Readings in Indian Sociology: Volume I: Towards Sociology of Dalits [1 ed.] 9789351500285, 9351500284

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Towards Sociology of Dalits

Readings in Indian Sociology Series Editor: Ishwar Modi Titles and Editors of the Volumes Volume 1 Towards Sociology of Dalits Editor: Paramjit S. Judge Volume 2 Sociological Probings in Rural Society Editor: K.L. Sharma Volume 3 Sociology of Childhood and Youth Editor: Bula Bhadra Volume 4 Sociology of Health Editor: Madhu Nagla Volume 5 Contributions to Sociological Theory Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava Volume 6 Sociology of Science and Technology in India Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik Volume 7 Sociology of Environment Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury Volume 8 Political Sociology of India Editor: Anand Kumar Volume 9 Culture and Society Editor: Susan Visvanathan Volume 10 Pioneers of Sociology in India Editor: Ishwar Modi

READINGS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY VOLUME 1

Towards Sociology of Dalits

EDITED BY Paramjit S. Judge

Copyright © Indian Sociological Society, 2013 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. First published in 2013 by SAGE Publications India Pvt Ltd B1/I-1 Mohan Cooperative Industrial Area Mathura Road, New Delhi 110 044, India www.sagepub.in SAGE Publications Inc 2455 Teller Road Thousand Oaks, California 91320, USA

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Contents

List of Tables Series Note Foreword by Prakash N. Pimpley Preface Introduction by Paramjit S. Judge

ix xi xv xvii xix

Part I: State of Dalit Studies in Sociology 1. Situating Dalits in Indian Sociology 3 Vivek Kumar 2. Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, and the Nation: Situating G. S. Ghurye 23 T.K. Oommen Part II: Caste, Untouchability and Exclusion 3. Untouchability as a Social Problem: Theory and Research R.D. Lambert 4. Untouchability—A Myth or a Reality: A Study of Interaction between Scheduled Castes and Brahmins in a Western U.P. Village S.S. Sharma 5. Scheduled Castes and Urbanization in Punjab: An Explanation Victor S. D’Souza 6. The Khatiks of Kanpur and the Bristle Trade: Towards an Anthropology of Man and Beast Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

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65

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Part III: Mapping Conflict 7. Dalit Struggle, Nude Worship, and the ‘Chandragutti Incident’ Linda J. Epp 8. Psychological Conflict Between Harijans and Upper Class/Middle Class Caste Hindus: A Study in Andhra Pradesh (India) Venkateswarlu Dollu

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Part IV: Interrogating Change: Theory and Practice 9. Reservations and the Sanskritization of Scheduled Castes: Some Theoretical Aspects Gopal Guru 10. Purity, Impurity, Untouchability: Then and Now A.M. Shah 11. Stigma Goes Backstage: Reservation in Jobs and Education Tulsi Patel Index About the Editor and Contributors Appendix of Sources

159 169 184

203 208 210

List of Tables

Introduction Table I Number of Scheduled Castes and Their Percentage in Each State and Union Territory Table II Five Most Widely Spread Scheduled Castes in India Chapter 4 Table I Extent of Intensity of Interaction among Brahmins and Scheduled Castes Table II Acceptance of Scheduled Castes by Brahmins and Vice-Versa in Public- and Private Places Table III Reason for Non-Acceptance of Scheduled Castes According to the Brahmins and Scheduled Castes Chapter 5 Table I Distribution of Towns in 1961 in Punjab by Size Class and Index Scores of Representation of Scheduled Caste Population Table II Distribution of Towns in Punjab in 1961 by Functional Classification and Index Scores of Representation of Scheduled Caste Population

xxxiv xxxv

61 62 63

72

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Chapter 8 Table I Harijan Responses Regarding Untouchability and Caste Hindu Hostilities 144 Table II Caste Hindu Samples Attitudes Towards Untouchability 146

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Table III Caste Hindus Responses Regarding Type of Violence by the Harijans Against Them Table IV Caste Hindu Responses with Regard to Certain Concessions from the Government Table V Caste Hindu Responses Regarding Harijan Hostilities Against Them

148 149 152

Series Note

The Indian Sociological Society (ISS), established in December 1951, under the leadership of Professor G. S. Ghurye at the University of Bombay celebrated its Diamond Jubilee in 2011. Soon after its foundation, the ISS launched its biannual journal Sociological Bulletin in March 1952. It has been published regularly since then. The ISS took cognisance of the growing aspirations of the community of sociologists both in India and abroad to publish their contributions in Sociological Bulletin, and raised its frequency to three issues a year in 2004. Its print order now exceeds 3,000 copies. It speaks volumes about the popularity of both the ISS and the Sociological Bulletin. The various issues of Sociological Bulletin are a treasure trove of the most profound and authentic sociological writings and research in India and elsewhere. As such it is no surprise that it has acquired the status of an internationally acclaimed reputed journal of sociology. The very fact that several of its previous issues are no more available, being out of print, is indicative not only of its popularity both among sociologists and other social scientists but also of its high scholarly reputation, acceptance and relevance. Although two series of volumes have already been published by the ISS during 2001 and 2005 and in 2011 having seven volumes each on a large number of themes, yet a very large number of themes remain untouched. Such a situation necessitated that a new series of thematic volumes be brought out. Realising this necessity and in order to continue to celebrate the Diamond Decade of the Indian Sociological Society, the Managing Committee of the ISS and a subcommittee constituted for this purpose decided to bring out a series of 10 more thematic volumes in such areas of importance and relevance both for the sociological and the academic communities at large as Sociological Theory, Untouchability and Dalits, Rural Society, Science

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and Technology, Childhood and Youth, Health, Environment, Culture, Politics and the Pioneers of Sociology in India. Well-known scholars and experts in the areas of the chosen themes were identified and requested to edit these thematic volumes under the series title Readings in Indian Sociology. Each one of them has put in a lot of effort in the shortest possible time not only in selecting and identifying the papers to be included in their respective volumes but also in arranging these in a relevant and meaningful manner. More than this, it was no easy task for them to write comprehensive ‘introductions’ of the respective volumes in the face of time constraints so that the volumes could be brought out in time on the occasion of the 39th All India Sociological Conference scheduled to take place in Mysore under the auspices of the Karnataka State Open University during 27–29 December 2013. The editors enjoyed freedom not only in choosing the papers of their choice from Sociological Bulletin published during 1952 and 2012, but they were also free to request scholars of their choice to write forewords for their particular volumes. The volumes covered under this series include: Towards Sociology of Dalits (Editor: Paramjit S. Judge); Sociological Probings in Rural Society (Editor: K.L. Sharma); Sociology of Childhood and Youth (Editor: Bula Bhadra); Sociology of Health (Editor: Madhu Nagla); Contributions to Sociological Theory (Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava); Sociology of Science and Technology in India (Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik); Sociology of Environment (Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury); Political Sociology of India (Editor: Anand Kumar); Culture and Society (Editor: Susan Visvanathan); and Pioneers of Sociology in India (Editor: Ishwar Modi). Towards Sociology of Dalits (edited by Paramjit S. Judge with a foreword by Prakash N. Pimpley) is the first volume of the series titled Readings in Indian Sociology. This volume consists of 11 articles with a comprehensive introductory chapter which provides a panoramic outline of the content of Dalit studies in India over time and space. The location of Dalits has been inseparably linked with the caste and economy of the Indian society, giving rise to the practice of untouchability duly supported by the tradition and religious ideology. The response of the Indian sociologists to the plight of Dalits was marked by indifference in the initial stages. Later on, in the 1970s, the sociologists began in right earnest and at present, there is an exclusive and interdisciplinary domain of sociological knowledge dealing with Dalits. Three major

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issues discussed in the various chapters of this volume are untouchability and exclusion, conflict and change. It can hardly be overemphasised and can be said for sure that this volume as well as all the other volumes of the series Readings in Indian Sociology, as they pertain to the most important aspects of society and sociology in India, will be of immense importance and relevance to students, teachers and researchers both of sociology and other social sciences. It is also hoped that these volumes will be received well by the overseas scholars interested in the study of Indian society. Besides this, policy-makers, administrators, activists, NGOs and so on may also find these volumes of immense value. Having gone through these volumes, the students and researchers of sociology would probably be able to feel and say that now ‘We will be able to look much farther away as we are standing on the shoulders of the giants’ (in the spirit of paraphrasing the famous quote by Isaac Newton). I would like to place on record my thanks to Shambhu Sahu, Sutapa Ghosh and R. Chandra Sekhar of SAGE Publications for all their efforts, support and patience to complete this huge project well in time against all the time constraints. I also express my gratefulness to the Managing Committee Members of the ISS and also the members of the subcommittee constituted for this purpose. I am also thankful to all the editors and all the scholars who have written the forewords. I would also like to thank Uday Singh, my assistant at the India International Institute of Social Sciences, Jaipur for all his secretarial assistance and hard work put in by him towards the completion of these volumes. Ishwar Modi Series Editor Readings in Indian Sociology

Foreword

I

nterest in Dalit studies for students of Indian society as a distinct field as distinct from studying caste is of a relatively recent origin. Surprisingly, the fact that almost one in five persons has lived under subhuman conditions for a millennia, without rebellion, is a miracle in itself. Not that efforts were not made, especially during the Raj for the ‘betterment’ of the Dalits, but it needs to be remembered that these were ameliorative efforts. It was left to Dr. Ambedkar to put the Dalit question in the proper perspective. In the mid-1970s, it transpired that as part of the then recently started MPhil programme a course on Dalit studies was started in the Department of Sociology, Panjab University, Chandigarh. Our putative objective was to understand how it happens that such a massive system of inequality can be sustained for such a long time. It soon appeared that many of the then prevalent interpretations would not work. Take, for example, Swami Dayanad Saraswati’s Shuddhi of the former ‘outcastes’ and their assimilation as full-fledged members of Hindu society. Or to look at Gandhi’s attempt to show that no work is either impure or is below one’s dignity. One can cite numerous illustrations of genuinely well-meaning efforts to improve the conditions of the Dalits. The problem with such an approach was that it was based on the assumption that it is an attitudinal problem and once you show people their mistakes, rational men as they are, they will mend their ways. The Dalit question is not a psychological or merely an attitudinal question, but presents before us a whole spectrum of political economy of inequality and it operates through instruments of power. If this be so, a question could be further posed which is as follows: Can acquisition of power by a subaltern group have a chance in this system? During intense debates with the students for many years, the conclusion drawn was that

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the political mobilisation of the Dalits is the most effective strategy in improving their conditions. Much water has flown since 1970s. A course on Dalit studies during the 1970s was a scarce event, but now times have changed. There is stupendous growth of Dalit studies in the country. The Dalit strategy for better future has taken a different twist from the classical political mobilisation method. Dalit literature was in the process of consolidation in the 1970s, but now it has visible presence all over India. Professor Paramjit S. Judge has shown a continuing interest in Dalit studies and the Introduction to this volume is abundant proof. With the support of Indian Sociological Society (ISS), this book will fulfil a longstanding need of scholars. Apart from the substantial ground covered in the volume, a few pointers for the future should be identified if Dalit sociology is to be developed and established as a distinct discipline. Certain pointers are: the current interpersonal relations between various castes; inter-caste relations at the workplace; and the second generation of the middle-class Dalits. The University Grants Commission (UGC) initiated the major project by opening centres for the study of social exclusion in various universities of the country where the Dalit issues have begun to figure prominently. However, there is a need not only to disseminate knowledge but also to sensitise minds to issues concerning discrimination, exclusion and humiliation of Dalits. Eleven articles, which were published at different points of time in the Sociological Bulletin, the official journal of the ISS, included in this volume, also show the different approaches and issues of concern which occupied the minds of the sociologists regarding the Dalits. Paramjit S. Judge has done well to put them together and show the state of sensitivity of the Indian sociology on the Dalit issues. Much more is required if we wish to have an egalitarian society in which individual not the affiliation to the collectivity will be the basis of the discourse of social justice. Prakash N. Pimpley

Preface

A

ny work on Dalits involves a comprehensive examination of virtually all aspects of the Indian society excepting parts of the north-eastern region. It is an all-out effort to examine 16 per cent of the population of the country which in actual numbers is huge. There are two axes along which the sociological imagination takes its flight. The first axis is the form and content of relationship between collecitvities, which generally entail class, caste, race, gender, religion and ethnicity. People are divided along class lines in a hierarchy. The hierarchical order forms the essence of the relationship between classes, castes, sexes and ethnic groups. The second axis is the examination of relationship between individuals, groups and communities. The sociological analysis of the Dalits in India implicates all these axes of examination. Adequate focus on Dalits remained missing in the earlier phases of the development of the discipline. Oommen’s remark that in the context of the Dalits, Ghurye’s position entailed cognitive blackout (see the article titled ‘Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, and the Nation: Situating G. S. Ghurye’ in this volume) seems to be applicable to most of the writings of the period. Emancipation of Dalits is prerequisite for the emancipation of Indian society. The visibility of a small number of Dalit intellectuals does not tell the story of all the Dalits. Nor has the improvement in the conditions of some of them removed the caste stigma. Caste is both an existential and experiential category in which one’s belongingness is loaded with history, culture and personality. Expressions of joy and sorrow are not the individual domains but are a matter of constructing the self and others. The project of modernity to liberate an individual from the load of particularistic identities has failed in India largely due to the failure of the postcolonial society to build powerful institutions

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supporting the individual citizen and his rights. The individual seeks security, protection and existence through the articulation of collective identity. We may place the significance of Dalit studies in the context of the emancipation of the Indian society. I would like to thank Professor Ishwar Prasad Modi, President of the Indian Sociological Society, for giving me this responsibility and supporting me throughout the completion of the volume. Selection of articles from Sociological Bulletin was one of the difficult tasks, for there was a need to have a sense of intellectual history of sociology in India as well as the contemporary relevance of the issues. In view of the fact that the study of Dalits involves different dimensions of sociological enterprise, some of the articles had been published in other edited volumes. All except one were excluded. I am grateful to Professor P. N. Pimpley for agreeing to write the foreword to the volume. Professor P. N. Pimpley is one of those sociologists who initiated the Dalit studies in their respective regions. I have had the privilege of being his student and studying the course on the Dalits at MPhil level. My special thanks to Professor M. Rajivlochan for giving suggestions regarding the organisation of the volume and making critical remarks on the introductory chapter. I must record my sense of gratitude to my wife, Professor Gurpreet Bal, who has always helped me in my work. She is always the first to read whatever I write and also to give objective and critical evaluation. Paramjit S. Judge

Introduction Paramjit S. Judge

I

D

alits as the exclusive focus of study and analysis have engaged scholars and social scientists in a committed and concerned manner during the last two decades. Earlier, they constituted a part of the study of castes and the caste system. However, certain issues, within the framework of caste as structural principle as well as ideology, attracted considerable attention of social scientists between 1947 and 1990, such as untouchability, reservation policy, mobility and politicisation of depressed castes. Research on Dalits gained momentum in the 1990s and at present, it has emerged as the major field of intellectual discourse. There are two aspects of the manifestations of the sustained interest in Dalit studies. First, any work on issues such as modernity, social transformation, voting behaviour, election studies, nation-building, social justice, democracy, human rights, equality and development takes direct and indirect cognisance of the Dalits in one way or the other. Such studies may not be essentially directing their focus of analysis on the Dalits, but Dalits figure like the ‘Polish Question’ from the 19th-century Europe. In case no reference is made to the Dalits while addressing the above-mentioned issues, the concerned scholar may be criticised for that. Such a situation may not inevitably be logically necessary, but it has rightly become a normative necessary. It has begun to dawn upon the scholars and experts to take the Dalit issue more seriously instead of rambling in hope of end of caste and attainment of

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equality. What was considered to be peripheral and a category without much of autonomy—the so-called ‘social’—baffled everybody at the empirical level, for social as a category showed autonomy and resilience and on top of that it showed tremendous degree of adaptability to the emerging socio-economic and political systems to which we may call modern liberal democratic capitalism. It also created a great sense of guilt—the normative necessity—in the minds and hearts of a large number of sensitive intellectuals belonging to the non-Dalit castes. At present, it seems inevitable because the kind of dehumanised conditions in which the Dalits lived for centuries was enough to create such a sense of historical responsibility. The second aspect of keen interest in Dalit studies is a result of many circumstances of both objective and subjective kinds whose emergence accelerated at a breathtaking pace during the 1990s. One of the major developments in the early 1990s was the emergence of the Bahujan Samaj party (henceforth BSP) as the major political force in Utter Pradesh—the largest population among the states of the country. The arrival of the BSP on the political centre stage was a consequence of the vision of one leader, Kanshi Ram, who gave paradigmatic shift to the issue of Dalit empowerment. It was a move away from the social movement approach towards the power politics at the formal level. Capturing formal political power in a state raised the aspiration levels of the Dalits throughout the country. Mayawati, the protégé of Kanshi Ram, consolidated the new political approach and has treaded the path of populism by forging alliances with different politico-ideological trends. In addition to the dramatic rise of the BSP, there is a formation of critical middle-class Dalits who have largely benefitted from the state policies. A part of the Dalit middle class was comprised by the intellectuals. Creative writers and social scientists initiated a new chapter in the history of Dalit studies. Finally, the Indian state began to focus its attention on the Dalits through the provision of funds and opening of new centres, such as Ambedkar Centres, Centres for the Study of Social Exclusion and Inclusive Policy, which began to conduct studies exclusively on the excluded sections of the Indian society among whom the Dalits figured most prominently. After precisely making sense of its recent rise, the field of Dalit studies has become quite comprehensive in the sense that it is an

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interdisciplinary area of research. We now find anthropologists, sociologists, political scientists, economists, historians and legal experts working in this area. As a result of the contributions of the experts from various social science disciplines, we are witnessing the evolution of a highly fertile, rich and contested field of Dalit studies. Furthermore, most of  the regions of India have been studied quite extensively and interestingly, majority of the studies are empirical in nature; in other words, we have a panoramic knowledge of Dalits in India. As a result, the extensity and intensity of research, using both qualitative and quantitative methods, are the hallmark of Dalit studies in India. The completion of 50 years of Independence of India was also an embarrassing moment for its leaders, because the Indian state had substantially failed to redress the issue of caste-based discrimination with determination and effectiveness. It is to be reminded that the caste-based inequalities and discrimination are violation of the spirit of the Indian Constitution and the universal principle of equality. Dalit studies acquired a strong and visible normative content in social sciences and powerfully reminded that the time had arrived to think afresh about the issue of value neutrality. Rather than being value-neutral or value-loaded, the 21st century is essentially the century of value-based research. Value-based research is based on the domain assumption that there are grey areas of society that need to be addressed, because human societies have reached a level of development of institutions and practices where equality, justice, freedom and rights are natural expressions of meaningful life with dignity. Race, gender, caste, religion and ethnicity are contexts of discrimination and dehumanisation for the powerless and the marginalised sections. Caste as the context of value-based research has two conceptual trajectories which translate into institutional practice. First, caste is a birth-ascribed status and is immutable and it implicates permanence of position which cannot be changed with the effort of individual will. Second, caste system consists of a large population of people who have been located at the bottom of the hierarchy. Called as untouchables (achhut), these people suffered the worst forms of discrimination and denial of even meaningful and humane living. These trajectories are intertwined, but the only distinguishing mark is that sociologists have studied caste more than the untouchables. However, the study of untouchables/Dalits cannot bypass the question of caste. In other words, caste is implicated in any study of the Dalits.

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This volume is the collection of articles published in the official journal of the Indian Sociological Society, Sociological Bulletin, at different points of time. The discussion in this introductory chapter is divided into two broad sections. The first section takes into consideration various issues dealing with caste and the Dalits across time and space with special reference to the contemporary trends in Dalit studies. The discussion has been divided into four parts in this section. The first part is aimed at making sense of various conceptualisations of caste. The purpose is not to give a comprehensive review of literature, but to take up central conceptual frames within which caste has been located in various writings. The second part takes stock of the practices of untouchability, discrimination and exploitation of the Dalits in the Indian society. The third part deals with the issues of conflict and struggles of the Dalits in India. Obviously, the third part is based on the assumption that the Dalits never accepted their position in the caste hierarchy as well as the fact that historically the nature of struggle changed across time. The final part of the first section takes cognisance of changes which have occurred in the conditions of the Dalits. The second section of this chapter provides introduction to various articles included in the volume.

Sociology of Dalits The broad category of ‘Dalit’ has essentially come into wider and popular use after the Dalit movements powerfully rejected the term ‘Harijan’ given to the large mass of depressed castes by Mahatma Gandhi with whom, after the Poona Pact, the Dalits remained in a considerable uncomfortable relationship. The expression ‘scheduled castes’ was used till the word ‘Dalit’ virtually vanished all other signifiers to denote and connote the untouchables of India till 1950 when untouchability was constitutionally demolished and subsequently its practice was considered to be a punishable offence after 1955. Making a case for the distinct area of research requires outlining certain significant dimensions of the issues and all the gamut of areas to earmark its boundaries—though not essentially separating it from others. Here, an attempt has been made to examine and raise questions about four dimensions, namely caste, untouchability and exclusion, conflict and struggle, and change and mobility, all pertaining to the Dalits.

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Caste and Dalits An examination of caste is a prerequisite for understanding the social location of the Dalits, but it may amount to truism by virtue of the fact that all Dalit castes are located at the lowest rungs of the caste hierarchy. It is important to take cognisance of the fact that whatever approach we may adopt in order to examine the Dalits, the understanding of caste becomes necessary. However, social anthropologists and sociologists who made the study of caste as their lifelong academic and intellectual engagement might not have dwelt upon the issue of the Dalits. They largely remained indifferent passers-by when it concerned the Dalits. In other words, if the study of Dalits necessitates the understanding caste, then in the understanding of the caste it did not create the necessity in the minds and methods of the sociologists that examination of the Dalits could be considered essential or indispensable. The consequence of such a mindset led to an understanding of caste through the eyes of Brahmin and Hindu theology. Social anthropology, particularly the British tradition, strongly emphasised the ethnography as the best method of collecting data along which the canons of scientific research were strongly upheld and observed. The canons of value-neutral social science began to influence and shape the Indian social anthropologists who shifted to sociology with great ease and also unnoticed. Valueneutrality as it was practiced and understood implicated the ideology free analysis of social facts. Approaching caste system through the Dalits would have involved normative concerns for the most dehumanised and marginalised sections of the society. Trained in the Western liberal tradition of equality and freedom, these social anthropologists would have been intellectually compelled to take a position against the appalling conditions of the Dalits, which involved moving away from their neutral stances. As a result they stayed away from giving the major space to the Dalits. One is reminded of Wittgenstein’s famous remarks thus (1961: 74), ‘What we cannot speak about we must pass over it in silence.’ The silence over the approach to the study of caste through the eyes of the Dalits could be put under suspicion. In the words of Wittgenstein (1961: 73), ‘Doubt can exist only where a question exists, a question only where an answer exists, and an answer only where something can be said.’ However, when silence is kept where something could be said we experience

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politics of silence. Caste question for the Indian sociologists has remained the crucial issue for the last eight decades and the understanding of Dalits remained a secondary concern. The life world of caste was ideally presented as dominated by the Brahmins and when the ethnographic approach to the study of caste struck its roots the diversity of social life and variations in the caste across regions were christened under the expression ‘field-view’ of caste without bringing much change in the Brahminic approach to understand it. Let us take up briefly for discussion the way caste has been understood in the sociological imagination. We can make three broad divisions of various elucidations of caste, namely caste as objective reality, caste as subjective reality and caste as unity of subjective and objective reality. Caste as Objective Reality. Caste is treated as observable structure and it is largely conceptualised in terms of a set of features which makes it comprehensible. Of all such attempts, Ghurye (1969) could be taken as the representative of most of them. According to him, there are six features of caste thus: segmental division of society, hierarchy, restrictions on feeding and social intercourse, civil and religious disabilities and privileges of the different sections, lack of unrestricted choice of occupations, and restrictions on marriage. All these features are empirically observable and in certain ways cover caste and caste system in a comprehensive way. It is interesting to note that Ghurye’s understanding of caste as the segmental division of Indian society covers three dimensions, namely it is the status determined by birth; each caste has its own panchayat; and each caste has its culture in terms of special deities, customs about marriage and death and so on. Berreman (1979) treats the issue of cultural plurality in the context of caste system at length and in the process invokes Max Weber and Irawati Karve, thereby implying that caste as a cultural group is a widely accepted understanding of one aspect of caste and caste system. There are two other important features identified by Ghurye which require special mention. The first is the lack of unrestricted choice of occupation. We have considerable number of expressions like ‘hereditary occupation’ or ‘caste occupation’ to denote the inseparable relationship between caste and class/ economic status. At the empirical level such a situation never existed for a considerable number of castes if not all. All Brahmins were not priests and all Chamars were not involved in leather work. However, a Brahmin

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could not engage in leather work and a Chamar could not become a priest under the traditional caste system. Whereas Ghurye (1969) takes cognisance of hypergamous and hypogamous practices while stating that there are restrictions on marriage, caste endogamy is widely regarded as the defining feature of caste. In this regard, Ambedkar (1990) was of the view that intercaste marriage would serve as ‘the solvent of caste’ implying thereby that caste endogamy constitutes the essence of caste. It is interesting to note that notwithstanding the regional variations there is a complex system of mate selection in India making it virtually impossible to break the hegemonic control of the caste from our lives. Ambedkar (ibid.) maintained that it is not desirable ‘to agitate and to organise intercaste marriages’ to end the hold of caste. Despite the fact that there are cases of intercaste marriages, the general principle of mate selection remains almost the same and it is controlled and regulated by family and kinship through the institution of arranged marriage. Therefore, at present we have two worlds—one where the mate selection is based on mutual love and the individual freedom of choice, and the other where tradition and custom continue to reign supreme thereby maintaining the caste hegemony. In the end, it may be argued that the objective view of caste takes into consideration various external features of caste which could be observed as institutions and practices. Despite the regional character if caste which Srinivas (1966) has correctly pointed out, there are certain aspects that cut across regions and form the core of caste. For example, virtually all regions have Brahmin and Chamar/Bhangi castes. There are numerous castes whose names are coterminous with their occupations and those castes exist wherever those occupations exist and the only variation is that such castes may have names in the language spoken in that region. In the Indian subcontinent the influence of Islam has changed various castes at two levels, namely the names of certain castes has changed. For example, the Muslim Bhangi in Punjab is known as Mussali. Second, there are certain castes in certain regions that have disappeared from the Hindu social system due to conversion to Islam. For example, Kanjar, Teli, Bharain and Malah have disappeared among the Punjabi Hindus due to conversion. We may now turn to the second view of caste.

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Caste as Subjective Reality The relationship between experience and social structure is twofold. First of all one’s location in the social structure is the source of the world view of the individual. The observation is quite close to one of the most familiar observations of Marx, that is, social existence determines consciousness. Second, it is the experience which forms the basis of interpreting and explaining social structure. Conceptualising caste as subjective reality would imply the varieties and modes of making sense of one’s location in the social structure by treating one’s individual existence as unique or by relating to the same set of people with whom one shares the common existence. Phenomenologists would characterise such a sharing common existence in this context as ‘common stock of knowledge’. Therefore, caste becomes an existential category which is experienced in everyday life interactions within and without group commonalities. Bouglé (1971) underlined three tendencies, namely repulsion, hierarchy and hereditary specialisation as the spirit of caste. It is important for us to understand that whereas hierarchy and hereditary specialisation are external and thus objective facts about caste, repulsion remains highly subjective. Repulsion is a refusal to like others and know them. Repulsion emanates from the subjective consciousness of the individuals and it manifests in everyday interactions. However, the important question with regard to such a characterisation is connected with the source of repulsion. Why do members of a caste feel repulsion? Is it that every caste is pitted against every other? Could we think of certain categories of castes which are targets of repulsion or vice versa? To understand repulsion, one may look for Dumont’s (1998) effort to understand hierarchy as a result of the fundamental opposition between ‘pure’ and ‘impure’. Such an opposition is constructed on a principle in which certain castes are rendered impure and pure. Though Dumont is classified as Indologist, but one may discover numerous references to the actual empirical situations and regional differences in his work. Dumont emphasised purity and impurity in various aspects of social life, such as clothes, food, sex, touch, intimate interaction and so on along which the binary opposition between pure and impure creates hierarchy. It is important to mention that Dumont takes into cognisance most of the objectively observable features of caste, but linking the division between pure and impure to the ideology of Hinduism seems important in his understanding. He has not been the first to do so. As a matter of fact, ideology of Hinduism in the form of Karma–Dharma

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principle has remained important basis of understanding caste despite the fact that the entire principle forms the part of Vaishnav tradition in which other religious traditions and ideologies might have been ignored. Most of musings on the subjective conceptualisation of caste are strongly connected with the objective aspects of understanding caste. However, in recent years an attempt has been made to understand caste as part of experience. The existence is treated as unique and thus it has been argued that the experience of being an untouchable is untenable for the non-untouchable. Guru (2002) questioned social science theoretical practice which seems to be ignoring the Dalit experience. There is also a reason for this kind of situation, which, according to him, could be located in the inability of the non-Dalits to have the experience and articulate the same in theory building. Though Guru forgets to take cognisance of the fact that all experiences are articulated through language, yet the experience of certain Dalits have been such which could be seen and imagined by the upper caste members as deplorable without necessarily empathising with them. Even then language remains important in making sense of what is being experienced. Wittgenstein (1961: 56) comments, ‘The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.’ If a particular experience becomes unique, then it has to be articulated to one self through the existing stock of knowledge and meanings. Moreover, it is not necessary that only dehumanised conditions provide unique experience which the others cannot comprehend and thus privileging the one who is experiencing it. Every experience is unique because it occurs at individual level. Collectivities do not think, rather individuals would think as Weber would say (Parkin: 1982). It is the prediction that the individuals belonging to the group sharing common existential circumstances have the most likelihood of having a common experience. However, the subjective reaction to a situation may be unique to an individual. As Dostoevsky’s novel, Crime and Punishment, depicts a character who is battered by his wife and he tells another character that it seems normal to him. In such a situation, it is the observer who has better understanding of the situation than the one who is experiencing it. Therefore, if a person belonging to the low caste whose caste occupation is carrying night soil on his head and he has been doing this job for generations, then it begins to get routinised as a normal activity for livelihood. The observer would find it highly inhuman to carry night soil on head. The one who understands the condition as inhuman is the

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one who can construct a theory and not the one who is undergoing it. Repetitive behaviour begins to acquire normal and natural activity and in cases where the behaviour is linked with the conditions of life, it becomes a reified reality. It is in this context that Guru (2009) introduces the concept of humiliation to characterise the subjective conditions. Humiliation is entirely individual and requires a complex set of awareness of meanings of the words and situations. Guru (2009: 1) approaches the concept in the following manner: Humiliation is almost endemic to social life that is active basically through asymmetries of interesting sets of attitudes—arrogance and obeisance, selfrespect and servility, and reverence and repulsion. It continues to survive in different forms depending upon the specific nature of the social context. For example, in the West it is the attitude of race that is at the base of humiliation. In the East, it is the notion of untouchability that foregrounds the form and content of humiliation . . .

Since there could be other contexts of humiliation, it is important to confine ourselves to the understanding of caste in the light of the subjective concept of humiliation. There are two elements in Guru’s comments cited above: first, he recognises humiliation in the context of asymmetrical relations and second, he pinpoints it to untouchability as the base. We do not know whether a state of humiliation is in perpetual order or it is an experience when the victim experiences untouchability. Till 1947, most of the railway stations in India had separate water pots for Hindus and Muslims and it was the Hindu upper castes which saw to it that they did not dine with the Muslims. Interestingly, Guru leaves it to the reader to locate untouchability in the asymmetrical social order. We do not have sufficient data to argue that such a practice was in operation only against the low caste Muslims. In the case of caste, the picture was quite clear. Conceptualising caste as humiliation is an incomplete exercise in understanding the subjective aspect. It is important to keep in mind that if untouchability is humiliation to the victim, then it could be a matter of pride for the victimiser. Pride in having a particular caste status is as common as the feeling of humiliation for a social location. Everybody cannot feel humiliated for having caste status, for it is a contradiction in terms. Caste as pride is quite visible in the cultural expression of the caste, the classical example of which is the Jats of Punjab. The

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numbers of songs mentioning Jats are numerous and continue to grow. This has been happening for centuries. It is ironical to note that Waris Shah’s Heer presents Jats in negative manner and there are numerous lines making adverse comments or mocking at the Jats (Judge and Bal 2008), but it is one of the most popular texts in Punjab. Obviously, Jats are dominant in Punjab’s social, cultural and political life and having pride is natural outcome of the privileged position. The similar pride has also embraced the humiliated castes in Punjab. There are Chamar songs, Mazhabi songs and Balmiki songs. Here are some samples of Chamar songs: Tor vekh ke Chamaran di sarhe duniya [People feel jealousy when they see Chamar walking] Bhangarhe paunde, khushi mananunde, gabharoo putt Chamaran de [Sons of Chamars dance and enjoy]

Similar songs are available about Mazhabi Sikhs and Balmikis in Punjabi, where affiliation to the caste is demonstrated as a matter of pride. Hurting pride and dignity is what humiliation is. Caste as Unity of Subjective and Objective Reality Most of the conceptualisations combine the subjective and objective dimensions of caste with only certain differences in emphasis. We have considerable number of writings which take cognisance of taxonomy of caste, subcastes, gotras and deal in great details about how they exist and work. It is interesting to note that there are no castes in the Brahmin Varna. Among the Brahmins there exists a hierarchy of sub-castes which reflects in the way rules of mate selection are observed. All other varnas are comprised by a large number of castes and in some cases the location of a caste in varna system remains ambiguous and doubtful. If we begin by treating caste as a system/structure which could be objectively examined, then it is important to know how such a hierarchical structure has been maintained. Therefore, caste as subjective reality does not merely subsume experience and humiliation/pride, but the ideological basis on which the entire structure has been legitimised. Let us begin by arguing that caste like race is a form of inequality, which differs from others in terms of the basis on which it is founded. We may begin by referring to Weber (1978) that inequality is a function of power. He identifies class, status and party as the three forms of

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inequality implying that there are three sources of power. Castes are an instance of status groups. Such groups, according to Weber, keep their separate identity by imposing prohibition on intermarriages and social interaction. Such an implication fits into the theoretical system of Weber, for he understands power as the ability to carry out one’s will even against the resistance of others. In view of the fact that Weber (1958) also wrote on India as well as caste system and understood caste in terms of the dominant position of Brahmins and the karma theory, it always remains an issue of contention whether power is an autonomous category or a derivative force. Starting looking into caste from the standpoint of Brahmin and Kshatriya is looking at the system the way it has been presented and interpreted by the power holders. Why do we not reverse our gaze? We examine caste from the standpoint of the lower castes that is going along with Ambedkar. Mencher (1992: 92) makes an attempt to look at caste system upside down and he avers that, Looked at from the bottom up, the system has two striking features. First, from the point of view of people at the lowest end of the scale, caste has functioned (and continues to function as very effective system of economic exploitation). Second, one of the functions of the system has been to prevent the formation of social classes with any commonality of interest or unity of purpose.

Mencher goes on to regard the second feature as the major force in sustaining the caste system, but despite very insightful views the question remains, what is it that prevents the formation of social classes? Caste is like race and/or nation in terms of overcoming class differences from within, particularly when it deals with the lower castes. As a starting point we begin by historical materialist analysis offered by Omvedt (1994: 30). She begins by the basic concept of ‘exploitation’ instead of class and combines it with the powerful legitimising force of varnaashrama dharma. Omvedt reconstructs the Marxian methodology in a convincing manner. It should be reminded that Weber (1958) was of the view that human differentiation in India got the religious and magical backing. A strong and all-pervading belief in reincarnation and karma, according to Weber (1958), was the legitimising force. Interestingly, Weber agrees with Marx on the issue of the position of the artisan in the Indian society in the sense that the village artisan was

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dependent on the fix payment rather on selling his product in the market, thus giving tremendous stability to the existing social structure. Weber’s effort to combine economy, status group, and religion and magic in understanding the caste system paves the way for taking stock of Marx’s commentary on Indian society. Marx (1954) based his understanding of Indian villages largely from the reports of the British administrators in India. The primary concern of Marx was to make sense of the relatively unchanging character of Indian society. Since Marx always maintained that population increase was the major reason for the emergence of new division of labour, the question was whether there had been no population increase thus preventing any possibility of change of the already existing production relations. This could not have been the case. Thus Marx argued that in the event of population increase the division of labour never changed, for a portion of the population would move out the village and established a new settlement, which was the exact replica of the original. Such an argument assumes the existence of vast empty spaces for this to happen. The second aspect which Marx borrowed from the British officers was that village was autonomous little republic about which he argued that the Indian villages were predominantly the unit of production and consumption which explained the tremendous stability of its social structure. Elsewhere, Marx and Engels (1976: 55) commented, ‘When the crude form of the division of labour which is to be found among the Indians and Egyptians calls forth the caste-system in their state and religion, the historian believes that the caste-system is the power which has produced this crude social form.’ In the light of the above discussion, it becomes clear that the existence and persistence of caste in India should be based on two major domain assumptions. First, the caste system is at the outset a system of production relations of a particular kind and may be tentatively regarded as Asiatic mode of production implying that there has been a fundamental difference in the evolution of production relations between India and the West. Second, this mode of production got congealed in space and over time. What had been various forces that led to the freezing of such relations is a matter of conjecture. We may now move to define caste system in terms of what constitutes the system of production. It has been my contention that caste system is essentially a division between physical and non-physical work (Judge 2002). In a way the binary opposition

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between twice-born and once-born about which Dumont (1998) has written is primarily the division between the ways the work has been valued over a period of time. The working class, namely labourers, artisans, peasants and other servants were engaged in those occupations which made them unclean, whereas others, namely traders, shopkeepers, rulers and priests did not engage in this physical work. At the descriptive level, there could be numerous exceptions. For instance, a beggar does not do physical labour, but all beggars in India belong to numerous castes and all are not twice-born. A Poor Brahmin in the traditional-historical sense might have been making both ends meet, but he remains straddled at the top position. On the other hand, a person belonging to Bhatra or Jogi caste (having the caste occupation of begging) will always have low caste status. Swordsmanship and cooking involves physical labour, but both are carried out by upper castes. Despite all these exceptions in the ideal typical sense, the caste system represents the overlapping of physical– non-physical and impure and pure natures of work. Desai (1976) is of the opinion that the strength of the caste system lies in India’s low economic development as a result of which the occupational diversification remained more or less absent and the relationship got frozen in terms of their correspondence with occupations. However, the persistence of caste system even after radical economic changes in Indian society poses serious challenges to the sociologists. One may seek questions about all inequalities which are immutable, for instance gender, race or ethnicity, whether high level of economic development has completely eroded them. The answer is that there has been a visible and radical change in certain societies, but inequalities remain. Similar argument is rarely offered in the case of caste and as a result it has emerged as an exotic and classical example of resistance to positive and desirable change. Change is taking place in every aspect of Indian society, but looking for change or continuity is a matter of priority for many and sufficient evidence is available to substantiate both kinds of hypotheses. However, caste identity and its persistence should be examined independently of other immutable inequalities. Even when the material basis of caste system has disappeared, its perpetuation is assumed in the form of emergence of caste identities in both the private and the public spheres. This brings us to the important element of caste, namely culture as a symbolic universe. Caste is not just a graded position in the

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hierarchy, but it also presents a distinct and exclusive symbolic universe comprised by norms, values, customs, myths and legends, food behaviour, taboos and so on. As a reminder, no social political system persists without the construction of myths and ideologies. Apthekar (1939) has underlined how the Christian missionaries used to construct stories to tell the Black slaves that why they should serve their white masters. Marx (1976) has without doubt emphasised that the prevailing ideas of a society are the ideas of the ruling class. Fanon (1963) has gone beyond the construction of ideology through the normative discourses to deconstruct the biological sciences to highlight how the biological theories argued that due to his more developed medulla oblongata, a Black person was closer to the animal world. The more it faced the challenge of rapid change the more it began to become exclusive. In Marxian terms, it may be stated that despite changes in the base, the superstructure is still in existence. Why is it so? The next sections of the chapter would be an attempt to take up the issue.

Untouchability, Discrimination and Exclusion In continuation with our understanding of caste from the perspective of Dalits, the foremost concepts signifying both structure and process are normative and in the light of the universal principle of equality and justice their operation or practice is undesirable. Let us begin by understanding the magnitude of the problem. According to the Census of India (2011), the percentage of the population of the scheduled castes (SCs) is 16.2. It is a huge population which is unevenly distributed in India. By their sheer size the SCs are capable of influencing the policy decision of the Indian government if they are united. However, this is not the case. There are two kinds of heterogeneity among them, namely caste and class. They are divided along various castes. Table I clearly shows the diversity and heterogeneity among them in most of the states. Karnataka has as many as 101 castes of the SCs and Andhra Pradesh, Himachal Pradesh, Kerala, Maharashtra, Orissa, Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, Uttaranchal and West Bengal have more than 50 castes of them each. These castes are not horizontally located in the caste hierarchy; or in other words, they are not equally treated by the upper castes. It should also be noted that these castes are not uniformly distributed in the country. In fact there are only few castes which could be found in most of the

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Table I Number of Scheduled Castes and Their Percentage in Each State and Union Territory (a) S. NO.

States

No. of Scheduled Castes

Percentage of the Scheduled Castes 2001

1

Andhra Pradesh

61

16.19

2

Arunachal Pradesh

–

0.56

3

Assam

16

6.85

4

Bihar

23

15.72

5

Chhattisgarh

44

–

6

Goa

05

1.77

7

Gujarat

36

7.09

8

Haryana

37

16.35

9

Himachal Pradesh

57

24.72

10

Jammu & Kashmir

13

7.59

11

Jharkhand

22

12

Karnataka

101

16.20

13

Kerala

69

9.81

14

Madhya Pradesh

48

15.17

15

Maharashtra

59

10.20

16

Manipur

07

2.62

17

Meghalaya

16

0.48

18

Mizoram

16

0.03

20

Orissa

95

16.53

21

Punjab

39

28.85

22

Rajasthan

59

17.16

23

Sikkim

04

5.02

24

Tamil Nadu

76

19.00

25

Tripura

34

17.37

26

Uttar Pradesh

66

21.15

27

Uttaranchal

65

23.02

28

West Bengal

60

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(b) S. No.

Union Territories

No. of Scheduled Castes

Percentage of the Scheduled castes

1

Andaman & Nicobar Islands

–

2

Chandigarh

36

17.50

3

Dadra & Nagar Haveli

04

1.86

4

Daman & Diu

05

3.06

5

Lakshadweep

–

6

Pondicherry

16

16.19

7

Delhi

36

16.92

Source: Government of India sources accessed on 22 March 2013. Table II Five Most Widely Spread Scheduled Castes in India S. No.

Caste

Number of States

Union Territories

1

Chamar/Mochi

25

04

2

Balmik, Mehtar, Lalbegi, Bhangi

21

04

3

Dom, Doom, Dumna, Bansphor

22

02

4

Pasi

13

02

5

Nat

11

02

Source: The table has been worked out from the Government of India.

states. In terms of spread, it is clear from Table II that Chamars and Bhangis are the two largest castes. As a matter of fact, the caste names are also influenced by linguistic expression of occupation due to which caste names change though occupations remain common. However, it is not necessary that such a condition should be treated as a rule. For example, the main caste of cultivators in Punjab, Haryana, Western Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan is that of Jats, but it is not evident from any source that all cultivators in other states; for example, Patidars in Gujarat, Marathas in Maharashtra, Vokkaligas in Karnataka have anything to do with them or with each other. There is also a hierarchy among various Dalit castes (Judge 2003). These hierarchies are local and are characterised by claims and counterclaims of superiority. Caste hierarchy among the Dalits is one of the major reasons for

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their failure to get organised for better articulation of interests. Some of the castes have been more mobile than others as a result of which they have been able to benefit from the state policies including the reservation policy. In this regard, the Mahars of Maharashtra and the Chamars of Punjab are notable in their mobility. Creating quota within quota as a political demand has emerged due to the lopsidedness of the benefits accrued to various castes through reservations. Punjab has initiated the caste-wise reservation in government jobs for the SCs and it has divided the Dalits more than ever. However, despite heterogeneity and hierarchy among them the Dalits have been facing various kinds of disability, discrimination and exploitation. Historically, various forms of disability imposed upon the Dalits, which were prevalent even during the colonial period, have disappeared in the public sphere. However, certain observations are necessary in order to understand the magnitude of the problem. The foremost among them was untouchability and its manifestations in different walks of life. Essence of untouchability lies in the fact that even the human body has been endowed with certain characteristics which can pollute others by virtue of touch. We also have instances where the shadow or footprints of an untouchable could pollute the upper caste people. Accepting food from members of such castes was far beyond the imagination. Besides the touch, other forms of disabilities were also imposed on them. For example, women belonging to some castes (Nadars of Tamil Nadu and Satnamis of Madhya Pradesh to name two such instances) were not even allowed to cover their breasts. Similarly, growing moustaches and having longer names with proper suffixes were prohibited. Religious disabilities included prohibition against entering the temple, to meditate and to recite sacred hymns and so on. Rules of caste endogamy were also very strict and under certain circumstances the provision of hypergamy and as an exception hypogamy existed to limited extent. Exclusion from power and better occupations were prerequisites for the perpetuation of the above mentioned disabilities. We, therefore, find the untouchables engaged in low level of menial occupations. Interestingly, liquor distillation was also regarded as low in India and in most of the cases liquor distillers belonged to the low untouchable castes. Bailey (1957) identified Ganjam distillers and Boad distillers as the low castes. Similarly, in Punjab the distillers were known by the caste name of Kalal. Despite its polluting character, distilling and selling liquor was highly remunerative. In most of the cases, the members of the

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caste of distillers were able to improve their life conditions and then become ex-untouchables. The post-Independence period was characterised by the state intervention in the caste system through various methods hoping against hope that the possibility of casteless society existed. The Untouchability Offences Act of 1955 and later on the Scheduled Castes and the Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Act, 1989, provided for protection to the untouchables in particular. However, the story of independent India is not without hiccups and the withering away of caste has not occurred. It would be presumptuous to say that nothing has changed, but there is a reasonable evidence to argue that untouchability, discrimination and atrocities against the Dalits have waned, but there is a well-recorded evidence of atrocities on them too. Kamble (1981) has collected evidence of atrocities on the Dalits from various sources covering the period between 1947 and 1978. Let us refer to two cases of atrocities on the Dalits—one that occurred in 1949 and the other which occurred in 1979. Let us start with the first incident of atrocity which took place in Trikkaripur, District South Kanara, Karnataka, on 19 June 1949 thus: SCs worshipped Ram Nilliam shrine in Trikkaripur after promulgation of the Temple entry Act. But during a recent festival SCs were not permitted to enter the festival area. Paddy and money had been collected from SCs on printed receipts and contributed mats for the occasion. Party of goondas was organised to keep away the SCs from the temple premises. (ibid.: 3)

Obviously, it is a case of untouchability and discrimination and Kamble (1981) informs that the police stationed there was indifferent to the whole affair. Let us now move to the second event that took place in Sirsam village in Marathwada thus, ‘The SCs cannot attend the Panchayat meeting because they are held in the Sarpanch’s house and the SCs being untouchables are not permitted in the house’ (Ibid.: 522). Untouchability as a practice has not ceased to exist. In a study conducted by a group of social scientists and activists in 560 villages of eleven states of the country, it was found that untouchability was still going on (Shah et al. 2006). However, in recent years in the understanding of the continuing underprivileged conditions of the Dalits a new concept of ‘exclusion’ has emerged as a signifier. As a concept, exclusion has its origin in the

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West and its specific circumstances. Exclusion is used as an umbrella term to cover deprivation and discrimination which emanate from poverty and other immutable characteristics of certain sections of society. Thus gender, caste, race and ethnicity could be considered diverse bases of exclusion. During the last six years the literature on caste-based exclusion has become visible and some of the studies have shown that in spite of various legal provisions the labour market has tremendous bias against the untouchable castes (Thorat and Newman 2007, Thorat and Attewell 2007). In other words, discrimination against the Dalits has entered the modern capitalist market which is expected to be egalitarian. Social exclusion of Dalits in India is not confined to the labour market; it rather tends to cover the entire gamut of their existence. We have considerable number of cases of honour killings in which a Dalit boy had married an upper caste girl. In most of the cases, a Dalit is less likely to have upper caste friend. In villages the upper castes consciously make it sure that no Dalit moves in their locality. There are separate religious places of the Dalits. Whatever belongs to the Dalits is made obvious and visible for the upper castes to know and abstain from. Religion, which has been dealt with a degree of ambivalence by most of the intellectuals due to their secular moorings, has always remained a major area of contention. Religion is a manifestation of collective consciousness which binds people into a community. Over a period of time, Dalits in India have converted to Islam, Christianity, Sikhism and Buddhism. In their respective religious communities (excepting Buddhism) they have been facing social exclusion. It should be noted that all these religions are egalitarian in ideology, but in actual practice there are castes among them and the Dalits continue to occupy the lowest rungs of each community. Their existing conditions amply demonstrate that without any fundamental change in their economic circumstances religious conversion does not make any difference. Srinivas (1966: 60) makes an interesting observation in this regard thus: Converts to Christianity from Hinduism did not exercise much influence in Indian society as a whole because, first, these also generally came from the low castes, and second, the act of conversion alienated them from the majority community of Hindus. Finally, conversion to Christianity often only changed the faith but not the customs, the general culture, or the standing of the converts in society.

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Conflict, Struggle and Movements The asymmetrical relation implicating all aspects of social existence of the Dalits could not be taken for granted as an internalised and reified reality. Despite the powerful impact of religious ideology in the making of caste system, it is difficult to ignore the desire for a better and respectable living among the underprivileged as equals in the society. Unequal system of power and privileges creates conflict and tensions, individual and collective, local and regional on many occasions when the efficacy and legitimacy of the system is questioned. Over a period of time, various castes among the Dalits have come into conflict with the upper castes on different issues. Bringing in the issue of conflict and struggle is venturing into the public sphere of power relations, that is, politics. Caste conflicts/struggles are not private affairs of two castes, rather these occur in the political arena and depending upon the contexts and conditions cross the pure boundaries of social relations between two collectivities. Certain analytical distinctions could be made in the caste struggles between colonial and postcolonial periods. The British package of Western modernity superseded the precolonial/medieval period in which all attempts sought to construct the equality of men before God. We thus have a considerable number of religious leaders called as sants, bhagats, gurus, pirs and so on who carried out a crusade against caste system in their writings and personal practices. Many of them belonged to the Dalit and other lower castes. Notable among them were Kabir, Ravidas and Nam Dev. It is interesting to note that all these leaders preached the equality among men and claimed their right to worship. Such ideas were contexts of generating tensions within the system, but most of these ideas were greatly inspired by the arrival of Islam in India. In certain respects, it seems plausible to argue that the arrival of Islam and the Muslim rulers in India instilled in the Indian economy the intensification of trade as a result of which the artisan production went up. We thus find religious effervescence among the artisan castes. The Sikh movement in medieval Punjab remained connected with overall development in the Bhakti movement and it culminated into a distinct religion due to many historical factors. The British rule in India, despite the dominant imperial interest of the rulers, brought with it the Western modernity in the form of rationality about which Weber has so extensively written and the basic reason for

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Marx to praise the colonial intervention in the hitherto static society. Modernity manifested through the organisation of administrative and justice system, rationalisation of land revenue (though in some parts of India with disastrous results), establishment of effective transport system through waterways, roadways and railways. On top of all, the introduction of modern education provided avenues for non-traditional occupations. Linking jobs with education was one of the major transformations which occurred with the onset of the British rule. New forces of productions, particularly in the cities, gave rise to new conditions of social interactions. We thus find the emergence of powerful social reform movements in the cities, such as Calcutta, Bombay and so on. Most of these movements redefined some of the prevailing social institutional practices, such as child marriage, widowhood, Sati and so on as social evils. The focus on untouchability and caste system turned quite late, but issue of caste began to haunt the reformers towards the end of the 19th century. The Singh Sabha movement and the Arya Samaj movement in Punjab made special efforts to focus on the question of caste and untouchability. Phule is the major leader in the 19th century who carried crusade against caste in a powerful manner (Omvedt 2012). Of all these movements the Arya Samaj in the early 20th century organised Jat Pat Todak Mandal and also initiated the Shudhi movement the purpose of which was to bring back to the fold of Hinduism the people who had converted to Islam and other religions. Interestingly, the Dooms who were untouchables reconverted to Hinduism, but their social status did not improve (Sharma 2000). The movements waged by social reformers had limited appeal in actualising the goal of end of untouchability and human treatment to the untouchables. A small class of intellectuals belonging to Dalit castes emerged in the 20th century which fought the caste system by various means. It is interesting to note that the understanding of strategies to overcome untouchability and caste-based discrimination combined religious and social issues by adopting the social movement approach. It became clear at the earlier stage that caste system required collective efforts to end centuries’ old system of inequality. Three notable cases of movements and conflict could be mentioned here. These are the Nadars of Tamil Nadu, the Mahars of Maharashtra and the Ad-dharmis of Punjab. All these cases signify the combination of religious dimension and the political mobilisation

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approach. The Nadars of Tamil Nadu, as Hardgrave, Jr. (1970) informs, were among the lowest of the castes and were subjected to the worst kind of treatment. Their women were not allowed to cover their breasts and they were regarded as so polluting that their shadow could also pollute the upper caste men. In the beginning of the 19th century, they started converting to Christianity, which resulted in the rise in education among them. In the Travancore area the conflict began when the Nadar women began to cover their breasts. As their conditions improved, they began to organise and aspire for Kshatriya status. Through their political mobilisation and economic improvement, their aspirations for better status brought them into conflict with the upper caste Brahmins. The Mahars of Maharashtra came into conflict with the upper castes when the changed circumstances affected by the British created aspirations among them. The most important aspect of their collective existential circumstances might have been the powerful belief in the martial tradition of the caste and their joining the British Indian army. Zelliot (1970) has lucidly examined the story of Mahars’ struggle for better status. Under the leadership of B. R. Ambedkar the Mahars organised forcible temple entry. Ambedkar confronted the then undisputed leader of Indian nationalist struggle, Mahatma Gandhi, on the question of separate electorate and was virtually forced to withdraw the demand after Gandhi went on fast. The life of Ambedkar and the story of Dalits’ struggle for better status in India became coterminous after the Poona Pact in 1932. The Ad-dharma movement in Punjab began in the 1920s, primarily initiated by three sets of people, namely, Dera Sachkhand at Ballan, Mangoo Ram—an ex-Ghadarite—and the educated Dalits. The educated Dalits were the result of Arya Samaj movement’s efforts at the uplift of the untouchables. The organisation of the Ad-dharma movement brought them into direct conflict with the upper caste landowning Jats. Though different castes of the Dalits might have joined the movement, but it was dominated by the Chamars. In 1931, when the census operations began, the demand of the movement to recognise them as the distinct religious community was accepted. It may be of interest to inform that when Gandhi went on fast against separate electorate in 1932, Mangoo Ram also began his hunger strike in opposition to Gandhi (Juergensmeyer 1982, Ram 2004).

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The post-independence period was marked by a powerful intervention of the state towards ending the caste system or rendering it ineffective through various policies and enactments. The development process initiated by the nascent sovereign state ushered in new kinds of conflicts. We find numerous incidents of conflict between the Dalits and the upper castes on issues of land, wages and power. Rao (2010) has recorded numerous certain incidents of violence and conflict between Dalits and the upper castes. Bayly (1997: 355) has christened the term modernity of the ‘caste war’ in understanding certain conflicts between the Dalits and the upper castes thus: In many of the most widely reported conflicts, ‘caste war’ violence has tended to feed back and forth between urban centres and the rural hinterlands from which towns like Banaras and Aurangabad draw many of their students and factory workers. Such outbreaks are not then to be seen as a reversion to the ‘feudal’ or ‘traditional’ past. ‘Modern’ institutions, especially the courts, the universities and the mass media, have figured prominently in the so called caste feud phenomenon.

The modernity of caste war is to be located in the way the democratic institutions have been functioning since 1950. Kothari (1970: 13–14) drew attention to the involvement of ‘traditional structure and leadership, in the democratic politics’, which has two consequences thus: The caste system made available to the leadership structural and ideological bases for political mobilisation, providing it with both a segmental organisation and an identification system on which support could be crystallised. Second, the leadership was forced to make concessions to local opinion, take its cue from the consensus that existed as regards to claims to power, articulate political competition on traditional lines and, in turn, organise castes for economic and political purposes.

We thus have two processes combined in making the new character of caste conflicts in postcolonial India. First, the development process, despite being proclaimed to be mixed economy with socialist path, was essentially capitalist development with certain protections from the state. Second, the democratic process engaged collectivities for making claims for the share in the resources and power. The Dalits castes in different parts of India followed the process which was going on during elections, irrespective of whether they organised separate party or as a part of the existing parties.

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However, the Dalit politics made a paradigmatic shift after the emergence of the BSP under the leadership of Kanshi Ram towards the last decade of the 20th century. It also changed the nature of conflict between Dalits and the upper castes. The most salient element of the new formation was the engagement with the formal political process and working out a set of alliances with other political parties if required to capture formal power. Mayawati succeeded in this political game in a big way even after the death of Kanshi Ram. The arrival of the BSP could be a factor in the subsequent struggles of the Dalits, but it was a result of evolutionary and quantitative changes which turned into qualitative change. Various changes which occurred in the social and economic life of the people of India had created intelligentsia and middle classes among the Dalits, which changed the nature of discourse of Dalit liberation. Since the BSP was aimed at garnering the votes of Dalits, the emphasis on Dalithood and identity came to the fore as political articulations. What we have at present is the mixture of all kinds of conflicts occurring between the Dalit castes and the upper castes. In rural hinterlands there are feudal bases of conflict in which the landowning castes exercise their traditional power to commit atrocities. Conflicts are emerging in response to the violence against Dalit women at many places in villages. Despite the legal safeguards for the protection of Dalits from various wrongdoings against them, there is a general apathy among the police and bureaucracy due to their non-Dalit caste background. However, the conflict over power at the local level has started occurring more frequently than earlier. It is worth mentioning that cases of conflict over religious places are also found at various places in the country, particularly in Punjab (Judge 2005). In the end, the issue of honour killing demands some attention. Honour killing is an outcome of the loss of pride and honour due to an act of the member of the family. It is not necessary that it will occur only when the upper caste girl elopes with or marries a Dalit boy. There is a record of honour killings even when the boy and the girl belong to the same caste (Judge 2012a). However, in recent years the cases of intercaste marriage have gone up and so have the number of honour killings. The rise in intercaste marriages is an outcome of the changes in the occupational structure of the society. More and more occupations have become accessible if adequate training and educational level has been attained by individuals. Educational institutions and work places are also the social

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spaces where people interact with each other by marginalising caste of the class fellows and colleagues, to a great extent. Persons belonging to different castes could fall in love and decide to marry. Some of the marriages turn into the issue of honour causing death. It is obvious from the discussion that the moment certain changes in the economic structure of Indian society began to occur, caste conflicts started emerging. The visibility of these conflicts in the form of political mobilisation, caste war/violence increased after Independence, as the socio-economic development and empowerment of the Dalits took place. Have these conflicts, struggles and mobilisations been symptomatic of only the aspirations of the Dalits? Or have changes in the conditions of the Dalits occurred after Independence? The final part of this section of the chapter will examine the issue of change among Dalits in India.

Examining Change in the Context of Dalits There are two important dimensions of change among Dalits after Independence that require extensive probing, namely the pattern of change and the direction of change. Both the dimensions take cognisance of certain serious theoretical concerns. It is important to keep in mind that caste system raises normative concerns as such, but more importantly, when the position and conditions of the Dalits are taken into consideration. Irrespective of whether there is a religious basis of caste locations, the need for ending caste is invariably felt strongly under the influence of universal principles of equality and justice. Sociologists agree that all social formations are dynamic; the only difference is the pace of change. It takes long time for values and norms, culture and customary practices to undergo change. The arrival of capitalism signifies the domination of class relations, but caste system seems to persist along with class formations. In sociological literature change with regard to caste and Dalits has been described, examined and analysed in terms of three modes. First of all change has been understood as a result of dynamics of the society in which emerging forces tend to influence various aspects of social structure. The underlying logic of such an explanation is that no society is static and forces of development affect all parts of society. Therefore, sociologists have widely accepted industrialisation, urbanisation, education, technology and communication as major forces of change. The classical sociological viewpoint, however, is that

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the major force that brings change in any society is the increase in population. Thus we have Comte, Durkheim, Spencer and Marx taking note of the role of population increase in social change (Judge 2012b). Somehow, influenced by the population explosion thesis, the identification of the role of population increase in social change is more or less ignored in Indian sociology. The second mode puts a great degree of emphasis on the role of state in bringing social change. Such a change is called as ‘change from above’. In those cases where an attempt has been made by well-meaning rich or high-profile leaders to intervene in the existing state of affairs to modify or change them the terms ‘change from above’ is also used as a signifier. The third mode is the attempt of the people concerned to change their existing conditions. In the case of Dalits it would imply different strategies employed by them to improve their conditions. In the discussion of alternative strategies to ameliorate the conditions of the Dalits, the two major modes used are ‘change from above’ and ‘change from below’. As a matter of fact, all the three modes are interconnected and at the same time could be distinguished in terms of their operations. For example, the state intervention enabled certain Dalits to get education which acted as a catalyst for further change. The development process opened myriad opportunities to avail in the labour market. However, we know that there are imperfections in the actual operation of labour market and to correct its deviations there is a need for state intervention. As and when we venture to speak of developmental forces bringing change in the Indian society, the first thing which comes to our mind is the emergence of new division of labour which has broken down the old system by creating new occupations. There is no correspondence between caste and occupation as it has traditionally existed. However, it does not imply that the Dalit castes have been competing on equal footing with the upper castes. Various studies (e.g. Thorat and Newman 2007) referred to earlier have shown that Dalits face discrimination in the labour market. There are reasonable bases to argue that in the urban India untouchability has drastically reduced, whereas the rural India is still undergoing transition. The low level of urbanisation in India is one of the major factors in reinforcing the caste inequalities in villages where people have been living as communities for centuries. It seems that the role of postcolonial state has remained crucial in ameliorating the conditions of the Dalits.

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The role of state in postcolonial India entailed multiple trajectories of strategies to end caste system and untouchability. The domain assumption of all the actions of the state could be stated like this: ‘The problems of the Dalits are not simply economic, but it covers all aspects of their lives due to which there is a need for comprehensive intervention to improve their conditions.’ There are three trajectories along which the strategies were worked out. First, to initiate the development programmes aimed exclusively at improving the economic conditions of the Dalits. Second, to end all kinds of practices that point towards untouchability. The third was to provide for reservations in educational institutions and public sector jobs for the purpose of building cultural capital among them. It is interesting to note that the fourth trajectory was political empowerment, but it was to be temporary and to be renewed after every 10 years. Reservation in the Lok Sabha and Vidhan Sabhas was meant to be discontinued, but it never happened. In fact, the 73rd and 74th amendments to the Indian Constitution are grim reminders of the fact that empowerment is an equally important aspect of improving the conditions of the Dalits. It is important to know whether the efforts of the Indian state have been successful in bringing about desired change. At empirical level we find that there have been different kinds of consequences of state intervention. First, reservation policy took a reasonable long time to show some progress. The reason for it was that most of the Dalits belonged to the poor sections of the society as a result of which they could not avail the opportunities. For a long time, the percentages of the SCs in government jobs at Classes I and II were dismally lower than the provision. According to the data provided by Mendelsohn and Vicziany (2000), only 8.23 per cent of the Class I and 10.47 per cent of the Class II level posts had been filled in by the scheduled castes in 1987. It was quite lower than the percentage of reservation of seats, which is 15 per cent. They (ibid.: 135) write, ‘At present period it would appear that virtually all reserved positions are being allocated to members of the Scheduled Castes. So the shortfall arises from failures to appoint in earlier periods, particularly the first two decades after Independence’. However, in certain specific areas the representation of the Dalits in jobs is far less than required. ‘The record of representation is worse in all areas of government employment other than the regular departments of state: thus includes the public banks, public sector undertakings, the armed forces and the universities’ (ibid.: 136).

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Reservation policy has not gone well with the non-scheduled castes. There are two categories of non-scheduled castes, namely middle castes (now known as Other Backward Classes [OBCs]) and the upper castes comprised by all castes not included in the lists of SCs and OBCs. At present, other than Hindus, Sikh, Jain and Buddhist Dalits are categorised as SCs, whereas the same castes belonging to Muslim and Christian communities are categorised as OBCs. Among the nonMuslim/Christian OBCs, there are castes which have begun to dominate in their regions. The Yadavs and Kurmis in Uttar Pradesh and Bihar are such examples. The implementation of the recommendations of the Mandal Commission has initiated the reservation policy for the OBCs. Two trends could be observed in India so far as the response of the upper castes is concerned. First, there has been consistent opposition against reservation policy to the SCs in India. It was observed that as and when the time approached to increase the time span of the political reservation by 10 years on the part of the Lok Sabha, there would be collective opposition to it (Bains 1997). In the initial stages it was perceived that the entire reservation policy was for 10 years and it took some time to understand what it meant to be constitutional provision. The SC employees were given titles like son-in-law of the government, government Brahmin and so on. The upper castes also fought at the ideological level. The creation of dichotomy called merit versus reservation was part of the ideological effort to create a symbolic universe of opposition to the reservation policy. The upper castes have been reasonably successful in this regard, because the Dalits have been consistently discriminated against in the private sector. The best example is the electronic media where the presence of religious minorities is even lower than their proportion in the total population of the country. The second trend is quite interesting and also farcical. There have been attempts among the upper castes to create pressure on the government through political mobilisation or otherwise to designate them as OBCs. The Jats of Rajasthan, Delhi and Haryana have been quite successful in getting themselves declared backward. In Punjab, the Ramgarhias have officially moved from the upper caste to the OBC status. The Gujjars of Rajasthan have been struggling to get the status of scheduled tribe for many years. There are two aspects of this kind of effort. It seems obvious that all these efforts are meant for getting the benefits of reservation policy. The second aspect is quite crucial, that is by getting designated as the OBCs these castes are lowering their status.

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Why are these castes doing this? The answer is obvious: Even if they are officially designated as OBCs, there will be no decline in their social status. In other words, their domination and position in the caste hierarchy is assured and it would not undergo any change. Reservation policy which should have been exclusively meant for the untouchables has been extended to other caste categories and at present there has emerged a strong case for the reservation policy for the Muslims, particularly after the Sachar Committee Report (Hasan 2009). Clamouring for state privileges has become the order of the day and soon the philosophy of reservation would lose its meanings. However, the politics of reservation would remain relevant. Despite all this, reservation policy in education and jobs has contributed in creating the critical mass of Dalit middle-class intellectuals, as we shall see soon, who have started the important ideological fight against caste system. However, the question remains: Is it possible to attain an inclusive society as a result of the state intervention? There has been a decline in the practice of untouchability at public places. For example, we rarely hear denial of entry to a Dalit in a restaurant or hotel. Untouchability has progressively disappeared in economic transactions and travel. We hardly find cases where a person is denied the right to travel by virtue of his/her caste. Urban centres remain more or less guided by the logic of capitalism, that is, the circulation of commodities, whereas the villages still exist as communities despite the penetration of capital. Most of the Dalits living in villages are poor wage earners and suffer economic exclusion. However, there is an evidence of social exclusion which emerges from their caste status including untouchability (Shah et al. 2006). State intervention has been successful in public sphere, whereas the private spaces are marked by the autonomy of the individual choices where the Dalits are excluded from various forms of interactions (Judge 2004). We may now move on to examining the efforts of the Dalits to improve their conditions or end caste stigma. Scanning social science literature on the issue provides us three kinds of strategies of the Dalits, most of which had been caste-specific and region-specific, for some time, to end the caste stigma over a period of time. The first strategy revolved around the issue of religion, which seems important for the people who had been denied the privilege to worship, as the story of Ramayana in which Lord Rama beheads a meditating Shudra informs,

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which was a great source of solace in the face of poverty and wretched conditions of life. Religion did not become, to refer to Marx, ‘the sigh of the oppressed’. However, we still find instances of Dalit saints in the medieval India, such as Chokamela and Ravidas. In this regard, any hope of religious identity created strong currents of action among them, which are evident from the conversions to Christianity, Islam and Sikhism. The Arya Samaj initiated the Shudhi movement to reconvert Dalits to Hinduism with limited success in Punjab. Religious conversion gave the Dalits right to worship, but it never raised their status by ending the caste stigma. The Christians in Punjab are coterminous with the Bhangi caste and the Sikh Dalits are known by distinct nomenclature, such as Ramdasiya and Mazhabis. The second kind of effort on the part of the Dalits could be called sanskritisation by changing one’s way of life and adopting the upper caste lifestyles. One interesting aspect of sanskritisation is that there is no threat to religion. Srinivas (1966), who propounded the concept and theory, argues that historically, a considerable number of castes have successfully gained the Kshatriya status. He provides the historical evidence of Shudras becoming kings and then claiming to be Kshatriya. Similar trends he identifies in the modern Indian setting and argues strongly that whereas varna is fixed, castes are dynamic. However, imitating the way of life of some caste is not without a prerequisite. For example, a middle-class man cannot imitate the life style of upper class man, simply because he will not have the needed capital to buy the same car, go to same club and eat at the same restaurant. However, there is an empirical evidence of certain castes adopting sanskritisation after they attained the higher economic status (Bailey 1957). Sanskritisation is a process in which the legitimacy of caste system is presupposed by the caste aspiring to attain higher caste status. It seems reasonable in the sense that even within the Dalits there is a caste hierarchy (Judge 2003). It may be reminded that sanskritisation model would be quite effective if we achieve a classless society, but then there will not be any need for sanskritisation. We may now move to the last strategy of political mobilisation/ social movement, which seems to be proving more effective than any other effort. At present, the Dalits are better organised and fulfilling the dream of Ambedkar, however limited it may be. It has taken a long time to reach this stage and in the case of certain castes, it took a long time

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for the Dalits to fulfil the essential conditions for their mobilisation. Among these conditions the important were the numerical strength within the region, certain degree of economic mobility, attainment of education and the movement out of the dependence on the local dominant caste. Generally, four cases of social mobility are frequently mentioned in literature. These are: Mahars, Nadars, Jatavs and Ad-dharmis. The common element among them is the use of political means to achieve the end. All these castes began to experience change during the colonial period. For example, the Chamars benefited from the rise in the leather trade (1975) and the Chamars in Punjab became rich during the tremendous rise in the demand of leather during the First World War. The colonial mode of production separated the caste from occupation simply because the new occupation had no link with castes. Except for the organisation of militant Dalit Panthers the broader paradigm remained the same. It was made clear by Lynch (1969) that even if the Dalits achieve certain degrees of equality or high status, they would remain excluded in the informal relations with the upper castes. The fact that caste would not end was realised by the Dalit activists with the passage of time. The superstructural autonomy even in the face of changes in the base showed the power of culture and ideology of caste. The paradigmatic shift in the strategy of Dalits was brought by Kanshi Ram who organised the BSP. It was premised upon the fact that instead of claiming the unity of mankind, it is politically important to stress the differences within the society. Obviously, in the hands of a politician the politics of difference is quite an effective weapon. There were two sources of the politics of difference; in other words, the politics of difference was already in place before Kanshi Ram used it effectively. The first source was communal and its roots were in the colonial India and it continued to be effective later on. The classical instance of it is the Sikh politics in Punjab and recurrent incidents of communal riots in India. The second source, ironically, emanated from the electoral politics of the major political parties in the country when they began to treat people as vote banks in terms of their caste. Kanshi Ram worked on the caste differences and attacked the upper castes, particularly the Brahmins, in his political rhetoric and used it as an effective tool in the political propaganda. There were parallel developments among the Dalits which made Kanshi Ram’s strategy quite successful in certain parts of India. Certain

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castes among the Dalits improved their economic conditions, which could be a result of many forces not just reservation policy. For example, the international migration of Dalits after Independence has been stupendous and was predominantly confined to the Chamar caste (Judge 2009) and remittances contributed significantly in improving their living conditions and reducing their dependence on the landowning castes in Punjab. It is also of interest to note that the castes which were engaged in movements/political mobilisation were also better placed in raising their consciousness and availing new opportunities made by the independent India. Modern education and white collar occupations and the sense of anonymity in the city about which Dr Ambedkar talked about created the class intelligentsia which was looking for new political path. The trajectory of the efforts of the Dalits to improve their conditions does not show any clear-cut direction and single methodology. It has happened due to great degree of heterogeneity which has come to the surface due to many reasons. Despite the fact that the Chamar caste was always better than other castes, the clear cut distance it has been able to achieve during the last two decades is quite noticeable. There is a class formation within the caste and there is caste differentiation among the Dalits. The BSP symbolises the unity of all the marginalised and oppressed castes and communities, but in practice it has turned out to be the party of the Chamar caste. As a result, the politics of caste could be seen at its best in the form of the BSP; something which was in vogue earlier but remained hidden under the metaphor of equality and secularism in electoral politics. The historical contribution of the BSP under Kanshi Ram is that it brought out the functionality of caste identity in Indian politics. However, there was a necessary condition for such a success, namely the pride in one’s caste and Kanshi Ram provided it with his powerful rhetoric against Brahminism. What happened in the process of building the vote bank is the emergence of identity politics and certain castes began to articulate that identity by using diverse mediums. Literature became the major battleground in which the new form of literature emerged more or less as a movement, namely Dalit literature. It began from Maharashtra as a movement and then spread to other parts of India. Despite its local character, the tremendous interest in Dalit literature and increasing readership turned it into a national phenomenon blurring regional boundaries.

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The celebration of the local turned global due to the expanding market. Dalit literature is being written in virtually all genres of literature, though poetry and autobiography are the most prominent. Autobiographies written by the prominent Dalit writers and activists have drawn more attention of the social scientists than other genres due to obvious reasons of closeness of this genre with social sciences. Among many autobiographies of note we can mention some which cover major part of India, such as Gaikwad (1992), Valmiki (1998), Das (2006), Madhopuri (2004) and Malagatti (2007). These autobiographies are tales of suffering the writers faced during their early age and the way the life story is narrated takes the reader to the journey of the life lived in extreme form of denial and discrimination and the struggle they waged to overcome all limitations and emerge victorious. However, the stigma remains. Dalit literature constructed the image of the wretched of the Indian society in a more profound manner than any social science research could do. The emergence of Dalit literature and the BSP politics of identity are not taking the Dalits towards an inclusive society. All these developments indicate towards the emergence of exclusive identities and politics, but it is quite different from the earlier exclusive identities, which caste system by virtue of its form and content implicated. It involves constructing new identity and culture and inventing distinct tradition by decentring the hegemonic tradition of the dominant castes. The significance of Phule’s reinterpretation of the myth of Bali Raja or Ambedkar’s conception of Dhama or re-articulation of the Ravidas myth on the part of the Ad-dharmis lies in rejecting the power of the symbolic universe created by the hegemonic tradition of Hinduism. How do we make sense of such constructions in the context of ending caste? Caste is not simply a social structural principle, but it is also a state of mind with the package of the entire tradition. To get rid of ‘castes of mind’, to use Dirk’s (2001) expression, there is a need to invent counterculture and its articulation. Present efforts of some of the Dalit castes are directed towards this direction. However, it does not imply that all castes in all regions of India have reached the stage of breaking cultural barriers, for it requires certain essential changes in the conditions of life, which is not happening at this moment for all. We thus have Dalit intellectuals, who can articulate various issues in the print and electronic media, leaving a section of Dalits who still face exclusion. So long as the general economic

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conditions of the Dalits do not improve, the chances of inclusion are minimal. It should also be reminded that despite all the efforts, strategy of social inclusion is inseparably linked with integration and consensus. In this regard, the state and social movement approach would not bring about inclusion at the level of interpersonal interaction. To end the discussion, it is important to remind Ambedkar’s (1990) comment on the caste endogamy. He argued that intercaste marriage would be solvent of caste as no other measure would succeed to that extent. However, he cautioned that we must not agitate for intercaste marriages, for it is not permissible to force feed a person by artificial means. The present trend among the Dalit intellectuals and political leadership does not point towards the possibility of integration.

II Eleven articles divided into four parts comprise this volume. These articles do not completely cover all the aspects of the Dalits in India. They are representative of four major issues which should be covered under the sociology of Dalits. These are: mapping the status of Dalit studies in India, describing their conditions of deprivation and exclusion, identifying contexts of contestations and their patterns that occur between the Dalits and the higher castes, and understanding the process of change in their conditions. Most of the articles included in the volume have been recent contributions to Sociological Bulletin—between 1990 and present. The SCs constitute 16.20 per cent of the Indian population, but this percentage does not cover all the untouchable castes against which untouchability is still practiced. The term ‘scheduled castes’ is Constitutional, which includes depressed castes belonging to Hindu, Sikh and Buddhist religions. Certain castes which have been included in the scheduled list get excluded if they have converted to Islam and/or Christianity. Therefore, we can safely argue that the percentage of the Dalits could be higher. Added to this percentage is 8.20 per cent population of the scheduled tribes. It is clear that more than one-fourth of India’s population belongs to the most marginalised, excluded and exploited sections of the society. How much attention have the Dalits received from the sociologists? It is an important issue particularly in the light of the fact that other

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disciplines in social sciences have also equally contributed to the study of Dalits. The first part of the volume entitled ‘State of Dalit Studies in Sociology’ consists of two articles by Vivek Kumar and T. K. Oommen. Whereas Vivek Kumar takes stock of the extent of attention Dalits have received from Indian sociologists, Oommen examines Ghurye’s contribution to the understanding of Dalits. Kumar argues that the sociologists have largely provided descriptive account of the Dalits by using value-loaded terminology. In a nutshell, Kumar brings out the apathy of Indian sociologists to study Dalits. Notably, Kumar has made an attempt to construct ‘Human Distress Index’, which largely covers various variables in the understanding and mapping of social exclusion of Dalits. Oommen, in his article, argues that Ghurye suffered from cognitive blackout in his treatment of SCs. Oommen provides four reasons why he did so: one, Ghurye has given a scanty coverage of 40 pages to the SCs; two, he depends on ancient Hindu texts for has analysis; three, he was unduly optimist about the power of modernisation in ending caste and discrimination; and finally, he could not clearly comprehend the power of the religious tradition in withstanding the pressure of modernity. Oommen points out that Ghurye’s treatment to the SCs and scheduled tribes was linked with the issue of nation-building from the perspective of cultural monism in which all castes and tribes were understood to be assimilated with the dominant Hindu tradition in opposition to the cultural diversity which was considered to be secular basis of Indian society. These articles discussed above underline something very important about the symbolic universe of Indian sociologists at the initial stages of the development of the discipline. One way of looking at the sociological practice could be the social background of Indian sociologists and one may not be surprised to find most of them belonging to the upper castes. However, it has been frequently pointed out that it is not necessary that the social location of the researcher would inevitably influence his/ her priorities and position with regard to normative issues. Another way of looking into the matter is to examine the practice of sociology in India and influences it received along with the prevalence of the theoretical paradigm. It may be argued that sociology in India has its roots in the anthropological practice. Social anthropologists were influenced in the early 20th century by the writings of Malinowski and Radcliffe-Brown, who used ethnography in the service of functionalist paradigm. The functional perspective remained committed to the understanding of the

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functions performed by various parts of the whole. Functionalism remained on the side of the status quo, for it never went beyond the examination of the maintenance of system through the functions. On the other hand, the Dalit-centric approach was totally neglected by the Marxists, because in the Marxist paradigm caste was a part of the superstructure, whereas class structure formed the base of society. Within the framework of such an analysis Dalits were treated as a part of the proletariat. The implications of such a view from the Marxists are that there was a total neglect—though the Marxist tradition in Indian sociology has never been very strong—of the analysis of the power of the superstructure and its embeddedness with the base. The second part of the volume consists of four articles which take up the issue of untouchability and exclusion. The article by R. D. Lambert is an interesting piece of theoretical and empirical observations on untouchability with the purpose of working out the methodology of research on untouchability. Highlighting the fact that mere economic dimension would not help us in understanding the issue of untouchability, because as a part of social inequality caste system is similar to others and there is likelihood of the people who are placed at the top are economically well off, but it may not necessarily be the case. It is thus important that sociologist should focus his/her attention on identifying the ‘characteristics and conditions of the various untouchable castes and work out the system of untouchability by examining the behavioural norms. S. S. Sharma in his article on untouchability has adopted the empirical approach to examine the problem. The study of village Machhra in Meerut has been carried out by using caste study method as well as conducting interviews with the respondents to know their feeling whether untouchability is practiced. Sharma argues that the Brahmins and the scheduled castes offer different interpretations of unotuchability. Whereas the former regard ideology, the latter consider economic conditions as the root cause of unotuchability. However, the most important aspect of the study is the actual existence and practice of untouchability despite its abolition according to Article 17 of the Constitution of India. Victor D’Souza, in his article, locates the SCs in the urbanisation process of Punjab. It is interesting to note that D’Souza has used the terms exclusion and exclusivism in offering explanation to the location of the SCs. D’Souza argues that homogeneity of a caste and heterogeneity among castes could be understood as the major reason for

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the creation of exclusive groups who exist through their support to inequality and the rural–urban migration occurs along with this axis of exclusivism. Though it is expected that industrialisation and urbanisation would create occupational complexity which would help different castes to take advantage of the situation, yet the SCs have failed to benefit. The last article in the second part is a study of one Dalit caste, namely Khatik of Kanpur. The Khatiks became notorious during the riots that followed the Babri Mosque demolition. Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp has done a comprehensive anthropological investigation into the issue of untouchability, regarded as ‘suppressive, exploitative and unjust’. In the case of the Khatiks, BellwinkelSchempp seeks to construct the anthropological explanation of the relationship between man and beast. The Khatiks, who have been engaged in bristle trade and are also involved as butchers and pig-breeders and pork-sellers, the beast represents the ‘creative and nutritious element’ for them. At the same time, untouchability emanates from the pollution caused by the beast. The third part of the volume comprised by two articles takes cognisance of the conflict between the Dalits and upper castes. Linda J. Epp’s article underlines the basic paradoxes of tradition and reforms in the realm of religious beliefs and practices. Epp has lucidly brought out the struggle of the Dalits against the ages old practice of nude worship in Chandragutti village in Shimoga district of Karnataka. The issue emerged when in 1986 the activists of the Dalit Sangharsh Samiti started opposing nude worship among the Dalits women of Goddess, Renuka/ Yallemma. The organised struggle against the sexual exploitation of Dalit women in the form of nude worship, despite being successful, raised issue with regard to the beliefs. The Dalit woman is still tied to patriarchy and opposed to any change against her beliefs and practices. The second article on conflict is the contribution of Venkateswarlu Dollu who has looked into the caste/class dimensions of conflict between the upper castes and the Harijans. Based on the comprehensive field work and data analysis, the author comes to the conclusion. He examines four dimensions of tensions to gauge psychological conflict, namely social, economic, political and ritual. There are numerous instances of conflict between the upper caste and Harijans. However, the upper class dominant upper castes feel more threatened by any improvement in the conditions of the Harijans. Since the author has not examined the

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nature and extent of manifest conflict, he concludes that since any improvement in the conditions of the Harijans is a threat to the dominance and hegemony of the upper classes, they are more hostile toward the Harijans than the middle-class upper castes. The last part of the volume is entitled ‘Interrogating Change’ by which we mean that all the three articles are not straightjacket explication of social change among the Dalits. They are serious and reflective analyses of strategies of sanskritisation and reservation policy as well as of the practice of untouchability. Guru in his article takes up the inherent paradox between reservation and sanskritisation as strategies of change. Guru is clear in stating that economic and political power is the enabling force of sanskritisation. On top of that sanskritisation essentially implicates group mobility. On the other hand, reservation policy is individual-oriented and once embraced provides economic and political status. At the same time, sanskritisation is the basis of hiding one’s caste identity, whereas reservation policy is based on the caste identity. Guru argues that sanskritisation is imposed by the upper castes. In his article, A. M. Shah discusses the relation between purity/ impurity and untouchability and the decline in both in the modern times. It entails a discussion of division and hierarchy among the Untouchable castes and of the line separating them from the rest of the society. Shah identifies the forces of change in untouchability in terms of industrialisation and urbanisation whose impact began right from the 19th century. People having Western education initiated the discontinuity of untouchable practices. Many practices among Hindu houses have almost disappeared. Taking bath is no more indispensable before cooking and eating food. However, in religious practices people still observe the idea of purification. In urban areas the people cleaning the garbage continue to belong to a particular caste. Tulsi Patel explores the stigmatised popular image of incompetence constructed around the Dalits, who have in the past seven decades benefited from reservations in education and services. It describes the construction of stigmatised image of the Dalits in the recent decades in northern India with reference to the clarion call of reservations for removal of social and other inequalities perpetrated against ex-untouchables in India. Taking up the controversies around reservation, Patel explores the connection between stigma, education and jobs.

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By Way of Conclusion The first part of this introductory chapter was an attempt to underline and argue for new perspective for understanding caste and Dalits. There is a need to demystify caste in the present phase of India’s socio-economic development. The major reason for the persistence of caste should be located in the understanding of why the communities are persisting and individualisation is not taking place in spite of the fact that the Indian Constitution recognises the individual as citizen with rights. It is important to raise questions about the decisions taken by the political power holders of the day wherein they decided in favour of community by violating the rights of the individual enshrined in our Constitution (Shah Bano to give one example). It is interesting to investigate why the political leaders are allowed to appeal the communities on caste, religious or ethnic basis. It is the power dynamics in which every player sees functionality to use caste that caste is publicly persisting. The articles included in this volume provide us panoramic picture of various dimensions of the Dalits referred to by different contributors by different names, such as Dalits, SCs, Harijans, untouchables, depressed classes and so on. There is only one aspect of Dalit studies missing in this volume, namely the emerging cultural consciousness of the Dalits. The articles included in the volume also give us an idea of the place of Dalit studies in sociology.

References Ambedkar, B. R. 1990. The annihilation of caste. Delhi: Arnold. Apthekar, Herbert. 1939. American Negro slave revolts. New York: International Publishers. Bailey, F. G. 1957. Caste and the economic frontier: A village in highland Orissa. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Bains, Ravinder Singh. 1997. ‘Reactionary mobilization against change from above’, in Paramjit S. Judge and Satish K. Sharma (eds.): Dimensions of social change: Essays in honour of Professor P. N. Pimpley. (122–52). Jaipur: Rawat. Bayly, Susan. 1999. Caste, society and politics in India from the eighteenth century to the modern age. Delhi: Cambridge University Press. Berreman, Gerald D. 1979. Caste and other inequities. Meerut: Folklore Institute. Bouglé, Célelstin. 1971. Essays on the caste system. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Briggs, George. W. 1975. The Chamars. Delhi: B.R. Publishing Corporation. (First published in 1920). Das, Bhagwan. 2006. Main Bhangi han. Nakodar: Bahujan Hitt Parkashan (Punjabi). Desai, A. R. 1976. Social background of Indian nationalism. Bombay: Popular Prakashan.

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Dirks, Nicholas B. 2001. Castes of mind: Colonialism and the making of modern India. New Delhi: Permanent Black. Dumont, Louis. 1998. Homo hierarchicus: The caste system and its implications. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Gaikwad, Laxaman. 1992. Uchchaka. Delhi: Radhakrishan (Hindi). Guru, Gopal. 2002. ‘How egalitarian are the social sciences in India’, Economic and political weekly, XXXVII(50) (14 December): 5003–9. ———. 2009. ‘Introduction: Theorizing humiliation’, in Gopal Guru (ed.): Humiliation: Claims and context (1–22). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Ghurye, G. S. 1969. Caste and race in India. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Hardgrave, Jr., Robert L. 1970. ‘Political participation and primordial solidarity: The Nadars of Tamil Nadu’, in Rajni Kothari (ed.): Caste in Indian politics (102–28). New Delhi: Orient Longman. Hasan, Zoya. 2009. Politics of inclusion: Castes, minorities and affirmative action. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Judge, Paramjit S. 2002. ‘Religion, caste and communalism in Punjab’, Sociological bulletin, 51(2): 175–94. ———. 2003. ‘Hierarchical differentiation among Dalits’. Economic and political weekly, 38(28), July 12. ———. 2004. ‘Interrogating changing status of Dalits of Punjab’, in Harish K. Puri (ed.): Dalits in regional context (100–131). Jaipur: Rawat Publications. ———. 2005. ‘Caste conflicts in Punjab: An examination of recent Jat-Dalit clash in a village’, Man & development, XXVII(3): 151–68. ———. 2009. Mapping Dalits: Contemporary reality and future prospects in Punjab. Jaipur: Rawat. ———. 2012a. ‘Love as rebellion and shame: Honour killings in the Punjabi literary imagination’, Economic and political weekly, XLVII(44) (3 November): 44–50. ———. 2012b. Foundations of classical sociological theory: Functionalism, conflict and action. New Delhi: Pearson. Judge, Paramjit S., and Gurpreet Bal (eds.) 2008. Reconstructing identities: Society through literature. Jaipur: Rawat. Juergensmeyer, Mark. 1982. Religion as social vision: The movement against untouchability in 20th century Punjab. Berkeley: University of California Press. Kamble, N. D. 1981. Atrocities on scheduled castes in post independent India. New Delhi: Ashish Publishing House. Kothari, Rajni. 1970. ‘Introduction’, in Rajni Kothari (ed.): Caste in Indian politics (3–25). New Delhi: Orient Longman. Lynch, Owen M. 1969. The politics of untouchability: social mobility and social change in a city of India. New York: University of Columbia Press. Marx, K.1954. Capital: A critique of political economy, Volume I. Moscow: Progress Publishers. Marx, Karl, and F. Engels. 1976. Collected Works Volume 5. Moscow: Progress Publishers. Madhopuri, Balbir. 2004. Chhangia Rukh. Chandigarh: Lokgeet Parkashan (Punjabi). Malagatti, Aravind. 2007. Government Brahmana. Hyderabad: Orient Longman. Mencher, Joan P.1992. ‘The caste system upside down’, in Dipankar Gupta (ed.): Social stratification (93–109). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Mendelsohn, Oliver and Marika Vicziany. 2000. The untouchables: subordination, poverty and the state in modern India. New Delhi: Cambridge University Press.

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Omvedt, Gail. 1994. Dalits and democratic revolution: Dr. Ambedkar and the Dalit movement in colonial India. New Delhi: SAGE Publications. ———. 2012. Understanding caste: From Buddha to Ambedkar and beyond. Second Edition. New Delhi: Orient BlackSwan. Parkin, Frank. 1982. Max Weber. London: Tavistock Publications. Ram, Ronki. 2004. ‘Untouchability in India with a difference: Ad Dharm, Dalit assertion and caste conflicts in Punjab’, Asian Survey, XLIV(6): 895–912. Rao, Anupama. 2010. The caste question: Dalits and the politics of modern India. Ranikhet: Permanent Black. Shah, Ghanshayam et al. 2006. Untouchability in rural India. New Delhi: SAGE Publications. Sharma, Satish K. 2000. ‘Arya Samaj movement in Punjab’, in Harish K. Puri and Paramjit S. Judge (eds.): Social and political movements: Readings on Punjab (93–110). Jaipur: Rawat. Srinivas, M. N. 1966. Social change in modern India. Bombay: Allied Publishers. Thorat, Sukhdeo, and Paul Attewell. 2007. ‘The legacy of social exclusion: A correspondence study of job discrimination in India’, Economic and Political Weekly, XLII(41) (13 October): 4141–45. Thorat, Sukhdeo, and Katherine S. 2007. ‘Caste and economic discrimination: Causes, consequences and remedies’, Economic and political weekly, XLII(41) (13 October): 4121–24. Valmiki, Om Prakash. 1998. Jooth. Ludhiana: Chetna Parkashan (Punjabi). Weber, Max. 1958. The religion of India. Translated and edited by Hans H. Gerth and Don Martindale. New York: The Free Press. ———. 1978. Economy and society: An outline of interpretive sociology. Vols. I and II (eds. Guenther Roth and Claus Wittich). Berkeley: University of California Press. (First published by Bedminster Press Inc. New York, 1968.) Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 1961. Tractatus logico-philosophicus. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Zelliot, Eleanor. 1970. ‘Learning to use political means: The Mahars of Maharashtra’, in Rajni Kothari (ed.): Caste in Indian politics (29–69). New Delhi: Orient Longman.

PART I State of Dalit Studies in Sociology

1 Situating Dalits in Indian Sociology Vivek Kumar

Introduction: Understanding the Misunderstandings about Dalits

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andhiji, after discussing the problems of dalits with Ambedkar, asked Mahadev Desai why Ambedkar told him that he (Ambedkar) did not have a motherland. Desai explained that it was because Ambedkar was an ‘untouchable’. Gandhiji was surprised to learn this, and he told Desai that he had thought Ambedkar was a conscientious Brahmin who spoke for the untouchables. Later, in the 1960s, on the policy of reservation, Jawaharlal Nehru argued, It is true that we are tied up with certain rules and conventions about helping the Scheduled Castes and Tribes. They deserve help but, even so, I dislike any kind of reservation, more particularly in service. . . . If we go in for reservations on communal and caste basis we swamp the bright and able people and remain second-rate of third-rate (1989: 456–57).

Even as late as 1999, a high profile university professor, who has extensively worked on the issues related to caste, asked me ‘What is the difference between Jai Shri Ram and Jai Bheem, as both are religious symbols?’ I had to explain to the learned professor that this ‘Jai Bheem’ is not the Bheem of Mahabharata; it is the first name of Bheem Rao Ambedkar which has now become the greeting symbol of dalits. Another narrative is that of a young

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girl who asked her parents whether they were Scheduled Castes? The astonished parents asked her why she was asking that question. The girl explained that the teacher had announced in the class that those belonging to Scheduled Castes will be getting books and uniform free of cost. The foregoing narratives are representative of the understanding of politicians and social reformers, academicians and layman about dalits who account for 16 percent of India’s population. The narratives, no doubt, raise a vital point regarding misunderstandings of certain facts about dalits. However, more importantly, they raise the question as to how can an academic fail to understand dalits. Thus, the question if the dalits have been studied objectively by the Indian sociologists? This paper throws light on how Indian sociology has failed to locate dalits in the Indian society, in general, and the Hindu social order, in particular. Why, even after a century of development of sociology in the country, the dalits occupy a dubious position particularly vis-à-vis the Hindu social order? The ‘book view’ of caste argues that there are only four varnas, but many sociologists—Indian, European and others—have portrayed dalits as the fifth varna of Hindu society without any convincing explanation. Although they are practically included for exploitation of every type of labour, why have they been included in the theoretical scheme of varna as the fifth varna of the Hindu social order? No sociologist has given a convincing explanation for the fact that, even though they are included for exploitation of cheap labour, they have been excluded from every other interaction pattern. Usage of politically incorrect terminology by Indian sociologists in their discussions on dalits is the second issue discussed in this paper. In the name of objectivity, Indian sociologists have used the suggestive terminology like ‘untouchables’, ‘lower castes’, Harijans, etc. for the dalits. These terms, coined by intellectuals and the elite of society, are not objective categories. The objective situation is that the dalits were/are known either by their regional caste name or by a term equivalent of ‘untouchable’. Our third contention in this paper is that, because of the ambiguous location of dalits and the use of a value-loaded terminology for them, Indian sociologists have not been able to record substantive issues related to dalits. The sociological literature has only descriptions about dalits without any qualitative and quantitative study of their ‘social exclusion’. Indian sociologists have also missed to record the impact of this ‘social exclusion’ on the life-pattern of dalits and their loss of cultural capital. Indian sociologists never bothered to recognise the contributions made

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by dalits playing different roles in the economy, polity and society. One wonders, how many studies have been conducted by Indian sociologists straight from Cheri, Cahmrauti, Maharwada—the bustees of the dalits? Two major points have been recorded in the paper because of the aforesaid ambiguity of position of dalits in the Hindu social order. The first point is that the objectivity and authenticity of studies of different structures and processes are being questioned by the dalits in their writings. Dalits view the structures like caste and village as exploitative rather than as functional. Moreover, they term sanskritisation as the process of assertion and attempt by dalits to lead a hygienic lifestyle, rather than as an imitation of the upper castes. The second point is that foreign concepts and theories like class, relative deprivation, poverty, etc., which are used to analyse the condition of dalits are inappropriate and inadequate. Therefore, the paper suggests the necessity of evolving a new concept or modifying the existing concepts which can appropriately evaluate the social exclusion of dalits. The new concept could be ‘Human Distress Index’.

Definition of the Term ‘Dalit’ In the annals of Indian history, dalits were referred to with different nomenclatures—like Chandalas, Avarnas, Achhuts, Namashudra, Parihas, Adi-Dravida, Ad-Dharmis, depressed classes, oppressed Hindus, Harijans, etc.—at different point of time. However, after the emergence of the Dalit Panther’s movement in Maharashtra in the 1970s, they preferred to be called as dalits. The definition of dalits as propounded by the Dalit Panthers was a class definition and it included members of Scheduled Castes (SCs), Scheduled Tribes (STs), the landless and poor peasants, women, and all those who were exploited politically, economically and in the name of religion (Murugkar 1991: 237). It was the Panthers’ political compulsion that made them propound such a definition of a category which never existed before, as they wanted to forge an alliance among these aforesaid groups. However, sociologically, the term dalits has been strictly used for ex-untouchables of Indian society who have faced the worst kind of social exclusion. The term ‘social exclusion’ has been defined as a multidimensional process in which various forms of exclusion are combined: participation in decision-making and political processes, access to

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employment and material resources, and integration into common cultural process. When combined, they create acute form of exclusion that finds a spatial manifestation in particular neighbourhoods (Madanipour 1998: 22). To this, we have to add the elements of religious justification of such exclusion of dalits based on dharma and karma. Based on the above elements of social exclusion, we can argue that dalits are different from Scheduled Tribes, women and poor persons among caste Hindus that were included in the Dalit Panthers’ definition of dalits. At the out set, economically, a poor person is different from a dalit. A poor person may be deprived in the economic sphere, especially of income necessary to participate in the economy. However, he/she may not be necessarily deprived in social and cultural spheres, that is, he/she may not face the same type of exclusion in the social and cultural life of his neighbourhood as dalits face. For instance, a penury-stricken Brahmin, Kshatriya, Vaishya or Shudra is never forced to live outside the boundaries of the village. They interact among themselves at least in secular realms on more or less equal terms. However, dalits were excluded form the main residential area of the village, and were kept outside the interaction pattern of its social life. Hence, we can argue that a poor person may be economically or politically deprived, but he/she is never excluded from the social and cultural spheres. An ex-untouchable is deprived in all the three—social, economic and political—realms. T.K. Oommen, therefore, has rightly pointed out, ‘If proletarian consciousness is essentially rooted in material deprivations . . . dalit consciousness is a complex and compound consciousness which encapsulates deprivations stemming from inhuman conditions of material existence, powerlessness and ideological hegemony’ (1990: 256). The social exclusion of an ex-untouchable is so overpowering that, even though he/she attains economic and political mobility through hard work, he/she is not accepted in totality by the castes located higher up in the hierarchy. Another aspect of social exclusion is that, because of their extreme form social exclusion, dalits could not accumulate social capital which could give them the potential to develop their consciousness. Moreover, because of lack of this consciousness, they could not revolt against the Hindu social order for so long. Their cultural cooption in the Hindu social order, even though they were not part of the varna hierarchy, was affected by the artificial consensus which was a part of Hindu hegemony legitimised by the doctrine of karma.

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Tribals are different from dalits because they were never treated as a part of the Hindu social order. As they had their own independent social system, tribals did not face social exclusion as dalits did. They also did not suffer the same type of atrocities as suffered by dalits. Apart from their geographical location in the hilly or forested terrain, tribals also differed from dalits in political, religious, economic and psychological aspects. These aspects have kept them away from the Hindu hegemony in terms of their status in the caste hierarchy, occupation, commensality, etc. Furthermore, this differentiation has resulted in a different type of construction of consciousness among tribals and, hence, they revolted a number of times in the past. That is why we have not included them in the present definition of dalits. Women have also been excluded from our definition of dalits. The reasons being, a woman in Indian society, however exploited, does not constitute a monolithic whole. There is differentiation of women on caste and class lines. If we take women belonging to the castes located in the upper echelons of the caste hierarchy then we find their attitude towards dalits is same as that of their male counterparts. They practise untouchability in the same manner, as any caste Hindu male would do. How then can we differentiate caste Hindu women from their men and include them under dalits? Thus, in this paper, the term dalit has been used exclusively for ex-untouchables.

Situating Dalits in Indian Society: The Book View Let us observe how ambiguous the position of dalits is in the Hindu social order. To begin with, the caste system has emerged from the varna social order described in the Hindu scriptures. The Hindu social order, according to the scared texts, comprises of Varnasharma Dharma along with the four-fold varna division in the society: Brahman, Kshatriya, Vaishya, and Shudra. In Rigveda. . . three classes of society are frequently mentioned, and named Brahma, Kshatra, and Visha. . . . It is only in one of the later hymns, the celebrated Purusukta, that a reference has been made to four orders of society as emanating from the sacrifice of the Primeval Being. The names of those four orders are given there as Brahmana, Rajanya, Vaishya, and Shudra (Ghurey 1979: 44).

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M.N. Srinivas writes, in the Rigvedic hymn Purusukta, the four varna or orders formed the limbs of primeval man (Purusha), who was victim in the divine sacrifice which produced the cosmos. The Brahmins emerged from his mouth, the Kshatriyas from his arms, Vaishyas from his thighs and Shudras from the feet. The untouchable castes find no mention in the hymn (1985: 150–51).

Similarly, Louis Dumont argues, There is in India a hierarchy other than that of the pure and the impure, namely, the traditional hierarchy of the four varnas, ‘colours’ or ‘estates’, whereby four categories are distinguished: the highest is that of the Brahmans or priests, below them the Kshatriyas or warriors, then the Vaishyas, in modern usage mainly merchants, and finally the Shudras, the servants or have-nots. . . . There is in actual fact a fifth category, the untouchables, who are left outside the classification (1999: 66–67).

Thus, it can be observed from the above that, though on the basis of sacred texts the founding fathers of Indian Sociology recognised only four varnas in Hindu social order, the presence of dalits (untouchables) as the ‘fifth category’ of the Hindu social order is not denied. The same sociologists, however, have denied the existence of the fifth varna in the Hindu social order with the help of the same sacred texts. In this regard, Dumont has categorically stated, ‘First and foremost, these texts were to mask the emergence, the factual accretion of a fifth category, the untouchables, each emulating the others in proclaiming that ‘there is no fifth . . .’ (Ibid.: 68). So, from where has this metaphor has come in the sociological vogue? Has it been carved out for the convenience of the researchers or the dominant sections of the Indian society? It is not only that these four varnas have been mentioned in the sacred texts, but they have also been assigned their duties or jobs (dharma) as well. For example, ‘in the hymns of the Rigveda, the job of the Brahmin varna was to read and write, teach and preach, offer and officiate sacrifices. The Brahmins were obliged by this tradition to undergo a life of study, mediation, and penetration into the mysteries of God and dharma’ (Mathur 1991: 68). The occupation the Kshatriyas, ‘must have consisted in administrative and military duties. . . . In the prayer for the prosperity of Kshatriya, he is said to be an archer and good chariot-fighter’ (Ghurey 1979: 48). The Vaishya formed the third order and was supposed to be a trader. The Shudra,

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It seems the class represented domestic servants, approximating very nearly to the position of slaves. The Shudra is described as ‘the servant of another’, ‘to be expelled at will’, and ‘to be slain at will’. The Panchvimsha Brahmana defines this position still more precisely when it declares that the Shudra, even if he be prosperous, cannot be but a servant of another, washing his superior’s feet being his main business. . . . The Shatapatha Brahmana goes to the length of declaring that the Shudra is untruth itself (Ibid.: 50–51).

Apart form the aforesaid varnas and the duties assigned to them, except for the dalits, the book view of caste system also prescribed an elaborate arrangement of the various socioeconomic, political and religious activities by an individual to be performed in various stages of his life. These stages are named as ashramas, which are four in number: brahmacharya, grihastha, vanaprastha, and sanyasa. The male members of the Brahmin, Kshatriya, and Vaishya varnas pass through these four stages in their life. The first ashrama is called brahmacharya ashrama, from which the fourth varna, namely, Shudra, and the women of the first three varnas were barred. It is to be noted that this ashrama is very important of all the ashramas in an individual’s life. Sudhir Kakar (1982: 8–9) has eloquently portrayed its importance: . . . brahmacharya, in which the school child, growing into youth, learned the basic skills relevant to his future adult working role while he lived together with other students and the guru. The myriad duties prescribed for this stage can be subsumed under two headings: (a) the social importance placed on the learning of skills, and (b) the student’s unquestioning devotion to the guru’s person.

Furthermore, The task the brahmacharya stage . . . lies in the knowing of one’s dharma, which would consist in acquiring the skills in one’s caste and in winning an identity based on a caste identity and the identification with and the emulation of the guru. The strength issuing from this stage would then correspond to ‘competence’ and ‘fidelity’.

After this, comes the second ashrama that is, garhasthya ashram: In the Hindu view it is this stage that ‘man’s meanings’ (purusarthas) besides dharma, that is, artha (material gratification) and kama (sensual-sexual gratification), flower and to be enjoyed. The Hindu view thus also hints at the ‘intimacy’ based on shared work as well as on sensuality and procreation.

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The third stage or ashrama is vanaprastha (a gradual withdrawal without loosening of responsibility). In the last asharma, that is, Sanyasa (renunciation), it is expected from the individuals that they practise physical separation from all worldly and personal ties. In this manner, we see the elaborate arrangement which exists in the holy texts of the Hindus on the basis of which the caste system has emerged. From the above discussion, the following queries emerge, proving the ambiguous position of dalits in the Hindu social order. First, even if we believe the sacred texts, to which the origin of caste is traced, from where does the metaphor of the fifth varna originate? Second, accepting that there is a fifth varna, what will be its dharma and which ashramas can its members follow? No convincing and objective explanation is given by Indian sociologists, and yet they treat dalits as part and parcel of the Hindu social order. Is the inclusion of dalits in the Hindu social order only an academic or political exercise, or there is any sociological explanation for this?

Sociological Literature and Dalit Identity Indian sociology is more than a century old, but even today Indian sociologists have not been able to evolve a politically correct language to describe the dalits. Along with other social scientists, they use the same stigmatised identities like ‘lower castes’, ‘exterior castes’, ‘untouchables’, ‘Harijans’, etc. for dalits. Against this, they use a refined language for the castes located higher in the caste hierarchy: ‘upper castes’, ‘twice-born’, etc. The language used is partisan, and it stigmatises dalits. When questioned, Indian sociologists have argued that they do it for objectivity. The objective reality, however, is different and dalits have been addressed by different nomenclatures at the grassroots: Chandalas, Hinajatians, Avarnas, Asprashya, Antyajas, Achhuts, Pariahs, Namsudras, Panchamas (the fifth class or category), etc. These social identities had stigma, segregation and contempt writ large. Had Indian sociologists been objective they should have used these terms in referring to dalits. Another objective reality about the nomenclature of dalits is that they were also known by their traditional nomenclatures in the local regions: Chamar, Pasi, Dhobi, Chakkliyar, etc. However, Indian sociologists do not use the exact name of the dalit castes. Instead, for their convenience, they have propagated a generalised and common identity of dalits in the discipline. In this regard, Indian sociologists have also

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not revealed the fact that dalits have been uncomfortable with these identities. With the gradual awakening for self-respect among them, dalits have intensified their hatred against these names, and consequently they protested for a change in their caste names. To assert their aboriginal lineage they adopted the appellations of Adi-Hindu, AdiDravida, Adi-Andhra, Adi-Karnataka, etc. towards the close of the nineteenth century and in the beginning of the twentieth century. Indian sociologists failed to record efforts of various actors to give different nomenclature. For instance, the term ‘depressed classes’ was used for these castes either by the missionaries or the social reformers. The term found its way in the Government officialese sometimes in the nineteenth century, but it gained currency in official usage only towards the beginning of the second decade of the twentieth century (Gupta 1985: 7–8). However, the identity of the depressed classes or the untouchables as a depressed class could not last long. The untouchables or depressed classes led by B.R. Ambedkar, Babu Khem Chand, M.C. Rajah and R. Srinivasan asserted that the term ‘depressed classes’ should be categorically defined, as a few other non-dvija caste Hindus were also being identified under that nomenclature. Later, Ambedkar refuted this identity for the untouchables and urged, ‘We would like to point out that the existing nomenclature of Depressed Classes is objected to by members of the Depressed Classes who have given thought to it and also by the outsider who take interest in them. It is degrading and contemptuous’ (Ibid.: 26). Ambedkar suggested five alternatives—the ‘non-caste Hindus’, the ‘Protestant Hindus’, the ‘non-conformist Hindus’, the ‘Excluded Castes,’ and the ‘Exterior Castes’—to be considered for the selection of a better denomination for the untouchable communities (Ibid.). Another identity of dalits, in the beginning of the 1930s, which is still commonly used to identify the untouchable castes, was ‘Harijan’. It is a general misconception that the term ‘Harijan’ was coined by Mahatma Gandhi. In fact, it was originally used by Narsinha Mehta, a Gujarati poet-saint of the Bhakti tradition in the medieval period (Ibid.: 30). Gandhi himself clarified this in one of the issues of the weekly Harijan. He argued that, It is not a name of my coining. Some years ago, several untouchable correspondents complained that I used the word ‘Asprishya’ in the pages of Navjivan. ‘Asprishya’ means literally untouchable. I then invited them to

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Vivek Kumar suggest a better name, and one of the ‘untouchable’ correspondents suggested the adoption of the name ‘Harijan’, on the strength of its having been used by the first known poet-saint of Gujarat (Harijan, 7 February 1933: 7).

The members of the untouchable castes, especially the educated and politically conscious ones, did not accept the identity of ‘Harijan’. They wondered how this nomenclature could solve their real problems. Till date, the term is hated and despised by dalits. Owen M. Lynch has stated that ‘Literally the word means “child of god” but figuratively its connotations are quite different. My Jatav informants showed dislike—at times an intense dislike—for the word. They felt, it connoted the idea of being a bastard and also brought to mind patronising upper-caste benevolence’ (1974: 128). The then government carved a new identity—the ‘Scheduled Castes’— for the untouchable castes as these were put in a Schedule for the purpose of providing them constitutional safeguards under the new Constitution of the British Government in India (1937). Although this term has been used as a nomenclature in the present Constitution of India, it is not explicitly defined. Apparently, the members of the erstwhile untouchable castes have not had much problem with their given identity of ‘Scheduled Castes’. However, in the 1970s, a new identity, namely, dalit was asserted by them. In the mid-1970s, again, the dalit leaders coined a new identity in the name of ‘Bahujan’ with the emergence of Backward and Minorities Communities Employees’ Federation (BAMCEF). Thus, there has been a long movement by the dalits for a dignified identity; yet, Indian sociologists have only used the stigmatised social identities for referring to dalits. Is it a case of value neutrality or bias? While the world over there has been a movement to consciously use politically correct terminology to describe the erstwhile-stigmatised collectivities—Negroes are now called as blacks; prostitutes, referred as to sex workers; the handicapped, as physically challenged, the aged, as senior citizens—Indian sociology is still stuck with the stigmatised identities for dalits. It is well known that the construction of terminology depicts the attitude of the people towards the stigmatised collectivities. A positive identity or value-neutral identity in place of a negative identity helps to relate to people with stigmatised collectivity on a more cordial plain. Hence, there is need to carve out a neutral term for the dalits.

SITUATING DALITS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY

13

Dearth of Sociological Literature on the Social Exclusion of Dalits As far as the issue of social exclusion of dalits is concerned, Indian sociologists have touched it only in a descriptive manner. Excepting a few (for example, Oommen 2001), they have tried to define broadly how dalits have been categorised or, at the most, what occupation they perform, etc. (see, for example, Ghurey 1979: 306–36). The sociological literature is silent on the number of movements launched by dalits for their independent status from the Hindu social order. Adi-Hindu, AdiDravida, Adi-Andhra, Adi-Karnataka, Ad-Dharm movements come under this category. The sociological literature does not discuss the religious conversion of dalits to Islam and Sikhism in the medieval period and to Christianity in the modern period. The lack of literature on this theme hides the reality and the causes of conversion of the dalits, on the one hand, and the intensity of exploitation of dalits at the hands of the caste Hindus, on the other. It is well known that dalits have their own vibrant culture and literature. They have their own folk songs, and dance and art forms. But all this has been blacked out by the caste-Hindu media, intelligentsia and academia. Oommen is eloquent on this: There has been a cognitive blackout in Indian social science, until recently, as far as knowledge regarding the life-world of dalitbahujans. The fact the lifestyles of upper castes and dalitbahujans vary dramatically in terms of food habits, worship patterns or gender relations is tacitly acknowledged. But, instead of squarely recognising these variations and explaining why they exist, the dominant tendency in Indian sociology, at least until recently, has been to suggest that the dalitbahujans are abandoning their way of life in favour of the lifestyles of caste Hindus. This is what sanskritisation is all about. In this perspective, not only the norms and values of caste Hindus are privileged, but they are also christened as norm-setters and value-givers for the society as a whole. Conversely, the norms and values of dalitbahujans are knocked out, ignored, stigmatised and delegitimised (2001: 21).

Gauri Viswanathan writes, The privileging of Gandhi as an emblem of non-partisan feeling has, as its inverse, the demonisation of Ambedkar as a purveyor of sectarian politics. The view that ‘the national hagiography in India has rarely conceded a space for

14

Vivek Kumar Ambedkar alongside Gandhi’ is borne out by amazing excision of Ambedkar from several well-known literary works about untouchability (2001: 220).

Similarly, the role played by dalits in the freedom movement is also blacked out. Ranjit Guha notes, The historiography of Indian nationalism has for a long time been dominated by elitism—colonialist elitism and bourgeois nationalist elitism . . . . Both these varieties of elitism share the prejudice that the making of the Indian nation and the development of the consciousness—nationalism—which informed this process were exclusively elite achievement (1982: 1).

Furthermore, many studies conducted by Indian sociologists in the post-Independence period have tried to investigate whether constitutional measures have served to reduce the social disabilities and social discrimination of dalits or not (see Béteille 1969; Abbasayulu 1978; Malik 1979). There has not been any quantitative or qualitative analysis of the processes of exclusion and deprivation of dalits in Indian society, in general, and Hindu social order, in particular. They have failed to record the impact of social, economic and political exploitation on the dalit communities. How has it resulted in loss of cultural capital and, hence, the subjugation of dalits generation after generation? Similarly, the mainstream sociologists have failed to evaluate the exclusion of dalits from the modern institutions of democracy such as legislatures, bureaucracy, judiciary, media, etc. It has been accepted by many sociologists that these institutions have deep anchoring in the traditional social structure of Indian society, that is, the caste system (Singh 1994: 129–58). Yet sociologists have failed to accept that these institutions, which were supposed to function on the universalistic principles, are influenced by particularistic values of caste. The monopolisation of institutions of governance by the caste Hindus and the marginalisation of dalits from these institutions is testimony to the fact that there is discrimination against dalits in these institutions. Otherwise, dalits would not have been substantially under-represented in the higher echelons of the institution of governance. None of this has caught the imagination of the mainstream Indian sociologists. Similarly, the evaluation of the role of caste in the modern market and media has not attracted the attention of mainstream sociologists.

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Ridicule as a Form of Exclusion Indian sociologists have not been able to note the established dictums and sayings for ridiculing dalits. These ridicules emanate from religious texts and also from the psyche of the common masses. For Instance, look at Ramcahritmans, one of the most cherished and widely read sacred texts of Hindus. In it, Acharya Tulsidas writes: Shudra, ganvar, dhor, pashu, nari Yah sab taran ke adhikari. (Shudras, villagers, ill-mannered, animals, women All of them need a beating.) Pujahun Vipra sheell gun gyan hina, Shudra na gun gyan param praveena. (A Brahmin is worship-able even though he is devoid of all qualities, A Shudra is not, even though he possesses all the qualities).

It should be noted here that, though these couplets referred to Shudras, who were part of the varna hierarchy, in contemporary society these are used for dalits. There are other sayings ridiculing dalits which have become a part of the common parlance. Let us take the case of dalit women: Bitiya Chamar ki, nam Rajraniya! (Daughter of Chamar with the name of Rajrani [chief queen]!)

The hidden meaning of this saying is that a Chamar cannot even name his daughter sophisticatedly. So stigmatic is the meaning of this saying that it is often used by the caste Hindus to ridicule their own girls who behave a bit extrovertly. Similarly, Chappal par Chamain chale, sandal par Dhobiniya, Hai mor Rama badal gail duniya (The Chamarin [the Chamar woman] walks in slippers; the Dhobinya [the washerwoman] in sandals, Oh my Rama! The world has changed.)

This means that the dalit women should not wear even slippers, because traditionally she was not allowed to do so, and, if she has started doing so, the times have changed.

16

Vivek Kumar Kya chori Cahmari karte ho? (Do you practise theft and Chamari?) Humko chor Chmar mat samajho! (Do not mistake me for thief or Chamar!)

In both these cases, the meaning of ‘theft’ and ‘thief ’ is clear, but how can we explain the meaning of Chamari and Chamar. It can only be said that these terms have a latent meaning. These are caste names which are self-explanatory because of the stigma and contempt attached to them. The terms have specific meaning for their users in a particular geographical locale. The aforesaid example is from northern India; I am sure, however, that each geographical territory has its own caste names for the dalit communities and sayings based on them. Today, these caste names have become terms of abuse themselves, and are frequently used by the caste Hindus even to ridicule their own caste fellows. The general ridicule can go to any length, for example, in one saying the Chamar has been compared with jackal: Chamar siyar bade hoshsiyar, Jahan loot pare wahan toot pare; Jahan mar pare wahan bhag pare. (Chamar and jackal are very clever. Where there is loot, they pounce there; Where there is beating, they run away.)

Similarly, dalits have been identified with the ‘black’ and Brahmins with ‘white’. That is, if a Chamar has fair skin, and a Brahman, dark skin, their origin is doubtful and they cannot be trusted: Kariya Bahmin gor Chamar Inke sanghe na utre par. (A dark Brahmin and a fair Chamar cannot be trusted.)

European and American sociologists have tried to lay their hand on these issues. However, their studies have not been accepted as objective. Yogendra Singh writes, The ideology in the interpretation of Indian society and its institutions by the colonial scholars can be seen in the way they defined these institutions and in the methods they employed to study them. . . . The contribution [they] made [were] not entirely free from conscious or unconscious partiality in the portrayal of social reality (1986: 3).

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Similarly, the studies on the said issues by the sociologists hailing from dalit background have also been termed as too vindictive.

Lack of Recognition for Dalit Labour It is difficult to understand why Indian sociologists have failed to analyse and record the contributions made by dalits. Though suppressed and exploited, dalits have played a constructive role in the smooth running of Indian society, economy and polity. The contribution made by the dalit woman as a midwife in helping millions of women to deliver their children has never been evaluated, neither as a moral contribution to the humanity nor as a part of the indigenous knowledge system. Similarly, the mainstream sociologists have never registered the contribution of the gravedigger or Dom who helps light the funeral pyre, or that of dalit men who work as landless labourers in fields and in industries. Not only was their labour blacked out, but also the technology and aesthetics involved in their labour was not registered. For instance, is their any technique to skin the dead animal and then carve out smooth and shining leather to prepare a pair of shoes, or it happens without it? Lest it be misunderstood, I am not here trying to eulogise or patronise the stigmatised and hazardous occupations performed by the dalits. On the contrary, my attempt here is only to record the contributions of dalits in their different roles. The absence of recognition of the contributions made by dalits for the development of Indian society has a direct bearing on their stigmatisation: they are projected as dirty, drunkard, devoid of any merit, beasts of burden, not to be trusted, and so on.

Can Dalit Literature Rescue? When there is total absence of facts and figures regarding dalits in the sociological literature, how can we compensate the loss? Can we take the help of dalit literature? Dalit literature includes every style of writing by the dalits—the creative literature, the political and ideological writings, etc. From the couplet of Rai Das (or Ravi Das), fifteenth century saint-poet, and nineteenth century Adi-Hindu and AdiDravida leaders, foreign and English-educated Ambedkar to contemporary semi-literate and literate vernacular language dalit writers, dalits are expressing themselves in every style: poetry, prose, plays,

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autobiographies, novels, political and ideological writings, and even in the form of institutional research material. These writings are sociological in the sense that they have emerged out of existential and experiential realities of dalits. Moreover, it has its own historicity, continuity and dynamism and, therefore, it has been changing its nature and scope with the changes in the socio-political conditions in the country and of dalits. Specifically, the literary writings in the contemporary Dalit literature emerged in Maharashtra in the 1960s under the influence of Ambedkar’s social and political philosophy (Wankhade 1992: 315). So powerful has been the tradition of dalit literature that it has assumed the shape of an all-India movement. This movement is carried forward by small weekly, fortnightly, monthly, or annual journals, and magazines, and the newspapers published in different languages. Moreover, a rich oral tradition of this literature can be heard at different conferences and street meetings specially organised to mark the birth/death anniversaries of dalit social reformers and saint-poets. As dalit writings have emerged from the sufferings and exclusion faced by dalits in different regions of the country and demand liberation from the same, there is a sense of unity and purpose in them. A significant issue that has been raised by the dalit literature is regarding the social exclusion of dalits in the economic, political and social fields. It has also raised the issue of qualitative and quantitative impact of the deprivation and exclusion on dalits and the contribution made by dalits to the smooth running of Indian society, polity and economy. Thomas Khun (1970) has argued that revolution in scientific knowledge comes about not through the accumulation of data alone, but through a change in the paradigm when the framework of explanation is altered or a new set of questions is posed. In this context, we can locate dalit writers as changing the paradigm and raising new hypothesis about their existential and experiential realties in their writings. This has two implications for sociology in India. First, there has emerged a conflict between the perception of dalit writers and the mainstream Indian sociologists on a number of conceptual categories. The dalit writers have been rejecting the explanations given by the mainstream Indian sociologists about the permanent structures of Indian society such as caste, village, etc. (Ambedkar 1979 and 1989: 19–26). Second, the dalit literature is arguing that the western concepts which have been used by the mainstream Indian sociologists are not

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appropriate or adequate to analyse the collectivity ‘dalits’. For instance, the class concept has been used to study the poverty of the people in general, and dalits in particular. The concept of class is related to the economic status of individuals. But it is difficult to compare the social status of a poor Brahmin and a poor dalit. It can be easily argued that the poor of the upper castes and the so-called lower castes are not the same. The causes of poverty of dalits and of the upper castes are different, as are their relationship with other groups. For, a penurystricken Brahmin begs and blesses the donor. On the contrary, a cobbler who polishes shoes with his labour is treated with contempt, and usually people throw money at him. Likewise, the richest industrialist goes and bows at the feet of a Brahmin of Kashi or Haridwar. On the other hand, the Rajput or Kshtriya landowner will never plough his land, even though he is economically broke, or else he will loose his caste. Yes, now with the advent of tractors, things have become different, but how many Kshatriyas can afford to have tractors. Similarly, the concept of sanskritisation has also been rejected as a process of imitation of the caste Hindus. Dalits argue that there is nothing to imitate in the caste Hindus; after all, every body wants to lead a hygienic life, and leading a hygienic life cannot be anybody’s imitation. On the contrary, dalits have been asserting their identity and arguing, ‘they are proud to be dalits’. Therefore, today, the dalit literature can be used by sociologists to understand the dalit society and culture. Select readings from this growing body of literature could be introduced in sociology curriculum. However, mere introduction of the literature will not suffice; it must be ensured that these readings are taught by the teachers and that questions are also asked in examination. Students should also be encouraged to take up research on topics related to dalits. Researches from the locale where dalits live will contribute in the development of authentic literature about dalits. Last, but not the least, a separate branch of sociology—‘sociology of dalits’—should be introduced in different universities and institutions of higher learning.

The Human Distress Index for Dalits It can be safely argued that because of neglect by Indian sociologists of the above-discussed issues of dalits, they have failed to evolve a strategy to measure the social exclusion of dalits in Indian society. Therefore, it is

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pertinent to evolve a comprehensive concept which can measure the social exclusion of dalits. It is in this context we have tried to evolve a ‘Human Distress Index’ (HDI) which can include a number of structural and cultural elements of the lives of dalits. For instance, we can include the atrocities committed on dalits by the caste Hindus, because their effects are qualitatively different from the general types of atrocities suffered by others. There are many types and causes of atrocities on dalits. They include murder, rape of dalit women, arson, taunts, ridicule, forced labour, etc., and their basis can range from refusal of forced labour by dalits to the assertion of their legitimate rights by them. In fact, denial to work by dalits on the whims and fancies of caste Hindus is the root cause of most of the atrocities on dalits. This obliquely emphasises the contribution made by dalit labour in running the Indian economy. Similarly, in this context, one can also evaluate the atrocities committed on dalits in the form of rape of their women by the caste-Hindu men. Rape is a heinous crime against any women, but rape of dalit women is qualitatively different. It cannot be treated just a sexual violation of a woman. Since time immemorial, the caste atrocities on dalits by the caste Hindus are often directed via dalit women. In a normal struggle with the dalits, the castes located higher up in the hierarchy try to teach a lesson to the dalits by assaulting their women. Thereby, the whole community is terrorised. The process of assault on dalit women assumes the nature of caste atrocity because had it been just a rape the victims would have been left alone. But it has been reported in many cases that the upper-caste men deliberately desecrate the private parts of dalit women to settle their score with their male counterparts. Therefore, the point which I am trying to make here is that the atrocities on dalits have social structural basis of caste prejudice. We can also include in HDI the hazardous and unhygienic occupations performed by them on the basis of their severity. The cleaning of human excreta and carrying it on head is most hazardous and unhygienic of all occupations. The third aspect of HDI will be the practice of untouchability, which includes the interactional pattern of dalits with the caste Hindus. The fourth and the fifth items of HDI are economic and political exclusions. Hence, atrocities, hazardous and unhygienic occupation, practice of untouchability, and economic and political exclusions form the hierarchy of social exclusion to be included in HDI (see Appendix I). This hierarchy is constructed keeping the significance of self-respect and life as the basis of the life of dalits. That is why the rape of dalit women has been

SITUATING DALITS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY

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given the highest value. Along with these, we have to include the role played by religion in providing legitimacy to the social exclusion of dalits and the role of internal oppressor of dalits. With the help of HDI we can measure the social exclusion of dalits effectively.

Appendix I: Human Distress Index Nature of Exclusion A.

Value

Social Exclusion

1. Atrocities a)

Rape

10

b)

Murder

4

c)

Grievous hurt

2

d)

Arson/loot

2

e)

Ridicule

2

2. Practice of untouchability a)

Acceptance of food

2

b)

Acceptance of water

2

c)

Sitting beside/together

2

d)

Entry into house

2

e)

Entry into kitchen

3. Hazardous occupations a)

Cleaning human excreta

5

b)

Removing carcasses

3

c) Removing Corpuses/Digging of graveyard

2

d)

Midwifery role of dalit women

2

e)

Butchery/piggery

2

f)

Cleaning of soiled clothes

1

B.

Economic exclusion

5

C.

Political exclusion

5

D.

Religious legitimisation of exclusion

E.

Internal oppressor in the caste

10 5

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References Abbasayulu, Y.B. 1978. Scheduled caste elite. Hyderabad: Booklinks. Ambedkar, B.R. 1979. Annihilation of caste, in Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar writings and speeches (Vol. 1) (23–96). Bombay: Education Department, Government of Maharashtra. ———. 1989. Untouchables or the children of India’s ghetto, in Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar writings and speeches (Vol. 5) (1–27). Bombay: Education Department, Government of Maharashtra. Béteille, André. 1969. Caste: Old and new. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Dumont, Louis. 1999. Homo hierarchicus: The caste system and its implications. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Ghurey, G.S. 1979. Caste and race in India. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Guha, Ranjit. 1982. ‘On some aspects of the historiography of colonial India’, in Ranjit Guha (ed.): Subaltern studies—I: Writings on South Asian history and society (1–8). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Gupta, S. K. 1985. The scheduled castes in modern Indian politics: Their emergence as a political power. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal. Kakar, Sudhir. 1982. ‘Setting the stage: The traditional Hindu view and the psychology of Erik H. Erikson’, in Sudhir Kakar (ed.): Identity and adulthood (1–12). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Khun, Thomas. 1970. The structure of scientific revolution. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lynch, Owen M. 1974. The politics of untouchability. Delhi: National Publishing House. Madanipour, A. 1998. ‘Social exclusion and space’, in A. Madanipour, G. Cars, and J. Allen (eds.): Social exclusion in European cities. London: Jessica Kingsley. Malik, Suncila. 1979. Social integration of scheduled castes. New Delhi: Abhinav Publication. Mathur, K.S. 1991. ‘Hindu values of life: Karma and dharma’, in T.N. Madan (ed.): Religion in India (63–77). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Murugkar, Lata. 1991. Dalit Panthers movement in Maharashtra: A sociological appraisal. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Nehru, Jawaharlal. 1989. Jawaharlal Nehru: Letters to chief ministers (Vol. 5). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Oommen, T. K. 1990. Protest and change: Studies in social movements. New Delhi: Sage Publications. ———. 2001. ‘Understanding the Indian society: The relevance of perspective from below’ (Occasional paper series—4). Pune: Department of Sociology, University of Pune. Singh, Yogendra. 1986. Indian sociology: Social conditioning and emerging concerns. New Delhi: Vistaar Publications. ———. 1994. Modernization of Indian tradition. New Delhi: Rawat Publications. Srinivas, M.N. 1985. Caste in modern India and other essays. Bombay: Media Promoters and Publishers. Vishwanathan, Gauri. 2001. Outside the fold: Conversion, modernity, and belief. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Wankhade, M.N. 1992. ‘Friends, the day of irresponsible writers is over’, in Arjun Dangle (ed.): Poisoned bread (translated from the modern Marathi dalit literature) (314–23). New Delhi: Orient Longman.

2 Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, and the Nation: Situating G. S. Ghurye T.K. Oommen

G

ovind Sadashiv Ghurye (1893–1983) is arguably the most prolific Indian anthropo-sociologist1 and also probably the most written about scholar in this field. There are at least two known PhD theses on Ghurye’s work, one of which resulted in the publication of a book (Pramanick 2001) and the other leading to the publication of a few research papers (Venugopal 1986, 1993, 1996). Further, there are three well-known felicitation volumes published to honour Ghurye: a volume was brought out on his sixtieth birthday (Kapadia 1954), another volume was presented to him on his eightieth birthday (Pillai 1976), and a centennial festschrift was also published (Momin 1996) after his death. Ghurye’s scholarship is encyclopaedic straddling caste and race, family and kinship, religion and nation, civilisations and communities, Rajput architecture and human sexuality; indeed, he was an academic amphibian who was at ease in many worlds of scholarship. Most of his colleagues and contemporaries, students, and admirers have articulated their views and commentaries on Ghurye’s analysis of castes and tribes, two seminal themes which were his lifelong passion. However, I suggest that the Scheduled Castes were subjected to cognitive blackout and the Scheduled Tribes were victims of cognitive dissonance in Ghurye’s

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writings. And, none of his commentators had taken note of this, which provides the justification for the theme of my lecture. Further, in relentlessly advocating their assimilation/integration into the Indian ‘nation’, Ghurye held a notion of nation that is utterly West European. This contradicts the famous pronouncement of D.P. Mukerji (1954), that Ghurye was the only ‘Indian Sociologist’ of his time, while others were merely ‘sociologists of India’.

I Ghurye’s first book, published in 1932, titled Caste and Race in India2 is also his most celebrated book, which has been revised and updated several times. Its fifth edition was published in 1969 and re-printed in 1979, the edition to which I am referring to in this lecture. The book has one chapter titled ‘The Scheduled Castes’ that has exactly 30 pages (pp. 306–36) out of the total text of 476 pages. While Indian caste system is the most widely commented upon social phenomenon, the practice of untouchability to which Scheduled Castes were subjected to was and continues to be the most abominable in human history, shaming even slavery and racism partly because it was sanctioned and legitimised by a set of religious doctrines. The moment such a statement is made, efforts to dissociate caste system and by implication untouchability from Hinduism, invoking the distinction between Smritis and Shrutis, claiming that the latter opposed the caste system, are in vogue. It is also argued that in the event of a contradiction between the two, Shruti shall prevail over Smriti (see, for example, Nadkarni 2003). The point at issue here is not one of correctness of doctrines, whether they exist in Smriti or Shruti, but one of practices in the life-world. The lived reality in Indian society is that untouchability is practised even today, particularly in rural areas, and people who practise it and who are its victims believe that Hinduism and untouchability are inextricably intertwined. The term Scheduled Caste is an administrative coinage and terms such as Chandala, exterior caste, Harijan, Dalit, etc. have been in currency, each of which had a different origin.3 The Scheduled Castes form, ‘. . . the fifth order in the four-fold society of Hindu theory of caste’, according to Ghurye (1979: 307). He admits that ‘Ideas of purity, whether occupational or ceremonial, which are found to have been a

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factor in the genesis of caste, are at the very soul of the idea and practice of untouchability’ (ibid.: 307).4 And, ‘. . . the breed of the Chandala is a degraded one and is ranked with that of dog and the pig’ (ibid.: 309). The concern here is that the Hindu doctrine of creation refers only to four Varnas and, if so, how does one account for the Panchamas, those of the fifth order? According to ancient Hindu texts, the Chandalas are the progeny of the most hated of the reverse order of the mixed unions, that of the Brahmin female and a Shudra male (ibid.). But, according to Ghurye, ‘. . . the more plausible explanation would be that the Chandalas were a degraded group of aborigines’ (ibid.: 52). Be that as it may, there were other groups such as Svapachas and Mritapas like Chandalas ‘. . . who had to live outside the limits of Arya villages and towns’ (ibid: 312). A number of questions need to be asked and answered if one were to endorse this textual explanation of the origin of untouchables. One, how did the differentiation between the different types of untouchables—Chandalas, Mritapas, Svapachas, etc.—came about? Is it based on the differences in the status of their Shudra/aboriginal fathers? Two, is it that the Brahmin women had so much freedom those days to have illegitimate sexual relations with Shudra men? Three, if they did, was it that it was so well known to the community so as to sift out the progeny based on paternity assuming that the Brahmin female had their legitimate Brahmin husbands? Four, if the answer to the above question is in the affirmative, what was the mechanism through which the children of Brahmin females through legitimate and illegitimate unions were separated and grouped together so as to form different castes? Five, why was that the deviant Shudra males in question were not done away with given the then prevailing hegemony of Brahmins? Six, was it not the practice to ostracise the deviant Brahmin females from the family and community? Unfortunately, Ghurye did not pose any of these questions, let alone answering them. These and several other questions can be answered only if one gets a field-view of the phenomenon under investigation. There is no evidence of Ghurye having done fieldwork to understand the phenomenon of untouchability. This is not to argue that the text-view is irrelevant, the religious texts sanctioned and legitimised the practice of untouchability ensuring its persistence till this day. The texts prescribe norms and values, but only the field study unfolds human behaviour: the former prescribes ‘the

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ought’ and the latter unfolds ‘the is’. And the rupture between ‘the ought’ and ‘the is’ needs to be understood. That is why, the dictum give unto the text that which is the text’s and to the field that which is the field’s becomes crucial, as I have argued quarter of a century ago (Oommen 1983). Ghurye refers to Namashudras of West Bengal, an untouchable caste who counted 320,000 according to the 1951 Census. They have experienced occupational change and a considerable number of them now follow the various learned professions. Yet their social position as a caste continues to be very low (Ghurye 1979: 317). This indicates the bidimensional status system in Indian society: ritual and secular. Thus, an ‘untouchable’ may achieve high status in the secular status system, but would retain his low status in the ritual status system. The incongruence between these two status systems is of crucial importance to understand the limited possibility of upward social mobility the Scheduled Castes can achieve in the caste hierarchy. And, Ghurye’s silence in this context is, indeed, disappointing. Ghurye divided untouchables into two: ‘pure’ and ‘impure’. The untouchables become pure through abjuring ‘beef and such other anathematic diet’ (ibid.: 322). This is precisely what M.N. Srinivas christened as Sanskritisation (1956). However, Sanskritisation was scarcely functional for achieving higher ritual status for the untouchables (see Oommen 2008: 70–75). Further, Ghurye admitted ‘. . . that the legislative measures against untouchability can at best produce a few dents in the solid wall, whose demolition requires the operation of an active sentiment of the people at large’ (1979: 330), and he provides several examples of resistance against the changes attempted to eradicate untouchability. Ghurye concluded: ‘While these gruesome events reveal the persistence of the occasional but darkest feature of the situation of the Scheduled Castes, daily and routine life of the village registers fair amount of segregation and contemptuous treatment offered by the people at large’ (ibid.: 335). Given this conclusion, Ghurye’s advocacy of assimilation of untouchables into Hindu society seems to be a wild goose chase. Apart from the chapter titled the ‘Scheduled Castes’ in Caste and Race in India, there is an article titled ‘Untouchable Classes and their Assimilation in Hindu Society’ published in the journal The Aryan Path in 1933 (see Ghurye 1973: 316–23). The reproduction of this article in  the 1973 book probably points to Ghurye’s firm conviction that

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assimilation of untouchables into Hindu society is a feasible proposition. Ghurye wrote: According to the orthodox theory of Hindu social organization these classes form the fifth and the outcaste section. They are given the appellation of untouchables because they are believed to impart pollution to members of higher sections if they touch them. But in the orthodox theory on the subject this characteristic of imparting pollution by touch belongs really to the fourth section of Hindu society. The fifth section that is now called untouchable is supposed, both in theory and practice to pollute members of the other sections even if they stand at a certain distance. Thus, it will be realized that the so called untouchables are, in practice, really unapproachables. It is this unapproachability that creates the main difficulties in the path of their assimilation in the Hindu society (ibid.: 316–17).

It is clear that by ‘assimilation’ Ghurye meant transformation of the status of ‘unapproachables’ who belongs to the fifth order to the status of ‘untouchables’ drawn from the fourth Varna! Ghurye endorsed the ‘inherent connection between the spirit of castes and untouchability’ and admitted that ‘Removal of untouchability, therefore, intimately depends on the disappearance of the spirit of caste’ (ibid.: 317). To achieve this, Ghurye advocated four steps: one, removing individual’s disability that hampers a better and cleaner living; two, enabling these classes to cultivate cleaner and moral mode of life; three, to encourage those of other sections to have freer social intercourse with these people; and four, ‘undermine and eradicate the exclusive spirit of castes’ (ibid.: 319). To achieve this truly revolutionary task, Ghurye advocates an administrative approach by setting up a central organisation with its provincial and local committees to adjudicate disputes that arise between ritually pure and impure castes. Additionally, providing modern technology and adequate training to the untouchable classes is also an important step prescribed by him. Finally, ensuring employment to these classes, particularly in offices situated in towns and villages will facilitate the process of eradicating the practice of untouchability, according to him. In sum, Ghurye advocated change of status in the secular dimension of untouchables to assimilate them into the Hindu society. On the other hand, he wanted to leave undisturbed the ritual dimension.5 Thus, he suggested: We must try to see the various items in the campaign against untouchability in their proper perspective and not exaggerate the importance of temple entry

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T.K. Oommen so as to divert our attention from the other items. Free access to Hindu temples is only one of the rights and it is not the most important means for assimilation of these classes in the Hindu society (ibid.: 320).

Ghurye wanted ‘to prepare the minds of populace at large to look upon untouchability as both undesirable and impractical’ (ibid.: 321). And to achieve this objective it is necessary to start an extensive propaganda preaching against untouchability. But in the process ‘. . . we must not be drawn into a controversy over the existence or non-existence of the doctrine of untouchability in the Hindu Dharma Shashtras’ (ibid.). It is clear that Ghurye wanted to ‘assimilate’ the untouchables into Hindu society without disturbing the ritual status system seminal to it and without interrogating the Hindu Dharma Shashtras, which provide legitimacy to caste hierarchy. I have referred above to the bi-dimensional nature of the status system in Hindu society and there is enough evidence to show that, while the status of ex-untouchables has gone up in the secular context, it does not lead to concomitant change in their ritual status. This calls for the need to locate the core institutional order in a society and the kernel of that institution.6 The dominant view when Ghurye wrote this article in 1933 was that the caste system constituted the core institutional order of Hindu society and ritual status was the kernel of caste hierarchy. Therefore, the advocacy of assimilation of untouchables into Hindu society leaving the ritual dimension of the caste system intact was untenable. I propose to conclude the discussion on Scheduled Castes by calling attention to a possible strategy for social change. Given the bi-dimensional nature of status system in Hindu society and because ritual status is its kernel, two possible strategies can be invoked. One, start with the softspot in the system: the soft-spot in the case of Hindu society is constituted by the secular dimension consisting of education, employment, political representation, access to economic resources, and the like. In contrast, measures such as temple entry, inter-caste marriages, etc. are more change-resistant as they erode the ritual superiority of the higher castes. And, therefore, a strategy for social change to eliminate untouchability may start with the soft spots, namely, the secular dimension, but ultimately the sanctity of ritual dimension should be questioned (Oommen 1968). Alternatively, one may attack the Hindu Dharma Shashtras so as to de-legitimise the caste system and the practice of untouchability that it entails.7

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Ghurye, however, was not advocating either of these approaches and, therefore, it is difficult to comprehend the process of assimilation of untouchables into Hindu Society he had visualised. He even held: ‘Reserved representation is not necessary; it is harmful in so far as it tends to perpetuate the distinction based on birth (1979: 290). This observation is not simply curious but also amusing because the caste system is all about perpetuating distinctions based on birth. And, reservation is conceived as an instrument to unsettle it at least partially. His main concern was that the policy of reservation will tear asunder Indian society through inter-caste strife and it will unleash caste patriotism. It seems that Ghurye preferred the coercive equilibrium institutionalised through upper-caste hegemony rather than a consensual equilibrium that will gradually evolve based on social justice and equality. Inevitably, inter-caste conflict is a small price to be paid for the structural change of the caste system. Ghurye reposed great faith in the ‘noble’ constitution of India that promised equality to all including the ex-untouchables. However, he refused to recognise that, in order to put into practice this ontological equality, the state had to provide for equality of opportunity, as it is a shell without substance unless equality of conditions is created. The instrument of reservation or protective discrimination is nothing but an attempt to create this condition so that those who are placed in grossly iniquitous conditions are enabled to compete with the traditionally privileged. However, this is not to deny the possibility of inequality in outcomes when the policy of reservation is implemented. To cope with this problem it is necessary to take out the emerging creamy layer among  the traditionally underprivileged, so that the benefits can vertically flow to the less fortunate among them. However, Ghurye’s hope that ‘certain exigencies of modern life will force high caste Hindus to change their attitude and practice to some extent’ (1979: 295) has not come true. And he asserted that ‘. . . social and religious privileges and disabilities of caste are no longer recognised in law and only partly in custom. Only the depressed classes are labouring under certain customary and semi-legal disabilities’ (ibid.: 302). This sounds rather unrealistic viewed in the context of the latest available empirical evidence regarding the practice of untouchability (Shah et al 2006). I have suggested that Ghurye’s analysis of Scheduled Castes is characterised by cognitive black out and this for the following reasons.

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First, the limited space (barely 40 pages taking into account the chapter on Scheduled Castes (Ghurye 1979) and the article in The Aryan Path, together) devoted to the analysis of Scheduled Castes. Second, his considerable reliance on ancient Hindu texts and not having done any fieldwork among the untouchables to unfold their life-world. Third, the excessive optimism he reposed in the forces of modernisation to weaken the caste system and the practice of untouchability. Finally, his underestimating the strength of the ritual dimension and religious doctrines in perpetuating the practice of untouchability.

II The second category with which this lecture is concerned, namely, the Scheduled Tribes, was the subject matter of Ghurye’s second book, published in 1943, titled The Aborigines-so-Called and Their Future. The book was enlarged and published in 1959 with the title The Scheduled Tribes, and its third edition was published in 1963. Unlike caste, which is widely acknowledged as a unique Indian social category, tribe is a universal socio-cultural collectivity found in Africa, Australia, Asia, the Americas, and Europe. Two basic features distinguish tribes from castes: they have their definite territories (home lands) and languages. In contrast, several castes jointly share a common territory and a common language. In India, linguistic regions have specific castes. Both castes and tribes may share a common religion; the Scheduled Castes could be Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims, or Christians. Similarly, the Scheduled Tribes may abandon their original primal vision, usually designated as animism/naturism, and embrace one of the ‘world religions’. Just as Ghurye wanted the Scheduled Castes to be assimilated in Hindu society, he wanted to integrate the Scheduled Tribes into the Indian society and polity. In this context, he differentiated the encysted tribes of Central India from the tribes of North-east India that belonged those days to Assam; the first category was to be integrated through Hinduisation, and the second to be politically incorporated through strong administrative measures of the Indian state. The Aboriginesso-Called deals with the encysted tribes, and the issues relating to the tribes of North-east are discussed in the book The Burning Caldron of North-East India, published in 1980.

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The Aborigines was written as a response to Vernier Elwin’s Loss of Nerve published earlier in 1941. Elwin advocated insulation of tribes from the Hindus surrounding them which eventually most anthropologists supported, although some had argued for gradual and mutual acculturation of the Hindus and the tribes, as Majumdar already did (1939). Elwin wanted to create National Parks for the tribes so that they are protected from the depredations of Hindus.8 Contrarily, Ghurye thought that the contact of tribes with Hindus will gradually enhance the former’s status and earn respectability for them. Ghurye provides the rationale which informs his position in the Preface to the second edition of the book, titled The Scheduled Tribes, published in 1959: Most of the contemporary nations are composite wholes formed of many ethnic stocks which had their own separate cultures before the nation-making epoch. . . . The process of assimilation of smaller groups of different cultures into larger ones or less homogenous cultures has been steadily going on. . . . This process of assimilation was upset with the appearance of the British on the scene. It is the problem of these peoples (that is, tribes) which is the subject of this essay (xiii–xiv).

Ghurye is, by and large, correct in the above observation in that most countries in the world followed this track. But there are two issues, that of size and the social milieu of the ‘nations’ that he ignored. Of the 220 member states of the United Nations, 54 per cent have a population of five million or less. In contrast, at the time Ghurye wrote the above lines, India’s population was around 500 million. More importantly, the cultural complexity of India’s population was much greater than any country in the world, including the USA. While Indians lived mainly in their original homelands, the US population was drawn from all over the world. Above all, some of the tribes—Bhils, Gonds, Santals— counted three to five million each. In social anthropology, peasant society is conceived as a part-society, part of a civilisation; tribes are autonomous and ‘Independent’ entities. Ignoring this, the Indian Constitution envisaged Scheduled Castes, which is part of the Hindu society, and Scheduled Tribes, who are independent of it, as belonging to one category under the rubric of ‘Backward Classes’. Unfortunately, Ghurye endorsed this in his eagerness to create a composite ‘nation’ (see 1959: x–xi). As a sociologist who respected empirical details, Ghurye should have recognised the difference between

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castes and tribes. The idea of core institutional order would have come handy in this context also. As noted above, the core of Hindu society is caste hierarchy, the kernel of which is ritual purity. This is not applicable to tribal society; a common ancestral homeland and a shared language are the specific features of tribal societies all over the world.9 Thus viewed, the conventional rural-urban dichotomy is inapplicable to India; rather a trichotomy of urban, rural, and tribal segments becomes pertinent (Oommen 1967). I suggest that the fatal flaw of Ghurye in this context should be located in his endorsing the view held by British Indian Census Commissioners (although he severely criticised them on many counts), who held that animism and Hinduism are not very different (see Xaxa 2008: 76–77). Although this perspective favoured Ghurye’s enthusiasm to integrate tribes into the Hindu-fold, given the colonisers’ proclivity to stigmatise everything Indian, it could also be seen as an attempt to demean Hindus and Hinduism. At any rate, the similarity between Hinduism and animism was usually located in the context of religious practices of lower-caste Hindus and tribal groups. Thus, this could be seen as a triple-barrel gun: (i) keep the lower castes where they are within Hinduism by clubbing them with tribes, (ii) attempt incorporation of groups such as Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes into the Hindufold, and (iii) maintain the superiority of upper castes as upholders of sophisticated Hinduism, conceding the hegemony of Brahmins as norm-setters and value-givers. What I am suggesting is that, by deflecting attention from the core features of tribal society—territorial concentration and linguistic specificity—and latching on to religion as its core dimension, Ghurye’s analysis of the tribal question in Central India suffered from cognitive dissonance. For example, he noted that the Ranchi district had 80 per cent tribal population, but only 53 per cent spoke non-Aryan languages, and 280,000 were Christians (1963: 127). The assumptions are (a) tribes cannot have Aryan languages as their mother tongues, and (b) if they embrace Christianity, they cease to be tribes. Both these are incorrect. An important implication of invoking Hinduisation of tribes leading to the eclipse of their tribal identity needs to be noted here. If one applies the same process to other territorially anchored linguistic communities, the absurdity of the argument will become self-evident. Will Maharashtrian Hindus cease to be Maharashtrians if they embrace

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Buddhism? Will Malayali Hindus cease to be Malayalis if they convert to Christianity? Is it that Kashmiri Hindus ceased to be Kashmiris because they adopted Islam as their religion? These questions can be extrapolated and applied to tribes too. The Nagas of India are predominantly Christians, but they still remain Nagas irrespective of the religious faith they follow. Ignoring multiple identities shared by collectivities and privileging a single identity, Ghurye and most Indian sociologists and social anthropologists believed that Hinduisation of tribes would result in a total transformation of their identity from tribes to Hindus! This issue is now being raised by some scholars (see, for example, Xaxa 2008). The other cognitive dissonance found in Ghurye’s analysis of Scheduled Tribes relates to the antiquity of settlers in India. He asserted science and history do not countenance the practice of calling these tribes aborigines’ (1963: 13). But a few lines above he hypothesised: ‘If the Rigveda Aryans came later than others, they made up for the lost time by energizing the local people, creating a high culture and making India their permanent home’ (ibid.: 13). That is, Aryans came to India,10 that they did not come to an empty space, and that there were some pre-Aryan inhabitants in India were conceded by Ghurye. But the belief that Aryans created a high culture cannot erase the facts that the Aryans were immigrants who intruded into India and the Dasas and the tribes were the original inhabitants of India. Ghurye argued: ‘To adjust the claims of the different strata of Indian society on the ground of the antiquity or comparative modernity of their settlement in India is a frightfully difficult task which if undertaken, will only let loose the forces of disunity’ (ibid.: 13). This is not a tenable academic or scientific position, but rather an explicitly political or activist one. I am not suggesting that an academic should not take a political or an activist position, but arguing that the activism of an academic should be buttressed by scientific analysis. The role of an analyst is indeed to undertake frightfully difficult tasks and, based on that analysis anchored to history and reason, persuade all concerned to recognise the merit of his/her argument and strive for unity among and welfare of people which is a political task. Instead, Ghurye took the shortcut and left the task unattended because it was ‘frightful’. Although this can bring temporary and superficial truce, as and when the wounded history unfolds itself, the emerging middle class from among the victimised collectivties will rise in protest. This is precisely what is happening in the tribal world of Central India through the agency of Naxalbari movement.

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And Ghurye did recognise the fact that ‘In all these areas the respective tribes were no doubt the earlier settlers reclaiming the land from the jungles. . . . There can be no room for doubt that a number of the so-called aboriginal tribes had lost their land to the Hindus’ (1963: 24, 25). And yet, he advocated Hinduisation of these tribes that could have only transformed them into pauperised Hindus, and it is precisely what happened.11 Why is it that most Indian sociologists, including Ghurye, did not apprehend the tribal issue in its proper perspective? I suggest that this is so because they did not take cognisance of the distinction between different varieties of colonialism. In his attempt to understand the dominant relationship of England vis-a-vis Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, Michael Hetcher (1975) characterises the latter three as ‘Internal colonies’ within United Kingdom. Homelands of tribes too could be conceptualised as internal colonies within India.12 Instead, the prevailing mood was (and this persists obstinately to this day) to conceptualise tribes, particularly of Central India, as ‘Backward Hindus’ who should be absorbed into Hindu society. There is yet another, and perhaps more relevant, distinction in the context of external colonialism; replicative and retreatist, which I have made in another context (see Oommen 1991). In social-science writings retreatist colonialism is widely recognised. Thus, European colonisers retreated from Asia and Africa after having ruled for a couple of centuries or so. But in the case of the New World—Americas and Australia—the Europeans settled down and replicated their societies and marginalised the natives (aborigines) through genocide and culturocide.13 When the Aryans arrived in India, the Dravidians and aborigines were the occupants of the then Indian territory. The Dravidians were forced to go to South India and they carved out a separate space, but the aborigines receded to the hilly tracts, and through their ‘superior cultures’, to which Ghurye alluded, Aryans have subjected the tribes to culturocide. Since the phenomenon occurred in the hoary past and as the notion of colonialism was absent in human cognition those days, nobody referred to the Aryan advent as colonialism. However, viewed in the context of what had happened in the Americas and Australia, one can legitimately refer to what the Aryans did as replicative colonialism. Thus, the Indian tribes were subjected to replicative colonialism in Ancient India and to retreatist colonialism by the British, along with other Indians in modern India. After the British retreated, tribal settlements became internal colonies in independent India, a repetition of what happened in several

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parts of the world. Such a perspective will help us understood the structure of deprivations of Indian tribes. Ghurye wanted the tribes of Central India to be culturally assimilated through Hinduisation. In contrast, the tribes of North-east India had to be politically integrated. The British policy of scheduling tribal communities and areas introduced through the Government of India Act, 1935, was an obstacle to achieve the task of integration. According to Ghurye, the purpose of the Act was to prevent the emergence of independent India as a unified ‘sovereign state’ and as a ‘well-knit nation in the making’ (1973: 110). A year later he wrote: ‘The North-east India (Bharat) appears to be on the peak of a volcano which may erupt at anytime and break the integrity of the country as we find it in the Constitution of India 1950 and its subsequent amendments’ (1974: 160). Fortunately, this pessimistic prognosis did not stand the test of time. Ghurye did not advocate Hinduisation of North-east tribes probably because of the substantial presence of Christianity among the Nagas, Mizos, and Khasis, and also because some of the tribes or their sections were already Hinduised or had become Buddhists. But he was opposed to the tribes being referred to as adivasis, be they of North-east, who became part of India only 100 years ago, or those of Central India, who were part of India for thousands of years. To Ghurye, ‘The usage of this word (Adivasi) has done incalculable harm and doing so, to the cause of bringing about some kind of harmony among the many races and peoples, some of whom have been inhabiting this country for more than four thousand years’ (Ghurye 1980: 29). Admittedly, Ghurye’s principal anxiety was political unity of India as he visualised rather than to facts of history. If one cannot ignore the claims of those inhabiting the country for 4,000 years, is it not reasonable to respect the claims of those who inhabited the country for 20,000 years? The point at issue here is not longevity of habitation but equity and justice, both of which were/are denied to the adivasis in India.

III To understand Ghurye’s advocacy of assimilation of Scheduled Castes into Hindu society, Hinduisation of the Scheduled Tribes of Central India, and political integration of the Scheduled Tribes of North-east India, one has to comprehend the notion of nation implicit in his

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writings. Ghurye had not only conflated state and nation, but also society and nation-state that was/is widespread in social science.14 Ghurye fits neatly into Zygmunt Bauman’s conceptualisation: The term society as used by well-high all sociologists regardless of their school loyalties is for all practical purposes, a name for an entity identical in size and composition with the nation-state. [Further] with hardly any exception all the concepts and analytical tools currently employed by social scientists are geared to a view of the human world in which the most voluminous totality is a society, a notion equivalent for all practical purposes to the concept of the nation-state (Bauman 1973: 43, 78).

The idea of nation-state, as it was conceived and translated into practice in West Europe after the Treaty of Westphalia concluded in 1648, wanted to create culturally homogeneous societies; for each nation its own state was the dictum. Homogenisation of the nationstate witnessed enormous violence (see Oommen 1997: 135–59), and yet the project did not achieve its target. And, as Charles Tilly observed, “Only a tiny proportion of the world’s distinctive religious, linguistic and cultural groupings have formed their own states, while precious few of the world’s existing states have approximated the homogeneity and commitment conjured up by the label “nation-state” (1994: 137). Therefore, to treat state, nation, and society as one entity was and continues to be an untenable proposition, particularly in the case of India which encapsulate one-sixth of humanity and has incredible cultural diversity. The Indian Constitution, to which Ghurye referred to frequently and with ample admiration, did not visualise the creation of a homogenous society. Its first sentence reads: ‘India is a union of states.’ The constitution did not privilege Hinduism as the national or official religion, in spite of the fact that 82 per cent of Indians are Hindus, according to the Census of India. Several languages are recognised (now the number is 22) as official languages, a provision unheard of anywhere in the world. The motto of the Constitution is ‘unity in diversity’, and the advocacy of assimilation and integration championed by Ghurye is patently antithetical to India’s Constitution. Ghurye (1968) is absolutely right in holding that society is not a mere aggregation of individuals, but an organic unity built through interpersonal and individual group relations. Thus viewed, India encapsulates several ‘societies’ within it and its organic unity can be established only through non-primordial, that is, civil ties.15

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There are four broad visions which are in currency, but not clearly articulated, about Indian Republic which may be designated as cultural monism, cultural pluralism, cultural federalism and cultural subalternism (see Oommen 2004b). According to cultural monists, the critical marker of Indian society is religion. Religious nationalism is central in this vision of India. As a part of Hindu consolidation, the traditionally underprivileged cultural subalternists—Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes—are being incorporated into the Hindu mainstream. But to the critical thinkers among cultural subalternists, the values embedded in caste hierarchy, which legitimised and even sanctified by the Hindu scriptures, is the major obstacle to the socio-cultural consolidation of India (see, for example, Ilaiah 1996). While cultural monism is flaunted by the traditionally privileged caste Hindus as the hope of India, cultural pluralists advocate secularism, that is, the dignified co-existence of all groups and communities to be controlled by a strong Centre as the panacea by modernists. While cultural federalists too attest secularism, they insist on political decentralisation given India’s vast size and mind-boggling cultural diversity. The cultural subalternists, the Scheduled Castes and the Scheduled Tribes, believe that, in spite of the constitutional promises of equality, justice, and fraternity, the specificity of their needs, aspirations, and contributions are ignored. The value orientations implied in Ghurye’s advocacy of assimilation of Scheduled Castes into Hindu society, Hinduisation of Scheduled Tribes of Central India, and the political integration of Scheduled Tribes of North-east India for the consolidation of the ‘Indian Nation’ is clearly that of cultural monism. It falls in line with the European model of nation-state that coerced the weaker and smaller collectivities to abandon their identity to avail of equality, a model utterly unsuited for India.

Notes This constitutes the text of the second G.S. Ghurye Memorial Lecture delivered at the University of Mumbai on 23 December 2010. 1. Ghurye authored thirty-one books and over forty research papers. Except his first book Caste and Race in India published by Routledge in 1932 and the second book Aborigines-so-Called published by the Gokhale Institute of Economics and Politics, Pune in 1943, all his books were published by Popular Prakashan, Mumbai. Subsequent editions of the above two books were also published by Popular Prakashan.

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2. Caste and Race in India had several incarnations, namely, Caste and Class in India as well as Caste, Class and Occupation. However, the reasons for the changes in its titles are not important for the present analysis. 3. The term Chandala was of Hindu textual origin, exterior caste had been introduced by the British officials, and the term Harijan was coined by Narsinh Mehta and propagated by Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. However, the term dalit was coined by activists of Scheduled Caste background and has gained wide acceptance. 4. It was unlikely that a Sanskritist like Ghurye, who drew constantly and substantially on Indology, would have been unaware of the distinction between Smritis and Shrutis and their differing positions on caste and untouchability. Therefore, Nadkarni’s contention seems to be problematic. 5. Ghurye seems to be assuming that hygienic purity can mitigate the deficits of ritual purity. But the fact that Dr Baba Sahib Ambedkar could not hire tonga in Baroda and Babu Jagjivan Ram was not allowed to enter the Puri temple contradict that assumption. 6. The idea of core institutional order of a society was initially suggested by Lockwood (1964). The core institutional order should not be mistaken for any kind of determinism, because it varies from society to society and in the same society over a period of time. But transformation from one type to another type of society can occur only if the core institutional orders changes. 7. This is precisely what Dr Baba Sahib Ambedkar did (see Ambedkar 1979). 8. I am not aware if Elwin was inspired by the ‘reservations’ that were established in the United States of America. The American aborigines counted three million, that is, around one per cent of the national population in early 20th century, half of whom were located in 260 reservations and the remaining being spatially dispersed. The Indian situation is quite different; with 8 per cent of the national population, they counted 40 million and lived mainly in their ancestral homelands. Elwin shifted his position and took a more moderate one later (see Elvin 1943). It is important to note here that: ‘Reservations and reserves perpetuated racial segregation, administrative paternalism and lower-class status for Indian people’ (Jarvenpa 1985: 29). For a comparison of the Indian and US situation, see Oommen (1989). 9. The implications of this position are substantial as it conceives tribes as ‘nations’. But it disavows the ill-conceived West European idea that each nation should have its own sovereign state. It is a fact that most nations in South Asia have renounced sovereign states and settled for provincial states within a sovereign state (see Oommen 2004a). It is interesting to recall here that King Mutesa II of Baganda wondered: I have never been able to pin down precisely the difference between a tribe and a nation and see why one is thought so despicable and the other is so admired . . . the Baganda have a common language, tradition, history and cast of mind. . . . We were accepted as the most civilised and powerful of the kingdoms (1967: 78–79). But he laments that colonialism changed all these! 10. The argument that India was the original homeland of the Aryans, but they migrated to Europe and a section of them returned to India has been in currency for some years. In a seminar held in the 4th week of November 2010 in New Delhi several historians and archaeologists argued that there is no evidence to prove the Aryan invasion of India. These arguments need not detain us here, because Ghurye had endorsed the Aryan immigration into India. He wrote: ‘It may be taken to be

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11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

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historical fact that people calling themselves ‘Aryan’ poured into India through the North-West, somewhere about 2000 BC’ (1979: 117). Incidentally, this seems to be true of all ‘world religions’. There is a widely circulated remark attributed to an African tribal chieftain. On being asked to comment on the basic difference between the pre-colonial and colonial times, he remarked: ‘When colonisation started they had the Bible and we had the land, but now we have the Bible and they have the land!’ Several tribes are vivisected and apportioned between bigger and stronger ‘nations’ of India. Thus, the Bhils are apportioned between Gujarat, Maharashtra, Madhya Pradesh, and Rajasthan; and the Santals, between Bihar, West Bengal, and Orissa. These and several other tribes, if kept together, can be formed into viable provincial states on the same basis as other states (see Oommen 2005). I have introduced the notion of culturocide to refer to the destruction and/or stigmatisation of the cultures of weaker and smaller collectivities by the state and/or the dominant collectivities (see Oommen 1986). Ghurye writes: ‘The constitution of India in its very preamble refers the country as the nation’ (1974: 1). The first two chapters of the book Whither India have the same title: ‘The Nation Implements its Constitution’ (ibid.: 1–122). It is obvious that Ghurye is conflating state and nation, an inadmissible proposition in social science scholarship. Since I have discussed the issue at length elsewhere, I will not repeat them here. Interested readers may consult Oommen (1997), particularly Ch. 3. Several commentators refer to Ghurye as a nationalist, and a Hindu nationalist at that (see, for example, Upadhya 2002). But, above all, he is a rigid statist, and his value orientation does not even accommodate the flexibilities evident in the Indian Constitution, a document he often praised in his writings.

References Ambedkar, B.R. 1979. Castes in India: Their mechanisms, genesis and development. Bombay: Department of Education, Government of Maharashtra. Bauman, Zygmunt. 1973. Culture as praxis. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Elwin, Verrier. 1941. The Loss of nerve. Bombay: Wagle Press. ———. 1943. The aboriginals (Oxford Pamphlets on Indian Affairs [No. 140]. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ghurye, G.S. 1932/1979. Caste and race in India. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. ———. 1943/1963. The scheduled tribes. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. ———. 1968. Social tensions in India. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. ———. 1973. I and other explorations. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. ———. 1974. Whither India. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. ———. 1980. The burning caldron of North-East India. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Hetcher, Michael. 1975. Internal colonialism: The Celtic fringe in British national development, 1536–1966. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Ilaiah, K. 1996. Why I am not a Hindu. Calcutta: Saumya. Jarvenpa, Robert. 1985. ‘The political economy and political ethnicity of American Indian adaptations and identities’, in Richard D. Alba (ed.): Ethnicity and race in the USA: Toward the twenty-first century (29–48). London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.

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Kapadia, K.M. (ed.). 1954. Professor Ghurye felicitation volume. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Lockwood, David. 1964. ‘Social integration and system integration’, in G.K. Zollshan and W. Hirsch (eds.): Explorations in social change (244–57). London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Majumdar, D.N. 1939. ‘Tribal culture and acculturation’, Man in India, 19: 99–172. Momin, A.R. (ed.). 1996. The legacy of G.S. Ghurye: A centennial festschrift. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Mukerji, D.P. 1954. ‘Social research’, in K.M. Kapadia (ed.): Professor Ghurye felicitation volume (234–37). Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Mutesa II, Kabaka, Edward Sir. 1967. The desecration of my kingdom. London: Constable. Nadkarni, M.V. 2003. ‘Is caste system intrinsic to Hinduism? Demolishing a myth’, Economic and political weekly, 38 (45): 4783–93. Oommen, T.K. 1967. ‘The rural-urban continuum re-examined in the Indian context’, Sociologia Ruralis, 7 (1): 30–48. [Reproduced in T.K. Oommen: Alien concepts and South Asian reality: Responses and reformulations. New Delhi: Sage Publications, 1995, pp. 21–37.] ———. 1968. ‘Strategy for social change: A study of untouchability’, Economic and political weekly, 3 (25): 933–36. ———. 1983. ‘Sociology in India: A plea for contextualisation’, Sociological bulletin, 32 (2): 111–36. [Reproduced in T.K. Oommen: Knowledge and society. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2007: pp. 21–44.] ———. 1986. ‘Insiders and outsiders in India: Primordial collectivism and cultural pluralism in nation-building’, International sociology, 1 (1): 53–74. [Reproduced in T.K. Oommen: State and society in India. New Delhi: Sage Publications, 1990, pp. 43–66.] ———. 1989. ‘Ethnicity, immigration and cultural pluralism: India and the United States of America’, in Melvin L. Kohn (ed.): Cross-national research in sociology (279–305). New York: Sage Publications. ———. 1991. ‘Internationalisation of sociology: A view from developing countries’, Current sociology, 39 (1): 67–84. [Reproduced in T.K. Oommen: Knowledge and society. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2007: pp. 111–127.] ———. 1997. Citizenship, nationality and ethnicity. Cambridge: Polity Press. ———. 2004a. ‘New nationalism and collective rights: The case of South Asia’, in Stephen May, Tariq Modood and Judith Squires (eds.): Ethnicity, nationalism and minority rights (121–43). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2004b. ‘Futures India: Society, nation-state, civilisation’, Futures, 35 (61): 745–55. ———. 2005. ‘Re-organisation of Indian states: The incomplete agenda’, in T.K. Oommen: Crisis and contention in Indian society (142–52). New Delhi: Sage Publications. ———. 2008. ‘Disjunctions between field, method and concept: An appraisal of M.N. Srinivas’, Sociological bulletin, 57 (1): 60–81. Pillai, S.D. (ed.). 1976. Aspects of changing India: Studies in honour of Prof. G.S. Ghurye. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Pramanick, S.K. 2001. Sociology of G.S. Ghurye. Jaipur and New Delhi: Rawat Publications. Shah, G.; S. Mander, S. Thorat, S. Deshpande and A. Baviskar. 2006. Untouchability in rural India. New Delhi: Sage Publications.

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Srinivas, M.N. 1956. ‘A note on sanskritisation and westernisation’, Far Eastern quarterly, 15 (4): 481–96. Tilly, Charles. 1994. ‘State and nationalism in Europe, 1492–1992’, Theory and society, 23 (1): 131–46. Upadhya, Carol. 2002. ‘The Hindu nationalist sociology of G.S. Ghurye’, Sociological bulletin, 51 (1): 28–57. Venugopal, C.N. 1986. ‘G.S. Ghurye’s ideology of normative Hinduism’, Contributions to Indian sociology, 20 (2): 305–14. ———. 1993 ‘G.S. Ghurye on culture and nation-building’, Sociological bulletin, 42 (1&2): 1–13. ———. 1996. ‘G.S. Ghurye’s sociology of religion: An inquiry into selected aspects’, in A.R. Momin (ed.): The legacy of G.S. Ghurye: A centennial festschrift (47–60). Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Xaxa, Virginius. 2008. State, society and tribes: Issues in post-colonial India. New Delhi: Pearson Education.

PART II Caste, Untouchability and Exclusion

3 Untouchability as a Social Problem: Theory and Research R.D. Lambert

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he purpose of this paper is to consider in terms of general sociological theory some of the features of untouchability as a social problem and from these considerations to indicate some directions for research by sociologists which might both advance general social science knowledge and assist the administrator concerned with finding solutions to the problem. It is not an assessment of current programmes nor is an essay in praise or blame of one or another group— these tasks are highly inappropriate for an outsider. First a definition: Social problems are sets of social practices and conditions characteristic of a major segment of a society which contravene the official norms and  which the legitimized spokesmen or the society feel must be eradicated.

Social Practices and Conditions When talking about the problem of untouchability, one is really discussing several different classes of social practices and conditions. In the first place there are the actual practices among the majority group which operationally define untouchability: prohibition of social intercourse; denial of access to wells, temples, schools; residential segregation and

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stigmatization in general. It is these formalized disabilities which the Constitution prohibits and which encompass “the practice of untouchability”. Second, there are the behaviour traits and attributes of the stigmatized groups themselves which, in terms of prevalent social mores, justify the assignment to these groups of fewer of the rewards of society such as prestige, wealth and power. Every stratification system sets high values upon conformity to certain forms of behaviour and assigns low position to those who deviate most. “Backwardness” is a general term for this and in India is exemplified by the earlier term “backward tribes and castes”. The opposite of being backward is being “advanced” and in specific form it usually includes cleanliness (both physical and symbolic), literacy, sharing and contributing to the mainstream of cultural accomplish merit, and exercising political or economic power. It is difficult for a society to alter its fundamental value system, although current amelioration programs attempt to do this in regard to ritual impurity, interestingly enough by labelling religious discrimination as “backward.” Ordinarily the value system which lies behind the stratification hierarchy remains relatively intact and those who attempt to “uplift” (i.e., raise in the stratification system) the problem groups do several things simultaneously. They attempt to prove that the negative stereotypes are not true, or perhaps that all stereotyping is bad and individuals should be treated as individuals. They attempt to show that those negatively valued traits which are in fact held by the problem groups are the consequence of poverty and exclusion from the major society. They attempt to provide the problem groups with some of the attributes ordinarily associated with high prestige segments in the society: education, land ownership, political power and governmental posts. The research interests of the sociologists are fairly clear. He should be interested first in the general categorical value system which defines the relative prestige of groups—not just how the groups rank in a prestige scale, but what are the positively valued attributes which those low in the hierarchy lack or are thought to lack and what are the negatively valued attributes which they are thought to possess. In framing research hypotheses in this area, the analyst must break omnibus terms into their operational components. For instance, it is clear that while poverty is in general negatively valued, it is not so for ascetics and in fact great wealth is often viewed with suspicion and disapprobation. Moreover, the removal of poverty alone without a change in other behaviour traits common

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among groups currently in the poverty class tends to bring social disapproval. While it is true that those high in the stratification system are not usually poverty stricken, the converse is not necessarily true that except for poverty those low in the status system would be treated as equals. One wonders how Cinderella fitted into the castle once she got there. In popular philosophy the relationship between poverty and social status is far too simple. In addition to poverty, the other attributes must be operationally defined before they can be subject to research. The sociologist might also concern himself with the discovery of strategic variables which will most rapidly raise the status of the lower groups. Should the whole depressed community be raised by small gradual steps or is it more efficient to select a few individuals from the lowest groups and place them in the highest positions in the society both to combat stereotypes of innate inferiority and to provide internal leadership for the groups? Finally, the sociologist might analyse the forms of behaviour among the individuals in the larger society which mark their relations with status inferiors. He should be particularly interested in the system of sanctions which is used to penalize attempts of the low status groups to climb up the hierarchy and to reward those who remain quietly in their low position. Here again strategic points for change should be noted.

Major Segment of Society Different social problems involve different sections of a society, these sections varying in size, functional position and homogeneity. Most of the social problems we encounter in western societies affect relatively small segments of the population which are functionally unimportant or actively dysfunctional and which are composed of individuals otherwise disparate in their social characteristics. Divorce, crime, juvenile delinquency, alcoholism, mental illness and even poverty fit this characterization. They affect “major segments” only because the deviations from the norms of society are so sharp and attract such strong moral sanctions that society must somehow attend to them. In the case of untouchability, the problem is very different. The problem group is not numerically small, nor is it functionally unimportant or dysfunctional. When viewed in terms other than the extremes of untouchability, the cut-off point

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becomes blurred and the problem group encompasses the whole lower end of the stratification system. A good illustration of this is found in the report of the Backward Classes Commission where the general procedure was to accept the previous list of Scheduled Castes and Tribes which purported to include those who suffered from untouchability per se and add to it a list of “other backward classes” defined according to various social characteristics indicating a disproportionately low share in the distribution of social and economic rewards. This group was officially estimated at about 32 per cent of the total population. To see the broad net cast by the Commission, consider the following definition of other backward classes. “those who do not command a large amount of influence; those who do not command a large amount of natural resources, such as lands, mines, forests, money or industrial undertakings; those who live in unsanitary surroundings and in ill-ventilated houses; those who are nomadic; those who live by begging and other unwholesome means; those who are agricultural labourers or those who practise unremunerative occupations without any means to enter better paying professions; and those who on account of poverty, ignorance or other social disabilities are unable to educate themselves or produce sufficient leadership, are all backward. The communities, classes or social groups who occupy an inferior social position in relation to the upper castes and who answer the above description or at least major sections of such communities or classes as answer the above description, naturally come under the category of Other Backward Classes.” (Vol. I, p. 46).

To an American this approach is reminiscent of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s oft-quoted remark that one-third of the nation (U.S.A.) was ill-housed, ill-clothed and ill-fed. Under such a conception the social problem becomes the general one of levelling the society by treating inequalities as inequities, and by raising the standard of living of the entire society. In the face of such a task sociologists feel exhilarated but lost, and usually abandon the field to the more sure-footed economists. It does seem, however, that particularly in India the sociologist has several important contributions to make. He should first distinguish the sub-groups herded together under the single umbrella category of backwardness. That they are not otherwise homogeneous is apparent at a glance. Particularly must he combat the notion that the backward classes are composed of groups without internal structure, without their own norms of behaviour and patterns of life. The entry of new patterns must displace or alter the old, and particularly at the lower levels, the old

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patterns tend to be quite resistant to change. He should emerge with a typology of groups defined on structural criteria relevant to their upward mobility and not on economic or ethnographic criteria alone. A special part of these studies should involve the examination of the functional relationships which exist between these sub-groups and the elements of the major society which surround them. It is apparent that these lower elements perform important economic and social functions and are bound in complex webs of interrelationship such as the jajmani or balutedar systems and in the organization of agriculture to maximize the usefulness of landless agricultural labour. Satisfactory alternative solutions must be found for the functional needs which these groups at present fulfill.

Official Norms The term norm signifies a prescribed pattern of behaviour and the phrase “official norms” is used to indicate the rigidly prescribed definitions of ideal behaviour etched in black and white as contrasted with the broad band of norms, more gray, which guide the day-to-day behaviour of most members of a society. It also serves to distinguish between norms within a group, such as criminals, which may be at sharp variance with those of the larger society. As has been noted above, most social problems the sociologist has to deal with are clear violations of official norms. All norms, however, vary in at least the following characteristics; specificity, universality, rigidity and the strength of the attached sanctions. In the case of untouchability we have one highly diffuse and generalized norm (equalitarianism) opposed to a complex set of specific norms defining not only the forms of avoidance but a host of other rigidly defined norms covering a wide variety of inter-personal relations and roles. The rules of behaviour prescribed for these low in the social hierarchy not only symbolize their inferior position but also impel these groups to perform some of the necessary but stigmatized social and economic roles with little or no compensation in prestige or pay. These norms may be negative such as prohibition of temple entry or use of the main village well, or positive indicating that such and such a group will perform the function of scavenging, sweeping, leather work, etc. It should not be assumed that these norms are held only by the higher caste groups; many of them are internalized by the communities to which they apply and need no

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outside pressure to enforce them. The displacement of a complex of specific norms by a highly diffuse norm requires that the latter be translated in turn into a set of specific norms and the battle for displacement usually is at the level of a struggle over each of the specific norms. In the case of untouchability, there is even some doubt as to whether the general equalitarian norm is widely subscribed to and there are relatively few specific norms which positively define equalitarian behaviour. The greatest hope appears to be that the discriminatory norms will become not displaced but irrelevant. This is what is usually meant by the observation that untouchability is a village problem. In the urban areas many of the old norms and functional relationships which marked untouchability have lost their meaning. It is also likely that the general equalitarian norm has wider acceptance in the urban than the rural area. In research, the sociologist might well concentrate upon defining the specific norms and functional relationships which apply at the lower levels of the stratification system. Clusters of norms should be sought both by seeing which norms tend to be found together in a wide variety of circumstances and by seeing which norms tend to change when other specific norms are changed. He should be alert to the development of new norms in the urban areas which reinforce or oppose obsolete village norms. He should seek to transform the generalized equalitarian norm into more specific, positive norms and in controlled situations attempt to discover the most effective means of substituting one set of norms for another. He should be concerned with systems of sanctions which are used to enforce the norms currently in existence and possible sets of sanctions which can be applied to newer sets of norms. Finally, and more generally, he should attempt to make a mapping of each norm, its variations, the number of people to which it applies, functional role it performs, and the extent to which it can be displaced.

Legitimized Spokesmen The term “legitimized spokesmen of the society” refers to the arbiters of official norms whom society recognizes for one reason or another as competent to speak for it in defining norms. In a highly formalized society, the legitimatised spokesmen will be individuals filling institutional positions such as government officials, clergymen or religious leaders. In less formalized societies they will be what are called “influentials” who

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possess highly valued attributes such as age, wealth, education, spiritual attainment and family position. The extent to which all members of the society agree upon the legitimized spokesmen is one index of the integration of that society. The problem with respect to untouchability in India is immediately apparent. In the first place, few spokesmen can effectively speak for a very large segment of society, hence the introduction of planned change becomes exceedingly difficult. Not only are the institutionalized spokesmen few, but different sets of spokesmen are influential in determining norms for small groups only or for highly specialized forms of behaviour. The one highly centralized social institution with a universally recognized process for legitimatizing leaders is the government and hence it is the one most frequently called upon to introduce social changes in everything from economic patterns to calendar reform to removal of untouchability. Its centralization, however, makes it far removed from the local situations in which untouchability operates. Moreover, the proper sphere of governmental influence as conceived in the villages does not include the regulation of social behaviour. Government efforts are bound to be greatly attenuated by the time they reach the village level where they must somehow reach and convince the appropriate influentials who are by no means clearly defined. This is not to say that governmental efforts are of no avail. Government exercises the very considerable sanctioning power of the courts and the police, and discriminatory economic legislation. They currently have high prestige and exhortations from such a prestigious source must at least reinforce those in local situations who favour the removal of untouchability. And finally, they have at their command a series of rewards which they can distribute in a discriminatory manner to indirectly affect the socioeconomic status of the lower groups. Primary among these is scholarships, but the list also includes the extension of credit facilities, and a disproportionate share of economic development funds. So effective are these rewards that a number of Brahmins in my sample of Poona labour, when asked what castes they thought had the best chances for advancement in life mentioned Harijans above all others and specified nonBrahmin as a general preferred category. The sociologist’s task, then, is the identification of these legitimized spokesmen who are influential in the value system lying behind stratification and describing and classifying the ways in which their influence operates in maintaining and changing norms. This involves more than a general study of village leadership. It calls for focused studies of those

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leaders whose influence is important in this particular social problem and the most effective means of reaching them. As a corollary, the sociologist should seek ways of detecting and strengthening the position of those already committed to the equalitarian ethic as this may be easier than converting those with a vested interest in the present stratification norms. In summary, then, the sociologist needs to undertake studies pinpointing the social characteristics and conditions of various subgroups lying at the bottom of the stratification system, clarify the relationships between the segments of society, study the behavioral norms which underwrite the untouchability system, and discover the legitimized spokesmen relevant to the alteration of these norms. These are no easy tasks.

Note *Read at the Fifth Annual symposium of the Society held on 23rd March 1957.

4 Untouchability—A Myth or a Reality: A Study of Interaction between Scheduled Castes and Brahmins in a Western U.P. Village S.S. Sharma

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n attempt is made in this paper to identify the pattern of interaction between the upper caste and the ‘untouchables’ or the scheduled castes. The specific questions are:- What is the pattern of interaction between the Brahmins and the Harijans as perceived by each of the communities? What is the extent of initiation for mutual interaction in both the castes? Which of the social situations in public and private arc preferred for acceptance by each caste? What are the social factors which account for untouchability as perceived by each caste? A number of sociologists have indicated, directly or indirectly, the need for such a study. To mention a few, Beteille (1969: 101) points out in qualitative terms: ‘There are as yet too many cultural differences between them: Harijan and the upper caste’. Desai (1976: 10), while focusing upon untouchability in rural Gujarat mentioned ‘Both from the point of view of the correctness of the information and the analysis, the enquiry with the Savarna informants is necessary’. The second source of inspiration for such a study is Article 17 of the Constitution of

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India which declares the removal of untouchability and, as such, that untouchability is a myth. This provided an occasion for an empirical examination of the social phenomenon of untouchability. Untouchability has received sufficient attention by historians, legal experts, politicians and sociologists from India and abroad. Their major concerns have been the explanation of untouchability, its continuity and change, acceptance or non-acceptance of the modern institutions by the scheduled castes, the factors accounting for it and the emerging pattern of inter-relations. Historians and sociologists have shown a consensus on religion as an explaining factor for untouchability. Dumont (1970: 47) a French anthropologist considers specialization in impure tasks as one of the significant factors. Sharma (1980) a noted Indian historian noted that indoctrination of the masses in the theory of karma has led to the preservation of the Varna system and thus the low status of the Sudras. Continuity and change have been problems of concern to the social scientists and their findings present diverse patterns of continuity and change. Some have noted significantly that untouchability persists, for example, Kagzi (1976: 224), Jagjivan Ram (1980) and Ambedkar (1970). Kagzi (1976: 224) examined the role of law in bringing change in the status of ‘untouchables’ and found it ineffective. Jagjivan Ram (1980: 116), the veteran politician and the Harijan leader, noted the unchanging lot of the scheduled castes and suggested, as is usual with the politicians, that only the Government, Government owned Corporations and undertakings, can guide them (‘untouchables”) and can provide such help. Ambedkar (1970), the Messiah of the Sudras and a man of creative imagination, disagrees with all these measures and argues that emancipation of Sudras is possible only by rejecting the Brahminical interpretation of the religious texts and through re-examination of the same with an open mind. On the other hand, there are some who have identified change in the status of untouchables, for example Beteille (1969), Ghurye (1969), Kamble (1979), Patwardhan (1975), Mayer (1970). Beteille (1969: 101) analysed the impact of the political, economic and social forces upon untouchability and noted that the social distance between the upper castes and the scheduled castes has been progressively narrowed. Ghurye (1969: 460) concluded that modern institutions have latently resulted in the creation of a pluralist society in India. Kamble (1979: 287) emphasized the vital role of economic independence. Patwardhan (1973: 203) conducted a study of relationship between upper and lower

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castes in Maharashtra and concluded thus: ‘No longer can the lower castes be forced to do certain types of work by higher castes, with the value sanctions of Hindu society behind them’. In another study in Madhya Pradesh. Mayer (1970: 52) noted that the upper castes seem to be compromising with the low castes by according them equal status. Chauhan et al. (1975) conducted a study of students at the Higher Secondary level and found that the frequency of visits by upper caste fellow students to the houses ‘untouchables’ was less. Isaacs (1965) as well as Kamble (1979) examined the role of the rise in the economic level of the scheduled castes. They differ significantly in their conclusions. While Isaacs (1965: 168) in his study in Maharashtra observed that “it remains clear that the rising ex-untouchables’ problems will not be met by rupees alone”, Kamble (1979: 283) on the contrary concludes that rise in economic status contributes to raising the social status of the ‘untouchables’. With the introduction of modern institutions in India, the Indian social system has given rise to a question in regard to the pattern of response of different castes and classes towards them. Desai (1976) has addressed himself to this question and found that in rural Gujarat the ‘untouchables’ have shown a positive response. The emerging pattern of relationship between the upper castes and the ‘untouchables’ has attracted the attention of Senart (1975) and Kamble (1981), and they have arrived at contradictory-findings. Senart finds harmonious relations and Kamble compiled the atrocities on scheduled castes committed by the caste Hindus from 15th August, 1947 to 15th August, 1979. The review of literature indicates that the phenomenon of untouchability has been treated in isolation from its relationship with the upper castes. Little attempt has been made to view it from such an interaction. Thus the present study proposes to use an interactional approach for the purpose of exploring the existing relations. The assumption is that so long as the upper castes feel polluted by a bodily contact of the scheduled caste, whether in public or private places, the scheduled castes are in effect ‘untouchables’. Since it is an exploratory study, 30 heads of households of each of the castes, Brahmin and scheduled castes, were interviewed. The respondents were selected on the basis of their preparedness to grant interviews. This became necessary, because it is too sensitive an area of enquiry in the

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village. Of the respondents, however, 4 scheduled castes and 3 Brahmins refused to answer one question; 2 scheduled castes declined at another stage and three Brahmins and two scheduled castes dropped out at the last stage of the survey. The Brahmin caste was selected on the basis of the researcher’s own experience as a rural Brahmin that in case the Brahmins show flexibility in observing untouchability, perhaps the other castes would follow. A small schedule of 10 questions was prepared for the purpose. The questions in the schedule were explained to the respondents to their best satisfaction, so that reliable information might be obtained. The systematic information was supplemented by asking the respondents to narrate the most remarkable events of untouchability which they experienced in their life. The field work was done during June, July, and August 1984. The study was conducted in Machhra Village, described below.

Village The village of Machhra is situated at a distance of about 20 Km. horn Meerut on the Meerut-Lucknow Road. It takes about half an hour to reach there by bus. A four Km. link road connects the village with the main road. No sooner does one alight from the bus than the building of the Degree College lends the look of a town to the village. Beyond this, there are the new buildings of the B.D.O’s office, Primary Health Unit and Veterinary Hospital along the road. The green sugarcane fields surround the buildings. It is a multi-caste village with a relatively large population of about 2587 voters. The Tyagi caste is numerically at the top, being 22.24% The others are Brahmins 20.1%, the scheduled castes 19.13%, Muslims 9.8%, Balmiki 4.1%. Nai 3.1%, Gujars 2.94% Saini 2.82%. Potter 2.5%, Badhai 2.4% Khatik 2%, Sikkigar 1.58%. Bania 1.28%, Jogi 1.2% Sunai 0.92%, Dhinwar 0.93%, Ghhipi 0.66%. The Tyagis the Brahmin and the Gujars are land-owners and cultivators. This village has provided an MLA from among the Brahmins to the preceding U.P. Legislative Assembly. The village is irrigated and electrified.

Economy Land forms the basis of the economy in the village. The whole life of the village depends on land. It is a permanent asset with the owners. The main feature of landed property in the rural setting is that it is unequally

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distributed by planning or otherwise. Landownership has been the privilege of higher castes, barring a few exceptions of Harijans. This village is not typical in this sense. The Survey of 30 families of Brahmin caste revealed that on an average a Brahmin household holds 30 bighas of land and its range varies from 10–80 bighas. On the other hand, scheduled caste households own eight bighas of land on an average and the range varies between live and 14 bighas. It is significant to bear in mind this glaring economic disparity between these two groups, particularly with respect to landed property. Even one of the scheduled castes is either an agricultural labourer or an unskilled mason, or a rope-maker or a cot-weaver. His earnings are insufficient by any criterion. He lives in unhygienic conditions with inadequate accommodation. It is relevant to mention that this village has educational facilities from elemental”) to graduate level. Among the schedule caste respondents, about a half (13) are illiterate, and almost the same (12) have primary education and only one tenth have gone upto Junior High School. And there ends the level of their educational achievement. On the other hand, of the 28 Brahmin respondents about one-fifth (6) are illiterate, 12 are primary, five are Junior High School, three are High School, one is B. A. and one is M. A. The age range of both the caste groups remaining the same the disparities in ‘their educational attainments are significant. The educational achievements of the two castes may be compared at other levels too. In all 27 scheduled caste boys have been reported as engaged in their studies. Of them, 20 are in Primary, Junior High School, or High School classes and only one has studied beyond and he too is in the Intermediate class. In the case of the Brahmin caste 28 boys are studying at different levels. The range also is wider as 20 of them are up to High School classes, two are in Intermediate, four are in Graduate and two in Post Graduate classes. The Brahmins and scheduled castes differ in respect of employment of educated boys, also. The former have 21 such cases. It is significant to note that one-third could get jobs after completing High School, nine after Intermediate, two after B. Sc. and three after PostGraduation. In case of the latter, the situation is by and large the same. In all 5 could get a job and among them 3 after Intermediate, one after Graduation and one after Post-Graduation. This is not the whole story. In the families under study, 17 educated Brahmin boys have settled in agriculture. From this distribution a pattern may be seen emerging

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that 11 boys educated upto High School, four Intermediate and two Graduates have done so. It is interesting to mention that such families have sufficient land to absorb the younger generation in agriculture. Only three have been reported as educated unemployed. One has qualified for the Intermediate, another has failed at the Graduate level and the third possesses a professional degree in teaching. The situation is worst in the case of the educated scheduled caste boys. There are 12 cases who have left education at one or the other level. Of them, two have finished at Primary, five at Junior High School, five at High School and one at Intermediate level. They are selling their physical labour in the village and report themselves as unemployed. It may be mentioned in this context that in general the scheduled caste boys finish their education at High School level or even below it and only a few continue beyond. The educational policy makers have to keep in mind whether some institutional changes in the system of education can be introduced in this teaching period to arrest the rise in the rate of unemployment of the educated scheduled caste boys. The most surprising consequences of the existing’ educational system, both for Brahmin and scheduled caste boys, are that they work for jobs and none of the  educated or those being educated reported any interest in selfemployment. Whether so many jobs would be made available is anybody’s guess.

Untouchability Information was obtained from the respondents along two lines: One by studying a few cases according to case study ‘method; second, by posing certain specific questions related to the context in which the respondents feel that untouchability is observed viz. social, political and economic.

Case I A scheduled caste Sub-Inspector of Police while on duty had to stay for a night with the Pradhan in a village in U. P. The Pradhan sent one of his sons to the local scheduled caste family to bring utensils to be used at dinner for the Sub-Inspector, who somehow, came to know of it and instantly refused

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to take dinner at the Pradhan’s house and insisted on having it at the Scheduled castes’s house from which the utensils were brought. Comments: Vertical occupational mobility is not a ladder for vertical social mobility.

Case II The same scheduled caste Sub-Inspector of Police happened to be deputed as Security Officer in an Industrial Organization in Rajasthan. He along with his other colleagues was served tea by a tea-stall boy. When, one of them came to know that the tea-stall boy was a scheduled caste, all of them were annoyed and asked the owner of the shop not to keep the scheduled caste boy at his shop. The Sub-Inspector intelligently introduced himself as Chaudhry and thus could get acceptance in the High Caste group. Comments: The urban setting is not quite different from the rural one with respect to observing untouchability.

Case III The same scheduled caste Sub-Inspector of Police got admitted to a Sanitorium at Bhowali in District Nainital. One of the Muslim employees there somehow, came to know his caste. The Muslim employee advised him to conceal the caste otherwise he would be deprived of facilities and services of the staff. He pre tended to be a Jat and thus could adjust to the situation. Comments: It is not true that untouchability has been removed from public places.

Case IV At the instance of one Tyagi leader from among the most respected and influential traditional elite caste, a scheduled caste in the village happened to invite a few Brahmins and Tyagis to a feast. The Tyagi who was an enthusiastic social reformer advised the scheduled caste host to serve the dishes to the Brahmin and Tyagi guests. At this the Brahmins

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as well as the Tyagis, but for the Tyagi social reformer, left the feast untouched. Comments: Untouchability is a reality. Food is considered to become polluted the moment it is touched by the hand of a scheduled caste.

Case V In the month of October a cultural activity called ‘Rama Lila’ based on the Great tradition is celebrated in the form of a Drama depicting the fight between Rama the symbol of God and Ravana believed to the Demon King. But it is strictly prohibited on the grounds of purity to allocate the role of Rama to a scheduled caste boy on the stage. However one of the educated scheduled caste boys was accepted as a member of the Organizing committee of the Drama Club. Comments: God is considered to become polluted even when he is impersonated by the scheduled caste.

Deprivations An attempt was made to identify the nature of deprivation as faced and felt by the scheduled castes in this village. To make the observations precise and specific, a few items indicating social, economic and political deprivations were projected in the interview situation. Restriction on the entry of the scheduled castes in public places such as temples and the scheduled castes being addressed by name, irrespective of age. indicates social deprivation. Moreover, prohibiting the entry of the scheduled castes to the inner part of the residential houses or hesitation in sharing the common cots or refusal to accept the utensils of the scheduled castes also indicates social deprivation. Non-payment or underpayment of wages to the scheduled castes indicates economic deprivation. Political deprivation is indicated in the use of force or fraud by the higher castes on the scheduled castes during elections to Parliament, state Assembly or village Panchayat. With regard to public places, it was reported by the scheduled castes that they do not dare enter the temple. It was observed that the Brahmins too are not regular in visiting the temple for worship, nor do they

UNTOUCHABILITY A MYTH

61

perform many rituals. Many of them do not even wear the sacred thread. The scheduled castes feel that their entry into the temple is not by itself a sufficient indicator of their being accepted by the Brahmins. With regard to private places, the general impression of the Brahmins of this village is that their women folk are relatively more conservative than men folk. It is in fact the women who work as a constraining counter force on males in bringing about any social change with regard to the practice of untouchability in private life and after much conflict and altercation between the men folk and the women folk, it is ultimately the will of the women that prevails. It is to be emphasized here that the role of Brahmin women in untouchability is a virgin field for further research. With regard to political affairs which fall under public dealings, both the castes—the scheduled castes as well as the Brahmins—did not observe am untouchability. Political relationship, it was reported, lather encouraged a closer contact between the two castes and members of both the castes were satisfied with this state of affairs. A more significant problem then is if any or both of the caste groups are keen on changing the pattern of interaction. To explore the extent of intensity of social interaction on the part each caste, a question was raised ‘Are you interested in having social interaction with each other”. The four alternative responses were mentioned as ‘most’, ‘more’, ‘less’, ‘least’. The responses ‘most’ and ‘more’ have been taken as an indicator of ‘active’ and ‘less’ and ‘least’ of passive extent. The results are shown in Table I. The probability of X2 (2.20) with df 1 is between .10 and .20. The difference between the responses of scheduled castes and Brahmins is so great that the hypotheses of equal intensity of interaction is rejected. It may be stated that scheduled castes are actively interested in interaction with Brahmins, whereas Brahmins are passive in this regard. Table I Extent of Intensity of Interaction among Brahmins and Scheduled Castes Caste

Active

Passive

Total

Scheduled Castes

15

11

26

Brahmins

10

17

27

X2: 2.2; df: I; P between .10 and .20

62

S.S. Sharma

Table II Acceptance of Scheduled Castes by Brahmins and Vice-Versa in Public- and Private Places Caste Brahmins Scheduled Castes Total

Public

Accepted in Private

Both

Total

22

1

7

30

7

16

5

28

29

17

12

58

X2: 10.20; df: 2; P is less than .01

There is sufficient qualitative evidence to indicate that there is acceptance of scheduled castes more in public than in private places. But one does not know about the pattern of insistence by both Brahmin and scheduled castes. Therefore, Brahmins and scheduled castes were asked a question: ‘In which situation do the scheduled castes and Brahmins insist on acceptance?’ The former in our study is denoted by refusal to scheduled castes to enter into temples and the latter is denoted by denying scheduled castes permission to enter the inner part of the house and to take meals on a common table. The responses to these questions are given in Table II. The difference between the responses of scheduled castes and Brahmins is very high. Thus the hypothesis of similarity of acceptance of each other is rejected. It may be interpreted that Brahmins insist on accepting scheduled castes in public places where as the scheduled castes insist on being accepted in private places. The delineation of the pattern of continuity of untouchability led the author to enquire into the relationship between social factors and the phenomena of untouchability. For this purpose, a closed question was put to identify the reasons for non-acceptance of the scheduled castes as viewed by the Brahmins and scheduled castes themselves. The earlier studies have suggested ideological and material reasons behind it. The indicators of ideological reasons were, for the purpose of this study, the theory of Karma and nature of food, and of material reasons were poverty and lack of possessions. A choice between ideological and material and undecided reasons was given in the responses. The responses are presented in Table III. The X2 value was found to be 11.94 with df 2. The probability of the X2 value is less than .01. The discrepancy between the responses of

UNTOUCHABILITY A MYTH

63

Table III Reason for Non-Acceptance of Scheduled Castes according to the Brahmins and Scheduled Castes Castes Brahmins Scheduled castes Total

Ideological

Material

Undecided

Total

19

5

3

27

9

18

1

28

28

23

4

X : 11.94; df: 2; P is less than .01 2

scheduled castes and Brahmins with regard to reasons for non-acceptance of scheduled castes according to both the castes is highly significant. The hypothesis of similar reasons is rejected. It may be inferred that Brahmins consider ideological reasons for non-acceptance of scheduled castes, where as the scheduled castes consider material conditions responsible for non-acceptance of themselves by the Brahmins.

Conclusions In this study, an attempt was made to enquire into the pattern of interaction between scheduled castes and Brahmins in Machhra village. The study has confirmed that untouchability is observed by Brahmins in social aspects of life, whereas it is not so in political aspects. Discontinuity of untouchability in the political sphere which is shortlived does not entail a change in the social and economic. Perhaps the social is the core and the political is the periphery for both the castes. Contrary to the widely held belief that occupational mobility may lead to upward social mobility of scheduled castes the study indicates that an educated scheduled caste with an achieved status of police official was not considered as touchable by the higher castes even in a public place like a hospital. Ascription takes precedence over achievement. Interestingly enough, the study reveals that the scheduled castes tend to have a centripetal tendency toward the Brahmins whereas the Brahmins tend to have a centrifugal tendency towards scheduled castes. Though the data are limited, it is quantitatively demonstrated that the scheduled castes insist on being socially accepted in private places and, on the contrary, the Brahmins prohibit them from doing so but agree to concede their free entry into public places. The reasons are obvious in that the Brahmins

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do not make their daily prayers in the temple of the village and those who do so have started to have mini temples in their residences. Thus it should not be interpreted as a substantial change at all. Lastly, the Brahmins and scheduled castes are diametrically opposed to each other with respect to reasons for untouchability. Ideology is the basis of untouchability according to Brahmins and material conditions are vital according to scheduled castes. The practice of untouchability is abolished according to Article 17 of the Constitution of India but empirically it is reality. It is however, suggested that more studies are needed to make broad generalizations and the pattern of interaction between scheduled castes and other castes above them in hierarchy needs to be explored to identify if there are differences between the pattern of interaction between the Brahmins and the scheduled castes on the one hand and other castes and the scheduled castes on the other.

References Ambedkar, B. R. 1970. Who were the Sundras. Bombay. Beteille, Andre. 1969. Caste-Old and New. New Delhi, Asia Publishing House. Chauhan, B. R. et al. 1975. Scheduled Castes and Education. Meerut: ABU Publications. Desai. I. P. 1976. Untouchability in Rural Gujarat. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Dumont. Louis. 1970. Homo Hierarchicus. Delhi: Vikas. Ghurye, G. S. 1909. Caste and Race in India. Bombay: Popular Prakashan, (5th Edn.). Isaacs, Harold R. 1965. India’s Ex-Untouchables. Bombay: APH. Kagzi, M. C. J. 1970. Segregation and Untouchability Abolition. New Delhi: Metropolitan Books. Jagjivan Ram. 1950. Caste Challenge in India. New Delhi: Vision Book. Kamhle. J. R. 1979. Rise and Awakening of Depressed Classes in India. New Delhi: National. Kamble, N. D. 1981. Atrocities on Scheduled Castes. New Delhi: Ashish Publishing House. Mayer, Adrian C. 1970. Caste and Kinship in Central India. London: RKP. Patwardhan, Sunanda. 1973. Change Among India’s Harijans, Maharashtra—A Case Study. New Delhi: Orient Longman. Senart, Emile. 1975. Caste in India. Delhi: ESS Publications. Sharma. R. S. 1980. Shudra in Ancient India. Delhi: MLB.

5 Scheduled Castes and Urbanization in Punjab: An Explanation* Victor S. D’Souza

O

ne of the striking features of the distribution of the Scheduled castes population in India is that as compared to the total population it is very much under-represented in the urban areas. In 1961, whereas 18 per cent of the total population was urban, the corresponding percentage for the Scheduled castes was only eleven. The underrepresentation of Scheduled castes in the urban areas is by and large true, whether one considers the country as a whole, the states or the districts. For instance, in the State of Punjab in 1961, only 14.7 per cent of the Scheduled castes lived in the urban areas as compared to 23.8 per cent of the total population. The underrepresentation of Scheduled castes in the urban areas in India as well as in Punjab is not only striking but also intriguing. It is inconsistent with the notion of “push” factor which is supposed to underlie the rural to urban migration in India. It is believed that in advanced countries with increasing economic opportunities due to industrialization, people are pulled from the rural areas to the cities1. On the other hand, in developing countries such as India, because of pressure of population on land and growing unemployment, underemployment and poverty, people are pushed from the rural areas to the cities even though the cities do not provide adequate employment opportunities. Thus,

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Victor S. D’Souza

urban migration in advanced countries is attributed to pull factors and in India to push factors. If these assumptions were true, the Scheduled castes population which is on the lowest rungs of socio-economic ladder in the rural areas, would be pushed hardest and so would have been over represented in the urban areas relative to the total population—an expectation belied by the actual situation. However, the “push factor” explanation of urbanization and the related presumption of “over-urbanization” (that because of lack of employment opportunities in the urban communities, the migrants in the cities are socio-economically worse off than the earlier residents) has been shown to be invalid of late. Sovani has adduced evidence to indicate that the agricultural labourers who continue economically the most vulnerable section of the rural population show a lesser propensity to migrate to the cities as compared to the higher strata and that the economic adjustment of the immigrants in the cities is even better than that of the residents (Sovani 1966: 1–13). These observations are indeed in agreement with the facts regarding the Scheduled castes in so far as they are who form the bulk of the agricultural labourers in the rural areas, and show a lesser tendency to migrate to the cities. But why are they less prone to migrate to the cities still remains to be explained. Secondly, the cities in India, as elsewhere, are communities with uneven dimensions. They vary widely in terms of size, complexity and functions among other major factors. What is more, the Scheduled castes population is also represented unevenly in the cities. Therefore, the question arises whether there is any general principle underlying the uneven representation of Scheduled castes population in cities. This paper is therefore aimed at finding explanations of the above two questions: (1) why are the Scheduled castes underrepresented in the urban population of Punjab? and (2) is there any general principle underlying their uneven representation in cities?1 The explanations are sought to be provided by developing a theoretical model based on the findings of a case study. The study under reference entitled Inequality and Integration in an Industrial Community, is based on a relatively new urban community in India, which originated during the 1920’s. The community is overwhelmingly industrial and its adult population is almost wholly immigrant. The information of the study was obtained at two points of time—1956 and 1969. During the interval of 13 years the community had grown from a population of

SCHEDULED CASTES AND URBANIZATION IN PUNJAB

67

over 3,000 to about 25,000. The sudden growth was due to the development of more complex industries in the community than existed there previously. Consequently, the occupational structure at the second point of time had become much more complex with marked expansion of the occupations of higher levels of skill and prestige. The social structure of the community could be described in terms of a number of hereditary groupings distinguished on the basis of caste, religion, language and region of origin. It was found in 1956 that each grouping was relatively homogeneous with regard to education, occupational prestige and income of its members. The different groupings were socio-economically unequal, socially exclusive and they formed a socioeconomic hierarchy. The relative position of groupings in the new community more or less correspond with their status positions in their regions of origin. With a few exceptions, the new inmigrants since 1956 also belonged to the same groupings as those which had arrived previously. What is still more remarkable was the fact that in 1969 the relative socio-economic positions among the groupings remained almost the same as in 1956. It is commonly assumed that industrialization and resulting migration gives rise to social mobility. Despite the fact that the occupational structure of the community had become considerably more complex, this had not led to any significant occupational mobility on the part of various hereditary groups. But there was another significant change; in step with the expansion of the proportion of higher prestige occupations, the proportion of people in the socio-economically higher hereditary groupings had also expanded. Thus the results of industrialization and development had accrued to the various groupings according to their positions in social structure. The changes in this community agree with the proposition that the economic inequalities are dependent upon the social structure; therefore, industrialization and economic development by themselves were not able to induce social mobility. For the time being one may assume that what happened in this new community under industrialization, development, growth and inmigration, also generally happens under the processes of rural urban migration and urbanization. There is also evidence from studies relating to different parts of the country that the socio-economic mobility of individuals in different caste groups is associated with the status of their caste groups (Saberwal 1972: 114–184; Bopegamage and Kulahalli 1972: 352–388).

68

Victor S. D’Souza

The fact that the immigrants in the city are socio-economically better adjusted or at any rate are not worse off as compared to the original residents, shows that urbanization in India is dependent also upon some  forms of development and not primarily upon the push factors. Under these assumptions, and gaining insight from the above case study it is now possible to develop a general theoretical model with a set of deductively related propositions, which may be used for explaining the question posed. The following propositions may constitute the theoretical model: (a) Society in India is divided into a number of hereditary groups, each group being ordinarily an intermarrying circle. (b) Members in each hereditary group are socio-economically homogeneous and different groups are unequal. (c) The homogeneity of members in each group and inequality between groups render the groups socially exclusive and exclusivism in its turn supports inequality. (d) Because of social exclusivism, when a person migrates from a rural to an urban community, his occupational position in the new community would depend upon the status and influence of his group; persons from higher groups in the rural communities secure higher positions and those from lower groups, lower ones. (e) Consequently, under rural urban migration the relative socio-economic positions of hereditary groups remain, by and large, unaffected.

The theoretical model may be used first to explain why the Scheduled caste population is underrepresented in the urban areas. For this, one has to take note of the reasonable presumption that on the whole the urban communities are socio-economically more complex than rural communities and so have a lower proportion of lower prestige occupations. The Scheduled castes who occupy the lowest rungs of the occupational ladder in the rural communities have also to occupy the lowest prestige occupations in the urban communities (propositions d and e). Since the proportions of lower prestige occupations are lower in the urban areas, the Scheduled caste population, on the whole, is underrepresented in these areas. The second question is aimed at uncovering some general principle, if any, underlying the uneven representation of the Scheduled caste population in cities. To take up the explanation of this question, it must be borne in mind that not only is it true that the lower prestige occupations are underrepresented in cities as compared to rural communities

SCHEDULED CASTES AND URBANIZATION IN PUNJAB

69

among cities themselves their representation varies according to the socio-economic development and hence the occupational complexity of the city; the higher the occupational complexity, the lower the proportion of lower prestige occupations. Therefore, again it follows from propositions (d) and (e) that with the increase in socio-economic development and complexity of cities the representation of Scheduled caste population would tend to decline. Thus, it can be predicted from the theoretical model that there is an underlying general principle in the uneven representation of Scheduled caste population in cities. The explanation of the first question already provided is really an interpretation of the factual situation with the help of the theoretical model. Therefore, it does not call for a direct empirical verification. The explanation of the second question, however, is a prediction of the general principle underlying the uneven representation of Scheduled caste population in cities, derived from the theoretical model. Therefore, this explanation needs to be empirically verified, and incidentally its verification would also provide an indirect test of the explanation of the first question. Thus, the major hypothesis that needs validation is that with the increasing complexity of occupational structure the representation of Scheduled caste population in cities declines. The hypothesis may be tested with reference to the 1961 census data pertaining to the Scheduled castes in the State of Punjab. The data however, do not lend themselves to a refined analysis. Therefore, the hypothesis has to be operationalised to suit the available data. Since the occupational distribution of cities in the census reports is not given according to prestige dimension, the major problem is to devise an index of occupational complexity. Under the circumstances two different yardsticks may be suggested. One is the size of the city. It has been generally found and is borne out by a number of city surveys in India that the larger the size of the city the greater the occupational complexity and larger is the proportion of higher prestige occupations. According to this criterion, one of the operational hypotheses would be that the larger the size of the city the lower would be the degree of representation of Scheduled caste population. The second criterion of occupational complexity would be the type of functional specialization of the city. Different types of functional specialization in cities have different degrees of scope for socio-economic development and occupational complexity. For instance, it is evident that cities specializing in factory based modern industries have a more

70

Victor S. D’Souza

complex occupational structure as compared to cities with household based artisan industries. Thus, the second operational hypothesis would be that the degree of representation of Scheduled caste population would vary with the functional character of cities. Cities with functional specialization leading to greater occupational complexity would have a lower degree of representation of Scheduled caste population. There is also a second problem that of obtaining a measure of the degree of representation of Scheduled caste population. Although Punjab as a whole had a Scheduled caste population of 22.3 percent, this percentage varied rather widely from district to district, ranging from 19.4 in Ferozepur to 29.6 in Jullundur. Within each district it again varied from tehsil to tehsil. In some districts the tehsilwise variation was very marked, as in Hoshiarpur where it ranged from 16.2 in Una tehsil to 32.5 in Hoshiarpur tehsil. In view of this variation and because of the fact that cities draw their inmigrants, particularly at the lower socio-economic levels, from their surrounding regions, the percentage distribution of Scheduled caste population in cities would not be an adequate index of the representation of Scheduled caste population for inter city comparison. Variation in percentage distribution of Scheduled caste population in cities would also be affected by the variation in their percentage distribution in the surrounding regions. Therefore, the effect of regional variation has been held constant by preparing an index of representation of Scheduled caste population which is obtained by dividing the percentage of Scheduled caste population in the city by its percentage in the tehsil in which the city is located.2 The index can be stated in the form of an equation as follows: I

Percentage of Scheduled Caste population in a city Percentage of Scheduled Caste population in the tehsil

Index score I would mean the Scheduled caste population is represented proportional to its size in the surrounding area; if the score is more than unity, it is overrepresented and if less than unity, it is underrepresented. The operational hypothesis may now be reworded in terms of the index scores of representation as follows: (i) The larger the size of a city, the lower the index score of representation of Scheduled caste population;

SCHEDULED CASTES AND URBANIZATION IN PUNJAB

71

(ii) cities with different functions would have different degrees of index scores of representation.

Hypothesis (i) declaring the association between the size of the city and the index score of representation of Scheduled caste population may be tested with reference to Table I which shows the distribution of cities in the State of Punjab in 1961 according to the size of their total population and index scores of representation of Scheduled caste population. It can be seen that as the size class of cities increases the median score shown in the last column decreases consistently. However, when the detailed distribution is examined there are some deviation from the general pattern. Some Class V and VI cities have much lower index scores as also some Class III cities which have higher index scores than expected. But on a closer examination one may find some justification for the exceptional cases. It can be readily admitted that size of communities is not the only criterion of their occupational complexity; the type of functional specialization and the degree of accentuation of particular functions are other criteria. Therefore, considering the crude nature of the index of occupational complexity the deviations are hardly a matter for surprise. Thus the evidence presented in Table I on the whole substantiates the operational hypothesis that the index score of representation of Scheduled caste population is negatively associated with the size of the city. The second operational hypothesis which states that cities with different functions would have different degrees of index scores of representation of Scheduled caste population, may be tested with reference to Table II, which shows the distribution of cities according to functional categories and index scores of representation of Scheduled caste population. The functional classification of cities is based on Asok Mitra’s scheme (Roy Burman 1971: 26, 27). Accordingly, the information on the broad industrial classification of workers in each town given in the census report is utilized. In arriving at the functional classification the broad industrial categories I and II standing for cultivators and agricultural labourers are excluded. The remaining categories III through IX are first divided into three main functional categories, A (III + IV + V + VI), B (VII + VIII) and C (IX), which are called Manufacturing, Trade and Transport and Service, respectively. Two criteria are used for designating

6

4

V 5,000–9,999

VI Less than 5,000

1

IV 10,000–19,999

19

5

5

2

2

37

1

8

11

14

2

2

1

II 50,000–99,999

1

0.51– 0.75

3

0.26– 0.50

III 20,000–49,999

I 100,000+

Classes of Town

0.01– 0.25

28

4

14

6

4

0.76– 1.00

6

3

1

1

1

1.01– 1.25

5

2

2

1

1.26– 1.50

Index Scores

3

1

1

1

1.51– 1.75

4

3

1

1.76– 2.00

108

19

35

23

23

4

4

Total

Table I Distribution of Towns in 1961 in Punjab by Size Class and Index Scores of Representation of Scheduled Caste Population

0.69

1.00

0.77

0.70

0.66

0.50

0.42

Median Scores

72 Victor S. D’Souza

SCHEDULED CASTES AND URBANIZATION IN PUNJAB

73

the predominant functional types. Any one of the industrial categories (III through IX) is regarded as the predominant function if, first, the main functional category A, B or C containing the given industrial category is greater than either of the other two main categories by 20 per cent and second, the given industrial category is greater than any other industrial category included in the main category of which it is a part, by more than 10 per cent. If any of the main categories A, B or C is not greater than either of the other two, the functional type of the town is designated as Diversified. Further, this type is differentiated in terms of the largest industrial category contained in the larger of the main functional categories. For all practical purposes this largest industrial category may be regarded as the predominant function of the town. The predominant functional types, other than those included in the Diversified categories, are also differentiated in terms of the larger of the two main functional categories other than the category in which the predominant function is included. The other function may be regarded as moderately predominant. The distribution of towns in Punjab according to their representation of Scheduled caste population is shown in Table II. The moderately predominant function is shown within brackets after the predominant function shown under the functional types. The functional types are arranged under four broad predominant types of artisan, service trade and manufacturing. Each of these is further divided into three types on the basis of moderately predominant functions shown within brackets. When the median index scores in broad functional types are considered, it is evident that there is a clearcut difference, showing thereby that the different functional types of towns provide different degrees of opportunity for the Scheduled castes. Further, the degree of representation for the Scheduled caste goes on declining in the descending order of the functional types of artisan, service, trade and manufacturing towns. The arrangement of functional types in that order also indicates the ascending order of their occupational complexity. It is obvious that artisan cities with a preponderance of occupations classified under what are termed household industries, are typically of pre-industrial character, with the least complex occupational structure. On the other hand, cities with manufacturing industries with their modern factory settings have relatively more complex occupational structure. Thus, it can be inferred that on the whole the order in which the functional categories have been

3 4

11

5 3 1

9

Service (Diversified)

Service (Trade)

Service (Manufacturing)

All Towns with service as main function

4

4

All Towns with Artisan as main function

Artisan (Trade)

2

0.51– 0.75 2

0.26– 0.50

Artisan (Service)

0.01– 0.25

Artisan (Diversified)*

Functional Types

7

2

5

9

2

3

4

0.76– 1.00

3

3

2

1

1

1.01– 1.25

2

2

1

1

1.26– 1.50

Index Scores

2

1

1

1.51– 1.75

3

1

2

1

1

1.76– 2.00

35

5

13

17

19

3

7

9

Total No. of Towns

0.70

0.62

0.75

0.80

0.92

0.87

0.92

0.94

Median Index Scores

Table II Distribution of Towns in Punjab in 1961 by Functional Classification and Index Scores of Representation of Scheduled Caste Population

74 Victor S. D’Souza

3

1 1

4

2

3

6

Manufacturing (Trade)

All Towns with manufacturing as main function

Total

37

8

3

2

5

*Terms within brackets refer to moderately predominant functions.

19

2

1

Manufacturing (Service)

Manufacturing (Diversified)

14

1

6

1

3

All Towns with trade as main function

4

Trade (Manufacturing)

3

1

5

Trade (Service)

2

1

Trade (Diversified) 1

5

28

1

1

2 6

1

1

1

11

8

2

1

3

1

1

4

108

19

7

6

6

35

16

10

9

0.69

0.59

0.58

0.50

0.67

0.66

0.78

0.56

0.60

SCHEDULED CASTES AND URBANIZATION IN PUNJAB 75

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Victor S. D’Souza

arranged roughly corresponds with the degree of occupational sub-types arranged within each major functional categories is also related to the degree of representation of Scheduled castes. Therefore, the relationship between the functional types of cities and the index scores is really a relationship between occupational complexity of cities and the degree of representation of Scheduled caste population. The higher the occupational complexity of the functional type of the city, the lower is the degree of representation of Scheduled caste population. The variation found within each functional category, however, can be accounted for, in most cases, by the variations in the size of cities as well as in the degree of accentuation of the function. The evidence on the whole therefore, validates operational hypothesis (ii). The validation of the operational hypotheses (i) and (ii) strongly supports the general hypothesis that the degree of representation of Scheduled caste population in cities is negatively related to their occupational complexity. Therefore, the answer to the second question that occupational complexity of communities is the underlying principle of uneven representation of Scheduled caste population, is confirmed by empirical evidence. This evidence also indirectly confirms the answer to the first question that the lower representation of Scheduled caste population in the total urban population is due to the fact that the urban communities as a whole are occupationally more complex as compared to rural communities. Since the hypothesis that the representation of Scheduled caste population in cities is negatively related to their occupational complexity has been found to be true, the theoretical framework from which the hypothesis has been deduced, can now be used with a greater degree of confidence for explaining the peculiar way in which the Scheduled caste population is represented in urban communities. In conclusion it may be stated that the urbanization of Scheduled castes in Punjab follows a set pattern; in the rural urban migration, fewer people among the Scheduled castes go to the cities than among the rest of the population and the greater the occupational complexity of the city the lower is the representation of Scheduled caste population. The pattern can be explained by certain valid propositions: When people migrate from the rural to the urban communities their occupational positions in the new communities are determined by their position in their home communities; since Scheduled castes occupy the

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lowest positions in rural communities they have to occupy the lowest positions in the urban communities also; but urban communities have relatively a lower proportion of labour prestige occupations, which results in a lower degree of representation of Scheduled caste population in cities. Two important inferences which readily follow from this analysis may be added. First, since the pattern of urbanization of Scheduled caste population in Punjab as confirmed by facts has been predicted from a theoretical model, it is reasonable to infer that the same kind of pattern of urbanization of Scheduled caste population would be found in other parts of the country also. Second, industrialization and socio-economic development, in a sense, stands for the enhancement of the functional and occupational complexity of communities; but these processes, undertaken in a conventional way, helps the scheduled castes the least. Therefore, a mere increase in dose of development activities would not be beneficial, it may actually be detrimental for Scheduled castes.

Notes *Thanks are expressed to Vinita Srivastava and Yash Pal for helping in statistical processing of data. 1. The term city is here used to stand for any urban community, irrespective of its size and so the terms town and city are used interchangeably. 2. However, it is likely that the Scheduled caste population of a larger city may be derived from a much wider area than a tehsil as compared to a smaller one. But this variation has been ignored for the sake of uniformity of computation.

References Bopegamage, A. and R. N. Kulahalli. 1972. Caste and Occupation in Rural India: A Regional Study in Urbanization and Social Change. Rural Sociology 37(3). D’Souza, Victor S. (Unpublished). Inequality and Integration in an Industrial Community (to be published by Indian Institute of Advanced Study, Simla). Saberwal, Satish. 1972. Status, Mobility, and Networks in a Punjabi Industrial Town. In: Satish Saberwal (ed.), Beyond the Village; Sociological Explorations, Shimla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study. Sovani, N. V. 1966. Urbanization and Urban India. Bombay: Asia Publishing House.

6 The Khatiks of Kanpur and the Bristle Trade: Towards an Anthropology of Man and Beast Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

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his paper tackles a couple of issues relating to a rather small Scheduled Caste community, the Khatiks of Kanpur, which had once been an economically powerful community. The Khatiks are a jati of vegetable sellers, pig-breeders, pork butchers, as well as bristle manufacturers and traders. The Khatiks of Kanpur city gained notoriety due to the so-called post-Ayodhya riots in 1992 as they were considered to be in the forefront of several brutal killings. Although Kanpur is a known center of turmoil and turbulence due to the frequent outbursts of violence in its history, the more recent events were unique as for the first time a Scheduled caste took a violent stance against the Muslims. At first glance, this is amazing as there had been peaceful coexistence between the Muslims and the Scheduled Castes in the city both at work and in times of leisure. Violence is also incongruent with the prevalent identity construction of the Scheduled Castes, who have until now perceived themselves as victims of upper caste Hindu dominance only. Over the last 30 years, the city of Kanpur has changed considerably. Earlier, white Zebu cows dominated the streets (Majumdar 1960), and although these cows constituted a substantial “impediment for the traffic, they were patiently avoided and their paths circumvented by the

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people. Nowadays, pigs have taken over this public space. Large numbers of black, grey and white pigs roam the streets of the city. Even in the best residential areas, they feed in peaceful coexistence with the cows on large garbage heaps which are piled up along the roads. The public ignores these animals as long as they do not cause road accidents. This is because the Hindus regard cows as ‘sacred’, while the Muslims consider pigs as ‘abominable’ animals (Harris 1985). However, another reason for ignoring the animals is that retaliations are feared from their owners—and this has been markedly so after the riots—if they are harmed or hurt. One may legitimately ask how pigs began to appropriate public space in Kanpur, and whether this fact can in any way be seen as symptomatic of the aggravated Muslim-Khatik relationship. The economic and political analysis is not so much the focus of this paper as much as issues that relate to a future formulation of an anthropology of man and beast in India. The leading question is to what extent the juxtaposition of purity and pollution as formulated by Dumont (1970) can be attributed to the relational positioning of man and beast. Though Dumont’s concept of purity has been widely discussed and also deconstructed with regard to the role of the Brahmin (Quigley 1993), the aspect of pollution in the Scheduled Castes’ discourse has been either discussed under the heading of emulative strategies (Srinivas 1966) or ignored in its idiosyncratic nature. According to Mary Douglas (1966), taboos concerning purity of matter, animals and human beings are meant to ward off highly charged and dangerous contacts. The danger attributed to pollution dominates the modes of perception, and the ordering and classification of things, beasts and men. The fear of danger itself has a transformative quality as it empowers the culturally defined realm of pollution. ‘Within the ritual frame, the abomination is then handled as a source of tremendous power’; on the other hand, dirt as a culturally unstructured matter functions as a residual category and can act as a ‘symbol of creative formlessness’ (ibid.: 165, 169). Using Mary Douglas’ notion of pollution in its ambivalent formulation of dangerous and creative, the attitude of Indian society at large towards cows and pigs shall be analysed in this paper to find out to what extent the overarching Hindutva discourse has opened up realms of aggression and danger which were formerly contained and fenced-off. The paper will finally document the rise and decline in the trade and manufacture of bristles. The economic situation of the Khatiks will be used as the background for the analysis of their ideology. The leading

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question in that respect will be to what extent the outburst of violence referred to above can be explained by the social degradation and economic decline of the Khatiks. The ideological representations of the Khatiks are not rooted in one coherent belief system but generally concern different discourses of Scheduled Caste politics and caste specific idiosyncratic notions. Concerning the analysis of food habits, it is to be asked whether Scheduled Castes generally and the Khatiks specifically share the notions of purity and pollution of the savarna discourse. It will be shown that the Khatiks as providers of pork represent cherished food notions of the Scheduled Castes which are also extended to the Muslims, although in the latter case it is not pork meat but beef. Finally, it is to be asked to what extent the skills in butchery show similarities between Muslims and Khatiks on a structural level, and whether these are accepted or negated by the latter. The butcher’s skill on a phenomenological level brings up the question of how the acquisition of this skill is viewed by the Khatiks themselves. Hypothetically, it will be postulated that their mastery over the life and death of beasts is extended to the human realm under conditions where the ideological, political and social containments are no longer present.

Scheduled Castes and Muslims in Kanpur Kanpur is the biggest city in Uttar Pradesh and the ninth biggest city in the whole of India. Kanpur city was founded by the British who set up leather and textile industries here. The 1991 Census states that the Kanpur Urban Agglomeration had a population of 2,111,284 persons of which approximately 20 per cent were Muslims and 14 per cent Scheduled Castes (Census of India 1991). The Khatiks are a comparatively small community constituting only 5.8 per cent of all Scheduled Castes residing in the city. Their name is derived from the Sanskrit word ‘khatika’, meaning butcher and hunter (Singh 1993: 726). At the level of education, average income and status, the Khatiks rank highest among all Scheduled Castes (Majumdar 1960; Ram 1988). They live in close proximity with the Muslims in Babupurwa, Colonelganj and Latoucheroad. Babupurwa, where the severest rioting took place in 1992, is situated at the southern outskirts of Kanpur city. The center for bristle manufacturing and trade is in Latoucheroad which is one of the main thoroughfares of the town. Colonelganj is a prevalently Muslim

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area with a few ahatas1 and residential areas where a large number of Scheduled Castes live. In Kanpur city, there are a number of Scheduled Castes of which the most numerous are the Chamar (leather workers, 37.3 per cent), the Kori (weavers, 16.9 per cent), the Pasi (vegetable sellers, 11.2 per cent), the Balmiki (sweepers, 10.8 per cent), the Dhanuk (pig rearers, 4.5 per cent), the Dhobi (washermen, 4.3 per cent) and the Shilpkar (stone cutters, 2.1 per cent) (Bhatnagar 1965). Earlier, Chamars and Koris worked mainly as industrial labourers in leather and textile industries. The Khatiks did not work in industry; instead, they were either selfemployed tradesmen or general labourers and bristle manufacturers. The Balmikis, Dhanuks, Dhobis and Shilpkars were general labourers in the informal sector or worked in their traditional occupations. Close economic ties, however, bound a couple of Scheduled Castes together. As the Khatiks worked mostly as bristle manufacturers, the dressing of the bristles was done by the Koris. Besides, the Khatiks, Balmikis, Pasis and Dhanuks were also rearing pigs as all Scheduled Castes ate pork. The Khatiks were connected to all these castes as buyers and sellers of pigs and pork. Statistically, this has been well documented: in the mid-1950s, there were 104 pig breeders and 335 shops for beef, mutton and pork, all located in the city (Majumdar 1960: 43). Historical evidence also suggests a close social and occupational proximity between Scheduled Castes and Muslims in the city. For instance, Muslims were mostly craftsmen, shopkeepers and industrial labourers. Leather was the domain of the Muslims a well as of the Chamars, who were regarded as ritually unclean and hence stigmatized by the savarna discourse. Till the 1960s, Muslims and Chamars were also tannery owners and shoe-makers (Briggs 1990 [1920]; Verma 1964), but nowadays, there are several leather industries in which they work together in equal proportions (Ory 1997). There is, however, an occupational shift of the Chamars away from working of leather, as a sizeable number are now employed in government and private jobs. The Muslims on the other hand continue to remain in the leather industry and are involved with its craftsmanship. In the early phases of Kanpur’s industrialization, it was mainly the Muslim Julahas and the Hindu Koris—the traditional hand weavers— who were recruited by the textile industry. When the upper castes came in as industrial labourers, the percentage of Muslims and Koris declined. In the early 1970s the Chamars and Koris worked together with the

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Muslims in the textile industry, and all three combined constituted 15 per cent of the total labour force (Singh 1973). There was also a close spatial proximity between Muslims and Scheduled Castes. There were still ahatas which had a mixed Muslim and Scheduled Caste population (Lavigne and Milbert 1983). Although that has changed considerably after the recent riots, there are wards in Latoucheroad and Colonelganj areas where Khatiks, Balmikis, Chamars and Muslims live together even today. These wards are commonly known as communal troublespots in the city.

The Cawnpore Brush Factory and Calcutta Bristle Kanpur was founded as a military camp in 1778 (Yalland 1987) but acquired the status of the first and oldest industrial town in the whole of India. It was primarily British industrialists who set up the leather and textile industries here (Yalland 1994) in contrast to Bombay and Ahmedabad where Indian capital was invested in the textile industry (Rothermund 1988). Enterprising and business-minded as they were, British industrialists put to good use the abundance of raw material, cheap labour and the availability of capital. Among the raw materials available were pig bristles because the United Provinces had the highest percentage of pigs in the whole of India (Shah 1977). The ravines around Kanpur were said to be full of wild boar, and pig-sticking was the favourite game and one of the most popular sports of the British in colonial times. This rather risky game was played on horseback with a long spear which was meant to catch the wild boars. There is also evidence of pig-breeding in this period. The enlightened Collector Halsey, who pursued the first sanitary project in Kanpur’s ‘native town’, also established the Agricultural Model Farm and introduced ‘half-bred Leicester sheep, a fine Bhawulpore buffalo bull, imported pigs and an Arab stallion’ (Yalland 1994: 167). It is a well known fact that the British promoted piggeries just to have their ham for breakfast, although ham was still imported as tinned food. The Indians had no use for brooms and brushes, and the indigenous broom (jharoo) was made of vegetable fibre. But from the 1860s onwards, the European and American brush and paint brush industries created a great demand for pig bristles. As the Americans and the British

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had switched over to pork production for mass consumption, their hogs were slaughtered at such a young age that they could not develop bristles of sizeable length. Although in the 19th century bristles were mainly imported from Russia for which Leipzig in Germany was the main market, bristles from China and India became quite popular due to the opening up of the colonial markets. The British taught bristle dressing to the Chinese and to the Khatiks in Kanpur (or Cawnpore, as the city and called before independence). As the Khatiks were pig-breeders and pork-butchers, bristle manufacturing became their domain. Thus, bristle manufacturing was a cottage industry which included bristle trade, bristle extraction from the live or dead animal and bristle dressing. It has been reported that bristles from Kanpur used to be exported to the Western countries since the 1860s (Yalland 1994: 330) and even general merchants had bristles inter alia on their tender. Although in the Reports of the Upper India Chamber of Commerce there is no mention of that commodity, we know from British sources2 that since 1870 there was a regular bristle auction four times a year in London which specialized in that commodity. Hence, bristle trade preceded the establishment of Kanpur’s first, and for a long time only, brush factory. This factory had been established by the British under the name of Pioneer Brush Factory in 1896. But in 1903 it was taken over by the managing agency known as Begg Sutherland & Company, under the name of ‘Cawnpore Brush Factory’, which continued to be called so till 1947. ‘The factory is situated in the Mall (Mall Road area) and is worked throughout by electricity: expert brushmakers were brought from England to instruct the workmen, and all kinds of brushes are made, large quantities being supplied to the army’ (Nevill 1909: 82). The Cawnpore Brush Factory followed the same pattern as most of Kanpur’s industrial enterprises under colonial rule: the blueprint, design, know-how and machinery were imported from England and set up primarily for import substitution and to cater to the needs of the British army. The army created a demand for shoe and horse brushes and as the raw material was easily available, it made sense to set up a factory there. Bristles come only from the hog, pig or boar. They come mainly from animals of good age which have lived long enough to produce hair of more than 50 mm on their neck/back. The unique characteristic of the bristle is the split end which makes it possible to retain water. Therefore, bristles are used for paint brushes also. The characteristics of bristles which matter most to manufacturers are length, colour and

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stiffness. Length is determined by age and breed, colour by breed, and stiffness by climate. The colder the climate, the softer the bristle. For this reason, Indian bristles have generally been the stiffest in comparison to those supplied from North China which supplies the softest bristles. For more than 100 years, bristles from Russia and China dominated the world market with Indian bristles forming a very small part of the trade. Although they only totalled 10 per cent of the Chinese turnover, they got higher Prices because they were well sought after due to their stiffness. Bristle coming from India was used for hair brushes, industrial brushes and—due to its extreme stiffness—even for sewing shoes and cricket balls. Chinese and Indian bristles were till the 1950s mainly black: 60 per cent of the Indian bristles were black, 30 per cent grey and 10 per cent white. The colour of the bristle indicates the genetic composition of the stock, and the fact that the Indian domesticated pig retains many of the characteristics of its wild brethren.3 Although Kanpur city developed into a center for Indian bristle trade, the commodity was called ‘Calcutta bristle’ in Europe. It can be assumed that the name was derived from the fact that the leading British trading companies were Calcutta-based.4 The special quality of Calcutta Bristle was its stiffness, black colour and elasticity. The stiffness was due to the hot climate; its colour was due to the Indian breed being black like its predecessor, the wild boar; and the elasticity was due to the peculiar manner of bristle ‘harvesting’. Originally, bristles were shipped via Calcutta but as the Great Peninsular Railway was already completed in 1870 and Kanpur was linked in 1886 with the Central Indian Railway, quite certainly from this time onwards bristles were sent by rail to Bombay and shipped from there. Although there is evidence that Calcutta bristle was already present in the European market before the First World War, its ‘silver days’ came in the inter-war period (1919– 1939) when the supply for Russian bristles in the European market was severely hampered by the Russian revolution, famine5 and the socialist economy. In other words, from the 1930s till the 1950s bristles were equated with silver and traded according to the price of silver.

Bristle Manufacturers and the Bristle Trade In the 1930s, bristle trade became so remunerative that the Kayasthas and Punjabis superseded the barriers of pollution and took up bristle manufacturing. Thus, among the founding members of the Indian

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Bristle Merchants Association were Khatiks, Kayasthas and Punjabis in equal proportions.6 Although the Kayasthas claimed supremacy in that business, this is strongly rejected by the Khatiks: ‘The Kayasthas came much later. First, they used to collect pig hair and transport it on their bicycles. This was long after we had already set up our business,’ said Satish Chaudhary, the youngest son of Mithoo Lall. The versatile and educated Kayasthas used their social acceptance as a savarna caste for their business contacts which especially bore fruit after India’s independence. Contrary to this, the Khatik bristle manufacturers were traders and bristle dressers. Bristles were bought during the winter season at cattle fairs held in the countryside. They were supplied by the pig-rearing untouchable castes but also by one Adivasi group—the Kanjars—who supplied wild boar bristles which were much sought after due to their high quality, which made them suitable for hair brushes. Latoucheroad being the center of the Khatik bristle manufacturers, and being situated quite near the railway station, many customers came by rail. They were well received by brokers called dalal who ushered them to the respective buyers in exchange for a commission. The bristles were derived from the live animal and were harvested twice a year: after the rainy season at the beginning of winter and in summer. This method of ‘harvesting’ was also known in Russia. The live pig was lifted over a branch of a tree by the hind legs, rubbed down with ash, and amidst much squealing from the pig the bristles were extracted by hand. The longest bristles found along the spine were preferred. This was, however, a painful process and the shrieks of the animal were bloodcurdling. This yelling-accompaniment to the ‘harvest’ method of bristle extracting also used to draw the attention of savarna castes in whose perceptions pigs and pig-rearing castes were beyond comprehension. Therefore, the easier method was the removal of the bristles from the dead animal which was usually done at the abattoir already set up by the British in the 19th century. Bristle dressing was done on the ground floor in the workshops of the bristle manufacturers on Latoucheroad. Workers were mostly Koris, Khatiks and Pasis as mentioned above although the Koris formed the majority. Since pigs are vulnerable to anthrax which is a fatal disease, the bristles had to be boiled first—a procedure which took at least two hours. As small particles of skin and flesh were not removed by boiling, the bristles were thoroughly washed and cleaned by the women and put on the roof to dry. Sorting and bundling was done by men and women

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alike. This was a multi-step process as flag and tail, colour and length had to be differentiated. The quality of the product and therefore the price depended on the standard of processing. The bristles were packed in wooden boxes which had the mark of the specific bristle manufacturer stamped on them. Although women did the dirty jobs, they were paid less which was sex-specific discrimination. But it was argued that washing the bristles required less skill than the other processes. Work in this unorganized sector of Indian manufacturing was neither subject to Indian labour legislation nor did the unions become active. Hence, tariffs were regulated by the contractors or manufacturers. Labour relations were informal and strongly influenced by family and caste relations. In colonial times, those bristles which were not bought by the Cawnpore Brush Factory were sold to England. This was done through local British merchants like William Bird and Company, a raw product dealer. They had their head office in Calcutta and a branch office on the Mall Road in Kanpur. They exported bristles, skin, hides and furs, and acted as quality controllers for the government. William Bird was the oldest exporter and his annals reached back to the 19th century. In the 1930s, a second British firm called Murray and Company became quite prominent for raw products. It was followed by the Delhi-based Kayastha merchant, Shyamji Mai Saxena, who in the early 1930s exported wool, animal hair, bristles, skin, leather and hides abroad. This firm had a branch office in Kanpur too. But most of the bristles from Kanpur were bought by British exporters who sometimes acted through the local agents. For the Khatik bristle manufacturers, selling to London was a multi-step process. They had to overcome the hurdles of colonial business practice where a chain of intermediaries took away a good share of their profits. First, Khatik bristle manufacturers received an advance from the exporters which was a percentage of the average price determined at the last auction in London. This enabled them to ship the goods. Once in London, the bristle was displayed in a warehouse to enable buyers to check the quality. Before the auction, the brokers compiled a catalogue listing and describing the products according to their special marks. The brokers consisted of a small group of four to five traditional British families who had been in the trade for a long time. When bristle manufacturers were finally paid, the advances and the various costs of packaging, storing and cataloguing were deducted.

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Around the 1930s, there were five to six Khatik firms on Latoucheroad which rose to prominence as bristle manufacturers. Usually two close relations, either brothers, or uncle and nephew, or cousin brothers, set up a firm together. This was done to minimise the risk and keep the family together. The oldest firm, M/s Mitthoo Lall Roshan Lall and Mangal Devi, was established in the 1930s. The owners of the firm became the richest bristle manufacturers in Kanpur and Mitthoo Lall styled himself as the ‘King of Bristles’, as the heading of his imposing and impressively coloured photograph of the 1940s shows. Being an uneducated man, he had a clerk of the Bank of Bengal to keep his book accounts. He was able to use the ‘despised niche’ of Indian society to his advantage by making a profit from bristle manufacturing. He invested his wealth cleverly in the city’s real estate, and a whole block of houses on Latoucheroad belonged to him and nowadays belongs to his offspring. His all-India fame and name as the ‘King of Bristles’ can be disputed but locally he gained name and fame, and called himself chaudhury, a hereditary title which continues to be used by his sons. The Khatiks in Kanpur city were not particularly bothered about their social esteem and advancement. There was a short phase in which they tried to form gotras by following the Brahminic example. This attempt failed however. Apart from this, they never attempted to attain higher social status by changing their genealogy as other Scheduled Castes like for example, the Chamars and Koris did (Bellwinkel 1980; Molund 1988). For them, economic success sufficed, which the owner of the firm Mukund Lall and Sons explained during a conversation as follows: ‘There is no Hindu religion; there is only Sanatana Dharma and Arya Dharma. Followers of the former worship statues and of the latter believe in God as a supreme spirit. I am Arya Samaji and only use the word Om. I also believe only in what I can attain through work; my work is my religion.’ The nonchalance with which the Khatiks ignore the Hindu laws of purity and the self-assuredness with which the bristle manufacturers look upon their despised trade may only apply to the rich dealers. However, it can hardly be interpreted as an expression of Sanskritization (Ram 1995: 164) as their frequent adoption of the surname Sonkar, derived from the Sanskrit word somkar (moonlight), might suggest. Unlike Mitthoo Lall, Mukund Lall, who also gave his name to the above mentioned firm, was however an educated man and he took keen interest in the early dalit movements in north India. He used to visit the weekly meetings of Swami Achhutanand (Gooptu 1993). After the

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Swami’s death in 1933, Ram Lal Sonkar—a bristle manufacturer of Latoucheroad—became the leading political figure in the dalit movements in Kanpur. On Babasaheb Dr. Ambedkar’s (the then Labour Secretary in the Viceroy’s Council) only visit to Kanpur in 1944, Sonkar and Mukund Lall called on Babasaheb while he was staying at the railway retiring room and requested him to visit their place. Babasaheb agreed to come to Latoucheroad on condition that a sahabhoj (communal feast) of all the Scheduled Castes in the city be organized. The narrative goes7 that Ram Lal Sonkar managed to arrange a meeting for Dr.  Ambedkar on the Parade—a locality adjoining Latoucheroad— followed by the sahabhoj which was attended by the chaudhuries of the different Scheduled Castes. Even the Balmikis who were considered to be the lowest in the caste-hierarchy attended it. Since nobody wanted to be the host of that sahabhoj, a tent was set up on an open ground. With great triumph, the carriages of the leading industrialists of Kanpur like Juggipat Kamlapat Singhania, among others, lined up during the sahabhoj. All of them wanted to speak to Babasaheb Ambedkar in his capacity as Labour Minister. But he took his own time to finish the sahabhoj with the untouchables of the city. What is usually not mentioned is that Mitthoo Lall did not attend this sahabhoj. To cap it all, those who had attended were ostracized from their respective castes.

Kanpur’s Industrial Decline and the Khatiks Whereas Kanpur’s textile and leather industries prospered during the Second World War because the industries located in the city produced mainly for the army, bristle export suffered a setback due to the war, as stated earlier. But the Khatiks were still able to produce bristle for the Cawnpore Brush Factory which received large supply orders for the army. At last, in 1946, Calcutta bristle was renamed Indian bristle. Independence brought a restructuring of political and economic relations which were influenced by international political events. Kanpur’s textile and leather industries had made large profits during the two World Wars as the British-dominated industries in the city were the main suppliers to the army. The Nehruvian policy of creating a socialist economy favoured investment in public sector enterprises and not in private business. As a result, Kanpur was not on the list of the newly introduced industrial growth centers (Singh 1990).

