The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus [Illustrated] 0198069405, 9780198069409

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The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Title Pages (p.i) The T.N. Madan Omnibus (p.ii) The T.N. Madan Omnibus OUP India's Omnibus collection offers readers a comprehensive coverage of works of enduring value, woven together by a new introduction, attractively packaged for easy reference and reading. Family and Kinship A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir Second Enlarged Edition Non-Renunciation Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture Prologue, Epilogue, and Appendices

(p.iii) Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University's objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries Published in India by Oxford University Press Page 1 of 2

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Title Pages YMCA Library Building, Jai Singh Road, New Delhi 110001, India © Oxford University Press 2010 Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir, Second Enlarged Edition © Oxford University Press 1989 Non-renunciatton: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture © Oxford University Press 1987 The moral rights of the author have been asserted First published 2010 Second impression 2011 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer ISBN-13: 978-0-19-806940-9 ISBN-10: 0-19-806940-5 Typeset in 10/11.5 Biskerville BE Regular by Excellent Laser Typesetters, Pitampura. Delhi 110 034 Printed in India by Artxel, New Delhi 110 020

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Title Pages

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Title Pages (p.iv) The householder's way of life is the source of his dharma, of all the good deeds that are done. Mahābhārata, 12.261.7 As air is vital to living beings, so is the householder's way of life to the other āshramas. It is the householder who provides sacred knowledge and food to the other three orders, and thus emerges as the elder among them. Manusmriti, 3.77–8 The classical [āshrama] system in a special way was intended to blunt the opposition between the two value systems—one centred around the married householder and the other around the celibate ascetic. … [A close] examination of the history of the system [shows] that the issue was never fully settled and that old battles had to be fought over and over again throughout the Middle Ages down to the modern times … Patrick Olivelle, The Āśrama System Three things are absolutely necessary for the understanding of cultural phenomena in India. These are: the configuration of linguistic regions, the institution of caste and the family organization. Iravati Karve, Kinship Organization in India

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Dedication

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Dedication (p.v) This Omnibus is for Ram

(p.vi)

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Preface to the Omnibus

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.xiii) Preface to the Omnibus The importance of the household in the study of society in India came to be recognized in the late nineteenth century. For the census takers then, and since then, the household has been the concrete unit of social organization, so identified not only by the official enumerators but also by the people themselves. The fact that the house-household equation does not always hold did not pose serious problems because the cultural emphasis was on the hearth or kitchen and the commensal group. Individuals as such did not matter, and kin groupings larger than the household were not easy to study because of their diffuse and fluid character. Among the Hindus generally, but particularly among the upper castes, the individual was either a householder (grihastha), in which case they lived in and through a household-based web of kinship and marriage ties and obligations, or a renouncer (sannyāsī), in which case they lived outside the society. To say that the household is ‘the next bigger thing on the social map after the individual’, as is often done in sociological literature, may make good sense elsewhere, but in India it is merely a truism. What the census takers gained by way of concreteness or empirical validity, they regrettably squandered by getting bogged down in terminological confusions. A false or, in any case, misleading typological question emerged: Is the joint family, believed to be characteristic of traditional Indian societies, in decline? The debate used to rage furiously, and has not wholly petered out yet, although the size of the household, which was the census taker's primary concern, remained almost constant for over a century. This confusion arose because the distinction between the family and the household was not clearly drawn by the outsiders (administrators as well as academics), although the people themselves were very surely aware of it.

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Preface to the Omnibus Another reason for the failure or unwillingness to make this distinction earlier on was that anything bigger and more ramified than the so-called nuclear family, characteristic of Western Society, was seen as being not only a sign of. cultural backwardness but also essentially unstable. Qualifying terms such as ‘joint’, ‘extended’, and ‘undivided’ that came to be attached to the family in India, (p.xiv) particularly among the Hindus, were, and are, quite misleading. Scholars such as Claude Lévi-Strauss, in his famous essay on the family/could see this misconception as being clearly a matter of perspective: non-westerners, he pointed out, could well consider the typical western, nuclear family ‘restricted’, and not a cultural universal. Empirical studies, particularly those based on fieldwork, save us from many category assumptions, and are a sobering experience. While Indologists and sociologists of the earlier generations (such as P.V. Kane and K.M. Kapadia, respectively) had given us descriptions of the domestic domain on the basis of classical texts (such as the Manusmriti and the Epics) and other secondary sources, anthropologists turned from the traditional and the general to the contemporary and the specific, and rediscovered the importance of the household through fieldwork in villages and urban settlements. Their interest in the concrete was rooted in the ethnographic method: it was similar to but not the same as that of the census administrators. Significant field studies of the family and the household were contributed in the middle decades of the twentieth century by a large number of scholars including I.P. Desai, M.S. Gore, Pauline Kolenda, Ramkrishna Mukherjee, Jyotirmoyee Sarma, Ursula M. Sharma, Milton Singer, M.N. Srinivas, Sylvia Vatuk, Susan Wadley and, most importantly, A.M. Shah (The Household Dimension of the Family in India, Orient Longman, 1973). Not only were definitional issues discussed by these authors, the compositional and processual aspects of the household also received attention. Besides, the behaviour of families and households in the context of economic and social development, particularly in urban areas, was studied closely. In the process, many dark corners of household life were illumined and many old myths about the negative impact of the joint family on modernization were exploded. In the mid-1950s, I made an intensive fieldwork based study of the family and household among the Pandits of rural Kashmir, and found that there was nothing outside or beyond the domestic domain in Pandit society that it did not illumine. While extra-domestic kinship and marriage ties had obvious structural significance for it, everyday life was lived in all its vividness within the setting of the household. Economic activities and an emerging interest in politics also were rooted in the household and, to a lesser extent, in wider kin groupings and loyalties. Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir was first published four and a half decades ago by Asia Publishing (p.xv) House from Bombay in 1965, and from London and New York the following year. After remaining briefly Page 2 of 5

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Preface to the Omnibus out of print (because of a regrettable turn in the affairs of the publishing company), an enlarged second edition of the book came out from the Oxford University Press in 1989, and this has since been reprinted thrice. In Family and Kinship, the focus is on observable behaviour and, like all ethnography, it is local, a village study. What was originally written as a contemporary account, with the focus on enduring structure rather than organizational change, has been transformed into a study of the past by a sudden and dramatic change in the fortunes of Kashmiri Pandits. The outbreak of a violent, secessionist movement among the Muslims of the Valley in 1989–90 led to their mass exodus. I have briefly mentioned these developments in the Preface to the second impression of the book. As I note there, another study of the Pandits of rural Kashmir will perhaps never be written because there are very few Pandits left in the Valley. As of now (mid-2010), there is little hope of a sizeable number of the Pandits returning to their homes and hearths. After the completion of the writing of this book, I published a number of research papers in professional journals and books. Some of these were based on continuing fieldwork in rural Kashmir, while others discursively explored broader themes highlighting the ideological dimension of the life of upper caste Hindu householders. One of the fieldwork-based papers, which drew upon the work of other anthropologists also, examined the structural implications of marriage in north India, and was reproduced as an appendix in the second edition of Family and Kinship. Five other essays, two of them products of my fieldwork in Kashmir, and three, of library research, published over a decade, were brought together between the covers of a single volume, Non-renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture, which was published by the Oxford University Press in 1987. This book has been reprinted three times and translated into French (A I'opposé du Renoncement: Perplexitiés de la Vie Quotidienne Hindoue, Editions Maison des Sciences de l' Homme, Paris, 1990) and Hindi (Asannyās: Hindu Sanskriti, Kucch Vishay, Kucch Vyakhayen, Vani Prakashan, New Delhi, 2009). Family and Kinship and Non-renunciation are complementary works. While the former focuses on Kashmiri Pandits, the latter reaches out, as it were, to Brahman communities in other parts of the country; the former dwells at the micro level, the latter at the macro; the former is exclusively based on fieldwork, the latter draws data from several sources, including anthropological studies (p.xvi) and works of fiction. The combined (omnibus) edition of the two books is now being placed in the hands of readers, who will, I trust, appreciate the convenience of having and reading the two books together.

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Preface to the Omnibus Also included in The Hindu Householder are an introductory and a concluding essay. The former is a discussion of the ideology of the householder within the Hindu cultural tradition in a broad spatio-temporal framework, mainly on the basis of secondary sources. In the latter, I present an autobiographical account of growing up in a Pandit household, similar to other urban Pandit households of the 1930s and 1940s in many respects, but atypical in some others. The first appendix about the Brahmanical gotra, published in 1962, was one of my first pieces of scholarly writing in the field of kinship studies, which occupied me for over two decades, from the mid-1950s onward. The passage of time has not diminished the significance of this paper. The second appendix is an abridged version of a 1974 essay (abridgement helpfully done by Patricia Uberoi) on the family and household in relation to economic development. It includes a section on terminological clarification focusing on the distinction between the family and the household. This article also retains its interest, although debates on development have moved beyond the questions of the early years of planned social change. The third and last appendix is a note on the related notions of auspiciousness and purity in Brahmanical Hinduism, carrying forward the discussion in the second chapter of Non-renunciation. The Hindu Householder thus brings together most of my writings on the theme of Hindu domesticity in its various aspects. I am pleased to see them collected together; for the convenience of readers, a supplementary index at the end covers the opening and closing essays and the appendices. There is one more essay though which also might have been included: ‘The Hindu Woman at Home’ (in Indian Women: From Purdah to Modernity, edited by B.R. Nanda, New Delhi, Vikas, 1976). Based on ethnographical, biographical, and autobiographical narratives, and on works of fiction, it is an attempt to capture the patriarchal ethos of the Hindu family and household in the twentieth century, and the widespread acceptance of the same by even educated, urban, middle class women. Such acceptance did not, however, invalidate the objective reality of deeply entrenched male domination expressed in cultural, social, and economic terms. At the same time, die conceptualization of such dominance in the idioms of contemporary feminist discourse tended to obscure, I (p.xvii) wrote, the traditional modes of empowerment of women. Let me quote briefly: … it has been argued that the very concern with the control of a woman, particularly by the man who makes it possible for her legitimately to become a mother, is the essential counterpart of a deep-lying fear of and reverence for woman's power. This is the mystical notion of shakti, used and abused for a long time. From such a perspective, woman is the nucleus of the family, the source of energy, well-being and bliss for all its members (ibid.: 72). Consequently, I noted that, among other things,

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Preface to the Omnibus the relationship of a Hindu wife and her husband [in the household] is shaped by traditional values … and by her personal experience of living under the control of her mother-in-law, who usually turns out to be true to the stereotype.… The resultant husband-wife relationship is, to the modem sensibility, a peculiar amalgam of love and fear, dependence and distrust, a sexual partnership and a surrogate of the father-daughter relationship. Even when it is sought to be placed on a new footing indicative of companionship it not equality, this is done at the behest of the husband (ibid.: 78). The above was written in 1975. Relations between the genders and the overall family atmosphere have changed radically in middle class, urban, Hindu households since then, althought there is much that remains unchanged, including ‘dowry deaths’ and the so-called ‘honour killings’ in north India. Femal foeticide is an innovation facilitated by medical technologies that are available virutally at the doorstep everywhere in the country.

Even so, new patterns of intrafamilial and intra-household relationships, resulting from expanding female education, wider participation of women in paid, professional and other work, and other social developments, are emerging. I had briefly noted this: ‘The lives of women who have become political leaders, creative artists, doctors, and scientists reveal modern Hindu women in the fullness of emancipation and achievement, and their life at home has often been very different from tradititional expectations’ (ibid.: 83). The focus of the essay was, however, on traditional socio-cultural patterns, and there is enough of these in the Omnibus. I have, therefore, not included ‘The Hindu Woman at Home’ in it. In the end, I would like to express my deep appreciation of the understanding and courtesies of my publisher of over a quarter century, the Oxford University Press. New Delhi          T.N. Madan June 2010

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Publisher's Note

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.xviii) Publisher's Note Readers will note that the essay entitled ‘The Ideology of the Householder’, which appears as Appendix II in Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir, is virtually the same text as ‘Domesticity and Detachment’, which is Chapter 1 of Non-renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture. It has been decided in consultation with the author to retain it in both places despite the repetition, so that the structure and character of each of the two books remains intact in the present Omnibus. It may also be noted that the Epilogue, the Appendices and the supplementary index are paginated in continuation of the Prologue.

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society *

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * T. N. Madan

Student, householder, forest hermit, and ascetic: these four distinct orders have their origin in the householder.… Among all of them, however, according to the dictates of Vedic scripture, the householder is said to be the best, fir he supports the other three. As all rivers and rivulets ultimately end up in the ocean, so people of all the orders ultimately end up in the householder. Mānava Dharmashāstra

Defining the Terms To write about the householder tradition in Hindu society, it seems desirable that we begin with a brief clarification of the key terms ‘householder’, ‘tradition’, and ‘Hindu society’ as employed in this essay. A household is a group of persons who own or ‘hold’ a house: they are the householders. They may as well be seen as a group that is held together, as it were, in or by a house. The idea of ownership is mutual and dynamic: it is a durable relationship made of many strands. A house is of course a building of some kind intended for human habitation, but in many cultural settings, including the Hindu, it is more than that Besides a material (architectural, allodial) aspect, it has ritual, symbolic, and emotional significance, establishing richer bonds between the house and the householders, and among the householders, than those of mere co-residence in a dwelling. Co-residence is, however, a crucial aspect of the life of the householders. It arises from the ties of kinship, which may be biological or fictive but modelled Page 1 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * on the biological, and of marriage. To elaborate, the household comprises at least a married couple and their naturally born or adoptive children. In preindustrial societies the household is usually more ramified structurally and may even include distantly related or unrelated helpers and dependents. In such societies, the family and the household usually are, unlike in (p.2) contemporary Western society, differentiated. A family usually comprises many households which live in separate sections of a house or in separate houses. The houses may be built around a compound or may be scattered. The failure to recognize the embedded character of the household within the family has given rise to the somewhat misleading notion of the Hindu ‘joint’ family (Madan 1962). Some perceptive scholars have rightly observed that from the Hindu perspective the Western household, which is also the immediate family, may well be characterized as being ‘restricted’. Apart from having a structural or formal aspect, the household also has functional and cultural aspects. Householders do many things together. Most notably they produce and socialize children. They act as an economic group engaged in productive and distributive activities, and marked by a division of labour on the basis of (among other considerations) age and sex. They participate in domestic rituals focused on particular household members (for example, birth, marriage, and death rites) or on other religious concerns (for example, propitiation of supernatural ‘beings’). They work, gossip, tell tales, sing, and dance together. All these and other related activities comprise a significant part of the way of life of the householders—their culture. What they do not only fulfils certain practical needs, but also bestows meaning and significance on their lives. The practical and the symbolic aspects of the householders' lives, their interests and values, are closely intertwined. They are a legacy that is ever being reaffirmed and reformulated. This brings us to the second term, ‘tradition’, which is used here to denote the established ways of living in a society, and their underlying principles and values, accumulated over time. Traditions may be written or they may be oral. All that is remembered may not, however, be currently alive, nor may it be dead, for it may be revived and in the process reinvented. The householder tradition in Hindu society today had its beginnings in the so-called Vedic age about 3,000 years ago, and has inevitably undergone many significant changes. Given such a length of time, what is remarkable is perhaps not the extent of change, but the measure of continuity. This continuity, however, is often questioned because the very idea of Hindu society is said to be relatively recent. What, then, do I mean when I write of Hindu society in this essay? Existentially, Hindu society comprises all those Indians who consider themselves Hindus and make public acknowledgement of this identity, for example, when the decennial census is taken. It accounts for four-fifths of the population of India of over one billion. If the so-called (p.3) Page 2 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * Scheduled Castes of officialese, or Dalits (the oppressed) of popular discourse, formerly known as the ‘untouchables’, are excluded—as some vocal Dalit intellectuals demand (see Ilaiah 1996)—Hindus still account for over two-thirds of the population. The word ‘Hindu’ is of course not new: even as a term of self-ascription it has been employed at least since the fifteenth century (Thapar 1989: 224). The idea of a large, multimillion-strong, community of subcontinental distribution, however, emerged strongly only in the nineteenth century in response to the Western colonial and Christian missionary challenges, and as a result of improved means of transport and communication. Such an encompassing idea brought together, but did not merge into one, a multitude of communities, each identified by regional culture and language, religious belief and practice, hereditary occupation and caste, and other criteria. Thus, Bengali Brahmans, Tamil Shaivas or Vaishnavas, Gujarati Patidars, north Indian Kayasthas, and numerous other communities acquired an additional shared identity as Hindus. The immediate significance of this development was primarily political. It also highlighted a sense of cultural togetherness in terms of the recognition of a common textual tradition of long duration, beginning with the Vedic corpus and including the later Puranas and Epics. The extent and nature of the knowledge of this tradition was (and is) variable, being derived from the texts themselves or their exegeses among the literate elite, or received through verbal exposition by professional story tellers and family elders among the non-literate, largely rural populace. It has been suggested that acknowledgement of the ultimate authority of the Veda may well be the minimum definition of Hinduism and Hindu identity today (Smith 1989: 13–14), irrespective of how much or how little is known about it. But Hinduism is not identical with Vedism or Brahmanism (Flood 1996). In its growth other sources too, notably the folk traditions—some of them predating the Vedic period—have contributed significantly. In fact, a two-way flow has been at work. Elements of the textual (‘Great’) tradition have been restated and reenacted in the idiom of the folk (‘Little’) traditions (the process has been called, somewhat infelicitously, ‘parochialization’). Likewise local beliefs and practices have been built into the textual tradition through ‘universalization’ (Marriott 1955). Other process of communication or combination have also been at work, such as the identification of critical resemblance between different traditions (Hiltebeitel 1999). (p.4) In short, both existentially and historically one can speak and write of Hindu society meaningfully. Its boundaries are flexible, however, and even at its centre ‘an inner conflict of tradition’ (Heesterman 1985) has been manifest. One of the most significant such antagonisms is between householdership (gārhasthya), firmly embedded in society, and renunciatory withdrawal from Page 3 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * social obligations (sannyāsa). And this dichotomy is as old as the Vedic tradition itself.

Gārhasthya: Way of Life Or Stage of Life? Domestic groups of one kind or another are a cultural universal. Even foodgathering and nomadic tribes periodically settle down to rest and residence in open camps or covered huts before they set out again in search of food for themselves and their domesticated animals. Relatively permanent households are generally but not always associated with cultivation of the soil. They are characterized by rites and symbols that, among other things, valorize domesticity. Among the Vedic Aryans the domestic fire was more than a hearth for cooking food: it was also the locus of rites of various kinds and thereby acquired a symbolic character. The Aryan householder (shālīna from shālā, hall) did not, however, immediately qualify for the performance of the prescribed shrauta sacrifices that occupied a central place in his and his household's life. For this purpose he had to establish several fire altars. The first of these (agnyādheya) was lit with fire taken from the domestic hearth but, after some ceremonial cooking of grain, it was extinguished. One then set out from home to relight it elsewhere with a fire drill after a lapse of time, say a year. More altars (two or four) were set up subsequently. The process completed, the shālīna became the āhitāgni, that is one who has made the transition from the world in which he was born to one that is transcendent. Two options were apparently available. The householder could choose to settle down in the second abode, after leaving the first, and establish the sacrificial fires there, and acquire the various accoutrements of a householder, namely a fixed residence, grain, cattle, and other kinds of wealth including servants. Alternatively, the householder could opt for the life of a wanderer (yāyāvara). Although he might not have settled down long anywhere, his wandering had a clear purpose, namely the performance of the very same shrauta sacrifices to which the householder devoted himself. Indeed, the wanderer travelled to acquire the means, by force if necessary, to do so. Those from whom he took (p.5) included the settled householders, whose antagonist he would have seemed to be. But his ultimate aim, after the years of wandering and violence, apparently was to settle down to the life of a peaceful householder. Although less glamorous it was regarded a welcome way of life. In the event, the shālīna and the yāyāvara were really not opposed to each other in their aims but only in their methods. The householder does leave home once to become the āhitāgni householder, and the wanderer eventually settles down to domesticity. Both are united in the role of the shrauta sacrificer, who is a householder although, paradoxically, he also performs rituals that are extrasocial. Making their appearance in the Vedic texts, the householder and the Page 4 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * wanderer are present in the Dharma literature also as two types of householders. Jan Heesterman, on whose discussion of the original Sanskrit sources the foregoing account is based (see Heesterman 1982 and 1985), points out that while all Dharma texts prescribe the departure of the shālīna from home before he may establish the sacrificial fires, the yāyāvara emerges as the renouncer (sannyāsī) in some of them. Like the shrauta sacrifice, renunciation is an act that transcends society. But while the sacrificer periodically reverts to the life of the householder (after each sacrificial performance), or even does so for good, the renouncer turns his back on both the domestic and the sacrificial fires. According to Heesterman, the renouncer better fulfils ‘the inner logic’ of the Vedic tradition, wherein the desire for breaking away from society is first articulated. The wish for transcendence, however, never wholly repudiates the human world but rather encompasses it. ‘The householder adds an extra-social dimension to his quality by becoming a shrauta sacrificer and finally withdraws from society into a renunciatory mode of life. But even then he retains the quality of grihastha and [of] an āhitāgni’ (Heesterman 1982: 268). Patrick Olivelle, another authority on the subject, is even more emphatic in presenting the early primacy of the householder's way of life. He writes: ‘The ideal and typical religious life within the Vedic ideology is that of a married householder. The normative character of that life is related to the two theologically central religious activities: offering sacrifices and procreating children’ (Olivelle 1993: 36). The scope of sacrifice was vast with cosmo-moral significance and included the three (or five) daily obligations of the householder in redemption of the ‘debts’ mentioned in Vedic literature. These number three in some texts and five in others: the debts to gods, seers, and (p.6) fathers, and additionally to all men and non-human creatures. To discharge the debt to the ancestors, adult men of the ‘twice-born’ (dvija) varnas were expected to marry and beget sons. Implicit in the notion of the discharge of debts was an enlarged conception of the moral agent, comprising not only the male sacrificer but also his wife (‘one half of the husband’) and their offspring. From the Rigveda down (in time) to the Manusmriti this idea of the man-wife-son triad holds ground and idealizes the life of the householder. Through the performance of sacrifices and by begetting a son, a householder achieves the prized goal of immortality. The foregoing view of life underwent a radical transformation as a result of both an inner dynamism and significant socio-economic changes between the sixth and fourth centuries BCE. The latter included the introduction of wetland rice cultivation in the lower regions of the Ganges valley resulting in the generation of an agricultural surplus that facilitated an increase in population and the emergence of urban settlements. With the latter came the merchant class, the notion of kingship, and an individualistic spirit ‘The freedom to choose’ that one would associate with individualism was, according to Olivelle (1993: 58), ‘at the Page 5 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * heart’ of the challenge to ‘the vedic religious ideal’, which led to the formulation of ‘the original āshrama system that permitted a choice among several modes of religious life’. The alternatives to the life of the married man and the householder that now became available comprised the life of the celibate and the ascetic respectively. For the ascetic and the renouncer the ultimate aim of moral striving was liberation from the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth in place of the Vedic householder's quest for immortality. Comparing the ideology of the early āshrama system to that of the varna and caste systems, Olivelle observes: ‘The creators of āshrama system intended to do to the diversity of religious life styles what the creators of the varna system did to the diversity of social and ethnic groups’: instead of ‘eliminating’ it, they accommodated ‘the diversities within an overarching system’ (ibid.: 101). The āshrama system as originally conceived was, however, transformed by the beginning of the common era into what Olivelle calls the classical āshrama system. Whatever the reasons for this transformation, which can only be speculative and do not directly concern us here, it comprised two significant elements. The alternative modes of life of the worldly householder and the ascetic renouncer now became stages in the life of the moral agent. Of the four stages of studentship (brahmacharya), householdership (gārhasthya), (p.7) retreat (vānaprastha), and renunciation (sannyāsa), the first three were by the very nature of the scheme temporary (each stage leading to the next), and the last one permanent as long as one lived. Moreover, a sense of obligation in the pursuit of ideals, which had been overtaken by the notion of choice, was revived. To quote Olivelle again, ‘the four āshramas came to be regarded as constituting four ideals of the Brahmanical ethic’ that were, ‘as far as possible’, to be ‘realized by each individual’ (1993: 129–30). And each stage was inaugurated by the rites of passage appropriate to it. The Brahmans were less tolerant of choice than their ancestors and provided an ideological back-up to the scheme of stages through the notion of svadharma, that is, dharma appropriate to each stage of life and, concomitantly, each varna. It was thus that the compound notion of varnāshrama dharma came to be the definition of the religio-moral life of the Brahmans and derivatively of the other twice-born varnas. While the notion of the householder as a choice for life is present in the Dharmasūtras, the later notion of āshramas as stages of life is elaborated in the Dharmashastras, belonging to the first five centuries of the common era. Of these the most frequently cited, perhaps, is the Mānava Dharmashāstra, also known as the Manusmriti and believed to have been in existence already in the second century (see Bühler 1964: xiv). The householder's stage in the life of the individual is prescriptively introduced early in the text: ‘When, unswerving in his chastity, [the student] has learned the Vedas, or two Vedas, or even one Veda, in Page 6 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * the proper order, he should enter the householder stage of life’ (3.2 in Doniger and Smith 1991: 43; all further quotations from the Mānava Dharmashāstra are from the foregoing translation). One notices a certain urgency in the text, a desire not to postpone too long the inauguration of the householder's life. Appropriately, the making of a proper marriage is taken up first (3.4–66). The qualities of a woman that make her a good wife are listed. Eight forms of marriage and their varna-wise appropriateness are described. Exhortations on the duties of spouses and the respect due to women follows. The men of the household are advised to ‘revere’ and ‘adorn’ women if they wish for ‘good fortune’: ‘The deities delight in places where women are revered … and [the family] thrives where women are not miserable’ (3.55–58). The law book then proceeds to prescribe the establishment of the domestic fires for cooking food and performing ‘five great sacrifices’ as well as other domestic rituals. These sacrifices, it is explained, (p.8) enable the householder to expiate the sins that are daily committed as a matter of necessity at the five slaughterhouses of the home, namely the fireplace, the grindstone, the broom, the mortar and pestle, and the water jar (3.68). The expiatory rites are: ‘The study (of the Veda) is sacrifice to ultimate reality, and the refreshing libation is the sacrifice to the ancestors; the offering into the fire is for the gods, the propitiatory offering of portions of food is for the disembodied spirits, and the revering of guests is the sacrifice to men’ (3.7). The continuity of the tradition from the Vedic sacrifices (mentioned earlier in this essay) down (in time) to shastric rituals is noteworthy. The argument is enlarged to bring in the other three orders (corresponding to the other stages of life): ‘since people in the other three stages of life are supported every day by the knowledge and food of the householder, therefore the householder stage of life is the best’ (3.78).1 In the giving of offerings and alms nobody is left out, not even dogs, those who have fallen, ‘Dog-cookers’, those whose evil deeds have made them ill, birds and worms (3.92). Guests come in for detailed mention, and even a deserving Vaishya or Shudra, approaching a Brahman's house in the proper manner must be given food, although only alongside the servants (3.112). Not everyone qualifies to be a guest, however, certainly not Brahman householders in their own village, who can only be called foolish, for they run the risk of being reborn as ‘the livestock of those who have given them food’ (3.104). It is only after one and all have been fed that the pious householder shall himself eat. ‘The householder should eat the leftovers only after he has revered the gods, the sages, humans, ancestors, and the household deities. The person who cooks only for himself eats nothing but

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * error [sin], for the food left over from the sacrifice is the food intended for good men’ (3.117–18). A large part of the third book of Mānava Dharmashāstra (3.122–286) has shrāddha, the sacrifice to the ancestors, for its theme. The central rites consist of offering rice balls (pinda) to specified deceased ancestors and feeding invited Brahmans who represent them. The fourth book attends to the issue of the means of subsistence of the householders. An interesting classification is presented. Subsistence by gleaning corn and gathering grains is ‘lawful’; unsolicited gifts are ‘immortal’ and acceptable; farming, although the (p.9) ‘deadly’ mode of life, is legitimate; trade is ‘simultaneously good and unlawful’ and yet permissible. But servility must be avoided for it is ‘the dog's way of life’ (4.5–6). Detailed rules of behaviour not only in respect of diet but the whole range of natural and legitimate activities are listed. Altogether, a view of the householder's life is presented in which a great deal is permitted including profit and pleasure, so long as it is lawful, prudent, generally acceptable to good people, and in conformity with tradition (see for example, 4.175–80). What is more, the conception of the householder's life presented in the Manusmriti is inclusive and incorporates through subtie devices ‘the values of other āshramas without abandoning home and family’ (Olivelle 1993: 140). The conflict between the two views of gārhasthya—as a permanent alternative to other ways of life, notably that of the renouncer, or as a temporary stage in the life of a twice-born man—was apparently never completely resolved in the textual tradition of the Dharmashāstras and subsequently. What is clear, however, is that, even when the idea of āshramas as stages of life prevailed, the virtues of the householder's way of life were uniformly eulogized. Thus the Mahābhārata, which is a truly oceanic source of the precepts and practice of dharma, endorses ‘the superiority of the householder’ and promotes the idea that renunciation of the householder's life is appropriate only in old age (ibid.: 148–51). Although Olivelle argues persuasively that the notion of choice in the original āshrama did not completely disappear from subsequent formulations, contemporary Indological literature has generally favoured the idea of an ordered sequence of stages. This is true of both earlier works and the more recent ones, but Olivelle's seminal work is bound to generate rethinking on the subject. The prevailing consensus regarding āshramas as stages of life may be illustrated by referring to two widely read studies of Hinduism by Zaehner (1962: 146–50) and Flood (1996: 61–5, 87–90). In considering the householder's

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * state the very foundation on which the other states rest, contemporary scholarly opinion follows the standard reading of Mānava Dharmashāstra. The influence of Indology on social anthropological studies of the family and household in Hindu society has been negligible. Indeed many anthropologists and sociologists writing in the 1950s and 1960s emphasized the desirability of freeing ethnographic inquiry from Indological assumptions about the character of the Hindu family and the household (see, for example, Shah 1973). The one major (p.10) dissenter was Louis Dumont who maintained that the sociology of India should lie at the confluence of the findings of Indology and the sociological vantage point (1957: 7). Following this methodological perspective, he produced a seminal essay on world renunciation in Indian religions in which he suggested that ‘the secret’ (or core principle) of Hinduism (and the structure of Hindu society) may be found in ‘the dialogue between the renouncer and the man-inthe-world’ (Dumont 1960: 37–8). As Heesterman has pointed out, ‘In the classical Brahmanic view the pivotal actor on whom the dharma turns is the typical man-in-the-world, the substantial “twice-born” householder, the grihastha’ (1982: 251). He disagrees with Dumont regarding the notion of the dialogue because, according to him, the renouncer and the householder lack a common ground, and stand for genuinely dichotomous, mutually antagonistic—rather than complementary—life-style choices. What interests, us here is that both recognize the traditionally central position of the householder in Hindu society. Taking that agreement as the point of departure, we now turn to an examination of the ethnographic evidence accumulated in the recent past.2

The Householder in Ethnography In the clarification of the definitional conventions (in the first section of this essay), the attention paid to the house may have seemed somewhat excessive. In the classical textual tradition, the building of temples, royal palaces, and cities expectedly received much more attention than ordinary houses (see Rowland 1953), but some of the basic principles (concerning, for example, the choice of the site and the size and orientation of the building) were the same. The (p.11) applicability of these principles to house building varied according to the varna of the household, more choices being open to the Brahmans and Kshatriyas than to the others. The abundance or meagreness of the material resources of the household also was a significant factor influencing, if not determining, the choices that were made. Some of the traditional considerations have survived until today; indeed there is today a resurgence of interest in urban India in Vedic architectural principles of house-making. The folk traditions are not lacking in this respect. Indeed, there are not only explicit guidelines about house-making, which combine ritual and practical

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * considerations, but a vast lore about the character of the houses, and its significance for the well-being of the household also exists. Thus, among the Brahmans of the Kashmir Valley, widely known as the Pandits (see Madan 1989),3 the house is the abode of gods as well as human beings. It has a guardian deity (grihadevatā) who is identified (through the rituals associated with him) with Vāstupati, the Vedic lord of the earth. The bonds between the house, the deity, and the household are intimate. It is noteworthy that, traditionally, a Kashmiri Pandit household never sold or bought a house. On building a new house, the protective deities would be ritually reinstalled there before entering it, and the old house would then be demolished or, rarely, abandoned. The sentiments of love, sharing, and solidarity that characterize interpersonal relations in a well integrated household are, in the Pandit's estimation, the highest ideals of human conduct, the acme of morality. The house is loved and valued because of the sanctity and the sentiments associated with it and not merely because of its material value. It is regarded as a moral space par excellence. The home is said to be neither the place for the indulgence of one's physical appetites (bkogashālā), nor for the performance of austerities (yogashālā) (ibid.: 256–7). In other words, it is the narrow middle ground, the ‘razor's edge’ of the Upanishads. An even richer conception of the house in relation to the householders than among the Pandits is found in Tamil Nadu. Here (p.12) houses are material structures like they are everywhere, but they also partake of the properties of personhood. Valentine Daniel writes: Not only are houses, as are [villages] and persons, [made of] substance that can be contaminated and changed by mixing with other substances (hence the concern with what kind of substance crosses the vulnerable thresholds-windows and doors–of the house and affects its own substance and that of its inhabitants) but houses are also ‘aware’ of their vulnerability. They have person like needs for companionship, and experience loneliness and fear when isolated (1984: 114). Houses here are believed to have a life cycle: they are conceived and born, they grow, and may eventually die. Houses, like human offspring, have astrological significance and may bring good or bad fortune to the household. They have feelings and attitudes. It is not therefore without trepidation that the decision to build a house is taken. To minimize the risks and uncertainty strict rules are followed in the selection of the site. It must be judged to be auspicious, and appropriate rituals (for example, Vāstu Purusha puja, although everybody is not sure who Vāstu is) may be performed.

Conception is said to occur when a comer post or cornerstone is installed by a member of the artisan caste who is traditionally entrusted this work. While at work, he must observe rules pertaining to himself. For example: he must eat only Page 10 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * vegetarian food or else ghosts and evil spirits will take possession of the house under construction; he must avoid bodily contact with members of lower jatis or goods in the house will disappear; he must abstain from sexual intercourse or else the house will be eroded by white ants. Another set of rules concerns the construction. Scarecrows must be planted in the four cardinal directions to ward off the evil eye. When the roof is laid, only an odd number of beams must be used, as a result of which it is deemed to be incomplete. Incompleteness is a blemish and helps in warding off the evil eye. Moreover, incomplete houses may be expected to grow further. When a house is ready for occupation, it is said to have been born. A horoscope is cast for it to figure out what the future holds for it. In addition to the nine planets of horoscopes for human beings, the influence of the qualities of the first occupants also are crucial for a house. Houses acquire the same jāti status as the householders and must observe the same rules of intercaste conduct as is applicable to them. In short, there is a structural homology between the human body and the house, which is culturally constructed. That the house-householder relationship is an intrinsic one is well illustrated by the distinction that Bengali Hindus make between the bāsā (‘nest’ abode) of a man, his wife and children, and the bārī (also (p.13) called griha, house) in which his parents (and other family members) live. Until his father's death he and his immediate family are deemed to be part of the larger family and he may not claim to have his own separate bārī. Needless to add, not all sons may live away from the parental home (Inden and Nicholas 1977: 7). The Bengalis think of a house as shared space, and this makes room for unrelated dependents (for example, servants) to live in it along with those who constitute the family and who share bodily substance. The Kashmiri Pandits make a similar distinction between one's gara (house, home) and dera (place of temporary residence), but the latter may be gara to someone else. Moreover, a son may establish his own household even during the life time of his mother, but this normally does not happen while the father is alive. The issue here is the manner in which a household is constituted. Among the Pandits, the family (kutumba) usually comprises a number of households, each living in a house or a part of a house, and known as chulahs (hearth, hearth group). They make a clear distinction between those members who are born into the family/hearth group (zāmati), and those who are married into it (āmati, ‘incomers’). Consanguinity and affinity are mutually exclusive principles. Besides birth and marriage, Active kinship in the form of adoption also is a recognized mode of recruitment to the family. At the household level unrelated persons may also be present, in some cases on a permanent or quasi-permanent basis (see Madan 1989: chapters 5 and 6). Moreover, families are not thought and spoken of in terms of a beginning and an end, but the household is subject to a Page 11 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * developmental cycle. Births and marriages are the incremental events; deaths and partitions result in the loss of members. A household may even die out, as when the surviving spouse of a childless couple, or of a couple that have only daughters who have moved out on marriage, dies (ibid.: chapter 4). Although parental love, filial piety, and fraternal solidarity are said to be the foundation of the householder's life, abandonment of joint living as one chulah, and complete or partial partition of the jointiy owned estate, are commonly expected to occur among the Pandits (ibid.: chapter 8). In terms of the ideology of the householder, fraternal strife is considered morally reprehensible, but practical considerations are allowed to override morality. Moreover, the blame for intra-household bickering is cleverly placed on the shoulders of the wives who are, of course, the zāmati and not the āmati And the decline of morality in the dark age of kaliyuga is always cited as a cause of things that should not happen. (p.14) In this context, it is noteworthy that the domestic scene two thousand years ago was essentially the same as it is today in most Hindu homes. Thus, we read in the Mānava Dharmashāstra (9.104 and 111): ‘After the father and mother (are dead), the brothers [may] assemble and divide the paternal estate equally, for they have no power over two of them while they are alive.’ More significantly, apropos the contention of the decline of morality: ‘They [the brothers] may live together in [mutual respectfulness], or they may live separately if they wish for religious merit; for religious merit increases in separation, and so separate rituals are conducive to religious merit’ (Doniger and Smith 1991: 209, 210). It is, of course, questionable how much considerations of religious merit count in contemporary times, but division of jointly owned estates does often occur with a view to reducing income tax burden.4 The question of religious merit apart, performance of rituals is indeed a major concern of Brahman and other upper caste households even if only as a matter of convention. There are two main types of domestic rituals. Firstly, those associated with life-cycle events (notably birth, initiation, marriage, and death), known as sanskāra, and those that affirm the bonds between ancestors and descendents, called the shrāddha. Secondly, there are the rituals that seek to establish purposive and meaningful communication between householders and supernatural ‘beings’. These may be supplicatory in character, as is the daily worship of one's chosen deities, or contractual, or even coercive. The rituals performed by lower caste Hindu households may not be an exact replica of upper caste rituals, and may not involve the specialist services of a Brahman priest, but they too fall into the two categories mentioned above. Work related rituals also take place in artisan and peasant households. Sustained by economic activity, reinforced by religious observances, the life of the Hindu householder is nourished and legitimized by the values of love, sharing, and solidarity. It has been explicated that, while ‘authority, rights and Page 12 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * duties, land, inheritance, the distribution of resources within the joint family, prestations, reproduction, and so forth’ (Inden and Nicholas 1977: 87–8) are critical factors in the construction of interpersonal relations in Bengali households, often creating room for conflict, love (prīti, prema) holds them together. ‘If kinsmen have the proper kind of (p.15) love for one another, then they will enjoy well-being and they will not be divided by greed, selfishness, or envy’ (Inden and Nicholas 1977: 87–8). A variety of loves is said to be discernible, namely conjugal, filial, fraternal, parental, and the love between brothers and sisters. Love may be egalitarian or hierarchical. In all cases, it is expressed through spontaneous and selfless feelings of caring (pālana), nourishing (poshana), and supporting (bharana) for one another. Delight (ānanda), gratification (tripti), and contentment (santosha) are the fruit of such feelings (ibid.: 21). An elaborate ideology of love in Tamil Nadu comprises the ideas of anpu (love), pacam (attachment), ācai (desire), kāppu (bonding), pattu (devotion), etc. These are articulable, and sometimes articulated, in explication of how the members of a household relate to one another (see Trawick 1966: chapter 3). Anpu is a complex notion that connotes a multitude of emotions and moral judgements. Thus, love must be contained (adakkam, containment), for excess is harmful; moreover ‘love grows in hiding’. Even a mother's love for the child must be ‘kept within limits’, for ‘letting love overflow its bounds could be harmful not only to the recipient, but to the giver as well’ (ibid.: 94). While the legitimacy and power of sexual love and pleasure (inpam, ‘sweetness’) may not be denied, the love of spouses is also best contained to the point of concealment Such concealment takes diverse forms including, particularly among the lower castes, the derogation of the husband by the wife. Love is a force, but its essence is tenderness. It grows slowly by habituation; indeed it becomes a habit (parakkam) that even death does not destroy. The loved person becomes a part of oneself. Parakkam implies friendliness, easiness, and grace (ibid.: 100). But it has its emotional costs. Love and attachment have a cruel aspect, for they produce restlessness. Moreover, being parted from the loved person is painful; it is like having a part of oneself severed. Love makes one do strange and even improper things, such as defiance of the rules of purity: picking up the leaf from which someone has eaten, and which is therefore impure, is an act of love and meritorious. It conveys a message of union and equality. Love teaches humility (pani). ‘In acts of love, the humble became proud, the servant became master, the renouncer became possessed’ (ibid.: 106). Love normally produces servitude (adima), a sense of being controlled by another person, but then this feeling itself is ‘a powerful expression of love’ (ibid.: 111). Ultimately, love means that the members of the household ‘are all one’ within the ‘four walls’ (p.16) of the house. As a Tamil householder (a woman) has put it, ‘In order for you to understand my heart, you must see through my eyes. In Page 13 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * order for me to understand your heart, I must see through yours’ (ibid.: 115, 116). There is a gentle and authentic simplicity about the manner in which the Tamil villager articulates the place of love in the ideology of the householder. There are other values too that are generally affirmed elsewhere by other Hindu communities, but raised above them all is the ideal of domesticity itself. The Kashmiri Pandits are the self-aware ideologues of gārhasthya within the value framework of Hinduism, expressed, for example, in the notion of purushārtha comprising the goals and orientations of dharma, artha, and kāma. The Pandit ideology of the householder is lukewarm about the fourth purushārtha of moksha, and explicitly negative about renunciation (sannyāsa) as a way of life or as the last stage of life. As a householder, a Pandit may legitimately seek joy and plentitude, but ideally this endeavour should be subordinated to dharma and combined with detachment (virakti) and the love of one's chosen personal deity (ishtadeva, ishtadevī). As a well-known Pandit poet, Krishna Razdan (1850– 1925), who was a devout Vaishnava, put it: ‘Why should we renounce the lovely world? Our love of Him is our austerity…’ (see Cook 1958). The Pandit's ideology of the householder is, in fact, more than just that: it is their ideology of humanity. While all sentient beings are born (and die), human beings are made and matured through the sanskāras and achieve different degrees of moral perfection by their conduct. A boy attains the ritual status of an adult when he receives the girdle (mekhalā) and the holy neck threads (yajnopavīta). In the case of girls, it is marriage that bestows similar status on them. Marriage is crucial for men as well as women, for it is only through it that they become householders. Bachelors, childless widowers, and widows are normally members of households but not themselves grihastha, and are therefore considered unfortunate. The greatest desire of a Pandit, whether man or woman, is to be a full-fledged householder. The Pandit ideology of the householder is constructed around men. Women and children are spoken of in relation to them. But the men themselves recognize that in the reality of everyday life women are significant role players. They are referred to as grihasthadhārinī, the upholders and the bearers of the burden of gārhasthya. A man works out his destiny as a Pandit and a human (p.17) being in the company of women: without them his ritual, personal, and social life is incomplete. Among the most coveted meritorious acts that a Pandit may perform, the giving away of his daughter in marriage (kanyādāna) ranks very high. Men are hierarchically superior to women, but it is together with them that they constitute the core of the life of the householder. Being a Pandit is as much a concern of women as it is of men. In the domain of domestic activity, however, women's roles are different, and their work in the kitchen as well as their participation in religious rites is severely but discretely Page 14 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * restricted during the periods of menstruation. Moreover, women do not offer water and food to ancestors; they do not have the ritual status and authority to initiate their sons into adulthood or give their daughters in marriage. And yet the wife is always present by the husband's side on all major ceremonial occasions. She is one-half of his self (ardhānginī). The ideology of the householder clearly establishes the Pandit as the man-in-theworld. Such a person's prime concern in the midst of worldly activities is with the maturation of his self. This is ensured if he organizes his domestic life in strict conformity with traditional purposes (purushārtha), employing appropriate procedures for their achievement. Release from the chain of transmigration (samsāra) is a high but frankly distant goal—so distant indeed as to be virtually beyond reach. A prudent person concentrates on the slow but steady accumulation of merit by the conscious effort to lead a disciplined life. Renouncers are conspicuous by their absence in Pandit society. Self-styled renouncers are distrusted as men who, with a failed domestic life behind them, make a virtue of necessity. At a deeper level, however, one might detect a fear of the renouncer, for he poses a threat to the ideology of the gārhasthya. The sannyāsi is too powerful an adversary to be contemplated with equanimity. Individual renouncers, if judged to be genuine, will be accorded respect. But renouncers as a category are caricatured: that the caricature is only too often an accurate enough portrait of the ‘holy men’ one actually meets is another matter though not totally irrelevant. The real point seems to be that only when the renouncer is thus portrayed may he be convincingly employed as a foil to highlight the virtues of the life of the householder. These are said to flow from ‘detachment in enjoyment’, which is the essence of renunciation. Gārhasthya is not to end in renunciation, but it should be guided by the values of (p.18) Sannyāsa. For the rest, everything is dependent upon divine grace (anugraha).5 The foregoing summary of the Pandit ideology of the householder is based on my fieldwork in the village of Utrassu-Umanagri (south-east Kashmir) carried out mainly in 1957–8 (Madan 1989). It is noteworthy that, despite over five hundred years of life lived as a small minority (about 4 per cent of the population in the 1950s) amongst Muslims—who are mainly descendants of Hindus converted to Islam en masse in the fourteenth century—and under Muslim rule between the early fourteenth and mid-nineteenth centuries, the Pandits have managed to preserve many core ideas and values of the Brahmanical tradition via oral transmission. In an essay based on Sanskrit texts of the medieval period (9th– 13th centuries) unknown to the rural Pandits among whom I engaged in fieldwork, Alexis Sanderson observes (1985: 197–8): The Brahmanism of the middle ground … offered the Brahman householder a monism for the ritual agent which admitted renunciation but tended to confine it to the last quarter of a man's life (after the payment of the three Page 15 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * debts), and at the same time made it unnecessary by propagating a doctrine of Gnostic liberation within the pursuit of conformity to the householder's dharma.… [Moreover, the householder] was to protect himself through disinterested conformity to God's will manifest as his dharma. Needless to emphasize, it is the continuities between the ideas of the two periods (preMuslim and composite) that are remarkable rather than the differences, which are essentially those of emphasis. It follows that in the study of the householder tradition in Hindu society, the bringing together of the perspective of Indology and sociology, is not only justifiable but indeed imperative.

