; this increment was more than 50 percent above the national average (Nair 1974).

Table 26.

Percentage of children enrolled in school among the total population of age 6-10 years, and 11-13 years, 1978 Girls

Boys Ker. 6-10 years 11-13 years Source:

82 80

W. Ben. India

Ker.

Total

W. Ben. India

Ker.

W. Ben. India

77

77

86

58

55

86

68

66

48

54

74

32

32

77

40

50

India NCERT ( 1 9 8 0 : 62-63)

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Table 27. Percentages of educational expenditure on primary, secondary and university education, 1969-70, 1970-71, 1975-76 and 1976-77

1969-70 1970-71 1975-76 1976-77

Primary Ker. W. Ben. India

Secondary Ker. W. Ben. India

University* Ker. W. Ben. India

59 58 57 56

21 21 25 26

5 7 12 12

38 32 41 41

46 44 — -

40 31 40 37

29 30 -

16 10 14 15

10 10 -

Sources: 1969-70 and 1970-71 percentages calculated from actual expenditure figures for 1969-70 and revised budget estimates for 1970-71 provided by India MESW (1972); 1975-76 and 1976-77 percentages calculated from actual expenditure figures for 1975-76 and revised budget estimates for 1976-77 provided by Kerala (1977) and West Bengal (1977). The traditional higher emphasis on female education in Kerala than in West Bengal was also maintained during the post-Independence years. This is reflected in the enrolment percentages of female students at three levels of school education in 1960-61, 1973 and 1978 (Table 28) and for two age groups in 1978 (Table 26). Female enrolment in Kerala at all these levels and age groups has always been higher than that in West Bengal, with the difference greater at higher levels of education than at lower levels. Table 28. Female enrolment as a percentage of all enrolment, by class level, 1960-61, 1973, and 1978

Classes I-V Classes VI-VIII Classes IX & up

1960-61 Ker. W. Ben. India

1973 Ker. W. Ben. India

46.8 44.5 42.1

47.9 46.5 47.9

35.9 28.1 24.6

N.A. N.A. N.A.

39.4 36.0 30.1

37.7 30.8 26.9

1978 Ker. W. Ben. India 48.3 46.9 48.0

42.0 39.1 34.1

38.6 32.8 29.1

Sources: 1960-1 percentages calculated from India MESW (1972: 47, 113) and other percentages cited from India NCERT (1980: 62-63).

Political Awareness

of the Rural Poor

One reason why the medical facilities in Kerala are used more is that the people there are more aware of their rights to use these facilities. Mencher

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(1980) observed during her field investigation in Kerala that when a primary health center was short of a physician, there was a strong public demand for his/her immediate replacement, while a similar situation in the neighboring state of Tamil Nadu elicited no protest. It is my impression that the rural population of West Bengal is similar to that of Tamil Nadu in this respect; they seem to be generally too meek to demand services from government officials. The difference in the attitudes of the rural people in Kerala and West Bengal toward the health services may reflect differences in their general political awareness and participation. Although Kerala and West Bengal are the two states in India with longest periods of rule by the leftist political parties (mainly CPI and CPI-M), there are important differences in the historical and social contexts of the leftist movements, as well as in the influence of the leftist political parties among the peasants, in the two states. By the time of Independence in 1947, a peasant movement led by the first agricultural labor union was formed in Kerala. In the early twentieth century, in order to reduce the power of the feudal chieftains of theKuttanad region of Travancore, its King pursued a policy under which the ownership of rights on land was gradually conferred on tenants who, being relieved of the burden of rent payments, retained the surplus and reinvested it to improve agricultural production (Jose 1979). The tenants hired increasing numbers of casual laborers for money wages. The labor market swelled, and the growth of capitalism led to a polarization of classes in agriculture. A trade union was formed under the patronage of the left-wing leaders of the Indian National Congress who subsequently constituted themselves into the Communist Party of India (CPI). The task of organizing the agricultural workers in Kuttanad was taken up by the trade union leaders of the neighboring industrial town of Allepey. Slowly but steadily the trade union movement among agricultural workers spread from the Kuttanad region to other regions of Kerala since the 1950s but a real breakthrough occurred only after the end of 1970 (Mencher 1973). The peasant movement also started in the Malabar and Cochin regions as early as in Kuttanad but the main thrust of the movement until recently was generally on tenancy reform and land ceilings rather than on agricultural wages. The better implementation of land reform legislation in Kerala than in other states of India is reported to be due to political pressure based on a long history of peasant movements in Kerala (U.N. 1975: 53-64). The policy of land tenure in West Bengal under the British administration was entirely different from that in Kerala, and no left-wing political party was active in rural West Bengal prior to Independence. The zamindars were not interested in improving agricultural production. The landless laborers earned their living not by earning wages but by becoming bargardars, or sharecroppers. The extravagant life styles of the absentee zamindars, many of