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The transfer of economic power in Kanpur city had, however, started right after independence with the last British industrialists eventually selling their enterprises to Indian merchants in the 1970s. These years were marked by labour unrest due to rationalization (Pandey 1970) resulting in a reduction of the industrial labour force (Awasthi 1981), and the change of transport from rail to road. Kanpur lost its pre-eminence as a railway junction. Economically, those were years of stagnation but this was not felt severely because of the euphoria of decolonization and imagined growth potentials (Desai et al. 1968) which later led to the city’s development programmes under the Master Plan (1968–91) for Kanpur and the Kanpur Development Authority (1975). Those master plans were formulated by the different bodies of planners, professionals and bureaucrats. The implementation of the various programmes envisaged under these plans was, unfortunately, hampered by rivalry, corruption and inaction on the part of the implementing machinery. Hence, the severe shortages of water and sanitation were left to be resolved with the help of the international development agencies in the early 1980s (Lavigne and Milbert 1983; ISESEP 1988). For Kanpur’s bristle manufacturers, the early years of independence were years of prosperity. The Korean War and the strained Chinese and American relations were a boom for Kanpur’s bristle manufacturers.8 Although the Americans had turned to pig-rearing for mass consumption, they did not produce sufficient hog bristle themselves (Wagmann 1952). They became the biggest buyers of Chinese bristles and even set up firms themselves in China. However, the Chinese revolution and the restructuring of the state under communism in 1948 placed a great strain on the American bristle trade. The import of hog bristles from China was finally prohibited when the Americans imposed, following the Korean War in 1952, a trade embargo on goods imported from China. American traders were prohibited from importing Chinese goods even through the Third World countries. The Americans turned directly to the Indian market undermining the London auction. This also allowed some Parsi firms to enter the bristle trade, specially those who had settled in Kanpur after independence. Being educated, Parsis and Punjabis broke the hold of the middlemen and dealt directly with London’s brokers. Still, Mitthoo Lall did not leave the premises of Latoucheroad though the isolation of the colonial channels of commerce had broken him down. He was visited by one of

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his American customers who not only recalls Mitthoo Lall’s frankness and honesty in business matters but also the amount of alcohol which both of them consumed.9 Once America started buying, air-freight became a more frequent form of transport especially for the longer and more valuable varieties of bristle. In 1968, Nepal introduced an import/ export scheme under which it was more advantageous to Indian shippers to send their goods to Nepal for re-export to the United Kingdom. So, ‘Nepal-bristles’ became a brand name and also underwent a change in quality control. Though the Government of India set up AGMARK grading scheme for cottage industry products, this could not apply to the grading of bristles. When the Chinese market was re-opened in 1972, the Khatiks’ fortune started to look up again in Kanpur city. The Chinese were able to supply a much larger volume of better quality hog bristles at more competitive prices. Indian bristles and bristle dressing generally began to decline, a fact which owes to the overall economic condition of Kanpur. From the 1970s onwards, traditional textile mills and leather factories were taken over by the government. As the British had failed to invest in new machinery, the production cost became too high, leading to low productivity, and this low productivity became uncompetitive vis-a-vis the newly established growth centers under the Five-Year plans. Although Kanpur’s textile mills and leather factories were running at high losses, these were used as employment-creating schemes by the government, and Kanpur’s labour force had a comparatively secure existence. In 1979, London’s bristle auction was finally closed, marking the end of colonial trade relations with Kanpur’s Khatiks. Indian bristle was no longer exported abroad. At the beginning of the 1980s, conditions for the bristle merchants aggravated as the Chinese lowered the prices for their bristles and literally flooded the American and European market with big quantities of high quality bristles. As Indian bristles were not exported any longer, their price fell even in the Indian market, inducing a number of former bristle manufacturers to turn to brush-making. The Parsi bristle merchants, for instance, left business as soon as the Korean boom was over. Three former well known Khatik bristle manufacturers also turned brush-makers, although the other two are still in business; one has become the first and foremost importer of Chinese bristles since 1989.10 The son of the leading

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Kayastha bristle exporter had set up in the 1960s a highly successful paint brush factory which is now catering to the demands of the construction industry in Bangalore. And the most successful brush manufacturer in the city is a Punjabi who has employed 35 workers and runs a semi-automatic plant. There are 18 brush factories in the city registered with the Directorate of Industries. But according to one estimate, there are at least 500 brush makers in Kanpur who produce in family concerns, while those who learn the craft in the factories are employees. As modern construction activities are demanding regular application of paint, there is also nowadays an Indian demand for paint brushes.11 At the end of the 1970s, a number of leather tanneries and leather factories began to modernise to be able to produce high quality products for the international market. They are run by Muslims and Punjabis. Over the last 20 years, they have transformed Kanpur into a renowned center for leather industry whereas all the traditional leather and textile mills of colonial times finally closed down in 1991. The introduction of the New Economic Policy in the context of globalization under the Narasimha Rao regime had a devastating effect on the old and renowned factories in the city. Kanpur’s industrial labour force resorted to casual labour or petty trade. The oldest brush factory, the Brushware Ltd12 of the city, also met the same fate as it was finally closed down in 1994 and its dusty rooms are now guarded by four watchmen. But the leather industry and brush manufacturing have continued to prosper.

Pig Farming in the City In Kanpur city, the Bhangis, Pasis, Dhanuks and Khatiks have been engaged in rearing pigs. In the early 1970s, pig farming was confined to the respective wards where the pig rearing castes lived. Since the beginning of the 1980s, pork production on a large scale has been introduced by one Khatik family in the city. Over the last 20 years, pigs have multiplied to the extent that it is said that this particular family nowadays owns 20,000 pigs in Kanpur. The pig-breeders use the garbage heaps of the whole city as feeding places for their pigs, although middle class residential areas where a better feed can be expected are preferred. Only

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the Muslim wards are omitted. The city is divided into four feeding zones and in each zone the pigs are marked with a different brand by cutting a sign into their ear and tail. Three of these zones are supervised by the extended family and the other zone is given on rent to a near relation. Supervision of pigs is done daily by the members of the Khatik family themselves but pig farming depends on local servants who do the work. They tie up the pigs for slaughter and also turn up from nowhere immediately when a pig is killed in traffic. Their noisy complaints and threatening monetary demands are feared by the city’s car drivers. Pigs constitute a considerable impediment to traffic and their droppings soil the streets. Not only that but any effort to change the system of garbage collection by private initiative was in vain in the past as the Khatiks retaliated immediately. In villages, the Khatiks keep their pigs in stys and feed them on rice straw, sugarcane stalks and maize. This is also occasionally done in the city to the more valuable ‘Chinese’ pigs which are big, fat and white, and are markedly different from their long-legged, skinny and black brethren with long hair on their backs frequently roaming in the city’s open drains and garbage heaps. It can be surmised that the so-called Chinese pigs kept for meat production are a cross breed with a few European species which were introduced sometime in the past in India via China.13 But when I examined their feed more closely, they were fed the same scavengers menu as their unreputed brethren. Nowadays, as the consumption of pork is of great importance, a visit to the slaughterhouse may be an exciting experience. The British established slaughterhouses in Kanpur of which one in Fazalganj is meant for the Khatiks to slaughter pigs and goats, and the other at Bakarmandi for the Muslims to slaughter goats and water-buffalo. (Cow slaughter has been banned in Uttar Pradesh since 1955.) These abattoirs are at opposite ends of the city. Interestingly enough, Khatik goat butchers (kasai) carry the same subcaste name as Muslim butchers, which indicates conversion of one section of the Khatiks to Islam (Ansari 1960). My visit to the Fazalganj abattoir was rather gruesome and repulsive but highly informative. The narrative of experience of the visit reads: ‘In front of the abattoir are huge garbage heaps which are scavenged by sweepers and pigs alike. The abattoir is a large mud paved yard which also serves as a market. There are stys all around to keep pigs there for a couple of days before they are also sold and taken away. Additional installations are a fireplace and a water tank. At seven o’clock in the

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morning, only the villagers, specially Dhanuks who have walked the whole night, come in with their herds. Two lorries parked by the roadside are meant to take the pigs to Assam where they fetch higher prices,’ Munna, the pork butcher, explained. He is an expert in fixing the price of the animal just by sight and by a confirming grip on the pig’s back. He elaborated, ‘Buying and selling is done by fixing the price in advance and giving credit. Not a single banknote is exchanged in the entire process.’ My narrative goes ahead, ‘Then come some of the pigs from the city, tied and bundled on rickshaws. The pork butchers including a woman are there waiting in quiet equanimity for the specimen they were to process.’ Slaughtering is done the whole year round, even during the hot season. The bristles are plucked out in a swift and deft motion by the young men afterwards. This is followed by singeing on grill on the fireplace and the skin is cleansed in a basin of dark brown slop (water) which is probably seldom changed. Cleansing is often done by the youngest and is perhaps their way to start learning the craft. The slaughtered animal is put on the floor for further processing. During my visit to the slaughterhouse to observe the whole process, one of the men standing around commented on the slaughtering process: ‘We do everything differently from the Muslims. The Muslims do the halal way of slaughtering so that the animal is completely bled. They cut-off the head and make all the blood come out. We prefer stabbing into the heart so that little blood is lost. We retain the blood and make blood pudding out of it. The more the blood in the animal, the juicier the meat. But, of course’, he admitted, ‘the meat also spoils more quickly.’ The processing has to be done quickly by the pork butchers numbering around 200 in the city. There are an even greater number of ambulant pork restaurants which sell curried pork dishes and pork sausages. The thelewalas and rickshawalas usually buy the meat from the butchers. Their women do the meat preparation and the men sit out in the evening with their carts in search of customers.

Khatiks, Muslims and the post-Ayodhya Scenario Events of the so-called Indian mutiny of 1857 which led to the extinction of British Kanpur’s military and civil population (Ward 1996) created the impression of the city as a ‘city of violence’ (Molund 1988). It proved to

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be so throughout the 20th century when the city was shaken by several communal riots and industrial strikes, which are to be seen in the light of the city’s urban and industrial development and its failure to improve the living conditions of the working class (Awasthi 1981). Rioting is to be seen as historically rooted when communalism developed as a force during the Non-cooperation/Khilafat movement of the 1920s, as the form in which nationalist demonstrations took place had a decisively ‘Hindu’ connotation (Freitag 1989), and as such was unacceptable to Muslims. As the Arya Samaj’s influence was rather strong on labour and national movements, it led to an additional alienation of the Muslims. The HinduMuslim riot of 1931 was the most severe in pre-independence India. Around 400 people died and 1,200 were injured. Temples and mosques were destroyed, houses and shops burnt (Barrier 1976). In the aftermath of these riots, a rearrangement of localities had taken place as Hindus moved out of Muslim-majority areas and vice versa. The ahatas got fortified to serve defence purposes. This process of homogenization of population locally was counteracted by the explicit agenda of the communists to fight communalism. The universalistic and humanitarian appeal—‘First we are people’—was to counterbalance this. To what extent communist propaganda was successful is, however, not certain as minor riots kept flaring up in the 1930s. Yet, there was no riot during partition although the ahatas went under guard. The post-Ayodhya Hindu-Muslim riots in Kanpur city in 1992 did not catch the headlines of many newspapers. But these were equally severe in the city as four days of nearly uncontrolled violence gave the riots the character of a pogrom (Brass 1997). Around 69 deaths were registered although the unofficial number was much higher. Over 70 per cent of the victims were poor Muslims and many of the Hindu victims belonged to the Scheduled Castes. The riots were instigated by the Hindu nationalists (fundamentalists) the Bharatiya Janata party (BJP) and its splinter groups which had a stronghold among the merchants and upper caste employees in the city. The BJP had gained prominence in Kanpur since the 1980s and was successful in the 1991 elections to the Parliament as well as to the State Assembly. But the most striking feature of the 1992 riots was the strong involvement of one section of the Khatiks under the leadership of ‘Kala Bachcha’ (literally, ‘black child’, a nickname). The Black Child, as this hero of the dark side was called, was a Khatik who lived in Babupurwa. His real name was Munna Sonkar but since

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childhood he had been called Kala Bachcha. That is how he was known even in his school records. Black colour is associated with low status, notoriety and viciousness, as also playfulness, as the god Krishna was also considered to be of dark complexion. Kala Bachcha owned about 200 pigs and had built a large multi-storey house which he mainly let out to tenants including Muslims. He became a municipal corporator as an independent candidate, joined the Congress Party afterwards and switched over to the BJP, although it is said that ideologically he was not a very committed person (Brass 1997: 227). Within a short time he became the President of the BJP unit in Kanpur city. Although it is well established that during the post-Ayodhya riots in the city Muslims were the first ones to come out, the selective, pointed and aimed rioting against them is largely attributed to Kala Bachcha. Among the BJP and the Hindu public at large, it is said that he was considered by them to be a hero who saved Hindus from the Muslim areas. Contrary to this, the Muslims attributed to him the prime agency for the selective and organized looting and killing. Police and the city administration on their part considered him just a criminal element belonging to those institutionalized riots which had taken place in the last couple of years in the city. There is even hearsay that he had taken to stealing pigs and changing their brand. In February 1994, he was killed in a bomb blast while driving on his scooter with a near relative. Fortunately, this time the police and the city administration were able to suppress further rioting (The Pioneer 1994).

Towards an Anthropology of Man and Beast The pig is called suar in Hindi. The term’s etymological root goes back to the Indo-European schwein in German and swine in English. There is no linguistic differentiation between the wild and the domesticated species, although the Sanskrit term varaha for wild boar is used in a number of Indian languages (also for one of the incarnate forms of Lord Vishnu). The wild boar is called jungli suar (the forest pig). Yet, there is no historical evidence concerning the Indian pig. The ancient cultures of Mesopotamia and Egypt domesticated the pig in the 4th-5th millennium BC, but in Mohenjo Daro and Harappa (2300–1700 BC), centers of the Indus Valley civilization, any remnant of the domesticated pig is conspicuous by its absence (Kosambi 1956). The Vedic Aryans were

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nomads and when they migrated to India about 1250 BC, they had horses, cattle, goats and sheep (but no pigs) and the male animals were used for sacrifice (O’Flaherty 1980) and their meat was eaten. Cows were treated as clean animals but their super-elevation to the realm of holiness started as a Hindu reaction to Buddhism and preceded the first formulated theory of ahimsa (non-violence). Both Jainism and Buddhism had objected to the killing of animals and the consumption of meat. The development of vegetarianism and the ban on cow slaughter is a well researched realm especially in German Indology. The cow protection movement which started in the late 19th century was, however, a move directed against the Muslims. Interestingly enough, it was intended as a ban on ritual slaughtering (qurbani) at the end of the Muslim fasting period, and not against the slaughtering of cows for beef among the Muslims and the British (Pandey 1992). Veterinary research has focussed on the Indian cow, and its breeding history is well known, but we know very little about the domestication of the pig in India. For the Hindu, the cow is not only considered to be a clean animal but is superelevated to a sacred animal. Her five products—milk, butter, fat, urine and dung—are mixed and eaten in cow worship. Cows and priests are said to have been created at the same time. Traditionally, the Scheduled Castes were not allowed to breed cows as the cow was regarded as the abode of numerous gods, and her worship and care for her led to salvation. The cow is also considered to be the mother of India and a mother is not to be killed. For the Muslims, on the other hand, the cow is a clean animal and as such is preferred for ritual slaughter and consumption. Hinduism has made an implicit equation between Scheduled Castes and pigs. As the pig is an omnivore and eats garbage, faeces, carrion and dirt, it is considered an unclean animal even by those castes who traditionally undertook the ritually polluting tasks. According to Koranic law, the pig is considered an unclean animal and the Muslims all over the world are not allowed to eat pork. Harris (1985) holds that ecological reasons underlie the food taboo. The pig became an ‘abomination’ in the Middle Eastern countries because it directly was rivalling human foodstuff. Regarding the feed of Kanpur’s pigs, I doubt that thesis. Be that as it may, it can certainly be argued that the pig, considered unclean as it is by savarna castes and Muslims alike, belongs to the despised realm of Indian culture.

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This general juxtaposition of Brahmin and cow against untouchable and pig has no scriptural foundation in Hinduism. In the epic and puranic scriptures of Hinduism, there is no mention of the pig. Only the wild boar is referred to as the cherished prey of aristocratic hunts. The wild boar of the jungle is praised for its strength, power and ferocity. Categorically, the wild boar is beyond culture; his savageness is attributed to the woods where he resides. Wild boar is said to have been eaten by the Buddha also and, nowadays, it is eaten even by the savarna castes. In the old scriptures of Hinduism, the opposite of the holy cow is the despised dog and not the pig (Malinar 1997). In Hindu mythology, the wild boar is the third incarnation of Lord Vishnu as mentioned above. When a demon cast the earth into the depth of the cosmic ocean (a heap of filth, according to another version), Vishnu assumed the form of an enormous boar, killed the demon and retrieved the earth with his tusk. ‘This mystic scenario probably developed through a primitive non-Aryan cult of the sacred pig’ (Eliade 1987:364). The Scheduled Castes were meat-eaters (Singh 1993). They ate beef, pork, chicken, dog, cat and rat, mice and meat (Randeria 1993). In the Scheduled Castes’ mythology, however, the consumption of beef was instrumental in their losing their status as a clean caste (Vincentnathan 1993). For instance, the Dhanuks of Kanpur are said to have lost their clean status of the Ahir caste when they took to pig rearing (Singh 1993). Traditionally, the Chamars were given the dead cows for processing and they ate carrion. But in the 1920s, the so-called ‘disgusting and heterodox practices of eating pork, beef, carrion and the leftover of food of other castes was on the decline’ (Briggs 1990 [1920]: 47). Dr. Ambedkar also had strongly objected to the intake of carrion (Keer 1954) which was given up altogether by the Mahars of Maharashtra and the Chamars of northern India. Yet, there is an odium attached to pig-rearing which is based on an implicit equation of pig and sweeper, as both scavenge amidst the dirt. The sweeper belongs to the most polluted caste because he takes away the excreta from the upper castes. As the pig eats that matter which is defined as polluted, pig in the savarna discourse is considered a polluted animal. Nevertheless, pork is generally eaten by all Scheduled Castes not only in Kanpur city but in the whole of India. For instance, it has an eminently nutritious and ritual value for the Chamars. It is the only fresh meat they could obtain in the past. For

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them, pig was also the preferential sacrificial animal (Bellwinkel 1980; Cohn 1987) which used to be the food at weddings. A piglet was sacrificed when a child was born or was sick, or a boon had to be granted.14 But now there are few Chamars in Kanpur city who are willing to recall that tradition. As stated earlier, the upper caste Hindus in general and in Kanpur city in particular show the highest amount of repulsion towards the pig. The repulsion generally expressed by Kanpur’s middle classes towards the pig has different connotations reflecting the ‘Westernized’ orientation of the respective discussants. Those exposed to European modes of living are able to differentiate between the animal and its unsavoury feed. They do not mind eating pork if the pigs are kept properly and are not fed on garbage heaps. They would certainly eat pork abroad as it is juicy and delicious irrespective of the feeding pattern of the pig. But here in Kanpur city, they can give endless examples of washermen who have died of tapeworm in the brain which was certainly transmitted from pork. A general warning is displayed in Chinese restaurants in the city to not eat pork as it is injurious to health. The second discourse of the middle classes takes a paternalistic stance. According to them, the consumption of pork is regarded suitable only for the Scheduled Castes as their stomach is considered to be adjusted to the digestion of pork. In such arguments, pork eating and drinking country liquor among the poor and labourers is also condoned as they are believed, to not know better. Health hazards attributed to the intake of pork are partially a rationalization of the savarna discourse of the polluted pork. But from a nutritional point of view, this is not true as physiologically that kind of feed is harmless. It only shows the highly adaptive capacity of the pigs’ intestines to split up faeces and leftovers. What would certainly be injurious to health are the unhygienic conditions at the Fazalganj slaughter house, the total lack of veterinary inspection, and the lack of cooling facilities at the abattoir and the butchers’ shops.15 But many office goers from the savarna castes, on leaving office come to the roadside pork restaurants. They do not argue about what they eat; instead they relish the pork, unnoticed by their mothers, wives and children. Contrary to this, the educated amongst the Chamars have partially taken over the savarna discourse on the polluted pork as stated earlier. The consumption of pork was something they had done in childhood but it is something their not so advanced brothers still do. Nowadays, they have taken to the cherished food of the middle classes like chicken, goat, and to a lesser extent, mutton, although some of

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the educated Chamars, especially the convinced Buddhists, are strictly vegetarians. Meat-eating in the Hindu, or rather Brahmanic, tradition has been treated exhilarating; hence, undesirable. But for the Khatiks of Kanpur, pork eating has remained an overt and cherished tradition which they are proud of. In their opinion, pork is tasty and cheap, and is suitable for all. They claim that even Muslims eat pork, although they do it on the sly. They send their children to the butcher’s shop to make sure that nobody notices it. The Khatiks have most probably never taken to beef eating as they traditionally had enough pork to consume. Probably consequent upon that, cow protection is strongly implanted in their belief system and also governs their relationship with the Muslims whom they regard to be ritually polluting on account of their eating beef. ‘If a Muslim touches our water vessels, they will be polluted,’ they say. Untouchability practised between Khatiks and Muslims has also repercussions on their business relationships. For instance, a Khatik bristle manufacturer was reprimanded in the past by his caste fellows because he had bought cattle and horse tail hair from the Muslims to blend them with pork bristles. But from these notions a general hostility between Khatiks and Muslims cannot be deducted. There are Khatik families on Latoucheroad who follow Muslim Pirs and their male members maintain close friendship with Muslims. They visit each other on Id and Diwali, and take food in the respective houses. In retrospect, the rise and decline of the bristle trade showed that the notion of pollution worked to the advantage of the Khatiks. Being mainly pork butchers and associated with the most defiling notion of pollution, Khatiks have traditionally been allowed a low ranking in the gradation of the Scheduled Castes though Ram (1988) has found them fairly at the top in such gradation. In spite of that they became successful entrepreneurs and used the ‘despised niche’ of Indian society to their own advantage. These findings are surprising to the extent that these are contrary to the common notion of the norms of pollution which worked to the disadvantage of the Scheduled Castes as a whole. The bristle trade became so remunerative that even businessmen of the savarna castes entered this trade, as stated earlier. Thus, bristle became a ritually neutral commodity for which the norms of purity and pollution (Dumont 1970) were not applicable. In the case of the Khatiks of Kanpur city, the economic realm has superseded the ritual realm. There is certainly a noticeable change regarding the rigidity of pollution norms.

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Although most of the Scheduled Castes in Kanpur city tried in the past to Sanskritize their behaviour to achieve upper caste status (Niehoff 1959; Bellwinkel 1980; Molund 1988; Ram 1995), the Khatiks did not bother about it at all. The repulsion associated with their name which directly discloses the profession of butchery has made them change their surname to Sonkar. I do not regard this as an indication of Sanskritization; instead, only of their ambivalence concerning their butcher’s role. But in all other realms of behaviour such as specificities of their trade, business, food and drinking habits, they show great confidence and self-assuredness. In respect of butchery, they openly do not want to be referred to as a butcher’s caste although within the walls of Pazalganj abattoir the young butchers are tremendously proud of their craftsmanship. As butchers and masters of the beast, Khatiks control their (the beasts’) life and death. Although till the Ayodhya riots their mastery of killing was contained within the walls of the slaughterhouse, its extension into the human realm was possible only under very specific and complex socio-political and ideological conditions. The Scheduled Caste politics in Kanpur city has remained fragmented and only on specific occasions unified as Ram (1995) has shown. Although the Khatiks of the city had received Dr. Ambedkar when he came to Kanpur on his aforesaid first and only visit, they were not very much involved in Scheduled Caste politics. It is the Chamars who were the spokesmen, although they also were fragmented between different factions and orientations (Niehoff 1959). In the past, neither the Ambedkar movement nor neo-Buddhism had any lasting political impact on Kanpur. Scheduled Caste industrial workers were with the Congress party as long as the fortunes of the Nehru dynasty ran high. They have recently shifted to the Bahujan Samaj Party and a faction of the Khatiks to the BJP. The Khatiks are also fragmented in their political orientation. One faction is with the communists who have always taken an anti-communalist stance. And evidence suggests that Kala Bachcha’s ideological identification with the BJP was superficial, although he became the president of the city unit of the party, as mentioned above. Thus, it cannot be construed from the short-term association of Kala Bachcha and a faction of the Khatiks with the BJP that the latter have become Sanskritized, distanced from the other Scheduled Castes, and have crossed the pollution barrier and begun to enjoy the status of a clean or savarna caste. The economic decline of the Khatiks from international trade relations to pig-breeding certainly meant a loss of status for them. The BJP used the hidden animosity between Khatiks and Muslims, which

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revolved around the pig, to absorb one fraction of the former into their fold. Kala Bachcha gained recognition and esteem through his association with the BJP, the winner in Kanpur’s urban politics since the 1980’s. The overarching ideology of Hindutva was directed by the BJP against the Muslims and the polluting character of the Khatiks’ occupation was negated as long as the Khatiks served its ends. To use Dumont’s argument in contradiction to his theory, pollution was subsumed to power, and Kala Bachcha himself cleverly stuck to the ‘Orientalist’ image (Brass 1997) of the complacent and non-violent Hindu. In his own definition of the happenings, he was ‘only saving’ those Hindus living in the Muslim-dominated areas who feared for their lives. Under very specific conditions, the Hindutva ideology bottled up that danger which until how is contained in the specific profession of the BJP.

Conclusion There is power derived from the fear of pollution of matter, beast and man, and this power is contained by the caste system. The pollution part of the caste system is until now seen only in it’s suppressive, exploitative and unjust aspects. The Khatiks share with all Scheduled Castes the power derived from the abomination of dirt, pollution and death which the savarna castes hand down to them. The pig as the realm of pollution and dirt is the creative and nutritious element for the Khatiks which they have used to their advantage as bristle manufacturers, pig-breeders and pork-butchers. This notion is shared by most of the Scheduled Castes in the city and outside, for whom the pig is of high symbolic and ritual value.

Notes The author is grateful to Professor Nandu Ram, Dr. Ambedkar Chair Professor of Sociology at Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, who made valuable comments and suggestions on the earlier draft of this paper. 1. Ahata means enclosure which is the prevalent residential area of the labour class and the urban poor. Most of the ahatas are listed as slums. 2. Most of this information I owe to Edward Barber from the firm Michael Barber and Sons. They were the leading auctioneers of bristles in London. 3. This statement is corroborated through an observation made by Reinhold Herz, an eminent and experienced German bristle dealer of Stuttgart. I showed him a photograph of bristle dressing in Latoucheroad Judging from the flag of the bristles, he

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4.

5. 6.

7.

8. 9.

10. 11. 12. 13.

14.

15.

Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp thought they came from the wild boar But as far as I knew, they came from Kanpur’s domesticated pigs. I came across the name ‘Calcutta Bristle’ first m the German brush workers journals which I consulted in the Leipzig National Library and in the Economic Archives of Baden Wurttemberg. The Russians ate up all their pigs. I am grateful to Suresh Saxena, the former secretary of the Indian Bristle Merchants Association who not only supplied me with information but also allowed me to consult his files. In the discourse of the sahabhoj, I follow the narrative of Mukund Lall s son Nawal Kishor—the most objective and trustworthy informant Many information on the bristle trade I owe to him and his monthly Brushes Hairs and Fibres published in English and Hindi In the editorials, Nawal Kishor raises historical issues on the bristle trade, bristle dressing and brush manufacturing. At that time German bristle dressing also prospered. ‘Drinking like a fish’ is an abusive term in Germany for brush makers also The dusty work of brush making allows German craftsmen, according the Board of Craftsmen Regulations, to drink one bottle of beer a day during work although usually alcohol is prohibited at the work site. This is the firm A K Export Trading Corporation which still deals with Indian bristles and does dressing on demand. Houses were usually whitewashed after the rainy season just before Diwali For the application of lime, vegetable fibres were used. After independence, the Cawnpore Brush Factory was renamed Brushware Limited. This insight I owe to Howard Wagmann, Senior of the American Bristle Dealers I am also grateful to Prof H. Geldermann of the Institute of Animal Genetics of the Agricultural University, Schloss Hohenheim, Germany, who pointed out to me that not only bristle trade but cross breeding of pigs also was an international affair. Most of the information regarding the natural importance of the pig for the Chamars I owe to Prof Nandu Ram of Jawarharlal Nehru University, New Delhi as Briggs is very scanty in his information. I discussed this point at length with Prof Becker of the Institute of Animal Production in the Tropics and Subtropics, Agricultural University, Schloss Hohenheim, Stuttgart, Germany Using my material on Kanpur’s pig feed, he gave a stimulating lecture to his students and me on the pigs’ intestines and their adaptive capacity For me, this proved to be a physiologically sound refutation of a substantialist’s deduction of pollution concept.

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Pioneer, The. 1994. February 10, 13, 18, 21 issues. Quigley, Declan. 1993. The Interpretation of Caste. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Ram, Nandu. 1988. The Mobile Scheduled Castes—Rise of a New Middle Class. Delhi: Hindustan Publishing Corporation. ———. 1995. Beyond Ambedkar: Essays on Dalits in India. New Delhi: Har-Anand Publishers. Randeria, Shalini. 1993. The Politics of Representation and Exchange among the Untouchable Castes in Western India (Gujarat). Disseratation, Berlin. Rothermund, Dietmar. 1988. An Economic History of India—From Pre-Colonial Times to 1986. London: Oxford University Press. Shah, A. C. 1977. ‘Piggery Development’, Weekly Review (Bank of Baroda), 25 (27): 12–14. Singh, K. S. 1993. The Scheduled Castes. People of India Series. Delhi: Anthropological Survey of India and Oxford University Press. Singh, S. N. 1990. Planning and Development of an Industrial Town—A Study of Kanpur. New Delhi: Mittal Publications. Singh, V. B. 1973. Wage Patterns, Mobility and Savings of Workers in India—A Study of Kanpur Textile Industry. Bombay: Lalvani Publishing House. Srinivas, M. N. 1966. Social Change in Modern India. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Verma, R. I. 1964. Leather Footwear Industry in Uttar Pradesh with Special Study at Kanpur, Census of India, 1961. Vol. XV: Uttar Pradesh, Part VII-A-Handicrafts Survey Monograph No. 2, Lucknow. Vincentnathan, Lynn. 1993. ‘Untouchable Concepts of Person and Society’, Contributions to Indian Sociology (N.S.) 27: 65–82. Wagmann, Howard M. 1952. Bristle and its Importance to the American Paint and Brush Industry. MBA thesis in Marketing, University of Pennsylvania. Ward, Andrew. 1996. Our Bones are Shattered—The Cawnpore Massacres and the Indian Mutiny of 1857. London: John Murray. Yalland, Zoe. 1987. Traders and Nabobs—The British in Cawnpore 1765–1857. Wilton Salisbury, Wiltshire: Michael Russell, The Chantry. ———.1994. Boxwallahs—The British in Cawnpore 1857–1901. Wilby Hall: Michael Russell.

PART III Mapping Conflict

7 Dalit Struggle, Nude Worship, and the ‘Chandragutti Incident’1 Linda J. Epp

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n two days every spring, bhaktas (worshippers) from several Karnataka districts have for centuries performed bettale seve (nude worship). This occurs at Chandragutti village, in Sorab taluk in Shimoga district. Devotees undress, bathe in the sacred Varada river, and walk the four kilometres from the wilderness and up the mountainside to the temple, shivering and shouting, ‘Yellamma, Udo, Udo, Udo (Praise to God!)’. There they fulfil their vows to the Mother Goddess Yellamma/Renuka: they pray for forgiveness of sins, offer thanks for cure of disease, request the birth of a son, and generally seek to placate a fearful deity. Most of the devotees are from the lower strata of society: most are Dalit women. Nudity, especially of women, is taboo in India: however, there are ritual occasions when nudity has been condoned. Nudity and nude worship in this region are associated with other rural celebrations, such as the Holi festival, and celebrants, such as devadasis (women married to the goddess and reserved for sacred prostitution), and ascetic Digambara2 Jains. Although nude worship at Chandragutti was removed from the official List of Seves (Services) in 1928, it persisted. At the so-called ‘Chandragutti Incident’ of 1986, ‘frenzied devotees, protesting attempts to prevent worship in the nude, stripped and assaulted police personnel and social workers’ (Indian Express, Bangalore,

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24 February 1988). This was the result of a protest demonstration against nude worship staged in part by the Dalit Sangharsh Samiti (DSS) (Committee for the Struggle of the Oppressed). Dalit means downtrodden, or oppressed, people. The term refers to Scheduled Castes (exUntouchables), Tribals and other groups that make up the Depressed Classes in India. The DSS comprises young men, mostly ex-Untouchables, immersed in B. R. Ambedkar’s cultural and political platform for social reform of caste inequality.3 Many of these Karnataka activists now define ‘Dalit’ more narrowly as ‘Untouchables, those ill-treated and humiliated by caste.’ The Incident, and the ensuing Channaveerappa Enquiry Commission ended nude worship at Chandragutti. The ‘Chandragutti Incident’ described here is from the perspective of the DSS members and sympathizers who originated the protest and were attacked in the ensuing riot. Among these insurgents, Mr. B. Krishnappa, the first Karnataka State Convenor of the DSS, was surely prominent. As a village labourer’s child who slept and worked in a local landlord’s house, he recalls ‘a bitter experience with caste and economic inequality’. But, when Krishnappa became educated, and an educator himself, like many of the rising Dalit elite, he became complacent. However, once Krishnappa was convinced by the Dalit movement’s early discussions derived from various ‘agitation’ literatures, unlike these others who remained in their complacency, he remembered his own past and the plight of other villagers. He then took on an informed activist perspective and led the DSS, as Convenor, from 1974 to 1984. The ‘Chandragutti Incident’ was not Krishnappa’s first experience with protest against ceremonial nudity. Six or seven years earlier, he helped DSS workers in Gulbarga district fight against a nude procession of women, mostly devadasis about to be dedicated to the deity. The Gulbarga Superintendent of Police was a famous Dalit writer and, along with the support of more militant Dalits (near to Maharashtra and influenced by Ambedkar directly), took a firm decision to stop this procession. The Gulbarga success likely set the precedent for the Chandragutti protest. The thinking of the DSS was that an ‘anomaly’ could be stopped in society in two ways. By persuading the people and/or by bringing political force and ‘law and order’ to suppress unacceptable behaviour. At both protest demonstrations, it was not possible to quickly convince devotees to cease their worship. They would say, ‘See, our goddess has given this. Let it be. What harm will it give? If you stop this, the goddess

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will become angered and give all the Devi’s curse to us.’ But, as before, the DSS strongly persuaded local supporters. They also politically pressured the government, seeking a law against nude worship. In a personal interview (24 July, 1991)4 Krishnappa expressed the outrage felt by the Dalit community towards the government. Even when provided with evidence of nude worship at Chandragutti, the government was initially slow to protect their women’s honour. This perceived negligence mobilized the DSS to shame the government. Any democratic government must see that the people behave in a civilized manner. In a democracy wherein we have got equality, liberty, fraternity, all these things we are talking, in such a civilized society a barbarous thing is going on. Taking the women in nude is really uncultured and barbarous. This type of procession going on in Karnataka is shameful on the part of the people’s representatives to government. Shameful to the government itself allowing such processions in the name of the deity, arranging the buses for that fair. So, we have attacked the government, [saying] ‘We [You] must stop it or we will fight against the government.’ In this way we converted a social issue into a political one.

My interviews in 1990–91 occurred half a decade after the Incident (1986), the Enquiry Commission (1987) and resultant five-year ban. During this period the DSS as a whole took on a different face. However, the DSS originated in southern Karnataka, and it is these origins, of which the Chandragutti Incident is part, that are recounted here. This Dalit perspective is from educated activists and not from the Dalit mass, specifically not from the nude worshippers. This paper explores what happens when a male movement dedicated to rationalist action and social reform encounters a feminine, sexual and religious counter-movement. The premise is that ‘the feminine’ and ‘the sacred’, alike sexuality, is a ‘dense transfer point for relations of power’ (Foucault 1981: 103). Ultimately, the tripartite nature of nude worship constitutes a dense interface between supporters of nude worship, and reformers, re-enforced by considerations of caste boundaries. It will not escape the readers’ attention, the irony of referring primarily to male authorities surrounding an inherently ‘feminine’ tradition. However, in this paper the presiding male reality, around this evocative, but ‘de-centred’5 subject, provides an important subaltern6 perspective. The viewpoint of the female subaltern case will be considered elsewhere (Epp, forthcoming).

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The Mythopoeic Ground: Jamadagni and Renuka In any discussion with Dalits or subaltern activists, the local version of the Jamadagni and Renuka myth is invariably cited to explain why devotees perform nude service. The beautiful young goddess Renuka married the ascetic Jamadagni and bore him several sons without sexual union. Each morning, Renuka went to the river to fetch water for her husband’s ablutions, where, because of her purity, she was able to fashion a pot out of loose sand. One morning, she was momentarily diverted by the sight of ghandarvas (celestial beings) sporting in the river. Thus aroused, she was unable to fashion her morning’s pot. Thinking that she thus sought to disrupt his worship, her husband was so enraged that he ordered his elder sons to kill their mother. They refused, and Jamadagni condemned them to impotence and madness. However, his youngest son, Parushurama, obeyed his father and pursued his mother to cut off her head. In the ‘high’ myth, he succeeds, and this obedience pleases his father. In the ‘local’ myth, however, Renuka did not wait for her head to be cut off: rather, she ran. As her youngest son chased her, she lost her sari and exposed her buttocks. Entering into a cave, she prayed to the Mother Goddess and was swallowed up by the earth. To this day, the devotees worship a small stone linga that they claim has grown on the spot, and also an image of Renuka’s buttocks. Because Renuka was accepted into the earth nude, her devotees conclude that she likewise calls on them to come to worship in similar child-like innocence. The myth encompasses much of the social ambivalence surrounding themes of femininity and sexuality in contemporary Indian society. We learn that the ideal of ascetic marriage denies sexual pleasure. Renuka involuntarily ‘sins’ against her husband by mentally crossing the boundary from chastity to sexuality, and thereby incurs banishment and death.7 Duty to father wins over love of mother. Whereas filial disobedience results in the elder sons’ impotence, filial obedience condones the youngest son’s matricide. But although the Dalit activists cite the myth, they do not engage these themes. As cultural activists, even for the purposes of protest, they do not entertain the idea that the ‘low caste version’ of the high myth presents even a glimmer of subaltern critique. For example, there is a political dimension to the Yellamma/Renuka myth. It is well known that Parushurama, son of a Brahman, goes on to become the scourge of

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the Kshatriyas. However, since nudity is the offense, nudity (or other devotional acts to Yellamma) as an expression of Dalit women’s anti-Brahmanism, or anti-casteism, cannot be comprehended, nor used in this case as a basis for communal resistance. (Contra Victor Turner’s [1969] views that nudity obviates status and expresses solidarity.) Nor is it considered accurate about devotees’ general mind-set. One male activist said, partially in jest: ‘How Renuka has come so low, we do not know . . . If only they would worship Renuka’s face, and not her buttocks’ (Focus Group personal interview, 25 July 1991). As males, they apparently do not question the pervasive patriarchal motifs present. However, as rationalists, they dismiss this myth, like all religious activity, on the grounds that it is superstitious and ultimately exploitative.

The Dalit Sangharsh Samiti The 1970s were turbulent years in India that spawned many social movements. B. Krishnappa and other Dalit youths initially joined the Samaj Wadi Ujal Sabha (SWUS, Socialist Party Youth Wing) in 1972. This began supposedly as a general anti-caste movement, but it soon became clear that it was directed against Brahmans only. After many anti-Brahman agitations, there was a split between Brahmans and Shudras. Influenced by the literature of Ambedkar and Lohia, the Dalit members of this Shudra movement felt their main enemy was Brahmanical values and thinking, rather than the Brahman per se. An ideological versus practical argument ensued. The Shudra youth activists argued that Brahmans were the cause of Untouchability, and that their dominance needed to be wiped out to improve the lot of the Untouchables. Yet, after land reforms most Brahmans vacated their landlord fiefs and migrated to the cities. The Shudras themselves had become the dominant landed castes [Okkaligas in south Karnataka and Lingayats in the north] and therefore the immediate oppressors. One year prior to the Emergency a rift occurred. The DSS was formed in 1974. The young Dalit Panther movement in Maharashtra, formed in 1972, also had an impact on the Dalit movement in Karnataka (cf. Jogdand 1991). This new social movement was aimed at both the caste system and the Dalits’ unique economic situation: the argument was

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that social and economic equality must be fought for by Dalits solely under their own leadership. The DSS began as a cultural protest movement formed by artists, writers and university youth: several of these subsequent leaders of the Dalit movement in Karnataka and Maharashtra had originally formed a literary and political cohort when they first met and studied together at Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, in the 1970s. One of the first issues taken up was the content of Kannada literature. At a public function in Mysore, Mr. B. Basavalingappa, a Dalit and Minister of Municipal Administration, called all Kannada literature ‘bhoosa sahitya’. In Kannada this word means cattlefeed.8 According to Mr. Munivenkatappa, a Dalit poet and Assistant Director of Agriculture, Basavalingappa’s point was that, ‘All the literature in Kannada is in favour of upper castes, created by upper castes, for the upper castes only’ (personal interview, 21 March 1991). These comments instigated riots between upper caste and Dalit youths across the state, particularly in Bangalore and Mysore University hostels. After this incident, student study cells and Dalit writers’ conferences were formed. Krishnappa reports, ‘The early years provided time for discussion, and for clearing doubts about fighting against the caste system.’ After several years, these cultural activists concluded, ‘Not only the university educated and youths should fight; the rural people who have been hard hit by the caste system should [also] be organized . . . in the rural areas’ (ibid.) In 1978 the DSS took to the rural areas and agitations began. They focused primarily on what could be called ‘boundary crossing’ politics: social taboos were broken when DSS activists in the company of Dalit villagers entered previously forbidden temples and hotels,9 drew water from the common wells, and walked down streets reserved for upper caste people. They also staged land-grab movements. Although Ambedkar’s ‘three commandments’ were to ‘educate, organize, and agitate’, most of the early DSS activities were agitations. Other contemporary movements in India, such as West Bengal’s Marxist and Naxalbari uprisings, had provided the DSS a severe, possibly simplistic, and secular model for protest (one specifically rejected by Ambedkar: see Gokhale 1990: 240). Krishnappa reports the thinking as, ‘Whether or not we dialogue with the upper castes we will be pacified [i.e., repressed]. So, let us attack first’. As a consequence of their agitations, atrocities against Dalits also became common. ‘The 1980s were full of burning in Karnataka’ (ibid.)

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Up until the Chandragutti Incident in 1986, the DSS was a smaller unified organization. The DSS has formed committees at several levels: state, divisional, district, block, taluk, and village. Each of these has a core team of about 15 and is represented by three functionaries: a Convenor, an Organizing Convenor, and a Treasurer. Each committee ideally sets out its own Constitution, in complement with the state level. The DSS has matured into the 1990s, and has now spread across the state. Factions have also formed, some say more so between the leaders than among the cadres. The entire membership numbers in the thousands. Two main reasons are cited for division in the DSS. First, there are fierce differences of opinion over alignment with formal political parties. Up until the 1985 State Assembly elections, the DSS had defined itself, in Mr. Shrikanth’s words, as a neutral, ‘nonpolitical, social-cultural organization’ (personal interview, 28 June 1991). In 1985, Mr. Devanura Mahadevaru, the Convenor who followed Krishnappa’s Convenorship, decided in consultation with DSS members to support the Janata Party. Although some DSS representatives claim the Janata Party owed its electoral success to this Dalit support (at least in the south: cf. Manor 1984: 156; India Today 31 March 1985: 12), the alignment was considered a failure by most members. ‘The then Chief Minister, the wily Ramakrishna Hegde [a Havyaka Brahman], “purchased” a Dalit poet, [i.e., Devanura Mahadevaru]’ (Teepee 1991: 4). The DSS has continued to present itself as ‘nonpolitical’, yet the debate has continued.10 A second source of contention is ‘whether to take a hermeneutical and somewhat eclectic approach, or a strictly exclusive reading, of Ambedkar’ (S. Marji, personal communication, 1991). Here, factional lines tend to be drawn between educated and less educated Dalits: the latter are more likely to treat Ambedkar with the reverence due to a guru. An exception to this, however, is the Samata Sainik Dal (SSD), a new offshoot of the DSS founded in 1991. The founding President is M. Venkataswamy. V.T. Rajshekar, influential writer and editor of the ‘Dalit Voice’, enthusiastically reports that this ‘non-political faction’ is committed to ‘pure, more radical, Ambedkarism’ (interview, 20 July 1991). In instances of either political or philosophical differences, the movement’s purity, its self-definition, and its form of protest are influenced by the doctrinal choice taken. Recalling the ostensible centrality of women in the mythical themes and rites around which the Chandragutti Incident occurred, we may

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wonder where women are in this structure? DSS workers deal with the day-to-day problems. In the case of atrocities on Dalits, for example, women as much as men are victims. ‘Women are part and parcel of every problem’, they say, ‘and of the Dalit movement’. Although there is no women’s organization, and women have had no part in the leadership, agitation cannot occur without them. In 1991, two women who attended the Karnataka State Dalit Meeting in Bangalore raised this issue: one of them was immediately offered a position. Given their organization’s youth, their few numbers, and the immensity and immediacy of the people’s struggle, the DSS has not felt the need to divide its energies along gender lines. Through the DSS, the direction for Dalit struggle has filtered from the top to the bottom: from educated urban to illiterate rural, from top leadership down through the cadres and finally to the mass. Educated Dalits, like Krishnappa, acknowledge that bottom-up flow of information would be ideal: however, since the rural people in Karnataka are illiterate, most activists believe villagers cannot understand their own exploitation. Further, activists stress it is difficult for villagers to organize resistance on their own behalf. DSS members realize increasingly, however, that education and organization must coincide with agitation. As we shall see, this is one lesson derived from the Chandragutti Incident.

Chandragutti: Discovery, Pressure, Propaganda The Chandragutti Protest came up in the course of ‘routine’ work on social problems and land dispute cases. Krishnappa was approached in Bangalore: ‘You have gone to Gulbarga to stop the nude movement. See, in your own native district it is going on. What action have you taken?’ Consequently, four DSS activists went to observe the Chandragutti jatra (festival) in 1984. They were shocked by the nudity, particularly that of women. These unclothed devotees (some covered with kunkuma [red powder] and neem leaves), seemed to have no shame; occasional protests by hesitant devotees were quelled by other worshippers. The reformers saw ‘unnatural’ sights where brothers denuded mothers and sisters, fathers stripped wives and daughters. Further, they were offended that the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) (United Hindu Association), a revivalist Hindu solidarity movement, had a booth that sold curds and

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rice to devotees and voyeurs who came to gaze on the crude, intoxicated,11 nude worshippers. The VHP presence there reinforced the DSS belief in the complicity between Hindu, especially Brahmanical, religious traditions and exploitation of the Backward Classes. One activist took explicit photographs; Krishnappa wrote an impassioned article. The DSS intended to publish the photos and article together to awaken the public to the ‘true facts’ and bring pressure on the government. All mainstream publishers rejected the photos. Finally, the Lankesh Patrike, a Kannada daily published by Lankesh, a known Kannada writer and Dalit sympathizer, printed both. This article aimed to go beyond sentimental appeal. It presented the involvement of the political and religious people supporting nude worship, the difficulties social workers face and the economic plight of the nude worshippers. As intended, this caused an outcry in the Vidhan Soudha, the Karnataka State Legislative Assembly. Krishnappa reported that the Home Minister, J.H. Patel, said, ‘No such thing was taking place . . . but if it was so, the government would stop it’. Although the DSS mounted a public procession, no further action was taken by the government. The Chief Minister, S. Bangarappa,12 a Backward Caste man and a socialist who was then the local MLC of Shimoga district, kept quiet; some activists bitterly claimed that he was a secret worshipper of the Devi. State Assembly elections in 1985 intervened, and no further DSS agitations over nude worship were made until the following year. The DSS renewed their cause in 1986. They formed an Anti-Naked Service Society and banded together with several other groups, including the Social Welfare Government Department. The DSS was officially sanctioned by the state government, through the new Home Minister,13 to ‘lead the way’. A propaganda programme was mounted 15 days prior to the festival. The areas around Chandragutti were targeted and social workers, local leaders, government officials and villagers worked in concert; DSS members assumed the single goal was to ‘stop this uncivilized practice’. Staged events included symposia, small gatherings, and the production of various handbills, advertisements, radio programmes and impromptu dramas. ‘Dividing themselves into two groups of 20 each, the Samiti volunteers and other amateur artists staged about 25 street plays prior to the commencement of the jatra’ (Indian Express, Bangalore, 29 January 1987). The drama, ‘Bettale Seve’ (Nude Worship), was commissioned by the DSS for this programme. In this, a father, influenced by the village

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gowda (headman), pressurizes his daughter to perform nude worship to atone for his poverty. Her brother encourages her to resist, and eventually several village people join in this protest. At the jatra the daughter refuses. To the villagers’ amazement there is no famine, the sun shines, and the crops continue to grow. So, the gowda was driven from the village. At one such performance, there was a hint of the trouble brewing. One hotel owner drew the actors aside, saying angrily, ‘You don’t repeat that drama again. Don’t use that landlord role. That reflects on us. We are illtreated’. The DSS activists denied any intention to offer personal offence, countering that this was simply ‘a fictitious character in a play”. Again, prior to another performance, an intoxicated man with a trishula (a three-pronged spear associated with Shiva worship) threatened them. ‘Some of the priestly class sent me to do this’, he said. Several DSS members surmised that three ‘priestly’ groups had been disgruntled by the protests. First, jogatis, the low-caste pujaris (priests) of Yellamma/Renuka who promote nude service for their living; second, the religious heads of Chandragutti Renukambi Religious Unit, who manage this and other religious festivals; and, third, Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) members, whose presence at the fair and support for nude service had previously been noted by the DSS. If nude worship were abolished at Chandragutti, the entire festival would likely cease. Consequently, the Religious Unit would suffer some economic loss, the jogatis’ livelihood would be threatened most of all. The religious community, including the VHP, would also be disgraced if the call to end nude worship did not come from them: if this was to be, they, and not the DSS, should take credit for ending this practice. DSS members and sympathizers claim that landlords and these priestly members were present at several local meetings where these grievances were aired. A counter-protest against the DSS was imminent. Despite these warnings, DSS members were comforted by the official support behind them. They stressed that the Deputy Commissioner was also from a Scheduled Caste background. Consequently, he was partial to their programme. The Superintendent of Police, a Lingayat, had expressed reservations about the efficacy of their protest. Yet he offered police protection, saying to Krishnappa (Krishnappa 1986): ‘We are like a water tank. You may drink with open hand or fill it with buckets’. Thus, the activists slept well on the eve of the two-day jatra.

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The Incident Events culminated early on the morning of 19 March 1986. About 200 DSS activists, including other social workers and women police, joined hands at the riverside to prevent worshippers from entering nude. They boldly called out slogans, ‘Bettale seve practice is illegal. If anybody does it they will be punished according to law’. They formed a human chain. On the first day, they successfully stopped most nude worship, so much so, says Krishnappa, that the major papers. (The Times of India, Indian Express, Frontline, etc.) were disappointed. (See for example, India Today, 15 April 1986 photo byline: ‘Women taking a holy dip [top] and semi-clad devotee: anti-climax’.) What became controversial was their forceful approach to barring nude service. It raised the possibility that men had touched the nude female devotees. Most activists denied doing this. ‘We are very conscious of that matter. In India it is a very sensational point looking at a woman, talking with her, touching and looking at her nude body. It is a very sensational issue in this country. . . . If we touched the ladies, some waiting group may come upon us, and beat us. We feared like that.’ A general call was made throughout Karnataka to all interested supporters and progressives to join the protest. On the morning of 20 March 1986, the reformist numbers unexpectedly swelled to 800 or more. These reformers found themselves mounting a campaign before 60,000 to 80,000 devotees and onlookers. Until mid-morning the protest remained peaceful, and the DSS regarded the campaign as successful. Then various small quarrels began to break out in rapid succession. Challenged to worship in dress, devotees retorted, ‘If you ask us to go in dress, give us dress’. The reformers had no dhotis or saris to give. But some re/covered the male devotees with their own clothes and verbally urged the female devotees to do likewise. The activists found themselves confronting an increasingly forceful mob. The jogatis were the key dissenters. For example, a drunk Mr. Basavanta and his uncle Pakirappa are quoted as saying, ‘Why do you take photographs? If you don’t want us naked, then give us clothes. Why do you not take action against Jaina Digambara? Why do you not stop cabaret dance? Catch first those Goa beach hippies.’ The situation degenerated rapidly. DSS activists appealed to the police, but their numbers were too few. Only three police vans, each

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holding 20 to 25 personnel, were available to contain the whole jatra. A DSS sympathizer also overheard orders given over the police jeep radio, telling the police force near the riverside to withdraw. This was later interpreted as a conspiratorial act. Immediately ‘a gang of 25 lathi-wielding persons hurling abusive words appeared . . . this was the signal for the subsequent events’ (Indian Express, Bangalore, 31 January 1987). According to the reformers, outbreaks occurred simultaneously in three different places. ‘Like this these jogatis and other unruly elements were instigated by casteist forces . . . They were given weapons and words’, claimed DSS workers. They heard calls, ‘You kill those DSS workers’. Quickly through the fete the word spread, ‘Some people have come to object to the goddess, so the goddess has got enraged. So devotees must not keep quiet but smash the people who came to stop it.’ Kunkuma, which adorns naked devotees, was thrown in the air and many social workers, police and press were compelled to enter into the procession, stripped naked by the unruly crowd. Even the Assistant Commissioner was shaking. And, although Krishnappa objected, a policeman was forced to announce over a microphone, ‘Police will not object to nude service’. Then a man with a religious badge grabbed the mike and shouted, ‘Glory unto naked service!’ Asking him by what authority he did this, Krishnappa brought this youth before the temple trustees, where his name and affiliation with the VHP were disclosed. But the trustees told Krishnappa, ‘We told you not to initiate this, but you did not listen’(Krishnappa 1986). When Krishnappa saw all was out of control, and his own life in danger, he began to run. ‘They have a trishula in their hands. With these prongs they went and made everybody nude. I cannot explain it because I think that I am in this hell. In our mythology Yama is the god of hell and he has so many demons as his followers. I saw so many demons following.’ Like some others, he found safety in a police van. But then the police themselves were attacked. Although they begged the Deputy Superintendent of Police to allow them to fire into the air, he refused. Afterwards, even he was stripped, and the women constables and women journalists were stripped before him. Some of the workers escaped, others were chased and beaten. Krishnappa reflects, ‘That day everything was smashed because we couldn’t withhold the  religious feeling of the people’. Eventually, police from other locations came and controlled the situation. Jogatis were arrested, some even committed suicide out of fear.

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Press Interference The ‘Chandragutti Incident’ became an immediate media sensation, aided by journalists and photographers on site. The Channaveerappa Report, press coverage, and those interviewed agree that some of the trouble was sparked by press photographers taking pictures of nude worshippers at the riverside. Uttam Kemble is a Dalit reporter who was on site. In his book, Devadasi and Nude Worship (1988), he recounts that on the second morning the reformers took a stronger stand, seizing and re/clothing the devotees. There were more female than male devotees. By 8 AM the reformers had difficulty containing these women circled within their human chain. He states: ‘One reformer showed the women devotees that day’s newspapers which carried photographs of the nude worshippers saying that, “they are parading your nudity (and shame) in the city streets”. The result of this was that a press photographer was badly beat up’(ibid.). At least three journalists were assaulted and had their cameras stolen that day. (One of them refused me an interview because it was still too unsettling for her to talk about.) Another journalist, Philomena H.P., arrived early in the morning at the top of the hill near the temple. She interviewed female devotees who explained their nude worship was due to vows to the goddess in return (or hope) for answered prayers: for children, health, etc. From this vantage point Philomena witnessed the rampage, and hid all day until the trouble subsided. She subsequently received an award for her reportage. Like her middle-class readership, Philomena believes India is a traditional society and women should be covered. She concedes nude worship by women at Chandragutti is sincere, but this ‘tradition’ violates normative female modesty (personal interview, 10 October 1990). But press interference was not the main cause given for the Incident.

Channaveerappa Enquiry Commission The day after the Incident, the Home Minister, Mr. B. Rachiah, stated in the House (Legislative Council) that ‘“anti-social elements” had tried to ‘incite” the people into provoking the police to take recourse to extreme steps like opening fire in order to bring a bad name to the Government’ (Indian Express, Bangalore, 21 March 1986). These

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comments responded to criticism that the police were ineffective in preventing this outbreak and in protecting women, Samiti workers, and journalists’ (ibid.). Members from all political parties equally condemned nude worship. They described it as a ‘blot on society’, ‘a barbaric custom’, and an ‘insult to mankind’ (ibid.). The state government thereupon ordered a magisterial enquiry into the Chandragutti Incident. However, on 6 April 1986, this responsibility devolved from the District Magistrate to the Divisional Commissioner, Bangalore, a Mr. Rinesingh, who circulated a notice for collection of public opinion. By 31 July 1986, 57 people had made submissions. The process then came to a halt when, without reason (a job transfer, is noted in one press report) the Rinesingh Committee was cancelled. By December 1986 the Retired District Judge of Chikkamagalur, Mr. J. Channaveerappa, was appointed to conduct a one-man judicial enquiry under the Commission of Inquiry Act. Judge Channaveerappa states in his Report that the government’s reasons for regrading from a magisterial to a judicial enquiry are unknown. But, in several districts the DSS had mounted substantial protests. They called for the suspension of the Shimoga District Superintendent of Police and ‘. . . described the enquiry ordered by the government by a District Magistrate as an “eye wash’ ” (Deccan Herald, 5 April 1986). In May 1986, at Ambedkar’s 95th birth anniversary celebrations at Bangalore University, the Home Minister agreed to look into charges of collusion between police and supporters of nude worship. DSS activists were aware of the Scheduled Caste background of this Home Minister, but it is conjecture that this connection was prevailed upon or influenced the setting up of a judicial enquiry. Certainly, the newly re-elected Janata Government was acutely aware of public sentiment against an undisciplined ‘police raj’ that flourished under the previous Congress-I Chief Minister, Gundu Rao (see India Today, 31 March 1985: 11; Indian Express, 10 February 1987). ‘Commission of Inquiry Act’ inquiries generally probe police excesses. The purpose of the Channaveerappa Commission was to determine the basic reasons for the disturbance: particularly for the denuding of DSS persons and journalists; whether the police officers were derelict in their duty; and whether other persons (and causes) were responsible for the Incident. The new deadline for public submissions was extended until 20 December 1986. In February 1987, about 30 witnesses testified before the Commission, including seven police personnel, the Deputy

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Commissioner, the Assistant Commissioner, one social worker, five members of the DSS, two journalists, and 13 witnesses from the public. No members of the VHP appeared, but a legal advocate for the organization took part. The police and the DSS were also represented by advocates. The bulk of the Report dealt with the actions of the police, and their ability to maintain social control. The police officers present who it alleged ‘. . . acted with restraint’ were exonerated. Although noting their anguish, it dismissed the charges of women constables that the Deputy Superintendent of Police could have prevented their denuding. However, the Deputy Commissioner and the Superintendent of Police were both indicted for not providing an adequate force. The latter denied making any promises to the DSS but was further indicted on charges of negligence. His late arrival was described as ‘. . . like locking the doors of the stable after the horse had bolted’. The Commission went on to reject the ‘vested interests’ conspiracy theory proposed by the DSS. That is, a combination of feudal landlords and priestly classes had knowingly incited ‘unruly elements’ to attack the reformers. The DSS claim that perceived threats to devotion and/or livelihood were fanned, and liquor was distributed. By contrast, although well-meaning, the DSS was said to have brought most of the backlash on themselves. They brought undue publicity to nude worship at Chandragutti, and were over-eager and short-sighted in their educational programme. The well-known enmity between the VHP and the DSS was acknowledged, but the VHP was cleared of all charges. The possibility that a few ‘miscreants’14 might have taken advantage of the situation was noted, but the charge that this was a preplanned event was dismissed. The Report further suggests that the DSS was overly forceful, and thus ‘brought the disturbance to a climax and agitated the minds of the devotees’. To establish this case, Judge Channaveerappa cites one reporter’s work and several enquiry witnesses. The reporter writes, ‘the main intention of the members of the DSS was to disturb the devotees by humiliating them . . . , their action was foolish and goonda-like’.15 Similarly, one witness claimed the DSS threw dust on a naked woman devotee, that she fell as a result, and that they then kicked and rebuked her. This led to a quarrel between devotees and the DSS. Further, the Report, and more so the media, raised the question as to whether

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touching of women had occurred during the forceful re/clothing of devotees. Judge Channaveerappa concluded that the devotees felt their centuries-old religious beliefs to be under attack. Since their prayers were obstructed, and we may infer humiliated rather than reasoned with, the devotees’ ire was natural. The Report concluded that DSS agitation, together with insufficient police support, was the cause of the Chandragutti Incident. As regards nude worship by female devotees, Judge Channaveerappa posits that this brings dishonour to the reputation of Indian women and ‘insults the very creed of womanhood’. He notes on all auspicious occasions and festivals the Indian woman, fully clothed in sari and with ornaments, attends places of worship: ‘She is the monument of culture and symbolic as the deity of the country’. By contrast, nude worship is ugly and uncivilized and must be stopped. ‘Goddess Renukambe herself would feel sorry to know such blind ignorance existed and would be ashamed to see such sights’. The final Report concludes by reviewing the unfortunate social conditions and persons who promote such blind beliefs among Backward Class people. Singled out for blame are these ‘middle-class hermaphrodites called jogatis who for their livelihood roam from village to village, begging for alms, . . . who ill-advise suffering family members to go for nude service at the Renukambe Jalra.’ Thus, Judge Channaveerappa recommends: legislation against jogatis’ propagating nude service; education of the people; and a ban of the entire festival (not only of nude worship) to be in effect for several years. Placing the primary emphasis on law and order, neither demonstrations for or against nude worship would be permitted at the Chandragutti jatra. In every case there will be loss of social control. These recommendations were tabled before the Legislative Assembly on 2 March 1987. Deputy Inspector of Police, Mr. J.E. George, urged the state government to set a five-year ban, subsequently legislated merely days before the jatra of 9–10 March 1987. For these two days Chandragutti became a police camp. Under the supervision of the newly indicted Superintendent of Police, 2,000 police turned back bus loads of devotees, reporters and social workers, restricted local business, and banned all photography. This ‘high-handed’ imposition of the ban incited many. Local villagers who welcomed the ban on nude worship nevertheless thought the rest of the jatra should proceed.

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Some businessmen who set up temporary shops to make a ‘fast buck’ during the festival were pro-nude worship. They told reporters the goddess would be angry at the government. The trustees of the Renukambe temple resigned in anger at ‘police harassment of devotees . . . causing the [devotees] mental torture’ (Deccan Herald, 10 March 1987). Nearly a year later, on 22 February 1988, these discontented trustees filed a public interest writ petition in the High Court. They asked that all pujas and performances, except nude worship, be allowed to proceed at Chandragutti. Police vigilance has relaxed over the years, but the state ban on bettale seve remains. Beyond law and order, Judge Channaveerappa’s plea for an extended ban ideally exists to promote education, legislation and reasoned discussion. As of 1991, neither the DSS nor the government have put an educational programme specific to nude worship into place. One sympathizer caustically comments on the aftermath of Chandragutti: ‘DSS is now factionalized in this region [partially over this event, and due to division over political alignments] and not a strong force. Who can replace the jogatis? They at least consistently offer the devotees hope . . .’ (personal interview, February 1991). Yet, he notes, across the state more youths are now joining the Dalit movement. Perhaps they will transcend past divisions and take up the necessary educational work. The Chandragutti activists I interviewed agree with Judge Channaveerappa that their educational programme was shortsighted. But they still consider the Chandragutti protest a success, because nude worship was banned. If required, they would do it again, in much the same way. Says Krishnappa: ‘As a mother forces an adamant [i.e., recalcitrant] child to take medicine by closing his nose tight and making him drink at least a portion . . . adamants must be suppressed.’

Analysis and Conclusion I have given centre stage here to reformist and Dalit perspectives on Chandragutti. In fact, many stories comprise this larger narrative about the Chandragutti protest and backlash. However, underlying the entire description is a tension between reasoned forms of analysis and the stark confrontation of ‘the religious’, ‘the sexual’ and ‘the feminine’. From this account, it is clear that no easy resolution is forthcoming.

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An ‘Emic’ Model: Religious ‘Opportunists’ and ‘Dupes’ A reformist position on such institutional nudity is that it is an insulting feudal tradition. Upper caste men, landlords and temple keepers deliberately chain Dalits in superstition to maintain their lordly use-rights. DSS activists claim, ‘If their own women were going in nude, they would be up in arms’. Lower caste males therefore perceive an affront from dominant caste males through the nudity of their women. The Dalits conclude that this institutionalized class domination and caste humiliation proves once more that as a group they have not yet gained full ‘human’ stature within the nation. The Dalit call for social reform, particularly of Untouchability, remains unresolved. This leads to a politics of contempt for parliamentary democracy and for participation in its formal parameters. We can only surmise about the religious complex and countermovement. In its emerging model of nude worship the DSS presents four sub-groups: temple trustees, VHP members, jogatis and devotees. These, united as reform’s counter-protagonists, all uphold this ‘heinous religious tradition’. Temple trustees, who have hereditary earning rights, are presented here as opportunists, out to ‘make a fast buck’ at the impoverished devotees’ expense. The VHP presence at the jatra signals organizational collusion to extend Hindu fundamentalism in rural life. Through this backward form of culture, these politics are served. Jogatis are both promoters and practicians of nude worship and related Mother Goddess customs. As wanderers and religious mendicants, they can best recruit devotees in the rural areas. Reformers, and even more so Judge Channaveerappa, thus present jogatis as low caste, illiterate transvestites who insidiously propagate nude worship. They instrumentally prey on devotees’ fears due to their need to protect their sole economic base. Whereas the former are all opportunists, by contrast, the devotees are dupes. The DSS argues, due to their blind belief the devotees are subjugated to these opportunists. The religious establishment exercises a ‘rational-religious will’16 to dominate and accrue financial and moral gain. The possibility that some may be fervent believers does not alter the Dalit critique. Because the DSS model is meant to serve subaltern politics it naturally fails to take into account nuances in counter-positions, and other

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factors. For example, there is some speculation that other local politics, which the DSS has not acknowledged, may have factored into this agitation. Krishnappa does not say who challenged him to explore nude worship at Chandragutti. We only know this was catalytic. The DSS narrative shows them to be responsive, but independent thereafter. However, the Jaina Mathadhipati (‘Lord of the Monastery, abbey’) in Shimoga district prides hinself for speaking first to the (anonymous personal communication, October 1992). In this region there is a long-standing memory of rivalry between Jains and Brahmans. This dates back to Jaina supremacy from AD 800–1200, subsequently attacked by Hindu reformers. At that time, these were seen by the priestly Jains as unrefined Brahman upstarts. Since the DSS is also ideologically opposed to Brahmanical doctrine and values, it is possible that once activated, its Dalit reform, pointed at upper-caste Hinduism, promoted private interests of the Jaina Matha without drawing the monastery into the public fray. From the perspective of Dalit activists and Jain priests they are both minority groups, and non-Hindus.17 Yet, this shared status is riddled with potential contradictions. First, secular reformers and religious priests are allied. Second, male ascetic nudity and female bhakti nudity in the forms of Jaina Digambara and nude devotees are not treated alike. One is considered morally acceptable and the other morally reprehensible. On what basis are these distinctions made? And alliances? As for the temple trustees, they withdrew from their positions following the ban on nude worship. While this might be constituted solely as protest against loss of income, their stated case was to protest the devotees’ ‘mental anguish’ caused by the police turning them away. For, once forced to spurn the goddess, the devotees might suffer her unmitigated wrath. The priests function as mediators for the goddess and the devotees. Ostensibly, the ‘public writ’ request for re-establishing worship, all but bettale seve, was on the devotees’ behalf. While the DSS strongly allege VHP collusion at Chandragutti, it would seem that such a strongly moralistic and patriarchal body would find, with equal vehemence, bettale seve degrading to Hinduism. Indeed, it was reported that VHP members handed out pamphlets against nude worship at the fair. However, once more the DSS claim that during this distribution illiterate devotees were verbally encouraged to participate. The VHP advocate before the Enquiry Commission deflected the

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‘miscreant role’ for its members, perhaps with some justification, by accusing the police of turning into social workers rather than fulfilling their role to maintain law and order. Although presented as opportunists, the jogatis are the most ambiguous group. They have liminal sexual and political qualities, which may pose the threat of social role contamination. Yet, they have their own perspectives on the moral behaviour implied by foreigners, city entertainment, and Jainist nude worship. Thus, they represent a swing category in this political model. Their low status and high visibility combine to make them vulnerable to scape-goatism. For example, the DSS claims the jogatis were given ‘weapons and words’. Although formidable enemies, they are yet seen as pawns of other religious profiteers. Alternatively, Judge Channaveerappa rejected the DSS conspiracy hypothesis. But, he singled out the jogatis as the primary proselytizers who need to be stopped. Thus, they pose here as independent, immoral and anachronistic agents, who draw on a barbaric tradition whose time and function has passed. Although Dalits, jogatis are portrayed as enemies to social reform. Are they its necessary casualties? Structurally liminal, the jogatis seem to be at the mercy of religious profiteers and reformers alike. DSS workers, going out to the countryside on a rationalist reform mission, are not unlike the jogatis with their religious mission. Their constituency is the same, as is their social base (albeit most DSS organizers are educated). One DSS sympathizer observed that despite their misplaced and irrational belief, the jogatis provide consistent hope to devotees. Through the ban on nude worship and also on devadasi recruitment (another regional social reform issue and custom propagated by these mendicants) jogatis are displaced. To replace this gap reformers must extensively educate beyond the initial stirring of protest. What were the jogatis’ words? If you don’t like our nudity give us clothes. Perhaps this requires a practical response, but may also refer to their lack of prestige in society. Why don’t you reform Jaina Digambara ascetics? What about those Goa hippies? Why not stop cabaret dance? All these questions symbolically associate nudity with certain groups. The first, while religious, consist of male ascetics. The second, due to its beach attire and (among some) drug-related practices reinforces beliefs about the Western world’s loose morality. But, they are foreigners. The third is a lewd form of dance. However, practised in the cities among the

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secular and monied it is far away. In effect, the jogatis’ query why the DSS became obsessed with nude worship, singling out jogatis and female devotees, but not with these other forms of public nudity. Finally, the DSS’ model which imposes unity on the religious presence breaks down, for the ‘religious’ experience is not uniform. For example, devotees themselves are male or female (and neither male nor female), clothed or nude, voluntary or forced, possessed or sceptical, and even upper, albeit, mostly lower caste. In their narration, however, the reformers do not attend to these nuances. Rather, they primarily differentiate between devotees and these other three religious groups. This model, which identifies major actors and essential groupings, adequately serves their political purposes.

Confronting the ‘Sexual’ and the ‘Feminine’18 1. Liberal Reformism and the Problem of Female Nudity. The discussion to this point has brought into focus that female nudity, in the context of a shared discourse about barbarism and civilization, provides a symbolic rallying point for all reformers. The DSS, the state and other reformers all agree that nude worship, like other superstitious practices, presupposes that Indian society is not fully civilized. Indeed, the anthropological truism that nudity is the mark of the primitive, clothing indicates the beginning of civilization’ (Sharma 1987: 7–11), was, it seems, dramatically enacted through the re/clothing of the nude devotees. Denuding, touching and re/clothing are central to the public analysis of this event. Not all nude devotees were women, nor were all low caste, yet the Chandragutti Incident was referred to entirely in these terms. Hence, the social discourse on female nude worship reveals the following quasi-symbolic logic: (i) clothing and covering of women represents modesty, unclothing represents shame; (ii) denuding and re/clothing women in public is not an individual act but a communal one. Hence, a community’s modesty and/or shame is represented and made vulnerable. A similar argument is thus made for the entire civilized nation; (iii) where one community looks, touches, unclothes, or encourages to denude another community’s women, communal boundaries of normative modesty and self-respect are crossed. Consequently, the injured community has the

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right to retaliate to defend its honour; (iv) sometimes, however, religious tradition reverses the normative moral code for short periods of  time. What is shown to be at stake at Chandragutti is this ‘ritual reversal’19. Nude female devotees symbolically challenge current social perceptions of civil propriety and national character (in this case, its democracy and secularism). But, places of worship sporting the silent but graphic stone iconography-temple dancers, lingas, Renuka’s buttocks-are illustrative sites for contemporary struggle over woman’s continuing symbolic role. For, activists, politicians and journalists alike share in a discourse about barbaric versus civil virtue, wherein ‘the feminine’ remains a symbolic masthead of ‘tradition’. However, in contrast to the goddess-possessed, kunkuma coloured, nude devotee is the selfcontrolled, adorned and fully-clothed worshipper. It is she, says Judge Channaveerappa, who is now ‘the monument of culture and symbolic of the deity of the country’. All that is civilized, cultured, moral and natural is compared to all that is barbarous, uncultured, immoral and unnatural. Thus, a ban on nude worship is a triumph of civilization over barbarism. The moral shift indicated is from exteriority—where worship requires a communal and living sacrifice, to interiority—where worship is both privatized but distanced. Here we take our cue from Foucault’s arguments about the moralization of madness (1973) and sexuality (1981): In each case the body becomes a site for reform. For example, external control, ranging from tolerance for mendicant mad men to cruel and public punishment, is made into a moral problematic, then refined into socially induced self-help and internal discipline. This ‘gentle punishment’ (see also Foucault 1979) is sometimes aided by the therapist, asylum, or prison. Referring to the development of bourgeois liberalism in Europe, Foucault states, ‘At the level of . . . “micro-powers” . . . it was necessary to organize a grid of bodies and behaviours. Discipline is the underside of democracy.’ Through this reform the sacred is thus secularized. ‘Modern [wo]man finds [her]him/self categorized, located in space, constrained by time, disciplined, normalized, and individualized’ (Mahon 1992: 5). India, as a ‘yet traditional’ civilization is now cogently represented by a demure and modestly covered woman, at least in public worship. Nude worship transgresses private belief and offends public decorum; it violates middle class morality, a new site for

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‘tradition’. (See Milton Singer [1972] on the supremacy and reworking of tradition in India.) But neither ‘tradition’ itself (and its perpetrators), nor the feminine as its symbol, is contested sufficiently by this liberal reformist victory. 2. Dalit Rationalist Reform Politics: While in some accordance with the liberalist stance on nude worship, within this broad context, the DSS has adopted a distinctive, countering, rationalist point of view. Their rationalism repudiates all religious activity as superstition and exploitation. Their activism employs force (or forceful persuasion), humiliation, and an appeal to law and correct government. These combine in the term ‘rationalist action’, whereby Dalit activists challenge the foundations and supporters of such ‘reversed ritual’. Far from being content with the ban on nude worship, some supporters of the DSS regard any religious mobilization as a conspiracy and would like to see the entire religious establishment decimated. For the DSS, ‘the Chandragutti Incident is one more example of the efforts by “vested interests” to maintain caste boundaries and the status quo’. While they may harbour these notions, they regard this dismantlement as a long-term struggle, for they recognize religion holds sway over the people. Hence, several DSS members concede that banning nudity is a sufficient victory. They say, ‘If the people do not practice nude worship for several years and nothing untoward happens they will be convinced the goddess does not require this’. ‘Rationalist action’ such as that fomented by the DSS is a subaltern critique. The presentation of a ‘subaltern perspective’ has a specific meaning for Indian academia: it’s focus is rewriting nationalist history from a peasant/insurgent’s point of view. The view from below. One of the subaltern project’s propositions is: . . . that the moment(s) of change be pluralized and plotted as confrontations rather than transition (they would thus be seen in relation to histories of domination and exploitation rather than within the great modes-of-production narrative . . . [The] shift in perspective is that agency of change is located in the insurgent or the ‘subaltern’ (Spivak 1988: 197).

The subaltern as an agent of change, and the confrontation between the dominant and the exploited, is presented here by the educated

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insurgents themselves. There are many subalterns in India. The DSS’ case is that there is a subaltern below, or apart from, the class-defined peasant. That is, those humiliated by caste who suffer specific economic consequences due to their ex-Untouchable status. The Chandragutti Incident also invites consideration of another depressed category, hitherto unrecognized, the ‘female subaltern’. Their experience and interpretation of domination has frequently been decentred both by reformist subalterns (typically male) and subalternists (see Spivak 1988: 215–21 on this point). For example, nude worship by female devotees evokes issues of religiosity, femininity and sexuality. Social reformers (e.g., Dalit activists, journalists, middle class social workers and the state) have tended to focus on the moral affront to the Dalit community and/or to society, and the need for ‘law and order’. Although the protest was nominally on their behalf, the religiosity of the devotee women has been obscured in the ensuing political discussion. But, the DSS would argue, for good reason. Their rationalist argument dismantles the category of the female nude devotee. The sexual/feminine subject (i.e., the nude female) is analytically wrenched from the religious domain. At Chandragutti, theory and practice coincide. Once nude worship was opposed, sparking that ‘dense interface’, the dominant exploitative forces behind the ‘devotion’ revealed themselves. Therefore, the denuding of Dalit women reveals their caste humiliation and class domination. Through activist techniques such as public protests and media reportage, the DSS also directed its subaltern critique to their initially reluctant reformist partners, i.e., the government and upper caste liberal supporters. The barbaric versus civilized discourse inherently associates the frenzied primitive behaviour of the nude devotee with low status, whereas the demure control of the modern worshipper is high born. But through the effective use of humiliation they inverted this structural alignment of barbarism and culture. For example: The DSS questions the civic virtue of the promoters of nude worship, such as the Vishwa Hindu Parishad, ‘that self-proclaimed vanguard of Hindu culture’. As a prod to action, they mock the secularism of the government. To make the point that upper caste men would only concern themselves if it were their women going nude, they compare the support that a Brahman protest garners with that of Dalits. For example, when the Brahman

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community was recently offended by a television programme their protests were supported nationally, even by government officials, and it was withdrawn. But they claim, ‘if a Dalit man is wrongly represented, no one cares’. Their rationalism is fuelled by affect. Untouchability is a communal wound that has been repeatedly injured. Is any redress of this wrong not supportable? Even force and humiliation of their own women, for their own good, and their own community’s self-respect? How ‘goondalike’ is re/clothing of devotees in the light of goonda attacks supported by upper castes on devotees? Struggle, it might be argued, is an expedient, if not a nice, enterprise. Yet, does Krishnappa’s appropriation of maternal images soften the task of forcing recalcitrant children to take their medicine? There seems to be a universally strong symbolic replacement value between children, women and primitives. We have seen how these nude female devotees cast an undesirable primitive shadow on a civilized reform programme at Chandragutti. But what of their substance? When asked about the paucity of women active in the DSS, Munivenkatappa humbly admitted, ‘that in this way we are like upper-caste men’. The problem is compounded for a rationalist movement because, ‘our own women are still caught up in their religion’. The discourse of barbaric versus civic virtue primarily reflects the male and community need for self-respect. However, when the (male) subaltern struggle appropriates woman as symbol—hence, de-centres her—but does not incorporate her in real terms, they are denied the strength in identification and another subaltern’s critique. ‘The feminine’ and social reform are intimately associated in India. Partha Chatterjee (1989) and Ashis Nandy (1990) are only two authors who note this connection. Similarly, ‘the feminine’ is also appropriated in communal/ethnic politics. Inevitably, women become a symbolic medium to uphold an ideal, and frequently a physical medium, that is, a scapegoat to defame another’s community. Further, as in the Chandragutti case, preoccupation with goddess, mother and femalecentred myths indicates significant ‘mythopoeic ground’ that even today pervades Indian society. This evocative nature of ‘the feminine’, and its use, must be raised for ongoing reflection. When they become morally problematic (as in Foucault’s treatment of madness), ‘the sexual’, and

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‘the feminine’ are de-linked from ‘the sacred’. But they remain in the public domain as objects of surveillance and regulation. We must look behind this problematic to understand operations of power, legitimacy and politics in India. To sum up, the rationalist reform approach thus far is unable to extricate itself from a traditional symbolic placement of woman. She is still tied to patriarchy and force. For one, it does not give a legitimate place to her worship and mythology. Rather, all grounds for devotion are political and economic exploitation. Thus, a tradition is required to be abandoned and the female devotee (nude or clothed) with it. Jamadagni condemned Renuka/Yellamma, and their son, Parushurama, carried out the punishment. At least, he tried to do so. Subalterns, in the form of nude devotees, have reworked the high myth. Through her escape, the Mother Goddess robbed Jamadagni of his patriarchal right. Indeed, some devadasis told me, Yellamma did the unthinkable: she punished Jamadagni, her husband. For that reason, although they too are social reformers, they fear her power (interview, August 1991). To the extent that worship of the Mother Goddess is a genuine expression of faith, it may be argued a faint protest continues in the presence of patriarchy—all arguments for exploitation notwithstanding. Yet, the DSS and other reformers have earned through on this banishment. They accomplished what even Jamadagni could not. What are the implications and what will be the costs? The devotees say the Goddess will be angry. One educated devotee observed that each Chief Minister who supported the ban on nude worship has been brought down. In a letter, he warned the Chief Minister, S. Bangarappa, of the goddess’ wrath should he continue to prevent her required worship (anonymous personal interview, 7 June 1991). Political as well as personal repercussions are assumed. The final explanation on nude worship differs radically between reformers and true devotees, i.e., communal and civic shame versus child-like faith. It is possible that the mythopoeic basis of nude worship is more than a pretext, in fact an important underpinning of both sides of struggle over this practice. On these grounds, it is at least worthy of re-examination. Certainly, the social crisis which arose from the Chandragutti Incident is instructive to all about social reform’s, perhaps necessary but equivocal, task of ‘violating the sacred’.

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Notes 1. Earlier drafts of this paper were presented at the Canadian Anthropological Society (CASCA) in Montreal, Quebec, in May 1992, and at the University of Toronto Centre for South Asian Studies’ Graduate Students’ Union Seminar on 4 December 1992. The author would like to thank all those who participated in the discussion which followed. She would also like to thank Professors R. Anderson, B.S. Baviskar, S. Carr, C.E.S. Franks, P. Names-Jones, M. Sackville-Hunt, D. Smith and J.R. Wood for reading earlier drafts of this paper, and the Shastri Indo-Canadian Institute whose sustained support during 1990–91 made this paper possible. Moreover, she would also like to thank Mr. B. Krishnappa and the other Dalit activists who shared their stories and concerns with the author. 2. dig ‘sky’ + ambara ‘clothing’. 3. Dr. Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar, born into an Untouchable Caste (a Mahar), drafted the Indian Constitution. He attended graduate school at Columbia University in the United States. He was an economist and lawyer. His role as an indefatigable advocate of the Depressed Classes of India has made his memory and writings prominent. Today, he is considered the founder of the Dalit movement, particularly in Maharashtra and Karnataka. For many, he is the ‘symbol of revolt against all repressive features in Hindu Society’ (A.R. Antulay, Lokrajya, 16 April 1981). 4. This first reference will extend to all other interview materials unless otherwise indicated. Subsequent quotes are drawn from these interview sources. As some sources were public figures and willingly gave information, they are referenced, while others remain anonymous. To aid in this, names of places where interviews were conducted have been omitted. 5. ‘De-centre’ is an operative concept used to incorporate the psychological idea of displacement, as well as the Marxist idea of appropriation. Further, it allows for play around the idea of the constituted subject, such as that found in Nietzsche’s and Foucault’s thought. Consider, for example, the de-centred man in Nietzsche’s Genealogy of Morals Mahon (1992 8) explains, ‘Rather than seeking a substance in its pristine purity at the origin, Nietzsche looked for a multiplicity, complex relations of forces, which provide the conditions for the existence of the entities, values, and events of our experience’. 6. Defined as: of inferior rank, (logic, of proposition) particular, not universal, also, in military, officer below rank of Captain. The ‘subaltern school’ in Indian academe has popularized, and extended, this definition. It generally refers to subaltern studies as writing ‘history from below’. It is concerned with peasant and other local resistance with the anti-colonial project uppermost as a referent, and implies a critique of upper, or elite versions of history. 7. For an anthropological exploration of how sexuality and femininity, expressed through nudity and body genitalia, can be used as ‘resistance’ or ‘critique’, see Shirley Ardener (1981). 8. A Sanskrit interpretation simply means ‘Brahman literature’. But the term used in the Karnataka Legislature was understood as ‘cattlefeed’, and taken to be an insult. 9. Hotel pronounced, ‘hoatle’, is generally a restaurant or cafeteria. Cf. ‘military hotel = [cheap] non-vegetarian restaurant.

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10. For example, according to one long-term DSS member who has now left the DSS to form his own activist group (interview, 25 July 1991), by aligning itself with political parties the DSS has forgotten, in Maoist terms, to identify and differentiate between the main and subordinate contradictions. In failing to do so the movement cannot achieve its goals. Ir his view, they have forgotten their resolve to stay clear of the formal political process Because of their downtrodden status they do not have what is necessary to become effective politically. That is, (i) a dominant caste background, or backing; (ii) financial support; and (iii) party support are required. He argues further that principle contradictions, such as landlordism and capitalism, are detrimental to the interests of the poor of all castes, creeds and religions. Thus, to define the Dalit movement as a caste movement derived from untouchability can set poor untouchable and touchable castes against each other. In his view a predominantly caste based struggle errs because this is a subordinate contradiction. 11. Nude worship at Chandragutti, of Renuka’s buttocks, is associated with tantrism. Five objects of worship (panchamacaras or five m’s) are reported: Meat (mamsa), fish (matsya), roasted corn (mudra—according to some accounts not ‘corn’, but ritual hand gestures), liquor (madya), and sex (maithuna). Intoxication can be due to spiritfilling (claimed by nude devotees), also from liquor. Reformers deny the former. 12. This Chief Minister has been replaced as of December 1992. 13. Mr. B. Rachiah, of Scheduled Caste background, was one of the first two Cabinet members appointed by Chief Minister Hegde after the 1985 Janata government re-election. 14. In India, in colloquial usage, miscreant means ‘deviant’ or ‘trouble-maker’, rather than ‘heretic’. 15. goonda = ‘hired thug’ or ‘ruffian’. 16. This term is, I think, consistent with the Dalit activist stance. Those with power in the religious spheres apply a deliberate, and rational (i.e., calculated) use of religion to exercise their ‘will to power’ over the devotees. This term is in reference to Nietzsche’s analysis of the ascetic/priest. 17. The argument adopted from Ambedkar (see ‘Who Were The Shudras?’ and ‘The Untouchables’ in Ambedkar, 1990 [1947]) is that Untouchables are Exterior Castes. They are external to the Hindu chatuivarnya, a cosmological constitution of society that upholds the four-fold hierarchical division of labour. While Untouchables have been called the panchamas, meaning the fifth class, militant Dalits reject this name (as did Ambedkar) because it is inclusive, rather than exclusive from Hinduism (see also S.K. Gupta [1985]). 18. ‘The feminine’ and ‘the sexual’ need to, and can, be ‘analytically separated. But, I have not done so in this paper. The discussion on nudity here reflects on how Indian society tends to bind femininity to sexuality. One implies the other. Nudity is shocking, but can be discussed in public in the context of reform. Yet, sexuality, as found in the myth, has no public forum. Is the association between femininity and sexuality more overt, while that between masculinity and sexuality more covert? Has the former become de-sacralized, hence offensive? While the latter remains sacred, hence acceptable? For example, nude worship of female devotees insults the public, whereas Jainist Digambaras, do not. Similarly, in bhakti the male devotee approaches God in a feminine role but is not censored for sexual inappropriateness. 19. Ritual reversal has been extensively studied in early anthropological literature. Strong associations have been made with: (i) political protest such as millennarian

DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’

135

movements; (ii) inversions of the structurally high with the low, such as between kings and jokers; and (iii) and with nudity, which may be found in various rites of passage. Licentiousness, joking and levelling are common attributes. See for example, Gluckman (1954); Goffman (1962); and Turner (1969, 1985).

References Ambedkar, B. R. 1990. Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, Vol. 7 (reprint 1947) edited by Vasant Moon. Bombay: Government of Maharashtra. Ardener, S. 1981. ‘Sexual Insult and Female Militancy’, in S. Ardener (ed.), Perceiving Women, pp 29–54. London: J. M. Dent & Sons Ltd. Chatterjee, P. 1989. ‘Colonialism, Nationalism, and Colonized Women: The Contest in India’, American Ethnologist, 16(4): 622–33. Epp, L. J. [forthcoming]. ‘Devadasis and Social Reform in Karnataka, South India’, Ph. D. diss. York University. Foucault, M. 1973. Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason. (1st ed 1965) New York: Vintage Books. ———. 1979. Discipline and Punishment: The Birth of the Prison. New York: Vintage Books. ———. 1981. A History of Sexuality, Volume 1: An Introduction. New York: Vintage Books. Gluckman, M. 1954. Rituals of Rebellion in South East Africa. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Goffman, E. 1962. Asylums. Chicago: Aldine Publishing. Gokhale, J. B. 1990. ‘The Evolution of a Counter-ideology: Dalit Consciousness in Maharashtra’, in F. R. Frankel and M. S. A. Rao (eds.), Dominance and State Power in Modern India: Decline of a Social Order, pp. 212–77. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Gupta, S. K. 1985. The Scheduled Castes in Modern Indian Politics. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers. Jogdand, P. G. 1991. Dalit Movement in Maharashtra. New Delhi: Kanak Publications. Kemble, U. 1988. Devadasi and Nude Worship (Marathi). Bombay: Sukumas Damle Lokwadmaya Gouha Pvt. Krishnappa, B. 1986. ‘Experience What went on at Chandragutti’, Samuad Kannada Magazine (Kannada). Chitradurga Samuada Prakashana. Mahon, M. 1992. Foucault’s Nietzschean Genealogy: Truth, Power and the Subject. New York: State University of New York Press. Manor, J. 1984. ‘Blurring the Lines Between Parties and Social Bases: Gundu Rao and the Emergence of a Janata Government in Karnataka’, in J. R. Wood (ed): State Politics in Contemporary India: Crisis or Continuity? pp. 139–68. Boulder: Westview. Nandy, A. 1990. ‘Woman versus Womanliness’, in A. Nandy (ed.), At the Edge of Psychology (lst ed., 1980), (32–46). Delhi: Oxford University Press. Nietzsche, F . 1967. On the Genealogy of Morals. (reprint), Translated from the German by Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale. New York: Vintage Books, (1989). Sharma, A. 1987 ‘Nudity’, The Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 11, 7–11. New York: MacMillan Publishing. Singer, Milton. 1972. When a Great Tradition Modernizes. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Spivak, G. 1988. In Other Worlds: Essays in Cultural Politics. New York & London: Routledge

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Teepee. 1991. ‘Birth of Samata Sainik Dal: Karnataka Dalit Unit Takes a More Militant turn’, Dalit Voice, 10 (June 16–30), 4. Turner, V. 1969. The Ritual Process Structure and Ann Structure. New York: Cornell University Press. ———. 1985. From Ritual to Theatre: The Human Seriousness of Play. New York City Performing Arts Journal Publications.

8 Psychological Conflict Between Harijans and Upper Class/Middle Class Caste Hindus: A Study in Andhra Pradesh (India)* Venkateswarlu Dollu

A

large number of studies make ‘Sociology of Harijans’ a significant branch of Indian Sociology today. We may divide the literature on this subject into three categories. The first one consists of pure ethnographic studies throwing light on the status, life, and culture of the Harijans who suffer from the stigma of untouchability even today and who form one seventh of the Indian population There ate a number of studies in this category but the more significant among them are by Bridgs (1920), Ambedkar (1948), Fuchs (1951), Singh (1967 & 1969), Doshi (1974), Desai (1973 So 1976), Lakshmanna (1977), Rao and Raju (1975), Moffatt (1975 & 1979), Vidyarthi and Mishra (1977), Sengupta (1979), Kamble (1982) and Rao (n.d.). The second category of studies dwell on the social change among the Harijans due to the influences of (i) socio-cultural factors like increased aspirations and conscious demands, education of Harijans, urbanisation, sanskritization and westernisation, social movements like the Dalit Panther movement, religious reform movements, etc; (ii) economic factor like

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market economy, industrialisation, etc; and (iii) political fartors like independence of the country and constitutional safeguards, politicization and political consciousness. There is a greator number of studies in this category than in the first one. Important among these are by Cohn (1955), Epstein (1962 & 1973), Isaacs (1965), Oommen (1968 & 1975), Harper (1968), Mexander (1968), Parvathamma (1968), Lynch (1969), Saberwal (1970, 1973 and 1976), Zelliott (1970), Roy Burman (1970), Mahar (1972), Patwardhan (1973), Agarwal (1974), Ramaswamy (1974 a & b), D’Souza (1975 & 1977), Agarwal and Ashraf (1976), Kulke (1976), Singh (1977), Malik (1979), Sharma (1983), Shvamalal (1984), and others. The final category of studies are relevant for us. This deals with the emerging conflict between the Harijans and the caste Hindus which is a consequence of the social change among the former occurring due to the factors mentioned a little earlier and the caste Hindu response to this change to be discussed in detail later in the paper. There are a very few studies in this category. The studies of Mukerji (1961), Murphy (1953), Orenstein (1965), Aiyappan (1965), Beals and Siegal (1967), Singh (1967), Ghurye (1968), Gnugh (1970 & 1973), Mehta (1971), Das (1976) and Oommen (1984) fall in this area. These authors have treated the caste Hindus more or less as one conceptual category rather than as a composite category consisting of different classes. This, paper aims to tackle the conflict between the Harijans and the caste Hindus, treating the caste Hindus as a composite category. Our concern in this paper is the comflirt that exists been the Harijans and the upper|middle class1 of the caste Hindus.

The Emergence of Harijan—Upper/Middle Class Caste Hindu Conflict The emergence of conflict between the Harijans and some of the classes among the caste Hindus is a natural outcome of some historico-social factors. The Harijans had been traditionally known as the ‘panchamas’ or ‘antyajas’ and were untouchables.2 They had suffered meekly the stigma of unlouchability and accepted submissively the conditions of social isolation, residential segregation, economic deprivation, political subjugation

CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS

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and cultural degradation. This position was subsequently affected gradually by certain historical circumstances and alien cultural influences. The influence of the Muslim rule, however, was minimal. The offshoots of Hinduism, namely Buddhism, Sikhism, and Jainism began to attract sizeable chunks of these untouchables into their fold as they preached and practised openly equality of all men and women, at the same time demoralising the other Hindus. The coming of Christian missionaries and later the British rule opened new channels of social life to the Harijans. The Harijans, for the first time now, were able to get themselves educated and treated by the alien doctors for various diseases; they were provided financial help to build houses and acquire other property; they were able to speak a language to communicate directly with the aliens on an equal plane than with their countrymen, and to sell their manually produced leather goods at markets, internal and external for the first time in exchange for cash thus drastically changing the economy of at least some of their brethren. These factors, apart from an administration based on rational-legal system of rules, helped to create new social aspirations among the Harijans. The freedom movement and their upliftment as a part of the ideology of nationalism prevailing at that time, thanks to Gandhi and other nationalist leaders, and a political was waged against the orthodox Indian society by one of their own leaders, B. R. Ambedkar, enabled to create among the Harijans a burning desire and an urge to be equal with others. They for the first time, not only became socially aware of their status and conditions, but also began to make demands for achieving equality and realizing their aspirations. The guarantee of educational and economic development, social equality through abolition of untouchability, political representation in state legislature and the House of the People, reservation in public services, etc. incorporated in the Indian constitution3 raised new hopes among the Harijans. Further the factors of growth of wide-ranging market economy in place of traditional exchange system, urbanization, industrialization, and the spreading of mass media have changed the outlook of the Harijans. They are no more submissive and passive. They have gradually begun to assert their rights, especially the educated and the employed among them. The caste Hindus, on the other hand, responded differently to these historico-social changes. At the macro level, the ritually ‘higher,

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Venkateswarlu Dollu

economically dominant and the politically powerful caste Hindus oppose the state incentives for the all-round development the Harijans and the growing voice of these people in the political and national affairs.4 At the local level, they consciously resist and obstruct any developmental or progressive change in the status and condition of the Harijans, thus making futile state efforts. These people generally belong to the higher cultivating castes such as Jats, Reddys, and Kammas, if not the highest castes. We will call this class as the ‘upper class caste Hindus’. The middle-level caste Hindus who are less powerful economically or politically are less opposed to any progress by the Harijans. They also may put up resistance or obstruction consciously, but not as strongly as the upper class caste Hindus do. We will refer to these people as the “middle class caste Hindus”. The lower caste Hindus like the professional castes and the artisan castes generally share an equal status with the Harijans except that they do not suffer the stigma of untouchability as the latter do. They are as poor and politically underrepresented as the Harijans are. They are only conscious of their higher ritual status vis-avis the Harijans. This class which we may call the ‘lower class caste Hindus’ will be excluded from our discussion for the reason to be mentioned presently. The Harijans can be said to enter into conflict only with the upper class and middle class caste Hindus when they demand for a concession like entry into temples, which has been traditionally denied to them, and which is denied even now, inspite of the existence of a law abolishing such a discrimination. The lower class caste Hindus are generally not opposed to any economic-political development of the Harijans. Therefore they “normally do not have any conflict with the Harijans, except in exceptional situations wherein their higher ritual status is threatened. We can safely exclude this class from our discussion because of the virtual non-existence of conflict between them and the Harijans. How intensive is this conflict and how powerful is the resistance of the caste Hindus depends upon the particular class of the latter with whom the Harijans are in conflict. What are the dimensions of such a conflict situation and in which nature it exists, we will see after a brief look at the concept of conflict, as it is defined at present and its applicability to our specific problem.

CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS

141

The Concept of Conflict Although Marx had never defined the concept of ‘conflict’, it is generally inferred that his ‘class struggle’ concept is closer to that. Marx explains the class struggle as a consequence of the economic contradiction that exists between the proletarian and the bourgeoisie classes. Our reference to conflict in this paper is to the conflict between the Harijans and the upper middle class caste Hindus. The Marxian understanding of ‘class struggle’ would not help us here because this conflict does not develop from only economic contradictions, but cumulatively due to social, economic and power contradictions. Simmel did not define conflict anywhere in his classic work (Simmel, 1955). For him, conflict was only an integrative process, bringing together the disparate elements; and though it is inevitable, it does not always lead to change in social forms (Turner 1975: 619). Further, conflict is only a “part of the dynamic by which some men are drawn together into those uneasy combinations which we call groups” (Bughes in Foreword to Simmel 1955: 9). This Simmelian view of conflict has been sufficiently criticised by scholars such as Rex and Wertheim. For these scholars, conflict can be ‘disruptive’, ‘dysfunctional’ and can bring-forth sudden and radical social changes. Coser defines conflict as “a struggle over values and claims to scarce status, power and resources in which the aims of the opponents are to neutralize, injure or eliminate their rivals.” (Coser, 1956: 8). In the case of Harijan versus upper middle class caste Hindu conflict, the confllict exists because of the denial of equal social, economic and political status by these caste Hindus, to the Harijans. The Harijans and the upper middle class caste Hindus are in different positions of bargaining power. Hence, Coser’s definition also would not suit us, as what the Harijans are demanding is not ‘scarce status’, power resources’ but ‘status, power and resources which are denied to them’. Dahrendorf ’s and Kriesberg’s definitions of conflict would be closer to our understanding of conflict. Dahrendorf writes that “all relations between sets of individuals that involve an incompatible difference of Objective—i.e., in its most general form, a desire by both the contestants to attain what is available to only one or only in part—are, in this relations of social conflict” (Dahrendorf 1959: 135). Kriesberg defines conflict as “a relationship between two or more parties who (or whose spokesmen)

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Venkateswarlu Dollu

believe they have incompatible goals” (Kriesberg 1973: 17). However these two definitions are a little vague and ambiguous in the sense that they look at the ideological aspect of a conflict, rather than the realistic or behavioural aspect. We may evolve our own definition of conflict to better explain the Harijan versus upper/middle class caste Hindu conflict specifically. For us, conflict is “an attitude or behaviour of two or more parties antagonistic towards each other.” This covers both the ideological and the behavioural aspects of conflict.

Fieldwork and Methodology Fieldwork was conducted in six villages, two each in the three cultural regions of Telangana, Coastal Andhra and Rayalaseema in the State of Andhra Pradesh in the year 1977. A general survey was undertaken in all the six villages initially to find-out the demographic distributions of various castes and the socio-economic conditions of the populations in the villages. However, the data used in this paper are drawn from the intensive schedules which were administered to 396 persons evenly distributed between the Harijans and the caste Hindus in all the six field villages. The sample was selected by stratified as well as purposive sampling methods. The caste Hindus have been selected from the upper class and the middle class categories only.

Dimensions of Conflict There are broadly two dimensions in this author’s view to the, Harijan versus upper middle class caste Hindu conflict. These are psychological and manifest. The existence and perception of tensions in social, economic, political and ritual aspects of social life by the Harijan and the upper middle class caste Hindus is treated here as ‘psychological conflict.’ This may occur in the form of an attitude or an opinion of a person different from that of others, or a feeling of antagonism in a person against another person. Thus a Harijan, who wishes to pray at a Hindu temple can be said to be in psychological conflict with the caste Hindus as he wants to

CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS

143

enter the temple and offer worship but the caste Hindus, who follow a tradition, would not allow him to do so. In other words, what are referred to as tensions in the literature on conflict sociology is called here the psychological form of conflict. It is only with this ‘psychological conflict’ we are concerned with in this paper. The conflict that occurs in a physical or explicit form is called ‘manifest conflict’. This form may be an abuse, a beating, an arson, a raid, a looting, burning a hut, a murder and so on. Thus a caste Hindu and a Harijan may be said to be involved in manifest conflict if the former has raped the latter’s sister or wife. We are not concerned with this ‘manifest conflict’ dimension here.5 While the basis of psychological conflict may be determined by the existence of social, economic, political and religious differences between the Harijans and the caste Hindus, the basis of manifest conflict must always be the psychological conflict. The antagonistic feelings or opinions must already exist between a Harijan and a caste Hindu to involve them in manifest conflict later.

Psychological Conflict The psychological form of conflict can be discussed broadly under four sub-heads, namely social tensions, economic tensions, political tensions and ritual tensions. 1) Social Tensions: Social tensions exist between Harijans a the upper middle class caste Hindus when they perceive and act differently in regard to social issues like temple entry seating of Harijans among the caste Hindus in a public place, marriage processions of Harijan bridal couple, and other issues mentioned in the Tables I and II as follows: For instance, on the issue of temple-entry, most of the Harijans feel that the temples are still barred to them. A higher percentage of the upper class sample object to the Harijans’ entry into temples than the middle class sample. The Harijans also feel still that they are not allowed to enter the houses of the caste Hindus. On this issue also, a higher percentage of the upper class sample than the middle class sample of the caste Hindus object to the Harijans entering their houses. However, on the issue of drawing water from a public well or a tap, a higher percentage of middle class respondents object strongly than the upper class respondents.

Bar on temple entry

Objection to sitting among caste Hindus in a public place

Objections to entering caste Hindu houses

Objection to taking a marriage procession through caste Hindu locality

Objection to drawing water from a public well or tap

Beating by the caste Hindus

Raiding

Looting

Kidnapping

Insults to Harjian women

Torture

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

2

1.

1

Sr. No. Item

22 (11.11)

54 (27.27)

10 (5.05)

27 (13.64)

28 (14.14)

24 (12.12)

34 (10.10)

62 (31.31)

18 (9.09)

52 (26.26)

47 (23.74)

51 (25.76)

36 (18.18)

59 (29.80)

46 (23.23)

38 (19.19)

60 (30.30)

57 (28.79)

51 (25.76)

4

Frequently

46 (23.23)

44 (22.22)

60 (30.30)

3

Very Frequently

70 (35.35)

32 (16.16)

53 (26.77)

50 (25.25)

53 (26.77)

59 (29.80)

45 (22.73)

44 (22.22)

50 (25.25)

51 (25.76)

20 (10.10)

5

Less Frequently

Table I Harijan Responses Regarding Untouchability and Caste Hindu Hostilities

40 (20.20)

28 (14.14)

21 (10.61)

23 (11.62)

24 (12.12)

8 (4.04)

15 (7.58)

8 (4.04)

12 (6.06)

9 (4.55)

40 (20.20)

6

Rarely

32 (16.16)

22 (11.11)

96 (48.48)

46 (23.23)

46 (23.23)

56 (28.28)

64 (32.32)

41 (20.71)

30 (15.15)

37 (18.69)

27 (13.64)

7

Never

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

8

Total

20.54

2.39

1.87

2..49

1.12

1.95

1.93

1.89

1.79

2.31

2.40

14.00

20.76

8.99

15.24

14.86

15.26

14.16

19.11

19.54

18.80

10

9

2.36

S. D.

M

144 Venkateswarlu Dollu

Refusal or a demand for higher wages

Protest against changing occupation

Attempts to occupy lands

Prevention from exercising franchise

Prevention from participation in political activity

Threats against not voting for their candidate

Threats against contesting an election

Forced rendering of services in respect of birth

Forced rendering of services in respect of marriage

Forced rendering of services in respect of death

13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

18.

19.

20.

21.

22.

Figures in brackets are percentages.

Attempt to murder

12.

32 (16.16)

30 (15.15)

30 (15.15)

25 (12.63)

58 (29.29)

47 (23.74)

50 (25.25)

56 (28.28)

33 (16.67)

49 (24.75)

11 (5.56)

38 (19.19)

40 (20.20)

43 (21.72)

57 (28.79)

70 (35.35)

33 (16.67)

36 (18.18)

45 (22.73)

55 (27.78)

41 (20.71)

28 (14.14)

70 (35.35)

58 (29.29)

63 (31.82)

50 (25.25)

19 (9.60)

31 (15.66)

43 (21.72)

46 (23.23)

31 (15.66)

21 (10.61)

36 (18.18)

28 (14.14)

34 (17.17)

15 (7.58)

31 (15.66)

13 (6.57)

29 (14.65)

23 (11.62)

20 (10.10)

39 (19.70)

31 (15.66)

22 (11.11)

30 (15.15)

36 (18.18)

47 (23.74)

35 (17.68)

38 (19.19)

58 (29.29)

46 (23.23)

31 (15.66)

40 (20.20)

56 (28.28)

101 (51.01)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

198 (100)

2.07

1.98

1.97

2.19

2.49

1.91

2.11

2.38

2.01

1.98

1.12

15.76

14.71

15.34

16.27

22.34

15.79

17.26

19.66

15.80

16.78

8.55

CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS 145

Item

Temple entry to Harijans

Seating of Harijans among caste Hindus in a public place

Harijan marriage processions

Sr. No.

1.

2.

3. MC

UC

MC

UC

MC

UC

Sample Class

18 (19.78)

(8.79)

(21.00)

(11.21) 8

23

(32.97)

(23.27) 12

30

(23.36)

(17.76) 23

25

(27.47)

(10.99) 19

25

(25.23)

(11.21) 10

27

Objected

12

Strongly Objected

Table II Caste Hindu Samples Attitudes Towards Untouchability

(26.08)

21

(25.23)

27

(17.19)

12

(11.21)

12

(17.58)

16

(9.35)

10

Not Objected

(39.56)

36

(18.69)

20

(26.37)

24

(24.30)

26

(39.56)

36

(18.69)

20

(8.79)

8

(23.36)

25

(2.20)

2

(2.36)

25

(1.40)

4

(15.51)

15

Not Objected at all Undecided

(100)

91

(100)

107

(100)

91

(100)

107

(100)

91

(100)

107

Total

1.80

1.77

2.58

1.88

2.01

1.58

M

8.68

9.65

13.80

10.76

10.10

9.42

SD

146 Venkateswarlu Dollu

Entry of Harijans into CASTE Hindu houses

5.

Figures in brackets are percentages UC—Upper class caste Hindus MC—Middle class caste Hindus

Drawing water from a public well or a tap

4.

MC

UC

MC

UC

19 (20.88)

(17.58)

(14.02)

8

(22.43)

(9.35)

15

(2.98)

20

(2.36)

25

(8.79)

24

10

12 (13.19)

12

(13.08)

(12.15) (11.19)

14

13

(50.35)

46

(50.47)

54

(35.16)

32

(44.86)

18

(2.20)

2

(3.74)

4

(16.48)

15

(6.54)

7

(100)

91

(100)

107

(100)

91

(100)

107

1.50

1.83

1.71

1.79

8.56

9.83

8.14

9.18

CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS 147

(96.26)

2

89

(3.74)

2

(2.20)

(100) (97.80)

91

(0.93)

1

89

(100)

107

Y

(1.10)

(100)

(1.10)

(99.07)

106

105

N

Raid

(2.20)

91

(100)

107

T

(98.90)

90

(98.18)

N

N

105

Y

4

T

(100)

1

(1.87)

2

Y

Insulting Women

(92.31)

91

(100)

107

T

Kidnapping

(7.69)

Figures in brackets are percentages

MC

84

7

95

(88.79)

12

(11.21)

N

Y

Class

UC

Beating

Sample

(97.80)

1

(1.87)

2

Y

(100)

91

(100)

107

T

Table III Caste Hindus Responses Regarding Type of Violence by the Harijans Against Them

(98.90)

90

(98.13)

105

N

Torture

(1.10)

1

(1.87)

2

Y

(100)

91

(100)

107

T

(98.90)

90

(98.15)

105

N

Looting

Y

(100)

Nil

Nil

107

(100)

91

(100)

107

N

T 107

(100)

91

(100)

Attempt to murder

(100)

91

(100)

107

T

148 Venkateswarlu Dollu

CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS

149

Table IV Caste Hindu Responses with Regard to Certain Concessions from the Government

Sr. No. Questions 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

Do you think that the Harijans should be allotted land by the Government? Do you think that the Harijan Children should be sent to schools/colleges?

Do you think that the Harijans should be given house-sites by the Government? Do you think that the Harijans should be given loans by the Government/ Banks? Do you think that the Harijans should be favoured by the Government for employment?

Sample Class

Yes

No

No Opinion

Total

UC

29

70

8

107

(27.10)

(65.42)

(7.48)

(100)

MC UC MC UC MC UC MC UC MC

20

65

6

91

(21.98)

(71.43)

(6.59)

(100)

50

51

6

107

(46.73)

(47.66)

(5.61)

(100)

32

54

5

91

(35.16)

(59.34)

(5.49)

(100)

26

78

3

107

(24.30)

(72.90)

(2.80)

(100)

20

68

3

91

(21.98)

(74.73)

(3.30)

(100)

24

76

8

107

(22.43)

(70.09)

(7.48)

(100)

20

70

1

91

(21.98)

(76.92)

(1.10)

(100)

25

74

8

107

(23.36)

(69.16)

(7.48)

(100)

15

70

6

91

(16.48)

(76.92)

(6.59)

(100)

Figures in brackets are percentages

Physical violence has often been perpetrated against the Harijans by the caste Hindus,6 according to Harijan respondents. A majority of the Harijan respondents reported that they were beaten the response ranging from very frequently to rarely. There were also cases of raids on the Harijan hamlets or houses. Violence was also said to have been perpetrated in the form of kidnapping, hurling insults, rapes, physical torture

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Venkateswarlu Dollu

and threats or attempts at murder. Most of the upper middle class-caste Hindu sample answered negatively when asked about violence perpetrated by the Harijans against them (see Table III). The few that answered positively could not substantiate their answers. The upper (middle class respondents were also asked about the desirability of the governmental concessions to the Harijans. They mostly reacted in a negative manner. However, interestingly, the middle class sample was more negative than the upper class sample (see Table IV). 2) Economic Tensions: Caste tensions in the economic field of village life may occur when the Harijan laborers demand higher wages, intend to change from their traditional occupation to a more remunerative occupation and either the Harijans or the caste Hindus try to occupy each other’s land’ forcibly (for Harijans responses, see Table I and for caste Hindus responses, see Table V). During the peak periods of agriculture, such as sowing and harvesting times when the demand for agricultural labour is high, the Harijan labourers like their brethren from other castes get paid more than the minimum wage announced by the government. But at other times like weeding or watering, when the demand for labour is low, the wages also are low. Tensions occur when the Harijan labourers demand for higher wages during the dull seasons also, and when they are denied the same or physically harmed for demanding the same. Similarly, when the Harijans want to switch over from their traditional occupation to some other occupation, they are harassed by being abused or beaten. More upper class caste Hindus resent the Harijans’ switching over to other occupations than the middle class caste Hindus. Forcible occupation of each other’s land also leads to economic tensions. Some Harijans respondents complained of forcible occupation of their lands by the caste Hindus. But only one upper class caste Hindu respondent complained that his land was forcibly occupied by the Harijans. However, on enquiry, it was not found to be true. 3) Political Tensions: Tensions in the political sphere of village life may occur due to reasons such as the Harijans and the caste Hindus preventing each other from exercising franchise in an election, participating in a political activity, contesting an election, or threatening each other for not voting for a particular candidate. Here also, the victims are mostly

CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS

151

the Harijans who often become political pawns in the predominantly upper class politics in the villages. Thus many Harijan respondents said that they were prevented from exercising their franchise in an election (see Table I). Only one upper class respondent said that he was ever prevented by a Harijan (see Table V). The Harijans have been prevented sometimes from participating in a political activity like organizing a meeting when a Harijan leader visits their village. They also have been threatened with violence when they wanted to contest in an election. No caste Hindu respondent said that he was threatened by any Harijan. 4) Ritual Tensions: Ritual tensions may result when the Harijans refuse to discharge their traditional obligations to their jaimani patrons. The traditional duties vary from carrying a message of a birth or a death in the patron’s family to his relations in another village. The Harijans sometimes refuse to carry out such obligations if they have to attend to farm labour or if they have changed to some other occupation which is financially more rewarding than their traditional occupation. Often the patrons insist on the Harijans to do these favours for them merely as a mark of respect without wanting to pay anything in cash or kind. Conflict tends to develop in such cases. Many of the upper class and the middle class sample reported on the refusals by the Harijans to render some ritual services (see Table V). The Harijan respondents also reported about their being forced to render some ritual services (see Table I). The services may be with regard to traditional obligations or duties in respect of a birth, marriage or a death ceremony in a patron’s family. Here also the percentage of the upper class sample that complained about Harijans’ refusals to render some ritual services to them is more than the middle class sample. The responses discussed above refer to the existence of tensions in the social, economic, political and ritual relations between the Harijan respondents and the upper middle class respondents as they perceive it. As the tensions can be and have been tackled only at the psychological level, it has been called ‘psychological conflict.’ It is also clear from the above discussion that the psychological conflict exists in wider range and in more intensity between the Harijans and the upper class caste Hindus than between the former and the middle class Caste Hindus. The prevalence of conflict in a greater degree between the upper class caste Hindus and the Harijans is because it is the upper class caste Hindus rather than the middle class ones who are more affected by any progressive social change among the Harijans. They are the most

2

4. Preventing exercise of franchise

3. Occupation of land

2. Refusal to continue their traditional occupation

1. Protests or refusal of higher wages

1

Sr. No. Item

N N

UC

N

MC MC

1 (0.95)

N

1 (0.93)

N

N

11 (12.09) 15 (16.48)

UC

15 (14.02) 16 (14.95)

5 (5.49)

UC

8 (8.79)

MC

17 (15.89)

5

They did

MC

9 (8.41)

4

They very much did

UC

3

Sample Class

Table V Caste Hindu Responses Regarding Harijan Hostilities Against Them

47 (51.65)

53 (49.53)

38 (41.76)

46 (42.99)

35 (38.46)

36 (33.64)

40 (50.55)

50 (16.73)

6

They did not

40 (43.96)

47 (43.93)

25 (27.47)

30 (28.04)

30 (32.97)

26 (24.30)

30 (32.97)

30 (28.04)

7

They very much did not

91 (100)

107 (100)

9

Total

91 (100)

4 (4.40)

6 (5.61)

28 (30.77)

91 (100)

107 (100)

91 (100)

30 (28.04) 107 (100)

N

14 (13.08) 107 (100)

2 (2.20)

1 (0.93)

8

Undecided

M

1.47

1.46

1.11

1.18

2.08

1.93

1.86

2.03

10

10.69

11.17

8.35

9.33

10.20

10.36

10.70

11.61

11

S.D.

152 Venkateswarlu Dollu

Figures in brackets are percentages

10. Refusal to render service in respect of death

9. Refusal to render service in respect of marriage

8. Refusal to render services in respect of a birth

7. Threats against contesting an election

6. Threats against not voting for a Harijan candidate

5. Preventing political participation

7 (7.69)

20 (21.98)

30 (28.04) 29 (27.10)

UC

10 (10.99) 18 (19.78)

MC MC

26 (26.17) 30 (28.04)

UC

23 (21.50) 29 (27.10) 17 (18.68) 21 (23.08)

N

UC

N

MC

N

N

1 (0.03)

N

1 (0.93)

MC

N

N

UC

N

UC

N

MC MC

N

UC

40 (43.96)

26 (18.69)

34 (37.36)

29 (27.10)

25 (27.47)

29 (27.10)

50 (54.95)

48 (44.86)

20 (21.98)

26 (24.30)

47 (51.65)

50 (46.73)

23 (25.27)

18 (16.82)

25 (27.47)

20 (18.69)

28 (30.77)

20 (10.69)

40 (43.96)

51 (47.66)

70 (76.92)

80 (74.77)

42 (46.15)

48 (44.86)

1 (1.10)

10 (9.35)

4 (4.40)

N

N

6 (5.61)

1 (1.10)

8 (7.48)

1 (1.10)

N

2 (2.20)

8 (7.48)

91 (100)

107 (100)

91 (100)

107 (100)

91 (100)

107 (100)

91 (100)

107 (100)

91 (100)

107 (100)

91 (100)

107 (100)

2.10

2.48

2.03

2.62

2.30

2.40

1.54

1.37

1.21

1.26

1.49

1.41

11.01

14.81

10.21

14.95

11.25

13.45

11.25

10.47

8.41

9.18

10.75

10.68

CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS 153

154

Venkateswarlu Dollu

powerful, the dominant and the highest castes in the Hindu social system. This superior position of theirs would get undermined if the Harijans were to achieve equal political power (in the real democratic sense), economic development and social equality; on the other hand, the middle class caste Hindus, although resistant as they too are to a certain extent to the developmental change among the Harijans, are not as strongly opposed as the upper class caste Hindus because of their middle level positions in the social, economic and political sub-systems. The existence of psychological conflict forms the basis for the explicit occurrence of the conflict which at this stage may be called the ‘manifest conflict’ and this has been left out of the scope of this paper.

Notes *This is an abridged version of a part of the author’s doctoral study on ‘The Harijan-Upper Class Conflict in Andhra Pradesh’ submitted to the Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. The author expresses profound gratitude to Dr. Yogendra Singh who supervised his doctoral work. 1. We will explain whom we teat as the upper class and middle class Hindus in the next section. 2. For a description of the conditions and life of these people in the ancient past, see the translation of Manu’s scripture partly reproduced in B. R. Ambedkar, The Untouchables: Who were they and why they became untouchables. 3. See articles 15, 17, 46, 330, 332, 334, 335, 338 and 341 of the Indian Constitution. 4. The anti-reservation riots in Gujarat a few years before and revived recently more than illustrate this point. 5. This has been discussed in detail elsewhere. See the author’s article (1981). 6. Only the Harijans’ psychological perception of the violence perpetrated against them by the caste Hindus is dealt with here. The actual manifest form of conflict between the Harijans and the caste Hindus has been discussed in the author’s article, ibid.

References Agarwal, Pratap C. and Mohd. Siddiq. 1976. Equality through Privilege: A Study of Special Privileges of Scheduled Castes in Haryana, New Delhi, Shri Ram Centre for Industrial Relations and Human Resources. Aiyappan, A. 1965. Social Revolution in a Kerala Village: A Study in Culture Change, Bombay, Asia Publishing House. Alexander, K. C. 1968. “Changing Status of the Harijans of Kerala”, Economic and Political Weekly, July Special Number. Ambedkar, B. R. 1948. The Untouchables: Who were they and why they became untouchable? New Delhi, Amrit Book Co.

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Beal, Alan R. and Bernard J. Siegel. 1967. Divisiveness and Social Convict: An Anthropological Approach, Bombay, Oxford University Press. Briggs, Geo. W. 1920. The Chamars, Calcutta, Association Press, YMCA. Cohn, B. S. 1955. The Changing Status of a Depressed Caste, in M. Marriott (ed.). Coser, Lewis A. 1956. The Functions of Social Conflict, Glencoe, Free Press. D’Souza, Victor S. 1975. “Scheduled Castes and Urbanization in Punjab: An Explanation”, Sociological Bulletin, XXIV (1). ———. 1977. “Does Urbanism Desegregate Scheduled Castes: Evidence from a district in Punjab”, Contributions to Indian Sociology (New Series), II (1). Dahrendorf. R. 1959. Class and Class conflict in an Industrial Society, Stanford, California, Stanford University Press. Das, M.S. 1976. “A Cross-national study of inter-caste conflict in India and the United States”, International Journal of Contemporary Sociology, XIII (3&4). Desai, I.P. 1973. Water Facilities for the Untouchables in Rural Gujarat, A Report, New Delhi, Indian Council of Social Science Research. ———. 1976. Untouchability in Rural Gujarat, Bombay, Popular Prakashan. Dollu, V. 1981. “Atrocities on Harijans in Andhra Pradesh: An Analysis”, Indian Journal of Criminology, IX (2). Doshi, H. 1974. “Use of Public Places and Facilities by Bhangis in Surat”, Journal of Social and Economic Studies, II (1). Epstein, T. S. 1962. Economic Development and Social Change in South India, Manchester, Mancher University Press. ———. 1973. South India: Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow, London, Macmillan. Fuchs, S. 1951. The Children of Hari, New York, F.A. Prager. Ghurye, G. S. 1968. Social Tensions in India. Bombay, Popular Prakashan. Gough, K. 1970. “Palakkara: Social and Religious Changes in Central Karala”, in K. Ishwaran (ed.). ———. 1973. “Harijans in Thanjans in Thanjavur”, in K. Gough & H. P. Sharma (eds). Harper, E. B. 1968. “Social Consequences of an ‘Unsuccessful’ low caste movement”, in J. Silverberg (ed.). Isaacs, H. R. 1965. India’s Ex-Untouchables, Bombay, Asia Publishing House. Kamble, N. D. 1982. The Scheduled Castes, New Delhi, Ashish Publishing House. Kriesberg, Louis. 1973. The Sociology of Social conflicts, New Jersey, Prentice—Hall. Kulke, E. 1976. “Integration alienation and rejection”, in S. D. Pillai (ed.). Lakshmanna, C. 1977. Harijans and the Social Discrimination, Hyderabad, Department of Sociology, Osmania University. Lynch, O. N. 1969. The Politics of Untouchability, Social Mobility and Social Change in a city of India, New York, Columbia University Press. Mahar, J. M. (Ed.). 1972. Untouchables in Contemporary India, Tucson Arizona Press. Malik, S. 1979. Social Integration of Scheduled Castes. New Delhi, Abhinav Publications. Marx, R. 1952. Class Struggles in France 1848–1856, Moscow, Foreign Languages Publishing House. Marx, K. and F. Engels. Selected Work, Moscow, Progress Publishers. Mehta, S. 1971. Social Conflicts in a Village Community, New Delhi, S. Chand & Co. Pvt. Ltd. Moffatt, M. 1975. “Untouchables and the Caste System: A Tamil case study”, Contributions to Indian Sociology, IX (1). ———. 1979. An Untouchable Community in South India, New Jersey, Princeton, Princeton University Press.

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Mukerji, Radhakamal. 1951. Intercaste Tensions: A Survey under the auspices of UNESCO, Lucknow University. Murphy, G. 1953. In the Minds of Men. The study of Human Behaviour and Social Tensions in India, New York, Basic Books. Oommen, T. K. 1968. “Strategy for Social Change: A study of Untouchability”, Economic and Political Weekly, III (25). ———. 1975. “Scheduled Castes: then and now”, in B. N. Pande (ed.). ———. 1984. “Sources of deprivation and styles of protest; the case of Dalits in India”, Contributions to Indian Sociology, XVIII (1). Orenstein. H. 1965. Gaon, conflict and cohesion an Indian village, Princeton, New Jersey, Princeton University Press. Parvathamma, C. 1968. “The Case for the Indian Untouchable”, United Asia, XX (5). Patwardhan, S. 1973. Change among India’s Harijans, New Delhi, Orient Longman. Ramaswamy, U. 1974. “Scheduled Castes in Andhra: Some aspects of social change”, Economic and Political Weekly, IX (29). ———. 1974. “Self-identity among scheduled castes: A study of Andhra”, Economic and Political Weekly, IX (47). Rao, N. V. K, and M. V. T. Raju. 1975. “Malas and Madigas: An enthnographic study of two scheduled Castes of Telangana”, Journal of Social Research, XVIII (2). Rao, U. (n.d.). Deprived Castes in India, Allahabad, Chugli Publications. Roy Burman, B. K. (ed.). 1970. Social Mobility Among Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes of India, New Delhi, Registrar General of India Saberwal, S. 1970. Status, Network and Mobility in a Punjab Industrial Town, Simla, Indian Institute of Advanced Study. ———. 1973. “Receding pollution: Intercaste relations in urban Punjab”, Sociological Bulletin, XXII (2). ———. 1976. Mobile men: Limits to Social Change in Urban Punjab, New Delhi, Vikas Publishing House Pvt. Ltd. Sengupta, N. 1979 Destitutes: and Developments A Study of Bauri Community in Bokaro Region, New Delhi, Concept of Publishing Company. Sharma, S. K. 1983 “Shudhi—A case study of role of a religious movement in the status improvement of untouchables”, Indian Journal of Social Research, XXIV (1). Shyamlal 1984 “Social reform movement among the Bhangis of West Rajasthan”, The Eastern Anthropologist, XXXII (2). Simmel, G. 1955 Conflict: The Web of Group Affiliations, Tr. by Kurt W. Wolff, Glencoe, Free Press. Singh, K. K. 1967 Patterns of Caste Tensions, Bombay, Asia Publishing House. Singh, S. 1977 “The Scheduled Castes and new dimensions of social change”, Indian Journal of Comparative Sociology, III. Singh, T. R. 1907 “The Harijan leather-worker: Some aspects of untouchability in Andhra Pradesh”, Voluntary Action, IX (2). ———. 1969 The Madiga: A Study of Social Structure and Change, Lucknow, Ethnographic and Folk Culture Society. Turner, J. H. 1975 “Marx and Simmel Revisited: Reassessing the Foundations of Conflict Theory”, Social Forces, CXIII (4). Vidyarthi, L. P. N. Mishra 1977 Harijan Today: Sociological, Economic, Political, Religious and Cultural Analysis, New Delhi, Classical Publishers. Zelliott, E. 1970 “Learning the use of political means: the Mahars of Maharashtra”, in R. Kothari (ed.).

PART IV Interrogating Change: Theory and Practice

9 Reservations and the Sanskritization of Scheduled Castes: Some Theoretical Aspects Gopal Guru

Introduction

T

he study of Sanskritization in general has been a source for sociologists both in India and abroad, for their analyses (Srinivas, 1956) It has also been considered as an effective source of influencing the behaviour patterns of the Scheduled Castes and their cultural enhancement (Aggraval, 1977; Beteille, 1969; Baiely, 1963; Gould, 1961: Patwardhan, 1973; Singh, 1964; Singh, 1973, Sachchidananda, 1977; Lynch, 1974). These scholars have made interesting case studies of the process of Sanskritization working among the Scheduled Castes in India. Some of these analysts have taken occupation, education, political participation, and economic and culture factors as the variables for analysing the process of social transformation, modernisation and Sanskritization. Reservation has also been used as an important variable leading to socioeconomic and political mobility of the Scheduled Castes (Aggrawal, 1977). But reservations as a factor affecting the process of Sanskritization has not been studied in details. Therefore, here an attempt has been made to make some useful enquiries into the following problems. This would, perhaps, enable us

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to postulate some hypotheses for further empirical investigations. First, what implication does reservation have on the process of Sanskritization? Second, is it possible for the Scheduled Castes to gain consensus for their Sanskritization from the high caste Hindus? Finally, in the given Indian social structure, does the process of Sanskritization play the viable and more meaningful role in achieving transformation of Scheduled Caste community as a whole? The following body of material will try to find out the answers for the present problems posed here.

Development of the Concept of Sanskritization In its historical evolution the concept of Sanskritization was an important feature of traditional Indian society, where it appears to have been the principle idiom of social mobility (Beteille, 1969: 116). In the past, the process of Sanskritization was slow and gradual and it offered very limited possibilities to the lowest section of the society for upper mobility. This made it difficult for lower castes to quickly acquire economic and political power or having once acquired it, to shed its traditional marks of inferiority. There were, in addition, legal and ritual sanctions which acted against too radical change in styles of life. These sanctions operated with particular force upon the Scheduled Castes who were able to cross the barriers of untouchability rarely, if at all. Later on the British rule released the Backward Classes (including the Scheduled Castes) from the grip of the traditional oppressive sanctions. The new courts of law refused to recognise the rights of the upper castes to the exclusive use of particular symbols of status. The avenues of Sanskritization were thrown open to ever increasing sections of society. The first to seize the new opportunities were those whose social position had been low in traditional society but above the line of untouchability. Thus, Sanskritization served to lower the barriers of sanctions of society, which had at one time been clearly separated. It is true that the Britishers had opened up new avenues of Sanskritization for the Scheduled Castes but it was more so because of the introduction of capitalist system for, it was not easily possible to realize any kind of Sanskritization under the feudal set up. However, the process of Sanskritization helped the Britishers to pump out the agitating tendencies from the Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes and Other Backward Classes (the lower

RESERVATIONS AND THE SANSKRITIZATION OF SCHEDULED CASTES

161

castes above the line of untouchability are classified under the Other Backward Classes) in order to make their position comfortable in India. This was not a difficult task for the Britishers, as some social movements for the upliftment of Scheduled Castes, instead of attacking the basic economic and political colonial structure, in the beginning, seem to have launched their attack of superstructure by searching for legitimacy for social position through religious and traditional means. In the beginning, (for example, the Mahar Scheduled Caste movement in Maharashtra) its leaders seem to have ventured to seek social sanctions to their social position through religious and traditional means (Zelliot quoed in Smith and Brill, 1978: 88). Even Dr. B. R. Ambedkar, the prominent Scheduled Caste leader from Maharashtra, in the beginning of his leadership, concentrated his efforts on status enhancement of Scheduled Castes (Zelliot, quoted in Eugene, 1966: 196). It is believed that he adopted this course of action as a strategy to consolidate his movement. And when he felt that he achieved his goal, he did not try to claim that the heterodox religious practices of Scheduled Castes were worthy of respect, nor did he encourage Sanskritized religious practice (Zelliot, quoted, Smith and Brill, 1978: 94). Secondly, he tried, later on, to gain a large number of civic rights, a necessary pre-condition for upward mobility of any kind for Scheduled Castes. However, one thing needs to be mentioned here is that Mahatma Phule, a great social-reformer in Maharashtra, while uplifting the untouchables, did not crack his mind on Sanskritising the untouchables. On the contrary, he encouraged the non-Brahmins and the untouchables against the process of Sanskritization (Malse and Keer, 1982. In this connection, even the Gandhian movement against untouchability and Adivasi welfare concentrated mainly on teaching these oppressed people against the use of liquor, toddy and meat and encouraged the latter to follow the norms of the high caste Hindus (Singh quoted in 15. R. Nanda, 1980: 158).

Sanskritization in Contemporary India In contemporary Indian society the role of Sanskritization was first analysed in detail by Prof. Srinivas in his study of the Coorges of South India (Srinivas, 1952). Srinivas has put forward the concept of Sanskritization

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to explain some features of religious, cultural and social change in India. According to him Sanskritization is the process by a which a Hindu caste, a tribal or other group changes its customs, ritual, ideology and way of life in the direction of high or frequently twice born castes (Srinivas, 1974: 7). This definition of Prof. Srinivas is challenged by the conversion of Scheduled Castes in Maharashtra to Buddhism, as Buddhism denounces all cultural, religious domination of the high castes or twice born castes (Patwardhan, 1968: 192). Secondly, the unit of the process of Sanskritization is those castes who had been traditionally favoured and the new beneficiaries of westernisation (Sharma, 1980: 106). Finally, as Srinivas believes, the process of Sanskritization can be regulated through the economic and political power (Srinivas, 1962: 56, 1978: 100). Finally, it is argued that the process of Sanskritization brings about the cultural integration of Scheduled Castes with the larger upper caste society (Patwardhan, 1968: 194; Bandopathya, quoted in Srinivas Seshaiah. V. S. Parthasarthy, 1977: 119.). Therefore, to study and understand the Sanskritization of Scheduled Castes in the light of the above positions taken by various scholars, we will have to analyse the role of the reservation for Scheduled Castes in their process of Sanskritization and its implications on the Scheduled Caste common folk. The following analysis would help us to take some theoretical position that would be possible through the interplay between the process of Sanskritization and the provision of reservation.

Reservation and the Sanskritization of Scheduled Castes It is pointed out in the above analysis (Srinivas, 1962) that economic and political power makes the process of Sanskritization possible. Since the constitutional provision made for the Scheduled Castes helps the Scheduled Castes to wield economic and political power the same would help us to understand the Sanskritization of the Scheduled Castes. Secondly, the concept of Sanskritization is a group process and helps understanding group mobility (Sharma, 1980: 106). Similarly, the unit of reservations is a group or class though it starts from an individual unit (Dushkin, 1979: 662). Thus, reservations create the groups which qualify themselves for the regulation of Sanskritization process among the Scheduled Castes. So, with this kind of framework one can work out the kind of relationship between the process of Sanskritization and the provision of reservations.

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Reservations and Sanskritization—A Paradox We have tried to see in the above analysis that the reservations may boost up the process of Sanskritization by being complementary to each other at the operational level. But theoretically and technically speaking these two terms are antithetical to each other. This complex situation can be made further clear on the basis of the constitutional criteria meant for the realization of the reservation provisions. A person, in order to receive the benefits of the reservation facilities, must identify himself with the Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes and Other Backward Classes, and usually must present elaborate verification of his claim. Unwillingness to so identify oneself results in ineligibility for benefits, as untouchables converted to Buddhism and Christianity have experienced. This situation stands contrary to the concept of Sanskritization as you cannot be Sanskritized with the stigma of social disabilities plagued with you. However, though the Scheduled Castes decide technically to remain socially backward in order to enjoy the reservation benefits, still they try to improve their social status and prestige (Sachchidanand, 1974: 282). However, it is argued that after independence the Scheduled Castes have given up the chase for Sanskritization and turned towards competition for economic and political power (Beteille, 1969: 114). It is true that in the beginning the Scheduled Castes had shifted their emphasis from Sanskritization to competition for position of office and power. But this was so as long as there was a fair play of competition for reservation among the Scheduled Castes to remove their backwardness slowly and gradually. When the essence of competition for reservation started being confined to a microscopic middle class from these Castes, the Scheduled Castes once having developed educationally, economically and politically restarted raising their cultural status to the level of the cultural status of upper castes (Deshpande, 1978: 101–112).

Reservation and De-Sanskritization The relationship between reservation and Sanskritization is not only paradoxical but it also to the process of de-Sanskritization (here the term de-Sanskritization has been used in a pejorative sense). Economic backwardness and craze for power status lead to the process of deSanskritization of those economically backward upper castes through

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aspiring for reservation benefits. These castes, in order to avail themselves of the facilities of reservation, must adopt one of the categories of Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes and Other Backward Classes notified by the Indian Constitution. This has been successfully done by the upper caste people. Some of the upper castes have been adopting the lower castes since the British period in order to enjoy the fruits of reservations. For example, when the Britishers adopted the policy of political concessions for the minority communities, Backward Classes and Depressed Classes, there was a competition among the upper castes to adopt the names of the lower castes so as to qualify themselves for the benefits of British reservations. This was done by the Viswabrahmin caste, one of the non-Brahmin upper castes of Madras State, who had tried to join the lower castes for the sake of getting reservation benefits from the Britishers (Saraswathi, 1974: 128). Even now-a-days the upper castes are ready to de-Sanskritize their castes for the sake of getting reservation benefits given by the Indian constitution to the above mentioned castes. According to the Commissioner for Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes, there are a number of instances where upper caste candidates for entry into the services under the Central Government. State Government and Public sector undertakings, secured false certificates by unscrupulous means in support of their claim to belong to Scheduled Castes or Scheduled Tribes (S. C. & S. T. Commissioner, 1977: 48). Thus, reservations, as a practical necessity to remove the economic backwardness, compell the upper castes to undergo the process of de-Sanskritization.

Scheduled Castes and Their Compulsive Sanskritization: A Need for Structural Integration and Social Sanction Upper castes experience compulsive de-Sanskritization out of the need for economic relief, but Scheduled Caste elite class experience compulsive Sanskritization out of the need for their structural integration with the upper caste society through the social sanction of the latter. It is argued that because of the forces of modernisation. Sanskritization has brought about the cultural integration between various castes, once separated, by lowering the barriers between them (Bandopathya, 1947;

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Patwardhan, 1968). This may be true at the cultural level only. But the structural integration of the Scheduled Castes with the upper castes still remains a perennial problem. Even today the Scheduled Castes, whose life style is tentamounting to that of upper caste life style, are still socially being discriminated by the upper castes (Deshpande, 1978: 101–112, S. C. & S. T. Commissioner, 1977; Mandal Commission Report, 1980). Moreover, the problem of Scheduled Caste integration with the upper caste society can further be elucidated by looking into their problem of accommodation in upper caste localities. My observations about educated and employed Scheduled Castes in Nipani in Karnataka and Kolhapur in Maharashtra throw light on the case of compulsive Sanskritization of Scheduled Castes which has been linked up with their problem of accommodation in upper caste localities. In these towns there arc instances where the Scheduled Caste persons have tried to avoid identification of their castes or to hide it altogether of falsify it. They play all these tricks because of two reasons. ‘First, they do not like losing their accommodation in upper caste decent localities by exposing their caste to the land-owner. Moreover, the falsification of caste helps them to overcome the psychological problem of identifying themselves as Scheduled Caste. Secondly, they decide to be socially un-assertive by concealing their castes because they find it quite appaling and degrading to go back to their Scheduled Caste settlement (ghetto). Therefore, to avoid these complications, they decide to claim their false high caste illusionary status. For this maintenance they change their life style to match in social status with their landlords’ upper caste status by adopting upper caste rituals and value. Thus, because of problems such as these, Sanskritization becomes compulsory for the Scheduled Castes even though they do not mean Sanskritising themselves. Though this compulsive Sanskritization of Scheduled Castes is an essentially operating reality, this becomes an insignificant development when, by and large, most of the Scheduled Caste people in urban areas form Housing Societies based on their own castes. This separate settlement of Scheduled Castes has been encouraged by two things: First, these Scheduled Castes want to avoid this compulsive Sanskritization and the problem of social discrimination. Secondly, this separate Housing Society creates among the Scheduled Castes a sense of social security. This may be true about other castes also. However, to discourage this tendency of separate settlement, and to bring about the structural integration of an otherwise diversified social milieu, the government has been trying to create secular, cosmopolitan

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housing societies where all lower and upper castes would be structurally assimilated. Government has even enacted a condition that every co-operative housing society must have as its member at least one Backward Class person. Unfortunately, here also, as we have observed in Kolhapur the allottees of these houses try to bribe the concerning officer so that he would allot the houses in such a way that the people would have their own caste fellow’s house within their very close physical proximity. However, the changing pattern of discrimination, which is practiced by the caste Hindus through the unconspicuous reaction and the separate settlement of the Scheduled Castes and their submission to the compulsive Sanskritization, postpones the conflict that would otherwise be immediately possible. Therefore, it is interesting to mention here that it is this submissive and elitist character of the middle class of Scheduled Castes which is often reflected in the violent reaction of Dalit Panthers and is described as “Dalit Brahmin” in Dalit literature (Pawar, 1980).

Sanskritization and the Poor Scheduled Castes In the above analysis we have taken the reservation beneficiaries, and educated employed middle class of the Scheduled Castes as a unit to understand the process of Sanskritization among the Scheduled Castes. Therefore, it is equally important to work out any connection that would be there between the process of Sanskritization and the Scheduled Caste poor in the countryside. The Report on Marathwada Vidyapeeth Namantar Virodhi Atyachari Andolan Samiti (a committee report on Marathwada University Antirenaming Atrocities Agitation) mentions that in the Marathwada riots the high caste Hindus singled out and attacked the Neo-Buddhists and the assertive educated Mahars who had given up their traditional roles and had accepted a new cultural symbol against the Hindu cultural symbol (Gaikwad, 1980). Therefore, it is the assertiveness and the sense of revolt of the rival Scheduled Castes which challenge the mechanism of cultural domination of the dominant class in rural India. However, it is not only that the high caste Hindus would like to commit atrocities on Scheduled Castes just to suppress their assertiveness and the sense of revolt against the cultural domination of the upper castes, but it is equally true that the upper castes harass the Scheduled Castes folk to protect their socio-economic interests. It is precisely because of this reason that the protection of administration is much

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more important for the Scheduled Castes than the need for Sanskritization (Bailey, 1963: 73, 226, 264). Moreover, the young Scheduled Castes can dispense with Sanskritization for the sake of getting some political benefits (Beteille, 1969: 135). Thus, the process of Sanskritization, as it is argued by some of the scholars, fails to bring about the cultural integration of rural India (Bandopadhya, 1977: 119). Thus, on the basis of the above body of material we can draw the following conclusions:— 1) The reservation for and the Sanskritization of Scheduled Castes are paradoxically related to each other. On the one hand reservations fetch political and economic power to the Scheduled castes to realize any amount of Sanskritization. But on the other, technically speaking, lower caste social background, which is a criterion for reservations, is contrary to the realization of Sanskritization. 2) The reservations play a contradictory role in the process of Sanskritization. On the one hand it enables the Scheduled Castes to undergo a process of Sanskritization through seeking upward mobility, but on the other, it compells the economically backward upper castes to seek downward social mobility on the process of de-Sanskritization, as they have to adopt lower caste status in order to enjoy reservation benefits. 3) The Scheduled Castes, howsoever they are Sanskritized, do not get social sanction either by the upper castes or by the law (Galanter quoted in Singer and Cohn, 1968: 318, 319). Therefore, these middle class Scheduled Castes try to hide or falsify their social background to solve their sociopsychological problems. These problems goad the Scheduled Castes towards a kind of compulsive Sanskritization imposed by the upper castes. 4) Since the process of Sanskritization does not incorporate the rural people and Scheduled Castes and because of its complications, the Scheduled Caste elites become a submissive or isolated phenomenon forming separate housing societies in the urban sector; the Sanskritization creates a cultural gap between the Scheduled Castes. Therefore, when Sanskritization fails to bring about the horizontal cultural integration of the Scheduled Castes, then it is very difficult to say that this would help bring about a vertical cultural integration of the Indian social milieu.

References Aggarwal, Pratap C. 1977. Equality Through Privilege: A Study of Special Privileges Granted to Scheduled Castes in Haryana, New Delhi, (ICSSR). Bailey, F. G. 1963. Politics and Social Change in Orissa in 1959, Berkeley, University of California Press. Beteille, Andre 1969. Caste: Old and New, Bombay, Asia Publishing House.

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Bandopadhya, Suraj. 1977. “Caste Lost and Caste Regained—Some Aspects of a Sociology of Empirical Research on Village India” in Srinivas, Seshaiah and V. S. Parthasarathy (eds)., Dimension of Social Change in India, New Delhi, Allied Publishers Pvt. Ltd. Deshpande, Vasant. 1978. Toward Social Integration: Problem of Adjustment of Scheduled Caste Elite, Poona, Shubhada Saraswat. Dushkin, Lelah. 1979. “Backward Class Benefits and Social Classes in India: 1920–1970”, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 14, No. 14. Gould, Harold A. 1961. “Sanskritization and Westernisation—A Dynamic View”, Economic Weekly, Vol. 13. No. 25. Keer & Malse. 1982. Mahatma Phule Samagra Wangmaya (Marathi), Government of Maharashtra, Publication Deptt. Lynch, Owen M. 1974. The Politics of Untouchabiliiy, New Delhi, National Publishing House. Pawar, Daya. 1978. Baluta (Marathi), Bombay, Granthali. Patwardhan, Sunanda. 1973. Change Among India’s Harijan—Maharashtra: A Case Study, New Delhi, Orient Longman Ltd. ———. 1968. “Social Mobility and Conversion of Mahars”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 17, No. 2. Sachchidananda. 1974. Research on Scheduled Castes with Special Reference to Change—A Trend Report in ICSSR Survey of Research in Sociology and Social Anthropology, Bombay: Popular Prakashan. ———. 1977 Harijan Elite, Faridabad: Thomson Press (India) Ltd. Saraswathi. 1974. Minorities in Madras, New Delhi, Implex India. Singh K. S. 1980. “The Freedom Movement and Tribal Sub-Movements 1920–1917”, in B. R. Nanda (ed.), Essays in Indian history, Delhi, Oxford University Press. Singh, T. R. 1969. The Madiga—A Study of Social Structure and Change, Lucknow, Ethonographic and Folk Cultural Society. Singh, Yogendra. 1973. Modernisation of Indian Tradition, Delhi, Thomson Press (India) Ltd. Sharma, K. L. 1980. Essays on Social Stratification, Jaipur, Delhi Rawat Publication. Srinivas, M. N. 1952. Religion and Society Among the Coorges of South India, Bombay, Oxford. ———. 1974. Caste and Social Change in Modern India, New Delhi, Orient Longman Ltd. ———. 1978. Report of Marathwada Vidyapeeth Namantar Virodhi Atyachari Andolan Committee (Marathi), Bombay, People’s Education Society’s Siddharth Publication. ———. 1975, 1976, 1976, 1978–1977. Report of the Commissioner for Scheduled Castes\ Scheduled Tribes.

10 Purity, Impurity, Untouchability: Then and Now A.M. Shah

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lthough the phenomenon of purity and impurity, including the related one of untouchability, was studied in Indian sociology and social anthropology since the beginning of the discipline around 1920, its modern systematic analysis may be said to have begun with M.N. Srinivas’s work on religion among the Coorgs of south India (1952; see also Dumont and Pocock 1959). Since then, a large body of work has grown, and we have now a fair understanding of the phenomenon. In this article, I propose to discuss some aspects of it, focussing on changes taking place in the modern times. I am aware of the enormous complexity of the phenomenon and its regional diversities, and of the necessity to be extremely careful in making general statements about it. The issue of untouchability in particular is highly emotive and politically explosive. However, the phenomenon poses important problems for both social theory and policy, and social scientists would be failing in their duty if they do not deal with them in a cool and calm manner. Ideas of purity/impurity were present all over Hindu society for centuries: in domestic as well as public life, in exchange of food and water, in practising occupations, in kinship and marriage, in religious action and belief, in temples and monasteries, and in a myriad different contexts and situations. These ideas played a crucial role in separating A.M. Shah one caste from another, and in arranging them in a hierarchy, that is to say, in ordering the basic structure of the society. We

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have by now considerable literature presenting elaborate analyses of the ritual hierarchy of castes based on ideas of purity/impurity. A Hindu man or woman’s life was permeated with ideas of purity/impurity from the moment of birth to the moment of death, and every day from the moment s/he got up from bed till s/he went to bed. Even if one manages to read the entire literature on purity/impurity, I doubt if one would be able to grasp all its ramifications. A complete list of pure/impure actions, ideas and materials would occupy a whole book, perhaps as large as an encyclopaedia. The Hindu civilisation is sometimes called a civilisation of purity and pollution, and the Hindu psyche is believed to be pathologically obsessed with them. One has only to conjure up an image of the orthodox Hindu taking different kinds of purificatory baths and their frequency. I may give just one illustration. The main character in a Gujarati novel written towards the end of the 19th century (Nilkanth 1900), a Brahman named Bhadrambhadra was travelling on a train for the first time from Ahmedabad to Bombay. He considered his copassengers polluting, and therefore took a purificatory bath on the platform of every station the train halted at. Gods and goddesses and their abodes, the temples, were attributed the highest degree of purity, and therefore protected from every conceivable source of impurity. In the same manner, temple priests were considered the purest men who had to observe the rules of purity/impurity meticulously. Although the Brahmans were considered the purest caste, a Brahman priest was purer than an ordinary Brahman. The Brahman sub-castes were also ranked, and the Brahmans performing mortuary rituals were considered the lowest. Similarly, many non-Brahman members of certain highly Sanskritic sects observed the rules of purity/impurity so meticulously, particularly while worshipping their deities, that they considered the ordinary Brahmans less pure, if not polluting. Many holy men among lower castes and tribes, such as Bhagats and bhuvas, also observed the rules of purity/impurity strictly. Every caste, as a collectivity, was ranked relatively pure or impure vis-àvis another caste on the basis of mainly its observance of rules of purity/ impurity. The concern for purity/impurity decreased as one went down the ladder of hierarchy. However, there was a continuous process of every caste trying to improve its status by adopting higher levels of purity, as part of the process Srinivas (1956) called sanskritisation. As he pointed out and as I have discussed in two recent papers (A.M. Shah 2005, 2006a), the Brahmans

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were not the only source of Sanskritic influence. Some other higher castes as well as certain non-caste institutions, such as sects, temples, monasteries, religious literature and religious discourses, could also be its source. The fact that certain castes were considered impure, polluting and untouchable, and occupied the lowest rungs of the hierarchy, has been a major problem of study in social sciences as well as a major concern for social reformers and statesmen in modern India. It is a multi-dimensional problem, and I will discuss mainly the dimension of untouchability qua untouchability. I submit, we would be ignoring social reality if we do not consider untouchability an integral part of the entire complex of purity/ impurity in Hindu society and culture. Just as men and women belonging to certain castes were considered untouchable, men and women belonging to non-Untouchable castes were also considered untouchable in certain contexts, mainly in the domestic domain. In its general sense, untouchability prevailed in every Hindu home. For example, in orthodox Hindu homes, the woman or man cooking food in the kitchen was pure compared to other members, such that s/he did not allow them to enter the kitchen, served food outside it, and took care not to touch them and their plates while serving them food. A woman during her menstrual period was considered polluting, and therefore segregated in her home. Even her sight and shadow were considered polluting and inauspicious on certain occasions. Similarly, a woman after childbirth was considered polluting and was isolated in the home for as long as a month or so. Maximum impurity was attached to a dead body, and therefore everyone connected with it, even a relative residing far away from it, was considered highly impure and polluting, and was isolated. The rules about sutaka, pollution arising from death, were so many and so complicated that only a few persons in a village or an urban neighbourhood knew them thoroughly. The word asprishya, the Sanskrit equivalent of ‘untouchable’, was used even for contexts of highest purity. In Pushti Marg, a Vaishnava sect founded by Vallabhacharya in the 16th century, a member had to worship his/her deity in a state of intense purity. This state, in the temple or the home, was called asprishya (aparash in Gujarati and Hindi) and all other persons were prohibited from touching the worshipper. This shows the concept of untouchability could be applied to the most impure as well as the most pure. Its use to mark out entire castes as untouchable was a special application of the concept.

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II While the Dharmashastras and other ancient Hindu texts described the society as divided into four varnas, they also mentioned a category of people outside the varna order, usually called anirmt avarna (without varna) as contrasted with savarna (with varna). They were oil the margin of the social order, and are generally considered to be the precursors of the category of people called Untouchables in the modern times. A clear understanding of untouchability, however, requires us to recognise the fact that the Untouchables were never a homogeneous group; they were divided into a number of endogamous castes (jatis) which were arranged in a hierarchy, in the same way as castes in the rest of the society were divided and arranged. The ancient texts, however, do not mention the numerous jatis of the Untouchables we now have–more than a thousand of them. We begin to get references to some of them in the literature of the regional languages which began to develop in the medieval period. However, this literature would not help us compile a comprehensive list of Untouchable jatis in any region. Such lists began to be compiled only when the British administrators launched the Census of India, the Gazetteers, and the castes-and-tribes volumes in the second half of the 19th century. These lists became more or less a bench mark. However, we have to inquire: How were these lists prepared? On what basis were the various jatis considered untouchable? And, how far were these lists objective and reliable? Simon Charsley, in a well-documented essay (1996) on the career of the concept ‘Untouchable’, shows how Herbert Risley, the Census Commissioner of India for 1901, was the first to propose, as part of his scheme to classify castes of the Shudra varna into five categories, a category called ‘Asprishya Shudra’ (Untouchable Shudra). He gave instructions to the census officials in different parts of India as to how to Flare various castes in this category, Charsley narrates the complicated problems these officials, and ultimately Risley, faced in their task. Nothing like a coherent and consistent list of Untouchable castes for any region, leave alone for India as a whole, emerged. Charsley remarks, ‘From this unpropitious start, representing as it did more of a rebuff than a successful initiative, the career of a key term was launched’ (ibid.: 3). In the social and political movements to uplift the Untouchables, which began more or less simultaneously with Risley’s census, the social

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reformers, statesmen, bureaucrats and others also got involved in identifying specific Untouchable castes for their purpose. Charsley goes on to narrate the career of the terms related to Untouchable, such as Depressed Class, Excluded Caste, Scheduled Caste (henceforth, SC), Harijan, and dalit.1 It is clear that, in preparing a list or schedule for every one of these categories, the census officials, other bureaucrats, social reformers and politicians always agreed about including the lowest caste, namely, the Scavengers, but disagreed about others. The main reason was the differences of opinion about what constituted ‘untouchability’, the defining criterion for each category. Charsley remarks, ‘As a concept, “Untouchability” suppressed diversity and variation’ (ibid.: 12). He does not tell how compromises were made and the differences accommodated to finalise any list—this should be a problem of research. The basic point, however, remains that all lists of untouchable castes, past and present, do not have the objective reality or finality claimed for them. Secondly, an idea that the Untouchable castes were separated from the rest of the castes by a fixed and inviolable line got established in all discourse, including the anthropological and sociological one, on Indian society and culture. We shall soon examine this line. Whatever the line dividing the Untouchable castes from the rest of the castes, separation of one Untouchable caste from another and their arrangement in a hierarchy were based on essentially the same ideas of purity/impurity that guided the separation and hierarchy of the rest of the castes. We have some intensive studies elaborating this point (see Moffatt 1979). Often the Untouchable castes in a region included a few castes similar to certain castes in the rest of the society. For example, as in most other regions, a caste of priests occupying a status similar to that of the Brahmans existed among the Untouchables in Gujarat. Called Garo (or Garoda, derived from Sanskrit guru), they claimed to be Brahman, put on the sacred thread, and adopted Brahmanical surnames such as Joshi, Trivedi. Vyas and so on (see Stevenson 1930; A.M. Shah 1987; Randeria 1989). This caste formed part of a hierarchy of several priestly groups related to the hierarchy of castes in the region. (a) The highest were of course the Brahmans. However, only a minority of them worked as priests, while the majority practised other occupations such as agriculture, teaching, clerical work, government service, money lending, etc.

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The rites of passage and some other rituals among the Brahmans themselves were performed by certain superior priests forming a grade within the caste. (b) The members of high Brahman sub-castes worked as priests for high non-Brahman castes. (c) The members of a few low Brahman sub-castes worked as priests for lower-middle non-Brahman castes. (d) The Barber sub-castes provided the priestly service to the lower, though not Untouchable, castes. (e) The Garos provided the priestly service to the other Untouchable castes, except the Scavengers. (1) A few Garos forming a grade within their caste provided the priestly service to other Garos. Thus, existence of a Brahman-like priestly caste among the Untouchables was not mere ‘replication’ of existence of Brahmans among the upper castes, as Moffatt (1979) would have called it. In fact, it was one more example of a common characteristic of the caste order, namely, that when a caste providing its service to a higher caste denied the same service to a lower one, some other caste provided it to the latter, or a few members within the latter learnt to perform the service.2 If the number of such members within a caste increased, a new caste or sub-caste might develop in course of time. While the Untouchable Brahmans occupied the highest ritual status among the Untouchables, the scavengers were considered most impure and polluting, occupied the lowest status, and were, therefore, segregated by other Untouchable castes. There were many other castes between the two ends, all arranged in a hierarchy according to the norms of purity and pollution. As is often said, there was untouchability amongst the Untouchables. In this situation, it is highly problematic to apply the statements of ancient texts about the avarnas uniformly to the entire range of a thousand or more Untouchable castes of today. Let us return to the assumption that the line dividing the Untouchable from the non-Untouchable was fixed and inviolable. If we follow the category prescribed by the state, such as Scheduled Caste, it was fixed.3 But, was it so in social reality? We have to consider three kinds of inter-caste relations in this regard in a local area, comprised of, say, a town and the villages around it,4 and populated by members of some twenty to twenty-five castes, including a few Untouchable ones: (i) relation between the castes just above and just below this line, that is, between the highest of the so-called Untouchable castes and the lowest of the so-called non-Untouchable ones; (ii) relation between a few middle non-Untouchable castes and a few middle Untouchable ones; and

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(iii) whether the Brahmans and a few other high castes considered the low non-Untouchable castes as untouchable or not. Our main problem is that usually we observe the two ends of the hierarchy, the Brahman and the Scavenger, and their relationship. Consequently, the general view of the Untouchables tends to be either the Brahman’s view of the Scavenger from the top, or the Scavenger’s view of the Brahman from the bottom, and therefore partial either way. This view needs to be corrected. If the above-mentioned three kinds of inter-caste relations are viewed together, we would not find a fixed and inviolable line dividing the Untouchable castes from the non-Untouchable ones. The status of many castes was ambiguous. For example, in a village in Gujarat where I did fieldwork in 1955–58, a few households each of two low castes, namely, Senwa and Vaghri, the former an SC and the latter a non-SC, lived side by side on the edge of the village. The Vaghris did not treat the Senwas as untouchable, while the upper castes treated both as untouchable. Similar ambiguity prevailed regarding castes of specialised urban craftsmen making articles of leather, such as footwear, bags, straps, belts, seats, drums, saddles, shields, and so on. While the highest castes considered them untouchable, the middle ones did not mind touching them.5 For example, in a small town near my field village in Gujarat, the Mochis (Shoemakers) had their homes as well as shops on the edge of the town. When a high caste man went to a Shoemaker’s shop to get shoes made, he did not allow the Shoemaker to measure his feet. Instead, he stood at the entrance of the shop, put his foot on a piece of paper, drew a line with a pencil or pen around it, and gave the paper to the Shoemaker without touching him. Moreover, in these high castes, a few persons deeply conscious of purity did not wear leather shoes at all, they wore sandals made of wood or thick jute cloth. The middle and lower castes, however, did not mind touching the Shoemaker.6 Intensive research is required on the so-called line of separation between the Untouchable and the non-Untouchable in different parts of India so that we get a more realistic view of the entire caste order.

III What kind of purity/impurity was practised among the Untouchables in their homes and in their personal life? That there was untouchability in every Hindu home was stated earlier. Can the same be said about the

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Untouchable’s home? Unfortunately, there is very little ethnographic literature on this issue. I have only bits and pieces of information. All of them indicate that, although the Untouchables were impure vis-à-vis other castes, and some of them performed such highly impure work as that of skinning dead animals and removing garbage in baskets kept on their head, they were all concerned about purity/impurity in their own life. It seems every Untouchable caste had its norms in this regard, a higher one having more sanskritised norms than a lower one. As mentioned earlier, the process of sanskritisation operated as much among the Untouchable castes as among the rest of the castes, and that there was a continuous striving among them to achieve higher levels of purity. The fundamental point is that, despite the line separating the Untouchables from the rest of Hindu society, all Hindus shared the culture of purity/impurity, and untouchability was an integral part of this culture. As mentioned earlier, there were castes of priests among the Untouchables. Where there was no such caste, a few families of some higher Untouchable caste performed priestly functions. At least’ some of these priests had acquired a high level of literacy and could read Hindu scriptures, mostly in a regional language but sometimes also in Sanskrit. Similarly, a few individuals in every Untouchable caste had become members of certain Sanskritic sects, which placed them in a relationship of some equality with higher caste members of the same sect (see A.M.  Shah 2006b). In this context, the recent book on ‘untouchable saints’ edited by Eleanor Zelliot and Rohini Mokashi-Punekar (2005) is revealing. It shows that, since about the 10th century, there were Untouchable saints who composed exquisite poetry in worship of gods and goddesses: Tiruppan and Nandnar in Tamil Nadu, Chokhamela in Maharashtra, and Ravidas in north India. Their poetry showed a high level of religiosity as well as literary quality, and high castes accepted it and made it an integral part of their temple and domestic worship. Tiruppan was given the high status of an Alvar, and Nandnar, that of a Nayanar. Similarly, Chandrawadia (2007) narrates, rather briefly, life of seventeen ‘Harijan saint poets’ (fifteen men and two women) during 15th to 18th century in Saurashtra and Kutch sub-regions of Gujarat (see A.M. Shah 2007a). Their poems reveal their knowledge of philosophical and theological ideas of Hinduism, and their affiliation with Hindu sects. Efforts must be made to inquire about such saints in the rest of Gujarat

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and in other regions of India. They belie the assumption of chasm between the Untouchables and the rest of the society in the past.

IV Radical changes have been taking place in the entire culture of purity/impurity due to the processes of industrialisation, urbanisation, westernisation, modernisation, secularisation, rationalism, humanitarianism, and mere exigencies of modern life, roughly with the beginning of the British rule in the early 19th century (see Srinivas 1966). The upper castes who were the first to take western education were also the first to change their purity/pollution behaviour, in the domestic as well as the public sphere. This change occurred first in urban areas, and gradually affected rural areas. Its pace increased with the pace of urbanisation during the second half of the 20th century, and is likely to be faster during the 21st century (see A.M. Shah 2007b). A few examples may suffice. The taboo on cooking and eating food without taking bath has more or less disappeared in most urban homes. Women in menstrual period are no longer prevented from cooking and serving food, except in orthodox homes. They move freely in all parts of the home, except the corner for worship. The prohibition on eating food with footwear on has disappeared, not only outside but even inside the home. There is no difference between kaccha and pakka food as regards their relative purity. Many people now do not take purificatory bath on returning home from a funeral, let alone after receiving news of death from long distance of a relative’s death. Even when a bath is taken, it is much less elaborate than in the past. The period of pollution arising from childbirth is reduced or is not observed at all in many homes. Many people do not mind touching a woman who has given birth to a child. In fact the father, grandparents, other relatives and friends are expected to visit the mother in the hospital and take the newly born baby in their hands, without bothering to take purificatory bath afterwards. Hardly anyone now takes purificatory bath on returning home from a train or bus journey or from visiting a hospital. Most men after hair cut and shave by a barber are no longer required to take purificatory bath to remove pollution and resume normal life. There is hardly any concern now for avoiding the use of articles of leather and for avoiding contact with craftsmen working with leather, except in the sanctum sanctorum in temples and in the corner for worship in the home. Many of those

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‘petty’ pure/impure behaviours connected with cooked foods and their ingredients in the kitchen, with lavatory and urinal, and with a myriad other contexts and situations, are becoming less and less common. Just as the concern for purity/pollution has declined in the domestic and personal domain, it has also declined in relations between castes. The prohibition on exchange of food and water between castes is hardly visible in urban areas. People of all castes eat food at restaurants and hotels without bothering to inquire about the caste of the cook, the waiter, and the person sitting on the adjoining seat. Similarly, at meals served during weddings and such other occasions, members of different castes are not seated any longer in separate rows (pangats), nor are they bothered about who cooks and serves food. Members of higher castes, including Brahmans, now eat in lower caste homes. This freedom of food transactions is spreading in rural areas, and will spread faster with the increasing pace of urbanisation. The concern for purity/pollution continues to be the strongest in the field of religion. For example, even highly westernised and modernised men and women do not worship their deities without taking bath. Women do not perform the puja in the home or the temple, or fix the dates of weddings and other important rituals and ceremonies, during their menstrual period. They even time this period with the help of modern drugs to suit the dates of important rituals and ceremonies. Temples continue to be attributed massive purity. Temple rituals, particularly in the great temples of Hinduism, are far more complex than most devotees assume them to be. In fact, most devotees have very little knowledge of what goes on in a large temple, particularly in the sanctum sanctorum. Ideas of purity/impurity permeate it in more complex ways than they do the life outside it. Nevertheless, even here some relaxations in the concern for purity/pollution have taken place, particularly in the smaller and local temples. At the other end, the most visible expression of untouchability, even in urban areas, continues to be the job of cleaning street’s and collecting garbage exclusively by the members of the Scavenger caste, and they are also segregated usually in their own streets. In practically all other spheres of urban life, overt untouchability has disappeared. Not only is there no concern among upper castes for avoiding physical contact with the Untouchables, but the Untouchables too have no difficulty in eating with other castes in public places such as restaurants and hotels. There are

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still some subtle forms of avoidance, but they are on their way out. Upper caste children in urban areas now grow up without any experience and even knowledge of untouchability in schools, buses, trains, restaurants, etc. When they go to college, they come under the impact of modern ideas of eradication of untouchability. To such children, if untouchability seems irrational, the reservations for the Untouchables qua untouchables in educational institutions also seem irrational. This attitude can no longer be called ancient prejudice-against the Untouchables. As mentioned earlier, with the increasing pace of urbanisation the trend towards decline in untouchability will intensify. It is also likely to spread to villages. For example, a villager travelling to a city on bus or train does not know the caste of the passenger sitting next to him, of the person taking tea with him in a tea-shop, of the clerk dealing with him in an office, or of the shopkeeper from whom he buys goods. He will also not take purificatory bath on returning home from the journey. Positive changes are taking place in village society also. In his study of untouchability in Gujarat I.P. Desai (1978) has observed that, in all matters in what he calls the public sphere (i.e., where the government is involved), untouchability is no longer a problem: in such matters as the seating arrangement for Untouchable children in schools, the delivering of letters by a higher caste postman to an Untouchable, and the handing over of postal stamps by a post office clerk to an Untouchable. There is considerable decline in untouchability even in what Desai calls the private sphere: in such matters as an upper caste man touching an Untouchable labourer while involved in agricultural work, and an upper caste shopkeeper giving goods to and receiving money from an Untouchable customer. The most important general change is that while an upper caste person may avoid touching an Untouchable, if he happens to touch him, he does not take purificatory bath as in the past. The punctiliousness with which untouchability was observed in the past has declined considerably even in villages. In pre-modern India the concern for purity/pollution decreased as one went down the ladder of caste hierarchy. In modern India, however, there is a two-way change. While among the upper castes this concern is decreasing due to westernisation and modernisation, it is increasing among the lower castes, including the Untouchables, due to sanskritisation. Let me give one illustration. In a section of the Untouchables in Gujarat I have observed recently, the wedding and other rituals are as Sanskritic as among

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the higher castes. Consequently, there is an increasing demand for the services of Garo priests mentioned earlier. The demand has grown so much that the government department for social welfare has been organising since 2000–01 a training course in Karmakand (corpus of Sanskritic rituals) for them. This two-way change has brought about a certain cultural uniformity, which has contributed to freer interaction between the upper castes and the Untouchables. Another factor is westernisation and modernisation of the new middle class among the Untouchables.

V In modern India, a number of social reform movements have worked for eradication of untouchability, and after independence the government has enacted laws and devised programmes to do the same. All these efforts have of course had their positive impact. However, the pervasive decline in the concern for purity and pollution among the upper and middle castes has also been a potent factor in the decline of untouchability. For present day children in these castes in urban areas, it is a silent and largely unconscious change, so much so that I wonder if the idea of untouchability exists in their cognitive map. Let me hasten to clarify that I do not maintain that untouchability has disappeared completely in Indian society. I am aware of the terrible atrocities committed on the Untouchables from time to time in different parts of India, of the many disabilities and indignities suffered by them, of the discrimination practised against them in various walks of life, and so on. At the same time, it would be a mistake to think that no positive change has taken place. All available information indicates that at least some of the higher castes among the Untouchables have been able to get out of the trap of untouchability. As social scientists we have a duty to assess the nature and extent of social change. In this assessment, we would not be able to go very far if we use the category Untouchable, Depressed Class, Scheduled Caste, Harijan, or dalit as an undifferentiated one.7 We should investigate whether all the castes included in any of these categories are affected by change uniformly, as also whether all the castes included in the category ‘upper caste’ or ‘non-Untouchable caste’ behave in the same manner. We should try to know which of the Untouchable castes are the normal victims of discrimination, and investigate their social profile, rural or

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urban, upper class or lower class, educated or uneducated, and so on. On the other hand, we should investigate the social background of the perpetrators of discrimination. Such information is rarely collected, and if collected, not published. In this process the problems of the lowest among the Untouchables, the worst sufferers, get ignored. I understand the politicians have reasons to go on using the category Untouchable or dalit without differentiation. The media persons too seem to have their disabilities. They could be unaware of the complexity of the problem, or are afraid of the law prohibiting the use of caste names, or are in such great hurry to flash stories about the dalits that they rarely investigate the details of the dalit castes involved in an incident. They go on using the word dalit without any differentiation, and thus create false images of the situation in public mind. Consequently, social scientists do not get the kind of help they would expect from the media in getting information towards the goal of understanding the changing social reality. Be that as it may, I do not understand why social scientists should ignore reality.8 Are they also in a hurry? Have they come to the conclusion that the original decision of the government according to the Constitution, which identified a number of different Untouchable castes and placed them in a schedule, calling them Scheduled Castes, has become irrelevant? If so, then why have the schedule at all? Also, why should there be a statutory requirement for an Untouchable to obtain the certificate of his/her membership of a specific Scheduled Caste for getting the benefits to which s/he may be entitled? Have the dalits become an undifferentiated mass? Have separation and hierarchy among the dalit castes disappeared’? Have the different dalit castes given up the rule of caste endogamy? It has become a taboo to talk or write about all this in public. Ignoring social facts and throwing them under the carpet in this manner, however, is neither in the interest of social science nor in the interest of bringing about desirable social change.

Notes This is a revised and enlarged version of the text of my valedictory address at the All India Sociological Conference held at Chennai on 29 December 2006. I thank B.S. Baviskar, Laney Lobo, Tulsi Patel and N.R. Sheth for comments on the draft of the article. 1. For further elaboration of the career of these terms, see Charsley and Karanth (1998, especially Chapters 1 and 2).

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2. The Turi, a small caste of bards among the Untouchables in Gujarat, is another example. It is part of several bardic castes in Gujarat and Rajasthan (see Shah and Shroff 1958). 3. Strictly speaking, the government list of Scheduled Castes is not fixed. The government does consider from time to time proposals to include or exclude castes in it. However, it has remained more or less stable since 1952. 4. In our general thinking on untouchability, we rarely take cognisance of urban Untouchables. However, we should realise that almost all the Untouchable castes living in rural areas used to have urban counterparts even in the past, and the latter’s life was different in many respects. Their population is now increasing rapidly. Secondly; there were castes of certain specialised urban artisans and craftsmen who did not have rural counterparts. 5. Note that skinning of a dead animal and tanning the skin was highly polluting, and so were, therefore, the skinners and tanners. However, leather resulting from skinning and tanning was less polluting, and so were the craftsmen working with leather. Upper caste treatment of the skinners-and-tanners and the leather craftsmen was, therefore, variable. 6. For some more ethnographic data from Gujarat on this issue, see my paper 1987. 7. For a more detailed discussion of differentiation of the ‘dalit’ category, see A.M. Shah (2002). 8. Take, for example, the recent book on untouchability in rural India written jointly by five authors (one political scientist, one economist, two sociologists, and one activist), based on an extensive all-India survey (G. Shah et al. 2006). They clarify that their work is confined to castes included by the government in the list of Scheduled Castes (ibid.: 37). They are also aware that ‘All Scheduled Castes do not experience untouchability to the same degree.’ However, they go on to state, ‘We did not specifically inquire into the question of who among the dalits experience more untouchability and in which sphere’ (ibid.: 171). Consequently, the book gives the impression that there is no differentiation among the dalits regarding the various aspects of their life the authors have surveyed. R.S. Khare’s otherwise sophisticated work on the Chamars of Lucknow (1984) does not include even a passing reference to the multiplicity and hierarchy of the Untouchable castes, neither in Uttar Pradesh nor in India as a whole. The nonUntouchable castes are also conceived narrowly—mainly Brahmans. Many of the general theories about the Untouchables are, therefore, based on a weak empirical foundation.

References Chandrawadia, J.M. 2006. Madhyakalin Gujaratman harijan sant kaviyo (in Gujarati) (Harijan saint poets in mideaval Gujarat). Shabdasar, 5 (December): 44–47. Charsley, Simon. 1996. ‘ “Untouchable”: What is in a name?’, Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 2 (1): 1–23. Charsley, Simon and G.K. Karanth (eds.). 1998. Challenging untouchability: Dalit initiative and experience from Karnataka. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Desai, I.P. 1978. Untouchability in rural Gujarat. Bombay: Popular Prakashan.

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Dumont, Louis and D.F. Pocock. 1959. ‘Pure and impure’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, III: 9–39. Paris: Mouton. Khare, R.S. 1984. The Untouchable as himself: Ideology, identity, and pragmatism among the Lucknow Chamars. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Moffatt, Michael. 1979. An untouchable community in south India: Structure and consensus. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Nilkanth, Ramanbhai Mahipatram. 1900. Bhadrambhadra. Edition used, Bombay: S.M. Shah and K.M. Shah, 1953. Randeria, Shalini. 1989. ‘Carrion and corpses: Conflict in categorizing untouchability in Gujarat’, European Journal of Sociology, 30: 171–191. Shah, A.M. 1987. ‘Untouchability, the untouchables and social change in Gujarat’, in Paul Hockings (ed.): Dimensions of social life: Essays in honour of David Mandelbaum (493–505). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. ———. 2002. ‘The “Dalit” category and its differentiation’, Economic and Political Weekly, 37 (14): 1317–18. ———. 2005. ‘Sanskritisation revisited’, Sociological bulletin, 54 (2): 238–49. ———. 2006a. ‘Some further thoughts on sanskritisation: Response to Nirmal Singh’s rejoinder’, Sociological Bulletin, 55 (1): 112–17. ———. 2006b. ‘Sects and Hindu social structure’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 40 (2): 209–48. ———. 2007a. Harijan santo: Samajshastriya pariprekshyaman (in Gujarati) (Harijan saints: In sociological perspective). Shabdasar, 6 (March): 12–14. ———. 2007b. ‘Caste in the 21st century: From system to elements’, Economic and political weekly, 42 (44): 109–116. Shah, A.M. and R.G. Shroff. 1958. ‘The Vahivancha Barots of Gujarat: A caste of genealogists and mythographers’, Journal of American Folklore, 71 (281): 246–76. Reprinted in Milton Singer (ed), Traditional India: Structure and change, Philadelphia: American Folklore Society, 1959: 40–70. Shah, Ghanshyam, Harsh Mander, Sukhdeo Thorat, Satish Deshpande, and Amita Baviskar. 2006. Untouchability in Rural India. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Srinivas, M.N. 1952. Religion and society among the Coorgs of south India. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ———. 1956 ‘A note on sanskritisation and westernisation’, Far Eastern Quarterly, 15 (4): 481–96. ———. 1966. Social change in modern India. Berkeley: University of California Press. Stevenson, Margaret Sinclair. 1930. Without the pale: The life story of an outcaste. Calcutta: Association Press (London: Oxford University Press). Zelliot, Eleanor and Rohini Mokashi-Punekar (eds). 2005. Untouchable saints: An Indian phenomenon. Delhi: Manohar.

11 Stigma Goes Backstage: Reservation in Jobs and Education Tulsi Patel

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emedying the effects of historical discriminatory practices against the ‘ex-untouchables’ (achhut) termed ‘avarna’, that is, outside the varna (in Rig Veda, the important Hindu scripture dating back to 1500–1000 BC), have been attempted in India since the second half of19th century. Believed to have become more rigid over time, the caste system is regarded to have made mobility across caste lines increasingly difficult. By the 1850s, missionaries and Indian visionaries had begun to discuss the problems of these communities referred to as ‘depressed classes’. The remedial attempts covered the entire country with the birth of its Constitution in 1950. Untouchables, or exuntouchables, outcastes, or ‘Harijans’, as Mahatma Gandhi preferred to term them, from the 1930s, came to be known as Scheduled Castes (SCs) after the provincial Census superintendents in British India prepared the schedules to affect their status. In 1935, the British enacted ‘The Government of India Act, 1935’, incorporating the reservation of seats in provisional and central legislatures for ‘Depressed Classes’, which came into force in 1937. The vague definition got crystallised in ‘The Government of India (Scheduled Castes) Order, 1936’, which contained a list, or schedule of castes throughout the British provinces. The  Scheduled Caste (SC) became, before the government a legal

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designation, a single category consisting of numerous caste communities each with its own distinct identity, and with regional variations in caste hierarchy. The Scheduled Caste Order, promulgated by the President in 1950, was more of a re-enaction of the 1936 list, though many more  castes were incorporated and a few new regional lists, too (Galanter 1984). The assumption behind the clarion call outlawing untouchability by the constitutional provision of independent India provided quotas in legislative bodies, government service and educational institutions to work as springboards for betterment of lives of the untouchables and to further their integration into Indian society. Article 17 of the Indian Constitution, for abolition of untouchability and the ensuing efforts towards it, has been implemented for seven decades now. SCs form one-sixth of India’s population (16% as of 2001 Census). As mentioned above, they are an aggregate of socially stratified ex-untouchable castes. This paper does not deal with reservations in legislative bodies as legislature candidates have an entirely different set of norms and practices of canvassing and becoming people’s representatives in the Indian democracy. The constitutional provisions for reservation in the legislatures belong to a different order. They are time bound, in that every five years or so, people’s mandate is sought for political representation.1 Quotas in legislative and other positions of political power through getting people’s mandate work as an assured means towards a balance of power and possibly social integration. This paper takes up only those reservations that happen to be more politically charged and much debated. I am looking at reservations in the spheres of higher education and government service for SCs, whose leaders prefer them to be called dalits (depressed/oppressed). Since the 1970s, they have shown a clear dislike for any of the other terms of reference used for them, either as a category or individual caste name, especially on public platforms.2 I conducted participant observation in an office in Delhi and in the residential colony of a public sector industry in Punjab for several months. A few focus group discussions in a public sector industry in Uttar Pradesh and several unstructured interviews with employees of these organisations were conducted. Notes were made about such comments and observations during other anthropological fieldwork

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conducted in parts of Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh and Delhi, and rather briefly in Punjab and Haryana. Context-specific conversations and participation in heated discussions about SCs and reservations in response to the recent declaration by the Ministry of Human Resource Development to extend reservation provisions to higher and professional education for Other Backward Classes (OBCs) to the tune of 27 per cent of the seats in higher education institutions and similar reservation in government jobs (apropos the Mandal Commission) in 1990–91 were often recalled in the lay, as in the academic, discussions in 2006. These constituted a part of the data source for this paper. On both the occasions, the ensuing controversy was covered extensively by the mass media, both audio-visual and print; the striking students in higher educational institutions, especially those in professional courses generated a great deal of response in the academic and residential circles in and outside Delhi. Parents and relatives of children (even children themselves) who worked very hard and aspired to get into professional education after high school board examinations often expressed anxiety about the possibility of admissions in professional courses. As though by natural association, the issue of reservation denying chances of hard working non-reserved category students was brought up in conversations when it came to children on the verge of finishing high school. Over several years such conversation was collected from children, parents and teachers in school and higher educational institutions in different sites and contexts. This paper is based on the analysis of the above mentioned discourse. In my research on the issue of reservations, I have come across the use of terms such as ‘reserved’ and ‘quota’ to mean both the practice and the persons in question who fall in the reserved category. The term is not always used neutrally; there is a general resentment often expressed against the policy of reservations in higher education and jobs, particularly in the urban areas of Delhi, Haryana, Punjab, Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh from where my data is drawn. I have found deriding and demeaning comments with reference to SCs. Casteist expressions are used against castes that happen to be numerically dominant in the North Indian region such as Chura or Bhangi for scavenger caste and Chamar or Bhambi for leather worker caste. The polite references for these castes are safai wale, Mehtar or Harijan for the former and Meghwal or Balai for the latter caste.3 A more respectable reference for

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the scavenger caste, used often in Delhi is Balmiki, a name also preferred by members of the caste to refer to themselves. Little labour is required to recall the ethnographic accounts of the experiences where SCs were made to feel that they held an unequal status in comparison to the upper castes. The law to abolish untouchability and prohibition of its practice (Article 17 of the Constitution), passed more than five decades ago has not been fully translated in practice. Additionally, despite movements like the Arya Samaj that had more influence in Punjab and northern India, caste hierarchy is still persisting, to a large extent, especially in domestic arenas, as also the notions about caste purity and impurity. The erstwhile untouchable castes amongst themselves have a hierarchy and probably for similar reasons as do the upper castes. While commensal discrimination is punishable by law, it is present in indirect ways. SCs seemingly carry, especially in informal contexts, the blot from their past despite the equality of all citizens before law. The statement, ‘ab to Bhangiyon ka raj hai’ (literally, now it is the rule of the scavengers) signifies the duplicity of practice and perception more than its literal translation. SC as a category still carries the stigma, which is not easy to shed. This paper addresses the stigma experienced by SCs. The first part of the paper provides a range of disparaging observations non-SCs often make about SCs behind their backs, especially regarding their advantages owing to reservations. This part dwells more on the deriding comments and gestures made by staff and their family members with reference to SC colleagues working in the public sector undertakings, government departments, and educational institutions from urban areas in Delhi and its bordering states in North India. Data is also drawn from conversations with people in public places such as trains, buses, and residential areas. The image of a SC is portrayed as less than desirable in the context of reservation-induced social interaction. Several discounted aspects of SCs are invoked to project their falling short of societal expectations. The devaluing prejudice against a group of people, which perpetuates and strengthens the existing social inequalities, in Erving Goffman’s sense, patterns stigma (Goffman 1968). In the SC case, it is ‘tribal stigma’, believed to transmit through lineage to all the members. Reducing a SC person/group from a whole to a tainted one is done usually in exclusively non-SC circles. The discrediting comments are

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rarely inflicted on SCs in their face; these are instead made when an SC is out of earshot. The instances revealing unfavourable views about SCs behind their back are a shift from what Coffman (1973) calls the front region to the ‘backstage/back region’. In the second section of this paper, I draw upon historical and contemporary evidence on attempts by SC individuals and groups at overcoming their caste specific odium, as attempts at management of stigmatised identity. Lastly, I try to show that affirmative action (not the same as quota/reservation) in early school education is perhaps a better means for SCs to overcome tribal stigma.

Representing Reservations or Highlighting Spoiled Identity? As mentioned above, it is no longer thought proper as also politically correct to use discrediting and devaluing language by castes above the SC level (non-SCs) while interacting with SCs, especially in urban North India today. Though direct verbal discounting is rare, perhaps due also to fear of legal action, I have been reported of a few instances when demeaning comments were made by non-SCs not realising that the person they were speaking to was a SC. Such awkward scenes are embarrassing when a non-SC realises the impolite remarks about SCs are unknowingly made before a SC person. Direct demeaning of SCs invites legal action. Nevertheless, tribal stigma is invoked as a means to belittle the reservation entailed achievements of SCs, especially in arenas thought to be the traditional stronghold of non-SCs, for example, in prestigious government posts, or seats in professional courses. In what follows, let us see the ways of discrediting deployed by non-SCs. A Brahmin clerk in a government office in Delhi was often late to report and did very little work during the day. He almost never listened to his immediate boss, the section officer, who was a SC. Once, after several reminders from a higher authority that he must perform his duty sincerely and efficiently, he justified his non-compliance in the following manner: I recall for you the time when this man (the section officer) came into the office as a cleaner boy [that is, he was employed to dust the furniture and serve water, tea/coffee and run other such errands for the staff in the office]. I was a junior clerk at that time. In the last twenty years I have got one promotion and this

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fellow has got several. He is now my boss. Do you know how it (being superseded by incompetent subordinates only because they are ‘reserved’) feels? And he (the section officer) does not know anything at all. He is completely ignorant. I can give you so many instances of his incapability and ignorance. I request you to listen to him speaking on the phone. He cannot even attend a phone. He cannot take a phone call. He does not know what to say on the phone if a caller inquires about any matter pertaining to this office. I really urge you to eavesdrop once when he is attending to a phone. If the caller happens to speak in English at the other end, then his handling of the phone is a matchless spectacle. He mutters something under his breath and keeps the phone down; and does it again if the call is repeated. How can one work under such a useless man.

The disgruntled clerk would generally act in a dismissive way to any instruction given by his boss (the SC section officer). He would often have fun at the boss’s expense. Not following the SC boss’ instruction and not doing any of the assigned tasks on time had become his habit, while his retired bosses spoke appreciably of his work and efficiency. But now he shirked work with pride and justified the absence of diligence by invoking the injustice he faced in being bypassed through the policy of reservation, not only at the entry point but also within the job ladder (which got introduced into the reservation scheme later in the day through political pressure and judicial approval4, and was not part of Article 16 of the constitution of India [Shourie 1991]). His disregard for his boss cost not only his office heavily as lie put in a minimal of the expected work, but also set off a trend in the office where most other subordinates followed suit. They would frequently please themselves in not listening to the boss. They would often giggle among themselves and make faces when he gave some instruction or made a comment. It is partly true that the boss who is mentioned in the instant case was not a highly efficient person. But he was not as inefficient as described by his subordinate who felt wronged by the reservation scheme. It cast the mould in the office towards less efficient work as most office staff were happy to be less efficient in the shadow of the second person (the Brahmin clerk) in command. This person had set an example for others not to comply with the section officer’s orders. He was often heard addressing his boss by the first name and in singular rather than in plural or as babooji, a term used for many an office clerk, and for one’s boss in clerical/administrative offices. The following is a similar case from an industrial set up and pertains to the level of officers in the engineering category. A group of engineers

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at a dinner chatted away about several things, and as usually happens, something about their factory also cropped up in the conversation. One of them said about the absent colleague, ‘He knows nothing. After all he is from the quota’ (from the reserved caste category, used for both SCs and the Scheduled Tribes, though in this case the person in question happened to be from the former group). Another one said, ‘Kuchh aata jaata to hai nahi, as gaga hai afsar lagne’ (literally, he does not know anything, has just become an officer for no reason). They all laughed aloud joined by their wives. Then another one said, ‘The other day he was sitting in his office and his JE (junior engineer) barged in and sat down before him without being asked to take a seat. Who cares for these people? What can they do?’ Another one butted, ‘He will be your boss soon. They all get promotions before others’. And again there was laughter. ‘He knows only lal salam [a communist greeting] and nothing much otherwise’. Ideas about purity and impurity of castes are less stringently observed in urban (Shah 1987) and industrial settings (Parry 1999). Jonathan Parry describes the rare case of sharing of food between a Satnami and his upper-caste colleague in Bhilai Steel Plant in Chhatisgarh. And non-commensality apparently got stricter in the villages from where the Plant staff originally came than in the township or the shop floor. The food-sharing case is an exception proving a rule of noncommensality. And this is despite the institution of each employee shaking hands with all the others at the beginning of each shift in the Plant. Similarly, I found that in a large public sector industrial set up in Lucknow, there is little sharing of food and water between SC and non-SC employees and their families. But they attend weddings and parties, and eat and drink at the buffets served on such occasions, where the food is professionally cooked by non-SC caterers. In the field of medicine, the scene is the worst. It is common to call a quota doctor as ‘bandemar doctor’ (literally, a doctor who kills people). The term is quite prevalent among the medical fraternity. Doctors themselves speak lowly about their quota colleagues. This is also reflected in a few private clinics run by doctors belonging to SCs in many parts of North India. There is greater chance of a SC doctor being spoken of poorly by his non-SC colleagues. As the field of private medical practice is highly competitive in Delhi, it comes handy to use the discounting stereotypes against SC doctors. It does not take long for word to spread about a doctor being less competent, especially if he is from the SC

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category. Patients in Delhi are known for doctor hopping, and the practice is rampant as reported by doctors who operate out of small private clinics.5 At times, adverse judgements about medical doctors are also made from public platforms. In the heat of controversy generated by reservations, P.C. Chatterji (1996) refers to Karan Singh, usually urbane, philosophical, and concerned with ultimate values, who while addressing a student rally in Delhi, stated that reservation in medical colleges would render Indian hospitals unsafe because one could assume in advance that the doctor will not be properly qualified. The discourse about tile category of professionals who make it in life through reservations is highly prejudiced against SCs. Jokes, instances of their inefficiency, their lack of class and culture-specific tastes, their subordinates’ disregard for them are brought up every now and then by way of light entertainment at their cost. Sometimes this disregard is shown directly as happens routinely in the case of the administrative office cited above. It also happens when patients do not prefer to consult a doctor who is from the reserved category, as they believe that such doctors are less competent. If a highly competent person happens to be a SC, s/he gets bracketed with others as ‘reserved’, that is, assumed to have been initially incompetent or ignored as an exception. I have not come across people pointing out cases of efficient colleagues who happen to be from the reserved category. If such a case is ever pointed out, the response is one of surprise and there is an element of disbelief, not always an innocent one. The recurrent pun reinforces the picture of an inefficient category of colleagues who come from the reserved quota. The surprise at someone efficient and belonging to SC is overshadowed by the frequent quibbles about slip-ups by numerous others belonging to the reserved category. Use of stereotypical images in social interaction and social stratification is rampant in this kind of discourse. It stigmatises the category of SCs who are competitors for government jobs, and are in competition for the still limited possibilities for promotions to rise within the jobs. Discourse has the potential to create facts: as word gets around and is reiterated in different contexts, as in instances cited above. It is in the nature of such repetitions to get considered as true after a while. People in general come to believe that because it is so commonly said, it must be true. Many who make such statements are convinced of their truthfulness. Stereotyping is a powerful instrument in everyday interaction; it freezes images and time. Stigma is constructed through frozen images.

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Deflecting Stigma It is not surprising that people from the SC category react in ways to avoid their traditional caste or surnames and use the relatively caste neutral surnames, such as Kumar, Pal, Ram, Lal, Chand and Nath. They also prefer to use surnames used by higher castes to hide their caste identity and the anticipated ensuing humiliation in life. Some of these surnames are Singh, Vyas, Guru and Charan. Parents, especially fathers who have been in jobs through the reserved quota have given their first names as surnames to their children to conceal their quota category identity, such as Kapoor, Chand and Swaroop. Very few of these newer surnames were used by the first generation beneficiaries of the ‘quota jobs’, who had various forms of unpleasant experiences during their work life, partly because their surnames gave away their caste identity. The idea is to present themselves and/or their children the way in which they would like to be thought of by individuals or groups they directly or indirectly interact with. Changing names and surnames is an individual’s or a group’s attempt at presenting itself as what he/she wants others to view him/her or the caste group as. In the case of SCs it is a conscious attempt at covering up their inferior identity, a special attempt at transformation of social cognition through such re-baptising with the goal to affect social transaction. The self-presentation through changed surname portrays attempts at disembedding from an inferior social, especially ritual ranking and embedding into a higher ranking group. Such attempts by individuals and groups to change their occupations, eating practices, and other customary rituals and practices have been familiar to us through Srinivas’ (1956) concept of sanskritisation. Concealment of caste names for escaping/obviating sly and humiliating reactions from others, that is, deflecting stigma, is what amounts to management of impression by managing their ‘spoiled identity’.6 Impression management is a process through which people try to control the impressions other people form of them. It is the goal-directed conscious or unconscious attempt to influence the perceptions of other people about them. Coffman (1968) also finds attempts to influence the perception of one’s own image, as self-presentation. One of the few factors leading to the decision not to collect caste data in the Indian censuses since 1931 has been the futility of it through

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the rampant attempts to claim higher status in official records by lower castes through changing their caste names. R. Pant (1987) discusses the numerous arbitrary attempts towards standardisation of caste names from 1872 to 1931 on the part of the British census officials at categorising and configuring caste groups in the country’s censuses they undertook (see Galanter 1984 on the influence of such a practice in the process of listing of SCs). Pant discusses instances of such attempts at caste Configuration. Occupational naming of castes considered low, is prominent in traditional nomenclature systems of North India. In the Himalayan belt of the North West provinces, for example, caste names include Tamata or copper-worker; Lwar or iron-worker; Auji or tailor; Hurukia or player of a small drum, that is, an entertainer. Crooke’s accounts show similar names for sub-castes in other parts of the province. However, occupational names traditionally also indicate ritual status, and the sub-castes bearing names such as, barber, washerman, potter, perform very definite ceremonies at the celebration of rites of passage for members of castes considered higher to them. While some administrator ethnographers, such as Nesfield, were quite conscious of this, others at certain times seem to have taken qualification by occupation more literally. E.A.H. Blunt, for example, as Provincial Census Commissioner for NWP (North West Provinces) in 1911 was approached by several lower castes, for a formal change of name in the census record. He rejected the claims of those wanting to suffix or prefix a twice-born varna term like Brahmin or Vaishya to the original sub-caste name. The claims he permitted were on grounds of a literal occupational change: ‘Occasionally too, sub-castes which had taken up a new occupation claimed to be separate from their old castes: and such cases were usually admitted. Instances are the Chamar-Julaha, ChamarKori, Kayastha-Darzi and Kayastha-Mochi’ (Census 1911: 323). Similarly, Russell reported that he did not enter claims to new caste names, such as Rathor-Teli, but permitted names that signified shift of occupation such as Teli-Bania for Telis who had taken to shop keeping, and Banjara-Kunbi for erstwhile Banjaras who had taken to settled agriculture (Russell and Hira Lall 1916: 12) (Pant 1987: 153).

As the traditional aspects of the caste system were still strong and high castes resented the appropriation of the symbols, style and manner- isms of high rank by the low, opening up of trade and other new opportunities thrown up by the British rule were taken advantage of. But, as Srinivas (1996) recalls, the high castes no longer had the political authority to punish the parvenus from the lower castes, though they often had moral authority.

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Tulsi Patel It was in this context that the institution of the decennial census, introduced by the British, came unwittingly to the aid of ambitious low castes. Sir01 Herbert Risley, the commissioner of the 1901 census, decided to make use of the census investigations to obtain and record the exact rank of each caste. Not unnaturally a number of castes decided to seize this occasion to claim high rank. . . . There was a widespread move among castes to assume new and high-sounding Sanskritic names generally ending with suffixes indicating ‘twice-born’ rank’ (ibid.: 81).

Mythology and history were drawn on without making a distinction between the two. Caste sabhas or associations were instrumental in acceleration of mobility. Both the above comments on census taking show group and individual attempts at recording high caste names in the censuses. And Srinivas also shows that high-sounding names for individual/small sections of a caste were more easily accommodated than those for whole caste groups in a local area. Change of religion has been a concerted move for removal of SC stigma. It is well known that Ambedkar’s conversion to Buddhism was motivated by his belief that only in leaving Hinduism could his people free themselves from the burden of pollution and untouchability. It is no coincidence that the largest untouchable castes in various regions responded more eagerly to the motivation to convert to Buddhism. Change of religion or surnames to conceal one’s SC identity goes on alongside procurement of SC certificates to reap the benefit of reservation policy. While SCs have no qualms about availing the quota facilities meant for them as citizens of the Indian state, they prefer to hide their SC identity in unofficial/social settings as a balancing act. SCs have tried to retain their reserved category status even after having converted to Christianity and Buddhism. But the stigma apparently does not disappear easily even after religious conversion. Buddhist and Sikh converts continue to be considered lower in caste status. A. Fiske (1972) found Christian Dalits in Kerala continued to experience ill-treatment and reported the matter to Ambedkar in writing. Aggression is also adopted as a means by some SCs, especially in secure public sector jobs to fight stigma. There are several instances where senior officers in government and/or autonomous organisations reported one or more of their temperamental SC colleagues who threaten legal action against non-SC colleagues for their caste bias. They openly defy official orders and come to be known as leaders who shirk work and challenge their bosses with threats of appeal to higher authorities

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(SC and ST Commission) for action against the bosses. Legal threats by SCs are contrived to further strengthen the stereotyped image of SCs being incompetent and mischievous. Discrimination remains a serious issue for the Indian society despite constitutional and legal provisions, and after much progress with the implementation of the reservation policies for the Scheduled Castes. Though this paper does not take up the reservation for the ‘Other Backward Classes’ (OBCs) the issue is alluded only to mention that castes just above the SC belt are acutely envious of the latter.

Conflicting Principles in Reservation: Hope from Good School Education As mentioned earlier, SCs/Dalits are not a homogeneous group. They are divided into many castes (jatis) and form a hierarchy in every region. Social stratification among different jatis of SCs exists despite the implementation of positive discrimination provisions. Some castes have advanced themselves through quotas in education and jobs, while others have been unable to do so. Similarly, many families of a caste and individuals within families have taken advantage of reservations, while others have not been so successful. An elite/creamy layer from within the SC jatis has emerged. Consequently, the reservation policy has been in controversy off and on. Broadly speaking, the controversy has two opposing views drawn from the merit and the compensatory principle. Countering the argument of merit as an arbitrary construct, the compensatory view holds the merit principle as a hegemonic device. Ram Jethmalani (1991: 394) complains that those who raise the principle of merit and efficiency do so because they do not support reservations which are based on the compensatory principle. He says that the preamble to the Constitution preferred justice as a superior goal and made it a fundamental principle of governance of the country. There are further complexities involved in these two positions, both in terms of the principle of equality of the democratic individual (like in the logic of one citizen, one vote) and redress of past deprivations and denials. A.M. Shah (1996) has pointed out the Constitution’s stress on efficiency. He has analysed the issue of efficiency in different organisations

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and how they have fared over time. Some sociological issues reservations have thrown up are listed by B.K. Roy Burman (1991). These are: (a) caste class relations, (b) efficiency of public services, (c) reverse discrimination against merit, (d) encouragement of primordial loyalties, and (e) weakening of the country faced with multiple challenges. According to Andre Beteille, The Indian constitution is committed to two different principles that both relate to equality; the principle of equal opportunities and the principle of redress. It is difficult, even under the best of circumstances, to evolve a coherent policy that will maintain a satisfactory balance between the two (1991: 384).

The clash of interest generally flows from this incoherence and contradiction, where the state on the one hand upholds equality of all citizens and thus has the onus of providing conditions, in principle, for equality of opportunity. On the other hand, the onus of the state is in providing redress to certain of its citizens to enable all citizens (to achieve the capability) to have equality of opportunity. Obviously, in trying to achieve the latter, the former is compromised. Those who support the principle of redress claim that there is no level-playing field, without which equality of opportunity in practice, let alone in principle, makes little sense. While those who are critical of redress, at the cost of efficiency, bring forth empirical evidence to show inefficiency and declining standards, on the one hand, and on the other, reverse discrimination is viewed as denial of opportunities to the competent. Reservation in education is the source for SCs to obtain degrees in higher education, and degrees are essential for government jobs. But Pierre Bourdieu and Jean-Claude Passeron (1977) have provided empirical evidence from French society that education usually reproduces the dominant class structure. Samuel Bowles and Herbert Ginits (1976) provide similar evidence for North America where children of the wealthy get better education and have access to highly rewarding jobs. In India, several studies in different parts of India, at different times and for various educational streams and institutions, have shown a somewhat similar but a relatively more complex picture. Thomas Weisskopf (2004) carefully adduced data from a number of studies in India and found the proportion of SC enrolment rising marginally from 7 per cent in the late 1970s to 7.8 per cent in the late-1990s. He adds that most SC

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students in elite universities and professional and technical institutions could not have made it in the absence of reservations, . . . because they rarely have access to high quality secondary education, or to privately funded preparatory workshops and tutorials, all of which contribute to the substantial competitive edge enjoyed by students from the relatively wellto-do families. Even with the lower cut-off points for admission, SC and ST students typically do not come close to filling the available reserved seats at such institutions . . . even 50 years after independence, at least half of the seats reserved in Indian higher educational institutions for SC students, and at least two-thirds of the seats reserved for ST students, go unfilled. . . . Those SC students who enrol in medical schools tend increasingly to come from a few dominant dalit castes and from relatively well-off dalit families living in urban areas, which enables them to attend private secondary schools’ (2004: 4340–41).

Besides, many drop out for inability to cope with the demands, many take much longer to complete their degrees, and manage to just scrape through to pass. Education as an ideology provides a window as to how and to whom education serves. What in theory may have the potential to redress through education, may in practice not often be the case. Notwithstanding the findings that education is not the magic wand to level inequalities, it has opened avenues and provided opportunities. Though slight, one may state that these opportunities for betterment have been welcome when compared with those without any education in India, especially when compared with the time when the reservations were introduced. When combined with reservation in jobs, reservation in education makes a greater impact, is more visible, and is also more articulated in the reservation debate. Provision of reservation/quota is in policy terms meant for certain caste groups, but its implementation is operationalised at the level of individuals belonging to these castes. The individual-group dynamics in reservation introduces another issue to the controversy around reservations. Individuals and individual households or families benefit from reservations and continue to garner those benefits in the subsequent generations by virtue of belonging to the reserved caste category. Castebased reservations have resulted in oligopolies among the SC elite. Caste based reservations go to a small number of the better-off members of the castes concerned. Reserved quotas in education and public service and leapfrogging provisions in jobs are a disdain for many among the castes that do not fall under the reserved category. Senior

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secondary level students and their parents can be heard making unending complaints about how their deserving and slogging children are unreasonably deprived admissions in higher educational institutions, especially those that provide professional degrees, such as engineering, medicine, teacher training. As professional degrees have closer links with employment, the cribbing is largely for such courses. Reservations in education and jobs thus should not be viewed as unconnected. In fact, there is a close link between the two, and closer the link, greater the resentment against reservation by the high castes. Such resentment happens to be directed against those individuals who make it through the quota. It is felt by non-SCs that SC inefficiency is perpetuated through reservations. People are well aware that obtaining a degree, especially if it is a non-professional one, is not enough by itself. It needs legs to walk to a job. And understandably so, the controversy revolves more vehemently around jobs and those degrees that easily fetch jobs. Using failure in education to justify that the reserved castes have an innate deficiency to cope with the demands of education, is a means of ‘othering’. While purity-pollution principle is weakening, the non-SCs hold a perception” that SCs are, by heredity, less meritorious. Social mobility has increased noticeably over the past seven or more decades, and simultaneously, the ideas of purity and pollution in public social relations between castes have also weakened. Srinivas describes the sources and fallout of these developments in Indian society, The most potent but indirect source of mobility, has been adult franchise resulting in the social and political mobilisation of castes. The pursuit of economic development subsuming the development of both agriculture and industry, and ‘protective discrimination’ for sizeable sections of the populations, has resulted in aspirations for mobility becoming nearly universal. It is only natural then that acute conflict for access to resources becomes widespread, resulting in the first place, in competition among backwards, and secondly, between backward and the Scheduled. Meanwhile, the ‘forwards’ have had to evolve their own strategies for survival (1996: xiv).

He further observes that the emulatory aspect of sanskritisation to achieve high rank among castes has been transformed. Sanskritisation is now a gesture of defiance. The lower castes, while staying in the Hindu fold dare high castes to stop their adoption of high caste ritual and symbolic appurtenances.

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By invoking innate incompetence of biology or castes, educationinduced inequalities escape from being blamed as manmade. But the human body is a tabula rasa, and all bodily expression/action is learned, as Marcel Mauss (1979/1950) says. In discussing about making the body social, Mauss argues that all bodily expression is learned. Both Mauss (ibid.) and A. van Gennep (1960) showed that ‘body techniques’, whether used in ritual or in routine life, correspond to socio-cultural mapping of time and space. Education is understood as the means to provide this mapping for the body. Also, it is not easy to see the deficiencies of the educational system, as it is this very system that has enabled, along with other means, the social and economic mobility of many SCs. Every society has a range of educational institutions. Do we not know that majority of the scientific awards and research funding in the USA goes to a few scientists from Harvard, Yale, Chicago and Princeton. Most of those who go to good educational institutions are competent. In fact, they are produced as competent. Educational institutions mould pupils and good ones do it better than others. Well-run educational institutions, with a commitment to chisel their students to meet the best standards, produce good pupils. The bias of innate incompetence is wiped out when educational institutions perform their duties conscientiously. The best example in recent decades is the information technology industry, its education and its market, not just in India but also outside the country. It is a revolution that has raised eyebrows about the intelligence and capability of Indians the world over. Immigration caps for Indians in Europe and the USA have been raised.7 There is an open door policy for the qualified Indians.8 Biases against Indians (coloured race) have got softened. Within the country, IT sector, consumer service industry, call centres, etc. are opening opportunities for undergraduates and those with good ‘public school’ education with little caste consideration. Those who have had opportunities to go to good schools have an open job market. What lessons does this experience provide? We can easily recall the guild and caste-like institutions in all societies, be it the institution of fencing in Germany or oldboys’ associations and alumni associations in other parts of the world. These forms of network societies benefit through association, but are not based directly on caste principles. Similarly, Vivek Kumar (2005) recalls the recruitment practices through referral in highly successful Indian and other enterprises. These practices may require a separate understanding and treatment. The stress is on the existential realities within a democratic framework with benefits

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accruing through networks and more opportunities. The effort here is to be able to achieve a level playing field. The reality before us in Indian society today is one where government jobs are shrinking; conventional undergraduate and some post graduate degrees, if not from reputed institutions, require covering qualifications such as diplomas for jobs in the market; impermanence of jobs is becoming a permanent feature of urban life; and marketable skills and knowledge matter. Keeping up with the requisite skills is essential to keep afloat in the job market. Nevertheless, for SCs, the harsher biologically traced stratification prevails, as described above. While jobs outside the government and the public sector are on the rise, stigmatising and ‘othering’ goes on, so does the defiance against it. Hence, it is equally important not to lose sight of the processes of status achievement through the non-government market. And, in effect, this is what affirmative action (not reservation) as means of positive discrimination, is asking for. Affirmative action (which is not the same as reservation based positive discrimination) in effect means building capacities, rather than being picked up or dropped by the wayside. From the experience of Indians in the IT sector in the western job market, a lesson may be drawn at home. It is in the educational system where action is required to produce competent human power. The shield around basic elementary education is strong. Basic schooling in India is a bit removed from quotas in higher education and access to jobs. Thus, little attention gets paid to the kind of grounding it provides to its pupils. But good schooling is the key to many a higher door. It is in elementary school that ‘body technique’ (Mauls 1979) is nurtured. Inculcating cultural and symbolic capital takes time; universal, good quality school education and training from early on can provide that critical input. Merely admitting students through reserving seats in higher studies without attending to them in early school is not affirmative action; it is simply reservation. Feeding the hungry is one thing and teaching the hungry to feed themselves is another. The latter might eventually counter the inefficiency stigma attributed to SCs.

Notes (An earlier version of this paper was presented at the Felicitation Seminar for Professor K.L. Sharma on 19–20 November 2004 at the Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. I am thankful for all the comments that I received at the presentation. I am also thankful

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for the comments from Professor A.M. Shah, Dr Lancy Lobo and Dr Arima Mishra on an earlier draft of the paper.) 1. It is of interest to mention that almost all reserved constituencies have very low voter turnout and very low percentage of voting. 2. I am not taking up the Scheduled Tribes (STs), as their case is somewhat different from that of SCs. Although STs have also benefited from the quotas in higher education and services, my data specifically pertains to SCs alone. STs have not been subjected to social oppression that SCs have. Some traces of that oppression are visible in the present day Indian society in a different garb in certain contexts. 3. Significantly, the castes subsumed under the reserved category in a local area or district are also referred by the specific caste name which happens to have creamed most of the reservations in the area. It would be worth exploring if the reactions towards Scheduled Tribes that have creamed most of the reserved seats are different from those for their Scheduled Caste counterparts, for example, Meena tribe in Rajasthan. 4. When the judicial approval for quotas in internal promotions in services was given in the 1970s, the news was not well received by non-SC employees, who saw it as unjust. Among the pre-emptive attempts by officers against the implementation of the order to reserve posts for internal promotions, officers working in a company— government undertaking in Punjab—had moved court. Issues of injustice and promotion of incompetence were then feverishly raised in non-SC circles for a few weeks. 5. For an in-depth account of doctor-shopping in private general practice in Delhi, see Shifalika Goenka (2003). 6. Different castes among SCs have adopted different surnames (A.M. Shah, personal communication), and there have been attempts of collective mobilisation among many SCs to adopt caste concealing, surnames in recent times (Tila Kumar, personal communication). 7. I have been told by many in Germany (during 2005–06) that Indian IT professionals are reluctant to accept German ‘green cards’ because they have the USA as their destination where life is better and professional growth has Better prospects. 8. The Netherlands had towards the end of 2004 reduced visa clearance time for Indian 11’ professionals from six to three months; Germany had extended initiations despite some representatives defeating others by raising the slogan, protect your own children, not Indians’ in domestic politics; and the US had relaxed caps on HB1 visa applications from Indians by several thousand a year.

References Beteille, A. 1991. ‘Caste and politics: Subversion of political institutions’, in V.C. Mishra (ed.): Reservation crisis in India: Legal and sociological study on Mandal Commission report (382–85). Delhi: Universal Book Traders. Bourdieu, P. and J. Passeron. 1977. Reproduction in education, society and culture. London: Sage Publications. Bowles, S. and H. Gintis. 1976. Schooling in capitalist America. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Census of India. 1911. Census of North West Provinces and Oudh: Report. New Delhi: Government of India.

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Chatterji, P.C. 1996. ‘Reservation: Theory and practice’, in T.V. Satyamurthy (ed.): Region, caste, gender and culture in contemporary India (Vol. III) (292–313). Madras: Oxford University Press. Fiske, A. 1972. ‘Scheduled caste Buddhist organisations’, in M. Mahar (ed.): The untouchables in contemporary India (113–42). Tuscon: The University of Arizona Press. Galanter, M. 1984. Competing equalities. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Goenka, S. 2003. Health practices and beliefs of pateints and medical practioners in realtion of diabetes. New Delhi: All India Institute of Medical Sciences, 2003. Coffman, E. 1968. Stigma: Notes on the management of spoiled identity. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books. Coffman, E. 1973. Presentation of self in everyday life. New York: The Overlook Press. Jethmalani, R. 1991. ‘Mandal Revisited’, in V.C. Mishra (ed.): Reservation crisis in India: Legal and sociological study on Mandal Commission report (393–97). Delhi: Universal book Traders. Kumar, Vivek. 2005. ‘Understanding the politics of reservation’, Economic and political weekly, 40 (9): 803–06. Mauss, M. 1979. Sociology and psychology: Essays. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Pant, R. 1987. ‘The cognitive status of caste in colonial ethnography: A review of some literature on the North West Provinces and Oudh’, The Indian economic and social history review, 24 (2): 145–62. Parry, J.P. 1999. ‘Two cheers for reservation: Satnamis and the steel plant’, in R. Guha and J.P. Parry (eds.): Institutions and inequalities (128–69). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Roy Burman, B.K. 1991. ‘Mandal Commission: The issues involved’, in V.C. Mishra (ed.): Reservation crisis in India: Legal and sociological study on Mandal Commission report (398–403). Delhi: Universal Book Traders. Russell, and Hira Lall. 1916. The tribes and castes of the Central Provinces of India. London. Shah, A.M. 1987. ‘Untouchability: Untouchables and social change in Gujarat’, in P. Hockings (ed.): Dimensions ofexperience (493–505). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Shah, A.M. 1996. ‘Reservations and efficiency’, in M.N. Srinivas (ed.): Caste: Its twentieth century avatar (195–202). New Delhi: Viking. Shourie, Arun. 1991. ‘This way lies not only folly but disaster’, in V.C. Mishra (ed.): Reservation crisis in India, Legal and sociological study on Mandal Commission report (353–72) Delhi: Universal Book Traders. Srinivas, M.N. 1956. ‘A note on sanskritisation and westernisation’, Far eastern anthropologist, 15 (4): 481–96. Srinivas, M.N. 1996. Village, caste, gender and method: Essays in Indian social quarterly. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. van Gennep, A. 1960. The rites of passage. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Weisskopf, T.E. 2004. Impact of reservation on admissions to higher education in India’, Economic and Political Weekly, 39 (39): 4339–49.

Index

ahimsa, theory of, 96 Ambedkar, B.R., 11 Ambedkar Centres, xx animism, 32 Arya Dharma, 87 Aryans, 34, 38n10 Arya Samaj, xl, xlix, 187 ashramas, 9–10 Asiatic mode of production, xxxiii asprishya, 171 Backward and Minorities Communities Employees’ Federation (BAMCEF), 12 backwardness, 46 Bahujan Samaj party (BSP), xx, li, 100 Bourdieu, Pierre, 196 Bowles, Samuel, 196 brahmacharya ashrama, 9 Brahmins/Brahmans, l, li, xli, xxx, 6, 8–9, 16, 19, 25, 32, 51, 173–74. See also Machhra village, case study of interaction among scheduled castes (SCs) and, 61 untouchable, 174 bristle industry and trade, 84–88 decline of, 89–91 Burman, B.K. Roy, 196

caste-based discrimination, xxi caste endogamy, xxxvi caste occupation, xxiv, xxvii, xxxii castes and caste system, study of, xxix, xxiii–xxxiii caste-based discrimination, xl, xxi caste-based exclusion, xxxvii–xxxviii caste endogamy, xxv changes due to conversion, xxvii as combined subjective and objective conceptualisations, xxix–xxxiii conflicts/struggles, xxxix–xliv Desai's view, xxxii Dumont’s hierarchy, xxvi external features of, xxvii ‘field-view’ of, xxiv Ghurye’s analysis of, xxiv, 23–37 as humiliation, xxviii hypergamous and hypogamous practices, xxv objective view of, xxiv–xxv post-Independence period, xxxvii as pride, xxviii–xxix repulsion, hierarchy and hereditary tendencies of, xxvi subjective view of, xxvi–xxix Cawnpore Brush Factory, 82–84 Centres for the Study of Social Exclusion and Inclusive Policy, xx

204 Chamars, l–li, 10, 15–16, 81–82, 97–99, 186 Chamar songs, xxix Chand, Babu Khem, 11 ‘Chandragutti Incident’ of 1986, 107–8, 114–19 Channaveerappa Enquiry Commission, 120–23 Krishnappa’s experience, 108–9 press coverage, 119–20 Charsley, Simon, 172–73 class concept, 19 ‘class struggle’ concept, 141–42 core institutional order, 28, 32, 38n6 cow protection movement, 96–97 Crime and Punishment (Dostoevsky), xxvii dalitbahujans, 13 Dalit empowerment, xx Dalit movements, xxii Dalits autobiographies, liv caste hierarchy among, xxxv–xxvii causes of poverty of, 19 definition of, 5–7 dimensions of change, xliv–xxxviii as ‘Harijan’, 11–12 identity of, 10–12 lack of recoginition to contributions, 17 literature, lii, 17–19 nomenclatures at the grassroots, 10 research on, xix reservations for, xlvi ridiculing of, 15–17 social discrimination of, 14 social exclusion of, 6–7, 13–14 status in Indian society, 7–10 Dalit Sangharsh Samiti (DSS), 108–9, 111–14 Dalit studies, xx–xxi depressed classes, 11, 184 Desai, I.P., 55, 137, 179

Towards Sociology of Dalits de-Sanskritisation, 163–64 Dhanuk, 81 Dhobi, 81 discrimination, xxxiii–xxxviii Dostoevsky Crime and Punishment, xxvii Douglas, Mary, 79 Dravidians, 34 Dumont, Louis, 8, 79 purity, concept of, xxvi, 8, 79 equality, principle of, xxi exclusion, xxxiii -xxxviii. See also social exclusion exploitation, xxx Gandhi, Mahatma, 184 garhasthya ashram, 9 Ghurye, Govind Sadashiv, 23–37 The Aborigines-so-Called and Their Future, 30 analysis of castes and tribes, xxiv, 23–37 on antiquity of settlers in India, 33 assimilation of Scheduled Castes into Hindu society, 35–36 assimilation of untouchables, 26–29 Caste and Race in India, 24 caste hierarchy, 31–32 on Chandalas, 25 distinction between Smritis and Shrutis, 24 India’s population, 31 on Mritapas, 25 on multiple identities, 33 on Namashudras of West Bengal, 26 peasant society, 31 political unity of India, 35 ‘pure’ and ‘impure’ untouchables, 26 on Scheduled Castes, 24, 29–30 on Scheduled Tribes, 30 The Scheduled Tribes, 30–31

INDEX similarity between Hinduism and animism, 32 on Svapachas, 25 Ginits, Herbert, 196 Government of India Act, 1935, 35 Guha, Ranjit, 14 Gujjars, lxvii Harijan v. upper class, conflicts between dimensions of conflict, 142–43 economic tensions, 150 field and methodology, 142 political tensions, 150–51 psychological form of conflict, 143–54 ritual tensions, 151–54 social tensions, 143–50 hereditary occupation, xxiv Hetcher, Michael, 34 Hinduism, lx, xlix, lii, 32, 36, 96–97, 126, 139, 176, 178, 194 ideology, xxvi–xxix Hindu social order, 6 ‘Human Distress Index’ (HDI), 20–21 humiliation, xxviii identity Dalits, 10–12 of depressed classes, 11 of ‘Harijan,’ 11–12 multiple identities, 33 of ‘Scheduled Castes,’ 12 Indian society, Marx’s commentary on, xxx–xxxi Inequality and Integration in an Industrial Community, 66 institutionalized spokesmen, 51 inter-caste relations, 174–75 Jats, xlvii, xxviii–xxix Jethmalani, Ram, 195 Kala Bachcha (Black child), 94–95, 100–1

205 Kalal, xxxvi Kanpur, scheduled castes and Muslims in, 80–82 Karma–Dharma principle, xxvi–xxix, 6 Khatiks, lviii Khatiks of Kanpur as bristle manufacturers, 84–88 industrial decline of bristle manufacturing and trade, 88–91 Muslim-Khatik relationship, 78–79, 93–95, 99 notions of purity and pollution, 79–80 pig farming, 91–93 population, 79–80 status, post-Ayodhya riots, 78, 93–95 Khun, Thomas, 18 Kori, 81 Kshatriya, xxx, 8–9, 19, 111 legitimized spokesmen of the society, 50–52 literature, Dalit, 17–19 Loss of Nerve (Vernier Elwin), 31 Machhra village, case study of economy of, 56–58 nature of deprivations in, 60–63 population of, 56 untouchability in, 58–60 Mandal Commission, xlvii Mayawati, xxii meat-eating, 97–99 middle-class Dalits, xx Mukerji, D.P., 24 Nagas of India, 33 nation-state, 36 Naxalbari movement, 33 nomenclature of Dalits, 10–11 non-dvija caste Hindus, 11 nudity and nude worship, 107

206 Dalit rationalist action, 129–33 as emic model, 124–27 reforms and, 127–29 social discourse on female, 127–28 tripartite nature of, 109 version of Jamadagni and Renuka myth, 110–11 objective conceptualisation of caste, xxix–xxv official norms, 49–50 displacement of, 50 and functional relationships, 50 Oommen, T. K., 13 Other Backward Classes (OBCs), xlvii, 48, 160–61, 163–64, 186, 195 Pasi, 81 Passeron, Jean-Claude, 196 pollution, notion of, 79 Poona Pact, xxii poverty, 46–47 Punjab distribution of towns in, 72–75 Scheduled caste population in, 70–75 purity/impurity changes in concept of, 177–80 Dumont’s concept of, 79 food-sharing case, 190 in Hindu society, 169–70 at homes and in personal life, 175–77 rules of, 170 social reform movements and, 180 Rajah, M.C., 11 Ram, Kanshi, l, xx reservation policy, xlviii–l, 29, 38n8 caste-based, 197–98 conflicting principles in, 195–200 in educational institutions, 195–200 in field of medicine, 190–91

Towards Sociology of Dalits food-sharing case, 190 government office in Delhi, experiences, 188–89 stigma images, 191–95 use of stereotypical images in social interaction and social stratification, 191 use of terms ‘reserved’ and ‘quota,’ 186 ridiculing of Dalits, 15–17 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 48 Sanatana Dharma, 87 Sanskritisation, 5, 19, 100, xlix among the Scheduled Castes, 166–67 compulsive, 164–66 in contemporary India, 161–62 evolution of concept of, 160–61 reservation policy and, 162–63 Sanyasa, 10 Scheduled Caste Order, 1950, 185 Scheduled Castes and the Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Act, 1989, xxxvii Scheduled Castes (SCs), xxxiii–xxxv, 185–88 acceptance by Brahmins, 62 compulsive Sanskritisation, 164–66 eating habits, 97–99 functional categories, 71, 73 Ghurye’s treatment, liv identity of, 12 interaction among Brahmins and, 61 in Kanpur, 80–82 politics in Kanpur city, 100 reason for non-acceptance of, 63 representation in cities, 70–77 reservations for, xlvi–xlvii in urban areas, 65, 68–69 segments of society, 47–49 Shah, A.M., 195 Shilpkar, 81

INDEX Shudhi movement, xlix, 111 Shudra, 7–9, 15, 25, 172, li Singh, Yogendra, 16 social change conflict between Harijans and caste Hindus, 138–40 population, role of, xlv sanskritisation, xlix state, role of, xlv–xlvi social discrimination of Dalits, 14 social exclusion, 4, 46 of an ex-untouchable, 6 of Dalits, liv, xxxviii, 13–14, 20–21 defined, 5–6 social exclusion of an ex-untouchable, 6 social mobility, 67 social practices and conditions, 45–47 social structure of a community, 67 society, sections of, 47–49 socio-economic development, 69 socioeconomic hierarchy, 67 Sovani, N.V., 66 Srinivas, M.N., 8 Srinivasan, R., 11 state, role in social change, xlv–xlvi stratification system, 46 subjective conceptualisation of caste, xxvi–xxix taboos, 79 Treaty of Westphalia, 36 Tulsidas, Acharya, 15 Untouchability Offences Act of 1955, xxxvii

207 untouchability/untouchables, xxi, xxxiii–xxxviii, 47. See also Machhra village, case study of Charsley’s views, 172–73 definition, 45 endogamous castes, 172 identified change in status, 54 in the modern times, 172 relationship between upper castes and ‘untouchables’, 55–56, 174–75 urban India untouchability, xlv urbanization occupational complexity and, 69–70, 76 over-urbanization, 66 push and pull factors, 66 Vaishya, 6–9 value-based research, xxi caste as the context, xxi value neutrality, xxiii vanaprastha, 10 varna-ashrama dharma, xxx varna division of Hindu society, 4 varnas in Hindu social order, 7–8 vegetarianism, 96 Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP), 114 Viswanathan, Gauri, 13 Weisskopf, Thomas, 196 wild boar, 95–97

About the Editor and Contributors

Editor Paramjit S. Judge is Professor of Sociology and Coordinator, Centre for the Study of Social Exclusion and Inclusive Policy, Guru Nanak Dev University, Amritsar. He has worked and published in the areas of social movements, Dalit studies, historical sociology and classical sociology. Some his works are: Insurrection to Agitation: The Naxalite Movement in Punjab, Terrorism in Punjab: Understanding Grassroots Reality (coauthored), Mapping Dalits: Contemporary Reality and Future Prospects (co-authored), Changing Dalits: Exploration Across Time, Foundations of Classical Sociological Theory: Functionalism, Conflict and Action. He is also an eminent Punjabi novelist.

Contributors Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp, 120 Alte Weinsteige, D 70597, Stuttgart, Germany. Victor S. D’Souza was Professor of Sociology at Department of Sociology, Panjab University, Chandigarh. Venkateswarlu Dollu is the retired Professor of Sociology from Sri Venkateswara University, Tirupati.

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Linda J. Epp was the research scholar at the Department of Sociology, York University, Ontario, Canada att eh time of his contribution. Gopal Guru is Professor of Political Science at Centre for Political Studies, School of Social Sciences, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. Vivek Kumar is Associate Professor, Centre for the Study of Social Systems, School of Social Science, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. R.D. Lambert was Professor of Sociology at the University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia at the time of contributing the article. T.K. Oommen is Professor Emeritus, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. Tulsi Patel is Professor of Sociology, Department of Sociology, Delhi School of Economics, Delhi University, Delhi. A.M. Shah is retired Professor of Sociology, Department of Scoiology Delhi School of Economics, Delhi University, Delhi. S.S. Sharma is the retired Professor of Sociology from CCS University Meerut, UP.

Appendix of Sources

All articles and chapters have been reproduced exactly as they were first published. All cross-references can be found in the original source of publication. Grateful acknowledgement is made to the following sources for permission to reproduce material for this volume. 1. “Situating Dalits in Indian Sociology,” Vivek Kumar Vol. 54, No. 3 (September–December), 2005: 514–532. 2. “Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, and the Nation: Situating G. S. Ghurye,” T.K. Oommen Vol. 60, No. 2 (May–August), 2011: 228–244. 3. “Untouchability as a Social Problem: Theory and Research,” R.D. Lambert Vol. 7, No. 1 (March), 1958: 55–61. 4. “Untouchability—A Myth or a Reality: A Study of Interaction between Scheduled Castes and Brahmins in a Western U.P. Village,” S.S. Sharma Vol. 35, No. 1 (March), 1986: 68–79. 5. “Scheduled Castes and Urbanization in Punjab: An Explanation,” Victor S. D’Souza Vol. 24, No. 1 (March), 1975: 1–12.

APPENDIX OF SOURCES

6. “The Khatiks of Kanpur and the Bristle Trade: Towards an Anthropology of Man and Beast,” Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp Vol. 47, No. 2 (September), 1998: 185–206. 7. “Dalit Struggle, Nude Worship, and the ‘Chandragutti Incident’,” Linda J. Epp Vol. 41, No. 1&2 (March and September), 1992: 145–168. 8. “Psychological Conflict between Harijans and Upper Class/Middle Class Caste Hindus: A Study in Andhra Pradesh (India),” Venkateswarlu Dollu Vol. 36, No. 1 (March), 1987: 77–98. 9. “Reservations and the Sanskritization of Scheduled Castes: Some Theoretical Aspects,” Gopal Guru Vol. 33, No. 1&2 (March and September), 1984: 29–38. 10. “Purity, Impurity, Untouchability: Then and Now,” A.M. Shah Vol. 56, No. 3 (September–December), 2007: 355–368. 11. “Stigma Goes Backstage: Reservation in Jobs and Education,” Tulsi Patel Vol. 57, No. 1 (January–April), 2008: 97–114.

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Readings in Indian Sociology Series Editor: Ishwar Modi Titles and Editors of the Volumes Volume 1 Towards Sociology of Dalits Editor: Paramjit S. Judge Volume 2 Sociological Probings in Rural Society Editor: K.L. Sharma Volume 3 Sociology of Childhood and Youth Editor: Bula Bhadra Volume 4 Sociology of Health Editor: Madhu Nagla Volume 5 Contributions to Sociological Theory Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava Volume 6 Sociology of Science and Technology in India Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik Volume 7 Sociology of Environment Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury Volume 8 Political Sociology of India Editor: Anand Kumar Volume 9 Culture and Society Editor: Susan Visvanathan Volume 10 Pioneers of Sociology in India Editor: Ishwar Modi

READINGS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY VOLUME 2

Sociological Probings in Rural Society

EDITED BY K.L. Sharma

Copyright © Indian Sociological Society, 2013 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. First published in 2013 by SAGE Publications India Pvt Ltd B1/I-1 Mohan Cooperative Industrial Area Mathura Road, New Delhi 110 044, India www.sagepub.in SAGE Publications Inc 2455 Teller Road Thousand Oaks, California 91320, USA

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ISBN: 978-81-321-1381-2 (PB) The SAGE Team: Shambhu Sahu, Sushant Nailwal, Thomas Mathew, Asish Sahu, Vijaya Ramachandran and Dally Verghese Disclaimer: This volume largely comprises pre-published material which has been presented in its original form. The publisher shall not be responsible for any discrepancies in language or content in this volume.

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Contents

List of Tables Series Note Foreword by Prof. Yogendra Singh Preface and Acknowledgements Introduction by K.L. Sharma

ix xiii xvii xix xxi

Section I: Rural Society and Rural-Urban Relations 1. Rural Sociology: Its Need in India A.R. Desai 2. Symposium on Rural-Urban Relations: The Industrialization and Urbanization of Rural Areas M.N. Srinivas 3. Modernization and the Urban-Rural Gap in India: An Analysis N.R. Sheth 4. ‘Fringe’ Society and the Folk-Urban Continuum M.S.A. Rao 5. Rural Family Patterns: A Study in Urban-Rural Relations K.M. Kapadia

3

20

30 50 57

Section II: Social Stratification in Rural India 6. Measurement of Rigidity–Fluidity Dimension of Social Stratification in Six Indian Villages Victor S. D’Souza 7. Bhadralok and Chhotolok in a Rural Area of West Bengal Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya 8. Caste System in Contemporary Rural Bihar: A Study of Selected Villages Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

77 95

114

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9. Power Elite in Rural India: Some Questions and Clarifications 138 K.L. Sharma 10. Social Stratification and Institutional Change in a Gujarat Village 155 K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar Section III: Village Profiles 11. Chokhala—An Intervillage Organization of a Caste in Rajasthan Brij Raj Chauhan 12. Modernization and Changing Fertility Behaviour: A Study in a Rajasthan Village Tulsi Patel 13. Ideology, Power and Resistance in a South Indian Village N. Sudhakar Rao 14. Voices from the Earth: Work and Food Production in a Punjabi Village Radhika Chopra

175

187 213

239

Section IV: Religion and Rituals 15. Public Shrines and Private Interests: The Symbolism of the Village Temple Ursula Sharma 16. A Study of Customs in Rural Mysore K.N. Venkatarayappa 17. Ritual Circles in a Mysore Village Gurumurthy K. Gowdra

257 278 291

Section V: Social Change in Rural India 18. Study of Social Change in Independent Rural India: Critical Issues for Analyses in the Fourth Decade of Independence 307 H.S. Verma 19. Downward Social Mobility: Some Observations 335 K.L. Sharma 20. Dimensions of Agrarian Structure and Change: Issues in Theory 353 Pradip Kumar Bose Index About the Editor and Contributors Appendix of Sources

370 378 381

List of Tables

Chapter 3 Table 1 Index of Growth of Population in Towns Table 2 Proportion of Population at Different Levels of Education Table 3 Consumer Expenditure for a Period of 30 Days

42 43

Chapter 5 Table 1 Table 2 Table 3 Table 4 Table 5 Table 6 Table 7 Table 8 Table 9

59 60 61 62 64 65 66 69 70

Chapter 6 Table 1 Arithmetic Means of Numbers of Different Types of Occupations in Caste Groups Followed by Heads of Households, by Village and the Minimum Size of Caste Groups Table 2 Number of Judges Grading the Prestige of Heads of Households by Village and Number of Castes Represented Table 3 Index Scores of Social Stratification by Village and Type of Index

39

81

82 83

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Table 4 Spearman’s Coefficients of Rank-Order Correlation for Pairs of Indices of Social Stratification in Six Villages Table 5 Demographic, Locational and Developmental Characteristics Table 6 Scores on Attitudinal Dimension of Modernity Table 7 Index of Adoption of Recommended Agricultural Practices during the Season Preceding the Field Study Chapter 7 Table 1 Para-wise Caste Distribution in Bergram Table 2 Layout of Khiruli Village Table 3 Hierarchy of Castes in Bergram Table 4 Caste-wise Landholding in Bergram Table 5 Caste and Community-wise Landholding in Khiruli Table 6 Landholding in Debagram Majhi Para Table 7 Division of Castes in Bergtam in Terms of Economic Classes Table 8 Non-Agricultural Occupations in Bergram Table 9 Non-Agricultural Occupations in Khiruli Table 10 Caste and Position in Power Structure Chapter 8 Table 1 Caste and Occupation Table 2 Caste and the Services of Purohits, Paunis and Mahabrahmans Table 3 Class and the Services of Purohits, Paunis and Mahabrahman Chapter 10 Table 1 Caste-wise Distribution of Adult (1966) and Student (1967) Population in Mahi Village Table 2 Land Ownership and Caste Table 3 Caste-wise Distribution of Landholding Table 4 Membership and Economic Assets of the Three Cooperative in Mahi 1996–67

83 85 89 92

98 99 99 102 103 103 103 104 106 108

118 126 132

159 162 162 168

LIST OF TABLES

xi

Table 5 Caste-wise Distribution of Seats Filled in the Seven Panchayats in Mahi, 1941–1965

170

Chapter 11 Table Composition of Guests in Caste Dinners

185

Chapter 12 Table 1 Distribution of Fathers/Mothers by Children Born, Dead and Surviving at the Time of Sterilisation Table 2 Distribution of Average Fertility, Child Mortality and Child Survival per Couple by Mother’s Age

196 199

Series Note

The Indian Sociological Society (ISS), established in December 1951, under the leadership of Professor G. S. Ghurye at the University of Bombay celebrated its Diamond Jubilee in 2011. Soon after its foundation, the ISS launched its biannual journal Sociological Bulletin in March 1952. It has been published regularly since then. The ISS took cognisance of the growing aspirations of the community of sociologists both in India and abroad to publish their contributions in Sociological Bulletin, and raised its frequency to three issues a year in 2004. Its print order now exceeds 3,000 copies. It speaks volumes about the popularity of both the ISS and the Sociological Bulletin. The various issues of Sociological Bulletin are a treasure trove of the most profound and authentic sociological writings and research in India and elsewhere. As such it is no surprise that it has acquired the status of an internationally acclaimed reputed journal of sociology. The very fact that several of its previous issues are no more available, being out of print, is indicative not only of its popularity both among sociologists and other social scientists but also of its high scholarly reputation, acceptance and relevance. Although two series of volumes have already been published by the ISS during 2001 and 2005 and in 2011 having seven volumes each on a large number of themes, yet a very large number of themes remain untouched. Such a situation necessitated that a new series of thematic volumes be brought out. Realising this necessity and in order to continue to celebrate the Diamond Decade of the Indian Sociological Society, the Managing Committee of the ISS and a subcommittee constituted for this purpose decided to bring out a series of 10 more thematic volumes in such areas of importance and relevance both for the sociological and the academic communities at large as Sociological Theory, Untouchability and Dalits, Rural Society, Science

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and Technology, Childhood and Youth, Health, Environment, Culture, Politics and the Pioneers of Sociology in India. Well-known scholars and experts in the areas of the chosen themes were identified and requested to edit these thematic volumes under the series title Readings in Indian Sociology. Each one of them has put in a lot of effort in the shortest possible time not only in selecting and identifying the papers to be included in their respective volumes but also in arranging these in a relevant and meaningful manner. More than this, it was no easy task for them to write comprehensive ‘introductions’ of the respective volumes in the face of time constraints so that the volumes could be brought out in time on the occasion of the 39th All India Sociological Conference scheduled to take place in Mysore under the auspices of the Karnataka State Open University during 27–29 December 2013. The editors enjoyed freedom not only in choosing the papers of their choice from Sociological Bulletin published during 1952 and 2012, but they were also free to request scholars of their choice to write forewords for their particular volumes. The volumes covered under this series include: Towards Sociology of Dalits (Editor: Paramjit S. Judge); Sociological Probings in Rural Society (Editor: K.L. Sharma); Sociology of Childhood and Youth (Editor: Bula Bhadra); Sociology of Health (Editor: Madhu Nagla); Contributions to Sociological Theory (Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava); Sociology of Science and Technology in India (Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik); Sociology of Environment (Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury); Political Sociology of India (Editor: Anand Kumar); Culture and Society (Editor: Susan Visvanathan); and Pioneers of Sociology in India (Editor: Ishwar Modi). Sociological Probings in Rural Society (edited by K.L. Sharma with a foreword by Yogendra Singh) is the second volume of the series titled Readings in Indian Sociology. This volume focuses mainly on the changing face of rural–urban relations. The articles included in the volume have been arranged in five sections, taking a note of rural–urban relations, rural social stratification, rural profiles, religion and rituals and social change in village India. The volume maps out the structure and process of rural–urban relations, along with divides and gaps between the rural and the urban settings, and the role of urbanisation, industrialisation, land reforms and development agencies. The very concept of ‘village’ needs to be questioned as village is no longer an entity as characterised in terms of its small size, self-sufficiency, isolation, autonomy

SERIES NOTE

xv

and so on. Today, ‘village’ has acquired a new face. Non-farm sources of income are quite conspicuous. Migration, mobility, regular cash income, education, means of transport and communication have become a normal feature in the village as one can see in towns and cities. ‘Introduction’ by the editor provides a semblance of the papers in a succinct manner. It can hardly be overemphasised and can be said for sure that this volume as well as all the other volumes of the series Readings in Indian Sociology, as they pertain to the most important aspects of society and sociology in India, will be of immense importance and relevance to students, teachers and researchers both of sociology and other social sciences. It is also hoped that these volumes will be received well by the overseas scholars interested in the study of Indian society. Besides this, policy-makers, administrators, activists, NGOs and so on may also find these volumes of immense value. Having gone through these volumes, the students and researchers of sociology would probably be able to feel and say that now ‘We will be able to look much farther away as we are standing on the shoulders of the giants’ (in the spirit of paraphrasing the famous quote by Isaac Newton). I would like to place on record my thanks to Shambhu Sahu, Sutapa Ghosh and R. Chandra Sekhar of SAGE Publications for all their efforts, support and patience to complete this huge project well in time against all the time constraints. I also express my gratefulness to the Managing Committee Members of the ISS and also the members of the subcommittee constituted for this purpose. I am also thankful to all the editors and all the scholars who have written the forewords. I would also like to thank Uday Singh, my assistant at the India International Institute of Social Sciences, Jaipur for all his secretarial assistance and hard work put in by him towards the completion of these volumes. Ishwar Modi Series Editor Readings in Indian Sociology

Foreword

P

rof. K.L. Sharma has earned an international reputation for his studies in the field of rural sociology. As his introduction to the volume makes explicit, his approach tends to be comparative, historical and multi-dimensional. Through his analysis and his choice of papers selected for this volume, this methodological orientation is fully articulated. The twenty papers chosen for this volume bring out the varieties of perspectives from which village studies have been undertaken in India. These demonstrate the new structural and cultural changes that the Indian villages are now going through. He rightly states that villages in India never existed as social isolates, a point missed in most studies by western sociologists and social anthropologists. I commend Prof. Sharma for his commendable composition of the papers in this volume and I am sure these would be widely read and inspire debates on the rural sociology in India both by scholars and persons engaged in the development task for rural social and economic transformation. Yogendra Singh Professor (Emeritus) Centre for the Study of Social Systems J.N.U., New Delhi.

Preface and Acknowledgements

T

he Indian village is no more static and undifferentiated. Contacts and interaction of the village people with towns and cities have resulted into absorption of urban way of life in the village and that of the rural culture in the towns and cities. No doubt, contacts and interaction between the two settings–rural and urban, are not uniform as they are differentiated, and so are the people in both villages and towns. The village has an urban face, and the town has accommodated rurality. Rural-urban divide has been diminishing with the passage of time due to inroads of the means, such as education, employment, communication and transport, and also due to aspirations of the rural people for upward mobility. Both structural and cultural factors have contributed to this process of change and transformation. However, inter-regional, intra-regional and inter-village and intra-village differences in terms of the impact of the village on the town and of the town on the village persist causing social inequality and status-differentiation. The village people, who have already been benefited by structural changes, are voicing their concern for protection of human rights, dignity and honour. Developmental interventions change the material condition of the people, and then one can see social awakening and realization for social justice and egalitarian social order. We have included 20 papers in the volume and have put them in five sections: (1) Rural Society and Rural-Urban Relations, (2) Social Stratification in Rural India, (3) Village Profiles, (4) Religion and Rituals, and (5) Social Change in Rural India. Papers by eminent scholars, such as A.R. Desai, M.N. Srinivas, K.M. Kapadia, M.S.A. Rao,

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N.R. Sheth, Victor S. D’Souza, Surajit Sinha, Brij Raj Chauhan, Ursula Sharma, Pradip Kumar Bose and some others have been included in the volume. I am sure such a collection of papers would prove to be a useful guide and a baseline for rural studies in future. I am immensely indebted to Prof. I.P. Modi, President of Indian Sociological Society, for providing me opportunity to edit this volume. His constant reminders, e-mails and affectionate warning bells made me to work on the volume, despite other pressing commitments and engagements. I am honoured to have the Foreword of the volume by Professor Yogendra Singh, who has given a new direction to Indian sociology through his seminal writings and ideas. Mr. Sandeep Bakshi, Chancellor of Jaipur National University, wholeheartedly welcomes academic endeavours. Whenever, I am involved in such an activity, he gladly spares me from routine responsibilities. I express my sincerest thanks to him. Lastly, I thank Mr. Pramod Shanker Mathur for all the secretarial assistance, which he has offered, unhesitatingly. K.L. Sharma Vice-Chancellor Jaipur National University Jaipur.

Introduction: Reconceptualising The Indian Village K.L. Sharma

I

ndian village has witnessed ups and downs from times immemorial. Rains, floods, droughts, epidemics, exploitation, powerlessness, ignorance, and many such problems have made village life unbearable and unsustainable. However, intra-regional and inter-regional variations are quite visible in rural India in terms of proximity to towns, irrigation facilities, availability of electricity, means of transport and communication, and education. Differences have been found, for example, between a dry and a wet village (Epstein, 1962), and suburban and remote villages (Sharma, 1974). Today, as a result of the expansion of towns and cities, the villages which were in the periphery are now merged with the neighbouring urban centers. Today, such villages have acquired an urban face as the people who live there are no more dependent on traditional pattern of agriculture, handicrafts and jajmani system. Salaried jobs, both in public and private sectors, have been the main source of livelihood. Non-farm economy is today to the extent of 30% in India’s villages. But on the other side, nearly 60% of the rural people have dependence on agriculture, and there is a noticeable fragmentation of landholdings. Rural-urban divide has considerably changed. Country-town nexus has acquired a new form as there is a lot of ‘urban’ element in rural life, and a lot of urban people live like poor rural folks in the heart of metropolises. Hence, reconceptualisation of Indian village is required to have a relook at the country-town nexus.

