East Indians in Trinidad: A Study of Cultural Persistence 9780231881227

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East Indians in Trinidad

IN TRINIDAD A Study of Cultural Persistence BY M O R T O N K L A S S

Columbia University Press

Drawings by Angela Conner

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 61-7945 Printed in the Netherlands

For my mother and the memory of my father

This study, prepared under the Graduate Faculties of Columbia University, was selected by a committee of those Faculties to receive one of the Clarke F. Ansley awards given annually by Columbia University Press.

Contents F O R E W O R D BY C O N R A D M. A R E N S B E R G

XI

PREFACE I

xix

INTRODUCTION

1

The Problem 3; Sugar and Slavery 4; East Indian Indentured Labor 8; The Indian in the West Indies 20 II

THE VILLAGE

27

The Setting 28; History of Amity 30; The Village Today Household and District 44; Caste in the Village 55 III

A M I T Y AT W O R K

65

Labor on the Estate 66; Small Farmers 73; Other Occupations The Cultivation of Rice 80; Gardening and Animal Husbandry Family Expenditures 88; Class Divisions 92 IV

39;

76; 86;

MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY

Kinship 94; Marital Unions 108; The Life Cycle in the Family 131; Inheritance 134

93

117; Authority

X

CONTENTS V

RELIGION

137

Non-Hindu Religions 137; Unity and Division in Amity Hinduism 145; Hindu Theology in Amity Today 152; Public Celebrations 157; Religious Ceremonies 169; Magic 179 VI

COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 184 The "Village Panceyt" and the Courts 192; The "Praja" Relationship 199; National Politics on the Village Level 221

VII

THE S U M M I N G U P

230

BIBLIOGRAPHY

251

INDEX

257

MAP OF AMITY TABLES 1 Distribution of House Types in Central Amity 2 Distribution of House Types in All Amity 50 3 Socioeconomic Groupings of Amity 52 4 Business Enterprises of Amity 55 5 Amity Religious Ceremonies 170

xxviii-xxix

49

Foreword Social science in general and anthropology in particular seem today to be caught in healthy growth. It is not only that new places are explored; new phenomena investigated; new techniques elaborated. To bring the East Indians of Trinidad, in the West Indies, into purview, as this book does, is not mere search for a new people to study, a new tribe to add to the ethnographic files, though the company of modern peoples in the modern nations who have been brought under the microscope of cultural anthropology continues to grow year by year. To discover, assert, and point out the significance of the fact that in a brief fifty years immigrants from across the world, once strangers in the plantations of the island, have reconstituted in modernity their own variant of a rich and ancient civilization, India's, and done so as they rose to full citizenship and influence in a complex and rising young nation of the developing excolonial world, is not simply a provoking reiteration of the phoenix-like tenacity of the human spirit. It is to

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FOREWORD

add, as this book does, to the penetration, the sweep, and the command of social science and cultural anthropology. Social science in general and anthropology in particular have carried the inductive methods of exploration, discovery, and inference from comparison into the changes and the transformations of human culture and human social experience. The community study method—and the book must stand as a community study as well as an essay at human interpretation and description—has been one of the chief techniques of that carriage of science to the changes in man's story. That method is, put simply, to explore broad cultural or social problems by sampling them in vivo in particular settings. The samples are the communities, from hamlets to large cities, in which such problems play their parts in the full, real lives and in the full, complex social process and social structure lived through by the men and women of the society and its culture. Connections, functions, embedments, new dimensions of the broad problem emerge clear and offer themselves for realistic analysis. The community study method has come to yield rich and progressive understanding of the dynamics of culture and society and of individual aspirations in it. Delving as the method does for real connections, faithful details, and counterchecked insights and illuminations, carrying the anthropological fieldworker down to the deepest of the "grass roots" in faithful adherence to his canon that he leave no facet of culture or group of persons however humble or remote unquestioned and unwatched, the method has been no less productive in practical corrections from general and sweeping plans of administration to development, and reform. In the last few years, Robert Redfield, the recently deceased great pioneer and great summarizer of much of this newly won collective advance of cultural anthropology, wrote and edited works, very much alive at the forefront of social science—the very titles sound the march of this progress : The Little Community, Viewpoints for the Study of a Human Whole (i.e., of Life) ; Peasant Society and Culture; The Primitive

FOREWORD

Xiii

World and its Transformations; Village India, Studies in the Little Community. All of these were part of a series entitled Comparative Studies of Cultures and Civilizations. The four specific and the one general title reflect well the progress of community study, the growth of anthropology to a genuine command of the human story, and the study of human process in controlled samples serving as microcosms of the great world too large to handle otherwise. In this growth, anthropology has learned to know the particular better, whether it be the life of a primitive tribe or that of a great comparative civilization, like India's or our own, and it has learned to ground theory of social process, or cultural change, or cultural influence on personality—theory thus for all mankind, in empirically documented world-wide comparisons. This progress is not Redfield's alone, of course. It is the march of the whole science and the fruit of one of its methods. Methods of cultural and social analysis other than community study have contributed as well. But the company of scholars that Redfield spoke for and the method he and others developed are both of them so signal, so vital, and so continuant that we must take note of them. What better note of them can we take, indeed, than to welcome a new recruit and a new contribution, of the same vigor and grace, of the same deepening command of detail and the same suggestive power in comparison leading to generalizing theory? The book before us probes a civilization transported to a new place. India, like our own Europe in America, has put living daughter colonies overseas, in Fiji, in East Africa, in Trinidad. A community study of such a colony tells us something new about the motherland and the essentials of its civilization as they survive transportation and show up in reconstitution. But the telling also illustrates a wider process of human life and culture. Europe and China and Islam likewise have daughters abroad, as did Rome and Muscovy. A community study of such a transportation and reconstitution of culture probes the process of

xiv

FOREWORD

culture building and culture transformation, too. It does so comparatively, which means independently of our identification with one civilization or the other. It lets us see two examples of a common h u m a n process, one indeed shared as here both by many American ethnic minorities and by this little Caribbean one. It lets us confront the two examples, to extract, if we can, what common truth they illustrate. There is still more promise in a study such as this, particular as it is in its details. There are many "plural societies" in the great One World of today, products of the crosscurrents of migration and minority existence so c o m m o n since the age of world commerce, world-wide communication, East-West contact which dawned for us all unbeknownst in the colonizations and dominations of the century before ours. In them, as with Trinidad and its East Indian citizens here explored, new nations today unite, if uneasily, not only peoples of a single civilization, cousins of closely similar heritage, like the European nationalities mingling in our own American national amalgam or the British and "New-Australians" of a rising Australia still White in population, but also or instead races from the ends of the earth and civilizations as diverse as man has ever invented them. The West Indies is such a plural society; Malaya, Kenya, South Africa, in a way even the Latin-American lands called sometimes Mestizo-America, with their American-Indian, Spanish, and African heritages, are such plural societies, as are perhaps even the Soviet Union and the United States. Multiethnicity, multiraciality, with its retention of differences of race, culture, and affiliation by religion or civilization to variant streams of h u m a n history, is as much the order of our day as ever was national amalgamation and ethnic and linguistic unification, in the heyday of a nationalism on the European model not yet disappeared. A community study of a tiny East Indian village in a Caribbean island is a study, too, of the plural societies of our day. It is a glimpse

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XV

into the realities of life in them which may help us know, plan, or endure their future fates. It is a glimpse of that grass roots tenacity of historical and religious traditions, the recognition of which may temper our pushes toward collective identity and planned conformity. Strength may lie in wedding the continuities held to with such natural tenacity to a richer more complex national and societal integration. There may be suggestions here both for the now older countries like our own, itself reconciling cultural pluralism and inherent national unity, and for the now newer ones, the emergent new nations struggling for a stable unitary national existence and a balanced federal or otherwise orchestral form. Not only the young West Indian Federation will need to plan its e pluribus (et diversis) unum. We shall need to continue to revivify our own at home and to prepare for other larger unities round the world abroad. But the young author of this firsthand account of the life of a little community of exotics in an exotic setting, this little illustration of grander processes, makes no such claims for wider significance as I have forced upon him in these paragraphs of mine. Let us see what more modest lessons he himself suggests. Let us return with him to the simpler plane of scientific objectivity and careful workmanship his study inhabits for itself. The data of the reconstitution of Indian culture in the little community called here Amity suggest some interesting priorities among the institutions of Indian civilization, at least at the popular level of the little community, the villages, the life of the peasants of the countryside, where Indian civilization has its longest continuity. What the immigrants to Trinidad retained of India and what they rebuilt into the communal life of Amity may well be a selection of the essentials of their traditional civilization. Students of India's heritage might learn about India here as students of Western civilization have learned from the essential retentions, in a new terrain and a new

XVI

FOREWORD

technology, of European traditions, particularly British and Hispanic, in the Americas. Note that the retentions and reconstitutions of Amity, the new little India in the West, have been carried out against many odds. They have been carried out in spite of immigration, in spite of lack of common origin among the immigrants, in spite of their common passage through the alien plantation system, in spite of their common subjection to British law and language and West Indian economic pressures, proletarianization, and indenture. Reconstitution has been possible, as we learn here, through making good an escape from wage labor and economic assimilation to partial self-subsistence, to landownership, village residence, and through reestablishing in temple and rite, without great communication back to India, some touch with the mother civilization and its religious lore. The reestablishment has been voluntary, we note, and it has not meant any turning one's back upon Creole and other West Indian neighbors nor, indeed, any lesser articulation with the governing institutions of Trinidad: plantation, courts, monetary system, schools, etc., than might well be expected in homeland Indian villagers' use of the new magistracies, the new ministries, the new commercial and banking institutions and the other tentacles of modernity at home. The superstructure of society—internationalized, Europeanized, transformed in India itself—overarches, perhaps, Indian and Indian, like Telegu and Mahratta living side by side in Hyderabad much as it overarches Hindu, Creole, and West Indian Chinese in Trinidad. It is not the force of economic factors, or any other pressures, that have kept the Amity East Indians of Trinidad Indians within their ancient tradition. They are in fact as modern as any other ex-peasant group, either in India or the West Indies. It is instead the pressures from within, from the heart, from one's fellows and their needs of one another, pressures obviously not from outside except as defence, which have inspired the retention and reconstitution of culture we witness here.

FOREWORD

XVU

Note, too, that these retentions and reconstitutions include the major and the essential, or "domestic" institutions, to use the phrase of past centuries. These are not general human institutions, to be summed up with empty if evocative general names, like hearth and home and community. These are specifically Indian institutions. Home is the joint family, the personal "army" of one's sons and brothers; the hearth is the kitchen and the paddy field, the "salt and rice" of independence mentioned here; community is not only the village, but also beyond it the circle of villages into which visits are made and from which brides come and the caste, both subsumed in the table of castes and the system of ritual rank and religious value which are all specifically Indian. To reconstitute a communal life, to live on and together as an ethnic group, the immigrants here have rebuilt in exact and revealing terms the key institutions of their native land and its ancestral but ever-changing social order. Culture is a way of life, a way of thinking and feeling, a way grounded in highly specific institutions of distinctive social pattern, articulation, and relationships. To reconstitute one's way is to rebuild, reinvent such specific institutions. It is of no matter that such institutions have no names or lie concealed in intimate, unreasoned activities. "Fair play" is part of AngloSaxon life, at home and in the off-shoot cultures, and it turns up both in habeas corpus and sports-handicapping, formal institutions, and in seemingly unpatterned daily dealings of man and man. By the same token, caste turns up here as "nation." Ritual rank still condemns the poor scrabblers of the waters in Jangll Tola who take life and still exalts the conservator-husbandman of the fields and the grass. Most illuminating of all, since our understanding of it from anthropological studies of modern and village India is just now taking focus, is the reconstitution of the circle of villages. That circle of villages is a lattice-work of related villages laced by the fanning out of kinship alliances uniting joint families from their home villages to wider and

xviii

FOREWORD

wider circles of kinsmen, the network increased in each generation with the search for a new family alliance forced by the prohibition against taking a bride from any related lineage and thus from any village from which living and remembered women of one's family have come. We learn here that a partial reconstitution of such circles of villages so reticulated has happened in Amity. Science has just discovered, in many local studies in India itself, the reality of such village circles. They have been part of Hindu tradition since the laws of Manu, but scholarship thought them disappeared. I have just written elsewhere of the evidence from these studies which proves them still existent and that connects village exogamy, caste endogamy, and the prohibition of marriages into any village from which a relative has come with these village circles. The evidence now seems to show them to be an ancestral and distinctively Indian institution of community form and organization. To find them reconstituted in East Indian Trinidad, again without name or explicit rationale, is to find unexpected proof of their essential and integral part in Indian civilization. The usefulness of community studies is the usefulness of any scientific tool: to document the real and to help us discover the unexpected. Art and method must conspire if the promise is to be fulfilled. I think they have conspired here. C O N R A D M. A R E N S B E R G

Palo Alto, Center for Advanced Study in the Behavioral Sciences June, 1960

California

Preface The field work upon which this study is based was carried out on the island of Trinidad during the period from June, 1957, to June, 1958. The work was made possible by a fellowship from the Social Science Research Council, and I wish to express my gratitude to that organization. I am also indebted to the Institute for the Study of Man in the Tropics for the financial assistance given by a fellowship under its Research and Training Program during the summer of 1957. It was in the course of a seminar conducted by Professor Charles Wagley of Columbia University and Dr. Vera Rubin of the Institute for the Study of Man in the Tropics that I first became aware of the problems inherent in the unusual ethnic composition of Trinidad. The presence within the context of a New World society of a large ethnic group whose cultural heritage derived from India offered a rare opportunity for research into problems of acculturation and cultural persistence.

XX

PREFACE

During our first two months in Trinidad my wife and I lived in a rural village in County Caroni. The population of the village was about equally divided between East Indians and Negroes. We acquired there a preliminary acquaintance with rural Trinidad life and were able to delimit the scope of the problem and form hypotheses for further investigation. I received invaluable guidance and advice during this period from Dr. Vera Rubin and from Mr. Lloyd Braithwaite of the University College of the West Indies. It became apparent that in such a mixed community it would always be difficult to distinguish what was Indian from what was West Indian in patterns of association, sanctioning mechanisms, forms o f marital union, and many other aspects of life in the village. For my purposes it was necessary to find a village with a predominantly East Indian population, in which the full round of present-day East Indian life in Trinidad could be observed. Such a village did not necessarily have to be representative or typical. Rural Trinidad, indeed, presents such a varied topography, ethnic complexity, and heterogeneity of agricultural pursuits that it is difficult to say what would be "typical." Even " E a s t Indian" villages provide a bewildering variety of types. Almost from the first, my attention was directed toward the village I have called " A m i t y . " This village was by no means a unique phenomenon, but it provided a relatively rare—and for my purposes, ideal— opportunity to study all aspects of rural East Indian life within the physical bounds of one community. 1 Everything to be observed in 1 T h r o u g h o u t this study I shall concentratc upon elements o f c o m m u n i t y structure. In using the term " s t r u c t u r e , " I am following Radcliffe-Brown in referring to the " c o m p l e x network of human r e l a t i o n s . . . social relations o f person to p e r s o n . . . the differentiation o f individuals and classes by their social r o l e " ( 1 9 5 2 : 190-91). In assembling the structural elements, 1 have been guided by the " v a r i a b l e comparative t e r m s " suggested by Arensberg: Individuals (persons o r a n i m a l s ) ; Spaces (territory, position, m o v e m e n t ) ; Times (schedules, c a l e n d a r s , time-series); F u n c t i o n s (for individual and group life); and Structure and Process

PREFACE

XXÍ

Amity could be observed elsewhere, in other East Indian villages, but in one case the people of the particular village had no ricefields to cultivate and in another they had no temple, and so on. In Amity, there was a full round of life. My wife and I moved into the village at the beginning of September, 1957. We had the good fortune to find an empty house on the main street, just behind the Canadian Mission School, and we lived there until the end of June, 1958. The usual techniques of anthropological field work were employed during the study. Relevant material was gathered from official records and available private papers. I interviewed persons of importance in the county administration and the management of the nearby estate, as well as doctors, ministers, educational officers, agricultural officers, and others whose work affected, and was affected by, the lives of the villagers. Within the village we conducted a census and formally interviewed persons of both sexes and of all ages and positions within the community structure. Shorter interviews were conducted with members of about fifteen percent of the total households in an effort to acquire information about household composition, nature of marital unions, occupations, caste membership, extent of kin networks outside the village, and many other things. We tried very hard to achieve a representative sampling of the village. Interviews were also conducted with villagers who could offer information about certain special subjects. These included religious and political leaders, shopkeepers, small fanners, and those engaged in such specialized occupations as midwifery and crabcatching. All gave freely of their time and knowledge. A group of village elders, who continually demonstrated both their honesty and their earnest desire to be of assistance, helped me to determine what Amity was like (1955: 1146). These were my guides; the responsibility for the use to which they were put is mine alone.

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in its early years. Drawing on the almost encyclopedic knowledge of these men, I was able to establish the number and location of the castes represented in the village as well as the membership of each caste. These men could provide information about almost every marital union in Amity, its degree of respectability, and the caste affiliations of the respective spouses. This provided an invaluable check on information gathered in the course of household interviews. Unquestionably, the most important technique employed was that of participant-observation. We lived in the village and participated directly in many of the activities of its inhabitants. After an initial period of uncertainty we were assigned a position within the community structure, with a kind of quasi-upper-caste membership. It was suggested by one villager, for example, that we never eat pork for this is one of the signs of low-caste membership. Beef, on the other hand, was permissible for us since it was known that we were not Hindus. We attended almost every wedding in the village or out involving an Amity family. We were invited to wakes, funerals, and religious ceremonies of various kinds. My wife was made welcome at the private women's parties at which the birth of children were celebrated. Where we could, we recorded these events with camera and tape recorder. We were active participants in such temple ceremonies as Siw Rati, and we joined in the wild celebration of Holi on the village streets. We entered even further into the life of the village. On one occasion I was made a member of an informal panceyt, or council, called to settle an intricate family dispute. Another time, I was asked to accompany the men of a village family—and to participate as one of the official members—when they journeyed to a distant village for the purpose of "engaging" a boy in marriage. As a member of the party, I experienced firsthand the hostilities and tensions present in such situations. I attended sub rosa political meetings during the election of 1958, and was trusted with the secrets of both factions.

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XXLII

The people of Amity all speak English, with varying degrees of proficiency, and almost all have some acquaintance with Hindi. Hindi terminology is used particularly in discussing kinship, religion, and rice cultivation. Certain inconsistencies in the spelling of such terms occur in the text. Unhappily, they were unavoidable. There is a more or less standard English spelling in use today for the Hindi spoken in north India (see, for example, de Bary 1958: xiii-xv). Where I have quoted from the works of others, or referred to Indian phenomena not present in Amity, I have tried to follow the conventional spelling. For example, I have said that there is no "caste panchayat" in Amity. On the other hand, in transcribing terms actually in use in the village, I have employed my own spelling, in an attempt to approximate village pronunciation. Thus, I speak of the "village panceyt." But there is a further problem for Trinidad. Many Hindi words, particularly personal names, are spelled in English letters by the villagers in terms of a local orthography. I have followed them in this, and proper names—"Sookdeo," "Jairam," "Pooran," etc.—are always in the local spelling. Although all the names occurring in the text are common Trinidad East Indian names, in no case do I ever refer to any individual in the village by his real name. As italicizing all unfamiliar Indian terms in the text would have resulted in a patchwork of roman and italic type, terms beginning with a capital letter have been set in roman. The spelling used for "Amity" Hindi terms throughout this work should not be taken to represent a formal linguistic analysis. It is simply an attempt to approximate the village pronunciation. There are a number of problems glossed over in this spelling. The " R " sound, for example, is usually a rolled dental, as in praja. Occasionally one hears what sounds like the "R" of English, as in kartik, while some people pronounce words such as the latter with no "R" sound at all. The "R" has been included here, though with some trepidation. The "s" sound varies from "s" to "SH," and I was unable to determine

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PREFACE

whether this represented free variation or was of p h o n e m i c significance. Both " s " a n d "SH" have been used in the text in terms of the way particular w o r d s seemed m o s t frequently to be p r o n o u n c e d . In any case, neither " s " n o r "SH" are p r o n o u n c e d quite as in English, but are closer together, somewhere between palatal a n d alveolar, "T," "D," "B," "P," "G" a n d "J" are unaspirated when they a p p e a r alone, as in pandit. A n " H " after any one of t h e m indicates aspiration, as in bhe. " c " is used to represent an unaspirated, voiceless, palatal plosive (the s o u n d spelled "CH" in English, as in " c h u r c h " ) , as in cattri. Followed by an " H , " as in chotkl, the same sound is aspirated. It was very hard t o detect aspiration when the aspirant was a final one, as in marajh, and some East Indians spell the w o r d without the " H . " M a n y villagers insisted that the aspirant was really present, a n d in such cases I usually t o o k their word for it. T h o u g h villagers w h o are literate in Hindi k n o w of the retroflex plosives of Hindi, one rarely hears them in daily speech, though again it was h a r d to be certain. In this text I have ignored the distinction between retroflex a n d non-retroflex sounds, spelling b o t h the same way. This b o o k may be said to raise the q u e s t i o n : " W h a t happened to Hindi after one h u n d r e d years in T r i n i d a d ? " But there is no a t t e m p t to answer that q u e s t i o n — t h a t is left t o those better qualified. Ten vowels have been used here, a n d this would a p p e a r to be adequate, though again certain problems exist. Is the " o f ' of poi p r o n o u n c e d as in " C h l o e , " or is there a d i p h t h o n g , as in the English "boil?" I could not be certain. The vowel signs used here are t o be p r o n o u n c e d , roughly, as follows: a

the " u h " of English " b u t " (when " a " is a final, as in sudra, it is barely detectable). a the " a " of English "father." i the "i" of English "fit." i the "ee" of English "feet." u the " o o " of English "foot." u the " o o " of English "boot."

PREFACE

e e o d

the the the the

XXV

"ey" of English "hey" (but not so much of a diphthong). "i" of English "bite." " o " of English "tote." "ow" of English "cow."

Nasalization is indicated by a tilde over the vowel, as in hSr. The problems of Hindi plurals have been avoided, a n d English plurals have been used. Whenever monetary figures are given in the text, they are in British West Indian currency. " D o l l a r " and " c e n t " signs occur because B.W.I, currency uses the decimal system and the same signs, but it should be noted that $1.00 B.W.I, was roughly equivalent to $.68 in United States currency. One last comment on usage is necessary. The heterogeneity of the Trinidad population creates terminological problems. There are "Negroes," Whites," "colored," "Portuguese," "Syrians" (which includes Jews), "Chinese," and " E a s t Indians" on the island—plus various mixtures. I have used the word " C r e o l e " to refer to anyone, of any ethnic group, who participates in the general "Creole," or West Indian, culture of Trinidad (cf. Braithwaite 1953: 10-11). For certain purposes it became necessary to distinguish particular groups. Thus, the villagers of Amity consider themselves and their ethnic group distinct f r o m the " C r e o l e " society a n d its culture, and are referred to as " E a s t Indians." Again, while the rural Trinidad " N e g r o " of relatively unmixed African descent may well consider himself a " C r e o l e , " or "West Indian," the Amity villager makes a sharp distinction between the rural " N e g r o " and the city " C r e o l e , " and where it is necessary, so have I. Conventionally, only my name may appear on the title page of this book. Nevertheless, many other people have made substantial contributions to it at every step of the way, and I should like to express my sense of deep indebtedness to them all. I am particularly indebted to the members of my doctoral committee,

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Professors Conrad M. Arensberg, Charles M. Wagley, and Elliot P. Skinner, who have advised and guided me from the inception of this work. I hope these pages adequately reflect their good counsel and the many hours of their valuable time that they devoted to my work. Dr. Michael Horowitz has given me, in countless discussions, the benefit of his fine critical ability. Dr. Lewis Levine and Dr. Claire Jacobson have read parts of the manuscript and offered valuable suggestions. Philip and Fruma Klass had the fortitude to plough through disordered early versions of this work and through a substantial portion of the final draft. They did their very best to introduce style and proper English usage into its pages. I want to thank all the people in Trinidad who assisted us in so many ways: Mr. Kenneth Fletcher, Mr. Andrew Carr, Mr. Sigmund Assee, Mr. A. V. S. Lochhead, the Honorable Mr. Ulric Lee, Senator Omah Maharaj, Mr. L. E. Rousseau, Mr. Cyril Solomon, Mr. L. Beard, Mr. Ben Sealy, Mrs. Sookpalee, Mr. Robert Lalla, the Reverend A. Sultanti, Mr. and Mrs. E. Yufe, Mr. Brian Chen and Mr. Edward Lall. There were so many, indeed, that it is impossible to record all the names of those who helped make our stay in Trinidad both meaningful and pleasurable. A nimakharam is one who eats at a man's table and then fails to show a proper sense of gratitude, and I would be a nimakharam indeed if I did not especially acknowledge the debt we owe to our good friends Dr. and Mrs. Michael Rabindranath Ojah Reesal. Michael Reesal first introduced us to Amity and counseled us throughout our stay. His deep and compassionate understanding of his own people made our task immeasurably easier. May every young anthropologist on his first field trip make such friends as these. To all the wonderful people of Amity we are of course particularly indebted. These pages tell of their village as they showed it to us, and, I hope, as they would want to have it portrayed. Through their efforts we had the most exciting and fulfilling year of our lives. We

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XXVii

are "bye-family" to them now, for our daughter, Perri Elizabeth— whom they called Toolsi-Devi—was born into the village, and in the deepest sense of the word Amity will forever be " o u r " village. Mr. Solomon Lochan and Mr. and Mrs. Basraj Bridglal helped us in ways that can never be sufficiently acknowledged, and Mr. Hardeo Ramsingh provided—along with much else—the original of the map of Amity used in the text. It is only with reluctance that I must admit there are simply too many names for me to list them all. I thank everyone, and to all I say, "Sitdram, bheyo or buhlno." My wife, Sheila Solomon Klass, supported and encouraged me through the seemingly endless academic years. In the field, she did more than a fair share of the research. As the raw notes became manuscript and then book, she encouraged me with her never failing confidence, she typed and revised and proofread. There are no words with which I can adequately express gratitude for all of this. I shall therefore say only—and very inadequately—that this book is as much the product of her labors as it is of mine. M O R T O N KLASS

Bennington College April, 1961

MAP OF A M I T Y

w

]$> Cane 0

Swamp It' Rice 1000 feet

For many people the Caribbean is a study in black and white. The descendants of Negro slaves brought from Africa are the "black," while colonial officials and the descendants of European plantation owners are the "white." Some may look upon the area as a vacation playground; somnolent islands in the sun, inhabited by Calypso-singing cane-laborers. Others more nervously view the same islands as potential powder kegs; colonial danger spots where future conflagrations are even now being kindled by ignorance, racial antipathies, and a monocrop economy. Students of the area soon discover that, while not entirely without foundation, such views are exceedingly superficial. Great differences in social, economic, and political systems exist between the various colonies. Each independent Caribbean nation has its own unique problems. There are large and small islands, as well as mainland territories. Language, population pressure, and literacy all vary sharply.

2

INTRODUCTION

And if few generalizations may safely be made about the Caribbean as a whole, particular caution is necessary on the subject of Caribbean societies and their cultures. These have long been under study by anthropologists and sociologists. Work has been done in many places on such problems as the extent to which African cultural patterns have survived, the structure of the Negro family, and the nature of social stratification in the West Indies at present. As research continues, it becomes increasingly clear that the region exhibits an unusual variety of sociocultural complexities. 1 Generalities are even unwise on the matter of ethnic composition. The "black" versus "white" dichotomy rarely serves as an adequate characterization. In most places the situation is more complicated. Such phenomena may be observed as a "colored" middle class, or a "poor-white" remnant of preslavery indentured European laborers. Furthermore, many distinctive new groups have crowded into the area within the last century or so, contributing in no small way to the present state of sociocultural complexity. Though of a variety of origins, they are all usually referred to as "races" in the Caribbean. Among them are the Portuguese, the Chinese, the Syrians, and— largest of all such groups—the East Indians. Although few people outside of the Caribbean are even aware of their presence, East Indians 2 —the descendants of immigrants from India—comprise an important New World population. As of 1946 British Guiana's largest ethnic group was that of the East Indians, who made up 43.51 percent of the population. In the same year, some 200,000 East Indians accounted for 35.09 percent of Trinidad's population. Smaller groups may be found elsewhere in the West 1 See, for examples of such studies, Herskovits (1937, 1947), Braithwaite (1953), Matthews (1953), M. G. Smith (1955), and R. T. Smith (1956). Social and Cultural Pluralism in llie Caribbean, ed. by Rubin el al. (1960), represents a recent symposium on the area and its problems. 1 In the Caribbean, the "East Indian" must be distinguished from the "West Indian" and, in a few places, from the "Red Indian."

INTRODUCTION

3

Indies. 3 In British Guiana and Trinidad they appear to be on the increase both in absolute and relative numbers. This book is about a village in Trinidad inhabited almost entirely by East Indians. THE

PROBLEM

The present adults of the village of Amity represent the third generation since Indian immigrants first settled there after the completion of a period of contracted indentured labor on the sugar plantations of the island. What brought people from India to Trinidad, and how did a village such as this come to be established? What kind of a village has emerged—can the community be termed "Indian" or "West Indian," or is it something else entirely? In the chapters to follow, all of these questions will be dealt with, but major attention will be given to the problem of the nature of the present community. A considerable quantity of culture traits, obviously deriving from India, are to be observed in the village. To name just a few, village exogamy, caste endogamy, Hinduism, and "Hawaiian Cousin" kinship terminology are otherwise alien to the West Indian scene. Traits such as these will not be approached as isolated phenomena, but rather in terms of their significance to the important institutions of the village sociocultural system, that is, to the relationships existing among the members of the population. Either such survivals are cultural "fossils"—meaningless fragments of East Indian heritage—or they are part of an ongoing, living, social structure. I believe the latter to be the case. The intent of this book is to demonstrate, first, that the village of Amity is a highly integrated, cohesive community, and second, that this community is structurally Indian rather than West Indian. * F o r additional statistical information, see Cumper (n.d.) and the Trinidad and Tobago Yearbook (Dow 1957).

4

INTRODUCTION

It is my contention that the Indian immigrants to Trinidad who founded the village of Amity were able to reconstitute a community reflecting their society of origin. They did this, moreover, despite considerable handicaps. The original settlers derived from different villages in northern India. Again, during the period of indenture they had become part of what was for them the alien sociocultural system of Trinidad. Finally, the community they reconstituted had to exist within the framework of the larger Trinidad society and its culture. But such a community did in fact come into being, making possible the persistence of major elements of the Indian culture to the present time. Despite considerable modifications, Amity today resembles a community of the sociocultural system of India, rather than a community of the particular variant of West Indian culture to be found among the Negro population of Trinidad.

SUGAR AND

SLAVERY

The East Indians of Trinidad, like almost all the other inhabitants of the West Indies, owe their presence there to the cultivation of sugar cane, and to the events that followed its introduction (around 1650) to the region. Before sugar became a significant crop in the British islands of the Caribbean a system of European indentured labor had prevailed. This was sufficient for the subsistence farming or smallholding cashcrop farming that characterized the islands until 1650, but it could not supply the labor force necessary for the new, large, sugar-cultivating establishments. The British planters, like the French, turned to the importation of Negro slaves f r o m Africa. In the latter part of the eighteenth century, slavery came under increasing attack in England by economic theorists, reformers, and representatives of interests in conflict with the planters: "While the economists and the industrialists were attacking West Indian mono-

INTRODUCTION

5

poly, the reformers, humanitarians and intellectuals were attacking West Indian slavery" (Parry and Sherlock 1956: 175-76). "The supporters of slavery could only reply that, inefficient though the system might be, there was no other known way of growing sugar" (ibid.:

183).

An act abolishing the slave trade itself came into force on January 1, 1808, but the actual Emancipation Act did not become law in the British Empire until 1833. Even then the slaves were not completely free, for this act freed only children under six years of age, requiring all others to serve a period of "apprenticeship" on the plantations on which they had been enslaved—field workers for six years, and others for four years. "The system of apprenticeship for field workers was terminated in 1838, two years earlier than had been intended" (ibid. : 194). Apart from the abuses of the system, the freed slaves, "apprentices" or no, were leaving the plantations in droves, and "scorned to come" to work on them under any form of contract whatever (Gangulee, 1947, 21). Whatever their inclinations, the emancipated slaves could not leave the plantations with equal ease in all the British possessions. A Royal Commission Report states: 'Wherever possible, the freed slaves purchased land of their own, in some cases joining together to purchase abandoned estates for subsequent subdivision among themselves" (West India Royal Commission Report 1945: 6). The "wherever possible" is important. In certain British colonies, such as Barbados and St. Kitts, "labour was in excess of land-space," and such a development was impossible (Parry and Sherlock 1956: 197). According to Eric Williams: In Antigua, where all the land was appropriated, planters and slaves flocked to the churches when the news of emancipation reached the island, thanked God for the blessing of freedom, and returned to their labors, the slaves now raised to the dignity of landless wage earners paid twenty-five cents a day. The same was true of Barbados, where similar conditions prevailed, except that the Barbadians omitted the thanksgiving [1944: 191].

6

INTRODUCTION

British Guiana came under the British flag in 1796 and Trinidad in 1797. Although both had undergone some previous colonization, 4 and despite the influx of British planters after the British conquest, the end of slavery found the two colonies still partially undeveloped. It was in these two colonies, and to a lesser extent on the large island of Jamaica, that the labor shortage became acute. 5 De Verteuil, a Trinidadian who wrote some fifty years after Emancipation, claims that the shortage of labor was so acute in Trinidad and British Guiana that: "The introduction of Asiatics and other labourers has alone prevented a proportionate decrease or total abandonment of sugar manufacture in those two colonies; and that, so far only as those labourers were placed under indenture, and their labour thus rendered regularly available" (de Verteuil 1884: 8). It is important to note that the labor of European indentured servants was never abolished, and although it was superseded in importance in the British West Indies by slave labor, it never died out completely. The "transporting" of certain types of criminals to the colonies for a period of enforced labor continued to be the practice throughout the period of slavery. After Emancipation, therefore, the hard-put planters turned first to indentured immigrants from the impoverished countries of Europe, but they soon discovered these could not be obtained in quantities sufficient to fill their needs. Free Africans were brought to the West Indies as indentured laborers, but again the response was not sufficient to meet the continued 4

Trinidad was discovered in 1498 by Columbus, but the Spanish did not make a permanent settlement on the island until 1592, and the Spanish population never grew very large. In 1776 the Spanish government issued a decree permitting foreigners (Roman Catholic) to settle in Trinidad, and a large number of French planters took advantage of this (see Hollis 1941; Borde 1882). * The French colonies of Martinique and Guadeloupe were experiencing similar problems, as slavery came to an end in French possessions. The concern here is only with the postslavery circumstances of British possessions, and particularly with those in Trinidad.

INTRODUCTION

7

demand. Only 36,000 came over a period of thirty years. For ona thing, according to Cumpston (1953: 18), Africans were suspicious; for another, local officials, missionaries, etc., disapproved of the scheme. It might well be asked why it was necessary for the plantations to find a source of cheap labor: could not the plantations have enticed "free labor" with the offer of superior wages and good living and working conditions? Failing that, could not sugar have been raised by small, independent farmers? Without going into this problem to any great depth, we may note Eric Williams' contention that, in colonies of the British West Indian type, where the economy involved "the production of staple articles on a large scale for an export market" —as opposed to the colonial New England "self-sufficient and diversified economy of small farmers"—land and capital were both useless unless a constant and disciplined labor force were available (Williams 1944: 4-5). Slavery was the Caribbean solution to this problem, and, according to Williams: "When slavery is adopted, it is not adopted as a choice over free labor; there is no choice at all" (ibid.: 5-6).

Since the requirements of sugar production had in no way changed, obviously the Emancipation Act did away only with slavery, but not with the need of the planters for a slave labor force or its equivalent. The emancipated Negroes "scorned to come" back to work on the plantations wherever any other choice was open to them; perhaps if they had been invited back as "free labor" with appropriate pay and working conditions, they might have returned. The plantations, however, for their own survival, required slave labor—or as close to it as they could get—and the Negroes, once emancipated, had no desire to return to what would have been essentially their previous condition of servitude. Williams writes: "Sugar meant labor—at times that labor has been slave, at other times nominally free; at times black, at other times white or brown or yellow" (1944: 29). In their search for cheap,

8

INTRODUCTION

controllable laborers, in large quantities, the planters turned eventually to the Far East. The use of Chinese contractual labor had already begun in a number of countries (See Gangulee 1947: 21). Some Chinese laborers were brought to the sugar-producing colonies, but British India was eventually discovered to be an inexhaustible and most profitable source of plantation labor. EAST I N D I A N I N D E N T U R E D

LABOR

Mauritius, a British-owned sugar-producing island in the Indian Ocean some 500 miles east of Madagascar, was faced with problems similar to those of British Guiana and Trinidad, and was the first to experiment with unskilled East Indian indentured labor. The experiment was a success: "By the middle of 1837, the number of Indian emigrants to Mauritius exceeded twenty-thousand" (ibid.). In May, 1838, 250 indentured East Indians, known as the "Gladstone coolies" after the owner of the plantation to which they were destined, landed in British Guiana. Reports of ill-treatment, death, negligence, and contractual fraud on Mauritius and British Guiana caused Parliament to halt the importation to the colonies of East Indian laborers. Despite the reports, and the opposition of the British Anti-Slavery Committee, Parliament —because of the pressure exerted by the desperate planters and the absence of an acceptable alternative source of labor—voted the continuance of the system "under certain safeguards" in 1853 (Gangulee 1947: 44, 150). With some attempt made now to regulate recruitment, transportation, terms of contract, and living and working conditions, the indenture system began again to supply East Indian labor to the plantations of Mauritius, British Guiana, Trinidad, and elsewhere. For the first time, really large numbers of laborers arrived in the Caribbean. With the emancipation of French slaves in 1848, French

INTRODUCTION

9

colonial planters also became interested in obtaining East Indian indentured labor. For Trinidad, East Indian immigration began "On the 30th May, 1845 . . . [with] the arrival in the harbor of the first East Indian immigration ship, the Fatel Razack (or Rasack) from Calcutta." On it were 197 males, including one infant, and 28 females (Bowen and Montserin 1948: 15). The importation of East Indian indentured labor to the West Indies continued through the latter half of the nineteenth century, was interrupted in 1914, stopped in 1917, and legally abolished in 1920. During this period, the plantations of British Guiana, alone, received some 240,000 men, women, and children. Another 143,900 were brought to Trinidad, and thousands more to other islands (see Roberts 1957). The last East Indian immigrant ship to reach Trinidad—the SS Ganges—arrived on April 22, 1917, carrying "247 males, 115 females, 12 boys, 10 girls, and 10 infants" (Bowen and Montserin 1948: 15). According to Gangulee, most immigrants were drawn from Madras and the United Provinces. The provinces drawn upon probably reflect their nearness to the two ports of embarkation—Madras and Calcutta. What impelled the Indians to leave their homes and sign up as indentured laborers overseas? I was given a number of answers by the few old Amity men and women who had actually been born in India, and also by various Trinidad-born East Indians who had queried their own parents and grandparents. Most claimed to have been "tricked" by recruiting agents, who played upon their youth and ignorance with stories of "high wages" and "easy work" (e.g., "sifting sugar") in Trinidad. A few came for the adventure; a few to escape the law; a few because of family conflicts—but most came because food, money, and employment were scarce at home. One old man told me candidly that he had been promised all sorts of things by the recruiting agent, but hadn't believed him, and hadn't been surprised

10

INTRODUCTION

when they failed to materialize; he came expecting to work hard all his life for little pay. Nevertheless, he was not sorry he had come, for in India, he suspected, he would have had even less. Most, however, said they spent their first years in Trinidad "crying" as they remembered their homes and realized how badly they had been "tricked." The Trinidad-born East Indians are almost unanimous in their belief that their forebears were "damn fools" for allowing themselves to be tricked. Whatever the truth of the case, the East Indians of Trinidad are firmly convinced that their presence in the West Indies today is due to "trickery"—and, as they see it, the plantations, the recruiting agents, and the colonial government at the time were all parties to the deception. It must be noted, however, that whether or not the recruiting agents were guilty of fraudulent misrepresentation, conditions in India at the time of the greatest indentured immigration were such that choice for many people lay only between emigration as an indentured laborer— and death from starvation. 8 Madras continued as an important port for emigrants destined for French colonies, but after the first few years, Calcutta, drawing mainly from nearby north India provinces, became the primary port of embarkation for the British colonies. Thus in the period from 1845 to 1892 a total of 93,569 laborers were introduced into Trinidad from India. Of these, 88,304 embarked from Calcutta, and 5,265 from Madras. From 1872 on, no immigrants to Trinidad were brought from Madras at all, and in only one year—1847—did the Madras emigrants exceed the ones from Calcutta (Comins 1893: 230). In 1877-78, one of the few years for which records are available (Richards 1878), indentured laborers emigrated from Calcutta to Mauritius, Demarara (British Guiana), Natal, Trinidad, Jamaica, Grenada, St. Lucia, Surinam, and Guadeloupe. Richards has provided ' See Woodruff (1954: 94-114) for a discussion of famine in India in the latter half of the nineteenth century.

INTRODUCTION

11

us with a complete breakdown of the number of emigrants for that year from each province (and the specific districts thereof) that entered the "depots" maintained in Calcutta by the various colonies overseas. For example, of the 2,151 admitted into the Trinidad depot, about half came from the North-Western Province, about a quarter from Oudh, and the rest, in various smaller amounts, from Behar, Bengal, Native States, Punjab and dependencies, Central India, Orissa and 131 from "Miscellaneous Madras and Bombay, etc." This information is of particular interest because the village of Amity was settled, beginning in 1886, by men who—as their descendants tell it—had completed their indentures in the years immediately previous. This would seem to indicate that they had left India during the period 1875-80. It is not at all unreasonable, in fact, to suppose that some of the settlers might have been among the 2,151 persons admitted to the Trinidad depot, and therefore described in Richards's report. Since there is no reason to suppose that 1877-78 was an unusual year in any way, we may be justified in considering it representative of the years immediately surrounding it. Such an assumption is useful because few of the present inhabitants of Amity have any real idea of the province in India—let alone the district— from which their ancestors came. Richards has also supplied some data on the proportions of immigrants drawn from various castes. Many non-Indians in Trinidad will say that only members of the "lowest" castes came as indentured laborers; that no Trinidad East Indian may legitimately claim membership in any of the "high" castes of India. This belief was even held by some of those actively involved in the immigration proceedings. Thus, Comins noted that Chamars and other low-caste laborers were preferred by the planters to the "more respectable agricultural castes" (1892b: 73). Richards does not give us actual caste names, unfortunately, but he does provide the following breakdown of the 18,488 emigrants from Calcutta in 1877-78: "Brahmins, high caste—2,223;

12

INTRODUCTION

Agriculturalists—4,438; Artizans—763; Low castes—8,807 [the religion of the preceding groups characterized as Hindoo]; Mussulmans—2,250; and Christians—7" (Richards 1878: 18). As to the contention on the part of members of the present East Indian population of Trinidad that immigrants were "tricked" into indentures, it is difficult to prove or disprove at this late date. The records available certainly do indicate that the system of indenture immigration was not—to put it quite mildly—without its abuses. Gangulee makes this point very strongly, noting that while a "Protector of Immigrants" resided in Calcutta, his legal powers to prevent injustices and abuses were limited (1947: 45). He writes further (p. 43): Emigration agents of the British Colonies appointed professional recruiters, who were generally very unprincipled men. They frequented the Indian villages where the crops had failed and also the pilgrim centres where thousands of illiterate and extremely poor people congregated. Here the wily and most unscrupulous recruiters cast their n e t . . . . The recruiter received a gratuity of Rs. 45 (£3) per head for every male and Rs. 55 (£3.13.6) per head for every f e m a l e . . . . For the class of people to which the recruiter belonged, the temptation thus given was strong enough to inspire him to use means that were horribly cruel and utterly dishonest. Contemporary documents appear to support some of Gangulee's charges. Richards suspected, and deplored, considerable illegal but undetected recruitment, and the operations of unlicensed recruiters and "sirdars" (1878: 6-7, 13). Comins, in an official document, could advocate the abolition of the payment of return passages with the claim that this would not cut down the supply of labor, since " b a d harvests," scarcity of food and "floating" town populations would force the acceptance of "any available means of living without a too nice criticism of the more or less beneficial terms offered." He added that "experienced" agents knew how to take advantage of " a season when want would overcome any hesitation," and could play on the Indian's ignorance of conditions, distances involved, and the cost of paying their own return passage (Comins 1892b: 72).

INTRODUCTION

13

A "statutory q u o t a , " requiring that a certain proportion of women be included among the immigrants, added to the abuses since "Few married men cared to come, and there is among the Coolie population in India no class of respectable single women." Kidnapping of women, recruitment of prostitutes and beggars, etc., were not unknown phenomena {ibid.: 73; Jenkins 1871: 350, 360-62; see also Richards 1878: 12-13). Medical examinations were supposed to be made upon the signing of the contract and before the journey to Calcutta, but the number of emigrants rejected at the depots as "manifestly constitutionally unfit" caused Richards to feel that the examinations were not adequate (1878: 11-12). Nor were the depot examinations themselves entirely satisfactory. An examination in the colonies upon arrival might cause the immigrant to be sent back as unfit or, in the event that he was permitted to remain, require him to labor at reduced wages (Comins 1893: 233-34). Another indication of the cursory nature of the medical examinations in the depots was given to me by those few old men still alive in the village who had gone through them. According to them, the immigrants believed that only men in their twenties would be accepted, and they claim that it was not at all uncommon for a boy of fourteen and a man of forty-five both to claim to be twenty-five years old—and for both to pass! Conditions in the depots were not good. The mortality rate was high, and desertions came to almost five percent (Richards 1878:4, 12). Gangulee considers conditions on the ships which transported the laborers to have been "appalling" (1946: 44), and Comins notes that the enfeebled condition of many of the laborers, to be seen upon their arrival in the colonies, was often due to sickness and the rigors of the journey (1893: 233). Richards has given us a detailed tabulation of the terms offered to prospective indentured laborers by each colony (1878: 8-9). These include: nature of work; "wages, minimum rate claimable"; rations;

14

INTRODUCTION

dwellings; medical care; etc. Many of the statements were couched in vague terms. Even where specific, they did not promise too much. 7 There were also legal provisions in each colony to prevent abuses during the allotment of laborers to estates. In British Guiana, for example, according to Jenkins: the Agent-General is enjoined to take care that children under the age of fifteen years are not separated from their parents, natural guardians, or protectors, and that relatives are so allotted as to accompany each other, and that even friends are not separated unless unavoidable. [Jenkins 1871: 97;

see also Comins 1893: 226.] For all of this, Jenkins goes on to point out, the laborers "have nothing to say in the matter of their allotment," and do not even get to see "their future master" (1871: 97). The "coolies" soon discovered that they had little to say about anything. Contracts that could be violated by planters with impunity, bound the laborers with penal sanctions about which they had not been informed before leaving India (ibid: 91-94). Rations, living and working conditions, medical care, payment—despite all contracts and ordinances—were completely at the mercy of the planter's whim or interest, and were quite often very inferior to what the laborer had been led to expect when he signed up (ibid.: 89-94; see also Cumpston 1953: 32; Comins 1893: 220, 233-34; Gangulee 1947: 27, 43, 59-60). Richards could quote from a report by a Moravian missionary in British Guiana, '"that the condition of the coolies is comfortable, and their treatment by the estate authorities all that could be desired"' (1878: 16). However true this may have been in some instances, it is important to observe that it was entirely up to the "estate authorities" to determine the nature of living and working conditions. That it was 7 F o r the colony of Trinidad (and most others), the "nature of w o r k " was detailed as : "Cultivation of the soil and manufacture of the produce." " M i n i m u m claimable wages" for Trinidad amounted to "1 shilling 0J pence daily," " M i n i m u m fortnightly. In British West Indian currency this came to twenty-five cents, of which a b o u t ten cents would be subtracted for minimum rations supplied.

INTRODUCTION

15

not true in all cases would seem to be indicated by evidence of conditions which gave rise to a high incidence of suicide, sickness, general despondency and death, among the "coolies" (Gangulee 1947: 59-60). Upon his introduction to a plantation, the newly-arrived laborer underwent what Comins has called "the ordeal of acclimatisation. Those who are weak, or belong to the inferior castes [sic], may suffer f r o m the change; but those who are of good constitution, and disposed to toil, soon become inured, and work readily" (1893: 211). Whatever their expectations or previous experience, almost all received the same assignments. Jenkins has reported that Chinese immigrants represented as many as 150 former occupations, and out of one group of 30 Indian immigrants, 14 had had no experience with outdoor work. All, nevertheless, were put to work in the fields and mills (1871: 89-90). Work during the crop-time was long and arduous. It involved hard work in the fields; and equally hard work around the mill buildings— loading trucks and manufacturing sugar, with women working alongside the men—for "twelve, fourteen, sixteen h o u r s " at a stretch (Comins 1893: 214-18; Jenkins 1871: 40-41 et passim). Field work involved: "forking, weeding, cutting canes, and all the operations connected with the preparation and cultivation of the ground, and the harvesting of the c r o p " (Comins 1893: 218). Comins, in his Diary, has given us a picture of the general routine on one particular Trinidad estate in 1891: Every week day at 6-15 A.M. the overseers and drivers go round the barracks; the coolies are called out and assigned their tasks, and whoever is sick is sent to the hospital.... The labourers go to their tasks, which are measured for them by the driver, and if they have any objection to make, it is done before the manager when he rides round about 7 o'clock, at which time he sees that fair tasks are given. The overseer has several gangs under him for ploughing, manuring, collecting fodder, all of which he visits in t u r n . . . . Cooking for the day is generally done very early in the morning, say from 4 A.M. The babies and small children are looked after by a woman, who is paid by the estate 10 cents per day, while the parents are in the fields—the

16

INTRODUCTION

tasks are generally completed by 2 P.M The manager said that on this estate he had never known a driver to strike a cooly, neither do overseers ill-treat them; but "during crop time they have to be a little more strict to get them to work in time" [1893: 258], F r o m J e n k i n s we m a y get a description of the estate table of o r g a n i z a t i o n in the latter p a r t of the nineteenth c e n t u r y : the sugar estates of British Guiana are owned . . . some by resident proprietors, others by absentees. The absentees are represented by local agents. . . . [next in authority is the "estate manager" and an outline of his duties is given]. The manager is the person with whom the Coolie has directly to do. I have heard of instances in which immigrants have appealed to the [local agent], but they are r a r e . . . . In one or two instances, on large estates, the manager has a deputy manager under him, but generally the next person to a manager on the staff of an estate is the overseer. The overseer directly superintends certain "gangs" in field or building work. He has to be early on horseback, laying out his hands upon his portion of the estate, and through the day he overlooks the weeding, planting, digging, takes account in his field-book of the people at work, noting whether they are in the field or absent, with the amount of money they earn in the day; and in the evening ascertains from the hospital book whether any of his gang have the excuse of sickness for absence from work. His book then presents a record of the clay's labour, which after examination and certification by the manager, is transferred to the "pay-list" and signed by him. From this document . . . is taken the evidence of wages due, as well as the proof in the magistrate's court of the absence or presence of the immigrant on any given day. Six or eight overseers may be found on an estate. In former times they were principally coloured, but the partiality for young Englishmen or Scotchmen is increasing. . . . Under the overseers are foremen [more frequently called] drivers ... who are the immediate supervisors of each gang. They watch the work, take note of its quality, and probably keep the labourers up to duty. They are always of the black, or Coolie, or Chinese race, and their relations to the labourers give rise to the greatest of the difficulties that occur on e s t a t e s . . . . [Also on the staff of an estate are an engineer, sub-engineers, a bookkeeper, a hospital staff, and a cook.] The number of labourers on single estates varies from one or two hundred

INTRODUCTION

17

up to a t h o u s a n d . . . . The available forces . . . will be marshalled in gangs for the various objects of the work. The strongest will f o r m the "shovel g a n g , " or "cane-cutting g a n g " in crop time; the less able will constitute the " w e e d i n g g a n g " ; there will also be a "building g a n g " ; and these gangs again will be sub-divided . . . into the " C r e o l e gangs," the " C o o l i e gangs," the "light g a n g " of weakly men, women and children, w h o may be seen working in the megass8 yard. In the buildings will be found f r o m 90 to 150 at w o r k ; the rest are distributed over the fields, if not in the hospital or skulking [1871; 73-78], W i t h certain m o d i f i c a t i o n s — s u c h as an increase in the b o o k k e e p i n g s t a f f — t h i s table o f estate o r g a n i z a t i o n is still in e f f e c t a n d is still to be o b s e r v e d o n the estates o f t o d a y . estates I visited in T r i n i d a d .

It is substantially accurate f o r the

Perhaps m o r e i m p o r t a n t , it reflects little

change f r o m the table o f o r g a n i z a t i o n o f estates during the p e r i o d o f slavery (see Parry and Sherlock 1956; 145-54).

T h u s , the p l a n t a t i o n

system into which the indentured East Indians w e r e i n t r o d u c e d was not one constructed t o suit their needs, expectations, o r c u s t o m a r y patterns o f i n t e r a c t i o n ; it had d e v e l o p e d d u r i n g the p e r i o d when the l a b o r f o r c e was m a d e up o f N e g r o slaves. S i m p l y stated, the i n c o m i n g East Indian indentured laborers were r e q u i r e d t o replace the f o r m e r slaves in the plantation social system. T h e wages, hours, and w o r k i n g c o n d i t i o n s p r o m i s e d in I n d i a t o the prospective immigrants varied slightly f r o m c o l o n y to c o l o n y , but, whatever the agreement, it had little b i n d i n g f o r c e o n the planter. T h e e m i g r a n t signing u p f o r T r i n i d a d , f o r e x a m p l e , was t o l d he w o u l d be given a choice o f w o r k i n g either nine hours a d a y f o r t w e n t y - f i v e cents a d a y or by " t a s k , " i.e., a specified a m o u n t o f w o r k f o r a

fixed

rate. H o w e v e r : " a s a matter o f fact, nine-tenths o f the w o r k o n estates is d o n e by t a s k s " ( C o m i n s 1893; 215). In

Comins's

opinion,

while

"task"

labor

was a g r e e a b l e

to

the

e m p l o y e r , it also benefited the i m m i g r a n t , f o r — s o it was a s s u m e d — 8

Megass (or megasse, both variants of bagasse) residue left after all the sugar has been extracted.

is pressed sugar cane, the

18

INTRODUCTION

he might be able to finish a task in less than nine hours. Also, by working harder, he might be able to earn more money. It would appear, nevertheless, that a major effect of the "task" system was to put the laborer completely at the mercy of his superiors on the estate. These men determined the nature and amount of work to be done, and decided whether or not it had been completed satisfactorily. The laborers' power to protest their decisions was negligible. Even Comins—who approved of the system—found it necessary to note: On some estates, though comparatively few, the owner, if he is dissatisfied with the task, as a punishment to the labourer, puts a cross instead of the price of the task for that day; this means that the labourer will get nothing for that day. On other estates the space for the price of the task is simply left blank, and there is absolutely nothing in the pay list to show whether the immigrant worked on that day, or whether he was absent or in hospital, or what happened to him, as a reason for his receiving no pay [ibid.].* The living quarters provided for the indentured laborers were either those vacated by the freed slaves or buildings substantially equivalent. As of 1871, "the range of immigrant dwellings [in British Guiana was] still called the Negro yard" (Jenkins 1871: 37; see also pp. 322-24 for an analysis of conditions in these quarters). In addition to the crowded and unhealthy conditions, the laborer had little right of privacy. To Comins's description quoted earlier of the beginning of the workday, we may append Jenkins's mention of: "a practice of the employers to force open the doors of the immigrants' houses and turn them out to work" (ibid.: 263-64). The problem of recruiting enough women to fulfill the quota has already been alluded to. In 1877-78, of a total of 18,488 emigrants from Calcutta, only 6,044 were females, or less than a third of the total (Richards 1878: 18). This shortage of women was a source of • See also Jenkins 1871: 40-41 et passim. See also Comins 1892a, for an account of how an unscrupulous use of this power on Guadeloupe was a mechanism for keeping laborers on estates long past the legal end of their indentures.