Concluding Observations The two most characteristic institutions of Hindu society are caste and the family/household. Kane in his monumental survey of the Dharmashāstra concludes that the overall tendency ‘is to glorify the status of an householder and push into the background the two āhsramas of vanāprastha and sannyāsa, so much so that certain works (p.19) say that these are forbidden in the Kali age’ (1941: 424). Ethnographic evidence also underscores the importance of the life of the householder in contemporary Hindu society. Looking back over time, it is noteworthy that various developments in the history of Hinduism have reinforced the householder tradition. Thus, many of the major protestant sectarian movements of medieval times, which today have millions of followers, emphasized the virtues of disciplined domesticity as against renunciation. Basava (c. 1106–67), the founder of the Virashaiva (or Lingayat) sect in Karnataka (in the south), himself moved to and fro between withdrawal from and participation in worldly activities, but his followers have remained wedded to the householder's life. In Punjab (in the north) all but one of the ten Sikh Gurus were married men with families, and explicitly opposed the renunciation of the householder's life. (The eighth guru died during his boyhood.) Similarly, Vallabha (c. 1479–1531), promulgator of pushti mārga (‘the way of abundance’), whose followers are found mainly in western India, was a householder, and so are his followers. Although Chaitanya (c. 1485–1533), founder of the Gaudiya movement in the east devoted to Radha-Krishna worship, did himself abandon family life in his exultation of divine, conjugal love, his followers include householders as well as ascetics. All these sects extol domesticity as the preferred state so long as it is an affirmation of the bliss of the union of the devotee and the deity. In popular imagination, however, particularly outside India, the renouncer looms large. This may be so because he is a magnificent, even theatrical figure, who gives away all his possessions, performs his own mortuary rites to proclaim the severance of all social bonds, and lives a highly disciplined life of austerities (see Madan 1987: 1–16 et passim). Although he maybe impressive, the renouncer is not the only actor on the Hindu stage of life; in fact, he is not on the stage at all, Page 16 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * but looks at it from the outside. That his gaze is powerful may not be, however, denied. The figure in the centre of the stage is the homely householder. If not exactly cast in a heroic mould, he is not a shadowy figure either. And, in his own manner, he is a fighter. The everyday life of the householder is marked by temptations that he must resist. On the one hand, he hears on his front door the knock of the sannyāsī, who stands there in the guise of the mendicant asking for alms, but also suggests the possibility of an alternative way of fife. On the one hand, the bhogi (‘enjoyer’) knocks on his back door, as it were, inviting him to a life of pleasures. The (p.20) values of gārhasthya are challenged and threatened by both the visitors. The householder's success lies in his ability to resist the extremist alternatives and to tread the middle ground, combining the values of domesticity and detachment. For the Hindu, of whatever caste or sect, domesticity is marked by the feeling of well-being and happiness.6 It embodies the value of righteousness and action, purity and auspiciousness, and purposefulness and contentment. It is the good life.7 References Bibliography references: Bühler, G., 1964, The Laws of Manu, Delhi: Motilal Banarasidass. Cook, Nilla Cram, 1958, The Way of the Swan: Poems of Kashmir, Bombay: Asia. Daniel, Valentine, 1984, Fluid Signs: Being a Person the Tamil Way, Berkeley: University of California Press. Desai, S.T., 1998, Mulla: Principles of Hindu Law, 2 vols, New Delhi: Butterworths. Doniger, Wendy and Brian K. Smith, 1991, The Laws of Manu, New Delhi: Penguin Books. Dumont, Louis, 1957, ‘For a Sociology of India’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 1: 7–22, reprinted in Dumont 1970: 2–18. ———, 1960, ‘World Renunciation in Indian religions’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, IV: 33–62, reprinted in Dumont 1970: 33–60. ———, 1970, Religion, Politics and History in India, Paris: Mouton. Flood, Gavin, 1966, An Introduction to Hinduism, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gold, Ann Grodzins, 1988, Fruitful Journeys: The Ways of Rajasthani Pilgrims, Berkeley: University of California Press. Page 17 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * (p.21) Gulati, I.S. and J.S. Gulati, 1962, Undivided Hindu Family and to Tax Privilege, Bombay: Asia. Heesterman, J.C., 1982, ‘Householder and Wanderer’, in T.N. Madan, ed., Way of Life: King, Householder, Renouncer, pp. 251–72, New Delhi: Vikas. ———, 1985, The Inner Conflict of Tradition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hiltebeitel, Alf, 1999, Rethinking India's Oral and Classical Epics: Draupadi among Rajputs, Muslims and Dalits, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Ilaiah, Kancha, 1996, Why I am not a Hindu: A Sudra Critique of Hindutva Philosophy, Culture and Political Economy, Calcutta: Samya. Inden, Ronald B. and Ralph W. Nicholas, 1977, Kinship in Bengali Culture, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Kane, Pandurang Vaman, 1941, History of Dharmashāstra, Vol. II, Pt I, Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute. Madan, T.N., 1962, ‘The Joint Family: A Terminological Clarification’, International Journal of Comparative Sociology, 3: 7–16. ———, 1987, Non-renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture, New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———, 1989, Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir, 2nd edn., New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———, 2006, Images of the World: Essays on Religion, Secularism, and Culture, New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Manu, Mānav Dharmashāstra, See Olivelle 2005. Marriott, McKim, 1955, ‘Dole Communities in an Indigenous Civilization’, in M. Marriott, ed., Village India, pp. 171–222. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Olivelle, Patrick, 1993, The Asrama System: The History and Hermeneutics of a Religious Institution, New York: Oxford University Press. ———, 2005, Manu's Code of Law, New York: Oxford University Press. Rowland, Benjamin, 1953, The Art and Architecture of India: Buddhist, Hindu, Jain, London: Penguin Books. Sanderson, Alexis, 1985, ‘Purity and Power among the Brahmans of Kashmir’, in Michael Carrithers et al., eds, The Category of the Person, pp. 190–216. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Page 18 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * Shah, A.M., 1973, The Household Dimension of the Family in India, New Delhi: Orient Longman. Smith, Brian K, 1989, Reflections on Resemblance, Ritual and Religion, New York: Oxford University Press. Srivastava, Vinay Kumar, 1977, Religious Renunciation of a Pastoral People, New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Thapar, Romila, 1989, ‘Imagined Religious Communities? Ancient History and the Modern Search for Identity’, Modern Asian Studies, 23, 2: 209–31. (p.22) Trawick, Margaret, 1996, Notes on Love in a Tamil Family, New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Wiser, Charlotte V., 1978, Four Families of Karimpur, Syracuse: Syracuse University. Zaehner, R.C., 1962, Hinduism, London: Oxford University Press. Notes:

(*) Reproduced from Gavin Rood (ed.), The Blackwell Companion to Hinduism, Oxford: Blackwell, 2003, Ch. 13, pp. 288–305. (1) In the original: yasmāt trayo ʻpvāśramino jnānenānnena mānhavam/ grhsthenaiva dhāryante tasmājjyestāśramo grhi. (2) We may briefly note here the reading of the tradition by the scholars of what is known as ‘Hindu law’ (a product of British colonial administration). Thus, it is stated that, ‘the joint and undivided family is the normal condition of Hindu society. An undivided Hindu family is ordinarily joint not only in estate, but also in food and worship’ (Desai 1998: 314). From the sociological point of view this statement suffers from the conflation of two analytically and often empirically distinct groups, namely the family and the household. The law qualifies the foregoing characterization by maintaining that, ‘the existence of joint estate is not an essential requisite to constitute a joint family and a family, which does not own any property, may nevertheless be joint’ (ibid.). It is obvious that it is a larger grouping than the household to which the law refers; it is equally clear that without constituent households, there would be no joint families. The foundational nature of the household in relation to Hindu society is thus implicitly recognized in Hindu law. (3) Virtually all but 5,000 to 10,000 persons of this community of about 300,000 persons have been driven out of Kashmir following the eruption of a Muslim militant, secessionist movement in 1989. The refugees live in temporary camps in jammu and Delhi, or have taken up residence in various towns and cities of India, mainly in the north. The hope that they will be able to return to their Page 19 of 20

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Prologue The Householder Tradition In Hindu Society * homes are not bright. In describing aspects of their domestic life, the present tense has been retained here. See Chapter 7 in Madan 2006. (4) The Hindu undivided family has tax saving privileges that maybe availed by individual members. These are not available to non-Hindu households (see Gulati and Gulati 1962). (5) A negative attitude towards renouncers is widespread, and may go so far as to ascribe a malignant influence to them, responsible for misfortune among householders, as do the residents of the village Ghatiyali in Rajasthan. For them the sannyasi is the threatening outsider (see Gold 1988: 53). But there are exceptions. In Rajasthan itself, the pastoral Raikas consider renouncers auspicious, even like gods, and their blessings are valued by householders. The householder-renouncer relationship is not antagonistic here but ‘interwined’ (Srivastava 1997: 266). (6) For vignettes of domestic life among four castes of north India (Brahman, farmer, carpenter, and oil-presser), which show interesting similarities and differences, see Wiser 1978. (7) That would be a neat way to conclude this essay, but we must note (at least in a footnote) that the values by which many secularized, Hindu urban households live today come from sources other than traditional culture. The process of change had already become manifest in the late nineteenth century in cities such as Calcutta and Bombay. Individualism was on the rise and large households were being viewed negatively by social reformers. The process of social transformation has deepened and become more widespread, particularly since independence. More and more people of means in urban India today live in rented apartments, have small ‘households’, affirm the values of individual choice and achievement, and gender equality, and generally participate in a global culture of Western origin. But, as the ethnographic content of this essay shows, the old household tradition is by no means dead, particularly in the rural areas where three quarters of the people of India live.

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.iA) Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.011.0002 Keywords:   Hindu kinship, India, empirical studies, field studies, Utrassu-Umanagri village Keywords:   Hindus, Kashmir, Pandits, Kashmiri Brahmans, subcastes, karkun, kinship, marriage Keywords:   Kashmir villages, Muslims, Pandits, villagers, location and physical features, settlement pattern, legend and history Keywords:   Pandits, house, households, architecture, development cycle, Utrassu-Umanagri, genealogical composition Keywords:   childbirth, sons, daughters, adoption, parent–child relationship, religious rights, ritual initiation, grandparents, economic rights Keywords:   households, marriage, and its structural consequences, spouse selection, betrothal, remarriage, woman-giving household, husband–wife relationships Keywords:   Pandits, household income, economic situation, spending, property ownership, inheritance Keywords:   Pandits, partition, household structure, reunion, brothers, chulah Keywords:   Pandit households, external relations, patrilineal kin, kotamb, inter-household relations Keywords:   Pandit kinship system, non-agnatic kinship, matamal, sonya, howur/variw, chulah Keywords:   Pandits, households, Muslims, Kashmir, kinship, chulah, agnation, patrilineal ideology, Utrassu-Umanagri

Second Enlarged Edition T. N. Madan With a Foreword by J. A. Barnes (p.iiA)

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir (p.iiiA) Extracts from reviews of the first edition At last a book about Indian family and kinship which is not about caste!… quite apart from its interest to Indianists, this book will be useful in teaching students of anthropology about the development cycle of the patrilineal joint family. BURTON BENEDICT (Man, 1966) It is an excellent book, not only because the material is well ordered and the writing good, but also because it is almost unique in Indian studies.… One can only hope that his example will inspire other workers to make comparable studies in other parts of lndia. (British Book News, 1966) This study is an interesting and well written addition to the slim collection of detailed, objective studies of Hindu family life.… It consists of interviews, genealogies, family histories and—always the most important method of the fieldworker—participant observation. AILEEN D. ROSS (Journal of Asian Studies, 1967) Madan set out explicitly to remedy the deficiency of reliable anthropological data on family relationships and kinship connexions in India, and in this he has succeeded admirably. … The book while filled with figures, maps and details never loses sight of the people, their choices and their decisions in the many situations of conflict they face. ANNETTE HAMILTON (Oceania, 1968) His book indeed succeeds in showing how the Hindu family and kinship are different from what they are considered to be by the scholars of classical literature. A. M. SHAH (The Eastern Anthropologist, 1968) [This is] the only full length published study focusing entirely on family and kinship as they function within Hindu society. It contains excellent ethnography, gives vivid details of various aspects of Pandit life, offers useful numerical and graphic data. LEELA DUBE (Sociology of Kinship, 1974) (p.ivA) To the memory of DEREK FREEMAN (1916–2001) and W.E.H. STANNER (1905–1981) and for John Barnes

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir Exemplars par excellence E fili e le tai aga a le va'a (The qualities of a canoe arc tested in deep waters.) Samoan proverb often quoted by Derek Freeman Men do not, I think, ‘change’ with age. It is with age that they complete their character. W.E.H. Stanner (p.vA) (p.viA)

(p.viiA) Contents Foreword xiii Preface to the Second Paperback Edition xvii Preface to the Paperback Edition xxiii Preface to the Second Edition xxix Preface to the First Edition xxxvi Acknowledgements xxxvii 1 Introduction: Problems and Methods 1 I Kinship Studies in India, 1 II The Present Study, 4; Fieldwork, 5; Scope, 7 2 Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization 13 I The Hindus of Kashmir, 13; Population, 14; Pandits Domiciled Outside Kashmir, 15; Kashmiri Brahmans under Early Muslim Rule, 16; Later History, 18 II Pandit Subcastes, 19; Status and Territorial Distinctions among the ‘Karkun’, 21; Kinship and Marriage among the Pandits, 23 3 Utrassu-Umanagri 26 I The Villages of Kashmir, 26; Utrassu-Umanagri: Location and Physical Features, 28; Utrassu-Umanagri: The Settlement-Pattern, 30; Utrassu-Umanagri: Legend and History, 32 II The Villagers, 34; The Muslims, 34; The Pandits, 35 4 The Homestead and the Household 39 I The Homestead, 39; Architecture of the Homestead, 40; Construction of the House, 44; Distinguishing Features of the Pandit House, 46; ‘What is a House?’ 47 II The Household in Relation to the House, 48; Numerical Size and Genealogical Composition of the Household, 49; A Dynamic Approach to the Study of Page 3 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir Households, 51; General Form of the Developmental Cycle of the Household, 54; Phases of Development in the Households of Utrassu-Umanagri, 57; The Ideal Household, 62 (p.viiiA) 5 Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 64 I Birth, 64; Physical, Supernatural and Cultural Factors in Childbirth, 64; Attitude toward Sons and Daughters, 67; Rituals and Ceremonies connected with Childbirth, 69 II Adoption, 72; Rules of Adoption, 73; Consequences of Adoption, 75 III The Parent-Child Relationship, 76; Genetic and Moral Aspects, 76; The Nexus of Religious Rites, 78; Ritual Initiation of Boys, 80; Economic Rights and Obligations, 82; Grandparents, Parents and Children in Domestic Life, 84 6 Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and incorporation 89 I Importance and Nature of Marriage, 89; Selection of Spouses: Prescriptions and Prohibitions, 90; Selection of Spouses: Preferences, 95; Village Exogamy, 97; Negotiations for Marriage, 99; Types of Marriage, 100; ‘Promise-Giving’ and Betrothal Ceremonies, 104; The Marriage Ritual, 105; Secondary Marriage and Remarriage, 107 II Structural Consequences of Marriage, 108; The Woman-Giving Household; 112; The Pandit Woman in her Conjugal Household, 113; The Husband-Wife Relationship, 118; A Man and His Affines, 121; Relations between Affinally Related Households, 122 III Incorporation, 124 7 The Economic Aspect of the Household 126 I Traditional Sources of Household Income, 126; Recent Changes in the Pattern of Economic Pursuits, 128; Present-day Sources of Household Income, 131; Collective and Individual Incomes, 133; Household Income, Patterns of Spending, and Levels of Living, 135 II Joint Ownership of Property, 137; Rights of Inheritance, 141

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir (p.ixA) 8 Partition of the Household 144 Partition in Relation to Household Structure, 145; Partition: Structural Conditions, 147; Partition: Causes, 148; A Case History, 153; The Process of Partition, 155; Reunion of Households, 157 9 The Family and the Patrilineage 159 I The Family, 159; The Compound and the Neighbourhood, 160; Dispersed ‘Kotamb’, 168; InterHousehold Relations within the ‘Kotamb’, 170; Hostility between Cousins, 176 II The Patrilineage, 179 10 The Wider Kinship Structure: Non-Agnatic Kin 183 Bilateral Filiation, 183; The ‘Matamal’, 184; Spouse's ‘Matamal’, 187; Mother's Siblings, 188; ‘Wora-Matamal’, 190; Parental ‘Matamal’, 191; Non-agnatic Kinship, 191 11 Household and the Family among the Pandits of Rural Kashmir: Concluding Review 192 Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-Givers and Wife-Takers 201 The Problem, 201; Women: Wives and Mothers, 203; Ashnav: Affincs-and Non-agnatic Cognates, 206; Mother's Brother and Father's Sister's Husband, 210; Affinal Gifts: Wife-givers and Wife-takers, 216; Concluding Remarks, 228 Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder 230 Introductory, 230 Sociocultural Identity; ‘Bhattil’ and ‘Garhastkya’, 233: Selfhood and Personhood, 233; External Signs of Pandit Identity, 235; Pandit Identity: Selfascription, 236; Parenthood: Biology and Morality, 237; ‘Bhattil’: Traditional Purposes of Life, 242; ‘Bhattil’: Traditional Procedures, 246 Alternative Orientations, 248: Bhakti, 249; Shakti, 251; Virakti, 252 Concluding Remarks, 253: Children and Women, 254; The Man-in-the-world, 256 (p.xA) Appendix III The Language of Kinship: (1) Kinship Terminology 258 Terms of Reference, 258: Ego's Generation, 258; First Ascending Generation, 260; Second and Third Ascending Generations, 260; First and Second Descending Page 5 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir Generations, 261; Ego's Affines, 261 Terms of Address, 262: Conclusion, 263 Appendix IV The Language of Kinship: (2) Proverbs 266 Birth and Childhood, 266; Marriage, 267; Interpersonal Relations between Kin and Affines, 267 Appendix V The ‘Convoy’: a Note on Five Informants 270 Sarwanand Pandit, 270; Bishambar Nath Koul, 271; Shambhu Nath Tikoo, 272; Vasadev Pandit, 272; Srikanth Pandit, 272 Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers 274 Ethnographers and Natives, 276; Beliefs and Rituals, 278; The Private and the Public, 281; Kinsfolk and Strangers, 284; Conclusion—Outsiders and Insiders, 288 Glossary 297 References 307 Index 317

Maps I. Jammu and Kashmir State showing the three administrative districts constituting the Valley of Kashmir 5 II. The Villages of Kreri and Utrassu-Umanagri 7 III. The Village of Utrassu-Umanagri facing page 26

Plates I. Utrassu-Umanagri in winter: Snow on the roofs of Pandit houses. (p.xiA) II. Muslim cultivators weeding and transplanting in a paddy field. III. Paddy fields (after sowing) around Utrassu. IV. A maize field (ready for harvesting) in Umanagri. V. Mahant Krishnanand alongside a portrait of the goddess Uma at the holy springs in Umanagri. VI. The ‘Convoy’ (see Appendix V). Left to right: Bishambar Nath Koul, Shambhu Nath Tikoo, Srikanth Pandit, (Amar Nath Marhatta), Vasadev Pandit, and Sarwanand Pandit. VII. A group of the Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri at the holy springs on the occasion of the death anniversary of the founder-mahant. VIII. Two Pandit houses in which five households (belonging to one kotamb) reside. In the foreground (right corner) is a jointly owned granary. IX. A Pandit household. In front of the boy seated first from left is a kangri (brazier). It is a clay bowl in a wicker container, filled with live charcoal, and is carried inside the gown during the winter. The group is sitting on a Page 6 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir gubba (embroidered rug) outside their house. In the right corner (foreground) is a pair of wooden sandals. X. A young Pandit couple with their child. All their clothes, except the man's cap (bought in Srinagar), are of the old style. Pandit women wear golden rings and ear pendants as signs of wifehood. XI. A Pandit and his bride at the conclusion of the wedding rites. Smoke can be seen rising from the embers of the fire which had been lit to serve as a purificatory agent, divine witness of the rites, and conveyor of food offerings to gods. The concluding rite of offering flowers to the couple accounts for the heap of petals in front of the bride. XII. A young Pandit mother and her son. She is wearing a sari. XIII. A Pandit woman's body being made ready for removal to the cremation ground. It has been given a ritual bath, wrapped in white cloth, and placed on a wooden plank. Weeping nearby is her daughter-in-law. XIV. The kotamb: Two married women (on the left) and one unmarried girl, related as cousins, washing utensils in the common courtyard. XV. A Pandit landlord and his Muslim tenant XVI. A Pandit being shaved by a Muslim barber, while another awaits his turn. XVII. A Pandit housewife repairing the chulah (fireplace) in her kitchen.

(p.xiiA) Tables I. Pattern of Land Use in Utrassu-Umanagri 30 II. The Range of Households per House 48 III. Size of the Household 50 IV. Phases of Development in Household Composition 62 V. Nuclear and Extended Family Households: Comparison of Incidence 63 VI. Incidence of Various Modes of Recruitment to the Household 65 VII. Incidence of Various Types of Marriage 101 VIII. Sources of Household Income 131 IX. Incidence of the Sources of Household Income 132 X. Differences in Household Income for 1956 135 XI. Territorial Groupings Chulahs into Compounds and Neighbourhoods 166 XII. Collateral Spread of the Patrilineages Localized in Utrassu-Umanagri 182 XIII. Economic Relations between the Pandits and the Muslims 193 XIV. Terms for Main Categories of Affines and Non-agnatic Cognates 209 XV. List of Elementary Terms 264

(p.xiiiA) Foreword INDIA is a vast and complex country with a rich treasure of records from a literate past stretching back through several millennia. It is not surprising that many of the scholars who have sought to understand the development of her social institutions either have turned to ancient texts for a yardstick to measure Page 7 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir the diverse customs of the present day or have sought to generalize for India as a whole from inadequate reports relating to a wide variety of periods and places. The intensive study of a few specified institutions within a limited range of time and space may well seem to be an undramatic and slow route to an understanding of the distinctive qualities of Indian civilization as a whole, and few scholars have chosen this path. Nevertheless it is only on the results of these intensive studies that sound generalizations can be based and, more importantly, it is only through them that new facts about Indian life can emerge and become subject to scientific scrutiny. Furthermore this route to knowledge, which at first sight looks tedious and humdrum, proves on closer inspection to be full of interest and excitement. We leave the aseptic world of ritual formulae and legal codes and enter the arena where fellow mortals are using their cultural heritage, not relegating it to the library and museum. In recent years historians of India have turned increasingly to the detailed study of selected episodes in the recent past for which there is adequate contemporary documentation. Several anthropologists have essayed generalizations about social form in delimited regions. Others, like Dr Madan, have begun the intensive analysis of contemporary social institutions. He has concentrated on certain institutionalized systems of action found among a small segment of the rural population of Kashmir. This population was chosen not in the hope that it might prove typical of much of rural India but rather to provide one wellgrounded social datum that would have to be brought into account when speaking about India as a whole. Indeed, like any good analysis of social life anywhere, Dr Madan's study adds to our understanding of social behaviour in general, without restriction on region and epoch. He writes in this book about Brahman villagers but his study is an (p.xivA) analysis neither of village life nor of the institution of caste. Most of the inhabitants of the village where he worked are Muslims, yet in the present context he does not discuss their way of life or even their relations with their Hindu neighbours. In his analysis these are treated as merely part of the given conditions defining the boundary within which the Hindu domestic system operates. A discussion of local Hindu-Muslim relations is promised for another occasion. Many writers on Hindu life have been so fascinated by caste that the concept has been stretched to include much of kinship and politics and has served as a trite explanation for almost any puzzling feature of behaviour or belief. In rural Kashmir all Hindus belong to the same caste of Sarasvat Brahmans known as Pandits, and hence Dr Madan is able to treat caste as a neutral factor, affecting equally all the actors in the social scene he describes. This clears the way for an analysis of the Pandit domestic system in its own right. He facilitates this by deciding to omit any substantial discussion of the ways in which Kashmiri Hindu practice and precept diverge from codified Hindu orthodoxy. Hinduism was in no Page 8 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir sense invented independently in Kashmir, but as a first step in analysis it is useful to restrict attention to the local arena and to see what goes on there with no references to the wider world other than those made by local actors themselves. Dr Madan never asserts that these wider questions are unimportant; but he rightly insists that wider issues can be firmly settled without prior reference to well-established local facts. Many writers on extended and joint households, both in India and in other parts of the world, have described how children are systematically incorporated into the household of their parents and grandparents but have treated the disruption of large households as evidence of decay or change. The falsity of this view is well brought out by Dr Madan. There may well have been joint families in India for many centuries, but no one holds that every present joint family has had an unbroken existence throughout this period; the genealogical structure of almost every joint family belies this. It is the system that endures through the centuries, while individual families are formed, grow and flourish for several generations, then die out or divide. To be stable, a system must embody not only mechanisms for recruiting new members to existing groups but also institutionalized processes whereby new groups can be formed and others can wither away or break up. The illustrious founders of the joint families of today may be seen in (p.xvA) retrospect as the upholders of, a conservative tradition, yet they became founders only by breaking away from their own brothers and cousins. These features found in the Pandit domestic system are well brought out by Dr Madan, who makes use of a technique developed many years ago by Fortes and recently labelled ‘the analysis of developmental cycles’. This enables him to give a most convincing account of the rise and fall of Pandit joint families, with their abiding interest in land and house property. At the same time this is no arid structural analysis, for always we have before us real families each with its own special problems and special solutions. Dr Madan gives a vivid impression of the quite limited extent to which nuclear families may be said to exist as enclaves within the joint family and notes, for example, that domestic solidarity in the joint family is so strong that a married woman cannot even wash her husband's shirt without first collecting the dirty clothes of other members of the household as a pretext for the wash. Historians may be safe in saying what they like about the dead, but social scientists who write about the living have special responsibilities not to betray the confidence of the people they study. It is therefore a great pleasure to read that the people of Utrassu-Umanagri, the village where Dr Madan and his wife lived, insisted that when he wrote about them in print he would not disguise their identity with pseudonyms. This has raised special problems of exposition, but it points to the trust that the villagers had in Dr Madan and to the authenticity of what they told him.

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir Dr Madan is a Kashmiri himself and as a social scientist has had to stand back from his own culture in order to look at it in the light of anthropology and sociology. I am sure that the reader will agree that he has succeeded in this difficult analytical feat and I am glad that this university has been associated with it. Dr Madan has proved himself a true pandit. J. A. BARNES Australian National University 27 August 1964 (p.xviA)

(p.xviiA) Preface to the Second Paperback Edition Six years ago, I wrote briefly in the Preface to the first paperback edition of this book (2002) about the calamitous events in the Kashmir Valley in 1989–90 that changed, I think, for ever the fortunes of the Kashmiri Pandits. As I noted then, less than 10,000 Pandits, that is, about 5 per cent of their total population, were still resident in Kashmir in 2001. The decision to stay behind has entailed for those that did so a deliberate attenuation of the external marks and overt behavioural patterns that have traditionally characterized their identity as a community in contrast to Kashmiri Muslims, such as dress, modes of greeting, and cuisine. They know their lives and livelihood are dependent upon the goodwill of their neighbours everywhere. Even so, two wicked incidents of merciless killing occurred, one in the village of Wandhama in 1998 (I mentioned this in the 2002 edition) and the other in the village of Nadimarg in 2003, in which about fifty innocent and trustful children, women, and men lost their lives at the hands of the militants. The situation has not changed significantly since 2002 so far as the Pandits are concerned, although a ‘peace process’ between India and Pakistan has been initiated, and attempts have been made to engage in discussion different Muslim political groups and parties with a view to finding a solution to the ‘Kashmir problem’. Mercifully, ho major incidents of the harassment of the Pandits have been reported since 2003. More significantly, increasing numbers of Pandits from outside the Valley (the refugees or ‘migrants’) have visited places of pilgrimage, notably the Amarnath cave and the Khir Bhawani spring. Some Pandits have even gone to Kashmir as tourists. These visits reflect, I believe, nostalgia among older people and curiosity among the young, some of them born after the exodus of 1989–90, and have been made possible by a decline in the level of militancy. One still hears about the Kashmir government's resolve to bring the Pandits back to the Valley. In 2002, a governmental committee estimated that the cost of resettlement of the migrants would be 2300 crores of rupees, an amount beyond the means of the state (p.xviiiA) government. In the summer of 2004, the media reported a 240 crore rupee project of the J&K government to build 200 Page 10 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir two-bedroom flats in a village in the district of Badgam in the Valley for Pandits wishing to return home. Similar schemes elsewhere would add another 400 flats. Not much has been heard of any families availing of these facilities in the absence of assured economic opportunities and personal security. Moreover, although flats in Kashmir are better than refugee camp tenements outside the Valley, it may be recalled that, as described in this book, no Pandit family, howsoever poor, ever lived except in a house, usually of three storeys. In any case, if some people do return, how many would they be? How many swallows make a summer? The 2005 Report of the Parliamentary Committee of the Home Ministry castigated the Union Government for its ‘lack of clear vision’ on the future of Kashmiri Pandit migrants. More need not be said, therefore, on the subject. Governmental declarations of intent apart, no Muslim organization (political or non-political) has so far come forward with a concrete plan or strategy for the return of the Pandits. Indeed, the chief of the Hizb-ul Mujahideen, Salahuddin, categorically stated in Rawalpindi late in 2006 that the time for the Pandits to come back to Kashmir was not yet at hand. Personal affirmations of goodwill on the part of individual Muslims for their Pandit brothers and sisters are common and sincere, but they do not amount to anything in practical terms. Would those Muslims who have occupied Pandit houses, or bought them at throwaway prices, return the same to their original owners? On their part, as I had noted in 2002, some Pandit migrant organizations with political agendas, continue to press for resettlement, if necessary in a specially ‘carved out’ and protected area in the Valley. Appeals are issued from time to time by the leaders of the community for the preservation of cultural practices (for example, the celebration of festivals) and of physical ties through pilgrimages. At the same time, replicas of two major places of worship, namely Hari Parbat and Khir Bhawani, have been constructed at Faridabad (in Haryana) and Jammu respectively. Obviously, these new sacred centres can only be symbolic recreations, the result of human invention rather than discovered hierophantk places, in short, not truly themselves. Nevertheless, they could play a preservative role. (p.xixA) (One is reminded of the sculpted representation at Mamallapuram, near Chennai, of the myth of the descent of Ganga, an ‘event’ that had its location in the distant Himalayas, too far away from the south Indian devotee.) Such ventures are possible, however, only in the presence of considerable numbers of Pandits, such as are now found in Jammu and in and around Delhi. The aforementioned strategy of cultural preservation by a displaced community is understandable, for regular visits to places of pilgrimage, and for those who are not particularly religious, to places of historical and cultural interest, are not yet safe or readily affordable for most migrants. But the strategy has been

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir criticized by some community leaders on the ground that it will weaken the Pandits' ties to their ‘motherland’. In this regard, it may be noted that Kashmiri Pandit sociocultural associations exist in many cities, big and small, all over the country, under the auspices of the All India Kashmiri Pandit Samaj or independently. They organize cultural events and social gatherings periodically, provide support to the needy, and bring out magazines and newsletters; the latter seemingly play a crucial role through their matrimonial columns in preserving the practice of marriage within the community. They seem to suffer, however, from organizational problems and lack of resources. Their ability to play a significant role in preserving and disseminating knowledge about the Pandit cultural heritage is, therefore, rather limited. If the past calls, the future beckons no less strongly. Thousands of Pandit young men and women have grown into adulthood in the last seventeen years (since 1989). They have acquired educational qualifications and professional skills, and spread far and wide, in India and abroad, in search of work opportunities and a new life, and, in many cases, succeeded remarkably in doing so. The ranks of professionals in Jammu have thus come to be dominated by Pandits. In distant Freemont, a small town near San Francisco (USA), there are over twenty families of Pandit migrants, all doing well by themselves. A countrywide association has come into being in the USA, which has a considerable range of activities, including the distribution of calendars containing information of traditional festivals and the organization of periodic get-togethers. In doing so (p.xxA) these migrants are bonding in ways characteristic of diasporic communities. Whether in India or abroad, Pandit migrants have given evidence of remarkable resilience and a will to overcome misfortune, but the traumatic loss of homes and homeland has not been forgotten. The migrants also know that the flip side of worldly success outside Kashmir, far richer than what could have been possible back home, is that their cultural identity will gradually lose some, if not most, of its content and colour, its depth and vigour. The first cultural trait to be lost, one can already see, is the mother tongue. Without a script of its own, traditionally enshrined in folklore, speech, and song, Kashmiri withers in alien settings. This happened in the past also, when Pandit families left Kashmir during, say, the nineteenth century, to escape persecution and in search of greener pastures. Equally threatening to a distinctive Pandit identity is the increasing incidence of marriages between Kashmiris and non-Kashmiris (including non-Indians), which will alter significantly the pattern of traditional household and family life as described in this book. Unlike in the case of the Parsis, children of mixed marriages among the Pandits do not legally lose their Pandit identity: how much of it they lose in cultural terms depends on the cultural setting they grow up in. Page 12 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir While Pandit cuisine survives, although rarely as daily fare, periodical festivities, such as the celebration of the Pandit new year (Navreh) and the observance of the most important, annual, religious event among the Pandits, namely Herath (known as Shiva Ratri among Hindus generally), do not always produce the fervour that characterized them in Kashmir in the setting of the extended circle of kin and affines. Most critically, life cycle rituals, notably ritual initiation of boys (mekhala) and marriage (nether), which are described in this book, are now generally abridged as a result of the secularization of life everywhere. Moreover, priests proficient in the Pandit ritual complex (karma kanda) are becoming rare, for priestcraft has always been a lowly regarded vocation. The Pandits, it seems, have irretrievably lost their old cultural world. Saving some of it so that claims to Pandit identity can still be made will test their famed ingenuity. In the Preface to the previous (2002) edition of this book, I had noted that what was originally published (in 1965) and subsequently (p.xxiA) republished (in 1989) in an enlarged edition, as an ethnographic account, based on fieldwork in Kashmir, had been much too suddenly transformed by the cataclysmic events of 1989–90 into a kind of social historical narrative—more about the past than about the present. But, then, that is the fate of all ethnography. The everlasting ‘ethnographic present’ was always a fiction. In the present case, however, the suddenness of the transformation is rather unique and also unfortunate. Family and Kinship among the Pandits of Rural Kashmir is now both ethnography and social history, and as such it has, I trust, its value. I am, therefore, grateful to the Oxford University Press for making it available again.1 T.N. MADAN Delhi 11 January 2007 (p.xxiiA)

(p.xxiiiA) Preface to the Paperback Edition THE REPRINTING of a book is always an event that brings good cheer to the author. The present occasion is different, however, and I have very mixed feelings about it. I last visited Utrassu-Umanagri in 1986. This was the village that had been the principal locale of my fieldwork thirty years earlier (1957–8) and which I had revisited from time to time. It had been a second home to me. In the Preface to the second enlarged edition of this book, written in 1988, I noted with satisfaction that socio-economic changes had considerably improved the conditions of life among the Pandits of rural Kashmir. I expressed the hope that with Pandit young men and women of villages going in for higher education in increasing numbers, some of them would write about their own society and culture. I also noted that the increasing politicization of the countryside had