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whom built luxurious houses in urban areas, led to a gradual impoverishment and disintegration of the peasantry. There were a few mass uprisings in the 1920s and 1930s by the peasants striving to regain their rights to land, but there was no political party to turn them into a trade union movement. Calcutta was the old center of British rule in India, and the nationalist struggle of the Indian National Congress party in Bengal was too concentrated in Calcutta to pay attention to what was happening in the countryside. There was only a handful of communists in West Bengal, and they had no influence among the peasants. Even in 1948 when the CPI held its congress in Calcutta the social base of the Party was still the middle-class intelligentsia in the cities and towns and the industrial belt in the Calcutta metropolitan area (Sen Gupta 1972: 149-53). When the United Front government assumed power in West Bengal in early 1967 with the CPI-M as the dominant political party, the government was initially biased in favor of the factory and middle-class worker, but gradually changed its policy to favor the peasantry. The success of the CPI-M in widening its social base among the peasantry was demonstrated in its winning of the majority of the rural seats in the 1977 state assembly elections (Sen Gupta 1979: 70,97). The different degrees of penetration of leftist political parties among the peasantry in Kerala and West Bengal were partly due to difference in the caste structure in the two states. The caste system in Kerala has traditionally been very rigid. Until recently untouchables in that state were forbidden entry into many Hindu temples and were required to keep a minimum distance away, not only from the upper caste Brahmins and the Nayars but even from lower caste Ezhavas. The rigidity of the caste system led to various caste movements in Kerala in the 1930s and 1940s with the support of national leaders like Mahatma Gandhi. The Kerala unit of the CPI, which was organized in 1939 by the leftist faction of the Indian National Congress (INC), took advantage of such movements in Kerala and became popular among the untouchables and lower castes that constitute the rural and urban proletariat of the state. E.M.S. Namboodiripad, an undisputed leader of the CPI and subsequently of the CPI-M in Kerala, was a Namboodiri Brahmin by birth but himself became president of the Namboodiri Yogekshema Maha Sangha — the progressive caste organization in his own community. He was able to use this and other reformist caste organizations in expanding the rural social base of the communist parties in Kerala (Sen Gupta 1972: 173-81). For various reasons the caste system in West Bengal has always been much more fluid than in Kerala and other states of India. Religious reformers like Chaitanya Deva, who more than 500 years ago led a rebel religious movement preaching equality of all men and women, were very influential in the state. The synthesizing humanism of Buddhism, the bhakti cult of Chaitanya Deva,

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and the love cult of Ramakrishna gave rise to a spiritual egalitarianism but did not lead to egalitarianism in the economic and social spheres. The sense of identification among castes at the spiritual level perhaps mitigated the conflicts among castes at the material and social levels. C.R. Das, a prominent Bengali leader of the INC Party, declared in his presidential address to the Party's 1923 session that the concept of class conflict was "un-Indian" (Sen Gupta 1972: 143-52). It is not easy to disentangle the historical processes which have contributed to the difference in the political awareness and participation of the rural poor in Kerala and West Bengal. We have alluded to the differences in policies regarding education and land tenure and in the structure of the caste system. Further research in the social histories of the two states may bring to light other significant factors. Such research has demographic significance if it is accepted that the use of health and other public services by the rural poor depends heavily on their political awareness and participation.