INTRODUCTION

19

many problems and conflicts on the estates. On the Woodbrook Estate in Trinidad, visited by Com ins in 1891 and described in his Diary, of 56 indentured and 26 "free" East Indians, three "are said to be regular prostitutes" (1893: 258). Comins writes: Many managers have talked to me about the small proportion of women, and no doubt the paucity of women causes many inconveniences in management, and there are many jealousies and quarrels. A goodlooking young woman receives much admiration, and many are no doubt polyandrous and some are regular prostitutes, which cannot be wondered at, as women are drawn from the same class in India, but I have not noticed any serious crime resulting from unequal numbers of men and women [ibid.: 242-43].

Jenkins received a very different impression. From him we gather that the lack of privacy in the quarters; the presence of prostitutes; the shortage of women, which made it "impossible for every man to have a wife of his own, even if he wishes to have one" (Comins 1893: 236-37) and the concomitant strains—all appear to have contributed to the development of severe conflicts. Jenkins reports that "seven men were hung in the colony [of British Guiana] in one week for wifemurder" (1871: 205). Nor was the area of sexual conflict limited to that of the internal relationships of the indentured laborer population: On each estate the manager, the young overseers, the drivers—the whole of them unmarried. It needs no prurient fancy to conceive of the difficulties of such a situation. From the number of complaints that reached me, I was assured that an investigation into the morality of some of the estates would reveal most revolting circumstances [ibid.: 204; see also p. 103].

After a detailed account of some of the conflicts and crimes growing out of the presence, or absence, of women among the indentured laborers, Jenkins concludes: "It will probably be the reader's impression, that marriage among Coolies in British Guiana is in a state of chaos" (ibid.: 213).

While comparable data for Trinidad is not available, we can assume that conditions among indentured East Indian laborers in that island

20

INTRODUCTION

were certainly no better. In fact, if anything, they may have been worse. Comins (1893: 50), after visiting both British Guiana and Trinidad, has claimed that, if he were a "coolie," he would prefer to fulfill his contract for indentured labor in British Guiana rather than in Trinidad! T H E I N D I A N IN T H E WEST I N D I E S In the foregoing section I have attempted to demonstrate that, as an indentured laborer on a sugar plantation of either Trinidad or British Guiana, the East Indian immigrant was required to assume a position within the plantation social system. The position in which he found himself was one only recently vacated by a freed slave. The plantation system had developed during slavery and it did not substantially change during the period of indentured labor. No provision was made for behavior patterns appropriate to the immigrants' society of origin, and by the very nature of the system there was minimal opportunity for the exercising of such patterns. Women were scarce, and the presence of the normal membership of even a nuclear family was hardly the rule. Where the family did exist, plantation conditions conflicted with normal East Indian family and other behavior patterns and expectations—as may be seen from the high incidence of conflict and crime growing out of East Indian male-female relationships on the plantation. While the conditions of East Indian indentured labor derived from those of the previous Negro slavery, there was one important difference between slavery and indentured labor: slavery was for life, while indentured labor—in principle, at least—was for a stated period of time, usually five years. The slave, in his circumstances, had to learn that there was no possibility of return, but the indentured laborer could dream of going home some day or of otherwise living again according to the patterns of his original culture.

INTRODUCTION

21

The number of years for which an Indian contracted to serve as an indentured laborer varied only slightly from colony to colony and throughout the nineteenth century. In many cases another five years of residence—but as a "free" laborer—was also required. Free return passage was usually, though not always, provided for in the contract. The first laborers to arrive had no intention of staying once their period of servitude was over; they saved as much of their pay as they could and were determined to return home. Furthermore, this attitude on their part was supported and approved by the planters and colonial authorities (Cumpston 1953: 9, 73-74; see also Skinner 1955: 47). The passage of a few years saw the desires of the planters change radically and come into conflict with the wishes of the laborers. The planters wanted to maintain a continually available supply of cheap labor; they objected to the costs of return passage as well as to the cost of replacement; and they objected to what they considered the draining of wealth from the colonies into India. The strong desire of the laborers to return home, if only to visit their families, persisted. Various attempts were made by the planters to deal with this situation. In 1852, Mauritius withdrew the promise of free return passage, but this led to a "falling off in the numbers emigrating to that colony" (Comins 1892b). Guadeloupe "passed a long cherished ordinance . . . which was intended by means of continued re-indentures to keep all Indians, of whatever standing, in a condition of perpetual servitude" and reinforced this by making the conditions for return passage so difficult as to leave the laborer no real alternative other than signing up again (Comins 1892a). Similar pressure to re-indenture existed in British Guiana, Jenkins reports, with some laborers in their fourth, fifth, and even sixth indentures. Another approach to the problem was to entice the laborer to stay on of his own free will, after the completion of his indentures. In British Guiana, according to Comins (1892b: 73-74), the East Indian

22

INTRODUCTION

was offered various special privileges if he would remain on as a landless but "free" laborer on the estate. In Trinidad it was possible for many East Indians to purchase or rent small plots of land. This was not only pleasing to the laborer newly out of his indentures; but in making possible the formation of Indian villages it contributed in no small way to the circumstances under which Indian culture has persisted. The approach was also to the advantage of the Trinidad planter. Because of the long "slack" season in Trinidad, many estates preferred to have a source of non-resident labor. The East Indians could usually wrest only a bare subsistence from their own plots and were eager to work on the estates during crop-time, but the estates were spared the expense of providing for them during the non-crop season (see Comins 1892a, 1892b; Gangulee 1947). Despite all inducements, some Indians continued to return home after completing their indentures, but many did stay on, and a sizeable proportion remained in the rural areas. In Trinidad, many "free" Indians settled on Crown land or superfluous estate land, forming villages which, though comparatively isolated, were not too far from the plantations. Here the Indians established themselves in much the same way as in India. They built the same type of houses, wore the same type of clothes, spoke the same language and worshipped the same Gods in the same kind of temples [Sampath 1951: 35], But how long could everything remain "the same . . . as in India"? Even if the settlers were—and remained—Indians, they were living in Trinidad now, and their children were Trinidadians as well as East Indians. All around the East Indian villages was the larger Trinidad milieu, ceaselessl y and inescapably effecting the lives of the villagers. That considerable acculturation with their West Indian host culture has taken place cannot be denied. 10 What is of particular interest 10

See Skinner (1955) for an examination of some of the processes of East Indian acculturation in British Guiana. Braithwaite (1953) presents certain aspects

INTRODUCTION

23

here, however, is that the cultural tradition of India should have persisted to the extent it did, a n d that in the village studied the persistence was in b o t h culture content a n d social structure. C o n sidering the obstacles in the way of such persistence, it would n o t be at all surprising if the East Indians had merged completely into the host culture, maintaining only a few structurally a n d functionally u n i m p o r t a n t ancestral customs or rituals. Smith a n d J a y a w a r d e n a feel that this is in fact what did h a p p e n to the East Indians of British Guiana: the anthropologist is tempted to treat each element of the [marriage] ritual as having a symbolic meaning which can be linked to some aspect of the social structure of the Indian group; in other words to treat the Indians as if they were living in a self-contained society in which there is a high degree of integration between all parts of the social structure and between the social structure and an "Indian" culture. In fact, this is not so; the Indians are a sub-group of a larger social system [1958: 190-91]. T h e problem of the degree of East Indian involvement in the larger social system is complicated by the n a t u r e of the original migration. Indian indentured laborers did not emigrate in kin or village groups, a n d rarely even in small family groups. F o r the m o s t part they were removed f r o m their original sociocultural system as individuals, a n d carried as such to Trinidad, British G u i a n a , a n d the other territories containing what was for the i m m i g r a n t a n alien social structure a n d cultural inventory. The individual, as such, has little place in social theory. Radcliffe-Brown writes: The components or units of social structure are persons, and a person is a human being considered not as an organism but as occupying position in a social structure [1952: 9-10]. But if he is extracted f r o m that social structure, does he cease to exist as a person? One answer might be that he is n o t removed t o a of the integration of Trinidad East Indians into their host society. See also Rubin et al. (1960).

24

INTRODUCTION

v a c u u m , b u t t o a n o t h e r social structure, in which he occupies a new position. But w h a t h a p p e n e d t o the " p e r s o n " he was in his original social structure? Is he n o t still a carrier of his culture, aware of behavior t h a t seems " r i g h t " a n d " g o o d " to him, however inappropriate t o his new circumstances? These questions t a k e o n particular significance once it is possible for such individuals t o c o m e together a n d attempt a reconstitution of a c o m m u n i t y . Wagley has described just such a case. In 1947, the village of the T a p i r a p e of central Brazil was destroyed. Small groups of families m a n a g e d to survive, scattered all a b o u t the surrounding area. ceremonial and religious life, aboriginal economic activities, and in fact most of the regular activities of their society were either completely suspended or affected by a marginal existence to the Brazilian frontiersmen. In 1950, circumstances permitted the establishment of a new village, o n a different site, a n d m a n y of the scattered survivors of the old village were d r a w n to it. Although considerably modified, normal Tapirape social life was again possible. Although for a short period Tapirape society might be said not to have existed, Tapirape culture continued to live in the minds of these few remaining individuals, and it allowed them, given the opportunity, to recreate, although in a much attenuated form, their social life. This is a striking example of the difference between a society and its culture [1955: 101-2]. F o r the East I n d i a n immigrants who came together in the late 1880s to f o r m the nucleus of the present village of Amity, the problems of c o m m u n i t y reconstitution were m u c h greater t h a n those c o n f r o n t i n g the T a p i r a p e . Unlike the latter, the founders of A m i t y were strangers to one a n o t h e r . A l t h o u g h they shared a c o m m o n culture, they derived f r o m different villages scattered over n o r t h e r n India. The first settlers were n o t kinsmen or village-mates coming back together after a long s e p a r a t i o n ; they were strangers t o one another w h o shared only a

INTRODUCTION

25

common memory of membership in roughly similar kin groups and communities. For such men to form a community, some consensus had to be achieved as to what constituted appropriate behavior for given relationships within given institutions. Such a level of common agreement could never easily be reached, and was likely to be more difficult in the case of some institutions than in others. The caste system is just one example of an institution presenting its own special obstacles to any attempt at reconstitution in an alien setting. Discussing the effect upon caste relationships of a similar immigrant circumstance, that of laborers from India to East Africa, Morris writes: In East Africa . . . it was not possible for the immigrants to reproduce [caste hierarchy] arrangements. The principal reason for this was that though most of them came from Gujerati-speaking districts, their homes were in fact widely separated; and each district in India tended to have a local hierarchy which did not apply in another district. For this reason, when two well-represented groups from different districts lived in close proximity in Africa, they were unable to agree about an order of precedence, and could validate their claims only by reference to their homes or by living in Africa as self-contained groups [1956: 197-98; see also Morris 1959]. Apart from such internal difficulties, as they might perhaps be called, the immigrants to Trinidad faced serious external problems. The nature of labor on the sugar plantations operated to weaken important elements of East Indian social structure such as caste. Indian customs and religious practices were derided and even forbidden. Cremation was not possible until fairly recently, and Hindu religious marriages had no legal standing until 1946. Thus, reconstitution had to take place, not in India, but within the socioeconomic context of the larger Trinidad society. The founders of the village of Amity depended upon the large sugar plantations for their cash income, and their descendants are similarly dependent today. Relations with non-Indians were important then, and are important now. All of these problems had their effect upon the community being

26

INTRODUCTION

reconstituted. But this study was made after all the founders of the village had died. Even their sons are very old men; the active adults of the community are the grandsons of the first settlers. However severe the difficulties were in the early years, they were overcome sufficiently for the community to form, and for the culture to persist until the present time.

II.

The Village

Amity is a fictitious name for a real community in Trinidad, but the village could not be located on a map of the island even if its true name were given. Though Amity has a population of over 4,000, legally it does not exist. Trinidad has only one city, Port-of-Spain, and two towns, San Fernando and Arima. These have elected mayors and a measure of local autonomy. The rest of Trinidad, including the island of Tobago, is divided into counties, most of which are futher subdivided into wards. Each county is administered by an appointed official, or warden, who is stationed in one of the population centers of the county. The ward is administered by an assistant warden or district officer, subordinate to the county warden, who is stationed in a population center of the ward. The ward and county centers are usually the loci of the weekly markets for the area surrounding them, and contain a courthouse, police station, post office, and other appurtenances of government.

28

THE V I L L A G E

Within the ward are numerous more-or-less discrete population clusters, each with its own individual name. These vary in size, compactness, homogeneity, internal structure and interaction, and self-identification. Their origins, like their present natures, are extremely varied. Some have grown from the barracks ranges of now defunct sugar estates; a few owe their beginnings to the presence of a sugar factory or a railroad stop and cane-weighing station; many reflect the Emancipation in the form of crossroad shop-and-church centers for dispersed peasants; and still others began with the purchase of Crown Land by East Indians who had completed their indentures and managed to save a portion of their wages. No doubt there are many with yet different origins. Such population clusters are commonly referred to as "villages" or "districts." Arbitrarily, we will refer here to the "village" of Amity, reserving the term "district" for its subdivisions. THE

SETTING

Trinidad is the southernmost island of the Caribbean archipelago, lying just off the coast of Venezuela on the South American mainland. It is roughly rectangular in shape, with two peninsulas—one on the northwest corner, and one on the southwest corner—encompassing the eastern side of the Gulf of Paria. Along the northern coast, the Northern Range of mountains runs east to west. There are two other lesser ranges; the Montserrat Hills running east to west in the approximate center of the island, and a mountainous area along the southern coast that includes the Trinity Hills—supposedly first sighted by Columbus, and from which the island derives its name. Sugar is cultivated primarily on the western side of the island, in the flat stretches between the three high areas. This means there are essentially two sugar cultivation areas, separated by the Montserrat Hills. The northern sugar area falls roughly within the confines of

THE VILLAGE

29

County Caroni. Along the west coast of County Caroni is an extended area of marshland known as Caroni Swamp. It is a region of dense mangrove growth, and is the breeding ground of numerous wild birds. It is uninhabited and uncultivated. Sugar cane is not grown right up to the edge of the swamp, for there is a belt of savanna land bordering the swamp where cane cannot profitably be cultivated. The savanna is a treeless region of tall "bamboo grass" frequently under water during the rainy season. It is important to note that the savanna has no clear border, and sugar is grown as close to the swamp as is economically feasible. This means that it is up to those who own the land that merges into the savanna to determine for themselves which portions are worth cultivating. It is not always an easy task, for the problem is obviously affected by fluctuations in the price of cane on the world market, and in the cost of labor. There were a number of small estates wrestling with this problem in the latter quarter of the nineteenth century, in the area just south of the Caroni Swamp. This area is part of the Ward of Chaguanas, within the County of Caroni. From A Guide to Trinidad, by J. H. Collens (140-41), we may get a picture of the area in 1888: The soil of Chaguanas, especially in the vicinity of the sea, is of the description commonly known as "crab-land," from the innumerable holes in the surface made by the land-crabs. Chaguanas has generally the reputation for being a dreary kill-joy sort of place, suggestive of muddy roads and legions of mosquitoes and sand-flies.... A village is gradually springing up in this neighborhood . . . shops and houses are rapidly appearing here and there. Despite this somewhat unpromising beginning, Chaguanas grew to become the administrative and marketing center for the region surrounding it. In the same passage, Collens refers to an estate a few miles away—"Amitié," let us call it here, for from it the village of

30

THE

VILLAGE

Amity derives its name—and notes the intention of the proprietors to substitute cacao and other crops for the apparently unprofitable sugar cane. Some of the oldest inhabitants of the present village of Amity remember hearing from their parents of attempts on the part of the estate to grow cacao. They report that the attempts were soon abandoned as unsatisfactory. Whatever portions of the estate were not suitable for cane cultivation were apparently left fallow after that, or rented in small plots to East Indians newly out of their indentures. Not all the savanna land of County Caroni was under the control of the estates. Much of it—obviously unsuitable for cane cultivation— remained as Crown Land under the control of the government of the island. This savanna Crown Land was part of the Crown Land made available after 1868. According to Collens : Under the old Court of Intendant, very little Crown Land was sold for many years previous to 1868. The sales for the nineteen years 1847-1865 only amounted to 3,423 acres, and for the decade 1856 to 1865, to only 1,895 acres. No inducement or facilities were offered to purchasers, and hence the country was little opened up, except in a feeble and unsatisfactory way by "squatters." To Sir Arthur Gordon is due the credit for having remedied this state of affairs. He reduced the price of Crown Land, encouraging people, especially "squatters" to purchase, but at the same time putting down "squatting" with a firm h a n d . . . . In 1868, an ordinance was passed . .. transferring all power in regard to the disposal and administration of Crown Land to the Governor as Intendant . . . . In the decade ended 31st December, 1887, no less than 71,000 acres of Crown Land were sold and granted by the Crown [ibid. : 76-77]. HISTORY OF AMITY On November 30, 1886, an East Indian, whom we shall here call "Beharri," purchased the first parcel of Crown Land in the area of

THE VILLAGE

31

what is now Amity village. This agrees with village tradition, according t o which he was the first East Indian settler in the region, and we m a y therefore take this date to represent the founding of the village. Within the next few years a number of other men also purchased blocks of land, usually in parcels of ten acres, and Amity began to come into existence. For a long time, the village was known as "Beharri's Settlement." On the neighboring savanna, other East Indians were purchasing Crown Land. Unsuitable for sugar cane though most of it was, such land was eminently suitable for the cultivation of wet rice. If settlers were fortunate enough to also acquire a piece of land on which cane could be raised, they cultivated both crops, selling the cane to nearby estate factories. On his land, each settler constructed a mud-walled, thatched-roof house called an ajoupa.1 In her biography of her husband, John Morton, first Presbyterian missionary to the East Indians of Trinidad and founder of the Canadian Mission to that island, Mrs. Morton quotes f r o m his diary: "May 20, 1899 . . . leaving the sugar and cacao lands which fringe the eastern side of the Caroni Savanna, we soon found ourselves on the rice fields, which are fast extending over what was till lately regarded as a swamp. "The savanna is about four miles broad by eight feet long, and no part of it is more than ten feet above high tide, the western edge being a mangrove swamp below high tide level. It has always been treeless and the burning of the long savanna grass in the dry season goes far to prepare the new land for cultivation. "Apart from a purchase made by a rice company, the owners and cultivators are all East Indians, some owning their own land and others renting from large owners" [1916: 325-26], 1 The word "ajoupa," of Carib origin (Jourdin 1956: 298), was taken by the East Indians from the French-Creole patois. As the term was used in Toco (Herskovits and Herskovits 1947: 76), it referred, apparently, to something much more on the order of a temporary shelter, rather than a permanent house, which it is today among East Indians.

32

THE V I L L A G E

Elsewhere Mrs. M o r t o n quotes again f r o m her h u s b a n d ' s diary: "April 7, 1890. Monday. I took early train to Chaguanas. My first duty was to explore a new settlement on the border of an extensive savanna which stretches from the sugar estates of Chaguanas north to the estates on the Caroni [River], that is, about eight miles. A ride of two miles through cane-fields brought me to a small village on the very edge of this wonderful savanna. The land is low and flat, but capable of being drained. It has never grown trees, but is covered with a crop of tall grass, too dense for man, or horse, to get through it. Nearly all the people are East Indians, and the greater number of them have bought the land upon which they live. The houses are much better than those usually built by the East Indians, and there are evident signs of remunerative industry. The road is, however, infamous, from the nature of the soil, which is rich and deep, without a pebble. There are two rum shops to demoralize the people, but no school or c h u r c h . . . . "One very interesting feature of the place is the rice-fields. Imagine over one hundred acres . . . of level land divided into fields of several acres each by a low bank of earth that can be made to seive as a dam to flood the fields when necessary. Here magnificent crops of rice are grown year after year. Only the top is reaped off, as the straw is not needed, and is generally kept unthreshed till it is wanted. The place is said not to be particularly unhealthy, but the complaints as to the road and mosquitoes, at certain seasons of the year, demand the utmost resources of their language" [ibid.: 321], The village M o r t o n described in the above passage is Amity's nearest neighbor to the east, hardly two miles away, but the description is undoubtedly adequate for most of the East Indian settlements in the area. Today, roads have been built u p and are for the most part paved. The mosquitoes, however, are most decidedly still present. The following year Morton actually visited Beharri Settlement, accompanied by his catechist, and held a meeting at which some seventy-five people were present. This probably represented almost the entire population. N o one remains alive in Amity today who remembers the visit of the Reverend Morton, though a few of the very old remember his catechist. Even among the old people, there are

THE VILLAGE

33

few whose memories can take them back to the early days of the settlement. 4 The Main Road from the Ward Center runs roughly east to west. Beharri Road—the main thoroughfare of Amity—begins at the Main Road and runs northward for about two miles, petering out as it approaches the swamp, and ending completely on the banks of a small river. The land west of Beharri Road belongs to a large sugar estate, referred to here as "Estate A." East of Beharri Road, for a short distance from the Main Road, the land belongs to a second large sugar plantation, "Estate B." Land on the east side of the road is of poorer quality than that on the west, however, and estate cane rapidly gives way to "small farmer" cane on land rented from Estate B or owned by men of the village. Further north, the land east of Beharri Road is too swampy to be used for anything but rice, and in the fields at the far northern end of Beharri Road even rice can be grown on the eastern side only in dry years. Thomas Road joins Beharri Road at about the latter's midpoint. Beharri's purchase of land in 1886 was on the north side of Thomas Road, a short distance from its junction with Beharri Road. Later settlers purchased nearby land on both sides of Thomas Road, and in the early years this area was the heart of Beharri Settlement. Thomas Road, in fact, was originally called Beharri Road. Land was also purchased in the area north of the junction of Thomas Road and the present Beharri Road. * The following description of Amity during its early days, and all references to the early period in the course of this work, derive from the accounts given by old inhabitants. The reliability of such information is always open to question. Even where informants are sincerely interested in giving accurate, truthful accounts, we can never be certain of the extent to which their memories of what was have been clouded by what should have been. Unhappily, no written records of any kind exist. For most of the following, however, the accounts given by different informants at separate interviews are in substantial agreement. Where the accounts conflicted or were inconsistent, the information given was either not included in the following, or included with a comment as to the author's uncertainty.

34

THE

VILLAGE

In the earliest years settlers tended to build their homes right on the land they owned, giving the area the appearance of a settlement of dispersed homesteads. Soon, however, there was a noticeable tendency on the part of many settlers to build homes along the road. If the settler owned a stretch of roadside land he built his house on that; if he did not, he rented a plot of land from another East Indian or f r o m the estates. The population of Beharri Settlement was soon augmented by other East Indians who had completed their indentures. Most of these newcomers did not have sufficient funds to purchase land, but they were able to rent a plot of roadside land for house and garden, and a piece of rice land from an East Indian landholder for subsistence. At about the turn of the century, what is at present the village of Amity consisted of four separate and distinct settlements. Among the factors responsible for the separation were race, caste, place of origin in India, extent of savings, and occupation. A newcomer to the area gravitated to the settlement populated by people most like himself, in terms of these criteria. The largest and most important settlement was on Thomas and Beharri Roads, extending f r o m the junction about half a mile east and about half a mile south. This continuous, "L"-shaped district, with houses on both sides of the thoroughfares, was known as Beharri Settlement. There were perhaps thirty houses, widely-spaced, in the settlement, with most of them on Thomas Road, then the center of the settlement. All except one or two of the houses were mud-walled, mud-floored and thatch-roofed. The other settlements were even more sparsely populated. A second settlement had been established on Beharri Road between the T h o m a s Road junction and the swamp. It actually began some distance north of the junction and was separated from Beharri Settlement by intervening rice fields and vegetable gardens. The

THE VILLAGE

35

inhabitants of Beharri Settlement called this one "Casecu." 3 Although the term was derogatory, it was eventually accepted as the designation for the district by its own inhabitants. A third settlement was west of Beharri Road, less than half a mile north of the Main Road junction. This cluster of homes, more tightly packed together than the other two, was situated on land rented from the old "Amitié" Estate. The inhabitants of Beharri Settlement and Casecu called this settlement "Janglï Tola." 4 The name was much resented by the inhabitants of the settlement, who had, however, no name of their own for themselves. If anything, they considered themselves part of Amitié Estate, and may have been the first to use the term by which the entire village was later to be called. A fourth settlement was on both sides of the Main Road for a short distance east of its junction with Beharri Road. Informants differed on the matter of whether it actually "turned the corner" onto Beharri Road. It was known as "Junction." The composition of each of these four separate settlements was significantly different from the others. The first three were inhabited by East Indians, for the most part Hindu, and with perhaps a sprinkling of Muslims. There were important differences, however, among the Hindu East Indians of the three settlements. Beharri Settlement was inhabited overwhelmingly by people belonging to castes of the three highest Varnas of the Indian caste system. 5 Perhaps a very few Sudra people lived at the very fringes of • The word means "broken-neck" in the French-Creole patois spoken by a dwindling number of Negroes in Trinidad today. Years ago, the patois was much more widespread. 4 This is Hindi for "jungle district." 5 According to O'Malley, the Code of Manu provided for four Varnas, or orders: "in order of precedence, (1) the Brahmans, the priestly and learned class; (2) the Kshattriyas, the military and governing class; (3) the Vaisyas, who were traders and agriculturalists, and kept cattle, and (4) the Sudras, who were the

36

THE

VILLAGE

Beharri Settlement, but the majority of the inhabitants were of Brahman, Kshattriya, and Vaisya castes. Here were to be found the homes of the men who owned riceland and owned or rented caneland. Casecu was inhabited primarily by members of the Camar and Dusad castes—both considered to be of the Sudra Varna—plus representatives of other Sudra castes. The name is said to derive from the propensity of the inhabitants for heavy drinking and hard fighting. Casecu also had a poor reputation in the eyes of the inhabitants of Beharri Settlement because many of its inhabitants engaged in the " l o w " occupation of raising pigs. A very few people of higher castes resided in Casecu, but as far as I could determine, not one Brahman. Jangli Tola was inhabited by members of the Bori caste, plus a scattering of other people, including Malla (a fishing caste) and MadrassI—this last a catch-all term for people deriving from southern India. It is perhaps significant that, in India, the Bori caste is mainly to be found outside of the United Provinces, 6 while the castes of Beharri Settlement and Casecu appear to have derived primarily f r o m within the United Provinces. The feeling on the part of the inhabitants of both Beharri Settlement and Casecu was that the people of Jangli Tola derived from the "jungle" in India, and not from any "civilized"

servants and menials of the three higher orders and were also engaged in industrial w o r k " (1932: 11-12). These Varnas, then, are traditional orders. The individual Indian is a member of a caste (jati) that is considered to represent a particular Varna. The Varnas are constant all over Hindu India, but the constituent castes of the Varna vary f r o m district to district. A particular caste may be considered to be Vaisya in one area of India, and Sudra in another (ibid.: 11-33; see also H u t t o n 1946: 58 el passim). In a later section of this chapter there is a discussion of the problem of Varna ascription for the various castes of Amity. 6 Hutton describes the Bauri of India (presumably the original of the Bori of Trinidad) as " a caste of field labourers in Bengal and Bihar" (1946: 243). While he does not give their Varna ascription, from the text (see ibid.: 27) it would appear that the Bauri rank quite low. For a description of the present position of the Bori of Amity, see "Caste in the Village," pp. 55-64, in this book.

THE VILLAGE

37

area. Jangll Tola was looked down upon for two other reasons. It was considered a district of wifeswapping and general sexual immorality, and the inhabitants of the district derived most of their subsistence from fishing and crab-catching in the neighboring swamp. Very few of the people of Janglï Tola owned or rented riceland, but they supported themselves primarily by catching and selling fish and crabs, and by working occasionally on the estates during crop-time. Junction was inhabited primarily by Negroes. If there was considerable intercourse between Beharri Settlement and Casecu, and some intercourse between these two and Janglï Tola—if only that men from all three worked side by side on the estate during crop-time— there was almost none at all between the three East Indian settlements and the Negro settlement of Junction. The people of Janglï Tola were never invited or welcomed to affairs in Beharri Settlement, and—welcome or not—the people of Beharri Settlement would never attend any affairs in Jangll Tola. But the inhabitants of Casecu would be invited to weddings in Beharri Settlement, and men from the latter would go, in turn, to Casecu, though it is said they would never eat in the house of a man who raised pigs. There is some evidence for reciprocal visiting between the inhabitants of Casecu and Janglï Tola. After the turn of the century, the population of the whole area increased rapidly and the gaps along the roads between the settlements were filled with houses. Along Beharri Road, today, East Indians live right down to the Main Road junction; and even in Junction itself many of the homes are occupied by East Indians. Casecu now extends southward right to Thomas Road junction and there is no longer a gap to separate it from the other districts. Amitié Estate—now taken over by one immense combine of estates—made land available in small plots of one or two lots in the area immediately west of Beharri Road. Another street, which we will call Lloyd Street, came into existence and parallels Beharri Road.

38

THE VILLAGE

A number of small "traces" (paths) and streets developed, connecting Lloyd Street and Beharri Road. JanglT Tola is now only a pocket at the southern end of Lloyd Street. As Beharri Settlement overflowed westward from Beharri Road, and Casecu overflowed southward down Lloyd Street, Jangll Tola lost its physical isolation. Despite the increasing population and the lessening of physical gaps between the internal districts, Amity—as its inhabitants of all districts prefer to call it today, in an Anglicization of the name of the largest neighboring estate—did not change radically in the appearance it presented to the world. It is said that in 1925 there were still only three houses in all of Amity constructed of wood. The period from 1940 to 1945 is generally considered to mark the start of rapid physical and social change in the village. It is perhaps of significance that this was, roughly, the time of what some Trinidadians call the "American Occupation"; there were three American military bases on the island. Many men from Amity—as from other parts of Trinidad—found work on the bases, and for the first time in their lives earned what was for them substantial wages. They also spent considerable time away from the village, observing the life of non-Indians, both Trinidadian and American. In 1946, the new "Amity" Canadian Mission school was constructed on Beharri Road (replacing an old, small one), and education—elementary education, at least—was available to greater numbers of East Indian children in Amity than ever before. Toward the end of the 1940s and in the early 1950s, the estate made the area between Jangll Tola and the Main Road available for settlement. East Indians who had hitherto been living on the estate in barracks moved there in large numbers. This new district is referred to here as Barrackville. Again, during the early 1950s Beharri Road and Lloyd Street were paved and electricity was brought to Beharri Road. During my stay in Amity, street lights were set up on Beharri Road from the Main Road junction to Thomas Road

THE VILLAGE

39

junction. The villagers have taken advantage of Sugar Industry Welfare Fund loans, and concrete houses are rapidly replacing the old, mud-walled, thatched-roof huts. The 1946 census contained a breakdown of figures given for Ward populations. In the breakdown for Chaguanas Ward, two locality designations appear—the actual names for Beharri and Amity. Since the villagers apply both names to the village as a whole, it is difficult to understand the distinction being made by the census takers; perhaps they separated Casecu from the rest of the village. We cannot be certain whether Thomas Road was included or excluded— and if it was included, for how much of its length. Was Junction included? In any event, the population given by the government for the two areas totals 2,943, as of the last census, in 1946. Even if this were an accurate census of the village, it is of course completely out of date. In the period following 1946, Amity underwent considerable population increase, both natural and because of the influx of new settlers to Barrackville. At the end of 1957,1 counted a total of 623 households in the entire village, excluding the somewhat marginal area of Junction. According to my sampling, the village averages 6.6 persons per household, with some variation according to district. On this basis, I estimate the present total population of the village—again excluding Junction—at about 4,000 people. THE VILLAGE TODAY Beharri Road, the present main thoroughfare of Amity, is paved today and has street lights. Packed closely together along this road are shops, concrete houses, thatched and "galvanize" roofed ajoupas, an occasional wooden shack marked "rice mill," three schools, and other buildings. There is no apparent order. Large resplendent concrete houses set on high pillars seem to jostle tiny mud huts. Behind each house is a vegetable garden, and beyond the houses on

40

THE

VILLAGE

the eastern side of Beharri Road are the estate canefields that f o r m the eastern boundary of Amity. On the western side, Border Street joins Beharri Road about a quarter of a mile f r o m the Main Road junction. Most of the houses are ajoupas along Border Street and circling the adjacent cricket ground. This is the district of Jangll Tola. Running north f r o m Border Street and paralleling Beharri Road, is Lloyd Street, somewhat less crowded with shops and houses than is the main thoroughfare. Concrete "standpipes"—mounted water taps—are almost entirely restricted to Beharri Road. Water pressure is poor, and the standpipes are constantly surrounded by girls and women, of varying ages, from all the districts of Amity. Each holds a pail or a converted cooking-oil tin and waits her turn at the tap. Barefoot children tumble about in play under the houses and on the roads and side paths. The very youngest wear only the briefest of shirts or dresses. A girl's hair is never cut, and even a few of the small boys wear long braids tied with ribbons. On the road are stretched opened sugar sacks on which unmilled rice has been spread to dry. A cluster of shops marks Thomas Road junction on northern Beharri Road. Along T h o m a s Road the concrete houses are smaller. Mostly, the dwellings are ajoupas, but there are also a few old wooden houses. Behind the houses on both sides of the road stretch the ricefields. Thomas Road is not compactly settled; it is poorly paved and has no shops. The social center of gravity has shifted to Beharri R o a d . North of the Thomas Road junction on Beharri Road are more and more ajoupas, and only an occasional concrete house or shop. The houses thin out farther north. The land is low. Some of it is in rice but much appears swampy and unused. Finally, the road ends on the bank of a narrow river, near a wooden bridge. Where the ground is high and dry, cattle and bison are staked out to graze. Across the river is the dense marsh grass and thick mangrove forest of the Caroni Swamp.

THE VILLAGE

41

At present, the villagers distinguish five subdivisions or internal districts within the village of Amity. The largest, "Central Amity," is by no means homogeneous, and contains four recognizable subdistricts. CENTRAL

AMITY

Beharri Road: This is the center of Amity. It stretches from the Main Road junction to the Thomas Road junction, and includes the side streets and traces perpendicular to it. Because of its length, there is a further incipient subdivision within this subdistrict. The section f r o m the "Chinese S h o p " north to Thomas Road junction is sometimes referred to as Northern Beharri, and is the highest ranking section of the village. On Beharri R o a d — a n d particularly in Northern Beharri—are the homes of most of the wealthy, influential members of the community, the Slwala (Hindu Temple), the schools, the post office, most of the important shops, and the only telephone in Amity. Lloyd Street: Running parallel to Beharri Road f r o m Border Street to Casecu, this is considered a subdistrict of Central Amity, although the southern portion of the street is excluded as part of Jangll Tola. While there are a number of shops on Lloyd Street, and even some fine homes, it is definitely inferior in prestige to Beharri Road. It is not as well paved, it has no lights, and water and electricity were not brought to the street until 1957. Because of the crowded conditions and the high price of land on Beharri Road, there is a considerable overflow to Lloyd Street. Even wealthy people are making the move, and it is conceivable that this street will become more important in the future. Persad Path: An unpaved lane between Lloyd Street and Beharri Road, and parallel to both, this path is really nothing more than a spill-over area for the larger streets. There are no shops and relatively few houses on Persad Path, but it does contain the home of the senior estate "driver," one of the most influential members of the community. Coconut: This is another spill-over area, to the west of Lloyd Street.

42

THE V I L L A G E

It is only within the past five years that this area was made available to settlers, and there are few homes, no paved roads and no water or electricity. Like Persad Path, it is an extension area for both Lloyd Street and Beharri Road. Minor appendages of the two main streets of the Central Amity district, with little in the way of distinctive characters of their own, both Persad Path and Coconut do provide room for further growth, and may grow in prestige in years to come. Central Amity also contains two cricket fields. One is just south of the "Chinese Shop" on Beharri Road and the other is west of Lloyd Street in the area north of Coconut. Meetings of a district-wide and village-wide nature may take place under one of the large "upstairs" homes (built, that is, on ten-foot-tall concrete posts) of the wealthier inhabitants. Some meetings are held in front of one of the larger shops, or in either the Canadian Mission School or the Siwala. This district is the "bright" part of Amity. It is considered to be the best part in which to live, where the most interesting things happen, where most of the important people live, and where most of the decisions affecting the affairs of the whole village are made. THOMAS ROAD

Stretching from the junction to the first culvert, this was the former center of the old Beharri Settlement. There is piped water, electricity, and a paved road, but there are no shops or other services, and compared with Beharri Road today it is sparsely settled. Few of the "best" homes are located here, though there are a number of old-fashioned good homes. There is no stigma attached to living in this district; it is simply too peripheral to the "bright lights" to be favored. Thomas Road contains houses all the way down its length to the next village some three miles away. While the "first culvert" is taken to be the unofficial limit of Amity, there is no really sharp point of demarcation, for people further along the road come to Amity for shopping and for the celebration of holidays.

THE VILLAGE

43

CASECU

The district of Casecu extends today from the Thomas Road junction northward along Beharri Road to the swamp, taking in a side streets and traces. Street lights and good paving end dramatically at Thomas Road junction. There are a number of shops in Casecu, plus a few "good" homes, but none of the "best" type. The district had a bad reputation in the past for drinking, fighting, and pigkeeping. Pigs are still kept and the name Casecu remains, but it is felt by those who live in the district, as well as those outside, that Casecu is "coming u p " ; it is generally ranked just below Thomas Road and Central Amity. J A N G L ! TOLA

The southern part of Lloyd Street, and the side streets circling the southern cricket ground make up the district of Jangll Tola. This name is not used by the inhabitants, and it is not advisable for outsiders to use it within the hearing of the inhabitants of the district. The latter insist, when asked, that they live "in Amity," and refuse to admit the existence of subdivisions. While there is relatively little association between the inhabitants of this district and of others, all agree it is on the increase. More than those of any other district, people of Jangll Tola claim that they have no memory of where their ancestors came from in India. The people of other districts say that years ago weddings and funerals in Jangll Tola were considerably different from those of Casecu and Central Amity. In recent years, they say, the people of Jangll Tola have adopted the customs of the rest of Amity, and can only be distinguished today from other villagers by certain residual peculiarities of occupation. Jangll Tola is the home of almost all the crabcatchers and many of the fishermen of Amity. It is said that their morals are not as bad as they once were, but because of the practice of "living by taking life," the district is considered an inferior one by the people of Central Amity, Thomas Road, and Casecu. Another

44

THE VILLAGE

reason for lack of interaction between Jangll Tola and the rest of Amity is that this district is the heart of the opposition to the political party which is fervently supported in the other districts. 7 There are a few shops, but most of the shopping is done on the northern part of Lloyd Street or on Beharri Road. People from Jangll Tola rarely come to the Slwala even on the important holiday of Siw Ratri. B A R R A C K VI L L E

There is general agreement that this is the lowest ranking district today. It is the newest district, but contains the poorest homes and the poorest people. Many do not even rent a small ricefield, but subsist as best they can on their earnings as cane-laborers on the estate. They have replaced Casecu and Jangll Tola in recent years in having the reputation for the greatest amount of drinking, fighting, and immorality. An incipient subdivision exists between what might be called "Interior Barrackville"—inhabited almost entirely by canelaborers living in mud huts—and " M a i n Road Barrackville," a continuation of Junction. The district of Junction was excluded from this study as being essentially too peripheral. Where pertinent, it will be discussed in the text. HOUSEHOLD AND

DISTRICT

In the ideal Amity household, all members live in one house, share a common kitchen, and have a common family purse. This would be true whether the household contains only one nuclear family or a large joint family consisting of a mother and father, unmarried children and married sons with their wives and children. There are certain complications, however. First of all, the kitchen is almost always a separate building, usually behind the house, and may contain '

See " N a t i o n a l Politics on the Village Level," p. 221, in this book.

THE VILLAGE

45

a n extra r o o m in which a few members of the family sleep. But in the eyes of the family and the village, there is still only one "house." Again, one or more nuclear units of the household may be forced, for want of space, to construct a new but identical house beside the old. As long as there is one kitchen and one purse, the village sees only one " h o u s e . " If the nuclear unit erects its own kitchen and begins to handle its own finances, a new " h o u s e " is now recognized, although the building may have been in existence for years. Nevertheless, to say simply that " h o u s e h o l d " is defined in terms of " o n e hearth" and "one purse" is not entirely correct, although the definition would hold for the majority of cases. Nuclear family units may move apart, building separate kitchens and keeping separate purses, and still maintain important social and economic joint family ties. Particularly, the labor and produce connected with the ricefield and garden may continue to be shared as before by the entire joint family unit. And, finally, in the case of one wealthy family, everyone lives in the one big house—but there are two kitchens. In my census of Amity households and house types, the last case referred to was counted as one unit, since it was so considered by its own members and by the village. " C o m p o u n d " households (with separate kitchens and substantially separate purses) were ignored as such and each individual unit was counted—again to be in accord with prevailing opinion. All households, in the analysis following, are categorized in terms of the main dwelling, whatever the nature of the subsidiary buildings. House types in Amity may be divided into three broad architectural divisions. In village terminology these are: the ajoupa, the creole, and the modern. Ajoupa: This is the "trash house" considered in Trinidad to be typical of the poor rural East Indian. It has mud walls constructed around a simple wooden frame, a mud floor and a thatched ( " t r a s h " ) roof. It can be constructed by one man and his family with the aid

46

THE VILLAGE

of a few friends and perhaps a single paid carpenter. Improved forms of the ajoupa have either slab-board floors, galvanized iron roofs, or both. If such a house is built on land rented from the estate, the owner of the house must pay $.96 rent a year, plus a "water rate" of the same amount. As long as he pays his rent, he cannot be evicted from the house. The estate would prefer to sell the house lots rather than to rent them, but it is the policy of the estate to sell such lots only to families already in occupancy. If they do not wish to purchase, and most families simply cannot afford to, the estate maintains ownership. Creole: Houses in this category tend to reflect architectural patterns associated in the eyes of the villagers with the middle-class Creoles of surrounding areas. More properly, it is the house design popular among the Creole population in past decades; most houses of this category—in Amity—date back to the approximate period of 1925-40. The houses are of wood, with a wooden floor resting either on the ground or on concrete pillars about five feet high. Roofs are either shingled or of galvanized iron. The carpenters were undoubtedly Creole, and there is little that is distinctively East Indian about the appearances of the houses. Today, the wooden house and the Creole design have gone out of fashion, and many of the wealthy families have torn down their old homes and built new ones. In some cases, it happens that the old man who built the house, and who is proud of the fact that he had a wooden home while the majority of the villagers still lived in mud huts, continues to sojourn scornfully in his old-fashioned dwelling. One such old man, overhearing his son complain to me about the condition of the house, silenced him with the quiet but pointed observation: "I built my house." Such families are usually secure in their wealth and position, but even among them, the younger members indicate a strong desire to erect a "modern" house immediately after the death of their father.

THE VILLAGE

47

Within this category, too, are houses of a poorer sort. These are somewhat smaller but are still Creole in design. The major difference is in the construction of the walls, which are of a mud plaster, for good lumber is expensive and is used only for the frames. Frequently on concrete pillars, with galvanized iron roofs, such houses are rated superior to the ajoupa, and are favored by those who have saved a little money, but not enough to warrant the expense of a concrete "modern" house. The wealth of the occupying family is the main criterion used in the village for distinguishing between the two kinds of Creole houses. The poorer kind of Creole house is still being built, but a new wooden house of the better kind is a rare sight: I know of only one constructed since 1952. Rent for a Creole house varies considerably. Most of the better type were erected on owned rather than rented land, in any case. Modern: The houses in this category have all been built since World War II. They require the services of a competent mason and a carpenter, and often other specialists. Upon poured-concrete pillars, usually at least six feet tall, 8 the house is constructed of brick, cement block, and poured concrete, and it is finished with plaster. Wooden interior partitions, windows, doors, paint, insulated ceilings, and a galvanized iron roof all contribute to make such a building expensive. A Sugar Industry Welfare Fund loan of one or two thousand dollars is usually not sufficient to see the building to completion, and the family must be able to put up almost half the cost. Non-Indians * The space thus provided under the house may be enclosed one day to make a "parlor" (a small shop). More frequently, hammocks are slung from the posts and the family rests here in the cool shade during hot afternoons. The space has a multiplicity of uses: garage, laundry, meeting hall, and rice storehouse are only a few. There is a legend current a m o n g some non-Indian Trinidadians that East Indians build their houses "on stilts" so that the husband, off in his rice fields, can watch the single staircase and thus be certain that his wife entertains n o male visitors. "Creolized" East Indians, s o the legend runs, n o w build their houses with two staircases.

THE

48

VILLAGE

outside of Amity occasionally build similar houses, but the type is thought of in the village today as being both "modern" and "East Indian." Rent for the house plot varies in proportion to the number of bedrooms, but rarely exceeds five or six dollars a year, plus an equivalent water rate. N o provision is made, except in the very best and largest houses, for an interior kitchen. The family's old ajoupa—where the older people feel more at home in any case—almost always serves as kitchen and dining room. While the villagers consider all "modern" houses superior to other kinds, they make certain sharp distinctions within the category. In the lowest place of all are what are called "unfinished" houses. These are usually constructed by families that have managed to acquire loans without having any savings of their own. An unfinished house is occupied (unlike an "uncompleted" house, which is still in the process of being built), but has blankets or sacking for interior partitions, no windows and bare brick exteriors. The "finished" houses are rated in terms of number of bedrooms, rent paid, and "extra conveniences," such as an interior kitchen, or a true puja room. 9

A progression of house types was set up during my census of Amity households. It was formed with the assistance of numerous informants, and reflects the local rating system. Among the criteria used were: architectural type, construction materials, size, rent, family wealth, and "extra conveniences." Ajoupa Basic A j o u p a : Mud walls, mud floor, thatched roof. Floored A j o u p a : Mud walls, thatched roof, slab floor. Roofed A j o u p a : Mud walls, mud or slab floor, iron roof. 9

A r o o m for prayers and household religions c e r e m o n i e s — a kind of c h a p e l .

THE VILLAGE

49

Creole Poor: Mud plaster walls, poor family. Wealthy: Large wooden house, wealthy family. Small Modern (concrete, two-bedroom) Unfinished: no windows, interior partitions, or plastering. Finished: Windows and partitions in. Large Modern (concrete, more than two bedrooms) Superior: three bedrooms. Superlative: four or more bedrooms, "extra conveniences." TABLE 1: DISTRIBUTION OF HOUSE TYPES IN CENTRAL Beharri Road

Persad Path

Lloyd Street

Basic Ajoupa

37

17

34

8

96

Floored Ajoupa

8

-

2

1

11

Roofed Ajoupa

27

-

13

2

42

Creole, Poor

28

1

9

-

38

Creole, Wealthy

4

-

-

-

4

Unfinished Modern

6

-

1

-

7

Finished Modern

32

5

Superior Modem

24

-

5 171

Superlative Modern Total

Coconut

Total

2

62

9

-

33

1

3

-

9

24

94

23

13

302

AMITY

50

THE VILLAGE

TABLE 2: DISTRIBUTION OF HOUSE TYPES IN ALL AMITY Central Amity

Thomas Road

Jangti Tola

Casecu

Basic Ajoupa

96

12

32

43

54

237

Floored Ajoupa

11

2

1

12

4

30

Roofed Ajoupa

42

7

3

9

16

77

Creole, Poor

38

9

7

15

21

90

Creole, Wealthy

4

1

-

1

-

6

Unfinished Modem

7

1

1

1

-

10

Finished Modern

62

11

7

15

23

118

Superior Modem

33

4

2

4

2

45

9

1

-

-

-

10

302

48

Superlative Modem Total

53

100

Barrackville

120

Total

623

Table 1 gives the data for the subdistricts of Central Amity and Table 2 the data for all the districts, including Central Amity as a whole. We get a clearer picture of the relative standings of the districts of Amity if we group the various house types into categories reflecting the social and economic status of the families occupying them. It must be emphasized that such a grouping is only an approximation: house type is not always an absolute indication of wealth and prestige.

THE

VILLAGE

51

A few families with land of their own continue to live in ajoupas. By means of loans, savings, and hard work, a number of families deriving their incomes solely f r o m labor in the estate canefields have managed to build concrete homes. Two of the best homes in Amity are occupied by low-caste families; despite the fact that they have amassed considerable wealth in recent years, they are still without prestige in the community. Nevertheless, it is possible to group house types in a way that will roughly reflect the socioeconomic divisions of Amity. The people who live in ajoupas today—whether of the "basic," "floored," or " r o o f e d " varities—are almost all cane-laborers. They have little or no savings, and even with loans as available as they are, such people exhibit little desire for upward mobility. Let us therefore group all people living in ajoupas into one socioeconomic category, "Group A." Those who live in what I have called "creole, poor," or "unfinished m o d e r n " houses are also cane-laborers for the most part. They are attempting to improve themselves, but lack the means to do it in the approved manner. Together, they form " G r o u p B." The "finished, small m o d e r n " houses of Amity reflect the industry, thrift, and sobriety of their occupants, particularly when the occupants are low-paid cane-laborers. Many of the people who occupy these homes follow such professions as teaching, taxi driving, etc. This might almost be termed the "middle class" of Amity. Let us call them "Group C." The old and new wealth of Amity live in houses of the types I have called "creole, wealthy," "superior m o d e r n " and "superlative modern." By and large, the occupants of these houses are the leaders of the village; they are the landholders, the estate "drivers" a n d the shopkeepers. Together, they may be called " G r o u p D . " In Table 3, the households of Amity are presented in terms of these four groupings, A, B, C and D. Since the districts are not of equal size (Central Amity contains almost as many houses as the rest of the

52

THE VILLAGE

village put together), the presentation is in the form of the percentage of each grouping to be found in each district. Beharri Road is included for comparison, though it must be remembered that it contributes to the percentage for Central Amity as a whole. T A B L E 3:

SOCIOECONOMIC G R O U P I N G S O F AMITY

(Percentages)

Beharri Road

Central Amity

Thomas Road

Casecu

Jangli Tola

Barrackville

All Amity

A

42

50

44

64

68

61

55

B

20

15

21

16

15

18

16

C

19

20

23

15

13

19

19

D

19

15

12

05

04

02

10

It will be seen, from an examination of Table 3, that Beharri Road, of all the districts and subdistricts of Amity, contains the smallest percentage of the " p o o r e s t " homes and the largest percentage of the " b e s t " homes. Thomas Road, once the center of Amity, comes just behind Beharri Road, and makes a better showing than Central Amity as a whole—though not in the percentage of "best" homes. Jangl! Tola, Casecu, and Barrackville contain the lowest percentages of " b e s t " homes. Table 3 gives some indication of why the villagers, without counting houses or figuring percentages, say that Casecu, Jangl! Tola, and Barrackville—in descending order—are the three "lowest" districts; while Thomas R o a d and Central Amity are the "best" districts, with Beharri Road the best place of all to live. It may be stated categorically that the political, social, and economic elite of Amity reside in houses of the "superlative m o d e r n " "creole, wealthy" and (to a lesser extent) "superior m o d e r n " types— which means that this elite is concentrated almost exclusively in Central Amity, and, within that district, on Beharri Road.

THE V I L L A G E

53

Beharri Road, it has been mentioned earlier, itself contains an incipient subdivision. About half-way along its length, the "Chinese Shop" separates the street into what many consider "better" and "poorer" parts. Since my informants disagreed about the distinction, it was ignored in the census. Almost all the "best" houses on Beharri Road, however, are located in Northern Beharri; there is only one "superlative modern" house in Southern Beharri. A word on Barrackville, which is frequently referred to as the "poorest" district of Amity. We may see this illustrated to some extent in Table 3 in the small percentage of "best" homes (Row D), but the fact is somewhat obscured by the strength of the district in Rows B and C. It should be remembered, therefore, that Barrackville, like Beharri Road, is also not a homogeneous area, but contains an incipient subdivision. "Main Road Barrackville" is a spill-over area for Junction, containing a number of Creole families, and is somewhat older than "Interior Barrackville," with which it is now grouped by the people of Amity. Almost all the "creole, poor," "unfinished," and "finished small modern" houses of Barrackville are to be found along the Main Road, and "Interior Barrackville" is truly a district of mud-walled ajoupas. There is no public market in Amity: the nearest one is in the Ward Center. The people of Amity do their best to raise most of their food requirements, and tend to go to the Saturday Market only to sell a bit of surplus "garden," and to see the "bright lights." Since it is not possible for a family to raise all necessary items of food, they find they must purchase such things as flour, salt, cooking oil, saltfish, and sardines. While these are sold in the big "shops" of the Ward Center, most people prefer to purchase them in one of the Amity shops where they will usually obtain credit. The term "shop" is used for what is really a kind of general store— one that sells food, hardware, etc. Almost every shop is also a

54

THE VILLAGE

" r u m - s h o p . " One corner is usually set aside for the sale of "spirituous liquors," particularly beer and rum. Work clothes and women's clothes are generally made at home by the women of the family, 10 but the cloth for these home-made garments, as well as tailor-made dress clothes for men, must be purchased. There are a few tailor shops in Amity with male tailors who make clothing to order for men, and there are a number of "goods shops" selling cloth, buttons, thread, etc. The term " p a r l o r " is used in Amity, as it is throughout rural Trinidad, for a small shop in which soft drinks, candy, and cigarettes may be purchased. Such parlors rarely represent a full-time enterprise; rather, they are operated by the female members of the family in their free time—which means, in effect, whenever a customer comes in—as a supplement to the income of the family. There are also a number of "rice-mills" in Amity, which are sources of supplementary income for their owners, and which are rarely operated full time. Paddy rice is brought in to be milled throughout the year as it is needed by the family. Finally, there is one doctor's office in Amity, but the doctor is not resident. He visits the village only on rare occasions. For medical help the people of Amity generally go to the Ward Center. There is a dentist's office but the dentist, too, is not a resident. While there are many part-time barbers in Amity, there is only one "barber-shop"—an extra-large gallery, or veranda, of an ajoupa. Table 4 shows the distribution of such business enterprises in Amity. The "miscellaneous" category in Table 4 contains the doctor's office, the dentist's office, and the barber-shop—all found on Beharri R o a d ; Coconut and Persad Path contain no business enterprises at 10

"Sewing classes" conducted by a few of the more enterprising village m a t r o n s represent one of the few socially-approved activities outside the h o m e for unmarried adolescent girls. Parents permit attendence, despite misgivings, because skill at sewing will increase a girl's chances of making a good marriage.