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir generated anxieties among the Pandits, a minority community, about their future in the face of Muslim assertiveness. Neither the Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri nor I would have, however, imagined in the summer of 1986 that their days in the Kashmir Valley were numbered. Actually they found ways to silence their fears. Bishambar Nath Koul, one of the most perceptive Pandits of the village (see pp. 271–2 below), told me about a dream in which he ‘saw’ a procession of wailing Muslims asking for food. This had reassured him that the apparent hostility of the Muslims was really their hope for a better life for themselves. Ironically, Koul and his wife and children were the first Pandit family of Utrassu-Umanagri to escape from the village under the cover of darkness, one morning early in 1990, and migrate to Jammu. Everything changed in Kashmir in 1989 as secessionist elements among the Muslims took to the streets with bombs, handgrenades and guns. Their demand was azadi, independence, or accession to Pakistan: in short, secession from India. A considerable number of Kashmiri Muslims have always considered themselves culturally different from other Muslim communities of India and Pakistan. But about as many people have attached greater importance to their (p.xxivA) religious identity, which, they think, unquestionably binds them with Pakistan. Those who support the political status quo (Kashmir as a part of India) are in a minority but by no means negligible in numbers. The Pandits on their part have identified with India. This does not mean, however, that they have acted as mukhbir (informers) working for the Indian state against the interests of the Muslims. This is what the militants blatantly alleged in 1989–90. Carefully selected Pandits (such as a political worker, a judge, a state television official) were killed, creating an atmosphere of terror throughout the valley. Early in 1990 public announcements were made from neighbourhood mosques in Srinagar that all those who wanted to live in Kashmir would have to submit to Nizam-i Mustafa, governance under traditional Muslim law, failing which the only options available were migration or, implicitly, elimination. Some newspapers published from Srinagar (such as the Urdu Alsafa of 14 April 1990) carried warnings from militant outfits virtually ordering the Pandits to leave the valley. The old legend, according to which the same options were offered to the Hindus of the valley under the rule of the Sharia-conscious Sultan Sikandar (1389–1413) and his chief minister, the Brahman Suha Bhatta (who converted to Islam and persecuted his erstwhile coreligionists), seemed to have come close to becoming the reality (see below, p. 17). In Ganguly's words, ‘the fanatical religious zeal of some of the insurgent groups instilled fear among the Hindus [Pandits] of the valley. By early March, according to one estimate, more than forty thousand … had fled to the comparative safety of Jammu’ (1997: 107–8). It is important to note, however, that the vast majority of the Muslims were no less surprised by Page 14 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir the sudden turn of events than the stunned Pandits. Many of them remained personally friendly towards their Pandit neighbours, friends, and acquaintances.1 By the end of the year, most of the approximately 150,000 Pandits of Kashmir had abandoned their homes and properties and their work to escape to places of safety outside the valley.2 These places (p.xxvA) turned out to be refugee camps in Jammu, Delhi and elsewhere for thousands of the migrants. Others moved in with relatives or friends or into rented accommodation. According to Sunday newsmagazine (Calcutta, 23–29 January 1994, pp. 70–4) about 1200 Pandits had lost their lives in the previous five years. Other media reports about the same time put the number of the dead and critically injured at around 2000. As the Pandits moved out of their homes, many of these where looted and vandalized, and even set on fire in some cases. By the close of the decade, as hopes of a return to their homes all but vanished, many families resorted to what were termed distress sales of their properties.3 According to official estimates made available to the media, only about 15,000 Pandits remained in Kashmir at the end of 2000.4 As many as 30,000 families were registered with the state government as migrants and 4800 families were still living in one-room tenements spread over seven camps. Large sums of money had been spent over the years on financial assistance to them (The Times of India, New Delhi, 29 December 2000, p. 9). From such reports as I have been able to receive, the Pandits who continue to live in Kashmir have made subtle adjustments of life-style and personal appearance to render themselves culturally and sartorially inconspicuous. Even so periodical killings have not wholly ceased. One such incident occurred in the village of Wandhama in early 1998: of the 24 Pandit men, women, and children who had chosen to remain in the village, 23 were brutally murdered; the lone survivor was a boy (see Joshi 1999: 443–4).5 The exodus of the Pandits from Utrassu-Umanagri (and the rural areas generally) during 1990–91 was partial, although at least one of the young men of the village was killed by a group of militants, reportedly outsiders. The demolition of the Babri mosque in Ayodhya (p.xxviA) (Uttar Pradesh) in December 1992 triggered further violence, and the Brahmanical sacred complex centre of the village was desecrated and set ablaze. Subsequently, all the Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri and the nearby villages, I was told by some refugees in Jammu in 1996, left their homes. Nobody can today say for sure if the Pandits will ever be able to return to Kashmir; many of them may not even want to do so. In the Preface to the second edition of Family and Kinship, I had noted that, many socio-economic changes notwithstanding, the book continued to have not only a cultural-historical interest but also a contemporary relevance. But it now

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir seems that it is an account of a life-world that the Pandits have had snatched from them. Writing about Kashmiri Pandits in his autobiography, Sheikh Abdullah, the tallest among the political leaders of Kashmir at the time of independence in 1947, observed that, although the Pandits were but a minuscule minority, Kashmir would lose its ‘savour’ without them (1986: 883). He extolled their intelligence and abilities, but was critical of their role in the history of Kashmir, accusing them of being politically controversial and even the instrument of successive tyrannical regimes. The latter charge can hardly be said to be proven, but the relevant point here is the conception of a composite Kashmiri culture, which is bound to disappear without the Pandits. Without them, Kashmiri ethnonationalism, nowadays referred to as Kashmiriyat, runs the risk of being reduced to Muslim nationalism (see Madan 1998). A noted historian, Mushirul Hasan, wrote recently (2001) that it was ‘important for the disparate Muslim groups in Kashmir to make strenuous efforts to invite the beleaguered Pandits to return to their homeland’, for ‘the moral legitimacy of their movement would depend on their capacity to respect the identity of the Pandits and accommodate their interests’. An active organization of displaced Pandits, Panun Kashmir (Our own Kashmir), also demands that they be resettled in administratively carved out areas of the valley, including the capital city of Srinagar. It is highly doubtful if anything tangible will come out of such idealistic exhortations or unrealistic demands as long as militancy, particularly of the kind valorized as jihad, survives.6 (p.xxviiA) Who then is Family and Kinship about? Obviously it is about the Pandits who lived in Kashmir until the other day, as it were. In exile, they still try to maintain their identity and their cultural heritage. But families have scattered, interkin relations have loosened, and reunions are in many cases infrequent. They are fighting what I fear is a losing battle. Marriages between Kashmiri Pandits and the youth of other, non-Kashmiri, communities are not at all as uncommon as they used to be. Kashmiri, their language, lacks a script; the efforts to evolve one out of the Roman, Nagri, or Persian scripts have produced only unsatisfactory results. Outside Kashmir the language has no economic value at all in terms of work opportunities. Although recognized in the Constitution as one of the languages of India, it is not taught in schools anywhere except in Kashmir. It will not be surprising if speakers of the language among the Pandits decline considerably in the years to come. It is noteworthy in this regard that the Pandits who migrated out of Kashmir during the late medieval period lost the language even while they remained largely endogamous and adhered to many aspects of their cultural heritage (see Sender 1988). Finally, it is almost impossible to think of Kashmiri Pandits without their places of collective worship and pilgrimage, or their favourite picnic spots. It will not amount to claiming too much for this book, I trust, if I say that another study of family and kinship among the Pandits of rural Kashmir will perhaps never be written; there are hardly any Pandits in the villages of Kashmir now to Page 16 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir write about, nor are they likely to return there in the foreseeable future. If, phoenix-like, the Pandits rise from the ashes, they will be reborn another people. *** The text of the present edition of Family and Kinship is exactly the same as that of the second enlarged edition (1989). The only difference is in the pagination of the preliminary pages. The index has also been amended. As the years have rolled by, more people mentioned in the book (p.xxviiiA) have passed away. In fact I do not know who have died in the interim. I particularly mourn the demise of all the members, except Vasudev Pandit, of the ‘convoy’ (see pp. xxviii and 270–3). He and his wife are now living as migrants in the town of Udhampur. Several other Pandit families of Utrassu-Umanagri also are, I gather, living in the same place. In 1990 I learnt from Dr Michael Witzel, Professor of Sanskrit at Harvard, that my book had led him to Utrassu-Umanagri and he had found Vedic rituals performed there that interested him. As noted below (p. xxvn), the village had earlier been visited by several anthropologists after reading about it in Family and Kinship. I am sure all of them, as also the many persons who have read (or will read) the book, share my sorrow that a peace-loving community should have had to abandon their hearths and homes and go into exile. Theirs is a story of ethnic cleansing that has not really been told or heard as yet in anthropological and human rights circles. T. N. Madan New Delhi 10 February 2001 References

Abdullah, Sheikh Muhammad, 1986, Atish-i Chinar (in Urdu), Srinagar, Ali Muhammad & Sons. Ganguly, Sumit, 1997, The Crisis in Kashmir, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Gauhar, G.N., 1998, Hazratbal: The Central Stage of Kashmir Politics, New Delhi, Virgo. Hasan, Mushirul, 2001, ‘Wisdom of the Valley: Kashmiri Pandits must come Home’, The New Indian Express, Bangalore, 10 January, ed. page. Joshi, Manoj, 1999, The Lost Rebellion: Kashmir in the Nineties, New Delhi, Penguin Books. Page 17 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir Madan, T.N., 1998, ‘Coping with Ethnicity in South Asia: Bangladesh, Punjab and Kashmir Compared’, Ethnic and Racial Studies (London), 22, 5: 969–89. Sender, Henny, 1988, The Kashmiri Pandits: A Study of Cultural Choice in North India, Delhi, Oxford University Press. Sethi, Sunil, 1994, ‘Kashmir's Cautionary Tales’, The Daily Excelsior, Jammu, 9 June, ed. page.

(p.xxixA) Preface to the Second Edition DURING the twenty odd years following the publication of this work, a number of books have been published on kinship among the Hindu communities of India. These have included detailed ethnographic accounts (e.g. Pocock 1972, van der Veen 1972, and Parry 1979), methodologically innovative explorations of a people's own notions of marriage and kinship (notably Inden and Nicholas 1977), technically sophisticated analyses of kinship terminology (Bean 1978), quantitative examinations of family structures (Mukherjee 1977), and studies of social change (e.g. Gore 1968 and Vatuk 1972). Besides, a large number of articles, bearing on these and other themes in the field of family, marriage and kinship, have appeared in books (see e.g. Ostor el al. 1982 and Dumont 1983) and in journals (see Contributions to Indian Sociology, throughout the period under reference but particularly volume 9, number 2, 1975). Mention should also be made of books surveying the whole field of the sociology of kinship in India (Dube 1974) or particular aspects of it such as the household dimension of the family (Shah 1973), or examining a major problem in the field from an interdisciplinary point of view, notably the comprehensive study of Dravidian kinship by Trautman (1981). The foregoing merely illustrates the kinds of research study that have been conducted, and by no means pretends to survey the growing corpus of sociological or cultural anthropological literature on family, marriage and kinship in India. It must be noted, however, that such studies have already reached a degree of comprehensiveness and a level of refinement which would have been rather difficult to anticipate in 1965, when this book was first published. The focus on the household which characterizes Family and Kinship. was then a novel feature in the study of the family. Since then the household has received quite some attention in the work of sociologists and social anthropologists. Shah's book, mentioned above, was a painstaking and valuable contribution. Most scholars who write on the Hindu family now have something to say about the household (see e.g. Kolenda 1968, Vatuk 1972, (p.xxxA) Parry 1979, Carter 1984). While the gains in ethnographic description and analytical insight have been considerable, much remains to be done. We need sustained and systematic work which treats the household in its structural, processual and functional aspects as the central concern and not merely as an aspect of something else, whether the family or the economy. In view of this, I have allowed myself to be Page 18 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir persuaded that this book might still be of interest to the scholars concerned, and that it should therefore be republished. When Family and Kinship first came out, it was fortunate to have been noticed rather widely in India and abroad. Reviews in professional journals generally welcomed the book as representing, among other things, the social anthropological as against the indological approach to the study of Hindu social structure and endorsed the worthwhilencss of its focus on the household. Not that there was no criticism but it was genuinely constructive (inquiring, for example, whether I had not minimized the importance of extra-domestic agnatic kinship or whether, despite my focus on the household, I had remained a prisoner of the extended family). One reviewer regretted that I had missed the opportunity to write a ‘scientific treatise’ and produced only an ‘anthropological essay’. He too, however, some years later generously referred to Family and Kinship as ‘one of the best monographs on the family organization in India’ (see Tyler 1967: 524–5 and 1973: 209). It is important, it seems to me, to record here that during two brief visits paid to the village in 1971 and 1975 I thoroughly checked whether I had somehow missed recognizing the importance of extra-domestic agnatic kinship. My enquiries confirmed that though the patrilineal ideology was strongly expressed in the culture through an emphasis on the category of agnatic kin, the Pandits had indeed no agnatic kin groups (in Utrassu-Umanagri or anywhere else in Kashmir) other than the household and the family in the forms recorded in this book. What I had perhaps failed to emphasize sufficiently was, firstly, the structure of relations between wife-giving and wife-receiving households, and, secondly, the ideology of the householder. In other words, the household is not only a configuration of domestic roles and relations—-a ‘thing’ in itself, as it were—but also, at a higher level and equally importantly, a structure of relations between relations. Further, the life of the (p.xxxiA) householder is affirmed as a value by the Pandits in contrast to the life of the renouncer. Accordingly, I wrote on both these subjects (see Madan 1975a and 1981) and the resultant essays are included in this enlarged edition as Appendices I and II. Besides these two papers, I have included, as Appendix VI, an essay on my fieldwork experience, published earlier (Madan 1975b), in the hope that it may offer the reader not only a glimpse into the methodological background of this book but also some vignettes of Pandit culture and society. There are two other essays which may be mentioned here. The Pandits appear in the pages of this book almost in total isolation from their Muslim co-villagers who outnumber them three to one. To show the Pandits in relationship with the Muslims takes us outside the domain of kinship but without it the totality of Page 19 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir Pandit society remains incomplete. Accordingly, I have discussed Pandit-Muslim relations in a paper published elsewhere (see Madan 1972). Finally, I have extended my discussion of the ideology of the householder in yet another essay, dealing with the Pandit attitude to dying. This forms a chapter in my book NonRenunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture (1987). While on the subject of the ethnographic content of the book, I may mention that Urvashi Misri, a research student of mine at the University of Delhi, has recently done fieldwork in Utrassu-Umanagri focusing on Pandit children and women. While her specific interests may be expected to extend the ethnography of the Pandits in new directions (see Misri 1985), her general enquiries have confirmed the validity of what I was able to observe and record a generation ago.1 Confirmation such as the above does not mean that the countryside in the Kashmir Valley, and the living conditions of (p.xxxiiA) the people living there, have not changed. They have, and enormously. To employ an over-used expression which, however, seems wholly appropriate here, communication and literacy ‘revolutions’ have altered drastically the living conditions of the Pandits —in fact of all Kashmiris. Thus, to mention the most notable consequence, some young Pandit women of Utrassu-Umanagri have become salaried school teachers and postponed marriage by a considerable number of years. This development would have been almost unimaginable a generation ago. Today the sources of household income have become more generally diversified than what is recorded in this book and almost every Pandit household is economically better off than before. There is now a motorable road leading to and beyond the village where there used to be only a fair-weather footpath; there is piped water and electricity in homes; radios and electric pressing irons, newspapers and magazines are common household items. There is not a Pandit girl of school-going age who is not in school of which the village now has three. I heard a Muslim peasant quote a proverb in English (during a recent visit) and in a Pandit home I noticed an electric fan—a luxury item in the mild summer of the Kashmir countryside. The population of the Pandits has increased by almost one and a half times in the last thirty years. A Pandit lad, who was then in school, has since qualified as a research biologist and is now working in the USA where he lives with his Pandit wife and two children. He is the first Kashmiri of Utrassu-Umanagri (and the surrounding areas) to obtain a doctorate at an Indian university and earn his livelihood abroad. Significantly, absentees like him maintain family ties, visit their ‘homes’ as often as circumstances require or permit, and continue to consider themselves as being involved in their family affairs in the village. The overall structure of the Pandit family and the household remains apparently unaltered. In fact, absence from home often results in the postponement of partition—a development which was anticipated by me in the book. As of summer 1986, no Pandit household had finally migrated out of the village, nor Page 20 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir had any house been sold or abandoned. It need hardly be emphasized, however, that such absence of conflict bears witness also to the weakening of kinship tics as a result of the dispersal of kin. Increasing and prolonged contacts with the outside world have resulted in the secularization of the life-style of the Pandits (p.xxxiiiA) in some respects, such as a less rigid adherence to the rules of purity and pollution and a less severe concern with omens and astrological predictions, but there is no evidence of the abandonment of endogamy or of any major life-cycle rituals and other acts of religious devotion. The holy springs of the village have now become the site of a small marble temple following the efforts of some Pandit benefactors from outside the village. A negative feature of the present situation, however, is the increasing politicization of the Kashmir countryside resulting in anxieties on the part of this minuscule minority community about their future. In short, while this book may not be as accurate an account.of marriage and family in the village of Utrassu-Umanagri today as it was twenty years ago, it remains valid as a statement of, firstly, the structural principles underlying the Pandit kinship system and, secondly, the cultural ideology of the householder. Besides providing a basis for understanding the form and functioning of the family and household among the Pandits of rural Kashmir, it should also help us to assess the significance of on-going changes in Pandit society. Family and Kinship is, therefore, not only a document of social history but also a sociological work of contemporary interest. I have mentioned above the reception of Family and Kinship in professional circles on its first publication. Equally important for me was to know how it would be received by the people I had attempted to portray in it. It is a question every ethnographer would like to have answered but is not usually able to because of the linguistic barrier. Fortunately, the number of Pandits of UtrassuUmanagri who can read English well has increased over the years, and the few copies of the book which I presented to some informants have apparently been in free circulation. The book has been generally appreciated. In fact, I was told that it was cited as an ‘authoritative document’ by the Pandits in a court case arising out of a dispute regarding the location of cremation sites. It is three decades ago that I first arrived in Utrassu-Umanagri (in 1957) and was befriended by its people, Muslims as well as Pandits. Some of my most generous informant-friends were nicknamed the ‘Convoy’ because they kept me company at home and during my wanderings in their village (see Appendix V). Even while this word has been taken over by a far-away (p.xxxivA) anthropologist, who has bestowed the status of an analytical concept on it,2 two members of the ‘Convoy’, and many others who had been good to me, including the man who coined the term, have died. And, in 1986, a person who knew more about his own village and community than I could ever hope to learn from him Page 21 of 26

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir also passed away even as I was engaged in getting this enlarged edition of Family and Kinship ready for the publisher. I reached Utrassu-Umanagri nine days too late. Sarwanand Pandit had indeed been the self-selected informant, my rara avis (as I had described him, see pp. 270–1), and, what is more, he had given me copiously of his knowledge and generously of his affection. More than for me, anthropology was for him (and others like him), in my presentation of it to them, an act of faith. Apart from the three additional Appendices (nos. I, II and VI), the glossary and, of course, this Preface, the text of the book is reprinted here as it was first published but with minor corrections. At a few places the reader's attention is drawn to works published since 1965: these references have been placed in square brackets. It has not been possible to retain the earlier pagination—there are more words per page here than in the first edition—and I regret this. Moreover, the appendices have been reordered (nos. III, IV and V of this edition being the same as nos. I, II and III of the first). The list of references and the index have been prepared anew to accommodate additional materials. There is one important piece of information that ought to have been included in Chapter 2 of the book where I deal with the history of the Pandits: this is about the circumstances under which the Brahman Bhattas of Kashmir came to be called Pandits. Briefly, it would seem that, after the incorporation of Kashmir into the Mughal empire, quite a few of those Brahmans (p.xxxvA) who migrated out of Kashmir attracted public attention and even rose high at the imperial court, first in Agra and then in Delhi. In recognition of their services to the emperor or their scholarship, or both, suitable titles were conferred upon them. These were similar to those conferred upon distinguished Muslims. One such successful emigré, Jai Narain Bhan, was elevated to the status of a Raja. It was he who reportedly asked that Kashmiri Brahmans should be addressed as ‘Pandit’ and not by such honorifics as ‘Khuajah’. The request was granted by emperor Muhammad Shah (1719–49) (Sender 1988: 43). Subsequently, ‘Pandit’ became established as the community name of Kashmiri Brahmans living outside Kashmir. In more recent times it has emerged as one of the ethonyms of the Bhatta of Kashmir. I would like to conclude by acknowledging my appreciation of the interest of a number of friends and colleagues, notably John Barnes, Pauline Kolenda, and the late David Mandelbaum to see this book in print again. My daughter, Vandana, helped me prepare this edition for the press. Ms Aradhya Bhardwaj has made the index and I thank her. Over the last twenty years, ending 1987, most of what I have written has been typed by Mr Tilak Chand Jain. I am deeply indebted to him. Finally, I am obliged to the editorial and production staff concerned at Oxford University Press for the care they have taken in bringing out this edition of Family and Kinship.

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir T. N. Madan

(p.xxxviA) Preface to the First Edition An Extract THIS BOOK is based on my doctoral dissertation which was accepted by the Australian National University in 1959. Its publication was deferred because I hoped that I would be able to revise it after a further spell of field work; this was, however, precluded by my preoccupation with teaching and other duties at the University of Lucknow, All that I could manage were two return visits to the village of Utrassu-Umanagri in Kashmir, each of only a few days' duration, in 1959 and 1961. I was, however, able to obtain during these visits some of the data and clarifications that I wanted. In October 1962 I went to London to take up a visiting lectureship at the School of Oriental and African Studies, London University. It was there that I was able to commence writing this book. The greater part of the manuscript was ready when I left London in the middle of 1963. The writing was resumed, and finally completed in Dharwar early in 1964. I may here draw the reader's attention to the following conventions followed in the book: (i) The data on which it is based refer to the period of field work (January 1957 to January 1958), unless otherwise stated. The tense of the text is, therefore, that of the ‘ethnographic present’. (ii) All Kashmiri words have been italicized but no effort has been made at providing their phonetic spelling. With the exception of the word chulah (household), which occurs very frequently in the text, and well-known proper names (such as ‘Muslim’, ‘Hindu’, ‘Brahman’ and ‘Pandit’), common and proper vernacular nouns have not been pluraliscd by the addition of a final ‘s’; instead it has been left to the verb to indicate the number.

(p.xxxviiA) Acknowledgements THE OBLIGATIONS incurred in the preparation of this book, and the collection of the data on which it is based, have been many, and it is a pleasure to record some of them here. First of all, I would like to acknowledge the encouragement which I received from the late Professor S. F. Nadel in person (I met him in Lucknow early in 1954) and through correspondence. It was on his advice that I applied for an Australian National University Scholarship in 1955. I thank the officers of the University for awarding me a three-year Scholarship which enabled me to undertake fieldwork in Kashmir and subsequently to write my dissertation at Canberra.

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir The fieldwork was done under the supervision of Dr W. E. H. Stanner. His comments on my fieldwork reports were full of incisive criticism, helpful advice, appreciation—and subtle humour: what a boon to the tired fieldworker! I have learnt much from him, in many ways, and greatly prize his friendship. I also owe him warm thanks for looking after our comforts while my wife and I were in Kashmir. From the day of my arrival in Canberra till the day of final departure a little over three years later, Dr Derek Freeman showed me, and later my wife, much personal kindness. He also took a very keen interest in my work from the very beginning, and the thesis was written under his exacting supervision. I thank him and Mrs Freeman for all that they did for us. Professor J. A. Barnes was kind enough to comment upon some of my reports. Later (in 1960) he went through the thesis and made several suggestions for its improvement prior to publication. And now he has put me further in his debt by writing the Foreword. In writing the book I have also been guided by the comments of Professor M. N. Srinivas on my thesis. To Dr Adrian C. Mayer and Professor Christoph von Fürer-Haimendorf I am grateful for making it possible for me and my wife to spend nine pleasant and profitable months in England. To them and to Dr F. G. Bailey I also owe much intellectual stimulation. I also take this opportunity to thank the villagers of Utrassu-Umanagri, (p.xxxviiiA) particularly the mahant Bawa Krishnanand and Pandit Mahcshwarnath Marhatta, for their hospitality. I do not know how adequately to express my gratitude to five principal informants who gave me liberally of their time and help and generously of their affection. I write of them in Appendix V (also see plate VI). Messrs R. N. Bhan, J. N. Durani, Michael Garman, D. N. Kaul and D. N. Madan, Dr Abhaya Kumar, and Mrs Kamala B. N. Sapru helped me at various stages of my work and in various ways. My thanks to them all. Messrs V. S. Bhadrapur (of K.U.D.) and H. E. Gunther (of the A.N.U.) and my wife have drawn the maps. Finally, it is a pleasure to record my indebtedness to my wife for her companionship, help, advice and, above all, for her inexhaustible patience. During the fieldwork she had to put up with me babbling about genealogies even in my sleep! And since our return from Utrassu-Umanagri she has listened to endless readings from my manuscripts, often at odd hours. If she is glad that no

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir more work remains to be done on the book (except, of course, preparing the index), I do not blame her! Postscript, 1988. The above acknowledgements were written in 1964. Since then Professor Stanner, Bawa Krishnanand and Maheshwarnath Marhatta have passed away; my gratefulness to them survives their passing. Notes:

(1) The reader may like to read my ‘Kashmir, Kashmiris, Kashmiriyat’, which appears as the introductory essay in Aparna Rao. ed., The Valley of Kashmir: The Making and Unmaking of a Composite Culture, (New Delhi, Manohar Publishers, 2007). The book also contains excellent essays on the Brahmans of Kashmir (by Michael Witzel), the Kashmiri language (by Braj Kachru), the pilgrim centre of Khir Bhawani (by Madhu Wangu), the Pandit Shaiva mystic, Lalla (by Jaishree Kak), Pandas (Rekha Wazir), and other topics. (1) They would not have forgotten that, not so long ago, in 1963, when political mischief-makers removed the holy relic (an encased strand of hair) of the Prophet Muhammad from the Hazratbal mosque in Srinagar, causing immeasurable grief to the Muslims, many Pandits had shared the sense of loss and taken out processions of their own demanding restoration (see Gauhar 1998: 95). Ironically, one of the Pandits in the forefront at that time was also one of the first to be killed in 1990. (2) According to the 1981 official census, the total population of Hindus in the six districts comprising the Kashmir Valley was 124,078. Most of them may be presumed to have been Pandits. Allowing for an annual rate of growth of about 2 per cent, the total population of the Pandits in 1990, when the exodus began, would have been about 148,800. Pandit organizations consider this a low estimate because of under-enumeration at the earlier censuses. Even if this possibility were to be granted, a figure above 200,000 would definitely be a gross exaggeration. (3) After an interval of ten years I briefly visited Srinagar in 1990 and again in 2000. It was during these visits that I have had first hand confirmation of distress sales. (4) According to the United States State Department Human Rights Report for 2000, 95 per cent of the Pandits had been driven out of the Valley. This means that less than 10,000 still live there (The Hindu, New Delhi, 27 February 2001, p. 8). (5) The report cited in fn. 4 also mentions several execution-type killings of Hindu villagers in Kashmir.

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Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir (6) Representatives of the two dozen secessionist political groups comprising the Hurriyat Conference speak in different voices. One of the important leaders, Abdul Ghani Bhat, said in 1994 that the resettlement of the Pandits in their homes and their safety could not be guaranteed. He added that in any case those waiting to return ‘owed the people of the valley an explanation, if not an apology, as to why they had left their homes in the first place’ (quoted in Sethi 1994). Can one be more hard-hearted than that? Some other secessionist leaders affirm that their movement is political and not communal and that they speak on behalf of the Pandits also. But there has been litde concrete action on their pan, or on the part of the government, to bring the refugees back to Kashmir. (1) It may not be out of place to mention here that Urvashi Misri's ‘entry’ into the village was smooth and the Pandits there readily aided her in her research. Some of them, she has told me, assumed the novel role of informant-teacher’, advising her, for instance, how to record genealogical data! I should like to add that three distinguished anthropologists—John Barnes, Pauline Kolenda and Chie Nalcane—have each paid a day-long visit to UtrassuUmanagri. The village has been shown in A Historical Atlas of South Asia (Schwartzberg 1978). Since the publication of this book aspects of Pandit family, kinship and marriage have been mentioned in many anthropological works and discussed at some length by Mandelbaum (1970). The Pandits of UtrassuUmanagri have told me that they appreciate the interest in their society and culture. I hope they will soon begin to contribute to it by writing about it themselves. (2) ‘As each of us owns a unique subjectivity and memory, so each of us owns a unique panel of consociates who are involved in our passage through all the phases of our life course. It is useful to have a label for this co-journeying: let us call it “convoying”. I am adopting a notion suggested some years ago by the Indian anthropologist Triloki Nath Madan…’ (Plath 1980: 136). A British anthropologist working in India also picked up the notion and stressed the importance of multiple ‘convoys’. ‘I never had a single convoy and I did my best to enter into strong relationships with members of different castes and a variety of social positions’ (Hershman 1981: 7). The desirability of multiple ‘convoys’ in a multi-caste village is obvious. In fact, I too had a number of Muslim informants who were closer to me than some others; the point, however, is that my Pandit ‘Convoy’ related to me as a group as well as individuals.

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Introduction: Problems and Methods

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Introduction: Problems and Methods T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0003

Abstract and Keywords This introductory chapter begins with a brief description of the reasons why Indian and foreign anthropologists have paid inadequate attention to the need for empirical field studies of Hindu kinship. It then explains the rationale behind the present study, fieldwork, and scope. Keywords:   Hindu kinship, India, empirical studies, field studies, Utrassu-Umanagri village

I Kinship Studies in India NEARLY HALF a century ago Rivers complained of ‘the almost total neglect which the subject of relationship has suffered at the hands of students of Indian Sociology’ (1914, p. 27). A review of the subject written over four decades later contains the following apt observation: ‘In the present state of knowledge, to write a book on Kinship in India is a daring venture. One would think that, for a general picture to be attempted, a number of intensive studies should first be written, and, apart from tribal monographs, we have very few of them indeed’ (Dumont and Pocock 1957, p. 44) (italics mine). At the time of writing (December 1962), the number of intensive field studies of Hindu kinship can be counted on the fingers of one hand. The earliest of these is Srinivas's famous book on the Coorgs (see Srinivas 1952). Though primarily concerned with an examination of the role of religion in social life, it contains a fairly detailed analysis of the Coorg joint family called the okka (in Chapter V which is devoted to the cult of the okka). Gough's publications on the matrilineal Nayar of Malabar (see Gough 1952a, 1952b, 1955, 1958, 1959 and 1961) are the most detailed analysis of marriage and kinship in an Indian community Page 1 of 11

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Introduction: Problems and Methods published so far. Equally distinguished, though not as detailed, is Mayer's excellent monograph on caste and kinship in Malwa (see Mayer 1960). His interest in kinship derives from his interest in the analysis of the internal structure of caste. The only other book-length study devoted exclusively to the Hindu family is by Ross (1961). It is not a fieldwork monograph in the strict social anthropological tradition, being based on case studies the data for which were obtained from 157 Hindu interviewees of middle and upper classes, representing three Dravidian and one Indo-Aryan linguistic groups (see Ross 1961, Appendix I). (p.2A) Besides the above, there are several papers, and chapters in books devoted to other themes, but these are by their very nature limited in scope. Mention may here be made of Dube (1955, Chap. V), Dumont (1950, 1953 and 1957a),1 Gough (1956), and the relevant papers by Desai, Kapadia and others in the Sociological Bulletin (1954, 1955, 1956 and 1959). Karve's Kinship Organization in India (1953) is the only general compendium of kinship terminologies and usages covering most of the linguistic-cum-cultural regions of the country (excluding the Kashmir Valley); but, as may be expected, not all of her material is based on intensive firsthand fieldwork (see Dumont and Pocock 1957, p. 44).2 Rivers (1914, pp. 25–7) has speculated that had Morgan predicted, on the basis of the Dravidian kinship terms available to him, that cross-cousin marriage was the usage of which these terms were a social consequence, then kinship studies in India would not have suffered from neglect. Almost 50 years later we have today to search deeper for a cause of this continued neglect, though I must hasten to add that the situation has shown marked signs of improvement in the last ten years. It seems to me that there are two basic reasons for the inadequate attention which Indian and foreign anthropologists have paid to the need for empirical field studies of Hindu kinship. The first has been the preoccupation with caste and its place in Hindu society. Its uniqueness (real or supposed) seems to have fascinated nearly all students of Hindu society, and the interest has been both widespread and abiding. Civil servants, journalists, politicians, Indologists, historians, and social scientists have regularly added publication after publication (and theory after theory) to the vast, and in part confused, literature on Hindu castes. Majumdar rightly complains that ‘We have simplified the social structure of our country by equating it with the magic word ‘caste’’ (1958a, p. 171). Those conscious of this error have found it difficult to separate the family from caste, though this by no means justifies the neglect of Hindu family and kinship at the hands of social anthropologists. Panikkar, a social historian, writes: Page 2 of 11

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Introduction: Problems and Methods ‘Though in (p.3A) theory unconnected, these two institutions, the caste and the joint family are in practice interlocked to an extent which makes them in effect a common institution. The unit of the Hindu society is not the individual but the joint family. The widest expression of this family is the ‘sub-caste’ which often consists of a few joint families which inter-marry and inter-dine among themselves’ (1955, p. 19). Similarly Karve has said: ‘Every caste is endogamous. Ordinarily, one has no relative out of one's caste group, and one's relatives are all within the caste. A part of the caste is a person's actual extended kin and the rest is his possible kin. In such circumstances, caste stands for many values realized in a family and caste loyalties are comparable to family loyalties’ (1956, p. 55). Dumont also writes to the same effect: ‘… South Indian kinship cannot be severed from the caste system’ (1957a, p. 7). There is no apparent reason why the fact that the Hindu family is submerged in caste should have inhibited an interest in the former. In fact, one would expect that a study of caste would entail the study of kinship. The expected has not happened because it has been intercaste relations, or, in other words, the external order of the caste which has attracted greater attention than its internal structure. Dumont (1957a) briefly but convincingly shows how in south India an interest directed at the notion of hierarchy or caste status inevitably brings one to an analysis of marriage alliances. It is, however, Mayer who brings out clearly and in detail the consequences of the two viewpoints in the study of caste. He writes: ‘On the whole, caste membership is significant for relations with other castes, and subcaste membership for activities within the caste. In turn, these activities are in fact based on the decisions of a local kindred’ (1960, p. 5). It is because he is as much interested in the internal constitution of caste as in its politico-economic and ritual aspects, that Mayer is led to examine kinship in his study of village life in central India. In the study of caste as well as kinship, modern students have had to reckon with a considerable body of Sanskrit literature, its vernacular translations and commentaries. Reliance on this tradition as reflective of the contemporary usages of various historical periods has been not only probably erroneous but has also acted as a blight on the growth of field studies.3 The British Government of India strengthened the Indian reverence for the written text— though this could hardly be said to have been the intention—by codifying Hindu domestic law which had been gradually changing (p.4A) over the centuries (for a brief discussion, see Madan 1965). This, it seems to me, has been the second important cause for the neglect of the study of Hindu kinship as it is in the villages of India today, rather than as it is portrayed in the relevant literature. One must complain that, though the work of many of them is very useful (see, for example, Kapadia 1947 and 1958), far too many scholars have been content to translate and comment on ancient and medieval Sanskrit texts, regarding them

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Introduction: Problems and Methods as the perennial source from which all the jural norms and the ideals of Hindu kinship flow.

