The Other Half of the Coconut: Women Writing Self-Respect History [First ed.] 9788186706503, 9789390514

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The Other Half of the Coconut: Women Writing Self-Respect History An Anthology of Self-Respect Literature (1928-1936)

Edited, Introduced and Translated from the Tamil by K. SRILATA

ZUBAAN 128-B Shahpur Jat First Floor New Delhi 110049 Email: [email protected] Website: www.zubaanbooks.com First published by Kali for Women, 2003 Ebook published by Zubaan Publishers Pvt. Ltd, 2020 Copyright © This translation K. Srilata, 2003 All rights reserved Print ISBN 978 81 86706 50 3 eBook ISBN 97 893 90514 22 9 Zubaan is an independent feminist publishing house based in New Delhi, India with a strong academic and general list. It was set up as an imprint of the well known feminist house Kali for Women, and carries forward Kali’s tradition of publishing world quality books to high editorial and production standards. ‘Zubaan’ means tongue, voice, language, speech in Hindustani. Zubaan is a non-profit publisher, working in the areas of the humanities and social sciences, as well as in fiction, general non-fiction, and books for young adults that celebrate difference, diversity and equality for and about the children of India and South Asia under its imprint Young Zubaan. Ebook conversion by Digiultrabooks Pvt. Ltd

Contents

Acknowledgements Preface SECTION I Stories, Treatises and Essays by Women Self-Respecters Introduction: Getting Past the Legacy of Periyar: Women and Agency in the Self-Respect Movement The Self-Respect Journal: A Note What is In Store For Us? (Enngall Gathi Yenna?) KAMALAKSHI Womenfolk and Self-Respect Principles (Penn Makkallum Suyamariathai Kollgaigallum) TRICHI NEELAVATHI Pankajam’s Tragic Death (Pankajatin Paridaba Maranam) ANONYMOUS Rituals (Sadangugal) NEELAVATHI RAMASUBRAMANIAM Which Grew Bigger—the Ring or the Body? (Vallarnthathu Modirama Udamba?)

JANAKI The Women’s Movement (Penngall lyakkam) MU. MARAGATHAVALLIYAR Vignettes (Kadambam) NEELAVATHI RAMASUBRAMANIAM The Skies Won’t Bring Forth Rain (Mazhai Peyyathu) JANAKI The Sufferings of the Adi-dravidas (Adidravidarin Thuyaram) MU. MARAGATHAVALLIYAR Half a Coconut (Thengai Moodi) JANAKI Is Widowhood a Question of Fate? (Vidhavaigall Aavadu Thalaividiyal) TRICHI NEELAVATHI The Ritual of Garuda Sevai (Garuda Sevai Sadangu) MISS AND MRS KAMALAKSHI The Progress of Women (Penngall Munetram) MU. MARAGATHAVALLIYAR Why Was Woman Enslaved? Muslim Women are Slaves Too! The Plight of Muslim Widows

(Penn Yenn Adimai Aanaalll Muslim Penngallum Adimaigalle Daan! Muslim Vidhavaigallin Nilamai) ALHAJ SUBAKO Is the Bliss of Freedom Not For Us? (Inba Suthanthiram Yengallakku llaiyaa?) NEELAVATHI RAMASUBRAMANIAM A Bundle of Grass (Pullu Kattu) JANAKI Will Educated Women Take the Initiative? (Padittha Penngall Munvaruvargalla?) TRICHI NEELAVATHI Women in the Socialist World (Samadharma Ulagil Penngall) JAYASEKARI SECTION II The Self-Respect Novel The Dasis’ Wicked Snares Or The Playboy Who Came To His Senses (Dasigal Mosavalai Alladu Madipettra Myner) MOOVALUR A. RAMAMRITHAMMAL Lobbying For Devadasi Abolition: From Artiste to Prostitute Excerpts from The Dasis’ Wicked Snares or the Playboy Who Came to His Senses (Dasigal Mosavalai Alladu Madipettra Myner) MOOVALUR A. RAMAMRITHAMMAL Conclusion

APPENDICES Essays, Speeches and Letters by Periyar E.V. Ramasami Naicker An Introduction The Law Prohibiting Pottukattu (Pottukattu Nirutthum Shattam) PERIYAR E.V. RAMASAMI NAICKER No More Thali-Tying (Thali Kattudal Ennum Sadangu Ozhindadu) PERIYAR E.V. RAMASAMI NAICKER Self-Respect Marriages and Marriages Devoid of Self-Respect (Suyamariathai—Suyamariathaiattra Thirumanangal) PERIYAR E.V. RAMASAMI NAICKER Biographical Notes Bibliography

Acknowledgements

I thank the Professor V.S. Sethuraman Centre for Culture Studies at Mozhi: Resource Trust for Language and Culture, Chennai for a book grant that gave me the confidence to take on a project of this kind with its lengthy gestation period, its uncertainties and attendant frustrations. The Mozhi Trust and the Sethuraman Centre helped me in several ways. Firstly, they gave me much needed institutional support which I would have lacked otherwise as an independent researcher. Secondly, they ensured that I received feedback from experts in the field of translation studies. Thirdly, they took off my hands the difficult task of finding a suitable publisher. For all these reasons, I am grateful to Mozhi and to the Professor V.S. Sethuraman Centre for Culture Studies. I wish to thank Professor C.T. Indra, Head, Dept. of English, University of Madras for her support, encouragement and feedback. To Mr S. Theodore Baskaran of Mozhi, I owe a huge debt of gratitude. He has been an excellent and wise friend. Dr Tejaswini Niranjana of the Centre for the Study of Culture and Society, Bangalore belongs to that category of friends and mentors whom it is impossible to thank adequately. This is but an inadequate attempt at recording my gratitude. She was among the first to urge me to take up this project. Her extensive comments on an early version of this book were extremely useful. Preeti Gill, Urvashi Butalia and Ritu Menon of Kali for Women, New Delhi were both professional as well as prompt in their response and feedback to various drafts of this manuscript. I thank them for the enthusiasm with which they entered into the project of publishing this work as well as for their suggestions and advice. A recent grant from the Sunya Foundation, Ahmedabad has allowed me to work on a related project that has also enriched this current one. I thank the foundation for extending its support.

Vatsala, my mother, helped out extensively with the translation. She made Dasigal Mosavalai come alive for me. Her insights on the particular historical period in which some of the pieces in this book have been set, were very valuable and have influenced the translation in no small measure. Writing this book would have been a far lonelier process but for the support I received from my collegues Roselin, Krupanidhi and Sujata at Malarchi, a women’s resource centre in Chennai where I was working at the time. Roselin was a willing and wonderful research assistant, and a great friend. Discussions with V. Geetha over my work have been unfailingly productive. I owe her many thanks for her refreshing perspectives on the Self-Respect movement as well as for her extensive and incisive scholarship. Dr Gita Krishnankutty was among the first to read and comment on my work. I thank her for her extensive comments on the first (and in retrospect, almost unreadable!) draft of my work and for her support and warmth. Anita Cherian and Rekha Pappu took time off to read earlier drafts of this work. Their friendship has kept me going through difficult times. I thank P. Radhika for giving so generously of her time and commenting on my work in its early stages. Mr Ramakrishnan of Cre-A, Mr P.R. Subramaniam of Mozhi and Mini Krishnan of the Oxford University Press have helped me in various ways. I thank them for their encouragement and kindness. I thank Subashree Krishnaswamy for her friendship and her insights into the professional side of publishing. Srividya Natarajan lent me her thesis on Bharatanatyam. In some ways, the insights in her work have changed the structure of this book Mr C.K. Sundararajan, the librarian at the Perasriyar Research Library at the Anna Arivalayam, Chennai for the enthusiasm with which he sourced out books and other material relevant to this project. He made the library a happy place for me. The librarian and staff of the Roja Muthiah Research Library for an excellent work environment. The librarian and staff at the Periyar Thidal library for their support. By choosing to be born in 1999, a year when I foolishly hoped to tie up this project, my son Aniruddha threw both my life as well as this book into

a state of general confusion! But for the unstinting support of my husband, Mani, and my mother, Vatsala, this book would not have seen completion. They have helped out in so many ways that to simply thank them seems completely out of place. So I will let that be. My parents-in-law Smt. Sobha Balaramamoorthy and Shri K. Balaramamoorthy for their affection and support. Jyoti for taking care of Aniruddha, leaving me a sacred two hour slot free each day to do this work. My friends Anuradha Shyam, Hema, Murthy, Meena, Madhavan, Sonati, Sundar, Kakoli, Rana, Usha and Shiva for the bonhomie and good times.

Preface

Arguably one of the most important and fascinating phases of the Dravidian movement, the Suyamariathai Iyakkam or the Self-Respect movement was launched by E. V. Ramasami Naicker, otherwise known as Periyar, in 1926 following his differences with the Congress. The movement, which quickly and efficiently created a specifically Dravidian print-media, drew public attention to the ways in which the lower castes (or the “Dravidians”) were systematically excluded from the Indian nation and constructed as the others of the Brahmins or the “Aryans”. It was the deepening disillusionment on the part of a large and articulate section of non-Brahmins in South India, primarily the land-owning Vellalas and the Chetti merchant elite, with what they could not but recognize as the pro-Brahmin politics of the Congress and Gandhi’s own complicity with it, that led to the birth of the Justice Party in 1916 and to the launching of the Self-Respect movement a decade later. The Self-Respect movement struck at the very heart of the ationalist rhetoric which prioritized the notion of preserving “national unity” even in the face of glaring inequities such as the caste system. Periyar’s vehemently anti-Congress, anti-Brahmin and anti-Sanskrit position posed a challenge to all that the upper-castes had constructed as “sacred”—the nation, the varnashrama dharma1 and the inequities which were routinely practised in the name of religion and God. Periyar, who had joined the Congress in early 1920, soon began to entertain serious reservations about Gandhian ideology. He objected to Gandhi’s defense of the varnashrama dharma and argued that it was but a veiled justification for the evils of the caste system. The launch of the Self-Respect journal Kudi Arasu in 1925 is often taken to signal Periyar’s break with the Congress. In a sense, the journal served as an early precursor of the movement which it later came to represent. This in itself indicates the crucial role that the printmedia played in Self-Respect political culture.

The Self-Respect movement saw itself as a social movement, not as a political party which sought electoral power. The term suyamariathai or self-respect conveyed a sense of Tamil/non-Brahmin pride, a pride based on a radical critique of Brahmin supremacy in Tamil society. Critical of the supremacy of the Brahmins and their assumed role as religious interpreters, the Self-Respecters called for a demystification of puranic Hinduism. Resolutions were passed at Self-Respect conventions condemning the Hindu religion and its various apparatuses—the vedas, shastras and the puranas—for legitimising the caste system. Self-Respecters resolved not to employ Brahmin priests at religious ceremonies. This was a way of challenging the Brahmin’s validity as a religious interpreter and authority. Self-Respecters also argued for women’s rights to property, work, divorce, remarriage and contraception. In fact, they regarded Hinduism, and the caste-system that went with it, as being at the root of gender inequalities. They dropped caste appellations (Periyar, for instance, dropped his surname “Naicker” which denoted his caste) and avoided caste symbols. SelfRespecters were believers in rationalism. They aimed at destroying superstition and blind belief even when these pertained to religion. The Self-Respect phase is often assumed to have come to a close in the early 1940s with Periyar’s formal entry into politics and the formation of the Dravida Kazhagam under his leadership. So much for this well-recorded, well-documented history of the movement. If we wish however to understand this history differently, to view it through the eyes of women who were closely identified with the politics of the movement, straight forward histories and the substantial body of work by Periyar will simply not suffice. These narratives will never quite capture the “structures of feeling” which characterise the lives of women Self-Respecters during those exciting, turbulent years.2 This anthology grew out of my gradual recognition that we completely lack the material basis, as it were, for a project that is simply begging to be done: the writing of a women’s history of the Self-Respect movement. By “women’s history”, I mean a history which provides a fuller and more meaningful account of the participation of women in the Self-Respect movement, enabling in the process, a richer and perhaps altogether different understanding of its gender politics. These translations, then, were motivated by a desire to map

the critical voices of women Self-Respecters, voices that have remained unheard within the context of political as well as scholarly spaces over which the figure of Periyar has loomed so large. Such a mapping is crucial, I believe, if we wish to understand the complexities of women’s agency in the movement. Equally crucial, however, is a critique of the ways in which Self-Respect histories have been written (mostly with an exclusive focus on Periyar’s thought, work and vision) and of the manner in which Periyar himself is read and represented. When I first undertook this project, it was suggested to me that I commission the translations—a suggestion that I was sorely tempted to take up. I knew that like the archival work I was doing, translating the pieces for this collection was bound to be a laborious, if challenging, process. I had never before seen myself in the role of a translator—in the role of a critic yes, but in the role of a translator, never. Gradually, however, I began to discover the creative pleasures that translation offered. For all its didactism and its Self-Respect propaganda, the early twentieth century novel Dasigal Mosavalai or The Dasis’ Wicked Snares had a leisurely and seductive quality which I found hard to resist. The novel offered a fascinating vignette of a past that is now dead and gone. Buried beneath its moralising on the conduct of the dasis, and its stereotypical portrayal of the ‘wicked’ dasi, was the lively intelligence of the dasis Kantha and Ganavathi. In a sense, the vibrancy of these two characters almost nullifies the sternness of Moovalur’s anti-devadasi campaign. Despite Moovalur, the dasis win our hearts in a way that the playboy-turned-reformist figure never does. The dasis, it would appear, are larger than mere authorial intentions and have spun out of control! Kamalakshi’s autobiographical piece “What is in Store For Us?” haunted me for days, as did “A Bundle of Grass” and “Pankajam’s Tragic Death”. Weighing each new word as it came my way and rendering it into English meant that I was intensely aware of both texts and sub-texts, about meanings and nuances that might have otherwise escaped me. As a translator, I am indebted to the new ways of thinking about translation, new models which attempt to move beyond the traditional yardstick of “faithfulness to the original”. It is perhaps significant that this initiative in rethinking the task and the goals of translation has been taken by scholars such as Susie Tharu, K. Lalita and Gita Krishnankutty who

have been concerned with women’s writing.3 Tharu and Lalita have pointed out that the act of translating from a regional language into English is also, simultaneously, an act of translating a regional culture for a more powerful national or international one. Inevitably then, this involves certain relationships of power. It is all the more important to struggle against the dangers of homogenizing and universalizing a text in its translated version, to retain as much as possible the regional overtones of the work without exoticising the culture that it comes from. This will then automatically shift part of the burden of translation onto the reader. A translated text, it is now recognised, places certain demands on the reader. Since the translation of a text also necessarily involves the translation of an entire culture and historical moments, the reader has to make the effort to translate herself into a time that is not hers. This, I expect, will be particularly the case with texts in this anthology. It goes without saying that the Self-Respect context is a startlingly different social and political context from ours. As feminists interested in piecing together a women’s literary and social history, our work of unravelling the complex lived histories and the politics that shaped women’s lives during the Self-Respect movement will not be an easy one. My task of translating the pieces for this anthology was made difficult because of the unevenness which marked their style, thematic content, tone and, in a sense, even their politics. Some of the chapters in Dasigal Mosavalai or The Dasis’ Wicked Snares, notably the chapters “Darkness and Light” and “The Conference Commences” were especially didactic in tone. Jayasekari’s “Women in the Socialist World”, Neelavathi’s “Rituals”, “Is Widowhood a Question of Fate?”, “Will Educated Women Take the Initiative?”, “Is the Bliss of Freedom Not For Us?” and “Women Folk and Self-Respect Principles”, Maragathavalli’s “The Progress of Women”, “The Women’s Movement” and “The Sufferings of the Adi-Dravidas” posed difficulties because they were heavy, imbued as they were with SelfRespect ideology and Enlightenment notions of progress and liberation. They lacked the lightness of touch, the complexity and the depth which characterise Kamalakshi’s “What is in Store For Us?”and “The Ritual of Garuda Sevai”, Janaki’s “The Skies Won’t Bring Forth Rain”, “Half a Coconut”, “A Bundle of Grass” and “Which Grew Bigger—the Ring or the Body?”. Nevertheless, I could not ignore the historical importance of the

former. They were pieces in the puzzle of Self-Respect history and I had to find ways of representing a peculiarly Tamil rhetorical style in my translation of these pieces. The contrast between the pieces in this collection were not just in terms of tone. Even though all the writers swore allegiance to a larger Self-Respect universe, their politics and their approach to the women’s question are often startlingly different. While The Dasis’ Wicked Snares with all its stereotypical portrayal of the dasis as “fallen” and “evil” women is hardly “feminist” or “progressive” in the sense in which we understand these terms today, Kamalakshi’s “The Ritual of Garuda Sevai”, Jayasekari’s “Women in the Social World”, Neelavathi’s “Is Widowhood a Question of Fate?” clearly contain elements that we would, even today identify, without hesitation, as “feminist” and “radical”. But The Dasis’ Wicked Snares gives us an unparalleled glimpse of the structures of feeling that make up a devadasi’s life. This despite the fact that Moovalur uses every opportunity to show the dasis in a bad light, despite the fact that the novel is written from the perspective of someone who was passionately pro-abolitionist and wanted to see the devadasi system on its way out. The novel is important also because in it one reads devadasi history, the broad Self-Respect position on the devadasi issue and the problematic history of male patronage of the dasis. The fact that this collection is divided into two separate sections (each with its own introduction)—one comprising of stories, essays and treatises by women Self-Respecters gathered from SelfRespect journals and the other comprising of excerpts from The Dasis’ Wicked Snares is therefore not merely a division based on genre. As I have argued, the material is uneven in other ways as well. In my transliterations, I have attempted to preserve the Tamil pronunciations of words. For instance, I have used the word “archanai” instead of the Sanskrit or pan-Indian “archana” and “prasadam” instead of “prasad”. The use of Tamil words such as “myner” instead of its translated version “rich playboy” is meant to convey a sense of specificity that is sometimes lost in the English translation. In each piece, I have italicized non-English words only when they first appear. I have retained certain Tamil words and idiomatic phrases which have peculiar conceptual meanings difficult to render into English. All these words have been explained through footnotes. I have deliberately avoided the use of

diacritical marks (popularised by Indological Studies) in my transliterations of Tamil words into roman script. K. SRILATA 1A belief system which categorises human beings into different varnas or castes. Each caste was supposed to practise a particular profession. 2See Raymond Williams, “Structures of Feeling,” Marxism and Literature. Oxford: OUP, 1977. Williams defines “structures of feeling” as “social experiences in solution, as distinct from other social, semantic formations which have been precipitated and are more evidently and immediately available” (pp. 133-134). Williams explains that the term ‘feeling’ is chosen to stress a distinction from the more formal concepts of ‘world-view’ or ‘ideology’ and reflects a concern with meanings and values as they are actively lived and felt: and values as they are actively lived and felt: We are talking about characteristic elements of impulse, restraint, and tone; specifically affective elements of consciousness and relationships: not feeling against thought, but thought as felt and feeling as thought: practical consciousness of a present kind, in a living and inter-relating continuity. We are then defining these elements as a ‘structure’: as a set, with specific internal relations, at once interlocking and in tension. Yet we are also defining a social experience which is still in process (p. 132).

3See Susie Tharu and K.Lalita’s Introduction to Women Writing in India: 600 BC to the Present (Vol.1). Delhi: OUP, 1995. Also, Gita Krishnankutty, Cast Me Out If You Will: Stories and Memoir. Calcutta: Stree, 1998.

SECTION I Stories, Treatises and Essays by Women Self-Respecters

Introduction INTRODUCTION Getting Past the Legacy of Periyar: Women and Agency in the Self-Respect Movement

In studying Self-Respect history, one is struck by two dominant ways of approaching the women’s question. The first approach presumes that the Self-Respect movement, even while professing to be pro-women, was essentially anti-feminist and that women Self-Respecters were mostly relegated to passive roles. The second recognizes that the movement’s gender politics were indeed progressive, but implies that this progressiveness owed largely to the vision of Periyar E.V. Ramasami Naicker. A debate centred around the nature of women’s participation in the Self-Respect movement, specifically during the anti-Hindi agitation of 1938, which took place in the Economic and Political Weekly in the years 1990-1991, is illustrative of these two antithetical positions. Since this debate serves as a useful entry point into this particular section of the anthology, we will look at it in some detail. Before that, however, it would be useful to recapitulate in brief, the history of the anti-Hindi agitation which is central to this debate. The anti-Hindi agitation of 1938 is one of the most widely invoked events in analyses of the Self-Respect movement from the perspective of gender politics.1 This event is cited both as evidence of the large-scale and active presence of women in the Self-Respect movement (hence, its “progressive”, “radical” potential) and to argue that the body of the Tamil woman was transformed into a symbol of both the Tamil nation as well as language. Reacting to chief minister C. Rajagopalachari’s announcement regarding the compulsory study of Hindi in schools, the Justice Party and the SelfRespecters formed a boycott committee in Madras City on June 1st, 1938 and picketed his home. Periyar also organized a march from Trichi to

Madras City to protest the imposition of Hindi. The Criminal Law Act was used consistently against the protesters and over 800 of them were arrested. Periyar himself was sentenced in December 1938 to nearly two years imprisonment both for speaking at the women’s convention and for picketing the Hindu Theological School at’ Pedha Naicken Palayam where Hindi had been introduced. In February 1940, the British government withdrew the compulsory Hindi programme. At the same time, in a move to appease all major political parties whose support it required for the war, it permitted the continuance of Hindi as an optional subject in the first three forms of high school. What is especially striking about the anti-Hindi agitation, and what concerns us most here, is the active and large-scale participation of women. It was common for women leaders such as Moovalur Ramamirtham Ammaiyar, Narayani Ammaiyar, Thamaraikanni Ammaiyar and Munnagra Azhagiyar to address meetings and other conventions organized as part of this agitation. A Self-Respect women’s convention was held in Madras City in November 1938. Among other things, the convention passed a resolution condemning the imposition of Hindi. Many among those arrested and sent to prison were women. We know that women often participated in antiHindi processions and meetings clad in sarees printed with the Tamil flag (carrying the symbols of the three ancient kingdoms, Chera, Chola and Pandya) chanting anti-Hindi and pro-Tamil slogans.2 The debate in the Economic and Political Weekly referred to above was initiated by C. S Lakshmi’s comments on the participation of women in the anti-Hindi agitation. She writes: The protest against Hindi became a battle like the Purananuru battles where Tamil warriors were being sent to battlefields and jail by their women and where the women themselves entered the battle as supporters of their men. Many of these women went to jail with their children in 1939 protesting against Hindi. Not all the children were breast-fed babies. The mothers took them obviously because they were considered responsible for them and also possibly because there was a constant need to prove to themselves and others, whatever activities (sic), their roles as mothers would not suffer (C.S. Lakshmi, 1990: WS75).3

Lakshmi’s stated objective is “to locate the mother in the functional context of Tamil culture and politics and to understand the multiple ways in which meanings have been loaded on the term mother, literally splitting mothers into mothers and non-mothers, pure mothers and whore mothers, mothers of sons and mothers of daughters” (1990: WS-72). She begins by examining the obsession with the image of the Tamil mother in classical Tamil literature, in the Purananuru and in the Silappadhikaram and the ways in which it is invoked in these texts and elsewhere to represent the ideals of purity and chastity, of the Tamil language and of the Tamil country itself. As if to mark the historical continuity of the mother-metaphor in “Tamil” culture and politics, Lakshmi goes on to look at the “motherwoman of the Self-Respect movement” who, she claims, was erected on the foundation of the nationalist Tamil poet Subramania Bharati’s “new woman”. Citing the participation of Self-Respect women in the anti-Hindi agitation, she argues that they entered the “battle-field” as “supporters of their men” and went to jail with their children in order to portray themselves as women who were primarily mothers (1990: WS-75). The Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (D.M.K.), she argues, was “like an extended family, almost an all-male party with members, who thought of themselves as warriors fighting battles” and women, who were by now ensconced in Self-Respect marriages, were “glorified mothers, sending their sons and husbands to battles, feeding them and their friends, bringing up sons with ‘valorous’ milk with as much ease as Maltova- mothers” (1990: WS-77). Lakshmi also critiques D.M.K. cinema for constructing an opposition between “good” women (mothers, sisters) and “bad” women (vamps). Lakshmi contends that to the female Self-Respecter, “Self-Respect meant supportive actions and acceptance of whatever was meant for them as the mother-community” and that many of the Self-Respect marriages, which were considered love-marriages, occurred between two people who had already been married in the conventional fashion, thereby encouraging a bigamy that was not permitted to women (1990: WS-77). She also cites Periyar’s own marriage in 1949 to a woman much younger than him, “much against the reform he himself undertook to stop old men marrying young girls” (1990: WS-76). Concerned as Lakshmi is with the mother-metaphor in Self-Respect discourse, Sumathi Ramaswamy has argued that not only is Tamil feminized in the discourse of the anti-Hindi agitation, which she

reads as part of a larger Tamil “revivalism”, it is also feminized specifically as a mother: ...[Tamilttay or the Tamil mother] is featured as a once-glorious but now-endangered mother—frail, pitiful, and in desperate need of help from her sons: “O young Tamilians! What is the condition of our Tamilttay today? She stands without jewels and gems; she has lost her radiance; her crown has vanished; her fragrance is gone; she stands dejected and in tears; she grieves in sorrow; she is emaciated” (S. Subramaniam 1939: I).4

Lakshmi’s position regarding the participation of women Self-Respecters in the anti-Hindi agitation of 1938-1939 triggered off an entire debate on the progressiveness or otherwise of the Self-Respect movement’s gender ideology. Reacting sharply to Lakshmi’s comments, critics have defended the progressive thrust of the Self-Respect movement as a whole especially in the light of its radically new gender ideology. S. Anandhi describes an incident which is meant to demonstrate the agency of women SelfRespecters and their ability to challenge their marginalization as “mothers”.5 A member of the Congress ministry, she says, commented that the women Self-Respecters who participated in the anti-Hindi agitation got themselves arrested in order to get milk for their children in prison. At the Madras Provincial Self-Respect Women’s Conference held at Vellore in 1938, women activists demanded that the minister in question withdraw his comment and offer an unconditional apology. Anandhi also argues that Periyar’s views on the women’s question found practical expression in three major activities of the movement: the performance of Self-Respect marriages, the organizing of women’s conferences to “raise [women’s] consciousness” and “highlight their problems” and, thirdly, the involvement of women in mass agitations (1991: 27). Despite Anandhi’s problematic grounding of women’s initiatives within the “raising consciousness” framework, the case history she provides of the Self-Respect activist, Moovalur Ramamirtham Ammaiyar (in order to “explore how far the movement had succeeded in raising the consciousness of women about their own plight”), suggests an exciting and different way both of defending the gender politics of the Self-Respect movement in terms of the initiatives it

enabled, and critiquing the ways in which dominant historiographies of the movement make these initiatives invisible. In her critique of Lakshmi’s position, V. Geetha argues that Lakshmi’s theoretical framework is inadequate and that it does not provide us with a convincing model of motherhood in Tamil Nadu.6 She describes the analogy that Lakshmi draws between the Dravidian movement’s “essentialization” of motherhood and the propagation of motherhood in Nazi Germany as confused and fallacious. She argues that Lakshmi refuses to see women Self-Respecters as “active historical agents, making and re-making their everyday lives and, hence, history” (1991: 388). Such references to the agency of women Self-Respecters apart, most defenses of the Self-Respect movement’s gender politics do not account, in any meaningful way, for the full range of initiatives in which women who identified with this movement participated. They tend to focus instead on Periyar’s extraordinarily progressive vision of gender equality, thus inadvertently obscuring from view a whole other history as it were—a history which women Self-Respecters made, a history which they wrote and enacted, a history that consists as most women’s histories do, of struggles within the private, domestic sphere as well as of struggles to be included and valued as full citizen-subjects of the modern world. Conceding that what Lakshmi argues may well be true in relation to the politics of the D.M.K. and the All India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (A.I.A.D.M.K.), both of which, functioning within the limitations of an electoral politics, have a “history of ideological compromises and propagation of socially retrogressive stereotypes, including that of women”, M.S.S. Pandian, S. Anandhi, and A.R. Venkatachalapathy contend that the Self-Respect movement had a radically different agenda and that this is indexed especially by Periyar’s own work, his writing, as well as by his activism.7 They argue that Lakshmi “constructs a false history of the SelfRespect movement, which was the early as well as the most progressive phase of the ‘Dravidian movement’” and that she excludes from her account the role of the Congress nationalists in the formation of a Tamil culture and politics, thus laying the blame squarely on the Dravidian movement for glorifying the mother metaphor (1991: 1059). Characterizing Lakshmi’s position as politically irresponsible, biased, and unsubstantiated, they invoke Periyar as chief Self-Respect ideologue who gave voice to the most

progressive aspects of the Self-Respect movement. They argue, for instance, that Periyar was opposed to the project of reviving a glorious Tamil past, quite unlike the D.M.K. and the A.I.A.D.M.K. They quote Periyar’s statement to the effect that such a revival of the past was contrary to the principles of rationalism (1991: 1060). They point out that the SelfRespect movement never glorified ancient Tamil literature and argue that Periyar always attacked the Silappadhikaram, and the Tirukural for the ways in which they degraded women. Pandian, Anandhi and Venkatachalapathy also cite Periyar’s advocacy of contraception as an important sign of his support of motherhood by choice (1991: 1061). They argue that in her trivialization of Self-Respect marriages, Lakshmi forgets the difficult socio-political context in which they were performed and the principles of gender equality on which they were based (1991: 1062). The difficulties which Periyar had to overcome in order to perform some of these marriages are mentioned (1991: 1062). The authors then proceed with what, in many ways, constitutes the best and most promising argument against Lakshmi’s reading, that the Self-Respect movement brought women into the public sphere, and that it invested women activists with many important political responsibilities. Unfortunately, however, even the presence of women, which should suggest to us other ways of reading the Self-Respect movement (and also other ways, perhaps, of reading Periyar himself), is explained in terms of Periyar’s agency. For instance, the authors argue that Periyar attempted to transform inarticulate women into articulate ones: Significantly, Periyar took special interest in breaking the culture of silence that characterized the women activists of the movement. He insisted that even the most inarticulate woman member should utter at least a few words in the course of women’s conferences. Incidentally, when Periyar was arrested in December 1938 for his leading role in the anti-Hindi agitation, the charge against him was inciting women to enter jails (1991: 1063). To support their argument they cite M. Singaravelu (a communist who collaborated with Periyar in the writing of the Erode Socialist Programme),

who implies very similarly that Periyar’s was literally the last word on the issue of gender equality and women’s “liberation”. In Singaravelu’s words: Women who have been confined to the kitchen are speaking today from public platforms; they are debating about public issues; they are involved in social work as equals of men. The credit for facilitating all these goes to Periyar (1991: 1063). Again, in their book Periyar: Suyamariathai Samadharmam, V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai, merely signal the notion of the woman Self-Respecter’s agency, even as they herald Periyar as, in some ways, the ultimate and most radical authority on gender issues.8 The authors isolate the problematic “gendering of nation and language” in forces outside of the Self-Respect movement, which, they claim, acted in unison with the movement during the anti-Hindi agitation: Not only did Periyar have to unite the various forces, which joined hands during the anti-Hindi agitation; he also gave them the opportunity to use the journals and the forums of the Self-Respect movement ... Very diverse voices began to make themselves heard, the voices of Tamil nationalism, voices which constructed the language and the nation as a woman, those who pictured woman as harmful, cartoons, songs, lovers of ancient Tamil, all became part of the anti-Hindi agitation (1996: 651652).

Geetha and Rajadurai cite examples from Kudi Arasu and other texts to argue that the image of the Tamil mother was being employed even by activists such as Neelambikai Ammaiyar, in order to urge the Tamilian to join the anti-Hindi agitation. However, they argue: Such a gendering of the nation and language is being critiqued from a feminist perspective today. The fact that some of the women activists who took part in the anti-Hindi agitation performed “aarathi” for their male companions ... is no doubt true ... In order to rouse the Tamil people, they did invoke notions of the warrior-like Tamil, of honour and pride (especially in their Tamil ancestors) and so on. They also used the Tamil flag. It is also true that hundreds of women who took part in the agitation and went to jail ... did not have any “feminist thoughts’’ or

principles. However, their participation reflected much more than just a love for Tamil. It was a self-conscious, self-stimulated participation. Many among these women were lower caste and believed in fighting casteism, in supporting inter-caste marriages, and remarriages ... (1996: 653). The authors contend that while there is truth in the criticism of some “Brahmin feminists” (C.S. Lakshmi’s own position would be seen as representative of a Brahmin feminism) that the gendering of nation and language is dangerous, and that there are many shortcomings in the gender consciousness of women Self-Respecters, these feminists fail to recognize Brahminism itself and can only think in terms of feminism. Geetha and Rajadurai cite instances of the Self-Respect woman’s agency—the passing of two important resolutions at the Tamil Nadu Women’s Conference and at the 14th Justice Party conference. One of these resolutions was in the nature of a condemnation of the Brahmin Congress-affiliated Indian Women’s Association’s support of Hindi. In response to this, the women SelfRespecters who participated in the two conferences challenged the Association to organize a conference in support of Hindi. The second resolution was a response to the disrespectful way in which the “nationalist” newspaper Sudesamitran had referred to the Self-Respect women who participated in the Vellore conference, even as it addressed Sarojini Naidu with respect. A resolution to boycott such newspapers was passed. In Geetha and Rajadurai’s recent book, Towards a Non-Brahmin Millenium: From Iyothee Thass to Periyar however, we find an inclusive and exciting account of the Self-Respect movement’s gender politics. Refering to the fact that from the year 1928-29, “we find Periyar and others writing, remonstrating, arguing, persuading and compelling their readers to heed gender concerns”9 they argue: ...we may safely conclude that from 1928 onwards, the Self-Respecters possessed a coherent understanding of gender, for otherwise we cannot account for the clarity and sharpness that informed Penn-ina-nallar’s articles during this period. Unless a discursive and social context that could accommodate, refine and advance women’s concerns as pertinent had evolved, women writers would not have been able to thus write and agitate their way into the public sphere. Conversely, of course, it was

women such as Penn-ina-nallar, drawn to the Self-Respect movement and its subversive intent and ideology and who adapted the latter to interpret and re-define gender concerns, who contributed in substantial measure to the making of a Self-Respect ideology of gender (1998: 381).