THE

55

VILLAGE

TABLE 4: BUSINESS ENTERPRISES O F AMITY Beharri Road Parlors Shops Tailors Goods Rice Mills Miscellaneous

Lloyds Central Thomas Jangli Street Amity Road Tola Total

9 8 3

4 4»

5 5

3 1 1

3

-

13 12 6 6 6 3

1 1»

Casecu

-

2 2 2

-

-

1

3

1 -

-

Barr- Amity ack ville Total

1 1

16 16 9 6 11 3

' Two of the shops of Lloyd Street sell only food and are not, therefore, "rum shops." The shop in Jangli Tola is only a rum shop. All other shops deal in both items.

all. It will be seen that the overwhelming majority of "businesses" of Amity are to be found in Central Amity, and most of them—along with the homes of the wealthy and the schools—are on Beharri Road. CASTE IN THE

VILLAGE

Every Hindu East Indian in Amity is a member from birth of one of a large number of named groups. In the village, the group is known as a jat in Hindi, and as a " n a t i o n " in English. The names of these " n a t i o n s " derive primarily from those of Indian castes, although there are a few which appear to be locality designations in India, such as MadrassI and Bangall. The word "caste," as such, is known only to the more literate members of the Amity population. There are thirty-nine "nations" in Amity, represented by a varying number of persons from one to many hundreds. The " n a t i o n " tends to be an endogamous unit, so most people inherit membership bilaterally. Where the parents are of two different "nations," the

56

THE

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child is considered by the community to be part of his father's "nation," so the patrilineal line may be considered most important. But because the "nations" in Amity are ranked, a man whose mother's "nation" was higher than his father's may attempt to claim membership in her "nation"—and he may or may not be successful in the attempt. The child of an East Indian and a Negro is called a dugla and is considered to belong to no "nation." It would be tempting to analyze the "nation" as if it were an indigenous Amity—or Trinidad East Indian—institution. Such an attempt would do violence to the facts. These "nations" are Indian "castes." They are known to derive from India by the people of Amity themselves. Prestige, ceremonial rights, the criteria of the ranking system—all derive primarily from India. Whatever opinions might be held in India on the subject, the Kahar of Amity considers himself a member of the Kahar "nation" of Trinidad as a whole, which in turn he considers part of the Kahar "nation" of India. Finally, the "castes" (as we shall refer to them from now on) of Amity are grouped in the village according to the Varna structure of the Indian caste system. That the caste system—the relationships between members of the same caste and between members of different castes—has become greatly modified since emigration from India took place, cannot, of course, be denied. It is true that people who do not raise pigs will not eat with those who do, and occasionally, at religious ceremonies, Brahmans will be fed apart from everyone else. Apart from that, there is hardly any ban on inter-caste commensality, and at wedding feasts all people (of the same sex) eat together. The complex rules regarding pollution of food and the strictures governing who may accept what foods from whom (see Hutton 1946: 62-72) are barely remembered by even the very old in Amity. What does remain is a kind of vague feeling on the part of some high-caste people that Sudra people have "dirty habits." When pressed, the

THE VILLAGE

57

high-caste man may state that he has heard that many low-caste people do not wash their dishes adequately. He will often admit that he is not certain about the matter; but it has been instilled in him from childhood that they are "dirty" and he is reluctant to eat in the home of a low-caste man. The correlation of caste and occupation, even where it did exist in India, is almost nonexistent in Trinidad. The one DhobI family in Amity does not wash clothes—the women of each family do their own laundry. The Camars are not leather-workers, and the Lohar is not a blacksmith. By and large, occupations are considered "good" or " b a d " in terms of their economic return, though there are certain important exceptions. Certain ritual functions continue to be carried on by members of the appropriate castes, but as subsidiary activities: the pandits (priests) are Brahmans, and ceremonial assistants are members of the No caste. On the other hand, the fact that caste should have continued to exist at all, and to play a part in the life of the community, may be termed surprising, considering the obstacles that stood in the way of such an eventuality. The contention of Morris (1956) that similar East Indian immigrants to East Africa found it impossible to reestablish a caste hierarchy, has already been noted. Then again, the circumstances of life in Trinidad as an indentured laborer were not such as to permit an easy maintenance of castesystem relationships. Almost every man who came had to work as a field-laborer during his period of indenture, and this was easier for a low-caste laborer, accustomed to hard work, than it was for a highcaste man who might have had some education and been accustomed to less strenuous pursuits (see Skinner 1955: 46, 270). Finally, there is the question of "legitimacy": are the people who claim membership in high castes really entitled to make such claims? The belief is held by some non-Indian Trinidadians that the people who came from India to Trinidad were entirely of the lowest castes.

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The assertion is made, frequently, that certainly no "real Brahmans" came over, and that all those in Trinidad who claim to be Brahmans are making false claims. One even hears such statements, occasionally, from low-caste Hindus, often as a reason why they will not show a local Brahman "proper respect." There can be little doubt that some people did give false caste identifications when they were recruited in India. The practice continues in Trinidad today. The tale is told in Amity, with much amusement, of the Camar from Jangli Tola who traveled a few years ago to a region in southern Trinidad where he was completely unknown. He set himself up as a Brahman pandit, and for almost two years successfully conducted ceremonies and performed marriages. He was finally unmasked by some visitors from Amity, and he returned to his home and his original occupation as a cane-laborer. It is certainly conceivable that quick-thinking men, surrounded by complete strangers and far from their native villages, would have tried to pass themselves off as men of higher castes in the recruiting depots of Calcutta. Not everyone would have gotten away with it, we must remember. Even today in Amity, despite extensive modifications of caste behavior, and general "Creolization," many men—both young and old—claim to be able to recognize a man's approximate caste by his behavior: his manners, use o f obscenity, food habits, associates, etc. It would seem probable that a recruit in India would have had to have been an exceptionally fine actor to have convinced his fellow recruits that he was o f a high caste, when he derived, in fact, from a low one. It would have been particularly difficult if a true member of that high caste happened to be among the recruits. The arrangement of the castes represented among the population of Amity into a locally acceptable "order of precedence"—to use Morris' term—may have presented some difficulties to the founders of the village, but in actuality the difficulties were not great. All Hindus in Amity accepted, and by and large still accept, the hierarchy

THE VILLAGE

59

of the four Varnas—Brahman, Kshattriya, Ves, and Sudra 11 —in that order. The problem then becomes a matter of determining in which Varna a particular caste is to be included. Within the Brahman Varna there is essentially only one caste—the Marajh. In Trinidad as a whole, there are a few castes considered by some people to be separate, and lower, castes within the Brahman Varna, but these are not represented in Amity. Within the Kshattriya Varna, too, there is only one caste, known as Cattrl. If a man's claim to be a Cattrl or a Marajh is accepted, his right to claim membership in, respectively, the Kshattriya or Brahman Varnas is never disputed. Among the members of the caste itself, some Marajh and Cattrl men recognize certain distinctions and argue about precedence, but the arguments are neither widespread nor important, and most members of other castes are not even aware of them. A Cattrl almost invariably carries "Singh" as a surname, and a Brahman, almost invariably, "Maraj." The remainder of the castes, 12 then, are obviously either Ves or Sudra. Two criteria are used for determining Varna membership for these castes. First of all, it may be that there is no argument about original Varna membership in India. No one in Amity, for example, disputes the fact that the Ahlr caste is Ves and the Camar caste Sudra. Where there is any dispute, the second, and most important, criterion is used: all castes made up predominantly—in Amity—of families that raise and eat swine are Sudra; castes that eschew this practice are considered Ves. Thus, many Bhars in Amity claim to be "RajBhars," and therefore Ves, but most Amity Bhars raise swine, and so 11 In an earlier reference t o t h e f o u r V a m a s (see p. 35, " H i s t o r y of A m i t y " ) the spelling of t h e n a m e s reflected c o n v e n t i o n a l n o r t h I n d i a n usage. Here, t h e spelling represents an a t t e m p t t o a p p r o x i m a t e the A m i t y p r o n u n c i a t i o n of t h e V a m a n a m e s . T h e s a m e is true of caste n a m e s given in the text. ls A c o m p r e h e n s i v e glossary of caste a n d tribal n a m e s m a y be f o u n d in H u t t o n ' s " C a s t e in I n d i a " (1946: 242-61), including s u c h a d d i t i o n a l i n f o r m a t i o n as the location of the caste in India a n d its traditional o c c u p a t i o n .

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THE V I L L A G E

the claim is disallowed. On the other hand, most of the older people are aware that the DhobI caste is "low" in India, but the only DhobI family in Amity is a highly respectable one that does not raise swine and has a teacher in the family. In Amity, this caste is considered Vès. Within the Varnas themselves there is some disagreement as to "order of precedence." This does not mean that there is no agreement at all. Within the Sudra Varna, which contains nine castes in Amity, precedence has no significance. Among the twenty-six castes in Amity considered Vès, precedence is of some inportance, but only to the extent of determining whether a caste is "high" Vès or "low" Vès. There is general agreement that the castes of the earliest settlers, the shopkeepers, and the present "big men" are "high" Vès. These include: Baniyà, Nò, Ahlr, Koeri, Kurml, etc. On the other hand, Kewàth, Lohar, DhobI and Bòri are among the "low" Vès. There is a special group of castes—known in Amity as JanglT, because of their reputed origin in the "jungles" of India—which deserves special mention. Members of these castes are found almost entirely in the district of Jangli Tola. From my interviews with some of the older people, there would appear to be a good possibility that many of these castes derive from the area of Bengal in India. In any event, these were not castes known to the early settlers of the main Beharri Settlement, and they tended to cluster together in Jangli Tola from the earliest days. Because most of the "Jangli" people in the past were "crabcatchers," and a large number today still are, the group as a whole is considered "low." Those "Jangli" castes which do not raise pigs (including BangàlI, Bhuyà, and Bòri), however, are considered "low" Vès, and not Sudra. Of some 900 male adults registered to vote in the 1958 elections, I have information as to caste affiliation for 813. The remainder include Muslims, Christians (Indian and non-Indian), and those Hindu East Indians—for the most part newcomers—for whom caste affiliation could not be determined with any degree of certainty.

THE VILLAGE

61

The largest castes in Amity are: Brahman Varna Marajh 23

Kshattriya Varna Cattri 54

Ves Varna Baniya 18 No 9 Ahir 68 Kurml 16 Koeri 36 Bhujawa 10 Kahar 25 Malla 14 Bhflya 31 Madrassi 11 Bori 30

Sudra Varna Dusad 21 Bhar 68 Pasi 12 Dom 28 Camar 282

This accounts for 756 males. The other 57 (of the 813) belong to castes having eight or fewer male members in Amity. Of the total of 813 males, 419 (or over half) are of Sudra castes; 124 are of "low" Ves castes; and 190 are of "high" Ves castes. The rigid segregation of castes among the districts of Amity, said to have existed in the early years of the village, no longer obtains. Despite this, Casecu and Barrackville are still inhabited primarily by members of Sudra and "low" Ves castes, and Jangll Tola by members of the "Jangll" castes. Thomas Road, Central Amity, and in particular, Beharri Road are inhabited predominantly by "high" Ves, and the Cattri and Marajh castes. There are a few "high" Ves, Cattri, and Marajh representatives in the inferior districts, but only a few. Despite the tremendous size of the Camar caste within Amity, there is no Camar family living in the "best" kind of house. There has never been a Camar prefect in the Amity Hindu School. 13 One very wealthy Dusad family and one very wealthy Bhar family now live on Beharri Road, but neither of these, nor any Camar, is included in the tight circle of village leadership. Some high-caste people indicate a feeling of resentment at the " Prefects are elected by the class and are chosen from among the best scholars: they are almost invariably Cattri or Marajh.

62

THE

VILLAGE

movement of Sudra people to Beharri Road, but there is no such thing as a "caste panchayat" in Amity, and nothing can be done about it. Nevertheless, Sudra people who move to Beharri Road give u p the raising of swine where they have practiced it before, as in the case of the one wealthy Dusad family. Again, while there is no system of caste panchayats to control marriage, the majority of marital unions in Amity are between members of the same caste, from different villages, and almost all are between members of the same Varna. The reason for this is not hard to find: almost all marriages have been arranged by the parents, or at least have their approval. A low-caste man will not usually object (though some will) to a marriage between his child and the child of a high-caste m a n — b u t the latter will object. M a r a j h and Cattri men are particularly strict about marriage within their own castes. Even a " l o w " Ves m a n will hesitate about allowing his son to marry a Sudra girl, because he feels the latter is accustomed to " d i r t y " cooking and to eating "dirty f o o d " (specifically pork). On the other hand, within the Ves Varna, there is little objection to an Ahir marrying a No, or a K u r m l a Koerl. To repeat, the presence or absence of the practice of swine-raising and pork-eating is a major criterion in the determination of caste respectability. There is some ingroup feeling among members of the Marajh caste, and less among Cattri people. Otherwise, any sense of caste solidarity or group interests is almost entirely lacking among the castes of Amity. Individual families may better themselves, but this has nothing to do with the rest of their caste. A caste as a whole can be "raised" in the general esteem if most of the representatives become prosperous, pious, and give up the raising of pigs. Unlike what has been reported for India, there is no concerted effort on the part of the caste members to do this as a group. 1 4 14

See, for example, Cohn, "The Changing Status of a Depressed Caste" (1955: 53-77).

THE

VILLAGE

63

What does happen in Amity is that an individual family will upcaste itself—that is, it will claim to be affiliated with a caste higher than the one to which it originally belonged. Some reason is usually needed, but one can always be found. While caste membership is normally patrilineal, a man whose father was of a low caste, and whose mother was of a high one, will claim to be a member of the higher caste. Claims are made on the most tenuous of grounds: members of the wealthy Dusad family claim to be Ahir because one of the sisters of the head of the family married an Ahir. The true members of the caste into which the family has up-casted itself often bitterly resent the step, but say they are powerless to do anything about it. The upward movement, however, may or may not be accepted by the entire community. A family which is wealthy, generous, pious, and respectable may eventually be granted the designation they insist upon. The Dusad family mentioned here, on on the other hand, has never been liked in the village, and their claim is not recognized by anyone else. The fact that attempts on the part of families to up-caste themselves do take place is highly significant: it illustrates, better than almost anything else could, that caste is still exceedingly meaningful to the people of Amity. Although the importance of caste is almost invariably denied by the villagers with the statement, "We all equal, now," the institution of caste threads its way through all aspects of life in Amity. In the discussions to follow of religion, marriage, economic life, social control, and village politics, it will be seen that caste is always a factor. Caste membership affects the life of the villager from the moment he is born, but it is rarely discussed except within the confines of the family. With the act of land purchase, the East Indian settlers may be said to have turned their backs on India. They were now committed to constructing a life for themselves and their children within the socioeconomic structure of Trinidad. Nevertheless, the community, as it

64

THE

VILLAGE

began to emerge, was patterned—in terms of settlement plan and social stratification—after the Indian villages in which the settlers originated, rather than after the villages of their Trinidadian hosts. Along Thomas Road and what is now Beharri Road, Beharri Settlement formed, a compact cluster of the homes of the landholding settlers who were of castes of the Ves Varna or higher. Two outlying hamlets came into being. The one to the north was populated by swine-raising, non-landholding people of the Sudra Varna, and predominantly of the Camar caste. These people worked as laborers on the estates and for the small farmers, renting portions of riceland from the latter for subsistence. The other outlying hamlet, to the south, was populated by East Indian immigrants representing low castes somewhat alien to the experience of the rest of the settlers. Residents of this hamlet worked as cane-laborers for the estates, and most supplemented their incomes by crabcatching and fishing in the swamp. Today, with the village tremendously increased in population, the hamlets have lost their spatial separation and have become "districts," contiguous to Central Amity, and part of Amity as a whole. Caste segregation is no longer absolute, but a "polarization" may be said to exist: Beharri Road, within Central Amity, is the "best" district, containing the wealthiest people, the finest homes, and the greater proportion of high-caste members. The other districts are considered inferior, some more so than others, and are populated predominantly by low-caste people. Swineraising and crabcatching are still confined to the outlying districts and to low-caste people.

III.

Amity at Work

Sugar and rice are the two most important crops in the lives of the people of Amity. Sugar provides them with the necessary cash income; rice is the staple of their diet. The activities associated with the production of these two crops are very different, but both sets of activities interrelate with many other aspects of life in Amity. Without sugar and rice cultivation, Amity could not exist in its present form. When the founders of Amity had completed their indentures they left the plantations. They acquired land suitable for rice and even "small farmer" cane cultivation, and they built their own homes. Nevertheless, they remained economically dependent upon the sugar estates. Whatever cane was grown had to be sold to the estate factories. Most of the early inhabitants of Beharri Settlement continued to work as laborers for the plantations during crop-time. Their descendants continue in their footsteps. For the East Indians who reside in the sugar-producing areas of

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Trinidad, sugar is the basis of existence. Their lives are regulated by the crop. It determines when they will rise in the morning, what part of the year they will be without work and money, when they can get drunk, when they can get married, when they will eat well, when they will eat poorly. A bad year means hard times for everyone; not for just the laborers and small farmers, but for the shopkeepers, taxi drivers, and others as well. Not everyone in Amity is directly connected with the sugar industry, but most are affected by it in one way or another. Those directly concerned are the estate employees and the small farmers. Rice cultivation, unlike sugar, is rarely a source of cash income, but it is the major source of food for the villagers. It is raised by family labor, with the assistance of cooperative work groups. Most people rent riceland from the few farmers—almost entirely of the high castes —who own relatively large holdings. This tenant-landlord relationship plays an important part in determining the lines of authority and control in the village. The senior "driver" (gang foreman) on the sugar estate also occupies a position of authority, for he resides in the village. Other occupations are pursued in Amity and some of them will be discussed in the following pages. But it must be emphasized that it is rice and sugar upon which the village depends. Taxi driving and crabcatching, to take two examples, could disappear from Amity without affecting its sociocultural system to any significant extent. Rice and sugar cultivation, on the other hand, have been major factors in the persistence of Indian culture in Amity, and in the maintenance of the present social structure.

LABOR ON T H E ESTATE For part of its length, Beharri Road forms the border between sections of two great sprawling sugar estates. The land to the west and south of Amity forms part of the "Amitié Section" of the larger

A M I T Y AT W O R K

67

estate, called here Estate A. To the east of Amity is part of Estate B. Most of the "small f a r m e r " cane of Amity is raised on land rented from Estate B, and is sold to the factory of that estate. On the other hand, most of the homes of the people of Amity—located on the west side of Beharri Road—are built on lots rented from Estate A. Estate A also provides employment for the overwhelming majority of canelaborers of Amity. Approximately 900 male adults from Amity were registered for the 1958 election. During 1957, Estate A employed a total of 484 men from Amity as cane-laborers in various capacities, such as cutters, loaders, carters. At least another 100 men worked irregularly during the crop-time, operating private carts. Perhaps 25 men from Amity, and probably more, were employed by the estate in other capacities: field staff, office staff, crane and tractor operators, factory labor. Another 100 men (roughly) worked as laborers for Estate B and for small farmers. The remainder of the male population includes those with other occupations, the unemployed, and the unemployable. 1 The personnel turnover, at least among cane-laborers, was not too great during 1957. Of the total of 484 for the year, 381 men were employed during the fortnight of maximum crop-time employment, while 296 men were employed in the fortnight of minimum employment, during the rainy season. Of the 484, 213 worked for more than 156 days of the year. Of the 271 men who worked 156 days or less, many were young men without full family obligations, who worked as cane-loaders or carters on estate carts during crop-time only. The more regular employees tend to work as canc-cutters during crop-time and as general field laborers during the rest of the year. Along with the men, a total of 207 women from Amity worked for 1

A n occupational breakdown for Amity becomes meaningless beyond a ccrtain point. Many individuals engage in more than one occupation, depending upon the time of year and other factors: a taxi driver may be a small farmer; a fisherman may work o n the estate during crop-time; a small farmer may operate a private cart.

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Estate A during 1957, in various field-labor capacities. In the fortnight of maximum employment, 170 females were employed, and 133 worked even in the fortnight of minimum employment. Knowledge of the total number of men employed for the year, or even for a given fortnight, tells us nothing about how much each man earned, and how incomes varied during the year. At the height of the 1957 crop-time, 358 men from Amity were employed for a given fortnight. They worked a total of 3,883 " m a n days" during that fortnight—or an average of 10.8 days per man. They earned a total of $11,210.76 for the fortnight—working out to an average of $31.31 per man, or $2.89 per day per man. During the same fortnight, 170 women from Amity worked 1,668 " m a n days" and earned $3,373.37—thus averaging, per w o m a n : 9.8 days, $19.84 per fortnight, and $2.02 per day. At the depth of the rainy season, 332 men from Amity were employed in a given fortnight but they worked only 2,140 " m a n days," earning $3,753.89. They thus averaged, per m a n : 6.41 days per fortnight (or a little more than three days a week), $11.31 per fortnight, and $1.92 per day. During the same two weeks, 143 women f r o m Amity worked for 762 " m a n days," earning a total of $998.12, and averaging, per woman: 5.3 days, $6.98 per fortnight, and $1.31 per day. Yearly income varied considerably. The 271 men who worked less than 156 days averaged $225.58 apiece in yearly income, while the other 213 averaged over $600; the 50 of the 213 who worked the shortest number of days (156 to 181) averaging $419.71, and the 25 men who worked more than 300 days in the year averaging S908.10 apiece. The following generalizations may be made about work on the estate: For the cane-laborer of Amity, the rainy season does not mean so much nonemployment as underemployment. Most laborers are yearround employees with incomes varying from a highpoint average of

A M I T Y AT W O R K

69

a b o u t $30 a fortnight to a low-point average of about $11 a fortnight. There are a large number of men in Amity who are not regular cane-laborers. These include young men without full responsibility, the aged, and those with other occupations. Such men work during crop-time, and primarily as loaders and carters on estate-owned carts. The aged work as gleaners ("picking-up-cane") and at other minor tasks. There is really n o such thing as an "average" cane-laborer's income, for there is too much variation. It is even harder to estimate the income of the "average" family, since a family may contain more than one working male, and perhaps also a working female, each contributing a very different amount to the family income. Villagers consider any family with an income of $1,000 to $1,500 as "wealthy," and such families are expected to put on "big weddings." Very few cane-laborers are in this category. A handful of families in Amity have incomes exceeding $1,500, but the majority of families must make do on less than $1,000 a year. On $600 to $800, a small family can manage to scrape by without getting into serious debt. A family with a total income of under $500 is an impoverished one, even by Amity standards, which are not high. After all this, it is worth noting that the Amity agricultural laborer considers himself fortunate—if only in comparison with his counterparts elsewhere in Trinidad. People may leave Amity in search of better jobs than those available in any canefield, but laborers move into Amity hoping for a j o b on the estate nearby. These last are frequently young men who have married Amity girls. On the whole, however, there is little migration from sugar estate to sugar estate in search of work, at least in the area around Amity. The laborers of Amity seek work on the estate nearest their village—Estate A, " A m i tié Section." The customary pattern is for a father to ask his own "driver" to find a j o b for his son.

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The "Amitié Section" Table of Organization is composed of the following personnel: 1 Section Manager: White, English, $300-5400 per month (estimated). 4 Overseers (1 senior, 3 junior): White, English or West Indian, $200-5300 per month (estimated). 4 Senior Drivers: East Indians of Amity, $120 per month, yearround. 4 Junior Drivers: East Indians of Amity, $75 per month during crop-time, or when there is work. 220 cane-cutters (for usual crop-time day): East Indians, mostly of Amity, 51.32 per " t a s k . " 70 carts (approximately) (1) 40 estate carts (East Indian and Negro): 5.61 per ton loaded. (2) 30 private carts (East Indian and Negro) : $ 1.02 per ton loaded. There are about a dozen old people who "pick-up-cane" after the loaders, and are paid for one task a day ($1.32), a few "water-carriers" paid at the same rate, plus a few "dayworkers" such as the crane operator. One of the senior drivers is in charge of the "bison (water buffalo) pen," where the animals for the estate carts are housed; one is in charge of loading; and one is in charge of weeding, handling a small "cutting gang" in crop-time. The fourth and most senior driver, Mr. " H a r d e o " of Persad Path, Amity, is in charge of the main "cutting gang," made up of 100 to 150 people, all from Amity. The junior drivers assist the senior drivers as they are needed. The estate cart and bison to draw it are supplied by the estate itself. Two men are hired to work each cart, one being called the " l o a d e r " and the other the "carter." Both actually do the same work; loading the cart with cane and conveying the load to the crane where it is weighed and transferred to railroad cars for delivery to the distant factory. Both receive the same pay; half of $.61 for every ton delivered

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to the crane. H o w much they load, and therefore earn, depends u p o n the pair. It varies from six to sixteen tons a day per cart. A bonus is often paid to carts amassing particularly high totals for the day. Thus, two men may divide as much as $20 a day or more between them for a day's work. A private, or "farmer's," cart is one supplied, along with the animals, by the carter himself. He receives $1.02 for every ton delivered but he must have a loader and pay him himself. Some private carters hire loaders at the rate of two tasks' pay ($2.64) for the day, while other carters give their loaders a share of the total day's proceeds. Most private carts, however, are operated by a family team: fatherson, husband-wife, 2 brother-brother. For a number of reasons there is considerable turnover a m o n g the carters and loaders. Those who work estate carts are usually young men. If they put in a few hard days, they may want to take a vacation to spend their earnings. The "farmers' carts" are frequently just t h a t : equipment belonging to men who own or rent their own caneland. Marking time until the "ticket" to deliver their own cane arrives, industrious farmers may put in a few weeks of work on the estate, but may be unwilling or unable to work the entire season. Thus, although only 25 to 30 private carts are in service on a normal croptime day, 106 farmers' carts—including one operated by a woman—saw service during the 1957 crop-time, most of them coming from Amity. Each cart, of course, represented two laborers. Thirteen farmers earned over $1,025 each with their carts for the entire crop season—out of which they had to pay their helpers, if the latter were not members of the family. 2 There is no stigma whatever attached to a wife's working—as long as she is directly under her husband's supervision, as in this case. There is a strong objection to allowing a w o m a n to work away from the eyes of her family, under the supervision of a driver, who, it is feared, may seduce her, as may any other man working near her. W o m e n are engaged in such work, nevertheless, because poor families need the money.

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WORK

Cutters may be male or female, but about two-thirds, at least, are usually men. They receive $1.32 per task. A task, however, has no fixed size, for it depends upon the density of cane in a given field. The driver chooses an "average" bed for the field, occasionally accepting advice. The cane is cut and loaded, and on the basis of the amount of area required to produce about two tons of cane, the task for that field is determined. A task will average about 12 rods (120 feet) by 2 rods (20 feet). The driver, who arrives in the field at about 7 A.M., assigns the tasks for each cutter. Many cutters prefer to arrive in the field at about 5 A.M., choosing their own beds, which are then officially assigned to them by the driver when he arrives. This means the laborer can start cutting early, and can finish early. How much a cutter earns depends on him, of course. Generally a cutter averages about two tasks and quits work around noon. There are a few strong, fast, hard-working men who boast they can cut three and even four tasks of cane a day. The figures given earlier indicate that in the height of crop-time the average man earns about S2.89 per day. This would work out to an average of two and one-fifth tasks per man per day. Women, during the same fortnight in 1957, averaged $2.02, or about one and one-half tasks per day. The crop-time season begins around January 1. There is considerable variation either way, however, depending upon such factors as weather and the condition of the crop. The season begins slowly, but gathers momentum. February, March, April, and May arc the busiest months of the year. Then work slacks off, and crop-timc ends with June. Crop-time is usually considered to last approximately 10 to 11 fortnights, or around 140 days. The period from February through June is considered the true crop-time in Amity. The village "marriage season," it should be noted, is March through July. There is a sort of "post crop-time"—July through September—when there is still a good deal of work to be had on the estate: weeding, ploughing, planting, spraying. October through January is the slack

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period, known only as the rainy season. Apart from harvesting their rice, people do little work in this period. Life in the village seems to slow down. As the year draws to a close, people wait anxiously for the news that the estate is ready to begin the cutting of the new crop.

SMALL

FARMERS

There are perhaps a dozen families, almost all of castes of the highest Varnas, that actually own the land on which they raise cane. About five families have at least five acres in cane. Approximately three dozen families in Amity rent an acre or more of land—from Estate B or from other families, or elsewhere in Trinidad—for cane cultivation. Holdings are scattered and frequently subdivided among members of the family, with subholdings not always legally recorded as such. To illustrate the extent of the complexity, a breakdown follows of the land owned by the " R a m e s a r " family, one of the leading landholding families of Amity. The family actually resides on a rented lot on Beharri Road. Beharri Road East: Owns five acres and three lots. One acre is rented to four families in Central Amity. Rice is planted in entire area, including rented portion. Casecu, West: Owns thirteen acres. Family raises cane on ten acres, rent three acres out. One acre is rented by one family in Casecu and is used to raise cane. Two acres are rented by four families, three of Casecu, one of Central Amity (half acre per family). All used for rice. Casecu, East: Owns a little more than nine acres, all rented out as rice land, to about eighteen or twenty families of Casecu and Central Amity. While rent of $5 per "half quarter" (a "quarter" is four-fifths of an acre) is charged for the land, little rent is collected for this section since the land is frequently flooded and the rice crop spoiled, so " w h o pays, pays."

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A large part of the land is owned in the name of old Mr. Ramesar, but some is held in the names of his sons, who were given title at the death of the original owner, Ramesar's father. About an acre is in the name of a daughter of Ramesar. The family handles all land as a unit, giving the daughter and her husband their share of the proceeds. There are numerous other complicating aspects to this family's property, but what has been mentioned should be enough to make the point. There are other families owning as much, or less land, with much greater complexity of ownership, subdivision, rental, usage, and operational control. A few families even rent out all the land they own, and rent the land on which they grow their own crops. A small farmer in Amity considers a harvest of twenty-five to thirty-five tons of cane per acre an adequate return for his labor and investment. Few get as much as forty tons from an acre in a good year, while the estate gets forty, fifty, and more tons per acre in a normal year. Part of the difference in the crop harvest may be laid to the quality of the land, which, around Amity, is marginal caneland. The estates, of course, can take advantage of modern agricultural techniques, more and better fertilizer, etc. The small farmer must wait for a "ticket" to bring his cane to the factory of Estate B, and this is not usually forthcoming until the estate has cut the bulk of its own cane. This frequently means not until April or later, by which time some of the cane has spoiled. 3 The estate also requires that farmers' cane not be "burned." This means that the farmer is not permitted to fire his field before cutting the cane to clear away the sharp and unpleasant tangle of " t r a s h " (cane leaves). Many farmers burn their fields anyway, blaming arsonists or an "accident," and accept the estate's penalization of sixty cents a ton for burned cane. There is much resentment over this 3 This is true only of those w h o rent caneland from Estate B, but they make up the majority of small farmers. The few w h o o w n their o w n land can take their canc to any factory, and therefore usually receive "tickets" earlier.

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estate policy, since the estates burn their own cane, making it much easier to cut. In 1957, the small farmers received $12 per ton (for unburned cane) in two payments. One was made upon delivery and the other came in December as a "back-pay." This works out to $360 an acre for a farmer who averages thirty tons to an acre, but he has many expenses. He must "salt" his cane with sulphate of ammonia when the new crop sprouts, at a cost of $12 to $14 per acre. Laborers who cut farmers' cane demand $1 to $1.30 per ton, claiming the work is harder (because of the " t r a s h " ) and not as regular as estate work. Note that the estate pays $1.32 a task, and a task is usually two tons of cane. Private loaders who carry the cane to the estate crane and scale charge the farmer at least $2 per ton, and more if his land is a considerable distance from the estate. This means that, of the $360, over $100 goes for labor and other costs—and we are assuming here that all the weeding, banking, "trashing" and other such work is done during the year by the farmer and his family. If not, his profit is further reduced. If his cane quality is poor, and he has to plough and replant, his expenses will be heavy indeed. Local tractors charge twelve cents a rod (ten feet) and estate tractors are even more expensive. Even if the family can supply the necessary labor to care for the cane during its growth, they will have to hire labor to cut it, for it must be cut and delivered swiftly once the "ticket" is received, and particularly swiftly if the field has been burned, since every day that goes by diminishes the value of the cane. There is no such thing as mutual help in canecutting; each man is on his own and must pay for all nonfamily labor. When it is realized that the $12 a ton received in 1957 was considered a high price by the farmers—other years being much lower, although costs remain the same—it will be seen that cane farming is not a tremendously profitable enterprise. If a man is to make any real profit at all, he must have a number of acres in cane, which very few

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families do, a n d the f a r m e r a n d his family must work very hard. Yet cane cultivation is one of the few sources of large a m o u n t s of cash, a n d every m a n in Amity d r e a m s of owning, or even renting, a few acres to put into sugar cane. Those w h o d o achieve this b o a s t of the accomplishment—if only in terms of continual complaints a b o u t the p r o b l e m s of the cane f a r m e r . But land is scarce a n d expensive, a n d becomes more so all the time. T h e estates not only refuse to rent new cane land, but frequently they remove land f r o m the c o n t r o l of the f a r m e r s a n d cultivate it themselves. A m i t y has not been affected t o o m u c h by this policy (which is not to say that it has not been affected at all) but the villagers have seen it h a p p e n i n g elsewhere, a n d they fear f o r the future.

OTHER

OCCUPATIONS

T h e i m p o r t a n t occupations of A m i t y are three: cane-laboring, canef a r m i n g , and rice-farming. Over thirty other occupations are represented in Amity, but most of these have only one or t w o representatives. These include game w a r d e n , civil servant (no policemcn, interestingly), m a s o n , electrician, c a r p e n t e r , welder, blacksmith, and painter. A few other occupations m a y have as m a n y as half a dozen representatives in the village: tailor, schoolteachcr, a n d b o o k k e e p e r . A p a r t f r o m " s c h o o l t e a c h e r " and " b o o k k e e p e r " none carry very m u c h prestige. There are some sixteen shops in Amity, almost all of which are r u m shops as well. Nine of t h e m are owned and o p e r a t e d by East I n d i a n s and six by Chinese. One, in Casecu, is owned by a Negro. T h e large n u m b e r of East Indian shopkeepers is interesting: years ago t h e only shops in Amity were those owned by Chinese. T h e Chinese shopkeepers keep very m u c h to themselves, taking absolutely n o part in village affairs, although the son of o n e of them associates freely and equally with his East Indian age peers. The East Indian shopkeepers

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— a n d the Negro in Casecu—tend to be "big m e n " in their local districts, and settle minor disputes. There are a few other occupations followed in Amity that are worthy of additional comment here. The occupations of fisherman, woodcutter, and crabcatcher are associated with the swamp and the sea, and thus represent attempts to find other—non-sugar—sources of income. The occupation of taxi driver represents a similar attempt, and is interesting for other reasons as well. Fisherman: There are about thirty men in Amity who consider themselves full- or part-time fishermen. Four men own their own boats. Two or three other boats in Amity are available for rental, and there are a few more for hire in neighboring villages. The fishing boats are not big—the largest is about sixteen feet—and carry a crew of three men each. If the boat goes out five to six days a week, each man averages about $15 to $18 per week. There is no real marketing system in the rural area. Boats equipped with seines may take their relatively large catches to Port-of-Spain, but most Amity fishermen use lines and have small catches. A few "vendors," Negro and East Indian, come from the adjacent interior regions of Trinidad to buy fish f r o m some coastal fishermen, but no fish vendors come to Amity. The fishermen themselves dispose of their own catches in Amity and in neighboring villages. During crop-time, however, one rarely sees fish being sold in Amity, for most of the fishermen desert the sea to work in the more lucrative cane fields. The occupation of fisherman is restricted neither to one district of Amity nor to one social group. Fishermen may be found living in Casecu, T h o m a s Road, Central Amity and Jangll Tola, and the occupation has been followed by Camars as well as by a Brahman and a Muslim. Nevertheless, because it docs involve the taking of life it is not considered a "high" occupation. One young Cattrl told me he had always wanted to be a fisherman, but his father had forbidden him to ply the trade as unfit for one of his caste. As a matter of fact,

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the one Brahman fisherman recently sold his boat and took a j o b as a watchman on the estate, saying that the amount of drinking engaged in by the other fishermen disgusted him. Woodcutter: There are about fourteen full-time woodcutters in Amity, all living in Casecu. About five men own their own boats; one of them owns four boats alone. The other woodcutters rent boats f r o m those who own them. Wood is cut in the swamp, and a boat is usually out from 6 A.M. to noon or 1 P.M. The actual woodcutting is done in about an hour and a half; the rest of the time is spent rowing the boat to and from the woodcutting areas. Three kinds of mangrove wood are cut, depending on whether the wood is wanted for firewood or house construction. The woodcutters have to pay a government license fee for wood cut in the swamp. The boats, about sixteen feet long, hold a half-cord of wood, which is sold on the boat jetty for $4.75, and for more money if it is delivered to the buyer. A half-cord of firewood, it is estimated, lasts the average family for about two months. Woodcutters go out to cut only on order, and orders d r o p off during the rainy season, when poor people prefer to go into the swamp and cut their own wood, carrying it home on their heads. In crop-time, working seven days a week, a woodcutter can clear about $25 a week after expenses. His income drops sharply in the rainy season. Crabcatcher: There are approximately twenty-four crabcatching families in Amity, all living in Jangll Tola. This is considered the most disreputable occupation practiced in Amity—but only if it is done for a living; crabcatching, as a sport, is popular among the young men of even the best families. Both husband and wife go out together in the early morning to the marshy land bordering the swamp proper. Each person hunts on his own, using a hooked length of wire to force the crab out of its hole. At about 1 P.M., the crabcatchers return home to bathe and eat, after which the catch is tied into bunches of three or four crabs each. Ten bunches would be considered a good day's haul.

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Each crabcatcher takes his own crabs to Chaguanas, where, sitting in or near the market, he becomes a " c r a b v e n d o r . " Only live crabs can be sold, a n d the price—which is a b o u t thirty cents a bunch at 2 P.M.—dwindles rapidly. Whatever is not sold is brought home to be eaten, or fed to the hogs. Taxi driver: There is a network of bus and rail transportation t h r o u g h o u t the island, but even the poorest people prefer to travel by taxi when they can. Fares are modest, unless one hires a taxi for a special " d r o p . " Most taxis have regular runs in the rural areas, charging each passenger as little as eight cents for a short distance and u p t o fifty cents for the trip f r o m C h a g u a n a s to Port-of-Spain. A b o u t twenty taxi drivers reside in Amity. Almost all of them are owner-drivers. Some run f r o m Amity to Chaguanas, or f r o m C h a guanas to Port-of-Spain or San F e r n a n d o . Taxis are also rented for special occasions such as excursions or weddings. With hard work, and if times are good, a taxi driver can earn well over $200 a m o n t h . Unfortunately, he usually gets to keep very little of this money. It is the rare driver, indeed, who owns his taxi o u t r i g h t ; almost every driver pays heavy monthly installments. One m a n in Amity pays as m u c h as $180 per m o n t h in installments, a n d few pay less t h a n $150 per m o n t h . The driver is therefore happy to net $60 to $80 a m o n t h in actual income. During the "wedding season" he may make more, but in the rainy season, when times are bad, his fares d r o p off sharply, and he must still meet his heavy m o n t h l y payments. He works his car hard, so that by the time it is paid off he usually has to buy another. People prefer to ride in the " b e s t " taxis, since the fare is the same, and if a taxi driver wants to get wedding business, he must have a new and expensive British or American car. The man who has been a taxi driver for a few years, therefore, is apt to be rather disillusioned about the profession. For the boys and young men of Amity, however, it is one of the most desired of occupations. A taxi driver, they say, is his own boss, drives a shiny new car, never works as hard as a field-laborer and has large quantities of

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cash passing through his hands (they cannot grasp that very little of the cash actually sticks to his hands!). On the other hand, for many villagers taxi driving is a slightly disreputable occupation. Taxi drivers have a reputation for immorality and drunkenness, and one young man of Amity sold his taxi and became a bookkeeper because he was afraid the bad reputation of taxi drivers in general would attach itself to him. The reputation for immorality stems from the fact that in the course of their work the taxi drivers must frequently carry unchaperoned women about, and in Amity such women are automatically assumed to be of easy virtue.

T H E CULTIVATION OF RICE Rice, unlike sugar, is a subsistence crop in Amity. It is raised by family labor with the aid of a neighborly cooperative work group. Whenever possible, a family plants enough rice to supply its own needs for the year. Any surplus will be sold within the village to those who have had a poor rice year, or to those who were unable to rent a piece of rice land. Other purchasers would be those with a special need for a quantity of rice, as for a wedding feast. While having a surplus to sell makes for a pleasant addition to the family income, the rice is raised primarily for subsistence, not for sale. A good acre of riccland in a good year will produce as much as twenty "barrels" of rice (a "barrel" is about 300 pounds). Since a barrel of dhan (paddy, or unmilled rice) will sell, even in the village, for from eight to twelve dollars, the question of why the people of Amity refuse to consider rice as a cash crop becomes an interesting one. Three reasons are advanced by the villagers. The cultivation of rice is so much more difficult than cane, they say, that even if one could make the same amount of money, one would prefer to raise cane. Hiring labor to do the work would cut away most of the profit. Besides, where would one get labor? During the rice season most people are busy in their own fields.

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Again, it is pointed out that cane is carried directly to the estate, from which payment is received in one or two lump sums of cash. Rice would have to be sold either to individuals for small amounts of money, which disappear rapidly, or through dealers who might cheat the seller since no Amity farmer is familiar with the Port-of-Spain rice market. Finally, a family may own enough riceland to make planting a large crop feasible (as in the case of the Ramesar family), but they feel obligated to rent out most of the land in small parcels to the many other families who "need" riceland themselves to provide for their family's subsistence. To deprive them of their riceland, it is said, would be a cruel and unneighborly act. As one of Mr. Ramesar's sons remarked, "If we use all our land, how the other people going to live, now? Must rent." There is one family, in fact, now planting six acres in rice. When they decided to cultivate all six acres for themselves, a few years ago, it meant that they had to withdraw some of the land from another large family to whom it was rented. The dispossessed family never forgave them, and refused to accept the excuse that the extra rice was badly needed. The first family feels guilty about the act even though they require most of the rice to supply their own household, numbering seventeen, plus many of their relatives. They do have a considerable rice surplus to sell, and they use the money thus realized to help pay the mortgage on the new family house. In their own defense, they argue that the other family owns some land of its own, so it was not such a terrible deed. Riceland in Amity is measured in "quarters." A "quarter" is made up of four jimis, with five jimis equaling one acre. Rental of riceland is usually in terms of "half a quarter" (2/5 of an acre) or a "quarter" (4/5 of an acre). Rent is usually $5 or $6 per "half a quarter." It is estimated that an adult consumes about a "barrel" (300 pounds) of rice a year. "Half a quarter" of good riceland, therefore, should produce enough rice—eight to ten "barrels" in a good year—to supply

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a family with its rice needs, and rice is the basic item of East Indian diet in Amity. A family owning or renting a " q u a r t e r " can be certain of filling its needs, of having enough for special events such as a marriage or katha dinner and of having a surplus either to sell or to save for a lean year. Comparatively few families cultivate as much as a " q u a r t e r , " but almost every family in Central Amity, Thomas Road, and Casecu, and a large number of families in JanglT Tola and Barrackville, cultivate at least the minimal "half a quarter." The Amity ricelands are in scattered locations. The main blocks are: East of Beharri Road, north of Estate B and the small farmers' caneland, to Thomas R o a d ; east of Casecu, from Thomas Road to the swamp. In all, perhaps six or seven hundred acrcs are planted in rice, but much of the land in the north is too swampy to be very productive. Each family's field is subdivided by a number of low, straight banks (each called a men), which meet at right angles, forming small plots (each called a kola) about twenty to thirty feet square. 4 Preparations for the rice season in Amity begin with a weeding in March. Cultivation starts in the middle of June. One kola is hoed and forked and prepared for sowing. All this work, including the sowing of this biya kola (nursery plot), is normally done by the male members of the family. Should the need arise, the women of the family assist. The "nursery" will be ready for transplanting in about a month— which means, usually, around the middle of July. Meanwhile, the other kolas must be prepared. Grass is cutlassed and piled on the 4 H i n d i t e r m s arc used extensively in discussing ricc, riccfields, rice c u l t i v a t i o n , a n d h a r v e s t i n g — m u c h m o r e , in f a c t , t h a n in a l m o s t a n y o t h e r aspect of East I n d i a n life in A m i t y , with the e x c e p t i o n of c c r e m o n y a n d ritual, a n d k i n s h i p . A m o n g t h e t e r m s in c o m m o n use for k i n d s of rice, a l o n e , a r e : dhan: u n m i l l e d , " p a d d y " rice; caura: milled dhan; bfutjia cdurd: rice w h i c h h a s been boiled b e f o r e m i l l i n g ; bhath: rice c o o k e d a n d r e a d y t o e a t ; mahaparsad: t e r m used f o r rice c o o k e d in great q u a n t i t i e s for w e d d i n g s .

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meris, which are built u p and reinforced. Ploughing can be done early if the weather is dry. If it is rainy, ploughing will take place about a week before planting. The process of hengawe (harrowing) follows the ploughing. First the meris are "tied u p " (shored) to retain water and the kola is flooded. A day before the planting the land is leveled and harrowed by means of a henga (a flat board, eight to ten feet in length, containing spikes, pulled behind a bull or bison). If a family does not own a bull or tractor, it will probably have to hire labor for ploughing and hengawe. A tractor can be hired for about $8 per " q u a r t e r , " and a bull plough for $12 per " q u a r t e r . " A bull plough is preferred because a tractor cannot work in heavy rain and deep mud. Hengawe costs $2 per "half quarter." Poorer families prefer to do this work themselves. Only the men of the family can do it, for it is hard work. Wealthier families prefer to hire labor. Planting will take place after mid-July, and occasionally as late as August, depending on the rainfall. Planting consists of two operations: pulling the seedlings from the nursery, which is considered man's work, and planting them in the kolas where they will grow to maturity, which is considered women's work, for, "Ladies go very fast." One man and two women—perhaps his mother and his wife— assisted by a child to carry the bundles of seedlings, f r o m the nursery to the new fields, can plant about a "half a quarter" in a day. For a full " q u a r t e r " at least one man and five women are needed. There are two ways of acquiring this extra help. Poorer people, who rent their land, form a cooperative work group called a hur, drawn from a group of neighboring households. The members of the hur are invariably neighbors at h o m e : their ricefields are not necessarily adjoining, and may in fact be widely separated. The women of the hur assist one another in planting—"today on my land, tomorrow on yours"—and the men of the hQr work together during the harvest in the same way. If for any reason the members of the family cannot

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return the labor in kind, they must pay the other members of the hur in cash at the going rate. In 1957, it was $2 per day per person. The second way of acquiring help is practiced by the wealthier families, who own their own land and who rent land to others. Years ago, tenants were required to assist the landholders at times of planting and harvesting, without pay, as part of their rent. This practice is no longer followed, and today the landholder hires labor at $2 a day. He offers the work to his tenants first, however, and they rarely refuse. Depending upon the individual case, he may pay them in cash, in rice, subtract it f r o m their rent. Sometimes rent is not paid in cash at all. The tenant gives the owner a barrel of rice in lieu of cash, after subtracting a fair amount for the labor he has supplied. Planting begins about 7:30 A.M. AS the women plant, they sing a song about the adventures of a king in India " t o make the work go faster." They pause briefly for lunch and finish working by about 2 : 3 0 P.M.

The rice is ready when it has turned a rich golden color. This is about three and a half months after planting, so cutting takes place from the end of October through November. The same number of people are needed for cutting and beating as for planting, but this time they are mostly men. The women of the family may assist at cutting, and they also help carry and pile the cut rice for the beaters. Cutting and beating require a full day each. Cutting is easier in higher, dryer land, where a " q u a r t e r " can be cut in the period f r o m 7:30 A.M. to 1 P.M. In the ricefields closer to the swamp, the people feel fortunate if they finish cutting by 5 P.M. Beating takes place as soon as possible, preferably on the next day. The owner of the rice performs a dl-puja upon his arrival in the field on the day of beating. 5 Burlap sacking is then spread out on the kola and a macan is erected. A macan, in Amity, is a table, usually of '

Sec "Religious C e r e m o n i e s , " pp. 169-79, in this b o o k .

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mangrove wood, with a top constructed of a number of parallel strips of wood with narrow spaces between them. One man piles the rice near the macan while four or five others each grasp a bundle of rice at the stalk end. The ear of rice is brought down hard on the top of the macan. Two or three such strokes, and all the rice grains are dislodged and fall through the spaces of the macan top to the heap of dhan on the sacking below. The rice straw will either be discarded or used as building materials. After the beating is completed, the rice is fanned and sifted. As a group of beaters finish all the rice for that field, the men raise their arms and shout " J e ! " (Hurrah!) This is said to be an indication of their victory over the rice, but it is also a signal to those still beating that this group has already finished, for there is a friendly competition between those beating in the same area. Those who finish last are usually too ashamed to cry " J e ! " The dhan is located into sacks which are carried to the road, piled onto a cart and transported to the farmer's home. When all this is over, the owner of the rice usually buys a bottle of rum and treats the other men. The rice is spread out in the house, or under it if there is room, and turned continually by the women and children until it is dry. In a week or so it must be put out in the sun for the final drying. This is sufficient to preserve it in the rice bin until it is needed. Before it can be used, the rice will have to be dried in the sun again for a whole day, and then carried to one of the rice mills of Amity, where it can be milled at a cost of six cents a " t i n " (about twenty pounds). Since rice is harvested around November, a family may be sure of having rice in good supply during the worst part of the rainy season slack period, when there is the smallest income from estate labor. A family with little land or a poor harvest may run out of rice by late spring, but by then crop-time is in full swing and there is money coming in. This is particularly important because of the place of rice

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AMITY AT W O R K

in the East Indian diet, with the normal adult consuming a pound of rice or more a day. GARDENING AND ANIMAL

HUSBANDRY

For the most part, men do the gardening, in their spare time. There is no objection to women and children helping, if they have the time, and if men are very busy women will go off to weed and hoe alone. There are two places in which the average family grows "garden"; the ricefield, and the kitchen garden behind the house. The ricefield: People try not to leave their land fallow. Tomatoes, cucumbers, beans, and other crops are grown in the ricefields during the part of the year when the land is not under rice. Such produce is used at home as an addition to the normal diet, or sold in small quantities in the public market by the women on Saturday mornings. When the ricefields are not in actual cultivation, cattle are put to graze on the rice stubble and the wild grass, thus helping to fertilize the fields. The kitchen garden: Behind almost every house is a kitchen garden, taking up whatever part of the lot is not used for living space. Throughout the year, as the proper season comes, pigeon peas, beans, corn, okra, eggplant, and other vegetables are planted for the table. Any surplus is sold in the public market. There is not a home to be found without a few "fowls" running loose in the yard. Some eggs are eaten, thereby contributing to what is a generally deficient protein supply, but most are sold to one of the several Creole women who visit Amity once a week to buy eggs for later sale elsewhere. The price received for eggs varies. At Christmastime, for example, it is very high. Eggs usually bring in eight to ten cents apiece. The care of fowls and the sale of eggs are in the hands of the women. A chicken is killed for food only on special occasions. Poorer families eat chicken at Christmas, and perhaps only two or three other times during the year.

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87

Most families have a goat or two for milk and meat, but a goat would be slaughtered for meat only on the rarest of occasions, probably less than once a year. In Casecu and along the northern part of Lloyd Street there are a number of families with a pig or two—an open indication of the Sudra status of the family. Because of the stigma attached to keeping pigs and eating pork, it may be said that the number of pigs in Amity decreases each year, for families frequently decide to stop raising pigs—but never to start raising pigs for the first time. About three families in every four in Casecu, Thomas Road, and Central Amity have one or more "animals" (cattle) or bison. Proportionately fewer cattle and bison are to be found in Jangll Tola and Barrackville. Beef is never eaten, but the milk is used to supplement both the diet and the income, and the bull is used for plowing and for "farmers' carts" in crop-time. The proportion of families owning cattle has decreased somewhat in recent years, for as the population has increased grazing land has become scarce to the point of disappearance. Every bit of grass—in rice fields, cricket grounds, and along the road—is utilized, but most families must supply the greater part of the fodder. The estate permits people to cut grass and weeds in the canefield drains, and this is the major source of fodder. A fast man can cut a "bundle" (fifty to seventy-five pounds) of grass in about an hour. One animal requires four such "bundles" per day, so often every member of the family must spend a part of every day cutting grass. Nevertheless, most people refuse to consider the idea of parting with the animal, for they feel that it is a "good thing" to own one. It is a source of pride for a family, even if it constitutes a drain on time and energy far exceeding its advantages.

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FAMILY

EXPENDITURES

Considering the a m o u n t of basic food supply that the East Indian family raises for itself, one might well ask what the villagers buy in the shops, and how much they need spend on such matters. The ordinary family keeps no record of its expenditures, and while any member knows the usual items, it is difficult to work out a family budget and its yearly variation with any kind of accuracy. I was able to get approximate data for a number of families, but I had to approach shopkeepers for further aid in solving this problem. One shopkeeper kept careful and readable records of all sales to his credit customers, in terms of weekly purchases going back over a long period. He and I chose one family as representative of a normal canelaboring family at about what might be termed, roughly, Amity's mode and mean. He knew the family intimately, and was able to supply me with additional data about income and other expenses. The family—from Lloyd Street in Central Amity—is composed of two adults and eight children, four boys and four girls. The father is about forty years of age. They rent a " q u a r t e r " of rather poor riceland, which supplies them with most—but not always all—of their rice requirements. They have the usual kitchen garden and livestock. Both adults work for Estate A as cane-laborers. They are in Mr. Hardeo's gang, and usually work side by side. The oldest girl cares for the younger children while the parents are working. INCOME

Crop-time: (5 months—February to June). Both husband and wife average $30 each per fortnight, the wife earning as much as her husband since he helps her complete her tasks when he has finished his. Together, therefore, they average about $210 per month, or about $600 for the crop-time. "Post Crop-time(3

months—July to September). Each averages

A M I T Y AT W O R K

89

about $14 per fortnight, or $56 per month for the two. For the three months: $168. Rainy Season: (4 months—October to January). Each gets one task a day three days a week, averaging together $12 per fortnight, or, for the four months: $96. Total approximate income for the year: $864. The following is the record of purchases made by the family during a representative (April) fortnight in the 1958 crop-time. F O R T N I G H T L Y B U D G E T (Crop-time) First Week (Monday to Saturday)

Saturday (payday) i bag flour (50 lbs.) 4 lbs. sugar 1 small condensed milk 3 blocks soap ^ lb. baking powder 1 lb. onions i lb. garlic I pack tea 1 pack soap powder 3 lbs. potatoes } lb. saltfish 2 packs cigarettes 1 lb. masala (curry) 2 bottles cooking oil 2 bottles pitch oil (kerosene) i lb. biscuits i tin salmon 1 flask rum

$ 5.00 .36 .27 .30 .22 .16 .16 .17 .36 .24 .24

1 1 5 1 2 i

.60

2 1 2 1 2

.16 1.00 .14 .13 .50 1.20

cutlass nip rum lbs. rice lb. baking powder copybooks bag flour

S 1.12 .60

.70

.22 .12

10.00 $12.76

Second Week (Monday to Friday) lbs. sugar lb. saltfish lbs. potatoes nip rum tins sardines

$

.18

.24

.16 .60

.36

$ 1.54

$11.21 Fortnightly Total $25.51

The fortnightly budget during the rainy season differs only in quantity; less is purchased.

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YEARLY EXPENSES IN SHOP Crop-time (Average: $42.37) $ 54.24 47.03 44.66 31.72 34.22

Post Crop (.Average: $39.02)

Feb. March April May June

$211.87

Rainy Season (Average: $28.60)

$ 36.33 July 58.13 Aug. 22.68 Sept.

$ 23.48 35.08 34.83 20.99

$117.14

$114.38

Oct. Nov. Dec. Jan.