II The Present Study MY DECISION to undertake an intensive study of the working of the Hindu family was made in view of the need for such studies. The decision to study the family among the Brahmans of Kashmir4 was taken for two different reasons: (i) I was born and brought up in the city of Srinagar (in the Valley). I moved out of Kashmir in 1949 to study and later to teach at the University of Lucknow. I have, however, retained an interest in Kashmiri (Hindu and Muslim) ways of life and have wanted to study them. Whereas almost every other linguistic-cumcultural region in India has been the subject of some anthropological or sociological study, Kashmir has so far attracted only the writers of general and travel books. The number of such publications is undoubtedly large, and although some of them contain good material which would interest an anthropologist (see, e.g., Koul 1924), none of these are anthropological studies. The only such study I know of is an unpublished M.A. thesis by my sister, Kamala Sapru, née Madan, entitled Life Cycle of Kashmiri Pandit Women, and based on 50 biographies collected by her in 1954–55. (ii) Except two Brahman subcastes, there are no Hindu castes in rural Kashmir. This simplicity of the social situation attracted me as my main interest was in the study of kinship and not intercaste relations. The Brahmans co-reside with Muslims in most villages, but do not interdine or intermarry with them. The two religious communities engage in economic transactions, which gives their interrelations a semblance of the jajmani organization, but they certainly do not constitute one single society. A Brahman (p.5A) can enter the Muslim society by renouncing his religion, but there is no known ‘route’ for the entry of a Muslim into the Brahmanic fold. Fieldwork

The opportunity for my study of the family system of Kashmiri Brahmans arose when I was awarded a scholarship by the Australian National University in 1955. After six months' preparatory study at Canberra, I arrived in Srinagar in December 1956. From January 1957 to January 1958 I made an intensive study of the domestic organization among the Brahmans of the village of Utrassu-Umanagri in south Kashmir. I also paid brief visits, each lasting a week, to five other villages in central and south Page 4 of 11

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Introduction: Problems and Methods Kashmir. I had hoped to spend the concluding quarter of my fieldwork time (p. 6A) in other villages, but the year 1957 turned out to be one of unusually inclement weather in Kashmir. After a normal winter, the spring rains lasted longer than usual, delaying the timely sowing for the summer and autumn crops (maize and paddy respectively). Some parts of the Valley were flooded in AugustSeptember, but fortunately Utrassu-Umanagri was not affected. The main paddy crop was still green when snow fell all over Kashmir late in October, about six weeks earlier than usual. This resulted in loss for me in two ways: Firstly, severe shortage of grain led to the postponement of several marriages, initiation ceremonies and house-building plans, depriving me of additional opportunities for the collection of data. Secondly, the mud and slush of the countryside precluded me from undertaking the proposed visits to other villages. I chose a village as the locus of my study, not because I was interested in making a village study, but because I wanted to make intensive and extensive observations of all the Brahman households of a convenient territorial unit. (A ward or a neighbourhood in Srinagar, or one of the towns was, after considerable thought, rejected as an alternative for a variety of reasons.) The village of Utrassu-Umanagri was chosen for four reasons: (i) It lies to the south of Srinagar, whereas the tribal raids into Kashmir from across the border in 1947–48 took place from the west and affected the whole of the north-western part of the Valley. (ii) Although cut off from direct urban influence, Utrassu-Umanagri can easily be reached in about three hours from the nearest town of Anantnag, 11 miles away. (iii) The village has an appreciable number of Brahmans (522) and of Brahman households (87). No other village in south Kashmir (the District of Anantnag) has a larger Brahman population. (iv) Although one of the two Brahman subcastes is nonexistent in the village itself, several of their households are to be found in the adjoining village of Kreri and, therefore, could be easily included in my investigations. The following account of the Kashmiri Brahman family system, though based almost exclusively on data drawn from a single village, is not a village study as no effort will be made to discuss Muslim kinship, or to go into the details of the nature and magnitude of Brahman-Muslim interaction. The latter topic was also studied in the course of fieldwork, and I hope to be able to publish an analysis of the data obtained sometime in future. [See Madan 1972.] (p.7A)

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Introduction: Problems and Methods Further, the data which I obtained from UtrassuUmanagri are, as far as I have been able to ascertain,5 by no means entirely peculiar to that village; in fact, in large measure they are not. Utrassu-Umanagri is fairly representative of the relatively isolated Kashmiri village. This book is, therefore, offered as an analytical description of the family system of the Brahmans of rural Kashmir. Scope

Since Malinowski's time it has come to be widely accepted that fieldwork always should begin with a problem. Fortes regards Radcliffe-Brown's insistence upon ‘the standard scientific technique of starting from an hypothesis’, etc. (1949b, p. vii) as one of the master's great contributions. Recently Leach has reemphasized the importance of a concern with problems, but has (p.8A) also clearly shown how the defective posing or location of problems may turn out to be an obstruction to research by involving ‘prior category assumptions’ (1961b, Chap. 1). Employing hindsight, I could today spell out a fairly complicated problemstellung as having been my starting point. But I guess it will be best to state (and that too without any feelings of guilt) that I began fieldwork with the aim of rendering intelligible in sociological terms the working of the Hindu kinship system in Kashmir. The lack of a more concisely stated problem was not wholly self-imposed in a flush of Baconian righteousness; it was also made inevitable by the dearth of problem-oriented or hypothesis-loaded studies of Hindu kinship.6 The primary need in 1956 seemed to be for intensive field studies;7 and, as far as I can see, it continues to be the primary need today. I have, therefore, remained content in this book with the analysis and interpretation of the data collected by me in the course of a year of aim-oriented fieldwork. The theoretical framework within which I have tried to analyse the data has been a structural one. In other words, the data have been analysed in terms of the notion that social relationships express mutual, but not necessarily equal, ‘command’ (Nadel) which different persons, or groups of persons, have over each others' actions. The inadequacy of structural approaches to come to grips with the passage of time is, of course, well known, but is also often exaggerated through an ‘equation of structural with static analysis’ (Nadel 1957, p. 128). ‘For we cannot but define social positions in terms of behaviour sequences, which consume time and happen on a time scale; relationships cannot but be Page 6 of 11

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Introduction: Problems and Methods abstracted from successive repetitive actions (Firth's ‘acts of choice and decision’) which we collect together in such class concepts as subordination, reciprocity, respect, loyalty, rivalry and the like. Time ‘enters’ in all of these’ (ibid.).8 (p.9A) Further, the kinship system of the Kashmiri Brahmans was fairly stable when I did my fieldwork. Recent politico-economic events were just beginning to bring about major changes in their domestic organization, but at the time of fieldwork these had not proceeded very far. It was possible to follow their course and analyse their consequences for the kinship system in functional terms. [See Madan 1961a.] Supplementary concepts—prominently that of ‘the developmental cycle of domestic groups’—were also employed to accommodate diachronic data. Fortes has stated that ‘all kinship institutions have only two major facets, or if we like, functions; They serve as a mechanism of organizing social activities and co-ordinating social relations, either in a limited sector of social life or in relation to all social interests; and they at the same time constitute the primary mould of the individual's psycho-social development’ (1949a, p. 339). My own approach has been exclusively in terms of the first of the two functions mentioned by Fortes. I attempted to find out the spheres of the Kashmiri Brahman's life into which, using Firth's words, ‘kinship enters as an articulating principle’ (1936, p. 577). Thus I tried to determine the structure and function of the domestic group in the Kashmiri Brahman society, and further attempted to analyse its interrelations with other wider groupings and categories of kin. The starting point of the investigations was a sociological census. The main methods used later to obtain data were (i) interviewing, (ii) collection of genealogies, family ‘histories’ and biographies, and (iii) participant observation. The various approaches for the collection of data on kinship suggested by Firth (1936, pp. 117ff.), viz. the residential, the alimentary, the biographical, and the linguistic approaches, and the approach through material culture, were all employed in varying degrees. Biographies of selected individuals were obtained to throw light on kinship roles and interkin behaviour, but not on the psychosocial development of the individual (as visualized, for instance, by Malinowski and, more recently, Parsons). My being a Kashmiri was of advantage to me mainly inasmuch as I did not have to learn the language. In the course of my fieldwork, however, I became keenly conscious of certain disadvantages of my position, and it may be worthwhile to briefly mention some of these here. It is undoubtedly of great importance that an anthropologist should be able to mix freely with the people he studies, but he must also keep at a distance so that he does not lose his scientific (p.10A) perspective.9 Whereas my being a Page 7 of 11

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Introduction: Problems and Methods Kashmiri helped me in mixing freely with the villagers, I often felt that I did not have enough time and opportunity to withdraw myself from company and to examine the data that were daily flowing in. Visitors called on me whenever it suited them. I could not turn away any person because doing so would have been an unpardonable action for a Kashmiri, and it was as a Kashmiri, peculiar in some ways, but a Kashmiri nonetheless, that the villagers regarded me. Many villagers came to speak to me about their affairs (giving me sometimes much valuable data), not because I was an interested investigator, but because I was a Kashmiri more experienced than them in some ways. My non-Kashmiri wife, who was with me in the field, did not experience this difficulty of lack of leisure. [See Appendix VI.] I may here also refer to the lack of social freedom which an investigator faces in the study of his own society, and to which Firth has drawn attention (see Firth 1954, pp. 2f.). Being a Kashmiri also meant that, during the earlier stages of my fieldwork, I had to limit the scope of my inquiries and refrain from asking questions about a variety of topics. The villagers either expected me to know the answers, and often had doubts about my exact intentions when I asked such questions, or they expected me to observe a code of etiquette (which they might not have expected from a non-Kashmiri) and not ask certain types of questions. Thus, I could never carry on detailed and free conversation with any woman between the ages of about 18 and 50, nor could I discuss with any of them topics pertaining to personal aspects of marital life. Even many male informants became reticent when the conversation turned to matters relating to wealth and sex. I was, however, greatly helped by the fact that the Kashmiri Brahmans are, by and large, a literate people; I was able to show them anthropological studies of other peoples and explain my aims. Many of them are, in fact, keenly looking forward to the publication of this book, and have elicited a promise from me that I will not call their village by a pseudonym. This last condition imposed by my interviewees, informants, and other ‘friends’ in the village has created a problem for me. I have had to suppress many incidents and happenings, or to omit details, for fear of hurting the villagers; it would have been not only ungrateful but also unethical to disregard their feelings in this matter. I have also changed many proper names in the illustrations or cases cited, and often taken examples from other villages (p. 11A) (when the same were available to me). The latter have been also occasionally included in the discussion, whenever I did not have an example from Utrassu-Umanagri itself. The fact that the Brahmans have essentially the same culture and social organization alt over rural Kashmir made this procedure possible and gave it validity. There are certain other deliberate omissions in this book which I should like to draw attention to here:

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Introduction: Problems and Methods (i) The rituals of kinship and domestic life among the Kashmiri Brahmans are a combination of Sanskritic rites and non-Sanskritic ceremonies. A thorough study of the same would not only bring in problems—e.g. that of the relation between the Great and the Little Traditions (see Redfield 1956, Chap. III)—in which I am not here interested, but would also require considerable discussion. I have, therefore, only briefly discussed the significance of some of these rituals. This has not been a great sacrifice since my approach is basically in terms of the mutual rights and obligations and the common interests which hold a kinship system together. (ii) Apart from one or two cross references, I have also avoided any attempt to show how far the jural rules of kinship among the Kashmiri Brahmans depart from the codified Hindu law. For the purposes of a study like the present one, it is obviously far more important that we find out what the people believe the rules to be, rather than inquire what they actually are. Moreover, it is an established practice in the Indian courts of law that, in the area of Hindu kinship, whenever local custom (lokachar) conflicts with the codified law, the former is usually allowed to prevail over the latter. (iii) Many readers will probably note the absence of any attempt at comparison more than any of the above-mentioned omissions. I have considered the matter very carefully and finally decided not to undertake systematic comparison. The reasons are several: (i) My main aim is not to discuss any hypothesis by the Radcliffe-Brownian method commended by Fortes,10 but to present an intensive study of the working of the family system among (p.12A) the Brahmans of rural Kashmir. The facts must come first before they may be put to use in ‘building up’ a body of scientific knowledge. (The objection that scientific knowledge may never be ‘built up’ need not detain us here.) (ii) Then there is the question of what to compare my data with for the endeavour to be fruitful. In the absence of a reasonably large number of field studies of Hindu kinship and of agreement over the use of even some basic terms, such as the joint family, this is not an easy question to answer. Worthwhile cross-cultural comparisons would present even greater difficulties, beginning with the search for ‘non-culture bound units’ (see Kluckhohn 1953). Further, basic questions regarding the aims of comparison also need careful scrutiny (see (iii) and (iv) below). All this is beyond the scope of the present work. Nothing would defeat my purpose more than the virtual disappearance of my Kashmiri Brahman material in a welter of selective and loosely organized comparative data, or in logomachy and theoretical disputation.

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Introduction: Problems and Methods All that I have, therefore, done is to draw attention (in footnotes) to a few similarities between my data and those of some other anthropologists, at some places to better clarify a point, and at others to draw attention to the occurrence of a social phenomenon in more than one region or society.11 (iii) If the purpose of comparison is to deepen our understanding of a particular social phenomenon, then the suitable procedure is not the one advocated by Radcliffe-Brown and Fortes, but by Evans-Pritchard and Pocock (see Pocock 1961, p. 91): one should look not only for the similarities, but also for the differences between the phenomena being compared. (iv) If we compare in order to generalize, then Leach (1961a, Chap. I) has so forcefully shown how unneccessary, and even defective, this procedure is for that purpose.12. I wonder if all the king's horses and all the king's men can put ‘Comparative Method’ together again! Notes:

(1) This author's Une Sous-Caste de l’ Inde du Sud (1957b). hailed as a major work by several Indianists, unfortunately remains untranslated into English and, therefore, a closed book for all those who cannot read French. [An English translation is now available; see Dumont 1986.] (2) Since the above was written a book by Berreman (1963) has come out; it contains a useful discussion of'kin groups and kinship’ among the Paharis of north India. (3) Cf. Srinivas (1962) p. 8 et passim. (4) Throughout this book ‘Kashmir’ stand; only for the Kashmir Valley and not for the State of Jammu and Kashmir. (5) I visited five villages, besides Utrassu-Umanagri; obtained information about several other villages from informants who visited Utrassu-Umanagri during my stay there; and talked with many Pandits in the city of Srinagar and the town of Anantnag. (6) I am aware that the followers of Karl Popper will reject this hesitation on the ground that one does not have to depend upon a large body of empirical data to propose an hypothesis (‘conjecture’), but I confess that my present interest is in fieldwork—the collection and analysis of empirical data—rather than in the fascinating Popperian procedure of eliminating error in theory through ‘conjecture and refutation’. (I am grateful to Dr Robert Brown of the ANU for drawing my attention to Popper's work.) (7) See the quotation from Dumont and Pocock (1957) on page 1 above. Page 10 of 11

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Introduction: Problems and Methods (8) In a letter dated Canberra, 13 April 1954, Nadel wrote to me: ‘… your point about “structure” implying a time dimension, being an abstraction from events happening ii time, is well taken. In fact, in my essay on “Social Structure: A ReAnalysis”, which I hope to bring out in the near future, I explicitly describe social structures as “event structures”, comparable to the atomic structures of physics which equally derive from the repetitiveness of events in time.’ (9) Benjamin Paul (1953, pp. 430–51) has listed the dangers of'emotional identification’ and cited the cases of some anthropologists who ‘went native’! (10) ‘… comparative sociology must use the standard scientific technique of starting from an hypothesis, testing it by intensive fieldwork, modifying the original hypothesis in the light of the field results, and continuing thus to build up a systematic body of knowledge’ (Fortes 1949b, p. vii). (11) I do not of course mean to suggest that comparison is of no use at any level of analysis. Such an assertion would be both untrue and absurd, for without intracultural comparison one would never be able to discern any order in social behaviour. Further, the use of a language other than that of the people studied, in describing their way of life, implies that comparison is made, though not in very precise terms. (12) The subject of Professor Evans-Pritchard's Hobhbuse Memorial Lecture for 1963 was the comparative method as used by social anthropologists. He too was very critical of it, though for quite different reasons from those of Dr Leach.

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Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0004

Abstract and Keywords This chapter describes the history and social organization of the Kashmiri Pandits. It begins with an overview of the Hindus of Kashmir covering population statistics, Pandits domiciled outside Kashmir, and Kashmiri Brahmans under early Muslim rule. It then discusses Pandit subscastes covering status and territorial distinctions among the ‘karkun’ and kinship and marriage among the Pandits. Keywords:   Hindus, Kashmir, Pandits, Kashmiri Brahmans, subcastes, karkun, kinship, marriage

I The Hindus of Kashmir THE UBIQUITOUS Brahman varna of India is composed of several regional castes, some of which are of considerable antiquity. Thus there is the Puranic division between the northern Gauda Brahmans and the southern Dravida Brahmans, the Vindhyas being the dividing line. Each division has five subdivisions, and one of the Gaudian subdivisions is that of the Sarasvat named after the river Sarasvati and mainly resident in areas to its west. The Sarasvati is believed to flow underground from where it ‘loses itself in the deserts north of Rajputana’ till it joins the Ganga and the Yamuna at Prayag (see Dowson 1950, p. 283; Misra n.d.; Oppert 1894, pp. 22 and 117f.; and Colebrook 1873, II, p. 21). Today the Sarasvat are found in Kashmir, the Punjab, western Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan, Gujarat, and along the western coast mainly in Maharashtra, Goa and Mysore.

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Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization The Sarasvat Brahmans of Kashmir, who constitute the great majority of the native Hindus, prefer a somewhat different interpretation of their caste name. Several of my informants linked it to that of Sarasvati, the Brahmanic Goddess of Learning, and claimed that Kashmiri Brahmans are distinct from the Sarasvat Brahmans elsewhere. In this connection it may be mentioned that in the Jatimala Sarasvat and Kashmiri Brahmans are mentioned separately (see Colebrook 1873, II, p. 159). The Sarasvat of the western coast, however, claim descent from Kashmiri Brahmans (see The Chitrapur Saraswat 1956, Census Report and Directory, p. 72). The Brahmans of Kashmir were in past times renowned for their learning and scholastic achievements, and are known as Kashmiri Pandits all over India. As is well known, the Sanskrit word pandit means ‘a learned man’. They refer to themselves by the word b(h)atta, which is the Prakrit form of the Sanskrit bhartri, meaning ‘doctor’, ‘the designation of great scholars’ (Macdonell 1924). (p.14A) Since the term ‘Kashmiri Pandit’ is better known, it will be used throughout this book in preference to the native B(h)atta. Besides the Pandits, there are two other Hindu minority groups in Kashmir, viz. the Buher (or Bohra) and the Purib (or Purbi). They have been almost assimilated into Pandit culture, although intermarriage and interdining are as yet the exception rather than the rule. The historical origins of these two groups are not clear. Lawrence (1895, p. 302; 1909, p. 40) maintains that the Bohra are ‘Khattris’ and probably of Punjabi origin. Hutton writes of the ‘Khatri’ as ‘a trading caste of the Punjab and north-west India’ (1951, p. 282). According to some of my Pandit informants, the Bohra are descended from Pandits who lost caste during the early days of Muslim rule, either because they failed to observe essential rituals out of the fear of punitive taxes, or because they temporarily accepted conversion to Islam as a matter of expediency. A Khatri origin is more probable as the Bohra are found only in urban areas and their traditional occupation is trade and shop-keeping. In fact, the word bohra (or buhur, singular of buher) is often used in Kashmir in the sense of a grocer.1 The Purbi, also found only in urban areas, are probably descended from an immigrant Brahman caste. According to several of my Pandit informants they came to Kashmir from the Chambha Valley in east Punjab several hundred years ago. The appellation of Pandit is commonly used by the Purbi as it is by the Pandits themselves. There has also been an influx of Hindus from Jammu and the Punjab during the last hundred years or so, but they are all confined to the city of Srinagar and preserve their linguistic and cultural identity.

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Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization Population

According to the 1961 census 89,102 of the 1,899,438 inhabitants of Kashmir are Hindus, constituting about 5 per cent of the total population.2 The Hindu population of the Valley has increased steadily since (p.15A) 1891, when it was 52,576, but has failed to keep pace with the increase in the total population as is evident from the fact that the foregoing 1891 figure represented about 7 per cent of the total population (see Lawrence 1895, p. 225). Separate demographic figures for the Pandits are not available in the 1961 census records, as castewise enumeration of population is not obtained now. No census was taken in Kashmir in 1951 owing to the disturbed conditions then prevalent, following the invasion of the State of Jammu and Kashmir by Pakistani tribesmen in 1947. According to the 1941 census, however, there were 76,868 Pandits in the State of Jammu and Kashmir (see Wreford 1943, Vol. XXII, Pts. I and II, p. 11). Pandits Domiciled Outside Kashmir

Contrary to what their name may suggest, Kashmiri Pandits are found not only in the Valley but also in many cities of north India, such as Jammu, Jaipur, Delhi, Agra, Lucknow, Allahabad, and Benares. Before the partition of the Subcontinent in 1947, Lahore also had a sizeable Pandit population. [See Sender 1988.] There is at present a Kashmiri Association of Europe whose founder-chairman, Mr L. Zutshi, is a Pandit from Srinagar who has been living in England since about 1920. These Pandits, domiciled outside the land of their forefathers, have produced some of the best known political personalities of modern India, notably Motilal Nehru (1861–1931), Tej Bahadur Sapru (1875–1949), and Jawaharlal Nehru (1889–1964), as also a number of illustrious Urdu littérateurs such as Rattan Nath Dhar Sarshar (1846–1902) and Anand Narain Mulla (1901–). Historians have recorded that between the fourteenth and the nineteenth centuries, whenever Muslim rule became too oppressive for the Pandits, many of them emigrated from the Valley to seek their fortunes elsewhere in India. They preserved many of their customs and practices, and maintained their individuality by observing the rule of endogamy. Lawrence wrote about 75 years ago: ‘It is an interesting fact that Kashmiri emigrants in distant parts of India retain their old language, though generations have passed since they left the valley’ (1895,-p. 454). Today few, if any, of the old time emigrants speak Kashmiri. However, they seem to have succeeded in preserving some customs which have disappeared from Kashmir. In 1959 a young Pandit woman of Srinagar was married into a Pandit family of Allahabad. A day before the solemnization of the marriage, the bridegroom's sisters and sister-in-law (p. 16A) visited the bride's house and presented to the bride garlands and bracelets made of flowers. This ceremony called phoolon-ka-gahna, ‘the Page 3 of 12

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Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization (presentation of) flower-ornaments’, is today unknown among the Pandits of Kashmir but, as some old women recalled on the occasion, it was performed in earlier days. Kashmiri Brahmans under Early Muslim Rule

One of the typical features of Kashmiri Hindu society is the absence of nonBrahman castes in it, though it was not always thus. Beginning with the midseventh century, there are many references to castes in the Rajatarangini.3 Brahmana, kshattriya, damara (feudal lords), vaishya, kayastha (clerical castes), merchants, watchmen, scavengers, chandala and many others are mentioned (see Kaul 1954, pp. 214ff., and Ghoshal 1957, pp. 207–15). The first mention of Muslims dates back to the reign of the Hindu king Harsha (A.D. 1089–1101), who is said to have enlisted them in his army. However, they do not seem to have played any significant role in the political and cultural history of Kashmir till A.D. 1320.4 In that year a Tartar warlord, Dulucha (Zulqadar Khan), invaded Kashmir. Suhadeva, the Hindu king, fled from the Valley; nor did Dulucha stay long. After pillage and plunder he withdrew, but no sooner was he gone than a Tibetan Buddhist chieftain's son, Rinchana, invaded the prostrate Hindu kingdom. He was given a stiff fight by a Brahman noble, Ramchandra, who was, however, killed by treachery. Rinchana then proclaimed himself the king, married Ramchandra's daughter Kota, and sought to become a Hindu, but the Brahmans refused to proselytize him. Subsequently he embraced Islam. He collected many Muslims at his court, among them one Shah Mir, an immigrant from Swat, who had earlier taken up service with Suhadeva. Rinchana died in A.D. 1323 leaving behind an infant son. Suhadeva's younger brother Udyanadeva came to the throne, but real power rested in the hands of Kota who now married him. He died in A.D. 1339, and Shah Mir became the next king after a brief struggle with Kota. Kashmir was ruled by Muslims for the next 500 years (A.D. 1339–1819). For our purpose two periods during the early years of Muslim (p.17A) rule are of vital importance: the reigns of Sikandar (A.D. 1389–1413) and Zain-ul-Abidin (1420–70). To begin with, Sikandar was a tolerant king, but later on he became very oppressvie towards his Hindu subjects under the influence of his advisers and courtiers, some of them immigrant Muslims and others converts from Hinduism. He imposed punitive taxes upon them, banned many of their religious ceremonies, and looted and demolished their temples—the ruins of which may be seen even today all over Kashmir (see Kak 1936). Not satisfied with these measures, the king is said to have eventually proclaimed all over his kingdom that his Hindu subjects should choose between Islam, exile or the sword. Large scale conversions to Islam followed and many people escaped out of Kashmir. ‘By the end of his reign all Hindu inhabitants of the Valley, except the Brahmans, Page 4 of 12

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Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization had probably adopted Islam’ (Lawrence 1909, p. 24). Tradition has it that only eleven Brahman families survived in Kashmir when Sikandar died in A.D. 1413– 14 (see Lawrence 1895, p. 191). Sikandar was succeeded by his elder son who passed on the throne to his younger brother in A.D. 1420. The new king Zain-ul-Abidin was to become famous as the bad shah (great king), even as his father had earned the title of the but shikan (iconoclast). Restored to health by a Brahman physician, who asked for no fees except ‘mercy for his coreligionists’, Zain-ul-Abidin revoked most of the anti-Hindu laws and strove to restore confidence among his Hindu subjects. ‘The destruction of Hindu scriptures was forthwith stopped. The Brahmans who had fled were repatriated, their lands and property which had been usurped by Muslims were restored to them. The annual capitation tax … was reduced to a nominal fee…and later was entirely abolished. Sacrifices and pilgrimages were again permitted. Prohibition against cremation was removed. The schools were reopened, and Hindu boys were allowed to study their own scriptures. The king … himself attended Hindu shrines, performed sacrifices, built monasteries, and not only acquired a thorough knowledge of Sanskrit, but employed all his available time in the study of its sacred books’ (Kak 1936, p. 34). The descendants of the Brahmans of Zain-ul-Abidin's time are the Pandits of today. The descendants of the families which survived in Kashmir during Sikandar's time are known as the malamasi, and the descendants of the fugitives, who returned to Kashmir during Zain-ul-Abidin's reign, as the banamasi. The only (p.18A) difference between these two divisions of Pandit society is in the manner in which they reckon the additional month in the threeyearly leap year of the Hindu lunar calendar. Later History

The ‘golden period’ of the bad shah was followed by less favourable times. A change of dynasty brought Muslim Chaks to the throne and a period of hardship for the Pandits. After 26 years of Chak rule, Kashmir became a province of the Mughal Empire in, A.D. 1586, and was ruled by viceroys, some kind and tolerant and others cruel towards the Pandits. The last of the great Mughals, Aurangzeb, ‘visited the valley only once; but in that brief time he showed his zeal against the unbelievers, and his name is still execrated by the Brahmans’ (Lawrence 1909, p. 25). Kashmir was conquered for the Afghans by Ahmad Shah Durani in A.D. 1752. Hard times followed for the Pandits once again. Although some of them rose high in Afghanistan—one even became prime minister at Kabul—at home they were engaged in a constant struggle to keep themselves alive under their Afghan rulers. ‘Governors from Kabul plundered and tortured the people indiscriminately, but reserved their worst cruelties for the Brahmans, the Shiahs, Page 5 of 12

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Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization and the Bambas of the Jhelum Valley’ (Lawrence 1909, p. 25). A conspiracy was hatched: a Pandit, Birbal Dar, escaped from Srinagar, and after a long and hazardous journey over mountains and snowbound passes, reached the court of Ranjit Singh at Lahore in 1819. The Sikh potentate was apprised of the situation in Kashmir and induced to incorporate it in his empire. Kashmir was conquered by the Sikhs, but they proved better than the Afghans only inasmuch as they completely neglected Kashmir and the needs of the Kashmiris, and did not discriminate against Pandits in favour of Muslims as the earlier Muslim rulers had done. In 1846 the battle of Sobraon saw the collapse of Sikh power in northern India. In March, that year, the British Government of India transferred to Raja Gulab Singh of Jammu the Sikh possessions in the north, including Jammu and Kashmir, and in return received from him Rs 7,500,000 (one million pounds). Thus began the rule of yet another alien dynasty over Kashmir. For the Pandits, however, this proved far better than the previous 500 years of Muslim and Sikh rule, as it saved them from religious persecution and enabled them to rehabilitate themselves. They were in many respects favoured by the Hindu government as against the (p.19A) Muslims, and were quick to take advantage of these favourable circumstances (see Bazaz 1941, pp. 250f.). By 1947, when Dogra rule came to an abrupt end, the Pandits had improved their economic and political position to such an extent as to be identified with the ruling class of Dogra Hindus in the eyes of the Muslims. However, many Pandits had argued for more than a decade that their interests lay in joining the Kashmiri Muslims against the Dogra rulers; consequently the national government which was formed in 1948 consisted of both Muslims and Pandits, as well as antimonarchist Dogras. The political and economic changes that have taken place in the State of Jammu and Kashmir since 1947 are bound to have far-reaching consequences for the Pandits. Some of these will be discussed briefly in Chapter 7.

II Pandit Subcastes IT WAS in Zain-ul-Abidin's time that Pandit society evolved an internal differentiation which has by now rigidly set into a twofold division. After the king had restored confidence among the Brahmans, they felt the need for equipping themselves for the new opportunities that might be offered to them and for any contingency that might arise in future. Accordingly they turned increasingly to the study of Persian, the court language, and sought work as officials, translators and clerks in the government. They were encouraged by the king in these pursuits. It seems that a convention soon became established whereby most of the sons in a Pandit family studied Persian and only one or two devoted themselves to the study of Sanskrit and the scriptures. The latter looked after the performance of family rituals. Kilam writes: ‘… it was decided that a daughter's son of a person should be made bhasha [‘language’, i.e. Sanskrit, the language of the scriptures] Batta to administer to the religious needs of his Page 6 of 12

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Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization maternal grandfather's family’ (1955, p. 53). He gives no reason for this curious arrangement, and does not clarify how it gave rise to patrilineal endogamous divisions in Pandit society. Historians are, however, agreed that in course of time this division of labour evolved into a twofold division of the society based upon occupation and fortified by endogamy. Those Pandits who devoted themselves to the study of the scriptures and the performance of priestly duties came to be known as the bhasha Bhatta or, more simply, the gor (derived from the Sanskrit guru for ‘guide’ or (p.20A) ‘preceptor’). Those who continued to study the scriptures without taking up priestly duties were called the pandit or jyotishi (astrologers). The followers of secular occupations were called the karkun (‘workers’); today they far outnumber the other two groups. The jyotishi have not grown into an endogamous group, as have the gor, and may intermarry with the karkun, but not with the gor. Numerically preponderant and economically better off, the karkun have arrogated to themselves the higher position in the Pandit social hierarchy. The gor are regarded as inauspicious, mean and greedy. The main reason for this attitude seems to be the fact that they receive food and other gifts from the yajaman (clients or patrons) in the name of the dead. Hereditary occupational specialization, endogamy and an explicit differentiation in social status have thus produced an internal subdivision of Pandit society into two subcastes. It is of interest to note that most priests do not even now wear leather-made footwear because contact with leather is polluting to a Brahman, and tic their turban in what must have been the earlier Mughal fashion. The karkun turban is of Persian style, though in recent years many priests also have adopted it. The elationship of a priest with his yajaman is hereditary. Its permanency is unaffected by any arrangement that may be made for its suspension for reasons of convenience. In such circumstances the kula-gor (priest to the lineage) may officiate at only such important occasions as initiation and marriage. If a priest dies without leaving a son, or any closely related agnate, behind him, the right to serve his clientele may be inherited by his daughter's son. On every occasion that he provides his services to a client-household, the priest receives a fee (dakshina) in cash or kind, or both. The amount of the fee varies with the economic status of each household and the importance of each occasion. In rural areas such fees are nominal, but a priest receives from all land-owning households a certain quantity of paddy at harvest time. He also gets all the money which the boys of his client-households receive from their kith and kin on the occasion of their initiation. The priests are thus economically dependent upon their yajaman, who include priests also as even a priestly Page 7 of 12

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Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization household needs on certain occasions the services of a specialist. A priestly family does not provide such ritual services to itself. (p.21A) Status and Territorial Distinctions among the ‘Karkun’

The karkun are highly status conscious. The sense of status primarily arises out of the freedom from economic want and consequently from the need to engage in manual labour; it is sustained by territorial distinctions as also by minor differences of speech, diction and custom. The hallmark of an aristocratic Pandit family is that none of its living male members or ancestors has ever engaged in manual labour. In the countryside this attitude towards manual labour can be assumed only by the well-to-do landed families or by traders, as there are not many other respectable occupations. It is not uncommon for a petty Pandit landowner to choose poverty and share the crop with a tenant, rather than cultivate the land himself. However, there are many who cultivate their own land, become tenants to other Pandits, or migrate to the city of Srinagar as cooks and domestic servants. In Srinagar the contempt for manual labour is more general, and this for three reasons: Firstly, appointment to government services has been, as it were, the prerogative of the Pandits, so much so that it had been accepted as their traditional occupation for census purposes (see Ram and Raina, Vol. XXIV, Pt. 2, 1933). A high percentage of literacy and the fact of their being Hindus have been responsible for their privileged position. Lawrence (1895, p. 282) mentions ‘the pen’ (kalam) as the major source of the Pandits' income. Huxley, who visited Kashmir during the twenties, wrote thus: ‘The Kashmiri Pandit has a more than Spanish objection to manual labour. But unlike the hidalgo who thought himself dishonoured by the exercise of any profession save that of arms, the pandit is ambitious of wielding only the pen. He may be abjectly poor… but he does only a pandit's work’ (1926, p. 30).5 Secondly, menial and domestic service is provided to city-dwelling Pandits by rural Pandits who, driven by economic need, do not mind engaging in manual labour away from their own homes. And thirdly, there is, of course, no cultivation of land in the city except by vegetable gardeners who are invariably Muslims. City-dwelling Pandits regard themselves as superior to their rural brethren with whom manual labour (cultivation of land and domestic service) is associated. Salaried jobs are the main source (p.22A) of income for urban Pandits, with trade and ownership of land in villages (absentee landlordism) coming second and third. In the villages the position has been the reverse until the very recent past. Even now, after the introduction of drastic land reforms, salaried jobs are

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Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization only beginning to approach the position of agriculture (ownership and cultivation of land) as the main source of income. Another striking difference lies in the fact that, not only is literacy more widespread in Srinagar than in the villages, but college education and technical training (in engineering, medicine, etc.) also have been practically confined to urban Pandits. In the countryside female literacy is almost absent whereas in the city many women students attend schools and colleges and even go out of Kashmir for higher education. Colleges of the intermediate level and higher secondary schools have been, however, opened in several towns in the last decade, and an increasing number of villagers, though only men, attend these and the Srinagar colleges. Differences of pronunciation, though minor, also have served to distinguish the villager from the city dweller. It is not, therefore, surprising that the Srinagar Pandits traditionally have regarded themselves as being culturally and intellectually superior to their brethren living in the villages. The city women have greatly improved their position, and there are fewer restrictions of social intercourse on a woman in Srinagar than in the villages. Symbolizing the gradual emancipation of Pandit womanhood in Srinagar is the almost complete change over to the sari from the traditional costume of Pandit women which is still much used in the villages (see plate no. X). The sari has now reached the villages too (see plate no. XII). The Pandit villagers frankly admit that they always copy new trends and fashions originating in the city. Widow remarriage also started in Srinagar, but interestingly enough it now seems to be more widely practised in the villages than in the city. The hold of religion and adherence to traditional rituals and taboos is as yet very much stronger in the villages than in Srinagar. Thus, no Pandit villager would ever take food cooked by Muslims, at least not openly. In Srinagar many young Pandits who attend college or work in offices often eat and drink at Muslim restaurants and make no secret of it. In the domain of family life, the ideal pattern of interpersonal relations is probably considerably similar. All the main rituals and ceremonies associated with kinship are the same. However, there are some major differences. Thus the practice of marriage by (p.23A) exchange is infrequent among city-dwelling Pandits, who also tend to limit the circulation of their women in marital alliances to Srinagar. Rural-urban distinctions have become the basis of status differentiation and have given rise to restrictions on free intermarriage. The city dweller will not obtain a spouse for a son or a daughter, or himself, from a village unless he is driven by circumstances (poverty, advanced age, some physical defect, widowerhood, etc.) to do so; but even then he will try to seek a match from a Page 9 of 12

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Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization family of about the same or higher economic status as his own. What is significant is that the status assumed by urban Pandits is implicitly accepted by the villagers who favour the establishment of suitable marital alliances in the city. Nevertheless, rural Pandits also express their disapproval of the modernized city dweller whom they regard as morally weak, arrogant, selfish and irreligious. It may here be added that the gor, though found in both rural and urban areas, are not divided into classes. There are two probable explanations for the absence of social differentiation among the priests: first, all of them follow one common occupation; and second, they are few in numbers and, therefore, intermarriage between the rural and the urban gor is often unavoidable in view of the fact that known kin do not intermarry. Kinship and Marriage among the Pandits

Division into the two subcastes of karkun and gor, and occupational, economic and territorial differentiation among the former, are important structural features of Pandit society, but they alone do not bestow upon it its distinctive character. The primary determinants of interpersonal relations among the Pandits of rural Kashmir are kinship and affinity, and these ties crystallize most sharply in their domestic organization. Functionally the most important group in Pandit society is the domestic group called the gara (household) or chulah (hearth group). It is small in size and rarely consists of more than a dozen persons. Familial in character, it usually includes primary and secondary kin and their spouses, and has a two-to-three generation depth. It may be a nuclear or an extended family, and besides, may include other kin or affines. Based upon patrivirilocal residence, it is the primary unit of production and consumption, responsible for the socialization of children and the performance of the rituals of kinship (see Chapters 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8). (p.24A) A chulah rarely stands by itself in a village. It is usually embedded, as it were, in a wider grouping of domestic groups called the kotamb (family). The kotamb is usually a large, extended family and may include kin who are genealogically separated by several degrees of collaterality. The link between the constituent domestic groups—i.e. the basis of the internal order of the kotamb—is provided by the notion of agnatic descent. The backbone or the structural core of the kotamb is the kol (patrilineage). The kol, however, does not emerge as an existential lineage group; it never acts as such, independent of the kotamb and the domestic groups. It is rather conceived of as a category of kin who are divided into several kotamb. Thus, although patrilineal descent is of crucial importance in Pandit society, it does not give rise to unilineal descent groups. Their inferior jural and ritual status notwithstanding, the wives are active and influential members of the family and the domestic group. Page 10 of 12

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Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization The kotamb is a local group and includes all the agnates and their spouses resident in a village. They usually reside in a number of houses in one compound or several contiguous compounds. Occasional cases of patriuxorilocal marriage or migration result in the dispersal of families; consequently a domestic group may be formed in a village where its male members do not have any ties of agnation outside their own chulan. In course of time this domestic group may grow into another kotamb of the same kol (see Chapter 9). The domestic group and the family are the groups within which a Pandit plays his or her diverse kinship and affinal roles. In consequence of the prevailing mode of residence, a woman is in the course of her lifetime linked to two sets of domestic groups and families, her father's and her husband's. The chulah is an area of person-to-person relations, whereas within the kotamb the emphasis is rather upon inter(domestic)-group relations. Within the chulah co-operation overrides conflict which develops gradually between brothers till the group breaks up (see Chapter 8). Hostility between cousins (piteruth) is socially recognized as inevitable and provides a recurrent theme, as it were, for ‘family dramas’. But co-residence in the same village prevent the kind of break-up in the kotamb which is the climax of inter-chulah tensions. Thus, as the genealogical connection becomes remoter, and common interests diminish, territorial proximity attains increasing significance; but for it there would probably be no kotamb and (p.25A) kinsmen would rather invoke lineage ties to order their interrelations (see Chapter 9). Membership of the same kol has a twofold significance. Positively, it stresses the overriding emphasis upon ties of agnation. Even when interaction has ceased, ties of agnatic kinship persist in a manner which is not true of the bonds of nonagnatic kinship and affinity. In behavioural terms this loyalty to the lineage is expressed in the rule of kol exogamy and the larpan and shraddha rites at which a man offers oblations to his male ancestors up to the sixth ascendant generation (inclusive). Negatively, when kol ties, rather than kotamb ties, are appealed to, the intention may well be to stress the lack of genealogical proximity (see Chapters 6 and 9). Non-agnatic kinship is not the basis of group formation in Pandit society. A person is bound by material and non-material rights and obligations and by sentiments to his or her non-agnatic cognates but has no interests in common with them. Among them one has particularly close relations with one's mother's natal family which is called the matamal (see Chapter 10). Opposed to kinship (consanguinity) are the ties of affinity. For a man his howur (wife's natal family) remains for ever in the category of non-kin, even after the birth of his children who are their cognates. But for a woman, who lives the adult (longer and active) part of her life in her husband's household, her conjugal family (variw) is also her family of procreation. It is here that she Page 11 of 12

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Kashmiri Pandits: History and Social Organization becomes a mother, a mother-in-law, a grandmother, and may be a greatgrandmother. And when she dies she receives oblations from her sons. Most of her ritual and jural ties with her own agnates become extinguished when she leaves her natal family ‘to enter’, as the saying goes, ‘her own home’ (see Chapters 6, 8 and 9). [Also see Appendix I.] Notes:

(1) According to Misra (n.d.) the Sarasvat Brahmans were linked to the Khatri as their priests; and whenever a Khatri group moved out of their traditional country, the Panchanada (modern Punjab), they carried their priests with them. Also see Rose (1911, II, pp. 122 ff.) for the special jajmani relationship between the Sarsut (i.e. Sarasvat) and the Khatri of the Punjab. (2) Besides the Hindus, there were, 1,793,300 Muslims, 16,713 Sikhs, 304 Christians, 11 Buddhists and 5 Jains resident in Kashmir in 1961. See Census of India, Paper No. 1 of 1963: 1961 Census—Religion, pp. 14f. (3) Rajatarangini, by Pandit Kalhana, is a twelfth century Sanskrit verse chronicle on Kashmir from the earliest times to A.D. 1150. One of the best annotated translations is by Stein (1961). (4) The following account is based upon Sufi (1949, I), Kak (1936) and Kilam (1955). (5) Cf. ‘Economic activity is poorly developed in the pre-industrial city, for manual labour, or indeed any that requires one to mingle with humbler folk, is deprecated and eschewed by the elite’ (Sjoberg 1960, p. 325).

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Utrassu-Umanagri

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Utrassu-Umanagri T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0005

Abstract and Keywords This chapter begins with a description of the village of Utrassu-umanagri in Kashmir, covering its location and physical features, settlement pattern, and legend and history. It then discusses the villagers which include the Muslims and the Pandits. The settlement map of the village is also used. Keywords:   Kashmir villages, Muslims, Pandits, villagers, location and physical features, settlement pattern, legend and history

I The Villages of Kashmir The Valley of Kashmir1 is a basin, 85 miles long and 25 miles broad, with an area of 6,131 square miles and an average altitude of 6,000 feet above sea level. It is surrounded on all sides by mountains which rise up to 18,000 feet. Its climate is of the ‘intermediate’ type (see Spate 1954, p. 365). Linguistically and culturally too Kashmir is quite distinct from the surrounding areas. The geographical and cultural isolation of Kashmir has never been absolute. Communications with the world outside have been, in the past, made possible by several mountain passes. In more recent times modern means of transport and communication have brought the Valley into much closer contact with India and the rest of the world. Political conquest, migration and cultural expansion, directed towards and from Kashmir, are characteristic features of its known history. Kashmir is a predominantly agricultural country: 79 per cent of its inhabitants (1,501,417 out of 1,899,438) live in villages (see Census of India, Paper No. 1 of

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Utrassu-Umanagri 1963: 1961 Census—Religion, pp. 14f.), which are found not only in the Valley but also high up in the mountains. Lawrence describes the rural landscape thus: As one descends the mountains and leaves the woodland glades, cultivation commences immediately, and right up to the fringe of forests maize is grown and walnut-trees abound. A little lower down, at an elevation of about 7,000 feet, rice of a hardy and stunted growth is found, and the shady plane-tree appears. Lower still superior rices are grown, and the water courses are edged with willows. The side valleys which lead off from the vale of Kashmir, though possessing distinctive charms of their own, have certain features in common. At the mouth of the valley lies the wide delta of fertile soil on which the rice with its varying colours, the plane-trees, mulberries and willows grow luxuriantly; a little higher up the land is terraced and rice still grows, and the (p.27A) slopes are ablaze with the wild indigo, till at about 6,000 feet the planetree gives place to the walnut, and rice to millets. On the left bank of the mountain rivers endless forests stretch from the bottom of the valley to the peaks; and on the right bank, wherever a nook or corner is sheltered from the sun and hot breezes of India, the pines and firs establish themselves. Further up the valley, the river, already a roaring torrent, becomes a veritable waterfall dashing down between lofty cliffs whose bases arc fringed with maples and horse-chestnuts, white and pink, and millets are replaced by buckwheat and Tibetan barley. Soon after this the useful birch tree appears, and then come grass and glaciers, the country of the shepherds (1909, pp. 5f.).

About the Kashmiri village, Lawrence writes: Shaded by the unrivalled plane-tree, by walnut, apple and apricot, watered by a clear sparkling stream, the grass banks of which arc streaked with the coral red of the willow rootlets, surrounded by the tender green of the young rice, or the dark handsome fields of the Imbrazal and other rices of the black leaf, the Kashmir village is rich in natural beauties … (1895, p. 248).