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I Bernard S. Cohen (1968) talks about three approaches to the study of Indian society. These are: (1) the orientalist, (2) the administrative, and (3) the missionary. These approaches refer to the Indian society as depicted in Sanskrit texts, official documents and records, and in the policies and actions of the Christian missions, respectively. Such approaches to Indian society provide a macro-view, however, the ‘realist view’, which has been brought in, for example, in the thirteen volumes of the subaltern studies, do not find a place in the three approaches. Today, Indian society can’t be viewed in terms of simply having tradition-oriented (static), administratively-determined, jajmani – based division of labour, etc. Both ‘caste’ and ‘village’ have undergone considerable transformation. No more Indian village is a ‘closed’ and ‘isolated’ system, as it was perceived by several scholars of yesteryears (Dumont, 1966; Maine, 1871; Baden-Powell, 1892; Karl Marx, 1951). Indian society was also characterized by the Asiatic Mode of Production, Idyllic Village culture, Oriental Despotism, Barbarian Egotism, Caste and Slavery. Village was seen as a static society, having solidarity, selfgovernance, self-sufficiency and isolation. In principle, such features of Indian society and village community were written off in 1947 on the eve of India’s Independence. Adult franchise, community development programmes, panchayati raj institutions, green revolution, development schemes, legislations, means of transport and communication have created a new face of the Indian village. Today, dependence on agriculture has come down to 60% from 80% at the dawn of independence. Nonfarm income has gone beyond 30%. Migration and mobility have become normal features. The two studies by Wiser (1930; 1936), namely, Behind Mud Walls and Hindu Jajmani System lost their aura in 1950s and 1960s. The Indian village has been graphically characterized in the three publications, brought out by Marriott (1955), Srinivas (1955) and Dube (1955). The year 1955 was the year of village studies in sociology and social anthropology. The village was presented as a political entity, as a part of wider system, and as a place, where group, family and individual could be identified distinctly in specific social arenas. Not just village, but villager was also noticed. Though some scholars continued to look at village (Chauhan, 1967; 2009) as a ‘little community’,

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following the idea taken from Robert Redfield (1956). But the view that village had a small size, self-sufficiently, autonomy and self-governance was soon under attack. The idea of ‘factions’ in the village (Singh, 1970; Lewis, 1958), prevalence of “networks” (Mayer, 1960), “bridge-action” (Bailey, 1960), and “downward social mobility” (Sharma, 1973) focused on nexus between village and town, rejecting clearly the idea of unchanging divide between village and town. The monographic-holistic studies of the 1950s were replaced by the multi-village comparative studies (Mukherjee, 1957; Singh, 1969; Sharma, 1974; Bailey, 1957; Epstein, 1962), and the variable-based studies (Joshi, 1976; Lindberg and Djurfeldt, 1976). These studies have gone beyond the application of the ‘participant observation’, mainly practised by Srinivas (1952) and his student (Beteille, 1966). Multivillage studies recognize specific differences in given villages, based on history, land-tenure system, caste hierarchy, proximity to towns and so on. Comparison facilitates understanding of the pace of social change in different villages. The issues, such as land reforms, poverty, health, development, empowerment, social justice do not find enough space in the village studies of the 1950s and early 1960s. The studies of village community in India were loaded with the idea of ‘cultural mobility’, which Srinivas advanced through the concepts of ‘sanskritization’, ‘dominant caste’ and ‘westernization’, and all the three revolved around the caste system (Srinivas, 1952; 1955; 1966; Marriott, 1955). Marriott was also confined to intra-tradition interaction between ‘little traditions’ and ‘great tradition’. Srinivas always thought of a change in the caste system and not of the system. So was the view upheld by Louis Dumont in Homo Hierarchicus (1970). The very idea of caste as a hierarchy implies that caste is a system based on values and norms, such as of being pure and impure. As such the pure encompasses the impure, in terms of superior and inferior objects, things, and persons. The Indian village has been seen as the real laboratory of the practice of caste system as perceived by Srinivas and Dumont.

II In our view, cognitive and ontological bases of village life have considerably changed. New issues and dilemmas have surfaced. Multi-village, comparative and variable-based, historical, double-synchronic and

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diachronic studies have opened up new vistas for our understanding of everchanging rural society. Studies by M.N. Srinivas (1952), S.C. Dube (1955), D.N. Majumdar (1958), Oscar Lewis (1958) are single village studies. The studies which focus on a comparative and variable-based approach are by Ramakrishna Mukherjee (1957), F.G. Bailey (1957), Scarlett Epstein (1962) and K.L. Sharma (1974). An apt example of a double synchrony is a study by Pauline Kolenda (1978, 1989) who studied the same village twice with a gap of nearly three decades. The change-agents in some of these studies are, for example, land reforms, green revolution, panchayati raj, urbanization, migration, education and white-collar employment. Our study (Sharma, 1974) shows disappearance of jajmani system and pollution-purity syndrome, and renewed nexus with towns and cities. We may ask: Was village ever a community? Is village a community now? Is not there an ‘individual’ in the village? Was there group (caste) alone in the village? In our study of six villages in Rajasthan (1974), a distinction between individual, family and group was clearly visible and it was also observed by the people themselves. It is not just a heuristic distinction; it is rooted into ontologically differentiated social reality. Within a given group (caste), there are a number of families, and then there are individual members in the families. The three are no doubt interrelated, but they are not reducible to each other. Such a reality does not lend support to the ‘sanskritization’ thesis and to the idea of ‘dominant caste’. There is an ‘individual’ in the village, and so is the ‘family’, and the two are not just the shadows of caste alone. The two exist independent of caste as well. In this way, social change occurs in the village not simply in the cultural realm, that is, imitation of the social and cultural life of the upper castes by the lower castes. Economic and political changes are more around individual and family than having group as the epicenter. Sources of change are generally extra-systemic, and the channels of change are education, migration, mobility, modern occupations and entrepreneurship. In political realm, adult franchise, participation in elections, seeking positions of power and authority, etc., have brought about social change. Different patterns of change have been noticed in village India. A comparative study of two villages in Karnataka (Epstein, 1962) shows that the dry village had far less economic change, but had a lot more social change due to exposure to the outside world. On the contrary, the

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wet village had substantial economic change, but much less social change due to insulation of the people within the village. A synchronic study of a village in Western Uttar Pradesh (Kolenda, op.cit) shows that over a period of time, discourse on development changes from poverty, unemployment, illiteracy, etc., to the issues of dignity and honour. Country-town nexus (Sharma and Gupta, 1991), village networks (Shah, 1991), emergence of a new middle class in rural Gujarat (Ghanshyam Shah, 1991), differentiated structures (Beteille, 1966), and downward social mobility (Sharma, 1973) indicate paradigm shifts in rural society. The conceptual framework, comprising of the ideas of sanskritization, dominant caste, parochialization and universalization, is not comprehensive enough to explain such changes in the village. In the wake of green revolution, debate on capitalist mode of production in agriculture occupied center-stage in social sciences. Due to weakening of the caste system and its subsidiary institution of jajmani, ‘empowerment’ became the focal theme, particularly in relation to the functionary castes and weaker sections. Adult franchise and participation in elections have shown the way for casteism and caste-based political alliances. Studies of caste have come up considering caste not as a system but more of a phenomenon, a means of identity, and alliance for political gains. Migration and mobility have acquired a new form and pace. As a result of this, studies of the changing face of the village focusing on decreased dependence on agriculture, growth in non-farm activities and income, and new employment avenues and opportunities are a recent development. Besides, these new grounds of the village studies, the studies of panchayati raj institutions, uneven development and inequality, environmental issues, irrigation, electricity, prices of agricultural produces, government schemes, etc., have been reported from different parts of India (Sharma, 2013).

III The fact is that the Indian village has never been in isolation. Even as an entity, it has not been ‘isolable’, heuristically. The writings on the Indian village in the 1950s created a myth around it that it was like a ‘little community’ as depicted by Robert Redfield (1956). Country-town nexus has always existed. Today, the Indian village is very different from  the village of the 1950s and 1960s. Means of transport and

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communication, migration, urban employment, development programmes, schools and colleges, non-farm activities, government offices and agencies have changed the face of nearly 80% of the villages in India. A village, which we studied in mid-sixties in Sikar district, has almost become a part of the town, mainly due to fast expansion of the town itself. Another interior village in the district is no more cut off today from the outside world due to road connectivity with the district and tehsil headquarters. Today, the village has Primary Health Centre, Senior Secondary School, Offices of the Gram Panchayat, Village Level Worker, Cooperative Society, etc. Functionaries, such as female nurse, wireman, vaccinator and postman, are stationed in the village. Today, village is a part of wider administrative, political, social, and economic organizations. Panchayati raj institutions, political parties, access to urban market and expansion of the marriage circle have made the village an integral entity of the wider world. Rural-urban polarity or differences have shrunk to a great extent due to coming of the ‘urban pattern of living’ in the village, and as a result of the incorporation of the village and villagers in the urban world. Villagers hardly think of ‘sanskritization’ or of the upper castes as ‘reference groups’. Non-farm income, presence of the middle (agrarian) castes and visibility of some lower caste influentials do imply a rethinking of the idea of Indian village. One can see the presence of two distinct, though not unrelated, discourses, namely, on development and dignity (izzat) in village India. What is development? Where is development? Whose development? Who are beneficiaries of the initiatives taken by the government? Who corner the non-farm income? The lower castes no longer tolerate the oppressive activities of the landowning people. Their women can’t be as an ‘object’ of the gaze of the bullies of the upper castes. They retaliate against any injustice done to them. These questions on ‘development’ and statements on ‘honour’, respectively, reflect the changing socio-cultural and political contours of village life. Resistance to such expressions by the upper castes is hardly there as it used to be in the 1950s and 1960s.

IV Now the question is : What is rural? Certainly, today Indian village is quite different from the village of the 1950s, 1960s, and even 1970s. Since caste is no more an everyday life phenomenon, nexus between

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caste and economic life, and caste, class and power has become a matter of past history. Social justice, empowerment, and employment are the main concerns, leaving behind the questions of land reforms, green revolution, mode of production, etc. Construction of roads, opening of senior schools and colleges, education of girls, fair prices of agricultural produces, healthcare facilities, and viable employment have attracted the attention of the rural people. People are demanding for more of these amenities and opportunities by saying that there is ‘urban bias’ (Lipton, 1993). Rural people remain behind their urban counterparts due to urban bias of the development policy. Interventions in rural life caused by green revolution, capitalist mode of production, empowerment of the weaker sections and women, and strategy to improve economic and social life of the rural poor have considerably changed the rural society. Dipankar Gupta (2005, 751– 758) talks of change of both culture and agriculture, fearing withering away of the Indian village. Tradition is under severe stress in rural India. One can see a range of owner-cultivators, and as such agriculture is no more a monopoly of the traditional principal castes, such as Yadavs, Jats, Kurmis, Patels, Marathas, Jat Sikhs, Reddys, Kamas, etc. Even classification of peasantry in terms of rich farmers/kulaks/capitalist landlords has become outdated. In some parts, one can see agri-business cultivators, particularly where green revolution has been there for quite some time. Suicide by farmers in some parts of India is attributed to their ambition to become rich overnight. The burden of farm loans and inability to repay debt to the banks have created such a horrifying situation. M.S. Tikait pleaded for easy access to facilities of irrigation and electricity for the farmers of Western Uttar Pradesh (Dipankar Gupta, 1991). Land reforms were quite effective, but subsequent to land reforms and green revolution, reforms have largely been ineffective. Politics is different from economics in more than one way. For example, the Bahujan Samaj Party (BSP) argues that the dalits outnumber the Jats, Gurjars or Rajputs, hence welfare measures must be for them, and not for the well-entrenched peasantry. According to Pauline Kolenda (op.cit.), the category of the rural poor and agricultural labour also needs to be changed as they today talk of their dignity and honour and particularly of their womenfolk. New rural activism, led by owner-cultivators having income from agriculture, and earnings from nonfarm activities, has changed the rural

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socio-economic and political map of the Indian village. Gupta (2005) states that the issues are: larger state subsidies, higher prices, and more favourable terms of trade with urban world. Caste and agriculture no longer exercise their vigorous hold. Fluidity in occupational choices, migration to towns and cities, and vote-bank politics overshadow the issues related to agriculture, jajmani system, inter and intra caste relations. Country-town nexus, rural non-farm income and control over rural institutions, such as cooperatives, panchayats, are the main considerations. An example of a farmer settled in Delhi would explain the country-twon nexus. Ram Singh (name changed), a farmer owns 21 bighas of wet land in Baghpat of Meerut region in Uttar Pradesh. He has given away his land on annual contract for rupees one lac. He owns an autorickshaw in Delhi. His view is that in Delhi he earns and spends everyday, whereas in the village, he has money at the time of harvesting. Life in Delhi is better for him as he is also educating his two sons in an English-medium school. Such a story applies to all parts of India. Now the question is: Who is a farmer? One moves out of the village but retains his roots in the village? The one who has taken up Naukary, Mazdoori, Weaving, etc., in the city? A person who has developed social connections at the work place, and also visits his village from time to time? There are people in the village who know a lot about administrative mechanisms, courts, hospitals, etc. They are also aware about terrorism, communal riots, and tensions between different castes. Some people own substantial land and assets. They hire people to work at their farms or for some other tasks. There are moneylenders, substantial self-cultivators, and poor people who work for others. This does not imply that the village is getting emptied as more and more people are migrating to towns and cities. The fact is that this indicates an ongoing process, showing new dynamics and dialectics. Non-farm income is restraining this process to some extent, but the point is: Who are the people cornering this income? Are they well off farmers, salaried people, politically influential individuals and families? Yogendra Singh (2009, 178–195) analyses social change based on the changing nature of social praxis in a village in eastern Uttar Pradesh. The notion of an ideal typical village has become outdated and redundant today. Singh observes two levels of social praxis: (1) the state policies of development, and (2) a new resurgence in entrepreneurial

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ventures. These changes, Singh observes, have significantly altered the traditional bonds of community. He writes: “The inter-caste relationships have ceased to be village-centric. Increasingly, as the policies of positive discrimination in favour of the dalits, the backward classes, and other weaker sections have gained momentum, the inter-caste relationships have been politicized”. Such a process has affected/weakened the nature of community and caste in the village. We have earlier explained how structural and cultural changes occurred in the six villages of Rajasthan (Sharma, 1974) in the first two decades after India’s independence. Class cleavages became much sharper as the people of the lower rung voiced against the old social and cultural order. Such a situation demands reconceptuation of the notion of the Indian village and its allied institutions, such as community, caste and class (Singh, 2009). Caste in everyday life is no more a source of anxiety or happiness. The way it is used/misused or not used has made caste a very different phenomenon.

V Now, a brief note on the papers included in the volume may be presented here. We have included twentyfour papers in this volume, dividing them in five sections as follows: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Rural Society and Rural-urban Relations Social Stratification in Rural India Village Profiles Religion and Rituals Social Change in Rural India

Rural Sociology as a distinct branch of sociology in India has emerged in the 1950s, though village studies were conducted even before India’s independence, which were inspired by the views of Metcalfe, Maine, Baden-Powell, Robert Redifield, etc. A.R. Desai’s edited volume – Rural Sociology in India (Desai, 1969), is not only a substantial contribution to this field, it puts together several empirical and analytical studies, beneficial for both students and researchers. Further, the studies by M.N. Srinivas, S.C. Dube, McKim Marriott (all in 1955), D.N. Majumdar (1958), F.G. Bailey (1957), S. Epstein

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(1962), Ramakrishna Mukherjee (1957), B.R. Chauhan (1957), Andre Beteille (1966), K.L. Sharma (1974) and many others set the ball rolling for single village as well as multi-village (comparative) studies. The focus in these studies was mainly on descriptive analysis of rural social structure, including caste, jajmani, family relations, religion and rituals, agriculture and panchayati raj. However, it was also felt that due to macro-structural changes, village could not remain isolated, and as such the role of adult franchise, community development programmes, and later on the impact of ‘green revolution’ also attracted attention of some researchers.

VI A.R. Desai (1956, 09–28), in the opening paper, brings out trajectory of rural sociology in general and in India in particular. He states that there is a vital need to study the life process of rural society analytically and synthetically (or substantively), to suggest an appropriate approach of such a study, and to indicate the significance of research to analyse the process of structural and functional transformation of the rural society in India. The remaining papers in the first section by M.N. Srinivas (1956, 79–88), N.R. Sheth (1969, 16–34), M.S.A Rao (1959, 13–18), and K.M. Kapadia (1956, 111–126) focus on rural-urban relations. Srinivas describes how industrialization and urbanization in south India have affected rural areas. Brahmins are the ones who have welcomed the new changes in terms of education, migration and modern employment. N.R. Sheth argues that rural-urban differences in India coexist in all communities in different degrees. One could see ‘rural elements’ in urban areas, and vice-versa. Urban-rural disparity is the main consideration in regard to the impact of modernization. There are barriers, both material and human, which restrict parity between the urban and the rural people. While considering the limitations of the conceptual scheme of folk-urban continuum as formulated by Robert Redfield, M.S.A. Rao, based on his study of a village near Delhi, puts forward the idea of the ‘fringe society’ as a tool to study the process of urbanization. Rao proposes that with the help of the idea of ‘fringe society’, one can understand the dynamic forces of interaction and rural-urban differences as a two-way directional movement between village and city (see also Rao, 1970).

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Like Rao, K.M. Kapadia, based on his study of five villages, near Navsari town in Gujarat, analyses the pattern of family life. The impact of the town on the family pattern is dependent on the social composition of the villages in the vicinity. The component of the joint family is higher in the town and even its size is larger than in the rural area. The five impact villages stand midway between the village and the town.

VII The section two includes five papers on social stratification in rural India. The papers are by Victor S. D’Souza (1969, 35–49), Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya (1969, 50–66), Gaurang Ranjan Sahay (1998, 207–220), K.L. Sharma (1973, 59–77) and K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar (1976, 225–240). All the papers have focused on the fact that social stratification is not just synonym of caste in rural India. Victor S. D’Souza discusses the rigidity – fluidity dimension of social stratification through the indices of occupational or educational mobility based on data from six villages, now in Himachal Pradesh (earlier in Punjab). Occupational prestige is among the most important variables determining the prestige of an individual. Hereditary groups show a considerable degree of heterogeneity in the distribution of occupational prestige. The other two variables are heterogeneity of individual prestige and the index of consensus about individual prestige. D’Souza meticulously demonstrates with appropriate application of statistical measures the relationship between the indices of social stratification and the various indices of social complexity. In D’Souza’s analysis, ‘individual’ and his ‘achieved status’ are important criteria of status-evaluation and rank-order. Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya discuss social stratification in Bengal in terms of Bhadralok-Chhotolok divisions. Though Bhadralok and Chhotolok in rural Bengal are higher and lower status groups, however, they are not synonym of castes or varnas. The elements of class and power are considered more significant in the Bhadralok-Chhotolok system of social stratification than caste and some other considerations. “The Bhadralok-Chhotolok division includes blocks of castes rather than individuals and families.” This system does not ensure absolute supremacy of the Brahman, and he is lumped together with the Kayastha, and the Vaidya. Castes are recognized as component units, and it ‘roughly approximates’ the varna order. It is essentially a flexible, simple

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and workable hierarchy which facilitates day-to-day interaction among the people of the village. The system indicates ‘style of life’ and ‘status stratification’, and as such class and power become the main features of the Bhadralok-Chhotolok system. Based on his study of six villages in Rajasthan, K.L. Sharma observes that often upward social mobility is noticed and on the contrary downward social mobility caused by structural factors remains undermined. Downward social mobility does occur and is a complex process involving social and economic, cultural and motivational factors. There are structural declines, both primary and secondary, positional decline, and domainspecific decline. The former landowning castes and families could not retain their landholdings due to the abolition of jagirdari system, it became quite difficult for them to sustain with meager means. On the contrary, the beneficiaries of the land reforms suddenly witnessed improvement in their economic standing. Such a simultaneous process of structural change transformed the system of social stratification in rural Rajasthan. Gaurang Ranjan Sahay works out a matrix of socio-cultural and economic relations based on his study of four villages in Bihar. Sahay states that caste-based occupations no longer exist in the villages. A large number of families of different castes do not perform their caste occupations. No ex-communication is prevalent on account of following a non-traditional occupation. Both the caste system and the jajmani system have changed notably as the interlinking of caste with occupation has ceased to exist. Institutional change affects social stratification as shown by K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar in their study of a village in Gujarat. Community Development Programmes and the Cooperative Bank facilitated formation of cooperatives, loans, subsidies and innovative entrepreneurial activities. Intra-caste socio-economic differentiation is an obvious consequence of unequal access to the new opportunities created through the two institutions. Education and migration have also received a greater momentum due to institutional changes in the village. The study reveals that the Leuwa Patels (an agricultural caste) and the village elites compete for the scarce positions in the newly introduced institutions, and this has created rivalry and factions among the Leuwas. The members of another caste, namely, Baraiya, who are somewhat numerically preponderant in the Milk producers’ cooperative tilt the balance between the Leuwas’ factions. Women are also active members in the new situation. Such a faction ridden situation has, however, not affected adversely the process of development in the village.

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VIII Village profiles are included in the third section. Four papers in this section deal with an Intervillage Organization of a Caste, Modernization and Changing Fertility Behaviour (both in Rajasthan), and Ideology, Power and Resistance in a South Indian village, and Voices from the Earth: Work and Food Production in a Punjabi village. Let us briefly highlight the main features of the four profiles provided by Brij Raj Chauhan (1964, 24–35), Tulsi Patel (1990, 53–73), N. Sudhakar Rao (1996, 205–232) and Radhika Chopra (1994, 72–92). Inter-village ties between members of a caste are expressed through the word-CHOKHALA, as observed by Brij Raj Chauhan, in a Rajasthan village. Chauhan writes: “A CHOKHALA may be defined as the unit of a caste (sub-caste) spread over a number of contiguous villages binding the members of the caste (sub-caste) to certain codes and regulations considered to be falling within the traditional jurisdiction of the caste (sub-caste) network in that area and subjecting the members to some effective controls through collective action”. Chauhan outlines functions of the Chokhala and demonstrates the same by citing four cases. Chauhan considers ‘Chokhala’ as an alternative of the caste-courts for social control. An attempt is made by Tulsi Patel to understand fertility behaviour of the people in a Rajasthan village. The study concerns 713 ‘ever married women’ in the village and their husbands. 64 persons (45 women and 19 men) had got sterilized. The Family Planning Programme (FPP) has not been quite successful. The reason given by Patel is that the policy-makers have not been sensitive to the people’s perceptions and social pressures that work on them. However, sterilization has been considerably effective mechanism in the FPP. Both mothers-in-law and husbands disapprove of sterilization. It is considered as a sinful and deviant act. Mothers-in-law view the daughter-in-law’s expression of a desire to get sterilized as an act of defiance. It is felt by them that the daughters-inlaw can use the excuse of complications after sterilization to escape the drudgery of domestic work, and also because of fears of child mortality. Husbands fear underming of their authority, deference to elders and of woman’s position in society. In an interesting paper on ideology, power and resistance in a south Indian village, N. Sudhakar Rao observes that generally movements, protests and successes by the Dalits have been reported in various studies and

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analyses. Rao writes: “Actually, everyday protests of the Dalits and lower castes in the villages occur more frequently and address the above mentioned vital issues besides highlighting the power relations between the Dalits and the dominating groups, but these have barely drawn any attention”. The main point in this paper centers around the forms of resistance and implied strategies of power in an Andhra village. While pouring in a lot of qualitative data, Rao mentions that not consensus but dissent exists among the Dalits. “The ideology contradicts hierarchy. The Dalits are conscious of their deprivation, exploitation and powerlessness”. Dalits gladly accept egalitarianism even if it emanates from caste-ideology. However, the Dalits have not evolved an egalitarian system of their own. Styles of domination and also the forms of resistance vary depending upon the context, situation and the issue involved therein. Radhika Chopra believes that culture and production are intertwined. She states that “processes are part of the way people think about themselves and represent the work they do in terms of cultural categories and normative codes”. Chopra’s observation is based on her study of a village in Punjab. The main point of the paper is to elucidate the rituals of agriculture and the beliefs embedded in them. The author tries to know appropriate work for different people. Women are engaged in some agricultural activities, and not in all sorts of farm operations. Chopra writes: “Work is a way of establishing relationships, whether with nature or with people, and labour the medium through which their relations are expressed. Just as there are prescribed ways of approaching people, there are ‘proper’ ways of approaching nature; indeed, it is an act of respect to do things the correct way”. Culture is preeminently present in village economy. All acts of agricultural production are embedded with meanings. Culture is a guide for economic activities in the village.

IX We have three papers in Section IV, which is, on Religion and Rituals. The papers are by Ursula Sharma (1974, 71–92), K.N. Venkatarayappa (1962, 208–220), and Gurumurthy K. Gowdra (1971, 24–38). Two papers are based on observations made in rural south India about customs and ritual circles, and one paper is on public shrines based on ethnographic data in a village in Kangara district in Himachal Pradesh.

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Ursula Sharma has presented relevant information about the shrines of Ghanyari, in District Kangra of Himachal Pradesh. The village shrines, Shrama states, are not elaborate structures. She provides a graphic view of seven shrines, alongwith their deities, types, and castes of families associated with the shrines. The public shrines are distinguished from domestic shrines. She asks: “How public shrines are ‘public’ in reality?” Association of a family with a diety may also hinder in projecting a shrine as a public institution. Shrines are not cared properly, nor common rituals are performed frequently there. Sharma writes: “The nature and strength of the association between the shrine and the proprietary group, the types of rights and responsibilities it holds may vary so greatly as to defy further generalization”. In some cases, the members of ‘unclean castes’ are not allowed to have access to shrines. Sharma compares the shrines of the Kangara village with that of other parts of India, and holds the distinction between the ‘public’ and the ‘private’ shrines. It is, however, quiet vague to find a ‘public’ shrine in the village as one could see in the case of the great temples of Hinduism. K.N. Venkatarayappa describes some customs in Mallur village in Mysore region of Karnataka. There are a number of temples and some shrines in the village. People in the village believe that all ills can be cured by proper worship of the gods and goddesses. Several ceremonies are performed to avoid the adversities and calamities in the village. The author describes in detail the main rituals and religious practices in the village. All the castes have faith in the village traditions, and observance of customs is a way of their life. They relate happenings in the village with some superior power. The village is a ‘community’ in a true sense of this concept. However, the villagers are not averse to new technology, healthcare facilities, use of roads, electricity, newspapers and magazines, etc. A semblance of tradition and modernity signifies this village. The paper by Gurumurthy K. Gowdra is also on rituals in a Mysore village. The village has two divisions, namely, Uru and Adive, and it has eight ritual circles, five in Uru and three in Adive. All the rituals are performed for protection and welfare of the village people and for good agricultural production. The word ‘circle’ distinguishes between one set of activities and the place where the activities are performed from the other sets of activities and the places. The author refers ‘circle’ as a ‘ritual boundary’. The village festivals create a sense of social solidarity among the people. Ritual circles reveal the differences among the people and also between different areas in the village.

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X The fifth and the last section is on social change in rural India, incorporating three papers. These are by H.S. Verma (1979, 83–119), K.L. Sharma (1976, 45–62) and Pradip Kumar Bose (1989, 183–198). The three papers discuss the dynamics of social change in rural India based on various studies, development programmes, changes in rural power structure and agrarian relations. An analysis of social change in the first four decades since independence by H.S. Verma deals with motivations, conceptualizations, mechanics, methodologies, prescriptions and contributions of social scientists to judge the reliability, objectivity and relevance of the studies on social change for the academics and the policy planners. Verma observes that a large number of studies have shown a clear preference for western values, and have tried to ‘fit’ in their data with the alien frameworks. Verma writes:……….. “measurement of change has turned out to be a highly coloured exercise in which approaches and methodologies were contrived to give different qualitative and quantitative profiles of the same phenomenon”. The author blames the social scientists for faulty understanding and analysis of social change in rural India. Methodologically, there are, what Verma says, ‘scientific pretensions’ and ‘practised imperfections’. Barring a few studies, Verma says that the geographical coverage and numerical data-base of most other studies are indeed very meager. There are sweeping generalizations about the society, cultural traditions, religions, communities, castes, etc. Thus, Verma refers to two tendencies: (1) an indigenous, Indian tradition of interpreting empirical situations, and (2) imported theoretical frameworks. Sociology of research and researcher is the main concern expressed comprehensively by H.S. Verma. K.L. Sharma discusses power elite in rural India, drawing insights from his study of six villages in Rajasthan (1974). The main questions taken up by Sharma refer to legitimacy of dominance, basic sources which facilitate dominance in village community, distinction between group and individual dominance, and direction and factors of dominance mobility. The author explains that individuals, families and castes are found dominant in different contexts and situations. “The rural power elite do not comprise a homogeneous social segment because they do not have the characteristics of a group such as unity, commonality of interests, equality of status and economic position”. Sharma states that due to the post-independence developments, the group dominance and

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solidarity are at stake, and corporate mobility particularly in political and economic domains as a group endeavour does not sound as a viable proposition. The author presents a critical examination of the idea of ‘dominant caste’ and ‘cultural mobility’. He puts forward the idea of ‘dominance mobility’ to explain the structural change as a consequence of land reforms, adult franchise, panchayati raj institutions and other developments. The last paper of this section and also of the volume is by Pradip Kumar Bose on agrarian structure and change. Like the papers by the other authors in this section, Bose also looks at the studies of agrarian structure and change from a theoretical perspective. He has delineated three approaches, which use (1) Indian ‘tradition’, (2) ‘native’ categories, and (3) Marxian, Weberian or Durkheimian ideas. While analyzing various studies, analyses and approaches, Bose focuses on certain crucial aspects of structure, change, rural-urban interface and the theoretical problems arising out of the various ways in which the process has been comprehended. The author finds conceptual and theoretical confusions on the one hand, and on the other there are partial, incomplete and often essentialist concepts. The concept of ‘tradition’, for example, is treated as an absolute one, without seeing its ideological contents. In the study of agrarian classes, the element of ideology is concealed. So is the use of the concept of ‘power’. It is ‘base’ or ‘superstructure’? How is it related to ‘class’? Convergence of contradictory forces in rural India has become a reality. This needs to be seen as a guide for reconceptualisation of the prevalent approaches to the study of rural society in India.

References Baden-Powell, B.H., 1892, Land Systems of British India (2 vols.), London, Henry Frowde and Stevens & Sons. Bailey, F.G., 1957, Caste and the Economic Frontier, Manchester, Manchester University Press. ———, 1960, Tribe, Caste and Nation, Manchester, Manchester University Press. Bateille, Andre,1966, Caste, Class and Power, Bombay, Oxford University Press. Bose, Pradip Kumar, 1989, “Dimensions of Agrarian Structure And Change: Issues In Theory”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 38, No. 2, pp. 183–198. Chauhan, B.R., 1964, “Chokhala – An Intervillage Organization of a Caste in Rajasthan”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 13, No. 2, pp. 24–35. ———, 1967, A Rajasthan Village, New Delhi, Associated Publishing House. ———, 2009, Rural Life: Grass Roots Perspective, New Delhi, Concept Publishing Company.

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Chopra, Radhika, 1994, “Voices From the Earth : Work And Food Production In a Punjabi Village”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 43, No. 1, pp. 72–92. Cohen, B.S., 1968, “Notes on the history of the study of Indian society and culture”, in Milton Singer and Bernard S. Cohn (eds.), Structure and Change in Indian Society, Chicago, Aldine Publishing Company. D’souza, Victor S., 1969, “Measurement of Rigidity – Fluidity Dimension of Social Stratification In Six Indian Villages”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 18, No. 1, pp. 35–49. Desai, A.R., 1956, “Rural Sociology : Its Need In India”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 5, No. 1, pp. 09–28 ———, 1969, Rural Sociology in India (ed.), Bombay, Popular Prakashan. Djurfeldt, Goran and Staffan Lindberg, 1976, Pills Against Poverty, New Delhi, Oxford and IBH Publishing Co. Dube, S.C., 1955, Indian Village, London, Routledge and Kegan Paul. Dumont Louis and D.F. Pocock, 1957, “Village Studies”, Contributions to Indian Sociology, No. 1, pp. 25–32. Dumont, Louis, 1966, ‘The Village Community from Munro to Maine”, Contributions to Indian Sociology, No. IX. ———, 1970, Homo Hierarchicus, London, Paladin, Granda Publishing Ltd. Epstein, T.S., 1962, Economic Development and Social Change in South India, Manchester, Manchester University Press. Gowdra, Gurumurthy K., 1971, “Ritual Circles In A Mysore Village”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 20, No. 1, pp. 24–38. Gupta, Dipankar, 1991, “The Country-Town Nexus and Agrarian Mobilisation: Situating the Farmers, Movement in West U.P., in K.L. Sharma and Diptankar Gupta (eds.), Country-Town Nexus, Jaipur, Rawat Publications, pp. 74–103. ———, 2005, “Wither the Indian Village: Culture and Agriculture in Rural India”, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. XL, No. 8. Joshi, P.C., 1976, Land Reforms in India: Trends and Perspectives, Bombay, Allied Publishers. Kapadia, K.M., 1956, “Rural Family Patterns : A Study In Urban-Rural Relations”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 5, No. 2, pp. 111–126. Kolenda, Pauline, 1978, Caste in Contemporary India: Beyond Organic Solidarity, California, Benjamin Dimmings Publishing Co. ———, 1989, “Micro-Ideology and Micro-Utopia in Khalapur: Changes in the Discourse of Caste over Thirty Years, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. XXIV No. 32, pp. 1831–1838. Lewis, Oscar, 1958, Village Life in Northern India, Urbana, University of Illinois. Lipton, Michael, 1993, “Land Reforms as Commenced Business: the evidence against stoppage”, World Development, Vol. XI, No. 4, pp. 641–57. Maine, Henry Sumner, 1871, Village Communities in the East and West, London, J. Murray. Majumdar, D.N., 1958, Caste and Communication in an Indian Village, Bombay, Asia Publishing House. Marriott, Mc Kim, 1955 (ed.), Village India, Chicago, Chicago University Press. Marx, Karl, 1951, Articles on India, Bombay, Asia Publishing House. Mayer, A.C., 1960, Caste and Kinship in Central India, London, Routledge & Kegan Paul. Mukherjee, Ram Krishna, 1957, Six Villages of Bengal: A Socio-Economic Survey, Calcutta, Asiatic Society of Bengal. ———, 1957, The Dynamics of Rural Society, Berlin Academie Verlag.

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Panchanadikar, K.C. and Panchanadikar, J., 1976, “Social Stratification And Institutional Change In A Gujarat Village”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 25, No. 2, pp. 225–240. Patel, Tulsi, 1990, “Modernization And Changing Fertility Behaviour : A Study In A Rajasthan Village”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 39, No. 1&2, pp. 53–73. Rao, N. Sudhakar, 1996, “Ideology, Power And Resistance In A South Indian Village”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 45, No. 2, pp. 205–232. Rao, M.S.A., 1959, “‘Fringe’ Society and the Fok-Urban Continuum”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 8, No. 2, pp. 13–18. ———, 1970, Urbanization and Social Change, New Delhi, Orient Longmans. Redfild, Robert, 1956, Little Community and Peasant Society and Culture, Chicago, The University of Chicago Press. Sahay, Gaurang Ranjan, 1998, “Caste System In Contemporary Rural Bihar : A Study Of Selected Villages”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 47, No. 2, pp. 207–220. Shah, A.M., 1991, “The Rural-Urban Networks in India”, in K.L. Sharma and Dipankar Gupta (eds.), Country-Town Nexus, Jaipur, Rawat Publications, pp. 11–42. Shah, Ghanshyam, 1998, “Caste Sentiments, Class Formation and Dominance in Gujarat”, in K.L. Sharma (ed.), Caste And Class In India (Reprint), Jaipur and New Delhi, Rawat Publications, pp. 225–269. Sharma, K.L., 1973, “Downward Social Mobility: Some Observations”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 22, No. 1, pp. 59–77. ———, 1974, The Changing Rural Stratification System, New Delhi, Orient Longman. ———, 1976, “Power Elite In Rural India : Some Questions And Clarifications”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 25, No. 1, pp. 45–62. Sharma, K.L. and Dipankar Gupta, 1991 (eds.), Country-Town Nexus, Jaipur, Rawat Publications. Sharma, K.L., 2013, Handbook On Social Stratification In The BRIC Countries: Change and Perspective, (Co-author with Li Peilin, M.K. Gorsh Kav and Celi Scalon), Singapore, World Scientific. Sharma, Ursula, “Public Shrines And Private Interests : The Symbolism Of The Village Temple”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 23, No. 1, pp. 71–92. Sheth, N.R., 1969, “Modernization And The Urban-Rural Gap in India : An Analysis”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 18, No. 1, pp. 16–34. Sinha, Surajit and Bhattacharya, Ranjit, 1969, “Bhadralok And Chhotolok In A Rural Area of West Bengal”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 18, No. 1, pp. 50–66. Singh, Yogendra, 1969, “The changing power structure of village community – a case study of six villages in Eastern U.P.”, in A.R. Desai (ed.), Rural Sociology in India, Bombay, Popular Prakashan, (4th edition), pp. 711–723. ———, 1970, “Chanukhera: Cultural Change in Eastern Uttar Pradesh”, in K. Ishwaran (ed.), Change and Continuity in India’s Villages, New York, Columbia University Press. ———, 2009, “Social Praxis, Conceptual Categories, and Social Change: Observations from a Village Study”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 58, No. 2, pp. 178–195. Srinivas, M.N., 1952, Religion and Society among the Coorgs of South India, Oxford, Oxford University Press. ———, 1955, (ed.), India’s Villages, Calcutta, Government of West Bengal Publication. ———, 1956, “The Industrialization And Urbanization of Rural Areas”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 5, No. 2, pp. 79–88 ———, 1966, Social Change in Modern India, Berkeley California University Press.

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Venkatarayappa, K.N., 1962, “A Study of Customs in Rural Mysore”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 11, No. 1&2, pp. 208–220. Verma, H.S., 1979, “Study Of Social Change In Independent Rural India : Critical Issues For Analyses In The Fourth Decade Of Independence”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 28, No. 1&2, pp. 83–119. Wiser, W.H. and C.V. Wiser, 1951, Behind Mud Walls, New York, Agricultural Mission. ———, 1958, The Hindu Jajmani System, Lucknow, Lucknow Publishing House.

SECTION I RURAL SOCIETY AND RURAL-URBAN RELATIONS

1 Rural Sociology: Its Need in India A.R. Desai

Rural Society: Need for Its Systematic Study A systematic study of rural social organization, its structure, function and evolution, has become urgent today in India for a number of reasons. (1) Indian society is overwhelmingly rural. A study of Indian Society is possible only if its predominant rural sector is comprehended in all its rich complexity. (2) Under the British impact, the agrarian structure-its economy, its polity, its familistic and caste basis-its ideology and its aesthetics has experienced a profound transformation. (3) Indian rural life provides a spectacle of acute misery, social disintegration, cultural backwardness and above all an all-enveloping crisis. (4) The extensive participation of rural masses in the long drawn out national liberation struggle; the devastating communal frenzy which swept over the rural world resulting in an uprooting of a great section of the village population in a number of provinces; the deep ferment which is at present seething in the agrarian area and which frequently bursts out in varied forms of struggles between different classes and sections of the rural people; the numerous prejudices that are corroding the life of the rural people and which manifest themselves in various caste, linguistic, provincial, relimous and other forms of tensions, antagonisms and conflicts-all these phenomena reveal that rural India is not inert. The seething cauldron of rural life is

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A.R. Desai neither to be treated as a passive quiet backpool of urban society nor to be treated as a mere appendage of the dazzling metropolis. It has to be studied in its own magnitude and significance. (5) Attempts to revitalize the rural life are meeting enormous obstacles. The struggle of scores and scores of individuals and institutions to reform one sector or the other of the rural life have been frustrated against an insuperable blind wall. Welfare workers on the economic front find formidable political, social and educational hurdles in their way. Social reformers stumble over economic, political and cultural obstacles. All these well-intentioned activities of rural workers either contradict each other or at best yield fragmentary one-sided results. Sectional cures and symptomatic treatments are usually proving worse than the disease itself, causing frustration among workers and engendering scepticism and cynicism, if not pessimism among them. (6) After the achievement of Independence the State is playing a very decisive and significant role in reconstructing rural society. A new conscious endeavour is being made to bring about an overall change in rural social life.

To reconstruct rural society on a higher basis, it is urgently necessary to study not only the economic forces but also the social, ideological and other forces operating in that society. Hitherto, scholars, economists, politicians, social workers and others have given greater attention to the problem of the urban sector of the Indian social world. We have, relatively, a considerable literature throwing some light on the different facets of the urban life. Whatever studies have been made of the rural life are spasmodic, one-sided, sectional and mostly cursory. A synthetic, all-sided and inter-connected account of the rural social life is not merely not available but even its sketchy outline is absent. No systematic effort has still been launched to study the rural society in all its aspects, to study its life processes in their movement and further in their interconnections. It is a colossal task, full of complexity. In fact rural sociology in India or the science of the laws governing the specific Indian rural organism has still to be created. Such a science is however, the basic premise for the renovation of Indian Society as a whole. Rural sociology or the science of the laws of development of rural society in general has come into being only recently. Reflections on rural society are as old as the rural society itself. Shrewd observations on various aspects of rural life are available from very early times. However, systematic observations on the history of the

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origin and the transformation of rural society have begun only since about the middle of the nineteenth century. The impact of the capitalist industrial civilisation upon the rural economy and the social structure in various parts of the world forced the attention of scholars to the study of the trends of rural social development. Olufsem, Maurer, Maine, Hexthausen, Gierke, Elton, Stemann, Innes, Coulanges, Nasse, Laveleye, Baden Powell, Ashley Pollock, Maitland, Lewinsky, Seebohm, Gorame, Guiraud, Jubainville, Slater, Vinogradoff, Meitzon and others have been some of the outstanding scholars who have thrown great light on the rural society from various angles. Subsequently eminent scholars, professors and others interested in the phenomena of the rural life have published in various countries enormous material dealing with its various aspects. However, rural sociology as an organised discipline consciously developed is of very recent origin. Its prerequisites were evolved in the U. S. A. during what is called the “Exploiter Period” of American Society (1890–1920), a period when American Rural Society witnessed all round decay. The Report of the Countrylife Commission appointed by President Theodore Roosevelt in 1907, the doctorate theses by J. M. Williams, W. H. Wilson, and N. L. Sims, and a group of rural church and school studies were the three streams which provided nourishment for the emergence of Rural Sociology. “Rural Sociology” of Prof. J. M. Gillette published in 1916 was the first college text-book on the subject. Subsequently the literature on the subject grew both in the U. S. A. and other parts of the world. The publication of “A Systematic Source Book in Rural Sociology” in 1930 regarded as “epoch making” contributed decisively to accelerate the advance of Rural Sociology. The founding of the journal “Rural Sociology” in 1935 and the establishment of “Rural Sociological Society of America” in 1937 were further landmarks in its growth. In the U. S. A., rural sociology, inspite of its immaturity, is being developed by more than 800 professors and research workers. It is spreading in other countries also. Various international organisations, which emerged in the present century, like the League of Nations, the I. L. O. the F. A. O. the U. N. O. the UNESCO and others have and are contributing to the rapid advance of rural sociology.

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Such in brief is the history of the emergence of Rural Sociology, the youngest among the social sciences. And like every young science and particularly a social science there is a lot of controversy about its scope. Inspite of fierce controversies that are going on among the rural sociologists about the exact scope of the science, all of them agree on the following basic points: (i) Though the rural life and the urban life interact, each segment is sufficiently distinct from the other; (ii) Rural and urban settings exhibit characters which are peculiar and specific distinguishing one from the other; (iii) the prime objective of Rural Sociology should be to make a scientific, systematic, and comprehensive study of the rural social organisation, of its structure, function and objective tendencies of development, and on the basis of such a study, to discover its laws of development. To consciously develop the science of Rural Society in India, it is necessary to approach the rural phenomena simultaneously from many angles. Various significant aspects of rural life have to be studied in their inter-connections. A synthetic approach to rural society alone will lay the foundations of this science, so necessary for the effective and allsided improvement of the rural world. Seeking guidance from the explorations by eminent scholars in this branch in other countries, we will briefly suggest the lines of studies which may be undertaken for this purpose. The village is the unit of the rural society. It is the theatre where the quantum of rural life unfolds itself and functions. Like every social phenomenon, the village is a historical category. The emergence of the village at a certain stage in the evolution of the life of man, its further growth and development in subsequent periods of human history, the varied structural changes it experienced during thousands of years of its existence, the rapid and basic transformations it has undergone during the last hundred and fifty years since the Industrial Revolution-all these constitute a very fascinating and challenging study. Eminent sociologists have advanced a number of criteria to classify village communities. (1) According to one criterion, the village aggregates have been classified according to the type which evolved during the transition from Man’s nomadic existence to settled village life viz. (a)  the migratory agricultural villages, where the people live in fixed abodes only for a few months; (b) the semi permanent agricultural villages where the population resides for a few years and then migrates due

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to the exhaustion of the soil; and (c) the permanent agricultural villages where the settled human aggregates live for generations and even centuries.1 (2) According to the second criterion, some times called Ecological criterion, villages have been classified into grouped (or nucleated) villages and dispersed villages. This distinction is considered vital by these sociologists because each type of habitat furnishes a different framework of social life. The nucleated village is marked by “proximity, contact, community of ideas and sentiments” while in dispersed habitats “everything bespeaks separation, everything marks the fact of dwelling apart.”2 (3) The third criterion adopted to classify the village aggregates is that of social differentiation, stratification, mobility and land ownership. Six broad groupings of village aggregates have been made on the basis of this criterion viz. (a) that composed of peasant joint owners; (b) that composed of peasant joint tenants; (c) that composed of farmers, who are mostly individual owners but also include some tenants and labourers; (d) that composed of individual farmer tenants; (e) that composed of employees of great private landowners; and finally (f ) that composed of labourers and employees of the state, the church, the city or the public land owner.3 A systematic classification of the Indian village aggregates on the basis of the above criteria, an exhaustive survey of Indian villages co-relating the villages classified according to these norms, and a study of their history will provide valuable information about village communities in India, about varied types of social institutions which have come into being in rural India and about the complex cultural patterns which have influenced and have been influencing the life processes of the Indian rural people. Further it will help to disclose the laws of the peculiar development of Indian village communities and will assist rural workers to evolve scientific programmes of rural reconstruction. The study of the emergence of larger rural regions is one of the most baffling problems confronting the student of rural society. The factors which have combined to evolve homogeneous rural regions demand a very careful examination. Again, it is found that the larger rural regions change their characteristics with the change in the technoeconomic, socio-economic and socio-political forces. The epoch of self-sufficiency evolved one category of regions. Under the impact of the

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Industrial Revolution and capitalist production for the market a totally new type of areas came into being. The change from market economy to planned economy, where the agrarian sector is consciously developed as a part of the total life of the community is creating in some countries a new type of regional units. And, above all, the gigantic development of productive forces, which is evolving an international economic and cultural community, in the modern epoch, is forcing the students of human society and specially rural society to discover the appropriate variety of rural regions which will be in consonance with this development. Efforts are being made to define economic, linguistic, administrative, religious and cultural regions in various countries. Efforts are also being made to find out where these regions coincide and also to study the laws which bring about this concurrence. The work of anthropologists, regional sociologists, scholars dealing with geographical factors and others has thrown considerable light on the phenomena of the development of such zones. On the basis of the findings of these studies, a detailed map of India indicating various natural and economic regions, indicating the areas inhabited by populations living in various stages of economic development, showing linguistic’ regions, including regions based on different dialects as well as different variations of main languages and showing further, religious regions based on different religious beliefs prevailing among the people, will throw great light on some of the most burning problems of Indian Society. It will also assist those engaged in the difficult task of reforming rural society to locate some of the most fundamental causes of the present crisis of that society. A systematic study of the rural people, its birth and death rate, its density, its proportion to the urban people, its age and sex composition and its general health, longevity and diseases is of primary importance. Family, caste, race, nationality and the linguistic and the religious composition of the people also has great significance. This gives rise to a rich complex and diversified social life and varied patterns of culture. More often it breeds animosities, antagonisms and conflicts. The emergence of ghastly communal Hindu-Muslim riots are still shudderingly vivid in our minds. The growing nationality and caste conflicts which are slowly corroding the body politic of India also reveal the same truth.

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A co-ordinated and inter-related study of the rural people from all these angles is urgently necessary to erect a solid foundation of Rural Sociology. Since economic production is the basic activity of a human aggregate, the mode of production (productive forces and social relations of production) plays a determining role in the shaping of the social structure, the psychology and the ideology of that human aggregate. Rural Society is based predominantly on agriculture. Land is the basic means of production in the countryside. The economic life of rural Society has to be studied from a number of angles. Rural sociologists are increasingly paying attention to the following aspects of the economic life: (a)  Motif of production. Hitherto, this aspect has been much neglected. Whether the agricultural production has for its objective the direct satisfaction of the subsistence needs of the rural aggregate or is carried on for the market and profits of the producers who do not themselves consume their products or whether it is adapted to the consciously assessed needs of the community-all these aspects require a proper comprehension. For instance, in pre-British India village agriculture mainly produced for meeting the needs of the village population. This subsistence village economy was considerably shaken during the British period. This in its wake brought about a veritable revolution in the rural social organisation. (b) Techniques of production. The investigation into the character of the technique of production used by the rural aggregate for the purpose of agriculture is another aspect which should be studied. Three broad categories of technical cultures have been located, viz. (i) Hoe Culture. (ii) Plough culture (iii) The higher technical culture, the phase of tractors and fertilizers. The first generally excludes the use of draft animals or any kind of power. The plough is worked with the aid of the draft-animals. The tractor eliminates even the necessity of draft-animals and is propelled by oil or other power. It must be noted that the technique of production determines the productivity of labour as well as the extent of the material wealth of the rural society. It also determines the division of labour among the members of the society, (c) Land relations and their role. The vital significance of land or property relations in the economic and general social life of the rural people is increasingly being realised by students of rural society. The property relations determine on one hand as to who will control and direct the processes of productions and on the other, as to who will regulate the shares of various socio-economic groups associated with agriculture in

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the total agricultural wealth. As a consequence, they become responsible for the degree of enthusiasm and interest of various groups bound up with agriculture in the process of production. They also play a decisive role in determining the homogeneity or hetrogeneity of the rural population. By regulating the share of the material wealth of various sections, the land relations also specify the relative weight of those sections in the social, political and cultural life of rural society. The nature of property relations also decides the degree of stability and social harmony in the agrarian area. The history of past and present rural societies reveals how numerous mighty struggles had their genetic cause in the property relations. The question of land relations has become the crucial question in all backward countries of the world today. All this indicates the necessity of studying the nature of property relations, to properly grasp the present state and future tendencies of rural society. (d) Standard of life. The problem of the standard of life of the rural population has been keenly studied by eminent sociologists like Sorokin, Zimmerman, Sims, Kirkpatrick and others. The criteria and the methods laid down by them for such a study can serve as a useful guide to the students of rural society in India. From any criteria of the standard of life, the Indian people suffer from the most acute poverty. According to some thinkers, family and familism impress their stamp on the entire rural structure. Familism, according to these thinkers, during the subsistence phase of village economy provides the gestalt to the rural society. ‘‘All the other social institutions and fundamental social relationships have been permeated by, and modeled according to, the patterns of rural family relationships”.4 The following eight traits found in the rural society of pre-capitalist phase are broadly considered as signs of familism. (1) Marriage earlier and its higher rate; (2) Family, unit of social responsibility; (3) Family, basis of norms of society; (4) Family, providing norms of political organization; (5) Co-operative rather than Contractual relations; (6) Family, unit of production, consumption and exchange; (7) Dominance of family cult and ancestor worship; (8) Dominance of tradition. Until the impact of the Industrial Revolution and competitive capitalist market economy, familism was the heart of village communities. Subsistence, agrarian economies and rural societies based on them were familistic through and through. The rise and development of modern

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industries steadily undermined subsistence agrarian economy and brought the rural economy within the orbit of capitalist market economy. This transformation together with the growing pressure of various urban forces brought about the increasing disintegration of the old rural society. The rural society, too, more and more lost its familistic traits. The Indian rural society provides a classic field for the study of rural family. It probably contains at present within itself all the four categories of institutions which are described by Prof. Rivers as types of family institutions viz the kindred, the matrilineal joint family, the patrilineal joint family and the Individual family composed of parents and children.5 The third type, the patrilineal joint family is generally considered as the classic type which corresponds to the phase of agricultural economy based on the plough and the domestication of animals and essentially producing for subsistence. The partilineal joint family, which also predominantly shaped the family structure of the Indian rural society prior to the impact of British rule and capitalist economic forces in India, possessed the following characteristics: (1) Greater homogeneity; (2) Based on peasant household; (3) Greater discipline and inter discipline; (4) Dominance of family ego; (5) Authority of father; (6) Closer participation in various activities. During the last hundred and fifty years the traditional joint family and familistic rural framework have been undergoing a great transformation. From status to contract; from the rule of custom to the rule of law; from family as a unit of production to family as a unit of consumption; from family having its cementing bond in consanguinity to family having it in conjugality; from family being an omnibus social agency to family as a specialised reproductive and affectional unit shorn of most of its economic, political, medical, religious, and other social and cultural functions; from a massive joint family composed of members belonging to a number of generations to a tiny unit composed of husband, wife and unmarried children-all this change is steadily taking place in the rural family, denuding rural society of its familism as its Gestalt and creating a veritable revolution though slowly in the rural social framework in India. A systematic study of rural family, its types, its transitions, its structural and functional changes has never become so necessary as at present in India. Such a study will assist the social workers to evolve appropriate programmes for rural reconstruction. It also will help the students of rural

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society to locate the laws of the transformation of one of the most classical familistic civilisations that has emerged in the history of humanity. A very peculiar type of social grouping which is found in India is the caste grouping. In India, caste largely determines the function, the status, the available opportunities as well as the handicaps for an individual. Caste differences even determine the differences in modes of domestic and social life, also types of house and cultural patterns of the people which are found in the rural area. Even land ownership exists frequently on caste lines. Due to a number of reasons administrative functions have also been often divided according to caste, especially in the rural area. Caste has further shaped the pattern of the complicated religious and secular culture of the people. It has fixed the psychology of the various social groups and has evolved such minutely graded levels of social distance and superior-inferior relationships that the social structure looks like a gigantic hierarchic pyramid.6 This institution which provided a frame-work of social equilibrium to the Hindu society is undergoing great changes in modern times. It is experiencing, in fact, the powerful impact of numerous economic, political, ideological and other forces, is subjected to mortal blows from these forces, in an increasing state of decay. However, even in its death agonies, it is still having its grip over the rural social life.7 One of the most important tasks before the student of rural society in India is to evolve an approach which will be able to appraise its social and cultural processes within the matrix of the caste structure. Failure to develop such a perspective bad, in spite of an immense accumulation of economic and other factual data, obstructed the elaboration of a living composite picture of rural society. A systematic study of the caste system and its relations with other aspects of rural life is urgently necessary. It  could be done fruitfully on the following lines: - (1) Caste and Economic Life. This will include (a) Caste and production, (b) Caste and ownership, (c) Caste and consumption, (d) Caste and indebtedness, (e) Caste and standard of living, (f ) Caste and habitat, (g) Caste and mobility and others. (2) Caste and Family Life (3) Caste and Educational Life (4) Caste and Religious Life (5) Caste and Political Life (6) Caste and the Value System of the community (7) Caste and types of Rural Leadership (8) Mutual Attitudes of Caste Groups (9) Castes as a Laboratory to Study Social Distance (10) Impact of New Constitution on Caste (11) Caste and Hinduism (12) Caste, Joint Family and Village

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Community, their Inter-relationship and Interdependence (13) Doctrine of Casteism and Brahmainic Supremacy. To properly unravel the causes of the octopus like stranglehold of the caste system is very urgent for the adequate comprehension of the life processes of rural society in India and also for the laying down the lines of its future development. A systematic study of the origin, the development, the disorganization and its recent slow but definite disintegration is vital to unlock the mysteries that envelop the history of Indian rural society in particular and Indian society in general. The science of rural society in India will not mature till proper implications of the role of this institution are measured. One of the vital problems that requires to be intelligently studied by the rural sociologists is the political life of the rural population. Hitherto very little attention has been paid to this aspect of the rural life. However, as seen earlier, the active, energetic and sometimes stormy participation of the rural people in political life in various countries including India has exploded the myth of passivity and inertness of the rural people. In fact the growth of political consciousness among peasant populations and their increasing political activities is one of the striking features of the life of mankind today. In India, its study has becomes very urgent, first because the Constitution of Independent India has provided universal adult suffrage to the Indian people and secondly because, unlike during the pre-British period, the State at present plays a very decisive and all-pervading role in their life. A systematic study of the rural political life may be fruitfully made on the following line: — (1) (2) (3) (4)

The study of the governmental machinery in the rural area. The study of non-governmental political organizations in the rural area. The study of the political behaviour of the rural people and its various sections.

The study of the governmental machinery which could be done at the village level as well as at the level of larger units raises the following problems: (a) How far the administrative machinery is responsible to the opinions and wishes of the people; (b) How far the people are associated with it and participate in its functioning; and (c) How far it is cheap, efficient and sensitive to the problems of the people.

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The study of non-governmental political organizations demands a close analysis of the rise, growth, decay and disappearance of various political parties, indicating the trends of political moods of the rural people. The study of the political behaviour of the rural people includes, on the one hand, the study of various programmes which various strata of the rural people strive to fulfil. This study indicates the aspirations and dreams, immediate needs and ideologies of the rural people. On the other hand, the rural sociologist should study the various methods which the rural people adopt to realize their dreams, aspirations and needs. The following methods have been considered important from the sociological point of view: (1) Petitioning; (2) Voting; (3) Demonstrations and Marches; (4) Hijrats or Mass Emigrations; (5) Satyagraha, Passive Resistance; (6) No-rent No-tax campaigns; (7) Spontaneous Elemental Revolts; (8) Guerilla Warfare; and (9) Organized Armed Struggles. Indian rural society provides a classical laboratory for the study of a rich variety of these methods. The role of land relations and caste in rural politics of India is still insufficiently realized. A thorough study of rural religion and its significant role in determining the life processes of the rural society should form an essential part of the study of that society for a number of reasons. (1) It is observed, all over the world that the rural people have greater predisposition for religion than what the urban people have (2) The religious outlook of the rural people overwhelmingly determines their intellectual, emotional and practical life. This is particularly true of the societies resting on subsistence basis. (3) In societies based on subsistence economies, the leadership of village life in all domains was provided by the priestly group, in India the Brahmins. (4) The new forces which were generated in India in modern times after the advent of the British rule and particularly after the emergence of a State wedded to secularism brought into being the new economic and political environs and new norms, basically non-religious and secular and derived out of a liberal democratic philosophy. These have been struggling to supersede the old ones founded on religion. The contemporary rural society in India has become a battle ground of struggle between the forces of religious orthodoxy and authoritarian social conceptions on the one hand and those of secular democratic advance on the other.

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The study of rural religion from the following three aspects has proved useful in other countries and would bear great fruits in India also. (1) Rural religion as providing a specific world outlook. It consists of such ingredients as (a) magical conceptions, (b) animism, (c) the conception of a bizarre world peopled by spirits, (d) the conception of a posthumous world of dead ancestors who have to be worshipped, and (e) mythology. (2) Rural religion as a body of practices consisting of prayers, sacrifices and rituals. (3) Rural religion as an institutional complex. Rural religion which is composed of numerous sects and cults is considerably institutionalized. There are national, provincial and local organizations with Temples, Maths, Ashramas, with huge properties and organized staffs of priests and preachers. One distinguishing feature of the Indian society, which deserves to be studied, was the absence of state religions in contrast to Christianity or even Islam in other parts of the world. The significant role of Bhaktas as sponsors of great democratic mass movements for religious, social and other reforms also needs to be studied. The study of rural religion, with its regional variants will assist considerably in evolving a composite picture of the past cultural evolution of the Indian people. It will also help the student of the rural society to comprehend the nature of transformation that is taking place in the ideology, the institutions, the rituals, the ethics and the aesthetics of the rural people under the pressure of new material and cultural forces. Aesthetic culture is an integral part of the total culture of a society. It expresses in art terms the ideals, the aspirations, the dreams, the values and the attitudes of its people, just as its intellectual culture reveals its knowledge of the natural and social worlds which surround them. A systematic study of the aesthetic culture of the Indian rural society in its historical movement of the dissolution of old types and the emergence of new ones, is vital for the study of the changing pattern of the cultural life of the rural people. Further, since art reflects social life and its changes, such a study will help the rural sociologists to comprehend the movement of the rural society itself as it progressed from its past shape to its present one. It will also reveal the changes in the psychological structures of the rural groups and sub-groups. Eminent sociologists have enumerated the following principal arts comprising the aesthetic culture of rural society. (1) Graphic arts such as drawing, painting, engraving and others which have two dimensional forms;

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(2) Plastic Arts which involve “the manipulation of materials to yield three dimensional forms that is to say carving and modelling in high and low relief and in the round”; (3) Folklore comprised of “myths, tales, proverbs, riddles, verse together with music”; (4) Dance and Drama which combine the three forms mentioned above and therefore are “synthetic Arts”.8 Well-known students have located a number of characteristics of the aesthetic culture of the rural people living in a society based on subsistence economy. The following are important among them; (1) Art was fused with life; (2) People as a whole took part in artistic activities; (3) Art was predominantly familistic; (4) The technique of art was simple; (5) Art had agrarian processes as its main content; (6) Art creations were predominantly collective creations and collective in spirit; (7) Art was non-commercial; (8) Artistic craftsmanship and culture were transmitted from generation to generation orally.9 Under the impact of modern technological, economic, political, social and ideological forces, these characteristics of rural art are undergoing great changes. The enormous rich material comprising the rural aesthetic culture has to be first assembled, analysed and classified. The next task is to interpret it with deep historical imagination and sociological insight. This alone will assist the student of rural society to arrive at a living objective picture of the rural society and the rural life as they existed in the past. This is specially necessary because no detailed written history of the past society is available. It is also essential for the Indian rural sociologist to study the aesthetic culture of the contemporary rural Indian people and the transformation it is undergoing. Such a study will enable him to comprehend the transformation of the life of the rural people and their struggles, dreams and aspirations. Like all other phenomena, the rural society too has been changing since its emergence. Its technology, economy and social institutions; its ideology, art and religion; have undergone a ceaseless change. This change is sometimes imperceptibly slow, sometimes strikingly rapid, and at some moments even qualitative in character resulting into the transformation of one type of rural society into another. To discern change in a system, to recognize its direction, to understand the subjective and objective forces which bring it about and, further, to consciously accelerate the process of change by helping the

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progressive trends within the changing system-this constitutes a scientific approach to and active creative intervention in the life of a system. Close investigators of rural society have enumerated a number of forces and factors, conscious or unconscious, which bring about change in rural society.10 The following are the principal among them; (1) Natural factors like floods, earthquakes, famines etc; (2) Technological factor. The invention of new tools, new means of transport and communications and discovery of new materials, produce profound changes even beyond the calculations of the inventors. Along with these factors, there are also methods and devices adopted by social groups and organisations to conscioulsy bring about the alteration or transformation of the rural world. The following are chief among them; (1) Persuasive method: This method popularizes the need of various changes. The protagonists do not initiate or participate in implementing the programme; (2) Demonstrative method: This method is known as propaganda by example or deed; (3) “Compulsory” method: The state often intervenes and through legislation brings about changes in rural life. It is not the will and initiative of the people but of the State that determine and accomplish these changes; (4) Method of social pressure: This method which is adopted by a rural individual, a group or a class to achieve a desired change includes petitioning, passive resistance, individual or group Satyagraha, processions and marches, strikes and demonstrations, even individual terrorism, mass rebellions, revolutions and others; (5) Contact method: “It is generally recognised that one of the most effective means of social change is found in contact of cultures where peoples of different cultures come in touch with one another, cross fertilization takes place”.11 (6) Educational method: A group of social thinkers invest the educational method with decisive importance in bringing about the rural change. All these methods should be carefully studied to evolve a programme of rural reform or reconstruction. Also its study is necessary to evaluate the forces that work to overhaul the rural social structure. Enormous energy of individuals, groups and associations is spent in the movement of rural uplift and reconstruction. However, due to a lack of synthetic perspective and integrated outlook, the efforts suffer from numerous drawbacks. Exclusive one-sided concentration on one aspect of rural life, predominantly emotional bias, lack of co-ordination of work, insufficient ability to assess the results and, above all an absence of

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a proper sociological perspective are the major defects leading to either ineffectiveness or partial success. Rural sociology will help the rural worker to make a correct diagnosis of its ills and will, thereby enable him to evolve a correct prescription (a scientific programme) to overcome these ills. Here comes the decisive creative role of rural sociology which is as indispensable for the purpose of rural reconstruction as the science of medicine is to a medical practitioner. The present paper has the aim first, of emphasising the vital need of studying the life process of the rural society analytically and synthetically; secondly, of suggesting some of the appropriate lines of approach of such a study; and, thirdly, of indicating what enormous research and theoretical labour are necessary to get a proper insight into the process of structural and functional transformation the rural society has experienced in the past and in the present. It is, however, painful to record that our authorities who are today interested in transforming rural society have not realized the significance of such sociological approach to rural society. The Planning Commission does not still find it essential to associate sociologists in their panel of advisers. The Union and State Governments have not still felt it necessary to organise or finance on a significant scale, sociological studies of rural life. Sociology is still treated as a Cinderella among social sciences. Our seats of culture, our universities and research institutions still do not realize the need to positively encourage this subject as a vital prerequisite of education. It is unfortunate that while enormous sums are being spent on natural science researches, some sectional studies of Societies or on social workers’ training classes, sociological studies of a fundamental nature are suffering from step motherly treatment or are experiencing shortage of financial resources so essential for adequate theoretical and field researches. Indian rural social structure is passing through an acute crisis. This crisis is enveloping every aspect of rural life. A comprehensive insight for a proper assessment of the specific weight and role of various factors whose action and inter-action provide movement to the rural society is essential, if effective and progressive action is to be undertaken. The unplanned and segmental approach to the problem of analysing and transforming the rural society requires to be replaced by a planned and integral approach.

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The need for developing Rural Sociology in India is overdue and indispensable.

References 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

Art. “Village Community”. Encyclopaedia of Social Sciences, Vol. 15. p. 254. A Systematic Source Book in Rural Sociology, Vol. I, p. 263. Ibid. p. 560. Ibid. Vol. II. p. 41. Refer Social Organization by Prof. W. H. R. Rivers. pp. 15–16. Refer “Caste and Class in India”, by. G. S. Ghurye. Chapter I. Ibid. Chapters VII and VIII. Refer Man and his Works, Melville J. Herskovits. Refer A Systematic Source Book in Rural Sociology, Vol. II, Chapter XV. Refer Elements of Rural Sociology, by N. L. Sims. Chapter 29. Ibid. p. 670.

2 Symposium on Rural-Urban Relations: The Industrialization and Urbanization of Rural Areas M.N. Srinivas

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point which everyone will readily concede is that rural areas are changing in every part of India. All social change is in a sense relevant for our purpose but some of it is more directly relevant. It is on the latter kind that I wish to concentrate. To understand social change it is necessary to know what the society is changing from. I shall therefore try to characterize rural society in pre-British India as a prelude to the delineation of the change. In this connection it is necessary to make clear that all those forces, external and internal, which broke the isolation of the village and helped to bring about a change, however slight, in the traditional social system, paved the way for industrialization and urbanization. For industrialization does not merely refer to the use of large and complicated machinery, and urbanization does not only mean the great concentration of human beings in small areas; they both require certain types of socioeconomic relationships and a weltenschaaung which are in conflict with the social system, which obtained in pre-British India. I guess that the characteristics which I am about to mention were broadly true of rural areas all over India. The first and the most striking

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characteristic is the isolation of villages from each other consequent on the absence of roads. Even now, after a century of improvement in roads, inter-village communications are often primitive. A great many of these roads are not even fit for bullock carts. And in large parts of the country, villagers live in a state of more or less complete isolation during the monsoon. In a village not thirty miles from the great city of Bombay the inhabitants had to store up provisions and fuel for the monsoon like the citizens of a beleaguered city, and this state of affairs was put an end to only fifteen years ago when a bridge was built. The building of the bridge may be described as the watershed in the history of that village as it was the single most important factor in urbanization. It is essential to stress that this isolation was not, however, complete. Contact was always there, with a few neighbouring villages, with the nearby weekly markets, with the centres of pilgrimage, and perhaps with the town where the chief or Raja had his capital. Neighbouring villages exchanged girls in marriage, and the festival of a village deity frequently demanded the co-operation of several villages. In northern India, villages are exogamous, and the optimum distance between affinal villages seems to be between eight-twelve miles. Again, the division of labour enjoined by caste necessitated cooperation between neighbouring villages. Every village does not have every essential caste—in fact, it is frequently found that a barber in village A also serves B and C, and a washerman in village C also serves A and B, and so on. This is strikingly seen in Kerala where dispersed villages are the rule, and one artisan family has the rights of service (avakasham) in several neighbouring villages. The circles of villages served by each of the artisans in a village overlap only to a limited extent. I fear that I have laboured an obvious point, but as the myth that the traditional Indian village was a self-sufficient little republic has had distinguished advocates and has such political implications this appears to be worthwhile. The typical Indian village was not self-sufficient even in the days of primitive communications, and it is absurd to talk of ‘reviving’ something that never existed. Another feature of the pre-British rural India is the prevalence of widespread political instability. The lowest level in the political system was that of the village headman and the next level was that of the chief who ruled a cluster of villages, and whose relations with neighbouring chiefs were not always friendly. This chief was subordinate

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to a Raja who was perhaps in turn subordinate to an emperor or his viceroy. A weak emperor or viceroy often meant that the Raja became practically independent and this was also true of lower levels. In such a system, the political cleavages were very real and tended also to be cultural and social cleavages. Social relations tended to be confined within a chief ’s or Raja’s territory—in Malabar, however, the Nambudri Brahmins seem to have been regarded as superior to the political cleavages by virtue of their ritual position. One of the consequences of such a vertical division was that the horizontal spread of caste ties could not cross the political boundary. In other words, the castes living in a chiefdom were forced to look to each other for help. It was Pax Brittanica which freed castes from these vertical barriers. The improvement of communications, the introduction of cheap postage and printing enabled members of a caste living far apart from each other to meet occasionally and to keep regular touch. This, together with the preferential treatment extended to the backward castes by the British, laid the foundation for the casteism about which we hear so much these days. In pre-British India relations between individuals and groups were largely determined by birth in a particular caste and family. Again, the same two individuals were tied to each other by a variety of ties, economic, kinship, political and ritual. This was both the result and condition of stability. Besides, the fact that very little money circulated in the country as a whole, and especially in the rural areas, guaranteed that rural society was kept out of participation in the urban sector. Political conquest by the British was followed by the development of communications. A uniform civil and criminal law was introduced, and an organization was gradually evolved to fight the periodic famines. Measures were taken to improve public health. Certain customs like suttee were abolished and Western education was introduced. Each of these measures had a profound effect on social life in the villages. The establishment of British rule in India meant that every village, however remote, became part of the widest political community then known, viz., the British Empire. This was soon followed by the extension of an economic network which spread over the whole world including India. For instance, the fortunes of the cotton crop in the U. S. A. affected the Indian cotton-grower; the cotton famine and civil war in the U. S. drove home to the British manufacturers in Lancashire the wisdom of having an alternative source of supply of cotton in India. The development of

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cotton as a cash crop affected the peasantry in several parts of the country. It brought money to the villages and tied up the fortunes of peasantry with events happening 5,800 miles away, and over which they had no control. But the prosperity which cotton brought had important effects on the growers. An interesting account of the effects of cotton prosperity in the Wardha Valley during the American Civil War is given by Rivett-Carnac who was Cotton Commissioner of the Central Provinces then. “The cultivator was emancipated during that period from the moneylender and many capital improvements were made, fruit trees planted, wells dug, irrigation developed and housing improved. There was also a general levelling up of the caste hierarchy (though not without struggle) as the lower castes secured enough wealth to take on the costumes and customs of the higher castes. Marriage and other ceremonies became more lavish and ‘silver plough shares and tyres of solid silver for cart wheels made their appearance here and there!. “ RivettCarnac’s observations on the peasants of Wardha Valley in the sixties of the last century hold good to some extent of our peasantry during the boom of the second world war. Mrs. Trent (Manhalli in Mysore) and Shri N. G. Chapekar (Badlapur near Kalyan) both report increased spending on weddings as a result of the war boom. Mrs. Trent also reports better ploughs, fertilizers, etc. Prosperity does not always result in spending on the same items either in the case of individuals or in the case of villages. The inhabitants of Badlapur repair their temple while those of Manhalli would like to spend on personal luxuries and on decorating the walls of their houses. The inhabitants of Kere renovated their temples while the leaders of Rampura invested money in rice and flour mills, buses, shops, and urban housing. When Rivett-Carnac reported that the lower castes secured enough wealth to take on the customs and costumes of the higher castes, he highlighted a widespread and important process. When a caste becomes prosperous, it tries to stake a claim to being a higher caste. This claim is usually preceded by attempts to alter diet, dress, customs and rituals. An expanding economy brings money to more groups and occasionally to groups very low in the caste hierarchy. When the latter sanskritise, considerable disturbance occurs in the traditional social system. The politico-economic forces set in motion by British rule brought about greater mobility in the caste system.

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I shall now consider the changes which are occurring in a few villages. The first example will be in much greater detail than the rest. Mrs. T. S. Trent of Manchester University is about to complete a study of economic and social changes in Manhalli, a village about 5 miles from the sugar factory town of Bella. The factory was started in 1933 by the Government of Mysore following the construction of the Viswesvarayya canal fed by the reservoir Krishnarajasagara about nine miles from Mysore City. Before canal-irrigation reached Manhalli, only one hundred acres of arable land were irrigable and the rest depended on the monsoon rains. The former were irrigated somewhat unsatisfactorily from a tank. Paddy was grown on irrigated land, and ragi and jowar on rainfed land. A certain amount of sericulture provided cash to a few peasants. Canal-irrigation increased both the extent of cultivable area and productivity per acre. The cultivable area increased by about 23% and there is scope for further expansion. While only 12% of arable land was irrigable before 1939, 76% is irrigable at present. Sugarcane was a new crop to Manhalli and its cultivation brought many new and difficult problems. It is an 18-month crop, requiring the acquisition of new and complicated techniques, and needing investment of more capital. It requires iron ploughs, sturdier bullocks and fertilisers, and the cultivator’s family has to be supported during the long period between sowing and selling the cane to the factory. Before irrigation, the price of land varied between Rs. 100–300 per acre whereas in 1955, an acre of dry land fetched between Rs. 300– 700, and an acre of wet land between 1000–2000. Irrigation thus more than trebled land values, but in the first few years many of the smaller landowners sold a part of their land to raise the money to bring the rest under cultivation. Even then cane cultivation would have been confined to a few only, if the factory had not shouldered the burden of economic development. Its success clearly demonstrates the crucial role which extra-village agencies play in stimulating industrialization and urbanization of rural areas. The factory advanced sums of money to peasants at 6% interest to cover cultivation and harvesting costs. It sent round trained fieldsmen to teach peasants how to grow sugar-cane. It also assured the cultivator of a buyer and a fixed price. The factory field-supervisors estimated the crop per acre and the cultivators could supply cane to the factory up to

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the amount at a fixed price per ton. This, incidentally encouraged the formal partition of joint families, as the factory bought not on the basis of the amount of land cultivated by a family but on the basis of so much cane from each family. Mrs. Trent says that nowadays it is common for families to break up after the birth of the first child. The factory was also responsible for improving the roads along which the peasants carted their cane. It realized early the need for a good network of roads and provided the money necessary for building and maintaining them. The improvement of roads has in turn popularized buses and cycles. The factory also started a few farms of its own in the neighbourhood, and one such farm is situated in Manhalli. It extends over 130 acres. The land was formerly classified as ‘government waste.’ The farm employs some men from Manhalli who are given a regular cash wage higher than that obtaining in private farms in Manhalli. The farm workers also get a bonus, a cost-of-living allowance, and also the benefits of the factory’s welfare services, co-operative retail factory, and a savings’ bank scheme. Before canal-irrigation came in, all agricultural labour was paid for in grain—the quantity was fixed and did not vary with the changing price of crop. Even now labour on paddy-fields is paid in paddy. The traditional village servants are also paid in grain but these payments have assumed the character of gifts as the demand for the traditional services is fitful and not serious. This is seen in the fact that only one out of four potters does pottery work and that too as a part time occupation. The washerman and barber have agriculture as a secondary occupation. The  barber in Bella town is preferred to the village barber, and soap enables the housewife to wash the family’s clothes herself. The laundry at Bella is also patronised. The workers in cane-fields are, however, paid cash. And the role of cash is increasing—carts, bullocks and ploughs are hired for cash nowadays. Monetisation has also encouraged local retail trade-five small shops serve Manhalli, and their main trade is in beedis, cigarettes, sweets, fruit and groundnuts. Two coffee shops have also been started in the village. Bella is visited frequently for shopping and cinemas. Incidentally, in 1931 Bella was a town with a population of 5,958, whereas in 1951, the population was 21,158. The sugar factory employed over 1000 people. Its importance increased further when Bella was made the capital of a new district. An intermediate college was also started in

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the forties. Trade and transport converged in Bella. Its weekly fair grew in size while the weekly fairs of neighbouring villages either declined, or remained stationary. Canal-irrigation brought with it severe malaria which resulted in high infant mortality. Manhalli’s population rose from 623 in 1931 to only 689 in 1941, but in 1951 it was 949. The increase in the second period was in great part due to the success which attended the efforts of the malaria control board which was established by the Govt. of Mysore in 1946. According to Mrs. Trent, at the present rate of population increase, the prosperity induced by agriculture will be short-lived unless there is emigration or further industrialization. Manhalli in this respect reflects a national problem. Famine control and prevention and the adoption of public health measures by the State have resulted in a great increase of population, and consequently, pressure on land. The fact that occupational specialization of caste does not prohibit every caste from taking to agriculture as a subsidiary occupation and the ties of caste and extended kinship have augmented the pressure. Here is a problem which it is beyond the village society’s resources to solve—customs ordain early marriage, abortion is both risky as well as immoral, infanticide is a crime, emigration is difficult if not impossible, and knowledge of birth control is absent. Thus the larger society creates problems for the village which the latter is unable to solve with the existing knowledge and resources. An important point which emerges from Dr. A. R. Beals’s study of Namhalli, a village near Bangalore, is that it is increasing participation in the monetised national or international economy which effectively draws the village community into the ambit of the larger society—mere legislative measures undertaken by the larger society are not as effective. Thus it was the requirement, under the Ryotwari Settlement of 1886, to pay land tax in cash which resulted in the reversal of most village land to the State which in turn enabled the latter to raise its share from one third of the harvest to half. It was the need to pay tax in cash which forced the villagers to sell some of their produce to urban tradesmen. Finally, the inflations brought about by the two world wars effectively made Namhalli economy and social system a part of the larger society. During the first world war and for a few years after it, cash crops such as bananas, potatoes and peanuts received greater emphasis. The villagers’ wants changed as a result of urban contact—they wanted

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mill-made cloth and factory tiles. Some of their cash was spent on urban coffee-shops and theatres and cinemas. After 1920, there was a greater recourse to urban law courts—more education, more contact with urban life, and the need to express land ownership in British Indian legal terms were responsible. This gradually eroded the authority of the village panchayat, which suffered a severe blow when all but one member perished in the great ‘flu’ epidemic of 1919. A further fact was the gradual diminution in the size of the family unit which made it necessary for more families to be represented on the panchayat than before. Small families also meant that less capital and manpower were available for agriculture which resulted in inefficiency. The second world war brought prosperity to Namhalli. Bangalore was a big supply base and many men of Namhalli found jobs as clerks and factory workers. Black-marketing and prostitution also brought in money. Namhalli farmers started growing carrots, beets, etc., for the troops. The sudden prosperity resulted in improved agricultural implements and livestock, in the building of new houses, in giving higher education to children, in buying cycles, wearing suits, paying doctors’ bills, betting on horses, etc. But the boom of the war years ended and the clerks and workers lost their jobs, and the price of foodstuffs and  vegetables came down sharply. Meanwhile the population had increased, and with it, unemployment. Rampura, the village in Mysore District which I studied in 1948 and again in the summer of 1952, is a roadside village and the second world war brought prosperity to it. The leaders, besides being rich, are men of considerable intelligence. Early in 1948 the leaders submitted a petition to a visiting minister requesting the loan of bulldozers and tractors, and asking for electricity. In 1952 a bulldozer was levelling the headman’s land, and by 1955 the village had been electrified. There was a radio in the headman’s house and the two rice mills which had been started in 1950–51 were working with electric power. The profits and savings of the war years had been invested in productive and modern ways. In 1950–51 headman started two profitable bus lines, and built a few houses in Bella town for renting; Patron II opened a grocery and cloth shop during the war and bought a small Japanese rice mill in 1951, while Patron III started a big rice mill. Patrons II and III belong to the same lineage and while in 1948 it looked as though the lineage of Patron  II would force him to withdraw his support to the headman

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(Patron I), in 1952 the younger members of the joint families of Patrons II and III were openly giving expression to their dislike of each other. The headman was supporting both. The leaders of Rampura are peasants by caste and but for the second world war would have remained rural landlords. Their surplus income would have been invested in land, houses and jewellery. But the second world war brought a considerable amount of cash to them and also changed their outlook. Increased contact with the city, higher education of their sons and the considerable amount of surplus cash placed in their hands by the war were responsible for the change. They have now become incipient capitalists with one foot in the village and another in the city. They are getting the benefit of participation in both types of economy and social system. Their further development as capitalists is dependent upon State policy—not only policy of Mysore State, but even more important, the policy of the Government of India. Kumbapettai in Tanjore District was studied by Dr. Kathleen Gough in 1951–52. The village is typical of Tanjore District where the Brahmins have economic power in addition to their position as heads of the caste hierarchy. In the rural areas they are landowners and the other castes are dependent upon them. Symbols of authority and respect have been highly developed. In recent years considerable immigration has taken place into Tanjore District from neighbouring and less fertile areas. As a result there is today a large body of landless labourers and poorer tenants in Tanjore District, and legislative action in favour of the latter on the part of Madras Government has not fully solved the problem. Besides, there has been some amount of migration of the Brahmins to the towns, and their authority is being increasingly questioned by the lower castes. The Non-Brahmins refuse to show the same respect which they showed before, and inter-caste eating and drinking taboos are weakening somewhat. One very important development is the success which communist propaganda is having among the untouchables and castes slightly higher. Communism seems to be particularly strong among the lower castes in east Tanjore. One last point about urbanization, and it is true of South India with the probable exception of Kerala. Urbanization in South India has a caste component—the Brahmin caste led the others in deserting the ancestral villages for the towns. They were the first to sense the advantages of

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Western education, and the sons of those who left the villages became the first teachers, officials, lawyers, doctors and judges. Their position in the social system was strategic—in the rural areas they constituted the religious and landed aristocracy, and in urban areas they had a near monopoly of all the higher posts. Most of these Brahmins retained their ancestral land if they did not add to it. Gradually however, the expenses of higher education, dowry system, costly weddings and funerals, made it necessary for them to lose their pied-a-terre. The virtual monopoly which the Brahmins had of the important posts and the British policy of preference to the Non-Brahmin and Backward Castes soon led to a popular anti-Brahmin movement. As a result, the Brahmin is nowadays being kept out of government service. Castewise allotment of seats in educational institution is common. The unemployment of the thirties and the second world war resulted in phenomenal occupational and spatial mobility for the Brahmins. They entered business at all levels and the defence services in all capacities. The Westernization of the Brahmins proceeded fast. The educated Non-Brahmin who borrowed Brahmanical ways found that the Brahmin was very busy discarding what the others were busy acquiring. Both the processes, the Sanskritization of the Non-Brahmin castes and the Westernization of the Brahmins is proceeding apace today.

3 Modernization and the Urban-Rural Gap in India: An Analysis N.R. Sheth

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n this paper1 it is intended to review some of the literature on the social, political and economic gulf dividing urban and rural communities in India. Especially, I shall try to summarize the information relevant to answering questions such as: What is the relative impact of modernization in India on rural and urban communities? Does it widen the gap between the two? If it does, how far can the gap be filled? What steps are being taken by the Government and others in this direction?

I To most people, it may sound platitudinous to state that India is steadily modernizing. Indians seem to hold innumerable ideas on the form, content and acceptability of modernization. There is, however, likely to be a general agreement among social scientists to view modernization as the complex process of social, economic and political change taking place in India as a result of contact with the West. Srinivas (1966: 50–52), for instance, uses the term modernization as virtually synonymous with Westernization and argues that it has affected traditional Indian society at four levels, namely, technology, institutions, ideology, and values. From

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this point of view, a society or its part can be regarded as modernized to the extent that it imbibes the following features commonly attributed to the Western societies: (a) the system of production is based on the modern machine technology, (b) the system of social stratification emphasizes individual achievement of status rather than ascription of status by birth, (c) the political organization is democratic and stresses the ideals of equality and social justice, and (d) a secular and scientific outlook is developed by its members. During the British rule, these characteristics were foreign to Indian society and those sections of the population who imbibed them were in the process of borrowing social qualities from other cultures. Since Independence, however, some important Western institutions, values and ideology (such as a democratic political structure and acceptance of equality as the basis of social order) have become integral parts of Indian social structure. In reality, on the other hand, modernization in India has not yet gone very far. To a large extent, India is still ‘traditional’ in as much as the Western institutions and values are limited to the Indian Constitution and the behaviour-patterns of the elite classes. Nearly 82 per cent of India’s population lives in villages and most of them are far removed from the basic urban facilities such as electricity and modern means of transport and recreation, as well as from the institutions and values of the West. About 28 per cent of the people cannot read or write and are hardly aware of what is happening outside their local group. Over 69 per cent of the country’s population is still peasant, and the bulk of this population uses old and simple farm equipment. The ideals of an egalitarian society have not yet reached very far; one often hears of the exploitation and humiliation of lower castes and “untouchables” by their wealthy, highcaste brethren. Facts of this kind have induced the picture of contrast frequently portrayed in scholarly treatises and public discussions about India. The proverbial coexistence of the Boeing and the bullock-cart and the functioning of an atomic reactor in an environment of cowdung fire are hard facts about modern India. It is not uncommon to hear arguments to the effect that modernization in India is skin-deep. Various historical and cultural factors can be mentioned to explain this. For one thing, although the process of Westernization began several decades ago, the erstwhile British rulers made a piecemeal approach to social change for various reasons. The concept of planning for India as a whole became

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effective only after Independence. Hence the impact of modernization remained uneven for a long time after it began. Secondly, the illiteracy and poverty existing among the masses in this country acted as barriers to modernization, as the forces of modern Western culture travelled mainly on the tracks of education and wealth. Thirdly, many of those who were modernized changed only some facets of their social life (food habits, material culture, educational achievement, etc.) but retained their traditional values and outlook on life. The difference between the modern and the traditional in India can be perceived at various levels. Some administrative and cultural regions are more modernized than others. Generally speaking, the rich are more modernized than the poor. Higher castes have a modernizing edge over lower castes and tribal groups. The educated are more fortunate than their non-educated brethren in enjoying the benefits of modernization. In the same vein, the urban population is considered to be far ahead of rural people in the ability to modernize. Townsmen are likely to be in more direct contact with modern technology, Western culture and amenities and the democratic political framework than villagers are. Moreover, urbanites are regarded as much more adaptable to changing values and ideologies than the ruralites who are often believed to be obsessed by their traditionalism and hence to resist change. On this assumption, the existing gap between urban and rural communities is likely to increase. There is considerable awareness among intellectuals and political leaders about the gulf dividing towns and villages in India and, as we shall see later, earnest efforts are made to bridge the gulf. However, it appears that both our understanding of the problem as well as the measures to solve it are far from adequate. Most Indian school children write essays on the relative merits of city and country, but scientific literature on the comparative social, economic and political structure of our towns and villages is depressingly poor. As Hoselitz (1962a) has shown, the problems of urbanism and urban growth failed to attract social scientists for a long time after social sciences emerged in India. Urban studies are quite fashionable now, but most of the work done in the field is demographic or in the style of the socio-economic survey. Some work has been done on specific urban areas, but here also the emphasis is on diagnosis of problems of urban life, such as housing, beggary and disease. Very little attention has been paid to urban social structure in relation to

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the social structure of rural areas, although one may find stray references to this question in different studies. The conceptual framework of urban-rural differences in India and South East Asia was discussed at a Seminar convened in 1962 by UNESCO (1964). Some aspects of urban-rural differences are found in Acharya (1956), Rao (1962 and 1966), Mukherjee (1965), Srinivas (1959 and 1965), Sovani (1966) and Redfield and Singer (1954). Besides, some tangible problems of urban-rural differences and their implications for the country’s development were discussed within policy framework by various contributors to a seminar held at Berkely (see Turner 1962). The National Sample Survey of India (1959, 1962 as well as several other Reports) has also studied some aspects of economic differences between urban and rural areas. However, all these studies, taken together with the information available in census and other official reports, cover only a small part of the total picture of urban-rural relationships obtaining in the country. The first main problem one faces in a discussion of urban-rural differences is where to draw the line between urban and rural. The most convenient way to do this is to define urban and rural primarily in terms of population size and density. Then there is the concept of urbanism as a way of life (Wirth 1938), according to which any local community which shows predominance of non-agricultural economy and acceptance of certain standards and value patterns of social life is regarded as urban. Until 1951 the Indian census authorities applied mainly the criterion of size. For the most part, a local group with a population of 5000 or more was classed as urban. In 1961, however, the Census of India arrived at a more complex definition. A place was classed as a town if it met three conditions: (i) its population was more than 5000, (ii) the density of population was not less than about 400 per sq. kilometer, and (iii) not less than 75 per cent of the adult male population was engaged in nonagricultural activities. The third condition is clearly a departure from the purely physical definition of ‘urban’ towards “urbanism as a way of life.” Another difficulty in distinguishing urban areas from rural is that there is great internal variation within both urban and rural categories. Metropolises such as Bombay and Calcutta, big cities like Ahmedabad and Kanpur, small cities like Bhopal and Jaipur, large towns, small towns,—all these show different characteristics of social and economic structure, and differ considerably in their role in their respective hinterlands. Similarly, large villages in close proximity to urban areas are

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different from small and remote villages. The Census, the National Sample Survey and social scientists have divided towns and villages into different size-classes to suit their convenience. It is not possible here to go into the details of these classifications, but we must remember that if an analysis of urban-rural differences is to be useful, one must keep in view the conceptual continuum implied in the terms rural and urban. Moreover, urban areas and rural areas are not uniformly urban and rural. There are pockets of rural population within a metropolis such as Delhi or Calcutta; on the other hand, some Indian villages contain sectors with urban characteristics. I will return to this point later. In the present context, however, we shall discuss urban and rural mainly in terms of concentration of population, as our emphasis here is on the social, economic and political role of urban agglomerations rather than on the degree of urbanism.

II While dealing with the role of urban agglomerations in India one cannot neglect the fact that this country has a complex and highly developed cultural tradition which dates back to many centuries. As urban communities have been a part of this tradition, it will be useful to review briefly the historical background of urban-rural differences in India. City life in India is traced back by historians to the Indus Valley Civilization nearly 4000 years ago. However, the earliest significant towns can be said to have emerged only after the Aryans settled down in the country. These early towns were either cultural or political centres. These towns represented, according to the typology suggested by Redfield and Singer (1954: 55ff ), the primary phase of urban development. That is, they acted as torch-bearers of contemporary Hindu civilization to the outside world. The cultural role played by such towns is described by Red-field and Singer as orthogenetic. The second important phase of urban growth in India began with the Muslim invasion of the country. The Muslims, particularly the Mughals, brought with them a distinct tradition of empire-building, leisure, art, and architecture. As a result, great cities like Agra, Ahmedabad, Hyderabad, Delhi and Lahore grew up. Apart from that, India’s trade and commerce with other countries were steadily growing and gave rise to urban centres like Surat and Cochin which became clearing-houses

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for exchange of goods between inland India and the outside world. Some of these towns also specialized in specific industrial activities. In terms of the Redfield-Singer typology, these political-administrative and commercial-industrial towns indicated a trend towards the secondary phase of urbanization, which is a result of contact between “people and widely different cultures.” Such towns played a heterogenetic role, as they created “original modes of thought . . . (having) . . . authority beyond or in conflict with (the old culture and civilization)” (1954: 58). The distinction between orthogenetie and heterogenetic towns is mainly a conceptual distinction and one may find it difficult to establish a town as purely ‘orthogenetic’ or ‘heterogenetic’ at any point in history. Nevertheless, we can easily describe the history of urban centres in terms of a progressive expansion of their contacts with the outside world, that is, in terms of increasing social and cultural heterogeneity. Not much is known about the differences in the social, economic and political structures between these medieval urban communities and the rural areas which surrounded them. However, the available historical material suggests that there were significant differences between the two, (see, for instance, Moreland 1962, and the sources examined by Srinivas and Shah 1960). Unlike the overwhelmingly peasant population in rural areas, the urban population included civil and military hierarchies, courtesans, merchant communities, professional classes, artisans, craftsmen, domestic servants and slaves. A crude factory system prevailed in urban industry, and exchange of goods and services was considerably governed by money rather than barter. The level of education in urban areas was fairly higher than in villages, and towns were regarded as the abode of the elite in society. This medieval urban spectrum began changing soon after the impact of Pax Britannica. One of the first effects of British arrival in India was that new cities and towns emerged to provide for the British needs in respect of business, habitation, and leisure- Bombay, Calcutta, and Madras are some of the towns owing their modern urban origin to the commercial and administrative undertakings of the British in India. The British also set in motion a progressive expansion of commerce and industry within the Indian economy. The result was the establishment of urban centres specializing in modern industry and trade, such as Ahmedabad and Kanpur. On the other hand, the expansion of British interests in India touched the old urban centres and made them

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progressively heterogenetic by introducing into them elements of new business and industry. Moreover, in the wake of long-drawn struggles for political power between the British and scores of Indian princes and empire-seekers, a large part of the country was parcelled out among the latter. These native rulers were highly impressed by the culture and administration of their British overlords and hence developed urban settlements like those put up by the latter. In consequence, modernized capital towns such as Mysore, Baroda, Jaipur, Hyderabad and Gwalior emerged on the Indian scene. The British brought with them a complex of culture and values which were substantially different from the status-oriented, rigid value system of traditional India. They brought in a revolution in communication with the help of the printing press. Knowledge, which was so far the privilege of a few, started proliferating among the wider population. The result was that the humanitarian and secular ideals of the West gradually spread among Indians who received Western education. Many educated Indians started reinterpreting Hindu religion, and social and religious reform movements were engineered by persons like Ram Mohan Roy, Ranade and Tilak. As modern education was by and large confined to urban areas, the Western cultural values and modernization were largely monopolized by town-dwellers. There arose a new cultural cleavage between urban and rural areas. The new economic system of commerce and industry, the new learning and the new cultural ideas and ideologies were the hall-marks of towns. Villages symbolized all that was traditional—peasant economy, rigid stratification, ignorance, superstition, etc.

III The above discussion assumes a clear-cut dichotomy between urban and rural communities and an absence of interaction between them. The assumption, however, is not altogether valid. While the base of the British was in towns, they were not completely oblivious to villages. In fact, the new rulers were concerned about the woes suffered by villagers on account of lack of communication, extreme poverty and disease, exploitation by landlords, and “inhuman” caste-norms. The first step they took to solve this rural problem was to survey land and settle revenue. They also tried to establish order by codifying law and developing

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well-structured army and police forces. To some extent, they also improved the means of transport and communication between villages and towns. The frontiers of British culture and administration thus touched village boundaries. As communication improved, sections of villagers developed contacts with towns and thus with modern Western values. Villages started urbanizing. At the same time, population was steadily growing and pressure on land was progressively increasing. This situation was aggravated by frequent famines and scarcity. Hence, at some stage or other, Indian villagers looked to towns and cities which were in need of manpower for their commercial and industrial enterprises. Once this movement started, it acquired a momentum of its own as people were attracted to the opportunities and amenities available in towns. The push from villages was reinforced by the pull of the towns and a continual movement arose between rural and urban areas. The urban satellites of village families came in contact with different elements of modernization, such as food habits, dress, modern medicine and secular ideas, and some of these were transmitted to the villages. The socio-economic gulf dividing towns and villages at the beginning of this century did not fail to attract the attention of the leaders of the nationalist movement. Gandhi, for instance, examined the effect of British rule and culture on Indian society and came to the conclusion that the new process set in motion by alien rule modernized cities and towns at the cost of villages. With his distinctive ideals of morality and equality and tendency to take up the cause of the underdog, Gandhi came to consider most elements of modernity as undesirable for India. He advocated maximum social, economic and political decentralization and looked upon the small village community as the focal point of the social reconstruction programme. This approach to bridging the urban-rural gulf attracted many followers in the beginning. However, when Independence came in 1947, the political leaders in authority found Gandhian ideals one-sided and impractical and began to think of social change and economic development in the world context. No doubt they were concerned about the cultural and economic lag suffered by villages in relation to towns, but they wanted to balance village uplift with other aspects of social change in relation to the socio-economic development of the whole country. Of course, there is even today a strain of political thinking which favours the view that social and economic reforms in India should predominantly be

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village-based. But concrete programmes are designed to meet the needs of both urban and rural development.

IV The coming of Independence introduced not only acceleration in the process of modernization but also qualitative change in it. The merger of princely states into the Union of India implied that there would be a uniform political structure and organization for the country. The ideals of liberty, equality and justice incorporated in the Indian Constitution paved the way for comprehensive attempts to reduce existing inequalities of status, power and wealth, and created a framework suitable for changing the society in the direction of an achievement-oriented, rationalistic social order. The introduction of adult franchise and parliamentary democracy provided a powerful means of political modernization and education for the masses. Concurrently, a programme for the economic and social development was undertaken by the Government within the framework of the five-year plans. This new process has considerably influenced the structure and function of urban agglomerations in India. Growth in commerce and industry is a vital aspect of planning for economic development, and Indian planners have stressed this considerably. Thus expansion of existing commercial and industrial enterprises and the development of new industries of all kinds have been emphasized in successive five-year plans as a continuous process. Industry and commerce have largely been concentrated in urban areas due to the various facilities available in them and this trend continues in respect of growth. Industrial development has thus implied growth of existing towns and cities. Besides the natural increase of population, the urban areas have progressively attracted more migrants from nearby and distant areas. Secondly, new cities and towns have emerged since Independence as centres of administration (Chandigarh, Bhubaneshwar) or industry (Durgapur, Bhilai, Rourkela). A pace has thus been set for the growth of urban areas and urban population in India. The percentage of urban population to total population has increased from 10.84 in 1901 to 17.97 in 1961. The growth of cities and large towns has been generally higher than that of small ones. Between 1901 and 1951 while the total urban population increased by 58.94 per cent, the population in towns of 20,000 or more rose by

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Table 1 Index of Growth of Population in Towns

Year

More Total Than 50,000– 20,000– 10,000– Urban Population 100,000 100,000 50,000 20,000

5,000– 10,000

Less Than 5,000

1901

100.00

100.00

100.00

100.00

100.00

100.00

100.00

1911

100.35

107.68

83.86

111.56

92.07

98.17

111.09

1921

108.64

120.61

107.02

116.62

92.29

102.14

128.04

1931

129.41

143.48

140.93

150.82

112.29

112.97

117.30

1941

170.79

246.96

194.24

183.90

131.88

131.68

95.63

1951

241.55

416.87

258.64

253.62

160.40

159.61

126.40

1961

305.34

617.04

323.26

359.36

193.26

118.97

53.94

Base: 1901–100. Source: Srinivas 1965: 27.

111.94 per cent. Table 1 shows the indices of growth of urban population in the different size-classes, taking figures for 1901 as 100. However, it has been the contention of social scientists that urbanization in India has proceeded at a very slow rate in comparison with the pace of urbanization at similar stages in the West. This phenomenon has been explained in terms of sluggish economic growth. Even so, demographers such as Davis have expressed the fear that urban concentration of population will soon be heavily disproportionate to economic development. Davis (1962: 8–9) has worked out by logistic and historical extrapolations that in the year 2000 A.D. at least 21.2 per cent and perhaps 50 per cent of the population will be in places of 100,000 or more. The estimate of percentage for towns of 20,000 or more in the same year varies from 30.8 to 52. Whatever the validity of demographic extrapolations and international comparisons, it appears certain that urban agglomerations in India are steadily expanding and the process will continue for a long time to come. Also, large towns and cities are likely to be the fashion in urban growth during the coming years. What socio-cultural types of urban agglomerations can be called characteristic of modern India? It has been argued earlier that as a result of the British rule the orthogenetic town tended to be replaced by the heterogenetic. In Sjoberg’s (1960: 14) typology, this would mean that the trend is from the pre-industrial to the industrial town whose main

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features are “secularization, voluntary associations, segmented social roles and poorly defined norms.” It is not possible here to enter into the validity of Sjoberg’s analysis of urban history. We must only remember that insofar as Indian towns are industrializing, they are bound to take on some attributes of the industrial urban way of life (see Wirth 1938). On the other hand, Marriott (1954) has argued that the Indian city will be commercial rather than industrial for a long time and that while it will be achievement-oriented it will stress particularism in social relationships. One may infer that Indian towns will remain at the preindustrial cultural level for some time. However, in the absence of adequate concrete data, the extent to which Indian towns possess the “urban way of life” is anybody’s guess.

V To what extent do urban and rural areas differ in receiving the benefits of modernization? The discussion of this question will have to be general and cursory due to the inadequacy of available data. In an important sense, the disparity between villages and towns flows from the fact that the former have a predominantly agricultural economy unlike the latter. There is a considerably higher degree of organization involved in commercial and industrial activities than in agriculture. The exigencies of commercial and industrial work necessitates certain minimum standards of transport, communication, literacy, organized recreation, etc. Hence many villages lack certain facilities which are readily available in towns, such as electricity, hygienic water supply, and medical care. Secondly, the local administrations in towns and cities are economically and organizationally much more viable than their rural counterparts. Due to this, it is possible for townsmen to secure certain special benefits which villagers cannot get. For instance, many important towns have implemented schemes to procure a regular supply of milk. Urban dairies buy most of the milk available in the surrounding rural areas and distribute it among town-dwellers. The result is that there is little or no milk available to villagers themselves. Similarly, when an overall deficit of food supply was felt in India, the Government introduced statutory rationing in large cities so that the population there would not have to suffer much hardship. However, villagers were virtually left alone in this respect and this led to an imbalance of food supply between urban and rural areas. Other facilities such as higher

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education and proximity to government offices are also more easily available to town-dwellers than to rural folk. The census data as well as studies by the National Sample Survey indicate some urban-rural differences in age and sex composition. In short, the proportion of adult males of working age is higher in towns than in villages (see National Sample Survey 1959: 38). This fact is ascribed to adult males migrating to urban centres, leaving their wives and children behind in villages. Migration from rural to urban areas may have important effects on rural society in the long run. It may deprive villagers of human resources and thus impoverish them further. However, one argument is that migration of people from villages is a healthy sign as it may encourage modernization of agriculture in the absence of adequate manpower. We 60 not have sufficient information on what is happening in Indian villages in this regard. In her study of the role of a city on its surroundings, Acharya (1956) describes how the city draws out not only people but also money and rents from the villages. She argues that the trade between a city and its hinterlands is balanced in favour of the former. There is also a higher proportion of upper and middle caste groups among urban populations than in rural areas. It is now well known that many higher and artisan castes in different parts of India traditionally live in towns or cities and some of them emigrate to villages for trade and artisanry. In general, the higher caste groups are economically richer and politically more powerful than lower castes. Their wealth and urban living have given them an advantage over their low-caste neighbours. This means that the urban population has certain basic advantages over rural people. The former have a potential capacity to modernize through their wealth and education, which the ruralites lack. There are highly significant differences of literacy and educational achievements between urban and rural areas. People in the urban areas are much more literate and educated than those in rural areas. Table 2 shows the urbanrural disparity in educational standards. There are different views regarding the size and types of family in urban and rural areas. The census and related data suggest that the size of an average household is smaller in the urban area than in the rural. The implication is that urban families tend towards the Western-type elementary family whereas in rural areas the predominant feature is the joint family. This view has lately been challenged by sociologists. It is now realized that the average size of the household is not at all reliable

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Table 2 Proportion of Population at Different Levels of Education Level of Education

Urban %

Rural %

Illiterate

53.05

80.98

Literate (without education level)

23.49

13.29

Primary or Junior Basic

16.17

5.02

Matriculation and above

7.24

0.69

99.95

99.98

Compiled from Reports on Census of India, 1961.

as an index of the jointness or nuclearity of family. In his recent study of urban-rural relationships, Mukherjee (1965: Ch. 2) did not find significant differences between urban and rural family structures. The ideal of extended family was common to both, and the structure of family overlapped a great deal between them. One contention is that the economic mechanism of business and industry is more conducive to joint family than the vicissitudes of land, and hence the joint family is more common in urban than in rural areas. The information in this regard is however too incomplete to warrant any useful generalization. Economically, the differences between urban and rural communities are obvious. The vast majority of rural population subsists on agriculture and related occupations, whereas in towns and cities industry, commerce and professional pursuits preponderate. In 1961, more than 79 per cent of the total working population in rural areas were engaged in agriculture, whereas the corresponding percentage for urban areas was just over 10. The income and expenditure pattern in urban areas indicates greater financial turnover and orientation to things other than bare necessities than in rural areas. Drawing on information collected by the National Sample Survey, Sovani presents the relative difference in consumer expenditure between urban and rural areas as shown in Table 3. Table 3 suggests that although the difference in expenditure on food is marginal, non-food expenditure varies sharply between the two. While a considerable proportion of non-food expenditure may be incurred on the basic necessities of life such as housing, the above statistics indicate the relative affluence and acceptance of the modern way of life among town-dwellers.

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Table 3 Consumer Expenditure for a Period of 30 Days Item of Expenditure Food Non-food Total

In Rural Areas Rs.

In Urban Areas Rs.

13.54

14.81

7.90

14.91

21.44

29.72

Based on Table 14 in Sovani (1966: 58), which is adapted from a series of statistics available in the National Sample Survey Report No. 16.

In the field of political behaviour, all Indians are constitutionally governed by a uniform democratic set-up. They have equal opportunities to vote and to contest elections, irrespective of their educational or income levels. During elections and otherwise, the various political parties try to cover every corner of the country and hence villagers as well as urban people are exposed to political activity. Unfortunately, there is hardly any systematic information available in this matter. Weiner and Kothari (1965) describe voting behaviour in urban and rural areas, but do not attempt to draw lines of comparison between them. However, it can be stated that townsmen show more political awareness and participation than villagers. This can be explained in terms of better means of communication, higher rates of literacy, relatively greater acceptance of the new political institutions, and the proximity to centres of political activity among urban populations. Moreover, the values, attitudes and beliefs of urban people are considerably different from those of villagers. In schools, colleges, shops, factories, buses and restaurants, urban people are exposed to goods, ideas and ideals that can be called modern. As compared to villagers, they are in closer contact with modern technology and modern way of life. One would then expect that urban people are less inhibited by traditional institutions such as caste and joint family and more open to social and cultural change. Sovani (1960: 78), for instance, argues that caste-control is loose in urban areas and there is more proneness to social change. For instance, he found that urban people were more willing to accept modern family-planning methods than rural folk (p. 76). However, Srinivas (1965) and Redfield and Singer (1954) point out that the bonds of caste are not as loose in town as one may imagine. There is segregation of castes and classes in many urban centres, and hence to some extent the individual is obliged to be under caste control. Similarly,

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Hoselitz (1962 b) has emphasized the contention that values and attitudes in Indian towns are remarkably traditional.

VI The foregoing discussion of urban-rural differences in India is essentially an abstraction. It assumes urban and rural communities as separate entities and neglects the fact that the urban and rural traits are found coexisting in all communities in different degrees. Even a metropolis like Bombay or Delhi has its rural sectors of population (see, for example, Bopegamage 1956) and it is possible to find most rural characteristics among these people. The advantages of urban living mentioned above are not uniformly available to all urban residents and many urbanites live on the borderline of hunger and deprivation. On the other hand, all villagers are not equally aloof of modern and urban society and values. The political leaders at various levels are aware of the urban-rural gap and have been trying hard to bridge it. The Government of India has introduced a comprehensive programme of community development for the economic and social uplift of villages. This programme has brought villagers into contact with the modern methods of farming and of organizing community life. Plans for improving the standards of literacy, housing and sanitation have been undertaken and at least to some extent, executed. Rural electrification and small-scale industry have also been introduced in many parts of Indian rural world. Plans to provide adequate employment to villagers have been undertaken in the context of planning for development. The Government also tries to provide modern means of recreation such as radio and mobile cinema. Health and family planning methods have been propagated in villages through systematic propaganda. Politically, village panchayats (new village councils to manage local affairs) have been instituted in most regions. The councils are popularly elected bodies and are designed to achieve decentralization of power, to enable villagers to control their own affairs and thus to raise the level of political consciousness. Apart from these attempts made at the Government level to fill the rural-urban gap, we must note the important fact that there is a continual interaction between urban and rural areas. As we have seen, a large part of urban people are migrants from rural areas. Many of these migrants keep their families in villages and visit them frequently. In this

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process, they carry some of the urban characteristics and values to the villages. On their part, villagers visit towns and cities in ever increasing number and thus come in contact with various traits of modernity. An urban centre has its hinterland and there is a lot of exchange of goods and values between them. There are definite indications of changes in the consumption patterns of villagers and a tendency among the younger generation to be rational in its relationship with the old. A realistic assessment of urban-rural disparity thus needs to take into account the relative rates of change over a period of time and the interaction between the two types of community at a given point of time. We need to ask: how fast are the towns and villages changing? If the village changes at a faster pace than the town, we can visualize the divergence between them narrowing in course of time. If the converse is true, the gulf may widen inspite of the visible signs of progress in rural areas. It is a pity that we cannot go far beyond guesswork in this regard. From an ideal democratic point of view, whatever gap divides urban and rural areas can be considered dysfunctional to a section of the society and hence undesirable. In this regard, the urban population may appear to be eating away a disproportionately large slice of the national cake. However, we must bear in mind that there is an extent to which urban-rural disparity is inevitable and may even be desirable. It has been argued before that urban areas have certain inherent advantages over villages due to their economic base. Urban areas perform certain special functions for the country which cannot be performed by small village communities. The former have a major share in the total economic development of the country. As Davis and Golden (1954: 23) have argued, the city is functional for greater accumulation of capital and forces innovation. Secondly, urban areas are instrumental in projecting the image of the Indian society in relation to the outside world. The urban elites act as links between the community they live in and the outsiders. Also, urban areas act as carriers of modernity to their hinterland. These and others are valid functions performed by the urban agglomerations for the country and the special advantages flowing from these functions have to be conceded as desirable and essential. This kind of gulf between urban and rural is bound to exist in every society. Insofar as an urban community performs functions such as those just mentioned, it can be called generative, following Hoselitz (1955: 278), as its impact on economic growth of a region or the country is favourable. On the other hand, a town or village may exert the opposite

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influence on its surroundings. It may depend on its hinterland without giving much in return. In that case Hoselitz would call it parasitic. Acharya (1956), for example, has sought to depict Nasik as a parasitic town. But perhaps an apparently parasitic town performs certain important functions which may not lend themselves to sheer economic analysis. A religious or educational centre may be an expensive phenomenon from the viewpoint of the country’s resources but nevertheless functional. Most towns are likely to be performing partly generative and partly parasitic functions (see Hauser 1957) and the net effect may not be easily determined. As Tangri (1962) points out, the contribution of a town to economic development cannot be properly worked out without considering the socioeconomic costs of alienation and anomie prevalent in it. Social scientists will indeed make a distinct contribution to the growth of the Indian society if they follow this suggestion and strive at working out the inputs and outputs in respect of urban areas within a composite socio-economic framework. While it is clear that most social phenomena are not reducible to monetary measures, efforts in this direction may yield valuable results in the long run. This is not to argue that urban-rural differences cannot or should not be ironed out, Looking at the gulf from the angle of the rural community, there is no doubt that villages are in many respects in positions of disadvantage; hence the goal should always be to minimize the disadvantage as far as one can. The multidimensional programme of social, economic and political development of the village community undertaken by the Indian Government is no doubt a step in the right direction. The successive fiveyear plans have stressed the need for overall development of the Indian village, and this is bound to go a long way in narrowing the urban-rural gap. However, at the present stage there are many problems involved in making these programmes successful. As Rao (1962) suggests, economic growth is only the beginning of the story. Before economic change can be successfully generated, it has to cross the hurdles of social tradition. At many places in India, programmes such as family planning and mechanization of farming have run into bad weather due to opposition from villagers who are controlled by traditional values and prejudices. On the other hand, most leaders and officers are urban-bred and they do not have adequate knowledge or proper attitudes to engineer change in a custom-bound society. Moreover, professional people and experts such as engineers, doctors and teachers are mostly urban-oriented and refuse to serve in villages. One often hears about innumerable rural schools and

MODERNIZATION AND THE URBAN-RURAL GAP IN INDIA

47

dispensaries without manpower while potential teachers and physicians starve in towns. If this dismal imbalance is corrected, it can contribute a lot to the achievement of desirable proportions in the development of urban and rural communities. This gulf of attitudes and prejudices between the villager and the urban elite cannot be bridged easily and quickly. It is difficult to say what the best method to solve this problem is. But one of the most effective tools appears to be the right kind of education. Programmes of mass literacy and compulsory rural service for university students are under way. These are valuable, but the whole approach to education needs to be geared to bringing about changes in unhelpful attitudes. Many people think that the urban-rural gap is largely due to the fact of centralization of commerce and industry. On the one hand, expanding industrial centres face problems of many sorts—accommodation, water, power, sanitation. On the other, rural areas are deprived of the chance to develop. The remedy then lies in decentralization. This is a forceful argument, but it must be examined in the overall perspective of a poor and developing economy. Starting new industrial centres implies enormous investment of money and there is not likely to be any return for years together. On the contrary, if industry, is developed in already existing industrial centres, it involves minimum over-heads and yields quick results. It is argued that this is necessary for a remarkably poor economy like India’s. Chaudhuri (1962) examines in detail arguments for and against decentralization and concludes that decentralization is diseconomic. It means sluggishness and low productivity. He advocates increase in agricultural productivity and rural economic development without decentralization. However, others say that we must think more and more in terms of long-term social and economic goals and hence must  not be shy of making investments not yielding quick results. A  middle-of-the-road suggestion is that maximum emphasis be placed on  agriculture-based industry and on optimum commercialization of agriculture. In this connection, it may be mentioned that in some regions, such as Punjab, there are visible signs of economic prosperity and modernization as a result of the peasants’ quick acceptance of modern farming methods and equipment. At present, planning is done separately for the urban and rural levels as the two have their distinctive problems. To a degree, this is unavoidable. However, it is necessary to plan for development of urban and rural areas in an integrated way. As Redfield and Singer (1954: 58) put it,

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rural-urban integration depends on the mutuality of interests or what they call a “symbiotic” relation between them. The urban area should provide a service centre to the region around it and the latter in turn should act as a “food-basket” for the former. Moreover, planning at one level should be in relation to the problems faced at both levels. For instance, when rural planning is done, the question of attitude of officers and experts such as doctors and engineers should be incorporated in it. Similarly, urban planning should be based on migration and population movement estimates. We hardly know anything about who the potential migrants to our urban areas are and what their needs are. If our aim is integrated growth, we must find out some way of forecasting and controlling the various types of migration. At the political level, the modern democratic machinery and village panchayats are of great value to educate the masses. Unfortunately, politics at the village level is still often based on caste and village factions, but the existence of an alternative political structure is valuable in itself and can eventually introduce change in the traditional set-up. In the final analysis, there may not be much disagreement about the goals pursued by India in respect of urban-rural differences. In a nutshell, the goal is to remove the barriers that divide urban communities. However, there is much scope of difference on means. The economic, political and social inequalities between urban and rural areas should be minimized. But to do this one needs unlimited resources, both material and human. In fact, resources are limited. Which then is better: to go on making investments in existing urban areas for immediate economic growth or to focus on removing rural backwardness in the interest of prosperty? Does one think of the future and make investments without much reference to immediate needs or does one invest wisely and hope  that the stage will soon come when it will be possible to invest on long-term socioeconomic ends more easily? Obviously, the art lies in balancing the two. At this stage the issues become naive to the sociologist and radiate into the boundaries of other social sciences and practical affairs.

Note 1. This is a revised version of a working paper submitted for the 34th Study Session of the International Institute of Differing Civilizations, held at Aixeo-Provence, France, in September 1967. I wish to record my gratitude to the Institute for granting special

MODERNIZATION AND THE URBAN-RURAL GAP IN INDIA

49

permission to publish the paper in India. I am grateful to Professors M.S.A. Rao and A.M. Shah for their comments, thanks are due also to Messrs S.P. Jain and J.S. Gandhi and Miss Suman Rajpal for their help in collecting the source material for the paper.

References Acharya, H. 1956 Urbanising Role of a One-Lakh City. Sociological Bulletin, 5:89–101. Bopegamage, A. 1956 Village within a Metropolitan Aura. Sociological Bulletin, 5:102–110. Chaudhuri, Sachin. 1962 Centralisation and the Alternate Forms of Decentralisation. In Turner (1962). Davis, K. and H.H. Golden. 1954 Urbanisation and the Development of Pre-Industrial Areas. Economic Development and Cultural Change, III (1). Davis, K. 1962 Urbanisation in India: Past and Future. In Turner (1962). Hauser, P.M. (ed.) 1957 Urbanisation in Asia and the Far East. Calcutta, UNESCO. Hoselitz, B.F. 1955 Generative and Parasitic Cities. Economic Development and Cultural Change, III (3): 278–294. ———. 1962a A Survey of the Literature on Urbanisation in India. In Turner (1962). ———. 1962b The Role of Urbanisation in Economic Development: Some International Comparisons. In Turner (1962). Marriott, McKim. 1954 Some Comments on W.L. Kolb’s “The Structure and Function of Cities” in the Light of India’s Urbanisation. Economic Development and Cultural Change, III. Moreland, W.H. 1962 India at the Death of Akbar—An Economic Study. Delhi, Atma Ram & Sons. Mukherjee, R. 1965 The Sociologist and Social Change in India Today. New Delhi, PrenticeHall of India. National Sample Survey. 1959 Report on the Characteristics of the Economically Active Population. No. 14. Government of India. ———. 1962 Housing Conditions. No. 67. Government of India. Rao, M.S.A. 1962 Economic Change and Rationality in a Fringe Village. The Economic Weekly, September 29. ———. 1966 Urbanisation in a Delhi Village—Some Social Aspects. Economic and Political Weekly, October 15. Redfield, R. and M. Singer, 1954 The Cultural Role of Cities. Economic Development and Cultural Change, III (1). Sjoberg, G. 1960 The Pre-industrial City: Past and Present. Glencoe, Free Press. Sovani, N.V. 1966 Urbanisation and Urban India. Bombay, Asia Publishing House. Srinivas, M.N. 1959 Social Anthropology and the Study of Rural Societies. The Economic Weekly, Annual Number, January. ———. 1965 Social Structure. The Gazetteer of India. Nasik, Government of India Press. ———. 1966 Social Change in Modern India. Bombay, Allied Publishers. Srinivas, M.N. and A.M. Shah. 1960 The Myth of Self-Sufficiency of the Indian Village. The Economic Weekly, September 10. Tangri, S. 1962 Urbanisation, Political Stability and Economic Growth. In Turner (1962). Turner, Roy (ed.) 1962 India’s Urban Future. Bombay, Oxford University Press. UNESCO. 1964 Urban-Rural Differences in Southern Asia. Delhi, UNESCO Research Centre. Weiner, M. and R. Kothari (eds.) 1965 Indian Voting Behaviour. Calcutta, Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyay. Wirth, Louis. 1938 Urbanism as a Way of Lifes. American Journal of Sociology, XLV: 1–24.

4 ‘Fringe’ Society and the Folk-Urban Continuum M.S.A. Rao

T

he present article aims to focus its attention on one of the points of the folk-urban continuum, namely, the rural-urban fringe. It is only a suggested formulation of a frame of reference for a study of village communities within the ‘field’ of metropolitan or city dominance. I will start with a discussion of the folk-urban continuum which is a wider conceptual framework. The conceptual scheme of folk-urban continuum has been fairly discussed, criticized and employed by anthropologists and field sociologists during its history of about twenty five years. Professor Redfield who formulated the concept, was largely concerned with the construction of the typology of the folk society (1947—pp. 293–308). The folk type of society is characterized as a society which is small, isolated, non-literate, and homogeneous, with a strong sense of group solidarity. The ways of living are conventionalised into that coherent system which we call “a culture”. The behaviour is traditional, spontaneous, uncritical, and personal; there is no legislation or habit of experiment and reflection for intellectual ends. Kinship, its relationships and institutions, are the type categories of experience and the familiar group is the unit of action. The sacred prevails over the secular; the economy is one of status rather than of the market. Secondary and tertiary tools— tools to make tools—are relatively few as compared with primary tools. It is a group economically independent of all others; there is not much

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51

division of labour (Ibid, pp. 293–308). The other pole of the continuum, namely, urban type is only constructed in contrast with the folk people. Oscar Lewis came out with scathing criticism of the folk-urban conceptualization of social change (1935; 1953, pp. 131–137). Horace Miner, in his illustrious article, countered many of the objections raised by Oscar Lewis and other critics and pointed out some useful improvements and modifications in the areas of the problem of fit, the definitions of characteristics and the limited theoretical insight. He concludes by saying about the utility of the concept that “probably the most valuable feature of the continuum is the fact it provides a framework within which various theoretical fields may be integrated to provide greater understanding of the nature and course of culture change” (1952, p. 537). Redfield again reinforced the concept by tagging on to it the emergent qualities of the natural history of the folk society and the relation between Great Tradition and the Little Tradition (1953, pp. 224–28). ‘Peasant Society’ is another point on the folk-urban continuum. Redfield (ibid) conceives ‘peasant society’ as “showing folk-society and state of civilization more nearly in even balance, for the peasant society is that society in which the moral order that prevails among the most primitive societies still prevails, but now in persisting relationship with a technical order of developed tools, trade and formal political and administrative institutions. The peasant village is a half-way house, a stable structure, along the historic road mankind takes between the imagined polarities.” The concept was further strengthened by an examination of the forces operating at and the characteristics of the urban end of the continuum. Both Redfield and Milton Singer analysed the cultural role of the cities into orthogenetic and heterogenetic, the former transforming the Little Tradition into Great Tradition, i.e., the folk culture into its civilized dimensions by carrying forward, developing and elaborating a long-established local culture or civilization, and the latter accomplishing the freeing of the intellectuals, aesthetic, economic and political life from the local moral norms and developing, on the one hand, an individualized expedient motivation, and on the other, a revolutionary, nativistic, humanistic or ecumenical view point, now directed towards reform, progress and designed change. The city of orthogenetic

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M.S.A. Rao

transformation is the city of the moral order and the city of heterogenetic transformation is the city of the technical order. The city is imagined as that community in which orthogenetic and heterogenetic transformations of the folk society have most fully occurred. Further, the authors associate the orthogenetic and heterogenetic roles with primary and secondary processes of urbanization and point out many cultural consequences of these two processes (1954, pp. 53–73). This brief review of the concept over the years shows that it has, proved a useful one in the analysis of social and cultural change Even Oscar Lewis, its most ardent critic, makes the typologies of the peasant societies the basis of comparative studies of Mexican and Indian villages (1958, p. 322). It can also be seen that the concept of folk-urban continuum provides so wide a framework as to encompass the analysis of all types of cultures and civilizations and the processes of culture change in an integrated way. The following remark of Redfield about India is significant: “In civilization where tribal life also persists, as in India and parts of Latin America, one may recognize a structure of levels, tribal, peasant and urbanized or manorial. This structure can be recognised as making up the whole civilized society, while one may describe the processes of change whereby a particular community or individual is moved from one level to the next” (1956, p. 63).

II It is in this wider framework of reference that another point on the continuum at the nearer end of the urban pole may be developed. This point may be called ‘Fringe’ society or ‘Rurban’ society, partly for want of a better term and partly because of the convergence of attention of sociologists, human ecologists and land economists on this point. The first systematic discussion on the rural-urban ‘fringe’ appeared in 1953, when it was examined both from the urban and the rural points of view (Lively, C. E., and others, 1953). The ‘rural-urban fringe’ has been used to describe a number of different situations and characteristics. G. S. Wehrwein defines it “as the area of transition between well recognised urban land uses and the area devoted to agriculture” (1942). W. Firey considered rurban fringe as a marginal area (1946). Dickinson considered it “as an extension of the city itself, present or potential” (1952, p. 120).

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53

Attention is also given to describe the population characteristics of the fringe (J. A. Beegle, 1947). It is shown that the fringe generally occupies an intermediate position in certain demographic characteristics between rural and urban situations. The economic life of the people in the fringe is shown to have characteristics of combination of farm and non-farm occupations, part-time farming and commuting (Eonklin, Horward E., 1944; Black, H. H., 1945). Emergence of new family forms in the fringe area is studied by G. E. Jaco and I. Belknap (1953). They suggest that the historic functions of the family are seemingly better retained in the urban fringe. Rural-urban fringe is also used to study the process of fringe settlement as a two directional movement where the differential characters of families migrated from rural and urban places are examined (M. W. Rodehaver, 1947). The various characteristics associated with the rural-urban fringe in these and other studies point out that the fringe society represents a focal point on the folk-urban continuum with many transitional features of the peasant-urban society. It also suggests that there are new types which are only found in the fringe society.

III The rural-urban fringe in India, however, differs from that in the United States in an essential feature. In the U.S., it is largely the result of deconcentration of urban population, whereas in India it is the result of the growing impact of metropolitan cities on the villages nearby. The ‘extended fringe’ formed by the invasion of the countryside by the city people exists only in a limited sense in India. The fringe villages in the area of metropolitan dominance while retaining their identity, react to the urban situation and their social structure, organisation and cultural values and undergo drastic changes in the process. The rural-urban interaction in the fringe villages is more intense not merely because of their physical propinquity but because of greater connections with the city. Different processes and levels of adjustments to the urban influence manifest themselves, and the time dimension in the processes of social change assumes significance. A few significant studies of the villages near a town, city or metropolis in India reveal changes in their social and economic structure which approximate to some of the characteristics of the Fringe society—A. R. Beal’s

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study of Namhalli, a village near Bangalore and T. S. Trent’s study of Manhalli, a village near a sugar factory town in Mysore (see M. N. Srinivas, 1956), N. G. Chapekar’s study of Badlapur, a village near Kalyan (1954), Hemalata Acharya’s study of four villages around Nasik (1956) and K. M. Kapadia’s study of five ‘impact’ villages around Navsari (1956). We are very much looking forward to the results of Prof. G. S. Ghurye’s study of country-town relations in Haveli Taluka. The first stage analysis of the data collected during the course of ten month’s field work in a village on the rural-urban fringe of Delhi* exhibits some characteristics which may be designated as peculiar to the fringe society. In the area of caste structure and occupational mobility it is found that there is greater mobility in the younger generation. The analysis of the employment histories of 282 males (all the self-supporting persons of the village) exhibit significant variations in the mobility patterns which may be taken to characterize a fringe society. At the one end, there are cases of consistent deviation from the caste occupations, where individuals start with different occupations from those of their caste, change but do not return to the caste occupation any time. At the other end, there are cases where individuals start with their caste occupation and continue in that without changing. In between there are many variations: the individuals start with a different occupation but return to their traditional occupation immediately or subsequently, either to stay in or go off from it. The second variation is provided by those who start with the traditional occupation but change and do not return to caste occupation. The third variation is the combination of traditional and different occupation where either of the two is secondary. The fourth variation is one where the persons follow their traditional occupation but at a different level of economy. For instance, many Bhangis work in the nearby Badli dump where the nature of work is the same as their traditional occupation but they work for a monthly salary. Thus, although the caste occupation has undergone many changes under the impact of the urban environmental forces, it is seen to function as a cushioning agency to absorb the shocks due to the vagaries of the employment situation. The urban-market-oriented-economy has brought a greater degree of competition but it has significantly altered the traditional cooperative activities in caste and kinship. Although the urban-employed persons

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55

show a greater dichotomy of the urban and peasant values, they conform more to the latter. There is a greater number of nuclear families, but they do not approximate to those in the urban areas. The brothers get separated more for the sake of convenience, to avoid conflicts between their wives. The joint-family system is still respected and its advantages are praised. The family organisation shows a level of adjustment which is not found either in the urban or in the rural society. It is not the purpose of this article to report at length the results of the study nor to make fuller, detailed statements about the features of the fringe society with respect to all the areas of social, cultural and personality behaviour. It only seeks to present a case, ignoring other issues, that the ‘fringe society’ can be treated as a social isolate and used as a tool of analysis to study the process of urbanization in fringe villages and for understanding the dynamic forces of interaction and rural-urban relations as a point of two-way directional movement on the folk-urban continuum. ‘Fringe Society’ represents that structural level in the continuum which is half-way between the peasant and the urban society, exhibiting the characteristics of peasant society in a more intensified manner, with some new types coming in.

Note * The village ‘Shamepur’ with 207 households is seven miles to the northwest of Delhi city. It is well connected with the city by train and road and it specializes in supplying vegetables to the city. The field work was done by the author during 1957. The author is thankful to late Sri Lala Khubi Ram and his family, who helped his family’s stay in the village.

References Acharya, Hemalata1956 “Urbanizing Role of a One-lakh City” in symposium on RuralUrban Relations S.B., Sept. 1956, pp. 89–101. Beegle, J. A. 1947 “Characteristics of Michigan’s Fringe Population” R.S., 12, pp. 254–263. Black, H. H. 1945 “Rurbanization of Worcester’s Environs” E.G., 21, pp. 104–16. Chapekar, N.G. 1954 “Social Change in Rural Maharashtra” in Professor Ghurye Felicitation volume, (Ed.) K. M. Kapadia, pp. 169–182. Dickinson, R. K. 1952 City Region and Regionalism. Eonklin, H. E. 1944 “The Rural-Urban Economy of the Elmira Corn Region.” I.L. & P.U.E. 20.

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Firey, Walter 1946 “Ecological considerations in Planning for Rurban Fringes” A.S.R., 11, pp. 411–21. Jaco, E. Gartly & Ivan Belknap 1953 “Is a New Family Form Emerging in the urban fringe?” A.S.R., 18, pp. 551–57. Kapadia, K. M. 1956 “Rural Family Patterns” in symposium on Rural-urban Relations, S.B., Sept. 1956 pp. 111–126. Lewis, Oscar 1951 Life in a Mexican village: Tepoztlan Restudied. ———. 1953 “Tepoztlan Restudied: A Critique of the folk-urban Conceptualization of social Change” R.S., 18, pp. 121–137. ———. 1958 Village Life in Northern India. Lively, C. E. & others 1953 “The Sociological Significance of the Rural-Urban Fringe” R.S., 18. pp. 101–120. Miner,Horace 1952 “The Folk-urban continuum”. A.S.R. 17, 52, pp. 529–37. Redfield, Robert 1947 “The Folk Society” A.J.S., 52, pp. 293–308. ———.1953 “The Natural History of the Folk-Society”, S.F., 31, pp. 224–28. Srinivas, M. N. 1956 “Primitive and Peasant: Simple and Compound Society” in Society in India, (Eds.) A. Aiyappan & L. K. Bala Ratnam, pp. 54–72. ———.1956 “The Industrialization and Urbanization of Rural Areas,” in symposium on Rural-Urban Relations,” S.B., Sept. 1956, pp. 79–88. Rodehaver, M. W. 1947 “Fringe Settlement as a Two-Directional Movement,” R.S., 12, pp. 49–57. Redfield, Robert & Singer, M. B.1954 “The Cultural Role of Cities,” E.D. & C.C. 3, pp. 53–73. Wehrwein, G. S. 1942 “The Rural-Urban Fringe,” E.G., 18, pp. 217–28.

5 Rural Family Patterns: A Study in Urban-Rural Relations K.M. Kapadia

N

avsari is a town with a population of 44, 663 according to the Census of 1951. It is a small town with all urban amenities. There are 11 primary schools, 2 Anglo-Vernacular schools and 5 high schools of which two cater for girls. Within the last 10 years there have sprung up a College with units for Arts and Science courses, a Technical high school and a Commercial high school. There are four libraries two of which having more than ten thousand books each. There are three cinema houses. There are two public hospitals, one of them being run by the Government, and five private ones of which two are for eyes and three for general surgery. The two of the latter are equipped with X-Ray machines. There are two public maternity hospitals, one for the Parsis and the other for the Hindus, besides three private Maternity Homes. Electricity is available for the most part of the day for lighting and sundry economic activities since 1923. Water supply was introduced in January 1929 and drainage was completed by 1934–35. The town has two textile mills, one started as early as 1932 and the other in 1938. They provide employment to about three thousand workers. There are a ‘Metal Works,’ two bobbin factories, two ice factories, two saw mills, one tanning factory and about twenty small industrial concerns.

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There are four banks the oldest of which was established in 1910 as the State treasury (of the old Baroda State). There is also a Co-operative Bank started in 1913 and a Land Mortgage Bank functioning from 1938. Navsari has 145 villages spread out on all its four sides. The nearest ones are at a distance of one mile, the farthest about fifteen miles. There are bus routes which connect a very large number of these villages with the town. There are eight routes on which the buses run from five in the morning to nine in the night, and many of these routes are in use all the year round. This brief picture of interconnections and interrelations between Navsari and the surrounding villages envisages a significant impact of the town on the rural life and institutions and vice-versa. This paper is confined to the analysis of this impact in so far as it relates to one institution only, viz. the family. The family pattern in the rural area is delineated in this paper on the basis of the data in the 1951 Census. Fifteen villages have been chosen, five within the range of one to three miles from Navsari, seven within the range of four to nine and three within ten to thirteen miles. The three dominant castes in Navsari taluka are: the Koli, the Anavil and the Patidar. The villages are so selected that they include two or three villages in which each of these castes is dominant. Every fifth house in a village so selected is taken up for analysis. The present paper is thus based on the 20% sample of the families in fifteen villages of Navsari taluka selected with due consideration to the distance and caste factors. The strength of the fifteen villages is 8260 families, of which 426 are non-Hindus, 2577 Halapatis and Harijans, 2910 Kolis, 138 Bharwads, 578 functional castes, 406 Patidars including Rajputs, 90 Banias including Jains, 525 Brahmins and Anavils, and 610 whose castes cannot be identified.* Of these, the non-Hindus, the Halapatis and the Harijans are excluded, leaving for the present paper 63.7% or about two-thirds of the village families. The number of sample families is 1099 which constitute 20.9% of the families accepted for analysis. As for Navsari town, I have taken for this paper 246 families. Of the total number of 12 wards in Navsari only 6 where higher incidence of castes included in the village sample was traceable were chosen. After  elimination and necessary discrimination families were selected proportionately from each ward. The problem of the family is approached here from the structural point of view. The first question is whether the rural families are predominantly nuclear or joint.

RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS

59

Table 1 Caste

No. of Nuclear Family

No. of Joint Family

Nuclear Family in %

Joint Family in %

Kolis

315

264

54.3

45. 7

Functional Castes I*

52

68

43.3

56.7

Functional Castes II#

15

12

55.6

44.4

Patidars–Rajputs

27

38

38.3

61.7

8

10

44.4

55.6

57.1

42.9

Banias–Jains Bhaiya

–

1

Bharwads

16

12

6

1

75

75

50.0

50.0

553

546

50.3

49.7

Lower Castes## Unidentified Castes Total

* This includes carpenter, tailor, goldsmith, blacksmith, brazier, corn-seller, green-grocer (Kachhia), potter, oil-presser (Ghanchi), perfumer (Saraiya) and bangle-seller (Chudagar). # This includes washerman, barber, cobbler, gardener and fisherman. ## This includes basket-maker, Gosai and Jogi.

In the rural community, the proportion of joint families is almost the same as that of nuclear families. However, when the nature of the family pattern is viewed in relation to castes it is evident that the higher castes, viz. the Patidars, the Brahmins and even the Banias have predominantly joint family, its proportion to the nuclear family being nearly 5:3. The comparatively lower castes such as the Kolis, functional castes II and the Bharwads show a greater incidence of nuclear family, the proportion of the joint family to the nuclear being 9:11. That is, while among the higher castes we find 0.6 nuclear family per every joint family, among the lower castes every joint family has as its counterpart 1.2 nuclear families. The Patidars and the Anavils show the same pattern. Both are predominantly agriculturists. As such joint family may be said to be predominant among the agricultural castes. The potters who are also by now agriculturists and the Kachhias who are to some extent agriculturists, even while showing a greater incidence of the joint family, show a higher percentage of the nuclear family (viz. 46.9) than that among the Patidars. The Kolis who have also by now taken to agriculture to

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a  greater extent have 54.3% of their families nuclear. This is just in consonance with a situation in the transitional stage. The functional castes, however, who have nothing to do with agriculture show such a high percentage of the joint family as 64.1%, the Ghanchis having 68.7%. From the pattern of the family found in the rural community it becomes doubtful whether the joint family is now necessarily a concomitant of the agricultural economy. As for the pattern of family in Navsari, we find: — Table 2 Caste

No. of Nuclear Family

No. of Joint Family

Nuclear Family in %

Joint Family in %

Kolis

18

21

46.2

53.8

Functional Castes I

32

35

47.8

52.2

Functional Castes II

10

12

45.5

54.5

Patidars

5

10

33.3

66.6

Banias

12

28

30.0

70.0

Brahmins

28

32

46.7

53.3

Kayastha

1

Bharwads

1

1

107

139

43.5

56.5

Total

The percentage of nuclear families in Navsari is 43.5** which gives a proportion of 0.77 nuclear family per every joint family. But the complement of the joint family is actually greater than this. We find that, while 486 persons live in nuclear families, 969 live in joint families. This gives only 0.5 nuclear family per every joint family. The general presumption is that people in cities and big towns live in nuclear families and that towns and cities have disintegrative influences on the structure of the family. It would not be proper to generalise anyway on the basis of such a small sample, yet it may be said on the basis of this data that this assumption does not hold good for Navsari. The question in this case would rather be: How is it that people in the town are more favourably inclined to the joint family? In order to understand the impact of the town on the surrounding villages it is proposed to analyse the pattern of the family in the five

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61

Table 3 Caste

No. of Nuclear Family

No. of Joint Family

Nuclear Family in %

Joint Family in %

Kolis

101

82

55.2

44.8

Functional Castes I

28

34

45.1

54.9

Functional Castes II

4

3

57.1

42.9

Patidars

7

12

36.8

63.2

Banias

1

Brahmins

16

28

36.4

63.6

Bharwads

3

3

50.0

50.0

Lower Castes

5 66

64

50.8

49.2

231

226

50.5

49.5

Unidentified Castes Total

villages within three miles of Navsari, villages within the aura of the town, which may be referred to hereafter in this paper as impact villages. It is evident from the Table that the family pattern in the impact villages closely resembles the rural pattern in Table 1, and has no correspondence with the town pattern. Here, as in the villages, the pattern shows the caste variations. It is further found that the functional castes show a gradual increase of nuclear families (43.3, 45.1, 47.7) and the Patidars show a gradual decrease of nuclear families (38.3, 36.8, 33.3) as we move from villages to the impact villages to the town. Can we attribute this deviation to the impact of the town? Or is it merely an expression of caste variations? The deviation in the town pattern from that in the villages may be partially explained: a. Functional Castes I: The group of castes—tailors, gold smiths, carpenters and blacksmiths—show the same pattern both in the village and the town. The oil-pressers, on the other hand, show a marked tendency toward nuclear family in the town. There are ten nuclear families against eleven joint families in Navsari among them while the corresponding numbers are five and eleven in the villages. b. Functional Castes II: The fishermen, barbers and gardeners in the town show a marked tendency towards joint living. In their case, the nature of their vocation is conducive to joint living.

1–3

55

9

1

3

4

16

–

–

–

13

101

18.5

Persons

Kolis

Functional I

Functional II

Patidars

Banias

Brahmins

Bharwads

Bhaiyas

Lower caste

Unidentified

Total

In percentage

Caste

Table 4

46.5

254

37

–

–

7

31

2

20

6

31

120

27.3

149

19

1

1

5

16

2

8

3

19

75

7–10

Number of Families 4–6

7.7

42

6

2

2

7

2

9

14

11–

546

75

1

1

12

65

10

38

12

68

264

Total

7.9

258

31

–

–

–

43

9

9

3

25

138

1–3

38.8

1259

189

–

–

37

150

9

92

30

148

604

4–6

37.1

1199

148

9

9

41

130

16

61

26

151

608

7–10

11–

16.2

526

72

–

–

–

26

26

89

23

118

172

Number of Persons

3242

440

9

9

78

349

60

251

82

442

1522

Total

62 K.M. Kapadia

RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS

63

c. Banias: Banias are few and far between in villages. There may be one or two families in each village. In Navsari, on the other hand, they are mainly traders dealing in cloth or gold ornaments and jewellery. Even in the case of those who are not traders joint living is economically enforced because of their high standard of living and heavy social obligations. d. Brahmins: Many Anavils are settled in Navsari as employees in schools, government offices and to a certain extent in factories and railways. It is quite possible that, although they have been recorded as members of nuclear families in the Census, their links with their parent families in the surrounding villages, from which they have come to Navsari for employment, are not functionally severed. If this assumption be correct, the higher percentage of nuclear families among the Branhmins in Navsari is apparent and not real. e. It is only in the case of the Kolis that no satisfactory explanation is possible.

In the light of this explanation the conclusion would be forced upon us that the difference between the rural and the town patterns is partly the result of modification of the caste family patterns by economic factor. Caste lines as a result seem to have been partly blurred. Having so far ascertained the types of the family it would be worthwhile to proceed to the analysis of the structure of the joint family, first from the point of view of its size and then of the relationships among its constituent members. To start with the size, the joint families may be arranged into four groups for the purpose. Family-wise the highest number of families are to be found in the group of 4–6 persons. Next comes the family group of 7–10 members. These together constitute about three-fourths of the joint families in the rural area. Only one-fifth of the families are small families of 1–3 persons. But the proportion of small families is less than one-twelfth when we consider these groups person-wise, i.e. in terms of persons living in these forms of families. Likewise persons living in the families of 11 and more members constitute one-sixth of the total persons living jointly. It may further be said that 53% of the persons, i.e., more than half of the members of the joint families live in family groups of 7 and more members. This fact is very interesting, because it unfolds a new perspective which belies the usual practice of representing the pattern in terms of average. The average size of a family in the village is very near to six. More than half the persons are, however, seen to be living in families of more than six persons. Going to the town now, we find: —

4

11

7.9

Total

In percentage

Banias

–

3

Patidars

Bharwads

–

Functional II

Brahmins

2

–

Functional I

2

Kolis

41.0

57

–

15

10

2

7

14

9

41.0

57

1

11

10

7

5

16

7

7–10

4–6

Persons

1–3

Number of Families

Caste

Table 5

2

5

1

3

10.1

14

–

–

3

11–

139

1

32

28

10

12

35

21

Total

2.9

30

–

11

8

–

–

6

5

1–3

29.8

289

–

76

52

10

39

71

41

4–6

47.4

460

10

86

83

56

38

132

55

7–10

Number of Persons

19.9

190

–

25

75

11

–

39

40

11–

969

10

198

218

77

77

248

141

Total

64 K.M. Kapadia

RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS

65

Family-wise about four-fifths of the families are of 4 to 10 persons and one-tenth of 11 and more members. Person-wise, too, the percentage of persons living in the families of 4 to 10 members does not appear to deviate much from that of such families. The significant difference is, however, seen in the fact that the percentage of persons living in the large families of 11 and more is almost double. Similarly, two-thirds of the persons live in the families of 7 and more members, though familywise such families constitute only 51% of the total families. The situation in the impact villages may be presented in the perspective of the rural and the town situations. Table 6 Area

Groups Family-wise

Groups Person-wise

Persons

4–10

7 and Above

4–10

7 and Above

Rural area

73.8%

35.0

75.9%

53.3

Average Size of a Family 6

Impact villages

72.0

40.4

71.9

59.2

6.2

Town

82.0

51.1

77.2

67.3

7

Whether we look at the situation from the point of view of the average size of a family, or from the point of view of the size-groups of the families or from the point of view of persons living in the different size-groups, we find that the town scores over the villages in the incidence of higher number, and the impact villages stand somewhere between the two. As for the small family group (i.e. 1–3 members), the impact villages bear close resemblance to the villages, the percentages being 17.8 and 18.5 respectively from the point of view of persons. In respect of other groups, considered both family-wise and person-wise one can see a transition in favour of a large group as one moves from villages to the impact villages to the town. Two conclusions follow from the Table. First, not only the total complement of the joint family is higher in the town but even its size is larger there than in the rural area. The latter fact reinforces the validity of the former, and so the predominance of joint familes in the town cannot be regarded as accidental. Secondly, both in the strength as well

66

K.M. Kapadia

Table 7 Type I

Type II

Parent Brother, P. & (s) Sister Br. Sr. 19

13

9

Type III

Grand G. Ch. Total Children & R. Total 41 29.5%

22

8

30 21.6%

Joint Family R. 34

Total

34 68

Grand Total 139

48.9%

as in the structure, the impact villages stand midway between the village and the town, substantiating thereby the fact of impact. When this data of the size-groups of the families is scrutinized castewise, the following facts are observed. The Kolis, the functional castes I and the Patidars show a gradual increase of the families of seven and more members as we proceed from villages to the impact villages to the town. The relevant percentages are: 33.8, 45.1, 47.6; 41.2, 47.1, 54.2; 39.5, 54.6, 80.0. The Brahmin caste has failed to show this trend. It has, on the other hand, shown a stable percentage in respect of the family group of 4 to 6 members in all the three areas—47.7, 46.4, 46.8—and a marked rise in that of the small family unit in the impact villages, viz. 35.7 as against 24.6 in the villages and 12.5 in the town. The functional castes I and the Patidars show very close resemblance in respect of the small family units in the villages and the impact villages both family-wise and person-wise, a correspondence which also bear with the population as a whole of both the areas. One significant fact is that not a single caste shows any correspondence between the town and the impact villages in respect of the familygroups of 11 and more or of 4 to 6. Under the circumstances caste cannot precisely be said to be the demarcating line in the family pattern, though it would not be at the same time justifiable to rule out altogether its role in the understanding of the family pattern. We now proceed to the analysis of the family groups in terms of relationships between the members constituting a family. We begin with the town. In the above Table I have divided the families into three types. The third type is the traditional joint family, although its range of relationship, generations held together, is not as wide as it once was, the present-day family being usually the family of three generations. A man leaves the parent

RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS

67

family to start his nuclear family. In course of time his sons get married, and they do not generally leave the family on marriage but stay there and, in course of time, as they become parents of children, extend its circumference. A family of three generations is thus once again formed. Theoretically it does not much differ from the traditional family. The difference lies only in the perspective of the individual who heads it. He left the family which consisted of his brothers, collaterals and ascendants. He now heads the family which consists of his sons and grandsons, his daughters and daughters-in-law, who are dearer to him than his brothers and collaterals. While he did not like to bother about his brother or uncle, he would feel happy to fondle his grandson, and feel proud to bolster him up. It is this emotional reaction, the varying degrees of intensity of feelings that distinguishes it from the conventional joint family. But it is not solely founded on this emotional intensity. There is lurking behind it, perhaps, a strong desire that the sons and grandsons would provide him and his wife with food, shelter and care in old age. This desire may or may not be fulfilled: there is even a subconscious apprehension that it is to remain unfulfilled. The fact that this does not tend to minimise the popularity of this form of family indicates the stress that is laid here on emotional intensity for this form. It is a common experience that economic obligations of the joint family are not felt as strains in this type; they are rather met with with easy heart as filial duty. Such a family is therefore demarcated here from the conventional joint family as its modern counterpart and distinguished as type II. It is a common experience for a Hindu male to look after his parent or parents who have gone old or who are disabled for earning. In some cases the parent may also be earning. It is as well considered a moral obligation for a person to support his younger brothers and sisters who are in their teens and/or unmarried and have not started on the career of earning. A joint family of a person, his wife and children, his parent or parents and/or younger brothers or sisters who are his dependants is of common occurrence. It is founded not merely on the moral obligation of a person but also backed up by public opinion. A person who is indifferent to his aged parents or to his young brothers and sisters is condemned by his kin, members of his caste and even residents of his locality. This type differs from the either type given above both in its range of relationship—it being the family of two generations— and its moral foundation. This demarcation into types helps to bring out in bold relief the nucleus of the contemporary form of the joint family and trends which would decide its future form and existence.

68

K.M. Kapadia

From the table it is evident that the joint family has not been in decadance even in the town because nearly half the families in the town are yet the traditional families. It is regretted that the Census data does not record the relationship a member of the family bears to its head. It is at least gratifying to note that the Census authorities have realised the gravity of this error. Writes J. Bowman: ‘It is a pity that degrees of relationship were not tabulated more fully’.1 In spite of this omission, effort has been made to trace certain relationships: brothers, their wives and children, father’s brothers or mother have been identified with the help of names, age and civic condition. In some cases this attempt failed when the names of persons could not properly be placed into the genealogy of the head of the family. All such persons whose relationship with the head of the family could not precisely be ascertained, have been shown in the Table under the column R (relatives). It is assumed that they are agnatic relatives. It may be that in some cases some persons may be other than the agnates. It is found that in many cases these relatives (R) are widows, unmarried females and at times married women. Again, at least in Navsari, the largest number of such untraced relatives are found in Brahmin caste. It is not too much to assume that these relatives must be more often the daughters or sisters, young or widowed, widowed sisters-in-law or wives of such near relatives as the son, brother, uncle, nephew etc., gone out for employment. It is not ruled out that some of these persons may be non-agnatic relatives—cognates or affines—or mere acquaintances. As a matter of fact in one Bania family I have been able to find the father’s sister’s daughter, her son and daughter-in-law. In spite of this the inclusion of these families (in the column R) in the traditional family in our analysis may not be said to lack validity. As against a predominantly large number of the traditional family, we have only 21.6% of the II type of joint family. It may further be noted that of the 30 families in the latter type, 8 have one relative besides the lineal descendants. In one case the relative is the mother’s sister and in another the father. The relationship of persons in other cases could not be ascertained. It may be added that in two out of these six cases one is a widow and another a female. If the relationship of these persons with the head of the family were known, it is not unlikely that some at least of these families would have been found to be the traditional families. Under the circumstances, there is a greater probability of a higher percentage of the traditional family than is shown in the Table.

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69

The I type of the family is of pertinent relevance to the stability of the joint family in modern India. It is regretted that the ages of the persons who constitute the I type of the family have not been recorded by me from the Census data. That would have enabled us to know the exact nature of dependency. There is, however, some indication of it otherwise. In two Bania families the sisters are widowed sisters. Incidentally it may be noted that in this sample of 139 families there are two families which support the widowed daughters, two, widowed sisters, two, brothers’ widows and six, widows whose relationship with the head of the family could not be precisely determined. In all 12 families support the widows. If the dependents constitute aged parents incapable of earning and maintaining themselves, young siblings who are to be educated and maintained for a pretty long time before they start on the career of earning and widowed females, then the presumption that this peculiar characteristic of this family would necessitate its perpetuation for long is not completely unwarranted. In the case of villages, it is regretted that I have not been able to present at this stage my data for all the 15 villages nor am I in a position to present the data caste-wise. If we compare these family groups with those in the town we shall, in a sense, find greater correspondence than contrast between the two. The percentages of the I type in the town and the villages are 29.5 and 25.7 respectively, while those of the II type, when we take families with lineal descendants only, are 15.8 and 15.2 respectively. When we take, on the other hand, the second type as shown in the Table there is a wide gulf, the percentages being 21.6 and 56.0. But this comparison is vitiated by the fact that there are few families in the town which have other relatives and there is only one such relative in each family.† In the villages, on the contrary, the number of families with such relatives is very nearly 2(3/4) times the families with lineal descendants alone. Again, 20 such families Table 82 P.

Br. Sr.

P. & Br. Sr.

G. Ch.

G. Ch. & R.

Jt. F.

R.

Grand Total

29

18

12

35

94

5

37

230

25.7%

56.0%

18.3%

70

K.M. Kapadia

have two relatives and 24 three or more relatives.† It is quite possible that many of these relatives are persons, males and females (generally widows), who form part of the traditional joint family. If so, many of these families would have to be included in the III type. This would lower the percentage of the II type and raise correspondingly that of the III type in the rural family groups. Even if this assumption is not completely valid, the rural family groups will not so much differ from the urban groups in the higher incidence of the II type in the rural area as is found in the Table. The assumption in the foregoing paragraph is, however, borne out by a small sample of rural families carried out by me personally. In this sample of 94 families 34.1% belong to the I type, 15.9% to the II type and 50.0% to the III type. And this is in close correspondence with the urban types. The castewise distribution of the urban families and the 94 rural families of my survey is: Table 9 Navsari Caste

Rural Area

I

II

III

Total

I

II

III

Total

Koli

8

2

11

21

8

5

16

29

Functional I

9

13

13

35

4

3

10

17

Patidar

2

3

5

10

6

2

7

15

Brahmin

7

4

21

35

13

3

14

30

Total

41

30

68

139

32

15

47

94

It is evident from the Table that there is no marked correspondence between the type of family and caste. Of the four castes only two show more or less a similar proportion of the III type both in the town and the villages. There is similarly a correspondence in respect of the I and the II types only in one caste. The comparison, however, brings out one fact, viz. the largest number of the traditional joint family is found among the Brahmins. It is 60% in the town and about 47% in the villages. The Anavils among the Brahmins are agriculturists in the villages, but they are mainly non-agriculturists in the town. And yet the town shows 60% of the Brahmin families as joint families. The Kolis are also agriculturists, but there is a large section among them, specially in the

RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS

71

town, which is non-agriculturist. They too have 55.2% families of the III type in the villages and 52.4% in the town. This substantiates our observation that the joint family is not now invariably the result of agricultural economy. Its persistence among all the castes stresses its role in providing security to the old, the disabled, the young or the widowed members of the family. Besides the economic implication, it has cultural ring about it. The higher castes guarantee this economic security to the near kin, specially the widows, in pursuance of their cultural norms. In view of this, perpetuity of the joint family in Hindu society cannot be easily ruled out. This analysis of the family pattern was based on the Census data. Even on this basis joint families are found to outnumber the nuclear families. But it should be very pertinently added here that the persons who break away from the parent family and start their own separate residence and kitchen for a number of varied reasons do not necessarily sever their entire link with the parent family. On the contrary, even when property is shared, the members of different constituent families meet on various occasions such as marriage feasts, Sraddha dinner, celebration of a vrata, performance of samskaras (tonsure, first-feeding, thread ceremony), big festivals like astami, new year day or birth day of the first male child, when the participation involves not only sharing the joy of the occasion and dinner but also monetary obligations: and they are met with with easy heart. Again, on the occasion of death in a family, kutumba, there is not only common sharing of grief but there are common obligations, not primarily economic but religious or religio-social. Serious illness is another occasion when the members are brought together with emotional poignancy and ever-readiness to help even monetarily. It is this functional relationship that needs to be stressed in the evaluation of the Hindu joint family. During the course of my investigation I have found that the sentiments for the joint family are yet fairly strong. 70 persons have reported that the relations between their families and those of their relatives separated from them are very cordial. As against this only seven have said that the relations after separation are neither very good nor bad and 12 have said that they are formal. Only 3 have said that their relations are strained. This avowed cordiality can be verified by inquiring into the nature of contacts persisting between the two families after partition. For this reason I set two questions: the occasions on which the members of the two families

72

K.M. Kapadia

(constituents of the old joint family) meet and the preparedness of the members of each of these families to help the other. As regards the first, 37 reported that they meet on the occasion of marriage, 39 said that they do on the occasion of illness; 34, on that of death; 7, on that of celebration of a vrata or a festival; 10, when consultation between the two families becomes necessary; and 4, when the family is in need of money. As regards the second question, 53 persons have reported that they are prepared to help any member of the kutumba provided any help is necessary. When asked to specify the occasions when they would be ready to help, 19 said at the time of marriage or illness; 16, in times of difficulty; 3, at times; and 5, on all occasions. 10 have said that they would like to help out of their feelings for the relatives, 8 have said that they would do it as their duty and 7 have said to help either out of prestige or under social pressure. The number of occasions for contact and help is small here because all persons did not reply to these questions. The persistence of cordiality and functional tie between the families after separation into two or more units becomes intelligible when we inquire into the reasons for the break up of the joint family. 20 persons had to separate from the family to go out of the village for service or trade; 10 separated as the household was found to be very large. In case of 22 there was some tension between the females and children of the members of the family. 24 persons reported that there were strained relations between the male relatives; between father and son, brother and brother or a person and his elders. This tension between the male relatives was not always due to the fact that all members were not prepared to pool their income together or that they did not help, as they should, in work on the farm. Only 8 have said that the break up of the family was due to their keeping their income with them and 5, for not helping on the farm. Only in 4 cases instigation to separate came from the affines of a member of the family. These causes do not indicate such serious strains as would compel the members separating to sever their entire ties with the parent family. An analysis of the relations between the two or more households which in recent past formed one joint family would indeed indicate that the complement of the joint family is much higher than the one indicated

RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS

73

by its mere composition, and common residence and common kitchen as its external insignia.

Notes * The Government have discarded recording of castes of persons in the Census data with the result that the caste of a person had to be traced from his occupation, name and such other evidence. Naturally in some cases castes could not be precisely identified. ** There are 14 families consisting either of a man and his wife or any one of them. † 12 with 3R, 5 with 4R, 4 with 6R, 2 with 7R and 1 with 8R.

References 1. 2.

I. P. Desai, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. IV, No. 2, pp. 100ff. K. M. Kapadia, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. IV, No. 2, p. 185.

SECTION II SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN RURAL INDIA

6 Measurement of Rigidity–Fluidity Dimension of Social Stratification in Six Indian Villages Victor S. D’Souza

O

rdinarily, the rigidity-fluidity dimension of social stratification is measured through the indices of occupational or educational mobility. The measurement used in the present study1 is rather an uncommon one, as it is based on a reinterpretation of the concepts of caste and class, in which the two ideal-typical concepts are taken to be the polar opposites of the rigidity-fuidity dimension of social stratification (for a fuller discussion of this, see D’Souza 1967). In our reinterpretation, caste system has been defined as the integration of the interacting and heterogeneous, but internally homogeneous, hereditary groups, into a structure of status hierarchy. Not only does this concept describe the caste system as a superior or subordinate relationship among hereditary groups in a society or community, but it also explains the conditions under which such a relationship takes place. The basis for the ranking of groups in the caste system and individuals in the class system is the same. In both cases it depends upon certain properties or attributes of individuals which are evaluated by the society. But the difference lies in the pattern of distribution of these properties

78

Victor S. D’Souza

of individuals in hereditary groups. If the distribution in each group is homogeneous so that each group differs from the other groups and from the total population, the resulting form of social stratification is caste system, and if it is heterogeneous such that it is more or less the same in every group and in the total population, the form is class system. In the first instance we have a rigid form of social stratification and in the second a fluid one. The pattern of distribution of properties of individuals in hereditary groups in any community, however, may vary within extreme limits so that we have caste and class systems existing side by side in an inverse relationship and the ideal types of caste and class systems are the limiting cases. Thus the measure of the pattern of distribution of the properties of individuals in hereditary groups gives us an index of the rigidity-fuidity dimension of social stratification. Since the occupational prestige is among the most important variables determining the prestige of an individual we have considered this property, from among the relevant properties of individuals, for demonstrating our proposition. Accordingly, the measure of the degree of heterogeneity in the distribution of occupational prestige of members in hereditary groups may be regarded as the primary index of the rigidityfuidity dimension of social stratification. This maybe termed the index of occupational heterogeneity. The greater the degree of heterogeneity, the greater is the fuidity of social stratification. Occupational prestige is something which determines the prestige of individuals and of groups. But what characterises social stratification is the prestige of individuals and of groups. It should therefore be possible for us to derive other indices of rigidity-fuidity dimension of social stratification out of the variables of the prestige of individuals and of groups. However, since these variables are dependent upon the variable of occupational prestige, the indices derived out of them may be regarded as secondary indices of social stratification. With regard to the prestige of hereditary groups, it is clear that in an ideal-typical caste system, there should be complete unanimity in ranking the hereditary groups on the part of the members of the community. The decreasing degree of unanimity would indicate an increasing degree of fluidity of social stratification. Therefore, the degree of consensus about the ranking of caste groups or the index of consensus about caste status may be regarded as one of the secondary indices of the rigidity-fuidity dimension of social stratification.

DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES

79

Again, in an ideal-typical caste system, every caste group should be homogeneous with regard to the distribution of individual prestige of members (D’Souza 1967: 199, 209, 210). Heterogeneity of the distribution of individual prestige would indicate a certain degree of fuidity of social stratification. Consequently the degree of heterogeneity of individual prestige would provide us with another secondary index of the rigidity-fuidity of social stratification. A third secondary measure, termed the index of consensus about individual prestige is also connected with the variable of the prestige of individual. This index rests on the assumption that the prestige of an individual is dependent not only on his personal properties but also upon the pattern of distribution of the properties of members in his hereditary group (D’Souza 1967: 197, 208). When an individual’s properties differ from those of the members of his group as a whole, his prestige becomes more ambiguous. The degree of lack of consensus about individual prestige would also indicate the degree of fluidity of social stratification. It has already been demonstrated that all these four indices of the rigidity-fuidity dimension of social stratification are intercorrelated in the study of two villages, Devigarh and Rampur (pseudonyms) (D’Souza 1967: 199–210). One of the two major objectives of this paper is to consider whether this relationship also holds good in the case of six villages, including Devigarh and Rampur, which are all chosen from the same region and form part of the same Development Block of the Community Development project in the State of Punjab, India. The other four villages are Manali, Kelon, Dakala and Khera (pseudonyms). The second objective is to test the validity of the indices by correlating them with other significant variables which are also usually associated with social stratification. The data used in this analysis are taken from a field study which was conducted in 1964 . The six villages studied were chosen purposively to represent different levels of development. The units of investigation were households. The sample consisted of all the households from Devigarh, Rampur and Khera, half the households from Manali and Kelon, and one third of the households from Dakala. When a sample of the households in a village was included, it was selected systematically. Of the four indices, we do not have comparable information on the index of consensus about caste status for four out of the six villages and so we may disregard this index for the rest of our discussion. Further, it is useful to bear in mind that the information on the remaining three indices is not quite refined.

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Victor S. D’Souza

For a refined index of occupational heterogeneity we have to take into account both the diversity of occupations and the degree of their prestige. Since occupations in this study were graded arbitrarily and since we have to reckon with a large number of different types of occupations, about 30 in the total sample, our grading does not indicate the precise amount of prestige difference between any two occupations. That is to say, the prestige gradation of occupations does not form an interval scale. Therefore, a measure of mean deviation of occupational prestige, which can be an adequate index of occupational heterogeneity, is not feasible. As an alternative, the index has been computed in terms of the number of different types of occupations followed in each hereditary group which is conventionally referred to as a caste in the village. Traditionally each caste group was occupationally homogeneous, in the sense that all the members of a caste had to follow the same type of occupation. When there are different types of occupations followed by the members of a caste group, the group is occupationally heterogeneous. And the greater the number of different types of occupations the greater the heterogeneity within the group. The occupational heterogeneity for the village as a whole is obtained by computing the arithmetic mean of the numbers of different types of occupations in all the castes in the village. Only the occupations of heads of households have been considered for the sake of convenience. Further, we have excluded for this purpose, castes with only one household each and also occupations with unspecified names. Table 1 shows the average number of different types of occupations in caste groups followed by household heads, distributed according to village and the minimum size of castes considered. It provides a descriptive picture of occupational heterogeneity. The average number of different types of occupations followed in a caste does not depend upon the number of castes in a village. It is also evident that even if we vary the coverage of castes by varying the minimum number of households in castes considered for inclusion, the relative order of villages according to this index does not alter significantly except when castes with single households are included. Therefore, the arbitrary manner in which we have computed the index of occupational heterogeneity, by including only caste groups with two or more households, is not without justification. The index of heterogeneity of individual prestige is given by the weighted mean deviation of the distribution of heads of households in each caste according to individual prestige. For measuring the prestige of

No. of Castes

9

6

13

12

8

7

Village

Devigarh

Manali

Kelon

Dakala

Rampur

Khera

1.6

3.0

2.5

3.2

3.3

3.1

A.M. of No. of Types of Occupations

One or More

5

8

9

9

4

6

No. of Castes

1.8

3.0

3.0

3.6

4.5

4.2

3

6

6

9

4

5

No. of Castes

2.0

3.5

3.5

3.6

4.5

4.8

A M. of No. of Types of Occupations

Three or More

No. of Households in Castes

A.M. of No. of Types of Occupations

Two or More

2

5

6

9

4

4

No. of Castes

2.5

3.6

3.5

3.6

4.5

5.8

A.M. of No. of Types of Occupations

Four or More

69

60

79

84

71

88

Total. No. of Households in the Sample

Table 1 Arithmetic Means of Numbers of Different Types of Occupations in Caste Groups Followed by Heads of Households, by Village and the Minimum Size of Caste Groups

DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES 81

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Victor S. D’Souza

Table 2 Number of Judges Grading the Prestige of Heads of Households by Village and Number of Castes Represented Number of Judges

Number of Castes Represented

Devigarh

11

6

Manali

10

6

Village

Kelon

10

5

Dakala

15

12

Rampur

10

6

9

6

Khera

individuals, a selected number of heads of households in each village were asked to rank all the household heads in their respective village into four hierarchical classes of prestige. The judges were chosen by the interviewers for their knowledge in the village affairs and also so as to represent as many different castes as possible. The number of judges in each village and the number of castes represented by them are given in Table 2. Although the number of judges in each case is small, this deficiency is somewhat balanced by a judicious selection. The four hierarchical classes of prestige were given scores 1 through 4 in the descending order of prestige. The prestige of any individual is given by the average of the scores obtained according to the ranking by all the judges in the village. The index of heterogeneity of individual prestige for a village was worked out first by finding out the mean deviation of prestige of individuals in each caste and then by computing the weighted mean of the mean deviations in all the castes in the village. The index of consensus about individual prestige rests on the implied assumption that when the stratification is rigid all the judges would agree in giving the same prestige score to the same person. Deviation from this pattern would indicate fluidity. This index is therefore worked out by calculating the mean of the deviations of prestige scores given by the different judges in respect of every individual in the village. In the case of this index also the main defect lies in the small size of the number of judges. The three indices of the degree of fluidity of social stratification are shown in Table 3. Taking into account all the three indices, it is possible for us to divide the villages into two categories, one of a higher degree of fluidity of social stratification, including Devigarh, Manali and Kelon,

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83

Table 3 Index Scores of Social Stratification by Village and Type of Index Type of Index Occupational Heterogeneity

Heterogeneity of Individual Prestige

Concensus about Individual Prestige

Devigarh

4.2

0.97

0.43

Manali

4.5

0.74

0.51

Kelon

3.6

0.65

0.50

Dakala

3.0

0.67

0.25

Rampur

3.0

0.43

0.27

Khera

1.8

0.30

0.18

Village

Table 4 Spearman’s Coefficients of Rank-Order Correlation for Pairs of Indices of Social Stratification in Six Villages Pair of Indices

Coefficient of Correlation Remarks

Occupational heterogeneity and heterogeneity of individual prestige.

0.843

Significant at .02 level.

Occupational heterogeneity and consensus about individual prestige.

0.929

Significant at 0.01 level.

Heterogeneity of individual prestige and consensus about individual prestige.

0.600

and the other of a lower degree of fluidity, including Dakala, Rampur and Khera. There is also a significant degree of correlation among the rank orders of villages on each of the indices. Spearman’s Rank-order coefficients of correlation between the three pairs of indices are shown in Table 4. In two cases the coefficients are highly significant. The significance of the coefficient in the case of the third pair, namely, heterogeneity of individual prestige and consensus about individual prestige, is relatively low. But it is worth noting that all the three indices, even though crude, are correlated with one another as suggested by our hypotheses. We may next test the validity of the indices of social stratification by examining their relationship with some of the variables which are commonly

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Victor S. D’Souza

held to be associated with social stratification. In the indices considered, the entire community is treated as a unit for the purpose of measurement and so they are measures of complex entities or of group properties. Therefore, the correlates of these indices should also be the measures of the society or community taken as a unit, measuring its group property. Social scientists have formulated a number of constructed typologies for comparison among societies as complex wholes. The better known among these polar, ideal types are Tonnies’ Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft, Redfield’s Folk-Urban continuum, Becker’s Sacred and Secular societies, parsons’ societal types expressed in Pattern Variables of Action Orientation, and Weber’s Traditional and Rational societies (Tonnies 1963: 12–29). Although these different pairs of ideal types emphasise different sets of general characteristics of societies, they are all basically the same. They all point to the same conclusion that as societies develop from simple to complex forms, they undergo similar transformations in their general characteristics. Besides this, in the present context it is important to note that all these ideal types refer to social stratification in one way or another. It is generally assumed that as a society or community advances from a lower level of complexity to a higher one, its system of social stratification becomes more mobile. In the inter-personal behaviour of members, the achieved status gains in importance at the expense of the ascribed status. This is the same as saying that in the rising scale of societal complexity social stratification becomes more and more fluid as measured by our indices. Therefore, for the validation of the indices of social stratification which are really the measure of societal complexity, we should demonstrate their relationship with variables derived from the ideal types of societies. Among other variables, population size, literacy rate, distance from larger communities, and level of services are often found to be correlated with the complexity of a community. Information pertaining to these items is presented in Table 5. Our field study was conducted in 1964, but the data about population and literacy, given in the table, refer to an earlier period. However, these figures for 1964 were not likely to be very much different from those of 1961. The variation in population does not appear to be significantly correlated with the indices of social stratification. The largest village comes about fourth in the order of the degree of fluidity of social stratification. Spearman’s Rank-order coefficients of correlation between population size and each of the indices of occupational heterogeneity, heterogeneity

716

1344

343

393

Dakala

Rampur

Khera

853

Manali

Kelon

447

Devigarh

Village

23

5

57

119

16

0

Percentage Increase Over Population in Population in 1951 1961

7

20

12

33

27

24

Percent Literate in 1961

0

11

8

41

48

37

Percent Literate Female to Literate Male Population in 1961

Table 5 Demographic, Locational and Developmental Characteristics

4

5

4

23

14

5

Percent Literate in 1951

0

0

0

9

2

14

14

12

12

12

6

11

6

3

5

−

−

1

Percent Literate Female to Distance Distance Literate Male from Main Population in from Tehsil Town (miles) Road (miles) 1951

low

medium

low

high

high

medium

Relative Level of Services

DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES 85

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Victor S. D’Souza

of individual prestige, and consensus about individual prestige are 0.543, 0.543 and 0.314, respectively, which are not very significant. Although the villages vary widely among themselves in their population numbers, their absolute sizes are not very large, and this may be the reason for the relative lack of influence of size on societal complexity. However, literacy rate seems to be an important correlate of social stratification. The coefficients of correlation of each of the indices of with higher indices of occupational heterogeneity, heterogeneity of individual prestige, and consensus about individual prestige with the percentage of literate population in 1961 are 0814 (p. < .05), 0.486 and 0.943 (p. < .01), respectively, and with the percentage of literate female to literate male population in 1961 are 0.929 (p. < .01), 0.600 and 1.000 (p. < .001), respectively. At least two of the coefficients in each set are highly significant. The Indian village community is not entirely isolated or selfcontained. As Robert Redfield has pointed out (1963: 33–34), in it we find a good example of a peasant society in which the smaller social system of the self-contained village is in interaction with the larger social system of the national community. Obviously the national system would interact with the village communities through the larger neighbouring communities. Accordingly, the city in the vicinity exerts its influence over the surrounding villages. Among the villages coming under the influence of the same city, the nearer the village, the greater would be the city’s influence, and consequently, the greater would be the complexity of the social system of the village. The closest to all the six villages is the headquarters of the tehsil in which the villages are located (tehsil = administrative division above the village). However, except in Manali which is nearest the town, the range of variation in the distances of the villages from the town is not appreciably wide. But there is a significant variation in the distance of the villages from the main road which connects them to the town, and the three villages with higher indices of social stratification are closer to the main road than the remaining three. At the beginning of the study and before the sample of villages for detailed study was chosen, all the villages in the same Community Development Block were classified into high, medium and low categories, according to the level of community services such as schools, medical facilities, special institutional arrangements for the cultivators, and so on. As can be seen from the last column of Table 5, two of the three villages with higher degrees of indices of social stratification had a high

DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES

87

level of services, and one medium level. On the other hand, of the remaining three villages, two had a low level of services, and one medium. Thus, on the whole, the level of services is related to the degree of fluidity of social stratification. Also, at the beginning of the study, the Block level officials of the Community Development Project were asked to rank all the villages in their Block, including the six villages, into live categories of decreasing degree of progressiveness. These categories were given scores from one through five. The mean scores for the six villages are as follows:— Village

Rank Score

Devigarh Manali Kelon Dakala Rampur Khera

1.2 1.6 1.4 3.0 4.0 4.3

The Rank-order correlation coefficients between the order of progressiveness and each of the indices of occupational heterogeneity, heterogeneity of individual prestige, and consensus about individual prestige are 0.929 (p. < .01), 0.714 (p. < .1) and 0.943 (p. < .01), respectively, two of the coefficients being highly significant. It is therefore remarkable that even this highly subjective index of progressiveness is so significantly correlated with the objective indices of social stratification. Social scientists who are attempting to study the process of economic development have come to increasingly realise that economic development is a part of the larger process of social development, which is nothing else but the transformation of the society from a lower level of complexity to a higher one in the manner indicated by the ideal types of society referred to above (Hoselitz and Moore 1963). In this context, the process of development of a backward and tradition-oriented society into an advanced one is known as modernization. Thus, the increasing scale of complexity in a society is accompanied with a trend towards modernization. Among his other characteristics, the modern man has strong secular aspirations and attitudes, lays greater emphasis on the functional role rather than the ascribed traditional one, and is development-oriented. Consequently, he is more responsive to change and prone to make use of scientific and technological knowledge for

88

Victor S. D’Souza

advancement. In our detailed study conducted in the six villages, we obtained information on the attitudinal dimension of modernity, and the adoption of recommended and improved agricultural practices which is a tangible index of modernization. We may, therefore, examine to what extent these variables of societal complexity are also correlated with indices of social stratification. The following six items were intended to elicit information on the attitudinal dimension of modernity: 1. What is your opinion about the education of boys for making a good living these days? Check if it is: Essential/Necessary/Immaterial/Not necessary/ Handicap/No opinion. 2. How much education do you think girls should be given these days? High education/Moderate education/No education/No opinion. 3. In your opinion, should the girls be sufficiently educated so as to secure employment? Yes/No/No opinion. 4. What should be the basis of election of a person to an office in a village organization? Merit/Caste/Religon/Economic condition/No opinion. 5. For the development and welfare of village community, do you think that young people should have separate youth organizations? Yes/No/No opinion. 6. Should young people be consulted in planning, organizing and executing village development plan? Yes/No/No opinion.

The responses to live of these items, Nos. 1 to 4 and 6, form a consistent pattern indicating a monotonic relationship. It is possible that since the villagers had no experience about separate youth organizations, their responses to item 5 were unrealistic. This item, therefore, has been omitted from our analysis. The percentages of persons responding “Yes” to items 3 and 6 and indicating “Merit” on item 4 are adequate to discriminate among the villages. So in Table 6 these percentages have been treated as attitudinal scores on those items for the village as a whole. However, for a clearer discrimination, the scores for items 1 and 2 have been obtained by giving separate scores to response categories in such a way that the maximum item score is 100. For instance, in the case of item l, the response category “Essential” is given score 2, “Necessary” score 1, and the remaining categories O. The item score is obtained by multiplying the percentage of responses in each category by its respective score and dividing the sum of the scores of all categories by 2. The last row in Table 6 shows the composite index score for all the items. To obtain this score, the score on a particular item for a village is

89 160

Importance of education of boys.

Importance of education of girls.

Favourable disposition towards employment of women.

Composite index score.

1.

2.

3.

85

93

100

Merit as basis of leadership.

4.

99

Importance of opinion of youth.

Devigarh

6.

Items

Table 6 Scores on Attitudinal Dimension of Modernity

119

51

64

72

97

96

Manali

96

23

50

52

100

95

Kelon

93

30

58

62

72

70

Dakala

Villages

69

4

35

50

67

83

Khera

30

0

15

32

25

31

Rampur

100

36

54

62

80

81

Total Sample

DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES 89

90

Victor S. D’Souza

converted into the percentage of the corresponding score for the total sample, and the resulting percentages for all the items are averaged. The villages vary over a wide range both on the individual item score and the composite index score, indicating that they occupy different positions on the attitudinal dimension of modernity. We are finally concerned with the relationship of this variable with the indices of social stratification. And as a matter of fact we do and a significant degree of correlation between them. The Rank-order coefficient of correlation between the attitudinal variable and each of the indices of occupational heterogeneity, heterogeneity of individual prestige and consensus about individual prestige are 0.843 (p. < .02), 0.885 (p. < .01), and 0.657 respectively, two of the coefficients being highly significant. As to the adoption of improved agricultural practices recommended by the officials of Community Development Project, the factors in agricultural development may be broadly divided into two categories: technological and socio-cultural. There is already a large body of scientific and technological knowledge made available to the villagers by external agencies. Therefore the main obstacles to be surmounted in the application of this knowledge are socio-cultural ones. It is our assumption that societies with a higher degree of complexity would facilitate the adoption of practices with the possibilities of advancement. Therefore, we may predict that the level of adoption of improved agricultural practices would be correlated with the indices of social stratification. Our information on the level of adoption of agricultural practices relates to 20 practices divided into five major categories: (1) Use of chemical fertilizers, (2) Adoption of improved methods of cultivation, (3) Use of improved variety of seeds, (4) Use of modern methods of plant protection, and (5) Use of improved methods of animal husbandry. Each category consists of four practices. However, the information on two of the practices about animal husbandry cannot be used for comparative purposes. These are (a) use of artificial insemination, because except in one village, Kelon, there were no artificial insemination centres in the villages, and (b) use of stud bull, because this practice was reported by hardly one or two respondents in the entire sample. The indices of adoption of the remaining 18 practices are shown in Table 7. The index score on a particular practice in any village is obtained by converting the percentage of cultivators in the village adopting the

DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES

91

practice as a percentage of the corresponding percentage in the total sample shown in the last column. In calculating the percentages of adopters, only the cultivators to whom the practices are applicable are considered. The last row of the table shows the composite index of adoption of 15 out of the 18 items. The items excluded for the purpose of this index are Nos. 14, 15 and 16, because these practices were adopted by a negligible proportion of the total sample, and so the villages in which it has been adopted would gain under-weightage in the composite index. The composite adoption index score shows a wide range of variation from 134 in Devigarh to 54 in Rampur. The three villages Devigarh, Manali and Kelon, which have higher degrees of indices of social stratification, have quite high adoption scores. But what is surprising is that Khera, which comes last or last-but-one in the order of all the other variables considered so far, comes second in order in the case of this index. As a result, the correlation coefficients between this index and the indices of social stratification cease to have any significance. The Rank-order correlation coefficients between this and each of the indices of occupational heterogeneity, individual prestige and consensus about individual prestige are 0.300, 0.371 and 0.086 respectively. The Rankorder coefficient of correlation between this index and the index of attitude towards modernity is also relatively low, being 0.657. It is true that the index of adoption of agricultural practices refers only to the cultivators whereas the other variables considered refer to the total sample. But this is not an explanation of the peculiar status of Khera on the index of adoption. It is also true that if we consider only the number of practices adopted, irrespective of the proportion of cultivators adopting them, Khera comes fourth on the adoption index, thus supporting our hypothesis about the relationship between adoption index and the indices of social stratification. But this index of adoption is too crude to fall back upon. Therefore, other factors, not included in our discussion, may be needed to provide a satisfactory explanation. For the time being, however, we may assume that our hypothesis holds good and that some fortuitous circumstances are responsible for the unexpected behaviour of Khera. If so, the behaviour of the remaining five villages should confirm our hypothesis. And this is indeed the case for in that event the Rank-order coefficients of correlation between

122 100 156 167 104 156 100 250 67

2. Use of fertilizers for cotton at flowering.

3. Use of fertilizers for groundnut at sowing.

4. Use of fertilizers for wheat at sowing and subsequent irrigation.

5. Line-sowing of cotton.

6. Weeding of cotton.

7. Use of cotton drill.

8. Use of compost pits.

9. Wheat C273 for irrigated land.

Devigarh

1. Use of fertilizers for rice at planting.

Practices

169

232

30

72

104

68

35

127

39

Manali

106

110

103

33

107

40

32

233

88

Kelon

31

0

10

54

6

103

93

0

108

Dakala

Villages

Table 7 Index of Adoption of Recommended Agricultural Practices during the Season Preceding the Field Study

178

0

333

175

186

167

167

0

134

Khera

0

0

27

149

157

60

0

253

0

Rampur

45

40

30

57

54

60

60

15

75

Total %

92 Victor S. D’Souza

116 150 21 134

18. Vaccination against rinderpest (preceding and past seasons).

Average for 15 items, excluding Nos. 14, 15 and 16.

133

15. Application of BHC when planting sugar cane.

17. Vaccination against hemorrhage septicenia (preceding and past seasons).

175

14. Cotton Spray (BHC/DDT)

16. Use of solar treatment of wheat.

120 145

13. Cotton Desi 321R

174

11. Groundnut Pb. No. 1 or C501.

12. Cotton American 320

203

10. Wheat C591 or C286 for unirrgrated land.

101

153

97

100

0

75

118

24

136

116

95

135

111

50

334

300

104

111

11

164

55

0

44

0

0

0

148

125

77

26

130

186

154

317

0

0

6

116

147

0

54

0

0

0

0

0

23

115

0

116

100

52

61

6

6

4

66

80

47

31

DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES 93

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Victor S. D’Souza

the adoption index and each of the indices of occupational heterogeneity, heterogeneity of individual prestige and consensus about individual prestige increase considerably to 0.875 (p. < .05), 0.900 (p. < .02), and 0.600, respectively, the first two co-efficients being highly significant. In so far as we have demonstrated the relationship between the indices of social stratification and the various important indices of societal complexity, we may conclude that the measures that we have derived are valid indices of the degree of fluidity of social stratification. However, considering only those variables of societal complexity for which we have more up-to-date and objective information, such as the indices of attitude towards modernity and adoption of recommended agricultural practices, it is evident that the indices of occupational heterogeneity and heterogeneity of individual prestige are more reliable as the indices of social stratification than the index of consensus about individual prestige. This is hardly surprising because the last index has been derived in a relatively more indirect fashion.

Note 1. This paper was presented at the Seminar on Trans-Disciplinary Method in Social Sciences, at Lucknow on March 11–12, 1967. It is a revised version of Journal Paper No. 15 of Social Science Research Centre, Mississippi State University. Data utilized in this paper were taken from a study conducted co-operatively by the Department of Sociology, Panjab University and the Social Science Research Center, Mississippi State University. Thanks are due to Harold F. Kaufman and Robert C. Angell for their helpful comments.

References D’Souza, Victor S. I967 Caste and Class: A Reinterpretation. Journal of Asian and African Studies, 11(3): 192–211. Hoselitz, Bert F. and Wilbert E. Moore (ed) 1963 Industrialization and Society. Unesco: Mouton Redfield, Robert 1963 Peasant Society and Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press (Phoenix Books). Tonnies, Ferdinand 1963 Community and Society. Translated from German and edited by Charles P. Loomis. New York: Harper and Row.

7 Bhadralok and Chhotolok in a Rural Area of West Bengal Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

I. Introduction

T

he term Bhadralok came in usage in Bengali society around the beginning of the nineteenth century as a Sanskritised synonym of the English term ‘gentleman’. We find the use of the term in the Bengali newspapers and periodicals in the early half of the nineteenth century (Bandopadhyaya 1946). The term is literally derived from the Sanskrit word bhadra, which carries connotations such as shishta (cultured and of restrained manners), sabhya (civilised), mangal (auspicious), uttam (of superior quality), marjita ruchi bishishta (of cultivated taste), etc. (Das 1930). The term thus emphasizes ‘cultivated taste’ and ‘civilsed manners’ rather than wealth and power. The Bhadralok is to be identified by bhadrata (good manners). A Bhadralok, according to the standard Bengali dictionary-meaning of today, is expected to be binoyee (modest), priyabadee (gentle in speech), shanta (composed) and shishta (of restrained manners). He is also expected to be satbangshajata (born of good lineage) (Das 1930). One comes across a term of equivalent meaning, shista jaina, in Chaitanya Charitamrita composed by Krishnadas Kaviraj in the seventeenth century. The term Chhotolok (lowly people) or Chhoto Jat (low caste) cannot be regarded as a translation of the English terms ‘lower classes’ or ‘serfs’. The category

96

Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

derives directly from the system of varna and jati in the Bengali Hindu society. Regardless of the fact whether the term Bhadralok originated as the translation of an English term or of an English social category or not, it will appear to any observer in rural as well as urban West Bengal that the related social concept is thoroughly embedded in the regional social mileu. The cultural pattern and the mode of intergroup behaviour of the people of West Bengal are guided in detail by the great divide of Bhadralok and Chhotolok. This is particularly true for the Hindus, but holds, in a general way, also for the Moslem population. It is surprising that there has not been any systematic anthropological study to define the socio-economic and cultural parameters of these important categories of stratification. Anthropologists of Bengali society, from Risley onwards, have been directly interested in the caste system and—only occasionally—in the nature of correlation between caste stratification and economic classes. There are only a few passing references to the categories of Bhadralok and Chhotolok (Sarma 1955, Nair 1961, Chattopadhyaya 1964, Bose 1967). Recently, in an unpublished report, Danda and Danda (1968) have dealt with the pattern of interaction between the Bhadralok and Chhotolok in some detail. We became specially aware of the significance of the BhadralokChhotolok dimension of social stratification in the course of a field investigation on cultural factors differentially affecting the nature of involvement in agricultural technology among three distinct communities—Hindus, Moslems and the tribal Santal-in three adjacent villages, Bergram, Khiruli and Debagram, in Bolpur police station, in Birbhum district, during 1966.1 Further fieldwork was done by Ranjit Bhattacharya among the Moslems of Khiruli during 1967–68 in connection with a research project on social srtucture and cultural system of the Moslems. This prolonged fieldwork provided us with enough opportunity to observe social interaction in varied contexts, to probe into the mind of the respondents, and to get a feel for their guiding social sentiments. Although the focus of this paper will be on the Hindu society of Bergram, the constrastive perspective of the neighbouring Moslem and Santal societies will also be utilsed in order to deepen our understanding of the essence of the Bhadralok-Chhotolok system of stratification.

BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL

97

II. The Layout of the Three Villages The categories Bhadralok and Chhotolok are graphically represented in the layout of the habitations of the Hindu village Bergram. There is a rough division of the population into two residential zones (paras), Bhadralok Para and Chhotolok Para, inhabited by two clusters of castes, the Bhadralok and the Chhotolok. Within this broad residental divide, Sunri Para, the settlement zone of the Sunri (traditionally wine distillers and sellers), has an anomalous position. While the uncontrovertially Bhadralok castes, such as the Brahman and Kayastha, do not regard the Sunri quite within their fold, the typical Chhotolok castes, such as the Dom (labourers) and Bayan (traditionally leather-workers and drummers), regard them as Bhadralok (see Table 1). Excluding the controversial 7 Sunri households, Bergram has 22 Bhadralok and 20 Chhotolok families. In contrast to the Hindus, the Moslems of Khiruli first divide their Paras as Moslem Para and Chhotolok Para (Para inhabited by the Hindu Chhotolok castes) and then sub-divide the Moslem Para in terms of cartogrpahic cardinal points, such as Pub Para (Eastern Zone), Maj Para (Central Zone) and Pachhim Para (Western Zone). The Moslem Para is not rigidly segmented into areas lived by distinct social or economic strata. So, while the existence of the Hindu Chhotolok castes provides this Moslem village with a Chhotolok Para, their own society does not provide the precise contrast of Bhadralok Para (see Table 2). The tribal people in this area tend to live at some distance from the major settlements of the Hindus or of the Moslems. The Majhi Para hamlet of the Santal of Debagram is located away from the main Hindu settlement of Debagram village. Although the Santal are regarded by the Hindu Bhadralok as equivalent to the Chhotolok castes, yet their hamlet is not labelled by the high caste Hindus as Chhotolok Para. Just as the settlement of the Oraon in this area is known as Oraon Para or Dhangar Para, the settlements of the Santal are also designated as Majhi Para, as the residential area of a distinct ethnic group. The Santal themselves do not think of their locality as Chhotolok Para and the concept of Bhadralok does not have any relevance within their hamlet.

Total

Chhotolok conception of Bhadralok Para

Major Segments

7 Paras

Chhotolok Para

Bhadralok conception of Bhadralok Para

{

{ {

Table 1 Para-wise Caste Distribution in Bergram

7 Castes (Konar Sadgop included in Sadgop category)

Bayan Para

{

8

Bayan or Muchi 49

1

12

6

4

Sunri

Dom

Sunri

Sunri para Dom Para

Sadgop

Deashi Para

5

Sadgop

4

1

1

Sarnakar Konar Sadgop

2

Kayastha

Sadgop

{

{ 5

Households

Brahman

Caste

Pal Para

Moral Para

Brahman Para

Para

Chhotolok

Status not defined

Chhtolok

Status not defined

,,

,,

,,

,,

Bhadralok

Bhadralok par excellence ,,

Bhadralolk/Chhotolok

98 Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL

99

Table 2 Layout of Khiruli Village Major Segments Moslem Para

Chhotolok Para

{ {

Para

Caste or Community

Households

Bhadralok/ Chhotolok

Pub Para

Moslem

31

Not defined

Maj Para

Moslem

14

Not defined

Pachhim Para

Moslem

26

Not defined

—

Hadi

1

Chhotolok

—

Dom

8

Chhotolok

80 Table 3 Hierarchy of Castes in Bergram Caste Status

Bhadralok/Chhotolok Status

1. Brahman

Bhadralok

2. Kayastha

,,

3. Sarnakar

,,

4. Sadgop

,,

5. Sunri

Controvertial

6. Dom

Chhotolok

7. Muchi or Bayan

,,

III. Caste and Bhadralok-Chhotolok Status Groups From the settlement pattern itself it will be apparent that the BhadralokChhotolok status categories include clusters of castes and not individuals or families, and also that these categories are particularly meaningful in the Hindu village of Bergram, less so in the Moslem village of Khiruli, and the least of all in the Santal hamlet of Majhi Para in Debagram. In Bergram the members of the upper four castes would arrange the seven castes of the village in a hierarchy as shown in Table 3. It has already been stated that while the lowest two castes regard the Sunri as belonging to the Bhadralok category the upper four castes regard them as not quite within the sphere of the Bhadralok. Although the Dom and Muchi accept their low status and Chhotolok category, there is some controversy among themselves regarding relative caste status.

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The first thing that impresses one about the Bhadralok-Chhotolok categories is that although the broad outlines of the caste division are accepted in this mode of classification, the detailed caste hierarchy of seven grades is ignored in favour of two broad divisions, with an intermediate position for the Sunri. The people of Bergram, especially the members of the upper castes, are aware that throughout West Bengal the three higher castes, the Brahman, Vaidya and Kayastha, are regareded as typical Bhadralok castes—the Bhadralok par excellence—and that within this group the Brahman do not necessarily hold the highest position. In other words, the ritual or sacred position of the Brahman is not fully validated in the conceptualization of the Bhadralok class. Yet the ritual criterion of caste is not completely ignored, for the ritually low Sunri have difficulty in gaining Bhadralok status while the more ‘degraded’ Dom and Bayan have no chances at all of recognition as Bhadralok. The crucial characteristic of the Bhadralok per excellence in the rural area is the negative feature that they do not plough fields with their own hands. They are also expected to be literate. While the three uppermost castes, the Brahman, Vaidya and Kayastha, are universally accepted as Bhadralok in rural West Bengal, there are certain groups in the middle and the lower (though not the lowest) range of the varna strata who attain Bhadralok status mainly on the basis of local dominance in landholding and number. The Sadgop form such a ‘dominant caste’ in Bergram and are locally regarded as Bhadralok. They prefer supervisory role in agriculture, although they cannot always avoid ploughing the fields with their own hands. Only the Konar Sadgop among them totally avoid ploughing with their own hands in order to fully validate their Bhadralok status. It should also be mentioned that the lowest castes tend to take the factor of local dominance more seriously than the upper castes in ascribing status in the Bhadralok-Chhotolok hierarchy. The Dom and Bayan, for example, regard the dominant Sadgop as the Bhadralok par excellence, an attitude which the upper castes do not share. Both the Bhadralok and Chhotolok groups of Hindu castes regard the Moslems as outside the sphere of varna-based jati hierarchy. The Chhotolok castes, however, tend to regard the Moslems as more polluting and, hence, lower than themselves and as belonging to the Chhotolok category. The upper Hindu castes belonging to the Bhadralok category, however, do not regard the Moslems en bloc as Chhotolok. They consider the rich Moslems in the neighbouring villages as Bhadralok in a ‘secular sense’, that is, in the sense of a non-ritual upper status group. The Hindu Bhadralok of Bergram do not feel threatened by conceding

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101

this status of equality to the Moslem, for the Moslems do not live in their own village and do not compete with them for status within the idiom of caste hierarchy. The Moslems do not think of themselves as a distinct caste group. They regard themselves as a distinct minority religious community with its own set of Great Tradition and consciousness of its history. Their society, in this area, is not divided into rigidly graded endogamous castes. Yet the Moslem peasants in this region may be roughly divided into two caste-like strata: (a) The upper stratum (analogous to the Bhadralok among the Hindus) including the Saiyad, Sheik and Palhan; and (b) the lower stratum (analogous to the Chhotolok among the Hindus) including the weaver Jolha and the painter Patua. While the highest rank of the Saiyad is conceded by all, there is controversy among the Sheik and Palhan about their relative rank. In Khiruli one comes across only the Sheik while the Moslem inhabitants of the neighbouring village of Keshabpur are all Pathans. Although one can feel the rough divide between the BhadralokChhotolok ‘analogue groups’ among the Moslems in their tendency to avoid marriage across the line, interaction between these groups is not built up systematically in a set of hierarchic relationship. The upper and the lower status groups of Moslems, or even two groups belonging to the upper status category, do not usually live in the same village in this region. Unlike the Hindu Bhadralok, the Moslem upper status groups are not organically linked with their own lower status groups in building up the local economic and social life. Apart from the factors of residential pattern and economic relationship, the egalitarian teachings of the Koran and the Hadith play some role in not allowing the status analogues of the Hindu Bhadralok-Chhotolok divisions to harden too far among the Moslems. The Great Tradition of Islam, however, does not tone down the disparity in economic levels among the Moslem inhabitants of Khiruli. Unlike the Hindus and Moslems, the Santals of Majhi Para in Debagram-have no concept of status hierarchy among themselves. They divide their twelve khunts or clans in a traditional hierarchy based on the mythological notion of the order of their first appearance on the earth. This traditional hierarchy, however, is merely a concept; it has no concrete social function. The Santal are aware that they are regarded as a Chhotolok group by the Bhadralok as well as Chhotolok Hindu castes and also by the Moslems. They are also aware of the Bhadralok category among the Hindus. Unlike the Hindu Chhotolok castes, however, they have not accepted the Chhotolok status assigned to them by the Hindus who are Dikus (foreigners) and outside their social sphere.

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IV. Class, Power and Bhadralok-Chhotolok Categories From our observation of the economic life of the village of Bergram it is apparent that the high social status of the upper ranges of castes, that is, the Bhadralok group of castes, has firm basis in their economic superiority, specially in landholding. They used to be landlords and superior tenure holders and still are substantial landholders, while the Chhotolok castes are either landless or poor farmers depending for their subsistence mainly on working as hired labourers in the fields or houses of the Bhadralok castes. Thus, in reality, class stratification is embedded, to a great extent, within the hierarchy of castes. Caste-and community-wise landholding in Bergram, Khiruli and Debagram Majhi Para has been shown in Tables 4, 5 and 6. It will be apparent from Table 4 that the Bhadralok castes virtually monopolise the landholding in Bergram, while nearly half of the Chhotolok castes are landless and the rest have scanty landholding. The same table also indicates that the Sadgop decisively dominate in landholding. The people of Bergram divide the castes roughly as shown in Table 7 in terms of economic classes. If has already been mentioned that the typical Bhadralok are expected to avoid manual labour, specially, ploughing the field. The Bhadralok women also avoid agricultural work Table 4 Caste-wise Landholding in Bergram

Households

Approximate Holding of Cultivable Land (in acres)

Landless Households

Brahman

5

30

—

Kayastha

2

16

—

Sarnakar

1

5

—

Sadgop

14

154

—

Sunri

7

19

1

Dom

12

3

7

Muchi

8

3

6

Total

49

230

14

Caste

BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL

103

Table 5 Caste and Community-wise Landholding in Khiruli Caste or Community

Households

Approximate Holding of Cultivable Land

Landless Households

Moslem

71

145

20

Handi

1

—

1

Dom

8

10

—

Total

80

155

21

Households

Approximate Holding of Cultivable Land

Landless Households

26

14

12

Table 6 Landholding in Debagram Majhi Para Community Santal

Table 7 Division of Castes in Bergtam in Terms of Economic Classes Caste

Economic Class

Sadgop, Sunri*

Rich

Brahman, Kayastha, Sarnakar

Middle class

Dom, Bayan

Poor

* Though the Sunri are not actually as rich as they are shown here, and should be placed in the middle class, the people think of them as a wealthy caste on the basis of memory of their past record of landholding.

in the field and their children mostly go to school and do not participate in agricultural work. Moreover, many of these Bhadralok families in Bergram have more land than they could have cultivated with their family-based manpower even if they all worked with their own hands. These factors combine together to make the Bhadralok depend primarily on the Chhotolok for agricultural labour, while their own role is reduced to that of supervisors. It has been roughly estimated that one supervisor is enough to look after the work of 2 to 3 labourers on an area of about 13 acres. Thus while the Bhadralok provide enough subsistence-level employment to the Chhotolok of this village as

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Table 8 Non-Agricultural Occupations in Bergram

Occupation

Nature of Involvement

Persons/Family Involved

Their Caste

4 families

3 Sadgop

X

1 Sunri

X

1 Brahman

X

Primary

Secondary

Business Usury Grocery and cigarette shops

2 persons

1 Sunri 1 family

Sadgop

Itinerary trader in betel leaves

1 person

Sunri

Cycle repairing

2 persons

1 Brahman 1 Kayastha

X X X X X

Professions and Services Priesthood

3 families

Brahman

X

Drummer

3 families

Muchi (caste occupation)

X

School teacher

3 persons

2 Sadgop

X

1 Brahman

X X

Quack medical practitioner

1 person

Sadgop

Medicine-man

1 person

Sadgop

Worker in cycle repair shop at Bolpur

1 person

Brahman

Post Master

1 person

Sadgop

Contractor

2 persons

Sadgop

X

Postal peon

1 person

Sadgop

X

X X

X

BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL

105

agricultural labourers, they usually have a surplus of supervisors in their own joint families. This surplus of potential supervisors tend to go in for non-agricultural occupations with the support of their formal education (see Table 8). It will be seen from Table 8 that except for the socially degrading traditional service of drumming no other non-agricultural trade, profession or service is pursued by the typical Chhotolok castes. Dominance of the Sadgop is again reflected in their practice of the majority of business and professional occupations. Out of 26 families and/or persons involved in various non-agricultural occupations the Sadgop are represented in 12 cases. One also notices the participation of the marginal Sunri in this category. Apart from the limitations of belonging to the polluting and degraded social groups, the Chhotolok are handicapped from going in for the above non-caste occupations due to their lack of capital and illiteracy. The relatively rich Moslem families of Khiruli have landholdings comparable to those of the Hindu Bhadralok class, particularly to that of the dominant caste Sadgop (see Table 5). The Moslem women of this class also remain away from the productive activities in the field. Some of the substantial Moslem farmers, like their Hindu counterparts, depend primarily on non-agricultural occupations (see Table 9). With all these similarities between the Hindu Bhadralok castes and their Moslem equivalents, the Molems have not fully accepted non-manual orientation of the Hindu Bhadralok castes. The Moslem rich are not so thoroughly dependent on the poor and low Hindu castes and the tribals for their productive activities. The poor Moslems within the village, belonging to the high social status Sheik, provide a good amount of the regular labour force to the rich. Unlike the Hindu Bhadralok, the poor relatives among the Moslem upper strata groups do not have much inhibition in serving as paid labourers or mahendar in the house of a rich relative. They serve there as paid helping hands but not quite as servants. As a result the employers and the above category of employees may meet as equals on various social occasions. It may be mentioned here that while the poor Hindu Bhadralok will never work as a mahendar in the house of a rich relative, the Hindu Chhotolok will not mind working as a paid labourer in the house of one of his relatives. The economic relation of the tribal Santal with the Hindu Bhadralok is similar to that of the Hindu Chhotolok, namely as supplier

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Table 9 Non-Agricultural Occupations in Khiruli Nature of Involvement

Persons/ Families Involved

Their Caste/ Community

Usury

12 families

Moslem

X

Business in paddy and rice

10 families

,,

X

Business in eggs

2 persons

,,

X(1)

Cloth dealer

1 person

,,

X

Occupation

Primary

Secondary

Business

Paikar 2 persons (dealers in cattle)

,,

X(1) X

Grocer’s shop

4 persons

,,

Transport

Many persons owning bullock carts

,,

X(1)

X(3) X

Occasional dealer in earthen ware

2 persons

1 Moslem

X

1 Handi

X

Professions and services Primary school teacher

1 person

Moslem

X

Dafadar

1 person

,,

X

Chowkidar

1 person

Dom

X

Builder

2 persons

Moslem

Lorry driver

2 persons

,,

Amin (surveyor)

1 person

,,

X

Mali (gardener)

1 person

,,

X

Barber

2 persons

,,

1 person

Handi

X X

X(1)

Caste occupation Midwifery

X

X(1)

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of paid labour. As a result, they are considered equivalent to the Chhotolok by the non-tribal population of the area. It has been mentioned that although the Santal are fully aware of their precarious and dependent economic position and of their low social status in the eyes of the Hindus, they maintain a sense of ethnic pride in the isolation of their settlement and the distinct socio-ritual life. The land and work relations thus underlie the great divide of castes into Bhadralok and Chhotolok to a large extent. These relations re-group the basic building blocks of the society, namely, castes and their detailed ritually determined hierarchy, into a flexible and workable broad division of landholders and landless or poor labourers. The Bhadralok castes of Bergram not only dominate the economic field, they also virtually monopolize the channels of formal and informal sources of power and influence in the village. They hold all the offices of the new Panchayat and the School Committee and the points of contact of the village with organizations in the outside world such as the office of the Block Development Officer. A distinction may here be made between the traditional structure of influence and the contemporary realities of distribution of power. In the traditional system of arbitration of disputes the Brahman and Kayastha held the highest position and the Sarnakar and Sadgop came next in influence while the Chhotolok castes and the Sunri had to play a completely subservient role. The Chhotolok accepted the arbitration of the influential Bhandralok in the settlement of minor disputes. The new power structure, related to the operation of the new institutions like Panchayat, Block Development Office and national elections, closely corresponds to the class structure, with the Sadgop in the highest position and the Sunri, Kayastha and Sarnakar coming in the next category (see Table 10). In both the systems the true Chhotolok have no power, but in the new power structure the dominance of the Sadgop in the secular spheres of number and landholding becomes the decisive factor in placing them at the top position. By the same logic, the ritually low Sunri is placed on parity with the upper castes in the new power structure. In other words, although the Bhadralok-Chhotolok divide is operative in the distribution of power in bulk, the nature of detailed distribution of influence has shifted from congruence with ritual hierarchy of castes to the secular hierarchy based on wealth and numerical strength.

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Table 10 Caste and Position in Power Structure Caste

Position

A. Traditional Power Structure Brahman

Highest

Kayastha

High

Sarnakar, Sadgop

Ordinary

B. New Power Structure Sadgop

Highest

Sunri, Kayastha, Brahman, Sarnakar

Ordinary

The prevailing stereotype about the Chhotolok is that he is a landless or poor person, a mahendar (household servant and agricultural labourer), a kisan (agricultural labourer on seasonal contract), or a munish (agricultural day-labourer). His dwellings, his clothes, and his half-fed, ill, hungry and tired look will show every sign of his complete distinction. He is also ‘expected’ to lack economic initiative, intelligence and social responsibility. The image of the Bhadralok is just the polar opposite of the Chhotolok. He should have substantial cultivable land, milch cows, comfortable and spacious dwellings, and a well-fed look. He would take rest after day’s meal, lead a relatively regulated life, and use polished language. The Bhadralok are supposed to be responsible and intelligent and to have economic initiative. Education is considered to be an essential quality of the Bhadralok, and their women maintain veil and refrain from agricultural work in the field. A Bhadralok is also supposed to be a member of a joint family, since the joint family is regarded as an indication of good living and prosperity. Both the Bhadralok and Chhotolok castes of Bergram share- these images which have considerable bearing in reality. These stereotypes are partly shared also by the Moslems of Khiruli. They regard the Hindu Chhotolok castes and some of their own poor artisan groups as Chhotolok and their upper strata share many of the cultural emphases of the Hindu Bhadralok although non-manual orientation is considerably toned down in their case. The concept of ritual pollution is also very feeble among them.

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V. Pattern of Interaction between the Bhadralok and Chhotolok Economic, political and social dominance of the Bhadralok and social segregation of the Chhotolok are the main features in the interaction between the Bhadralok and Chhotolok. Although the Bhadralok are utterly dependent on the Chhotolok for the supply of labour force, they look down upon the Chhotolok in all respects, including even their mode of worship and ritual idioms. With their own sets of ‘degraded’ Brahmans viz. Napits (barbers and midwives), the Chhotolok tend to live in their separate world not only in residential zone but also in other aspects of social and cultural life. They can interact with the Bhadralok only in a submissive and segregated role while the Bhadralok do not at all participate in the social functions sponsored by the Chhotolok. Any member of the Bhadralok caste can invite the members of the other castes, including the Chhotolok, to a social feast, but it is a convention that the Chhotolok should not only take their seat in a segregated area, they should also express their deference to the Bhadralok castes by not taking food before the latter have started eating. The members of the Chhotolok group are not permitted to invite the members of the upper castes to a social dinner in their own house. They may only send uncooked food or arrange for a social feast in the house of a Bhadralok where food will be cooked by members of the upper castes. Illicit sexual contacts between the Bhadralok males and the Chhotolok females is common and not considered a major social offence, although the contrary cases, if they ever occurred, would be regarded as thoroughly repulsive and as severe breaches of social norms. During the community festivals such as Durga Puja, Kali Puja, Sitala Puja and Manasa Puja the Chhotolok castes are not allowed to offer flowers to the idols. They are not permitted to enter any temple, although they can worship their own house deities of inferior status. Only on the occasion of Dharmaraj Puja in the month of Vaisakh (AprilMay) the devotees, bhaktas, may belong to any caste, high or low, but not the lowest, i.e, the Bayan or Muchi. The bhaktas attain a temporary state of castelessness during the four days of the Puja. The Chhotolok are fully aware of their dependent and underprivileged situation in every sphere of life. They are aware that although they supply the major work-force for the productive activities of the village,

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they have no control over the village community of Bergram. One may wonder why the Chhotolok accept this wretched fate and do not unite to resist the dominance and exploitation of the privileged class. The answer lies partly in the fact that the Chhotolok class of this village (as  elsewhere) is segmented into several mutually exclusive groups or castes competing for status in the eyes of the Bhadralok. A sense of security due to steady availability of bare subsistence-level wage from the Bhadralok employer also tones down their spirit of resentment. In terms of sheer number, again, they form a minority vis-a-vis the upper castes, specially the dominant Sadgop caste. It also seems that the concept of rebirth still continues, to a certain extent, to heal the strain of their poor life-chances and to make them accept the deprived status. It should also be mentioned that the Bhadralok are interested in keeping the Chhotolok in a perpetual state of degradation, poverty and dependence. This they do in a masked manner and without conscious planning. They take every occasion to remind the Chhotolok that they are not quite fit in their habits, customs and mental capacity to mix with the Bhadralok on a level of parity. They do not take any genuine interest to upgrade the Chhotolok and to let them avail of the new opportunities for primary and secondary education on a massive scale. Rather than any innate disposition to avoid new opportunities for educating their children the Chhotolok have objective reasons for not being enthusiastic about formal education. The Chhotolok, who have to adjust themselves to the unpredictable cycle of weather and the whims of the employers in developing their working habits, cannot afford to subject their children to the disciplined hours of the school. Further, they cannot spend money for their children’s education for a long period, specially when they do not perceive an open structure of opportunity for employment. They have to train children in the technological knowhow of agriculture so that they can perform effectively in the sure source of livelihood, namely, as hired agricultural labourers.

VI. Summing Up From our observation of the behaviour of the people of Bergram it appears that the stratification of Bhadralok-Chhotolok is old and deeprooted and not just the product of borrowed terminology and social norms from the British. Nor does it appear to be primarily the product

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111

of a rising middle class under the impact of the British rule. This latter impact may have only given a particular twist to the role of the Bhadralok class, particularly in urban Bengal, along with the emergence of the ‘babu’ culture (Misra 1961; Sedition Committee 1918). The Bhadralok-Chhotolok division includes blocks of castes rather than individuals and families. The division follows a simplified version of the varna order in distinguishing the low castes belonging to the lower rung of the “unclean’ Sudra from the upper castes. Yet the basis of this stratification does not lie solely in the varna order, since the absolute supremacy-of the Brahman is not assured in this system and be is lumped together with the Kayastha, a clean Sudra caste, and the Vaidya as the Bhadralok par excellence. Nevertheless, it is a ‘caste-styled’ system of stratification since it recognises castes as component units and the stratification ‘roughly approximates’ the varna order. Apart from the structural features, in the style of life also the varna idioms play their role. The Bhadralok emphasis is on the satvik-rajasik mental traits, i.e. traits of restraint, discipline and endeavour, and the Chhotolok are stereotyped as having tamasik mental features i.e., traits of laxity and lethargy. Yet within the general framework of caste style, the BhadralokChhotolok stratification is essentially a flexible, simple and workable hierarchy which facilitates day-to-day interaction among the people of the village. It divides the superordinate and the subordinate into two groups and thus distinguishes the supervisors from the agricultural labourers, the masters from the ‘serfs’, the privileged from the unprivileged. To be more specific, this hierarchy has stratified the manual and the non-manual workers into two groups. This devaluation of manual labour seems to be mainly the product of the Hindu cultural milieu in this region, for we do not find it so pronounced among the Moslems and not at all among the Santal. One distinctive feature of the Bhadralok-Chhotolok mode of stratification is its flexibility. It is not rigid in attributing proportionable status to a group or groups of castes due to their relatively low status in the ritual hierarchy of castes when they hold a good position in the local structure of opportunity and power, e.g., the Sadgop of Bergram. The Bhadralok-Chhotolok stratification is the product of practical compromise between the long-range historical stream of varna-based caste hierarchy and the concrete situational context of the distribution

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Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

of wealth and power. It is thus an evolved, practical and secular form of caste stratification. It also appears that such secular hierarchic dichotomy in styles of life has deep historical roots in Indian civilization in the form of division between Arya and Anarya in ethnic categories and patterns of life, Sanskrit and Prakrit in language, Marga (classical) and Deshi (folk) in music. In all these there is an effort to distinguish cultivated taste from the uncultivated. It is not unlikely that along with the varna division, the above persistent trend and model to divide the secular style of life into refined and crude has also contributed to the division of Bhadra and Abhadra as two distinct styles of life in later phase of history. Although the essence of Bhadralok-Chhotolok hierarchy has to be defined in terms of ‘style of life’ and ‘status stratification’ in Weberian sense, one also finds remarkable congruence of the dimensions of class and power with this category of status stratification. From our observation among the neighbouring Moslems and Santals it appears that while the Moslems have been partially drawn into the essentially Hindu idiom of stratification of Bhadralok and Chhotolok, the tribal Santals have maintained their egalitarian solidarity in residential and socio-cultural isolation. The preliminary enquiry on the Bhadralok-Chhotolok divide in rural West Bengal may stimulate us to enquire whether similar flexible and simplified secular adaptations of the caste hierarchy have evolved in different linguistic and cultural regions of India having different patterns of jati hierarchy. The scope of comparison may be extended to the non-Hindu communities: the Moslems, Jains, Parsis, Sikhs, Christians and the acculturated tribals. In looking into our data in the rural field we have deliberately ignored the urban context. We have not enquired to what extent the style of life of the Bhadralok is shaped after, apart from the varna idiom, the model of the urban middle and upper class citizens. One may also enquire to what extent the concept of Bhadralok has been individualised and released from the framework of varna and caste in the urban milieu. The Report of the Sedition Committee (1918) hinted that Bengal has a unique pattern of penetration of the literate, upper, Bhadralok strata into the villages. It is only on the basis of carefully collected comparative data that the above proposition can be tested. The existing village-studies, with their pre-occupation with caste and intricacies of

BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL

113

ritual hierarchy, will not provide adequate understanding of the above perspective.

Note 1. This field investigation, done by Ranjit Bhattacharya, was part of a project on “Science and Technology in Relation to Cultural Values and Institutions of South and Southeast Asia: India and Ceylon,” sponsored by the UNESCO and directed by Surajit Sinha during 1965–66. We are very thankful to the UNESCO and to the Chairman, India International Centre, New Delhi, for sponsoring the project, which provided us the initial field experience for writing this easy. We are greatful to Shri K. T. Chandy, the then Director, Indian Institute of Management, Calcutta, for providing various facilities to S.C. Sinha for directing the programme. Further field-work was possible in the area during 1967–68 due to the kind permission of Dr. D.K. Sen, Director, Anthropological Survey of India.

References Bandopadhyaya, Brajendra N. ed. 1946 Sangbadpatrey Shekaler Katha (1818–1830), Part I. Calcutta, Bangiya Sahitya Parishad. Bhattacharya, R. 1968. Social and Cultural Constraints in Agriculture in Three Villages (Hindu, Moslem and Tribal) of West Bengal. Journ. Anth. Soc. Indi., III (I). In Press. Bose, N.K. 1967. Culture and Society in India. Calcutta, Asia Publishing House. Chattopadhyaya, G. 1964. Ranjana: a Village in West Bengal. Calcutta, Bookland. Das, J.M., 1930. Bangla Bhashar Abhidhan. Calcutta, Bangiya Sahitya Parishad. Danda, Ajit and Deepali Danda, 1968 Development and Change in a Bengali Village. Hyderabad, National Institute of Community Development. Mimeo. Misra, B.B., 1961. The Indian Middle Classes: Their Growth in Modern Times. London Oxford University Press. Nair, Kusum, 1961. Blossoms in the Dust: the Human Element in Indian Development. London Gerald Duekworth. Sarma, J., 1955. A Village in West Bengal. In India’s Villages, M.N. Srinivas (ed.), Bombay, Asia Publishing House. Sedition Committee 1918. Report. Sinha, Surajit (ed.) 1966. Science and Technology in Relation to Cultural Values and Institutions of South and South-east Asia: India and Ceylon. Mimeographed report submitted to UNESCO.

8 Caste System in Contemporary Rural Bihar: A Study of Selected Villages Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

M

uch has been written on the caste system in India. But the system is so complex and dynamic that it continues to engage the attention of social scientists. The present study focuses on certain aspects of the caste system in contemporary rural Bihar, and examines in particular the linkage between caste and occupation as well as the status of the jajmani system today. This paper is based on the data collected from four villages of the Buxar (Bhogpur) district of Bihar during a period of three years from 1991–93 by means of interview schedule and careful observation of every day life practises of the villagers. The four villages selected for this study were: Unwas, Basantpur, Bishrampur and Bharchakia. Though they have many similarities, the villages are also dissimilar in several respects. Two of these villages, Unwas and Basantpur, are very old while the other two, Bishrampur and Bharchakia, are quite new. Just before independence, Basantpur was under the zamindari system whereas Unwas was under the ryotwari system. The other two villages came up after independence. In Unwas and Basantpur there are many castes while Bishrampur and Bharchakia have fewer castes. The ‘upper castes’ dominate Basantpur and Unwas while Bishrampur and Bharchakia are economically dominated by

A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES

115

the ‘backward castes’. While Bishrampur and Bharchakia are almost spatially divided on the basis of caste, Unwas and Basantpur are not so neatly divided. Taken together, however, these four villages provide a representative picture of rural Bihar. For this very reason, data pertaining to all the villages has been put together for purposes of analysis and presentation. A caste in contemporary rural Bihar is an endogamous group, with a set of ritual practises which separates it from other castes. The caste of a person is determined by his/her birth. People belonging to a particular caste claim that the origin of their caste is different from that of other castes. This claim is legitimized on the basis of various origin myths which constitute an important element of caste beliefs. People belonging to different castes create their mternal hierarchies according to their origin myths and beliefs. And by doing so various castes maintain their specific customs and traditions which help them to distinguish themselves from each other. The four villages amongst themselves have twenty-four castes. Five of these—the Brahmin, Rajput, Kayastha, Bhumihar and Mahabrahman—belong to the forward caste category. Fifteen of these—the Yadav, Koeri, Bania, Bind, Rajbhar, Bhar, Kamkar, Gond, Paneri, Nonia, Lohar, Bari, Nau, Kohar and Sonar—are backward castes. The remaining four—the Dhobi, Chamar, Dusadh and Dom—belong to the Scheduled Caste category. Apart from these castes seven Muslim families also reside in the villages. In this work the concept of class denotes a category of people who occupy the same position in the economic structure within a social formation. The position is determined by the quantity of possession of the most important means of production in the villages, that is, land. On the basis of their ownership of land, people have been categorized into five classes. Those families which own more than twelve acres of land constitute the class of big peasants. Families having more than seven acres of land but not exceeding twelve acres constitute the so-called upper-middle peasants. Families with three to seven acres of land constitute the lower-middle peasant class, while families owning between one to three acres of land constitute the small peasants. Families which are either landless or owning not more than one acre of land constitute the class of landless and near landless people. Of the various practices that help in maintaining distinctions among various castes in the villages, two stand out as being conceptually more relevant for understanding the nature of the caste system in

116

Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

contemporary rural social formations. One is the worship of different deities and the other is endogamy. The latter is more general and so has more explanatory value than the former. It needs also to be noted that various castes, apart from worshipping some common gods and goddesses, worship their own specific deities at least once a year. For example, the Yadav perform Govardhanpuja, the Kayastha perform Chitragupta Puja, the Chamar perform Ravidas Puja, and so on. Some of these castes worship their deities publicly by organizing big functions. The deities are considered to be either the original founders or the most important representatives of their castes. The most important institutional practise among the various castes is endogamous marriage. The practice of endogamy is widespread and strictly observed. I did not come across even a single intercaste marriage. By following the practise of endogamy and worshipping different deities, the castes separate themselves from one another and maintain their distinct character.

Caste and Occupation Many writers on the caste system such as Ghurye (1969) and Srinivas (1982) have opined that a particular caste differentiates itself from others by engaging in a particular occupation not performed by other castes. In other words, each caste has an assigned occupation. The present study finds such an assertion. There are four general types of occupations in the villages. These are: (i) agricultural farming, (ii) monthly paid government or nongovernment services, (iii) business, and (iv) hiring out labour power (HL) or working as wage labourers. Agricultural fanning is an occupation in which the majority of the families from different castes are involved (see table 1): 81.4 per cent of the Brahmin, 87.5 per cent of the Rajput, 40 per cent of the Kayastha, 50 per cent of the Bhumihar, 91.6 per cent of the Yadav, 89.3 per cent of the Koeri, 31.5 per cent of the Bania, 60 per cent of the Rajbhar, 31.8 per cent of the Bhar, 53.3 per cent of the Kamkar, 40 per cent of the Gond, 50 per cent of the Paneri, 60 per cent of the Dhobi, 70.2 per cent of the Nonia, 37.5 per cent of the Lohar, 47 per cent of the Chamar, 85.7 per cent of the Dusadh, 50 per cent of the Bari, 62.5 per cent of the Nau, 88.8 per cent of the Kohar, 85.7 per cent of the Muslim

A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES

117

and 66.6 per cent of the Mahabrahman families are involved in this occupation. It is thus clear that agricultural farming is an occupation practised by almost all castes. Most of the families belonging to the three categories—the forward, the backward and the Scheduled Castesare involved in this occupation. It is the most extensively practised occupation in the villages, with 319 out of 475 families from the four villages engaged in it. Further, people belonging to all castes (except five) are employed in government jobs or in the private sector outside the villages (see table 1). These five castes are: Gond, Paneri, Dusadh, Dom and Mahabrahman, whose members are not found in such jobs. There are 25 families in all who belong to these castes in the villages. We find that 50.1 per cent of the Brahmin, 56.3 per cent of the Rajput, 40 per cent of the Kayastha, 100 per cent of the Bhumihar, 34 per cent of the Yadav, 29.8 per cent of the Koeri, 6.9 per cent of the Bania, 100 per cent of the Bind, 20 per cent of the Rajbhar, 4.5 per cent of the Bhar, 26.7 per cent of the Kamkar, 20 per cent of the Dhobi, 4.3 per cent of the Nonia, 12.5 per cent of the Lohar, 12.3 per cent of the Chamar, 100 per cent of the Bari, 25 per cent of the Nau, 11.1 per cent of the Kohar, 14.3 per cent of the Muslim and 50 per cent of the Sonar families have some family member or the other in a monthly paid job in government or non-government organizations outside the villages. Altogether 109 out of 475 families have at least one member employed in monthly paid service. We also find (table 1) that a majority of the families belonging to the forward castes such as Brahmin, Rajput and Bhumihar have access to monthly paid jobs. Other castes, with the exception of the Bari and Bind, do not have as much access to similar opportunities. Although all families belonging to Bari and Bind are attached to agricultural farming their members perform meagerly paid jobs. Among the backward castes a good percentage of families belonging to the Yadav, Koeri, Kamkar and Sonar have access to monthly paid jobs whereas the representation of Bania, Rajbhar, Bhar, Gond, Paneri, Nonia, Lohar, Nau and Kohar in government and non-government services is very Chamar, Dusadh and Dom have very limited access to such jobs. Thus, a highly uneven pattern emerges, if the representation of various castes in government of non-government monthly paid services is taken into account. In the villages mainly three types of professions—shopkeeping, transportation

Farming and HL

Farming and Business

0

25%

2.1%

0

4

1

7

43.8%

14

29.2%

Farming and Service

0

0

0

2.1%

1

12.5%

14.6%

HL

Business

2

7

3

18.8%

22

45.9%

Farming

Service

1 2 Brahmin Rajput

Name of Occupation

Table 1 Caste and Occupation

0

0

0

0

20%

1

20%

1

20%

1

0

0

50%

1

0

0

50%

1

0

3 4 Kayastha Bhumihar

9 10.7%

8

9.5%

8

17%

8.5%

4

29.8% 22.6%

19

7.1%

2.1% 14

6

0

2.4%

2

41.7%

35

6 Koeri

1

2.1%

1

2.1%

1

36.2%

17

5 Yadav

3.4%

1

17.2%

5

0

10.3%

3

44.8%

13

0

10.3%

3

7 Bania

0

0

0

0

0

100%

1

0

8 Bind

40%

2

0

0

20%

1

0

20%

1

20%

1

9 Rajbhar

13.6%

3

0

4.5%

1

68.2%

15

0

0

13.6%

3

10 Bhar

13.3%

2

6.7%

1

20%

3

40%

6

0

6.7%

1

13.3%

2

11 Kamkar

3

0

16.7%

1

13 Paneri

40%

4

0

0

50%

5

0

0

0

33.3%

2

50.0% 10%

0

0

0

12 Gond

118 Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

0

0

1

Farming, Service and HL

Farming, Business, Services, HL

Services and Business

0

0

48

Service and HL

Business and HL

Total

2.1%

0

4.2%

2

Farming, Business and HL

Farming, Service and Business

16

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

5

20%

1

0

0

0

0

0

20%

1

2

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

47

0

2.1%

1

0

0

0

0

0

84

0

0

1.2%

1

1.2%

1

0

29

3.4%

1

0

0

0

0

1 3.4%

1

6.9%

2

1.2%

2.4%

2

1

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

5

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

22

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

15

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

6

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

(Table 1 Contd.)

10

10%

1

0

0

0

0

0

0

A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES 119

13

27.7%

0

1

10%

Business

HL

4.3%

30%

Farming and HL

2

3

Farming and Business

22

46.8%

1

10%

4.3%

2

0

Farming and Service

2.1%

1

0

0

Service

7

15 Nonia

0

14 Dhobi

Farming

Name of Occupation

(Table 1 contd.)

0

37.5%

3

0

50%

4

0

12.5%

1

0

16 Lohar

35.8%

29

1.2%

1

0

45.7%

37

0

1.2%

1

1.2%

1

71.4%

5

0

0

14.3%

1

0

0

0

17 18 Chamar Dusadh

0

0

50%

1

0

0

0

0

19 Bari

0

0

0

0

100%

1

0

0

20 Dom

0

12.5%

1

25%

2

0

37.5%

3

0

25%

2

21 Nau

44.4%

4

22.2%

2

11.1%

1

11.1%

1

0

0

11.1%

1

22 Kohar

14.3%

1

28.3%

2

0

0

14.3%

1

0

28.6%

2

0

33.3%

1

0

0

33.3%

1

0

33.3%

1

23 24 Muslim Mahabr

0

0

0

0

50%

1

0

0

25 Sonar

19%

90

7.8%

37

13.7%

65

20.4%

97

5.9%

28

4.2%

20

21.7%

103

Total

120 Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

2

Business and HL

HL = Hiring out own labour power

47

0

0

8

0

0

0

6.2%

1

4.9%

4

0

0

81

0

Service and HL

0

0

5

2.5%

2

0

10

0

Services and Business

0

0

0

0

1.2%

0

Farming, Business, Services, HL

0

0

0

20%

0

10%

1

20%

2

Farming, Service and HL6.

Farming, Business and HL

Farming, Service and Business

7

0

0

0

0

0

14.3%

1

0

2

0

50%

1

0

0

0

0

0

1

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

8

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

9

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

7

0

0

0

0

0

0

14.3%

1

3

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0.6%

2

0

475

1.5%

7

1.3%

6

50% 0

3

0.2%

1

1.1%

5

1.3%

6

1.7%

8

1

0

0

0

0

A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES 121

122

Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

and trading in agricultural products—are being practiced. People belonging to all except five castes have some sort of involvement in these professions. The caste whose members are not involved in business are Bhumihar, Bind, Rajbhar, Bhar and Bari. These castes comprise only 32 families. However, a small percentage of families have some members involved in this occupation (table 1): 10.5 per cent of the Brahmin, 25 per cent of the Rajput, 40 per cent of the Kayastha, 10.6 per cent of the Yadav, 15.5 per cent of the Koeri, 75.7 per cent of the Bania, 6.7 per cent of the Kamkar, 10 per cent of the Gond, 50 per cent of the Paneri, 80 per cent of the Dhobi, 6.4 per cent of the Nonia, 37.5 per cent of the Lohar, 4.9 per cent of the Chamar, 14.3 per cent of the Dusadh, 100 per cent of the Dom, 50 per cent of the Nau, 22.2 per cent of the Kohar, 56 per cent of the Muslim, 66.6 per cent of the Mahabrahaman and 100 per cent of the Sonar families have some member of the family or the other involved in the three professions. Thus, there are only seven castes including the Muslim community where 50 per cent or more than 50 per cent of the families carry out some business activities. Among these castes Bania, Paneri, Nau, Dhobi, Dom, and Sonar have commercialized their caste related occupations. The Dom and Sonar constitute only three families. All of them do business. Bania, Paneri, Nau and Sonar belong to backward castes whereas Dhobi and Dom are scheduled castes. Altogether 90 out of 475 families are involved in business. In much the same way, we find that a large number of families belonging to various castes hire out their labour (table 1). There are only eight castes which do not hire out their labour. Among these are the Brahmin, Rajput, Bhumihar and Mahabrahaman, which belong to the forward castes, the Bind, Nau and Sonar, which belong to backward castes, and the Dom which is a Scheduled Caste. The latter four castes comprise only twelve families. We may note that 20 per cent of the Kayastha, 21.2 per cent of the Yadav, 20.2 per cent of the Koeri, 20.5 per cent of the Bania, 60 per cent of the Rajbhar, 81.8 per cent of the Bhar, 53.3 per cent of the Kamkar, 100 per cent of the Gond, 33.3 per cent of the Paneri, 50 per cent of the Dhobi, 74.5 per cent of the Nonia, 50 per cent of the Lohar, 96.4 per cent of the Chamar, 100 per cent of the Dusadh, 50 per cent of the Bari, 55.5 per cent of the Kohar and 14.3 per cent of the Muslim families hire out their labour power.

A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES

123

There are eleven castes from which 50 per cent or more families hire out their labour power or work as agricultural labourers (table 1). Out of these eleven castes, eight belong to the backward castes and three to the Scheduled Castes. Around 20 per cent of the families belonging to three more powerful backward castes, such as Yadav, Koeri and Bania also hire out their labour power. Altogether 206 out of 475 families hire themselves out as labourers-Therefore, after agricultural farming, hiring out labour emerges as another general occupation in the villages. Thus, all the four major economic activities, that is, farming, service in government or non-government sectors outside the villages, business and labour on hire are widely practised by the people belonging to various castes in the villages. Another important fact is that when a person starts performing a job which is not considered his traditional caste occupation, he is not condemned or penalised by his society. For instance, when a Brahmin opened a shop he was not looked down upon by his caste fellows. Likewise, when a Kayastha started working as a labourer, he was not told by other members of his caste to discontinue this practice.

The Jajmani Institution: An Empirical Analysis An empirical analysis of the jajmani institution is critical for understanding how the caste system works because ‘caste values of pollution and occupational division of labour, and the general cultural emphasis upon hierarchy and inequality are all tightly involved in the jajmani system’ (Kolenda 1981:6). Regarding the jajmani system in the villages, it depicts a different picture from the one that is found in the various well known and established writings (Wiser 1936; Dumont 1970). In the villages the jajmani system seems to have a labour-buyer/wageearner relationship. Four terms are used to designate the persons who are involved in the jajmani system: jajman, pauni, purohit and Mahabrahman. The term jajman designates a person who buys the labour power of the pauni, purohit and Mahabrahman. Paunis, purohits and Mahabrahmans provide services to jajmans. But they provide different services. Purohits perform rituals and worship deities for the jajman. Mahabrahmans also perform rituals but only funerary or mortuary ones. In turn, jajmans pay them in both cash and kind. Paunis perform

124

Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

manual work for jajmans like washing clothes, shaving, cutting hair, and the like. Generally, jajmans pay in kind. The wage for the services of the pauni is fixed but it may vary from one village to another. All the families of jajmans have to pay fixed wages to receive the services of the paunis. However, some rich families pay more to please them and to get their work done fast and early. The wage for the purohit and Mahabrahman is not fixed. It varies from one family to another even in a single village. Generally, rich jajmans pay more and the poor pay less. This is because there is a notion that those who pay more to the purohit and Mahabrahman will receive good treatment in the other world after death. Unlike purohits and Mahabrahmans, paunis are not paid immediately after their assigned work is over. They are paid when the process of harvesting crops is going on or just after it gets over. Unlike purohits and Mahabrahmans, paunis get more or less fixed wages even if their services keep varying from year to year in terms of quantity. In contrast, the wages of purohits and Mahabrahmans vary depending on the amount of work they have done for the jajmans. If they perform more rituals for the jajmans, they are paid more, and so on. In the villages the jajmans exist within almost all castes, whereas the  purohits, Mahabrahman and paunis come from some specific castes only. In the villages studied not all purohits were Brahmins. There is a family belonging to the Koeri caste which also acts as purohit. This is a new phenomenon. Until a few years ago all the purohits used to be Brahmins. This change occurred because some of the families, particularly those belonging to the Koeri caste, did not feel comfortable with the Brahminical set up. They wanted to oppose and change it. In their effort they were helped by the Arya Samaj movement. They accepted some of its principles and decided not to accept the services of Brahmin purohits. That is why they designated one of the families belonging to their own caste as a purohit family, to perform all the rituals for them. Paunis belong to more than one caste such as the Nau, Dhobi, Lohar, Mallah and Bari. They are paid at fixed points of time. Apart from these castes there are some other castes like the Chamar, Paneri, Dom, Kohar and Dusadh, some of whose members perform their traditional caste occupations and provide services to the people. However, they are not paunis in the proper sense of the term because after receiving services the people pay the required wage. The wage is not fixed on

A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES

125

a yearly basis. It depends on the amount of services they provide. There may be years when some of them are not asked to provide any services at all and therefore do not get anything. On the occasion of death some religious rituals have to be performed. These rituals are not performed by purohits but by persons belonging to the Mahabrahman caste. By performing these rituals the Mahabrahman consumes ‘impurities’ and hence is ‘polluted’ as the rituals are related to death. Since the Mahabrahmans claim to be Brahmins of a different type and wear the sacred thread, the jajmans treat them with respect. Like the purohits, they get paid just after performing the rituals. The wage is not fixed. Generally, the rich jajmans pay more and the poor pay less. Primarily, the jajmani system in the sample villages does not denote a relationship between various castes but between families. The point is that caste is not the primary component of the jajmani system. The study revealed that not all Brahmin families are purohits nor are all Lohar, Dhobi, Nau paunis or purohits, a fact which would have been the primary component of the jajmani system. Second, there is no castebased division of labour in the villages. It is not always the case that only the so-called low castes have taken up occupations which are traditionally supposed to be the prerogative of the so-called higher castes. People belonging to the so-called higher and twice-born castes have also taken up those occupations which have not been sanctioned to them by Brahminical orthodoxy. In table 1 we can see this substantiated clearly, as the data reveals that a lot of Brahmin and Rajput families are in business. They have opened shops and are engaged in commerce and trade. These jobs were traditionally supposed to be done by lower castes like the Banias. In the sample villages the number of families which were traditionally supposed to provide services to the jajmans either as purohits or paunis or Mahabrahmans total 187; however, of these only 56 families provide their services to the jajmans. Twenty-five families claim that the number of families to whom they provide services has increased in their lifetime, whereas 29 claim that the number has decreased. Almost all families are jajmans. But not all of them ask for the same type of services. In fact, there is a large variation as regards availing the services of purohits, paunis and Mahabrahmaqs by the jajmans belonging to different castes and classes is concerned. This is evident in tables 2 and 3, where out of 464 jajman families, 197 take advantage of the services of the Lohar, 157 of the Dhobi, 237

1 Brahmin

9 (18%)

7 (14%)

12 (24%)

2 (4%)

4 (8%)

7 (14%)

4 (8%)

0

0

1 (2%)

0

0

0

0

0

Purohits, Mahabrahmans and Paunis

Purohit, Lohar Mbhrmn

Purohit, Mahabrahman D,L,N

Purohit, Mahabrahman

Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,N

Purohit, Dhobi, Mbhrmn

Purohit, Lohar, Nau, Mbhrmn

Purohit, Nau, Mbhrmn

Nau, Dhobi, Koeri, Purohit

Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit

Purohit, Dhobi, Lohar, Mbhrmn

Nau, Korei, Purohit

Nau, Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Puroh

Nau, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit

Purohit, Mahabrahman, L,M,N

Purohit, Mbhrmn, N,M,L,B

0

0

4 Bhumihar

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (14.3%)

0

0

1 (14.3%)

4 (57.1%)

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (14.3%) 0

0

3 Kayasth

2 (12.5%) 0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

2 Rajput

Table 2 Caste and the Services of Purohits, Paunis and Mahabrahmans

5 (10.6%)

5 (10.6%)

1 (2.1%)

0

0

0

1 (2.1%)

0

0

9 (19.1%)

3 (6.4%)

1 (2.1%)

6 (12.8%)

4 (8.5%)

2 (4.3%)

5 Yadav

2 (2.3%)

2 (2.3%)

1 (1.2%)

37 (43%)

6 (7%)

0

0

0

3 (3.5%)

2 (2.3%)

0

2 (2.3%)

3 (3.5%)

3 (3.5%)

1 (1.2%)

6 Koeri

1 (3.3%)

1 (3.3%)

0

0

0

1 (1.4%)

0

0

1 (3.3%)

1 (3.3%)

2 (6.7%)

2 (6.7%)

18 (60%)

1 (3.3%)

0

7 Bania

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (100%)

0

0

8 Bind

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (20%)

1 (20%)

0

0

2 (40%)

0

1 (20%)

9 Rajbhar

126 Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

0

0

0

2 (4%)

0

0

0

1 (2%)

0

1 (2%)

0

0

0

0

0

0

50

Purohit, Mahabrabman, M,N

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,B,N.

Purohit, Mbhrmn, B,M,L

Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,N,M,L,B

Purohit, Mallah, Mbhrmn

Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,M,L,N

Purohit, Mbhrmn, L,M

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,B,D,N

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,L,D

Purohit, Mbhrmn, N,D,B

Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,M

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,D,N

Temporary Purohit, M,N

Temporary Purohit, TM,N,L

Temporary Purohit, TM

Lohar, Koeri, Purohit

Total

16

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

2 (12.5%)

0

6 (37.5%)

0

0

3 (18.8%)

7

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (2.1%)

0

0

1 (2.1%)

0

1

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

47

0

0

0

0

1 (2.1%)

0

0

0

0

1 (100%) 0

0

0

0

0

0

0

86

4 (4.7%)

5 (5.8%)

6 (7%)

8 (9.3%)

0

0

0

0

0

0

4 (8.5%)

0

2 (4.3%)

1 (1.2%)

0

1 (2.1%)

30

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (3.3%)

0

0

0

2 (6.7%)

0

0

0

1

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

(Table 2 contd.)

5

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES 127

0

0

0

Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit

Purohit, Dhobi, Lohar, Mbhrmn

Nau, Korei, Purohit

0

0

Nau, Dhobi, Koeri, Purohit

Purohit, Mbhrmn, N,M,L,B

1 (4.8%)

Purohit, Nau, Mbhrmn

1 (4.8%)

0

Purohit, Lohar, Nau, Mbhrmn

Purohit, Mahabrahman, L,M,N

0

Purohit, Dhobi, Mbhrmn

0

0

Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,N

0

14 (66.7%)

Purohit, Mahabrahman

Nau, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit

1 (4.8%)

Purohit, Mahabrahman D,L,N

Nau, Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Puroh

1 (4.8%)

10 Bhar

Purohit, Lohar Mbhrmn

Purohits, Mahabrahmans and Paunis

(Table 2 contd.)

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

2 (12.5%)

3 (18.8%)

1 (6.3%)

5 (31.3%)

0

5 (31.3%)

11 Kamkar

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

4 (50%)

1 (12.5%)

0

12 Gond

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (16.7%)

0

0

0

5 (8.3%)

0

0

13 Paneri

0

2 (20%)

0

0

0

0

0

0

2 (20%)

0

0

0

1 (10%)

0

0

14 Dhobi

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (2.1%)

4 (8.5%)

1 (12.1%)

0

0

34 (72.3%)

7 (14.9%)

0

15 Nonia

0

0

0

0

0

1 (2%)

0

0

0

0

1 (2.5%)

2 (25%)

1 (12.5%)

0

0

16 Lohar

0

5 (6.8%)

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

19 (26%)

2 (2.7%)

23 (31.5%)

0

0

17 Chamar

128 Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

0 16

0

0

0

0

1 (4.8%)

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

21

Purohit, Mbhrmn, B,M,L

Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,N,M,L,B

Purohit, Mallah, Mbhrmn

Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,M,L,N

Purohit, Mbhrmn, L,M

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,B,D,N

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,L,D

Purohit, Mbhrmn, N,D,B

Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,M

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,D,N

Temporary Purohit, M,N

Temporary Purohit, TM,N,L

Temporary Purohit, TM

Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 8

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

3 (37.5%)

0

0

0

0

6

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

10

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (10%)

4 (40%)

47

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

8

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

4 (50%)

73

0

0

0

0

0

1 (1.4%)

0

4 (5.5%)

0

1 (1.4%)

6 (8.2%)

3 (4.1%)

0

0

0

8 (11%)

L = Lohar, D = Dhobi, N = Nau, M = Mallah, B = Ban, KP = Koeri; Purohit, TP = Temporary; Purohit, TM = Temporary; Mahabrahman, Mbhrmn = Mahabiahman (Table 2 contd.)

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,B,N.

0

2 (9.5%)

Purohit, Mahabrabman, M,N

A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES 129

0

0

0

1 (14.3%)

1 (14.3%)

0

Nau, Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Puroh

Nau, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit

Purohit, Mahabrahman, L,M,N

Purohit, Mbhrmn, N,M,L,B

Purohit, Mahabrabman, M,N

0

Purohit, Nau, Mbhrmn

Nau, Korei, Purohit

0

Purohit, Lohar, Nau, Mbhrmn

0

1 (14.3%)

Purohit, Dhobi, Mbhrmn

Purohit, Dhobi, Lohar, Mbhrmn

0

Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,N

0

3 (42.9%)

Purohit, Mahabrahman

0

0

Purohit, Mahabrahman D,L,N

Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit

0

Purohit, Lohar Mbhrmn

Nau, Dhobi, Koeri, Purohit

18 Dusadh

Purohits, Mahabrahmans and Paunis

(Table 2 contd.)

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

19 Bari

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (100%)

0

0

20 Dom

1 (12.5%)

1 (12.5%)

0

0

0

0

2 (25%)

0

0

0

0

0

0

2 (25%)

0

0

21 Nau

1 (11.1%)

0

2 (22.2%)

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

2 (22.2%)

0

22 Kohar

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (33.3%)

0

0

1 (33.3%)

1 (33.3%)

0

23 Mahabrah

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

2 (100%)

0

0

24 Sonar

24 (5.1%)

13 (2.8%)

21 (4.5%)

2 (0.4%)

37 (7.9%)

6 (1.3%)

4 (0.9%)

1 (0.2%)

1 (0.2%)

18 (3.9%)

24 (5.1%)

33 (7.1%)

13 (2.8%)

142 (30.4%)

28 (6%)

19 (4.1%)

Total

130 Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

0

1 (50%) 0

0 2

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

7

Purohit, Mbhrmn, B,M,L

Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,N,M,L,B

Purohit, Mallah, Mbhrmn

Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,M,L,N

Purohit, Mbhrmn, L,M

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,B,D,N

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,L,D

Purohit, Mbhrmn, N,D,B

Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,M

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,D,N

Temporary Purohit, M,N

Temporary Purohit, TM,N,L

Temporary Purohit, TM

Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 1

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

8

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (12.5%)

0

0

1 (12.5%)

0

0

0

0

9

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (11.1%)

3 (33.3%)

0

0

3

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

2

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

464 (100%)

4 (0.9%)

5 (1.1%)

6 (1.3%)

8 (1.7%)

1 (0.2%)

1 (0.2%)

1 (0.2%)

6 (1.3%)

2 (0.4%)

3 (0.6%)

14 (3%)

8 (1.7%)

15 (3.2%)

1 (0.2%)

3 (0.6%)

L = Lohar; D = Dhobi; N = Nau; M = Mallah; B = Ban; KP = Koeri Purohit; TP = Temporary Purohit; TM = Temporary Mahabrahman; Mbhrmn = Mahabiahman

0

0

0

0

0

0

1 (12.5%)

0

0

0

0

1 (14.3%)

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,B,N.