Total Shop Expenditures, 1958: $443.39

F r o m this it may be seen that average monthly expenditure drops as income drops. December is an expensive month because of Christm a s ; February, probably because it is the beginning of crop-time, and there is a need to purchase many items done without during the preceding hard times. The heavy expenses in August are a little more difficult to account f o r ; it is probable that the family ran out of rice and had to purchase their requirements. Why, then, are September and October so low? The shopkeeper notes that during the rainy season the family relies heavily upon its garden and the m a n does odd jobs for the landholders for which he is paid in rice. OTHER

EXPENSES

The shopkeeper estimates the following: Clothing: around $80.00 Doctor's bills: around $60.00 Firewood: $18.00 R u m (apart f r o m what is charged, for the shopkeeper prefers to sell r u m for cash, rather than credit): $115.00. Gifts and ceremonies: (katha, wedding presents, etc.) $100.00 Miscellaneous: (taxis, tools, school books, rents, etc.) $35.00 Total (approximate) expenses for the year: $850.00. Total expenses just about equal the total income. If the family has

AMITY AT WORK

91

any special expenses, such as a wedding or an engagement, it must go into debt if it has no savings. Under these circumstances the possibilities for building its savings are small indeed for such a family. The expenditures are much the same for all families in Amity, varying more according to the size of family than according to income. That is, families with a much greater income do not spend very much more, but save the balance. Those rare families whose members spend little on liquor can manage to save some money in a good year for the purchase of land, animals, etc. PAYMENT

The family buys on credit during the entire rainy season. The total debt for 1957 came to $115.01, while the total rainy season monthly expenditures came to $114.38—which indicates that debt and rainy season expenditures are synonymous. Most families follow the same practice, using whatever small income they have during the rainy season for expenses beyond what can be bought on credit in the shop (such as rum, clothing, and doctor's bills). During crop-time, therefore, the customer must pay both his old bill and his current one, and the problem of collection is of major concern to all shopkeepers. This particular shopkeeper solves it by insisting that all customers join a " s u s u " for the five months of crop-time. Our sample family must pay its current bill each fortnight, plus $10 for the susu. The shopkeeper holds all susu money. When the " h a n d " falls due, he keeps whatever is necessary to pay the accrued debt, giving the customer the remainder (nothing, in this particular case) and the family goes into another rainy season free from debt. Thus, apart from the susu, a customer need pay only his current account in crop-time, and he can buy on credit in rainy season. A family which does not pay its susu share is not extended credit the following year. 8 • The susu in its more customary form is quite popular in Amity. A g r o u p of men—usually neighbors of the same economic and occupational level—will f o r m

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AMITY AT W O R K

CLASS DIVISIONS While the estate higher supervisory staff is non-Indian, the drivers— the supervisors with whom the laborers interact most—are East Indians from Amity. These men are important in the social life of the village, and they control access to the most important means of employment. Occupations are rated superior or inferior in terms of the income they provide. Only swineraising and such life-taking occupations as crabcatching and fishing are considered to be intrinsically inferior. Except for certain ritual activities, occupation has nothing to do with caste, but it is to be noted that members of higher castes tend to cluster in the better (more remunerative) occupations, such as small-farming. While Amity contains no sharply defined socioeconomic class lines, the village does exhibit, roughly, two economic classes. The upper class is made up of those men who control access either to jobs (estate drivers), or to riceland (landholders). Independent small farmers, who also have jobs to offer, may be considered part of this group, along with shopkeepers, who offer credit and thus access to food in hard times. The lower class is made up primarily of landless, ricefield-renting, cane-laborers.

a susu with contributions ranging from $10 o n up, with cach deciding when he would like to receive his "hand." The money is used to meet special expenses: a marriage, mortgage payment, down payment o n a taxi, etc. See Herskovits (1947: 76-78) for an account of susu operations among the Trinidad N e g r o population of Toco.

IV.

Marriage and the Family

Kinship relations are of vital importance in the life of the East Indian of Amity. His first allegiance is to his family, his next to his wider circle of kin, and his third to those he considers "respect" kin. For each relationship there is a term and an appropriate behavior. An account of the kinship terminology employed in the village is necessary to a discussion of the behavior involved. 1 1 All Hindi kinship terms are translated, not into the term in c o m m o n English usage, but into the minimal term, or terms, necessary for accurate delineation of the relationship. Chotki, for example, is translated as "younger brother's wife" rather than "sister-in-law." The terms used in translation are: mother, father, sister, brother, daughter, son, wife a n d husband. These are abbreviated, respectively: Mo, Fa, Si, Br, D a , So, Wi and H u . T w o modifiers are used where seniority is a factor: elder a n d younger, abbreviated El and Yo. Where more than one of the above terms is used in translation, all except the last take the possessive case. Thus, for example, F a F a B r S o S o should be read: father's father's brother's s o n ' s

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MARRIAGE AND THE

FAMILY

KINSHIP In the following list the most c o m m o n term is given first, followed by such noteworthy variations as occur. Considering the varied origin of the founders of the village, and the differential acculturation that has occurred, the degree of unanimity that exists may be considered surprising. It appears that a kind of leveling has taken place, since the greatest a m o u n t of variation occurred in kinship terminology lists given by older informants. The variant forms tend to disappear as the informants become younger, but this should not be taken to mean that the kinship lists of twenty-five-year-old, and even twentyyear-old villagers are fragmentary or inconsistent. Hindi kinship terminology gives no signs of weakening or dying out in Amity. All terms in the following list are terms of address. The question asked was, " W h a t do you call your ?" Terms of reference would usually be the same, except for those called "by n a m e " or by no term at all. For these, the usual term of reference is the appropriate English word (e.g., "wife"). Ego's Generation (male speaking): bhe (bheya)

bhdji didi bahnoi "byname" chotki " N o name"

ElBr, FaBrSo, FaSiSo, MoBrSo, MoSiSo, FaFaBrSoSo, etc., extended indefinitely. The term is used for all male siblings and cousins senior in age to Ego. (Eldest Br is sometimes called dada.) Wi of anyone Ego calls bhe. All female siblings and cousins senior in age to Ego. Hu of anyone Ego calls didi. Any sibling or cousin junior in age to Ego. Also YoSiHu, and Hu of any female cousin junior in age to Ego. YoBrWi, and Wi of any male cousin junior in age to Ego. Wi. Considerable variation: some use a "pet" name; some men call their wives, " £ ! " which is equivalent to "Hey!"; teknonomy is still another variation; etc. The important thing is the avoidance of the Wi's name itself. Many men say proudly they have never spoken their Wi's names aloud.

MARRIAGE AND THE

sàrahàj sari sàrùbhé sàmdhì

sàmdhin

FAMILY

95

WiBr, and any equivalent (that is, anyone she calls Br, such as WiMoBrSo). A distinction is sometimes made between Brs older and younger than Wi, calling WiElBr barka sòr. WiBrWi, or any equivalent. WiSi, or any equivalent. WiSiHu, or any equivalent. SoWiFa, DaHuFa, or any male of the generation of Fa of any person Ego calls "son" or "daughter." (Two men who are sàmdhì to each other may call each other bhé if a close friendship develops between them.) SoWiMo, DaHuMo, or any female of the generation of Mo of any person Ego calls "son" or "daughter."

Ego's Generation (female speaking): Same as for "male speaking," for both consanguineal and affinal kin, with the following important exceptions: barka bdrki nandui "by name"

HuElBr, or any equivalent. HuEiBrWi, or any equivalent. HuSiHu, or any equivalent (anyone, that is, who calls her sarahaj). Same as for male speaking, except that it also applies to HuYoBr, whom she should "properly" call chotka. (Wi calls Hu by "no name" with same variations as in case of Hu addressing Wi.)

First Ascending Generation (male or female speaking): ma (me)

pa (bap) dada

Mo, sometimes Mo of spouse (see below). Considerable variation from family to family, ma, in Amity, considered "English," and some prefer me, as "Hindi" and thus "sweeter." Fa, sometimes Fa of spouse. Older people tend to use and prefer bap. FaELBr, and any male cousin of Fa senior in age to him. Considerable variation: some use dada for Fa eldest Br only, classing all others FaBrs together as FaYoBrs; some call Fa eldest Br barka dada to distinguish him from other

96

MARRIAGE AND THE

dadi kâkâ kaki phûâ (phûphû)

phûphâ rnâmà marni môsi môsà sâs (ma) sâsûr (pà)

-asasur

FAMILY

FaElBrs. In one case, Fa eldest Br was called barka bap (big father). Occasionally, younger siblings begin to call their eldest Br dada while they are all still children. FaElBrWi, or any equivalent. FaYoBr, and any male cousin of Fa's generation and junior in age to him. FaYoBrWi, or any equivalent. FaSi, and any female cousin (Fa's side) of Fa's generation. A few informants claim to distinguish between senior and junior FaSi, calling FaEISi barka phua, but I believe this is a very rare practice. FaSiHu, or any equivalent. MoBr, and any male cousin (Mo's side) of same generation as Mo. MoBrWi, or any equivalent. MoSi, and any female cousin of Mo of same generation. MoSiHu, or any equivalent. WiMo, HuMo. sas is the "proper" term, but most people seem to use ma. WiFa, HuFa. sasur is the "proper" term, but most people seem to use pa. "proper" suffix for any female relative of spouse in 1st Ascending Generation (e.g., mdsi-asas). In practice, the suffix is usually dropped, except at formal occasions, "proper" suffix for any male relative of spouse in 1st Ascending Generation (e.g., mamS-asasur), but usually dropped except at formal occasions. For linguistic reasons, certain changes may occur, as in dadwar-sdsur for Wi (or Hu) FaElBr, and kakwar-sasur.

Second Asccnding Generation (male or female speaking): aja

aji

FaFa, FaFaBr, and any male cousin of FaFa of his generation. Some insist these should be distinguished in terms of seniority, but few care, or are even aware that it is "proper." FaMo, FaFaBrWi, etc. For most people, all males on Fa's side in 2d Asccnding generation would be aja (e.g., FaMoBr, FaSiHu, etc.) and

MARRIAGE AND THE

nana

nani

FAMILY

97

all females (e.g., FaSi, FaMoSi, FaMoBrWi, etc.) would be aji. Many are uncertain, and one old man insisted they must "properly" be addressed by the term Fa would use, preceded by the adjective ajiot (e.g., ajiota mama for FaMoBr, ajioti most for FaMoSi, etc.). MoFa, MoFaBr, and any male cousin of Ego's MoFa of same generation. There was no further specificity made —same term for MoMoBr, etc.—by informant who insisted upon differentiating Fa's side. MoMo, and any female of 2d Ascending Generation on Mo's side.

Same terms are used, occasionally with the addition of the suffixes -asas and -asasur, for appropriate 2d generation affinals. Third Ascending Generation (male or female speaking): par-

For great-grandparents, Ego uses the same term used by his Fa for the latter's grandparents (or by Mo for her grandparents), plus the prefix par-. Thus: paraja for FaFaFa and MoFaFa, parnana for FaMoFa and MoMoFa, etc. Two variations: the prefix may become parpbefore aja and aji\ one informant preferred nani aja and nani aji for MoFaFa and MoFaMo.

First Descending Generation (male or female speaking): beta dolahin (bahu) beti damdd

So, or So of any sibling, cousin, or sibling or cousin of spouse. SoWi, or Wi of anyone Ego calls beta, dolahin (feminine of dolaha—bridegroom) is used most frequently. Da, or Da of any sibling, cousin, etc. DaHu, or Hu of anyone Ego calls beti.

"pet names" may be used for any of the above, but particularly for those Ego considers his beta and beti. Second Descending Generation (male or female speaking): nati nat pato

SoSo, DaSo, or So of anyone Ego calls beta or beti. SoSoWi, DaSoWi, or any equivalent.

98 natin nat damad

MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY

SoDa, DaDa, or any equivalent. SoDaHu, or any equivalent.

"pet names," or beta and beti, may be used for any of the above. Third Descending Generation (male and female speaking): Same as 2d Descending, with the addition of the prefix par-, as in parnati for SoSoSo, SoDaSo, DaSoSo, etc. "Pet names," or beta and beti may also be used. Broadly speaking, it may be said that the people of poorer families from districts outside of Beharri Road pay more attention to correct kin terminology than do the wealthier families of Beharri Road. It is on the latter street that one finds people using such English terms as "uncle" or " a u n t , " or using personal names instead of kin terms. Even on Beharri Road such usage is rare, but since this is the district inhabited by most of those with education and with experience outside the village, it does occur. There is no recognizable pattern: one man may use the Hindi terms for FaBrs, but call his MoBrs "uncle"; another may call both FaBrs and MoBrs "uncle," and so on. The foregoing list of terms refers only to usage among Amity Hindus. While I have discussed kin terminology with some Muslims, both in and out of Amity, I hesitate to make any categorical statement about Muslim kin terminology. There are certain differences between Muslim and Hindu usage that are widely known and remarked upon, however. Muslims call F a M o and F a F a dadi and dada respectively (instead of aja and aji), and all FaBrs caca, and their wives caci (instead of dada, dadi, kaka and kaki). Interestingly, some nonMuslim East Indians (that is, Hindu or Christian-formerly-Hindu) use caca and caci instead of kaka and kaki as a conscious attempt to avoid the use of kaka, which means feces in the Trinidad FrenchCreolc patois. The following generalizations may be made about East Indian kinship in Amity: The use of a non-Western terminology is close to universal in the

M A R R I A G E A N D T H E FAMILY

99

village. Some "creolization" has taken place in the case of a few families, but such cases are rare and by no means complete. The kinship system reflects a " H a w a i i a n C o u s i n " terminology in Ego's own generation, and is "bifurcate collateral" in the first ascending generation, with considerable emphasis on seniority in both these generations, less in f u r t h e r ascending ones, and none at all in descending generations. 2 The system is capable of indefinite extension; there are no a r b i t r a r y limits whatever. All male cousins of Ego are " b r o t h e r s , " no m a t t e r how distantly related; all male cousins of Fa (junior) arc called kaka; all male cousins of M o are called mamfi; etc. In practice, o n e is closer to some relatives than to others, but in theory one is related t o all, no m a t t e r h o w distant the connection. It must be pointed out that East Indians have been in Trinidad f o r , at most, a little over one hundred years. Very few people have f o u r t h or fifth cousins. But if they did, and even if they had tenth cousins, they would still be " b r o t h e r s " and "sisters." This last point is very significant in terms of Hindu East Indian marriage. The e x o g a m o u s named patrilineal clan (gotra) described by Lewis (1958: 22-23) f o r R a m p u r in n o r t h India, does not have a Trinidad counterpart. A few of the old men know their gotra names and there may have been a time, m a n y years ago, when gotra exogamy was enforced in the rare cases where it became an issue. Few young adults t o d a y even know what the w o r d gotra means, let alone the names of their o w n gotras. The larger kinship unit in Trinidad, therefore, is the "circle of k i n , " or " k i n d r e d , " including all people to w h o m Ego is related, whether ' M u r d o c k defines bifurcate collateral terminology as o n e " i n which p a t e r n a l a n d m a t e r n a l uncles a n d aunts are terminologically differentiated b o t h f r o m p a r e n t s a n d f r o m o n e a n o t h e r " (1949: 141). In Hawaiian cousin t e r m i n o l o g y " a l l cross and parallel cousins [are] called by the s a m e t e r m s as those used for s i s t e r s " {ibid: 223).

100

MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY

through his father, his father's mother, his mother, his mother's mother, or whatever. In practice he will be closer to his patrilineal kin, since he and they usually reside in the same village, but children born into uxorilocal households grow up with greater ties to their mother's brother and his family. This circle of kin is the exogamous kinship unit. Ego may not marry anyone he calls dldl (sister) and who calls him bhe (brother). This holds only for Hindu East Indians; Muslims permit cousin marriage. Hindus in Amity profess to find such a practice disgusting, for they say it is a f o r m of incest. This Hindu East Indian assumption that sexual relations between cousins are incestuous can have unfortunate conscquences. Although girls are prevented f r o m associating with young men, they are thought to be safe in the company of "brothers," whether siblings or cousins. Unhappily, the incest taboo may not have the strong inhibitory effect upon cousins that it usually has upon actual siblings. During my stay in Amity I knew of one case in which a girl had been made pregnant by a second cousin, and there were rumors of other such incidents. The parents of this particular girl expressed shock when they learned the circumstances of their daughter's pregnancy, since they had never considered the boy a conceivable threat to his "sister's" reputation. A marriage was in the process of being arranged for the boy with a girl from another village, and the parents of the pregnant girl had been assisting, financially and otherwise, in the arrangements. Though incensed at his behavior, they continued to give their assistance, refusing to entertain the possibility of his marrying their own daughter instead. The attitude of the girl's mother on this point was that she was furious with the boy, but what he had done was bad enough; she had no intention of compounding the evil by permitting an incestuous marriage. The kinship system is capable of indefinite extension in another way. Any relative of a relative of Ego is an equal relative of Ego.

MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY

101

What might be termed a "rule of contraction" comes into effect, so that once two men have established a kin relationship of the most tenuous and distant kind, the relationship is immediately contracted to the minimal terms necessary. This means, in effect, that an East Indian in Trinidad has no "distant" relatives; he has only relatives who live closer to, or further from his own home. There are those relatives with whom he associates more, and those he sees only on rare occasions. The latter are sometimes referred to as " f a r family." The emphasis on seniority, noted in Amity East Indian kinship terminology, is reflected in customary kin behavior. There is appropriate behavior for every kin-kin relationship, and the behavior is observed in Amity by almost all the villagers; there are severe familial and community sanctions for inappropriate behavior. There are, of course, differences to be observed, deriving f r o m familial or individual idiosyncratic patterns, and from such special factors as (in once case) FaSi-BrSo of identical age. Then, too, while there is a generally proper way to behave toward a particular relative—say, a MoBr—a man will have more than one mamS, each of whom is a very different individual, and for each he would have varying feelings of closeness, affection, and respect. I know of one case where a particularly close relationship developed between a young man and his FaSiHu—his phupha. Generally speaking, all juniors respect, obey, and to a certain extent avoid, all seniors—while all seniors may control and direct the behavior of all juniors. Males and females behave "respectfully" in each other's presence, but try to avoid too much contact. There are important exceptions and qualifications, however. "Joking" Relationships: ElBrWi—HuYoBr (bhoji—chotka). These two men and women are permitted to speak freely together, and to " j o k e . " Between these two, "joking" consists of remarks on personal appearance ( " M a n , you ugly!"), dress, and habits, plus playful slapping, ear-pulling, etc.

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There are definite bounds, however, and speech or action which was overtly sexual would be frowned upon. SiHu—WiBr (bahnoi—sar). These two men are "joking" equals, and may tease the other about appearance, dress, and habits. N o anger may be taken at any remark, however personal. S o W i F a — D a H u F a (samdhi—samdhi). These men are also " j o k i n g " equals, and although some men maintain more or less formal relationships, a friendly joke is permissible. SiHu—WiYoSi (bahnoi—sari). The relationship here is more one of "teasing" than "joking," with the bahnoi commenting on the fact that his sari is a pretty girl, and the latter playing little pranks upon her bahnoi. HuSiHu—WiBrWi (nandui—sarahaj). These are an otherwise unrelated m a n and woman, connected to each other through marriage with opposite-sex siblings. They have the strongest "joking" relationship of all, and it is a rare East Indian who can even contemplate the relationship without bursting into delighted laughter. They have almost complete freedom to say or do as they please with each other, barring actual sexual intercourse, and I have even heard rumors of this happening. Broad sexual jokes, physical caresses, are permissible. The idea of a brother and sister of one family marrying a brother and sister of another family is completely unacceptable to East Indians. The thought of a man having his own sister as a sarahaj is so shocking as to be funny. "Avoidance" relationships: Hu—Wi. These will always endeavor to avoid calling each other by name, using either an attention-getting signal ( " £ / " is a favorite), or teknonomy (Pooran-A/e or Hari-"fadda"), or a special pet name used by no one else. In the case of one "Christian" Indian couple, they are called by their old Hindi names by everyone else, but call each other by their new, "Christian" names.

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Male—Female. Apart from the exceptions noted in " j o k i n g " relationships, males and females tend to avoid one another's company. Brothers and sisters, for example, have little conversation together after childhood. Note, for example, the case of the wife who left her husband because he beat her. 3 When the brother came to learn whether his sister were willing to return to her husband, he discussed the problem with cousins, who in turn discussed it with his sister, bringing him her opinion. She was too " s h y " to discuss the matter with him in person. One may also say that something of an "avoidance," or perhaps "deference," relationship exists between siblings of the same sex but different ages. HuEIBr—YoBrWi (barka—chotki). This is the most important of the "avoidance" relationships. A barka must never be alone in the same room with his chotki, he must never speak to her, and it is considered advisable that he not look directly at her. Some people feel that he should avoid her very shadow. If he should touch her even accidentally, both experience a feeling of tremendous shame and embarrassment. In the more conservative families, a barka who so much as brushes against the clothing of his chotki is made to pay a fine of a dollar or more to the family purse. There are those who claim they have heard of fines as high as forty dollars. It is not fear of the fine, however, which restrains the barka, but the genuine horror at the thought. I know of three men, each a barka who had recently moved from his father's home because of the discomfort caused by the presence of one or more chotkls. The East Indian capacity for indefinite extension of kinship is expressed in still another way: under certain circumstances, pseudokinship relationships may be established with non-kin. It might be best to approach this phenomenon in terms of an analysis of the general types of kin relationships recognized by the villagers. The '

See "Conflict and Sanction," pp. 206-20, in this book.

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terms they themselves use are "real family," "pun'kin-vine family," "bye-family" and "respect family." Real family: This is Ego's entire circle of consanguineal and affinal kin. The kinship terms listed earlier refer specifically to people in this category. These are the individuals Ego visits and who visit him at regular intervals. Ego is obligated to assist them in every way in time of need, and expects them to come to his aid when necessary. This "real family" is an exogamous unit. While the East Indian uses the word "family" to include his entire circle of kin, a distinction is sometimes made between "family in the house," "family to one side" and " f a r (spatially distant) family." Pun'kin-vine family: This expression is used to denote people with whom some kinship relationship may be demonstrated, but only one of the most tenuous nature. Such relationships often involve two or more affinal connections. People related in this way are often completely unaware of one another's existence. A realization of the relationship may come for the first time during marriage negotiations. In theory, the existence of any kinship connection whatever should be enough to end all discussion of marriage, but when both sides agree that the relationship is so tenuous as to barely exist, it will be dismissed as "pun'kin-vine family" and marriage negotiations will continue. Bye-family: This term is used for people with whom one has established a Active kinship relationship. It includes immediate neighbors within the village and the families of one's friends. It is usually said that "bye-family" are those people, apart from "real family," who come "in the house" regularly, and to whose homes one goes regularly. Respect family: Some villagers use the terms "respect family" and "bye-family" interchangeably, but many distinguish between them as I am doing here. The East Indian of Amity employs kinship terms, "out of respect," for all adults of his parents' generation. Villagers

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consider all children born in the village as " b r o t h e r s " and "sisters" to one another. This has important implications, for the village is conceived o f as an exogamous unit. One also has "respect family" in the villages of one's mother's brother, one's father's mother's brother, etc. Since kinship terms are employed for both "bye-family" and "respect family" in the same way, and since the line between the two groups is hard to draw, it is easy to understand how the two groups may be confused. For many people, however, there is a clear distinction. "Bye-family" are the families of neighbors and close friends. "Respect family" are the more distant villagers, and perhaps the "bye-family" o f relatives in other villages. A man can expect his "bye-family" to come to his assistance almost with the same readiness as his "real family." He expects no such aid from "respect family." Marriage with "bye-family" is as unthinkable for the average villager as is marriage with "real family." Marriage with "respect family" is frowned on, but it does happen, and such unions may well receive parental approval. Appropriate kin terms are used for both "respect family" and "bye-family," and a varying degree o f appropriate behavior obtains. 4 The terms used follow the internal logic of the kinship system. All contemporary males are " b r o t h e r s " ; the sisters of Ego's " b r o t h e r s " are Ego's "sisters"; the children o f Ego's "siblings" become Ego's "children" and the parents of Ego's " b r o t h e r s " are addressed with the appropriate terms of the first ascending generation, depending on whether they are conceived of as "mother's side" or "father's side." Since marriage in Amity is overwhelmingly virilocal and villageexogamous, the people of the generation older than Ego's will be contemporaries of his father, and he will call them " d a d a " or " k a k a , " depending on their age relative to his father. A very old man in 4 Hereafter a kinship term in quotation m a r k s — e . g . , " m d m u " — w i l l signify that the relationship is " b y e - f a m i l y " rather than " r e a l . "

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the village will be " a j a " to all the children. His wife will be " a j l . " "Bye-family" of Ego's kin in another village become Ego's "respect family" of the appropriate type. Contemporaries of MoBr, in the village f r o m which Mo derives are called " m a m u , " and neighbors of FaSi and her Hu, in the village of the latter, are called " p h u a " and " p h u p h a , " etc. One might say that kinship extension, under this system, is limitless, and indeed a favorite East Indian remark is, " W e one big family." The behavior followed is appropriate for the kin relationship. Ego will " j o k e " with the wife of an older village-mate, calling her " b h o j l , " and will avoid the presence of the wife of a younger village-mate, calling her " c h o t k l . " Nevertheless, the intensity of the "bye-family" relationship is, on the whole, less than the equivalent "real family" one and "respect family" relations are even more attenuated. There is a difference in appropriate behavior between "real family" brothers as against both the "bye-family" and "respect family" equivalent. While there is only one kinship term available for males of the same generation, so that both " r e a l " brothers and " b r o t h e r s " are called by the same term, one avoids " r e a l " brothers. On the other hand, one has an intimate relationship with one's " b r o t h e r s " ; joking, playing together, discussing sex, etc. It is said in Amity that brothers can never be friends. It will be remarked reprovingly that two brothers "behave like friends," and where this occurs, the excuse may be offered that the two brothers are only a year apart and have been accustomed, since childhood, to playing together. In the case of sisters, interestingly, the distinction is between those categorized as "bye-family" and those as "respect family." Sisters of one's friends are accorded all the respect and circumspection given to a " r e a l " sister, and most men would consider sexual intercourse with the sister of a close friend a form of incest. The sisters of men in the village with whom Ego is not close friends—that is, girls from distant parts of the village—are considered by young men as fair game for

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seduction,

if not

for

marriage.

Nevertheless,

they

are

properly

"respect sisters"! There are t w o forms o f " b y e - f a m i l y " which are w o r t h y o f special note. One is dudhawat o f the same m i l k . "

bhe, w h i c h might be translated as " b r o t h e r

If t w o children are suckled by the same w o m a n ,

the act makes the children something more than " b y e - f a m i l y " ; they become " t r u e " siblings for all practical purposes, and

friendship

between t w o y o u n g men w h o nursed in infancy at the same breast is all but impossible—the " r e a l " fraternal relationship takes precedence. A marriage between two people related only in this w a y is considered more incestuous than a " b y e - f a m i l y " liaison. There are specific rituals to be performed by certain kin o f the bride and b r i d e g r o o m at weddings.

If the specified relative is not

available, someone w h o is not " r e a l " kin may substitute. First choice m a y go to a " b y e - f a m i l y " or "respect f a m i l y " equivalent, but a complete stranger m a y be accepted if no one else is available.

The

person w h o acts as a stand-in in such a ceremonial kin role automatically becomes something more than " b y e - f a m i l y , " just as in the case o f the dudhawat

bhe.

H e is accepted from then o n as the " r e a l "

kinsman o c c u p y i n g that position in the kinship structure. There is still another f o r m o f " b y e - f a m i l y " which was once very important but w h i c h is b e c o m i n g less so, perhaps because " r e a l " kin networks are b e c o m i n g more extensive.

East Indians w h o traveled

to Trinidad f r o m India on the same ship considered themselves " b y e f a m i l y " in much the same w a y as d o neighbors in the same village. They would not countenance marriage between their children, and much visiting back and forth t o o k place. 5 Some people keep up the visits with the ship " b y e - f a m i l y " o f their grandparents, but may have let the relationships lapse except where the families live close together. 5 Koss (1958) has reported on this phenomenon, discussing it in much greater detail.

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It is even said that people who were indentured on the same estate at about the same time, considered themselves "bye-family." As the present-day villagers recount it, Amity was settled in large measure by people who had completed their indentures on the same estate, and who had already begun to establish pseudo-kin relationships with one another. The term "sar," meaning wife's brother, is a perfectly respectable and inoffensive word—as long as it is addressed to a n individual who stands in that capacity to the speaker. When the word " s a r " is used to address or refer to a man who could not by any stretch of the imagination be considered the speaker's wife's brother, however, it becomes the deadliest of insults. The implication of the term in such a case is that the speaker has slept with the other individual's sister, or, perhaps, that the other's sister has such a bad reputation that any man may legitimately call her brother " s a r . " The term is used particularly in a vulgar East Indian expression of contempt for the Trinidad Negro, kirwal sar. The word "kirwal" is a corruption of "creole." The use of " s a r " in this expression is said to reflect the East Indian's contempt for the Negro, who does not watch over his sister, wife, or daughter, and for the promiscuity which many Indians believe the Negro woman to practice as a direct consequence of this absence of " p r o p e r " supervision.

MARITAL

UNIONS

Any examination of East Indian marriage is complicated by the fact that no Hindu pandit (priest) could legally marry anyone until the passage of the Hindu Marriage Ordinance in 1946. A couple united only by a pandit according to the rites of the Hindu religion were said, in Trinidad, to be "married under the b a m b o o , " and the union had no legal standing whatever. From 1946 on, more and more pandits became licensed "Marriage Officers," and today it is the cx-

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ceptional marriage in Amity that is performed by a nonlicensed pandit. The illegality of the Hindu marriage had certain important effects. The female spouse was not legally a "wife." She was not entitled to any kind of widow's benefits, and had no legal recourse if her husband deserted her (except for the support of any children she may have had by him). A m a n could contract as many marriages as he pleased without danger of being prosecuted for bigamy. More important, children of such unions had to be registered as "illegitimate," which meant that no name could be entered in the birth record in the space marked " f a t h e r . " Any close relative of the father, such as the father's brother or sister, could contest the right of the "illegitimate" child to inherit his father's property. This last was, and still is, the cause of considerable conflict, and is a reason why most Amity men of wealth dispose of their property to their children in their own lifetimes. One might expect many East Indians to have arranged for a civil ceremony, after their religious one, in order to make the union legal. But, such legalizations were rare among all Hindu East Indians in Trinidad. A few wealthy, Westernized Hindus did go through a second, civil ceremony, to protect the inheritance rights of their children. I know of one family, outside of Amity, in which the parents legalized the union many years after the union first took placc, to prevent their children from being stigmatized as "illegitimate" when the latter went abroad to study. In Amity, there were no legally married Hindu couples prior t o 1946.6 Villagers explain this by saying that as far as they were, a n d are, concerned, a Hindu religious ceremony produced a perfectly respectable marriage, and they could see no reason for going to the additional trouble and expense of a civil ceremony. It is also true, of course, that comparatively few East Indians in Amity had, or have, • Muslim religious ceremonies became legally acceptable long before 1946 (see Revised Ordinances, 1950: Chapter 29, N o . 4; and 1953: Chapter 29, N o . 5).

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anything significant in the way of property to bequeath. But this cannot be considered the only reason people did not bother to legalize their unions, for none of the wealthy, landholding families went through civil ceremonies, either. A few people explained the failure to have marriages legally registered as a kind of passive, unspoken, resistance, reflecting the resentment felt by Hindu East Indians at this " u n f a i r " treatment of their religion. I do know of one case in Amity of a wealthy man who went through a civil ceremony "to protect my children"—but after 1946, and after many years of marriage "under the b a m b o o . " While almost every Hindu marriage to which someone from Amity is a party is now registered and therefore legal, the fact of legal registration still has nothing to do with making a marriage respectable. Legal registration is simply insisted upon today by the girl's family to afford her protection against desertion and mistreatment and as a sign of " g o o d f a i t h " on the part of the boy and his family. The boy's family agrees to the condition of legal registration, sometimes with good grace, and sometimes with a show of considerable reluctance— which relates to the general fears, suspicions, and misgivings held by all members of the boy's family about this strange female about to be admitted into their home. Interestingly, the fact that registration protects the right of children to inherit is not used by either side as an argument for the registration of the marriage. "Respectability" in marriage derives primarily and almost solely from the fact of familial, and more particularly, paternal, approval. If both fathers have given their approval to the union, the marriage will almost certainly have been solemnized by a Hindu ceremony— but even if it has not, as long as both fathers are known to have given their consent, the union will never be a subject of disapproving gossip. The importance of paternal approval in determining marital respectability cannot be overemphasized. Old, young, male, female— even members of "unrespectable" unions—are all in agreement in

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Amity. A marriage approved by both fathers, solemnized according to Hindu rites, is "best"—legally recognized or not. Legal registration, I was told in every case, was advisable, but only because it "protects the wife." On the other hand, a union set up in the face of paternal disapproval was absolutely unacceptable. It would be a " s h a m e " to both families and a source of ridicule and contempt for the village as a whole. And whether or not such a couple had gone through the formality of a civil ceremony, every single informant said, had absolutely n o bearing on the matter. Some of the reasons for these attitudes, as well as the importance of marriage in the life of the individual, are discussed in later pages. Here, we are concerned with the different mating forms to be found in Amity, and their relative standings in the eyes of the villagers. Virilocal exogamous: In the ideal and most c o m m o n form of marital union the boy and girl are f r o m different villages, and reside, after their marriage, in the home of the boy's father. The two are almost invariably of the same Varna, and usually of the same caste. Ideally, again, neither will have been married before, although it is permissible for a man to remarry. Marriages before 1940 are said to have been " a r r a n g e d , " while they are described as being "free choice" today. The actual difference consists solely of the fact that, today, both boy and girl are introduced to each other before the marriage and each has the right to veto the proposed match. Otherwise, as in the old days, the two fathers usually initiate the proceedings, and handle all arrangements. There are certain permissible variations. A young man may notice a girl in another community and become interested in marrying her. He will probably make the preliminary inquiries about her himself, and may even approach her father on his own, though this is unlikely. At some point, if the marriage is to be a respectable one, he must go to his own father. The latter will investigate the girl and her family himself, and if satisfied, go ahead with the arrangements in the normal fashion.

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This means that the boy's side has taken the initiative and will be a source of pride to the girl in later years. If a boy is eager to marry, or if a father decides it is high time his son had a wife, the father may let it discreetly be known that his son is marriageable. In general, however, a member of the girl's family—usually her father, but occasionally her mother—initiates the proceedings. Almost every Hindu East Indian has been through such a marriage, and those who are not yet married expect in the normal course of events to form this kind of union. Apart from those in other forms of marital union, there is what might be called a variant form of this one. The young couple simply live together without any ceremony at all. For parents to acquiesce is rare, but it does happen. It usually indicates that the girl is pregnant, or has a very poor father. Even in such cases some abbreviated ceremony may be attempted. Uxorilocal exogamous marriage: While Hindu marriages in Amity are normally virilocal, it sometimes happens that the boy settles in the village and often the home of the girl. This usually indicates the marriage of a poor boy to the daughter of a comparatively wealthy man, who is prepared to assist his son-in-law. In fact, a wealthy man who has no sons is pretty much expected to search for a poor but worthy young m a n , whom he will take into his home as a son. A young man living with his wife's parents is mockingly called a "ghardamda," and must be prepared to take occasional ridicule from other young men of the village. There are several explanations given for this ridicule: he is a stranger; he is envied and resented by the other young men of the village, particularly relatives of his father-in-law and their friends; and he must, perforce, sleep with his wife under the roof of her father, which is considered something of a shameful act. Also he is in an amusingly equivocal position vis a vis his wife. Obviously, he cannot as easily control her—in a situation where she can run to complain to her father—as one can control a dolahin (bride) in one's own father's house.

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113

His position is difficult in still another sense. The role of a dolaha (bridegroom) in his own home is known and unarguable, and so is the role of the dolahin in the home of her husband and his parents. What, then, is the role of the ghardamdal Is he a kind of male dolahin—as the boys tell him mockingly—to be ordered and cuffed about? He is continually on the watch for mistreatment of this kind, and the arrangement is indeed a difficult one. Approved endogamous union: This is exceedingly rare. If it is a first union for both boy and girl, it may have resulted from her becoming pregnant. Sometimes, though, a boy and girl of the same village fall in love and manage, after considerable difficulty, to prevail upon both fathers to give their consent. They are unlikely to have a complete Hindu wedding ceremony (though it is not impossible) and must usually content themselves with a civil ceremony. Sometimes, they simply begin living together without any ceremony of any kind. The first question the neighbors ask in such cases is about the attitude of the parents. Once it is established that both fathers have at least accepted the union, there is no scandal—though it would not be true to say there is ever community approval. "Keeper" union: This is a union in which the wife has been married before. According to the Hindu religion, a woman may only be married once, while a man may be married a number of times (whether this means he is entitled to plural or serial wives is a favorite subject of speculation). 7 In practice, even a man rarely remarries, preferring to avoid the expense and complications of a second marriage. Once a man or woman is widowed or separated, therefore, the family or the individual seeks another partner in the same condition. The two may have a civil ' There are perhaps a half-dozen men in A m i t y — i n c l u d i n g a p a n d i t — w h o maintain two wives. The women usually live in different houses in widely separated districts. One man in Casecu, however, has two wives in the same house, and the three of them get along together very well. Plural unions never have the approval of the community, whatever form they take.

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ceremony, it they have not had one before, or they may make a small dinner for friends, which would be considered a form of public announcement. Occasionally the man will visit friends and family, saying simply: " Y o u know I need a wife. Well, I'm taking this girl in [name of her village]." Most likely they will simply begin to live together. Any woman living with a m a n who is not her first husband is called a "keeper," whether or not she is legally married, although some old people prefer to restrict this term to the female partner of an "elopement." Even in such second unions, there is a tendency toward village exogamy and caste (or at least Varna) endogamy, but it is not as important as in the first type of union. "Separation," while not uncommon, occurs in a minority of marriages. Over 60 percent of the unions in Amity represent couples mated only once—to each other. Still, there are a substantial number of people whose first marriages have broken up. 8 If a marriage is going to break, it will usually happen within the first year. The partners are usually quite young and inexperienced sexually and in other ways. Sexual incompatibility is a frequent cause of marriage break-up, particularly if the girl turns out to have had sexual experience before marriage, and the boy none. On the other hand, the discovery that his wife is not a virgin, while it will disturb a man, will usually not cause him to send her home. Among other reasons, he would be ashamed to have his friends know he had been fooled. Frequently the boy is not quite an adult in other ways. He may prefer to spend his time on the cricket field, ignoring his wife completely. Unsure of himself, he may range from ignoring her to beating her, without ever doing anything to gain her affection. Finally, it is important to note that in most cases the boy and girl are essentially strangers to one another at their wedding, even if they have met a few times before. To his family, she is an object of considerable suspicion. Will she respect her new husband and his parents? Will she be obes

This group also includes widows and widowers.

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dient? Will she work hard? Can she learn to do things their way? Her first taste of the hard life of a dolahin is apt to be an unpleasant one. So some first marriages do break up. However, if it may be said that it is paternal approval that makes a marriage respectable, it is the birth of the first child that makes the marriage a stable union. Once a child has been born, the dolahin is no longer a complete alien; she is the mother of the grandchild in the home. An East Indian woman might leave her husband, but she hesitates to leave the father of her children. If she takes the children with her another man might mistreat them, but can she bear to leave them behind? Men say, too, that they developed a different attitude toward their wives and toward the idea of marriage once a child was born. A man with a child "feels f u n n y " about carrying on an affair with another woman, and he feels, for the first time, a sense of family responsibility. In the rare cases where couples with children have separated, it is likely that the children will be raised by their paternal grandparents, while both parents form other liaisons elsewhere. In a sense, there is a feeling that grandchildren belong to their paternal grandparents. Frequently, the dja and ajl are the ones who do the actual raising of the children, while both parents are off working on the estate. Even when the dolahin stays home, she has so much work to d o that she has little time for the children; and care of the grandchildren is the only help her mother-in-law is likely to offer. In a number of cases in Amity, where families have no sons, or the sons have married and gone elsewhere to work, a grandchild is given to the grandparents to raise. Such grandparents say they are "entitled" to a grandchild. "Elopement"; An elopement, as the term is used in Amity, is any union made without the approval of the parents. Even if only one side objects, and refuses to countenance the union, it causes a scandal in the village. Whether or not the couple have gone through a civil ceremony has nothing to do with the matter. If, later, they manage to secure parental approval the scandal is lessened, but it is never

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completely forgotten. If a girl has been married once before, some would say it is not a real "elopement" but a form of "keeper" union, though not a very nice one. Men and women who had "eloped" were the only ones in Amity who exhibited embarrassment when, in the course of an interview, questions were asked about the nature of their marital union. Most "elopements" occur between boys and girls of the same village, and of widely separated castes. This is because the couple will usually make an effort to secure the permission of their parents. If the only objection to the marriage is that it would be village endogamous, parental approval may possibly be sccured, although it is given reluctantly. It is very unlikely to be secured, however, if there is also a wide caste separation—particularly if the boy is of a low caste and the girl of a high one. The "elopement" may be secret, or it may occur openly; it is an "elopement" if one or both fathers withholds approval. One of the greatest scandals Amity has known in recent years was the "elopement" of a Brahman girl with a Camar boy. Instead of fleeing from the village, they took up residence on Beharri Road, and the young man took over the land the girl had inherited from her deceased father. Both sides disowned them, and a "village panceyt" was called in an attempt to punish them, but the attempt failed. 9 An interesting case is that of the daughter of a CattrT of Amity. She fell in love with one of the sons of a wealthy Dusad family. Her father refused to give his permission explaining that he would never consent to perform a pou puja (a rite of the marriage ceremony), 1 0 in which he would have to wash the feet of a Dusad. When she persisted *

See "The Village Panceyt and the Courts," pp. 192-99, in this book. This ceremony, incidentally, is considered to constitute a promise by a girl's father that he gives his daughter unselfishly, asking nothing in return. So complete is the disassociation that most men will never again accept f o o d f r o m their daughters. This is another reason why the ghardamda, w h o s e wife c o o k s for her parents, is held in contempt. 10

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in her determination her father said she was free to walk out of his house to the home of her lover, but that he, her father, would never speak to her again. In broad daylight, with her father watching unmoving from his window, she left the house and walked down the road to the home of the Dusad boy. Her father, who lives only a quarter of a mile away, has never spoken to her or even mentioned her name in the half-dozen years since the "elopement." Other members of her family do speak to her secretly. It is said in the village that she has had a miserable life, although she was accepted into the Dusad home. Villagers say that the family of her husband mistreat her unmercifully, partly because they are a cruel family, and partly because she has never had a child, but mostly because the Dusad family knows she has no father or brothers to aid her. Another daughter of this same Cattri fell in love with a young member of a respectable AhTr family in the village. Again the father refused permission. The boy was her " b r o t h e r " and he was also of lower caste. An AhTr is not as low as a Dusad, however, and from all accounts the father was not quite so harsh with this daughter as he had been with the first. He promised to arrange a good match for her with a fine young Cattri boy, but while he was searching for one, the girl committed suicide. The father grieved for her, but told his friends— who told me—that he was prouder of this daughter than of the o t h e r ; at least she hadn't shamed him. Unable to obey him, she had killed herself. But she was not disobedient.

THE LIFE

CYCLE

In the course of a normal lifetime, the East Indian of Amity will experience a patterned sequence of ceremonial and social events. There are certain things the villager will have to do or have others d o for him. The sequence is different for males and females, but is the

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same for all castes in the village. This East Indian life cycle, involving as it does the almost certain expectation of marriage as well as the relocation of the girl to an alien village, represents one of the most striking ways in which Trinidad East Indian social structure differs from that of their Creole neighbors. There are two or three men in Amity with considerable religious education who speak of the sora sanskar (sixteen sacraments). They believe that all good Hindus in India observe all the sanskar. Among other things, the sanskar include the four traditional "stages" (asrama) of a holy Hindu life: brahmacarya (the chaste student); grihastha (the householder); bana-prastha (the ascetic hermit); and sannyasa (the holy mendicant). Few in Amity apart from these men have ever even heard of the sora sanskar. As Lewis writes of the village of Rampur in India, after discussing some of the sanskar, "these ideal stages bear little resemblance to the present-day life cycle" (1958: 45-47; see also Stevenson 1920). The following is a brief analysis of the Amity life cycle, including the rites de passage. Birth: Most women travel to their parents' home for the birth of at least their first child. Since East Indian marriages are customarily village exogamous and virilocal, this means that a large part of the population of Amity was actually born elsewhere on the island. When one asks a person the name of the village from which he comes, he gives the name of his father's village; it was there he was raised, and it is there that he belongs. Soon after the baby is born the father visits a pandit, giving the latter the day and hour of the baby's birth. The pandit casts a horoscope for the child, and tells the father the only possible initial letter the child's name can have. Either the father or the pandit then chooses the name. This name, called the "pandit (or 'planet') name," will be kept secret by the child and his family—so secret, sometimes, that if the father dies or deserts the mother, the child may never know its

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" t r u e " name! A second Hindi name is given—but one that has nothing to do with this particular child's " p l a n e t " — a n d will be the one used publicly, since this "calling n a m e " will be of no use to any evil person who might wish to learn the child's " p l a n e t " and so injure him. Some people even feel uneasy about the use of "calling names," and to be on the safe side, substitute pet names, English names, or nicknames. 1 1 For six days after the birth the baby and mother may not leave the house or be visited by the father. A midwife, usually of the C a m a r caste, 12 cares for them both during this period. On the evening of the sixth day the mother and baby are bathed and "purified" and a celebratory feast called a catthl is made. Female relatives and neighbors attend, and there is a long night of ribald rejoicing. N o men are permitted in the house during a catthl, but the father, who will soon see his child for the first time, usually buys drinks for his friends at the rum shop. Some of the wealthier families prefer t o hold the birth celebration on the twelfth day, in which case it is known as a barahi, and is of greater magnitude. Once the mother and baby have been "purified" they may leave the house during the day. The night dew is feared by all, and mothers of newborn children are admonished not to go out at night; the dew could not only cause them to sicken, but through them might infect the child. The baby's head is usually shaved at the time of the catthl, if it is 11

A villager usually considers that he has only one name, his "calling name," and he carries his father's "calling name" as his o w n "title" or surname. A w o m a n uses her father's name as a "title" until she marries, after which she is called by her husband's "calling name." Thus, Bhola, the son of S o o k d e o Gopal, would call himself Bhola Sookdeo. If he marries Soolin Baljit, she would become "Mistress Bhola." 11 Midwifery is looked upon by Hindus as an "unclean" occupation, and it is practiced in Amity usually by Camar women. The government requires such women to be licensed, however, and they exhibit their prestige-giving papers proudly.

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done at all. If it is not, the baby's first haircut is given on the first G o o d Friday following its birth, near the Roman Catholic Church in Siparia in southern Trinidad. Hindus believe that the "Virgin of Siparia" is actually an incarnation of a Hindu deity, whom they call " S o p a r l - m e . " 1 3 Alternatively, the first haircut may be given during the celebration of Siw Ratrl. Childhood: Weaning a n d toilet-training are often delayed until quite late, and for some children may not take place until the age of five when they begin school. With the presence of a nursery school in the village, now, toilet-training is beginning to take place at an earlier age. Infancy ends and childhood begins with the entrance into school. Many date their first "serious beatings" from this point. For the first time the child's circle of acquaintance extends beyond the immediate family and its neighbors. N o t only will the child learn new games, but the separation of the sexes, in terms of both association and type of play, begins at this time. The young child has few duties at home. Both boys and girls will have to help with the fetching of water, and the girl may have to help with the smaller children. They may assist beyond that, the boys working in the garden and rice field and the girls in the kitchen, but there is no strong pressure on them. Puberty: At about the age of twelve or fourteen, a boy of a Brahman or Cattrl family may go to the pandit to receive the janeo, or sacred thread. Today many families do not bother with the ceremony. Generally, therefore, the boy's entry into puberty is not marked by any ceremony or sudden change in his life. For the girl, however, the menarche usually marks the end of her schooling. From now on until her marriage, she will stay close to the 13

T h i s is an interesting e x a m p l e of what Herskovits has termed a religious syncretism, a form o f reinterpretation. It may be compared with the identification of African deities with Catholic saints as in Haitian Vodun—but in this case the identification is reversed! (See Herskovits 1949: 553-54; and 1938: 38-39.)

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house, leaving it only in the company of some member of her family. She will have more work to do at home, and it is important that she learn to cook and sew well, since these skills will be helpful in the search for a husband. In many families, however, there is a feeling that these are the last years of childhood for a girl; soon enough she will be a dolahin (bride) working hard in some alien household, and so not too great a burden of work is forced upon her. Sexual intercourse is a subject of increasing interest and discussion a m o n g the adolescent boys. The boys are shy and uncertain and the girls are not too accessible, and many a m a n has told me that his first sexual experience was with an older married woman whose husband was away working. The boys claim they prefer girls of their own age, and they soon learn the techniques for getting the girls away from familial observaiion. It is a generally held assumption in the village that no female has any capacity to resist sexual advances. Only the continually watchful eyes of her family can protect her. Let a young man get her alone, and he and she automatically assume that sexual intercourse is inevitable. Marriage: Years ago, in Amity, marriages commonly took place at the time of puberty, or even before. Today, a boy is considered of marriageable age from the time he is sixteen until he is around thirty —and even a man over thirty has no real difficulty in securing a wife if he should finally decide to marry. A girl, on the other hand, is really marriageable only between the ages of fifteen and seventeen, and an unmarried girl over the age of eighteen becomes a serious problem for her father. In rare cases, husbands have been found for girls as old as twenty. If the father delays too long, neighbors may begin to whisper disapprovingly that the girl's parents are keeping her to care for them in their old age. Gossips may even hint that the father is sexually interested in his own daughter. The pressure, therefore is on the father of the girl. Time is short, and the longer he waits the greater the danger of the girl escaping the vigilance of her chaperones.

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The girl's father literally sets out to find a boy. He cannot take one from his own village, and he prefers not to go to any village where he has family if he can help it. In the old days, he would probably have consulted an agwa,1* who traveled continually about the island noting the homes containing eligible young men. Today he must rely on his own efforts and on the advice of friends. When he locates a boy, he must investigate the family. He will usually want a boy of the same caste as himself, or of a close caste of the same Varna. He must be certain that no kinship relationship exists between the two families; that the boy's family are decent people who are unlikely to mistreat his daughter; and that the boy himself is respectable and hardworking. Once the father of the boy becomes interested in the girl, he will have to make similar inquiries in her village, in an attempt to determine her character and behavior. Many modern young men like to make their own inquiries. With all this, the information received is likely to be of a highly dubious nature since few people would tell the truth about a member of their own village to a total stranger. In the past, when marriages were arranged, the two fathers would make all decisions. Today, marriages are said to be made by free choice. This means that at some point in the proceedings the boy will be brought to the home of the girl, and the two will be introduced and allowed to whisper together privately for a little while. Later on each parent ascertains the willingness of his child to proceed with the match. If either child objects the matter is dropped and the father of the girl seeks another boy. The business of finding a boy is a difficult, tedious, and expensive one. One informant estimated, on the basis of his own experience and that of friends, that a man usually interviewed a r o u n d five boys 14 Y o u n g people in A m i t y t o d a y refer to a n y o n e w h o c o n t r i b u t e s t o t h e arr a n g e m e n t of a successful m a r r i a g e as an agwa. O l d e r people prefer t o reserve the term for the professional m a r r i a g e b r o k e r , n o longer to be f o u n d .

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before finally managing to "engage" one. With taxi trips, loss of work, a small fête each time, and other expenses, he estimated that each prospective bridegroom cost the father close to ten dollars. My informant, himself, had been through eight young men before finally securing one. Many young men, he said bitterly, look u p o n the "viewing" of a girl as a kind of sport, to be engaged in even when there is no real intention of getting married. Assuming that all goes well, the boy continues to visit the girl for a number of months and slowly they become acquainted. Eventually, both sides satisfied, the chëke (engagement) of the boy takes place in his home, with the men of both sides present. The engagement of the girl, with a similar ceremony in her father's house, was once considered a custom of only Sudra people, but today it is practiced by many members of the higher castes as well. For Amity this represents the rare example of a custom moving upward, from low caste to high. The date for the wedding is decided by a pandit, after consulting the horoscopes of both young people. Years ago the wedding might be held at any time during the week, and would be an all-night affair. In recent years, however, night weddings have been disappearing, and I observed none at all during my study. Today, weddings take place on Sunday afternoons. A Hindu wedding in Amity is a lengthy, intricate, and expensive affair for both sides. It is becoming more and more customary to forego the tïlâk ceremony (giving of the dowry to the boy), formerly held two weeks before the wedding at the boy's home. Tïlâk is now given during the opening ceremonies of the wedding itself. Each side must prepare an extensive feast for the people of its respective village. A "small wedding" is considered one in which food is prepared for only 200 to 300 people. 1 5 The minimum cost of 15 In theory everyone is welcome at a wedding feast, but more people are likely to be attracted to a wedding in the home of a wealthy man than to one in the home of a poor man.

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such a "small wedding" is $60 to $75, for f o o d alone. The wedding will be held at the home of the girl's father, and he will have to entertain the guests (all male) who come with the barat (wedding procession). On the other hand, the boy's father will have to rent a car f o r the whole day. There are m a n y additional expenses: tilak and kicari16 gifts from the girl's father and his family, presents of jewelry a n d clothing f r o m the boy's family to the girl, gifts to the pandits, etc. A "big wedding" is one in which preparations are made to feed 400 to 500 people or more. N o one keeps records of the exact expenditures, but one informant, after m a r r y i n g off his daughter in a " b i g wedding," estimated that he had had the following expenses: One bag of flour (200 lbs.) One bag of rice (320 lbs.) Potatoes ("Irish") (200 lbs.) dal (split peas) (50 lbs.)

$20.00 45.20 16.00 8.00

$89.20 In addition, the cost of the feast included m o n e y spent for " p u m p k i n " (squash), masala (curry), cooking oil, a n d other culinary incidentals. These brought the cost of the feast alone to well over $120, he estimated. He gave a tilak (dowry) of $120, which was a little more t h a n the customary $100 for a "big wedding." 1 7 There were still further expenses. A m o n g other things, he had to hire a " m i k e " (sound truck) to play records continually for almost twenty-four hours, and he had to give his daughter both a wedding sari (gown) and a traveling dress. With kicari and incidental gifts, the wedding cost him a minimum of $300, he said. 19 Kicari consists of gifts of money presented by members of the girl's family t o the boy, at the end of the wedding ccremony, to cajole him into tasting food and thereby declaring the wedding completed. 17 In the old days, it is said, tilak consisted of a cow or a few goats, rather t h a n money, and kicari rarely amounted to very much.

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When it is realized that any man with annual income of over $1,000 to $1,500 is expected to make a "big wedding," it will be understood what a tremendous financial drain a wedding is for a Hindu family in Amity. Poor families may wind up seriously in debt. Even wealthy families who cannot stint in any way without losing the respect of their neighbors have difficulty meeting all the expenses unaided. The family may save for years to prepare for the wedding, or it may take out a loan when the time comes. A favored way of meeting the expenses is by membership in a dâheja—a village organization of household heads pledged to assist one another at weddings. The largest one, on Beharri Road, has over one hundred members. There are smaller dâhejas on Lloyd Street and in Casecu. The normal contribution per member in the smaller dâhejas is fifty cents per wedding. In the Beharri Road dâheja, the normal contribution is at least one dollar, and wealthier men, who will need more when their times come, are expected to give more to others. A dâheja member can expect to be called upon to contribute to about fifteen weddings during the "wedding season" which lasts from March through July. A few wealthy men are not members of any dâheja. Proudly, they note possession of their own "pot and spoon." Additional wedding expenses may be incurred by families that are neither making a wedding of their own nor fulfilling a dâheja obligation. One must make a special contribution at the wedding put on by a close friend ("bye-family") and contribute to the kicarlat the wedding of a daughter of any relative. Many people keep a record of who gives—and how much—at their weddings, as a guide to their obligations at the future weddings of their relatives and friends. The wedding proper may be said to begin with the cercmony of ûlhâwe hârdï, in which the boy and girl—each in his own home—is daubed with saffron. This takes place on the Friday preceding the Sunday wedding. From then until the third day after the wedding,

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the boy and girl are considered to be in a state of " d a n g e r . " Neither may leave his house unaccompanied during this period, and both must wear amulet bracelets containing iron to protect them from malevolent spirits. On the Saturday night before the wedding, the " c o o k i n g " for the next day's feast takes place. The family is assisted through the night by relatives, neighbors, and friends, and particularly by members of the dáheja. Entertainment is provided. Preparations for the wedding ceremony begin early the next morning, as soon as the " c o o k i n g " is completed. There is hardly a noticeable break between the two activities. The barát—a procession of taxis containing the male friends and relatives of the groom, and led by the doláhá (bridegroom) in a decorated car—departs around 1 P.M. It returns around 7 P.M., carrying the new bride to her husband's home. 1 8 Years ago, when boys and girls were married at the age of eleven or twelve or even younger, they were not permitted to sleep together until they were at least thirteen or fourteen. Today, when the girl is brought to the boy's home, she sleeps away f r o m him for the first three nights. After a ceremony in which the amulet-bracelets are removed from both bride and groom, the bride is taken back to her home for a three-day visit. Her husband then brings her back to his home once more and the marriage is usually consummated that night. Next day she enters upon her full duties as a daughter-in-law. From now on her hair must always be covered by an orhini (veil) when she is in the presence of her husband's male relatives and friends. She is a married woman. From start to finish, the Hindu wedding is conducted in an at18

T h e w e d d i n g c e r e m o n y is protracted and involved, and space d o e s not permit a detailed analysis here. See Smith and Jayawardena (1958) for an analysis of H i n d u marriage c u s t o m s in British G u i a n a . Trinidad H i n d u marriage is essentially similar, t h o u g h there are a few important small differences.