Geetha and Rajadurai have touched upon what, to my mind, constitutes the richest source of a positive women’s history of the Self-Respect movement—the fairly substantial body of writings by women SelfRespecters who managed to “write and agitate their way into the public sphere.” It is to this body of writings that one must turn not only if one wants to provide a full counter to positions such as the one Lakshmi had adopted, but also if one is interested in further exploring the articulation of the women’s question in the Self-Respect movement While defending Periyar is both necessary and strategic in the face of upper-caste misrepresentations of Self-Respect gender politics, it may not always be productive to do so exclusively in his name. Granting that Periyar’s vision of gender equality was progressive and far ahead of his times, invoking him in a compulsive fashion may well close off other valuable directions in which questions and debates about gender and the Self-Respect movement could proceed. It is necessary to move beyond the popular perception of women Self-Respecters as the objects of political education, as mobilized and mobilizable subjects. As historical documents that speak to us with a certain urgency, many of the translations in this section should enable us to read against the grain of existing historiography which sees women SelfRespecters as having been acted on by the male leader, as having had their consciousness “raised”, as having provided support roles to what was essentially a male cause, the cause of the “larger” movement. This particular section comprises fascinating narratives about what sexuality, marriage, caste, widowhood, domesticity, ritual, work and the “public” sphere mean to women Self-Respecters who lived and wrote in the 1920s and the 1930s. They include bold, hard-hitting exposes of the Brahmin community and its atrocities towards women (Kamalakshi’s “What Is In Store For Us?” and “The Ritual of Garuda Sevai”), sharp critiques of Brahminism and the mindless ritual practices which it encourages (Janaki’s “We Won’t Have Rainfall” and her story “Half a Coconut” and Neelavathi’s

essay “Rituals”) and reflections on the nature of women’s labour (Jayasekari’s “Women in a Socialist World”). Kamalakshi’s writing owes its intensity to what we might call an insider’s insight. As a Brahmin woman who has borne the brunt of her community’s inhumanity towards its women, Kamalakshi identifies with the Self-Respect movement, possibly recognizing in it a space for someone like herself. If, in “The Ritual of Garuda Sevai”, Kamalakshi risks the ire of her community by her tonguein-cheek unmasking of the “real” reason behind the Brahmins’ furore over the Sharda Act, in “What Is In Store For Us?”, she describes her own “agony and suffering” as a woman who finds herself in a peculiar inbetween state (she is married, yet she has never lived with her husband). She declares her intention of going public about her plight so that other women like her might be enlightened and feel enthused to struggle. Kamalakshi’s marriage has never been consummated because her parents are unable to meet her in-laws’ demand for money in exchange for their consent to the ritushanti or the ceremony of consummation. She never leaves her parental home. After the death of her parents, she lives with her brother and sister-in-law, neither of whom cares for her. “My maami and others conveniently forgot that I was a woman,” she writes, and exclaims that people from her town have already begun offering her their condolences, “behaving exactly as though I have been bereaved.” Given that her marriage lacks any meaning or substance, she argues that she would like to be addressed as “Miss Kamalakshi” rather than “Mrs Kamalakshi”. As a deliberate and partly self-reflexive gesture, therefore, she signs her name as “Miss and Mrs Kamalakshi”. Neelavathi voices her anger at what she terms “the daylight robbery” that “wicked Brahmins are carrying out in the name of performing rituals.” She argues that the non-Brahmin people, caught up as they are in their beliefs about the importance of rituals, are easy prey for the Brahmins. Janaki’s story “A Bundle of Grass” also critiques the Brahmin for making money without really working for it. In the essay “The Skies Won’t Bring Forth Rain”, Janaki points out that sayings such as “If women use umbrellas, the rains will fail us! If women wear slippers, the rains will fail us!” acquire their legitimacy only because the Brahmins attribute them to the shastras. Janaki’s story “Half a coconut” satirises the pettiness of those who blindly follow rituals without a genuine faith in God and the sanctity of religion. The story, written from the point of

view of a recently married young woman, traces her relationship with her neighbour Subammal. When Subammal, the narrator’s “constant companion”, invites her to the temple one evening, she is delighted and agrees to accompany her. The evening proves disastrous. Subammal, who is keen on acquiring the grace of God by making all the necessary offerings of coconut, betel leaves and fruit to the temple deity, haggles endlessly with the vendors. She is just as petty when reclaiming her offerings from the priest and insists on choosing the best and the biggest half of the coconut. Worse still, Subammal turns up at the narrator’s house the next morning and demands that the latter share with her the expenses incurred at the temple. The amount she demands is more than half of the total, moreover, the narrator is well aware that she had received less than half the prasadam— the offerings which which were redistributed to them and to the other devotees. Not surprisingly, this leads to a bitter fight and marks the end of their friendship. Jayasekari’s treatise “Women in the Socialist World” and Janaki’s story “A Bundle of Grass” analyse and critique the nature of work itself and the uneven value attached to women’s work, the work of dalits and that of the upper-castes. “A Bundle of Grass” draws our attention to the situation of a group of poor dalit women who traditionally cut and sell grass that serves as fodder for horses. While they find it difficult, if not impossible, to make a living despite all their hard work, the Brahmin makes a fat sum of money by merely waving a few blades of the supposedly sacred but otherwise useless darba grass, over the heads of the ignorant and the superstitious. The story questions the basis of a value system which grades and rewards work using what are clearly irrational criteria. Jayasekari’s essay “Women in the Socialist World” describes the shape that women’s work will take in a new, utopic socialist world. Questioning the common-sense assumption that socialism relates only to male workers, she argues that socialism will ensure that women are freed from their domestic chains. The opportunity to work in the public sphere, Jayasekari says, will give them economic independence. She also draws our attention to the fact that historically women have worked both at home and in the fields. Therefore the notions that in the ideal society of the future women will be relieved of the burden of working outside the home, and that their intellectual energies will be channelled towards their home and family, are misplaced. In Self-Respect

ideology, the vision of a socialist society based on the principle of equality and equal opportunities at work, also held out hope for a liberated womanhood. Unlike most social reformists of the time, Self-Respecters did not expect women to use their education to run the home and raise good children. Jayasekari argues eloquently for the recognition of women as workers in the new socialist world. Pointing out that even socialists have a tendency to associate the concepts of work and workers with men, she critiques the gendering of “work” as essentially male. Jayasekari writes of the complex nature of women’s work both in the public as well as in the private spheres. She envisions a socialist society as one in which all work is shared and there is no artificial division between “men’s work” and “women’s work”: You cannot chain the women of the future to the home! A healthy, capable woman would never rest content with this. The education of our children is no longer a private, family affair. It is a social one. Both education as well as work, therefore, are gradually becoming part of a common public sphere. Inevitably, women’s work will also move outside the confines of the home. Shops, factories, schools and cultural centres—these will constitute the new sites of women’s work. In place of the separate category we now label “women’s work”, we will see a new category emerge—the work of the human race. In the socialist world of the future, everyone will share in the house work. Women will not have to bear this burden alone. Since we now have machines to perform some of our work, we are no longer going to opt for manual labour. People are unlikely to prefer the home-made candle to electric lights or the small nuclear family over the communal family.10 To believe that women should

restrict themselves to certain kinds of work is a misreading of socialist principles. (p. 97)

The terrible plight of widows in a conservative society is the subject of Neelavathi’s essay “Is Widowhood a Question of Fate?”, Alhaj Subako’s “Why was Woman Enslaved? Muslim Women are also Slaves! The Plight of Muslim Widows” and the story by an unknown author, “Pankajam’s Tragic Death”. While Neelavathi critiques the irrational belief that to be widowed is the result of fate, Alhaj Subako in her essay questions the assumption in Self-Respect thought (she refers specifically to Periyar’s famous tract Perm Yenn Adimai Aanaal?) that all non-Brahmin or nonHindu cultures are inherently progressive with respect to women: It is not the objective of this essay to review our comrade E.Ve. Ra’s book Perm Yenn Adimai Aanaal?, the first publication of the Rationalist Press. In describing the plight of widows, E.Ve. Ra has criticised and attacked Hindu society. From E.Ve. Ra’s stand on widowhood and Hindu

society, it appears as though the stigma attached to widowhood and the difficulties posed by this stigma are confined to Hindu society alone; that Muslim society for instance, is happily exempt from all this. Let me proclaim openly, “Muslim women are slaves as well; the situation of Muslim widows is far from wonderful.” This is my challenge to those Muslims who claim proudly, “Islam has granted women all possible rights.” I wish to set right those irresponsible Muslims who are making such tall claims. May Muslim men and Muslim parents shed their prejudiced views about women! May they arrive at a rationalist understanding of the problems that beset women! (p. 75)

Subako’s argument, which is essentially clarificatory in nature, places the issue of the non-Hindu woman (a woman who, by Periyar’s own definition, is also Dravidian) on the Self-Respect map. “Pankajam’s Tragic Death” is a haunting story about a young widow and her tragic death resulting from the strict code of conduct conventionally applied to widows. While Janaki’s story “Which Grew Bigger—the Ring or the Body?” plays out the conventional ‘mother-in-law oppresses daughter-in-law’ scenario without too much reflection, it is unusual in its use of poignant humour. Despite her mother-in-law’s claims to the contrary, Kannammal has lost weight after her marriage. Proof of this is the fact that the ring given to Kannammal before her wedding, and which fitted her perfectly then, has now become loose. If Kannamal’s ring has suddenly become “too big” for her finger, it cannot possibly be because the ring has grown in size, the finger must have grown thinner, argues the author, stating the obvious in order to make a point. Janaki assumes the impartial position of a judge and examines all sides of a question—even one as absurd as the title question —“Which Grew Bigger—the Ring or the Body?”. This is enough then to convince anyone about the reasonableness of her conclusion that Kannamal has suffered great privations at her in-law’s home. An interesting selfreflexivity marks the portraits of the Self-Respecter in “Vignettes” by Neelavathi which is a series of dramatised scenes from the everyday lives of Self-Respecters and their relationships with members of their families who do not sympathize with their ideology. As Self-Respecters, the writers featured in this section are as concerned with issues of caste as they are with the ideal of women’s liberation. Neelavathi’s essay “Will Educated Women Take the Initiative?” and Maragathavalli’s essay “The Sufferings of the Adi-dravidas” raise the issue of caste oppression. Maragathavalli argues that the adi-dravida woman

suffers doubly—from being adi-dravida and from being a woman. She does not even have the right to dress with dignity for adi-dravida women are forbidden to wear blouses. Neelavathi’s “Is the Bliss of Freedom Not For Us?” and Maragathavalli’s “The Progress of Women” and “The Women’s Movement” are discussions on the condition of Indian women and on the nature of women’s liberation in the Indian context. Neelavathi’s “Women Folk and Self-Respect Principles” makes a plea for the spread of SelfRespect principles among women. For some of these women, writing has been a way of publicly articulating their innermost personal predictions. The very publicness of the act of writing invests it with a certain activist power. As Kamalakshi writes in “What is in Store For Us?”, to express her feelings and thoughts publicly is extremely crucial for this might help enlighten other women who share the same situation. Kamalakshi hopes that other women who read her account will find the strength to struggle. The legacies that women Self-Respecters have left behind are precious to us as feminists, not just because they are important documents from the past or from the history of the women’s movement, but because they speak to us with a peculiar urgency today, in a context where we feel the necessity to critique feminisms that draw exclusively on upper-caste, upper-class perspectives. Given the serendipitous nature of archival work and its challenges especially in the Indian context where the work of archiving as also certain forms of research that are dependent on it receive so little support, this book is admittedly incomplete. What this anthology offers is but a tiny slice of a much larger and truly fascinating story which I hope others down the line will discover. For this is, has to be, an on-going story. 1

In 1937, when the Congress ministry assumed office in Madras Presidency under the chief ministership of C. Rajagopalachari, it made the study of Hindi compulsory in the 1st, 2nd and 3rd forms of 125 schools. The Self-Respecters, including former members of the Justice Party, agitated against what they perceived to be the imposition of an Aryan language on the Dravidian peoples, one moreover, as Periyar often liked to point out, that was unsuitable to the needs and requirements of modern times. There was an entire history to this particular agitation and it was followed by other such agitations initiated by the DMK and so on. By a careful and deliberate process, the nationalist movement had constructed Hindi as the “natural” choice for a national language. Moreover, Sanskritized versions of languages were created and constructed as “authentic” even as Persian usages and dialects shared by larger linguistic communities were marginalised. Two distinct languages, Hindi and Urdu, were fashioned through this kind of Sanskritization and Persianization respectively.

2

Anandhi, S., “Women’s Question in the Dravidian Movement: c. 1925-1948”, Social Scientist (May-June 1991): 26-41. 3 See C.S. Lakshmi, “Mother, Mother-Community and Mother-Politics in Tamilnadu”, EPW, 25. (42-43) (October 20-29, 1990): WS-75. 4 Sumathy Ramaswamy, Passions of the Tongue: Language Devotion in Tamil India, 1891-1970. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1997, p. 100. The reference to S. Subramaniam is as follows: Subramaniam, Shaktidasan, Tamil Veri (Passion for Tamil). Madras: Sadhu Accukuttam, 1939. 5 Anandhi, S., “Women’s Question in the Dravidian Movement: c. 1925-1948”, Social Scientist (May-June 1991): 26-41. 6 V. Geetha, “Gender and Political Discourse”, EPW (February 16, 1991: 3387-3388). 7 M.S.S. Pandian, Anandhi, S. and A.R. Venkatachalapathy, “Of Maltova Mothers and Other Stories”, Economic and Political Weekly 26.16 (April 20, 1991): 1059-1064. 8 S.V. Rajadurai and V. Geetha, Periyar: Suyamariathai Samadharmam. Coimbatore: Vidiyal, 1996 (in Tamil). 9 V. Geetha and S. V. Rajadurai, Towards a non-Brahmin Millenium: From Iyothee Thass to Periyar (Calcutta: Samya, 1998): 380. See, especially, the chapter “Women: Coeval With Men” for a rich and fascinating account of the role of women in the movement and their attempts to theorize Brahmin patriarchy. 10 Presumably, the reference here is to communal living rather than to the old-fashioned joint family.

The Self-Respect Journal: A Note The Self-Respect Journal: A Note1

All the pieces in the first section of this anthology are from Self-Respect journals such as Kudi Arasu, Puratchi and Kumaran.2 These journals are significantly different from other mainstream journals and newspapers of the time. In fact, as I shall soon argue, this difference arises out of a conscious and deliberate fashioning. Parallel to and simultaneous with the Self-Respect movement is the Self-Respect, non-Brahmin or Dravidian journal movement. The one is inextricably linked with the other. One of the most significant thrusts of the Dravidian movement, especially in its Self-Respect phase, was the creation of a specifically Dravidian press as a counter to the upper-caste nationalist “mainstream” press represented by newspapers such as Sudesamitran and The Hindu. It would be instructive, therefore, to look at the actual processes by which this specifically non-Brahmin press is fashioned. The creation of a non-Brahmin press was part of a much larger political process by which a non-Brahmin “Tamil” identity was fashioned. Tied to this new identity were issues of language, culture, religion and indigenous medicine. With the launch of a number of Self-Respect journals, Kudi Arasu and Puratchi being among the most prominent, the Self-Respect movement created a non-Brahmin public sphere for the first time. This was indexed by the significantly large numbers of non-Brahmin and often, specifically SelfRespect journals which were published at the time. Periyar lauched the Tamil weekly Kudi Arasu (The Republic) on May 2, 1925 at Erode. This weekly was specifically directed at those non-Brahmin groups which had not been reached by the Justice Party’s Dravidan. Even though Kudi Arasu was primarily a journal of the Self-Respect movement, it also gave prominence to the Justice Party’s news. Significantly, the release of this weekly coincided with the birth of the Self-Respect movement. By 1925,

Periyar had begun to feel the need for a journal which would reflect the interests of the non-Brahmin peoples. He writes: Despite the fact that our land has so many great and intelligent people, they remain unknown to the public. This is because Tamilians lack a journal that is effective and truthful. Even Mahatma Gandhi has to ask a Brahmin or read a Brahmin journal if he wants to learn about the greatness of Tamilians. What can we say about a situation in which the majority community of nonBrahmins has no means by which to communicate its news and ideas? (Periyar, “Sila Brahmana Pattrikaiyin Thozhir” [The Work of Some Brahmin Journals], Kudi Arasu, 2/8/1925).

Recognizing the lack of a non-Brahmin journal which would effectively voice the interest of non-Brahmins, Periyar sought to transform the Tamil journal scene by wresting some of the power away from the upper-castes who controlled the major portion of the press in the early part of the twentieth century. Systematically then, he nurtured the Self-Respect, nonBrahmin journals, positioning them vis-à-vis Brahmin journals which he constructed as either misrepresenting or otherwise inadequate to the needs of the Dravidian people. The Dravidian movement laid the ground for the creation of a non-Brahmin public sphere. Journals, films and political speeches made by leaders such as Periyar, Sivanandam Valliammal and Neelavathi, were all part of this new public sphere. While the Self-Respect movement used the journal as a means of propaganda, the D.M.K. fashioned a radically different idiom through cinema in a way that appealed to a largely illiterate, lower-caste audience. The constituencies of the D.M.K. film and the Self-Respect journal were clearly different. The latter’s was a constituency still in the making, one that consisted of middle- class non-Brahmin readers and intellectuals. Periyar was to play a significant role in building a strong non-Brahmin presence in the print-media. Directly responsible for the launch of some major Self-Respect journals, he also supported new non-Brahmin journals which began to appear in the wake of the Self-Respect movement. Various factors have been responsible for the marginalization, in Tamil literary circles, of the Self-Respect, non-Brahmin journal. The genre of the journal is in itself seen as outside of respectable literary production. In the case of the non-Brahmin journal, such a perception is compounded by the notion that it is a “party” or “propaganda” journal. Also, unlike upper-caste journals of the time, like Sudesamitran, which are marked as “mainstream” and somehow “neutral”, the Self-Respect journal is marked as “non-

mainstream” and “political”. Requesting readers to patronize the journal Vedigundu, published from Madurai, for its principled stand on social issues, Periyar remarks: It is a difficult task to run a journal that does not change colour to keep pace with the times, a journal which is not “pure” or “neutral” (Kudi Arasu, 27/8/1933).

Self-Respect journals are significant for more than one reason. For historians and other scholars they constitute useful documents because they vividly record for us the agendas of the Dravidian movement and the philosophy of some of its best leaders. Through these journals, one is able to access both their writings as well as their speeches. Secondly, they assumed a peculiar significance in a situation where the nationalists and the upper-castes had virtually monopolised the press, creating news and public opinion to suit their ends.3 Related to this was another important development, the constitution and politicization of a specifically nonBrahmin readership. The section titled “Seydigal” or “News” in the third volume of V. Anaimuthu’s extensive compilation of Periyar’s work titled Periyar E.Ve. Ra Chintanaigal or Periyar E.V. Ra’s Thoughts (1974) gives us a sense of the extent of Periyar’s belief in the importance of the print-media as a space that the non-Brahmins could use to their benefit. His fiercely loyal defense and patronage of all non-Brahmin journals even if they were not, strictly speaking, affiliated with the Self-Respect movement, is evidence of this. This section carries some of Periyar’s reviews, essays and speeches about the journals of the Self-Respect movement, the Dravida Kazhagam and the Justice Party. Periyar introduces and reviews each new non-Brahmin journal that is launched (See Appendix). For instance, on the Self-Respect journal Puratchi, he writes: Puratchi (Revolution) was forced to appear because of the attempts to destroy Kudi Arasu. If there is no place in this world for a journal which was the voice of the oppressed peoples, a revolution is bound to occur. We have no doubt that people who are devoted to achieving a revolution will patronize Puratchi (Puratchi November 26, 1933; E.Ve.Ra Chintanaigal 1914, Vol. 3, p. 1896).

Reading Periyar’s essays and speeches on the non-Brahmin journal, what strikes one is the deliberateness and the clarity with which he set about the task of creating a Dravidian press.4 To him, this was an important political

project, as important as fighting upper-caste control in the spheres of religion and politics. Expanding the constituency of a non-Brahmin reading public was a crucial issue with Periyar and he makes conscious and deliberate moves to wean the people from Brahmin journals such as Sudesamitran. Apart from Sudesamitran which was basically a Congress newspaper started in 1882 and Swarajya, the newspaper of the Swaraj party, the Tamil monthly Ananda Bodhini, the Telugu daily Andhra Patrika, the English daily The Hindu and the monthly Indian Review were all edited by the upper castes. Many other English dailies such as Madras Mail and Madras Times were edited by Europeans. Periyar argued that upper-caste newspapers played a crucial role in ensuring that the Brahmins won the local elections and captured the local administrative bodies from the nonBrahmins. Arguing the case for Dravidan as against its upper-caste owned rival Sudesamitran, he writes: Not only the common people, even those who think of themselves as intelligent are carried away by what these journals have to say and end up as slaves to the Brahmins ... Despite knowing that these journals are being published in order to harm us and that their objective is to propagate Brahminism, if [non-Brahmins] offer them financial support and invite our downfall by buying and reading them, will anyone think of us as a society with shame, honour, integrity, intelligence and self-respect? The journal Sudesamitran is funded mostly by non- Brahmins. Its publisher and manager are Brahmins. They enjoy a monthly salary of Rs 1500, Rs 1000, Rs 800 or Rs 600. Have you ever seen them do any other work besides spreading Brahminism and destroying the non-Brahmins? Should our own money help in our ruin? To patronize another journal over Dravidan is to behave like the man who ignores his own wife and favours the prostitute. (“Patrikaigar (Journals) in Ve. Anaimuthu, comp. Periyar E.Ve.Ra Chintanaigal (Thoughts of Periyar E.Ve.Ra) (Vol. 2). Trichi: Thinkers Forum, 1974: 1284-1286).

Significantly, Periyar concludes this essay by suggesting that the choice of a non-Brahmin Dravidan over the Brahmin Sudesamitran was the only way by which the non-Brahmins could retain their ‘self-respect’. He accused these newspapers of using Brahmin reporters to publish false and mischievous reports (Rajadurai and Geetha 1996: 9). He also argues that these newspapers were by and large indifferent, arrogant even, towards the non-Brahmin reading public: [The Brahmins who own newspapers] look us straight in the eye and tell us to our face, “You are all stupid. You do not have shame, honour, self-respect or intelligence. Therefore, we deceive you. What is it that you can do? If some among you raise a hue and cry, let them do so. We do

not care. We are not going to be scared. Neither will we change our objectives. We know how to coopt those among you who are wicked or foolish in order to stop you from your loud protests. We challenge you to fight us!” (Kudi Arasu—Editorial—30/1/1927)

Even as he requested the non-Brahmin reading public to patronize the non-Brahmin journal, Periyar argued for the spread of literacy, especially at the village level. Introducing the journal Suyamariathai Thondan, he says: Comrades! Self-Respect journals should spread in each and every village. Otherwise, our country will not really progress. Education is necessary in order to read a journal. It is the responsibility of the leaders of the Jilla Board to provide this education. I request everyone to support Suyamariathai Thondan (Speech at Pallipalazham on 9.4.1929; Kudi Arasu, 14.4.1929).

Kudi Arasu, the Tamil weekly started by Periyar and published at Erode, first appeared on the May 2, 1925, at a time when Periyar had not formally left the Congress. So influential was this journal, that the date of its first appearance is often taken to be the date on which the Self-Respect movement was launched. Most of Periyar’s speeches and essays were published in this journal, as was news of the activities of the SelfRespecters and the Justicites. Though Periyar was directly associated only with Kudi Arasu, Viduthalai, the Justice Party’s Dravidan (which he edited for a while) and the English weekly Revolt, he offered his unstinting support to all non-Brahmin journals that supported the Self-Respect movement which began to appear all over Tamil Nadu and in countries like Singapore with a large Tamil population. In 1936, M. Maragadavalli started Maadar Marumanam, a magazine in support of widow remarriage published in Karaikudi. Since most of these journals disappeared as quickly as they appeared, we have little by way of archival evidence, making any extensive analysis impossible. The journals that emerged in the wake of Periyar’s Self-Respect movement proved to be an effective forum for the public articulation of the ideological differences between the Congress and the Dravidian movement. They provided readers with news about the Justice Party and the SelfRespect movement and publicized their conventions and agendas. Most importantly, they sought to politically educate readers, teaching them to question everything that the nationalist press was constructing as “natural”. This included a range of issues which were part of a nationalist commonsense: the sacredness of Hinduism and the varnashrama dharma, an

upper-caste patriarchy, the importance of national unity, the greatness of Gandhi and the role of Hindi as a “national” language. Fearless and strident, these journals consciously opted out of the neutral reporting style common with the so-called mainstream newspapers such as The Hindu. The Self-Respect movement then, was also a journal movement. What this journal movement did was to give voice not only to many crucial nonBrahmin concerns but also, as we will see with some of the pieces translated in this anthology, to issues relevant to women from varying backgrounds. Time and again, Self-Respect journals faced severe financial problems or, worse, ran into trouble with the authorities. Many a journal had to close shop. When the British government anticipated large-scale labour movements in the country, it resorted to a series of repressive measures directed at left parties as well as at the Self-Respect movement. Kudi Arasu, the most influential Self-Respect journal of the times, was among the first casualties. The editorial in the October 29, 1933 issue of Kudi Arasu titled “Why the Present Government Should Go” was adjudged seditious. Periyar and his sister S. R. Kannammal, the publisher of Kudi Arasu, were both arrested in December 1933. Due to their arrests, Kudi Arasu could not be published between November 1933 and January 1935. During this interim period, the journal Puratchi (Revolution) edited by Periyar’s brother E.V. Krishnasami emerged as a kind of substitute. Periyar accused the casteist Catholic priests and the Brahmins of suppressing Kudi Arasu. In his review of the journal Unmai, he describes the survival strategies adopted by nonBrahmin and Self-Respect journals in a hostile climate: In order to destroy Kudi Arasu, the Christians of this country wrote to America and got funds. The Brahmins started journals opposed to Kudi Arasu. However, the weekly Kudi Arasu became the daily Viduthalai and continued to espouse the same cause (Unmai, 14.1.1970).

In fact, it appears that it was mostly the need to ensure the presence of a non-Brahmin print media in the face of repressive action by the state and by the upper-castes that so many different non-Brahmin journals, all with the same agenda, were published. Often, financial losses and practical difficulties matched the antagonism of the government and the upper-castes towards the very idea of a non-Brahmin journal. This would result in the journal winding up. Despite the general tone of optimism in much of

Periyar’s writings about Self-Respect journals, he also stresses the fact that running a journal was not an easy task. It was an enormous responsibility and it was pointless to start a journal without a sense of commitment. For Periyar, journals were an important means of intervening in and transforming civil society. Effecting changes in civil society, fighting varnashrama dharma and, in doing so, critiquing both Brahminism and Brahminical patriarchy, he argued, were far more important tasks than political reform. As late as 1970, Periyar launched two new journals, the Tamil fortnightly Unmai (The Truth) and the English monthly The Modern Rationalist. The Self-Respect/non-Brahmin journal signals the Dravidian movement’s fashioning of a dramatically different public sphere and of a new constituency of readers. It also makes visible women Self-Respecters and their concerns. 1

For a fuller account of the Self-Respect journal, see Srilata, K. A New Subject For Feminism: Print-Media, Dravidian Movement and the Reconstitution of Readers. Unpublished Ph.D dissertation, Dept. of English, University of Hyderabad. 2

Kumaran was a monthly published from Karaikudi and edited by Cho. Murugappa. See S.V. Rajadurai and V. Geetha, Periyar: Suyamariathai Samadharmam. Coimbatore: Vidiyal, 1996 (p. 58). 4 See, especially, the section titled “Seydigal” in Ve. Anaimuthu, comp. Periyar E.Ve.Ra Chintanaigal or Thoughts of Periyar E.Ve.Ra (Vol. 3). Trichi: Thinkers Forum, 1974. 3

What is In Store For Us? (Enngall Gathi Yenna?) MISS AND MRS KAMALAKSHI1

My beloved brothers! In recent years, one has witnessed the formation of two distinctly different groups of people—the Brahmins and the non-Brahmins. These groups have pitted themselves against each other. A third group consists of a large number of oppressed adi-dravidas. Self-Respect activists involved in various social reforms hold the Brahmins responsible for the oppressed and enslaved state of other peoples. As a Brahmin, I find it a hard task to describe the agony that I have been through, the suffering that I have experienced. The Brahmins, you see, also oppress their own kind. I have been very patient. I have waited a long time. I am convinced finally that there is no other way. I have to speak out. To express my feelings and my thoughts publicly is extremely crucial. For who knows, my experiences, if expressed, might serve to enlighten my sisters and fellow-sufferers. Perhaps they will find the strength to struggle. I am a Brahmin woman, the only daughter of my parents. I have only one brother. I do not know my husband. My father and my husband belong to villages that are some thirty miles apart. They say my husband is studying in Chennai. I attained puberty at the age of thirteen. My father arranged for the modest education which I have in Tamil and basic English. I was also formally taught to play the harmonium and sing. I am familiar with over sixty kirtanas composed by Thiagaraja. When I turned thirteen, my parents declared that it was unseemly for a grown girl to set foot outside the home. Since then, I have lived inside these four walls like a caged bird. After I came of age, my parents tried to perform my ritushanti.2 The event never happened. My parents-in-law insisted that if they were to consent to the

ritushanti, my parents would have to give them Rs 4000. The best efforts of many elders to dissuade them from making such unreasonable demands yielded no fruit. My in-laws did not budge an inch. My father offered to pay them Rs 2000, a sum he planned to raise by selling our house. My in-laws, however, were not ready to settle for less than the price they had quoted. My father passed away even as he was struggling and negotiating with my in-laws. After his demise, my mother’s eyes were always moist with tears. Within two months, she followed him to the grave. Since my father’s death, there has been little talk of performing my ritushanti. While my mother was still alive, she would sometimes cry out, reflecting on my fate. But not once did my brother and his wife even mention the subject. My maami3 and others conveniently forgot that I was a woman. As for my brother, we could not expect him to contribute even a thousand rupees towards my ritushanti. In fact, he was afraid to discuss the matter because it might have entailed selling the house! No one paid the slightest attention to my mother’s pleas. The kind of suffering I have undergone over the last two months does not bear telling. My brother’s wife orders me around as if I were a slave. It is true that I have always considered it my duty to work for my family. But then, when my father was alive, I never faced such problems. I had led a protected life also because no one could dare act against my mother’s injunctions. With my father’s death however, my mother lost her importance. No one paid heed to her words any more. For me, the burden of housework increased. Soon after my father’s death, everyone felt sorry for me. I was abused a little less. My life was somewhat tolerable. But what I have undergone over the last two months cannot be described in words. Needless to say, no one is willing to marry me in my present state. In the Brahmin community, moreover, remarriage for someone like me is out of the question. My life has been laid waste. My husband still remains a stranger to me. We came to know about four or five days ago that his family has exchanged the nischiya tambulam4 with another. Negotiations for his remarriage have begun. I am completely done for now. My brother’s wife will gradually suck the life out of me. People from my town have already begun offering me their condolences. They are behaving exactly as though I have been bereaved! What must I do in such a situation? They gave me away in marriage when I was young and innocent. It has been years since I came of age. I have still not set eyes on him.5 If I want to see him, an

offering6 of Rs 4000 will have to be made. I do not have that money. My plight, as you can see, is worse than a widow’s. When a woman is widowed, people deem it her “fate” once and for all. They console her and go about their business. Since my fate can actually be changed with a little money, people never let us forget that. I was trying to think of a way to remedy such a situation. I desire so much to be married. But my chittappa7 says that to marry twice is against the law.8 Given the many difficulties I face at home though, I sometimes think that I would be better off if I actually got married in this illegal fashion, even if that means I have to languish in prison later. After writing this account, I began to wonder which title I should use before my name—“Miss” or “Mrs”. Westerners use the title “Miss” when they refer to unmarried women, and the title “Mrs” to refer to married women. But in their case, you see, the wedding and the ritushanti are not two separate events. In our shameless community, the wedding and the ritushanti (the business of ritushanti) take place at different times. I have a right to the title of “Mrs” by virtue of being married. Since my ritushanti has not been performed however, I would like to be referred to as “Miss”. That is the reason I have dared use both titles, “Miss” as well as “Mrs” before my name. (Kumaran, August-September 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 2) 1

As you read this piece, you will see that the use of this strange title, “Miss and Mrs Kamalakshi”, is deliberate, that it indicates the situation in which the author finds herself. 2 The author was obviously married off as a child. The ritushanti is the ritual of consummating the marriage, which in the case of a child-marriage, is performed after the girl attains puberty and is sent to her in-laws’ home. 3 Maternal uncle’s wife. 4 Plate with various symbolic gifts such as fruits, flowers, betel leaves and coconut which is exchanged between the families of the bride and the groom prior to the wedding ceremony. 5 The author constantly refers to her husband as “avar” (the respectful pronoun form for “him”). Given her particular cultural context, it would have been considered disrespectful to refer to her husband either by name or even, simply, as her husband. 6 The author uses an euphemism here-the word kaannikkai-normally used in the context of an offering to god. 7 Father’s younger brother or husband of mother’s younger sister, uncle. 8 It is ironic that a similar law against bigamy would apply to her husband as well does not appear to cross Kamalakshi’s mind.

Womenfolk and Self-Respect Principles (Penn Makkallum Suyamariathai Kollgaigallum) TRICHI NEELAVATHI1

My dear brothers and sisters! Comrades from the movement! Readers of Kumaran! I am delighted to be present at this release function of the monthly magazine Kumaran. I am happy to have this opportunity to share my thoughts with you. I would like to begin by paying my respects to Thiru Murugappan—the editor of Kumaran. The Self-Respect movement was initiated by E.V. Ramasami Periyar at Erode some five years ago. The movement is directed at improving the lives of our people. However, the principles on which this movement is founded make some selfish people acutely uncomfortable. Such people then accuse the movement of being an atheist one. They also label Self-Respecters as atheists. Self-Respecters are not easily scared by this label of atheist. Nor will we be afraid in the times to come. We expect neither pity nor favours nor praise. The most noteworthy of Self-Respect goals include the destruction of untouchability, the progress of women and the uplift of widows. This does not mean that other goals are considered unnecessary. Everything has its place in the scheme of things. All I am saying is that each of the three goals mentioned above is crucial. Unlike men, women rarely participate in the Self-Respect movement. Therefore, we feel justified in finding fault with them. But one must understand that their lack of education is responsible for their poor participation. The principles of Self-Respect have spread far and wide amongst men. Women alone have remained untouched by these principles. In truth only they can initiate and ensure the proper working of SelfRespect principles. Only they can ensure that these principles are constantly

improved. There can be no progress without womenfolk. That much is certain. Women are left to sweat it out inside kitchens while men go around addressing audiences, writing column after column for the papers, and dispensing advice of all kinds. They pride themselves on being introduced as Self- Respecters. What is the use of all this? When it actually comes to acting on their words, these men find that women from their own families stand in their way! If women are encouraged to get rid of their blind beliefs and superstitions, they will never oppose Self-Respect principles. Therefore, to make women rational is currently the foremost duty of men. Till this gap between women and the Self-Respect movement is bridged, all the efforts of men to nurture Self-Respect principles will come to nothing. Aren’t many things in life dependent on women? Shouldn’t our principles touch their lives first? Why do men ignore this aspect? Do they feel that they can act alone—without the support of their womenfolk—in this respect too? If this is what they believe, then I would request them to alter their views. Numerous obstacles arise because women are not aware of Self-Respect principles. In a situation where women are not exposed to Self-Respect principles, men will be unable to act fully on their principles. Ultimately, women will lead the nation on the Self-Respect path. If women are not convinced of Self-Respect principles, men will find that they cannot achieve much. As of now, Self-Respecters complain that women stand in the way of their work. I do not blame them for complaining. However, I know also that men make no efforts to ascertain the reasons behind this problem. Women are blamed for thinking differently from Self-Respecters. This should not happen. For that matter, men can be blamed for a million different things. Do not be annoyed with me for saying so. Ascertain the truth for yourselves. If we look closely, we will see that there is little reason for being irritated with women. I ask you: how is it possible for women to realize that they have no self-respect? They are not educated, are they? They remain ignorant. Need we say any more? When men attend conferences and meetings, they do not bring women along. If their women happen to be illiterate, they do not take the trouble of reading to them from the newspapers. We know that lack of education causes great harm. Yet middle-aged women remain uneducated How many more examples does one need to prove that it is men who are responsible for women’s lack of self-respect? Even though men are ready to accuse

women of obstructing the self-respect cause, they are not willing to teach the latter the basic tenets of Self-Respect and rationality. If we say anything, they retort that nothing can be done since women have no education. Granted that they are not educated. But do women refuse to reform themselves even when you explain things to them? If we educate them gradually, will the flame of knowledge not burn in their hearts? Have men concluded that women will not acquire any knowledge despite their best efforts? If such is the attitude, it only proves the ignorance of men. Let that be. Will men come forward and inspire self-respect in women at least now? How wonderful it would be if men were to follow the example of this woman who, at the age of fifty-six, passed her matriculation examination out of a desire to inspire her son to study better!2 How beneficial it would be if the men who are participating in this conference followed her example! And if women were to do the same, is there any need to expand on the benefits that will accrue to the cause of women’s education? Instead of exclaiming, “We are so old! How will we ever learn anything now?”, even those women with a little education should say, “What I have learnt is but a fistful of sand. What I am yet to learn is as big as this ocean.” They should educate themselves farther. If women are taught Self-Respect principles first, not only will they benefit from this themselves, others will too. It is important to spread the principles of our movement among women even before we take them to others. At present, women are sunk in the mire of superstition and blind belief. Blind belief, superstitions, foolish customs —all these are obstacles to women’s progress. The minds of women are ridden with brahminical beliefs. They have lost their rationality. They fail to see through the wickedness of certain communities. They remain chained by unequal laws. Women have often come to grief because of their unthinking acceptance of the vedas, puranas and mythologies. They have remained unable to expand the horizons of their knowledge. If Self-Respect principles reach women first, they stand to gain a lot. It is not my concern for men that is prompting me to advocate the spread of these principles among women. I am saying this for the good of women. If my Self-Respect brothers decide that they can go easy on acquiring self-respect themselves, if they come forward instead to organise women’s conferences and meetings thus enabling the spread of Self-Respect propaganda amongst women, I will be more than happy.

My dear brothers! As your sister and comrade, this is my request to you. When you have to attend a conference, do not leave your wives behind as guardians of your homes. Take them with you instead. If you are unable to attend a meeting due to some work, send them alone. Send them without fear. There is no need to rue the fact that women have been permitted the freedom to travel on their own. In fact, this particular freedom should be the first among all the freedoms granted to women. Given the state in which men have kept their women, they will, no doubt, find it difficult to allow the latter this freedom. In fact, they might even feel anger and envy if women are allowed to travel freely. However, remember that if women are given this freedom, not only will they gain in terms of knowledge, not only will they become more courageous, they will also serve the nation better. Brothers! Will you heed my words and give women the joy that comes with self-respect? Since you call yourselves Self-Respecters, there is no need to lay any blame on women. The fault is yours! Yours alone! Brave comrades! Again and again, I say: For your progress, for our progress, for the progress of our people, the principles of Self-Respect should first reach women! (Kumaran, July-August 1930, Vol. 9, Issue 1) 1

Elsewhere in this collection, Neelavathi writes under her married name “Neelavathi Ramasubramaniam”. See appendix for a brief biographical account of Neelavathi’s life. 2 Presumably, this fifty-six year old woman is present in the audience, perhaps seated on the stage. There are no further clues to her identity.

Pankajam’s Tragic Death (Pankajatin Paridaba Maranam) ANONYMOUS1

Pankajam and Visalakshi were childhood friends. Mutual respect and affection characterized their friendship. They resembled each other both in temperament and character. Both women came of age at the same time. By some coincidence, they were also married around the same time. Thus the two friends experienced the various rites of passage together. During the Margazhi2 festival, the two set out for the famous Chidambaram temple decked in their finest jewellery. Accompanied by their respective husbands, they felt as happy as they looked. At the temple, the two couples had their darishanam3 of Lord Nataraja.4 Tears coursed down their cheeks as they sang devotional songs. The husbands, Kanakasabapathi Pillai and Ponnambalam Pillai, were particularly enthusiastic. They sang and danced in honour of Lord Nataraja. As the priest held up the deeparadhanai5 plate in front of the deity’s face, the two men danced in frenzied fashion to the tune of Chinnaswamy’s nadaswaram.6 Devotees who thronged the temple fervently beat their cheeks, in an outburst of religious fervour. The more opportunistic ones made use of the prevailing chaos and pressed against the women standing closest to them. Brushing them aside, the women cried out to the deity, “Amma! Thaaye! Eshwari!7 Save us! Keep our children free from disease!” Pankajam prayed that she should live till the age of eighty-five, bear plenty of children, prosper, die a sumangali8 and attain heaven. Visalakshi swore that if the child in her womb turned out to be a boy she would name him Natarajan. Afterwards, the two couples performed the sahasranama archanai9 and all else that was required by custom.

The priest made more money than ever before. Baring his teeth in a grin, he extracted fifty paise from each couple and blessed them with a happy heart. Turning to Pankajam and Visalakshi, he pronounced, “May you remain sumangalis for long!” It was believed that even the lizard on the wall echoed this blessing. The couples distributed the prasad (rice cooked in the temple) amongst the poor. They then began their journey home. Visalakshi and her husband Ponnambalam Pillai left for Tirunelvelli while Pankajam and Kanakasabapathy Pillai made their way to Seezhazhi. At 5:30 the next evening, the Thiruvananthapuram Express deposited Visalakshi and Ponnambalam Pillai at Tirunelveli station. They hired a jutka to get home. Within a few minutes, a postman materialised on their doorstep with a telegram. “Whose telegram can this be? It seems to have followed us on our way home!” exclaimed Visalakshi, her curiosity aroused. Ponnambalam Pillai read and re-read the telegram in stunned silence. He then scratched his head and sighed deeply. “What does the telegram say? Who is it from? Why don’t you tell me quickly?” asked his wife. “What is there to be said? Apparently, Kanakasabapathi Pillai who took darisanam with us and then left for Seezhazhi, died this morning because of some gastric trouble,” said Pillai. “What! Kanakasabapathi Pillai is dead? Why don’t you take a closer look at the telegram?” cried the shocked Visalakshi. Pillai read the telegram once again. Visalakshi stood there studying his face, desperately hoping that the telegram would read differently this time around. But despite all her hopes and prayers, despite the number of readings to which Ponnambalam Pillai subjected the telegram, that wicked piece of paper insisted, “Kanakasabapathi Pillai has passed away!” There is little need to elaborate on what followed. Around four the next evening, a jutka stopped in front of Pankajam’s house at Seezhazhi. Visalakshi alighted and proceeded inside the house. What should meet her eyes but the pitiful sight of Pankajam draped in a white saree, her hair all undone. Looking every inch like an amangali,10 Pankajam was curled up in a corner of the house! “Pankajam! To think that you should face such a fate!” cried Visalakshi. “Akka!11 Wasn’t it only yesterday when I, feeling indebted to that useless God, performed the panchamrita palabhisekam!12 How could such a thing

have happened today? That god has become blind,” lamented the pitiable Pankajam. Before leaving, Visalakshi tried to soothe her, “What to do? It is just your fate.” On her way home, Visalakshi thought of the numerous prayers they had offered at the temple and of the priest’s heart-felt blessings. They had been of little use to Pankajam. Six months passed by. Poor Pankajam! One cannot describe the privations she suffered. No honest person will deny that in a society which does not permit widows to remarry, the plight of our Pankajam is bound to be extremely pitiable. Listen! Listen to one other piece of news. Ponnambalam Pillai came home one afternoon for lunch. Pointing to a news item in a daily he was carrying with him, he asked Visalakshi to read it. The news item read as follows: Murder in Seezhazhi: The Man who Murdered his Sister Seezhazhi, September 18 This morning, at No. —, Melvidi, Seezhazhi, the corpse of a woman was found hanging from a rope. The details are as follows: The dead woman, aged 17, belongs to the Thondai Mandalam Mudaliar caste. Her name was Pankajam. Widowed a few months ago, she had been observing all the restrictions customarily imposed on widows. Last night, the widow Pankajam looked out at a wedding procession from a small window facing the street. The procession had originated from the Mirasdar’s house before it passed her house located in Melvidi. Apparently a couple of people who were part of the procession noticed her. Hearing of this incident, Pankajam’s brother Govindasamy stuffed some cloth into her mouth when she was fast asleep, tied a rope around her neck and hung her to death. The murderer has since been arrested. In his testimony to the inspector, he has declared that he killed his sister because her act of looking out of the window went against the widow’s code of conduct. In the process, he claimed, she had risked bringing dishonour to their family. Investigations are still on.