Conclusion A comparative analysis of different types of mortality measures of Kerala and West Bengal estimated from varied sources shows consistently that the mortality level in Kerala has been generally lower than that in West Bengal, at least since 1911-20. Since the early 1970s the difference has widened. The available information about cause of death is inadequate to explain the mortality differential. Environmental and hygienic conditions are more favorable in Kerala than in West Bengal, but the difference does not seem to be great enough to explain a significant part of the mortality differential. Relatively lower mortality in Kerala than in other Indian states has been attributed by Ratcliffe (1978: 124) to a higher nutritional level in Kerala, but the available empirical evidence suggests that per capita consumption of food in Kerala has been lower than that in West Bengal and that the distribution of food in Kerala is also less egalitarian than in West Bengal. Differences in income do not seem to be important in explaining the mortality differential. Usually higher income is associated with lower mortality (Rodgers 1979: 56), but per capita income has always been lower in Kerala than in West Bengal. Nor do the processes of industrialization and urbanization seem to have explanatory power: Kerala has always been less industrialized and less urbanized (at least by the census definition) than West Bengal. There is little difference between Kerala and West Bengal in the usual indexes of medical facilities such as the number of hospital beds or allopathic doctors, but the rural areas of Kerala have always had better medical facilities than the rural areas of West Bengal. Also there is good evidence that the

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people in Kerala use the available medical facilities much more than in West Bengal. Smaller catchment areas of health centers and better transportation facilities in Kerala may be contributing factors. But a major factor appears to be the higher literacy in Kerala, particularly among females. Literacy is likely to increase awareness about the need and the right to use public facilities, including health facilities. Historically, the structure of the educational system has favored seeking of primary education in Kerala and higher education in West Bengal. The respective biases continued even after leftist political parties gained control of the two state governments. They are reflected in the recent enrolment and expenditure percentages by different level of education. Although not substantiated by any systematic study, there is reason to believe from casual reports that the rural poor in Kerala are more aware of their rights to use medical and other public facilities than those in West Bengal. Such a difference in awareness may arise from the historical difference in political and social movements in the two states. The mortality differential between Kerala and West Bengal can be better interpreted if a distinction is made between economic and social development. Economic development is usually measured by per capita income and income distribution. Development of social services such as education, health and transportation through public policy measures may be designated as social development. It is clear from the evidence presented in this paper that West Bengal is characterized by a relatively higher level of economic development and Kerala by a relatively higher level of social development. This difference has persisted for at least the last few decades, although there has recently been a narrowing of the difference in economic development. The lower mortality level in Kerala can be attributed mostly to its higher social development and partly to its favorable environmental and hygienic conditions. 1 8

Notes 1. In a report (November 1980) prepared by the Indian Council of Social Science Research and the Indian Council of Medical Research, it has been stated that "Health for All" in India by the year 2000 means, among other indicators, a fall in the CDR from 15 to 9. Such a drop had actually occurred in Kerala by 1970. 2. The crude death rate (CDR) is the annual number of deaths per 1,000 population. It does not take account of the age distribution of population. The main reason why the CDR for Kerala is less than the average CDR for the developed countries is that the proportion of elderly people is higher in developed countries and their deaths constitute a higher proportion of total deaths than in Kerala. But the differentials in CDR