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mosphere of mutual distrust, fear, and even hostility. The boy's family is worried about this stranger who is joining them. Will she be faithful to her husband and obedient to his parents? Will she work hard? Can she bear children? The girl's family is worried about the treatment the girl is likely to receive. The girl herself is most nervous of all. She is leaving her home and her family to take up residence with a strange family in a distant village. She has heard stories about the girls who have been starved, overworked, badly beaten, and even killed, by unfeeling mothers-in-law. She cannot help but wonder about her own fate. Married Life: Marriage represents much more of a change in the life of a girl than it does in that of a boy. Before this he had to share a bed with one or more brothers; now he has a wife and together they have a bed in a room of their own. Beyond that, and the fact that he now has a sexual partner, his life has really not changed very much. He has his meals at the same times, perhaps served n o w by his wife instead of his mother, and he occupies the position he always did in his father's home. He will probably continue to give the m a j o r share of his earnings to his parents. His social life continues to be in the company of his male friends; playing cards, playing cricket, and going to the movies. It is still the rare dolaha who will even occasionally take his wife to the movies. The girl, on the other hand, is expected to shoulder the full burden of the household chores. Many a mother-in-law ceases all work the day her first son marries, and says triumphantly (as one did, in Amity): " M e have a dolahin, n o w ! " The daughter-in-law must cook, clean, and d o all the washing. She is the first to rise and the last to eat. If it is a large family, and she is the only dolahin, her life will indeed be hard. With all this, she is likely not to be accepted as a full member of the family until her first child is born. As time goes on, life will get better for the dolahin. Once she has a child, her marriage becomes more secure and so does her position in

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the house. Her mother-in-law is likely to help her, at least with the care of the child. She may make friends with the sisters and female cousins of her husband, and the wives of his brothers and friends. Slowly the village becomes less alien. During the first year of her marriage she visits her family frequently (often every month or two) if finances permit but as the years go on the visits dwindle in frequency and duration. 1 9 As her husband's younger brothers get married, she will have sisters-in-law to share the work under the direction of their c o m m o n mother-in-law. When her husband's parents die, the joint family usually breaks up. The wives are frequently responsible for the break-up, for each wants her own home and kitchen. When the the woman's first son marries, she will be a mother-in-law, and can retire from active labor in the house. For the man, on the other hand, life becomes more difficult as time goes on. Once children are born, his sense of responsibility increases and his freedom decreases. Children and parents of one nuclear unit share the same room and usually the same bed. As the man grows older, he must spend more time working and less time playing. His father grows old and now he must shoulder the family responsibilities: findings husbands for his younger sisters, jobs for his younger brothers, and money for household expenses. He will be expected to represent his family at the ceremonies and weddings of others. He must provide money for the education, medical care, and finally the marriage of his children. He has obligations to his relatives, in the temple, to his hfir-mates, and he is in debt to the shopkeeper and perhaps to the bank. Men in their thirties look back on their lives, only ten years before, as times of careless, irresponsible pleasure. OU Age: Once the daughters have been married and the sons all have wives in the house the cares of both mother and father are 19 But they rarely s t o p completely. It is simply that other d e m a n d s have b e c o m e more pressing. A l m o s t every Sunday, in fact, members of any village family are away visiting, or the family itself is entertaining relatives.

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lessened. They can work if they choose, or they can sit with their friends and gossip and smoke. The women play with their grandchildren, and the men often turn their attentions to religion. In old age, the woman frequently is more fortunate than the man, for she has daughters-in-law to rule over. A son will invariably side with— and care more for—his mother than his wife. In the case of the father, on the other hand, the reins of economic control pass to the stronger hands of his sons, and where he once ruled them with the "lash," they may now beat him for coming home drunk. Death: If a child under six or seven dies there is little ceremony and a quick funeral. When an adult dies, taxis are immediately hired and members of the family set out in all directions to notify relatives in other villages of the funeral to be held the next day. A wake is held during the night immediately following the death. Though not as extensive an affair, it resembles the wake described by Herskovits for the Trinidad Negro community of Toco (1947: 137-38). The body is prepared for burial, and the family pandit will come to make a brief prayer. A few friends will gather in the house with the family. They will read f r o m the rameyn (Ramayana) until dawn, for no one is permitted to go to sleep. Neighbors swiftly erect a tent of bamboo poles and galvanized iron in the yard of the house, and people f r o m the village will d r o p by during the night to pay their respects. The Amity wake is comparatively quiet; some of the younger men play cards, and the older ones sit and talk softly. Those who wish step into the house to view the body and to say a word of consolation to the family. Periodically, members of the family come out and serve coffee and cigarettes—and, very rarely, rum—to the men in the yard. Even this much in the way of refreshment is considered a recent innovation. People begin to drift home about midnight, and by 2 A.M. the wake is over, except for those in the house. The funeral takes place about 4 P.M. the next day. Usually only

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men follow the coffin to the cemetery. People put on clean clothes to follow a funeral, but never a suit or a tie. Friends and neighbors help to dig the grave, and a carpenter will help build a simple coffin for the price of the wood. In Amity the dead are buried though cremation sometimes occurs elsewhere on the island. A little camphor is burned at the grave to symbolize cremation. Expenses of the wake and funeral are not too high, since neighbors and friends help with the work, and even the carpenter does not normally charge. Refreshments are minor, and the family can shoulder all costs. No "Friendly Socicty" for funereal assistance has ever been formed in Amity. The period of mourning is nine days for a woman and ten days for a man, during which time the men may not shave and no one may cut his or her nails. At the end of this time the "shaving" takes place on the bank of the river north of Amity. A member of the N o (barber) caste comes to the house of mourning and cuts the nails of the women. He then walks to the rivcrbank with the men of the family, accompanied by the male friends of the family, and particularly of the deceased. Donning a dhoti, one male member of the family (the son of the deceased, if there is one, or a brother) is shaved—head, face, and armpits. One tiny lock of hair—the curkl—is left on the back of his head. Other male members of the family have their faces shaved, as do all men who wish to pay their respects to the dead. The men then bathe in the river and a prayer is held on the bank. Properly, a mahapitar Brahman 2 0 should officiate, but usually, these days, the No conducts the ceremony. On the thirteenth day after the death, the family makes a dinner, called a bhandara, for neighbors and friends and this ends the period of mourning. Some people make another bhandara a year later, but most do not. Hindus of Amity rarely visit the graves of their dead; it is said that 10

This would seem to be the s a m e as the " M a h a b r a h m a n s " ( G r e a t B r a h m i n s ) w h o , according to H u t t o n , "officiate at the c r e m a t i o n of c o r p s e s " (1946: 69).

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a good Hindu should not. In recent years many have taken to visiting the cemetery on All Saints Night—as the Creole Roman Catholics d o — t o light candles on the graves. A U T H O R I T Y IN T H E

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Within the joint family, seniority is the usual source of authority, though there are other factors that may often complicate the family power structure. In theory, at least, every joint family has an "elder h e a d " (the oldest male) who represents the family to the outside world, and who controls the behavior of the members of the family. Under his authority is the oldest female, who controls the behavior of the female members of the composite household. In general, every older person may control and direct every younger person, but in practice an adult of one nuclear unit rarely attempts to regulate the behavior of a child from another nuclear unit within the joint family, for fear of causing strife. There are, however, tightly knit families where even this occurs. Parents control children and children's children; older siblings control younger ones. The problem of the degree of nuclear family autonomy is a knotty one, and not infrequently it is the cause of household fission for there is n o generally accepted solution. As long as the "elder heads" are alive and maintain their authority, the family may remain together. If the "elder heads" lose control, or if they die, the family usually splits up unless there is someone—most often the oldest son—with the ability to hold the family together. It is difficult even where the oldest son exercises considerable authority over his brothers. While a mother-in-law may run into problems trying to control two or more daughters-in-law, it can be done. But the eldest daughter-in-law cannot replace her, as the eldest son can sometimes replace his father. The authority of the oldest brother goes back to childhood, but the wives of the younger brothers have not grown up taking orders from the

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oldest brother's wife and will refuse to do it. It is said that the conflict between the wives of brothers is the most common cause of the break-up of joint families, and one can see why. 21 In the few cases where an oldest brother has replaced the father successfully as head of the family, either the mother is still alive to control the daughtersin-law, or each brother's wife works independently, sometimes with her own kitchen. The power of the "elder h e a d " derives partly from the familiar and recurrent pattern of behavior. He has been the authority f r o m the time the children are born, and he is in charge of the work in the ricefield and gardens, where he assigns tasks to his sons. The "elder h e a d " controls the family purse and property and can wield the threat of disinheritance over the disobedient child. There is the weight of public opinion which frowns on filial disobedience, to bolster his authority, and there is the threat of the "father's curse," which is taken quite seriously. When a man has been cursed by his father and if the curse is not subsequently retracted, it is believed that he will never know happiness or success in life. Physical punishment is the most common form of sanction for disobedience within the family, whether it be a father punishing children, a mother-in-law a daughter-in-law, a husband his wife, or an older sibling a younger. A slap in the face is common, and the lash is used for more serious offenses. Ideally the eldest male is the "eldest head." In practice things frequently work out differently. If the eldest male is enfeebled, a drunkard, of low intelligence, illiterate, and/or impoverished, his power is correspondingly weakened. For example, if the father is a drunkard, and the family wealth is kept in the home—as it usually is 21 This is not to deny the importance of economic factors in the break-up, of course, but villagers are m o r e aware in such circumstances of the conflict between the women (cf. Rosenfeld 1958). Whatever else may contribute to the break-up of the joint family, it would seem that conflict between sisters-in-law is certainly the efficient cause.

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except in the wealthiest and most " m o d e r n " families—the key to the chest will be kept by some old woman, preferably his mother. The man and his sons will make the decisions about how much is to be spent, and for what, but they will have to go to her for the funds. She would never refuse to give them the money, unless she suspects it is to be used to buy rum. If a man becomes ill or otherwise incapacitated his eldest son takes over control of the family. If a poor, illiterate m a n has a son who has acquired an education and becomes a teacher, for instance, the latter almost invariably becomes the true head of the family, with the father having only the most minor titular authority. Frequently, in such cases, the son will claim to be the head of the family, but will admit that he avoids open conflict with his father, who equally avoids conflict with him. 22 Where sons come into full control of the family property, it is often said that they will lose respect for their fathers. For this reason, an old man who has divided his property among his sons (to avoid conflict after his death, and to get around the problem of the illegitimacy of his sons) usually insists on maintaining a life interest. The property now belongs to the sons, but the old man continues to own a share in all of it as long as he is alive. Once a father has been supplanted as head of the family his situation may become quite unpleasant. The new head or heads (his sons) may decide to employ physical force to control or punish the old man, and I have seen one old man beaten on the street by his two sons for being publicly drunk. Reaction on the part of the neighbors was mixed. Older people tended to feel it was " w r o n g , " but also the old man's fault for allowing his sons to take over. Many of the young men tended to sympathize with the sons, commenting on the "disgrace" of having a drunkard father. 2 3 22 N o t e h o w t h i s behavior parallels that o f the Irish c o u n t r y m a n in a similar s i t u a t i o n ( A r e n s b e r g 1937: 87). 23

A " g o o d H i n d u , " like a " g o o d M u s l i m , " s h o u l d n o t drink a n y a l c o h o l i c bev-

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A "family council" is called, not so much to settle intra-family disputes, but rather to decide on major problems, such as the purchase or sale of land, the planning of a wedding or an expensive hatha (religious ceremony), the building of a good house, etc. The assistance of the relatives, either in physical or financial form, or both, will probably be required. In families where the "elder head" is weak, a small family council made up of the father, his wife, and his sons plus perhaps a brother or two of the father, convenes to make decisions for the family. Daughters-in-law do not normally participate though they may be able to influence their husbands privately. Daughters, soon to be married out, are never members of the family council. A boy usually starts attending such councils when he passes his seventeenth birthday, although there is no formal rule. Occasionally, when the youth makes his first appearance, his father may shake hands with him and announce, "You are now a man." Taking his place in the family council may mark the end of the time he is called beta (son), and the beginning of the use of a regular name. INHERITANCE Only a minority of the families in Amity have any owned property to bequeath. However, even poor families have certain "rights" which they pass on to their descendants. Most important of these is the "right" to occupy the house and to rent the land on which it is situated, and the "right" to the riceland rented by the family. Girls cannot expect to inherit, for they marry into another family and usually into another village. Only when a man has no sons, or occasionally when a wealthy man has a favorite daughter to whom he makes a present of an acre or so of land, will a daughter get anything. In the former case, if the father has property, he will probably take erages. Nevertheless, almost all men in Amity d o drink, and one knowledgeable informant (a shopkeeper) guessed that about $20,000 is spent yearly in Amity on rum. Drunkenness is considered particularly shameful in a man of high caste.

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135

his son-in-law into his house and make him—rather than the daughter —the heir. While there are women among the East Indians of Amity who own property, they are rare. In the few cases where a girl, living elsewhere, has title to a piece of land in Amity, her brothers work it for her and her husband comes to collect his rightful share of the produce. A man may leave his possessions to all his sons in equal shares, or give the greater share to a favorite. Quite often the youngest son is the favorite, but there is no conscious rule of ultimogeniture. What usually happens is that the older sons move out of their father's house (frequently motivated by the discomfort caused by association with younger brother's wives). The father helps his older sons to build homes and to become established in some occupation. The last child, particularly if a boy, is generally his parents' pet and they are reluctant to see him leave. Furthermore, he is usually just coming of age when they die or become too feeble to work. As the last in the house, he not uncommonly inherits it. Possibly because he is a "pet," the youngest son is often the least hard working of all his brothers. Many tales are told of "youngest sons" in the village who inherited the lion's share of their father's property and squandered it. So much bitterness has been engendered by disputes over inheritance in the past that men today tend to prefer to divide their property equally among all their sons. Since families are large and holdings (particularly rights to rental) are small, this is also an unsatisfactory solution for it often results in uneconomic fragmentation, but the other alternative—leaving all to one son—is something no East Indian in Amity will entertain. The estate makes no trouble about transferring rental rights from father to son, and neither do the families that rent rice land. There is a legal problem, however, for those men who own land and are not legally married. Their sons are illegitimate and may be deprived of their inheritance by any "legal" relatives of the father, such as an unscrupulous brother or sister (in her case, it might well be her husband

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w h o is unscrupulous).

I k n o w of at least one case where a man did

cheat his brother's son out o f his inheritance; the fear of this causes men to divide up their property a m o n g their sons before their o w n deaths. T h u s , there is patrilineal inheritance o f most goods and property. Certain

special techniques,

such as caste practices (of N o s

and

Brahmans, for example), also pass from father to son, as does caste membership itself. There is another line o f inheritance in A m i t y though it is o f c o m paratively minor importance. This is f r o m mother-in-law to daughterin-law.

While a girl learns to c o o k f r o m her o w n mother, there are

certain refinements practiced by each family, ways in which their c o o k i n g differs f r o m that o f their neighbors, that must be taught to the new daughter-in-law.

T h e differences are quite small in the eyes

o f the o b s e r v e r — t h e a m o u n t o f salt used in c o o k i n g , the a m o u n t o f c o o k i n g oil, e t c . — b u t a w o m a n makes a great point o f the fact that she must teach her daughter-in-law to " c o o k my w a y . " A sharper example o f this rather special line of inheritance is afforded by the practice o f midwifery. This is considered an " u n c l e a n " occupation, and is practiced largely by w o m e n o f the C a m a r caste in Amity.

A w o m a n c a n learn the techniques o f the profession only

after she has had a b a b y herself.

Before that, she is considered t o o

" s t u p i d . " A s one midwife explained to me, she cannot teach her own daughters the trade before they are married, and once they are married they live too far a w a y . She herself learned the mysteries of midwifery f r o m her o w n mother-in-law, w h o learned them f r o m her mother-inlaw, w h o came f r o m India.

A s soon as her y o u n g daughter-in-law

has her first child, the midwife plans to initiate her into the profession. 2 4 " Although inheritance from parent-in-law to child-in-law—what might perhaps be termed socrutineal inheritance—has received little if any attention in anthropological literature, it would seem likely that examples of it might be noted wherever an individual is barred from certain practices (or from owning certain things) until after marriage—and where, at the same time, residence after marriage will be in the home of the spouse's parents.

V.

Religion

NON-HINDU

RELIGIONS

The prevailing religion of Amity is Hinduism, but other religions are represented. There are, for example, some eight Muslim families, all residing on Beharri Road and Thomas R o a d ; they tend to cluster near the top of the Amity economic scale. Only two families live in ajoupas, and of the two, one of the houses has a galvanized iron roof. Three of the men are cane-laborers, but such occupations as taxi driver, teacher, and fisherman-woodcutter are represented among the Muslims. All claim to be "good Muslims" in that they do not eat pork and would not marry non-Muslims. Though it is probably true that none of them eat pork (nor, for the most part, do their Hindu neighbors), more than one family contains a case of intermarriage with a Hindu. At least one of the household heads is a heavy drinker, and most of the other men will drink an

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occasional bottle of beer. Since there are n o Muslim temples in Amity, they must travel outside the village for religious participation. None make a practice of regular Friday attendance, though most will travel to a nearby village, where they have relatives among the large Muslim population, for important religious and social occasions. The derogatory Trinidad term " M a d i n g a " is sometimes used in Amity to refer to the Muslims, but on the whole there is little friction between Hindus and Muslims in the village. The Muslim group is so small and so peripheral that it is ignored rather than mistreated. Only one Muslim man living in one of the " b e s t " houses has any real social importance in the community, and his position is a delicate one. A few years ago he was the captain of one of the most successful cricket teams the village ever produced, and he is considered today one of the leading authorities on cricket in the village. He is distressed because the leaders of the new teams of young men prefer to consult Hindu men of substantially lesser renown for advice or coaching. When the Amity Hindu School burned down, his house was one of those used as temporary quarters. Despite its convenient location, when he offered the house there were some Hindus in the village who argued against accepting, simply because of his religion. He will be consulted on some matters affecting village affairs along with other important men, but if the matter has to do with politics—as most matters do these days in Amity—he is likely to be excluded. Though he has not supported the party favored by the Hindu leaders of the village, he has done his best to maintain his friendship with its supporters, avoiding any active role in politics. The other Muslim young people exhibit, by their behavior, some indications of their sense of alienation f r o m the community. They are not barred f r o m Hindu religious affairs, but they participate only as spectators, even on such important occasions of village-wide participation as Holi and Siw Ratrl. One young Muslim teacher occupies an important position in the local section of the People's National

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Movement. 1 He admits to the alienation of most of his former Hindu friends. The conversation of two young Muslim girls, with whom my wife and I were well-acquainted, consisted for the most part of derogatory comments about Amity: its "backwardness" and the "ignorance" of its inhabitants. One of these girls is a teacher in the Canadian Mission School and professes to be a Presbyterian now. Despite the peripheral position of the Muslims of Amity, they are not considered a " l o w " group by the Hindus—as are the Christian Indians. The Muslims do not eat pork, for one thing. Also, Islam is considered a n " I n d i a n " religion as against the alien Christianity. Furthermore, the good economic standing of the Muslims of Amity, and the high economic standing of the Muslims of a neighboring village, give followers of this religion a measure of prestige in Hindu eyes. The few Christian Indians belong to one of two groups: "Presbyterian" Christians, and " C h u r c h of G o d " Christians. The category of "Presbyterian" Christians in Amity is composed entirely of young men and women who work as teachers in some Canadian Mission School, in Amity or elsewhere. Not all the teachers in such schools are Christians, nor does the Canadian Mission School system demand conversion as the price of a position as teacher. Nevertheless, it is widely believed in the village and among the teachers that preference is shown to Christians. Almost all student-teachers in a village such as Amity come from very poor families, and they express considerable concern about their futures. They know that failure on the examinations and failure to be accepted into a Teachers' Training College means the end of hope for further education and for improved economic and social circum1 T h i s party ( p o p u l a r l y k n o w n a s P N M ) is led by T h e H o n o r a b l e D r . Eric W i l l i a m s , C h i e f M i n i s t e r o f T r i n i d a d . A m i t y village leadership is a c t i v e l y o p p o s e d to the P N M . See " C o m m u n i t y O r g a n i z a t i o n " in this b o o k for an analysis o f politics in A m i t y .

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stances. For many it may mean a return to the canefields, to spend the rest of their lives, as their fathers have spent theirs, as ordinary cane-laborers. That they exhibit considerable anxiety may be easily understood. They believe, along with the rest of the villagers, that the Canadian Mission officials are much more interested in assisting young Christians than young Hindus. The validity of this belief is hard to determine: it was my observation that being Christian did not insure success, any more than being Hindu insured failure. In any event, almost all the student-teachers in the Amity C. M. School had become "voluntarily" converted to Presbyterianism upon being selected as student-teachers, or soon thereafter. One of these was the girl from the Muslim home mentioned earlier. The sincerity of such converts is also difficult to assess. All of them express absolute sincerity, attend Sunday School, and avoid participation in " h e a t h e n " religious ceremonies. Still, they continue to live with their families. These go on practicing the original religious customs, and there is no indication of a conflict of faiths in such homes. Parents of such children indicate pride in the accomplishments and prospects of their children; they shrug off any discussion of the conversion with the comment that it is the child's " o w n business." Full-fledged teachers in C. M. schools are almost all Presbyterians, though again, it is not an official requirement. There is a strong feeling among C. M. teachers—and specifically among the Christian teachers —that appointment to the " g o o d " schools and the possibility of promotion to Assistant Headmaster and Headmaster is much greater for the Christian teacher than for the non-Christian. The foregoing should not be taken as an indication of a belief on the part of the writer that all Christian C. M. teachers are insincere Christians. There is at least one case in the village where the sincerity of belief on the part of the girl who was a Christian student-teacher could not possibly be doubted. She is married to a young Hindu of Amity now, and her insistence on being a Christian is not only no

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longer advantageous but creates considerable problems for her in her daily life. On the other hand, when the Sanatan Dharma Mahasabha 2 erected a Hindu school in Amity a few years ago, a number of Christian C . M . teachers announced their reconversion to Hinduism and joined the staff of the Hindu school. One of them had been a Christian since the age of fourteen, when he had become a student-teacher. He remained a Christian for the more than ten years that he taught in the C. M . school; but today he is one of the leaders of a Hindu revival movement among the young people of Amity. He informed me that he had been a thoroughly insincere Christian throughout his C. M. experience, and that the fact was known to his family. Coming as he did f r o m a poor home, he had believed that " c o n v e r s i o n " was the only road out of the canefields for him, and his family concurred. Whatever the original feelings of the convert to Christianity who enters the teaching profession, he is usually alienated further and further f r o m his original religion as the years go by. Christian C . M . teachers make a practice of referring to Hinduism as "heathenism," and to its religious practices as " i d o l a t r y . " One such teacher informed me privately that, while he was (he insisted) a sincere Christian and had no desire to participate in Hindu rites, he might have liked to attend an occasional ceremony, particularly when sponsored by some relative. Fearful that the Canadian Mission was watching him, he said, he tended to avoid all such affairs. It may be said, therefore, that if a man converts to Christianity and makes his career within the C. M . School System, the Canadian Mission has a man who avoids Hinduism, behaves publicly as a Christian, and raises his children as such. The church may be fairly certain that at least the second generation is made up of sincere Christians. There are only some half-dozen Presbyterian Christians in Amity. 1

The largest East Indian religiocultural organization in Trinidad. ascribes quasi-political overtones to it.

Gossip

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RELIGION

Most villagers take it for granted that they are insincere Christians but do not look down on them for that. Rather, there is a measure of respect for their success both in deception and in advancing themselves. If they were at all to be held in contempt, it would be for eating pork or beef, and few if any of the Amity "Presbyterians" eat either meat, though most of them profess lack of concern with Hindu dietary rules. "Presbyterians" also profess to be completely uninterested in matters of caste. During my stay in the village, however, a "Presbyterian" C. M. School teacher who had been born a Brahman was accused of having had sexual relations with the daughter of a low-caste villager. There was a general feeling in Amity that the teacher was being victimized: whatever might be the truth of the charge, people said, the girl had a reputation for previous immorality, and she and her father were simply trying to make a good "catch." Nevertheless, many felt the young teacher would in the end be forced to marry the girl, since the Reverend had a reputation for settling these disputes in favor of the girl—threatening to dismiss any male teacher slow to agree to such a marriage. In this case, the young man resolutely refused to marry the girl. Many people were surprised at his courage—and the explanation was offered to me by a number of villagers that, though nominally a Christian, the young m a n was, after all, a Brahman and might be expected to accept any punishment rather than agree to marry a girl who not only had a poor reputation, but was of " l o w " caste! The Reverend insisted upon marriage or dismissal at first, but he was evidently shaken by the young man's resolute willingness to accept dismissal before he would contemplate such a marriage. Perhaps, also, some of the rumors of the girl's bad reputation reached the Reverend's ears. In the end, the young m a n was not dismissed but was merely transferred to another school in a distant community. He did not m a r r y the girl.

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"Church of G o d " Christian Indians are completely distinct from the "Presbyterian" Christians, though the two such men I interviewed indicated that they received their first introduction to Christianity in the C. M. School. I knew of only three "Church of G o d " families in Amity, though there are reports of perhaps two or three more. Both my informants were young men in their early twenties. Both were married and claimed that their wives were also Christians—and the one who had children was raising them in the faith. Other "Church of G o d " Christian Indians, in Amity and outside the village, were very much like themselves, the young men claimed. Both of these young men had been born into the Camar caste and had grown up with little knowledge of or interest in Hinduism. They had hungered for religion and found what they were searching for in the "Church of God." The two men belonged to different congregations (neither meeting inside of Amity). I attended the Sunday services of one. A fundamentalist, evangelic group, it met in an attractive, small wooden building. The pastor was a Barbadian Negro, but almost the entire congregation was East Indian. As far as I could determine, only one family present was from Amity. Women wore white dresses; men wore dark suits, white shirts, and dark ties. Hymns were sung in English and Hindi. There was none of the shouting, pageantry, and semi-possession I had observed at Negro "Shouter Baptist" meetings: the entire meeting was quiet and sedate. The young man who invited me still carries his "Indian" name, and his wife and oldest child also have "Indian" names, though all three have been baptized. The younger children, who were born after the family's conversion to Christianity, have only "Christian" (that is, English) names such as "John" or "Mary." The other youth identifying himself as a "Church of G o d " Christian has a reputation in the village for being something of a scamp. He is no longer welcome in the Slwala (Hindu temple) courtyard because of an incident some years back involving the mysterious disappearance

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of a few pairs of worshipers' shoes. 3 He insists that he never had any interest in Hinduism. What he learned of Christianity from the C. M. school teachers intrigued him, and he finally " f o u n d G o d " by studying under the Negro preacher of a small congregation some distance from Amity. He considers this preacher his " b r o t h e r . " This young man, "Persad," does not attend regular Sunday services, but he sees himself as a good Christian nevertheless. Pictures of Christ and Mary, as well as photographs of his preceptor, hang on the walls of the room he occupies in his father's ajoupa, replacing the more customary Hindu pictures. Persad's father, who is a Hindu, admits that he did not approve of his son's decision to become a Christian. Even so, he doesn't feel sufficiently aggrieved about the matter to break off relations with his son. There is perhaps a reason why Persad's father apparently does not take his son's conversion too seriously. The father is one of the " C a m a r priests" of Amity, and requires his son's assistance in the performance of some of his duties. Persad always obliges. The father may well feel his son will succeed him in his office. Persad confided to me that he does not want to assist his father in the latter's " u n christian" rites, but he has been doing it all his life and cannot very well refuse. Furthermore, he notes that his father does indeed need help at such times, and Persad admits to considerable "pressure" from neighbors who have an active interest in the rites. Persad insists that he will never be the "Camar priest," but there is certainly room for doubt.

3

Amity men normally go barefoot, donning shoes only for special occasions. Going to the temple would be one such special occasion. Leather, however, is considered defiling, so the Hindu who puts on shoes to go to the temple must remove them upon arrival.

RELIGION

UNITY A N D DIVISION IN AMITY

145

HINDUISM

There are two Hindu religiocultural organizations of unequal size on the island of Trinidad: the large, traditionalist, and politically conscious Sanatan D h a r m a Mahasabha, and the much smaller Arya Samaj. The split is not reflected in the religious life of Amity, for all the Hindus in the village consider themselves Sanatanists. There is, nevertheless, considerable variation in religious belief and practice among the Hindus of Amity, and caste distinctions play no small part in producing this variation. In the early years of Amity, there were pronounced sectarian differences. The people of Thomas Road and what is today Central Amity adhered to the R a m a n a n d l panthl (sect). In Casecu, the Aghor panthl was strong, and in Jangll Tola most people belonged to the Siunareynl panthl. The sects had certain important ritual differences, in such matters as the behavior each considered appropriate at funerals, and in the propriety of the use of liquor during religious ceremonies. More important, however, was the fact that members of the R a m a n a n d l panthl employed the services of Brahman pandits (priests) at religious ceremonies. For members of this sect, the pandits were also "godfathers," or spiritual advisors. The officiant at a ceremony of either of the other two sects was chosen from the group itself and was known as a " m a h a n t . " There was n o rule saying that a mahant could not be a Brahman, but members of this Varna were highly unlikely to belong to any sect but the Ramanandl. From the alignment of sect and district given, it will be seen that the R a m a n a n d l panthl drew its membership from castes of the Ves Varna and higher, while the other two sects were composed of members of Sudra castes. The two non-Brahman sects still exist in Amity today, in their respective districts, but both are small and becoming moribund. The younger people of both districts are gravitating toward the Ramanandl

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panthl. It is said that at an occasional funeral deriving from Casecu or Jangll Tola one may still observe Siunareynl or Aghor panthl practices. There are rumors that, not too many years ago, a few members of the Aghor panthl raided the cemetery for a skull of a member of the Tell caste required for a special ceremony. On the other hand, it is also said that years ago marriages in Casecu and Jangll Tola were performed without benefit of Brahman pandits and with rites completely different from those of Central Amity. It has been more than five years since the last such wedding was held. The weddings I attended in Jangll Tola and Casecu had Brahmans officiating and were no different from the weddings I observed in Central Amity. Since the overwhelming majority of the villagers today are members of the Ramanandl panthl, the discussion of religious practices in the following pages may be taken to represent those of this sect. An important event for Amity Hinduism was the arrival in Trinidad of a group of four religious teachers from India in 1951. The group, known popularly as "the Swamis," toured Trinidad, lecturing and preaching. One of them became ill and returned to India, two moved on to British Guiana, and the fourth settled in Amity and remained there for about three years. While he did not attack the local pandits directly, his work in the village did tend to undermine the position of these men as religious leaders of the community. As a result of his work, the Slwala, used formerly only on important holidays, became a significant religious and social center and is now the locus of weekly congregational services. When he left Trinidad in 1955 and went to British Guiana, two monuments to his stay in Amity remained. One was the Amity Nursery School, which he had advocated for the children of working mothers; the second was a building behind the Slwala, built originally as his residence. This building is now called an " A s r a m , " as it serves as a residence for the Brahmcarl (the title of the Amity temple priest)

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and for a number of poor boys who require a place to live while they continue their studies. Much more important, the Swami left behind some twenty young men whom he had "initiated" and instructed in proper Hindu life. These men make a strenuous effort to continue in his path today and they form the backbone of the Siwala congregation. In Amity, at present, there are three foci of religious leadership and practice, all within the Ramanandi panthl: the pandits, the Siwala, and a man whom we will call "Basdeo." Pandits: The two pandits of Amity are men in their early fifties. Unlike the Brahmcarl, they are married, have families, and have occupations from which they derive most of their incomes, practicing as pandits in their spare time only. Both are Brahmans, though only one of them, "Sookram Marajh," can claim " p u r e " Brahman ancestry, to the best of anyone's knowledge. The other pandit, " P o o r a n M a r a j h , " was the son of a Brahman father and a Sudra mother. 4 I was informed that some objection was voiced in the village when he started practicing as a pandit, but he received the support of other Brahmans, both in and out of Amity, and is now fully accepted. These men have been involved in serious scandals, 6 and although the prestige of both has been seriously impaired, they continue to practice as pandits and have suffered no substantial loss of clients. One young man, whose family uses Pandit Pooran as its "godfather," told me that while he has no respect for the Brahman he requires his services. Therefore, he said, he kisses the pandit's feet during a religious ceremony, but feels only contempt for the man at all other times. Years ago, it is said, parents put their sons into the hands of the * The two pandits are not related to each other. They use "Marajh" as a surname, however, as do a large proportion of Brahmans in Trinidad. Pooran's father took Pooran's mother as a "keeper" after the death of his first wife. I was told that considerable resentment was expressed at this time by both kin and neighbors of Pooran's father. s See "Conflict and Sanction," pp. 206-20, in this book.

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family guru at the age of about twelve or fourteen, to receive gurumukh (initiation). 6 From that time on, the guru functioned as pandit for the young man, officiating at his wedding, at all his ceremonies, and initiating the young man's wife. Girls, then as now, took gurumukh after marriage, from their husbands' "godfathers." Today, boys insist upon choosing both their own wives and their own "godfathers," waiting until their marriage to choose the latter. As in the case of marriage, "choicc" is often only an unexercised right, for the average young man will "choose" the "godfather" of his own father. A number of young men, however, are not bothering with gurumukh at all, though for ceremonial needs they may call upon the services of one of the local pandits. The excuse given by such young men is not that they have no interest in the matter of gurumukh, but rather that the decision is so important that it cannot be made lightly. A man may choose a "godfather" only once in his life, and once it is done it cannot be undone. In view of the binding quality of the act, and the fact that many pandits (in the direct experience of the young men) are later discovered to lead immoral lives, they feel it is better to wait—for years, if necessary—until a "godfather" can be found who will always be deserving of respect and admiration. Such young men have been influenced by those who were initiated by the Swami during his residence in the village. A cela (initiate) of the Swami says proudly that he had a "real" gurumukh, involving proper instruction and the learning of a personal, secret mantra (formal prayer). The celas of the village "godfathers" are told only to "repeat the name of G o d , " and are advised, vaguely, to "be good." The fact that the Swami is no longer in Trinidad, and cannot be called upon to officiate at the ceremonies of his celas, is of no great moment * " G u r u " and " g o d f a t h e r " are used interchangeably. B o t h m e a n the s a m e t h i n g in A m i t y — a spiritual advisor. Such a p e r s o n is usually, t h o u g h not necessarily, the f a m i l y pandit, or B r a h m a n priest.

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to them. One is permitted to use the services of any other pandit in the event that one's "godfather" is dead or otherwise unavailable. Those men, therefore, who have the Swami for a "godfather" are able to use the Amity pandits without feeling in any way involved in whatever moral and religious shortcomings these men are believed to have. The foregoing should not be interpreted as indicating that the participation of the local pandits is diminishing to any marked extent in the areas of religion in which they have customarily functioned. One or the other officiates at almost every wedding involving a boy or girl from Amity; they officiate at almost all family-sponsored religious ceremonies; they are consulted at times of birth, illness, and death. But they are no longer the only religious leaders; important competitors have appeared on the scene. Siwala: One of the young men who studied under the Swami was a Brahman from another part of Trinidad. He went further than most, determining never to marry and to devote his life entirely to religious study. He has remained in Amity as a spiritual leader and officiant in Siwala services. The title he has chosen for himself—Brahmcari— reflects his determination to remain both celibate and a student. He hopes to go to India eventually for further study. Meanwhile, he lives in the asram behind the Siwala and acts as a kind of temple priest. He is supported by contributions made by members of the Siwala congregation. The Brahmcari is not in competition with the local pandits. He is not a "godfather" to anyone; never officiates at marriages; and only rarely performs a puja (ceremonial offering). Rather, he is much more concerned with reorganizing religious observance in Amity, and has provided weekly congregational readings and prayers in the Siwala. Those of the Swami's initiates who are still associated with the Siwala look upon the Brahmcari as their primary spiritual leader. They support his efforts to develop the Siwala into something re-

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sembling a Western church, with regular congregational services. Apart from these men and their families (among the most important in Amity, and preponderantly from Beharri Road), the congregation contains many elderly women and a few elderly men from Central Amity, Casecu, and Thomas Road. Children of the Amity Hindu School are urged by their teachers to attend, and many do. Services are held regularly three times a week: on Thursday evenings, Sunday mornings, and Sunday evenings. Members of the congregation manage to attend at least one service a week, and many try hard to be present at all of them. Recently, a "Divine Life Society" was formed by the active members of the congregation under the direction of the Brahmcarl and " M r . M a r a j h , " 7 who provides the chief financial support for the Slwala. The society is dedicated to the improvement of the religious and moral life of the village. The Slwala is still used, as it has always been, for the community observance of certain important holidays, such as Siw Ratrl. 8 On such occasions, some famous old pandit may be brought to the village by Mr. Marajh, to officiate at the Slwala, with the Brahmcarl assisting. "Basdeo": The leading Amity-born lay disciple of the Swami was a young man of the Ahlr caste named "Basdeo." Even before the Swami's arrival in Amity, Basdeo was noted for his wisdom and piety. Under the Swami's tutelage his learning, too, became impressive. After the Swami's departure, Basdeo was a leading member of the congregation of the Siwala—some say even more important than the Brahmcarl. In 1956, Basdeo broke sharply with the Slwala, the Brahmcarl, and Mr. Marajh. There are those who say that Basdeo ' This "Mr. Marajh" is not one of the aforementioned pandits. He is an important landholder, and though a Brahman, does not practice as a pandit. For further discussion of his position in Amity, see "Community Organization," in this book. 8 See "Religious Ceremonies," pp. 169-79, in this book.

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resented the increasing precedence given the Brahmcarl over himself in religious matters. Basdeo, after all, was older (he is in his 30s, while the Brahmcari is in his mid-20s), and it is generally agreed that Basdeo is the more learned. Unfortunately, these informants say, the Brahmcarl is a Brahman while Basdeo is only an Ahlr. Both Basdeo and the Slwala congregation maintain that the break occurred because of sharp political differences. Basdeo wanted the Slwala to remain neutral in the election fight of that year, but the entire congregation had insisted on using the influence of the Slwala to aid their candidate. Heavy insults were traded, and Basdeo left the Slwala, thereby giving up a great part of his prestige within the community. There was another issue on which Basdeo diverged sharply from the Slwala group: he felt—and feels—that the pandits are an unnecessary impediment to the Hindu religion of Trinidad. A good Hindu, he teaches, should attend regular services in a temple, and should have regular prayers at home but should learn to conduct those prayers himself, and not require as an intercessor between himself and God a pandit who may well be immoral, uneducated, and inaccurate. Basdeo supports himself and his wife with a small cloth-goods shop in Amity and a peddler's stand in the weekly market in town. He devotes all his free time to religion: to prayer, study, and teaching. He has offered to teach any interested person how to perform his own ceremonial offerings. Basdeo teaches that this will give the individual more dignity, make him independent of the pandits, and will result in more meaningful prayers, since—according to Basdeo—the pandits have only the barest knowledge of correct ritual and prayer. He admits that he has had little success in this endeavor. Many of the people he has persuaded to study under him backslide in a real crisis. Even though his students are fully aware of the pandits' inadequacy, Basdeo says bitterly, they appear to feel that the prayers of

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an ignorant Brahman are somehow superior to and more efficacious than those of the most learned non-Brâhman. Basdeo adheres t o the Ràmanândî panthï and claims to be a Sanatanist. He is the spiritual leader and advisor of a small dissident religious group in Amity, but his importance cannot be measured only in terms of the size of his following. He preaches aggressively, and advocates a conservative, but anti-Brahman, kind of " P r o t e s t a n t " Hinduism, and is feared and disliked by the Brahman religious leaders of Amity and beyond. Basdeo travels widely about the island, and is often invited to preach and to help a village establish regular religious practices. His efforts frequently encounter considerable opposition f r o m the local Brâhmans.

H I N D U T H E O L O G Y IN AMITY TODAY An analysis of the sacred texts or the deeper philosophical implications of Hinduism is beyond the scope of this book. Most members of the community studied are unacquainted with these matters, and for religious explanation are content to consult their religious leaders. Primary attention will be given here to observed ritual and religious practice, plus such ideological insights as I have received f r o m both layman and village religious leader. My first concern in these pages is always with the ways in which social phenomena are reflected and illuminated in the religious practices of Amity. A "good m a n " is one who avoids drinking, cursing of others, and cheating. He should not "trouble other people's wives and children." Ideally, he should participate in community affairs, help others, and give to charity. Finally, he should observe at least some of the formal precepts of the religion. According to Basdeo, on this last point it is only possible to say, " W e have 'good' [men], but we don't have 'very good,' in Trinidad." A good woman should strive for the title of pâtî brâtâ (faithful to her husband) and that is really all that is re-

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quired of her: she should be hardworking and obedient, but above all, she must be faithful—she must avoid all other men. The cow plays a part in the religious life of Amity, although it is not actually worshiped. The emotion which is felt for it might perhaps be best termed "affection." The cow is compared with one's mother, since a child gets milk from both. Every family that can possibly afford it maintains a cow. True, the milk is sold and provides some useful cash, but no one gives this as a reason for keeping a cow. Rather, the commonest explanation is that it is "good" to keep a cow. Almost no Hindu in Amity eats beef, and the very few "emancipated" young men who have tasted beef would eat it only in town, and never in their own homes. A cow cannot be killed. This means, often, that an old, barren, milkless cow becomes a serious expense for a poor family. No one will sell a cow to a butcher—but frequently it is sold to a "stranger" from another village. A person who sells a cow in this way will admit that he is not happy about the transaction, but he will claim that he had no choice. He will add that he does not "know" that the stranger will sell the animal to a butcher, and if the stranger does, the sin will be on his own head. Besides milk, the cow provides a number of useful things. Ghi (clarified butter), which is used in most ceremonies, can only be made from cow's milk. Mud mixed with gobar (cow dung) is used for rituals and also to lipe (plaster) floors. Apart from any element of sanctification or purification which it may have, such a mixture does not crack upon drying as will ordinary mud. Leather is, of course, another important product of the cow, although it is not made in Amity. It is believed by most villagers that the gift of a cow or bull to any Brahman—guru or not—will save one from a sojourn in hell. For the bull there is not so much "affection" as "respect" because of the hard work the bull performs and because it is the symbol of Mahadeo (Siva). The attitudes of the Amity Hindu on two theological matters are

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sufficiently pertinent to require some consideration here. Death and the disposition of the soul is one, and the nature of the "divine" is the other. It is firmly believed by all the villagers interviewed on the subject that after the death of an individual his soul eventually returns to Earth and is reborn again into another body. Sin in one incarnation will be punished by a low birth and a life of suffering in the next; righteousness will be rewarded by a high birth and a life of happiness in the following incarnation. One's position in the caste hierarchy traditionally is considered evidence of the sinfulness or righteousness of one's previous life. 9 Only a few of the older more conservative members of the community, particularly of the two highest Varnas, show any interest in the religious justification for the caste system. The younger people profess to be egalitarian, and religious leaders tend to avoid or play down the relationship of caste to Hindu belief. These leaders prefer to emphasize "life of suffering" versus "life of happiness" in the next incarnation, without specifically referring to caste. "If you are wicked," Basdeo says, "you are reborn as an animal or into a poor h o m e . " There are disagreements and uncertainties about details. ( F o r example: Are there really 18 different hells for temporary sojourn and punishment after death? Will meat-eaters be forced to eat molten metal?) But there is unquestionably a strong and widely-held belief that "if you are wicked, you have to pay." It is interesting that the diminution of religious sanction for the caste system has not resulted in any apparent weakening of the belief in reincarnation. 1 0 9 For an examination of some of the implications of this religious justification for the caste system in India see O'Mallcy 1932: 18ff. 10 The Swami supported, if he did not indeed introduce, the avoidance of religious justification for the caste system. He insisted that the caste membership of those who studied under him was of no importance whatever, and should not affect treatment, behavior between acolytes, or commensality. He refused to give any information about his own caste membership. This apparently discomfited Mr. Marajh, who wished to invite the Swami to eat in his home, and who had to

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The belief in reincarnation has certain important implications. Individuals who are childless, who have only girl children, or who suffer shame or financial reverses, all attempt to comfort themselves with the thought that they are being punished for the sins of a previous existence. At the same time, there is a widespread belief in evil spirits, curses, and the enmity of certain divinities. There does not appear to be any awareness of inconsistency. In this life, there are certain actions which must be performed or avoided, for they may affect one's well-being in a future life. The giving of charity, for example, is very important. Again, many have a horror of debt, for the belief is that all debts must and will be repaid—if necessary by rebirth as a draft animal belonging to the person to whom one is indebted. This fear may explain the reluctance exhibited by some men to join the Agricultural Credit Society, or to take on a loan for the purpose of building a new house. Most people, nevertheless, have no hesitation about contracting debt, particularly in this manner. It would appear that the objection to going into debt for fear of dying in that state with the attendant unpleasant consequences, is used as a supplementary argument to support a person's hesitancy to contract a debt. There is a possibility that this fear of dying in debt holds only if the debtor is a H i n d u ; for apparently no one seriously believes that a m a n will be required to make good a debt to a Creole bank. I have no evidence to support this statement—no one ever made it or admitted to it in my presence—but it might help to explain the reputation East Indians have a m o n g shopkeepers and other businessmen as poor credit treat the latter with deference. There is one unconfirmed story current in the village that Mr. Marajh wrote to a friend in India, asking him to check o n the caste membership of the Swami. It is claimed that he received no helpful reply. Basdeo told me that, though no one could be less interested in caste membership than himself, he was urged by friends to try to learn the Swami's caste, and finally asked the Swami openly. The Swami was angered and refused to reply.

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risks. I know of one case where a poor family sold their last small piece of land to pay off an otherwise uncollectable debt of their deceased son, to save his soul. It was owed to another East Indian, a distant relative. I have never heard of such a desire to repay a debt to a bank or a shopkeeper, and I find it hard to imagine it happening. Hindus in Amity believe there is one G o d , and they claim he is the same one worshiped by Christians, Muslims, and members of other religions. They say that God may appear to different peoples in different guises, and that he has an untold number of aspects and attributes, in any of which he may properly be worshiped. For Hinduism, God is triune: Brahma the creator, Siva the destroyer, and Vishnu the preserver. The hundreds of other deotas (divinities) are considered in Amity to be subdivisions of these three. Thus, the goddess Kali is said to be one aspect of Siva, G o d , the destroyer, controlling the diseases of humans. The goddess Durga, it is said, is God, the destroyer, controlling the diseases of animals. As Vishnu, the preserver, God is said to take h u m a n form f r o m time to time to correct man's ways. Thus, there is Lord Rama, Lord Krishna, and to these most Amity Hindus are willing to add Jesus Christ. This concept of plurality within unity is a difficult one, and is of real concern only to the Brahmcarl, Basdeo, and a few others who are deeply involved in religious study. For the majority of villagers there is an awareness of one God, but the primary concern is with the individual deota, as a full divinity in his or her own right, and not as an attribute or aspect. Since from the point of view of Amity Hinduism all religions worship the same God, and therefore partake of godliness, Amity Hindus respect—and in a sense accept—all religions, though there is no desire to be converted away f r o m Hinduism. Their feeling on the matter might be summed up as a belief that each religion comes from God and contains some measure of " t r u t h , " but that Hinduism contains more than any other. Furthermore, each man should worship

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God in the manner of his own race, sect, and family. Since all religions partake of godliness, there can be no harm in listening to other preachers, and there may even be considerable good. Hindu school children, for example, are frequently urged by their parents to attend Canadian Mission Sunday School, in accordance with the belief that the "word of G o d " is always beneficial—no matter what the religious framework in which it is couched. The people of the community are confused by the exclusiveness of Christianity, and are disturbed because some Christians call Hindus "heathens" and give no credit to Hindu teachings. Within the Hindu community itself there is considerable variation in religious practice, from the individual who has put away symbols, in the form of pictures and effigies, and who attempts to commune with God in the latter's transcendant state—to those who slaughter animals to propitiate various gods and demons. All are considered good Hindus, observing the religion according to their own understanding of it. PUBLIC CELEBRATIONS11 For heuristic purposes I have separated the religious practices (apart from rites de passage, which are discussed in another chapter) observed in Amity into two categories: "public celebrations" and "religious ceremonies." The terms and the categorizing are of my 11 The festivals and holy days—such as Diwali, Holi, Kartik Nahan, Siw Ratri, etc.—discussed in this section and in the succeeding one, are described in terms o f the way they are interpreted and observed by East Indians in the village of A m i t y in Trinidad. Except where indicated (as in the case of Christmas) these holidays derive from India. Interpretation and associated ritual vary widely in India from region to region and village to village. It is impossible here t o provide any brief and at the same time adequate analysis of these holidays as they are observed in India. Underhill, in "The Hindu Religious Year," (1921) provides a useful c o m pilation of such data for India in general, and Lewis (1958: 197-239) for the public festivals of northern India in particular.

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own devising; they do not reflect conscious distinctions made by the villagers. The Amity Hindu calendar is a lunar one, of twelve months in normal years and of thirteen months at regular intervals. 12 Amity Hindus remark with a kind of pride that there is an important holiday for every month, and sometimes more than one. Some of these holidays are unknown to the majority of the villagers, receiving at most a passing notice in weekly temple services. Others are important and are observed by large numbers of villagers with considerable religious activity. There are certain occasions—whether holidays listed on the calendar, or even holidays alien to Hinduism—when the social aspect of the religious observance seems to overshadow the religious aspect. It is true that religion often plays a part in the most secular of Hindu social affairs, and, on the other hand, almost all religious activity has significant social overtones. The distinctions made here between events which are more "social" or more "religious" must therefore be subjective. If the categorization is in itself acceptable, 1 believe the differences are sufficiently sharp as to admit of little argument. Ramlila: The celebration of the victory of Lord Rama over the giant Rowan is observed from the first to the tenth day of the second half of the month of Kuar, which falls around October. 13 For over twenty years, this was the occasion for a gala pageant in 12 T h e " H i n d u C a l e n d a r " — i f indeed there c a n be said t o be o n e c a l e n d a r — i s exceedingly c o m p l i c a t e d . T h e r e a r e b o t h solar a n d l u n a r m o n t h s , a n d considerable local variation in I n d i a as to r e c k o n i n g and even t h e n a m e s assigned to the m o n t h s (see Fleet 1910: 491-95). T h e n a m e s of m o n t h s a n d the d a t e s of holidays given in this b o o k reflect A m i t y t e r m i n o l o g y a n d c o n v e n t i o n , and d o not necessarily relate t o present I n d i a n practice. 13 E a c h m o n t h in the A m i t y H i n d u c a l e n d a r is thirty days long, a n d is divided into halves, each k n o w n as a paksh, a n d each lasting fifteen days. T h e first half of t h e m o n t h is k n o w n as sukr-paksh, a n d the second half as krislm-paksh. Days are n u m b e r e d f r o m o n e t o fifteen f o r each paksh of each m o n t h .

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Amity, held on one of the cricket grounds. Selected portions of the rameyn (Ramayana) were read aloud as they were simultaneously acted out, with members of the community playing the various parts. Expensive and colorful costumes were supplied by the actors and their families. The parts were played by male children of various ages; the adults of the community participated joyously in the capacity of audience. From 1956 to 1958, Ramllla was not observed in Amity, and was deeply missed by almost everyone. Instead, people f r o m the village traveled to other communities to observe their Ramllla festivities. The political split in the village is usually given as the reason by almost everyone for the cessation of the Ramlila pageant, and it cannot be doubted that the 1956 election and the attendant bitterness was the circumstance precipitating the cessation. 14 The leaders of both political factions refuse to accept responsibility for the cessation, and each blames the other group. Both sides insist that they would be happy to see the return of the pageant and would be willing to suspend political differences at least for the duration of Ramllla if it would help to bring the pageant back to Amity. Nevertheless, Ramllla has not been revived. A few informants noted that there was a second issue involved, but all insisted that it was really " n o t i m p o r t a n t . " The political split was the overriding issue, they claimed. This second issue is the annoyance felt by many villagers of Sudra caste membership over the fact that the most important roles were assigned to children of higher Varnas, with Sudra children receiving only minor parts. The role of Lord R a m a himself went almost invariably to either a Brahman or Cattrl youth. Those supporters of the Democratic Labour Party who were of high Varna membership admitted that such a weighting of roles had in 14

See " N a t i o n a l Politics o n t h e Village Level," p p . 221-29, in this b o o k .

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fact taken place, but were impatient with the problem. 14 They pointed out that it had always been done this way, and it had not become an issue until members of the Peoples National Movement had raised it for political purposes. This was the custom, they said; it had always been the custom, it was of no importance, and there was no reason to change the custom. DLP supporters of lower Varna membership would not bring themselves to say they approved of the old way of apportioning of roles, but admitted that it m the custom, and said that it was better to keep to the old way if change meant complete loss of the celebration. PNM supporters, for the most part of lower Varna membership, insisted that the bitterness was a long-standing one. As long as it was to be a matter of reinstituting the celebration, they said, why should the DLP supporters object to making the apportionment of roles more "democratic"? Dlwali: This is a "festival of lights" said to be in honor both of the goddess Lakshml and of Lord Rama's "return from the forest." It falls on the thirteenth day of the first half of the month of Kartik, or around November, and is one of the most happily and eagerly anticipated of holidays. Every house is cleaned, fresh curtains are hung, and special delicacies are prepared. Around each house a display of diyas is set out. 16 During Dlwali, the maximum number of diyas that the family can afford are displayed. The diyas are lighted at sunset, and most of the children and old people remain at home to keep them refilled and burning. There is a service in the Siwala in the evening, but few except the most religious attend, and most of these for only a short time. Most of the younger adults, having set out and lighted their own diyas, go walking through the community in sexually segregated peer groups, to see the displays of others. 15 The Democratic Labour Party, known popularly as the DLP, has the support of the village leadership. To many of the people of Amity the DLP is the party of the East Indians. " A diyd is a small shallow clay cup, containing a cotton wick and filled with coconut oil, used at many ceremonies.