A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES 131

Purohit, Nan, Mahabrahman

Purohit, Lohar, Nau, Mahabrahman

Purohit, Dhobi, Mahabrahman

Purohit, Mahabrahman D,N

Purohit, Mahabrahman

Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,L,N

Purohit, Lohar, Mahabrahman

Purohit, Mahabrahmans and Paunis

1 1.5%

11 4.3%

1 1.5%

5

4.6%

9.8% 2%

3

25

3 4.6%

6

20%

44.1% 2.3%

13

113

7 10.8%

9

4.6%

1.6% 3.5%

3

Small Peasants

4

Landless and Near Landless People

Table 3 Class and the Services of Purohits, Paunis and Mahabrahman

4.2%

3

5.6%

4

2.8%

2

4.2%

3

16.7%

12

5.6%

4

6.9%

5

Lower Middle Peasants

2.9%

1

25.7%

9

2.9%

1

0

8.6%

3

8.6%

3

11.4%

4

Upper Middle Peasants

5.1%

2

12.8%

5

5.1%

2

2.6%

1

2.6%

1

12.8%

5

7.7%

3

Big Peasants

3.9%

18

5.1%

24

7.1%

32

2.8%

13

30.4%

142

6%

28

4.1%

19

Total

132 Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

Purohit, Mahabrahman, M,N

1 1.5%

18 7%

4 6.2%

1 0.4%

6.2%

3.9%

Purohit, Mahabrahman N,M,L,B

4

10

Purohit, Mahabrahman, L,M,N

0

15.4%

3.5% 0

10

9

1 1.6%

2 0.8%

0

0

0

Nau, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit

Nau, Dhobi, Lohar Koeri, Purohit

Nau, Koeri, Purohit

3

Purohit, Dhobi, Lohar, Mahabrahman 1.2%

0

0.4%

1

Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit

Nau, Dhobi, Koeri Purohit

6.9%

5

8.3%

6

5.6%

4

2.8%

2

15.3%

11

2.8%

2

1.4%

1

0

0

0

5.7%

2

2.9%

1

0

8.6%

3

0

0

0

0

0

0

5.1%

2

0

10.3%

4

2.6%

1

0

(Table 3 contd.)

5.1%

24

2.8%

13

4.5%

21

0.4%

2

7.9%

37

1.3%

6

0.9%

4

1 0.2%

1

0.2%

1

2.6%

0

A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES 133

2.3%

6

Purohit, Mahabrahman, M,L,D

0

0

1.5%

0

1

0.4%

3.1%

2% 1

2

0

5

Purohit, Mahabrahman, M,B,D,N

Purohit, Mahabrahman, L,M

Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,M,L,N

3.1%

8

4.6%

0.4%

Purohit, Mallah Mahabrahman

3

1

1.5%

Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,N,M,L,B

1

0

Small Peasants

0

1.2%

3

Landless and Near Landless People

Purohit, Mahabrahman, B,M,L

Purohit, Mahabrahman, M,B,N

Purohit, Mahabrahmans and Paunis

(Table 3 contd.)

0

0

0

4.2%

3

0

2.8%

2

0

0

Lower Middle Peasants

0

2.6%

2.9% 0

1

2.6%

1

2.6%

1

0

15.4%

6

0

0

Big Peasants

1

0

8.6%

3

0

8.6%

3

0

0

Upper Middle Peasants

1.3%

6

0.4%

2

0.6%

3

3%

14

1.7%

8

3.2%

15

0.2%

1

0.6%

3

Total

134 Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

254

64

1.5%

0.8% 72

1.4%

1

0

35

0

0

2.9%

1

0

0

0

0

39

0

2.6%

1

2.6%

1

0

0

100%

464

0.9%

4

1.1%

5

1.3%

6

1.7%

8

0.2%

1

0.2%

1

0.2%

2.6% 0

1

1

L = Lohar; D = Dhobi; N = Nau; M = Mallah; B = Bari; KP = Koeri Purohit; TP = Temporary Purohit; TM = Temporary Mahabrahman

Total

1

2

1.5%

1.2%

Lohar, Koeri, Purohit

1

3

1.4%

4.6%

Temporary Purohit TM

1

1.4%

1

0

0

0

3

1.5%

0

1

2.3%

0

6

0.4%

1

0

0

Temporary Purohit TM,N,L

Temporary Purohit TM,N

Purohit, Mahabrahman, M,D,N

1

Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,M 0.4%

0

Purohit, Mahabrahman, N,D,B

A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES 135

136

Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

of the Nau, 91 of the Maliah, and 35 of the Ban. Another notable point is that 51 jajmans use he services of a Koeri purohit (see tables 2 and 3). The rest of the jajman families get purohit services from Brahmins. There are 19 jajman families in the sample villages which do not have any permanent relationship with a purohit or Mahabrahman family. Whenever they need the services of a purohit and Mahabrahman they ask any purohit and Mahabrahman to provide such services. We also find that 48 families out of the 51 who ask a Koeri purohit to perform rituals belong to the Koeri caste itself. Two of the families belonging to the Yadav caste also ask a Koeri purohit to perform rituals. Only one Nonia family avails of the services of a Koeri purohit. The rest of the families belonging to other castes ask Brahmin purohits to perform the required rituals. There are a large number of families in the sample villages (tables 2 and 3) which do not ask for the services of any of the paunis. The number of such families is 142, that is, 30.4 per cent of the total jajman families. Families which consider their traditional caste occupations less prestigious and economically less beneficial have abandoned these at the earliest opportunity. That is why, within a certain caste, families which are economically better off are not performing their caste occupation if it is non-prestigious. For example, there are four Nau families, two in Unwas and two in Basantpur, who have stopped providing their caste services to the jajmans. In all, 171 pauni and purohit families have stopped performing their caste occupation. The above elucidation of the jajmani system in the sample villages provides some important insights, the most important being that castebased occupations no longer exist in the villages. This is substantiated by the fact that a large majority of families belonging to the category of pauni do not perform their caste occupations. Recently, one family belonging to the Koeri caste has started performing the work of a purohit and has also been accepted as such by many. Nobody in the sample villages has been excommunicated for following a non-traditional occupation. In conclusion, one can observe that the caste system as also the jajmani system in contemporary rural Bihar have undergone notable changes specially as regards the linkage between caste and occupation.

A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES

137

Note I am grateful to Professor Dipankar Gupta, my Ph.D supervisor, for his patient guidance. He taught me how to place various facts and ideas in a proper perspective. I thank Dr. Patricia Uberoi, Professor M. N. Panini, Dr. Avijit Pathak and Dr. Nadarajah for their constant encouragement, valuable suggestions and keen interest in the progress of my work.

References Dumont, Louis. 1970. Homo Hierarchicus: The Caste System and its Implications. London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson. Ghurye, G. S. 1969. Caste and Race in India. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Kolenda, P. 1981. Caste, Cult and Hierarchy: Essays on the Cultures of India. Meerut: Folklore Institute. Srinivas, M. N. 1982. India: Social Structure. Delhi: Hindustan Publishing Corporation. Wiser, W. H. 1936. The Hindu Jajmani System: A Socio-Economic System Interrelating Members of a Hindu Village Community in Services. Lucknow: Lucknow Publishing House.

9 Power Elite in Rural India: Some Questions and Clarifications K.L. Sharma

I

T

he purpose of this paper is twofold: namely, to examine, (1) the nature of sources and determinants of power of rural elite, and (2) the mobility of elites. The first point deals with the social background of elites, and the second refers to the changes in the structure of elites. An effort has been made to analyse power elite and dominance mobility in the light of these two points. The discussion relating to the sources and determinants of power of rural elite could be located in three contexts: (1) caste or group dominance (Srinivas, 1959: 1–16; Kothari, 1970: 18); (2) dominance of individuals (Dube, 1968: 58–81); and (3) “levels of dominance” and “dominance statuses” (Gardner, 1968: 82–97). Srinivas refers to numerical strength, economic position (land ownership) and political power as the decisive factors of caste dominance. Kothari delineates caste (group) dominance in terms of an “entrenched caste” which does not enjoy dominance on the basis of its numerical strength and dominance in the form of an “ascendent caste”, the caste which was not satisfied to work in the traditional framework of interdependence complementarity in social

POWER ELITE IN RURAL INDIA: SOME QUESTIONS AND CLARIFICATIONS

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and economic spheres. Srinivas refers to “locally and regionally dominant caste groups”. Others refer to “caste lobbies” in state politics. Dube views caste dominance as an unreal proposition in terms of its group character and distribution of power and dominance. According to him it is the individuals (families) who are dominant and not the castes. Considering these two views the most pertinent questions to be asked and answered are as follows: (i) How is dominance legitimised (acceptance of dominance cf new members)? (ii) What are the basic resources which facilitate dominance of members in village community? (iii) Are the areas of group and individual dominance separate and distinct? (iv) Is there any contradiction between individual and group dominance or are they complimentary to each other? (v) Can the two types of dominance prevail simultaneously in the same social setting?

Gardner’s view regarding dominance is relevant in the analysis of dominance mobility. According to Gardner there is a tendency to achieve group (Kshtriya) dominance status by the holders of “patron status” (dominant individuals). Gardner explicitly states that the dominant individuals would tend to communalise their dispersed dominance. It would also imply that dominance mobility from group to individual is conspicuously absent. However, my study shows that group dominance has enormously eroded in the recent years (Sharma, 1973: 59–77). New “dominant groups” have emerged recently (though they come from divergent backgrounds) and are of an amorphous nature. In fact, there is no elite group having same caste membership, economic position and other uniform social and cultural attributes. Thus the elite group is not a ‘group’ in terms of these characteristics, it is an amorphous set of persons who enjoy dominance at different levels of village social organisation. The two pertinent questions in regard to dominance mobility then, can be formulated as follows: (i) What is the direction of dominance mobility? (ii) How do different factors differently affect the nature and direction of dominance mobility?

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II Srinivas (1959: 1–16; 1966: 10–16) for the first time conceptualised mobility (Sanskritization) and dominance (dominant caste) as group phenomena. According to Srinivas caste dominance has the elements of numerical strength, economic and political power, ritual status and Western education and modern occupations. A caste enjoying all or most of these elements has a decisive dominance. Dube (1968: 58–81) has examined the elements of caste dominance in a study of four villages in Madhya Pradesh. According to him a caste is dominant when power is diffused in the group and is expressed in the interest of the whole group or at least a sizeable part of it. Pronounced inequalities of wealth, prestige and power are found between the members of a so-called dominant caste. The dominant individuals of such a caste exploit non-dominant members of their own caste as well as members of “non-dominant castes”. Oommen (1970(a): 74–76) has raised some pertinent questions about the validity of the concept of dominant caste. According to Oommen alternate situations of dominance have not been visualised by Srinivas such as: “a numerically weak caste owning most of the land and wealth in a village; or a numerically strong caste which is economically deprived and ritually depressed; or a ritually superior caste which is numerically weak; and so on . . . . It seems fairly obvious that in such situations a number of castes will share the community power” (Ibid.,  75). Oommen also refers to two other points: (i) the context of dominance; and (ii) the aspects of power, namely, the resources available to individuals and groups for the exercise of power and the act of power exercising. According to him, there is “multiple power structure” in a multi-caste village or region having different layers and levels of leadership. Oommen refers to two other useful concepts in another essay (1970(b): 226–239) in regard to community power structure, namely “power pool” and “power dispersion”. Thus, we find that: (a) There is caste (group) dominance, hence corporate mobility or Sanskritization (Srinivas, 1959; 1966). (b) There are dominant individuals and not dominant caste or castes in the village community (Dube, 1968). (c) “Multiple power structure” exists in a multi-caste village or region and there  is “power pool” and “power dispersion” in village communities (Oommen, 1970(a); 1970(b)).

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The above formulations are singularistic in their nature and hence are incomplete. There are certain areas and aspects of social life in which a group asserts its power. There are other areas in which only families and individuals matter, and in still other domains near-monopoly of power or dispersion of power is found. Both castes and individuals are found dominant, but the areas and aspects of dominance of the two differ to a large extent. The rural power elite do not comprise a homogeneous social segment because they do not have the characteristics of a group such as unity, commonality of interests, equality of status and economic position. An “elite group” is an aggregation of differentiated dominant individuals. To understand the process through which the elite formation crystallizes it is necessary to discuss the nature of traditional elite and dominance in the village community.

III The traditional elites in village India were different from that of today in relation to their size, composition and recruitment etc. The “twiceborn” constituted three broad categories of elites. Brahmins, Kshtriyas and Vaishyas formed religious and cultural, administrative and power, and business and economic elites respectively. But they did not have intra-group unity and homogeneity nor all the three categories of elites enjoyed equal status and significance in the eyes of the people. These “twice-born” groups belonged to a system of hierarchy, therefore, their interrelations were determined by norms of ranking which placed them in high and low positions in different sectors such as administrative, economic, and ritual. However, inspite of differentiation of functions of the groups the Brahmins enjoyed decisive superiority over Kshtriyas and the latter over the Vaishyas. Wealth, sanskritic education and accessibility to the rulers were some of the bases of intra-elite ranking. The study of Vedas (e.g. education) determined even nomenclature such as Dwidevi, Trivedi and Chaturvedi etc. (Ingalls, 1959: 3–9). There were Brahmins who did not study Vedas and engaged themselves in cultivation and menial works. The broad distinction of Daivik and Laukik Brahmins testifies this intra-elite hierarchy. Thus, elites were never a unified group in terms of exercise and distribution of power among the members belonging to a particular category of elite. Leach’s observation (1954) that “structure of ideas” is

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different from that of “structure of facts” rightly applies even to the traditional Indian village community, and more so it is found today due to change from cumulative to dispersed inequalities between groups and individuals. There were Brahmins who broke traditional cultural and social sanctions and involved themselves into “anti-Brahmin movements”. Some of these “deviants” strived for positions of power and privilege through such “innovative activities”. “The idea of martial Rajput” (Hitchcock, 1959: 10–17) explains the nature of the traditional power elites. It is his (Rajput’s) duty to maintain law and order in the society and expect in return deference and obedience from the community members (including the members of his own clan). An elaborate hierarchy prevailed among the traditional ruling and power elites. The nature and size of land ownership and rank of the ‘estate’ determined the position of the ruling elite in the hierarchy. For example, the princes of the twenty-two princely states in Rajasthan were thought of as “supermen” of their respective estates. Below in the hierarchy were Rao Rajas, Raos, Talukedars, Jagirdars and Zamindars. Within each category of this landed aristocracy heterogeneity of rank existed as all the princes were not of equal status and so also the Jagirdars and Zamindars (Tod 1950; Sharma 1974). The economic elites (e.g. Vaishyas or popularly known as Banias) must have a first hand knowledge of economic realities and complexities (Lamb 1959: 10–17). But they too were not a unified elite. Among the economic dominants there was a hierarchy of “Seths” (money-lenders). At the top of the economic dominants was the “Jagat-Seth” (the biggest money-lender). Below this were “Nagar-Seth” (the city money-lenders) and the “Gram-Seth” (the village money-lenders) and so on. Within each category inequality of rank prevailed because of differences of wealth, generous attitudes and relations with the rulers and the masses. The hierarchy of cultural, power and economic elites was congruent with caste stratification. This was precisely because of its ascriptive base. The size of the traditional elite was small as it was restricted by ascription of birth (Oommen 1970(b)). However, the traditional elites were specialists or professionalists in their respective fields, e.g., cultural, political and economic. This was determined by the structural requirements, and professionalisation became a part of the elite culture itself. It was received by the elite through the processes of specialisation and informal training. Today there is congruence in some aspects of elite’s

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culture, styles of living and exercise of power, whereas in some other aspects certain amount of incongruence prevails. For instance, there is a greater possibility of political elite wielding economic power and that of less possibility of economic dominants exerting political dominance. The cultural elites may have more economic privileges than having access to positions of political power. However, professional elites continue to be a dividing line between different types of elites though the nature of professionalization today is different from that of the traditional one. The elites were never a unified group, and today also they persist in the same character to a large extent. Therefore, it is futile to talk of polarity between tradition and modernity. “Modernisation is a high order integrative process” (Singh 1975: 660) and in the wake of modern forces of change tradition has been able to maintain its identity though in a varied form in Indian society.

IV Sociological studies and analyses of elites and dominance are a few only. Bottomore (1965: 180–188), Beteille (1967: 223–243), Desai (1965: 150–156), Morris-Jones (1964), Srinivas (1966) and Misra (1964) have made analyses of elites at the national level whereas Lewis (1958: 113–156), Sirsikar (1970), Somjee (1971), Carras (1972), Carter (1975) and Narain (1976) have made studies of rural elites. Most studies of the national elites are impressionistic, while the analyses of rural elites are based on empirical investigations. Beteille refers to political elites, that is, the people in concrete political structures such as cabinets, parties and legislatures. The emphasis on the system of education and recruitment to the Indian Administrative Service is found in Morris-Jones’ analysis of government and politics in India. The “new middle classes” according to Misra are the products of secondary and higher education in India rather than development of industry. Shils (1961) has found continuity between the traditional intellectual elite and the modern elite. Desai also likes Morris-Jones, Misra and Shils find the new elite a “product of modernisation, though mainly of Western education and culture, who depended on their fathers and grand-fathers (who were traditionally powerful) for mobilising people in the national movement.

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These observations about the national elites do not sound valid. In addition to education and Western impact a number of sociocultural and historical factors and forces have been responsible for the emergence of a new elite structure. The new political structures and political values, at least theoretically, derecognised the traditional social networks and values. The new power elite might have been at the initial stage a non-congruent type of elite, that they did not encompass power and influence in arenas other than political. But once the political elites had its roots entrenched they started spreading their net wide. They tried to accumulate wealth and get into such positions which further enhanced their economic status. They were also influenced by the economic dominants of the country to a large extent. In the process of new elite formation, slowly the discreteness of the elite diminished and a congruent type of elite emerged. This applies to the rural elite in India as well. The congruence as a basic feature of rural elite is not so much a result of the process of elite formation. The modern rural elites are a product of post-Independence developments such as adult franchise, Panchayati Raj, the abolition of Zamindari and Jagirdari systems, education, and means of transport and communication. These changes were quite sudden for the village people, and therefore, this facilitated the continunity of the traditional upper caste and class elite in formal positions of power and authority in the new political organisations and institutions. The numerical preponderance of some caste groups in some villages inspite of their depressed economic position and lower caste rank disturbed the hegemony of the upper caste and class people. However, in most cases these groups could not become politically effective as they lacked other resources such as networks and linkages with outside leaders and money to spend on social occassions. Consequently, the incongruence which characterised the resource-base of the traditional elite continues in the case of modern elites too, the change in their resources, notwithstanding. There are two ways to get in positions of power and authority in the village community (Oommen 1969: 515–521). One is through one’s qualities and manipulative tactics and the other is through ascription (landholding, property, high caste position and lineage etc.). For example, the ex-Jagirdars and Zamindars entered into Panchayati Raj institutions to extract benefits with a view to retain their economic superiority and styles of living which they had hitherto. However, some

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families from among the landed aristocracy could not face the challenge of the abolition and were forced to come down in the class hierarchy (Sharma 1973: 59–77). Such a change I have defined as “downward mobility”. Downward economic mobility is an unplanned consequence of planned social and political changes. It is a structural and historical reality observable in diverse forms and in different contexts. Such a mobility should be related to structure, ideology and behaviour of the people and its consequences should also be taken into consideration. At least two consequences are obvious: (1) the group dominance and solidarity are at stake, and (2) this follows from the first, that corporate mobility particularly in political and economic spheres as a group endeavour does not sound as a viable proposition. I will take up these two points at a later stage of discussion in this paper. The new institutions have provided the arenas for the power elite to manipulate benefits in their own interests, of their kinsmen, relatives and friends. It is exactly because of the scope for this type of manoeuvrability and weakness of the legislation the elite even overcome some of the legal impediments. The ex-Jagirdars formed fake agricultural cooperative societies to retain thousands of acres of land after the abolition of the Jagirdari and Zamindari systems, they divided legally their land-holdings among their family members and kinsmen to escape land ceiling law (Sharma 1974). Even servants, friends, acquaintances and some hired persons were made members of either such societies or they were given landholdings. However, in actuality, the land belonged to the ex-Jagirdars and Zamindars. A section of this landed aristocracy occupied formal positions of power in Panchayati Raj institutions such as Gram Panchayat, Panchayat Samiti and Zila Parishad. The incumbents in the positions of power extended loans, grants-in-aid, subsidised equipments, fertiliser and other materials to their kinsmen, relatives, friends and supporters. In a number of cases loans were given to dig wells for irrigation, and most of those who received these loans spent it on social occasions, particularly, the marriages of their daughters and sisters. These loans have not been recovered. None of these people belonged to the ‘needy’ or depressed sections of the village community. Innumerable instances of this kind could be found in a single district or even in a development block. Secondly, the power elites may not be found in formal positions of power, still they influence the process of decision-making. They do not

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exercise power themselves but they control others who exercise power. Oommen’s distinction between “power reservoirs” and “power exercisers” is useful in this context (1970: 226–239). The power reservoirs are more powerful than the power exercisers in several situations. More often than not the power reservoirs control resources of community, accumulate money and wealth and by obliging their friends, relatives and kinsmen build a strong support structure in the village community. The power exercisers are generally constrained to oblige them by offering loans, benefits and resources to ensure their continuity in the offices they hold. Some of these non-formal power elites extract benefits independent of the incumbents in the formal positions of power and authority. In case the formal power elites and real power wielders have an understanding in terms of ruling the community, factional cleavages do not seem visible and overt. The Havik Brahmins in a Mysore village (Edward and Louise Harper 1960: 453–70) constituted both formal and informal leaders. They were an example of unified elites. Bailey (1965: 9–13) makes observations about “elite councils” and “arena councils”. The former are a ruling oligarchy. Both come in conflict with the public. “Arena council” is a standing committee of the House of Commons and a committee of the heads of the Departments is an “elite council” according to Bailey. “Elite council” is recruited from a minority whereas the “arena council” is formed out of diversified segments of a society. The analysis of these councils and committees by Bailey ignores the role of power reservoirs in decision-making. Power is considered as an aspect of these formal committees and councils. In fact, most studies have highlighted that the village leadership is splintered and caste and faction oriented and hence the absence of village-wide leadership (Lewis 1959). Clearly an emphasis on the distinction between group and individual levels of dominance is lacking in most studies of power structure. One finds over-emphasis on the analysis of group dominance and corporate mobility and a lack of understanding of the role of individual dominants because individual or family has hardly been accepted as units of operation independent of the caste group to which they belong in the village community. Such a preconceived notion of group dominance over the individual has led away the researcher from reality that exists at the grass roots. Whenever the patriarch of joint family became autocratic and ignored the rights of his younger brothers, sons and other members of the family, his

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over-individualism was curtailed by new sanctions reinforcing corporateness. The threat to the head of the family by the sons and other dependents was averted by strengthening his hands giving him certain rights regarding property etc. Thus, corporateness was never absolute in character. It was complimentary to individualism. Some of the recent changes have resulted into the decline of power of both individual families and particular groups. It is a very complicated phenomenon. If some families have been adversely affected by recent changes, it does not mean that the power position of the group to which these families belong would also dwindle necessarily. Similarly if there is a general decline in the power of a group, some families or individuals still would be able to retain power and continue to dominate in the community. I do not mean that decline of power of a group does not affect its constituent units and vice-versa but the fact remains that power is not something that resides absolutely in a collectivity or a group though people have often a notion that power has corporateness. It is something which can never be equally shared even by the so-called equals, the equals also have inequality. Now I would examine the patterns of dominance with reference to the recent changes particularly resulting from the abolition of the Zamindari and Jagirdari systems of land tenure.

V Dominance mobility refers to changes in the dominance structure of the community over a period of time either due to organisational changes or motivational factors pertaining to certain individuals. From Miller’s data (1969: 325–340) on social mobility four patterns of mobility could be delineated, namely: (a) High downward and high upward mobility (+ +); (b) High downward and low upward (+ −); (c) Low downward and high upward mobility (− +); and (d) Low downward and low upward mobility (− −). These four combinations of patterns of mobility indicate, broadly speaking, four ideal types of societies and status systems. The traditional power structure of the village community in India was a ‘patrimonial’ revenue-cum-administrative system, and hence feudalistic in nature. Caste council and the council of the village elders strengthened the position of the feudal patriarch. In effect, Zamindars and Jagirdars functioned as governments in themselves (Sharma 1974). However, the Jagirdars enjoyed greater autonomy than their younger brethren (Zamindars). My aim is to

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see as to how group dominance has eroded today, though it was never absolute in nature in the past. Spatial mobility (Panikar 1955) was not uncommon among certain groups and communities even in medieval India. Similarly, as Burton Stein (1968: 78–84) observes mobility at the level of individual and family was possible in medieval India. Upward mobility of the suppressed groups has been very often understood as the sole indicator of social fluidity, but downward mobility is more indicative of social dynamics, in effect. Some of the changes have blocked continuity of sons of the privileged strata in their traditional positions of dominance. But we should not ignore the fact that changes in the society’s organisational principles were not meant to bring down only a few families in the status and class hierarchy. They have not so far equally affected adversely all the units of these privileged groups nor have they equally benefited them or facilitated the process of upward mobility for the downtrodden or not-so-well-off. Thus, to think of groups sliding down or climbing up in the structure of dominance is a myth and not a reality. However, the possibility of making an analysis of the units moving upward or downward in terms of their aggregate characteristics is always there. But this aggregation of units must not be confused with concrete groups as they are found in society. There could be a “generalised decline” in case all the privileges and power extended to a group or a number of families is withdrawn abruptly. Similarly there could be “generalised climb” in case the deprived ones are granted all the privileges and powers previously enjoyed by the dominant groups and families. Such a situation of change has not been so far a characteristic feature of Indian society. Desai (1948) observes that the class of Indian princes of pre-British period also survived due to political reasons. The decorum of royality (feudal glamour) was maintained, hence to that extent old economy and some kind of serfdom survived in the new system. But the princes did not remain ‘medieval’, they also invested in commerce and industry. Even after the abolition of the system of Zamindari and Jagirdari the landed interests continue to dominate in a qualitative sense by diversifying their activities, entering into new political arenas and aligning with the dominant political groups and parties. One has to analyse both the directions of dominance mobility, namely, people of moderate or lower standing getting into positions of power (bour-geoisification), and people of high standing not being able to meet the challenge endangering their continuity in the present positions (Proletarianisation; Sharma 1969: 217–222). My study of six

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villages in Rajasthan (Sharma 1974) shows that the Jagirdars (big landlords) came down in the status scale as they adhered to the mechanisms of traditional styles of life in the new situations which derecognised their feudal patrimony. Small Zamindars and Bhomias (grantees of Jagirdars) suffered most because of their negligent and parasitic attitude which they nourished during the hay days of the Jagirdars in Rajasthan. Consequently, their good land went out of their control due to the abolition of landlordism as they never cultivated themselves, and in fact, never considered land as property. They served their masters and catered to their requirements. In some of the villages many of them had to work as manual and agricultural labourers. These families have really been pauperised as their economic condition is not better than a number of families of ex-untouchables. This is an instance of downward dominance mobility of certain privileged families in the traditional system. This differential downward dominance mobility is basically due to the hierarchy that existed before these organisational changes and also due to the attitudes some of the Zamindars developed in regard to their styles of living and behaviour with others. Group (caste) life represents mainly religious and cultural activities, and economic, political, educational and other such activities are determined more by the interests of specific families and individuals than the group to which they belong. I do not rule out the role of groups even in structuring some of these activities, out-group (caste) unity and activities have been generally characterised by discarding “polluted” occupations, violation of rules of marriage, birth of illegitimate child, elopement etc. Today groups striving for certain political and economic ends are drawn from different caste groups. Most studies of factions and political alliances have revealed that two or more factions existed in the same caste and the leaders of these factions drew support from other castes. Thus, a dominant individual is one who enjoys decisive dominance within or without caste or both within and outside caste simultaneously due to his acquired skills and qualities. Thus, status of a dominant individual is secular, relative rather than absolute, and based on his own progress and wellbeing (including his family) rather than that of the group of which he is a member. But group dominance is also not a fixed reality. Several castes have not recognised superiority of some other castes, and conflicting claims have been made by different castes for some high caste ranks (Gardner 1968: 62–97). These moves are basically socio-cultural, implying efforts to improve caste position.

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Since Independence a few individuals (as we have observed earlier) from among the ex-dominant groups continue to be dominant because they have had an advanced sense of awakening, alertness, quick responsiveness to change, manoeuverability and acceptability to new situations of dominance, though some sections of these groups have been reduced to non-dominant position. Conversely, the former non-dominant groups families have acquired dominant status in the village community (Sharma 1973: 59–77). Some of the well-off families from among the former tenants have acquired positions of power and influence. The confirmation of Khatedari (ownership) right on land due to the abolition of Zamindari and Jagirdari systems facilitated improvement in their economic position and also inspired them to mobilise their caste members (who are generally numerically preponderant in the village community) at the time of elections to cast votes in their favour. In fact, their enhanced economic position and numerical preponderance made them politically awakened and aspirants for positions of power and prestige. Bailey (1957: 197) observed in his study of Orissa village that increased wealth made people politically more effective and also enhanced their ritual standing. Some families of the ex-tenants belonging to peasant castes have become politically influential since Independence. But this does not mean that all these families have moved up in the power hierarchy. Quite a large number of families from these groups continue to remain where they were before the abolition. And those who have gone up, have not moved up equally, and therefore, do not enjoy same influence and prestige. Thus, at both ends of the hierarchy land reforms did not have universally the same equalising effects on the people. In fact, different land tenure systems had varying consequences in terms of transfer of land rights. For example, a Jagirdar being an exclusive, absolute owner of his large territory was unable to retain a substantial portion of his land holding. This had clearly different consequences on the people: (1) in the Jagirdari areas the landholdings got dispersed on a large scale, though the Jagirdar as an individual still remained the biggest owner but only as a Khatedar. However, the Zamindars, Bhomias and other dependents upon the Jagirdar found it difficult to cope with the new situation. Not only their influence in the community affairs declined abruptly, the process of their economic ruination also started quickly and many of them were compelled to take up lower jobs as agricultural and manual labour. Such a situation did not arise in the Zamindari villages because the Zamindars took up Khatedari right and

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moved to self-cultivation as the size of their landholdings was quite small. Consequently, Zamindar’s ex-tenants were not substantially benefitted, their economic position did not improve and politically too they continued to be subservient to their ex-masters; and (2) these processes of change did not qualitatively alter the traditional structure. This situation prevails after the abolition of landlordism in rural Rajasthan in early 1950’s. The Zamindars continue today in the garb of Khatedar cultivators and the big ex-tenants of the Jagirdari areas who enjoyed certain previleges even before the abolition, have acquired the status of Khatedar self-cultivators owning bigger landholdings than the exZaminders of Zamindari villages. Thus, whatever changes we notice apparently as a result of these land reforms have been neutralised either by retaining landholding or by gaming the status of big peasants in the Jagirdari villages. The question is: Who are power elites today in the village community? The power elites are not necessarily the top economic dominants, nor are the representatives of the economically depressed groups. They are the people who have viable economic standing in the community and have an adequate understanding of and interest in the village polity. Such people are also not necessarily highly educated because most of the educated people might not like to stay in the villages. Generally, power elites are those people who have political resources and understanding and also contacts with the political leaders and workers, administrators and other functionaries outside the community to whom they extend cooperation and support and in return expect the same from them. The power elites might get certain economic advantages over and above the common men but they may not be the richest in the community. However, the wealthiest man may use the power elite to enhance his interests without interfering in its activities. Economic dominants may get into positions of power but they would be constrained to keep their ‘economic’ and ‘political’ arenas separate at least apparently. Most of the top economic dominants would like to keep away from formal positions of power. The economic dominants who would not have/develop extra-economic links within and outside the community might not survive as power elites. Thus, power elites are either of the following in a given village community: (1) Those people who wield political power but do not necessarily enjoy corresponding economic positions. Several factors including education, prestige or reputation of the family/parents and other qualities such as social service,  character and contacts etc. would determine their power position.

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These elites would have a regular source of income including the salaries of some members of the family working in cities or elsewhere or in the village itself. Such a pattern of dominance is found in a village which has gone through a certain process of differentiation and social change. (2) The villages which have retained their archaic character would be dominated politically by top economic dominants. Though the economic dominants may keep the two spheres separate, yet most of their political activities could be inspired by their economic interests, and also their economic activities might strengthen their political base in the community. Processes of differentiation, political awakening, education and contacts etc. would weaken the pattern of such dominance.

Until the power elite does not hamper the interests of economic dominants and the latter give economic concessions to the former, smooth functioning of the system could be found. The beginning of clash of interests between the two results into (i) the political elite trying to denigrate the economic dominant by harassing, entangling them into litigations and designating them as suckers of the blood of the people; and (ii) the economic dominants withdrawing economic support extended to the power elite and trying to overcome them by spending money on their supporters who matter a lot or on the people outside the system to get their ties snapped from them. These are hypothetical statements which could be validated only by gathering data.

Conclusion The idea of “dominant caste” or group dominance is based on certain assumptions and these are not found valid, hence group dominance tends to be a myth rather than a reality. The new power wielders are not the same as they were in the past, however, qualitative difference between the old and the new power elites has not been much. The basic difference between the two lies in the fact that ‘group’ rank membership as a determinant of elite position has withered away. Today elites are an aggregation and not an active functioning primordial group as the members lack group homogeneity, equality of status and rank and equal distribution of power and prestige. The elites were never unified, the men of power had always asymmetrical relations. Therefore, the idea of corporate mobility does not seem quite sound as the facts contradict this proposition. The idea of dominance mobility makes it possible to separate the power elite from other types of elite. The concept of downward mobility

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facilitates a better understanding of mobility of the politically dominant individuals and families. The top power elite is not necessarily the top economic dominant and vice versa. Power elite is superior to economic dominants in all respects except wealth or money power. A one-to-one congruence between power elite and economic dominants is not a common feature in the village community. However, power elites are more resourceful in terms of networks, contacts, and education than the economic dominants. This does not mean that the power elite is drawn from the commoners, in fact, they are the people who are more resourceful and generally well-connected than the majority of the people.

References Bailey, F. G. 1957. Caste and Economic Frontier. Manchester: University Press. ———. 1965. “Decisions by Consensus in Councils and Committees: with special reference to Village and Local Government of India”. In: Michel Banton (ed.) Political Systems and the Distribution of Power. London: Tavistcck Publications. Beteille, Andre. 1967. “Elites, Status Groups and Caste in Modern India”. In: Philip Mason (ed.) India and Ceylon: Unity and Diversity. London: Oxford University Press. Bottomore, T. B. 1965. “Modern Elites in India”. In: T. K. N. Unnithan, Indra Dava and Yogendra Singh (eds.) Towards a Sociology of Culture in India. Delhi: Prentice Hall of India. ———. 1967. “Cohesion and Division in Indian Elites”. In: Philip Mason (ed.) op. cit. Carras, Mary C. 1972. The Dynamics of Indian Political Factions. London: Cambridge University Press. Carter, Anthony. 1975. Elite Politics in Rural India. New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House. Desai, I. P. 1965. “The New Elite”. In: T. K. N. Unnithan, Indra Deva and Yogendra Singh (eds.) op. cit. Desai, A. R. 1966. Social Background of Indian Nationalism. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Dube, S. C. 1968. “Caste Dominance and Factionalism”. Contributions to Indian Sociology, New Series, 2. Gardner, Peter M. 1968. “Dominance in India: A Reappraisal”. Contributions to Indian Sociology, New Series, 2. Edward, B. and Louise G. Harper. 1960. “Political Organisation and Leadership in a Karnataka Village”. In: Richard L. Park and Irene Tinker (eds.) Leadership and Political Institutions in India. Madras: Oxford University Press. Hitchcock, John T. 1959. “The Idea of the Martial Rajput”. In: Milton Singer (ed.) Traditional India: Structure and Change. Philadelphia: American Folklore Society. Ingallas, Daniel. 1959. “The Brahmin Tradition”. In: Milton Singer (ed.) Ibid. Kothari, Rajni. 1970. Caste in Indian Politics. New Delhi: Orient Longmans. Lamb, Helen B. 1959. “The Indian Merchant”. In: Milton Singer (ed.) op. cit. Leach, E. R. 1954. Political Systems of Highland Burma. London: G. Bell and Sons. Lewis, Oscar. 1958. Village Life in Northern India. Urbana: The University of Illinois. Miller, S. M. 1969. “Comparative Social Mobility”. In: Celia, Heller H. (ed.) Structured Social Inequality. The Macmillan Co.

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Misra, B. B. 1964. The Indian Middle Classes. London: Oxford University Press. Morris-Jones, W. H. 1964. The Government and Politics of India. London: Hutchinson. Narain, Iqbal. 1976. The Rural Elite in an Indian State: A Case Study of Rajasthan. New Delhi: Manohar Book Service. Oommen, T. K. 1969. “Political Leadership in Rural India: Image and Reality”. Asian Survey, IX(7). ———. 1970(a). “Rural Community Power Structure in India”. Social Forces, 49(2). ———. 1970(b). “The Concept of Dominant Caste: Some Queries”. Contributions to Indian Sociology, New Series, 4. Paniker, K. M. 1965. Hindu Society at Cross Roads. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Pareto, Vilfredo. 1935. Mind and Society. Vol. III, Translated by Bongiornd and Livingston, A. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Co. Sharma, K. L. 1969. “Stresses in Caste Stratification: A Study of Six Villages in Rajasthan”. Economic and Political Weekly, 4(3). ———. 1973. “Downward Social Mobility: Some Observations”. Sociological Bulletin, 22(1). ———. 1974. The Changing Rural Stratification System. New Delhi: Orient Longman. Shils, Edward A. 1961. The Intellectual between Tradition and Modernity: The Indian Situation. The Hague: Mouton and Co. Singh, Yogendra. 1975. “Historicity of Modernization”. In: Dhirendra Narain (ed.) Explorations in the Family and other Essays. Bombay: Thacker and Co. Sirsikar, V. M. 1970. The Rural Elite in a Developing Society. New Delhi: Orient Longman. Somjee, A. H. 1971. Democracy and Political Change in India. New Delhi: Orient Longman. Srinivas, M. N. 1959. “The Dominant Caste in Rampura”. American Anthropologist, 61(1). ———. 1966. Social Change in Modern India. Bombay: Allied Publishers. Stein, Burton. 1968. “Social Mobility and Medieval South Indian Hindu Sects”. In: James Silverberg (ed.). Social Mobility in the Caste System in India. The Hague: Mouton and Co. Tod, James. 1950. Annals and Antiquities of Rajasthan. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.

10 Social Stratification and Institutional Change in a Gujarat Village K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

T

he process of institutional change in the rural community setting in India (in close relation with the changing urban setting) was initiated under the Community Development Programme. This paper proposes to discuss the changing stratification system in village Mahi (a pseudonym), a large sized village, in the central sub-region in Gujarat. The induction of a large number of different types of new institutions has brought about significant changes in the stratificational relations and avenues of social mobility. The field work in Mahi was conducted: (i) from August 1961 to August 1962, and (ii) from March 1967 to June 1967. A part of the field data is used for this paper. There are two types of situational variables involved in analyzing social stratification and mobility in rural India. Firstly, there are factors that are relatively stable, viz; (i) The regional ethno-linguistic setting, (ii) the sub-regional ecology, and (iii) the caste composition of community settlements especially at the rural level. Secondly, there are three other variables that are recently introduced in the village to initiate change, viz., (i) Governmental measures: Financial aid and technological know-how disseminated through the agency of Community Development Blocks and the cooperative bank to enlarge

156

K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

productive activity; measures to promote education at various levels, health and sanitary conditions, family planning and the Panchayati Raj. (ii) Voluntary Associational Enterprise: Cooperatives of various types; innovative enterprise in agriculture, horticulture, cattle and sheep breeding; poultry farming, bee-keeping, pisciculture, sericulture and dairying; familial and group enterprise in agro-industry, transport, warehousing and agri-commerce catering to the far flung and enlarging urban market in India; Welfare associations serving parochial interests of caste, religion or language, (iii) Government aided Voluntary Agencies: Educational and research units, hospitals, libraries and reading rooms, community service centres for children, youth and women. The interaction between these two types of variables, namely, the stable and the new is being discussed in the paper to understand the ramifications of social stratification and mobility. Both the aspects of social stratification, that is, continuity and change could be diagnosed by analysing the relationship between these two sets of variables.

I Gujarat could be broadly demarcated into four sub-regions across the rivers, Tapti, Vatrak and Sabarmati. These could be distinguished in terms of soil, climate, crops, ecology and rural caste composition. The western sub-region specializes in groundnut; the northern in tobacco, cumin seeds, dairying, cattle and sheep breeding; the central in tobacco, cotten, vegetables and dairying; the southern in cotton, timber, sugarcane and fruit horticulture. The central and the northern subregions have struck oil since the early sixties. However, the industry is managed by the central government. The main landowning castes in the four sub-regions are as follows: South: Anavil, Sunni Vora, Coda, Matia, and Koli; Central: Leuwa and Baraiya; North: Kaidwa, Anjana and Thakarda; and West: Leuwa and Kaidwa. The tenant and labour castes in the four sub-regions are as follows: Dubla and Dhed in the South, Dhed and Chamar in the Central, Dhed and Veghri in the North, and Dhed, Khant and Koli in the West. The Central Sub-region comprises the fertile tract of Charotar, Vakal and Kanam between the rivers Vatrak, Mahi, Dhadhar and Narmada. Staple cotton in the Narmada basin and tobacco in the Mahi

SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 157

basin, and diary industry all over the region are the main resources of the people’s livelihood. The milk producers’ cooperative complex at Anand is also a major institutional step taken in the region. Leuwa and Baraiya are the main landowning peasant castes in the central sub-region. The untouchable Dheds and Chamars work as labourers in most villages. Large villages generally have a mixed settlement of Leuwas and Baraiyas. Most of the medium and large villages have artisans and other functionary castes. However, these groups are not so important in the rural economy. Chamars have turned into agricultural labourers due to several structural and institutional factors that affected their traditional callings. Mahi village population with a 4168 in 1961 is situated at a motorable distance of 12 kilometers from Anand town, the administrative headquarters of the Anand Taiuka. It is a railway junction of the western railway linking Bombay and Ahmedabad. Several buses ply between Anand and Mahi. An approach road of two furlongs connects Mahi to the main highway. The village square is a busy place surrounded by many offices and institutions, namely, the village panchayat, the Central Excise, the post office, three cooperatives, the Patidar Trust Guest House, the village hospital-cum-dispensary, the Rama temple and the village clock tower with a reading room built on top of it. The village has three Khalis or tobacoo warehouses. They purchase tobacco from the villages around, process and store it. Khalis provide seasonal employment especially to the Dhed women. Mahi village has 47 neighbourhoods grouped in five electoral wards. Baraiyas, Kachhias and the untouchables have their exclusive clustered neighbourhoods, whereas Leuwas have in their localities, the artisan and the servicing caste families and the Brahmins. The Leuwa neighbourhoods mostly have brick and stone houses, quite a few being multistoried. Baraiya lanes have many thatched huts. The untouchable neighbourhood has evidently kucha houses. Many Leuwa houses and a few others have household electric fittings. Drinking water for the entire village is available at a standpost built near the pond, with a section for the “untouchables” separated by a wall. Water is pumped from a well and supplied twice a day during specific hours. Some taps for washing clothes were provided at the approach steps down the adjacent pond.

158

K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

II Leuwas are known as Patidars in Charotar, because in many villages, the entire land was owned by Leuwa clans on collective revenue tenure known as pati or patti. Leuwa villages in and outside of Charotar without pati tenure are regarded as communities of Kanbi or ordinary peasants. Patidar villages in Charotar are grouped into endogamous unions called Gols. There is inter-Gol hypergamy. Similarly all Charotar Patidars practice hypergamy with kanbis and extort high dowries. Gol hierarchy has been pragmatic. Affluent villages have been admitted to new membership and the impoverished ones have been dropped. Mahi village having ten clans descending from one Narsidas belongs to the Gol of twenty-two villages. Kanbis are governed by customary kinship practices of the peasantry, namely, bride compensation, divorce, remarriage and succession for natural children. It is observed that Patidars too, when impoverished, take to customary practices. As brought out in Table 1, Leuwas constitute the largest single caste (44.06%) in Mahi followed by Baraiya-Patanwadia (27.43%), Dhed (6.34%), and Kachhia (4.43%). There are 17 servicing and artisan castes, including Brahmins (1.26%), serving the patrons (jajaman) in the community as parijans (clients). Land in rural India is a scarce resource unequally distributed among different castes and interestingly between households constituting a caste. Class stratification within even the most landowning caste like the Leuwas of Mahi as revealed in Tables 2 and 3, would testify that the concept of “dominant caste” given much currency by anthropologists is nothing but a myth. In Mahi only a small number of households of Leuwas own most of the land and the majority of Leuwas are either totally landless or are very poor owners of very little land as would be seen below. Landownership in large and medium-sized villages vests with more than one leading caste, and each of these is sharply stratified into class divisions. As such, there is no single dominant caste in such villages. This has been corroborated in our studies of three large villages (Panchanadikar and Panchanadikar 1970), one each in the other three sub-regions, in continuation with the Mahi study. Villagers in all these communities have tended to form competing factions along class cleavages rather than maintain caste unity.

(Dhed-Shaman)

(ex-tribal)

(Gardener)

3. Dhed

4. Garoda

5. Vaghri

6. Kacbhia

(Tanner)

(Barber)

(Carpenter)

7. Chamar

8. Valand

9. Suthar

Non-Agriculturist: (Land-owning)

(Koli tiller)

(farm-hand, untouchable)

2. Baraiya-Patanwadia

(farmer)

1

1. Leuwa

Agriculturist

Caste

31

40

1.57

2.02

2.64

84.59

1666 52

4.43

1.67

0.66

6.34

27.43

44.06

3

%

85

33

13

125

541

869

2

Adult Population

Table 1 Caste-wise Distribution of Adult (1966) and Student (1967) Population in Mahi Village

1

–

1

38

2

–

–

2

1

33

4

XI Std.

3

7

12

350

17

–

2

18

24

289

5

(Table 1 contd.)

–

1

67

7

–

–

1

–

59

6

College Total

Student Population High School Total

SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 159

(Priest)

(Bearer)

(Sweeper)

(Potter)

(Mendicant-Hindu)

(Trader-Muslim)

11. Bhoi

12. Bhangi

13. Kumbhar

14. Gosai

15. Khambati Vora

1

10. Brahmin

Caste

(Table 1 contd.)

2.58 12.65

250

0.30

0.61

0.71

0.96

1.26

3

%

51

6

12

14

19

25

2

Adult Population

3

1

–

–

–

–

4

XI Std.

49

13

2

6

3

–

3

5

High School Total

5

–

–

1

–

–

3

6

College Total

Student Population

160 K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

(mendicant-Muslim)

(ex-tribal)

(tailor)

(trader-Hindu)

(Shoemaker)

(Blacksmith)

(cowherd)

(dredger)

(washerman)

(florist)

17. Fakir

18. Bhil

19. Darji

20. Vania

21. Mochi

22. Luhar

23. Ravalia

24. Od

25. Dhobi

26. Mali

Grand Total

(Goldsmith)

16. Soni

Non-Agriculturist: (Landless)

100.04

2.80

56 1972

0.05

0.10

0.15

0.15

0.15

0.20

0.25

0.25

0.40

0.55

0.55

1

2

3

3

3

4

5

5

8

11

11

44

3

–

–

–

–

–

1

–

1

–

–

1

1

405

6

–

–

–

–

–

1

1

2

1

–

1

75

3

–

–

–

–

–

–

2

–

–

–

SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 161

162

K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

Table 2 Land Ownership and Caste Total Adult Population

Caste Agriculture Castes

Landless Households

Land Owning Households

1666

597

339

258

250

80

64

16

Non-agricultural Castes Total

Total Number of Households

1916

677

403

274

Table 3 Caste-wise Distribution of Landholding Caste

Poor

Marginal

Comfortable

Well-off

Total

Leuwa

174 ( 49.6%)

113 (32.2%)

58 (16.5%)

6 (1.7%)

351

Baraiya

55 (87.3%)

8 (12.7%)

–

–

63

Dhed

9 (90.0%)

1 (10.0%)

–

–

10

Garoda

1 (100.0%)

–

–

–

1

Vaghari

2 (100.0%)

–

–

–

2

–

–

18

58 (13.0%)

6 (1.4%)

445 (100.00)

Non-agricultural castes, owning land Total

12 (66.7%)

6 (33.3%)

253 (56.8%)

128 (28.8%)

Scale in acres (1) Poor = 0.1 – 3 (2) Marginal = 3.1 – 7 (3) Comfortable = 7.1 – 15 (4) Well-off = 15.1 – 25

Landowners in Mahi have been grouped under four categories, namely, owning 0.1 to 3 acres as poor, 3.1 to 7 acres as marginal, 7.1 to 15 acres as comfortable and 15.1 plus acres as well-off. These categories are based on the value of land during 1961–1967. Land price ranges from Rs 2500 to 3500 per acre depending on quality and proximity to the village. With facility for irrigation, the price would be quoted up to Rs 5000 per acre. These prices were based on a calculation of about 30–40% return on land valuation, and by the incidence of recurring

SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 163

and capital expenditure over earnings by village standards. Wage rate for agricultural labour remained highly competitive and exploitative. The wages were between Rs. 1.50 to 2 for men and Rs. 1 to 1.25 for women for an eight to ten hours workday. Work was available generally for 20 days a month. This wage rate had stood steady between 1960–1967, despite incidence of rising inflation. Leuwas of Mahi (44.06% of population) own 89.8% of the total land. The next large caste of Baraiya-Patanwadia (27.4% population) owns a meagre 101 acres i.e., 6.4% of the land. All the remaining four agriculturist castes, namely, Dhed, Garoda, Vaghri and Kachhia (13.10% population) own a paltry 17–21 acres. Kachhias do not own a bit of land in Mahi at present. Nine non-agriculturist castes (12.65% population) have come to own 42.25 acres of land which they mostly farm out for cultivation by tenants on a share-cropping basis. Only the Chamars cultivate their land themselves. Interestingly, Brahmins own 21.08 acres, i.e. about half of 42.25 acres. Other castes such as Gosai, Khambati Vora and Bhoi households have acquired their land from peasants when they were in difficulty. However, the above delineation in terms of caste-wise ownership of land is somewhat deceptive. It completely camouflages the unsuspected situation of sharp class divisions among landowners of each caste, as also the clear destitution of a sizable number of landless households even among the so-called landed castes like the Leuwas, not to mention other castes that are less fortunately placed in the village community. It may be noticed from Table 3, that amongst the landowning Leuwas, only 1.7% are well-off, 16.5% are comfortable, and 32.2% are marginal who can barely manage to make two ends meet. Marginal category among Baraiya landowners comprises 12.7%. Among the remaining landowning castes, the households that fall in the marginal category are 7.7%. This leaves 49.6% of Leuwa landowners, 87.3% Baraiya landowners, and 92.3% of all the other caste landowners in the poor category. These households naturally have to take to tenancy and/or labour as means of their livelihood. However, the more revealing picture of utter poverty of rural people can be had from figures concerning totally landless households even among Leuwas. The fact of landlessness reveals that the so-called class homogeneity of leading landowning castes in rural India is just another delusion, useful to mobilize the unsuspecting belief among caste members

164

K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

of being uniformly well-off and dominant. It is both erroneous and naive. Landless households among the so-called landowning castes of Mahi are as follows: 40.4% Leuwa, 68.3% Baraiya-Patanwadia, 81.8% Garoda and 83.3% Vaghri. This exposes the sharp class divisions even within the leading landed caste of Leuwas. Further, among the landowning caste of non-agriculturists 80% are landless. The remaining landless castes of non-agriculturists with no material resources whatsoever to fall back on, except day-to-day labour when available for about 20 days a month during the nine seasonal working months, are no better than sub-marginal destitutes. This then is the appalling picture of living conditions in a fertile sub-region of the so-called affluent and advanced state of Gujarat. It may be noted here that for the artisan and serving castes, work in the village economy is distributed more or less permanently between different clients and as such it creates a relatively non-competitive situation. No parijan can ever hope to get well-off within the village economy. Moreover, parijan households by and large never take to agricultural labour, even while their work is little more remunerative. In this respect a parijan differs from an agriculturist who never hesitates to be a labourer when it becomes necessary. Thus the parijan urban migrants have tended to seek lower white collar and the manual jobs fetching more wages. When some of them who make good and return, and manage to buy some land in the village, they always get it cultivated by share-cropping tenants. A parijan’s stake in the village economy is always marginal.

III The situation of poverty in Mahi has given rise to two trends, namely, urban migration and education of children. As already noted many villagers have migrated inland as well as abroad in search of better prospects. Only a few migrants have been able to make good and have invested locally in land, houses and tobacco khalis. They have also made sizable welfare grants for schools, hospital and waterworks. However, these instances of success are few. Many others have left the village for white collar jobs. The other more prevalent form of migration is for the seasonal work in cotton ginning, road and building construction, as well as for harvesting in other sub-regions. When such work is available in the neighbouring towns and villages, workers commute daily and continue to stay in the village. Some also take up work in factories in the

SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 165

nearby towns. Students who attend colleges generally seek openings in nearby or distant towns and become urbanites for good. It is in this context that the effort in educating the younger generation needs to be looked into. Data on students in Table 1 reveals how different castes have shown differential awareness and response to educational facilities as a means to improve economic opportunities for their next generation. Mahi has two primary schools directly run by the State department of education. Besides, a voluntary association—Mitra Mandal—mainly supported by the Leuwas runs a high school and a Montessori unit with state-aid and individual donations. Establishment of the Vallabh Vidyanagar University complex and other affiliated colleges at Anand have brought higher education within bicycling and commuting distance from Mahi. Some students commute to Nadiad and some reside in Baroda for certain specialized studies like medicine, engineering, architecture, commerce and teaching. Despite the scholarships, freeships and other facilities offered by the State, the backward classes are hardly anywhere near the Leuwas in pursuit of education. Out of a total of 405 high school students, the proportion of 289 Leuwas (177 boys, 112 girls), to 24 Baraiyas (all boys only) has little comparison to their respective population percentages, namely, 44.06% and 27.43% respectively. In contrast, Dhed, Kachhia, Valand, Kumbhar, Chamar and Khambati Vora seem to be positively inclined to send boys and girls (except the latter two castes) for high school studies. However, 112 Leuwa girls in high school is a record figure. Baraiyas do not seem to believe in girls’ education. The figures for the final class XI in the high school are more striking with 33 Leuwas (14 boys, 19 girls) out of 43 students (22 boys, 21 girls), vis-a-vis a single student each for Baraiya, Chamar, Suthar and Vora, and 2 each for Dhed and Kachhia. This points to the fact that non-Leuwas are making an entry to high school education and hence have very few who are at the finishing stage ready to ¦ enter college or to take up white collar jobs. The college scene is much more disparate. Out of 75 college attending students, 59 (49 boys and 10 girls) are Leuwa. The only other castes worth mentioning in this regard are Kachhia with 7 boys and Brahmins with 2 boys and one girl in the college. Leuwa students alone vis-a-vis other groups, have spread out into a number of branches of college education, such as, arts, science, commerce, agriculture, medicine, engineering, architecture and education. Others have mainly concentrated in the arts

166

K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

courses only. A number of non-Leuwa students drop out both from high school and college to take up lower white collar jobs. Their families do not have the financial resources to support them till graduation. Thus the economic disparities get reflected in educational openings and achievement and in consequence in the professional advancement of these rural castes. Thus education in actual operation advances those rural castes that are already economically advanced. There are three cooperative business association in Mahi: (i) Milk Producers’ Cooperative: It was established in 1950 for collecting and supplying milk to the dairy complex of Kaira District Milk Producers’ Union, Anand, to which it is affiliated, (ii) The Sahakari Vikas Mandal: It was established in 1947 alternately known as the Multipurpose Cooperative, presently supplies pumped water for irrigation purposes through a network of pipelines. Earlier it was used to ply passenger buses also which had to be closed down when the Gujarat State nationalized bus transport, (iii) The Seva Sahakari Mandali: It was started in 1962 to trade in vegetable crops, especially, cauliflower, cabbage and egg-plant at distant urban centres. The Cooperative had twice closed down due to initial splits. It is not a registered body, and it is functioning informally. It may be noted in this context that there are large individual enterprises in Mahi, dealing in collection and sale of milk and vegetables and also supply of water for lift irrigation. In fact some of the big dealers do not join cooperatives at all as was observed at certain other places also. Cooperatives are mainly unions of small scale producers under leadership of a medium level enterprising producer. Interestingly, even some of the leading members of the cooperatives, such as, the Multipurpose Cooperative, deal in irrigation water with impunity, against the rules of cooperative society: Water for irrigation being a scarce and valued commodity, and the few wells in the village being owned by a few families, a new form of exploitative credit has come to stay in Mahi and elsewhere in the other three sub-regions. Water is supplied as an enforced credit, with an agreement for crop sharing up to 50%. The needy medium and small farmers have little choice in the matter. So far the State government has not taken notice of this mechanism of exploitation. Similarly there are large private vegetable dealers who purchase standing crops by making advance payment to the small farmers who have no further responsibility and who are also employed on steady wages to work on their own farms till the harvest is ready for sale. In some cases the entrepreneurs have started a putting-out system by

SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 167

supplying seed and fertilizer on credit. This held good to some extent even in case of tobacco crop, especially on a large scale in the northern sub-region. Even in this case government has kept aloof from this unregistered forward trading in the form of credit or money lending. The Milk Producers’ Cooperative is a pioneering and very successful venture. In Anand itself it has an able competitor in the Poison Dairy Private Ltd. Besides milk collection twice a day, the Cooperative offers specially veterinary and insemination services for cattle, supplies fodder, cotton seeds and fertilizer on cheap prices, and advances loans for purchase and breeding of quality cattle. Notwithstanding occasional irregularities and exposures, and factional tensions for control, especially at annual elections of office-bearers, all the three cooperatives are viable and managed efficiently with high dividend returns to members, the best performance being that of the Milk Producers’ Cooperative. In 1961–62 it earned the highest profits to the tune of Rs. 41,304 and disbursed Rs. 19,533 as dividends. In 1965–66 it had capital assets worth Rs. 230,792 and a reserve fund of Rs. 84,644. During the year, its sale of milk amounted to Rs. 266,964. Sale of fertilizer of Rs. 98,680, cotton seeds of Rs. 28,699, amulgrain of Rs. 44,850, clarified butter of Rs. 12,424, and drinking water on contract to the Panchayat worth Rs. 9,179, in addition to sale of milk, were also transacted. Thus, the agriculturists of Mahi village are getting socialized in the effective and efficient management of cooperative business enterprises. A detailed picture of the threefold cooperative activity in Mahi could be had from Table 4. Table 5 delineates the undulating political scene in Mahi, before and after the introduction of the Panchayati Raj in 1963. Table 4 reveals the dominant position of Leuwas in all the three cooperatives with 77% shareholders, 84.9% shares and 91.2% face value of shares. Among non-Leuwas, Baraiyas and Khambati Voras matter to some extent in two cooperatives and Chamars in one. The other castes have been brought together to give a multicaste appearance, especially some with a single shareholder and share, as in case of Garoda, Vaghri, Bhangi and Gosai. The castes such as Soni, Darji, Vania and Dhobi who have no stake in agricultural enterprise have also been symbolically involved in the affairs of the cooperatives. In the Cooperative for lift irrigation, the share value is Rs. 25 each, and the Leuwa control is overwhelming with 92.6% shareholders, and 97.3% shares and share amount. This Cooperative has a solitary Baraiya shareholder other than the Leuwas. These differentials of involvement by different castes, reflect on the pattern of distribution of

Vaghri

6

1

Garoda

Valand

1

Dhed

3

9

Baraiya

15

125

Leuwa

Chamar

399

Caste

Kachhia

Share Holders

8

16

3

1

1

11

132

564

Shares Held (Rs. 5 each)

Milk Producers’ Cooperative

2

–

1

–

–

1

22

298

Mandali Share Holders

3

–

1

–

–

1

29

675

Shares Held (Rs. 5 each)

Seva Sahakari (Multipurpose)

–

–

2

–

–

–

1

125

Share Holders

–

–

4

–

–

–

1

514

Shares Held (Rs. 5 each)

Sahakari Vikas Mandal (Land Development)

Table 4 Membership and Economic Assets of the Three Cooperatives in Mahi 1996–67

8

15

6

1

1

10

148

822

Share Holders

11

16

8

1

1

12

162

1753

Shares Held

55

80

120

5

5

60

830

19,045

Share Amount in Rs.

Total for Three Cooperatives

168 K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

2

–

7

4

Kumbhar

Gosai

Khambati Vora

Rest (five)

%

Non-Leuwa

%

(31.9)

187

(68.1)

399

1

Bhangi

586

5

Bhoi

Leuwa

5

Brahmin

Total

3

Suthar

(26.6)

204

(73.4)

564

768

5

8

–

3

1

5

7

3

(13.9)

48

(86.1)

298

346

3

10

1

1

–

3

2

2

(12.1)

93

(87.9)

675

768

5

16

1

1

–

4

7

25

(7.4)

10

(92.6)

125

135

4

2

–

–

–

–

1

–

(2.7)

14

(97.3)

514

528

5

3

–

–

–

–

1

–

(23)

245

(77)

822

1067

11

19

1

3

1

8

8

5

(15.1)

311

(84.9)

1753

2064

15

27

1

4

1

9

15

28

(8.8)

1,835

(91.2)

19,045

20,880

175

195

5

20

5

45

95

140

SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 169

1

2

1

–

1

–

11

7

4

Leuwa Women

Baraiya-Patanwadia

Dhed (Christi)

Chamar

Kachhia

Others

Total

Total Leuwa

Total non-Leuwa

+

Note: Includes By-elections. S–Sarpanch/Chairman. DS–Deputy Sarpanch.

6

Leuwa Men

Caste

I May 1941

3

9

12

–

–

–

1

2

1

8

II+ Oct. 1944

3

8

11

–

1

–

–

2

1

7

III Dec. 1947

6

7

13

1

–

1

1

3

1

6

IV Mar. 1952

7

13

20

–

1

1

1

4

1

12

V+ Mar. 1956

Seats Filled in Seven Panchayats

4

10

14

1

–

–

1

3

2

8

VI+ Feb. 1961

Table 5 Caste-wise Distribution of Seats Filled in the Seven Panchayats in Mahi, 1941–1965

7

8

15

2

1

1

1

3

1

7

VII Feb. 1965

34

62

96

–

4

3

6

19

8

54

Total

3

6

9

–

1

–

–

2

6

S

3

4

7

–

–

–

1

2

1

3

DS

Head Roles

6

10

16

–

1

–

1

4

1

9

Total

170 K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 171

resources in the three cooperatives. In each of the cooperatives there is an executive council with a management committee consisting of chairman, secretary, honorary secretary, local auditor and accountant. The composition of the executive councils and the management committees of the 3 cooperatives, over the years upto 1966 reveals dominance of the Leuwas. It is as follows: Milk Producers’ Cooperative (1953–66), Executive Council members 123, and management committee members 37; The Seva Sahakari Cooperative for vegetable (1962–66), 41 and 14 respectively; and Sahakari Vikas Cooperative for lift irrigation (1960–66), 70 and 28 respectively. Only once in the Milk Producers’ Cooperative, there were 2 Baraiyas on the executive committee. Thus, the Leuwa control of the three cooperatives has been almost total. This is due to the fact that Leuwas have had a fairly long experience of successful business enterprise and benefit of education.

Conclusion However, it is necessary to note that the overwhelming majority of the Leuwa members and the large number of elites competing for the few, hence scarce authority positions have created a situation of rivalry and factions among Leuwas. Thus Baraiya members who are in some strength in two cooperatives, especially, in the Milk Producers’ Cooperative with 125 members out of 586, are in a position to tilt the balance. The annual election of the Milk Producers’ Cooperative is quite an event in the village, as it means house to house canvassing and lobbying. Leuwa women who too are members, add a good deal of colour to the support-building activity for their kinsmen who are contestants. This election is only next in terms of involvement and fierce contests as are fought in the panchayat elections, for control of political authority in the village. Mahi had a village panchayat right since 1941, based on limited, franchise. After Independence in 1947, universal franchise was ushered in. This has fundamentally changed the pattern of political participation in the village. In 1958, the Community Development Programme was introduced in the Anand Taluka of which Mahi village is a constituent. The non-Leuwas of Mahi, have now come to realize the importance of their electoral majority (55.94%) giving rise to a combination of Baraiya, Dhed and Kachhia leadership. The reserved seats, two each for women and the scheduled castes (ex-untouchables) have been an additional element in the

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manipulative politics between different factions amongst the Leuwa elites. As revealved in Table 5, roles of Sarpanch and deputy sarpanch have come to be shared with these economically backward groups. A few have gained some spoils. Non-Leuwas have had to be accommodated to memberships of various committees of the sitting panchayats. Faction leaders among Leuwas have repeatedly sought to solicit votes in the non-Leuwa neighbourhoods, and to bargain with their elected leaders for alliances in the panchayat council. However, the unending rivalries have resulted in bickerings and registrations leading to three bye-elections respectively in 1944, 1956 and 1961. Political power had shifted to unscrupulous elements who could manipulate combinations and capture power. They made good economically at the cost of three welfare schemes which were sanctioned for the village under the Community Development Programme, namely, the Water Works Scheme to supply drinking water, the Public Health Centre Scheme, and the scheme for an all weather approach road linking the village with the main highway. The entire village was scandalized and upset over this misappropriation and in 1955 elected a dependable panchayat council of economically successful farmers, to manage the village affairs. However, the narrowly defeated unscrupulous leadership is only temporarily lying low, awaiting the next opportunity to manipulate voting at the next polls. Lastly, it is necessary to note that the political instability has hardly affected the distribution of developmental credit to farmers under the Community Development Programme. The loans and grants have been for purposes of agricultural development, such as, purchase of machines, pump sets, quality seeds and fertilizers etc., and improvement of land by levelling, bunding, planting trees and sinking wells. Since creditworthiness is linked with mortgages, the entire benefit of 20 loans worth Rs.  67,750 has gone to 12 leading Leuwa families and/or their kin. Interestingly, one of the loanees for Rs. 23,000, was an owner of Tobacco Khali, who had ear-Her donated Rs. 1,41,000 to various voluntary welfare activities in the village. This is how the rural politicization under the Panchayat Raj has had to adjust its developmental planning and policies to the existing rural class stratification.

Reference Panchanadikar, K. C. 1970. Determinants of Social Structure and Social Change in and J. Panchanadikar India. Bombay: Popular Prakashan.

SECTION III VILLAGE PROFILES

11 Chokhala—An Intervillage Organization of a Caste in Rajasthan Brij Raj Chauhan

M

embers of a caste owe allegiance to their caste as well as to the village in which they live. Beyond the village, the loyalties of members extend largely to their own caste. In terms of the hierarchical relations among castes it is quite appropriate to view a village as “a vertical unity of many castes” and to treat a caste as “a horizontal unity, its alliances going beyond the village”.1 Kane thinks that the existence of caste panchayats is not a necessary element in the definition of a caste.2 He adds “It may be said at once that this last (the caste council) is a feature that is not found among most of the brahmana and ksatriya castes even in modern times and is not dealt with by Dharmasastra works.” It is necessary to examine the manner in which such caste bodies function in modern times. It is also usefid to understand the factors that have led to the non-existence of such a body among the Rajput in certain specific situations. The field data for the present enquiry relate to village Ranawaton-ki-Sadri in Chittorgarh district of the state of Rajasthan. The horizontal ties of a few selected castes of the village in its surrounding region have been studied. Such ties are best expressed in the local word CHOKHALA. A CHOKHALA may be defined as the unit of a caste (sub-caste) spread over a number of contiguous villages binding the members of the caste (sub-caste) to

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certain codes and regulations considered to be falling within the traditional jurisdiction of the caste (sub-caste) network in that area and subjecting the members to some effective controls through collective action. In the village under study there are 23 castes distributed over 24 endogamous sub-castes. The data are thus relevant for studying castes rather than their further divisions. The total population of the village is 640. It has been a feudal village for the most part of its existence. The numerically major caste groups of the village are the Gadri-shepherd (19.77), the Rajput (19.2%) and the Bhil (17.3f ). The medium-sized castes are the Jat (9%) and the Chamar (7%). Three questions may be raised with regard to the Chokhala: 1. What are the characteristics of a Chokhala? 2. How does the Chokhala function hi relation to the caste? 3. How are the functions allotted to the Chokhala performed in the caste which does not have any such organisation in the region?

The Chokhala is an organisation of a caste spread over a group of villages. Its unit is two-fold. It is a multi-village single caste organization. Each caste (other than the Rajput) has a Chokhala of its own in the region. The number of villages included within the boundary of the Chokhala differs from caste to caste. Thus the Chokhala of Gadri has 12 villages within its fold and of Jats 10. Most of them are common; but in three cases the absence of a caste in a village has meant its exclusion for the caste Chokhala. In cases where some of the functional castes are smaller in number in each village of the region, a wider area is covered. The Chokhalas of Kumhar, Bhangi, Sadhu and Nai happen to be larger. Where these names represent an “occupational cluster of castes”3, each unit within the cluster has its own Chokhala. The endogamous division is the unit for such organization. In the region under study, even urban castes have their own organizations and for obvious reasons their boundaries are limited to those centres. For all practical purposes, the relevant caste of the village tends to define its own boundaries of the Chokhala by taking the village as the centre and drawing an imaginary radius of some recognizable length (5 miles in case of the Jat and Gadri) including such villages that have their own caste fellows residing in them. (The centre and the circle are  illustrative terms and not used in the geometric sense) Thus each caste has a different Chokhala, each village in the Chokhala region has a

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different Chokhala; the boundaries of Chokhala for one village tend to include a sector of the area covered by those of the others. What is a fringe village from the point of view of village A, is central for B and it treats village A at fringe, and extends its area to a point at a similar distance in the opposite direction. Suet links at least double the radius of the activity-fields of the Chokhala in the sense that the central village actually participates in those activities at the fringe village where villages of the other fringe are present but with whom the central village is not otherwise effectively linked. Such links can be expended to cover relations of the secondary, tertiary, and so on to the Nth degree, until they retain meaningful categories. Thus a number of Chokhalas overlap one another and cover a wider area over which they collectively seek to ensure the observance of the caste codes. The other variety of Chokhala has been reported from Bhilwara and Chittor districts where a few villages maintain rigid boundaries of the constituent units and do not raise any problem of shifting centres and peripheral villages. Certain activities tend to confederate Chokhalas into wider units. Temple building by a particular caste requires the mobilisation of greater resources and persons living in various Chokhala groups are expected to contribute to this larger undertaking. The Sadhu desirous of having a temple at Matrikundiyia had organised such a programme in which the villagers of Sadri were also required to contribute their share. In raising such contributions on behalf of the caste, the village was chosen as the unit. A sum of money was allotted to the village on the basis of rough calculations according to an agreed formula of Rs. 10 per family. The estimates came to Rs. 40, and the village was expected to contribute the same. On a check-up, it was found by the village Sadhus that they had not four but five households; the matter was kept within the knowledge of the villagers only, and the internal adjustments were made by reducing the contribution per household to Rs. 8. The fifth household was rather new and its’ official recognition for this purpose was conveniently guarded and successfully planned to be overlooked by the outsiders. Two other cases were observed: in Newania village Brahmins of the Vyas group were raising contributions and in village Palana, the Chamar had shown such trends. Both these villages are in Udaipur district, and provide illustrative material for the surrounding area. The Chokhala has a traditional council of elders consisting of representatives from all the villages in the demarcated area. Where different

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sub-divisions of a caste in a village happen to be significant, each sub-division is represented. Essentially the Chokhala is a caste organization. Its units are reckoned in terms of villages which become smaller units for the purpose. The Sadhu and the Jat have only one representative in their Chokhalas, the Gadri have three. In case of the latter exogamous sub-divisions have been given recognition. In the conduct of actual proceedings of the council, there is no fixed leader or president. Deliberations are collective and rules of procedure are not written anywhere. The proceedings suggest that anyone who is able to command the confidence of the persons present’and make his opinions effective has a chance of getting his leadership accepted. More than half of the members act just as spectators, nodding their heads or murmuring some protests that are not carried over to the entire audience. On different issues, sessions last for three or four days and are held at different places. Theoretically, it is stated that the place for the Chokhala meet ought to be in a neutral village where none of the parties to a dispute normally resides. Since however, the panchayat has to meet at somebody’s playing the hosts, this rule is overlooked in a number of cases. In the disputes that have been reported in some details later, the cases were decided on the spot of the dispute. Different sessions can be held at different places. Where the caste elders meet for a dinner at one place, older disputes can be raised there. Every caste dinner provides the normal occasion for the meeting of the caste court, and all ‘pending’ cases can be raised there. The caste courts also called panchayats in the area, are very keen on maintaining their prestige and dignity. They are sensitive about respect to their authority and on practically every occasion, take note of the situation in which the two disputants ought to be made agreeable to accept caste decisions. Of course dissensions occur, protests are voiced, but caste courts are still held; there is no appellate authority, and before the decision is enforced, the affected person seeks to invoke a few more sessions to get the verdict in his favour. In actual practice, the thing is decided in three or four sittings, at different places; and the points and parties to the dispute and the propriety and impropriety of their actions become common knowledge for all. This publicity has two aspects: (a) the facts are known to many people and (b) repeated sittings make a fluid situation crystallise before a decision is announced making it possible for the widest possible discussion of the matter not only within the caste but among the wiser persons of various other castes living in these

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villages. When the actual sittings are held, elders of the village where the meeting is held, are also invited to the court more or less as co-opted members. Even though the dispute relates to a few members of a caste in two or three villages, such proceedings spread the news of that dispute to a number of castes in a number of neighbouring villages. This practice of inviting outsiders makes the deliberations more authentic and dignified also. Srinivas4 has suggested the phrase ‘Caste Council’ to distinguish them from village panchayats. In every village, a few persons of the higher castes have attained a sort of advisory status on what have begun to be considered slightly technical matters. In Ranawaton-ki-Sadri, a Rajput, a Jat, and a Gadri are normally invited for such purposes. In the dispute among the Kumbhars as well as among that of the Luhars, these village elders had been invited. In the neighbouring village to the east, though the matter related to the Chamar only, the Jat panch was invited and even requested to supervise some of the arrangements; and in yet another case in which a Gadri of the village was involved, and the panchayat held in the other village, the local Jat leader was invited to participate in the deliberations and had to he pacified on a number of occasions whenever he threatened to quit on an overheard remark that the matter be decided on an intracaste basis among the Gadris themselves.

Functions of a Chokhala Panchayat A caste spread over a few contiguous villages acts positively in promoting certain facilities, and in a popular sense, negatively, in exercising some controls over members in regard to certain caste codes. In the latter category fourteen offences dealt with in the caste panchayats have been listed by Ghurye.5 Two of them relate to breach of commensality, six connected with marriage and sexual relations, three to the economic sphere while the remaining three fall in the miscellaneous category. Among the positive functions of these organizations, Karve6 mentions that it is the caste which “owns or creates public utilities like temples, Dharmashalas, assembly halls etc.” In the region surrounding the village under study caste panchayats have recognised and proclaimed rightful heirs to the deceased, regulated feasts to ensure equity in the nature of food and the number of guests, and in cases of divorce and secondary marriage sought the return of bride

180

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wealth to the party concerned. Some cases that illustrate the working of the Chokhala Panchayat are now presented. CASE I: A Jat married for the second time at an age past 45 years. His new wife under 30 years came with her children born of her first marriage and began to lead an expensive life. She was suspected of having extra-marital alliances within the village. Some persons in three different caste groups were understood to have been involved in the affairs. Panchayat was held, the suspected members were made to stand in the mid-day sun barefoot for a couple of hours. Some money by way of fine is said to have been recovered. The woman decided of her own to go to a new house along with a new lover, who, younger in age, effectively controlled her even by using some physical force, The Jat was old and had little value left for himself in the matrimonial market, he was happy and convinced that he would not marry again for the third time. He felt relieved on having got rid of a rather expensive partner and never worried for the compensation money. Regarding the defaulters in the sex relations with the female, this case involved parties of different castes and the matter was referred to a combined council of caste fellows and  village elders, who awarded even physical punishment to the defaulters. CASE II: The Luhar did not belong to the village, but after his marriage with a Luhar female of the village came over here to carry on his professional trade. He was a good craftsman and attracted more customers. He increased his interests in land and carpentry and added to his wealth. His wife and her sister have two divorces to their credit, and the wife had her third partner in this Luhar. They have no issue. The other sister also continued to reside with the couple, and began managing the property of the Luhar. Some money was given on loans and deeds remained with the sister. As fortunes changed, the Luhar was deprived of his share, the two sisters moved to a different house, and began managing their own affairs. Panchayat of the caste was called for to decide the issue of distribution of assets (the loan deeds). That was done. Then the two sisters began to live with the Luhar. On two more occasions they repeated their behaviour of living with him when fortunes went awry and of separating whenever* wealth improved mainly through the artisan’s hard work. These women are a problem for the Luhar and for the panchayat too. Panchayat decisions are taken by male elders and can be enforced on the males, or females through their

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181

guardians. In the present case when the guardian himself was one of the parties to the dispute, the enforcement could be only partial. Thus each time the panchayat meets, it tries to enforce its decisions and gets a temporary success. This is a case of nearly incorrigibles. Females themselves are beyond the age of remarriage, and the Luhar feels that he is in the village by virtue of his affinal relation. From the point of view of studying the social, system at work, the case brings to light the situation in which the disputants belong to a single village and a single caste; and yet their matters are referred to the joint body of caste and village elders. CASE III: A kumbhar male nearly past the prime of youth could not keep his wife satisfied. The younger wife made good her escape one night to get a more youthful partner. Within a week her whereabouts were traced, and the matter reported to the police. After detaining the parties for a few days, the police advised them to go to their traditional councils for redress. It was suggested that the matter could be decided there cheaply, quickly and without unnecessary litigation. The advice was followed. It was decided that the case be referred to the Caste Council. A well-wisher whispered “Here is a simple fellow; would he not be overcome by the more clever ones?” Pat came the answer with a confidence all its own: “On that account, you need not worry the least. The caste will see that the other man either parts with the female or the bride wealth which the whole of the region knows to be as high as Rs. 1,300”. The case implied impotency on the part of the husband. One of the defendants raised a question “Should a child be born, say within six to seven months? . . .” “In that case the child would belong to the former husband”. Further query with a village elder of a higher caste brought forth this explanation: “If there is a container of grains and some grains are put in it, after sometime the container cannot rise up and claim the grains as its own.” In the particular case however, it was clear to all that the contingency would not arise. The caste panchayat saw that compensation money was returned, and this once again established the utility of the organization in sustaining the structure of the caste. An attitude of withdrawal on the part of the police for this purpose at least makes it non-functional for the caste organization. One more panchayat was held to distribute the share of the compensation money among the members of the kin group who had earlier contributed from their pockets some money for getting the bride for the kinsman. At this sitting a peculiar question of law’ was raised: When the boy had been married,

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Brij Raj Chauhan

various members of the family helped the young man to enable him to pay the bride wealth. After this case of ‘divorce’, bride wealth was returned. The point at issue was “Did members of the family who had contributed to the bride wealth, regain their share after the same was returned due to breach of marriage?” The caste verdict was that such a right was revived, and as such these ‘assets’ were redistributed among the original contributors. This is how a right once lost gained itself on the happening of certain events. CASE IV: Among the Gadri, the custom of bride wealth is prevalent. To avoid actual payment of money, on certain occasions, marriages by exchange are arranged. Each party agrees to forgo its bride wealth and takes a bride instead from the other. In one such case in a neighbouring village A, this type of marriage was broken by one of the parties. The other party retaliated by not allowing the female to join her husband. Then followed some disputes regarding ornaments that the brides had taken from the husbands. As a rule these ornaments are required to be returned. One of the females was to be re-married to a widower from Sadri. The female would not agree to return the ornaments and her brother would not agree to return some money that was due on him. At this juncture the relatives of the first husband came and intervened in the marriage proceedings. A panchayat was held for the whole of the night and it desired the female and her brother to return the disputed articles. At this session the village elders were also present. A prominent member of the Gadri caste from the neighbouring village had not attended. He was sent for. He happened to be the maternal uncle of the brother and the sister. He came, again the Gadris assembled, and in five minutes the case was settled. The ‘plaintiff ’ stated the case; the Gadri leader asked M: “This man says you owe him Rs. 60?” M. said nothing but kept his head down. The leader continued “Hand over those Rs. 60 to this man”. After a few minutes this money was brought, counted by one of the panchas and with held by him. Then the leader said “Hand back those ornaments too.” This was rather reluctantly agreed to by the female. As the news of the settlement reached the village elders, they showed their anger in not being consulted in the matter. They were invited to come there. They were satisfied that most of their terms had been respected by the judgment, and they began justifying their own verdict given last evening. As the money was handed back one more exchange was noticed.

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At the time of marriage, each party makes certain promises to the other. These promises are that the bride’s wealth would be taken by their brothers concerned in case of remarriage, that the two parties would neither demand bride price from one another nor claim any share in it in a subsequent breach of marriage. Among other conditions are that the two persons would be considerate to one another etc. In the present case the party that had to receive Rs. GO held the document with it. As soon as it received the amount due, it was required to return the ‘bond’. The party returned it; but at this juncture, the village leader stood up, took charge of the ‘deed’ and said that he would remain the custodian of it. On this account, there were no objections, and the leader satisfied his own sense of vanity by taking hold of the precious document. This document is nowadays written on a judicial stamp paper in legal style. Yet this cannot be produced in a court of law. In the present case the deed had been executed on a stamp paper of the value of Rs.  2.50. This introduction of a judicial appearing document in the code of ‘civil procedure’ of the ‘caste courts’ is a recent addition, and shows how new things can be used to fortify even older powers. The cases cited so far show how the caste councils function when disputes arise; the second aspect of these councils is to be viewed in the manner in which they regulate and deal with certain codes connected with the arrangement of feasts. Traditionally among the Jat there was a custom of inviting the caste elders to advise on the amount of raw materials and the number of persons to whom invitations should be sent. The host then handed over the supplies, the elders looked to the preparations and took over the responsibility of seeing that the supplies did not fall short of the requirements. Within a generation this custom of the host remaining the passive capitalist has undergone a shift and the arrangements for the dinner as well as the decision on the number of guests has become the responsibility of the host, who, however in case of need, takes the advice of the caste elders of his own village and the kin gathered on the occasion. In the preparation of the meals, besides the assistance provided by the caste fellows the role of the professional confectioner from a neighbouring village, and of the Nai is on the increase. The day following the dinner, the heir is recognised, turban tied over the head, and mourning period brought to an end.

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Brij Raj Chauhan

The Bhil reveal certain characteristics peculiar to their own group. For a rather long time they have successfully countered the tendency of a higher class behaviour in affairs. Stories are current in the neighbourhood, of how a well-to-do member gave a dinner by using better quality of grains (wheat instead or barley) and ghee (instead of oil), how the gathering took the ‘higher’ variety of food and then declared the man outcaste. He was told that in his better state of affairs he had damaged the group solidarity and had made it difficult for the rest of the people to reciprocate such a type of dinner; and therefore he could be readmitted only by providing the entire gathering with the dinner once again, this time in the traditional manner. That was done. However, during the last ten years two cases from the neighbourhood have been mentioned wherein an enforcement of such a type has not been insisted upon. A  second tendency among the Bhil is to sit down en-masse for the dinner and to serve food on individual relates simultaneously. Nobody starts taking food until all have received their share; should however the distributed cakes fall short of supplies, it is permissible to take over cake each from the already served plate and to re-distribute the meals so that all receive their due share. Then the party begins taking food. The Bhil are proud of this tradition and they further claim that none of the guests would ever complain about the insufficiency of meals in any village. After one of the marriages in the village, the Bhil panchayat had received Rs. 25 as its dues, they decided to collect a rupee per household and collectively buy a Tarcha’ an iron pot used in mass scale food preparations. In the earlier setting the amount of money could have been used for drinking or enjoying a non-vegetarian feast. Mutual help in kind for meeting the civil supplies are common among the Jat and the Gadri. They supply ghee and grains to their caste fellows on occasions, of larger needs, remember the help rendered by others and reciprocate on similar occasions so that the chain is tried to be continued. An increasing use of the market is now seen in getting grains converted into flour, obtaining sugar instead of Gur, and procuring vegetable oil which has begun to be used as the medium of cooking instead of Ghee. Among the Jat and the Gadri guests range from 100 to 150 in very ordinary cases, 150 to 200 in ordinary cases, 1,000 to 1,500 in normal cases, and over 2,000 in respectable cases, and gatherings reached 4,000 in prestige dinners. This number is arrived at as per table given overleaf.

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‘Chokhala’ Organization—Absence and Alternatives in the Region The absence of the caste-courts for the higher caste of Rajputs and the alternative modes of social control prevalent among them enable one to get a better picture of the situation as additional information makes the nature and functions of the Chokhala more intelligible. The special features prevalent among this caste may be stated under six heads: 1. The state of Mewar had a Rajput king and all the feudal chiefs owed allegiance to him, the smaller landlords owed similar allegiance to their feudal chief. At all levels the members of the Rajput caste held important positions. Even at the lower levels a number of Rajput families could trace their actual kinship ties with the landlord of the village or chief of the feudatory. Such consanguinal ties and an awareness with regard to the same marked the caste from the others. 2. Feudalism promoted a feeling of governing over an area, and the attitude simmered down to smaller landlords who developed a way of life in which they could become arbiters for others over the area, thereby feeling it not very natural to refer their own disputes to someone else. 3. The rule of primogeniture promoted a tendency among younger members of the lineage to establish themselves in new villages so long as the feudatory could afford such villages, and even fresh villages were thereby allowed to Table Composition of Guests in Caste Dinners Type of Dinner Very Ordinary

Types of Persons Invited Caste members of the Village

5 persons per village from the Chokhala

Affinal Kin

Ordinary

—do—

1 member per household in the Chokhala

—do—

Normal

—do—

All members of the caste in the Chokhala

—do—

Respectable

—do—

All members of the caste in the Chokhala and 1 member per household in the village from all other castes

—do—

Prestige Giving

—do—

—do—

Affinal kin and kin of Affinal kin

186

Brij Raj Chauhan develop at new sites. Over a number of contiguous villages thus the lineage members knew one another and as they were kin within prohibited degrees of marriage, even affinal kin had to be sought from greater distances. This factor made the utility of caste council over smaller areas limited. 4. Though obedience was a cherished virtue, self-honour was always acting as an under current; in olden days it was not uncoramon for the dissatisfied youth to leave for new areas and even by force carve out a feudatory of their own in some unmarked area of the region. Under these conditions— historical and emotional—a climate for an adjudicating body could not be developed with success. 5. The caste does not permit widow remarriage and one of the most important functions of the caste council is settling claims regarding compensation money and related matters. Thus no such function is required to be performed. 6. The members of the caste for long associated with ruling over others and in offering managerial guidance to others were quite self-reliant in matters of deciding about the number of guests or the amount of grains required; and when expert advice on such matters was thought necessary a professional rather than a caste elder from other villages was consulted.

Above all, an alternative machinery at the hands of the feudal chief, and later upto the king was available should a necessity arise. Under conditions where an alternative machinery of social control existed and where some of the problems dealt with by caste councils never arose, feudalism and the rule of primogeniture promoted authoritarian and self-reliant attitudes that were hardly amicable for the growth or continuance of the horizontal caste organization over a few contiguous villages. Among the Rajput some differences have been noticed in the region. They do not have a caste organization to settle their disputes, but in some areas of the Bhilwara district (round about Deoria) they have a recognised boundary of village; for purposes of inviting caste fellows for common dinners. The use of the word Chokhala is prevalent among them, and its significance is more for ceremonial rather than judicial or semi-judicial purposes.

Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

M. N. Srinivas, India’s Villages, 1955, v. 24. P. V-Kane, History of Dharmasastra, Vol. II, pt. I, 1941, pp. 23–24. I. Karve, “What is Caste” in Economic Weekly, 1959. “The Dominant Caste in Rampura” in American Anthropologist 1959 (Feb.), p. 6. Caste and Class in India, 1957, pp. 3–4. “What Is Caste?” in Economic Weekly, 1958, p. 403.

12 Modernization and Changing Fertility Behaviour: A Study in a Rajasthan Village1 Tulsi Patel

I

ndia is the first country in the world to have introduced in 1952 the Family Planning Programme (FPP) based on an anti-natal population policy. Yet, despite a fairly long experience in the implementation of FPP, the key to population control remains an enigma to researchers, policy-makers and administrators. There are now a fairly large number of studies on family planning; Rao (1974) has listed as many as 550 studies on family planning in India. Research covers various dimensions of FPP such as fertility, knowledge, attitude and practice, use of contraceptives, family planning policy, and organisation and administration of FPP in addition to purely demographic studies. Some of the major studies on family planning in India suggest ignorance and lack of knowledge and understanding on the part of couples as factors responsible for the failure of FPP. This genre of studies draws largely from the theory of demographic transition propounded by Thompson (1929) and Notestein (1945). The theory claims that rationality and with it decrease in fertility comes only with industrialization and urbanization and that traditional agrarian societies are essentially superstitious. This approach, however, emphasizes only the broad, objective structural features of society.

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Based on the assumption that gap between knowledge and practice is a hurdle in fertility decline, the famous Khanna study (Wyon and Gordon 1971) focussed on the fertility behaviour in a small community in Punjab after making modern contraceptives readily available to the people. Of course, it had little appreciable effect on fertility reduction. Later, Mamdani (1972) exploded the KAP (knowledge, attitude and practice) approach by showing that the people of Khanna had accepted contraceptives only to please those distributing them. He also pointed out that economic and other structural conditions are intricately related to peoples’s fertility. Das Gupta (1978) in her Rampur study reiterates effectively the various interlinkages between objective structural conditions and modernisation which influence fertility decline over a period of time. Nag (1981) vividly describes of how modernisation has both fertility-increasing and fertility-decreasing effects, depending on the social context. He also points out the major drawback of family planning evaluation studies which generally measure fertility decline in terms of crude birth rates only. To explore the problem further recent studies (Caldwell 1982; Demeny 1981; Nag et al 1978; Rao 1974; Shah and Ramaswamy 1981), advocate a holistic perspective based on the method of intensive field studies. This paper adopts such an approach in studying the interface between the FPP and the people. Furthermore, it analyses the issue of the relation between the FPP and the people from the angle of family dynamics especially from the women’s point of view. It looks at the woman as a part of the husband-wife unit, a member of the family and the society. An attempt is made here to understand the changing fertility behaviour of the people in a village called Mogra in the Jodhpur district of Rajasthan. The study concerns 713 ‘ever married women’ in the village and their husbands. The term ‘ever married woman’ refers to a woman who has been married once, but may not necessarily be presently married (i.e., at the time of fieldwork). Thus, ever married women include the presently married and all previously married but widowed, divorced and separated women. Most of the numerical data in the paper pertains to 64 persons consisting of 45 women and 19 men who got themselves sterilised. The major questions raised in this paper in regard to the people’s responses to the FPP are: How did the FPP find its way in the village? What do people think about FPP? Do they evaluate its philosophy and techniques and then accept or reject the total package, or do they

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judiciously select certain components of it? Does the FPP reinforce the prevailing fertility practices, or does it interfere with them? How is FPP seen in relation to the indigenous practices of fertility control? How do indigenous practices coexist with the FPP in the village? What is the process of acceptance of the FPP in the context of the prevailing norms, values and cosmology of fertility and its control? The people of Mogra became familiar with the FPP for the first time when the national emergency was imposed in 1975. During the emergency period (1975–77) family planning entered the forefront of Indian politics. The family planning campaign was intensified to such an extent that reports of coercive methods being used to sterilise adults spread like wild fire throughout the country. During this period, 11  million people (many of them unmarried, many beyond the reproductive age and many with less than two children) were sterilised as compared to 1.3 million in the preceding year.2 The ineffective dissemination of FPP practices prior to 1975 in rural areas is borne out by the FPP evaluation studies and KAP surveys. Although the people of Mogra had heard about the birth control programme and techniques propagated by the government prior to 1975–77, they had only a vague idea of the FPP practices. FPP in rural India started making a big impact with the emphasis on the sterilisation programmes through the ‘camp approach’ in the early 1970s, especially in Kerala and Gujarat. The FPP embodies a set of assumptions ubiquitous in most family planning packages in the developing countries. Three of them need special mention. First, there is a general Neo-Malthusian view that increasing population is a constant drain on the limited resources of the nation and that fertility control is a necessary step without which economic development would be retarded. The second assumption, also borrowed from western experience, is that fertility behaviour is based on autonomous decisions taken by married couples. The third assumption is that couples do not plan their families because they are ignorant of contraceptives and of the value of spacing births to protect the health of the mother and child. According to this approach an effective fertility control strategy would be possible only if couples are enlightened about family planning practices and are adequately motivated. People in Mogra subscribe to a complex set of practices and beliefs about fertility, spacing of births, mother’s and child’s health, and optimum family size. But the FPP package reflects little knowledge of

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people’s reproductive beliefs and practices and is actually at variance with them. The people’s response to the introduction of FPP has been neither sheer passivity nor ignorance but one of active assessment and comparison with their traditional beliefs and practices. There exists a complex institutional arrangement to take overall care of the mother’s and child’s physical and emotional health.3 The prevailing beliefs, rituals and folk medicines play a vital role in this regard. There are practices as well to take care of the parturient mother’s health as well as that of the new born.

Family Planning in Mogra To most people in Mogra, the FPP is synonymous with termination of fertility, i.e., sterilisation. Such a perception is typical of the trend prevalent in most developing societies, particularly in the Asian region (U.N. 1981). Even when some persons have some knowledge about certain contraceptives, they seldom use them regularly. Both contraceptives and sterilisation are seen by the people as governmental means to curtail or stop childbirth (locally called, bachha band karna; literally, stopping the children). In a situation where the use of a certain contraceptive leads to inconvenience or embarrassment, it is discarded. And the inconvenience and/or embarrassment is not entirely without justification, as the following cases reveal: Kamla, aged 35, mother of six children explained her experience of the use of condoms, ‘They (condoms) are a menace. It is always difficult to keep them from the reach of children. No corner or niche in the home remains hidden from them. They are always on the look out for something to eat or play with. A condom in their hands is always a balloon for them. What an embarrassing sight it is that the condom is being blown about and people are laughing at it meaningfully?’ Mangli Sargara, mother of three children, disclosed her experience of the condom: ‘Disposing it off is always a problem. Scarcely is there a moment to bury it without being seen.’ Paani, a young Patel mother with four children, narrated her problem with the condom: ‘One can’t carry it all the time. What if one needs it in the field?’ Sugan described Mohini’s agonising experience with IUD thus: ‘She turned pale in three months. She ultimately got it removed, or she would have died leaving behind her children to ruin.’

Alpu who had once experimented with contraceptive pills said: ‘I would always forget its-schedule. For me it never worked.’ The nature of

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housing in Mogra is unlike urban apartments or bungalows. The notion of a room in Mogra is different, it ranges from a proper enclosed structure with a ceiling, a floor and a door, to a straw shed with walls on three or sometimes only two sides. Each house has at least one proper room to store valuables, clothes, etc., locally called ori. Although houses in Mogra are spacious, construction is sparse. Many houses do not have separate kitchen. An average house has about three rooms (including sheds). In addition, there are cattle sheds. All members of the household have an almost equal claim and access to rooms in the house. The store room (on) is accessible to all members, if unlocked. As it is usually locked, unlocking it makes children curious about the reasons for opening it. It is not easy to pick up the contraceptives from the shelves when there are children in the house. A sense of individual privacy is discouraged. It is rare for a single person to have a room exclusively to herself. No couple in Mogra has a separate bedroom for all day and night. The newly married couple gets exclusive use of a room only in the night. After about two years of marriage, the couple begin to use some shed or the other away from the courtyard where most of the household members sleep. A near lack of privacy during day time and the sleeping arrangements at night are hardly conducive for the regular use of contraceptives. The problem is more acute in larger and complex households, where the early years of one’s marriage are spent. Later, one’s own children share the rooms and other space, allowing little privacy to a couple. The experience of using a modern contraceptive is seldom bereft of some inconvenience or problem. Couples try contraception with a desire to stop fertility but when they use them they have to face a series of pains and discomforts, and the risk of failure. Hence they disapprove of modern contraceptives and prefer an alternative devoid of problems and perils. They believe that there exists a more simple and convenient contraceptive method in the form of an injection, which is not available to them partly due to its exorbitant cost and due to the ignorance of most doctors and medical personnel about its very existence. Three women who were past their child bearing age claimed to have availed of it. One of them even related her experience with it. Jamni confided: I along with two of my friends had taken a contraceptive injection as all of us had enough children. The injection was effective as none of us had any child after that. And in five years time we had ail reached menopause. But unfortunately the chemist who administered the injection is dead. He would have

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Tulsi Patel been so helpful if he were alive today. He could have rescued several women desiring to get that injection.

Other women also believed strongly about the existence of an injectable contraceptive. For instance: Haski Suthar, mother of five children, always had a complaint against me for not having arranged for her the most sought after injection that prevents conception for five years. She said: ‘All these (available contraceptives) are useless. We can’t handle them. But an injection would be so good. It would only pain a little when pricked. And then one need not bother about anything (i.e., typical problems associated with the use of prevailing contraceptives).’

Several such comments were made by many other women desiring such an injection, although the local doctors seldom confirmed their views. The popular belief regarding the existence of a contraceptive injection seems to be an instance of wish fulfilment. Sterilisation is another method tried in Mogra. It was introduced during the emergency of 1975–77 by school teachers, doctors, nurses and other officials occasionally visiting the village. Official propaganda and urban contacts also exposed people to this new idea. A few of these officials persuaded people to sterilise themselves. They exerted pressure ou people in order to meet the target of sterilisations allotted to them. In Mogra, all sterilisations except one were performed on men during the emergency period. They were taken to sterilisation camps in a neighbouring village. People strongly disapproved of sterilisation and were critical of it. Sterilisation to them was a matter of shame and thus unwelcome. Tubectomy was believed to interfere with women’s physical capacity to work hard in back-breaking agricultural tasks and in carrying heavy head-loads. There are apprehensions of post-operative complications incapacitating people and virtually ending a couple’s sexual life. These fears were reinforced by the sterilisation experiences of people during the early days of the emergency which shaped the collective memory of the people. Further, the current experiences of those who develop complications after sterilisation spread like wild fire through word of mouth, recur in gossip, and shape the images and opinions of the people in the village.4

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Meeri, mother of two sons and a daughter, the first and the only woman in Mogra, to be sterilised during the emergency suffered from numerous complications soon after the operation. She had continuous body ache and severe backache. To top it all, elders of the household scorned and criticised her because she could not work as hard as her sisters-in-law (husband’s brothers’ wives). Instead of getting sympathy, she was rebuked and scolded for being a work shirker. The whole experience became so agonising that she set up a separate household and took the help of her growing children in doing the household tasks. Meeri’s experience became strong deterrent for other women contemplating sterilisation. Saori, a Harijan woman had a son a few years after her husband was sterilised during the emergency. Although the operation had failed technically, the couple became the butt of ridicule in the village. Even several years after the incident a reference to her made people exchange meaningful glances or pass some derisive comments. Only subsequently when laparoscopy on two women failed did people accept the possibility of a sterilisation failure.

Such discouraging encounters have considerably tilted the meanings assigned to sterilisation. These meanings dissuade others from accepting it even when social norms favour the end of reproduction. As the modern means of fertility control are not in common use, postsurgical complications are not given adequate attention. The women cannot also seek concessions in household chores or other work on this ground. But things have not remained the same. By 1982–83 a new trend emerged among women to voluntarily opt for sterilisation. Laparoscopy camps in Mogra and its vicinity became active during the early eighties. Female sterilisations outnumbered male ones. Sangari, a widow in her early fifties, confided that female sterilisation is safer these days: ‘The problems of security are mounting up, and it is not safe for a solitary woman to go to the fields. Man’s morals are fast deteriorating. In such a condition it is safer for a woman to get sterilised so that if an accident (rape) happens she is safe. If her husband were vasectomised she would be ruined.’

Laparoscopy is gaining popularity among a small section of women who are discovering that it is convenient as well as less demanding.5 ‘It involves only a prick’, is the usual comment. The fears associated with a surgical operation (particularly tubectomy and vasectomy) are substantially reduced. Laparoscopy does not also require abstaining from heavy work and sexual life for long. It does not upset the daily round of activities to get laparoscopy done. A casual slip out of the

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house akin to a brief gossip session or a short siesta is all that is required. Women have to abstain from home only for an hour or two. It is possible for them to walk back home within half an hour of the laparoscopy ‘prick’. None of the women in Mogra experienced any difficulty in resuming or supervising some work after they returned home. All this is in sharp contrast to tubectomy which requires considerable planning, including leaving the home for several days.

Acceptance of Sterilisation: Modern Techniques in a Traditional Context The prevailing fertility behaviour in Mogra is far from being unrestrained and unregulated. Fertility follows a certain trajectory, a certain span of reproductive carrier marked by a socially prescribed beginning and an end. It is controlled through the prevailing institutions, norms and associated statuses and roles. It may appear that acceptance of sterilisation by a couple points to radical changes in the couple’s attitudes to their family size. But an inquiry into fertility behaviour of 64 sterilised persons reveals that they have all followed the basic norm of fertility. Their notions of the optimum number of children in the family have altered only a little. There exists a contradiction between the planners’ expectation with the technique of sterilisation and the people’s ideas of it. This contradiction may be explained through an analysis of the fertility behaviour of persons who accepted sterilisation. The 64 persons who accepted sterilisation constitute nearly 9% of the 713 ever married women in Mogra. Their sex distribution (45  women and 19 men) follows the larger Indian pattern, namely, more women than men have undergone sterilisation (Mahadevan and Sumangala 1987: 130, report this for India in general and for Andhra Pradesh and Kerala in particular). Of 45 sterilised women, 17 accepted tubectomy and 28 laparoscopy. Of the 64 sterilised persons, 60 were sterilised before they reached the age of 40, and only 4 after it. Most of them belonged to the 26 to 40 age range. Within this age range a majority were between 26 to 35 years. These figures show that the need for sterilisation after 40 is not felt so acutely. The main reason is that indigenous methods (primarily abstinence) are adopted to end one’s fertility career after this age. This is also the stage when the older women’s fecundity is coming to an end.

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Men engaged in the relatively modern occupations of business and government service form a greater proportion of those who got themselves sterilised than those engaged in animal husbandry, agriculture, artisanship, and wage labour. Also, the proportion of men who opted for sterilisation in comparison to women was higher in the business and service classes than among those engaged in manual labour. This is because sterilisation is considered to be debilitating and causing difficulties in performing hard physical labour. Men engaged in business or service perform less strenous tasks than their wives who undertake agricultural tasks. Of the 19 vasectomies, 7 were performed during the emergency period under severe pressure and threat. Most of the remaining have been accepted by men who either live in urban areas and/or are employed in urban centres. The influence of urban ethos has some role to play in their case. Place of sterilisation is important to show the extent of motivation, courage and social approval for the act. Those more determined to sterilise are less fearful of surgery, have greater approval of their act by other members of the household, and usually get themselves sterilised in hospitals in the nearby city. Of the 64 cases, 20 got themselves sterilised in hospitals and several of them had close urban links. The remaining 44 were sterilised in various camps organised in the village or in its vicinity. Eight of them were sterilised by coercion during the emergency. The feeling of security is stronger in a sterilisation camp by virtue of its proximity to one’s home. People fear surgery in a hospital and tend to avoid it. In some of the cases of laparoscopy, women have dared to take the step without a clear consensus or approval of the members of  their household. In Mogra and its vicinity laparoscopy has gained approval as more convenient than tubectomy. Decisions to get sterilised are based on the survival of children, especially sons. All the sterilised persons have as many children as the non-sterilised. Their average number of births, child mortality and child survival are not very different from those of others. The average fertility of the sterilised is 5.68 children per couple, while the average child mortality is one child per couple. The sterilised couple have on an average a total of six children out of whom five, including three sons, survive. Table 1 below provides data on the distribution of sterilised parents (father or mother as the case may be) according to their fertility, child mortality and child survival experiences at the time they got themselves

0

5

23

11

12

13

0

1

2

3

4

5+

9

12

9

15

16

3

41

10

11

2

0

0

0

1

3

3

8

49

S

1

0

2

7

14

40

D

S/D

D

Note: S = Sons, D = Daughters, S/D = Sons and Daughters.

S

No. of Children

Children Died

Children Born

2

4

3

11

8

36

S/D

Number of Fathers/Mothers with:

Table 1 Distribution of Fathers/Mothers by Children Born, Dead and Surviving at the Time of Sterilisation

5

12

16

25

6

0

S

6

3

10

21

21

3

D

Children Surviving

35

14

12

3

0

0

S/D

196 Tulsi Patel

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sterilised. From Table 1 it is evident that only-six parents decided to get themselves sterilised with one surviving son. Most of them are those who in their attempts to procreate more sons ended up with daughters. Twenty five parents took the decision to sterilise themselves after ensuring the survival of two sons. 33 parents took the sterilisation decision after assuring themselves of the survival of at least three sons. From Table 1 it can also be seen that there are no sterilised parents not having at least one son whereas three of them sterilised themselves without even a single daughter. This is an indicator of son preference in Mogra. Thirty four parents got themselves sterilised before the birth of three daughters. It is also important to note that 41 parents decided to terminate childbirths after procreating five or more children. This shows that sterilisation decision of the parents comes at a fairly late stage in a couple’s fertility career. A majority (36) of the parents who got themselves sterilized did not suffer the agony of child loss. Here again the number of parents not suffering the loss of a son is greater than the number of parents not suffering the loss of a daughter. Only 15 sterilised parents had experienced a son’s death while as many as 24 had experienced a daughter’s death. The sex break-up worked out from Table 1 shows that out of 364 children born to the 64 parents, 178 boys and 137 girls were surviving. The survival rate for male children is 85 per cent and for female children it is 72 per cent showing again a bias in favour of sons. Thirty eight of the parents had more surviving sons than surviving daughters while 10 had more surviving daughters than surviving sons. One parent decided to get sterilised with 9 children surviving, 6 with 7–8 children surviving and 42 with 4–6 children surviving. There has been a marked decrease in child mortality in recent times, especially during the past decade. Persons belonging to different ages have different experiences of child mortality. The younger parents (upto 30 years) have lost fewer children than the older ones. Mothers above the age of 30 have lost 22 to 25 per cent of the children born to them, those in the age group 26–30 have lost 11 per cent of the children born, and those below 25 have not suffered any loss. Yet, even the younger couples had nearly four children each before one of the spouses got sterilised. The fear of child mortality after sterilisation rarely encourages couples to get themselves sterilised as soon as they have two or three children, including one or two sons. There is only one couple with two

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sons, three couples with two sons and one daughter each, and two couples with one son and two daughters each who put a stop to their reproductive career. None of these six couples lost any child. A comparison of the average number of births and child deaths per person provided in Table 2 shows that people get themselves sterilised only after assuring the survival of the socially expected number of children. Persons with no child mortality are the only ones to have sterilised themselves at a very early age. Those who suffered higher mortality of children have got sterilised at a later age. Child mortality dissuades couples from accepting sterilisation. Couples as well as their relatives wish to see that at least a few children survive. To ensure about five children, including at least two sons, it is thought rational to have one or two extra children This logic is used even by those parents who have suffered no loss. Termination of reproductivity is thus pushed somewhat further and the time range of active fertility stretched. Table 2 shows how birth control through sterilisation is concomitant with fertility and child mortality. Older mothers have higher average fertility as well as child mortality, in comparison to the younger mothers. The distribution of fertility and mortality details by mother’s age is an important indication that a person does not decide to get sterilised exclusively on the basis of his or her own fertility experiences. Couples do not view their fertility experiences in isolation from those of others around them before taking a decision to stop procreation. Of the 64 persons who terminated their fertility career, the senior mothers aged 36 years and above have had higher fertility as well as higher child mortality in contrast to the experience of mothers belonging to the age group 21 to 35. The -collective experience of mortality is an important factor in shaping a couple’s fertility behaviour. Even if couples escape the trauma of child mortality, they continue to be influenced by the wider experience of child mortality in the community. By corollary, it is rare to find a person sterilising himself or herself after one son and one daughter, or two sons and one daughter. He or she waits for a few years to assure child survival before stopping procreation. With the recent decline in child mortality in the community, however, the younger couples have had relatively less exposure to child mortality. The y have lesser fear of losing their children than their seniors. Hence they feel little need to produce more children to be able to make up for an eventual child loss, unlike the older parents. Yet, even the

3.6

5.0

6.2

8.0

8.0

7.0

26–30

31–35

36–40

41–45

40+

Fertility

21–25

Mother’s Age (in years)

3.0

1.8

1.3

1.3

0.7

–

Before Sterilisation

0.2

0.5

0.2

–

0.07

After Sterilisation

Child Molarity

Table 2 Distribution of Average Fertility, Child Mortality and Child Survival per Couple by Mother’s Age

3.0

2.0

1.8

1.5

0.7

0.07

Total

4.0

6.0

6.2

4.7

4.3

3.5

Child Survival

MODERNIZATION AND CHANGING FERTILITY BEHAVIOUR 199

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younger parents have a fairly high fertility and child survival rate although it is less compared to women in the 36–45 years age range. Here couples try to strike a balance between the structural conditions of declining mortality and the norms in favour of high fertility. Since pregnant mothers-in-law are subject to much social ridicule, women prefer to stop their fertility career when they become mothersin-law. Of the sterilised women, 16 are aged 36 and above—an age when most women are likely to become mothers-in-law. Of the 16 women, as  many as 14 had become mothers-in-law before sterilisation. One mother-in-law got herself sterilised even though she was below 35. Several other women aged between 31 and 35 also got themselves sterilised as they were to become mothers-in-law in the next couple of years. These women could afford sterilisation because they had the advantage of having grown up daughters or daughters-in-law living with them to take care of household chores while recuperating after the surgery. Thus sterilisation has been accommodated within the traditional value frame for the older as well as the younger couples. It stops further births after one’s grown-up children enter their reproductive life. Sterilisation also enables couples to avoid the birth of an extra child after attaining, the socially prescribed level of optimum fertility and child survival. The social norms regarding optimum fertility cut both ways. In some cases, when a couple reproduce more than the social optimum, they come in for adverse comment: Bijoji, an old man with a small patch of land was perturbed with his only daughter’s eight children with two years’ interval between them. He confided in me, ‘There is no point having so many children without a stop. Three or four are enough. There are several means to put a stop these days. See how the whole house is uttered.’

The influence of FPP in Mogra may be compared with Kara and Sinha’s (1987) report of the impact of FPP in India in general and in Orissa in particular. They point out that FPP has made little dent, as the number of living children in all cases of tubectomy and vasectomy exceeded three. The Khanna villagers (Mamdani 1972; Wyon and Gordon 1971) accepted contraceptives only when they dovetailed with their social norms. Contraception did not alter the community norms as to when to have children, how many to have, and when to stop having them. Only women who were over 30 years and close to the termination

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of child bearing used contraceptive tablets. Instead of cutting down the birth rate, the tablet enabled people to live upto traditional norms with more modern techniques. Similarly, Dandekar (1959) observes that attitudes towards family planning become more favourable among couples with three to five children in the six rural communities she studied in India. The FPP could only narrow the gap between the socially expected and the actual family size. It reinforces traditional ideas of family size and fertility by shortening the active fertility duration. Our material suggests that the people who adopted sterilisation have in no way digressed from the social norms of the optimum family size. The family planning package is accepted only to the extent that it is instrumental in supporting the socially expected fertility behaviour. Although the technique of sterilisation to control fertility is unconventional and its adoption a sort of deviation, it hardly upsets the meanings and practices associated with the traditional reproductive career. The meanings and messages with which the planners pack the FPP are discarded when the people unpack it. This finding holds true even in the case of the 68 educated and naukri (salaried job) holding fathers in Mogra. They adopt some modern birth control techniques but do so only after achieving the socially expected minimum family size of at least two sons and one daughter. Kana Patel is a college drop-out and a clerk in a government department. He has three children spaced over four years interval. His eldest child, a daughter is now married. His wife got herself sterilised a year before the daughter’s muklawo.6 Anil Charan, with a Ph.D. degree, has nearly five years’ gap between his two sons. Binja Patel, a school teacher in his late twenties, has stopped procreation: he has two sons and a daughter. Gokal Bhambi, a school teacher has stopped having children after three sons and a daughter.

However, in the case of several other educated and salaried couples, their fertility behaviour conforms to the traditional norms of optimal family size. Shera Patel sent his wife for tubectomy after she gave birth to six children of whom three sons and two daughters are surviving with good health. To be sure, his decision was influenced by the urban ethos exposing him to the fear of social ridicule, making him feel awkward in social

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gatherings where his counterparts had fewer children. Even his illiterate counterparts in the village do not consider it proper to continue to have more children after these many. Ajay, a Charan clerk and father of three children, Hetu, a Charan peon and father of six daughters, and Kewal, a Patel factory worker with two children, notwithstanding education and urban jobs, have each two years spacing between their children, which is in conformity to the village norms. The only Charan girl, Ansu holds an M.Sc. degree and is married to a lawyer in another town. She has five daughters in her ten years of married life. She would not stop having children till she has a son.

Irrespective of the level of education or urban jobs, the social expectations and values regarding the sex composition and the number of surviving children continue to dominate couples’ decisions on child bearing. The fertility career of even these couples is not independent of social norms and compulsions from kin, neighbourhood and community.

On Deciding to get Sterilised Though the FPP has not successfully changed the prevalent fertility norms, it has succeeded in making people tolerate sterilisation. Though sterilisation continues to evoke disparaging remarks, ranging from opprobrium to ridicule, it has now come to occupy a place within the permissible range of deviance. Women consider many factors before they opt for sterilisation. We have already discussed the desire of mothers with grown children to terminate their fertility career. Also, a couple’s fertility is terminated only when they have become eligible for it. This does not mean that such eligibility automatically leads to a decision to get sterilised. Sterilisation is not accepted as though it were a normative precept or an undisputed maxim; quite the contrary. Both men and women may often waver before making up their mind about sterilisation. Women are of course free to ventilate their sufferings, but they do not enjoy the freedom that men enjoy in deciding to get sterilised. Even if a woman is keen to get herself sterilised, she has to take into consideration the reactions of her husband and other close relatives, especially those in her conjugal household. At the same time she has

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her own fears about surgery and its adverse after effects. There are apprehensions of pain in the limbs, backache and other ailments including loss of stamina. There are fears about vasectomy as well. It is said that ‘Male operation is like castrating a calf. A sterilised male cannot be a bull’. Almost all the sterilised persons shared their fears about sterilisation with their close friends and relatives. In informal discussions, sterilisation is discussed threadbare with a mixture of humour and seriousness. The pros and cons are weighed. While some fears are dispelled, others are reinforced. However, even a favourable disposition resulting from prolonged discussions does not always lead to actual sterilisation. The discussions now shift to the spouses. The spouse with higher motivation to get sterilised takes the initiative. The themes related to sterilisation are repeated. From the pool of collective memory, the couple recall and discuss other couples’ varied experiences. They recall the cases of those who had sterilised themselves and had no post-surgical problems. Instances of persons with many children and very little land and/of those who sterilised soon after having the socially minimum number of children are recalled. Spouses frequently waver in their decisions. It is rare for husbands to give unqualified permission to their wives to get themselves sterilised, especially if they are living in a joint household. In the latter case, parents have greater authority over the couple’s decisions. However, there are also instances where parents’ authority is overruled. While the majority of women seek the elders’ permission before getting themselves sterilised, most men do not wait for it. For a woman living with her parents-in-law their permission, particularly of the mother-in-law’s, is crucial. As a household manager, the mother-in-law’s opinion and judgement matters considerably. As knowledge of post-surgery complications is widespread mothers-in-law are apprehensive of their daughter-in-law’s sterilisation. They feel concerned primarily about the adverse impact of sterilisation on the daughter-inlaw’s health and consequently on the household chores. The common first reaction of most mothers-in-law is angry disapproval because they see daughter-in-law’s sterilisation as leading to the ruination of the household. These initial reactions are usually followed by considered responses. They are of three types. First, the mother-in-law restrains herself to

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merely explaining the undesirable consequences leaving the entire decision to the couple. This response indicates helplessness and apprehension that her words may be dishonoured. A second typical reaction is to express strong disapproval and warn the daughter-in-law that she will not be relieved of household chores for recuperation and treatment if post-operative complications develop. They regard that the decision to get sterilised is a sign of ignorance, immaturity and irresponsibility. They point out that only persons not aware of the adverse consequences of sterilisation on health and stamina make such decisions. Bhoori categorically pointed out to her two daughters-in-law who had made up their minds to get sterilised: ‘You will have to suffer for your deeds. Do not expect that you will be relieved from household work after the operation. You are doing this while knowing full well how it disables a woman for any hard work. You will have to bear the consequences if the household suffers’.

In the face of opposition from the mother-in-law, the husband wavers between the stands taken by his mother and his wife and often chooses to remain silent. Vena, father of two sons and two daughters, initially agreed to his wife’s decision to get herself sterilised but revoked it when his mother disapproved. He had almost agreed with his wife after she had convinced him but chose to remain silent when his mother spoke against the decision.

Both the husband and his mother worry about the women’s well being after sterilisation and its impact on the household. Of course, if they are party to the decision, they would be obliged to allow concessions and take over the added burden. There is an additional dimension that prevents the mother-in-law from granting direct permission for sterilisation. This relates to her managerial shrewdness which tells her that even if there are no post-surgical complications the daughter-in-law may feign weakness and ask for exemptions from household chores. Therefore, even if the motherin-law is convinced about the merits of sterilisation, she seldom readily allows her daughter-in-law to get sterilised. In such a situation, the daughter-in-law’s desire to get sterilised is viewed as an expression of defiance.

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A third type of mother-in-law reaction is outright dismissal of the very idea of sterilisation as abhorrent. Such reactions come from mothersin-law who have suffered the experience of child mortality of either their own children or of their siblings. Vaddi, aged 60, experienced the agony of mortality from her childhood. As a child, she lost a few siblings and as a mother she lost all her four children. Such a trail of misfortunes continued even in the case of her near relatives, particularly her husband’s brother’s family (all except one boy and one girl died). In this background of personal tragedies, Vaddi turned hysterical whenever sterilisation was discussed before her. Vaddi’s adopted son’s wife, a mother of four daughters and two sons, recalled vividly, ‘I wished to get sterilised after  I had four children. Upon hearing my desire for sterilisation Maaji (mother-in-law) got so wild that I dare not mention it again. She called insulting names to those who were sterilised. To her they were blind and crazy. How can I tell her that even I want to do so?’

There are, however, a few instances when mothers-in-law have actually supported their daughters-in-law in their decision to get sterilised. They have done so in conformity to local fertility norms which subject a woman to much ridicule when she gets pregnant at a time when her own daughter is likely to become a mother. Some of the mothers-in-law are also comfortably placed in regard to domestic work and do not have to depend on the daughter-in-law exclusively for doing the household chores. Devi, an elderly mother-in-law, was a rare instance. She accompanied her daughter-in-law all the way to the city for sterilisation. After arranging Devi’s eldest granddaughter’s muklawo, she desired that her daughter-in-law end her reproductive career. She also supported her daughter and two other relatives in their decisions to get sterilised. Maadi, a 62 year old woman favoured her daughter-in-law’s sterilisation. She decided about it when her eldest daughterin-law gave birth to three children and the second one five.

Devi and Maadi have relatives in Jodhpur city and have easy access to medical facilities. They are living close to the doctor and the nurse residing in the village. A woman living in a simple household faces a different set of problems. % the time she sets up her own household she is quite a senior mother with three or four children and is about 30 years old. She often starts thinking of getting herself sterilised around this time. A woman

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has several responsibilities, numerous roles including management of the household. Sterilisation is not an easy decision when a woman is preoccupied with the household. But once she decides to get herself sterilised, she somehow Manages to get her husband’s support. Phooli, aged 35, initially discussed her desire to get sterilised with a friend who had prior experience of sterilisation. She then discussed the matter with her husband who agreed without much hesitation. Eventually, she got  herself sterilised through laparoscopy in a family planning camp organised at Mogra. She timed it a few months before she was to send her daughter away to her conjugal household for muklawo. There are some husbands who are eager to stop procreation early. Kera,a 36 year old Patel and a father of a son and a daughter is interested in having another son. But he is clear that if he does not get a son in another two years, he will stop procreation. Such husbands, however, are exceptions in Mogra. He is also a neighbour of the village doctor. Disapproval by the husband or the mother-in-law do not deter some determined women. Sugan, a Charan mother of three sons, is in her late twenties. Her husband kept giving her false assurances of arranging for it whenever she expressed her desire to get sterilised. Disgusted with his attitude and fearing the prospect of another conception she got herself sterilised during one of her occasional stays in her mother’s house, much to the displeasure of her husband and her mother-in-law. Bhanwari, a middle aged Harijan mother of four sons and a daughter, felt exhausted by continuous child bearing and rearing along with her regular wage work. Her husband, who showed no sympathy, always disapproved of her desire to get sterilised. One day she just decided to go to the village camp for laparoscopy. On her return, she found her husband fuming with anger. He ordered her to leave his house and even hinted at divorcing her. It was only through the intervention of neighbours and friends that she could save herself from her husband’s wrath. The women who acted in open defiance of husband’s and parentsin-law’s wishes were sure of their position and strength in the household. It derived partly from several healthy surviving sons. This provided an ample assurance to them that they cannot be dispensed with easily. Sugan offered a vivid narrative of how she finally convinced her husband in spite of his strong reactions against her act: ‘If we had the fourth son, how little land would each son get? And if we had any daughter, how could we afford to marry her? The dowry expenses are

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rising day by day. Your opium addiction is no less expensive.’ Sugan recalled that it took time before such an explanation finally pacified her husband. She maintained that although her husband’s and mother-inlaw’s reactions were hostile and painful (in the sense that she was not allowed to take proper rest after her operation), it did not last long. She summed up her gain, ‘Whatever it may be, I am not reproducing like a goat’. The foregoing description of the various phases in the personal trajectory of a woman’s decision-making about sterilisation depicts the social resistance encountered by her during the process. The tension between the woman’s decision to get sterilised and the social resistance, especially resistance within the family reveal significant principles of family organisation within which fertility behaviour occurs. The process also highlights how the status of women shifts from a position of subordination to one of assertion as they get older and become senior mothers with surviving sons (Patel 1982, 1987). It is significant that all the sterilised women sought permission from the husband and elders of the household before they decided to get sterilised (see Caldwell et al 1984 for this practice in South India). The few who defied their husbands and elders did so after carefully assessing their fertility performance and their status in the household. Sterilisation is accepted as an effective means of stopping fertility career, after traditionally considered optimal reproductive level is reached. Sterilisation has not violated traditional norms but has reinforced them.

Sterilisation in Mogra Cosmology In Mogra sterilisation is accepted as a necessary evil, if at all, to enable couples from exceeding the optimal norm of family size. It is now important to explore how attitudes against sterilisation are incorporated in people’s cosmologies so that the strength of people’s resistance to it can be properly gauged. Sterilisation often evokes hostility and ridicule from people for a variety of reasons. Some regard the husband of the woman who opts for sterilisation as henpecked. Harji ridiculed Bhera for allowing his wife to get herself sterilised: ‘Can’t you even control your wife, or are you henpecked?’ was the question he had to confront often.

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Even younger women portray caricatures of women who undergo sterilisation. Veeri Darjee, a mother of four children, mimicked Ansi’s awkward gait soon after her tubectomy in the city hospital. She also mimicked the gait through a play of her two fingers. She commented, ‘It is so embarrassing to walk like that through the streets before so many elders. I would rather not get sterilised than walk awkwardly.’

A large number of people do not appreciate the new ‘craze’ for sterilisation and disparage the technique. Kesar, an old Charan woman with five sons and one daughter, did not approve of sterilisation. She wanted her sons to have more than two sons each. Her desire got reinforced as one of her sons could not produce a child despite more than a decade of marriage, and her only daughter lost her husband within two months of her marriage.

A large family is also a matter of prestige for many old women and shapes attitudes against sterilisation. Bhoori, an old woman and mother of three sons and a daughter, had her own justifications for discrediting sterilisation. ‘I don’t know what these younger women are up to. We never got ourselves mutilated like this. Mutilation for what? They can’t sit back in a luxurious ‘swing’ (Qiindo) with a foot resting on its edge and relax in a queenly way. Their life is no better than ours. What they derive out of such a step, only they know.’ However, all her three daughtersin-law got sterilised. They had two sons each. Two of them had two daughters as well whereas the third had one daughter. Even her daughter underwent tubectomy after having three healthy sons. She fails to understand why her daughters-in-law and daughter should get sterilised. Some elderly women reject sterilisation for their daughters-in-law not only because of the fear of child mortality but also because they see it as an evil or sin. Vaddi had this to say about sterilisation during an interview: ‘All those who are getting themselves sterilised are simply stupid. They do not understand any thing about life. They are going against God’s will and life’s wisdom. If the government claims to be powerful enough to stop more children through those white attired doctors, then why can’t it provide children to those who are sterile and barren? It is only when they do so, can I believe in their superiority and power. Otherwise anyone can cut a ‘cord’ (nad) and commit the crime. Only the provider has the right to stop, those who can’t provide have no such right. And what about bringing back to life those who die? What if your children die after your operation? Of what avail is the operation in such an eventuality? Of the three sons I had, two died in childhood and the last one died when he was

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old enough for muklawo. He was my only hope. The doctors couldn’t save him. I was left with no one in the world. Man is helpless before death. Then, where is the wisdom in getting sterilised? It is nothing but madness.’ Chidi, an old Harijan woman, strongly disapproved of the emerging trend towards fertility control. She was provoked when she overheard her daughterin-law, a mother of four sons, being interviewed on the issue. She said, ‘No one should get sterilised. There is a lot of sin spread all over the world. What can a woman do if all her children were to die after sterilisation? In Tanavara (a neighbouring village) a Sargari (woman of Sargara caste) underwent tubectomy last year. She thought the three sons she had were enough for her. But as unfortunate as she is, two of her sons died of fever within two days of each other, and another died a month later. All the three healthy boys simply slipped out of her hands in less than a year of sterilising. She couldn’t help at all. She would only weep and wail. All this has driven her to mental illness and she talks incoherently. Her life is ruined. I will not permit my daughter-in-law to do such a thing. We will all share what we have. We will eat half instead of one (Poori Khata adi Khaon) and be satisfied rather than ruin ourselves by trying all kinds of nonsense. It is a sin to sterilise and the sinner is punished sooner or later. Sterilisation leads to suffering.’ Jhammu, a young woman in her twenties, was apprehensive about her future incarnation because of her sterilisation. ‘So many people have told me that sterilisation amounts to torturing all those beings who were destined to be born to a woman. She will have to bear all the remaining children in her next incarnation. There is no respite from this. One has to finish one’s task before attaining gati (salvation).’ Thus, the attitudes against sterilisation are deeply embedded in people’s cosmology in Mogra. Added to this is the fear about post-operative complications arising from sterilisation. Yet, despite such attitudes and fears, there are indications that some women are gradually accepting the desirability of having fewer children. There are also indications that some of the women are shedding their inhibitions about sterilisation as they become aware of laparoscopy.

Conclusion It could be concluded from this study that if the FPP has not attained its targets, it is because the policy makers have not been sensitive to the people’s perceptions and social pressures that work on them. Given the lack of privacy and the structure of the household, the only effective birth control technique seems to be sterilisation. The use of this technique is disapproved often quite strongly. The disapproval stems mainly from mothers-in-law and husbands. Mothers-in-law, with a few exceptions, view the daughter-in-law’s expression of a desire to get sterilised as an act of defiance. They feel that the daughters-in-law can use the excuse of complications after sterilisation to escape the drudgery of house work.

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Apart from considerations of power, mothers-in-law disapprove of sterilisation also because of their experiences and fears of child mortality. The disapproval of sterilisation is also deeply embedded in notions of the husband’s authority, deference to elders and of the woman’s position in society. Sterilisation is often regarded as sinful because it goes against God’s wishes and of the notions of rebirth and karma. Yet, in spite of such general disapproval, undergoing sterilisation is regarded as a deviant act which falls within the socially tolerable range. This is the case when couples resort to sterilisation after they have procreated four or five children regarded as the optimal number in Mogra, or after they attain the status of seniority with their children becoming reproductive. The empowerment of young daughters-in-law resulting primarily from their motherhood along with the progression of the household (see Shah 1973), lend to possibilities of acceptance of sterilisation. Hence, sterilisation is used as a technique which enables people to conform to traditional norms regarding fertility. Underneath the social conservation in Mogra signs of a few stirrings can, however, be noticed. Even in Mogra today there are now a few people including mothers-in-law who are favourably disposed towards sterilisation. True many of them have urban links and are better educated but they are deviating, if at all, from the social norms only in a marginal way. Thus the better educated, salaried couples adopt birth control techniques earlier than the others although even those couples adopt them only after having the socially approved minimum fertility level. There are also signs that the fall in child mortality in recent years is making younger couples more favorably disposed towards a smaller family. These changes, however, are yet to gain momentum.

Notes 1. The paper is extracted from the author’s unpublished Ph.D thesis, submitted to the Department of Sociology, University of Delhi, Delhi in 1990. The author is grateful to Professor A.M. Shah, for his guidance and comments on the paper. She also thanks professor B.N. Nanda and Dr. Mohammad Talib of the Department of Sociology, Jamia Millia Islamia, for their comments on the paper. 2. See Bose (1988: 50–55) for a detailed account. 3. People’s notion of health is indicated commonly through two words, fat (mato) and thin (thakodo), meaning good and poor health respectively. A bodily disorder

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impeding normal course of life is categorised as illness. If an ailment does not hamper one’s daily routine, the person is rarely considered as being seriously ill. 4. See Cabdwell et al. (1984: 201) for a similar account of FPP in Karnataka. 5. Laproscopy is considered to be an operation conducted with beejli and doorveen, literally, electricity and binoculars. 6. Muklawo marks the entry of a bride into her conjugal home for consummation of marriage and cohabitation, usually around the age of 15. Muklawo is not a wedding ceremony marked by festivity, socially acknowledging the future husband-wife unit. Wedding and marriage (Muklawo) may coincide if the bride at the time of wedding is around 15 years of age. If the bride is below 12 or 13 years of age; her muklawo takes place later around the time she attains puberty.

References Bose, A. 1988. From Population to People Vol. I. Delhi: B R Publishing. Caldwell, J.C. 1982. Theory of Fertility Decline. London: Academic Press. Caldwell, J.C. Reddy, P.H. and P. Caldwell. 1984. ‘Determinants of Fertility Decline in Rural South India’, in T. Dyson and N. Crook (eds.), India’s Demography. New Delhi: South Asian. Dandekar, K. 1959. Demographic Survey of Six Rural Communities. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Das Gupta, M. 1978. ‘Production Relations and Population: Rampur’, Journal of Development Studies, 14 (4): 177–185. Demeny, P. 1981. ‘Research on the Determinants of Fertility. A Note on Priorities’, Population and Development Review, 7 (2): 311–324. Kara, P.K. and B.N. Sinha. 1987. ‘Family Welfare Programme and its Evaluation: Implications and Recommendations’, in R N Pati (ed.), Population, Family and Culture. New Delhi: USAID. Mahadevan, K. and M. Sumangala. 1987. Social Development, Cultural Change and Fertility Decline. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Mamdani, M. 1972. The Myth of Population Control. London: Monthly Review Press. Nag, M. 1981. ‘Modernization and its Impact on Fertility. The Indian Scene’, India International Centre Quarterly, 8 (3 & 4): 235–247. Nag, M., Peet, R.C. and B.N.F. White. 1978. ‘An Anthropological Approach to the Study of the Economic Value of Children in Java and Nepal’, Current Anthropology, 19: 293–306. Notestein, F.W. 1945. ‘Population: The Long View’, in T W Shultz (ed.), Food for the World. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Patel, Tulsi. 1982. ‘Domestic Group, Status of Women and Fertility’, Social Action, 32 (4): 363–379. ———. 1987. ‘Women’s Work and Their Status: Dialectics of Subordination and Assertion’, Social Action, 32 (4): 363–379. Rao, K.G. 1974. Studies in family Planning India. New Delhi: Abhinav. Shah, A.M. 1973. Household Dimension of Family in India. New Delhi: Orient Longman. Shah, A.M. and E.A. Ramaswamy. 1981. ‘Human Fertility and Culture: Some Sociological Observations’, India International Centre Quarterly, 8 (3 & 4): 227–233. Thompson, W. 1929. ‘Population’, American Journal of Sociology, 34: 959–975.

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United Nations. 1981. ‘Variations in the Incidence of Knowledge and Use of Contraception: A Comparative Analysis of World Fertility Survey Results of Twenty Developing Countries’, New York. Wyon, J.B. and J.E.Gordon. 1971. The Khanna Study. Cambridge. Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.

13 Ideology, Power and Resistance in a South Indian Village N. Sudhakar Rao

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everal studies are now available on local, unconventional forms of resistance or everyday protests which are not necessarily aimed at overthrowing the existing order (Abu-Lughod 1990; Comoroff 1985; Nash 1979; Oommen 1990; Scott 1985, 1986, 1990; Taussig 1980). These studies raise serious doubts about the theory of ‘false consciousness’, and of the relevance of the distinction between symbolic and instrumental forms of resistance in understanding power relations. The nature of power and its mode of operation are now regarded as more complex than it was thought earlier. While noting the attraction of studying resistance, Abu-Lughod following Foucault’s dictum e there is power there is resistance’ 1978: 95–96), exhorts us to ‘use resistance as a diagnostic of power’ (1990: 41). In this perspective a study of resistance, in India from the lowest strata upwards, should unfold the consciousness of the Untouchables who call themselves Dalits (oppressed), other subordinate castes (service castes or lower castes) and the nature of power. Mass movements and public protests of the Dalits, their ideologies, styles of protest and achievements have so far occupied the centre in the study, of resistance. There is copious and valuable material that addresses dissent, change, oppression and deprivation of the Dalits. But these refer mostly to open,

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violent, sometimes non-violent, well conceived and organized forms of protest which occur only occasionally. Actually, everyday protests of the Dalits and lower castes in the villages occur more frequently and address the above mentioned vital issues besides highlighting the power relations between the Dalits and the dominating groups, but these have barely drawn any attention. In this regard, it may be apt to note O’Hanlon’s remarks (1988: 222–3) on Guha’s Subaltern Studies series (1982, 1983, 1985) that one should look not for the virile form of a deliberate and violent onslaught, but for the unconventional forms that are not usually associated with politics. Also, as Oommen (1990: 400) observes, ‘everyday protests are rarely analysed or if analysed not viewed as protests’. It is true that Dalit protests in the country have not yet been translated to wider caste-based mobilizations. The reasons advanced are ‘cultural consensus’ (Moffatt 1979), patron-client relations, lack of caste consciousness, and economic and political weakness. The weakest explanation for the failure of Dalit protests is the cultural consensus thesis. Further, in a village situation, the hegemonies of caste ideology as moral obligations and interdependency even in the absence of patron-client relationships are considered significant obstacles to mass movements. Most of the Dalit or Backward Class protests and movements are intricately dovetailed’ with the ideologies of Mahatma Phule or of Dr Ambedkar. In the villages, where a vast majority of the Dalits live, the ideologies of the national or regional celebrities are hardly known. Though remaining ignorant of such ideologies, Dalits engage in everyday protests promoted and shaped by caste ideologies. There is not one caste ideology as Dumont (1980) or Moffatt (1979) will have us believe, but several (Deliege 1992; Kapadia 1991; Khare 1984; Lorenzen 1988). The Dalits are highly influenced by the local ideologies that serve their interests. As we go along, we shall note what these ideologies are and assess their impact on Dalits and lower castes in a south Indian village. I will examine different forms of resistance as conditioned by the social structure within the village and the region. While doing so I attempt to understand caste ideologies and dominant symbolic constructs such as that of family that have muffled Dalits’ resistance. I shall also examine the discursive application of power by the dominators which not only provokes the spirit of resistance, but also dissipates or suppresses it. I conducted field work for my doctoral dissertation in 1990–91 in the village called Thalupuru in the Nellore district of Andhra Pradesh.

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There are 23 castes including Muslims and Christians in the village which has a total population of 2211 The Kammas traditionally agriculturists are dominant in the political, economic and religious spheres. Other upper castes in the village are: Brahmin, Reddy and Komati. The Balija, Gowda, Golla, Vadde, Dudekula, Chakali and Mangali are the low castes1 whereas Madiga, Mala and Vettimala are the Untouchable castes—the Dalits. The three Dalit castes together comprise about onethird of the village population, but are poor. Most of the population depends on mica mining, though agriculture is an important occupation. The lower castes and Dalits suffer from ‘multiple oppression’ and ‘cumulative domination’ in the village. I have grouped them as subordinates because the upper castes (dominators) dominate over them. As this paper is about forms of resistance and implied strategies of power in the village, I shall first discuss the nature of power and its manifestation in de facto royal and magisterial authority and in the idiom of domestic legitimacy. It is followed by an exploration of the ideological basis of resistance among the Dalits and lower castes. Then I give a description and analysis of forms of resistance. Finally, an attempt is made to extrapolate from the forms of resistance the strategies of power adopted in the village.

Power in the Caste System Dumont (1980: 153) defines power as the legitimate force within a given territory; political and economic power rests with the king who is subordinate to the Brahmin. The king exercises secular power whereas the Brahmin holds religious authority. In this conception, political and economic power is transmitted at the village level to the village headman who is a representative of the king. The power of the headman percolates to the members of his caste who enjoy some of his prerogatives. Besides this, the Brahmin’s ‘purity’ descends upon the village headman, members of his caste as well as upon the members of other castes with whom he interacts and serves. But ‘impurity’ engulfs all Untouchables. The low castes are ‘pure’ with reference to the Untouchables but they stand out as ‘impure’ vis-a-vis the upper castes. The village headman used to be the supreme hereditary authority in the village until this position was abolished in the state in 1984. This Position was held by a Kamma family which claimed a genealogical

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link with the Gandikota2 rulers, representatives Vijayanagara rules during the 17th century. The ‘legitimate force’ mentioned above is endowed in this Kamma family in particular and the Kamma caste in general. It was customary for every household in the village to contribute one man day of free labour3 on the headman’s farm. This demonstrates the headman’s dominance and the subordination of all the villagers.4 Defiance of this rule was a serious crime inviting physical retribution. No complaint could be lodged with the police or dispute referred to the court without the headman’s consent. The headman and some upper caste leaders examined or tried the disputes that were brought to their notice. An appeal against such judgements to any other authority was treated as disloyalty and invited severe punishment. In disputes between a Kamma or any upper caste person and a low caste man or Dalit, the decision invariably went in favour of the former. No low caste person could refuse to comply with arbitrary demands made by a Kamma for a chicken or a goat at a price unilaterally fixed by the latter. A low caste woman had no recourse but to surrender if a Kamma eyed her and wanted to be gratified by her. No low caste or Dalit man could smoke a cigar or beedi while passing through the village. He was not supposed to allow the pancha, a garment wrapped around the waist, to hang below the knees, and his women could not wear blouses. He could not wear sandals when walking through the village street but had to carry them in hand, only to wear them after crossing the village. The low castes and Dalits had to remain standing in the presence of upper caste men whom they had to address using honorific terms. When an adult Kamma happened to pass by, whether inside the village or in the field, they were expected to stand up. The headman used to be the first person to be contacted by officials visiting the village. Itinerant groups of traditional entertainers such as story tellers, magicians and gymnasts wanting to perform in the village required the headman’s permission. Every wedding party in the village was required to honour him with a symbolic gift of betel leaves and nuts called pydimudupu before commencing the wedding rituals. Madigas were not supposed to contract any marriage without his consent. The low castes and Dalits suffered such oppression for centuries probably because of the village ideology which stressed interdependence and harmony which is discussed in the next section.

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Fictive Kinship and Power The notion of the ‘village republic’ in which the headman represents the raja (king) and functions as his political agent, administrator and magistrate, is familiar to South Asian specialists. Along with this is the cultural construction of the village as a ‘family’, in which members of all castes live in harmony. An analysis of this construction reveals the power that operates through the structure of the caste system. Fictive kinship integrates all the villagers except the Brahmins. Villagers who are not consanguineally related or affines address each other as mama (mother’s brother or father’s sister’s husband). The term also refers to the wife’s father as cross-cousin marriage prevails in the area. Its reciprocal term is alludu (sister’s son in the case of a male speaker, brother’s son or daughter’s husband in the case of a female speaker) in their daily interaction. These terms are applied depending on the caste status and age of the persons concerned. Usually a low caste person and sometimes even a Dalit male or female, addresses an upper caste person (male) or a member of the caste having roughly the same status as mama. The addressee reciprocates with alludu or oi or ore. The term oi or ore or me (in case of females) are not actually kinship terms but singular terms used by a senior to express affection and familiarity with a junior. Sometimes terms like peda or chinna nayana (father’s brother), atha (mother’s brother’s wife or father’s sister or wife’s mother or husband’s mother), anna (brother), vadina (brother’s wife), bava (sister’s husband), thatha (father’s or mother’s father) and avva (father’s or mother’s mother) are used. These kinship terms express familiarity and a sense of belongingness between members of different castes. One wonders why this terminology is used. The villagers describe their communal living as that of a ‘family’. Informants belonging to the  untouchable Madiga caste characterize their relationship with the Kamma landlords as a parent-child relationship. The Kammas depend on the Madigas for tilling their lands and for domestic services whereas the Madigas depend on the Kammas for foodgrains and employment. When a household faces an adverse situation or a calamity, others come forward to help or show sympathy to the affected household irrespective of caste affiliation. Should any dispute arise regarding the superiority of one’s village vis-a-vis another, village solidarity comes to the fore One is expected to extend moral support to one’s village and work for its

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betterment. The rich upper castes are ideally required to look after and help the poor low castes. The latter are expected to sincerely serve and support the former in all matters. Thus, interdependency, solidarity and unity are expressed in the idiom of kinship and family. The villagers who represent the village or act as its spokespersons are called grama peddalu (village elders) who generally belong to the upper castes. Age is used in determining the status of an elder. Though status is culturally defined, individuals view themselves as autonomous beings making their own decisions and acting accordingly. Kinship terms and kin sentiments are effectively used to downplay and even undermine the aspect of hierarchy. Further probing into other dimensions of the fictive family such as the exercise of authority and control and maintenance of discipline unfolds different aspects of communal living in the village. In the traditional system, the village headman was not only the political and religious head, but also a protector, provider and the patriarch. He belonged to the caste which generally owned most of the lands and in the present village it owns 55 per cent of the land and four mica mines. The headman had to take care of the needs of the rest of the villagers by providing work and other services. As the father, he was the right person to mediate with strangers. The domination of the village headman over the low castes and Dalits was similar to that of a parental authority. He administered justice and regulated behaviour to conform to the norms of the village just as a father does in the family. Apart from several others, the norms largely included maintenance of privileges sanctioned to the upper castes and autonomy of each caste in regard to its particular customs and practices. Maintenance of solidarity and unity of the village and loyalty to the headman and the village elders was also emphasized in this patriarchal culture. At times Dalits and members of low castes did deviate or overlook traditional rules and regulations. These were sometimes considered grave offences threatening the traditional system based on the authority of the village headman in particular and of the upper castes in general. Acts of defiance which were not serious were, however, treated as ‘mistakes made by children’ and ignored. In inter-caste disputes if some biased judgements alienated the subordinates, members of the upper castes would even coax and cajole the aggrieved persons into compliance.

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Traditionally, washermen (chakalis) and barbers (mangalis) were paid annually in grain for their services which was referred to as mera. They also received gifts during the performance of various life cycle rituals in their patron’s family. Chakali women would get a new sari and food on birthdays and during puberty rituals in upper caste households. For weddings, gifts would be either a gold ring or new clothes for the entire family. Food was provided during post-funeral rituals and annual ancestral worship. Similarly, during tonsure ceremonies, the barber received clothes or cash. During weddings, it was mandatory for the barber to play the traditional pipe for which he received two sets of clothes or gold ornaments besides monetary remuneration. The washermen and barbers had been receiving these gifts from all castes except the Untouchables. These gifts flowed from the superiors to the inferiors and among the equals and created sentimental bonds and moral obligations. ‘Be loyal to the house where you tasted the salt’ or ‘Do not count the beams of the house where you have eaten food’, were popular sayings enjoining loyalty to the house from which one partook of food. Such sentiments often suppressed the motivation to revolt and resist. In other words, gifts cushioned the effects of domination. Upper caste men who had the reputation of being good obliged their clients with loans, food and liquor on religious and social occasions. Customary gifts or doles during religious festivals and on life cycle rituals at birth, puberty and wedding were given generously. Defiance of norms was regarded as stupidity or wickedness of individuals who were duly warned. ‘Good’ clients were those who remained submissive and meek despite the arrogant behavior of their patrons. Patrons who did not give gifts and harassed their clients for small matters acquired a bad reputation. Those who did not tolerate even minor infringement of norms and exercised their authority wilfully were considered ‘bad’ patrons. Unlike in the surrounding villages, the traditional leadership in the village was in the hands of peddakapu and acharakapu. The peddakapu was the secular village headman mediating the village with the external world whereas the acharakapu was the ritual head confining himself to religious affairs and to the arrangement of services between Kammas and Madigas known as kamathalu. In the kamathalu system, certain Madiga families were attached to a Kamma family for a period of six years for agricultural service. The

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Madiga families were entitled to food and grains till the harvest time of the given year. The system had to be abandoned around 1972. Erratic rainfall, high wage rates in the mica mines and the widespread feeling that the Madigas were no longer ‘sincere’ and were becoming arrogant contributed to the demise of this institution. When the position of the village headman was abolished in 1984, a son of the former village headman had been the Grama Sarpanch (the elected head of the village panchayat). He had held this office from 1964 to 1982 and in 1984 was elected to the position of the Mandal President5 which he occupied till 1991. He has been the de facto leader of the village although he has now no official position. He informally adjudicates disputes brought to him off and on. From the above description, it is evident that moral, obligatory and affective sentiments neutralize the effects of domination in the village. Although the Dalits are acutely conscious of their exploitation and oppression, they curb their instincts to rebel because of sentimental attachment to the dominators and because of the value placed on village solidarity. Despite such ideologies and sentiments, however, the village also nurtures egalitarian ideologies which occasionally inspire the Dalits to rebel.

Egalitarianism in Caste Ironically, we can also notice the existence of values in Hinduism that defy the hierarchical caste system and inspire and encourage the Dalits and low castes to argue for egalitarianism.6 Thalupuru villagers are immensely influenced by local Sri Potuluri Veerabrahmam and Sri Venkaiahswamy. Sri Veerabrahmam is one of the most popular saints in the Telugu region. He attained jeevasamadhi (i. e., buried alive) in his mutt (seminary) which is at a distance of 120 kms from Thalupuru. He was born in the vishwabrahmana (smith) caste and lived in the later part of 17th century.7 Sri Veerabrahmam held that a Brahmin was one who acquired wisdom by mastering Vedic knowledge and not the one born in a Brahmin family. He denied the origin of varnas from different parts of Brahma’s (the creator) body.8 He interpreted Brahma’s head, shoulders, thighs and feet metaphorically as referring to hierarchy of wisdom, and argued that the sages in the Vedic period were born to animals, chandala (Untouchable) women and even inanimate objects, and that

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caste had never existed (Javangula n.d.: 346–47). Sri Veerabrahmam accepted as his disciples a man whose family had converted to Islam, and-an Untouchable—a daring act those days. It is only apt to mention here that whenever the issue of caste hierarchy was raised by me, the Dalit respondents used to immediately recall Sri Veerabrahmam’s preachings on caste equality. Sri Venkaiahswamy, who wandered in the region around Thalupuru, passed away in 1982. He was another popular saint among the villagers. He belonged to the Kamma caste and was reputed for his virtues, ideal devotion and clairvoyance. He helped those who sought his advice and accepted food from all castes. He allowed people to worship him while he was still alive. A shrine has come up in a nearby village to worship him. No discrimination is practiced in this shrine. Universal love was his main message. He vowed not to turn away from anyone who truly loved him and exhorted people to shun anger, jealousy and hatred. He wanted people to be helpful to others and to give up immoral practices. One of Sri Venkaiahswamy’s disciples is a middle-aged Untouchable living on the eastern side of Thalupuru. He acts as the Saint’s medium as well as of the goddess Kanakadurga and is a living example of spiritual equality and universal love. People of all castes from far and near come to Thalupuru to seek his help in exorcising evil spirits and in solving their personal problems, such as finding lost cattle (Pesala n.d.). A Kamma donated 10 acres to him to build an ashramam (hermitage). In maintaining the ashramam he is helped by a Brahmin woman. These local saints and seers stand as testimonies to spiritual and human equality. Several villagers now question the Brahmanical theology and the varna hierarchy. A Dalit in the village offers an alternative to the Brahmin theology. According to him man is made of pancha bhutas (five elements)—air, earth, water, light and sky (ether). God, the supreme being, also embodies the same substances, but possesses greater powers. God can disintegrate himself into these elements, and can reconstitute Himself at will. Further, He transforms and refracts Himself into different forms. And since the constitution of man and God is the same, man himself is God. He splits the Telugu term for god, bhagavanthudu, into bhaga, which means the womb, and vanthudu which means the one who comes out of it. Hence God and man are the same, God being called man. Since all caste people, male or female, come into the world by the union of male and female substances, and through the

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womb, there is no difference at all between the castes. He quips, ‘If Brahmins are superior to anyone else, why are they not born from the mouth?’ In support of caste equality he gave me a book written under the aegis of Alwar saints which narrates a story of Lord Krishna dispelling Arjuna’s prejudice against an Untouchable man (Neeli 1980). Undoubtedly, these egalitarian values legitimize the Untouchables’ resistance to upper caste domination. Today, the traditional restrictions imposed on the low castes have disappeared. The Dalits now wear proper clothes and put on sandals even while passing through the main village. Smoking while walking in the main street is now common. They do not rise when an upper caste man passes by, although they may do so out of courtesy when he approaches them. They do not fear retribution for being discourteous towards the upper castes and refuse outright unreasonable demands made on them by the Kammas. They are willing to even resort to the use of violence to protect their women from being raped or molested by the upper castes. They are no longer submissive and openly express their defiance of the upper castes if they feel that some injustice has been done to them. The upper castes have now been forced to accept the changed circumstances. Several Kammas and the Brahmins who had earlier grown rich on farming and mica mining have now lost their wealth. The Dalits have found new employment opportunities in charcoal making, collection and sale of scrap mica and white stone cutting. With the financial support of the government many have become economically independent; running food stores, rearing sheep and buffaloes, and cultivating land through well irrigation. Poor Kammas do not look any different from a moderately rich Dalit—now they even borrow money from the rich Dalits. The authority of the Kammas has been reduced because they could not effectively impose the hierarchical norms on immigrant Dalits working in the mica mines and in government offices. The practice of untouchability, imposition of punitive fines on the Dalits, and the social boycott of Dalits for petty crimes are now punishable under law. Further, the prospect of the Dalits lodging complaints with the police which entails several visits to the police station and the consequent loss of social status and the expenses involved in prolonged litigation impel the Kammas to exercise restraint. The Kammas now also depend on the Dalits for electoral support and are reluctant to incur their displeasure.

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In the new situation it is the turn of the Dalits to be arrogant. They can be found shouting or abusing upper caste persons anonymously as they walk in the streets. Occasionally, upper caste elders are confronted on the street by Dalits demanding explanation for the misbehaviour of some of their fellow castemen. The Dalits deliberately break all the traditional norms which discriminate against them and oppress them. They have now unilaterally decided to start work in the fields late in the morning (8 a.m.) and wind up for the day early in the afternoon (2 p.m.) unlike in the past when they used to work from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m.9 Although the Dalits have now become assertive they still remain poor and politically weak. They still cannot effectively retaliate when the upper castes commit atrocities on them. They have no leader to protect them in the village. Under the circumstances their everyday protests take the form of foot dragging, especially in the mica mines, absenteeism and stealing as in Kerala (Oommen 1990). Besides these, there are various other forms of resistance as indicated by O’Hanlon below: Every dichotomy between domination and resistance, as we currently conceive it, bears all the marks of dominant discourse, in its insistence that resistance itself should necessarily take the virile form of a deliberate and violent onslaught. Rejecting this, we should look for resistance of a different kind: dispersed in fields we do not conventionally associate with the political; residing sometimes in the evasion of norms or the failure to respect ruling standards of conscience and responsibility; sometimes in the furious efforts to resolve in ideal or metaphysical terms the contradictions of the subaltern’s existence, without addressing their source; sometimes in what looks only like cultural difference. From this perspective, even of the political, with their demand for recognition of the values and meanings which they incessantly manufacture, can be construed as a form of resistance (1988: 222–223).

I shall describe some of these forms of resistance as noted and observed in Thalupuru.

Forms of Resistance Resistance often expresses itself in acts of subversion, assertion of rights, damaging one’s own property and defiance of traditional norms by appropriating certain status symbols, singing, withdrawal from associating with the upper castes, retaliation and participation in elections.

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Subversion: Overt defiance is combined with covert resistance. Covert resistance may involve active but disguised subversion or passive nonco-operation. While direct confrontation with the oppressors is often avoided, attempts are made to raise the collective consciousness of the Dalits and low castes. The weakness of the subordinates such as lack of spirit of cooperation, educational backwardness and lack of will power are highlighted and the need to act collectively to thwart domination is stressed in such conscientizing efforts. A matriculate Dalit (Gowda caste) employed in the state government’s health department is a political leader in disguise quietly organizing resistance to the Kamma domination. From his early days he disliked the oppression and brutality to which the lower castes were subjected by the Kammas. He was involved in student politics and has the reputation of having defeated his Kamma rivals in student’s union elections. He has gained popularity in the area by offering free medical service to the people. His job, which is to educate the masses in family planning, gives him easy access to the people. He secretly canvasses against the Kammas during elections for the Panchayat, Mandal and State Assembly seats and encourages the low castes and Dalits to fight Kamma tyranny. His association with the government’s Adult Education Programme gives him a cover to conscientize the Dalits. His activities are supported by his relative who is a full-fledged politician in a nearby village. The latter managed to frustrate the Kammas who were pressing for his transfer elsewhere It is noteworthy that there are now many others like him among the Dalits who work silently to resist their oppressors. Non-Co-operation: Today, the service castes in the village assert their rights through deliberate non-cooperation. They resent the upper castes dictating terms to them and express their resentment by choosing to work at their own pace. In the past Chakalis (washermen) used to collect neerukayi pancha (men’s lower garment that got wet during the morning bath) from their patrons’ homes everyday, wash them at the ghat and bring it back to their patrons the same evening. Other soiled clothes used to be collected twice a week to be washed and returned in the evening on the same day. Now the practice of collecting wet clothes has disappeared and soiled clothes are collected not more than once a week. They bring back washed clothes only after several reminders. If the patron is abusive or if he fails to pay the agreed amount of annual wage, they bluntly ask him/her to find another washerman.

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Mangalis (barbers) in the village refuse to visit Kammas in their homes to cut their hair unless they are requested politely at least a couple of times. If a patron does not pay immediately for shaving or cutting hair or if he is stingy in giving grains at the harvest, they find numerous excuses not to visit his home. A Mangali who was recently asked to play dolu (drum) at a funeral, refused by pretending that his dolu was broken. A few years ago he could not have so easily evaded the obligation. Members of service castes feel that they have been exploited for ages and nobody is interested in their welfare. They also feel that everybody rides roughshod over them by issuing commands and orders. Now they do not tolerate such behaviour. Since their manyam10 lands were ‘appropriated’ often through fraudulent means by the Kammas they no longer feel obliged to render free service for the village rituals. Damaging Property: Resistance often involves damaging the property of dominators as is the case with some of the peasants and tribes in India (Arnold 1982; Guha 1982; Hardiman 1982) or the peasants of Malaysia (Scott 1985). In Thalupuru the Dalits and low castes prefer to cause damage to their own property as a form of resistance. A Mangali accepted a contract to play music at the wedding of a Velama (an upper caste) family in a nearby village. He went with two other Mangalis to play music on the appointed day. The Velamas have retained several wedding rituals which entail taking out processions several times between the bride and the groom’s camps and include several rituals. For each of these processions and rituals they needed music. The Mangalis, who were performing at a Velama wedding for the first time, were taken by surprise at the incessant demands made on their services. They had a hard time trying to put up with such demands because carrying the dolu—which weighs about fifteen to twenty pounds—and playing the drum with both hands is extremely strenuous. Hence one of them lost patience and deliberately punctured the dolu by striking very hard. This gave them a good excuse to stop playing music and yet receive payment as per the contract. Covert Revenge: In the face of resistance from the Dalits the upper castes have been feeling helpless. They cannot use force to make their former subordinates ‘behave’ and show respect because of the police and the law enforcing agencies. Their only defense is to maintain a semblance of prestige by using sarcasm and by making fun of the Dalits when they try

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to imitate the upper castes. Such ridicule has not, however, prevented the Dalits from appropriating upper caste status symbols. They do so deliberately to remind the upper castes of their arrogant ways in the past and take delight in their helplessness to put down such open defiance. When I asked some Untouchable youths, how they felt about the upper castes mocking at them one of them burst out saying: The assholes of upper castes will be burning out of jealousy. My sons! Bastards! Let them burn and let them die. Who cares? We will buy (clothes) and put them on. We know they are not happy; let them feel unhappy and kill themselves with their unhappiness.’

Such pungent expletives and offensive remarks directed at the upper castes also reveal a deliberate desire to avenge the indignities they suffered in the past. It is only on such occassions that the intensity of their anger comes out. There is no hint of it however when one observes the Dalits engaged in their everyday tasks. Another form of resistance is to show outward deference, politeness and loyalty so as to gain some space to express dislike and hatred towards the dominators. Scott (1990) convincingly shows how the subordinates defy the norms while exhibiting external deference to the dominators. Here I shall give two specific forms of resistance containing such ‘hidden transcripts’. Wearing the Sacred Thread: Of all the appropriations, the claim over the sacred thread by the low castes and Untouchables is a radical and popular form of resistance (Kumar 1985: 127–154; Majumdar 1958: 76–78; O’Hanlon 1985: 40–44). In Thalupuru, there is an Untouchable man who wears the sacred thread.11 According to him, the sacred thread is a mere symbol of Vedic knowledge, and there are no caste restrictions against wearing it. He asserts that no one, including the Brahmins, is born with a sacred thread and that one is invested with it upon attaining spiritual and physical maturity. According to him, the Brahmins and other upper castes have selfishly appropriated the symbol and prohibited other castes from wearing it. He quips, ‘jagamerigina brahmaudiki jyendyamela’ which translates to: ‘Why does the Brahmin who knows all about the world need to wear a sacred thread?’ He implies that the Brahmin needs to wear the sacred thread only because he seeks a higher status and material benefits that go with it and to cover his lack of

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knowledge of the Vedas. He further argues that he has the right to wear the sacred thread because he has acquired Vedic knowledge and is in no way inferior to a Brahmin. The upper castes mock at him behind his back, but this does not faze him. Other Untouchables, however, are not impressed. They say that it does not matter whether one wears the sacred thread or not because it cannot feed one. Chindu Dance: The performance consists of a rhythmic stamping of legs, movement of hands and display of ferocity, superiority and aggression. It takes place during the wedding processions of upper castes. Chindu is performed to the beat of drums called thappetlu or palakalu. During this performance, the Madiga dancer raises each leg and forcefully stamps it to the ground. The dance12 allows him to legitimately raise his leg against the members of upper castes who are watching it. For the Madiga the gesture symbolizes crushing of the upper castes under his foot; this meaning is hidden from the latter who in any case are usually in a jovial mood on such occasions to take affront. Similar forms of resistance can be noted in some of the other village rituals as well where resistance becomes more transparent though it is coloured with appropriate religious sentiments. Ritual Abuses: Malas and Madigas take up very important but menial roles in the village ritual called jathara in which traces of resistance can be noted. The story about the goddess narrated on this occasion by a Mala priest called Asadi contains issues of male domination, woman’s resistance, struggle for power, and asserts the superiority of woman and the subjugation of man (Rao 1993: 203–207). The Asadi sings to the goddess hurling abuses at the upper castes to please her. It is believed that the goddess wants to humiliate the proud upper castes for their ingratitude and greed. The Asadi says that he does not abuse anyone in particular for fear of retribution after the ritual but his deep-seated antagonism towards the upper castes becomes transparent in the course of the ritual. Later the Asadi expressed his resentment towards the upper castes thus: ‘What does a landlord do in the field? Nothing. He hires labourers (us), two or three and gets his work done. But he takes all the produce or benefit but gives us very little. It is the same even in jathara. We labour and people give donations/gifts to the goddess but the landlords keep hundies (cash box) with them, collect everything and give us only a few rupees.’

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He implied that the, jathara organizers did not give him his share. In the olden days, the Asadi and his fellow performers used to get a one-fifth share in everything such as sacrificial animals, food and donations besides a bundle of betel leaves, 250 grams of betel nuts, a blanket and unlimited quantities of toddy. But now he is paid only 50 rupees in cash. He thinks that the upper caste organizers of jathara are greedy. He holds that his grandparents were cheated by an upper caste family which usurped their gold ornaments and land. In these forms of resistance, tradition provides space for the Untouchables to enter into a kind of ‘liminal phase’ which allows code switching. Personal and/or community-centered codes are superimposed on the conventional ones. It is not possible to avoid the performance of either the dance or the ritual abuse. The upper castes must allow the ritual lest they invite the wrath of the goddess. Wedding processions become dull and uninteresting if the chindu is not performed. Therefore, the traditional continues as does the Untouchables’ space for resistance. Songs and Stories: Lutz and Abu-Lughod (1990: 11–14) argue that emotional discourses do not refer to some internal state but are in and about social life. Here, I wish to stress another point although the social aspect cannot be ignored in the discourse on resistance. The experience of exclusion and oppression inspire the Dalits to produce highly imaginative and expressive song traditions. I here present a song to reflect their antagonism towards the Brahmins and their resistance to the Brahmin ideology. Narration of stories and song recitals are performed both in public and private spaces. In the public space free expression is restricted whereas in the privacy of one’s home or neighbourhood there is greater freedom. Rendition in the public space is more formal, and themes chosen are those which appeal to the public at large, whereas in the private space it is informal and is concerned with personal matters that can be shared with confidants, associates and allies. In the public space the culturally specific activity of the subordinate creates ‘sentimental bonds quite independent of the “real” feelings of the person involved’ (Appadurai 1990: 110). In the private, however, the inner or real feelings are freely expressed. The protagonist of the following song is a young Madiga woman.13 Though it is in the form of a dialogue between a Madiga girl and a Brahmin youth, it is rendered by one person only. It narrates the story of a young Brahmin falling in love with a beautiful Madiga girl. He degrades himself by eating carrion. This is followed by the sexual act that further degrades the Brahmin:

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Singer:

Madiga: Brahmin: Madiga:

Brahmin: Madiga:

Brahmin: Madiga:

Singer: Madiga: Brahmin:

When a handsome Brahmin praying at the tank When praying—oh my brother! A cunning Madiga damsel came that side Cunning damsel came—oh my brother! The Madiga damsel liked the Brahmin Liked the man—oh my brother! If you want, why don’t you come—my brother! Why don’t you come my lord—oh my brother? I don’t know your village, I don’t know you! I don’t know you—oh my brother! Compound wall all around and lime plastering Lime plastering—oh my brother! Near lime plastering, village boundary! The village boundary—oh my brother! Near village boundary, the path of Suranna! Suranna path, oh my brother! I will come and I will come beautiful angel The beautiful angel—oh my brother! In the compound of Reddy, a calf died The calf died—oh my brother! Cut slowly with small knives Cut slowly—oh my brother! How do I cut? I am a young Brahmin Young Brahmin—oh my brother! Putyourjajam14 on the peg On the peg—oh my brother! Cut slowly with small knives Cut widely with big knives Cut slowly with small knives Cut widely with big knives Cut widely—oh my brother! Cooked delicious food with chillies and salt Cooked delicious food—oh my brother! You feed me first and last morsel You feed me sir—oh my brother! How do I feed, my beautiful angel? Beautiful angel—oh my brother!

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A strong role reversal and repudiation of roles at the two polar ends of the society—the Brahmin and the Madiga Untouchable—is portrayed in this song. Here the Brahmin, the epitome of purity, eats the most polluting carrion. His passion for the Untouchable woman is so overpowering that he sets aside his purity and caste superiority, removes his sacred thread, brings a dead calf, butchers it and eats it with his Madiga love. This song suggests the hypocrisy of the Brahmins who claim to be superior to the others. It is a statement seeking to exact retribution from the Brahmins for imputing intrinsic impurity on the Madiga caste. Apart from individualistic forms of resistance, there is collective resistance as well. In the following, I shall describe some forms of such resistance expressed in acts of withdrawal, retaliation and in electoral mobilization. Formal resistance is a direct and visible response to appropriation and coercion which does not necessarily defy social norms. Withdrawal: Withdrawal is a common form of passive resistance.15 It includes non-communication, absenteeism and the like. The Malas of Thalupuru village have withdrawn from interaction with the Kammas. It was easy for Malas to do so because unlike the Madigas they were not dependent on the Kammas for their living. The only traditional duty that connected them to the village was to weave coarse cotton saris with red and black stripes which were used for ritual purposes by all castes in the village. As mill cloth came into vogue, demand for woven hand cloth declined in the course of time. The Malas were also not particularly interested in weaving because they worked in the mica mines and on their own lands. Many of them have taken advantage of the new educational opportunities and are working in government offices and private establishments. While the Malas have completely withdrawn from the village, the Kamma politicians now seek favours from the Malas for support during the elections. Retaliation: Political and economic independence has fostered in the Malas the spirit of retaliation for any injustice done to them. If Kammas or other upper caste persons physically assault them, they are prepared to retaliate in kind. There were two such incidents of retaliation. In one, a Mala beat a Kamma who abused him and demanded free labour for the headman. At that time the Mala was supposed to attend to some work at the mine belonging to another Kamma landlord. Taking advantage of the fact that he was working with another Kamma landlord, the Mala

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beat up the Kamma. No action was taken against him because it was the Kamma’s fault, and the Mala had a genuine ground for defiance. In another incident, a Mala who was carrying home some beef wrapped in a cloth was called out by a Kamma who was at that time engaged in ploughing. But the Mala did not pay heed to the call and went on his way. He justified his behaviour by stating that it would have been inappropriate to meet the Kamma with beef in hand.16 The Kamma nursed a grudge against the Mala for disobeying him. Therefore once when he saw him passing by the Kamma locality, he crept from behind and struck him on the head with a stick and ran away before the Mala could retaliate. The Mala went back home and informed some caste elders who immediately approached the village headman and demanded an explanation for the unprovoked attack. The headman and other elders called the defendant who alleged that the Mala had first abused him. At this the Mala lost his temper and abused the defendant in front of all the Kamma leaders and screamed that he would beat him up whenever he got a chance. The Kammas preferred to keep quiet and swallow the insult because they did not want to attract penalty under the Protection of Civil Rights Act of 1955. Elections: During the Panchayat elections in the village, caste antagonisms get sharpened. Since the first Panchayat elections in 1950, Kammas had been holding the office of the Sarpanch. Until 1984, however, the elections were nominal for there was no voting; the village headman and other Kammas decided among themselves who would be the President and Members of the Panchayat. In 1984, the Kammas were divided into two groups, one supporting the Congress (I) and the other the Telugu Desam Party (TDP) thereby forcing elections. Since then, however, no elections have been held. The Dalits have withdrawn from the elections because they realize that they are not economically powerful enough to challenge the Kammas. The same holds true for the elections to the Agricultural Co-operative Society which was established in 1950. This did not, however, imply that the Dalits were apathetic to elections. They were prominent in the elections of the local high school where money had no role to play. I noticed that caste politics crept into the school in a big way. Although the adults remained aloof, they took cognizance of the outcome. The school teachers hold elections every year for the position of School Pupils’ Leader (SPL). The Kamma students were eager to

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capture this office every year although they did not always succeed. When the strength of Dalit students increased in 1982 due to the establishment of a government hostel for them, the Dalits did not allow the Kammas to get elected at all. Then the Kammas threatened the non-Kammas, especially the Dalits with dire consequences if they participated in the elections. As a result, since 1989, the SPL position in the school has been captured by Kammas.

Strategies of Power From the pattern of resistance delineated above it is now possible to draw inferences on the nature of power relationships. While the Dalits and low castes resist in order to circumscribe the power of the dominators, the latter seek to keep the Dalits suppressed. They also work secretly to reduce the strength of the Dalits. Towards this end, they take recourse to false representation of the Dalits. Thus, a Kamma, an exSarpanch, argued that the government’s policy of granting land to the Dalits for their economic development was bad because they were lazy and did not know how to cultivate. Instead, he wanted the lands to be given to the Kammas who, according to him, were good cultivators. Although Kamas owned lands, all agricultural operations were in fact carried out by the Dalits. Had they possessed adequate resources, they certainly would have done well in agriculture. Similarly, upper caste people discourage the low castes and Dalits from sending their children to school on the ground that they are not intelligent enough to pass the high school. Such false representations misguide the Dalits and even government officials who are sympathetic to the subordinates. The dominators not only possess political, economic and religious power but also exercise it in such a way that the dependence of the subordinates is perpetuated. For instance, during the pre-British period, the low castes and Dalits were not allowed to acquire land. They had to depend on the upper castes for their survival. Times have changed, but even now the political and economic power still remains with the upper castes. The dominators consider it their prerogative to decide whether to help or not, and concede or refuse the requests made by the subordinates. Since power can be exercised effectively on the dependents, the dominators try to prevent their clients from becoming independent. In the case of Mangalis narrated above, the upper caste family agreed to pay a certain amount for the musical service no doubt, but the

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duration for which the service was required was not specified. The upper caste family sought the music services of the Mangalis beyond the customary period for which they were required to play. Similarly, the dominators pay low wages to the labourers because they know they are helpless and are in dire economic need. They often make them work for extended hours. Paying wages for a certain amount of work is legitimate but how much to pay and how long the work should be done is to be decided by bargaining between the employers and the employees. Political and economic power gives the dominators an advantage in such bargaining. The resistance of subordinates is a direct reaction to such exploitation. Stealing, foot-dragging and evasion of work are the obverse of the manipulative strategy adopted by the dominators to extract surplus. The dominators also adopt the strategy of creating visible differences to invoke deference. They convey superior status by wearing elegant clothes, by using religious symbols and by preventing the subordinates from using them through coercive and persuasive methods. Symbolic gestures and expressive traditions illuminate the strategies of ‘public’ and ‘hidden’ transcripts. The ‘public transcripts’ of the dominators state fair treatment but are in fact exploitative and discriminatory. In ‘public transcripts’, the subordinates show deference to the dominators, but their ‘hidden transcripts’ reveal resistance. Both dominators and subordinates adopt strategies which avoid open confrontation and revolt (Scott 1990: 14–15). Village ritual provides a space where a Dalit can publicly abuse upper castes. Similarly, religious values and sentiments provide a means to justify the actions of dominators. They cannot allow the Dalits to live in the main village because they are engaged in polluting activities. The dominators interpret and apply the principle of the separation of the pure from the impure to their advantage. The modern state is attempting to change the village power structure through democratic elections. But the dominators ensure that empowerment remains an illusion to the subordinates by a combination of threats and manipulations on which the subordinates’ reaction is withdrawal from interaction and/or retaliation. Power operates both in coercive and non-coercive forms. Coercive power is transparent and visible. Traditional norms had been coercively imposed upon the subordinates. This form of power has been well recognized by Indian sociologists. For instance, Srinivas (1959: 15) writes that use of physical force, boycott and muscle power are some of the criteria defining a dominant caste. Dube (1968: 80) states that caste

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dominance is expressed through abuses, beating, gross underpayment, sexual exploitation and the like. Similarly, Oommen (1970) states that that domination also works discursively; it works not only through paternalistic behaviour but also through the display of ‘public transcripts’. The strategies of false representation work persuasively through the logic of common sense. Most of the time the resisters give in to the demands of the dominators without physical coercion because of their economic dependency. Hardly can one find coercion in the rituals in which subordinates participate by taking on menial positions. They do this because they share some religious sentiments with the upper castes and because they derive some material benefits.

Conclusion From the above analysis of resistance among the Dalits, the theory of consensus put forth by Dumont (1980), Moffatt (1975: 1979) and supported by McGilvary (1983) does not square with facts. As several others have already pointed out, dissent exists among the Dalits. Their ideology contradicts hierarchy. The Dalits are conscious of their deprivation, exploitation and powerlessness. They espouse the Hindu egalitarian ideology that supports their cause and apply it to justify their attempts for securing equality. However, in their practical life they do not completely eschew hierarchy; in other words they have not developed an independent egalitarian system for themselves.17 They conform, to a certain degree, to the overarching gradation of castes even though they articulate the notion of equality of castes with a twist. I believe that the main reason for the absence of egalitarian structure among the Dalits is the hegemonic influence of hierarchy. It is critical for the dominating groups to maintain hierarchy by legitimizing religious values in order to retain their political and economic interests. To this end, they apply discursive power such that the Dalits accept the differentiation of status because it also gives some of them a high status. A vehement refusal of the assigned status or a challenge by a lower caste would even endanger its survival. Whosoever is assigned lower status accept the status of those placed above because of his dependence for food. The resisters, although they hate hierarchy, domination and the practice of untouchability, do not want to annihilate the caste system. The Dalits like to maintain endogamy so that their values and interests will remain unimpaired. They say, ‘Each caste is great in its own way. So

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why marry in another caste’ According to them, caste has to do with the occupation and every occupation provides livelihood to the individuals who pursue it. They quote the proverb ‘koti vidyalu kuti korake’, which means that ten million occupations, literally knowledge systems, are devised for the sake of earning one’s bread. It does not matter what occupation one pursues. As all caste occupations are practiced essentially for food, they should not be used as status indicators. Styles of domination vary, as much as the forms of resistance Power is always discursive in its functioning. It has been applied through coercion as well as through persuasion, rewards, temporary status elevation in the performance of certain village rituals, and by conceding certain demands made by the subordinates. Domination can neither annihilate resistance altogether, nor can it tolerate it. Further, forms of resistance inform us that the Dalits’ dissent of caste ideology is quite old Reform movements have added from time to time the Dalits’ discontent with the existing system. We may conclusively say that everyday protests had been occurring even before the organization of reform movements and their conversion to different faiths. As the feudal system is gradually giving way to the democratic system, coercive relations are disappearing. Non-coercive methods, such as persuasion, are being used to gain the Dalits’ cooperation At the same time, hidden and passive forms of resistance are becoming open and public. It may be seen here that symbolic forms of resistance are the harbingers of instrumental protests. Instrumental protests have taken the form of both violent and non-violent mobilization of groups and communities.

Notes I am grateful to Professor Anthony Carter, my Ph D supervisor, at the Department of Anthropology, University of Rochester, USA, for his help and guidance in conducting this research study and in finalizing the Ph D thesis for submission. I thank Dr Shiva Prasad, Lecturer, Department of Anthropology, University of Hyderabad, for his valuable suggestions and comments on an earlier version of this paper. Thanks are also due to the students and the faculty at the Department of Anthropology, University of Bergen, Bergen Norway, for their discussion and helpful suggestions Professor Leif Manger, Director, Center for Development Studies, University of Bergen, Bergen, provided me excellent facilities for completing of this paper. My field work was supported by a junior fellowship grant from the American Institute of Indian Studies, Chicago, USA. 1. These essentially belong to ‘Backward Class’ category of the government. 2. Gandikota is 200 kms towards north-west of this village. Under attack by Muslim rulers the Nayaka rulers of Gandikota fled to different places; one of these families happened to settle in Thalupuru.

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3. The employees in the government establishments and the mica mines who belonged to other villages and towns were exempted. 4. This corresponds to the practice of the Venkatagiri Raja among his subjects. Every village was required to send a pair of bullocks, a cart and a plough before the agricultural season started for ploughing Raja’s lands. Venkatagiri town is only 50 kms from the village. 5. The Mandal was a taluk level elected body of the Panchayati Raj institutions introduced in Andhra Pradesh in 1984. Each district was divided into Mandals which outnumbered the taluks in a district. The grama sarpanch was the elected head of the new village panchayat. 6. Mahatma Gandhi viewed caste system not in hierarchical order but in terms of interdependence and equality. Beteille (1987) argues that the Hindu society, which is the epitome of hierarchy, gives due recognition to equality and the American society while denying hierarchy in practice functions on the basis of hierarchy. Lorenzen (1988) argues that Kabir Panth in north India preached abolition of status differences that plagued Hindu society, which he terms as non-caste Hinduism. Similarly we find preachings of Bhakt Thukaram and other saints in Maharashtra on human equality. Alwar and Nayanar saints in south India preached spiritual equality and conferred sainthood even on Untouchables. The bhakti, ‘devotional and love’ in Hindu tradition had discredited hierarchy and held human equality in high esteem. Untouchable saints like Ravidas in Punjab and Ghasidas in Madhya Pradesh raised their voices for an egalitarian social order. The Sankhya philosophy and Buddhist theology, which posits divine manifestation in human body regardless of caste, are popular among the Untouchables of Lucknow (Khare 1984). Karin Kapadia (1991) finds divergent discourses on the caste ideology and menstrual pollution among the upper castes and Untouchable women in rural Tamil Nadu. 7. Stephen Fuchs (1965) calls him a rebellious prophet. 8. In the region around Thalupuru the origin myth of caste is popularly associated with the Brahma rather than with Purusha. 9. This is mainly due to the impact of the mica mines where the work schedule in two shifts is from 7 a.m. to 2 p.m. and from 2 p.m. to 9 p.m. 10. Rent free lands given to them for the services they rendered to the village. These lands were assigned to them for their services at village rituals. As long as they enjoyed the usufruct of these lands, they were in an obligation to render free service. 11. Guha (1983: 30) and Oommen (1990: 400) have rightly pointed out that individuals and small groups appropriate symbols of upper castes in a spirit of protest. 12. The Malas do not allow the Madigas to perform the dance at their weddings because they are aware of its hidden messages in the dance. The antagonism between the Malas and the Madigas and the contexts in which they occur Dalit castes come in the way of collective mobilization of all. I propose to attend to this issue later in a separate paper. 13. Trawick (1988, 1990, 1991) elegantly demonstrates how Untouchable women sometimes produce a unique expressive tradition because of their position and status in society: as women in the gender category and as Untouchables in the social category. Hence Untouchable women undergo double oppression. Similarly in the gender context, Ramanujam (1991) finds a system countering the dominant themes in the stories of women. 14. The sacred thread. 15. Mosse (1994: 83–86) notes the withdrawal of Pallars in a village in Tamil Nadu. 16. According to the dominant Hindu ideology beef eating pollutes man: Untouchables are inherently polluting because they eat beef (see Moffatt 1979). The uppercastes do

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not eat beef. For example, hierarchy obtains among untouchable castes in Tamil Nadu (Moffatt 1979; Mosse 1994). 17. The hierarchy is not based exclusively on the religious values of purity and impurity (see Rao 1990).

References Abu-Lughod, L. 1990. ‘The Romance of Resistance: Tracing Transformation of Power Through Bedouin Women’, American Ethnologist, 17 (1): 41–55. Appadurai, Arjun. 1990. ‘Topographies of the Self: Praise and Emotion in Hindu India’, in Catherine A. Lutz and Lila Abu-Lughod (eds), Language and Politics of Emotion. New York: Cambridge University Press. Arnold, David. 1982. ‘Rebellious Hillmen: the Gudem-Rampa Risings, 1839–1924’, in R. Guha (ed.). Subaltern Studies I: Writings on South Asian History and Society. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Beteille, Andre. 1987. The Idea of Natural Inequality and Other Essays. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Comaroff, J. 1985. Body Power, Spirit of Resistance. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Deliege, R. 1992. ‘Replication and Concensus: Untouchables, Caste and Ideology in India’, Man (n. s.) 27: 155–73. Dube, S. C. 1968. ‘Caste Dominance and Factionalism’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, (n. s.) 2: 58–81. Dumont, Louis. 1980. Homo Hierarchicus. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Fuchs, S. 1965. Rebellious Prophets: A Study of Messianic Movements in Indian Religion. New York: Asia Publishing House. Foucault, Michael. 1978. The History of Sexuality. New York: Vintage Books. Guha, R. 1982. (ed.) Subaltern Studies: Writings Aston History and Society, Vol. I. Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 1983. Elementary Aspects of Peasant Insurgency in Colonial India. Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 1985. Writings on South Asian History and Society. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Hardiman, D. 1982. ‘Peasant Nationalists of Gujarat: Kheda District 1917–1934’ in R. Guha (ed.). Subaltern Studies: Writings on South Asian History and Society, Vol. 1, Delhi: Oxford University Press. Javangula, N. n.d. Sri Sri Sri Veerabrahmendraswamy Vari Sampurna Charithra. (In Telugu) Sathenappali: Javangula Nagabhushanadas and Sons. Kapadia, K. 1991. ‘Discourse of Gender and Caste in Rural South India: An Analysis of the Ideology of Impurity’. Working Paper. Bergen: Chr. Michelsen Intitute. Khare, R. S. 1984. The Untouchable as Himself Ideology, Identity and Pragmatism. Among the Lucknow Chamars. New York: Cambridge University Press. Kumar, A. 1985. ‘Religious Protest and Status Improvement—A Case Study of Satnamis of Chhatisgarah’, in Prakash N. Pimpley and S. K. Sharma (eds) Struggle for Status. Delhi: B R Publications. Lorenzen, D. 1988. ‘Traditions of Non-Caste Hinduism—the Kabir Panth’, Contributions to Indian Sociology (n. s.) 21 (2): 263–83. Lutz, C. A. and L. Abu-Lughod (eds.). 1990. ‘Introduction’, in Language and Politics of Emotion. New York: Cambridge University Press.

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Majumdar, D. N. 1958. Caste and Communication in an Indian Village. New York: Asia Publishing House. Mcgilvray, Dennis. 1983. ‘Paraiyar Drummers of Sri Lanka Consensus and Constraint in an Untouchable Caste’, American Ethnologist, 10 (1): 97–115. Moffatt, M. 1975. ‘Untouchables and the Caste System. A Tamil Case Study’, Contributions to Indian Sociology (n. s.) 9 (1): 111–137. ———. 1979. An Untouchable Community in South India Structure and Consensus. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Mosse, D. 1994. ‘Idioms of Subordination and Styles of Protest among Christian and Hindu Harjan Castes in Tamil Nadu’, Contributions to Indian Sociology (n. s.) 28 (1): 67–106. Nash, J. 1979. ‘We Eat the Mines and the Mines Eat Us Dependency and Exploitation in Bolivian Tin Mines’, New York: Columbia Press. Neeli, V. R. 1980. Sri Naranarayana Sucharithramu. Nellore: Vasu book Depot. O’hanlon, R. 1985. Caste, Conflict and Ideology. New York: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1988. ‘Recovering the Subject Subaltern Studies and Histories of Resistance in Colonial South Asia’. Modern Asian Studies, 2 (1): 189–224. Oommen, T. K. 1970. ‘The Concept of Dominant Caste’, Contribution to Indian Sociology (n. s.) 4, 73–83. ———. 1984. ‘Sources of Deprivation and Styles of Protest the Case of the Dalits in India, Contribution to Indian Sociology (n. s.) 14 (1): 45–61. ———. 1990. ‘Erving Goffman and the Study of Everyday Protest’ In S. H. Riggns (ed) Beyond Goffman Studies on Communication, Institution and Social Interaction. New York: Mouton De Gruyter. Pesala, S. n.d. Swamikrupa Bhagavan Sri Venkatahswamy Divya Lilalu. Sarvepalli Purnasramam. Ramanujam, A. K. 1991. ‘Toward a Counter-System Women’s Tales’ In A. Appadurai, F. J. Koram and Margaret, A. Mill (eds.) Gender, Genre and Power in South Asian Expressive Traditions. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Rao, N. S. 1990. Dissonance in Consensus: A Reconsideration of Structure and Consensus in a South Indian Untouchable Community. MA: Dissertation Rochester University of Rochester. ———. 1993. The Feeble Voices: A Study of Dominance and Resistance in South Indian Village. Ph. D Dissertation Rochester University of Rochester. Scott, J. C. 1985. Weapons of the Weak. New Haven: Yale University Press. ———. 1986. ‘Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance’. The Journal of Peasant Studies 13 (2) 5–35. ———. 1989. ‘Everyday Forms of Resistance’ In F. D. Colburn (ed.). Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance. New York: M. E. Sarpe Inc. ———. 1990. Domination and Arts of Resistance. New Haven: Yale University Press. Srinivas, M. N. 1959. ‘The Dominant Caste in Bamnura’. American Anthronologist. 61. Taussig, M. 1980. The Devil and Commodity Fetishism in South America. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Trawick, M. 1988. ‘Spirit and Voices in Tamil Songs’, American Ethnologist 15 (2): 193–215. ———. 1990. ‘Untouchability and the Fear of Death in a Tamil Song’ in Catherine A Lutz. and Lila Abu-Lughod (ed.) Language and Politics of Emotion. Cambridge: University of Cambridge Press. ———. 1991. ‘Wandering Lost A Landless Laborer’s Sense of Place and Self’ in A. Appadurai, F. J. Koram and Margaret A. Mill (eds). Gender, Genre and Power in South Asian Expressive Traditions. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.

14 Voices from the Earth: Work and Food Production in a Punjabi Village Radhika Chopra

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his paper explores the premise that work, the relations of production, and the products of labour are located within the defining contexts of culture. I will attempt to analyze how the principles and divisions that underlie culture also structure agrarian work and the products of agricultural activity—the crops. The contention is that processes of production are part of the way people think about themselves and represent the work they do in terms of cultural categories and normative codes. The ethnographic material is drawn from fieldwork undertaken in a Punjabi village in the Doaba area (the land between the rivers Beas and Sutlej) of Jullunder district, in 1982–83.1 Numerous anthropological studies have noted the normative codes which surround eating and cooking in north India (Douglas 1966; Khare 1976; Vatuk 1978). These studies have posited the view that food is not a neutral object within Indian culture, and the different processes of consumption are encompassed within an elaborate set of rules which govern the relations of consumption. The proliferation of rules and codes arise because food is thought to convey pollution or purity, and can transform a person from a state of purity to impurity if served by the ‘wrong’ person or eaten in the ‘wrong’ company (Douglas 1966: 33–34).

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Obviously, the leavings (Jutha) of a superior being can improve the ritual status of the consumer (ibid.: 9, 34). Food, therefore, is thought to have more than nutritive qualities, because it ‘makes up’ both the physical and moral fiber of an individual (Belliappa and Kaushik 1978). This interpretation of food holds true for understanding the culture of consumption in Punjab as well. It raises an extremely important question: if, in a culture, like rural Punjab, the preparation and consumption of food are circumscribed by rules and normative codes, such that the relations of consumption provide a means to interpret and understand social relations, then clearly we need to pose a further question: mainly, whether relations of production which precede consumption can be located within rules and normative codes which constitute cultural formations. It is my contention that production and consumption of a culturally significant object such as food cannot be isolated and separated into watertight compartments. Thus, for example in the same way as the person who cooks and serves the food must be deemed morally appropriate by the axioms of culture, the person who grows food is equally constrained by culturally and socially specified rules and practices. The rules and principles that inform agricultural production and link cultivation with ideological representation are the focus of this paper. The primary argument is that the different arrangements of cultivation rest on the manner in which the crops, the products of agriculture, are themselves classified. Thus the questions ‘who sows’ or ‘who reaps’ arise from within classificatory schemes that codify crops into categories.

The Classification of Crops The overarching cultural division of inside: outside also permeated the domain of production, such that crops were ‘oriented’ either toward the ‘inside’, the home, or primarily oriented toward the market, or the ‘outside’. There was a basic opposition between the ‘crops of the home’ (Douglas 1973; Hofer 1983) and the ‘crops of the market’, the cash crops. For example, in this village, crops like chilli and cotton were classified as ‘crops of the home’, whereas potato, a major cash crop in the village economy, was oriented almost entirely toward the market and the outside.2

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In addition to these two sets of crops there was a third set, that straddled both domains, of inside: outside, home and market. These were the cereal crops, the fasal, which were basic to Punjabi diet,3 and were a major source of earning for landowners and labourers alike. The crops of wheat, maize and rice were classified as fasal/ann for they were the basis of the bread that was thought to sustain the community.

Food Crops The primacy of cereals went beyond the agricultural domain. The calendrical cycle of 12 months of the ritual Bikrami calendar was divided into two halves, Hari and Sauni, a division which rested on the cropping of the major fasal crops. Har di fasal, or the food crops of Hari, were wheat and barley, while Saun di fasal were rice and maize. The new year in the ritual calendar and in the agrarian calendar began on the same day—Baisakhi (mid-April)—a joint inaugural that suggested a simultaneitv between the ritual and the agricultural. In his analysis of the agrarian calendar of Rampura, Srinivas similarly maps the conjunction between agricultural processes and social and religious activities (Srinivas 1976: 103). Among all the cereals, however, wheat was accorded primacy in diet and ritual.4 Symbolically, wheat played a crucial role; it was offered at the village gurdwara at the beginning of every new month and on other ritual occasions when incorporations into the collectivity were stressed. Granulated wheat flour (suji) formed the base of the prasad or sacred food served to congregations at holy shrines and gurdwaras. Sharing the prasad of wheat in commensality signified the idea that people who partook of food made sacred by the offering were all members of a commensal community who were transformed into a single congregational body (sangat) after consuming the prasad. The ritual context of wheat was most crucially highlighted in the way roti (bread) and eating were spoken of. The general term for eating was roti chakkna, meaning to partake and be gratified; but as a phrase it  was most frequently associated with bread made from wheat. The phrase found its significance from the Sikh initiation rite, when individuals were incorporated into the congregational body after imbibing the nectar (amrit) in the ritual of amrit chakkna. In the context of daily consumption, the term chakkna used in conjunction with roti imbued

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the bread with the quality of being able to transform individuals into members of the commensal group, just as tasting the amrit symbolically transformed individuals and initiated them into the Khalsa, the body corporate of the Sikh community. The special significance of wheat reverberated in other contexts as well. Wheat was stored in the household granary, and prosperity was judged by the level of wheat in the household store. When this level fell low people thought it time to economise, to be cautious, and preserve the quality of the existing present as far into the future as possible. The grain was comprehended not only in terms of its physical qualities of weight, form or colour, but also in terms of the quality of the future and the potential of prosperity inherent in it. Bourdieu, in his study of an Algerian peasant community, makes very similar observations of the significance of staple grains and the quality of future prosperity they evoke (Bourdieu 1963). The importance given to wheat in ritual and everyday contexts permeated agriculture so that it was the cultivation of wheat that was thought to be among the most crucial moments and among the most significant activities of the agricultural year. The ceremonial and agricultural calendars were simultaneously inaugurated on the auspicious day of Baisakhi. This simultaneity was marked by the harvesting of a few stalks of wheat by the head of each landholding, in the rite of danti laganna, literally, to touch with the sickle. The newly harvested stalks of wheat were then placed on brass trays and offered at the village gurdwara by the women of each landholding household thresholds of their kitchens, household byres and the granary in the rite of ann navva karna, making the grain new. The ceremonial inaugural of the wheat harvest and the new cycle of cultivation enclosed within the rites of danti laganna and ann navva karnamay be interpreted as a symbolic frame that outlined the proper way of conducting the harvest. Thus, while the men went to the fields, the ‘outside’, to harvest the wheat, once the wheat left the field, the women took over, offering the wheat at the gurdwara, transforming it from fasal to ann5 before incorporating it within the home. The men managed the fasal, the crop in the field, selling it in the grain markets, the ‘outside’. However as ann or foodgrain it came under the management of the women, who signified its entrance into their domain by hanging the ears near the entrance door, the kitchen, the granary and the byre, spaces which were under their management and control.

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A series of divisions were established through the rites of inaugural. The wheat, the product of production, was transformed from fasal (crop) to ann (food, the product of consumption). The distinction of the domains of field and hearth were constituted by the location of the ‘product’; simultaneously, the appropriate category of person to handle the ‘product’ of production and consumption were also outlined men handling fasal in the field and women managing ann in the home. Yet it would seem an anomaly that the harvest rather than the sowing of wheat be celebrated as an inaugural. It would seem logical to expect sowing to be classified as a beginning and harvests to be treated as final endings. The terminology for harvests—wadhi—also leads us to expect the harvest to be an end, for the term also signifies slaughter or death. Wadhai, the act of reaping, means to sever a body in two, to bite it in half. In the act of reaping wheat, the harvesters clutched a fistful of stalks at one end and, in one quick stroke with the dand (sickle; dant: teeth), severed the stalks from the roots which remained embedded in the ground, separating the plant in two parts.6 The wadhi, ritually begun with the act of danti laganna implying death with the sickle, and a final end, was nevertheless concluded with the rite of ann navva karna or the rite of renewal. To understand the harvest both as an end and a renewal it is important to reconstruct the semantic arena of another rite enacted upon the fully ripened wheat, the rite of mang. Mang was an act of labour exchange and of collective labour. The mangan (labour collective) gathered on ritual occasions which were thought of as structurally homologous with each other. Thus, mangans collected to celebrate betrothals, marriages, or while building homes and celebrating harvests. All these occasions were events marked by notions of augmentation and future increase of the group, as a reaffirmation of collective life. But apart from signifying collective labour, mangan also refers to the act of begging. Thus, for example, manganis were women who came begging at the door in attitudes of supplication, throwing themselves upon the generosity of the givers and subordinating themselves as recipients of that generosity. Through the elaborate codes of mangana, the act of begging, givers and receivers were posed in hierarchies of superior and inferior. In the village the harvest rite of mang was celebrated on the fields of one of the most respected members of the village community. The

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members of the mangan, the collectivity, started harvesting early in the morning and worked through the day, cutting the wheat and tying the sheaves. In the evening, a goat which had been slaughtered at the start of the mang, was cooked and shared in a feast. To understand the harvest as slaughter (wadhi) and to reconcile it with the collective gathering of supplicants, we need to outline the ideas inherent in the harvest rite of mong. The act of harvesting was thought to ‘tamper’ with nature, when the plant which the earth (the womb of nature; Mother Nature; Mother Earth)7 had brought to maturity and which was part of the earth was, through the act of reaping, forcibly separated from it. The harvest was a period of human intervention which broke the natural order of things to impose a counter order, the order of men. The union of plant and earth was separated through the actions of men. It is possible to view agriculture as the most ‘cultural’ of acts for it imposes an order by man upon the ‘natural’. In Punjab, when a landholder did not cultivate his land with care it was said that he had allowed his land to run wild (jangli) and become barren (banjhar). The harvest was an act of violent severance which forcibly separated what nature had joined, but despite the violence it was an act that was necessary for future survival. Just like the child, cut by its cord from its mother, was seen to augment the lineage and ensure the continuity of the kinship group, the new grain, forcibly separated from the earth, renewed and supported the agricultural community. The whole group benefited from the violence wrought at the harvest and it had to collectively shoulder the burden of the violence that the harvest entailed (Girad 1977). The mangan celebrated its sense of solidarity in a communal feast when the meat of the sacrificed animal was shared, affirming group membership through commensality (Fortes and Bourdillion 1980). The violence inherent in the act of reaping was suppressed and euphemistically transformed in language and thought into a rite which ‘begged’ the earth for a gift and received its fruit—the food. The harvest ritual brought together the tension between two contradictory ideas— of the collectivity as violators of the earth, and the collectivity as supplicants to the earth. The significance of the ritual lay not only in juxtaposing contradictions but also in the transformation of the violence of intervention into a representation of the act as a supplication of men to earth. Just as the beggar woman, the mangani, begged for protection and bounty, the rite of mang was viewed as a plea for protection

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and supplication to the earth, which bestowed the gift of food on the mangan, the collectivity that gathered to propitiate the earth. The harvest, as intervention, was a means through which the collectivity tried to renew itself; yet in begging the earth for sustenance, men seemingly supplicated themselves as recipients of nature’s bounty, to offset the fear of shortage, famine, or death. The relationship between man and nature was represented in terms of a relationship of giving and receiving, of obligation and exchange. The violence wrought upon the earth was necessary for the groups own continuance; yet the whole relationship was represented in terms of gift exchanges (Mauss 1966), with the mang viewed as another cycle of renewal of the relationship between man and nature. Neither was the harvest, the wadhi, the slaughter committed upon the crop viewed as a final end; instead, rituals continually stressed themes of renewal and continuity. One sheaf from every harvested field was left unthreshed. This sheaf, or bhari (sheaf; also meaning pregnant or the one with many children) was tied with rope made by children, the symbols of multiplicity and plenitude.8 It was the seeds from this sheaf which were thrown into the first furrow at the next year’s ploughing, signifying the emergence of new cycles from old or the recreation of new beginnings. Thus, within the end, the wadhi, lay the possibility of a new cycle of generation. The generative capacity of the harvest was once again symbolically acknowledged when the stalks from the unthreshed bhari were hung in all the areas of the home—the kitchen, the granary, the byre—spaces imbued with a sense of growth, repeating the rite of navva enacted at Baisakhi. The gathering in and storing of the harvest was endowed with a sense of satisfaction and well-being. The grain in store, the outcome of the harvest, was a symbol of prosperity when the present was replete and the future assured. It was the stored grain that would be shared as roti through the year by the commensal unit, the household, which formed the basis for the renewal of the group. At the end of the harvest, or as each field was cleared, payments of grain were made to the labourers employed at the harvest. The payments in ann were indicative of the continuing relationship with these labourers in the present and the future. The quality of the future inherent in the grain signified the enduring quality of- relationships between families of landholders and labourers.

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The harvest of the other fasal, rice and maize, while ritually abbreviated, was nevertheless similarly imbued with a generative capacity, surrounded by notions of augmentation. As a collective category of ann it was marked by the notions of prosperity and increase in ways that were comparable, though not identical, with the rituals of the wheat harvest. In the same way as the act of harvesting struck chords within the wider contexts of culture, other processes of cultivation also implicated, and were coded by, these contexts. The agricultural activities of ploughing and sowing were not seen as divorced from other spheres of cultural practice, and need to be understood through ethnographic elaboration. While at one level the processes of harvesting and of ploughing and sowing fasal were separated as physical acts as well as in terms of labour arrangements, at another level they were analogous. Both harvesting and ploughing shared the quality of intervention by man in natural processes; hence the times of harvest and times of ploughing were thought of as periods of interruptions and interventions in the processes of nature. With the act of harvesting men ‘broke up’ what nature had joined— the plant and the earth. In the acts of ploughing and sowing men ‘introduced’ matter from one domain into the other, joining things which belonged to separate spheres. The grain, which as ann had been incorporated into the domestic domain at an earlier moment of time, was now sown as seed in the earth, the field and the ‘outside’. Ploughing wheat began right after the festival of Diwali (approximately mid-November), when the earth was said to awaken after a ritually inauspicious period of shraad, a time associated with ancestors and death. The preparation of the field and the subsequent sowing was undertaken by men; upturning the first furrow was always enacted by married men, usually the head of each landholding household. Ploughing was started facing east, the direction of the rising sun. To make the furrows, the bullock and plough were driven round the field in circumambulations called phereh. The tractor, increasingly used in the village, also began facing east though it marked out straight, not circular, furrows (cheer). While the tractor ploughed and sowed the seeds simultaneously, the bullock-plough was followed by another man (never a woman) who cast the seeds into the furrows. After the field was ploughed and sown, the earth was levelled with a heavy plank (karah), upon which a man stood drawn by the bullock or tractor in the act of levelling called suhaganah.

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An exegesis of the acts of work involved in ploughing and sowing once again convey the conceptual interlocking of spheres of culture and cultivation. Upturning of the first furrow was undertaken by married men; the Punjabi term for cultivator is khasam, which is also the term for husband, and it would perhaps be more accurate to translate the term khasam, when used in the context of agriculture, as husbandsman. It was the husbandsman who parted the earth (cheer, furrow; as well as the verb for making furrows or partings), with the ploughshare (phala), paying particular attention to the first field, the lari, also a term for a bride. Phalayee was the term used for the copulation of cows and buffaloes9 and it is related to the word phalan, the organs of generation which propagate phal or fruit. Just as the bullock-plough or tractor were driven by the husbandsman, the seed was also sown by men. The term for seed, bi was also the word for spermatozoa and it was quite clearly the task of the husbandsman. The ploughing of at least the first field, the lari, and the sowing of the bi by the husbandsman acquired their meaning when juxtaposed with the prohibitions upon those prevented from performing these tasks—women and bachelors. Language and the work of production connected the act of ploughing with union in marriage such that implicit analogies to reproduction underlay both. Just as the bride and groom were seated facing east during the marriage rite, so also was ploughing begun facing the direction of the rising sun. The circumambulations of the bullock-plough, phereh, echoed the actions of circumambulating the sacred fire or the sacred text in the Sikh marriage rite. The term for the lines marked by the ploughshare, cheer, was simultaneous with the term for the middle parting of a woman’s hair which, after marriage, was filled with vermillion powder, signifying her married, ‘fecundated’ status. It was the khasam, the husbandsman, who parted (cheer) the earth to sow the bi in his twin roles as progenitor and ploughman. It was the khasam, the progenitor in the home and the field, who ensured the future of the group by his fertilizing actions with the bi and the phala, the ploughshare and the organ of generation. The act of ploughing was thought to activate nature’s own fertility for, left to herself, nature was thought to lie fallow and become barren (banjhar). In the same way as a cultivator who neglected his fields was said to have allowed them to

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‘revert’ to nature, to become wild (jangli) and unproductive for the community, a father who neglected to marry off his daughter was chastized for ruining her and the family by allowing her to become ‘twisted’ and ‘unbalanced’. The levelling of the field, suhaganah, with the heavy wooden plank (karah; also to ‘bind’ or fetter) was linked to the word suhagan, meaning a married and fortunate woman, a woman bound or circumscribed by a man and therefore ‘complete’, being conjoined with him. Both earth and woman were seen to be incorporated into a domesticated state by the activities of the khasam. Similarly, the exclusion of the bachelor from ploughing the first field, the lari, derived its logic from ideas of appropriate reproductive relations which were only seemingly part of a separate sphere. As outlined earlier, harvesting and ploughing were also conjoined as ‘periods of intervention’ when men invaded the sphere of nature and natural processes. The time of the harvest and the time of ploughing were periods of intense activity, which were thought of as the height of human intrusion in processes of nature. There were other times and other periods, however, which were marked by a lull or inactivity. The periods of the gestation and germination of seeds were represented as ‘periods of waiting’ by man, who at this time and in his turn was forced to wait upon nature’s will. Harvesting and ploughing were jointly opposed as times and acts of intervention to these periods classified as ‘moments of waiting’. The period of the seeds’ gestation was thought of as an interval, a pause in activity. The seeds which were thought to bear potential of life and growth were now buried away in the dark earth, away from man’s sight and control. The seed and the future lay in the control of earth and nature and it was for them to yield or withhold the phal or fruit. The period of the seeds’ gestation was therefore a time when men submitted to nature, a submission underlined by their absence from the fields, the site of unseen toil which resembled cooking in the rounded, earthern pot (handi), or work accomplished in the female womb, not ‘open’ to view. It was a time when women went out into the fields (at other times associated with men and the ‘outside’), to hoe and weed as though to assist the earth in her labour. Srinivas, without seeing the significance of the connections, notes the gendering of particular kinds of agricultural work ‘... Weeding was generally done by women’ (Srinivas 1976: 126).

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The future lay in the earth and it was thought appropriate to leave nature to her work. Underlying the process of gestation was the idea that this was labour beyond the control of man, beyond his gaze and mastery. Though the collectivity was sustained through the direct intervention of men at junctures like the harvest, in an effort to ‘guide’ nature, there were times when nature was thought to be beyond supervision for gestation and germination took place within the womb of nature, unavailable to men. In both sets of time—of ‘intervention’ and ‘waiting’—a relationship could be discerned between man and nature, mediated through agriculture. Agriculture could be said to stand between nature and culture for it was simultaneously composed of natural, physical processes and man-made, technical practices. This simultaneity created a worldview or disposition (Bourdieu 1977) representing nature as an equal partner in the process of production, not as an inanimate object to be worked upon by man. Instead, nature was imbued with its own power, which could be harnessed and ‘guided’ at certain junctures, but equally, there were times when men could only wait upon nature’s will. So far we have concentrated upon the activities associated with the cultivation of cereals. Despite their importance, however, cereals were not the only outcome of agricultural activities: cash crops and ‘crops of the home’ were equally part of the agrarian calendar, and it is to these that we now turn.

‘The Crops of the Market’: Cash Crops In the district of Jullundur, and within the village economy, potato was an important cash crop. Though an extremely risky crop in terms of its susceptibility to fungii and pests, the returns on the crop were high. However, in sharp contrast to the ritual and ceremony that surrounded the cultivation of cereals was the absence of such ritualization of the cash crops. The oppositions of inside: outside, home: field; female: male were notable by their absence in the cultivation of cash crops like potato. The ploughing for potato began during the ritually inauspicious period of shraad, the time of the ancestors. Ploughing and sowing potato in this inauspicious phase posed no contradictions because this crop was not incorporated into the domestic domain through any set of rites, but

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rather, was oriented entirely to the market or the ‘outside’, and hence free from ‘appropriate: inappropriate’ codifications that marked the cropping of fasal/ann. Neither was the gestation and germination of the potato crop marked by any feelings of danger or ‘waiting’ translated by men’s absence from the field. On the contrary, this was a period of intensive activity, for the ploughing and sowing of wheat was undertaken during this time. Nor was the potato allowed to mature fully before it was harvested. Though potato reached maturity after 90 days (or 120 days in some varieties), very often it was harvested 60 days after sowing because the market prices early in the season were extremely high. Unlike the cereal crops which were first brought into the home before being taken to the market for auction, potatoes were taken straight from the field to the market. In fact, the market entered the field in the form of the arthis or commission agents, who came to the individual cultivator’s field to examine the quality of the potatoes and make fine adjustments between supply and demand before quoting a price. Each party waited anxiously upon the other’s word, and every utterance was judged in terms of ‘loss’ or ‘gain’. The male-female division of labour, so central to the production of cereals, was irrelevant to potato cultivation. Women, who provided the cheapest form of wage labour in the village economy, were involved in almost all the production processes from sorting and sowing to harvesting. The enduring bonds which characterized relations between landholders and labourers during the cultivation of cereals, expressed and represented in the payments made in grain/ann, were transformed for potato cropping. Relations were represented as discontinues, symbolized by the cash wages paid at the end of each working day, creating an ‘option’ for future severance or continuance at complete variance with the sense of permanence and stability suggested by the payments in kind for the production of cereals. The daily wage evoked a transactional immediacy between employer and labourer, terminated once the payment was proffered, echoing the buying and selling of commodities in the market. The term dihari was the term for ‘day’ and for daily cash wages; it introduced the idea that relations could be ended because neither side had partaken of the substance of the other, nor been incorporated into an enduring body, by way of ann or food.

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The attitudes that contrasted the work processes of different crops permeated daily lives. It was with the greatest sense of ease that ‘loans’ of flour or cooked vegetables for daily meals were made between neighbours who were not necessarily kin. Passers-by at the door were always invited in to eat and even the poorest homes offered food with words of welcome. By contrast, cash transactions involved heightened anxiety and often requests for money were met with expressions of irritation. Money was kept hidden in the innermost pocket of undergarments and people went to great lengths to avoid spending a single rupee. If the Punjabi farmer’s fluency in handling large sums of money is a delight for economists, the reluctance of the farmers’ wives or mothers’ to spend is equally legendary; frequently women would argue and bargain for bus tickets.

Crops of the Home The dramatic contrast in attitude towards ‘food’ crops and cash crops permeated the labour arrangements. The distinctions arose precisely because the products, the outcome of work, were themselves conceptualized in singular ways. In addition to these crops, there was a third set which was ‘oriented’ almost exclusively toward the home, an orientation represented through a series of arrangements which distinguished these crops from those which were also geared toward the ‘outside’. The primary characteristic of these crops (of chilli and cotton in this village) was that they were handled and managed by women. It was not as though these crops were not encashed at all; but they were not sold by the men in the mandi, the urban market ‘outside’. Instead, they were sold within the village by the women, either to each other, or at the village shops. The money earned by the women was used for daily expenditures, for buying matches, candles, salt or turmeric or other daily necessities, or giving small amounts of spending money to school-going children. While the major household expenses were met by earnings from fasal, and the decisions regarding them made by men who also managed the production of fasal crops, decisions pertaining to small daily expenditures and the wherewithal for obtaining them were in the hands of women of the household. It was the mistress of the landholding household who managed the harvest of cotton and chilli,10 engaging women labourers to conduct this work. The women who picked the cotton or chilli were those attached to

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the landholding household in various capacities; there was the midwife (dai), the barber’s wife (naiyan), or the women who cleaned the byres in the home. Cotton and chilli (though harvested at separate times) were similar in terms of the arrangements made to pick them. Both were picked in two or three lots as they ripened. As each woman labourer returned from the field she made a heap of the amount she had picked; this heap was then divided into smaller ones, depending on the share agreed upon (every tenth heap, for example). Unlike fasal, which was put into measured quintal sacks, or potato weighed on huge scales, there were no formal weights or measures for the ‘crops of the home’; just the accuracy of the eye, borne of long practice over time.

Conclusion Through the course of this paper I have tried to elucidate the rituals of agriculture and the beliefs embedded in them. Such ethnographic elaboration helps illuminate the logic that deems what is appropriate work for different people. It is this logic that excludes women from ploughing fasal but makes their presence imperative during the period of a cereal crop’s gestation. It is necessary to elaborate such schemes of representation for then one can analyze why labour agreements are structured in particular ways. Within such a context activity is transformed from mere effort directed toward a fixed and calculated end and instead represented as ‘duty’; work becomes a way of expressing solidarity and a means of establishing relationships. The ‘logic’ of this is gleaned from the portrayal of nature and the products, the outcome, of nature. Nature is not viewed as a passive object or ‘thing’, raw material to be worked upon by man, for nature is seen to exercise an independence unlike that between man and machine. Work is a way of establishing relationships, whether with nature or with people, and labour the medium through which these relations are expressed. Just as there are prescribed ways of approaching people, there are ‘proper’ ways of approaching nature; indeed, it is an act of respect to do things the correct way. The same men who, as representatives of the group, are in the forefront of public negotiation are also those who turn the first furrow, meeting the land ‘face-to-face’ as they would encounter respected equals. The mang described earlier, for example, could not

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have been celebrated on just any field; instead, it was enacted on the fields of one of the community’s most respected and valued members. Acts of labour and the relations of production are invested with meanings which contextualize work within categories of culture. People not only engage in work as technical activity, they are also engaged in reproducing ideas about ways of initiating and conducting relations. It is only when we explore the basis of these meanings that we begin to perceive and construct the acts of labour as ideas, to be learned, understood and passed on.

Notes 1. The village was dominated by landholders of the Jat caste, who were also followers of Sikhism. The agricultural labourers were primarily from the numerically predominant. Balmiki community and of the caste of sweepers, with a small percentage belonging to the caste of leather workers. A few households of service caste specialists also formed part of the village population. 2. Unlike the western districts of Punjab, in the Doaba region cotton was not a cash crop, for the soil was not suitable and the water table too high. 3. Within Punjabi culture, the production of aan (food, also meaning cereal or food crops), was an important focus of agricultural activity, and ann-pani (food and water) were continually stressed as the keystone of survival. 4. The question of why wheat has this prominence or centrality can be posed, however, the arbitrary nature of cultural choices has been well explored in anthropological literature. Structural linguists have examined the question of why one object is ‘chosen’ over others in cultural representations and have pointed the way for anthropologists like Levi-Strauss (1963, 1976) or Barthes (1967) to extend their method to an analysis of myth, kinship, or food and dress systems. What is more to the point, is to locate the understanding of this centrality, or how this prominence is represented and reflected, m a semantic field of ritual, diet and production relations, both in relation to other cereal crops as well as the other categories of crops—of ‘home’ and ‘market’. Therefore, rather than ask the question ‘why’ wheat is primary, it would be more significant to ask ‘how’ this primacy is constituted and represented. 5. The role of women as ‘bridges’ enabling transformations has been outlined in various contexts. See, for example, Das (1982). 6. A goat, slaughtered for sacrifice, was held firmly by the head with one hand and the knife brought swiftly down to sever the neck from the body with a single stroke (jhatka). For an elaboration of the harvest as symbolic sacrifice, see Chopra (1989). 7. Srinivas also draws attention to the perceptions and representations of the earth as mother. ‘Land was identified with mother earth Villagers were fond of saying that if an agriculturist worked hard mother earth rarely failed to respond’ (Srinivas 1976 117). 8. At marriages a little boy was often put into the bride’s lap to signify the hope of future abundance and increase. After the marriage, coins were flung in all directions for children to surge around the married pair, again stressing the theme of multiplicity.

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Children were often referred to as the phal or fruit of the loins, as the crop was the fruit of the earth. 9. Livestock, land and women make up the generative wealth of a landholding household, and all three together are thought of as property that needs careful husbanding. 10. The sowing of these crops was still done by men, however, the amount of land to be sown was a decision jointly discussed between the women and men of each cultivating household, unlike the formal exclusion of women from the decision making processes of fasal or cash crops.

References Bailey, F. G. 1987. ‘The Peasant View of the Bad Life’, in T Shanin (ed) Peasants and Peasant Societies, pp 252–82, Oxford Basil Blackwell (II ed). Barthes, F. 1967. Elements of Semiology, New York Hill and Wang. Belliappa, J. and M. Kaushik 1978. ‘The Food of Well-being’, SSRC/ICSSR Conference on Welfare and Well being in South Asia, Delhi (mimeo). Bourdieu, P. 1963. ‘The Attitude of the Algerian Peasant toward Time’, in J Pitt-Rivers (ed), Mediterranean Countrymen London Mouton. Bourdieu, P. 1977. Outline of a Theory of Practice, Cambridge Cambridge University Press Chopra, R. 1989. ‘The Symbolic Sacrifice of the Harvest’, Centre of Advanced Studies in Sociology, Sociological Research Colloquium, Delhi (unpublished). Das, V. 1982. Structure and Cognition Aspects of Hindu Caste and Religion, Delhi Oxford University Press (II ed). Douglas, M. 1966. Purity and Danger An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo, London Routledge and Kegan Paul (RKP). ———. 1971. ‘Deciphering a Meal’, in C. Geertz (ed), Myth, Symbol and Culture, New York W. W. Norton. ———. 1973. Rules and Meanings, Harmondsworth Penguin. Fortes, M. and M. F. C. Bourdilhon, (eds) 1980. Sacrifice, London Academic Press. Girad, R. 1977. Violence and the Sacred, Baltimore John Hopkins University Press. Hershman, P. 1977. ‘Virgin and Mother’, in I M Lewis (ed), Symbols and Sentiments, London Academic Press. Hofer, T. 1983. ‘Cognitive Aspects of Peasant Livelihood in Hungary’, in J Mencher (ed), Social Anthropology of the Peasantry, Bombay Somaiya Publications. Khare, R. S. 1976. Culture and Reality, Simla Indian Institute of Advanced Studies. Levi-Strauss, C. 1963. Structural Anthropology, Harmondsworth Penguin Books. Levi-Strauss, C. 1976. The Elementary Structures of Kinship, London. Social Science Paperbacks. Mauss, M. 1966. The Gift, London RKP. Mintz, S. 1985. ‘The Anthropology of Food Core and Fringe in Diet’, India International Centre Quarterly, 12(2). Needham, R. (ed.) 1973. Right and Left Essays on Dual Symbolic Classification, Chicago University of Chicago Press. Pugh, J. F. 1983. ‘Into the Almanac Time, Meaning and Action in North-Indian Society’, Contributions to Indian Sociology (NS), pp 27–50. Srinivas, M. N. 1976. The Remembered Village, Delhi Oxford University Press. Vatuk, S. 1978. ‘Food and Gift Giving’, SSRC/ICSSR Conference on Welfare and Well being in South Asia, Delhi (mimeo).

SECTION IV RELIGION AND RITUALS

15 Public Shrines and Private Interests: The Symbolism of the Village Temple1 Ursula Sharma

T

he foothills of the Himalayas are sometimes described as a bastion of Hinduism, an area immune from the penetration of foreign religions and abounding in sanctuaries and places of pilgrimage. In some respects this is certainly true. From Ghanyari2, the village in District Kangra where I conducted fieldwork in 1966 and 1967, villagers would undertake pilgrimages to holy places in the foothills with great enthusiasm when they had the time and money to do so. Yet paradoxically, the shrines that stood in Ghanyari itself seemed to be used very seldom, and apart from one or two which were of very recent construction they had an appearance of neglect, almost dereliction. Most of the ritual activity which took place in the village was conducted in the home. What does a temple stand for if no one came to worship there? It is certainly not the case the shrines are decayed because the cults they celebrate are in decline: the most decrepit-looking shrine in Ghanyari is dedicated to the Siddh Bharatri whose cult is flourishing. New shrines continue to be built; indeed, one was established during my stay in Ghanyari. The village shrines found in District Kangra are not elaborate structures. They usually consist of a small platform or cairn of stones,

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sometimes surmounted by a cell-like structure which contains the image or symbol of the deity (although in many cases there is no icon). But even the construction of one of these modest shrines requires time, labour and expense, and presumably means something apart from whatever value it may have as a status symbol (there are in any case more rewarding ways of investing cash and effort for those whose chief aim is honour and prestige). For convenience I have tabulated the relevant information about the shrines of Ghanyari, especially about their construction, type and dedication. Group rituals performed from time to time, at weddings or festivals for instance, provide the more dramatic evidence of Hindu practice, but in Ghanyari the fabric of Hinduism consists of numerous inconspicuous acts of individual piety conducted privately in the home. These usually consist of an offering to the deity concerned, either in thanksgiving for some blessing bestowed, or in the hope of removing some difficulty which the displeasure of the deity is thought to have caused. The offering may be made for the benefit of the worshipper himself or on behalf of some member of his household. Offerings are made before an image of the deity; these consist of water, flowers, incense and finally food specially prepared (usually sweets of some kind). The remainder of the food so dedicated is distributed later among the worshipper’s family and neighbours as prasad, literally ‘grace’, i.e. the food which conveys the grace and blessings of the deity who has been worshipped. The term ‘image’ need not suggest an elaborate carving or icon; any suitable emblem or representation of the deity may be used which the worshipper possesses or can obtain, and I have seen villagers dedicate offerings before the coloured prints of Hindu deities which adorn commercial calendars. (If no icon is available the worshipper simply makes a mental dedication of the food). In an ordinary household worship of this kind might take place up to half a dozen times a year, depending on the circumstances and inclination of its members. In most household some kind of thanksgiving ritual is conducted at each of the two major annual harvests, and some especially fortunate events may be celebrated more elaborately by holding a katha, a scripture recital conducted by a Brahman priest. I hardly ever witnessed this kind of individual worship at any of the shrines in Ghanyari, although a few villagers stated that they would take a portion of the food offered to the deity and present it at the shrine after the completion of the ritual at home.

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Village Shrines in Ghanyari Shrine

Identification of Deity

Type of Shrine

PIR

Unnamed Muslim saint whose cult centre is at Pir Nagah, about 6 miles from Ghanyari.

Cairn, no image

SINDHU

Baba Sindhu is a deity local Platform, no image to Kangra foothills. He specializes in incendiarism.

BABA DERA

Deified ancestor of dominant Brahman lineage in Ghanyari.

Platform surmounted by large cell, containing several images

Brahman. This shrine was rebuilt about 10 years ago on the site of an older shrine.

KRISHNA

All-India deity.

Platform and cell with images

Brahman. Built about 15 years ago.

SIDDH

Platform with There are many ‘Siddhs’ worshipped in the foothills. images This shrine is dedicated to Raja Bharatri who retired to live as a sannyasi in a village about 2 miles from Ghanyari. He eventually entered Samadhi there.

THAKUR

Variously identified with Vishnu and Shiva Thakur is regarded as controlling rainfall.

Platform and cell, no image

Brahman, but the shrine is said to have been built by a Lohar originally.

KHWAJAH

Khwajah is a deity identifed by some with various Muslim personages and saints, but almost universally associated with water.

Platform and rudimentary cell, no image

Brahman.

Cairn, with bas-relief image in niche on one side

Brahman.

JVALAMUKHI All-India deity localized at Jvalamukhi, a place of pilgrimage about twenty miles from Ghanyari.

Caste of Family Associated with Shrine –

Lobar. The shrine was built in 1967.

Brahman.

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At the most prosaic and elementary level it is probably quite simple to explain the ‘puzzle’ of why the village shrines are so little used. It is as easy, indeed easier, to worship before some kind of representation of the deity at home as it is to go out into the fields to worship at a temple. Having performed ablutions to achieve the necessary state of ritual purity one risks losing that purity by walking through the village lanes to reach the shrines, perhaps being jostled on the way by people who are in a state of pollution for some reason or another. On the other hand a visit to a village shrine does not bring the merit that a pilgrimage to a major cult centre might obtain, nor for that matter does it have the entertainment value of such an excursion. Thus the village shrine falls between two stools, as it were, and at this level of explanation its apparent lack of use is not problematic. Danielou has argued that there is a sense in which the actual place of worship is a matter of indifference to the Hindu. He conceives of the divine as immanent in all things and manifest in many and so the universe is his temple. He goes on to suggest that Hinduism could survive well enough if there were no such temples or shrines! “They are not, as in some religions, the meeting places of the faithful but are the homes of deities, places where a particular aspect of Divinity is honoured . . . but if there were none of these sanctuaries Hindu life and its rituals would in no way be affected. In fact, certain classes of Hindu are not supposed to enter some parts of the temples . . . but this in no way implies that they do not perform rituals or that they have a religious life less intense” (Danielou 1964: 376). Certainly Hinduism is primarily a domestic religion, not a congregational one. The temple is in no way comparable to the church, the mosque or the gurudvara and although there are numerous sects which have established congregational modes of worship, these cannot be said to form the dominant mode of religious organization, in the rural areas at least. However, Hindus in Ghanyari directed my attention to the shrines in their village as though they certainly were items of central interest in any study of village religion. In conversation they were clearly distinguished from domestic shrines (the other main category of sacred places in the village) as belonging to the village itself, not just one household. Village shrines are described as though they were collective property. This is in no way peculiar to Ghanyari for anthropologists themselves seem to have adopted their informants’ usage, and have written of ‘village’ shrines and ‘village’ deities without contesting the public nature of the shrines.

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If, as villagers implied, the shrines were genuinely regarded as some general resources available to all, it is the more remarkable that they were not more intensively used and especially that collective rituals at the shrines were so few. To describe a thing as ‘public’ implies that it can be used by a more or less unspecified and undifferentiated collectivity of people (undifferentiated in relation to the resources in question). But the nature of Indian village society is highly differentiated, the most obvious criterion (though by no means the only one) being that of caste. There are very few situations in which these sources of differentiation can be submerged and made irrelevant, and consequently the public nature of any resource is usually very hard to establish in practice. The anthropological literature abounds in examples but one pertinent instance from Ghanyari is the village school. As elsewhere in India, the village school is public and free, financed from public funds, and open to members of all castes. Yet comparatively few untouchable children attend the school. This can partly be explained with reference to economic factors (the greater need for the labour of the children in poorer families) but there is also, it seems, an unwillingness to engage with members of the clean castes in situations where the untouchable’s inferiority will be impressed upon him in numerous subtle ways, even though in theory the venue be public and explicit discrimination illegal. In what respects, then, can the shrines of Ghanyari be said to be public or to belong to the village as whole? Considering the history of the shrines, in so far as this is known, they appear to be a good deal less public than the general theory would make out. Every shrine in Ghanyari except the shrine of the Pir is associated with a particular household or group of households, although the strength of the association may vary. In most cases the members of the household concerned are considered to be the lineal descendants of the man who originally built the shrine. The shrine to Devi is associated with a group of four agnatically related Brahman households. The shrine of Thakur is in the custody of the family of Kanshi Ram, another Brahman whose household deity is Thakur. In fact six of the eight shrines in Ghanyari are associated with Brahman families, although this is not particularly surprising given the numerical preponderance and economic dominance of the Brahmans in this village. The custodianship of a shrine need not mean much more than this rather vague hereditary association of a particular shrine with a particular family, since the custodian does not receive offerings and none of the

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shrines in Ghanyari has any land or other property attached to it which he might be expected to administer. At most he is expected to take a general interest in the maintenance of the shrine and attend to its upkeep from time to time. In practice few of the families in question have ever done this much, hence the decrepit appearance of some of some of the shrines. A notable exception is the interest which Salig Ram’s family has taken in the Upkeep of the shrine dedicated to Baba Dera. The shrine was completely rebuilt and furnished with handsome new images by Salig Ram’s father. This is the only shrine at which anything like a daily cult is performed, since on most mornings Salig Ram or one of his younger brothers conducts a brief ritual there. Once a year, on the festival of Krishna Janam Ashtami, Salig Ram convenes all the Parashar Brahmans in Ghanyari to worship Baba Dera collectively and he provides the sacrificial food. Baba Dera is in fact an ancestor of the group of Parashar Brahmans who are the chief landowners in Ghanyari. Baba Dera was notable for having quarrelled with the Raja of Kotlehr. He committed suicide at the Raja’s door and to appease his ghost the Raja granted the village of Ghanyari (or rather the land which the Brahmans now hold there) to Baba Dera’s bother, Nikka, who founded the settlement. Being the forbear of the Ghanyari Brahmans, Baba Dera is not worshipped by members of any other group. There was no ban on members of other castes worshipping him if they wanted to, I was told. But why should they want to? Baba Dera is not their ancestor and hence is unlikely to exert his powers to affect their lives either for good or ill. On the other hand an ancestor is quite capable of causing trouble to his own descendants if they do not attend to his cult, and the collective worship at Janam Ashtami is considered to contribute to the collective welfare of the Brahmans by ensuring Baba Dera’s favour towards them. The cult of Baba Dera is therefore more a kin to a household cult than to a genuinely ‘public’ cult. Many households in the village possess the image of an ancestor (male or female) who at some time in the past has demanded ritual appeasement by visiting his descendants with sickness or disaster. In some cases this image is installed in a regular shrine, in others it is simply kept locked in a trunk or cupboard and taken out when needed. Though Baba Dera’s shrine is more elaborate (indeed one of the most elaborate in the village) and is situated in the fields (not in anyone’s home or courtyard) his cult has not completely lost this ‘domestic’ character. As the lineage founded by Nikka proliferated and divided,

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its members did not forget the cult of Baba Dera, who was, after all, an ancestor of more than ordinary importance, being responsible for the foundation of the village, and they continue to come together once a year for the purposes of the cult. Where traditions exist about the foundation of a shrine it nearly always seems to be the case that the shrine is built by an individual in response to special revelation vouchsafed by the deity to him, in the form of some miracle or calamity. For instance, the Thakur shrine is said to have been founded generations ago by a Lohar (blacksmith) of the village. This man used to weigh down the jute he was soaking in a local stream with a large stone he discovered in the fields. But unknown to him this stone was the dwelling place of Thakur who began to trouble him with bad dreams, causing him to fall out of his bed at night. Eventually Thakur revealed to him in a dream the nature of his offence and to atone for what he had done and appease the god the Lohar moved the stone back to its original position and later erected a shrine beside it. The circumstances of the construction of the shrine to Baba Sindhu were very similar. Until about 1965 the deity Baba Sindhu had frequently possessed an old Rajput woman in a nearby village. She used to hold seances and villagers would question the deity when he visited her, for instance, about the welfare of an absent member of the family, the whereabouts of a missing object, the cause of a bout of sickness, etc. This old woman died a short time before I came to Ghanyari. But Baba Sindhu had begun to possess Haru, a Lohar who lived in Ghanyari, and he told Haru in dream that from now on he would transfer his residence to Ghanyari and would haunt a certain place beneath a pipal tree, near to the Lohar’s quarters. During the summer of 1966 there were several outbreaks of fire in this part of the village, and this finally convinced Haru that he must take action, incendiarism being a speciality of this particular deity. In February he began to construct a new shrine to Baba Sindhu under the pipal tree, working on it in his spare time.3 A shrine thus marks an extension of individual religiosity into the realm of public religion. The individual who builds a shrine does so in the course of a personal relationship with a deity; he may experience the hostility of that deity or he may experience his bounty and favour. But in some ways he becomes convinced that the deity is soliciting a special sign of cfevotion. Of course in some cases a prosperous peasant may build a shrine to impress his neighbours without such supernatural intimation, and I can think of several shrines built recently in the neighbourhood of

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Ghanyari which might fall into this category. But the point is that in either case, the shrine is built because the builder thinks that he needs to build it; it is not built in response to some public need for a shrine to a particular deity. Personal religious experience is incorporated into the collective religious culture of the village through the construction of the shrine. The strength of the association between the shrine and the family that ‘owns’ it may vary greatly. In Ghanyari the association of the shrine of Siddh Bharatri with the family of Ram Chand is hardly more than nominal. On the other hand the association of the family of Salig Ram (and indeed of all the Brahmans of the village) with the shrine of Baba Dera is both strong and exclusive. The cult of Baba Dera is more than a domestic cult since he is installed in a shrine which is accessible to anyone who wishes to worship there. Yet in a sense his cult is not quite as ‘public’ as those which the other village shrines celebrate. (Berreman describes a cult in Sirkanda which is comparable in that it has only partially emerged as a ‘public’ cult from the domestic phase (Berreman 1963: 373). It would be impossible to do justice to the great variety of types of village shrine which are described in the anthropological literature, but what this literature clearly teaches us is that the extent to which village shrines are truly public is very frequently modified by an element of appropriation. The unit with which a shrine is associated need not necessarily be a household or kin group. For instance, Ishwaran notes that in Shivapur there are twelve village temples and a mosque. Most of these are associated with a particular caste or sect. Yet each shrine is administered by a committee which is not necessarily or even usually composed exclusively of members of the group which uses the shrine. The Lingyat temple committee includes a Jain and a Maratha, the artisans’ temple committee includes three Lingayats and a Muslim. The mosque committee includes Lingayats, Kuruba and a Maratha, a situation which would have delighted Mahatma Gandhi and which also demonstrates a nice balance between the proprietary and the public aspects of the temple (Ishwaran 1968: 88). In Potlod, described by Mathur, there are seven shrines, but only one of these is dedicated to ‘village’ deities. The other six are the deities of specific castes in the village. Apart from these shrines there are ‘temples’, edifices dedicated to ‘all-India’ deities with regular priests, but these are open to members of the clean castes only (Mathur 1964: 31). Louis Dumont has approached

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the sociology of village cults more systematically than most anthropologists and he classifies the shrines used by the Kallar according to the nature of the group that finances festivals and celebrations at the shrine. The chief distinction he discovers is that between village shrines where a fixed sum is donated by each household in the settlement and lineage shrines where contributions are made exclusively by members of a particular lineage whether or not they are actually resident in the village at the time (Dumont 1957: 319). The Kallar themselves distinguish clearly between those shrines which are public and those which belong to a particular group. The nature and strength of the association between the shrine and the proprietary group, the types of rights and responsibilities it holds may vary so greatly as to defy further generalization. On the other hand there is an almost universal ban on the use of certain village shrines by members of unclean castes. But again, the strength of this ban varies greatly from place to place. In many South Indian villages untouchables were not even allowed to enter the temple of the deity who was the guardian deity of the village itself (e.g. Gough 1970: 135) and in Shivapur, an untouchable would not enter the temple because he ‘knows’ that the likely result would be drought or some other catastrophe, as well as the wrath of other members of the village, touchables and untouchables alike (Ishwaran 1968: 180). In the Pahari area the ban would seem to be weak and less formal. In Sirkanda Berreman only reports a definite ban on untouchables in the case of one shrine, the temple of Raghunath, although perhaps it is significant that this was the most substantial temple in the village, recognised by villagers as the ‘village’ temple, built and controlled by members of the dominant Rajput caste. In Ghanyari, members of the clean castes claim that there is no ban on Chamars (the only untouchable caste who live in the village) using the shrines of the village, provided that they observe the same ritual practices as everyone else, i.e. they remove their shoes when standing on or in the shrine and refrain from touching the shrine when in a state of temporary ritual pollution occasioned by e.g. menstruation, having visited the fields to defecate etc. On the other hand, they pointed out, it was unlikely that Chamars would want to use the village shrines as ‘they have shrines of their own’. In fact the only ‘Chamar’ shrines in the district were a few temples dedicated to Channo, a fierce and destructive deity worshipped exclusively by Chamars. I could discover no evidence that Chamars ever used the shrines in Ghanyari, nor were

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they invited to the few collective rituals which were occasionally held at the shrines. Whatever the members of the clean castes might say, the Chamars themselves seem to regard themselves as excluded from using the shrines. I remember talking to a group of Chamar stone masons who had been hired by a wealthy Rajput to construct a new shrine in village near to Ghanyari. One of the Chamars remarked that it was paradoxical that the high castes did not mind employing Chamars to build temples for them; but once the temples were finished they would not let the Chamars enter them or use them4. (In fact, the images which are installed in shrines in this locality are usually the work of a Chamar sculptor or stone mason, and one Chamar of Ghanyari was well known until his death a few years ago for his skill in depicting the traditional deities). A shrine may be used exclusively by members of a particular caste (or castes) or it may be used exclusively by members of a particular household or descent group. But the principle of exclusion is not necessarily the same. In the former case it is often a matter of purity, in the latter case a matter of property. In practice the two principles may operate together; for instance Gough describes the private temples built by Nambudiri Brahmans in south India. Access to these temples was denied to Nayars, who where considered to be sudras, presumably on both accounts (Gough 1970: 135). Nevertheless the two principles are theoretically distinct and when we discover that a village temple is not in fact truly ‘public’ we must ask which principle of exclusion operates in that particular case. The shrines of Ghanyari present themselves primarily as extensions of private and domestic cults into the domain of the ‘public’ and this is appropriately symbolized in their siting. The hilly landscape around Ghanyari is full of impressive natural features, strange rock formations, dramatic ravines, springs which suddenly gush from the ground, and one might expect that villagers would choose such places to build sanctuaries for their gods. Many famous temple and places of pilgrimage known to the people of Ghanyari are associated with such extraordinary natural features (for instance, Jvalamukhi with its jet of natural gas issuing from the earth, Naina Devi on its prominent conical hill). Others are noted for their inaccessibility (for instance, the shrine of Baba Balak Nath at Shah Talai which is perched near top of a steep crag at the mouth of the cave where Balak Nath used to meditate, or the shrine of Baba Ludru at Jagipanga which was deliberately moved to a desolate

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spot in the jungle by its priest when its original site became too crowded with shops and souvenir merchants). Quite the reverse is true of the village shrines. They are within the boundaries of the fields, within the area of the land which men have most clearly appropriated and transformed. Even the Khwajah shrine is not situated at the source of the spring which is regarded as the manifestation of Khwajah’s power, and which is deep in the jungle, but lower down where fields and jungle meet. Most of the shrines in Ghanyari, as in other villages in the area, are built beside footpaths which the farmers tread every day on their way to the fields. Usually the land that they stand on belongs to the category known as shamilat i.e. common land. This category includes certain areas of uncultivable ground adjoining or near to the actual settlement (which can be appropriated for building purposes) and the ‘jungle’, large area of forest land beyond the fields which any member of the village may use for grazing his cattle, cutting firewood or fodder. There is a good practical reason, of course, why shrines should be sited on this land; no canny farmer will build a shrine in the middle of a field where he might sow a crop when there are other places available, however pious he may be. But the shamilat is the one resource (other than the air which men breathe) which can be said to be truly and unequivocally public, available to any member of the village, the collective property of all its members. Seen from the point of view of members of other villages, of course, the shamilat is the private property of Ghanyari, though as it happens the area of forest attached to Ghanyari is so extensive that ‘poaching’ by members of other villages may well go unresented, indeed undetected. But within the village all members have equal rights in it by virtue of their residence there (with the possible qualification that Chamars would not be expected to build their houses on land adjacent to the quarters of the clean castes). A shrine that has its origin as a celebration of some individual act of personal piety stands on land which is genuinely public, a sign which is visible and comprehensible to all who pass by. Nor is it situated in the numinous recesses of the forest or hills, but by the prosaic and social thoroughfares of the village itself. The establishment of a new village shrine has a further public significance, in this case a cultural meaning. Any shrine that is more than just a domestic icon takes its place as one of a network of shrines dedicated to the same deity. The extent of this network will vary according to the ‘spread’ of the cult, and sometimes the network takes the appearance of a hierarchy of shrines, with some major temple or cult centre as

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both summit and centre. Of the shrines in Ghanyari three (those of the Siddh, Jvalamukhi Devi, and the Pir) can be regarded as outposts of places of pilgrimages known and sometimes visited by the villagers. Only the shrine to Baba Dera represents a cult which is peculiar to Ghanyari itself. I spoke of shrines dedicated to the ‘same deity’ but of course the identity of any Hindu deity as a discrete and individual being is always hard to establish—indeed it has been argued that in Hindu society the very concept of individuality is relative and situational. Thus, seen in one context the shrine in Ghanyari celebrates Jvalamukhi Devi; but Jvalamukhi is merely one manifestation of female divine principle, also individualized as Durga, Kali, Parvati, etc. The permanent village shrine with its conventional iconography helps to capture and localize something that is in fact elusive. Even then it is frequently the case that the principle of locality may in fact serve to further fragment the ‘personality’ of the deity. Thus Dumont shows (1957: 402) that the deity Aiyanar is in fact a category of Aiyanars distinguished according to local association—Aiyanar of Pinnur, Pambur Aiyanar, etc. (This is perhaps comparable to the way in which the personality of the Virgin Mary has become fragmented in Catholic Christendom, so that Our Lady of Walsingham and Our Lady of Lourdes are both the same and yet different). According to Dumont it is enshrinement as a member of a temple pantheon that establishes a supernatural being as a deity at all. Carnivorous demons cease to be demons as soon as they are introduced to the ‘company of the gods’ by being incorporated into Kallar temple pantheons, though they do not cease to be carnivorous. Through his complementary association with the ‘pure’ vegetarian gods of the pantheon the demon is transformed into a god, but because the relationship is complementary he does not abandon his ferocious characteristics nor his carnivorous habits. The evidence available in Ghanyari suggests that it may be the act of enshrinement itself (rather than enshrinement as a member of a temple pantheon) which is important in this transformation. Shrines in Ghanyari do not usually house pantheons, only a single deity. In the few local temples where more than one deity is represented there is no distinction made between the carnivorous and the vegetarian deities (virtually all belong to the latter category anyway). What characterizes the unenshrined supernatural beings which the villagers

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fear—ghosts and unnamed demons—is their lack of local attachment; they are mobile, they roam from place to place and thus cannot be controlled. They are without exception dangerous and hostile to men. It is their nature to be so, they cannot be otherwise. Many deities are seen as being dangerous, indeed most deities can cause trouble of one kind and another. But a deity can be controlled, for by making suitable offerings the worshipper can hope to turn away his anger and persuade him to bestow favours. Through images and shrines a deity becomes accessible in a way that a footloose demon is not. Significantly those deities who are regarded as most dangerous and difficult to control are those who are also regarded as most mobile. Channo, the ferocious ‘Chamar’ deity, is described as wandering about the countryside with his train, causing destruction where he passes. Baba Sindhu is also given to wandering about and several villagers of Ghanyari claim to have met him in various guises on lonely paths and roads. He too is represented as essentially capricious, an irascible deity whose hostility is easily aroused. When a shrine is built to such a deity this is an invitation to that deity to abandon the lonely and desolate places which are the characteristic haunts of demons and ghosts, and to install himself near to people’s homes, thus becoming more manageable. The building of a new shrine therefore may have cultural and religious consequences over and beyond whatever may be in the mind of the builder at the time. Once established, a shrine becomes available for certain type of collective ritual which may be held at village shrines from time to time, and although these are numerous they are instructive in elucidating the public nature of the shrine. The most common type of celebration in which village shrines are visited is the vadhai which is held when a new bride arrives in the village (all new brides must come from other villages, given the general rule of village exogamy). The morning after her arrival the members of the bridegroom’s household form a procession and escort the couple, their scarves tied together as they were at the wedding itself, and the band playing cheerfully, on a kind of ritual tour of some of the village shrines. At each shrine which is visited the bride and groom must bow before the deity and circumambulate the image. Offerings of food are made and sometimes other ritual acts are perforated in honour of the deity enshrined there, e.g. new flags may be erected, incense sticks may be lit before the image. Before returning to the house the party halts at a pipal tree just outside the village where a brief ritual is

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performed, this time under the direction of the family priest. The bride is then divested of coconuts and other decorations which she has worn hanging from her wrists since the commencement of the wedding ceremonies. The woman who unties them becomes her dharm bahin, her ‘sister in religion’. This fictitious kin relationship is of more than merely symbolic importance. The bride is normally a complete stranger to the village and the dharm bahin is usually a young married woman who has some prior connection with the bride. She may be a relative of the bride or a native of the same village, and her role is to help the new bride settle into her new village. Before the company disperses the members of the groom’s family distribute prasad to everybody present, and those who have come to see the vadhai make this an opportunity to give the bride the ceremonial gifts of a rupee and a coconut which is always given to any new member of a family on first meeting (a child who has been born into it, or a woman who has been married into it). There are two features of this ritual which are of particular interest here. Firstly, the procession does not necessarily visit every shrine in the village. It was difficult to discover what rationale governed the choice, but it seemed that where a household had a particular association with a deity, then that deity’s shrine would definitely be included; otherwise only the shrines nearest to that family’s house would be visited. Secondly, the ritual is more or less public, in that anyone is welcome to attend. The barber, who traditionally acts as messenger on ritual occasions, is sent to give a definite invitation to relatives and caste follows of the bridegroom’s family, but in the vadhai ceremonies which I saw, members of other castes (with the exception of the Chamars) came and joined in as soon as they heard the band. They both received prasad and made gifts to the bride at the end. The vadhai is interpreted by villagers as an opportunity to demonstrate to the bride groom’s caste brotherhood that the wedding has been properly completed. As the wedding ritual itself is conducted at the bride’s home, not everyone in the groom’s village will have actually witnessed it. The vadhai is in no way a duplication of this ritual—the marriage is already complete from the legal point of view. It is rather a way of communicating its completion to the members of the groom’s village and involving them in it, providing them with a public opportunity to offer their congratulations (vadhai means ‘congratulation’). Secondly it is interpreted as an opportunity to ‘show the bride the gods of the

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village’. She has, as it were, a formal introduction to those gods which are thought to take a special interest in the affairs of the people of Ghanyari, or rather to a representative selection of these deities. When people in Ghanyari speak of the ‘gods of this village’ they are not referring to a set of deities who are thought to have the specific function of guarding the village as a whole, as we find in some Hindu villages. In fact the term does not seem to refer to a fixed pantheon at all, since the lists which villagers provided varied considerably according to their degree of information and their interest in ritual affairs. The phrase merely seems to indicate the totality of deities which are known to be worshipped as personal or household deities in Ghanyari, as opposed to the numerous saints and deities who are known by repute to the villagers, but which are not actually worshipped by any of them at the moment. The phrase implies a cultural and ritual community which the village in fact displays only very imperfectly. In being shown the ‘gods of the village’ the bride is also being shown the village itself, by being deliberately involved through this ritual in a community wider than the family unit into which she has married. The family initiates the ritual but it is expected and desired that others will join in. And under the pipal tree the bride makes her first relationship with a member of the village outside her husband’s household. The other rituals held at village shrines show similar characteristic to the vadhai, i.e. they are initiated by members of a particular household but subsequently involve a wider community of people. The worship of Khwajah at the festival of Rakri follows this pattern. On the evening of Rakri the chela convenes the other Brahman men who accompany him to the shrine of the Khwajah. A chela is simply a villager who is the devotee of a particular deity who possesses him regularly during the period of intense ritual activity between Rakri and the feast of Gugga Naumi. (Not every village has a chela, and a chela need not necessarily be a devotee of Khwajah; there are chelas dedicated to many different deities in the locality. But the tendency towards this special type of possession is generally ‘hereditary’ in a particular family). After all the men have circumambulated the shrine an offering is made there, and when they return they distribute what remains as prasad to all the households of the clean castes of the village. During the following week the chela will visit every household accompanied by Chamar musicians and their music will frequently induce him to become possessed by his tutelary deity. The ritual on the

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night of Rakri is in part a solemn overture to this period of ritual activity, a ceremony to activate the deity who will possess the chela. But it is also, I was told, important as a matter of public welfare that it be performed, since Khwajah is the guardian of the spring by which his shrine is situated. Being the patron deity of all water sources, the Khwajah might be provoked to withdraw his protection from the village if not worshipped from time to time, causing the spring to run dry. In fact this spring is only used as a regular source of drinking water by the Chamars (who are not invited to the ritual). Members of other castes use the village wells which the Chamars are prohibited from using. But the distinction of the Khwajah’s spring is that it runs ‘twelve months in every year’. It has never yet been known to run dry, unlike the other water sources in the village, and thus provides a suitable symbol for the ever available supply of drinking water without which Ghanyari would not be habitable. The only other ritual which I witnessed at a village shrine also celebrated a theme of common welfare. During the winter of 1966–7 the usual winter thunderstorms had failed to come by January and it seemed that the grain would shrivel in the ears before it ripened. Several young kinsmen of Kanshi Ram, the Brahman whose house-, hold was associated with the shrine of Thakur, went round the village collecting subscriptions to hold a jag, a feast in honour of Thakur, the lord of the rains. As far as I know, every household was approached save those of the Chamars. Kanshi and his family made themselves responsible for buying the food for the feast and assembling all the culinary and ritual equipment which would be required, although many of his Brahman neighbours assisted in cooking and serving the food. On the appointed day members of all castes except the Chamars were summoned to join in the procession to the shrine of Thakur, where new flags were erected in honour of the deity and offerings of sweets and water were made. After this ritual everyone adjourned to the shady places beside the road where the feast had been prepared and the food was served. The Chamars were invited to come and claim their shares and portions were sent to the houses of anyone who had not been able to attend the ritual since it was evidently regarded as most important that every single member of the village should be included in the feast. In fact the rain did not fall as soon as had been hoped for, and I heard several Brahmans wonder aloud whether Thakur might not be angry because one or two Chamars had been turned away rather brusquely when they arrived after all the food had been finished.