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Utrassu-Umanagri The Kashmiri village is composed of a number of homesteads and the surrounding land and pastures. Village boundaries are based upon local usage and recognized by the government. Periodical adjustments are made wherever necessary. Every village has a name. According to Baden-Powell (1896, p. 60), the Mughals seem to have introduced the village system into Kashmir in the seventeenth century. Joint responsibility in certain matters, such as payment of land revenue, was instituted by Todar Mal during the rule of Akbar (1556–1605), and continued to be in force till the justly famous Settlement by Lawrence in the closing decade of the nineteenth century. He wrote: ‘… if it be necessary to apply Indian terms to Kashmiri tenures, perhaps ruined raiyatwari will be the most appropriate description of the plastic system of Kashmir. Before the Mughal times I believe that a pure raiyatwari system existed …’ (1895, p. 426). The Kashmiri village today is of the ‘severalty’ type;2 the ownership is in the form of independent holdings and the village as a whole is not a corporation. The ownership of forests, pastures, pathways, watercourses, burial and cremation grounds, etc. vests in the State but the villagers have well-defined rights of usufruct. In size it varies from a hamlet of a few homesteads and fewer than a hundred persons to large villages of two to three thousand people. The average strength, according to the 1931 census (Vol. XXIV, Pt. 2) was approximately 356. The smaller villages are (p.28A) generally nucleated; the larger ones may be dispersed or bi-nucleated. I was not able to record any instances of multiclustered villages. The sections of a bi-nucleated village are called pati, meaning section or major division. From the physical point of view, a side (or sub)-valley comprises all the villages lying in a basin. One such side valley is Kothar in the Anantnag District;3 and one of the bigger bi-nucleated villages in this valley is designated as UtrassuUmanagri in official records. It is locally called by the name of VotarosBrariangan, and the pati of Brariangan is also called Vomai. Utrassu-Umanagri: Location and Physical Features

Utrassu-Umanagri is situated in the shadow of a coniferous forest, about 12 miles east of the town of Anantnag (approximate position: 76°E, 33°N). Five miles south-east of Anantnag is Achchiwal, a beautiful village famous for its trout streams and the largest fresh-water spring in Kashmir. A surfaced road runs east of Achchiwal for four miles to the village of Shangas. This road links up, about 300 yards outside Shangas, with a fair weather inter-village track which goes further north-eastwards for about ten miles. This track, covered by ankle-deep snow, mud or dust, depending upon the season, runs for about a mile before it enters Utrassu-Umanagri. A bus goes daily from Shangas to Anantnag in the morning, and returns in the evening. Several tongas also run on the route, but they do not proceed to Utrassu-Umanagri during the winter months. Pedestrians who want to go to the pati of Umanagri, and want to escape the

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Utrassu-Umanagri muddy track leading to the village from Shangas, often use a bridlepath through the forest climbing up to it from the road in Shangas. Utrassu-Umanagri is surrounded by other villages on the north, the north-east and the west. But on its eastern and southern boundaries lie, in an arc, hill slopes covered with coniferous forests. The boundaries of the village with other villages are precisely defined and demarcated, but its boundary along the forest, though demarcated in the revenue maps, is not clearly defined in usage. With part of its territory lying on the lower slope of a hill, and part in the (p.29A) valley below, Utrassu-Umanagri has the features of a hillside village as well as those of a village lying in a valley. The lower part of the village, lying in the valley, is flat and its soil is alluvial. It has an abundant supply of water with several streams issuing from springs and a perennial river, the Arapath, flowing through it. Consequently agriculture here is ‘wet’ and devoted primarily to paddy cultivation. The available water also irrigates kitchen-gardens in which vegetables are raised. Besides, there are three water mills in this part of the village. In the upper part of the village, the soil is pebbly and all the land available for cultivation is on a slope. The available supply of water is insufficient for purposes of ‘wet’ agriculture. Several small mountain streams flow down the hillside much too swiftly to be drawn upon for the purpose of irrigation. Therefore, only maize wheat and oil-seeds are cultivated in this part of the village as none of these crops need more moisture than is supplied by the yearly precipitation. The altitude of the village being only about 6,000 feet above sea level, it is possible to cultivate finer varieties of grain. But only maize of a hardy variety can be raised in the fields lying in the extreme east of the village, high above its inhabited parts. Water from small creeks enables the residents of the upper part of the village to raise vegetables in their gardens. Fruit trees also have been planted all over the village. Besides, the hillsides afford ample scope for pasturage from spring to autumn. In the severely cold winter, however, shepherds have to move down into the village with their flocks; some of them even cross the mountains to the warmer climate of the areas south and southeast of Kashmir. The proximity to forests make the summers less hot, and the winters less severe, in the sheltered village of Utrassu-Umanagri than in villages out in the open. The villagers speak of five seasons in the year. Sonth (spring) roughly corresponds to the months of April and May. Maize and later paddy are sown in this season, and mustard is harvested. Retakol, summer (June-July), is the time for harvesting wheat, raising vegetables and collecting various.fruit crops such as almonds. There is not much activity in vahrath, the rainy season (AugustSeptember). In harud, autumn (October-November), maize and later paddy are harvested, and fruits from walnut and apple trees collected. Wheat and mustard are then sown; the seeds remain under the soil throughout the vandah, winter Page 4 of 12

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Utrassu-Umanagri (December-March). No crops can be raised in the winter, and any activity in the fields and the kitchen-gardens is made impossible by cold, frost and (p.30A) snow. Much of the annual precipitation of 25.7 inches in Kashmir is snow, and the mean temperature for January is 30.7°F (see Lawrence 1909, pp. 20f). Kashmiri villagers refer to mag (the coldest month of winter corresponding to January-February) and the concomitant drag (expensiveness of the necessities of life) as their worst enemies. At the existing low technological level, geographical conditions have set definite limits to the economic activites of the villagers and influenced their material culture and social life. Thus the type of house the Kashmiri builds for himself, the type and material of clothes he wears, and his winter-long indolence, alternating with intense activity during the rest of the year, are intimately connected with the climatic and other geographical features of the typical Kashmiri village. Utrassu-Umanagri: The Settlement Pattern

According to government records the area of Utrassu-Umanagri is 12,338 kanal (8 kanal = 1 acre approx.). Table I shows the uses to which this area was put in 1956–7. TABLE I Pattern of Land Use in Utrassu-Umanagri Type of use

Area under each type (in

Percentage of total area

kanal)

(approx.)

Cultivation

10,104

82.0%

Pasture land

1,459

11.5%

Forest

495

4.0%

Homesteads 163

1.5%

Pathways

117

1.0%

Total

12,338

100.0%

As already stated, Utrassu-Umanagri is a bi-nucleated village. The pati of Utrassu lies in the valley and Umanagri lies on the hillside above. The two pati are demarcated from one another by the absence of homesteads over a distance of a quarter of a mile. Wheat and maize fields, pastures and orchards lie between them. As a person enters the village, following the inter-village track from Shangas, he finds himself in Utrassu, which is the larger of (p.31A) the two pati, both in area and population. It is prominent in some other respects also; the revenue record-keeper's office, the village school,4 the government food-grain store, the dispensary, the panchayat house, and the post-office (in a grocer's shop) are all located in Utrassu. Also, it is in Utrassu that most of the Page 5 of 12

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Utrassu-Umanagri village shops (18 out of 28), and all the four mills (three of these are water mills and one is operated on a diesel motor) are situated. The inhabited part of Utrassu is situated alongside and to the east of the intervillage track running through this pati. It is composed of 302 homesteads out of the total of 431 in the village. The houses of patrilineal kin tend to cluster together around a common yard or in contiguous yards. Every cluster of homesteads, whether of related and/or unrelated households, which constitutes a distinct grouping in a village is known as a pur. It may be named after the family name of the household living in it or predominating among its inhabitants, or after some natural feature, such as its location. Thus koula-pur in Utrassu is named after the family name ‘Koul’ of the households living in it; and the manzim(middle)-pur in Umanagri is named after its location. There are 23 such pur in Utrassu. The shops are mostly situated on either side of the inter-village track, but some are further inside the pati. The mills are located on the banks of the Arapath. The school and the revenue record-keeper's office are situated within the area of habitation, but the dispensary, the grain store and the panchayat house lie on the uninhabited side of the inter-village track. Also found in this pati are burial and cremation grounds (for Muslims and Hindus respectively), a hamam (Muslim public bathrooms), a mosque, a Hindu shrine and some grazing land. About 500 feet above Utrassu is the site of the main habitation in the pati of Umanagri. Excluding the huts and houses of the shepherds situated in the forest and on the outskirts of the main habitation, Umanagri is the smaller and the more compact of the two pali. Sixty-six houses, spread over six pur, and shops situated on either side of the village footpaths are the main buildings in this pati. There are also a mosque, a hamam, and a shrine in which are preserved some of the personal belongings of the Hindu sanyasi (p.32A) who founded the pati and of some of his successors. In 1957a water tank for cattle was constructed on pasture land. The two pati are interdependent. Apart from ties of affinity and kinship between various households in the village, some domestic groups in Umanagri own land in Utrassu, but no one in Utrassu owns land in Umanagri. Some of the village artisans (e.g. oil-pressers, cobblers, washermen, basket-weavers and blanketweavers) are found only in Utrassu, and others (e.g. blacksmiths and potters) are found only in Umanagri. As already stated, the flour mills, the post office, the dispensary and the school are situated in Utrassu. Moreover, the better stocked grocery shops are also those of Utrassu, and there is no butcher's shop in Umanagri. Considering further the fact that the residents of Umanagri generally pass through Utrassu while going to other villages, it becomes apparent why the

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Utrassu-Umanagri former feel dependent upon Utrassu and are more familiar with the happenings there. The dependence of the inhabilants of Umanagri on Utrassu was greater in the past than it is now; it will gradually become less as Umanagri develops and the needs of its inhabitants are met with more fully within the pati itself. With the passage of time the two pati will, in all probability, emerge as two independent villages. At present, there is no internal boundary in the village and it is not with any certainty that one can say where one pati ends and the other begins. The sites of the two habitations are, however, distinctly apart, and therefore it is not difficult to say which pati a homestead belongs to, although it is not equally easy to say which of the pastures and fields in between the two pati lie in Umanagri and which in Utrassu. Utrassu-Umanagri: Legend and History

Utrassu is the older of the two pati of the village, although it is difficult to say how old it is. The maximum depth of the genealogies of the Pandit families of Utrassu is nine generations. There is other evidence to suggest that the present pati is at least 200 to 250 years old: one of the tombstones in the graveyard bears a date of the Muslim calendar in the year 1173 Hijri, corresponding to A.D. 1749–50. Stein (1961, Vol. II, bk. VIII, p. 468) has identified Utrassu as the village of Utrasa mentioned by Kalhana in his Rajatarangini (bk. VII, verse 1254), a twelfth century Sanskrit chronicle. This would mean that Utrassu is more than 800 years old. The beginnings of Umanagri are comparatively recent. The villagers (p.33A) say that about 180 to 200 years ago a Pandit from Srinagar, Shiv Ram Jalali by name, had a revelation and consequently renounced the world to become a sanyasi. He took up his abode in the forest above Utrassu at Vomai (Uma's abode), near the three springs sacred to the Hindu goddess Uma, her divine consort Shiva, and the supreme god Vishnu. Some villagers told me that Utrassu is a corrupt form of Uttervasah (Ut = there + ter = three + vasah − live, or Utter = northerly + vasah = abode). Both these derivations point to the existence of the three sacred springs. Shiv Ram used to spend much of his time in meditation, taking only one meal a day, which a Brahman household in Utrassu brought to him. These were the days of Afghan rule in Kashmir. It is said that one day a Muslim dignitary at the court of the Afghan viceroy paid a visit to Utrassu and went up into the forest where he saw Shiv Ram sitting in meditation. Since the sanyasi did not rise to show respect to the Muslim dignitary, the latter drew his sword in anger but slopped suddenly and did not kill him. One version of the legend is that he had a terrifying vision of the Goddess Uma in anger; according to another version, he saw a cat, sitting by the sanyasi's side, transform itself into a ferocious lion. (The lion is Uma's mount and attendant.) It was thus that this place came to be known Page 7 of 12

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Utrassu-Umanagri as Brariangan (the cat's compound). There are others who maintain that Brariangan is a corrupt form of Bhairavi-angan, i.e. Bhairavi's compound. Bhairavi is another name of Uma. Whatever might have happened, village records show that the government of Haji Karam Dad granted 1,600 kanal (about 200 acres) of revenue-free land as inam (reward) to the sanyasi with effect from 1 Baisakh 1838 Bikrami (13 April 1781). Shiv Ram's coming into this estate created for him the need to have an heir. After a search, a suitable boy was found in the village of Kilam and brought to the hermitage. He was named Ramanand, and succeeded to the estate with the title of mahant (manager of an estate held in the name of a divine being). Ramanand also did not marry, but his married brother, Dila Ram Marhatta, came with his family and took up residence in the Raipur pati of the village. This pati has since been abandoned owing to scarcity of water. The earliest household to take up residence in Umanagri itself was that of a religious-minded man, Lamboodar Kala, who immigrated from Srinagar about 140 years ago, having first visited Umanagri as a pilgrim. He was followed, in. A.D. 1853, by the family of Narayan Pandit, who also had received a grant of 240 acres (p.34A) of rent-free land, adjacent to the mahant's land, in recognition of his scholarship and as remuneration for his daily recitation of sacred hymns at the site of the holy springs. Subsequently nine more families migrated into Umanagri. None of these came from Utrassu, but when the pati of Raipur was abandoned about 60 years ago, one household came from there. No more Pandits have migrated into Umanagri since then. It seems that the later migrants came into Umanagri for purely mundane reasons as forest-cleared land belonging to the State was available for cultivation; further, as the mahant's nominal servants, the settlers could avoid conscription by the government for labour gangs. To begin with, the settlers in Umanagri were so dependent for their food and various services upon Utrassu that, instead of emerging as an independent hamlet, Umanagri became attached to Utrassu through the frequency and intimacy of contacts between the people inhabiting the two areas. Umanagri was later recorded as a pati within Utrassu at the time of the Settlement Survey late in the nineteenth century. Its early settlers were only Pandits, but they encouraged their Muslim tenants to bring their families to reside in the pati. Some families of Muslim shepherds came still later from outside Kashmir; they have by now become part and parcel of the village and its affairs.

II The Villagers IN 1957 there were 2,644 persons in residence in Utrassu-Umanagri. Of these 2,122, or about 80 percent, were Muslims and the remaining 522 Pandits.

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Utrassu-Umanagri The Muslims

The Muslims of the village are divided into two cultural sub-groups: 1,352, or about 64 per cent of them, are natives and the remaining 770 recent immigrants. The natives are known as the Sheikh—a term used all over the Indian subcontinent to designate Muslims descended from Hindu converts (see Gait 1911 and Chambers's Twentieth Century Dictionary). The Hindu ancestry of the Kashmiri Sheikh Muslims and their present-day involvement— economic, social and cultural—with the Pandits in rural Kashmir have been described by several observers (see, e.g., Lawrence 1895, pp. 306ff. and 1909, pp. 35ff, and Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th edn., Vol. XV, p. 688), but will not be discussed in this book (see below, Chapter 11). [Also see Madan 1972.] (p.35A) The Sheikh engage in a variety of economic pursuits. The majority of them are agriculturists—landless tenants or peasant-proprietors. They are also the village artisans and ‘specialists’: barbers, blacksmiths, cobblers, carpenters, oil-pressers, potters, tonga-drivers, washermen, weavers, etc. None of the foregoing services are available from the Pandits and the immigrant Muslims. These immigrants consist of two pastoral groups who arrived in the village about 60 to 75 years ago. The Gujar (literally, cowherds) came earlier than the Bakarwal (literally, goatherds). Both these groups hailed from the then NorthWest Frontier Province. They are ethnically, linguistically and culturally distinct from the Sheikh. Most of the herdsmen live in houses on the outskirts of the habitation in Umanagri, or in stone-and-mud huts in the forests above. Some of the Gujar have intermarried with the Sheikh, adopted some articles of their dress and settled down to agriculture. The Bakarwal continue to value endogamy; they may intermarry with the Gujar but not with the Sheikh. They still depend predominantly on the herding of cattle, sheep and goats for their source of livelihood. These herdsmen are semi-nomadic: they move in and out of the village with their flocks, seeking the heights of mountain pastures in summer and returning in autumn before the winter's frosts and snow arrive. The Pandits

Of the 522 Pandits of the village 214 live in Utrassu and 308 in Umanagri. All of them are karkun engaged in secular occupations. There is one Umanagri family which boasts of many famous Sanskrit scholars (pandit) and astrologers (jyotishi) including Narayan Pandit (see above, p. 33) among its ancestors, but today only two of its male members can lay any claim to traditional scholarship. The absence of priests is made good by the five gor households of the adjoining village of Kreri, which has a total Pandit population of 70. Since the ancestors of all the Umanagri Pandit families migrated to the village from elsewhere, their relations with the Kreri priests must have originated in the kind of arrangements of convenience referred to in the previous chapter. There is, however, only one family of four households in Umanagri who are even now visited by their kola-

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Utrassu-Umanagri gor who belongs to the city of Srinagar. These households are those of the present mahant and the descendants of a previous mahant. The Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri are divided into 20 kotamb or (p.36A) families, each family consisting of one or more households of patrilineally related kinsmen, their unmarried female agnates and wives. There are 87 households in all. Though agnatically unrelated, only five of these families do not have affinal or cognatic ties with any other Pandit family in the village. All the rest have such ties with at least one family, but in no case with more than six. Although the subcaste of priests is absent, a ‘class’ division exists among the Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri. Economic inequality seems to be the basic factor that underlies this division. The landowners have been the village aristocracy, and it has been customary to refer to them as ‘the big men’ (bad mohniv). They consist of the descendants of the first mahant and of a group of households whose migrant ancestors either received rent-free land from the government, or accumulated considerable wealth through trade and bought large landed estates. By contrast, the rest of the Pandits have been peasant-proprietors, tenants with or without their own land, shopkeepers, petty government employees and domestic servants. The Pandits of the landed class have never cultivated their own lands; their holdings have been large and dispersed, and they have been able to afford parting with part of the land produce to give it to the cultivating tenants. They have been prosperous enough to afford a higher standard of living, costly possessions and pilgrimages to various holy places outside Kashmir. None of them has ever worked as a menial (cook or a domestic servant). They have also avoided some of the marriage practices associated with the ‘commoners’. Thus, there are no cases of marriage by the exchange of women among them; and the cases of marriage involving a payment, in cash and/or kind, by the bridegroom to the bride's kin are so rare as to be exceptional. Although members of the landed aristocracy have taken wives from the ‘commoner’ families, they have not generally married their daughters into such families. They have also produced the scholars and astrologers of past times; and the only literate woman in the village belongs to an upper class family. The landed families have also been the champions of traditional usage and custom. Thus, although they have given their support to widow remarriage among the Pandits generally, they have not so far allowed this practice to occur in any of their own families. They have also shown reluctance in accepting marriages between Pandits and non-Pandit Brahmans as proper, but three such marriages have taken place among the ‘commoners’. As a consequence of the above-mentioned differences, the landlords have developed a (p.37A) sense of class superiority. The oldest village landlord, Tarachand Pandit, said to me on one occasion: ‘Only those who themselves are low will ever desire the mingling of the high and the low.’

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Utrassu-Umanagri Differences between the ‘class’ attitudes emerge clearly on such occasions as bring all the Pandits together. To give an illustration: A ‘commoner’ Pandit celebrated the marriage of his daughter while I was in the village. When the bridegroom's party was due to arrive in the village, adult men from nearly all the Pandit families gathered at the bride's father's house to welcome the visitors. Some of the Pandits returned to their homes after the visitors had been welcomed on their arrival, but most of them, particularly the ‘commoners’, stayed on for lunch. When lunch was announced, several of these ‘commoners’ volunteered to bring the food from the kitchen and serve it to the guests, whereas ‘the big men’ remained seated, smoking the hookah and exchanging gossip. Some of them gave directions as to how the guests should be seated and the food served. It is commonly said about the landed aristocracy that a generation ago even their children expected the ‘commoner’ Pandits to fold hands in obeisance to them. This division has not, however, developed into a class antagonism. Many of the Pandits, in fact, deny that there are divisions amongst them, but accuse ‘the big men’ of being selfish and haughty. However, as an outsider observes it, the ‘class’ division seems real. Of the 87 Pandit households resident in the village, 17 belong to the landed aristocracy; among the rest, about a dozen have acquired wealth, and land in some cases, and aspire to be regarded as superior to the common people who constitute the bulk of the Pandit population. The aristocrats point out that the newly rich families do not have distinguished ancestry; besides, there are many cases of marriage by exchange in their genealogies. Correlated with the ‘class’ division is the absence of a strongly developed sense of solidarity among the Pandits. They themselves complain about this, bewailing the absence of leaders who could win the confidence and respect of all of them. Economic interdependence among the Pandits is not great. Their religion is of the personal type, with only a weakly developed collective aspect; there are no collective rituals among them requiring the participation of all or most of them. Two yearly feasts, one in honour of the patron goddess of the village and the other in commemoration of its founder, are the only occasions when a great number (but not all) of the Pandits of the village come together. Various institutions like marriages and funeral feasts associated with Pandit (p.38A) kinship are, to employ Nadel's terms, ‘parallel’ rather than ‘associative’ (see Nadel 1951, pp. 120f); they focus attention on the divisions which exist between kin and non-kin in the village. An instance of the lack of solidarity among Kashmiri Pandits may be seen in their attitude to the recent political and economic changes in the State. These changes have had, among other consequences, the effect of endangering the economic solvency of the Pandits. All households that owned more than 23 acres have lost the land exceeding that limit to their tenants; the tenant's share in agricultural produce has been raised, benefitting the Muslims more than the Pandits, because not many Pandits have been tenants; and government jobs have Page 11 of 12

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Utrassu-Umanagri been thrown open to the Muslims on a favoured treatment basis. In the face of the rising economic and political power of the Muslims, it might have been expected that the Pandits would evolve a common approach to their relations with the Muslims; but they have not. They are divided into two opinion groups; those who want to co-operate with the Muslims and work for a united village community, and those who want to seek protection from the government as a religious minority. They are an unorganized leaderless group, proud of their past, confused about their present, and uncertain of their future. [See Madan 1961a.] Notes:

(1) The native term for the Valley is Kasheer which is according to Aurel Stein, the direct phonetic derivative of the Sanskrit Kashmir (Kāśmīra). Of the several meanings of the word, ‘rock trough’ (kāś=channel, mīra=mountain) is one (see Sufi 1949, I, pp. 12f.). The Kashmiri calls himself and his language by the common term ‘koshur’. (2) Baden-Powell (1899. p. 19) has listed the main features of the ‘severalty’ village and contrasted it with the ‘joint village. In his earlier work (1896, p. 181f) he employs, the term ‘raiyatwari’ in place of ‘severalty’. (3) For purposes of administration and revenue collection. Kashmir is divided into three districts; Baramula district in the north-west. Srinagar district in the middle, and Anantnag district in the south-east. Anantnag district is the most populous of die three (population in 1961: 654,368) with a density of 315 persons per square mile. The districts further divided into tehsils, each tehsil being composed of several villages and, in some cases, towns (sec map on page 5). (4) The village school was started by the government in 1912, and was made a High School in 1954. Students who pass a ten-year course receive the School Leaving Certificate. Another two years’ study at an intermediate college (in Anantnag or elsewhere) is required before a person may enter a degree college. Only about half a dozen persons of Utrassu-Umanagri have done this in the past. In 1957 there were 16 teachers and about 300 pupils at the school. The pupils drawn from Utrassu-Umanagri and the surrounding villages included four girls in the primary section.

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The Homestead and the Household

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

The Homestead and the Household T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0006

Abstract and Keywords This chapter begins with a description of the Pandit homestead, covering the architecture, construction of the house, and distinguishing features of the Pandit house. It then discusses the household in relation to the house covering the numerical size and genealogical composition of the household, a dynamic approach to studying households, general form of the development cycle of the household, phases of development in the households of Utrassu-Umanagri, and the ideal household. Keywords:   Pandits, house, households, architecture, development cycle, Utrassu-Umanagri, genealogical composition

1 The Homestead BY ITS very definition the household presupposes a house, and the Pandits use the same term gara to designate both. There are, in fact, four terms in use: jay (accommodation) for the homestead; lar for the house; gara for the house, in the specific sense of home, and also the household; and chulah for the household.1 A Pandit homestead consists of a house with a yard and a kitchen-garden and, in most cases, one or more outbuildings. These are much smaller than the house, and architecturally as well as functionally different from it and each other. An outbuilding may be a cattleshed, a granary, a shop, or a shop and granary combined. There are 59 Pandit homesteads in Utrassu-Umanagri; 42 of these consist of houses with gardens, yards and one or more outbuildings, and 17 of houses with gardens and yards only: No (p.40A) household is, however, without the use of a Page 1 of 27

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The Homestead and the Household granary as several chulahs living in adjoining homesteads often share one; and in some cases they also share a cattleshed which is attached to one of the houses. Besides, there are in almost all houses large wooden boxes and clay jars in which grain is stored. In many houses cattle are tethered in one of the rooms on the ground floor, and there are a few instances of shops located inside the house. The Pandits say that formerly, when there were no shops, granaries were the only annexes of a messuage; cattle were always kept in the yard in summer and inside the house during cold weather. But in the last 50 to 75 years outbuildings have been built for use both as cattlesheds and shops. Architecture of the Homestead

Of the 59 Pandit houses in Utrassu-Umanagri, 55 are three-storeyed, two fourstoreyed and two two-storeyed. The height of a house is expressed in terms of pore (storeys) and its breadth in terms of takh (windows of the middle floor in the façade). Two of the 59 houses have four takh, 36 have five, two have six, 13 have seven, four have nine, and two have 15. The three-storeyed building with five takh is thus the commonest type of Pandit house in Utrassu-Umanagri and; in fact, all over Kashmir. Although the size varies from case to case, a house which is about 20 feet long, 25 feet broad and 40 feet high may be regarded as representative. The first storey on the ground floor is usually raised from the ground by a plinth of two to three feet, and a person has to ascend several steps to enter the house by a doorway in the middle of the façade. This doorway leads into a long narrow passage called the wuz. Footwear is removed and left in the wuz before anyone enters the rooms, which are swept clean, at least once daily, and covered with straw mats. On cold and wet days clothes may be washed, utensils cleaned and a child given his bath in the wuz. It is also here that boys at the time of their initiation, and young men and women at the time of their marriage, receive their ritual bath. Again it is here that the dead body of a member of the household is ritually washed prior to cremation. If only one household is resident in a house, then one of the main rooms on the ground floor is used both as kitchen and sitting-room, and the other as a store room. Or cattle may be tethered in one of the ground floor rooms by the residing household, or a non-residing chulah owning part of the house. If more than one household lives in the house, then both the rooms are used as kitchen-cumsitting (p.41A) rooms. The kitchen is separated from the rest of the sitting room by a wooden or brick partition with a door in it. Adjacent to the kitchen is the bath room. The fire on which food is cooked also helps to warm the water in a large vat set in the wall between the kitchen and the bathroom (see Figure 1). Pandit women spend a great part of their time in the kitchen engaged in cooking and allied chores. When not otherwise employed, the men sit in the room adjoining the kitchen smoking their hookah. The women join them there when Page 2 of 27

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The Homestead and the Household free and when there are no strangers present. All meals are eaten in this room. Some members of the family may sleep in it during winter, as the kitchen fire keeps it warm, or whenever there is shortage of space in the bedrooms on the middle floor. A staircase of about a dozen steps at the end of the passage leads to the second storey wuz, from which doors open into four or five rooms. One of these rooms called the thokur-kuth (God's room) is usually set apart for religious rites and worship. The others are bedrooms, generally three in number, two small and one large. Not more than one married couple and their infant children sleep in a room. An aged couple who do not sleep in the same bed may, however, share their room with other unmarried adults. All the belongings of a household, including bedding, clothing, women's ornaments, and bric-à-brac are kept in these rooms. The Pandits generally sleep on mattresses spread on mats covering the floor, but in some households cots are also used. The larger room is also used to seat and entertain guests on various important occasions such as marriages. But, if there are several households resident in a house, this room also is divided into two by erecting a permanent brick wall, or a partition of removable wooden planks, in the middle of it. In the latter case it can be easily reconverted into one large room whenever desired. In no case is any of these rooms used as a kitchen. The third storey follows the same plan as the ground floor, and a staircase, again of about a dozen steps, leads to it from the middle floor. However, the rooms on the third floor have more windows, higher ceilings, and balconies. A loft in which firewood, hay and straw are stored, and a ridged roof complete the house. There is a small trapdoor through which a person can climb out on the roof for various purposes. In spring fresh thatch may be spread and the roof repaired. In summer jars of pickled fruits and vegetables are placed on the roof to mature in the sun, and in autumn vegetables are dried here. In winter, (p. 42A)

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The Homestead and the Household (p.43A) whenever the snowfall is heavy, men climb out through the trapdoor to clear away accumulated snow lest its weight should damage the roof and the house.

The three-storeyed structure of the house gives good protection against the widely varying climatic conditions of Kashmir. The ground floor with low ceiling and double windows, and shielded from cold winds by neighbouring houses, is easily heated by the kitchen fire during winter. By contrast, the rooms in the third storey are kept cool and airy in summer by leaving the many windows open. Moreover, swarms of flies and mosquitos infest the yard during summer and make residence. on the ground floor uncomfortable during that season. But if more than two chulahs live in a house, then the seasonal use of the ground and

Fig. I

top floors by every household is not possible. The Pandits readily connect the architecture of their homes with the climate of Kashmir. They say that houses there have been always like this, and it does not occur to them that other types of houses might meet the climatic variations as successfully. They also lay considerable stress on the auspiciousness of the number three.2 A homestead is referred to by the family name of the household, or agnatically related households, who live in it. The number of households in a house varies, but not more than four such groups can live at the same time in the typical Pandit house with three storeys and five takh. Every chulah must have a kitchen and there are only four of them in such a house. Every house has a yard in front and a garden behind it. Sometimes several houses are built adjacent to each other, and the resident households share the use of a yard and a garden. Paddy and maize are spread to dry in the yard before Page 4 of 27

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The Homestead and the Household the paddy is husked and the maize separated from the cobs. Paddy is husked by women in big wooden mortars placed in the yard. In summer cattle are tethered here and cowdung is dried to be used later as fuel. Washing and cleaning of clothes and utensils are also done in the yard in the dry season, particularly if a stream of water flows through it. The cattleshed and the granary, and, in a few cases, a shop also, are generally situated here. The cattleshed (gan) is a rectangular enclosure, with brick walls and a ridged thatch roof, capable of sheltering about a dozen (p.44A) cattle. A household may sometimes own ponies and sheep; they also are kept in the cattleshed. The granary (kuth), made of wooden planks joined together to form a box-like structure, is usually about nine feet long, six feet broad, and twelve feet high. Raised on four wooden supports, called ‘feet’, the bottom of the granary is at least a foot above ground to protect it from dampness, snow and rainwater, as also rats. It also has a ridged thatch roof. A small ladder, fixed or movable, is used for obtaining access to the grain through an opening in one side of the granary. It is usually erected a few yards away from the house as a precaution against fire. The planks are joined together by wooden and iron rivets in such a manner that it can be easily dismantled and re-erected at another place (see plate VIII). A shop may be built as an extension to a granary, or as a separate outbuilding. Some households have walled off a portion of one of the ground floor rooms in the dwelling house and converted it into a shop. Construction of the House

If a Pandit household has the money to buy the requisite materials and pay for skilled and unskilled labour, a house may be built over three summers. The top floor may remain only partially completed for many years, without window shutters, ceiling and the plastering of walls. Bishambarnath (of Utrassu) speaking to me of the partially completed third storey of his house once remarked: ‘Its being incomplete adds to its value; we have more air and a better view of the natural scenery around us!’ The cost of construction of a three-storeyed five-takh house is about 5,000 rupees. The main materials needed for a house are bricks, stone and timber. About 30,000 bricks are required and these are made with the help of hired Muslim labour. Such of the bricks as are to be used in the outer fabric of the building are baked in a specially erected mud kiln. Timber is acquired by buying some trees in the forest; the government sells these at a specially reduced price if intended for use in house building. Cedar, pine and fir are the most favoured timbers. Not much stone is used in construction work, as it has to be cut and shaped, and that is a costly process. Naturally shaped stones are, however, used in the underground foundations and to strengthen the ground floor. These stones Page 5 of 27

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The Homestead and the Household are easily obtained in Utrassu-Umanagri as the mountain streams are full of them. Stones and bricks are set in brown sticky earth mixed with paddy husks. The house of the (p.45A) well-to-do have ridged roofs of a thick layer of brown clay plaster spread on wooden rafters which are first covered by the very durable birch-bark (Betula utilis). Recently three households have built corrugated ironsheet roofs and about as many have used wooden shingles. Sawyers, carpenters, bricklayers and unskilled labourers are needed to build a house and all these services are bought of Muslims as only they practise these trades. Part of the unskilled labour is supplied by the members of the household, and by some of their close relatives resident in the village. In 1957 an Umanagri Pandit was having a second summer's work done to complete his house. Being an officer in the State police force, he was not able to be present in village to supervise the work of construction. His cousin (FaBrSo) undertook the supervision of the work, although the latter belongs to a different household. For four months he spent several hours every day with the brick-layers, carpenters and the labourers working on the house. Considering the time and money spent on building a house, it is not surprising that house building is not common. Moreover, houses are built so substantially that they last a hundred years or more without major repairs. The oldest house in the village is over 100 years old but uninhabited. The oldest inhabited house is 90 years old. In the last 20 years four new houses have been built in the village and four others rebuilt.3 There are two happenings which exhaust all the savings of a household and even necessitate the borrowing of money: the building of a new house and the marriage of daughters. A household decides to build a new house when its members find it very inconvenient to continue sharing a homestead with other chulahs and/or when their house is in a very dilapidated condition, and when they have enough money of their own to make a beginning. It is quite common for a household to borrow money to complete the construction of a new house. An unusual circumstance which necessitates repairs to a house, or its reconstruction, is damage by fire. A household which builds a new house on a site close to its present one may continue to use or share the old granary, cattleshed, yard and garden. It usually also retains its share in the old house, although no use may be made of it. In rare cases it may abandon (p.46A) its share, or transfer its rights of ownership in it to an agnatically related household in return for some consideration. Formerly the only way a household could acquire a new or an additional house was by building it. But in 1957 one Umanagri household bought a house for 1,200 rupees from a former resident of the village who now lives in Srinagar. This was regarded by the villagers as a significant event, not only because the unprecedented sale of a whole homestead (consisting of a house and a granary) Page 6 of 27

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The Homestead and the Household had taken place, but also because the owner had sold it to an unrelated person, and not to his agnates who lived close by. Distinguishing Features of the Pandit House

Passing through a Kashmiri village, it is possible for a stranger to single out Pandit houses by certain external signs and marks. The three-storeyed house is no longer typical of the Pandits alone, as some Muslims are also prosperous enough to build one, but a two-storeyed one is certainly atypical of the former. In all Pandit houses, the wuz and the steps leading to it are scrubbed every morning, except during periods of mourning, with brown earth and water. Therefore, a pot with brown earth and water in it is always to be found near the steps which lead into a Pandit house. Red vermillion marks on the main door leading into a house are an indication of its Pandit residents. These marks, resembling the caste mark on a Brahman's forehead, are put on the door on various ritual occasions. An examination of the door-frame may reveal in some crevice a few stalks of darbha (Poa cynosuroides), a jungle grass greatly prized by Brahmans all over India as a purifying agent and charm against evil spirits (see Dubois 1906, p. 150 et passim). Once a year, early in autumn, the family priest of every household brings fresh stalks of darbha to replace the previous year's charm. The Pandits grow various types of flowers, particularly marigolds, in their kitchen gardens for use at daily worship and periodical rituals. Marigolds in the garden, or wreaths of marigolds hanging from pegs under the eaves, are yet another unmistakable sign of a Pandit house. Lastly, if floral patterns and other symbols are found painted on the façade of a house, it undoubtedly belongs to a Pandit household. Such patterns are made by women whenever a ritual initiation or a marriage takes place; they signify auspiciousness. (p.47A) ‘What is a House?’

A Pandit's attachment to his house is great. He is born and brought up in it; and here he gets shelter, food and emotional security. It is again here that he receives and entertains his kith and kin; performs various rituals and ceremonies; keeps his belongings; and when the end comes, it is here he wants to die. To a Pandit his gara is symbolic of the purpose of his existence and strivings. All the major events in his life and in the lives of his coresident relatives (births, marriages, partitions and deaths) take place in his home. He devotes his life to making a contribution, in one capacity or another, to the upkeep of the gara (house and household) to which he belongs. The sentiments of love, sharing and solidarity that characterize interkin relations in a wellintegrated household are, in the Pandits' estimation, the highest ideals of human Page 7 of 27

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The Homestead and the Household conduct. A Pandit believes that he can find immortality through his sons, who will continue to live in his house after his death, just as his father lived there before him. Since a Pandit woman resides after marriage in the home of her husband, her attachment to her natal gara is not as strong as that of a man to his ancestral home. Moreover, a woman has no jural rights of ownership or inheritance in her father's chulah. By contrast she develops a strong attachment to the home of her husband in which she spends the greater part of her life, becomes a mother, and thus finds the fulfilment of her life. She takes an interest in the well-being of her conjugal gara as it is the home of her sons. The gara is loved and valued in consequence of the sentiments associated with it, and not merely because of its economic value. A Pandit's grief when he loses his house in a fire is great. Vasadev Pandit of Umanagri was on a visit to his wife's parents in another village when his house was gutted by fire in 1947. The day after the fire, while he was on the way to his village, a passerby told him that his house had been destroyed by fire. He fainted on hearing the news, and it was months before the effects of the shock wore off. But when several households own a house, and the relations between them are strained, it suffers greatly owing to the divided responsibility for its upkeep. The Pandits do not regard regular house repairs essential, and unless a house is in a state of dilapidation, it is not repaired or renovated. The thatch on the roof is, however, replaced every few years. When a household can afford a new house, they leave their old home without any regrets. If a house is owned by a single household, they may pull it down by stages to make use of some of (p. 48A) the old bricks and timber for their new house. There is nothing sacrosanct about an ancestral house once it has been vacated. A visit to a Pandit house reveals much to an observant person. The quantity and quality of the material possessions reveal the general economic standing of the household; and the size and quality of the house itself indicate the economic condition of the household which built it. Thus, the two four-storeyed houses in Utrassu-Umanagri were built by prosperous households. Nowadays the material used in the house roof may indicate the prosperity or moderate means of the household. The rich use corrugated iron sheets or wooden shingles and the poorer households mud plaster or thatch. The presence of a cowshed and a granary are not a sure sign of prosperity, but their absence does indicate relative poverty. Order and cleanliness, or their absence, inside a house reveal the personal habits of the members of the household, particularly of the women whose duty it is to keep a house tidy and clean. ‘What is a house?’, an informant once asked me. Dissatisfied with my efforts, he finally gave the right answer himself: ‘It is what makes a proud householder out Page 8 of 27

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The Homestead and the Household of a mere man; it is the universe made concrete. And a man gets the house he deserves: it is all preordained.’ [See pp. 256–7 below.]

II The Household in Relation to the House THE 59 PANDIT houses of Utrassu-Umanagri are inhabited by 87 households. Table II gives the range of households per house.

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The Homestead and the Household

TABLE II The Range of Households per House Number of households in a house

1

2

3

Totals

Frequency

36

18

5

59 houses

Totals

36

36

15

87 households

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The Homestead and the Household As the table shows, 36 of the houses contain only one chulah each. The number of households in a house varies over time. Comparative figures from other villages and verbal information about past times in Utrassu-Umanagri, however, indicate that at any time (p.49A) the majority of houses had only one chulah. In the recent past the maximum number of households simultaneously resident in a single house of the village has been four. In both the cases that were reported to me this number had later diminished to three; in one case as a consequence of all the members of a sibling group marrying out, and in the other owing to one of the households moving into another house. As already stated, more than four households cannot be accommodated in the commonest type of Pandit house. The rise or fall in the number of households per house is not directly related to a rise or fall in the Pandit population of a village. It rather reflects events in the developmental cycle of households. Fission within existing households leads to the formation of additional domestic groups. The shifting of a household, or the rare extinction of one (through marrying out, migration and/or death), are the social processes whereby a decline in the number of chulahs per house takes place. However, owing to the rarity of these processes, and a steady rise in Pandit population, increase in the number of households per house is the more usual phenomenon. The migration of households from one village to another is rare nowadays, but there has been one recent case of migration from UtrassuUmanagri to the city of Srinagar. In the last 50 years only one household has immigrated from another village and taken up residence in Utrassu.4 Numerical Size and Genealogical Composition of the Household

The Pandit household is a small, patronymic kin-group of narrow range. The chulah name is usually shared by all the households constituting a family, and often even by all or most of the families belonging to a common patrilineage. Unrelated families and households also may have a common name. These family names are called kram, or zat (derived from the Sanskrit jati?). The kram is generally a nick-name and refers to some outstanding or notorious deed, habit or peculiarity of an ancestor, remote or recent, or of the living paterfamilias of the household. As examples of kram the following may be cited: kaula (follower of Shaktism), pandit (learned (p.50A) man), sadh (ascetic), jawansher (youthful lion), razdan (confidant), khar (ass), thanthur (maker or seller of bronze and alloy vessels), thalchoor (plate thief), and kotur (pigeon). It is not, however, possible to translate and explain the origins of all krams. (For a comprehensive list, see Koul 1924, pp. 86ff.) The male members of the chulah are closely related agnatic kinsmen: grandfathers and grandsons, fathers and sons, uncles and nephews, siblings, and cousins. The female members, if married, are usually the spouses of the male members, and if unmarried, their agnates. The usual mode of post-marital

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The Homestead and the Household residence is patrivirilocal. Only in exceptional circumstances is the core group of agnates less in number than the conjugal members of the household. The range in the numerical size of the household for Utrassu-Umanagri is given in Table III.