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They are interested in observing two things: how attractively each household has arranged its display of diyas., and the economic and social pretensions of the household as reflected by its display. Coconut oil is expensive and burns quickly, so poor families content themselves with a dozen or so diyas. These are set on windowsills, doorsills, roofs, and various places around the yard. Wealthier people construct elaborate scaffoldings in various geometric designs, capable of holding hundreds of diyas. Attention is paid not only to the first brave display, but to duration, for some people set out a large number of diyas at sunset, but are unwilling or unable to keep them refilled and burning. After a few hours, therefore, only the homes of the wealthiest continue to exhibit a brilliant display. Unusual arrangements and great quantities of lights attract the strollers, and the movement is from outlying districts to Beharri Road, where most of the better homes and more brilliant displays are to be found. Inhabitants of Beharri Road tend to confine their sightseeing to that area, with perhaps a brief excursion to Lloyd Street or to the beginnings of another district. DIwalT night, therefore, is one on which Beharri Road is crowded with people, and alive with laughter, noise, and light. Two or three wealthy families in Central Amity tried an innovation the year I resided in the village: strings of varicolored electric bulbs were festooned around their houses, forming the major part of their displays, though a few diyas were still in evidence. The saving in coconut oil is of course offset by the cost of bulbs and electricity. A sudden power failure put most of these lights out for much of the evening, but the idea was well received; a number of men informed me that they hoped to replace the diyas with colored electric lights in the years to come, for the latter were obviously "more modern." Kartik Nahati: It is said that the entire month of Kartik is supposed to be a time of daily ritual bathing (nahan), but I know of no one who actually observes this. For most people in Amity, the ritual bathing

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is performed only on the last day of the month, at the time of the full moon. The village is almost deserted on that day, as all who possibly can, journey to some beach for a day of bathing, picnicking, and prayer. " I n India," one is informed, "everyone goes to the Ganges." 1 7 In 1957, the Amity Siwala sponsored an excursion to Los Iros Bay in southern Trinidad. All the members of the congregation and their families made the trip. They were accompanied by many other families, for the most part f r o m Central Amity. Buses were hired for the women and children, and men traveled by private and hired cars. Equipment for a puja was brought by the Brahmcarl, and the more secular-minded carried rum. Men wore bathing trunks or short pants on the beach, but most of the women bathed in cotton dresses. Men and women bathed separately, but almost everyone from Amity stayed together on one section of the beach, for the place was crowded with individuals and groups f r o m other villages. The Amity womenfolk and children remained together on the beach and in the water, with the Amity men forming a protective cordon on both sides. It was explained to me that this was to avoid trouble, since there were many strange men on the beach, some of whom were drinking heavily, who might attempt to approach an unescorted woman. A few small pujas were to be observed on the beach, but most of the bathers gave themselves up to the merrymaking. The first immersion, for most people, was a cercmonial one: the individual walked slowly into the water, scattering a handful of flowers and seeds, then walked out again. After that one was free to bathe as one pleased. Few of the villagers could swim. Even for the young people, bathing consisted of wading, rarely more than waist-deep. As they became more gay, the women and children began to laugh and splash one another. Men did the same among themselves, but though never far apart the two sexes ignored one another. The playful groups in the water also exhibited age segregation. 17

Cf. Lewis 1958: 226.

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Christmas: The period from December 25 to January 1 is one of public celebration in Amity though the holiday, of course, has nothing to do with Hinduism. It is included here, however, because Christmas Day is a day of public celebration, observed by people of all classes and castes, and because that celebration has something to do with its nature as a religious day. The reaction of a young man—an intensely religious Hindu—who invited me to dinner Christmas Day illustrates this. During the course of the meal, I commented that there had been a small earthquake earlier that day. He nodded solemnly and replied that God was undoubtedly angry because so many lives (animals for feasting) had been taken on such a holy day! Preparations begin in the days preceding December 25, and culminate on Christmas Eve when children in a few of the wealthier homes receive toys. The house is cleaned and many housewives put up new curtains. Food is prepared for there is much visiting back and forth. Besides the usual fare much rum is laid in, for this is a period of heavy drinking. Unless the family is too poor, or has religious scruples, a chicken is killed and curried. In every home what might be termed a "Christmas table" is set out with special items which are quite expensive in Trinidad. The "Christmas table" usually includes : one apple cut into many thin sections, a small cluster of grapes, and three or four English cream-filled biscuits. Besides this, some families bake plain or fruit cakes for Christmas. The village is quiet until about noon. I heard the first drums on Christmas Day around 11:30 A.M., and within about half an hour there was singing, drumbeating and laughter coming from many houses. In each house 18 in which a party was going on, male members of the family, their male relatives, and close friends would gather in one room to drink, sing, 19 and have a good time. The women of the house and their female friends gathered in another part of the house. 19

"

Or under it, if the house were one built on tall concrete pillars. Mostly popular songs from Indian movies.

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My impression was that there was more drinking among the men, and more drumbeating and singing among the women, but no activity was limited to one sex. There was considerable circulation from house to house. Some people began the festivities in their own homes, and finished the evening in the homes of others. Other people began with a round of visiting and ended the day with their own families. Every man was expected to visit all his relatives and friends within the village for a drink and a bit of food. The exchange of hospitality between people who are not normally too close was another characteristic of the day, and it was difficult for any man to walk down the road in late afternoon or early evening without being dragged into one house after another for a drink and a piece of curried chicken. This created a serious problem for those who, for religious or status reasons, were reluctant to become too drunk. A number of men of importance in the village informed me that they saw to it that their homes were properly equipped to entertain all visitors, then spent the day hiding from their friends and neighbors. Except for the most religious, such men had no objection to taking a few drinks, but had no desire to become really intoxicated, while at the same time they wished to avoid the serious insult of refusing to drink with a friend. By 6:30 P.M., festivities were at their height. Peer groups of young men were strolling down the street in their best clothes, singing, drinking, and looking for fun. Similar groups of five to ten young girls also patrolled the streets, giggling and laughing, but there was no overt notice taken of each other by the boys and girls. Children ran wildly about, shrieking with excitement. Older people settled down in one house or another for serious drinking. Here and there a drunken m a n could be seen staggering aimlessly down a street. By 9 P.M., the noise and gaiety began to slacken off, and by 11 P.M., which is quite late by Amity standards, the village was almost quiet, with most people home in bed, sleeping it off.

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December 26, an official holiday—Boxing Day—tends to be a continuation of Christmas Day, though somewhat attenuated. As on Christmas Day, there is much visiting for food and drink. The pattern on both days is one of poorer people visiting the homes of the rich for heavy eating and drinking, while a rich man simply drops in at a poor man's home for a quick, polite drink. Drinking, eating, and partying continue until New Year's Day, though many families end their festivities with Boxing Day. On this day many men travel to Port-of-Spain to see the traditional races. Holt: This holiday, also known as Phagwa, is celebrated on the last day of the m o n t h of Phagun (around March). A religious explanation exists for its celebration, 20 but essentially it is a day of secular fun, and the villagers refer to it as "Indian Carnival." Preparations for the holiday might be said to begin about two weeks earlier (on the first day of the second half of Phagun) when groups of some twelve men each gather together as " b a n d s " at various homes to practice singing the cotals and jhumars, the traditional songs of Holl. The songs, with d r u m and cymbal accompaniment, are sung with increasing tempo and sudden complete silences, and are considered "spoiled" if any singer or musician is even the slightest bit off the beat. Since the songs may only be sung at HolT, and can be practiced only for the two weeks preceding, considerable practice is necessary. Certain men have reputations as cotal singers, and the leading bands will even travel to other villages to perform. One old man was pointed out to me as a former village champion. He was considered the best singer for twenty-five of the twenty-seven years he competed. Now that he has retired, his voice weakened by age, leadership of his old " b a n d " has been inherited by his "'printice," a man of fifty. In the forenoon of Holl day, each family boils up a large quantity of abir (red dye mixed with water), and sets in a supply of pink powder. People return from work about 3 P.M., and the excitement begins. 20

See Lewis 1958: 232.

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Everyone dresses in old, torn, expendable clothing. Men and children arm themselves with bottles of abir and packets of pink powder, and set off down the road to sprinkle and smear their friends and relatives. Women remain near their homes, armed with full bottles and with saucepans for dipping into buckets of abir. It is said that years ago no one worked on Holl. Since, today, most men go to work on Holl some of the older people fear that the celebration is dying out. The Holl in which I participated appeared very much alive indeed, even if most people put off festivities for after work hours. Holl is a day of wild abandon. Many, though not all, of the customary restraints are ignored. Usually, the first person a man sprinkles with abir is his mother. Next he sprinkles his wife. With much shrieking and laughter, both go after him. One's mami (mother's brother's wife) is particularly sought as a target, if she is in the vicinity. Young boys will chase girls, throwing abir and rubbing the latter's faces and arms with powder. This is an astonishing liberty among people who normally avoid all forms of public intersexual bodily contact. 21 Men chase their older brothers' wives with bottle and powder, and even the wives of one's Active village "brothers" are so treated, with all parties exhibiting high glee, and commenting on the "wickedness." Daughters-in-law may sprinkle their mothers-in-law; indeed, all bars but one are down: the husband's older brother, the barka, must still ignore and avoid, and be avoided by, his younger brother's wife, his chotki. There are two forms of abir: the "nice" kind, which can be washed out of clothes, and the kind containing an indelible stain along with the red dye. Whichever kind is thrown, one cannot get angry—the permanence of the dye simply makes it a better "joke." One year, the story has it, a " b a n d " of male singers was doused with pig slops— " I once observed a little girl, about eight, leading her small brother, about five, to school by the hand. All around them children giggled and pointed and whispered: "Look! Look! She hold he hand!"

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an unforgettable "joke." Some people have happy memories of a bygone time when mixtures of mud and cow dung were thrown, as well as abir, but that was long ago. The pattern of activity is a fairly uniform one. The festivities begin about 3 P.M. with members of the family sprinkling one another. The children race out to douse their friends. For the children, of course, it is a glorious, messy day from then on. The men set out to visit the homes of their relatives and friends, while the women remain at home to "entertain" visitors and passersby. After dropping in at the homes of close relatives and friends, men wander dov n the streets, sprinkling everyone they encounter, and are sprinkled by women of the houses they pass. Part of the fun is catching a person unawares. Most fun of all is sprinkling someone whose clothing is as yet untouched. There is always at least one poor unfortunate teacher or clerk who forgets that this is Holl and comes home from work late in the afternoon, well-dressed; or a man who receives a sudden summons to visit relatives in another village and must dress up and try to get away unscathed. Even if one's best clothes are ruined, it is the worst of form to show anger; a "good Hindu," it is said, must be "proud" to be sprinkled with abir,22 To sprinkle someone is fun, of course, but there is a deeper significance. Sprinkling is understood to symbolize a bond between sprinkler and sprinklee. One properly only sprinkles those for whom one has affection or a feeling of friendship, and to avoid someone is to insult him. It is considered particularly appropriate to sprinkle cows—the sprinkler honors the animal, its owner, and brings good luck upon himself. Early on the day of Holl, Amity contained an astonishing number of reddish-purple cows. By about 4:30 P.M. most men have completed their visits and now "bands" begin to form in the streets. The core of the " b a n d " is the " See the discussion of an aWr-staining incident in "Conflict and Sanction," pp. 206-20, in this book.

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group of men who have been practicing the cotal and jhumar, but any man or boy may attach himself to any "band." He participates by singing, beating tazas (small cymbals) or simply keeping time by clapping his hands. I counted a half-dozen such "bands" and I was told that there were many more. Each "band" wandered singing down the streets, turning in at each house along its way for a brief serenade. A woman of the house would come out with a bottle or saucepan of abir and seriously, ceremoniously, sprinkle each member of the "band." The " b a n d " then would move on to the next house. Occasionally a woman would note the presence of her barka in the "band," in which case she would not come out of the house, but would signal some other man in the "band" to come in, take her abir, and perform the sprinkling as a surrogate for her household. Each district had its own "bands," made up of men from that district. While the "bands" give the impression of wandering aimlessly, most seem to turn back when they approach the borders of their own districts. The first " b a n d " with which I wandered was of Casecu origin. It covered each house in that district and then entered Beharri Road for a short distance before turning back up Thomas Road. The second "band" I joined walked north along Beharri Road, turned westward before reaching Casecu, and walked south along Lloyd Street, turning back to Beharri Road when it reached the beginnings of Jangll Tola. Other "bands" were to be seen in the distance as we wandered. When we actually encountered another "band" we sprinkled one another. Holl "playing" ends at sunset, for fear of catching cold from a wetting in the evening. Everyone returns home, washes off as much dye and powder as one washing will remove, and changes clothing. In Amity, the first day is the most important one for Holl activities, but one may continue to "play Holl" every day thereafter until the first Tuesday is reached. Children, particularly, continue to play every day until the official close of the holiday.

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CEREMONIES

The ceremonies included in this category are primarily religious rather than social affairs. Further, they are usually directed to particular deotas (divinities) and tend to be propitiatory rather than celebratory. A m a n ' s values, his caste membership, and his family's socioeconomic status all help to determine which ceremonies he will perform, and which he will avoid. I have subdivided the ceremonies into six types, arranged in two horizontal and three vertical sections. The divisions are my own, but the community is very much aware of the distinction I have relied upon for my " h o r i z o n t a l " separation. Although no term is ordinarily used in the village to make this distinction, one informant with w h o m I discussed the matter proposed the terms siir-puja ("godly" ceremony) and asuri-puja ( " d e m o n i c " ceremony) for the horizontal division. Other informants agreed that the terms were fitting, and I am employing them here. The important distinction is that an animal is sacrificed in an asurl-puja, while no life is taken in any sur-puja. From a religious point of view, therefore, a sur-puja is considered "higher" and an asurl-puja " l o w e r . " This is reflected in the social and economic status of the customary participants, with certain interesting and important exceptions. The vertical categories reflect differences in sponsorship and participation. " C o m m u n i t y Ceremonies" are sponsored by a number of unrelated families, and anyone who wishes to may attend. "SemiPrivate Ceremonies" are sponsored by individual families, but friends, relatives, and neighbors may attend upon invitation. "Private Ceremonies" are performed by and for the family, with no non-family present or invited. The rituals of the " C o m m u n i t y " and "SemiPrivate" ceremonies are performed by persons with religious training who are called in for the purpose. "Private" ceremonies are performed by some male member of the household, usually the eldest.

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Sür-püjä

Bhägwät Siüpürän Siw Rätri Râm NöumI Jhanam Ästämi Gobardhän-püjä Durgä päth Ramêyn-sâtsa Püjä-sätsa Indrä-püjä

Äsun-püjä Pancêytï-Kalï-kï-pûjâ

Semi-Private Hänümän-püjä Süruj-püjä Setnären käthä Häwän Gitä-päth Râmëyn-ârtî

Private Di-püjä (ricefield)

Ghâr-kî-pûjâ

Di-pùjà (house)

Table 5 illustrates the way in which I have divided Amity religious ceremonies, and lists the important ceremonies associated with each subdivision. Following are some brief descriptions of these ceremonies as they are observed in Amity.

COMMUNITY

CEREMONIES

Sur-puja: These are usually performed within the courtyard of the Siwala, and are sponsored by the wealthier families among its congregation. Anyone may attend and participate, but the n u m b e r of Sudra people present at any ceremony rarely even approaches their proportional representation within the community. The Brahmcari may handle all ritual matters, or some famous old pandit m a y be invited to officiate. Observance of the cercmonies, it is believed, will not only benefit the sponsors and participants, but also will serve to promote the well-being of the entire community. It may be said, in fact, that the purpose of the " C o m m u n i t y " ceremony—sur or asuri— is to protcct the entire village, either by propitiating specific deities or by acquiring the protective aura of good fortune which is believed to accompany religious observance.

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Among the most important ceremonies are : Siw Ràtrî. The commemoration of Lord Siwa's 23 birth, observed on the thirteenth day of the first half of the month of Phàgûn. Almost everyone in the village tries to put in an appearance at the Slwàlà sometime between midnight and noon the next day. Most people come in the early morning hours, in order to complete their devotions before going to work. Devotions begin with the adoration of the flowerbedecked linga (stone phallus) representing Siwa, and procced through a number of discrete steps, ending with the distribution of charity to the rows of beggars (all from outside the village) assembled within the courtyard of the Slwâlâ for that purpose. This is perhaps the most important of the temple ceremonies currently observed in Amity. The Sïwàlà is decorated with colored paper streamers, and is sometimes given a fresh coat of paint in honor of Siw Râtrl. In 1958, Siw Râtrï fell on the first day of Carnival—the most important fête of the year for the Creole population of Trinidad. While many people from Amity normally journey to Port-of-Spain to observe the Carnival festivities, and some (particularly taxi drivers) derive an important part of their income from Carnival, many villagers did not go to Port-of-Spain in 1958 because of Siw Râtrl. Many went the following day only, and of those who did go on the first day of Carnival, it can be said that they went after first completing their devotions in the temple. Bhàgwàt. A seven-day reading of the puranas. Siùpûràn. A bhàgwàt dedicated to Siwa and performed for the seven days preceding Siw Ràtrï. Ràm Nôumï. The commemoration of the birth of Ràma, observed on the ninth day of the second half of the month of Cet (around March). Once a very important holiday in Amity, when almost every " T h e spelling given here reflects A m i t y p r o n u n c i a t i o n . F o r India, t h e n a m e of this deity is usually written Siva (cf. M a r r i o t t [ed.] 1955: 260).

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family made it a point to be represented in the temple, it is observed today only by the congregation of the Slwala and a few of the most religious among the other villagers. J h a n a m Astaml. The commemoration of the birth of Krishna, falling on the eight day of the first half of the month of Bhado (around August). The families of the members of the congregation, plus a few other people, crowd into the yard of the Slwala at midnight to pray over a representation of the infant Krishna: a cucumber with stem attached (said to represent the navel string), suspended in a tiny hammock. Durga-path. A puja in honor of the goddess Durga, performed once a year under the pipur (pipal) tree behind the Slwala, to protect the community against sickness. Puja-satsa. Twice-weekly congregational meetings in the Slwala. Rameyn-satsS. Weekly readings of the Ramayana. Indra-puja. A relatively rare puja, performed in the Slwala when the rice crop is threatened by drought, to propitiate Indra and beg for rain. Gobardhan-puja. A ceremony involving the use of cow dung and paddy rice, performed the day after DIwalT, but which may also be performed on the fifth day of a bhagwat. These are the " C o m m u n i t y " sur-pujas most commonly performed in Amity. There are others known of, however, and the Slwala congregation hopes to introduce some of these in the coming years. Apart from the ceremonies listed, the villagers travel to other communities throughout the year to observe particularly impressive ceremonies or ones which are not done in Amity. Asuri-puja: It will be noted that only one ceremony is listed under this heading, and only one under the "Semi-Private" asuri-puja rubric. Both are dedicated to the goddess Kali. The old people say that in the early years of Amity more animal sacrifices were performed than is the custom today. Deotas other than Kali also received sacrifices,

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and it is said that there were other ways of performing the Kàlï-pûjâ— including one variation in which the goat was not actually killed, but was decorated and turned loose outside the bounds of the village. Today, only Kali is honored in a "Community" âsûrî-pûjâ, although other goddesses—the "seven sisters"—are remembered in the ceremony. When a Kàlî-pujà is held, the animal (goat or pig or both) is always killed. The purpose of the "Community" Kàlï-pûjà is to propitiate Kali and to protect the village against disease. The ceremony is sponsored by a pancëyt (translated as "committee") 24 representing some ten to fifteen families of Sudra or low Vës castes. People of high castes never participate. Each of the sponsoring families contributes fifty cents. The ceremony is called a pancëytî-Kâlï-kî-pùjâ to distinguish it from the similar ceremony sponsored by an individual family. Two or three such pancëyts are formed in Amity every year, the composition of each being fairly constant from year to year. The Casecu pancëyt has not missed a year as far back as anyone can remember. The Lloyd Street and Jangll Tola pancëyts are somewhat more irregular, but in any given year one or the other—if not both—will form to sponsor a ceremony. In 1958, there was a ceremony in Casecu as usual, and one on Lloyd Street—the first in three years. No Kàlî-kîpûjâ has ever taken place on Beharri Road that anyone can remember : the very question seemed to shock people of both high and low castes. While the men of the families are nominally the members of the pancëyts, it is the women who do most of the work. A few weeks before the ceremony, the women of the pancëyt go out in a formal body to beg for contributions throughout the village. There is a rule 24 The word "panchayat" means "group of five." As it was used in Amity, it may be translated as "committee," as in the above case, or as "court," as in the section "The Village Pancëyt and the Courts." The number included in an Amity Pancëyt, and its raison d'être, are subject to considerable variation.

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that contributions must be received from at least "five districts." The rule is liberally interpreted, however, and for this panceyt's purposes a "district" may be anything from a side-street on up. It is said that the purpose of the rule is to put the people of all the districts under the protection of Kali. Those who actually give contributions are entitled to feel particularly protected. Contributions take the form of a few copper coins, or a portion of rice. The rice is sold by the panceyt and the money used to help defray expenses. Contributions are given by almost every family approached. It is interesting to note that "high" caste families contribute regularly, even though members of such families never attend the actual ceremony and express distaste at the idea of animal sacrifice. Sometime in March or April—convenience appears to determine the date—each group performs its puja. It is usually done at the home of the panceyt "captain," who is also the officiant. This official is almost invariably of the Camar caste. He is called the "Camar priest" by some and by others the Dihl Banhwar, or the " M a s a . " 2 5 Despite individual variation, the ceremonies follow a fairly regular procedure. There is considerable resemblance, in certain of the rituals, to the rituals performed by pandits in the ordinary sur-puja, but there are a number of very basic differences. The absence of a Brahman pandit is one, of course, but more important is the killing of an animal during the Kall-puja. If a pig, it is "stuck," and if a goat, it must be a male and its head must be struck off with one blow of a cutlass. Another important characteristic of the Amity Kall-puja is that the officiant (the "Camar priest") must undergo possession by the goddes Kali before the sacrifice can take place. When the ceremony is completed, the meat of the sacrificed animal is cut up and divided among the families of the panceyt and is taken home by each family to be cooked and eaten. 25 People in A m i t y claim this word is Hindi, but it may well be derived f r o m the English "master."

RELIGION

SEMI-PRIVATE

175

CEREMONIES

Sur-puja: These ceremonies are sponsored by individual families, almost invariably in their own homes, although on rare occasions a wealthy family may take over the courtyard of the Slwala for the event. A meal, its magnitude depending upon the wealth of the family, is prepared for relatives and neighbors. The ceremony is conducted by a pandit (except in the case of Basdeo and a few of his disciples), and is usually directed to a specific deota. While purists claim such pujas should be made regularly, and for no other purpose than to "honor God," the average puja in this category represents either the fulfillment of a promise, or is performed at a time of crisis as a propitiation. Many families, particularly in Central Amity, try to have at least one such puja a year. Among the most popular are: Hanuman Jhanda. Prayer to the monkey-headed Hanuman—must be performed on either a Saturday or a Tuesday. Suruj-puja. Prayer to the Sun—can be performed only on a Sunday. Setnaren-katha. Most popular "thanksgiving" ceremony. Hawan. A "new" puja, said to have been introduced by the Swami, and rapidly gaining in popularity. GIta-path. Ceremony in honor of the Bhagavad-gita, now declining in popularity. Rameyn-artl. An adoration of pictures and effigies, using lighted diyas—performed at any reading of the Ramayana. It can be a puja in its own right. Asuri-puja: Only one ceremony is included in this category, the ghar-ki-puja ("household" ceremony). It involves both prayer and the sacrifice of an animal or animals, and the ritual approximates that of the panceytl-Kali-ki-pujd. It is performed only by Sudra families, and by no means all of these—it is said to be giving way to the more approved sur-puja. Kali is the main divinity sacrificed to, but is not the only one. At

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the ghar-ki-puja I attended a goat was sacrified to Kali. The male head of the household carried out all the rituals, assisted by his sons. He was possessed by Kali and beheaded the goat. After resting, he was possessed by P a r m e s a n (described as a "sister of Kali") and sacrificed a pig to her. The meat, cooked separately, was prepared as part of a small feast for friends and family. Most families who perform the ghar-ki-puja, 1 was told, sacrifice only one animal, and almost invariably to Kali. The ghar-ki-puja is customarily performed once in three years. It may also be performed a m o n g such families at the birth or marriage of a son. With the marriages of Sudra people being performed more frequently in recent years by pandits, animal sacrifices at weddings are becoming extremely rare. Occasionally, the family performs the ceremony secretly, the night before the wedding.

PRIVATE

CEREMONIES

Sur-puja: Under this heading 1 have placed the offering made to the D l of the ricefield. The Dl is usually described as the spirit of the "first owner" of any property. N o one can now know who that "first owner" was, of course, but it is assumed that there must have been a first owner. The Dl is believed to have the power to affect the well-being of the present occupants, and must be propitiated. Perhaps the word "genius," in its sense of "guardian spirit," might be a better definition of Dl. The offering is of cigarettes, biscuits, and either ghl or rum. It is made by a member of the family, usually the male head, in a corner of the ricefield owned or rented by his family. 2 6 The ceremony occurs after the rice has been cut and before it is beaten. The offering is M T h e D l - p u j a is a s s o c i a t e d p r i m a r i l y with the c r o p , r a t h e r t h a n t h e land. In the case of rented l a n d , it is the t e n a n t — w h o s e c r o p it i s — w h o m a k e s t h e o f f e r i n g , and not the owner.

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accompanied by a whispered prayer for the continued benevolence of the Dl. All members of the community who grow rice perform this puja. This includes everyone except a very few poor families in Central Amity, and a number of families from Jangll Tola and Barrackville. Asuri-puja: Another Dl-puja has been placed here—the customary yearly offering to the DT of the property on which one's house rests. A cock is sacrificed to propitiate the Dl, who has the power to affect the health and happiness of the occupants of the house. The male head of the household usually makes the offering, at what is a regular time of the year for his particular family. As far as I could determine, the ceremony is performed by every family in the village, with the exception of a few of the most educated and "spiritually advanced." These latter families are found, of course, along Beharri Road. It must be emphasized that even along Beharri Road, the sacrifice to the Dl of the house is the rule, rather than the exception. Among the families belonging to the Slwala congregation, however, there is developing a strong feeling that the sacrifice is "wrong." Many of these people continue to perform it, explaining that their fathers did it before them, and that they have simply continued a family custom. Once you have "promised" to perform a ceremony, it is believed it is "dangerous" to stop. Members of the congregation therefore continue the custom reluctantly, but claim that they will advise their sons not to keep it up. To my knowledge one member of the congregation has actually stopped sacrificing the cock, after having made the offering for a number of years. The inner conflict became too much for him, and after consulting with the Brahmcarl and other advisors, he found a compromise. At the appropriate time of the year, his family holds a small, private prayer, and he distributes the cost of a cock to charity. Some people, particularly of the lower castes, perform such a Dl-puja before occupying a new house. The one member of the

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Slwala congregation—a Cattrl—who moved into a new home during my stay in Amity, held a Hawan. A Di-puja, involving the sacrifice of a cock, is always made at any KalT-puja, before the main part of the ceremony begins. At one of the panceyti-Kall-ki-pujas I attended, it was claimed that the " C a m a r priest," who cut off the head of the cock himself, was possessed by the Dl for that moment. While not exactly secret, the Di-puja—whether sur or asuri—is performed with only immediate members of the family present. The Di-puja is not considered the concern of non-family. There is one ceremony, widely observed in Amity, which has not been included in the preceding arrangement: the pitar-pakh, or offering to the deceased members of the family. It is observed in the home, each family offering up food and prayer during the m o n t h of Kuar (around October). Since no animal sacrifice occurs, and since it is a family-sponsored ceremony with some entertaining of friends and relatives, it might perhaps be categorized as a "Semi-Private" sur-puja. I have heard a few purists argue, however, that offerings to the spirits of the dead are not in consonance with " t r u e " Hinduism, and one informant advised me to count the pitar-pakh as an asuri-puja. This attack is a relatively new one, and is not yet accepted by many of even the most religious of the Slwala congregation, who continue to observe the pitar-pakh with untroubled consciences. The pitar-pakh does not lend itself to the preceding classification for another reason: the ceremony is performed by the male head of the family, and not by a pandit. Many people, furthermore, keep the observance entirely private. Since the founding of Amity, Hinduism as it is practiced in the village has undergone certain modifications. Creole holidays such as Christmas have achieved importance, Congregationalism is developing, and there is a nascent anti-Brahman, every-man-his-own-priest,

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movement. The religious justification for caste distinctions is being denied or ignored. It would appear, nevertheless, that Hindu religious practices in Amity are very far from being an aimless collection of "fossil" traits. There is a yearly cycle of public celebrations, or festivals, in which nearly every villager participates. While these celebrations have religious bases, they are observed primarily as community social activities, and Christmas has been incorporated as one of the celebrations without any strain at all. Apart f r o m these, there are a large number of specifically religious ceremonies, which I have dichotomized in terms of " h i g h " (sur) practice or " l o w " (asurl) practice, with animal sacrifice as the key criterion. The dichotomy reflects, overall, the social dichotomy existing in the village today between high caste and low caste. In both cases there is a polarization rather than a rigid dividing line.

MAGIC The people of Amity distinguish between two forms of magic: "Creole" (or Obeah) magic and " I n d i a n " magic. Both are considered equally real, but most people know which belief is of Creole origin and which "comes f r o m India." Further, there is a feeling that certain things " w o r k " only for Creoles, and others only for East Indians. Creole Magic: Many men in Amity have heard of Shango, 2 7 but few have actually attended ceremonies, since there is a feeling that it is advisable to have a Negro friend to carry one to such a ceremony, and few have such friends. I spoke to no one who had not heard of Obeah, but I was invariably told that only a Negro could be an Obeah Man. There were no Obeah Men in Amity, or even near it, for—so 27 Shango is an Afro-Catholic possession cult found in Trinidad. As in Haitian Vodun, divinities deriving from Africa are identified with Catholic saints (see Herskovits and Herskovits 1947: 321-39; Mischel and Mischel 1958: 249-60).

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it was insisted—the old ones have all died and have not been replaced. Many believe that Obeah is as dangerous to Indians as it is to Creoles, although there is a strong feeling that Obeah can be counteracted by the recitation of mantras (prayers) and other Indian devices. One m a n told me that some person in the village (he claimed to be uncertain about the culprit's identity) had worked some Obeah against him when he was married. He had found "bits of magic" outside his house, including knotted strings, and a note to the effect that he would die in a few months. He said that he threw them aside, and was in no way disturbed by them. He then went on to relate how an uncle of his had once owned a bison that had been unquestionably "bewitched" by an Obeah Man. It had been necessary for his uncle to call in another Obeah M a n to have the spell removed. Everyone in the village has heard of "soucouyants" (vampires) and " l a g a r h o o s " (loup-garous, or werewolves), but none of these have ever been known in Amity, and the feeling is that only a Negro, or at most a Dugla (a person of mixed Negro-Indian ancestry), could become a monster of this sort. Indian Magic: On the other hand, there are certain misfortunes which are believed to afflict only East Indians. One of these is the rakas—a demonic infant, one or two of which are said to have been born in Amity. A rakas is born as a normal-sized infant, but its appearance is said to be distinctly abnormal. It is described as having "strange, staring eyes," "boneless, rubbery arms and legs," and "long black hair coming down almost to its waist." Feeble at birth, a rakas is believed to gain strength rapidly, so that a few hours after birth it will struggle out of the arms of the person holding it and clamber up onto the roof of the house. If it succeeds in reaching the top of the roof, it will disappear. Its parents, and perhaps some other members of the household, will die immediately. When such a baby is born, therefore, it is killed immediately by the midwife, and the body disposed of. The birth is not reported, I need hardly add. I did not hear

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of any such birth occurring during my stay in the village. Such births are said t o be exceedingly rare and none has occurred in many years, people say. Another East Indian evil is the patna. The latter is an invisible evil spirit that attacks only unmarried girls. If such a girl walks down the road unaccompanied by any member of her family, and there happens to be a patna lying by the side of the road, it will attach itself to her back and remain there. Neither she nor anyone else will know of it, but when she gets married the patna will prevent her from ever conceiving a child. If, therefore, a girl does not conceive within the first few years of marriage, the first assumption is that she may have acquired a patna, through carelessness on her part and on the part of her family. There are certain men of the Camar caste, called Ojha Men, who are believed to have magical powers, including the ability to exorcise the patna. The Ojha M a n "removes" the patna and carries it a considerable distance f r o m the village. He drops it along a strange road, where it supposedly lies in wait for some other unaccompanied unmarried girl. Though fear of a patna is rarely given by educated, upper-caste people as a reason for their behavior, members of this group incline to be least permissive about allowing unmarried girls to leave the house unaccompanied. East Indian magic tends to be protective and remedial rather t h a n malevolent. Although it is believed that there are Indians capable of performing " b a d " magic intentionally, most misfortunes are ascribed to error rather than intent. Thus, there is a prevailing fear of the "maljeu," or evil eye (the term is of Creole derivation), but it is rarely said that the " m a l j e u " is given intentionally. The " m a l j e u " can be given by overly effusive compliments to a child by a person who means no harm. Children are considered to be particularly susceptible to the "maljeu," and are required to wear a protective string a b o u t the waist. Certain people are considered particularly capable of

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giving a " m a l j e u , " whether they wish to or not. Barren women are n o t permitted to view newborn children for fear that their grief and envy at not having children of their own will injure the infant. It is said, too, that a child who plays with and eats his own feces will acquire the power to give a " m a l j e u " whether he wishes to or not, and certain persons must be avoided by children for this reason. Once, when I had acquired a particularly severe sunburn, one of my friends—a landholder, a Cattrl, and an important person in the village —decided that I must be suffering f r o m a " m a l j e u , " since he had neither seen nor heard of such a phenomenon. While not an Ojha M a n (such people, he said, were of lower castes and used dubious techniques), he claimed that " m a l j e u " and other afflictions could be cured by him. He treated me as he treated other people who came to him; using prayer and touching the afflicted part of the body with his hands. Sometime later he became very ill himself, suffering from aches and pains all over his body, and a general feeling of weakness. Terrified that he might be dying, he visited a number of doctors, but was dissatisfied with their diagnoses and prescriptions. After about a m o n t h of illness, during which time he arranged for the disposal of his property in the event of his death, which he feared was imminent, he was finally able to discover the "cause" of his illness. He told me that he had been ccrtain that he had "done something wrong." After searching his memory, he recalled that shortly before he had become ill he had helped a woman who had been troubled by a severe headache by stroking her forehead. Remembering this incident, he had sent someone to "investigate." Sure enough, he told me, he had found out that the woman had been " u n c l e a n " before visiting him, and had not bathed away her (menstrual) impurity. His illness, therefore, was the result of touching an "unclean" woman. Once he knew that, it was an easy matter to remedy. He fasted for a day, bathed, and called in a pandit to pray over him. From that

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time on, he was "cured," and insisted that he was in perfect health. East Indians, like Creoles, may be troubled by "jumbies," but the former define the term "jumby" as the spirit of a dead person who possesses the body of a live one because of some injury received by the dead person during his lifetime. 28 The mother-in-law of a young Brahman of Amity had been possessed in this way for some eight years by the "jumby" of her husband's dead brother. For eight years, the woman (who resided in another village) had been in very poor health, and had been losing her eyesight. Recently, the spirit had spoken, using her voice. He announced his identity and explained that the woman's husband had mistreated the deceased's son, cheating the latter out of his proper inheritance. The family had considered calling an Ojha Man to exorcise the spirit, but the spirit himself had advised against the step, pointing out that he (the spirit) was a Brahman, and a Camar Ojha Man would be ineffectual. A Brahman capable of performing such an exorcism would be very expensive, however, and when I left Trinidad the family had as yet taken no steps.

28 The East Indian definition of " j u m b y " is not unlike at least one explanation given to the Herskovitses. Nevertheless, the Trinidad Negro's " j u m b y " — a s an agent of an Obeah Man, as an "emanation from Satan," etc.—is on the whole a substantially different phenomenon. (Cf. Herskovits and Herskovits 1947: 234-36,

et.

passim.)

VI.

Community Organization

For many years there has been talk in Amity of building a community center, a building in which the Village Council—should it ever come alive again—might meet, and in which important social, political, and religious events might take place. For all the talk, there has been no effort made to sponsor such an undertaking, and the center will probably never be built until a measure of local political autonomy comes to Amity. If Amity has no "center," it nevertheless has many loci of interaction and assemblage. Where one goes depends upon one's age, sex, interests, and position in the socioeconomic hierarchy. The smallest children play in the yards of their own homes, occasionally venturing out onto the road. Before the construction of the nursery school the child's first playmates were the children in his own home and in those of the immediate neighbors. Only when he first attended school, at the age of five or six, did the child begin to contact

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children from distant districts. Nowadays many children over the age of two and a half are sent to the nursery school and begin to make their first contacts at an early age. This school was founded under the urging of the Swami to provide care for the children of working mothers—of women, that is, who had to supplement the family income by working in the canefields. The school was built on Beharri Road, near the Slwala. The children attending it are almost exclusively from this area, where few families are so poor that the mother is required to work in the fields. Most of the children come from the "better families," of the higher castes. In a poor family, in any of the outlying districts, the child whose mother is off working is generally cared for—now, as in the past—by his father's mother, or by an older sister. Once the children begin to attend the true elementary schools, they spend most of their free time in the school yards. The people of Amity rise early, and though schools does not begin until 8 A.M., by 7 A.M. there are crowds of children in the yard of the Canadian Mission School, and on the road outside the homes that are the temporary quarters of the Hindu School. 1 One never sees boys and girls playing together, or even playing the same games. Boys pitch marbles, play tag, or climb the trees in the yard, completely oblivious to the school ordinance which forbids climbing. The older boys turn from marbles to cricket in the appropriate season, using a coconut branch as a bat and stones or fruit pits as balls. Girls, on the other hand, are forbidden by local custom to climb any trees, for such activity is severely frowned upon as unfeminine. Girls jump rope, play a form of hopscotch, and engage in an activity in which two girls dance holding hands, whirling swiftly around 1

Primary school attendance is compulsory in Trinidad, but the law is hard to enforce in most villages. In Amity, the child population is very large, and even with two schools a sizeable minority of children (mostly from the poorer districts) can obtain no schooling at all. There is simply no room for them.

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each other. In the morning, at recess, and after school hours, the same games may be observed. The very young children either watch the older ones and attempt fumblingly to imitate them, or pull one another along the road in boxes intended to represent carts. Close friends are usually made among children of the same sex from neighboring homes. One Cattrl young man of Beharri Road told me that as a child he had only one friend f r o m "the b a c k " — a n d his father objected to the friendship because the boy was of a Sudra caste. The father told his son that "People who are low are low in m i n d . " The young man said that he had ignored his father's objection at the time, but has since observed that such people are, in fact, "low in mind," which he interprets as being "dirty" in dress, body, and speech. Cricket is by far the most popular sport among the young men of Amity. There is strict observance of the traditional English rules and dress, but, for all that, the game has been incorporated into village life. In its present manifestations in Amity, cricket reflects East Indian, as well as West Indian, social structure. There are three cricket grounds in Amity. One is on lower Beharri Road, one is west of Lloyd Street at its northern end, and one is in Jangll Tola. These are important centers of assemblage for the young men of contiguous districts. The young men and older boys of northern Beharri Road tend to use the Lloyd Street cricket ground, along with young men from Lloyd Street and Casecu. Anyone may play on the field, and cattle and goats are grazed there when an actual match is not in play. The "Amity Attackers," the team using this field on Sundays for cricket matches, is made up largely of young men in their late teens and early twenties who derive predominantly from northern Beharri Road, secondarily from Lloyd Street, with one or two young men from Casecu. The Jangll Tola cricket ground also has its team, the "Amity Hindus." Its membership is drawn primarily from Jangll Tola and Barrackville, with perhaps one or two young men from other districts.

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The Beharri Road cricket ground draws the membership of its team from southern Beharri Road, with a few from Junction and Jangll Tola. Thus, while there is no formal rule, the "Attackers" tend to be recruited f r o m castes of the Ves Varna or higher, while the " H i n d u s " tend to be recruited from Jangll and Sudra castes. The three teams are not in conflict, for they never play each other. They belong to different "classes" within the island-wide amateur cricket association. For many years the "Amity Attackers" of the Lloyd Street ground was the best team in the village, playing in "Class A " and winning many trophies. The older members dropped out as they married and took over the responsibilities of family life. There was a brief hiatus and now a new "Attackers" team has come into existence, made up largely of the old team's younger brothers. During my stay in Amity, a former star bowler for the old " A t tackers" team decided to return for one last season of cricket. He had not played for three or four years, being too occupied with the activities incumbent upon the head of a large and important family. He first offered his services to the "Amity Hindus," since they were the best team in the village. The team captain was eager to have him, but the team, as a body, decided to turn him down, since to accept him would have meant the necessity of releasing one of the regular men. With some reluctance about playing with the younger brothers of his former teammates, he approached the "Amity Attackers," who were short of good players. Neither he nor the younger men, he said, would be entirely comfortable in one another's presence. But they needed him, and he wanted very much to play, so he joined the team. With his help it went on to victory. During the course of the season, he often remarked sadly to me that this would definitely have to be his last year—he only hoped he could complete this one. His biggest problem was that of social obligations. He was the oldest son in his family, and with his father

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dead it was necessary for him to represent the family. Since both weddings and cricket matches are held on Sundays, it was impossible for him to meet all his obligations. He sent his mother or a younger brother to represent the family at a few weddings, but at some it was absolutely essential that he put in an appearance, and he had to miss one or two matches. Again, as a daheja member he could not fail to be present at the wedding preparations of other members. These "cookings" invariably took place on the Saturday nights before weddings and this meant that he would appear on the cricket ground without an adequate night's sleep. He managed, somehow, to struggle through the season, looking forward to an end of his playing with some regret, but also now with a certain amount of eagerness. All young men in Amity are interested in cricket, but not all, obviously, can play well enough to make one of the teams. Many who might be accepted are unwilling to put in the necessary practice. While a number of young men can be found practicing on the cricket grounds throughout the long season, many young men prefer to congregate away from the fields, where they may smoke, play cards, discuss girls, and listen to cricket on the radio. Such places of congregation are contemptuously termed "Idlers' Halls," because many of the habitues have reputations for being lazy and unwilling to work. The "Idlers' Hall," however, is also visited by hardworking young men in their free hours. Each district has at least one "Idlers' Hall," and many have more than one. On Lloyd Street it is a "parlor" run by the family of a young cane-laborer. On northern Beharri Road, it is a tailor shop operated by a young man. In other districts, it may be under a tall concrete house or on someone's gallery. The fact that no older people are around is the most important consideration, since young men are not supposed to smoke in the presence of their elders, and would have to censor their conversation considerably. The "Idlers' Hall" groups and the cricket teams tend to be made up of young men from the same age group (about eighteen to twenty-

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five) but except for the occasional individual who gravitates from cricket ground to "Idlers' Hall," each particular group tends to keep to itself. Such young men would rarely be seen in the rum shops, since they would be too shy to drink in the presence of their brothers and fathers. As boys grow older, the range of age group of association becomes greater. Below twelve or so, the range is rarely as much as two years. Boys from fourteen to sixteen tend to form one group, with some of the group older or younger than that. The next group tends to include those from eighteen to twenty-five. They are either unmarried or newly married with little responsibility. These are the young men who make up the cricket teams. The next group, those over twenty-five, are merging into the general "male adult" population. Even among the latter, distinctions in association are maintained according to generation, and within generation according to sibling rank. Brothers do not associate with one another, or with one another's friends. In rare cases, two brothers who are only a year or two apart in age will consider themselves "friends," but this is unusual enough to be commented on by neighbors and by the young men themselves. Invariably, the reason given for this avoidance of association between brothers is that of the necessity for "respect." One may not smoke, drink, curse, or discuss sex in the presence of an older, samesexed member of one's family, or for that matter in the presence of any older person in the village. Elders must remember to set a good example in front of their juniors. As a result, both old and young are extremely ill at ease. If an older brother finds himself in the presence of his younger brother and the latter's friends, the older one will leave the house. On the other hand, if a younger brother intrudes on an older brother's circle, he may be ordered away, and if he is considerably younger, his departure may be hastened with a slap. One "youngest son," for example, who had three older brothers, told

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me that he began to avoid his brothers at a very early age. He was "afraid of them," he said, for whenever they became aware of his presence they would either find some work for him to do or punish him for some misdeed. Older men rarely gather on the road for a session of "liming" (casual talk on varied subjects) as young men often do. A group of older men may gather to smoke and talk on the gallery or in the yard of one of their number. They may also meet in the rum shops where over a bottle of beer or a glass or rum, they chaff each other and argue in a friendly way. There are many rum shops in Amity, and each caters primarily to the men of the surrounding district. A man may drop into the rum shop for a drink any afternoon or evening, but Saturday nights are the nights when the rum shops are crowded, and particularly alternate Saturday nights during crop-time, when fortnightly pay has been received. The rum shop group frequently breaks up into two or three clusters of friends. A special group, perhaps made up of those of slightly higher prestige, or of friends of the shopkeeper, sit in a small room to one side. Men of very high prestige, such as small farmers, estate drivers, and representatives of the highercaste-wealthier-family class rarely visit the rum shops. When they do, they are often invited to sit behind the bar with the shopkeeper himself. Another important gathering point for older men of all districts is the weekly Rameyn reading group. There is at least one such group in each district. In Central Amity, the group meets on Thursday nights in the Siwala. In other districts, the group meets either at the home of one particular member of the group for the weekly reading, or at a different home each week. Thursday is the generally favored night. Since the purpose of the meeting is religious and highly respectable, such groups consist of various ages, but even here it is rare to see fathers and sons, and older and younger brothers sitting together. The associational patterns for girls and women follow somewhat

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different lines. Once past the age of puberty, girls are kept under careful surveillance, and are not infrequently removed from school and commanded to stay close to home. The surveillance, however, is really maintained successfully only by the wealthier upper-caste families of Beharri Road. For other families, particularly in the remoter districts, the problem is complicated by the distance from the house to the nearest "stand-pipe" (roadside water tap) where water may be obtained, and by the low pressure in the water pipes. Because of the low pressure, the filling of a pail entails a lengthy wait. A family needs a considerable amount of water during the day for washing and for cooking, and the job of fetching it falls for the most part upon the younger female members of the family. At any hour of the day, there is usually a cluster of young girls, married and unmarried, squatting near the "stand-pipes" and waiting their turns. These usually separate: Amity-born unmarried girls are often grouped together on one side and alien married girls on the other, with any older women present sitting somewhat disapprovingly apart in a third group. The girls giggle and whisper together, as do the young wives—the latter frequently discussing and comparing their husbands. Young unmarried men stroll by trying to catch the eyes of the young girls. Occasionally they are successful, and many scandalous affairs have had their inception in this way. Frequently, however, the girls band together to hurl giggling insults at the embarrassed young man. For older women, particularly of Central Amity, there are the prayers in the temple two or three nights a week. Many who have daughters-in-law to do the work in their homes spend an hour or so each day visiting neighbors of like situation. For women of every age there are certain important occasions for gathering together. These include the night-long women's party (catthi or barahi) held to celebrate the birth of a baby, and the wedding and the days and night of preparation in which large numbers of friends and relatives parti-

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cipate. During the long "wedding season" there is at least one wedding a week in the village, and often more than one. The women of Amity, who tend to be demure, shy, and self-effacing normally, become bawdy, raucous, and riotous when they gather together on such occasions. Men who violate the privacy of a women's party are peremptorily and scathingly ordered away. This practice of separate association according to sex and age is not a formal one in Amity: there are no "men's houses" or named "age grades." Nevertheless, the separation is a conscious one, and it is reinforced by ridicule and by a sense of shame and discomfort on the part of the individual who transgresses the often-quoted rule: "Bunch with your own sex and size." A woman of any age left alone with men or even addressed by a man not her own husband, father, or younger brother, will giggle and try to flee. A young man who uses an obscene term is overcome with mortification when he realizes he has been overheard by someone to whom he must show respect. An older man who walks into a house and finds it already occupied by a group of younger men, including one of his younger brothers, will turn on his heel and walk away. During the Kartik Nahan excursion, men traveled by car while women and small children were sent separately by bus: they "would have more f u n " by themselves, was the explanation given. And it is certainly true that while women in the company of men must be quiet and circumspect, women alone in the company of women may joke and play and dance as they please. Once they feel it is a women's party, it is the intruding male who is made to feel embarrassed.

THE "VILLAGE PANCEYT" A N D THE COURTS In Beharri Settlement's earliest years, according to my oldest informants, four or five of the relatively rich pioneer settlers, including Beharri, kept the peace. These men lived on Thomas and Beharri

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Roads and were of castes of the Ves Varna or higher. They had some control over Casecu, though not a great deal, and they left Jangll Tola pretty much alone. Such powerful landholders were referred to as "zamldars"2

In the late 1890s, one man took over undisputed control of Amity, and maintained it until his death shortly before World War I. I shall call him "Kublal Marajh." He was born in India, and as his last name indicates, he was a Brahman. Upon completion of his indentures, he settled in Amity, bought a piece of land, and soon acquired immense personal power. As the old men remember it, his power did not derive so much from his wealth, which was not inordinate, nor from his religious prestige, for he is said to have been illiterate, though it is claimed that he knew much of the Rameyn by heart and frequently corrected others. His power, they claim, derived partly from his physical strength, which was greatly feared and which was soon augmented by that of a squad of strong-arm supporters, and partly from the "justice" and "wisdom" he exhibited in settling disputes. The legends about Kublal Marajh are many. It is believed that he controlled the police station in the Ward Center and that anyone from Amity who was arrested for any reason would not be charged, but would be turned over to him for punishment. It is said that malefactors were tied to a tree and publicly whipped by him. His power is supposed to have extended far beyond Amity and its environs, including Casecu and Jangll Tola, to the entire East Indian population of County Caroni. * One informant, of the Cattri caste, insists upon a slightly different version. He says that only those among the leading landholders who were Cattri or higher (such as his own father) were called "zamidars." A man of a Ves caste, no matter how important he was, would have been called a mahto, never a zamidar. Neither term would have been used for a prominent Sudra—but in those days, he insists, there were no prominent Sudras! Both terms have gone out of common use, and are remembered by only a few people. The word zamidar is obviously the same as zamindar, which Lewis translates as "land-owner" for North India. (1958: 80-81.)

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Kublal Marajh did not rule entirely by fiat, the old men say. important disputes, he would summon a "village panceyt," important men

o f the district. 3

Both

sides would

On

of all the

present

their

arguments before the panceyt, which would then give its decision. informants admitted, however, that Kublal

My

M a r a j h would almost

invariably be the first member o f the panceyt to give his opinion, and that out of fear the others customarily concurred. scendants in the village.

H e left no de-

When he died, say the old men sadly, real

authority left A m i t y forever. The "village panceyt,'''' years. panceyt

nevertheless, remained a force for many

The same men, or their sons, continued to comprise it.

The

was called irregularly over the years whenever a sufficiently

important dispute arose. With Kublal Marajh dead, physical punishment was no longer resorted to.

Rather, the traditional punishment

f o r significant misdeeds became the imposition o f kuja (ostracism). A n individual found guilty by the panceyt was declared to be in kuja until he made restitution or did proper penance. The last time the panceyt

was called was around 1950. A young

man o f A m i t y , o f the Camar caste, had " e l o p e d " with a M a r a j h l n — the daughter of a Brahman—also o f A m i t y . The t w o t o o k up residence on Beharri R o a d and completely ignored shocked public opinion. T h e panceyt

m e t ; the couple ignored it. They were placed in kuja,

and the verdict, too, they ignored. Worst o f all, f r o m the point o f view o f the leaders of the community, was the fact that the punishment could not be enforced.

For

a period of about three months the t w o were avoided by every man, woman, and child in A m i t y .

A f t e r that, the young man's friends

began to speak to him again, and he soon was once more a full member o f his old " c r o w d . "

T h e older people continued to avoid him, and

many still do, but he has no need o f their friendship, as they themselves ' Here the word panceyt may be translated as " c o u r t , " or "assembly." " R e l i g i o u s Ceremonies," pp. 169-79, in this book.

Cf.

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admit. This spelled the end of the "village panceyt" in Amity, and everyone agrees that it is unlikely ever to be called again. The old people say that with the panceyt went the last possibility of controlling unruly behavior, and that now one can only turn to Creole law and its courts, for they say, " N o w a d a y s , the young people do as they please." Whatever the old men may believe, there are still controls in Amity, for while the people of Amity love litigation, and enjoy attending court as spectators, they tend to bring their own disputes before the court only as a last resort, preferring to settle them within the village. There is a mistrust of Creole justice, and a strong awareness of the cost of such litigation. 4 The only dispute f r o m Amity to find its way to the law courts in recent years was between members of the same family, and was over the division of inheritance. The matter was first brought before a respected member of the community, but one of the parties to the dispute refused to acccpt an unfavorable decision. The case is frequently discussed in the village, with disapproval voiced at the length of time it is taking, and at the money that is being spent. A number of men have told me they decided to arrange for the equal division of their property a m o n g their sons before their deaths. This is a direct result of observing the dispute taken to court. When one old landholder became ill, a visitor asked him if he had provided for the division of his property. When the sick m a n said he had not, the visitor criticized him, reminding him of the current litigation and asking if he wanted his sons to be involved in such a case. Within a week, the sick m a n had called his sons together and had arranged for the disposition of his property in the event of his death. 4

One older informant told me that he had heard f r o m his father that the village panceyt had its origin in similar ones held o n the various estates during the indenture period. These settled disputes in the barracks and so kept them f r o m coming to the attention of the estate authorities.

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The mistrust of Creole justice is also an important factor in the reluctance of villagers to go to court. It has been complicated by recent political developments, but apparently it always existed. The police in the Ward Center are almost all West Indians. East Indian taxi drivers from Amity feel strongly that the police discriminate against them. The police rarely enter the village, and when they do, they usually swoop in with a van to make an arrest. A single policeman riding down Beharri Road on a bicycle during the daytime is the target of many covcrt, anxious, and distrustful glances. If an arrest is made for any reason, there is considerable interest in " w h o called the police." Late one night the van rushed into the village and broke up a group of young men gambling on the road. The men scattered in all directions and hid in the homes of neighbors and friends. Only one arrest was made, and this of an unfortunate m a n who had been too drunk to run, and according to many, too drunk to have been playing. One night, at the " c o o k i n g " preceding a wedding, a group of young men got into serious trouble. It started when two Negro policemen arrested a youth who had been riding a bicycle without the proper headlamp. The young men at the "cooking"—who had been passing a bottle a r o u n d — r a n out onto the road and surrounded the two unarmed policemen. The exact order and nature of the events which followed are somewhat difficult to determine. Accounts vary widely. Apparently the young men, at least ten in number, threatened the police and insisted that they leave without arresting the youth. The policcmen stopped a passing taxi and ordered the driver, a native of Amity, to carry them and their prisoner to the station. The taxi driver protested that he was on an emergency call, and drove off without them. Someone made off with one of the police bicycles, and the chargcbook of one policeman was taken f r o m him and torn up. In response to increasing threats from the crowd, the policemen promised to release the youth, but pointed out that he had been

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handcuffed to one policeman, and that the key was kept at the station. They said they would release the youth without charges, if they were permitted to return to the station. The crowd refused, and someone was sent for a file to remove the handcuffs. While the filing was in progress, the policc van drove u p and rescued the two policemen and their prisoner while the crowd scattered and ran. After returning to the police station for reinforcements, the van returned. A number of young men were arrested and charged with interfering with the police and threatening them, as well as with destroying police property. The taxi driver, whose number had been noted, was found and charged with refusing to obey the orders of the police. A second taxi driver was dragged out of his taxi in town and charged with being a ringleader of the crowd, and with threatening one of the policemen with a cutlass. After a night in jail, the men were released on heavy bail. The matter was brought to trial, but the case was postponed a number of times, and had not been settled by the time of my departure. No one in the village with whom I discussed the matter was at all concerned with the lawlessness of the young men's behavior. If they were criticized at all, it was for being "foolish," and for bringing "trouble with the police" down upon the community. Strong disapproval was reserved for the individual who had notified the police station. There is only one telephone in Amity, set in a public booth in front of the home of Mr. Marajh. Suspicion focussed on " R a m l o g a n , " a young man who worked for M r . M a r a j h and lived in the same house. No one had seen Ramlogan m a k e the phone call, but it was remembered that he had been drinking heavily at the "cooking," and that he had had a fight earlier in the evening with one of the young men in the group threatening the policemen. It was also recalled that Ramlogan had been part of the crowd surrounding the policemen and some said that one of the policemen had whispered to Ramlogan, who then wandered off into the night.