The Impact of Social and Economic Development on Mortality

3. 4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

335

among the Indian states reflect more or less the differential mortality in all age groups, since there is not much difference in their age distribution. West Bengal is reported to have as many as 1.1 million ponds and tanks, most in poor condition (Roy Choudhury 1980: 2173). Razzell (1974: 13-14) argues that it was an improvement in personal hygiene that was responsible for the reduction in mortality in London between 1801 and 1841. According to him, the use of soap in keeping the body and clothing clean was effective in preventing intestinal and other diseases. From my own observations, I would infer that the poor people in Kerala generally keep their bodies and clothing cleaner than the poor people in West Bengal. During my visit to a Kerala village household in 1980 I was offered the milk of a large green coconut. The discarded shell was picked up by a small boy of about 5 years who took it quietly to a corner of the household compound, cut it in half with a knife and quickly ate all of the soft kernel, apparently unnoticed by any other member of the household. It is extremely difficult to design a nutrition survey that can take account of consumption of such items, which is quite common. The relatively inegalitarian distribution of food in Kerala, as compared to West Bengal, is also borne out by other data. In 1972-74, the calorie and protein intakes per capita per day were lower in Kerala than in West Bengal for the income group "less than Re. 1 per day" and "Rs. 1-2 per day," but among the higher income groups, "Rs. 2-5 per day," both calorie and protein intakes were higher in Kerala than in West Bengal. As regards calorie intake, Kerala had the highest ranking among nine states of India for income group "Rs. 2-5 per day," but for the income group "less than Re. 1 per day" its rank order was the lowest (India NIN 1975: 147). In 1971-72, while the overall average calorie intake was lower in Kerala than in West Bengal, the average per capita intake of the members of households with monthly income exceeding Rs. 100 was higher for Kerala (India NSSO 1975a, 1975b and 1975c). A survey made by the Reserve Bank of India in 1961-62 showed that 16.3 percent of the rural households in Kerala reported receipt of remittances, while the corresponding figure for West Bengal was only 4.0 percent. The average amount received per household was Rs. 64 for Kerala and Rs. 18 for West Bengal (India RBI 1965: 1884). Remittances from outside Kerala accounted for about 10 percent of the total net receipts from other sources per rural household (UN 1975: 8). Remittances made by the non-Bengali workers living alone in metropolitan Calcutta (West Bengal) to their families living in other states amount to as much as 55 percent of average income for 44 percent of the total work force in metropolitan Calcutta (Lubell 1974: 73). In Kerala, 96 percent of villages had electric connections as of March 1979, while the corresponding figure for West Bengal was only 29 percent (India CSO 1977: 138).