We leave it to our readers to decide the position Visalakshi would have adopted on the issue of widow remarriage. So much for orthodoxy! Oh, the curse of widowhood! (Kumaran, March-April 1931; Vol. 9, Issue 9) 1

While the author of this particular short story remains anonymous (one can’t be certain therefore that it was written by a woman), the story itself with its poignant account of the murder of a young widow, appeared suitable for inclusion in this collection. 2 The ninth month in the Tamil calendar which corresponds with the period from mid-December to mid-January. 3 A word that is used specifically to refer to a glimpse of the deity or of some important personage. 4 The name used here in referring to Lord Nataraja is Tandavamurthy—the dancing Shiva. 5 Camphor burnt as offering to the deity.

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A wind instrument with a long pipe, often played during wedding ceremonies. Various terms of address for the mother goddess-Parvathi, Lord Shiva’s consort. 8 A woman whose husband is alive. Dying a sumangali’s death is considered auspicious and blessed. 9 Chanting the many names of the deity as a form of worship. 10 A woman who has been widowed and is therefore considered inauspicious. 11 Elder sister 12 Bathing the deity in a mixture of milk, honey, banana, ghee, sugar, raisins etc. 7

Rituals (Sadangugal) NEELAVATHI RAMASUBRAMANIAM1

This is not the forum to discuss at length the havoc wrought by meaningless, vulgar rituals. I will, therefore, be as brief as I can. This alone I can say with certainty—rituals spring from the selfishness of the wily Brahmin. Our non-Brahmin people are trapped in the snare of these rituals from birth till death. Who knows, perhaps they continue to be trapped even after death! In the name of ritual, the wily Brahmin commits nothing short of daylight robbery. This makes me very angry. Rituals begin with the birth of a baby and form part of various rites of passage in a person’s life. For instance, the Brahmin performs a certain ritual ten days after a girl comes of age. This eleventh day ritual supposedly cleanses the house of all the theetu.2 So if the Brahmin does not swindle you, your house is not rid of theetu! How blind our people are! As for the ignorance of women, it defies all attempts at description. Before the Brahmin arrives to cleanse the house in which a girl has attained puberty, the women get rid of half the theetu by breaking clay pots. Upon consummation of a marriage, a similar ritual is performed to tackle the theetu that supposedly ensues. I fail to understand what theetu can possibly attach to the events described above. What theetu would affect a household where a baby has been born? How would this theetu “stick” to a house? I do not know. The orthodox have decreed that for any event of significance—any rite of passage—be it birth, death or anything else, be it auspicious or inauspicious, the Brahmin should perform a particular ritual. Their ignorance is responsible for the blind faith of our people. The Brahmin has chanced upon a way of swindling the nonBrahmins. This swindling is done without any physical discomfort or hard labour on his part. He does not so much as dirty his nails! All he has to do is to invent bogus rituals. This is an open secret.

As Self-Respecters, we have earned for ourselves the epithet of “Brahmin haters”. This is because we warn others not to be deceived by the Brahmins, not to part with their money. We advise the Brahmins not to cheat and swindle. We tell them to work hard and earn their bread honestly. Merely because people call us “Brahmin haters” we are not about to stop doing so. A typical wedding goes on for three to five days, sometimes even eight days! In the course of this long drawn out affair, the Brahmin performs countless rituals, each more meaningless than the other. Before the bride and the groom get around to chanting the useless mantras attached to a particular ritual, the Brahmin tells them to make haste. “Place your dakshinai3 for that and for this,” he orders, intent only on collecting the gifts of rice and pulses placed beside him. Our ignorant people argue that without a Brahmin and without rituals we cannot perform a wedding, that it is not auspicious to do so. I ask you: despite the fact that the Brahmin consults the stars and performs the rituals deemed necessary for a marriage, why is it that some couples end up childless, why do some others quarrel like the mongoose and the snake? Whenever we raise such uncomfortable questions, you say, “What can anyone do about that? Everything happens according to a person’s fate.” Let us accept this argument for the moment. Why must we then introduce other confusions in the midst of this? Why must we pamper and support the Brahmin? That is my question! The Brahmin and no one else is responsible for the growth of rituals. I ask every one of you to courageously challenge these meaningless rituals. (Kumaran, October-November 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 4) 1

Neelavathi’s married name. Elsewhere in this collection, her name appears merely as Trichi Neelavathi. 2 Theetu refers to the pollution or sense of defilement which is believed to result from the death of a relative, childbirth or menstruation. 3 Offering or fee in terms of cash or kind, especially to the priest or the teacher. 1 Possibly, a reference to Ahalya, wife of the sage Gautama. She was seduced by Lord Indra who appeared before her in the form of Gautama himself. Ahalya was then cursed by Gautama and turned to stone. She regained her human form only after Lord Rama stepped on her. 2 A gravy that is made from tamarind water, pulses, vegetables or fish and spices. It is usually eaten in combination with rice. 3 A term of abuse derived from the word Sani, the planet Saturn. The belief is that if a person is in disfavour with Lord Sani, ill-luck will follow him or her. 4 “It” or adu is used ocasionally in referring to a child or to a person of inferior status, often derisively.

Which Grew Bigger—the Ring or the Body? (Vallarnthathu Modirama Udamba?) JANAKI

You should not answer this question at once. Nor should you jump to the conclusion that it is the body that grows, not the ring. For is it not true that this strange country of ours has the ability to transform mere stones into women?1 All kinds of miracles are possible here. Miracles which occur nowhere else. Perhaps, after all, we should take it that it is the ring which grew bigger. Surely, anything is possible with the grace of God? It was seven in the evening. Kannamal was busy cooking. Rice was boiling on one stove and kuzhambu2 on another. Kannamal’s eyes were brimming over with tears. “It was a waste to have married my son to a good for nothing donkey,” scolded her mother-in-law. “Useless to have performed the wedding. Saniyan! Saniyan!3 Unlucky face! You know how to eat, alright! You don’t skip a single meal. After eating up everything at home, she has become as fat as a pig. If she goes, we can get another girl for my son”. At this, the father-in-law chipped in, “Why are you inviting your destruction by scolding someone else’s daughter? Is it saying anything?4 It is just doing its own work quietly. It wakes up at five in the morning. Do you let it sit down for even half an hour? This morning, it drank this much old gruel accompanied by green chillies. In the afternoon, some five or six grains of rice and after nine in the night some leftovers—if there are any—is all it gets. On top of this, you scold your son and accuse him of demanding rice with the surreptitious purpose of feeding her. You terrify him so much that he wipes every last morsel off the leaf and leaves. The girl has become very thin. You will have to pay the price for your sins! There is no escape for you!” The mother-in-law turned to her husband, “All right. Now look at the old man instigating the daughter-in-law. So how come this sudden spurt of affection towards her? But what is that to me? I

will leave home if you like. Live happily with each other! Can a mother-inlaw refrain from scolding her daughter-in-law? Did my own mother-in-law ever leave me in peace? Can’t I say that my daughter-in-law has eaten well and grown fat? Men should not interfere in all this! Women will talk to each other in this manner. Men cannot hope to understand domestic affairs. So you don’t say anything!” At this point, a small boy came running in to announce that Kannamal’s parents were approaching the house. The mother-in-law subsided into silence and the guests were welcomed. Kannamal’s tears spilled over. She wiped them away. One does not know how she consoled herself but in a couple of minutes her tears had dried. She then washed her face and eyes. The small boy came and said to her, “Amma is calling you.” Kannamal went out. On seeing her mother and her mother-in-law, she stood aside. For a while, mother and daughter enquired after each other’s health and wellbeing. Kannamal informed her mother of the gem stone that had fallen off her ring. Her mother asked her to fetch the ring, promising to have it reset and sent back. Kannamal replied that if the size of the ring was reduced, she could actually wear it. “But we made the ring to fit you. You have lost weight. You can use a thread to tighten it around your finger”, her mother said slipping the ring on to Kannamal’s finger. It seemed as though one and a half fingers would slip through the ring! “There is no need to tie a thread. From now on where am I going to put on any weight?” Even as Kannamal was saying this, her eyes began to fill with tears. The mother suggested that she come home for ten days. Kannamal replied that even if she did, she would eventually have to return and then her troubles would only increase. Taking the ring with them, her parents left. I had watched all these goings on from outside. A ring that would fit one finger comfortably was now able to accommodate one and a half fingers! Such was the state of affairs! The mother-in-law insists however that the girl has become fat. We should investigate further. The orthodox will believe that the ring must have grown bigger owing to the mother-in-law’s magic powers. Researchers will conclude that an inanimate gold ring could not have grown. It is the girl, they would argue, who must have lost weight. Every woman—whether a mother-in-law or a daughter-in-law—would guess the truth. We cannot describe the suffering of girls like Kannamal.

Where is their salvation? Long live Self-Respect! Long live women’s education! Therein lies our only hope. (Kumaran, September-October, 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 3) 1

Possibly, a reference to Ahalya, wife of the sage Gautama. She was seduced by Lord Indra who appeared before her in the form of Gautama himself. Ahalya was then cursed by Gautama and turned to stone. She regained her human form only after Lord Rama stepped on her. 2 A gravy that is made from tamarind water, pulses, vegetables or fish and spices. It is usually eaten in combination with rice. 3 A term of abuse derived from the word Sani, the planet Saturn. The belief is that if a person is in disfavour with Lord Sani, ill-luck will follow him or her. 4 “It” or adu is used ocasionally in referring to a child or to a person of inferior status, often derisively.

The Women’s Movement (Penngall lyakkam) MU. MARAGATHAVALLIYAR

This is the text of the speech by Srimathi Maragathavalliyar delivered at the Virudhunagar Nadar Paripalana Sangam: Dear brothers and sisters! I wish to speak on the subject of the women’s movement today. In our country, the women’s movement has not been really successful. The status of women has improved considerably in all those countries where the movement has been effective. Western women have achieved more than their male counterparts in each and every sphere of life. They have learnt to fly planes. They swim several miles in the sea, ride motorcycles, operate the telegraph and so on. They possess skills which Indian men do not. The women’s movement in India has not led us anywhere. Let us reflect on the situation of our women. Parents do not educate their daughters even upto the age of ten. Instead, they get them to run small errands and perform sundry tasks. Afterwards, they get them married, all because they want their own parents to witness the wedding! If these young girls do not bear children by the age of thirteen, everyone begins to worry. At once, the grandparents prepare to visit Rameshwaram! Behold the ignorance of our women! At the break of dawn, they step out to smear the streets with cowdung. The belief is that Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, is present in the cowdung! All women are thus humiliated in the name of a female goddess. After smearing the cowdung, the women begin to sweep the courtyard and the house. It is then time to prepare lunch. Even if a woman’s husband is away on work and is late in returning, she is expected to suppress her hunger and wait for him. She can eat only after he has finished eating. A woman is enslaved to such an extent that she cannot eat when she is hungry! She is also expected to eat from the same leaf on

which she has served her husband! Women, it goes without saying, do not have the right to expect the reverse. Sisters! Each one of you has to take a vow today not to eat off soiled leaves. Let us turn our attention now to the jewellery that Indian women use. Jewellery hangs from their necks, ears, noses and hands in a manner that is at once excessive and repulsive. In Tirunelvelli district, women wear a particular piece of jewellery called the pampattan1 on their ears. It is frightening even to look at it and it causes untold damage. Jewellery is not an important part of human life. It lends beauty to the human form only when used minimally. It is said that even on hot and sunny days, women should not wear slippers or carry umbrellas. What harm does it cause anyone if they do? Slippers and umbrellas after all are designed for one’s comfort. We fail to see any harm in being comfortable. It is high time our sisters took matters in hand. They believe in the concept of pariharam.2 They worship the snake god Naga and take ritual baths in temple ponds. The filth and the stench emnating from these so-called sacred ponds and rivers is something else! A “holy” dip can often cause disease. The puranas, on the other hand, claim that taking a holy dip cures the sick! The Self-Respect movement has helped destroy at least some of these blind and meaningless customs. The wise man Pattinathar, who was respected for his learning, has said. “An illusory demoness called woman has me in her hold.” Pattinathar routinely insulted women. What he has written about women is insufferable. What ignorance it is to blame all women just because you happen to hate your own wife! Subramania Bharati once asked, “Just because your wife oppresses you, is it right to enslave all women?’’ The situation will change only if women get involved in the task of social reform. It is time for them to act with courage. A wise man who had renounced the material world and taken sanyas3 was lying on the threshold of a house. A brick served as his pillow. A passer-by scoffed, “Why does a sanyasi4 who has renounced everything need a brick on which to lay his head?” On hearing this, the sanyasi reflected, “What he says is true enough. Why do I need a brick after all?” So saying, he threw the brick away and rested his head on the bare floor. When the man returned, he saw the sanyasi again—this time without the brick. He remarked aloud, “Is this all his sanyas is worth then? He does not have the

strength to bear the harsh words I uttered. What kind of sanyasi is he?” The sanyasi understood that it is best to act according to one’s intention and objective, not minding what people say. He proceeded, henceforth, to act according to his own understanding of what was right. The story holds a lesson for all of us. People will be ready to find fault with anything we do. It is pointless to hesitate while acting. It is important only that we analyse our plans, assessing their suitability for our lives. I am happy that so many women are assembled here. I conclude my speech by requesting all of you to encourage greater participation of women at gatherings like these. They will certainly benefit from this exposure. (Kumaran, July-August 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 1) 1

These are a heavy pair of gold earrings which when worn over a period of time often causes tears in the earlobes because of their weight. 2 Atoning for one’s sins through special offerings, prayers etc. 3 To take sanyas means to give up all worldly pleasures and lead a life of spiritual quest. 4 One who has taken sanyas.

Vignettes (Kadambam1) NEELAVATHI RAMASUBRAMANIAM

WIFE: “Just been to the barber’s, haven’t you? And you have walked straight into the house!” SELF-RESPECTER HUSBAND: “Go on. Do your work. Leave me alone.” WIFE: “Do your work indeed! So I am not doing my work. Is that it? But you are bringing with you the ambattan’s theetu!”2 HUSBAND (in an angry tone): “I have spent hours explaining things to you! Has nothing entered your brain then? Wonderful! If you go on behaving like this, we are going to be the laughing stock amidst our people.” WIFE: “All you do is talk. You don’t know enough to keep the theetu away. That is why we are leading such a marvellous life! What further misfortune do you want to invite upon us? Thanks to the theetu, we have a scorpion visiting us everyday. (A little slowly) The more the theetu, the more we will have of these visitors! Anyway, I suppose we will not suffer much if they sting us quickly. Ah! This is how he responds to anything I say. Day after day, I have to put up with this! My mother! Nice SelfRespect movement he has gone and joined! Good for nothing self-respect!”

OLD-FASHIONED GRANDMOTHER (addressing her granddaughter): “My dear! Why aren’t you chewing betel leaves?” GRANDDAUGHTER: “I don’t want to, pati.3 My tongue feels rough afterwards. Amnia, I am off to sleep.”

GRANDMOTHER: “You will ruin everything. Bear in mind that you are a kattukazhuthu kaari.4 Moreover, today is a Tuesday. Is it right for you to go to bed without chewing betel leaves? Married women must take betel leaves at night.5 Especially on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

WOMAN SELF-RESPECTER: “It is time for the meeting. I must leave now.” HUSBAND: “I will not put up with such behaviour. Do you want to go everywhere like a man? If you dare step out of the house, I will beat you up. Be warned! A woman attending a meeting! That is fine conduct for you!”

SELF-RESPECTER HUSBAND: “I have a conference to attend the day after. It is best to go by the morning train tomorrow.” WIFE: “What religious festival is taking place in that conference town?” HUSBAND: “A conference is not a town. And what I am attending is certainly no religious festival. ‘Conference’ means a gathering of people.” WIFE: “All right then, you go! I will go to my mother’s. I will return when you get back from your trip.” HUSBAND: “You fool! You have to accompany me. I am not supposed to go alone.” WIFE: “Is that so? I will not come. There will be so many men out there and I will feel shy. I will not come, saami.6 You may go like a king!” HUSBAND: “Oof! You don’t have to bless me or grant me any boons. A lot of women will attend the conference. You can sit with them. Self-respect is necessary especially for you women. From now on, we cannot go alone. We have to take women along.” WIFE: “Do not bother me! I will not come even if you hack me to pieces. If women are coming, they are coining after selling everything.7 That will not suit me. Let them attend conferences. They will come to no good, you

will see. As though I have nothing better to do! So, apparently it is women who need self-respect more than anyone else. Suyamariathai maariathai.”8

Friday evening. Lamp lighting time. A poor woman stands at the threshold of a house and calls out, “Amma!! Amma!!” LADY OF THE HOUSE (in an angry tone): “Who is that?” WOMAN: “Amma! I just happened to be passing by. This child here has hurt his finger. I was hoping you would give me some chunnambu9 to apply on his finger.” LADY OF THE HOUSE: “Go away, fool! Are you a householder or are you from the barber’s caste? It is Friday, lamp-lighting time! This is a place where children and families live. You have chosen a time like this to ask for chunnambu. Do you have any sense?” POOR WOMAN: “Amma, don’t get angry! The child is bleeding. I have to walk three furlongs to reach home. The child will not bear up till then. That is why I asked. Enough, I will go.” LADY OF THE HOUSE: “Get lost! If you are really worried about the bleeding, you can just tear off a bit from your saree and wipe his finger with that.” Oh! What do we call the blind belief that has seeped into women’s minds? So what if it is a Friday? What if it is lamp-lighting time? Will her fortune dwindle if she parts with some chunnambu to heal a child’s cut finger? What can we say about the ignorance of women? There are countless such instances. We don’t have the space to describe them. (Kumaran, December 1930-January 1931; Vol. 9, Issue 6) 1

Different flowers and leaves of aromatic plants strung together; mixture of many things. The title is suggestive of the fact that this dramatic piece is strung together using different scenes from life. 2 Visiting the ambattan or the barber is seen as polluting, as bringing on theetu or ritual pollution. 3 Grandmother. 4 A woman with a thali around her neck. The thali is a pendant hung from a turmeric-stained thread or a gold chain which symbolises a woman’s married state. The thali is tied around the bride’s neck by the groom during the wedding ceremony. Kattukazhuthu kaari, therefore, is an idiomatic way of referring to a married woman. 5 The chewing of betel leaves is supposed to indicate intimacy between couples.

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Lord and master. Used here with a touch of irony. Selling their pride and honour. 8 A pun. Suyamariathai means self-respect and maariathai refers to the mother goddess or the devi. 9 Slaked lime, often used as a home remedy for cuts and bruises. 7

The Skies Won’t Bring Forth Rain (Mazhai Peyyathu) JANAKI

“If women use umbrellas, the rains will fail us! If women wear slippers, the rains will fail us! If women drink milk, the rains will fail us! If women eat alongside men, the rains will fail us! If we insist that caste differences must go, the rains will fail us! If we do not fall at the Brahmin’s feet, if we fail to worship him, the rains will fail us! We must continue to worship our husbands even if they beat us, otherwise the skies won’t bring forth rain!” people cite from the shastras. White women and men act contrary to all these decrees, yet the rains never fail them! In fact, I hear that in their countries not a day passes without bringing rain. The reason? These countries do not have Brahmins. Brahmins lie. They fabricate stories. These other countries do not have a Sankaracharya. No one offers japam1 to Lord Varuna.2 No one attempts to placate the rain god. Therefore, the rains do not fail them! Let us pack off our Brahmins and their false shastras to these countries. I daresay the deceit and the hypocrisy of the shastras, of the Brahmins and of the japam performed in honour of Varuna will all be exposed in a single day. If the varuna japam does not bring rain as the puranas promise they will, these sacred texts will have to be altered. Or else, the Brahmin had better prepare to face the white man’s wrath! When a claim of this kind is made on paper, it has to be proven. Our people, on the other hand, are gullible. They will believe anything. In an atmosphere such as this one, it is possible for all kinds of useless people to thrive. All this while it has been raining cats and dogs. It has let up just now. Women can therefore hold up their umbrellas, wear slippers on their feet, live and eat alongside men and perform all the other acts forbidden by the shastras quite safely and freely! Who knows, perhaps if women had indulged themselves with the use of umbrellas and slippers as soon as the

rains came, we would not have had such excessive rainfall! Nor would we have faced such destruction! Rail tracks and bridges might have escaped the fury of the storm. Let the Brahmins perform their varuna japams. Let women and other folk live comfortably. Let nothing stand in the way of their freedom. Then we will all be quits. Like the whites, let us freely enjoy the use of umbrellas during the rains. Let us wear slippers and protect our feet from the heat. Let us eat on time and lead a happy life. If these indulgences adversely affect the rainfall, let the Brahmins do their part. Let them invoke Varuna and bring on the rains. Excess rains have caused untold havoc in our country recently. However, the Brahmins haven’t taken to performing surya japam or agni japam to stop these rains! Even if it pours without a stop, the Brahmins will not bat an eyelid. They will continue to write their sacred books! (Kumaran, November-December 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 5) 1 2

Silent recitation of prayers. Varuna is the God of rain.

The Sufferings of the Adi-dravidas (Adidravidarin Thuyaram) MU. MARAGATHAVALLIYAR

The disease of untouchability has spread far and wide among our people. The adi-dravidas are the worst hit. Our people refuse to have anything to do with them. The latter’s very touch is repugnant to them. They believe that even to set eyes on adi-dravidas is to be polluted by them. Even animals— cows, dogs, donkeys and hogs that wallow in the dirt—roam the streets with impunity. No one objects to such a state of affairs. But the same people who accept such a thing will declare that an adi-dravida, who is born with all the human senses—who is as human as you or me—does not have the right to walk the streets! In what way is an adi-dravida inferior to animals? People have decreed that adi-dravidas should not draw water from the common wells in the village. They cannot use the village pond either. Adidravidas, people insist, should live outside the boundaries of the village in small huts built from palm leaves. Occasionally, an adi-dravida makes enough money to build a house with a tiled roof. He does this by working twice as hard as others. You can be sure that the villagers will gang up against him. If he dares build this house despite threats from them, the villagers will not hesitate even to set fire to his house! “A parayan1 building a house with a tiled roof! Does he think he is equal to us?”, they will exclaim. If we watch the situation closely, we will realize the difficulties that the rich and the powerful place in front of the adi-dravidas. The latter are forbidden from wearing the veshti2 and shirt; they cannot wear the talapa,3 use an umbrella or wear slippers. As for adi-dravida women, they are forbidden from wearing a blouse.4 They cannot use brass utensils or pots. They are not permitted to wear gold jewels. Such are the cruel prohibitions they are forced to endure! Hesitant to face strange men without her upper cloth or blouse, a sister who has to step out of the house, might

sometimes dare to cover herself with the mundanai.5 At once, the uppercastes will set their servants on her. She will be beaten soundly for daring to act contrary to custom. This is a common occurrence in certain areas. What injustice! Is it fair on the part of the rich to commit such atrocities on the poor? Is it not their duty to protect and support the poor? Can the rich do without the adi-dravidas? They cannot. Only if the poor wet the earth with the sweat of their brow, can the rich live in comfort and talk about “upper castes” and “lower castes”. With what care the adidravidas nurture the children of white people! How well-mannered those children turn out to be! Compared to the children brought up by us, how much better and stronger! One wonders how much more useful the adidravidas would prove to society if they were not suppressed as much as they now are. Women, they say, are soft-hearted and kind. But just look at the humiliation our women heap on the adi-dravida woman. The latter struggles really hard to gather a little firewood. Balancing a child on her hips, she roams the streets hawking this firewood. Her sari is torn and stops somewhere above the knees. Imagine, she does not have the right to drink water in even one of the thousand houses in the village! If she dares ask for a glass of water, they shout, “Get lost, you outcaste donkey! Who will give you water? Go away. Don’t touch us!” If an adi-dravida woman comes by with her mundanai tied around the waist,6 she is stoned and driven away. Many women believe that it is a sin to give an adi-dravida water when they are fasting or on amavasai7 nights. Strange, is it not, that people can claim to be fasting for punyam8 even as they refuse water to the thirsty? Even those punyavaans9 who distribute water have a separate tap and bamboo pipes with spouts to serve the adi-dravidas. The sight of those poor people cupping their hands together to drink water is a blot on the image of our nation. The rust from the tin taps and the fine dust which falls into the bamboo water pipes end up inside the stomachs of the adi-dravidas. The vaidyar10 will not touch them even if they fall sick. If they want to buy something, they cannot step inside the shop to inspect the goods. They cannot exchange the products they buy even when these turn out to be spoilt or of poor quality. People do not permit the children of the adi-dravidas to be educated. Thus, the upper castes who oppress them do not possess an iota of compassion towards their fellow human beings.

Adi-dravidas are considered untouchables. They don’t have enough to eat. Yet, they are superior to the rest of us in their temperament. Love, patience and the ability to work hard—these are the qualities that characterise an adidravida. Adi-dravidas are helpful people. They work on all kinds of land— those that produce staple crops as well as those that produce cash crops. They are skilled at repair work. They work night and day in the houses of the upper castes. Their work begins with the birth of a child and continues all through its life. Inspite of all this, others oppress them beyond belief. Strangely, the same people who speak of caste differences, ignore it whenever it is convenient. If adi-dravida employees replace the upper caste in government jobs, assemblies and in the municipality, untouchability will automatically vanish. Not one man will abuse them. You see, aacharam11 does not suffer when one works alongside adidravidas in a government job! Not one upper caste person has resigned so far declaring that he will not treat the adi-dravidas as his equals. Not one has threatened to resign. Many, in fact, are actually humble in front of an adi-dravida officer! So much for their theetu!12 Let us all pledge to work for betterment of the helpless adi-dravidas. (Kumaran, August-September 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 2) 1

Outcaste. Like the dhoti, a white cloth worn by men tied around the waist with a knot and reaching upto the ankles. 3 Cloth tied around the head. 4 Relatedly, there exists a well-documented history of the “breast-cloth controversy” in Southern Travancore. This refers to the struggle for the right of women from the lower caste Nadar or Shanar community (a community of palmyra climbers and toddy tappers) from the Tirunelveli district in Madras presidency and Southern Travancore (now Kanyakumari) to cover the upper portions of their bodies. Nadars were prohibited from carrying an umbrella, wearing shoes or gold ornaments. They were not allowed to milk cows. Nadar women could not carry pots of water on their hips. The Nadar community began to receive the support of the Christian missionaries. The movement for social uplift which began in the early nineteenth century, soon gave rise to the “breast-cloth controversy”. Like all the other lower castes, the Nadars were forbidden to cover their breasts at any time. Both men and women were expected to wear a single piece of garment no lower than the knee nor higher than the waist. In 1814, the Government of Travancore, under the directions of its Resident, Colonel Munro, issued an order that allowed Christian converts from the lower castes to cover their bodies with a jacket or short bodice. Nadar and Shanar women increasingly adopted the use of the upper cloth, which was worn by women of the higher classes. In 1822 and again, much later in 1859, the Nairs reacted with a show of violence against the Shanars and the Nadars, even stripping Shanar women of their upper-garments in public. In 1859, a Royal Proclamation was issued by the State of Travancore which emphasised that the state had no objection to Shanar women (even those who were non-Christian) “dressing in coarse cloth, and tying themselves round with it or to their covering their 2

bosoms in any manner whatever; but not like women of the high caste” (Hardgrave, Robert L. Essays in the Political Sociology of South India. New Delhi: Manohar, 1979, pp. 162-63). 5 That part of the sari which is draped over the shoulder. 6 It is common practice for women to carry small items inside the mundanai when it is tied in this particular way. 7 The night of the new moon. 8 The good grace of God resulting from one’s good deeds, the conceptual opposite of pavam or sin. 9 Those who have the grace of God because of the good deeds they perform. 10 Doctor or traditional healer. 11 Ritual purity, orthodoxy. 12 Defilement or pollution (as from the death of a relative, childbirth or menstruation).

Half a Coconut (Thengai Moodi) JANAKI

Subbammal, my neighbour, must have been about twenty-eight. I was a young bride of nineteen. I had joined my husband some six months ago. I had no mother-in-law. Subbammal had kept me constant company in my new home. The two of us would finish our chores and then sit down together to weave baskets for our betel leaves. Sometimes, we would clean rice and pulses together. But there were days when we would not do very much—just sit around exchanging gossip. On one such day, we heard the sound of crackers going off at a distance. I asked Subbammal whether it was some auspicious occasion. “Today is vaikunta visakam, the day Lord Subramaniya was born,” Subbammal informed me. “If we visit the temple today and offer our prayers, we will gain a lot of punyam.1 I am going. Do you want to come along?” “In my mother’s house, I was allowed to go to the temple before I came of age. After that, I was prevented from going anywhere. I would love to come. Please take me along” I requested, all excited. We set out for the temple at five in the evening. A Muslim man had set up a coconut stall in front of the temple. Subbammal went up and asked him the price of the coconuts. “Those you will get for an anna each. These are one and a quarter anna. The ones lying over there are for three fourths of an anna,” explained the vendor. Subbammal took a coconut from the heap quoted at one and a quarter anna and offered the man three fourths of an anna. “I cannot accept even a paisa less than one and a quarter anna. You can take it or leave it,” said the vendor. “All right. I will pay you what you want,” Subbammal said grudgingly and handed him one anna. The vendor insisted that the coconut was worth a quarter anna more. He added, for good measure, that Subbammal need not buy from him if she was unwilling to

pay that much. Subbammal was not one to accept defeat so easily. She stood her ground, “I took this coconut from the one anna heap,” she lied. “You are going back on the price you yourself quoted.” The vendor was equally stubborn. “I will not have that. Now take another coconut from the one anna heap in place of the one you are holding.” Subbammal had to acknowledge defeat. She looked through all the coconuts in that one anna heap, chose the biggest of the lot and paid up. At the next stall, she purchased two bananas. The same scene, the same petty squabbles followed. After arguing for half an hour that the fruits were rotten, that they were not yet ripe and that they were too small, Subbammal finally bought a couple of bananas for a damiddi.2 At the betel leaves stall, she sorted through all the leaves and bought the biggest and the freshest. We had a few pieces of pakku3 with us. Subbammal purchased some camphor for a damiddi. This was the only purchase which did not entail a fight! The camphor was in packets all folded up and ready. By the time all the purchases were made, it was past 6.30 p.m. We washed our feet in the holy tank and proceeded into the sanidanam—the sanctum sanctorum. There was a huge crowd. The iyer4 advised those who wanted to perform archanai5 to place their offerings on the plate he was holding out. Subbammal placed her coconut, betel leaves, pakku and bananas on the plate. Even today, when I think of that iyer, I am assaulted by an urge to throw up. He was dark, pitch dark. Having spent all day in an airless, hot, smoky room, sweat was streaming down his body. His veshti6 was damp with sweat. But ironically, he kept warning those who were bathed and perfectly clean not to touch or fall over him, to stand at a distance from him. This really amused me. The iyer disappeared into the sanidanam. Only the smoke was visible—neither the deity nor the priest could be spotted. The crowds had swelled by now and we were pushed around, hemmed in from all sides. We emerged from the crowds, glad to have escaped alive. The iyer was seated in readiness beside a pillar. People surrounded him on all sides. Carefully keeping aside a portion of everything for himself, the iyer distributed the coconuts and the bananas. Only a solitary garland remained on his plate now. It had two claimants—a man and a woman. Very soon, a fight ensued between the two. The iyer declared that as far as he could remember, both of them had offered garlands. The woman claimed that it was usual for male thugs to take away, by force, all that women gave as

offerings. The man flung the garland across her face. “Get lost, you dog!” he cursed before walking away. This whole affair lasted for about half an hour. The iyer began to hurry us. Before Subbammal and I could retrieve our coconuts, the others had already claimed theirs and left. Half a coconut, a banana and some betel leaves awaited us. Subbammal argued that these were not hers and refused to accept them. The iyer did his best to convince her. Subbammal did not listen. Afraid that she would not approach him in future for archanais, the iyer gave her a big banana from his share along with a big, fresh betel leaf. The plate had the smaller half of the coconut. But it could not be exchanged for any other coconut which the iyer had. You see, none of those coconut halves which the iyer had kept aside for himself had eyeholes.7 They were the fuller and bigger halves. Subbammal insisted that she wanted only a coconut half with an eyehole. At the same time, however, she wanted it to be the bigger half. It did not appear as though the whole affair would ever be resolved. Ultimately, the iyer gave up. He exclaimed in disgust that all he wanted was some peace. He did not even want his fee for having performed the archanai! Retorting that if she did not pay up the fee she would not get the benefits of the archanai, Subbammal promptly paid him half an anna. The iyer exchanged the small coconut half with someone else’s bigger one and gave that to Subbammal! Finally, we set out for home. On our way home, Subbammal scraped a small portion of the coconut and gave it to me along with a portion of the bananas and the betel leaf. I narrated the evening’s events to my husband. He dislikes temples and everything that is associated with them. From that day onwards, I too began to share his dislike. Subbammal dropped in early next morning. “You never come in the morning. Is there anything urgent?”, I asked. “Nothing. You have to pay me for yesterday’s archanai. That is all. I came to ask you for that money, one anna and a dammidi.” I knew very well that the total expenses for the archanai amounted only to that—an anna and a dammidi. While accounting for my share, she had charged me even that dammidi! She had, however, given me only a third of the banana and the coconut. What is more, I had never asked to be included in the archanai. Subbammal had even asked the iyer to perform the archanai in her name! The more I thought about all this, the angrier I got. I asked her to leave the house at once. She retorted, “Will you or won’t you give me

that money?” The affair snowballed. Subbammal remarked, “What an uncivilized person she is!” In turn, I let loose all her secrets. They say that fights with one’s neighbours can go on for six months at a time. Our fights were a daily affair. Fearing a prolonged battle, my husband paid up for the coconut. Mind you, the fight did not die down in its intensity even then. We were forced to move house. It was only then that hostilities ceased. (Kumaran, July-August 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 1) 1

The good grace of God which results from one’s good deeds. Coin of the lowest value, the equivalent of a paisa or a penny. 3 Areca nut. 4 Refers both to Brahmins as well as to Brahmin priests. Also, a subsect within the Brahmin community. 5 A mode of worship in which the numerous names of a particular God or Goddess are chanted in his or her praise, even as fruits, flowers and coconuts are offered at the shrine. 6 A garment similar to the dhoti. Worn by men, it consists of a piece of white cloth tied around the waist with a knot and reaching upto the ankles. 7 Priests who perform archanais normally retain the fuller and bigger half of the coconut, the half without eyeholes. It is the half with the eyehole that is normally given to the devotee. 2

Is Widowhood a Question of Fate? (Vidhavaigall Aavadu Thalaividiyai) TRICHI NEELAVATHI

India is notorious for its double standards. It is one justice for men and another for women. Our orthodox fellow men, it appears, are crafty at according differential treatment to the sexes. Women are deemed lowly right from birth. It is not very surprising therefore that the law treats them with contempt. Our people are as obsessed with “fate” as they are with gods and temples. They claim that everything happens in accordance with the dictates of one’s talaividhi,1 that nothing can happen contrary to this force, that fate will override whatever we, as intelligent beings, might attempt to do. This one word “talaividhi” has ruined many a life. If the brahmins protest, “Religion has been attacked!” at the slightest hint of trouble, our people invoke “fate” for everything. This thing called fate has forced us into slavery. As Self-Respecters, we have to fight this particular obsession before tackling any other. Our women are labelled widows and forced to sit in a corner when they lose their husbands. They do not get to eat tasty food. They are not allowed to wear good clothes. They are not even permitted to enjoy the cool breeze that blows outside! Their lives are completely circumscribed. There is little space for happiness or pleasure in their lives. Grief and yearning, that is their lot at all times! Widows lives have a hellish quality about them. They are forced to hide their faces from the world. All around them is gaiety and happiness. But they cannot partake of either. If these widows so much as cross our path, we consider it an inauspicious sign! Words cannot picture the grief they feel. Cruel indeed are the restrictions they endure! Oh mother! More cruel than poison itself! Do widowers suffer such grief? Do they face such cruel restrictions? Everyone is aware that they do not. When crores of restrictions are brought to bear on widows, why is it that not one of them applies to widowers? Is

this fair to women? What has India gained by enslaving them? What benefits have our brothers got in suppressing their sisters, in dominating them utterly? Nothing at all. Can men hope to progress by oppressing women? Is this possible in the twentieth century? No. When a woman is widowed, they attribute it to the vagaries of her fate. ‘What are we to do? The couple appeared so well-matched. We performed everything according to custom. Well, whatever be the reason, this is her destiny. Kuraikazhuthu kaari!2 She does not have thalibagyarri”3 and the victim herself is blamed. I cannot accept the explanation that women are widowed because of their fate. Is widowhood a question of fate or destiny? This question calls for some analysis here. As far as fate is concerned, we cannot simply assume that it applies to women alone, not to men. Even if we believe that in other respects one set of rules apply to men and another to women, never have I heard such a claim being made with regard to fate! I have only heard that “fate” is applicable to both sexes. Let us assume that a woman is widowed. If she remarries, thus defying all the restrictions imposed on her by her caste, her religion and the shastras, I ask you what becomes of her “fate” then? Where does it disappear? How has her fate been reversed? How is it that a bare neck suddenly comes to be blessed with a thali? How can someone who has lost her bagyam regain it? Is it because of karma—destiny? Does one attribute this to some innate ability on her part? I ask you. The one who wrote your fate is hardly going to rub it out and rewrite it. But what about valorous women like Pattukotai Maragatha Valliyar, Gopi Thayamma and Kudanthai Sivakamiyar? Did Brahma, in writing their fates, write out two different scripts? Or, anticipating a change of heart in women thanks to Self-Respect propaganda, did he rub out what he had first written and rewrite their fates afresh? I have a request: Will people from the upper-classes (who believe they have sprung from the face of Brahma) go to this “father” of theirs and ask him how it was that the fates of these women came to be rewritten? Or, alternately, will they explain the phenomenon using their own power and vision? If they do this much, I will be grateful to them for ever! For the moment though, let us accept that the fate of these women has been rewritten. I ask you then: Which is more powerful—the capacity of the common man or the fate decreed by the Almighty? I leave the decision to my readers.