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Ramlogan swore that he was completely innocent. He admitted that the policeman had whispered to him, but insisted that no such request had been made, and that he had left simply to go home to bed. He also said that he had seen a "strange c a r " drive by during the excitement, and had noted that one of the policemen had signaled to the driver. No one else remembered any such car, and Ramlogan's story was not believed. A number of the young men involved in the incident promised to beat u p Ramlogan if they received sentences, and the general feeling in the village was that he deserved such a beating. Some of his friends came to him and pleaded with him to "stop playing the fool," for he was "destroying his reputation." To my knowledge, no one remonstrated with any members of the group of young men who had stopped the policemen. Each person accused by the police swore to his own innocence, both in the court and in the streets of the village. At most, they admitted privately to being present in the crowd, but insisted that they had taken no part in the threatening of the policemen. All claimed to have been badly beaten by the police in the station, and many exhibited bruises which they claimed had been received from police fists. N o one in the village doubted the stories of the beatings, and there were many bitter comments made about "police brutality." Why had the police come to Amity "looking for trouble" in the first place, many demanded? The incident occurred shortly after the Federal elections of March 25, 195B, and many people felt that the whole thing represented an attempt on the part of the " N e g r o " police to " p u n i s h " East Indians for the defeat of P N M candidates. For weeks after the incident, taxi drivers from the village reported that the police were being particularly unpleasant to Amity drivers. Insisting that the incident had political overtones the young men, assisted by a number of the "big men" of the village, appealed to national East Indian leaders for legal aid. One of the best solicitors

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on the island, a politically important East Indian, agreed to represent them. The first hearing, which ended in a postponement, was packed with men from the village. The racial alignment in the court was particularly striking that day: a West Indian judge and West Indian police versus East Indian defendants and an East Indian lawyer. 5 Most of the spectators were also East Indian. The alignment is fairly constant at most court sessions: the same judge and police are present, the lawyers practicing in the area are East Indians, and a large number of the cases heard concern traffic violations. Taxi drivers commit most of these violations, and most taxi drivers in the area are East Indians. Thus, when conflicts arise in Amity, there is a strong desire to settle them within the village, to prevent them from reaching a stage where they will attract the attention of "Creole" police and "Creole" law. Such an avoidance of outside justice can be achieved largely because individual East Indians in Amity are involved in a complex relationship of mutual obligation between "inferior" and "superior." This relationship, which makes possible both the settlement of conflict and the control of political behavior, is known in the village as "feeling praja." THE "PRAJA"

RELATIONSHIP

The expression nimakharam is a terrible insult in Amity. It is usually translated as "one who eats another man's food, then does him evil," but "ungrateful one" is a simpler and perhaps more pointed definition. The term reflects the delicate web of reciprocal behavior that forms between two non-related East Indians who are in constant association. The behavior of kin relationships, and even "bye-family" 5

There are East Indian judges in Trinidad, but not in the court to which Amity people must go.

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relationships, is structured differently. It is possible, however, for two men of the same village to have a "bye-family" relationship on one level, and this reciprocal relationship on another. A certain resemblance may be noted between the Amity phenomenon of praja and what Lewis calls " t h e jajmani system" in his study of a village of Northern India (1958: 55-84). I prefer not to use the term " j a j m a n i , " however, partly because the Amity relationship is somewhat different f r o m the one described by Lewis, and partly because the word " j a j m a n i " is not in common use in Amity. Those who do know the term employ it in much the same way as do Lewis' villagers : to refer to the recipient of caste-derived services, such as the "client" of the N o barber, for example, or of the Brahman pandit (cf. Lewis: 56 et passim.) While such jajmani relationships in Amity are considered praja relationships, they form only a small part of the praja behavior in the village. 8 One reason for this may be that in Amity, unlike Rampur, caste and occupation do not necessarily coincide, except in a few special cases, such as that of the N o barber and the pandit. While we are concerned here with praja relationships within the village, it is important to note that such a relationship is not necessarily limited to villagemates, but may come into existence between two East Indians f r o m different parts of the island. The relationship is not always on the conscious level, and may even develop between an East Indian and a non-Indian. One Amity man who worked for a Creole Sanitary Inspector told me he "felt praja' to his boss, who had done many favors for him, including releasing him from work when he was needed in his ricefield. In return, the laborer washed the in6 The term " p r a j a " may be defined, in its most limited sense, as a person under an obligation to another, the latter being conceived of as a social superior. Since such a definition does not express the reciprocity so intrinsic to the relationship it is not entirely satisfactory. I prefer to have the term " p r a j a " stand for—as it does in Amity—the entire manifestation of this reciprocal obligation relationship between "inferior" and " s u p e r i o r . "

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spector's car, acted as chauffeur after working hours, and gave his boss frequent presents f r o m his garden and field. The setting u p of a praja relationship may take different forms, but the basic pattern may be expressed as follows. Individual A, who needs some kind of help, goes to individual B who is in a position to supply the help, A relates his problem, but usually will not come right out and ask B for aid, for fear of being embarrassed by a refusal and also because it is simply not good manners. If B then offers to solve the problem by getting a j o b for A, or by helping him arrange a loan, or by renting him a piece of riceland, a praja relationship comes into existence. This means first of all that A will return the favor in some way, probably with a present of some kind, or a day's free labor to be volunteered without request. But, most important, it means that A has acknowledged the superiority of B, and has become, in a sense, a dependent of B. By the very act of assisting A, B has also become obligated. Unless A turns out to be a nimakharam, B will consider himself obligated to help A in the future, even if such later assistance is somewhat inconvenient. When Mr. Hardeo, the driver, was asked to mediate in a dispute, he rose f r o m a sickbed to d o it. 7 A will come to B from now on for advice as well as material assistance, and will accept instruction and correction f r o m B. If A has now become the responsibility of B, B has now become the guide and leader of A. It must be emphasized that there are different degrees of obligation. If, for example, a taxi driver offers a fellow-villager a free ride into town, and the latter accepts, a praja relationship may be said to be set up. It is not of the same order, obviously, as the praja relationship between two men, one of whom has helped the other to get a good job. G o o d manners direct that the obligation, like the request, go unstated—although there is considerable bitterness felt if one side fails to respond properly. Thus, during a cricket game one Sunday an Amity team found itself short of some equipment. One player sug7

See "Conflict and Sanction," pp. 206-20, in this book.

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gested they approach the other team for a loan of the necessary items. The captain turned down the suggestion, saying that the other team must be aware of the Amity team's deficiencies, and should have offered to help without waiting to be asked. His teammate persisted, pointing out that the Amity team had loaned equipment to the other team the previous week—why couldn't the Amity captain remind them of the loan? The captain grew furious and demanded, " Y o u do things for people only to get something in return?" The other young man grinned and nodded. " Y o u a dangerous m a n ! " the captain pronounced, and turned his back. The term praja was first used in my presence by a poor man who explained that he "was praja" to a certain landholder. Questions about the nature and extent of any obligations the landholder might have to him appeared only to confuse him. On the other hand, " M r . Ramsingh," a Cattrl and a landholder, explained praja as the obligation a m a n has to a tenant of his, w h o m "he must care for, as a father cares for a child." When I asked whether his tenant was also obligated to him, he said yes, but went on to discuss the ways in which he, himself, looked out for the needs of his own tenants. It would appear, therefore, that the individual conceives of the praja relationship in terms of his own obligation, either up or down as the case may be. It can even be both up and down, as in the case of the m a n who feels praja to the Sanitary Inspector. This same man, whose family owns some land, and who holds the position of "charge h a n d " (gang foreman), has a praja relationship with his tenants and the men of his gang, and to them he is the "superior" in the relationship. For most people, however, the praja relationship is in one direction only. It is " u p " if one is a poor man, and " d o w n " for one of the wealthy, influential, "big m e n " of the community. While the praja relationship in Amity today is not significantly a caste relationship, it is still reflected in inter-caste relationships in the village, and to some extent in the behavior of members of certain

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castes. First of all, most of the "big m e n " are of high castes, while most of the poorest men are of low castes. Secondly, a highcaste child, particularly a Brahman or Cattrl, is taught early what his behavior with "inferiors" must be. One young Brahman informed me that when he was a small child and a beggar came to the house, his parents always insisted that he dispense the charity, requiring him to use a set formula in which he called the beggar "my child." The beggar would respond by touching the child's feet and calling him " f a t h e r . " A lower-caste child is also instructed, quite frequently, in the respectful behavior appropriate to a Cattrl, to a "big m a n , " and especially to a Brahman. Years ago, it is said, no m a n of lower caste could observe a Brahman engaged in a menial task, such as cutting grass for his cow, without taking the blade out of his hand and doing it for him. Today, many men would not go to his assistance, but there are still those who would, even among the young people. This may help to explain the peculiar positions occupied in the community by two wealthy Sudra men and their families. Mr. " M a n g a l , " who is commonly referred to as "the richest man in A m i t y " (though he denies it piteously), is a member of the Bhar caste. He began life as a member of a poor cane-laboring family in Amity. He acquired a cart and two bulls, and began to build his fortune as a "private" cane-loader. It is said that he and his wife could load faster, and thus make more money, than any other team in the village. In the 1940s, he was one of the first men in the village to become a taxi driver and he reaped a fortune during the "American Occupation." He has no sons, but one daughter teaches in the nursery school, and another married a teacher in the Amity Hindu School. Old Mr. " B h i m , " a Dusad, worked himself up from poor beginnings in much the same way. He owns about six acres of caneland now, plus some riceland. One son is a businessman in Port-of-Spain, another is a headmaster in a Hindu school. The two Sudra men now have very good houses on Beharri R o a d .

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It is common knowledge that Mr. Bhim, at least, raised pigs before he moved to Beharri Road, but neither man engages in the practice today. Both attend the Slwala ceremonies on important occasions, and support the political party advocated by the village leaders. Nevertheless, neither family is ever included in anyone's list of the " i m p o r t a n t " families of Amity. Neither man is ever approached for assistance or advice, nor is ever asked to help settle a dispute. They are definitely not members of the ruling inner circle of Amity. N o one in Amity would admit that low-caste membership has anything to d o with the denial of the prestige which would seem the due of the two wealthy Sudra men. " W e are all equal, now!" is the indignant response to the suggestion. Some Sudra man is then mentioned, f r o m this village or that, who is accorded high prestige. The people of Amity say that Mr. Mangal and the Bhim family are disliked simply because they are " n o t generous." It is possible, of course, that these families are "not generous" because they know they are disliked. Still another explanation may be sought in terms of the praja relationship. After all, a Brahman or Cattrl is aware, from an early age, of his obligation to "inferiors." A Sudra may be aware of his obligations to "superiors," though he may not always be willing to observe them, but certainly if he is poor he has no sense of obligation to "inferiors." A poor Sudra can have no praja "inferiors." If he becomes wealthy, therefore, it m a y well be difficult for him to assume the behavior appropriate to one of high station. A man tends to view the praja relationship as having only the direction in which he customarily faces, and he is only marginally aware of the fact that there is another direction with behavior appropriate to it. The two taxi driver sons of Mr. Ramsingh (Cattrl) are both noted for their willingness to help persons in distress. In an emergency, they may be counted on to drive someone to the hospital late at night. I the person is poor, they have been known not to charge. Mr. Mangal,

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on the other hand, is reputed never to have carried anyone free of charge under any circumstances. It is said that when he had the only taxi in the village there were many times when he turned emergency cases away because they were unable to pay his exorbitant charge for a special late-hour trip to the hospital. Again, it is a widely-held belief in Amity that the aforementioned Bhim family does no favor for anyone. When Mr. Bhim's oldest son told me that his family was building a house for an old, childless widow who worked for them, I discussed the matter with other villagers. Everyone expressed astonishment at the news ("it never happened before!"), and a few people absolutely refused to believe it. Others frowned and then sought explanations. One man suggested that the Bhims intended to subtract the cost of the house f r o m whatever the woman earned in the future. Another dccided that it was probably a clever plan: the childless widow undoubtedly would be required to pay part of the costs, and then when she died the house would revert entirely to the Bhims. N o one would credit the Bhims with anything but selfish motives. It may well be that some of the dislike felt for these two families stems f r o m a—perhaps unconscious—resentment against Sudra people who have become exceedingly wealthy. Caste feelings exist still, for all the protestations of equality, and a Brahman is forgiven for his transgressions much more quickly than a Sudra. The behavior of Mr. Marajh—a Brahman, one of the leading landholders, and perhaps the most influential m a n in Amity, has not always been above reproach. It is said for example that as a young man he helped to break a strike of cane-laborers on the estate. But he is well aware of his praja relationships, and he fulfills them. When animals belonging to one of Mr. M a r a j h ' s tenants damaged the Brahman's garden, the latter was furious, but announced that he would assume the burden of the damages "if they were small," because he felt obligated to do so. "He is my tenant," he said resignedly.

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CONFLICT AND SANCTION

Conflict within a family is settled by the senior males of the family; conflict between families requires an arbiter or it is liable to turn into violence. If both disputants "feel praja" to the same "superior," the latter stands a good chance of ending the disturbance in short order. Speed is of the essence, for any dispute between two individuals is very likely to develop into a dispute between their respective families. The families involved must choose between disowning their kinsman and withdrawing all support from him, or supporting him completely and thereby becoming parties to the dispute. The first reaction of an Amity family is to come to the support of its own member, and it usually requires the commission of a serious " c r i m e " 8 for an individual to lose his family's support. Because of this, disputes between individuals develop almost immediately into family feuds, with the individuals directly concerned sometimes receding into the background as more powerful members of the family enter the fray. An example of this is an incident which had its origin during the Holl celebration. The "good suit" of Headmaster Bhim, a son of the M r . Bhim mentioned in the previous section, was stained with abir thrown by " J a i r a m . " The latter is a neighbor of the Bhim family and the head of an important landholding family of the Ahlr caste. Headmaster Bhim was incensed and demanded recompense. A younger brother of the headmaster told me privately that he wished his brother would forget the matter, for he was afraid it would create ill-feeling for the family. Publicly, however, he supported his brother vociferously, and stopped speaking to Jairam. At first, the young landholder wished to settle the matter quietly by paying the damages demanded, though he felt he was in the right since good clothes are often ruined • What is considered a serious crime in Trinidad courts may not be considered one in Amity—and vice versa.

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during Holi (it had happened to him in the past, and he had said nothing). Jairam's family and friends, however, were furious that a supposedly "good Hindu" should complain about an abir stain, 9 and they wished to bring the matter before the Mahasabha organization. The conflict took on momentum. The mothers of Headmaster Bhim and Jairam quarreled in the street. Two young brothers almost came to blows. Finally, when a member of the Mahasabha executive next happened to visit Amity, the matter was put to him. Headmaster Bhim was not present; his father presented the case for him. The decision was in Jairam's favor, and the furor died down. Another consequence of inter-familial conflict is that retaliation for an offence is frequently directed at the entire family of the offender, or any member thereof, if it is assumed that they are supporting the offender. 10 A "Creole" Visiting Nurse related, with some contempt for what she called East Indian "barbarity," the comments made to her by an old East Indian woman whose son-in-law had threatened to kill his wife (her daughter). The old woman said that if anything happened to her daughter, she would hire someone to annihilate the man's family in a gruesome manner: cutting off his mother's leg, his father's arm, etc. Very occasionally in the history of Amity, blood has been shed in the course of a family feud. The danger is always present. To most people of Amity, once the family extends support to a culprit—or at least does not publicly reject him—it is only right and proper that all members be subject to retaliation. After an election there was a rumor in the village that a leader (East Indian) of the DLP intended to punish a PNM candidate, who was also an East Indian, by building a fine new movie theater in the man's home town. The candidate himself would have suffered only indirectly, but his "

See section "Public Celebrations," pp. 157-68, in this book. The question "who are your enemies?" is answered invariably with a list of the enemies of the respondent's family. 10

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widowed mother, who owned the hitherto only theater in the town, would have been ruined. The criticism to be heard in Amity was never directed against the leader, but was rather against the candidate for having engaged in behavior which might result in such misfortune for his family. A final consequence of what might be termed the "family feud" attitude in Amity is reflected in the local reaction to an individual who actually loses the support of his family. Since it is assumed that a family will support a culprit except in the face of an enormous crime, news of the family's withdrawal of support is interpreted as " p r o o f " of the culprit's guilt. Thus, when Ramlogan was suspected of summoning the police to Amity, 1 1 he complained to a friend in my presence that "even my family is against me." When Ramlogan left, his friend said sadly that this " p r o v e d " Ramlogan's guilt: his family would not conceivably have turned against him otherwise. One night a young man, who had been deserted by his wife, threatened his father-in-law with a cutlass, demanding the return of the girl and their children. Neighbors gathered, advising the young m a n to bring his case before some "big m e n " and to put away his cutlass for fear of prejudicing his case. In Central Amity, the "big m e n " tend to be the most influential men in the entire village: Mr. Hardco, the estate driver; Mr. Marajh, Mr. Ramsingh, Mr. Ramesar (all big landholders); plus Jairam, and Headmaster " M a h a d e o Singh" of the Amity Hindu School, who are young men of considerable local prestige. Every district in the village, however, has its "big m e n " who settle disputes. Shopkeepers, wise old men, and estate drivers help to keep the peace in their neighborhoods. Such men derive their authority f r o m a number of sources. Age is always a source of respect in Amity, but for a man to be a "big m a n " in his neighborhood, age must be accompanied by some other factor; 11

See " T h e Village Pameyt

a n d t h e C o u r t s , " pp. 192-99, in this b o o k .

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there are many old men sitting in the shade around Amity to whom n o one ever goes with a problem. True piety counts; the two pandits of Amity are rarely called upon to act as arbiters because both have a reputation for immorality. The Headmaster is consulted because his wisdom and education are respected. Wealth and economic power, control over jobs and riceland, are very important, and the biggest of the "big m e n " are the driver and the important landholders. With wealth must go "generosity," which means appropriate behavior as a " s u p e r i o r " in a praja relationship. Thus, Mr. Bhim and Mr. Mangal are never asked to arbitrate disputes. C o m m o n sense and "fair play" contribute to the verdict, and in some cases religious books are consulted. India is a final authority to be appealed to in any dispute over correct practice or behavior. 1 2 It is understandable that this might have been so when there were many old people still alive who had been born in India. Today, the fact that one's father or grandfather said that in India it was done "this way," is still sufficient reason for continuing to do it that way. Through the movies, modern India is a source of authority as well as innovation. The traditional jama jura, or bridegroom's gown, was replaced at one wedding I attended with a copy of a wedding coat seen in an Indian movie. Again, the cars that make up the barat, or wedding procession, compete dangerously for the position of honor right behind the car of the dolaha (bridegroom). Once, in a barat, as the cars skidded and twisted past one another, a passenger in the car in which I was traveling asked the driver not to take part in the "nonsense." The driver replied angrily that it was not "nonsense," that he had just seen an Indian movie in which barat carts were raced in exactly the same manner. The passenger was silenced. According to the "big m e n " I interviewed, drunkenness, conflicts 12 Villagers will claim, for example, that only people b o m in India can p e r f o r m really powerful and efficacious magic. It is said that magic performed by even the best of the Trinidad-born practitioners is only a feeble reflection of the real thing.

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involving women, and the depredations of livestock are the most common causes of disputes. Sample accounts from interviews: "Bridglal" (Casecu shopkeeper): Two men of the district came into his shop arguing bitterly. They explained that the bull of one had slipped its tether a n d " b o o t e d " (butted) the bull of the other man. The man whose bull had been the victim demanded damages. Bridglal's decision was that the owner of the offending animal pay for any "medicine" needed by the other's animal, and make a small but appropriate payment if the trouble caused the other to lose work and therefore money for the incident took place during crop-time, and both men were using their bulls to pull cane carts. Bridglal feels that the most frequent "troubles" brought before him arise out of drunken quarrels, which frequently begin in his own rum shop. If, as a result of the fight, a man is injured, the dispute may be brought to him. In one recent case, he said, the injured man was unable to work for a fortnight, and demanded a fortnight's pay in damages. Bridglal said that he has a standard decision for such cases: he pointed out that the two men are neighbors, that the situation easily could be reversed next time (thus giving the injured man a good reason for reducing his claim, and the injurer a good reason for paying it). "Let there be peace," he advised, and cut the claim from $30 to $20. The offender paid, and there was peace. Bridglal said that he tries to settle the dispute by himself, when he can, and is usually successful. When the parties involved are not satisfied, Bridglal calls in other "big men" of Casecu. These are men who also settle "troubles" privately. In particularly knotty disputes, as many as four or five men may sit in judgment, but this is rare. Mr. Hardeo (Estate Driver, Central Amity): Two or three weeks before, " M o t i " of Lloyd Street had had a number of drinks on a Saturday night, and had "cussed o u t " a neighbor, " G o p a l , " whose fowls had created havoc in Moti's garden earlier in the week. At around 10:30 P.M., Gopal appeared at Mr. Haideo's house, much upset, to announce that "My neighbor cussing me out." According to Gopal the drunken man called him obscene names and threatened to burn his house and kill his animals. Mr. Hardeo, who is not a well man, got dressed and walked to the house of Moti, finding the man in bed. To Mr. Hardeo's questions, he replied,

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" N o , bheya, I ain' do nothing." Mr. Hardo responded severely that he did not believe him, and warned him not to do it again. He then told Gopal to forget the matter, and returned home. There was no further trouble. Neither man is in his gang, but he says they listen to him because they "respect my judgment." Also, he has assisted both in times of need with money and gifts of food, and has gotten work for them on occasion. Saturday night is the most troublesome in the week for Mr. Hardeo because people get drunk. The rest of the week, he said, is "cool and calm." In his experience, the most frequent cause of conflict is that of fowls invading a neighbor's garden. The neighbor may, in anger, kill the bird, and trouble starts. Next most frequent cause is praedial larceny. It can usually be smoothed over, but once a man shot a neighbor for stealing, and the matter went beyond Amity. For Mr. Hardeo, the most serious case would be an "elopement"- -when a man "steals" his neighbor's daughter. Men such as Mr. Marajh and himself would sit in judgment, and influential East Indians from outside Amity might even be called in. We see, therefore, that ordinary small neighborly disputes in Amity are settled by one "big man" sitting in judgment. Customarily, two praja "inferiors" w h o acknowledge the same praja "superior" bring the matter before him, and accept his decision. If he cannot decide to their satisfaction, or if the dispute is of major proportions, he calls in other "big men." Such courts are also called panceyts, but the villagers distinguish them from the old "village panceyt," and I shall use the term "informal panceyt" for the kind that still exists. The membership of the informal panceyt is not fixed, and chance frequently determines who will be on it. Thus, Headmaster Mahadeo Singh told me that once he was passing a house on Lloyd Street and was called in by an old man who was listening to a dispute between two neighbors. A well-known East Indian from Chaguanas passed the house a few moments later, on his way to visit a friend, and was also asked to join the panel of judges. The three listened to both sides, consulted, and issued a verdict. An informal panceyt

may be called, too, if the dispute is between

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two men of unequal status. The m a n of lower status may fear that his opponent will be able to exert undue influence on only one judge. In the incident mentioned earlier, in which a young man threatened his father-in-law with a cutlass, demanding the return of his wife, I was able to observe almost every phase of the case firsthand, even participating in the informal panceyt. The young m a n — " S u g r i m , " an illiterate cane-laborer born in another village—had married the sister of Headmaster Mahadeo some years previously. Both a religious ceremony and a legal registration had taken place. Sugrim had moved to Amity when his brother-inlaw's fortunes had risen. Unfortunately, Sugrim drank a good deal, and when drunk, beat his wife unmercifully. Periodically she had to run to her family with her two children for protection. On the last occasion he had beaten her so severely during a drunken rage that he had broken her wrist. The next day, while he was off working, she had taken the two children and gone to her father's home. Her brother sent her off to the home of some cousins in a distant village. Upon discovering his wife's absence, Sugrim went to the home of her family. They ordered him out, saying that she had "run a w a y " because of him, and that they did not know where she was. For a week he brooded alone. Then, on Saturday night after drinking up his pay, he took his cutlass and went to her family's house. He stood in front of the house shouting and threatening the occupants. Perhaps he was aware that the Headmaster Mahadeo, the only member of the family he really feared, was away f r o m home. N o member of the family came out of the house and he was eventually quieted by neighbors who advised him to seek justice in a more proper way. Next evening, Sugrim came to see me. He said that he missed his wife and children terribly and wanted them back. He was sorry about the beating, although as he related it, it had been nothing more than an ordinary husband-wife quarrel. He was willing to promise never to drink or mistreat his wife again. He came to me, he said, because

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his position was a difficult one. His brother-in-law was a "big man," while he was a poor laborer, and a stranger, at that. Under the circumstances, he was dubious about his chances of getting fair treatment from an Amity panceyt. He would go before a panceyt therefore only if I—in his eyes a person of consequence, and like himself a stranger to the village—would sit as one of the judges thereby assuring a fair decision. Headmaster Mahadeo agreed, and within a week a meeting was held in my house. The Headmaster and Sugrim attended, plus two arbitrators agreeable to both: Jairam and a cousin of his who was a bookkeeper for the estate. The Headmaster spoke first, demanding to know whether—should he decide to permit his sister to return— Sugrim would promise to turn over a new leaf: to stop drinking and beating his wife, and to work hard. Sugrim said he would be a good husband and father, and would make no more trouble for anyone. On that basis the Headmaster agreed to bring his sister home, but he called upon the three of us to witness the agreement, and the fact that he swore never to give Sugrim another chance. The three of us murmured agreement, with Jairam giving Sugrim a brief lecture: He told Sugrim to behave "like a man." Sugrim, his head bowed, promised. Jairam then said that he might be able to help Sugrim get a much better job. The meeting lasted about fifteen minutes. The wife did not return immediately, however, and a week later Sugrim demanded another hearing. It was granted and the same people were present, plus the Headmaster's father. The Headmaster again spoke first, saying that the press of work had kept him from visiting his sister until the previous day. She had been informed that he had decided she was to return to her husband, and she would be back in the village within the next day or so. This time Sugrim was a little more argumentative. He said that he suspected a "trick," and he was beginning to wonder whether his wife was not in actuality living with some other man.

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This angered the Headmaster. He said, first, that he had placed his sister in the home of a "brother-in-law" (that is, with his father's sister's daughter and her husband), and that this couple had watched her carefully all the time she was there. True, he said, they were technically only " b r o t h e r " and "sister," but in age they were almost contemporaries of his own parents, and so quite competent to protect his sister's honor. Therefore, let no one say his sister had dishonored her husband—she had been given no opportunity. He then repeated vehemently that if there were any further trouble, he would listen to no importunities from anyone. The Headmaster's father mumbled that he had many sons-in-law but that only "this one" gave him trouble. Sugrim promised once more to be good, and the meeting ended after twenty minutes. Later that evening the Headmaster informed me that he had not really made up his mind about his sister's return, despite his promise of the week before. He didn't trust or like Sugrim, and he seriously doubted that the young man would keep his promise. Furthermore, he objected to the treatment his sister had received at Sugrim's hands. He was seriously considering reconvening the panceyt to announce that he had changed his mind. Finally, the day before, he had decided to visit his cousins and determine his sister's attitude on the matter. Sitting in one room, he outlined the situation to his relatives, while his sister waited in another room. The female cousin had carried the matter to his sister, who was "too shy" to speak to him directly. The cousin reported that the sister desired very much to return to her husband, although the cousin herself, and other female friends and relatives had tried to talk her out of it. The Headmaster told me that he was still reluctant, but decided to allow his sister to return, after all. The marriage was a legal one, they had children, and she wanted to go back. He could only hope that the long separation had chastened Sugrim, who had been truly miserable without his wife and children.

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It is important to note that Sugrim and the Headmaster were not equal disputants, as in the cases of the neighborly conflicts mentioned earlier. Not only was the Headmaster a "big m a n " while Sugrim was an ordinary cane-laborer; the latter had the additional disadvantages of being a stranger and clearly in the wrong. There was little that Sugrim could hope for. He told me privately, before the first meeting, that he would settle for the return of "only one child," and he seemed to be steeling himself against the permanent loss of his entire family. Furthermore, of the two disputants, only Sugrim behaved as a man being judged. The Headmaster, obviously more accustomed to judging than being judged, tended to take over the meeting and hand down his own decisions. To him, the three "judges" were more in the nature of witnesses to his decision and Sugrim's promise. When "big m e n " dispute, the case may have to be brought to someone still higher—as when Headmaster Bhim demanded that Jairam pay for the suit the latter had ruined with abir during Holl. The mechanism for settling disputes in Amity works best when disputants are "small" men. If one man is "small" and the other "big," as in the case of Sugrim and Headmaster Mahadeo, the machinery begins to break down—or would, if it were not for the fact that the "small" man generally accepts, without argument, the decision of the "big" man. Thus, when some cattle belonging to a tenant of Mr. Marajh wandered into the garden of the latter, doing considerable damage, there was no talk of bringing the matter before anyone. Mr. Marajh told me he would have the damage evaluated. If it were small he would stand the expense himself, since the owner of the cattle was his own tenant, and it would not be right to "press him" unnecessarily. If the damage were extensive, he would demand that the tenant pay a substantial part of it, for, in Mr. Marajh's opinion, allowing the cattle to wander freely was not a malicious act but represented a lack of proper concern for the property of others. In effect, Mr. Marajh issued a judgment, complete with moral justification, in a case in which he himself was one of the disputants!

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A number of years ago, when the "village panceyt" was still functioning, pandit Sookram Marajh was accused of rape. It was not the first accusation of its kind made against him, although the charges were never pressed in court, and the "village panceyt" assembled and considered placing him in kuja. Nothing ever came of the meeting, however, for very few villagers were willing to vote for sanctions against a Brahman pandit. A few years ago, Pooran Marajh, the other Amity pandit, became interested in the young childless widow of a recently deceased cousin of Jairam. N o one had any proof, but it was whispered about the village that he was visiting her late at night. This was before Basdeo broke with the STwala, and he and Jairam were close friends. One night the two men lay in hiding and observed the pandit sneaking into the house about 10:30 P.M. I heard the story from each m a n separately, and both gave the same explanation for their behavior that night. They realized that there was no way of punishing the Brahman, short of beating him up, and they were reluctant to do that. Instead, they woke up a number of young men, including the deceased man's younger brother who lived nearby. All the young men surrounded the house, a small concrete one on pillars, in which the woman lived alone now that her husband was dead. With Jairam behind him, the younger brother was sent up the stairs, instructed to tell the woman that his mother was ill and needed her. When she opened the door, Jairam tried to push his way in, but she was able to slam the door and bolt it. She shouted from inside that there was no one in the house but herself. Jairam replied that no one had said anything about there being anyone in the house with her and that he merely wanted to visit. After all, both he and the young brother were chotkas of the widow. She continued to shout that she was alone in the house. Though it was close to midnight, a crowd of about five hundred villagers soon gathered. When they learned what was transpiring, they surrounded the house, shouting, "Come

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He refused to emerge, or even to show himself.

The members of the crowd began to enjoy themselves, calling upon the pandit to give them a lecture upon morality.

The wife o f the

pandit joined the crowd, and told Jairam and Basdeo she was very happy to see her husband publicly shamed, but asked them to promise not to hurt him.

Jairam and Basdeo, who had exacted the same

promise from the young men they had first awakened, reassured her. The pandit's brothers and male cousins, however, were frightened by the crowd, and summoned the police from the Ward Center. The police (Negro) came, exhibiting much amusement about the whole matter. They called up into the house, advising the pandit to emerge. They demanded to know why—since this was apparently his woman now, and he was obviously staying here—he wasn't man enough to step out, so inform his neighbors, and demand that they stop bothering him. The pandit made no reply to this suggestion, and eventually the amused policemen returned to the station house—obviously unable to comprehend the horrid circumstances o f a Hindu guru ridiculed by his own initiates after being surprised in

flagrante

being delicto.

At 5 A.M. the matter was still at an impasse, and Jairam and Basdeo decided that the pandit had been punished sufficiently. They sent for Sookram Marajh, the other pandit of Amity, and asked him to speak to the man hiding in the house. Sookram was admitted to the house, and emerged after conferring with his colleague.

He proposed a

compromise: let a taxi be brought right up to the steps of the house. The pandit would then come out but only to leap into the taxi to be driven home. Jairam and Basdeo agreed. The taxi arrived, and the pandit ran out of the house and into the taxi—amid a crescendo of cheers, jeers, and laughter. With his finger on the horn, as if he were carrying a bridegroom, the taxi driver drove the miserable pandit through the crowd slowly to his home. "

S i n c e he would n o r m a l l y be addressed either by his n a m e o r by s o m e kinship

t e r m , the use o f the title was intended as s a r c a s m .

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Within a few days, the widow departed from her late husband's home and the insults of his family, and the pandit set her up in a house in Casecu. He is now considered to have two wives—both being called "Mistress P o o r a n " — a n d spends his time between the two menages. The wives are not on speaking terms. Both Jairam and Basdeo, when they separately recounted the story to me, indicated resentment at the implication that they had intended to beat up the pandit. Jairam was particularly annoyed. He pointed out that Pooran M a r a j h had been his family " g o d f a t h e r " u p until this incident. 14 He added emphatically that if he and his brothers and cousins had wished to use violence, they would never have awakened people, but would have waited quietly in the dark for the pandit to emerge, and pounced on him then. It might be argued perhaps that, after all, the "public shaming" of the pandit amounted to a very minor and ineffectual punishment. Within a few days most of the pandit's clients returned to him, and he continued with his religious practice essentially as before, much to Basdeo's disgust. Nevertheless, as punishment for his sin the pandit had one excruciatingly embarrassing night with his entire village standing around and jeering at him, much as if he had been placed on a public pillory. Though his practice returned, his prestige as a Brahman and a village leader was permanently impaired. As for the widow, while pandit Pooran may have intended the relationship as only a brief affair, now, after the public scandal and her ejection from the home and protection of Jairam's family, he had no alternative— whatever his plans may have been before—but to set her up in a house of her own, and to support two menages. Public ridicule, as a sanction against disapproved behavior, is used in other circumstances. A m a n who marries a girl of the village and comes to Amity to dwell, instead of taking her to his own village, must 14

T h i s m a d e t h e p a n d i t ' s a c t i o n s all the m o r e r e p r e h e n s i b l e , since h i s a f f a i r w a s w i t h t h e w i f e of o n e of his initiates, herself his i n i t i a t e .

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learn to live with the mocking appellation, " g h a r d a m d a , " shouted at him by the young men of the village for months and even years thereafter. But the most striking use of public ridicule is as a punishment for sexual transgressions, as in the case of the pandit. One afternoon when the C. M. School was closed (because of cricket Test Matches in Port-of-Spain) a young monitor f r o m another village slipped into the empty building with a fourteen-year-old girl of Amity, whose father had sent her to the shop. Some children playing in the yard spotted the pair in the building and informed the girl's parents. The girl's mother ran to the school and began to scream at them to come out. Other women gathered quickly, mocking the boy with laughing shouts such as, " C o m e out, Teacher! Teach me!" After a few minutes, the girl emerged, sheepish and fearful. She was slapped by her mother and sent home. For more than half an hour the boy refused to come out, much to the amusement of the village ladies gathered in the street. Then a small boy took pity on the monitor, and brought the latter's bicycle around to the door. The monitor dashed through the crowd of women who simply stood there laughing at him, making n o move to threaten or hold him. He clambered onto his bicycle and took off down the road. There are striking similarities in the pattern of events and behavior in the two cases of "public shaming." In both cases, the ridicule was directed against the males, while the females were ignored by the crowd. At the same time, there seemed to be an unspoken, and perhaps unconscious, agreement that the ridicule was sufficient punishment for the men. True, the pandit's prestige was permanently impaired, but his practice remained, and only Jairam's family and Basdeo stopped speaking to him. In the case of the young monitor, one of the women on the road called out a threat to inform his headmaster. It was apparently intended as a final scare for the headmaster never learned of the incident. It is interesting, therefore, that the

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residual effects were felt most strongly by the females in both cases. A woman's reputation, whether she be an unmarried girl or a married woman, must be preserved by her at all costs. Illicit liaisons occur, of course, but no female will ever admit to them. Even when an unmarried girl becomes pregnant, her family may try to cover up for her as much as they can, to preserve her chance of making a decent marriage. On the other hand, the family may cast her out in the street. This withdrawal of familial protection makes her shame a public matter, and permanently destroys her reputation. Although Jairam and his brothers and cousins awoke the neighbors for the purpose of shaming the pandit, the act also served as a public announcement of the immorality of their cousin's widow. That this was also their intention is demonstrated by the fact that within the next few days she was permanently ejected f r o m the family and from her late husband's house. In the case of the schoolgirl, the situation was similar in that her reputation, too, was damaged. Later in the week, other girls in the village commented bitterly on the mother's behavior. By making a public scene, she had affected the girl's chances of making a good marriage. If she had cared for her daughter, the girls said, the mother would have waited home quietly until her daughter returned, then punished her as severely as she wished, but kept the incident a secret, and thus the girl's reputation reasonably intact. By making a public scene, she was making her daughter the butt of the scorn of other women, who immediately responded. Since the scorn of the women was directed at the boy (as in the case of the pandit), we might speculate that some of the anger felt against a man in such cases derives from the fact that he has contributed to the destruction of a w o m a n ' s reputation. As far as the young girls in the village were concerned, a large measure of blame must go also to the father of the girl for sending his daughter off alone to the store.

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NATIONAL POLITICS ON T H E VILLAGE LEVEL In the 1958 federal elections, two major parties contested in Trinidad: (a) the Peoples National Movement which, in Trinidad, represented the West Indian Federal Labour Party; and (b) the Democratic Labour Party of Trinidad and Tobago, representing the West Indian Democratic Labour Party. The DLP represents a merger of a number of small parties which contested the 1956 national elections. The villagers themselves are not at all concerned with party labels or party platforms. For them, there is a "Creole" or "Negro" party, the PNM, and they believe this party has a Creole membership and Creole leadership. There is also the DLP, an "East Indian" party, which in the minds of the people of Amity is supported and run by East Indians. There happen to be men of all races among the candidates and elected officials of both parties, but this is not of concern to the villagers. As they view politics, the PNM is a "Creole" party, run by Dr. Eric Williams, the present Chief Minister of Trinidad, and the DLP is an "Indian" party controlled by the Honorable Bhadase Sagon Maraj, Leader of the Opposition in the Trinidad Legislative Council. The villagers are absolutely certain that each of these men is primarily concerned with the well-being of his own ethnic group. Both the election of 1958, which I witnessed, and the one in 1956 were hotly contested in Amity. Each time, the "Indian" party candidate won overwhelmingly in the area of which Amity is a part, the victories being attributed to solid East Indian support. However, in Amity itse'f, which has almost no Creole population, the "Creole" party did very well, securing over forty percent of the vote in each election. East Indian political behavior is a source of much confusion and bitterness for many non-Indians in Trinidad. Educated Creoles in Port-of-Spain, as well as some Westernized East Indians, express

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astonishment at the way the East Indians of Trinidad have turned so resolutely away from the PNM. Voting behavior of East Indians is something else that puzzles many Trinidad non-Indians. The East Indian vote is always large, and almost every single registered East Indian voter in any given district goes to the polls, it is said. A rumor is current in Port-of-Spain, even among highly-placed, educated non-Indians, that before an election agents of the Mahasabha go from house to house in the rural districts with a lota (ceremonial brass vase) filled with Ganges water, ordering the illiterate—and presumably otherwise politically unconcerned—East Indians to swear on the lota that they will turn out to vote, and will vote for the East Indian candidate. It will be seen that for such non-Indians, the question of why a conservative, overwhelmingly East Indian village such as Amity should turn in a split vote, while other Indian villages in the same area voted solidly against PNM, is unanswerable. The problem for the people of Amity was that, in both elections, they were faced with a conflict of almost equally strong praja-type obligations. Party platforms and election issues carried much less weight. The candidates in both elections were East Indians. The same PNM candidate, whom I shall call here "Nandilal," ran each time. Nandilal had been a member of the County Council for many years, and had done many favors for Amity village as a whole, and for many individuals within it. The people of Amity credit him with bringing paved roads, electricity, and street lights to the village, and with "protecting" villagers from "Creole" law and justice. Any villager in trouble with the law would turn to Nandilal first for assistance, and even his opponents in the village had to admit that the assistance was invariably forthcoming. This help was particularly important to taxi drivers, who find themselves continually charged with all manner of traffic offenses. Moreover, he had relatives and personal friends within Amity, and had always been a frequent visitor at weddings and

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religious affairs. In a speech in Amity, during the campaign of 1958, Nandilal said that any m a n in Amity who voted against him would be a nlmakharam (an ingrate), and in the audience men who knew they would be voting against him nodded sadly and said it was so. For the Honorable Bhadase Sagon Maraj, there is also a strong sense of praja on the part of the villagers. He is given full personal credit for having built the Hindu schools in Trinidad, and the weight that this carries for the average East Indian of Trinidad cannot possibly be overemphasized. He, too, has a reputation for helping people in distress, and a number of villagers have gone to him for aid in getting a loan. He is admired for his wealth, respected as a Brahman, and hailed as the East Indian " C h i e f " who has advanced the status of the entire ethnic group. On the other hand, the many villagers who had been personally assisted by Nandilal, and who were familiar with him, felt closer to him than to the " C h i e f , " who was a distant, somewhat awesome figure. Further, Nandilal was running himself, while M a r a j was not a candidate in the 1958 elections. Since for most men to decide for either candidate was to be a mmakharam to the other, it was not an easy decision to make. Many of the leading and most vociferous supporters of the D L P spoke sympathetically of Nandilal, w h o m they liked personally. Some, when approached by Nandilal, told him straightforwardly that, much as they felt obligated to him, they simply could not support him against the "Chief." A few men even went to him on their own to inform him that he could not have their votes. Although the balloting was secret, and despite the heated feelings engendered by the election conflict, a surprisingly large number of people announced publicly how they intended to vote. Almost all the taxi drivers, who were under heavy obligation to Nandilal, supported him despite considerable pressure in many cases f r o m family and friends.

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T h a t Nandilal did n o t in the end carry Amity can only be attributed to the fact that the really i m p o r t a n t m e n of the village threw their s u p p o r t behind the " C h i e f . " While there is no one ruler in the village today, as in the time of Kublal M a r a j h , there is a small g r o u p of m e n (all f r o m Central Amity) who, between them, control and run the village. They are the truly " b i g m e n " mentioned earlier: M r . H a r d e o , M r . M a r a j h , Mr. Ramsingh, M r . R a m e s a r — p l u s Jairam and Headmaster M a h a d e o , both of w h o m have considerable influence a m o n g the young m e n of Amity. Their leadership is effective even t h o u g h they have no formal organization. W h e n a Village Council was formed in Amity in 1955, under the direction of a G o v e r n m e n t Education Extension Officer, these men ruled its deliberations. T h e y lost interest in the Village Council, a f t e r a while, a n d stopped attending meetings. In 1956, the Council was " c a p t u r e d " by supporters of the P N M , and they p r o m p t l y withdrew completely. So did their followers, and the Village Council became m o r i b u n d . These leaders, it will be noted, are the " b i g m e n " of the village w h o have the greatest prestige—not those w h o arc only called u p o n t o settle m i n o r disputes. These include the descendants of the earliest settlers, the present big landholders, a n d the m o s t senior driver of the estate. In other words, these are the men w h o are the prajâ " s u p e r i o r s " to the greatest n u m b e r of villagers. Therefore, once these m e n declared for the " C h i e f , " for m a n y lesser m e n the problem of which way to vote became simplified immediately: they voted according to the advice of the men to w h o m they "felt prajâ." Putting aside a n u m b e r of Creole votes f r o m the Main R o a d , which were counted in with the Amity total, and a p a r t f r o m Nandilal's popularity in Amity, the explanation for the fact that the P N M got almost 700 votes in 1958 in Amity to the D L P ' s 800 may be sought within the structuring of the Amity c o m m u n i t y . Almost all East Indian P N M vote in Amity derived f r o m Jangll Tola and Barrackville.

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Jangll Tola, in fact, is the stronghold of the P N M in Amity, while Barrackville is somewhat more divided. A much smaller proportion of the P N M vote came f r o m Casecu. 1 5 This means that there is a rough correlation between low caste and P N M vote, and high caste and D L P vote—the latter party being particularly strong in Central Amity and Thomas Road. The D L P had to receive a large number of low-caste votes in addition, of course, in order to achieve its majority. The highest caste I was able to note among Nandilal's supporters was Baniya (interestingly, the same caste as Nandilal, himself). The fact that Nandilal drew most of his strength f r o m people of low caste was first mentioned to me by village leaders in discussing the cessation of Ramllla in Amity. It was their opinion that unscrupulous supporters of Nandilal—they did not blame him personally—had played upon caste hostilities during the national election two years before, saying to the people "in the b a c k " that the party of Bhadase Sagon M a r a j was " M a r a j h business" and not the concern of men of low caste. Noting that almost all the leaders of his party were Cattrl or Brahman, they made an issue of the treatment of lowcaste children during Ramllla. Just before the election of 1956, it is said, a "victory p a r a d e " of cars drumming up support for M a r a j and his party felt the effects of the anti-Brahman whispering campaign in Amity. The procession of cars, said to have been miles long, drove slowly down Thomas Road, turning left on Beharri Road, and was enthusiastically cheered all the way. When the first cars reached Border Street, a jeering crowd came pouring out of the back districts, and a few stones were thrown at the cars. Several "drunken old ladies," so the story goes in Amity, whipped off their sandals and offered to press the inner soles to the 15

The foregoing derives f r o m an analysis of the returns f r o m each poll in Amity, made after the election by the D L P leaders of the village.

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m o u t h of the candidate, with the o b v i o u s if u n s p o k e n implication, " Y o u can kiss my feet, B r a h m a n ! " 1 6 It is also possible to analyze the voting b e h a v i o r of the people of Jangll Tola a n d Barrackville in terms of "feeling praja.'''' Jangll T o l a is the district of crabcatchers a n d fishermen. T r u e , m a n y work o n the estate in crop-time, but f o r the m o s t p a r t they d o n o t raise rice— and thus they are not tenants of l a n d h o l d e r s . In general, they d o n o t have the strong praja relationships with the " b i g m e n " of Central Amity to be f o u n d a m o n g the p e o p l e of C a s e c u . T h e people of Barrackville rarely raise rice either, partly because they are relative newcomcrs to Amity, and land for renting is scarce. Because they d o not raise rice and because they arc newcomers, they d o not have s t r o n g praja relationships with the Central A m i t y leaders. T h e situation in Amity, therefore, m a y be s u m m e d u p as follows: Both Bhadase Sagon M a r a j a n d N a n d i l a l m a d e s t r o n g personal appeals for the vote of the people of A m i t y in terms of obligation f o r services rendered. The leaders of Amity swung behind the " C h i e f , " bringing with t h e m the vote of their respective followers. The p o o r and low-caste people who felt n o s t r o n g sense of obligation to A m i t y leaders decided in terms of their sense of obligation t o N a n d i l a l .

" That castc is a factor in village political atTairs s h o u l d n o t be interpreted t o m e a n — a s I have o c c a s i o n a l l y heard C r e o l e T r i n i d a d i a n s m a i n t a i n — t h a t rural East Indians are unable to operate in d e m o c r a t i c , free-choice t e r m s . The villager, w h o s e standards o f w h a t is " g o o d " a n d " b a d " are as m e a n i n g f u l t o him as a different set o f standards is to the urban C r e o l e , w o u l d be unlikely to vote for a man simply because he was a Brahman. But leaders must c o m e f r o m s o m e w h e r e , and a m o n g Trinidad East Indians, the q u a l i f i c a t i o n s for leadership (wealth, e d u c a tion, piety, charismatic personality, a n d e x p e r i e n c e in leadership and c o n t r o l ) tend to cluster with high-caste m e m b e r s h i p . It is s i m p l y m o r e likely, therefore, that an East Indian o f Trinidad w h o w o u l d be c o n s i d e r e d a s u i t a b l e c a n d i d a t e for high office w o u l d be a m e m b e r o f a high, rather than a l o w , c a s t c . A n d this w o u l d be true even w h e n t h o s e selecting c a n d i d a t e s were c o m p l e t e l y uninterested in the matter o f caste: H i n d u m e m b e r s o f the T r i n i d a d Legislative C o u n c i l in 1 9 5 8 — o f whatever p a r t y ! — w e r e almost all B r a h m a n o r Cattri.

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Because of the prestige of both men it was a hard fight, but the leadership of Amity was able to demonstrate for the second time that they commanded a majority of the population. F o r most of the people of the village, the entire campaign, from February 25 to its climax on Election Day, March 25, was viewed as an extended period of fun. Tremendous crowds turned up to listen to every speaker who visited the village, and there was little cat-calling or trouble-making. Many men made an effort to attend as many speeches of all candidates in surrounding areas as they could. Indian women, however (unlike Creole women), rarely attended the speeches, for East Indians conceive of politics as man's business. Apart f r o m speeches, electioneering consisted of visits by the candidates, or more often their local agents, to each home where the vote might be at all in question. During such visits, attention was paid only to the male head of the house, who, it is assumed, commands the vote of the household. This indeed seemed to be the case most of the time, for almost all women interviewed on the subject expressed little interest in the election, claiming they voted as their husbands directed. I overheard an exchange between a D L P representative and a m a n who had promised his own vote, but said that he could not be certain of his wife. " A man must be master in his own house." said the D L P man, and the other nodded humbly. A secret caucus was held by each side a few nights before the election. Both groups were convinced that the other would use any means, fair or foul, to insure the success of its candidate. Each therefore felt justified in doing the same. Arrangements were made carefully. Men were assigned to be poll watchers and given explicit instructions on the kind of foul play to expect; they were not to leave their posts even to eat or to visit the latrine unless someone was present to take their places. Roving substitutes were appointed for this. Other men were stationed in houses near each polling place to assist voters. Each side arranged for a fleet of cars to carry voters to and

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f r o m the polls. Men were assigned to cover the most remote paths, to insure that no possible vote was overlooked. Nothing was left to chance. On Election Day matters were actually quite peaceful for the most part. There were stories that a P N M poll watcher was challenging a large number of D L P voters, and there were other very minor incidents on both sides, but nothing really untoward occurred. The active party workers of both sides scurried down the streets on bicycles, in automobiles, or on foot, jeering at their opposite numbers in quite a friendly way as they passed. For most people it was a kind of holiday, and for most of the active workers, the election was sport. There was a certain amount of chicanery, but it seemed to be engaged in by high-spirited young men for the relatively pure pleasure of outwitting the authorities. After voting, a person was required to dip his right forefinger in indelible ink. To avoid this dipping required agility and quick-thinking. The rare young m a n who accomplished this feat would run to the nearest information booth of his party, ascertain the name of a voter for the opposition who had not yet arrived at the polls, and vote in that person's name. The "dipping" requirement caused one amusing incident. One old m a n flatly refused to stain a finger of his right hand, pointing out to the election official that he needed his right hand to eat with. He offered to stain any number of fingers on his ¡eft hand (which he used only in the latrine, anyway). The official refused to accommodate him, and he left without voting, to the chagrin of his party. Many people refused to vote unless a car picked them up at home, drove them to the polls, and returned them to their homes. This request was always granted, and both parties used only the newest cars at their disposal. I saw no coercion. For the most part people were quite eager to vote, and the few who flatly refused to vote were not disturbed in any way. The turnout, however, was phenomenally high. In one polling station all but ten actually voted out of the 327

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people registered. Of the ten, one old m a n had died, and two or three were women away f r o m home visiting their families. Because of the complexity of the voting lists and the general illiteracy, most voters had to stop at one or the other of the party booths for advice, choosing the booth of the party for which they intended to vote. It was a secret ballot in name only. After the results were announced, one D L P man compared the returns for a particular polling station with his own estimate of the vote to be received, and expressed astonishment at the fact that he was four votes off. After the polls closed, Beharri Road was crowded with people of both parties, waiting for reports from each polling station. When the D L P victory in the village was announced, the supporters of the P N M melted quietly away. I was reminded of this much later in the evening, when a rumor spread that a "gang of Negroes" was on its way to attack Amity because it had given the D L P a majority. "See!" one angry D L P man said to me. "When Indians lose they just go home quiet, quiet!" Fortunately, the rumored " g a n g " never materialized and the election passed peacefully.

VII.

The Summing Up

Amity is a community. The full round of life of its East Indian cane-laboring population is to be observed in the village. It has its own internal stratification, bearing little relationship to that of Trinidad as a whole, and it has its own distinctive patterns and cycles. Disputes are settled inside the village without recourse to the Trinidad legal system, in terms of the relationships existing within the family and between persons occupying specific positions in the village socioeconomic system. Founded in the next to the last decade of the nineteenth century by indentured laborers from India, Amity exhibits today a high degree of community self-identification and integration. That this should be so is particularly striking in view of the complex problems surrounding the founding of the village. The original settlers derived from different villages in northern India. The majority came as individuals, leaving family and friends behind. For a mini-

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m u m of five years the immigrants were incorporated within an alien sociocultural system, permitting only the most incomplete expression of their culture. For as long as they remained in the sugar-producing area, they were economically tied to the sugar plantations, even after they had been permitted to depart as " f r e e " laborers. Although some of the original settlers of Amity may have become acquainted with one another during their period of indenture, they still had problems to solve relating specifically to their differences in origin. Each different village in India represented among the settlers implied a variant of the general north Indian sociocultural system. It was necessary for the early settlers to reach some kind of consensus if a true community with a new social structure was to come into existence. Undoubtedly, there were conflicts in the early days. This is indicated by the semi-isolation reported for the district of Jangli Tola, and the fact that an integrated caste system, involving a web of reciprocal caste relationships identical to that found in India, never came into being. But it is highly significant that some agreement was reached as to the relative ranking of castes in the village, and that certain types of inter-caste relationships were—and continue to be— important in the lives of the villagers. The settlers of Amity succeeded in reconstituting a new community. It exhibited the structure of what might be called the generalized north Indian society. The founders of the village were able to reconstitute social institutions which could be maintained by their descendants, and which functioned as mechanisms for the transmission of their culture and the maintenance of community cohesiveness. Perhaps the most important structural element in the lives of the people of Amity is that of kinship relationships. The individual knows the appropriate behavior for any given kin relationship; he knows what he must do, and what he can expect in return. He knows with whom he ought to associate, whom he ought to avoid, and how

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and when. He knows whom he ought to support and obey, and from w h o m he ought to be able to expect support and obedience. With non-kin, unless certain other relationships come into play, he is uncertain and suspicious. This is illustrated in behavior to be observed during the arrangement of a marriage. Two families, ideally completely unrelated to each other in any way, often exhibit considerable hostility and fear at such a time. Each side may desire the marriage, but each side may fear it is being cheated by the other. Only after the marriage has taken place will the suspicion each family has for the other begin—slowly—to decrease. Every East Indian is a member of a far-flung circle of kinsmen. This kindred, as a whole, is exogamous and committed to a principle of mutual support and assistance. Within the kin group, however, there are subgroups. The immediate family receives the individual's primary allegiance. He or she occupies a position within its hierarchy and submits to the authority of its "elder heads." The family ideally has one purse, one kitchen, and one roof. With his kinsmen who live beyond the village, the villager maintains a pattern of continued reciprocal visiting. A member of Amity society may, for example, have to visit his mother's family, his father's mother's family, his mother's sister's family, his father's sister's family, his sister's family and his daughter's family. He would typically attend weddings, funerals, ceremonies, and other events at the homes of his relatives, and they would come to similar events in his home. He may make considerable financial contributions, particularly at weddings. In time of difficulty, he would be expected to come to their assistance. He has what is called "bye-family" (Active kin) and "respcct family" (respect kin) in his own village and in other villages. Visits to them will not be as frequent as to "real" kin, but they must be made, and he will attend their cercmonies and affairs. Obligations to "bye-family" are almost as strong as to "real family." Except in unusual circumstances, however, he is unlikely to be called

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upon for financial assistance by his "respect family," and he will not normally be required to take a stand if they become involved in a dispute with another family. In India, a pattern exists whereby Active kinship may be ascribed to non-kin castemates of one's own village, and to a lesser extent to villagemates of other castes. Such " k i n , " however, are invariably natives of one's own village. 1 The indentured Indian immigrants of the nineteenth century usually came to Trinidad as individuals (small nuclear family units were comparatively rare) and left their villages and circles of kin behind. Since the concept of Active kinship already existed, it required only a slight reworking to permit its application to the new circumstances. Men who came over on the same ship considered themselves a circle of kin. In later years, scattered throughout the island, they continued to visit one another as they had been accustomed to visit relatives in India. The men who founded Amity, though originally a collection of strangers, eventually became not only fellow villagers to one another, but village "brothers," regardless of caste. With the growth of true kin networks in recent years, the importance of shipmate "kinship" has declined. Village "kinship," however, is still of major importance, and for some people village exogamy counts for a great deal more in the arrangement of a marriage than does, for example, caste endogamy. The second traditional element that persisted and allowed the people of Amity to reconstitute their East Indian community was caste. In this case, there were two major problems. Coming as they did from different villages in India, and representing a large number of castes, the problem of the rank each caste was to hold in relation to the others was a knotty one. Again, the caste system of the immigrants received no recognition within the larger social system of the island of Trinidad, and even met with active opposition. A commonly agreed 1 See Lewis 1958: 161.

