Readings in Indian Sociology: Volume II: Sociological Probings in Rural Society [1 ed.] 8132113810, 9788132113812

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Sociological Probings in Rural Society

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

Indian Sociological Society Institute of Social Sciences 8 Nelson Mandela Road Vasant Kunj New Delhi 110 070

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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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37

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

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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

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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

52

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).

‘FRINGE’ SOCIETY AND THE FOLK-URBAN CONTINUUM

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

54

M.S.A. Rao

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

‘FRINGE’ SOCIETY AND THE FOLK-URBAN CONTINUUM

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.

56

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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.

58

K.M. Kapadia

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

60

K.M. Kapadia

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

RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS

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

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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.

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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

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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

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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.

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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

84

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

94

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.

100

Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

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

BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL

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.

102

Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

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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Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

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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Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

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)

BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL

107

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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Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

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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109

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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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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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177

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

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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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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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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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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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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9. 10.

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:

326

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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Tonnies, F., 1940. Fundamental Concepts of Sociology, Translated by C. P. Loomis, (New York). ———. 1955. Community and Association, Translated by C. P. Loomis, (London). Verma, H. S., 1967. Some Thoughts Regarding Research in Role Taking, Inter-discipline, 4(2): 1–7. ———. 1968. “Animation Experiment”, in P. Roy, Impact of Communication on Rural Development, (Hyderabad). ———. 1969. Of Human Element in Action Research, Indian Journal of Social Work, 29(4): 389–97. ———. 1969a. How a City Press Covers an Important Issue A Content Analysis, Interdiscipline, 5(4): 286–95. ———. 1970. The Relative Efficacy of Radio, Literacy and Animation in Adoption of Farm and Health Practices, Unpublished paper, (Hyderabad). ———. 1971. Mass Media Consumption in Eight North Indian Villages, Behavioural Sciences and Community Development, 5(1): 38–50. ———. 1971a. Contours of Social Influence: A Study of Eight North Indian Villages, (Hyderabad). ——— 1971b Literacy as Educational Strategy and Adoption of Innovations, Proceedings, Indian Science Congress. ———. 1972. Social Influence and Social Standing in Village Social Systems, Interdiscipline, 9(2): 1–19. ———. 1972a. “Effective Communication of Agricultural Technology: Some Considerations for the Seventies”, in W.A. Khan (ed.), Proceeding of the Work-shop-cum-Seminar on Rural Institutions and Agricultural Development in the Seventies, (Hyderabad), 356–63. ———. 1972b. “Personal Influence in Transmission of Ideas”, in P.R.R. Sinha, (ed.), Studies in Extension Education, (Hyderabad). ———. 1974. Profile of Leaders and Followers, Inter-discipline. ——— 1974a Intelligence Work Through Collaborative Research in India, Social Scientist, 2(9): 59–68.’ ———. 1976. Task Structure of Extension Education System in the Changed Context of Indian Agriculture, Economic Times, June 3–5. ———. 1976a. Science and Technology in Rural Development: Organisational Implications of Karimnagar Experiment, Economic Times, October 14. ——— 1979. Impact of Family Structure on Management of Enterprises, Ph.D. Dissertation, Gujarat University, Ahmedabad. ———. 1979a. Industrial Families in India: An Enquiry into the Nature of Their Entrepreneurship, (in press). ———. 1979b. “Some Aspects of Industrial Entrepreneurship; A Juxtaposition of National and U.P. Profiles” in T. S. Papola, V. N. Misra, H. S. Verma, R. C. Sinha and A. Joshi, Studies on Development of Uttar Pradesh, (Lucknow). Vyas, V. S., and Shivamaggi, H. B., 1975. “Agricultural Labour: A trend Report”, in A Survey of Research in Agriculture, Vol. IV (Ag (2), (Bombay), 172–273. Weber, Max, 1930. Protestent Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, Translated by Talcott Parsons, (New York). Wiser, W. H. and Wiser, C. V., 1963. Behind the Mud Walls, (Berkeley).

19 Downward Social Mobility: Some Observations1 K.L. Sharma

D

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.