Our debate so far has been about whether or not widowhood is a question of fate. I have been unable to muster the evidence to prove that fate is responsible for a woman being widowed. I rather suspect that no one else will be able to prove it either. Will believers be able to? I wonder. Those who dismiss God will certainly be unable to prove whether or not widowhood is tied to fate. But what about those believers who are preoccupied day and night with thoughts of God? Will they be as unsuccessful as I have been? Surely, they will succeed where I have failed? Let us now discuss why it is that men never have to carry the stigma associated with the label “widow”. I have demonstrated above that fate is applicable both to men as well as to women. If this is so, why are women singled out for the label of “widow”? Fate does not differentiate between the sexes. It follows therefore that the label of vidhavai4 (which is said to result from this very same fate) be applied uniformly to both men as well as to women. However young a woman might be and however innocent, an unequal law is used against her when she loses her husband. She is made to suffer, pushed into hell. The orthodox upper-castes have decreed so. Such is Hindu dharma. Such are the restrictions imposed on women by the shastras. But even if a man is really old, even if he has one foot in the other world, even if his hair has turned silver, even if he is a father of ten and is quite tired of living, the moment his wife dies, everyone wants to see him remarried. He can then continue to experience worldly joys. There is no label of “vidhavai” in his case—no sorrow, no unequal law. Surely, this must be a conspiracy hatched by selfish men! The same Hindu shastras which permit an eighty year old man with a grey moustache to marry a young eight year old girl and experience the pleasures of marriage decree that a seven or eight year old girl who has been widowed will have to stay unmarried all her life. Is this what they call justice? So much for the fairness of Hindu religion!! No one else, it seems, has the same wealth of affection for women as this religion. Amongst the many helpful gestures which our religion has made towards women, this gesture alone is praiseworthy. Not only do women who have lost their husbands suffer the sorrow of their loss, they become victims of an ignorant people who are constantly pointing fingers at them. “It is her fate, her destiny,” they say and label her “kuraikazhuthu kaari”. On the contrary, the man is never blamed. Blaming women in this fashion should elicit our

condemnation. Why can’t we stop referring to a widowed woman as “kuraikazhuthu kaari” and condemn the man to the label of sinner? After all, it is he who has not managed to live long enough! And this, despite having tied a thali around a woman’s neck! In truth, is it not the man who should be blamed? A lowly person is open to ridicule from all sides.5 Is it because the law and the shastras do not speak in favour of women that the latter are thus condemned? Bear in mind that if you incur a woman’s wrath by acting unjustly towards her, you will suffer for it.6 Therefore, do not blame women. It is not because of “fate” that women are widowed. If fate had been the reason, you men too ought to have become widows.7 You too ought to acquire the label of vidhavai. Instead of remarrying after the death of your wife as you do, you too would have worn a mukkadu8 and sat in a corner. You would have been forced to give up the comforts of your cot and mattress and sleep, instead, on the hard floor. During an auspicious occasion, you would have been prohibited from showing your face. You would have been forced to retreat into a dark corner. When “fate” is said to apply to men as well as to women, how can widowhood apply to one sex alone? This bias is undesirable. (Kumaran, August-September 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 2) 1

Literally, fate that is written on one’s forehead. Kuraikazhuthu kaari literally means a woman with a faulty, unlucky neck. It refers to a woman who has lost her husband and hence her thali, a pendant strung on a turmeric-stained thread, symbolising the married state, which women wear around their necks. Once a woman is widowed, she is no longer allowed to wear her thali. Her bare neck signifies ill-luck. 3 Literally, the good fortune of being able to wear the thali as a woman whose husband is alive. 4 Many South Indian words, used to refer to widows, such as vidhavai are also swear words. 5 The author uses the idiom Urukkum Elaithavan Pullayaar Aandi. 6 The author uses a saying, Pollathu! Perm Paavam Pollathu! 7 The author’s line of reasoning has been that fate does not distinguish between men and women. Therefore if widowhood is caused by fate, that state or the label “widow” should apply uniformly across both sexes. 8 Part of the widow’s sari was used to cover her head. Brahmin women were shorn of all their hair. 2

The Ritual of Garuda Sevai (Garuda Sevai Sadangu) MISS AND MRS KAMALAKSHI1

Today, the Sarda Act enjoys the support of most people.2 Only the Brahmins remain opposed to it. There are specific reasons for this. Typically, people from other non-Brahmin communities get their daughters married only after they come of age. The Brahmins, however, do not wait for this. They give their daughters away in marriage when the latter are still children. Their fear is that if they accept change in this one aspect of their lives, the government will interfere in all other aspects and ultimately ruin their livelihood. Moreover, they believe that after a girl comes of age she tends to be increasingly aware of the world around her. If she is married off as a young girl (before this awareness actually sets in) she will not rebel against her lot. Chained and constrained thus, a young girl is unable to think independently. She consoles herself, “For some reason or the other, I have been married off. A husband is a husband whether he is stone or grass.3 I have to obey him in all matters. I have to serve as slippers for his feet. There is no escape. This is my destiny.” A woman is encouraged to think in this manner from childhood. As a consequence, some women are unable to think for themselves. In fact, they get used to their slavery. The two factors which I have mentioned above are usually responsible for the Brahmin community’s stand on the Sarda Act.4 They are apparent to most people. However, there is an even bigger reason for the Brahmin community’s opposition to the Sarda Act which many remain unaware of. If women are married after they attain puberty in accordance with the Sarda Act, the Brahmin community runs the risk of losing all honour and respect. Several members of the legislative assembly are unaware of this secret! It is only the Brahmin members who are fully cognizant of this. For how can such a shameful secret be declared publicly before the assembly? If you

hear the Brahmin protesting, “The Sarda Act is a threat to religion!”, it is only because of his unwillingness and inability to declare his secret publicly. This secret concerns a ritual called garuda sevai5 which the families of the bride and the groom perform as part of the wedding ceremonies. The bride’s mama6 and the groom’s mama stand facing each other. The bride and the groom are then hoisted on to the shoulders of their respective mamas. Each mama then holds on to the feet of his niece or nephew and dances back and forth. This ritual is considered very important. Such a ritual can appear decorous only if the bride and the groom are young children. Even now, in the case of a re-marriage where the groom is usually quite grown up, it is difficult for the mama to dance with his nephew on his shoulder. But carrying him simply cannot be avoided. The Brahmins are even more worried about how they will carry a grown girl on their shoulders. A man carrying an adult female on his shoulders! Would that not be shameful and vulgar? Everyone agrees that the Sarda Act is beneficial to women. After all, it is only fitting that one waits for a girl to grow up before giving her away in marriage. However, in all this, one forgets to consider the matter of Brahmin mamas! People should realize that it is mainly because of the garuda sevai ritual that the Brahmins oppose the Sarda Act. For precisely the same reasons, this community is opposed to widow remarriage as well. Reformists might well ask why we cannot simply get rid of this particular ritual. That is easier said than done. The mamas who carry the bride and the groom are presented with a beautiful veshti7 for their efforts. Occasionally, they even receive money. It is great fun, moreover, to hoist a girl onto one’s shoulders and dance, isn’t it? The mamas will not easily give up this practice. Also, if this particular ritual is prevented from being performed, then other rituals and ritual acts might also disappear. Gradually all wedding rituals might vanish! That would amount to throwing mud on the Brahmin’s profession! Therefore, the Brahmins will be loath to drop even a single ritual. What is to be done? Will the conflict that we see today between the Sarda Act and the garuda sevai ritual be resolved? It is too early perhaps to tell. (Kumaran, October-November 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 4) 1

Refer to footnote 1 in “What is in Store For Us?” for an explanation of this strange title “Miss and Mrs Kamalakshi”.

2

The Child Marriage Restraint Act or the Sarda Act was first passed by the Legislative Assembly in September 1929. It took effect from April 1930. The Act prescribed fourteen years (for girls) and eighteen years (for boys) as the minimum age of marriage. In defiance of the Act however, marriages of girls and boys younger than the prescribed age continued to take place. The Sarda Act was amended three times. In 1949, the age of marriage for girls was raised to fifteen and in 1956 to sixteen. As late as 1978, the Act was once again amended. This time the minimum age of marriage for girls was fixed at eighteen and for boys at twenty-one. 3 A popular saying by the Tamil poet Valluvar, Kallanallum Kanavan. Pullanallum Purushan. 4 The first factor is that the Brahmins do not want the state to interfere in their private lives and ruin their livelihood. The second is that they want their daughters to be married before they can begin to think for themselves and rebel. 5 The garuda is the brahminy kite—the mount or the vehicle of Lord Vishnu. Garuda sevai is actually a festival in Vaishnava temple in which the deity appears mounted on the bird. The term is used here sarcastically for what the author deems a useless and laughable wedding rite. 6 Maternal uncle. 7 Like the dhoti, a garment worn by men. It is tied around the waist with a knot and reaches up to the ankles.

The Progress of Women (Penngall Munetram) MU. MARAGATHAVALLIYAR

Speech delivered at Duraiyur on 31 August 1930. The very notion of women’s progress is alien to this country. While other countries are systematic about their efforts to liberate their women, we blissfully believe that we will attain heaven in any case. Everyone believes in a heaven—a kailasam1 or a vaikuntam.2 Indians desire mukti3 but, unlike the people of other countries, do little to improve their lot on earth! It is far worse in the case of our women. The path to a better life remains closely guarded by men. Given how dismal the scene is at present, if you expect the lives of women to change, they can only change for the better! If we expect a vehicle that is headed for Madurai to move forward, it will continue to move in the direction of Madurai. It will not change its course and reach Tanjavur instead. If one expects to reach Tanjavur, one has to turn the vehicle around first so that it faces Tanjavur. The situation of women is not very different. They have been driven towards orthodoxy. The first thing that needs to be done before one can expect women to progress is to reverse this trend. We must ensure that they are headed in the right direction—the direction of self-respect. Real progress can come about only once this happens. Women should have the right to education. They have always perceived themselves as slaves. It has been easy therefore for their brothers to oppress them, to prevent them from moving forward. Women should have equal property rights. They are enslaved when they are young. Their youth makes it easy for others to make slaves out of them. They are caged at a time when they should be free. Even as children, they have to take up the responsibility of running a home and looking after the family. They have no access to information about world affairs. Men should be married only after the age

of twenty-four and women after the age of eighteen. Maturity in age makes for a better marriage. We assumed that the Sarda Act would be useful to us. Even this Act, however, accepted a low age of marriage. The upper-castes do not allow us the freedom to think through this whole issue. They are bent on destroying us. Ideally, a marriage should take place with the consent of the man and woman concerned. It should not be subject to parental pressures. But what actually happens is very different. The story of Nalayani and her devotion to her husband is a popular one. Nalayani’s husband, who suffers from leprosy, delibrately lets fall his deformed finger into his wife’s portion of the meal.4 Simply casting aside the finger, Nalayani finishes her meal. They say that any woman who emulates Nalayani is chaste! It appears that all the humiliation that can possibly be inflicted on human beings has been inflicted on women. Until women exert themselves to demand what is justly theirs, men will continue to behave in these strange ways. A popular folk song goes: You can trust poison You can trust the river and the wild breeze; You can trust the mad elephant You can trust the striped tiger You can trust the kallar, the vedar and the maravar5 If you trust the sari-clad woman You will end up on the streets.

According to this song, we may trust all kinds of creatures, not women. Why should men many at all if women are not to be trusted? Let them many the trustworthy tiger! Let them marry elephants. Let them many yamadutan6 instead. But not one man is prepared to do so. Given that men insist on marrying women, why do they heap so much blame on the latter? I am not aware if my adi-dravida brothers and sisters are present at this meeting. Even if they are, they are unlikely to be at the forefront. We must appreciate the comradely support they have given us. The Self-Respect movement is the only movement which supports enslaved women. I ask of everyone that we understand its objectives and join the movement. (Kumaran, September-October 1930, Vol. 9, Issue 3) 1

The heavenly abode of Lord Shiva, Mount Kailash. Sacred abode of Lord Vishnu; heaven. 3 Salvation 4 A chaste Hindu wife is expected to eat the leftovers from the plate used by her husband. 2

5 6

Names of certain castes. Messenger from Yama, the God of death.

Why Was Woman Enslaved? Muslim Women are Slaves Too! The Plight of Muslim Widows (Penn Yenn Adimai Aanaall? Muslim Penngallum Adimaigalle Daan! Muslim Vidhavaigallin Nilamai) ALHAJ SUBAKO1

It is not the objective of this essay to review our comrade E.Ve.Ra’s book Penn Yenn Adimai Aanaal?, the first publication of the Rationalist Press.2 In describing the plight of widows, E.Ve.Ra has criticised and attacked Hindu society. From E.Ve.Ra’s stand on widowhood and Hindu society, it appears as though the stigma attached to widowhood and the difficulties posed by this stigma are confined to Hindu society alone; that Muslim society for instance, is happily exempt from all this. Let me proclaim openly, “Muslim women are slaves as well; the situation of Muslim widows is far from wonderful.” This is my challenge to those Muslims who claim proudly, “Islam has granted women all possible rights.” I wish to set right those irresponsible Muslims who are making such tall claims. May Muslim men and Muslim parents shed their prejudiced views about women! May they arrive at a rationalist understanding of the problems that beset women! Muslims regard Muhammad Nabi as their leader and look upon the Koran as their holy book. That they accord their women less-than-human status, is proof however of their utter disregard for both the Prophet and the Koran. This essay is primarily concerned with the plight of Muslim widows. Other issues will be dealt with later. No Muslim can claim to be unaware of the manner in which Arabian widows were treated during Muhammad Nabi’s times. They pretend otherwise only because it is convenient to do so. Let us remind them of this history before we proceed any further.

One thousand three hundred and fifty years ago, before the birth of Muhammad, the Arabians regarded the birth of a girl child as an evil omen, as something that would bring harm to the entire lineage or kulam. Often, they buried female babies alive. As for the plight of widows in a society such as this, the less said the better. It should be obvious enough to anybody. The Prophet was deeply concerned about the status of widows. When he was a young man of twenty-five, he fell in love with forty year old Katheeja and married her. Katheeja had been a widow several times over. The Prophet remained married to this first wife of his till the time of his death. He even had children by her. He believed in practising what he preached and his marriage to Katheeja was an example to all his people. If only our present day reformers were to practise what they preached, the number of widows would fall drastically from twenty-six lakhs to twenty-six thousand! Even at the ripe old age of fifty-four, the Prophet uplifted some seven or eight elderly widows by marrying them. The Muslims of today are a far cry from the example set by Muhammad. They oppress the young widows in their respective families and do not permit them to remarry. They criticize the handful of progressive Muslim men who choose to marry widows. In support of my arguments, allow me to cite an incident which took place within my own family. A close relative of mine was widowed when she was young. My uncle, a devout Muslim, did not permit her to remarry. Notwithstanding his faith in the Prophet, he treated his young, widowed daughter as though she were a prisoner. This was considered to be necessary for the preservation of family honour! Everyone in my family boasted that our widows did not remarry. At one point, the sister of the widowed woman passed away. Her husband was exposed to many progressive and rationalist ideals and he wished to marry his widowed sister-in-law. When they heard of this, my relatives were indignant. They claimed that such a move was intended to cast a slur on the family honour. A male cousin then succeeded in secretly stealing the widow out of the house and got her married to this man. My relatives were furious when they heard of this and turned my male cousin out of the house!

I can give you many more examples of this nature. Despite being kept in purdah, our widows do find ways and means of satisfying their natural and instinctive desires. Unlike with Hindu widows, the illicit actions of our widows are not easily apparent. This is the only difference. Parents and society at large also keep up a pretense of not knowing the truth. I hope I have convinced you that the situation of Muslim widows is a sorry one, that it deserves little praise. Muslims may pat themselves on their back for being progressive in their attitudes towards widows, but they are merely deceiving themselves. The Hindus at least are willing to admit to their oppressive practices towards widows. They are prepared to reform themselves if necessary. The Muslims, on the other hand, are only hiding behind a mask when they proclaim, “Our Prophet, our religion, our Islam has given all possible rights.” (Puratchi, January 28, 1934) 1

The name “Alhaj Subako” is another version of “Alhaj Subahu”. The former is a distinctly Tamil way of saying the name. 2 In his book Penn Yenn Adimai Aanal? or Why Was Woman Enslaved?, Periyar examines the part played by notions of chastity and masculinity, ritualistic marriage, the stigma attached to widowhood in Hindu society and the burden of reproduction in enslaving women. He advocates a radical departure from traditional constructs of masculinity and argues in tongue-in-cheek fashion that in order to be fair we should expect chastity from men as well. He also writes of the importance of encouraging widow remarriage and the freedom that contraception can give women.

Is the Bliss of Freedom Not For Us? (Inba Suthanthiram Yengallakku llatyaa?) NEELAVATHI RAMASUBRAMANIAM

Indians believe that the birth of a woman is an unfortunate and sad event. A woman, according to them, is destined to lead a life of slavery. India enslaves its women in a number of different ways. If the Brahmins decreed in their books and scriptures that none apart from themselves should have access to education (this was done in order to prevent others from realizing their deceitful ways), men have snatched away the right to education from women. Men argue that women will use their education to write love letters to their clandestine lovers! Can they find no better reason for denying education to an entire class of beings? One thing is certain. Men who deny education to women, who abuse and enslave women are only courting their own ruin. Some men may be furious at what I have said. That does not worry me in the least. If I speak the truth, they fly into a rage. When you expose a person’s game, it stands to reason that you will annoy him. Men believe that women are inferior to them. When they are informed that women are equal to them in every way, they are not very happy. If we consider our loss of freedom, our marginalisation within human society, the way in which our legs have been broken, our eyes blindfolded and our feelings hurt, our hearts rage against male prejudice. Women have never been allowed to taste the bliss of freedom. It is not clear why. What harm have they ever caused men? It is said that women should worship their menfolk, treat them like gods. But actually, it should be the other way around. Women should be worshipped as though they were goddesses. This advice may seem like bitter medicine to some people. But I can’t help that. How do you expect women to feel, given the ways in which they have been suppressed all this while? The contribution of women both on the domestic

front as well as in the public sphere is far greater than that of men. Don’t be too surprised at my statement. It is true. Not recognizing the virtues of women, men have selfishly confined them to the bedroom. They think that if they behave otherwise, they will be ruined, that the world will come to an end. One cannot help feeling sorry for women. The orthodox cite the scriptures to support their claim that Brahma created women as slaves. I see little sense in such a claim. Is it fair on the part of men to deny us the happiness of freedom, to condemn us to a life of slavery? It appears that the hearts of men are made of stone. Men regard women as useful beings when it comes to certain things. They don’t accept however, that women too are human, that they need as much freedom as any man. Unfortunately, women do not enjoy any kind of freedom. Women lack the freedom to eat what they want, to sleep when they want. They may not even sit on chairs! Let us look at a basic issue—food. It is common knowledge that when a human being does not eat enough, he or she will die of starvation. However, we don’t seem to think that this principle applies equally to women! Auvaiyar has sung, “It befits a woman to eat less.” Irrespective of what her intention was in making such a statement, irrespective of how some brave people have analysed what she has said, there has been little hesitation in accepting her statement, “Protect and cherish your husband with your life” is a popular folk saying in Tamil Nadu. If a woman shares her food with her husband not from any external compulsion but because she loves him, no one can possibly have any objection. What has to be condemned are brutish declarations that women are lesser beings; when it comes to food, they have to content themselves with leftovers and some thin gruel if need be. You ask: Why do women need coffee? Why do they require snacks? I ask you in return: If they end up as weaklings after being starved thus, how are they expected to work hard for men? Can’t men be a little more generous? Secondly, it is considered a great crime for women to lie on cots and mattresses. Why is this so? Aren’t women human? Should they be curbed in this respect as well? Thirdly, it is decreed that women should not sit on chairs. People pounce on a woman who dares sit on a chair. At once, they scoff, “Look at her! Sitting on a chair like a man! She has no shame whatsoever!” I cannot accept any of this. My beloved brothers! Apply your minds. Study the world around you carefully. Accept us as your equals!

That way, neither of us will suffer! It is best to coexist peacefully. Do not deny us the bliss of freedom. Like you, we desire to travel freely. We take pleasure in different sights. We want to lead happy lives. It is not right on your part to snatch our freedom away from us. (Kumaran November-December 1930)

A Bundle of Grass (Pullu Kattu) JANAKI

It was nine in the morning. From our terrace, I was watching some poor women on the street below. They appeared to be farm labourers. Their tattered clothes hung loosely about them, so dirty that they would not have withstood a single wash. Obviously they had nothing else with which to cover their nakedness. Six of them filed past, one after the other. Each carried a headload—a bundle of grass. I was curious to see where these grass-sellers were going. They stopped at a junction and waited patiently in the heat. Many prospective buyers came and went. Finally, I heard a man in a horse carriage roughly demand that the women sell him their bundles at the rate of two annas each. Two of the women agreed to sell at this price. Their stock was sold at once. At this, a third woman said hopefully, “I took great pains to cut this grass early in the morning. My children must be starving. I wasn’t able to cook the kanji.1 There is no firewood at home and, unless I sell these bundles, I cannot afford any. Yesterday, I sold each bundle at the rate of four annas. Please, saami2, buy my bundles as well. I will sell them happily for two annas each.” “I have no use for any more grass!”, shouted the man from his horse carriage. Once more, the woman pleaded with him, “Saami, please. Take these bundles.” She even prostrated herself at his feet. Aiming a kick at her, the man abused her roundly and rode away. The women who had not managed to sell their stock waited around at the same spot without any luck till two in the afternoon. After that, they roamed the streets hawking their grass. The same day, another scene unfolded itself before my eyes. Clutching a few blades of the darba3 grass, a few iyers4 marched up to the village corner where hundreds of clients waited. Each man was ready with his offering— two annas and some betel leaves. The iyers beckoned to them in turn, gave

them various meaningless instructions and asked them unnecessary questions, “Knock yourself on your head with your knuckles. What is your father’s name? What is your grandfather’s name? And the names of your forefathers? Bring us some water in a pot! Down on your knees! Here, use this hand. Come, raise yourself! Let go of your other hand! You may leave after you place some betel leaves here. Just be sure to tuck some money between the leaves.” Collecting their two annas and betel leaves from each man, the iyers left at around two in the afternoon. Each of them had got betel leaves (which must have weighed as much as an adult man) and ten rupees as cash. A mere handful of darba grass had sufficed! The iyers had made their money for the day! Mind you, this darba grass is not fit to be used as fodder for a cow! The clients had fallen respectfully at the iyer’s feet, followed his instructions, and given him a fee along with all those betel leaves. The grass-sellers, on the other hand, had brought with them a thousand times more grass than the iyers had. Moreover, their grass was useful. It served as fodder for cows and horses. They had toiled in the sun for five long hours to cut so much grass. They had even fallen at the feet of their prospective customers. Yet no one had been willing to buy their grass. Why is this so? You see, these poor women do not know how to lie. They are simple, hardworking people. As for those iyers, they make all kinds of false promises to their clients, even assure them that they will satisfy the latter’s relatives who are in heaven! The common people will not help those who really need to be helped. Their generosity will be extended only to these fraudulent iyers. Isn’t that obvious? (Kumaran, August-September 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 2) 1

Gruel made from rice or any other cereal. Lord, master. 3 Kaus grass considered sacred and often used in various ritual practices. 4 Refers both to Brahmins as well as to Brahmin priests. Also, a subsect within the Brahmin community. 2

Will Educated Women Take the Initiative? (Padittha Penngall Munvaruvargalla?) TRICHI NEELAVATHI

Recent years have been a witness to an increase in caste and religious conflicts. Everywhere we see manifestations of the inequality between men and women. The quality of selfishness appears to be all-pervasive. Laws have become one-sided, favouring one sex alone. Hindu religion has sunk to new depths. We are beset by problems. The spectre of untouchability dances wickedly in front of our eyes. Caste and casteism have had serious repercussions for our society. We are ridden with superstitious beliefs and customs. These, in turn, are preventing us from achieving a measure of social freedom. When will the country be rid of all this? Is deliverance at hand? Yes! If we reflect on the grief which crores of our fellow humans face, can we stop our hearts from raging? Can I even hope to describe the full horror of untouchability? What can I say of the “honesty” of the upper castes who insist that there is a caste of untouchables? Our people fail to recognize the meanness and the cruelty of the Aryan Brahmins who have deeply divided this society of ours and, in the process, caused great harm to the nation. This is unfortunate. Is someone an “untouchable” or a “touchable” at birth? What are the external and internal differences between an untouchable and an upper-caste person? There is no anatomical difference between one human being and another. Neither is there any difference in terms of emotion and feeling. How can we justify ourselves when we classify one man as high and the other as low? Tell me, does any other country suffer from this demon called untouchability? As for our non-Brahmins, they have reinforced various divisions and class groups amongst themselves because they too believe in the demon of caste (which the Brahmins created for their selfish ends). It is necessary to destroy this demon at once. Moreover,

before we expect others to treat us as their equals, we should treat those who are beneath us in the social hierarchy as our equals. The spirit of social reform is at its height. The Self-Respect movement has been struggling to encourage this thirst for reform in Indians, especially among those in the south. The reformists and the orthodoxy are waging a bitter battle. Each wants to push its agenda. I am confident, however, that the orthodoxy will lose. If they ever come to power, they will not permit even a grain of reform. Social reform mainly concerns women. Therefore, women should take greater responsibility for reform. Issues such as child marriage, widow remarriage, women’s education and liberation —whom do they concern if not women? I am perfectly aware of the fact that the number of educated women in India is small. When Indians believe that educated women will write love letters to clandestine lovers, how can one expect them to educate their daughters? Indian society is steeped in such blind belief. Surely, no other belief can be as vile as this one. Even when people give their daughters some amount of education, they will often not teach them to write! Readers might wonder why I am calling on educated women in the first place. I can understand their concern. But even though the number of educated women in our country is small, they are strong on clarity. But women are afraid and hesitate to take any initiative. Once women participate in social reform, we are sure to see positive results. Educated women should definitely take the lead in this regard. Blind belief and the spectre of caste have affected women adversely. It is not right for educated women to remain silent about all this. My dear women! Do you wish to live like the proverbial frog in the well? Shouldn’t you use your learning? Does it befit you to take the backseat in work that actually concerns your own betterment? We cannot win our freedom solely through the efforts undertaken by men. How far can we expect others to help? It saddens my heart to learn that women are not enthusiastic about destroying blind belief, ignorance and slavery. How does your woman’s heart permit you to silently watch women being oppressed, enslaved and tortured? Doesn’t your blood boil to watch the sufferings of crores of widows? You are aware no doubt of the sufferings that casteism, orthodoxy and male domination have caused women. There is no sense in resting on our oars. It is more important to

prove ourselves today. When we compare ourselves with western women, we see that they have achieved a far greater measure of progress. We are forced to hang our heads in shame! We all know just how backward our women are in the field of education. What happiness can we attain without education? Look at the furious attacks that the orthodox have mounted against us! Unless educated women speak out against the upper-castes, the latter will not stop playing games. But it is important to keep another thing in mind. Many educated women might be equally mired in ignorance. No good can come from their actions. Such women should firstly tackle their own ignorance and learn to take a rationalist approach to life. Young women should take greater initiative in social reform. It will prove difficult to fight the strength of youth. I am well aware that if you work for social reform, the world is not going to approve of you. But it is my fondest hope that like young lionesses, you will rise to the occasion fearlessly! (Kumaran, September-October 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 3)

Women In the Socialist World Women In the Socialist World1 (Samadharma Ulagil Penngall) JAYASEKARI

A socialist society is a society created by and for the worker. Few people seem to recognize the full import and the implications of socialism. For those who are just beginning to understand what socialism is all about, the argument that it concerns male workers seems straightforward enough. When reminded that women too qualify to be called “workers” and that they have a role to play in socialist politics, these people are confused. What is the future of women in matters related to work? No one has any answers. Many believe that in the ideal society of the future, women will be freed completely from the burden of work. Others argue that in such a society women will spend their intellect and energy looking after their family and household. Both these positions are problematic and act as obstacles to progress. Imagine a socialist society in which women laze around irresponsibly. Surely, this does not constitute progressiveness? On the contrary, one regards this as a regressive trend. In such a society, women would only be pushed further into the private sphere of the bedroom. They would remain isolated from the mainstream. Their potential would remain wasted. They will be forced into a situation of economic subordination. In what way would this constitute progress and opportunity for women? It would merely be a new manifestation of the older forms of subordination! You cannot chain the women of the future to the home! A healthy, capable woman would never rest content with this. The education of our children is no longer a private, family affair. It is a social one. Both education as well as work, therefore, are gradually becoming part of a common public sphere. Inevitably, women’s work will

also move outside the confines of the home. Shops, factories, schools and cultural centres—these will constitute the new sites of women’s work. In place of the separate category we now label “women’s work”, we will see a new category emerge—the work of the human race. In the socialist world of the future, everyone will share in the housework. Women will not have to bear this burden alone. Since we now have machines to perform some of our work, we are no longer going to opt for manual labour. People are unlikely to prefer the home-made candle to electric lights or the small nuclear family over the communal family.2 To believe that women should restrict themselves to certain kinds of work is a misreading of socialist principles. There exists a small number of selfish women who do no work, who are, consequently, of no use to society. By “working women” we mean women who do not live off the labour of others. Women work in offices, factories, shops, colleges, cultural centres, schools, kitchens, hotels, and farms. In other words, they work both in their private as well as in their public lives. This is not a recent phenomenon. Women have worked since the dawn of the human race. In fact, they have always been the producers. It is women who have taken primary responsibility for growing crops at times when men have gone out to battle, destroying everything in their wake. Women and work have always been intimately linked, inseparable. Socialist philosophy cannot contest this fact. The women of today will continue to perform the work that their predecessors did—with the crucial difference however that they will also take on what has traditionally been marked off as man’s work. The nature of their work will be such that they will derive pleasure from it; it will be in accordance with rationalist principles. Our lives depend upon work. A proper understanding of work is therefore at the core of socialism. A socialist society will provide everyone with work, irrespective of gender, and satisfy the needs of both men as well as women. (Puratchi, 29-4-1934) 1

Also see Neelavathi’s treatise “Women and Work; Women are Also Workers” (Penngallum Thozhillum; Penngallum Thozhillalligalle) in Puratchi, 29/4/1934. This treatise also appears in the appendices of S.V. Rajadurai and V. Geetha’s Periyar: Suyamariathai Samadharmam (Coimbatore: Vidiyal, 1996), pp. 772-776. Neelavathi describes the devaluation of women’s work and the need to fundamentally reconceptualise the category of work itself.

2

Presumably, the reference here is to communal living rather than to the old-fashioned joint family.

SECTION II

The Self-Respect Novel The Dasis’ Wicked Snares Or The Playboy Who Came To His Senses (1936) (Dasigal Mosavalai Alladu Madipettra Myner) MOOVALUR A. RAMAMRITHAMMAL

Lobbying For Devadasi Abolition Lobbying For Devadasi Abolition: From Artiste To Prostitute

Dasigal Mosavalai or The Dasis’ Wicked Snares is, in many ways, a classic of Self-Respect literature. Written by a woman who hailed from the devadasi community and published in 1936, well after the devadasi abolition lobby had established its base, the novel is neither “progressive’’ nor “feminist” in the straight sense of these terms. In describing the devadasi’s life as one of moral depravity and deceit, Moovalur Ramamrithammal is, if anything, far less “progressive” than Periyar who fought the devadasi system without once castigating the devadasi for her “immorality”. Yet her novel remains unrivalled in its complex delineation of character, its fascinating insights into the lives of the devadasis and its creative use of the Self-Respect platform to campaign for the abolition of the devadasi system. The word “devadasi” literally translates as “slave of god”. Devadasis were known by many names in South India. These names were sometimes specific to the region, for example, in what is now Karnataka, they were known as soole, nayakasani or patra; and in Andhra Pradesh as bhogam and saani. Often, their names were linked to the ritual tasks they performed (hence, ganika, rudrakannikai, and so on). Devadasis were not a castegroup. They saw themselves as following a murai, a way of life. Their identity came from their skills in dancing and music. They underwent rigorous training under a nattuvanar guru or music teacher. Devadasis were required to offer certain services such as holding the ceremonial fan in temple processions, carrying hand-lamps, weaving garlands and performing the kumbha-arathi —the removal of evil influence through the ceremonial waving of the pot-lamp. Devadasis were drawn from many middle-level castes like the Nattuvan and the Melakkarar (castes whose male members were usually musicians or dance teachers), the Sengunthar and the

Mudaliar. In the early twentieth century, these castes began to call themselves isai vellalar (cultivators of the art of music) in Tamil Nadu. In Andhra, they took on the name of kalavanthulu (artistes).1 Saskia Kersenboom speculates that the most likely antecedents of the devadasi could be the female bards—the virali and the patini who were employed at the courts of kings and chieftans to recite poetry during the Sangam period. According to Kersenboom, while this bardic tradition continued well into the early Pallava and Pandya period (550 AD-850 AD) and was primarily ritualistic and defensive in nature, the artistic side of music and dance traditions came to be emphasised only during the latter half of the Pallava and Pandya period when more subdued forms of worship began to be practised. It was during the Chola (850 AD-1279 AD) and the later Vijayanagara (1336 AD-1565 AD) periods however, that we have evidence (primarily from temple inscriptions) of courts and temples supporting large numbers of dancing girls or devadasis. Kersenboom argues that in the Vijayanagara empire, the emperor was perceived to be the defender of Hindu dharma vis-à-vis Muslim onslaughts. The court became the centre of political power as well as of culture. It was inevitable therefore that during the Vijayanagara period, the artistic aspects of the devadasi tradition assumed importance. The accent was on Sanskritic and Brahminical traditions and devadasis were held in high esteem. In the field of music and dance, one could discern the formulation of a well-defined South Indian tradition—the Karnatic tradition. This artistic efflorescence attained its peak in the Tanjore courts after the collapse of the Vijayanagara empire in the battle of Talikota (1565 AD). The Maratha kings who ruled Tanjore continued the use of Telugu as the court medium. This period saw the rise of the three greats of Carnatic music-Syama Sastri, Tyagaraja and Muthuswami Dikshitar—as also of the Tanjore quartet or the Tanjore brothers who combined ancient Tamil dance-traditions with the aesthetic sophistication in vogue at the court. Most of the vocal and dance compositions that constituted the repertoire of the devadasis as recently as the early twentieth century are compositions belonging to the music and dance culture of the Tanjore period. The patronage offered by the rulers of Tanjore to the temple and to those attached to temples like the devadasis was crucial to the growth and the formation of the performing arts. Kersenboom argues that the devadasi had always been perceived as

nityasumangali, an ever-auspicious woman. Apart from her role in performing temple rituals, she was often invited to preside over certain rites of passage by families. Her mere presence was considered auspicious and lucky. The exalted status enjoyed by the devadasi however, did not continue for ever. With the loss of royal patronage, she suffered a gradual but dramatic reversal of fortunes. Initially, devadasis were forced to approach smaller courts like those of Ettayapuram, Pudukottai or Trivandrum. When even these courts could no longer sustain them, many turned to the trade settlement of Madras for individual patronage. As Kersenboom says: ...with the loss of the royal patron an entire universe was lost and never recaptured. The aristocratic values of art, devotion and learning and their deeply cultured support by the court that continued an age-old tradition were exchanged for mercenary values, search for patronage of individuals and aggressive publicity (Kersenboom, 1987: 48).

A novel like Dasigal Mosavalai, set as it is in the aftermath of this loss of aristocratic patronage, pictures for us this mercenary new world where the devadasi suffers a dramatic loss of respect. The opening chapter describes the dasi sisters Kantha and Ganavathi’s journey to Chennai to perform at the Ganasabha and their obvious attempts to seduce the playboy or the myner Natarajan who is travelling on the same train. The dasis’ mother Bogachintamani has instructed them to pretend that they make a living from music so that everyone believes them to be respectable. The implication is that the devadasi uses her skill in music as a cover for what is really an unsavoury vocation and that she has no real attachment towards musical traditions. Many of those who advocated the abolition of the devadasi system, like Moovalur Ramamrithammal herself, emphatically believed that dasis were not artistes and that their claims to the contrary were to be dismissed. At best, they posed as artistes to secure a dishonourable living. They lacked both honour as well as self-respect. They were cunning, miserable “wretches” who seduced innocent men and lived off their wealth. Once the devadasi stopped being perceived as artiste, she automatically lost her immunity from moral judgements, an immunity that she had enjoyed so far thanks to her status as a dancer, musician and learned woman. Once the “artiste” is recast as “prostitute”, admiration and respect are at once replaced by moral horror.