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upon hierarchy of castes, however, was finally achieved in Amity. Castes were grouped according to the Indian Varna system, with the criterion of membership in the Sudra ("lowest") Varna being the fact of swineraising and porkeating. All non-Brahman and non-Kshattrlya castes whose members in Amity avoided these two " l o w " practices were considered to belong to the Ves Varna. Every Cattri was considered a Kshattriya, and every M a r a j h a Brahman. The circumstances of life in Trinidad made it impossible for all important aspects of the caste system to be reconstituted. Caste panchayats have never been known in Amity. Castes do not function as groups, with group interests and leaders, nor do caste members exhibit any indications of a desire for the mobility of the entire caste. Individuals of Amity may be economically mobile within the context of the socioeconomic system of Trinidad, and if they wish to leave the village they may achieve mobility in terms of the Trinidad system of social stratification. Within the village, however, such economic mobility is only one factor of many for social mobility, and the others include primarily " I n d i a n " values, such as piety, generosity, and the giving up of swineraising. Caste is still an important determinant of social status, as evidenced by the tendency of socially mobile families to upcaste themselves, pretending to membership in a higher caste. It is highly significant that the founders of Beharri Settlement, f r o m Beharri on, were of castes of the Ves Varna or higher. Considering the fact that people of Sudra caste membership constitute over half the population of the village (which accords well with the figures we have for their proportions among the Indian emigrants) why were no representatives of these castes among the founders? A number of explanations may be offered. First, if a member of a caste considered Sudra in India became a wealthy landholder in Beharri Settlement, lived respectably and piously, and did not raise pigs, it is highly likely that his caste would be considered Ves—as long as there were not t o o many ill-behaved and impoverished members of his caste around.

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Second, an industrious, sober, prosperous man deriving from a low caste could simply claim to be of a higher caste. Unless there happened to be someone in the village who had known him in India, his claim was hardly likely to be disputed. A man of " l o w " origins capable of "rising" in this way would surely have enough presence and quick wit to carry off such a deception successfully. Finally, once the settlement pattern of the village was established, with only Ves, Cattri, and Brahman people living on Thomas and Beharri Road, a Camar or Dusad who had emerged f r o m his indentures with some savings may well have preferred to seek his fortune in some other part of Trinidad, where residential segregation was not enforced. This matter of residential segregation is very important. Once the founders had achieved this, the future of Amity as an " I n d i a n " community became a real possibility, for it signified that agreement had been reached between the former strangers on major areas of interrelationship. In the " m a i n " village—now the district of Central Amity—lived the upper-caste landholders. The people who rented riccland from them and worked in their sugar fields, lived in the outlying hamlet called "Casecu." These people were of Sudra castes, raised pigs, and became the "inferiors" in the developing praja relationships. Today, the outlying hamlets have merged into the village proper, but socially ranked "districts" are still sharply distinguishable. While rigid separation of castes no longer exists, there is a polarization, so that the " b e s t " district is populated primarily by higher-caste people, and the "lowest" district by lower-caste people. This same polarization is reflected in quality of houses, and in participation in religious activities. Something resembling the jajmani relationship described by Lewis for Rampur in northern India exists in Amity and is here referred to as a praja relationship. This may be termed the third diagnostic

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element of traditional Indian culture. Reciprocal caste relationships form only a small part of the prajâ relationships in Amity, for in the Trinidad village the latter are conceived of as being man-to-man, rather than caste-member-to-caste-member, relationships. Nevertheless, caste still affects prajâ relationships to the extent that highercaste men are more comfortable than lower-caste men in the role of what has been termed here prajâ "superiors." The men who are the prajâ "superiors" in the greatest number of prajâ relationships control the community, settling disputes, and directing the village response to national politics. These prajâ "superiors" are men of considerable economic power, for they control access to jobs and riceland. The very table of organization of the Trinidad sugar plantation functions to maintain the " I n d i a n " social structure of Amity since the estate driver is a leading prajâ "superior." The system of rice cultivation in Amity—for subsistence only, with all land in excess of what is needed for family subsistence rented to others—also functions in the same way to maintain the social structure. Though most of the prajâ relationships tend to be intra-village, they do not have to be, and two men f r o m very distant villages may enter into a prajâ relationship. What is involved is a reciprocity of obligation, but in a highly patterned way. One person in the relationship is the "superior," and has the responsibility of guiding, advising, and assisting the "inferior" and his family. The "inferior" must obey his "superior," and perform labor for him, asked or unasked. The villagers have this sense of being prajâ to East Indian political leaders because of services rendered to the village, to the individual, or to the East Indian group as a whole. Any prajâ relationship may dissolve if one side fails to reciprocate properly. The fourth element of considerable diagnostic significance is the version of Hinduism practiced in Amity. A succession of major public celebrations or festivals makes up the religious year for the Hindu

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villagers. All involve the participation of the greater number of the villagers. According to Lewis (1958: 234), there is considerable variation among the villages of northern India, even when they are not widely separated, in terms of which festivals are locally celebrated. It is impressive that, despite this background, the villagers of Amity should have achieved such a large measure of uniformity in the religious sphere over the years. Some festivals may have dropped out and some may have been modified. New ones, such as Christmas, have been adopted. What stands out is that there is overall agreement as to which holidays should be celebrated, by whom, and in what way. Apart from the cycle of festivals, most religious activity in Amity takes the form of the puja, or ceremonial offering. There are many different pujas known, and I have categorized religious ceremonies in Amity in terms of whether they involve animal sacrifice, and whether they are of a community, semiprivate, or private nature. A polarization exists in the village, so that the "higher" type of religious ceremony tends to align with "higher" caste membership and residence in the " b e t t e r " district. Religious practices thus reinforce the social stratification. The religious ceremonies are conducted by specific religious leaders, and the "higher" forms by Brahman pandits. In their dual capacity of pandit (ceremonial officiant) and guru (spiritual advisor, also known as "godfather"), the Brahmans may be said to have controlled the expression of Hinduism in Amity. Recent developments have challenged their power, however. Sparked by teachings deriving out of modern India, plus an awareness of Western religious forms and concepts, new religious leaders have come forth among the young people of Amity. They have introduced congregational weekly prayers in the temple, and one of them is even preaching an every-man-hisown-priest rebellion against the monopoly of the Brahman pandits. Hinduism has been modified in Amity since the foundation of the village, and the process of change continues and may even be ac-

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celerating. The change, however, is always in terms of Indian values, and Indian forms still predominate. The final structural element to be emphasized here is the East Indian life cycle. From birth until death, the villager may normally expect to undergo certain patterned experiences. The most important of these is marriage. It is the fact that marriage is so important, as well as the nature of marriage itself, that makes the life cycle of the Amity East Indian so different from that of his Creole neighbors in Trinidad. Despite the fact that until a decade ago Hindu marriages were not recognized by law and the issue of unions contracted "under the b a m b o o " were considered illegitimate, almost every first marriage in Amity has been—and is—solemnized in this manner. Since the founding of Amity, marriage has undergone only minor changes in content, even less in form, and almost none in terms of the part it plays in the social structure. In Amity, marriage is an arrangement between two families, and the rare union made without parental approval is considered scandalous whether or not it has been legally registered. The distinction the villagers make between what they consider right and proper and what the larger Trinidad society considers right and proper stands out more sharply in the case of marriage than in any other. Marriage represents a major changc in the life of a Hindu East Indian woman, for the marriage will most often be village-exogamous and virilocal. The birth of a child usually stabilizes the union and makes it permanent. The "marriage season" is a period of extended community and kinfolk assemblage, for a wedding calls for a community feast requiring financial contributions and activc general participation. Unlike marriage, the response to death in Amity has undergone certain important modifications. Perhaps bccause cremation was not feasible, burial has been adopted along with the West Indian practice

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of a night of " w a k i n g . " The " w a k e " in Amity, however, has never assumed the proportions of a " w a k e " among rural Trinidad Negroes. In basic structure, therefore, Amity is an " I n d i a n " community and not a "West Indian" community. The similarity between Amity and what might perhaps be called a generalized North Indian community structure must certainly be apparent to students of the Indian sociocultural system. Students of the West Indian scene cannot but be aware that Amity is not "West Indian" in almost any sense but the geographic. In this work specific cultural content, while undeniably important, has not been deemed as important as the structural relationships involved or the significance of the trait in the lives of the people. Thus, in the case of religion, we may note that the festival of Tij is celebrated in Lewis' Rampur, and not in Amity, which celebrates Christmas—a holiday unknown in Rampur, but known among the Negroes of Trinidad. What is significant here is that the "festival cycle" is as important in the religious life of Amity as it is in Rampur—while religion in Toco, Trinidad, takes the form, primarily if not entirely, of weekly congregational meetings in the church. 2 We have seen that in Amity an individual's first allegiance is to his family, and his second to his kin group. 3 The solidarity of the kin group against all outsiders is so strong that it frequently results in the development of family feuds, while the withdrawal of kin support is taken as proof of an individual's guilt. For India, Lewis writes: " I n Rani Khera kinship plays a major role in the ordering of human relations and is the basis of most social and political g r o u p i n g s . . . . The extended family is strong and forms a basic unit for individual identification" (1955: 153-54). On the other hand, Braithwaite points ' Compare, for example, Lewis 1958: 207 with Hcrskovits and Herskovits 1947: 175. ' Amity "cousin" and "uncle" kinship types appear to be the same as those Murdock has noted for northern India (1957: 679).

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out for Trinidad t h a t : " K i n s h i p ties a m o n g the lower c l a s s . . . are not one of the main means, as in some societies, of integrating the social structure" (1953: 146). He says, f u r t h e r : "Relations are sometimes traced at great length, but the diffuse solidarity of the extended kinship group is extremely tenuous and completely subordinated to the system of social stratification and other forms of integrating the social system" (ibid.: 148). It would seem hardly necessary to document the importance of the caste system in the social structure of an Indian community. For example, in his examination of "the structual relations of village and state in India," Marriott states: The existence of an extensive system of castes, present in all villages and cutting across many villages, perhaps provides the ultimate in proofs of the ancient inseparability of the little communities of India from the greater community which they collectively constitute. Three aspects of caste organization in particular demonstrate the mutual influence of little and great communities: (1) its complex ethnic composition; (2) its partial correlation with and determination by differential allocation of wealth and power; and (3) its maintenance by elaborate ritual usages [1955: 187-88], Trinidad is of course not India, and the caste system of the East Indian population has no place within the social structure of the island itself. Even within the village of Amity, caste relationships are much weaker than has been reported for any Indian community. Nevertheless, caste membership is an important element in the village stratification system, and aspects of the caste system may be found reflected in many areas of Amity culture. Nothing comparable to it exists among the Creole population, unless it be the "color" hierarchy. Braithwaite feels that even this caste-like phenomenon has given way to the "open-class system" in Trinidad (1953 : 60-63, et passim). F o r Toco, the Herskovitses write: " A s everywhere in the Euro-American economic system, the fluctuations of market-prices of world crops can make for individual economic disaster and this, in turn, is the com-

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monest cause for change of status" (1947: 33). In Amity today, a poor but pious Brahman would inevitably rank higher than a pigraising, wealthy Camar. The similarity between the Amity praja relationship and the Jajmani system noted in North India has already been mentioned. What is important here is that both relationships function to maintain the political structures of the two villages, Amity and Rampur. Through them, conflicts are settled and economic life is regulated. In b o t h cases, obligation relationships between "superior" and "inferior" form the basis of the system, although in R a m p u r caste relationships play a greater role in the system than is the case in Amity, and caste panchayats are important mechanisms of social control. The fact that the praja relationship permits the settlement of disputes within Amity, without recourse to the courts, is highly significant. The Herskovitses write: " T h e effective political controls of Toco life rest entirely outside the hands of the people in the village" (1947: 264). They point out that conflict in Toco is invariably resolved in the courts: " N o point under dispute is small enough to escape being brought to trial—the Magistrate even told of cases where an accused, aged six, was charged with pummeling a defendant, aged five!" (ibid.: 268). The cases observed in the Toco court (ibid.: 266-69) bear a startling resemblance to the cases settled in the village of Amity by "big m e n . " The point has been made that marriage is the most important life crisis in Amity, involving an expensive community feast for the family. Lewis writes: "The most important and lavishly celebrated [ceremony] is that of marriage" (1958: 47). In his chapter entitled "The Marriage Cycle," Lewis gives an exhaustive analysis of the importance and complexity of marriage in Rampur. It is village exogamous and caste endogamous, and is arranged by the parents. "It is customary to spend large sums of money on weddings, even at the risk of going deeply into d e b t " (ibid.: 162).

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While in Amity and Rampur a formal marriage, arranged and conducted according to established patterns, occurs in the overwhelming majority of first unions at least, the situation is far different in a rural Trinidad Negro community. According to the Herskovitses, there is an established procedure for entering into a formal marriage in Toco, but "matters actually proceed in this theoretically regular manner only in a few cases" (1947: 87). Some 46 percent of the couples in Toco are "keeping" (unmarried), and in 21 percent of the total cases, while the couples are now married, the households contain "premarital offspring" (ibid.: 98). Marriage in Amity is virilocal and village exogamous, and authority is always in the hands of the males though a widow may exercise considerable influence over her sons. Braithwaite says of the lower-class family (Creole) of Trinidad: "The unit consisting of grandmother, daughter and children would appear to be a widespread form of household organization. In such a household authority frequently lies with the grandmother or is shared" (1953: 147). In the foregoing comparison, the community of Amity has been compared with the rural Trinidad Negro community. Amity, however, is in the sugar-producing area of Trinidad and is inhabited predominantly by cane-laborers. It would therefore be instructive to compare Amity with Negro plantation communities. We must go outside of Trinidad for this, since labor in the canefields is primarily an East Indian occupation on this island. Students of the Caribbean have been giving increasing attention to the absence of community cohesion in plantation villages populated by Negroes. 4 Actual studies of such plantation communities have * Wagley (1957: 8) has suggested that "this lack of community esprit de corps is p e r h a p s the reason why so many studies of the Caribbean area are not, in the strict sense of the term, 'community studies,' and why the community unit remains so vaguely defined." A recent study of the variations in degree of community integration in the Caribbean, and the relationship between degree of integration

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contributed to the picture of loose integration, "paternal" control by estate owners, and an absence of any significant degree of continuous mutual cooperation and interdependence. 5 Amity is also a plantation community, but it is a tightly integrated one, with strong internal lines of authority and mechanisms of social control. The community unit is anything but vaguely defined, and there is a substantial esprit de corps. Compared with the Negro plantation communities of the Caribbean and surrounding regions, Amity emerges as a strikingly different phenomenon. Whatever the correlates of plantation labor may be in the Caribbean, they do not hold for Amity. This can only be explained in terms of the fact that Amity is not a Caribbean community, but one that is structurally Indian. The emphasis throughout this book has been on the persistence of Indian culture in Amity. This may have led to an underemphasis of acculturation f r o m the West Indian environment, but there is no desire here to deny that acculturation. The increasing importance of the " w a k e " as a life-crisis rite in Amity may be mentioned as just one example of the acculturation going on. There are radios and newspapers and even a telephone in Amity, and there are good roads leading to Port-of-Spain. Yet in some ways Amity is a closed world, and it is easy for an observer living there to forget that Amity is part of a "Creole" Trinidad, which in turn is part of a greater West Indian complex. Amity is not really isolated from the world. Fluctuations in the price of sugar in London affect the personal income of every villager. Hindu and Muslim friendships in the village were strained during the early India-Pakistan conflicts. and type of agricultural activity, indicates an association between loosely integrated community and plantation economy (Horowitz 1959). 4 See particularly Clarice's study of rural life in Jamaica (1957), and Hutchinson's study of village and plantation life in Brazil (1957).

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The Negro Trinidadian has a definite place in the villager's universe. The East Indian of Amity has both fear and contempt for the Negro. The typical stereotype of the Negro held by the people of Amity is that he is big, strong, quicktempered, and prone to use his fists. Villagers sincerely believe that the Negro of Trinidad wants to keep " u s " down, and that the P N M , whatever its stated objectives, really has only one objective; to "raise" the Negro and "keep d o w n " the Indian. They are unenthusiastic about the new West Indian Federation. Some feel it is a Negro plot to swamp the growing political power of the East Indians with Negro votes. Most worry about "unlimited immigration," fearing that hordes of Negroes from the most impoverished islands will swarm to Trinidad, willing to work for pennies, and will thus bring unemployment and low wages to the East Indian cane-laborer. At the same time, there is contempt for the Negro. He is "Kirwal sar"—the m a n who allows his womenfolk complete sexual freedom, and does not even exhibit shame when his sister becomes an unmarried mother. The East Indian of Amity is also convinced that the Negro does not know how to save money. He points to all the land, formerly owned by Negroes, that has been taken over by East Indian farmers. To an East Indian, a m a n who sells land, and thus deprives his children, is beneath contempt. He believes that the Negro is too interested in " f e t i n g " : dancing. Carnival, and expensive clothes. In Amity, even the wealthiest men rarely own suits or ties. A villager considers his dress wardrobe complete if he has a white shirt, a good pair of trousers, and a pair of shoes. They will have to become quite shabby before he is willing to replace them. He has contempt for the Negro for not planting rice, for he feels that a man without a piece of riceland has nothing to fall back upon, and must always be at someone else's mercy. The East Indian who can supply his family's rice needs has a basic sense of security and independence: let any employer mistreat him, he insists proudly, and "1 go live on salt and rice!"

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The villager is also aware that the Creole world has no real understanding of himself and the ways of his people and he takes advantage of it, though at times he is incensed by it. He knows there is a widespread stereotype of the rural East Indian as a foolish, illiterate "Coolie." When the Creole official comes to Amity, every villager he meets will more than fulfill the stereotype. Every question the man asks will be answered with an ingratiating, but hopeless, " M e ain' know." When the official leaves, baffled and unsuccessful, the men who talked to him—frequently intelligent and often well-educated— will spend an hour hilariously analyzing the way they tricked him. The East Indian of Amity conceives of himself as a member of a large social group occupying a position as one unit within the social structure of Trinidad. As the status of the entire East Indian group advances, so does his own status. "We going up!" the impoverished cane-laborer says proudly, referring to other East Indians in politics and in business. The view that such East Indians have of their own group may perhaps be described in terms of caste. The factor of group, rather than individual, mobility within the larger society is widely recognized as an important structural element of the caste system. 8 It is obvious, of course, that the East Indian ethnic group of Trinidad cannot be said to form a caste identical to a caste of India. The caste system of India itself differs from north to south, as Ryan has pointed out (1953: 17), and caste in Ceylon is very different from caste in India as a whole. Ryan defines caste, so as to make the term applicable to both India and Ceylon, as: a social organization structure functioning through hierarchical birth status groups, they, or their sub-units, being communalistic [in a footnote, Ryan '

See Hutton 1946: 98; Cox 1948: 312; O'Malley 1932: 172-75; Cohn 1955:

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notes that in India "community" has a connotation of ethnic identity and interaction, rather than locality] and usually endogamous, and possessing functional or ritual roles including symbolic expressions of social distance a n d privilege in reference to and in distinction from other groups in the great society. Both the structure and the functional or role content are subject to infinite variation within the range of Indian influence [ibid.: 19], If this definition of caste system is acceptable, it would seem t h a t t h e East Indians of T r i n i d a d — i n terms of their view of their o w n position within the total society, a n d their attitudes t o w a r d the other m a i n g r o u p — m i g h t be termed a " c a s t e . " Even the fact that the i m p o r t a n c e of caste is denied c a n n o t be put f o r t h as a n objection f o r we find t h a t in m o d e r n C e y l o n : " S t a n d a r d s of good taste render caste topics t a b u in the mixed classes of u r b a n society" (ibid. : 21). T h e " r i t u a l roles including symbolic expressions of social d i s t a n c e " f r o m o t h e r g r o u p s are also present. In discussing H i n d u marriage in British G u i a n a , Smith a n d J a y a w a r d e n a c o m m e n t : The fact of performing this marriage ceremony at all is in itself symbolic of the participants' position in the Guianese social system. The strict performance of all the ritual actions involved in an orthodox wedding has its own value for the participants because it is thought to be the proper " H i n d u " way of doing things, irrespective of whether each element has meaning in itself [1958: 191], Whatever the view of the East Indian g r o u p , t h e larger T r i n i d a d society, of course, has n o such viewpoint or a p p r o a c h . 7 If the East I n d i a n s continue to m a i n t a i n this viewpoint, however, the n a t u r e of the total Trinidad society will be open t o serious a r g u m e n t , when,

7 This is n o t t o deny t h e existence a m o n g T r i n i d a d West I n d i a n s , particularly of t h e lower class, of a t t i t u d e s a n d values different in c o n t e n t b u t s i m i l a r in effect u p o n b e h a v i o r . Such o b s e r v a t i o n as I have m a d e of this g r o u p certainly s u p p o r t s the h y p o t h e s i s t h a t their political b e h a v i o r reflects—in t e r m s of u n d e r l y i n g m o t i v a t i o n s — a s little of " i d e a l " d e m o c r a t i c open-class values as d o e s t h a t of their lower-class East I n d i a n c o u n t e r p a r t s .

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within the next couple of decades, the East Indians constitute the majority of the population of the island. 8 Amity village and the circumstances of its existence pose interesting questions for further research. It was reconstituted, as was the Tapirapé village described by Wagley, during the lifetime of individuals born into such communities. Could it have been done by a second or later generation born in an alien social system? What happened to East Indians in the other areas to which they migrated? What effect did contact with very different cultures have on such attempts at reconstitution as may have been made in the Fiji Islands, Mauritius, Natal, etc.? What happened in Jamaica, Martinique, St. Lucia, and the other islands in the West Indies to which fewer indentured East Indians were brought? The founders of Amity were able to establish a community in which it is possible to see a "'whole,' a 'full round of local life'" (see Arensberg 1954: 111). This would appear to have been a factor of considerable importance in the reconstitution of the social structure. Is reconstitution possible without it? Suppose neither riceland had been available in Trinidad nor rice cultivation as it is practiced in Amity been practicable—could the social structure still have been reconstituted? The problems of other ethnic groups in similar circumstances may be compared with those of the East Indians of Amity. To what extent, for example, do urban ghettoes such as a "Little Italy" or a "Chinatown" represent reconstituted communities reflecting the society of origin, and in what ways do they fail to be such? These questions are raised here, but they will have to be answered elsewhere. The concern of this work has been solely with what

9 Many aspects of Trinidad's socioculturel complexity are reviewed in the papers by Braithwaite, Crowley, and Klass in "Social and Cultural Pluralism in the Caribbean" (Rubin et al. 1960).

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happened when a group of Indian immigrants settled in Trinidad and established an "Indian" village. In concluding, I wish to emphasize again that Amity is in Trinidad, and the villagers are not Indians but "East Indians in the West Indies." The village is part of the ongoing social, economic, and political system of Trinidad and cannot legitimately be separated from it. This is the fact that makes a study of the village so fascinating. Except on special occasions, the villagers dress as do their Creole neighbors, and speak the same language. It is only upon close and continual examination that one perceives the differences in what appear at first glance to be similarities. The East Indians wear the same clothes—but clothing is not the validation of status for the East Indian that it is for the Negro. They speak the same language—but the words frequently mean very different things. "Legal registration" has nothing to do with marital respectability for the villager : that is determined by paternal approval. "Free choice" means only the right of veto in a match otherwise arranged by parents. A "keeper" in Amity is a woman who is living with a man other than her original spouse, whether or not her present union is a legal one. "Legality," "respectability," and "propriety" mean certain things in Amity, and frequently they do not have anything to do with the terms as they are used in Creole Trinidad. Non-legal Hindu marriages are said to be "under the bamboo." In the same sense, the entire social structure of Amity may be said to be "under the bamboo." A comparison of the nature of Amity small-farmer sugar cultivation with that of Amity rice cultivation shows in microcosm both the extent to which Amity is part of the Trinidad socioeconomic system, and the extent to which Indian culture has persisted. Sugar is cultivated by a small number of people in Amity. It is a cash crop, and cultivation, harvesting, and monetary return are controlled by the estate. Fluctuations in the world sugar market affect the

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Amity small-farmer's profit. It is cultivated by Individual families, and all nonfamily labor must be paid for in cash. Rice is cultivated by almost every family in the village, as a subsistence crop. Cultivation and harvesting are in terms of village, and not Trinidad patterns, and assistance is given by communal workgroups or in terms of a praja relationship. The villager dreams of becoming a small cane-farmer, for he wants the cash. But rice means subsistence, and should anyone threaten his sense of independence, the villager is ready to say: " I go live on salt and rice."

Bibliography Arensberg, C. M. 1937 The Irish Countryman: An Anthropological Study. [New York, The MacMillan Co. 1954 "The Community Study Method." American Journal of Sociology, LX: 109-24. 1955 "American Communities." American Anthropologist, LVII: 1143-62. Borde, P.-G.-L. 1881 Histoire de l'île de la Trinidad sous le gouvernement espagnol (seconde partie). Paris, Maisonneuve et Cie. Bowen, N. P., and B. G. Montserin (eds.) 1948 Colony of Trinidad and Tobago Census Album. Government Press.

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Braithwaite, L. 1953 "Social Stratification in Trinidad: A Preliminary Analysis." Social and Economic Studies, II: 5-175. Clarke, E. 1957 My Mother Who Fathered Me. London, George Allen and Unwin Ltd.

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Cohn, B. S. 1955 "The Changing Status of a Depressed Caste," in Village India, Studies in the Little Community, ed. by M. Marriott. American Anthropological Association Memoir, No. 83, pp. 53-77. Collens, J. H. 1888 A Guide to Trinidad. London, Elliot Stock. Comins, D. W. D. 1892a Letter to the Secretary to the Government of Bengal, General Dept., Calcutta. In Notes on Indian Immigration, 1878-1893, pp. 41-60. 1892b Note on the Abolition of Return Passages to East Indian Immigrants from the Colonies of Trinidad and British Guiana. Calcutta, Bengal Secretariat Press. In Notes on Indian Immigration, 1878-1893, pp. 65-105. 1893 Note on Emigration from India to Trinidad (plus Diary and Appendices). Calcutta, Bengal Secretariat Press. In Notes on Indian Immigration, 1878-1893, pp. 205-384. Cox, O. C. 1948 Caste, Class and Race. New York, Doubleday a n d Co. Cumper, G. n.d. The Social Structure of the British Caribbean (excluding Jamaica), Part II. Extra-Mural Department, University College of the West Indies. Cumpston, I. M. 1953 Indians Overseas in British Territories, 1834-1854. London, Oxford University Press. de Bary, W. T. (ed.) 1958 Sources of Indian Tradition. New York, Columbia University Press. Dow, H. (ed.) 1957 Trinidad and Tobago Year Book. Port-of-Spain, Yuille's Printerie, Ltd. Fleet, J. F. 1910 "Hindu Chronology," in Encyclopedia Britannica, XIII: 491-95. Gangulee, N. 1947 Indians in the Empire Overseas. London, The New India Publishing House.

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Herskovits, M. J. 1937 Life in a Haitian Valley. New York, Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. 1938 Acculturation: The Study of Culture Contact. New York, J. J. Augustin. 1949 Man and His Works. New York, Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Herskovits, M. J., and F. S. Herskovits 1947 Trinidad Village. New York, Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Hollis, C. 1941 A Brief History of Trinidad under the Spanish Crown. Trinidad and Tobago, A. L. Rhodes. Horowitz, M. 1959 Morne-Paysan; Peasant Community in Martinique. Ph. D. dissertation, Columbia University, New York. Ann Arbor, Michigan, University Microfilm. Hutchinson, H. W. 1957 Village and Plantation Life in Northeastern Brazil. American Ethnological Society publication. Seattle, University of Washington Press. Hutton, J. H. 1946 Caste in India. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Jenkins, E. 1871 The Coolie, His Rights and Wrongs. New York, George Routledge and Sons. Jourdin, E. 1956 Le vocabulaire du parler Créole de la Martinique. Paris, Librairie C. Klincksieck. Koss, J. 1958 "Cultural Conservatism among East Indians in Trinidad". Paper read at 1958 Meeting of the American Anthropological Association. Washington, D.C. Lewis, O. 1955 "Peasant Culture in India and Mexico, A Comparative Analysis," in Village India, Studies in the Little Community, ed. by M. Marriott. American Anthropological Association Memoir, No. 83, pp. 145-70. 1958 Village Life in Northern India. Urbana, University of Illinois Press.

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Marriott, M. 1955 "Little Communities in an Indigenous Civilization," in Village India, Studies in the Little Community, ed. by M. Marriott. American Anthropological Association Memoir, No. 83, pp. 171-220. Matthews, B. 1953 "Crisis of the West Indian family." Caribbean Affairs Series. Extra-Mural Department, University College of the West Indies. Mischel, W., and F. Mischel 1958 "Psychological Aspects of Spirit Possession." American Anthropologist, LX: 249-60. Morris, H. S. 1956 "Indians in East Africa, A Study in a Plural Society." The British Journal of Sociology, VII: 194-211. 1959 "The Indian Family in Uganda." American Anthropologist, LXI: 779-89. Morton, S. E. 1916 John Morton of Trinidad. Toronto, Westminster Co. Murdock, G. P. 1949 Social structure. New York, The MacMillan Co. 1957 "World Ethnographic Sample." American Anthropologist, 664-87.

LIX:

O'Malley, L. S. S. 1932 Indian Caste Customs. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Parry, J. H., and P. M. Sherlock 1956 A Short History of the West Indies. London, MacMillan and Co., Ltd. Radcliffe-Brown, A. R. 1952 Structure and Function in Primitive Society. Glencoe, The Free Press. Revised Ordinances, 1950: Trinidad and Tobago 1950 Muslim Marriage and Divorce Registration. Chap. 29, No. 4, pp. 54-68. London, C. F. Roworth Ltd. Revised Ordinances, 1951-53: Trinidad and Tobago 1953 Hindu Marriage (amendment). Chap. 29, No. 5, p. 387. Trinidad, B.W.I., Government Printing Office.

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Richards, V. 1878 Annual Report on Emigration from the Port of Calcutta to British and Foreign Colonies in 1877-78. In Notes on Indian Immigration, 1878-1893, pp. 3-18. Roberts, G. W. 1957 The Population of Jamaica. Press.

Cambridge, Cambridge University

Rosenfeld, H. 1958 "Processes of Structural Change within the Arab Village Extended Family." American Anthropologist, LX: 1127-39. Rubin, V. (et al.) 1960 Social and Cultural Pluralism in the Caribbean. LXXXIII, Art. 5, 761-916. The New York Academy of Sciences. Ryan, B. 1953 Caste in Modern Ceylon: The Sinhalese System in Transition. New Brunswick, Rutgers University Press. Sampath, H. 1951 An Outline of the Social History of the Indians in Trinidad. Unpublished Master's thesis, Columbia University, New York. Skinner, E. P. 1955 Ethnic Interaction in a British Guiana Rural Community: A Study in Secondary Acculturation and Group Dynamics. Ph. D. dissertation, Columbia University, New York. Ann Arbor, Michigan, University Microfilm. Smith, M. G. 1955 A Framework for Caribbean Studies. University College of the West Indies.

Extra-Mural Department,

Smith, R. T. 1956 The Negro Family in British Guiana. London, Routledge and Kegan Paul Ltd. Smith, R. T., and C. Jayawardena 1958 "Hindu Marriage Customs in British Guiana." Social and Economic Studies, VII: 178-94. Stevenson, S. 1920 Rites of the Twice-Born. London, Oxford University Press.

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Underhill, M. M. 1921 The Hindu Religious Year. Calcutta, Association Press. Verteuil, L. A. A. de 1884 Trinidad, Its Geography, Natural Resources, Administration, Present Condition, and Prospects. London, Paris, and New York, Cassell and Co., Ltd. Wagley, C. 1955 "Tapirapé Social and Cultural change, 1940-1953." Säo Paulo, Anais do XXXI Congr. Internacional de Americanistas: pp. 99-106. 1957 "Plantation America, A Culture Sphere," in Caribbean studies, A Symposium, ed. by V. Rubin. Jamaica, Institute of Social and Economic Research, pp. 3-13. West India Royal Commission Report 1945 London, His Majesty's Stationery Office. Williams, E. 1944 Capitalism and Slavery. Carolina Press.

Chapel Hill, The University of North

Woodruff, P. 1954 The Guardians. New York, St. Martin's Press.

Index Acclimatization: of immigrants, 15 Africans: as indentured laborers, 6 Aged: type of work, 69; wages, 70; see also Old age Aghor panthi, 145, 146 Agricultural Credit Society: reluctance to join, 155 Agriculturalists: as immigrants, 12 A j o u p a (term), 31 A j o u p a houses, 45, 46, 48 Allotment of laborers t o estates, 14 Amitié Estate, 37 Amitié Section: organization, 70 Amity: East Indian culture, 3-4; founders, 24; relations with nonIndians, 25; location, 30; history, 30-39; separation of settlements, 34; castes, 36/i ; physical and social change, 38; present condition, 39-44; socioeconomic groupings (tab.), 52;

control by Kublal M a r a j h , 193-94; founded by indentured labor, 230-31; persistence of Indian culture, 243 Amity, Central, 41-42; housing on, 52; castes, 61 Amity Hindu School, 150 Animal husbandry, 86-87 A n t h r o p o l o g y : growth, ix Arensberg, C o n r a d M . : cites, xvin, xxii, 133n, 247 Artisans: as immigrants, 12 Assee, Sigmund, xxii Asuri-puja, 177-78 Authority, family, 131-34 Barbers, 54 Barrackville, 38, 44; housing in, 52, 53; castes, 61 Basdeo, 150-52, 155/j, 175 Bauri, see Bori

258

INDEX

Beard, L., xxii Behar: immigration from, 11 Beharri Road, 33, 37-38, 41; housing on, 52, 53; castes, 61; kinship terms on, 98 Beharri Road East, 73 Beharri Settlement: population, 34; castes, 36; intercourse withCasecu, 37 "Beharri's Settlement": early name of Amity, 31 Bengal: immigration from, 11 Bhadase Sagon Maraj, 221; popularity in Amity, 223 Bifurcate collateral terminology, 99n "Big men" of village, 208, 224 Birth, 118-19 Bison, 87 Bori: castes, 36, 37 Bowen, N. P., and Montserin, B. G.: cited, 9 Boxing Day, 165 Boys: play, 185 Brahmans: as immigrants, 11; in Trinidad, 58; part in religious ceremonies, 237 Brahmcari, 146, 150, 151, 162; performance of Sur-puja ceremony, 170 Braithwaite, Lloyd, xvi; cited, 2n, 240, 247n; quoted, 239-40, 242 Brazil: study of rural life in, 243n Bridglal, Mr. and Mrs. Basraj, xxiii British Anti-Slavery Committee, 8 British Guiana: labor shortage, 6; under the British flag, 6; indentured labor, 8, 20; East Indian immigration, 9; allotment of laborers to estates, 14; shortage of women, 19; re-indenture in, 21; integration of cultures, 23 Brothers: relations, 189 Bulls: respect for, 153 Business enterprises: Amity, 55 (tab.)

Burning of cane fields, 74-75 Bye-family, 104, 105, 232; forms of, 107-8 Cacao: attempts to grow, 30 Calcutta: indentured laborers from, 10; primary port of embarcation for British colonies, 10 Calendar, Hindu, 158 Camar caste, 61 Canadian Mission school, 38, 42, 13940, 185; teachers, 1 4 M 2 Canadian Mission Sunday School, 157 Cane cutters, 72 Caribbean area: differences in social, economic and political systems, 1; ethnic composition, 2 Caroni Swamp, 29, 40 Carr, Andrew, xxii Carts: sugar plantations, 70 Casecu, 35, 38, 43; housing in, 52; castes, 36, 61; intercourse with Beharri Settlement, 37 Casecu, East, 73 Casecu, West, 73 Caste, 36; immigrants drawn from, 11; in politics, 225, 226n; definition, 245 Caste distinctions: religious justification, 179 Caste identifications, false, 58 Caste membership: inheritance, 136 Caste status: raising, 62; importance, 63 Caste system: obstacle to attempt at reconstitution, 25; in Amity, 55-64, 231, 233-35, 240; and reincarnation, 154n Cattle, 87 Central India: immigration from, 11 Chaguanas, Ward of, 29, 39 Chamars: as immigrants, 11 Charity: importance of, 155 Chen, Brian, xxii

INDEX

Childhood, 120 Children: effect on marital relations, 115; religious teachings, 1 SO; religious training, 157; play, 184 Chinese contractual labor: use on sugar plantations, 8 Chinese immigrants, 15 Christian Indians, 139-44 Christians: as immigrants, 12 Christmas, 163-64 Church of God families, 143-44 Clarke, E.: cited, 243n Clothing: shops for, 54 Coconut (area in Amity), 41 Collens, J. H.: quoted, 29,30 Comins, D. W. D.: cited, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 22; quoted, 15, 18, 19, 21 Community center: building discussed, 184 Community ceremonies, 169, 170-74 Community organization, 184-229 Community reconstitution, 24 Community study method, viii Conflict and sanction, 206-20 Contracts, 14 Cooperative work groups, 83-84 Corporal punishment, see Physical punishment County Caroni, 29 County organization: Trinidad, 27 Courts, 195-99, 241; racial alignment, 199 Cow: part in religious life, 153 Crabcatchers, 78-79 Crabcatching, 64, 66; low status, 92 Credit buying, 91 Cremation, 25 "Creole" (term), xxi Creole houses, 46-47, 48-49 Creole justice: mistrust of, 196 Creole magic, 179-80 Creoles in politics, 221

259

Cricket: popularity, 186-88 Cricket fields, 42 Crowley: cited, 247n Crown land : purchased by East Indians, 30 Culture: definition, xiii Culture transformation, ix-x Cumpston, I. M.: cited, 7, 14, 21 Currency, xxi Daughters: lack of inheritance rights, 134 Dayworkers: wages, 70 Death, 129-31 Debt: avoidance of, 155 Democratic Labour Party, 221 ; supporters of high Varna membership, 159; supporters of lower Varna membership, 160 Dentist's office, 54 Dhobi caste, 60 Di (term), 176 Dï-pûjâ, 178 Disputes: causes of, 210-20; settling within village, 230 "District" (term), 28 Divine Life Society, 150 Dïwàll (festival of lights), 160-61 Dïyà: definition, 160/i Doctor's office, 54 Drivers, 16, 236; tasks, 70; status, 92 Drunken quarrels, 210 Durgâ: pûjâ in honor of, 172 East Africa: laborers from India, 25 East Indian children : elementary education, 38 East Indian indentured laborers: replacement of Negro slaves, 17 East Indian villages : acculturation with West Indian culture, 22-23 East Indians : importance in New World

260

INDEX

p o p u l a t i o n , 2 ; p e r c e n t a g e of Trinidad's population, 2; indentured l a b o r , 8 - 2 0 ; r e a s o n s f o r c o m i n g to T r i n i d a d , 9 ; p u r c h a s e of small plots of l a n d , 22; a t t i t u d e t o w a r d N e g r o e s , 244 E c o n o m i c mobility, 234 E d u c a t i o n : A m i t y , 38 Elections, 227-29 Electricity: in A m i t y , 38 E l o p e m e n t , 115-17 E n d o g a m o u s u n i o n , a p p r o v e d , 113 E n g a g e m e n t s , m a r r i a g e , 123 E s t a t e drivers, see Drivers E s t a t e m a n a g e r , 16 E s t a t e o r g a n i z a t i o n , 16-17 Evil eye (maljeu), 181-83 F a m i l y councils, 134 F a m i l y expenditures, 88-91 F a m i l y feuds, 207-8 F a m i l y relations, 20 Family visits, 128n Fatel Razack: first East I n d i a n immigration ship, 9 Field w o r k , 15 Field w o r k e r s : a p p r e n t i c e s h i p system, 5 Filial disobedience, 132 Financial c o n t r i b u t i o n s t o relatives, 232 Fish vendors, 77 F i s h e r m e n , 77-78 F i s h i n g : low status, 92 Fleet, J. F . : cited, 158« Fletcher, K e n n e t h , xxii F o r e m e n , see Drivers Fortnightly budget, 89 (lab.) Fowls, 86 F r e e return p a s s a g e : p l a n t e r s ' o b j e c t i o n t o , 21 F r e n c h West Indies: East I n d i a n indent u r e d labor, 8-9 F u n e r a l s , 129-30, 146, 238-39

G a n g u l e e , N . : q u o t e d , 5, 12; cited, 8, 9 , 13, 14, 15, 22 G a r d e n i n g , 86 G i r l s : play, 185; social life, 190-92; surveillance, 191 G o a t s , 87 G o b a r d h à n - p ù j à , 172 G o d : belief in, 156 G o r d o n , Sir A r t h u r , 30 G u a d e l o u p e : l a b o r s h o r t a g e , 6n; rei n d e n t u r e in, 21 G u r u , 148 H a r d e o , Mr., 210, 211; influence, 224 H a r r o w i n g of rice fields, 83 " H a w a i i a n C o u s i n " terminology, 99 Herskovitz, M. J . : cited, 2n, 92n, 120n, 129, 242 Herskovits, M. J., a n d Herskovits, F. S.: cited, 179n, 183/1, 239/7; q u o t e d , 240, 241 H i n d i language, xix-xxi H i n d u M a r r i a g e O r d i n a n c e , 108 H i n d u School, 138, 185 H i n d u theology, 152-57 H i n d u i s m : unity a n d division, 145-52; practice in A m i t y , 178-79; modification in Amity, 237 H i n d u s : as immigrants, 12; friendships with Muslims, 243 Holi, 165 Holy days, 157n H o r o s c o p e : d e t e r m i n a t i o n of child's initial by, 118 H o r o w i t z , Michael, xxii H o u r s of labor, 17-18 H o u s e h o l d s , 44-52; defined, 45 H o u s e s : on stilts, 47n H o u s i n g , 38, 39, 4 0 ; types, 45-52; distribution of types (lab.), 49, 50 H u t c h i n s o n , H. W . : cited, 243n H u t t o n , J. H . : cited, 36n, 56, 59n

INDEX " I d l e r ' s H a l l s , " 188-89 Illegitimacy, 109 I n c o m e , 8 8 ; A m i t y , 6 9 ; of s u g a r workers, 68 I n d e n t u r e d labor, 6 ; in British islands of C a r i b b e a n , 4 ; East I n d i a as source, 8; a t t e m p t at regulation, 8-9; c o m p a r e d with slavery, 20; n u m b e r of years c o n t r a c t e d for, 21 I n d i a : overseas colonies, ix; t r a n s p l a n t ing of culture, 231 I n d i a n magic, 180-83 I n d i a n villages: f o r m a t i o n of, 22 I n d r a - p u j a , 172 Inheritance, 134-36 Intersexual bodily c o n t a c t : avoidance of, 166 J a c o b s o n , Claire, xxii J a i r a m : influence, 224 J a j m a n i , see Praja relationships, 200 J a m a i c a : l a b o r shortage, 6; study of rural life in, 243/j Jangli castes, 60 Jangli Tola, 35, 38, 40, 43-44; castes, 36-37, 61; h o u s i n g in, 52 Jenkins, E . : cited, 13, 15; q u o t e d , 14, 16, 18, 19 Judges, 199/j " J u m b i e s , " 183 J u n c t i o n , 35, 44; inhabited primarily by Negroes, 37 K a l i : sacrifices to, 172-73 K a r t i k N a h a n , 161-62, 192 " K e e p e r " union, 113 K i n s h i p relationships, 93-108, 231-33 K i n s h i p terminology, 94-99, 105 Kitchen gardens, 86 Koss, J . : cited, I07n K r i s h n a : c o m m e m o r a t i o n of birth, 172 " K u b l a l M a r j h " : c o n t r o l of A m i t y by, 193-94

261

L a b o r s h o r t a g e : British West Indies, 6 Lall, E d w a r d , xxii Lalla, R o b e r t , xxii L a n d : p u r c h a s e o r r e n t i n g by E a s t Indians, 22; see also C r o w n l a n d L a n d p u r c h a s e : effect o f , 63 L a n d o w n e r s , 73-74 Lee, Ulric, xxii Levine, Lewis, xxii Lewis, O . : cited, 118, 157/r, 162/r, 165, 193n, 200, 233n, 239; q u o t e d , 241 Life cycle, 117-31, 238 Living c o n d i t i o n s f o r w o r k e r s , 14 Lloyd Street, 37-38, 41 L o c h a n , S o l o m o n , xxiii L o c h h e a d , A. V. S., xvii L o w c a s t e s : as i m m i g r a n t s , 12 M a d r a s : immigrants drawn from, 9; important port for emigrants for F r e n c h colonies, 10 M a g i c , 179-83 M a h a d e o ( h e a d m a s t e r ) : influence, 224 M a h a s a b h a o r g a n i z a t i o n , 207 M a r a j h , M r . , 150, 205, 211; influence, 224 M a r k e t , 53 M a r r i a g e , 108, 121-27; between castes, 6 2 ; legalization, 109-10; p a t e r n a l a p p r o v a l , 110-11; in C a s e c u a n d Jangli T o l a , 146; a r r a n g e m e n t between t w o families, 232, 2 3 8 ; in Trinidad Negro community, 242; British G u i a n a , 246 M a r r i a g e , H i n d u , 25 M a r r i a g e , second, 113 M a r r i a g e b r o k e r s , 122 " M a r r i a g e s e a s o n , " 72, 238 M a r r i e d life, 127-28 M a r r i o t t , M . : q u o t e d , 240 M a r t i n i q u e : l a b o r s h o r t a g e , 6/i M a t t h e w s , B . : cited, 2n

262

INDEX

Mauritius: East Indian indentured labor, 8; free return passage, 21 Medical care: for workers, 14 Medical examinations: of immigrants, 13 Megass: definition, 17n Midwives, 119; training, 136 Mischel, W., and Mischel, F.; cited, 179 n Modem houses, 47-48, 49 Montserrat Hills, 28 Morris, H. S.: quoted, 25; cited, 57, 58 Morton, John: diary quoted, 31-32 Morton, S. E.: biography of husband, 31 Mourning, 130 Murdock, G. P.: cited, 99n, 239n Muslim families, 137-39 Muslims: as immigrants, 12; friendships with Hindus, 243 Names: determination, 118-19 Names, Christian, 143 Nandilal: PNM candidates, 222-26 Native States, India: immigration from, 11

Negro family life, 242 Negro slaves: importation by British planters, 4 Negroes: attitude of East Indians toward, 244 Non-Hindu religions, 137-44 Northern Range, 28 North-Western Province, India: immigration from, 11 Nursery school, 184-85 Obeah, 179-80 Occupations: relation to caste, 57; class divisions, 92; Muslim, 137 Ojha men,181 Old Age, 128-29; see also Aged

Omaj Maharaj, xxii O'Malley, L. S. S.: cited, 35n, I54n Orissa: immigration from, 11 Ostracism: as punishment, 194 Oudh: immigration from, 11 Overseers: duties, 16 Panceyt (term), 194n Panceyt, informal, 211-20 Panchayat (term), 173n Pandit, 147-49; as licensed "Marriage Officer," 109; part in naming child, 118; setting of date for wedding, 123 Parlor (term), 54 Parry, J. H.: cited, 17 Parry, J. H., and Sherlock, P. M.: cited, 5 Patna, 181 People's National Movement, 138-39, 160, 221 Persad Path, 41 Physical punishment, 132 Piece work, see "Task" labor Pitar-pakh, 178 Planters: power over workers, 14 Planting: of rice, 83 Ploughing: of ricefields, 83 Plural societies, x-xi Plural unions, 113n Plurality within unity: concept of, 156 Police: accused of brutality, 198 Politics, national: on village level, 22129 Pooran Marajh, 147; gossip about, 216 Population clusters: Trinidad, 28 Pork-eating, 59, 62, 234 " P r a j a " : definition, 200n " P r a j a " relationship, 199-206, 236, 241; and Jajmani system, 241 Precedence, 59, 60 Presbyterians, 140, 142 Prestige, 208-20

INDEX

Private ceremonies, 169, 176-78 Prostitutes: among immigrants, 19 Pseudo-kinship relationships, 103-8 Puberty, 120-21 Public celebrations, 157-68 Public ridicule: as sanction against disapproved behavior, 218-20 Puja room, 48 PGjas, 237 Punishment after death, 154 Punjab: immigration from, 11 Pun'kin-vine family, 104 Radcliffe-Brown, A. R.: quoted, xvin, 23 Rakas, 180-81 Rama: commemoration of birth, 171 Ramanandi panthi, 145; religious practices, 146 Ramayana: weekly readings, 172 Ramesar, Mr.: influence, 224 Rameyn reading group, 190 Ramlila, 158-60; cessation, 225 Rampur: contrasted with Amity, 239 Ramsingh, Hardeo, xxiii Rations: for workers, 14 Real family, 104 Reconstitution: of country of origin, xii-xiii Redfield, Robert: as cultural anthropologist, viii-ix Reesal, Dr. and Mrs. Michael Rabindranath Ojah, xxii Reincarnation, 154-55 Re-indenture, 21 Relationships, "Avoidance," 102-3 Relationships, "Joking," 101-2 Religion, 137-83; of early settlers, 35 Religious ceremonies, 169-79, 237 Religious teachers: from India, 148 Rental rights: inheritance, 135 "Respect family," 104-5, 232

263

Rice: subsistence crop, 80 Rice beating, 84-85 Rice cultivation, 31, 32, 80-86, 249; importance, 65; by family labor, 66 Rice cutting, 84 Rice harvest, 85 Ricefields: use for vegetables, 86 Riceland: measurement, 81 Rice-mills, 54 Richards, V.: cited, 10, 11, 12, 13, 18; quoted, 14 Roberts, G. W.: cited, 9 Rosenfeld, H.: cited, 132n Rousseau, L. E., xxii Rubin, Vera, xv, xvi; cited, 23/j, 247n Ryan, B.: quoted, 245-46 Sacrifices: feeling against, 177 Sampath, H.: quoted, 22 Sanatan Dharma Mahasabha: Hindu school, 141 Sanction, see Conflict and sanction " S a r " (term), 108 Savanna land of County Caroni, 30 School attendance, 185n Sealy, Ben, xxii Semi-private ceremonies, 169, 175-76 Separation of husband and wife, 114 Sewing classes, 54/i Sexual intercourse: among adolescents, 121

Shango (term), 179/j Sherlock: cited, 17 Shoes, 144n Shopkeepers, 76 Singing, 165«, 168 Sisters-in-law, 135; conflict between, 132n Siunareyni panthi, 146 Siwa, Lord: commoration of birth, 171 Siwala, 149; twice-weekly congregational meetings, 172

264

INDEX

Skinner, Elliot P., xxii; cited, 21, 57 Slack seasons, 22 Slave t r a d e : abolition, 5 Slavery: in British West I n d i a n colonies, 4-6; c o m p a r e d with i n d e n t u r e d l a b o r , 20 Small f a n n e r s , 73-76, 248; profits, 75 S m i t h , M. G . : cited, 2n S m i t h , R . T . : cited, In S m i t h , R. T., and J a y a w a r d e n a , C . : q u o t e d , 23, 246; cited, 126n Social a d v a n c e m e n t , 203-5 Social mobility, 234-35, 245 Social p r o b l e m s : m e t h o d of e x p l o r a tion, viii Social s t r u c t u r e : individual in, 23 Society; difference f r o m culture, 24 S o l o m o n , Cyril, xxii S o o k p a l e e , Mrs., xxii S o o k r a m M a r a j h , 147; accused of r a p e , 216 " S p i r i t u o u s l i q u o r s " : sale o f , 54 Staff of estate, 16 Stevenson, S.: cited, 118 Student-teachers, 139 S u d r a caste, 61, 234 Sugar cultivation, 4-8; T r i n i d a d , 28-29; i m p o r t a n c e , 65 S u g a r estates: labor on, 66-73; p e r s o n nel t u r n o v e r , 67 Sugar i n d u s t r y : o r g a n i z a t i o n , 70 Sugar I n d u s t r y Welfare F u n d loans, 39, 47 Sugar m a r k e t : fluctuations, 248 Sugar priccs: effect o n i n c o m e of villagers, 243 Sultanti, A., xxii S u r n a m e s , 59 S ù r - p û j â , 170-77, 178 Swine-raising, 60, 62, 64, 87, 234 T a p i r a p é , Brazil: destruction of village, 24; reconstitution, 247

" T a s k " l a b o r , 17 T a x i drivers, 79-80 Taxi driving, 6 6 T e n a n t - l a n d l o r d relationship, 66 T e r m i n o l o g y : differences between Creole a n d East I n d i a n , 248 T h o m a s R o a d , 33, 4 2 ; center of B e h a r r i Settlement, 34; housing o n , 52; castes, 6) Tij : n o t celebrated in A m i t y , 239 T o b a g o : a d m i n i s t r a t i o n by c o u n t y , 27 T o c o : T r i n i d a d N e g r o c o m m u n i t y , 129; c o u r t s , 241 T r a c t o r s , 83 T r a n s p o r t a t i o n of criminals, 6 T r i c k e r y : suspected in East Indian imm i g r a t i o n , 10 T r i n i d a d : u n d e r the British flag, 6; l a b o r s h o r t a g e , 6 ; history, 6n\ East I n d i a n i m m i g r a t i o n , 9 ; shortage of w o m e n , 19; indentured labor, 2 0 ; a d m i n i s t r a t i o n by c o u n t y , 27 : setting, 28-30 T r i n i t y Hills, 28 U n d e r h i l l , M . M . : cited, 157 U n i t e d Provinces, I n d i a : i m m i g r a n t s drawn from, 9 U x o r i l o c a l e x o g a m o u s m a r r i a g e , 11213 V a m p i r e s , 180 V a r n a s t r u c t u r e : of I n d i a n caste system, 56 V a r n a system, 234 V a r n a s ( I n d i a n caste system), 35; o r d e r o f , 59 Verteuil, L. A . A . d e : q u o t e d , 6 Vês castes, 59, 60, 61 " V i l l a g e " (term), 28 Village elders, xvii-xviii " V i l l a g e P a n c ë y t , " 192-95

INDEX

Villages: circle of, xiii Virilocal exogamous marriage, 111-12 Wages, Un, 17-18 Wagley, Charles, xv, xxii; quoted, 24, 242n ; cited, 247 Wakes, 129, 239, 243 Wards: administration, 27-28 Wedding season, 79, 125 Weddings, 123-26; specific rituals performed by certain kin, 107; expenses, 124-25; animal sacrifices at, 176; preparation for, 191-92 Werewolves, 180 West India Royal Commission Report: quoted, 5 West Indian Federal Labour Party, 221

265

West Indian Federation: lack of enthusiasm among East Indians, 244 West Indies: as plural society, x; social stratification, 2 Wife-murder, 19 Williams, Eric: quoted, 5, 7; PNM leader, 139n, 221 Women: among East Indian immigrants, 13; shortage, 18-19; work, 71n; property ownership, 134-35; social life, 190-92 Woodcutters, 78 Woodruff, P.: cited, 10* Working conditions, 14, 17-18 Yufe, Mr. and Mrs. E., xxii Zâmïdàrs (term), 193«