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The Homestead and the Household

TABLE III Size of the Household Numb 1 er of person s per house hold

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

18

Totals

Frequ ency

3

6

9

13

15

13

8

4

3

3

2

3

2

2

1

87 house holds

Totals

3

12

27

52

75

78

56

32

27

30

22

36

26

28

18

522 person s

Page 13 of 27

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The Homestead and the Household It will be seen that, firstly, 362 persons, representing 69.3% of the Pandits of the village, live in households with one to nine members, and the number of such households is 74, or over four-fifths of the total. Secondly, the mean average size is six and the mode five. And thirdly, there is only one household with as many as 18 members. This chulah is regarded by the villagers as an exceptional case in view of its durability.5 One of the main characteristics of the Pandit household thus is its small size. (p.51A) But, as the table shows, there is a considerable range in the numerical size of the chulah. Correlated with this range are variations in genealogical composition. The simplest households, completely lacking in genealogical ramification, are, of course, the three one-member chulah. The genealogically most complex households, 52 in number, consist of two to three generations and include first cousins. In between these two extremes may be placed six twomember households, and 26 others consisting of married couples and their unmarried children. A Dynamic Approach to the Study of Households

It is our concern here to assess and explain the significance of (i) the range in the numerical size of the chulah, and (ii) the variation in its genealogical structure. Two approaches are possible. First, households with the same or similar genealogical composition may be regarded as constituting a ‘type’, and then a typology of households constructed. Such an analysis could lead to the postulation of the ‘typical’ household in terms of its generality (or higher incidence). The passage of time is of no significance in such an approach unless the investigator is interested in finding out if the typical household of today is different from that of, say, a generation ago. Even then the analysis will involve only a comparison of two sets of synchronic data; the approach is static. A second dynamic approach, based on diachronic data, is more fruitful. A study covering even the brief time-span of a single generation (25 to 30 years) shows that the membership of a household is subject to recurrent processes of augmentation and depletion by natural events like birth and death, and social events like adoption, marriage and partition. As a result of such augmentation or depletion the numerical size and the genealogical composition of a household vary in different phases of its developmental cycle. Thus, for a domestic group like the chulah, the passage of time is not irrelevant but implies regular development within a frame of continuity (see Fortes 1949a, pp. 54f.). In analytical terms the chulah is implicitly an ‘event-structure’ (see Nadel 1957, p. 128). Therefore, any study of it must bring out the consequences of events happening over time. In short, the factor of development must be duly recognized. Such an approach reveals the fallacy of postulating stable types, deriving a modal type, and treating other types as variants or social aberrations. In Fortes's words, ‘… these so-called types are in fact phases in the Page 14 of 27

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The Homestead and the Household developmental cycle of a single general form for each society.… Residence patterns are the (p.52A) crystallization, at any given time, of the development process’ (1958, p. 3). As an illustration of the dynamic approach to the study of households, we will now briefly consider the developmental process in an Umanagri chulah between the years 1895 and 1957. Keshavanand was the adopted son of Vasanand, the fourth mahant. His marriage, arranged by his father, took place in 1895. When the latter died in 1906, Keshavanand's succession to the mahantship was challenged by Shivanand, another claimant to the office, on the ground that a married householder could not become the mahant. The government, on being appealed to by both the parties, decided against Keshavanand, and his rival became the new mahant. Vasanand had owned two landed estates, one in his own name and the other on behalf of the goddess Uma. (Under Hindu law a divinity represented by an idol, shrine or temple can own property.) Keshavanand inherited part of the former estate, and built himself a new house (incidentally, the first four-storeyed house in the village) in which he took up residence with his wife, two daughters and a son.

By 1914 Keshavanand's wife had borne him two more daughters and two more sons. In that year the eldest daughter was married. (p.53A) Four years later, a son, the last of Keshavanand's children, was born. Meanwhile, his eldest daughter had become a childless widow and had returned to live with her parents. Fig. II

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The Homestead and the Household Keshavanand's second Fig. III(a) daughter's marriage took place in 1919; his first son's and third daughter's in 1923; and his second son's and fourth daughter's in 1928. In 1936, when Keshavanand died, his Fig. III(b) second son was already a father, so that the former's death reduced a paternal-fraternal extended family into a fraternal extended family. Two years later the elder brother's wife died. In 1939 the third brother married, and a year later the eldest brother remarried. In 1942 their widowed mother died reducing the generation depth from three

Fig. III(c)

to two. In 1946 the youngest brother's marriage took place. Later that year dissensions led to the partition of the chulah. The first and the third brothers, their wives and the former's children, and the widowed sister of the brothers, formed one partitive household, and the rest of the members of the unpartitioned chulah formed the second household. Both, however, continued to live in the same house. In 1948 both these households broke up into four separate households; the widowed sister continued to live with the eldest brother. Five years later (in 1953) the youngest brother amalgamated his household with that of his eldest brother. No further (p.54A) developments have taken place since then.

It may be expected that a partition between the brothers will occur again in the first household. When it does occur, both the emergent chulahs will have two male heirs each, and, therefore, the course of development will be different in their case from what it will be in the second and third

Fig. III(d)

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The Homestead and the Household households each of which has Fig. III(e) only a single male heir. Only the youngest of the four couples is young enough to expect more children. This brings us to the general form of the development cycle of the chulah. General Form of the Developmental Cycle of the Household

Although birth, adoption, marriage, partition, and death are the major events in the developmental cycle of the chulah, yet not all cases of such events are structurally of the same significance. Thus, the birth of a second son does not have the same consequences as the birth of a first son, and both these events have quite a different ritual and jural significance from the birth of a daughter. We will now consider those characteristic features of Pandit kinship which account for the general form of the developmental cycle of the Pandit household. (i) One of the major features of the Pandit kinship system, as indeed of most agnatic systems, is the distinction that is made between the jural and ritual positions of male and female agnates. Before her marriage, a Pandit girl has, at least nominally, the same jural rights as her brothers, though her ritual position is quite distinct. If she continues to live with her parents after her marriage, (p. 55A) and her husband takes up residence with her, she is treated for the purpose of inheritance of property from her father as if she were a son. But for ritual purposes she becomes her husband's partner in his family. Also, her children do not acquire any direct jural or ritual rights and obligations, comparable to those of a son's children, vis-à-vis their mother's parents. Patriuxorilocal residence is, however, the exception, and not the rule, in Pandit society. The usual practice is for a girl to leave her parental home on her marriage and take up residence in her husband's natal home. This is an event of great and crucial significance, not only in her emotional life, but also so far as her jural and ritual statuses are concerned. She is now two persons, as it were—a daughter as well as a wife. Moreover, marriage is her initiation into ritual adulthood. It also signifies a drastic change in her jural position as a daughter; she foregoes the right of inheritance, but retains certain residual and contingent rights in her natal home. Thus, she is entitled to receive prestations on various specified occasions from her parents and, after their death, from her brothers. In the event of widowhood she may return to live with her parents or brothers. In her conjugal household she acquires only the right of maintenance. In view of the foregoing facts, a daughter's birth and marriage have a significance different from a son's birth and marriage in. the developmental cycle of the household (see below Chapter 6).

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The Homestead and the Household (ii) With regard to his ancestral property a man and his sons are coparceners, but so long as it is held jointly no individual shares are recognized in it. The jural equality between them thus remains suppressed, as it were, under the considerable authority which a Pandit father exercises over his sons. Besides being the ‘manager’ of the estate, the father enjoys considerable prestige as an older and more experienced man, and also moral authority as the begetter, protector and provider of his sons. Filial obedience and devotion are much extolled as virtues in Pandit society; therefore, it is only in rare circumstances that a son will demand his share from his father, whose consent is necessary because of his own interest in the estate. But when a man dies, his widow's presence does not deter her sons from partitioning their father's ancestral and self-acquired estate among themselves. She has no jural right of inheritance in it and cannot, therefore, obstruct partition. Her relations with her sons are characterized more by mutual affection and deference than by superordination or subordination. To claim one's share from one's father is tantamount to revolting against him, but to claim it (p.56A) from one's brother does not affect the mother except in so far as she may choose to live as a member of a particular son's household. It is not, therefore, surprising that partitions in the lifetime of a widowed mother are markedly more common than in the lifetime of a father. In other words, the structural significance of the father's death is considerably greater, in the developmental cycle of the chulah, than that of the mother's death (see below Chapters 7 and 8). In the light of the above analysis, I will now describe the general possibilities of the developmental process within the household. (i) If a man is survived by an only son, or one son and one or more daughters who have been (or will be) married virilocally, the subsequent structurally significant events in the developmental cycle of the household will be genetic development in the son's own family of procreation.6 (ii) If a man is survived by two or more sons, quite a different course of development will follow. The eldest brother will become the head of the family, and consequently cease to be a peer of his brothers. Although he is the new paterfamilias, he does not enjoy the moral authority of a father over his brothers. The change in his status may not be welcome to his brothers, particularly to those among them who are close to him in age, and they may not give him unquestioning obedience. Usually other dissensions over the management of the estate and household affairs also arise, leading to fission in the household and partition of the estate. This may come to pass in the lifetime of their mother, but usually happens after her death. After partition, the developmental process continues in the emergent households, in the same broad manner as in the parental chulah. At the time of Page 18 of 27

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The Homestead and the Household partition, the families of procreation of the various brothers may be in various phases of growth. If there is an unmarried man in the household, he continues to live with one of his married brothers. (iii) So far we have considered the two main possibilities of a chulah with a sole, or with several male heirs. In case a couple have no sons at all, they may adopt one, and the course of development will be the same as in any other household with a natural sole male heir. (iv) If a son is not adopted, two courses of development are possible. (p.57A) (a) Either all the daughters will be married virilocally, and the household will become extinct when the sonless couple die. This will also happen if the couple do not have any children at all. (b) Or, alternatively, one of the daughters, or the daughter (if there is only one), will not leave her parental home on her marriage, and her husband will take up residence with his wife and parents-in-law. She will inherit the estate, after her father's death, being the sole heir. Although such an arrangement may prevent the extinction of her natal chulah as a residential unit, her father's ‘line of descent’ will nonetheless cease to grow as her sons will belong to their father's patrilineage. If, after her parents' death, the daughter goes away with her husband and children to live in her husband s natal home, then her father's household will become completely extinct. In the foregoing discussion of the general form of the developmental cycle of the chulah, only the main possibilities have been considered. Several other interesting but unusual courses of development are also possible. To take but one example, an elderly couple may marry a daughter patriuxorilocally even when they have a son, who, however, is too young to look after them and the estate. Later, after the father's death, partition is very likely to occur between sister and brother, just as it would occur between two brothers. In the special circumstances in which daughters are made to substitute for sons in Pandit society, a secondary and contingent set of rules of inheritance operate. The main courses of development possible in the Pandit household are shown diagrammatically in Figure IV. Phases of Development in the Households of Utrassu-Umanagri

I now return to a detailed examination of the genealogical composition of the Pandit households of Utrassu-Umanagri, and will describe the phase of development each household happened to be in when my sociological census was taken in March 1957. (i) Of the 87 households of the village, three have only one member each, consisting of a bachelor in one case, a widow without any surviving children in Page 19 of 27

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The Homestead and the Household another, and a widow whose only son has married uxorilocally in the third. The bachelor plans to marry and raise a family, and the second widow hopes her son will eventually return to his natal home, with his wife and children, on the death of his widowed mother-in-law. But the only development expected in the childless widow's chulah is its extinction upon her death. (p.58A) (ii) There are six two-member households. The mahant is required by the conditions of his office to remain celibate. Therefore, like all his predecessors, he has adopted a son. Another household consists of a widower and his unmarried daughter, and in each of the two others there are a widow and her son. The remaining two households are of childless married couples. The couple are

Fig. IV

young in one case and have been married less than a year; they will probably raise a family. But in the other case, the wife is a 46-year old former widow who has passed the child-bearing age and no children are likely to be added to this household unless by adoption. (iii) Twenty-six chulahs are nuclear families.7 In one of these cases the household consists of a man, his wife and his children including some by a former wife, now dead. Sixteen households include, among other children, two or more sons, and nine only one son each. The only child in the remaining household is a daughter. At least some of the latter 10 households, each with a (p.59A) sole heir at present, will probably have no more children added to them by the time the mother reaches her menopause. There are also three cases of incorporation: in two households the wife's child (son in one case and daughter in the other) by her former husband, now dead, and in one household the husband's father's sister's son's son, who is an orphan. (iv) There are nine two-generation households in a transitional phase between nuclear and paternal-extended or fraternal-extended families.8 They are composed of: (a) a couple, their unmarried daughter, an only son and his wife in one case; (b) a couple, their children including two or more sons, at least one of whom is married, and the son's (sons') wife (wives) in three cases; Page 20 of 27

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The Homestead and the Household (c) a widow, her only son and his wife in one case; (d) a widow, her children including sons, one of whom is married, and his wife in one case; (e) a widower, his children including sons, at least one of whom is married, and the son's (sons') wife (wives) in two cases; (f) a widower, his two daughters, one of whom is married, and her husband in one case. Living with the first of these households is the chulah head's widowed childless sister, who returned to her natal home when her husband died. (v) Another 14 households contain three generations each. Seven of these are complete paternal-extended families. One of them also includes two incorporated members related to the head of the chulah as his wife's deceased sister's son and daughter. The grandmother is dead in each of four households; and the remaining three consists of the surviving kin of formerly paternalextended families—a widow, her only son, his wife and children. (vi) There are 13 more households in a transitional phase and (p.60A) likely to grow into fraternal-extended families. Eight of these arc two-generation and three-generation chulahs. The former eight consist of a man and his (a) unmarried younger brother or brothers, wife, and children in five cases; (b) unmarried younger brother, wife, son, and son's wife in one case; (c) unmarried younger brother, son, and son's wife in one case; and (d) widowed mother, unmarried younger brother, and wife in one case. The five three-generation households consist of a man, his wife, young child or children, and (a) widowed mother and unmarried elder brother in one case; (b) widowed mother and unmarried younger brother in three cases; and (c) unmarried younger brother, married adult son, son's wife and daughter in one case. The first of these five households will not grow into a fraternal-extended family as it is the elder brother, already over fifty years old, who is unmarried. (vii) There are ten households in the village which are fraternal-extended families. Seven of these are two-generation families consisting of two or more brothers, at least two of whom are married, their wives and children. Living in one of these households is a widowed childless sister who returned to her natal home on becoming a widow.

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The Homestead and the Household Three are three-generation families. Two of these consist of two brothers, their wives and children, and the grandchildren (through a son or sons) of the elder brother. The third consists of three brothers, the widowed mother, and the wives and children of two of them. (viii) There are six more households which are differently constituted owing to the occurrence of certain events, like the unusually early death of an adult member, or the unusual non-occurrence of certain events, like marriage or partition. These households are composed as follows: (a) a man, his wife and young children, and his father's old unmarried brother; (p.61A) (b) a man, his wife and children, the wife of one of his sons and his father's old unmarried brother; (c) two brothers, their wives and children, and their father's brother's childless widow; (d) a widow, her young son, and her deceased husband's brother's widow; (e) a widow, her children including a married son, his wife and children, and her deceased husband's brother's widow; and (f) a man, Nandalal, his unmarried elder brother, his father's unmarried brother (an old cripple), his father's father's brother's old widow Mather, and his wife and her daughter (by a former deceased husband). Nandalal's step-daughter is Mather's deceased son's child and, therefore, her step-father's second cousin. The presence of second cousins in a household is exceptional. The genealogical relations of the members of this chulah are shown below (see Fig. V). But for the unmarried uncle the first household would have been a nuclear family, and the second household is in a transitional phase between a nuclear and an Fig. V extended family. Similarly, without the widowed aunt the third household would have been a fraternal-extended family. These uncles and aunts are members of their respective households not by sufferance but by jural right. Nevertheless, it is likely that they, particularly the widows, may be regarded as a burden by those who, in fact, support them. The uncles have their share in the ancestral house to bequeath to their nephews, and, therefore, their position is somewhat better than that of the widowed aunts. The foregoing details about household composition in Utrassu-Umanagri are presented in summary form in Table IV.

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The Homestead and the Household That the differences in genealogical composition of the households reflect various phases of development is further borne out by (p.62A) examination of the intervening processes of augmentation and depletion between two phases. To take only the example of the 26 nuclear families of the village, 18 of these resulted from the partition of fraternal-extended families, and the remaining eight from paternal-extended families, after the death of both the parents in the senior generation. TABLE IV Phases of Development In Household Composition Main types of household composition

Number of generations in a household

Range of collateral agnatic kinship

Frequency

Single member households: 1 bachelor, widow

—

3

Two-member households: 2 married couple, parent and

—

4

A parent (spouse dead) and 2 his or her children

siblings

2

Nuclear families

2

siblings

26

Household in a transitional 2

siblings

9

child

phase between nuclear and extended families Paternal-extended families

3

siblings

11

Surviving kin from paternal-extended families after the grandfather's death

3

siblings

3

Families in a transitional 2–3 phase likely to grow into fraternal-extended families

siblings

13

Fraternal-extended families 2–3

siblings and first cousins

10

Special cases

siblings and first cousins

6

2–3

The Ideal Household

In the foregoing discussion we have emphasized that the search for a standard type of household, in terms of composition, is misleading and conceals the true Page 23 of 27

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The Homestead and the Household relationship between chulahs which are differently constituted. Nevertheless, it is important to note that the Pandits themselves generally regard the extended family as the ideal and the characteristic form of the household. Family histories and sociological censuses from six villages, including (p.63A) UtrassuUmanagri, show that the number of households which are nuclear families never exceeds the number of households which are extended families in various phases of growth (see Table V).

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The Homestead and the Household

TABLE V Nuclear and Extended Family Households: Comparison of Incidence Composition of the household

Village Hokur

Village Khonmuh

Village Koyil

Village Kreri

Village Vernag

Village UtrassuUmanagri

Nuclear families

12

8

11

6

6

26

Extended families 18 in various phases of growth

9

15

8

16

52

Totals

17

26

14

22

78

30

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The Homestead and the Household Every Pandit desires to have many sons and grandchildren living under his tutelage. Brothers lay emphasis upon the bonds of fraternal solidarity and the advantages of joint living. But sooner or later strains develop in fraternalextended families which are also joint households. When this happens, each brother and his wife extol the virtues of households consisting of nuclear families. Love and sharing in the nuclear family, and obedience and fair play in the paternal-extended family, are sharply contrasted with the bickerings, jealousy, and meanness which are then held to be characteristic of the fraternalextended and joint households. Thus, what may be regarded by a Pandit as the ideal household composition varies, to a considerable extent, according to the structural situation in which he finds himself. Notes:

(1) Household and chulah are used as synonyms throughout this book. Chulah is a Hindi word known all over north India. Literally, it means ‘the hearth’, but is also used to designate the hearth-group or household. Cf. ‘All (members of the family) eat from the same hearth—a distinguishing feature recognized by the people themselves, who refer to this family unit or household as the chula (cooking hearth)’ (Berreman 1963, p. 144). The practice of equating the domestic family with the hearth seems to be both ancient and widespread. Fustel de Coulanges writes: ‘The ancient Greek language has a very significant word to designate a family. It is eptstion, a word which signifies, literally, that which is mar a hearth. A family was a group of persons whom religion permitted to invoke the same sacred fire, and to of Ter the funeral repast to the same ancestors’ (n.d., p. 42). Similarly among the North Burma Kachins ‘a localized patrilineage is known as a dap (hearth), i.e. the persons born and raised in one section of one house’ (Leach 1961a, p. 14). In southern-China also it seems that the household is called ‘the hearth’ (see Yueh-Hwa 1947, p. 125). In Africa the Nuer gal denotes hearth, family and home (see Evans-Pritchard 1951a). (2) According to Sanskritic tradition, whenever a limitation is sought to be placed on something, three is chosen as the limit (see Abbot 1932, pp. 285–94). (3) That new houses are not built oftener may also be an indicator of the fact that the rate of increase in population is not high among the Pandits. (4) Lawrence found the Kashmiri peasant quick to migrate even at short notice: ‘The great fact in the revenue history of a village was the flight of assamis [occupants of land]. If many assamis had fled lince 1880, they had fled either because the revenue was heavy or begar [forced labour without wages] too severe’ (1895, pp. 434f). It is a great tribute to Lawrence's work as Settlement Commissioner that it brought about stability in rural Kashmir.

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The Homestead and the Household (5) This household was partitioned in 1958 when the younger brother of the head of the chulah decided to live separately with his wife and children in the new house, the construction of which had been completed earlier in the year, on the site of their old house, gutted in a fire in 1947. In the intervening years the household had lived as guests in a portion of the mahant's hospice, and this may well have been the reason why it survived so long. At the time of partition, the elder brother had two married sons and grandchildren, while the younger brother had only unmarried children. (6) The concepts of families of orientation and procreation have been taken from Warner 1937, p. 52n. (7) ‘The association of a married couple with their young children is called a nuclear, or parental, family and it is frequently a discrete residential and economic unit, with its own dwelling and its won property’ (Barnes, 1955, 13, p. 404). (8) The term ‘extended family’ is being used here to designate a group consisting of two or more families of procreation united lineally by the father-son bond, or collaterally by the sibling bond. In the absence of better terms, it is proposed to call the former the paternal-extended family and the latter the fraternalextended family. A combined paternal-fraternal-extended family would be based upon both the types of extension. It may be added here that the criteria of these definitions are structural; functional factors like co-residence or joint property rights arc not involved (see Madan 1962b and 1962c).

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0007

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses recruitment to the Pandit household via birth and adoption. It covers the physical, supernatural, and cultural factors in childbirth; attitude toward sons and daughters; rituals and ceremonies connected with childbirth rules of adoption; consequences of adoption; the parent–child relationship; genetic and moral aspects; the nexus of religious rites; ritual initiation of boys; economic rights and obligations; and grandparents, parents and children in domestic life. Keywords:   childbirth, sons, daughters, adoption, parent–child relationship, religious rights, ritual initiation, grandparents, economic rights

‘ALL FORMS of groups are based upon some principle of recruitment whereby individuals are made members, that is, are made to assume the implicit rights and obligations.…It is by this principle that groups maintain and renew themselves, and by this principle too, that individuals change into persons or add new ‘roles’ to those they already hold’ (Nadel 1951, p. 151). Among the Pandits the customary and usual modes of recruitment to the household are being born, adopted, or married into it. The natal members of a chulah, however, generally outnumber the conjugal members. Table VI shows the basis of chulah membership for the Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 I Birth IN THE year 1957 fourteen children were born in the village, out of whom two were still-born. The number of deaths was six. Calculating for the population of 522 persons (as it was in March 1957), the vital index was 200. Physical, Supernatural and Cultural Factors in Childbirth

The Pandits are well aware that sexual intercourse between a (p.65A) TABLE VI Incidence of Various Modes of Recruitment to the Household Mode of Recruitment

Frequency Approximate percentage of the total Pandit population

Birth

372

71.0

Adoption

13

2.5

Marriage

133

25.5

Incorporation

4

1.0

Totals

522

100.0

persons physiologically normal couple is the material cause of conception, but supernatural and mystical forces are judged to be decisive in determining conception and safe delivery. They recognize a fertile period among women between menarche and menopause, and among men from ‘the rise of the juice in the testicles’ till senile old age. Sexual interest in the opposite sex is said to become pronounced during adolescence following the onset of the first menstruation among girls and the first emissio seminis among boys. But the correct physiology of menstruation and procreation is not known. Conception is generally believed to take place when a male and a female reach orgasm together and ‘vital’ fluids are discharged simultaneously into the womb.

Apart from organic defects, supernatural forces are believed to prevent conception or safe delivery. The good or bad karma of a couple, the benign or unfavourable conjunction of planets in their horoscopes, the favour or wrath of gods, and the blessings of saints or the malevolence of evil spirits are believed to be the ultimate determinants of whether a couple will have many or no children, or only daughters. Wish-making at a temple or a shrine by a person whose heart is ‘pure and broken’ is believed to lead to desired childbirth. Masterjee says that he made such a wish at the holy springs of Umanagri and only then did his wife, who had already borne him three daughters, give birth to a son. Supernatural interference may also follow the breaking of certain taboos. Thus a pregnant woman should not see an eclipse nor do any work during its duration, or else her child may be born malformed. Raja (village Vangam) is said to be hare-lipped because (p.66A) his mother carelessly sliced potatoes during an Page 2 of 31

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 eclipse.2 A pregnant woman is expected to avoid places such as old trees, creeks, graveyards and cremation grounds, which are likely or known to be the haunts or dwelling-places of evil spirits. If she visits any such place, and particularly if she defecates or urinates there, she may be seized by an evil spirit and have a miscarriage or give birth to a still-born child. There were several such ‘seizures’ in the village in the course of my fieldwork, and when Premnath's wife gave birth to a still-born daughter, her husband's paternal cousin told me that she had been frightened by an evil spirit when she had gone out into the kitchen garden after nightfall, presumably to urinate. Evil magic also may cause miscarriages and still-births, as well as barrenness. The Pandits regard miscarriages and still-births as unfortunate and ominous. Their incidence is difficult to determine. Miscarriages among multiparae are often due to physical debility and overwork, although the Pandits usually attribute them to supernatural interference. When a woman conceives for the first time she is youthful and usually healthy; besides, she is not allowed to do any heavy work or exert herself too much or too long during the later months of pregnancy. Charms made by priests, magicians and saintly persons are worn by pregnant women as a protection against evil spirits, the evil eye of other people, and evil magic that may be contrived by their foes. Deliberate abortions are probably rare, and it is almost impossible to obtain any definite information about them. The only motive for abortion would be to save a widow or unmarried girl from absolute shame and social damnation. There are no unmarried mothers in the village today nor have there been any in the recent past. Occasionally a lapse may occur and my informants asserted that if such a woman failed to commit suicide, her parents or parents-in-law would sooner poison or strangle her than let it be known that she had become pregnant. If any other Pandits came to know of what had been done, they would whole-heartedly approve. Apart from the compulsiveness of cultural norms and the fear of consequences, it should be emphasized that the opportunities (p.67A) for fornication are extremely limited. Widows and nubile girls are closely watched and are not permitted to mix freely with men who are not their close kin. In fact, what strikes the observer is the extreme restraint which characterizes relations between adult men and women in Pandit society. Moreover, girls are usually married within a couple of years or so of menarche. If a married woman is guilty of sexual misdemeanour, her conduct has serious moral implications, but hardly any social consequences as no children are socially recognized as illegitimate; therefore, there is no discrimination of any sort against them. But this should not be taken to mean that adultery is rampant; much to the contrary. In view of the restrictions on social intercourse between the sexes, already referred to, the incidence of illegitimate childbirth probably is not high.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 Pandit women have a well-developed lore connected with childbirth. Thus they say that it is possible to forecast the sex of an unborn child by observing the expectant woman's unconscious actions, her appearance, and the likes and dislikes she develops during pregnancy. Underlying various portents is a traditional identification of the two sexes with two opposite sets of values. The male sex is forecast by the portents which the Pandits regard as good; for example, the expectant woman's preference for sweet (as contrasted with hot or sour) dishes, her greater use of the limbs of the right, mystically superior, side of the body, general cheerfulness and good health foretell a male child. In these beliefs may be seen a cultural expression of the preference for sons among the Pandits. Such an attitude may only be expected in a society which puts the major emphasis upon agnation. Pandit women also believe that it is possible to influence the looks, character and sex of the developing child if the pregnant woman thinks of a beautiful and virtuous man or woman when she feels the first movements of the foetus inside her body. Attitude toward Sons and Daughters

The Pandits say that children are the joy of life, the fruit of good karma and the blessing pi gods. Sons are particularly auspicious and, therefore, greatly desired; they are called ‘this as well as the other world’ (yahi-lok ta para-lok) of their parents. Under the rules of patrivirilocal residence and patrilineal inheritance it is the exclusive duty of sons to look after their parents in their old age. Further it is the sons alone who can offer food and drink to their manes and ‘immortalize’ them by continuing the ‘line’ of descent. (p.68A) The greater the number of sons a couple have, the happier they are, though they may be afraid of the envy of others. Although the giving of a daughter in marriage is regarded as a highly meritorious act, yet the absence of daughters is not generally bewailed if a couple have sons. ‘Daughters are guests’, say the Pandits; ‘they are ornaments held in custody to be surrendered at the rightful owner's demand’; ‘they are the wealth of others and not of those who give them birth’. Unlike sons, who are the support of their parents' old age, daughters are regarded as a heavy responsibility. On their conduct in their conjugal chulah depends the ‘good name’ of their parents; moreover, any sexual lapse of a nubile daughter would bring lasting shame to her natal family. If a couple have more than three or four daughters, they are regarded as a burden because a large amount of money is needed to marry daughters into good families. Vasadev's wife had already given birth to a son and four daughters, of whom only two daughters were alive, when another daughter was born to her. Greatly disappointed, he said to me: ‘What else is there in store for a luckless man except daughters?’ When Shanta (village Koyil) gave birth to her fourth daughter, her mother-in-law exclaimed ‘chakh (four)!’ and burst into tears. Similarly when Natha's wife (village Hokur) was delivered of her first child, a daughter, his mother bewailed: ‘Natha, my first born, did not deserve a daughter. My daughter-in-law is unlucky and has brought Page 4 of 31

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 bad luck into the family.’ There is an oft-quoted Kashmiri saying to the effect that a daughter's birth makes even a philosophic man (who has renounced the world) gloomy, whereas a son's birth is like sunrise in the abode of gods. Twin births are rare and, according to the genealogies I collected, up to nine generations in depth, nobody seems to have had triplets. There is at present only one set of male twins in Utrassu-Umanagri. Having twin sons is regarded as auspicious and lucky, and having twin daughters, a misfortune. There is also a slight sense of shame associated with a twin birth because it is probably thought to indicate hypersexuality of the parents. Young boys are better treated by their elders than young girls. This is particularly true of a first son. Whether it is in the distribution of food and clothes or in the verbal expression of love, sons generally receive greater attention than daughters. The Pandits affirm that daughters should be disciplined early, and not spoilt, as they have to be married into other households. One of my informants complained about the lack of forethought on the part of (p.69A) his elder brother's wife in these words: ‘She is a fool and overfeeds her daughter [aged eleven]. The girl is a glutton already, will grow ungainly in body, and bring shame to us all.’ There are no such reservations about the overfeeding of sons who should grow big, healthy and strong. Similarly, many informants suggested that, since nubile girls did not move about much or freely in the village, it was not as necessary for them to have many changes of clothes as it was for their brothers who attended school and occasionally went to the town. In brief, the Pandits admit of discrimination against girls, and always try to justify it, but do not agree that they love their daughters less than their sons. On their part, girls generally behave as if they are hardly aware of discrimination against themselves; training from early childhood teaches them not only to accept it as normal and proper, but also to be solicitous of the welfare of their brothers. If a girl does make a protest, the only response, if any, it evokes from her parents is a reprimand. However, after marriage daughters come emotionally closer to their parents and sons drift away from them. Rituals and Ceremonies connected with Childbirth

The Sanskritic tradition stipulates the performance of a ritual before the marriage of a woman, to ensure that she becomes fertile.3 This is performed a day or two before her marriage. There is also a non-Sanskritic ceremony4 in the seventh month of the first pregnancy called ‘the giving of milk’. The ceremony becomes a pretext for the pregnant woman to go to her natal home and spend a few restful weeks there before she returns laden with gifts of ornaments and new clothes for herself, and also gifts in cash and kind for her relatives-in-law, which are given to her mother-in-law for distribution. The most important of these gifts is yoghurt, which is preferred to milk because it is regarded as more Page 5 of 31

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 auspicious. The yoghourt is distributed among the close relatives of the pregnant (p.70A) woman's husband and the neighbour of her conjugal chulah. The purpose of the ceremony seems to be threefold: (i) As already stated, it enables the young pregnant woman to spend some time with her natal family. She gets not only physical rest, but also feels less tense and nervous than she would among her relatives-in-law whom she may not have known for more than a year. It is significant that this ceremony is usually held before the delivery of the first child only, and never after the birth of the second child, (ii) ‘The giving of milk’ ceremony is the public announcement and celebration of a woman's first conception which is in a sense the biggest event in her life. The Pandits regard children as one of the main purposes of marriage, and when a daughter-in-law is delivered of her first child they say of her that she has ‘proved her worth and found her real self (athi ayi).’ (iii) It is also intended to ensure the safe birth and survival of the child. The Pandits believe that the distribution of yoghurt ensures the flow of mother's milk on which the life of the child depends. Childbirth may take place in the pregnant woman's natal or conjugal home, but it is regarded desirable to send a woman to her conjugal home for her confinement. In view of the emphasis upon agnation, the event is obviously of far greater interest to her conjugal chulah than to her natal household. Professional midwives, who are Muslims, and experienced older women of the family and the neighbourhood assist at the delivery. In recent years five women of UtrassuUmanagri have had their confinement in the hospital at Anantnag. Childbirth causes ritual pollution5 as everything that comes out of the human body (spittle, perspiration, faeces, urine, menses and offspring) is polluting, though some of these things are less polluting than others. Childbirth causes pollution to the woman who gives birth to a child, her husband and some of his kin. It is not only direct physical defilement which is involved but also its mystical extension to the child's ritually initiated male agnates and their wives. (p.71A) Thus, even when a woman is delivered of a child in her natal home, the members of that chulah do not suffer lasting pollution. Only those women who help at the confinement are affected. They take a bath afterwards and are restored to their normal state of purity. But all of the newly born child's agnates suffer longer pollution. The period of pollution is 10 days for all ritually initiated male agnates, and their wives, who are related to the child through his father's father's father. Remoter agnates and their wives observe pollution for periods ranging from six to three days. The miscarriage of a foetus does not cause pollution, but the birth of a still-born child does. Strictly, ritual pollution should begin at the moment a child is born, but since patrilineal kinsmen are not invariably a local grouping, it is not always possible to observe this rule of immediate pollution. In such cases the Pandits say that, ‘just as an eclipse begins when you see it, similarly pollution begins when you hear of it’. The days of

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 pollution to be observed are, however, always counted from the day of birth or death. Non-Sanskritic ceremonies follow on the third, fifth and sixth days after childbirth. The ceremony on the sixth day, shransondar, is the occasion on which the baby receives its first bath and is given a name. Pandit names are in most cases the names of Hindu gods and goddesses, or the words for such qualities as chastity, intelligence, cheerfulness and grace which are prized in human beings. If the mother is well, she also is bathed. After the bathing is over, the baby's father's eldest married sister lights a fire of birch bark. Taking a piece of burning bark in her right hand, she waves it round the head of the mother, who has the baby in her lap, and says several times ‘shokh ta punahsun, congratulations and may you have more (children)’. The apparent purpose of this ceremony is to ensure the child's safety and the mother's future fertility. It is of interest to note that the major role in this ceremony is played by the new-born child's father's sister. Her ties with and residual (p.72A) interest in her natal family are thus stressed. On the eleventh or the twelfth day after childbirth ritual bathing and more nonSanskritic ceremonies take place. The first Sanskritic rite, called the kahanethar, and mainly purificatory in character, is also performed on this day or soon after.

II Adoption ADOPTION as a mode of recruitment to the household is resorted to only in unusual circumstances; there are only 13 adopted persons living in the village as against 372 who are the natural children of their parents. Adoptions result in a re-arrangement of chulah membership in the village, but in rare cases (three in Utrassu-Umanagri), when the adopted child has his natal home outside the village, an addition to the village population takes place. A couple usually adopt a son when they are convinced that they are not going to have one of their own. The Pandits do not approve of the Sanskritic injunction that a man may marry a second wife, in the lifetime of his first wife, if the latter fails to bear him a son. There are only two childless women in the village, although several are without sons. A bachelor without any prospect of getting married may adopt a son, but this is very rare. In Utrassu-Umanagri the only case of this kind is that of the mahant; it has been necessitated by his obligatory bachelorhood. Sarwanand, a bachelor of 50, when I asked why he had not adopted a son, replied to me, ‘What use will a son be to me in the life hereafter when I have not had the happiness of this world?’ Although a man may support his adoptive parents in their old age, offer them oblations after they are dead, and continue his adoptive father's line of descent, he is a poor substitute for a natural son. Therefore, childless widowers usually Page 7 of 31

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 endeavour to remarry and do not generally adopt sons. There is only one instance of a widower of the village adopting a son, and this too occurred about 35 years ago. But it is a common practice for childless widows to adopt sons: three of the thirteen adoptive sons of Utrassu-Umanagri were adopted by widows. A widow whose parents-in-law, or deceased husband's brothers, are alive is not expected to take the initiative in adopting a son. In any case, she adopts in the name of her dead husband, and her adoptive son (p.73A) inherits the latter's property, and also assumes his family name. When a well-to-do couple have several sons but no daughters, they may adopt a girl; but such cases must be very rare as I was not able to record any instance of the same in the six villages in which enquiries were made by me. More often a daughter may be adopted for a period of a few months or weeks to be married in exchange for a daughter-in-law. Sangded, a widow of Utrassu-Umanagri, adopted her sister's daughter from another village in 1957, and later in the same year gave her in marriage to a young man of the village in exchange for his father's brother's daughter as the wife for Sangded's son. In some cases a nonagnatic kinsman, usually the mother's father or her brother, nominally adopts a girl at the time of her marriage to enable her being given in marriage to a man who has the same gotra name as her father. This may become necessary because a Pandit cannot give his daughter in marriage to a man who has the same gotra name as himself (see Chapter 6). Both these are cases of ad hoc adoption, specifically for a purpose and of short duration. The general attitude of the Pandits towards the adoption of daughters is summed up in the following saying: ‘Adopting a daughter is like rearing a pariah dog in the hope of obtaining wool.’ Rules of Adoption

According to Pandit usage, the most eligible person to be adopted as a son is an agnate of the adoptive father; in practice non-agnatic kin also are chosen. Adoption of a cognatic kinsman of his wife by the adoptive father is said to be a consequence of either need or spite. In other words, if no child among a man's kin is available for adoption, or if he wants particularly to displease his own patrilineal kin, then he may choose a kinsman of his wife as his son. Out of the 13 cases of adoption in Utrassu-Umanagri, the genealogical relation of the adopted son to his adoptive father is that of an agnate in eight cases (brother's son in five cases and a relatively distant kinsman in three cases); of other cognates in three cases (daughter's son in two cases and sister's son in one case); and of an affine (wife's brother) in two cases. In both the cases of the adoption of a daughter's son the choice was made by a widow in the name of her deceased husband. A man's preference for choosing an agnate is thus clearly indicated.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 The adopted child is generally under five years of age and ritually uninitiated, but well past the weaning stage. If he is older and has been initiated then the yagnopavit is taken off, and a new ritual (p.74A) initiation performed. This is, however, unnecessary if the boy is a closely related agnate of his adoptive father. Ritual initiation at the hands of the adoptive father puts the seal, as it were, on the act of adoption. Till then a natural parent can demand the boy back; and adoptive parents can return their son to his natural parents. The ceremony of adoption is not accompanied by any rituals. After the two households concerned have agreed upon the adoption, the adoptive father, accompanied by a few of his closest relatives and friends, goes to the natal home of the child on an auspicious day. There they are entertained and then the child's natural father places the boy in his adoptive father's lap, who takes him away to his new home. A feast is generally given to mark the occasion. If the child's natural and adoptive parents belong to the same chulah, any ceremony is unlikely to take place. Formerly the presence of relatives and friends was regarded as sufficient proof of the act of adoption which was made known to the public at the feast given on the occasion. There is, however, one recent case of an adoption having been registered in a court of law, ostensibly to safeguard the rights of the adopted child. Although it is likely that registrations will become the usual practice in future, in this particular case it was considered essential because of the unusual circumstances under which the adoption took place. The main purpose of this adoption was to retain possession of an estate. Ram and Lakshman are married brothers with children and live as coparceners in one house. They have built the house on a plot of land which belonged to Amar, their father's brother's son. In 1955 Amar had been dead for several years and his childless widow, who was living with Ram and Lakshman, was persuaded by Ram, an elderly and respected man to adopt Lakshman's 12-year-old son Bala so that she and her husband might receive proper ritual offerings of food. The adoption was registered in a Magistrate's Court at Anantnag. Amar's widow, old and unwell, died a few months later, and her husband's estate was inherited by the boy Bala. It had remained in her possession mainly because it was not of considerable value and partly because nobody wanted to hurt her feelings. Bala continues to live with his own parents although legally he is, as a consequence of the adoption, his natural father's cousin once removed. If Bala had not inherited Amar's estate, then, according to Pandit custom, Amar's other cousins and nephews could have claimed shares in it. The adoption prevented this from happening and preserved the status quo. (p.75A)

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 A child's natural parents are not expected to receive any reward or compensation for giving him away in adoption, or else it will amount to sale. What induces parents to give a son in Fig. VI adoption is their close kinship ties, implying love and obligation, with the person seeking a son, or their poverty and the consequent inability to bring up several children. In cases of adoption like that of Bala, the motive of the natural parents is, at least partly, material gain. Such cases are rare, and do not deprive the natural parents of their child; therefore, they feel no reluctance in giving him away in adoption. Consequences of Adoption

Ideally and jurally adoption means the severence of all ritual and economic ties which customarily exist between a person and his natural parents. He owes no ritual or economic obligations towards them, nor do they retain any such obligations towards him. He does not inherit from them nor does he make ritual offerings of food to them. These rights and obligations are transferred from the natural to the adoptive parents. The boy assumes the family name and also, at the time of his initiation, the gotra name of his adoptive father. But a man who has been given in adoption does not marry any woman whom he could not have married had he not been given in adoption. The immutability of blood ties is thus recognized. Further, he does not lose any estate that may have been already vested in him individually at the time of his adoption. To facilitate the building up of sentiments of affection of a child towards his adoptive parents, the natural parents are expected not to display any special interest in him, particularly if they belong to the same household as the adoptive parents. But it is doubtful if complete emotional assimilation docs take place in all cases. The Pandits emphasize that a child should be adopted when very young so that he may develop emotional attachment towards his adoptive parents. Nevertheless, an adopted son who feels strongly (p.76A) attached to his adoptive parents does not necessarily, when he is a grown up man, feel likewise towards their kin. Raja (46) was adopted by his mother's brother about forty years ago, brought to Utrassu-Umanagri from another village, and reared with love and care. On his adoptive father's death, Raja obtained his share of the estate through partition from his adoptive father's brother and built himself a new house. He displays a strong indifference towards his adoptive father's patrilineal kinsmen who are also his neighbours. He visits them rarely and took surprisingly little interest in a dispute which arose among them in 1957

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 regarding the division of an estate in which he also had acquired rights of inheritance by the fact of his adoption.