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The jag, like the activities at Janam Ashtami and Rakri, involves the welfare of a community wider than that of the family who initiates and organizes the ritual, although only in the case of the jag is the collectivity concerned quite explicitly and unambiguously supposed to be the whole village. This was the only occasion on which I ever saw the entire village mobilized for any purpose whatsoever, and even then it must be remembered that not every villager took part in the actual ritual. But in many Indian villages the concern for communal welfare is given very explicit symbolic expression through annual village festivals or occasional rites to village gods. When there is a particular deity who is recognized as guardian of the village as a whole this deity is frequently one of the goddesses associated with the pustular diseases. This association is highly appropriate since an epidemic of smallpox is a disaster which is bound to affect all members of the village alike regardless of family or caste or economic status. In the neighbourhood of Ghanyari the danger of such epidemics seems for long to have been less severe and collective concern is more readily expressed in respect of rainfall. The rainfall in this area is high, but there are no means of storing water and in such a rugged district here is no form of irrigation which would be within the means of the ordinary farmer. Impenetrable strata of rock lie relatively close to the surface of the ground and so it is not possible to sink such deep wells as in the plains; consequently even a spell of moderate drought can cause acute inconvenience to the whole village. On the other hand while everyone in Ghanyari wants the rain to nourish the crops growing in the fields, members of the village stand in various relationships to those crops and fields (as landowners, tenant farmers, labourers, etc.). Everyone wants the Khwajah stream to flow and the wells to be full, but members of different castes have different rights in these various water sources. (Apart from the ban on Chamars using the wells, certain castes such as the Chimba and the Muslim Teli may only use them if no member of a higher caste is actually dipping his or her vessel into the water at the time). It is surprising that these differences in rights and status are not more clearly articulated in such collective ritual as takes place at the village shrines, in Ghanyari, especially when one considers how distinctly they are symbolized in village rites elsewhere. In village festivals in many parts of South India for instance (to take the most extreme example) the rites are collective only in the broad sense that they include everybody. The actual part which any individual will play in the festival will depend on his status in the village, especially his caste

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status. Often the lowest castes remain outside the temple while the clean castes conduct important rituals inside, that is, inside the temple walls. The actual shrine may only be accessible to the Brahman (Gough 1970: 135; Srinivas 1952:196). But while the high castes conduct their rites the low castes do not merely wait passively, but perform rites which complement those of the high castes and which are an important part of the entire ceremony. In Palakarra, for instance, the Harijans made sacrifices to godlings who were conceived as servants of Bhagavati (the village deity) and these sacrifices were regarded as indispensible part of the whole proceedings (Gough 1970: 138). The activities of the untouchables are peripheral only in the literal sense of being conducted outside the temple which is the focus of the festival, not in the sense of being unimportant. In Ghanyari, as we have seen, we do not find this complementary differentiation of functions. Indeed the untouchables take hardly any part at all in such collective rituals as are held in the village. The clean castes do not seek their involvement at all (except as recipients of food at the jag) so there is no question of their even being assigned an inferior role in the rites. At first it seems strange that village rites should be much more inclusive in those areas of India where village unity is most conspicuously modified by hierarchical differentiation. In the Himalayan foothills the only striking ritual division is that between the untouchable castes and the rest. In Ghanyari the restrictions on interdining, etc. among all castes other than the Chamar are comparatively few. But this relative lack of hierarchy is not compensated by any greater sense of village solidarity for villages in this area are generally less compact and nucleated than villages in many other parts of India. Certainly the contrasts with the nearby Punjab, with its large dense settlements, often walled and fortified, is particularly striking. The higher one penetrates into the foothills, the more dispersed the pattern of settlement tends to be. Ghanyari is actually somewhat unusual in having a population of 433. Most other settlements in the neighbourhood are smaller and less compact. But if the residential and geographical unity of the village is less obvious, this does not mean that it cannot be identified as a political and administrative unit. Nor does it mean that the social unity of the village is not an important value. In Ghanyari I heard villagers complain regretfully on many occasions about the lack of unity which actually obtained. On the occasion of the jag several Brahmans expressed the idea that Thakur might have caused the drought through displeasure at this

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disunity. Here it was not caste divisions that were being referred to so much as competitive rivalry and factionalism among members of the Brahman caste. Similar sentiments were voiced again and again on the eve of the local panchayat election; if only villagers could agree as to candidates they would back, their collective vote would see that at least one member from Ghanyari was returned, preferably more than one, as befitted a village which was the largest in the administrative area which the panchayat controlled. The Brahmans in particular were so divided among themselves that it was inevitable that the candidate backed by certain important families would be opposed by others. Brahmans were supposed to set an example to the other castes, the villagers claimed, but how could the Brahmans of Ghanyari shoulder this responsibility when they were so disunited among themselves? If we take Palakarra (described by Gough) and Ghanyari as representatives of polar extremes, we find that in both villages the symbolic identity of the village through rituals relating to collective welfare can be achieved only with difficulty. In the case of Palakkara the main problem is the question of hierarchy; the low caste Izhavas previously played an important role in the village festival, but it was an ‘exterior’ role which clearly symbolized their inferior relationship to the other castes. Since 1948 the Izhavas have rejected this role just because it represented explicitly an inferiority which they now feel in a position to contest, and they have recently attempted to assert their parity of status with other castes in respect of the village temple. In Ghanyari there could be no such dispute since the Chamars were simply not involved in the collective ritual which the other castes organized. The main obstacle to the expression of village unity here has been the amorphous nature of the village unit itself and the competitive divisions between the members of its dominant caste. Writing of English society, David Martin has suggested that the church spire and Christian identification serve as symbols of unity in a society which is highly differentiated in interests and culture. Few in England are committed to the church as an institution, but “religion provides the obfuscating but necessary rhetoric of unity”. (Martin 1967: 107). The decrepit and little used shrine, like the empty church, stands for a unity which the villagers would like to exist, but which in fact does not exist—with the important difference, of course, that the cultural and religious associations of the shrine are still very vigourous. The ‘public’ nature of the village shrine expresses the ideal identity of the

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village, but it is ‘ideal’ not so much in the Durkheimian sense, but in the colloquial sense of something which may be aspired to but will never in reality be attained. The village shrine lies between two polar types of Hindu shrine. At the most universal level there are the great temples of Hinduism, the major cult centres where the worshippers constitute the approximation to an undifferentiated public (especially now that Temple Entry Acts have made them accessible, in theory at least, to untouchables also). Sectarian centres aside, these are the shrines which have most successfully escaped particularistic identification with a specific social group. They have transcended the principle of appropriation.5 At the other end of the continuum we have domestic and other types of private shrine, which are the private property of an individual or family group. The variety of village shrines in India is so great as to virtually defy generalization, and especially they vary in the degree to which they are genuinely ‘public’. But the relationship between the village shrine and major temples on the one hand and private shrines on the other is not comparable to, say, the relationship between parish churches in England to cathedrals and private chapels. The parish church with its congregation is a basic unit or religious organization. The village shrine in India, even if it is really ‘public’ corresponds to no social collectivity which can easily be mobilized for ritual purposes. It is precisely at the village level that the difficulty of creating a ‘public’ out of an aggregation of ‘particular’ groups is the most obvious. Possibly it is because of this lack of an explicit and undifferentiated relationship between a local shrine and its public that Hindu immigrants to Britain have been relatively slow in establishing their own places of worship. Sikhs and Muslims from the Indian sub-continent very quickly created their own mosques and gurudvaras in British towns, even buying up disused churches for the purpose. The only Hindu places of worship which existed in Britain until fairly recently (to the best of my knowledge at least) were the sectarian centres of groups like the Ramakrishna Mission, or the Radhaswamis. Non-sectarian Hindus have no precedent for establishing a shrine as a congregational act, even though awareness of themselves as a political and cultural minority in many British cities has created a demand for places of worship which are more than domestic. Returning to Ghanyari, it is now not so difficult to see why shrines should be built, yet seldom used. Symbolically they refer to a public domain, a level of identification beyond the narrow household group

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which is felt by villagers to be most important, even if it cannot always be operative. As symbols the village shrines are far from superfluous, even though what they symbolize may exist only tenuously, an ambiguous unity which is full of contradictions.

Notes 1. This research was the basis of my doctoral thesis and was financed by a Horniman Scholarship. 2. At the time of my fieldwork Ghanyari was in District Kangra (Punjab) but both State and District boundaries have been altered since. 3. Similar traditions are found relating to the foundation of shrines in many Hindu villages (see Berreman 1963: 373, 375, 381). 4. On the other hand there does not seem to have been any substantial class of aristocratic patrons in this locality who might finance the building of really large temples, or who might endow them with property as in some other parts of India (Srinivas 1952: 185). 5. Parish churches in Christian countries are not always free from this element of appropriation—for instance special areas may be reserved for the tombs of certain families, or certain pews or benches for their living members. But these rights usually refer to floor space rather than to the building as a whole. The parish church is clearly distinguished from the private chapel which belongs in its entirety to a particular individual or family.

Bibliography Berreman, G. 1963. Hindus of the Himalayas. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Danielou, A. 1964. Hindu Polytheism. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Dumont, L. 1957. Une Sous-Caste de L’Inde du Sud. Paris: Mouton. Gough, K. 1970. “Palakarra: Social and Religious Change in Central Kerala”, in Change and Continuity in India’s Villages. Edited by K. Ishwaran, New York Columbia University Press. Ishwaran, K. 1968. Shivapur. A South Indian Village. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Martin, D. n.d. A Sociology of English Religion. London: Heinemann. Mathur, K. 1964. Caste and Ritual in a Malwa Village. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Srinivas, M. N. 1952. Religion and Society among the Coorgs. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

16 A Study of Customs in Rural Mysore K.N. Venkatarayappa

I

T

he study of rural society offers an interesting subject for sociologists. The rural family, administration, caste system, religion, recreation, economic structure represent typical rural characteristics and throw a flood of light on the ancient history of social institutions. Such a study exemplifies the complexity of cultural patterns. A  systematic study of rural problems will further help for the formulation of various social policies and thereby render valuable help for the reorganization of village communities. India’s rural life is undergoing a tremendous change. Technology, improvement of literacy, political awakening, the rural upliftment schemes such as national extension service and community development projects have effected rural community and brought about change. In family, in marriage, in modes of living, in religion, in ritualistic and caste practices, and in sanitation one can discover that the rural India is on the march. The study of rural society is as rich in material as that of urban society. All the major social institutions found in urban society are also found in rural society. The problems of poverty, crime, disorganization of the family, sex vice, are also found in rural society. The problems we meet with in rural atmosphere, of course, have different characteristics.

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There is no intention of presenting all aspects of rural society on this occasion. I have confined my attention to the study of some customs in Mallur, in Sidlaghatta Taluk in Mysore State. This limitation is made not because only customs occupy a major part of the social life of rural society, nor because Mallur is the only typical village in Kannada speaking area but because of the unique characteristcs of these customs in the life of village community. Mallur is situated in the centre of a table land, at a distance of 38 miles from Bangalore the capital of Mysore State. There are regular bus services plying between Bangalore and Sidlaghatta touching Mallur. This metal road touches Vijayapura, Devanahalli and Yelahanka each with a population of 10,000 and more, known for commercial activities. Sidlaghatta a small town and the ‘taluk’ (unit of villages) headquarter, known for potatoes and silk industry is at a distance of four miles towards the south-east of Mallur. Towards the north-west at a distance of nine miles is Chickaballapur, a small provincial town for potatoes and onions. The earth around the village is mostly red except towards the eastern boundary which is black. Mallur enjoys good soil fit for cultivation of ‘Ragi,’ ‘Maize,’ ‘Avare,’ and ‘Hurulli.’ Mulberry cultivation is abundantly carried on. In the gardens potatoes, onions, bananas, betel leaves are also raised. Rearing of silk worms is an important occupation. Nearly 3/4ths of the households rear silk worms. The cocoons are sold which bring considerable amount of income. All around the village big trees stand magnificently adding beauty to the village. Banyan tree, Pipal tree, Neem tree, Tamarind tree, Honge trees grow here and there. The sparrows, parrots, crows, eagles, goravanka, and kokila birds rest on trees peacefully. The tank towards the north-west of the village affords ample opportunities for fishing, swimming and irrigation works. There are patches of green belts here and there around the village, which have helped the farmers to maintain the buffaloes, bullocks, goats and sheep. Poultry is also a subsidiary occupation. Climate in Mallur knows no extremes, and is moderate. In summer the days and nights are rather hot but tolerable. In winter and rain-falling days it is very pleasant. The land looks green with green crops and trees every where. Located in such natural surroundings, Mallur possessing

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fine characteristics of the rural communities, offers an interesting field for sociological investigation.

II Mallur is a Hindu Village. About twenty five years ago two families of the Muslims moved towards Vadigenahalli and from that time onwards no Muslim family has lived continuously for months. Occasionally a few Muslims visit Mallur for business and sometimes they camp for a few days and move towards other villages. Mostly they visit the village to carry on business, in cocoons, and very rarely as tinkers. Though the neighbouring towns Sidlaghatta and Vadigenahalli are inhabited by Muslims, Mallur has not attracted any Muslim settlers. Very recently four Muslims are living working as coolies and their permanent settlement is doubtful. Having an area of 1/8 square mile, Mallur has been inhabited by 1502 people. Kannada, Telugu, Tamil and Urdu are the languages spoken. Tamil is the mother-tongue of “Tigalas”. Though Telugu and Kannada are spoken by all people, Telugu is the mother-tongue of Madigas, Bedas, Agasas, Mondars, Hajamas and Vajas, while Kannada is the mother tongue of Brahmins, Vokkaligas, Kurubas, and Ganigas. The four muslims talk Urdu. As is common with Hindus all over India, the people of Mallur worship the major gods of Hinduism. Brahma, Vishnu and Siva, the concept of Trinity of Hinduism, has great appeal for the inhabitants. They principally worship Siva and Vishnu, his incarnations Rama and Krishna. They believe in the Karma theory of life, transmigration of soul and rebirth. The future status of life depends upon the present, and the present status, it is believed is decided by the past Karma. The blind, the lame, the dumb, the mutilated, the barren, the insane, the poor and the caste to which one belongs are conceived by the residents of Mallur mostly decided by one’s own past Karma. “Right actions”, “Truth”, “Moral and just behaviour” decide the social status of the community as well as the individuals. To be in accordance with various customs, it is believed, would qualify the people to be rewarded in heaven. Those who violate them will be penalized in hell. At the main entrance in the eastern direction of the village there are the temples of Anjaneya, Iswara and Basavanna. Brahmin is the priest in

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Iswara temple. Jangama1 from the neighbouring village is the authorised priest in Basavanna temple and there is no authorised priest for Anjaneya. Sometimes and “Achary”2 from the neighbouring village and some other times a gentleman from the Kuruba caste officiate as priests. Till 1945 the Madigas and Holeyas were not permitted to enter the temples. Although provision is made now for their entry, it appears that they have not taken advantage of it. Apart from the above temples, there are shrines dedicated to village gods and goddesses. Just near the Anjaneya temple there are ‘Irlu Gudis’ (shrines of family deities) which are worshipped by Vokkaligas. “Irlu Garu”3 are the family deities of the Vokkaligas. About ten years ago there was Doddamma temple which is no more at present on the eastern side of the road that connects Mallur with Melur in the north-east and Vadigenahalli in the south. Since repairs were not carried out in time, the temple of Doddamma is ruined and vanished. Towards the eastern side of ‘Nadu beedi’4 (central spot of the village) there is the temple of Maramma, the goddess who protects villagers from various diseases. Just about fifty yards away towards the eastern side of Maramma temple there is Sree Rama Bhajana Mandira, where photos of various gods are worshipped. On Saturdays religious-minded inhabitants gather here in the evening for prayer. They go round the village in the main streets chanting prayers. Muneswara temples at Vadigenahalli and Valeerahalli which are within a distance of three miles attract many inhabitants for worship. The people take a great interest in the religious festivities and fasts such as Shree Rama Navami, Sivarathri, Sankranthi, Sravana Sanivara and Mahanavami. On these occasions Gangamma deity from Melur is generally taken in procession in the main streets, and people offer flowers and coconuts. Occasionally the inhabitants of Mallur go on a pilgrimage to Tirupathi. Venkataramana-swamy of Tirupathi is also the ‘Kuladevathe’ (Family deity) of many families. It is believed by the inhabitant that contagious diseases like Plague, Cholera, are due to the wrath of evil gods. They take in procession deities in the streets and offer coconuts, turmeric, flowers and fruits. The deities are worshipped for a period ranging from five to fifteen days and on an appointed date the final worship takes place. This is called Jatra. Relatives are invited. People dress neatly. Houses are white washed. “Thambittu”5 is prepared, moulded into different sizes. Lights would burn in wicks soaked in oil and placed in receptacles of ‘Thambittu’.

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Then they would be put in baskets or vessels and decorated with flowers. The village musicians begin beating the drums. All the village women carry them with great joy towards the deities. The village priest performs the “Pooja”6 (worship) waves the lights before the deities and returns them to women to carry them back. After their return they enjoy a feast. It is believed that diseases of men and cattle are due to the wrath of spirits. “Naradi Jadya,” “Sappe Roga”, fever, small pox and diarrhoea are associated with them. In order to appease these spirits various methods are employed. The “Manthragara,” the village doctor with his magical power, spells manthras and wards off the evil spirits that cause danger to the children. Whenever the child is ill the “Manthragara” is sent for. On his arrival he would be greeted by elders. After examining the patient he prescribes invariably a “Pooja”. The necessary requirements of a “Pooja” include neem leaves, lime fruits, coconut, betel leaves, betel-nut, turmeric, vermilion, flowers, baked rice and curds or butter milk. The “Manthragara” heaps up boiled rice on a plantain leaf sometimes in a conical shape, and some other time in a round shape with a receptacle in the centre. He pours in butter milk or curds into it and decorates it with turmeric, vermilion and flowers. Then he breaks the coconut uttering his magical spells. After a few hours it is expected that the child would recover from illness. When the child is seriously ill a hen, or a cock, or a goat, or sheep would be sacrificed in the process of the “Pooja”. The flesh would be eaten by the “village Doctor” and his party. In cases where the child suffers from light fever, it is brought out into the verandah and two or more women gather, light up a candle, take a broken bangle, heat it red hot, sprinkle water at the face of the child and burn a small portion of the skin on the back or the neck of the child with the heated bangle. Then they take the child to the tree, touch it with the broomsticks and pour water on the earth. After this they return back into the house. The child it is believed would be relieved of fever. “Tanuvu mudde”7 is another practice commonly observed by the entire village. Practice of this, it is believed, would preserve the general health and well-being of the village community. For this purpose the village elders gather and appoint a day. The village “Thoti” (servant of inferior service) announces this, beating the drum throughout the village. On this day the houses would be cleaned and kept neat. No cattle would leave the village until the whole process of this “Sastra” was over.

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The village dhobi officiates as the priest. The house wife prepares “Thanuvu mudde” out of the boiled rice and worships it in the house. The village “Thoti” announces with this dram beating to bring the “Thanuvu mudde” to the central place of the village where the final worship takes place. Accordingly all the village women move towards the central place of worship with “Thanuvu mudde.” The priest worships the “Thanuvu mudde” and puts all of them into a basket specially prepared for this occasion. He carries it on his head and behind him follow the elders and the cattle. On reaching the main entrance of the village the “Jangama” sprinkles water on “Thanuvu Mudde” and also on cattle. The villagers carry-water in various vessels and pour water on the inscriptions that are standing at the main entrance of the village. Then the priest marches accompanied by a band of village musicians and drummers as far as the boundary of the village in the eastern side and puts “Thanuvu mudde” in the water. After final worship they return home. This pooja would be performed at three successive week ends. On the final day of ‘pooja’ a sheep or goat is sacrificed and the flesh is shared by the priest and his colleagues. The ryots have a great faith in rains and agricultural operations. On “Varsha Todaku8 day” all the villagers gather at the verandah of Patel’s house. The purohit worships New Year calendar and also the corn contributed by the ryots. He explains to them the prospects of rains and crops of the whole year, and fixes up an auspicious day to begin the agricultural operation which would fail on the first day of rain fall soon after Ugadi. The person who may lead the first plough, the colour of the bullock to be yoked to it, the direction of the ploughing would also be fixed up by him. Accordingly on the appointed day, the plough and the bullocks would be sprinkled over with “Theertha”9. The appointed person begins to plough and all the elders of the village follow him with ploughs. The ploughs pass through all the fields. After the completion of this ceremony all the villagers begin ploughing their lands. This is called ‘Honnegilu.’ Unless this is done no villager proceeds to plough the land. During the month of September villagers perform “Hasta Male Vongalu”. Small branches of Ankola plant are collected in large quantities and stuck in the fields. With the ashes, Anjaneya figures are drawn at the fields, and also at the entrance of the village. On “Aswatha Katte”10 numbers of heaps of ash are kept ready to be taken away and thrown on

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crops. After 2 P.M., on the appointed day all the village leaders join at the entrance of the village and jointly cry “Kelalalalo kiki-kiki-kiki,” repeatedly. About fixe or six goats or sheeps are slaughtered and the blood is mixed with Margose leaves. Then this mixture is thrown over the crops uttering “Poligo, Poligo”. The flesh would be shared by all the villagers. By this sacrificial ceremony it is believed that there would be sufficient rain fall. Before sowing the seeds in the fields “Kooridge pooja” is performed. The agricultural implements are cleaned and decorated with turmeric and vermilion; coconut is broken and the water of the coconut sprinkled over the implements. The rice mixed with jaggery is distributed. At night the members of the family enjoy a feast. This rite is believed to guarantee rich crops. To avert the insect pests some ceremonies are performed. ‘Seedidevaru’ is one of them. When crops are standing sweets are prepared at home and Ankola branches are collected and a small hut is constructed in the field. Five stones are erected symbolising deities in it and worshipped with vermilion, turmeric and flowers. Sweets, and cooked rice with curds on two plantain leaves are offered to these deities. Then a fowl is killed and its blood has to be mixed with the rice on one of the leaves. Leaves of Ankola are also added. This mixture is scattered over the field uttering ‘Poligo, Poligo’. The head of the fowl is buried in front of this hut. The remains of the fowl will be carried home to be cooked and eaten. Before the crops are reaped ‘Kudugolu Devaru’ is worshipped. A handful of crop is cut and placed in the field before five small stones that are erected. Sickles are placed in front of these stones. Coconut is broken and worshipped in the usual way. Before the crop is removed from the field the bullock cart is worshipped in the usual way and the crops transported and stocked into a heap. Thrashing of the crop begins just around February and March. When the crops are thrashed and the grains heaped, a ‘pilari’, that is a cone made out of cow-dung is installed with an ear of corn stuck into it at the top. This is worshipped and incense burnt and the coconut broken. Then the grain is poured through a bamboo winnow by a man standing on a stool about five feet high so as to let the chaff be carried away by the wind. The heavy grain is deposited in a heap below. This is called “Rasabiduvudu”. All persons engaged in this function remain silent until this process is over, symbolising that the

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ryots wished to do this in silence without drawing the attention of the robbers. It is also believed that if they do their job silently the evil spirits would be warded off. Before measuring the grain some Quantity of corn is set apart to be given in charity to a Brahmin. This is called “Devara Kolaga”.

III Various ceremonies take place among different castes. Of all the ceremonies, birth ceremonies of Vokkaligas have a special significance because of their punctuality. A brief description of them is given in the following paragraphs. As soon as the child is born the mother is kept in a separate house and an elderly woman attends her. After nine days she takes a bath before she touches anything in the house. The water used for bath is mixed with different kinds of leaves. The villagers and relatives are invited and entertained at a dinner. The child is presented with various gifts. The birth of the first child takes place generally in the house of the mother. Within one year ‘Tottilu Devaru’ is performed. The child on the appointed day is bathed and dressed neatly. Relatives from the child’s father’s village bring jaggery, betel leaves, betel-nuts and ghee. After dinner the cradle is worshipped and child is presented with a golden jewel. Then the young mother returns to her husband’s place. Before the child is admitted into the house, “Pooja” (worship) is performed in the temple and holy water sprinkled on the child and the mother to ward off the evil spirits. Then “Arathi” is waved before the child and finally the child is admitted into the house. There is another very important ceremony called “Makkala Devaru,” which would generally be performed once in every decade. This is to be observed as a matter of right before the lobes of the child’s ears are pierced for holding ear rings. For this ceremony all the families related as agnates join together and select an auspicious day in consultation with the Purohit (priest). Since this ceremony involves considerable expense all the families joined together collect a common fund and elect an ‘Yajaman’ (Headman) under whose guidance the ceremony should take place. If any family has neglected to perform “Hosadevaru”11, such family will not be allowed to join the “Makkaladevaru” ceremony. It is also said that if any girl attains puberty before ceremony of

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“Makkala devaru”, she should be left in a forest. But this is not observed at present. The worship of the family deity is the main intention of this ceremony. To escape the persecution of a local tyrant the ancestors of this caste flew from Kanchi and carried “Bandidevaru” along with them. The other name for Bandidevaru is ‘Baire Deva’ which is the name of Shiva. In olden days during this family festival fingers of married women used to be cut and offered to the family deity. Now this custom is discontinued. On an appointed date mostly during the month of May all families related as agnates join in a particular place. After taking bath, clothes are worshipped on Friday symbolising that they are offered to ancestral spirits. Goats and sheep are sacrificed and the flesh used to be shared by all the families that participated in the function. The priest for this ceremony is from the “Asadi” caste. He draws various figures of gods at the place of worship, and in the central place fresh corn is heaped in a conical shape. The priest wears colourful clothes and erects “Vanake”12 and lights up a candle on it. In front of this he sings (in Telugu language) songs, and dances. The songs refer to the qualities of the family deity. In the course of these songs he narrates the history of the worshippers of Baire Deva. All the villagers participate in this ceremony and enjoy the worship. On a subsequent day the worship of the deities of Patalamma, Maramma and Gangamma takes place. Small huts of fig leaves are constructed and the stones representing each deity would be installed in them. Mothers of children whose ears are to be bored, fast during the day and march towards these huts for worship carrying on their heads plates of thambittu with lights burning on them. These lights would burn on wicks soaked in ghee placed in receptacles of rice flour sweetened with jaggery. The priest waves these plates of ‘thambittu’ before the idols and returns them back to the women to carry them back. The chief ceremony in connection with Bandidevadu falls on a Sunday. In the morning the relatives begin pouring in bringing gifts of clothes. A bullock would be decorated and after worship it would be taken in procession towards “Aswathakatte” where the relatives would be waiting with their gifts. The gifts would be removed on the bullock towards the house where worship takes place with village musicians singing. As soon as the bullock reaches the place of worship the

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daughters-in-law of the families worship the bullock and remove the gifts. Then the relatives would enjoy a dinner. After 3 P.M. on this ceremonious day among “Lagumi Devaru Vokkalu” an important ceremony takes place. All persons who are married would be dressed in new clothes. Men wear dhotis and turbans and women wear saris presented to them by their parents in the morning. All of them wear garlands and assemble in the place of worship. After worship the “Yajaman” hands over to the married men fresh stones where there are carvings of cobras. Women are given baskets along with a ‘Karaga’, (clay pot) rice and flowers. Men carry the stones on the shoulders and women carry the baskets on their heads. All of them stand in a line, each wife standing behind her husband. Then they march in procession on clothes spread by the village dhobis accompanied by the band of village musicians and the drummers. During the procession the participants receive gifts from relatives. On arrival at the village dam the stones and the baskets would be worshipped. The stones would be erected firmly. Then each woman goes to the wooden block driven into the ground, places on it her two fingers to which some flower or a betel leaf is tied and the smith chops off the flower or the betel leaf as the case may be. In olden days the smith used to chop off the last joints of the fingers and the severed bits used to be thrown into an ant-hill and the ends used to be dipped in oil to stop the bleeding. Now this custom is discontinued and they are satisfied with cutting off the flower or the leaf round the fingers. Then they return home and enjoy a feast with guests, relatives and friends. Among “Karaga Devaru Vokkalu” this ceremony is performed with some modification. At the north eastern corner, outside the village, sheds of green leaves are set up. All the married men and women would be presented with earthen pots (called Karaga) and they march towards these sheds in procession carrying ‘Karagas’. At the main gate of the village there would be a number of carts washed and decorated with white and red stripes of coloured cloth tied to bullocks. The bullocks run a race with these carts in front of this procession until they reach the sheds. On reaching the sheds those who carry the ‘Karaga’ offer worship. Afterwards the finger cutting ceremony is performed in the same manner as that of the “Lagumi Devaru Vokkalu.” The offering of fingers to Baire Deva is traced to a Puranic source. By a severe Tapas Bramhasura a demon had obtained the power of

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reducing everything he touched to ashes. The demon wanted to test his power on Shiva the giver himself. He attacked Shiva, and Shiva ran for life. God Shiva somehow unnoticingly hid himself in the fruit of a creeper. The demon lost sight of the God and in his enthusiasm asked a Morasu man who was ploughing the land in which direction the God went. The farmer wanted to evade the wrath of both the mighty powers, and said that he did not see. While saying so he accidentally pointed out his finger towards the creeper that had sheltered Shiva, At this time Vishnu in the form of Mohini appeared before the demon. The demon being enamoured by the beauty of Mohini forgot Shiva and followed Mohini. The demon was lured by the lovely damsel to place his hand on his own head. As soon as the Rakshasa put his hand on his head he was immediately burnt into a heap of ashes. Shiva now came out of the creeper and tried to punish the rustic with the loss of his finger with which he pointed out Shiva to the demon. But the rustic’s wife who had carried his food begged Shiva and said that the deprivation of the finger of her husband would ake him unfit for work. So for one finger of her husband she offered two of her fingers. On the following Monday after Bandidevaru all the children are bathed, dressed neatly and garlanded. They sit under the pandal with their mothers. Their relatives present the children with sweets and eatables. The maternal uncle makes marks on each ear of the children with a flower dipped in sandalwood paste for boring. Then all the children would be taken in procession to “Erlu Gudi” and after worship they return home. All these ceremonies involve considerable expense. Those who are poor and as such cannot stand the expenditure of these ceremonies make a trip with their children to Site Betta, a hill in Kolar taluk. In the shrine of Bhairava, worship takes place and the children would be garlanded and presented with eatables. Then all those who were present would enjoy a feast. This practice is considered more economical and within the reach of poor men. A worship of this type is considered equivalent to the elaborate ceremonies of Bandi Devaru. Similar ceremonies are performed as regards marriage and death. They are common to other caste people also but non-Vokkaliga castes perform them in a less elaborate manner.

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IV To conclude, Mallur situated in a rich environment has thirteen castes. They have a great belief in the tradition of the village, and are religious-minded. In all the customs they do they see a way of life, and associate any thing that happens in the village with some superior power. They have a faith in the supernatural powers and hence offer sacrifices. In all their endeavour they think that superhuman power plays a great role. At the same time they have recognized that man also should do his best and work hard to lead a good and prosperous life. As a result of these beliefs, respect for life, marriage, elders, family ties, and property is enhanced. There is a well organized community life. In all the community feasts all the villagers join together to perform various ceremonies which are considered good for the whole community. These community feasts have minimised caste consciousness and clashes among castes, promoting social unity. In all the ceremonies of the village, feasts inevitably follow involving considerable expenses and feeding thousands of people. It is stated by inhabitants of Mallur that most of their earnings are spent over feasts and ceremonies. So they have developed through their customs and ceremonies philanthropic ideas and enhanced their faith in God. But in recent years after Independence a social change is noticed. Mallur has been covered under National Extension Service Scheme. Health, educational, and financial assistance from the government is extended which has minimised the danger of communicable diseases. Slight improvement in material return is noticed from fields and gardens and standard of living. In a population of 1502 souls 223 are listed as literates giving literacy percentage of about 14 per cent. There is a political awakening, resulting in the contest of ‘Panchayat’ elections, and as yet there is no bickering or frustration on this front. The inhabitants are accustomed to the use of irrigation pumps numbering 80 showing the economic activities in their gardens. With self-effort villagers have constructed roads of their locality which present pleasant aspect. The first change is the electricity lighted streets of this village. Supply of electricity has facilitated the use of radios. Seven radios work in this village. Stagnation of water is removed by constructing fresh gutters. With the help of a cooperative society necessary goods are easily and cheaply

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procured. Disputes are settled with the help of an organised panchayat. The panchayat buys 3 different Kannada dailies and maintains that they are freely read and thus knowledge of the outside world to some extent disseminated. The circulating library containing a good number of Kannada books on various topics is built up. People of the village are attending the temples where “Sanimahathme” and “Mahabharata” recitals take place. These improvements do not seem to have caused any change in the social life and particularly the religious beliefs of the people. Thus it is common phenomenon in the use of a serious illness that a qualified doctor’s help is supplemented by the help of magical exerciser or/and on avowal to a deity.

Glossary 1. JANGAMA:—A sub-caste in the Lingayat community whose occupation is mainly priesthood. 2. (a) ACHARY:—A gentleman from the Goldsmith caste who officiates as priest for a number of non-brahmin castes. 2. (b) ARATHI:—Light burning on wicks soaked in oil in a small plate placed in the centre of big plate containing water mixed with vermillion. 3. IRLUGARU:—Family deities, installed and worshipped in small temples at the main entrance of the village. It is popularly believed that these deities are bachelors and known for their heroic deeds. 4. NADUBEEDI:—The central place in the village which is used for holding important assemblies of the village, and recreation. 5. THAMBITTU:—Rice flour boiled into paste and sweetened with jaggery. 6. POOJA:—(a) Offering to a spirit; (b) Worship of the deities. 7. TANA VU MUDDE:—Boiled rice poured into a small heap and into a receptacle made in the centre, butter-milk will be poured. 8. VARSHATODAKU:—The subsequent day of the Yugadi Feast. It is believed that all the sins of the year would be warded off on this day. 9. THEERTHA:—Holy water in the temple. 10. ASWATHAKATTE:—A platform on which people sit, and neem trees are planted in the centre of which three stones are erected with carvings of serpent gods. They are worshipped regularly. 11. HOSADEVARU:—Women of the Vokkaliga community related as agnates join on a Sunday fixed by elders during the first or second week after Deepavali festival and worship new articles of food such as Ragi, Maize and Navane. In the course of this worship women put lights in a plate, place it on the heads one after another and turn to east, north, west and south respectively. They sprinkle ghee in all these directions. In the course of this worship they utter, “Haledu Hogi Hosadu Banthu. Enu Thappu Madidaru Voppiko, Voppiko Nanna Hose Devare!” signifying that new has replaced the old, “whatever mistakes we commit, pardon us, O new God”. 12. VANAKE:—A round wooden staff of about six feet height and seven in ches in girth used for the removal of chaff from seeds and paddy.

17 Ritual Circles in a Mysore Village Gurumurthy K. Gowdra

Introduction

T

he students of Indian village and caste have never failed to mention about certain ritually pure areas in village settlements which are closed for ritually lower persons and objects. For example, Ishwaran mentions such locations in Shivapura, a Karnatak village, and shows how the socio-economic and religious status of the persons who occupy the central area differs from that of those who occupy the outskirts (1966: 33–34). According to him, the latter belong to ritually lower castes and are not allowed to have their temples and other public places in the heart of the village. Srinivas mentions the presence of boundary stones in the Mysore villages to demarcate the areas meant for certain castes in the village settlement (1960: 30). Cohn noticed the houses of the rich Thakurs and other high castes located at the centre of the settlement, while those of the others at the peripheries (1961: 55). All these observations give a clue to the presence of some kind of gradation in the value attached to the different parts of a rural settlement. Many scholars have tried to explain this gradation in terms of the ritual statuses of castes living in these localities. They have, however, failed to see a gradation in the ritual status of the settlement area itself. They have also not perceived the existence of rigid and traditionally

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demarcated ring-like areas, which I will call here “ritual circles.” The innermost circle is the temple of the village god, and the progressively widening circles end at the ritual boundary of the village. The main aim of this paper1 is to describe the nature of ritual circles in a village named Kallapura, located in Davangere taluka of Chitradurga district in Mysore State. The failure on the part of scholars to observe ritual circles may be due to two factors: (1) the nature of the problems they were interested in studying, and (2) the loss today of the significance these areas had in the past. It is difficult to perceive them unless a total study is made of the village community, particularly of caste hierarchy, historical background of the village and its people, and the village festivals. In this paper I have also made an attempt to throw light on the socio-economic and ritual differentiation of the people and of the lands in the village. Till now ritual status was taken as a criterion to arrange castes in hierarchical order. In addition to ritual status I have taken other dimensions such as ethnic status, possession of certain type of land, and roles played in the community festivals.

The Village Today Kallapura occupies an area of 3,213.14 acres of land. This is traditionally divided into two parts: Uru and Adive. The Uru or settlement area is 32.10 acres, and the rest comes under the Adive category which includes all the agricultural and pastoral lands. The total population of Kallapura is 2,229 persons living in 298 families. There are nine castes. The Lingayats are placed at the top. They are not only ritually high but also more in number, own most of the settlement as well as agricultural lands, and dominate the social, economic and political life of the community. Apart from caste divisions, the Kallapura population is loosely divided into such groups as the original settlers, the later immigrants, the clan groups, and the groups formed on the basis of having a common family deity. There are in all forty native and immigrant totemic clan groups in Kallapura which are locally known as Bedagu or Khola. A  group of people called Helavaru, whose traditional occupation is to record the genealogical tree, clan history, and significant occurences in

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the clan, such as birth, death, marriage, adoption, purchase and sale of valuable property, and migration, provide valuable information about some of the important clans in Kallapura.

A Brief History of the People and the Settlement Eight to ten generations ago there was plenty of fallow land and very few village settlements around Kallapura. Due to fear of robbers, wild animals, and evil spirits the settlers lived in a cluster of houses. A settlement of this type had a common open place in front of the houses where they had their place of worship, while the thrashing grounds and the fields were in the back of the houses. This gave an appearance of a convergent picture to the settlement where the thrashing grounds (kana) and ancestral fields (manedola) were in long strips right behind the houses and the individual owners had no problems in reaching their fields. Although plenty of fallow land was available, only the traditional agriculturists and the original settlers were allowed to possess it so that they could become leaders and later the heads of the settlement, called Gaudas2. They have an important place in the social and ritual organizations of the Aya and the Bara Balute3. Because they were the owners of the land, they organized the various fertility rituals for the community; and even today they have this privilege. The Gudi Gauda, the head of the ritual activities of the village, belongs to this clan. So the Gaudas have a right to worship and carry the image of the village God during the community festivals. The immigrants, who stay in the same settlement and contribute to the festivals, do not have any of these privileges. The immigrant relatives, agricultural labourers, and servants brought by the Gaudas were allowed to construct houses either on the thrashing grounds or on the fields owned by the respective relatives or masters. Because they cultivated the land for the Gaudas, they became known as Raitaru, meaning “cultivators.” Due to the scarcity of suitable and permanent assistants to work on farms, the Gaudas used to engage the Raita youths as Mane Aliyas or “sons-in-law of the house,” who worked for the girl’s parents even before marriage. On coming of age a Mane Aliya was given one of the daughters of the family in marriage, along with a patch of land. He was supposed to stay close

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to his parents-in-law’s family and continue to assist them even after marriage. These hard working youth, with the support of the Gaudas who were their affinal kin and well wishers, later brought their brothers or other kin and cultivated some more fallow land. This dependence on and obligation to the Gaudas not only reduced the status of the Raitas, but they were also later made to play some roles in the community which were socially and ritually low. For example, they were made to play the role of “cultivator” in all the rites of the community, and to bear the entire expenditure on the rites. They were also made to play the role of the bride’s party while playing Okli after the festival of the village God. This role has lower status in this part of Karnatak.4 Marital relations among the Gaudaru and the Raitaru were rare, but whenever they were arranged they were hypergamous. It was status symbol for the Raitaru men to marry girls from Gaudaru families. For the social and economic security and advantages they got, the Raitaru paid a very high bride price (tera) or worked as Mane Aliya. On the other side, the girls from the Raitaru families were taken as first wives only by the physically disabled Gaudaru, and only as second or third wives by the average Gaudaru. Because they were immigrants and low in status the Raitaru could not get an honourable place in the socioeconomic and ritual structure of the village. Their house sites and fields were also considered low in status and value. As the village settlement began to grow and the demand for the different occupational groups increased, the various occupational castes also came and settled with the earlier immigrants and attached themselves to the landowning families. Such attachment resulted in the formation of a socio-economic and ritual unit called Okkalu. It included a family each from all the occupational groups which were needed in agricultural operations and in leading a normal community life.

Origin of Ritual Circles When the earlier settlers came and constructed their houses on fallow land they had fear from two sources: (a) human beings, and (b) evil beings. To get protection against them, they raised a fence as a physical as well as ritual barrier around their settlement. Later the area where their dependants lived was also included in the protected area. The fence

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was shifted from time to time as the settlement went on growing. However, the earlier and traditional barriers continued to exist and differentiate the masters from their dependants. In order to protect this area a ritual pretext was used and the entry of ritually lower persons and objects was prohibited. So the dependants, who were considered lower and different from the natives, were barred from entering the ritually superior area of the natives. Today this type of segregation and restrictions are not maintained in the settlement area because in the course of time the population pressure brought the problems of scarcity of space. During the earlier period, i.e., when the lands were not surveyed and the village area was not classified into ‘revenue’ and ‘panchayat’ land, the immigrants went on constructing houses on their masters’ and relatives’ fields. The protecting fence, the ritual boundary of the village, was also pushed further from time to time. When the survey was made, the government brought restrictions on the free use of revenue land for housing and other nonagricultural purposes. This brought some problems. Since the actual holdings were measured and their boundaries fixed, the individual owners became conscious of the boundary lines. Even the original settlers, their kin, and the artisan castes began to face the problem of shortage of space. The persons who followed one occupation or belonged to one caste were made to shift to a locality of their own, of course within the protecting fence. This shifting gave birth to caste localities of today. It did not bring any change in either the nature of working of the Okkalu or the status of the dependants. As population increased, the demand for cultivable land also increased. The land nearer the settlement was owned by the Gaudaru, while the immigrants cultivated the land next to it and the fallow land. As a result, the outer edge of the fields cultivated by the original settlers, which served as the ritual boundary of the village, was also shifted further from time to time. But the original ritual boundary remained with some traditional significance. The fields within the ritual boundary continued to be considered the traditional cultivable land of the village, and all the village rituals were performed there. The land cultivated in the later period was considered less significant. Now let us see how these historical factors have influenced the  present-day settlement area and brought about the gradation of ritual circles.

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Ritual Circles The two main divisions of the village area, Uru and Adive, are subdivided into a total of eight ritual circles. Of the eight, five are in the Uru: (1) temple compound (gude pouli), (2) inner settlement (hola keeri), (3) outer settlement (hora keeri), (4) thrashing ground (hola kand), and (5) protecting fence (pahari beeli). The Adive has three ritual circles: (1) ancestral lands (manedola), (2) fields (hold), and (3) ritual boundary of the village (ura gadi). Let us see the significance of each of these ritual circles.

Ritual Circles in the Uru 1. Temple compound. The temple of the village God and the land around it is demarcated from the rest of the village area by four big black stones (karigally) permanently fixed in the ground. This is the most sacred part of the village. Persons belonging to ritually low castes, a barber with his shaving kit, dead animals, and ritually impure objects are not allowed to enter this area. It is believed that any violation will bring epidemic, drought, and such other disasters to the village. If this area is polluted the villagers perform a purificatory rite. They pour 101 or 1001 pots of water on the four boundary stones, while the village priest chants mantras, placing his feet on one of the stones. Because of the sacredness of the area many religious activities, such as marriage rituals and group singing of bhajans, are conducted here. The meetings of the traditional panchayat take place in the temple. The sanctity of the place also provides immunity to persons who take refuse in the temple (gude beludu) against maltreatment and threat to life. 2. Inner settlement. This area lies immediately after the temple compound. Although it is not considered to be particularly sacred, its residents attach a great amount of emotional value to it. In the past the original settlers, i.e., the ancestors of today’s Gaudaru, built their houses here. There is a belief even today that the houses of the village headman and the village priest should be in this area. As a result, most of the families who live here are the descendants of these two traditional village leaders. There is a restriction on taking yoked bullocks, carts loaded with manure, corpses of dead men and animals, liquor, and persons riding on horse back into this area. During community rites, ritually

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lower persons are not allowed to enter the area. When the image of the village God is taken in procession through the village settlement, it is taken only through the inner settlement area. Marriage processions should also pass through this area, and whoever takes a procession here he must give a feast to the community. This is also one of the three circles which is visited by the purificatory party during the village purificatory rites. At the present time, due to population pressure, some of the originally settled families have moved out to other circles, but their attachment towards the original sites is neither changed, nor are they ready to dispose them off. They always hope, like Eglar’s Punjabi villagers (1960: 21–22), that one of their descendants will go and live there. 3. Outer settlement. The area lying next to the inner settlement is occupied by the Raitaru, the later immigrant tillers, and other castes and occupational groups. Today they live on the house sites of their own (hatti). Compared to the solid and spacious though old houses in the inner settlement, the houses here are new though small and built with cheap materials. The residents of this area lack roles in the Aya and the Bara Balute systems, which is symbolic of their being considered as second class citizens of the village. The area which lies to the south of the outer settlement is exclusively left for the Untouchables. Entry of corpses and of upper caste members and their deities is not permitted into this area lest they are defiled. 4. Thrashing ground. This area is used for the purpose of collecting harvest, fodder, and firewood and for thrashing and winnowing grains. In the past it was only a non-residential area, but now due to scarcity of house sites in the inner and the outer settlements many families from these two settlements have built their houses here. Usually each thrashing ground is surrounded by a high fence and clusters of tamarind, neem and other trees, which almost conceal the settlement from the outside. The grounds owned by the original settlers are in the first ring, next to the outer settlement, and are wider in area, while the grounds owned by the immigrants are small and are in the outer ring, with or without trees. Because thrashing grounds are not easily available, many immigrants do not own such grounds exclusively

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for themselves and have therefore to depend upon their friends and relatives for this purpose. When a thrashing ground is used for the first time, a rite is performed. The Untouchables and ritually unclean persons are not allowed to go near it till the worship is over. Similarly, when all the work for the year is over, and fodder, firewood and other things are each collected into a final heap (banave), another rite is performed. A ritual material (charaga) is sprinkled on these materials to immunise them against accidents of fire. The popular belief is that any violation of these customs will bring frequent thefts and accidents of fire. 5. Protecting fence. The village settlement used to be surrounded by a continuous, tall fence (pahari beeli), erected by individual owners of the thrashing grounds on the outer side. It was owned by the villagers individually, although it was a result of communal work. It was the duty of individual owners to keep it tall and strong, so that it would prevent entry of men and animals. The village headman and the elders, whose duty it was to protect the life and property of the villagers, appointed a village watchman to have a watch on the fence and took necessary action if it was not in good condition. This fence was the dividing line between the residential and the non-residential area, between the members and the non-members, and between the living and the dead members of the community. It was left open only at the roads which led to the neighbouring villages. In the past there were gates (agase bagilu) to regulate the movement of men and materials.5 They were watched round the clock by the village watchman. They also served as the checkpoints to any outside agency which might bring ill luck to the village, and to beggars, traders, and strangers. The latter groups were allowed to enter the village only after a thorough inquiry and with the permission of the village headman. Because of its security function against evil spirits the fence was given a ritual recognition. The ritually pure fence was a barrier to the evil spirits. The gates meant to regulate the movement of the people also checked the evil spirits. As soon as the news of any epidemic in the neighbouring villages was received, the villagers performed a preventive rite (kavukattu) to check the entry of evil spirits. Similarly, when the village observed a state of ritual purity during communal festivals, the watchmen at the gates insisted that the people should pass under an arch which was specially constructed for the occasion and from which certain

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ritual materials were hung. This was done to make the people free from any contaminations. It was a duty of all members of the village to be present during the community festivals. The non-members were not allowed to move in and out freely because they might steal the fertility or affect the ritual status of the community. That is why even today when the community observes a period of ritual purity during the community festivals there is restriction on the movement of men and materials. The visiting relatives, friends, businessmen, animals, grains, etc. are not allowed to go out of the fence during the rite, to make sure that they will not take away fertility with them. Persons were allowed to go out only after they produced a guarantee by their friends or relatives that they were present during the rite. Strangers were allowed to go after they deposited a certain amount of money or ornaments with the village headman to assure their return. In case they failed to return, the deposited valuables were used to meet the expenditure required to repeat the entire rite. Another instance shows how the village acts as a corporate group. When the village is in a state of ritual purity to celebrate a community rite it becomes one ritual unit. Any death within the fence will defile the entire village, and after the funeral a rite is performed to bring the village back to its original status. The body of a person who dies outside the fence is also not allowed to be brought inside, and the funeral rites are conducted outside the fence. No burials and skinning of dead animals will be allowed within the fence. These activities clearly show how the community acts as a corporate unit to maintain ritual purity and to ward off evil spirits.

Ritual Circles in the Adive Compared to the area lying within the protecting fence, the land lying between the fence and the ritual boundary is somewhat less important. Firstly, it is a non-residential area. Secondly, there are possibilities of presence of evil beings here. Thirdly, it is not ritually well protected. Except the ritual boundary, no other barrier is there to protect it, while the settlement is guarded by both the ritual boundary and the protecting fence. Now let us see the significance of the ritual circles in this area. 1. Ancestral fields. The agricultural lands lying immediately after the protecting fence were the first to be cultivated and, in most of the cases, by

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the ancestors of the present owners. This factor and their fertility and nearness to the settlement have brought a very high socio-economic and ritual value to them. Here one can see the tombs of ancestors and the burial places of favourite bulls. If a family wants to sell its property it will be sold to their agnates so that the land will remain among the agnates only. Because of this value, during the partition of family property all the members insist on a share in this land. As a result, it has been divided and subdivided into smaller holdings. Familial agricultural rites are performed only on the ancestral land. From the time of the foundation of the village settlement the original settlers have performed sacrifices and other rites here. Moreover, the village purificatory party which is taken around the village during the community festivals should pass through this area. The ancestral lands were thus used by the earlier settlers for their ritual purposes, and the same practice has been continued. 2. Fields. The agricultural lands lying between the ancestral land and the village boundary are considered ordinary lands with no socioreligious value. Compared to the ancestral lands they are far off and there are no direct roads to reach them. As a result the owners have to pass through fields owned by others and crossing many dikes and brooks. This mikes the transportation of manure and harvest difficult. A large part of these lands are owned by the immigrants. A few fields owned by the original settlers have been given to tenants since they are not very fertile. Because they have no ritual and social value the owners also have no emotional attachment to them, and they are bought and sold more often. Since no rituals are performed here, there is greater frequency of presence of evil spirits and therefore this is considered hostile land. When an evil spirit manages to cross the ritual boundary of the village, it will reach this area first before it gets entry into the next circle. All these factors make the area lower in ritual significance. 3. Village ritual boundary. This dividing line (ura gadi) is the final outer limit of the socio-economic and religious activities of the village. It is marked by minor shrines at several places. It is the critical line dividing different villages. It demarcates one village from another in socioeconomic and ritual activities. It wards off the evil spirits and objects bringing epidemics or minimizing the fertility of soil and cattle.6 During epidemics in the neighbouring villages the village elders arrange for

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preventive sacrifices and other rites at both the protective fence and the ritual boundary.7 At the latter the ritual material containing the evil spirits themselves and the offerings made to them is kept outside the boundary limit, and the offerings are made to the boundary god. The evil spirits are pushed outside the boundary and cannot now re-enter because the boundary is now watched by the more satisfied gods. The evil spirits therefore wander in the space between the two ritual boundaries, waiting for a chance to enter the village if its boundary is not watched properly or if it is ritually unclean. It is important to note here that the ritual boundary is different from the revenue boundary of the village. The latter is always wider than the former.8 The space between the two boundaries is known as Rudhra Bhumi and was used as the burial ground for women, for persons who did not own land in the ancestral land area, for persons who had met with an unnatural or violent death, and for persons suffering from leucoderma. The ritual boundary also acts as a check post for things which are taken out of the village lest fertility escapes through or with them. Therefore, before a fertility rite is performed the ritual boundary is tightened so that no part of fertility may escape out of it. Important among the fertility rites are the car festival of the village God and the Kare festivals.9 The entire merit obtained from performing these two fertility festivals is symbolically concentrated into a certain ritual material (charaga) which is later sprinkled within the limits of the ritual boundary or preserved by the villagers in their homes. These two festivals bring the village people as a whole into a corporate group in the following manner. The festival of the village God is celebrated for five to nine days, nine days after the Ugadi festival. On the last day the village priest prepares the ritual material, and the God confers fertility power to it so that it becomes sacred and important. From then onwards it is guarded by the villagers, till it is sprinkled on the village land. A person who wants to steal it must do so at this stage.10 The Kare festival is celebrated during a period locally known as Kara Hunnime, which is in the month of July. The main rite, performed late in the evening, has two features. Firstly, it informs the villagers about the high yielding crops of that year. Secondly, it brings fertility to the village. For this rite, a rope (kare) made of wild creepers by the village servant is brought and worshipped. It is tied across the main road to two stone poles known as Kare Kallu. A person belonging to a traditional cultivator family worships it and offers cooked rice brought from his home. Later

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the rope is placed on the neck of his bullocks and made to break. When the rope is broken it becomes ritual material. So the villagers pounce on it and snatch a portion of it and take it home.11 In administrative matters, the ritual boundary of the village separates the village as a corporate group from other villages. For example, any quarrels, thefts, and other crimes which may take place within the ritual boundary come under the jurisdiction of the village traditional court (Ura Panchayat). Even if the parties involved in the matter belong to villages other than Kallapura it does not bar the village elders from trying it. As a corporate entity the village enjoys a right over certain materials which may be found within the boundary. Wood, stone, earth, and such other materials cannot be taken away by other villagers without paying some thing to the village, either to the temple or to the community. Similarly, things belonging to other villages but found within the boundary of Kallapura also come under the right of the people of Kallapura. For example, if an animal owned by a person from another village dies within the ritual boundary, the Madigas of Kallapura have a right to take the carrion. “Without taking this they will not allow the owner or his people to take the animal away.12 The happenings outside the boundary will not come under the jurisdiction of the panchayat. This can be seen from a dispute which occurred in 1966. Two persons from two different villages quarrelled on the bank of a rivulet which is the northern ritual boundary of Kallapura. One of the parties involved in the dispute had relatives in Kallapura. He initiated through them a meeting of the panchayat to try the case. During the trial the elders came to know that the quarrel took place actually outside the ritual boundary of Kallapura. They therefore asked the two parties to take the matter to the Nadu Panchayat, a council of seven villages, which had jurisdiction on the area. Like this, in times of need the village acts as a corporate group although there is also fission within its ritual boundary.

Conclusion Today due to changes in the village settlement and in the values of the people it is difficult to observe the existence of all the ritual circles in all its aspects. But a study of the caste hierarchy, values attached to different areas in the settlement, ethnic status of the various residents, and the customs and traditions still in practice, reveal the original values. The

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two critical dividing lines—the protecting fence and the ritual boundary of the village—are most important. The former divides the habitated territory from the uninhabitated and the human territory from the non-human. In the same way, the ritual boundary divides one village from the other and shows how the village acts in times of danger as a corporate group in socio-economic and ritual activities. In this way the study of ritual circles in a village reveals the differences which exist not only among the people but also between different areas in a village.

Notes 1. The data used here are drawn from the research material collected in a Mysore village for a research degree thesis. This is an improved form of a paper presented at the 57th session of the Indian Science Congress Association, 1970, at Kharagpur. The author expresses his gratefulness to Dr. M. C. Pradhan and Dr. C. Parvathamma, for their valuable guidance in writing the paper. 2. Gauda is a Marathi term, meaning “head of the village.” 3. Bara Balute is a Marathi term meaning “twelve occupations.” In this part of Karnatak these twelve occupational castes have formed a guild-like organization, almost similar to the jajmani system of North India (see Orenstein 1965: 6). 4. ‘Okli playing’ means playing with colour. The colour is a safron liquid made by mixing turmeric powder and a bit of lime in water. The Okli indicates not only joy but also conjugal love between the newly weds. During the festival of the village God, which is celebrated as a replica of a marriage ceremony between the goddess Banni Kalamma and the god Veerabhadra, the Raitaru form the bride’s party and the Gaudaru form that of the groom, and they play Okli like the newly weds. In the past the role of the bride’s party was played by the Devadasis, and hence the association of low status with this role. The Okli playing is different from playing with colour during the Holi festival in North India, where many colours are used and every one is involved in the act. 5. Srinivas also mentions the presence of gates and their functions in Rampura (1961: 34). 6. Srinivas also mentions these functions of the ritual boundary in Rampura (1960: 25). 7. If the village is attacked by an epidemic it means the gods at the boundary are dissatisfied owing to the failure on the part of the villagers to make offerings to them or owing to violation of some custom. The gods therefore allow the evils to warn the villagers to make offerings to them. Accordingly, the villagers celebrate a rite and offer foods to the evil spirits. They then bring these to a common place, and later take them to the ritual boundary and keep them outside it. 8. The revenue boundaries of neighbouring villages touch one another, while the ritual boundaries do not. There is always some space between them. The ritual boundary was fixed according to a customary technique involving a boundary lamp (Gadi Deepa). This lamp was made of wheat floor and filled with ritually pure ghee contributed by all the families in the village. After its wick was lit, a ritually pure person was asked to carry it on his head in the direction of the village whose boundary was to be fixed. The procession started from the temple of the village God. It was led by the village God, and followed by the person carrying the lamp, then other Gods of the

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11.

12.

Gurumurthy K. Gowdra village, and then the villagers. The spot where the flame extinguished was marked as the ritual boundary of the village. See Gowdra 1970. Till today no such attempt has been made in Kallapura. The older informants said that a neighbouring village lost its fertility to Kallapura when a person from Kallapura could steal it successfully. The village which has lost its fertility is no more prosperous. The informants gave the following three pieces of evidence to support their opinion. Firstly, the charaga rite, which is common to all villages, is not celebrated by the village they named. Secondly, there is a piece of land named after this incident, charagada kola, meaning “the field of the ritual material.” Although the man who stole fertility was able to escape successfully into the ritual boundary of Kallapura, he collapsed due to exhaustion. Those who chased him took the advantage of this situation and killed him. The field on which he was killed became known as charagada hola. Thirdly, because of this insult, even today no body from this village attends the car festival of Kallapura. It is believed that the stealing of this ritual material amounts to loss of fertility of the village. The armed villagers therefore watch it carefully. As a custom the village watchmen send away the outsiders from this place, and any body who attempts to steal it will be killed on the spot. But so far no such incident has occurred in Kallapura, although there are reports of such incidents from neighbouring villages. For further information, see Gowdra 1970. Once an ox from a neighbouring village died of snake bite within the ritual boundary of Kallapura. The next morning its owner came to Kallapura with his Ayada Madigas to take away the skin of the dead animal. Meanwhile the Kallapura Madigas came to know about this and demanded a share in the skin. The village elders, who later met to settle the matter, clarified that the Madigas of Kallapura have a right only to get carrion and not skin. Since the carrion was poisoned, the local Madigas refused to help the visitors in removing the animal to the skinning place. Thereupon the village elders asked the owner to pay them a certain amount of money in compensation, which was given. The custom is that the visiting Madigas take the assistance of the local Madigas in removing the animal to the skinning place and in skinning the animal. The local Madigas consume the carrion along with the visitors in a meal. The latter take away the skin.

References Cohn, Bernard S. 1961 “The Changing Status of a Depressed Caste,” in McKim Marriott (ed.). Village India. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Eglar, Zekiye 1960 A Punjabi Village in Pakistan. New York: Columbia University Press. Gowdra, Gurumurthy K. 1970 ‘‘Socio-Economic and Religious Significances of Kara Habba,” Karnatak Bharati, 3 (1): 34–44. Ishwaran, K. 1966 Tradition and Economy in Village India. Bombay: Allied Publications. Orenstein, Henry, 1965 Gaon: Conflict and Cohesion in an Indian Village. Princeton: University Press. Srinivas, M. N. 1960 “The Social Structure of a Mysore Village,” in M. N. Srinivas (ed.), India’s Villages. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. ———. 1961 “The Social System of a Mysore Village,” in McKim Marriott (ed.), Village India. Bombay: Asia Publishing House.

SECTION V SOCIAL CHANGE IN RURAL INDIA

18 Study of Social Change in Independent Rural India: Critical Issues for Analyses in the Fourth Decade of Independence* H.S. Verma

A

s the Indian freedom movement was being waged under the amorphous umbrella of the Indian National Congress displaying the heterogeneous background and character of the ideologies of the main actors involved in the drama, it was more or less assumed that independence was going to be bestowed on the Indians sooner or later. An elitist diagnosis of the ills, which afflicted the Indian society in general and its villages in particular, had also emerged indicating the lines on which reconstruction of the Indian society was to have begun once the major task of winning the independence was accomplished (Desai: 1958; Misra: 1975; Ensminger: 1974). While the entire leadership had pledged for making an organized attempt to change the face of villages in independent India, some experimentation in rural development and reconstruction work had continued, spread over a span of many decades, in varied forms, in isolated, localized pockets.1 Even otherwise, the British, and before them the Moghuls, had tinkered with the socio-economic-political-cultural ethos of the Indian

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villages rather drastically. Thus, even though the community development programme, introduced in 1952 as the first large attempt at rural development, was expected to bring changes on the rural scene, the villages had been undergoing changes because of internal impulses and external stimuli all along. Only their intensity had increased and the direction and sweep assumed different dimensions in the post-independence period. Analysis of social change in rural India has been, and continues to be, a favourite area for the social scientists, Indian and foreign, of different disciplinary moorings and even of wider ideological orientations. That their analyses have enriched the knowledge in different disciplines is not contested. In the analysis which follows, an attempt has been made to examine their claim to objectivity, analytical rigour, conceptual clarity, comprehensiveness of sweep, selection of data, interpretative neutrality, and prescriptive appropriateness. For, it is now being grudgingly acknowledged that quite a few of such exercises by Western scholars suffered from ethnocentrism, a slanted-methodology, a purposive selection of data, an interpretative bias in favour of Western values, institutions and practices, and a conscious, attempt to run down things Asian and Indian (Goonatillake: 1978; Gupta: 1973). Indians themselves are open to criticism because of prevalent public ideology, dominance of the Western tradition and narrow social background of the social scientists (Saberwal: 1979). The depiction of the empirical reality has been, thus, less than satisfactory. Post-independence political leadership certainly lacked enlightened political vision. The bureaucracy, basically British in character, insulated the system of governance and displayed both lack of imagination and  decisional inertia. Consequently, policy planning, programme designing, system operation, monitoring and evaluation of rural development programmes suffered. While politicians and bureaucrats ought to share the blame, social scientists could not be entirely absolved because some of them produced misleading and, in some cases, even false analyses of social change in rural India. This paper would consider a few issues which are crucial to the analysis or rural social change in independent India in the fourth decade. Discussion of the issues would be made through a review of the relevant literature on the subject.2 It is different from earlier re-views on caste (Beteille, et al.: 1958; Damle: 1961; Surajit Sinha: 1973; Sheth: 1979), community devlopment and panchayati raj (Haldipur: 1974), cooperation (Mahabal, et al.:

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1975), administration of development programmes in agriculture and community development (Gaikwad: 1975), agricultural labour (Vyas and Shivamaggi: 1975), land reforms (Joshi: 1975), Scheduled Castes (Sachchidananda: 1973), concepts and theories of change (Yogendra Singh: 1973a) and rural studies (Chauhan: 1973) in as much as it does not generally highlight the findings; on the other hand, it deals with the very motivations, conceptualizations, mechanics, methodologies, prescriptions and contributions, issues which make it clear, when juxtaposed to the findings, whether the conduct of studies had been a reliable, objective and useful exercise for the academics and the policy planners.

Study of Change: Value Neutrality Social change is a very complex, multi-faced, and multi-dimensional phenomenon. The task of social scientists is to understand first its meaning and content before describing, for the benefit of the academics, policy planners and administrators, its nature, direction, causes, quantum, adequacy and consequences. Although it is not unusual to find studies of social change bereft of any theoretical and conceptual framework, the fact remains that conceptual clarity is a basic prerequisite for any sound and penetrative analysis. Process of change has generally been described with a certain ideological slant although most social scientists do not make their ideological orientation very explicit in their expositions. It is our contention that various traditions of studies, while professing a pseudo value-neutrality, have offered a lopsided presentation of empirical reality. These traditions were rooted either in the West, or in the Brahminical view-point of the Indian society and have Weberian and neo-Weberian strain. I hey analysed changes in the Indian society in terms of Christianity’s irrationality, as occurrence of evolutionary modernity only under the benevolent impact of the West, and assessed ‘modernization’ on the criteria laid down by the experiences of already modern Western societies (Arora: 1968; Gupta: 1974); the Brahminical view-point stressed conformity with and deviance from the prescriptions and proscriptions—contained in the ancient texts—in analysing stability and change. Quite a few of these portrayals are basically inaccurate, and mis-leading since they ignored culturally relevant changes that were taking place within the Indian tradition long before the advent of

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external stimuli, and operation of the indigenous process fostering modernization. Major theoretical framework for these biased analyses of social change was provided by Max Weber (1930) where the ideal characteristic was located in the ‘modernized’ West (Protestent ethic and rationality) and its bipolar was found in the ‘traditional’ countries. Weber’s schema was followed by Durkheim (1933: mechanical solidarity and organic solidarity), Toennies (1940, 1955: Gemeinschaft and Gessellschaft), Becker (1957: sacred and secular; Redfield (1955: folk and urban), Parsons (1951:. pattern variables), Lerner (1964: traditional and modern), Merton (1961: local and cosmopolitan), Riesman (1961: ‘tradition directed’ and ‘other directed’) and Rostow (1961, 1971: ‘traditional’ and ‘mass consumption societies’).3 What emerges from the accounts of these scholars is a clear preference for Western values (such as efficiency, diligence, orderliness, punctuality, decisiveness, rationality, participation, protestent ethic, materialism and individualism, autonomy) and Western institutions (such as nuclear family, liberal democracy, and civic culture). Asian and Indian values (such as abstention, spiritualism, frugality, appreciation of leisure, tolerance and non-violence, and inherited respect for learning collectivism) and institutions (such as caste, religion, and joint family) were conveniently portrayed as symptoms of backwardness and hinderance to entrepreneurship, development and modernization. In the enthusiasm to somehow fit the ‘data’ to these hackneyed and descriptions and stereotypes, a large body of historical evidence from both the Western (industrial/urban) and Asian/Indian societies and their sub-cultures was ignored. It would be interesting to note that this tendency contributed to the emergence of particular conclusions via the studies pertaining to industrial/urban and agricultural rural sectors. Documentation of such results pertaining to the industrial/urban sector could be seen elsewhere (Verma: 1979, a, b): in this paper we focus only on the Indian agricultural/rural sector. Because of peculiar tradition of evolution of social sciences in India, there has been excessive concern with religion, caste, tribe, and family as system isolates. As a result, the relationship of these isolates with the issues such as class formation, class composition, intra and inter-class relations has been generally analyzed less rigorously. Wherever these

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have been examined at all, the two (or more) sets have been seen as two or more separate sub-systems and the analysis has tended to focus their match/mismatch (Bailey: 1957, 1963, 1973; Beteille: 1965, 1968; D’Souza: 1967, 1969, 1978). Very rarely has the class structure of the village been taken first and the role of the systemic isolates analyzed in class formation and struggle (Shivkumar: 1978). Thus, it comes as no surprise when a Srinivas tends to be generally and excessively preoccupied with phenomenon religious or ritual (1952, 1960, 1962, 1965, 1976) and does not adequately explore other aspects of social change; or a Milton Singer is hung on the relationship of the “little” and “great” traditions (1956, 1961, 1966a, 1972, 1975); or a Mandelbaum finds change in the Indian society but very little change in its structure (1970): and a Yogendra Singh who makes Western stimuli necessary prerequisite of any structural changes in the Indian society (1973). There are a large number of other, smaller, less known treatises which start with valuebiases and predictably reach biased conclusions.

Nature, Quantum and Adequacy of Changes: Measurement Miasma Measurement of change is a tough task to which very few re-searchers have addressed themselves adequately. In fact, there is hardly any agreement about the meaning of as widely used terms as ‘development’ and ‘modernization’.4 There is one group of researchers, mainly among sociologists and psychologists, who have worked out what they call ‘overall-modernity’ scales (Inkles and Smith: 1975; Broehl: 1978) or other ‘parsimonious modernity scales’ (Fliegel, et al.: 1968; Roy, et al.: 1968, 1969). Construction of these indices/scales has been a very controversial area even on methodological grounds (Fliegel: 1976; McClleland: 1976): there is even more vehement objection to these scales on the basis of value-preferences. These scales generally include a wide array of items from different areas of human conduct and assign variable scores for acceptance/ non-acceptance of new ideas/innovations/technologies. In this cockeyed scoring system, acceptance of any new thing (idea, product gadget, technology, procedure, etc.) becomes without any rhyme or reason an attribute of modernity. It is conveniently forgotten that it is also possible for the persons concerned to make such an approach which amounts to

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neither total acceptance nor total rejection of new innovations.5 Also glossed over is the fact that many of the new ideas, whose acceptance has been considered an attribute of modernity, have been subsequently proved to be hardly scientific and modern: claims of some of these have turned out to be highly exaggerated whereas certain others have emerged as fakes. A certain amount of reliance on one’s own experience with these new things before their ‘adoption’ is in fact a more modern attribute and yet, this healthy sense of skepticism gets dubbed as cynicism—a sign of backwardness. The second group consists of scholars who have given qualitative labels to different types of changes. Change in rural India has, for example, been seen as ‘recurrent’ and ‘systemic’ (Mandelbaum: 1970), ‘national and global-oriented’ (Ishwaran: 1970), ‘linear, evolutionary and cyclical’ (Yogendra Singh: 1973), ‘dynamics’ and ‘change’ (Radcliffe-Brown: 1957), ‘casual fluctuations’ and ‘replaceability’ (R. K. Mukherjee: 1975), and ‘accumulative’, alterative’ and ‘transformative’ (P. N. Mukherjee: 1977). As indicated earlier, measurement of change has turned out to be a highly coloured exercise in which approaches and methodologies were contrived to give different qualitative and quantitative profiles of the same phenomenon. Measurement of informal leadership in the villages, for example, following the methodologies of Rogers (1962) and Dahl (1961) yielded a profile of their background and characteristics (Sen: 1971): quite a different picture emerged from the use of a different methodology (Arora: 1970; Verma: 1971a, 1972b, 1974).6 An important dimension here was the measurement of different components of change dealing with information—acquisition, attitude and behaviour reinforcement/modification and the like. However, measurement exercises involving the information-decision-action schema in the field of agriculture, health and family planning, for example, have been vitiated by the cultural bias of the measurement scales. Most of the scales measured Indian social reality through the Western criteria, their local validation notwithstanding.

In cases where this has been a cross-cultural exercise (Roy, et al.: 1968, 1969; Fliegel, et al.: 1969; Inkeles and Smith: 1974), the treatment of normative position in the West as the empirical reality and its comparison with the Indian situation added one more category of bias and untruth.7

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Nature and linearity of change has generally been measured by identifying processes triggering change. Currently identified major processes of change include the following8: (i) (ii) (iii) (iv) (v)

Traditionalization (Sanskritization, Cultural renaissance, etc.) Modernization (Westernization, Secularization, etc.) Urbanization Industrialization Cultural drift

These processes have been identified on the basis of (a) identity of change-inducing mechanisms (individual, group, institution); (b) linearity of change (judged on the basis of role-model values); (c) aspect/sector of change (social relations, modes of production, politics, religion and culture); and (d) unit(s) affected by such change (individuals, corporate groups, institutions, culture, social structure). The presence and operation of these processes are not questioned: what certainly are their exaggerated claims to explain causation, and sources, direction and independence of change inducing stimuli (Ishwaran: 1970; Parvathamma: 1978). There is also a tendency to view the operation of change inducing stimuli, internal and external, as somehow operating in isolation from each other. It is true that these stimuli are activised by different sources but, at the response level, it is the same set of village inhabitants which reacts to them. To that extent the strategies of planned change constantly interact with the strategies of spontaneous change., articulated, and operated on their own by the rural population. In the initiation of change, or even in its absence, the two strategies affect each other. This being so, it is fallacious to attribute the observed change in villages to only one of the two sets as most analyses tend to do. Of course, one could justifiably identify the degrees of influence exercised by various factors as the motivating forces. Almost every study of social change ultimately touches, directly or indirectly, the issues of quantum and adequacy of change registered generally and in specific areas. This has been accomplished in two ways: one, where the quantum of change is described only via the qualitative labels i.e. high, moderate, low or appreciable, small, negligible etc. Most anthropological accounts belong to this category.9 On the other hand, there are others who use quantitative scales to measure change with precision and accuracy (Sen and Roy: 1966; Sen, et al.: 1967; Fliegel, et al.: 1969; Roy, et al.: 1968, 1969; Kivlin, et al.: 1968).

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The issue of adequacy of social change in rural India is concerned with the relationship of occurrence of quantum of change with the expected order of change. We have already noted that there is hardly any agreement among social scientists about the quantum of change registered: the expected order of change is even a more controversial area since the perceptions of different scholars about the need of such change have varied a great deal depending upon their ideological orientations and methodological preferences. In general, scholars seem to be highly dissatisfied with the adequacy of change registered in social, cultural,10 and administrative11 areas. Changes in agriculture and allied fields of production have been considered significant though only in specific geographical areas and in specific components.12 The impression, which one gathers from these accounts, is that although the quantum of change has not been adequate in many areas it is probably proceeding in the right direction.13 It is this assumption which is the crux of the problem for, it is open to question whether the direction of change in rural India is ‘right’ after all. This becomes all the more obvious when the issue of direction and adequacy of change is linked to various segments of the rural society. It requires not much of scholarly acumen to realize that the exploited segments have not very much benefited from the developmental programmes during the last thirty-two years. For them direction of change has been far from right and most certainly not appropriate. It is also open to doubt whether a larger number of “change’s” have really changed the basic form and content of relationships at all.

Causation of Change: Real and Contrived Motivators Gandhi was a charismatic leader who attempted to build the myth of Indian villages being republics, self-sustaining in their functioning and virtually independent of other settlements in their existence. Despite nostalgia and romanticism, this view was hardly correct historically; in day-to-day operations it was down-right impractical. It was true, of course, that many villages were physically isolated; however, there were in and out flows—human, material and cultural which affected their life and systems of production very vitally. Even if there was not much migration from these villages to outside places, outside agencies—government officials, traders, travelling sadhus,

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even beggars permeated the village social existence quite often. Changes in the villages were, therefore, caused by both the external and internal stimuli. It is certainly true that the outside penetration in the villages, milder as it was during pre-Moghul period, increased considerably thereafter. However, available historical accounts indicate that this increased penetration brought about changes of various types, dimensions and quantity because of the interaction of the external stimuli with the internal response pattern (Sharma and Jha: 1974). Weberian/ neo-Weberian groups of scholars have, however, clearly stretched their arguments a bit too far when they state that basic changes in the micro and macro structures of Indian society started taking place only after it came into contact with the West and that most structural changes during the pre-contact (with West) phase of Indian history used to be of an oscillatory rather than evolutionary pattern (Yogendra Singh: 1973: 27). There is a clear over-emphasis on the change-inducing capacity of the external stimuli (especially originating in the West) and a biased under-estimation of the indigenous nature of Indian response in these arguments. These analyses, therefore, discover generally adaptation and imitation (Singer: 1961, 1966, 1966a, 1972; Elder: 1959, 1966; Kapp: 1963; Morris: 1967; Cohen: 1973; Kunkel: 1971; Dumont: 1970; Rudolph and Rudolph: 1967; Mandelbaum: 1970; Frank: 1969; Gould: 1969 among Western scholars and A. K. Singh: 1967; Pandya: 1970; Khare: 1971; Tripathi: 1970; Shah and Rao: 1965; Misra: 1962; Dube: 1965; Loomis and Loomis symposium: published in 1969; Rao: 1969; Saksena: 1971, 1972; Sen:. 1973. Yogendra Singh: 1973 among the Indians). Assimilation, adoption of new functions by the so-called traditional institutions and stoppage of a few old ones, and change in the structure of the society do not generally get adequate coverage. The tradition of research in diffusion of innovations, in the West and its subsequent extension in India brought in its trail several assumptions in operation. Some of these were: the change stimuli should be channelized in the villages via leadership, external and internal (Coughner: 1965; Emery and Oser: 1958; Ensminger: 1972; Mayer, et al.: 1959; D. Sinha: 1969; Taylor, et al.: 1965); that mass media would play a revolutionary role in bringing rural change (Deutsch: 1953; Lazarsfeld, et al.: 1955; Lerner and Schramm: 1967; Kivlin, et al.: 1968; Pye: 1963; Rogers: 1962: Roy, et al.: 1968, 1969; Schramm: 1955, 1964); that direct mass

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media exposure of the rural leaders, constituting the primary audience, helped message spread to the secondary audience (Lazarsfeld, et al.: 1955; Rogers: 1962; Rogers and Shoemaker: 1971); that there was no personal influence involved in the transmission of the message at the first stage from media to the leaders (Lazarsfeld, et al.: 1955; Rogers: 1962); that the knowledge gap of the village population could be bridged with the help of mass media (Hornik: 1975; Hornik et al.: 1973; Rogers: 1974; Shingi and Modi: 1976; Shingi: 1979; Techner, et al.: 1970, 1973), and that the task delivery systems in various fields of administration catering the rural population would act as change agents (Broechl: 1978; Dey: 1952, 1969; Mayer, et al.: 1959; Sen: 1969; Sen and Roy: 1966; Verma: 1972a, b, 1974, 1976a). These generally originated from the West, especially the United States directly or U.N. agencies such as the UNESCO, WHO, FAO, the IBRD and the like dominated by the Western thought process, values and ideology. Using these assumptions, a succession of programmes of directed social change were launched in rural India with large scale ‘assistance’ also flowing in from the same direction. It started with the generalized programme of rural development, and the community development programme. Intensive area (IADP, Command Area, DPAP), function (Nutrition, Cattle Development) and target-group based (SFDA, MFAL) programmes followed. Radio first, and television later were used to prop up the communication of these programmes, through the development bureaucracy, to the people (Agarwal: 1978; Agarwal, et al.: 1977; Kivlin and Roy: 1968; Mathur and Neurath: 1959;  Neurath: 1960, 1962; Menefee and Menefee: 1963; Roy, et al.: 1969; Shingi and Mody: 1975; Thakur, et al.: 1962–63a; Verma: 1968, 1969a, 1970, 1971a, b). In the operation of these programmes, many of these assumptions proved wrong, and inappropriate. Almost even’ one discovered that leadership of the villages was helpful for inducing change only to the extent it was altruistic in its orientation. It emerged that in programme implementation the concerned administrative machinery had to go beyond the leader-follower dichotomy (Verma: 1971a, 1972b); that there was personal influence involved even in the first step of message transfer Emery and Oeser: 1958; Heredero: 1977; Mathai: 1977; McLuhan: 1967: Mills and Arorson: 1965; Y. V. L. Rao: 1968; Sargent: 1965; Verma: 1972b); that the mass media, instead of reducing the knowledge gap of the ignorant sections of the village population, actually increased

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the same because of their initial lag (ceiling effect) and current inadequate access and exposure to the media (lIMC-IIC Seminar: 1979; Shingi and Modi: 1976; Shingi: 1979; Verma: 1969a, 1970, 1971); that there was very little participation of the people themselves in the programme planning and implementation (COPP: 1957; Gaikwad: 1969, 1974, 1975, 1977, 1978a; Gaikwad and Verma: 1968; Mathai: 1977); that quite often the officials incharge of introducing change themselves acted to be the greatest single obstacle (Mathai: 1977; Srinivas: 1979; Wiser and Wiser: 1958); that the use of task delivery systems to their maximum capacity depended upon the organised status of its users (Moulik: 1978, 1979; Rutton: 1979; Hebsur: 1979; Verma: 1971); and that in the design of the change programmes sub-cultural perspectives and variations were essential to make them appropriate and effective (Ishwaran: 1970). Periodical correctives followed in the form of one-shot participatory institutions (Panchayati Raj, Cooperatives, Farmers’ Service Societies) and newer programmes (growth centres and integrated rural development, Mandi development, block-level planning) from time to time. In accepting and introducing many of these programmes, the initiative quite often came from the Western scholars, agencies, and governments. In a few cases there was marked divergence in their real and stated objectives.14 In this divergence, lies buried the real story of articulation of the needs of the people, vehicles and routes for their realization and interplay of the capitalist and non-capitalist ideologies. It is only now that the value premises of some of these programmes are being increasingly questioned even in India; they have already been flogged in the West. During the same period of thirty and odd years, another crop of experimental rural development programmes has been under testing by individuals and institutions. Some of these deal with issues such as exploitation, hegemony, and sub-cultural variations of poverty and the solutions attempted vary from integrated cooperativization of production and marketing of an item (Anand Milk Dairy–model, now being extended to cover oil seeds and cotton in Gujarat), to organization of the exploited communities (Raigars of Jawaja: Ravi Mathai: 1977: Harijans of Sangli: Arun Chavan; tribals of Bihar: Shibu Soren; Bhoomi Sena of Thane), and organisation of a community around a mode of production but for all round improvement of quality of rural life

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(Mahatma Gandhi Cooperative Lift Irrigation Society of Dr. Gopal Reddy in Nalgonda). These experiments have profound policy implications for rural reconstruction and yet the social scientists in their analyses and the policy planners in their choices of new programme, continue to ignore them.

Methodology: Scientific Pretensions and Practised Imperfections The foregoing discussion has, in ways more than one, reflected on the methodologies used by the studies of social change. However, the ensuing comments would cover aspects which are generally included under the rubric of “mechanics” of research: a) Barring a few studies (Panchanadikar and Panchanadikar: 1970; Sen and Roy: 1966; Sen, et al.: 1967; Fliegel, et al.: 1968; Hiramani: 1977; Oomen: 1972; Punit: 1977; Roy, et al.: 1968, 1969; Kivlin, et al.: 1969; Rao and Verma: 1969; K.L. Sharma: 1974; Sinha: 1969; Verma: 1970, 1971, a, b, 1972, a, b, 1974, a), the geographical coverage and numerical data-base of most other studies are indeed very meagre. And yet, social scientists have proceeded to make sweeping generalizations about the society, cultural traditions, religions, communities, castes etc. It is not that these scholars are not aware of the complexity, diversity and variability of the empirical situation in different parts of the nation: for, they seldom fail to emphasize the same in their own descriptions. This general disregard for quantitative support, for representative nature of sample and for statistical validation of the hypotheses, needed for definitive conclusions, is to be traced to the naive belief that quality and quantity are two water-tight compartments in research; that in order to get quality in one’s analysis one has to discard usage of figures and numericals; that no qualitatively penetrative analysis could be made using large quantitative base. Whereas it is true that quite a few quantitative studies fail to attain high analytical standards, it has been demonstrated by many that this can be done (Arora and Lass-well: 1968; Arora: 1969; Kessinger: 1976; Gaikwad: 1971, 1977; Gaikwad and Verma:  1968;  Gaikwad, et al.: 1977; Lakshman Rao: 1968; Rao and Verma: 1969; Verma: 1970, 1971a).

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b) In view of peculiar development of comity of social sciences in India, two tendencies have been witnessed: (i) an indigenous, Indian tradition of interpreting empirical situations has, barring a few stray cases (Gupta: 1974; Saran: 1959, 1962, 1963, 1965, 1966, 1967, 1969a, b, 1971; Verma: 1970, 1971a, 1972, 1974), failed to develop (ii) imported theoretical frameworks (i.e. Weberian, neo-Weberian), ethnocentrism and Brahminical views have coloured the interpretations of the field data. It is because of these tendencies that Mandelbaum (1970), despite an enormous review of village studies, fails to correctly analyse structural change; that Milton Singer (1973), despite his knowledge of and respect for Hindu religion, discovers compartmentalization between family and work organizations; that Dube (1977), despite his ability to present qualitatively impressive analysis of data, fails to give a factually correct social re-port of post-independence changes; that Srinivas (1952, 1960, 1962, 1965, 1976), despite his acclaimed capacity of perception and abstraction, tends to over-emphasize the status emulation process (in-appropriately called sanskritization) on the part of the lower castes; and that Yogendra Singh (1973) conveniently glosses over the contribution of indigenous processes responsible for modernization of the Indian society. Nor have those, whose credentials in dealing with quantitative aspects are impecable, done any better on these counts. To give but one example, non-acceptance of “new” agricultural and other innovations by the villagers is seen by them as lack of innovativeness, their (villagers’) sound reasons for not doing so notwithstanding (Fliegel, et al.: 1969; Roy, et al.: 1968, 1969; Kivlin, et al.: 1969). c) Absence of time-orientation and a historicism have contributed to equation of normative position with empirical reality and reconstruction of historical patterns of change on the basis of temporal evidence in majority of studies. The anthropological accounts generally proceed how, for example, a marriage ceremony takes place in a particular community at a particular place: it is very rare to find them also providing accounts of how many follow that ceremony and what changes have taken place in it, when, and why. There is the magnum opus of Mandelbaum (1970) where he tries to reconstruct historical patterns of change at the societal level by referring and reviewing temporal village studies of a large number of scholars from different parts of the country. He even goes to the extent of including a map wherein the geographical location of the village studies

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is indicated. The map, reduced on scale as it is, gives a misleading impression of the representative nature of the village studies reviewed. Several facts are glossed over: such as (a) that the cited village studies did not provide a representative sample; (b) that they were not part of a single exercise undertaken with a shared framework; (c) that they were conducted by different scholars at different points of time; and (d) that the response patterns of their respondents could be different in different contexts. In Dube’s compendium (1977), for example, various contributors have recorded their own impressions about various sectors; Dube himself had taken the onerous task of offering generalized conclusions. It is very easy to conclude that X, Y, Z, has been observed and A, B, C, has not, especially if one is also not required to present any historical evidence. Yogendra Singh (1973) has re-interpreted and “put in a systemic frame” the interpretations of others in the Weberian framework. In this framework, anything indigenous has no claims for bringing structural change: It has been booked in advance for Western stimuli. System in his analysis—and that of many of his ilk—means only the Weberian/ Parsonian conceptualization of a social system: delineation of systems in the Marxian and other frameworks have no place in it. The Western stimuli have, according to him, produced modernization in the Indian society: it is quite another thing that the historical evidence goes substantially against this viewpoint. In general, it is very rarely that social scientists have combined the talents and methodologies of a historian and a social scientist (Ishwaran: 1970; Kessinger: 1974; Berreman: 1970; Newell: 1970; Saberwal: 1976) to provide analysis of change with timeplace and cause-effect-consequences specificity. d) A crucial issue in any study is the unit and level of analysis. The unit of analysis could be individual, a group, an institution and a system: and then the analysis could be at macro, meso or micro levels. Although most studies of social change in rural India are quite definite about their unit of analysis, the same is not the case with the concept of levels about which considerable confusion exists. This confusion is not about what constitutes a macro, meso or micro level: it lies in the manner in which the level itself is sought to he studied. The depiction of the macro, meso and the micro is varied. The macro, as reconstructed by Mandelbaum (1970), is by piecing together of, isolated and different points in history, studies of a large number of scholars. One might like to ask: do they add up to make a macro picture? This is one end of the spectrum. Ranged at the other end are Singer (1972, 1973) and Srinivas (1952, 1962, 1965, 1976) where the

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macro has been a blown up form of a micro area study. There are others who are located in the Indological stream and who have created the macro picture from the scriptures. There is very little doubt that none of these streams gives the complete and accurate profile of the ‘macro’. The micro profile has been presented by either considering the elements first and sketching their inter-relationships thereafter or depicting only the abstract/whole entity of the unit of analysis (i.e. a village). Only in very few of these the penetrations of external stimuli into them and their own extensions beyond their geographical boundaries have been recorded. The significance of the internal and the external forces has, thus, not been properly indicated. The meso as a level has assumed significance only after realization dawned that the micro had limited use for generalization and prescription and the macro was quite often beyond one’s capacity to study. The meso, essentially based in the sub-cultural perspective and providing enough elbow room for methodological details and policy applications, met the requirements. In marked contrast to the micro studies, the meso ones take a more comprehensive view of the working of the elements and processes of the system. e) Before the Indian agencies (RPC, ICSSR, ICAR, ICHR, ICCR, etc.) started large scale funding of research studies, Indian villages and institutions were studied more by foreigners with the help of foreign funds. Their interest had periodic preferences and Indians latched on to these ‘leads’. Till very recently, these periodic interests swamped the research choices of many Indian institutions and scholars.15 As a result, some areas were over-researched in a particular manner (i.e. caste, family, diffusion of agricultural innovations): there was inadequate coverage of certain other issues, phenomena which had crucial significance for the Indian people, their government and the society.16 Analyses of social change in rural India for the purposes of policy analysis and planning have begun only in the late seventies and their conceptualization, execution, and use very much remain open to conjecture even today.

Contribution of Research: Descriptive Adequacy and Prescriptive Appropriateness We finally come to the uses and abuses of the studies of social change. Before touching their descriptive adequacy and prescriptive appropriateness, some related and, in our opinion, very consequential questions must be posed.

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These questions are: (i) what is the back-ground (socio-economic-cultural) of researchers who have conducted studies in rural India? (ii) What specific areas have they studied and with what numerical vigour? (iii) What were– and are—the motivations in conducting the studies? Each one of these could be discussed briefly but separately. i) It is rather an interesting fact that no quantitative account is available giving a numerical distribution of studies on social change in rural India conducted by the British, American, European, Asian, or Indian researchers: for, if one such record were available, it would lend more credibility and force to the following: (a) of the total number of studies on social change in rural India, a majority have been accomplished by non-Indians17; (b) among the foreigners, the number of those following only one particular ideology (i.e. capitalist) has been overwhelming; (c) among the Indians a majority had a very narrow social experience (Saberwal: 1979) and in particular the poor and the exploited have generally not been involved (Joshi: 1979).18 ii) Recent reviews of researches (i.e. ICSSR Surveys) clearly reveal that certain areas have been treated with special interest and attention whereas some have been comparatively ignored. For instance, even though inequality and poverty have been major issues to be tackled through the programmes of planned change in rural India, non-capitalist perspectives on them have been lacking. It is true that there are some penetrating analyses of kinship, family, caste and religion. However, whether these analyses should have been given preferences over the ones dealing with poverty, exploitation, in-equality, social relations at work-place and the like is the moot point. As we shall see later, this has been largely responsible for the absence of development-orientation in the analyses of social change: for, when the process of underdevelopment was not adequately analysed, how one could provide an insightful perspective on the parallel and inter-dependent process of development? iii) There are two much-talked-about motivations for individual and institution-based researches: (a) to increase theoretical and empirical knowledge and (b) to help the agencies in the planning, administration, appraisal and correction of planned programmes of change. Actually, however, in pursuing the two objectives, a third motivation assumes dominance.

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This has something to do with establishing hegemony and exploitation with the help of expertise and scholarly work. At the back of many inspired and institution-based research efforts has been the desire to acquire knowledge which had other uses for the sponsoring countries19 and promotion of a certain technological solution for which the inputs may have to come from the same direction.20 It was possible to arrive at certain types of conclusions and recommendations because, as pointed earlier, certain approaches and methodologies, essentially based on Western values, were used to analyse Indian empirical realities. What, then, is the descriptive adequacy of analyses of social change in rural India? Without going in for a case by case verdict, we attempt here what could possibly be termed as a generalized assessment. In its totality, the coverage of these studies on the historical, geographical and topical dimensions is highly inadequate they are also not impartial quite often. Even on topics on which the number of studies has been quite impressive, the analysis does not uncover the mystique of the phenomenon because of slanted methodology and approach. Excepting a very limited number of studies, most others lack, what Srinivas has belatedly called-development-orientation’. More importantly they reflect elitist views and have imbibed very little of peoples’ own perception of their problems (Srinivas: 1979). To judge prescriptive appropriateness of the conclusions and recommendations of the studies, it is essential to refer to some of the historical cases. The decision to launch the generalized programme of community development based on the harmony model was made as a result of, among other things, recommendations of a number of studies (i.e. Taylor, et al.: 1967). The programme itself professed to develop the community but in its approach and implementation, the targets were atomised individuals; village leadership was used to channelize the programme. By 1959 its inappropriateness had dawned upon everyone. Whereas the proponents of peoples’ participation brought in the cooperatives and Panchayati Raj, which later became legitimisers for the vested interest, supporters of specialized (area, function, target group) programmes had pushed in programmes such as IADP, HYV, CAD, DPAP, ICDP, etc. Each of these programmes was preceded by a study (or a number of studies) which recommended the course of action. It is now conceded that the IADP, for example, increased disparities and increased the dependence of the farmers on the non-agricultural sector (especially the

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industrial sector). The mere increase in per unit production did not bring prosperity to the majority of farmers since per unit cost had also increased. What is more striking is the fact that whereas the farmer could not exercise any control over price fixation of his out-put, the prices of the agricultural inputs coming into agricultural sector from the industrial sector were revisable at the whims and fancies of the manufacturers and traders. Similarly, a whole new generation of institutions such as the FSS, rural banks, etc. has emerged under the weight of expert opinion and yet the ‘change agents’ have not changed the structure and content of generalized and specific target group-based exploitations and poverty. Studies recommended that radio, and television (terrestrial/satellite based) would bring information and knowledge to the ignorant and needy. However, the knowledge-gap between the rich and the poor has not been bridged and the media, brought in the name of information transmission for the poor, have become means of prestige and entertainment of the elite. Ever increasing outlays are being made available for various sectoral programmes in meeting the recommendations of ‘social indicators’, and ‘per capita expenditure studies and yet, the horizontal spread of facilities has not improved quality of life of the rural population to any appreciable degree. A new generation, born after independence, has graduated to adulthood phase and watched with amazing helplessness the emergence of unplanned change as a result of planned programmes. This generation– and the one that has followed it—does not have the same level of tolerance as its predecessor. It has seen emergence of the new breed of ‘bura sahibs’, leaders, and contractors pocketing the major portions of the development outlays via various channels of leakages. It is somewhat more external-oriented and certainly better informed. Despite all its efforts at social mobility (Saberwal: 1976; K.N. Sharma: 1961), there are clearly outlined and felt limits on its mobility and success. As frustration has set in, some among this segment have taken to short-cuts in obtaining material means to lead the kind of life-styles which they consider absolutely essential for themselves. Tension, violence and crime, which have been exploited to the hilt by the “modern-day” unscrupulous leadership, have erupted with surprising velocity, force, and serious consequences. While the politicians have played a leading part in this emergent schema, the researchers cannot avoid blame for their own failure to provide insightful diagnostic and objectively prescriptive studies of these phenomena. A new generation of social scientists must make amends.

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Notes * This review forms part of a larger though modest study entitled “Socio-Economic Change in Rural India: An Exploratory Study” supported by the Indian Council of Social Science Research. Responsibility for the views rests with the author. 1. Among these were: Tagore’s Sriniketan (Dasgupta 1962), Hatch’s Martandam (Hatch: 1949, a), Krishnamachari’s, Baroda (Krishnamachari 1962). Bryne’s Gurgaon (Bryne: 1946, 1950), Gandhi’s Wardha and Sabarmati (Kavoori and Singh: 1967). 2. This review is not a census of all the studies of socio-economic change in rural India. On the contrary, it is selective and concentrates on the major ones among them. 3. Clearly, this is an illustrative listing and with little effort it should be possible to swell its numerical strength to impressive levels. 4. Definitions of development, underdevelopment, and modernization as given by Furtado (1971), Stewart (1977). and Frank (1967, 1969, 1975) are, for instance, drastically different than the ones outlined by the scholars following Weber. For incisive comments on the latter, see for example, Arora (1968, 1969, 1976), Desai (1975) and Gould (1969). 5. Bennet (1969), and Dewalt (1978, 1979) have, for example, provided excellent empirical studies showing social change to be more than mere acceptance or rejection of new ideas. 6. This is equally valid for analyses of informal leadership of industrial/urban societies. Dahl (1971) on the one hand and Domhoff (1978) on the other, for example, depict different profiles of the civic leadership of New Haven. 7. Beteille (1969) and Berreman (1978), for example, point out the inherent flaws in the analyses of institutionalized forms of inequality in India and Western societies. While every one ends up in denouncing Indian caste system (which should be condemned no doubt) the institutionalized in-equality practiced in Western societies on the basis of colour and race is conveniently glossed over. 8. Berreman (1970), Ishwaran (1970), P. N. Mukherjee (1977) and Yogendra Singh (1973) provide an interesting discussion on these. 9. Haldipur (1974) and Mandelbaum (1970) provide a good listing of these studies. 10. See, for example, Dube (1977), Mandelbaum (1970), Singer (1973) and Yogendra Singh (1973). 11. For useful discussions, one could refer to Gaikwad (1969, 1970, 1973, 1976, 1977, 1978) and Kothari (1971). 12. An interesting assessment was provided by Swaminathan (1978), where he compared “our” and “their” agriculture. “Our” fanning is based on smaller farms being cultivated either by the same or larger number of people utilizing renewable resources like animal dung (manure) and firewood. “Their” farming has larger farms being managed by fewer and fewer people, the farming system being heavily dependent on nonrenewable resources like petroleum products (oil, gas, napatha) and coal which also pollute the environment. 13. One may not have any quarrel with the assessment of direction of change such as the one arrived at by Madan (1973, 1977) wherein he finds villages shrinking (extension beyond villages, increasing dependency on outside systems, increased penetration of outside agencies, networks etc.) and growing individualism. 14. To cite but one example, much against the run of the mill objectives of the community development programme in India listed by many scholars (Dayal: 1960; Dey:

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15. 16.

17.

18.

19. 20.

H.S. Verma 1962, 1969; Ensminger: 1972; Jain: 1967; Kavoori and Singh: 1967; Krishnamachari: 1962), the dominant objective in introducing it was to contain spread of communism. Chester Bowles (1954), who brought along the massive U.S. assistance for this programme, admits it much without fuss. It was also precisely for this reason that the Etawah model was preferred over the Nilokheri one since the latter involved organization of the production and marketing systems of the beneficiaries, a mechanism which reduced possibilities of exploitation by the vested interests. For a detailed analysis of the phenomenon and its consequences, see, for instance, Verma (1967, 1969, 1974a). For example, the withering of the village as a community, loosening of family authority, gradual brutalization of not so brutal wings of bureaucracy, emergence of dual society, despondency, defiance, violence and crime are some of the vital issues on which not many researches have been conducted. Peasant struggles are now being studied and as yet no analysis has been made of the resettlement of the villages for military purposes among the border nationalities (the Nagas, Mizos, etc.). This would be so in spite of the fact that there was some restriction on the impunity with which the foreigners, especially those from the elitist institutions, could conduct research in India after 1974. It would be useful to categorize the Indians into (a) those who are essentially based in India and (b) those who continue to be Indian for the sake of records and convenience. Another revealing question to ask would be: why the Indian students and scholars in foreign universities somehow end up in studying only Indian research problems? Why, in other words, the Western societies are not all that open to researchers from non-Western scholars despite their advertized “openness”? It is now revealed that the studies on virus and bacteria in India had uses in bacterial warfare. The communication studies dealing with the radio first, television slightly later and satellite fairly recently aimed, among other things, indirect sales promotion of these technologies for use in India. In fact, as many a studyon transfer of technology indicates, the imported technology was quite often obsolete, apart from being highly expensive.

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19 Downward Social Mobility: Some Observations1 K.L. Sharma

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ownward social mobility has not yet been analysed adequately by sociologists. The objective of this paper is to highlight some of the dimensions and contexts, forms and factors, of downward social mobility in Indian society. Why has downward social mobility not engaged the attention of social scientists? The belief that downward mobility is involitional and not desired at the levels of group, individual and family and, therefore, it does not occur, appears to have been responsible for its neglect. Such a view is unwarranted and unfounded. Downward social mobility does occur and is a complex process involving social and economic, cultural and motivational, factors. Furthermore, we need to distinguish between specific downward status mobility and generalised downward status mobility, for in India a lag has been observed between upward socio-religious mobility and economic or political mobility. Several sanskritizing castes have moved up in the caste hierarchy by discarding their “polluting” callings without, however, a corresponding change in their economic and political position [Harper 1968:36–65; Sharma 1970a: 1537–43]. Indeed, when the lower castes imitate the cultural traits of upper castes, their economic position often declines owing to the abandonment of lucrative economic activities. When this lack of fit between a rising social (caste) position and a declining economic position persists for a period of years,

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their generalised status may decline below what it was when they started to emulate the upper castes. Downward economic mobility here is an un-planned consequence of planned upward social mobility. Efforts to change the agrarian social structure, such as land reforms, would also force lower status upon the landlords. This ‘withdrawal of status respect’ (Hagen 1962: 77, 83) has varied motivational and other repercussions on the privileged sections of the society. Downward social mobility is, thus, a structural and historical reality observable in diverse forms and in different contexts.

I Social decline may affect a lone individual or a social group as a whole (Sorokin 1964: 133). Mobility is not a symmetrical phenomenon (Miller 1969: 325–340). The patterns of mobility do not bear a definitive character. A nation can be high in one measure of mobility and low in another. The same may be found with an individual and/or a group. Therefore, sometimes it is difficult to connect the mobility of one kind with another. A nation may have most downward movement and may also have most upward mobility at the same time. It may be difficult to relate the aspects of downward movement with that of upward mobility at the national level. Similarly, an individual may have upward economic movement and downward social movement simultaneously and vice versa. As a result of industrialisation (Miller 1969) the agricultural and manual workers become non-manual and skilled workers, but the sons of elite fathers are not always entitled to or able to enter their fathers’ social positions. Thus, downward mobility is more indicative of social fluidity than upward mobility. Whatever combination of upward and downward mobility may prevail in a society, it is clear that when a society drops the sons of the privileged strata out of their original positions or blocks their entry into these positions, it is more open and mobile than a society which has only progressive upward mobility but no mechanism for downgrading the elites. Thus, there are societies having more upward mobility without having more fluidity in social structure and vice versa. On the basis of Miller’s data two essential points emerge: that downward and upward mobility indicate greater fluidity than upward

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mobility alone and the two can appear in four combinations which are as follows: (a) (b) (c) (d)

High downward and high upward mobility (+ +); high downward and low upward mobility (+ −); low downward and high upward mobility (− +); and low downward and low upward mobility (− −).

Our purpose in this paper is to locate the processes of downward social mobility in Indian society rather than to examine the applicability of Miller’s model. We submit that downward social mobility has  not been very much pronounced in India partly because of the organically closed character of its social system and partly because of the political structures and conditions that existed in the past. In our view upward mobility has also been quite slow in India for the same reasons. Downward social mobility is generally unplanned, non-deliberate and involitional (Saberwal 1972: 121). Saberwal distinguishes between: (a) a change in the society’s organisational principles, and (b) a positional change for the individuals concerned. For the first case he cites the abolition of princely privileges and the leather workers’ decline due to a growing preference for factory-made shoes in the town he studied. With regard to positional changes Saberwal cites an example of a candidate who repeatedly contests and loses expensive elections and consequently his position declines compared to what it had been earlier. Saberwal’s remarks on downward mobility are, however, casual and incidental, and his main concern was with upward status mobility. A satisfactory frame-work for analysing social mobility, we submit, must allow adequately for motivation or consciousness. Downward mobility due to organisational change should be related to structure, ideology and behaviour of the people and its consequences also should be taken into consideration. Thus, there is a need to investigate social decline in the context of both organizational or structural change and positional change. In other words, downward social mobility resulting from social and economic innovations and transformations on the one hand, and the failure of the groups and individuals to maintain the status of the ascending generation on the other hand, has not been seriously investigated.

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II The possibility of social mobility in the 19th century and earlier in the caste system is now generally accepted. Burton Stein (1968: 78–84) has noted the case of a group of Sudra Srivaishnavas who achieved upward mobility through religious roles at the Tiruvergadam Temple at Tirupati in the fifteenth century. Elsewhere, some castes have been able to upgrade their caste rank by getting political power and royal degrees. In course of time these upwardly mobile castes received priestly recognition and also underwent changes in nomenclature, traditional occupation and ritual idioms. A number of lower castes in course of time achieved Kshatriya status by migrating to other places and establishing dominion over the native people (Panikkar 1955: 8). While the fact of upward caste mobility has been noted by many analysts, its consequences for those whose position has remained unchanged has not been adequately explored. Our point is that upward mobility, if restricted to some caste groups only, accentuates structural cleavages and imbalances. Some castes move up, and others remain where they have been. This differential movement adversely affects those castes which remain static. Some castes which were inferior in past may now move up to a higher position in the caste hierarchy. This is true not only of castes; but within the caste, different families and within the families different individuals are also differentially affected by such a group-specific upward mobility. Thus without moving down or even without being affected by generalised decline, the relative position of groups, families and individuals might decline as a result of the upward mobility of other units of society. Such a consequential decline has been conspicuously neglected in sociological analysis and only upward mobility has engaged the attention of sociologists so far. Ahmad (1971: 171) reports that low or ‘backward’ castes advancing higher status claims went on increasing at different censuses in different states from 1901 to 1931. In 1901 the number of castes claiming high status was only 21. The number increased to 148 in 1931. In many cases a single caste made more than one claim and these claims changed in the successive censuses. A number of castes claimed Kshatriya status in 1921 census and the same castes claimed the Brahmin status in 1931. Similarly, many castes claimed Vaishya status in 1921 and Kshatriya status in 1931. It would be necessary to know about the castes which

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superseded and the castes which were superseded and the factors which contributed to this discriminating mobility. Since the field of downward mobility is still largely unexplored, we are more interested here in analysing its manifestations than its structural constraints. This would enable us to postulate some hypotheses for empirical investigation. Thus, we propose to analyse the processes underlying downward mobility. However, in this paper it will not be possible for us to analyse interactional relations between those who slide down and those who go up in social hierarchy. Again, our analysis is limited to the phenomenon of sliding down in economic hierarchy mainly in village societies, but we would also relate it to caste segments and to other aspects of social life. We present first a formalised view of the forms and contexts of downward mobility and in the last section of the paper we refer to concrete cases of downward mobility. In this paper the term ‘mobility’ means upward mobility and the term ‘decline” refers to downward mobility. Decline can be categorised into: (a) generalised decline, and (b) domain-specific decline. Generalised decline refers to total decline of a unit of society, i.e. individual, family, group and nation. Domain-specific decline would mean downward mobility of these units in a particular domain or aspect. Domain-specific decline may also result from mobility of a particular type, or as an unplanned or unforeseen consequence of a particular type of mobility. Generalised decline can be categorised into ‘structural decline’ and ‘positional decline’ on the basis of the nature of the decline itself. Structural decline follows changes in the organizational principles of the society; positional decline, in contrast, implies only a movement of persons within a continuing structure of society. Structural decline can, on the basis of the nature of its effectivity for the units, be further classified into “primary structural decline” and “secondary structural decline”. Primary structural decline refers to radical changes which may be due to pressure from above; for example, from the threat of war by a big power and/or from elitist reformative policies, or from pressure from below, e.g. from a Maoist revolution. In either case, the decline would reflect certain normative pressures. However, the nature of the normative pressure would be different in these two situations of primary structural decline. Secondary structural decline refers to indirect and immediately less effective changes to which individuals and groups are exposed. Primary structural decline is brought about by the direct impact of these forces

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Chart 1. Upward and Downward Social Mobility

of change on the affected groups whereas the decline of these groups may set off, though indirectly, the decline of other groups as well. Secondary structural decline may be an intended or unintended consequence of the structural changes. The analytical diagram2 of downward social mobility and its various forms have been presented in Chart 1 on p. 64.

Primary Structural Decline Primary decline may follow the creation of new structural principles, organizations and units which replace the old ones. Such a change may restructure the existing status system, including property relations, denying the erstwhile privileged groups and individuals their traditional prerogatives and conferring these upon the under-dogs of the old order. The abolition of the Jagirdari and Zamindari systems, for example, expropriated the rights of the old landowning classes and conferred peasant proprietory rights on the ex-tenants. This is the formal situation; we shall consider the realities shortly. Changes in organisational principles and structural innovations, such as non-recognition of the traditional village and caste councils and installation of statutory Panchayati Raj agencies, have also led to downward mobility. The effects of these measures could be seen on the office-bearers and landowners in terms of their statutory non-recognition and sliding down socially, politically and economically in the village community.

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Primary decline takes place when highly placed sections or groups are forced by the militant pressure groups to come down to a lower level at par with the commoners. It is symbolic of structural upheavals and revolutions. The privileged have no choice but to accept the dictates of such an organised force. Such a pattern of decline of old established groups requires a high degree of mobilization accompanied by intense polarisation of interests and sharpening of ideological conflict. Naxalite movement in West Bengal, Kerala and in some other parts could be said to have caused the decline of jotdars, absentee landowners and rich peasant proprietors at least to some extent and for some time. However, this enforced downward mobility was foiled through a counter-offensive launched by the youth-wing of another political party after some time. Our point is that ideological and class polarisation is always found operating in the background of primary structural decline as a result of pressures from below. These form part of a strategy of structural change and the emergence of a new social order. Primary decline can also occur as a result of ‘elitist’ intervention from above.

Secondary Structural Decline Changes in organisational principles may affect some people directly and immediately as we have noted above; they may affect some others indirectly, as for instance, the dependents of the landed gentry consequent upon Zamindari Abolition. Land reforms have also led to secondary structural decline of working peasants and marginal tenants. Since land reform gave tenurial stability, it motivated the big tenants for agricultural innovations and mechanisation of farming. “With agriculture developing along capitalist lines the process of ruination and proletarianization of the bulk of the peasantry is growing more intensely all the time” (Kotovsky 1964: 160). The emergence of rich capitalist peasantry on the one hand and pauperisation of the working peasant households and their reduction to the status of proletarian households on the other has also been identified (Saith and Tankha 1972: 712) as an indirect result of the ‘green revolution’. The process of impoverishment of most small peasant households has increased recently. Saith and Tankha observed that rapid expansion of the forces of production has intensified the process of differentiation and, consequently, of polarisation of the peasantry. This process transforms the rich surplus-making peasants

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into machine-using capitalist farmers. “The same process, however, spells the ruination of small working-peasant classes. An inescapable conclusion must be that the ‘diffusion of prosperity’ hypothesis (we referred to in an earlier section) . . . does not stand up to scrutiny” (Saith and Tankha 1972: 723). The accentuation of economic inequalities denoted by the emergence of capitalist farmers on the one end and pauperised peasant-workers on the other was perhaps an unintended and indirect consequence of land reforms and later of the ‘green revolution. Thus, secondary structural decline results both from intended and unintended consequences of innovations and it takes place both at the level of individuals and of groups. It forms part of the generalised decline.

Positional Decline Positional decline can be defined as decline of an individual or a group from one social position to another. A number of factors or a combination of factors may be responsible for this decline. Demotion of individuals due to changes in occupations, or due to transfer of persons from one place to another and such other set-backs could be identified as positional decline. These downward movements do not involve a change in the principles of the structure. Positional decline, however, affects the dominant status of persons and groups and, therefore, it would affect other domains of social life of those groups and individuals. Positional mobility and positional decline are characteristic features of a relatively stable society. Srinivas (1966: 7) observes that a result of the process of sanskritization only positional changes in the system have taken place. He writes: “. . . a caste moves up, above its neighbours, and another comes down, but all this takes place in an essentially stable hierarchical order. The system itself does not change” (Srinivas 1966: 7). Saberwal (1972: 121) also states: “In contrast, there may only be positional change for the individuals concerned, resulting from an imprudent use of scarce resources as, for example, in repeatedly contesting and losing expensive elections, or in failing to maintain relationships important for generating resources which sustain one’s status”. Positional decline is thus a part of generalised decline, and as such it is related to policies and programmes and their implementation. But it does not

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result from structural changes as such. Positional decline does not pose a threat to the existing structures. Bailey (1957), Lynch (1968: 209–240) and Rowe (1969: 66–77) have also brought to our notice certain processes of social mobility. Though some of these processes represent “unsuccessful” attempts (Rowe 1968: 66–77), others were related to the “decline” of the land-owning castes (Bailey 1957). The unsuccessful attempts refer to positional decline of the lower castes who aspired for higher status. The decline of the landowning castes refers to structural decline. However, both unsuccessful attempts and sliding down of landowners are a part of generalised decline.

Domain-Specific Decline Domain-specific decline stands in contrast to generalised decline. In fact, it is to some extent unplanned and unexpected because it results from upward mobility, and the actor’s motivation is directed towards going up in the hierarchy. As such domain-specific decline takes place as an unforeseen consequence. However, it is not coercive as the affected persons can also neutralise the negative consequences by retreating to the position they had before they moved upward. Hypothetically we could say that if the actors apprehended the specific dysfunctional consequences, perhaps these could have been avoided either by non-activity or by deploying some mechanisms to avert the negative repercussions. We do not mean that these changes are irreversible. There could be counter-mechanisms and instrumentalities by which some people might undo the positive consequences of mobility. But our point is that in the case of domain-specific decline, choice to avert it is considerably greater than in the case of the two other forms of structural decline, i.e. primary structural decline and secondary structural decline. Since domainspecific decline is generally a result of volitional mobility, its avoidance is also possible when its cost becomes much more than the gains of mobility. A certain amount of simultaneous rejection and acceptance of caste ethic is also clearly observable. In seeking ritual identity with the higher castes, the lower castes seem partly to reject the ideology of the caste system; but by imitating the behaviour pattern and cultural idioms of the upper castes, with a view to upgrade their rank, these castes also

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accept very much the caste ideology. The lower castes, on the other hand, have united against the upper castes through political participation in order to have adequate representation in different agencies and institutions. All these accounts of mobility, both upward and downward, reveal that these mobility movements have not secured the claimed higher status for the lower castes because status acquisition is now more a matter of command over resources (Sharma 1970: 1537–43). Therefore, imitating discarded life-ways of the upper-castes, or adopting new caste names would be unhelpful for upward status aspirants. In these accounts domain-specific decline is implicit and this has not been analysed. We shall discuss this point in detail in the next section of this paper. A number of sanskritizing castes have adopted upper caste names, such as Singh, Rawat, Verma, Sharma, Berua and Bariba. They have adopted the sects or cults, such as Kabir, Raidas and Ramdeo Panth, Vaishnava Sampradaya and Bhagat Sampradaya (Sanyal and Roy Burman 1970: 1–31). Recently on March 22, 1973 in Delhi thousands of Harijans embraced Buddhism. The manifestos of these castes are related to socio-cultural reforms including rejection of the ‘polluting’ callings. These castes have mobilised their members through traditional caste Panchayats. However, some formal associations have also been active in the mobility endeavours (Sanyal and Roy Burman 1970: 1–31). The analysis of these mobility movements have not taken cognisance of ‘substantial’ mobility, that is, the status accorded to the aspiring low castes by the upper castes and the gains they have received actually in terms of higher education, standard of living and active participation in decision-making in different spheres at various levels.

III The problem of decline is not as simple as it appears to be. The dilemma arises from the gap that exists between our legal-political structure and the existential conditions. Ours is a system which is perhaps most open in theory (i.e. in terms of the principles of the Constitution) but at the practical level chances of upward mobility are limited to only certain sections of the society. This is obviously because of historical and institutional reasons. Therefore, upward mobility and primary structural decline have not been simultaneous and movements seeking upward

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mobility have generally been “unsuccessful”. The movement of workers from manual to non-manual positions and vice versa has not been crucially significant because of the conspicuously low rate of industrialisation. Structurally speaking, the most significant perhaps are the changes resulting in the decline of a section of the erstwhile landed aristocracy. At the same time, the same institutional changes have also resulted in the upgrading of peasant proprietors and big tenants on the one hand and the pauperisation of the poor peasants and village functionaries on the other (Kotovsky 1964; Joshi 1971; Saith and Tankha 1972). Thus these changes do not necessarily ensure a reduction in inequalities. This is what we call unintended secondary decline. Domain-specific decline could also be related to differential resource ownership. Socio-cultural upward mobility demands a different set of means and resources than what upward occupational or economic mobility would require. The effectiveness of these institutional changes is minimised when there is no substantial difference between the magnitude of downward decline and that of mobility taking place at a given time and when the operational norms too at the upper level continue to be the same. Thus, because of differential prerequisites for mobility in different spheres, it is quite possible to find a group which is not capable of moving up in one sphere, but is capable of upward movement in another domain. We have also evidence to prove that the affluent peasants are those who were big tenants and who enjoyed security of land in the past. Thus, a complex of factors in diverse forms constitutes the existential background of downward mobility. Jagirdari and Zamindari were two systems of land tenure the abolition of which affected differentially the people under these systems. Jagirs constituted bigger estates than the Zamindaris. Jagirs were granted to certain military commanders, ministers and courtiers by the state chiefs or princes. The grantees appropriated the revenue for their own support or that of a military force which they were bound to maintain. Thus, the Jagirdar was an intermediary between the tiller and the state, but for all practical purposes he acted as the master of his Jagir not only in relation to the tenants but also in relation to the entire people under his command. ‘Charge’ lands were Zamindari lands. A person appointed to manage the tract under his influence was designated as the land-holder or the Zamindar of his territory. The duty of such a Zamindar was strictly to collect revenue and retain only his sanctioned share of the total revenue.

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The Jagirdar was the sole owner of his estate, and generally the jurisdiction of a Jagir spread over several villages. There were a number of Zamindars (particularly in ‘severality villages’) in the same village who shared the benefits accruing to them from the Zamindari system. On the other hand, a Jagirdar used to manage his land through Zamindars and a ‘formal bureaucratic’ organisation, i.e. the Jagirdar had several Zamindars as his grantees. The Jagirdar had to pay only a fixed amount as tribute to the king, and he was free to manage his Jagir in his own way. Thus, the systems of Jagirdari and Zamindari were different on the basis of their size, resources, rights and privileges. The diverse nature of the Jagirdari and Zamindari systems affected differentially the rural class structure in the two types of villages as a result of the abolition of these systems. Several Zamindars shared land on the basis of their ‘charge’ right or kinship status. Therefore, size of their landholdings was quite small even before the abolition. The small size of the landholding made it possible for them to retain the major portions in their own accounts by claiming for themselves a self-cultivating status at the time of the abolition. The situation in the case of the Jagirdar was different. He was the sole owner of his estate and, therefore, only he was affected by the abolition (though several retainers were also affected and perhaps much more than the Jagirdar). The number of substantial beneficiaries in the Zamindari villages (in many ‘severality villages’) was quite insignificant. But the number of substantial beneficiaries in the Jagirdari villages was quite significant. The Jagirdar being the sole owner of the land could retain only a small fraction of it at the time of the abolition. Consequently, a number of tenants received land rights due to the abolition. However, the big tenants were benefitted more than the small and marginal ones.3 It was found in our study of six villages in Rajasthan (Sharma 1968) that in some villages Rajputs, Brahmins and Jats who were Zamindars before the abolition, cannot now support themselves on the meagre or uneconomic landholdings they have retained after the abolition and, consequently, they have to work as manual and agricultural labourers. The retainers and the Zamindars under the Jagirdars were left with uneconomic holdings. They could not seriously anticipate the gravity of the abolition and, therefore, did not eject their tenants. Secondly, their dependence upon the Jagirdars was so much that they could not think of their independent existence after the abolition. In fact, they associated

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their existence with that of the Jagirdar. The number of such sufferers is, however, quite small. Some of the Rajputs who are impoverished today work as manual and agricultural labourers either on the construction sites or on the farms of the rich peasants who are lower to them in caste hierarchy. Recently (December 1972) the author found in one of the six villages that a Rajput who enjoyed social prestige was working as a labourer on the famine relief-work site alongwith the ex-untouchable labourers. Some other Rajputs have been working as labourers for a decade or so. Some Brahmins Gujars and other clean caste persons were also working as labourers. In 1965–66, about 15 families of ex-Zamindars were engaged in manual activities in these six villages. We may add here that none of these poor ex-Zamindar families worked as wage-labourers before the abolition of Zamindari system. However, some of them were partly absentee landlords and partly self-cultivators and worked casually on their farms in the capacity of owner-cultivators. Similarly the positions of Jagirdars and some big Zamindars have declined considerably. The Jagirdars of the two of the six villages owned lacs of bighas of land before the abolition, and had jurisdiction over a number of villages. After the abolition, they have not only slided down socially, politically and juridically but their economic position too has declined enormously as they do not own land now even half a per cent of what they owned in the past. But they are still better-off than even the richest peasants in these villages. The processes of mobility affect differentially the various sections of the rural society. Those who have moved up affect negatively those who could not do so. Earlier the landowners were at the top of class hierarchy; now the ex-landowner-cum-cultivators and ex-tenant-cum-proprietors are at the top of it. The studies by Saith and Tankha, Kotovsky and Joshi reveal that the agrarian system has changed from the feudalistic to the commercial and the capitalist type. This change has led to the ruination of the working peasants further. It has been noted (Singh 1969: 352–64) that as a result of the Zamindari abolition the Zamjndars initially stayed away from statutory village Panchayats. But later on they found that the statutory Panchayat could be a forum through which they could exert some influence and exercise their power. So this led to heightened tensions and conflicts between the Zamindars and the climbers. Since the Zamindars still

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owned major resources they were able to get control over statutory Panchayats. But the shock of the ‘withdrawal of status respect’ produced, especially among the Jagirdars, apathy and withdrawal from village polity, decision-making and welfare activities (Sharma 1968). In one village, to a Jagirdar who had ruled over a dozen revenue villages, the rough and tumble of village politics seemed to be too degrading for involvement. The Jagirdar’s tendency to withdraw, thus, allowed the rich peasants to rise without a confrontation. In another village the Jagirdar was unanimously elected Sarpanch for two consecutive terms, but he did not take any interest in the village affairs, and stayed away at Jaipur. People started criticising him for his lack of interest in village activities. When he came to know about this criticism, he withdrew from Panchayat elections for the third term, but asked one of his subordinates to contest. The nominee of the Jagirdars was defeated with a big margin by a Jat candidate. Thereafter the Jagirdar completely withdrew from village politics. It may be noted that, as compared to the Jagirdar, the Zamindar was closer, in terms of social status, to the peasant proprietors; and the abolition of intermediary tenures reduced the gap still further. Consequently, the political arena has now numerous contestants, exZamindars as well as new peasant proprietors. We have already made it clear that domain-specific decline has been pronounced in the case of the depressed and lower castes. These castes aspired for higher status generally within the caste hierarchy. The upper castes frustrated their efforts and they also lost their traditional occupations and found themselves in a state of under-employment and hardships. The other effect is the bifurcation of these castes into ‘deviants’ and ‘conformists’. Those who conformed to the new norms were deviants but since they constituted the majority, they claimed higher status; those on the other end who conformed to the traditional norms were a minority and were labelled as conservative and given a lower status as they were still associated with degrading styles of life and occupation. The barbers decided to discard cleaning of defiled plates which was a part of their traditional obligations. They, however, retained other activities including hair-cutting. All the barbers did not abide by this decision. This created another sub-caste of barbers. Those barbers who conformed to the traditional norms received more patronage now than before. On the other hand, those barbers who conformed to the new

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norms had to face economic hardships due to the displeasure of the patrons as a result of this change. Some of the families, however, silently carried on the traditional activities though overtly they claimed that they had left these polluting activities (Sharma 1968). Similarly, the Balais (leather-workers) tried in vain to elevate their status by imitating Brahmanical customs and practices. They gave up leather-work, disposal of carcass and colouring of raw-hides, etc. As in the case of the barbers, this led to a division among the Balais. They also had to face acute difficulties like the barbers and perhaps much more because of their greater dependence upon the upper castes. Their meagre lands were not adequate for their livelihood. Under-employment resulting from their move compelled them to migrate to the cities in search of employment as construction labourers. The Regars (leather-workers) took to leather work fifteen years ago when the Balais left their callings. Recently, however, they have discarded working with leather. The Regars protested against the atrocities of the patrons (particularly Jats) saying that they exploited them even more than was done by the ex-zamindars. The Movement to discard these obligations spread during 1971–72 from Rajasthan to Delhi, Haryana and parts of Western Uttar Pradesh. They were harassed by the Jajmans and even beaten up at many places during the period. For about six months they stuck to their own decision. Within this small period they had to face difficulties of employment and alienation. After about six months they returned to their original position. Unlike the Balais, none of the Regars came to Delhi before this incident. Drought has further accentuated the consequences of discarding traditional occupational obligations. This is a very short period to establish the existence of downward mobility. This shows that the system does not allow upward mobility to certain sections of society in a given context. It also becomes clear that the Regars were successful in discarding their occupations but could not stick to their decision. The pains of coming down economically could not be borne by them and, therefore, they retreated to their original position. The other castes who left their traditional obligations and had to lose some economic support include Brahmins, Naiks, (ex-untouchables) and Meenas (watchmen). Domain-specific decline has really been demoralising for the affected groups and individuals particularly when they had to revert to

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their original positions. Firstly, they were harassed when they left the traditional and Jajmani obligations and, secondly, their persecution increased when they, accepting the supremacy of the Jajmans or patrons, retreated to their original position. Such a mobility has also resulted in a heightened sense of insecurity. Migration became inevitable in many cases when the sanskritized groups and individuals did not revert to their traditional position.

Concluding Remarks Downward social mobility is a complex process involving social, economic, cultural and motivational factors, and occurs in different contexts and forms. We have made a distinction between domain-specific decline and generalised decline. Generalised decline could be further categorised into structural decline and positional decline. Structural decline consists of primary structural decline and secondary structural decline. Our scheme takes note of direct as well as indirect consequences of the structural changes on the affected persons, families and groups. Positional decline can be defined as decline of an individual or a group from one social position to another. Such a decline does not involve a change of principles of the structure. All generalised mobility is related to normative pressure. Domain-specific decline is not a part of generalised decline. It takes place often as a negative consequence of mobility, but is not coercive because retreat to the original position is possible. Downward mobility lends greater fludity to the social structure than upward mobility. We have’ noted that different land tenure systems and their abolition have affected differentially the people under these systems. In the case of the Zamindars downward mobility has been less compared to the Jagirdars. But the ex-Jagirdars still occupy dominant economic position. The abolition, that is, the withdrawal of status respect, has led to their detachment from village politics. The Zamindars have, however, emerged as potential rivals to the emerging peasant proprietors. Again, as a result of the abolition some sections of the people have gone up and others have come down in social hierarchy. Both unequally and equally placed people have been affected differentially by the same measure. Domain-specific decline is generally a consequence of upward mobility. It is a characteristic feature of the depressed and lower castes who try to ‘go up by discarding certain traditional occupations and obligations.

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Notes 1. I am grateful to Dr. Satish Saberwal for his valuable comments on earlier drafts of this paper. His comments, in fact, led to rewriting of this paper. I am also thankful to Dr. T. K. Oommen, Mr. C. N. Venugopal and Professor Yogendra Singh for their suggestions. The responsibility for errors that might have remained is entirely mine. 2. This diagrammatic presentation has been suggested by Dr. Satish Saberwal. 3. Similar observation has been made by P. C. Joshi (1971) in terms of differential transfer of landholdings as a result of land reforms in the Zamindari and ryotwari areas. The latter had peasant proprietors and the former consisted of absentee landowners. Therefore, the distribution of land as a result of the abolition among the tenants has been much more in Zamindari areas than the ryotwari areas. We would say that in Jagirdari areas the impact of the abolition has been still greater due to the reasons discussed in this paper.

References Ahmad, Imtiaz. 1971. “Caste Mobility Movements in North India”, The Indian Economic and Social History Review. Vol. 8, No. 2. Bailey, F. G. 1957. Caste and the Economic Frontier, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Feldman, Arnold S. 1960. “Economic Development and Social Mobility”, Economic Development and Cultural Change, Vol. 8, No. 3. Hagen, Everett E. 1962. On the Theory of Social Change. (An adaptation), Bombay: Vakils, Feffer and Simons (Pvt.) Ltd. Harper, Edward B. 1968. “Social Consequences of an “Unsuccessful” Low Caste Movement”, James Silverberg (ed) Social Mobility in the Caste System In India. The Hague: Mouton. Joshi, P. C. 1971. “Agrarian Social Structure and Social Change”, Delhi: Institute of Economic Growth. (Mimeographed; this is a revised version of the paper which was originally published in Sankhya, Series B, Vol. 31, parts 3 and 4, 1969). Kotovsky, Grigory. 1964. Agrarian Reforms in India. New Delhi: People’s Publishing House. Lipset, S. M. and Zetterberg, Hans L. 1970 “A Theory of Social Mobility”, R. Bendix and S. M. Lipset (ed.) Class, Status and Power. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Lynch, O. M. 1968. “The Politics of Untouchability, A case from Agra, India”, Milton Singer and Bernard Cohn (ed.) Structure and Change in Indian Society. Chicago: Aldine Publishing Co. Miller, S. M. 1969. “Comparative Social Mobility”, Celia, Heller H. (ed.) Structural Social Inequality. New York: The Macmillan Company. Panikkar, K. M. 1967. Hindu Society At Cross Roads. (3rd edn.) Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Rowe, William 1968. “The New Chauhans: A Caste Mobility Movement in North India”, James Silverberg (ed.) Social Mobility in the Caste System in India. The Hague: Mouton. Saberwal, Satish. 1972. “Status, Mobility and Network in a Panjabi Industrial Town”, Satish Saberwal (ed.) Beyond The Village. Simla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study. Saith, Ashwani and Tankha, Ajay 1973. “Agrarian Transition and the Differentiation of the Peasantry: A Study of a West U. P. Village” Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. VII, No. 14.

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Sanyal, S. and Roy Burman, B. K. 1970. Social Mobility Movements Among Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes of India. New Delhi: Govt. of India Publications. Sharma, K. L. 1968. The Changing Rural Stratification System: A Comparative Study of Six Villages in Rajasthan, (Un-published Ph.D. Dissertation). Jaipur: University of Rajasthan. ———. 1970a. “Modernisation and Rural Stratification: An Application at the MicroLevel”, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. V, No. 37. ———. 1970b. “Changing Class Stratification in Rural Rajasthan” Man in India, Vol. 50, No. 3. Singh, Yogendra 1969. “Social Structure and Panchayats”, M. V. Mathur and Iqbal Narain (ed.) Panchayati Raj, Planning And Democracy, Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Sorokin, P. A. 1964. Social and Cultural Mobility. London: The Free Press of Glencoe. Srinivas, M. N. 1966. Social Change in Modern India. Bombay: Allied Publishers. Stein, Burton 1968. “Social Mobility and Medieval South Indian Hindu Sects”, James Silverberg (ed.) Social Mobility in the Caste System in India. The Hague: Mouton.

20 Dimensions of Agrarian Structure and Change: Issues in Theory1 Pradip Kumar Bose

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hree dominant sociological approaches in analyzing agrarian social structure in India are: (i) the approach which regards ‘tradition’ as an intrinsic element of and conceptual referent in the study of structure (Singh, 1986); (ii) the approach using ‘natural’, ‘native’, or ‘indigenous’ categories as providing basic analytical tools in the study of social structure and (iii) the approach adopting concepts drawn from established Marxian, Weberian or even Durkheimian sociological traditions. In the first approach ‘tradition’ as variously interpreted is central to the issue. Dumont’s (1970) analysis of caste system is in a way his coming to terms with the Indian tradition. While the concept of ‘tradition’ drew our attention to the Indian identity in sociology, at a theoretical level, a more rigorous analysis of this concept still remains to be done. ‘Tradition’ intends to ascribe a special temporal status to a group of phenomena that are both successive and identical or similar. It makes continuous what is essentially discontinuous and links dispersions in the past by identifying similarities and by reducing the differences thereby enabling us to isolate the ‘new’ and the ‘present’ against a background of permanence. It is crucial to note that ‘tradition’ is an

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intentionally selective version of a shaping past and a pre-shaped present, which is then powerfully operative in the process of social and cultural definition and identification. At the heart of sociological writings on tradition is the notion of ideology. However, the ideology of the sociology of tradition still remains to be investigated. A different set of ideological problems is encountered in the second approach which focuses on categories indigenous to the society being studied. Thus Beteille asserts that “at least as a first step, we have to look into Indian society itself in order to identify categories appropriate for a description of its class structure” (1974: 48). Beteille acknowledges that the analysis of indigenous categories has been dominated by studies of caste, but he argues that “the native categories of the Indian villager, the categories in terms of which he thinks and acts, are not exhausted by caste” (1974: 49). Indian villagers make use of “certain broadly economic categories” which may properly be regarded as “categories of the class type” (1974: 126). While the problems of caste-based studies of rural structure has to be taken up separately, the appeal of other indigenous categories derives from the assumption that the indigenous terms that people use to define their social universe and to identify themselves and their relations with others, are immediately relevant and crucial. However people’s images of their society are commonly ideological; that is, they may not only reflect, but also distort, the underlying structure of their relations. It is not to be assumed that indigenous categories constitute either an accurate or a comprehensive representation of social reality. Moreover it still remains confusing, whether the aim of such an approach is to present the native ordering of the social world, or to go beyond and construct explanatory models of a system of orderliness imposed by people on their social world. Simply native ordering does not take us very far, except adding one additional step in the comprehension of pre-existing reality. As the view that positions in the secular oraer (the class system) are indistinguishable from positions in the sacred or ritual order (the caste and varna systems) came to be gradually challenged by sociologists, the need for an independent class analysis began to be felt. The identity of the two orders connoted by terms such as ‘status summation’, ‘role summation’, ‘many stranded’, ‘manifold’ and ‘multiple stratification’ (Sanwal, 1976) is seen as problematic. The rise of social class struggles and conflict in rural areas provided evidence of disharmony in the social structure. (Gough, 1970; Singh, 1970).

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Questions regarding ‘points of domination’ of capitalist social relations in agrarian structure, as exemplified by the mode of production debate in India influenced class analyses (Rudra, 1969; Patnaik, 1971a, 1971b, 1972; Chattopadhyay, 1972a, 1972b; Banaji, 1972; McEachern, 1976). The debate attempted to isolate the ‘points of domination’, in the agrarian structure where the development of commodity relations occurred under colonialism. It drew attention to the role of merchant capital and usurers’ capital in intensifying commodity relations in the colonial social formation. This insight inspired analyses of the mechanism by which these ‘antediluvian’ forms of capital subjugated direct producers. Here different levels of analysis have generated radically divergent conclusions. Proponents of the view that circulation capital acquired new functions under the colonial system give importance to the ‘context’ of production created by the ‘international connection’ between the colonial economy and the imperialist capitalist centre. Other contributors note this connection but attach greater weight to relations at the level of production within the rural sector and agriculture production units. The difference over the appropriate level of analysis leads, inevitably, to wide disagreements on the criteria of capitalist production and the significance of generalized commodity production. At the village level, sociologists using the framework of mode of production attempted analysis of agrarian social structure in terms of classes (Mencher, 1974; Djurfeldt and Lindberg 1975; Patnaik, 1976; Bardhan, 1982; Harriss, 1982; Bose, 1984). Two different approaches in class analysis can be distinguished in these attempts: distributional and structural. The distributional approach is dependent on the association between people and things and on the basis of quantitative differences in the distribution of things, people are assigned to different classes. Since classification remains arbitrary and ad hoc in this approach, it does not contain within itself any explicit directives for the historical analysis of class dynamics. The complexities of landholding pattern and intricacies of production relations in agriculture lead many sociologists to adopt a much simpler technique and select criteria that are typically distributional. Among them one that is most commonly adopted is the amount of land owned. Thorner points out the difference between proprietors and working peasants in terms of their respective labour contribution but concludes by claiming that “the chief distinguishing feature [between them] is the amount of land held” (1976: 31). Mencher

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(1978) in a similar vein, begins by making a number of structural distinctions between landlord, farmers, traditional landlords and capitalist landlords, etc. These structural distinctions, however, are used not to analyze relations within and between classes, but as descriptive labels for strata that are in fact separated by distributional criteria, specifically by the amount of land held. The analytical tactic of substitution, in particular the replacement of class distinctions based on the social relations of production by distributional features with which they are in some measure correlated has serious consequences. It subordinates the theoretical holism of the structural approach to the conveniences of empirical description, and confines the analysis within an essentially stratigraphic and atomistic framework that presents a class simply as the aggregate of all those individuals who find themselves in similar circumstances. The structuralist insistence that classes are fundamentally defined in relation to one another is, in effect, abandoned. Structural studies focus on social relations, particularly as these relations are related to differential control over the means of production. Along with landed property, labour contribution is the other basic feature that structuralists use to differentiate agrarian classes; the theoretical orientation also assumes that major classes are opposed to one another. Empirically class distinctions are made in terms of hiring-in and hiring-out of labour relative to self-employment along with criteria such as possession of means of production and economic viability. Since such studies of classes confine themselves to villages, intravillage configurations of classes, inequalities, conflicts and contradictions came out quite sharply in these studies, but they cannot comprehend the social totality, the relationships between the village and outside, the peasants and the state, power structure and the peasant classes. Studies on power as such are again confined to villages and are explicated in terms of dominant caste. In others it is banished from the domain of investigation by making power subordinate to ritual status (the religious domain). The structure of classes is of course a pattern of unequal relationships and to that extent it is also a relationship of dominance and dependence, and power is an important constituting element in this analysis. Power at the village level, however, is different from power transcending villages and power as manifested in the state. The structure and institutionalisation of power outside the realm of villages still remains to be integrated into the sociological studies of

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agrarian structure to bring out a fuller exposition of the degree of economic exploitation and political dominance. These questions become more relevant in the context of recent farmers’ agitations in various parts of India. At a theoretical level the question of hegemonic practice and articulation has to be established in terms of class division. If class identity is established at the level of relations of production, the theoretical question is how to conceive of its presence at other levels: Should one view it as one of exteriority adopting the form of “representation of interests” making politics the superstructure? Or can one discard the “representation of interest” and formulate specific theoretical conditions of a class-embedded conception of hegemony? Change has been conceived mainly in terms of specific orientation of analysis. Social structure modelled on ‘tradition’ searched for ‘modern’ or modernizing elements in structure over time. Caste-based studies investigate alterations in ritual practices and status, while studies on class are mostly based on certain universalistic paradigms, which imply increasing polarization in the structure. The petty commodity producer tends to disappear; capitalist relations of production develop involving an agrarian bourgeoise and a rural proletariat. The polarization of the rural class structure will arise via differentiation of the peasantry. The scenario that we witness, however, is a more complex one and suggests, partial and incomplete nature of agrarian transition, where family labour farms have persisted. The modest rise of agricultural labourer households from about 25 per cent of all rural households in 1956–57 to about 30 per cent in 1977–78 does not really justify the thesis of proletarianization envisaged by the paradigm. The profit in capitalist agriculture can be derived from: (a) greater productivity of land; (b) a protected market and (c) a depressed wagelevel which can originate from surplus wage-labour or from a sizeable poor peasantry. Since India can be characterized in terms of the last two alternatives, development along the lines envisaged by the paradigm is to that extent complicated. Further complications are introduced by the fact that the agrarian ownership structure can be controlled and manipulated politically. The possibility of reproducing these conditions for capitalist development depends then on the political representation of the dominant agrarian class and its alliances with other classes. When capitalism expands and penetrates rural areas, the dominant classes will attempt to establish the political, legal, and ideological forms necessary

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for its functioning and stability. In this process they will encounter ideological practices which originated in social relations now subordinate to capitalism. To explain the situation some have introduced the concept of ‘ideological articulation’ which allows for a dynamic and historical analysis because it does not assume that the disappearance of non-capitalist ideological practices is a pre-condition for modernization. In India agrarian capitalism has not yet successfully incorporated nor effectively eliminated all earlier ideological practices. Furthermore, it can be argued that all these ideological practices need not necessarily be eliminated for capitalism to succeed. Ideology of caste still remains a dominant constituent in the system of meanings through which rural people often interpret the world which seem to give coherence to the totality of relationship. In this sense ideology cannot be excluded from a proper comprehension of the process of class formation. The explanation of forms of symbolic domination making people participate in their own repression, is necessary to comprehend the constitution of class formation in India. In other words, both economic and ideological aspects of articulation of the peasantry and capitalism is called for because the problems of ‘selective tradition’ and consciousness are very much linked with the problems of analysis and transformation of rural structure.

Planned Agrarian Change The rationale behind the planned change was the ‘modernizing’ approach adopted in the post-colonial state, substantiated by the arguments of ‘spirit of the age’ and ‘scientism’. In agriculture, the earlier theories which maintained that lack of land reforms, ignorance of appropriate agriculture practices and the persistence of obsolete social structure were responsible for low agricultural productivity were abandoned in favour of a strategy of technological modernization. Emphasis shifted from ‘major’ to ‘minor’ irrigation works. Adequate provision of credit, use of chemical fertilizers and of electricity and diesel for energy and the adoption of fertilizer sensitive hybrid varieties of seeds for food grain cultivation were included in the package to promote technological modernization (Chakravarty, 1987). Considerable research has been done on the social effects of green revolution though much of it is contradictory. There are some who have

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argued, somewhat optimistically, that the rural poor are not worse-off than before, because the effects of agricultural modernization percolates to the bottom. And when this process of percolation is arrested, agricultural labourers get organized and demand better wages and living conditions, thereby benefitting from the process (Oommen, 1971, 1975). Epstein on the contrary concludes that the important result is that rich have grown richer and poor have become poorer (1978: 142–82). As against the thesis of greater bargaining power of rural labour resulting from the percolation effects, some have commented that with the imperfect labour market conditions in India, the bargaining power of the rural labour is more apparent than real (Bardhan, 1984: 38–59). That the green revolution accelerated the process of proletarianization though argued by some (Dhanagare, 1988) is not accepted by others (Omvedt, 1988). It is also shown that the use of certain types of capital goods, such as diesel and electric pumpsets have increased substantially, along with the use of tractors to a lesser extent. But as Sen points out, as much of this capital was ‘land-esque’ rather than ‘labour-esque’, labour displacement has not occurred to the extent predicted (Sen, 1960). The assumption of scale-neutrality of green revolution techniques and inputs has also been challenged by showing that the better-off farmers have derived greater benefits than the poor ones. While the results of planned agricultural change seems to be varied and contradictory, what is certain is that the conditions of the agricultural labourer have not improved substantially even though agriculture achieved better growth rates. The demand for better wages and living conditions by labourers has often led to the importation of labour from outside the region as we shall see in the next section. While the impact of green revolution on various sections of the peasantry has been investigated, its effect on the changing relationship of the peasantry to the state and to capital is not as well known. In other words, while the development in agriculture is affecting relationships in the village, the peasants are increasingly drawn into the market and are encountering fluctuations in prices influenced by policies formulated by the nation state. The relationship between the peasant and the state is becoming more problematic and turbulent day-by-day. The expansion of capitalist relationship in Indian agriculture also has to be judged keeping in mind that capitalist accumulation though not insignificant, has not produced the kind of universalization process

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that is usually assigned to it by sociologists and planners. As a result, the heterogeneity of social actors is conceptually reduced to homogeneous ‘economic man’ (Sen, 1989). However, communitarian relationship, though vulnerable to co-option within the capitalist order, often poses challenges to that order. The problem is both theoretical and empirical in the sense that it revolves around conceptualisation of the social actors in an uneven structure. In fact, implicit in the idea of planned development is the uneven nature of the process affecting individuals, sectors, regions and nations at uneven rates. This is contrary to the view that ‘modernization’ is both beneficial and inevitable in the specific form of capitalist development that it has taken in India. Contributions to growing critical literature on the process of capitalist accumulation highlight how, for instance, women’s loss of status results from the interweaving of relations in production and gender relations in reproduction—from the changes in women’s work and in the forms of their subordination (Beneria and Sen, 1981; Mies, 1980). It is a system which making use of existing gender hierarchies places women in subordinate positions at each level of interaction between class and gender. If then the sphere of production can make use of pre-existing gender hierarchies, what is needed is a complementary analysis of these relations that both generate and condition the dynamics of gender systems. More generally the question to be explored is to what extent the state supports the consolidation of surplus extracting mechanism through the extension of the market, credit institutions and through fiscal measures without really transforming the pre-capitalist forms of labour exploitation in surplus extraction. A related question that needs investigation is whether continued basis of the power of the state lies in extending its democratic basis or in deepening its control through the means of bureaucratic centralisation and the manipulation of ‘mobilization’ mechanisms such as elections, co-option of opposition leaders and the like. In fact the nature of the problem is well known: low rates of capital formation, low level of development of productive forces at home, and therefore low labour productivity, and the difficulties of transforming agrarian production while retaining the sources of stable political support for the nationalist leadership running the post-colonial state. The framework of the analysis of such problems has to put the state and the varying socio-historical contexts in which it operates at the centre of analysis.

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Variants of strategies of change discussed above are to view change in terms of theories of modernization, regard change as immanent in rural structure itself or view it as the resultant of exogenous influences. The framework of ‘modernization’ in the planning process assumed that there is but one given direction in which the economy must move—the direction of rapid industrialization. This pre-determined path of capitalist development would take care of all problems of transition in a post-colonial agrarian society like India. It is now being increasingly realised that not only are there varying paths of capitalist development but also there are certain historical limits to capitalist development.

Migration, ‘Informal Sector’ and the Rural-Urban Nexus The question of migration raises a number of interlinked theoretical and empirical issues which require urgent and indepth analysis. In studies on migration the focus on the ‘pull’ factor obviously draws our attention to changes taking place at the destination area, but equally important are the ‘push’ factors in the place of origin. That is, factors such as land alienation, relative poverty, population pressure, quality of living standards, social differentiation and penetration of the market economy are closely linked to migration. The significant question in the case of rural-rural migration could be on how capitalist relations in agriculture have developed a mechanism to regulate the seasonal and annual movement of labour over long distances. Social differentiation of peasantry and migration of labour both could be linked to this overall process of development. A conventional and rather simplistic explanation of labour migration is in terms of demand and supply. It is often argued that the determinants of migration are factors like increased labour intensity of new cropping patterns, absorption of the labouring class in expanding non-agricultural employment, unsatisfactory performance of local labourers, etc. The problem here is not only that this approach assumes shortage of labour as the cause of migration, but also neglects social relations and power relations in shaping migration. For instance, studies show that labourers from outside are brought in not to counter shortage in the area of destination but to create a surplus and fragment the labour market so as to exercise

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greater control over local labour, reduce the wage level and weaken the bargaining position of the local landless (Breman, 1985). The migrants who work in a strange environment can be more easily controlled; they lack social identity in the work place and a contractual relationship can be easily developed with them. In this sense recruitment of migrants is in consonance with the structure and functioning of the labour market. A corollary of demand-supply approach is the approach which proclaims that migration is a consequence of income differences at the two ends, and assumes that the decision to migrate is taken by individuals after rationally weighing the costs and benefits. The extent to which these assumptions are applicable in a situation of extreme scarcity, where migration is a question of survival needs examination. A related question is whether the unit of decision-making is the individual or the household which distributes the available labour in the family to spread risks in different spheres of activity. In some other theories it is assumed that mobility is always from the ‘traditional’ to the ‘modern’ sector, and those who migrate from villages to urban areas are less traditional and act as ‘change agents’ when they go back to the villages. In this scheme, migration is equated with urbanization and modernization which result in rural development. So people’s ‘willingness’ or ‘preference’ to leave the village, is favoured by such modernization theories, which assume a static, passive and backward rural population. How far do such theories reflect the reality? The mobility model, often very simple and naive, assumes that unskilled workers who migrate to the town first drift into “urban traditional sector” and subsequently move to jobs in the “modern sector” (Todaro, 1969: 138–149). In other words, small-scale, labour-intensive activities act as buffer zones and absorb the floating labour force. This approach transforms the rural migrant into a passive being whose mobility is laid out in a completely mechanistic pattern. In reality, however, access to employment operates at different levels depending on skill, education, socio-economic background and availability or lack of protection. As Breman points out: Under otherwise equal conditions, determinants of a high ranking in the rural systems are converted into advantages over other categories of migrants who, conversely, see their former backward position within the village continued in the urban environment. In the second place, the idea that in the town it is possible to progress to better paid and more highly qualified work is largely

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fictional. Those who join the lower ranks of the urban labour system usually remain there, and even horizontal movement is limited. Shortage of work and limited chances to accumulate any capital or to invest in any formal education, can lead to a position of defensiveness in which one’s accustomed sphere of activity is protected as much as possible and entrance to it is restricted to those who can appeal to particularistic loyalties-although the success in doing so may vary (1980: 19).

A related but important aspect of the planned change in the agrarian social structure is the nature of rural-urban interface. Contradictions generated by agrarian transformation are reflected in the emerging pattern of the country-town nexus. For a long time however the unexpected and tremendous urban population growth remained solely a demographic issue and urban studies were largely based on the methodology of social surveys without showing any sensitivity towards organic linkages within the city social systems or country-city inter-relationships (Singh, 1988). This obviously resulted from the prevailing notion of village as a ‘closed-system’ and consequently town or city as an autonomous unit of investigation. Urbanisation in most of these studies proceeded from the premise that cities in the third world are specific analogues of the contemporary modern towns in general and the external factors play a decisive role in the development of the city. Quite consistently with this view, Manuel Castells suggested the term “dependent urbanisation”. However, the problem is not that external factors have no role in this regard, but the need to analyze the specific combination of internal and external factors. Hence the problem should be what type of society causes urbanisation under the influence of specific external stimuli. Cities have become places where the ‘fruits’ of primary accumulation are concentrated; where there are large sections of early capitalist economy, and where foreign and local monopolies and state economic organisations are also evident. This motley pattern caused by the simultaneous existence of different types of pre-capitalist and varying capitalist social institutions has shaped and continues to shape all aspects of urban communities, primarily their class structure. It is for such reasons that employment and unemployment in the cities present such a varied picture-the significant factor being that a sizeable section of the labour masses of urban dwellers is associated with primitive or long-obsolete types of productive forces and work organisation. This has given prominence to another set of conceptual duality—informal and

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formal sectors—which is no different from other dualistic divisions like ‘modern’ and ‘traditional’, ‘organised’ and ‘unorganised’, etc., and like its predecessors fails to reflect the complex basis of urban society and rural-urban linkages. ‘Informal sector’ is located at the interstice of rural-urban interface resulting from migration and labour mobility. As Peter Lloyd (1982) noted, the growing informal sector appears because the urban formal sector was unable to absorb the waves of migration. The formal sector is taken to mean wage labour in permanent employment, internally well-organised labour whose working conditions are protected by law. Economic activities which do not meet these criteria are then bundled under the term informal sector, a catch word covering a considerable range of economic activities. Often the inadequacy of this description is compensated by a somewhat arbitrary listing of those activities that meets the eye in a third world city. The concept is taken to cover everything that does not belong to the formal sector and this gives the distinction a tautological character. In short, the dualism in terms of formal-informal is largely untenable, a more realistic position would be to distinguish the spheres of activity in terms of diverse articulated production relations which can be found within the economic system in varying degrees and gradations. Conceptualisation of informal sector gets muddled not simply because of the impossibility of demarcating its activities as an isolated sector of urban economy, but also because of its association with concepts like “basic needs of the poorest strata”, “redistribution of income and growth”, the “crisis of cities”, etc., which demonstrate to what extent the criteria of division would be subject to control by the state. An important and related aspect of the rural-urban interface in both ‘formal’ and ‘informal’ sector is the nature of the working class. That the urban workers maintain their ties and interests and that the ties of language, caste, religion or region have survived is well known and documented. The primordial ties continue to play an important role in the division and unity of workers. There are, however, varied interpretations of this phenomenon. With the emergence of ‘articulation’ approach it has been argued that at the economic level, because of dependent development workers must continue to rely on subsistence production and thus ‘peasant-worker’ stage is prolonged. As a consequence, extended reliance on subsistence production leads to prolonged transition of

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‘peasant-workers’ who never become ‘true’ workers. This also means that the kinship patterns, occupational behaviour, and political activities of these wage workers are more like those of peasants than of workers (Lake, 1981). This is an empiricist approach which tries to overcome the explanatory problems regarding caste and religious ties of the working class, by just juxtaposing diverse elements as some kind of an algebraic sum. The articulation theory only describes the phenomenon of coexistence, does not really explain the reasons. A simpler explanation favoured by the Marxists is that the capitalist factory will transform the old particularistic ties of ‘peasant-workers’ into universalistic ties of class. Survival of primordial and particularistic ties and consciousness are explained away by blaming everything on colonialism. “In colony some specific features of exploitation as distinct from that in metropolitan country, impede the development of economic struggles of the workers and in consequence retard the growth of their class political consciousness” (Sen, 1977). This is an argument based on the universalistic paradigm. Moreover, though the link between skill and militancy is not self-evident, in the Indian case it is assumed to be so. Absence of artisan origins of the working class is regarded as the cause of its particularistic survivals. This is considered as the ‘missing factor’ in explaining the ‘weakness’ of the working class, as for instance Sarkar writes: “Organization among such an amorphous, undefined and generally unskilled labour force was a major problem especially as, unlike in England, this working class did not have any long-standing artisan origins with its own radical democratic traditions” (Sarkar, 1980: 158). This again points out the over dependence on the metropolitan country as the cause of the weakness of the working class. A different strategy is to recognise the interweaving of caste and class consciousness but explain this as a function of local circumstances. Thus Bhattacharya writes: “The interaction between the primordial and the new class loyalties (in Indian labour history) is subject to wide regional variations and fluctuations overtime determined by exogenous factors” (Chakrabarty, 1988: 26). This empiricist approach, in a different guise, however does not explain the question: “why this intertwining?” Yet another strategy is to show that primordial loyalties are linked with the organisation of labour market, where workers are recruited on the basis of religious, caste or village ties, since worker’s welfare depends on these ‘pre-modern’ ties, it is only ‘rational’ for the worker to value these ties (Chakrabarty, 1982; Joshi,

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1986). In other words, fragmented loyalties of the working class is explained in terms of fragmented labour market. This strategy, of course, begs the question, because if the structure and organisation of the labour market is responsible for the primordial ties of workers, then, in effect, the cause lies in the nature of industrialization which, perhaps followed a ‘distorted’ path a position similar to those who blamed colonialism and consequent ‘distortions’ while assuming a universalistic paradigm of history. The issue being raised here is that such blanket categories will not really be helpful in the analysis of the problem, which can be considered as a typical manifestation of rural-urban interface in the cultural sphere. The point is that such analytical procedures will fail to produce an anthropological or theoretical understanding of culture so long as we deal with notions of culture or consciousness as being exogenous to particular histories or cultures that are being studied.

Conclusion In this paper I have tried to focus on certain crucial aspects of structure, change, rural-urban interface and the theoretical problems arising out of the various ways sociologists have attempted to comprehend the process. The problems encompass both ideological and structural space. A sociological study attempts to locate similarities in various social formations, equally and above all, it will prove itself when it is able to restore the particularities, the specific differences, which give each social formation under consideration a singular essence. In the analysis of agrarian structure, on the one hand we are faced with conceptual and theoretical confusions, on the other with concepts which are partial, incomplete and often essentialist in nature. For instance, the concept of ‘tradition’ is always viewed as an absolute, without investigating its ideological contents; certain notions of agrarian classes conceal ideology, and may in some cases, distort the agrarian reality. The other theoretical problem with the analysis of classes in Indian sociology is the neglect of wider power relations and the question of hegemonic practice and articulation that is linked with the division of classes. At a theoretical level, the question arises as to how to conceive the articulation of classes beyond the regional boundaries. Should it be regarded simply as ‘representation of class interests’, that regards the

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structure of power as a ‘superstructure’, or should one formulate a concrete class-embedded conception of hegemony? In the context of expanding capitalism in agriculture, this leads to the question of the modus operandi of power: whether the continued basis of power would lie in expanding the democratic process or would it be expressed through the manipulation of mobilization mechanisms? The approach of viewing the village as a ‘closed system’ has raised a related set of problems. The conceptualisation of the different domains of reality arising out of rural-urban interaction faces problems similar to the ones mentioned above; the concept of ‘informal sector’ is one such example. In fact, the rural-urban interface cannot only throw light on the problem of migration, rural industry and class formation, but also is closely linked with the nature of urban workers’ consciousness. Finally, it must be added that the capitalist expansion and its penetration in the rural areas has not been uniformly and universally successful. It is not a smooth and irreversible process, but rather a convergence of contradictory forces. A more holistic approach provides us with a way to grasp the relationships and complex forms of articulation involving both persistence and destruction, reflecting a continuous dialectic between capitalism and other social formations.

Note 1. An earlier draft of this paper was presented as a working paper at the XIX Indian Sociological Congress at Hisar. I am grateful to Anjan Ghosh for bringing to my attention some of the sources used in this paper.

References Banaji, Jairus. 1972. “For a Theory of Colonial Modes of Production”. Economic and Political Weekly. (23). Bardhan, P.K. 1982. “Agrarian Class Formation in India”. Journal of Peasant Studies. October. ———. 1982. “Land, Labour and Rural Poverty: Essays in Development Economics. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Beneria, Lourdes and Gita Sen. 1982. “Accumulation, Reproduction and Women’s Role in Economic Development” Signs. 7 (2). Beteille, Andre. 1974. Studies in Agrarian Social Structure. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Bose, Pradip Kumar. 1984. Classes in a Rural Society. Delhi: Ajanta Publications.

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Breman, Jan. 1980. “The ‘Informal Sector’ in Research Theory and Practice”. Rotterdam: CASP III. ———. 1985. Of Peasants, Migrants and Paupers. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Chakrabarty, Dipesh. 1982. “Communal Riots and Labour: Bengal’s Jute Mill Hands in the 1890s”. Past and Present. (91). ———. 1988. “Class Consciousness and the Indian Working Class: Dilemmas of Marxist Historiography”, Journal of Asian and African Studies. 23 (1 and 2). Chakravarty, Sukhamoy. 1987. Development Planning: The Indian Experience. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Chattopadhyay, Paresh. 1972a. “On the Question of the Mode of Production in Indian agriculture”. Economic and Political Weekly. VII (13). ———. 1972b. “Mode of Production in Indian Agriculture: An Anti-Kritik”. Economic and Political Weekly. VII (14). Dhanagare, D.N. 1988. “The Green Revolution and Social Inequalities in Rural India”. Bulletin of Concerned Asian scltolars. 20 (2). Djurfeldt, G. and S. Lindberg. 1975. Behind Poverty: The Social Formation in a Tamil Village. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Dumont, Louis. 1970. Homo Hierarchicus. Delhi: Vikas Publishing House. Epstein, T. Scarlett. 1978. South India: Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow. London: Macmillan and Company. Gough, Kathleen. 1970. “Palakkara: Social and Religious Change in Central Kerala”, in K. Ishwaran (ed.) Change and Continuity in India’s Villages. New York: Columbia University Press. Harriss, John. 1982. Capitalism and Peasant Farming. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Joshi, Chitra. 1986. “Bonds of Community Ties of Religion: Kanpur Textile Workers in the Early Twentieth Century”. Indian Economic and Social History Review. 23 (3). Laite, J. 1981. Industrial Development and Migrant Labour. Austin: University of Texas Press. Lloyd, Peter. 1982. A Third World Proletariat? London: Allen and Unwin. McEachern, D. 1976. “The Mode of Production in India”. Journal of Contemporary Asia. 6. Mencher, Joan. 1974. “Problems in Analyzing Rural Class Structure”, Economic and Political Weekly. IX (35). ———. 1978. Agriculture and Social Structure in Tamil Nadu. New Delhi: Allied Publishers. Mies, Maria. 1980. “Capitalist Development and Subsistence Reproduction: Rural Women in India”. Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars. 12 (1). Omvedt, Gail. 1988. “The New ‘Peasant Movement’ in India”, Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars. 20 (2). Oommen, T.K. 1971. “Green Revolution and Agrarian Conflict”. Economic and Political Weekly, VI (26). ———. 1975. “Impact of Green Revolution on the Weaker Sections”, in Changing Agrarian Relations in India. Hyderabad: National Institute of Community Development, Seminar Paper. Patnaik, Utsa. 1971a. “Capitalist Development of Agriculture: A Note”. Economic and Political Weekly. VI (39). ———. 1971b. “Capitalist Development in Agriculture: A Further Comment”. Economic and Political Weekly. VI (52). ———. 1976. “Class Differentiation Within The Peasantry. An Approach to the Analysis of Indian Agriculture”. Economic and Political Weekly. XI (39). Rudra, Ashok. 1969. “Big Farmers in Punjab”. Economic and Political Weekly. IV (39).

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———. 1970. “In Search of Capitalist Farmer”. Economic and Political Weekly. V (26). Sanwal, R.D. 1976. Social Stratification in Rural Kumaon. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Sarkar, Tanika. 1980. “National Movement and Popular Protest in Bengal, 1928–1934”. Unpublished Ph.D. Thesis. University of Delhi. Sen, Amartya 1960. Choice of Techniques. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Sen, Ashok. 1989. “Limits of Economic Man’ ”. Occasional Paper No. 112. Calcutta: Centre for Studies in Social Sciences. Sen, Sukomal. 1977. Working Class of India. Calcutta: K.P. Bagchi. Singh, Yogendra. 1970. “Charukhera: Cultural Change in Eastern Uttar Pradesh” in K. Ishwaran (ed.). Change and Continuity in India’s Villages. New York: Columbia University Press. ———. 1986. “On the Social Conditioning of Indian Sociology”. Current Sociology. 34(2). ———. “Country-Town Nexus: Social Transformation in Contemporary Indian Society”. New Delhi: Jawaharlal Nehru University, Seminar Paper. Thorner, Daniel. 1976. The Agrarian Prospect in India. Delhi: Allied Publishers. Todaro, M.P. 1969. “A Model of labour Migration and Urban Unemployment in Less Developed Countries”. The American Economic Review. 59 (2).

Index

aesthetic culture of Indian rural society, 15–16 agrarian structure and change, xxxiii–xxxiv agrarian capitalism, 357–58 class system and rise of social class struggles, 354 distributional distinctions, 355 domination of capitalist social relations in, 355 ideological problems, 354 migration and, 361–66 mobility, in terms of, 362–65 mode of production, 355 ownership structure, 357–58 planned change, 358–61 power structure, 356–57 rural-urban interface and, 363–65 social relations, 356 sociological approaches in analyzing, 353–54 structural distinctions, 356 in terms of formal-informal sectors, 363–64 tradition v. modernity, 357 anti-Brahmin movements, 142 arena councils, 146 artistic craftsmanship, 16 Arya Samaj movement, 124 ascendent caste, 138

Bahujan Samaj Party (BSP), xxiii Basantpur village, 114 Bergram village Bhadralok–Chhotolok categories, 99–100 caste distribution in, 97–98 caste-wise landholding in, 102 division of castes, economic terms, 103 hierarchy of castes in, 99 layout of habitations, 96–97 Moslems, 101 non-agricultural occupations, 105 relation between Great Tradition and Little Tradition, 101 Bhadralok. See also Bhadralok–Chhotolok system of stratification connotation, 95 cultural pattern and mode of intergroup behaviour, 96 Bhadralok–Chhotolok system of stratification, xxvii–xxviii, 96 in agricultural work, 103–4 caste and position in power structure, 108 class and power, 102–8 economic relation, 104–7 land and work relations, 107 pattern of interaction, 109–10 ritual pollution, 109

INDEX Bharchakia village, 114 Bishrampur village, 114 bridge-action, xviii British India canal irrigation and land value, 24 caste system, changes in, 23 communication system, 36–37 cotton, development of, 22–23 effects of, 35–36 extension of economic network, 22–23 Namhalli village, economic and social changes in, 26–27 peasants of Wardha Valley, 23 uniform civil and criminal law, introduction of, 22 villages, economic and social changes in, 24–28 Western education, introduction of, 22, 36 caste in contemporary rural Bihar, xxviii, 115 agricultural farming, 116 institutional practices, 116 involved in business, 122 jajmani system, 123–36 non-government monthly paid services, 117–22 occupation, 116–23 services of purohits, paunis and Mahabrahmans, 126–31 types, 122–23 worshipping and rituals, 116 caste system, 12 ascendent caste, 138 caste, pure and impure, xix, 215–16, 233 caste as a hierarchy, xix caste dominance, 139 caste grouping, 12 caste lobbies, 139 dominant castes, 140

371 entrenched caste, 138 ideal-typical, 78–79 Kumbapettai village, 28 non-dominant castes, 140 pre-British India, 21–22 ranking of groups, 77 Chhotolok, connotation, 95. See also Bhadralok–Chhotolok system of stratification Chokhala, xxix alternative modes of social control, 185–86 boundaries of, 176–77 caste courts/caste council, 178–79 composition of guests in caste dinners, 185 council of elders, 177–78 defined, 175 group activities, 177 panchayats, functions of, 179–84 sub-divisions of a caste, 178 city life in India, 34 culture, role of, 34 Muslim invasion and, 34 city of heterogenetic transformation, 51–52 city of orthogenetic transformation, 51 codes for eating and cooking, 239–40 Community Development Programme, xxviii, xxxii–xxxiii, 155 cooperatives, 156, 166 country-town nexus, xx Dakala village, social stratification in. See rigidity-fluidity dimension of social stratification Dalit protests, xxx, 213–14 antagonism in Panchayat elections, 231–32 Chindu dance, 227 claim over sacred thread by the low castes and Untouchables, 226–27

372 covert revenge, 225–26 damaging the property of dominators, 225 incidents of retaliation, 230–31 narration of stories and song recitals, 228–30 ritual abuses, 227–28 shouting or abusing upper caste persons, 223 subversion or passive non-co-operation, 224–25 withdrawal, 230 decentralization, 47 Devigarh village, social stratification in. See rigidity-fluidity dimension of social stratification Doaba area, 239 dominant castes, 140 downward social mobility, xviii. See also socio-cultural upward mobility creation of new structural principles and, 340–41 domain-specific decline, 343–44, 349 emergence of rich capitalist peasantry, 341–42 industrialisation and, 336–37 Jagirdari and Zamindari system, abolition of, 341, 345–48 land reforms and, 341 patterns, 336 positional decline and, 342–43 possibility of, 338–39 primary structural changes, due to, 340–41 Saberwal’s views on, 337 secondary structural changes, due to, 341–42 specific v. generalised, 335–36, 339 economic development of a country, 45–46 contribution of a town, 46

Sociological Probings in Rural Society economic elites, 142 economic life of rural Society, 9 elite councils, 146 elite group, 140–41. See also power of rural elite arena councils, 146 economic elites, 142 elite councils, 146 hierarchy of “Seths,” 142 intra-elite ranking, 141 land ownership and rank of the ‘estate’, 142 martial Rajput, 142 political elites, 143–44 professional elites, 143 rural elites, 143 traditional elites in villages, 141 “twice-born” groups, 141 entrenched caste, 138 epoch making, 5 factions, idea of, xviii familism, 10 family institutions, 11 family pattern in rural India, 58–72 age group, 69 average size of a family, 62–65 castewise distribution, 70–71 cordiality and functional tie between the families, 72 groups, family-wise and person-wise, 65 with lineal descendants, 69–70 modification of caste family patterns, 61–62 proportion of joint family and nuclear family, 59–61 relationship with the head of the family, 68 sharing of grief and happiness, 71 in terms of relationships between the members, 66–68 traditional families, 68

INDEX family planning, 156 Family Planning Programme (FPP), xxix–xxx dimensions of, 187 fertility behaviour and, 188 in Mogra village, 188–209 ‘flu’ epidemic of 1919, 27 folk-urban continuum, xxviii. See also fringe society criticism of, 51 culture, role of, 51 peasant society, 51 relation between Great Tradition and Little Tradition, 51 fringe society, 52–53 caste structure and occupational mobility, 54–55 of Delhi, 54 economic life of, 53 extended fringe, 53 family organisation, 55 rural-urban fringe, characteristics associated with, 53–54 Gandhian ideals, 37 Ghanyari, shrines of, xxxi, 257–59 administration of shrines, 264–65 association between shrine and family that ‘owns’, 264 ban on use by members of unclean castes, 265–66 caste divisions and, 274–75 characteristics of deities, 268–69 chelas of different deities, 271–72 cult of Baba Dera, 262–63 custodianship of a shrine, 261–62 establishment of a new village shrine, 267–68 as extensions of private and domestic cults, 266–67 festivals, 262 as general resources, 261 Jvalamukhi Devi shrine, 268 principle of exclusion, 266

373 rituals for welfare of a community, 273–74 type of celebrations, 269–70 vadhai ceremonies, 269–71 graphic arts, 15 green revolution, xxi interventions in rural life, xxii–xxiii Gujarat, sub-regions and castes in, 156–57 Hindu-Muslim riots, 8 impact villages, 61. See also Navsari town Indian rural society, 10–11 aesthetic culture, 15–16 caste grouping, 12 family institutions, 11 forces and factors of change, 17 impact of British rule and capitalist economic forces, 10–11 land or property relations, 9–10 mode and technique of production, 9 patterns of family relationships, 10 political behaviour, 13–14 rural religion, 15 standard of life, 9 Indian society approach to study of, xvii features of, xviii realist view, xviii Indian village, xviii institutional change in rural community, 155. See also Mahi village inter-caste relationships, xxiv intra-elite ranking, 141 intra-regional and interregional variations in rural India, xvii Jagirdari systems, 145, 150 jajmani system, 114, 123–36 class and services of purohits, paunis and Mahabrahmans, 132–35 Koeri caste, 124, 136 Mahabrahmans caste, 124–25

374 relation between families, 125, 136 services of purohits, paunis and Mahabrahmans, 126–31 Kallapura village, xxxi–xxxii agricultural lands, 300 ancestral fields, 299–300 caste divisions, 292 geography, 292 history of people and settlement, 293–94 inner settlement, 296–97 marital relations, 294 outer settlement, 297 protecting fence, 298–99 ritual circles, 294–302 temple of the village God, 296 thrashing and winnowing grains, ground for, 297–98 vllage ritual boundary, 300–02 Kelon village, social stratification in. See rigidity-fluidity dimension of social stratification Khanna villagers, FPP in, 200 Khera village, social stratification in. See rigidity-fluidity dimension of social stratification Khiruli village caste and community-wise landholding in, 103 layout of, 99 Moslem families of, 104 non-agricultural occupations, 106 Kumbapettai, economic and social changes in, 28 labour-buyer/wage-earner relationship. See jajmani system little traditions v. great traditions, xix Mahi village agriculturists of, 167 caste-wise distribution of seats, 170 caste-wise ownership of land, 163

Sociological Probings in Rural Society Community Development Programme in, 171–72 cooperative business associations in, 166–69, 171 demography, 157, 159–61 dominant position of Leuwas, 167–68 inter-Gol hypergamy, 158 landlessness and Leuwas, 163–64 landownership, 158, 162, 164 land valuation, 162–63 Leuwa neighbourhoods, 157–58 scholarships, freeships and other facilities offered to backward classes, 165 urban migration and education of children, 164–67 Majhi Para landholding, 103 Santals of, 101 Mallur village, xxxi ceremonies, 285–88 climate, 279–80 comon practices in, 282 geography, 279–80 “Kooridge pooja,” 284 “Kudugolu Devaru,” 284 “Makkala Devaru,” 285 occupation, 279 “Rasabiduvudu,” 284 religion and shrines, 280–81 “Thanuvu mudde” ritual, 283 “Tottilu Devaru,” 285 Manali village, social stratification in. See rigidity-fluidity dimension of social stratification Manhalli village, economic and social changes in, 24–26, 54 canal-irrigation, impact of, 25–26 population growth, 26 martial Rajput, 142 matrilineal joint family, 11 middle class in rural Gujarat, xx migration, xxi

INDEX migratory agricultural villages, 6 Milk Producers’ Cooperative, 166–67, 171 Mitra Mandal, 165 mobility, xxiii. See also downward social mobility; socio-cultural upward mobility mode of production, xviii, 9, 317, 355 modernization as a complex process, 30 in India, 31 planning concept, 31–32 traditional vs modern, 32 of Western societies, 31 Mogra village, family planning in, 188–94 attitudes towards sterilisation, 207–09 child mortality and, 196–99 contraceptive methods, 190–92 decision to opt for sterilisation, 202–07 distribution of sterilised parents, 196–97 female sterilisations, 193 laparoscopy, 193 place of sterilisation, 195 sterilisations, 192, 194–02 tubectomy, 192 multi-village comparative studies, xix Nambudri Brahmins, 22 Namhalli village, economic and social changes in, 26–27, 54 black-marketing and prostitution, 27 Navsari town banks, 58 dominant castes in, 58 industrial organizations, 57 proportion of joint family and nuclear family, 59–61 schools, 57 networks, xviii, xx non-dominant castes, 140 non-farm economy, xvii, xxiv

375 non-governmental political organizations, 14 Panchayati Raj, 144, 156 Panchayati Raj institutions, 145 participant observation, xix patrilineal joint family, 11 peasant society, 51 comparative studies of Mexican and Indian villages, 52 plastic arts, 16 political elites, 143–44 power of rural elite, xxxiii basic feature of, 144 contemporary, 151–52 dominance mobility, 147–50 downward economic mobility, 145 formal positions of power, 145–46 Indian princes, mobility of, 148–49 Jagirdari systems, 145, 150 multiple power structure, 140 of non-dominant groups families, 150 out-group (caste) unity and activities, 149 power dispersion, 140 power exercisers, 146 power pool, 140 sources and determinants, 138, 140–42 in Thalupuru village, 232–34 upward mobility, 148 Zamindari systems, 145, 150–51 pre-British rural India, 20–21 political instability, 21 relations between individuals and groups, 22 production and products of labour, relations of, xxx, 239 acts of work in ploughing and sowing, 246–47 agrarian calendar for, 241 cash crops, 249–51 cash transactions, 250–51 crops of the home, 251–52 food crops, 241–49

376 harvest of cotton and chilli, 251–52 harvest rite of mong, 244 period of the seeds’ gestation, 248 potato, cultivation of, 249–50 rite of mang, 243–45 village economy, 249–51 wadhi, 243, 245 weeding, 248 wheat, significance of, 241–43 professional elites, 143 Punjab, codes for eating and cooking, xxx, 240. See also production and products of labour, relations of chakkna, 241–42 Radhaswamis, 276 Ramakrishna Mission, 276 Rampura village, economic and social changes in, 27–28 Rampur village, social stratification in. See rigidity-fluidity dimension of social stratification Report of the Countrylife Commission, 5 rigidity-fluidity dimension of social stratification, xxvii, 77 adoption of improved agricultural practices, 90–93 attitudinal dimension of modernity, 87–89 comparison among societies, 84 consensus about individual prestige, 78, 82 degree, comparison of indices, 82–83 demographic, locational and developmental characteristics, 85–86 distribution of properties of individuals, 78 heterogeneity of individual prestige, 79–80, 82 level of services and order of progressiveness, 87–88

Sociological Probings in Rural Society literacy rate, 85–86 occupational heterogeneity, 78, 80–81 order of progressiveness, 86–87 Spearman’s Rank-order coefficients of correlation between indices, 83–86 validity of the indices, 83–84 ritual statuses of castes, 291–92. See also Kallapura village Roosevelt, Theodore, 5 rural development programmes, 44–45 family planning and mechanization of farming, 46 rural elites, 143 rural family, study of, 11–12 rural people, study of, 8–9 rural religion, 15 Rural Society in India, 6 rural sociology, xxv–xxvi advance of, 5–6 as an organised discipline, 5 controversies, 6 creative role of, 17–18 impact of capitalist industrial civilisation, 5, 7–8 rural social organization, function and evolution, 3–4 scholarly study on, 5 in U. S. A., 5 rural sociology in India, xxv–xxvi rural-urban continuum, xxvi, 34 rural-urban dichotomy, xxvi rural-urban divide, xvii rural-urban polarity, xxiii Ryotwari Settlement of 1886, 26 ryotwari system, 114 Sahakari Vikas Cooperative for lift irrigation, 171 Sahakari Vikas Mandal, 166 Sanskritization, xix–xxii, 29, 140, 313, 319, 342 satvik-rajasik mental traits, 111 self-contained village, 86

INDEX Seva Sahakari Cooperative, 171 Seva Sahakari Mandali, 166 social change in rural India, xxxii causation of, 314–18 measurement of, 311–12 methodologies used in studies, 318–21 nature and linearity of, 313 post-independence political leadership and, 308 quantum and adequacy of, 313–14 uses and abuses of studies, 321–24 value-neutrality, 309–11 social changes in village life, xxiv socio-cultural upward mobility, xxviii, 147–48, 336–39, 343, 345 Thalupuru village castes in, 215 egalitarianism, 220–23 fictive kinship, 217–20 forms of resistance, 223–32 political and economic power, 215–16 power relationships, nature of, 232–34 traditional pattern of occupations, xvii “twice-born” groups, 141 Unwas village, 114 urban agglomerations, 39 urban bias, xxii urban centres, 34 urbanization distinction between orthogenetie and heterogenetic towns, 35 effects of British arrival, 35–36 Muslim invasion and, 34 percentage of urban population, 38–39 post Independence, 38 problems of urbanism and urban growth, 32 push from villages, 37 secondary phase of, 35

377 Sjoberg’s analysis, 39–40 in South India, 28–29 Westernization of Brahmins, 29 urban-rural differences in India, xxvi, 33. See also fringe society in age and sex composition, 41 consumer expenditure, 42–43 decentralization, impact of, 47 difficulty in distinguishing urban areas from rural, 33–34 economic differences, 33 historical background, 34–36 income and expenditure pattern, 42 levels of education, 42 problems, 33–34 realistic assessment of, 45 rural-urban integration and, 48 size and types of family, 41–42 traditional institutions, 43 values, attitudes and beliefs, 43 Vallabh Vidyanagar University, 165 varna order, xxviii, 111 Veerabrahmam, Sri Potuluri, 220–21 Venkaiahswamy, Sri, 220–21 villages, studies of. See also rigidityfluidity dimension of social stratification classification of Indian, 7 Ecological criterion for, 7 groupings of, 7 migratory agricultural, 6 nucleated, 7 villages, sudies of, xix Voluntary Associational Enterprise, 156 Welfare associations, 156 Westernization of Brahmins, 29 process of, 31 zamindari system, 114 Zamindari systems, 145, 150

About the Editor and Contributors

The Editor K.L. Sharma was Professor and Chairperson, Centre for the Study of Social Systems, School of Social Sciences, and Rector (Pro-ViceChancellor), Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, and was also Vice-Chancellor of the University of Rajasthan, Jaipur. He is presently Vice-Chancellor, Jaipur National University, Jaipur.

The Contributors Ranjit Bhattacharya was an anthropologist and was associated with the Anthropological Survey of India. Pradip Kumar Bose was educated at Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. He is Professor of Sociology at the Centre for Studies in Social Sciences, Kolkata. Brij Raj Chauhan taught at several universities, and finally he superannuated from the Department of Sociology, Meerut University, Meerut. Radhika Chopra is a faculty member at the Department of Sociology, Delhi School of Economics, University of Delhi. Victor S. D’Souza was educated at the University of Bombay, and he was the founder of the Department of Sociology at Punjab University, Chandigarh.

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A.R. Desai was a distinguished sociologist at the Department of Sociology, Bombay University, Bombay. Gurumurthy K. Gowdra is Professor of Sociology at Karnatak University, Dharwar. K.M. Kapadia was educated at the University of Bombay and he was Professor and Head of the Department of Sociology at Bombay University. J. Panchanadikar was educated at the University of Bombay, and was Professor of Sociology at the M.S. University, Baroda. K.C. Panchanadikar was educated at the University of Bombay, and served at the Department of Sociology, M.S. University, Baroda. Tulsi Patel has taught earlier at the Department of Sociology, Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi, and currently she is Professor of Sociology at Delhi School of Economics, University of Delhi. M.S.A. Rao was Professor of Sociology at Delhi School of Economics, Delhi University. N. Sudhakar Rao is a faculty member of the TALEEM Research Foundation, City Plaza, Bopal, Ahmedabad. Gaurang Ranjan Sahay studied at the Centre for the Study of Social Systems, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, and currently he is a faculty member at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Mumbai. Ursula Sharma is Reader in Sociology and Social Anthropology at the University of Keele, the United Kingdom. N.R. Sheth has specialist in Industrial Sociology, and he was Director, Indian Institute of Management, Ahmedabad. M.N. Srinivas was at the M.S. University of Baroda and at the Department of Sociology, Delhi School of Economics, Delhi University.

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Surajit Sinha was an anthropologist and was associated with the Anthropological Survey of India. K.N. Venkatarayappa—Not known H.S. Verma is Professor at the Giri Institute of Development Studies, Lucknow.

Appendix of Sources

All articles and chapters have been reproduced exactly as they were first published. All cross-references can be found in the original source of publication. Grateful acknowledgement is made to the following sources for permission to reproduce material for this volume. 1. “Rural Sociology: Its Need In India,” A.R. Desai Vol. 5, No. 1, 1956: 9–28. 2. “Symposium on Rural-Urban Relations: The Industrialization and Urbanization of Rural Areas,” M.N. Srinivas Vol. 5, No. 2, 1956: 79–88. 3. “Modernization and the Urban-Rural Gap in India: An Analysis,” N.R. Sheth Vol. 18, No. 1, 1969: 16–34. 4. “‘Fringe’ Society and the Folk-Urban Continuum,” M.S.A. Rao Vol. 8, No. 2, 1959: 13–18. 5. “Rural Family Patterns: A Study in Urban-Rural Relations,” K.M. Kapadia Vol. 5, No. 2, 1956: 111–126. 6. “Measurement of Rigidity–Fluidity Dimension of Social Stratification in Six Indian Villages,” Victor S. D’souza Vol. 18, No. 1, 1969: 35–49.

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7. “Bhadralok and Chhotolok in a Rural Area of West Bengal,” Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya Vol. 18, No. 1, 1969: 50–66. 8. “Caste System in Contemporary Rural Bihar: A Study of Selected Villages,” Gaurang Ranjan Sahay Vol. 47, No. 2, 1998: 207–220. 9. “Power Elite in Rural India: Some Questions and Clarifications,” K.L. Sharma Vol. 25, No. 1, 1976: 45–62. 10. “Social Stratification and Institutional Change in a Gujarat Village,” K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar Vol. 25, No. 2, 1976: 225–240. 11. “Chokhala—An Intervillage Organization of a Caste in Rajasthan,” Brij Raj Chauhan Vol. 13, No. 2, 1964: 24–35. 12. “Modernization and Changing Fertility Behaviour: A Study in a Rajasthan Village,” Tulsi Patel Vol. 39, No. 1&2, 1990: 53–73. 13. “Ideology, Power and Resistance in a South Indian Village,” N. Sudhakar Rao Vol. 45, No. 2, 1996: 205–232. 14. “Voices from the Earth: Work and Food Production in a Punjabi Village,” Radhika Chopra Vol. 43, No. 1, 1994: 72–92. 15. “Public Shrines and Private Interests: The Symbolism of the Village Temple,” Ursula Sharma Vol. 23, No. 1, 1974: 71–92. 16. “A Study of Customs in Rural Mysore,” K.N. Venkatarayappa Vol. 11, No. 1&2, 1962: 208–220. 17. “Ritual Circles in a Mysore Village,” Gurumurthy K. Gowdra Vol. 20, No. 1, 1971: 24–38.

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18. “Study of Social Change in Independent Rural India: Critical Issues for Analyses in the Fourth Decade of Independence,” H.S. Verma Vol. 28, No. 1&2, 1979: 83–119. 19. “Downward Social Mobility: Some Observations,” K.L. Sharma Vol. 22, No. 1, 1973: 59–77. 20. “Dimensions of Agrarian Structure and Change: Issues in Theory,” Pradip Kumar Bose Vol. 38, No. 2, 1989: 183–198.

Sociology of Childhood and Youth

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Readings in Indian Sociology Series Editor: Ishwar Modi Titles and Editors of the Volumes Volume 1 Towards Sociology of Dalits Editor: Paramjit S. Judge Volume 2 Sociological Probings in Rural Society Editor: K.L. Sharma Volume 3 Sociology of Childhood and Youth Editor: Bula Bhadra Volume 4 Sociology of Health Editor: Madhu Nagla Volume 5 Contributions to Sociological Theory Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava Volume 6 Sociology of Science and Technology in India Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik Volume 7 Sociology of Environment Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury Volume 8 Political Sociology of India Editor: Anand Kumar Volume 9 Culture and Society Editor: Susan Visvanathan Volume 10 Pioneers of Sociology in India Editor: Ishwar Modi

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READINGS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY VOLUME 3

Sociology of Childhood and Youth

Edited by Bula Bhadra

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Copyright © Indian Sociological Society, 2013 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. First published in 2013 by Sage Publications India Pvt Ltd B 1/I 1, Mohan Cooperative Industrial Area Mathura Road, New Delhi 110 044, India www.sagepub.in Sage Publications Inc 2455 Teller Road Thousand Oaks, California 91320, USA

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Sage Publications Ltd 1 Oliver’s Yard 55 City Road London EC1Y 1SP United Kingdom Sage Publications Asia-Pacific Pte Ltd 3 Church Street #10-04 Samsung Hub Singapore 049483 Published by Vivek Mehra for SAGE Publications India Pvt Ltd, typeset in 10.5/12.5 Adobe Garamond Pro by Boson ITech Pvt. Ltd., Kolkata and printed at Saurabh Printers Pvt. Ltd, New Delhi. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available

ISBN: 978-81-321-1382-9 (PB) The SAGE Team: Shambhu Sahu, Sushant Nailwal, Thomas Mathew, Asish Sahu, Vijaya Ramachandran and Dally Verghese Disclaimer: This volume largely comprises pre-published material which has been presented in its original form. The publisher shall not be responsible for any discrepancies in language or content in this volume.

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Dedicated to the Pioneers of Indian Sociology

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Thank you for choosing a SAGE product! If you have any comment, observation or feedback, I would like to personally hear from you. Please write to me at [email protected] —Vivek Mehra, Managing Director and CEO, SAGE Publications India Pvt Ltd, New Delhi

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Contents

List of Tables ix Series Note xiii Foreword by Professor K.L. Sharma xvii Preface and Acknowledgements xix Introduction by Bula Bhadra xxi Section I: Child and Childhood

1. Social Class and Educational Aspirations in an Indian Metropolis 3 Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell 2. Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations: A Sociological Analysis 23 Ehsanul Haq 3. Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association 46 K.S. Shukla 4. Culture and Fertility: Son Preference and Reproductive Behaviour 67 Ashesh Das Gupta 5. Sex Preference and Contraceptive Use in Manipur 79 L. Ladusingh, N. Minita Devi and Kh. Jitenkumar Singh 6. Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias: Evidence from Two Village Studies in South India 92 T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

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Section II: Young and Youth

7. The Attitudes to English and Use of It by Students of Three Different Mother Tongues: Hindi, Kannada and Tamil 119 Aileen D. Ross and Suraj Bandyopadhyay 8. Perception of the Female Role by Indian College Students 132 Khadlid Ahmed Kazi and Rehana Ghadially 9. Social Class and Occupational Aspirations of College Students 142 Ambarao T. Uplaonkar 10. Youth Aspirations vis-a-vis National Development: Participate or Emigrate? 160 Narsi Patel 11. The Use Psychotropic Drugs among College Youth in India: An Appraisal 170 Prabha Unnithan, D.R. Singh and M.Z. Khan 12. Problems of the Youth of North-East India: A Sociological Inquiry 185 A.K. Nongkynrih 13. Youth in Techno Global World: Predicaments and Choices 203 Rajesh Gill Index About the Editor and Contributors Appendix of Sources

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List of Tables

Chapter 1 Table 1 Post-High School Educational Aspirations of S.S.C. Students, by Sex 8 Table 2 Percentages of S.S.C. Students Aspiring to a College Degree, by Socio-economic Status and Sex 11 Table 3 Percentages of S.S.C. Students Aspiring to a College Degree, by Academic Performance and Sex 12 Table 4 Socio-economic Status, Academic Performance, and Sex 12 Table 5 Percentages of S.S.C. Students Aspiring to a College Degree, by Socio-economic Status, Sex, and Academic Performance13 Table 6 Means, Standard Deviations, and Intercorrelation Coefficients of Socio-economic Status, Academic Performance, and Educational Aspirations of S.S.C. Students by Sex 15 Chapter 2 Table 1 Number of Selected Students, Teachers and Parents 27 Table 2 Number of Selected Parents, Their Occupational Backgrounds and the School to Which They Send Their Children28 Table 3 Total Scores Secured by National Value in All the Classes (I to XI) 31 Chapter 3 Table 1 Subjects’ Perception of the Characteristics of the Associates 49 Table 2 Distribution of the Subjects According to Type and Stated Instigating Sources for Committing Serious Offences 51

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Table 3 Factors in the Continuance of Friendship between the Subject and the Criminal Companions 53 Table 4 Distribution of the Subjects in Regard to Type and Stated Frequency of Visits to Home 55 Table 5 Distribution of the Subjects Regarding Type and Usual Leisure Time Mates 56 Table 6 Distribution of the Subjects According to Type and Approximate Time Spent in Association with Those Possessing Known Delinquent Proclivity 56 Table 7 Distribution of the Subjects by Type and Stated Predominant Characteristic of the Oldest Associate 57 Table 8 Distribution of the Subjects According to Their Type and Stated Preferred Idols 58 Table 9 Distribution of the Subjects, by Type and Their Stated Confidants59 Table 10 Willingness of the Subjects to Participate in Other Offences When Pressed by Associates 60 Table 11 Distribution of the Subjects by Type and Stated Actual Participation in Other Offences When Pressed by Associates 62 Chapter 4 Table 1 Son Preference and Fertility (Hindus) Table 2 Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and ‘t’ Values (Hindus) Table 3 Son Preference and Fertility (Muslims) Table 4 Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and ‘t’ Values (Muslims) Table 5 Son Preference and Fertility (Christians) Table 6 Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and ‘t’ Values (Christians) Table 7 Son Preference and Fertility (Sikhs) Table 8 Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and ‘t’ Values (Sikhs)

70 70 71 71 72 72 73 73

Chapter 5 Table 1 Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition and Residence 84 Table 2 Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition and District of Residence86

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List of Tables

Table 3 Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition and Literacy Table 4 Effect of Sex Preference on Contraceptive Use Chapter 6 Table 1 Range of Dowry in a Village in Mandya District (1970) Table 2 Range of Dowry in Village M (2005) Table 3 Ideal Family Size According to the Respondents in Village M Table 4 Value Attached to the Children by Parents in Village M Table 5 Vokkaliga Parental Perception about the Future of Their Children in Village M

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88 89

101 102 106 106 106

Chapter 7 Table 1 Students Reporting Proficiency in English in the Three Capital Cities Considered Together 122 Table 2 Students Reporting Proficiency in English in the Cities of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur 122 Table 3 Students Reporting Very High Proficiency in English in Relation to Their Use of It at Home, as Medium of Instruction at School and in Social Situations in the Cities of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur 123 Table 4 Students Reporting Very High Proficiency in English in Relation to Their Use of It at Home, as Medium of Instruction at School and in Social Situations in the Cities of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur 124 Table 5 Students’ Preference for English as Medium of Instruction at College and as the Official Language of the Central and State Governments Compared to Their Sex, Urban or Rural Background, Proficiency in English and College City 127 Table 6 Students’ Preference for English as Medium of Instruction at College and as the Official Language of the Central and State Governments Compared to Their Proficiency in English129 Chapter 8 Table 1 Percentage of Male Subjects Imagining Themselves to Be in a Given Situation 15 Years Hence

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Table 2 Percentage of Male Subjects Accepting a Wife Doing a Given Type of Work 137 Table 3 Percentage of Male Subjects Accepting a Given Circumstance as a Reason for Their Wife to Work 137 Table 4 Percentage of Female Subjects Imagining Themselves in a Given Situation 15 Years Hence 138 Table 5 Percentage of Female Subjects Choosing a Given Type of Work139 Table 6 Percentage of Female Subjects Opting for Marriage or Career139 Table 7 Percentage of Female Subjects Choosing a Given Reason to Work 140 Chapter 9 Table 1 Percentage Distribution of the Students Occupational Aspirations by Religion and by CICB 149 Table 2 Percentage Distribution of the Students Occupational Aspirations by Caste and by CICB 152 Table 3 Percentage Distribution of the Students Occupational Aspirations by Sex and by CICB 155 Table 4 Social Background and Occupationl Aspirations (Coefficient of Simple and Partial Correlation and Determination)156 Chapter 11 Table 1 User—Types According to the Sex of the Respondents in the Study-Centres 176 Table 2 The Prevalence Rate of Individual Drugs in the Study Centres179 Table 3 Prevalence Rates of Individual Drugs According to the Sex of the Respondents 180

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Series Note

The Indian Sociological Society (ISS), established in December 1951, under the leadership of Professor G. S. Ghurye at the University of Bombay celebrated its Diamond Jubilee in 2011. Soon after its foundation, the ISS launched its biannual journal Sociological Bulletin in March 1952. It has been published regularly since then. The ISS took cognisance of the growing aspirations of the community of sociologists both in India and abroad to publish their contributions in Sociological Bulletin, and raised its frequency to three issues a year in 2004. Its print order now exceeds 3,000 copies. It speaks volumes about the popularity of both the ISS and the Sociological Bulletin. The various issues of Sociological Bulletin are a treasure trove of the most profound and authentic sociological writings and research in India and elsewhere. As such it is no surprise that it has acquired the status of an internationally acclaimed reputed journal of sociology. The very fact that several of its previous issues are no more available, being out of print, is indicative not only of its popularity both among sociologists and other social scientists but also of its high scholarly reputation, acceptance and relevance. Although two series of volumes have already been published by the ISS during 2001 and 2005 and in 2011 having seven volumes each on a large number of themes, yet a very large number of themes remain untouched. Such a situation necessitated that a new series of thematic volumes be brought out. Realising this necessity and in order to continue to celebrate the Diamond Decade of the Indian Sociological Society, the Managing Committee of the ISS and a subcommittee constituted for this purpose decided to bring out a series of 10 more thematic volumes in such areas of importance and relevance both for the sociological and the academic communities at large as Sociological Theory, Untouchability and Dalits, Rural Society, Science and Technology, Childhood and Youth, Health, Environment, Culture, Politics and the Pioneers of Sociology in India.

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Well-known scholars and experts in the areas of the chosen themes were identified and requested to edit these thematic volumes under the series title Readings in Indian Sociology. Each one of them has put in a lot of effort in the shortest possible time not only in selecting and identifying the papers to be included in their respective volumes but also in arranging these in a relevant and meaningful manner. More than this, it was no easy task for them to write comprehensive ‘introductions’ of the respective volumes in the face of time constraints so that the volumes could be brought out in time on the occasion of the 39th All India Sociological Conference scheduled to take place in Mysore under the auspices of the Karnataka State Open University during 27–29 December 2013. The editors enjoyed freedom not only in choosing the papers of their choice from Sociological Bulletin published during 1952 and 2012, but they were also free to request scholars of their choice to write forewords for their particular volumes. The volumes covered under this series include: Towards Sociology of Dalits (Editor: Paramjit S. Judge); Sociological Probings in Rural Society (Editor: K. L. Sharma); Sociology of Childhood and Youth (Editor: Bula Bhadra); Sociology of Health (Editor: Madhu Nagla); Contributions to Sociological Theory (Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava); Sociology of Science and Technology in India (Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik); Sociology of Environment (Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury); Political Sociology of India (Editor: Anand Kumar); Culture and Society (Editor: Susan Visvanathan); and Pioneers of Sociology in India (Editor: Ishwar Modi). Sociology of Childhood and Youth (edited by Bula Bhadra with a Foreword by K. L. Sharma) is the third volume of the series titled Readings in Indian Sociology. Bula Bhadra maintains that prior to the 1980s children and young people were on the margins of sociology. In the 1980s, a growing number of European and American scholars called attention to the relative absence of children and young people in the knowledge of the social sciences. They argued that children and youth should be studied in their own right, as full social actors, rather than being framed primarily as adults-in-training or as problems for the adult social order. This volume is truly the first of its kind which provides the sociological articulations on the Indian child and young along with the accompanying multi-faceted discourses on childhood and youth situating it in the historical experience of India. The volume is divided into two parts. The first part focuses on selected pertinent issues in relation to the reality of child and childhood in India. In the second part articles reflect on lived experience of young people focusing on meeting grounds and diversities of youth in India. This volume will be welcomed as a groundbreaking effort for opening doors for critical

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Series Note

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thinking and new-fangled works in an area which is one of the most challenging and motivating concern of contemporary India and also for our sociological imagination. It can hardly be overemphasised and can be said for sure that this volume as well as all the other volumes of the series Readings in Indian Sociology, as they pertain to the most important aspects of society and sociology in India, will be of immense importance and relevance to students, teachers and researchers both of sociology and other social sciences. It is also hoped that these volumes will be received well by the overseas scholars interested in the study of Indian society. Besides this, policy-makers, administrators, activists, NGOs and so on may also find these volumes of immense value. Having gone through these volumes, the students and researchers of sociology would probably be able to feel and say that now ‘We will be able to look much farther away as we are standing on the shoulders of the giants’ (in the spirit of paraphrasing the famous quote by Isaac Newton). I would like to place on record my thanks to Shambhu Sahu, Sutapa Ghosh and R. Chandra Sekhar of SAGE Publications for all their efforts, support and patience to complete this huge project well in time against all the time constraints. I also express my gratefulness to the Managing Committee Members of the ISS and also the members of the subcommittee constituted for this purpose. I am also thankful to all the editors and all the scholars who have written the forewords. I would also like to thank Uday Singh, my assistant at the India International Institute of Social Sciences, Jaipur for all his secretarial assistance and hard work put in by him towards the completion of these volumes. Ishwar Modi Series Editor Readings in Indian Sociology

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Foreword

A

n edited volume on Sociology of Children and Youth by Professor Bula Bhadra will become a significant contribution to the Indian sociology as this volume would fill up the void in the study of children and youth. Professor Bhadra’s discrete selection includes articles published in Sociological Bulletin from 1971 to 2012. Of the two parts, the first one is on child and childhood and the second is on young and youth, which also indicates the genealogical sequence of children and youth. Anthropologists have studied child-rearing practices, basic personality formation, national character and so on, particularly among the tribal communities. Some scholars have also attempted child-rearing practices and personality attributes in India. The present collection of articles brings out understanding and analysis of children and youth in metropolises, towns and villages. Role of education, gender, class, occupation and aspirations for achievement has been the main concern in the articles incorporated in the volume. Professor Bhadra argues that the studies of children and youth must occupy an important place like other fields of inquiry and knowledge in the discipline of sociology. Some government agencies and NGOs have compiled comprehensive statistical profiles of both children and youth, but there are hardly any systematic studies of children and youth relating to socialization and upbringing of children, impact of culture, neighbourhood, parental background, formal institutions, child labour exploitation, deviance, sexual abuse, childcare, rehabilitation and so on. Some scholars also argue that there are no agreed definitions of ‘child’ and ‘youth’. Professor Bula Bhadra has raised some important issues in her ‘introduction’, such as exploitation of children, role of the UN agencies and approaches to the study of children and youth. The articles on delinquency, aspirations of school and college students, gendering of sex roles, family planning, use of drugs and so on hint at the

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process of shaping the children and youth in Indian society. Most of the articles, however, bring out that preference for a male child persists despite significant strides made by women in education, employment and participation in public life. The editor expresses her concern on account of the scant attention paid to this important field of sociological investigation. This volume would certainly inspire students and teachers to engage themselves in studies and research, which in turn may earn a mainstream space for the sociology of childhood and youth in the discipline of sociology in particular and social sciences in general. K.L. Sharma Vice-Chancellor Jaipur National University Jaipur.

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Preface and Acknowledgements

I

ssues and practices relating to children and young people have been on the margins of mainstream Indian sociological concerns and interests. It is now well attested that the dominant paradigms in sociology either completely excluded ‘child and childhood’ as objects of meticulous research or dealt with them as subordinate or mute categories. Unfortunately, the institutionalisation of sociology of childhood and youth is still in its nascent stage in the level of university teaching and research in India. There is a serious absence of systematic knowledge building in this area. At best, one or two lectures are delivered on the problem of Child Labor or on Child Abuse as part of a Social Problems course. In actuality, sociologists have been caught off guard when criticisms started to pour about the fact that there has been very little sociological imagination regarding Indian children and youth even though there is so much to explore and explain. Though the attention shown to young people and youth is little better compared to children and childhood but it is still enormously wanting. The experiences and lives of youth are still predominantly dealt with from social problem perspective considering youth as passive recipients. And, often children and young people have been described in homogeneous manner without recognising that there are multiple childhoods and multiple youths, thus disregarding the intersectional dimension entirely. In short, the nuances of these two groups of people in India are yet to be documented by researches in any significant way. Ergo, it is heartening that the series on Diamond Decades of Indian Sociology has kept its unearthing effort to explore new and often marginalised areas through Sociological Bulletin, the official journal of Indian Sociological Society (ISS). The articles published in the Sociological Bulletin on one hand are meagre, on childhood and youth, to say the least, for the

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journal started its journey as early as 1952; and, on the other hand, so many pertinent dimensions of lived experience of children and young people of Indian society are just simply absent. In fact, it was quite difficult to find suitable, meaningful articles on childhood and youth in the first two decades of the publication of this journal. However, the best part is, though few in number, the selected articles are very relevant in terms of their context, focus and importance for comprehending specific aspects of childhood and youth in India. The efforts of ISS, especially of the current President Professor Ishwar Prasad Modi deserve heartfelt congratulations for continuing the efforts which started with Golden Jubilee volumes with much dexterity. I am extremely grateful to Professor Modi for giving me this opportunity to delve into this challenging endeavour. I owe my sincere thanks to Professor K. L. Sharma for agreeing to write the Foreword and providing such a scholastic preamble to this volume. I would like to say a special thanks to my UGC research scholars Ms Saheli Chowdhury and Ms Chandrabali Dutta, and my project fellow Ms Oindrila Mukherjee for enriching me with their works on children and youth along with their constant assistance and support for this volume. I like to express my warm appreciation and love to my daughter Sompurna’s ways of teaching ‘stuff’ to her mother so that her mother could understand how children and young people really think and act. Her agency role reinforced my realisation that this volume could play a catalytic role for opening doors for critical thinking and new-fangled works for and with children and young people rather than on them. Finally, the authors whose essays are reproduced here will be pleased to witness that their contributions have become part of a collective effort which will pave the way for future productive initiatives. Bula Bhadra Professor Department of Sociology University of Calcutta

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Introduction Bula Bhadra

Prelude Prior to the 1980s, children/young people were on the margins of sociology. That is, both sociology of childhood and sociology of youth have attracted relatively belated interest within the discipline of sociology, to say the least. Either these areas were parts of parental discourse or exclusive concern of developmental psychology and/or indistinctly outlined within the discipline of education. In youth studies, the evolution of familial and educational structures has gradually led to the construction of a new category of individuals: ‘young people’ where youth is represented as a transitional period between childhood and adulthood. In fact, the definition of youth itself is constantly in a state of flux; age boundaries are becoming more blurry with some aspects of adolescence starting earlier and other aspects of youth continuing well into the 30s. Strangely enough, in India, Rahul Gandhi, son of late Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi, is portrayed as a youth leader in his mid-40s. Current relevant literature made attempts to simplify the understanding of this very heterogeneous category, and attention has frequently been devoted to the pathways to adulthood that they experience and youth is represented as a transitional period between childhood and adulthood. Thus, sociologically speaking, youth refers to a ‘category’ rather than a ‘group’; the difference being that a category has diverse or heterogeneous elements unlike a group which is sociologically similar in its composition. New concepts are even appearing in reference to the extended period between adolescence and adulthood, such as ‘emerging adulthood’ or the ‘young adult’. In earlier sociological accounts children/young people1 were subsumed into accounts of the family or the school—in other words, into the major

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sites of socialisation. Children were, therefore, most visible when they were being socialised. Socialisation, which is mainstream sociology’s explanation for how children become members of society, and how children progress from incompetent to competent adulthood through the process of acculturation and/or socialisation. In socialisation theory there was no view of children as active social agents; rather, children/young people were seen (if they were seen at all) as passive recipients of socialisation. Here child is rather appropriated by society, trained to become a competent and contributing member by playing primarily a passive role. In addition, socialisation theory failed to see the child as existing in the present—instead, the focus is on what children/young people could become. It has been said that socialisation theory ignores children’s role in socialising both themselves and others. One classic example was Talcott Parsons, an influential American sociologist of the 1950s and 1960s, who theorised social systems as smoothly functioning wholes. The society, for Parsons, was an ‘intricate network of interdependent and interpenetrating roles and consensual values’ (Parson and Bales, 1955: 36). In his view, the child is a threat to the society; he or she must be appropriated and shaped to fit in. When children are born, he wrote, they are like pebbles thrown into a social pond. First the family and then schools and other institutions shape the growing child, who comes to internalise the values and rules of adult society. Sociologists in this time period focused on children/young people not only as learners but also as threats (research on juvenile delinquency emerged in the 1950s) and as victims of adults (child physical abuse became a topic in the 1960s, and child sexual abuse in the 1970s). With the further development of sociological theory, the functionalist model of socialisation lost favour, and some theorists suggest social reproduction of class inequalities in terms of access to resources and its consequences. These theorists (Bernstein, 1981; Bourdieu and Passeron, 1977) provided much required acknowledgement of the effect of social conflict and inequality on the socialisation of children. But this model also underestimates the active and innovative capacities of children/young people and, thus, simplifies complex social processes and fails to take account of the child/young people as a competent social actor. Both functionalist and reproductive models neglect the point that children do not just internalise the society they are born into. Thus, what was missing from sociology, then, was an account of the socially constructed nature of childhood and youth which would focus on children/young people as social actors rather than passive ‘becomings’. The deliberations on these narrow versions of the child/young people offered by academic discourses and methods of enquiry prompted in the

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1980s a growing number of European and American scholars to call for attention to the relative absence of children/young people in the knowledge of the social sciences. They argued that children should be studied in their own right, as full social actors, rather than being framed primarily as adultsin-training or as problems for the adult social order. But it was undeniably the credit of the French historian Philippe Aries, who first highlighted the socially constructed character of childhood beginning in the early 1960s. He argued that childhood did not exist in the Middle Ages as they were not granted a special or distinctive social status (1962: 125). According to Aries children/young people only participated in societal activities just as the adults did because of the lack of awareness that children/young people require a different and specific kind of social experience. They were depicted as little adults and there was thus no difference in rearing them. The dawning of consciousness about children/young people as being different and particular has gradually developed from 17th century onwards along with social, political and economic institutionalisation of the thought of children’s needs. Though his account of childhood has by now been widely criticised methodologically and empirically, his broad framework and his ideas remain foundational to childhood studies. As Heywood (2001) argued that Aries’ analysis provided scholars with a platform from which to ‘mount a radical critique of thinking about children in their own society’ (2001: 12). Aries’ contribution was profoundly significant in that it recognised that childhood cannot be considered as an ‘unproblematic descriptor of a natural biological phase’ (James and James, 2004: 13). In short, therefore, childhood, a developmental stage of life course, being common to all children at one and the same time, is also fragmented by the heterogeneity of children’s everyday lives. The manner in which childhood is analysed, understood and socially institutionalised varies considerably across and between cultures and generations in regard to children’s everyday lives and actions. Likewise, in connection with child-specific needs and competencies articulated and made comprehensible in law and social policy along with social interactions between children and adults. Thus, the social construction of childhood is portrayed ‘as the complex interweaving of social structures, political and economic institutions, beliefs, cultural mores, laws, policies and everyday actions of both adults and children , in home and on the street’ (ibid). The social construction approach, which draws on social interaction theory and includes children’s agency and daily activities to interpret children’s lives, became the dominant paradigm (see James and Prout 1990/1998; Jenks 2005; Qvortrup 1994, 1; Woodhead 2009), especially from mid-1990s of the last century.

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Breaking the Ice Institutionally: UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) The discourses on the child and young people and childhood and youth culminated in the recognition of the social fact that children and young people are persons and not sub-persons. Before UNCRC 1989, it was 1924 Declaration of the Rights of the Child which came to be known as the ‘Declaration of Geneva’. Recognising that ‘mankind owes to the child the best that it has to give’, the five simple principles of the Declaration established the basis of child rights in terms of both protection of the weak and vulnerable and promotion of the child’s development. The Declaration also made it clear that the care and protection of children was no longer the exclusive responsibility of families or communities or even individual countries; the world as a whole had a legitimate interest in the welfare of all children. In 1946, the Economic and Social Council of the United Nations recommended that the Geneva Declaration be reaffirmed as a sign of commitment to the cause of children. The same year, the United Nations established a specialised agency—UNICEF (United Nations Children’s Fund) with a mandate to care for the world’s children. The UNCRC was adopted by the United Nations in 1989. Since then, children’s rights have become a significant field of study. The Convention appealed to the ‘academic responsibility’ of scholars in various disciplines, which gave the academic interest ‘a timely impetus’ (Verhellen, 1998: 97). Today, scholarly works on children’s rights is almost inconceivable without considering the Convention as the bearer of the children’s rights debate. Taking cue from the reality of children’s rights and considering it as a social phenomenon arising from constitutive human action (Cotterrell, 2005; Stammers, 1995; 1999; Tarulli and Skott-Myhre, 2006), social constructions of children’s rights found in the UNCRC have generated a new genre of literature (see Reynaert et al. 2009). Since the adoption of the UNCRC, the academic discourse on children’s rights has been preoccupied with highlighting the childhood image of the competent child vis-à-vis the image of the incompetent child, characterised by considering children as objects in need of protection because of their vulnerability. Aided by UNCRC, the children’s rights movement presented an alternative pedagogical model for dealing with the children. Here, children are represented as social actors, as active agents and autonomous, independent human beings in constructing their lives in their own right (for example King 2007; Matthews and Limb 1998; Miljeteig-Olssen 1990; Wilcox and Naimark 1991), thereby criticising the ‘tutelage status’ of the child protection movement. Thus, at this juncture of the children’s rights paradigm is the acknowledgment of the child as an autonomous subject, meaningful

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in its current ‘child-being ’, and the slogan became ‘bring children back into society ’ (Verhellen 2000). This brings to the fore indubitably that that UNCRC imposes legally binding norms on state parties who ratify the Convention, by which society becomes accountable for realising children’s rights. The competent child with participation rights also took root in policymaking. Melton (2005a) describes the UNCRC as a transformative instrument guiding policy. The Convention offers a judicial framework to rethink childcare policies in the direction of ensuring children’s dignity (Melton 1991, 2005b; Miljeteig-Olssen, 1990). Jupp (1990: 131) and describes this as a ‘landmark in a century long struggle for social reform’. After UNCRC, it became imperative that states not only have to take steps to provide child services and childcare facilities (access to child services) but should also guarantee that child services and childcare facilities meet certain standards (quality of child care). The relevant literature on the impact, potentialities, loopholes and problems of implementation of UNCRC is massive, which is not within the purview of this brief write–up, but it can be asserted that the works on UNCRC unquestionably demonstrate a preoccupation with children’s rights wand a changing image of childhood that considers children as autonomous human beings. However, there is divergence on the notion of desirability of the shift towards autonomy for children. Various scholars point out the risks of a rights tradition emphasising individuality and autonomy (Federle, 1994; Freeman, 2007). To conclude, it can be said that the academic discourses on children’s rights since the adoption of the UNCRC in 1989, three themes dominate contemporary scholarly works on the UNCRC—(i) autonomy and participation rights as the new norm in child rights practice and policy; (ii) children’s rights versus parental rights and (iii) the global children’s rights industry analysed from the perspective of ‘educationalisation’2 (Reynaert et al. 2009: 528–9). Unfortunately, relevant literature on Indian children’s rights is almost absent from sociological and social science viewpoints, although some works exist in the legal realm.

Childhood and Youth Studies: Issues, Practice and Imaginations Children and Childhood In both contemporary and classical sociological theory, one can hardly find any trace of that particular form of social agent, children, or of that special feature of social life, childhood. (Turmel 2008: 16)

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As mentioned earlier, until recent decades, children were silenced, their voices unheard and their experiences largely concealed in the knowledge created by sociologists, anthropologists and historians. Critical perspectives on the marginalisation of children were inspired by earlier political movements on behalf of other subordinated groups such as colonised peoples, racial-ethnic minorities, women and members of alternative sexualities. These movements challenged the contours of traditional knowledge, showing that the standpoints and interests of the dominant were embedded in frameworks for studying topics as diverse as labour, politics, social organisation, families and embodiment. These critical approaches helped open attention to the silencing of children and to the goal of bringing them to voice. The theme of ‘voice’—voicing experiences, claiming the right not only to speak but also to be listened to—has become a metaphor for political recognition, self-determination and full presence in knowledge. There are especially close analogies, and complex connections, between movements to bring children, and to bring women, more fully into knowledge. Seemingly passive women and children were also clumped together by phrases such as ‘the immigrants sent for their wives and children’, which assume that the actors are adult males and that women and children are essentially baggage to be carted, sent for or left behind. Framing women and children as social actors—as participants in processes of labour, politics, revolution, migration—has challenged male and adult-centred assumptions and provided fuller, more illuminating knowledge. A good example of the upturning of conventional perspectives can be found in Enid Schildkrout’s classic 1978 article where he observed that children rarely entered descriptions of social systems and proposed that they should be understood as children rather than as the next generation of adults. Reversing the familiar equation of children with dependence, Schildkrout asked, ‘[W]hat would happen to the adult world (other than its extinction) if there were no children? And in what ways are adults dependent upon children? What is the significance of children in maintaining the relative status of men and women?’ (1978/2002: 342) Drawing upon fieldwork among the Hausa, a Muslim society in Nigeria, Schildkrout described how income-earning women, confined to their households by purdah, depended on children to purchase materials and to deliver and sell the final products at the market. This arrangement—with spatially mobile children—actively contributed, on the one hand, to patriarchal–economic practices but also, on the other, made possible women’s earning opportunity. The ‘new sociology of childhood’ intended to ‘de-naturalising’ age categories and relations and attempted to theorise age as a structural and

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discursive dimension of social life, analogous to and intersecting with gender, racial-ethnicity and other lines of difference with an emphasis on historical changes and cultural variation. In this social construction of age and relations, childhoods are socially located and children are construed as social actors, agents and cultural creators. The ‘new’ continues here as a statement of breaking from functionalist theories of ‘socialisation’ and staking out territory that was previously relinquished to developmental psychology and notions like child development. A fully historical, sociological and anthropological approach has solidified and scholars to pay closer attention to children as social actors with varied lives and experiences, gained momentum in the 1980s and 1990s. This critical approach to adult-centred frameworks was enhanced by increasing criticisms of knowledge organised around the outlooks and interests of the powerful. Scholarly attention to women and people of colour helped inspire calls for research that would bring children more fully into knowledge. Critical examination of age relations, childhood and categories such as child and adult was also spurred by a theoretical approach called social constructionism, which involved digging beneath categories that are taken for granted to examine the varied ways in which they have been organised and given meaning. A unitary category like the child is especially ripe for examination because it encompasses a wide range of ages and capacities, with an ambiguous and often disputed upper boundary. International political and economic changes of the late 20th century also heightened awareness of the varied lives and circumstances of children. Global economic restructuring strengthened ties among geographically distant nations, with increasing circulation of commodities, labour, information and images. In many parts of the world, these changes forced children into new conditions of poverty and increased their numbers among refugees and among those who work in highly exploitative conditions. Televised images of children living in situations of war, violence, poverty and famine have undermined the assumption that children are an innocent and protected group, safely ensconced in families and schools. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, on the one hand, was the work by James and James (2004), which sought to build upon the pioneering original explanation of the socially constructed nature of childhood that framed the new paradigm of childhood studies (James and Prout 1990/1998) and its subsequent elaboration (James et al. 1998). James and James set out to develop and expand this paradigm by seeking to identify some of the missing elements in the analysis of the relationship between structure and agency and to specify some of the mechanisms connecting the two through which social change and social continuity occur in relation to childhood.

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They developed the notion of the cultural politics of childhood—the combination of national and therefore cultural contexts, social practices and political processes through which childhood is uniquely constructed in different societies at different times—and identified the pivotal role of law as the institutional embodiment of social practices, both in the construction and the regulation of childhood. On the other hand, Jens Qvortrup, a Danish sociologist, coordinated an ambitious comparative study of the living conditions of children in 13 European countries plus Israel, Canada and the United States. The researchers relied, in part, on the techniques of demography—that is the use of statistical methods to study the size, structure and distribution of particular populations. Defining children as a category spanning the ages of birth through 14, the research team compared the age structuring of national populations. They found, for example, that from 1950 to 1990, the proportion of children declined in all 16 industrialised countries, with the greatest decline in Finland and the least in Israel. They also analysed comparative information about the size and composition of the households in which children resided, patterns in the employment of children and in children’s daily duties at home, the amount of time children spent in school and in organised activities outside of school, the legal and health status of children, and the proportion of social resources, such as income and housing, that were allocated to children in each national economy. Guided by a view of childhood as a position in social structure, this comparative study emphasised relations among legal, political, economic, health, educational, family and other institutions. Research on the social construction of childhood has focused not only on the institutional arrangements that shape children’s lives but also on beliefs about the nature of children or particular groups of children, such as infants or girls entering puberty. Studies have shown that street children in Brazil have been portrayed as threats to the social order (a discourse the police have used to justify arrests), as victims (the discourse of social welfare agencies) and through a discourse of children’s rights used by activists who argue that children should participate in changing the conditions of their lives (Hecht, 1998). Social scientists who study discursive constructions of children and childhoods have analysed not only the ways in which meanings are made but also their effects in the world. For example, sociologists and anthropologists often puzzled about the gap between the stated goal of public education in industrialised countries—to open equal opportunity for all children—and the reality that schools, by and large, reproduce social class and racial inequalities. Although teachers may try to use even-handed practices and to focus on children as individuals,

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assumptions about social class and race are embedded in processes of sorting and tracking. In the United States, for example, some schools provide special resources for children deemed to be gifted, a discourse that appears to represent an objective and natural difference, but that embeds social class and racial assumptions. Ann Ferguson (2000) studied the consequential use of another discourse—‘bad boys’—in the daily world of a multiracial middle school in California. Assuming that low-income African American boys were especially prone towards misbehaviour, teachers monitored them more closely than other students. To sustain a sense of dignity in the face of this negative control, the boys sometimes engaged in acts that the adults saw as defiance. The spiral of labelling, conflict and discipline reproduced patterns of inequality. Children are discursively constructed not only by experts and the media but also by corporations that design and sell goods to an expanding child market. Marketing campaigns target groups that are narrowly defined by age and gender, promoting particular conceptions of childhood. Actually market-driven ideas about the pace of growing up enter into negotiations between children, parents and teachers over issues such as what clothing can be worn to school; Ann Solberg (1995), a Norwegian sociologist, coined the term social age to refer to negotiated conceptions of being older or younger, a more flexible construction than chronological age. The concept of children’s agency has been used in varied ways. A flourishing body of research on children’s everyday lives emphasises their capacities as experiencing subjects who are capable of autonomous action and cultural creation. William Corsaro (1997) has observed preschools in the United States and in Italy, documenting children’s use of ideas from the adult world as they created distinctive peer cultures. He coined the term interpretive reproduction to emphasise children’s participation in cultural production and change. Solberg (1995) found that 10-year-old Norwegian children and their employed mothers had quite different perspectives on children taking care of themselves at home after school. The mothers worried that their children came home to an ‘empty house’, but some of the children spoke instead of coming home to a ‘welcoming house’, with independent access to food, television and the telephone. There is no doubt that children have agency in the sense of the capacity to experience, interact and make meaning. From this perspective, the division between children and adults or teens is somewhat arbitrary and continually negotiated. Recently, Adrian James, one of the stalwarts of Childhood studies in UK wrote: ‘Childhood studies is approaching a crossroads, reaching a point in its history and development when searching questions must be asked about how the field is now perceived and whether there is any longer a

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shared understanding of what was once a unified project.’ That is to say, ‘a fracturing of the field is inevitable with different agenda, different paths and ‘thinking afresh about the nature of childhood studies and reconstructing it’ (2010: 485–7). In 2005 Qvortrup asserted that the increasing emphasis on the plurality of childhoods was obscuring the overriding importance of childhood as a social category and its structural significance in terms of generation and intergenerational relations. Thus, the global cultural politics of childhood became an area of contention as well as a focus of interdisciplinary sociological research. ‘The new discourses of childhood understand the child as being. The child is conceived of as a person, a status’, as Chris Jenks said that ‘any analysis of childhood must rigorously attempt to open up the boundaries that have been placed around the experience’ (1996: 11) as ‘the recognition is that childhood and “the child” are indeed complex phenomena; understanding them properly, and not just partially, compels any disciplinarian to consult researchers from other disciplinary fields, and to develop efficient forms of communication and collaboration with them’ (Alanen 2012: 419). A few articles have appeared in the journal Childhood on India in recent years, like Sarada Balagopalan’s article on ‘Children’s lives and the Indian context’ (2011) where she has highlighted multiple childhoods. In this connection it is necessary to remember what BühlerNiederberger wrote while comparing researches from 10 countries that in childhood sociological research all the influential books are written in English, and some have been translated into other languages. But no books not written in or translated into English were listed among the most influential ones. So there is not only a global, but also a hegemonic influence shaping childhood sociological research all over the world. (2010: 377)

This, of course, is again a serious problem as it has always been in other sub-fields of sociology, especially from the point of view of ex-colonies and developing countries (see Nieuwenhuys, 2009).

Young and Youth At the end of the first decade of the 21st century, and in the context of rapid technological change and extensive economic and social uncertainty, the lives and identities of young people continue to be the subject of a broad range of scholarship which is as stimulating as it is important. The over-arching questions indubitably are how are scholars contributing to the

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sociology of youth engaging with themes of generational issues, identity, transition and culture and above all young people’s own perceptions? The challenges in front of the researchers are the choice of apposite conceptual and methodological tools to understand adequately the complexities of contemporary young lives. And what sorts of re-assessments or new conceptualisations might be necessary in order to adequately explore the contemporary life-worlds of young people today? Of special significance here are derived understandings of youth as located on the pathway between childhood and adulthood and, as part of this, the notion of adulthood as ‘destination’. In this regard, a brief mention must be made to adolescence which becomes culturally defined as a life stage when full-time education replaces full-time employment as the primary activity of young people. In reality the growing public concern over the problem behaviours exhibited by children led to the social invention of the concept of adolescence. This emerged as a new interim social status between childhood and adulthood (Jensen and Rojek, 1998). The concept of adolescence has also been referred to in the literature as youth or juvenile status which further adds to the confusion around terminology in the field of juvenile justice (Agnew, 2001; Ferdinand, 1991). The fact of the matter is globally, research on adolescence flourished in the last three decades of the 20th century. According to David Bakan (cited in Jensen and Rojek, 1998), the concept of ‘adolescence’ was an American discovery and if we look at the sub-field of sociology of crime and deviance, it can be attested that it was the work of a group of researchers of Chicago school who highlighted juvenile delinquency within the context of social disorganisation theory framework. The vast majority of studies on youth are focused on the problematic features of adolescence and explicitly on problem behaviour. A review of the leading journals on adolescence points out that at least half of all articles were principally about youthful misbehaviour and maladjustment: delinquency and violence, substance abuse, school problems, mental health and the like. This focus is especially prominent in the literature on early adolescence when youth engage in behaviours defined as ‘high risk’ (Bahr et al. 1998; Barber 1992; Bogenschneider Wu et al. 1998; Buehler et al. 1998; Christopher et al. 1998; Dryfoos 1998; Perkins et al. 1998). A far smaller share of the literature concerns measures of conventional behaviours (Crockett and Crouter 1995) to adolescent success or to adult roles. Here, as Howard Becker (1973) explained that most youth (like many adults) engage in behaviours that may have more complex meanings depending on both their context and consequences, for example, why should learning to drive safely is regarded as a positive development, whereas learning to drink responsibly is seen as a negative event?

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Hence, it seems that the boundaries of childhood, youth and adulthood are hazy, imprecise and are always changing. In this context, the use of the concept of ‘social generation’ has been suggested as a way of moving beyond this impasse. As the sociology of youth is made up of multiple theoretical and empirical focuses, much of the current discourses can still be seen as focusing either on changes in young people’s transitions to adulthood or young people’s self-understandings and culture. Sociology of Youth has a long history, in focusing on these transitions and cultures even though there have been a lot of modifications as far as the utilisation of these concepts and the dominant metaphors have certainly changed over time. The 1970s and into the 1980s saw the rise of youth unemployment in a number of Western countries and a rethinking of the concept of transition. This rethinking drew on the ‘structural’ sociological approaches of the time and focused researchers’ attention on the way that social position constrains young people’s transitions (Cohen 1997; Wyn and White 1997). Likewise, a new way of thinking about subjective orientations, focused on youth cultures, emerged as a major alternative sociological approach to youth (Bennett, 2000). This subcultural approach brought to the fore the way those groups of working-class young people (mostly young men) appropriated meaning through the cultural resources available to them and used these and refused to accept constrictions and rejoiced their own cultural expressions (for example Willis, 1977). While focusing on young people’s subjective experience and shared meaning-making, this work theorised youth culture in reference to a body of theory centred on structural constraint and class inequality. By the 1990s, a new set of economic and social conditions was shaping the experience of youth; a new proliferation of literature was growing on the distinctive experiences of young women. The post-school education lengthened significantly, particularly for women, manufacturing work declined to be replaced by service work and often casualised employment, and young people increasingly deferred marriage and family formation. In different ways, Giddens (1991), Beck (1992) and Bauman (1998 and 2000) argued that considerable changes have occurred in the principles by which modern society is organised. Control over uncertainty and risk comes to seem significantly less possible yet appears to be appreciably more valuable. This same process of increasing complexity and speedy change is seen to mean that institutions such as the family, employment and community potentially become more fragmented, and personal life comes to appear less predictable. Using a social generation approach to move beyond the binary between young people’s cultural expressions and transitions, let me focus on the premise that young people today are

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growing up in a world that is significantly different, and is experienced as different, from the world in which their parents grew up. These changing conditions have again reshaped the way transitions and youth cultures are conceptualised. A major area of discussion over the past two decades has centred on the multiplication of the number of possible pathways of transition and on rapid change in the timing and synochronisation of transitions to various markers of adulthood (Côté 2000; te Riele 2004). A second area of interest has been how young people make choices about their future and shape their identity in the face of more intricate and prolonged transitions in an arguably ‘post subcultural’ and individualised world (Andres and Wyn 2010; Brannen and Nilsen 2002; Harris 2002; MacDonald and Marsh 2005; Threadgold and Nilan 2009). The focus of contemporary youth research is shaped adding a focus on social change and complexity to the long-standing concerns with the variable outcomes of transition to adulthood for differently positioned young people (for example Ashton and Field 1976; Roberts 1968). The focal point of youth research is shaped not only by changes in the experience of youth, but also by the conceptual resources deployed and by the history of past research, or at least the way that this history is told in the present. Much contemporary youth research can be seen as a continuation of these ‘twin tracks’ of youth studies. In many ways, this focus on how social change has impacted on youth cultures, and on the way young people think about the present and the future, shows continuity with the long-standing interest in how young people make sense of their experience and actively shape their lives (Hall and Jefferson 1976; McRobbie and Garber 1976; Willis 1977), but this focus on change and complexity also marks the potential for a fruitful convergence of approaches. Recent efforts at overcoming the ‘false binary’ (even if it has been real in some of its consequences for the field) between the two approaches to youth research has frequently taken the form of calls for ‘middle-ground’ conceptual approaches, particularly in research focused on both youth transitions and youth culture (Woodman 2009). This has emerged as a response to critiques of the over-emphasis on structure in youth-transitions research post-1960s and a perceived over-emphasis on agency in many studies of youth culture (Evans 2002; Lehmann 2004; Roberts 2003). These middle-ground approaches draw on concepts such as ‘bounded agency’ or ‘structured individualisation’ as a way of overcoming historical divisions (Brannen and Nilsen 2002; Lehmann 2004; Roberts 2003; Rudd and Evans 1998). Indeed, conceptualisations converge in the critique of each tradition’s bias and through an engagement with theories of individualisation. Engaging with and critiquing these claims about the opening of the

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biography to new uncertainties is a central aim in many studies within contemporary youth sociology across the two traditions and, thus, offers an opportunity to break with the past. But the problem with finding a ‘middle ground’ between youth transitions and youth cultures is that approaches often remain trapped within a conceptual model that distinguishes between structural, historically specific conditions and young people’s subjective experience of the times in which they live. The ‘middle-ground’ solution also has the drawback of failing to confront what many youth researchers now acknowledge, that the boundaries of childhood, youth and adulthood are blurred, indistinct, porous and changing. Under these conditions it could be argued that, in late modernity, the notion of transition has become relatively meaningless as a conceptual tool because of the increasing lack of synchrony of transitions across life domains. The leavings and arrivals associated with residence, employment, studying and personal relationships no longer add up to a clear status or to acknowledged rites of passage with regard to life stage. Indeed, research from a number of countries finds a clear trend towards the de-standardisation of the life course (for example Heinz, 2009; Shanahan, 2000). While there are clear signs of convergence between the ‘transitions’ and ‘cultural’ perspectives in the sociology of youth, as yet there is no conceptual framework that is accepted by those aligned to either tradition. The major strength of a social generation approach is that it has the capacity to reveal local variations on global patterns: it enables us to understand the significance of subjectivities and the unevenness of capacity across groups (gender, class and race) and across time and place to enact these subjectivities. Since modern-day ‘childhood’ and youth are increasingly saturated by technology i.e. from television to the Internet, video games to ‘video nasties’, camcorders to personal computers, mobile phones to micro-laptops and to electronic toys, this brief overview remains rather incomplete if the ushering and penetration of new technology in the lives of children and youth is not referred to. Children and young people engage with and exercise competence in a whole range of technologies in the home, at school and in the public social world on a daily basis. In fact, it is almost impossible to imagine their lives without new technologies and at one and the same time there is no arena which does not use or apply these new technologies one way or the other. A new proliferation of literature has been born during the last 20 years in both Europe and North America on new sociology of childhood/ youth along with interface between new technology and children/young encompassing a variety of facets starting with the impact of introduction of computers at the educational institutions to mobile internet and mediated

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interaction as a new social relation. Turkle, wrote that computers significantly change people’s relationships and daily lives, especially among young and cyberspace is currently offering space for fun. It offers an opportunity for experimentation that is frequently absent from the rest of our lives (2011). Turkle explained that it was ‘Technology (that) proposes itself as architect of our intimacies’ (2011:1). The release of iPhone and other smart phones has revolutionized telephone services and surprised even those who are no longer taken aback by any technological breakthroughs, as pointed out by the survey published in MTV’s 2008 Young Universe Dossier. The rising popularity of the internet and the ever increasing amount of time adolescents spend online pose challenges to parent-child relationship, the very notion of family and its role as well as the overall process of growing up as children/young people (Subrahmanyam et al. 2009). To Tom Boonaert and Nicole Vettenburg (2011) the internet is just not a source of information but also help develop new digital skills that enable children to cope in a digitized society. The two important kinds of use of internet among children and young are Education and Entertainment. However these two uses, that is education and entertainment overlaps so much that the term ‘Edutainment’ was coined to describe software that seeks both to educate and entertain (Demner 2001). For some, internet acts as a double edged sword which represents both ‘risks’ and ‘opportunity’ for children and young adult. Chatting over internet, accessing social networking sites and spending hours in the computer among adolescents have become the most popular leisure—time activity which leads them to develop the habit of Compulsive Internet Use (CIU) or Internet addiction (Eijnden, Spijkerman, Vermulst, Rooij and Engels 2009). Children and young people’s use of diversified new media technologies enable a paradoxical reframing of leisure by complicating the distinction between leisure and work. A ‘digital/net generation’ and a ‘participatory media culture’ has transformed their private space of home in to a site of multi-media culture. This space of home is now very much open to new forms of public and community engagement by converting children’s/young people’s domestic leisure practices as sites of cultural production. Here, the children are agency ranging from ‘nurtured beginners’ to ‘nurtured cybernauts’ (Tapscott 2009; Davies and Eynon 2013). Sonia Livingstone (2008) in her in-depth studies shows that the impact on children/youth of social networking sites by enabling communication among ever-widening circles of contacts, by inviting convergence among the hitherto separate activities of e-mail, messaging, website creation, diaries, photo albums, and music/ video uploading and downloading. The very language of social relationships is being reframed; today, people construct

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their ‘profile’, make it ‘public’ or ‘private’, they ‘comment’ or ‘message’ their ‘top friends’ on their ‘wall’, they ‘block’ or ‘add’ people to their network, and so forth. It seems that creating and networking online content is becoming, for many, an integral means of managing one’s identity, lifestyle and social relations. Danah Michele Boyd (2008) explains how teens negotiate self representation and impression management in social networking sites. For Buckingham (2006) Computer games, the Internet, and other new communications media are often seen to pose threats and dangers to young people, but they also provide new opportunities for creativity and self-determination. Marika Luders (2009) shows how Personal media are important social symbols that indicate social success along with mammoth potentiality of creating an integration of online and offline spaces. This brief review of works done on children, childhood and young and youth is almost structurally compelled to exclude India as, unfortunately, to the best of my knowledge, we have very few works done on children and youth though youth especially is utilised as social and political capital by all political parties, media and NGOs.

Children and Childhood in Sociological Bulletin There is no doubt that children and childhood is still a much uncharted territory in India’s sociological imagination. There has been almost a complete silence about child and childhood in sociological discourses in India. The dominant paradigms in sociology either completely excluded ‘child and childhood’ as objects of meticulous research or dealt with them as subordinate or mute categories. There is not a single sociology department in India of any university which offers a paper or a course on sociology of child and/or childhood. At best, a few lectures are delivered on the problem of child labour or on child abuse as part of a Social Problems course. Children even now remain as an add-on agenda if they are discussed in mainstream sociological discourses or at best passive recipients and empty vessels who are in need of instructions. But, interestingly and encouragingly enough, there have been writings on children in Sociological Bulletin, the official journal of Indian Sociological Society though miniscule in comparison to articles on caste, village studies, religion, civil society or even gender which was a neglected terrain for a long time. The rationale behind the choice of the articles was simple and straightforward: as the collection is on the reflections on ‘Sociology of Children and Childhood’, the preference has been given to those papers which mostly focused on manifold aspects of the

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children and childhood in their surrounding social context and its associated sociological implications in Indian society. K. S. Shukla’s article on ‘Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association’, published in 1976, is a part of his extensive work on the adolescent property offenders (16 to 21 years) from two urban centres Gwalior and Indore in Central India. The paper describes the nature of association of 200 adolescent property offenders during different stages of growth and, by inference or implication, it provides empirical test for the theory of Differential Association of Edwin H. Sutherland. The study is based upon interviews of the adolescents in both the cities. The selected offenders fell in three categories: (i) freely moving offenders with prior record of conviction, (ii) without any record, (iii) convicted offenders and under-trials in the police custody or in the jails. The bases of classification of the adolescents were source of livelihood, modus-operandi and frequency of theft, skill, efficiency, ability to fix up cases, self-conception and attitude towards society and the criminal world, potentialities and experience. The author also studied police records of both the cities regarding adolescents so as to get an idea of the prevailing crime situation. The records presented a picture of the intensity, trend, variety, direction and other differentials like age, sex and caste. This information not only helped in piecing together the crime picture, in order to have a gestalt of the entire situation, but also in the collection of the background information of the selected offenders. This being a sensitive issue, the author argued that special care was taken to exclude, as much as possible, the cases from custodial institutions emerging out of incarceration. Due to the spatial mobility of the offenders, the chance sample was his choice. They were interviewed with the help of an interview-guide, in a wide variety of places, such as hotels, lonely places, open streets, apartments of the subjects, police stations, jail premises and other suitable spots. The findings demonstrate that the surrounding interactional environment presents both anti-delinquent and pro-delinquent parameters. Exposures favourable to violation of law were made at the intimacy associations other than the immediate neighborhood or school. This process has been found being further reinforced by a variety of delinquency-generating factors that almost incessantly operate upon the subjects. They initiate them into professional techniques of undertaking various property offences and, eventually, crystallise and sustain in them tangible pro-delinquent behavioural patterns. The frequency, duration, priority and intensity aspects of the theory of differential association find considerable support from the empirical findings. This article, as mentioned earlier, is a classic example of the application of theories of Chicago school that highlighted the

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problematic features of adolescence and explicitly on their non-normative problem behaviour. The article by Shah, Patel and Sewell on ‘Social class and educational aspirations in an indian metropolis’ is on social class and educational and occupational achievements and inequality. This paper examined the relationship of socio-economic status and educational aspirations of 5,201 S.S.C. students enrolled in a stratified sample of high schools in Ahmedabad, a metropolis in western India. The data were collected by means of an eightpage questionnaire administered to all S.S.C. students who were present at the time of data-collection in the sample high schools. The questionnaire contained items concerning the socio-economic status of the students’ families, educational and occupational aspirations and perceptions of the sources influencing their plans and aspirations, attitudes of their significant others (parents, teachers and peers) towards higher education, and a short form of a scale for measuring attitudes towards modernisation. The major conclusions of this empirical work were that it seems that quite a large number of the aspirants for college education, especially males, desire to join college, presumably, as a temporary activity in the prevailing conditions of a high rate of unemployment and difficulties in finding a suitable white-collar job in the urban areas. Similarly, the girls who desire to join college but do not aspire to college graduation probably desire some college education before marriage. A lack of appropriate selection mechanisms and facilities for sorting out and counselling youth in the choice of post–high school alternatives may be a major factor leading many of them to desire college education as a part-time or an ancillary activity. Further, both socioeconomic status and academic performance are related to the post–high school educational aspirations of both males and females. When academic performance is controlled, significant social class differences are found in the educational aspirations of both males and females, although such differences are greater among females than among males. This research work was conducted in late 1960s and authors reported that India still needs to plan for more imaginative approaches to reduce, if not to eliminate completely, social class differences in educational aspirations of its young adults. This article was in complete tunning with the then dominant paradigm of treating adolescent children as problem-creators. The next paper is almost on the same issue with empirical location difference—‘Education and the emerging patterns of political orientations: A sociological analysis’ by Ehsanul, Haq focused on the political role of the family and the school and the impact of their role-performance on political orientations of school children. The study also highlighted on

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the differential emerging patterns of their orientations as a consequence of structural inequality. The study is based on the data collected from three representative schools belonging to three major types of schools in Delhi: Government School, Government Aided School and the Public School. The selection of these schools takes into account the differences in terms of socioeconomic background of students, their exposure to mass-media, social milieu in and outside the school, adequate population size, and content of the school textbooks and the historical tradition of the rejected schools. It was a multi-method study applying questionnaire, interview schedule, observation and content analysis for a random sample of 600 respondents (308 students, 128 teachers and 164 parents). The findings suggest that the politically more aware students belong to the rich, elite and public school background. They are articulate, economically secure, privileged, stable, conformist and more class conscious. This type of situation tends to generate moderation and retreatism rather than militancy; routine rather than rebellion. Contrary to this, the politically less aware students belong to the poor, and the mass-based schooling system. They are inarticulate, economically insecure, deprived, unstable, non-conformist and less class conscious. This type of situation tends to develop militancy and aggression rather than moderation and retreatism. Thus, two differential patterns of political orientations are the consequences of the two different conditions existing at the family and school levels. He, therefore, concludes that the negative consequences of political socialisation are the results of preserved inequality in terms of enormous cultural differences, occupational gap and the dual system of schooling catering separately to the rich and to the poor in India. A stratified society and a stratified pattern of schooling reinforce each other. These two studies, although not talked about, are based on the theoretical departure point that instead of promoting equality, education maintains inequality in the interest of dominant class. It plays a mediating role between individual’s consciousness and society at large. Although Marx, Engels as well as Lenin never prepared a separate theory of education, but in terms of dialectical understanding, education and capitalist commodity production are two productive sides of capitalist mode of production (Ivkovic, 1999). Although Gramsci, Althusser and Bernstein discussed the role of education in reproducing ideological hegemony and control, it was Pierre Bourdieu who systematically considered culture and education as central in creating and recreating differences between social classes in a capitalist economy. He made the sub-discipline of sociology of education as a science understanding the contribution of education in reproducing structure of power relationships, symbolic relationships between the classes and in the distribution

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of cultural capital among classes (1977). These articles, unlike the first one, do not relate theory to empirical data, but the underlying message comes clear that both political orientation and career/occupational achievements of children/young people are socially conditioned and is basically an outcome socio-economic factors and power relations. The next three articles are epistemologically and ontologically very significant as the trio highlights one of the worst crises of Indian social reality, that is from ‘son preference’ to ‘get rid of girls’. The indiscriminate killing of girl children beginning with murdering of female foetuses is now a feature of our lived experiences of daily life. The first of this trio is by Ashesh Das Gupta entitled ‘Culture and fertility: Son preference and reproductive behaviour’. This paper explores the impact of son preference, which is identified by the author as a strong cultural value, on the reproductive behaviour of married couples belonging to the Hindu, Muslim, Christian and Sikh religious communities in Patna. The study was conducted in the city of Patna in the early 1990s. With the help of the Son Preference Scale, the respondents were categorised into three broad groups, expressing three different levels of preference for male issue. Thus, respondents scoring more than 6 points (in the 10-item Son Preference Scale) have been placed in ‘higher’ son preference (HSP) category, those scoring points between 5 and 1 have been placed in ‘lower’ son preference (LSP) category, and those scoring no point have been placed in the category of no preference for son (NSP). Furthermore, the respondents were classified into lower and higher fertility groups, with women having three or more children placed in ‘higher’ fertility group and those with two or less than two children placed in ‘lower’ fertility group. The findings show that the son preference value is a potential promoter of higher fertility in all the four religious communities, though this value operates differently in different religious communities. The percentage of respondents having higher son preference has been found to be the highest among the Hindus (61 per cent), followed by the Sikhs (54 per cent), the Muslims (52 per cent) and the lowest among the Christians (44 per cent). Furthermore, a good number of respondents from higher socio-economic group have shown a strong preference for the male issue. It is unmistakably evident that having a ‘girl child’ is considered as a predicament and the dominant value here is not on having a child but a boy child. Therefore, infertility cannot be considered from a gender-neutral perspective in India. Child, per se as part of a ‘family’ is not worth much irrespective of gender in this deep-rooted patriarchal culture of Indian society. Interestingly, the second one in this group is on ‘Sex preference and contraceptive use in Manipur’ by L. Ladusingh, N. Minita Devi and Kh.