Given its stereotypical portrayal of the devadasis as “fallen” and “evil” women, it is easy to read Moovalur Ramamrithammal’s Dasigal Mosavalai or The Dasis’ Wicked Snares as a straightforward Self-Respect text with a clear political agenda. The novel is replete with Self-Respect discourses and often, it resembles a tract more than it does a novel. The conversations between characters, as for instance the one in chapter two (translated here) between Gunabhushini and the Myner or playboy, Natarajan, in which she warns him about the wicked ways of the dasis or Vivekavathi’s conversation with her foster mother, Kamavardini, (see translation of excerpts from chapter nineteen) are little discourses in themselves. The last chapter which describes a Self-Respect conference addressed by Gunabhushini, Myner Natarajan and the young zamindarini, Gnanasundari, reads like a collection of speeches. One can never quite forget that the novel’s peculiar style is largely a function of the propagandist Self-Respect culture which gave it birth. Indeed, much of the impetus for the novel comes from Moovulur’s own stance in favour of the abolition of the devadasi system. Moovalur was repeatedly praised by her contemporaries for her commitment and loyalty to the Self-Respect cause of dismantling the devadasi system. To look at a few instances: in a foreword to the novel, S. Vellaithuraicchi Nacchiyar deplores a system which prostitutes women in the name of God and creates an entire community to further this prostitution. That such a thing should occur in a country where women are deified and their praises sung, she contends, is ironic. Moovalur Ramamrithammal, she argues, was so repulsed by the devadasi profession which she had practised for a while, that she liberated herself from its shackles, realizing fully the “wicked” and “conspiratorial” ways of the dasis and the “seductive webs” they spun around people. Nacchiyar concludes by praising Moovalur for her devotion to the cause of abolishing the devadasi system and declares that her novel, which is clearly a reflection of her own experiences and innermost feelings, will go a long away in reforming the devadasi community. In another foreword, S. Somasundara Bharathi, Tamil Professor, Annamalai University, writes that despite the fact that there are long SelfRespect discourses in the novel, this does not really pose a problem, written as they are with the welfare of Tamil society in mind.2

Thirumathi Guruswamy Kunjitam, the Principal of the Cuddalore Women’s School, writes: Our friend Ramamrithammal is among those who believe that one should contribute to the welfare of society. She works for the welfare of the common people. She is among the few women in Tamil Nadu who have addressed audiences from public platforms. The Tamil people, who have recognized her abilities as a speaker, now have an opportunity to see her writing skills. (See “Pughazurai” in Dasigal Mosavalai (Madras: Pearl Press, 1936, p. I)

According to Kunjitam, Dasigal Mosavalai effectively critiques the time and money wasted by people on blind beliefs such as palmistry, mantras, gods and the whole concept of moksham or liberation from the cycle of birth and death. She speculates that the novel would prove to be a source of great support to Muthulakshmi Reddi in her efforts towards liberating women from barbaric customs such as pottukattu (the practice within the devadasi community of “marrying” off young girls to God). Since much of the impetus for the novel is abolitionist in nature, it might be instructive to look at the history of the Devadasi Abolition Bill. In 1913, the government had proposed a bill to abolish the devadasi system. This bill, however, was rejected on the grounds that no clear guidelines had been provided to rehabilitate former devadasis. In 1922, Hari Singh Gour resurrected this pre-war debate on changing the penal code to punish people who employed minor girls as prostitutes under the guise of religious practice. The Central Legislative Assembly then passed the Government of India Act 18 of 1924. This act, which mainly affected Madras and Bombay, protected girls under the age of 18 from employment as prostitutes in temples if it were ascertained that they were not religious dancers. Another bill which sought to raise the age of temple-dedication (pottukattu ceremony) for girls from the devadasi community was introduced in the Central Legislature. This bill became law in 1925. In November 1927, Muthulakshmi Reddi recommended in the Madras Legislature that the custom of serving the temples be abolished outright. Her bill pertained only to those devadasis who held inams—gifts of land by former kings either in the form of outright ownership with rights to revenues, or as alienated land revenues. In return for these inams, devadasis were required to perform certain services to the temples which employed them. Reddi’s bill freed these inam-holding devadasis from the stipulation of temple service while permitting them access to land revenues. Reddi found however that such a

bill, in pertaining only to inam-holding devadasis, did not cover those devadasi communities which no longer served temples and merely practised prostitution. While this bill was passed as the Madras Hindu Religious Endowments Act V in 1929, Reddi also introduced another bill in the same year that sought to completely abolish pottukattu, which, Reddi believed, only lured girls to prostitution. The Bill to Prevent the Dedication of Women to Hindu Temples in the Presidency of Madras was opposed by many orthodox Brahmins and senior Congressmen such as S. Satyamurthy. The Justicites did not back it wholeheartedly either. Those who opposed it argued that the bill went against the spirit of the shastras. Periyar defended the bill and pointed out that the shastras had already been dishonoured when the law raising the age of temple dedication was passed.3 According to the shastras, pottukattu was anyway not permitted for women who had attained puberty. The Self-Respecters condemned the devadasi system on two grounds: one, that the dasis were forced to lead degrading lives of sexual slavery and that the system encouraged immoral behaviour on the part of many people and, two, that the system was a result of an uppercaste, Brahminical patriarchy which condemned a particular non-Brahmin caste to prostitution. While Periyar himself was never concerned with questions of female morality and chastity (in fact, he argued against social dictates which emphasised the importance of chastity in women while excusing immorality in men), many others who were in favour of abolishing the devadasi system (Moovalur Ramamrithammal among them) expressed their horror at the licentiousness of the dasi’s life and of those who surrounded her. On the whole, the Self-Respecters passionately opposed the devadasi system and welcomed Dr. Muthulakshmi Reddi’s bill. Seeking to explain the vehemence with which the Self-Respecters supported the devadasi abolition bill, V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai argue: The denial of rights to an entire mass of people at birth, the systematic erosion of the nonBrahmins’ self-respect, achieved often with his consent, seemed particularly unfair and galling to the Self-Respecters because of the role assigned to the so-called shudra mother. Characterizing the shudra woman as a “dasi”, Brahminical scripture had pronounced her sexually unfree. In these modern times, she may not be forced into sexual slavery as SelfRespecters believed she was in the past, but a caste of non-brahmin women, the devadasis, still eked out an existence by selling their sexual labour—in temples and to the rich and the famous. In the Self-Respecters’ semantic universe, the word ‘dasi’ often carried connotations of and slipped into the semantic space marked out by the Tamil word, ‘vesi’ or prostitute. The devadasi

thus came to be viewed as a reminder of an original shame and bondage, as the carrier of a memory of an original dishonour. This memory had all but been lost to non-Brahmin consciousness, as Periyar so often remarked, since no non-Brahmin sought to inquire into the origins of the word, ‘shudra’. However, this memory of the non-Brahmin woman as a sexual slave had been preserved elsewhere, in the dharmashastras and had since served to ‘fix’ the shudra in his lowness (V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai, Towards a Non-Brahmin Millenium, Calcutta: Samya, 1998, p. 376).

However, not all devadasis welcomed the devadasi abolition bill. Some refused their characterisation as “prostitutes”, arguing that they were artistes, women of learning and refinement. Muthulakshmi Reddi’s bill was not enacted till 1947. As Sita Anantha Raman points out however, despite this delay the devadasi system had ground to a halt in 1929 with the passing of the Madras Hindu Religious Endowments Act. The transparent Self-Respect rhetoric that Moovalur sometimes employs in the novel supports the dominant reading that there is a link between the narrative of Dasigal Mosavalai and the author’s political convictions, especially her passionate pro-abolitionist stance. This reading is of course not incorrect. The language that some of the chapters in the novel employ does read like Self-Respect rationalist rhetoric. The chapter “Darkness and Light”, for instance, consists of a conversation between Natarajan—a wealthy myner and Gunabhushini, a reformed devadasi turned respectable married woman who has thrown herself heart and soul into Self-Respect work. Reflecting on the unequal nature of conventional marriages, Gunabhushini tells Natarajan: If Brahma considered all beings as equals, wouldn’t he ensure that marriages were contracted only between two equals? How can a sixty year old man wed a six year old girl? Indeed, if Brahma can permit such a marriage, he should also allow a sixty year old woman to marry a six year old boy! Can marriages ordained by Brahma fail? Would a man whose marriage was arranged by Brahma himself visit a dasi? Did Brahma ordain that dasis could have any number of lovers? Did he ordain that that Panchali4 should wed five men? If it is true that Brahma himself arranges marriages, how is it that widowed women end up conceiving? Is it possible then that they actually desire other men? Have you ever observed couples in an inter-caste, reformist marriage? Self-Respecters have popularised such marriages as well. Tell me, did Brahma ordain these weddings? In certain temples even eunuchs can get married! Who presides over their weddings? If what you claim about the sanctity of a traditional marriage is true, would the thali tied in the presence of the gods and the godly Brahmin ever be severed? Would a woman be widowed? Would every trace of material and worldly happiness be snatched away from her? Would she be treated thus? What is so special about a wedding performed in the presence of these gods? “Lift your queenly foot! Pour some water into this pot! Perform an

arathi!”5 Besides giving such instructions and lining their pockets with money, what is so wonderful about this work that the Brahmins do? Can’t our womenfolk manage all this work by themselves? The Brahmin’s work is artificial. It has been created with a view to securing his living. Tell me, are animals matched together by others before they mate? When we are hungry, do we ask the Brahmin to set a specific time when we can begin to eat? The only thing that really matters is the natural bonding between a man and a woman. As for all the other extraneous customs, you can be sure that someone or the other is making quick money by enforcing them. You abused your wife even as you sang the praises of dasi Ganavathi. Do I

wedding was not officiated over and blessed by Brahma? (Dasigal Mosavalai, 1936, pp. 46-47) conclude from this that your

Of the devadasis, she says: Dasis lack both morality as well as human compassion. If they possessed these qualities, if they had even an iota of human feeling, would they willingly sacrifice their daughters to strange men or encourage them to practice such a lowly profession? They turn a blind eye to the horrible diseases visited upon their daughters—natural consequences of a profession such as theirs! (p. 55)

However, the conventions of fiction apply equally to Moovalur’s writing, which is why we have a fairly strong narrative element running through the text of Dasigal Mosavalai. The final chapter of the novel titled “The Conference Commences” describes the proceedings at a Self-Respect conference and includes formal speeches made by some of the central characters in the novel. It would appear that such a narrative move is meant to actually highlight the absence of boundaries between the fictive universe of Dasigal Mosavalai and the activist Self-Respect world outside. When Gunabhushini exhorts the devadasis present in the audience to give up their despicable profession and to “adapt to the times”, it appears as though Moovalur has chosen to speak through her in the penultimate scene. What would you prefer: notoriety or praise? If it is praise you want, I would advise you to leave this prostitution at once. If you would rather be humiliated, go ahead, keep a lover in each town. What do you gain from courting abuse? Apart from falling prey to disease, what other happiness do you find? Look at the plight of those whose income once ran into lakhs of rupees! Don’t other women lead perfectly contented lives even though they only have one partner? Don’t worry about what else you can do! You will be assured of a life free of care when you let go of your wicked, greedy schemes and remain faithful to one man alone. Both admiration and praise will come seeking you. The world is changing rapidly. Your old tricks are bound to fail in a climate like this. So do not harbour any illusions. Adapt to the times. (p. 282)

While Self-Respect activism and the drive to dismantle the devadasi system is thus a strong theme in the novel, a feminist reading reveals

another, less overt textual centre—the vibrant energies of the two young devadasi sisters—Kantha and Ganavathi—whose attitudes to life and living are startlingly and unashamedly at odds with the moral codes that, in a sense, drove the activists arguing for the abolition of the devadasi system (despite Periyar’s own reservations about foregrounding the question of morality). What the novel offers us really are two different narrative centres and, consequently, two different registers of language which are a little at variance with each other. It seems to me that even as Moovalur describes the outside world of Self-Respect activism—the world of Self-Respect conferences, reformists, even an entire province that is run like a SelfRespect Utopia—she also offers a fascinating perspective on the inner world of the devadasis, their dilemmas, conflicts and joys in a manner that is not always rigid or judgemental. By highlighting the liveliness and the wit of the two young devadasi sisters and by describing their lives and their environment in great detail, Moovalur, if briefly and unwittingly, takes our attention off her own abolitionist agenda. Kantha and Ganavathi’s ready wit and intelligence contrasts sharply with the laughable idiocy of the uppercaste playboy, Natarajan, as well as with the naivety of Somasekaran, a young man from a royal family. In the very first chapter, Moovalur describes the encounter between the two dasi sisters and Natarajan in a first-class compartment of a train bound for Chennai. Having come to the conclusion that Natarajan is quite a fool, Kantha and Ganavathi employ various strategies to get him to part with his watch. At the end of this episode though, we have little sympathy for Natarajan who is so full of himself that he is constantly boasting about how much money he has just spent on another dasi. Kantha and Ganavathi, on the other hand, impress us with their quick thinking and presence of mind. : “Your hairstyle and your ladies watch makes you look like a Malayali woman. If you say you are a man, why then, you must be one! But why can’t a wealthy man like you string your watch from a gold chain? That way, your watch can hang from your pocket. If you had done that, would I have teased you so? It is because you are wearing the watch on your wrist in a lady-like fashion that I jested with you.” The myner suddenly felt embarassed. He wished he could somehow take back his stupid words. “Why Ganavathi!” he exclaimed, “You say that women wear watches on their wrists. Then why is it that you haven’t worn one yourself?” “I am an unmarried young girl. I can hope to wear a watch only if people like you buy me one. Do I have a husband or what?” retorted Ganavathi smartly.

The myner thought happily, “This one is only as long as a bean. Yet see how intelligent she is! She talks so affectionately! Whenever she opens her mouth to speak, my heart skips a beat. Her speech is marked by brilliance. When our women speak, their voice sounds harsh and grating. It is as though some sounds have been boiled and poured into one’s ears.” In a fit of generosity, he offered, “Ganavathi, it seems as though you desire this watch. Here, take it.” : “What kind of wickedness is this? You are a passenger just like me. Once we alight, you will be bound in one direction, and I in the other. Why jest with me? Don’t you know of the fickleness of train friendships? I do not want your watch. I only wear what is mine. Wearing a watch that has come to you for free isn’t something to be proud of. Passengers on a train always indulge in loose talk in order to pass the time. I don’t want your watch. Don’t bother me with such offers.” The unfortunate myner was now caught in a game of his own making. “I boasted to her that I once spent a lakh within three months. If I do not give them this 300 rupee watch, they will surely think ill of me. I had better gift it to her,” he thought to himself. Aloud, he said, “Ganavathi! Here, I am gifting you this watch in appreciation of your cleverness. Treat it as your own. Show me your hand. Let me tie the watch around your wrist.” : “Are you aware of what you are saying? Is it right to touch the hand of an unmarried woman? Don’t ever suggest such a tiling again. Do you know what my plight will be if my mother were to hear of this?” : “My intentions are not bad, believe me. The fact is that I happen to be deeply influenced by western culture. That is the reason I spoke in this manner. Don’t be angry.” : “Does western culture require you to foolishly part with a watch worth three hundred rupees? Is this the way foreigners behave?” (pp. 16-18)

Moovalur’s attempt may have been to alert us to the wiles of the dasi sisters. However, like Natarajan, we end up being charmed by the young women who give the novel its fictive energy, its life. In a sense then, the vibrance of these two characters takes the edge off Moovalur’s antidevadasi campaign. Despite Moovalur, the dasis win our hearts in a way that none of the other characters in the novel do. The dasis, it would appear, are larger than mere authorial intentions and have spun out of control! Dasigal Mosavalai is located at the intersection between the old and the new. It is a chronicle of a way of life that has been forced to the brink of extinction by the new wave of Self-Respect and middle-class reformist initiatives. This is perhaps why we are able to read so many layers in the text. It would appear as though the other narrative, the narrative that deals with the structures of feeling that characterise a devadasi’s life, often run contrary to the “public face” of the novel—that of a straightforward SelfRespect, reformist text. This, despite the fact that both Kantha and

Ganavathi have clearly been recast as “prostitutes”, despite the fact that their public announcement at the Self-Respect conference that they will give up practising their profession is meant to represent the narrative closure. It is in the cracks and crevices of the narrative that we have to look for women’s stories. The excerpts chosen for translation are meant to give the reader a feel of the original text—its tenor, tone, theme and content. Each excerpt is preceded by an introductory note that serves to link the former with the text that has immediately preceded it. As far as possible, I have attempted to preserve the flow of the narrative in its entirety. The selections have been done with this in mind. 1

See Saskia C. Kersenboom, Nityasumangali: Devadasi Tradition in South India (Delhi: Motilal Banarasidass, 1987) and Srividya Natarajan, Another Stage in the Life of the Nation: Sadir, Bharatanatyam, Feminist Theory (unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Hyderabad, February 1997) for a more detailed explanation of the devadasi tradition. 2 See review (Madippurai), Dasigal Mosavalai (Madras: Pearl Press, 1936). 3 See Periyar’s essay in the appendix “The Law Prohibiting Pottukattu”. 4 Draupadi. 5 Lighted camphor in a plate that is offered before the image of god.

A Playboy’s Infatuation and the Designs of Women (Myner Maiyalum Madanthayar Mayamum)

The opening chapter describes the encounter between the dasis, Kantha and Ganavathi, and a well-to-do dandy—the myner. Moovalur’s intention is to demonstrate to the reader the wiles the dasis employ to “seduce” gullible young men. However, Kantha and Ganavathi impress us so much with their ready wit and intelligence (the myner becomes the butt of all their ridicule), that as readers, we end up laughing with them at the myner.

Kamalapuram Bogachintamani’s daughters—Kantha and Ganavathi—had studied music under the Mysore Vidwan for a fee of Rs 5000. They constantly received invitations to perform at concerts. Such was their skill and fame. They were visited by distinguished men every single day. The richer ones travelled all the way by car just to hear them sing! Other dasis in the neighbourhood could barely conceal their envy. One morning, the Bogachintamani household received a telegram. “Go at once to the lawyer Sundaram Iyer’s house and show him this telegram. Find out what it is about. Also, don’t forget to invite him home on your sisters’ behalf,” Bogachintamani instructed her son Karunakaran. As he approached the lawyer’s house, Karunakaran respectfully removed his angavastram— the cloth he wore over his shirt and tucked it away under his arm. The lawyer was busy reading some papers pertaining to a case that was coming up for hearing that day. He stood up at once to receive his visitor. “Come, Karunakara! What has brought you here?” he enquired. Karunakaran mentioned the telegram and added that his sisters would like him to honour them with a visit. The lawyer was overjoyed. He kept savouring the fact that the dasis had invited him to their home! “Have you had coffee, Karunakara?”, he asked fondly. “I was just about to have my coffee when the telegram arrived. I came running here” replied Karunakaran. Iyer passed the buck on to his client. “Take this boy with you and supply him with whatever he needs,” he instructed.

What could the poor client do? After all, he could not afford to displease the lawyer! With a show of great respect, he treated Karunakaran to everything from halwa to other sweets. “Please tell your sisters to exert their influence over the lawyer and get him to win this case for me. If you help me out, I will never forget you,” he requested Karunakaran finally. Karunakaran was thrilled. “Would I attract this much respect if my sisters weren’t dasis? Surely, that is why our elders encourage our women to become dasis. It is true that those who do not follow this profession enjoy upper-caste status. But then do they get even one per cent of the respect that is given to us? It is best to be born into a dasi family. Even if you come from a royal family you will not be treated with such deference,” he reflected. Cheerfully, he assured the client, “You can set your mind at rest. I will tell my sisters. Please come home some day.” They were back now at the lawyer’s house. “What, Karunakara! Did you eat to your heart’s content?” asked the lawyer with a smile. Karunakaran replied, “What can I lack when I am under your care? I must be going now. My sisters will be expecting me.” The lawyer was pleased with himself, “I have managed to win the sisters’ affection without spending a pie! Would they have sent this boy under the pretext of getting their telegram read just to invite me home if they did not care? They could easily have found someone else to read them the telegram. I was right. An ordinary person cannot gain access to Kantha and Ganavathi’s house. It is not easy to catch even a glimpse of these women outside the concert hall! Why, they do not so much as step outside their house!” Preoccupied with such thoughts, he translated the telegram and wrote out the Tamil message on a sheet of glazed paper. He then folded the sheet and enclosed it in an envelope that bore his name. Handing this envelope to Karunakaran, he sent the latter off with a message that he would follow soon. Some might ask how a lawyer, given all his knowledge and training, could jump to such conclusions. You see, when it comes to dasis, even the most worldly-wise person acts out of character! Karunakaran hurried home with the envelope. The telegram was addressed to Bogachintamani and read as follows: Concert on 8th at Chennai’s Ganasabha. Your daughters Kantha and Ganavathi will be paid an allowance of Rs 75. Confirm participation.

—Secretary, Ganasabha When Kantha heard this, she said with a snort, “What is this, amma? It will cost us 50 rupees just to travel to Chennai and back. How on earth will an allowance of Rs 75 suffice? Just tell them that we can’t come.” Bogachintamani was quick to retort, “You fool! Does one learn music hoping to make a fortune from it? Will music buy you clothes and jewellery? Let us assume that the Ganasabha gives you a hundred rupees. After your travel expenses, you will not be left with ten rupees even. Why do dasis seek to learn music? Only to advertise their dasi profession. If you travel to other cities and perform at concerts, you will meet many rich men and zamindars. A couple of them will walk into our trap. Their gifts will see us through. Our music will not fetch us much. Many wealthy men, men from the salaried class, businessmen and zamindars will attend the concert at the Chennai Ganasabha. Who knows? We just might get lucky! It is our good fortune that this invitation has come. We must accept it. There is no question of refusing.” Bogachintamani was not one to lose time. Promptly, she sent a reply telegram with the message that they would reach Chennai on the 7th. Dasi Chinnammal had already heard about the telegram from Chennai and about the goings-on in the Bogachintamani household. Sullenly she complained to her daughter, Kanakavalli, “It appears that our neighbours get telegrams all the time. Those girls make part of their income by singing at concerts and the rest by pleasing their male clients. This way, they get really rich. As for you, you harbinger of poverty! You do not manage to make even a rupee a day! The little money I have goes towards treating you for this ailment or that. Unfortunate donkey! Oh! The number of rich men who queue up at her door! And to think that no one even asks after me. The God who granted you beauty does not seem to have blessed you with any luck. You sleep through the day. If a dasi does not make the effort to look attractive, who will turn to look at her? Unfortunate girl! Why are you still here?” Her mother’s abuses brought tears to Kanakavalli’s eyes. She retired to her bedroom in silence. “Aiyo!1 All my earnings go to her and yet this is what I have to endure! What kind of a profession is this? What an existence! I would have been far happier in a poor household. Anything is

better than the life of a dasi. A poor couple may face problems but at least they can enjoy a few moments of togetherness. Why was I born into this shameless community? Oh God! Do you exist at all? If you do, why is it that you don’t punish those sinful harlots? What kind of a community is this, which does not show its daughters even a jot of compassion or mercy? My own mother turns away from my pain and suffering. She abuses me vilely and blames me for not doing as well as our neighbours! Wealthy men will only visit dasis of their class, no matter if the latter appear ugly and hideous. Such men will not so much as glance at a poor dasi even if she happens to be beautiful! Despite being well aware of the situation, my mother forced me into the profession. Now she blames me. It is better to kill myself than to live with her. They threaten us that we will burn in hell if we commit suicide! They try to scare us! But tell me, can hell be any worse than the life of a dasi? Never. If I run away from this sinner, people from my community will bad-mouth me. They will say that I have eloped with my lover! We are permitted to solicit as many men as we please within the four walls of the house. But to go away with one man, now that is shameful! To think that entire puranas have been written in praise of this shameful community! If I believed that there was indeed a God, I would ask him to ensure that the authors of such puranas are reborn into the dasi community. Aiyo! Did I have to be born into such a community? Even granting that such is my fate, why was I not born ugly? Then I might have married someone and lived happily! God! If it is true that you are the creator, true that you are compassionate towards all living creatures, when you create dasi women make them both ugly and stupid. You may endow women from other communities with all the beauty and intelligence you want. I refuse to believe in your existence unless you listen to my pleas. If people disapprove of my atheism, I will curse them for being blind fools,” thus Kanakavalli lamented her fate. The Bogachintamani household was agog with activity. In preparation for the trip to Chennai, the old dasi had instructed Karunakaran to pack a few bags, beddings and the tambura2 without fail. Karunakaran complied but received little thanks for his pains. In fact, Bogachintamani scolded him, “What is this, Karunakara? Standing before me like a lump of wood! Hurry! Fetch a carriage so that we can go to the station! Do you have to be told each and everything? You are such a fool! You don’t even know how to

make the arrangements for a trip!” Karunakaran fetched a carriage and hurriedly loaded all the luggage. Announcing that he would walk ahead and reach the station before them, he started out. Bogachintamani, Kantha and Ganavathi followed in their carriage. On reaching the station, Bogachintamani handed her son some money, instructing him to buy train tickets to Chennai—two first class and two third class ones. “Amma, if we take third class tickets for all of us, we can travel together,” Kantha suggested. Bogachintamani noted Kantha’s lack of experience. Aloud, she exclaimed, “What Kantha! You are still so ignorant about our trade secrets! Did you think I asked for those two first class tickets out of a sense of false pride? The richest of men and zamindars all travel first class. If you girls travel by that class, these men will be attracted to you. They will seek your acquaintance. That is the reason I asked for first class tickets. If a copassenger asks for your address, enquire if he intends to invite you to sing at a wedding concert. They will come to believe that you girls make a living through your music. They will not imagine you to be lustful creatures who run after men. Do you know why I am advising you to talk and behave thus? These are bad times for us. People are saying that we dasis ruin people. If we claim that we are musicians and not dasis, people will not think so ill of us. If someone enquires if you have a lover, retort that relationships with men will make your body unfit for the musician’s profession, that you will only choose a man who shows a proper and respectful love for you.” Even as Bogachintamani was thus advising her daughters, Karunakaran showed up with the tickets and asked her permission to engage a coolie. “You fat lump! Where will the one anna for the porter come from? When you are here, where is the need to waste money on porters? There is still time for the train to arrive. If you want, you can make two trips to move the luggage to the platform,” she scolded. Karunakaran had little choice in the matter. When the train arrived, Kantha and Ganavathi boarded their first class compartment in great style. Their co-passenger happened to be a handsome young man. Dressed in expensive clothes, sporting jewellery and a wristwatch worth some 300 rupees, he was busy smoking away. The moment he set eyes on Kantha and Ganavathi, the man’s expression and demeanor changed. His eyes began to roll in their sockets, so powerfully seduced was he. His imagination began to run riot and wild thoughts crossed his mind, “These girls must be dasis.

Chi!3 That cannot be true. After all, these days even Brahmin women play instruments of all kinds! They even attend concerts. Could they be Brahmin women then? No no. If that had been the case, they would have been accompanied by men. In which case, there ought to be some men around. Therefore these women must be dasis.” The young man was a myner—a well-to-do playboy. The sight of the two women set his pulse racing. He even wondered if he could touch and hug Kantha and Ganavathi. “Chi! Chi! That would not be proper: they might even think I am off my head.” Curbing his thoughts, he told himself that he would manage one way or the other to draw the women into conversation and thereby make their acquaintance. Casting a sidelong glance at the myner, Ganavathi addressed her sister, “I wonder when this train will reach Chennai.” Not wanting to miss this opportunity to talk to the women, the myner quickly butted in, “At six in the morning. Amma! Which town do you belong to? I seem to recollect having seen the two of you somewhere. You must reply without getting angry.” The women had concluded by now that he was a myner of high standing. Speaking to him would only be to their advantage. “We are from Thanjavur. We have been invited to give a concert in Chennai. You might have seen us in any one of several places. Of course, myners cannot be expected to remember people they have seen only once. So how could you possibly remember us? In fact, all this while we remained silent under the impression that though you knew us, you did not want to let on that you did.” Kantha spoke with gusto. Flattered, the myner began to boast, “Ah! So the two of you are from Thanjavur! It is quite possible that you have seen me there several times. I am a frequent visitor to Keezhveedhi Kanakambujam’s house. In fact, just an hour before this train left, I purchased a saree worth Rs 200 for Kanakambujam from the Seth’s shop and sent it across to her through her brother Govindasami. I also gifted her sundry items worth a hundred rupees. I am off to Chennai as well for the January festival.” Kantha and Ganavathi, who had been closely studying his behaviour and appearance all this while, had decided that he was quite a clown. The smarter of the two, Kantha, looked at the myner with mischief in her eyes. “Wasn’t it you who performed the shantimuhurtam4 for Thanjavur Bhagyathammal’s daughter, Tripurasundari?” As soon as he heard this, the myner suffered a fresh attack of lust. He was not unlike an

addict possessed by the supernatural, so elated was he at having made the acquaintance of the two women. Taking delight in the fact that they already seemed to know him, he jumped to the conclusion that they must be in love with him. Intent on winning their affections, he glanced at Kantha, “What! So you know Tripurasundari? Obviously you know a lot about me! Indeed it was I who performed the shantimuhurtam for Tripurasundari. Apart from the five thousand rupees I spent on the occasion, I also gifted her a diamond set worth Rs 10,000. The sundry expenses, alone, came to Rs 5000. All this, mind you, within a short span of two months!” From the myner’s tall claims the women concluded that he was a clown. They could easily get him to dance to their tune. The myner ordered the attendant to fetch three glasses of ice colour.5 He also enquired about the price of oranges, apples and other fruit from a passing vendor. The vendor, who knew a good opportunity when he saw one, joked, “You ask as though you do not know the price! Is this the first time that you are buying from me? I am no stranger to you.” In the meantime, the attendant arrived bearing three glasses of ice colour. Kantha demurred when the myner offered her a glass, “We are not accustomed to taking such drinks. But seeing that you have ordered them for us, we will not refuse.” Kantha took the glass from him and began to sip. The myner offered Ganavathi a glass as well. After finishing his drink, he paid up. “How many dozens of each should I keep aside for you?” asked the fruit vendor. “Two dozen,” replied the myner. Slyly the vendor picked out a few over-ripe fruit for him. On the myner’s request, he also arranged for some flowers. The myner then presented the sisters with the fruits and the flowers. “Why did you do this? Couldn’t you have asked me before going ahead? Let me pay for them at least” said Kantha, fishing out ten rupees from her purse with an air of generosity.6 At the same time, it must be observed, she did not fully stretch out her arm. “I will not take it. If I take the money from you, my master will be angry,” protested that wily young vendor. “Okay. So what is the total?” the myner persisted. “You have placed us in a difficult situation! Why do you insist on treating my money differently from yours?” The myner rejoiced at Kantha’s words. The vendor announced that the fruits and flowers would cost the myner fifteen rupees, eleven annas and six paise. The myner paid him a round sum of sixteen rupees. The women thought to themselves, “A proper fool has fallen into our trap.” As for the myner, he

was eager to display his wit but was not quite sure how. After all, one can talk only if one has something to say! Making up his mind to speak anyway, he glanced at the tambura and began, “What is this long object?” KANTHA (having concluded that he was a proper fool): “Tambur.” MYNER: “What district is this Tambur?” KANTHA: “What is this? This is neither Tambur nor Asalur. This is to set the scale for our singing.” MYNER (with a half-smile): “I was just pulling your leg. I have some knowledge of music too, you know. Can I have your address?” Ganavathi pretended to be angry with her sister. “Our people have this bad habit. The British always mind their own business. Why, akka,7 why are you wasting your breath? Don’t talk needlessly! Don’t we have to perform at a concert tomorrow? Your voice will turn hoarse. A train journey is bad enough. Will sleepless nights and all this constant talking help your voice? Won’t it affect your health? So do keep quiet. Think of the number of artistes and musicians who will be present at the sabha! Don’t you realise that we have to perform really well, make a name for ourselves? Will they accept the excuse that we were indulging in unnecessary talk during our train journey? What is all this to that ayya?8 Maha Prabhu!9 We have a living to make.” The myner thought to himself, “What creature is this—no bigger than a berry! Ah! What modesty! What intelligence! Women from this community are something else! Why do our women invariably turn out to be a combination of Mudevi and Peedai?”10 Unable to contain his joy, he said, “Ganavathi, you seem to have assumed that I am not worth a paisa! Hear me out first. If you knew how I came to acquire the title of myner, you wouldn’t condemn me thus. Before you stands a man who has spent a lakh of rupees in just over three months! Ask anyone. They will testify to my greatness. Why do you think so ill of me? You know nothing about me. Why do you play thus with words?” Kantha made covert signs to her sister indicating that the myner was without doubt a first-rate fool. She also conveyed to Ganavathi that she should get him to part with his wrist watch one way or another. GANAVATHI: “I spoke in ignorance. You see, I had assumed you were a woman. Please don’t be angry.” MYNER: “Aiyo! You mistook me for a woman? An intelligent woman like you! It seems as though you don’t even know enough to differentiate

between a man and a woman! And you take it upon yourself to advise your sister? Great!” GANAVATHI: “Please don’t lose your temper. Your hairstyle and your ladies watch make you look like a Malayali woman. If you say you are a man, why then, you must be one! But why can’t a wealthy man like you string your watch from a gold chain? That way, your watch can hang from your pocket. If you had done that, would I have teased you so? It is because you are wearing the watch on your wrist in a lady-like fashion that I jested with you.” The myner suddenly felt embarassed. He wished he could somehow take back his stupid words. “Why Ganavathi!” he exclaimed, “You say that women wear watches on their wrists. Then why is it that you haven’t worn one yourself?” “I am an unmarried young girl. I can hope to wear a watch only if people like you buy me one. Do I have a husband or what?” retorted Ganavathi smartly. The myner thought happily, “This one is only as long as a bean. Yet see how intelligent she is! She talks so affectionately! Whenever she opens her mouth to speak, my heart skips a beat. Her speech is marked by brilliance. When our women speak, their voices sound harsh and grating. It is as though some sounds have been boiled and poured into one’s ears.” In a fit of generosity, he offered, “Ganavathi, it seems as though you desire this watch. Here, take it.” GANAVATHI: “What kind of wickedness is this? You are a passenger just like me. Once we alight, you will be bound in one direction, and I in the other. Why jest with me? Haven’t you heard of the fickleness of train friendships? I do not want your watch. I wear only what is mine. Wearing a watch that has come to you for free isn’t something to be proud of. Passengers on a train always indulge in loose talk in order to pass the time. I don’t want your watch. Don’t bother me with such offers.” The unfortunate myner was now caught in a game of his own making. “I boasted to her that I once spent a lakh within three months. If I do not give them this three hundred rupee watch, they will surely think ill of me. I had better gift it to her,” he thought to himself. Aloud, he said, “Ganavathi! Here, I am gifting you this watch in appreciation of your cleverness. Treat it as your own. Show me your hand. Let me tie the watch around your wrist.”

GANAVATHI: “Are you aware of what you are saying? Is it right to touch the hand of an unmarried woman? Don’t ever suggest such a thing again. Do you know what my plight will be if my mother were to hear of this?” MYNER: “My intentions are not bad, believe me. The fact is that I happen to be deeply influenced by western culture. That is the reason I spoke in this manner. Don’t be angry.” GANAVATHI: “Does western culture require you to foolishly part with a watch worth three hundred rupees? Is this the way foreigners behave?” MYNER: “How cleverly you slip in these words about my foolishness! How does it count as foolishness—to be happy with someone’s smartness and to reward him or her for it?” GANAVATHI: “I am a young girl. I had assumed that only foolish people acquired the title of myner and spoke so. Don’t get angry! Never again will I speak in jest.” MYNER; “You are allowed to call me a fool once or twice. That will not make me angry. It matters little after all when an intelligent person says such things. I understand that it is out of your love for me that you talk thus. So how does it matter what you say? Indeed, I am fortunate to hear such words. Would you have been as outspoken with greedy men, no matter if they had been extremely wealthy? Isn’t it because I am so generous that I have the good fortune of making your acquaintance? Do you take me for a fool? Do not make the mistake of comparing me with the others. Even if ten people take to following me around all day, I am too smart to be taken in by them. I will do no more than feed them. They will not get a single paisa out of me. That is for sure. I bear no anger towards you for what you said in jest.” GANAVATHI: “Getting a bunch of loafers together and feeding them— now how can that be called an act of foolishness? I must admit that you are very smart indeed. The wisdom you must possess to spend a lakh in three months! I find myself at a loss for words! No words can do justice to your intelligence and your greatness!” MYNER: “I notice that you are disrespectful when addressing me.11 You are stubborn all right! A funny little one you are! I have jested with many dasis. But never have I met one as witty as you. I find your chatter adorable.”

GANAVATHI: “Even when I speak in jest, you imagine all kinds of things! Go on! Don’t talk to me anymore and I will not speak to you either.” GANAVATHI (looking at her sister): “This is like the story of ‘Adu Daandi Akka Idu’.”12 MYNER: “What is this new story you are talking about? Won’t you tell me?” GANAVATHI: “If I tell you the story of ‘Adu Daandi Akka Idu’, you will only get angry. So perhaps I shouldn’t.” MYNER: “Just tell me, Ganavathi. Why would I take a story to heart? Even if the story mentions me by name, I will not be upset. In fact, I will be only too happy to hear it. So tell me.” GANAVATHI began, “It was one o’clock in the morning. In a small town, four women were talking to one another when suddenly they heard the beat of drums ensuing from the palace. One woman said, “Nice music.” Another commented, “Must be an instrument made from skin.” The third declared, “Skill! Skill!” The fourth concluded, “It is all because we are living in such times.” The king, who was doing his inspection rounds that night, happened to hear this exchange. Their words seemed to make little sense. As soon as he returned to the palace, he sent word to the four women asking them to present themselves before the royal assembly. The women duly presented themselves. The king asked them to explain the conversation he had overheard concerning the sound of the drums. At this, one of the women turned to another and asked, “What is this, akka?” The second replied, “That is what this is.” The third said, “But if it is that, it must have this.” And the fourth declared, “It can be like that. It can also be like this.” The king was just as bewildered by this discussion! He requested the women to explain what they had just said. One of the four women said, “There is nothing extraordinary about what we were discussing last night. We heard the sound of drums. One of us commented, ‘That is melodious.’ Another explained, ‘Since the drums are made of cow hide, it is the sound of skin.’ The third added, ‘It is the skill of the drummer.’ The fourth concluded, ‘It is the quiet time of the night. All this is because we live in times like these.’ That was all.” “Let that be. But what did you just discuss here, before this assembly?” the king persisted. “If I told you that, we would be beheaded,” replied the

woman. “You will be beheaded even if you don’t,” announced the king sternly. They would be in trouble whether or not they told the king! Might as well expose the king’s foolishness and risk their heads, the women concluded. “Oh King! You rule over so many people. Yet you say you don’t follow our meaning! How can you possibly take care of an entire kingdom? You may cover the rice pot and prevent the rice from boiling over. But you cannot stop the mouths of people. People will talk as they please, say what they want. It is best to ignore them. Instead, you have summoned us here. That is why one of us asked, ‘What is this?’ Instead of saying that the music was created by cowhide, another one declared, ‘That is what this is.’ Instead of saying that if the skin on the drum was cowhide, it would have developed horns, the third merely said, ‘But if it is that, it must have this.’ Instead of saying that there were cows with horns and cows without, the fourth woman declared, ‘It can be like that. It can also be like this.’ The story goes that an embarassed king let the women free at once. I recalled this story suddenly and wanted to narrate it to my sister. Since you asked for it as well, I went ahead and told you the whole story.” “What is all this, Ganavathi?” asked the myner happily, “Will any king be as foolish as that?” He was blissfully unaware that Ganavathi had had him in mind while narrating the story! Dasis often ridicule their rich patrons. But the latter never realize this. On the contrary, they encourage the dasis and enjoy themselves hugely. Irrespective of how wealthy, intelligent or high-born these patrons may be, the dasis will ask them to perform a few tasks. Ordinary people would consider these tasks very lowly. But the dasis are extremely smart about these matters. A patron loses his temper when his innocent wife tries to discuss family matters with him. “You whore!” he yells at her, “Have you come to advise me on these things? I am educated and wealthy! Look at the respect the entire town has for me! Don’t you know that I was invited to the governor’s tea party? Don’t you know that I was an honoured guest there? Obviously they don’t take me for a fool. I would have been far better off married to a donkey. I will lose any honour I have left if I so much as look at you! Get lost! Go to your mother’s. I will send you whatever money is required for your upkeep.” He will round off his tirade with a flourish. The same man will accept anything that the dasi says as though it were the word of God. He will hasten to obey her every

command. It is not very surprising therefore that Ganavathi ridiculed the myner in this fashion and that the latter passively accepted the ridicule. The train was fast approaching Chennai. The myner suddenly realised that he had not asked for Kantha and Ganavathi’s address, “What Ganavathi! You haven’t given me your address, etc.” GANAVATHI: “What is this, master? What does this ‘etc.’ mean?” MYNER: “Why are you making fun of me unnecessarily? I need your address all right, but I will be at peace only if you tell me whether either of you has a man.” GANAVATHI: “Do we have to go into all that? All right, I will. But tell me, who will believe a dasi’s words anyway? Even if a dasi sticks to one man all her life, they will still say, ‘After all, she is only a dasi. She must have several men in her life.’ This being the case, who is going to believe what I say? Will you? What is the use of saying anything at all? You might as well throw me and my words into the garbage.” MYNER: “Come! Come! Are there no chaste women among dasis?” GANAVATHI: “A vellalar from Mayavaram taluk visits my sister. He is very straightforward. He treats my sister with great respect and honour. My sister does not so much as glance at other men. As for me, I am still to be married.” The myner performed a quick mental calculation, “All right! I did plan on taking both Kantha and Ganavathi as my mistresses. But Ganavathi says that Kantha is in love with another man. I will worry about that later. My former mistress, to whom I showed such generosity, has forgotten me. Had I been as generous to these two chaste women, they would have cared for me in my old age! What is one to do now? I have been deceived. Let bygones be bygones. If I marry Ganavathi, I will become the head of the Kantha-Ganavathi household. Once that happens, I can ask Kantha’s lover —the Vellalar—to leave. Then I can take charge of both sisters.” Aloud, he said, “Ganavathi! Some whores remain ungrateful no matter how much you give them. I realize that the two of you are chaste. I know many dasis. But never have I met women as loyal as the two of you. Please trust me. I place all my hopes in you. I will sell off the rest of my property, send my wife to her mother’s house and move in with you. I don’t care how you treat me!” When Ganavathi heard these words, she pretended to be shocked, “Aiyo! Please do not utter such terrible words!” she exclaimed, “My mother might

hear you. Many rich men offered fifteen and twenty thousand to marry me. Their offers were turned down because of the fear that my music would suffer. From now on, do not utter such words. That will be the end of all our light-hearted banter.” The myner was pleasantly surprised, “Is it possible that there are dasis like this in the world?” he wondered happily, “When I bought some soda and fruit for them at Vizhupuram, they offered to pay. I offered them my watch worth Rs 300. So far they have not even mentioned it. They have absolutely no material desires. Can wealthy men who fall in love with such dasis come to any harm?” Aloud, he said, “Ganavathi! Here. Take this watch.” “No! No! We will take it from you only if you let us pay for it. No one in our entire lineage takes things from others for free. Our family makes its living from music alone. Don’t compare us to other dasis,” said Ganavathi in the tone of a martyr. Women from this community normally behave as though they have no material desires after they have ascertained that they are definitely going to gain materially. When it looks as though they may not get something they want, they use their wits to get hold of it. The dasis have a fine insight into human character. The fool who visits the dasi is actually delighted when the dasi slyly takes things away from him! When he emerges from the dasis’ house, he boasts to his friends, “These dasis accept anything you give them. On the other hand, if we take some sweets to our wives, they are only going to turn their faces away. Sir, tell me, how will one feel like buying anything for those wretches? One day, the dasi Sornam went out wearing my watch, stud, ring and shoes. Since then, I have become really fond of her. I have told her to keep all that I gave her and to wear them whenever I visit her. She obeys my wishes to this day. So who has greater affection for us? The one who obeys us or the one who doesn’t? Will our women oblige us like this?” These men don’t realize that the basis of the dasi’s profession is to suit their behaviour to the man concerned and extract whatever belongs to him. The poor myner was blind when it came to Ganavathi. “Don’t misunderstand me, Ganavathi!” he declared, “If you desire my protection and benevolence, don’t hesitate to accept this.” From the servant’s compartment, Bogachintamani was eavesdropping on this conversation. “A myner, after all, will remain wealthy only for three months or so,” she thought to herself. “It appears that neither of the two

girls have managed to get hold of his watch yet. We must acquire it somehow. It all depends on whether we are fated to possess the watch. If my daughters give him our address in exchange for that watch, the myner will just follow us around and talk big.” Bogachintamani also felt that their profession would be ruined if they were seen at a concert in the company of men. She gestured to her and said, “What is this? I held my tongue all this while. Our brother seems like a very nice man and here you are making fun of him. It seems as though he is left with only that watch. He might have to incur various expenses in Chennai. How will he meet these expenses? Don’t take the watch from him.” Truimphantly, Ganavathi turned to the myner, “Did you see how angry my mother is?” she asked. “I told you right at the beginning. You see, I was speaking the truth when I said that we do not make a living by cheating others. Would any other dasi have refused a three hundred rupee watch? For whatever reason, we have been born into this horrible community. But we do not have the heart to cause harm to others.” The myner believed every word she said. “Ganavathi!” he exclaimed, “You do not seem to take my words seriously! If you want my protection, take this watch without your mother’s knowledge.” He then pressed the watch on her. “I should not disregard your words. Since you insist, I will pay you back in some other way. Give me the watch quietly when my mother is not looking,” said Ganavathi taking the watch from him. The myner’s heart was overflowing with joy. He felt that his desires would surely be fulfilled. Without wasting more time, he pulled out a fountain pen and sat poised to take down their address. Ganavathi said, “Let me give you our Chennai address for now. Come there and we can talk everything over.” So saying she gave him a false address—120, Thangasalai Street. Reverently touching the piece of paper to his eyes, the myner tucked it away carefully. The train reached Egmore station at six in the morning. The passengers alighted and got busy haggling over cab fares. The myner asked the dasis if he could go along with them in the same cab. Ganavathi refused curtly saying there wasn’t enough space in the cab to accommodate all of them. The cab left with the women. The myner seethed with humiliation. “It was a mistake to have asked them,” he thought to himself. “Since I had their address anyway, I should have taken a separate cab instead of hurrying after them like this.” Following that night-long banter with Kantha and Ganavathi, the myner found it impossible to spend even a moment alone.