III The Parent-Child Relationship IN A society in which kinship provides the principal framework for social action, the parent-child relationship is bound to be complex and socially of great significance. An analysis of parent-child relations among the Pandits of UtrassuUmanagri reveals that the relationship has several prominent aspects—genetic, moral, religious and economic. Genetic and Moral Aspects

The parent-child bond is believed to have a physical as well as supernatural or mystical basis. In the physical sense, the basic fact is that a child is begotten by its father and borne by its mother. The genetic relationship between mother and child is considered a particularly close one. Throughout the period of pregnancy, and particularly during confinement, she not only suffers great physical discomfort but also runs the risk of losing her own life. After she ‘brings it to life’, the mother ensures the child's survival by feeding it on ‘the milk of her breast’. The Pandits speak eloquently of their notion of matri-rin, the supreme ‘debt’ every human being owes to his mother for having ‘given him life’. Not to speak of the father, even gods are said to take the second place, after the mother, in a human being's life. Mythological tales are recounted and actual happenings recalled to stress how love and consideration for one's mother's wishes bring the fulfilment of one's desires. Rather than address the mother as a goddess, the Pandits refer to goddesses, such as Uma, as ‘the universal mother’. The men speak of their women as bacha parast, ‘the devotees of children’. The (p.77A) women refer to their children as their ‘womb’ or ‘entrails’, and an ‘own’ child is distinguished from a step-child by being referred to as the child of one's womb or entrails. The physical intimacy of the mother-child bond is regarded as being without parallel; even the father's role as the begetter is much less stressed and sometimes made the subject of jocular comment in a manner the mother's role never is. Nevertheless, every human being owes his life to both his parents. Moreover, every Pandit man owes his social identity and status to his father. Mother-child relations partake of an emotional intensity which is not often achieved in father-child relations, but the father-son relationship is the very foundation of the Pandit kinship system. The bonds of begetting and bearing are identical between parents and all their children. But in the relations between particular children and their parents, the Pandits maintain that hawalyat (preordination) plays a mysterious and decisive role. Literally hawalyat means ‘what is held in safe custody to be returned later’. The notion is a corollary of the Hindu concept of karma ‘according to which any action whatsoever is the effect of a cause and in its turn the cause of an Page 11 of 31

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 effect’ (Zaehner 1962, p. 5). The notion of karma is, of course, inextricably bound up with that of transmigration. Understood in these terms, hawalyat means that the relations between parents and their particular children are governed by their mutual relations in their previous incarnations. The more general phrase puru zanmuk lenden (‘the debit and credit of the previous life’) also is commonly employed to explain the nature of interpersonal relations between kin, but hawalyat correctly refers to the parent-child relationship Only. The Pandits assert that parents do their best for all their children; but it depends upon hawalyat whether all of them will survive, grow into dutiful sons and daughters, and bring comfort and happiness to their parents; or whether they will neglect, insult and hurt their parents and ruin their good name by misdoings. Similarly it is hawalyat which enables parents to rear one child better than another, owing to better economic and other circumstances, or arrange the marriage of one daughter into a better family than they are able to do in the case of her sisters. But, because of its mysterious and unpredictable nature, hawalyat can never be anticipated and, therefore, should never be, invoked as an excuse for the nonperformance of various parental or filial duties. The calculation of immediate self-interest or the conditional performance of one's duties may be permissible in (p.78A) other situations, but the only true guide to parent-child relations is the absolute command of moral law. The immense moral prestige and authority of the parents qua parents flows from the fact of their having ‘given life’ to their children. But in their own actions towards their children they too are bound by the same moral law. The Pandits assert that sons are begotten for the accomplishment of the duty of providing male heirs who will continue the lineage, and offer food and pour libations to their manes. By begetting a son a man repays the debt he owes his own father for having begotten him.6 It is dharma (moral and religious duty) to marry in order to perform the rites of a householder and beget children; it is dharma to bring up children without regard for self-interest; and it is again dharma to love one's parents and obey them without flinching for fear of pain or loss.7 This is, of course, the ideal picture embodying the acknowledged norms of conduct. In practice parent-child relations do not always conform to the ideal pattern. Conflicts between parents and children are not uncommon, although they never become so acute as conflicts between, siblings or remoter kin often do. Moreover, the Pandits themselves contrast between, what they call, zyanadod (the tribulations of begetting and bearing) and rachan-dod (the toils of rearing), emphasizing the latter as the source of emotional attachment. As may be expected, natural affection and personal interest enter into parent-child relations independent of the requirements of morality.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 The Nexus of Religious Rites

Parents and children are also bound together by the obligatory performance of religious rites. Such of these rites as are called the sharirsamskar (‘rituals for the good of the body’) are held to be essential for the spiritual development of the individual. The first of these, kahanethar, or purificatory birth rite, is performed twelve days after the birth of a child, or soon later, by its parents. A couple of years later boys get their first haircut (zarakasai) and girls have their ear lobes pierced (kanchombun). Pandit girls and women never cut their hair but let it grow long. Moreover, married women wear ear pendants called dejahor as a sign of wifehood. (p.79A) Boys are ritually initiated before they are 12 years old. Mekhal, or ritual initiation, consists of a series of rites and ceremonies which are described in the next section. After his mekhal a boy enjoys the full ritual status of a Brahman; he is now entitled to go through the ritual of marriage (nethar), cremate his parents, offer food and water to his manes, and, in the event of his own death, full cremation rites will be performed for him. Girls do not go through an initiation rite and do not acquire full ritual status till they are married. The marriage ritual is preceded by a series of rites which the bride and the bridegroom go through in their respective homes. It is only after she goes through these rites that a girl can be given in marriage and full cremation rites performed for her. The parents of the bride and the bridegroom respectively participate in these rituals along with their daughter and son. The marriage rites (which will be described in the next chapter) follow. The main rite consists of the giving of the bride by her father as a ‘gift’ to her future husband and the latter's acceptance of her as his wife. For a father this is a highly meritorious act and its performance a moral duty. Finally, there are the antimsamskar (last rites) culminating in cremation. These are ideally performed by a man's (or woman's) eldest son; a daughter is not permitted to cremate her parents. In the absence of a son a man is cremated by the nearest male agnate available, and a woman by a male agnate of her husband. Besides the sharirsamskar, there are important rites for the benefit of manes. During the year after death, a person's spirit travels towards the pitra-lok (land of manes); to assist it in its travels, rites are performed for 12 days after death and fortnightly for three months, and thereafter monthly for the rest of the year. After the first death anniversary libations (tarpan) are poured daily and food offerings (shraddha) are made biannually in the name of one's manes. A man may pour libations in the name of any dead person, even unrelated friends, but he performs the shraddha rite only for his lineal ascendants. He offers pinda (cooked rice balls) and other eatables to six of his lineal male ascendants, beginning with his father, and to his mother, father's mother, FaFaMo, Page 13 of 31

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 FaFaFaMo, FaFaFaFaMo, and FaFaFaFaFaMo. The striking feature of the food offerings made at one's mother's shraddha is the exclusion of her manes, and her inclusion with the mothers of ego's agnatic ancestors. A man is, however, permitted, if he so chooses, to make food offerings to his mother's parents; but the water and food received from a daughter's son are not adequate for the wellbeing of manes. (p.80A) Moreover, his offerings to them will cease with his death, as his sons are not obliged to continue the offerings; they rarely do so. Thus there is no substitute for one's own sons in this respect. The performance of domestic religious rites by parents and by sons is regarded as a moral duty meritorious in itself and, therefore, self-rewarding. Only if the son is ritually purified after his birth, initiated, and married, will he be able to cremate his parents and beget

Fig. VII

sons who will continue the lineage and offer water and food to their manes. Further only if a man sets the example, by pouring libations and offering food to his lineage ancestors, may he hope that his sons will do the same when he is dead. Thus the religious rites performed in a Pandit home not only bind together parents and children, but also establish a continuity between past, present and future which surmounts death and immortalizes the lineage, as it were. Ritual Initiation of Boys

We may now briefly describe the ritual initiation of boys and the reinforcement of the ties of kinship which takes place on this occasion. It is the moral duty of every Pandit to initiate his sons into the (p.81A) ritual status of a Brahman. The ritual is performed by the castes of the dvija (twiceborn) varna all over India and is generally known as upanayana (bringing nearer to spiritual knowledge). The Pandits call it mekhal or (mekhla) (the investiture of the girdle). It usually takes place in the fifth, seventh, ninth or, at the latest, the eleventh year of a boy's life. The main ritual consists of the investiture of the boy with the mekhal and the yagnopavit.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 The mekhal, or ritual girdle, made of cotton strands, is tied round the neophyte's waist by his father, grandfather, father's brother, or, if none of these is alive, by some other close male agnate, who himself has been initiated. With the help of his mekhal and a piece of cloth, the initiated boy is taught to cover his genitals. The purpose of doing so is said to be threefold. Firstly, to symbolize adulthood. As many informants put it, ‘An adult's penis should be seen only by the woman he marries.’ Secondly, the covering of the penis expresses the self-discipline and sexual abstinence which the Pandits expect an unmarried youth to exercise. And thirdly, to protect the genitals from harm due to accident and exposure, their preservation being essential for the pursuit of a householder's duty of begetting children. The investiture of the yagnopavit follows that of the girdle. The yagnopavit is a cord of three strands of cotton symbolizing three ‘ritual debts’, the repayment of which provides the raison d'être of a Brahman's life. The debt to gods is repaid by offering oblations in their name; that to manes by offering them food and drink and begetting children; and that to holy sages by the acquisition of knowledge.8 The yagnopavit is put over the boy's left shoulder and under his right arm by his grandfather or father. The boy is then introduced to spiritual, occult knowledge by the family priest who whispers into his right ear the sacred gayatri, a Vedic invocation to the supreme Brahma (see Colebrook 1873, I, pp. 145f, and Dowson 1950, pp. 112f). Besides these principal rites, about 20 other rites, and also many non-Sanskritic ceremonies, are performed. Six of the neophyte's kin have special roles to play on this occasion, (i) His father's eldest married sister initiates the ceremonies and rites which last several days. (ii) His parents are the principal participants, besides himself, in the main investiture rites, unless his father surrenders this privilege to his own parents, or his elder brother. (iii) After he has heard the gayatri the neophyte ceremomially (p.82A) ‘begs’ for money from all his kith and kin, who gather at his home on this occasion, so that he can reward the family priest. He puts on the clothes of a mendicant and, with begging bowl and staff, goes to his mother's eldest sister and ‘begs’ for alms from her; only afterwards does he ‘beg’ from his own parents and others, (iv) On the completion of all but the last rite, which is performed on the bank of a river, stream or spring, the boy's father's brother or his father's sister's husband ties a turban on his head. Then his mother's brother carries him in his lap to the site of the final rite. It may be pointed out that authoritative roles are associated with the father's siblings and protective roles with the mother's siblings.9 The occasion is considered to be a source of joy in the boy's parents' sisters' lives, and they distribute milk and cakes among all the people present on the occasion. In return, they receive gifts from the boy's parents, but there is an important distinction between these prestations. The mother's sister receives gifts for being good and generous to the boy since what prompts her actions is Page 15 of 31

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 believed to be love and sentiment; the father's sister receives gifts as a matter of right and the role she plays in the rites and ceremonies is, feelings and sentiments apart, a token of her status as a female agnate. Sentiment and structural position thus give rise to social actions which are similar in form and content, but not wholly identical in intention and meaning. Economic Rights and Obligations

The economic responsibility of rearing children rests with their natal household as a whole and not particularly with their own parents. A man who is a father is, however, expected to make a contribution to the income of the household, or make himself useful in some indirectly productive way, such as in a managerial role. He usually does so. The Pandits say that to be a parent is the reverse of being a shur (child or immature person); one cannot be both. Parenthood invests a person with the prestige that goes with adulthood, but it also entails the assumption of one's responsibilities as an adult member of the household. If a grown-up man, unmarried or married, but without children, behaves in an irresponsible manner, he is often taunted by others by being reminded that had he been lucky he would have been a parent, and yet he behaves as if he were a shur. The natal household of a child's mother sends occasional gifts of (p.83A) clothes, food and money for the child. But these prestations are symbolic in character; they are primarily an expression of the love of the maternal grandparents, and a token of a woman's residual rights in her natal household. During the first few years of a child's life the costs of rearing mainly consist of expenditure on food and clothing and are not heavy. Until an infant is weaned, and afterwards also, it is not fed on any special foods. Weaning usually does not take place till after the child is two years of age. An earlier weaning becomes necessary if the mother's milk ‘dries up’ or if she becomes pregnant. There is no taboo on sexual intercourse between the parents of a suckling child. Although they are sufficiently clothed, particularly in winter, special attention is not bestowed on making children's clothes attractive or comfortable. The many layers of cotton and woollen clothes in which an infant is swaddled are generally dirty as they are not changed for days, and even weeks, on end. A child may sometimes be dressed in the old clothes of an elder sibling, or another child of the household, who has grown out of them. Expenses are also incurred on treatment during illness and on the performance of rituals. The Pandits of rural Kashmir still predominantly depend upon yunani hikmat (Greek medicine). The hakeem (physician) prescribes medicines (consisting mainly of various kinds of herbs, fruit and vegetable seeds, jams, dried or fermented flowers, and syrups) most of which are inexpensive and available at groceries.10 Allopathic medicine is becoming increasingly popular Page 16 of 31

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 but is as yet both inaccessible and expensive. The nearest hospital is in the town of Anantnag, 11 miles away. As for rituals, purificatory birth rites and ritual initiation, particularly the latter, involve considerable expenditure. Even more is spent on marriages; the marriage of a daughter may necessitate the borrowing of money by her natal household. When children reach about the age of five or six, their formal instruction begins. Whereas girls stay at home and acquire various domestic skills by assisting older women of the household at their chores, boys are sent to the school at Utrassu. To maintain boys at school involves expenditure on books, school uniforms, and fees which are, however, nominal. (p.84A) Boys who study at school also assist at home; they run errands, go shopping, work in the garden and occasionally even in the fields. Schools remain Closed at harvest time all over rural Kashmir to enable the boys to assist their elders. But the time when boys make an important contribution to the income of the household comes only when they approach their twenties; free from their studies, they are then regarded as adults. As parents grow older, sons assume greater responsibilities under the direction of their father and according to their own age and capabilities. If a household has no land and is dependent upon individual earners, the sons will have to support their parents by their own earnings after the father is too old to work. It is, in fact, regarded, as the right of parents to be supported by their sons who, on their part, deem it a privilege to be able to do so. The Pandits say that sons are the solace of old age. In UtrassuUmanagri there are 14 men, all above the age of 50 who exclusively depend upon the earnings of their son or sons (12 cases), brothers (one case) and brother's sons (one case). Sons inherit property from their fathers (see Chapters 7 and 8). Under normal conditions daughters have only the right of maintenance till they are married, and subsequently only certain residual and contingent rights such as the right to occasional prestations. But if, in the absence of a son, a daughter is detained at her parental home after her marriage, and her husband persuaded to live uxorilocally, then she has the same rights of inheritance as a son. Grandparents, Parents and Children in Domestic Life

During the few weeks of recuperation after the birth of her child, a Pandit woman's physical and ritual conditions preclude her from doing much else, besides looking after the baby. Consequently, the baby is more with her than anybody else in the household. About four weeks after confinement, when the mother resumes her normal routine of household work, other members of the household begin to take an increasing part in looking after the baby. From now onwards its paternal Page 17 of 31

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 grandparents, rather than its own parents, play the predominant part in rearing it. The infant's mother is asked to suckle it when it cries, and she takes it to bed with her at night. For the rest, it is looked after by its grandparents, particularly the grandmother. Other members of the household, including the baby's older siblings, also give a helping hand in taking care of it. (p.85A) The association between a child and its grandparents becomes closer after weaning. Henceforward it sleeps with one of the grandparents who are generally old enough not to be cohabiting regularly. The Pandits affirm that eating from the same plate and sleeping under the same quilt create and deepen affection. It is common to see a grandparent not merely feeding a grandchild from his (or her) plate, but also masticating the food before giving it to the latter. The grandparents resent it if a child's own parents show ‘undue’ affection or concern for him. ‘Why this bevasayi (fear and lack of confidence)? Who brought you up?’ was the admonition I heard a grandmother administer to her son who was worrying about his sick child. According to Pandit etiquette, a man should not fondle his child in his own father's presence, though he may do so in his mother's presence, particularly if he has several children. The paterfamilias and his wife are regarded as the parents of the whole household, and the responsibility for the welfare of its members is primarily theirs. Within the household the ideal situation is one in which all regard themselves as equally related to each other. Actual behaviour does not, of course, always come up to this standard. Thus the younger brothers of the paterfamilias do take a much greater interest in their own children than do his sons. It is unusual for grandparents to be alive long after their grandchildren have attained adulthood. There are only three such households in Utrassu-Umanagri. Each of these includes a grandmother and her grandchildren above 15 years of age. There are no instances of grandfathers who have adult grandchildren. This demographic fact has an important social consequence: since serious tensions develop only between adults, strained relations between grandparents and grandchildren are virtually absent. If grandchildren are ill-treated by their grandparents, this will cause the latter to have strained relations with their own sons. At the same time, parents always admonish their children if the latter are rude to their grandparents. Thus, the intermediate generation operates as a social buffer between grandparents and grandchildren. An important factor in how a couple treat the children of their various sons is the relations between the former and their daughters-in-law. Thus, Radhakrishan's parents showed little interest in his (their elder son) young children because of the strained relations they had with him and his wife. Moreover, they almost went out of their way to bestow care and attention on the daughter of their second son; so much so, indeed, that Radhakrishan's (p.86A) Page 18 of 31

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 mother once severely scolded and hit her younger daughter-in-law because the latter had beaten her child for overturning a can full of oil. On the whole, grandparents indulge their grandchildren, but they also discipline and instruct them. There is a feeling of familiarity between grandparents and grandchildren, but the relationship cannot be characterized as one of joking. A grandparent may scold and spank a child, and often does so. Nevertheless, grandparents, being old and experienced, are usually kinder towards young children, and better judges of their behaviour. From about two to six years children spend most of their time in play; they are not asked to do any particular or heavy work, nor are they disciplined with a strong hand. They are, however, given such elementary instruction as how to perform ablutions, eat food, change clothes, and so on. Through observation, imitation of adult behaviour, and from finding their actions approved or disapproved, the children learn to distinguish between right and wrong, and are thus conditioned to the norms of Pandit culture. As already stated, formal instruction begins from the age of about six years. Henceforward, discipline and control of a child's actions are gradually increased. Formerly (before 1912), when there was no school in or around UtrassuUmanagri, none of the Pandits had any schooling. The rich families sent their sons to study with a tutor in the village, but the majority of boys were instructed in the 3 ʻR's in their own households by their elders. Some of the boys never learnt even the rudiments of literacy. Nowadays, all boys attend the school, though not all of them stay there long enough (a minimum of ten years) to obtain the School Leaving Certificate. In recent years a number of boys have attended college in the town of Anantnag, and two of them have already graduated.11 When the boys return home from school, they spend some time studying their books and completing such home casks as may be assigned to them by their teachers. They also assist in various domestic chores, and thus acquire knowledge of various adulthood responsibilities, such as visiting tenants, and assessing the condition of crops. There are no adult roles, except that of the priest, which require specialized training. A priest usually instructs his (p.87A) sons in priestcraft himself. Nowadays, they also attend school for secular education. A girl's formal instruction also takes place at home. When their brothers and cousins start going to school, the mixed playgroups break up, and girls begin to associate more with older girls and women than with younger siblings. To begin with, a girl of six or seven only helps in holding a baby, fetching water, or such other light tasks, but in another four or five years she learns, by assisting older

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 women, the various tasks of adult life such as cooking, washing, stitching, and milking cows. A girl may be married when she is 14 or 15, and her parents-in-law will expect her to do all household work. The older they grow, the more exclusively they associate with members of their own sex only, and are thus steeped in a feminine ethos12 when quite young. The Pandits expect a nubile girl to be on reserved terms with even such close kinsmen as her elder brothers, father, paternal uncles and cousins. Daughters develop greater intimacy with and stronger affection for their mothers than any other member of their natal chulah; and mothers depend greatly on the assistance and emotional support of their daughters. The Pandits assert that ‘A mother without a daughter is a boat without an oar.’ Pandit boys do not develop the kind of intimacy with their parents which the daughters do. A son also is, however, freer with his mother than with his father. A mother usually does not scold or exercise authority over a grown-up son; she almost treats him with respect. Sons in their turn usually show greater affection for their mothers than for their fathers. But the relations between a step-mother and a step-son are generally strained. The Pandits regard step-mothers as selfish and cruel. Stories are told of stepmothers who tried to poison their step-sons and forced them to leave their homes or claim partition from their fathers. The Pandits say that step-mothers convert natural fathers into step-fathers. Nevertheless, in practice, all stepmothers do not conform to the stereotype. Thus, though Mahadev obtained partition from his father because of his inability to pull on with his step-mother, and Premnath (village Vangam) ran away from home for the same reason, Ratan (14) is apparently (p.88A) being well looked after by his step-mother who has a daughter of her own. Formerly, when widow remarriage was not permitted, there were no step-fathers in Pandit society. But in the last two decades several widows with children have remarried in Utrassu-Umanagri and elsewhere. No definite pattern of relations has as yet emerged in the relations between step-fathers and step-children. In one of the instances of widow remarriage in Utrassu-Umanagri, the widow has adult children by her first husband and they reside separately from her and their step-father. In fact, they refuse to acknowledge any relationship with their mother's second husband. ‘The three generations are to the domestic family’, said Sarwanand, ‘what the three storeys are to the house. The children are the ground floor: the whole edifice is built upon them and for them. And the grandparents are like the protective roof on top of the third floor.’

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1

I. Utrassu-Umanagri in winter : Snow on the root's of Pandit houses.

II. Muslim Cultivators weeding and transplanting in a paddy field.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1

III. Paddy fields (after sowing) around Utrassu.

IV. A maize field (ready for harvesting) in Umanagri.

V. Mahant Krishnanand alongside a portrait of the goddess Uma at the holy springs in Umanagri.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1

VI. The ‘Convoy’ (see Appendix V). Left to Right: Bishambar Nath Koul. Shambhu Nath Tikoo. Srikanth Pandit, (Amar Nath Marhatta), Vasadev Pandit, and Sarwanand Pandit.

VII. A group of the Pandits of UtrassuUmanagri at the holy springs on the occasion of the death anniversary of the founder-mahant.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1

VIII. Two Pandit houses in which five households (belonging to one kotamb) reside. In the foreground (right corner) is a jointly owned granary.

IX. A Pandit household. In front of the boy seated first left is a kangri (brazier). It is a clay bowl in a wicker container filled with live charcoal, and is carried inside the gown during the winter. The group is sitting on a gubba (embroidered rug) outside their house. In the right corner (foreground) is a pair of wooden sandals.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1

X. A young Pandit couple with their child. All their clothes except the man's cap (bought in Srinagar). are of the old style. Pandit women wear golden rings and ear pendants as signs of wifehood.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1

XI. A Pandit and his bride at the conclusion of the wedding rites. Smoke can be seen rising from the embers of the fire which had been lit to serve as n purificatory agent, divine witness of the rites, and conveyor of food offerings to gods. The concluding rite of offering flowers to the couple accounts for the heap of petals in front of the bride.

XII. A young Pandit mother and her son. She is wearing a sari.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1

XIII. A Pandit woman's body being made ready for removal to the cremation ground. It has been given a ritual bath, wrapped in white cloth, and placed on a wooden plank. Weeping nearby is her daughter-in-law.

XIV. The kotamb : Two married women (on the left) and an unmarried girl, related as cousins, washing utensils in the common courtyard.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1

XV. A Pandit landlord and his Muslim tenant.

XVI. A Pandit being shaved by a Muslim barber. while another awaits his turn.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 Notes:

(1) The writing of this and the following chapters has posed two problems. Firstly, the aim of presenting a general picture of role variation in the course of a person's lifetime made it imperative that I combine several types of evidence, for my own observations alone did not yield sufficient material which could be pieced together into an intelligible whole. Therefore, I had to heavily draw upon the statements of informants regarding (i) the jural rules which mould behaviour, and (ii) role variations as they reportedly occurred in particular cases.

XVII. A Pandit housewife repairing the chulah (fireplace) in her kitchen.

Secondly, limitations of space necessitated that references to the illustrative material be reduced to the barest minimum. This, of course, does not matter so far as the jural rules are concerned, but I would have certainly liked to mention more particular instances, and in greater detail, than I have. A similar difficulty was faced in the writing of portions of Chapter 9. (2) There are only two physically malformed Pandits, born as such, in UtrassuUmanagri; one, a man aged 63, is a cripple, and another, a boy aged seven, is blind. Such persons are pitied, and the only limitations on their participation in social life are such as are imposed by their disability. I was unable to make detailed enquiries about these two cases for fear of hurting the feelings of the families concerned. Therefore, it is difficult to say whether they are connected with the breach of any taboos. (3) The Pandits perform these Sanskritic religious rites in the form ordained by the ancient lawgiver Laugaksha, and laid down in Sanskrit texts preserved by priests in hand-written scrolls. Nowadays printed copies also are available. (4) Non-Sanskritic ceremonies are distinguished from Sanskritic rituals by the fact that priests and mantra have no place in the former, and there is no supernatural sanction behind them. Also women play a predominant part in these ceremonies. Cf. Srinivas: ‘The Brahman rites (in Mysore) are a mixture of both indigenous and Sanskritic rites—the latter more than the former. The Page 29 of 31

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 indigenous rites form the woman's portion of the rites at which no mantrams are recited and in which men have very little to do’ (1942, pp. 66f.). (5) Ritual pollution is a properly initiated person's fall from a state of ritual purity, which prevents him from making ritual offerings to gods and manes. Ritual pollution caused by various happenings is of three types: (i) If any part of the human body comes into contact with a defiling object, like leather or human faeces, or a defiling person, like a Muslim, that part of the body is rendered impure, and must be washed with earth and water. There are various degrees of pollution resulting from various types of contact, but even the worst pollution of this kind is removed by a bath accompanied by the recitation of mantra, (ii) Births and deaths cause the second type of pollution. Direct physical defilement is not involved in the case of all the patrilineal kinsmen and their wives who arc affected by it. Such pollution lasts a fixed number of days ranging from three to ten days, the time being longer in the case of those persons who are closer in genealogical relationship to the person who has died, or whose wife has borne a child, (iii) The eating of beef and of food cooked by a Muslim, or sexual intercourse with a Muslim, results in permanent pollution and the guilty person ceases to be a Brahman. If a Pandit eats impure food accidentally, a Sanskritic purificatory ceremony will restore him to his normal status. The Pandits admit that a person may secretly cohabit with a Muslim and continue to live as a Brahman. They regard pollution by eating impure food far more seriously. (6) Cf. Manu's dictum that a man should marry so that, among other ‘gains’, he may have sons and thus ensure ‘heaven for himself and his ancestors’ (Manu IX, 26). It may be noted here that the Sanskrit word for ‘son’ is ‘putra’ (deliverer from hell). (7) For a discussion of the various purushartha (aims of life) including dharma, see Zaehner (1962). [Also see Madan 1982.] (8) Sanskritic sources generally mention five ritual debts and sacraments. For an interpretation see Kapadia (1958, pp. 30–3). (9) Cf. Radcliffe-Brown 1924, pp. 542–55. (10) The indigenous Hindu medicine of other parts of India, known as ayurveda (see Zimmer 1948), is absent in Kashmir. The hikmat probably came to Kashmir with Islam and superseded the ayurvedic system. (11) One of these graduates, Dwarkanath Pandit, obtained a first class Master's Degree in Statistics from the University of Delhi in 1960. About twenty years earlier, another boy, Prithvinath Chattah, passed the Master of Arts examination in Hindi; he has since migrated out of the village.

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Recruitment to the Household: (1) Birth and Adoption 1 (12) Cf.‘… the women's ethos is no doubt formed in part by their preoccupation with the routines of … (various domestic chores including) child-rearing, and by the association of girls with older women who have already adopted the ethos’ (Bateson 1958, p. 175).

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0008

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses recruitment to the Pandit household via marriage and incorporation. It begins with a discussion of the importance and nature of marriage covering the selection of spouses; village exogamy; negotiations for marriage; types of marriage; ‘promise-giving’ and betrothal ceremonies; the marriage ritual; and secondary marriage and remarriage. It then describes the structural consequences of marriage covering the woman-giving household; the Pandit woman in her conjugal household; the husband–wife relationship; a man and his affines; and relations between affinally related households. Keywords:   households, marriage, and its structural consequences, spouse selection, betrothal, remarriage, woman-giving household, husband–wife relationships

I Importance and Nature of Marriage THE PANDITS regard marriage as one of the most important events in the life of an individual; unless a man is married he will not be able legitimately to beget sons, and thus ensure the continuance of the ritual offerings of food and drink to his manes. Begetting sons, though supremely important as a moral obligation is, however, by no means the only legitimate purpose for which a Pandit seeks a wife. The gratification of sexual desire, the mutual love of spouses, and the joy and comfort of domestic life also make married life a highly desired state of existence for a man. Bachelors are much pitied in Pandit society.

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation The Pandits' attitude toward the gratification of sexual desire in wedlock is ambivalent; it is regarded as both essential and desirable, but by itself it is held to be an insufficient ground for marriage. Although bachelorhood is deplored and claims of celibacy are seldom believed, abstinence is much prized as the trait which, if exercised, marks off man from animals. ‘But in the actualities of life’, said Bishambarnath, ‘woman and gold (kamini-kanchan) underlie all human actions which are not motivated by hunger.’ Not all bachelors adopt sons for religious purposes, and thus show utter disregard for their own and their ancestors' welfare in the life hereafter. Sarwanand (50), one such bachelor, provided the justification in the following words: ‘Having been denied the joy which marriage brings in this life, what do I care for the happiness an adoptive son can afford me in the life hereafter’ (by providing him ritual oblations and continuing the line of descent through him)? It is not, therefore, surprising that of the 12 bachelors of Utrassu-Umanagri who are above 30 years of age, and have hardly any hope of getting married, none has adopted a son. For a woman, marriage is the beginning of the fulfilment of her (p.90A) life. The destiny of the Pandit woman is motherhood, and wifehood is the only culturally approved means to it. She begins her adult and the socially significant phase of her life only with her marriage, which also marks her initiation into the full ritual status of a Brahman woman. Only thereafter can she participate, alongside of her husband, in domestic rituals, receive full cremation rites, and join the manes. It is the moral duty of parents to arrange for the marriage of their children, particularly their daughters. Few things are more blameworthy than to have nubile daughters in the household; and the giving of a virgin in marriage is held to be an act loaded with religious merit. The two oldest unmarried Pandit girls of the village are respectively 20 and 18 years of age. Pandit marriage is a systematically organized compact between households, and not the result of mutual choice by, or agreement between, two persons. It brings together not only two individuals and two households, but also two families. Further, though in itself the very opposite of kinship, it gives rise to cognatic ties between the families and the households concerned after children are born to the couple. Therefore, as may be expected, the establishment of affinal ties between households is governed by a set of well-defined prescriptions, prohibitions and preferences. Selection of Spouses: Prescriptions and Prohibitions

For a Pandit marriage with a Muslim is permanently polluting, and, therefore, out of question, unless he is willing to leave his household, sever all ties of kinship, and renounce his religion. Such renunciation entails the loss of all Page 2 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation property rights. In both the cases of a Pandit having married a Muslim woman, which I was able to record in the course of my field work,1 the man had embraced Islam before his marriage. The Koran forbids a Muslim to marry a follower of such religions as permit idol worship and do not have a revealed book (see Fyzee 1955, p. 79); and Hinduism falls in this category. A Pandit is expected, and desires, to marry in his own subcaste of karkun or gor. Since there are no Hindus in Kashmiri villages who are not Pandits, the possibility of establishing affinal ties with non-Brahmans is remote. The shortage of Pandit women in rural areas has occasionally led an individual, placed in exceptional circumstances, to marry a (p.91A) non-Pandit woman. The First such marriage of a man belonging to Utrassu-Umanagri took place 50 years ago when a widower, who was employed in the neighbouring district of Kishtwar (outside the Valley but within the State), married a Brahman woman there. After living with her for several years he brought her to the village. It is said that orthodoxy received a big blow when this marriage was approved by Shankar Pandit, the most respected scholar of the village at that time. Since then one more widower of the village has similarly obtained a wife from Kishtwar. Although these offenders have not suffered any social ostracism, their action has been much criticized. In the latter case the wife was suspected to be a non-Brahman, and, therefore, many villagers refused to accept food in her house for some time after her arrival. By an odd chance neither of these two women have borne their husbands any children. It may be here mentioned that the Brahmans of Kishtwar claim descent from Pandit immigrants, and speak a dialect of Kashmiri. But the Pandits regard them as a distinct group. As for marriages between the karkun and the gor, inquiries in several villages, including Utrassu-Umanagri, did not yield a single instance of it. The only two cases that I was able to record had both occurred recently in the city of Srinagar, and were exceptional. The rule of endogamy thus limits the choice to one's own subcaste; but within the subcaste there are obligatory rules of exogamy. The broadest of these rules is the prohibition of marriage within the gotra. Under the influence of Indologists, sociologists and social anthropologists working in India have regarded the gotra lo be the same as clan; consequently, the two terms are generally used as synonyms. But it is doubtful if the Brahmanic gotra is a grouping of kin, or a clan. I have elsewhere examined this problem at some length on the basis of Pandit usage (see Madan 1962a). Suffice it here to state that the Pandits are divided into many gotra,2 and the members of each such category are named after one or more pseudo-historical or mythological founding sages from whom they claim descent. But the members of Page 3 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation the same gotra do not regard themselves as kin in the normal sense of the term. A man's gotra name is the same as that of his father and other male agnates, but (p.92A) a married woman belongs to her husband's gotra. Membership of a gotra, which is acquired by boys at the time of ritual initiation, and by girls at the time of marriage, entails no other mutual rights and obligations between the members except that they shall not enter into marital alliances. In other words, a man should not obtain a wife for himself, his sons, or other wards, who are his agnates, from a family which has the same gotra name as his own.3 The view of gotra which would be readily accepted by the Pandits is that of the historian Basham who describes it as ‘a brahmanic institution…the chief importance of (which) was in connexion with marriage, which was forbidden to persons of the same gotra’ (1954, pp. 153f.). Basham also points out that the earlier law givers did not equate a breach of gotra exogamy with incest; the Pandits also do not do so. Though the Pandits usually avoid marriages within the gotra, they are not inflexible if a match is eminently desirable from every other point of view. Two courses are open in such circumstances. Either the marriage takes place and is followed by expiatory rites; or, more often, the bride is given away in marriage by her mother's brother who acts in place of her father. His gotra will not be the same as that of the bride's father and prospective husband unless, of course, the bride's father himself has married within his own gotra. But that is unlikely as such circumvention of the rule of gotra exogamy is very rare. The pretence of observing an obligatory rule of exogamy is thus maintained. A more important proscription is that of sapinda exogamy according to which a man should not marry a woman who is a sapinda (literally, ‘connected by having in common particles of one body’ [Mayne 1953, p. 147]) of his mother or father. This rule excludes marriage between ego and his (or her) own agnates of six ascendant generations, and his (or her) mother's agnates of four ascendant generations (see Fig. VIII).4 (p.93A) But the Pandits rarely care to remember all genealogical ties beyond three ascendant generations. Further, not all of them can fully state the rule of sapinda exogamy; they depend upon their priests to do so. They emphasize that what matters in Fig. VIII practice is that a man does not marry any known kinswoman, particularly if she belongs to the same lineage as himself. Though it is undesirable to do so, yet, in exceptional Page 4 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation circumstances, non-agnatic cognates may marry, but only if they are more distantly related than as second degree cousins, or second degree cousin once removed and uncle or aunt. The kinship term for a second degree cousin includes the affix ter (feminine) or tur (masculine) twice, and the Pandits say that where two or more ter (ascendant generations) intervene, the kin may marry (see Fig. IX and Appendix III; also see Madan 1963a, pp. 269–73). (p.94A) In normal circumstances the husband is older than the wife, but a widow may be older than her second husband. Widow marriage is, however, a recent innovation and as yet very rare as compared to widower remarriage. Consequently, the potential mates of ego among

Fig. IX

his (or her) kin are usually of the same generation as himself (or herself), and only rarely of the next younger generation (in the case of men only), or of the next older generation (in the case of women only). There are, of course, no instances of marriage between agnates in the village of Utrassu-Umanagri. But there are three instances of marriage between nonagnatic kin. Two of these were arranged in knowledge of the ties of kinship which were remote in both cases. The proposed wife was, in one case, her prospective husband's FaFaFaBrDaDaDaSoDa (no kinship term, but he could have called her father pitur-poftur-poftur-byanther), and, in the other case, her prospective husband's FaFaMoSiDaSoDaDa (master-pofter-piter-byanzi). The presence of three fur in the former term and three ter in the latter may be noted, indicating three intervening ascendant generations in each case. In the third instance the genealogical relationship between wife and husband was a degree closer, the husband having been his wife's FaMoSiSoSo (mastur pitur-boi), but this was discovered many years after marriage, and nothing was done by way of expiation. As already stated, although all bearers of a gotra name are not ipso facto kin—in Utrassu-Umanagri two agnatically unrelated families have the common gotra name of Dattatreya—yet all agnates invariably belong to the same gotra. Consequently, the observance of the rule of gotra exogamy prevents even an unwitting breach of the prohibition on marriage within the lineage, and renders the preservation of genealogies unnecessary. Considering the structural importance of agnation in the Pandit kinship system, it is only to be expected that a dependable social mechanism should exist to preserve the mutual exclusion between agnatic kinship on the one hand, and affinity and non-agnatic kinship on the other.5 One of the basic notions of Pandit kinship is the distinction Page 5 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation between those members of a family, or household, who have been born into it (the zamati), and those who have been married into it (the amati). A person who falls in one category cannot be included in the other; that is the basic rule prohibiting incestuous unions. (p.95A) Selection of Spouses: Preferences

Compelled by custom to part with them, Pandit parents take great care in the selection of future homes for their daughters. Custom lays down that the proposal for a marriage should come from the girl's parents. They try to ensure that the households into which their daughters are married should at least have, as the Pandits put it, hakh-bata (‘greens and rice’, the staples of Pandit diet), i.e. they should not be so poor as to be in need of the basic necessities of life. The marriage of one's daughters into households of higher socio-economic standing is coveted as it is one of the ways in which a chulah may raise its own status. But there is general agreement that too much of disparity between the girl-giving and the girl-receiving households is not desirable; not only may a much richer household expect heavy prestations from its daughter-in-law's natal chulah, but its members may also ill-treat and taunt her for her lowly origins. The parents of a son are not so limited in their ambitions. The richer a daughter's parents and the higher their social status, the more her parents-inlaw stand to gain by such an alliance. The norms of behaviour between affinally related households require of the girl-giving chulah to be humble towards their daughter's relatives-in-law. Besides economic well-being, the quality which renders a household desirable as future sonya (the relatives-in-law of ego's children) is its noble ancestry. A household is said to be khandani (‘of noble lineage’) if its ancestors have been illustrious men, and if its present male members are renowned for their piety, devotion to religion and good connexions, if not also for economic prosperity. The general attitude of Pandit parents may be summed up as follows: A man must seek sonya who are rich and illustrious so that he can fall back upon them when in need, and boast of his good connexions. The individual qualities of boys and girls do not receive much attention. If a household and the family to which it belongs are satisfactory, the children, it is believed, are bound to be well-bred. Physical defects are a hindrance in finding a wife for a man, but a girl never faces spinsterhood for such a reason; not only is marriage obligatory for a woman, but a husband can also always be found for her. Nevertheless, the parents of a physically defective girl may have to wait long before they can find a match for her, or they may have to give her to a man who is himself old or physically defective. Leucoderma is much feared in Kashmir and regarded as (p.96A) an infectious disease. Raghunath (village Vangam) had to wait till his leucodermic daughter was in her twenties before he could find a man who also had leucoderma, and to whom she was married. A 16 Page 6 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation year old girl of Umanagri who is blind in one eye was married in 1957 to a 39 year old widower of Utrassu. Their wealth may help a chulah to arrange the marriage of a physically defective girl without much difficulty. Shamlal (of the town of Mattan) told me that a real grief in his life was that his wife was hunchbacked. He blamed his parents for having caused him lifelong misery, and asserted that they did so because of the substantial ‘dowry’6 which was promised to them. The individual qualities of a human being are believed to be ultimately determined by the arrangement of planets in his or her horoscope. Accordingly, a preliminary step which has to be taken by a girl's household, before negotiations for marriage may be opened, is to send a priest to the chosen household and request it for a copy of the boy's horoscope. This is done without revealing the identity of the household which makes the request. A priest or astrologer is then asked to determine if the horoscopes of the girl and her proposed husband are compatible. The expert calculates the malignant influence which the planets of the two persons will have on one another's future. If the evil planets are believed to balance each other then the match is pronounced as acceptable. The most important event to guard against is the girl's widowhood as there is no greater misfortune which may befall a Pandit woman. The tallying of horoscopes in other details may not be always possible. The gor do not usually compare horoscopes because of the limitation of their small numbers. It seems that, in past times, a prospective son-in-law received as little personal attention as a prospective daughter-in-law receives nowadays. But a significant change has now taken place in this regard as a consequence of recent political and economic changes in the Valley. Educated men and active earners are now preferred to the barely literate and indolent sons of rich landed families. Ownership of land is no longer regarded as a guarantee of economic security. New criteria of determining the status of households are also emerging as a consequence of the politico-economic changes mentioned above. There is a greater stress on economic prosperity with (p.97A) a corresponding decline in the value set on a family being well known for ritual piety, scholarship or distinguished ancestors. A particular proposal may be made because of the promising future of the prospective son-in-law, or accepted in preference to others, because of the hope of receiving a considerable dowry. Even political considerations have begun to motivate the choice of affinal alliances. Shamlal of Utrassu-Umanagri encouraged a Pandit of another village to propose marriage of the latter's daughter with the former's brother, although the girl's household was neither as well-to-do as the boy's, nor as well-known in the region. Shamlal, who has the ambition of becoming an active politician, explained to me that the other Pandit had similar ambitions and was a hindrance to the spread of his own influence. It may be here explained that had the marriage taken place, which it did not, Shamlal's influential rival would have been at a permanent disadvantage Page 7 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation vis-à-vis Shamlal because, as the latter's brother's wife's father, he would have been expected to be deferential towards his daughter's relatives-in-law, such behaviour being customary among the Pandits (see Madan 1961a). Village Exogamy

The prescriptions and preferences noted above may entail village exogamy, which is, however, also preferred for its own sake.7 Of the 150 cases inquired into in Utrassu-Umanagri, 30 (20 per cent) marriages had taken place within the village, 111 (74 per cent) within a radius of 15 miles, and only in nine cases (6 per cent) marital ties had been established with more distant villages. Generally speaking, the Pandits of a village prefer to give their daughters in marriage in nearby villages, though not in their own village. They are thus able to maintain close contacts with the female agnates who marry out; proximity facilitates mutual visiting and prevents the withering away of affective ties. A marital alliance between households of two widely separated villages often raises suspicions about the worthiness of the bride and the bridegroom. As an informant put it, ‘Why should you send a daughter 20 or 30 miles away if you do not want to conceal something about her or your family? And why should you obtain a wife from a distant (p.98A) village unless you want her for an old widower, an imbecile, or a physically handicapped person?’ Many questions were asked in Utrassu-Umanagri when Ram married his daughter in a village about 35 miles away. Vasadev, one of the aristocratic Pandits of the village, was at pains to explain to me why his deceased father Telak had been married to a woman belonging to a distant village: ‘It was my father's accidental meeting with his prospective father-in-law at a centre of pilgrimage, and the fact of the latter being greatly impressed with my father's religious devotions, which brought about the union.’ This woman later died and Telak had remarried in his own village, Vasadev being the second wife's son. When it comes to bringing a daughter-in-law into one's home, marital alliances with relatively distant villages are not dis-favoured too much. Moreover, the relative shortage of women of marriageable age often enables a girl's parents to pick and choose a son-in-law, whereas a boy's parents have less freedom of choice. But when reciprocal marriages are arranged, as is frequently done, a daughter is given in exchange for a daughter-in-law, ruling out any discrimination. Regarding intra-village alliances, the Pandits say that for a family to have their sonya in their own village is unwelcome for several reasons. Firstly, an easy and quick access to her natal household stands in the way of a woman's speedy acceptance of her conjugal chulah as her home, and consequently retards her assimilation into it. Secondly, sonya are expected to have formal relations with each other, at least during the first few years of the relationship. In their mutual relations custom demands deference and humility from the natal family of a Page 8 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation woman vis-à-vis her conjugal family. The parents of a woman are expected to send gifts to their daughter's relatives-in-law on specified occasions. They are also expected to accept any harsh treatment of their daughter by her parents-inlaw as inevitable. At the same time every household tries to show off its superiority, in terms of social prestige and economic standing, over every other household with which it has affinal ties. There is thus a conflict between the kind of behaviour customary between sonya and that usually associated with coresidence in the same village. Finally, the Pandits say that it is conducive to better relations between sonya, and an easier assimilation of a woman into her conjugal family, if they do not know of the skeletons in each other's cupboards. But it is difficult to keep family misfortunes and disgraces a secret from the other households of one's own village. Therefore, sonya in one's own village are said to be as unwelcome (p.99A) as ‘boulders in the yard and a flood in the garden’. Affinal ties with the Pandits of the city of Srinagar are regarded by villagers as a, source of prestige but are not actively sought in view of their consciousness of a difference between rural and urban manners, styles of life and world views. Moreover, the city-dwellers also are usually unwilling to marry from or into villages. Only two women of Utrassu-Umanagri have been married into Srinagar in the last 50 years, and no wife has been obtained from there. Although the town of Anantnag is only 11 miles away from Utrassu-Umanagri, and the Pandits of the towns are more akin to villagers than city-dwellers, there are only five women in the village whose natal homes are in Anantnag, and only eight living women of the village have been married into that town. The preference for village exogamy within a limited area thus tends to limit ties of kinship and affinity within adjacent villages. These inter-village ties between families have the open-ended character of a ‘network’ (see Barnes 1954, pp. 43f). Negotiations for Marriage

According to custom the parents of a Pandit boy are not expected to take the initiative in starting negotiations for his marriage. They usually wait for proposals of marriage to be made to them by the parents of nubile daughters. On the basis of my sociological census of Utrassu-Umanagri, the average age of a girl at the time of her marriage is 16 years, i.e. a couple of years after menarche. The number of unmarried girls above the age of 14 in the village is 19, and only three of them are above 17 years. Physical maturity is not the main determinant of the timing of a boy's marriage, the average age at marriage being 24 years. The sons of prosperous households are usually married at an earlier age, but nowadays, in the majority of cases, until a young man starts contributing to the household income his marriage is less likely to take place than it used to be.