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Jitenkumar Singh. The popular notion is that Manipuri women occupy a high status in the family and society, not only for their contribution to the economy of the household, but also for their major roles in the society. According to the authors also, the Manipuri women are in a better position than their counterparts in other parts of the country, both educationally and in terms of their position and roles in the society. Absence of dowry for marrying daughters and companionship the daughters provide to their mothers preclude daughters being viewed as liabilities. The data for this study were collected from sampled representative areas of all eight districts of Manipur, of which three are in the valley and five, in the hilly region. A target sample of 1,000 currently married women were distributed among the eight districts proportionate to their population size. A twostage sampling design was adopted: using systematic sampling procedure. The authors’ research reveals that, in Manipur, there is moderate son preference across residence and socio-economic background, but not at the cost of balance sex composition of a boy and a girl. Son preference is stronger in rural and hill areas, possibly because of the nature of livelihood in these residence backgrounds. Irrespective of their socio-economic and residence background, women are not at all satisfied with having ‘only daughters’, though ‘only sons’ is acceptable to some extent. Had there been no sex preference, contraceptive use would have risen to the highest rate at any parity, invariant of sex composition of children. The low rate of contraceptive use for the sex composition of children dominated by daughters and the high rate of its use for the sex composition of children dominated by sons at any parity confirm the presence of sex preference in Manipur. This is alarming and intriguing at the same time as it seems Manipur is catching up with the ills of patriarchal values of the mainstream Indian society. The last article by T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti, on ‘Disappearing daughters and intensification of gender bias: Evidence in two village studies in South India’, is a logical culmination of son preference as they coined it so sharply that it is now ‘get rid of girls’ with the help of technology of sex determination tests and widespread facilities of abortion. The study based on two villages from low fertility regions of Karnataka and Tamil Nadu. The desired family size and the desired gender composition of children are on a convergence level. The authors have analysed how fertility decline has actually increased sex bias instead of reducing which was the anticipation. That is, the norm of small family size and reduced fertility became catalytic to ‘get rid of girls’. As the authors have unmistakably stated in their concluding observations that these two village studies illustrate that daughters are rarely able to substitute sons for the parents. Particularly among peasant

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communities blessed with new technology and its cheaper availability, these two low-fertility regions exhibit strong son preference. It was a focus group study coupled with observation. Finally, the authors have reported that the communities which did not practice dowry have now started in a big way as the daughter became the symbol of dowry payments. The law here is manifest only as legislation but not as in practice and, thus, gender justice is only gendered injustice (see Bhadra, 2006) aided by gendered new technology and associated patriarchal social practices.

Young and Youth in Sociological Bulletin Compared to children and childhood, young and youth and their lived experiences have captured the imagination of sociologists of India a little more. That is why there are six articles selected for the section on Children and Childhood and seven articles are selected for section on Young and Youth. There is no denying the fact that children are still considered passive recipients by the majority sociologists in India and left to the domain of psychologist for any repair/therapy, and so on, they require to make them competent adults. And childhood also is a social fact which exists in absentia for majority children and thereby as well missing in most of our sociological imagination. However, it must be stated in all honesty that reflections/ deliberations on India’s young and youth are also compared to works on caste, religion, family, marriage, kinship, and villages is almost zilch or at best insignificant and negligible. Amidst this the articles in Sociological Bulletin were a ray of hope and were clearly evincive of dynamic aspect of sociological imagination of some Indian sociologists. The articles which have been chosen bring to the fore the changing contexts within which young people build their lives in Indian society. The article ‘Attitudes to English and use of it by students of three different mother tongues: Hindi, Kannada and Tamil’ by Ross and Bandyopadhyay is an excellent example of exploration of new territories of the relation between language and youth identity with special reference to English and three regional languages Hindi, Kannada and Tamil. Their purpose was to find out how and why English language is being maintained even though there are regional languages after about a quarter of a century of independence. ‘Maintenance’ was measured by the number of students speaking it and their proficiency in that language. The cities chosen were Bangalore, Jaipur and Madras, the capital cities, respectively, of the States of Mysore, Rajasthan and Madras. The original study was based on the

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answers of 1,254 fourth-year college students in the summer of 1965 to a questionnaire based on their language experiences at home, school and college and their mother tongues were Tamil, Kannada and Hindi. Data were gathered from colleges in the capital cities of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur, and from two other non-capital cities and small towns in the southern states. Their findings showed that the extensive use of English as medium of instruction in primary and/or high school was found to be the most important factor in attaining proficiency in English for it was an influential factor irrespective of the city in which the learning took place. It was found to be next in importance that speaking English at home when the students were young and/or at the present time was one of the major reasons for English maintenance. However, speaking English every day and most often with friends was not found to be highly associated with proficiency in all of the cities. In other words, it was the variable most affected by outside contingencies, and so not a constant influence in learning English. When they looked at the way in which the different variables are associated with the students’ desire to retain English in three important areas of life, it was found that proficiency in the language is more highly associated with the desire to retain English at these three levels which were medium of instruction at college, official language of the centre and also of the state. The conclusions drawn from these data are that whereas the school and home are the main agencies that generate proficiency in English, it is the mastery of the language which becomes the key factor in determining the students’ attitudes towards English. In other words, proficiency in English leads to a preference to retain it. In fact, a higher proportion of the students from the two southern cities had been exposed to English in these three areas than the students from Jaipur. This article was a pioneering effort in sociolinguistics which is still typically untried in mainstream sociology of India. Actually this article was written in mid 1970s when only a scanty attention was paid to patterns of youth language change and adaptation. The findings of this work corroborates with a recent study done on the city of Kolkata’s youth in terms of displacement of native languages in relation to English.3 ‘The use of psychotropic drugs among college youth in India: An appraisal’ by Unnithan, Singh and Khan emphasised the need to develop a synchronised and comparable database with respect to the use of psychotropic drugs among college students as the phenomenon became a source of concern at every level. They aimed to develop an estimate of the prevalence rate of drug use among the college/university students in the country as a whole by collecting especially data from Bombay, Delhi and Madras (metropolitan areas) as well as in Hyderabad, Jabalpur and Jaipur (non-metropolitan areas),

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and the Banaras Hindu University, Varanasi (a wholly residential university), that is from seven urban centres. A confidential self-report questionnaire has been administered in a group-setting interrupting normal instructionwork in the class. The data thus collected have been processed separately by each study centre. The findings show, as a whole, that the incidence of the use of psychotropic drugs among the college youth in the country does not appear to be so large as to cause alarm at least in the late 1970s. It is mostly the traditional substances like alcohol and cannabis that dominate the drug scene. To a good extent, these drugs may have linkages with several sociocultural practices. Therefore, the authors suggested towards containing the problem of the non-medical use of psychotropic drugs, whatever its extent, a viable social intervention programme would do well to direct its thrust on restructuring social norms and practices. One of the most important conclusions the authors drew that the incidence of psychotropic drugs among male students is far more than among female students: for every two male students on drugs there is only one female student. They opined that, in part, this may be attributed to the differential role expectations in society which discourage the use of intoxicants by women more than that by men. But authors also noted that the female–male ratio noticeably varies with the study centres. The difference is least in Bombay (3:4) and the highest in Madras (3:23). Moreover, the drug preference also varies: it is tobacco, alcohol and painkillers for men; and painkillers, alcohol and tobacco for women. Notwithstanding this, the womenfolk are ahead of men in the use of painkillers. This article is again within the perception and paradigm of problematic features of adolescence /youth behaviour model taking its cue from Chicago School of Social Disorganisation framework. But full credit goes to the authors for indigenising the paradigm and its application. Kazi and Ghadially’s ‘Perception of the female role by Indian college students’ was in a sense a pioneering attempt in late 1970s as they investigated empirically whether college men and women with ‘traditional’ and ‘non-traditional’ attitudes towards sex-roles differed in terms of the importance they attached to marriage and age of marital partner, the wife’s educational and career aspirations. They administered a questionnaire part of which dealt with perception of sex-roles, importance of marriage and their educational and career plans. The questionnaire was adopted from the one originally developed and used in a cross-cultural study at Rutger’s University, USA. A sample of 193 male and 286 female college students drawn from the disciplines of arts, commerce, engineering, home science, law, medicine and pure sciences. The mean age of the respondent was 22.0 years. Some of the findings are, for example, when women respondents were asked to choose

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between a career or marrying a man of their choice who disapproves of a working wife, 27.1 per cent of non-traditional girls and only 7.5 per cent of traditional girls opted for career; whereas 26.9 per cent of traditional and only 11.9 per cent of non-traditional girls opted for marriage. Nearly twothirds of traditional and non-traditional girls opted for marriage but hoped to change husband’s mind later. Another classic finding was when asked their reasons for working outside the home after marriage, 29.9 per cent of traditional girls, as opposed to only 10.6 per cent of non-traditional girls, stated insufficient family income. 45.1 per cent of non-traditional girls and only 18.2 per cent of traditional girls said they work in order to pursue a career. According to the authors, the overall picture that emerges from the findings is that a young college student with non-traditional attitudes towards sex-roles considers marriage to be less important, believes that women seek education to develop intellectual capacities, is less concerned about society’s norms of age of marriage partner, emphasises compatibility between partners and consistently more prone to accepting a working wife. The non-traditional woman aspires to higher education, seeks education to develop intellectual capacities and prepares for a career, is less concerned about society’s norms of age of marriage partner and emphasises maturity as an important quality in her husband and wishes to combine career and family (1979: 69). This work of late 1970s was really significant because, on the one hand, it unleashed the sociological imagination for innovative kinds of researches which were outside the traditional arenas of caste, religion, kinship, and village and, on the other, developed an intersectional type of analysis by combining youth, gender and socio-economic aspects of Indian social reality which stands as a rare example in those days and even today when the application of intersectional approach is still in its infancy in India.4 The article by Uplaonkar, ‘Social class and occupational aspirations of college students’, aimed to examine the influence of social class on the occupational aspirations of students in higher education. To be specific, the objective was to analyse the extent to which social class vis-à-vis traditional groups, such as religion, caste and sex, is adapting to the avowed goal of the Indian Constitution, namely, equality of opportunity. The data for the present study were collected by administering a printed semi-structured questionnaire in English and also in Kannada, the regional language of Karnataka state, to the respondents. The findings unfolded that an analysis of the influence of class status on the occupational aspirations of college students, after controlling for the effect of religion, caste and sex (separately), revealed that class status by itself did not exercise any significant influence on the occupational aspirations of the respondents. Traditional groups, on the contrary, did influence

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the occupational aspirations of college students through class status as an intervening variable or factor. However, an analysis of the data by applying simple and partial correlation method revealed that class position made a major contribution to the occupational aspirations of the students. Viewed in terms of statistical finding, it is the class status rather than the traditional groups or ritual status, which is beginning to influence the occupational aspirations of college students. It means that modern India is providing a greater degree of scope to individuals for upward mobility on the basis of their class position. But author cautioned that such a conclusion would be unwarranted as the equality of opportunity guaranteed by the Indian Constitution to every citizen, regardless of religion, caste or sex, has not become a reality in practice. And, furthermore, modernisation only benefitted the already existing privileged and elite groups and the process of modernisation itself is particularistic, inequitable and discriminatory. Three comments are in order for the author’s attempt to liberate the social reality of Indian society from the clutch of caste–caste paradigm. One, it is a commendable effort and ushered a new era of research in studies on social class and its impact on occupational aspirations of young people in India after three decades of independence. Second, at same time, the study did not neglect the traditional aspects like caste and religion and tried to correlate and intersect them with class. Finally, the study did also focus on aspirations of women students and this was really, in a true sense, an intersectional methodological attempt, although only with quantitative approach. The data for the women students reveal that about 48 per cent of the women students had low occupational aspirations which implies that they had taken to college education as a status symbol or just to keep themselves busy until their parents found suitable bridegrooms. It means that, by and large, women students had low occupational aspirations, at least according to this study. The objective of Narsi Patel’s article on ‘Youth aspirations vis-a-vis national development: Participate or emigrate?’ was to assess youth’s identification with national life, their perceptions of economic changes, the extent to which they were caught up in chain migration (having close relatives living abroad), their occupational background and the relationship of these factors with their aspirations to stay or go abroad. The respondents were young people in the final year of high school and they were selected on the rationale that this was the time in their life crucial for making career decisions. The paper focused on the social fact that an overwhelming majority of the youth, chose seeking livelihood in the country to going abroad. Their identification with national development was more guided by their valuation of emigration as a loss to the country. Those few who were inclined to go abroad considered emigration as a gain for them as well as the

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country. According to the author, a consensus seemed to develop among the young people as regards the advantages of migration that there was a world out there to count on for education, cultural revitalisation and economic improvement. The Participate emphasised the former, the Emigrate the latter. Going to stay abroad was not considered by these people as breaking all bonds with the national heritage or culture. This study of youth aspirations reveals an underlying desire on the part of the young to redefine national development, not entirely as a task of toiling within the nation, but as the enrichment of national heritage. In that sense, the distinction between the Participate and the Emigrate, made for the expediency of an empirical analysis, fades. Both groups express, perhaps unknowingly, a unity of effort: working from within and outside. Finally, the findings tend to confirm the observation that neither the rich and secure nor the dismally poor show a propensity to emigrate, for different reasons; it is the people pressed in the middle who are mobile. This study reflected the ambiance of ‘brain-drain’ controversy as it was in its peak in 1980s. The ushering of globalisation put a semicolon if not a full stop to this discourse. The article on the ‘Problems of the youth of North-East India: A sociological inquiry’ by A. K. Nongkynrih is a unique one as it does not confine itself within the limits of students’/youth movements, but provides a mapping of the discourses on the problems of the youth in the region. The author stated this in very clear terms and collected information from the fieldwork on the current status of the programmes for HIV/ AIDS Prevention and Care for the young people of four states of the NorthEastern Region from both female and male youth. The second source of data for the paper came from the field notes of the North-Eastern Region Community Resource management Project for Upland areas in Assam and Manipur in 2004, and this study assesses implementation of projects and problems faced by youth. The author also highlights the discourses on the definitional contours of youth. He successfully explains the different departure points of popular (which is dependent on media portrayal) and academic discourses on youth; the former is within the paradigm of problems of youth behaviour and youth subculture and, though sympathetic, yet it stigmatises youth, reminiscent of once again of Chicago school researches of 1930s to 1950s. The academic discourse attempts to perceive the problems of youth by focusing on a variety of factors that have impact on the lives of youth emanating mainly from the structural conditions of society and do not really try to label or stigmatise the young people, that is do not view them as predicament of society. The academic discourse, in essence, is in tune with theories starting from symbolic interactionism (labelling) to political economy to identity construction.

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Rajesh Gill’s paper on ‘Youth in techno global world: Predicaments and choices’ has represented the contemporary situation within the context of globalisation. Gill fittingly considers youth as a highly differentiated segment of population, especially in a ‘transitional society’ like India. The author opines that although globalisation seemed to have offered a whole lot of choices on life-chances and life styles but the access and capabilities to exercise these choices remain extremely skewed among the youth. He discusses the role of Information and Communication Technologies (ICTs), development of social networking sites and associated virtual sociality and asserts that Indian youth’s take on all these are a very mixed blessing. According to him, while globalisation intensely tempted youth towards greener pastures, these destinations vary to a great extent on the differential competence, both ascribed and achieved by young men and women to seize these opportunities. Additionally, globalisation structurally stepped up the process and pace of individualisation but on the other extreme, left these globalised individuals in anxieties, in risks and also being alone. To put this in Sherry Trurkle’s language, these young people are ‘alone together’. Gill makes this point amply clear that globalisation has come with potentialities and predicaments; but in a country like India, the predicaments still far outweigh potentialities. Since the potentialities and choices globalisation offered are clearly dependent on urban–rural, rich–poor, literate–illiterate, skilled–non-skilled, etc., etc., the tilt towards making rich further rich is very much there. The uneven and assorted benefits are thus no way devoid of biases, discrimination and sometimes super exploitation. This article is really a timely critical commentary on one of the most vital aspects of young people’s lived experiences in the burgeoning globalised knowledge society of India.

Concluding Remarks: Mainstreaming the Marginalised(?) In conclusion, one can just start with this bare fact that sociology of childhood and youth is the weakest link in Indian sociological endeavors. It can be said that the focus on children is generally consumed by India’s dismal performance in controlling and/or eradicating child labour. As a whole, there cannot be any congratulatory remark for us sociologists in India for neglecting this issue for such an elongated time. We have woken up only recently about our children and youth. But if this is any consolation, then it can be said that we have followed them, the Europeans and Americans as usual, as they were very late too—to cite a few examples, SAGE journal

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Youth and Society was started in 1969, which is also a latecomer compared to others, and the journal Young by SAGE debuted as late as 1993. The Journal of Youth Studies published by Routledge started only in 1998. In this connection, though with a few articles only but still, Sociological Bulletin is probably the only journal in India where sociologists have truly reflected, even if sometimes in a so-called traditional fashion, on social aspects of childhood and youth. This to me is a ground-breaking effort for opening doors for critical thinking and newfangled works in an area which is one of the most challenging and motivating concerns of contemporary India and also for our sociological imagination. That the everyday lives and the lived experiences of our children and their childhood(s) and young people and their youth(s) do need sociological attention, description, exploration and, above all, explanation has passed all caveats. This volume takes the first footstep towards a sociological articulation and interrogation of India’s sociological imagination on children and youth. If this volume can trigger off a new proliferation of literature not only in English but also in vernaculars on children and childhood, young and youth of India, the discipline and the profession will certainly have something to celebrate on that historical juncture.

Notes 1. In this section, children and young people are used synonymously. 2. Educationalisation refers to the institutionalisation of childhood whereby increased attention is being given to the pedagogical aspects of the daily life of children (Depaepe, 1998). 3. See for details, Dutta, C and Bhadra, B. 2012 “Youth Language(s): A Sociolinguistic Enquiry of Native Language Displacement vis-à-vis Popular Linguistic Patterns in the 21st Century Kolkata”, E Journal of the Indian Sociological Society, 1: 63–89. 4. Social life is considered as too complex to make fixed categories. The concept of intersectionality emerged in response to the inability of various singular analyses of structural inequality to recognize the complex interrelation between forms of oppression. Thus the concept of intersectionality provides an analytical tool to study, understand and respond to the ways in which gender, ethnicity, class, sexual orientation, religion, age and different abilities do intersect and expose different types of discrimination. See for details, Crenshaw, Kimberlé. 1991. Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence against Women of Color. Stanford Law Review 43, 1241–1279; Mc Call, Leslie. 2005. The Complexity of Intersectionality. Signs 3, 1771–1800; Anthias, Floya, and Nira Yuval-Davis. “Contextualizing Feminism: Gender, Ethnic and Class Divisions.’’ Feminist Review 15 (1983): 62–75.

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References Agnew, R. 2001. Juvenile delinquency: Causes and control. Los Angeles: Roxbury Publishing Company. Alanen, Leena. 2012. ‘Editorial: Disciplinarity, interdisciplinarity and childhood studies’, Childhood, 19 (4): 419–22. Andres, L. and J. Wyn. 2010. The making of a generation: Young adults in Canada and Australia. Toronto: Toronto University Press. Aries, P. 1962. Centuries of childhood. London: Jonathan Cape. Ashton, D. and D. Field. 1976. Young workers. London: Hutchinson. Bahr, S. J., S. L. Maughan, A. C. Marcos and B. Li. 1998. ‘Family, religiosity, and the risk of adolescent drug use’. Journal of Marriage and the family, 60: 979–92. Balagopalan, S. 2011. ‘Introduction: Children’s lives and the Indian context’, Childhood, 8 (3): 291–97. Barber, B. K. 1992. ‘Family, personality, and adolescent problem behaviors’. Journal of marriage and the family, 54: 69–79. Bauman, Z. 1998. Work, consumerism and the new poor. Buckingham: Open University Press. ———. 2000. Liquid modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press. Beck, U. 1992. Risk society. London: SAGE. Becker, H. S. 1973. Outsiders, studies in the sociology of deviance. New York: Free Press. Bernstein, B. 1981. ‘Codes, modalities, and the process of cultural reproduction: A model’. Language in society, 10: 327–63. Bhadra, Bula. 2006. ‘Gender justice or gendered justice? A sociological exploration or revelation’, in N. K. Chakrabarti and S.Chakraborty (eds.): Gender Justice (40– 64). Calcutta. Bourdieu, P. and J. C. Passeron. 1977. Reproduction in education, society and culture. Beverly Hills, CA: SAGE. Brannen, J. and A. Nilsen. 2002. ‘Young people’s time perspectives: From youth to adulthood’, Sociology, 36 (3): 513–37. Buehler, C., A. Krishnakumar, G. Stone, C. Anthony, S. Pemberton, J. Gerard, B. K. Barber. 1998. Journal of marriage and the family, 60: 119–32. Bühler-Niederberger, D. 2010. ‘Childhood sociology in ten countries current outcomes and future directions’, Current sociology, 58 (2): 369–84. Christopher, E. S., M. Madura and L Weaver. 1998. Premarital sexual aggressors: A multivariate analysis of social, rational, and individual variables, Journal of marriage and the family, 60: 56–59. Cohen, P. 1997. Rethinking the youth question: Education, labor and cultural studies. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Corsaro, William A. 1997. The sociology of childhood. Thousand Oaks, CA: Pine Forge Press. Côté, J. 2000. Arrested adulthood: The changing nature of maturity and identity. New York: New York University Press. Cotterrell, R. 2005. ‘Law in social theory and theory in the study of law’, in A. Sarat (ed.): The blackwell companion to law and society (2nd edn, 14–29). Oxford: Blackwell.

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Crockett, L. J. and A. C. Crouter (eds.). 1995. Pathways through adolescence: Individual development in relation to social contexts. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Davies, C. and Eynon, R. 2013. Teenagers and technology. London: Routledge. Depaepe, M. 1998. ‘Educationalisation: A key concept in understanding the basic processes in the history of Western education’, History of Education Review, 27 (1): 16–28. Dryfoos, J. 1998. Safe passage: Making it through adolescence in a risky society. New York: Oxford University Press. Dutta, C. and Bhadra, B. 2012. “Youth Language(s): A Sociolinguistic Enquiry of Native Language Displacement vis-à-vis Popular Linguistic Patterns in the 21st Century Kolkata”, E Journal of the Indian Sociological Society, 1: 63–89. Evans, K. 2002. ‘Taking control of their lives: Agency in young adult transitions England and Germany’, Journal of Youth Studies, 5 (3): 245–69. Federle, K. H. 1994. ‘Rights flow downhill’, International Journal of Children’s Rights, 2 (4): 343–68. Ferdinand, T. N. 1991. History overtakes the juvenile justice system. In Sharp & Hancock (eds.), Juvenile delinquency: Historical, theoretical and societal reactions to youth (2nd edn, 65–75). New Jersey: Prentice Hall. Ferguson, Ann Arnett. 2000. Bad boys: Public schools in the making of black masculinity. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Freeman, M. 2007. ‘Why it remains important to take children’s rights seriously’, International Journal of Children’s Rights, 15 (1): 5–23. Giddens, A. 1991. Modernity and self-identity: Self and society in the late Modern Age. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Hall, S. and T. Jefferson. 1976. Resistance through rituals: Youth subcultures in post-war Britain. London: HarperCollins Academic. Harris, A. 2002. ‘Young Australian women: Circumstances and aspirations’, Youth Studies Australia, 21 (4): 32–7. Hecht, Tobias. 1998. At home in the street: Street children of northeast Brazil. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Heinz, W. R. 2009. ‘Youth transitions in an age of uncertainty’, in A. Furlong (ed.): Handbook of youth and young adulthood. London: Routledge. Heywood, C. 2001. A history of childhood. Cambridge: Polity Press. Ivkovic, M. 1999. ‘Marxist theoretical and methodological approach and orientation in sociology of education’, Philosophy and Sociology, 2 (6): 225–33. James, A. and A. L. James. 2004. Constructing childhood: Theory, policy and social practice. New York: Palgrave macmillan. James, A., C. Jenks and A. Prout. 1998. Theorizing childhood. UK: Polity press in association with Blackwell publishers. James, Adrian L. 2010. ‘Competition or integration? The next step in childhood studies?’ Childhood, 17 (4): 485–99. Jenks, C. 1996. ‘The post modern child’, in J. Brannen and M. O’Brien (eds.) (13–25). London: Falmer Press. Jenks, C. 1996/2005. Childhood. London: Routledge. Jensen, G. F. and D. G. Rojek. 1998. Delinquency and youth crime (3rd edn). Illinois: Waveland Press Inc.

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liiBula Bhadra Jupp, M. 1990. ‘The UN Convention on the Rights of the Child: An opportunity for advocates’, Human Rights Quarterly, 12 (1): 130–6. King, M. 2007. ‘The sociology of childhood as scientific communication: Observations from a social systems perspective’, Childhood, 14 (2): 193–213. Lehmann, W. 2004. ‘For some reason, I get a little scared: Structure, agency, and risk in school–work transitions’, Journal of Youth Studies, 7 (4): 379–96. MacDonald, R. and J. Marsh. 2005. Disconnected youth? Growing up in Britain’s poor neighbourhoods. London: Palgrave. Matthews, H. and M. Limb. 1998. ‘The right to say: The development of youth councils/forums within the UK’, Area 30 (1): 66–78. McRobbie, A. and J. Garber. 1976. ‘Girls and subcultures’, in S. Hall and T. Jefferson (eds.): Resistance through rituals: Youth subcultures in post-war Britain (209–22). London: Routledge. Melton, G. B. 1991. ‘Preserving the dignity of children around the world: The UN Convention on the rights of the child’, Child abuse and neglect, 15 (4): 343–50. ———. 2005b. ‘Treating children like people: A framework for research and advocacy’, Journal of clinical child and adolescent psychology, 34 (4): 646–57. Miljeteig-Olssen, P. 1990. ‘Advocacy of children’s rights: The convention as more than a legal document’, Human rights quarterly, 12 (1): 148–55. Nieuwenhuys, O. 2009. ‘Editorial: Is there an Indian childhood?’ Childhood, 16 (2): 147–53. Parsons, T. and R. F. Bales. 1955. Family, socialization and interaction process. New York: Free Press. Perkins, D. E., T. Luster, E. A. Villarruel and S. Small. 1998. ‘An ecological, riskfactor examination of adolescents’ sexual activity in three ethnic groups’, Journal of marriage and the family, 60: 660–73. Qvortrup Jens, et al. (ed.). 1994. Childhood matters: Social theory, practice, and politics. Aldershot, UK: Avebury. Qvortrup, J. (ed.). 1994. Childhood matters. Aldershot: Avebury. Reynaert, Didier, Maria Bouverne-de-Bie and Stijn Vandevelde. 2009. ‘A review of children’s rights literature since the adoption of the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child’, Childhood, 16 (4): 518–34. Roberts, K. 1968. ‘The entry into employment: An approach towards a general theory’, Sociological Review, 16: 165–84. ———. 2003. ‘Problems and priorities for the sociology of youth’, in A. Bennett, M. Cieslik and S. Miles (eds.): Researching youth. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Rudd, P. and K. Evans. 1998. ‘Structure and agency in youth transitions: Student experiences of vocational further education’, Journal of youth studies, 1 (1): 39–62. Schildkrout, Enid. 1978/2002. ‘Age and gender in hausa society: Socio-economic roles of children in Urban Kano’, Childhood 9 (3): 342–68. Shanahan, M. J. 2000. ‘Pathways to adulthood in changing societies’, Annual Review of Sociology, 26: 667–92. Solberg, Anne. 1995. ‘Negotiating childhood: Changing constructions of age for Norwegian children’, in Allison James and Alan Prout (eds.): Constructing and reconstructing childhood. London: Falmer.

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Stammers, N. 1995. ‘A critique of social approaches to human-rights’, Human Rights Quarterly, 17 (3): 488–508. ———, N. 1999. ‘Social movements and the social construction of human rights’, Human Rights Quarterly, 21 (4): 980–1008. Tapscott, D. 2009. Grown up digital. New York: McGraw Hill. Tarulli, D. and H. Skott-Myhre. 2006. ‘The immanent rights of the multitude: An ontological framework for conceptualizing the issue of child and youth rights’, International Journal of Children’s Rights, 14 (2): 187–201. te Riele, K. 2004. ‘Youth transition in Australia: Challenging assumptions of linearity and choice’, Journal of Youth Studies, 7 (3): 243–57. Threadgold, S. and P. Nilan. 2009. ‘Reflexivity of contemporary youth: Risk and cultural capital’, Current Sociology, 57 (1): 47–68. Turkle, S. 2011. Alone together. New York: Basic Books. Turmel, A. 2008. A historical sociology of childhood. Cambridge University Press. Verhellen, E. 1998. ‘Children’s rights: Education and academic responsibilities’, in P. D. Jaffé (ed.): Challenging mentalities: Implementing the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child, Ghent Papers on Children’s Rights No. 4. Ghent: Children’s Rights Centre, University of Ghent. ———. 2000. Convention on the rights of the child. Background, motivation, strategies, main themes. Leuven and Apeldoorn: Garant Publishers. Wilcox, B. L. and H. Naimark. 1991. ‘The rights of the child: Progress toward humandignity’, American Psychologist, 46 (1): 49. Willis, P. 1977. Learning to labor. Farnborough: Saxon House. Woodhead, M. 2009. ‘Child development and the development of childhood’, in J. Qvortrup et al. (eds.): Handbook of Childhood Studies, London: Palgrave. Woodman, D. 2009. ‘The mysterious case of the pervasive choice biography: Ulrich Beck, structure/agency, and the middling state of theory in the sociology of youth’, Journal of youth studies, 12 (3): 243–56. Wyn, J. and R. White. 1997. Rethinking youth. Sydney: Allen and Unwin. Yuval-Davis, Y.2012. The Politics of Belonging: Intersectional Contestations. London: Sage.

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SECTION I Child and Childhood

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1 Social Class and Educational Aspirations in an Indian Metropolis1 Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

I

n any society, the educational system plays an important role in the training, development, and allocation of its manpower resources. Ideally, it sorts people according to their interests and ability, channels them into streams of training which develop their interests and potentials, encourages them to aspire to adult roles that are in keeping with their talents, and imparts such types and levels of information, knowledge, and training to individuals as are necessary to enable them to fulfil the demands of their occupational roles on one hand, and to meet with the society’s needs for trained manpower resources on the other hand (Sorokin 1927; Parsons 1959; Sewell and Shah 1967). In a developing country like India, the educational system becomes a powerful instrument of economic and social change for accelerating the process of transforming its traditional and agrarian ways and means of living into those of a modern and industrial society. After a period of about two decades of planning, India is still far from obtaining, for a large section of its people, the coveted fruits of economic and social equality, and there is a growing feeling among concerned people that a large portion of its expanding and developing educational facilities continues to benefit the already “privileged” strata. The Education Commission observes that “It is the responsibility of the educational system to bring the different social classes and groups together and thus promote the emergence of an egalitarian and integrated society.

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But at present, instead of doing so, education itself is tending to increase social segregation and to perpetuate and widen class distinctions. Instead of trying to provide good education to all children, or at least to all the able children, from every stratum of society, it is available to a small minority which is usually selected not on the basis of talent but on the basis of its capacity to pay fees” (Ministry of Education, Government of India 1966: 10). Even in the Western countries, an important and consistent finding in the area of stratification research is that the children of higher social-class origins are more likely to aspire to high educational and occupational goals than are the children of lower social-class origins (Sewell and Shah 1967: 2n). Similar results are also reported regarding the relationship between social class and educational and occupational achievements. In a study of socio-economic conditions of students admitted to vocational, technical, and professional schools in 1965, the Education Commission found that “the students admitted to the more important of these institutions generally tend to come from urban areas and from good schools or from well-to-do homes” (Ministry of Education, Government of India 1966: 119). However, what we lack in India most is reliable evidences about the nature and strength of the relationships between social class and educational and occupational aspirations and achievements.2 Many factors other than the ability of the student influence his eventual educational experiences and attainments. These include differences in the level and quality of education available in the country, region, or community in which he lives; differential access to educational facilities according to his social class status; differences in his motivations, values, and attitudes; and differences in the willingness and ability of his parents and significant others to provide the financial and psychological supports necessary for the maximization of his talent potentials (Sewell and Shah 1967; 1968a; and 1968b). The purpose of this paper is to examine the relationship of socioeconomic status and educational aspirations of 5,201 S.S.C. students enrolled in a stratified sample of high schools in Ahmedabad, a metropolis in western India.

Purposes and Statistical Procedures The specific purposes of this paper are as follows: (1) To examine the various levels of aspiration for higher education of a sample of 5,201 S.S.C. students enrolled in high schools in Ahmedabad;

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(2) To examine the relationships of sex, socio-economic status, and academic performance to educational aspirations; (3) To examine the relationship of socio-economic status to educational aspirations, controlling for academic performance, for males and females separately; and (4) To obtain relative estimates of the magnitudes of the independent effects of socio-economic status and academic performance on educational aspirations of males and females separately.

Various statistical procedures will be used in this paper to accomplish the above purposes. For purposes (1) to (3), bivariate and multiple cross-tabular analysis will be employed. In addition, means, standard deviations, and intercorrelation coefficients will be used to obtain measures of central tendency and association for socio-economic status, academic performance, and educational aspirations. For purpose (4), the method of path analysis will be used to obtain a measure of independent effects of socio-economic status and academic performance on educational aspirations.3 Throughout the analysis, tabulations will be made separately for males and females because of known differences in their propensity to pursue higher education as well as likely differences in the influences of socio-economic status and academic performance on their educational aspirations.

Sample Design The data for this study come from a questionnaire survey of 5,201 students enrolled in the S.S.C. (high school senior) class of a stratified sample of all high schools in Ahmedabad.4 Like any major industrial and growing metropolitan city in a developing country, Ahmedabad has ecological areas manifesting contrasting social characteristics. It was, therefore, considered necessary to select a sample of high schools from several ecological strata in Ahmedabad, and then collect data from all students in the S.S.C. class of the sample high schools.5

Data Collection The data were collected by means of an eight-page questionnaire administered to all S.S.C. students who were present at the time of data-collection in the sample high schools. The questionnaire contained

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Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

items concerning the students’ family socio-economic status, educational and occupational aspirations, perceptions of the sources influencing their plans and aspirations, attitudes of their significant others (parents, teachers, and peers) toward higher education, and a short form of a scale for measuring attitudes toward modernization (Smith and Inkeles 1966: 372–373). While most of the respondents used the questionnaire in Gujarati, the non-Gujarati respondents used the questionnaire in English. Because of financial constraints, we depended on the voluntary assistance of local college teachers of sociology to contact the school authorities, to arrange for a mutually convenient time, and to administer the questionnaires to the students in the respective schools.6 Data were obtained from 52 of the 54 high schools in the sample.7 Three research assistants with M.A. degrees in sociology were trained for coding the questionnaires. The facilities available in a local research institute were utilized to put the data on IBM cards, and arrangements were made with a local commercial company to transfer the data on to a magnetic type. After initial checks for coding and punching errors, consistency-checks in the data, development of indices, and statistical analysis were carried out at the University of Wisconsin Computing Center, Madison, Wisconsin, U.S.A.

Measurement of Variables The variable socio-economic status is a combination of several objective and subjective indicators of the status of the student’s family of origin. The students were asked in the questionnaire to indicate their caste, total annual income of the family, father’s education, mother’s education, father’s occupation, their parent’s ability to support their higher education, and individual as well as overall status of their family in terms of caste, occupation, and income and wealth. For developing scores based on these items, the sum of the standard scores of the items was first obtained. Items with missing data for any individual were excluded from that individual’s sum of the standard scores of the items. Since a given student’s score can thus be based on an unequal number of items, the scores obtained were adjusted by multiplying each score by the ratio of the total number of items in the scale to the number of items in a given individual’s score. If the data for a given individual were missing

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for all items in the scale, the mean score of the scale (exclusive of all individuals with missing data) was substituted. The resulting score values were then transformed into a scale with a range from 0 to 99. The variable academic performance is a combination of the percentages (rounded to first decimal point) of marks obtained by the respondents in (i) the annual examination of the Xth standard, and (ii) the terminal (mid-year) examination of the XIth standard.8 The procedure used in developing the scores on socio-economic status was also used to obtain the respondents’ scores on academic performance. For the purposes of cross-tabular analysis, the sample is divided into halves (of approximately equal size) labelled as low and high categories of socio-economic status and academic performance. However, the full range of scores from 0 to 99 on both these variables is employed in the correlational analysis. The variable educational aspirations is based on the student’s response to a question concerning the maximum level of higher education he desired to obtain. The responses of the students, originally coded into eight categories, are combined, for the purpose of initial cross-tabulation in this study, into five categories, namely, No answer, No further education, Some vocational or technical school training, Some college education, and At least a college degree. For the purposes of using this variable as a dependent variable in the cross-tabular analysis, this variable is defined as a dichotomous variable, namely, Do not aspire to a college degree (0), and Aspire to a college degree (1). The full range of 0 to 8 scores on educational aspirations is employed in the correlational analysis.

Results and Discussion The post-high school educational aspirations of the S.S.C. students in Ahmedabad are shown in Table 1, for males, females, and the total sample separately. Only 1.5 percent of the students have not responded to the question concerning their post-high school educational aspirations, an additional 4.6 percent of the students do not aspire to obtain any post-high school education and the remaining students aspire to obtain some kind of post-high school education. In the state-wide final examination held in March-April, 1969, 72.5 percent of the respondents succeeded in obtaining the high school

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Table 1 Post-High School Educational Aspirations of S.S.C. Students, by Sex* Level of Educational Aspirations

Males %

Females %

Total %

1.  No further education

3.7

6.0

4.6

2.  Some vocational or technical school training

7.8

4.5

6.6

3.  Some college education

12.2

23.3

16.3

4.  College graduation

75.1

64.0

71.0

1.2

2.2

1.5

Total (%)

100.0

100.0

100.0

(N)

(3,283)

(1,918)

(5,201)

5. N.A.

*The chi-square for the sex-differences in this table is significant at the 0.001 level.

diploma. It may be expected that an additional ten to fifteen percent of the respondents will be able to graduate from high school at the subsequent examinations which are held every six months. Considering such a failure rate at the final S.S.C. Examination the figures of 71.0  percent respondents desiring to obtain a college degree and of 16.3 percent respondents desiring to obtain some college education suggest that almost all respondents who might eventually graduate from high school desire to obtain some post-high school education. Such a phenomenonally high proportion of Ahmedabad students aspiring to post-high school education, therefore requires some explanation. This explanation is provided partly by the data of this study and partly by some additional supporting evidence from other sources. First, even if we exclude those who aspire to some vocational or technical school training and those who want to obtain only some college education, 71.0 percent of the students aspire to obtain a college degree. Judged by the trends in the Western countries, this is still a very high proportion of a cohort of the high school seniors aspiring to college graduation. However, this high proportion of the aspirants for a college degree does not seem unrealistic when countries, there is a very high drop-out rate during the primary and secondary school years in India, which suggests that the process of socio-economic and intellectual selection operates at a very early stage in the Indian educational system.9 Consequently, most students who have been able to reach the final year

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of high school aspire to college education more or less as a continued stage in their education. Further, while most studies in the Western countries have attempted to inquire about the respondents’ next year plans to attend or not to attend college, the respondents in this study were asked a general question as to the maximum level of higher education they desire to attain. Thus, the responses in the study refer to “aspirations” rather than “college plans” for the next year or in the near future. Second, about 23.0 percent of the students aspire to some vocational or technical school training or some college education. More specifically, almost one-fourth of the female students and about half that many of the male students do aspire to some college education but they do not aspire to college graduation. It seems that most of the male students in this group are not really the aspirants for college education, but they desire to join college presumably as a temporary activity in the prevailing conditions of a high rate of unemployment and difficulties in finding a suitable white-collar job in urban areas. The girls who desire to join college but do not aspire to college graduation are probably wishing to obtain some college education while they are waiting to be married. This presumably is the major reason for the high percentage of female students, almost twice that of the male students, who aspire to join college but do not aspire to a college degree. Thus, about one-fourth of the girls and about one-eighth of the boys seem to be desiring to use college simply as a waiting ground until they find some employment or a marriage-partner. Third, there is almost a complete lack of facilities to provide guidance for vocational school training and for university education in most of the Ahmedabad schools. In addition, the increasing emphasis on a college degree even for low-level clerical jobs in the government and commercial organizations seems to have lowered the already low prestige of vocational school training as compared to university education. The high school graduates seem to be just drifting toward university education without due consideration to the available opportunities for vocational training in keeping with their interests and ability. Further, expansion of the higher educational facilities, special facilities for morning and evening classes, the system of external examination, and the use of the regional language as a medium of instruction and examination, all of these factors have made it possible for most students who want to pursue college education to do so. Although higher education is expensive by Indian standards, it seems most high school graduates in

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India can manage to pay for college expenses while they are waiting for employment or marriage opportunities. The system of education and examination is such that most students can take college education as a part-time or an ancillary activity. Considering all of these factors, it seems that the relatively high proportion of aspirants for a college degree in this study reflects a realistic phenomenon in the Indian milieu. Finally, it may also be noted that the percentage of the female students aspiring to join college is the same as that for the male students; however, the percentage of the male students aspiring to a college degree is much higher than that of the female students. This difference in the proportions of the male and the female students aspiring to a college degree bespeaks of the differences in the roles of males and females in the Indian society, Although the absolute number as well as the proportion of females employed in white-collar and professional occupations is much higher now than ever in the past, most educated women in the Indian society still view their household role as primary and their occupational role as secondary, occasional, and part-time, and consequently do not consider a college degree as important to their future as do males. As most readers will have already observed, the percentages of males and females desiring college education are so high that there is a little variance in the dependent variable to be explained in terms of individual and background characteristics. Considering this fact, as well as the peculiar nature of the educational system in India, it seems best to define aspirations for a college degree as the dependent variable. Consequently, in the remaining portion of this paper the cutting point used in examining the relationship of socio-economic status to aspirations is whether or not a student aspires to a college degree. In Table 2, the percentages of S.S.C. students aspiring to a college degree are given for males and females in each category of socio-economic status. The relationship of socio-economic status to educational aspirations of these students is positive and statistically significant. Only about 60 percent of the students from the low socio-economic status category as against 82.5 percent from the high socio-economic status category aspire to a college degree. When the data are examined separately for males and females, the relationship of socio-economic status to educational aspirations continues to be positive and statistically significant. Specifically, 66.1 percent of males and 43.3 percent of females from the low socio-economic status category aspire to a college degree

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Table 2 Percentages of S.S.C. Students Aspiring to a College Degree, by Socio-economic Status and Sex* Socio-economic Status

Males

Females

Total

Low

66.1 (1,905)

43.3 (726)

59.8 (2,631)

High

87.6 (1,378)

76.7 (1,192)

82.5 (2,570)

Total

75.1 (3,283)

64.0 (1,918)

71.0 (5,201)

*The chi-square for each column in this table is significant at the 0.001 level.

as against 87.6 percent of males and 76.7 percent of females from the high socio-economic status category. The social class differences in the educational aspirations of females are, however, much greater than those for males. Further, both sex and socio-economic status are positively associated with educational aspirations, and thus while 43.3 percent of females from the low status category aspire to a college degree, 87.6 percent of males from the high socio-economic status category aspire to a college degree. Before we can accept the hypothesis of a positive and strong relationship between socio-economic status and educational aspirations of boys and girls in India, it is necessary to determine whether this relationship is an artifact of the relationship of socio-economic status to academic performance and of academic performance to educational aspirations. That there is a strong and statistically significant relationship between academic performance and the educational aspirations of the students is clear from Table 3. While 60.9 percent of the students in the low academic performance category aspire to a college degree, 81.4 percent of the students in the high academic performance category so aspire. Such differences in educational aspirations on the basis of academic performance or ability will be expected in any system of education designed to increase “contest” mobility as against “sponsored” mobility, to use Turner’s (1960) terminology. When these data are examined separately for males and females, it is observed that the relationship between academic performance and educational aspirations continues to be positive and

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Table 3 Percentages of S.S.C. Students Aspiring to a College Degree, by Academic Performance and Sex* Academic Performance

Males

Females

Total

Low

65.9 (1,579)

53.3 (1,047)

60.9 (2,626)

High

83.6 (1,704)

78.1 (871)

81.4 (2,575)

Total

75.1 (3,283)

64.0 (1,918)

71.0 (5.201)

*The chi-square for each column in this table is significant at the 0.001 level. Table 4 Socio-economic Status, Academic Performance, and Sex* Socio-economic Status

Males

Females

Total

Low

49.3 (1,905)

37.7 (726)

46.1 (2,631)

High

55.4 (1,378)

50.1 (1,192)

53.0 (2,570)

Total

51.9 (3,283)

45.4 (1,918)

49.5 (5,201)

*The chi-square for each column in this table is significant at the 0.001 level.

statistically significant for both males and females. Thus, 53.3 percent of females from the low academic performance category aspire to a college degree in contrast with 83.6 percent of males from the high academic performance category. Further, as in the case of socio-economic status, the percentage difference between the low and the high categories of academic performance is greater for females than for males. In order to examine the relationship between socio-economic status and academic performance, the percentage distribution of the students with high level of academic performance in each socio-economic status category is given in Table 4, for males and females separately. It is found from these data that there is a disproportionate distribution of students with a high level of academic performance in the two categories of socioeconomic status. Thus, in the low socio-economic status category 46.1 percent of the students achieve a high level of academic performance

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whereas in the high socio-economic status category 53.0 percent of the students achieve a high level of academic performance. Similarly, a disproportionate distribution of the students with a high level of academic performance is found for both males and females in the two categories of socio-economic status. It may also be noted that the percentage difference in the distribution of the students with a high level of academic performance is greater for females than for males in the two categories of socio-economic status. The data presented so far show not only that both socio-economic status and academic performance are positively related to the educational aspirations of males and females, but also that there is a disproportionate distribution of males and females with a high level of academic performance in the two categories of socio-economic status. Consequently, it is necessary to control for academic performance while examining the relationship of socio-economic status to educational aspirations. This is done in Table 5, in which the percentages of students aspiring to a college degree are presented according to socio-economic status, sex, and academic performance simultaneously. Several conclusions should be made from the data presented in this table. First, the relationship between socio-economic status and educational aspirations continues to be positive and statistically significant even when differences in academic performance are taken into account. In other words, the higher the level of socio-economic status, the higher is the proportion of males and females in each category of academic performance who aspire to a college degree. More specifically, among the students with a low level of academic performance 35.2 percent of females Table 5 Percentages of S.S.C. Students Aspiring to a College Degree, by Socio-economic Status, Sex, and Academic Performance*

Socio-economic Status

Males

Females

Academic Performance Low High

Academic Performance Low High

Low

57.0 (965)

75.4 (940)

35.2 (452)

56.6 (274)

High

80.0 (614)

93.7 (764)

67.1 (595)

86.3 (597)

*The chi-square for each column in this table is significant at the 0.001 level.

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and 57.0 percent of males from low socio-economic status families in comparison with 67.1 percent of females and 80.0 percent of males from high socio-economic status families aspire to a college degree. Similarly, among the students with a high level of academic performance 56.6 percent of females and 75.4 percent of males from low socio-economic status families in contrast to 86.3 percent of females and 93.7 percent of males from high socio-economic status families aspire to a college degree. Second, the social class differences in educational aspirations are greater among females than among males in each category of academic performance. Third, the social class differences are greatest among females with a low level of academic performance and least among males with a high level of academic performance. Fourth, the relationship between academic performance and educational aspirations continues to be positive and statistically significant for both males and females, even when the differences in their socio-economic status are taken into account. More specifically, in the low socio-economic status category, 57.0 percent of males and 35.2 percent of females from the low academic performance category aspire to college graduation in comparison with 75.4 percent of males and 56.6 percent of females from the high academic performance category. Similarly, in the high socio-economic status category, 80.0 percent of males and 67.1 percent of females from the low academic performance category aspire to college graduation in comparison with 93.7 percent of males and 86.3 percent of females from the high academic performance category. Thus, the higher the level of academic performance the higher the proportion of both males and females in each category of socio-economic status who aspire to a college degree. Finally, although sex, academic performance, and socio-economic status—all influence the educational aspirations of the S.S.C. students in this study, the percentages of those aspiring to a college degree indicate that the differences are least in terms of sex, greater in terms of academic performance, and greatest in terms of socio-economic status. The results of the cross-tabular analysis are useful in mapping out the separate and joint effects of socio-economic status and academic performance on the students’ educational aspirations. However, since we had to use only dichotomies of these variables in the cross-tabular analysis, it is still necessary to examine measures based on the full range of scores on these variables. For this purpose, the means, standard deviations, and intercorrelation coefficients of socio-economic status,

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Table 6 Means, Standard Deviations, and Intercorrelation Coefficients of Socio-economic Status, Academic Performance, and Educational Aspirations of S.S.C. Students by Sex Intercorrelation Coefficients Variable

Mean

S.D.

(1)

(2)

(3)

–

.054

.354

–

.221

Males (1)  Socio-economic Status

41.7

13.1

(2)  Academic Performance

37.8

23.4

(3)  Educational Aspirations

5.6

2.2

(1)  Socio-economic Status

47.4

12.1

(2)  Academic Performance

36.5

22.9

(3)  Educational Aspirations

4.8

2.1

–

Females –

.170

.425

–

.319 –

academic performance/and educational aspirations, computed by using the full range of scores on these variables, are given in Table 6. Several observations should be made on the data of this table. First, the mean score on socio-economic status is much greater for females than for males, and its standard deviation is greater for males than for females. This supports the common knowledge that, because of the differences in the male and the female roles in Indian society, most females who pursue higher education come from high-status families while there is a considerably more spread in the social status of males who go on to higher education. Second, the mean score on academic performance is slightly lower for females than for males and its standard deviation is slightly less for females than for males. This, in conjunction with the first observation made above, seems to suggest that a larger proportion of females than of males with low academic performance but high social status have been able to continue their study up to the final year in high school. Third, the mean level of post-high school educational aspirations is higher for males than for females. Fourth, the coefficient of correlation between socio-economic status and academic performance, for both males and females, is the lowest among the relationships examined in this paper, although this relationship is slightly stronger for females than for males. Fifth, the coefficient of correlation between socio-economic

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status and educational aspirations, for both males and females, is the largest of all of the relationships examined in this paper, although this relationship is stronger for females than for males. And finally, the relationship of academic performance to educational aspirations is much stronger for females than, for-males. All of these latter observations support the observations made from the cross-tabular analysis presented earlier, namely, that sex, academic performance, and socio-economic status—all the three variables are positively related to the post-high school educational aspirations of both males and females, and that both socio-economic status and academic performance are more strongly related to the educational aspirations of females than of males. We now turn to the final question regarding the magnitude of the relative influences of socio-economic status and academic performance on the educational aspirations of both males and females. This is shown in the path diagrams given in Figure 1. We find from the path diagrams that socio-economic status and academic performance together explain only a small proportion of the variance in the post-high school educational aspirations of either males or females. Socio-economic status and academic performance jointly explain about one-sixth of the variance in the educational aspirations of males and about one-fourth of the variance in the educational aspirations of females. Further, for both males and females, the independent influence of socio-economic status on educational aspirations is greater than that of academic performance, although the magnitude of the independent influence of both socio-economic status and academic performance on the educational aspirations of females is greater than that of males. Obviously, however, there is still a need for considering the influences of other variables (such as school and community contextual variables, the respondents’ attitudes and values toward higher education, the influence of their significant others on their aspirations, and of course the availability of funds for higher education) on their educational aspirations (cf. Duncan, Haller, and Portes 1968; Duncan, Featherman, and Duncan 1968; Sewell, Haller, and Portes 1969; and Sewell, Haller, and Ohlendorf 1970.) Finally, it may be pointed out that the magnitudes of the explained variance in educational aspirations of the S.S.C. students in Ahmedabad compare very well with the results of similar studies in the Western countries. For example, in a Wisconsin study (Sewell and Shah 1967: 18) of 9,007 high school seniors, the path coefficients measuring the

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Figure 1.  Path Diagrams Showing the Independent Influence of Socio-economic Status and Academic Performance on Educational Aspirations, for Males and Females Separately* *In this figure, the determination of the relationship between socio-economic status and academic performance is not analyzed, and therefore, only the zero-order correlation coefficient between socio-economic status and academic performance is shown on a curved line. One-way arrows leading from each of the independent variables to the dependent variable are shown by straight lines to indicate that these relationships are analyzed assuming a recursive and closed system composed of all standardized variables. The quantities entered in the figure are the numerical values of path coefficients, or the beta-weights as they are commonly known. The residual path is shown above the dependent variable.

relationships of socio-economic status and intelligence to college plans were Pvl = .32 and Pv2 = .34 for males and Pvi = .37 and Pv2 = .23 for females, respectively. While the path coefficient for the relationship between intelligence and college plans of males in the Wisconsin study is greater than the path coefficient for the relationship between academic performance and educational aspirations in the present study, the

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same general pattern of relationships of social class and intelligence (academic performance) to educational aspirations occurs in both studies. Notwithstanding the differences in the samples and measurement of variables in these studies, and despite great differences in the educational system, social structure, and cultural milieu of the United States and India, such striking similarities in the pattern of relationships of social class and ability to educational aspirations seem to indicate promising possibilities for developing models based on cross-cultural studies in the areas of stratification and sociology of education.

Summary This study of 5,201 S.S.C. students enrolled in a stratified sample of 52 high schools in the Ahmedabad Metropolitan Area, Gujarat, India shows that 87.3 percent of the students aspire to some college education. It seems that quite a large number of the aspirants for college education, especially males, desire to join college, presumably, as a temporary activity in the prevailing conditions of a high rate of unemployment and difficulties in finding a suitable white-collar job in the urban areas. Similarly, the girls who desire to join college but do not aspire to college graduation are probably desiring some college education before marriage. A lack of appropriate selection mechanisms and facilities for sorting out and counselling youth in the choice of posthigh school alternatives may be a major factor leading many of them to desire college education as a part-time or an ancillary activity. Further, both socio-economic status and academic performance are related to the post-high school educational aspirations of both males and females. When academic performance is controlled, significant social class differences are found in the educational aspirations of both males and females, although such differences are greater among females than among males. Consequently, while 35.2 percent of females with low academic performance from low socio-economic status families aspire to a college degree, 93.7 percent of males with high academic performance from high status families have such aspirations. The independent influence of socio-economic status of the students’ families is much greater than that of academic performance on their educational aspiration. The results of this study indicate that after having had a programme for financial assistance to children from underprivileged communities for about a period of two decades, and to children from economically depressed

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families in more recent years, India still needs to plan for more imaginative approaches to reduce, if not to eliminate completely, social class differences in educational aspirations of its youth. Finally, the similarity in the pattern of relationships of social class and ability to educational aspirations found in this and a Wisconsin study points out the possibility of developing models based on cross-cultural studies in the areas of stratification and sociology of education.

Notes 1. The research reported in this study was financed by W. H. Sewell, Vilas Research Professor, University of Wisconsin from the research funds granted to him by the Vilas Trust. The writers acknowledge the services of the University of Wisconsin Computing Center and wish to thank N. H. Kapadia, Secretary, Ahmedabad Head Masters’ Association and the principals of high schools for their cooperation in data collection; D. B. Desai, H. C. Doshi, V. Joshi, U. S. Kanhere, E. J. Masihi, H. H. Pate!, R. Patel, S. I. Patel, A. R. Shan, N. P. Shukla, and P. Valand for their assistance in fieldwork; Kadambari Dave, Mahendra Mehta, and Bhadra Vora for their assistance in coding; and Keith Billingsley and Victor Jesudason for their assistance in computer analysis. This is a revised version of the paper presented at the Tenth All-India Sociological Conference held at Hyderabad in December, 1970. 2. Except for an earlier pioneering study by I. P. Desai and five other studies by his students, the Education Commission of the Government of India has been principally responsible for encouraging interest in a sociological analysis of education (Gore, Desai and Chitnis (eds.) 1967). 3. Path analysis provides a convenient and efficient method for determining the direct and indirect effects of each of the independent variables in a causal chain composed of standardized variables in a closed system. These effects are expressed in path coefficients which are the partial beta-weights of all of the preceding independent variables on the successive dependent variables in the system. This method assumes a complete system including, if necessary, residual variables to represent unmeasured influences, which are assumed to be uncorrelated with the measured ones (Boudon 1965; Duncan 1966; Li 1955 and 1956; Wright 1934, 1960a, and 1960b). 4. Ahmedabad is the sixth largest metropolitan city and was, until recently, the capital of Gujarat State. According to the 1961 census, the percentage increase, during the 1951–60 decade, in the population of Ahmedabad city was the highest (45.8%), and the literacy rate in Gujarat was the second highest (Kerala having the highest rate) in India. For the purpose of a sampling frame, a list of all recognized high schools imparting instruction upto the S.S.C. level in Ahmedabad was prepared using the following four sources, none of which by itself provided an adequate sampling frame: (a) A membership-list of the Ahmedabad Head Masters’ Association; (b) Complete postal addresses of about 80 high schools obtained from the local telephone directory;

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Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell (c) Electoral roll for the Head Masters of the High School Constituency, published by the Gujarat University; (d) A list containing the names and addresses of the full-fledged and other high schools obtained from the office of the Education Inspector, Ahmedabad District.

5. On account of the nonavailability of an uptodate street map of Ahmedabad City, a bus-route map published by the Ahmedabad Municipal Transport Service and another map published by a book-store were used to plot the location of all high schools in the Ahmedabad Metropolitan Area. Then, nineteen geographical strata were demarcated such that a minimum of five and a maximum of nine high schools were included in one stratum. While it is desirable to use some objective indicators like density, nature of housing conditions, socio-economic and occupational structure of the various localities of the city in determining ecological strata, in absence of any such data the authors were obliged, in determining these nineteen strata, to rely heavily on their own experience and knowledge about the various localities of the city. The high schools in each of these nineteen areas were alphabetically arranged and serially numbered. Using a table of random numbers, approximately one-third of the high schools from each stratum were selected. The high schools selected by this procedure were compared with the schools in four categories (co-educational high schools, high schools for boys only, high schools for girls only, and high schools with certain special characteristics) to determine the representativeness of the sample. Because some categories were not adequately represented, ten high schools were added to the list of forty-four high schools which had been originally selected using a stratified random sample design. 6. A letter introducing the investigators and describing briefly the purposes and nature of the research project and signed by Mr. N. H. Kapadia, Secretary, Ahmedabad Head Masters’ Association was sent to the principals of all high schools in the sample. Then a convenient day and time were fixed for administering the questionnaire to all students in one of their regular class hours. The investigators, after introducing themselves and explaining the purpose of the study, asked the students to answer the questionnaire in a question-by-question manner. They also drew their attention to the details asked in some questions (e.g., details about father’s occupation, and performance in high school). 7. The two schools which did not cooperate in this research had about 40 students in their S.S.C. class; these schools do not have any special characteristics and constitute a small numerical loss. Consequently, it seems reasonable to assume that there could be no significant bias in this study on account of the non-inclusion of these two schools. 8. It was found that several students had not responded to these questions and that many others had indicated only approximate numbers and percentages. Consequently, more accurate information was obtained directly from the records of the sample high schools. The analysis reported in this paper is based on the data obtained from the high school records. Past studies concerning the relationship of socio-economic status to educational aspirations have shown a positive and statistically significant relationship of measured intelligence to both socio-economic status and educational aspirations (Sewell and Shah 1967). Since no high schools in Ahmedabad administer any

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tests of intelligence regularly, it was necessary to use academic performance as a surrogate for a standardized test of academic ability. 9. In a state-wide survey of all high school seniors in Wisconsin, 37.4 percent of males and 29.5 percent of females planned on college, and 43.7 percent of males and 30.7 percent of females were found to have attended college during a period of about seven years following their graduation from high school (Sewell and Shah 1967: 9). While at least 85 percent of the Wisconsin age-cohort are enrolled in the senior year in high school, the estimated enrolment in India in 1960–61 was about 5 percent of the corresponding age groups in the higher secondary classes as against about 13 percent of the corresponding age groups enrolled in the lower secondary classes (Ministry of Education, Government of India 1966: 100).

References Boudon, Raymond 1965 “A Method of Linear Causal Analysis: Dependence Analysis,” American Sociological Review, 30: 365–374. Clark, Burton R. 1960 “The Cooling-Out Function in Higher Education,” American Journal of Sociology, 65: 569–576. Duncan, Otis Dudley 1966 “Path Analysis: Sociological Examples,” American Journal of Sociology, 72: 1–16. ———, David L. Featherman, and Beverly Duncan 1968 Socio-economic Background and Occupational Achievement: Extension of a Basic Model. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, Population Studies Center. ———, Archibald O. Haller, and Alejandro Protes 1968 “Peer Influences on Aspirations: a Reinterpretation,” American Journal of Sociology, 74: 119–137. Gore, M. S., I. P. Desai, and Suma Chitnis (eds.) 1967 Papers in the Sociology of Education in India. New Delhi: National Council of Educational Research and Training. Li, C. C. 1955 Population Genetics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ——— 1956 “The Concept of Path Coefficient and Its Impact on Population Genetics,” Biometrics, 12: 190–210. Ministry of Education, Government of India 1966 Report of the Education Commission 1964–66. Delhi: Government of India Press. Parsons, Talcott 1959 “The School Class as a Social System: Some of Its Functions in American Society,” Harvard Educational Review, 29: 297–318. Sewell, William H., and Vimal P. Shah 1967 “Socio-economic Status, Intelligence, and the Attainment of Higher Education,” Sociology of Education, 40: 1–23. ——— 1968a “Social Class, Parental Encouragement, and Educational Aspirations,” American Journal of Sociology, 73: 559–572. ——— 1968b “Parents’ Education and Children’s Educational Aspirations and Achievements,” American Sociological Review, 33: 191–209. ———, Archibald O. Haller, and Alejandro Protes 1969 “The Educational and Early Occupational Attainment Process,” American Sociological Review, 34: 82–92. ———, Archibald O. Haller, and George W. Ohlendorf 1970 “The Educational and Early Occupational Status Attainment Process: Replication and Revision,” American Sociological Review, 35: 1014–1027.

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Smith, David Horton, and Alex Inkeles 1966 “The OM Scale: A Comparative SocioPsychological Measure of Individual Modernity,” Sociometry, 29: 372–373. Sorokin, Pitinm A. 1927 Social Mobility. New York Harper and Brothers. Turner, Ralph H. 1960 “Sponsored and Contest Mobility and the School System,” American Sociological Review, 25: 855–867. Wright, Sewell 1934 “The Method of Path Coefficients,” Annals of Mathematical Statistics, 5: 161–215. ——— 1960a “Path Coefficient and Path Regressions. Alternative or Complementary Concept?” Biometrics, 16: 189–202. ——— 1960b “The Treatment of Reciprocal Interaction with or without Lag in Path Analysis,” Biometrics, 16: 423–445.

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2 Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations: A Sociological Analysis* Ehsanul Haq

T

his study is concerned with the sources and the consequences of political socialization in India. The enquiry into this aspect of the political function of both formal, as well as, informal education is important because it provides an understanding of what elements of political culture are being introduced, internalized and modified, and what patterns of political orientations are emerging. This function is performed by a number of agencies where formal education is considered to be one of the important sources which provides an input support to the system of polity. This role of education has neither been properly explored nor available studies take this into account in its totality. However, the studies conducted in India and elsewhere have broadly reflected two conflicting views regarding the political role of education. One view is that the family is the most important sources of influencing political values of children. Greenstein (1968) is the main advocate of this view. The other view focuses on the potentiality of the school as another source of politicization. The main exponents of this view are Hess and Torney (1969). The nature and role of these

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agencies are shaped by the type of social structure in which they exist. For example, in a class-oriented society, they tend to be stratified leading to a differential patterns of politicization or political roleperformance. For illustration, in France, elites attend the Lycee; in Germany, the Gymnasium; in Soviet Union, the Senior or Complete Secondary School; in U. K., the Grammar School; in India, the Public School.1 Such a pattern of schooling as a result of the type of society in which it is exhibiting has a very strong impact on socialization in general and politicization in particular (Entwistle, 1971 and Tapper, 1971). Edger Litt’s study (1968) supports this fact. In order to examine this impact, he chooses different communities in his work on “Civic Education, Community Norms and Political Indoctrination.” He finds that political role of different schools is highly governed by the nature and political needs of the community in which they function. For instance, Alpha Community stresses the need for higher political participation, consciousness, awareness, decision-making and critical evaluation of the working of the government. The Beta Community stresses the need for moderate political participation and responsibility of citizens but does not emphasize the dynamics of decision-making. The Gamma Community is simply concerned with the elements of democratic form of government without stressing the importance of political participation. Edger Litt (1968), as well as, Greenstein (1965) have pointed out that these differences in political orientation of these communities are reflected in the functioning of their respective schools, specially in the textbooks prescribed for children through which school reinforces what the community desires. The present study focuses on this dimension and examines the political role of the family and the school and the impact of their roleperformance on political orientations of school children. The study also focuses on the differential emerging patterns of their orientations as a consequence of structural inequality. Taking this into account, we divide the paper into the following sections: I Research Setting. II Sources of Political Orientations. III Consequences, Emerging Patterns and the Implications.

The study is based on the data collected from three representative schools belonging to three major types of schools in Delhi:

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Government School, Government Aided School and the Public School.3 The selection of these schools takes into account the differences in terms of socio-economic background of students, their exposure to mass-media, social milieu in and outside the school, adequate population size, content of the school textbooks and the historical tradition of the rejected schools. Our survey of the selected schools in particular and other schools in general reflects broadly two different the family and the school conditions to which students belong. These different conditions which have bearing on the process of politicization are as follows: 1. The government school are controlled by the Department of Education, Government of India. The aided schools are privately managed but the Government has sufficient control over them because they get 95 per cent of financial aid from the Government and only 5 per cent from other sources. These non-public schools4 have uniform syllabus. The public Schools, on the other hand, have their own financial sources (mainly fees and donations). They are privately controlled and managed by different bodies. The Government has least control over these schools. 2. The students drawn to the non-public school belong mainly to lower administrative and petty business class back ground of parents who have comparatively low education, low level of politicization, lesser specialized knowledge and lower monthly income (Rs. 200–1,000). They are mostly from lower and middle castes and belong to both rural and urban areas. The students drawn to the public school mainly belong to higher administrative, professional (Income Rs. 1,000–3,000) and big business class parental (Income Rs. 2,000–10,000) backgrounds. Their parents are highly educated and belong to mostly the upper and middle castes and urban background. (See, Table 2). A study conducted by Prof. R. P. Singh (1972) supports this fact. He points out that 87.2% public School students in India are urban based, 88.5% of them belong to rich business, official and professional type of home environment and only 6.9% of them to lower socio-economic background. 3. The home conditions of the children who attend the non-public school are disorganized and least effective in terms of proper socialisation. Their parents have localistic orientations. They are localized, adapted to the community and send their children to mainly these schools which are essentially neighbourhood and local schools with limited catchment areas, with Hindi as medium of instructions and minimum tuition fees. On the other hand, the public school children are exposed to an organized and academically conducive home conditions. Their parents are exposed to the

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Ehsanul Haq world outside their locality. They are cosmopolitan in their orientations. They send their children to the public schools which are essentially cosmopolitan, standard, expensive and elite schools with widespread catchment areas and English as medium of instructions. 4. The school milieu of the non-public schools as well as public schools is similar to that of the home conditions to which the children of respective schools belong. The conditions at the non-public schools are miserable. The selected schools particularly do not regularly and in a systematic way organize even the school programmes, such as, every day ritual of pledging allegiance to the national flag, singing patriotic songs and national anthem, etc., as well as, national and international celebrations, such as, Independence Day. Gandhi Jayanti, U. N. Day, Human Rights Day, the like. The selected public schools on the other hand, organize not only these programmes well but also the Student Council and the House System for giving training in leadership position, decision-making, active participation in co-curricular activities of the school, parliamentary form of government, national, as well as, international understanding. 5. The non-public school students are poorly exposed to the mass-media and have parents and teachers who are politically less informed and articulate. The public school students, on the other hand, are well exposed to the media and have comparatively more politically informed and articulate parents and teachers. The above characteristics of the existing conditions show that the selected schools represent different classes and distinct cultures. On the one hand, we find a small group of efficient, elite based, privately managed, high fee charging, English medium schools catering to the needs of the upper classes and, on the other hand, we have a bulk of mass-based, government maintained, low fee charging, Hindi medium, low standard and mismanaged schools catering to the needs of the lower classes (See, Haq: 1981:45–46).

After the location of representative schools, a representative sample of students, teachers and parents was selected. We have chosen male students5 of class XI only, because we wanted to examine the endproduct of politicization taken place at various levels of schooling. We have selected more or less a uniform size of sample from representative schools on the basis of a random sampling. The Table 1 shows the details of total sample of 600 respondents (308 students, 128 teachers and 164 parents). We have selected about 50% student of the total enrolment in class XI and about 50% parents of the total number of selected students. We have included all the students of class XI of the Aided School (only 112 could be contacted) because of the limited number

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1066

1230

3685

Aided School

Public School

Total

512

183

117

212

Total Enrolment of Students in Class XI

308

90

112

106

No. of Selected Students

150

60

41

49

Total No. of Teachers (VI–XI)

Source: Table is based on the figure collected in 1973–74 from the Directorate of Education, Delhi.

1389

Govt. School

Selected Schools

Total Enrolment of Students in Class (VI–XI)

Table 1 Number of Selected Students, Teachers and Parents

128

50

38

40

No. of Teachers Who Completed Questionnaire

164

60

46

58

No. of Selected Parents Who Completed the Interview Schedule

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Table 2 Number of Selected Parents, Their Occupational Backgrounds and the School to Which They Send Their Children S. No.

No. of Parents

Occupational Background

1.

58

Lower administrative services with low salary

2.

46

Petty business with low income

3.

40

Higher administrative and professional services with high salary

4.

20

Big business with high turn-over

School Type Non-Public School

Public School

of students in this class. We have also included all the teachers in the sample because hopefully they would have influenced the political orientations of students at one stage or the other. However, the Table shows the number of only those respondents who were interviewed and had competed the questionnaire. Among the selected parents of the government school children, most belong to lower administrative services and rural areas while most of the parents of aided school children belong to the families petty business and urban areas but they are localized in a congested slum area. All the selected parents of the public school children are urban-based, scattered in different posh areas and belong to higher professional, administrative, big business class backgrounds. The Table 2 gives the details of their occupational background.

Sources of Data We have collected data through questionnaire, interview schedule, observation and content analysis. The questionnaire (for teachers) and interview schedule (for parents) deal with political orientations. The student questionnaire covered background information; political understanding of local, national and international levels; their preference and commitment to politics; their expected or actual participator)’ behaviour towards political activities; and the degree of exposure to mass-media. The questionnaire and interview schedule were pre-tested on 5% of the total sample of respondents. The content analysis of school textbooks has

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been done in the light of some of the values including the Constitutional values.6 In order to minimize the element of subjectivity, the political content of the textbooks was analysed and scores were given by a panel of three judges including the author. They were requested to identify the relevant passages in the books. For example, a book entitled Social Studies: Our Country India, published by the NCERT for class IV deals with various values. The book explains to children that “Our country is a big country. Our people speak different languages. They have different faiths and customs. But all are Indians. We have one Constitution, ore National Flag, one National Anthem and one National Emblem. These are the symbols of our National Unity” (P. 77). This passage promotes the value of ‘fraternity’ and ‘a sense of belonging to the nation.’ Similarly, another book entitled A Textbook of Civics and Indian Administration, published by the Orient Longman and prescribed in the public school for the class IX, highlights some of the important aspects of political culture, such as, ‘Fundamental Rights,’ ‘Welfare and Secular State,’ ‘Qualities of Good Citizens,’ ‘Political Rights,’ ‘Common Good,’ ‘Democracy and Dictatorship,’ ‘Party System of Government,’ etc. Such aspects of the textbooks were identified. However, in a particular passage there may be conflicting and overlapping themes which may create measurement problem but scores were given to specific aspects of the political content of the passage relevant to the values. The weightage of values has been examined in terms of how many times they have been mentioned in the prescribed textbooks of various subjects like History, Civics, Hindi, and English. After rating, an average of frequencies given by the judges was taken and the figures rounded off in order to examine variations, if any, in scores secured by the values. With the help of information collected through questionnaire and interview schedule, we have examined the level of political orientations of teachers, parents and students in terms of the percentage of their correct responses which were put into Low (0–33%), Medium (34–66%) and High (67–100%) in order to see the relationship and potentiality of various sources of political orientations. The political orientations develop through political socialization. Our democratic political culture demands three important political orientations from citizens in terms of which political objects could be classified. These are: political awareness, political commitment and political

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participation.7 The political awareness includes informatory contents of the questionnaires and interview schedules in terms of constitutional values, national political parties, countries favouring the policy of military alignment and non-alignment, etc. The nature of the questions vary according to respondents. The political commitment consists of questions regarding their preferences of certain ideology or political party. Similarly, we have examined their political participation in terms of participatory behaviour in political activities.

II The political orientations among the School boys develop through political socialization, the function which is performed by various sources which transmit political values and make them politically aware, committed and participant. These are some of the essential prerequisites of a democratic polity. The sources as shown below are some of the important agents through which this function is performed. 1. ——————

Textbooks

2. ——————

Teachers

3. ——————

Parents

4. ——————

Mass-media

} } }

Students

EDUCATION  AND  THE  EMERGING  PATTERNS 34

We have examined the role of school textbooks within the framework of some of our national values. The textbook plays an important role in preparing the young for a desired political order by transmitting political values (See NCERT Report 1970: 15–16; Almond and Verba 1963; Anderson 1966; Massialas 1969; Coleman 1965; Rudolph 1972; Shah 1971 and Damle 1967). Here we have made an attempt to examine the relevance of school textbooks to the values mentioned in Table 3. We assume that students may be properly politically informed if the values are systematically incorporated into the textbooks. Therefore, we raise the questions whether there is any systematic effort made to incorporate our democratic values into the textbooks and whether there is any correlation between the age of students and the nature of values

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internalized. Our analysis shows that the School textbooks of History, Civics and Geography prescribed in the public as well as non-public schools are less relevant to our national values because no systematic and consistent effort has been made to incorporate them into the textbooks and the scores which they obtain, on an average, are much lower than the minimum limit of 33 percent as shown in the Table 3. These values have not been given proper weightage. For example, as shown in Table 3, ‘a sense of belonging to the nation’ secures an average score of 17.9% in the textbooks prescribed in the non-public schools and 19.61% in the public school textbooks but “secularism” secures only 8.40% and 6.38% respectively. There is a considerable difference in the weightage given to these values. Similarly, other values have quite insignificantly been represented. For example, ‘equality of opportunity,’ ‘distributive justice,’ ‘individual liberty’ and ‘protection of minority rights,’ secure only 10.05%, 8.00%, 6.18% and 2.88% in the non-public school textbooks and 7.35%, 7.84%, 4.41% and 1.96% in the public school textbooks respectively. If we observe class-wise distribution of scores, we Table 3 Total Scores Secured by National Value in All the Classes (I to XI) Govt. Schools S. No. National Values

Govt. Public School

%

Scores

%

% Difference

125

25.77

83

40.69

−14.92

1.

Citizenship

2.

A sense of belonging to the Nation

37

17.90

40

19.61

−1.71

3.

Fraternity

54

11.10

16

7.84

+3.26

4.

Equality of opportunity

51

10.50

15

7.35

+3.15

5.

Political participation

44

9.27

8

8.92

+5.85

6.

Secularism

41

8.40

13

6.38

+2.02

7.

Distributive justice

39

8.00

16

7.84

+0.16

8.

Individual liberty

30

6.18

9

4.41

+1.77

9.

Protection of minority rights

+0.92

Grand Total

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Public Schools

Scores

14

2.88

4

1.96

435

100.00

204

100.00

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may find again an unsystematic effort made to incorporate these values. For instance, all the values, on an average, secure 15.67% and 12.98% in the non-public school textbooks prescribed in class VI and XI respectively while it is only 6.84% and 1.47% in the public school textbooks prescribed in the same classes. This shows that the textbooks do not take into account the age factor, mental maturity and comprehension, and the course content which is highly differentiated at higher stages where students are quite mature to understand the deeper meanings of the values.8 However, our analysis takes us to the following conclusions. Firstly, in the textbook writing no purposive and systematic efforts have been made to incorporate our democratic values with a view to develop basic political orientations to the core values enshrined in our Constitution. Secondly, there is no correlation between the age of students and the nature of values internalized. This implies that the textbook writing has ignored the logical argument that comprehension of national values is improved with mental and physical maturity of students (Merelman 1970: 59). EDUCATION  AND  THE  EMERGING  PATTERNS 54

Here the purposive and systematic efforts do not mean that the amount of emphasis given to the values should be the same in all the classes. It must vary from one class to another in accordance with age and mental maturity but the emphasis should be given on all the values within a class. What aspects of a value are to be emphasized at what stage will certainly differ. Our analysis, although not an exhaustive but preliminary and exploratory, shows that the courses, specially in civics and social studies have to be restructured and made more systematic, purposive and relevant to the national values so as to effect greater impact on political orientations of school children. The responses given by students also confirm the fact that the textbooks are less relevant as most of them expressed their unawareness of the presence of these values in the textbooks. This implies that the textbooks play a nominal role in making students politically aware of their national values. There may be other comparatively more important sources of politicization. Therefore, we do not suggest that the presence of these values into the textbooks will be a Sufficient but certainly a necessary condition to affect the political

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attitudes of students if the values are properly incorporated and consciously taught about. The teachers and the parents are comparatively more important Sources of developing political orientations among the school boys (See, for instance, Zeigler 1967 and Davis 1968). The following paradigm shows the level of their political orientations which correspond to that of the boys of the respective schools. The paradigm shows that the public and non-public school teachers do not differ in terms of the level of their political commitment but they do differ in terms of the level of their political awareness and participation. The public school teachers are more politically informed as compared to non-public school-teachers. For example, more than 50% public school and less than 30% non-public school teachers are aware of the ideological bases of various political parties which they prefer. Such differences may be attributed to a general lack of awareness, poor school milieu, lack of initiative to acquire knowledge, nature of role-perception, greater exposure to local situation and to the socio-economic and psychological factors in the case of non-public School teachers while better school milieu, accessibility to current literatures, greater exposure to a wider situation, motivation to acquire knowledge and the type of working conditions in the case of public school teachers. Contrary to the level of political awareness, the public school teachers are less politically participant as compared with non-public school teachers. For example, we find a large number of non-pubic school

Paradigm Political Orientations of Teachers & Parents of Public and Non-Public Schools Political Awarences

Political Commitment

Political Participation

Public School

Non-Public School

Public School

Non-Public School

Public School

Non-Public Public

Teachers

M

L

H

H

L

H

Parents

H

L

H

H

M

H

Respondents

Note: In this Paradigm we have combined Government and Aided schools into the Nonpublic School because the teachers and parents who send their children to these schools have the same level of political orientation. The paradigm is based on averages of correct responses which are put into a simple scale: 0–33% as Low (L), 34–66% as Medium (M), and 67–100% as High (H).

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teachers are members of the registered Government School Teachers’ Association (GSTA), Government Aided School Teachers’ Association (GASTA) and Adyapak Parishad. These associations have sympathy with various political organizations. As against this, the public school teachers who feel institutional constraints on being politically active are simply members of unrecognized teachers’ associations of their respective schools, although an attempt is being made to have a recognized association of public school teachers in Delhi. The non-public school teachers are also comparatively more active in other forms of participation, such as, campaigning and canvassing activities of their associations;, participation in Metropolitan Council’s election in Delhi, strike and demonstration as modes of action to affect governmental decisions. 75% teachers of the non-public schools supported the general strike of 6th November, 1973 started in connection with the rising prices of consumer goods. Similarly, in 1979, an organized attempt was made by these teachers to paralyse the school system in Delhi to press their demands for an increase in their basic salary and more promotion avenues for them. Such attempts show a comparatively higher level of political participation, polymorphic behaviour and the emerging trend of activism among the non-public school teachers because of a number of factors, such as, deteriorating; school conditions, lack of opportunities, feelings of powerlessness, low political efficacy, lack of status recognition, job dissatisfaction, etc. Here the factors of localism and cosmopolitanism also seem to play their roles. The non-public school teachers are localized and adapted to the. existing conditions because of their longer duration of stay. They can, therefore, be easily organized and mobilized to participate, specially in local politics. The public school teachers are not local people. They seem to be less interested in local politics. They have short duration of stay and most of them are not registered as voters. They are neither localized nor completely adapted to the local conditions and, therefore, they are neither easily organized nor mobilized to participate in local politics. They are rather cosmopolitan type with comparatively higher level of political awareness as compared to localistic orientation of non-public school teachers who belong to the neighbourhood schools. The parents were another source of developing political orientations among the school boys (see, Davis, 1965). The above paradigm shows the level of political orientations of parents which also correspond to that of the boys of the respective schools. The Parents, like the teachers,

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also do not differ in terms of the level of their political commitment but they do differ in terms of their political awareness and participation. The public school parents are more politically informed as compared to non-public school parents. For example, 96.7% public school and only 7.3% non-public school parents are aware of the ideological bases of various Communist parties. Such differences are attributed to the type of existential conditions to which they belong (see, for instance, Black, 1961:53 and Davis, 1965). The public school parents belong to a higher socio-economic background. They are exposed to mass-media and national, as well as, international matters. They are not local people. They are widespread in posh areas in Delhi. They are highly educated, socially conscious, well informed, articulate and cosmopolitan in orientation. The non-public parents, on the other hand, belong to poor socio-economic background. They have a sense of deprivation. They are insignificantly exposed to the media and the world outside their locality. They are local people, inarticulate and poorly informed. They are less educated, less socially conscious and more localistic in orientation. The participatory behaviour of the parents shows that those who are highly educated, more politically aware and coming from upper socio-economic background are less politically participant as compared with those who are less educated, less politically aware and having lower socio-economic background. The former category of parents occupy superordinate positions in the hierarchy of statuses and actively participate in decision-making processes because of their knowledge and training. Their position itself involves political operations. Therefore, they do not take much interest in any organization for extending their interpersonal relationships. The latter category of parents occupy subordinate positions. They are powerlers, confronted with problems and suffer from complexes. Therefore, they channelize their interest into political activities like voting, strikes, demonstrations, etc., to exert their influence through their numerical dominance. For example, their voting pattern shows that 75.6% non-public school and only 41.7% public school parents voted in 1972 national elections and 70.0% former and only 27.0% of the latter category of parents participated in strike and demonstration. The level of participation and responses of these parents who send their children to different schools show that the non-public school parents are more of aggressive and militant type without corresponding level of political awareness. The higher sense of political participation among them shows a polymorphic tendency and the possibility of the

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emergence of leadership from the lower and middle classes. However, these parents in particular seem to be monomorphic type because they want to exert their influence on local areas in which they live but they do not reflect the potentiality to lead a movement to affect the wider society and bring about drastic changes. The public school parents, on the other hand, have a comparatively lower level of political participation but higher level of political awareness. They are more moderate and retreatist type because they very rarely participate in political activities. But they reflect a polymorphic behaviour because they are oriented to the world outside their locality and want to exert their influence on the wider society by involving in decision-making process rather than in political activities. The next and equally important source is the mass-media through which certain symbolic transfer of values takes place and individuals are socialized. The political socialization which is an aspect of genera] socialization process is one of the social responsibilities of the media to which a child is exposed (Peterson, 1956 and Hyman, 1963:128–148). The media, such as, newspaper, radio and television, is not only a decisive factor of mobilization of power but also an agent of developing political orientations and making each individual politically aware and responsive citizen. In a government resting on public opinion, media plays an important role in furnishing the people with the information to enrich their political understanding. Our study shows that those respondents who are more exposed to the media are more politically informed. For example, the non-public school teachers who have low level of political awareness, very casually listen to radio and watch television and only about 50% of them subscribe to newspapers. They mostly prefer to Subscribe to Nav Bharat Times, a Hindi newspaper which is more locally circulated. The public school teachers who are comparatively more politically aware, are more exposed to the media and more than 70% of them subscribe to newspapers, specially the Times of India, an English newspaper which is widely circulated. Similarly, the non-public school parents who have low political awareness, are less exposed to the media and only about 22% of them subscribe to newspapers, specially the Nav Bharat Times which caters for the needs of the local people. The public school parents who have higher level of political bareness are more exposed to the media. They have their own televisions and radios and more than 80% of them subscribe to Newspapers and different periodicals, Specially the Times of India, Hindustan Times, the Times,

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etc. We observe the same pattern of political awareness and the massmedia exposure among the boys who belong to different schools and different parental backgrounds.

III In the preceding section, we have examined the sources of political orientations of school boys. Here we intend to see the impact of these sources and the consequences or the emerging patterns and the implications. The following paradigm summarizes the preceding section and explains the relationship between the sources and the consequences. All the sources do play their role in determining the political orientations of school boys but the family seems to be the most important because it determines the kind of school one attends and the degree and nature of mass-media to which he is exposed. As a result of differential family and Sources and Consequences (Political Awareness)

Type of School Teachers

Main Source and Levels of Political Awareness

Consequences of Political Awareness

Parents

Level of Exposure

Media

Students

Typology of Students

Public School

M

H

H

H

“Articulate”

Non-Public School

L

L

L

L

“Inarticulate”

Sources and Consequences (Political Awareness) Main Sources and Levels of Political Participation

Consequences of Political Participation

Type of School

Teachers

Parents

Students

Typology of Students

Public School

L

M

M

“Moderate”

Non-Public School

H

H

H

“Militant”

Note: For typology construction, we have taken into account only political awareness and participation because the respondents differ in terms of these dimensions and not in terms of political commitment.

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the school backgrounds, we observe different patterns in political orientations of school boys. The typologies of these patterns explained below show mainly two sets of roles: “Articulate-Moderate” (HPA-MPP) and “Inarticulate-Militant” (LPA-HPP). The former is the product of the upper class and public school background while the latter is the product of lower and lower middle class and non-public school background. The other aspects of these roles namely “Articulate-Militant” (HPA-HPP) and “Inarticulate-Moderate” (LPA-MPP) are not emerging because of the reasons explained below. 1.  “Articulate” (Higher level of Political Awareness) (HPA) 2.  “Inarticulate” (Lower level of Political Awareness) (LPA) 3.  “Moderate” (Medium level of Political Participation) (MPP) 4.  “Militant” (Higher level of Political Participation) (HPP) Moderate

Militant

Inarticulate

+−

++

Articulate

−−

−+

Articulate

+

Inarticulate

−

Militant

+

Moderate

−

The “Articulate-Moderate” signifies a set of roles where students would play a maximal role in political discussions or debates because they are more politically aware and articulate. They are exposed to local, national and international problems. However, these students who have sufficient political knowledge are of retreatist and moderate type in terms of political participation, although they may be an effective instrument of change because they are highly aware. They are cosmopolitan in their outlook, although of reformist and conformist type who do not like to negate the existing system. This pattern is very much similar to that of their parents. However, the “Articulate-Moderate” are not “ArticulateMilitant” type because they are not discontented. They are from well-off family background and hence do not feel deprived and, therefore, they are not militant and aggressive type of individuals. They avoid indulgence in politics which might affect their career and future prospects.

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They are not muscle-activist type with interest in “street-politics” and mass-politics but brain-activist and ideologue type with greater interest in “class-politics.” We may observe a similar orientation among those university and college students who are articulate and who come from public school and who belong to well-off socio-economic background. The same attitude can be observed among officials, professionals and university intellectuals as compared with Karamcharis and those who belong to lower administrative services. They hardly indulge in any direct political action, such as, strikes, demonstrations, etc., but they are actively involved in decision-making and ideological discussions. The public school students who are drawn from such a background of highly educated and affluent urban elite groups are also highly politically aware but not so much of politically participant. These students in particular and the students of similar background in universities and colleges and also the upper class educated elites in general might become active participants in leading a value-oriented movement which can bring about a meaningful change in the society and cause enduring influence on political, as well as, wider social systems if they become more politically participant, sacrifice their class interest and identify themselves with the masses, express their ideas freely, attract the people at large to get the mass support, and leave behind their attitude of status-quo. Only if they acquire these qualities, they can become an effective instrument of change like those urban-based English educated Indian elites who played significant role in our national movement. The “Inarticulate-Militant” signifies a different set of roles where students would play a minimal role in political discussions or debates because they are inarticulate and less politically informed. They are less exposed to national, as well as, international scenes which Merton calls the “Great Society” (Merton, 1968:455). However, these students who do not have sufficient political knowledge, reflect a militant and violent orientation. They may also not be an effective instrument of change in spite of their higher sense of political participation, aggressive behaviour and non-conformist orientation because they lack political knowledge, the necessary condition to make participation meaningful. Since, these individuals are localistic, exposed to the locality to which they belong, they seem to be more monomorphic type, although they reflect a radical polymorphic orientation because they want to negate the existing system and exert their influence on the wider society bringing about drastic changes in order to have equitable distribution of opportunities.

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Therefore, these individuals are not “Inarticulate-Moderate” type because they are discontented and socio-economically and culturally deprived. It is because of this reason that they adopt a coercive, violent and aggressive attitude and not a moderate, reformist, conformist and retreatist orientation towards political participation (Lipset, 1967:57). These individuals who show a militant attitude without sufficient political awareness and knowledge ran easily be misguided and used by politically minded people who can easily practice their policy ‘catch them young’ on such rebellious youngsters and use them as muscle-activities. It is mostly this exploited group of students in particular and the people in general who are mobilized and drawn into collective action to participate in ‘street-politics,’ such as, rally, demonstration, strike, physical violence, etc. They are more concerned with their immediate local problems and, therefore, these individuals may be more active in leading a norm-oriented movement which is primarily concerned with immediate social problem (Lipset, 1971:87). It is also possible that they lead a society-oriented movement which is concerned with wider issues but this may happen only if such individuals become more politically aware and conscious because they reflect a polymorphic orientation and potentiality to change but with limited political awareness. However, the “Articulate-Moderate” and “Inarticulate-Militant” role-types are the consequences of two different existential conditions representing the elite and the mass cultures of our society. The Indian society has historically been a stratified society. It has perpetuated cultural inequality. For example, we had broadly Brahmanic and nonBrahmanic traditions in our old society; nobility and rest of the people during the Islamic tradition: and British rulers and the Indian ruled during the British time. In the present day society, we have preserved the same tradition of two types: the culture of the privileged elites, decisionmakers, advice-givers and verbally articulate and moderate citizens on the one hand, and the culture of the ruled masses, deprived people, decision-followers, advice-seekers and verbally inarticulate citizens on the other. The continuance of this type of tradition of inequality is against the principles of citizenship (Marshall, 1963:67–127). The schooling system in India is not above the existing tradition of this type. It also reflects inequality catering to the needs of different classes. The politically more aware students belong to the rich, elite and public school background.

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They are articulate, economically secure, privileged, stable, conformist and more class conscious. This type of situation tends to generate moderation and retreatism rather than militancy; routine rather than rebellion. Contrary to this, the politically less aware students belong to the poor, and the mass-based schooling system. They are inarticulate, economically insecure, deprived, unstable, non-conformist and less class conscious. This type of situation tends to develop militancy and aggression rather than moderation and retreatism. Thus, we find that the two differential patterns of political orientations are the consequences of the two different conditions existing at the family and school levels. The following paradigm explains the relationship between the differential conditions and the differential patterns of political behaviours. (Please see p. 55). These consequences have certain implications for the system of polity in particular and the society in general. The differential patterns are not desirable for a coherent democratic culture because democracy needs citizens who are politically aware and informed; politically conscious and committed; and politically participant and active. These may be considered as some of the prerequisites of a modern democratic system. The political socialization function being performed by various sources is unable to provide a systematic result because of stratified existential conditions and, therefore, the emerging patterns will have a negative impact on the democratic system where the articulate, privileged and active few will continue to represent the collective consciousness of inarticulate, deprived and passive masses. This will maintain the edge between the two, perpetuate the hierarchical political cultures and prevent the essential unity between them. The negative consequences  of political socialization are the results of preserved inequality in terms of enormous cultural differences, occupational gap and the dual system of schooling catering separately to the rich and to the poor. At present, we have a stratified society and a stratified pattern of schooling. They reinforce each other. The school has the potentiality but it reinforces what family, the primary institution, does. If this institution is stratified and differentiated, the political socialization function being performed by such an institution will also be differentiated. Therefore, one alternative, to have a uniform pattern of politicization, is to reduce the class character of the family or to abolish the class-oriented family system. But this is a difficult task at present and, therefore, the

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Differential Conditions

{

Poor Family Condition

Rich Family Conditions

Poor Schooling

Schooling Better

Deprivation

Gratification

Family, Schooling and Behaviour Characteristics

Inarticulate

Articulate

Insecurity and Instability

Security & Stability

NonConformity

Conformity

Militancy

Moderation

}

Differential Political Behaviour in the Society

42 Ehsanul Haq

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second alternative would be to establish a uniform system of schooling in order to minimize educational inequality and reduce the differential consequences. It will not be so difficult to abolish dualism in education through legislation and by establishing a common pattern of schooling, so as to minimize the effects of family and to promote an integrated democratic culture in order to build a strong and unified democratic system in India.

Notes * This paper was presented in the 16th All India Sociological Conference, held at Annamalai University, Tamil Nadu (29–31 Dec. 1982) for the panel on “Special Sociologies.” 1. The public school in India is a privately managed system. Similar to the public school system in England but the latter was not exclusive in character while its counterpart in. India during the British time was exclusive and inaccessible to the masses. It still caters mainly to the needs of those who are higher in terms of class position. 2. These communities are: Alpha, Beta and Gamma. They are upper middle class, lower middle class and working class communities with higher, mode rate and little political activities and consciousness respectively. 3. In order to maintain anonymity, the names of the selected schools are not given. 4. We have combined government and aided schools into non-public schools because they more or less reflect the same existential conditions. 5. Female students could have been included in the sample but in order to restrict the size, we have chosen only the male students. 6. The values taken into account are: Citizenship, A sense of Belonging to the Nation, Fraternity, Equality of Opportunity, Political Participation, Secularism, Distributive Justice, Individual Liberty and Protection of Minority Rights. 7. These orientations are parallel to cognitive, affective and evaluative orientations as devised by Almond and Verba (1972:15). Their classifications of political objects in terms of these orientations are based on the contributions of Parsons and Shils (1951:53). To them, cognitive orientation includes knowledge and belief of political system, its roles, its inputs and outputs. Affective orientation refers to the feelings about the functioning of political system and the evaluative orientation refers to the judgements and opinions about political objects based on knowledge and feelings. 8. At an early age, young children first recognize subjects along an undifferentiated, unstructured, good-bad dimensions. The child’s comprehension and structuring of democratic values improve with age and mental maturity. See, for instance, Piaget, 1965:135; Weinstain, 1957:166–74; Merelman, 1970:62; Greenstein, 1968:6; and Haq, 1976:1–16. However, our analysis shows that neither any correlation has been maintained between the age of students and the nature of values internalized nor any attempt has been made as to what weightage should be given to what values, to what dimensions of the values and at what stage of learning.

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References Anderson, C. A. 1966 “The Modernization of Education” in M. Wiener (ed.) Modernization: The Dynamics of Growth, New York: Basic Books. Almond, G. A. and Varba, S. 1972 The Civic Culture, New Jarsey, Princeton Univ. Press. ——— 1963 “Education and Politics,” International Encyclopaedia of Social Science, New York: Crowell-Collier. Bhatia, C. M. and Seth, V. K. 1975 “Hierarchy in the System of Schools: Political Economy of Education.” Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 24, No. 1. Black, Max 1961 The Social Theories of Talcott Persons, Prentice-Hall. Coleman, J. S. (ed.) 1965 Education and Political Devolopment, Princeton Univ. Press. Damle, Y. B. 1967 “The School and College as a Social System.” in M. S. Gore, I. P. Desai and S. Chitnis (eds) Papers in the Sociology of Education in India, New Delhi: NCERT. Davis, R. 1968 “Political Socialization in the Schools,” Harvard Educational Review, Vol. 36, No. 3. Davis, James C. 1965 “The Family’s Role in Political Socialization,” The Annals of American Academy of Political and Social Sciences, Vol. 361. Entwistle, A. 1971 Political Education in a Democracy, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Geenstein, F. I. 1968 “Political Socialization,” International Enclyclopaedia of the Social Sciences, New York: Crowell-Gollier. Greenstein, F. I. 1965 Children and Politics, Yale University Press. Haq, Ehsanul 1981 Education and Political Culture in India, New Delhi: Sterling Publishers. ——— 1976 “Sociology of Curriculum: The Role of School Textbooks in Nation Building,” Indian Educational Review, Vol. II, No. 1. Hess, R. D. and Torney, J. V. 1963 The Development of Basic Attitudes and Values Toward Government and Citizenship, Chicago Press. Hyman, H. H. 1963 “Mass Media and Political Socialization: The Role Patterns of Communication,” in Lucian Pye (ed.) Communication and Political Development, Princeton Univ. Prees. Lipset, S. M. 1971 Student Politics, New York: Basic Books. Litt, E. 1965 “Civic Education, Community Norms and Political Indoctrination,” American Sociological Review, Vol. 28, No. 1. Massialas, B. G. 1969 Education and the Political System, London: Addison-Welsey Publishing Company. Marshall, T. H. 1963 Sociology at the Crossroads and Other Essays, London: Heinemann Educational Books. Morton, R. K. 1963 Social Theory and Social Structure, The Free Press. NCERT 1970 Report of the First Meeting of the National Board of School Textbooks, New Delhi: NCERT Publication (April 5–6, 1969 and May 3, 1970). Parsons, T. and Shifs, E. A. 1951 Towards a General Theory of Action, Cambridge, Harvard University Press. Peterson, T. 1956 “The Social Responsibility Theory of the Press,” in F. S. T. Peterson and W. Schram, Four Theories of the Press, Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Piaget, J. 1965 The Moral Judgement of the Child, New York: The Free Press.

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Pye, L. W. 1965 “Introduction: Political Culture and Political Development,” in L. W. Pye and S. Verba (eds.) Political Culture and Political Development, Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press. Shah, B. V. 1971 “Problems of Modernization and Education in India,” in A. R. Desai (ed.) Essays in Modernization of Underdeveloped Societies (Vol. 2), Bombay: Thacker & Co. Rudolph, S. H. and Rudolph, L. I. (eds.) 1972 Education and Politics in India: Studies in Organization, Society and Policy, New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Singh, R. P. 1971 The Indian Public School, New Delhi: Sterling Publishers. Tapper, T. 1971 Young People and Society, London: Faber and Faber. Weinstain, E. A. 1957 “Development of the Concept of Flag and the Sense of National Identity,” Child Development, Vol. 28, No. 1. Zeigler, H. 1967 The Political Life of American Teachers, Prentice-Hall.

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3 Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association1 K.S. Shukla

T

he major plank on which the theory of differential association, propounded by Edwin H. Southerland (1942) rests, if restated, is that criminal behaviour is learned in communicative interaction within intimate personal groups. The essentials of this theory are (i) criminal behaviour is learned; (ii) it is learned in interaction with other persons in a process of communication; (iii) the principal part of learning occurs within intimate personal groups; (iv) the learning includes (a) techniques of committing the crime, which are sometimes very complicated, sometimes very simple, (b) the specific direction of motives, drives, rationalizations, and attitudes; (v) the specific direction of motives and drives is learned from definitions of the legal codes as favourable; (vi) a person becomes a criminal because of an excess of definitions favourable to violation of law over definitions unfavourable to violation of law, this is the principle of differential association; (vii) differential association may vary in frequency, duration, priority and intensity; (viii) the process of learning involves all of the mechanisms that are involved in any other learning; and (ix) while criminal behaviour is an expression of general needs and values, it is not explained by those general needs and values since non-criminal behaviour is also an expression of the same needs and values (Sutherland and Cressey 1955: 77-79). Therefore, it may be inferred that criminal behaviour may involve satisfaction of needs but may not be caused by them.

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Method of Study To formulate an effective design, a pilot survey in two cities was conducted. In drawing the requisite sample the police records of both the cities regarding adolescents were thoroughly studied, so as to get an idea of the prevailing crime situation. The records presented a picture of the intensity, trend, variety, direction and other differentials like age, sex and  caste. This information not only helped in piecing together the crime picture, in order to have a gestalt of the entire situation, but also in the collection of the background information of the selected offenders. To avoid any bias emerging out of incarceration, special care was taken to exclude, as much as possible, the cases from custodial institutions. Due to the spatial mobility of the offenders, the chance sample was relied upon. The selected offenders fell in three categories (i) freely moving offenders with previous record of conviction, (ii) without any record, (iii) convicted offenders and under-trials in the police custody or in the jails. The subjects were studied through case study method and were observed in open2. They were interviewed with the help of an interviewguide, in a wide variety of places, such as hotels, lonely places, open streets, apartments of the subjects, police stations, jail premises and other suitable spots, with utmost care to induce the subjects to come out with maximum factual information. More often than not, recording of the data thus gathered, has been done afterwards in order to sustain the uninhibited flow of interviews. In addition to the interviews, attempts have been made to supplement the data through non-participants observation and subjects were also observed during free play activities. The types of theft we deal with are those planned on conscious plane. They are learned and demonstrated in socio-cultural context. The commission anticipates the purpose, the means and the knowledge of its significance. We attempt to discuss, with empiricals support, the process and forms of thievery, a sub-cultural activity aimed at violation of convention, property norms, conducted at resolving the practical problems of the actor. The compulsive thievery symbolically present in the behaviour of some psycho-neurotics who had been hospitalized was not taken into

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account due to their non-rational participation, meagre percentage and relative jurisdictional insignificance. The study, therefore, exclusively encompasses the common varieties labelled as crime by the society and the agencies of the criminal justice system, with the objective of its relevance to the students of criminology and law enforcement personnel. The theft has been mostly found to be a structured activity—starting from a casual indulgence but gradually moving to increasing sophistication, aided by technology, and training, reinforced by group participation to end up with a career.

The Structure of Differential Association The opinions in regard to family were positively prejudicial. Moreover, the associations with peers had been found to be of longer duration and intensity than that of the family members. These associations, therefore, have been considered to be of greater significance in the learning process from the differential associational perspective. Notwithstanding the accepted sociological typology relating to groups, it is generally accepted that the ‘intimate personal groups’, apart from familial setting, would ordinarily include friendship groups existing in the neighbourhood, school, work-place or elsewhere in a given community and provide a plethora of definitions both favourable and unfavourable to violation of law. These would, therefore, be taken to be the contingent infrastructures in shaping the conduct norms of the incumbents. These structures may possess both the conforming as well as deviant members with conforming or deviant aspects of life with a prominent emphasis on either of them, and depending upon the priority and intensity of association, one may either turn towards accepting conforming or deviant role models. As already indicated, the present concern is the analysis and explanation of companionship variable in regard to frequency, duration, priority and intensity which are significant in understanding the expression ‘excess’. Among these four enumerated variables, the last two, namely, priority and intensity, call for a little elaboration. The first two as modalities of association are obvious and need no explanation. ‘Priority’ is assumed to be important in the sense that conformist behaviour developed in early childhood may persist throughout life, and also that delinquent behaviour developed in early childhood may persist

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throughout life. ‘Intensity’ is not precisely defined but it has to do with such things as prestige of the source of a criminal or anti-criminal pattern and with emotional reactions related to the associations. (Sutherland and Cressey 1955: 78-79). These are some of the aspects that have been brought into focus within the framework of peer group association of primary reference.

Background of Associates: Conformists or Deviants? At the outset, analysis of the nature of environmental forces/factors behind the friendship associations that were operative on the subjects was made. This was done to evaluate their differential impact in determining criminogenesis. To assess the nature and characteristics of these intimate interactional forces, criminogenic or non-criminogenic, the subjects’ own assessments were taken into consideration. They were asked to describe as to what they considered of them in this regard. Although no social segment is perhaps conceivable as exclusively ‘delinquent’ or, for that matter exclusively ‘law abiding’, yet, it may be said that one tends to identify, in terms of his own perceptions and experiences, social entities with different conduct models. It would be significant to note here that the subjects in general were set for primary delinquency at the family level itself on account of deviant pressures. At the companionship level, therefore, it was more a matter of reinforcemant and more delinquent direction of the drift. The data that has been presented in Table 1 describes the estimation of the conduct norms of the intimate personal group of the subjects, made by them. Table 1 Subjects’ Perception of the Characteristics of the Associates (In Percentage) Environmental

Law-abiding

Delinquent

Mixed

Total (N = 200)

Neighbourhood

31.0

8.5

60.5

100

School

27.5

13.0

59.5

100

Others

8.0

63.5

28.5

100

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It has been found that the associational structure of the neighbourhood and the school have been described, by most of the subjects, as of mixed character, offering almost even opportunities for internalization of deviant and conventional conduct norms. It is significant to note that the delinquency perception of the residents in the immediate environment—neighbourhood and school was more diffused, as a vast majority of them perceived the members of the neighbourhood as decisively ambivalent. However, the perception was clear in case of the interacting members under the category of ‘others’, with whom the frequency of contact was much more. The social constellations grouped under the category of others include those located near market places, cinema houses, railway and bus station rendezvous, where for most of the time interaction between the subjects and others takes place. In this context, the evaluations in regard to deviant or conforming character of the association has been highly distinct. A sizeable section (63%) finds them to be predominantly delinquent; and most of them were free in expressing their preferences. Only 8% could perceive these associations as non-delinquent. The data, thus, to an extent, bring home the fact that the external environment surrounding the subject, broadly speaking, has not been conducive to internalization of legally acceptable conduct and secondly, that the subjects have, for major part of their early lives, mixed with groups that have been in varying degrees, marked by positive bias towards deviant norms. The deviant models in most of the cases were present in the family itself.

Types of Delinquents and Sources of Instigation As stated in the beginning only contacts with conditions having favourable definitions to violation of law in most of the cases, could not be considered as sufficient condition for participation in deviant activities. These contacts, however, made the delinquent modes accessible and extended to the subjects opportunities of choice between delinquent and anti-delinquent modes. Since the neighbourhood had been directly or indirectly permissive towards delinquent sub-culture, the learned delinquency, in favourable circumstances, could be conveniently given practical shape. At this level itself, the perception and contact were transformed into action of primary and secondary delinquent types. The push

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factors, the normative flexibility towards delinquent learning and the permissiveness of the neighbourhood, would not have automatically led towards deviant action unless there were factors like situational motivation and the role intermediaries. Except in a few cases where a situational and accidental introduction with criminal role model augmented a sudden take off to delinquency, the subjects on the whole had definite and persistent interaction with deviant intermediaries contributing to the learning process and instrumentalising the learning into delinquent behaviour. These interactions have been the sources of instigation and most pertinent variable of delinquent actions. These roles were played by different sets of people. Information gathered in this regard, therefore, has been found markedly significant. Only 4% of the subjects met the delinquent companions inadvertently. 7.5% subjects adopted the criminal modes under the mediation of family members who have been delinquent themselves. These intermediaries were mostly the sibs. It would be seen from Table 2 that all the three types of the subjects, e.g., professionals, habituals and occasional, barring minor variations, have been instigated to participate in delinquent activities by the peers (88.5%) in different interactional situations, that is, streets, shops, playgrounds, places of recreation, custodial institution, etc. Breckenridge and Abbott pointed out (1917: 34-35) Table 2 Distribution of the Subjects According to Type and Stated Instigating Sources for Committing Serious Offences (In Percentage) Types (3) Instigating Source Friendship circle/playmates

Professional

Habitual

Occasional

Total N = 200

13.5

17.0

10.5

41.0

Schoolmates

7.5

14.0

−

21.5

Occupational mates

3.5

7.5

10.5

21.5

Professional offenders

1.0

3.0

0.5

4.5

Family members

2.0

4.0

1.5

7.5

Inadvertent accidental association

2.0

1.0

1.0

4.0

29.5

46.5

24.0

100.0

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K.S. Shukla

“not only are most delinquent offences committed in groups but most of the lone offenders are influenced by companions”. A larger percentage of them were playmates and schoolmates with frequent and prolonged interaction. In some cases, initially, the subjects have been unaware of the intention of the go-between; the group on the contrary, purposely accepted this new member in their associational fold. The subject could learn the meaning of the friendship only after he was inextricatably involved with the activities of the group. The subjects were victims of connivance and tricked into entering the delinquent setup. These are the cases where action almost preceded learning and the learning was reinforced by successive actions. They were made to enter the life of crime. The subject, through various persuasive and directive means, was often instigated or often coerced to commit an offence at school or place of employment and later on was given assistance to get out of the difficult situation. The anticipated protection was a sufficient basis for increasing alliance which gradually developed into fraternity. Some of the subjects simply emulated other delinquents who were co-inmates in custodial institution. These were the cases of home abandoning type, the pavement sleepers, the destitutes and the vagrants or even young persons found near the scene of crime or with those who were in the bad books of the police, and had experience of police or judicial custody under section 109 Cr. P.C. The career criminals already present in the custodial institution, find an opportunity of selection or recruitment. They initiate the process of induction almost on a psychological plane. The hostile reactions against the police and lawful society were persistently reinforced. Their innocence was “established” and police action termed as persecution or brutal action. Provocative statements were made to win immediate or subsequent alliance. Predominant role of the intimate personal groups is found essential both for setting favourable attitude for committing crimes against property and communicating techniques of theft. It is empirically accepted that for a steady course in property offences, particularly in house-breaking and pocket-picking, optional acquaintance with relevant techniques is a prerequisite. The data collected in this respect, i.e., the sources that initiated the subjects in the ‘technique’ have been found closely following the distribution presented in Table 2. The subjects have been, in most of the cases, oriented to the techniques for

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committing property offences and committed the first offence outside the family in the company of the members of the intimacy groups, who initiated the learning process. This activity, in the beginning, has been more for the thrill of the daring venture, but, later on, in a significant majority, the pecuniary purpose was more emphasised. It has been observed that the primary delinquency may not augment habitual indulgence or a career. Even after the first successful attempt, the boys may break off for one reason or the other. In the present study, the first serious offence has not been found necessarily sufficient for further incrimination. A number of factors, operating singly or jointly, have been responsible for providing continued motivation in favour of criminal associations. Prominent among these have been (Table 3) the initial experience, the pecuniary returns, the intensity of relationship and the identification with the criminal associations of neighbourhood situation, defence, pressure of the companions, workplace, and school and the family conditions. The major factors influencing the continuance were professional interests and common habitat. Significantly 4.5% of the subjects have been obliged to maintain pro-delinquent links as a matter of ethics; they received timely financial assistance from the delinquent friends when family members declined to help. A disparity has been noticed between the preference and actual commission in respect of group participation. A large majority of the Table 3 Factors in the Continuance of Friendship between the Subject and the Criminal Companions (In Percentage) Factors of Continuance

Types of Delinquents Professional

Habitual

Occasional

Total N = 200

Family member

2.0

4.0

1.5

7.5

Neighbourhood

13.0

17.5

7.5

38.0

Schoolmate

2.0

6.5

1.5

10.0

Saviour

1.0

2.0

1.5

4.5

Same Profession

9.5

13.0

9.0

31.5

Others

2.0

3.5

3.0

8.5

29.5

46.5

24.0

100.0

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K.S. Shukla

subjects indicated that they were continuing in the profession as a group due to the constraints of the circumstances, while 95% of the subjects preferred to commit the offence alone. It is obviously more satisfying and egoistic to do something adventurous alone. But they had to defer this preference in practice as a majority of them found the help of the group indispensable. To be loner is not an easy task. Only the professionals and habituals equipped with sophisticated techniques of action and defence and vast experience, could venture to operate alone. The loan indulgence certainly extends the privilege of possession of the entire booty and reduces the chances of apprehension. But even then for one reason or the other, they had to rely on others. And then there are many more activities other than the commission of theft, where the group is needed. More than half of the subjects (55%) indicated that on most of the occasion, they had set aside their preference and taken one or more companions along with them. They realised that it was difficult to execute the plan alone. In the cases of the house-breakers (23%), the group participation is all the more essential, because of the distinct division of labour. The group, however, has to be small and compact unit, and every member well-versed in the performance of the individual roles.

Delinquents and Their Familial Association For analysing the variables of frequency and duration of association with pro-delinquent groups, the following attributes have been taken as indicators of their inclination towards a particular group. In addition, these provide scope for interpretation regarding their characters. This approach has the advantage of analytical manageability. Therefore, the variables of frequency and duration of association have been given operational frames to bring out evidence for composite variables. The association with pro-delinquent groups has been taken as a composite variable and measured through operational frames. These frames are frequency of home visits (deductive indications of increasing opportunity for frequenting delinquent associations in low frequency situations); leisure-time mates (indicators of pull of the pro-delinquent associations, assuming, on the basis of data analysed earlier, that associations outside the family are generally disposed to delinquent behaviour); and,

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the oldest associate and the time spent with pro-delinquent companions (both showing duration). In the following account analysis of some of these aspects has been attempted in order to ascertain the push-factors that operate upon the subject, and drive them away from home. These may indeed be thought of as being the function of several cognitive as well conantive processes. While recognising the fact that there could be equally strong pull factors from the gangs operating on the subjects, the present analysis, however, restricts itself to the degree of dissociation or withdrawal from borne or discontinuity in association between the family members and the subjects since, as has already been indicated earlier, the subjects were associated with delinquent companions, who not only helped in solving the adjustment problems but also provided in different interactional situations, new, exciting and thrilling experiences of life. It has been found that more than 7% of the subjects maintain poor or no relationship with homes. Only 5% of the subjects were maintaining tangible links with their homes, and they were depending upon companionship for specific purposes only. At the other extreme of the continuum, were those who have virtually abandoned their homes. These were 10% of the sample. It would be further noticed that professionals and habituals find the home less engaging as compared with the occasionals. Table 4 Distribution of the Subjects in Regard to Type and Stated Frequency of Visits to Home (In Percentage) Types of Delinquents Frequency Most of the day

Professional

Habitual

Occasional

Total N = 200

–

3.0

2.5

5.5

A few hours in a day

2.0

12.5

8.0

22.5

Twice or thrice in a week

8.0

19.0

10.0

37.0

Twice or thrice in a month

5.5

5.0

1.5

12.0

Twice or thrice in a year

6.0

6.0

1.0

13.0

Virtual stoppage since long

8.0

1.0

1.0

10.0

29.5

46.5

24.0

100.0

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Table 5 Distribution of the Subjects Regarding Type and Usual Leisure Time Mates (In Percentage) Types of Delinquents Professional

Habitual

Occasional

Total N = 200

26.5

42.0

21.0

89.5

Family members

2.5

4.5

3.0

10.0

Other acquaintances

0.5

−

−

0.5

29.5

46.5

24.0

Leisure-Time Mates Friend(s) from outside family

100.0

Table 5 indicates the structure of associational pattern and the areas from where the leisure time mates of the subjects are usually drawn. It is worthwhile to quote Reiss and Rhodes (1964: II) here: “Boys generally choose close friends whose law abiding or delinquent behaviour is similar to their own”. The Table 5 shows that as much as 80% of the leisure-time mates are other than family members.

Delinquents and Their Peer Groups Attempt has been made to approximate the time presently spent by the subjects in the company of those with known delinquent proclivity. Table 6 brings out significant information in this respect. Table 6 Distribution of the Subjects According to Type and Approximate Time Spent in Association with Those Possessing Known Delinquent Proclivity (In Percentage) Types of Delinquents Professional

Habitual

Occasional

Total N = 200

Major part of the day

25.5

32.0

7.5

65.0

Some part of the Day

3.5

11.0

8.5

23.0

Small part of the Day

0.5

3.5

8.0

12.0

29.5

46.5

24.0

100.0

Duration

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Table 7 Distribution of the Subjects by Type and Stated Predominant Characteristic of the Oldest Associate (In Percentage) Predominant Characteristic Delinquent

Types of Delinquents Professional

Habitual

Occasional

Total N = 200

18.5

21.0

4.5

44.0

Law-abiding

2.0

5.0

5.5

12.5

Mixed

3.0

4.5

1.5

9.0

No response

6.0

16.0

12.5

34.5

29.5

46.5

24.0

100.0

It has been found that 65% of the subjects spent major part of the day in the company of those who may be described as established delinquents. Obviously, the home resistance would turn out to be weak. Increasing association with the delinquent models was logical in the case of professionals and habituals. The occassional were a mixed group. The companionship attendance in general has been found to be directly related to professional obligations and inversely related to home resistability. Taking tenacity of friendship as the operational measure of duration of association, the study has attempted to probe into the predominant characteristic of the existing oldest associate of the subjects (see table 7). About one-third of the subjects (34.5%) could not specifically mention anyone of his companions as his existing oldest associate. They could not make an intimate friend due to physical separation of the friend, excessive physical mobility, discordant temperament etc. Among those who responded, more than two-thirds (44.00) stated that their oldest mate was involved in multifarious delinquent activities. 12.5% said that their oldest associate was law-abiding. It could be accordingly inferred, on the basis of available data, that the subjects, particularly the professionals and the habituals, have been interacting with deviant or pro-delinquent associates for a prolonged duration. In the following analysis an effort has been made to assess the priority in regard to anti- or pro-delinquent association. The analysis is based

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upon the assumption that priority accorded to groups outside the family implies preference for pro-delinquent associations; and this assumption is partly supported by the earlier analyses. Apart from this, the theoretical construct of priority in the present work has been broken into certain operational variables including perceived characteristic of leisure-time mates, preferred idol and confidant of the subjects. So far as the distribution of leisure-time mates of the subject is concerned, it has already been seen that nearly 80% of the subjects were found drawing leisure-time mates from outside the family (Table 5). It would be found that this data provides a great deal of information about the attitudinal predisposition and preferences of the subjects in regard to their selection of the companions. Efforts have been made to collect information about the preferred idols, that is, the person whom the subjects tried to emulate in their day-to-day conduct. As could be seen from Table 8, the models from outside the family outnumber those from within the family, although the difference is not very clearly marked. (It may be reiterated here that the information has been collected through interviews and, therefore, it may not be fully free from biases. It is probable, as per interviewers observation, that the actual number of the subjects with preferred idols from outside family, may be even higher). It is relevant to point out that there are several considerations governing the subjects’ choice of idols from outside the family circle. It has often been reported that young ones easily join groups with ‘identical values’ (Mckay 1963: 32), that similarity in conduct norms leads to ‘homogeneity in conduct norms’ and later leads to ‘homogeneity in Table 8 Distribution of the Subjects According to Their Type and Stated Preferred Idols (In Percentage) Type of Delinquents Professional

Habitual

Occasional

Total N = 200

20.0

25.5

6.5

52.0

Family members

9.0

21.0

17.0

47.0

Others

0.5

0.0

0.5

1.0

29.5

46.5

24.0

100.0

Preferred Idol Friend(s) from outside family

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group composition’ (Festinger 1950: 4–6) and that with the rise in group uniformity, perhaps with the spiralling effect, increases the dependence of individual members on the group’ (Cohen 1955: 68). Closely related to the variable of preferred idol is another variable, namely, the role of confidant in the existing life-scheme of the subjects. The conceptual status of a confidant is of a person with whom one would feel comparatively free in sharing one’s personal secrets either for receiving expert advice or for securing appreciation or approval. ‘Approval and disapproval from peers is of greater concern to many youngsters than the reactions of their parents’ (Parsons 1942: 604–6). The findings (Table 9) in this context are in line with our earlier data (Table 8). However, the variation is more marked and significant. It can also be noted that, as compared with the occasionals, the professionals and the habituals contribute a larger proportion to the category of those having confidants from outside family. The degree of intensity of relationship between the subjects and their delinquent models in the present interactional context has a positive valence. Similar to earlier analyses of the variables of learning delinquency, the intensity too has been assessed in terms of certain operational variables. It has been assumed that the degree of intensity of relationship in interpersonal associations would be demonstrated by the tenacity of associations, willingness to participate in activities sponsored by the associates and/or the group or others. Participation in the activities that have a stamp of approval from other members is taken to be more significant in the context of propertyoffender in India. Among these, there obtains an unwritten sub-cultural Table 9 Distribution of the Subjects by Type and Their Stated Confidants (In Percentage) Types of Delinquents Professional

Habitual

Occasional

Total N = 200

21.5

25.5

13.0

60.0

Family members

6.0

17.0

11.0

34.0

Others

2.0

4.0

–

6.0

29.5

46.5

24.0

Confidant Friend(s) from outside family

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code of conduct (which is generally adhered to) that a regular offender of a particular delinquent mode should not take another line of offence. A property offender generally identifies himself with the profession and the people who are involved in this profession as pick-pockets, as has been generally evident during the course of field work, would normaly avoid to secure pecuniary gains by resorting to cheating. From among those who were their oldest companions, more than 67 per cent have had a delinquent career. Over a period of time, he is not only an ideal member, but he turns out to be a confidant in respect of his professional and personal problems. Since the subjects conceived a delinquent image of the preferred idol and are emotionally related to him, the intake of delinquency is almost a normal process. We have already seen that among our subjects, of those who could present a total ‘moral’ image of their oldest mate, 67% turned out to be delinquents. They were mostly members of the intimacy groups other than the family. The intimacy of relationship, prolonged association and delinquent conception of the mate are indications of the degree of intensity of relationship and exhibit the causality behind the learning of delinquency on the part of the subjects. This could be taken to indicate the tenacity of pro-delinquent association of the subjects and provide tacit evidence in respect of intensity in inter-personal relationship. The responses collected as to the volitional disposition of the subject to participate in offences other than the theft, when pressed by the associates, to a considerable extent reveal the intensity of relationship (see Table 10). Table 10 Willingness of the Subjects to Participate in Other Offences When Pressed by Associates Mode of Delinquent Activity Pocket Picking

House Breaking

Pilfering

Total N = 200

Willing for selected offences

11.5

18.0

1.5

31.0

Any offence

11.0

14.0

0.5

25.5

Not willing

12.0

23.5

8.0

43.5

34.5

55.5

10.0

100.0

Responses

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43.5 per cent of the subjects unequivocally discount the possibility of their participating in offences other than their existing delinquent sphere even when pressed by associates. But, the rest 56.5% showed their willingness to yield to the pressure of the companion. Out of them, 31% said that they could go in for selected offences and 25.5% of the subjects seem to be ready for any other offence from gambling to homicide. It is strikingly clear that the variations over mode of delinquent activity have wide disapproval among the pilferers as only 5% of them showed willingness to participate indiscriminately in different offences as against 31.9% of the pocket-pickers and 25.2% of the house-breakers. Though the sub-sample is too small for any dependable generalization, yet in a limited manner it shows that pilferers tend to stick more to their particular line of delinquency. The few who showed willingness for occasional change of the mode of delinquency, had an effective rationalization. They did not consider these indulgences as deviant at all; these were the spontaneous responses in group situations. Our observations, however, produced a contrary picture to what was portrayed by the subjects, vis-a-vis, the above query. The practice was different from what was professed. They tried to rationalise a moral image of themselves; the main mode, however, was known to the observer. The pressure to participate in a variety of delinquent acts was used as a defence mechanism. 78% of them have been found freely participating in indiscriminate variety of offences in the company of others. Some 20% were detected offering initial resistance, but yielded in some selected offences. Barely 2% seem to stick to their main verbally articulated mode. Needless to say that they were occasionals. The subjects participation in other delinquent activities was found related to his income, temperament, type, potentialities and status in the group. At times, along with the pressure of companions, such participations were held to be motivated by short-run hedonism associated with similar temporary fun or excitement (Table 11). Intra-group proportions in respect of participation in varied offences, were found to be 77.8% for the professionals, 80.7% for the habituals and 75% for the occasionals. It is justifiable to infer that the subjects, almost irrespective of the type of delinquent activity, were normally responding to the occasional demands and have increasingly participated in offences other than those of their usual line. There was no trace of constraint at all. The participation was volitional. This

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Table 11 Distribution of the Subjects by Type and Stated Actual Participation in Other Offences When Pressed by Associates Type (Percentages) Professional

Habitual

Occasional

Total N = 200

Participation in selected offences

6.0

8.5

5.0

19.5

Varied offences

23.0

37.5

18.0

78.5

No participation

0.5

0.5

1.0

2.0

29.5

46.5

24.0

100.0

Participation

propensity is a clear indication of significant degree of intensity of the relationship that exists between the subjects and their delinquent associates.

Age Factor in Companionship Affiliation The age composition of the companions, it was found, was not a determining factor in developing affinity. The group maintained a significant heterogeneity in this regard. An offender of 16 years was found to be sufficiently intimate with offenders of 40 years of age. In friendship generally what mattered more were the qualities like skill, performance, tact, economic potential, accommodating nature, trustfulness, obedience, physique, appearance and ability to ‘fix up’ cases. A very large group of our subjects (61%) indicated that they could be very friendly and adjust with persons of all age groups, while 16.5% indicated that they were at home and secure in the company of older persons. 14.5% subjects preferred the company of same age-group, as in the homogeneous group they could be more expressive and free. Only 8% companions showed predilection for the companions of younger age group, because in their view it was easier to exercise control over them. Those who showed higher adjustment potential for all age groups were mostly professional pocket-pickers and occasional pilferers. Since professional pocket-pickers were more mature, intelligent and successful careerists, they could easily manage to gain a reasonable status even

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in a heterogeneous group. They, therefore, had no complexes and the age factor posed no restriction to them. The occasional pilferers on the contrary, being beginners, were less demanding in terms of status. They could easily be obedient to elder and fraternal to younger member. Moreover, as they were apprentices their status in the profession did not permit them to antagonise or be assertive. Their training was influenced by their relationship with others; the trainers were mostly elders. Because of these factors, they were more popular and assimilative, simple, adjustable, responsive and less inhibitive members of group. The subjects of all categories, for most of the time, preferred to remain with the group. The preceding analysis provides some insight into the nature and extent of intensity in relationship the subjects were having with prodelinquent associations.

Conclusions The present empirical analyses, in the light of salient aspects of the theory of differential association, demonstrate that the surrounding interactional environment presents both anti-delinquent and pro-delinquent parameters. It has been observed that the inter-actional environment of the young property offenders under study has been more or less full of associations recurringly offering definitions favourable to violation of law. The major proportion of these exposures were made at the intimacy associations other than the immediate neighbourhood or school (see Table 2). This process has been found being further reinforced by a variety of delinquency generating factors that almost incessantly operate upon the subjects. They initiate them into professional techniques of undertaking various property offences and, eventually, crystalize and sustain in them tangible pro-delinquent behavioural patterns. Likewise, the analysis relating to the clarification of the concept of “excess of definitions” has been found to be significant. It has been observed that the subjects had merely a feeble attachment to the family and the leisure-time mates of most of the subjects have come from outside the family. Not only these mates have been found delinquents, but also they have been conceived so by the subjects. The pro-delinquent associations, therefore, have been tenacious and most of the subjects have been spending the major part of their time with pro-delinquent

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companions. The operational aspects of relationship have been found supporting delinquency factors in regard to frequency and duration variables. The  analysis relating to the third variable, namely, priority, has been found valid. The preferential disposition toward pro-delinquent associations over family members has been evident. And, the oldest associate has been a delinquent model. Likewise, the dimension of intensity has also been significantly strong. This has been indicated by the qualities of the oldest mate, who possessed predominantly delinquent characteristic and had profound influence on the subjects. The willingness along with actual participation of the subjects in offences other than property offences when pressed by companions are also indicators of the intensity of relationship between the subjects and the companions (see Table 11). It is justifiable to suggest that the initial assumptions that the young property offenders are excessively exposed to delinquent associations and that the excessive exposure is the function of the frequency, duration, priority and intensity, stand substantiated. These aspects of the theory of differential association find considerable support from the empirical findings. The property offences are basically learnt in association. In the learning process, two different consecutive situations were involved: (a) Primary delinquency stage: (i) Developing a favourable attitude towards the profession which predisposes the learning of delinquent modes through different motivational processes; and, (ii) action learning (reinforcement) which is almost a simultaneous process, and includes loners, tricked or coerced to take up delinquency and the emulated ones (primary deviants, destitutes, beggars, vagrants, etc.). (b) The secondary delinquency stage: Strong delinquency attitude and primary delinquency are already present and lead towards learning serious delinquent modes and developing rationalizations thereof (development of gang delinquency of professional and habitual nature).

The analyses, however, have, it must be recorded, their own limitations. The process of reducing the theoretical variables into operational variables for investigation can suffer from some degree of ambiguity or over-emphasis. Besides, these operational variables have been frequently based upon assumptions which are often only circumstantially tested. Thus, though the data presented here largely support the theory of differential association, they succeed only marginally in demonstrating its empirical validity and call for a more controlled enquiry.

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Notes 1. The author is indebted to Dr S. S. Srivastava, Kashi Vidyapeeth, Varanasi, and Dr M. Z. Khan, Deptt of Criminology and Forensic Science, University of Saugar, Saugar, for their critical comments and suggestions. The present paper is a part of the extensive work on the adolescent property offenders (16 to 21 years) from two urban centres Gwalior and Indore in Central India (Shukla, 1970). The paper describes the nature of association of two hundred adolescent property offenders during different stages of growth and by inference or implication it provides empirical test for the said theory. The study is based upon interviews of the subjects in both the cities. 2. Direct and indirect help of the police had to be sought in establishing initial contacts with the gang leaders and hardened criminals, as no other method was found suitable. However, in these cases, techniques of rapport were more extensively used to mitigate the police bias. 3. The bases of classification were source of livelihood, modus-operandi, frequency of theft, skill, efficiency, ability to fix up cases, self-conception, attitude towards society and the criminal world, potentialities and experience. The following chart shows the comparative statement of characteristics of the three categories of subjects. Habitual

Professional

Theft a habit and repetitive behaviour

Theft a profession

Theft as well as other sources of income

Major source of income

Partial dependence on conformist world for earning money. Affiliates with non-conformist world for support, approval and associations. Faith in the legitimacy of conformist world

Not dependent on conformist world, particularly in regard to earning money. Little faith in the legitimacy of conformist world

Do not wait for the favourable circumstance and can create circumstances for the act

Circumstances for theft are easily manipulated

Theft is irresistible activity. Partly scared of being called a thief due to social fear

Perfect identification with a theft, strong rationalizations and no fear of social stigma.

Marginal outer social control and the inner controls are minimum

Minimum familial and social control-inner and outer

Tries to mix or associate with delinquent world* and lacks guts to fix up cases; less agile and efficient

Resourceful, able to fix up cases, Swift, agile and efficient. Believes in group criminality but prefers to operate alone

No specific modus operandi. Techniques and tools applied in the commission of an offence

Modus operandi is guaranteed. Skill and craftsmanship used in the commission of the act. Techniques and tools innovated or developed

*Delinquent World: Associations where activities involve violation of Criminal Law.

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References Breckenridge, S. P. and Eddith Abbott 1917. Delinquent child and the home, New York: Russel Sage Foundation. Cohen, A. K. 1955. Delinquent boys: culture of the gang, New York: Free Press. Festinger, L. 1950. “Informal social communication”, in Festinger et al., Theory and experiment in social communication. Ann Arbor: University Institute of Social Research. McKay, H. D. 1963. “Differential association and crime prevention”, Social Problems, VIII(1). Parsons, Talcott 1942. “Age, sex and social structure”, American Sociological Review, VII(4). Reiss, A. J. and Rhodes, A. L. 1964. “An empirical verification of differential association theory”, Journal of Research in Crime and Delinquency, 1(1). Shukla, K. S. 1970. “Adolescent thieves: A crimino-sociological study of 200 offenders in Gwalior and Indore”, (Unpublished Ph. D. Dissertation), Saugar, University of Saugar. Sutherland, E. H. 1942. “The development of the concept of differential—association”, Ohio Valley Sociologist, 15(1). Sutherland, E. H. and Gressey, D. R. 1955. Principles of criminology, (5th ed.), New York: Lippincott.

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4 Culture and Fertility: Son Preference and Reproductive Behaviour1 Ashesh Das Gupta

H

uman reproductive behaviour, though a biological process, is conditioned largely by the socio-cultural milieu of couples. The value system of the society, which provides the basic element of cultural milieu, influences the behaviour patterns of the members (including their reproductive behaviour) by setting the desired goals for their life. It is in this context that a strong preference for son may be treated as a cultural value, something viewed as highly desirable, in many parts of the world, including India. Since the expectations of the parents and those of the society from the male issue are cultural, preference for son and its implications for the fertility behaviour of couples may vary from one culture to another and, at times, within the same society from one community to another. Indian society, with a long history of coexistence of various culturally heterogeneous groups, provides an interesting case for a comparative study of the impact of son preference on the reproductive behaviour in four major religious communities—the Hindus, the Muslims, the Christians and the Sikhs.

The Background In most developing societies with an agrarian economy, for various socioeconomic and cultural considerations, a pronounced preference for son may be observed. Such preference is generally considered to be an

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important factor underlying high level of desired as well as actual fertility in these societies. Son is preferred for maximising several economic and non-economic activities, such as contributing to family’s resources by working in the family farm, providing support to the parents in their old age, carrying out certain religious rites, helping the family in the village factional politics, and so on. The role of male children in family farms has been reported from many countries in South and South-East Asia, such as Bangladesh, India, Indonesia, Nepal and Taiwan (see Muller 1976; Cain 1977; Nag et al. 1978; Bardhan 1988; Basu 1989). Recent studies have found a strong preference for male issue to be almost pervasive in Indian society (see Parasuraman et al. 1994; Murthi et al. 1995; Arnold 1996; Arnold et al. 1998). It is a common belief that a strong preference for son is a barrier to the adoption of birth control measures, as couples may continue to reproduce if they are not satisfied with the sex composition of their offspring. However, the available studies do not show a consistently strong effect of son preference on fertility control (see Das 1984, 1987 and 1989; Bairagi and Langsten 1986; Haddad et al. 1996; Arnold 1992 and 1997).

The Study Though the literature on the role of son preference value on human reproductive behaviour is quite rich, rarely has any effort been made in India to ascertain the relative impact of son preference value on various religious and ethnic communities. India, being a multi-religious and multi-ethnic country, provides a fertile field for comparative studies on the relationship between son preference and fertility. Keeping this in view, the following two hypotheses have been tested in this paper: 1.

Son preference has a positive influence on reproductive behaviour of various religious communities. 2. Preference for male issue influences the reproductive behaviour of the four religious communities differentially.

The study was conducted in the city of Patna in the early 1990s. According to the 1991 Census, the Patna Urban Agglomeration had

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a population of 10,98,572,2 of which the Hindus constituted about 85 percent, the Muslims about 13 percent, and the Christians and the Sikhs constituted about 0.40 and 0.70 percent respectively. The sample for the present study consisted of 400 respondents living in Patna Urban Agglomeration, of which 200 respondents were Hindus, 100 were Muslims, and 50 each were Christians and Sikhs. The sample was drawn by following the principle of quota sampling based on the researcher’s knowledge of the socio-economic and religious composition of the universe. Data were gathered with the help of an interview schedule. The level of son preference (the independent variable) was measured with the help of a 10-item attitude scale.3 Fertility (the dependent variable) was measured in terms of completed fertility (total number of live births to women who have completed their reproductive period). Thus, the respondents for the present study constituted of only those married women who were either in the age group of 45 years and above or those who have deliberately terminated their reproductive capability by undergoing sterilisation.

The Findings With the help of the Son Preference Scale, the respondents were categorised into three broad groups, expressing three different levels of preference for male issue. Thus, respondents scoring more than 6 points (in the 10-item Son Preference Scale) have been placed in ‘higher’ son preference (HSP) category, those scoring points between 5 and 1 have been placed in ‘lower’ son preference (LSP) category, and those scoring no point have been placed in the category of no preference for son (NSP). Furthermore, the respondents were classified into lower and higher fertility groups, with women having three or more children placed in ‘higher’ fertility group and those with two or less than two children placed in ‘lower’ fertility group. Table 1 presents data for the Hindu respondents. It shows a definite trend with 83 (68.03%) of the 122 respondents in HSP category belonging to higher fertility group, and only 39 (31.96%) belonging to lower fertility group. On the other hand, in LSP category, 28 (56 %) out of 50 respondents belong to lower fertility group, and 22 (44%) belong to higher fertility group. Finally, out of 28 respondents in NPS category,

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Table 1 Son Preference and Fertility (Hindus) HSP Category

LSP Category

NPS Category

Total

1–2

Son Preference and Fertility

39 (31.96%)

28 (56%)

20 (71.42%)

87

3 and above

83 (68.03%)

22 (44%)

8 (28.54%)

113

Total

122

50

28

200

x = 18.65, df = 2, Significant at .01 level. 2

Table 2 Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and ‘t’ Values (Hindus) HSP Category

LSP Category

NPS Category

3.38

2.78

2.28

1.76

1.77

1.44

HSP – LSP

LSP – NPS

HSP – NPS

‘t’ value

2.14

1.38

3.66

Df

170

76

148

Level of significance

.05

Not significant

.001

 SD

20 (71.42%) belong to lower fertility group, and the remaining 8 (28.57%) belong to higher fertility group. Thus, the Hindu respondents show a definite trend of fertility going up with increasing level of son preference and vice versa. The Chi-square test confirms the relationship between the two variables to be positive at a highly significant level. Furthermore, the mean fertility of the three son preference categories indicates an apparent trend with HSP category showing the highest mean fertility, followed by LSP and NPS categories (see Table 2). The ‘t’ ratio values confirm that the difference between the mean fertility of HSP and LSP, and of HSP and NPS to be significant. Table 3 presents the distribution of Muslim respondents in terms of their level of son preference and fertility. It shows a clear difference between the overall distribution of lower and higher fertility groups, with only 18 percent respondents in lower fertility group and 82 percent in high fertility group. Furthermore, in HSP category 46 (88.46%) respondents belong to higher fertility group and only 6 (11%) belong

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Table 3 Son Preference and Fertility (Muslims) Son Preference and Fertility

HSP Category

LSP Category

NPS Category

Total

1–2

6 (11.53%)

4 (13.79%)

8 (42.10%)

18

3 and above

46 (88.46%)

25 (86.20%)

11 (57.89%)

82

Total

52

29

19

100

x = 18.65, df = 2, Significant at .01 level. 2

Table 4 Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and ‘t’ Values (Muslims) HSP Category

LSP Category

NPS Category



4.50

3.98

3.28

SD

2.42

1.54

1.82

HSP – LSP

LSP – NPS

HSP – NPS

1.20

1.40

2.34

‘t’ value Df Level of significance

79

48

69

Not significant

Not significant

.05

to lower fertility group. It is remarkable that even in LSP category, 25 (86.20%) out of a total of 29 belong to higher fertility group. Finally, in NPS category 11 (57.89%) out of 19 respondents belong to higher fertility group and 8 (42.10%) belong to lower fertility category. Thus, here one finds that the son preference variable does have an important bearing on fertility performance of the couples. Nevertheless, those Muslim couples who do not cherish any preference for son issue still have a higher fertility than their Hindu counterparts. Table 4 shows that in the three son preference categories fertility rises with the increasing level of son preference. However, the difference at the level of mean fertility of the concerned categories is not significant. The ‘t’ value finds significant difference only between HSP and NPS categories. Table 5 presents the distribution of Christian respondents as regards their levels of son preference and fertility. It shows a positive association between son preference and fertility: Out of 22 respondents

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Table 5 Son Preference and Fertility (Christians) HSP Category

LSP Category

NPS Category

Total

1–2

Son Preference and Fertility

3 (13.63%)

4 (23.52%)

6 (54.54%)

13

3 and above

19 (86.36%)

13 (76.47%)

5 (45.45%)

37

Total

22

17

11

50

x = 6.43, df = 2, Significant at .05 level. 2

Table 6 Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and ‘t’ Values (Christians) HSP Category

LSP Category

NPS Category



4.04

3.14

2.59

SD

1.75

0.85

1.31

HSP – LSP

LSP – NPS

HSP – NPS

2.11

1.27

2.78

‘t’ value Df

37

26

31

Level of significance

.05

Not significant

.01

in HSP group, 19 (86.36%) belong to higher fertility group and only 3 (13.63%) belong to lower fertility group. In lower son preference category, 4 (23.52%) belong to lower fertility group, while 13 (76.47%) belong to the higher fertility group. Thus, a good number of respondents with lower son preference belong to higher fertility group. In NPS category, respondents are almost equally distributed in lower and higher fertility groups. However, the value of Chi-square test indicates that the observed relationship between the two variables is statistically significant. Table 6 reveals that the mean fertility is the highest in HSP category and the lowest in NPS category, with LSP category occupying the intermediate position. This distribution goes on to form a positive association between the two variables. Moreover, the statistically significant difference observed in the mean fertility between HSP and LSP categories and between HSP and NPS categories corroborates the positive correlation between the two variables.

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Table 7 presents the distribution of Sikh respondents in terms of their level of son preference and reproductive behaviour. Out of 28 respondents belonging to HSP category, as many as 25 (89.28 %) have higher fertility and only 3 (10.71%) have lower fertility. In LSP category, the percentage of respondents having lower fertility is higher (33.33%) than it is in HSP category (10.71%). However, even in LSP category, a higher percentage (66.66%) have higher fertility. In NPS category, 60 percent of the respondents belong to lower fertility category and 40 percent to higher fertility category. Thus, on the whole, the pattern of relationship between the level of son preference and fertility observed in other three communities is observed in the Sikh community, too. The positive relationship between the two variables is further supported by the value obtained by the Chi-square test, which has been found to be highly significant. Table 8 shows that the mean fertility of the three son preference categories among the Sikhs reflects that the level of fertility goes down Table 7 Son Preference and Fertility (Sikhs) Son Preference and Fertility

HSP Category

LSP Category

NPS Category

Total

1–2

3 (10.71%)

4 (33.33%)

6 (60%)

13

3 and above

25 (89.28%)

8 (66.66%)

4 (40%)

37

Total

28

12

10

50

x = 11.11, df = 2, Significant at .01 level. 2

Table 8 Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and ‘t’ Values (Sikhs) HSP Category

LSP Category

NPS Category



4.16

4.28

2.70

SD

2.21

1.71

1.60

HSP – LSP

LSP – NPS

HSP – NPS

1.62

0.17

2.67

20

38

36

Not significant

Not significant

.05

‘t’ value Df Level of significance

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with the decreasing level of son preference. This is in accordance with the trends observed among other three religious communities. Finally, the difference between the mean fertility of HSP and NPS categories among the Sikhs has been found to be statistically significant, a finding which has also been observed in the other three religious communities and which, to a large extent, corroborates our hypothesis.

Conclusions and Policy Implications Following are some conclusions that may be derived from the above analysis: 1. In all the four religious communities, the percentage of respondents belonging to higher fertility group (3 and above) is highest among those who are in the higher son preference category and vice versa. This establishes a positive correlation between the two variables. 2. The positive correlation between the two variables is further supported by the difference observed in the mean fertility of the three son preference categories in all the four religious communities. It is highest in HSP category and lowest in NPS category, in all the four communities. Furthermore, in all the four communities, the difference between the mean fertility of HSP and NPS categories is found to be highly significant. 3. In all the four communities, the observed relation between the dependent and independent variables is found to be statistically significant. Hence, it may be concluded that the first hypothesis concerning the positive correlation between son preference and fertility is established. 4. Finally, the percentage of respondents having higher son preference has been found to be the highest among the Hindus (61%), followed by the Sikhs (54%), the Muslims (52%), and the lowest among the Christians (44%). This finding is corroborated by the National Family Health Survey Subject Report which observes that ‘in general the effect of son preference is weaker among Muslims than among Hindus . . .’ (Rangmuthia et al. 1997: 25). The report further says that In every state except Kerala, son preference has some effect on fertility for Hindus, and the effect is statistically significant in 14 states. Women who are not Hindus or Muslims often exhibit strong son preference in parity progression in states with sufficiently large samples of these women. Most notable is the case of Punjab where Sikhs have very strong preference for sons (Ibid.: 25–26).

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5. Conversely, the Christian community has the maximum number of respondents (22%) expressing no preference for male issue, while the Hindu community has the lowest number (14%) of such respondents. This distribution, thus, confirms the second hypothesis as well.

Many explanations may be put forward in support of the observed positive correlation between the level of son preference and fertility. First, couples with higher son preference will tend to reproduce late in their married life to have the desired number of male issues and are thus less prone to adopt birth control measures till they have the desired number of male issues. Second, during the course of fieldwork, the present researcher came across a good number of respondents in all communities, excepting the Christians, who expressed a strong desire to have at least two sons. ‘One son’, some of them observed, ‘is like an earthen pot which may break at any time’. Thus, the desire to have at least two sons has resulted in undesired pregnancies and ultimately a larger family than what they had originally planned. Finally, the incidence of highest percentage of respondents expressing son preference among Hindus may be attributed to the following facts: (a) sons are believed to be essential for transmitting family name and property, (b) the complicated rules of endogamy and exogamy compel the parents to marry their daughters generally outside their villages,4 (c) the religious reason that son must perform the sradha rites, which is believed to save his parents from going to hell,5 and (d) the practice of receiving dowry at the marriage of a son (May and Heer 1968). Conversely, such values do not prevail among the Christians. Moreover, a higher percentage of respondents living in urban centres or in nuclear neolocal families, their being educated,6 and other such factors perhaps account for the lowest level of son preference observed among the Christian respondents. Thus, it has been found that preference for son is almost a universal value in India, though different religious communities cherish this value at different levels of intensity. This value has also been a potential source of higher fertility and a great stumbling block in the way of fertility transition in the desired direction. A fact which needs special attention is that a good number of respondents from higher socio-economic group have shown a strong preference for the male issue. In other words, it means that correlates of low fertility have been found not to be strong enough forces to counter the preference for the male issue. Furthermore, queries have revealed that old-age security and desire for salvation have been the

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two most important considerations for preferring the male issue. Hence, any effort to minimise or counter this strong cultural value must seek alternative arrangements for the aged. This can be achieved by providing and protecting old parents with various welfare schemes like pension, health and old-age insurance, old-care homes and the like. Along with welfare schemes for the aged, there is an urgent need to improve health care facilities for children. This will help bring down the infant mortality rate, which is a vital precondition for fertility transition, as the parents will be more assured of the survival of their children. Finally, schemes to provide maximum employment or, at least, a minimum income, to the lowest strata of society, along with strict measures prohibiting child labour, will also help counter the values assigned to son preference and thus create a new cultural condition for fertility transition.

Notes 1. This is an expanded and revised version of the paper presented at the 8th Annual Conference of the Indian Association for the Study of Population held at Lucknow on 25–27 March 1995. 2. According to 2001 Census, the population of Patna Urban Agglomeration is 17,07,429. 3. The Son Preference Scale used in this article included the following 10 items. The respondents were asked to endorse the statements in terms of a three-point response category.

(1) Son provides helping hand in economic activities. Yes  (2)



Chapter 04.indd 76

Undecided (0)

(2) Son is the potential source of receiving dowry.

     Yes (2)

No (1) No (1)

Undecided (0)

(3) Son provides economic and social security to parents during their old age. Yes  (2)

No (1)

Undecided (0)

(4) Son is the medium of achieving salvation. Yes  (2)

No (1)

Undecided (0)

(5) Son helps maintain lineage. Yes  (2)

No (1)

Undecided (0)

(6) Son helps in enhancing prestige in the community. Yes  (2)

No (1)

Undecided (0)

(7) Son provides manpower and physical strength in village feuds. Yes  (2)

No (1)

Undecided (0)

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(8) Son helps in meeting family obligations. Yes  (2)

No (1)

Undecided (0)

(9) Son is a good friend during one’s old age. Yes  (2)

No (1)

Undecided (0)

(10) To have a son is a psychological satisfaction in itself. Yes  (2)

No (1)

Undecided (0)

4. Hence, if no son is alive, the possibility of economic and emotional support from daughters is considered both limited and undesirable. 5. There is a strong belief, especially among the Hindus, that a man achieves salvation when his last rites are performed by his putra (son). Etymologically, the term putra in Sanskrit means ‘Punnamnarkat trayate iti’, that is, one who rescues a person from put or hell is putra (Bahadur 1961: 167). 6. Analysing the relationship between the level of education and fertility, it was found that the distribution of respondents in different educational categories—that is, higher, middle and lower—among the Christians was 24 percent, 32 percent and 50 percent respectively.

References Arnold, Fred. 1992. ‘Sex preference and its demographic and health implications’, International family planning perspectives, 18 (2): 93–101. ——— 1996. ‘Son preference in South Asia.’ Paper presented at the International Union for the Scientific Study of Population (IUSSP) Seminar on ‘Comparative Perspectives on fertility Transition in South Asia’, Islamabad, 17–20 December. ——— 1997. ‘Gender preferences for children: Findings from the demographic and health surveys.’ Paper presented at the 23rd General Population Conference of the International Union for the Scientific Study of Population (IUSSP), Beijing, 11–17 October. Arnold, Fred et al. 1998. ‘Son preference, the family-building process and child mortality in India’, Population studies, 52 (3): 301–15. Bahadur, Radhakanta Deb (ed.). 1961. Shabda, Kalpa, Drumah (Vol. III). Varanasi: Choukhamba Sanskrit Series Office. Bairagi, R and Ray L. Langsten. 1986. ‘Sex preference for children and its implications for fertility in rural Bangladesh’, Studies in family planning, 17 (6): 302–07. Bardhan, Pranab K. 1988. ‘Sex disparity in child survival in rural India,’ in T.N. Srinivasan and Pranab K. Bardhan (eds.): Rural poverty in South India (472–82). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Basu, Alka M. 1989. ‘Is discrimination in food really necessary for explaining sex differentials in childhood mortality ?’, Population studies, 43 (2): 193–210. Cain, M.T. 1977. ‘The economic activities of children in a village in Bangladesh,’ Population and development review, 3 (3): 201–07. Das, Narayan. 1984. ‘Sex preference pattern and its stability in India: 1970–1980’, Demography India, 8 (1 & 2): 108–19.

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Das, Narayan. 1987. ‘Sex preference and fertility behaviour: A study of recent Indian data’, Demography, 24 (4): 517–30. ——— 1989. ‘A simulation model to study the effect of sex preference on current fertility’, Demography India, 18 (1 & 2): 49–72. Haddad, Lawrence et al. 1996. ‘Food security and nutrition implications of interhousehold bias: A review of literature’ (Discussion paper No. 19). Washington DC: Food Consumption and Nutrition Division, International Food Policy Research Institute. May, D.A. and D.M. Heer. 1968. ‘Son survivorship motivation and family size in India: A comparative simulation’, Population studies, 22 (2): 199–210. Muller, E. 1976. ‘The Economic value of children in peasant agriculture’ in Ronald G. Ridker (ed.): Population and development: The search for selective interventions (98–153). Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Murthi, Mamta et al. 1995. ‘Mortality, fertility and gender bias in India’, Population and development review, 21 (4): 745–82. Nag, M. et al. 1978. ‘An anthropological approach to the study of economic value of children in Java and Nepal’, Current anthropology, 19 (2): 293–306. Parasuraman, Sulabha et al. 1994. ‘Sex composition of children and fertility behaviour in rural Maharashtra’, in K.B. Pathak, U.P. Sinha and Arbind Pandey (eds.): Dynamics of population and family welfare (57–71), Bombay: Himalaya Publishing House. Rangmuthia, M. et al. 1997. ‘Son preference and its effect on fertility in India’, National family health survey subject report, No. 3: 25–26.

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5 Sex Preference and Contraceptive Use in Manipur L. Ladusingh, N. Minita Devi and Kh. Jitenkumar Singh

Introduction

P

reference for sons is pervasive in traditional and patriarchal societies. Sons are considered by parents as productive assets for agricultural work and security for old age, while daughters are regarded as liabilities, particularly in those states of India where dowry system is in vogue. The most important reason for son preference in patriarchal societies is the continuation of family lineage. Although preference for sons over daughters is pronounced, couples prefer to have at least one child of each sex to fulfil their socio-cultural obligations and psychological needs (Nag 1991). The existence of sex preference for children is also documented in the case of South Korea (Arnold and Kuo 1984) and China (Arnold and Liu 1986), countries which share a tradition of Confucian patriarchal value system, and Bangladesh (Bairagi and Langsten 1986), a predominantly agricultural country. However, the degree of son preference varies substantially across countries depending on such factors as the level of economic development, social norms, cultural and religious practices, marriage and family systems, level of urbanisation, and the nature of social security.

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There is an increasing recognition in demographic literature that sex preference for children has a strong bearing on the contraceptive practice by couples. Couples who have an abiding preference for sons or for a balanced number of sons and daughters will continue bearing children if they are not satisfied with their sex preference for children. As such, satisfied couples are more likely to adopt contraception for discontinuation of childbearing. Thus, data on the sex composition of children can be used to examine the effect of sex preference on contraceptive prevalence. The present study is an attempt to empirically verify this theoretical relation between sex preference and contraceptive use in the state of Manipur.

The Tribal Communities of Manipur Manipur, the easternmost state of India, bordering Myanmar (formerly known as Burma), has unique geographical, demographic and sociocultural characteristics. The state has three ethnic groups: the Meiteis of the valley, and the tribal Nagas and Kukis of the surrounding hills. These ethnic groups are predominantly Mongoloid in their physical characteristics, and they all speak Tibeto-Burma group of languages. According to T.C. Hodson (1908), ‘Meithei’ is a combined appellation of Siamese ‘Tai’ and Kochin Chinese ‘Moy’ (Moy + Tai = Moytai = Moitai = Meitei) and the ‘Meitheis’ belonged to the ‘Moi’ section of the great ‘Tai’ race. The tribes of Manipur who are now grouped under the Naga fold are among the earliest inhabitants of the hills of Manipur. The origin of the word ‘Naga’ is unknown, but it is supposed to have been derived from the Sanskrit word Nanga and applied in derision to the people for their paucity of clothing. The British came to know them for their famous headhunting practice (Kabui 1995). The ‘Kuki-Chin’, or simply ‘Kuki’, is both a linguistic group and an ethno-cultural entity. To its immediate neighbours in Bengal and Tripura, ‘Kuki’ refers to hill people or mountaineers. In modern Burmese, ‘Chin’ means a ‘basket’, and some scholars interpret ‘Kuki-Chin’ as a ‘man with a basket’. Kukis are concentrated in the Chin Hills of Myanmar with some distribution in India and Bangladesh. The Meiteis, the Nagas and the Kukis had inbuilt affinities in the course of the ethno-genetic process. In the living folk traditions of Manipur,

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they are said to be brethren. In historic times, the tribes and principalities of Meiteis had amalgamated through conquest and other arrangements into a full-fledged nation equipped with a centralised administration, market, cultural complex and external relations with neighbours. In 1947, Manipur became a part of the Indian Union. For the different communities—Meiteis, Nagas, Kukis, and Muslims—living in Manipur, the family line is carried on solely by descendents on the male side, and daughters have no social right to inherit the family name. Among the Meiteis there are instances of parents giving a boy’s name to a girl child (such as, ‘Chaoba’) in the hope of getting a boy, and parents with only male issues giving a girl’s name (such as, ‘Tombi’) to their sons. Traditionally, sons are considered advantageous for two reasons: family lineage and old age support, even if productive utility of sons is limited. However, the daughters are not considered as liabilities, as the marriage system accepts love marriage, and dowry system is not prevalent in the state. Although son preference is still common, this preference often exists side by side with parents desiring to have at least one child of each sex. Educationally, girls are given equal opportunities as the boys and women are empowered for household decision-making. Manipuri women occupy a high status in the family and society, not only for their contribution to the economy of the household, but also for their major roles in the society. In fact, ‘Ima-Keithel’, the only market in the country exclusively ‘manned’ by women, is the symbolic trademark of the capital city, Imphal. However, women are more engaged in the unorganised sector, and male dominance in the society persists. The Kuki women are valued for their labour. The manner of obtaining a wife is either by paying the bride price, or as in the old Jewish fashion, by serving for her in bondage for a term of years; but no great value is placed on her rectitude (Roy Burman et al. 2004). While the idea of religion is similar among the tribes, the Kukis believe more in spirits having charge of their forest, hills and rivers, than in household deities, and that the best sacrifice a man can make to them is the heads of his enemies. Kukis are considered to be the most intelligent of all tribes in Manipur. The family is the basic social institution in the Naga society. Naga families are usually closely knit with bonds of affection and respect. The Naga society is patriarchal and descent is traced through the father’s side.

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The Naga administrative system covers almost all conceivable needs of a human being from birth to death. Every village is the custodian of its tribal laws. Feast time and festivals are times of added warmth, elaborate cooking, unhurried celebrations, music and dancing.

Data and Methods The data for this study were collected from sampled representative areas of all eight districts of Manipur, of which three are in the valley and five, in the hilly region. A target sample of 1,000 currently married women were distributed among the eight districts proportionate to their population size. A two-stage sampling design was adopted: using systematic sampling procedure, first villages/towns were selected from the districts, and then the households from the villages/towns. The data were collected during March 2000–November 2001. The analysis that follows is based on 983 completed structured questionnaires. The data have been weighted by design weight for ‘sampling’ and ‘non-response’. The survey included questions about desired and current family size and sex composition, contraceptive use, complete pregnancy history, and a host of socio-demographic background particulars of currently married women. In this study, an attempt is made to assess the presence of sex preference for children by examining the current use of any contraceptive method in relation to the sex composition of surviving children. The measure adopted for this assessment was briefed by the question ‘What would happen to contraceptive use if all sex preferences were to disappear suddenly?’ To measure the presence of sex preference for children, Fred Arnold (1985) has formulated the index IP ?

?i Ci* Pi ?i Pi

where Ci* equals the maximum contraceptive use rate at each parity i, and Pi equals the number of women at each parity i. It is assumed that all couples at each parity will act in the same manner as those couples who are currently most satisfied in terms of the sex composition of their children. If the sex of the child made no difference, couples with one girl would be equally satisfied as couples with one boy, and hence they would have the same rate of contraceptive use.

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Arnold’s index is an improvement over previous measures in many respects. First, it can handle any type of sex preference (boy preference, girl preference, balance preference, or any combination of these). Second, the method can be used with a number of behavioural and attitudinal measures related to fertility and family planning. Third, it automatically adjusts for the current level of the independent variable. Fourth, the data needed to calculate this measure are widely available. The method requires data on only the number of living children by sex plus any fertility-related dependent variable such as, for example, contraceptive use.

Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition In order to assess the presence of sex preference for children, we shall analyse the pattern of contraceptive use by sex composition of surviving children, considering residence and other socioeconomic background of currently married women from whom the data have been collected. Of the 983 currently married women, 897 (91.2 percent) have at least one child and 265 of them are presently using contraceptives, giving a contraceptive prevalence rate of 29.5 percent. The distribution of currently married women in rural and urban areas of Manipur is 541 and 356 women respectively, and the number of women using contraceptives in the corresponding areas is 113 and 152, resulting in contraceptive prevalence rates of 20.9 percent and 42.4 percent in rural and urban areas respectively. Table 1 provides the rural and urban distribution of contraceptive use by sex composition of surviving children. The first column depicts the sex composition of surviving children. In both rural and urban categories, the first column (Columns 2 and 5) shows the number of women and the second column (Columns 3 and 6) the percentage of women who are actually using any method of contraception. The third column (Columns 4 and 7) of both categories depicts the percentage that would use contraceptives in the absence of sex preference of children. For example, in rural areas, 25.5 percent of women with one boy and one girl are using contraceptives, compared with 12.5 percent of those with two daughters. If the sex of the child made no difference, women with two girls would be equally satisfied as women with one boy and one girl, and hence they would have the same rate of contraceptive use.

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Table 1 Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition and Residence

Sex Composition of Living Children

Rural

Urban

In the Percentage Absence No. of Using of Sex Women Contraceptives Preference

In the Percentage Absence No. of Using of Sex Women Contraceptives Preference

One child One boy

37

18.9 (7)

18.9

34

11.8 (4)

14.7

One girl Two children

33

6.1 (2)

18.9

34

14.7 (5)

14.7

Two boys

24

20.8 (5)

25.5

18

33.3 (6)

54.1

Two girls

24

12.5 (3)

25.5

12

16.7 (2)

54.1

One boy & one girl Three Children

51

25.5 (13)

25.5

61

54.1 (33)

54.1

Three boys

9

1.1 (1)

46.9

10

30.0 (3)

71.0

Three girls

6

0.0 (0)

46.9

5

0.0 (0)

71.0

More boys

32

46.9 (15)

46.9

31

71.0 (22)

71.0

More girls Four children

47

23.4 (11)

46.9

50

64.0 (32)

71.0

4

0.0 (0)

39.3

2

50.0 (1)

83.3

Four boys Four girls

5

20.0 (1)

39.3

6

66.7 (4)

83.3

Two boys & two girls

34

26.5 (9)

39.3

18

83.3 (15)

83.3

More boys

17

35.3 (6)

39.3

12

50.0 (6)

83.3

More girls Five or more children

28

39.3 (11)

39.3

9

66.7 (6)

83.3

4

0.0 (0)

17.9

1

0.0 (0)

25.9

Only boys Only girls

2

0.0 (0)

17.9

3

0.0 (0)

25.9

Boys = Girls

15

13.3 (2)

17.9

–

0.0 (0)

25.9

More boys

84

17.9 (15)

17.9

23

21.7 (5)

25.9

More girls Total

85

11.8 (10)

17.9

27

25.9 (7)

25.9

Ip = 27.9%

356

42.4%

Ip = 50.7%

541

20.9%

Note: Figures in parentheses indicate the number of women.

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With this assumption, the figures in the third column (Columns 4 and 7) in each parity for both rural and urban categories are obtained. On the whole, it is found that sex preference has marginal effect on contraceptive use in both rural and urban areas: the contraceptive use increases marginally from 20.9 percent to 27.9 percent in rural and from 42.4 percent to 50.7 percent in urban areas in the absence of sex preference. Table 1 reveals a preference for sons, particularly at higher order parities in both rural and urban areas. Among women with one child, those with one boy (18.9 percent) reported using contraceptives three times more as compared with those with one girl (6.1) in the rural areas. For the same residence background, for women with two children, 20.8 percent of those who have both sons are using contraceptives, as compared with 12.5 percent of women who have both daughters. The preference for one son and one daughter is the most acceptable sex combination of children: a quarter of the women of parity two with this sex composition reported using contraceptives. As the parity increases, two patterns of contraceptive use emerge. First, women with more number of boys are more satisfied in terms of sex composition of children, as reflected in higher percentage of women going for contraception once they have more boys than girls. Second, a pronounced preference for balance in the sex composition of children is evident from the next higher percentage of women using contraceptives when they have balance sex composition of children. From the present analysis of percentage of women adopting contraceptives at each parity by sex composition of children, it is clear that women with ‘only daughters’ are less likely to be satisfied with the sex composition of children, and most probably they may proceed to have subsequent children. Similar pattern of preference for sex composition of children among urban women is also evident from Table 1. Preference for sons and balance in sex composition is more in urban areas than in rural areas. Ignoring rural-urban categorisation, in the absence of sex preference for children, contraceptive use among currently married women rises substantially, from 29.5 percent to 46.7 percent. Table 2 presents the results of a similar analysis by district of residence. Imphal, Thoubal and Bishnupur are the three valley districts, Tamenglong, Senapati, Chandel, Ukhrul and Churachanpur are the five hill districts. Over 60 percent of the population lives in the valley, which constitutes only about 10 percent of the total land area of the

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Table 2 Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition and District of Residence

Sex Composition of Living Children

Hill Districts

Valley Districts

In the Percentage Absence No. of Using of Sex Women Contraceptive Preference

In the Percentage Absence No. of Using of Sex Women Contraceptive Preference

One child One boy

32

15.6 (5)

15.6

39

15.4 (6)

15.4

One girl

31

9.7 (3)

15.6

36

11.1 (4)

15.4

Two boys

18

27.8 (5)

54.2

24

25.5 (6)

31.3

Two girls

17

11.8 (2)

54.2

19

15.8 (3)

31.3

One boy & one girl

48

54.2 (26)

54.2

64

31.3 (20)

31.3

Three boys

10

30.0 (3)

66.7

9

11.1 (1)

52.8

Three girls

8

0.0 (0)

66.7

3

0.0 (0)

52.8

More boys

27

66.7 (18)

66.7

36

52.8 (19)

52.8

More girls

46

50.0 (23)

66.7

51

39.2 (20)

52.8

Two children

Three children

Four children Four boys

4

0.0 (0)

60.0

2

50.0 (1)

50.0

Four girls

5

60.0 (3)

60.0

6

33.3 (2)

50.0

Two boys & two girls

31

45.2 (14)

60.0

21

42.9 (9)

50.0

More boys

10

60.0 (6)

60.0

19

31.6 (6)

50.0

More girls

22

45.5 (10)

60.0

15

46.7 (7)

50.0

Only boys

2

50.0 (1)

50.0

3

66.7 (2)

66.7

Only girls

3

0.0 (0)

50.0

2

0.0 (0)

66.7

Boys = Girls

12

16.7 (2)

50.0

3

0.0 (0)

66.7

More boys

61

16.4 (10)

50.0

46

26.1 (12)

66.7

Five or more children

More girls Total

65

13.8 (9)

50.0

47

14.9 (7)

66.7

452

31.0%

Ip = 50.9%

445

28.1%

Ip = 44.1%

Note: Figures in parentheses indicate number of women.

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state. People in the hill districts are mostly Scheduled Tribes, and are Christian by religion. Meiteis (who are Hindu converts) and Muslims live in the valley. In terms of infrastructure—transport, education and healthcare—there is inequality in favour of the valley districts. Both the hill and the valley districts reflect more satisfaction in having sons than daughters: a higher percentage of women with more number of boys have adopted contraception. Slightly over 15 percent of women with ‘only son’ are using contraceptives, compared with below 12 percent of women with ‘only daughter’ using contraceptives. The preference for sons is also stronger in the hill districts than in the valley districts. Balance in the sex composition is most desired by the majority of women having two children: the contraceptive prevalence rates in the valley and the hill districts are 31.3 percent and 54.2 percent respectively, and these figures are more for women with children of one sex only. For women with three children, those who have only daughters are least satisfied in terms of sex composition of children, as none of these women are ready to accept contraception. At four and higher order parities, no definite pattern of sex preference is noticeable either in the hill or in the valley districts. This may be attributed to the fact that, once women have larger number of children, the preference for certain sex composition of children gradually diminishes. The results of a similar analysis by literacy in dichotomised categories— illiterate and literate—are shown in Table 3. As expected, more women who are literate are using contraceptives at different parities. Among illiterate women, those who have daughter as the only child are not at all satisfied, though ‘one daughter’ as the only child is acceptable to some extent among literate women. In the case of women with two children, the most preferred sex composition is a boy and a girl: the percentage of contraceptive use is 47.0 for literate and 24.1 for illiterate women. The corresponding figures for women with two sons are 31.3 percent and 10.0 percent respectively for literate and illiterate women. When women have three living children, ‘all daughters’ is not acceptable in both groups, and ‘all three sons’ is also not acceptable among illiterate women, though it is acceptable to literate women. When they have children of both sex, literate women preferred to have more number of boys than girls. At higher order parities, women in the literate category seem to bother more about discontinuation of childbearing rather than sex composition of children, probably because they realise that a desired sex composition of children at higher parities is not feasible.

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Table 3 Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition and Literacy Illiterate

Literate

In the Percentage Absence Sex Composition No. of Using of Sex of Living Children Women Contraceptive Preference

In the Percentage Absence No. of Using of Sex Women Contraceptive Preference

One child One boy

14

14.3 (2)

14.3

57

15.8 (9)

18.2

One girl

12

0.0 (0)

14.3

55

18.2 (10)

18.2

Two boys

10

10.0 (1)

24.1

32

31.3 (10)

47.0

Two girls

14

7.1 (1)

24.1

22

18.2 (4)

47.0

One boy & one girl

29

24.1 (1)

24.1

83

47.0 (39)

47.0

Two children

Three Children Three boys

7

0.0 (0)

52.9

12

33.3 (4)

60.9

Three girls

4

0.0 (0)

52.9

7

0.0 (0)

60.9

More boys

17

52.9 (9)

52.9

46

60.9 (28)

60.9

More girls

31

16.1 (5)

52.9

66

57.6 (38)

60.9

Four children Four boys

4

0.0 (0)

38.5

2

50.0 (1)

62.5

Four girls

3

0.0 (0)

38.5

8

62.5 (5)

62.5

26

38.5 (10)

38.5

26

50.0 (13)

62.5

Two boys & two girls More boys

9

33.3 (3)

38.5

20

45.0 (9)

62.5

More girls

17

35.3 (0)

38.5

20

50.0 (10)

62.5

Only boys

2

50.0 (1)

50.0

3

66.7 (2)

66.7

Only girls

2

0.0 (0)

50.0

3

0.0 (0)

66.7

Boys = Girls

10

10.0 (1)

50.0

5

20.0 (1)

66.7

More boys

65

15.4 (10)

50.0

42

28.6 (12)

66.7

50.0

34

17.6 (6)

66.7

Ip = 42.1%

543

37.0%

Ip = 49.7%

Five or more children

More girls Total

78 354

12.8 (10) 18.6%

Note: Figures in parentheses indicate number of women.

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Contraceptive Use by Socioeconomic and Residence Backgrounds In this section, we shall analyse the use of contraceptives by women belonging to different socioeconomic and residence backgrounds (see Table 4). Sex preference, particularly for sons, is prominent among illiterate women, as evident from the fact that contraceptive use would have increased by 23.5 percent in the absence of sex preference and if the women were satisfied with their present sex composition of children. Similarly, it would have increased by 22.1 percent in the case of women above 30 years of age. The increase in contraceptive use among women in the hill districts, non-working women and women in the valley, if they are satisfied with the present sex composition of children, would be 19.9 percent, 16.7 percent and 15.9 percent respectively. Above 10 percent gains are noticed among working and also among literate women. For women who are below 30 years of age and residing either in rural or urban areas, the increase in contraceptive use would be below 10 percent. Table 4 Effect of Sex Preference on Contraceptive Use Contraceptive Use

Background Characteristics of Women

Actual

In the Absence of Sex Preference

Difference

Hill

31.0

50.9

19.9

Valley

28.1

44.0

15.9

Rural

20.9

27.9

7.0

Urban

42.4

50.7

8.3

Illiterate

18.6

42.1

23.5

Literate

37.0

49.7

12.7

Not working

28.9

45.6

16.7

Working

30.1

42.7

12.6

= 30 years

25.1

34.0

8.9

> 30 years

32.3

54.4

22.1

Total

29.5

46.7

17.2

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Conclusion In a traditional male-oriented patriarchal society—as among the Meiteis, Nagas, Kukis, and Muslims in Manipur—preference for son is expected, particularly for family lineage. Persistence of agrarian economy with limited social security system is another factor which can magnify the preference for sons in the state. At the same time, the Manipuri women are in a better position than their counterparts in other parts of the country, both educationally and in terms of their position and roles in the society. Absence of dowry for marrying daughters and companionship the daughters provide to their mothers preclude daughters being viewed as liabilities. Our analysis reveals that, in Manipur, there is moderate son preference across residence and socioeconomic background, but not at the cost of balance sex composition of a boy and a girl. Son preference is stronger in rural and hill areas, possibly because of the nature of livelihood in these residence backgrounds. Irrespective of their socioeconomic and residence background, women are not at all satisfied with having ‘only daughters’, though ‘only sons’ is acceptable to some extent. Had there been no sex preference, contraceptive use would have risen to the highest rate at any parity, invariant of sex composition of children. The low rate of contraceptive use for the sex composition of children dominated by daughters and the high rate of its use for the sex composition of children dominated by sons at any parity confirm the presence of sex preference in Manipur.

Acknowledgements The authors thank the anonymous referee for her/his comments and suggestions for improvement of the paper.

References Arnold, Fred. 1985. ‘Measuring the effect of sex preference on fertility: The case of Korea’, Demography, 22(2): 280–88. Arnold, Fred and Eddie C.Y. Kuo. 1984. ‘The value of daughters and sons: A comparative study of the gender preferences of parents’, Journal of comparative family studies, 15 (2): 299–318.

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Arnold, Fred and Zhaoxiang Liu. 1986. ‘Sex preference, fertility, and family planning in China’, Population and development review, 12 (2): 221–44. Bairagi, R. and L.R. Langsten. 1986. ‘Sex preference for children and its implications for fertility in rural Bangladesh’, Studies in family planning, 17 (6): 302–07. Hodson, T.C. 1908. The Meithei. London. Kabui, G. 1995. ‘Genesis of the ethnoses of Manipur’, in N. Sanajaoba (ed.): Manipur: Past and present (22–45). New Delhi: Mittal Publications. Nag, M. 1991. ‘Sex preference in Bangladesh, India and Pakistan and its effect on fertility’, Demography India, 20 (2): 163–85. Roy Burman, B.K.; B. Choudhuri and K.K. Mishra (eds). 2004. Encyclopedia of Indian Tribes and Castes (Vols. 12: 3594–97 & 16: 4726–38). New Delhi: Cosmo Publications.

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6 Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias: Evidence from Two Village Studies in South India* T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

Having a daughter is like watering a flower in the neighbour’s garden. —Tamil proverb

C

onsiderable attention has been paid by researchers to different aspects of female deficit in India (Visaria 1971; Miller 1981; Sen 1990; Agnihotri 2000; Croll 2000; Bhat 2002; Kaur 2004; Patel 2007). The 2001 Census has generated further debate on the issue and has narrowed the focus to the changes in the juvenile or child sex ratio.1 Change in the sex ratio of children aged 0–6 is a better indicator of status of girl child in India. It also reflects the sum-total of intra-household gender relations. Why millions of girls do not appear to be surviving in contemporary India, despite an overall improvement in welfare and state measures to enhance the status of women? Why is daughter discrimination on the rise despite progress in female literacy and growing participation of women in economic and political activities? Is there a significant shift from perceived ‘son preference’ to deliberate ‘daughter discrimination’?

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While the 2001 Census shows that the overall sex ratio has marginally improved from 927 women per 1,000 men to 933 per 1,000 during the last decade, the number of girls to boys in the youngest age group fell from 945 to 927. The regional disparities also appear to have increased: the northern states generally exhibit a worsening trend in sex ratio as compared to the southern states. The census evidence suggests a clear cultural preference for male children, particularly among some North Indian states. The census lists ‘sex-selective female abortions’, ‘female infanticide’, and ‘female neglect’—typically through giving girls less food and medical care than boys—as ‘important reasons commonly put forward’ for this shocking anomaly. The new figures point to the use of new technologies to determine the gender composition. The accelerated fall in the child sex ratio after 1981 is largely due to the diffusion of prenatal sex-selection techniques in regions with well-entrenched gender bias (Bhat 2002; Hatti et al. 2004). Furthermore, as social norms are changing toward smaller families, the availability of and access to new reproductive technologies provide an easy way for parents to achieve such goals. One of the most remarkable changes in the 20th century has been the shift from high to low fertility and this has been described as the greatest single demographic change in the second half of that century (Caldwell 1993). The timing, onset, pace, and magnitude of this decline varies between countries. The 2001 Census indicated that, after a large spell of unprecedented population growth, India experienced a gradual decline in the fertility levels. However, there is also evidence that of a growing disparity between the north and the south, with the southern states having been more successful in controlling population growth.2 In a vast country like India with considerable demographic diversity and heterogeneity and varying levels of socio-economic development, the levels and phases of fertility decline vary significantly from one state to another (Bhat 1994; Sekher et al. 2001; Guilmoto and Rajan 2002). Several studies suggest that cultural factors have played an important role in determining fertility trends (Das Gupta, 1987; Basu 1992; Jeffery and Jeffery 1997). While attention has been drawn to the importance of cultural factors in studying demographic behaviour, few studies have examined in detail the relations between cultural and economic aspects. One important cultural (and economic) feature is the value attached to

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sons. It is important to further analyse the nexus of economic, social and cultural factors that underlie daughter discrimination, thus shifting the focus from son preference to daughter discrimination.

Fertility Decline and Adverse Sex Ratio In a significant article titled as ‘More than 100 Million Women are Missing’, Amartya Sen (1990) brought to focus the increasing gender discrimination by analysing the male-female ratio. He has argued that the problem of missing women is ‘clearly one of the more momentous, and neglected, problems facing the world today’ (ibid.: 9). B.D. Miller (1981), in her anthropological study on neglect of female children in North India, has illustrated the strong relationship between culture and mortality. It is the cultural bias against females in North India that brings into play neglect and mistreatment of unknown numbers of children. Many studies have illustrated how the decline in fertility will affect gender bias and greater imbalance in juvenile sex ratios (Das Gupta and Bhat 1997; Clark 2000; Bhat and Zavier 2003; Nanda and Veron 2005; Vella 2005). A substantial decline in fertility presupposes a desire for fewer children as well as access to the means to limit the family size. Both these conditions can be achieved with increase in social and economic development. It is generally accepted that the pace of demographic transition is closely associated with the levels of socio-economic development. However, there is evidence to show that, even in the poorer regions, substantial decline in fertility has occurred through political intervention, in the form of family planning programme. The social and economic development and governmental interventions, however, do not ensure any substantial change in the cultural ethos of the society. In South Asian societies, it is believed that a major barrier for decline in fertility was the prevalence of strong son preference, irrespective of social and economic development. It is also argued that with the increase in welfare and economic development, the influence of son preference would decline gradually. These assumptions are being questioned by some studies indicating that there has been an increase in son preference during the years of fertility decline. This occurs not only in poorer communities but also in populations where women have taken to education and employment and have

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achieved considerable social status. M. Das Gupta (1987) has found that excess female mortality for second and subsequent parity daughters was 32 per cent higher than their siblings for uneducated mothers and 136 per cent higher if the mothers were educated. Alaka Basu makes a similar observation: ‘although her capacity to increase the chances of survival of her children seems to increase with education, the typical Uttar Pradesh woman’s ability to treat her male and female offspring equally actually decreases’ (1992: 196). The existence of strong son-preference has resulted in the desire to prevent the birth of daughters by carefully balancing the desired family size and desired sex composition of the children. In other words, the decline in fertility partly explains the rising masculinity of many populations (Das Gupta and Bhat 1997; Croll 2002). It is hypothesised that as fertility declines, two opposing forces could affect the child sex ratio, what is called as ‘parity effect’, which leads to a reduction of sex bias and ‘intensification effect’, which increases it. Considering this dimension, there is a need to examine the influence of the mirror image of son preference, namely, the daughter discrimination. Does a strong son preference ultimately result in deliberate discrimination against daughters? Miller asserts that, ‘the problem is that son preference is so strong in some areas of India and amongst some classes that daughters must logically suffer in order that family’s personal and culturally mandated needs are fulfilled’ (1981: 25). Logically, this would mean that stronger the son preference, more intense the daughter discrimination. Rather than going through repeated pregnancies bearing daughters in an attempt to produce male progeny, the norm of small family size and reduced fertility seem to imply that unborn daughters are the first to be ‘sacrificed’. Generally, both infanticide and fatal neglect of female children seem to be supplemented by sex identification and sexselective abortion to achieve the desired family size and desired gender composition. Better opportunities for women’s education, increasing labour force participation, and greater exposure to urban life do not necessarily guarantee equal status for daughters. In many Indian communities, daughters are associated with a double loss. Firstly, a daughter leaves the natal family after her marriage and the benefits from investments made on her upbringing accrue to the new family, constituting a loss to her natal family. This is further compounded by the expenses of her marriage, particularly dowry, which are a heavy burden for the bride’s family.3 Sons, on the other hand, are considered as assets,

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deserving short and long-term investment. In rural India, the birth of a boy is thus a time for celebration while a birth of a girl, especially second or subsequent one, is often viewed as a time of crisis (Bumiller 1990). Besides economic considerations, there are cultural factors that support son preference. All these factors put together contribute to the firm belief that daughters cannot substitute sons. A general explanation for son preference is that sons can provide old age support. In India, a majority of the old parents live with married sons. The Indian context, characterised by high levels of uncertainty, where no institutional alternative to the family as a source of social insurance has emerged, parental decisions are likely to be powerfully motivated by their concerns about their own security in the old age. The existence of such an understanding and commitment between parents and sons, known as inter-generational contract, is one factor that appears to have remained unchanged through overall socio-economic changes. Sons are also important because they alone can perform the funeral rituals of the parents. Added to this, most women have very limited opportunities to contribute towards their parents’ welfare. This creates an apparent dichotomy between the value of a girl to her parents and that of a woman to her parents-in-law. It has also become more expensive to raise children as education has become more important and a necessity in a transforming society. The increasing cost of education and marriage of girls is a major drain on the household resources, which acts as a strong disincentive to have daughters. The underlying workings of female discrimination are undoubtedly highly complex. However, many broad factors have been identified which together create a situation where sons are preferred and daughters are neglected. The patterns of inheritance are typically patrilineal in India with property passing from father to son (Miller 1981; Agarwal 1994; Kabeer 1996). Upon marriage the bride leaves her natal home to live with the family of her husband. In this exogamous lineage system women are left out. They become dispensable essentially because they count for very little as individuals. In recent years, a major factor directly influencing the imbalance in child sex ratio is the widespread use of sex-determination technologies and sex-selective abortion. Misuse of sex-determination tests has been a subject of media attention for many years. Health activists and women’s organisations have voiced their concern forcing the government to act. In 1994, the Government of India banned the tests at the national level,

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with the Pre-natal Diagnostic Techniques (PNDT) (Regulation and Prevention of Misuse) Act. This Act specifies that no prenatal diagnostic procedures may be used unless there is a heightened possibility that the fetus suffers from a harmful condition or genetic disease. It also states that no person conducting prenatal diagnostic procedures shall communicate to the pregnant woman concerned or her relatives the sex of the fetus by words, signs, or in any other manner. This Act was again amended in the light of the newer techniques of pre-conception tests and the amended law came into effect in 2003. Now, the Act is renamed as the Pre-conception and Pre-natal Diagnostic Techniques (Prohibition of Sex-selection) Act, 1994.4 This legislation has been a miserable failure in preventing the couples seeking sex-determination tests and abortions and the medical practitioners performing them. Female fetuses are liable to victimisation on the basis of their sex alone even before they are born. Only far-reaching social changes that aim at increasing female autonomy, female economic power and the value of the girl child are likely to make a significant impact on the demand for sex-selective abortion. Interestingly, there is no reliable statistics available on sex-selective abortion at the state or national level in India. An indirect estimate using the data from two rounds of National Family Health Survey5 (NFHS) indicates more than 100,000 sexselective abortions in India every year (Arnold et al. 2002). The evidence of substantial sex-selective abortion in states such as Punjab, Haryana, Delhi, and Maharashtra is consistent with the high rates of use of ultrasound and amniocentesis (Retherford and Roy 2003). How does fertility decline and son preference manifest at the village level, particularly in the context of widespread availability of sex-selection techniques at low cost? By studying two villages in the low-fertility regions of South India, we attempt to understand how these factors interplay at the micro-level with changing socio-economic conditions. The main objective of this field enquiry was to study the precarious situation of female children before birth (their chances of being born at all), at birth, and during the first six years of childhood. In order to gain an understanding of the dynamics it is essential to look into household and individual behaviour. Here, the main concern is how reproduction strategies and specific gender discrimination practices vary among households belonging to different socio-economic groups. It is important to understand how the desire for sons, whether strong or weak, is directly related to daughter discrimination and neglect. The focus group discussions (FGDs) and

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in-depth interviews were done to elicit information about the value of boys and girls, reproductive preferences and strategies. The qualitative research methods employed in the study provided very useful insights. A focus group, generally consisting of 8–10 persons with similar socioeconomic and demographic background, encouraged lively discussions on specific issues, moderated and facilitated by the researchers. The entire discussion was tape-recorded which helped in the preparation of detailed transcripts later. The focus group discussions provided not only experiences and opinions of the participants but also their perceptions on various issues. The information gathered through FGDs was supplemented with individual interviews. All these qualitative information was pooled together and synthesised to arrive at conclusions. The average time taken for an FGD was 90 minutes. The focus group discussions were conducted in panchayat offices, temples, anganwadi centres,6 and, in some cases, at the residence of the informants. Retaining all the participants till the end of an FGD was a challenging task. In general, villagers were very forthcoming in expressing their views and revealing their perceptions.

Mandya District: A Low Fertility Region of Karnataka Mandya district, located in the central belt of southern part of Karnataka, has been geographically classified as southern maidan (plains) region of the state. The district is compact with high population and village densities. More than 60 per cent of the total population of the district belongs to a single peasant community, the Vokkaligas (Gowdas). With the paucity of land for further expansion of area under cultivation, the long history of irrigation and its impact, and the Vokkaliga’s love for land and cultivation have been documented by social scientists (Epstein 1962, 1973; Srinivas 1976). There were fewer land transactions and the land values have increased considerably in recent decades. Landholdings of less than 2 hectare form nearly 85 per cent of all holdings. The large holdings with more than 10 hectares accounted for only 0.33 per cent of the total holdings and about 4.54 per cent of the total land held. Thus, marginal and small farmers were predominant in the district. The fortunes of a man generally depended upon the size of landed property of his father and the number of siblings with whom he would have to share the property.

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Agricultural land, with assured canal irrigation, is the backbone of the economy of the district. The major crops are paddy, sugarcane, ragi, and coconut. Sericulture and handloom weaving are the two other important economic activities, which provide work for thousands of families. The district recorded a population density of 355 per sq. km in 2001. The male literacy rate was 72 per cent and female literacy, 52 per cent in 2001.

Observations from the Study Village M Village M is located about 8 km from Mandya town (district headquarters). Coconut gardens and fields of sugarcane and paddy along with canals and streams surround the village. As per the 2001 Census, there were 637 households in this village with an average household size of 5. The literacy rate was about 60 per cent. The general sex ratio was 926 (females per 1,000 males) and the child (0–6) sex ratio was 732 in 2001, a considerable decline from 825 in 1991. The advent of irrigation brought overall changes in the pattern of cultivation and consequently, improved the economic condition of land owning families. Ownership of land implies regular food availability and income for the families. Therefore, land is the most important economic resource for the villagers. Most farmers use high yielding varieties of seeds and apply fertilisers. The availability of irrigation pump sets, tractors and power tillers in a way replaced significant part of agriculture labour. The easy availability of credit and marketing facilities also helped farmers. The access to the commercially vibrant Mandya town with many trade and industrial establishments also encouraged many villagers to take up employment in the town. However, fragmentation of land and unpredictability of agricultural production and prices made many of them sceptical, as narrated during FGDs: Fragmentation of land has taken place due to partition of the families, and everybody now having only smallholdings. So, parents don’t prefer more children in order to prevent further division of their land.

The population of the village has increased from 761 in 1951 to 2,921 in 2001. Nearly 70 per cent of the households were Vokkaligas, the dominant community in the village as well as in the district. Vokkaliga in the local language (Kannada) means ‘cultivator’, and, traditionally

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the Vokkaligas have been agriculturists. Undoubtedly, the Vokkaligas control bulk of the cultivable land in the village. According to the 2001 census, 36 per cent of the total workers were cultivators and 24 per cent were agricultural labourers in this village. Twenty-one per cent of the households belonged to the scheduled castes. We observed that dowry, wealth flow from bride’s family to groom’s family, has become a common practice in all castes and communities. The communities that did not practice dowry in the past have now started this in a big way. This has put a heavy burden on the girl’s family in arranging for dowry demanded by the boy’s family and also meeting the increasing marriage expenses. Having more children is a financial burden on the family in terms of sending them to school and in performing their marriages. Scarlett T. Epstein documents the emergence of dowry practice in two Mandya villages: In Wangala, it was Beregowda, one of the most enterprising peasants, who initiated change to dowry payments. He explained that three considerations had motivated him to take this step: first, he was keen to get an educated husband to his daughter. Second, his daughter had not been trained to work in the fields and far from being an economic asset she would be a liability as a wife; finally, he said, Brahmins had always given their daughters dowries (1973: 197).

Another study of a South Karnataka village describes the changes in dowry practices thus: The major change was the coming of dowry. In the early 1950s, the first dowries in Bangalore were paid by some Brahmin families. Not until the beginning of the 1960s did the first Brahmin landlord family in the study area provide a dowry and not until 1965 was this done by the first Vokkaliga (the major peasant caste) family. It is still not paid by Harijans [scheduled castes], although in the largest village they ceased paying the tera (bride price) five years ago, and the payment is still small among some of the backward castes. Nevertheless, they all anticipate its arrival. In all castes, the bride’s family now bears the major portion of the wedding costs, and it is they who seek loans and sell land’ (Caldwell et al. 1982: 707).

The observations from FGDs illustrate how dowry has emerged as an essential part of marriage negotiations: In our colony, Kamala has two sons. Her elder daughter-in-law has not brought anything, but the second daughter-in-law has brought a huge dowry. Therefore, the

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younger one receives more respect than the elder one. Including the husband and in-laws, threaten the elder one for not bringing dowry. I have seen them beating her also. Any time, she will be sent back to her natal home’. Boy’s parents consider it is their right to collect dowry. They never think about the economic position of the girl’s parents. They never realise it can happen to their daughter also. Some parents are forced to give their land as dowry. No marriage in this village has taken place without giving gold and cash to the boy’s family. I don’t want daughters. Even if I spend Rs 5,000 for abortion; it is better than spending Rs 500,000 on dowry.

Prosperous Gowda families are ready to pay even half-million to one million rupees as dowry, besides giving gifts in the form of gold jewellery, car, furniture, etc. Usually the girl’s family has to bear the entire marriage expenses. The dowry paid and the gifts given depend upon the qualification and employment position of the boy and landowning status of the family (see Tables 1 and 2). During our fieldwork, we came across young Vokkaliga couples having only one child, mostly male, and deciding to accept family planning. According to them, if they had more than one child it would be extremely difficult to provide good education and meet the cost of upbringing. As narrated in our focus group discussions, since land was limited, it was difficult to maintain the standard of living. Table 1 Range of Dowry in a Village in Mandya District (1970) Dowry Paid (Approximate)

Occupation/Education of the Son-in-Law

Cash (Rs)

Rich Vokkaligas

Educated, with a job in the city

3,000–4,000 Jewellery (Rs. 3,000) and cloth (Rs. 3,000)

Middle Class Vokkaligas

Educated

1,000–2,000 Jewellery and cloth (Rs. 3,000)

Poor Vokkaligas

–

Up to 1,000

Community

Items

Cloth and jewellery (Rs. 1,500)

Note: Based on the description and case studies presented by Epstein (1973: 94–99).

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102T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti Table 2 Range of Dowry in Village M (2005)

Community/Caste Rich Vokkaligas

Middle class Vokkaligas and other castes

Poor labourers Scheduled Castes and other castes

Occupation/Education of Son-in-Law

Dowry (Cost) Cash (Rs)

Items

3–5 lakhs

Land, car, 100–130 grams gold, clothes, all other expenses towards marriage

Groom is employed in 2–3 lakhs government/private job and settled in the village.

Scooter, 80–100 grams gold, clothes and all other expenses towards marriage

Groom is in government/ private job and settled in the City

1–2 lakhs

Land, scooter, 60–70 grams gold, clothes and all other expenses towards marriage

Groom is in government/ private job and settled in the village.

Less than One lakh

Land, scooter, 60–70 grams gold, clothes and all other expenses towards marriage

Groom is employed in government/private job and settled in the city.

Groom is an agriculturist, 50,000 settled in the village.

60–70 grams gold, clothes and all expenses towards marriage

Landless agricultural labour (groom)

10–20 thousands

10–20 grams gold, and clothes and all other expenses towards marriage

5–10 thousands

10–20 grams gold and all expenses towards marriage. 101 articles like Vessels, etc.

Vodda* households Landless labour (groom)

Note: * Vodda is a scheduled caste community that migrated from Tamil Nadu and settled in the village in the 1960s. Source: FGDs carried out by the authors in 2005. Earlier in this village, scheduled castes never used to give dowry. After seeing Gowdas, they also started. Some people believe that paying more dowry is a prestige issue for the family. They sell their land or borrow money to give dowry. Even though girls with some education may try to oppose the payment of dowry in villages, they generally give in to the parental/family pressure as the marriage negotiations progresses.

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The discrimination in providing primary education to boys and girls was evident during the discussions with school teachers. Some people send their sons to convent school (better quality education) and daughters to government school (poor quality education). Why to spend on daughter? Son gets good education and will earn money for the parents. Daughter, one or another day, has to leave the house.

Generally, the Vokkaliga families are nuclear. After marriage, women have no right over the parental property, including land. The sons inherit all family assets. During our interviews and FGDs, we found that there was a strong preference for small families; interestingly, most of the couples had already accepted family planning. It was the Vokkaligas who, by accepting contraception, paved the way for other communities towards birth control. The type of fertility transition experienced in this village and other parts of the district has been unique, and one can see a strong relationship between population pressure on land and rapid fertility decline (Sekher and Raju 2004). The paucity of cultivable land and availability of irrigation have resulted in increasing land values. The landowning Vokkaliga desires to have only one or two sons to avoid further fragmentation of land. As mentioned by Epstein, They now appreciate that large number of children creates economic problems of future generations. But most of them still have a strong son preference. They continue procreating until they have at least one son. For example, Shangowda had one son after his wife had given birth first to two daughters. He and his wife then decided that three children are enough for them. A large proportion of villagers pursue the same strategy. In this too, old beliefs and customs persist in a changed setting (1998: 196).

The Vokkaligas consider land as the source of old-age security, along with the son. Alan R. Beals, while studying social change in a Mysore village 50 years ago, has stated that, Namhalli’s landowning group, while not threatened with starvation, has been faced, in recent years, with the problem of dividing a limited quantity of land among an ever increasing population. Within the village many solutions to this problem, ranging from abortion to the adoption of iron ploughs, have been tried. In almost every family in Namhalli, at least one child has been groomed for urban employment (1955: 98).

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The focus group discussions with women of the village illustrate the strong son preference and intense desire to limit the number of children: After having two daughters, my mother-in-law told me not to go for sterilisation. Then I thought, if I continue like this, it will be very difficult for me, and I may die. Then I went to a doctor and decided to have operation. I got operated immediately after the birth of my second child. My husband gave me full support in this decision. I have a daughter; my husband wanted at least one boy. My mother-in-law became sad and cried when I gave birth to a girl child.

During our fieldwork we observed that a majority of the young couples underwent sex-determination test, either in a private clinic or a nursing home. People from village M go to nearby Mandya town, where two nursing homes are known for conducting abortions. During FGDs among the Vokkaliga and scheduled caste women, we found that almost all were aware of the facilities available to find out the sex of the foetus. We also came across cases where some public health workers, particularly Auxiliary Nurse and Midwives, were providing information and advising village women ‘how to get rid of unwanted daughters’. Many women openly admitted that several doctors in Mandya city conduct both the test and the abortion. In a few cases, people went to places like Bangalore and Mysore. This was expensive for the family, but rich Gowdas were ready to spend money for what they consider a ‘good purpose’. For conducting sonography and disclosing the sex of the fetus, private nursing homes in Mandya charge between Rs 1,000 to 2,000 and, if a woman prefers to undergo an abortion, she has to pay an additional Rs 5,000. During our FGDs, many women justified persuading their daughters or daughters-in-law to opt for abortion saying that it is better to spend a few thousand rupees now than spending a million rupees later, thus avoiding all the future problems like education, marriage, dowry, etc. One woman said that had this facility (ultrasound) been available 20  years ago, she would have gone for it to reduce the number of daughters. She said (in Kannada), ‘Hecchu edi kere haal maadtu; Hecchu henninda mane haalaaitu’ (too many crabs destroy the lake; too many daughters destroy the house). In her efforts to have a son 20 years ago, she gave birth to three daughters. A few observations from FGDs are as follows: If one becomes pregnant, the family won’t tell she is pregnant. She is taken to find out the sex of the baby. If it is a girl, the foetus is aborted immediately. Everything is done in a secretive manner.

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Rame Gowda’s wife died during abortion. Poor woman, she has left behind two daughters.

Another woman explained (in Kannada) the necessity for having a son: ‘maga manege; magalu pararige’ (son is for our family; daughter is for others). When asked about whether they depend on their sons for protection during old age, most men and women said ‘yes’. Some of them strongly felt the necessity to have at least two sons. Krishne Gowda quoting a local (Kannada) saying substantiated his argument: ‘ondu kannu kannalla; obba maga maganalla’ (freely translated it means one eye is not enough to see, one son is not enough for the family). It is very evident that the practice of dowry has spread to all communities. The girl’s family is under pressure to meet a series of payments for the marriage, beginning with engagement and concluding with the bride actually going to reside in the groom’s house. In many communities, the practice of dowry was unheard of about thirty years ago, but it has now become an essential feature of the marriage. Apart from dowry, it is a well-established norm among all communities that all expenditures for conducting the marriage have to be borne by the girl’s family. Considering all these expenses and practically no return, many feel that having a daughter is a ‘real burden’ for the family. An old woman appropriately summarised (in Kannada) the situation: ‘Yavaga honnina bele eruthade, avaga hennina bele iliyuthade’ (whenever the price of gold goes up, the value of the girl goes down). The findings from the sample household survey (96 young male or female parents having at least one child in the age group 0–6) carried out in village M show the changing attitude towards the perceived value of sons and that of daughters. Out of 96 respondents, 66 are Vokkaligas and the remaining are from the scheduled castes. The son preference is strong among the Vokkaligas: nearly 77 per cent of them want either one son or two sons (and no daughters!). Only 18 per cent of them consider that their ideal family comprised of one son and one daughter (see Table 3). More than four-fifth of them felt that daughters were more expensive to bring up than sons and 71 per cent were apprehensive of the problems/difficulties associated with suitably marrying off their daughters (see Table 4). Nearly half of the mothers perceive that the future life of their daughters will be worse than their own. However, only 12 per cent of fathers felt that the life of their sons will be worse (see Table 5).

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106T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti Table 3 Ideal Family Size According to the Respondents in Village M Community Ideal Family Size

Vokkaligas

Scheduled Castes

One son

30.3

17.4

Two sons

46.9

47.8

4.6

4.3

18.2

30.4

One daughter One son and one daughter Two daughters Total

–

–

100

100

Note: Figures in percentages. Table 4 Value Attached to the Children by Parents in Village M Communities Value of Boys and Girls

Vokkaligas Scheduled Castes

Sons are more expensive to bring up than daughters

21

24

Daughters are more expensive to bring up than sons

87

72

Will you face difficulty in arranging marriage for your son?

18

42

Will you face difficulty in marrying off your daughter?

71

89

Son will take care of you when you are old

63

74

9

12

Daughter will take care of you when you are old Note: Figures in percentages.

Table 5 Vokkaliga Parental Perception about the Future of Their Children in Village M Parental Perception

Men

Women 11 49 40

How do you think life will be for your daughter(s)?

Better Worse Like your own

NA

How do you think life will be for your son(s)?

Better Worse Like your own

39 12 49

NA

100

100

Total Note: Figures in percentages; NA = not applicable.

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Salem District of Tamil Nadu: A Low Fertility Region Known for Female Infanticide Salem district recorded the lowest child sex-ratio in South India in 2001. This district attracted considerable attention in the 1990s for the pre-valence of female infanticide (George et al. 1992). A study carried out based on available PHC (Primary Health Centre) records confirms the incidence of female infanticide in the districts of Salem, Dharmapuri, and Madurai (Chunkath and Athreya 1997). The worsening child sex ratios of 2001 Census have amply substantiated the still existing and rampant practice of female infanticide in parts of Tamil Nadu, despite overall socio-economic changes in Tamil Nadu (Sekher and Hatti 2007). In Salem district, the average household size was 4.0, with a literacy rate 65 per cent in 2001. Two major communities of the district are Vanniyars and Kongu Vellala Gounders. The Vanniyar originally formed the fighting force of the Pallavas and, hence, came to be called as ‘Padayachi’. Their community cohesiveness is remarkable. Some of them practice agriculture as their main occupation. The traditional occupation of Vanniyar is oil pressing and oil selling. The nuclear family is the most common form among them. Sons inherit property and the eldest son gets a greater share. Daughter does not have any right to the property unless they have no brothers. Vanniyars are categorised as Most Backward Caste and the state government has reservation policy for them. Kongu Vellala Gounder is an inhabitant of the Kongu region of the Tamil Nadu. Agriculture is the traditional occupation of this community. The other economic activities are animal husbandry, trade, industrial labour etc. They are hardworking agriculturists and specialised in horticulture.

Observations from the Study Village K According to the 2001 Census, the village K in Mettur taluk has 1,341 households, with a total population of 4,983 (2,676 males and 2,307 females). The average household size was 4.0. The overall literacy rate was 47 per cent. The general sex ratio was 862 and the child sex-ratio was 616 in 2001, a decline from 673, as recorded in 1991. Three major communities in this village are Vanniyar, Kongu Vellala Gounder, and scheduled castes.

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During our filed work we came across incidents of female infanticide in the village. Though some families, including women, were hesitant to talk about it, there were a few who openly justified the practice. Though the practice was more prominent among the Vanniyars, other communities also occasionally indulge in infanticide. On many occasions, though the mother of the child was not directly involved, the elder members ensured the elimination of female infant within a week after birth. The methods used for this purpose included feeding the child with poison, loosening the knot of umbilical cord, suffocating baby to death, feeding with paddy husk, and starving the baby to death. A more ‘modern’ method recently observed was the use of pesticides or sleeping pills. Some elders use the prediction of local astrologers (‘fortune tellers’) as a strong justification to get rid of the daughter who would ‘cause destruction to the family’. As one old woman, narrating the plight of her family said: ‘it is better they die than live like me’. Penn shisu kolai (female infanticide in Tamil) is justified for various reasons. Though many families tolerate the first girl, the subsequent daughters are really at high risk. The general observation that the female infanticide was confined to certain backward communities like Kallars has been proved erroneous. It has spread to communities like Gounder, Vanniyar, and Pallars. Our discussions in village K indicated that it was not only the poor who practised infanticide, but the rich and powerful in the village also resorted to penn shisu kolai. There were few police cases registered recently against parents for committing the infanticide. But, the arrival of sex-determination tests, has given a new method for those who can afford to pay. Many economically better off families admitted that they avoided the birth of another girl ‘with the help of doctor’. However, poor women in the scheduled caste colony said, ‘We cannot afford to pay for test and abortion. So we still practice infanticide, which is much cheaper.’ Our study clearly shows the practice of female infanticide was being substituted by female foeticide, particularly among the Gounders. The combined efforts of the state, NGOs, and some panchayat leaders have had some impact on reducing the incidence of female infanticide. Pregnant women already having a girl child used to be classified into high-risk category and were monitored closely by local NGOs. Among the Kongu Vellala Gounders, dowry was reported as the major reason to avoid having daughters. A few observations from FGDs are cited below: Parents of the bride borrow money from all sources; sometimes they sell their land to meet the marriage expenses.

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After paying so much dowry, they continue to demand more. If she fails to bring dowry, the husband and in-laws start harassing her. That is why many people don’t want daughters.

There has been a phenomenal increase in the amount of dowry transacted in the village. The landowning Gounder has to pay at least 80 sovereigns of gold, Rs 2 lakhs cash, and a car, as well as to meet all the lavish expenditure to conduct marriage. The manifold increase in dowry among all communities repeatedly came up in FGDs. The Vanniars are not far behind: the rates ranging between 40 to 60 sovereigns of gold, car or motorbike, and marriage expenses. Even the landless dalits (the poorest in the village and depending upon agricultural work for their livelihood) pay gold (5 to 10 sovereigns) and meet the marriage costs, which can easily exceed Rs 25,000. Borrowing money to meet these ‘unavoidable’ expenses has pushed many families into the trap of indebtedness, on the one hand, and social obligations, on the other. According to one dalit women, ‘having a daughter is a punishment for the sins committed in previous life’. In most of the marriage negotiations, the first criterion was how much dowry would be given. Modernisation ushered in the importance of material status, driving the need to be extravagant and to show off as a way of asserting one’s social standing. For well-off Gounders performing seeru (dowry) and the conduct of marriages of daughters became an important forum to display new found prosperity and to assert their status within their community (caste group) (Srinivasn 2005: 602).

This explains why daughters were unwelcome, resulting in a deliberate intensification of non-preference of daughters and consequent increase in son preference. Even the affluent families who can ‘afford’ daughters and can provide them with good education are sceptical because, as a local leader put it, ‘the higher the education of the girls, the higher the dowry’. It is also true that ‘an increase in the prevalence of dowry, which has raised the costs of bringing up children, and created a situation of financial distress, have also contributed to the fertility decline in some segments of population’ (Krishnamoorthy et al. 2005: 245). Marrying off a daughter without giving a decent dowry can have serious consequences for the natal family as well as for the daughter. One respondent expressed her worry thus: The in-laws may humiliate our daughter, demand more dowry, ill treat her and finally she may be forced to return to our home. How can we allow this to happen to our daughter?

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110T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

Apart from the demand at the time of marriage, the demand after marriage for more dowry, resulting in the fear of ill treatment of their daughter if the demands are not met, is a perennial worry for many parents. The inability to pay the amount of dowry demanded could also lead to a delay in the marriage itself and an unmarried daughter would pose many a problem for the parents.

Concluding Observations The two village studies clearly illustrate that, in the eyes of parents, daughters are rarely able to substitute for sons. Although the will for limiting the family size is evident across communities, ‘smart couples’ achieve the desired family-size and the desired sex-composition of children together. The new reproductive technologies that are available are employed by parents from all communities. Notwithstanding the extent of use, it is also an indication of the easy availability and affordability of sonography and abortion facilities despite the legal hinders such as PNDT Act. As narrated by a literate woman in Village M, ‘Had these clinics were available 30 years ago, many of us would never have seen this world!’ According to an NGO activist in Tamil Nadu study village, ‘the real culprits are the medical doctors who misuse the technology to increase their profits’. Though the ‘technological effect’ may mainly be responsible for the elimination of female foetuses, the powerlessness of village women in a patriarchal society is an equally important factor to be considered. Personal interviews with young women in the study areas reveal that, many a time, they were forced to undergo sonography and abortion, much against their wishes. In both study areas, FGDs show the tendency to identify the daughter with dowry payments. The continuing trend of increasing dowry demands, in cash and in kind, is a crucial factor in marriage negotiations as well as a ‘status enhancer’ within the community. The dowry had significant impact on how the parents value the worth of boys and girls, even today. Interestingly, the two peasant communities (the Vokkaligas and the Kongu Vellala Gounders) in the study villages have become increasingly affluent as major beneficiaries of access to irrigation and other inputs of modern agriculture. This affluence has meant a continuing rise in living

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standards, consumption, and aspirations. Besides acquisition of various trappings of modern life, one way of demonstrating their economic affluence, according to FGDs, was to get a ‘well-qualified son-in-law’, as this would enhance their status and standing within the community. This desire would, no doubt, gradually inflate the dowry demands of the boy’s family and also increase the wedding expenditure of the girl’s family. Hence, the increasing costs of education and marriage and a conviction that dowry rates can only move upwards compel the parents to seriously consider the investment in and return from a daughter as against the benefits that can accrue to the parents from investing in a son. Both the landed and the landless in our FGDs cite this as the most important reason for preferring sons over daughters. In both villages, the small family is the accepted norm, parents seem to make the deliberate choice between a son and a daughter: son would mean inflow of wealth, while daughter implies financial drain. The affluent communities, which not too long ago considered payment of large dowries as a symbol of their capability and status, now realise that such payments constitute a threat to their affluence, lifestyles, and aspirations, and, consequently, prefer not to have daughters. As a result of the growing affluence of the landowning communities, the cash flow among the landless agricultural labourers has also increased due to higher wages, most of which is being paid in cash than in kind. This fact coupled with the desire to imitate the customs of the higher castes in the village, a kind of sanskritisation process, has meant that the practice of dowry payment has permeated to the landless lower castes, thus increasing the expenses of marriage of daughters. Consequently, these communities also exhibit similar preferences to avoid having daughters, albeit to a lesser extent. The observations from the two low-fertility regions of South India and the survey data analysis show a strong preference for sons, particularly among the peasant communities. However, with the substantial decline in fertility in these regions, the son preference appears to have resulted in an increased as well as intensified manifestation of deliberate discrimination towards daughters. The widespread use of sex-selection techniques has provided an opportunity for couples to choose a son rather than a daughter. The increasing pressure on limited land, on the one hand, and the spiralling cost of bringing up children (particularly girls, due to dowry), on the other, parents prefer not to have daughters.

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112T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

The medical technology has come in handy for many for achieving the desired sex-composition and the desired family-size. The rapid fertility decline, not accompanied by changes in the cultural values and gender inequality, is in a way responsible for the intensification of gender bias and the deliberate attempt to deny the girls from being ‘born at all’. In other words, female foetuses are increasingly being ‘victimised’ on the basis of their sex alone, even among the affluent communities.

Notes * An elaborate version of this paper was presented at the International Conference on Female Deficit in Asia jointly sponsored by CEPED, CICRED, and INED and held in Singapore on 5–7 December 2005. We are thankful to the participants for their comments and suggestions. We are also grateful to Ms Preethi Bhat, Shri Sampath, Ms Shubhashree, Shri Gangadharappa, and Shri Ramachandra Bhat for assisting us in fieldwork. Grateful thanks are also due to the anonymous referee for her/his constructive suggestions. 1. The Census of India measures the sex ratio as number of females per 1,000 males, as opposed to the standard international norm of number of males per 100 females. Defining the sex ratio by covering children in the age group 0–6 may seem arbitrary, but the Census uses it for the purpose of literacy status, categorising the entire population into two groups: those aged 0–6 years and those 7 years and above. 2. For a detailed review of fertility transition in South India, see Guilmoto and Rajan (2005). Quantitative and qualitative analysis of fertility changes in four southern states have been made available under the South India Fertility Project (www.demographie. net/sifp). 3. In the era of globalisation and consumerism, dowry payment is more a rule than an exception. Many communities in South India, where the practice of dowry was totally absent earlier, have started making huge payments in recent decades at the time of marriage. In many families, even after the payment of dowry, there is continuing unidirectional flow of resources from a woman’s parental household to her in-laws. Dowry has emerged as a strategy to acquire higher standards of material life with adverse consequences to women’s status, including their survival. For a detailed description of the changing nature of dowry practices in South India, see Srinivasan (2005). 4. However, the first court-case and conviction under this Act did not happen until March 2006, when a doctor and his assistant in the state of Haryana were sentenced to two years in jail (The Hindu, Bangalore, 30 March 2006). 5. National Family and Health Survey, similar to Demographic Health Survey in other countries, comprises a nationally representative sample of households covering evermarried women in the age group of 15–49 years. This survey has been conducted thrice: first in 1992–93, then in 1998–99, and recently in 2005–06 (IIPS and Macro International 2007).

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6. The anganwadi centers are nursery schools for children aged 3–6 years which provide nutritious food under the Integrated Child Development Scheme of the Government of India. Almost every village has an anganwadi centre, which also provides a meeting place for pregnant and lactating mothers.

References Agarwal, Bina. 1994. A field of one’s own: Gender and land rights in South Asia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Agnihotri, S.B. 2000. Sex ratio patterns in the Indian population: A fresh exploration. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Arnold, Fred; Sunita Kishor and T.K. Roy. 2002. ‘Sex-selective abortions in India’, Population and development review, 28 (4): 759–85. Basu, Alaka. 1992. Culture, the status of women and demographic behaviour. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Beals, Alan R. 1955. ‘Interplay among factors of change in a Mysore village’, in McKim Marriott (ed.): Village India: Studies in the little community (78–101). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Bhat, Mari P.N. 1994. ‘Levels and trends in Indian fertility’, Economic and political weekly, 29 (51–52): 273–80. ———. 2002. ‘On the trail of “Missing” Indian females (I and II)’, Economic and political weekly, 37 (51 and 52): 5105–18 and 5244–63. Bhat, Mari P.N and Francis Zavier. 2003. ‘Fertility decline and gender bias in northern India’, Demography, 40 (4): 637–57. Bumiller, E. 1990. May you be the mother of a thousand sons: A journey among women in India. New York: Penguin Books. Caldwell, John. 1993. ‘The Asian fertility revolution: Its implications for transition theories’, in R. Leete and I. Alam (ed.): The revolution in Asian fertility: Dimensions, causes and Implications (299–316). Oxford: Clarendon Press. Caldwell, John; P.H. Reddy and Pat Caldwell. 1982. ‘The causes of demographic change in rural South India: A micro approach’, Population and development review, 8 (4): 689–727. Chunkath, S.R. and V.B. Athreya. 1997. ‘Female infanticide in Tamil Nadu: Some evidence’, Economic and political weekly, 32 (17): WS 21–28. Clark, Shelley. 2000. ‘Son preference and sex composition of children: Evidence from India’, Demography, 37 (1): 95–108. Croll, Elisabeth J. 2000. Endangered daughters: Discrimination and development in Asia. New York: Routledge. ———. 2002. ‘Fertility decline, family size and female discrimination: A study of reproductive management in East and South Asia’, Asia-Pacific population journal, 17 (2): 11–38. Das Gupta, M. 1987. ‘Selective discrimination against female children in rural Punjab, India’, Population and development review, 13 (1): 77–100. Das Gupta, M. and P.N. Mari Bhat. 1997. ‘Fertility decline and increased manifestation of sex bias in India’, Population studies, 51 (3): 307–15.

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114T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti Epstein, Scarlett T. 1962. Economic development and social change in South India. Bombay: Media Promoters and Publishers. ———. 1973. South India: Yesterday, today and tomorrow—Mysore villages revisited. London: English Language Book Society and Macmillan. ———. 1998. ‘Researcher’s view’, in Scarlet T. Epstein, A.P. Suryanarayana and T. Thimmegowda: Village voices: Forty years of rural transformation in South India (89– 205). New Delhi: Sage Publications. George, Sabu; Rajaratnam Abel and B.D. Miller. 1992. ‘Female infanticide in rural South India’, Economic and political weekly, 27 (22): 1153–60. Guilmoto, C.Z. and S. Irudaya Rajan. 2002. ‘Spatial patterns of fertility transition in Indian districts’, Population and development review, 27 (4): 713–38. ———. (eds.). 2005. Fertility transition in South India. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Hatti, Neelambar, T.V. Sekher and Mattias Larsen. 2004. ‘Lives at risk: Declining child sex ratios in India’, Lund papers in economic history, No. 93. Lund, Sweden: Lund University. IIPS (International Institute for Population Sciences) and Macro International. 2007. National family health survey (NFHS—3)—India 2005–06. Mumbai: IIPS. Jeffery, Patricia and Roger Jeffery. 1997. Population, gender and politics: Demographic change in rural north India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kabeer, Naila. 1996. ‘Gender, demographic transition and the economics of family size: Population policy for a human-centred development’, Occasional paper 7. Geneva: UNRISD. Kaur, Ravinder. 2004. ‘Across-region marriages: Poverty, female migration and the sex ratio’, Economic and political weekly, 39 (25): 2595–616. Krishnamoorthy, S.; P.M. Kulkarni and N. Audinarayana. 2005. ‘Causes of fertility transition in Tamil Nadu’, in C.Z. Guilmoto and S. Irudaya Rajan (eds.): Fertility transition in South India (227–47). New Delhi: Sage Publications. Miller, B.D. 1981. The endangered sex: The neglect of female children in rural North India. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Nanda A.K. and J. Veron. 2005. ‘Child sex ratio imbalance, fertility behaviour and development in India: Recent evidence from Haryana and Punjab’, in I. Attane and J. Veron (eds.): Gender discrimination among young children in Asia (91–131). Pondicherry: French Institute of Pondicherry and CEPED. Patel, Tulsi. 2007. ‘Informal social networks, sonography and female foeticide in India’, Sociological bulletin, 56 (2): 243–62. Retherford, R.D. and T.K. Roy. 2003. Factors affecting sex-selective abortion in India and 17 major states. NFHS Series—No.21. Mumbai: IIPS and Hawaii: East-West Centre. Sekher, T.V. and K.N.M. Raju. 2004. Fertility transition in Karnataka (Monograph 5). Bangalore: Institute for Social and Economic Change. Sekher, T.V.; K.N.M. Raju and M.N. Sivakumar. 2001. ‘Fertility transition in Karnataka: Levels, trends and implications’, Economic and political weekly, 36 (51): 4742–52. Sekher, T.V. and Neelambar Hatti. 2007. ‘Vulnerable daughters in a modernising society: From son preference to daughter discrimination in rural South India’, in I. Attane and C.Z. Guilmoto (eds.): Watering the neighbour’s garden: The growing demographic female deficit in Asia (295–323). Paris: CICRED.

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Sen, Amartya. 1990. ‘More than 100 million women are missing’, New York review of books, 20 December 1990: 61–66. Srinivas, M.N. 1976. The remembered village. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Srinivasan, Sharada. 2005. ‘Daughters or dowries? The changing nature of dowry practices in South India’, World development, 33 (4): 593–615. Vella, Stephanie. 2005. ‘Low fertility and female discrimination in South India: The puzzle of Salem District, Tamil Nadu’, in C.Z. Guilmoto and S. Irudaya Rajan (eds.): Fertility transition in South India (248–81). New Delhi: Sage Publications. Visaria, P. 1971. The sex ratio of the population of India (Monograph 10—Census of India). New Delhi: Office of the Registrar General of India.

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SECTION II Young and Youth

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7 The Attitudes to English and Use of It by Students of Three Different Mother Tongues: Hindi, Kannada and Tamil Aileen D. Ross and Suraj Bandyopadhyay

T

o what extent can a foreign language, imposed on a country during a colonial period, maintain its position against strong forces promoting a new indigenous national language and the revival of many regional languages? English became the official language in India when the British were in power, through its use in the civil service, education, the professions, business and commerce. After Independence its position as the official language was threatened when Hindi was made the new national language and later when regional language groups began to push for more linguistic power (Roy 1962).1 That it has not disappeared over the twenty years since India obtained Independence implies that it may still be serving some important function. What is this function? Is it equally important for Indians in the different linguistic regions? It also implies that mechanisms still exist through which the language is being passed on to successive generations. What are these mechanisms? How effective are they in maintaining a language which was imposed from above, and, except for a small portion of the more Anglicized Indians and the small group

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of Anglo-Indians, never took roots amongst the large majority of the Indian people? A broad generalization has been formulated stating: “Language maintenance is a function of intactness of group membership or group loyalty, particularly of such ideologized expressions of group loyalty as nationalism” (Fishman 1964: 442). Does this apply to India? It is difficult to think of the English-speaking Indians as being a closely integrated group. Sociologically speaking, the one factor that binds them all is that they do speak English. An exception might be the Anglo-Indians, who may have a strong sense of loyalty to English. However, they are not numerically large enough, nor do they have enough prestige to maintain English except within their own group. What chance has a language to survive, then, when it no longer has an ‘intact group’ to maintain it, supported by ‘group loyalty’? Another broad generalization may indicate one of the main reasons why English still remains powerful in India. “When two languages are in competition the more prestigeful language displaces the less prestigeful language” (Fishman 1964: 444). In the present case, this might read: “The international prestige of English gives it strong support in comparison to the indigeneous Indian languages.” Moreover, its world-wide importance in the economic, political and scientific fields means that at least some members of each country must be facile in English. But is this reason strong enough to motivate one to learn English when one is not sure whether he will ever have to use it? Two other reasons may be more important motivating factors. Some linguistic groups, notably the Tamilspeaking Indians of Tamilnadu state, have felt that the rise of Hindi to the position of a national language has put them at a great disadvantage, particularly in regard to positions in the central civil services. They have thus tried to retain English as a barrier against Hindi. The other reason is that many ambitious parents feel that their children will not be able to attain the highest business, political or professional careers without a good knowledge of English. It is therefore still deemed important for their self-interests to see that they become fluent in that language. English, then, is still encouraged, but the degree to which it is accepted varies from one part of India to another. Various other factors may also be relevant. In this context, the present study explores the extent to which English is being maintained by samples of fourth year college students in the capital cities of three different States, each having a different regional language. “Maintenance” would be measured by the number

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of students speaking it and their proficiency in that language. The cities chosen were Bangalore, Jaipur and Madras, the capital cities, respectively, of the States of Mysore, Rajasthan and Madras.2 It was hypothesised that we would find English as being maintained to a greater extent in the Southern than the Northern cities. It was also hypothesised that English would be maintained to a greater degree in Madras than Bangalore. Finally, it was hypothesised that the students in the Southern capital cities would have a greater desire to have English as medium of instruction, and at the State and Central levels of government than those of Jaipur, and that the Madras students would be more favourable to this than those of Bangalore. The maintenance of English was tested on two levels, namely, how people were actually preserving it, and how they felt about preserving it. The first hypotheses were tested by the use of certain variables which were thought to be important in maintaining a language, namely, the use of English in the home, at school and in the students’ social life. These variables were chosen because each represented a different type of training and a different ‘approach’ to the language. The home has the advantage over the school in maintaining a ‘foreign’ language in that it may be spoken daily in a relaxed atmosphere where the child has little fear of being ridiculed, and so is able to experiment with the vocabulary. As we expected that the longer a child was exposed to a language the more proficient he would become. The students were asked two questions: “What languages did you speak at home as a child?” and “What languages do you now speak at home?” Schools and colleges have the advantage in language training in that they teach more systematically and precisely than do parents, and the child will learn to read and write as well as speak. Talking English every day, possibly with a wide variety of people as well as with friends, has the advantage of forcing the student to cover many more topics than in the home or class-room, and so it extends his vocabulary. Conversation with friends is usually of a more intimate and subtle nature, especially when it includes humour, and proficiency in this respect is perhaps the best index of a person’s bilingual ability. Several other minor hypotheses were tested, namely, that students who had grown up in cities or large towns would be more anxious to have English as medium of instruction at college, and as the official language of the State and Central governments, than those who had been brought up in villages; male students would want English at these three levels more than female students; and students who had a very high

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proficiency in English would prefer English at these three levels more than those whose proficiency in English was below average. Table  1 shows the students’ own estimation of their proficiency in English. A surprisingly large proportion of them rated their ability to speak, read and write English as very or moderately high. Only a relatively few rated themselves as moderately low or very low in this respect. Table 2 shows Table 1 Students Reporting Proficiency in English in the Three Capital Cities Considered Together Proficiency of English (1)

Percentage of Students (2)

Very high

68.9

Moderately high

13.1

Average

15.6

Moderately low

1.8

Very low

0.6 100.0 (n = 665)

Total

[The students’ claim to proficiency in speaking, reading and writing English was rated on a seven-point scale. Those coded with 6 or 7 points were said to have very high proficiency in English; 5 moderately high; 4 average; 3 moderately low and 1 and 2 were rated as very low.] Table 2 Students Reporting Proficiency in English in the Cities of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur Percentage of Students Proficiency in English (1)

Madras (2)

Bangalore (3)

Jaipur (4)

Very high

76.1

77.0

37.2

Moderately high

10.7

11.0

22.5

Average

13.2

10.2

31.0

–

1.8

6.2

Moderately low Very low Total

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–

–

3.1

100.0 (n = 310)

100.0 (n = 226)

100.0 (n = 129)

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Table 3 Students Reporting Very High Proficiency in English in Relation to Their Use of It at Home, as Medium of Instruction at School and in Social Situations in the Cities of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur Percentage of Students Reporting Very High Proficiency in English When

City (1)

English Was Spoken at Home During Childhood and/or at Present (2)

Madras

86.4

Bangalore

89.3

(125) (28) Jaipur

60.0 (25)

Total

83.1 (178)

Results of test for inter-city differences (χ2 at 2 df )

6.304(*)

Student Speaks English English Was the Medium of Instruction Every Day and/or Uses It Most Often with at Primary and/ Friends or High School (4) (3) 89.8 (59) 90.7 (118) 75.0 (12) 89.4 (189) 2.892(−)

80.4 (266) 89.8 (187) 47.2 (72) 77.5 (525) 45.285(**)

[Figures in brackets indicate the number of students in each cell; in this and other tables ‘**’ and ‘*’ show where the results are significant at 1% and 5% levels respectively, ‘−’ shows that a result is not significant at even 5% level.]

that this is more true for the students studying in Madras and Bangalore than in Jaipur. In that city, we find a much larger proportion of students who claim to possess average or below average proficiency in English. When we look at Tables 3 and 4 we see the way in which the three variables—speaking English at home, exposure to it at school and using it in social situations—are related to the proportion of students who claimed very high proficiency in that language. We find that a higher proportion of the students from the two Southern cities had been exposed to English in these three areas than the students from Jaipur. Table 3 also shows a high association between the use of English in the home, at

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Jaipur

Bangalore

Madras

City (1)

Madras (2) (−)

2.9

Bangalore (3)

(*)

−29.3

(**)

−26.4

Jaipur (4)

English Was Spoken at Home during Childhood and/or at Present Madras (5) (−)

0.9

Bangalore (6)

(−)

−15.7

(−)

−14.8

Jaipur (7)

Medium of Instruction at Primary and/ or High School Was English

Madras (8)

(**)

−9.4

Bangalore (9)

(**)

−42.6

(**)

−33.2

Jaipur (10)

English Spoken Everyday and/or Most Often with Friends

Differences between the Cities in the Percentages of Students with Very High Proficiency in English (t-test Results Indicated in Bracket)

Table 4 Students Reporting Very High Proficiency in English in Relation to Their Use of It at Home, as Medium of Instruction at School and in Social Situations in the Cities of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur

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school and in social situations and high proficiency in that language. The only exception is in the case of Jaipur, where less than half the students who claimed very high proficiency in English used it extensively in social situations. Unexpectedly, we found that the three variables did not have the same importance in maintaining English in each city. For we had thought that if the use of English in the home was important in, say, Madras in promoting proficiency, it would be equally important in Bangalore and Jaipur. This, however, was not the case. The difference between the cities was of greatest significance in regard to the use of English in social situations, less in regard to its use in the home, and quite insignificant in regard to its use in school. This seems to suggest that the school plays a rather independent role, irrespective of the city in which it functions, whereas the location of the home has some relevance in promoting proficiency. The most important difference in the influence of the cities on proficiency in language, however, is seen in its use in social situations. To understand why this is so we must consider some of the different characteristics of the cities themselves. Only a few suggestions can be made in this short paper. One possible reason may be that, whereas Jaipur is situated in a Hindi-speaking region, and the other two cities are located in that part of India which is, generally speaking, pro-English and anti-Hindi, the ‘climate of opinion’ in regard to speaking English is more favourable in the latter than in the former cities (Roy 1962: 24).3 That is, students achieve prestige when they show ability in English in the South, but in the North, and this acts as a motivating factor to speak it well in public. Another reason for the difference in the climate of opinion to English in the three cities might be found in the linguistic composition of the three cities. The proportion of people who have other mother tongues than the regional language varies from city to city. Bangalore, a highly industrialized city, has attracted workers from many States. Only slightly over half of its population, 51.7%, have Kannada as mother tongue, and there are significant numbers of Tamil, Telugu, Urdu and Marathi-speaking people in that city.4 Figures for Madras show that it has a high proportion of Tamil-speaking citizens (i.e. 72.3%), a relatively large number of Telugu speaking-people, and some whose mother tongue is Urdu. Jaipur has the highest proportion of residents, 83.4%, who speak the regional language, Hindi. Urdu is the

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mother tongue of the second largest group. These two languages are so basically alike that people speaking one of them can communicate relatively easily with those speaking the other language. This means that about 94% of the population of Jaipur can communicate without the need of a common language. In the South, whereas Tamil, Kannada and Telugu have the same roots, they are different enough to make it impossible for people speaking say, Tamil, to be understood by a Kannada-speaking citizen. Urdu is an even more ‘foreign’ language, so there is much more need for a lingua franca for those living in Madras and Bangalore than in Jaipur. This linguistic composition of the population helps to explain the Southern students’ greater use of English in public, and with friends. For it is evident that students must share a mutual language if they wish to have friends, and, as the medium of instruction in the colleges is largely English, then it is the natural choice. In this way the desire to have friends becomes another motivating factor to learn English. Its use is also more practical in the affairs of daily life, for one may buy in the market from a Tamil or Telugu-speaking Indian, or have neighbours who speak these languages. The climate of opinion towards English, however, is best seen in the figures of Table 5, which show the extent to which the students desire to retain English at three important levels, namely, as medium of instruction in college, and as the official language of the Central and/ or State governments. Here we see that, whereas a very large majority of the Madras and Bangalore students wish to retain English as medium of instruction at college, only a quarter of the Jaipur students have that desire. A slightly lower but still high proportion of the Madras students wish to retain it as the official language of the Central government, and fewer, but still a high proportion want to keep it as the official State language. The Bangalore students also show a strong preference for English as medium of instruction and as the official language of the Central government. However, there is a sharp drop in the proportion of those wanting to retain it as the official State language. The figures for Jaipur vary significantly from the other two cities at each level. Only 25% want to keep it as the medium of instruction, but the proportion drops to 17% for those who wish it as the official language of the Centre, and this figure almost halves for those who want it as the official State language.

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Table 5 Students’ Preference for English as Medium of Instruction at College and as the Official Language of the Central and State Governments Compared to Their Sex, Urban or Rural Background, Proficiency in English and College City Percentage of Students Preferring English as Background Characteristics (1) Sex

Male

Medium of Instruction at College (2) 74.8 (456)

Female

76.6 (222)

63.5

(456) 57.6

(222)

(456)

0.259(−)

3.257(−)

10.667(**)

68.9

50.7

(540) Rural χ (at 1 df ) Very high

68.8 3.978(*) 86.0 (460)

Moderate or low

52.2

(540) 65.2 (138)

(540) 40.6 (138)

0.682(−)

4.542(*)

78.2

57.2

(450) 53.1

(458) 30.3

(207)

(207)

(208)

χ (at 1 df )

88.296(**)

42.828(**)

44.197(**)

Madras

90.2

88.3

71.1

2

(315) Bangalore

84.2 (278)

Jaipur

25.9 (135)

χ (at 2 df ) 2

Overall

(456)

44.3

77.0

(138)

City where studying

70.4

of the State (4)

χ (at 1 df )

2

Proficiency in English

of the Centre (3)

Urban

2

According to where brought up

Official language

224.510(**) 75.4 (678)

(315) 70.6 (228) 17.0 (135) 221.682(**) 68.1 (678)

(315) 41.7 (228) 8.1 (135) 156.717(**) 48.7 (678)

[Figures in brackets indicate the number of students in each cell.]

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It can thus be seen that the Madras students are much more strongly in favour of maintaining English than students of the other two cities, and the students of Bangalore are far ahead of Jaipur in this respect. It appears, then, that our first hypothesis that the students in the Southern capital cities would have a greater desire to maintain English than the students in the Northern city, and the Madras students more than the Bangalore students, is supported by our data. In this sense, the “Southern” cities have their internal variations and should not be bracketed as such. The second hypothesis, based on the expectation that those brought up in cities would be more cosmopolitan in outlook than those who had grown up in small towns, and would therefore have a greater desire to keep English as medium of instruction at college, and as the official language of the two governments, was borne out in the first two instances. There was no significant difference, however, in their desire to have English as the official language of the Central government. The third hypothesis, that male students would prefer English at these three levels more than female students was not maintained except in respect to the State government, for the female students showed a keener desire to have English at that level than the men. Finally, very high proficiency in English was highly associated with approval of retaining English in each city. Therefore, proficiency more than any of the other variables tested becomes the common and the most important factor in motivating students to retain English. In summary, the extensive use of English as medium of instruction in primary and/or high school was found to be the most important factor in attaining proficiency in English. For it was an influential factor irrespective of the city in which the learning took place. Speaking English at home when the students were young and/or at the present time was found to be next in importance. However, speaking English every day and most often with friends was not found to be highly associated with proficiency in all of the cities. In other words, it was the variable most affected by outside contingencies, and so not a constant influence in learning English. When we look at the way in which the different variables are associated with the students’ desire to retain English in three important areas of life we find that proficiency in the language is more highly associated with the desire to retain English at these three levels (Table 6). The conclusions drawn from these data are that, whereas the school and

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3.753 (−)

χ2 (at 3 df ) in case χ2 at 1 df is not significant at 1% level

86.5 (74)

Moderate or low

1.636 (−)

91.5 (236)

Very high

χ2 (at 1 df )

Madras (2)

Proficiency in English (1)

23.552 (**)

61.5 (52)

89.8 (176)

Bangalore (3)

11.650 (**)

14.8 (81)

41.7 (48)

Jaipur (4)

Medium of Instruction at College

2.327 (−)

0.061 (−)

89.2 (74)

91.2 (228)

Madras (5)

7.832 (*)

5.610 (*)

57.7 (52)

74.7 (174)

Bangalore (6)

Official Language of the Centre

9.232 (**)

17.3 (81)

41.7 (48)

Jaipur (7)

Percentage of Students Preferring English as

13.589 (**)

5.580 (*)

60.0 (75)

74.5 (236)

Madras (8)

15.377 (**)

6.075 (*)

26.9 (52)

46.0 (174)

Bangalore (9)

Official Language of the State

5.979 (−)

2.410 (−)

4.9 (81)

12.5 (48)

Jaipur (10)

Table 6 Students’ Preference for English as Medium of Instruction at College and as the Official Language of the Central and State Governments Compared to Their Proficiency in English5

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home are the main agencies that generate proficiency in English, it is the mastery of the language which becomes the key factor in determining the students’ attitudes towards English. In other words, proficiency in English leads to a preference to retain it.

Notes 1. Roy (1962) gives a comprehensive account of the rise of Hindi in the different linguistic States in India. 2. The original study is based on the answers of 1,254 fourth year college students in the summer of 1965 to a questionnaire based on their language experiences at home, school and college. Their Mother Tongues were Tamil, Kannada and Hindi. Data were gathered from colleges in the capital cities of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur, and from two other non-capital cities and small towns in the Southern States. This enabled us to compare the different ways in which the students wanted to maintain English in cosmopolitan atmosphere of the city areas as compared to those attending colleges in the more rural atmosphere of small towns. Number of Students in Sample State

Sample Size

Capital City

City

Town

Madras

531

Madras

320

Madurai

150

Vaniambadi

Mysore

577

Bangalore

236

Mysore

154

Tumkur

Rajasthan

146

Jaipur

146

−

Total

1254

702

61 187

− 304

248

This paper, however, deals only with the data collected in the three capital cities. 3. Roy claims that some Indians want to maintain English because it was never regarded as a “foreign imposition, associated with foreign rule and to be discarded like foreign cloth. It was on the contrary taken as the one relieving feature of British rule, to be carefully nursed, developed and used for the delectation of the mind. Hindi on the other hand was regarded (in the South) as a North Indian imposition to be resisted and discarded.” This helps to explain the prestige of English in Southern India, and why it has been used as a lingua franca instead of the regional languages, such as Tamil and Kannada. The use of English was probably more important in Bangalore as it was a cantonment during part of the British period. 4. Census of India, 1961. Vol. I, Part II-C(ii), Language Tables. Only the languages spoken by 1% or more of the population in the city are shown. Percentage of the population speaking different languages: Madras-Tamil, 72.3%, Telugu 14.4%, Urdu 6.0%

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Bangalore-Kannada 51.7%, Telugu 17.5%, Tamil 16.2%, Urdu 9.7%, Marathi 2.5% Jaipur-Hindi 83.4%, Urdu 13.6%, Punjabi 2.7%. 5. For the purpose of this table all the codes of the item denoting the “below average” and “average” proficiency were lumped into one category while the three other codes representing the “above average” proficiency were treated exactly. Unlike Madras, the (obtained) value of x2 for Jaipur led to a more sensitive test of significance as follows: χ2

Source

df

Linear regression

1

5.035 (*)

Deviation

3

1.028 (−)

Overall value

4

6.063 (−)

A test similar to that done for Jaipur becomes more effective: Source

df

χ2

Linear regression

1

9.088 (**)

Deviation

3

1.257 (−)

Overall value

4

10.345 (**)

Since the overall obtained value of x2 for Madras would not be significant even at 1 df, the splitting of overall obtained x2 would not provide any additional evidence.

References Fishman, Joshua A. 1964. Language Loyalty in the United States the Maintenance and Perpetuation of non-English Mother Tongues by American Ethnic and Religious Groups. Stanford: United States Office of Education. Roy, N. C. 1962. Federation and Linguistic States. 1962. Calcutta: Sri Gouranga Press Private Ltd. Census of India, Vol. I, Part II-C (ii) Language Tables. 1961.

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8 Perception of the Female Role by Indian College Students Khadlid Ahmed Kazi and Rehana Ghadially

Introduction

U

ntil recently the most widely accepted assumption concerning sex-roles was that they were innate and by-products of a biological predisposition. This assumption has been questioned by social scientists. The most recent research evidence1 indicates that the sex role system is the result of socialization and therefore open to change. The contemporary scene is characterized by a re-definition of the female role accompanied by appropriate adjustments in the male role. It has been found across several cultures, that females are more egalitarian than males in their attitudes toward marriage roles (Arkoff 1964; Ghadially 1977). Previous studies show that the female career role has become increasingly accepted as the norm. However, the males reported difficulty in acknowledging this ideal in their own behaviour (Dorn, 1970). In a study done on Indian college women more than 50% of them aspired for a career (Ghadially, 1977). As more and more women hope to have a career, the conflict between home and work is inevitable. Freedman (1965) found that most college women were not inclined

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to value conventional feminine characteristics or behaviour. Almost every student indicated she would like to many and over half the senior students said they desired careers. Career-oriented interviewees foresaw various amounts of conflict between the two aspirations. In a longitudinal study Angrist (1972) labelled all women who aspired to combine family life and career as careerist. A careerist usually chooses a male-dominated occupation and views domesticity and child care as matters to be delegated to others, if necessary. The non-careerist intends to centre her life totally on her family and to work only in case of financial need. The purpose of the present study was to investigate empirically whether college men and women with “traditional” and “non-traditional” attitudes toward sex-roles, differ in terms of the importance they attach to marriage and age of marital partner, the wife’s educational and career aspirations.

Method Subjects Subjects consisted of 193 male and 286 female college students drawn from the disciplines of arts, commerce, engineering, home science, law, medicine and pure sciences. The mean age of the subjects was 22.0 years. The mean number of years the subjects had received formal education was 13.9 years. The mean family income of the subjects was Rs. 1989.

Procedure The subjects were administered a questionnaire part of which dealt with perception of sex-roles, importance of marriage, their educational and career plans. The questionnaire was adopted from the one originally developed and used in a cross-cultural study at Rutger’s University2. Perception of sex-roles was measured by twenty-one Likert-type items with a minimum score of 1 indicating a “traditional” position and a maximum score of 4 indicating a “non-traditional” position. The items covered the areas of personality traits and sex-role behaviour at work and

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home. In order to compare “traditional” and “non-traditional” subjects, the sample was divided into three groups of approximately 160  each. Those with scores above 2.63, were classified as “non-traditional” whereas those below 2.38 were classified as “traditional”. The remaining subjects (with scores between 2.33 and 2.63) were dropped in order to emphasize the differences between the “traditional” and “non-traditional” subjects. By this procedure, the final sample consisted of 326 students of which 49 males and 114 females constituted the “non-traditional” group, and 86 males and 77 females constituted the “traditional” group.

Results and Discussion Marriage and Age of Marital Partner In practically every society marriage is offered as a desirable goal for men and more so for women. The importance of marriage was examined for both the sexes. Though marriage was less important to non-traditional subjects, compared to traditional subjects the trend did not approach significance. It is interesting to observe that 21% of girls think marriage is of little importance. More traditional girls than non-traditional ones think that marriage is very important whereas more non-traditional girls feel that marriage is of moderate importance. Non-traditional girls are looking for sources of self-fulfillment and security other than marriage. It is a step away from the binding influence of home and family and promises an alternative life style for women. A greater number of non-traditional boys (74%) and girls (21%) as compared to traditional boys (28%) and girls (10%) were prepared to marry older women and younger men respectively. The difference between non-traditional and traditional subjects was stronger for males than females. In general, men were more willing to marry older women than women were willing to marry younger men. The reasons cited by males for not wanting to marry older women, a significant difference was obtained for only two viz. opposition by society and not having much in common. 29.5% of traditional males as opposed to 6.5% of the nontraditional males cited social reasons whereas 56.7% of non-traditional males compared to only 35.9% of traditional males mentioned incompatibility as grounds for not wanting to marry older women. Coming to girls, 41.9% of non-traditional girls as opposed to only 30.1% of

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traditional girls mentioned insufficient maturity as a reason. 34.2% of traditional women as opposed to 18.1% of non-traditional girls quoted social reasons for not wanting to marry younger men. The traditional subjects of both the sexes were more concerned about conforming to the society’s present norms while the non-traditional subjects did not consider societal pressure an important factor in making personal decisions. Non-traditional male and female subjects did not agree on their reasons for not conforming with the existing norms regarding ages of partners. Female subjects thought insufficient maturity of younger men to be crucial whereas males found incompatibility to be important. This indicates a sex difference in the qualities emphasized by objects in their marriage partners.