He was wildly excited. “When will I see them next? Oh! What beauty! What sweet words! I did not even mark the onset of dawn! Her beauty is etched deep in my memory.” The myner had been seduced! He was almost delirious. “Driver!” he would call out and then in the same breath yell, “Go away, you!” Concluding from all this that the man must be insane, a porter asked, “What, master? Do you or don’t you need a coolie?” “Chi! Chi! You oaf! Hurrying me like this when I am deep in thought! Go! Go! I don’t need anything.” Ultimately, the myner was reduced to carrying his own luggage. Upon entering the hotel, he looked around to see if Ganavathi had come in search of him. “I must not delay unnecessarily. Ganavathi must be expecting me,” he muttered to himself. Hurrying through his breakfast, he then took a taxi straight to the address that Ganavathi had given him. 1

An exclamation of fear, surprise or grief. A four-stringed instrument used to maintain the scale or the basic note in Carnatic music. 3 An expression of disgust. 4 The auspicious hour at which a marriage is consummated. In this case, of course, the consummation occurs outside of marriage. 5 A cool drink. 6 In the original text, it is not clear who the speaker is, Kantha or Ganavathi. However, from the context, it appears most likely that it is Kantha. A little later, Ganavathi chides her for talking too much to a stranger. 7 Elder sister. 8 Master. 9 Wealthy man of high rank. 10 Mudevi is a term of abuse reserved for women. Literally, it means a female deity who causes misfortune. Peedai refers to a state of misery and poverty. 11 The suffix Da, which Ganavathi probably used (this is not clear in the original text) indicates disrespect, towards a male. 12 Adu Daandi Akka Idu translates roughly as “This is the same as that, Elder Sister.” 2

Darkness and Light (Irulum Oliyum)

The myner discovers that the address he has been given by the sisters Kantha and Ganavathi is a false one. Someone directs him to the house of Sivaraman and his wife Gunabhushini, a reformed dasi. Taking pity on the myner, Sivaraman persuades him to spend a few days with them. He also instructs his wife to caution the myner against becoming a pawn in the dasis’ games. In contrast to the wit and the word-play of the opening chapter, the tone of this chapter is considerably more serious. Hailing as she does from the devadasi community, Gunabhushini has an insider’s perspective on the “wicked ways” of the dasis. She is, therefore, an ideal mouthpiece for anti-devadasi propoganda. In the course of a lengthy conversation with the myner (structured like a dialogue in a play), she gets him to see that Kantha and Ganavathi have played tricks on him. The myner has a change of heart and decides to return to his wife. He also promises Gunabhushini that he will do all he can to reform the devadasi system. If the novel’s didactic purpose was not apparent so far, it becomes so now.

GUNABHUSHINI: “If dasis had some special virtues, men would desire them even more than than they do at present. They would care little for the company of other women. Isn’t that so? But then, if the quality of true love is absent between husbands and wives, it is not to be found in liasons with dasis either. What a marriage lacks nowadays is the quality of love. Until love marriages become the norm here, men will continue to betray their wives. All the wicked designs of the dasis fail when it comes to love marriages. By the way, did you know that these so-called godly women only exist here? While prostitution as such is common in foreign countries, most men and women continue to remain faithful to their wives and families The reason—their marriage customs at least are based on love. Even here, we see that men who truly love their wives do not spare so much as a glance at other women, however beautiful the latter might be.” MYNER: “What you say is true perhaps. But can we fault the marriage customs laid down by our ancestors? Can alien customs ever be acceptable to us?” GUNABHUSHINI: “So you too are talking about the customs of our ancestors! Indeed, it has become fashionable to disbelieve anything that

research has proven to be right, to harp constantly on ancient customs. Tell me, did your forefathers visit dasis? Can we swear that we are following the customs of our ancestors in all respects? Our people, (and this includes you as well) have adopted new-fangled western customs in most respects but insist on following our own customs when it comes to marriage! Is that sensible? The puranas, which are peculiar to Hindu religion, mention suyamvara!1 What, after all, is a suyamvara? Does it not refer to the practice by which a woman chooses her own groom? Kings from fifty-six different countries were invited to the suyamvara. The young bride-to-be took a good look at each of these kings even as a herald described their heroic deeds to her. She would then garland the king of her choice. In puranic times therefore, weddings were arranged on the basis of love. Wedding ceremonies in ancient times stemmed from love, not from the rigid and inflexible customs you are talking about. Don’t you see that? I would say that the dasis and others began to prostitute themselves only from the time when these rigid marriage customs came into existence.” MYNER: “They say that marriages are made by Brahma, that the knot he ties cannot be undone.2 They say that when the god-like Brahmin touches and blesses the thali,3 it is as though the gods themselves have blessed the marriage. Aren’t our wedding customs divine? Doesn’t God ordain all marriages?” GUNABHUSHINI: “I have already spoken to you about the wedding customs prevalent in our country. If Brahma considered all beings as equals, wouldn’t he ensure that marriages were contracted only between two equals? How can a sixty year old man wed a six year old girl? Indeed, if Brahma can permit such a marriage, he should also allow a sixty year old woman to marry a six year old boy! Can marriages ordained by Brahma fail? Would a man whose marriage was arranged by Brahma himself visit a dasi? Did Brahma ordain that dasis could have any number of lovers? Did he ordain that that Panchali4 should wed five men? If it is true that Brahma himself arranges marriages, how is it that widowed women end up conceiving? Is it possible then that they actually desire other men? Have you ever observed couples in an inter-caste, reformist marriage? SelfRespecters have popularised such marriages as well.5 Tell me, did Brahma ordain these weddings? In certain temples even eunuchs can get married! Who presides over their weddings? If what you claim about the sanctity of a

traditional marriage is true, would the thali tied in the presence of the gods and the godly Brahmin ever be severed? Would a woman be widowed? Would every trace of material and worldly happiness be snatched away from her? Would she be treated thus? What is so special about a wedding performed in the presence of these gods? “Lift your queenly foot! Pour some water into this pot! Perform an arathi!”6 Besides giving such instructions and lining their pockets with money, what is so wonderful about this work that the Brahmins do? Can’t our womenfolk manage all this work by themselves? The Brahmin’s work is artificial. It has been created with a view to securing his living. Tell me, are animals matched together by others before they mate? When we are hungry, do we ask the Brahmin to set a specific time when we can begin to eat? The only thing that really matters is the natural bonding between a man and a woman. As for all the other extraneous customs, you can be sure that someone or the other is making quick money by enforcing them. You abused your wife even as you sang the praises of dasi Ganavathi. Do I conclude from this that your wedding was not officiated over and blessed by Brahma?” MYNER: “Their unworthy profession fetches the dasis an income that runs into lakhs of rupees. In their last years though, they often don’t have enough to eat. Where do all their earnings go? Do they send it up to heaven? Why does this happen?” GUNABHUSHINI: “I cannot speak with any degree of authority on the subject of dasis sending their money to heaven! We might have to enquire at the post office! But if such a thing as heaven really existed, wouldn’t the white man have discovered it by now? It is like this: A thief amasses a great deal of wealth. In his last years, however, we find that he does not have enough to eat. The reason? In order to do well in his career, a thief needs the support of many people. Therefore, he is forced to share his loot with them. To make matters worse, at the fag end of his life he often finds himself in prison. Like the thief, the dasi needs support from the community whose desires and needs she is then obliged to satisfy. She fears that if she doesn’t do so, her community will wreck her career. A dasi, therefore, is forced to live lavishly. The dasis of these days have also taken to drink. They may earn less when they are older but they cannot let go of their old, glamorous lifestyles. They worry that they will be perceived as inferior if

they lead simple lives. Whatever else they may give up, they cannot give up drinking. They begin to mortgage even their jewels and clothes and so, towards the end, they cannot even afford a proper meal. Handcuffs are in store for the thief. For dasis, it is humiliation that awaits them. In their desperation, they learn to philosophise and argue that everything is God’s work.” MYNER: “I accept all that you say as the truth. Indeed, I am fortunate to have met you. I see now that those women, taking me for a fool, cheated me of my 300-rupee watch. For this, I will certainly have my revenge.” GUNABHUSHINI: “Let bygones be bygones. From now on, don’t fritter away your money. Since you have been paying close attention to me, I think I can proceed to speak more on the subject.” MYNER: “Please.” GUNABHUSHINI: “Dasis lack both morality as well as human compassion. If they possessed these qualities, if they had even an iota of human feeling, would they willingly sacrifice their daughters to strange men or encourage them to practice such a lowly profession? They turn a blind eye to the horrible diseases visited upon their daughters—natural consequences of a profession such as theirs! Mind you, they are not behind in professing devotion, in visiting temples and in offering prayers. They philosophise endlessly. They declare loudly that one should not cause harm to others, that God will ruin you if you do, that you will end up in hell. However, they do not mean a word of what they say. They don’t fear hell any more than the priest does. It appears that the devadasi community in particular, needs an entity called God. Since people see God as their only refuge, the dasis stand to gain by proclaiming their so-called closeness to God. They only have to utter the words, “I swear on God that I love none other than you” and all the wealthy men who visit them are seduced and prepare to relinquish everything to them! Tell a blind man that his blindness is a punishment for having sinned against God and he will readily part with his money in order to appease this God. Priests and Brahmins make their living by telling such lies. Therefore, dasis, prostitutes, Brahmins or priests —everyone needs this entity called God. They use God’s name with utmost ease and betray this stupid world. Recognizing that the world is caught up in the illusion of God, they use his name to perpetuate their fraud. This is not very surprising. If one accepts that the Brahmins emerged from

Brahma’s mouth and the dasis from heaven, one has to admit that the sole aim of both communities is to deceive the world. Why did the Brahmins emerge from the mouth of Brahma and the dasis from heaven? What useful deeds have they performed on earth? How do we explain what they are doing now? Clearly, we will understand the greatness of Brahma and of heaven, if we delve deeply into these questions. Those who wish to attain heaven should first understand the actions of the Brahmins and the dasis who claim to hail from there. These nationalists make a song and dance about foreigners looting our country’s resources. But the same people do not acknowledge that the Brahmins and the dasis are looting the country in the name of God! The Brahmins and the dasis are spreaders of disease! Blood suckers who create divisions of high and low! Does any nationalist have the vision to drive them out? The white man may extort money from us in the name of trade and governance. But he accounts for what he has taken.7 As for the the dasis, the prostitutes and the Brahmins, they extort money merely by chanting the mantras or the name of God and by talking of moksham8. Do they maintain an account of their income and expenditure? Once we acknowledge the fact that dasis, who are considered to be married to God, are actually practising prostitution, we will also agree that the Brahmins’ talk of temples, God, religion and the shastras are nothing short of a fraud. They tell us that God is our protector. How does He tolerate it when His dasi wives prostitute themselves to various men? Do we conclude from this that God has no finer feelings whatsoever? It is the priest who bathes the goddess housed in the temple and drapes the saree around her body. How does God tolerate this? If God existed, wouldn’t we hear Him protest? The Brahmins and the dasis bring nothing but harm to our country. Paavam and punyam9 are but wicked words of their invention. It seems those who have committed pavam are required to lavish their wealth on God and acquire punyam. But why would those who have never committed any paavam in the first place fear God? Why would they go around speaking of the difference between paavam and punyam? God, paavam and punyam—these are entities required only by those who make their living based on the harm they cause others. The sinner who grows fat on the labour of the poor, the dasi who cheats and loots others routinely, the Brahmin who makes a living in the name of God—these are the people who have to concern themselves about paavam and punyam—not those who

lead righteous lives. The poor who labour ceaselessly harbour no fear of God. Any fear that may be present in them is usually the result of wicked propaganda on the part of the upper-castes. The poor are only concerned about safeguarding the property of their wealthy masters. It is the rich who fear the dangers that lurk in the streets. It is they who worry about the wrath of God, about paavam and punyam—not the righteous. Therefore, it is with the intention of looting the people that the Brahmins and the dasis created the concepts of God, sin, punyam, moksham and hell in the first place. The Brahmin community and the dasi community perceive each other as their social equals. Let me cite some dictums from the shastras to demonstrate this to you: “Brahmins are highborn. Treat them with the utmost respect. If they have occupied a particular spot, it is a sin to sit at the same spot later. If others happen to read the shastras that they read, may their tongues be severed. If these others so much as listen to these shastras, may they have molten metal poured into their ears. If they dare to think, their brains will have to be destroyed. It is the duty of the non-Brahmins to work hard and feed the Brahmins. The Brahmins may sit royally and eat.” And what becomes of these righteous Brahmins in a dasi household? Dasis speak whatever comes to their mind and use all kinds of words. They get the Brahmins to do their household chores. The Brahmins receive many gifts from those desirous of moksham. All these, they give away to the dasis. The dasis, for their part, show little hesitation in accepting them. If we give the priest something that he can use for the abhisekam,10 he sends it across to the dasi’s house even before the naivediyam11 is over! This is because he fears her wrath. Dasis have even gone to the extent of appointing Brahmins as their caretakers to aid them in their profession! The Brahmin does many other things which one cannot discuss publicly. In many ways, he is the dasi’s backbone, her chief source of support. Brahmins show little hesitation in performing the services described above. There are some complex reasons for their servility. Dasis have had close links with the Brahmins for several generations now. The shastras in fact claim that the Brahmins were born from Brahma’s mouth. Urvashi is Brahma’s daughter and Vashishta Urvashi’s son. The same Vashishta also happens to be Brahma’s guru. As you know, Urvashi, Tillotamma and Menaka are all dancing girls. Thus the assumption that all dasis belong to

the Brahmin lineage. Unless people are prepared to cut off all ties with these two communities, I see little hope for them. Our ancestors have composed entire puranas in praise of the shameful customs and habits of the dasis and the Brahmins—the dasi custom of killing male infants, the manner in which the Brahmin gives the dasi the status of wife, and so on. Dasis often adorn their hair with flowers from the temple. Does any devotee cut off their heads as a form of punishment?” MYNER: “Why! You speak as though you were a member of the SelfRespect Party!”12 GUNABHUSHINI: “Whenever one asks a valid and just question, it is scuttled in the name of tradition, God and the shastras. Have the SelfRespecters condemned these people any more than the siddars13 have? Those with a sense of honesty, responsibility and integrity should see that justice is done.” MYNER: “Would you go so far as to say then that God does not exist?” GUNABHUSHINI: “I have no time to waste on the subject of God. Neither will such talk be of any use to you. Is there a God? This is a question neither of us can answer with any degree of certainty. Nor, for that matter, can those who speak of God. Let us not make false claims about having seen something that one hasn’t.14 It is far better to be frank and admit to not having seen it. There is no point discussing what is merely a figment of the imagination. It is a waste of time. That people like you believe in God is only to be expected. I suppose it is also not very surprising that these doubts assail a man who has abandoned his wife.” MYNER: “Sister! I have been listening closely to all that you have said. Your words have made a deep impact on my mind. I am suddenly anxious about my wife. What must her plight be? She is probably upset and inconsolable. I am disturbed and ashamed by my sins, by the humiliations I have suffered. I have learnt now about the ways of the dasis, about weddings, God, the puranas, the shastras and so on. My forefathers built temples and rest houses and practised other forms of charity. In the process, they spent twice the amount I have spent so far on dasis. What must I do now?” GUNABHUSHINI: “Nothing in particular. It is enough if you are compassionate towards the poor and the working class. Rest assured. There is no bigger dharma, no better punyam to strive for.”

MYNER: “I see the truth now. You have advised me with such care. May I request you to tell me a little bit about your own past? When your lover met me first, he told me that Kantha and Ganavathi would not leave Chennai without seeing you. Are you then from the dasi community? You must not be angry with me for asking such a question. You have made me see the light and I regard you as my own sister. Please visit us at home. I want you to impart some good advice to my wife as well.” 1

A wedding where a woman of royal birth chooses her own groom from a gathering of royal suitors. 2 The creator—Brahma’s decision (the word used here is Brahma’s mudi or knot) cannot be changed. In this case, it has do with marriage. 3 A pendant typically made of gold hung either from a turmeric-stained thin rope or a gold chain which, when worn by a woman, signifies that she is married. The thali is tied around the bride’s neck by the groom during the wedding ceremony. 4 Draupadi. 5 See Appendix for Periyar’s essay on this subject, “Self-Respect Marriages and Marriages Devoid of Self-Respect.” 6 Lighted camphor in a plate that is offered before the image of god. 7 A frequent criticism levelled against the non-Brahmin movement as a whole was that it supported the British against the nationalists thus going against the interests of the country. Those who were part of the Justice party for instance felt that their priority was to dislodge upper-caste Indians from positions of political power and that the British were preferable to the upper-castes in that they apparently did not differentiate on the basis of caste. 8 Salvation or liberation from the cycle of birth and death; attaining heaven. 9 Paavam is sin. Punyam is the grace of God won by performing good deeds. 10 Bathing the idol of God in milk, water, honey etc. 11 The deity is offered fresh, untasted food and fruit etc. and is understood to have partaken of it. These offerings then become the sacred prasadam—offerings that have been blessed by God. 12 The myner alludes to the unorthodox radicalism of the Self- Respect Party for which it was notorious. Gunabhushini is clearly a prototypical or ideal woman Self-Respecter whom Moovalur uses as a mouthpiece for propagating self-respect ideals. 13 Mystics. 14 The Self-Respect movement was known for its atheism.

A Concert by the Bewitching Sisters (Kanndor Mayangum Kantha Sagotharigal Kutcheri)

Ganasabha, the concert hall where Kantha and Ganavathi were due to perform that evening, was agog with activity. Posters advertising the concert had been pasted all over Chennai and had already attracted the attention of the public. Newspapers carried the advertisement on their front pages. Thousands of notices advertising the event were distributed all over the city on the appointed day. The entire city was buzzing with talk of the concert. People started filing into the specially decorated Ganasabha as early as four in the afternoon. The streets adjoining the sabha were lined with cars. Such a sight had never been seen before. Judges, lawyers, government officials of high rank, petty officials and businessmen were present along with their fancily attired wives. For a moment, the attention of everyone was focussed on three young men who had just driven in, one of whom had a royal air about him. Hashing a ten rupee note, he ordered his companions to procure three first class tickets. The trio then proceeded to take their seats in the front row. Kantha and Ganavathi were scanning the audience closely and they observed these young men out of the corner of their eyes. The sisters were unmatched in their sophistication. When they commenced their performance, the three young men encouraged them with exclamations of “sabash!”, “besh!” and “bailey”1 “What melodious voices! Just like a cuckoo’s!” the companions of the fellow with the royal air would comment. That poor fellow however had no ear for music. His thoughts were all focussed on the beauty of the two sisters. “The mere sight of Kantha and Ganavathi is enough to set my pulse racing. Surely, the greatest bliss will be mine when I actually make love to them? Will all my wealth and freedom fetch me that particular bliss? Only by possessing them will I find peace,” he mused. Kantha and Ganavathi were singing a song which described the soul’s longing for union with Lord Subramaniya.2 They sang, “Will he come to me on his own? Or should I go to him? Do go and ask

him.” As for the state of mind of our young man who was listening to this particular composition, the less said the better! He was certain that the sisters were referring to him. He even began to worry that he could not possibly take them to his place at this point in time! He concluded that it was best for him to visit them instead. The concert went on till eight that evening. The young man wanted to find out where the sisters lived. He wished to visit them as soon as possible. Unwilling to face the ridicule of his companions—Viswanathan and Subramaniam—however, he made straight for the hostel. That night, the young man—Somasekaran—got little sleep. His fevered brain was haunted by thoughts of Kantha and Ganavathi. As for his exams, surely God would ensure that he passed them? He had promised God that he would perform abishekam and aradhanai?3 There was little need therefore to prepare. The exams were around the corner. He must visit Kantha and Ganavathi before that. Viswanathan met him the next morning. “What is this, Somasekara? There is only a week to go for the exams. You ought to be hard at work. Instead, here you are looking rather off-colour,” he asked with some concern. SOMASEKARAN: “Viswanatha! Ever since I attended that concert, those two women are haunting me. I have no inclination to look at my books. How can I possibly study when I long to be united with them? What can I do? You said that I would pass the exams if I had real faith in God, didn’t you? Well then, I have offered all kinds of prayers to God.” Viswanathan felt pangs of regret. “Aiyo! We playfully led him down our path. It seems to have resulted in disaster. That is why the world cautions people not to trust us Brahmins. This is the difference between our community and other communities. Whatever they may advise others, people from our community are never deceived when it comes to their own affairs. That is why they have progressed so much. My god! It really looks as though this fellow is going to ruin himself in pursuit of dasis,” he thought to himself. He then resolved to rescue Somasekaran from this mess. When Vishwanathan informed Subramaniam about this unhappy turn of events however, the latter berated him for his good-heartedness, “You fool! What is it to you if he is ruined? This is like the story of the wolf who cried when he saw that a goat was getting wet in the rain! It is only because fellows like him are studying that we Brahmins are finding it difficult to get jobs. Isn’t it

because Nair, Theagaraya Chetti and Panagal were educated that they are finishing off our community? Just think of the harm that has been caused to our community because these fellows are being educated.4 You are unduly worried. There is no need whatsoever for you to advise Somasekaran. Why should his life be of any concern to you? His wealth will be wasted only if he visits dasis. Otherwise, he will just educate himself and destroy us instead. Just tell him that he can pass his exams by praying to God and attend to your own studies. Why do you want to interfere in things that don’t concern you?” After this exchange, Subramaniam and Viswanathan went off to prepare for the exams. As for Somasekaran, he began to think obsessively of Kantha and Ganavathi, “I don’t know their address! Where should I enquire? Let me go to Kamalapuram and find out.” And off he went to Kamalapuram. Too embarassed to enquire openly about Kantha and Ganavathi’s whereabouts, Somasekaran stood hesitantly at a street corner. Soon an old woman passed by. Somasekaran called out to her, “Grandma! I hear that the dasis Kantha and Ganavathi live in this town. Where do they stay?” “They live in the northern street. In fact, I saw Kantha, She was standing outside her house.” The old woman gave Somasekaran directions and left. An overjoyed Somasekaran turned his steps in that direction. They say that a man in love has no eyes and a man in haste has no brains. It had not occurred to Somasekaran to ask for more particulars. So he walked all the way down northern street looking this way and that at all the houses. Outside one of the houses, he saw a woman dressed in modern clothes, talking and laughing with a neighbour. Somasekaran wondered if this was Kantha, “It was night when I saw her at the concert in Chennai. I am not able to make her out properly because it is daylight now. Or could she be a housewife? But then the old woman did say that Kantha was standing outside her door.” Jumping to the conclusion that this must be Kantha, he went across and seated himself on the threshold of the house. At this, the woman went inside and informed her husband that an acquaintance of his was waiting to see him. “I am afraid I don’t know who you are. Where are you from? What brings you here?” the man of the house asked Somasekaran when he emerged. Somasekaran had had no prior experience in visiting dasis. Without pausing to think, he blurted out, “This is the house of a dasi, isn’t it? Isn’t this the house of Ganavathi, the woman who performed at the Chennai Ganasabha?” The man lost his temper when he

heard this. “You fool!” he shouted, “Whose house are you calling the dasis’ house? How is one to treat someone like you?” In his fury, he slapped Somasekaran hard. Unused to such treatment, Somasekaran’s eyes began to sting with tears. “Oh! What have I come to? To be treated so despite my status in society! And all because I lost my way! I have so many servants. I could have asked any one of them to enquire about the house! How unhappy my father would be if heard about my being beaten! What can I do now? The man who goes searching for a dasi must face all this and more.” He addressed the owner, “Ayya! For what crime did you hit me? I saw your wife outside this house laughing and having a good time. I took it that she was a dasi. You could have forgiven me my ignorance and corrected me instead. It was the demeanor of your wife that misled me. Instead of advising your wife, you slapped me. Is that right?” At this, the man felt ashamed. He considered the humiliation he would suffer if others came to know of the whole affair. Better to send this fellow away politely and teach his wife a lesson!5 “Allow me to lead you to the house of the dasi,” he said to Somasekaran after tendering his apologies. But Somasekaran was too traumatised by what had happened to go along. “I don’t want to visit any dasi or vest.6 The reward I have got for mentioning the word “dasi” is more than enough. Who knows what awaits me at the dasi’s house?” Saying this, he returned to Chennai. 1

The tamil words for wonderful or well-done. Lord Muruga, the son of Shiva and Parvathi. 3 Abishekam refers to the process by which the idol of God is bathed in milk, water, honey, etc. Aradhanai refers to the burning of camphor as an offering to the deity. 4 A reference to the upper-caste antagonism towards the opening up of opportunities for the nonBrahmin community. 5 The sexual morality of women is always under question. Notice how the remarks of a stranger are enough to warrant disciplinary action against the mistress of the house. If a woman hoped to be considered respectable, she had to follow a stringent code of conduct that set her apart from the disreputable dasi. A woman who laughs in public automatically ran the risk of censure. Also see the story “Pankajam’s Tragic Death” in this collection where a young widow’s act of looking outside the window at a marriage procession brings on her death. 6 Prostitute. 2

The Wonderful Princely State of Sornapuri (Sobitham Tavazhum Sornapuri Samasthanam)

Somasekaran is the only son of the zamindar of Dharmapuri. In his mad pursuit of Kantha and Ganavathi, he neglects his studies. He fails his exams. His mother, zamindarini Vijayalakshmi, wants him to marry Gnanasundari, her cousin’s daughter. Vijayalakshmi’s cousin, the zamindar of Sornapuri, is a confirmed atheist and social reformer. The Dharmapuri zamindar, on the other hand, happens to be a highly orthodox man, known for his belief in the scriptures, his respect for Brahmins and his love of the Tamil language. Though not convinced that a marriage between his son and the daughter of a social reformer would be a good thing, he yields to pressure from his wife and sets out to meet the zamindar of Sornapuri. The sixth chapter details the progressive views and reformist ideals of the zamindar of Sornapuri. Associated both with the Justice Party as well as with the Self-Respect movement, he is supported in his work by his wife, Sundara Valli. Their only daughter, Gnanasundari, is well educated and equally committed to the task of social reform. The princely state of Sornapuri is very well-administered and its subjects are contented. In Sornapuri then, we have Moovalur’s utopic vision of Self-Respect society.

Sisters and Brothers! Those of you who follow the newspapers regularly have no doubt heard the name of the zamindar of Sornapuri, Digvijay Marthanda Devabhupati Maharaja. You must also be aware then of the manner in which his princely state is administered. The zamindar of Sornapuri is a fine Tamil scholar. His knowledge of English is unsurpassed. A man of progressive views, he has proved to be a pillar of strength to the Justice Party since its inception. He is also known for his efforts to popularize the Justice Party’s programmes in his state. As member and leader of the taluk and district level boards, he has performed yeoman service. As member of the Madras Legislative Assembly, he has worked for the welfare of farmers and thereby set an example to other zamindars. The zamindar has also taken the initiative to destroy superstition and blind belief. He took an active part in the Self-Respect movement during its formative stages and introduced several reforms in the temples inside his state. Prohibiting needless extravagances like the sadir,1 music concerts by devadasis and the bursting of crackers during the temple’s chariot festival,

he arranged useful programmes like speeches by wise philosophers and conferences devoted to social reform and to the growth of Tamil, He also organized craft and agricultural fairs. It was common for experts from different fields to address the conferences at Sornapuri. People from distant states would join the residents of Sornapuri to participate in these conferences. These conferences were held up as role models by social workers who denounced the meaningless ceremonies otherwise associated with chariot festivals. The zamindar also converted wealthy Brahmin rest houses into almshouses for the poor, homes for orphaned and destitute women and hostels for poor students. He transferred the responsibility for temple administration to the state. Any excess income from the temple is used to run hospitals, vocational training schools and Tamil cultural centres. The Brahmins posed obstacles to every one of these reformist initiatives. The more orthodox among them complained that the sanctity of the shastras, religion and of God himself had been called into question. Those among the Brahmins who were in service and those who were employed as lawyers were either trying to drag the zamindar to court or busy inciting others to register their complaints so that they could then petition the collector, the governor, the viceroy and other authorities. The zamindar has however ignored all attempts at discouraging him and continues to be as devoted as ever to the people’s cause. He has been so successful that the princely state of Sornapuri is not plagued by unemployment. Farmers are able to use new technologies and thereby increase their produce. Though the zamindar had effected a cut in the taxes and reduced the burden of debts faced by the poor, the subjects of Sornapuri continue to enjoy protection from the effects of inflation and are able to maintain a good standard of living. He has won the respect and the admiration of the people. In Devi Sundara Valli Thayar, the zamindar has a partner who supports his radical vision. A well-educated lady, Sundara Valli has worked to spread education among women. The couple has only one daughter, Gnanasundari. They have no sons. Being an only child, Gnanasundari grew up surrounded by luxuries of every kind. She was tutored at home by an English-educated teacher and learnt both English as well as Tamil. Soon, she could speak, read, and write both languages. Gnanasundari soon charmed everyone with her beauty and intelligence. Her education complete, she began to read newspapers and

advice books written by elders with a view to improving her general knowledge. Moreover, she spent her leisure time discussing state affairs, reforms and the situations prevailing in other countries with her parents. Fired as she is by various progressive and reformist principles and ideals, Gnanasundari has proved to be a beacon of light for the subjects of Sornapuri. Though the zamindarini of Dharmapuri, Vijayalakshmi Devi was only a cousin to the Sornapuri Zamindar, the latter had always shown her the affection usually reserved for a sister. Succumbing to entreaties from his wife, the Dharmapuri zamindar paid a visit to the Sornapuri royal household. He was received there with warm hospitality. Fully aware of the orthodox beliefs of his brother-in-law, Marthanda Devabhupathi had gone out of his way to make the former feel comfortable. After the zamindar of Dharmapuri had finished with his bath and said his prayers, the two zamindars met and formally enquired after each other’s welfare. Curious to learn the real reason behind the Dharmapuri zamindar’s visit, Marthanda Devabhupathi subtly steered the conversation in that direction. “I am surprised that you have graced my house with your presence,” he said with a smile. “I had begun to wonder whether you were avoiding me altogether!” DHARMAPURI ZAMINDAR: “I came here in order to discuss something auspicious. It concerns my son. I would like us to establish new ties between our families. You must give your daughter in marriage to Somasekaran. An auspicious event such as this will go a long way in strengthening our relationship.” SORNAPURI ZAMINDAR (with a smile): “Don’t tell me that you really want your son to get married to my daughter! The shastras ordain that women must not study. Much against the dictates of the shastras, I have seen to it that my daughter is educated enough to be a scholar. Such a thing would not be to your liking, am I right? How then can my daughter be suitable for your son?” DHARMAPURI ZAMINDAR: “What am I to do? How can I impress my ideas upon my wife and son? They seem to have decided that your daughter alone is suitable.” SORNAPURI ZAMINDAR: “But if you, as head of the household, are not in favour of your son marrying my daughter, I suggest that we leave it at that. It is not good to act against the dictates of one’s heart.”

The zamindar of Dharmapuri returned home triumphantly and described the exchange to his wife. The zamindarini was upset at what she considered to be foolish behaviour on the part of her husband. Determined to find a way of getting around the situation, she took the counsel of her son. She then wrote to Gnanasundari.2 1

Notice how sadir is constructed as an “extravagance”. It was around this time when the devadasi system was under attack that sadir itself came to be represented as lewd and vulgar. It was later sanitised as Bharatanatyam by Rukmini Devi Arundale and her Kalakshetra Foundation. See Srividya Natarajan, Another Stage in the Life of the Nation: Sadir, Bharatanatyam, Feminist Theory. Unpublished doctoral dissertation submitted to the University of Hyderabad, 1997. 2 In her letter to her niece Gnanasundari, zamindarini Vijayalakshmi requests her to marry Somasekharan and carry out the task of social reform in the state of Dharmapuri. Impressed with Vijayalakshmi for being so open to social reform, Gnanasundari then persuades her father to allow her to marry Somasekharan.

A Reformed Myner returns to Trichi (Thiruntheeya Mynerin Tirichi Vijayam)

The myner set out for his hometown, Trichi, after bidding goodbye to Gunabhushini and Sivaraman at Chennai. Since he is now a reformed and progressive gentleman, we will henceforth refer to him respectfully. The myner reached home in time to overhear a conversation between his wife and his mother. “It is three months since your son left home” his wife, Vasantha, was saying sadly, “We are yet to learn why. It is enough if he comes home unharmed. It does not matter even if he has lost all his money. What should I do, maami?1 I have no idea. If I leave the house in search of him, our community will malign me.” Her mother-in-law flew into a rage, “You whore! So you want to go in search of him now, is it? I know all your tricks! If my son were to hear you say this, he would kill himself! If our friends and relatives came to know of this, would they not ridicule us and say you have run off with someone? Did you enter this family only to humiliate us? So you want to go looking for your husband! What is your real intention, tell me? When my son visits a dasi, he takes his time about it. But then what has he done that others haven’t? Don’t you know that every man in town maintains two mistresses at home, and gets his wife to serve these dasis. My son happens to be a good man. That is why he does not do all this in front of your eyes. Why do you want to dwell on him? Are your ears blocked with starving or what? It is not as though your father is feeding you! Did I ask you to go to your mother’s like others have? You eat your fill. I have been watching you since the day my son married you. Do you take any care of your family? You are just crazy about him! You have all the habits that women from our community do not. How stubborn you must be to behave as you do in my presence! Had I not been around, you might even have decided to shamelessly go seeking my son in that dasi’s house! In all my years, I have not met a woman as stubborn as you. You are enquiring like an old woman as to the whereabouts of your husband. Go, you whore!