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9. A m o n g indigenous medical systems, ayurvedic and h o m e o p a t h i c are relatively popular in Kerala and West Bengal. T h e ayurvedic system is derived f r o m the ancient Hindu scripture, t h e " A y u r v e d a . " It is widely believed in India t h a t t h e h o m e o p a t h i c system was originally i m p o r t e d f r o m t h e US, although it is d o u b t f u l whether it was ever k n o w n or practised by m o r e t h a n a m i n u t e f r a c t i o n of the US p o p u l a t i o n . 10. Within Kerala however there is a large variation a m o n g its three natural regions regarding the c a t c h m e n t areas of health centers. T h e i n f a n t m o r t a l i t y rates are positively correlated with size of c a t c h m e n t area (Krishnan 1976: 1221). 11. In 1974-75, t h e road lengths per 1 0 0 , 0 0 0 p o p u l a t i o n were 551 k m . in Kerala and 127 k m . in West Bengal (West Bengal 1978: 101-103). 12. T h e total n u m b e r of registered public service vehicles including taxis on 31 March, 1976 was 2 0 , 9 1 9 in Kerala and 18,752 in West Bengal. T h e p o p u l a t i o n in Kerala was less t h a n one-half t h a t in West Bengal. 13. T h e backwaters, rivers and canal system in Kerala c o n s t i t u t e a navigable inland waterway of a b o u t 1920 km., m o r e t h a n o n e - f i f t h of t h e total length of India's inland w a t e r w a y s ( C h a i t a n y a 1972: 5). 14. Besides providing data f r o m Ibadan City, Nigeria, Caldwell cites supportive evidence f r o m G h a n a , Upper Volta, Niger, India (Greater B o m b a y ) , Bangladesh, Indonesia, t h e Philippines, t h e United States, and eight Latin American countries. In a regression analysis of data available f o r 36 countries in o r a b o u t 1940 and f o r 120 countries in or a b o u t 1970, Preston ( 1 9 8 0 : 304-06) has f o u n d t h a t a 10 p e r c e n t increase in literacy is associated with a gain in life e x p e c t a n c y of a p p r o x i m a t e l y t w o years and t h a t a 10 percent gain in national i n c o m e increases life e x p e c t a n c y b y a p p r o x i m a t e l y one-half a year. 15. R.C. Majumdar, a r e p u t a b l e historian, w r o t e : "English e d u c a t i o n was i n t r o d u c e d in this c o u n t r y , n o t by t h e British G o v e r n m e n t , but in spite of t h e m " ( M u k h e r j e e 1968: 14). And Raja R a m Mohan R o y , a highlyrespected social reformist, wrote in a letter of F e b r u a r y 2, 1824 t o Reverend Henry Ware of Cambridge, Massachusetts, t h a t he felt himself " f u l l y justified in stating t h a t two-thirds of t h e native p o p u l a t i o n of Bengal would be exceedingly glad to see their children educated in English learning." In 1835, the British G o v e r n m e n t declared t h a t "all the f u n d s a p p r o p r i a t e d for the p u r p o s e of e d u c a t i o n would be best e m p l o y e d on English e d u c a t i o n a l o n e . " It accelerated the g r o w t h of private institutions f o r higher education in Calcutta and its m e t r o p o l i t a n region (Mitra 1967: 434-43). 16. During t h e same period, a Hindu zamindar (landlord) and philanthropist, J a y Krishna Mukherjee, also gave a proposal to the g o v e r n m e n t f o r opening a girls' school at U t t a p a r a , a s u b u r b of Calcutta, but this proposal was t u r n e d d o w n as " p r e m a t u r e and i n e x p e d i e n t " in view of t h e governm e n t ' s current policy of c u t t i n g d o w n e d u c a t i o n e x p e n d i t u r e ( M u k h e r j e e 1975: 155). 17. T h e percentages of g o v e r n m e n t revenue spent o n e d u c a t i o n in 1968-69

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were higher but of the same rank order — Kerala 39 percent, West Bengal 22 percent, India 22 percent (India MESW 1972; 3). Per capita expenditures on education in 1960-61 in Kerala, West Bengal, and India were Rs. 12 ($1.50), Rs. 10(51.25), and Rs. 8 ($1.00), respectively (Rudolph and Rudolph 1969: 1040). 18. This paper first appeared in the Economic and Political Weekly, vol. 18, nos. 19-21, pp. 877-900 (1983), and is reproduced here (with corrections) by permission of the editor.

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The Chipko Movement in the Indian Himalayas Gerald D. Berreman Grassroots Movements in India This paper1 is responsive to at least two facets of David Mandelbaum's scholarship which have inspired me during the 26 years we have been colleagues at Berkeley and even earlier when I knew him through his writings: his profound knowledge of Indian society and culture, and his humane concern with social issues. It has been frequently remarked in the past few years that grassroots social movements and action groups are the hope of India as its formal institutions prove increasingly incapable of coping with the vast problems confronting the people and their nation. Despite the widely expressed optimism of the initial year of Rajiv Gandhi's prime ministership, skepticism about the effectiveness of India's governmental and commercial institutions in dealing with the nation's problems seems to me well-founded. Among those who have expressed such views most strongly and publicly are the economistjournalist Arun Shourie and the political scientist Rajni Kothari, president of the People's Union for Civil Liberties, largest of the Indian civil rights organizations (cf. Marshall 1984). Ravi Chopra of the Centre for Science and Environment, Delhi, reported in a lecture at Berkeley in 1984 that he has compiled a directory of no less than 3000 such groups that are formally structured and functioning in India, and he estimates that another 3000 groups are informally organized and active. Perhaps the most extensive, readily available listing of such activist groups is to be found in the Centre's second major volume, The State of India's Environment, 1984-85 (Agarwal and Narain 1985: iv-x, et passim). Others have estimated as many as 15,000 such groups in India, most of them limited to a single issue or a few closely related ones, their membership and activities limited to specific localities or regions (cf. India Now 1985). Kothari is the founder of Lokayan, an organization which has brought many of these disparate and localized groups together under one umbrella civil rights organization. On December 9, 1985, Lokayan was awarded the Right Livelihood Award, the so-called "alternative Nobel Prize," at ceremonies in Stockholm (San Francisco Chronicle, December 10, 1985), and shortly thereafter, in January 1986, Anil Agarwal (environ-