Education and Career With new concepts in sex-roles, one expects a change in the educational patterns and career commitments of women. It was found that 17.4% of non-traditional girls aspired for doctoral studies compared to only 6.8% of the traditional girls. Only 22.0% of non-traditional girls as compared to 44.6% of traditional girls aspired for bachelors degree. This supports the idea that a non-traditional girl wishes to pursue higher education and views it as a means for career and greater economic independence in the future. It has been shown that the higher the educational level achieved the more likely a woman is to work (Ginzberg 1968). It may be noted that college men in general aspire to higher educational levels than non-traditional women. Similar findings were obtained by Coates and Southern (1972) among American college students. On the question why women attend universities, the reason most frequently mentioned by “non-traditional” men was developing intellectual capacities. The traditional men, on the other hand, mentioned ‘finding a suitable marriage partner’—most frequently. More non-traditional girls cited preparation for a career as a reason why women attend universities, whereas more traditional girls mentioned developing intellectual capacities. This finding supports an earlier study (Ghadially, 1977) in which 50% of the college girls said they would like to be remembered as brilliant students. The above mentioned two reasons were cited by nearly twice as many girls as boys. On this issue, the thinking of nontraditional men and traditional women is alike. Probably education is

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viewed as helping a woman become an enlightened wife and mother. Traditional men continue to think of a girl’s education as only a means for finding a highly qualified and well-placed husband. They assess her future status not in terms of her educational accomplishments per se, but as some thing derived from the man she marries. It is only the nontraditional woman who sees education as means of achieving economic independence. This difference in their perception of the women’s intentions and desires could lead to conflict in later years. The male subjects were asked three questions concerning the career of their wives. Firstly, the respondents imagined themselves 15 yrs. from now, drawing an adequate salary. 57.6% of traditional males and only 33.3% of non-traditional males imagined themselves married to a woman who would be a full-time wife and mother. 14.3% of nontraditional males as opposed to only 2.2% of traditional males imagined themselves married with children and wife working full time (Table 1). In the second question, the respondent was asked to assume that his wife is trained in the occupation of her choice, they have children and he earns enough so that she doesn’t really have to work unless she wants to. All the situations where the wife was working, were acceptable to a greater number of non-traditional men (approximately 50%) than traditional men (approximately 28%). 73.89? of non-traditional men as compared Table 1 Percentage of Male Subjects Imagining Themselves to Be in a Given Situation 15 Years Hence Percentage of Non-traditional

Percentage of Traditional

Married with wife being a full time housewife

33.3

57.6

Married with children and wife working part-time

28.6

27.2

Married with children and wife working full-time

14.2

2.2

9.5

3.3

14.3

9.8

Situation

Married without children and wife working full-time Be a bachelor Chi-Square: 9.42 (P 0.05).

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to 89.4% of traditional men found it acceptable for a qualified wife to look after home and family. The differences were significant (Table 2). The third question concerned with various circumstances under which they would be willing to let their wives work. In each of the circumstances, it was found that the percentage of non-traditional males permitting their wives to work was significantly greater than the percentage of traditional males who did so (Table 3). In their study of college men’s attitude towards motivation of women for seeking employment Table 2 Percentage of Male Subjects Accepting a Wife Doing a Given Type of Work Percentage of Non-traditional

Percentage of Traditional

Chi-Square

Part-time

68.2

47.6

4.13 (P 0.05)

Full-time

24.4

10.7

3.23 (NS)

Club and Volunteer work

43.2

23.3

4.60 (P 0.05)

Sports and other activities

48.8

20.9

9.30 (P 0.01)

Part-time until children are in school, then full-time

57.8

27.9

9.93 (P 0.01)

Concentrate on home, family and children

73.8

89.4

4.05 (P 0.05)

Type of Work

Table 3 Percentage of Male Subjects Accepting a Given Circumstance as a Reason for Their Wife to Work Circumstances

Percentage of Percentage Non-traditional of Traditional

Chi-Square

Husband’s income insufficient

81.0

65.4

2.51 (NS)

To improve the standard of living

46.3

35.4

0.96 (NS)

To give her a change to make new friends

63.4

29.3

11.83 (P 0.01)

To fulfill her desire for financial independence

68.0

29.6

15.95 (P 0.01)

To fulfill her desire to pursue a career

81.8

45.0

14.33 (P 0.01)

To work outside till they have children

57.5

35.4

4.51 (P 0.05)

Under any circumstances

22.6

6.2

5.21 (P 0.05)

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after marriage, Hewer and Neubeck (1972) found that those reasons, which were related to the traditional and nurturant role of women, were found to be most acceptable. The responses to the above three questions indicate a greater willingness on the part of the non-traditional males to accept an educated wife working and participating in activities outside the home. Despite her education, traditional boys preferred her to stay at home and look after the family. Also the non-traditional males granted more freedom to their wives in her career plans than the traditional males. Similarly, female subjects were asked four questions regarding career. In the first question they were asked to imagine them-selves fifteen years hence. A greater number of non-traditional girls (77%) than traditional girls (47%) saw themselves occupied with Part-time or full-time career, with or without children. 40% of traditional girls and only 11% of nontraditional girls thought they would be a full-time housewife (Table 4). Epstein and Bronzaft (1972) found that nearly 48% of college women anticipated having a career, marriage and children within 15 yrs. and a very small percentage chose to be either unmarried career women or married career women without children. Earlier in this study, it was noted that approximately 21% of the women thought marriage was of little importance. In the light of this observation, it is not surprising that nearly 13% of all the women expect to be single and actively involved in their jobs (Table 4) In the second question, they were asked to place themselves in the position of an educated and qualified wife with children and husband’s Table 4 Percentage of Female Subjects Imagining Themselves in a Given Situation 15 Years Hence Percentage of Non-traditional

Percentage of Traditional

Being a full-time wife and mother

10.5

39.6

Married with children and working part-time

40.4

36.3

Married with children and working full-time

28.1

6.6

Situation

Married without children and working full-time Unmarried and actively involved with a job

8.8

4.4

12.3

13.2

Chi-Square: 22.57 (P 0.001).

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salary adequate. Nearly 67.5% of non-traditional girls, as opposed to only 28.9% of non-traditional girls, opted for home and family. Whereas, nearly 68.4% of non-traditional girls, as opposed to only 29.4% of traditional girls were inclined to pursue a full-time or a part-time career (Table 5). A similar trend was reported when women subjects were asked to choose between a career or marrying a man of their choice who disapproves of a working wife. 27.1% of non-traditional girls and only 7.5% of traditional girls opted for career; whereas 26.9% of traditional and only 11.9% of non-traditional girls opted for marriage. Nearly twothirds of traditional and non-traditional girls opted for marriage but hoped to change husband’s mind later (Table 6). Table 5 Percentage of Female Subjects Choosing a Given Type of Work Percentage of Non-traditional

Percentage of Traditional

Part-time

22.8

15.9

0.66 (NS)

Full-time

8.8

2.6

2.02 (NS)

Club and Volunteer work

1.8

3.9

26.16 (0.01)

Sports and other activities

0.9

0.0

0.20 (NS)

Part-time until children are in school, then full time

36.8

12.0

0.03 (NS)

Concentrate on home, family and children

28.9

67.5

Type of Work

Chi-Square

12.02 (P 0.01)

Table 6 Percentage of Female Subjects Opting for Marriage or Career Percentage of Non-traditional

Percentage of Traditional

Chose marriage

11.9

26.9

Chose marriage now and hoped to change husband’s mind later

61.0

65.6

Chose career

27.1

7.5

Response Category

Chi-Square: 13.14 (P 0.01).

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Table 7 Percentage of Female Subjects Choosing a Given Reason to Work Percentage of Non-traditional

Percentage of Traditional

Chi-Square

Husband’s income insufficient

10.6

29.9

10.05 (P 0.01)

To improve the Standard of living

19.5

29.9

2.20 (NS)

0.9

1.3

0.20 (NS)

To fulfill a desire for financial independence

15.9

14.3

0.01 (NS)

To fulfill a desire to pursue a career

45.1

18.2

To work outside till they have children

7.1

11.7

0.69 (NS)

Under no circumstance

0.0

2.6

1.00 (NS)

Circumstances

To make new friends

13.60 (P 0.01)

When the female subjects were asked their reasons for working outside the home after marriage, 29.9% of traditional girls as opposed to only 10.6% of non-traditional girls, stated insufficient family income. 45.1% of non-traditional girls and only 18.2% of traditional girls said they work in order to pursue a career (Table 7). While the non-traditional girls aimed at a career in future, the traditional girl wished to work only to supplement her husband’s income, subordinating her interests to her family. The responses to the, above four questions clearly indicate that while, a non-traditional girl seeks economic independence and greater fulfillment through a career, the traditional girl intends looking after home and family. Comparing the expectations of men and women, it was observed that the number of women intending to pursue a career, part-time or full-time, is far greater than the number of men willing to accept working wives. In their study also, Entwisle and Greenberger (1972) found that the attitudes of men towards women’s work-role were consistently more conservative than those of women.

Summary The overall picture that emerges from the findings is that a young college student with non-traditional attitudes toward sex-roles considers marriage to be less important, believes that women seek education to develop intellectual capacities, is less concerned about society’s norms of age of

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marriage partner, emphasizes compatibility between partners and consistently more prone to accepting a working wife. The non-traditional woman aspires to higher education, seeks education to develop intellectual capacities and prepares for a career, is less concerned about society’s norms of age of marriage partner and emphasizes maturity as an important quality in her husband and wishes to combine career and family.

Notes 1. For a comprehensive analysis of the origins and maintenance of the sex-role system see Writz, S. 1977. “Sex-Roles: Biological, Psychological and Sociological Foundations” Oxford University Press, New York. 2. Personal Contact with Dr. (Mrs.) L. Murty.

References Angrist, S. 1972 Variations in Women’s Adult Aspirations During College. Journal of Marriage and the Family. 34(3): 465–468. Arkoff, A. Meredith, G. and Iwhara, S. 1964 Male Dominant and Egalitarian Attitudes in Japanese, Japanese-American and Caucasian Students, Journal of Social Psychology. 64: 225–229. Coates, T. J. and Southern, M. L. 1972 Differential Educational Aspiration Levels of Men and Women Undergraduate Students. Journal of Psychology. 81: 125–128. Dorn, D 1970 Idealized Sex-Roles among Young People. Journal of Human Relations. 18(1): 789–797. Entwisle, I. R. and Greenberger, E. 1972 Adolescents’ Views of Women’s Work Role. American Journal of Orthopsychiatry. 42(4): 648–656. Epstein, G. F. and Bronzaft, A. L. 1972 Female Fresh men View Their Roles as Women. Journal of Marriage and the Family. 34(4): 671–672. Freedman, M. B. 1965 The Role of the Educated Woman: An Empirical Study of the Attitudes of a Group of College Women; Journal of College Student Personnel. 6(2): 145–155. Ghadially, R. 1977 Career-Oriented and Non-Career Oriented College Women. Indian Journal of Social Work. 38(1): 45–50. Ghadially, R. 1977 Attitudes Toward Marriage-Roles among Indian College Students. Unpublished. Ginzberg, E. 1968 Paycheck and Apron Revolution in Woman-power, Industrial Relations. 7: 193–203. Hewer, V. H. and Neubeck, G. 1964 Attitudes of College Students toward Employment among Married Women. The Personnel and Guidance Journal. 42(6): 587–592.

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9 Social Class and Occupational Aspirations of College Students1 Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

Modernisation of Indian Society (1) British Rule

T

he British conquest of India may be said to have been indirectly responsible for the beginning of an era of modernisation in terms of rationalism, liberalism, secularism and humanism. Although the British colonised India and exploited Indian wealth for their own advantage, they laid the infrastructure necessary for the social change we regard as modernisation. For instance, the British established a net-work of transport and communication links—roads, bridges, railways and telephones—which facilitated spatial mobility. They established mills and factories and thereby provided alternative avenues of employment. The growth of industries, in turn, led to the growth of towns and cities. The British also introduced a formal English education based on principles of equal access for all sections of society. It was through this system of education that liberal values—of equality and secularism—were imparted to the Indian educated elite. Consequently, it was for the first time that the traditional Indian society began to

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experience changes under the impact of British rule. The new economic forces, for instance, steadily eroded the traditional division of labour based on caste. Similarly, English education questioned the very foundations of traditional values of inequality based on birth, sex and colour. In short. British rule paved the way for the emergence of a class structure which was expected to be different from the traditional social structure based on the caste system.

(2) India as a Welfare State After Independence, the founding fathers of India’s Constitution defined the goals of modernisation in terms of a welfare state. Democracy, socialism and secularism became the guiding principles of the welfare state. Individuals and groups came to be regarded as the human potential of the nation. The welfare state enjoined to conserve, protect and improve the talents, abilities and capacities of individuals and groups, especially the weaker sections and the under-privileged, such as the Scheduled Castes and Tribes, minorities, women and children, by providing social services in such fields as education, health, housing and employment. Under Article 38 of the Directive Principles, it is laid down that the State shall strive to promote the welfare of the people by securing and protecting, as effectively as it may, a social order in which justice, social, economic and political, shall inform all the institutions of national life. Article 16(1) guarantees “equality of opportunity” and Article 16 (2) forbids discrimination in employment. The idea of a welfare state is more fully defined in Article 41 of the Constitution, which runs as follows: “The State shall, within the limits of its economic capacity and development, make effective provision for securing the right to work, to education, and public assistance, in case of unemployment, old age, sickness, disablement and other cases of underserved want”. In short, the welfare state that India is envisaged to be, hopes to build a strong egalitarian and dynamic society by drawing talent from all strata of society, not excluding the lower castes and classes, women and minorities which hitherto were deprived of that opportunity and whose talent, therefore, remained untapped, undeveloped and unharnessed for the general good of the people.

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144Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

(3) Strategies of Modernisation In pursuance of the goals of a welfare state as enshrined in the constitution, a number of welfare and developmental programmes were undertaken by the government. To begin with, the process of modernisation initiated by the British was strengthened and accelerated with a slant on or bias towards social welfare. The Five Year Plans (I, II and III) made a general attempt to raise the standard of living of the people through increased production and acceleration of the growth of the national economy by rapid industrialisation, with particular emphasis on the development of basic and heavy industries. In 1952, the Government of India initiated a programme of Community Development, the main objective of which was to improve the economic conditions of the rural people by spreading the knowledge of better farm techniques and by instilling in them the desire of self-help and co-operation. Further, to accomplish the stated objectives of education in the Constitution viz., universal free elementary education and extension of greater educational facilities to the backward castes and tribes, rural people and women-folk, the government of India took steps to establish, in towns and villages, schools and colleges which had been hitherto confined only to the cities. Consequently, new criteria of differentiation based on social class—income, occupation and education—began to replace caste as a factor determining social differentiation, and as such influenced the formulation of occupational aspirations and goals of people. It remains for us now to explore the extent to which social class is acting as an agent of modernisation. To be specific, we would like to know, whether or not social class influences an individual’s or a group’s behaviour independent of traditional groups. Are there distinct class differentials in the occupational aspirations of college students? Do low class students with low caste status aspire for low occupations? Does class emerge as the main factor of influence on the occupational aspirations of college students in a society where modernisation is largely an extension of colonial heritage? It should be stressed that the role of social class in motivating social mobility in college students, by way of determining their aspirations, should be viewed in the broader context of the traditional groups—religion, caste and sex—on the one hand, and higher education on the other.

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Objective and Hypothesis (a) The aim of this paper is to analyse the influence of social class on the occupational aspirations of students in higher education. To be specific, the aim is to analyse the extent to which social class vis-a-vis traditional groups, such as religion, caste and sex, is adapting to the avowed goal of the Indian Constitution, viz. equality of opportunity. (b) Hypotheses of the Study The hypotheses of the study are as follows: (i) The higher the social class, the higher the level of occupational aspirations when the effect of religion is controlled; (ii) The higher the social class, the higher the level of occupational aspirations, when the effect of caste is controlled; (iii) The higher the social class, the higher the level of occupational aspirations, when the effect of sex is controlled: and (iv) The higher the social class, the higher the level of occupational aspirations, when the effect of religion caste and sex is controlled at one point of time.

II. Methodology (1) Universe The universe of the present study consisted of all the pre-university second year students (1300) studying in all the colleges of Gulbarga City (Karnataka) during the year 1979–80. The data for the present study were collected by administering a printed semi-structured questionnaire in English and also in Kannada, the regional language of Karnataka State, to the respondents.

(2) Social Class The social class of the respondents was measured by constructing a composite Index for Class Background (CICB). The index consisted of the respondents’ Family Class Status (father’s education, occupation and income), Kin’s Class Status (educational and occupational status of kin-members such as grand parents, uncles and siblings), Peer’s Class Status (intimate peer’s father’s occupational status), Neighbourhood Class Status (educational and occupational status of the neighbours

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146Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

with whom the respondent interacted frequently), and Rural-Urban Background (village, town and city). In order to construct the composite index for social class (CICB), first scores were given to education, occupation, income and rural-urban background and then the total scores of all individual indexes of each respondent were added together and then percentiles were computed. Accordingly, each respondent was divided into three status categories—high medium and low. The reliability of the index was tested by applying the method of item analysis (Edwards, 1969: 1952–54). First, all the respondents were arranged in a descending order according to their CICB scores. Then 200 respondents (about 20 per cent of the population—1300) with the highest scores from the top, and the lowest scores from the bottom were sorted out as high and low groups, respectively. The differences in the ranks of the high and low groups in their individual dimensions of the CICB viz., FGS, KCS, PCS, NCS and rural-urban background, were tested for their significance by the student’s ‘T’ test which yielded high values beyond .001 per cent level. Further the application of the Karl Pearson’s Product Moment (R) also yielded a high measure of correlation between different components of the index. For measuring the association between independent and dependent variables, the statistics Gamma was used. Further, to test the hypotheses rigorously, statistics such as Karl Pearson’s Product Moment—simple and partial correlation was used.

(3) Ranking of Religion and Sex Religion per se refers to spiritual values which are neither high nor low. Therefore, religions cannot be classified into high and low categories. Hence, it is a nominal variable. However, sociologically, religion is a ritual system, which also implies a secular dimension. Religion, as a social system, has both ritual and secular dimensions. The former crystalises into the latter. Although religions are not hierarchically arranged in any society, nevertheless they are perceived as high or low through their class status. Muslims in India are a backward community. Their socio-economic and educational status is low. Unlike the Hindus, the Muslim response to introduce reform in their social institutions has been discouraging. Thus taking into consideration their mobility orientations towards modern education, they have been ranked low, although

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such a ranking is arbitrary. Sex may be classified both nominally and ordinally. Viewed in terms of their lower roles and status, women have been ranked lower than men.

III. Social Background Characteristics A large proportion of the respondents were in the age group of 16–20. The mean age for the population was 18.98. Hindu and Muslim students did not differ appreciably in their mean age. However, the upper and middle caste students were younger than the lower caste students. Boys were slightly older than girls. A majority of the students in the population were Hindus. While 52 per cent of the Hindu students were from such castes as Lingayats, Marathas, Reddys, Kurubas etc., 26 per cent were from lower castes (S. Cs. and S.Ts) and 22 per cent were from upper castes (Brahmin). The data further revealed that Hindu and Muslim students did not differ considerably in their social class background. However, a majority of the upper and middle caste students came from a higher social class background. A majority of the women students also came from a higher social class background. These findings show that a majority of college students in our study were Hindu males and belonged to upper and middle castes and upper class background.

IV. Social Class and Occupational Aspirations (1) Religion Religion as a social institution means a set of ritual values, pure and impure; sacred and profane in varying degrees. The degree of combination of sacred and profane in a given religion is the result of its response to the demands of environment in the process of social evolution. Thus religions vary in their tradition-modernity make-up or mix or ability to adapt to the changing demands of social life. Indeed Yinger (1970: 288) has shown how every aspect of religion can vary from class to class: beliefs, rites, aesthetic expressions of religious emotion, the structure and leadership of religious organisation and every other phase or process

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of being religious may be different from one class to another. Thus, religion has a significant bearing on the growth of social class in a society. Muslims are, by and large, a poor community in India. Their socioeconomic and educational status is low. The Ministry of Home Affairs, Government of India conducted an All India study in 1977. The study revealed that a majority of Muslims belonged to low class status, while a majority of non-Muslims belonged to middle class status. It is worth noting that the representation of Muslims in modern education and white-collar occupations is very low. Studies have revealed the comparatively low enrolment of Muslims in schools and colleges (Sharma, 1978; Khan. 1978). The share of Muslims in employment in public sectors is abnormally low. For example, in the Indian Foreign Services, which is considered the most prestigious of services, the number of Muslims in 1965 was reported to be about a dozen out of a total of 270 officers. In the Administrative Services, which is now the topmost grade of service inside India, out of a total of more than 2,000 officers, there were only 111 Muslims; a disproportionately low 5 per cent, when the Muslims constituted about 11 per cent of the total population of (in 1971) India. Similar findings have been reported by Khan (1970), Subramaniam (1971), Malhotra (1973) and Imam (1975). However, there are differences of opinion about the reasons for the low class status of Muslims in India. It has been pointed out that the chief reason for the low class status of Muslims in India is rooted in the community’s conservative social and cultural ethos and the actual minority complex of its members (Shah, 1968; Zakaria, 1971; Rahman, 1972; Krishana, 1978; Baig 1974). On the other hand, Moin Shakir is of the view that Muslim backwardness in India is largely due to the real or imputed discrimination practised by Hindus against the Muslims: “The fact is that there are highly organised vested interests belonging to the majority community. They exercise a powerful influence on the administration and succeed in pushing the minority interests to a subsidiary position (1971). It is, however, difficult to ascertain the reality of discrimination, in practice, by Hindus against the Muslims. It is also difficult to categorically pronounce whether the tenets of Islam are “rigid”, for rigidity is relative to models of modernisation, elite or mass. Instead of blaming a given tradition as rigid, it is necessary to examine the very models and strategies of modernisation. This only shows that elite models and strategies borrowed from the western context as part of a planned social change would not suit traditional societies. Observation of planned social change in India has shown that the socio-economic and educational measures

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undertaken by the government after Independence have not facilitated the growth of a middle class among Muslims. “For continuing progress in literacy and education there has to be a continuing formation of middle and lower-middle class segments with literate and educated occupations, with adequate facilities for the necessary education and also adequate job opportunities” (Kamat, 1981). “The question whether they (Muslims) are ultimately ready or willing to make the necessary investment of time, energy and resources in education is likely to depend upon whether they see this investment as commensurate with what education can give or gives them in return” (Ahmad, 1981: 1459). In short, the response of social class to modern occupations depends not only on its religious dimension, but also on the prevailing system of education which is supposed to bring about social change. In the following paragraphs we shall examine the part played by social class in influencing the occupational aspirations of Hindu and Muslim students. From Table 1 it can be discerned that there was a positive correlation between levels of occupational aspirations and levels of CICB among both Hindus and Muslims. To substantiate, 68 per cent of those of the low, 38 per cent of those of the middle and 65 per cent of those of the high CICB Hindu students had low, middle and high occupational aspirations, respectively. Table 1 Percentage Distribution of the Students Occupational Aspirations by Religion and by CICB Religion Hindu

Muslim

Occupational Low

Middle

High

Aspiration

CICB

CICB

CICB

Low

Middle

High

Total

CICB

CICB

CICB

Total

Low

68

31

13

39

95

63

17

54

Middle

26

38

28

28

3

23

13

11

6

31

33

33

2

14

70

32

Total %

100

100

100

100

100

100

100

32

Total No.

421

330

351

1102

57

64

100

100

% Total

38

30

32

100

29

32

77

198

High

√ = 0.699

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√ = 0.867

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150Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

It may be further noted that the occupational aspirations of the middle and high CICB Hindu students correspond to their respective CICB proportions in the universe. Thus it could be said that, by and large, there was a greater degree of differentiation on class axis among Hindu students. Data for the Muslim students reveal that a majority of the low (95 per cent) and middle (63 per cent) CICB had low occupational aspirations, while a majority of the high CICB (77 per cent) had high occupational aspirations. In other words, of the 198 Muslim students, only 77 (39 per cent) had high occupational aspirations. This shows that class status by itself did not make an independentdent on the occupational aspirations of Muslim students. It appears that low and middle class Muslim students did not perceive higher education as an investment for future white-collar jobs in the organised sector. Their reluctance and unpreparedness may also be due to the real or imputed fear that they would not be recruited in white-collar jobs however good their performance night be.

(2) Caste Caste per se refers to the ritual role and status that the individuals and groups are supposed to acquire by birth. Thus individuals and groups are ranked as high or low by virtue of their ritual (inherent) qualities of superiority and inferiority. As a social institution, caste has a secular or class dimension. A higher ritual status corresponds with higher class status. Thus ritual and class dimensions constitute the caste system in varying degrees. In the traditional Indian society there was a high measure of association or linkage between caste and class. Members of higher caste had also higher class status. Thus one’s ability to achieve status in society was largely restricted to one’s ritual status. For instance, twice-born castes such as Brahmins pursued ritually high and clean occupations which, in turn, required a high level of formal education (Ghurye, 1961). The other twice-born castes, namely Khastriyas and Vaishyas largely supervised land and engaged in trade and commerce. The non-twice-born castes largely engaged in agriculture and/or allied occupations such as carpentry, gold smithy, blacksmithy, oilpressing etc., which were ranked low, both in class and ritual hierarchy, compared to those occupations pursued by the twice-born castes. The untouchable castes pursued

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degraded (menial) occupations which were ranked very low in the class and ritual hierarchy. In short, class status was largely influenced, if not totally determined, by ritual status. Thus there was a close consistency between caste and class status.2 British rule in India initiated a process of modernisation through English education which was open to all and a limited measure of industrialisation and urbanisation which opened new avenues of status achievement for the non-Brahmin castes. However, the major benefits of modernisation accrued mainly to Brahmins followed by the rich trading and peasant castes, especially in Karnataka (the Old Mysore State). On the other hand, the poorer sections among the peasant castes and the untouchable castes could not respond to English education. This was due to the lack of a literary tradition combined with the shortcomings of poverty and rural residence which came in the way of these castes in exploiting the new educational system. Besides, the immediate utility of the new system of education could not be perceived by them, particularly by the lower castes, for the reason that they did not sec in English education any direct expansion of their traditional work or skills: the new system of education was as alien as the traditional (Gurukula) system (Chauhan, 1967). The available data with regard to the impact of modernisation, in terms of socio-economic measures and educational facilities, on the system of stratification after Independence, show that the upper castes continue at the top of the class hierarchy while the lower castes, except a small elite group, are found at the bottom of the hierarchy (Gist, 1954: Savani, 1956: Driver, 1962: Subramanium, 1971). Sociologists have argued that modernisation after Independence, whether in the field of agriculture, industry or education, has not improved the lot of the common masses, but helped the upper classes (Dube, 1958: 82–83: Mandelbalm, 1960: 18). It is pertinent, therefore, to analyse the modernising effect of social class on the occupational aspirations of college students with different caste statuses. Data presented in Table 2 reveal that by an large, there was a correlation between levels of occupational aspirations and levels of CICB categories in the caste, except the middle CICB in the high caste. This gives an impression that there were social class differences in the occupational aspirations of the various caste groups. In other words, caste hierarchy was beginning to become open. However, a deeper analysis of the data reveals a different picture. For instance, of the low caste

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216

75

Total No.

% to Total

4

High

100

27

Middle

Total %

69

CICB

Aspirations

Low

Low

Occupational

17

49

100

41

51

8

CICB

8

23

100

69

22

9

CICB

High

√ = 0.876

Middle

Low

100

288

100

14

30

54

CICB

Total

31

179

100

9

36

65

CICB

Low

37

212

100

30

39

31

CICB

32

180

100

69

19

12

CICB

High

√ = 0.654

Middle

Middle

Caste Status

100

371

100

37

28

35

CICB

Total

Table 2 Percentage Distribution of the Students Occupational Aspirations by Caste and by CICB

11

26

100

4

15

81

CICB

Low

28

69

100

25

29

46

CICB

61

148

100

44

25

16

CICB

High

√ = 0.681

Middle

High

100

243

100

44

25

31

CICB

Total

152Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

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respondents (288). 216 or 75 per cent were from the low CICB, and of the low CICB (216), 69 per cent had low occupational aspirations. In other words, a majority of the SC students who came from a low class status had low occupational aspirations. Notwithstanding the efforts of the government of India to uplift the status of the SC students through the policy of protective discrimination—reservation in education and occupation, the SC students have not shown a significant upward rise in their perception. The policy of protective discrimination, it is argued, seems to have had an adverse effect on the process of upward mobility of the SC students. Reservations conditioned the educated elites among the untouchables to look upon the administration, bureaucracy as their reference group. When they cannot get into it they can hardly take an entrepreneurial role in trade, commerce and other areas (Roy-Burman, 1974). In an earlier study by the present author (Uplaonkar, 1977), it was found that SC youths hardly took advantage of the opportunities provided by the government for small scale industries. It is not enough if mere educational, economic and occupational concessions are provided to the SC students,’ what is needed is a purposeful and innovative planning of the educational system so as to prepare a large number of the SC students for middle level vocations. Data with regard to the middle castes show two extreme trends: (i) of the middle castes students (571), 31 and 31 percent came from low and high CICB, but their respective representation of aspirations in the low (65 percent) and high (69 percent) were” far more than their actual proportions in the universe. This means, lower class students of the middle caste status had fewer chances of improving their status in society, (ii) On the other hand, it was a small proportion of the upper class middle caste students who were able to rise high in the occupational hierarchy. An examination of the data for the uppercaste students reveals interesting and important findings. For example, of the total (243) 11 and 28 per cent were drawn from the low and middle CICB, respectively. However, a majority of them (81 and 46 per cent) in their respective CICB categories had low occupational aspirations. In other words, about 40 per cent of the upper caste students were aspiring for low occupations. It will be seen further that of the total upper caste students, 61 per cent came from a high CICB, but it was only 44 per cent of them that had high occupational aspirations. This clearly indicates that the

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Brahmin students are beginning to realise that prestigious posts in the government are increasingly becoming difficult and beyond their reach.

(3) Sex The roles and statuses of men and women are defined in terms of ritual ideology. In India, the social status of women has been lower than that of men. Women were, and are even now, considered ritually low, and therefore were not entitled to certain privileges. Women were denied, for instance, the right to formal education, especially among the caste Hindus; they were also not supposed to take up occupations outside the house. Their main role was conceived in terms of wife and mother and not as earning members. With the advent of science and technology industrialisation and urbanisation, a process of secularisation has begun to take place in the educational and occupational spheres. Further, the acceptance of a welfare state after Independence ushered in a new era of modernisation with respect to women’s education and occupation. Women’s role is no longer restricted to the twin functions viz., of child bearing and rearing, but stands extended to careers and gainful employment. In other words, besides the role of bearing and rearing of children, exploitation, and channelisation of women’s energies and skills into careers and gainful employment has become the key-role of modernisation. This education is supposed to provide different avenues of careers and gainful employment to women, depending on their social background-caste, class and rural-urban background. Even so, the efforts of the government and social agencies have not succeeded in improving the status of women compared to that of men. To illustrate, the proportion of literate males rose to 34 per cent in 1961 and 39 per cent in 1971. The proportion of female literates, on the contrary, remained significantly low, a mere 13 per cent in 1961 and 19 per cent in 1971. According to the 1971 census, about 52.5 per cent of all men, as against only 12 per cent of all women, were enumerated in the work force. It needs to be pinpointed here that the whole process of planning geared to raising the social status of women has been conceived and attempted through formal education and white-collar jobs. The prevailing system of education, especially that of higher and professional education, facilitates women students mostly with the upper class background.

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A large proportion of women students in general education (Arts courses) do not perceive any occupational opportunity. In short, the system of education provides occupational mobility to only a small proportion of upper class women with avenues for white-collar jobs in organised sectors, while a large proportion of them with lower and middle class background either do not find any access to the system or a majority of those enrolled in higher education are left unprepared for any independent occupational role or self-employment. As a result, the majority of women have to be content with the traditional role viz., bearing and rearing. Hence, their low social status. In the following paragraphs we shall examine the part played by class status in relation to men and women in influencing their occupational aspirations. It will be seen from Table 3 that there was a correlation between levels of occupational aspirations and levels of CICB among the men students. For example, 69, 40, and 81 per cent of those of the low, middle and high CICB men students respectively, had their corresponding levels of occupational aspirations. However, the low CICB men students seemed to have lower occupational aspirations compared to their proportion (44 per cent) in the universe. On the other hand, the middle and high CICB men students had higher occupational aspirations compared to their proportions in the universe. This means, it was Table 3 Percentage Distribution of the Students Occupational Aspirations by Sex and by CICB Sex Male

Female

Occupational

Low

Middle

High

Aspirations

Middle

High

CICB

CICB

CICB

CICB

CICB

CICB

Total

Low

69

25

4

37

96

65

29

51

Middle

25

40

15

27

4

25

29

24

6

35

81

36

−

10

42

25

Total %

100

100

100

100

100

100

100

100

Total No.

432

282

261

977

46

110

167

323

% Total

44

29

27

100

14

34

52

100

High

√ = 0.82

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Total

Low

√ = 0.742

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156Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

the middle and upper class students among men who had opportunities to rise in the social hierarchy. Data for the women students reveal that about 48 per cent (14 and 34 per cent from low and middle CICB, respectively) of the women students had low occupational aspirations. That means they had taken to college education as a status symbol or just to keep themselves busy until their parents found suitable bridegrooms. The data further reveal that although 42 per cent of the high CICB women students had high occupational aspirations, nevertheless, this proportion is lower than their population in the universe (52 per cent). It means that, by and large, women students had low occupational aspirations.

(4) Application of Simple and Partial Correlation Method Finally, an attempt was made to explore rigorously which of the social background variables-religion, caste, sex and social class (CICB)—had a decisive and significant influence on the occupational aspirations of the respondents by applying simple and partial correlation method. (i) Zero Order Correlation: From Table 4 it will be seen that there was less correlation between traditional groups such as religion, caste Table 4 Social Background and Occupationl Aspirations (Coefficient of Simple and Partial Correlation and Determination) Occupational Aspirations Variable

Simple Corr.

Partial Corr.

Religion

.0512 (0029)

1308 (017)

Caste

.2339 (07)

.1964 (038)

Sex

1481 (0219)

4172 (174)

CICB

5984 (.23)

6617 (4378)

Note: 1. The correlation values between social background and Occupational aspirations are significant at .001 level. 2. Figures in brackets are R 2.

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and sex and occupational aspirations. For example, religion made only 0.29 per cent of contribution to the occupational aspirations of the respondents. That means, Hindu students did not differ substantially in their occupational aspirations from the Muslims. Similarly, the contribution of sex to the occupational aspiration was low (2.19 per cent). However, caste status seems to have had an important bearing on the occupational aspirations of the respondents (7.00 per cent). This indicates that upper castes have higher occupational aspirations than lower. However, it is important to observe that social class (CICB) had greater influence (25.00 per cent) on the occupational aspirations of the respondents. These data show that class and caste status were making significant contribution to the occupational aspirations of the respondents. The application of the simple correlation method, however, does not show which of the social background variables mainly influenced the occupational aspirations of the respondents. This could be achieved by applying the partial correlation method. (ii) A partial correlation analysis of the influence of social background variables in terms of religion, caste, sex and social class (CICB) showed that social class played a larger part in determining the occupational aspirations of the respondents (43.78 per cent), while the influence of sex came next (17.4 per cent). It becomes clear that men respondents from the upper class had higher occupational aspirations than the students from the lower class and the women.

Summary and Conclusion The aim of this paper was to find out the influence of social class vis-avis traditional groups such as religion, caste and sex on the occupational aspirations of students in higher education. An analysis of the influence of class status on the occupational aspirations of college students, after controlling for the effect of religion, caste and sex (separately), revealed that class status by itself did not exercise any significant influence on the occupational aspirations of the respondents. Traditional groups, on the contrary, did influence the occupational aspirations of college students through class status as an intervening variable or factor. However, an analysis of the data by applying simple and partial correlation method revealed that class status made a major contribution to the occupational aspirations of the students. Viewed in terms of

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158Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

statistical finding, it is the class status rather than the traditional groups or ritual status, which is beginning to influence the occupational aspirations of college students. It means that modern India is providing a greater degree of scope to individuals for upward mobility on the basis of their class status. Does this mean that modern Indian society is becoming relatively open and thereby providing equality of opportunity? Such a conclusion would be unwarranted. Although class is based on the principle of achievement, it may, nevertheless, be considered an ascribed status in as much as achievement itself is largely restricted to ritual status. This is mainly because social planning initiated by the government of India through elite models and strategies—socio-economic and educational—has been in favour of the dominant community (Hindus), upper castes and classes and men. In other words, the modernisation process in India is a conservative force. It is a drag on the Indian society. The equality of opportunity guaranteed by the Indian Constitution to every citizen, regardless of religion, caste, or sex, has not become a reality in practice. Or, it might be said that the modernisation that we have been witnessing is only such as to contravene the principles of secularism and social justice. “In societies where the nature of modernisation is particularistic, inequitable and discriminatory, it results in strengthening and consolidating the position of the traditionally privileged and elite groups and weakening the position of the expropriated, it thus increases the gulf between the higher and lower strata. The indices of modernisation— education, occupation, power and cultural styles of life—support the view that modernisation . . . so far has been confined to the privileged castes and class families. Consequently, modernisation does not result in distributive justice, as the role differentiation is confined within the upper segments of the (Indian) society” (Sharma, 1970: 1542).

Notes 1. This paper is based on findings, of the author’s thesis: “A Study of Occupational Aspirations, as Related to Social Background of Students in Higher Education in a Middle Sized City in Karnataka” which was submitted to the Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Bombay. I am grateful to professor, MS. Gore, former Director, TISS, Bombay, who supervised the thesis. 2. It should be pointed out that the lower castes which improved their class status (economic or occupational) in course of time, staked then’ claim for a higher ritual status by adopting the customs and traditions of the upper castes.

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References Ahmad, I. 1981 “Muslim Educational Backwardness An Inferential analysis”, Economic and Political Weekly, September 5. Baig, M. R. A. 1974 The Muslim Dilemma in India, Delhi: Vikas. Chauhan, B. R. 1967 “Special Problems Regarding Education Among the Scheduled Castes” in M. S. Gore et al (ed.), Papers in the Sociology of Education in India, NCERT. Driver. T. 1963 “Caste and Occupational Structure in Central India”, Social Forces, Dec. Ghurye, G. S. 1961 Caste, Class and Occupation, Bombay: Popular. Edwards. A. I. 1969 Techniques of Attitude scale Construction, Bombay: Vikas. Gist, N. 1954 “Caste Differentials in South India”. Am. Soc. Rev., 19, (April). Dube, S. C. 1938 Indian Village, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul Ltd. Govt. of India, Ministry of Home Affairs. 1977 Urban Tensions (Contemporary Muslim Attitudes and their place in Indian Society), Delhi: Centre for the Study of Developing Societies, Imam, Z. (ed.). 1975 Muslims in India, New Delhi: Orient. Krishna, P. S. 1978 “Education of a National Minority: A case study of Muslim Community in Delhi”, New Delhi: Kamalakar. Kamat, A. R. 1981 “Literacy and Education of Muslims; A Note”, FPW, June 6. Malhotra, I. 1981 “What Ails Indian Muslims”, The Illustrated Weekly of India, Bombay, April, 22. Rahman, H. 1972 “Muslim Education in 19th Century-Bengal”, Quest, No. 76, May-June. Roy-Burman, B. K. 1977 “The Problem of Untouchables” Seminar (177), May, 1974, Reprinted in Tribe, Caste and Religion, (ed), R. Thaper, Macmillan. Shah, A. B. 1968 Challenges to Secularism, Bombay: Nachiketa. Shakir, M. 1972 Muslims in Free India, New Delhi: Kamalakar. Sharma, K. D. 1978 “Education of a National Minority”. Delhi: Kamalakar. Sharma, K. L. 1969 “Modernisation and Rural Stratification”, EPW Vol. V, No. 37, Sept. 12. Yinger, J. M. 1969 The Scientific Study of Religion, London: MacMillan. Sovani, et al. 1956 Poona: A Survey of Poona, Gokhale Institute of Politics and Economics. Subramanian, V. 1971 Social Background of India’s Administrators, Govt. of India. Uplaonkar, A. T. 1977 “A Study of Self-Employed Industrial Entrepreneurs”, The Indian Journal of Social Work, Vol. 38, No. 2. Zakaria, R. 1970 Rise of Muslims in Indian Politics, Bombay: Somayya.

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10 Youth Aspirations vis-a-vis National Development: Participate or Emigrate?1 Narsi Patel

Emigration and Development

P

eople’s migratory impulse is older than their desire to settle in a well-defined territory. Migrations are related to the uneven development of resources. The strong migrate to extend their control over resources. Their dominance turns a self-reliant economy into a dependent one and the impoverished natives into nomads. The weak migrate essentially to redress their grievance of underdevelopment. The imbalance in development may occur between nations as well as within the country, both spurring out-migration. During the British colonial rule, the indenture system was instituted in India to recruit labourers for sister colonies soon after the abolition of slavery in 1833. This form of emigration mainly from Bihar and Tamil Nadu hardly benefited the indentured labourers of India. This system of semi-slavery created a national resentment and was eventually discontinued. The Indian communities so formed were constrained through immigration and other laws to remain in labor force and rarely reaped the fruits of their labor. The other stream of emigration of “free passengers” flowed from Gujarat and Punjab generally toward the same colonies (Patel, 1974). They fulfilled the British needs for lower administrative staff and retail business “in the bush”. If they were a little better

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off than their counterparts of indenture ancestry, it was because of their “sojourner”’ status combining savings abroad with farm life in India (Patel, 1972). Emigration after independence continued from Gujarat and Punjab in the form of chain migration. Once abroad, the emigrants proceeded to attract others in an effort to complete their family and reconstruct their community. But because of immigration restrictions almost everywhere. England was the only country open, and that too for factory labor alone. In the late sixties and seventies, emigrants stemming from different parts of India, were either professionals or relatives of Indian immigrants, heading for the shores of North America. The immigration law reforms of 1965 in the United States gave such an impetus (Keely, 1971). The relationship of emigration with national development may be viewed in terms of economic gains through remittances and other investments, sharing of scientific and technological expertise, and the easing of the population pressure. It may also be viewed negatively as a “brain-drain”. The experience with the system of indentured labor left a permanent scar on the national psyche. The free passenger type emigration brought a significant but localized development to the two regions but was inconsequential to the nation as a whole in view of the enormity of population problems. In the post independence era the early FiveYear Plans prompted the massive construction of heavy industries, highways, bridges, dams, and canals placing a high demand for engineers, scientists and administrators in the country. This was the time when an emigrating professional was considered as betraying the mission of nation-building. The labeling of “brain-drain” persisted even after the developmental activities stabilized and the job market lagged behind the ever increasing cadre of professionals. A new awareness in the Third World places the onus of development not entirely on the country. In this context of world polarization between penury and plenty, emigration of the better educated is likely to be taken as a resource to bargain with the developed nations for other scarce resources.

The Research Problem and Setting Sociological evidence suggests that migration proceeds toward the area of greater opportunities. Micro level studies of rural migration to urban areas point to uneven development in both developed and

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developing countries (DeJong and Gardner, 1981). Similarly, macrolevel models of emigration from developing nations to to the metropolitan countries of the West refer to differential opportunities (Bonacich and Hirata, 1980). Within this theoretical framework, one can hypothesize that changes in the opportunity structure within the home community or society are likely to slow down, if not entirely halt, out-migration. Changed conditions such as perceived improvement in the national economy and greater identification with national development are expected to affect emigration aspirations. My observations have led me to believe that conditions in India have improved in the last decade. Almost every village is electrified, has a school, and affords mechanical transportation to markets and hospitals. The literacy rate is higher, infant mortality down, life expectancy longer, and chronic diseases have almost disappeared. The Green Revolution has brought abundance beyond the imagination of the grandfather generation, although it is felt that its benefits have been less than equitable. While I proceeded to test the hypothesized negative correlation between perceptions of national development and aspirations of emigration, I was aware that the youth would perceive improvements in India in relativistic terms. That is, in their assessment even if India made tremendous strides, so had the Western countries; not only that, the gap in differential opportunities had widened. The present study formed a part of a project broader in scope intended to provide a data base for my on-going research on the Gujarati diaspora. For that reason it was not tight in design as it could have been. The objective of this paper was to assess the youth’s identification with national life, their perceptions of economic changes, the extent to which they were caught up in chain migration (having close relatives living abroad), their occupational background, and the relationship of these factors with their aspirations to stay or go abroad. The selection of youth in the final year of high school was based on the rationale that this was the time in their life crucial for making career decisions. Five high schools within, a 20-mile radius in Surat and Bulsar districts of Gujarat were covered. These high schools and this area had sent a great number of migrants for three generations. But they were not atypical of the region and certainly not atypical in terms of emigration. A structured questionnaire, printed in Gujarati, was administered to

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all the seniors present on the day of the survey in 1979 (n = 489). The analysis was done on return to the United States.

Analysis Completion of high school education is a turning point in the life of the young. Asked about plans after the public examination for the Secondary School Certificate, an overwhelming majority (three out of four) among those answering (407 out of 489) mentioned further study in college; of the remaining, half indicated going abroad and the other half seeking jobs or joining father’s occupation. It was assumed that many did not even enter high school or dropped out of it. These achievers realized that higher education was the ladder of social mobility. But going abroad was also eyed as guaranteed uplift. A more crucial question, which became the basis for data analysis reported here, pertained to whether the high school senior would seek livelihood in the native land or go abroad. Of 489 students completing the questionnaire, 3 did not answer this question and hence much of the analysis was for n = 486. Those answering the former were 72.6%; those answering the latter were 27.4%. In this paper their responses were used to classify them into “Participate” and “Emigrate” groups.

Loss or Gain The data left little doubt that there were two divergent views of emigration. The question as to whether leaving the country of one’s birth, growth, and education is a loss for the country or a gain for the individual and indirectly for the country, brought a clear-cut distinction between the two groups. Over seven in ten of the Participate said leaving the country is a loss for the country compared to only four in ten of the Emigrate. Again far fewer Participate viewed emigration as a gain for both the individual and the country than the Emigrate (27.2% vs. 58.6%. Chi Square = 45.61: d.f. = 3; significance = .0000). The interpretation of emigration as “brain drain” has come about for specific reasons. Educational opportunities in the Third World countries like India have expanded more dramatically than job opportunities. “Western nations like England, the United States, and Canada practiced

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discrimination for long, and when they reformed their immigration policy, they stood to gain mainly from surplus professionals of the Third World. But the oversupply of talents working abroad is now considered a “brain-loan”. A more cynical characterization of immigration from the Third World as “reverse colonization” is at least amusing. The negative valuation of emigration by the Participate reveals their own ideological commitment to national wellbeing. They seem to convey that the emigrants’ prospects of social mobility and the spill-over benefits to the homeland do not necessarily translate into nation-building. On the other hand, the Emigrate tend to defend their aspirations by justifying the individual gain as identical to national gain. For them, what is good for the emigrant is good for the country.

Economic Assessment It was hypothesized that differential perceptions of economic improvement would reflect on the high school seniors’ aspirations to make a living in the country or emigrate. They were asked whether the economic situation in the country after independence had deteriorated, remained the same as before, improved somewhat, or greatly improved. Surprisingly, the Participated evaluation of the situation was only a little more positive than the Emigrate’s and the difference was not statistically significant (Chi square = 3.35; d.f. = 5: significance = 6465). A large majority (3 in 4) of both groups thought the economy had improved somewhat. What, according to them, would be the benefits of going abroad? Economic advantages were cited more often by the Emigrate than by the Participate (39.5% vs. 31.7%). For the Participate educational advantages outweighed all others in contrast to the Emigrate (33.2% vs. 29%). The other advantage ranked third by both groups similarly in this open-ended question was getting to know other societies, learn from their way of life, customs and traditions, and learn through travelling (the Participate 26.8% vs. 29% ). Besides these advantages, helping the country with earnings and the introduction of science and technology was cited more often by the Participate than by the Emigrate (8.2% vs. 3.3%). The difference in their perceptions of advantages was significant (Chi square = 22.77; d.f. = 3; significance = .001.

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The length of time for which they might like to go abroad was significantly shorter for the Participate, whereas the Emigrate were inclined to go abroad permanently. Of the Participate 59.2% were inclined to spend five years or less in contrast to only 21.8% of the Emigrate. Of the latter 45.9% would want to go abroad permanently as against 12.2% of the Participate (Chi square = 82.56; d.f. = 5; significance = .0000).

National Awareness Are the young in tune with the national scene? Academic performance of the high school seniors was not asked but a battery of questions regarding their knowledge of political leadership gave a clue in the matter. They were asked to name the President, the Prime Minister of India, the member of Parliament from their region, and the Chief Minister of Gujarat State. The Participate outscored the Emigrate : 86% vs 70% answering 3 to 4 names correctly. The difference was statistically significant (Chi square = 22.22: d.f. = 4; significance = .0005). Perhaps the reference groups of close relatives and friends living abroad divided the attention of the Emigrate from the immediate national focus, more so than in the case of the Participate.

Reference Groups It was expected that the aspirations of the young would be influenced not only by near and dear ones but by others who might set an example for a successful participation in national life. They were asked how many persons they knew who could have gone abroad but did not and achieved success in this country. There was a significant difference between the two groups. Of the Participate, 51.9% named 2 or more such persons as against 35.4% of the Emigrate (Chi square = 30; d.f. = 9: significance = .0004). Having family members, relatives, and friends living abroad certainly affected the aspirations of youth. Among the Participate, 74.5% did not have any family members living abroad, 62% did not have any relatives, and 85.3% did not have any friends in contrast to 52.6%, 37.6%, and 69.9% of the Emigrate respectively. By comparison, far more Emigrate had family members, relatives, and friends living abroad (47.4% vs.

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25.5%; 62.4% vs. 36%; 30.1% vs. 14.7% respectively). The two groups showed significant differences in all three matters. Obviously having close relatives and friends abroad oriented the youngsters to follow in their footsteps.

Occupational Background Father’s occupation was viewed as having a bearing on the aspirations of youth in that the prospects and problems of a specific occupation would confer a positive or negative orientation toward participation in national life. The distribution of students according to their father’s occupation showed agriculture as the largest (36%), non-government the next largest (28.4%), followed by business (13.7%), para-professional (7.6%), crafts (6%), government (4.9%), labour (2.5%), and finally professional (4%). This distribution however, does not represent the size of occupational groups in the region. Agriculture might very well be over one-third also in the regional population, but labour, which is in all likelihood more than half of the regional population, is underrepresented by far in the student survey. It was only in agriculture that the proportion of the Emigrate (33%) superseded that of the total survey sample (27.4%). The only other category in which this was found was government (29.2%). Seniors with non-government background reflected the average inclination to emigrate (27.5%). The Emigrate fell below the average in all other occupational categories. In other words, if the Emigrate were one in three in agriculture, followed by those in government, they were about one in four in non-government and business, and one in six in para-professions, crafts, and labor. The findings tend to confirm the observation that neither the rich and secure nor the dismally poor show a propensity to emigrate, for different reasons; it is the people pressed in the middle who are mobile. This region is a farm belt. Historically, there has been pressure on land; surplus population is restive; efforts at land reform scare peasant proprietors. These factors have conspired to encourage emigration, as is evident in chain migration. People in unskilled labor are trapped in the situation. They lack in knowledge, contacts, skills, and the means necessary to break out. On the other hand, the lack of enthusiasm for going abroad among persons in business and para-professional circles was

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most probably due to the feeling that they were well-placed and further mobility would rock the boat.

Overview An overwhelming majority of the young preferred seeking livelihood in the country to going abroad. Their identification with national development was more guided by their valuation of emigration as a loss to the country. Those few who were inclined to go abroad considered emigration as a gain for them as well as the country. However, the two groups were similar in their assessment of the national economy. Population pressure on agriculture and immigrant reference groups provided the greatest stimulus to the urge to emigrate. A consensus seemed to develop among the young as regards the advantages of emigration that there was a world out there to count on for education, cultural revitalization, and economic improvement. The Participate emphasised the former, the Emigrate the latter. The terms “participate” and “emigrate” are not used lightly. India is the youngsters’ country of birth and cultural identity. No researcher would want to raise the specter of “love it or leave it.” Youngsters take for granted, as they do air and water, that India is where they live and will work and die. For many, there is no question of choice. For some, there is no other choice. A few have a choice and India is the country in which they want to live. Choosing the country to make a living is, sociologically speaking, participating in the nation’s life. However, the youngsters are aware that a few of their countrymen have settled in East and South Africa, New Zealand, Fiji, Panama, Trinidad, England, the United States, and Canada. Some have seen a few of them returning from a lucrative stint abroad—the “sojourners,” and also those settled abroad coming occasionally for a short visit— the ‘“immigrants.” They are conscious of the fact that the school they attend, the temple they worship in, the hospitals, the village waterworks are built from the donations of the “cultivators abroad.” They tend to view the emigrants, not as deserters or traitors, but as explorers in making a successful career abroad and at the same time helping the homeland. For them, emigrating is not the end of the world or breaking all bonds with the national heritage. In this region known for steady emigration, the issue : “participate or emigrate” represents the sentiment of either live in it and love it or leave it and still love it.

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168Narsi Patel

The findings indicate, in no uncertain terms, that the young minds are no longer confined to the narrow bounds of the village world; they no longer think of themselves or their country as isolated and perpetually stuck to the “situation.”’ They accept their life as intricately woven in the national fabric. They have opened up to the possibilities that they have nothing to lose but gain, and their country can gain, from the intercourse with the outside world. This study of youth aspirations reveal an underlying desire on the part of the young to redefine national development, not entirely as a task of toiling within the nation, but as the enrichment of national heritage. In that sense, the distinction between the Participate and the Emigrate, made for the expediency of an empirical analysis, fades. Both groups express, perhaps unknowingly, a unity of effort : working from within and outside. They point to the concern for the redistribution of world resources—the same concern that was recently debated at the North-South Cancun Conference held in Mexico and the 44 Third World Nations’ South-South Conference held in India. The hypothesized negative correlation between youth identification with national development and emigration needs to be revised and viewed in a wider context of unbalanced opportunities among nations. In that perspective emigration would be redefined as a step toward the redistribution of world resources, with positive connotations for national development.

Note 1. Revised version of a paper presented at the Tenth World Congress of Sociology, Section on Sociology of Youth, Mexico City, Mexico, August 14–21, 1982. Acknowledgements; Research is partly supported by Faculty Research Committee and data partly analyzed by the Computer Center, Indiana State University. Cooperation of Dr. Harish C. Doshi of South Gujarat University, Surat, India and of teachers and students of the five high schools surveyed is appreciated.

References Bonacich, Edna and Lucie Cheng Hirata 1980 “The political economy of the new immigration from Asia.” Paper presented at the American Sociological Association, New York City.

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DeJong, Gordon F. and Robert W. Gardner (eds.) 1981 “Migration Decision Making: Multidisciplinary Approaches to Micro level Studies in Developed and Develop­ing Countries”, New York: Pergamon Press. Keely, Charles B. 1971 “Effects of the Immigration Act of 1965 on selected population characteristics of immigrants to the United Slates.” Demography, Vol. 8, No. 2. Patel, Narsi 1972 “A passage from India”. Society, Vol. 9. ——— 1974 “Sociology of Indian minorities in the Third World”, International Review of Modern Sociology, Vol. 4.

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11 The Use Psychotropic Drugs among College Youth in India: An Appraisal Prabha Unnithan, D.R. Singh and M.Z. Khan

Introduction

T

hrough time and space, the use of mood-altering substances has been known to human societies (Taylor, 1966; Andrews, 1975). India, of course, has not remained untouched by this phenomenon (Kumarappa, 1952; Wilson, 1973). At various points of time, the drugs which have enjoyed a measure of popularity are alcohol, cannabis (including bhang, ganja and charas), opium and tobacco (Kurien, 1949). This is not to say that the use of intoxicants has always enjoyed social approbation. Buddhist, Jain, Muslim and even British rulers had attempted to curb or contain the use of intoxicating drugs (Kumarappa, 1952). In post-Independent India, the prohibition of ‘intoxicating drinks and drugs’ has been a national policy duly enshrined in the Constitution; and, as is well known, several states in the country have experimented with ‘prohibition’. But all these attempts have had a somewhat indifferent success. Perhaps, in order to deal with the problem effectively, we need to look for alternative methods based on systematic study of drugs and drug users. In this context, certain sections of society have been regarded Particularly vulnerable to “the bane of drug addiction” (Yost, 1954

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These mainly include industrial workers, slum-dwellers and youth, particularly college-going boys and girls (Salmon and Salmon 1977). In fact, it is the use of psychotropic drugs by the students which has aroused much concern and alarm (Carey, 1968; Khan and Unnithan, 1979). This is not altogether without justification. The period of youth is seen to be highly susceptible to deviations and aberrations including the abuse of drugs (Hurlock, 1974). Coupled with this is the fact that newer and more potent addictive substances, are making their appearance day after day in the market which youthful curiosity would find only too difficult to resist. Further, the youth are thought of to be the carriers of future human life; and the students are regarded as forming ‘the core from which leadership in all walks of life will eventually emerge’. What affects them, therefore, should cause genuine concern among all those who recognize the importance of the present for the future. It is, therefore, not surprising that the problem of drug abuse amongst the college youth in India has not escaped the attention of social researchers. Banerjee (1963) has studied the phenomenon of druguse among the students in Calcutta and has estimated a prevalence-rate of 37.4 per cent (sample size, 1132). While studying the phenomenon among the students from four colleges in Bombay, Chitnis (1974) has disregarded the use of alcohol and tobacco, and has arrived at a prevalence-rate of 19.7 per cent. Mohan and others (1977) have reported a prevalence-rate of 34.2 per cent in a sample of 225 college students in Delhi having English school background with tobacco and alcohol ranking as the most popular substances. Dube (1972) has found, in Agra, an overall prevalence-rate of 56.2 per cent. It may be noted that his sample includes mainly the ‘fifth year students’, both medical and non-medical. Focussing on the students in Chandigarh, Verma and others (1977) have reported a prevalence-rate of 18.9 per cent. It would be readily seen that the problem of drug use among college students has attracted much research attention and, as a result, a considerable body of knowledge has accumulated. Side by side, it would also be noticed that the studies referred to earlier have not only been conducted at different points of time but they have also employed varying definitions of drug, drug-use and drug-users, and differing research procedures. Quite a few of these studies have not included alcohol and tobacco within their scope. Others have confined themselves to certain

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‘elitist’ sections of student population such as the boys and girls from English medium schools, or medical students. From this stem three methodological problems. Owing to differing criteria relating to habitforming drugs and their use, a dependable prevalence-rate becomes difficult to work out. Closely related to this is the problem of comparability: on the basis of such studies, probable regional differences cannot be ascertained satisfactorily. Lastly, this kind of data-disparity does not allow the building up of any sort of prevalence-rate of use of addictive drugs in the country as a whole. These data-limitations have told in no small way on the efforts directed at evolving a viable social policy regarding the containment of the misuse of drugs.

Present Paper The foregoing discussion brings out the need to develop a synchronised and comparable database with respect to the use of psychotropic drugs among college students. It is gratifying to note that the Department of Social Welfare, Government of India, have responded to this need and, consequently, have initiated a multi-centred research programme (GOI, 1977). In this, an attempt has been made to maintain uniformity in approach, concepts, sampling strategy, methods of data collection and analysis. Conducted at the colleges and/or universities in Bombay, Delhi and Madras (metropolitan areas) as well as in Hyderabad, Jabalpur and Jaipur (non-metropolitan areas), and the Banaras Hindu University, Varanasi (a wholly residential university), these studies have focused on a large body of students during the academic year 1976–77. The synchronous nature of these studies should, to a great extent, eliminate the problems which arise from the time-differential. Likewise, since they follow a similar approach and research procedure, their findings are relatively more amenable to a comparative analysis, and to the evolving of a reasonably dependable profile of the nature of drug-use among college youth in the country. Exploratory in character, the present paper attempts to delineate the nature and extent of drug use among the college youth. In other words, it aims to develop an estimate of the prevalence-rate of drug-use among the college students in the country as a whole. Towards this, the data collected at the seven aforementioned urban centres have been

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utilised. Indeed, the prevalence of psychotropic drugs or certain drugs varies as much in time as it does in space. Stated differently, a certain drug is likely to be more popular in one region while another drug may be dominant in another region. As such, efforts need to be made to bring into focus all those habit-forming drugs which are found to have a modicum of popularity with students in different study-centres—with a view to identifying probable regional variations. Besides, many studies underline significant sex-differences in relation to drug-dependence. To be specific, males are reported to be given to alcoholism and other addiction more than females (Marwell, 1966; Yates, 1970; McGlothlin, 1975). This has been found to be equally valid for the college youth. For example, Hurton and Leslie (1960) emphasise sex-differences in relation to the use of alcohol, and Bergersen (1968) and Clarke and Levine (1971) arrive at similar findings in relation to the use of marijuana and hashish. It would, therefore, be of more than passing interest to examine the phenomenon of drug use so as to outline probable sex-differences. With these issues in view, the present paper attempts to look into: (a) the regional differences in terms of drug-use amongst the college students as reflected in the findings of the studies conducted at the different study-centres; (b) the popularity of different habit-forming drugs amongst the students; and (c) the sex-differences in relation to the general prevalence-rate as well as the use of individual drugs. At this stage, it may be clarified that these studies, as also the present paper, regard drugs as those substances which are taken for their “psychotropic or psychoactive properties as defined by their capacity to alter sensation, mood, consciousness or other psychological or behavioural functions” (Canadian Government Commission of Inquiry, 1970). In keeping with this, these studies have focused themselves on eleven drugs (see Table 2) which are commonly used by the students. In respect of the term drug use/abuse, the definition given by the United Nations Social Defence Research Institute has been followed: It refers to “all drug use not indicated on generally accepted medical grounds” (1976). It may be added that, in determining the general prevalence-rate, the frequency of the use of the drug(s) has been taken into consideration disregarding such variables as dose or occasion. Moreover, all the eleven drugs have been assumed to be similar in implications for the present purposes. As mentioned earlier, the present paper is based on the studies conducted at seven urban centres (Government of India, 1977). In these

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studies, towards achieving a representative sample, the colleges in the study-centre concerned have been stratified generally on the basis of (1) the courses of study they offer (professional courses like Agriculture, Medicine and Engineering; or non-professional courses like Arts, Commerce and Science), (2) the level of courses (undergraduate and postgraduate courses) and (3) sex-composition of the colleges (boys’, girls’ or coeducational institutions). From each stratum one or more institutions have been selected depending upon the number of students in the stratum concerned. Next, from each selected institution, classes/ sections (clusters) have been randomly picked up. The students in these clusters have been the principal informants for the study. This kind of multi-stage cluster sampling (a total number of 24,937 students have been covered) should give the data a measure of dependability. For collecting information from the sampled students, a commonlyagreed-upon questionnaire has been developed, initially in English and subsequently rendered into the relevant regional language. Following tryouts and modifications, this anonymous and confidential self-report questionnaire has been administered in a group-setting interrupting normal instruction-work in the class. The data thus collected have been processed separately by each study-centre. As the substantive concern has been the use of psychotropic drugs, the students have been asked to indicate their position on either of the eight categories as defined by the frequency of the use of individual drugs: (i) never used, (ii) tried earlier but discontinued, (iii) using less often than once a month, (iv) about once a month, (v) about once a week, (vi) several times a week, (vii) daily, and (viii) addicted— ‘cannot do without the substance’. For reasons of simplicity and directness and in keeping with the present purposes, these user groups have been merged to form three categories: (1) non-users, (2) former users, and (3) current users. It may be further pointed out that, in estimating the general prevalence-rate, no distinction has been maintained between the eleven drugs thus studied. Accordingly, if a given student has been taking drug A and has never tried drug B, he has been classified as user. This has been done so as to secure an overall estimate of the incidence of the use of psychotropic drugs by the students. Thus, towards realising the objectives of the present paper, the findings of the aforesaid seven study-centres have been relied upon. The relevant data-components from these studies have been collated and, wherever necessary, summed up.

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Findings Prevalence rate: Constituting some kind of a ‘macrostruture’, the college youth are often thought of as having social norms and behavioural patterns which transcend regional boundaries. In a way, they are exposed to a socio-cultural environment which cuts across regions. Furthermore, the curricula they pursue and the cocurricular activities they usually engage in also act as yet another homogenising factor. Besides, colleges and universities are open, at least theoretically, to everyone; they do not cater to the educational needs only of the local populace but also of the outsiders. In most of them, a sizable section of the students is seen to have come from far off parts of the country. This kind of spatial mobility further adds to the socio-political homogeneity. There are some of the factors because of which the college youth in the country may tend to be an identifiable or even a homogeneous group. Are they also similar or homogeneous in terms of their drug behaviour? It may be noted that the laws discouraging the use of intoxicants are more or less similar in the States throughout the country. So is the case with the excise laws. A point of dissimilarity which may well be kept in view relates to ‘prohibition’. As is well known, prohibition has been experimented in the country but seldom on a uniform basis; that is, only some States or, even within a State, some districts have been brought under prohibition laws. In any case, during 1976–77, non of the States in which the study-centres were located was under prohibition. Keeping these considerations in view, the incidence of the use of psychotropic drugs among the college students in different study-centres may be looked into. Table 1 presents the relevant data. It would be seen that the largest proportion of students, including both boys and girls who had never experimented, reportedly, with any psychotropic drug (non-users) is in Hyderabad (77.8%). In this, Hyderabad is closely followed by Jaipur and Madras. Apparently, the students in these urban centres are not much given to habit-forming drugs; perhaps the socio-cultural milieu in these centres is not favourable to the use of intoxicants. The proportion of the students who had experimented earlier with drugs but have discontinued with no intention to resume (former users), is found to be the highest in Jabalpur (14.1%), with Delhi and Varanasi taking the second and the third places, respectively. At this juncture, it may be pointed out that the dividing line between a former user and a current user is often

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Table 1 User—Types According to the Sex of the Respondents in the Study-Centres (Percentages) Centre

Bombay

Delhi

Hyderabad

Jabalpur

Jaipur

Madras

Varanasi

Grand Total

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Sex

Non-users

Former Users

Current Users

Total (N)

Male

51.5

8.1

40.4

2,334

Female

66.0

4.9

29.1

1,817

Total

57.8

6.7

35.4

4,151

Male

42.2

16.2

41.6

2,000

Female

62.9

9.6

27.5

1,991

Total

52.5

12.9

34.6

3,991

Male

67.6

6.0

26.4

414

Female

86.5

4.0

9.5

489

Total

77.8

4.9

17.1

903

Male

46.2

18.3

35.5

3,012

Female

78.0

5.2

16.8

1,403

Total

56.4

14.1

29.5

4,415

Male

73.3

4.5

22.2

3,092

Female

91.1

2.2

6.7

989

Total

77.6

3.9

18.5

4,081

Male

66.1

4.1

29.8

2,157

Female

92.9

3.2

3.8

1,423

Total

76.8

3.7

19.5

3,580

Male

51.5

12.5

36.0

3,391

Female

77.8

6.9

15.2

461

Total

54.6

11.8

33.5

3,852

Male

55.8

10.6

33.6

16,400

Female

76.4

5.5

18.1

8,573

Total

62.9

8.9

28.2

24,973

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seen to be very thin. The study centres which have a large proportion of former users may be expected to have correspondingly a large proportion of current users. But this is not what comes up when we examine the category of current users. Bombay has the largest proportion of current users (35.5%). In this, Delhi (34.6%) and Varanasi (33.5%) closely followed Bombay. It is worth noticing that Jabalpur which has the largest proportion of former users does not stand out in respect of current users and, likewise, Bombay which has an insignificant proportion of former users, comes to have the largest proportion of current users. This suggests that the categories of former users and current users are not necessarily inter-connected. Interestingly, Bombay and Delhi are the urban conglomerations which are often described as highly cosmopolitan in character and, in contrast, Varanasi is often regarded as a highly traditional place. But Varanasi is also a residential educational centre having a large segment of students who live on the campus. In keeping with the objectives of the paper, an attempt may now be made to look into the drug-scene which emerges when all the studycentres are considered together. Towards this, attention may be turned to the data presented at the bottom of Table 1. It would be observed that more than half of the men-students and three-fourths of the womenstudents are non-users of psychotropic drugs. In contrast, one-third of the men-students and less than one-fifth of the women-students have reported using one drug or the other. Thus, taken together, only 28.2% of the students, including both males and females, have been using intoxicants. Whether the prevalence-rate of the use of psychotropic drugs has assumed alarming proportions, is a question which calls for a few more details, and, as such, it would be dealt with later in the paper. Prevalence of Drugs: It may be reiterated that the present paper is concerned with a fairly diverse range of drugs. These include traditional organic drugs and modern synthetic psychedelics; ‘soft’ drugs and ‘hard’ drugs; and depressants and stimulants. Besides, in order to have a close look at the drug-scene outlined earlier, it is necessary that the prevalencerate of different drugs is brought under focus. At the outset, a reference may be made to the availability of the drugs under discussion. Indeed, the supply of drugs in the study-centres, as elsewhere, is both legal and illegal. As a matter of fact, the supplies syphoned in through the illicit trade channels may often exceed those through legal trade and may even cost the consumers less, as the traders manage to evade excise duty and other taxes. Nonetheless, it is difficult to provide any estimate

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of the nature and extent of illicit drug traffic. Speaking of legal trade, the distribution and sale of cocaine and raw opium are banned in the country. The sale of country-liquor as well as factory-made liquor and of cannabis drugs is controlled and regulated. So is the case with the synthetic drugs: they are retailed by the licensed pharmacists and druggists. However, the distribution or sale of products like heroin and lysergic diethylamide acid (LSD), notwithstanding their prohibitory cost, is not permissible. With this backdrop, we proceed to examine the popularity of different drugs amongst the students. On going through Table 2, it would be seen that the most popular intoxicant is alcohol (10.2%) which is closely followed by tobacco (9.9%) and analgestics or painkillers (9.2%). The other drugs which attract attention are cannabis drugs and tranquillisers. The rest, including amphetamines, barbiturates, cocaine, LSD, opiates and pethidine, have relatively insignificant prevalence. Next, we may examine the pattern of popularity of drugs in different study-centres. A reference, again, to Table 2 would show that alcohol, tobacco and painkillers are by far the most used drugs; and in terms of popularity, they only change place in different studycentres. For example, alcohol appears to be most popular in Bombay, and painkillers, in Jabalpur. In the case of Varanasi, the cannabis Delhi, Hyderabad and Jaipur; tobacco, in Madras and Varanasi; and painkillers, in Jabalpur. In the case of Varanasi, the cannabis drugs rank among the three most popular intoxicants among which alcohol does not figure. It may be noted that the cannabis drugs, though not among the three most popular drugs, have a large number of enthusiasts in Jabalpur. It would be recalled that Bombay, Delhi and Varanasi have been found to be in the fore in the use of habit-forming drugs. This factor may be re-examined in the light of the data presented in Table 2. Indeed, Bombay has the largest proportion of alcohol users. Yet if we take all the drugs separately and concentrate on the three study-centres which have their highest incidence, a somewhat different position emerges. Varanasi occupies the first position in the use of amphetamines, barbiturate, cannabis, cocaine, LSD, opium and pethidine; the second position in the use of tobacco; and the third position in the use of alcohol and tranquillisers. The largest proportion of the students who use painkillers is in Delhi which also occupies the second position in the use of alcohol, opiates and pethidine; and the third position in the use of amphetamines. Similarly, Madras has the largest proportion of students who

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0.05

1.0

Tranquillisers

12.6

Painkillers

8.1

0.4

Opium, Morphine, Heroin

Pethidine

0.07

L. S. D.

Tobacco

0.4

0.05

0.6

Carbiturates

Cannabis

0.2

Amphetamines

Cocaine

15.1

Alcohol

Bombay (N-4151)

2.9

10.5

0.2

20.9

0.5

0.2

0.03

1.3

0.6

0.3

12.2

Delhi (N-3991)

2.6

5.3

0.2

2.8

0.2

–

0.1

0.8

0.6

0.05

8.6

Hyderabad (N-903)

1.2

10.8

0.1

15.1

0.3

0.2

0.2

8.5

0.7

0.2

9.4

Jabalpur (N-4415)

Table 2 The Prevalence Rate of Individual Drugs in the Study Centres (Percentage)

1.2

9.2

0.2

2.3

0.2

0.2

0.09

0.9

0.1

0.05

9.7

Jaipur (N-4081)

1.1

15.2

0.05

1.4

0.4

0.4

–

1.5

1.5

0.4

9.4

Madras (N-3580)

2.5

15.1

0.9

13.8

0.9

0.9

0.6

11.9

1.8

1.3

10.4

Varanasi (N-3852)

1.5

9.9

0.3

9.2

0.1

0.3

0.1

2.8

0.7

0.5

10.2

Total (N-24973)

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use tobacco; the second largest among those who use amphetamines, barbiturates, LSD, and pethidine. Viewed from this standpoint, these three study-centres, namely, Varanasi, Delhi and Madras, clearly surpass Bombay. Sex Differences: The present data abundantly support the findings arrived at elsewhere that males outdo females insofar as the use of psychotropic drugs is concerned. There are seen, however, wide variations over the study-centres (see Table 1). For example, in Bombay, the female-male ratio of the students who are on drugs is 3:4. As against this, in Madras, it is only a little over 3:23. It may be noted that Jabalpur, after Bombay and Delhi, has a large number of women-students who are given to drugs; in contrast, Varanasi has a very large proportion of men-students. It would be thus justifiable to infer that the problem of non-medical use of drugs is serious in Bombay, Delhi and Jabalpur in relation to women-students; and in Delhi, Bombay and Varanasi, in relation to men-students. Nonetheless, the preference of female-users for individual drugs needs to be looked into for possible variations. Table 3 brings out that Table 3 Prevalence Rates of Individual Drugs According to the Sex of the Respondents (Percentages) Substance Alcohol

Males (N = 16400)

Females (N = 8573)

Total (N = 24973)

13.3

3.4

10.2

Amphetamines

0.6

0.2

0.5

Barbiturates

1.0

0.2

0.7

Cannabis

4.1

0.3

2.8

Cocaine

0.2

–

0.1

L. S. D.

0.4

0.05

0.3

Opium, Morphine, Heroin

0.6

0.1

0.4

Painkillers

8.6

9.9

9.2

Pethidine

0.4

0.1

0.3

Tobacco

14.4

1.3

9.9

1.8

0.9

1.5

Tranquillisers

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alcohol, painkillers and tobacco are the drugs most commonly used by both males and females. But the order of preference differs among the sexes. In relation to males, the preference-order is found to be tobacco, alcohol and painkillers; and in relation to females, painkillers, alcohol and tobacco. Conversely, the drugs which find least preference among males include cocaine, LSD and pethidine, and among females, cocaine, opiates and pethidine. Are there any drugs in the use of which females compare with males? There is only one conspicuous instance: in the use of analgesics or painkillers, the women-students do not only compare well with their male-counterparts but, as a matter of fact, surpass them. It may not be a digression to point out that the non-medical use of the painkillers, particularly, by women may not be always unjustifiable: they may use the painkillers to relieve a variety of psychosomatic symptoms, albeit without medical advice. This apart, in the use of intoxicants as a whole, womenfolk are outnumbered by men by one to two. Apparently, the use of psychotropic drugs has not percolated among women-students to the extent it has in men-students.

Conclusions For long, quite a few psychotropic drugs have been in use in India. Not too infrequently, they have been used during the celebration of festivals and special occasions. This is beside the convenient ‘escape door’ which their use provides to the disillusioned, frustrated and dejected. As a product of their social milieu, the college youth are bound to have some truck with intoxicating drinks and drugs. This is what is brought out by the present multicentred study: about 28 per cent of the students covered by the study are given to psychotropic drugs. This prevalence-rate differs as much between males and females as it does between regions. For example, the college youth in Hyderabad, Jaipur and Madras do not appear to be very favourably disposed, towards drugs; as compared to this, those in Bombay, Delhi and Varanasi are much involved in drugs. Incidentally, the study-centres which have a large proportion of ‘nonusers’ also have a large proportion of ‘former users’ and, as a logical corollary, a small proportion of ‘current users’. The seeming proximity of the categories of former users and current users of psychotropic drugs is not supported by the data: the study-centres that have a large proportion of former users are not having a corresponding proportion

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of current users. Besides, the data suggest that the cosmopolitan atmosphere of a city like Bombay or Delhi, and the residential character of an educational centre like Varanasi, may have something to do with the use of habit-forming drugs by the students. Apparently, traditional drugs like alcohol, tobacco and cannabis enjoy considerable popularity with the college youth. The so-called modern drugs like barbiturates, heroin or LSD are seen to have only negligible prevalence. Perhaps, traditional drugs are firmly entrenched; or else, the modern psychedelics are too expensive to be within the reach of college youth. The only exception to this is the instance of analgesics or painkillers which have been in use by a sizable section of the students, mostly by girls. Apart from this, the data bring into focus some significant regional variations in the incidence of various psychotropic drugs. Although alcohol and painkillers are found to be almost uniformly popular, there are quite a few variations which deserve to be highlighted. Alcoholic beverages are very popular in Bombay and Delhi; tobacco, in Madras and Varanasi, Painkillers, in Jabalpur; and cannabis drugs, in Varanasi and Jabalpur. A mild trend is thus in evidence that tobacco is popular more or less, in all the study-centres; alcohol in southern and western India (Bombay, Hyderabad and Madras); and cannabis drugs like bhang, ganja and charas in northern India (Varanasi and Jabalpur). When attention is paid on the overall prevalence of psychotropic drugs, the study-centres of Bombay, Delhi and Varanasi are seen to 184 be in the front line. This order, however, undergoes a change when the maximum use of all the eleven drugs thus studied is considered: Varanasi, Delhi and Madras have been indicating the maximum use of various drugs. Viewed from this angle, the study-centre of Bombay loses its ‘prominence’. Incidentally, this also underscores the widespread popularity of alcohol among the college youth in Bombay. This has a pointed significance in view of the fact that in recent years Bombay has seen much of prohibition. Corroborating the findings of the studies conducted in India and elsewhere, the present analysis also shows that the incidence of psychotropic drugs among men-students is far more than among women-students: for every two men-students on drugs there is only one women-student. In part, this may be attributed to the differential role-expectations in society which discourage the use of intoxicants by women more than

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that by men. However, the female-male ratio noticeably varies with the study-centres. The difference is least in Bombay (3:4) and the highest in Madras (3:23). Moreover, the drug-preference also varies: it is tobacco, alcohol and painkillers for men; and painkillers, alcohol and tobacco for women. Notwithstanding this, the womenfolk are ahead of men in the use of painkillers. To recapitulate, the incidence of the use of psychotropic drugs among the college youth in the country does not appear to be so large as to cause alarm—at least at present. It is mostly the traditional substances like alcohol and cannabis that dominate the drug-scene. To a good extent, these drugs may have linkages with several socio-cultural practices. Therefore, towards containing the problem of the non-medical use of psychotropic drugs, whatever its extent, a viable social intervention programme would do well to direct its thrust on restructuring social norms and practices.

References Andrews, G. (ed.) 1975 Drugs and magic. Panther. Bannerjee, R. N. 1963 “Prevalence of habit forming drug and smoking among college students—a survey”. Indian Medical Journal, 193. Bergersen, B. 1968 “Oslo-ogdum brack Av marihuana og hasgist”. (The use of mahihuana and hashish among youth in Oslo) Tidsskrifts Fo Samfunns for skining 9, pp. 208–232. Canadian Government Commission of Inquiry. 1970 The Non-medical Use of Drugs. Penguin. Carey, J. T. 1968 The College Drug Scene. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall. Chitnis, S. 1974 “Drug on college campus” Bombay: TISS, MS. Clarke, J. W. and Levine, E. L. 1971 “Marijuama use, social discontent and political discontent: A study of high school youth”. American Political Science Review, 65, pp. 120–130. Dube, K. C. 1972 “Drug abuse in northern India”. Bulletin on Narcotics, 24, 49. Government of India 1977 Drug Abuse in India. New Delhi, Ministry of Health and Family Welfare. Harwell, G. 1966 “Adolescent powerlessness and delinquent behaviour”. Social Problems, 14, pp. 32–47. Hurlock, E. B. 1974 Developmental Psychology. New Delhi: Tata-McGraw-Hill. Hurton, P. B. and Leslie, G. R. 1960 The Sociology of Social Problems. New York: Appleton— Century Crafts. Khan, M. Z. and Unnithan, N. P. 1979 “Association of socio-economic factors with drug use among college students in an Indian town”. Bulletin on Narcotics. Kumarappa, B. 1952 Why Prohibition? Ahmedabad, Navjivan. Kurien, T. 1949 Towards Better India or a Study in Prohibition Madras, Vardachary.

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McGlothlin, W. H. 1975 “Drug use and abuse: A paper”. National Institute of Mental Health, U.S.A. (unpublished). Mohan, D. et. al. 1977 “Prevalence and pattern of drug abuse among Delhi University students”. Indian Journal of Medical Research, 66, 627. Salmon, R. and Salmon, S. 1977 “The causes of heroin addiction: A review of the literature”. International Journal of the Addictions, 12, pp. 937–952. Taylor, N. 1966 Nature’s Dangerous Gifts, Dell. United Nations Social Defence Research Institute 1976 Investigating Drug Abuse. Rome: UNSDRI. Verma, V. K. et. al. 1977 “Drug abuse amongst college students in India”, Indian J. of Psychiatry, 19, 1. Yates, A. J. Alcoholism and Drug Addiction: Behaviour Therapy. New York, Macmillan. Yost, O. R. 1954 The Bane of Drug Addiction. New York, Macmillan.

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12 Problems of the Youth of North-East India: A Sociological Inquiry A.K. Nongkynrih

Introduction

T

his paper seeks to understand the problems of the youth of NorthEast India beyond the confines of students’ movements or youth movements. It has two objectives: (i) to analyse the discourse on the problems of the youth, and (ii) to examine the sources of these problems. Given the limited availability of information on the subject, I have consulted and used the available secondary materials and my field notes on the views and opinions of the youth, women, and male elders. The field notes are drawn from the preliminary study of the Current Status of Services/Programmes for HIV/AIDS Prevention and Care for the Young People of Four States of the North-Eastern Region (Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, and Nagaland) conducted in 2001. The participants of the group discussions were youth (both male and female). The second source of field notes was an assessment study of the NorthEastern Region Community Resource Management Project for Upland Areas conducted in two districts of Karbi Anglong and Ukhrul of the states of Assam and Manipur respectively in 2004. This latter study examines the project implementation and the challenges faced by the youth in general. The participants of the focus group discussions here were youth (male and female), women, and male elders.

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Background of the North-East India Generally, the term North-East India or North-Eastern Region is used by writers, media persons, academics, the government and the public. According to M.N. Karna (1999: 90), the term region has two broad facets: the physical and the social. The North-East India fits in the description of region in terms of the physical facet as it is a particular geographical territory of the nation-state and is rich in natural resources. As regards the social facet, it includes diverse ethno-linguistic groups; diverse customs, beliefs and practices; and, politically, it is divided into seven states (namely, Arunachal Pradesh, Assam, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, Nagaland, and Tripura). Each state comes under specific provisions of the Constitution of India. By the national standards of economic measurement, the region has been considered economically less developed. When using or applying the term North-East India or North-Eastern Region the physical and the social meanings are implied. The British colonialists became politically interested in the region and entered it after 1826. Gradually, part by part, they annexed and colonised the region and its population. The entry of new forces— organised religions and the modern bureaucratic organisation of the nation-state—introduced new policies, programmes and activities such as the modern system of political administration and the political modernisation of societies; modern education and higher learning, which contributed to the creation of educated persons; the market economy and the commercialisation of natural resources; the modern institutions, which created new type of occupations; and the idea of modern association, which, in turn, led to the formation of new types of organisations in the region. The new forces implanted and created a complex process of social transformation in the region, producing different outcomes for different groups of the region.

Definitions of Youth Youths are like sign-posts because they reflect the situation of the society, the region, and the nation. Who is a youth or how do we define youth? According to UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organisation), the youth constitutes people between 15 and

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24 years of age. The Government of India defines youth as persons in the age group of 15 to 35 years of age (Ministry of Youth and Sport Affairs 2003: 1; see also Amarjeet Singh 2002: 11). The age-set in both these definitions of youth is based on the principle of age and it is counted with the date of birth as the point of reference. It is a modern construction, because a person is a youth on the basis of the birth certificate issued by the authorised bodies of the nation-state. It is observed that the definition of youth by the UNESCO and the Government of India is common as both take into account the age as the factor; the variation is only in the age-set. There are societies where the age is not the basis for defining youth. Generally, in such societies, for example, the societies of the North-East India, the generational principle is taken into account. In such societies, social actors are placed according to the generational principle; the members of the society are addressed to by specific social terms, and such terms denote their generation. By knowing the term, one knows the generation of the person and her or his place in the society. One of the generations of the society is the young people or the youth, and a specific term is used for this particular population group: the KhasiJaintia society addresses the youth as Samla or Khynraw, the Sumi-Naga as Lhotimi, the Ao-Naga as Lanor, the Rongmei-Naga as Chabuan; the Garo as Chadambe, the Mizo as Tleirawl, the Hrangkhawl as Ratlai, the Paite as Taulai, and the Adi as Yaming. These terms denote that the social actors referred to are unmarried persons with little burden of domestic and social responsibility; their physical strength is recognised and utilised in collective activities. The generational principle categorises persons in general and the youth in particular and such practices continue till date. However, because of modern education in the region, the birth certificate has become a compulsory document for the individual to possess as a proof of one’s age. Thus, the definition of youth can be separated into two groups: the rational-legal and the social. The former focuses on the youth as an individual in terms of specific age-set and the latter takes the youth as one of the collective categories of the population based on the generational principle. In the context of the societies of the North-East India, both the rational-legal and social definitions apply; the former is used when engaging with modern institutions and the latter is used in the social life of persons.

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The Public Discourse on the Problems of the Youth According to Peter Worsley (1970: 380), behaviour in human societies is governed by rules and norms: there are appropriate and inappropriate ways of acting whether one is talking about a classroom during a lesson, running a marathon, or dancing at a disco. It is observed that cases of ‘inappropriate’ action of social actors get attention in the public domain through newspapers or television channels. In the opinion of F. James Davis (cited in Hubbard et al. 1975: 23), newspapers often influence public opinion regarding crime trends by increasing coverage of certain types of crime. Whether we agree or disagree with such reports or the way in which newspapers or television channels present and narrate stories of ‘inappropriate’ behaviour of some social actors of the society is not the issue. The issue is newspapers or television channels are the medium through which the public are informed. The North-East India is one of the examples where the media feed information to the public domain and generate public discourse on varied issues. One of the issues which the media has been paying attention in the North-East India is the problems of the youth. The media in general and the local and vernacular newspapers in particular are the major source of information. Various problems of the youth are reflected in such newspapers, and problems such as dropping out of school education, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, smoking, theft, crime, suicide, unemployment, and violent behaviours are few examples. Members of the public are informed and in most cases public opinion is formed on the basis of such information. It is observed that the public discourse usually perceives and accepts that problems at the local level or state or region are associated with the youth. Through the media and in various public fora the public discourse has been stressing the followings: i. the youth face many problems, ii. ‘problems’ are related with the youth, and iii. the youth of the North-East India themselves are a ‘problem’ to the state and the society.

To illustrate the point, on various occasions statements are made in public that young people joined the underground movements or that the

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youth are ruining their lives by engaging in unproductive and unhealthy lifestyles because either they are poor or they are unemployed. Therefore, the central government should provide more funds to the state governments to create more employment opportunities. The public thinks that by solving the problem of unemployment of the youth other related problems would be automatically solved. If one examines this kind of assertion and deduction one finds that it is based on common sense and not on objective or systematic analysis. Commonsense seems to take precedence over scientific understanding in public discourse. The other expression of the public discourse on the problems of the youth deals with the public feelings towards problems. Based on media information or commonsense discussions on the problems of the youth, the public shows two kinds of feelings: one, the sympathy-empathy expression to the youth with problems such as unemployment or dropping out of school or disability, and two, ‘labelling and stigmatisation of persons’ in the case of youth with problems such as drug-dependency or HIV/AIDS or alcoholism or deviant behaviour. It seems that the public can handle the first type of problems, but it finds it difficult to handle the second type of problems. To the public, the only way to overcome the difficulty in handling problems of the second type is labelling: terms such as ‘misguided youth’ or ‘anti-social elements’ are used in the public discourse. Labelling is accepted because the state can take legal action: action in the form of punishment or inflicting injury and harm on the labelled youths. Punishment is seen and accepted socially as the ultimate mechanism of controlling problems, ensuring the maintenance of social order and for setting examples to the rest. The public defines what is socially acceptable and what is not; what is not acceptable is punished. The position taken by the public on some of the problems has precluded serious attempts to understand such problems objectively.

The Academic Discourse on Problems of the Youth The academic discourse on the problems of the youth is drawn from a wide range of writings and examples from the field. These writings reflected the varied issues concerning youth. For a pointed discussion,

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here I have selected the relevant aspects and arranged them in groups. However, such groupings are in no way to be treated as isolated units; the problems discussed are interrelated.

Education, Employment and the Youth Modern education and educational institutions are producing large numbers of graduates and technically skilled humanpower every year. As a result, the North-Eastern region is experiencing a high growth rate of educated youth. Amarjeet M. Singh (2002) narrates the problem of unemployment faced by the educated youth of Manipur. He identifies limited employment opportunities as the key issue. He further elaborates that even when employment opportunities are available, the youth have to practice nepotism to get a job, and one of the youths he interviewed said, ‘to get a job or such facilities is like being in an auction market. Only the highest bidder gets the job, and those who cannot afford are out of the job market’ (ibid.: 110). Similarly, when I interviewed the educated youth from the four states (namely, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, and Nagaland), their refrain was we have completed our graduation and are unsuccessful in finding employment. Being unemployed we have to depend on and live with our parents. Many of us in our localities are in similar situation and we do not know what to do. Over the years we have seen many of our friends who could not bear the boredom and anxiety started substance–abuse or consumption of alcohol and some have lost their lives.

The number of educated youth in the region is increasing, but the growth in employment opportunities is commensurate to absorb them. The issue of education and employment was placed before the village elders from the Karbi Anglong and, in general, they said, It is important to send our children to schools and colleges so that they can be educated. On the other hand these young people who have completed higher education or those who dropped out half way are not interested to work on the farm like we did when we were young. They are interested in government jobs or other kinds of job. This is becoming a problem because modern education has changed them and few young people are interested to work on the farms, after our generation what is going to happen to food production.

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One adult added that I sent my son to school with the intention that after his education he will be a better farmer since he will have more knowledge than me. It is the other way round because of his education he does not participate in farming activities but sits at home applying and waiting for a government job. He is useless right now to the family. I should not have sent him to school because he could have been more useful to himself and to us by engaging in farming of the land.

If being educated does not guarantee productive and gainful employment, what is the situation of the youth with only basic education or those without any formal education? Irabot N. Singh (1995: 113) brings out the challenges faced by the youth in the urban and the rural areas of Manipur. He narrates that most of such youth are not engaged in productive activities on a full-time basis. Such youth have enough time to loiter around in the localities without doing anything. In the rural areas, occasionally, such youth are a problem and especially in the post-harvest period. They would spend the whole day drinking and gambling, and would end up quarrelling and fighting. Their urban counterparts too, because of limited employment opportunities, have enough time to waste. Some of them are addicted to alcohol and they steal bicycles to make money. There is another group of youth, those who have dropped out of education. There are many factors for dropping out of education. Mothers of school dropout youth in the districts of Ukhrul and Karbi Anglong said that they were economically poor and illiterate and could not support the education of their children. There are also cases where the children themselves have refused to continue their education. The women and youth from Ukhrul district further elaborated that the dropout youth are living in the villages without any alternative or guidance, and many of them are drifting to bad habits and this is becoming a nightmare for the elders to handle. P. Tado (2006) in his assessment of youth who dropped out of education narrates the situation in Arunachal Pradesh. He points out that local politicians have, without any hesitation, made use of youth by providing them with cash to carryout assigned tasks. Once the task is accomplished, the youth are left to fend for themselves. In the process, such youth lose interest in their studies and drop out. Such youth become unfit for any white-collar jobs. While discussing with another

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group of youth from the four states mentioned earlier, I found that they had to discontinue their studies because their parents could no longer afford to support them. After discontinuing their studies half-way, they said, ‘neither do we possess any skills nor productively engaging in work. We feel rejected, bored, frustrated and depressed’. Unemployment is seen as a major issue by persons I interacted with. The way the government is responding to the issue is paradoxical: on the one hand, there is a section of the youth looking for productive and gainful employment and, on the other hand, the government has created ‘employment packages’ for rehabilitating those youth who had ‘surrendered before the authority’ after being in the insurgent movements. One community leader opined that, ‘does it not make other youth to think and act differently to enjoy the benefits of such “employment packages”?’ This kind of government policy is viewed as faulty because, under normal circumstances, employment opportunities are not provided to other youth. Broadly, one can argue that not all young people have equal access to education. There are those who have completed their higher education and there are those who had to drop out at various levels due to lack of resources or because of other social factors. However, both groups of youth are equally affected by limited employment opportunities and are not able to be gainfully productive in their lives. The central and state governments’ policy of providing easy access to employment to some youth and not to all is a poor reflection of the political responsibility of the government. The added dimension is modern education, which has not only been the agency in educating the youth, but it has also injected new set of values among the youth. The declining interest among youth, especially educated ones, in farming as a gainful and productive employment is fraught with danger.

The Family and Youth Some articles and views from the field highlight the family as a factor in relation to the problems of the youth. Jerry Thomas (1997: 306) has observed that there are two sections of youth: those who are hindered in their growth by the over-protective parents, and those who have been neglected by their parents. In both cases the process of growing up is

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adversely affected. He does not elaborate on this, but one can cite the example from A.H. Khaund’s narration: Jug (pseudonym) was 21 years old and the eldest child of the family. He comes from a low income group. He passed his school education with a second division and subsequently got a job in the intelligence branch. Once he started earning he gradually changed his life styles and got into the habits of consumption of locally made alcohol, smoking ganja and drugs. In the month of May 1977 he was put in jail and released the same year. He could not overcome his problems and the psychopathic ailment infected his life (1995: 58).

According to Khaund (ibid.: 56–59), Jug’s parents did not pay much attention to him. They recognised the condition of their son when it was too late to correct and too late for any help. There could be many such cases where the youth deviated from the normal life due to lack of care and attention from the family or parents. G.S. Aurora (1995), a sociologist who had worked in the Khasi-Jaintia hills, expresses similar views. He argues that the Khasi-Jaintia society is being affected by broken families and the number of such families is larger in this society than other societies of the region. It is the phenomenon of broken families that has produced juvenile delinquency and emotional disturbance among the youth (ibid.: 28). Aurora does not provide any data to show the magnitude of the problem he has identified. However, his point can hardly be disputed. In the focus group discussions with the youth from four states they complained about their parents. According to them, there is hardly any one who we can turn to and share our feelings. Our parents are always busy and have very little time to spend with us and so we had to take care of ourselves. In the process we spent time by roaming with friends or watching movies. Sometimes because of frustration we did things which are detrimental to our own lives.

The relation of family and youth can be captured from the case history of a youth which tells about his family relationships and the challenges faced by him (see Case 1). This young man is today a youth leader in his area and works with youth groups and associations. It is difficult to argue that the problems of the youth stemmed only from the family. This is because the information available is insufficient to generalise. However, one can point out that the family as a social

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Case 1: The Problem and Challenges as a Youth In my early childhood, I suffered from the fear of watching my mom and dad quarrelling most of the time. I was still very young when my parents kept me in a privately run school and hostel nearby my home. I never wanted to live there and yet had to spend my childhood and adolescence, that is, from class one to class ten. Maybe, my parents felt that it is the best choice for me. They did not realise that I needed them and that I felt neglected. Gradually, I dealt with my feelings of being neglected by spending time with hostel friends. The hostel has many kids of all ages and those in class nine and ten are considered as ‘seniors’ among students. In class nine, I became part of the senior group and that was when I learned about drugs, and as a youth I too was curious and wanted to try [the drug]. Many seniors of the hostel glamorised drugs and the joy one gets out of drugs. The school management or the hostel wardens did not have any knowledge that senior students of the hostel were abusing drugs. We were twenty of us residing in the same hostel, attending the same school and belonging to the same religious organisation. As part of the group, I too started abusing drugs. The abuse of drugs was to such an extent that out of twenty of us, ten of my friends died due to drug overdose, and I too became drug dependent by mid-term of class ten. I left the hostel and, for the next two years, I could not survive without abusing drugs. The village community and my family came to know about my habits; and the community leaders visited me and warned me to stop or face the consequences. I did not listen to the warnings and continued with the abuse of drugs, and I avoided public places. My lifestyle strained my relations with my parents and sometimes my dad was so angry with me that he would beat me up. This sort of relation created all kinds of commotion between my dad and mom and they blamed each other. The locality too blamed my parents for not disciplining me enough. In such a situation even my close kin-group shunned me from their homes and lives. I had no one to turn to and no one came forward to help me overcome my problem of drug-abuse. That is not all. Leaders of my church too avoided me and it also affected my parents’ social status. Despite my drug-dependency problem I did not give up my studies and appeared three times for the state-level matriculation examination and it was in the third attempt that I passed in the third division. My father was always in a state of anger with me, but he was also searching and looking for ways and means to get me out of the problem. It was luck, maybe, because one of our family friends lived in another city and I was taken there to live and study. The family friend that I lived with gave me love, care, and hope. It was the first time in my life I felt emotionally moved. However, I could not overcome

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my problem and felt so frustrated that I wanted to give up life. There were times when I stopped abusing drugs and the body reacted differently and my nose would bleed. It was a very painful experience; occasionally, I even thought of committing suicide. Luckily, the family that I lived with was so tolerant and would not give up on me. Every day the members encouraged me to fight by praying and believing in oneself. It gave me hope and one day during the family prayer, the father prayed with such emotion that it moved me. Following that day, I stopped abusing drugs and suffered terribly from the withdrawal symptoms and it took couple of months for full recovery. Gradually, I got back into studies and completed my honours degree and masters degree in sociology.

institution plays a key role in the life of the youth; and, as observed from the discussion, some of the problems of the youth can be associated with parenting. To draw more insightful understanding on the subject of parenting and the youth further sociological investigation is required.

The Socialising Institution and Youth Emile Durkheim said, when societies undergo transition from the mechanical stage to the organic stage, traditional norms and values become disrupted and uprooted. People become restless and dissatisfied and a new moral consensus about what people can reasonably expect from life would be needed (cited in Slattery 2006: 72–76). Durkheim’s point is significant to explain the problems of the youth in the region. Scholars from the region have highlighted that the problems of the youth are due to the loss of one of the socialising institutions, namely, the ‘youth dormitory’. The youth dormitory is designated by a specific term. The Zawlbuk of the Mizo was once an important institution of socialising the youth. It imparted and trained the youth on varied aspects of life-skills and inculcated in them social values. The Morung of the Naga, the Pa of the Wancho, the Nokpante of the Garo, and the Nodrang of the Dimasa Kachari (Aier 1995; Gassah 1995; Kapmawia 1995; Zathang 1995; Riba 2006) are a few other examples of the institution of youth dormitory. The youth dormitory prepares the youth for their future role as adults of the society, it rains them in shaping and handling of personal

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development through the system of group work and activities, and it is a mechanism of social control and avoidance of conflict with adult members. Caroline R. Marak (2006) discusses the importance of Nokpante and the impact of its loss on the Garo society. In the Nokpante, boys were trained in martial arts, sports and games, music and dance, oral literature and poetry, ceremonies, traditions, customary beliefs and practices, and the skills that a boy ought to know (such as farming, basketry, house construction, and wood carving). The process of modernisation of the Garo society led to the gradual loss of the institution and that affected the training and education of the boys under the supervision and care of the elders. Marak further elaborates that modern educational institutions (that is, the school system) have replaced the Nokpante, but are not as effective in socialising the young. Similar are the views of M. Riba (2006) about the impact of the gradual loss of the Pa among the Wancho of Arunachal Pradesh. He says that, due to acculturation processes and substitution of the Pa by schools and other modern institutions, the Pa is on the decline. In the state of Arunachal Pradesh many societies continue to practise the youth dormitory, but their continuity is being challenged by the entry and activities of modern organisations. Analysing the impact of social transformation on the Naga society, Anthony Patton (1995) argues that the Morung has become defunct. Children are educated in modern schools and they miss the education of their own society, and have gradually become alienated from their village. He also points out that young people no longer imbibe the teachings and values of their own people and as a result they have become strangers in their own land. A group of post-graduate students (males and females) I interviewed said, We agree that most of us have very little knowledge about the society we belonged to because we have been educated only about the modern world. There is a gap in the way we think and the way our parents would like us to be. We want to preserve the knowledge and social values of our society and also to incorporate the new. We feel that we are caught in between and it confuses us as young people.

The discussion highlights that many societies have lost the youth dormitory; the survival of the few that remain is at stake. The youth dormitory is one of the most important social institutions that trained

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the youth and ensured collective control on youth behaviour. In some societies, the youth dormitory has been replaced by educational institutions, religious organisations or youth clubs. The new institutions are re-socialising the youth with new set of values and norms. Such institutions, as expressed by some writers, are not able to provide the kind of supervision, guidance, and control as youth dormitories did. They are too preoccupied with providing modern information or their thrust is more on the organisational activities. As one youth who became addicted to substance-abuse said, in the school environment or in the village or in the organisational environment I am only told what I should do or how I should conduct and behave. As a young person I have many problems and some of the problems I had wanted to talk to someone but there was no one to listen to me.

In those societies where socialisation of the young used to be a collective activity of the village the family plays a secondary role. With the loss of the youth dormitory the responsibility of socialising the young has shifted from the community to family. Families have to socialise their children without the support of the youth dormitory and the traditional ways. This perhaps explains why families in the North-East are facing difficulties in socialising the young.

The Politics of Identity and Youth The colonial system of political administration and the modern bureaucratic organisation of the nation-state introduced the societies of the region into a new type of political modernisation. The new type of political modernisation created political consciousness in the society and led to the formation of local or ethnic-based pressure groups and regional political parties. Such groups and parties articulate their political position by taking the issue of ‘political identity’ as the main demand. The politics of identity becomes a political agenda and, over generations and cutting across diverse groups, this issue has been the most influential social agenda. In pursuit of such an agenda, many protest movements or students’ movements or regional movements have been organised. Such movements have produced different kinds of results in the region. Some movements have brought direct conflict between ethnic groups

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and the nation-state. Some movements have resulted in ethnic-group conflicts (the Naga versus the Kuki, the Karbi versus the Khasi-Jaintia, and the Karbi versus the Dimasa) and conflicts between ethnic groups of the region and the ‘illegal migrants’. The region has witnessed many turbulent political struggles and conflicts (Sharma 1997; Baruah 2005; Dutta 2005; Kumar 2005; Das 2006; Mawthoh 2006; Tado 2006). By being part of the society and because of social expectations many youths have been actively participating in such movements. Scholars of the region have been observing these movements and noted their impact on the youth. Lanu I. Aier (1995) states that political disturbance in the Naga society has caused anguish, restlessness, and uncertainty among its youth. U. Misra (2006) is of the opinion that those who kill or get killed each year are young people, people whose energy and enthusiasm could have contributed so much towards building a better nation. According to him, the main reason for the youth of the region to have taken onus upon themselves is the crisis of leadership. Older generations lack commitment and have created social vacuum which has been sought to be filled by the youth leadership. According to J. Thomas, if at times the youth present the picture of aggression is because they are not independent nor are they isolated from the society they belonged to. They are affected by what is happening in their societies and the dynamics therein. In most cases the youth are victims of forces far beyond their control and the entire blame is put on them (1997: 302–03).

The politics of identity is rooted in the social aspirations of the ethnic groups of the region. It is being pursued in the form of demands for autonomy, protection and includes many other issues. At the same time, political identity is such a sensitive issue and, at the level of the social life of these ethnic groups, it is intense. The issue is also very pervasive and every member of the group is equally affected by it. Over generations it has not only influenced the perception of the people, but also the political culture of the youth to the point that the degree of intolerance and violent behaviour among the youth population is rising. It should be noted that the collective interests of the ethnic group and the collective acceptance to pursue the political agenda subsume the youth in the political process. This is because, in many of the north-eastern societies, the youth is seen as and expected to perform the role of vanguards.

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The Youth with Disability There is another section of the youth which deserves special mention, namely, the youth falling under the category of Persons with Disability (PWDs). Information on this category of youth is limited and it is difficult to provide any hard data. At the state level, the report on a sample survey on disability in Meghalaya is available. Based on this report, I present the specific problems of the youth with disability. According to the report, the total number of PWDs in the state of Meghalaya is 2,123, and of this, 1,111 are male and 1,012 are female. Out of the total, 656 (31%) are in the age-group of 16–30 years— 376 male and 280 female. The report showed that majority of them were born with disability and others became disabled in the later stages of their lives. Problems of this particular category of youth are many: (a) very low access to education, (b) very low employment opportunities, particularly for those in the rural areas, (c) very low access to health care facilities and support; and (d) their families have little knowledge and skills to care for them (Bethany 2007). There are many case histories on PWDs and the challenges they encounter throughout their lives and Case 2 is but one illustration. With regard to the support for PWDs, the report cited that there are only about a dozen NGOs offer services to such persons and only two organisations are provide community-based rehabilitation programmes. Most parts of the state are without any support and the vulnerability Case 2: Not Born but Made Bahbah (a kinship term used in addressing the eldest male of the family among the Khasi-Jaintia society) is 20 years old and suffers from severe mental retardation. His father separated from his mother when Bahbah was still a child. His mother is a petty betel-nut seller and, with the meagre income she earns, she supports the family. When Bahbah was 3 years old (that is, in 1987), he had fits and fever; he was taken to hospital for treatment and medication only in 1991. From 1992 onwards his condition deteriorated and it is very difficult for him to be on his own. His mother cannot provide constant care and attention since she has to work and earn to meet two square meals a day. During the day he is left on his own and only in the evenings the mother is able to attend to his needs.

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of PWDs increases with every passing day. The state government has been addressing the varied problems of PWDs by implementing various schemes through the department of social welfare and NGOs. At the level of the society, families, or villages they find it difficult to support, as they have neither the infrastructure nor the skills for taking care of such persons.

Summary Based on the foregoing analysis a few points can be summarised. There are two ways of understanding the definition of youth: (i) the rational-legal definition of the nation-state and (ii) the social definition of the society. The former is based on the age counted from the date of birth of persons and the latter is based on the generational principle. These two definitions may or may not complement each other. On the problems of the youth, the public discourse focuses on two points: (i) sympathising with the youth on some problems and (ii) labelling the youth as the problem. The academic discourse tries to understand the problems of the youth by highlighting various factors that impact on the lives of the youth. There is a difference between the public discourse and the academic discourse. Both these discourses highlight that the youth of the region are facing varied problems. Irrespective of the nature of the discourse, the problems of the youth emanate both from the structure of the society and from the process of social transformation.

Acknowledgements The author is grateful to Professors V. Xaxa, C.L. Imchen, N. Jayaram, and Dr. D.V. Kumar for their comments and suggestions.

References Aier, Lanu I. 1995. ‘The Naga youth problems’, in A.C. Sinha (ed.): Youth movement in North-East India (70–85). New Delhi: Har-Anand Publications. Aurora, G.S. 1995. ‘Social problems of youth in the North-East India’, in A.C. Sinha (ed.): Youth movement in North-East India (15–29). New Delhi: Har-Anand Publications.

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Baruah, Sanjib. 2005. Durable disorder: Understanding the politics of North-East India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Bethany. 2007. Sample survey on status of disability in Meghalaya. Shillong: Bethany. Das, D.C. 2006. ‘Youth unrest in Bodo society’, in Sheila Bora and S.D. Goswami (eds.): Youth at the crossroads: A study of North-East India (209–20). Guwahati: DVS Publishers. Dutta, P.C. 2005. ‘Problems of ethnicity and security in North-East India’, in S.K. Agnihotri and B. Dutta Ray (eds.): Perspectives of security and development in North-East India (97–123). New Delhi: Concept Publishing House. Gassah, L.S. 1995. ‘Youth problems in the border areas of Jaintia Hills’, in A.C. Sinha (ed.): Youth movement in North-East India (118–23). New Delhi: Har-Anand Publications. Hubbard, Jeffrey C.; Melvin. L DeFleur and Lois. B. DeFleur. 1975. ‘Mass media influences on public conceptions of social problems’, Social problems, 23 (1): 22–34. Kapmawia, T.C. 1995. ‘Youth problems of Mizoram’, in A.C. Sinha (ed.): Youth movement in North-East India (101–06). New Delhi: Har-Anand Publications. Karna, M.N. 1999. ‘Language, region and national identity’, Sociological bulletin, 48 (1 and 2): 75–96. Khaund, A.H. 1995. ‘Some influencing factors that deviate children and cause problem’, in A.C. Sinha (ed.): Youth movement in North-East India (49–60). New Delhi: Har-Anand Publications. Kumar, Nikhlesh. 2005. ‘Identity politics in the hill tribal communities in the NorthEastern region’, Sociological bulletin, 54 (2): 195–217. Marak, C.R. 2006. ‘Youth unrest in Garo Hills’, in Sheila Bora and S.D. Goswami (eds.): Youth at the crossroads: A study of North-East India (150–64). Guwahati: DVS Publishers. Mawthoh, J. 2006. ‘Constraints and problems of internally displaced persons: A study of the plight of the Khasi-Pnar of Assam’, in Sheila Bora and S.D. Goswami (eds.): Youth at the crossroads: A study of North-East India (144–49). Guwahati: DVS Publishers. Ministry of Youth and Sport Affairs, Government of India. 2003. The national youth policy. New Delhi: Government of India. Misra, U. 2006. ‘Youth issues in North-East India: Problems and prospects’, in Sheila Bora and S.D. Goswami (eds.): Youth at the crossroads: A study of North-East India (3–8). Guwahati: DVS Publishers. Patton, Anthony. 1995. ‘The agony of the Naga youth’, in A.C. Sinha (ed.): Youth movement in North-East India (61–69). New Delhi: Har-Anand Publications. Riba, M. 2006. ‘The re-thinking of context: Youth dormitories in Wancho villages’, in Sheila Bora and S.D. Goswami (eds.): Youth at the crossroads: A study of North-East India (174–85). Guwahati: DVS Publishers. Slattery, Martin. 2006. Key ideas in sociology. London: Nelson Thornes. Sharma, Alaka. 1997. ‘The struggle of ethnic identity: The Bodo tangle’, in Proceedings of the North-East India Political Science Association: Ethnic issues at the grassroots level in the North-East India (25–31). Shillong: NEIPSA. Singh, N, Irabot. 1995. ‘Youth organisations in Manipur’, in A.C. Sinha (ed.): Youth movement in North-East India (110–13). New Delhi: Har-Anand Publications. Singh, M, Amarjeet. 2002. A sociological study of educated unemployed youth of Imphal East and West districts of Manipur (Unpublished PhD theses). Shillong: North-Eastern Hill University.

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Tado, P. 2006. ‘Youth unrest in North-East India: With special reference to Arunachal Pradesh’, in Sheila Bora and S.D. Goswami (eds.): Youth at the crossroads: A study of North-East India (165–73). Guwahati: DVS Publishers. Thomas, Jerry. 1997. ‘Youth work in North-East India’, The administrator, 42 (3): 301–14. Wosley, Peter. 1970. Introducing sociology. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books. Zathang, V. 1995. ‘Youth organisations and movements in Mizoram’, in A.C. Sinha (ed.): Youth movement in North-East India (92–100). New Delhi: Har-Anand Publications.

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13 Youth in Techno Global World: Predicaments and Choices Rajesh Gill

T

he criticality of the theme of this paper is evident from the fact that it focuses upon youth, primarily a transitional stage in lifecycle, under impact of globalisation, again a transitional phase, in transitional societies. It is for this reason that it has not been easy to formulate an argument on this theme. However, this challenge made me scan through diverse writings on the subject and I could lay my hands on some very interesting and revealing literature, which, apart from enlightening me on the contemporary challenges haunting the youth of today, also offered valuable conceptual tools to handle the subject with a greater clarity. In this paper, I shall be building upon the following argument. Globalisation has served on a platter a whole lot of choices to the people, in terms of career opportunities, educational options, accessories, consumer items, etc., greener pastures, to be precise; yet, the capabilities to exercise choices remain extremely skewed among the youth. Globalisation, on the one hand, has substantially expanded the horizons of the youth in terms of a craving for a western lifestyle, consumerist culture, and an eagerness to put everything at stake to reach out to the world; while, on the other, the enhanced choices thrown open by global world have left the youth baffled, often resulting in a wide cleavage between those capable to sail through the strides and those finding themselves incapable of exercising these choices due to physical, material, cultural, and political barriers.

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On scanning the literature on the subject one finds that, although the interface between globalisation and youth has been theorised quite methodically, with a rich conceptual apparatus to address the issue, yet only a part of these conceptual tools are fit to explain the predicaments of youth in the non-western societies. Being a highly differentiated population segment, its engagement with globalisation is bound to get mediated by the territorial, cultural, economic, and political identities of the young people, as experience has already shown, to whom globalisation manifests through qualitatively different encounters. Finally, I would like to argue that these differentiations notwithstanding, the youth in transitional societies aspires for greener pastures in the globalised world, though what these greener pastures mean to them may again be very different.

Youth as a Distinct Population Segment Deliberately, I have not used the word ‘group’ for youth, because by no stretch of imagination can it be called a group, in view of the immense diversity and heterogeneity lying within in terms of biography, access, skills, gender, and competence to grab the opportunities thrown by globalised world. As a sociologist, I take ‘youth’ as a sociological, rather than as a biological concept. The question is: why must the youth be studied as a distinct category? The answer comes in the form of interesting conceptualisations offered by philosophers and scholars. For instance, youth has been conceived as ‘the age of natural inebriation without the need of intoxicants’ which made Plato conceptualise it as ‘spiritual drunkenness’ (quoted in Hall 1904: 74–75). Countering the biological and scientific approaches, the social constructionist approach views youth in terms of ‘everyday social practice’, perpetually in the process of change, as the young keep making sense of the world in everyday life. Conventional approaches conceptualised youth in terms of ‘youth subculture’, characterised by deviant and non-conformist attitudes (Gordon 1947). Youth has been projected full of turmoil in the ‘storm and stress’ model of C. Griffin (1993) and that of ‘moral panics’ of J. Springhall (1998), who treats youth as a social group with a patterned history, with a great anxiety out of its engagement with popular culture and adult fears of corruption. The state of ‘moral panics’ evolves out of the disjuncture

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between reactions to social or cultural phenomena appearing out of proportion to the actual threat posed. The concept of ‘subculture’ is important in understanding the social lives of young people. In simple terms, a subculture can be seen as a group within a group. The social group frequently referred to as ‘youth’ has thrown up many subgroups over the years which come to be regarded as subcultures. Over time, these subcultures acquire names and identities such as teddy boys, skinheads, punks, and so on (Kehily 2007). However, recent postmodernist approaches to youth culture have rejected subculture theories. Instead, these argue that, with globalisation and commercialisation, youth have been mainstreamed, paving way to global and fluid youth formations, called ‘club cultures’ based on media and niche marketing of dance music as a youth culture for all (Redhead 1997). Instead, it is argued that we are all being mainstreamed now with an increased commodification and commercialisation of all aspects of social life closing down the separate space occupied by the youth in conventional societies. S. Thornton (1995), in a complementary approach to S. Redhead’s, suggests that, through engagement with different styles of dance music, young people define themselves in relation to their peers. Drawing on the work of Pierre Bourdieu (1984), Thornton develops the idea of ‘subculture capital’ to analyse the forms of taste and distinction that characterise the club scene. Later works have rejected the concept of subculture, trying to replace it with new terms such as ‘scenes’, ‘tribes’, and ‘neo-tribes’ (Maffesoli 1995). Recent studies of youth formations, however, emphasise that definitions of subculture cannot be fixed and, like other sociological concepts, are subject to change and redefinition. However, youth in transitional societies has to be understood in the light of many variations within this segment, making it impossible to treat it in terms of either youth subculture as a homogenous reality. While youth in such societies tends to be very actively engaged with the popular culture, this engagement varies substantially on the basis of a highly differentiated, rather an unequal access to the channels connecting the young people to the globalised world. For instance, the nature of the encounter these young people in transitional societies, namely, India, have with globalisation tends to vary substantially, depending upon whether they are from (a) rural or urban background, (b) metropolitan or small cities, (c) middle class, poor, or rich households, (d) English-speaking/westernised or vernacular/localised linguistic groups, and (e) a part of techno savvy,

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globally connected virtual communities or marginalised entities, completely strangers to the global mainstream. In fact, this reality makes an understanding of the youth extremely difficult because the points of reference in each of these cases are extremely divergent, the choices available to each one of them highly varied, and the ways in which they transform their encounters with globalised world into an opportunity, being extremely diverse. Yes, one thing that is uniformly shared by the youth in a transitional society, stuck by the glare of globalisation, primarily understood by them as carrying greater choices, more money, multiple alternatives, freedom from shackles of tradition, etc., is that all of them are looking for greener pastures. However, it is an altogether different question as to what these greener pastures mean to these different segments within the youth. For some, these may be closer, while for others, far from home. For some, these are achievable with a greater ease, given a better economic, cultural and political standing apart from the parental support, while for others, it may be a lone battle. In the context of India, for example, a young boy or a girl born in a poor family in a remote backward village may cherish the dream of moving to a city, as the ultimate destination, while for the other with greater fortune, the cherished destination may be in Australia or USA. The fact remains that globalisation has definitely tempted the young, rich and poor, rural and urban, illiterate and literate, equally, to make choices and liberate themselves from traditional identities and create new individualised identities. It is on this premise that I develop my arguments in the following discussion.

Predicaments Faced by Youth in the Techno Global World The Information and Communication Technology (ICT) has revolutionised the societies in a major way, with a special impact upon the social communications, resulting in altogether novel kinds of interactive situations. As with all new technologies in the past, Internet has been invested with utopian hopes for a radically new communicative age as well as dystopic warnings of an electronic anomic ‘lonely crowd’ (Ray 2007). In the most captive depiction of the emergent impersonalised society by Georg Simmel, ‘stranger’ is a person who is ‘not passing through’ but ‘comes today and stays tomorrow’ within a particular spatial

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group but without belonging or rootedness. The stranger is someone who is potentially in transit but within a group and who confronts the dispositions of the group with an ‘objective attitude’ of both remoteness and nearness. Elaborating the invasion of money in contemporary city life, Simmel writes ‘Money, with all its colorlessness and indifference, becomes the common denominator of all values; irreparably it hollows out the core of things, their individuality, their specific value and their comparability’ (Simmel 1950: 414). These relations become even more apparent with the Internet user, who is a stranger, both spatially distant and also near through a combination of distance and proximity characteristic of global sociality, where space is both intimacy and the blasé attitude of detachment that, for Simmel, epitomised life in the modern metropolis. Internet intensifies this process since virtual communities offer windows for multiple selves, a ‘distributed self ’ that exists in many worlds and plays many roles at the same time (Turkle 1999). It is in this manner that the ICT has made space, especially the social space, totally different in its operation. Socially organised spaces characteristic of the conventional societies are gone and in their place have come telecommunicating, tele-shopping, e-shopping, computer dating, electronic job markets, automatic teller machines, and desktop publishing, mediating between local and the global. This raises the question, has space lost its meaning altogether? Do social relations today exist independent of organised social space? The answer to these questions is not that simple, especially in the context of societies like India, where one finds both the pre-industrial and the post-industrial realities co-existing. One would easily find here people surviving with their ‘distributed self ’ as well as those with their ‘intact selves’, well placed in the conventional set-up. It is established by now that globalisation means different things to different people. While the process has been hailed by some for making ‘sky as the limit’, the rise of individualism, secularisation of tradition and culture, or, to be more specific, de-traditionalisation, unlimited choices in life, and so on, it has, at the same time, invited severe protests, making a case for anti-globalisation. In Globalisation from Below, J. Brecher et al. (2000) propose building a world structured by human values other than greed and domination, in order to get rid of the extreme disparities caused by a consumerist culture. Apart from the economic disparities between West and the rest and the North and the South, and the global-local cultural conflict, terrorism, fanaticism, etc., generally projected as the

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consequences of globalisation, I consider the following economic and cultural challenges to be posing a still greater crisis, especially for the young people: (i) great uncertainties accompanying opportunities in globalised world, (ii) vicious circle of poverty dominating over technology and communication, (iii) a loss of community, coupled with the question, can virtual commu-nities replace the traditional community?, and (iv) multiplicity of choices to all, with unequal capacities to exercise these choices.

All these issues are interconnected and need to be understood simultaneously. Very interesting literature produced by Ulrich Beck (1992), Zygmunt Bauman (2001) and Anthony Giddens (1991) underlines the difference globalisation has made for an individual whose biography has to be self created by himself or herself and has to be self reflexive. Individuation means that each person’s biography is removed from given determinations and placed in his or her hands, open and dependent on decisions. The proportion of life opportunities which are fundamentally closed to decision making is decreasing and the proportion of the biography which is open and must be constructed personally is increasing. Individualisation of life situations and processes thus means that biographies become self reflexive; socially prescribed biography is transformed into biography that is self produced and continues to be produced. Decisions on education, profession, job, place of residence, spouse, number of children and so forth, with all the secondary decisions implied, no longer can be, they must be made. . . . . . . In the individualised society the individual must learn, on pain of permanent disadvantage, to conceive of himself or herself as the centre of action, as the planning office with respect to his/her own biography, abilities, orientations, relationships and so on (Beck 1992: 135).

As individuals, thus, the young men and women cannot afford to simply drift along in life, failing to identify and realise opportunities, putting themselves and those dependent to disadvantage. Beck calls it the “Risk Society” (ibid.), while Bauman and K. Tester point to the dangers of ‘social deskilling’ (2001: 114), signifying the loss of social support in decision making. Giddens moves on to argue that each one of us is responsible for our own ‘reflexive project of self ’ (1991: 244), in the process of formation of self-identity. Contemporary culture, therefore,

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increasingly demands an active building of self-identity. Whereas in the past this may have been part of the life phase understood as adolescence, increasingly it is a demand also made of adults. In a flexible and uncertain employment market, those without secure resources are expected to engage in lifelong learning, re-skilling and re-invention of self (Kehily 2007). In the process of individualisation, there is a distancing of the individual from tradition, apart from local and familial ties, that is, detraditionalisation (Heelas et al. 1996), resulting in a loss of traditional security. To use it in the present context of youth, it is meaningful to argue that while the ‘normal biographies’ defined by convention and birth continue to persist the young would create their ‘choice biographies’, which are entirely determined by them. Tariq Modood, a prominent commentator on South Asian communities in the United Kingdom, writes, Compared to their elders, the young are less likely to speak to family members in a South Asian language, or to regularly attend a place of worship, or to have an arranged marriage. Yet they do not cease to identify with their ethnic or racial or religious group, though they may redefine what that group is, say, from Pakistani to Muslim. . . . For identity has moved on from a time when it was largely unconscious and taken for granted . . . it is now more likely to be based on conscious and public projections. . . . Shaped through intellectual, cultural and political debates, such identities are fluid and susceptible to change with the political climate. However, to think of them as weak is to overlook the pride with which they may be asserted . . . and their capacity to generate community activism and political campaigns (Modood 2005: 69).

These interpretations of the youth in a globalised world trace the transformation from identity as a thing to identification as a process. Thus, surrounded by intense competition and uncertainties, the young have to make choices, with a constant pressure to make the right kind of choices, owning the responsibility for their self-created identities. This is bound to make youth in globalised world an extremely stressful and challenging stage of life, in contrast to the ‘taken for granted’ and ‘settled’ self-identity, lying out there. Thus, choice biography refers to a life pattern in which much more appears to be within the orbit of individual determination: things happen because we make them happen and if we do not exert agency, they may not happen at all.

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Critics of globalisation have often conceptualised the process antihuman and defaced due to the uneven benefits it is likely to spread within societies. No doubt, people in India talk on mobile phones, use Japanese cameras, drive Korean cars, drink foreign scotch, eat American pizza, and communicate through Internet. Many Indian call centres sell their services to American companies. But they are very few! What about the million who are totally faceless, dying out of starvation, who sell their blood and body for a day’s meal, live in slum pockets, and are victims of filth, illiteracy, and environmental hazards. To them, globalisation has no face. Protests against globalisation begin from the dilemma of rising expectations followed by rising frustrations. For today’s young men and women, globalisation has left a global economy that is out of control and is certainly against any political vision of a just world. We are consuming more than we are producing. And what we are producing are predominantly financial assets, that is, bubbles as we have seen in the Asia crisis and now in the global meltdown. When the bubble bursts, liabilities remain and a crisis starts (Dasgupta and Kiely 2006). The Third World countries have been destabilised as a consequence of the debt burden, of the collapse of national currencies, often resulting in the outbreak of social strife, ethnic conflict, and civil war. Today, the trans-national corporations own 50 per cent share of the world’s largest economic sales units. The giant companies entirely or partly control national economies all over the globe. We inhabit a global theatre of the absurd, a winner-takes-all world in which the wealthiest billionaires own as much as approximately half of the world population (Pieterse 2004). The greatest challenge facing the youth today as a result of anti human and neo liberal globalisation, therefore, lies in the fact that 40 per cent of the world’s economically active population is subjected to unemployment and underemployment. The conventional project of liberation attached as a corollary of globalisation is already under scanner. Has globalisation brought young people a new freedom to act or does it portend an uninvited, unwanted, and cruel fate for the deprived majorities? For, the clash continues between fear, anxiety, and uncertainty for the dejected majority, and freedom, comfort, and happiness for the few elites (Dasgupta 2004). Viewed thus, youth confront a situation where they are supposed to turn difficulties into opportunities, using their ‘head’ instead of ‘heart’,

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reacting less to emotional responses and more to money economy, flaunting a ‘don’t care’ attitude. In short, what one generates is a commercial interaction not only with professional rivals and colleagues, but even within family and peers. This commercialisation geared by a strong profit motive is more than visible in the health sector, with the slogan ‘Millions for Viagra, Pennies for Diseases of the Poor’. Multinational companies sell Viagra across the world because they save people addicted to sexual pleasure. Many people in the Third World depend on selling sex to satisfy pangs of absolute hunger. Western manufacturers sell their branded products by persuasive and misleading advertising and promotions, causing the poor to divert money away from essential items to expensive patented and branded items. Following observations noted in a WHO (World Health Organisation) Report underlines the predicament: Major depression is now the leading cause of disability globally and ranks 4th in ten leading causes of global burden of disease. . . . Globally, 70  million people suffer from alcohol dependence. About 50 million have epilepsy, another 24 million have schizophrenia. . . . One million people commit suicide every year while between ten to twenty million of them attempt it. Rare is the family that will be free from an encounter with mental disorders (WHO 2001: 1–45).

The more technology advances towards a virtual world the more touch and emotional health becomes important. Lesson of history is that the more affluent we become, the more stressed and emotionally vulnerable we feel. The virtual reality thus created through media leads to a crisis involving an identity fragmentation. Bauman has argued that the ethical paradox of the post-modern condition is that it ‘restores to agents the fullness of moral choice and responsibility while simultaneously depriving them of the comfort that modern self confidence once promised’ (1992: xxii). The more we crave belonging, the less satisfaction belonging provides. So, as western societies become increasingly secular, there is also a rise in the number of people converting to orthodox religions and a proliferation of new forms of belief that may or may not be religious, but which do involve a search for meaning. The term ‘belief without belonging’ has been coined by the British sociologist Grace Davie (1994) to capture the paradoxical process through which religious institutions lose their grip at the level of the social, while faith continues to be a feature of individuals’ identities. For minority ethnic

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and religious groupings, the same processes are in operation, yet ‘choice’ is complicated by ongoing practices of discrimination. Loss of community and rise of mass society is another major challenge posed by globalisation to the young people in transitional societies. George Ritzer (2000) addresses this issue in terms of ‘McDonaldisation’, with its dehumanising effects, resulting into loss of human interaction and loss of community. In view of the virtual society taking shape as a consequence of the IT revolution, new bases for social relationships have come up. Ferdinand Tönnies, Georg Simmel, Louis Wirth, Karl Marx, Max Weber, and Emile Durkheim had concluded long back that, as a society became more global, it would have lesser quantity and quality of community, best conceptualised by Simmel (1950) who noted that the individual is never more lost than when he or she is in the metropolitan crowd. Ritzer’s critique of the globalisation is a very interesting disposition equating the process with ‘globalisation of nothing’ (2003). He equates the process of globalisation with the rise in ‘non-places’, ‘non-persons’, and ‘non-things’, by which he means places, persons, and things sans the uniqueness, specificity, and substance. What dominates is characterised by a huge similarity that can be easily and effortlessly imitated into multiple images, like the credit cards, malls, food chains, the smiling receptionists, and so on. The irony is that there is a longing, especially among the youth, for these non-things and non-places, while the possession of ‘something’ coupled by an inability to access the former results into an acute deprivation.

Indian Youth and the Dilemma of Globalisation The task has become easier having understood the impulsive young people surrounded by a cruel competition and multiplicity of choices, with a pressure to make right kind of choices and without the protective cover of community and familial ties. Let us analyse as to how the young people in transitional societies like India react to such a globalised world. I would once again begin by reiterating that all these processes of change in the wake of globalisation tend to affect different sections among youth quite differently. In a society like India, the loss of community may not be experienced by rich and poor, or rural and urban youth in a similar manner. Similarly, de-traditionalisation and secularisation

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would not affect different categories of young people uniformly. Both ascribed and achieved identities co-exist for the individual, with varying relevance in different situation. In case of the rural, the poor and not so westernised youth, normal biographies may continue to be operational whereas in case of the rich, the mobile and the urban youth, choice biographies may be more relevant, providing them with new identities and social relationships. Freed from the constraints of collective habit, we have no choice but to choose, although Giddens concedes that many areas of life are governed by decisions, and who takes these and how, are matters of power (1994: 76). Young people—western and non-western, rural and urban, rich and poor, literate and illiterate—have definitely been engulfed by the mass culture. Hyper-consumerism has particularly enhanced the engagement of young men and women all around the globe with the popular culture. To use Ritzer’s (2003) terminology, this has, to a large extent, brought the non things and non places to the core, while the ‘some-thing’ (denoting the unique, the local, and the peculiar) stands abandoned. This often occurs as a result of a conscious choice on the part of young people, for whom it is extremely important to be a part of the popular culture. However, the manifestation of this encounter with the popular culture is mediated through the differential access to resources. As a consequence, while a rich young guy would get into the KFC (Kentucky Fired Chicken) and spend lavishly on enjoying the chicken (himself and with his friends), a poor young man from a city slum may visit the KFC, sit there for hours, without eating anything; and both would come out declaring themselves a part of the mass culture. I feel most uncomfortable with the western theorising on the theme of ‘virtual sociality’ that is based upon the premise that social relationships based on face to face and personal interaction have been largely substituted by the de-territorialised social networks through Internet. While this may be true of the western reality, it fails to explain the scene prevailing in less developed societies where the computer literate populations comprise only a small fraction of the total population. At the turn of the millennium, more than a quarter of the American population used the World Wide Web compared with one hundredth of one per cent of the population of South Asia (Keohane and Nye 2000). Although the number of Internet users increased globally from 16 million in 1995 to 360 million by 2000, yet South Asia represents only 5 per cent of the world’s population. Its use is concentrated in the developed world

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where 97 per cent of Internet host computers are located (DiMaggio et al. 2001). Even in the case of those middle class households owning personal computers, as in India, a large number possess them just like other electronic gadgets as status symbols, to be displayed in the drawing rooms, or at the most for playing games. Of the world’s total online community 84 per cent live in developed countries and the 35 countries with lowest levels of development have around 1 per cent of the world’s online population (Norris 2001). Only 20 per cent of the world’s population have access to telephones; although access to mobile phones is expanding rapidly, illiteracy in many parts of the world is an obstacle to Internet use (Misztal 2000). Most e-commerce is within the OECD countries and between 75 and 80 per cent of e-transactions are between businesses rather than with private customers (Perrons 2004). Disparities both within and between societies at different levels of development will persist; though it is argued that these would gradually perish as societies rise on the level of development. Experience in societies like India indicates a contrary picture in that development, particularly in the garb of privatisation and liberalisation, has, instead of reducing, enhanced inequalities of all kinds. Large populations at the bottom are still struggling hard to gain access to the basic necessities such as potable water, electricity, housing, and work, thus making ICT still a prerogative of a small section of the population. Globalisation and rise of mass culture have, no doubt, led to the loss of community, in that the young individual today has to build his own identity, taking his own decisions; yet, this is not uniformly true. The process of creation of identity of the self, which is depicted by Giddens (1991) as a more or less direct consequence of individualisation, actually means altogether different things to different categories of young people. For instance, while it may be very rewarding for an urban educated middle class young person to create his own biography, given the necessary access to the globalised world, a poor low caste young man from a remote village would find it nearly impossible to get rid of his ascribed identity and create a de-traditionalised identity, given a total lack of access to the globalised world, except the tempting images of it on the television screen. Hence, the very process of identity creation and decision making varies substantially within the youth. Globalisation has multiplied the choices for the youth in one more very significant area and that is related to gender identity. While born in a particular locale, traditionally, an individual obtained a gender

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identity and the cumulative effects of such an identity with life long repercussions, in a taken-for-granted manner, with a sanctity attached to it, globalised world today offers her/him choice biographies between heterosexual and homosexual identities. What was socially impossible, illegitimate, and immoral has been granted legitimacy mainly due to globalisation and the ICT revolution. The gay and lesbian movements, which were aberrations some time back, have gained the patronage of global human rights agenda, thus gaining legitimacy. It is no longer necessary today to seek legitimacy for a same sex marriage in one’s own society, because such a practice has been institutionalised by the globally respected organisations. The conflicts thus produced between the local and global cultures are most discomforting for the young men and women of transitional societies, thus adding to the existing confusions with regard to newly conceived relationships and identities. The limited application of the theoretical formulation of choice biographies on Indian youth, particularly the rural, is evident in view of the recent spurt in cases in which the caste (khap) panchayats have issued dictates against the individual choices made by young boys and girls in marriage. The frequent cases of honour killings in northern states of India, which otherwise happen to be very progressive in terms of economic prosperity, point out that choices still remain a prerogative of not only families but communities, while the individual must bow before them. Such has been the extent of community fury against individual choices that, in some cases, married couples with or without children have been ordered to treat each other as brother and sister under the dispensation of caste panchayats. Of course, the fact remains that resilience of caste and community remains the main lifeline of such violation of human rights and free choices. Again, more than the men, it is the young girls who are killed for having exercised their choice against the community norms, giving the phenomenon a complete gender twist. Scholars writing on the virtual community in the developed societies have been emphasising the transformative effects of Internet on the face-to-face and personalised relationships. They have been preoccupied with the question as to whether the emergent virtual sociability would successfully replace the community of the yesteryears. While these anxieties are justified in the context of developed societies, rightly called ‘wired societies’, there is another side to the story that needs to be explored. In countries like India, where the ICT revolution has raised the level of expectations of the young, more importantly of those on

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the margins of society, by whom I mean not only those who are poor, illiterate, and deprived, but even those with a low self esteem due to low IQ, unacceptable physical appearance, lack of ability for effective presentation, and so on, Internet has been performing another interesting function. In the garb of anonymity granted by the virtual identity created on Internet for a particular purpose, it has become possible for the young to hide their true identity and interact in the virtual world on the basis of fictitious identity, which gives them appreciation, compliments, sensual gratification, and social acceptability for which they had been starving and which could not have been possible otherwise. Internet has come as a blessing to millions of young in such transitional societies, who had been scared of socialising in person, for the fear of an outright rejection, squeezed between the constant pressures of outstanding performance, on the one hand, and the perpetual incapability, on the other. By presenting a false bio-data, pasting somebody else’s picture, and creating a virtual identity, these young people can be very often seen glued to computers, having successfully distanced themselves both physically and socially from the immediate, but a hostile social and physical reality. *** To conclude, while globalisation has intensely tempted the youth towards greener pastures, these destinations vary considerably due to the differential competence, both ascribed and achieved, among young men and women to grab the opportunities. Next, though globalisation has accelerated the process of individualisation, providing the young with huge choices in life, the exercise of choice is marked by existential limitations in the capacities of young people, often resulting in anxieties over the uncertainties that follow. While traditional identities continue, though having weakened, new identities have to be created by young men and women, reconciling the two, not only different but conflicting, too. Finally, as experience has shown, the patterns of reconciliation of the youth are going to be dictated to them by the culture industry. This may not, however, happen if the young men and women bring in human agency in the exercise of the enormous choices globalisation has placed before them. They may go on choosing some and rejecting others on the platter, as intelligent and thinking human beings, instead of mechanically submitting to the globalised agenda dictating not only the economic, but even their cultural, political, and personal

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preferences. The signs of human agency, especially among the youth, are clearly visible in the shape of civil society that is bulging primarily due to the strong intervention of electronic media. Persistently, though very gradually, Internet is proving to be the primary medium of communication, extremely inexpensive and fast, most suited in developing countries, and youth constitute its major beneficiary.

Acknowledgements The author is extremely grateful to the anonymous referee for her/his valuable suggestions, Prof. N. Jayaram for his feedback, and Shri Y.K. Singh for his inputs.

References Bauman, Z. 1992. Intimations of postmodernity. London: Routledge. ———. 2001. The individualized society. Cambridge: Polity Press. Bauman, Z. and K. Tester. 2001. Conversations with Zygmunt Bauman. Cambridge: Polity Press. Beck, U. 1998. World risk society. Cambridge: Polity Press. ———. 1992. Risk society: Towards a new modernity. London: Sage Publications. Bourdieu, P. 1984. Distinction: A social critique of the judgement of taste (translated by R. Nice). Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Brecher, J.; T. Costello and B. Smith (eds.). 2000. Globalisation from below. London: South End Press. Dasgupta, S. (ed.). 2004. The changing face of globalisation. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Dasgupta, Samir and Ray Kiely (eds.). 2006. Globalisation and after. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Davie, G. 1994. Religion in Britain since 1945: Believing without belonging. Oxford: Blackwell. DiMaggio, P.; E. Hargittai, W.R. Neuman and J.P. Robinson. 2001. ‘Social implications of the Internet’, Annual review of sociology, 27: 307–36. Giddens, A. 1991. Modernity and self-identity: Self and society in the late modern age. Cambridge: Polity Press. ———. 1994. ‘Living in a post-traditional society’, in U. Beck, A. Giddens and S. Lash (eds.): Reflexive modernization: Politics, tradition and aesthetics in modern social order (56–109). Oxford: Polity Press. Gordon, M. 1947. ‘The concept of the subculture and its application’, Social forces, 26 (1): 40–42. Griffin, C. 1993. Representations of youth. Cambridge: Polity Press. Hall, G.S. 1904. Adolescence: Its psychology, and its relations to physiology, anthropology, sociology, sex, crime, religion and education (Vol 2). New York: Appleton. Heelas P.; S. Lash, and P. Morris (eds.). 1996. Detraditionalization. Oxford: Blackwell.

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Kehily, M.J. (ed.). 2007. Understanding youth: Perspectives, identities and practices. London: Sage Publications. Keohane, R.O. and J.S. Nye. 2000. ‘Globalisation: What’s new? What’s not? (and so what?)’, Foreign policy, 118 (Spring): 104–19. Maffesoli, M. 1995. The time of the tribes: The decline of individualism in mass society. London: Sage Publications. Misztal, B. 2000. Informality. London: Routledge. Modood, T. 2005. ‘A defence of multiculturalism’, Sounding, 29 (March): 62–71. Norris, P. 2001. Digital divide: Civic engagement, information poverty, and the Internet worldwide. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Perrons, D. 2004. Globalisation and social change. London: Routledge. Pieterse, N. 2004. Globalisation or empire? London: Routledge. Ray, Larry. 2007. Globalisation and everyday life. New York: Routledge. Redhead, S. 1997. Subcultures to clubcultures. Oxford: Blackwell. Ritzer, G. 2000. The McDonaldization of society. Thousand Oaks: Pine Forge Press. ———. 2003. Globalisation of nothing. London: Pine Forge Press. Simmel, G. 1950/1936. ‘The metropolis and mental life’, in H.W. Kurt (ed. and translated): The sociology of Georg Simmel (17–25). New York: The Free Press. Springhall, J. 1998. Youth, popular culture and moral panics: Penny gaffs to gangsta rap. 1830– 1996. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Thornton, S. 1995. Club culture. Cambridge: Polity Press. Turkle, S. 1999. ‘Looking toward cyberspace: Beyond grounded sociology’, Contempo-rary sociology, 28 (6): 643–48. WHO (World Health Organisation). 2001. The world health report, http://www/who.int/ whr/2001/en/ (accessed on 19 November 2009).

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Index

adolescent property offenders, xxxv. See also criminal behaviour, study of African American boys, xxix Alpha Community, 24 attitudes toward sex-roles, study of accepting a given circumstance, percentage of females, 138 accepting a given circumstance, percentage of males, 136–37 choosing a given type of work, percentage of females, 139 education and female career role, 135–40 marriage and age of marital partner, 134–35 non-traditional vs traditional youngsters, 134–40 reasons to work, percentage of females, 140 subjects, 133–34 willing to let their wives work, percentage, 137 Beta Community, 24 bounded agency, xxxiii Brahmanic traditions, 40 child and childhood in sociological discourses, xxxiv–xl

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childhood, sociology of, xxii child rights, xxiv–xxv criminal behaviour, study of age factor in comparison affiliation, 62–63 assumptions, 46 category of offenders, 47 compulsive thievery, 47 condition for participation in deviant activities, 50–54 family, influence of, 54–56 friendship associations, factors behind, 49–50 group participation, influence of, 53–54 habitual vs professional, 65n3 homogeneity in conduct norms, 58–59 house-breakers, 54 intimacy of relationship, effect of, 59–60 intimate personal groups, role of, 52–53 method of study, 47–48 nature of environmental forces/ factors, 49–50 peer groups, influence of, 56–62 pressure to participate as a defence mechanism, 60–61 primary delinquency, 53

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220 criminal behaviour, study of (Contd.) primary delinquency stage, 64 priority aspect and, 48–49 secondary delinquency stage, 64 types of delinquents, 50–54 daughter discrimination, study of fertility decline and adverse sex ratio, 94–98 Mandya district, 98–106 regional disparities, 93 ‘Declaration of Geneva’, xxiv differential association structure of, 48–49 theory of, 46 emerging adulthood, xxi fertility decline and adverse sex ratio, 94–98 folk traditions of Manipur, 80–81 functionalist model of socialisation, xxii Gamma Community, 24 Gandhi, Rahul, xxi globalisation and youth, 203–4 dilemmas, 212–16 ICT revolution, impact of, 215 rise of mass culture, 214 Information and Communication Technologies (ICTs), xlvi intimate personal groups, 48 Islamic tradition, 40 Kukis, 80–82 language and youth identity, relation between, xl–xli Bangalore students, English usage, 122–26 English as medium of instruction, 126–27 English as the official language, 129

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Sociology of Childhood and Youth English language, use and proficiency in, 119–25 influence of cities in promoting English, 125 Jaipur students, English usage, 122–26 Madras students, English usage, 122–25 percentage speaking different languages, 125–26, 130n4 regional languages, use of, 125–26 Mandya district abortion, practice of, 104 agricultural activity, 99–100 dowry practices, 100–102 fertility transition experienced in, 103 parental perception about sons and daughters, 106 population and economy, 98–99 sex-determination test, conduct of, 104 son preference and desire to limit the number of children, 104–6 women, rights of, 103 Manipur, study of sex preferences in Arnold’s index, 82–83 contraceptive use, effect on sex preference, 89 data collection and methodology, 82–83 district of residence, pattern of contraceptive use by, 85–86 literacy, pattern of contraceptive use by, 88 preferred sex combination of children, 85 rural and urban distribution of contraceptive use, 83–85 sex composition, pattern of contraceptive use by, 83–88 socioeconomic and residence backgrounds, pattern of contraceptive use by, 89

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index tribal communities of Manipur, 80–82 two-stage sampling design, 82 Manipuri women, xxxviii–xxxix marginalisation of children, xxv–xxvi Meiteis, 80–82 modernisation of Indian society British rule, 142–43 India as welfare state, 143–44 Naga society, 80–82 new sociology of childhood, xxvi–xxvii political role of education, 23 political socialization in India, 23 politicization in schools, study of, 25–26 “Articulate-Moderate” (HPA-MPP), 38–40 class-politics, 39 government schools, 25 home conditions of children and, 25–26, 42 “Inarticulate-Militant” (LPA-HPP), 38–40 mass-media, role of, 36–37 negative consequences, 41 non-public schools, 25–26 participatory behaviour of parents, impact of, 35–36 political awareness, 37 political orientations among boys, 30 political values, 30 sample, 26–28 school boys, political orientations of, 37 school textbooks, role of, 30–32 sources of data, 28–30 street-politics, 39 teachers and parents, influence of, 33–35 psychotropic drugs usage among youths, study, xli–xlii

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221 distribution or sale of drugs, 178 findings, 175–81 popularity of drugs, 178–80 prevalence rate, 175–77 sex-differences, 173, 180–81 study sample, 173–74 type of drugs, 177–80 vulnerable sections of society, 170–71 Salem district, prevalence of female infanticide in, 107–10 schooling system in India, 40–41. See also politicization in schools, study of sex preference among Manipuri women, xxxviii– xxxix, 80–89 village studies in South India, xxxix. See also son preference and reproductive behaviour, study of sex ratio in India, 112n1 social class on occupational aspirations, study of, xliii–xliv caste, influence of, 150–54 findings, 156–57 objective and hypotheses of study, 145 ranking of religion and sex, 146–47 religion, influence of, 147–50 sample for study, 145 sex, influence of, 154–56 social background characteristics of respondents, 147 social class of respondents, 145–46 statistical analysis, 156–57 social constructionism, xxvii–xxviii social construction of childhood, xxiii socialisation theory, xxii socio-economic conditions and education aspiration, study of

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222 academic performance, defined, 7 in Ahmedabad, 16, 19n4, 20n5 aspiration to college graduation, 8–9 data collection, 5–6 educational aspiration, defined, 7–8 education as a temporary activity, 9 of female students, 10 low socio-economic status vs high socio-economic status, 10–11 measurement of variables, 6–7 path coefficient for relationship between intelligence and college plans, 17–18, 19n3 percentage distribution with high level of academic performance, 12–13 percentages of S.S.C. students, 10–13 post-high school educational aspirations, 7–8, 15 purposes of study, 4–5 results and discussion, 7–18 sample, 5 social class differences in educational aspirations, 14 socio-economic status, defined, 6 statistical procedures, 5 vocational or technical school training, 9 Wisconsin study, 16–18, 21n9 son preference and reproductive behaviour, study of among Christian, 71–72 among Hindus, 69–70 among Muslims, 71 among Sikhs, 73–74 background, 67–68 findings, 69–74 gender bias and ‘get rid of girls’, xxxix ‘higher’ son preference (HSP) category, 69–74

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Sociology of Childhood and Youth hypotheses, 67–68 ‘lower’ son preference (LSP) category, 69–74 in Manipur. See Manipur, study of sex preferences in no preference for son (NSP), 69–74 in patriarchal societies, 79 perception of sex-roles, xlii–xliii policy implications, 74–75 sample, 69 site of study, 68–69 Son Preference Scale, 69, 76n3 structured individualisation, xxxiii techno global world, predicaments of youth in, 206–12, xlv–xlvi ICT revolution and, 215 transformative effects of Internet, 215 transition, notion of, xxxiv tribes of Manipur, 80–82 UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC), xxiv–xxv young and youth as a distinct population segment, 204–6 identification with national life, xliv–xlv problems in North-East India, xlv, 185–200 relation between language and youth identity, xl–xli, 119–27, 129 social class and occupational aspirations of college students, xliii–xliv, 145–57 in sociological discourses, xl–xlvi studies of, xxx–xxxiv in techno global world, xlv–xlvi, 206–212

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index use of psychotropic drugs among, xli–xlii, 170–81 young and youth identification with national life, study of, xliv–xlv analysis, 163 economic improvement, perceptions of, 164–65 India, as a choice for livelihood, 167–68 interpretation of emigration, 163 migration and emigration impulse, 160–61 negative valuation of emigration, 164 occupational background, 166–67 reference groups, 165–66 youth, sociology of, xxii youth of North-East India, problems of academic discourse on, 189–200 data sources, 185

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223 disability issues, 199–200 education level and unemployment issues, 189–92 family as a factor for problems, 192–95 importance of Nokpante, 196 North-East region, background, 186 political consciousness and protest movements, 197–98 public discourse on, 188–89 socialisation, issues related to, 195–97 youth, definition of, 186–87 youth dormitory, 195–96

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About the Editor and Contributors

The Editor Bula Bhadra is Professor at the Department of Sociology, University of Calcutta, where she has been a faculty for last 24 years. She did her MA and PhD in sociology from McMaster University, Canada. Her most significant pathbreaking contribution is Materialist Orientalism: Marx, ‘Asiatic Mode of Production and India.  She has extensively written in the area of Sociology of Gender in both vernacular and English. Her forthcoming book is on Bengali feminist writer Ashapurna Devi entitled Ashapurnar Tritoy: Ekti Naribadi Samajtattik Parjalochana (Ashapurna’s Triology: A Feminist Sociological Analysis. Lately, she is engaged in researches on sociology of children and childhood in India. At the moment she is engaged in a major research project of UGC on ‘The Impact of New Technologies in Children’s Everyday Lives’. She has been a visiting faculty in India and abroad.  

The Contributors Suraj Bandyopadhyay is from Indian Statistical Institute, Calcutta. N. Minita Devi is from Thambal Marik College, Mayai Lambi, Manipur. Rehana Ghadially is from Indian Institute of Technology, Mumbai. Rajesh Gill is Professor, Department of Sociology, Pun jab University, Chandigarh.

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Ashesh Das Gupta is Professor of Sociology at Patna University. Neelambar Hatti is Professor Emeritus, Department of Economic History, Lund University, Sweden. Khadlid Ahmed Kazi is from Indian Institute of Technology, Mumbai. M.Z. Khan is from Institute of Criminology & Forensic sciences, New Delhi. L. Ladusingh is Reader, Lecturer, International Institute for Population Sciences, Deonar, Mumbai. A.K. Nongkynrih is Associate Professor, Department of Sociology, North-Eastern Hill University, Shillong. Tara Patel is from Gujarat University. Aileen D. Ross is from McGill University, Canada. T.V. Sekher is Associate Professor, International Institute for Population Sciences, Deonar, Mumbai. William H. Sewell is from University of Wisconsin. Vimal P. Shah is from Gujarat University. K.S. Shukla is from Institute of Criminology and Forensic Science, New Delhi. D.R. Singh is from Indian Institute of Public Administration, New Delhi. Kh. Jitenkumar Singh is Research Officer, RCH Project, International Institute for Population Sciences, Deonar, Mumbai. Ehsanul Haq Not known Narsi Patel Not known Prabha Unnithan is from University of Nebraska (the United States of America). Ambarao T. Uplaonkar is Research Scholar, Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Mumbai.

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Appendix of Sources

All articles and chapters have been reproduced exactly as they were first published. All cross-references can be found in the original source of publication. Grateful acknowledgement is made to the following sources for permission to reproduce material for this volume. 1. “Social Class and Educational Aspirations in an Indian Metropolis,” Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

Vol. 20, No. 2 (March), 1971: 113–133.

2. “Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations: A Sociological Analysis,” Ehsanul Haq

Vol. 32, No. 1 (March), 1983: 35–59.

3. “Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association,” K.S. Shukla

Vol. 25, No. 1 (March), 1976: 74–94.

4. “Culture and Fertility: Son Preference and Reproductive Behaviour,” Ashesh Das Gupta

Vol. 52, No. 2 (September), 2003: 186–197.

5. “Sex Preference and Contraceptive Use in Manipur,” L. Ladusingh, N. Minita Devi and Kh. Jitenkumar Singh

Vol. 55, No. 1 (January–April), 2006: 67–77.

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6. “Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias: Evidence from Two Village Studies in South India,” T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

Vol. 59, No. 1 (January–April), 2010: 111–133.

7. “The Attitudes to English and Use of It by Students of Three Different Mother Tongues: Hindi, Kannada and Tamil,” Aileen D. Ross and Suraj Bandyopadhyay

Vol. 23, No. 2 (September), 1974: 224–235.

8. “Perception of the Female Role by Indian College Students,” Khadlid Ahmed Kazi and Rehana Ghadially

Vol. 28, No. 1&2 (March and September), 1979: 59–70.

9. “Social Class and Occupational Aspirations of College Students,” Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

Vol. 34, No. 1&2 (March and September), 1985: 49–68.

10. “Youth Aspirations vis-a-vis National Development: Participate or Emigrate?” Narsi Patel

Vol. 34, No. 1&2 (March and September), 1985: 39–48.

11. “The Use of Psychotropic Drugs Among College Youth in India: An Appraisal,” Prabha Unnithan, D.R. Singh and M.Z. Khan

Vol. 29, No. 2 (September), 1980: 171–186.

12. “Problems of the Youth of North-East India: A Sociological Inquiry,” A.K. Nongkynrih

Vol. 58, No. 3 (September–December), 2009: 367–382.

13. “Youth in Techno Global World: Predicaments and Choices,” Rajesh Gill

Vol. 61, No.1 (January–April), 2012: 129–143.

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Sociology of Health

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Readings in Indian Sociology Series Editor: Ishwar Modi Titles and Editors of the Volumes Volume 1 Towards Sociology of Dalits Editor: Paramjit S. Judge Volume 2 Sociological Probings in Rural Society Editor: K.L. Sharma Volume 3 Sociology of Childhood and Youth Editor: Bula Bhadra Volume 4 Sociology of Health Editor: Madhu Nagla Volume 5 Contributions to Sociological Theory Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava Volume 6 Sociology of Science and Technology in India Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik Volume 7 Sociology of Environment Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury Volume 8 Political Sociology of India Editor: Anand Kumar Volume 9 Culture and Society Editor: Susan Visvanathan Volume 10 Pioneers of Sociology in India Editor: Ishwar Modi

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READINGS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY VOLUME 4

Sociology of Health

Edited by Madhu Nagla

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Copyright © Indian Sociological Society, 2013 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. First published in 2013 by Sage Publications India Pvt Ltd B 1/I 1, Mohan Cooperative Industrial Area Mathura Road, New Delhi 110 044, India www.sagepub.in Sage Publications Inc 2455 Teller Road Thousand Oaks, California 91320, USA

Indian Sociological Society Institute of Social Sciences 8 Nelson Mandela Road Vasant Kunj New Delhi 110 070

Sage Publications Ltd 1 Oliver’s Yard 55 City Road London EC1Y 1SP United Kingdom Sage Publications Asia-Pacific Pte Ltd 3 Church Street #10-04 Samsung Hub Singapore 049483 Published by Vivek Mehra for SAGE Publications India Pvt Ltd, typeset in 10.5/12.5 Adobe Garamond Pro by Boson ITech Pvt. Ltd., Kolkata and printed at Saurabh Printers Pvt. Ltd, New Delhi. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available

ISBN: 978-81-321-1384-3 (PB) The SAGE Team: Shambhu Sahu, Sushant Nailwal, Thomas Mathew, Asish Sahu, Vijaya Ramachandran and Dally Verghese Disclaimer: This volume largely comprises pre-published material which has been presented in its original form. The publisher shall not be responsible for any discrepancies in language or content in this volume.

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Dedicated to my Teacher Professor Yogendra Singh

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Thank you for choosing a SAGE product! If you have any comment, observation or feedback, I would like to personally hear from you. Please write to me at [email protected] —Vivek Mehra, Managing Director and CEO, SAGE Publications India Pvt Ltd, New Delhi

Bulk Sales SAGE India offers special discounts for purchase of books in bulk. We also make available special imprints and excerpts from our books on demand. For orders and enquiries, write to us at Marketing Department SAGE Publications India Pvt Ltd B1/I-1, Mohan Cooperative Industrial Area Mathura Road, Post Bag 7 New Delhi 110044, India E-mail us at [email protected] Get to know more about SAGE, be invited to SAGE events, get on our mailing list. Write today to [email protected]

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Contents

List of Tables ix List of Figures xi Series Note xiii Foreword by Yogendera Singh xvii Preface and Acknowledgements xix Introduction by Madhu Nagla xxi

1. Sociological Inroads into Medicine: A Tribute to Aneeta A. Minocha (1943–2007) 1 Ruby Bhardwaj 2. Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside—Medical Lore on Food and Health in Village Tamil Nadu 13 V. Sujatha 3. State Sponsored Health Care in Rural Uttar Pradesh: Grassroots Encounters of a Survey Researcher 34 Rajiv Balakrishnan 4. Gram Panchayat and Health Care Delivery in Himachal Pradesh 43 Sthitapragyan Ray 5. Occupational Attitudes of Physicians 60 A. Ramanamma and Usha Bambawale 6. The System of Hope: The Constitution of Identity in Medical Institutions 78 Roma Chatterji 7. Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction 95 Mathew George 8. Narratives of Sickness and Suffering: A Study of Malaria in South Gujarat 116 Purendra Prasad

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Sociology of Health



9. Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women: A Study of Three Eastern States Papia Raj and Aditya Raj

10. Informal Social Networks, Sonography and Female Foeticide in India Tulsi Patel 11. Perception and Work Ethos of Medical Experts Dealing with Infertile Couples: A Study in Medical Sociology Bela Kothari 12. ‘Correcting’ the Reproductive ‘Impairment’: Infertility Treatment Seeking Experiences of Low Income Group Women in Mumbai Slums Meghana Joshi 13. Risk Culture, Propertied Classes, and Dynamics of a Region: A Study of HIV/AIDS in East Godavari District (Andhra Pradesh) Asima Jena and N. Purendra Prasad 14. Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in Durban, South Africa Shanta Singh 15. Medicalisation of Mental Disorder: Shifting Epistemologies and Beyond Tina Chakravarty 16. ‘Indigenisation’ Not ‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry: An Anthropological Perspective Renu Addlakha

138

156 177

192

211 232 251 273

Index 297 About the Editor and Contributors 307 Appendix of Sources309

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List of Tables

Chapter 4 Table 1 Socio-demographic Profile of Sample Districts Table 2 Socio-demographic Profile of Sample Blocks Table 4 District-wise Distribution of Sample Respondents Chapter 5 Table 1 Age Group of the Doctors Table 2 The Number of Children and Professional Situation Table 3 Total Income of the Physicians per Month (as Declared in Their Income-Tax Returns) Table 4 Hours of Work Put in by the Physicians  Table 5 Number of Patients Examined per Day Chapter 9 Table 2a Caste-Group and RHI—Bihar, 1992–93 Table 2b Caste-Group and RHI—Orissa, 1992–93 Table 2c Caste-Group and RHI—West Bengal, 1992–93

47 48 50

66 67 68 69 70

147 147 148

Chapter 10 Table 1 Trends in Female–Male Ratio (FMR) and 0–6 Year Sex Ratios in Selected States of India 157 Table 2 Infant Mortality Rates and Death Rates (0–4 Years) by Gender165 Table 3 Sex Ratio by Birth Order in Haryana and Punjab 165

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Chapter 13 Table 1 Caste-wise Ownership of Cinema Halls and Lodges in Rajamundry226 Chapter 15 Table 1 Ontological and Epistemological Shifts in Understanding Mental Illness and the Corresponding Practices

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List of Figures

Chapter 9 Figure 1 Schematic Framework for Analysing the Influence of Caste on Reproductive Health of Women 140 Chapter 12 Figure 1 Pathway of Initiation of Treatment-Seeking Figure 2 Treatment-Seeking Process

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Series Note

The Indian Sociological Society (ISS), established in December 1951, under the leadership of Professor G. S. Ghurye at the University of Bombay celebrated its Diamond Jubilee in 2011. Soon after its foundation, the ISS launched its biannual journal Sociological Bulletin in March 1952. It has been published regularly since then. The ISS took cognisance of the growing aspirations of the community of sociologists both in India and abroad to publish their contributions in Sociological Bulletin, and raised its frequency to three issues a year in 2004. Its print order now exceeds 3,000 copies. It speaks volumes about the popularity of both the ISS and the Sociological Bulletin. The various issues of Sociological Bulletin are a treasure trove of the most profound and authentic sociological writings and research in India and elsewhere. As such it is no surprise that it has acquired the status of an internationally acclaimed reputed journal of sociology. The very fact that several of its previous issues are no more available, being out of print, is indicative not only of its popularity both among sociologists and other social scientists but also of its high scholarly reputation, acceptance and relevance. Although two series of volumes have already been published by the ISS during 2001 and 2005 and in 2011 having seven volumes each on a large number of themes, yet a very large number of themes remain untouched. Such a situation necessitated that a new series of thematic volumes be brought out. Realising this necessity and in order to continue to celebrate the Diamond Decade of the Indian Sociological Society, the Managing Committee of the ISS and a subcommittee constituted for this purpose decided to bring out a series of 10 more thematic volumes in such areas of importance and relevance both for the sociological and the academic communities at large as Sociological Theory, Untouchability and Dalits, Rural Society, Science and Technology, Childhood and Youth, Health, Environment, Culture, Politics and the Pioneers of Sociology in India.

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Well-known scholars and experts in the areas of the chosen themes were identified and requested to edit these thematic volumes under the series title Readings in Indian Sociology. Each one of them has put in a lot of effort in the shortest possible time not only in selecting and identifying the papers to be included in their respective volumes but also in arranging these in a relevant and meaningful manner. More than this, it was no easy task for them to write comprehensive ‘introductions’ of the respective volumes in the face of time constraints so that the volumes could be brought out in time on the occasion of the 39th All India Sociological Conference scheduled to take place in Mysore under the auspices of the Karnataka State Open University during 27–29 December 2013. The editors enjoyed freedom not only in choosing the papers of their choice from Sociological Bulletin published during 1952 and 2012, but they were also free to request scholars of their choice to write forewords for their particular volumes. The volumes covered under this series include: Towards Sociology of Dalits (Editor: Paramjit S. Judge); Sociological Probings in Rural Society (Editor: K. L. Sharma); Sociology of Childhood and Youth (Editor: Bula Bhadra); Sociology of Health (Editor: Madhu Nagla); Contributions to Sociological Theory (Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava); Sociology of Science and Technology in India (Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik); Sociology of Environment (Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury); Political Sociology of India (Editor: Anand Kumar); Culture and Society (Editor: Susan Visvanathan); and Pioneers of Sociology in India (Editor: Ishwar Modi). Sociology of Health (edited by Madhu Nagla with Foreword by Yogendra Singh) is the fourth volume of the series titled Readings in Indian Sociology. This volume contains empirical and theoretical articles that apply sociological concepts and methods to the understanding of health and illness and the organisation of medicine and health care. The articles included in this volume have also tried to explore the understanding of the process by which social practices and human health are related. Health and illness are central to our lives and are major areas of work, policy and debate in society. This volume explores key topics including the experiences of health and illness; sociology of the healing professions: doctors as professionals; sociology of food and health; mental health; sociology of illness: illness behaviour and narratives of sickness and sufferings; medical institutions and health service organisations: the system of hope; reproductive health care, HIV and AIDS: social factors in fertility and mortality; sociology of physician–patient relationship; health delivery system: rural–urban health care, private and public provision of health care and so on.

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Series Notexv

It can hardly be overemphasised and can be said for sure that this volume as well as all the other volumes of the series Readings in Indian Sociology, as they pertain to the most important aspects of society and sociology in India, will be of immense importance and relevance to students, teachers and researchers both of sociology and other social sciences. It is also hoped that these volumes will be received well by the overseas scholars interested in the study of Indian society. Besides this, policy-makers, administrators, activists, NGOs and so on may also find these volumes of immense value. Having gone through these volumes, the students and researchers of sociology would probably be able to feel and say that now ‘We will be able to look much farther away as we are standing on the shoulders of the giants’ (in the spirit of paraphrasing the famous quote by Isaac Newton). I would like to place on record my thanks to Shambhu Sahu, Sutapa Ghosh and R. Chandra Sekhar of SAGE Publications for all their efforts, support and patience to complete this huge project well in time against all the time constraints. I also express my gratefulness to the Managing Committee Members of the ISS and also the members of the subcommittee constituted for this purpose. I am also thankful to all the editors and all the scholars who have written the forewords. I would also like to thank Uday Singh, my assistant at the India International Institute of Social Sciences, Jaipur for all his secretarial assistance and hard work put in by him towards the completion of these volumes. Ishwar Modi Series Editor Readings in Indian Sociology

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Foreword

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ociology of health has assumed a major significance in the paradigm of development studies. It constitutes a vital measure in its success. The volume on ‘Sociology of Health’ by Professor Madhu Nagla reviews the literature in this field with a sharp eye not only on how researchers in this field have grown over time but also on the extent to which these have contributed to the development of new conceptual and methodological categories. Her survey is comprehensive and competent. I am sure this volume would impact positively on the direction and nature of future researchers in this field. Yogendra Singh Professor Emeritus J.N.U., New Delhi.

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Preface and Acknowledgements

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ealth and illness are part of the innermost complexities of social existence, permeating the domains of social existence, national policies, economy of the society and faith and religion. Sociologists have been interested in the social roots and consequences of health and illness in their sociocultural-ethos. Sociological Bulletin, the journal of Indian Sociological Society (ISS), has published 16 articles on the varied themes of sociology of health. The texts of these articles have been reproduced as they were originally published by the Sociological Bulletin. The perspective on health and medicine bring together individual and collective realities in the way they are organised, narrated, contested and in every sense lived as social trajectories. The section in the present volume deals with the health and health care which revolves around the relationship between food and health care and how people utilised health care in different settings. The ethics and normative standard of the health professionals is an important part of the health delivery system. It brings the patient into the process of communication and interaction which in turn affect the doctor–patient relationship which has been discussed in the volume. The patient as the receiver of the health care is in an altogether different situation; therefore, the narratives of the patient are important in analysing the delivery of the health care in the given set-up. The sick person is surrounded by his family, social network and communities. The health problems of the women, particularly related with the reproductive system, have a direct bearing on the gender equality in the society. HIV/AIDS is regarded as the global miseries of human being and need explanation in terms of its causation and treatment. The section deals with the mental illness as an important facet of the bio-psycho-social outcome of illness, which is not limited

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to biological disequilibrium; rather, it emerges within the individuals who are a part of the whole system. It was very kind of Professor I. P. Modi, President of the ISS, who trusted me to undertake this academic endeavour and I owe special thanks to him for the same. My teacher, who constantly encouraged and inspired me to take up issues on the theme of health and medicine, deserves lots of thanks and I am grateful to him for writing the forward to the present volume. An important milestone or a life event takes place when you fulfil the dreams of life partner; Bhupendra Kumar, my husband, who made all this possible with all his love, understanding and academic support, helping me in completing this task. My Bauji has always inspired me to engage in academic pursuit and that gives me the strength for completing this volume. My parents’ blessings are always with me. My children, Gaurav–Archana and Rohit–Radhika always encouraged me to take up the academic challenges and are trouble shooters for my computer-related problems. My dearest Abhigyan who is an energy provider by simply giving a sweet smile makes my day full of commitment for the present volume. Madhu Nagla Professor Department of Sociology, M.D. University, Rohtak Haryana

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Introduction Madhu Nagla

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ociology of health emerged late in the 1950s as a specialised area of sociology; it has subsequently developed rapidly, because the medical profession has recognised the importance of sociology in the education of medical students. It is important to distinguish between sociology in health and sociology of health as perspectives in research. The former involves the use of sociology to clarify health-related problems and diagnosis, such as the nature of compliance to medical regimens. Hence, sociology in health refers to studies that help to solve problems in health science or to provide knowledge about practical problem in health practice, the allocation of health resources, operation of health facilities and services. By contrast, the sociology of health has been more concerned with issues of power between doctors and patients, and between health and the state. It encompasses the use of medical settings, and health and illness to study such sociological phenomena as organisational role relationships, attitudes and values of persons involved in medicine (Coe 1970: 3). The institutional setting in which professional socialisation of the young recruits to the profession takes place, is also covered under the field ‘sociology of health’. The importance of this seemingly trivial distinction is understood, and is in fact a pantheon of subject matters; it includes far-reaching conceptual issues that relate social phenomena to health and illness matters. However, here we are using interchangeably the terms sociology of health, sociology of health and medicine. In fact, sociology of health has remained a neglected field of study and not much thought was given to explore the links between health and society. Health and illness cannot be separated from the normal social life and they are in fact part of the wider social system; therefore, like other aspect of life, the health aspects should also be studied with the same rigour and sincerity. It is for this reason we are including some collection of articles in this volume of sociology of health.

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The present volume intended to be an outlet for ongoing research in health and medicine in India. This volume is thematic, addressing the status of the field, providing possible prognosis and, at least, integrating fresh areas of research. The title of this volume itself speaks of its contents. It is intended of medicine to share its ideas and perhaps put them to use for the future health and welfare of the people. The past two decades have seen marked shifts in health paradigms and institutions. First, changes in welfare systems of health care in India are under transformation from the policy of globalisation which has turned health care into industry. Second, the voices of illness and medicine on treatment schedules is interacting in such a way with the demand for evidence based treatment and social support. There has been a corresponding shift in theoretical paradigms from symbolic interactionism and functionalism, which neglected the politics of medicine, to various Marxist paradigms which adopt a far more critical perspective on health service organisations and healing professions. Another radical perspective on medicine has come from feminism which regards inequalities in health provision and differences in illness behaviour as the products of patriarchy and gender. These critical perspectives in contemporary medical sociology argue that the health of human population is not a consequence of medical intervention but of the socio-political environment (Illich 1977, Navarro 1977). For all of these developments, it seems obvious that sociology presents itself as an important tool for understanding the complex interaction between different actors in the development of paradigms and the institutional structure of health services. Articles dealing with these issues on the macro- and micro-sociological levels in relation to health care are included in the present volume. In the above context, we feel that the need to untangle the literature on sociology of health that has accumulated over a period of 60 years in Sociological Bulletin and to provide a text at one place so that in some way student can glance over past and current trends in sociology of health. After screening the Sociological Bulletin since inception, that is, the 1950s, till present, we found 16 articles which are on the varied themes related with the sociology of health and medicine. We do not pretend to ‘cover all of the literature’ in the volume. Instead, these articles have limited themselves to the relevant issues of health and illness in the modern Indian society. Therefore, the volume covers a variety of topics: namely, sociology of the healing professions: doctors as professionals; sociology of food and health; mental health; sociology of illness: illness behaviour and narratives of sickness and sufferings; medical institutions and

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health service organisations: the system of hope; reproductive health care; HIV/AIDS; social factors in fertility and infertility; sociology of physician– patient relationship; health delivery system: rural–urban health care, private and public provision of health care and so on. We could not find articles related with the important issues of health policies and planning, social constraints of health delivery systems, medical pluralism, ethnic differentiation and health belief and behaviour pattern and off course current issues in medicine and social change. The volume is divided into eight sections: These are: I. Medical Sociology and Its Significance, II. Health and Health Care, III. Doctors as Professionals, IV. Physician–Patient Relationship, V. Patients Narratives on Health, VI. Reproductive Health Care, VII. HIV/AIDS and VIII. Mental Health.

I.  Medical Sociology: Its Significance A simple layperson is not specialised in everything and it applies to the doctors also who are not experts in social sciences or in social policy. This duality between the medical doctors and social philosophies concerning health and medicine ultimately constitutes the scope of this book. This book is not a textbook on medical sociology as it does not deal with the concepts of health, illness or theoretical formulation for explaining the health behaviour of community or society at large. Instead, it deals with the sociology of health, which is particularly related with the varied themes ranging from food and health to delivery of health-care services and in between that their understanding of illness, interaction with doctors, reproductive health status of women and also mental illness and HIV/AIDS. Sociology of health and medicine is one of the important areas of special sociology. In the first Indian Council of Social Science Research (ICSSR) trend report of sociology of medicine, Anita Ahluwalia begins with a discussion of the importance of the sociology of medicine and then proceeds to bring out the significance of the study of conditions in which the modern system of medicine was introduced into India and the factors

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responsible for giving it an important place. The second ICSSR survey of research in sociology and social anthropology (1969–79) contains one of the trend reports on professions which covers a section on medical profession rather than being an independent trend report on health and medicine like the first one. In this second ICSSR trend report on professions, Sharma (1985) provides an overview of the field which highlights two sorts of studies, that is, of medical professionals and professional organisation. Taken as a whole, the research on the medical profession reflects two main theoretical orientations, namely role analysis and dialectical analysis. While the studies of professionals are informed by the role perspective, those of organisational aspects of medical profession are preoccupied with the Marxian perspective. Methodologically, most studies of the first category can best be characterised as descriptive surveys of the background and role of doctors with little attempt at the analysis of professional content, while most studies of the second category are largely of a speculative variety. There is not a single study in the ethno-methodological tradition which is hardly surprising considering that such a trend has not yet got going even in the West. Madhu Nagla presents ICSSR trend report on Sociology of Health and Medicine which represents the fifth round of the surveys covering the period since 2002 to 2010. She identifies the emerging issues in the development of sociology of health and medicine with the anticipation of future challenges and how they find their relevance in the healthy development of society. Most of the researches in India, during the early phase and confined to the caste, joint family and the village community and even in the later period were related to the other sociological issues baring medical sociology. In 1974, Ahluwalia conducted her first of its kind study in the hospital setting for her doctoral work. Aneeta Minocha has made original and insightful contribution in the area of medical sociology as quoted by Bhardwaj (2008) in her article on ‘Sociological Inroads into Medicine: A Tribute to Aneeta A. Minocha (1943–2007)’. Ruby has given the tributes to her in this article by putting her whole contribution in the field of medical sociology and benefitted the discipline of medical sociology as well as to the researchers and academicians. Mincoha strives relentlessly to highlight the significance of sociology in the understanding of health and disease. She emphasises forcefully for teaching of medical sociology. She views that the doctor and the patient interact not simply as diseased entity and curative agent, but also as social beings belonging to different cultural milieu. The understanding of patient as a social entity sensitises the doctor to a gamut of intervening social variables that impinge on the former’s health or sickness. The doctor’s

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training in sociology would enable him to not only learn about the impact of the cultural milieu on the behaviour of the patients but also have close look at himself in his own milieu. Minocha advocates conceptual and terminological rigour in academic research. The concepts of health, disease and medicine attained precision from her critical inputs and holistic perspective. The concept of medical pluralism in India is pioneered and popularised by Minocha. She analyses the multifarious dimensions of medical pluralism and its role in the availability of health services. In the light of limited knowledge and familiarity with the multifarious therapies, the real bases of choice are the availability, accessibility and the quality of medical care provided by the diverse systems. People are interested in an efficient curative system, and very often it is found that indigenous practitioners administer strong allopathic drugs for fast relief to the patients. Minocha is foremost in taking up a systematic and extensive study of the modern medicine, its institutions and its profession in India. She approaches even hardcore concerns of medical sociology, such as the study of the institutions and professions associated with modern medicine, from women’s perspective. Minocha never fails to express her views on the moral and ethical dilemmas of the medical world and their sociological world and also their sociological relevance. Her writings on various issues and concerns ranging from social fallout of trauma, organ transplantation and euthanasia to the consumer protection, informed consent are very much part of the field of medicine.

II.  Health and Health Care Sociology of health and health care is emerging as a more substantial area of research in sociology today. Such trends often have multiple causes. One influence may be the increasing awareness of nutritional problems both worldwide: on the one hand, it is a problem of under nutrition and on the other it is obesity which is rarely off in our television screens and within the developed and developing and underdeveloped societies. In the highly developed societies, the incidence of eating disorders including anorexia nervosa, bulimia and obesity is attracting more and more attention. A second influence may be the professionalisation of health and healthcare specialists, and the increasing concern with preventive medicine, which has involved sociologists teaching health-related courses to students training in these fields in the past. This particular rise is probably bolstered by social respectability afforded by a shift in analytic and empirical attention from the sociologies of industrialised production to those of industrialised

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consumption. In turn, this has reflected a great openness to other neighbouring disciplines, notably psychology and anthropology. This section deals two types of studies which reflect above two influences. First: Food and Health (Sujatha 2002) and second: Health Care (Balkrishnan 1996, Ray 2007).

II (a)  Food and Health A vaguely functionalist orientation also unconsciously underlies much collaboration between sociologists and nutritionists, a common form of research in recent decades, in which current nutritional science is used to evaluate the results of questionnaire or interview surveys of why people eat particular things, the resulting explanations often have a somewhat ad hock character. For instance, Yudkin and Mckenzie (1964: 15–19) contend that on the whole there is a direct relationship between palatability and good nutritional value; for example, protein-rich animal foods are in general tastier than starch-rich vegetables foods. But they admit that the activities of modern food manufacturers now permitted a very significant degree of dissociation between palatability and nutritional values. Besides, the correlation is plausible only if the standards of palatability which prevail in the familiar world of Europe, North America and similar countries are taken as yardstick. In fact, there are not only different ideas of palatability in other cultures but European-type standards are equally culturally conditioned and by no means unchanging. The great virtue of the structuralist approach is that it clearly recognises that ‘taste’ is culturally shaped and socially controlled. It, thus, avoids the adhockery, biological reductionism and implicit ethnocentrism found in some of the work. Its weakness, arguably, is that in avoiding any suspicion of ethnocentrism. It moves so far to the role of extreme cultural relativism that it overlooks any possibility of explaining differing food habits— particularly their origins—in terms of purpose, function or utility. Structuralism has made itself felt in the sociology of food and eating via the influence of anthropologists like Claude Lévi-Strauss and Mary Douglas, and the semiologist Roland Barthes. In contrast to the some utilitarian slant of the social nutritionists and the functionalist, the structuralists have always focused more on the aesthetic aspects of food and eating: in Fischler’s phrase, ‘while the functionalists look at food, the structuralists examined cuisine’ (1990: 17). Douglas defines the aesthetic as distinct from the nutritional aspects of food as ‘that part which is subject to

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pattern-making rules, like the rules of poetry, music or dance’, adding that ‘the explanation of any one such rule will only be found in its contribution to the pattern it helps to create’ (1974: 84). Structuralism since Lévi-Strauss has concerned itself more with variability and much less with universality, ‘no doubt retreating from the notion of “human nature” which was suspect in its eyes’, and it was ‘thus that cultural relativism gained its ascendancy in the study of human eating’ (Fischler 1990: 17). Lévi-Strauss’s structuralism has had less direct influence on the sociology of food and eating than that of Mary Douglas. All over the world food consumption is currently a public health issue. How much, and exactly what people eat, have become matters of concern to all governments. In richer countries there is concern that too many people are eating too much of the wrong things (health-wise). In poorer countries the concern is whether people are eating enough, regularly, and whether their diets are optimal (health-wise) given the foodstuffs that are available and affordable locally. De-traditionalisation (see Giddens 1991) may be contributing to nutritional problems in richer countries. Old beliefs and the related practices are being lost and replaced, for practical purposes, not by science, but by eating as much as you like of whatever you like and whenever you like. In the less-developed world traditional beliefs about food remain strong and influential, but despite these differences there may well be lessons of wider relevance that can be gleaned from a country such as India. These lessons concern the difficulties of using a combination of science, education and information campaigns to change people’s everyday behaviour. Everywhere, up to now, whether the aim has been to persuade people to eat or drink less, or differently, or to take more exercise, the campaigns have had limited success. In her article, ‘Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside Medical Lore on Food and Health in Village Tamil Nadu’, Sujatha (2002) analyses the ideas and practices about food in village Tamil Nadu and discusses the village-folk’s knowledge of health. The article is divided into three parts: the first part outlines the content of the villagers’ diet. For example, people in the studied village generally take rice. Among other items in the diet, maize, ragi, millet are taken with a vegetable or spicy gravy. Milk and milk products are conspicuous by their absence. The second part examines their ideas relating to food and its significance, and the norms governing food and eating. The people accord great importance to food; however, they do not seem to perceive its importance in terms of its basic need for existence. The conceptions of food are corporal and they seem to conceive the significance of food in terms of its vital functions for the body. Their conceptions are

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also wide in scope, encompassing the idea of intake of food. The third part highlights the features of medical lore as a knowledge system. The medical lore of the people consists of both inherited knowledge and incorporated knowledge. The entire process of reckoning with the available resources and making them compatible with needs yields a lot of knowledge and experience. There is constant interaction between the two components of the lore, namely what is inherited and what is incorporated, each reinforcing and modifying the other. The most crucial source of the villager’s incorporated knowledge is practice. The lore or which means health tradition is an ongoing process in which the confluence of inherited and incorporated knowledge is affected through the crystallisation of experience. Continued living in a habitat for several generations, and the conscious experience of the body, disease and the remedies have built up a knowledge tradition. By incorporating the food elements outside the body system, by inducing variety in food intake, by adapting to the ecological conditions, the body–food dialectic yields a health tradition, whose continuity is ensured by its orientation to informed practice.

II (b)  Health Care There are many evaluative studies on the efficacy of the public health systems in improving the health outcomes of different settings and the relative performance of various states in India. Relative efficiencies differ across states and this is due to differences not only in the health sector endowment, but also in its efficient use. It shows that states should not only increase their investment in health sector, but also manage it efficiently to achieve better health outcomes. It is time to recognise that the utter neglect of primary care and primary health care institutions has influenced the utilisation of health services and contributed to the worsening epidemiological profile in the country in recent years. In the present form, the proposed mission adds to the confusion about the approach to health care in the country. Cost-effective interventions such as the rational distribution of financial and medical resources, including drugs, effective manpower distribution and primary health-care approaches, should be a part of the vision. These are often brushed aside for ushering in the privatisation logic (Nayar 2004). In this section, we are discussing two studies on rural health care only since there is not a single study on urban health care reported in Sociological Bulletin. In his article, ‘State Sponsored Health Care in Rural Uttar Pradesh: Grassroots Encounters of a Survey Researcher’, Balkrishnan (1996) presents

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his field work experiences in the primary health centres and sub-centres of Uttar Pradesh. Auxiliary nurse midwives (ANM) are the backbone of the sub-centres. During the intensive interaction with the ANMs attached to the sub-centres, it is found that because of the targeted approach of family planning method, the entry of the acceptors in the records are often cooked up. The problems afflicting the public health services are by no means confined solely to infrastructural bottlenecks or derelict personnel. Medical officers are involved in the graft and malfeasances that plagues the public health service. The ANMs are often victim of this for offering bribe from recruitment to the transfers. It is not just that defaulters get away scot-free by giving bribes, but the system also harasses the dedicated and innocent as well. The public health system is also plagued by factionalism among its staff. The public health system not only requires the efficiency and competence but equally important is the accountability to the people. Thus, the public health care system is a failure in reaching out to the masses. In his article, ‘Gram Panchayat and Health Care Delivery in Himachal Pradesh’, Ray (2007) examines the role of gram panchayat in the delivery of health-care services in Himachal Pradesh. The gram panchayats are not performing well in the health delivery mechanism. They failed to translate the information advantage into an efficiency advantage. The passing of laws, formulation of policies and issuance of notifications have not served the purpose. There is a gap between the decentralised approach to health service delivery at theoretical level and action level. Lack of effective devolution of powers and resources on the panchayat; inadequate capacity building of gram panchayat members and poor involvement of active civil society groups are the main factors for the poor performance. However, the study calls attention to the political economy of decentralisation and the need for a high degree of political commitment or interest-group support for the success of any initiatives. Functional effectiveness of panchayats is quite low, particularly in the crucial area of primary health care. Therefore, new measures have to be taken up to redress the situation. The paradox of successful decentralisation involves, among other things, top-down initiatives for bottom-up implementation. We may view here that health-care delivery system broadly depends upon functioning of health institutions and role of doctors as professionals.

III.  Doctors as Professionals Health-care providers are the main actor in the therapeutic process of health-care delivery and solely responsible for the protection of the health of people in order to fulfil their rights and obligations as normal members

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of society who are a part and parcel of the larger social structure. These men are educated and trained as professionals by the society to take care of the sick and cure illness. As common man of society he bears, and influenced several social factors which directly or indirectly affect his behaviour. In short, socio-economic, political and religious behaviour of the people affects the making of ethical professional. Hence, any professional might have not freed himself completely from certain pre-professional attitudes and values which he acquired during the period of primary socialisation before entering the professional training. The sociologist in medicine often has to take the role of an applied scientist to solve certain problems of the medical scientists, like to help in finding out the social causes for an endemic spread of a disease in a locality or to find out why people of a community resist taking immunisations. His help may also be sought to explain why patients refuse certain treatment procedures in the hospital or run away from the hospital during the course of treatment. The article, ‘Occupational Attitudes of Physicians’ written by Ramanamma and Bambawale (1978) reveals that doctors are most respected persons in the society and that is why rewards are generally much more than in any other profession. They receive a great deal of importance and wielding a great deal of influence. Doctors also get psychological satisfaction while curing the sick, which could be much more than perceived in other jobs. Ramanamma and Bambawale draw some clear conclusions from their exploratory study: 1. The general practitioners (GPs) combine physical cure along with the psychological and emotional care of their patients. 2. Paid physicians (PPs) even though have less monetary gains are compensated by curing patients who have abnormal complications. 3. Usually the consultants (CPs) get patients with a case history from GPs or govern hospitals, so they start treatment sometime in the middle of a sickness.

The article depicts that occupational hazards seem to make or mar the career of a professional and yet none of the three categories of doctors have felt the need to stress on this part of their life. The maximum degree of interaction between the physician and patient is between the GP and his patient and on a lesser degree between the CP, PP and their patients. In her article, ‘The System of Hope: The Constitution of Identity in Medical Institutions’, Chatterji (1993) discusses about three documented monographs which deal with the medical institutions in Netherlands. The author basically addresses two questions that why should doctors actively

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involved in medical practice choose to write sociological accounts of institutions in which they work. And the second is why the report on the cancer research institute was withdrawn. The work in these monographs is not merely ethnographic but critically evaluated the increasing professionalisation of care in Dutch society which leads to the diminution of personal responsibility and initiative in the management of problems. In the nursing home situation the relations are characterised by conflict or equilibrium and by an experience of disjunction between the past and present. The three major areas in which this disjunction is perceived is in terms of the body (health versus sickness), mental status (autonomy versus dependence) and social state (home versus institution). It suggests that institutions should structure their work routine so as to be able to handle this disjunction therapeutically. In the report on cancer hospital, it is believed that the ‘system of hope’ may be the only mode of care available in the medical context. It looks that their critique of medical institution as being part of a larger critique of the professionalisation of care in society in which experiences of suffering and death have been removed from the familial domain and placed within the regime of experts. The reports like to see more openness in medical institutions and a more personalised approach to medicine in which the patient is central not merely in terms of his or her disease but in terms of his/her whole life experiences. Medical personnel are not as mere technicians for the treatment of the body but also as spiritual advisors and sympathetic witness to the patient’s suffering. Chatterji laments that the all three reports are exclusively on verbal communication for their research. If they had been more sensitive to non-verbal communication they would have realised that it is characterised by a tentativeness that cannot be structured in the manner in which the work routine can be bureaucratically structured. The ideal that stands behind the critiques of these reports must be understood in terms of moral value that the medical institutions has in this society. Individual personality could not only be articulated in the cracks of bureaucratic organisations.

IV.  Physician–Patient Relationship Physician–patient relationship is an important theme of sociological interest. In every social system, the interaction and interrelationship between its members in accordance with the goals and the institutional sanctions is the basis for the functioning of the system. The hospital is considered as a social system and the physicians and patients are the sole occupants who mutually interact to form relationships directed by their specific goals and the general

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goals of the system. The entire organisation and instrumentality within this system has its concern with the social aspects of human behaviour. In fact, the forms, patterns and directions of the relationship with their bearing on the goals and the norms of this collectivity have to be ascertained in relation to the functioning of the system with reference to the physicians, patients and their satisfaction in a given situation, existing in a hospital at a particular time. Physician–patient relationship is of utmost significance in medical science. In this context the first and foremost requirement is that the doctor need to develop a good rapport with the patients, which would enable him to know about him. There are large number of questions in the mind of the patient, which are creating problems and bad health. Physician can improve many of patients doubt through communication. It is of great significance for the physician to take the patient in confidence. Physician and patients are intimately connected as the existence of one without the other is not possible. The harmonious relationship depends on the sincerity, earnestness and co-operation between the physician and the patient. The achievement of good relations between the physician and the patient is a matter that does not depend by any means solely on the conduct of physicians. It equally depends on the attitude of patients and thus their relations. People must behave well towards physicians. If loose and unsubstantiated allegations are made about their incompetence, dishonesty, laziness and indifference to the public interests, it is unlikely that physicians will develop or display qualities of integrity, industry and public spirit. Both the physicians and the public must exhibit harmonious relationship between them. This would promote good rapport between the two, which would prove good relationship. Physician–patient relationship means the development of cordial, equitable and therefore, mutually profitable relations between the two which depends upon doctor–patient interaction. Medical care achieves its silence through the process of diagnosis, treatment and follow-up. These are usually accomplished by the active group effort of doctors, patients and other paramedical staff through health institutions. The role played by doctors and patients become pivotal in the process of medical care. In his article, ‘Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction’, Mathew (2010) examines the interaction between doctors and patients in the process of fever care rendered by the allopathic hospitals of Kerala. The article is based on Mathew’s PhD thesis on the various facets of the problem of fever in Kerala of which ethnography of bio-medical clinics was one component. Mathew uses narrative

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analysis for presenting the meanings given by doctors and patient to the common illness by taking three cases. There can be different voices that are in constant interaction in doctor–patient interaction like voices of illness and voices of medicine. Voices of illness are again divided into lifeworld voice of illness and musicalised voice of illness. Voice of medicine is divided into voice of science and voice of experiences. Most of these voices get articulated in a clinical interaction. Ultimately the dynamics of these various voices depend on the context of interaction and the actors involved. Mathew argues that clinical interaction is not merely a two-way communication desired for exchange of information; rather it is an outcome of the socialisation of doctors and patients about an illness within their respective contexts. However, it is not possible to draw a general pattern from these interactions, but the meaning of illness/disease or in turn outcome of medical care will be determined depending on the institutions prevalent in which clinical interactions occur and the actors involved. In the ensuing section, we would like to present the narratives of patients which reflect their sickness and sufferings.

V.  Patients Narratives on Health The patient is helpless and needs help in terms of technical competence and emotional involvement. Parsons (1951) suggests that the patient’s expectations apply to a greater or lesser degree, depending on the severity of his illness: that he avoids obligations with many exacerbate his condition; that he accepts the idea that he needs help; that he desires to get ‘well’ and that he seeks technically competitive help in getting well. An adequate sociological definition of illness must go beyond the capacity in normal relationship and include all the four components listed by Parsons as necessary for a system of action—the organism, personality, social system and culture. Further, Parson’s inclusion of the expectation to seek professional care as a component of the sick role is merely an indication of a possible social response to the deviant nature of illness. The legitimisation of the patient status-role is itself a tension-management device for the patient. Considering the needs of the patient Loomis points out that although the relationship between physician and patient tends to be functionally specific the medical people usually must take into account factors about the patient besides his sickness—need to return to work, the kind of care he is likely to receive after discharge and so on. The goal of the sick person is recovery—a goal to be obtained not only by the patient but by all the relevant collectivities.

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Implicit is his relation to the patient is the physician’s goal of facilitating the latter’s recovery to the best of his ability. Great physicians in every age have recognised that patient must be seen as a whole, that is, in terms of his interpersonal relations and his social environment. Although the conception of the patient as a person is long established and generally acknowledged in medical circles, it is also said to be conception more honoured in the breach than observance. Many physicians continue to regard the patient as a case of sickness rather than a person’s collaborative health care as a process which is integrated with the people and society. In his article, ‘Narratives of Sickness and Suffering: A Study of Malaria in South Gujarat’, Prasad (2005) tries to understand why Malaria has remained alarming in India even to this day. He has used the conceptual framework of sickness to study malaria. Sickness identification and prolongation of sickness are major concerns for policy-makers. However, the whole discourse of preventive and curative models fixes the blame on individuals and prescribes several health-education and behaviour-change programmes as remedies, instead of understanding and addressing the social conditions of disease production. Pursuing this line of argument, Prasad explores human suffering from Malaria and its various intervention strategies. The narratives of people are taken and analysed in terms of semantics in the local context. The article concludes that despite significant scientific and technological advancements and interventions by both state and nonstate agencies, malaria is still alarming. It argues that the conceptualisation of sickness and suffering, or for that matter of health, varies greatly between groups of sufferers and groups of healthcare providers, including the policymakers. Moreover, in addition to the inaccessible health services, unequal resource availability, lack of education and so on the very process of identification of sickness—in this case malaria—also contributes to the worsening of disease situation leading to high morbidity and mortality in rural India as substantiated from this study of Surat District of Gujarat.

VI.  Reproductive Health Care The role of socio-economic and demographic factors in influencing demand for and utilisation of several reproductive health services in India is clearly brought about by earlier studies. Most of the studies reveal that besides education of the woman, other socio-economic factors affecting the process of reproductive health care, particularly the factors such as living standard of the household (Ghosh et al. 2007) and quality of care (IIPS:2000).

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Additionally, accessibility to services has also been found as an important factor determining the utilisation of health services (Ghosh et al. 2007). The frequency of contact with health provider is more among the women having problems (Matthew et al. 2001). However, past studies lack consensus over the association of Antenatal Care (ANC) with maternal health. Ram and Singh (2006) have found ANC as a strong predictor of safe delivery in the rural areas. Women bear their health problems in a ‘culture of silence’ and do not seek timely health care. They often cannot travel beyond the area of their normal activities to obtain services. They usually cannot approach male health providers. In general, families, including the women themselves, spend less time, effort, and money seeking health care for women and girls than for men. In this section, we would like to discuss four studies of Raj and Raj (2004), Patel (2007), Kothari (2012) and Joshi (2008). These studies highlight four major issues of reproductive health care. In India, caste plays a major role in the life of the people, influencing their socio-economic activities, and in turn regulating their health status. In their article, ‘Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women: A Study of Three Eastern States’. Raj and Raj (2004) analyse the reproductive health status of women across various caste groups in three eastern states of India: Bihar, Orissa and West Bengal. The data are compiled from National Family Health Survey (NFHS)-I (1992–93). Women and child health received a major impetus after the International Conference on Population and Development (IPCD) in Cairo in 1994. In the IPCD, reproductive health was defined as the state of complete physical, mental, and social wellbeing, and not merely the absence of disease infirmity, in all matters relating to reproductive system and to its functions and processes. In the continuation of this, the Government of India has introduced the Reproductive and Child Health (RCH) Approach. This approach includes the ability (of couples) to reproduce and regulate their fertility. Women can go through pregnancy and childbirth safely, the outcome of pregnancy is successful as for maternal and infant survival and well-being, and couples can have sexual relations free of fear of pregnancy and of contracting diseases. Indian women, by and large, have a poor reproductive health status. The study concludes that, despite government programmes and intervention, the reproductive health status of women in India presents a sorry scenario, mainly because of the socio-economic forces that influence reproductive health. Caste is one social institution whose impact on the life of her people cannot be exaggerated. Raj and Raj developed a framework to understand caste influences on the lives of people. This framework represent that caste influences socio-economic variables that includes educational status, work

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status and standard of living. These variables, in turn, have an impact on knowledge and utilisation of contraception and reproductive health care services, ultimately affecting the reproductive health of women. The late 20th-century advances in New Reproductive Technologies (NRTs) have generated a great deal of interest in social anthropology. In this context, the article by Patel (2007) on ‘Informal Social Networks, Sonography and Female Foeticide in India’ explores the manner and processes of the relationship between NRTs, particularly the ultrasound technology, and the culture of reproduction mediated by informal social networks. Multilayered relationship between community members and their relationships in organising social and biological reproduction is looked into the study. Gender and family size issues bring about a convergence of culturally imbued interest and socio-economic purpose among different categories of people in the society with respect to provision, acceptance and accessing of sex-determination technology, and aborting undesired foetuses. The social ties among medical practitioners and the state officials are such that law enforcement officials and medical practitioners are friends if not relatives. The combination of legal abortions (also possible in government hospitals at government cost) with the illegal foetal sex test (done privately) is managed in ways other than mediated through local health functionaries, that is, through relatives or friends. It has brought about a unity of purpose between the Family Welfare Programme and the people’s aim. The family obtains the desirable sex composition of children, government health staff posted locally fulfils their targets, and private medical practitioners make money, while the female foetus disappears. The article by Bela Kothari (2012), ‘Perception and Work Ethos of Medical Experts Dealing with Infertile Couples: A Study in Medical Sociology’ examines the influence of social perceptions of medical specialists in the management of infertility and the extent to which they find infertility to be a social rather than a purely medical problem. Infertility is a unique social problem and regarded as more of a life style disease. It is a unique medical problem in which the ‘patient’ is a unit of two dissimilar individuals—the husband and wife. Kothari concludes that infertility problem can be managed by the couple itself. She emphasises on education in reproductive health, gender-neutral doctor–patient relationship, checking unfair competition and malpractices in the medical practice at different levels and advocacy for adoption. Infertility remains a major gynaecological problem, particularly in the Indian context. In this context, in her article ‘Correcting the Reproductive Impairment: Infertility Treatment Seeking Experiences of Low Income Group Women in Mumbai Slums’, Joshi (2008) tries to look into the infertility

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in the context of reproductive health services. The study assess the experiences of women who are unable to bear children in their personal, social and cultural contexts and to suggest interventions which will in turn help in reducing the physical, psychological and social burden associated with childlessness. Joshi concludes that women’s health is usually the last priority; however, in case of resolving the problem of infertility; women are rushed to the hospital for treatment. In this study, women accessed different forms of treatment at different points in time depending on the accessibility to that resource. Within a hospital, it is observed that there is no simple, smooth procedure of diagnosis and treatment that follows the woman’s visit to the doctor. Several factors aid or decelerate or put a break to or change the course of treatment for women. The complex interaction of personal and family perceptions, community consequences, doctor–woman interaction, women’s interaction with other medical staff, women’s access to information, nature of treatment and financial resources available to the woman, which play a role in determining the treatment-seeking process and experiences for women. Recognition of problem also depends upon several psycho-socio-cultural factors besides the biological evidence of a medical condition and which in turn determine the decision to seek treatment.

VII. HIV/AIDS The broad-brush examination of the past, present and future of research opportunities germane to the interests of medical sociologists would be incomplete without at least a mention of the sociological ramifications of the Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome (AIDS) epidemic. No other single health problem in this century is likely to have comparable consequences for our social structure, for interpersonal relations, and for health resource allocation. Every aspect of the AIDS phenomenon has sociological import, from its aetiology (Kaplan et al. 1987) to provider’s behaviour and patient care (Lewis and Freeman 1987)—indeed to the possible resort to authoritarian means to identify and contain AIDS cases, the advent of massive discrimination against homosexuals and persons with ‘pre-AIDS’ symptoms and tests results, and restricted access to care and third-party insurance of high-risk groups. In this context, this section deals with the three articles by Jena and Prasad (2009), and Singh (2008) related to the problems of HIV/AIDS. In their article ‘Risk Culture, Propertied Classes, and Dynamics of a Region: A Study of HIV/AIDS in East Godavari District (Andhra Pradesh)’,

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Jena and Prasad (2009) attempt to understand the politics of defining the boundary between risk and non-risk groups in the discourse on HIV/AIDS. Sketching the intricacies in demarcating these groups, through historical accounts of the propertied classes have played an active role in perpetuating the ‘risk culture’ and institutionalising an ‘entertainment culture’. It traces the links among agrarian surplus, entrepreneurship, popular culture industry, religious tradition, caste alliances and political system that have contributed to the shifting identities of the sex workers and risk culture. A popular mode of understanding risk zones within HIV/AIDS discourse is to categorise them in terms of social actors such as sex workers, truck drivers or migrants and poor. This discourse presumes that the identity of the woman as a sex worker is fixed, coherent, and essential rather than as managed and constructed. The article explores the different categories of social capital which show the connection between the risk and non-risk zones with reference to HIV/AIDS. The article titled ‘Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in Durban, South Africa’ written by Singh (2008) is based on group discussion with male inmates at the Westville Prison in Durban. It aims to record the voices and ascertain the knowledge that prison inmates have of the Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV) and to identify the predictors of HIV and AIDS-related risk behaviour during incarceration. The relationship between sexual behaviour, disease transmission, sexual violence and correctional operations issues are explored. Although in theory prisoners have access to medical care, but in reality there is clear shortage of medical staff, and the problem is compounded by the overcrowding in the prison. Prisons are also a breeding ground for opportunistic diseases, which lead to shorten the progression from initial HIV infection to full-blown AIDS. Thus, conditions in prison are such that HIV easily takes advantage of its victim. The evidence in this article compliments the existing body of literature about the desperate conditions in South African prison. But, Singh highlights the need for more research to be done on health-care policies within the prisons, the dynamics and manifestations of overcrowding and for researchers’ easier access into prisons.

VIII. Mental Health Today mental disorders stand among the leading cause of disease and disability in the world. One in four people in the world are affected by mental or neurological disorder at some point in their lives. World Health Report

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(2001) which was dedicated to the theme of mental health shows that these disorders are estimated for about 12 per cent of global burden of disease and also represent four of the ten leading causes of disability worldwide. It is estimated that 6.7 per cent of population suffers from mental disorders, together these disorders account for 12 per cent of global burden of disease and an analysis of trends indicates that this will increase 15 per cent by 2020. One in four families is likely to have at least one member with a behavioural or mental disorder. Demographic projections suggests that mental illness along with heart diseases, AIDS and cancer will account for the top four illnesses around the globe very soon (Davar 1995). The National Institute of Mental Health and Neuro Sciences (NIMHANS) in Bangalore estimated that two crore Indian need help for serious mental disorder, while a further five crore suffer from mental illness not considered very serious. These figures do not include neurological age–related progressive disorders such as Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. It also estimated that at least 35 lakh Indians need hospitalisation on account of mental illnesses. But the country has only 40 institutions that are equipped to treat patients suffering from mental disorders. Moreover, many of them are medieval-era, asylum-style institutions with high boundary walls, artificial barriers and patients kept in solitary confinement (India Today 2011). India needs at least 12,000 psychiatrists, and in actual position, there are only 3,500 registered psychiatrists in the country, which means approximately one psychiatrist per 300,000 people. In this context, we would like to discuss here five major writings which have been published in Sociological Bulletin. These are: Chakravatry (2011) and Addalkha (2010). The aetiology of mental disorder has been significant in determining the corresponding paradigms of treatment. The historical shift from madness to mental illness involved paradigmatic changes along with the emergence of distinct conceptual categories have been highlighted by Tina Chakravatry (2011) in her article ‘Medicalization of Mental disorder: Shifting Epistemologies and Beyond’. She examines the historical conditions that facilitated these shifts but also ontological and epistemological. It shows that these shifts are not of a lineal order, rather they involve a precarious coexistence of differing ontologies and epistemologies, and these shifts, while distinct, are not or rather have not been complete or absolute. The interface between differing ontologies and epistemologies, on the one hand, and the corresponding treatment practices, on the other, has given rise to multiple approaches to the treatment of mental disorder. This has important implications not just for the treatment and practices concerned with mental disorder,

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but also for sociology of knowledge as a sub-discipline. Within sociology of knowledge perspective, what this article has attempted to do is to underline that the relationship between the passage of time and growth of knowledge is not random. Historicity is an important facet of any knowledge system. In her article ‘Indigenization not Indianisation of Psychiatry: An Anthropological Perspective’, Addalkha (2010) presents indigenisation of psychiatry which is based on the content analysis of the Indian Journal of Psychiatry over the past four decades. It has highlighted the multiple levels of engagement between psychiatry, culture and the political economy in the Indian context. The first part of the article is a short overview of the development of psychiatry in India from the colonial period to the present. The second part focuses on the interface between culture and psychiatric practice at the micro level. This is not to say that there was no interface between psychiatric practice and cultural imperatives during the colonial era. Indeed, there is always an ineluctable interpenetration between culture and discourse. But the difference lies in the degree of interpenetration. Maintenance of law and order and political control in the colonial period dominated the practice of psychiatry. With the attainment of Independence, the psychiatrists engaged more actively with the local context. Furthermore, the development of newer generation of psychoactive drugs leading to community psychiatry and the international human rights movement not only undermined the traditional segregation of the mentally ill but also compelled practitioners to question the social, cultural, and economic underpinnings of their own practice. However, distinctive Indian tradition of psychiatry with explanatory validity and therapeutic force to replace key constructs of the Western discourse could not take place. In addition, the forces of globalisation and the proliferation of the internet have resulted in the circulation of knowledge systems making explicit enculturation even more difficult. So, while indigenisation is an inevitable process, especially in disciplines dealing with human behaviour like psychiatry, the possibility of a unique culturally embedded Indian school of psychiatry may not be a realisable goal. We may infer here that until quite recently, few sociologists have given much attention to health and illness as topics of serious intellectual interest in the discipline of medical sociology. Perhaps the sheer biological necessity for human beings to stay away from illness and even the care taken for health in life of most human societies, were so obvious that they were simply taken for granted—part of the background of ‘what everyone knows already’. However, sociologists have traditionally studied mainly their own societies, but later on they become interested in knowing the health,

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health-care distribution in other societies too. At any rate, anthropologists have in the past shown more curiosity about these questions, though sociologists have now begun to follow their lead. Research by sociologists into health and illness has been predominantly empiricist, usually motivated by a concern with social welfare and the unequal distribution of health-care facilities. This concern with health and illness has more recently been transported on to the global level, and given new impetus by saying that there should be right to universal access to public health care. Amratya Sen contends that the state has a role in delivering basic health care and that recognition is lacking in India. Over-reliance on the private sector in health-care has led to the situation in which quite often poor people get marginalised and deprived of basic health care. India has prematurely entered into the private health-care sector.

References Ahluwalia, Anita. 1974. ‘Sociology of medicine: a trend report’, A Survey of Research in Sociology and Social Anthropology, Vol. II. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Coe, Rodney M. 1970. Sociology of medicine (p. 3). New York: McGraw-Hill. Davar, B. 1995. ‘Mental illness among Indian women’, Economic and political weekly, 30: 2879–86. Fischler, Calude. 1990. L’Homnivore. Paris: Edition Odile Jacob. Ghosh, S. et al. 2007. ‘Maternal health care seeking among tribal adolescent girls in Jharkhand’, Economic and political weekly, 42(48): 48–55. Giddens, Anthony. 1991. The consequences of modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press. IIPS. 2000. Heath survey-2. Mumbai: International Institute of Population Sciences and ORG. Macro. Illich, I. 1977. Limits to medicine. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. India Today. 2011. India Today, 11 July 2011. Kaplan, Mark H. et al. 1987. ‘Dermatologic findings and manifestations of acquired immunodeficiency syndrome (AIDS)’, Journal of the American academy of dermatology, 1(3, Part I, march): 485–506. Lewis, C. E. and H. E. Freeman. 1987. ‘The Sexual history of-taking and counseling practices of primary care physicians’, Western journal of medicine, 147(2, August): 165–67. Matthew et al. 2001. ‘Antenatal care, care seeking and morbidity in rural Karnataka, India: results of prospective study’, Asia-Pacific population journal (June): 11–28. Nagla, Madhu. 2013. ICSSR trend report on ‘sociology of health and medicine’ (in Press). Navarro, V. 1977. Medicine under capitalism. London: Croom Helms. Nayar, K. R. 2004. ‘Rural health: absence or vision’, Economic and political weekly, XXXIX(45, November 6).

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Parsons, Talcott. 1951. The Social System. Glencoe, III: The Press. Ram, F. and A. Singh. 2006. ‘Is antenatal care effective in improving maternal health in rural Uttar Pradesh? evidence from a district level household survey’, Journal of biosocial science, 38(4): 433–48. Rosengren, William R. 1980. Sociology of medicine: diversity, conflict and change. New York: Harper and Row. Sharma, S. L. 1985. ‘Sociology of profession in India’, Survey of research in sociology and social anthropology, 1969-1979. New Delhi: Satvahan Publications. Sigerist, Henry. 1962. Civilization and disease. Chicago: University of Chicago press. World Health Report. 2001. Mental health: new understanding, new hope. Geneva: WHO. Yudkin, John and J. C. Mckenzie. 1964. Changing food habits. London: MacGibbon and Kee.

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1 Sociological Inroads into Medicine: A Tribute to Aneeta A. Minocha (1943–2007) Ruby Bhardwaj

M

edical sociology stands enriched by the original and insightful contributions of Aneeta A. Minocha (née Aneeta Ahluwalia) who passed away on 5 October 2007. For over four decades she contributed to the enhancement and enrichment of medical sociology in India, and it would not be incorrect to say that her research, reports, debates, discussions and critical inputs helped nurture and fortify the discipline when it was still budding. In the early 1970s, she prepared a trend report on ‘Sociology of Medicine in India’ in which she identified several key areas of research, which were later taken up by scholars as research themes. This helped stimulate and shape the emergence of medical sociology in India. Minocha (b. 9 September 1943) was associated with the Department of Sociology, Delhi School of Economics, University of Delhi for over four decades. She joined the Department as a Master’s student in 1963 and later pursued her doctoral research under the supervision of A.M. Shah. As a PhD candidate, she brought laurels to the Department. Charles Leslie, an eminent medical sociologist, who was one of the examiners of her doctoral thesis, rated her work as first class. In an encouraging gesture he offered the honorarium that he was to receive from the

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University of Delhi for evaluating her thesis as a reward for her commendable work. He requested Shah to ‘give the money to Dr Minocha as a little surprise reward for work well done, and return gift to her for her gift of pleasure to me in reading her research’.1 Leslie recommended her thesis for publication in the monograph series, ‘Comparative Studies of Medical Systems and Health Care’, at the University of California Press. She joined the Department, where she was a student, as a faculty member in 1968 and also served as the Director of the Delhi School of Economics for a short while before her illness. In addition to teaching the masters’ course at the Department, she supervised the research of twenty-one MPhil and eleven PhD candidates. As an eminent medical sociologist, she was a member of a large number of advisory committees at the World Health Organisation, the Indian Council of Medical Research, and the Indian Council of Social Science Research. Minocha had a wide range of interests besides medical sociology. She wrote on population studies, sociology of professions and sociology of education. The endeavour in this paper, however, is to highlight her contributions to medical sociology. Minocha strived relentlessly to highlight the significance of sociology in the understanding of health and disease. In her first paper, published in 1967 in Economic and Political Weekly (Ahluwalia 1967), she lamented the fact that sociology of medicine was a neglected field of study and that not much thought was given to explore the links between medicine and society. In this paper, she systematically established that health and sickness are not isolated from the general social life and that they are an aspect of the wider social system of which they are a part: ‘the sphere of medicine has been subject to social processes similar to those which characterise the society at large’ (ibid.: 1009). She explained the heterogeneity in the medical field by subjecting it to the same scheme of analysis that is used to analyse the larger society and culture. The co-existence of the allopathic system introduced by the British in India with other indigenous systems, she explained through M.N. Srinivas’s concepts of ‘spread’ and ‘sanskritisation’ (ibid.: 1008). Having established the case for a sociological approach to medicine in India, she emphasised, along with Shah, the need for teaching sociology to medical students who, on graduation, have to take up the social role of a doctor. She argued that the doctor and the patient interact not simply as a diseased entity and curative agent, but also as social

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beings belonging to different cultural milieu. The understanding of the patient as a social entity sensitises the doctor to a gamut of intervening social variables that impinge on the former’s health or sickness. The ‘doctor’s training in sociology would enable him not only to learn about the impact of the cultural milieu on the behaviour of patients but also have close look at himself in his own milieu’ (Shah and Ahluwalia 1970: 2). Sociology taught to doctors should include comparative studies of social aspects of health, and disease and its cure in different countries. Knowledge of the sociology of organisations, in particular of hospitals, can also equip the doctors better. Department of social and preventive medicine in medical colleges can play a significant role in teaching this social science component. In this mutual give and take, sociologists also benefit immensely in advancing the frontiers of their discipline. On account of her efforts in the form of seminars and workshops and research papers highlighting the crucial role that sociology could play in strengthening health and medicine, several medical scientists evinced interest to interact with social scientists. In an endeavour to establish institutional inroads into medical sciences, as early as 1970, Minocha requested the Vice-Chancellor of Delhi University to make arrangements for inter-faculty collaboration for the training of medical personnel interested in sociology. The concern for the teaching of social sciences was also expressed in an article, where she vehemently opposed the tendency to underplay the study of humanities and social sciences because they are not as lucrative in the job market as compared to subjects like commerce and trade (Minocha 1995). She advocated conceptual and terminological rigour in academic research. The concepts of health, disease and medicine attained precision from her critical inputs and holistic perspective. She and her husband, who is a doctor, jointly reviewed The World Development Report 1993 (see Minocha and Minocha 1993). This Report received a negative assessment from the Minochas mainly because it overlooked the analytical distinction between medical interventions and healthpromoting non-medical interventions. Her arguments stemmed from her keen observation of empirical facts. This is evident in her critique of the government policies, plans and projects that failed to take cognisance of ethnographic realities. She criticised the Health for All Report, prepared jointly by ICSSR and ICMR (see Minocha 1987)

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for its unrealistic and impractical proposals incompatible with the Indian context. Minocha pioneered and popularised the concept of medical pluralism in India. In her paper entitled ‘Medical Pluralism and Health Services in India’, published in Social Science and Medicine (1980), she analysed the multifarious dimensions of medical pluralism and its role in the availability of health services. Medical pluralism denotes (i) the co-existence of multiple systems that may range from the folk, popular and traditional professionalised systems such as Ayurveda, Siddha and Unani to those borrowed from the west such as homeopathy and allopathy, and (ii) the choices within a particular system. It follows, therefore, that the patient has the option to select any of the available options, that is, seeking the services of a Vaid, a Hakim, a homeopath or an allopath, and then further option is made in terms of what kind of practitioner is to be consulted. For example, if the decision is made to consult an allopath, there are multiple settings within which the patient can meet the practitioner—in the village clinic, or in a government-run hospital or dispensary or a private clinic in the city. Within the state-funded health services there are multiple bodies engaged in providing health services—Central and State Health Services, Central Government Health Scheme, Railway Medical Service, Army Medical Corps, Employees State Insurance Scheme, the Rural Health Scheme and so on. Pluralism characterises even the types of practitioners and other personnel associated with Allopathy. Besides the hierarchy between the specialists and generalists, the doctors may have different qualifications; they may hold an MBBS degree, or may just be Licentiates and Registered Medical Practitioners without any qualification. In addition to these, there are para-medical personnel, including nurses, dispensers, pharmacists, physiotherapists and other technicians. Besides the above mentioned formal and technical dimensions of pluralism, Minocha drew attention to the adaptations made by the individual practitioners to make their practice more appealing to their clientele. For example, a traditional medicine practitioner incorporates in his practice a stethoscope, ophthalmoscope or other instruments associated with modern medicine to impress the patients of his adeptness with modern technology. Similarly, a practitioner of modern medicine subscribes to the dietary prescriptions based on hot-cold dichotomy of the Ayurveda to appeal to the patient’s mindset attuned to such proscriptions.

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Looking through the lens of pluralism, Minocha detected fundamental anomalies in the assumptions regarding distribution of medical facilities. As she wrote, Much ink has been spilled repeating that 80 per cent of the population lives in the rural areas and 20 per cent in the urban areas, and that the distribution of doctors is in the reverse order. Therefore, it is concluded, urban areas and the ‘elite’ are far better served than the rural areas and ‘underprivileged’ people. However, these figures are about the distribution of doctors trained in modern medicine, and not about medical men in general. If one were to consider the figures on traditional and other practitioners of various sorts, one would see that, after all, rural areas are not so badly provided for, at least as far as the number of persons engaged in some sort of medical practice is concerned (1980: 218).

Minocha explained the concentration of medical facilities in the cities by drawing attention to the better infrastructural facilities in the cities to run clinics and hospitals. She argued further that medical professionals are drawn to the cities not because of their disdain for villages, as is generally assumed, but, like other entrepreneurs, they are also guided by forces of market that operate in the cities. She urged that, for understanding medical pluralism, proper statistics about the distribution of various medical resources and humanpower are essential. Moreover, it is not enough to know how many practitioners are available, but also in what capacities and institutions they are available. Pluralism has extensive ramifications on the patients, confronted as they are with a multiplicity of therapeutic choices. It is generally, and simplistically, assumed that people prefer traditional systems of medicine because they are in sync with their cognitive categories, and that they are sceptical about modern medicine because it is alien to their mindset. On the contrary, Minocha observed that, in light of limited knowledge and familiarity with the multifarious therapies, the real bases of choice are the availability, accessibility and the quality of medical care provided by the diverse systems. People are interested in an efficient curative system, and very often it was found that indigenous practitioners administer strong allopathic drugs for fast relief to the patients. People’s responses to multiple systems have far-reaching implications on the state policy. In this context, Minocha raised important questions: (a) Is it possible to integrate various medical systems despite their contradictory principles? (b) Does integration imply a combination

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of all successful remedies from all systems? (c) Should the state provide parallel medical services in each system? (d) What costs do these services entail? Besides providing fresh insights into the concept and understanding of pluralism, Minocha was foremost in taking up a systematic and extensive study of the modern medicine, its institutions and its profession in India. She approached the study of the modern hospital through the gender-centric perspective. In an intensively researched article, ‘Women in Modern Medicine and Indian Tradition’ (1996c), she traced the history of modern medicine in India. Here, she busted the popular misconception that accused the British of forcing on Indians their colonial medical system and of providing medical care to their own personnel while depriving the Indians of the same. She illustrated, through historical data, the growing demand for these medical services from Indians, especially for women. The accounts of missionaries and administrators made it evident that Indian women had no access to the services of trained doctors even when they needed them most. This was because of the traditional restrictions on women seeing male doctors. The British tried to redress this problem by making modern medicine available to women through women doctors. In an attempt to alleviate the suffering of sick women, Lady Dufferin, at the behest of Queen Victoria, initiated a fund that was to be utilised to establish hospitals and maternity homes for women, to train women as nurses and midwives, and to provide scholarships to attain medical education. As a consequence of consistent efforts of the British, Lady Hardinge Medical College for Women was set up in Delhi in 1916. It was meant exclusively for women medical students with an attached hospital and nurses’ training school. In the design and running of this institution, the British took care to address women’s need for seclusion. The college hostel also had separate blocks, kitchens and dining area for Hindu, Muslim, Christian, and Sikh women. It was in one of the wards of this hospital that Minocha conducted intensive fieldwork for her doctoral dissertation. Completed in 1975, this study was the first of its kind to be conducted in India. It was conducted at a time when most researchers in sociology were focussing on three fundamental structures: caste, joint family and the village community. As matter of conscious and far-sighted strategy by her supervisor, she was encouraged to study the hospital setting. This was in consonance with Srinivas’s objective to open new arenas of study

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through the fieldwork method. Her doctoral research was published later as a book—Perceptions and Interactions in Medical Setting: A Sociological Study of  Women’s Hospital (1996b). The study ‘demonstrates essentially the dovetailing of medicine into other aspects of social life’ (ibid.: vii). It focused on the process of construction of medical reality by women in all women medical spaces: as patients, professionals, semi-professionals, administrators and lower-level workers. It is a study in interpretative sociology that, as the title suggests, examined the societal forces and their role in shaping the perceptions and interactions of the patients in the hospital ward. It narrates how the social and cultural orientations towards the caste system, that the patients are socialised into, help recreate in the hospital, a microcosm of the society at large. This is not to say that the hospital as a modern institution had no role to play in bringing about change in the attitudes of the people. Patients also used their stay in the hospital to try out new food items that were tabooed at home. However, their attitudes towards interaction with others were couched in caste prescriptions. Patients were seen to interact more freely and in a friendly manner with their own caste mates. They even tried to guess each other’s caste from their manner of dressing and other habits. Most of them were disgruntled about the common uniform for the ayahs who dealt with food and other items and for those performing defiling jobs, and wanted a clear segregation between the two. This multi-faceted research also revealed Minocha’s skills as a participant observer in the hospital and her ‘varied roles in the field’ that elicited the rich and extensive data (Minocha 1979). Since most of the doctors and patients were not conversant with the role of a sociologist, the patients took to her easily and identified her as a doctor; the doctors regarded her as a social worker, while the nurses treated her more as a friend whom they could allow to participate in their cliques and get-togethers. The patients soon came to realise that she was a ‘different’ kind of a doctor who was concerned not just with their disease, but was also there to enquire about their welfare. They, therefore, referred to her as a ‘doctor who comes to talk to patients’. Her rapport with the patients and identification with the doctors helped her to mediate between the two. The informal roles helped her in grasping the extent and intensity of information which would not have been otherwise possible. Although better known as a medical sociologist, Minocha was particularly interested in women’s issues. Her views on the issues of sexratio and sex-selective abortions were out of the ordinary. It is generally

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assumed that a sex-ratio that disfavours women is generally associated with female neglect and their low status, and conversely a sex-ratio that favours women is indicative of their high status and lesser son preference. But Minocha’s study of the quality of life of women in Uttaranchal2 falsifies this popular assumption. She found that, despite women outnumbering men in eight out of the thirteen districts, the women’s lot in Uttaranchal is onerous and burdensome. In her report, she advised that the women’s’ lot would improve only if the number of men gainfully employed in the local area in relation to women increases in districts where they outnumber men. The sex-ratio is analysed holistically in the light of larger developmental and employment facilities. Similarly, in the case of sex-selective abortions, she not only concentrated on the adverse effects of the skewed sex-ratio, but also drew attention to their implications for the women’s health which is depleted and endangered because of recurrent pregnancies and abortions. Minocha approached even hardcore concerns of medical sociology, such as the study of the institutions and professions associated with modern medicine, from women’s perspective. This is evident not only in the choice of the women’s hospital for her doctoral research, but also in the large number of papers she presented and published on women medical professionals—both doctors and nurses. In a paper entitled ‘Triumphs and Travails of Indian Women Professionals: A Sociological Perspective on the Glass Wall and Ceiling,’3 she identified the hurdles women professionals face in entering professional careers pertaining to science, medicine and technology, on account of the traditional attitudes of the family that, for women, accord primacy to marriage and raising of family. Furthermore, she notes that a few lucky women, who did manage to enter the professions and persisted despite family pressures, have generated a series of societal changes that have impacted the division of labour and interpersonal roles within the family. Minocha’s interest in medical sociology was grounded in realistic and practical contemporary concerns. Writing on the medical profession in India, she argued that, in recent times, there is a growing hiatus between the societal expectation from doctors who are expected to devote their life to selfless service to humanity, on the one hand, and their own aspirations governed by monetary considerations, on the other. This, together with the changing nature of the profession, greater ‘politicisation’ and bureaucratic intervention, has resulted in erosion of

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the doctors’ esteem as well as power and authority enjoyed by them. The case of medical professionals is that of an elite group whose traditional basis for elite position, which lay in its tradition of nobility in character and work, has gradually shifted to monetary rewards its members can accrue. It is an elite group whose power to influence and give shape to public policy has been eroded . . . (Minocha 1989: 84).

According to Minocha, the doctrine of ‘informed consent’ and the Consumer Protection Act4 served to further wear away the doctor’s position. She noted that the doctor-patient relationship in the western countries is being altered from the traditional and paternalistic position, where the patient was a passive and submissive recipient of the doctors’ orders, to a more egalitarian one, where the patient is informed, empowered discerning and having the right to know about the doctor’s line of treatment. In the latter position, the patient should be informed about the diagnosis, the therapy in use and its effect on prognosis. This doctrine of informed consent is gaining popularity in India, but Minocha is not too convinced about its appropriateness without qualifications in the Indian context. On the basis of ethnographic evidence, she argued that the patient and his well-wishers are not interested in the technical details of the treatment process for which they repose full faith in the doctor’s acumen. Indians, by and large, adhere to the classical fiduciary doctor-patient relationship where faith and trust in the doctor is the hallmark of the relationship. The average Indian patient is involved in the psychological and social dimension of illness, leaving the doctor to deal with the medical concerns. Furthermore, her observations revealed that many patients are unable to comprehend or handle the information, and having learnt about bad prognosis, they give up the treatment altogether. It is on account of this that the doctor’s job becomes even more challenging; she has to decide how much information to give and to which patient, so that the exercise does not prove counterproductive. The doctrine of informed consent, therefore, has to be analysed in the cultural context. In a similar vein, in the context of the Consumer Protection Act, Minocha (1998) disapproves of the doctor-patient relationship being reduced to that of trader and consumer, for the two belong to diverse discourses and the equation between them will prove detrimental and counterproductive in the therapeutic process.

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Minocha never failed to express her views on the moral and ethical dilemmas of the medical world and their sociological relevance. Her writings on various issues and concerns ranging from social fallout of trauma, organ transplantation and euthanasia to the consumer protection bill, reveal her anxiety and, hence, her participation in the contemporary debates in the field of medicine. Her perspective is shaped by her keen observation of empirical facts and her deep sensitivity to the Indian reality. In a cogently argued paper,4 she debated on euthanasia, one of the most contentious medico-social issues in recent times. With increasing emphasis on the doctrine of informed consent, the individual’s right to die is being upheld as a human right. Besides the greater intervention of medicine and technology in health and illness, attitudinal and ideological outcomes of modernism that uphold individualism together with the inability of the family to support vegetative members are all forces that are conducive to the trend. However, Minocha argued that a terminally ill person is not in a state to take an appropriate decision with respect to life and death. More importantly, the individual is also a member of a family, a community and the society at large, and therefore the decision to end one’s life cannot be absolutely personal. Euthanasia has to be contextualised with reference to religion, and the moral and cultural traditions. It is an emotive issue with controversial and irreconcilable ideological stances. Recently, the police and the media have unearthed numerous rackets of illicit organ trade involving doctors. In a book co-authored with Shikha Batra, Minocha examined in depth the sociological and ethical concerns pertaining to organ transplantation (see Batra and Minocha 2002). The ideological notions prevalent in different countries with respect to organ donation have been illustrated here. The most significant is the attempt to highlight the controversy between gift and market paradigms, that is, the dilemma between altruism and commercial incentives in organ exchange. Should organs be treated as commodities or should they be governed with more humanitarian obligations? What are the implications of cultural controversy between altruism and market forces on social policy and transplant legislation? What are the preconditions for launching cadaver transplantation? These are some of the core issues to which the reader is sensitised. In this book, Batra and Minocha have succeeded in establishing that organ transplantation is a cultural, ethical and medico-legal issue that has serious socio-cultural ramifications.

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Minocha’s contributions to the field of medical sociology have benefited the discipline of sociology in many ways. Not only have her writings enriched the discipline, but have also kindled the interest of other researchers—both medical and social scientists—to it. Her ability to approach the issues in a holistic manner has helped to sensitise the academia to issues and concerns that have long been overlooked, and to shatter some conventional misconceptions. For example, contrary to the popular view that visitors to the hospital are an unnecessary nuisance, in her article published in The Hindustan Times (1983), Minocha illustrated how the relatives and friends visiting the patient in the hospital serve to boost the patient’s morale and help speed up the recuperation process. Her research on the hospital setting and the ramifications of the cultural norms through which the medical spaces are created is the first and best of its kind in India. The sociological analysis of the medical profession and a perceptive understanding of the doctor-patient relationship in the light of the on-going ethical debates on euthanasia, informed consent, the consumer protection act and organ transplantation demonstrate her ability to engage with the discipline in intensive and holistic manner. Her arguments were backed by profound observation and understanding of the context that is distinctively Indian.

Notes 1. Quoted from a letter written to Prof A.M Shah by Charles Leslie. 2. ‘Environment, Society and Population Stabilisation in Uttaranchal’, Report prepared for the Population Foundation of India, presented at the state level conference on ‘Health, Development and Population Stabilization issues in Uttaranchal’ in May 2001. 3. Paper accepted by the National Institute of Science, Technology and Development Studies, New Delhi for publication in a forthcoming volume. 4. ‘Euthanasia: A Sociological Perspective’, Manuscript accepted for publication by Vidyasagar Institute of Mental Health and Neuro Sciences, New Delhi.

References and Select Works of Aneeta Minocha Ahluwalia, Aneeta. 1967. ‘Sociology of medicine in India: An approach’, Economic and political weekly, 1 (42): 1007–12. ———. 1974. ‘Sociology of medicine’, in M.N. Srinivas, M.S.A. Rao and A.M. Shah (eds.): A survey of research in sociology and social anthropology—Vol. II (401–30). Bombay: Popular Prakashan.

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Batra, Shikha and Aneeta A. Minocha. 2002. From one body to another: Sociological issues on transplantation of human organs. New Delhi: Rajat Publications. Minocha, Aneeta A. 1979. ‘Varied roles in the field: A hospital in Delhi’, in M.N. Srinivas, A.M. Shah and E.A. Ramaswamy (eds.): The field worker and the field (201–15). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 1980. ‘Medical pluralism and health services in India’, Social science and medicine, 14B: 217–24. ———. 1983. ‘How pain visits a patient’, Hindustan Times (New Delhi), 24 April: 5–14. ———. 1984. ‘Mother’s position in child feeding and nutrition: Some sociological considerations’, Economic and political weekly, 19 (48): 2045–48. ———. 1985. ‘Spiritualism as a component of health: Some considerations’, in D.B. Bisht (ed.): The spiritual dimension of health (38–41). New Delhi: Directorate General of Health Services, Government of India. ———. 1986. ‘Social science perspectives on the health care delivery system’, Journal of social and economic studies, 3 (4): 339–44. ———. 1987. ‘Health for all: An appraisal’, in Sheo Kumar Lal and Ambika Chandani (eds.): Medical care: Readings in medical sociology (43–59). New Delhi: Jainsons. ———. 1989. ‘The medical profession in India: Elite without power’, in Khadija Ansari Gupta (ed.): Power elite in India (76–85). New Delhi: Vikas. ———. 1991. ‘Socio-economic equity and health: Examination of a few key concepts’, in T.M. Dak (ed.): Sociology of health in India (173–76). New Delhi: Rawat. ———. 1995. ‘Universities and the vocationalizing of education’, Journal of higher education, 18 (3): 409–14. ———. 1996a. ‘Managing social fallouts of trauma’, in A. Bhattacharya, R. Chawla and A. Gurnami (eds.): Trauma, anaesthesia and critical care (191–99). Delhi: University College of Medical Science. ———. 1996b. Perceptions and interactions in a medical setting. New Delhi: Hindustan Publishing House. ———. 1996c. ‘Women in modern medicine and Indian tradition’, in A.M. Shah, B.S. Baviskar and E.A Ramaswamy (eds.): Social structure and change—Vol. 2: Women in Indian society (149–77). New Delhi: Sage. ———. 1998. ‘The Consumer Protection Act and the medical profession: From doctorpatient to trader-consumer relationship’, in J.S. Gandhi and Arun P. Bali (eds.): The prime movers of Indian society: A Focus on the sociology of professions (139–56). New Delhi: National Book Organization. ———. (forthcoming). ‘The socio-cultural context of informed consent in medical practice’, in B.S Baviskar and Tulsi Patel (eds.): Understanding Indian society—Past and present: Essays in the honour of A.M Shah. Delhi: Orient Longman. Minocha, Aneeta A. and V.R. Minocha. 1993. ‘Investing in health: A review South Asian regional group’, World development report—Occasional papers Vol. 1: 7–16. Shah, A.M. and Aneeta Ahluwalia. 1970. ‘Role of sociology in medical education and research’, Economic and political weekly, 5 (17): 705–10.

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2 Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside—Medical Lore on Food and Health in Village Tamil Nadu1 V. Sujatha

M

  edical lore, denoting the medical knowledge and health practices of the village folk, is an important aspect of indigenous medicine in India. It is a body of knowledge emerging from the living experience of the people and is not necessarily a diluted version of the medical systems such as Ayurveda and Siddha. The common people in Indian villages have immanent necessity and greater opportunity to address their own health problems, and have thereby acquired considerable knowledge of health and disease. Their health concepts are constantly validated in practice in their quotidian life. At the same time, they coexist with the centuries old textual traditions which have elaborate formulations in the same domain (Radhika and Balasubramanian 1989 and 1990). It is, therefore, necessary to view the medical knowledge of the people in its own right without negating its relation to the formal, textual medical traditions. A brief look at the important studies on the subject—in anthropology, policy studies and the modern sociology of knowledge—would help appreciate this point. Ethnographic accounts of shamans and rural medicine men have been a favourite subject for the anthropologists:

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Elwin (1955) has given an account of male and female shamans among the Saora tribe of Orissa. In his study of folk medicine in a north Indian village, Carstairs (1955) has argued that traditional medicine persists because it establishes ‘faith’ and ‘assurance’ in the patient; lacking this ‘aura of conviction’, modern medicine is required to justify itself in these terms. Marriott (1955) has also argued that it is not so much the technical skill that gives prestige to the healer, but his spiritual power gained through piety. Jaggi (1973) highlights the role of religious belief, superstition and ritual in village medicine. The changes in traditional medicine caused by the coexistence of allopathy have also been studied (see Hasan 1967 and Leslie 1968). These and similar studies point to the social, emotional and religious functions of folk medicine; the success of folk medicine, if acknowledged, is attributed to factors other than medical efficacy. Policy studies (see Banerji 1974 and 1976; Djurfeldt and Lindberg 1976; Kakar 1977; Priya 1990; Qadeer 1985 and 1990), which aim at identifying the health needs of the population and evaluating existing policy measures on health, tend to view the common people as ‘poor and ignorant masses’ needing policy attention. In these studies medical lore is characterised as ‘layperson’s perception or belief ’, whose knowledge ‘can play an important role in orienting social marketing strategy around key cultural concerns and associations’ (Nichter 1980: 232). This is understandable as these studies ‘assume the supreme efficacy of western medicine’ and their main aim is ‘to make it more available to the villagers’ (Leslie 1988: 1–2). Furthermore, the word ‘layperson’ projects the villager as incapable of any discrimination. While in some villages many systems of cure may coexist, a villager’s choice of an appropriate system will be conditioned by her/his analysis of the role that medicine plays in altering the balance within her/his system and between her/him and the environment. In this the villager draws on her/his ‘knowledge capital’. Influenced by the developments in sociology of knowledge, a new class of social scientists trained in Indian systems of medicine has analysed the content and form of medical texts and the manner in which these are interpreted in practice by professional vaidyas: Francis Zimmerman (1978, 1980 and 1988), an apprentice under Shri Vayaskara N.S. Mooss, a hereditary practitioner of Astavaidyar caste in the Kerala School of Ayurveda, working in the academic traditions of

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Gaston Bachelard and Michael Foucault; Margaret Trawick Egnor (1983 and 1987), who studied with Shri Mahadeva Iyer, a master practitioner in a village near Kanyakumari in Tamil Nadu; and Daniel Tabor (1981), a student of Shri Bapalal Vaitya, the retired principal of an Ayurvedic college in Surat. Studies of this genre, which focus on the textual and formal dimensions of Ayurveda and Siddha, have considerably enhanced the epistemological status of Indian medicine. However, studies on the medical lore of the village folk as a system of knowledge in its own right are hard to come by. This paper explores the folk-health tradition in Tamil Nadu where food is conceived of, as in other rural areas in the country, as the primary cause of health and disease. It is part of a larger effort to understand the medical knowledge and practices of the village folk in Pasumpon Thevar Thirumagan District of Tamil Nadu (see Sujatha 1994). The locus of field work was a group of villages of Thirukolakudi Panchayat situated north-west of Tirupatur town, in the foot of a hill locally called Suramalai. All villages in this panchayat suffer from economic handicaps endemic to the area caused by small land holdings, infrequent and unreliable rains, lack of a permanent source of irrigation and poor productivity of the soil. Dry-land farming and coolie labour are the main sources of livelihood for the majority of the inhabitants, though a few cultivate paddy in their well-irrigated lands. In this area, extremes in social (caste) and economic (class) differences are less; powerful lobbies of Brahmin and Chettiyar castes are absent. The area is populated by caste groups like the Maravars, Kallars, Valayars, Paraiyars and Pallars. The Valayars are a numerically large caste group in the villages of Thirukolakudi panchayat, and they form about 50 percent of our informants. There seems to be no distinct upper class in the area.

I Diet Content It is well known that the staple food of most south Indian villagers consists of rice, ragi, maize and millet cooked and taken with a vegetable side dish or sambar (spicy gravy). Underlying this apparently simple diet

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are certain principles which have largely remained uncodified. Variety, for instance, seems to be the most fundamental of such principles. Variety in diet, however, is limited to whatever is available in the habitat according to seasonal changes. Moreover, variety is sought more in those foods that are consumed in large quantities and frequently, and less in those foods that are consumed in lesser quantities and infrequently. The villages are in a drought-prone area where dry-land farming is the only major source of sustenance, and wetland farming, particularly rice cultivation, is very less. Finger millet, pearl millet, kodo millet, little millet, maize and sorghum are the food grains cultivated on dry land; besides, pulses like cowpea, green gram, carpet legume, etc. are cultivated side by side. These are the only reliable and perennial sources of food for the people here. Rice and vegetables grow only during specific seasons. With such constraints imposed by ecology and the seasons, how can the variety principle operate? The dry-land food grains are processed, pounded and cooked. Every day a different food grain is cooked; sometimes two are cooked in one day, separately for the day and the night. Somehow, a rotation of all the available food grains is achieved during the week. A similar, if not more intensive, drive for variety could be found in the consumption of greens: in most households four to 10 varieties of greens are cooked together in the water with which the food grain has been washed. Often, the villagers collect the leaves of any plant that they know is edible and add it to their collection of greens. The greens may not all be tasty; some are quite bitter, while some have a strong smell. Adults and children alike consume a variety of greens of different tastes as often as once a day or at least thrice a week. An exclusive vegetable side dish is not a regular feature in their daily fare. The vegetables grown in their farms, if any, or bought from the weekly village market are cooked along with a spicy gravy made of tamarind juice, known as sambar. The sambar may consist of two or three pulses. The non vegetarian food that the Valayars (originally hunters) living in Thirukolakudi consume consists of what they get from hunting— rabbits, squirrels, bandicoots, and cranes and some other birds. The others at times buy some kinds of meat from the Valayars. Thus, the people see to consume a variety of meats. Some variation from the set pattern of diet in response to seasonal changes was observed: With the onset of rains, many plants grow on the foot of the hill (Suramalai) lending a lush green colour to the landscape.

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During this time, several herbs and mushrooms are collected and used in daily cooking. Most villagers cannot afford to buy fruits from the market. They consume the locally available palm fruit, cashew fruit, ripe cucumbers, and other local fruits. They eat fruits like bananas, oranges, etc. only when they get it cheaply or in case of illness, especially those that require hospitalisation. Groundnut, tamarind seed with jaggery and roasted green gram are consumed as small eats. Eesal (winged termites) is the choicest of all small eats. Foods cooked for festive occasions have perhaps the least variety. Most of the special food is cooked and not deep fried. A majority of Valayars and certain scheduled caste groups in the area observe a religious taboo about deep frying in the household; they have to go to the ‘forests’ to prepare fried foods. Omissions in the diet have as much to say as inclusions. Milk and milk products are conspicuous by their absence. This does not mean that they are never consumed; it only means that they do not form a part of the regular fare of most of the villagers. They may be used for medicinal purposes or in special cases, such as a nursing mother. The villagers are not particularly fond of milk, curds and ghee: some people are averse to milk products, others simply avoid them. Many people nauseate at the smell of curds and buttermilk. It is difficult to ascertain whether this aversion has a physiological or socio-cultural basis. Perhaps an insight into their ideas about food-body relationship could throw some light on this matter.

II The Significance of Food While the people of Thirukolakudi accord great importance to food, they do not seem to perceive its importance in terms of its basic need for existence. That is, their ideas about the significance of food are not built around the assertions about its absolute necessity for survival. They do not say, for example, that food is primary because there can be no life without it; rather, their conceptions of food are corporal: they seem to conceive the significance of food in terms of its vital functions for the

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body. Furthermore, their conceptions are wide in scope, encompassing the idea of ‘intake’ in general. The villagers assert, ‘For all living beings, food is the source of health and disease’.2 This seemingly general and an ordinary statement gives an important clue to their ideas of health and disease. It implies that other causes of health and disease, namely, heredity, climate, environment, habits, etc. are only of secondary importance; in the final analysis, food is the determinant of health and disease. While the villagers would be open to discuss other factors related to health and disease, they would inevitably end the discussion by drawing attention to the primacy of food over other causes: ‘What are all these? Our intake is the cause for every thing. Disease does not come from body constitution or heredity; it comes from what we eat’. Proverbs quoted by the informants also signify how ‘intake’ is vital not only for human beings, animals and plants, but also for the earth and even for mechanical objects like, e.g., petrol for a car. So pervasive is the notion of the primacy of food that it figures as analogy even in discussions not directly concerning food. For instance, on the necessity of manure in agriculture it was said: ‘You should have eaten well to lift more weight. Can you eat little and lift more? So is the earth. Only if you feed it with manure will it lift the yield high?’ From various accounts and comments of the villagers, we may delineate two dominant lines of explanation for this overwhelming importance attached to food. Of the various factors that could be associated with health, such as living conditions, hygiene, environment and the like, food alone goes directly into the body, interacts with the body system, and becomes ‘internal’ to the body system itself. The others do have an effect, but their effect is restricted in comparison with food which, though originating ‘outside’, gets right into the body metabolism and is later assimilated into it. In other words, it is food which establishes a link between what is external to the body system and what is internal to it. Food gets transformed from being an external input to an internal feature of the body. As an informant remarked: ‘Everything germinates from the chemicals we use. We add them to the very seeds we sow on earth. The baby has it when it is born. All we eat; where else will it go?’ The ‘seeds’ that go to make the foetus contain the chemical inputs used in cultivating the food grain consumed. To be able to affect the semen from which the foetus originates, the chemicals in food should themselves have become an innate feature of the body system.