There’s work to be done. Attend to all that!” Imagine our nubile Vasantha’s feelings. “Ayyo! Better to have taken birth as a devil! Why don’t people snuff the life out of their daughters when they are still infants? Why make us suffer thus? Don’t they realise that their daughters are going to face exactly what they themselves have faced? To top it all, they say that mothers are fonder of their daughters! What did I say to invite such abuse? What can I do? I have to live out my destiny.” Vasantha however kept these thoughts to herself. “Maami,” she pleaded. “What I said was wrong. Please forgive me.” The myner noted that his wife valued his life more than his property, that all she wished for was for him to come home unharmed. He also realised that his mother’s domineering ways were prompted, as Gunabhushini had warned, by her obsession with caste and custom. He began knocking on the door, calling out, “Vasantha! Vasantha!” So immersed was Vasantha in thoughts of her husband that she was certain now that it was his voice which now called out to her. She said, “Maami! Someone is knocking on the door. It sounds like your son’s voice. Please go and see.” “As if my son will come at this time! And even if he does, he will call out to me, not to you,” retorted her mother-in-law and went to answer the door. She was shocked to see her son but quickly recovered her composure and said, “Come, my son! When did you arrive? You always call out to me. Since I heard you call out her name today, I was a bit doubtful.” “I came when the two of you had just started talking. I was standing outside all this while only to hear what you both had to say. What was wrong in what Vasantha said? It was because she was longing for me that she said she wanted to go in search of me. For this, you abused her so cruelly. My sister Gunabhushini is right. Even mothers whose sons have gone out to work will not speak so sarcastically to their daughters-in-law. Do you have to support a son who has gone visiting a dasi in this manner? It is only because I was raised by you that I have reached this sorry state. You are proud of this very state that I am in. But there is no use blaming you. Perhaps it is just force of habit. Now that I am here, I do not want you to blame and abuse her any further. From now on, I will not hear a word against her!” declared the myner in an agitated tone. The old woman was furious. “This fellow has said a lot to me in the presence of that whore” she thought to herself, “She will never obey me now! All these days, he would

not so much as glance at her and now he is taking her side. I don’t know what the matter is. Her mother is a wily creature. I wonder if she has cast some evil spell over my son.” She left the two young people and went inside. Vasantha was still in a daze. “This man would not so much as spare a thought for me. All of a sudden he is behaving so affectionately. How can this be?” “Vasantha, believe me. I am speaking the truth,” said the myner tenderly, “Try and forget all the misery I have caused you. I was foolish to have hurt you so. It is far better to remain a bachelor than to get married and torture your wife. Don’t worry about anything. The person who is responsible for my change of heart lives in Chennai. She cares for you. You have a sisterin-law to think of now!” “I have suffered so much at the hands of my mother-in-law! Isn’t that enough? Do I have to endure more at the hands of a sister-in-law as well?” Vasantha asked in alarm. “Don’t be afraid,” the myner reassured her, “It is because of this sister-in-law that your luck has turned for the better.” Vasantha wondered about this sister-in-law whom she had never heard of before. The myner said gently, “Vasantha, go and finish all your work. Don’t be anxious about anything. We will learn to live in a spirit of togetherness.” Vasantha was overjoyed and went about her chores. From then on, she treated her husband and mother-in-law with respect as well as affection. Her household was a happy one. Only her mother-in-law remained anxious! 1

The word maami refers to any older, married woman.

Meeting with Mama and the Behaviour of the Women (Mama Santhippum Mangayar Naddappum)

Chapter eight opens with a description of the wedding between Somasekaran and Gnanasundari. The dasis Kantha and Ganavathi are invited to perform at the wedding. Once again, Somasekaran finds himself drawn to them. The myner, who is also present at the wedding, notices Somasekaran’s infatuation and decides to intervene before it is too late. In keeping with his new-found mission in life, he decides to rescue the young zamindar from the clutches of the dasi sisters. The rescue itself is done in the most complicated and roundabout manner possible. The myner promises to help Somasekaran in contacting Kantha and Ganavathi through a Brahmin pimp he knows. Beginning with chapter nine, the narrative gets increasingly fantastic. Disguised as a Brahmin pimp named Gopala Iyer, the myner meets Somasekaran and escorts him to Kantha and Ganavathi’s house.

A man who introduced himself as Gopala Iyer entered the house of the zamindar of Dharmapuri asking to see Somasekaran. He appeared to be a devout Brahmin. Inviting him in politely, the zamindar directed a servant to take Gopala Iyer to Somasekaran. “The myner from Trichi has sent me to you. I am mama, his good friend,”1 Gopala Iyer told Somasekaran by way of introduction. The young man was thrilled, “Welcome! Welcome! I hope the myner is well? I wasn’t able to spend too much time with him at my wedding. Seeing how large-hearted he was, I poured out my heart to him. He had promised that he would send you to help me. How much affection he has for me! How can I possibly repay him for his kindness?” “I have been a close companion of the myner for a long time and have always ensured that he is able to possess any dasi whom he desires. I have never charged him for my services. The question of money does not even arise between the two of us. I have just been to see him and he directed me here to meet you and extend all the help I could. I made haste to come here. I haven’t even informed my folks back home. What would you like me to do for you? Why did you send for me? Name the dasi you have in mind. I will

make sure she is yours. Or, if you like, I can bring some beautiful women to you,” replied the mama. Somasekaran thought to himself, “This mama appears to be a very good man. He says that he does not even charge the myner for his services. If I get everything done through him, I am sure to be treated with respect.” “I don’t desire any other woman. I am in love with Kantha and Ganavathi of Kamalapuram. I will give them anything they want. Just make sure the deal is struck. I will never ever forget you. Come and see me again before everything is finalised. I am willing to part with my entire kingdom for this. Without them, my very life is ebbing away from me. Tell me, is property more important than life itself? Please make haste and go at once.” “Don’t worry so much! If you come with me, we can act fast. Things will be unnecessarily delayed otherwise. Tell your father that you are leaving for Chennai in order to meet some ministers. That way, you can accompany me right away. We can arrange matters to your satisfaction,” suggested the mama. Somasekaran acted on Gopala Iyer’s instructions. Taking leave of his father, he accompanied mama to the dasis’ house at Kamalapuram. Bogachintamani welcomed them both as though they were old acquaintances. Waving them to an ornate sola, she called out, “Sister Kantha! Sister Ganavathi! The zamindar is here. You see, when we came to your wedding, my daughters badly wanted to speak with you. But how can one possibly speak in the midst of a royal assembly? We have attended the weddings of many a zamindar, but the scale of your wedding remains unmatched! What hospitality! What courtesy! It is common for ordinary folk to be overlooked at weddings. But that did not happen at your wedding. Ever since, not a day passes without my daughters discussing your wedding. How can one possibly forget good people? I seem to remember having seen your companion at the wedding as well.” To this, mama replied, “I was not present at his wedding. But you might have seen me in the homes of other dasis. My name is Gopala Iyer.”2 When she realized that he was a Brahmin,3 Bogachintamani beckoned to her daughters, “Sisters! You had always wanted to invite Gopala Iyer.4 Here he is. What am I to do? I am old now. I forget faces easily. It is time I left this existence of a householder, I suppose. Nothing worries me except the fact that there is still no one who will protect and cherish my two little ones. Once I am through

with this responsibility, I wouldn’t care if I died. I have placed all my trust in God.” Mama was secretly amused. Throughout this exchange, Kantha and Ganavathi had not shown their faces to them. When mama remarked on this, Bogachintamani explained, “Since they are unmarried women, they are too shy to come outside.” Somasekaran was charmed by the decor of the house. Even the not so well-off dasis manage to decorate their homes with some help from their lovers. You can imagine for yourselves how the well-off ones keep house. Kantha’s house was decorated with glass and art objects. Electric lights dazzled the eye. Somasekaran marvelled at this. Nowhere in his entire kingdom was there a house as ornate as the one before him! It seemed to him that these dasis were far wealthier than he was. He wondered whether they would respect him even if he parted with his entire kingdom. He fervently prayed that mama’s presence would help further his cause. Mama asked the old woman Bogachintamani whether he could go with her to the backyard. “Do you have to ask? Think of this as your house. What penance we must have performed in the past to merit this good fortune of having all of you at home! Don’t be formal with me,” Bogachintamani protested. Once safely out of earshot, the mama began, “Do you know who that is? His income runs into lakhs. He has never before visited a dasi! It took all my cunning to get him here. If you or your daughters act contrary to my wishes, I will lose no time in taking him away from you. You may not know me personally, but you must know that myners never disobey the instructions of a mama. If you act as I tell you to, I will make sure that you get your hands on his entire property within this year.”5 Bogachintamani was in a dilemma. She reflected on the fact that wealthy men often relied on useless men like these and that, as a consequence, dasis like her had to obey and please the latter in everything. In fact, men like this mama had to be kept happy. Otherwise, they were perfectly capable of taking their clients to other dasis. Nowadays, dasis were a dime a dozen and business was dull. Things had come to such a pass that dasis had to accept anyone who came their way. Aloud, Bogachintamani said, “What is this, mama? You really seem to have misunderstood us. Are we not part of a long line of dasis? When someone comes to visit us, we first find out

whether he is a good man or an evil man. We are blessed with a lot of insight. Let me hand over both my daughters to your care. From today, they are your slaves. You are the master of this house, our protector. I swear to this in the name of God.” For his part, mama pretended to believe everything she said and promised never to take the zamindar to another dasi’s house. He then enquired whether Kantha already had a lover. To this, Bogachintamani swore that neither of her daughters was married6 as yet, that she had not allowed them to go that way for fear that their music would be affected. “Would I ever lie to you?” she asked. Mama said at once, “All right. The zamindar should never know of what has transpired between us.” He then went back to Somasekaran. Bogachintamani pretended to emerge from the kitchen and informed Somasekaran that all the food served in the household was cooked by a Brahmin7 and invited him to partake of the meal. After a bath, mama and Somasekaran had lunch. In the meantime, Bogachintamani entered bearing a gold plate filled with sweet-smelling delicacies and betel leaves.8 Somasekaran remarked to mama, “I haven’t seen Kantha or Ganavathi all morning. Bogachintamani is the only one talking to us. What is behind all this?” The mama responded, “Dasis of this stature will never show their daughters until they have made up their minds. They are not like the dasis from Chennai who stand outside with their faces all powdered. These women will not even step outside. They will not consent to be your partner merely on the basis of who you are and what you own. I have seen several dasis during my own lifetime. I am yet to meet dasis with this kind of attitude. Dasis are usually after your money. They will have nothing to do with a poor man. But these dasis are different. They will accept whatever you give them. I know them very well. You will soon see the truth of my statements. You are fortunate that I have accompanied you.” Somasekaran exclaimed, “What is this, mama? I came all the way only because I trusted you. Would I ever disobey you?” Bogachintamani, who had heard this exchange, said, “Mama seems to know all about the state of our family. He is speaking the truth. Unlike other dasis, we are not easily satisfied with what we get. We will be happy with the honour shown to us when zamindars visit us. Can ill-begotten wealth

last long? It is these principles that I have followed in my profession as a dasi and I have never lost out.” By now, it was four in the afternoon. A Brahmin boy entered with some snacks arranged artistically on a plate of gold. Somasekaran may have been a zamindar, but never before had he set eyes on plates made of gold! He wondered if these women were very rich. At six in the evening, Bogachintamani indicated to mama by way of gestures that he could now take the zamindar to his room upstairs. Both men found that the rooms upstairs were just as splendorous as the ones below. Somasekaran was mesmerised by this sight. Soon, the beauteous Kantha and Ganavathi appeared dressed in all their finery. After saying a few words of welcome to Somasekaran, they seated themselves on a sofa close to where mama was standing. It was as though Somasekaran had been blinded by lightning! Had Brahma created these women? Or had they appeared on this earth of their own volition? “I have seen many a woman, but never have I met such beauties! When I saw them at the Chennai Ganasabha, they did not appear so striking. May be I did not pay enough attention then. Perhaps they were disguised as ordinary women so that their unmatched beauty would not attract too much envy. Of what use are eyes if they have not seen these women? Are hands that have never touched them of any use? What fine qualities! Surely a person who has experienced the pleasure of their bodies can hope to attain heaven? What happiness has all my wealth brought me anyway? Of what use is wealth without the pleasure of experiencing them? I wouldn’t mind even if they robbed me of every penny I possess. I would only feel as if I had achieved salvation. When the Lord walked over Mahabali’s head, didn’t the latter feel the same?9 It is not for nothing that these women are called devadasis.10 Truly, they are women from heaven. It is only because men realise the pleasures that dasis can give them that they are willing to surrender everything to them—their bodies, all the property they own, their very spirits. How can the eyes which have seen them, close in sleep? How can the mind which cherishes thoughts of them, ever know rest? How can one feel hunger or interest in other objects? Even spiritual seekers will attain their goal once they come into contact with these women. It is my good fortune that I met mama. Otherwise, I would not have had the opportunity to touch their divine bodies,” Somasekaran thought. Kantha turned to mama and said, “They told me at the Trichi Ganasabha that you

were a scholar of music. I wished to see you but could not. I hoped to meet you at the zamindar’s wedding, but I did not have the good fortune. I desired to speak with the zamindar at least; even that was not to be. Now I am meeting both of you together. All this is God’s will.” Even as they were talking, Bogachintamani entered. Mama asked Somasekaran whom he liked more—Kantha or Ganavathi. “I desire both of them,” anwered Somasekaran. Mama then conveyed this to Bogachintamani. “Let him marry Kantha now. We will get Ganavathi’s consent later. Which other man is going to come visiting us?” suggested Bogachintamani. When mama then asked her to quote a price for Kantha, Bogachintamani replied, “I don’t want anything.11 By your grace, I have a lot of property. Is that not enough? The fame that I will get when the world comes to know that the zamindar is visiting us should be more than enough. It is enough if we are not blamed for having ruined him. It is enough if married women do not curse and abuse us as sinners. Don’t waste time in such useless talk, mama. Bring Ganavathi here. We can go downstairs. Let the zamindar and Kantha talk things over.” After they left, Somasekaran and Kantha spent some happy moments together. Mama requested Bogachintamani to send Ganavathi to his room. “Why do you have to ask me, mama? Surely you know that you will always get first preference? Think of this as your house and do as you wish. Don’t ask me for permission.” With these words Bogachintamani went in to instruct the Brahmin boy to serve mama his dinner. She also ordered Ganavathi to visit the mama in his room. Affecting great love for mama, Ganavathi asked him coyly, “Who is lucky—my sister or me? My sister and her husband will have to obey you, won’t they? Even if you alone are unable to fulfill my wishes, you will make sure that other wealthy men do so, won’t you? What do I lack?” For his part, the mama enjoyed himself thoroughly and passed a most pleasant night.12 He also delighted Ganavathi by declaring that if her sister could acquire one piece of land, he would make sure that she acquired several. A week passed in this manner. The dasis entertained the two men at their own expense. They were using small fish to catch bigger fish! They hoped that the whole affair would make them richer by a few lakhs. But who could see through all this?

Bogachintamani spent money in ways that she had not anticipated. But then this was not very surprising. Somasekaran soon began feeling guilty. He asked mama, “It’s been a week since we came. We have been living off them so far. It appears that they are not going to ask us for anything. But is it right on our part not to give them anything? Should we not keep up our honour?” Mama asked him what he proposed. “I plan to go to Chennai and buy them a necklace of precious stones. Please do not say no,” said Somasekaran. “All right. I was thinking along the same lines. Why don’t you do that then? That way, we can retain our honour. You are so smart! As smart as you are rich! A man’s brain is as large as his property, I suppose,” replied the mama. Somasekaran then announced his decision to Kantha, “I am going to Chennai tomorrow. Is your heart set on anything in particular?” Kantha appeared stunned, “My heart is not set on anything else. It is set on you. Are you going to Chennai then? How can I stand this parting? If you have some urgent work there, I will come along as well. Or else leave mama behind. I can at least watch over him as I watch over you.” Actually, Kantha suspected that if she let them both out of her sight, the mama would lure Somasekaran to another dasi’s house. At her behest, Somasekaran requested the mama to stay back and left for Chennai. The mama was delighted at this opportunity to spend time alone with the two sisters. In Chennai, Somasekaran met Viswanathan and sent him to P.ORR and Sons13 with a message that he would like a necklace of precious stones worth two lakh of rupees, a diamond necklace and a few other pieces of jewellery. In the meantime, Kantha’s Vellalar lover showed up at the dasi’s house as did Nadaswaram Kuppuswamy.14 “What is this, atthai?”15 Kuppuswamy asked Bogachintamani. “You have not sent word to me for a week now. So do the little girls have more work and more income now? Are those whores practising their music every day or not? So long as a man remains interested in them, he will gift them some ten rupees. But what are they going to do after that? Don’t they want to continue with their music?” The furious Kuppuswamy then began to abuse them. Bogachintamani hastened to assuage his feelings, “What, son-in-law?” she pleaded, “Why do you get so angry? Who will come to this house? It is true that the zamindar of Dharmapuri has come to marry Ganavathi but nothing is finalised as yet. The iyer who accompanied him is with us now. The zamindar has just left town. Even Pillai has come only now. Kantha has

been unwell through the week. She is a little better today.” Kuppuswamy was still angry, “You are the one that is mining them. You can go to the dogs for all I care.” Saying this, he left in a huff. The mama turned to Bogachintamani. “You claimed that Kantha was not married,” he said. “But who was it that went upstairs? Who is this Kuppuswamy who was talking to you?” To this, Bogachintamani replied, “Why do you pretend as if you don’t know anything? Kuppuswamy is the man who teaches my daughters music. He comes by often and asks them to sing. After all, the quality of music deteriorates without daily practice, does it not? He is related to me. Being her guru, he spoke freely. Don’t mistake him. If we antagonise these men, our community will chastise us for having connections with lower-caste men. That is why we ignore the harsh words of thugs like him. We are forced to treat them with respect. If we act as they want, they will leave us in peace. Actually, the man whom you saw going upstairs is married to Kantha. Normally, mamas like you cooperate with us in such matters. In turn, we extend them our full cooperation when they require it.” “That is all right,” mama assured her. “I know all that. I was just asking. I wanted to see how you handled the situation. After all, I might bring various wealthy men to visit your daughters in future. Don’t worry. I will bring any number of zamindars to your door. I will make sure that your daughters are decked in diamonds from top to toe.” Bogachintamani replied, “Think no more of all this. I will see to it that whoever visits us is treated well. Your name will not suffer. You don’t know much about me. I may not be very intelligent but when it comes to these matters I am diplomatic. As for my daughters, they will charm anyone who comes here even if they do it without my knowledge! It is impossible to survive in this profession if you are not smart. How is it possible to acquire any wealth if you stick to one man? Tell me mama, is all this new to you?” Upstairs, Kantha and her lover were enjoying themselves when Kantha asked, “My beloved lover! It is with great trepidation that I am asking you this. You will not be angry, will you?” Pillai replied, “Sweetheart! Can I ever be angry with you? Don’t I know you? Don’t I know how much you love me? Surely, I have the intelligence to understand this much! I am so honoured that you love none other than me. Even if you forget me can I forget you? Ask me whatever you want without fear. Darling! Dearest! Why

should you be afraid?” Kantha declared, “If there ever comes a time when you are in trouble, I will give up my mother and my sister but I will stand by you. I swear this in the name of God.” Pillai said softly, “Why do you have to make these promises again? We have already promised each other these things. In order to keep my word, I don’t so much as glance at my wife. Our consciences are clear. Tell me, what is it that you desire?” With tears in her eyes, Kantha said, “A zamindar has come to perform shanti with Ganavathi.16 But he feels very embarassed when he runs into other men here. So my mother asked me to request you not to come for a week. Once things are finalised and the zamindar give us some money, you are more than welcome to come. After that, you are sure to become friendly with one another. I have not yet consented to my mother’s request. I told her that I would consult you before telling her anything. Even if you consent, I will not ask you to pay for household expenses. I will sternly tell Ganavathi that she will have to manage all that. It is enough if you pay for my expenses alone. All this while you have been maintaining this family. Let her take over for a change. It is only because Ganavathi does not have a husband, that we end up having to pay for every single household expense.17 That burden will now be reduced. Tell me if this is acceptable to you. If it is not, I will just come with you to your place.” Pillai replied, “Is this such an important matter? Do floods carry away well water in their wake? I will not come here from tomorrow. How long is he visiting your house? No community other than ours stays for such long periods of time at a dasi’s house. I come from a community that takes pride in owning a dasi. Will I ever give up that pride? Listen. Let us not cross swords with your mother. Anyway, the harvest will keep me busy for a month.” With these words, Pillai spent the night at the dasi’s house and left the next morning for Mayavaram. Kantha reported everything to her mother. Even as she was exchanging sweet words with mama, Somasekaran arrived. Observing Kantha’s happiness, Somasekaran felt glad that he had persuaded mama to stay behind. Bogachintamani received him warmly, “Kantha was just expressing concern at the fact that you had not returned and I was reassuring her. It is good that you have come.” Somasekaran was delighted. They had such affection for him! Surely, it was impossible to meet such loving people among other communities. He had heard that dasis never repaid with love the wealth that you showered on them. Surely, they were

blameless in this regard! These dasis had not asked him for a single paisa. He could find no fault in their love for him. It seemed to him that those who blamed dasis for many things did so only because they had never been so close with them. In the privacy of his room, Somasekaran showed mama the jewellery he had bought for the dasis. When mama asked him why he had bought two necklaces, Somasekaran replied that one was for Kantha and the other for Ganavathi. “Why did you buy something for Ganavathi?” asked mama. “If I had got something only for Kantha, wouldn’t Ganavathi and her mother get upset? Is it right to show favouritism within the family? It was because I did not want to show any favouritism that I bought jewellery for everyone,” explained Somasekaran. “That is very true. I appreciate your intelligence. You have only carried out my wishes. Since you want to take on Ganavathi later as your mistress, it is a wise thing to do.” Somasekaran replied that even if the dasis did not really wish for any gifts, everything had to be done properly. Mama then produced a gold plate and asked Somasekaran to place the jewels on this plate. When Somasekaran presented this plate to Bogachintamani, she made a big fuss, “Why did you buy all this? It was only because you said you were going to Chennai on some personal work that I did not object. Had I known that you were going to do such a thing, I would have stopped you. Did Kantha or Ganavathi ask you for something? They would have gone and asked too! Those cheap dogs! Let them do what they wish! They did not even have the courtesy to ask their elders. So far, in our family we have never asked for any gifts. We only accept what our visitors want to give us. Now these girls seem to be doing as they please.” She was careful to add later that if he was not allowed to give away the gifts, he would feel bad and that he should therefore choose a good time to do so. Assuming the air of a responsible person, she advised him to consult her before buying anything in future. A month passed in this happy manner. The Bogachintamani household subscribed to a particular daily that was delivered at their doorstep. Since Bogachintamani was an important dasi, she was keen to keep up with news of the dasi community. Some dasis had the habit of reading newspapers.18 Whenever news of devadasi reform appeared in the papers, they would ridicule it. ‘It seems Muthulakshmi Reddi was born to destroy our community and our customs. A few other

whores have joined her gamble. Isn’t it because these women talk ill of our community that we are maligned in print as well? But wealthy men, zamindars and law-makers have not stopped visiting us, have they? Is there any dearth of visitors at our door?” Such discussions were common amongst the dasis. One morning, the daily which the Bogachintamani household received, carried the following notice: Notice: The zamindar of Dharmapuri would like to inform everyone of the following: It has come to my notice that my son Somasekaran is living with dasis and prostitutes and that he is misusing his wealth. It is now more than a month since he left my home. I also have information that he is using my name to get loans which he then spends on the dasis. I would like to bring to your notice that I will not be responsible for any such loans taken on my name. (Signed) Jayaveera Karunakara Duraipandia Jayan

Bogachintamai and the others were shaken when they read this. They hid the newspaper from the men and claimed that the paper hadn’t been delivered that morning! 1

The word mama which means uncle is also typically the word used to refer to a Brahmin male. The myner is obviously disguised as a Brahmin pimp. His assumed name—Gopala Iyer—is also a typical Brahmin name. 2 The myner’s true identity, it seems, is on the brink of being discovered. He cleverly salvages the situation though. 3 The caste name of “Iyer” clearly marks him out as a Brahmin. 4 Presumably, Gopala Iyer was also the name of a well-known pimp. 5 This chapter is as much about the dasi’s wilyness as it is about the power of the upper-caste pimp. In his assumed role of mama Gopala Iyer, the myner uses this power to tyrannise the dasis. 6 The word “married” is ambiguous. Bogachintamani probably means that both her daughters were still virgins. 7

Having a Brahmin cook is a sign of prestige and high social status. The food cooked by a

Brahmin was supposed to be “maddi” or ritually pure. 8

Betel leaves are supposed to be aphrodisiacs and have a sexual connotation. A reference to the story of Vamana Avataram according to which Lord Vishnu appears before the rakshasha king Mahabali in the guise of a dwarf Brahmin Vamana and asks him for three feet of land. Mahabali agrees to gift this away at once. Vamana then covers the entire earth with one step, the sky with the second, and pauses to ask Mahabali where he should place his third step. Mahabali bows down and offers him his head. Vamana places his foot on the king’s head, thus killing him. 10 “Devadasi” literally means servant of the gods. 11 As a dasi, Bogachintamani finds it impossible to strike a straightforward business deal and simply name her price for Kantha. Eventually therefore, it is up to Somasekaran to give her and her 9

daughters what he pleases. In that sense, the devadasi and her patrons are caught up in an essentially feudal economy and a feudal set of relations. 12 Despite his resolve to stay away from dasis, despite his anti-devadasi feelings, the myner makes use of the opportunity to sleep with Ganavathi. As a man, of course, he is automatically absolved of all moral responsibility. 13 P.ORR and Sons still exists in Chennai and deals primarily in watches and clocks. 14 The nadaswaram is a kind of long wind instrument that was often used as an accompaniment to vocal music especially at dance performances. Kuppuswamy is obviously a musician who plays the nadaswaram. 15 Father’s sister. Here, it is just a respectful term of address and does not necessarily indicate kinship. 16 Shanti refers to the sexual consummation of a man-woman relationship. 17 Here, the word purushan, meaning husband is used—an obvious euphemism for male lover. 18 The devadasis were often better educated than their middle-class sisters. There was no taboo, for instance, about their attending school. This aspect was conveniently ignored by those in favour of abolishing the devadasi system perhaps because it contradicted their construction of the dasi as a morally degenerate, uncultured being. Notice how reductive Moovalur is about the dasi’s habit of reading newspapers. For a discussion of devadasi education, see Anantha Raman, Sita. Getting Girls to School: Social Reform in the Tamil Districts 1870-1930. Calcutta: Stree, 1996.

Vivekavathi Is Vivekavathi After all (Vivekavathi Vivekavathiye)

Various efforts are on to rescue Somasekaran from the dasis. Gnanasundari, his wife, sets out to look for him. In the meantime, the zamindar of Dharmapuri decides to administer his state using Sornapuri as a model. The next few chapters describe the “tricks” employed by the dasis to get both Somasekharan and Kantha’s Vellalar lover to part with their money. When they realize that Somasekharan is no longer credit-worthy, the dasis try to send him away. Bogachintamani arranges a match for her son, Karunakaran. She chooses Senapathi—a homely and “virtuous” girl who has not taken up the dasi profession. The old woman expects that Senapathi will cook and clean for all of them. With the aim of rescuing Somasekaran from the dasis’ clutches, the myner approaches Gnanasundari in the guise of a woman. It is interesting to reflect on the myner’s androgyny, his repeated emasculation—first when Ganavathi claims to have mistaken him for a woman (during their conversation on the train), and secondly, now when he is actually disguised as a woman. His very fondness for jewellery makes him an effeminate figure. The myner advises Gnanasundari to disguise herself as a man and accompany him. Together, he tells her, they can fetch Somasekaran. Gnanasundari is introduced to the dasis as a zamindar and a prospective client. Afraid that this new competitor (in reality, his wife) will beat him up, Somasekaran leaves for home. Predictably, this results in a change of heart and he joins the ranks of “reformed” people who, thanks to their personal experience, have understood the wickedness of the dasis. Regretting the grief that he has caused Gnanasundari, he decides to go in search of her. In the meantime, Gnanasundari (still in the guise of the zamindar) has learnt more and more about the ways

of the dasis. She realizes that Karunakaran and his pregnant wife, Senapathi, are treated no better than servants in Bogachintamani’s household, that Senapathi though unhappy about how she is treated is nevertheless glad that she is not a prostitute. There is repeated emphasis on the stepmotherly treatment meted out to Karunakaran in the dasi household. Obviously, such a situation is a strange reversal of what typically happens in a patriarchal society—the valourising of the man of the house and of the male child. Karunakaran is not the head of the household. He is, in a sense, marginal to the life of the family. That the dasi family must therefore be dysfunctional is a point that Moovalur appears to be making. Gnanasundari’s resolve to abolish the devadasi system is further strengthened by what she observes. The plot only grows stranger in the course of the next few chapters and the disguises even more far-fetched. Gnanasundari, now

disguised as the dasi Kantha, meets Somasekaran and gets him to sign a document giving away all his lands to her. The author explains that those who visit dasis “become blind” which is why Somasekaran is unable to recognize Gnanasundari! Senapathy gives birth to a baby girl and there is much rejoicing in the dasi household. The myner visits the dasis in the guise of a sorcerer and escapes with the jewels gifted to them by Somasekaran. The Vellalar is furious with the dasis for having cheated him of his money and the dasis are now reduced to living by selling their silver. Karunakaran, Senapathy and their daughter Vivekavathi are thrown out of the house by the dasis. Karunakaran leaves in search of a job. Senapathy is refused admission into her mother’s house. She is therefore forced to entrust Vivekavathi to the care of dasi Kamavardhini. Karunakaran finds a job in Chennai with the help of Gunabhushini and her husband Sivaraman. Senapathy soon joins him. Kamavardini dedicates the child to God, thus paving the way for her entry into the dasi’s profession. As we shall see in chapter nineteen, part of which has been translated here, Kamavardini has her hands full trying to persuade a defiant Vivekavathi to take up the dasi profession. Ultimately, Vivekavathi takes up the mission of reforming dasis.

Vivekavathi had attained proficiency in music under the expert care of Kamavardhini. The latter was delighted with her protégée and lavished all her attention on her. “Have you observed her intelligence, mama?” she would ask the dance master. “She may be Senapathi’s daughter, but she seems destined to bring us good luck. Tell me, which man can resist her brains and her beauty? We are indeed extremely fortunate! Fix up her arangetram1 as soon as you can. We must take her out to concerts. We must make sure that she catches the eye of some wealthy man.” When Vivekavathi attained puberty, Kamavardini was elated. “My darling! You know the sacrifices I have made to raise you. If you follow my advice, you will be covered from top to toe in gem-studded gold jewels. You are smart about most things, but when I begin to explain to you the secrets of the dasi’s trade, you close your ears. Is music enough? It is only by learning the trade that you can survive.”2 “Amma, you are right. To be a successful dasi, it is true that one needs to employ magic and tricks of all kinds. I would have followed your advice without any hesitation if I had been a dasi’s daughter. Since I happen to be a virtuous woman from a respectable family,

your words are of no value to me. Can you transform a donkey into a horse? Pray, do not be so greedy. Listen to my words. Give me away in marriage. I will serve you faithfully. What difference will it make to your life if I wear gold jewels?” pleaded Vivekavathi. Taken aback, Kamavardini thought, “It seems as though all that I have done for her sake is like water that is poured over weeds—worthless. So she is preaching justice to us. Let it be. I will bide my time.” Confident that she would be able to shake Vivekavathi’s resolve, she said, “You talk of justice, but can’t you see the truth? You ask me to get you married. God will be enraged at this! Stop all this talk of marriage at once. How can you actually want to live with another man after being married to one? You are wedded to God himself. How can you desire to marry a mere mortal? Isn’t it because of God’s grace that you have become his consort? Beware of what you say. Say your prayers at once and atone for the sin you have committed by speaking of marriage.” Vivekavathi laughed, “Amma! That was well-argued, I must say! Your words do not upset me. On the contrary, they make me feel sorry for you. So I am married to God, am I? When did that happen? Did this God sit beside me and tie the thali?”3 she asked. Kamavardini began to feel hopeful. Perhaps Vivekavathi would come round if she gave convincing answers to all her questions. “You were married to God, ceremoniously dedicated to Him, when you were a child! Now that is a fact no one can change. We will soon have a public ceremony in the temple during which the officiating priest will take the place of God himself. He will sit beside you and tie the thali around your neck. Have you not observed the priest tying the thali around the neck of goddess Amman4 during the holy marriage—the thirukalyanam?”5 To this, Vivekavathi replied, “I am afraid I still have certain doubts. Answer them and I will heed your words. You say it is the priest who ties the thali both around me as well as around the goddess. If he dies then, must both of us sever our thalis? You tell me that the priest bathes and changes the clothes of the goddess in the temple. Why does he not do the same for the dasi? People fall at the feet of the goddess seeking boons. They do not fall at the dasi’s feet. Why is that so? If, as you claim, I am married to God, surely I must be seated beside him just as his consort, the goddess Amman, is. And how do I acquire those gold jewels you were talking about? I can acquire them only if I prostitute myself to men—and that despite being

married to God. Isn’t that so? If I prostitute myself, won’t God be angry? Won’t he punish you for training ‘godly’ women in prostitution? If, as you say, I am God’s consort, then let me stay with him. I will not desire another man. Stop making these contradictory statements! You cannot hope to deceive me. Tell me what it is you want. I will help you if I can. Otherwise, I will do as I please.” Kamavardini was shocked, “What you ask is absurd! It is customary for women of our community to marry God and, at the same time, to cohabit with other men. The sin of prostitution will never touch us no matter how many lovers we have. Why, even the shastras have declared that we are chaste women! Moreover, no one else will be willing to marry you. Stop nursing such fond hopes. If you follow my advice, you only stand to gain.” “Don’t worry your head about all that. Can you change my fate? Just get me married. Even if I become a widow, I will marry again.6 Remarriage is common these days. But I suppose I can’t expect you to know that. Your community is not exposed to the ways of this world. Make an effort to understand present day trends and alter your ways accordingly. Do not ruin yourselves any further! The new world around us is an aware and progressive one. Only those as ignorant as you will be taken in by your tricks. Soon, even these few people will get too smart for you. I am warning you once and for all. I am not prepared to discuss this subject with you any more. So don’t interfere in my life!” warned Vivekavathi. 1

Debut dance performance on stage. Notice the implication that music and dance are only covers for what is actually a despicable profession. The wealth of learning that the dasis possessed in art and culture is completely devalued. 3 A pendant, which when worn around the neck of a woman, signifies that she is married. 4 Devi, mother goddess. 5 The marriage of gods and goddesses ritually enacted during temple festivals. 6 A reference to the fact that devadasis were known as “nityasumangali”, a woman who is never widowed. Vivekavathi argues that even as an ordinary woman, she need not suffer the problems of widowhood. 2

The Conference Commences (Mahanadu Arambam)

Disguised as “mama” (Gopala Iyer), the myner meets the dasis Kantha and Ganavathi. He invites them to perform at a Self-Respect conference organised by the zamindar of Dharmapuri in Trichi. He also suggests that Kantha disguise herself as Somasekaran’s wife, Gnanasundari. He instructs her to tell Somasekaran that she had gone all the way to Kamalapuram in search of him and that since she is penniless now, she has been reduced to earning her keep by giving concerts. The myner convinces her that this would be a foolproof way of ensuring that Somasekaran would return to her. Meeting Gnanasundari at the conference, Somasekaran continues to believe that she is Kantha. He refuses to entertain the real Kantha (now in the guise of Gnanasundari). Mama too, is unwilling to help Kantha prove her true identity. Gunabhushini and Sivaraman are presented with a citation for having undertaken the task of social reform. The dasis Kantha, Ganavathi and Bogachintamani are envious of them. They are equally jealous of Karunakaran who, with his job and his new life outside the devadasi fold is now a respected figure in Self-Respect circles. The closing chapter contains fiery and lengthy speeches, typical, one imagines, of Self-Respect conferences. In his welcome speech, the myner describes his encounters with Kantha and Ganavathi, his change of heart and his efforts to save Somasekaran from the devadasis’ lure. The speeches of Gunabhushini (reproduced in translation here) and Gnanasundari are typically Self-Respect in style and thematic content. The story ends with the reunion of Vivekavathi with her parents and a public announcement by Kantha and Ganavathi that they will give up their profession.