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mentalist and co-editor of both volumes of The State of India's Environment, 1982 and 1984-85) was awarded the Government of India's Padma Shree award. The scholarly and political periodical literature in and about India has produced numerous recent articles about these voluntary, grassroots, issueoriented movements. In one, entitled "Toward a People's Science Movement." Anwar Jaffrey and his co-authors (1983) discuss some twenty major voluntary work groups addressing issues at "the interface of science and society" in such fields as environment, the impact of development schemes, appropriate technology, health, housing and the like. In another, "Undeclared Civil War: A Critique of the Forest Policy," the People's Union for Democratic Rights describes and discusses a number of movements in opposition to infringements of forest rights in several regions of India (Baneijee 1982: 55-59). One of the best-documented historical accounts of movements based on issues of class, caste and ethnicity is Kathleen Gough's "Indian Peasant Uprisings" (1974). A spate of scholarly books on historical and contemporary social movements of protest, resistance and advocacy in India has appeared during the past decade. Some of the best known are those edited or authored by: D.N. Danagere (1983), A.R. Desai (1979), Ranajit Guha (1983, 1983-85), S.C. Malik (1977), K.N. Pannikar (1980), M.S.A. Rao (1978-79), N. Sengupta (1982). And there are more, many of them devoted to specific movements, as indeed Sengupta's is. During 1981-82, I conducted a study in India of perhaps the most widely publicized of the truly grass-roots movements there — Chipko, an environmental movement in the Himalayas. At the same time I observed an embryonic and, as it turned out, thus far a primarily elite political movement expressing ethnic regionalism in the central Himalayas (Uttarakhand), and advocating institutions and programs appropriate to the environment and traditions of the mountain people together with a modest degree of self governance. This inquiry into regional identity and social action grew out of my research in the area over a period of 25 years, first in a rural village and its surroundings and later in a sub-Himalayan city and its hinterland (Berreman 1963, 1972, 1978, 1979, 1983). I have followed the development of both movements, the environmental and political ones, up to the present. It is about the Chipko movement and its implications that I will write here.

The Context: Environment,

Politics and Society

The environmental movement began in 1972, among the people of the central Himalayas in India, as a grassroots effort, utilizing non-violent direct action to prevent the destruction of these forests and thereby save their

The Chipko Movement in the Indian Himalayas

347

environment, their livelihood, their ways of life and ultimately life itself in their homeland. The characteristic method employed by those participating in the movement is to interpose themselves bodily between tree-cutters and the trees to prevent their felling — a non-violent tactic in the Gandhian tradition. This technique is known by the indigenous term Chipko, meaning literally "to stick to" or "hug", and usually translated as "hugging the trees," hence the movement is Chipko Andolan, "the hug-the-trees movement." The setting for the movement is the mountainous northern segment of Uttar Pradesh, comprising the eight Himalayan districts of that state, immediately west of Nepal. This area has been known historically and reverently as Uttarakhand (Diag. 15), the most sacred region of the holy Himalayas, the watershed of the Ganges river. The term has been revived recently and sometimes militantly to serve as an expression of ethnic and regional loyalties among the residents of the region.

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