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Another line of explanation stems from the recognition of the formative role of food in the very genesis of the foetus. The dietary habits of the parents are said to determine the properties of their reproductive fluids directly, and the diet pattern of the mother is regarded as having tremendous impact on the body constitution of the foetus. A cryptic comment made by an old man about the older generation paraphrases this idea: ‘We are not made of coffee and snacks. Our parents ate food grains and porridge and from it we were made’. In brief, the relation between body and food is considered so profound and far-reaching as to be able to mould the calibre of an entire generation. Considering the cardinal importance assigned to food as a cause for health/illness, one would expect a meticulous classification and wellformulated prescriptions about foods to be eaten or avoided, etc. However, our informants did not have much to say on types of food to be eaten or avoided, that would be applicable to all. One would tend to attribute this relative absence of universalistic norms to poverty, which could have forced them to accept any food as fit for eating. However, the relative absence of norms concerning food seemed to be compensated by the firm insistence on norms regarding eating. The type and nutritive value of food, which are a matter of quality, vary from culture to culture, depending on a number of local conditions like climate, ecology and lifestyle. It would, therefore, not be wise to have norms that would be applicable to all. On the other hand, it would be necessary to have fixed norms about eating as an activity. Accordingly, we find that norms that are categorically stated and said to hold good for all are those that relate to the latter; the more conditional ones, to the former. Conceptions on the quantity of food to be consumed, however, intersect both—the universal and local conditions.

Eating: The Universal and Mechanical Dimensions The most fundamental norm according to the villagers, is regularity in eating. Eating at fixed hours of the day is regarded as essential. What is eaten is secondary; that something is eaten in time so that the stomach is not left empty is primary. This norm invokes a mechanical conception of the digestive system as the informants stressed the necessity of eating something at the ‘eating time’ even when no hunger is felt. The digestive system is likened to a machine and the most basic requirements for its functioning are highlighted. While there could be

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exceptions to some health norms, the violation of which may not be very harmful, no exception is provided for the norm ‘eat at regular and fixed timings’: Without food you cannot do a thing. If your stomach is empty, the digestive fluids that are secreted will cause burning sensation inside the stomach, the digestive organs would contract, and from these disease would start. If you go and have food later, you will feel the stomach churning and aching. So whatever happens, you must take food in time, at least a little to give some input to the stomach and keep it cool. Three meals a day for all living beings [sic]. From food comes life, disease, and everything (Azhagammai, a female informant).

That food must be taken at least thrice a day, is the second norm; though a fourth meal is said to be necessary when work is heavy. This does not mean that overeating is generally encouraged. One is to eat only after the previous meal is fully digested. Overeating and eating between meals are strongly discouraged. That is, moderation in eating is stressed. These norms are regarded as important and the villagers claimed to take great care to follow them. They, no doubt, adjust the timing of their meals to suit their convenience and habit. Yet there was constancy in the meal-timings and the basic norm of ‘eating thrice a day at fixed hours’ remained unchanged. Regularity, moderation and constancy are thus highlighted as the fundamental principles underlying the cultivation of eating habits. The term constancy suggests something about the quantity of food to be taken. Can this quantity be specified (similar to the minimum and maximum calorie intake specified in biomedicine)? The villager’s conception of the food-body relationship initially leads us to think that the quantity of food to be taken is based on the amount of work done. While it is held that people who do more physical work have to and do eat ‘more’ and that one cannot work if one does not eat ‘enough’, the villagers pointed out that the actual amount of food consumed by a person is not determined by the amount of work done by her/him: there are persons who eat less always and yet do as much work as anybody, and vice versa. What is important in this regard is the ‘capacity of the stomach to hold’, that is, the requirement of the stomach is considered to be the criterion for the quantity of food to be eaten. The term kannaku (measure)

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used frequently in this regard connotes the capacity of the stomach as a standard measure of the quantity of food to be consumed: You can eat only as much as your body system can assimilate. That is the measure. A big tank can hold more water; a small one cannot. If you forcibly fill more into the tank, it will break. So if you consume more than your stomach can hold, you would vomit. Everything is indeed measured (Chinnakaruppan, a male informant).

This criterion is stated in unequivocal terms. Even if the question is twisted—‘Do we have to eat less when we work less, or vice versa?’—the answer is straight: ‘Do we have two stomachs, one when you work and one when you don’t? You eat the same amount always, don’t you?’ (Ibid.). While the injunction that one should eat as much as the stomach holds may appear to be a universal prescription, subjecting the capacity of the stomach to some specific conditions ‘localises’ the criterion.

Quality of Food: The Local Dimension Initially, the digestive system is perceived as an entity per se and the purely mechanical aspects of its functioning are spelt out. However, the machine (digestive system) is inside a larger system (body system), it receives inputs (food) from outside (ecology and environment), and its functioning depends on many other factors—the operations of the larger system (work done by the person), the capacity of the larger system (body constitution of the person), and the availability of inputs from outside (economic, geographic and seasonal conditions). These conditions having a bearing on the ‘machine’ are local’ in nature; local to a group of people living in similar conditions. These are highly variable and dynamic conditions experienced, comprehended and handled by the group of people living under them. These are conditions relating to the quality of food. The variety principle and body constitution: Questions like ‘What foods are good?’, ‘What foods are nutritious?’, ‘What foods are harmful to health?’ and so on, evoke responses like: ‘Everything is edible, man eats even mud and stone with food, even that goes inside, what is not edible?’ (Pothichi, a female informant). ‘What is not eaten? Snakes are not eaten. But they say that the white man eats that; what is left that man does not eat?’ (Kaari, a male informant).

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The argument that all foods are good apparently implies that there is nothing inherently wrong about a foodstuff. Each foodstuff possesses certain properties and it becomes good or bad when these properties agree or disagree with the eater’s body constitution. Since what is agreeable to one may not for another, each person has to decide what is good for herself/himself. It is considered better to eat as many kinds of food as possible to acquire the ‘goodness’ of all of them. Thereby the body gets used to the various properties, good and bad alike, that any further dose of those properties may not cause harm. Thus, the harmful elements can also give strength to the body by conditioning it against further doses of the same. In this way, the variety principle paves the way for the control of diseases carried by food. This is particularly true of foods which are part of the daily diet, because it is necessary to familiarise the body to foods that will constitute the bulk of the daily consumption. It is said that people who eat variety of foods are healthier than those who are very choosy. So, for one month after delivery the mother is given all kinds of vegetables and foodstuffs (though in limited quantities) to accustom her breastfed baby to variety in the early stages of its life. The increase in skin diseases in the past 10 years, which the allopathic doctors attribute to the ‘unhygienic lifestyle’ of the villagers, is held by the villagers to be the consequence of violation of the variety principle. The depletion of the traditional food grains and loss of many dry-land pulses (due to commercial cropping) have forced them to eat only some varieties of pulses and vegetables (like the red pumpkin, brinjal, etc.) which are available, and which are all karrapan (foods that cause skin problems). These are said to vitiate neer (water) in the body system and in the absence of neutralising properties, lead to skin infections of various kinds. The variety principle when carried to its extreme represents an ideal for the villagers. ‘Indiscriminate diet’, as we may call it, would mean eating the maximum possible kinds of foods. ‘A man who eats anything, almost everything without feeling any aversion to smells and tastes becomes the strongest. Nobody can beat him’ (Kottaiyan, a male informant). As a rule, informants referring to this ideal inevitably cite the diet of the goat as being typical of the condition of indiscriminate diet: The goat, of all animals, is known to eat all kinds of leaves including the poisonous Kancarai (Strychnine tree). It is said that excepting the plant locally known as aadu todaa ilai (Adathoda Vasaka), there is no plant that the goat does not eat. The goat is so adaptive, the villagers add, that during times of drought,

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when pastures are scarce, it eats leeches and even bits of paper, though basically it is a vegetarian. It is enriched by the properties of all those various substances it eats, and the noxious elements, if any, neutralise each other. The goat’s milk is, therefore, said to be ‘free from disease’. Despite being a pervasive ideal, ‘indiscriminate diet’ is not fully achieved in practice, as is evident from the fact that the villagers avoid certain foods and are averse to some. The villagers acknowledge that lifestyle, kind and amount of work done, time available, availability of foods and their compatibility with the body constitution, and so on have a crucial role to play in the realisation of this ideal. While the villagers say that all food items are good, they would not take milk, curds, ghee and some vegetables, even if they are available. A closer scrutiny reveals that these rich foods are said to be good for the body and its shine and glow, but they do not seem to be regarded as strengthening the body system. The term caturam (body frame), connoting the outer appearance of the body, as opposed to the terms tiregam and mel used to characterise the body system and its inner metabolism, provides the clue to this implicit distinction: milk, curds and the like contribute to the frame only. Growth of the frame (body size) is considered harmful to health and especially antithetical to their lifestyle based on hard work. The villagers, however, are not negating the nutritive value of the foods like milk; ‘it is inadequate for us’ is what they say. For the kind and amount of physical work they do, they require foods that are bulky enough to keep their stomachs full during work. Foods like milk, fruits, egg, etc. do not meet their requirement for bulk foods, that is, they are not filling, it is said. All the food grains, cereals, pulses and greens that they eat regularly are said to supply the needful at low cost. ‘We eat all the nine kinds of grains, all available varieties of cereals and pulses; moreover, we eat “mixed greens” at least twice a week and so our blood would be as good and bright as the sparrow’s blood’ (Raasu, a specialist in treating snake and insect bites).

The Nexus of Food, Body, Work, Ecology and Lifestyle The villagers do not seem to view the body in terms of anatomy and physiology. They talk about processes and entities, the crucial ones among them being body constitution and quality of blood. Blood, here,

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does not have a literal meaning; it is used as an umbrella concept to subsume several body constituents—reproductive fluids, fat, bone marrow, hormones, besides blood proper. Thus, blood is regarded as virtually constituting the important fluid contents of the body system, and hence, a vital force in its functioning. Body constitution, on the other hand, is said to include heredity and genetic factors. Basically, it refers to certain tendencies in the body system which give a person her/his physical, physiological and mental traits and ‘proneness’ to some kinds of ailments. The relation between blood and body constitution is not made clear to us by the informants, except that the tendencies of the body system are generally manifest in blood. A thing, before it becomes food to us, is part of nature and, hence, an entity external to our body. All substances in nature and, thereby, food also, are considered to possess some properties like heat, water and so on, which are regarded as neither good nor bad. The contact between food and body is first established physically when the food is consumed and digested. Later, food assimilates with the body system; more precisely, it is said to combine with blood and rejuvenate it. It is as though the blood and the body constituents get constituted by the food consumed. In this sense, the body itself is conceived of as being constituted by food, and the relation between food and body is established in the most fundamental way. Both food and the body constitution seem to be governed by a common classification system whose main elements are heat producing, watery and wind producing. So wise eating calls for a compensatory eating principle to avoid vitiation of the prone tendency. Since the goodness/ badness of foods is ascertained only in their relation to the body (of persons), universalistic criteria for classifying good and bad foods are not applied. However, by relating food consumed to body constitution, the food-body relation is not reduced to the level of individual bodies. There are patterns in body constitution (‘hot bodies’, ‘cool bodies’ and so on) which raise the food-body relation to the level of interaction of properties. Furthermore, the body constitution and food eaten are not individual entities but they are themselves a function of larger forces in the ecology, heredity and social background. Thus, food which seems an innocuous entity from outside, becomes the source of health and disease when it gets into the body and interacts with it. However, the relation between food and body is said to be

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incomplete without incorporating the functions of the body (that is, work). Food consumed has to be in proportion to the work done, and this is regarded as an important physiological requirement of any body system. Physical work is said to perform the indispensable catalytic role in the assimilation of food and the expulsion of wastes from the body. Any excesses in the foods consumed are said to be expelled from the system through sweat, thus avoiding the possibility of vitiation of constitutional tendencies resulting from food intake: ‘The more you sweat, the better, the body will eject the unwanted fluids through sweat. To bring these fluids out, some amount of hard work is absolutely essentially for anybody’ (Chinnakaruppan, a male informant). Thus, physical work is another neutralising mechanism in the complex relationship between food and the body (the others being the variety principle and indiscriminate diet, discussed earlier) which is considered to reinforce continually the capacity to work by processing the food in the appropriate manner. There is more to this interaction between food and work. We know that various food grains are included in the villagers’ diet by rotation. These food grains are allocated for the day and the night: finger millet, kodo millet and little millet are consumed during the day; maize and rice are consumed at night. Similarly, a greater combination of food grains is consumed during the latter half of the year (i.e., during the agricultural season), and lesser combination is found in their diets in the first half. The villagers acknowledge these adjustments and explain that heavier and bulkier foods that could withstand ‘the absorbing power’ of hard physical work will have to be consumed when there is more work. However, the food intake is not necessarily reduced when work is less: ‘What we eat in the day is burnt up in work. What is eaten in the night only “stays” and assimilates with the body. So we can eat heavily, as much as we want in the night’ (Konamuzhichi, a female informant). As we have seen, the amount of food eaten is said to be determined by the capacity of the stomach, irrespective of work done. Nevertheless, this does not seem to be put into practice, because the foods consumed during the day are ‘heavy’ and those consumed in the night are ‘light’. It was clarified that the phrase, ‘we can eat heavily in the night’ means ‘we can eat more of the light foods in the night’. The quality of food eaten, namely, whether it is heavy or light is what is to be synchronised with the work done. Adjustments in the quantity of food taken need not be made according to work done, it is felt.

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Apparently, the amount of work done has nothing to do with the quantity of food taken. After all, the quantity of food that a person can eat is said to be related to the capacity of her/his stomach. But, there is a subtle twist here: the capacity of the stomach is itself said to be determined by the amount of work done. Instead of postulating a direct and simple relation between work and food, thereby reducing it to the level of the individual, it is conceived at a much higher level of generality. The capacity of the stomach, according to the villagers, does not seem to refer to the capacity of individual stomachs. It is subject to the proportion of work in one’s lifestyle as a whole. Thus, a group of people leading a similar lifestyle and doing the work of similar intensity is likely to have stomachs with similar capacity to hold food. This idea is almost reduced to an equation by our informants: Less or more work seems to activate the digestive system accordingly, and the food eaten is balanced with the amount of work done. If this is so, why should such great importance be attached to physical work? For an answer, we are taken back to the initial statements about the catalytic role of physical work. The absence of physical work in one’s lifestyle, it is said, cannot be compensated by any improvements in nutrition, hygiene, etc.: ‘The more you work the more healthy you are. Even if you eat the best and the most nutritious of foods, but do not work enough, the foods eaten will themselves become sources of disease’ (Fatima Bheevi, a female informant). Thus, a lifestyle of more work, more food, is always considered preferable. The food-body relation mediated by work is to be understood in the context of their common existence in ecology. It is said that human beings and the food they consume are of the same order in that they are both living things. Food comes from plants and animals, which are living things. At this level, the body and the food to be consumed are affected individually and collectively by any stimulus to the ecology of which they are a part. It may even be said that they react similarly to such stimuli, and that the reaction to the stimuli by one of them could be a basis for understanding and explaining the same in another.3 The following comment illustrates this point: ‘If the chemicals can be so powerful as to raise the yield from five bags to eight, will its potency not act on the delicate digestive organs at least with half its force, when the food so cultivated is eaten regularly?’ (Nalli, a female informant). The earth is here a metaphor for the body. The effect of chemical inputs on earth becomes a means of comprehending the effect of food

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‘infested’ with chemicals on the body. The similarity in the reactions of the human body and other elements in ecology (such as the earth, plants and animals) to stimuli signifies the ‘internalisation’ of ecology by the body. Food is the vehicle of this internalisation: originating in ecology, or rather, itself being ecology, food takes ecology into the body. This internalisation is established and sustained over a period. In other words, a process of conditioning the body system to the food and thereby to the ecology has to precede internalisation. By eating the foods prevalent in one’s ecology over a period, the body gets conditioned to them and becomes immune to the effects of minor imbalances that may be caused by the foods so consumed. The conditioning to the inputs coming from their ecology, the villagers say, enables them to identify the sources of new ailments. For instance, when they say that chemical fertilisers and pesticides cause particular kinds of illnesses, it is not out of sheer resistance to change, but because of the fact that they produce reactions within the body which they have hitherto not experienced. That is, they know the reactions produced by the foods to which they are conditioned. Thus, experience and the logic of elimination have helped them conclude that the food ‘infested’ with chemical inputs causes a host of ‘heat-related’ disorders which their organic foods never did. The following remark of Azhagi, a female informant, illustrates this: The crops, greens and grains cultivated with chemical fertilisers and pesticides cause excessive production of wind inside the system. It never used to be like this those days. Nowadays poisonous medicines are used in agriculture. We eat the food thinking, after all it comes from our land, what harm can it do? To our surprise the food from our land has itself become a source of disease!

Conditioning to ecology through food can thus keep one perfectly at ease with their ecology. A remark such as, ‘we eat it thinking it comes from the earth, after all, what harm can it cause?’ brings out the rapport that the villagers have established with the ecology. This conditioning seems to have a crucial function in the occurrence or otherwise of disease. When asked why they continue to drink the unprotected water from the tanks, which the medical personnel in the area consider as the main cause of infections, the villagers would reply: ‘They say that there are germs in our tank water; true, but drinking this tank water for years together, we have ourselves become germs’ (Meyyan, a male informant).

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In other words, conditioning can internalise the disease causing agents themselves; by acquainting, or rather, befriending itself with the potential sources of disease, the body controls them. There is yet another dimension to the nexus in which the conditioning process acquires a wider and profound meaning than before. The body is said to secure a relation to the ecology not only through food (in the sense of meal); the air inhaled, the water used for drinking and bathing, and the herbal medicines taken are also forms of ecology going into the body, reinforcing the internalisation of the ecology. A whole generation of people being so intensely conditioned to the ecology can be expected to pass on the conditioning, to an extent, to their offspring: ‘We are not born out of coffee and snacks. Our parents ate food grains and porridge and from it we were made’ (Ambalam, a male informant). Thus, the conditioning process is said to thrust its roots into the formative stages itself, presetting the rudiments of a whole generation to come. Not only do the body and food get conditioned, the water and medicines consumed and the air inhaled by a person get conditioned to each other. Living in a habitat for several generations moulds the body system of the inhabitants, conditions them to its ecology and binds together the various inputs from the ecology consumed by them, thus creating a nexus of interpenetrating relations. At a specific level, the implications of the nexus would be like this: the kinds of food eaten (for example, organically grown) and the kinds of medicines taken (for example, herbal) would be so conditioned to each other that if a new type of medicine is taken, the medicine may not work well. A whole lifestyle evolves in this nexus of compatible relations between one’s body, the foods eaten, the water drunk, the medicines taken, the work done, and the ecology in which these exist and operate. Any radical change in any one of these, not accompanied by proportionate modifications in others, is said to result in incompatibility. The cumulative effect of incompatibilities, in the villager’s view, could spell disaster to a whole community by distorting the very rudiments of their life. We can, thus, understand why the villagers so intensely abhor foods ‘infested’ with chemical fertilisers and pesticides. The chemical inputs in the foods consumed are said to vitiate constitutional tendencies of heat and wind. Over a period there is an accumulation of the effects of that vitiation. Usually foods consumed over a period ought to get conditioned to the body. Despite taking ‘chemicalised’ foods for more than 15

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years, no conditioning seems to have taken place, the villagers complain. This is because of the gross distortions in relations among food, body, work and ecology that have taken place. The villagers explain that ‘chemicalised’ foods are immensely heat producing; they further heat up their bodies already exposed to the sun during the day. The heat so generated could perhaps be offset by consuming more of the ‘cooling’ foods like milk, curds, ghee, fruit-juice, etc. However, as we know, these foods are compatible neither with their lifestyle of hard work nor with their financial resources. Also, these ‘chemicalised’ foods are not compatible with their herbal medicines, which are ‘cool’ in nature. Consumption of such foods requires resort to hospital medicines which are again heat producing and costly. The net effect of all this is that their diet becomes incompatible with their way of life which involves working in the hot sun. The informants thus establish that the chemical inputs in food violate the very nexus of food, body, work and ecology. As always, the villagers do not reject anything saying it is absolutely bad. They point out that the ‘chemicalised’ foods could perhaps be less harmful to the middle-class urbanites, who need not have to work in the hot sun, and who can consume ‘cooling’ foods such as milk, curds, etc., and who can manage with and afford hospital medicines. According to the villagers, compatibility is thus the crucial condition of health and disease.

III Inherited and Incorporated Knowledge At any particular point in time, the medical lore of the people consists of both inherited knowledge and incorporated knowledge. The knowledge that is already there, handed over or acquired, is what is inherited: Medical texts and other reading material on the subject, the teachings of saints and sadhus who are well versed in medical texts, and the fund of knowledge transmitted from one generation to another constitute knowledge that is inherited. On the other hand, incorporated knowledge is what is created, modified and transformed in the ongoing process of life. The entire process of reckoning with the available resources and making them compatible with needs yields a lot of knowledge and

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experience. There is constant interaction between the two components of the lore, namely, what is inherited and what is incorporated, each reinforcing and modifying the other. The most crucial source of the villager’s incorporated knowledge is practice. Conventional sociology of knowledge distinguishes between ‘theory’ and ‘practice’ (see Merton 1972; Parsons 1970). However, the medical lore is not a diluted version of the texts, nor is it the mere application of textual tenets in actual practice. It is a system of knowledge that has evolved from practice and living experience. This practice is not antithetical to theory, but is itself its source and its end, like Bourdieu’s (1990) ‘habitus’, Marglin’s (1990) ‘techne’, and Lévi-Strauss’s (1962) ‘bricolage’. The concept of compatibility discussed above is central to other local health traditions (Nichter 1980) and the textual traditions (Dasgupta 1975; Dwarakanath 1967; Dwarakanath and Vaidyanathan 1977; Govindananda 1989;4 Pillai 1929; Shanmugavelu 1987). There are many more basic principles on which the different health traditions in India converge. The medical lore of a particular region, however, is an independent working out of concepts and practices by its people, within a broad framework of basic common principles. The villagers constantly try to comprehend and solve their health problems; their health concepts are a by-product of this very experience of living. For instance, physical work which is assigned such great importance in health in the folk tradition of Thirukolakudi, does not seem to find equivalent emphasis in the conceptions of the Ayurveda and Siddha practitioners in the locality. Each villager can discuss for hours how his body responds to changes in seasons, food and habitat with analogies drawn from nature and other human beings. The older women can distinguish about 12 types of effects of indigestion in infants by feeling and patting the stomach and hearing its sound, by observing the stools and by the sound of the infant’s cry. The knowledge so gained is constantly reinforced and refined by use in daily life. By virtue of its validation in living experience, it renews itself through adaptation. Edible oils, beverages, and chemical fertilisers and pesticides introduced in the region have been analysed and incorporated into their ‘materia medica’. Their diet patterns have helped them survive 10 years of drought in the past without problems of malnutrition and deficiency (see Sujatha 1993). This adaptation seems to be built into their health culture as in the case of many other village communities in India (Jodha 1991).

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The lore is a health tradition in the sense of Lath’s (1988 a and b) Parampara, an ongoing process in which the confluence of inherited and incorporated knowledge is effected through the crystallisation of experience. Continued living in a habitat for several generations, and the conscious experience of the body, disease, and the remedies have built up a knowledge tradition. By ‘befriending’ food elements outside the body system, by inducing variety in food intake, by adapting to the ecological conditions, the body-food dialectic has yielded a health Parampara, whose continuity is ensured by its orientation to informed practice.

Notes 1. I am grateful to Prof. G. Sivaramakrishnan, Department of Sociology, Bangalore University, for his comments on an earlier draft of this paper. The people of Thirukolakudi village, where the fieldwork for this study was conducted, are among the most important contributors to this paper. Their knowledge and skills provide information for this work; their sense of values gives valuable insights into life. I am also thankful to the anonymous referee for his/her valuable comments and suggestions. 2. The interviews on which the present study is based were conducted in Tamil. Informants’ statements reproduced here are free translations into English rendered by the author. 3. If the effect of chemical fertilisers and pesticides on the soil is translatable into the effect of a similar intake on the body, it connotes a fundamental unity underlying the functions of intakes for the various ecological systems—human body, plants and animals. 4. Personal communication in 1989 by Vaidyar Govindananda, Head, Sri Narayana Guru Ayurveda Hospital, Pillayar Patti, Tamil Nadu.

References Banerji, Debabar. 1974. ‘Social and cultural foundations of health services systems’, Economic and political weekly, 9 (32–34): 1333–43. ——— 1976. ‘Health services and population policies’, Economic and political weekly, 11 (31–33): 1247–52. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1990. The logic of practice. California: Stanford University Press. Carstairs, G.M. 1955. ‘Medicine and faith in rural Rajasthan’, in B.D. Paul (ed.): Health, culture and community (107–34). New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Dasgupta, Surendranath. 1975. ‘Speculation in the medical schools’, in Surendranath Dasgupta (ed.): A history of Indian philosophy (273–436). New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidas. Djurfeldt, Goran and Staffan Lindberg. 1976. Pills against poverty. New Delhi: Oxford and IBH Publishing Company.

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Dwarakanath, C. 1967. Digestion and metabolism in Ayurveda. Calcutta: Baidyanath. Dwarakanath, C. and B. Vaidyanathan. 1977. Nutritionology in Ayurveda (Mimeo). Egnor, Margaret Trawick. 1983. ‘Death and nurturance in Indian systems of healing’, Social science and medicine, 17 (14): 935–45. ——— 1987. ‘The Ayurvedic physician as scientist’, Social science and medicine, 24 (12): 1031–50. Elwin, V. 1955. The religion of an Indian tribe. London: Oxford University Press. Hasan, Khwaja Arif. 1967. The cultural frontier of health in village India. Bombay: Manaktalas. Jaggi, O.P. 1973. ‘Folk medicine’, in History of science, technology and medicine in India (Vol. 3), New Delhi: Atma Ram and Sons. Jodha, N.S. 1991. ‘Drought management: Farmer’s strategies and their policy implications’, Economic and political weekly, 26 (29): A 98–104. Kakar, D.N. 1977. Folk and modern medicine. New Delhi: New Asian Publishers. Lath, Mukund. 1988a. ‘The “modern”, the “traditional” and criticism in the Indian musical tradition’, Lokayan, 16 (5): 23–36. ——— 1988b. ‘Folk and classical music: A dichotomy that does not quite work in India’, Sangeet natak, 88: 44–46. Leslie, Charles. 1968. ‘Professionalisation of Ayurvedic and Unani medicine’, Transactions of the New York Academy of Sciences (Series 2), 30 (4): 559–72. ——— 1988. ‘Social research and health care planning in South Asia’ (Parts I and II), Ancient science of life, 8 (1): 1–12 and 8 (2): 75–91. Lévi-Strauss, Claude. 1962. The savage mind. London: Neidenfeld and Nicholson. Marglin, Stephen. 1990. ‘Losing touch: The cultural conditions of worker accommodation and resistance’ in Frederique Appfel Marglin and Stephen Marglin (ed.): Dominating knowledge (217–82). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Marriott, McKim. 1955. ‘Western medicine in a village of north India’, in B.D. Paul (ed.): Health, culture and community (239–68). New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Merton, Robert K. 1972. Social theory and Social structure. New Delhi: Amerind Publishers. Nichter, Mark. 1980. ‘The lay person’s perception of medicines as perspective into the utilisation of multiple therapy systems in the Indian context’, Social science and medicine, 14B: 225–33. Parsons, Talcott. 1970. ‘An approach to the sociology of knowledge’, in James E. Curtis and John W. Petras (eds.): The sociology of knowledge. A reader (282–306). London: Praeger. Pillai, Muthukarrupan. 1929. Vaidya saara sangiraham (in Tamil) Madurai: Madurai Tamizh Sangam. Priya, Ritu. 1990. ‘Health care in the eighth plan: dubious package deal’, Economic and political weekly, 25 (33): 1820–23. Qadeer, Imrana. 1985. ‘Health system and socio-economic inequalities’, Social action, 35 (3): 199–223. ——— 1990. ‘Beyond medicine: An analysis of health status of Indian people’. Think India 2 (1): 94–107. Radhika, M. and A.V. Balasubramanian. 1989. Local health traditions. (Lok Swasthya Parampara Samvardhan Samiti [LSPSS] Monograph No: 1). Madras: LSPSS. ——— 1990. Ayurvedic principles of food and nutrition (Part I) (Lok Swasthya Parampara Samvardhan Samiti [LSPSS] Monograph No: 2). Madras: LSPSS.

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Shanmugavelu, M. 1987. Siddha maruthuva noi naadal, noi mudhal naadal thirattu (in Tamil) (Part I). Madras: Tamil Nadu Siddha Commission. Sujatha. V. 1993. ‘Underdevelopment and ill-health—A dubious association’, in Proce­ edings of the Interdisciplinary Research Methodology Workshop (384–94), Madras Institute of Development Studies, Chennai. ——— 1994. Health and disease in village India. A study in medico-cultural compatibility. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis in sociology, Bangalore University. Tabor, Daniel. 1981. ‘Ripe and unripe: Concepts of health and sickness in Ayurvedic medicine’, Social science and medicine, 15B: 439–55. Zimmerman, Francis. 1978. ‘From classic texts to learned practice: Methodological remarks on the study of Indian medicine’, Social science and medicine, 12B (2): 97–103. ——— 1980. ‘Rtu-Satmya: The seasonal cycle and the principle of appropriateness’, Social science and medicine, 14B: 99–106. ——— 1988. ‘The jungle and the aroma of meats: An ecological theme in Hindu medicine’, Social science and medicine, 27 (3): 197–215.

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3 State Sponsored Health Care in Rural Uttar Pradesh: Grassroots Encounters of a Survey Researcher Rajiv Balakrishnan

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n a mercilessly hot summer afternoon in Bah, Agra, a pipal tree outside the Community Health Centre provides merciful shade to a confabulating group of tired people. It is a motley group, made up of lower level staff of the Centre who have in their midst a group of newcomers—members of a team conducting a baseline survey of the state of health and family planning in rural Uttar Pradesh. The newcomers’ agenda, sponsored jointly by the India branch of the New York based Population Council and by the Council for Social Development, a Delhi based quasi-governmental NGO, is two-pronged, gathering of data from the staff of the public health system, and from the rural recipients of health and family planning services. As regards the latter task, the Centre has promised to assist the team in locating the village beneficiaries. The team’s members, gossiping under the pipal tree, are in fact awaiting a health worker assigned to accompany them to the field. Presently, the health worker arrives and everyone piles into a jeep to begin the search for beneficiary households.

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Assuring the team’s coordinators of cooperation at their rural destinations, the health worker points out, his voice reeking of an urbanite’s condescension towards rural folk, that the team would be received with the reverence villagers habitually extend to government functionaries. The group’s mode of transport—the jeep, he says by way of explanation—is inevitably seen as a symbol of governmental authority. As a member of the team and one of its coordinators, I discover in due course that this indeed is true. I also encounter the other side of the coin; I was, on many occasions, approached with folded palms and beseeched to do something about such problems as the inadequacy of water, erratic electricity supply, and about the crimes of omission and commission of public health service staff. Like the villagers we met, Agra’s public health staff suspected us of being representatives of the government in Delhi, and we were received with utmost courtesy and solicitousness at the PHCs (Primary Health Centres). Our field strategy had centered around visits to PHCs, partly with a view to canvassing schedules among the medical staff there, and partly with the intention of examining records so as to obtain information that would enable us locate and interview the acceptors of family planning services. Names and addresses of acceptors, obtained from records maintained by a PHC official known as a ‘Computer’, were based on information periodically received from the Auxiliary Nurse and Midwife, who bears by far the greater part of the responsibility for initiating and sustaining contact with the intended beneficiaries. The Auxiliary Nurse and Midwife, or ANM, operating typically from far flung health outposts known as sub-centres is, theoretically at least, the backbone of this health outreach system. We relied heavily upon her rather for the actual identification of acceptor households in the villages. Our modus operandi, as all this suggests, entailed considerable dependence on public health staff. As we had obtained permission for our survey from the state government and were armed with a letter from Agra’s Chief Medical Officer which directed the district’s public health staff to assist us, we assumed that we would get a good deal of cooperation. And cooperation we did get in abundant measure. The team’s presence also evoked a different type of reaction, however—one of palpable unease, as is vividly illustrated by events of May 30, 1995. That morning, I proceeded to a PHC with a team of investigators. Even as some of the team’s members obtained acceptor’s names and addresses from the PHCs computer, three ANMs, each attached to a

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sub-centre of the PHC, made their appearance. Though instructed to accompany us to the villages falling under their jurisdictions to help us locate beneficiary households they clandestinely made off, leaving us high and dry. They had, it was subsequently discovered, gone into hiding in the nearby residence of their colleague, a fellow PHC worker. This we learnt when a member of our team spotted the missing ANMs moving about furtively near the colleague’s residence. The matter was brought to the attention of the PHC staff, whereupon the absconding ANMs were apprehended. Somewhat abashedly, one of them, an elderly lady, confessed to being afflicted by ‘gabrahat’ (anxiety). Why did these ANMs panic? The colleague in whose residence they had concealed themselves, a lady with whom I unwittingly established rapport on the basis of common cultural roots in Kerala, informed me that there was in fact nothing mysterious about the missing ANMs. They did not maintain proper records and were also derelict in the discharge of their duties, she explained, adding that as they feared that their lapses might come to light they took to such a bizarre game of hide-and-seek.

Dereliction of Duty What, then, are the lapses the ANMs were so anxious to conceal? Our fieldwork experience has given us some idea of the skeletons in their cupboards. One such, a common one, is that under the pressure to enlist targeted numbers of sterilization, oral pill and IUD acceptors, many ANMs have cooked-up records. The ANMs are however not to be entirely blamed, as is illustrated by this story of an ANM attached to a sub-centre which I visited during the course of our survey on the May 5, 1995. It took a good ten minutes of struggle before the lock to the sub-centre’s premises, rusty due to disuse, could be wrenched open. The floor inside was unswept, and the room cobweb infested. Sparse pieces of furniture were littered about. The ANM attached to the centre had, by her own admission, last visited it on January 15, 1995, when her son met with an accident and had to be hospitalised. The financial liability involved, she says, had been a source of great anxiety which prevented her from meeting her target of eligible candidates for a family planning method. This, coupled with the fear of losing her job and income for not fulfilling those targets made her take recourse to the stratagem of cooking up the records. There were other attenuating circumstances as Well.

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The ANM’s fear of losing her job had been exacerbated by her suspension in April 1994. She stated that no reason had been given for her suspension, but a team member later informed that it happened after a child she had treated had died. The ANM said that after she was suspended, she was asked to pay a bribe of Rs 4,000 for getting reinstated. She maintained that she refused to pay but was eventually reinstated only in January 1995. From April 1994 till the time of her reinstatement, she received no salary. Consider also this tale involving an ANM who, for several years, lived with her family in the village where her sub-centre was located and served the inhabitants there with dedication. She was, in her professional capacity, available around the clock to the people of the village. But on more than one occasion, she was harassed by some bad elements while outdoors procuring water for her household from the village well. These bad elements reacted to the ANM’s protests and complaints against them by accusing her of being immoral and lodging a complaint against her with the powers that be. It resulted in the ANM’s transfer to another posting. On the intervention of the village headman (the father of this informant) the ANM was subsequently brought back to the village. But she decided she would no longer reside there, choosing instead to live elsewhere and commute to work. Given the difficulties that commuting involves, she now visits her village constituents only once or twice a week. This is apparently one instance in which availability of efficient and time saving transportation could go a long way in ensuring the availability of services.

Graft and Malfeasance The problems afflicting the public health service are by no means confined solely to infrastructural bottlenecks or derelict personnel. This story of a truant ANM who rarely visited the sub-centre to which she was assigned, as narrated by an agitated and belligerent informant, illustrates what is involved. Residents of the village in which the sub-centre was located, who rarely saw the ANM, brought the matter to the attention of the Medical Officer of the appropriate PHC. The administrative machinery whirred, and in due course she was transferred. Within a few months, she was posted back, after she reportedly greased the right palms in the upper reaches of the

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public health hierarchy. She allegedly continues to be derelict, and as before, rarely makes an appearance at her sub-centre or the villages falling under its jurisdiction. A medical officer informant talks more generally of the graft and malfeasance that plagues the public health service. It is, he says, focused around the centralization of authority in the system, which empowers the incumbents at the rarefied heights of the health services hierarchy to extract enormous bribes. These notables allegedly pay bribes to those above them, and so are driven to extract ‘tribute’ from those below. This misuse of public office hinges upon the unconditional power of transfer enjoyed by senior medical officers. The idea, he says, was a good one, intended to facilitate the appropriate utilization of manpower resources. But the power of transfer, the doctor goes on to add, has been misused to an unimaginable extent, with those in high places using its threat, and the prospect of disorientation that transfers bring to settled ways— or the inducement of transfers to postings aspired for—as instruments for the extraction of bribes. In these circumstances, even well intentioned officials are unable to enforce their writ against erring ANMs, as seems to be the case with a medical officer I met, whose uprightness and probity are such that his subordinates fondly criticize him for being ‘too good a man’—the implication being that such an individual cannot effectively function in the system. The ANMs for their part—not counting laudable exceptions— lack even a rudimentary allegiance to the work ethic. The recruitment process itself militates against that. I am told by a PHC informant that recruitment as an ANM nowadays means having to shell out a bribe of Rs 20,000. It is evidently paying power that counts, not merit and dedication. And if an ANM can draw a salary of Rs 3,000 or so a month without being accountable for the responsibilities of her posting, the ‘recruitment bribe’ of Rs. 20,000 becomes little more than an investment on which lucrative returns can be expected.

Staff Morale It is not just that defaulters get away scotfree by ‘greasing’ the right palms, or that public office becomes a lucrative and purchaseable commodity; the system works to squeeze the innocent and the dedicated as well. A source, apprehensive of reprisals if his identity be known, fills me

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in on some of the sordid details. He tells me that TA (travel allowance) grants are released at the last moment, towards the completion of the financial year on the last day of March. As TA should should be claimed before March 31 or else it lapses, those who wish to claim TA are under pressure to pay bribes. Delay in the release of salaries is another way in which karmacharis (workers) can be harassed. Salary arrears can be claimed only after the annual budget is passed, so delays in salary payments can be a source of great inconvenience, and the promise of official intervention to expedite the matter a lever for extracting bribes. All this demoralises the health services staff to the point where they lose interest in work.

Factionalism among Medical Staff As if malfeasance, endemic graft and poor staff morale were not enough, the system is, I am informed, plagued also by factionalism among its staff. My medical officer informant tells me that within a PHC, factions coalesce around the Medical Officer-in-Charge (MO1), and his immediate subordinate, MO2. This has deleterious consequences for the provision and quality of health services. By way of illustration my informant mentions that if MO1 wishes to take punitive action against an indifferent or errant ANM, the other faction supports her just in order to oppose MO1. Thus MO1 cannot improve the quality of services—an endeavour that carries the potential of enhancing his professional reputation. What fuels all this, my informant adds, is the fact that the MO2’s confidential report is not written by MO1, but by a senior officer of the health services bureaucracy.

Provision of Services: Accountability and Affordability Reforming the ailing public health system, it becomes clear, is not a just a matter of better management to ensure efficiency and competence in the provision of services; it is, more importantly, one of making the system accountable to the people. The system currently lacks credibility to the point where, latent demand notwithstanding, people are not forthcoming in demanding services. This comes through quite

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forcefully during the course of a conversation I had with the son of the aged pradhan (headman) of Digner village. Having taken the responsibilities of the pradhanship upon himself, the pradhan’s son was well informed of village affairs. He informed me that a number of Digner’s residents wanted to go in for sterilization, but were holding back for lack of faith in the public health system. The pradhan’s son cited two instances of why faith in the system has been eroded. The first involved a woman in a nearby village who had given birth to a child after she underwent sterilization. In the second case, a woman who underwent sterilization at a government hospital developed medical complications had to be hospitalised for several days, and was required to incur medical expenses to the tune of Rs. 6,000—a formidable sum for the average villager. One might ask why these potential seekers of services did not go elsewhere. Conversations with the pradhan’s son in Digner lead me to believe that adequate knowledge of alternatives to the public health system may well tilt the balance. The potential for that certainly seemed to exist in Digner village. I cited to my informant a well known and reputed private agency actively catering to family planning needs in the rural and urban areas of Agra district—the Marie Stopes Clinic. On my mentioning the name the pradhan’s son and other hangers on evinced an immediate and keen interest. They had heard about Marie Stopes, but, were under the impression that it only performs abortions. They did not know that it also carried out sterilizations and IUD insertions. The regard in which the Marie stopes Clinic is held was first brought to my attention during my conversations with a Computer who had on his records cases of family planning acceptors routed through it with ANMs performing a referral function. Marie Stopes, I was subsequently given to believe, enjoys the people’s confidence because of its professionalism and the high success rate of the operations it carried out. The fact of the agency’s existence also suggests that it can be worthwhile for health professionals in the private sector to bring affordable medical technologies to the masses. ‘Affordable’ is however a subjective term, and it is not clear as to how it relates in this context to a policy framework wherein access to health services is envisaged as a fundamental right rather than a matter of purchasing power. Marie Stopes’ success may also to a significant extent be made possible by a disguised government ‘subsidy’. The costs Marie Stopes incurs for a sterilization operation are defrayed by the monetary ‘incentives’ acceptors of sterilization are entitled to

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receive from the government; the agency collects these ‘incentive payments’ directly from the concerned governmental department on behalf of clients, who are required to pay only the balance. Moreover, the clinic draws upon the outreach resources of the public health service as well, in that some of its clients are referred by ANMs operating in far away villages. Persist as they do, this is to a great extent due to the absence of institutional mechanisms to channelize popular resentment and hold the system accountable as is the case in Kerala. The new powers given to the panchayats however, and particularly the involvement of women in panchayati bodies, would appear to augur well for such beginnings.

Transport Facilities for Health Outreach Functionaries One of the major deficiencies of the health outreach system, as mentioned earlier, is that many of the ANMs face a formidable commuting problem. Providing them with a means of transport, such as mopeds will go a long way in improving their effectiveness, particularly as far as the dedicated among them are concerned. As for the less motivated, it would perhaps improve their efficiency too. A health worker I chatted with makes this point when he tells me that it is possible for him to shirk his clerical duties by making the excuse that he has not been given a pen to write with, but that if he is officially provided with a pen, he would thereby be deprived of an excuse. While acknowledging my contention that official transport, generally speaking, tends to be notoriously misused for personal trips, my informant argues that ‘if it is misused properly to the extent of 60 per cent, at least it will be used to the extent of 40 per cent’. The importance of transport for the ANMs is indeed crucial to the functioning of the health outreach system. Transport carries the potential of making the ANMs more effective. This is underscored by the fact that ANMs who reside in their sub-centre villages, and who are consequently accessible to their flock, can be a great boon to the local populace, as the case of the ANM of Doki vividly illustrates. This ANM, who has won honours for her dedication, places herself at the beck and call of the local community at all hours of the day and night. But that cannot always be the case, as village residence cannot be imposed on the ANMs without it attracting some form of evasive action.

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Role of the Health Professional While stressing institutional and infrastructural factors for reform, one must also acknowledge the devotion to duty demonstrated by some of the unsung heroes of the public health service staff. The example of an Etmadpur ANM may be cited here. Accompanied by three investigators, I arrived at the ANMs sub-centre village, after having been informed that the ANM had been instructed by her PHC doctor to await us there. Initially unable to find her, we proceeded to the village pradhan’s residence to seek his assistance in locating acceptor households. On a verandah outside the pradhan’s residence, we were extended the hospitality of being seated on a charpoy (stringed cot) and having our thirst quenched. In the course of the ensuing introductory conversation with the pradhan and the other village folk who had gathered around, the impression that we were on a ‘checking’ tour gained ground. Responding to this, the pradhan and others spoke in defense of their ANM, praising her for her dedication and devotion to work. At this point, the ANM herself arrived on the scene. Later, She escorted us to her sub-centre, housed in a neat and tidy room in the village. There we had an opportunity to observe the premises, a stipulated requirement for canvassing ‘sub-centre schedules’. Subsequently, the ANM trudged village lanes with the team to locate houses of family planning acceptors. The group proceeded also to a second village falling under the sub-centre’s jurisdiction, to canvas acceptor and other schedules there. In both villages, the local people spoke highly of this ANM of Etmadpur and were even somewhat protective and defensive when the impression went around that the team was there for ‘checking’ her activities. The ANM, for her part, did not seem unduly deterred by the difficulties of her situation, such as the necessity of trudging weary miles on foot in inhospitable weather and over rough terrain and combining her official responsibilities with those of caring for her toddler son. She had brought him along to the field on the day of team’s visit, as there was no one at home to care for him. The testimony of the locals suggests that difficulties notwithstanding, she sees to it that she honorably discharges her duties, and that rather than being cowed by difficult circumstances, she strives to carry on despite them. It is a case which suggests that even when the system is deficient, the people who run it do matter.

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4 Gram Panchayat and Health Care Delivery in Himachal Pradesh Sthitapragyan Ray

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he right to health is generally seen as the state’s obligation to deliver affordable and accessible health services to all (Cornwall et al. 2002). Under the Constitution of India, public health care is a responsibility shared by the central, state and local governments, although effectively it is a state responsibility in terms of delivery. Increasing people’s voice and influence in the health sector is believed to be an effective way of improving the performance of health system to meet the right to health—by increasing access to services to the most vulnerable and disadvantaged groups, by improving health outcomes generally, and by reducing health inequities. Active community participation through ownership and implementation of local health services is now gaining ground as a way of ensuring such influence (Das Gupta et al. 2000). The Alma Ata Declaration of 1978 and the 1994 International Conference on Population and Development (ICPD) have been key motivating factors for public health service decentralisation. The importance of decentralised health care delivery systems operating through elected local governments (Gram Panchayats) in which the rural people are not only enfranchised but also empowered has been well recognised in the Constitution 73rd Amendment Act, 1992.

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This Act, which paved the way for the creation of statutory institutional structures at the village level—Gram Sabha (GS) and Gram Panchayat (GP)—basically aims at initiating a process of democratic decentralisation of governance and accelerating the socioeconomic development of rural areas within a participatory framework. With the insertion of Part IX in the Constitution of India, the GP is empowered to manage health and sanitation, including hospitals, primary health centres and family welfare, which are among the twenty-nine vital ingredients of rural development, listed out in the Eleventh Schedule (Article 243 G) of the Constitution (GOI 1992). Other policy initiatives in this direction include the National Population Policy (NPP) 2000 and the National Health Policy (NHP) 2002. The NPP, 2000 emphasises decentralised planning and programme implementation with high involvement of the panchayati raj institutions (PRIs), community groups and NGOs. The NHP 2002 lays great stress on the implementation of public health programmes through local self-government institutions (GOI 2002a).

The Himachal Pradesh Scenario Himachal Pradesh (HP) is predominantly a rural state—about 91 per cent of the state’s population lives in rural areas. The achievement of the state on a number of social indicators, including that of health, is quite impressive. The infant mortality rate (IMR) of HP, at 54.2, is lower than the national average of 72.0; the crude birth rate, at 21.2, is lower than the allIndia average of 28; the crude death rate, at 7.0, is lower than the national average of 9.0; women with anaemia, at 40.5, is lower than the national figure of 51.8; and children receiving vaccination, at 83.4, is higher than the all-India average of 42.0 (GOHP 2002a). The rural literacy rate of HP, at 74.38 per cent, is much higher than the all-India rural average of 59.21 per cent. Only 7.94 per cent of the rural population of the state lives below the poverty line, as against the national average of 27.09 per cent (GOI 2002b). In HP, statutory local governments (PRIs) were established in 1954 under the HP Panchayat Raj Act, 1952. With a view to bringing about uniformity by establishing the two-tier panchayat system, the HP Panchayat Act, 1968 was enacted, and it became effective in 1970. The HP Panchayat Raj Act, 1994, enacted in the light of the

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73rd Constitutional Amendment Act, 1992, came into effect from April 1994. With this, the existing two-tier system, with GP and Panchayat Samiti, gave way to the three-tier system, with the addition of the Zilla Parishad (ZP). Accordingly, the State Election Commission, State Finance Commission and the District Planning Committees have been constituted; the District Rural Development Agencies have been merged with the ZPs, headed by the President of the latter and the panchayat elections were been held in 2000 (GOI 2001; GOHP 2002a). The GP as the executive committee of the GS consists of a minimum of seven and maximum of fifteen members, including the Pradhan and Up-Pradhan. Seats have been reserved for women, Scheduled Castes (SCs) and Scheduled Tribes (STs) in the GP. A GP consists of a village or a group of contiguous villages with a population of not less than one thousand and not more than five thousand. Under the HP Panchayat Raj Act, 1994 the GPs have been empowered to enquire and make report on the physical attendance and misconduct of certain public personnel, including male and female health workers. The GPs have to keep a tab on the functioning of sub-centres, including their regular opening and immunisation programmes. Since July 1996, the HP government has devolved certain health functions and powers to PRIs, since July 1996. These powers relate mainly to execution and monitoring of rural health and sanitation programmes. The GPs have been made the appointing authority in respect of certain village-level staff, like anganwadi workers, swasthaya sahayaks, panchayat sahayaks, etc. and their honorarium is to be paid by the GP. The GPs have to prepare development micro plans, including Annual Health Micro Plans, based on the felt needs of the people for improving rural health and sanitation. The GPs can also decide on the location of health institutions, anganwadi centres, etc. and take care of their maintenance and improvement. They are also expected to help in awareness-generation about reproductive and child health; maintenance of village population records, including that of births, deaths and marriages; maintenance of village sanitation and drinking water sources; and provide assistance in prevention of contagious diseases (GOHP 2002a). The Standing Committee on Health and Family Welfare of the GP is expected to take a special interest and play a key role in the health sector activities of the panchayat. To enhance the effectiveness of this Committee, necessary amendments in the State Panchayat Raj Act,

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1994 have been carried out. The functions of the Standing Committee depend on the extent of power delegated to it by the GP. The Parivar Kalayan Salahakar Samiti (PARIKAS)—the Health and Family Welfare Advisory Committee—created by a HP Government Notification (No. HFW-B(F) 7-2/2001, dated 10 December 2001) in December 2001 is expected to further boost the health and family welfare activities of village panchayats. The sincerity of the state government to give powers to local bodies in health matters is evident from the fact that it has issued notifications instead of executive orders, which do not have the legal validity that notifications have. That makes it more difficult for the bureaucracy to ignore them. At the panchayat level, the PARIKAS is headed by the pradhan, with the health worker, male or female, as the secretary, and the membership includes the GP ward members, local NGO representatives, village opinion leaders, local social workers, office bearers of mahila mandals/women SHGs, local school teachers, forest guards, anganwadi workers and Ayurvedic doctor. The Notification provides for the meeting of the PARIKAS once in a month. Its functions broadly include the monitoring of rural health and family welfare programmes and supervision of the sub-centre. Thus, by institutionalising community monitoring of health care delivery, the PARIKAS seeks to enforce social rather than mere bureaucratic accountability. Thus, the policy of the government on paper reflects a definite move away from the top-down, target-oriented approach to a more participatory, process-oriented approach. But to what extent changes in policy conceptualisation are reflected in implementation? The GPs have apparently been empowered to plan, implement and monitor certain key rural health activities. The crux of the matter that needs to be examined is the actual and effective role of the GPs in carrying out the assigned functions. The social capital argument in explaining the success of local democracy (Putnam 1993; Woolcock 2000; World Bank 2001), particularly in the context of the rural health care initiatives of the panchayats in HP, is also sought to be looked at in this paper using the fieldwork data. The following were the objectives of the study: (i) Analysing the extent of devolution of health care functions and powers on the GPs. (ii) Examining the rural health care contributions of the GPs. (iii) Identifying the GPs’ constraints in managing rural health care.

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The Research Context and Methodology Four districts in the non-tribal lower areas of HP, which constitute 60 per cent of the state’s area and account for 96 per cent of its population (Sharma 1999: 2465) were identified for the study. Two of these districts—Kangra and Una—are relatively developed (in terms of indicators like literacy rate, percentage of SC population, sex ratio, etc.) and the other two districts—Sirmaur and Solan—are comparatively backward. One block from each of the four districts was randomly selected for the study. Kangra, the most populous district in HP, accounts for 22 per cent of the state’s population and about 10.3 per cent of its area. The district has the second highest sex ratio of 1027 in the state. It has a literacy rate of 80.68 per cent and the SCs constitute 21.17 per cent of its population (Table 1). Baijnath, a backward block of the district, consists of 51 panchayats. The sex ratio and the literacy rate (for both sexes) of the block are much lower than the district average (Table 2). Sirmaur is one of the most backward non-tribal districts in HP; in fact, it figures in the list of 150 most backward districts identified by the Planning Commission, Government of India. It consists of 5 per cent of the state’s area and has witnessed a high decadal population growth rate. It has a literacy rate of 70.85 per cent. The district has one of the lowest female literacy rates (60.93%), just above the tribal district of Kinnaur. Table 1 Socio-demographic Profile of Sample Districts Literacy Rate*

District

Sex Ratio*

Female

Male

Total

Percentage of SC*

Percentage of ST**

Kangra

1027

73.57

88.19

80.68

21.17

0.14

Una

977

73.85

88.49

81.09

22.47

0.01

Sirmaur

901

60.93

79.73

70.85

30.17

1.16

Solan

853

67.48

85.35

77.16

31.27

0.64

HP

970

67.08

84.57

75.91

25.34

4.22

Note: * Data pertaining to 2001 Census; ** Data pertaining to 1991 Census; Sex Ratio = No. of females per 1000 males; SC = Scheduled Caste; ST = Scheduled Tribe. Source: Census of India 2001, 1991.

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Table 2 Socio-demographic Profile of Sample Blocks Baijnath/ Kangra

Shilai/ Sirmaur

Dharampur/ Solan

Gagret/ Una

Panchayats

51

28

39

41

Population

82917

32923

71173

106893

Female

40411 (48.74)

15341 (46.60)

31692 (44.53)

53917 (50.44)

Male

42506 (51.26)

17582 (53.40)

39481 (55.47)

52976 (49.56)

950

872

802

1017

Scheduled Caste

15263 (18.4)

NA

NA

23516 (22)

Scheduled Tribe

536 (0.65)

NA

NA

NA

Infant Mortality Rate

22.2

NA

4

Block/District

Sex Ratio

Institutional Deliveries

NA

NA

NA

24

Literacy Rate (%)

56.85

56.74

79.71

NA

Male Literacy (%)

69.33

66.85

86.83

NA

Female Literacy (%)

44.99

44.81

71.04

NA

Note: Percentage in parenthesis; NA—Not Available; Infant Mortality Rate = Number of deaths per thousand live births. Source: BMO/BDO Offices, Baijnath, Shilai, Dharampur, Gagret.

It has also very low reproductive and child health indicators. It has also one of the largest concentrations of the SC population (30.17%) in the state (Table 1). Shilai block of this district has very low literacy levels, for both males and females, and a sex ratio lower than the district average (Table 2). Solan constitutes about 3.5 per cent of the state’s area and has witnessed one of the highest population-growth rates. With a combined literacy rate of 77.16 per cent and female literacy rate of 67.5 per cent, the district has experienced a steep decline in sex ratio from 909 in 1991 to 853 in 2001. This is despite the higher-than-average level of urbanisation and work-participation rate in the district. It has a large percentage of the SC population (31.27%) of the state and the gap between male and female literacy rates is one of the highest in the state (Table 1). The

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literacy rate in Dharampur block of this district is higher, but the sex ratio is lower than the district average (Table 2). Una district, having a decadal growth rate of 18.43 per cent, constitutes about 2.76 per cent of the state’s area. It has a combined literacy rate of 81.09 per cent and has seen a sharp decline in sex ratio from 1017 in 1991 to 977 in 2001. The SCs constitute 22.47 per cent of the district population (Table 1). Gagret block of this district has a sex ratio higher than the district average, but the crucial 0–6 age-group sex ratio in the block is a matter of concern (Table 2). From each of the sample blocks, six GPs were selected for detailed study, taking the total number of GPs to twenty-four in the four districts. The socio-demographic indicators of the selected GPs, including the presence of CBOs (as indicative of social capital are presented in Tables 3.1, 3.2, 3.3 and 3.4*). All the stakeholders associated with the functioning of panchayats and delivery of health services were included in the study. An attempt was made to include one GP headed by a woman pradhan and one by a SC pradhan in every district. In each GP, the following categories of respondents were covered: six villagers from each ward or up-gram sabha (UGS), including three males and three females, were selected. Out of these, one male and one female belonged to the below poverty line (BPL) category and one each to the SC category. Apart from the GP pradhan, the ward panch and the GP secretary formed part of the study. Among the health functionaries, the Anganwadi worker, the Auxiliary Nurse Midwife (ANM), the Male Health Worker (MPW) and the Ayurvedic doctor, where available, were included in the survey. After making allowance for field-level constraints, the final sample consisted of 144 villagers, 24 GP pradhans, 23 ward panchs, 23 GP secretaries, 23 Anganwadi workers, 18 ANMs, 12 MPWs and 6 Ayurvedic doctors (Table 4). A set of both conventional and participatory tools was used for collection of data: (i) Information on various aspects of the functioning of rural health programmes and services, and the role and performance of GPs in it, as perceived by the villagers, was obtained by canvassing a specially designed schedule among the sample villagers. Focus group discussions were also held with villagers to generate desired information. Information on local mahila mandals, kisan sabhas, youth clubs, etc. (as indicative of social capital) across the panchayats was collected. * Due to archaic nature of the articles some tables in this chapter are not available and could not be reproduced.

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Table 4 District-wise Distribution of Sample Respondents Category of Respondents

Kangra

Sirmaur

Solan

Una

Total

36

36

36

36

144

GP Pradhans

6

6

6

6

24

Ward Panchs

6

6

5

6

23

GP Secretaries

6

5

6

6

23

Villagers

Anganwadi Workers

6

5

6

6

23

ANMs

5

3

4

6

18

MPWs

1

3

3

5

12

Ayurvedic Doctors

2

1

2

1

6

68

65

68

72

273

Total Source: Field Survey.

(ii) Data relating to the role played and constraints faced by the GP in the implementation of health programmes were collected from elected GP members at the panchayat and ward level and from the panchayat secretary also, with the help of specific schedules and informal discussions. (iii) The views and perceptions of health functionaries at the GP/sub-centre level were also gathered through schedules and discussions with the help of appropriate checklists prepared for the purpose.

While primary data had been collected from stakeholders by administration of structured schedules and holding of discussions on above lines, secondary data and information were obtained from various offices and reports of the state and central governments and other published sources and websites, wherever feasible, with due acknowledgement. The study was carried out during June–November 2003.

Background Characteristics of Sample Respondents There were equal number of men and women among the sample villagers. More than half of them (53%) were SCs, about 8 per cent were OBCs and the rest (39%) belonged to general categories. About 42 per cent of the respondent villagers were in the official BPL category. A large majority

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(88%) of them were literate. Many of the sample villagers (64%) were having membership in or association with civil society groups like mahila mandals, youth clubs, kisan sabhas, NGOs, SHGs, etc. (Table 5). Out of the twenty-four GP Pradhans interviewed, fifteen (62.5%) were men and nine (37.5%) were women; 29 per cent of them belonged to the SCs and 8.3 per cent to the OBC categories; and 12.5 per cent of them were from the BPL families. A large number of them (62.5%) were having membership in or association with civil society groups. While a majority of them were educated up to higher secondary or higher level, only one was found to be illiterate. Of the twenty-three ward panchs, thirteen (56.5%) were male and ten (43.5%) were female, and 43.5 per cent belonged to the SC and 13 per cent to the OBC categories. While 22 per cent of them came from BPL families, 44.34 per cent reported membership in or association with local civil society groups. Of the twenty-three anganwadi workers (all women), 26 per cent were SCs and others belonged to the general category. A majority of them (78.3%) have studied up to higher secondary level. Of the six Ayurvedic doctors, four were men, two belonged to the OBC category and none of them had been provided with official residence at the place of work. Out of the sample of twenty-three GP Secretaries, twenty-one (91.3%) were men. While about 29 per cent of them were SCs, the rest belonged to the general category. Out of the total of 18 ANMs covered, about 21 per cent belonged to the SCs, 12 per cent to the OBC and the rest (about 67%) to the general category. While the majority (61%) was given official residence near the sub-centre, just about 17 per cent were making use of it. Of the twelve MMWs interviewed, one-fourth belonged to the SC category, half to the OBC category and the rest to the general category. None of them had been provided with official accommodation.

Findings of the Study Role of Gram Panchayat Only about 6 per cent of the sample villagers said that they had gone to the GP with a health issue and just about 3 per cent reported lodging a complaint against the health staff with the GP. But just about 1 per cent

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of the villagers interviewed replied in the affirmative about some action being initiated by the GP on their complaints. About 60 per cent of the GP pradhans reported having discussed health issues in the GP/GS meetings. Potable water and sanitation seemed to be the most discussed issue. Even so, in most cases, villagers had looked after their own sanitation without much assistance from the GP and its role in drinking water was limited to purifying water sources. Just about 45 per cent of the ANMs and MPWs reported getting GP assistance in community mobilisation and related health activities. While about 90 per cent of MPWs reported attending GS meetings during the last one year, about 60 per cent of the ANMs reported so. More than 90 per cent of the villagers interviewed denied having any knowledge about organisation of health camps or community mobilisation efforts by GP. Panchayat swasth sahayak, a grass roots level health worker—appointed by and accountable to the GP—had not been appointed in most of the study panchayats. More than 90 per cent of sample villagers, 80 per cent of GP pradhans and 75 per cent of subcentre level health staff said that there was no appointment of a swasth sahayaks in their panchayats. GP’s role in resource generation for health and related activities is negligible. The role of GP in the registration of births, deaths and marriages seemed to be up to mark. But, here also, the lack of co-ordination between GPs and the grass roots level functionaries of sectoral departments involved in the registration process, like the ANMs and the anganwadi workers, is quite palpable. Only about 28 per cent of GP pradhans and ward panchs reported discussing infant- and child-mortality matters in GP and ward meetings. As far as family planning is concerned, GP’s role was negligible. Even in matters of information dissemination, the anganwadi workers and ANMs are the primary sources for villagers. Nevertheless, a large majority of villagers (69%), ward panchs (75%) and GP pradhans (85%) still believed that effective involvement of GPs would improve health service delivery in terms of greater participation of people in health programmes, more people friendly service delivery and greater accountability at the cutting edge level, and better maintenance of sub-centre facilities, including medicine availability and greater popular willingness to pay user fees. But, typically, public health functionaries had low expectations from panchayats, as just 9 per cent of Ayurvedic doctors and less than half of the MPWs, ANMs and anganwadi workers believed so.

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Role of Standing and Advisory Committees As many as half the GP pradhans interviewed reported that there was no standing committee on health in their panchayats. While just about onethird of the ANMs and MPWs reported having a standing committee in their areas, more than half of them said that the committee had not involved them in any discussion or programme. As far as the constitution and functioning of the health advisory committee (PARIKAS) is concerned, there is considerable variation in the responses of sample villagers and public functionaries at the grass roots level. While just 16 out of 144 villagers (about 11%) were aware of PARIKAS, 44 out of 59 public functionaries (about 75%), including panchayat secretaries, ANMs, MPWs and Ayuvedic doctors were aware of the same. This is natural considering the fact that PARIKAS has been created by a notification of the Government of HP. Hence, the public functionaries, even at the grass roots level, were more aware of its existence than the villagers. Thus, the high degree of ignorance about the PARIKAS among the sample villagers is particularly telling because it is designed as a civil society watchdog body to make health service providers accountable to their clients.

Role of Civil Society There is a significant presence of civil society groups in the study villages in the form of mahila mandals, SHGs, kisan sabhas, youth clubs, etc. All the interviewed villagers, panchayat pradhans, ward panchs, ANMs, MPWs, Ayurvedic doctors and anganwadi workers acknowledged the existence of these community-based organisations in the study villages. A large majority of the sample villagers, panchayat pradhans and ward panchs (about 60%) confirmed their association with or membership in these organisations. However, no concerted effort has been made by the panchayats to involve the community-based organisations in their health efforts.

Annual Health Micro Plans In a decentralised system of health service delivery, the GPs are expected to play a key role in planning for the health needs of the villagers, based on a participatory community needs assessment (CNA) approach. With

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a shift from the target-oriented to a more process-oriented approach, there is greater premium on it. However, over 75 per cent of villagers had no idea of the CNA, as their health needs had not at all been assessed by the GPs. Interestingly, a little less than half the GP pradhans and about half the GP secretaries and ward panchs claimed that the CNA had been carried out. A majority of the ANMs and MPWs (85%) claimed so.

Capacity Building Training and capacity building of panchayat members or at least of the members of the GP health committees can go a long way in empowering them and in enhancing the accountability of local public service providers. However, this emerged as a highly neglected area, notwithstanding claims to the contrary. Only about 15 per cent of panchayat pradhans and ward panchs reported having received any training on the role of panchayats in the rural health sector. About 58 per cent of ANMs and MPWs received training on the role of panchayats in the health sector. None of the panchayat secretaries and Ayurvedic doctors interviewed had undergone any training in this field. Among other factors, the neglect of capacity building of the key stakeholders had taken its toll in terms of non-preparation of CNA, low awareness levels, defunct health committees, etc.

Anganwadi Centre A large majority of the villagers (94%) expressed satisfaction with the performance of anganwadi workers. They had not only ensured adequate nutrition to children, but also played a key role in immunisation programmes and in awareness-generation about antenatal services. While there is adequate coordination between the anganwadi workers and the ANMs, the same was conspicuous by its absence between the panchayats and the anganwadi workers. None of the sample anganwadi workers bothered to inform the GP about cases of malnutrition, while the ANM concerned was informed about the same. About 48 per cent of panchayat pradhans had no clear idea of the role of anganwadi centre and its workers.

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Discussion C. Collins rightly points out that ‘decentralisation is a complex process and can’t be recommended across the board, without taking into account historical, political, social and geographical realities’ (1989: 170). Unlike the north Indian states such as Bihar, Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh, HP has a relatively less polarised social structure and a well-developed primary education and health infrastructure which compares favourably with that of Kerala. While HP villages are far from egalitarian, the divisions of caste, class and gender that have been so pervasive elsewhere in North India are not so sharp here (L.R. Sharma 1987: 68; Singh 1998: 207; PROBE Team 1999; Dreze and Sen 2002: 107). The positive features of HP rural social structure, like the less hierarchical and divisive caste relations, very low incidence of landlessness, relatively equal access to productive resources like common property resources, and progressive gender relations, have not only created favourable conditions for collective local action and village democracy, but also reduced the danger of ‘local capture’ by local elites and the consequent derailing of positive public interventions by social divisions and privileged local interests (L.R. Sharma 1987: 158; Singh 1998: 207; Dreze and Sen 2002: 109). The sense of village community in HP has also facilitated the emergence of consensual social norms on local village institutions and public services, including health centres, panchayats, mahila mandals, etc. (Sarkar 1999). Here the notion of ‘social capital’ assumes significance in explaining the success of local governments (Putnam 1993: 182; Evans 1997; Sundaram 1997: 48; Woolcock 2000; World Bank 2001). Social capital refers to the relations of trust and co-operation and networks and organisations which can promote co-operative actions (Putnam 1993: 167; Woolcock 2000). Social capital, it is argued, promotes development by making local governance and public service delivery more effective in terms of enhancing popular participation, accountability and transparency (Putnam 1993:182; Fukuyama 1995: 356; Krishna 2000: 72; Uphoff 2000: 215; World Bank 2001). In the case of rural HP, as Jean Dreze and Amartya Sen put it succinctly, ‘the general concern with social capital can be extended . . . to more precise links between co-operative action and development and also to the historical and material roots of social co-operation’ (2002: 108).

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Our findings also attest to the rich social capital base of the study villages, as all the sample respondents confirmed the existence of and a large majority (about 60%) acknowledged their membership in or asso-ciation with mahila mandals, SHGs, kisan sabhas, youth clubs, etc. To use the language of social capital advocates like the World Bank (2001), we find the existence of two types of social capital, namely, the ‘bonding’ and the ‘bridging’, in the civil society of the study villages. The bonding social capital that is, the relations of trust, based on neighbourhood, kin and gender having been transformed into the bridging social capital, that is, the relations of trust across the different socio-demographic groups (like the SHGs, mahila mandals, etc.) in the rural areas. The bridging social capital is expected to provide the basis for what the World Bank (2001) calls the ‘linking social capital’, which links the rural people to the state apparatus, including the public service providers. That linkage was conspicuous by its absence in the rural health care sector of the study areas. The panchayats could have provided the platform for building up of relations of trust and cooperation between villagers and the local public health personnel and thereby could have enhanced the embeddedness of the public health functionaries among their client groups. The potential of the local SHGs, mahila mandals, youth clubs and the specially designed bodies within the panchayat framework to ensure civil society participation in its health activities, like PARIKAS, could have been utilised for deriving synergy and ensuring complementarity between their actions. There is a need to recognise that social capital inheres not just in civil society, but also in an enduring set of relationships that spans the public-private divide (Evans 1996: 1122). The proponents of social capital would have us believe that the HP villages provide the perfect setting, with their rich social capital base, relatively egalitarian social relations, popular participation in local body elections (more than 75% voter turnout in the 2000 panchayat elections), functioning of a grass-roots level non-party democratic system and nonpolitical electoral mobilisation in panchayat elections, in which candidates are judged primarily on the basis of their merit, performance and also caste factors (Sud 2001: 2126–27), for a certain magic to work— enhancing local government (GP) performance through higher levels of accountability and participation. However, that magic had failed mainly because of a failure to derive synergy from a three-way dynamics between local government (GP), civil society and the state government.

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While the synergy between state initiative and co-operative action has been one of the cornerstones of the schooling revolution in HP (PROBE Team 1999; Dreze and Sen 2002: 109), the absence of these elements, has led to very disappointing results in the case of health care delivery. The synergy between state initiative and co-operative action has also been one of the key factors underlying the success of decentralised rural health care initiatives in Kerala, with which HP shares the common asset of ‘social preparedness’ (Dreze and Sen 2002: 110; see also Harriss 2001: 123–24). This thesis is also very convincingly demonstrated in another developing-country context by Judith Tendler (1997): in the Ceara province of northeast Brazil, one form of strategic state intervention in the primary health sector involved deliberate efforts at building up of relations of trust (or linking social capital) between officials and people, which was earlier lacking. Once established, these trust relations led to productive and mutually beneficial interactions between them, resulting in better performance of public health programmes and reduction in infant mortality. All this highlights the fact that the realisation of the potential of participatory grass roots democracy, even under otherwise favourable conditions, depends crucially upon the establishment of a positive political context and external linkages or what is called the linking social capital. There is no short cut to successful decentralisation initiatives, particularly in the health sector. Successful and sustainable decentralisation cannot be achieved by administrative fiat, for it involves a political process, which ironically has to be initiated and, if necessary, sustained from the above. Romantic communitarian visions to the contrary represent a gross political misjudgement.

Conclusion In terms of the criteria for assessing local government (GP) performance— formulation of local (health) plans based on community needs assessment; mobilisation and management of resources (financial, human, material and ‘social capital’); communication and awareness generation and (health) programme implementation—the GPs in the study areas have performed poorly. They have failed to translate the information advantage into an efficiency advantage. The passing of laws, formulation of policies and issuance of notifications have not served the purpose.

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Thus, there is a gap between the decentralised approach to health service delivery on paper and the form it has taken on the ground. Three distinct yet related sets of explanatory factors have been identified: lack of effective devolution of powers and resources on the panchayats; inadequate capacity building of GP members, and poor involvement of active civil society groups. However, more important than all this, the study calls attention to the political economy of decentralisation and the need for a high degree of political commitment or interest-group support for the success of these initiatives. Further studies might attempt to understand better the mechanisms that link such support, or lack of it, to the implementation of decentralised health care initiatives in rural HP.

Acknowledgements Data used in this article are part of a larger study commissioned by the National Institute of Rural Development (NIRD), Hyderabad. I am grateful to the Director General, NIRD for giving me the opportunity to work on this project. The study was carried out under the supervision of S.K. Alok. I thank him for his support and encouragement. Helpful and detailed comments on earlier drafts of this paper from the anonymous referee and P. Durga Prasad are gratefully acknowledged. The usual disclaimers apply.

References Collins, C. 1989. ‘Decentralisation and the need for political and critical analysis’, Health policy and planning, 4 (2): 168–71. Cornwall, A.; M. Leach, I. Scoones, A. Shankland and R. Subrahmanian. 2002. ‘Sectoral dimensions of participation in policy: A comparative view of education, health and environment’, IDS Workshop Draft. Brighton, Sussex: Institute of Development Studies. Das Gupta, M.; H. Grandvoinnet and M. Romani. 2000. ‘State community synergies in development: Laying the basis for collective action’, World Bank Policy Research Working Paper 2439. Washington DC: World Bank. Dreze, J. and A. Sen. 2002. India: Development and participation. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Evans, P. 1996. ‘Government action, social capital and development: Reviewing the evidence on synergy’, World development, 24 (6): 1119–32. Evans, P. (ed.). 1997. State-society synergy: Government and social capital in development. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

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Fukuyama, Francis. 1995. Trust: The social virtues and creation of prosperity. New York: The Free Press. GOHP (Government of Himachal Pradesh). 2001. ‘PARIKAS’—Notification dated 10 December 2001. Shimla: Department of Health and Family Welfare. ———. 2002a. Status of panchayati raj in Himachal Pradesh. Shimla: Department of Panchayati Raj, GOHP. ———. 2002b. Human development report, 2002. Shimla: GOHP. ———. 2003. Himachal health vision—2020. Shimla: Department of Health and Family Welfare, GOHP. GOI (Government of India). 1992. The constitution 73rd amendment act, 1992 on the panchayats. New Delhi: Ministry of Rural Development. ———. 2002a. National health policy—2002. New Delhi: Department of Health, Ministry of Health and Family Welfare, GOI. ———. 2002b. National human development report. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Harriss, John. 2001. De-politicizing development: The World Bank and social capital. New Delhi: Left Word Books. Krishna, Anirudh. 2000. ‘Creating and harnessing social capital’, in P. Dasgupta and I. Serageldin (eds.): Social capital: A multifaceted perspective (71–93). Washington DC: World Bank. PROBE Team in association with the Centre for Development Economics, Delhi School of Economics. 1999. Public report on basic education in India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Putnam, Robert. 1993. Making democracy work: Civic tradition in modern Italy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Sarkar, R. 1999. Poverty, governance and reliance on local forest resources. Draft report of a pilot survey of the Bharmour region of Chamba district. Delhi: Centre for Development Economics, Delhi School of Economics. Sharma, L.R. 1987. The economy of Himachal Pradesh. Delhi: Mittal. Sharma, T.R. 1999. ‘Local configuration and national parties in Himachal Pradesh’, Economic and political weekly, 34 (34–35): 2465–71. Singh, Chetan. 1998. Natural premises: Ecology and peasant life in the Western Himalaya 1800–1950. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Sud, V.P. 2001. ‘Himachal Pradesh: Panchayat polls 2000—Some trends’, Economic and political weekly, 36 (24): 2126–27. Sundaram, K.V. 1997. Decentralised multilevel planning principles and practice: Asian and African experiences. New Delhi: Concept. Tendler, Judith. 1997. Good government in the tropics. Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press. Uphoff, Norman. 2000. ‘Understanding social capital: Learning from the analysis and experience of participation’, in Partha Dasgupta and Ismail Serageldin (eds.): Social capital: A multifaceted perspective (215–52). Washington DC: The World Bank. Woolcock, M. 2000. ‘Social capital in theory and practice: Where do we stand?’ (Paper prepared at the 21st Annual Conference on Economic Issues.) The World Bank Social capital Website. World Bank, The 2001. World development report, 2000–2001. Washington DC.

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5 Occupational Attitudes of Physicians A. Ramanamma and Usha Bambawale

Introduction

A

physician’s role, as a healer is considered all important in society. In the most general terms medical practice may be said to be oriented to coping with disturbances to the health of the individual. We may say that illness is a state of disturbance to the normal functioning of the total human individual. This includes the indisposition of the state of the organism as a biological system and of the patient’s personal and social adjustment. Yet the two—medicine and sociology, have come together only in recent years, and now depend on each other to some extent. Both the sciences deal with man, one with his anatomy and the other with his environment, interactions and actions. A physician himself is a social being with role sets that enable him to interact with individuals in the correct perspective. When we view a physician’s training, we find that he has a longstanding directional education programme. The medical subculture covers a wide range—from matters of relations to patients, colleagues and the community—and it is the function of the medical school to transmit this subculture to successive generations of neophytes (Merton 1976: 65). A student of medicine has to put in a minimum of 51/2 years of channelized study before he takes the ‘Hypocratis oath’ to serve ailing

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humanity. The medical student in the hospital environment has his attention drawn to the important interaction between social conditions, disease and health. Caring for the sick is thus not an incidental activity, but this professional training is essentially occupation-oriented and the individual is expected to fulfil a particular role, for he has functionally specialized in this full-time job. It would be well worth mentioning that in India, the amount spent on each practitioner of medicine by the government is approximately Rs. 80,000/- along with the private expenditure of the students. Therefore, there are restrictions on admission and hence only those who are high-achievers make the grade. Indeed the process of learning to be a physician can be conceived as largely, the learning of blending—the seeming or actual, incompatibilities into consistent and stable patterns of behaviour. “Like other occupations, the profession of medicine has its own normative subculture, a body of shared and transmitted ideas, values and standards towards which the members of the profession are expected to orient their behaviour. The norms and standards define technically and morally allowable patterns of behaviour, indicating what is prescribed, preferred, permitted or proscribed.” (Merton 1976: 65). Merton further feels that the composition of values involved in the medical subculture probably varies somewhat in detail and emphasis among medical schools, but there nevertheless appears to be substantial agreement among them. The years of education no doubt bring in interaction at various levels—those between students, between students and teachers, between the individual and hospital authorities and between individual and patients. Thus the total outcome is a sound theoretical and practical training of the basic necessities in treating an ‘all-human’ being. Deodhar (1971: 8) has pointed out that “the practice of medicine has evolved since ancient times, and has been greatly influenced by scientific progress and thinking. During the last 25 years there has been an appreciable change. With the increased specialization the practice of medicine has become more impersonal and patients are liable to be regarded as ‘cases’ rather than human beings.” But this, we feel, could easily be explained. Parsons (1952: 435) feels that effective neutrality is also involved in the physicians’ role as an applied scientist. The physician is expected to treat an objective problem in objective, scientifically justifiable terms. The values and norms are defined by the profession in terms of how they are put into effect. Since many physicians will find themselves in situations

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where it is difficult to live up to the role requirements from the standpoint of the profession, it becomes even more important that they thoroughly acquire the values and norms that are to regulate their behaviour. Four and a half years of education and an year of internship qualifies the physician to set up his general practice, but a few prefer to go for higher qualifications and specialize in any of the several branches of medical studies. This specialization may even be concerned with a detailed study of one organ. Specialists set up consultancy practice—a type of practice wherein the general practitioners refer their cases for prognosis to an authority. Thus we find, there is a broad division of these consultants into physicians and surgeons. We have devoted this study to practitioners of medicine and not included the other branches of the medical field essentially because, these physicians have an important role to perform in the healing process of the total individual that includes physical, psychological and social aspects. In terms of the relation of the physician’s occupational role to the total instrumental complex, there is an important distinction between the two types of physicians. One, the ‘Private Practitioner’ and the other who works within the context of an organization. The important thing about the former is that he must not only care for sick people in a technical sense, but also settle the terms of exchange with them because of his direct dependence on them for payment for his services. The physician in this case must, to a high degree, also employ his own infrastructural facilities for carrying out this function. With this background in mind it would be worthwhile mentioning the purpose of this work. We have not come across any prior studies in India which deal with this particular aspect in medical sociology. But we could mention a few studies made outside India that help to throw some light on these aspects of medical sociology. Peterson and associates (1956, Ed.) in their study of 94 North Carolina General Practitioners have examined physician’s training in medical schools, training in hospitals, age, office-care arrangements, type of medical school attended and many other characteristics to determine their relationships to the quality of patient care. Morehead, Donaldson and Burt (1964) in their Teamster Family study have explored impact of physicians’ training and type of affiliated hospitals and their performance in patient care. Roemer and Friedman (1971) in their study of ‘Doctors in Hospitals’, have determined the relationship between the level of medical staff organization and the quality of hospital care. Thus all these studies concern themselves with patient care.

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Friedson (1972) has concluded that too much attention has been paid to the personal characteristics and attitudes of individual workers and too little attention has been given to work setting factors. As far back as in 1935, Henderson traced the physician and patient as a social system. Weswager (1952) tried to measure job satisfaction of professional nurses, but a similar study has escaped notice in connection with medical practitioners. This background leads us to clarify the nature of this study.

Aim of This Study It is the aim of this paper to study the occupational attitudes of the physicians. It examines: (i) Whether the amount of time spent per patient by doctors is in relation to (a) patient’s illness, (b) doctor’s rewards; (ii) the degree of interaction between the physician and the patient in order to perform the role obligations of a physician; (iii) whether the physicians are able to attain effective neutrality in their interaction with their patients, in order to fulfil their role obligations.

Before we analyse the data, the methodology applied in this study would be explained.

Methodology This is essentially a comparative study. It has included three types of physicians: (1) The general practitioners (G.P.), (2) the paid physicians (P.P.) attached to hospitals on a salary basis, and (3) Consultants (C.P.), who have one or more hospital attachments—whether paid or honorary, or a private consultant practice. In the Parsonian sense, the first and third categories are those of ‘Private Practitioners.’ It would be in order to define what we mean by these terms: general practice, paid physicians and consultants. General practice has been defined by John Hunt as “that field of medicine in which a doctor accepts the continuing responsibility of providing or arranging for the patients total medical care, which includes prevention and treatment of any illness or injury affecting the mind or any part

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A. Ramanamma and Usha Bambawale of the body. Continuous care, and the comprehensiveness or totality of coverage and the direct access to the doctor are the chief characteristics of general practice. A general practitioner is often known as the doctor of first contact as the sick go to him first for treatment. The patients are generally suffering from simpler ailments and from early disease compared with the patients attending the hospitals or specialists clinics.”

Hospital practice is run by Government or social organisations and physicians function as a group of specialists assisted by a group of other doctors, paramedicals and auxiliary staff. To a large extent this is necessitated by the technological development of medicine itself and above all the need for technical facilities beyond the reach of individual practitioners. General hospitals include consulting rooms, clinics and nursing home often involving complex cooperation of several different kinds of physicians. Consultant practice belongs to a specialist doctor, who limits his practice either wholy or partially to particular disease entities or age groups. Patients come either directly or are referred by G.Ps.

Size and Selection of the Sample The sample size consists of 25 doctors in each category, who practice allopathic medicine and have a minimum of an MBBS degree. Therefore, this study emphasises the results of 75 doctors’ opinions and attitudes. The local medical council was approached to give us the correct figures of registered medical practitioners. They provided a total list of doctors practicing medicine and that was more than 7000 doctors. But this consists of RMPs, LCPs, LMS, Ayurvedic and Homeopathic practitioners. A list of the total consultants was obtained from the same body and every 8th quote was approached as there is a total of 200 physicians. Similarly a list of doctors working as paid physicians was made by acquiring the list from various hospitals. There are a total of 50 paid physicians. Every 2nd quote was approached from a total of 8 hospitals. As for the general practitioners an areawise list was obtained from the medical council and every 30th quote was enlisted as a respondent, from Poona City only. Every care was taken to omit, LPs, LCPs and those who were Ayurvedic aud homeopathic medicine graduates. Similarly every care was taken to omit, Surgeons, Gynaecologists, ENTs,

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Paediatricians, Radiologists and those who practice other branches of medicine. The entire sample is drawn from Poona city. This city has two medical colleges and several large hospitals. There are also a few hospitals of medium size that are run by trusts. There are paid physicians and consultants working in these hospitals.

The Questionnaire Though Marathi is the regional language, for uniformity in interpreting the data, it was decided to collect the data through an English language questionnaire. As all the respondents were well educated it was easy to do so. In all, there were twentyone questions with one or two sub-questions. The whole questionnaire comprised of three broad sections—bio-data, professional data and need gratification. It was hoped that the details obtained would give us a conclusive and cohesive picture of the trends in the occupational attitudes of physicians.

Analysis The collected data was analysed under six broad categories and each finding was compared and correlated with the different groups: General Practitioners (G.P.), Paid Physicians (P.P.) and Consultants (C.P.). We, therefore, present—first and foremost, the data regarding the socioeconomic background of our respondents. We believe this to be important as it bears direct relation to need gratification and occupational attitudes of the doctors.

Socio-Economic Data The age group of these 75 physicians ranged from 26–60 years. When segregated in their respective categories, we find the highest number of G.Ps. (40%) were in the 26–35 years age group. The P.Ps. were found to be in two age groups, i.e., 80% in 26–35 years and 20% in the 36–45 years group. The C.Ps. were in the largest numbers (48%) in 36–45 age group. Table 1 clarifies the position about the various age groups.

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Table 1 Age Group of the Doctors Age

No.

G.P. Percentage

No.

P.P. Percentage

No.

26–35

10

40

20

80

2

C.P. Percentage 8

36–45

9

36

5

20

12

48

46–55

4

16

−

−

9

36

56–60

2

8

−

−

2

8

25

100

25

100

25

100

Total

This particular age group demarcation is evidently so, because the G.Ps. set up practice soon after they are awarded the MBBS degree. The consultants take a little longer to specialize, gain some experience in a hospital or under a senior well-established C.P and set up a consultant’s practice. The P.P take up jobs in hospitals as soon as they finish their graduation/post-graduate study and many a time leave these posts to set up independent practice by the time they are 40 years old. There were 76% males among G.Ps. and P.Ps, while 24% females were found each among G.Ps. and P.Ps. As against this, all the consultants in our sample were males. The reason for this dearth of women among consultants was due to the fact that women practitioners of medicine chose other branches: Paediatrics, Gynaecology, Obstetrics, Anasthesia, Pathology and many went in for teaching posts in the colleges. All our G.Ps. and consultants were married, while 76% of P.Ps. were married and 24% were unmarried. When we examine the pattern with regard to the number of children these doctors have, we find it varies to some extent according to their situation. Table 2 shows these trends. There were 6 G.Ps. who had no children but the rest together had 39 children, which meant a mean of 1.7 per family of the doctor. Six P.Ps. did not have children and the rest had a total of 34; thus the mean was 1.6 per couple. All the consultants had children and had a total of 63, thus having a mean of 2.5 per couple. This trend of a greater number of children among C.Ps. could be said to be due to the fact that they were in an older age group. Therefore, they had completed the stage of family procreation. When we glance at the educational level of these doctors, 76% of G.Ps. had only an MBBS degree, while 16.00% had a diploma along with

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Table 2 The Number of Children and Professional Situation G.P.

P.P.

C.P.

No. Children

No.

%

No.

%

No.

%

No. children

6

24

−

−

−

−

9

36

9

36

−

−

2–3

1 only

10

40

7

28

21

84

4 and above

−

−

3

12

4

16

Not married

−

−

6

24

−

−

Total

25

100

25

100

25

100

the basic degree, and 8.00% had a foreign degree along with their MBBS. Among the P. Ps. 56.00% had an M.D. degree, 8.00% had foreign degree along with an M.D. and only 36.00% had an MBBS degree. (They were all appearing for a higher degree examination). All consultants had M.D. degree and 20.00% had foreign degree along with their M.D.

Occupational Rewards The type of work and hours of practice were dependent on the degree. It was found that among G.Ps. 52% had their own private practice, while 24% had an attachment to a factory along with the practice and another 24% had the added advantage of the E.S.I.S. Registration practice. The paid physicians were all working in hospitals as employees and did not pursue any private practice. The consultants (72.00%) were honoraries in some general hospital, and devoted their full time to practice. Besides this attachment to a general hospital, 14.00% had attachments to other hospitals and another 14% had attachments to factories also. The amenities that are considered important for medical practice and some luxuries for recreation were found to be available to the consultants in the greatest numbers and minimum to the paid physicians. Thus all the consultants had telephones, cars, scooters, 76% own consulting rooms, houses and television sets. Of the paid physicians, on the other hand, 32% had a telephone, 24% had a car, 76% had a scooter, 32% had their own house and 44% a television. Among G.Ps. 68% had a telephone, scooter, a house and a television, while 40% of the

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Table 3 Total Income of the Physicians per Month (as Declared in Their Income-Tax Returns) G.P. Total Income Per Month

P.P.

C.P.

No.

%

No.

%

No.

%

Below Rs. 1000, but more than Rs. 800/-

8

32

12

48

−

−

Rs. 1,000–1,500

4

16

6

24

−

−

Rs. 1,501–2,000

3

12

5

20

−

−

Rs. 2,001–3,000

6

24

2

8

−

−

Rs. 3,001–4,000

4

16

−

−

−

−

Rs. 4,001–5,000

−

−

−

−

2

8

Rs. 10,000 only

−

−

−

−

3

12

Rs. 10,001–15,000

−

−

−

−

2

8

Rs. 15,001–20,000

−

−

−

−

3

12

Rs. 20,001–30,000

−

−

−

−

8

32

Rs. 30,001–40,000

−

−

−

−

5

20

Rs. 40,001–50,000

−

−

−

−

2

8

25

100

25

100

25

100

G.Ps. also had a car. These amenities are directly related to the income of these groups. Table 3 gives the income of the respondents. It is seen therefrom that the income picture makes it clear that the consultants earn the maximum income amongst professionals, who practice medicine. It may be pointed out in this connection that education and income are not correlated in the case of P.Ps. because many a time the P.Ps. earn less money than the G.Ps. who are less qualified.

Total Output of Work When we look at the professional data we find that all these doctors work from 6 to 14 hours a day. Table 4 gives the number of hours of work done by the doctors. This work ratio is to a great extent in proportion to the number of patients handled and income earned by these physicians. This

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Table 4 Hours of Work Put in by the Physicians G.P. Hours of Work Per Day

P.P.

C.P.

No.

%

No.

%

No.

%

2

8

−

−

−

−

6 to 8 hours

13

52

9

36

3

12

9 to 10 hours

8

32

16

64

10

40

Less than 5 hours

11 to 12 hours

2

8

−

−

6

24

13 to 14 hours

−

−

−

−

4

16

15 hours a day

−

−

−

−

2

8

Total

25

100

25

100

25

100

incidentally is also in keeping with the number of places these doctors work. We find that 52% of the G.Ps. work in only one place, that is, their own clinic while 48% work in two places. All the P.Ps. work in one place only as they are not allowed to work elsewhere and they receive a compensation in the form of a non-practicing allowance. The consultants on the other hand work at minimum two places. As many as 60% of our sample said they worked in two places, but 20% worked in three places and 20% worked in four or more places. The number of patients examined per day were also in direct ratio to the number of hours devoted to work and the place of work. Thus a greater number of patients were examined by those physicians who went to more than one place of duty. When we look at Table 5 this position is fairly clear. Incidentally those physicians, who said that they worked for 15 hours a day and attended 4 or more than 4 places of work, spent on an average with each patient 6 minutes i.e., 10 patients an hour. Thus the time devoted to each patient is less. No doubt that Merton (1976) while remarking on the ambivalence of physicians, feels that the physicians must be emotionally detached in their attitude towards patients thus keeping “emotions on ice” and not becoming overtly identified with patients. But Merton also says that they must avoid becoming callous through excessive detachment and should have compassionate concern for the patient. This little contact time, has put to rest another theory of self image put forward by Merton (1976: 67–69) who felt that physicians must provide

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Table 5 Number of Patients Examined per Day G.P.

P.P.

C.P.

No.

%

No.

%

No.

%

10 to 20

2

8

3

12

−

−

21 to 30

4

16

13

52

−

−

31 to 40

−

−

7

28

−

−

Number of Patients

41 to 50

13

52

2

8

−

−

51 to 60

−

−

−

−

2

8

61 to 70

4

16

−

−

−

−

71 to 80

2

8

−

−

9

36

81 to 90

−

−

−

−

−

−

91 to 100

−

−

−

−

9

36

About 150

−

−

−

−

5

20

25

100

25

100

25

100

Total

adequate and unhurried medical care for each patient—but they should not allow any patient to usurp so much of their limited time as to have this at the expense of other patients. No doubt, the C.Ps. are in no way spending more time with the patients, to dislodge the Mertonian theory of self image. On the other hand, they have no time for unhurried medical care for each patient.

Inter-personal Relations This would bring us to the focal point of physician-patient interaction. We find that a greater number of G.Ps. (68%) know all their patients very well, 16% of G.Ps. said they know 70% to 80% of their patients personally. Approximately half the patients were known to 8% of the G.Ps. and only 8% of G.Ps. said that they knew very few of their patients well. The emphasis here was on a more personal relationship. As on many occasions a physician becomes a confidant, it is to be expected that he knows the financial conditions, family composition and the emotional state of the patient. The patient and his family have

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the deepest emotional involvements in what the physician can and cannot do, and in a way his diagnosis and prognosis will define the situation for the patients. The doctor himself carries the responsibility for the outcome and cannot help but be exposed to important emotional strains by these facts. Similar considerations apply to physician’s need of access to confidential information about his patients’ private life. For reasons among which their place in the system of expressive symbolism is prominent, many facts, which are relevant to people’s problems of health fall into the realm of the private or confidential, about which people are unwilling to talk to an ordinary friend or acquaintance. These problems may concern the privacies of intimate personal relationships, particularly those with sexual partners. This situation inevitably involves the physicians in the psychologically significant private affairs of the patient. For this very reason, a G.P. was known as a family physician. On the other hand all the consultants said that they know only a very few of their patients well. The paid physicians (72%) said that they knew 70% to 80% of their patients while 28% felt that they knew only a few patients well. The consultants felt they had no time to ‘cultivate’ social rapport with the patients. The P.Ps, came in contact with patients as ‘ill human beings’ and did not attend to the same patient every time. This is essentially because an increasing proportion of medical practice is now taking place within the context of some organization. To a large extent this is necessitated by the technological development of medicine itself, above all the need for technical facilities beyond the reach of the individual practitioner, and the fact that treating the same case often involves the complex cooperation of several different kinds of physicians as well as of auxiliary personnel. This greatly alters the relation of the physician to the rest of the instrumental complex. He tends to be relieved of much responsibility and hence necessarily of freedom, in relation to his patients other than that in his technical role. Thus the total image that emerges, is that of the G.P. being more aware of social interaction with the patient than the other two groups. With this in view, we will examine the data collected in response to questions aimed to elicit information about doctor-patient social contact. Of the G.Ps. 48% said that patients were now family friends. Further 40% of G.Ps. said none of the patients were friends of the family and 12% said that very few of the patients were on friendly terms with their families. Amongst the P.Ps. 88% said a few of their patients were family friends, the rest (12%) said a few patients were now known

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to their families. The consultants (44%) declared that a limited number of patients were family friends while a greater number of consultants (56%) said none of their patients were friends. A uniform pattern was observed regarding visit of these doctors to their patients on a social footing. Among G.Ps. 40%, among P.Ps. 80% and 92% of C.Ps. said they do not visit patients at their home socially. The main reason given was that such familiarity bred contempt in the sense that the authority of the doctors stood in the danger of being reduced and patients took advantage of such a friendship. Another factor was the lack of time and lack of interest to develop friendship with the patients and their families. Thus we find that even where both professional and non-professional aspects of the relationship of the physicians to the same persons are possible, there is a definite tendency to segregate the two aspects. When we analyse the data a characteristic picture emerges, that is: (1) Total output of work: number of places of work: financial reward, are all proportionate to each other. (2) The role of the physician centres in his responsibility for the welfare of patient in the sense of facilitating his recovery from illness to the best of his ability. In meeting his responsibility, he is expected to acquire and use high technical competence in ‘medical science’ and the techniques based upon it. (3) The G.P. knows his patients best and has more person-to-person contact with the ‘ill’ human being. He also devotes more time to his patients. (4) The P.P. has a more mechanical approach to the patient as in the setting in which he works, personal identity is not given much importance. Further, he is not totally responsible for the patient as he is safeguarded by the bureaucratic machinery of the institution wherein he works. Yet the P.P. has access to most sophisticated equipment and can avail himself of the most modern methods of healing. But the P.Ps. treat a disease as a case and not as a human being. Thus once a particular individual is cured of a specific illness, he is discharged. This is despite the fact that the individual in question may continue to be afflicted by one or more dormant diseases, for no comprehensive care of the individual is assured by institutions where these P.Ps work.

The P.Ps. have no doubt one very great advantage, that of examining and acquainting themselves with a number of rare conditions and implications to the virtual exclusion of commonest problems.

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Personal Need Gratification We now consider a very important factor in the whole set up of medical practice—the one of job satisfaction. It is indeed true that a happy worker is a willing worker. Therefore, this factor of personal need gratification begins with one’s qualification. When assessed, it revealed that all the consultants (100%) said that they were completely satisfied with their academic achievements. On the other hand 30% G.P.s. and 64% P.Ps. were found to be satisfied with their qualifications, while 24% G.Ps. and 36% P.Ps. were dissatisfied. The reason given for their dissatisfication was the aspiration of a higher qualification in their chosen field. There were 36% G.Ps. who said they were in doubt whether or not they were satisfied with their present qualifications in medicine. Naturally, the choice of a job and satisfaction in it go hand in hand. We found that 32% G.Ps., 100% P.Ps. and 72% C.Ps. had chosen their present jobs on a priority basis. This choice being their ‘first preference’, they were totally satisfied with the work they did. There were 36% G.Ps., who were not too happy with the pattern of work they had chosen, as they had to stifle their desire for higher education. Thus we found, 8% G.Ps. said that private practice was forced on them by retiring parents. Another, 8% had no choice as the burden of heavy family responsibilities made them set up practice soon after graduation and 8% of G.Ps., who were older said it was the fashion of the day to set up practice. They further testified that “all this specialization was a new fangled idea”. There was no specific response from 8% G.Ps. If as high as 36% G.Ps. were dissatisfied with their work, they were asked if given the opportunity would they like to change it? There were 75% of the dissatisfied G.Ps., who said they could not change now and restart their further studies since they would not be able to meet the financial burden, while 25% said that it was not too late to change. Of the P.Ps., though all were satisfied with their chosen field, 44% said that they would definitely like to branch out as consultants and begin private practice. Though this was their cherished desire, some could not put it into practice because of two factors, (1) Economic and (2) Psychological. The economic factors concerned the heavy investment and doubtful returns of private practice. Psychologically, they were afraid of facing failure, social censure and total dissipation of professional ethics. In a hospital setting, an individual does not have to take

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total responsibility of any patient, which he would be obliged to do in case of private practice. Job satisfaction and lack of role conflict invariably create a healthy atmosphere. This may be a reason for recruiting more individuals in the profession. Thus it is believed that medical practitioners encourage and welcome their siblings and offsprings to enter the same profession. We found this was true in the case of all consultants, 56% P.Ps. and 24% G.Ps., while 16% G.Ps. emphatically said ‘No’ to such a proposition. Further, 44% P.Ps. and 16% G.Ps. said that the choice was not theirs, but that of their children and so at this stage they could not commit themselves. About 34% G.Ps. said they were in two minds and could not say what they wanted their siblings and children to do. Finally, the question—would you encourage your children or relatives to take up a practice like yours?—produced the following response. Of the G.Ps. only 8%, of P.Ps. 24% and 80% of C.Ps. said ‘Yes’, while 60% G.Ps., 32% P.Ps. and 20% C.Ps. said ‘No’. A further 32% G.Ps. and 44% P.Ps. said “We cannot say what we would like our children to do.” The various reasons advanced, by those who said ‘No’ amounted to—‘Would like them to specialise and start consulting practice.’

The Functional Significance of Medical Practice Parsons (1952) has pointed out that ‘The analysis of this problem may be centred about the pattern variables and the particular combination of their values which characterizes the “professional” pattern in our society, namely achievement, universalism, functional specificity, affective neutrality and collective orientation in that order.” The most fundamental basis for the necessity of a universalistic achievement lies in the fact that modern medical practice is the application of scientific knowledge by technically competent, trained personnel. Therefore, a physician’s role is not particularistically ascribed. The universalism of the medical role has, however, also another type of functional significance. In the light of this consideration it is clear that there is a strong pressure to assimilate the physician to the nexus of personal relationships in which patient is placed quite apart from the specific technical content of the job he is called upon to perform. In so far as his role can be defined in unequivocally universalistic terms,

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this serves as a protection against such assimilation, because personal friendships, love relationships and family relationships are overwhelmingly particularistic. This data gives a bird’s eye view of the total work pattern of physicians. Before we conclude, we can sum up by saying that the role of the medical practitioner belongs to the general class of ‘professional’ roles, a subclass of the larger group of occupational roles.

Conclusion We can draw some clear conclusions from this exploratory study: (a) The general practitioners (G.P.) combine physical cure along with the psychological and emotional care of their patients. He is thus a doctor to whom patients go oftener and consider a family friend too. On the whole the monetary gains of G.P.s are limited and yet the number of hours of work are considerably longer than in other professions. The general physician can always refer difficult cases to the hospital or send them to consultants. (b) Paid physicians even though have less monetary gains are compensated by curing patients, who have abnormal complications. They have at their command good paramedical service, and excellent equipment, which the other two categories lack. Without incurring the social responsibility of failure, these P.Ps. can achieve job satisfaction. (c) Usually the consultants get patients with a case history from G.Ps. or government hospitals. So they start treatment sometime in the middle of a sickness. They also utilize the services of technicians and other paramedical facilities but the time they can utilize for examining the patients is too little. So they cannot give much emotional and psychological satisfaction along with the physical cure. The rewards offered by society in terms of money and prestige are the maximum in this category.

When we consider the time spent per patient by doctors in relation to the patients’ illness and the doctors’ rewards, the two seem to be negatively related. The specialist, that is the consultant spends the minimum time with his patient. All the same, his reward is the highest. For this very reason the level of need gratification and interpersonal relationship of consultants (C.Ps.) is the highest. The C.Ps have a very positive approach to their work and not only like it but feel that their children should also follow in their footsteps.

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On the other hand, the P.Ps. are not all that satisfied with their occupation. They either want to set up their own private practice or want their children to be independent professionally. We feel that this attitude is essentially linked up with the monetary benefits of the doctors. Occupational hazards as such seem to make or mar the career of a professional and yet none of the three categories of doctors have felt the need to stress on this part of their professional life. As mentioned earlier the maximum degree of interaction between the physician and patient is between the G.P. and his patient and on a lesser degree between the C.P., P.P. and their patients. Now coming to the important aspect of attaining affective neutrality in their interaction with the patients we find that in the Indian context the expert physicians (C.P.) have dragged affective neutrality to such an extent that they spare only 5 to 6 minutes on an average for diagonising an ailment and have no time for the total ‘human-being’. The P.Ps. are also able to attain affective neutrality due to rota duty. This enables them to see new patients oftener than is possible in the case of a G.P. The G.Ps. on a lesser degree than the P.Ps, and C.Ps. can achieve some neutrality. All the same, all the three categories of physicians can perform their roles without considerable emotional involvement. Finally we can say that each type of practice has its own silver lining and the rewards are generally much more than in any other profession. Besides, doctors are the most respected persons in society, getting a great deal of importance and weilding a great deal of influence. The doctors in turn on the whole get psychological satisfaction while curing the sick, which could be much more than perceived in other jobs.

References Deodhar, N. D. and Adranwala, J. K. (Ed.) 1971. Basic Preventive and Social Medicine G. Y. Rane Prakashan. Friedson, E. 1972. Profession of Medicine: A Study of Sociology of Applied Knowledge. New York: Dodd Mead. Henderson, L. J. 1935. “Physicians and patient as a social system”. New England Journal of Medicine, 212, 819–832. Merton, Robert K. 1976. Sociological Ambivalence and Other Essays. New York: The Free Press. Morehead, M. A., Donaldson R. S. and Burt, R. R. 1964. A Study of the Quality of Hospital Care, Seen by a Sample of Teamster Family Members in New York City. New York: Columbia University School of Public Health and Administrative Medicine.

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Parsons, Talcott 1952. The Social System. London: Tavistock Publications. Peterson, O. L., Andrews, L. P., Spain, R. S. and Greenberg, B. G. 1956. An Analytic Study of North Carolina Practice 1953–64. Ewanston Illinois: Association of American Medical Colleges. Roemer and Friedman H. E. 1977. Doctors in Hospital (As sighted by Rhee-Sango). Rhee Sang 1977. “Relative importance of physicians personal and situational characteristics for the quality of patient care”. Journal of Health and Social Behaviour, 18(1), 10–15. Weswager, L. 1952. “The measurement of the job satisfaction of professional nurses”. Research Studies of the State College of Washington, 20, 45–55.

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6 The System of Hope: The Constitution of Identity in Medical Institutions Roma Chatterji

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n this paper I discuss three monographs that deal with medical institutions in the Netherlands. Two of these, Vie Nursing Home: Field of Study by H. ten Have and Disturbance and its Processing in Nursing Homes by J.C. van der Wulp, are studies of nursing homes for old people suffering from chronic and terminal diseases and are written by nursing home doctors who have used methods culled from sociology. The third is a study of a cancer research institute, conducted by a team of psychologists and sociologists at the invitation of the institute itself. However, the report on the investigations of the team was not well-received by the institute and was withdrawn from circulation soon after it was published in 1978 with the title, Dealing with Despair in a Cancer Hospital1 by A. van Dantzig and A. de Swaan, two members of the research team. There are two questions to which I wish to address myself. The first is why should doctors actively involved in medical practice choose to write sociological accounts of institutions in which they work, and the second is why did the book on the cancer hospital receive such a negative response from within the institution while books on nursing homes were not only received with enthusiasm but were also helpful in giving focus to the discussion on nursing home identity in the Netherlands.2 I argue that answers to both these questions must be sought from

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within the institutions themselves—their self-perception and modes of organization. For the authors, these works are not merely ethnographic monographs but are also efforts at understanding problems posed by invalidity, suffering and death for medical institutions themselves as well as for the society at large. They are critical of the way in which these problems are handled by the institutions but they are equally critical of the increasing professionalization of care in Dutch society which leads to the diminution of personal responsibility and initiative in the management of such problems. Thus, de Swaan, in a later work, refers to the ‘total medical regime’ through which society entrusts all matters pertaining to disease and death to professionals. The overarching medical network ties the sick person to a complicated and extensive therapeutic apparatus which removes all sense of personal agency (de Swaan 1990). However, in this paper the focus will be on the institutions themselves—the nursing home and the cancer research institute. The authors’ main concern is with a particular model of organization, ‘the medical model’, which allows for the creation of a work routine whose legitimacy is sought to be based on medical knowledge or on therapeutic requirements. Goffman’s work on total institutions (1961) has had a major influence on the critical understanding of medical institutions in the Netherlands. It has helped to articulate the relationship between the institution and society. For Goffman this relationship is examined in terms of a series of oppositions between everyday life in a total institution and life in the wider society. Thus, the spatial barriers that separate the three spheres of life—sleep, work and play—in the wider society (Western society, that is) are broken down in the total institution. Batch-living in the total institution is contrasted to family life in society. Batches perform routinized activities under a supervisory authority. These activities are brought under a single rational plan to fulfil the aims of the institution. In society at large, a distinction is made between the public domain of work and the private familial domain. The totalizing influence of the institution breaks down this distinction. The official goals of the institution become rationalizations for trivial rules which regulate the daily life of inmates. All aspects of the inmates’ behaviour tend to be interpreted in terms of the official goals. Thus, for example, a prisoner by definition becomes a criminal by virtue of the fact that he

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is an inmate of a prison. In medical establishments, similarly, patients’ behaviour is often explained by disease categories. The strength of Goffman’s work lies in its ability to demonstrate how the total institution is not merely a bureaucratic organization, but also a social institution and in this sense embodies a particular morality. Ten Have (1979) uses this aspect of Goffman’s work as his point of departure and distinguishes between two aspects of the nursing home: the organizational and the institutional aspects. For him the organization is a social group defined by certain goals.3 The individuals in the organization interact to achieve these goals. They may have the freedom to choose the methods by which the goals are best achieved, but they have no freedom in the choice of particular goals. These are considered to be a priori.4 He defines the institution as being a complex of normative modes of action. There is always a tension between these two aspects. Ideally the institutional aspect should encompass the organizational one, but there is always a danger that the organizational aspect can become reified, serving as an end in itself rather than as a means for attaining institutional goals. For ten Have there must be a reflexive relationship between these two aspects. The nursing home as an institution occupies a moral space in society and must articulate its self-critique in terms of this reflexive relationship.

The Medical Institution: The Cancer Hospital The Dutch Cancer Institute was established in 1914 to promote research and treatment of cancer. At that time, the medical establishment was still caught between conflicting ideologies. On the one hand, the new approach to disease that emphasized research and experimentation had been gaining ground since the middle of the 19th century, and on the other, remnants of the ‘charity-based’ approach towards sickness were still present. This was characterized as ‘fatalistic’ and ‘pessimistic’ by the new approach. Hospitals were no longer thought to be places where poor people went to die, but were to become centres of knowledge where teaching, research and treatment could be combined. The cancer hospital grew out of this ideology and shared the same proselytizing zeal towards the disease. The emphasis was on technology and greater specialization. ‘Specialization demanded particular aids and services: a laboratory, operation theatre and also an X-ray room, and so on. The patient had to

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come to the instruments. . . . The doctor slowly became the dominant figure in the hospital.’5 The cancer hospital established its identity in opposition to the religious tradition of charitable care. There were to be no wards for terminal patients. Only those patients for whom ‘something meaningful’ could be done were to be admitted. As van Dantzig and de Swaan show, ‘something meaningful’ in the context of this institution generally refers to the somatic aspect of sickness that can be handled aggressively by means of sophisticated medical technology. The other aspects of the disease, its impact on the sick person as well as the traumas resulting from the medical treatment itself, are thought to be of secondary importance and are taken into consideration only if they interfere with the course of treatment.

The Nursing Home As hospitals became in creasingly specialized and technologically sophisticated, there arose the need for another kind of institution that could take care of the cases that could no longer fit into the organizational framework of the specialized hospital. After the Second World War it was the nursing home that grew into an institution that could accommodate chronic cases that did not require specialized medical treatment, but rather, intensive nursing care. However, over the years the nursing home has changed from being a second order hospital to an institution that has a specialization of its own—a ‘medicine of care’ called continuous, long-term, systematic and multidisciplinary care (CLSM). To understand the identity of the nursing home and its ideology of care which it has developed in opposition to the ideology of cure of the hospital, one has to turn to its history. In the Netherlands the rise of the nursing home is associated with the growth of medical and paramedical disciplines like geriatrics and revalidation after the Second World War. Revalidation was able to achieve the status of a scientific discipline when societies involved in the War were faced with the necessity of putting thousands of disabled soldiers back into the production process. This had an influence on the treatment of patients suffering from chronic diseases. Chronic patients in medical institutions were now kept out of bed as far as possible and were made to follow a routine that would reflect that of normal everyday life as far as possible within the requirements of medical treatment.

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Nursing home medicine6 in the Netherlands is involved chiefly with the specialization, geriatrics. Geriatrics was carved out as a special field of medical knowledge when it was found that the structure of the aging body and brain showed significant differences from that found in the normal adult population. It was argued that specialized knowledge was required to diagnose diseases among old people because symptoms manifested themselves very differently. Further, the incidence of chronic diseases rose sharply with increasing age and these were again manifested as multiple pathologies involving both the body and the mind and thus required a holistic approach. For greater clarity let us conceptualize the difference in the treatment offered in the hospital and in the nursing home in terms of two alternative models of disease and its treatment. One model would conceive of the disease as having a particular pattern that is revealed in a restricted time span. The disease first shows itself in symptoms which are not necessarily intelligible to the sufferer, but which allow the specialist to make a diagnosis and to suggest a course of treatment. We may call this the acute/cure paradigm in which treatment is supposed to lead to cure. The patient is considered to be a passive entity and the disease is treated purely as a somatic manifestation—that is, as a biological pathology. The second is the chronic/care paradigm. The treatment of chronic disease involves its management rather than cure and must take into account factors other than biological ones. Since this involves an extended time span, the patient’s biography and his psycho-social environment must also be considered. It must be reiterated that these two models do not necessarily conform to the empirical description of particular diseases. They are important, however, because they serve to orient representations that the medical institution may have of itself and the diseases that it deals with. This can best be illustrated by taking the example of specific diseases, for example cancer and Alzheimer’s disease. Their suitability for discussion here is determined by the fact that they fall within the purview of the institutions being discussed. The nursing home, as an institution specializing in gerontological problems, has developed techniques for the ‘treatment’ of forms of senile dementia like Alzheimer’s disease, while the cancer hospital, as is suggested by the name itself, is a research institute for the investigation and treatment of cancers of various forms. Alzheimer’s disease has no clear-cut etiology or diagnosis, it is usually recognized from the symptoms. These are radical personality changes,

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short- and long-term memory deficits, aphasia, apraxia and agnosia.7 All the symptoms are manifested gradually over an extended period of time and it is usually difficult to recognize these symptoms in their pathological form in the early stages of the disease. In fact, as we shall see, the distinction between normal senescence and pathological senescence remains problematic in gerontology. Recent research into the structure of the aging brain has shown that the brains of persons suffering from Alzheimer’s disease have a preponderance of senile plaques composed of cellular debris and an amyloid substance (a glycoprotein resembling starch), as well as neurofibrillary tangles. It is not clear, however, whether the accumulation of this abnormal substance is a cause or an effect of the disease. Also, symptoms such as these are usually discovered during post-mortem operations and have no relevance to its treatment or management. Alzheimer’s disease is a chronic and terminal disease. It cannot be seen as the direct result of morphological and biochemical changes occurring in the brain and the central nervous system. The relationship between so-called pathological behaviour and changes in the central nervous system is mediated by the social environment and must be understood in terms of the total profile of the person’s life. Cancer is also a chronic and terminal disease. It has multiple causation and there are multiple pathologies associated with it. Its status is ambivalent because some forms of cancer are curable while others are not. However, unlike Alzheimer’s disease, it can be controlled and is amenable to palliative intervention. The cancer hospital represents itself primarily as a research institute, and not one for the care of cancer patients. It operates within the acute/cure paradigm of medicine. The lives of patients who come to it for treatment are structured around elaborate investigative procedures which are supposed to plot the etiology of the disease, its diagnosis, prognosis and eventual cure. However, as van Dantzig and de Swaan point out, the model of treatment that is supposed to eventually lead to cure is really based on the hope of cure. Anxieties about the very real possibilities of death are kept hidden by a ‘system of hope’ in which both staff members and patients participate. The nursing home also receives cancer patients, but mostly in the terminal phases of the disease when they can no longer be accommodated within the system of hope generated by the acute/cure paradigm institutions like the cancer hospital. The nursing home operates within the chronic/care paradigm of medicine. It is recognized that cancer

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patients admitted to it are likely to die. Here it is treated like a terminal rather than a curable disease. As far as Alzheimer’s disease is concerned, an opposition does not emerge between the two models of medicine at the level of institutional practice since there is no treatment for this disease. Patients are admitted to institutions operating within the chronic/care paradigm. However, there is a distinction in the way it is viewed in the research laboratory and the hospital or nursing home. Research into the causes of Alzheimer’s disease has led to the isolation of a protein which may be significant in the formation of the senile plaques and neurofibrillary tangles which are the iconic markers of this disease. But this is still very distant from the tentative diagnosis based on the doctor’s observation of the patient’s behaviour and the hetero-anamnesis8 collected from the members of the patient’s family (see Chatterji 1993). It must be remembered that investigative procedures like the CAT scan are not usually performed to establish a diagnosis. The brain of the patient afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease is only accessible after death—for purposes of research not treatment.

The Medical Model In all the works that are under consideration here, it is the medical model that is supposed to have given rise to the bureaucratic organization of the institution. Also, the critique that emerges from these works is addressed to the medical model rather than to the institutions concerned. Hence, we must now try to outline its basic features. To begin with, in the medical model the sick person’s life is organized in terms of a disease trajectory. His role in managing his own life decreases as the doctors and nurses take over agency in its planning. The illness process is broken up between many specializations which in turn requires a particular mode of organization in which the relationship between different aspects of the illness can be managed. For instance, the social worker is in charge of the interface between the patient’s social world and his world in the institution. She organizes the admission and discharge processes, sets the medical insurance procedure in motion and even gives advice to the family members on the correct selection of clothes and other personal possessions for the patient. The nurses take over once the patient is admitted to the ward. They take care of his or

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her physical well-being while the pastor and recreational therapist take care of his or her spiritual and emotional life. The various paramedical disciplines are organized hierarchically under the medical disciplines. This is so even in the nursing home which emphasizes the team-care approach with the focus on the individual patient as a whole which includes the disease picture and its influence on his or her personality. Even here, the doctor is the final authority in the decision-making process around the patient. Also, it is only the doctor who has complete access to information concerning the patient under the Medical Secrecy Act. This applies to areas of the patient’s life that do not necessarily pertain to his illness directly. For instance, the family may make certain items of information concerning the patient’s private life available to the doctor, to give him a ‘complete’ picture of the patient’s personality which may be important for the diagnosis of diseases associated with senile dementia. Information of this kind is usually kept in the patient’s medical file which only the doctor in charge is authorized to view. Besides this, the language of medicine itself operates as a veil or as a technique of affect management to conceal the true condition of the patient from him. In the Netherlands, the patient has the right to information regarding his condition, including access to his case file. However, the technical language in which the account of his medical condition is articulated does not allow the patient true access to knowledge of his condition. Van Dantzig and de Swaan give an example of the way in which patients, desperately searching for clues that will give an indication of their condition, may misread perfectly neutral signs. Thus, one patient in the cancer hospital thought that the symbols that signify gender on the case sheet actually referred to the gravity and progression of the illness—d’meant that the person whose name followed the symbol was getting better and meant that the person was deteriorating. But the staff and patients also operate in a double bind; the patients may not really want to face the truth of their condition and the doctors or nurses may not be ready to face the impact of such truth-telling on the patients’ emotional equilibrium. This results, therefore, in a kind or ‘affect management’ in which both the staff and patients engage in an exchange of half-truths so that a ‘system of hope’ is created and maintained. The process of treatment breaks up the course of the illness into phases, each marked by a series of investigative procedures, so that the prognosis is deferred to the outcome of the next test. In this way the hope for cure can be maintained. De Swaan (1990) shows how the organization

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of investigation and treatment structures the experience of being sick into a course consisting of a series of episodes of hope, disappointment and ever-renewed expectation. In this way it removes agency from the patient because he or she is no longer in control of the meaning generated by the illness experience. In fact the experience of illness has been taken over to constitute part of the definition of disease. Similarly, the daily routine in the ward which tends to regiment the patient’s life into standardized patterns of activity can also be rationalized on the grounds of medical requirement. For example, the requirements of hygiene could be used to account for the sparse furnishings in the wards, and so on.

Institutional Responses to the Three Monographs We are now in the position to address ourselves to the two questions posed in the introduction: first, why do medical personnel feel the need to write sociological monographs about their workplaces, and second, why were the responses of the two types of institutions to these studies so different. Perhaps some tentative answers can be found if we can identify the particular experiences that led these authors to articulate the fundamental questions they have been concerned with in their works. The introduction to Disturbance and its Processing in Nursing Homes (van der Wulp 1986) offers an illustration. He narrates a personal experience with a patient—a woman with uraemia—who died. Nothing in her condition led him to expect her death. He could not understand it until one of the nurses told him that she had wanted to die. Both ten Have and van der Wulp turn to sociology to help them create spaces to listen to the voices of their patients. They both feel that their patients have more to tell them about their illnesses than the specialists care to know, and the space offered by medical discourse is not adequate to understand this. Contrast this with the experience of the researchers who wrote the report on the cancer research institute. Van Dantzig and de Swaan (1978) have discussed the conditions under which the study was undertaken. Van Dantzig was first asked to act as psychiatric consultant by the doctors of the cancer institute to advise them on deviant patients. He refused because he felt that these patients could only be understood in terms of their total hospital experience, which would include their

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interactions with other patients and the hospital organization itself. These patients who had been defined as problem cases by the hospital would have problems that were shared by many people in their condition—problems around the anxiety caused by the disease and the very real possibility of death. Van Dantzig thought that it would be more meaningful to investigate the hospital community, to see whether there were special problems that were experienced by certain deviant patients alone, or whether these problems were more general and could be located in the organization of the hospital community and the strategies that were devised to manage death anxiety. Finally, a project was devised to study coping strategies and affect management in the hospital. Even though the hospital staff cooperated with the research team during the course of the investigation, the authors feel that the goals of the research project were never fully understood or accepted. There were no objections to particular facts as they had been portrayed in the report, but rather, to the general picture that was considered to be one-sided and extremely negative in tone. It was also felt that there was no mention of the spiritual care that is institutionalized in all medical establishments through pastors and social workers. The report had shown that the very real possibility of death is kept hidden under a surface calm. Patients are appreciative of the care they receive. They are aware that they are in a premier institute and are in a position to receive the best treatment that is available in Europe. Yet, they are caught in a double bind. They live in a world of hope and anxiety at the same time. This anxiety is not addressed. Rather, it is pushed away. The rationalization given is that it is not good for therapeutic treatment for such emotions to be aired. Both staff and patients collude to create this system of hope. The central paradox lay in the fact that the report was received as personal criticism by the hospital staff, when the intention of the researchers was to provide a general critique of the medical structure and of its relationship to society. Van Dantzig and de Swaan feel that the principal objectors to their work were the senior officials who have participated in the technological reorganization of medicine in the Netherlands. They see the hospital organization as an instrument of their intentions, which is the growth of medical knowledge leading to the control of adversity brought about by disease, and assume that if these intentions are not realized it is either due to the inefficient organization of the hospital or is a criticism of their intentions. Therefore, staff members led by senior

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officials did not recognize the critical representation of the hospital as their reality. ‘Those who have adjusted to the system of hope cannot see it for what it is’ (1978: 19). This is the damning conclusion of the authors. If the portrait of the hospital that emerged in the external observers’ report sharply differed from the perception of the staff members of the hospital, leading to the negative reception accorded to the report by the latter, in the case of the nursing home the insiders themselves tried to view their workplace from an external point of view: ten Have says that in his experience as a doctor he found that old people had more to tell him than he had to tell them. Therefore, he chose to study old people in the nursing home context in terms of their worlds and their life situations, using a method that is ‘natural’, that is, the phenomenological method.9 He uses the categories of ‘time’, ‘space’ and ‘person’ to delineate different life worlds the spheres of meaningfulness of the two major groups in the nursing home. Of course the method he designates as ‘natural’ is not at all natural from the perspective of his own discipline (medicine) which would define the experiences of these people in terms of disease categories. Ten Have chooses to create ‘mini ethnographies’ (to use Kleinman’s phrase), to listen to their ‘illness experiences’, to what is significant for them in their life worlds, and thereby he constitutes the doctor not as an expert but rather as a ‘moral witness’ or a listener (Kleinman 1988). The conclusion he arrives at is a negative one. One of the official goals of the nursing home is to provide an optimal life milieu for persons who cannot live in society, and the patients themselves are appreciative of the care they receive; yet the problems emerging from their life situations—some of them inherent in being old and sick, others arising from the process of institutionalization—are not understood by the staff members. Ten Have’s work provided an impetus for self-reflection in the nursing home world. Since then there have been efforts to create structures that are more open-ended and receptive to criticism and to institutionalize a more personalized care system. Thus, individual nursing homes have been encouraged to organize committees to receive complaints from patients and their families, to hold ward discussions between nurses and patients, and to try and structure the care and treatment around the requirements and wishes of individual patients (Chatterji et al. 1991). There have also been several follow-up studies of which van der Wulp’s is one of the more systematic. He follows, broadly, ten Have’s concern but tries to systematize the relationship between different spheres of

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significance, specifically that between the patients’ lives before they fell ill and their present situation in the nursing home. The relations are characterized either by conflict or equilibrium and by an experience of disjunction between the past and the present. The three major areas in which this disjunction is perceived is in terms of the body (health vs. sickness), mental status (autonomy vs. dependence) and social state (home vs. the institution). Van der Wulp suggests that institutions should structure their work routine so as to be able to handle these disjunctions therapeutically. What is it about the institutional structure of the nursing home that allows it this reflexivity? To answer this question we shall have to return to the discussion on the two models of disease—the acute/cure versus the chronic/care model. They involve different perceptions of normalcy and health. The nursing home’s residents are mainly elderly people. The structures of the aging body and brain are supposed to be different from those of the normal adult population. Most old people are thought to be suffering from some chronic problems even if these are insignificant and do not cause major impairment. The standard of normalcy for the elderly population must take the presence of some pathology into account. Rather than using terms like ‘normal’ and ‘pathological’, geriatricians prefer to talk in terms of ‘function’ and ‘disfunction’ (Sunier 1986). The individual organism (the elderly person in this case) is defined in terms of his environment which is conceived as being composed of other beings as well. The individual is in a functional relationship with his environment as long as he or she is able to respond to it meaningfully. There is a relationship of equilibrium or ‘homeostasis’ between the two. In this perspective illness is defined as a break in homeostasis between the individual and his environment. Normalcy refers to the restoration of this homeostasis rather than to an average norm. However, the elderly individual may lose his or her ability to adapt to the environment which may then be experienced as threatening. If the individual is to survive, the environment will have to be adapted to meet his or her needs. The nursing home defines the elderly sick person in terms of a support structure. This includes not merely the family and neighbourhood but also professional care services, including ambulatory medical care. When this support structure breaks down the nursing home steps in to provide a supportive environment in which the sick person can lead a

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‘normal’ life within the parameters allowed to him or her by his or her illness. However, the nursing home is perceived as an end stadium by the wider society, a place for people who are incurably sick, a house of death. There is thus an ambiguity in the identity of the nursing home. The fact that it offers a medicine of care means that there is greater sensitivity to the emotional problems that accompany sickness and disability. But at the same time there is a confrontation with the brute fact of death and with the incurability of chronic disease which can be perceived as threatening, especially as the nursing home has also developed from the medical model which is based on what van Dantzig and de Swaan call a ‘system of hope’—the possibility of cure. The ambiguity at the heart of the nursing home’s representation of itself makes it more open to critical reflection. Nursing home medicine is a marginal discipline. It is not invested with the kind of legitimacy or prestige associated with a research institute like the cancer hospital. It is therefore also more open to other languages and to more distancing representations of itself. However, there is something to be said about a critique that comes from within as opposed to one formulated by outsiders. At the time that ten Have’s work was published there was already an incipient body of critical writing available on subjects like chronic illness and pain (see Leering 1967). Ten Have helped to locate this discussion within the organization of the nursing home. As opposed to this, the cancer hospital was not prepared for the portrait that had been painted of itself. We have already discussed the institutional structures which make this response cognizable. Over and above this we must examine the nature of the representation which may also be relevant in understanding the hospital’s response to the report. The critics of the report felt that there was a greater sensitivity to and a more willing reception of the emotional demands of patients in the cancer hospital than had been portrayed in the report. The researchers pointed out that this was at an informal, interpersonal level and was not an institutionalized part of the work process. The critics found it difficult to empathize with a generalized overview of hospital structure that was, however, based on the detailed observation of one particular case. The paradox of the method adopted by the researches lay in the fact that the monograph was built up of concrete examples of interactions between particular individuals which, however, can only be understood within a generalized critique of the organizational structure of the hospital.

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There was also a more specific objection to the report. The hospital staff felt that there was an insufficient description of pastoral work. According to the observation of the researchers this sphere of activity did not really provide a means for subverting the organizational structure, but only provided solace at the individual level. However, this does remain a lacuna in their work. Van Dantzig and de Swaan are aware of the fact that they were not sufficiently self-conscious about their own subjective orientation. They feel that an empathetic approach and greater sensitivity towards affectivity is part of their training as psychotherapists and psychologically-oriented sociologists. They are willing to admit that the ‘system of hope’ may be the only mode of care available in the medical context. They see their critique of the medical institution as being part of a larger critique of the professionalization of care in society in which experiences of suffering and death have been removed from the familial domain and placed within the regime of experts. There is, however, a problem with the mode in which the ethnography is presented. To use a distancing, third-person generalized style is not necessarily the most sensitive mode in which to represent private experiences of suffering. The authors’ style tends to remove agency from the persons undergoing these experiences. Their voices are not heard. The authors’ voice stands above them, purportedly objective but easily interpreted as negative and judgemental. Ten Have and van der Wulp in contrast use a dialogical mode which gives primacy to the voices of their patients. They turn to the social sciences not to provide a distance but to be able to come closer to the experiences of their patients.

Conclusion The authors of these works would like to see more openness in medical institutions and a more personalized approach to medicine in which the patient is central not merely in terms of his or her disease but in terms of his/her whole life experience. They would like to see medical personnel not as mere technicians for the treatment of the body but also as spiritual advisors and sympathetic witnesses to the patient’s suffering. In recent years most institutions have switched over to the teamcare model in which an individualized care programme is constructed for each patient. What happens in practice is that the patient is broken

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up between the various so-called specializations, including that of pastoral care which becomes just another service present in medical institutions. This does not mean that there are no cases of interpersonal bonding between staff members and patients and no informal attempts at affect management. Van Dantzig and de Swaan (1978) dismiss all such relationships precisely because they are not part of the institutional structure. They feel that the bureaucratic organization of work prevents emotional relations from being articulated. However, my own work in a nursing home in the Netherlands has shown that it is precisely through the work routine that inexpressible sentiments may be articulated. Nurses express their bonding with patients by taking care of their bodies. Verbal communication may not be the most significant form of communication for persons with debilitating illnesses. It is interesting to note that all the authors rely on verbal communication for their research. If they had been more sensitive to non-verbal communication they would have realized that it is characterized by a tentativeness that cannot be structured in the manner in which the work routine can be bureaucratically structured. The ideal that stands behind the critiques of these authors must be understood in terms of the moral value that the medical institution has in this society. The model on which it bases its own identity is that of the community. The ideal approach to problems associated with suffering, illness and death are modelled on those that are supposed to be found in the community. At the same time their critique of the professionalization of Dutch society shows that they are aware that this ideal community may be illusory. The danger of even greater professionalization and regulation of the individual personality that may be inherent in the changes that van Dantzig and de Swaan would like to see, are not explored. It may be pertinent to end here with Goffman who believed that the individual personality could only be articulated in the cracks of bureaucratic organizations.

Notes 1. I am grateful lo Professor B.S. Baviskar for encouragement in the writing of this paper. The Dutch titles of the books are as follows: Ha Verpleeghuis: Veld van Onderzoek by H. ten Have; Verstoring en Verwerking in Verpleeghuizen by J.C. van der Wulp; and Omgaan met Angst in Een Kankerziekenhuis by A. van Dantzig and A. de Swaan. The works of both ten Have and van der Wulp were written originally as dissertations for Ph.D. degrees in sociology. However, both are directors of nursing homes in the

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Netherlands. Van Dantzig is a psychiatrist and de Swaan is a sociologist. All three works are written in Dutch. I have tried to substitute English terms for the Dutch originals as far as possible for the convenience of English-speaking readers. 2. Ten Have’s book was published in 1979, a year after the book on the cancer hospital by van Dantzig and de Swaan. Van der Wulp’s book, published in 1986 and dealing with many of the same questions that had been raised by ten Have, is an indication of the ongoing discussion around these problems in the Netherlands. 3. According to the Webster’s Dictionary (third new international edition, unabridged), an organization refers to a group that has a constant membership, a body of officers, a purpose and usually a set of regulations. 4. Ten Have does not acknowledge Weber’s influence in his formulation even though it seems evident to us here. 5. Quotation in van Dantzig and de Swaan (1978) from A. Querido ‘Gedachten over de evolutie van het ziekenhuis’, De Gide, 136, 9/10 1973, pp. 619–28 (my translation). 6. Van der Wulp (1986) characterizes the treatment offered in nursing homes as ‘nursing home medicine’. He also makes a distinction between the acute/cure and chronic/care paradigms in medicine. 7. Apraxia is a disorder of the cerebral cortex resulting in the patient’s inability to organize his movements. Aphasia is caused by a disease in the dominant hemisphere of the brain, (i.e., in the left hemisphere of a right-handed person’s brain). It causes a language disorder affecting the generation of speech and its understanding. Agnosia is caused by a disorder of the association areas in the parietal lobes of the brain, whereby the patient cannot interpret sensations correctly although the sense organs and nerves conducting sensation to the brain are functioning normally (Harrison 1986). 8. A hetero-anamnesis is an account of the patient’s biography and past behaviour which may throw light on his/her present condition. 9. The phenomenological perspective takes as its fundamental unit the individual human being and his/her experiences of the world. These experiences are studied in terms of overlapping structures of intentions. It tries to describe the individual’s subjective orientation to the world.

References Chatterji, R., V. Das, S. Dutta-Chaudhury, R. Pradhan and K.W. Van der Veen. 1991. The Welfare State from the Outside: Aging, Social Structure and Professional Care in the Netherlands: Indo-Dutch Program for Alternatives in Development. Chatterji, R. 1993. An Ethnography of Dementia. A Case Study of One Psycho-Geriatric Patient. Paper presented at the Sociological Research Colloquium, Department of Sociology, Delhi School of Economics. De Swaan, A. 1990. The Management of Normality. Critical Essays in Health and Welfare. London: Routledge. Goffman, E. 1961. Asylums. Essays on the Social Situation of Mental Patients and Other Inmates. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Harrison, L.M. 1986. The Pocket Medical Dictionary. Delhi: C.B.S. Publishers.

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Kleinman, A. 1988. Illness Narratives. Suffering, Healing and the Human Condition. Basic Books: New York. Leering, C. 1967. ‘Vragen naar Zinvolle en Zinloze Invaliditeit bij (oude) Mensen. Beschowingen naar aanleiding van een aspect in het werk van Samuel Beckett, Gawein: Tijdschrift voor Psychologie. XVI(6). Sunier, A. 1986. Body and Mind in Old Age and Decay. Assen: Van Gorcum. Ten Have, H. 1979. Het Verpleeghuis: Veld Van Onderzoek. Deventer: Van Logum Slaterus. Van Dantzig, A. and A. de Swaan. 1978. Omgaan met Angst in Een Kankerziekenhuis. Utrecht: Het Spectrum. Van der Wulp, J.C. 1986. Verstoring en Verwerking in Verpleeghuizen: Belevingswereld en Conflicten van hen die hun Verdere Leven in een Verpleeghuis Doorbregen. Nijkerk: Intro.

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7 Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction Mathew George

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edical care achieves its salience through the processes of diagnosis, treatment, and follow-up. These are usually accomplished by the active group-effort of doctors, patients, and other paramedical staff through health institutions. The roles played by doctors and patients become pivotal in the process of medical care. The role played by the patient cannot be seen merely as a recipient of medical care but as that of a partner in the total effort at curing the disease, as it is the patient (or her/his relatives) who first identifies the problem and seeks treatment. This becomes a necessary condition for the recovery of illness through medical care. Besides, the whole process of medical care that transforms a lay category of illness to a medical category of disease is facilitated through these interactions. In other words, doctorpatient interaction can provide an expert and a lay interpretation of the same event, which, in turn, reveals the context and the reasons for these interpretations. The present paper is an attempt to show various voices in doctor-patient interactions in a clinic and thereby explaining these interactions as outcomes of the socialisation of actors involved.

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Understanding Doctor-Patient Interaction The interaction between doctors and patients becomes cardinal not only in the process of medical care, but also within the institution of medicine. It is through this interaction the basic components of medical care like diagnosis, prognosis, and therapeutics get accomplished. Additionally, this interaction can be seen as part of the whole process of medical care where both the actors are influenced by the changing medical knowledge. There are several approaches through which the interaction between doctors and patients can be examined. A brief overview of some of them will be attempted here thereby situating the approaches used for the present study in its context. Scholars have attributed a passive role to patients, thereby expecting them to co-operate with the doctor in the process of medical care (Seal 1971). These studies mostly examine the gaps in the knowledge and understanding of patients about medicine with a view to rectify them by the process of socialisation of the patients to medical values and beliefs (medicalisation). Talcott Parsons’ ‘sick role’ (1951) has been one of the dominant as well as influential approaches among sociologists which resulted in the acceptance of the physician’s expertise in tackling illness as the key for doctor-patient interaction. This not only problematises illness but also considers bureaucracy in hospital as a feature manifested through doctor-patient interaction (see Mechanic 1976; Tuckett 1976). In all these, patients were not given sufficient attention, as the major role attributed to them was to help the physician in their maximum possible capacity in the collection of information about illness for rendering better care. Moreover, from a professional perspective, another stream of studies examined the temperament, attitude, and behaviour of doctors and patients and tried to link them to the socio-economic class of the respective actors, thereby showing conflict between them (see Friedson 1970/2001; Advani 1980). Besides, scholars have also examined the changing nature of role structures and behaviours among professionals and semi-professionals within a bureaucratic setting and linked these to the social characteristics of the actors (Oommen 1978). Taking into consideration the varied roles played by doctors and patients, four models have been developed to understand the physicianpatient relationship, namely, paternalistic, informative, interpretative, and deliberative models (Emanuel and Emanuel 1992). As the term

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indicates, the paternalistic model assumes that the physician is an expert, similar to a priest, who knows what is best for the patient, who, in turn, will be thankful for such help. The informative model, also known as scientific engineering, is the process of translation of patient’s values into facts through the mediation of the physician, the expert. The interpretative model, similar to that of a counsellor, helps the patient understand her/his priorities, thereby helping her/him in decision-making. The deliberative model proposes the possibility of negotiation where the physician, through dialogue, enables the patient to look at available options that aid final action. In all these approaches, the upper hand and expertise of the physician and the capability attributed to medicine are obvious. The rise of the consumerist perspective, which considers medical care as a commodity and the right of the patient as that of a consumer, further attempts to empower the patient where the patient is expected to assert her/his needs and make her/him aware of the possible options. This could not go very far due to the patients’ inability to enter into the expertise of medical knowledge, which plays an important role in the process of medical care decision-making. For H. Waitzkin (1979), this is only an outcome of a professional hegemony embedded in medicine prevalent in any society, whose intensity is greater in a capitalist society, which is capable of exerting social control that ultimately gets precipitated through the doctor-patient interaction. The realisation of uncertainty within medicine (Fox 1957, 2000) has resulted in an approach that questions acceptance of physician’s expertise in tackling illness. Here, diagnosis is seen as a practical approach that does not seek to pursue beyond the stage that predicts therapy and a theoretical approach that seeks to refine diagnosis to the limits of the possible (Mccormick 1979). Furthermore, the reasons people consult doctors are not always for diagnosis and treatment of disease, but also for getting reassurance about the meaning of symptoms, help with the problems of living, certification of sickness, and prevention of disease (ibid.). In this context, it will be farcical to understand doctorpatient interaction merely as a dyadic relationship. Instead, a contextual analysis that situates doctors, as the representation of the prevalent medical fraternity and patients, depending on the social strata to which one belongs, along with the prevalent cultural practices reflected in the type of health institutions, needs to be attempted (see Atkinson 1995; Good and Good 2000).

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This can be a means for analysing how larger social and cultural processes are made relevant to the experience of patients, suggesting that clinical conversations are a form of traffic not only among doctors and patients, but also among diverse local and global sites that produce biomedical knowledge, therapeutic technologies, and the scientific imaginary (Good and Good 2000). That is, consultation is the forum through which biomedical theory and scientific assumptions meet lay expressions of the experience of illness. In the encounter, the personal, social, and psychological contexts of sickness that are brought by the patient are translated by the physician into terms that are intelligible in biomedicine. This is accomplished here by analysing doctor-patient interaction in its totality using narrative analysis whose basic assumptions and techniques is discussed in the following section.

Doctor-Patient Interaction as Narrative The suitability of narrative analysis in clinical encounters is dealt by C. Mattingly: ‘Narrative plays a central role in clinical work not only as a retrospective account of past events but as a form healers and patients actively seek to impose upon clinical time’ (1994: 811). This becomes clear as (illness) narratives are extensively used to understand patients’ representations and experiences of illness and to provide a temporal frame (clinical time) for therapeutic events. When the doctor-patient interaction is seen as a narrative, the scope of analysis widens, as it can be a tool to situate the physician and the patient in their socio-cultural milieu and a means of communication, whose further analysis provides the meaning given by both the actors to a common event, namely, illness. This is because narrative can be studied as a mode of discourse—as text or as performance: ‘Narrative is used when we want to understand concrete events that require relating an inner world of desire and motive to an outer world of observable actions and states of affairs’ (Mattingly and Garro 1994: 771). Narrative thus makes it possible to understand not only the past experiences, but through that the present understanding of that experience and the future options perceived within the given socio-cultural context. As narrative is about experiences, it is through stories that narratives are produced where stories themselves are outcomes of experiences of the actors within their respective context (socialisation). The linkages between narrative and life stories have been dealt extensively by

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many scholars (see Frank 1995; Mattingly and Garro 2000). It is this narrative or life story that is further analysed by the researcher as a text based on her/his socio-cultural milieu. The position of the researcher here is more of a ‘passive’ participant observer (Spradley 1980: 59–60), as the researcher neither has the first-hand experience of the illness patient suffers nor the expertise of the physician with which the illness gets interpreted as disease. Thus, by taking the position of a bystander (witness), it is possible that the researcher would have internalised the problems of the patient better possibly due to greater familiarity with the patient and her/his context. Besides, not having the expertise of the doctor limits a complete understanding of the physician’s point of view. This would result in being more of a patient-centric perspective in the analysis. Thus, the model in which experience leading to narrative, narrative to text, and text further reshaping the experience is in itself inadequate, as the role of socialisation of the actors and the researcher in the formation of narrative and the text is not addressed. This inadequacy is tackled by introducing the concept of institutions at each juncture, that is, during translation of experience to narrative, narrative to text, and text further reshaping the experience. The concept of institutions used for this study is based on Jamie A. Saris’ work about a schizophrenic patient (1995).

Institutions in Narrative Saris (ibid.) addresses the above problem by elaborating narrative, or, in his terminology, ‘the conditions of narrative production’. The translation of experience to narrative and narrative to text, according to Saris, is shaped by the institutions that are prevalent in each social context. The concept of institutions he puts forth encompasses the prevalent socio-cultural milieu. He defines institutions ‘as bundles of technologies, narrative styles, modes of discourse, and as importantly, erasures and silences. Culturally and historically situated subjects produce and reproduce these knowledge, practices and silences as a condition of being within the orbit of the institution (ibid.: 42). Saris elaborates institutions as helping to constitute stories as well as being sites of narrative productions, thereby problematising the relationship between experience and the development of the story about that experience (narrative) in such a way as to focus the analyst’s attention

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on the specific circumstances of the social field in which narratives are developed and deployed. Moreover, narratives as text would ensure a thick description that would show a better picture of the social context in which the narrative is embedded (ibid.). Unlike clock time or serial time, that follows one after the other, narratives follow narrative time where the time itself is dependent on the events explained with a beginning, middle, and end (plots). Mattingly (1994) has used the concept of narrative time and emplotment in the analysis of clinical interactions. For her, emplotment involves ‘making a configuration in time, creating a whole out of a succession of events (plots) (ibid.: 812). She elaborates that narrativity and, particularly, the work to create a plot out of a succession of actions, is of direct concern to the actor in the midst of action. Narrative analysis used in clinical interactions generates sufficient space for adequate understanding of the actors’ (doctors’ and patients’) perspective about the illness and their future plans for the same. According to Mattingly, A narrative analysis offers a way to examine clinical life as a series of existential negotiations between clinicians and patients, ones that concern the meaning of illness, the place of therapy within an unfolding illness story, and the meaning of a life which must be remade in the face of serious illness (1994: 821).

It is this perspective of narrative—a narrative that is shaped by the institutions—that is used to analyze the doctor-patient interaction in the context of fever care rendered by allopathic health facilities in Kerala.

Voices of Interaction In order to contextualise the doctor-patient interaction deploying narrative analysis, E.G. Mishler’s concept of voice (2005: 320) is used. Mishler argues that Voice represents a particular assumption about the relationship between appearance, reality, and language or, more generally, a ‘voice’ represents a specific normative order. Some discourses are closed and continually reaffirm a single normative order; others are open and include different voices, one of which may interrupt another thus leading to the possibility of a new ‘order’ (ibid.).

Thus, it has to be understood that the idea of voice does not equate with a speaker. One speaker may articulate more than one voice; different

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speakers may share the same voice. Different voices distinguish contrasting orientations to the world and to the moral order as each voice realises a particular relationship between the speaker and the world. For Mishler (ibid.: 321), in clinical interaction, two different voices representing different normative orders can be identified: the voice of medicine and the voice of the life-world. He argues that, in the medical interview, the former dominates the latter. Occasionally, in this interview, the patient articulates the voice of life-world (based on her/his personal experiences and pre-occupations), but that gets overlooked by the voice of medicine. The whole clinical interaction then is seen as a struggle for dominance, the voice of life-world occasionally interrupting the voice of medicine (ibid.). The above approach of voice situates the clinical interaction as a dynamic one where the power of the patient is also acknowledged by locating both the patient and the doctor within their socio-cultural context. Similarly, based on the narrative of a person diagnosed with schizophrenia, Saris (1995) shows how, at several junctures, the institutions of medicine and their categories lack insight in understanding and tackling the problems faced by the person due to the illness. He also shows how the institutionalised authority of professional expertise reflected in the power to name silences and erases other experiences and knowledge. The above approaches, based on discourse analysis, portray doctor-patient interaction as an everyday activity of human beings whose meaning becomes obvious on contextual analysis.

Voice(s) of Medicine The above perspective is, however, limited, as it dichotomises the clinical encounter to only two voices, where the voice of medicine is seen as homogeneous. P. Atkinson (1995: 130–42), in his study among haematologists, shows how, within medicine, different voices are articulated and how they can be in conflict with each other. This he elaborates by analysing a situation in a haematology laboratory where the ‘voice of experience’ of a senior physician contradicts the ‘voice of textbook medicine’ of a student in a teaching hospital. This Atkinson views as a feature of medical work that can occur in any setting influencing medical practice. Furthermore, he explains that voice of medicine constitutes the voice of experience and voice of science. The voice of experience comprises accumulated experiences and a biographical warrant for knowledge and

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opinion. By voice of science, he means an articulation of knowledge warranted by an appeal to research, namely, published scientific papers as well as textual knowledge. Haematology laboratory is a place where the core of medical work is accomplished and is, therefore, considered as more ‘scientific’ in its proceedings. If contradictory voices are heard in such a setting, it is possible that heterogeneous and even contradictory voices can be heard in a doctor-patient interaction. Based on Atkinson’s and Mishler’s insights on clinical encounter, I would like to argue that it is the voice of illness that can be heard along with the voice of medicine. This obviously would be based on the past experiences, perceptions, and worldview (life-world). In a medicalised society, it is possible that the voice of illness itself will be medicalised thereby articulating a medicalised voice of illness. Thus, there can be different voices that are in constant interaction in doctor-patient interaction: the voice of experience and the voice of science, together constituting the voice of medicine (Atkinson 1995), and the medicalised voice of illness and life-world voice of illness (Mishler 2005) together constituting the voice of illness. Thus, for the analysis of doctor-patient interaction in fever care in Kerala, the following model will be used, as there can be voices of illness and voices of medicine: the voice of illness would be divided into life-world voice of illness and medicalised voice of illness, and the voice of medicine would be divided into voice of science and voice of experience. Most of these voices get articulated in a clinical interaction. An analysis of these voices will be carried out, as they have a bearing not only on the prevalent discourse, but also on the process of medical care. The above voices in themselves should not be seen as all-encompassing; there can be several other voices which may not fit into any of the above categories. Moreover, the dynamics of these various voices depend on the context of interaction and the actors involved.

The Study The Context In the state of Kerala, until the mid-1980s, fever, as a broad category, included viral fevers, common cold, runny nose, and similar other infections. Later, during the late-1990s, by the increased reporting of the number of cases of rat fever (leptospirosis), dengue fever, and viral fever, a threat about fevers was generated and the distinction between

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the types of fever became difficult. From 2002, every year during postmonsoon season, fever as a broad category has been taking its toll. It is at this juncture that the health minister of Kerala declared, in May 2004, the starting of ‘fever clinics’ in all district and taluk hospitals and major community health centres in the state. These clinics were expected to function as a separate division in the existing outpatient departments (The Hindu, Thiruvananthapuram, 25 May 2004). As in any other context, it is possible that the meaning attached to ‘fever’ could be different for different people. It was found that fevers could be a symptom for clinicians and a state of ill-health for those affected, whereas for public health experts, it appeared to be an epidemic. Discussion with public health experts revealed that they had come to view the problem of fever as an epidemic. In fact, ‘fever clinics’ were set up by the health ministry as a response to the crisis of ‘fever’. It is interesting to note how the concept of ‘epidemic’ gets constructed/negotiated during a crisis, as in the case of dengue fever in Delhi (see Addlakha 2001) and cholera in Kolkata (see Ghosh and Coutinho 2000). Fever talk, as mentioned before, implies the varied understandings about the illness, fever. This is based on the premise that the understanding and perception about fevers is determined by the discourses about disease and illness, health services, and so on, which is further determined by the various discourses on medicine prevalent in the society. Different groups, namely, those affected, clinicians, public health professionals, and so on will see illness/disease differently. This is obvious from the fact that, for each, the nature of interaction with the illness is varied and it influences their understanding of it and, therefore, their response to it. For individuals, whose lives are delimited by a combination of physical and social constraints and potentialities, there can be diverse perceptions of illness. For example, working and housing conditions and dietary habits and health customs impact on the health of working-class people as imperatively as physical entities such as viruses, genes, or environmental pollutants (Yardley 1997: 14).

The Data The present paper is based on a larger study (George 2007) on the various facets of the problem of fever in Kerala of which ethnography of biomedical clinics was one component. The data for the study was collected during January–June 2005. All the respective authorities were

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informed about the study and necessary permissions were obtained. Consent from those patients and physicians who were part of the study were also ensured. The major tool to understand the culture of fever care was participant observation: the procedures involved in fever care were observed closely and the events of medical care were recorded (ethnography of the clinic) from the health facilities. Several semi-structured interviews were carried out as clarifications from doctors, patients, and other actors involved in the events. Moreover, the doctor-patient interaction during clinical encounter was recorded for a few cases on the spot giving due consideration to the context of interaction. This was later used as a text for analysing doctor-patient interactions and was subjected to narrative analysis (Czarniawska 2004). The process of clinical decision-making and the response of the patient were examined within the context and their respective influence on the outcome of fever care were analysed. Above all, follow up of each cases identified from the health facilities was done using household survey. The data was collected in the local language (Malayalam) and was translated into English keeping in mind the original twists, turns, and the context. In the first stage of data analysis followed the holistic-content approach (see Leiblick et al. 1998). Later, for each case, John Heritage’s approach of identifying institutions in interactions (2004) was used. Although institutions were identified almost ‘everywhere’ in the interactions, they became obvious from the turns, sequences, lexical choices, and more importantly, epistemological and other forms of asymmetry (ibid.)

The Setting The description of health facilities is inevitable at this juncture, as making explicit the field setting is the only way by which credibility of anthropological studies can be established (Sanjek 1990). Broadly, there are two functions involved in these hospitals: the administrative function and the medical function. The former comprises the process of registration leading to the making of a case record, which remains as the identity of those who seek care, and collection of cash as the price of the care rendered. The latter comprises the diagnosis accomplished through physical examination, history taking, laboratory investigations, and so on along with therapeutics. This function constituting the medical work will form my major focus.

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The procedures for consultation is such that the doctor and the patient interact with each other the first time and, based on the patient’s explanation, the doctor records the details of the illness in a particular format in the case record. Subsequently, the patient is subjected to physical examination and laboratory investigations, as the case may be, and thereafter asked to meet the doctor with the results of the tests and investigations. The doctor then prescribes medicines for a short period and asks the patient to come for a follow-up, if required. The extent of physical examination carried out, laboratory investigations prescribed, and prescription of medicine all depend on each case that calls for an analysis, taking into consideration the context as it is influenced by a range of factors.

Voice of Illness Jincy Joseph, a 17-year-old girl studying in class XI, went to a practitioner in the hospital accompanied by her mother and a neighbour. She belongs to a middle-class family; her brother, working in the military service, is the major source of income for the family. Her parents are educated till the tenth standard and they run a small pettikada (a small shop-like structure where lemon juice, sweets, soda, chewing items, cigarettes, etc. are sold). The hospital they went to was a private hospital having over 300 beds with emergency and laboratory facilities, including biochemical tests. It has specialisations in general medicine, paediatrics, ENT (ear, nose, and throat), ophthalmology, orthopaedic, skin and VD (venereal diseases), and others. The physician she consulted completed his medical degree from one of the leading medical colleges in the country and holds a masters degree in general medicine. He has been practising since 1972 and has been the physician in this hospital for the last eight years. The patient along with her mother and neighbour entered the consulting room after completing the registration procedure of the hospital. The interaction1 between the doctor and the patient (in Malayalam) proceeded as follows: 1D: What is your illness? P: Fever, severe pain in the legs. 1MoP:  Severe weakness and headache. 2D: Was there swelling [in English]?

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2MoP:  She is very weak and, at times, there is swelling on the side of the feet. Sometimes there is difficulty in breathing and back pain. Especially after coming back from the school . . . she has to walk long distance . . . she is very tired. 3D: Is it hereditary? 3MoP: No. 4D:  Show your tongue, open your mouth. Is there recurrent throat pain or any other illness? P: Ahh!! No.

The doctor physically examined the patient’s mouth, abdomen (by pressing), and with the stethoscope. He then prescribed ECG (electrocardiograph) and routine blood and urine tests. 4MoP: What is the disease, doctor? 5D:  I need to see whether it is the initial stages of arthritis [in English].Anyway let me have a look at the test results.

The doctor then asked the patient to come on the next day. On the second day, the doctor, after checking the laboratory test results said: lab test results are normal and the illness could be due to excess strain due to travelling. Medicines for swelling and weakness are written.

As the consultation ends, the patient collected the medicines from the pharmacy and left the hospital for home. A perusal of the medical case record showed that neither diagnosis nor symptoms were recorded. All the laboratory test results were within the normal ranges. During the follow-up of the patient at her home, a month later, it was found that she continued to suffer from the illness. Moreover, it was discovered that, before going to the above hospital, steam inhalation had been done at home and thereafter she had been taken to a small clinic near her home for consultation; the doctor at the clinic had prescribed a tonic (a kind of syrup usually taken to resist weakness and enhance health). This clinic, run by a qualified allopathic doctor, had no facility for inpatient care, but had basic laboratory facilities. During my conversation with the mother about the illness of her daughter, she said that [her daughter] complains of weakness everyday and invariably goes to sleep as soon as she comes home from school. She is not able to study properly. She doesn’t help

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Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction 107 me in any household work. She is very lazy and she complains of weakness . . . as the illness was not subsiding and news of epidemic diseases made us think that the illness could be serious we decided to do a complete check-up in the highly-reputed private hospital.

During the clinical interaction, it was obvious that the problem of weakness of the girl was not addressed adequately. Instead, the fact that the search for symptoms by the physician dominated the interaction was revealed by his question (2D). It has to be noted that, despite the expression of the problem by the mother (2MoP) based on her experience of her daughter’s suffering, it got sidelined by the subsequent direct question of the physician (3D) on heredity. Thereafter, the physical examination portrays how the voice of medicine dominates the lifeworld voice of illness during the clinical interaction. It appears that the major purpose of the physician’s consultation was to collect information regarding medically acceptable illnesses. In other words, the patient’s mother presents the illness from the viewpoint of the abnormality of social body (Taussig 1980) by highlighting her daughter’s problem as the inability to perform daily chores like travelling to school, studying her lessons, and helping in household work (2MoP). The physician, on the other hand, first inquires about heredity to find some lead (3D) on the abnormality of biological body (ibid.) reflected in the physical examination of the patient (4D) and the prescription of laboratory investigations (5D) for diagnosis. This leads to one-sided interaction: the patient becomes a mere object in the process of therapeutic care. The doctor’s use of the English terms swelling and arthritis, despite there being popular Malayalam equivalents like neeru and vaatham, shows the intense urge of the physician to fit the patient’s complaints (that are lay problems) into textual medical categories. In other words, this was the moment at which the translation of a lay category into medical category, be it a symptom like ‘swelling’ or a suspected disease, namely, ‘arthritis’ occurred. The above case also shows the management of uncertainty during clinical interactions when a valid diagnosis or symptoms are not identified. Despite this, medicines were prescribed. This is evident as, in the initial stage, the doctor expected the possibility of a hereditary factor (3D); next, before the laboratory test, he suggested the possibility of arthritis (5D); and he then concluded with observations about swelling and weakness, which was at the symptom level and devoid of any

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final disease diagnosis. In his study of haematologists, Atkinson (1995: 113–17) shows how uncertainty has become an important characteristic of contemporary biomedicine. He elaborates the relevance of close examination of the process of everyday medical work: It is necessary to pay rather close attention to how uncertainty or certainty is actually conveyed in the course of everyday medical work. . . . There is need for detailed examination of how medical practitioners, students, scientists and others express and discuss their information how they voice their opinion and how they claim particular warrants for the knowledge and interpretations they endorse (ibid.: 17).

He points to the need to examine and understand the context of uncertainty or certainty and how these are accomplished in everyday medical work. The implications of the outcome have more to do with the question of the relation between knowledge and power. Rene C. Fox (2000) examines how doctors, as part of their medical training, get socialised to manage uncertainties at various levels of medical care, thereby internalising this ability as an achieved quality of the art.

Medicalised Voice and Voice(s) of Medicine Ramachandran, a 31-year-old married man, a commerce graduate working in a private finance company went to a private hospital (the same as Jincy Joseph) with complaints of fever and body-pain. He belongs to a middle-class extended family comprising his parents, two younger brothers, and a younger sister. The physician he consulted was around 36 years of age, with a masters degree in general medicine. This physician has been practising for eight years of which seven years have been in the present hospital. The doctor-patient interaction during consultation proceeded as follows: 1D: Uh, what is the problem? 1P: Fever and body-pain. 2D: For how many days? 2P: Around two-three days. 3D: Was there vomiting present? 3P: No, there are rashes on the body. 4D:  Take off your shirt and turn back [Ramachandran’s body was full of rashes].

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The doctor carried out investigation using a stethoscope; he later examined the patient’s mouth using a tongue depressant. 4P: [While examination was going on] I have been taking medicine for jaundice. My serum bilirubin was tested from a nearby lab and the value was 1.1. 5D: Have you heard of measles? 5P: No. 6D:  It is a viral infection [in English] and the typical clinical symptoms [in English] are shown. 7D: Getting admitted, aren’t you? 6P: Yes.

The patient got admitted, and routine blood tests were carried out. The platelet count was tested everyday until the third day when the patient was discharged from the hospital. At the time of discharge, medicine was prescribed for one more week. The patient was relieved of the illness only after ten days from the day of discharge. As per the medical record, the diagnosis was ‘Measles with URTI [upper respiratory tract infection]’. On talking to the physician about fever care later, especially on the need for laboratory tests in diagnosis, he opined that ‘All fever except viral fever need basic laboratory parameter support’. He clarified, when asked about the platelet count and its relevance, that ‘Unless and until platelet count becomes normal we cannot discharge a patient’. During  follow up at the patient’s residence, the patient commented about the illness: . . . as there was discoloration in urine together with body pain and rashes in the body, I checked serum bilirubin from a nearby lab and as the value was higher than the normal, I went to the hospital.

In the above interaction, after the initial problem-identification session, the urge of the physician for the medically relevant information becomes clear, as it sidelined the patient’s doubt (4P) about jaundice. The way the physician ensures/justifies his findings to himself is visible in his use of expressions like ‘viral infection’ and ‘typical clinical symptoms’ in English (6D). These are the textual terms that shape the physician’s thought style or clinical mentality. It appears that, in a society where English is neither the mother tongue nor the common language, the use of English terminology in clinical interaction has to be seen as the point

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at which the translation2 of clinical presentations (patent’s illness) to textual knowledge (medical categories) occurs. The moment the patient felt that the examination was over and before the doctor reaches a conclusion, the patient submits his analysis about the illness, by pointing to the fact that he is taking medicine for jaundice and his blood test shows an abnormal value (4P). Here, the fact that the patient associates serum bilirubin and its raised value to jaundice, which is logically possible, is a way of expressing his illness in medical terms. In other words this is the medicalised voice of illness that can be heard in many clinical interactions. These medicalised voices may or may not be relevant to the physician as contextual factors determine whether to associate rise in serum bilirubin to jaundice. The response of the physician may be either acceptance or rejection. In the above case, it is clear that the physician rejected the medicalised voice of the patient and supplanted it with authoritative voice of medicine—a voice of medicine in which the clinical diagnosis overrules the laboratory values of serum bilirubin, the latter provided by the patient’s medicalised voice of illness. This is despite the fact that the physician is dependent more on laboratory tests for clinical diagnosis and for fever care as reflected in the physician’s response to the need for laboratory tests (platelet count) in fever care. The prevalence of dengue fever in the area might have possibly influenced the doctor to suspect the case as an instance of dengue fever, as reflected in his advice for admission and checking platelet count everyday till discharge from the hospital. This is because in cases of measles rarely are the patients admitted and their platelet count taken. In other words, the above case also shows how, during epidemics, threat and medicalisation influence each other forming a vicious circle that aggravates the process of medicalisation. This medicalised voice of illness has to be seen as an outcome of the patients’ past experiences with illness and the western medical system, resulting in a state which R. Crawford calls ‘healthism and medicalisation of everyday life’ (1980). He argues that Past therapeutic experiences and notions derived from diffused medical idea as well as reinforcing ideological premises of the society acquired by other means pre-structure the encounter (therapeutic). The client (patient) is already, in a sense ‘professionalised’. In other words, persons being helped take on as their own some of their helpers’ theorised assumptions and explanations (ibid.: 373).

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In the above case, it is the medicalised voice of illness that was heard. This goes well with the argument that the patient’s context offers a ‘professionalised’ outlook about her/his illness and everyday life. A similar but different phenomenon that occurs during clinical interaction is the genesis of new categories; this is shown in the following case.

Therapeutic Interaction: A Site of Knowledge Production Saritha, a 21-year-old woman went to a Community Health Centre complaining fever, headache, and weakness. Her father accompanied her. She belongs to a lower-income-group and hails from an extended family. Her parents are daily-wage labourers, and there are two elder brothers, of which the eldest is married and has two children. Saritha occasionally works in the cashew factory depending on the availability of job. The Community Health Centre does not have regular laboratory test facilities; these tests have to be carried out at private laboratories situated on the premises. As there is overcrowding at the Centre, the duration of interaction was too short. The physician was a 52-year-old man. He has a basic medical degree with specialisation in child health; he has been practising for 25 years. The interaction between the doctor and the patient proceeded as follows: 1D: What is the matter? 1P: Fever, headache and weakness in hands and feet. 2D: For how long? 2P: One week. Everybody in the house has this. 3D: Vishapani (poisonous fever) is there, could be that, it is better to get admitted.

The patient got admitted after getting the laboratory tests done. After four days, she was discharged with medicines prescribed for one more week. According to the doctor, the illness was ‘viral fever’. This case shows how, during doctor-patient interaction, certain kinds of information get internalised by the patient and how such information later forms a new category for the public. This was clear from what the patient said at her home during the follow-up visit: The illness was vishapani. This is not like earlier ones. There is something poisonous that enters the body. That is why this is very severe.

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The doctor’s version about this illness makes the picture complete: . . . it is just viral fever. Since the patients won’t understand it if we say ‘viral’ it is convenient if we use ‘visham’ (poison) instead of viral as the virus when it enters the body becomes poisonous.

The fact that this was indeed a physician-created category, created ostensibly for patients who may not understand, was borne out by a number of other patients using the same category of vishapani to express their illness. One of the patients, who himself considered his illness as vishapani, when asked about it, responded by saying: . . . last time I came with symptoms of fever and body pain then the doctor said that this is vishapani—a new type of fever with severe symptoms.

It is obvious that the context of doctor-patient interaction becomes a site of knowledge production, a knowledge that can determine the patient’s understanding of and behaviour during illness.

Conclusion This paper has been an attempt to show how doctor-patient interaction takes place in a clinical setting as part of fever care. The duration of interactions was very short and in local health institutions in which clinical interaction is minimal. The three cases describe clinical interaction in an Indian setting and how these interactions are outcomes of the socialisation of the actors involved. The clinical interaction is not merely the two-way communication desired for exchange of information; it is the product of the networks through which those actors involved are communicating. In other words, the interaction is the outcome of the socialisation of doctors and patients in their respective contexts. This is similar to the notion of thought style used by Fleck in the case of physicians (cited in de Camargo 2002) and life-worlds in the case of patients (Mishler 2005). It is in this context that the interactions between doctor and patient become the interaction of various voices, where voices themselves are representations of illness from various realms. L.J. Kirmayer deals with the real complexity of this interaction when he says that Doctor and patient are attempting to communicate, but their conversation is heavily constrained by the demands of the situation and their efforts to

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Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction 113 present an appropriate face to each other. Each speaks from a different position, which includes awareness of both the interactional context and its relationship to larger social spheres. Each speaks with the voice of the self but invokes the voice of others (2000: 169).

It has to be noted that the study was conducted in Kerala where recurrent epidemics and deaths due to various kinds of fevers were reported since the mid-1990s. The media reports and several control programmes initiated in the state generated a pervasive feeling of threat among the public about fevers. In Jincy Joseph’s case, it is clear that the problem the patient put forth is a social one: the patient and her mother tried to present the problem in terms of the patient’s inability to perform everyday life activities. On the contrary, the doctor keenly searches for medically-valid findings that have physiological explanation. Two different notions about the same event are in fact the reflection of each of their lived experience and the respective role they perform. The doctor’s aim is to settle the issue by a diagnostic and prescriptive act, whereas the patient’s purpose is to seek relief. Here, I would like to refer to the concept of institution advanced by Saris (1995) mentioned earlier. In the three cases, the manifestation of institutions is varied. In the first case, the threat about fever was the guiding force in the patient’s understanding of her illness as reflected in her response towards treatment-seeking. In the second case, the patient articulated the medicalised voice of illness, showing the patient’s dependence on western medicine in general and medical technology in particular, that ultimately reached a state of communicating illness in a language close to medicine. This de Camargo describes as ‘how lay people rely on expert systems in every day life, meaning the myriad of technologies that we interact with on a daily basis without really having a firm grasp on how they work’ (2002: 830). The institutions with which the patient engages—the health institutions, the dominant discourse about fever in the society, one’s own experience with illness—play an important role in the patient’s understanding of health, illness, and cure. This is obvious in the third case, where new category/knowledge (for instance, vishapani) is produced in a clinical setting which is part of neither medical knowledge nor lay knowledge. It is not possible to draw a general pattern from these interactions, but the meaning of illness/disease and, therefore, the outcome of medical care will be determined depending on the institutions prevalent in which clinical interactions occur and the actors involved.

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Notes I am indebted to my guides Dr Alpana D. Sagar, for her valuable inputs emanating from her expertise as a physician and a public health professional, and Dr Harish Naraindas, for his sociological inputs, especially on narrative analysis. I sincerely thank the anonymous referee for meticulously going through two drafts of this article and offering invaluable comments for its improvement. 1. Their interaction is denoted as follows: D—doctor (physician); P—patient; MoP— mother of the patient. The number indicates the order of interaction. 2. It is noteworthy that only few English terms are used during the whole clinical interaction. The medium of medical education being English, it is possible that physicians have internalised medical categories and terminology in English and are not concerned with translating them into Malayalam for the benefit of the patients or their relatives.

References Addlakha, R. 2001. ‘State legitimacy and social suffering in a modern epidemic: A case study of dengue haemorrhagic fever in Delhi’, Contributions to Indian sociology, 35 (2): 151–79. Advani, M. 1980. Doctor patient relationship in Indian hospitals. Jaipur: Sanghi Prakashan. Atkinson, P. 1995. Medical talk and medical work: The liturgy of the clinic. London: Sage Publications. Crawford, R. 1980. ‘Healthism and medicalisation of everyday life’, International journal of health services, 10 (3): 365–88. Czarniawska, B. 2004. Narratives in social science research. London: Sage Publications. Emanuel, J.E. and L.L. Emanuel. 1992. ‘Four models of the physician-patient relationship’, Journal of American Medical Association, 27 (16): 2221–26. de Camargo, K. Rochel. 2002. ‘The thought style of physicians: Strategies for keeping up with medical knowledge’, Social studies of science, 32 (5–6): 827–55. Fox, Rene C. 1957. ‘Training for uncertainty’, in R.K. Merton, G. Reader and P.L. Kendall (eds.): The student physician (207–41). Harvard: Harvard University Press. ———. 2000. ‘Medical uncertainty revisited’, in L.A. Gary, Ray Fitzpatrick and Susan C. Scrimshaw (eds.): Handbook of social studies in health and medicine (409–25). London: Sage Publications. Frank, Arthur. 1995. The wounded storyteller: Body, illness and ethics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Friedson, E. 1970/2001. ‘The profession of medicine’, in M. Purdy and D. Banks (eds.): The sociology and politics of health: A reader (130–34). London: Routledge. George, Mathew. 2007. Interpreting fever talk and fever care in Kerala’s socio-cultural context. PhD Thesis, Centre of Social Medicine and Community Health, School of Social Sciences, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. Ghosh, I. and L. Coutinho. 2000. ‘An ethnography of cholera in Calcutta’, Economic and political weekly, 35 (8–9): 684–96.

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Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction 115 Good, B.J. and M.D. Good. 2000. ‘Clinical narratives and the contemporary doctor-patient relationships’, in G. Albrecht, R. Fitzpatrick and S. Schrimshaw (eds.): Handbook of social studies in health and medicine (243–58). London: Sage Publications. Heritage, John. 2004. ‘Conversation analysis and institutional talk: Analysing data’, in David Silverman (ed.): Qualitative research: Theory, method and practice (2nd edition) (161–82). London: Sage Publications. Kirmayer, L.J. 2000. ‘Broken narratives: Clinical encounters and the poetics of illness experience’, in M. Cheryl and C.G. Linda (eds.): Narrative and the cultural construction of illness and healing (153–80). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Leiblick, A.; R. Tuval-Mashaich and T. Zilber. 1998. Narrative research: Reading, analysis, and interpretation. Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications. Mattingly, C. 1994. ‘The concept of therapeutic “emplotment” ’, Social science & medcine, 38 (6): 811–22. Mattingly, C. and L.C. Garro. 1994. ‘Introduction: Narrative representations of illness and healing’, Social science & medicine, 38 (6): 771–74. ———. 2000. ‘Narrative as construct and construction’, in M. Cheryl and C.G. Linda (eds.): Narrative and the cultural construction of illness and healing (1–49). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Mccormick, James. 1979. The doctor: Father figure or plumber. London: Croom Helm. Mechanic, D. 1976. The growth of bureaucratic medicine: An inquiry into the dynamics of patient behaviour and the organisation of medical care. New York: John Wiley and Sons. Mishler, E.G. 2005. ‘The struggle between the voice of medicine and the voice of lifeworld’, in Peter Conrad (ed.): The sociology of health and illness: Critical perspectives (7th edition) (7–19). New York: Worth Publishers. Oommen, T.K. 1978. Doctors and nurses: A study in organisational role structure. New Delhi: McMillan. Parsons, T. 1951. The social system. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Sanjek, R. 1990. ‘On ethnographic validity’, in R. Sanjek (ed.): Fieldnotes: The makings of anthropology (385–418). Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press. Saris, J.A. 1995. ‘Telling stories: Life histories, illness narratives and institutional landscapes’, Culture, medicine and psychiatry, 19 (1): 39–72. Seal, S.C. 1971. An introduction to hospital-patient relationship. Kolkata: Nababharat Publishers. Spradley, J.P. 1980. Participant observation. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth/Thomson Learning. Taussig, M. 1980. ‘Reification and the consciousness of the patient’, Social science & medicine, 14B (1): 3–13. Tuckett, David. 1976. ‘Doctors and patients’, in David Tuckett (ed.): An introduction to medical sociology (190–224). London: Tavistock. Waitzkin, H. 1979. ‘Medicine, superstructure and micropolitics’, Social science & medicine, 13A (6), 601–09. Yardley, Lucy. 1997. ‘Introducing material-discursive approaches to health and illness’, in Lucy Yardley (ed.): Material discourses of health and illness (1–24). London: Routledge.

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8 Narratives of Sickness and Suffering: A Study of Malaria in South Gujarat Purendra Prasad

T

he Latin word disease literally means the absence of ease, which is defined as a bio-pathological process that affects the organism. As Karl Popper (1972: 106) says, for the clinician, disease is experienced as present in the body. For the sufferer, however, the body is not simply a physical object or physiological state; it is an essential part of the self. Thus, disease is considered as a medical view of ill health, whereas illness is a much broader phenomenon than disease (see Young 1982; Turner 1987; Kidel 1988; Good 1994; Boyd 2000). Illness refers to the individual’s subjective awareness of the disorder. This awareness is articulated primarily through language. While the ‘disease model’ argues based on the mind-body dualism,1 the ‘illness model’ questions this reductionist theory. However, both disease and illness models take the individual as their object. Moreover, the illness model is interested in the issue of medical efficacy,2 that is, augmenting clinical medicine by way of enhancing patient education, remedying problems of non-compliance, and challenging maladaptive course of treatment. On the contrary, the social relations or sickness model questions both the biomedical model of disease as being equivalent to sickness and the explanatory model of disease as being equivalent to illness. Neither

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of these models explains the sociological background and context of sickness. Accordingly, physicians tend to think of non-health as disease; psychologists, as illness; and sociologists, as sickness (see Twaddle and Hessler 1987). Allan Young defines the concept of sickness comprehensively as follows: . . . the process through which worrisome behaviour and biological signs, particularly ones originating in disease, are given socially recognisable meanings, that is, they are made into symptoms and socially significant outcomes. Every culture has rules for translating signs into symptoms, for linking symptomatologies to aetiologies and interventions, and for using the evidence provided by interventions to conform translations and legitimise outcomes. The path a person follows from translation to socially significant outcome constitutes his/ her sickness (1982: 270).

This definition gives primacy to the social relations that produce the forms and distribution of sickness in society and recognises the wider social context. According to Young, therefore, the task is not simply to demystify knowledge but to critically examine the social conditions of knowledge production. The sickness model is interested in medical productivity and not efficacy alone, that is, identifying the direct and indirect impacts of particular clinical practices and perspectives on the levels of morbidity and mortality of the population at large (Ibid.: 279). Historically speaking, after the Renaissance, medicine has been characterised by a shift from person-oriented to object-oriented cosmology. Hence, it is always individuals who become sick, rather than social, economic or environmental factors which causes them to be so. As such, disease became more important than the sick person. Hence, while it is important to understand the conceptual differentiation between ‘disease’, ‘illness’ and ‘sickness’, it is also necessary to recognise that these concepts are no more than analytical categories. This is because, in the real world, it is difficult to separate the biomedical perception, the selfperception and the social perception. As long as there is this clarity of thought, it does not matter whether ‘disease’, ‘illness’ or ‘sickness’ is used to define suffering. The sociological understanding of suffering is that the patient is not an abstract being, but of a certain age, sex, caste, class and nation, and that he/she has internalised a specific historical experience from childhood to adulthood.

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A critical medical social science forcefully poses the question of when illness or sickness representations are actually misrepresentations which serve the interests of those in power, be they colonial powers, elites within a society, dominant economic arrangements, the medical profession, or empowered men. Critical analysis investigates both the mystification of the social origins of disease wrought by technical terminology and metaphors diffused throughout medical language, and the ‘social conditions of knowledge production’ (Ibid.: 277). Moreover, several factors have contributed to critical re-examination of biomedical or disease model by the medical world itself for the past two decades. The factors as pointed out by Leon Eisenberg include intolerable costs (either to individuals or to governments), inaccessibility of medical care because of poor distribution by locality and specialty, and dissatisfaction with the ‘quality’ of the medical encounter when it takes place, etc. (cited in Lock 1989). Within this conceptual framework, this paper attempts to understand sickness through a study of malaria in India. Sickness identification and prolongation of sickness (longer duration of sickness) are major concerns for policy makers. However, the whole discourse of preventive and curative models fixes the blame on the individuals and prescribes several health-education and behaviour-change programmes as remedies, instead of understanding and addressing the social conditions of disease production. Pursuing this line of argument, a few pertinent questions are raised in order to understand the recurring human suffering due to malaria and subsequent interventions. The narratives3 are explored in terms of semantics in the local context. What are the specific human factors that social scientific research highlights or undermines as the processes in the identification of malaria, its causes and subsequent treatment patterns?

Malaria in India: An Historical Assessment It is estimated that malaria affects 300–500 million people and results in more than one million deaths per year worldwide (McCarthy et al. 2000). The UNO statistics reveal that, aside AIDS, malaria is the only other disease that has been steadily spreading in the 1980s and 1990s. In India, there were 2,019,066 reported incidences of malaria and 946 malarial deaths in the year 2000. According to WHO estimates, the

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numbers exceed well over the reported cases, and that the actual numbers are around 15 million and 20,000 respectively (see http://www. who.org). The overall malaria situation in India remained unchanged until the 1940s, prior to the introduction of Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane (DDT). DDT was first imported into India for military purposes. In 1945, following the first major large-scale trial of DDT application along the Tennessee River (USA), it was made available to the Bombay Malaria Organisation in September 1945 for field trials in the rural areas of Dharwar and Kanara districts (now in the State of Karnataka). This had proved to be remarkably successful in the project areas (cited in Kamat 2000). Based on these results, the Government of India had launched the National Malaria Control Programme (NMCP) in 1953 with the support of WHO, USAID and the Rockefeller Foundation, during which time there was an estimated annual incidence of 75 million cases of malaria and annual incidence of 80,000 deaths. Within five years of the launching of NMCP, the incidence of malaria had drastically dropped from 75 million cases to 2 million cases. With the exuberant confidence over its success achieved in malaria control, the government renamed NMCP as NMEP (National Malaria Eradication Programme) in 1958, and implemented it as one of the vertical programmes in the country. By the year 1964, it was claimed that malaria was eradicated from 88 percent of the area and the remaining 12 percent could have been contained if the supply of DDT was maintained as scheduled.4 It has been pointed out that, starting with the shortages of DDT and malaria larvicidal oil, inadequate infrastructure in general and health services in particular hampered surveillance and vigilance. Inadequate staff in health centres and technical problems contributed to the rise in malarial cases (Sharma and Mehrotra 1986; Wessen 1986). Some studies fixed the blame on the movement of population (particularly rural migrant labour due to distress conditions), increased waterintensive cropping, labour habitats near construction sites and mining areas, delayed or piecemeal financial sanction to NMEP in certain states, and diverting basic health workers for other health programmes (see Rajagopalan et al. 1986). The annual number of cases rose again to over half a million in 1970. The Government of India acknowledged the gravity of the situation and abandoned the eradication strategy in favour of a strategy known as Modified Plan of Operation (MPO) (implemented in 1977)

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which emphasised control and containment (Sharma and Mehrotra 1986). In fact, since 1979, the incidence of malaria has shown no marked change in India and that the incidence of plasmodium falciparum has increased from 20 percent in 1965 to 50 percent in 2000 (Sharma 2003: 514). By the year 2000, when the situation was diagnosed as beyond control (leave alone eradication), the Government of India changed its nomenclature from NMEP to NAMP (National AntiMalaria Programme).5 Again in December 2003, NAMP was changed to VBDCP (Vector Borne Disease Control Programme). This shift from NMCP to NMEP to NAMP to VBDCP reflected not only a shift in the approach to the problem, but also the way it undermined the role of human beings in creating new epidemiological trends. This also brings to the fore the intensity of the communities’ suffering and high incidence of mortality and morbidity due to malaria, more particularly plasmodium falciparum.6 In a nutshell, India continues to experience malaria epidemic in different parts of the country every year. The gravity of the problem is emphasised by the fact that the Government of India has identified several districts in each state as ‘malaria endemic regions’ and decided as a policy to treat all febrile illnesses with anti-malarials as part of presumptive treatment. This, however, showed how bodies are being viewed or attended to in suppressing the apparent symptoms rather than addressing the persons, communities and their suffering in context. As Robert H. Black has argued: How often one reads or hears that malaria eradication failed because the vectors became resistant to insecticides and the parasites resistant to chloroquine. This is a nice ‘scientific explanation’ that appeals to hard scientists whereas the main reasons for failure have to be sought in the soft sciences—human behaviour, politics, economics . . . (cited in Wessen 1986: iii).

Malaria: The Processes of Prognosis It is recognised that, since malaria is a moving target, the control approaches/programmes to control it must constantly adapt to the changing patterns of epidemiology over the times (Shivlal et al. 1998). Recognising the high incidence and the changing epidemiological pattern of malaria, the NAMP issued directives and guidelines by which

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district health administration should predict and detect local malaria epidemics to initiate adequate control measures. However, the district health administration was provided neither the authority nor the competence to adapt to the locally acceptable methods of detection and treatment. Given the iniquitous social structure, caste hierarchy and economic disparities, on the one hand, and the high incidence of malaria and its geographical spread, on the other, it has not been possible to provide facilities for clinical diagnosis of malaria for majority of the affected persons. Moreover, technically it has been acknowledged that there are difficulties in developing a clinical definition of malaria, because of the wide variety of symptoms that occur as well as the increase in asymptomatic cases (for example, either severe headache or knee pain as in Surat district) in different parts of the country. Thus, to a large extent, malaria is being diagnosed based on physician’s experience (particularly of those in private practice). Majority (68 percent) of the affected persons consult private practitioners, who would normally not recommend clinical diagnosis because of its high cost (Prasad 2000). Furthermore, where local governments commissioned active surveillance during epidemics, it revealed a large number of undetected malarial cases. In a study on malaria epidemic in Mumbai, Vinay Kamat reports that ‘surveillance system actually picked up those fever and malaria cases that would have been left undiagnosed, untreated or most likely to be treated by a private practitioner’ (2000: 146). The prognosis of malaria, starting from collection of blood slides, efficient screening, appropriate skills of lab technicians, scheduled delivery of reports to the affected persons, follow-up of treatment, reputation of government run health centres, non-specified treatment provided by unregulated private sector etc., is quite complex. For instance, in order to detect malaria epidemics, the NAMP directs district health administration to find out if the increase in fever-rate reaches one-third or more of new OPD cases in dispensaries, primary health centres or hospitals during the current month; or rely on field-staff communication about the increase in fever cases. However, neither is the field-staff communication reliable nor do most sick persons visit the government-run health centres, thus resulting in a large number of undetected malaria cases in rural India. Our study (see Infra) revealed that most (78 percent) of the affected persons were labelled by the doctor as having malaria without

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any clinical test. This brings into focus how sickness is identified and labelled, and subsequently treated. In this context, people’s expression or articulation of sickness is a significant factor in terms of prognosis. People use various analogies and metaphors to describe and explain sickness. The terms used by laypersons to explain sickness often do not coincide with those used in the biomedical parlance and, hence, the scope for misunderstanding between sufferers and healthcare providers. At times, both may be using the same term for indicating different things and, at others, both use different terms to mean the same thing. For instance, when people say they are affected with ‘malaria’,7 they may not mean the same thing as medical professionals do, though both use the same word.8 It may be noted that less than one-third of the respondents indicated ‘malaria’ as one of the three most serious sicknesses in their village. However, placing malaria in the matrix of serious ailments has two main limitations. First, ‘seriousness’ has to be defined and, secondly, not all those who have reported knowledge about malaria necessarily mean it as ‘clinical malaria’. Several research studies have pointed out that a key step in studying treatment-seeking with respect to malaria is to identify local disease categories or illness terms that correspond to malaria (see McCombie 1994; Hausman 2000) and then devise appropriate policies and interventions.

Methodology The data for this study was part of a larger multi-disciplinary research project sponsored by the Government of India (involving entomologists, epidemiologists, social scientists and health policy makers) with the aim to develop a strategy for malaria control and prevention. The study was conducted over a period of five years (1995–2000) in Surat district in Gujarat. During this project period, three interventions— Insecticide Treated Mosquito Nets (ITMN), Indoor Residual Spray (IRS), and Early Detection and Prompt Treatment (EDPT)—were tested out in forty-two villages in each zone (coastal, plains and hilly)9 covering altogether 126 villages. Social science component in the larger project had three major objectives: (i) to carry out fieldwork through participant observation method and collect data on perceptions of illness and health, particularly on beliefs and practices surrounding treatment of fever; (ii) to prepare

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reports setting out the findings of the field work and discussing the implications for introducing modern scientific knowledge about the transmission and treatment of malaria to the local population studied; and (iii) to advise on the setting up of training programmes for health workers in rural areas and health promotion and training programmes in urban areas incorporating research gathered during field work. Accordingly, we selected three villages, one intervention village each from three different ecological zones—Karanj in the coastal, Sathvav in the plains and Khogalgam in the hilly zones—for intensive study. These villages were chosen primarily keeping in mind the needs of interventions proposed by the MCRP. The research team comprising one principal investigator and one research assistant spent about six months in each village. Participant observation was used to understand people’s perceptions on diseases in general and malaria in particular. Tools of data collection included unstructured interviews, group discussions, case studies and discussion with key informants. After one year, two more villages in each zone were subjected to intensive study for further clarity. The findings of these nine villages were validated through a structured questionnaire in eleven villages in each zone, thus covering 976 households (15% of the total households) in thirty-three villages. Similar methodology was used in ‘non-intervention villages’ (1,704 households) in order to compare the findings of ‘intervention villages’ (see Lobo et al. 1998 and 2000).

‘Lay’ Perceptions of Malaria: View from the Field Health was something that one ‘possesses’ normally in the course of life, whereas sickness can be avoided by eating appropriate food as per the season, by good action, by warding off evil, and by propitiating the appropriate deities. There are different types of sickness, one associated with physical body (rising temperature, injury through accidents, etc.), the cause of which is perceived as internal; and the other, with non-physical activities (bad actions, fevers due to external agents, etc.), the cause of which is external. It is important to understand this overall attitude before various concepts and perceptions about sickness and treatment are discussed from the field data. In Surat district, bimari and mandgi are the local terms used for sickness. If a person is sick for short duration,10 he/she denotes it as

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bimari, while it becomes mandgi if it is for a longer duration. Bimari includes cold, cough, fever, diarrhoea, etc., while mandgi includes jaundice, malaria, typhoid, etc. The term rog is used to indicate chronic sickness like TB, cancer, asthma, paralysis, arthritis, skin diseases, etc. The main criteria used to indicate rog was ‘continuous attention’ required; sicknesses that cannot be easily cured; and fatality, economic cost and abnormal time it demands. The duration of sickness also, in fact, distinguishes these three concepts of sickness—bimari, mandgi and rog. Malaria11 is bimari for some, while it is mandgi for others, depending upon their perceived sickness, intensity of pain, frequency of sickness etc. The reference group is always their own family members or kin group who were affected with intense sickness. In the instance of malaria, another common term used by the communities to describe their sickness was tav in Gujarati and jora in tribal (Gamits) dialects meaning fever. The words tav and jora originate from the Sanskrit words tapa and jwara meaning fever. The symptoms of tav were further elaborated as body temperature, internal heat/pain in the body (kadtar tav/dukhavo), ‘steam comes out from the body’ (sharir dhagu dhagu thaye), uneasiness (jeev ukalat); acute ‘tearing’ pain in limbs (hath pag fatva made), loosening of the body (sharir dhilu dhilu lage); severe headache (mathu fati jatu hoi tem bahuj dukhava lage) etc. Ashakti was another term used to describe their sickness, implying their condition of sickness rather than a label for the sickness. These terms or narratives not only indicated physical abnormalities but also social problems or complications in day-to-day life. Furthermore, the biomedical term ‘malaria’ is being understood in a varied sense in the study area. The word tav (fever) opens the window for understanding specific pain affliction and suffering expressed through different semantics. If a person said he/she was afflicted with zeri (poison) tav, it may indicate the intensity of fever in terms of high temperature, pain, etc. or that somebody with envy/jealousy may have performed witchcraft on him/her. Similarly, communities use the words simple malaria (sado malaria) and poisonous malaria (zeri malaria). Sado malaria, to a large extent, indicated physical pain, whereas zeri malaria meant several things—like malaria afflictions due to bad intentions or punishment for some wrongdoing etc. The local medical practitioners use the terms zeri tav and zeri malaria to refer to plasmodium falciparum and other tavs to refer to plasmodium vivex. However, it may not be possible to make these simplistic distinctions in terms of semantics used

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without understanding the complex situation the people are describing. This was quite evident, say for instance, about their knowledge of malaria. Even in the non-trial12 villages, the study revealed that 97 percent of the 1,704 households claimed to know malaria. However, only three-fourth of those who claimed to know malaria could describe the cause (that is, the malaria-mosquito link) and symptoms of malaria as per the generally accepted clinical knowledge. Similarly, there were varied semantics used which indicated specific pain in terms of frequency, body sites, cause, seasons etc. Frequency: Fevers related with frequency of occurrence like alternate day fever (antario tav or ekantario tav), fever occurring in turns on the same day (varino tav, varkiliya jora), fever occurring daily (rojiyo tav), fever occurring fortnightly (mudati tav), fever occurring every fourth day (chouthiyo tav). Fevers/pain on body sites: Few respondents described stomach pain (petmadukhavano tav, khad jora), saying ‘I felt something was moving in my stomach, I felt like vomiting; also had slight cold and fever’. Other descriptions included pain in the head (ardha mathanu tav, adhiheeno jora), fever due to ache in the waist (kamar dukhavano tav); fever resulting from cold and shivering (thadiyo tav, kapro tav, kapro jora), fever from cold (sardino tav), fever from cough, (khansino tav); fever with shivering (hihee jora, also thandino tav), body feels torn apart, knee pain, feeling a compulsion to hold the limbs together and desire for sleeping (tutino tav). Haddino tav is the fever in the bones followed by a feeling of lethargy. Fevers linked to causes: like tiredness (thakno tav), big and small rashes (fullino tav, chandano tav, pikhala jora), hot winds (loono tav, garmiwalo tav), and bad air (bura pavan)—which referred to unnatural forces (baharni asar). Season: Fevers occurring in different seasons—monsoon, winter and summer—were indicated by barasati tav, thandino tav and garmino tav. Across the district, different social groups used various semantics for expressing similar pain/suffering. For instance, antario tav was used in multi-caste villages in the coastal zone; varino tav, in the plains (both tribe and caste villages); and varkiliya jora, in the tribal hilly zone. Similarly, some fevers have different names even within the same village, like antario tav, which is same as ekantario tav (fever that comes on alternate days). Another example is zeri tav (poisonous fever) and magazno tav (cerebral fever) which are used synonymously.

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Fluidity of tav: As far as the consequences of fevers are concerned, there are some fevers which turn into more serious diseases/sickness. For instance, zino tav (simple fever), followed by an uneasy feeling in the stomach, resulting in moto tav (intense fever). This intense fever causes rise in the proportion of blood in the body and may lead to malaria (biomedical term) or jaundice or paralysis. The extent to which these local disease categories represent true malaria is variable. In principle, broad terms that can be translated as ‘fever’ should incorporate most cases of malaria, though they include other diseases as well. For instance, certain other terms like uthal pathal (upsets), gabhraman (fear), peeda (pain), ashakti (weakness or fragility), bechani (uneasiness), kam karvanu man na thai (lethargy) and khavanu man nathi lage (loss of appetite) were expressions used along with tav (fever) to describe their suffering/symptoms. These semantics, emanating from their bodily experiences, to describe their pain and sickness have no meaning in a different context. Moreover, these semantics, expressed to indicate their pain in terms of ‘sickness in itself ’ and ‘symptoms’, do not get acceptance because the words used neither coincide with the biomedical term malaria nor the sequence of ‘signs’. The cases described below narrate the complexity of the sickness situation and treatment patterns. Case 1 Dhansukhbhai Gamit, an agricultural labourer aged 32 years, who lived in the village Kosambiya, had fever. When he felt sick, he did not even disclose this to his family members for the first two days, and it was also the period when sugarcanecutting operation was at its peak. When it became unbearable, he revealed it to his family members and on the advice of his grandfather (who has knowledge on herbs/roots, that is, jadimudi), Dhansukhbhai consumed crushed juice of neem bark for two days. When the fever did not subside, he went to Dr Kiritbhai, a private doctor in Valod, at a distance of 4 km from the village. When the doctor enquired and asked to narrate the symptoms, he revealed saying that he had sado tav (simple fever) and ashakti (weakness), that he was not able to eat and often felt thirsty, and that he did not feel like working. The doctor did not tell him what he was suffering from, but he gave antibiotics and paracetamols for three days along with an injection. After two days, when the temperature got aggravated, he went to Dr Pawar in Valod, another private doctor. On enquiry, he revealed the same symptoms, but emphasised on weakness, for which Dr  Pawar asked

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him to take an injection, and prescribed paracetamols and multivitamin tablets. Within a day, the situation became worse, and he was forced to get admitted in a government-run community health centre. The blood-slide examination revealed that he was suffering from malaria, and was treated accordingly. Upon interviewing, both the private practitioners said that it was not possible for them to send large number of poor sick persons for blood-slide examination, which is expensive in private laboratories. They also feared that the poor sick would never return to them for consultation because of the expensive treatment. When Dhansukhbhai Gamit was asked as to why he had not consulted the government-run health centre at first instance, he and his family members expressed apprehensions about the treatment available there. They also wanted to consult private doctors to recover quickly so that he did not lose wages, as he is the main breadwinner.

Case 2 Savitaben Rathod, aged 35 years, is an agricultural labourer, who also works as ‘helper’ in domestic work in Timberva village. When she was not well, she waited for a day and bought four tablets from a local shop (ganchi ni dukan) and consumed them in the next two days. On the fourth day, as the symptoms persisted, she consulted Dr Chandubhai, a private doctor at Mohini, which is 2 km from the village. When the doctor enquired about the symptoms, Savitaben said that she had fever (tav) along with limb ache (hath pakh phate), fear (gabhraman) and weakness (ashakti lage). On hearing the symptoms, he gave an injection and prescribed tablets for two days symptomatically. She was curious to know about the diagnosis, but the doctor did not say anything. She consulted the doctor thrice, every alternate day, that is, for five days, and took three injections but took the tablets only for the first two days. Her perception was that if she takes more tablets, the body gets hot; hence, she did not consume all the tablets, though she spent Rs 20 for each visit to the doctor. The doctor advised her to take ‘cold food’ (particularly milk), but she did not, as her family could not afford it. The body temperature was reduced, but her back pain, cough, fear and weakness persisted. After three days, she became seriously unwell and all the symptoms along with the fever aggravated. She went to another private doctor, who immediately asked her to get admitted in Sardar Trust Hospital, but when they approached, it was beyond their ability to bear the cost of treatment. She was taken to a government hospital and was diagnosed as having malaria and treated for the same. (Case 2: Contd.)

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(Case 2: Contd.) In this case, discussion with the private doctor revealed that the symptoms described by her did not indicate malaria. Savitaben went on expressing fear and weakness as major symptoms because of the huge indebtedness they had ended up due to crop loss in the previous year as well as the unanticipated death of a milch cow, which provided significant income to meet household expenses on day-to-day basis.

These two cases revealed the anxiety with which both the sufferers and healthcare providers are negotiating sickness situations. The method of identification of sickness becomes much more problematic because the affected persons are narrating the sickness in its specificity, whereas the healthcare providers are looking for clinical translation of symptoms into signs without taking into account the social circumstances. Byron Good (1977) showed through his study in Iran that ‘heart distress’ was used sometimes to name an illness, sometimes as a symptom, sometimes as a cause of other illnesses. Heart distress in Iran’s context meant worry about poverty, nerve distress, sadness, anxiety, anger—all of these can be caused or exacerbated by living in poverty. Similarly, in the explanation of ‘sinking heart’ (kamjori) by the Punjabis living in Bradford, IngaBritt Krause (1989) says that, illness complex was conceptualised as a set of physical signs, emotional sensations, and feelings and social circumstances which once triggered off tend to be perpetuated and experienced again and again. Narrating similar usage of semantics of pain, Judy Pugh (1991) remarks that pain behaviour in India incorporates a range of styles appropriate for specific categories of persons, situations and types of pain. Thus, the medical way of thinking focuses exclusively on physical abnormalities ignoring the sufferer and her/his attributes as human persons.

Two Perceptions of Malaria: A Sociological Analysis My purpose here is neither to come up with an inventory of local illness semantics nor justify it, but to highlight two contrasting worldviews, where each group is operating in its own frame of reference and hence

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unable to negotiate sickness situations. As Sanjyot Pai (2003) points out, the physician and the patient experience sickness in significantly different ways. Therefore, sickness, in effect, represents two distinct realities rather than representing a shared ‘reality’ between them. A shared world of meaning between the healthcare providers and healthcare receivers largely does not exist. Despite their limited economic, political and social resources, including access to education, health and affordability to modern medical practitioners, communities have enormous trust in and expectations of the modern system of medicine. One could find communities grappling with their own sickness- and suffering-narratives, as they are unable to reach out to the realm of modern institutions and its practitioners. Instead of understanding the struggle and transition of the communities to negotiate space for quality life, one finds a major discourse emanating from both medical and non-medical domains undermining people’s ability to comprehend sickness situations. Consequently, biomedical as well as social scientific literature to some extent advocates providing health education in order to set free the communities from their ignorance. Technically speaking, surveillance, detection and prompt treatment are considered as crucial factors in not only reducing large number of malaria cases, but also in preventing potential community carriers of parasites (Hausman 2000). As policy makers also admit, only when communities participate in large numbers in the anti-malarial programmes designed by the government, the detection of cases is possible. With the lead role provided by international funding agencies in advancing the rhetoric of ‘community participation’ in all the development programmes, NMEP or NAMP in India can hardly be an exception to it. There is little evidence if one were to examine healthcare policies and its implementation to find locally acceptable methods of identification of malaria. In other words, community perceptions and the ways and means of negotiating suffering, whether it is malaria or any other disease situation, has never been uncovered. The recurrent incidence of malaria and other fevers initiate a process of rationalisation of what comes to be constituted as ‘endemic’. The underlying reasons for the failure or non-compliance by the malaria-affected persons need to be understood, rather than letting loose a victim-blaming process. The commonest forms of evading social responsibility is to identify ‘certain group character’—‘defaulter’, in

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the case of Tuberculosis; ‘non-compliant’, in the case of malaria; and ‘uncooperative’, in the case of leprosy. In addition, specified group of people—migrants, rural women, illiterates, etc.—have been identified as community carriers of malaria parasite. Several studies have pointed out that the prominent social response that emerges during epidemics is the shifting of responsibility and blame to the other (see Ghosh and Coutinho 2000; Prasad 2000). On the one hand, sufferers, particularly women and the aged, have hardly any option but to resort to available healing processes within the community (elders of the family/kin, traditional healers—herbalists, faith healers, etc); on the other hand, treatment providers and health administrators blame the people in terms of their beliefs, superstitions and value systems.

Linear Causation by Major Cause Similar to sickness identification, causes of sickness also indicate differential pattern between medical and lay narratives. However, a deeper understanding of these narratives reveals that persons with sickness and their families are confronted with several sickness dichotomies prior to their response to sickness. Apart from mosquitoes as a cause of malaria, getting drenched in rain, physical work for long hours, exhaustion, tiredness, working under hot sun, bad air, bad weather, baharniasar,13 eating certain types of food like cucumber, custard apple, stale food, etc. are some of the ‘causes’ of malaria/local fevers as revealed in this study. A young person (a tribal Chodry, who is educated up to primary level and holds a private job) with fever said ‘since last week the weather was moist due to rain. Hence, there was shivering, blocked nose, body ache and headache, which all culminated into tav gripping me. Later the doctor told me that it is malaria’. In another case, a tribal male (aged 32 years) described how his fever began. After completing his weeding work in the field, as he was returning home, he felt chakkar (giddiness) on the way. His body started paining and he began feeling cold. By the time he reached his home, he was gripped by the fever. It began to rise further. He said, some fevers/ malaria are accidental/coincidental after getting tired or exhausted working under the sun, or due to bura pavan (bad air).

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The causes of malaria narrated in all the study villages are very dissimilar. Some of the causes are sheer coincidental such as getting wet in the rain. However, the communities’ perceptions on the causes of malaria could be classified thus: physical work (hard work), bio-chemical (change in water), supernatural (sorcery), psychological (tension), seasonal (getting wet in rain), contagious (close contact with malaria patients), loss of crop or any misfortune (anxiety) etc. In this multiple causative logic, one major dichotomy that arises is between natural (kudrath) and unnatural (baharni) causes of malaria. This dichotomy is crucial or a liminal phase of sickness. One starts introspecting her/his own life-world and social events that take place during that particular period of sickness. In their multi-causal analysis, baharni asar as a cause cannot be ruled out in any sickness. However, medical aetiology denotes mosquitoes as the only causative factor and dismisses other factors as having no relevance in the process of treatment. This not only widens the critical gap between groups of sickness sufferers and healthcare providers, but also results in the under-diagnosis of malaria cases evident in the study area. Naming a specific cause for a disease is not sufficient. It is essential to find a pattern of events that makes the patient to become vulnerable to specific causes of disease(s). It is also reported that most deaths due to malaria remained unreported in different parts of India (see Rana and Johnson 2003). Apart from causing mortality, malaria gravely weakens many of its affected persons, making them susceptible to other life-threatening illnesses such as pneumonia, anaemia, or dysentery. As Watts Sheldon (1999) notes, in addition to its role as a killer and weakener, malaria was an element in that vicious circle which makes the poor malarious and the malarious poor. In fact, a single set of signs can designate more than one sickness and social forces help determine which group of people get which sicknesses. As Vijay Kumar Yadavendu points out, ‘The taking of a purely medical history individuates the patient; however, the disease or injury from which the patient is suffering, is received as part of a collective experience in a particular historical, cultural and social setting. These latter circumstances are as much a part of the cause, and should be part of the treatment as purely medical facts’ (2001: 2787). This is also ironic since the problems of ill health and disease in the Third World countries is entirely of a different order, located in hunger, poverty and infection, all of which have social bases.

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Interventions and Specific Groups Anti-malarial programmes also need to identify specific groups and devise appropriate interventions rather than offer generalised services. A special focus is required for all the tribal communities across the country, as malaria takes a high toll on these communities. Although tribal communities account for 8 percent of the total Indian population, it contributes to 30 percent of the total reported cases of malaria and 50 percent of malarial deaths (ICMR 2004). Similarly, other specific groups, such as women, children and the aged, need to be focused. For instance, though research indicates that, in terms of prevalence and incidences of malaria, men outnumber women in the country (approximately 1.39 to 1), women disproportionately bear the economic burden of disease and illness. When members of the family fall ill, there is labour substitution to maintain the income and functions of the family unit; and the burden of labour substitution tends to fall disproportionately on women. Maternal health is also critical for infant health. Malaria is the leading cause of anaemia and low birth-weight babies. Thus, malaria is also a cause of infant mortality and threatens life-long morbidity. Malaria prevention among children also needs to be a priority since it is one of the leading causes of mortality and morbidity for children under the age of five. Migrants form another category of people that requires a great deal of attention. In South Gujarat, there is surveillance on migrants. For instance, in Surat city, migrants need to seek special permission from the municipal authorities both before and after arrival into the city, as the migrants are the suspected carriers of protozoa. However, the surveillance is restricted to identifying actual malaria cases and sending back the malaria affected migrants to their respective home states, rather than to providing treatment. Instead of targeting the migrants, they need to be provided with special facilities in accessing health services. As provisions of public health infrastructure in terms of access to healthcare, safe drinking water and sanitation have collapsed, the migrants, rural poor and urban poor are increasingly becoming vulnerable to the malarial fevers. In addition to this, caste issue continues to plague the malaria control programme and health system in general. In rural areas, the continuing stigma of untouchability remains painfully obvious and detrimental to the health and livelihood of the lower castes. Additionally, the

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impoverished state of many of these castes only compounds this problem of access and capabilities. Ill health is not a problem by itself, it is rather a symptom of deeper socioeconomic injustice. As Sheila Zubrigg (2001) avers, ill health can be interpreted as a form of institutionalised violence in society.

Discussion It is evident from the study that an analysis of disease/health that isolates the individual from her/his social environment not only fails to identify sickness as well as address contributing and causative factors, but implicitly accedes to the continuation of power arrangements in social relations. The problem identified with description or narration of local illness categories is its failure to link these categories to the larger systems of domination that often influence or even generate them (Farmer 1988). It is the state and civil society groups, which lacked commitment to provide basic needs, particularly public health facilities and ‘education’,14 to the rural communities for the last five decades, which created a huge gap between healthcare providers and receivers. Instead of empathising with the struggling communities and their suffering, one finds ‘victim-blaming’ as a predominant agenda taken up by the healthcare bureaucracy and policy makers. State and civil society groups, which failed to create conditions for self-realisation of individual capabilities, do not hesitate to put the blame on the dependency syndrome of the people. The findings from the malaria-affected persons revealed that communities have lot more expectations from the modern medical institutions, which are not able to live up to the aspirations of the larger masses. Hence, understanding sickness from the ‘sufferers’ point of view holds the key to any intervention in the area of tropical diseases. As Arthur Kleinman et al. rightly observe: Social suffering brings into a single space an assemblage of human problems that have their origins and consequences in the devastating injuries that social force can inflict on human experience. Social suffering results from what political, economic and institutional power does to people and reciprocally, from how these forms of power themselves influence responses to social problems (2001: ix).

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People have given fifty different local names for fever. It will be useful to put these fevers into categories of malaria and malaria-like fevers, so that policy makers do not miss out the malaria cases just because they do not use the same nomenclature for an illness. Aetiology, however, cannot be different. There may be hundred reasons for getting fever, but malaria is transmitted through mosquitoes. Sometimes when people describe malaria and malaria-like fever as baharni asar and its aetiology as an evil force (through dakan) in the form of an insect, what it means is the same. This is simply because the biomedical scientists view it as a parasite, while communities view it as an insect; it is only a difference in language. Given the intense suffering due to malaria, V.P. Sharma (2003: 514) boldly suggests that higher levels of funding, cooperation, effective health and malaria education, though necessary and important, offer only a part of the solution to malaria. These approaches fail to address the greater socioeconomic concerns that, if corrected, would revolutionise health in the country. There should be access to medical services for anyone in medical need (Daniel 1985). However, specific non-medical features of individuals—their caste, gender, and politicoeconomic location—actually determine whether or not they have access to healthcare.

Notes This is a revised version of the paper ‘Conceptualising Health: A Study of Malaria in Gujajrat’ presented at the seminar on ‘Health and Society: Issues and Concerns’ organised by the Department of Sociology, Goa University on 5–6 March 2003. I am thankful to the organisers of the Seminar for the invitation. I am grateful to the anonymous referee for her/ his useful comments and suggestions that helped me revise the paper substantively. 1. Rene Descartes provided a highly influential conceptualisation of the mind/body/ senses relationship. His formula ‘cogito, ergo sum’ (‘I think, therefore I am’) was linked at one level to a complete devaluation of all the body’s senses. Such an approach exposes the western philosophy’s inability to deal comprehensively or consistently with the human body (cf. Mellor and Shilling 1997: 6). 2. Medicine may be efficacious; it may nevertheless have little or no positive effect, as is evident in the case of tropical and other diseases in India. 3. Narratives are not individual accounts, but collective social accounts of the struggling communities. 4. The factors that contributed to the short supply of DDT were the outbreaks of hostilities with Pakistan and a breakdown in production at the Alwayne factory.

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5. This change in nomenclature was effected due to the advice by the World Bank as part of the Enhanced Malaria Control Project (EMCP) in fifteen states in India. 6. Plasmodium falciparum (PF) is more severe and complicated compared with Plasmodium vivex (PV) that was common in India till 1980s. 7. Malaria is a parasitic disease spread by the bite of Anopheles mosquito which is active between dusk and dawn. Malarial symptoms can occur eight days after an infected bite. The principal symptoms are fever, malaise, headache, chills and sweats, but it can present itself as a respiratory or gastrointestinal illness, too. 8. The research projects and intervention programmes on malaria implemented by the government through different funding agencies also influenced people to largely adapt the biomedical or English terms whether they mean same thing or not. 9. The geographical zones of Surat district are also socio-cultural zones. Hilly zone, a dry region was inhabited by the tribes (Chodrys and Gamits); caste groups (Koli Patels, Ahirs, Desai, Kaduva Patidars, Prajapatis, Chamars, Parmars and Halpatis) were predominant in the irrigated coastal zone; and the plains zone (both dry and irrigated) comprised villages inhabited by both castes and tribes. Surat district was chosen for trial research not only because of its malaria endemicity, but also due to its geographical and socio-cultural spread, so that generalisations made from the trial zones would have broader relevance for the entire country. 10. ‘Short-’ and ‘long-duration’ are relatively used, as what is short or long depends on the type of sickness, its conceived ranking in the family and community, age of the person affected, the circumstances under which the sickness occurs, etc. Broadly, short duration may be one to five days, and long duration may be three days and more. 11. Wherever the biomedical term malaria is used, it also includes local fevers which may or may not correspond to malaria. 12. Non-trial areas were those villages where there was no intervention by the Malaria Control Research Project. Three interventions (namely, ITMNs, IRS, and EDPT) in trial areas required scores of official visits, distribution of material things, and external dissemination of information on malaria, which largely influenced people’s ideas about malaria. 13. Baharnisar meaning malevolent social relations which go beyond witchcraft and sorcery. Both intentional and unintentional acts of ‘abnormal’ persons, ancestors, or unnatural forces may strike a person to make her/him sick. It is observed that beliefs about different forms of malevolent social relations are prevalent in all societies and tribals are no exception. Furthermore, modern health services have been well accepted by the tribals and they are craving for efficient delivery of these services. 14. Here, education does not mean adult literacy or health education/awareness, but formal education.

References Boyd, Kenneth M. 2000. ‘Disease, illness, sickness, health, healing and wholeness: Exploring some elusive concepts’, Journal of medical ethics: Medical humanities, 26 (1): 9–17. Daniel, Normal. 1985. Just health care. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Farmer, Paul 1988. ‘Bad blood, spoiled milk: Bodily fluids as moral boundaries in rural Haiti’, American ethnologies, 15 (1): 62–83. Ghosh, Ishita and Lester Coutinho. 2000. ‘Normalcy and crisis in time of cholera: An ethnography of cholera in Calcutta’, Economic and political weekly, 35 (8 & 9): 684–96. Good, Byron. 1977. ‘The heart of what’s the matter: The semantics of illness network in Iran’, Culture, medicine, psychiatry, 1: 25–58. ———. 1994. Medicine, rationality and experience. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hausman, Susan. 2000. Community understanding of malaria and treatment seeking behaviour in a holo endemic area of South Eastern Tanzania. Switzerland: Switzerland Institute of Tropical Medicine (unpublished thesis). Kamat, Vinay. 2000. ‘Resurgence of malaria in Bombay (Mumbai) in the 1990s: A historical perspective’, Parasitologia, 42: 135–48. Kidel, Mark. 1988. ‘Illness and meaning’, in Mark Kidel and Susan Rowe (ed.): The meanings of illness (1–19). London: Routledge. Kleinman, Arthur; Veena Das and Margaret Lock. 2001. Social suffering. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Krause, Inga-Britt. 1989. ‘Sinking heart: A Punjabi communication of distress’, Social science and medicine, 29 (4): 563–75. Lobo, Lancy; Purendra Prasad, Babasaheb Kazi. 1998. Ethnography of malaria in Surat district—VI report. Surat: CSS (mimeo). Lobo, Lancy; Purendra Prasad, Babasaheb Kazi and D.C. Sah. 2000. Ethnography of malaria in Surat district—Composite report. Surat: CSS (mimeo). Lock, Margaret. 1989. East Asian medicine in urban Japan. Berkeley, California: California University Press. McCarthy, F. Desmond; Holger Wolf, and Yi Wu. 2000. ‘Malaria and growth’ (Policy research working paper). Washington D.C: Public Economics, World Bank Development Research Group. McCombie, S.C. 1994. Treatment seeking for malaria: A review and suggestions for future research. UNDP/World Bank/WHO Special Programme for Research and Training in Tropical Diseases. Mellor, Philip and Chris Shilling. 1997. Reforming the body: Religion, community and modernity. London: Sage Publications. Pai, Sanjyot. 2003. ‘Illness: Philosophical perspectives’. Paper presented at a Seminar on ‘Health and society: Issues and concerns’, organised by the Department of Sociology, Goa University on 5–6 March. Popper, Karl. 1972. Objective knowledge: An evolutionary approach. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Prasad, Purendra. 2000. ‘Health care access and marginalised social spaces: Leptospirosis in South Gujarat’, Economic and political weekly, 35 (41): 3688–94. Pugh, Judy. 1991. ‘The semantics of pain in Indian culture and medicine’, Culture, medicine and psychiatry, 15 (2): 19–43. Rajagopalan, P.K.; P. Jambulingam, S. Sabesan, K. Krishnamoorthy, S. Rajendran, K.  Gunasekaran and N. Pradeep Kumar. 1986. ‘Population movement and malaria persistence in Rameswaram island’, Social science and medicine, 22 (8): 879–86. Rana, Kumar and Liby T. Johnson. 2003. ‘Hot-tempered “cold fever”: Illness and impoverishment among adivasis in Jharkhand’, Economic and political weekly, 38 (15): 1451–55.

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Sharma V.P. 2003. ‘Malaria and poverty in India’, Current science, 84 (4): 514. Sharma V.P. and K.N. Mehrotra. 1986. ‘Malaria resurgence in India: A critical study’, Social science and medicine, 22 (8): 835–45. Sheldon, Watts. 1999. ‘British development policies and malaria in India 1897-c.1929’, Past and present, 165: 141–81. Shivlal, G.P.; Dhillon Singh, R.L. Yadav and R.M. Sundaram. 1998. Operational manual for prediction, detection, prevention and control of malaria epidemics. New Delhi: NMEP, Directorate General of Health Services, Ministry of Health and Family Welfare. Turner, Bryan S. 1987. Medical power and social knowledge. London: Sage Publications. Twaddle, A.C. and R.M. Hessler. 1987. A sociology of health. New York: McMillan. Yadavendu, Vijay Kumar. 2001. ‘Social construction of health: Changing paradigms’, Economic and political weekly, 36 (29): 2784–95. Young, Allan. 1982. ‘The anthropologies of illness and sickness’, Annual review of anthropology, 11: 257–85. Wessen, F. Albert. 1986. ‘Introduction: Resurgent malaria and the social sciences’, Social science and medicine, 22 (8): iii–iv. Zubrigg, Sheila 2001. ‘Rethinking public health: Food, hunger and mortality decline in South Asian history’, in Imrana Qadeer, Kasturi Sen and K.R. Nayar (eds.): Public health and the poverty of reforms (174–97). New Delhi: Sage Publications.

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9 Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women: A Study of Three Eastern States Papia Raj and Aditya Raj

Introduction

I

n India, caste plays a major role in the life of her people, influencing their socioeconomic activities, and in turn regulating their health status. S.N.M. Kopparty (1991) shows the variation in the utilisation of health resources among different caste groups and its impact on their health status. Similarly, Thomas Matthai (1996) states that, because of differential literacy rate and economic status between the scheduled castes and non-scheduled castes, there is also a difference in their health status. In caste-based Indian society, women of the lower castes are the worst hit, as they suffer from double discrimination: First, in the patriarchal society women are discriminated against men, as they have to bear the burden of household work demanding much time and energy without adequate compensatory diet. And second, a lower-caste woman, owing to her poor socioeconomic status, also experiences social deprivation. Both these factors are detrimental to the health status of women, especially their reproductive health. Given that caste is important in the life of an individual, in this paper we examine the caste variations in the reproductive health of women.

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There are as yet no studies on the reproductive health status among different caste groups. The National Family Health Survey (NFHS)-1 (1992–93) gives us an opportunity to conduct such a study, as it has compiled data on caste (International Institute of Population Sciences 1994). Though a second round of NFHS also collected similar data in 1997–98 (International Institute of Population Sciences 2000), we have not considered that data in this study for two reasons: First, when the NFHS-2 was conducted, the state of Bihar had been divided into Bihar and Jharkhand. And second, since the NFHS is a sample survey, and not a longitudinal survey, comparing the two sets of data would not throw much light on the actual situation.

Reproductive Health in India Women and child health received a major impetus after the International Conference on Population and Development (ICPD) in Cairo (1994), which recommended that the participant countries should implement unified programmes for Reproductive and Child Health (RCH), as it was considered essential to human welfare and development. In the ICPD, reproductive health was defined as the state of complete physical, mental and social well-being, and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity, in all matters relating to the reproductive system and to its functions and processes (ICPD Programme of Action, paragraph 7.2). India, being a signatory to the ICPD, strongly supports the Programme of Action and, since the 1990s, the Government of India has introduced the RCH Approach. This approach includes the ability (of couples) to reproduce and regulate their fertility. Women can go through pregnancy and childbirth safely, the outcome of pregnancy is successful as for maternal and infant survival and well-being, and couples can have sexual relations free of fear of pregnancy and of contracting diseases. Indian women, by and large, have a poor reproductive health status, as is evident from the NFHS data. For assessing the reproductive health of a woman, the NFHS-1 incorporated the following variables: antenatal care (ANC), immunisation of pregnant women, institutional deliveries, and assistance at delivery. Proper ANC is crucial for the good health of both mother and child. NFHS-1 data show that, among all the women who have given any live birth in the four years preceding the survey, only 62.3 percent of mothers have received various types of ANC services. All pregnant women are expected to receive doses of

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Figure 1: Schematic Framework for Analysing the Influence of Caste on Reproductive Health of Women

tetanus toxoid vaccine to be protected against tetanus. Two or more doses of this vaccine during pregnancy were received by only 53.8 percent of all mothers. The situation is not much different as for the coverage for iron and folic acid tablets, which forms a prophylaxis against nutritionally induced anaemia among pregnant women. According to the NFHS-1, only 50.5 percent of women had this coverage. Another important thrust of maternal health services is the encouragement of institutional deliveries attended by trained health professionals to ensure better health for the mother and the child. The proportion of institutional births (25.6 percent) is very low in India. Both international and national organisations, such as the World Health Organisation (WHO), United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA), Population Association International (PAI) and Population Foundation of India (PFI), have attempted to measure the reproductive health of women with the help of certain sets of indicators. The most recent index of reproductive health has been computed by PAI (2001). It puts India in moderate rank, with a score of 44.8 on a scale ranging from 0 to 100. However, despite government programmes and intervention, the reproductive health status of women in India presents a sorry scenario, mainly because of the socioeconomic forces that influence reproductive health. Caste is one social institution in India whose impact on

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the life of her people cannot be exaggerated. To understand the influence of caste on reproductive health of women a schematic framework is developed. From Figure 1 it follows that caste influences socioeconomic variables that include educational status, work status and standard of living. These variables, in turn, have an impact on knowledge and utilisation of contraception and reproductive health care services, ultimately affecting the reproductive health of women.

The Study The study area is restricted to the eastern region of India, comprising the states of Bihar (that is, former Bihar, including Jharkhand), Orissa and West Bengal. Obviously, the caste structure is not uniform across the country, and there are significant regional variations. We use a modified version of H.H. Risley’s (1881) classification (see Appendix 1) as his survey was undertaken when the geographical area comprising these three states was administratively united. In these three states the caste structure is more or less similar due to their historical moorings. Moreover, the authors’ acquaintance with the area facilitated better understanding of the behaviour of various caste groups. The three main objectives of the study are: 1. To analyse the variations in the reproductive health status of currently married women belonging to different caste groups in the states of Bihar, Orissa and West Bengal. 2. To compute a Reproductive Health Index (RHI), for the various castes in these three states. 3. To examine the influence of social and economic factors on the reproductive health of women, with special reference to their caste membership.

The data used in this study were obtained from the NFHS-1 (1992–93) conducted between April 1992 and September 1993. The Survey covered more than 89,000 ever-married women in the age-group 13–49 in twenty-four states and the union territory of Delhi; it was, thus, the largest of its kind in the subcontinent. It provides national- and statelevel estimates of fertility, infant and child mortality, family planning and maternal and child health. In this study, we have drawn data from the following sections of the Women’s Questionnaire used in the Survey:

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the respondent’s background, reproduction, contraception, pregnancy and breast feeding, husband’s background, and women’s work. For analysis, only those women who have given any live birth during the four years preceding the survey (1988–91) are considered, and only the recent birth is taken into account. Since the main purpose of the study is to analyse the impact of caste on reproductive health, only the Hindu women falling in this category are considered. The reproductive health indicators used in the present study are as follows: contraceptive usage (any method), birth order, birth interval, antenatal care (any type), status of immunisation of women during pregnancy (doses of Tetanus toxoid vaccination), obtaining iron and folic acid tablets, place of delivery, assistance during delivery, weight of the child at birth.1

Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Indicators Table 1 presents caste variations in the reproductive health indicators. ‘Use of contraceptives’ is an important indicator of reproductive health. In Bihar, only 55.7 percent of the couples use contraceptives, and there exist castewise variations: among the High Caste 73 percent of the couples use contraceptives, followed by the Highest Caste (62.2 percent). The rural-urban difference in contraceptive use is large, and it is more so in case of the upper castes and the Intermediate Caste. The high ruralurban disparity among the upper castes is because, unlike in urban areas, in rural areas there are some taboos attached to the use of contraceptives, and these taboos are more observed by the upper castes. Also, in rural areas, the joint family system is still prevalent among the upper castes, which are land-owning communities. The joint family norms regulate the reproductive behaviour of the couples and hence affect the use of contraceptives. In urban areas, due to the prevalence of nuclear households, even among the upper castes such controls do not operate and the couples are relatively free to exercise their reproductive choices. In the case of the lower castes that are generally engaged in agricultural labour, the joint family system does not exist even in rural areas. Hence, their reproductive behaviour does not change much with place of residence. Apart from this, the upper castes have a higher literacy rate in urban areas as compared with the lower castes, and this increases their * Due to archaic nature of the articles some tables in this chapter are not available and could not be reproduced.

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awareness about the various family-planning methods, thus influencing the use of contraceptives. Orissa also presents a similar situation where 59.9 percent of the couples presently use contraceptives. The highest proportion of contraceptive use is among the High Caste (79.2 percent), followed by the Highest Caste (72.5 percent), while less than 60 percent of the couples among the Intermediate, Lowest and Low Castes use contraceptives. Striking differences are also noticed between rural and urban areas in the use of contraceptives. In West Bengal, 66 percent of the couples use contraceptives, and, unlike in Bihar and Orissa, there is not much caste variation. In fact, the proportion of couples using contraceptives is the same for the High Caste and the Low Caste (that is, 69 percent). There is also not much rural-urban difference among these caste groups. In West Bengal, the marginal difference in the use of contraceptives by various castes is due to the caste structure being not as rigid as in Bihar and Orissa. One reason for this is that the reform movements in Bengal had liberalised the caste system. Moreover, the relatively higher literacy rate in rural areas of West Bengal has fostered a more liberal outlook, which positively influences the reproductive behaviour. The higher the birth order of a child, the more adverse the effect it has on the reproductive health of the mother, as it means repeated number of pregnancies. In Bihar, 38.6 percent of the live births are higher order births, that is, birth order of equal to or more than four. With a higher proportion of their members using contraceptives, the upper castes have low proportions of high order births. The rural-urban difference in birth order among the caste groups is high, except for the Lowest and the Intermediate castes. This is obviously the result of the prevalence of joint family system in rural areas which encourages couples to have more number of children. Moreover, in rural areas, where the standard of living is not very high and the economy is labourbased, children are viewed as an economic asset, and more so among the lower castes, who are also generally the low income-groups. On the other hand, in urban areas, the cost of bringing up a child is relatively high. This also is responsible for the differential birth order between the rural and urban areas. In Orissa, 30.7 percent of the births are of higher order; a large difference in birth order is noticed among the various castes in this state. As in Bihar, the proportion of higher order births is much less in urban areas and irrespective of caste affiliation. In West Bengal, all the castes

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have fairly small proportion of higher order births, ranging between 20 percent (Highest Caste) and 31.9 percent (Lowest Caste). Since there is not much variation in the pattern of contraceptive use between the rural and urban areas in West Bengal, it gets reflected in the birth-order pattern. Apart from birth order, it is also the interval between two births that has a bearing on the reproductive health of a woman. A little over 39 percent of all live births in Bihar have a birth interval of more than or equal to twenty-four months, without much caste variation. In Orissa, 56.9 percent of the live births have a birth interval of equal to or more than twenty-four months. The proportion of births with a higher interval is almost 60 percent among the lower castes, while it is only 48 percent among the upper castes. Since, in West Bengal, only 25 percent of the births are of higher order, and among the lower order births 32 percent are of first order, the proportion of births with large intervals is quite low (45.1 percent). This applies to all castes. Antenatal care (ANC) is one of the four most important pillars of safe motherhood along with family planning, safe delivery and essential obstetric care (WHO 1996). In the study region, there is a large difference in the proportion of women receiving ANC: it is only 40.8 percent in Bihar, while it is 79.8 percent in West Bengal. In Bihar, the proportion of lower-caste women receiving ANC is much less (35.5 percent) compared with their upper-caste counterparts (68.1 percent). This difference is accentuated in rural areas, where only 34.3 percent of the women receive any type of ANC, either visited by a health worker or going to a clinic. However, the position of the Lowest Caste does not improve much with place of residence: it is 34.1 percent in rural areas and 46.2 percent in urban areas. Lack of accessibility to ANC services is a major cause for this. Accessibility refers to both physical accessibility (in terms of distance travelled) and accessibility in terms of cost incurred to avail such services. Long distance and inadequate public transportation facility are common constraints to health-care utilisation, and this is more so in rural areas (Thaddeus and Maine 1994). This applies to rural Bihar too, where the availability of medical facilities does not meet the requirements of the people, and the transport infrastructure is underdeveloped. Also, in the rural areas of the states under study, the residential pattern follows caste hierarchy: the houses of the upper castes are located in the centre of the village, and those of the other castes are located farther

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away from them according to their ritual and occupational status. As a result, the lower castes are usually settled on the periphery of the village. Moreover, in Bihar, as is well known, the family-planning programme is not a success story, and the health workers visiting homes is also rare. Also, as elsewhere in rural India, land continues to be the most important source of income, and the upper castes are usually the landowning communities (Chakravarti 2001). This contributes to the improvement in the standard of living of the upper castes in rural areas. The lower castes, on the other hand, are also down in the hierarchy as for their economic status and they cannot afford the transport-cost for availing the ANC services if they are located at a far off place. Even the private clinics, due to their exorbitant charges, are out of their reach. All these lead to a drop in the percentage of lower-caste women receiving ANC. On the contrary, in urban areas, physical inaccessibility is not a problem, as there are many clinics and the transport system is also better. Moreover, urban areas are free from caste-based settlement patterns, which fact too acts facilitates lower-caste women receiving ANC. Lower standard of living and lack of knowledge among the urban lower castes may be responsible for less proportion of their women availing ANC. Similar caste variations are noticed in Orissa, too. Among the upper castes more than 80 percent receive ANC, while among the lower castes the figure is below 70 percent. The ANC coverage is higher in West Bengal, without much rural (77.8 percent) and urban (87.6 percent) differentiation. There is also not much caste variation in availing the ANC services. Apart from the ANC services, a birth attended by skilled health professionals assures safe delivery and reduces risk to the life of the mother and the child. In Bihar, skilled health professionals attend only 23.4 percent of the births. The situation is grimmer for the lower castes, as less than 20 percent of their births are assisted by skilled health professionals. Only among the High Caste a majority (53.4 percent) of the births are assisted by skilled health professionals. Rural areas are worse off, as the figure for no caste exceeds 40 percent. This is due to the traditional outlook prevalent in rural societies, where most of the births still take place at home and are assisted by dais (traditional midwives) who are not very skilled and follow traditional practices, some of which are unhygienic. Even in urban areas, the situation is not satisfactory for the lower castes: skilled health professionals assist only 37.2 percent of the births among the Lowest Caste, but the corresponding percentage is 80.3

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for the High Caste. It is perhaps the inaccessibility due to high cost that influences this variation in urban areas. The government hospitals lack adequate infrastructures in terms of both equipment and personnel, while the poor lower-caste people cannot afford the services of private hospitals. In Orissa too, skilled health professionals assist a very low proportion of (28 percent) births, and a large caste variation is noticed. The upper castes have higher proportion of births assisted by skilled professionals (51 percent). Skilled assistance at delivery is also not very satisfactory in West Bengal (41.6 percent), and caste variations exist: 60 percent of the births among the High Caste are assisted by skilled professionals, in contrast to 26.1 percent, among the Lowest Caste. To summarise, the caste differences are the highest in Bihar, followed by Orissa and West Bengal. In all the three states, the upper castes are in a better position in comparison with the lower castes. The Intermediate Caste shares more characteristics of the lower castes than that of the upper castes. The place of residence has a great influence on the reproductive health status of women as is evident from the striking rural-urban differences in all the states for all the reproductive health indicators, with urban areas presenting a better picture.

Reproductive Health Index For a comprehensive understanding of caste differences in reproductive health status of women, based on the above discussed indicators, a Reproductive Health Index (RHI) has been computed for the various caste groups (see Appendix 2). The range of this index varies between ‘0’ and ‘5’. The higher the value of the index, the better the reproductive health status of the women. Based on the mean value of the index, women are grouped under two broad categories of reproductive health status: High RHI and Low RHI. In Bihar, as most of the reproductive health indicators for women are poor, only 39.1 percent of them show High RHI (see Table 2a). Caste variation is also large: 64.4 percent of the High Caste women have High RHI, and only 36.5 percent of the Lowest Caste women have High RHI. Though in urban areas 65.3 percent of women have High RHI, this percentage drops to 33 in rural areas.

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Table 2a Caste-Group and RHI—Bihar, 1992–93 Low RHI (%)

High RHI (%)

Caste Groups

Rural

Urban

Combined

Rural

Urban

Combined

Highest

57.65

34.15

52.70

42.35

65.85

47.30

High

50.00

11.48

35.58

50.00

88.52

64.42

Intermediate

70.43

35.25

64.36

29.57

64.75

35.64

Low

74.09

34.85

68.68

25.91

65.15

31.32

Lowest

65.92

52.56

63.51

34.08

47.44

36.49

Total

66.97

34.72

60.89

33.03

65.28

39.10

Table 2b Caste-Group and RHI—Orissa, 1992–93 Low RHI (%)

High RHI (%)

Caste Groups

Rural

Urban

Combined

Rural

Urban

Combined

Highest

31.67

7.14

21.57

68.33

92.86

78.43

High

33.33

6.98

22.64

66.67

93.02

77.36

Intermediate

44.17

29.17

40.29

55.83

70.83

59.71

Low

54.82

29.03

48.65

45.18

70.97

51.35

Lowest

53.95

36.92

50.00

46.05

63.08

50.00

Total

49.36

25.14

42.83

50.64

74.86

57.17

The proportion of women having High RHI is 57.2 percent in Orissa (see Table 2b), with the upper castes holding a much higher position in comparison with the lower castes. Orissa has a sharp rural-urban difference as regards reproductive health status of women. Irrespective of the place of residence, the upper castes have better index in Orissa. The reproductive health status of women in West Bengal is the best as compared with that of Bihar and Orissa: 67.4 percent of women in this state have High RHI (see Table 2c). The difference among the highest (Highest Caste = 77 percent) and the lowest values (Lowest Caste = 58 percent) is only 19 percentage points.

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148Papia Raj and Aditya Raj Table 2c Caste-Group and RHI—West Bengal, 1992–93 Low RHI (%)

High RHI (%)

Caste Groups

Rural

Urban

Combined

Rural

Urban

Combined

Highest

29.0

12.1

23.0

71.0

87.9

77.0

High

34.4

6.9

25.6

65.6

93.1

74.4

Intermediate

35.2

21.6

32.6

64.8

78.4

67.4

Low

34.4

25.0

33.1

65.6

75.0

66.9

Lowest

42.1

41.1

42.0

57.9

58.1

58.0

Total

35.9

20.2

32.6

64.1

79.8

67.4

Correlation among Predictor Variables A correlation matrix has been constructed to understand the relationship among the predictor variables. For correlation, education of women has been re-coded as ‘0 = illiterate’ and ‘1 = literate’, and husband’s occupation has been coded as ‘0 = agriculture and other primary activities’ and ‘1 = others’. The other codes remain unchanged. The results of correlation are presented statewise. Only those results for which the ‘r’ value is more than 0.2 and that are statistically significant are discussed here. But, to highlight the influence of caste, all correlation results that are statistically significant against caste are discussed.

Bihar The correlation matrix for predictor variables for Bihar is presented in Table 3a. Age of the woman and experience of child-loss has a positive correlation (r = 0.27). It means that experience of child-loss is higher for women of older age-groups as compared with women of younger age-group. Caste also shows a negative correlation with child-loss (r = −0.07), as more women among the lower castes experience child-loss. This is because of the low literacy rate among the lower castes coupled with lower standard of living, hindering awareness of and accessibility to medical facilities.

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Caste and place of residence are positively correlated (r = 0.07), which means that upper caste women usually live in urban areas. Place of residence has a positive correlation with education of women (r = 0.32). As expected, women in urban areas are more literate than those in rural areas. The negative correlation between work status of the woman and place of residence (r = −0.20) suggests that women in rural areas are engaged in work. In rural areas, due to the agrarian economy, which is labour intensive, even the womenfolk join hands with the male members of the family in the field, and this raises the work-participation rate among rural women. Since most of the men are engaged in agriculture in rural areas, there exists a positive correlation between place of residence and occupation of the husband (r = 0.34). Exposure to the mass media has a positive correlation with place of residence (r = 0.34), that is, women in urban areas are relatively better exposed to the mass media than those in rural areas. There is a positive correlation between caste and the following variables: education of the woman (r = 0.23), husband’s occupation (r = 0.14) and exposure to the mass media (r = 0.14). These correlations indicate that the literate women are from the upper castes and their husbands are engaged mainly in non-primary activities. These women are also better exposed to the mass media. Work status of the woman and caste are negatively correlated (r = −0.16). Education of the woman is negatively correlated with her work status (r = −0.27), but is positively correlated with husband’s occupation (r = 0.35). It follows from the results that illiterate women are generally working and their husbands are engaged in either agriculture or other primary activities. Exposure to the mass media (r = 0.49) and spousal communication (r = 0.22) show a positive correlation with education of the woman, as exposure to the mass media is high among literate women and this increases communication among the couples. A negative correlation is observed between work status of the woman and husband’s occupation (r = −0.22), which means that if husbands are engaged in agriculture or other primary activities then the work-participation rate among their wives is also high. Such a situation is perhaps explained by the labour-intensive nature of primary activities, and the family being the main source of labour for them. Work status of the woman is negatively correlated with exposure to the mass media (r = −0.24) because more of the working women are settled in

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rural areas, where exposure to the mass media is limited, especially so in Bihar, where electricity supply is yet to reach all villages and the electronic media are noticeably absent. Also, owing to the low literacy rate, the print media is not widespread either. For those women whose husbands are engaged in agriculture there is less exposure to the mass media (r = 0.33).

Orissa Table 3b presents the correlation coefficients for predictor variables in Orissa. It is seen that age of the woman has a positive correlation with experience of child-loss (r = 0.24), suggesting that, as in Bihar, the experience of child-loss for women in older age-groups is higher. There is a positive correlation between caste and place of residence (r = 0.12). Place of residence also has a positive correlation with husband’s occupation (r = 0.32) and exposure to mass media (r = 0.23). Thus, women in urban areas, with their husbands mainly engaged in non-agricultural activities, are also better exposed to the mass media. Caste has a positive correlation with education of the woman (r = 0.26), as in Bihar, indicating that more women of lower castes are illiterate than those of upper castes. A negative correlation, though small, is observed between caste and work status of the woman (r = −0.07). As a corollary, we find a positive correlation between caste and husband’s occupation (r = 0.22), showing that lower-caste males are engaged in agricultural activities. Moreover, there is a positive correlation between caste and exposure to the mass media (r = 0.21). Hence, increasing status along the caste hierarchy leads to a decrease in exposure to the mass media. Education of the woman shows a positive correlation with husband’s occupation (r = 0.35) and exposure to the mass media (r = 0.43): husbands of literate women pursue mainly non-primary occupations, and these women are more exposed to the mass media. Husband’s occupation, however, has a positive correlation with exposure to the mass media (r = 0.28). This shows that women are better exposed to the mass media if their husbands are not engaged in agriculture or other primary activities. A positive correlation is also noticed between exposure to the mass media and spousal communication (r = 0.22), that is, spousal communication increases with an increase in exposure to the mass media.

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West Bengal Table 3c presents the correlation coefficients for predictor variables in West Bengal. Age of the woman shows a positive correlation with experience of child-loss (r = 0.24), like in Bihar and Orissa. In West Bengal, caste and child-loss are negatively correlated (r = −0.08), indicating that experience of child-loss is common among lower-caste women. A positive correlation between place of residence and husband’s occupation (r = 0.36) means that in rural areas males are involved in agriculture or other primary activities. In urban areas women are better exposed to the mass media, and this is also evident from the positive correlation between these two variables (r = 0.21).

Multivariate Analysis The logistic regression analysis (see Table 4) represents the influence of demographic and socioeconomic conditions on RHI. The results for the eastern region of India show that all the predictor variables affect the reproductive health of women, as the odds-ratio is statistically significant. When other variables are controlled, caste is observed to be an important variable influencing reproductive health of women: High Caste women are 1.8 times more likely to have High RHI as compared with the lower-caste women. This is because the upper-caste women enjoy better socioeconomic status that influences their reproductive choices and reproductive behaviour, there-by improving their reproductive health. Age of the woman has an inverse relation with reproductive health: with an increase in age there is a decrease in the reproductive health status of women. Even experience of child-loss influences RHI. Women who have experienced child-loss are 39 percent less likely to have High RHI. Women’s educational level and exposure to the mass media are important variables that exert a positive influence on reproductive health. Women exposed to the mass media are more informed and aware about various measures that affect reproductive health. However, women who have not discussed children with their husbands are less likely to have High RHI. Place of residence and husband’s occupation are two other variables influencing RHI positively. The likelihood of High RHI is more among women who are settled in urban areas. Similarly, women whose husbands are not engaged in agriculture are more likely to have High

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RHI. On the other hand, work status of the woman shows an inverse relation with her reproductive health status. This is mainly because of the nature of women’s job, which is mainly agricultural labour.

Discussion This study highlights the impact of caste on reproductive health of women in the eastern states of Bihar, Orissa and West Bengal. It does not emphasise the overall status of the health-care system in these three states, as we are more concerned with the determinants of reproductive health of women at the individual level than with providing a generalised scenario. The study helps us to understand how even personal decisions like reproductive behaviour and reproductive choices are largely influenced by caste. One important finding of the study is that there persists an intra-regional difference in reproductive health status of women. In the eastern region of India, caste differences in reproductive health are most pronounced in Bihar, while it is least so in West Bengal. This is mainly because the caste system in its rigid form is more a characteristic of the less developed state of Bihar, where caste and class are almost synonymous (Chakravarti 2001). The economic differences among the caste groups widen the social inequalities among them. It is observed that poor educational status among women is an important reason for their poor reproductive health. The educational status of the woman is not free from her caste membership. In Bihar, according to the 1991 Census, literacy rate among the scheduled caste females is only 5.5 percent. During the colonial period the upper castes gained access to modern western education. The trend persists without much change in the educational status across the various castes. According to the 1931 Census, literacy rate was much higher among the Kayastha, Namasudra, Mahishya and Brahman caste groups, which constitute the upper castes; it was quite low among the Agarwals and Doms, who are the intermediate and lower castes. This implies that policies should be so framed that emphasis is placed on education, especially among the lower castes in rural areas, as caste variations are much higher in there. Apart from trying to diversify the economy and provide better educational facilities, a major task for policy makers is to ensure that policies on reproductive and child health focus on campaigning the utilities of availing maternal care services and encouraging institutional deliveries

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assisted by professional health workers. It is observed that there prevails socioeconomic differences among the caste groups and this is one among various causes for inequality in their reproductive health status. Thus, different campaigning approaches should be adopted to reach different sections of the society to make the campaign more effective. Moreover, health workers should more regularly visit areas that comprise mainly of lower castes, who are deprived of access to formal maternal care due to reasons discussed earlier. Also, more auxiliary nurse and midwives should be trained so that births are assisted by skilled personnel. This study leaves many gaps for future investigation. The caste classification considered in this study could be disaggregated for a detailed understanding of the influence of caste on the reproductive health of women. Our analysis is based on the individual level; the reproductive health status of various castes could also be studied at the district and state levels.

Note 1. In the present study the status of immunisation of women is not included in the RHI as it shows a strong positive correlation with ANC utilisation (Table not included). Women who avail ANC services usually receive two or more doses of tetanus toxoid injections. Similarly, iron and folic acid tablets also show a strong positive correlation with ANC, and hence it is also not included in the RHI. Since assistance at delivery is more important to determine the reproductive health status of women, in the RHI it is considered leaving out the place of delivery. Weight of the child at birth could not be included in the analysis as more than 70 percent of the children were not weighed at birth in the states covered by the study.

Appendix 1: Caste Classification

Caste Classification (Risley 1881)

Caste Classification (Based on Ritual Status) Used in the Study

1. Brahman

Highest Caste

2. Baidyas, Kayasthas and Kshatriyas, and also Rajputs

High Caste

3. Clean Sudra: Gandhabanik, Karmakar, Kansari, Kumar, Kuri, Madhunapit, Modak, Malakar, Napit, Sadgope, Sakhari, Tamil, Tanti, Tili, and Teli also Karan, Kustha and Raju of Midnapur, Khan of Rangpur and Sudra of East Bengal

Intermediate Caste

(Continued )

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154Papia Raj and Aditya Raj (Continued ) Caste Classification (Based on Ritual Status) Used in the Study

Caste Classification (Risley 1881) 4. Clean castes with degraded Brahman: Chasi Kaivarta, Mahishya and Goala

Low Caste

5. Caste lower than group >4 = whose water is not taken by Brahman: Sarak of Manbhum, Swarnakar, Sunri, Subarnabanik and Sutradhar 6. Low caste who abstain from eating beef, pork and fowl: Bagdi, Barua, Bhaskar, Chain, Chasa, Dhoba, Doai, Gauran, Hajang, Jaliakaibarta, Kalu, Kan, Kapali, Kptl, Malo and Jualo, Mech, Namasudra, Chandal, Palia, Patri, Pod, Paro, Rajbanshi, Koch, Sukli, Tipura and Tipra etc. (This group includes most of the nonAryan race and castes.)

Lowest Caste

7. Unclean feeders: Not served by Brahman, Dhoba or Napit: Bauri, Chamar, Dom, Hari, Bhuimali, Kaora, Konai, Kora, Lodha, Mal, Muchi, Sialgir

Appendix 2: Reproductive Health Index Variable

Score

1. Contraceptive usage

Presently using contraceptives = 1 Not using contraceptives = 0

2. Birth order of the last child

Low birth order (