The social reform conference commenced in Trichi at 8 a.m. that morning. The scheduled date and time of the conference had already been specified in newspapers, wall posters and notices. The conference hall had been tastefully decorated. Posters with slogans pertaining to social reform adorned the walls. A constant stream of men and women could be seen entering the conference hall. Seated on the dais were some special invitees —among them, the zamindar of Sornapuri, the zamindar of Dharmapuri and other prominent residents and officials of the town. More than a hundred women had occupied the space ear-marked for them. One must mention the rousing welcome given to Gnanasundari, Gunabhushini and Sivaraman. Despite repeated requests from mama and Somasekaran, Kamalapuram

Kantha and Ganavathi had remained reluctant to participate in the conference. Mama had had to meet them in person to persuade them to attend.1 The conference began with social reform songs sung by two women. Proposing that Gunabhushini preside over the conference, Gnanasundari spoke: “Sisters! Brothers! Elders! I trust that most of you have heard of Gunabhushini, the lady who is going to preside over this conference today. It would be no exaggeration to say that it is her mission in life to help unhappy women. Despite many obstacles, this lady has constantly strived to advance the cause of women. This is praiseworthy indeed. Forgive me for openly announcing that she belongs to the devadasi community, a community that is praised by the shastras and ridiculed by the people. But you see, Gunabhushini was quick to realize her own lowly state and the ruin that devadasis bring both upon themselves as well as upon others whose lives they touch. She resolved therefore to destroy the devadasi profession. Like the lotus that blooms in the dirt, she was born in a lowly community but has gone on to prevent this community from practising its profession. Casting aside the pottu2 (which is but a symbol of prostitution), she married outside her caste. She has been faithful to her husband (indicates Sivaraman). I cannot easily describe to you the fine qualities of this lady. She has sacrificed all her life to the cause of alleviating the pain of women who are affected by the wicked ways of the dasis. She has wiped the tears of chaste women who, having lost their husbands to dasis, walk the earth looking like ghosts. I therefore humbly request this great lady to preside over our conference.” Mama then delivered the welcome address: “Beloved sisters and brothers! Zamindars! I would like to mention a few things in the presence of two zamindars who are here today. What I say today may upset some people. They may feel that I have been acting unnecessarily. Nevertheless, I feel I should reveal everything because not to do so would go against my conscience. My father was a very wealthy man. As his only son, I was pampered and made much of. My name is Natarajan. But the world knows me as Myner. This is because I have spent a great part of my life visiting dasis and lavishing lakhs of rupees on them. I never spared so much as a thought for

my wife. Why, she did not even figure in my dreams! I never expected to become what I am today. My only aim those days was to give away everything I owned to dasis and to take my pleasure from them. That someone like me who had earned the honourable title of Myner,3 actually decided to do something good for this world, is only due to Gunabhushini. I used to believe that I could please dasis by spending lakhs of rupees on them. I travelled once to Chennai by first class. Kantha and Ganavathi, who are both seated in this audience, also boarded the same compartment. There is no need to describe the wild thoughts which crossed my mind that night. These two ladies promptly concluded that I was a gullible fool. (Laughter) I danced to their tune. Not only did they “reluctantly” accept my gift of a watch worth three hundred rupees and cite their mother as the reason for their not taking me along with them, they also left me with a false address. My friends! This is not all! It was only much later that I realized they had behaved this way because I was helpless. At that time, I merely told myself that they had given me a false address because they cared for me so much or perhaps to test how smart I was! Do I need to give you any further examples of my foolishness? It was my good fortune that I ended up at Gunabhushini’s house. In my narrow-mindedness, I did not intially accept Gunabhushini’s advice. Eventually though, the foolishness that had gripped me like a demon lightened its hold on me. I felt as though I had been purified. I asked myself: Won’t these women deceive others in the same way that they deceived me? I came to the conclusion that it was best to destroy this whole community of dasis. After taking leave of Gunabhushini, I came straight home. I cannot describe the fights that were taking place between my wife and my mother. My mother had literally issued a call for battle! Let my son die if he has to, but my daughter-in-law should be subdued at all costs—that was her attitude. Therefore she boasted of my exploits, my habit of visiting dasis and so on. I realised then that parents are often responsible for their sons going astray. Even though from that time onwards I became a responsible husband, I was unable to forget the way in which Kantha and Ganavathi had relieved me of my watch. I looked forward to the time when I could teach them a lesson and be of help to the world in general. I was invited to the wedding of the young zamindar Somasekharan who is also present here. At this wedding, I observed the behaviour of Kantha and Ganavathi and the manner in which they were

ensnaring Somasekharan. After making a few enquiries about him, the two sisters approached me for help in securing the friendship of Somasekharan. I told them that I would not be able to help but that I would send mama over to do the needful. Later, I visited their house disguised as mama. (Applause) These women did not ask Somasekharan for anything, but such was their cunning that he ended up gifting them many more things than they deserved! After he had bought them jewellery worth two or three lakhs, his father, the zamindar, issued a notice warning the public not to give Somasekharan any credit. (Shouts of Oho!) These sinners—the dasis— ruined the life of their Vellalar lover—Pillai—as well, by giving him a useless warranty signed by Somasekaran for the sum of Rs 20,000. On the basis of this warranty, Pillai parted with Rs 10,000! The same women who took my watch away from me during my trip to Chennai, the same women who deceived me with a false address, were now showering me with attention! I am afraid I cannot go into the details. (Loud laughter.) There was no one to look after the zamindar who had spent lakhs of rupees on them. (Laughter again.) Poor thing! He became a caretaker of the rooms upstairs! With the twin aims of studying all that goes on in a dasi’s house and rescuing Somasekharan from his plight, I asked Gnanasundari to disguise herself as a well-known zamindar and brought her to Kantha and Ganavathi’s house. As soon as they set eyes on this zamindar, Kantha and company went all out to get rid of Somasekharan. In the meantime, Gnanasundari got Somasekaran to part with his ring. She informed him that those who go to Tirupati and those who visit dasis should always return empty-handed. After this, I escorted Somasekaran back to Dharmapuri. I have had many an occasion to observe the dasis’ total faith in black magic and astrology. Later Gnanasundari and I left for Trichi. Asking Gnanasundari to await my return, I left in search of Somasekharan. I wanted to see for myself what he now felt towards Kantha and Ganavathi. I saw him at last, sitting under a tree. As soon as he set eyes on me, Somasekharan bestirred himself from his half-dead state to enquire if Kantha was fine. Since I knew that it was not easy to set right a man who was in the clutches of the dasi, I was not too surprised at his state. The zamindarini and I decided that we would take him back to Dharmapuri only after we had completely rid him of his madness. I persuaded Gnanasundari to act as Kantha, thus ensuring some measure of peace for Somasekharan. I

visited the dasis’ house in the guise of a famous black magician and performed a poojai4 which would ostensibly win them the devotion of the new zamindar (none other than Gnanasundari). Gnanasundari was not aware of this. Everyone was busy with the poojai. I was given everything that I asked for. I got them to give me a letter from the zamindar as well as some money. (Laughter and applause) What followed is even more funny! One day I got hold of a tortoise and placed a small idol on its back. This idol was made from rice, fenugreek and pulses. Once the tortoise started moving, I lit some camphor. Startled, it halted. Watching this spectacle, Kantha and company were sure that the goddess herself had descended to grant them various boons. In this manner, I managed to extract from them the necklace of precious stones worth two lakh rupees and other pieces of jewellery. Here are the jewels! [It is not surprising that at this point Bogachintamani fainted.] I acquired the jewels of those who had been deceived by them. They still have my watch though. (Laughter)5 I decided to forget about it and came away. I am not going to use these pieces of jewellery. I am donating them to the cause of the dasi community. I visited Kantha and Ganavathi in the guise of mama after they had lost all their jewellery. They were hoping that I had got them a new customer. What a plight! In order to earn back all that they had lost, it was important for them to keep up appearances. So they gave me two thousand rupees to buy them some imitation jewellery. I advised them to lodge a complaint with the police. But they said that their profession would suffer if they did so. Imagine! That is how weak this community is! Its people are trained to deceive others and make their money but they possess very little understanding of the ways of this world.6 No wonder they pass their last few years in misery. I left with the two thousand rupees given to me by Kantha and company. I went back, again in the guise of mama, to invite them for this conference. Did they ask why I had not returned at once with what they had asked for? No. In fact, Kantha was even ready to act as Gnanasundari, Somasekharan’s wife. I realized then that once you lure these women with the dream of wealth, you can use them in any way you like.”7 (Applause) This speech had electrified the audience. For a while, excitement prevailed. It was now Gunabhushini’s turn to preside over the conference. She spoke thus:

“Sisters and brothers! My greetings and thanks to the reception committee for honouring me with an opportunity to chair this conference. I hail from a lowly community. The fact that you invited me to speak at a forum such as this today is proof of your interest in the welfare of the devadasi community. I hope that this conference will throw up new ideas for the liberation of women. Comrade Natarajan8 and the young zamindarini Gnanasundari, both of whom have been instrumental in calling for this conference, are motivated by a desire to abolish the devadasi system. For some time now, I have been aware of the secrets which our brother Natarajan has just revealed. During his frequent visits to Chennai, he has spoken to me about the events that have come to pass in Trichi. He has also sought my advice on certain matters. It was through him that I learnt of the young zamindarini’s sharpness, her superior qualities and her zeal for effecting reform. Today I have had the good fortune of meeting her in person. I cannot say enough about the brave and clever deeds of Comrade Natarajan. He possesses both intelligence as well as integrity and is committed to his goals. The work that he has done so far is sufficient proof of this. I do not know where he picked up the art of disguise—we have seen him as mama, as a woman and as a sorcerer. If a film-maker sees him in action, he will be loath to let him go! (Laughter and applause from the audience) He stands before you in his true form today—that of a reformist. You are all aware that in the name of shastras, religion and the gods, our women are like animals. No other country teaches its peoples to look at prostitution as godly, as a practice blessed by God. The fact that a particular community is chosen to be trained in prostitution is proof of our animal lust. In the twentieth century, at a time when rationality and civilized behaviour are on the ascendent, priests and leaders are protesting against the abolition of the devadasi system, arguing that this abolition would be contrary to the shastras, to law and to art and culture. (Shouts of Shame! Shame!) This is indeed shameful. It is necessary first to strike at the very roots of the devadasi system—at God, at religion, at the scriptures, at the vedas and the puranas. (Cries of Shabash!9) There will be little justification then for the continued existence of the devadasi community. It is a proven fact that dasis practice prostitution, that they harm the world, that they are morally responsible for the tears of virtuous women. However, you cannot really blame them. They follow their profession

believing that it is a just one. Now, if one were to make a law to abolish prostitution and reform prostitutes, what justification will devadasis give for their existence? Don’t you know that devadasis justify their prostitution on the grounds that they are servants of God and Shiva’s devotees? So long as such justifications continue to be aired therefore, it is futile to speak of abolishing either prostitution or the devadasi system. Permit me to draw your attention to another matter. Ever since the law which put prostitutes out of business was. enforced, the income of these other prostitutes, that is, the devadasis, has exceeded all reasonable limits. The law was lenient towards them because of religion, God, and the Brahmin. Isn’t that so? That is why I insist that one must destroy these three factors. At this point, I wish to address a few remarks to the dasis present here. What would you rather have—notoriety or praise? If it is praise you want, I would advise you to leave this prostitution at once. If you would rather be humiliated, go ahead, keep a lover in each town. What do you gain from courting abuse? Apart from falling prey to disease, what other happiness do you find? Look at the plight of those whose income once ran into lakhs of rupees! Don’t other women lead perfectly contented lives even though they only have one partner? Don’t worry about what else you can do! You will be assured of a life free of care when you let go of your wicked, greedy schemes and remain faithful to one man alone.10 Both admiration and praise will come seeking you. The world is changing rapidly. Your old tricks are bound to fail in a climate like this. So do not harbour any illusions. Adapt to the times. A request also to the dignitaries and the zamindars present here: I think I can suggest certain methods by which to dismantle the devadasi system. We should ensure first that there are no unmarried women in the devadasi community. Families which have failed to get their daughters married should face punitive measures. I stress this because I believe that married women from this community always behave with a sense of morality. The same man who encourages his sisters and daughters to enter the devadasi’s profession usually respects married women and leaves them alone. However, if we enforce such ideas, there will definitely be attempts to sabotage them. The community will claim that a girl has already been married and then continue to prostitute her. Many will aid them in this business. No expert can unearth such hidden schemes. Some people from the devadasi community have now given up their old

trade and have turned instead to social reform. If we appoint them for vigilance and propaganda work, the machinations of the devadasi community are bound to fail. Women who are appointed to such posts should be prepared to work voluntarily, not expect to be paid. Only those who truly desire to rid this community of its curse will possess the strength of mind to undertake tasks such as these. Not even the police will succeed in this task. Both men and women from the devadasi community should be given compulsory education. We should ensure that the men retain no connection whatsoever with their community’s hereditary profession. Instead, they should be engaged in some useful and respectable trade. Otherwise, they will never learn to despise the devadasi’s profession. When men from the devadasi community turn against the old trade, I daresay they will actively reform others from their community. If we begin with changes such as these, other changes may be gradually introduced. The present government enacted a Devadasi Reform law in 1888.11 This banned women below the age of consent (minors) from undergoing pottukattu. Pottukattu could be performed only after a girl turned eighteen and that too, with her consent. Is it necessary to describe the true nature of this consent in the case of girls whose devadasi mothers have trained them in prostitution till the age of eighteen? What kind of a law is this? Has anyone taken this law seriously? By the time a girl is between five and eight years of age, the priest is bribed and the pottukattu conducted according to community traditions. In such cases where the panchayat members haven’t given their consent, this is done surreptitiously. As soon as the girl turns eighteen, she begins practising her trade with or without informing the government. The law, therefore, is of little use. Though such a law has been passed, is anyone concerned about those devadasi girls who conceive before they turn eighteen? Do you know what the dasis will do if they are banned from coming to the temple and performing pottukattu? They will use an idol of Ganesha made from turmeric and perform the pottukattu in its name. They will then start practising their trade. The dasis have their own customary laws. A temple pottukattu costs money. So it suits them to conduct it at home. Whereas the temple pottukattu would be a public affair, the same ceremony performed at home would not. Some might ask if we cannot isolate the women of that community, separate them from their mothers and reform them. This again would be a futile measure since in such a case men

from the community will take over the task of training their daughters in the profession. It is impossible to free devadasi women from their fathers. Others ask: Won’t the dasis give up their profession out of a sense of shame if we insist that they undergo medical check-ups once every week? On the contrary, dasis will welcome a scheme like that. They will then tell their customers that they go for regular check-ups and that they are free of disease! Medical check-ups will not prove sufficient to shaming this community. The community is opposed to the bill introduced by Dr Muthulakshmi Reddi. In the absence of the dasi community, they claim, lustful men would doubtless seek other women and ruin their lives. What do they think? How exactly do they propose to defend a law that prohibits other prostitutes from practising their profession? They themselves have been plying their trade since times immemorial using the name of God! What is the point of laws which exist now when no stringent laws are brought to bear on the prostitution that goes on in the name of God and religion? With representatives like the ones we have now, dasis are not going to budge from their old ways. It would be wiser therefore to ignore such laws. Let experience be our teacher instead.” (Applause) 1

This speaks of the coercive tactics of the Self-Respect movement and of any reform movement on the whole where reform remains an issue of the exercise of control by one group of people over another. In this case, the dasis face public humiliation. In the course of the conference, their “wicked ways” are unveiled. Their “reform” and “change of heart” represents a forced closure of the story. 2 Another word for thali. This word, however, is specific to the context of pottukattu, the ritual of dedication or marriage to God performed on women from the devadasi community wherein the priest, taking the place of God, ties the pottu around the neck of the woman. 3 The word “myner” carries with it many negative onnotations. As myner, Natarajan is reduced to being a comic figure open to ridicule. 4 Worship. 5 The myner remains a comic figure right upto the end. 6 Given the manner in which the myner uses Ganavathi, this perception appears to be true, quite contrary to the impression that Moovalur intends to give that the dasis are wily creatures. 7 As we have seen, the myner exploits the dasi sisters despite his avowed reformist goals. 8 The myner’s name. 9 Well-done! 10 As it turned out, this promise proved an empty one. 11 Sec Periyar’s argument in The Law Prohibiting Pottukattu (appendix). Periyar supports Muthulakshmi Reddi’s bill and echoes Moovalur’s views on the need for total abolition of the devadasi system.

Conclusion

Even as we fully acknowledge the radical break that women SelfRespecters made with a conservative Brahminical patriarchy (a fact that the contents of the first section, for instance, leave us in little doubt about), many questions remain. What gains did the Self-Respect movement make in terms of forging a lasting and wide-ranging change in gender ideology? We must also remember that Periyar himself admitted that the Self-Respect movement’s programmes for women had, on the whole, been piecemeal.1 What happened to women Self-Respecters and to women whose lives had, in some way, been touched by the movement post-1940? We have extremely scanty biographical information even about the authors of the pieces translated here. What space did women come to occupy in the Dravidian movement after the Self-Respect phase came to a close? In many ways, it appears as though they simply disappeared as did the preoccupation with the women’s question. Why was this so? Did the Self-Respect movement “fail” to fulfill its promises to women?2 Did the rationalist framework espoused by the Self-Respect movement succeed in addressing the wide-ranging complexities of women’s personal and public lives? Given the embeddedness of rationalism in structures of male power, given that the rational, speaking Self is essentially structured as male, it would appear that the woman Self-Respecter is oddly positioned within rationalist discourse. What then was the woman Self-Respecter’s relationship with rationalism? None of our questions about Self-Respect gender ideology, about Periyar’s overwhelming presence and the effect this had on the space that women Self-Respecters could occupy, about what happened to the women’s question after the Self-Respect phase of the Dravidian movement, entails straight and easy answers. Perhaps some of these answers are forever lost to history. Nevertheless, keeping these questions in front of us as we consider our own locations within the women’s movement today should prove productive.

1

V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai, Towards a Non-Brahmin Millenium: From Iyothee Thass to Periyar (Calcutta: Samya, 1998): 409. 2 See V. Geetha, “The Story of a Marriage: Being a Tale of Self-Respect Unions and What Happened to Them” (unpublished paper presented at the “Gender, Law and Citizenship” conference organized by Anveshi Research Centre for Women’s Studies and the American Studies Reseach Centre on January 4th and 5th, 1999 in Hyderabad). V. Geetha has argued here that with the antiHindi agitation, women were no longer such a central pre-occupation with the Self-Respect movement even though Periyar and other Self-Respecters continued to protest against the social disabilities suffered by women. Geetha’s theory is that Self-Respecters were not too comfortable with the manner in which the antiHindi agitation constructed a romantic vision of female sexuality, invoking Tamil as a sad and abused mother. She argues that absolute disdain for the orthodoxies of the past and present which was so commonly found in Self-Respecters and their insistence on using a language of love and natural desire were obscured by the language of Tamil nationalism.

APPENDICES Essays, Speeches and Letters by Periyar E.V. Ramasami Naicker

An Introduction

In his essay “The Law Prohibiting Pottukattu” (“Pottukattu Nirutthum Shattam”), Periyar voices his position on the devadasi system and the practice of pottukattu—the “wedding” of dasi girls with God (representing their ritual dedication to Him) and, subsequently, their initiation into prostitution.1 While Moovalur describes the ills of the devadasi system at great length, taking a moral stand on prositution per se, Periyar’s essay (originally, a letter to the Secretary of the Madras legislature) is written specifically in support of Dr Muthulakshmi Reddi’s bill which sought a ban on the practice of pottukattu. Like Moovalur, Periyar adopts a proabolitionist stance. He argues that since religious laws had already been flouted by an earlier law banning pottukattu from being performed on minor women, the proposed bill could not possibly cause any further damage to religion. However, even as he shares with Moovalur her contempt for the promotion of prostitution in the name of God and religion, Periyar, unlike Moovalur, does not valorise female chastity and wifehood. To him, they are not ideals which every “reformed” devadasi should aim for.2 Defined as marriages based on love and mutuality of respect, Self-Respect marriages were unmediated by factors such as the officiating Brahmin priest, the recitation of religious texts and oppressive, patriarchal rituals such as thali-tying.3 Periyar’s speech published in Kudi Arasu as “No More Thali-Tying” (“Thali Kattudal Ennum Sadangu Ozhindadu”) and his essay “Self-Respect Marriages and Marriages Devoid of Self-Respect” (“Suyamariathai—Suyamariathaiattra Thirumanangal”) argue the case for Self-Respect marriages vis-à-vis ritualistic marriages. In “No More ThaliTying”, Periyar describes a couple who have opted for a Self-Respect style wedding as “two people who love each other truly.” In his essay “SelfRespect Marriages and Marriages Devoid of Self-Respect,” Periyar argues that a certain lack of transparency marks the typical conservative Hindu wedding—a wedding which he perceives as an insult to the intelligence of the couple concerned. In such weddings, argues Periyar, the entire

ceremony is conducted in Sanskrit, a language which is shrouded in obscurity. The meaning and the import of certain ritual acts that are performed routinely as part of the wedding ceremony remain inaccessible to most people. In such a context, the officiating Brahmin priest, supposedly the only person capable of interpreting and understanding rituals and the Sanskrit language, becomes all-powerful. Periyar therefore describes weddings of this kind as weddings lacking in the quality of self-respect. You will recall that in the course of a conversation between Gunabhushini, a passionate Self-Respect activist, and myner Natarajan in the novel Dasigal Mosavalai, the merits of a “love marriage” (read Self-Respect marriage) over the usual Hindu arranged marriage are discussed. Gunabhushini argues that the system of arranged marriages, marriages that are not based on love, actually encourages the practice of visiting dasis. The Self-Respect marriage, therefore, was an important terrain on which Self-Respecters sought to establish the superiority of “modern, rational thinking” over “conservative Brahmininism.”4 Periyar’s critique of Hindu marriage and his posing of women’s problems as arising from a Hindu/upper-caste conservatism is grounded in rationalism and the notion of individual rights. The Self-Respect marriage is posed as a more sensible alternative, a kind of a contract between two rational, consenting adults whose minds are free of ritual and superstition. In fact, some Self-Respect marriages were deliberately performed at times which were considered inauspicious by the Hindu calendar. Often, these weddings offered a platform from which Self-Respecters could condemn Hindu scriptures for their role in furthering women’s enslavement, for insisting that women practise chastity and remain monogamous even as they permitted men to do as they pleased.5 Implicit in the very structure of the Self-Respect marriage are two related notions—the construction of the “rational”, “atheistic”, “iconoclastic” and, therefore, “free” individual and, following from this, the notion of equal partnership (in marriage, as in public life) between men and women. . 1

Also see Periyar’s essay Devadasi Ozhippu Shattam (The Devadasi Abolition Act) in Kudi Arasu 23-3-1930; K.Veeramani comp. Periyar Kalanjiyam (Vol. 5): Perm Urimai 1. (Madras: Periyar SelfRespect Propaganda Institution, 1991): 79-85. 2 See, for instance, Periyar’s essay Karpu (Chastity) in Kudi Arasu (8-11-1928); K.Veeramani comp. Periyar Kalanjiyam (Vol. 5): Penn Urimai 1. (Madras: Periyar Self-Respect Propaganda

Institution, 1991): 11-16. Periyar argues here that the ideal of chastity cannot, in all fairness, be expected of women alone. He points out that the word karpu originally meant the righteous conduct of human beings and that we have no real reason for associating this word with women alone. 3 A pendant typically made of gold hung either from a turmeric stained thin rope or a gold chain which, when worn by a woman, signifies that she is married. The highlight of a traditional wedding in the south is the point at which the groom ties the thali around the bride’s neck. 4 Speaking at the Self-Respect marriage of Karpagam and Kalayanasundaram performed in 1934 at Madras, later published as an essay titled Suyamariathai Thirumanam Endral Yenna? (What is a SelfRespect Marriage?), Periyar seeks to outline the differences between what he calls the “conservative, old-fashioned” marriage and the Self-Respect marriage (Puratchi, 17/6/34). He describes the typical, conservative marriage as one in which the bride and the groom have absolutely no say. In fact, argues Periyar, in 99 per cent of conventional marriages, the bride and the groom have never met or spoken with each other. Marriage, then, is not a personal contract between two individuals but one that is arranged by the parents, the grandparents or the family elders and family friends of these individuals. Periyar then speaks of the irrational basis of these marriages wherein the time of birth of the bride and groom is often the deciding factor in arranging a match. Also, neither the bride and groom, nor their families and friends understand the reason behind the various rituals which are an inevitable part of such marriages. Periyar also points out that these marriages are characterized by a great deal of unnecessary waste of financial and other resources. Often, families who can ill-afford it perform extravagant marriages and end up as permanent debtors. Periyar describes these marriages as both “cruel” and “foolish” and advocates the Self-Respect marriage as a progressive alternative. 5 Anandhi relates the discussion session which formed part of the marriage ceremony of two activists, S. Neelavathi and Ramasubramaniam at Pallathur in Ramananthapuram district in 1930 (1991: 29). When one of the participants asked Periyar why the Self-Respect movement allowed second marriages, the latter responded that marriages could only be tentative arrangements between men and women and should not be treated as eternal and, further, that men and women should have an equal right to remarry and to divorce their partners.

The Law Prohibiting Pottukattu (Pottukattu Nirutthum Shattam) PERIYAR

When the Government of Madras sought Periyar’s opinion on the bill presented by Dr Muthulakshmi Reddi favouring the abolition of pottukattu,1 Periyar responded with a letter to the Secretary of the Madras legislature. What follows is an excerpt from Periyar’s letter.

Hindu women are lured into prostitution thanks to the widely prevalent practice of performing pottukattu in Hindu temples. Driven by their excessive greed for money and material prosperity, devadasis take to prostitution. Their lives are vulgar and artificial in the extreme. They are often responsible for spreading diseases such as gonorrhoea. They must therefore be prevented from pursuing their profession. Dr Muthulakshmi Reddi’s bill seeks not so much to wipe out prostitution altogether as to control one of the most important mechanisms by which it operates. Indian society has not matured to such an extent that we can do away with prostitution altogether. The situation abroad is not very different either. We are simply not ready for laws that prevent women from selling their bodies in exchange for money. We should have laws, however, to prevent women from prostituting themselves in the name of religion. The law that is in force today allows for the pottukattu to be performed only on women above the age of eighteen. However, given that in the devadasi community a girl’s parents or foster parents encourage and train her in prostitution, this law is not of much practical use. The young girl is taught that to be a prostitute, to go through the pottukattu, is a means to attain salvation. She learns, moreover, that prostitution means good and easy money. Until and unless we enact a law that prevents women from taking to prostitution, people will continue to encourage their daughters to take up this profession. In the process, they will make money. The law prohibiting pottukattu in the case of women who are minors was enacted quite a while ago. Thanks to this, various religious dictates have

already been flouted. Hence, no one can claim that the bill under consideration will cause serious damage to religion. The damage to religion has already been done! The shastras do not permit pottukattu for women who have already attained puberty. There is no reason why the government should be preoccupied with the shastras when it wishes to enact a new law to prevent pottukattu altogether. This reform, which forms the core of Dr. Muthulakshmi Reddi’s bill, should have taken effect years ago. We have to act if we wish to safeguard the self-respect of Hindu society. Therefore, this particular bill has my full support and endorsement. (Kudi Arasu, 30/3/1930) 1

Ritual of dedication or marriage to God performed on women from the devadasi community, wherein the priest, taking the place of God, ties the thali or the pottu around the neck of the woman.

No More Thali1-Tying (Thali Kattudal Ennum Sadangu Ozhindadu) PERIYAR

This is the text of a speech by Periyar delivered at a Self Respect wedding performed in Erode on May 5, 1930 and which subsequently appeared in the journal Kudi Arasu on May 11, 1930.

This young couple have shown exemplary courage in opting for the SelfRespect reform marriage. In them, I see two people who love each other truly. They are well-matched in every respect. Their minds have met, their hearts are in harmony. Many might wonder at their choice of a Self-Respect style wedding, even perceive it as strange. However, there is nothing strange about their choice. This is a marriage of two equal and consenting partners. Performed as it has been without those meaningless rituals like thali-tying which symbolise the enslavement of woman to man, this wedding has lived up to the highest reformist standards. A movement based on the principle of equal liberty for both sexes, the Self-Respect movement began only some four or five years ago. During this short period, a number of such Self-Respect weddings have been performed. You are no doubt aware of this. Weddings such as these which are so progressive and different are bound to be attacked by those with oldfashioned ideas. Undeterred by such. obstacles, young people should actively participate in reforms. This particular wedding has effectively avoided the ritual of thali-tying. It is normal practice for the groom to tie a rope (which they call the thali!) around the bride’s neck. The groom is then free to treat her as his slave and abuse her to his heart’s content. This is not very different from buying a buffalo, tying a rope around its neck, and pulling it along! It is said that the thali is tied around a woman’s neck so that others are alerted to the fact that she is married and that, in fact, she is the possession of so and so (thus establishing beyond doubt the question of ownership).

The thali has the function of ensuring that no other man desires her. Should not a man’s marital status be made equally obvious? Is it not necessary for us to know to which woman he belongs so that we do not wrongly desire him? Therefore, the thali ought to be tied around the necks of men as well. Singling women out for such a deceptive ritual practice should invite our condemnation. It should be stopped at all costs. You will note, moreover, that a man who has been widowed is permitted to remarry. But a virgin woman who has lost her husband is forced to spend her entire life in strict accordance with the norms and codes of widowhood. It is time we fought such superstitious practices. Like our bride Selvi Sivakami, more and more women should opt to be married in the SelfRespect style. The protests and obstacles which one encounters when these weddings take place are meaningless as well as uncultured. People who value their self-respect should fight their way through such obstacles, protests and superstitions and use their rationality to live meaningfully. My best wishes to the couple. (Kudi Arasu, 11-5-1930) 1

A pendant typically made of gold hung either from a turmeric stained thin rope or a gold chain which, when worn by a woman, signifies that she is married. The highlight of a traditional wedding in the south is the point at which the groom ties the thali around the bride’s neck.

Self-Respect Marriages and Marriages Devoid of Self-Respect (Suyamariathai-Suyamariathaiattra Thirumanangal) PERIYAR

We have been informed about the various Self-Respect weddings performed this week. We hear that most of these weddings are conducted without Brahmin priests. They do not, however, appear to follow any other principle of Self-Respect ideology.1 This is regrettable indeed. Only three weddings—out of which two were performed in Ramanathapuram district’s Sukkilam and one in Madurai—qualify as Self-Respect marriages in the full sense of the term. We can classify marriages into two categories—SelfRespect marriages and marriages devoid of Self-Respect. The differences between the two are as follows: 1. In marriages that are not based on the principle of Self-Respect, a Brahmin priest always officiates. By virtue of his caste and religious status, this priest invariably regards himself as superior to others. 2. In such cases, the wedding ceremony is conducted in a language which neither the bride nor the groom can follow. 3. There is no understanding of the rationale behind certain acts which are performed during these weddings. The argument offered in defence of these acts is that certain wedding customs were followed by our ancestors and that they are, therefore, sacred and cannot be questioned. Blind belief is the order of the day. When a wedding incorporates such customs, it flouts the principle of Self-Respect. Similarly, if the bride and the groom are not evenly matched in terms of age, if the marriage is arranged by their parents without their Consent, if the couple have had no part in the decision-making, then that would be a wedding devoid of Self-Respect. (Kudi Arasu, 3/6/1928)

1

One of the fundamental principles of the Self-Respect marriage was the avoidance of the Brahmin priest. In their book Towards a Non-Brahmin Millenium (Calcutta: Samya, 1998), V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai have pointed out that since the Self-Respect marriage was deemed contractual, the Self-Respecters used the term “vazhkai Oppandam” (agreement for life) instead of the Tamil word for marriage, “thirumanam” which connotes a sacred event (p. 485).

Biographical Notes

Moovalur Ramamrithammal (1883-1962) Moovalur Ramamrithammal was born to Krishnaswamy and Chinnammal in 1883. She was brought up in a devadasi household at Moovalur in Mayavaram. Her novel, Dasigal Mosavalai, is partly autobiographical and reflects her own experiences as a woman born in a devadasi household. Ramamrithammal escaped the life of a dasi and married her music teacher. As a young woman, she was active in the Congress. Periyar was then leader of the Tamil Nadu Congress. Ramamrithammal found herself drawn to his progressive ideas and was deeply influenced by them. When Periyar left the Congress due to certain major differences with its ideology, she was among those who left with him. Later, Ramamrithammal was to take an active part in the Self-Respect movement. As a writer and a powerful orator, one of the main thrusts of her work was the abolition of the devadasi system and the reform of the devadasis. Ramamrithammal spoke at many Self-Respect conferences. She also ensured the participation of the devadasis in conferences, some of which she organised specifically for their benefit. Apart from Dasigal Mosavalai which is her major work, Ramamrithammal was a frequent contributor to Self-Respect journals such as Kudi Arasu. She participated in the anti-Hindi agitation of 1938 and in fact served a jail sentence for her active role in this agitation. In 1949, she decided to part ways with Periyar. She continued, however, to espouse the Self-Respect cause. Ramamrithammal passed away in the year 1962 at the age of 79. Periyar E.V. Ramasami Naicker (1879-1973)1 Born in 1879 to Venkata Naicker and Chinnathayi Ammal in a rich, orthodox merchant family at Erode in Tamil Nadu, Periyar’s formal education consisted only of primary schooling. In 1889, he was married to Nagammal and started working in his father’s business. In 1904, tired of the orthodoxies which hampered him at home, Periyar took to the life of an ascetic, wandering about in Benaras and Calcutta. Soon, he realised the

futility of the ascetic’s life. Self-inflicted tortures, renunciation and metaphysical discussions, he felt, did not really help people. On his return home, he entered active public life. Periyar’s association with the Madras Presidency Association founded by the Congress in September 1917 marks his first significant entry into state-level and national politics. This association of nationalist leaders had been formed with the intention of uplift of non-Brahmins both within and outside the Congress, working against untouchability and introducing prohibition. The Congress pitted the Madras Presidency Association against the Justice Party and the Association soon ceased to function. On the invitation of C. Rajagopalachari, Periyar formally joined the Congress in early 1920. He became an ardent exponent of Gandhianism which he then believed to be the key to the removal of untouchability and other caste-related problems. Much later, he began to entertain serious reservations about Gandhian ideology and its blind spots—especially in terms of its implicit defence of the varnashrama dharma. Periyar understood the varnashrama dharma system as being at the root of the untouchability which Gandhi was attempting to fight. He felt that Gandhi was refusing to see the links between Brahminism, Hinduism and untouchability. If each caste was to follow its own dharma as Gandhi had suggested, the non-Brahmin would be forced to serve the Brahmins. The final parting of ways between Periyar and the Congress occurred in 1925 with the Kancheepuram Convention of the TNCC at which Periyar made a last attempt to get his most controversial resolution passed. This had to do with his plan of reserving seats for the non-Brahmin communities in the legislature and in the services. To the Brahmin community, such a plan which promised to bring about greater social equity was unacceptable. When Periyar’s resolution demanding proportional representation for the non-Brahmins on the basis of population strength was defeated, he and his associates walked out of the Congress. The Self-Respect movement was born on the heels of Periyar’s departure from the Congress. In keeping with his policy of offering unstinting support to any non-Brahmin individual or organization, Periyar always backed the Justice Pary, even urging the people to vote for the party in the columns of the Self-Respect journal Kudi Arasu. Unlike the Justice Party however, the Self-Respect movement saw itself as a social movement, not as a political party pursuing electoral power. In 1938, due to various setbacks suffered by

the Justice Party, Periyar was formally elected as president of the Justice Party. This year, which marks the formal entry of the Self-Respect movement into the “political” sphere, is considered as signaling the end of the movement. That year, Periyar and other Self-Respecters opposed the introduction of compulsory Hindi in schools introduced by C. Rajagopalachari, the then Prime Minister of Madras Presidency. Periyar courted arrest and underwent a period of rigorous imprisonment. In 1944, the Justice Party was renamed the Dravida Kazhagam. When Periyar remarried Mani Animal in 1949, C.N. Annadurai and other followers parted company with the Dravida Kazhagam to form the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK). Periyar was active right up to the time of his death in 1973; he continued his crusade against orthodox Hinduism and its caste system. As late as 1970, he started a new Tamil bi-monthly called Unmai (The Truth) and an English monthly Modern Rationalist, Neelavathi Ramasubramaniam (1913-1982)2 Born in Trichi on January 23 1913, Neelavathi hailed from a Telugu speaking family. However, she learnt both Tamil and English at school. Her father told her about the Self-Respect journals Dravidan, Kudi Arasu, Kumaran and Oozhiyan. Beginning in 1925, she began contributing articles and essays to some of these journals. Her trademark was a passionate and fiery style. Neelavathi’s writings and her public work as an activist in the Self-Respect movement made her enormously popular with the youth. Neelavathi was a socialist Self-Respecter and she fought against the domination of the wealthy in the Justice Party and often criticized the SelfRespect movement for associating with this party. Periyar convinced her that she should opt for an inter-caste marriage. The editor of Kumaran, Cho. Murugappa, was so impressed with her that he arranged for her marriage with his assistant editor, Ramasubramaniam. The two were married in October 1930. The wedding ceremony was in the nature of a contract or vazhkai Oppandam. There was no thali-tying, only an exchange of garlands by the bride and the groom. This “Self-Respect” wedding was very well attended and journals like Dravidan, Kudi Arasu and Kumaran carried it as a news story.

Neelavathi met Gandhi in 1933. Convinced by Gandhi that the cause of freedom was as important as the cause of reform and that the two battles had to be fought side by side, Neelavathi joined the Congress Socialist Party in 1934. On Gandhi’s advice, Neelavathi gave up wearing jewellery and took to wearing khadi. She was elected secretary to the Tamil Nadu Women’s Progressive Association. After she joined the Congress, Neelavathi toured Burma and spoke about the need to fight the British. Back in India, she was imprisoned for her role in the freedom movement. Neelavathi had a son and a daughter (who died as a young woman). After the death of her daughter, Neelavathi gave up her active public life and devoted herself to raising her grandchild. She died in 1982. Neelavathi is a fine example of a woman Self-Respecter who was comfortable in the public sphere. She successfully fought the restraints of domesticity which chained other women of her generation and left behind a volume of writing that will continue to inspire us. 1

Some important sources of biographical information on Periyar include An Admirer, Periyar E.V. Ramasami—A Pen Portrait. Madras: The Periyar Self-Respect Propaganda Institution, 1962; Iraiyan, A. Suyamariathai Sudaroligall/The Leading Lights of the Self-Respect Movement. Madras: SelfRespect Propaganda Institution, 1981. 2 For a detailed biography of Neelavathi Ramasubramaniam, see S.A.A.K. Raju, Neelavathi Ramasubramaniam: Vazhkai Varalaaru (1913-1982). Chennai: Vanathi, 1983.

Bibliography

Primary Sources (Books) Anaimuthu, V. comp. Periyar E.Ve.Ra Chintanaigal or Thoughts of Periyar E.V.R. (3 Vols.). Trichi: Thinkers Forum, 1974. Ramamrithammal, Moovalur. Dasigal Mosavalai Alladu Madipettra Myner. Madras: Pearl Press, 1936. Veeramani, K. comp. Periyar Kalanjiyam (Vol. 5): Perm Urimai 1. Madras: Self-Respect Propaganda Institution, 1991. Primary Sources (Journals) Kudi Arasu, 30/3/1930 Kudi Arasu, 11/5/1930 Kudi Arasu, 3/6/1928 Kumaran, July-August 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 1 Kumaran, August-September 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 2 Kumaran, September-October 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 3 Kumaran, October-November 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 4 Kumaran, November-December 1930; Vol. 9, Issue 5 Kumaran, December 1930-January 1931; Vol. 9, Issue 6 Kumaran, March-April 1931; Vol. 9, Issue 9 Puratchi, 28/1/1934 Puratchi, 29/4/1934 Secondary Sources An Admirer. Periyar E.V. Ramasami—A Pen Portrait. Madras: The Periyar Self-Respect Propaganda Institution, 1962. Anandhi, S. “Women’s Question in the Dravidian Movement: c. 19251948”, Social Scientist (May-June 1991): 26-41. Geetha, V. “Gender and Political Discourse”, Economic and Political Weekly (February 16, 1991): 3387-3388. Geetha, V. and S.V. Rajadurai. Towards a Non-Brahmin Millenium: From Iyothee Thass to Periyar. Calcutta: Samya, 1998.

Geetha, V. “The Story of a Marriage: Being a Tale of Self-Respect Unions and What Happened to Them” paper presented at the conference on “Gender, Law and Citizenship” organized by Anveshi Research Centre for Women’s Studies and the American Studies Research Centre in Hyderabad on January 4th and 5th, 1999. Iraiyan, A. Suyamariathai Sudaroligall/The Leading Lights of the SelfRespect Movement. Madras: Self-Respect Propaganda Institution, 1981. Kersenboom, Saskia C. Nityasumangali: Devadasi Tradition in South India. New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1987. Krishnankutty, Gita. trans. Cast Me Out if You Will: Stories and Memoir— Lalithambika Antherjanam. Calcutta: Stree, 1998. Lakshmi, C.S. “Mother, Mother-community and Mother-Politics in Tamilnadu”, Economic and Political Weekly, 25 (42-43) (October 20-29, 1990): WS 75. Natarajan, Srividya. Another Stage in the Life of the Nation: Sadir, Bharatanatyam, Feminist Theory. Unpublished doctoral dissertation. Hyderabad: 1997. Pandian, M.S.S., Anandhi, S. and A.R. Venkatachalapathy. “Of Maltova Mothers and Other Stories”, Economic and Political Weekly 26.16 (April 20, 1991): 1059-1064. Rajadurai, S.V. and V. Geetha, Periyar: Suyamariathai Samadharmam/Periyar: Self-Respect Socialism. Coimbatore: Vidiyal, 1996 in Tamil. Raju, S.A.A.K. Neelavathi Ramasubramaniam: Vazhkai Varalaru (19131918). Chennai: Vanathi, 1983. Ramaswamy, Sumathy. Passions of the Tongue: Language Devotion in Tamil India, 1891-1970. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1997. Srilata, K. A New Subject For Feminism: Print-Media, Dravidian Movement and the Reconstitution of Readers. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Department of English, University of Hyderabad. Tharu, Susie and K. Lalita. “Introduction” to Women Writing in India: 600 BC to the Present (Vol. 1). New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1995. Williams, Raymond, “Structures of Feeling” in Marxism and Literature, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977.