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation In fact, child marriages, now banned by law, were fairly common a generation or two ago. I was able to record only one such marriage from an adjacent village in the course of my stay in Utrassu-Umanagri. The suitability of a household into which a daughter may be married having been determined, the head of the proposing household makes a formal proposal, through a priest or a common friend or relative, to the head of the chosen household. The final decision for the acceptance of the proposal rests with that household itself, (p.100A) though its members usually consult their kith and kin before announcing their acceptance. The extent to which kin who are not members of the household influence the decision depends upon their actual relations with the chulah rather than their genealogical relationship with its members. The proposing household is expected to keep on pressing the other household for a decision, whose members, foreshadowing their future dominant role, may unconscionably delay it. If the proposal is accepted, negotiations proceed to fix a date for the marriage. In case of reciprocal marriages the negotiations usually include a detailed discussion of the terms of exchange. Each household is expected to give ornaments, clothes, and domestic utensils to its daughter and presents to her relatives-in-law; the details are settled beforehand in such marriages. The age of the persons to be married, and their qualifications and defects enter into the bargaining. Similarly, when a marriage involves payments for various purposes to be made by the prospective relatives-in-law of a girl to her natal household, the exact value, mode and timing of the payment are discussed and agreed upon beforehand. Throughout the negotiations men play the public roles and women remain in the background, but they exercise an influence equal to that of men in making choices and in arriving at decisions. Types of Marriage

There are three types of marriage among the Pandits. The ideal is represented by marriage with a ‘dowry’ (ornaments and clothes for the bride, domestic utensils and other gifts in cash and kind for her relatives-in-law). The Pandits say that such a marriage is unsullied by any elements of bargaining on either side. But the incidence of reciprocal marriages, involving the exchange of women and gifts, gives them considerable importance for they are the commonest type of marriage. The third type of marriage involves payments in cash and/or kind by the girl-receiving chulah to the girl-giving chulah. These payments may be intended to provide for the marriage expenses or part thereof, or may be a bride price in the literal sense of the term. In 1957 nine persons of Utrassu-Umanagri, five men and four girls were married. Eight of these were married in four reciprocal marriages. The Page 10 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation incidence of the various types of marriages in the village (as represented by 108 couples, 27 widows and 13 widowers) is given in Table VII. (p.101A) TABLE VII Incidence of Various Types of Marriage Type of Marriage

Incidence Approximate percentage of total number of marriages

Marriage with dowry

56

38

Reciprocal marriages

67

45

Marriages involving payment 25 of consideration to the girlgiving household

17

Totals

100

148

There are several reasons for the greater frequency of reciprocal marriages. Considering that for some time past there have been more males than females among the Pandits of Kashmir,8 it has been rather difficult to find wives for all men. The disparity in sex ratio has been aggravated, in the villages particularly, by two factors. Firstly, although the Pandits are strictly monogamous, widowers have had the ritual and customary right to remarry, but widows have not had the same privilege. There are 16 men in Utrassu-Umanagri who have married a second time after the first wife's death. There is also one man who is now living with his third wife. The first case of widow remarriage took place about 20 years ago. At present there are six women in the village who have married for a second time and one who has married a third time after being widowed twice. Secondly, many a Pandit from Srinagar, unable to get married there, obtains a wife from a village; but city-dwellers do not marry their daughters into villages.9 The rural Pandits have resorted to reciprocal marriages as a means of ensuring wives and daughters-in-law for as many households as can offer women in exchange. The genealogies collected by me reveal that the practice is by no means a recent one. Another likely reason for reciprocal marriages is that these eliminate the possibility of the extortion of gifts from a woman's natal household by her parents-in-law. Each side fears (p.102A) reprisals by the other, and the conflicts which are usually associated with the relations between affinally related households remain somewhat in check. The Pandits agree that reciprocal marriages offend against the basic notion of marriage being the ritual gift of a daughter to her chosen husband. Nothing, it is said, should be accepted in return for such a gift. But whereas a minority of the Pandits, usually those belonging to the aristocratic families, criticize reciprocal marriages as ritually and socially improper, the majority justify them on grounds of expediency and social survival.

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation It may appear that this is yet another case of a difference between the Sanskritic and local traditions, but there is more to it than that. Those Pandits who oppose reciprocal marriages complain that the element of bargaining involved in such marriages is unseemly and incompatible with the formal relations which should ideally obtain between sonya. In 1957 Surya of Umanagri arranged the marriage of his daughter in the village of Nanil in exchange for a wife for his son. It was agreed that he would first fetch his daughter-in-law from Nanil and then receive the bridegroom for his daughter in his house. I accompanied Surya to Nanil along with about 40 other people. In the middle of the night I was woken up by some commotion. On inquiry I found that a dispute had arisen between Surya and the other household over the insufficiency of the ornaments the former had taken with him for his daughter-in-law. Intervention by Surya's co-villagers and others saved the situation. Further, social norms are breached when the daughter-giving and the wifereceiving households are equated, as happens when they exchange women. As will be seen from what follows, a confusion of roles takes place, through their involution, in such situations. In the great majority of reciprocal marriages men exchange their sisters or cousins. All the instances of reciprocal marriage in Utrassu-Umanagri fall into this category. The arrangement places the parents and the siblings, and, in fact, all other kin of the exchanged women in ‘double’ and incompatible roles: thus a brother is his sister's husband's sister's husband; a sister her brother's wife's brother's wife; a father (mother) is his (her) daughter's husband's sister's father (mother)-in-law; and cross cousins are related in both the possible ways (see Fig. X). In Pandit society a man is deferential towards his sister's husband, but there is an element of familiarity in his attitude (p.103A) towards his wife's brother, particularly, if the latter is of the same age as himself or younger. Similarly, a couple is deferential towards the parents-in-law of their daughter, but assume a domineering attitude towards the parents of their daughter-in-law. Finally, a person has more intimate relations with his mother's brother's children than with his father's sister's children; the former belong to his matamal (mother's natal household) with whom he has closer relations, outside his own natal household, than with any other grouping of kin. The latter distinction of roles is less clear than the former two, but nevertheless an important one. All these distinct categories of kin get entangled together as a consequence of reciprocal marriages.

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation The confusion of roles is even more confounded when an inter-generation exchange takes place. By exchanging his daughter with a man's sister, Vasaboi (village Khrev) became his brother-in-law's father-inlaw, and the latter became related to the same woman as Fig. X husband and uncle (stepmother's brother)! Such exchanges are, however, rare, and unreservedly condemned by the villagers. I was able to record only three instances from villages other than UtrassuUmanagri. Two of these involved priests whose limited numbers make remarriages particularly difficult to arrange. According to the Pandits, a man who is old enough to have a nubile daughter of his own ought not to seek a wife. In the attitude towards reciprocal marriages may be seen an unresolved social problem of Pandit rural society. Being married is desirable from all points of view: physical, emotional, cultural and ritual. But the difficulty of finding wives for all men often (p.104A) necessitates arrangements which conflict with certain basic notions of kinship. It would seem that two sets of values have been prevalent among the rural Pandits for many generations. On the one hand, there have been the aristocratic families who have disapproved of reciprocal marriages, emphasizing the unseemly social situations these give rise to. On the other, there have been the majority of the Pandits who have attached greater importance to the various advantages of such marriages than to their disadvantages. Marriages involving payment, in cash or kind, to the girl's household by her future husband, or his chulah, are not only infrequent (17 per cent of the total number of marriages in Utrassu-Umanagri) but also concealed. Payments may be received for the stipulated purpose of marriage expenses (mainly for dowry), or without the manner of use and expenditure being specified. In either case the element of purchase is present, but of sale only in the latter case. Such marriages are held to be against dharma and morality. The idea of selling a child is very repugnant to the Pandits' sense of human dignity, and a man who receives money for his daughter is regarded as one fallen very low. A man who buys himself a wife is generally a widower, or a bachelor of advanced age, who has given up all hopes of marriage by the usual means. He does not feel any pride in being rich enough to buy himself a wife; instead he suffers from a sense of shame that he has to do so. In short, selling a daughter shames a parent, and buying a wife does a man no credit. It is extreme poverty and the presence of several nubile daughters in the household which compel it to resort to this kind of marriage. The parents never make such a proposal but accept it when it is Page 13 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation made to them. Though the negotiations for purchase take place in great secrecy, news about it leaks out sooner or later through the intermediaries who are instrumental in settling the terms of the marriage. ‘Promise-Giving’ and Betrothal Ceremonies

Affluent households regard it a matter of prestige to announce a forthcoming wedding by holding a betrothal (gandun, ‘binding’) ceremony. Poorer chulahs tend to avoid it. Some consideration or other—e.g. the young age of the girl or the boy, a year of poor harvests and high prices, a sudden death in one of the households, or the inauspiciousness of the impending part of the year—may, however, necessitate postponement of marriage after the match has been settled upon. In such cases a betrothal, or the simple and (p.105A) less expensive ‘promise-giving’ (takh dyun) or ‘oath’ (driykasam) ceremony usually takes place. Neither ceremony is finally binding upon the two parties, either of whom may revoke it. If many valuable and durable gifts have been exchanged between the betrothal and its dissolution, the same will be returned even if they have been made use of. These gifts usually consist of clothes and gold ornaments. For reasons already mentioned, ‘promise-giving’ is more common than betrothal. A party of a dozen or so men from the boy's side visit the girl's household. There they are served the midday meal if they have come from another village; otherwise tea and cake are deemed adequate for the occasion. After the pleasantries are over, the leader of the visiting party (usually the oldest man) formally asks the paterfamilias of the girl's household to promise that the chosen girl will be given in marriage to their boy. The promise is formally given, and then small gifts, sometimes only flowers and dry fruits, are exchanged between the two parties as a token of the solemn agreement just entered into. A betrothal is more elaborate; gifts of considerable value are exchanged and both the households give feasts to their kith and kin. The Marriage Ritual

The Pandits maintain that marriage is one of the rituals for the spiritual good of the human body. A series of rites, performed in two parts, constitute the ritual of marriage. Most of the rites are of Sanskritic origin. A few apparently nonSanskritic ceremonies also are performed, but the Pandits themselves do not distinguish between rites as Sanskritic and non-Sanskritic. We may now describe what the Pandits regard as the more important of these rites and ceremonies. The explanations given are based on what they themselves believe rather than on an interpretation of Sanskrit texts. A ritual of pacification is performed for the bride and the bridegroom in their respective homes a couple of days, but never more than seven days, before the solemnization of the marriage. The purpose of this ritual is to intercede with gods and evil spirits so that supernatural interference may not preclude the Page 14 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation performance of the marriage rituals proper. In the case of the bride, it is also the occasion for the performance of nine other rites, which should have been ideally performed between her birth and marriage. Subsequently, the bridegroom, accompanied by close kin, neighbours (p.106A) and friends, goes to the home of the bride on an appointed and auspicious day for the wedding. The performance of rituals on this occasion takes most of a day or an evening and the night. A fire is lit to serve as a divine witness (fire has a presiding deity, the god Agni), purifying agent and the conveyor of food offerings to gods. This act at once establishes the religious character of the rite. The bridegroom is then called upon, by the bride's father, to accept kanyadan (ritual gift of a virgin). Only a virgin may be given in marriage because a woman who has had sexual intercourse with a man is unchaste and unworthy of being given as a ritual gift. The Pandits say that, in olden times, the bride used to be absolutely chaste because girls were married before menarche. This is not done nowadays because of changing social norms and the legal prohibition of child marriage. The ritual gift of a virgin bestows ritual merit, upon the person who gives her and the person who accepts her. The girl may be given in marriage by her father, father's father if he is alive, father's elder brother, or her own elder brother. Sometimes a mother's brother may be called upon to give away his niece in marriage if her father and future husband are of the same gotra (see above, pp. 91 ff.). Having made the gift, the bride's father puts a new yagnopavit of six strands around the bridegroom's neck and removes the yagnopavit of three strands which the latter has been wearing since his mekhal. This rite symbolizes the assumption of the responsibility for the ritual debts (see above, p. 81) of the bride by her husband. As these rites are being performed, the bride's younger sister is given a gift of money by the bridegroom's father to console her in her sorrow at the imminent departure of her sister from her natal home. The close bond between sisters is recognized in this usage. The most important of the marriage rites is called sapta-padi (‘walking seven steps’). Seven coins are put around the ritual fire. The bridegroom then holds the hands of the bride and leads her step by step over the seven coins. As he guides her over the seven coins, the priests make him repeat the mantra which they themselves recite. The bridegroom promises the bride that he will do seven things for her: feed her, look after her health, give her wealth, be answerable for her well-being, give her offspring, be good to her at all times, and be bound to her in mutual friendship. After this rite the marriage is irrevocable. Towards the end of the ritual, the bridegroom gives some walnuts to the bride who gives them to her father-in-law who blesses her. This usage is perhaps Page 15 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation symbolic of the fact that the children (p.107A) which the husband will have by his wife will belong to his father's patrilineage.10 The bride having been gifted away and accepted, and the rituals having been borne witness to by gods, marriage binds husband and wife in an indissoluble bond. It is not only a contract but also a sacrament. Moreover, a ritual gift cannot be taken back, and once accepted it cannot be abandoned. The Pandits call marriage nethar (ne = never + ethar = change), meaning thereby a permanent bond. The Sanskrit term vivaha also is employed, and means ‘carrying away’; it refers to the change of residence by the bride who is carried away to her conjugal home. This poses a problem which the Pandits have solved in an ingenious manner. The girl having been gifted away should not return to her natal home, for, as already stated, no gift should return to its giver. Therefore, when the girl leaves her natal home, she does not walk out through the door, but is handed out of a window. Thus, her subsequent visits to her natal home become possible; not having used the front door of the house for going out, she can enter through it on these return visits. Secondary Marriages and Remarriage

Marriage is indissoluble, but a man may take a second wife if his first wife dies or is unable to bear him children. Pandit men do not usually take secondary wives for the sake of children; only one case was reported to me, and that too from the city of Srinagar. Whereas widowers have been traditionally permitted to remarry, widows did not have this right probably, or at least partly, because they cannot be given as ritual gifts and, therefore, their marriage for a second time cannot be truly solemnized. The ritual status of a widow's children by a second marriage also would be doubtful. Nevertheless, the last 20 years have witnessed many cases of widow remarriage among the Pandits. A ‘social reformation movement’—so-called—in support of widow remarriage and other changes in the traditional way of life originated in the city in the early 'thirties and later spread to the villages. Subsequently, an Utrassu-Umanagri widow was married into another village in 1939, but she died soon later. This remarriage failed to receive (p.108A) wide approval in the village. Seven years later a widow's father-in-law sponsored her marriage to his younger son. The priests, defying the Brahmanic code, proved equal to the occasion and performed an abridged version of the marriage ritual. This time many elders of the village came out in support of widow remarriage. Since then six more widows of Utrassu-Umanagri have married in the village and two outside it. One widow has come in from outside. There are now seven remarried women in the village. It seems that the Pandits of the village did not greatly oppose this breach of religion and custom; they were, in fact, divided on the desirability of such marriages. The aristocratic and some other families made a feeble verbal protest Page 16 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation in the name of religion and custom, but this stand was weakened by the fact that Telakchand, one of the prominent aristocratic men of the village, supported the second widow remarriage which took place in his wife's natal family. The majority of the Pandits connived at these early cases of widow remarriage, probably because they saw in it an answer to the problem of finding wives for all men. The values and principles of the ‘social reformation movement’ have also had some influence upon the rural Pandits and made them conscious of the hardships and miseries of young widows. The aristocratic families have now given up their opposition, but none of them has yet allowed such a marriage to take place in their own households. It is of interest to note that in five of the seven cases of widow remarriage in Utrassu-Umanagri, the marriage was decided upon by mutual consent between the widow and her second husband. In two of these cases the widow married her deceased husband's paternal cousin, and in three cases an unrelated man. In the remaining two cases, the widow's father-in-law asked his younger son to marry her. It is significant that five of the seven men who married these widows were bachelors, and all of them were between 23 and 35 years of age.

II Structural Consequences of Marriage MARRIAGE HAS both immediate and long term consequences. A feature of the Pandit kinship system is that, whereas the immediate rearrangement of roles and change in status consequent upon marriage are of great significance to a newly married woman and her natal and affinal households, these changes do not immediately affect the position of a newly married man in his own (p.109A) chulah. For at least some years after marriage (exactly how long would mainly depend upon the presence or absence of members older than himself in his household and their age), a man's relations with his wife are overshadowed by the relations between her on the one side and his parents and other members of his household on the other. Ideally, a man's marriage is expected never to affect his roles as, say, son or brother. Since he continues to live in his own natal household he does not have to make the kind of adjustments his wife has to. For a woman marriage is the beginning of a second (the Pandits would say, her real) life, as it were. Although an unmarried daughter has an important place in the affections of her parents, and is of great help in domestic work, yet there is no specific jurally or ritually important role for her to fill in her natal home before her marriage. Subsequently, she has certain ceremonial functions in her natal family, but her most important roles are as wife and mother in her conjugal family. Not only is a girl physically transferred to her new home on her marriage, but she is also given a new personal name;11 she is, indeed, truly ‘twice born’. The effect of this change in her emotional life is, of course, immense. The newly wedded woman, suddenly uprooted from her natal home, is placed in the midst Page 17 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation of strangers vis-à-vis whom she is expected to assume roles some of which are not only novel but also the opposite of the roles hitherto played by her. From having been a member of a household by virtue of birth, she now becomes a member of another household by virtue of marriage, and it is with the latter chulah that her future lies. The change in her mode of residence and the nature of her chulah membership is accompanied by changes in a woman's jural and ritual status. Until her marriage takes place, a girl's jural position is indistinguishable from that of her brothers. It is regarded as the duty of her natal household to arrange for her marriage. If she is married patriuxorilocally, as happens rarely, she retains her rights as a coparcener in her natal home. Her husband retains similar (p.110A) rights in his own natal household, and does not acquire them in his conjugal chulah. But if a girl is married patrivirilocally, which is by far the commoner practice, she loses her status as a coparcener in her natal household. But she retains certain residual and contingent rights.12 Thus she expects gifts from her natal household on specified occasions, such as her own and her husband's birthdays, the ritual initiation of her sons, and the marriage of her children. Should she become a widow, a woman may return to her natal home where she has the contingent residual right of maintenance. But it is uncommon for a widow to return to her natal home; a widow with children never does so. Of the 27 widows living in Utrassu-Umanagri, only two have resumed residence in their natal homes; both are childless and live with their brothers. Whereas a widow has the moral and the jural rights to return to her natal home, she also has an inalienable right to stay on in her conjugal home. In fact, her ritual ties irrevocably bind her and her children to her conjugal family. From the point of view of ritual status, an unmarried girl is regarded as pure and chaste like a goddess but without the ritual status of an initiated person. The Pandits attach great value to virginity (kaniktav). A virgin is doubly pure before her menarche as she does not suffer periodical detilement by menstruation. That is one of the reasons why child marriage was a favoured practice in past times. An adult virgin is not pure because she suffers periodical defilement, and a married woman, though ritually initiated, has, of course, lost her virginity. From the day of her marriage a woman wears, as a sign of her ritual status, a cotton cord round her waist, against the skin, resembling a man's ritual girdle. The cord is also used to wear necessary sanitary protection during the period of menstruation. Thus, the very cord which symbolizes ritual adulthood may be seen as also symbolizing the fall from virginal purity. The immediate consequence of the attainment of ritual adulthood by a girl is that she acquires the privilege of participation in all the domestic rituals which her husband may perform. In fact, these rituals and ceremonies are ideally performed by a man together with his wife. In the performance of rituals a

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation Pandit's wife is his ardhangini (‘half of the body’) and dharmapatni (partner for the performance of dharma). As a ritual a woman suffers pollution by births and deaths among her affines. A married woman's parturition and death (p.111A) also cause pollution to her affines, but not to her agnates. An unmarried girl's death does not cause pollution to anybody. A married woman receives a ritual funeral, and thereafter offerings of food and water from her sons, husband, or his agnates. Thus only a married woman joins the manes of a family. From the foregoing facts it may be concluded that ritual adulthood irrevocably binds a woman to her conjugal family. This is perhaps what those Pandits mean who say that a woman enters her husband's gotra on her marriage, and that she has no gotra before that. Although a woman ceases to be a coresidential member of her natal chulah on her marriage, yet she does not cease to be a daughter or a sister. Besides certain residual jural rights and ritual obligations, personal affection and sentiment sustain her ties with her natal home. Thus, a married daughter and her son are required to participate in the funeral rites of her parents; and a man can, if he so likes, offer food and water in the name of his mother's deceased father. A daughter loses no opportunity of visiting her natal home, in the early years of her married life, to be present at various ritual and ceremonial occasions, such as birthdays and death anniversaries. If taken ill, she may be removed to her natal chulah where she feels more relaxed, and hopes to be better looked after. But as her parents and parents-in-law die, and her own children grow up, she is gradually absorbed into her conjugal chulah and her bonds with her natal home gradually become weakened. Although there is a decline in informal interaction, yet a female agnate, in her position as pof (father's sister), has to play important ceremonial roles on various occasions, such as initiation and marriage, in the lives of her brother's children. The Pandits refer to the pof's role as pofakar (pof's work). Thus, she ceremonially cooks food; paints ritual symbols and makes floral patterns (in lime, turmeric and other colours) on the façade of her brother's house to the accompaniment of singing by other women; applies the ceremonial mainz (Lawsonia inermis) to the hands and feet of the initiate, bridegroom, or bride; and at the time of her nephew's mekhal distributes tea and cakes among all the kith and kin present in her brother's house. She receives gifts in cash and kind from her. natal household on these occasions. Her husband, who shares her privileged position, may be requested to tie the turban on the initiate's or the bridegroom's head. This is regarded as a great honour, and a man is so honoured in his capacity as the pof's husband. Pofakar is a privilege and a right which may not be denied to a woman. It is an expression of her position as an agnate in her (p.112A) natal family. But as another generation grows up the pof becomes the pofanani (father's father's sister) and is, if alive, regarded as a remote kinswoman. A Pandit proverb sums up the declining ties of a woman with her natal chulah thus: Page 19 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation The daughter of today is the sister of tomorrow, the pof and the pofanani of a later day, and then she is a stranger. The Woman-Giving Household

Marriage among the Pandits results in changes in the internal structure of the households which are joined in an affinal alliance. Whenever a marriage takes place, a natal member of one household is transferred to the other. The departure of a girl from her home depletes her natal family but augments her conjugal family. In reciprocal marriages the loss of a daughter is compensated by the addition of a daughter-in-law to the household. But the depletion of the household through the marriage of its female natal members is only to be expected. It is also an important event in the developmental cycle of the chulah. A daughter, unable to continue her patrilineage, is socially useless qua daughter. But as daughter-in-law, she bears sons who continue her husband's patrilineage. Moreover, one of the processes underlying the developmental cycle of the chulah is that of conflict between the sibling and conjugal bonds. The change of residence by women on their marriage leads to the development of this conflict between brothers, and its resolution so far as relations between brothers and sisters are concerned. When a girl is married out, her departure simplifies the position with regard to interkin relations in her natal household. The husband's unmarried sister is one of the main obstacles in the way of the growing influence and assimilation of a woman in her conjugal household. Not only is a woman's role as husband's sister made less effective by her assumption of other roles and change of residence but her influence on her mother is also reduced. When the mother-daughter axis breaks down, the mother in her role as mother-in-law is more accommodating. The marriage of an only or a last daughter may reduce a household drastically to a conjugal pair, a widow or a widower. A couple approaching old age need to be physically cared for; they also need the economic and emotional support of a son. Besides these immediate needs, there are also remoter needs like the need for a proper funeral and shraddha and the desire for earthly ‘immortality’ (p. 113A) through agnatic lineal descendants. The emotional fulfilment and satisfaction which the presence of sons and grandchildren alone can give is sorely missed if a couple find themselves childless in old age. The feeling of helplessness and loneliness is greater in the case of a widow or a widower than in the case of a married couple. But such situations do not arise often. When it is likely to arise, two courses are open to the household concerned: a son may be adopted or a daughter married patriuxorilocally. It is only very rarely that nothing is done to remedy such a situation. There are two men belonging to other villages, and one belonging to Utrassu-Umanagri, who are patriuxorilocally resident in the village. In only one of these three households does the daughter concerned have no brothers; in the other two they are present but are young, Page 20 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation while the parents are old and poor. Similarly there are eight men of the village who are living patriuxorilocally in other villages. In five of these cases the conjugal chulahs of these men lack sons. Unions involving patriuxorilocal residence are called gari pyath (‘at home’) marriages. Such a marriage is a contract between a man and his parent(s)-inlaw. He takes up residence with his wife's natal household, looks after its estate, shares in enjoying its prosperity, and, if needed, provides additional income. All the three gari pyath sons-in-law, resident in Utrassu-Umanagri, are actively engaged in earning cash incomes which they contribute, at least partly, to the expenses of their conjugal households. Such a son-in-law looks after the upkeep of his wife's natal household and the comforts of his parent(s)-in-law. If his wife has younger siblings, he arranges for the schooling and the mekhal of the boys, and the marriage of them all. After the death of his parent(s)-in-law he is free to return to his natal home. In exchange for his services a son-in-law obtains a wife, and eventually his children inherit the whole of their mother's father's estate which may be of considerable value. He himself does not acquire any direct right of inheritance though this seems to be the position under Hindu law (see Derrett 1962, pp. 23f.). Even his children's jural and ritual positions in their own paternal family remain unaltered by the mode of their residence and the fact that they inherit through their mother from her natal household. The Pandit Woman in her Conjugal Household

For a few months after her marriage a woman is referred to as the bride (mahrini) by her relatives-in-law. She is treated as a favoured (p.114A) guest, served special foods, and made to wear her bridal clothes and jewellery. She is not allowed to do any heavy work such as cooking or fetching water. She is allowed to visit her natal home (malyun) frequently;- in fact, she does not spend more than nine months or so of the year after her marriage in her conjugal home (variw), but she must be present on all occasions of domestic importance such as ritual feasts and fasts, birthdays and death anniversaries. The parents of a newly married woman anxiously await her visits so that they may know how she is faring. They offer her advice and console her if she complains of harsh treatment. On their part, the relatives-in-law watch her doings with a critical eye for any lapse of etiquette or lack of skill, and frown upon her mistakes. If these are repeated, her parents are sent a message reprimanding them for not having properly trained her. There may also be complaints about insufficient prestations (hyot-dyot, ‘taken-and-given’). The contrast between the joys of a woman's life in her malyun and the hardships she has to bear in her variw are a favourite theme in Kashmiri folklore (see Bazaz 1959). On the whole, the first year or so after marriage usually is an exciting time for a woman as well as her relatives-in-law. For her the acquisition of adult status, connubial joys, new clothes and ornaments, and the frequent visiting to and back from her variw contribute to

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation the excitement. For her conjugal family there are the joys of having a new daughter-in-law (nosh) in the house and of receiving gifts. In terms of overt behaviour, a woman's closest relations in her conjugal household are with her husband's mother, sisters, and his brothers' wives. The attitude of a mother-in-law towards her daughter-in-law is influenced by two important factors: (1) the extent to which a man allows his relations with his wife to affect his relations with his parents and siblings; and (2) the extent to which the parents-in-law of a woman are satisfied with the gifts they receive from her parents. Moreover, Pandit women are traditionally domineering and harsh in their attitude towards their daughters-in-law; but whether a particular mother-in-law is kinder or harsher than usual depends upon her own temperamental make-up and the temperament and behaviour of her daughter-inlaw. Among the Pahdits a daughter-in-law is traditionally expected to be selfeffacing, hard-working, respectful and obedient, and to conform to a severe code of etiquette. She is the first member of the household to wake up in the morning and does not retire to bed unless she is asked to do so. She may not eat before her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law (husband's sisters) have had (p.115A) their food. Since no woman eats before the male members of the household, she may not on occasion get enough to eat, or get all the things that have been cooked. She should not speak to any adult male directly or look him in the face. She should sit with her back turned towards the elders as facing them is regarded as being overbold. She does not have a joking relationship with any of her affines, but may be on familiar terms with such of them as are younger than herself. Above all, she should completely avoid her husband in the presence of others. Strained relations between a woman and her relatives-in-law are of common occurrence. The uneven development of relations between a woman and, on the one hand, her husband, and on the other, her relatives-in-law, usually is the main reason for this; even before they have ceased to regard her as a stranger, the husband comes to love her and confide in her. If he allows his feelings for his wife to result in a pronounced change in his attitude towards the members of his natal household, their attitude towards him becomes suspicious and bitter. They resent the influence his wife is able to exercise'over him and complain that their nosh has estranged one of their kin from them. The more her influence on her husband or his solicitude for her, the greater the resentment a woman's relatives-in-law bear towards her; and the more they are resentful towards her the closer her husband feels drawn to her. Other factors also may contribute to the already strained relations between sons and their parents. Adult sons often complain of their parents' failure to recognize that the former are grown-up individuals, and not mere appendages of the latter. Whereas sons rebel against the emotional possessiveness of their

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation parents, the latter wonder—to quote one irate father—‘how a son can forget his mother's milk that still sticks to his mouth’. An adult son may also disagree with the manner in which his parents manage the affairs of the household, but he should not question the wisdom of their actions. If he does, many people will regard him as being insolent and disobedient. Filial piety entails unquestioning obedience to the wishes of one's parents, even when they are obviously wrong. But personal interest does often take the upper hand in a man's actions, particularly if the disregard for his parents' wishes is not likely to be taken very seriously by them. Thus, Badri (27) insisted on taking his wife away with him to a town, where he is employed, on the ground that he could live more frugally if his wife were to keep house for him. His parents resisted the suggestion at first, but finally relented. On his part, Badri also (p.116A) took his younger brother, aged nine, with him. In her relations with her daughter-in-law a woman is much influenced by her nubile daughters. The Pandits say that the husband's sister is a mother-in-law in miniature. She is usually exacting in her demands upon her brother's wife and critical in her attitude towards her. Although she may be a couple of years younger than her brother's wife, yet she will treat the latter as an equal, or even as one junior to her in age. The main reason for her attitude also may be seen in the estrangement which grows between siblings when they attain adulthood. Dwarkanath (25) was a dutiful son and a devoted brother till his marriage. A few months afterwards, his wife, aged eighteen, and his younger sister, aged sixteen, quarrelled because, according to his mother, his wife insulted his sister. Soon it was noticed that Dwarkanath was not talking as much to his sister as formerly, and this was much resented by his mother and sister because they had expected him to reprimand his wife. Nothing seemed to go straight between him and his mother and sister after this happening. His own version, given to me about a year later, was that his sister and his wife had had a tiff and he had tried to remain completely neutral by busying himself in various household duties. When I told this to his elder brother, the latter exclaimed, ‘Neutral? He has no right to equate someone of his own blood with a stranger.’ After her marriage a Pandit girl comes nearer to her parents and siblings, particularly the former. Constrained by custom to part with their child, and send her away to live with strangers, parents feel most grieved when their daughter departs for her new home. I saw the parents and other close kin of two brides weeping at this sad moment. Most daughters complain of the drudgery, if not the harshness, of a daughter-in-law's life, and are showered with gifts and love by their solicitous parents. Consequently, parents and daughters develop a new, richer emotional relationship.

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation The changed status of a daughter qua daughter also contributes to this development. Away from her natal home, a married woman rarely questions the actions of her parents in their own household. She may even act as a peacemaker between her parents and siblings. She no longer has any common interests with them, and her absence removes the possibility of even minor irritations developing between them. Her loyalty towards her own husband does not conflict with her loyalty towards her kin. Being no longer a coparcener she is not a potential rival to her brothers' interest in their ancestral estate. But the position of a son is quite the reverse. His (p.117A) marriage may create a hiatus between him and his parents and siblings. Tensions may also arise between a woman and her parents-in-law, and even her husband may become displeased, owing to the general desire of the Pandits to receive more prestations from their daughter-in-law's natal household than they do. A woman may be ill-treated and taunted for the alleged miserliness and meanness of her parents. The most striking example of such an attitude that came to my notice was the following. Dinanath (36) had been married 14 years when his younger brother Mohanlal (20) got married. Mohanlal's parents-in-law sent him more personal gifts than Dinanath had received from his wife's parents. Although a father of five children, he showed such annoyance at his wife's parents' miserliness that she persuaded them to present him with a suit of clothes although there was no occasion calling for such a gift! I also recorded a few instances of the refusal of parents-in-law to recall their daughter-in-law, after she had gone on a visit to her parental home, unless her parents sent more gifts than they had done in the past. The attitude of a woman towards her husband's brothers' wives, and theirs towards her, is one of indifference or friendliness to begin with, but becomes competitive with the passage of time. So long as their mother-in-law is alive they are all under her control. After her death they usually come into conflict with each other. This phase in the relations between sisters-in-law is of considerable significance in the context of fission in the household, and will be discussed at length in Chapter 8. It may be stressed here that the general pattern of regularities in the relations between a woman and her relatives-in-law is not static but changes over time. Her becoming a mother is the most important event in this developmental process, and contributes significantly towards her assimilation in her conjugal household. The Pandits say that a daughter-in-law proves her worth when she bears a child. After a woman has borne several children her contacts with her natal home gradually become weakened; she goes there less often, particularly after the death of her parents, and her interests in her conjugal household become ramified. Another crucial development in this process of assimilation is her father-in-law's death, particularly if her husband is the eldest of several brothers or the only son of his parents, for he then succeeds his father as the Page 24 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation head of the household. Daughters-in-law may come into serious conflict with their mother-in-law in this phase of chulah (p.118A) development, and seek to challenge her authority over them. Radhamal (50) found, after her husband's death, that the elder of her two daughters-in-law, aged 30 and mother of three children, had become strangely defiant. Previously Radhamal had run her household strictly according to her own wishes and had been an exacting mother-in-law to her elder daughter-in-law for 12 years and to her younger daughter-in-law for three years. The elder daughter-in-law, who had always hated her mother-in-law, persuaded her husband, when he became the head of the household, to let her have an increasing voice in household matters. Radhamal's initial reaction was to fight with her daughter-in-law and complain against her to the latter's husband. He listened to his mother's complaints patiently but did nothing to restrain his wife because (as he told his elder sister) his wife had been suppressed too long and was not a child. Subsequently, his sister advised her mother to try to make peace with her daughter-in-law. The important change which had occurred in Radhamal's status was that she was no longer the wife, but merely the mother, of the head of the household. There are also many instances of a son who takes the side of his parents or widowed mother against his wife. One of the common reasons why a woman visits a magician or priest on behalf of her daughter, or on her own behalf, is to seek a talisman to turn the husband's loyalty towards his wife. In fact, even the man who takes the side of his wife rarely does so defiantly or openly, because the Pandits regard filial piety as a much higher virtue than conjugal love. The Husband-Wife Relationship

As long as a man's parents are alive, or there are other elders, particularly males, in the household, his relations with his wife are severely limited. He has no exclusive jural responsibility on her behalf. It is the duty of the household to look after her, and should she die without leaving behind a ritually initiated son, her husband's younger brother, rather than he himself, is called upon to perform the obsequies. Similarly a woman is not expected to do anything for her husband alone, unless, of course, she is the wife of the head of the household. Thus, she may not cook any special food for him; if she wants to wash a-single shirt of his, she must collect the dirty clothes of other members of the household as a pretext for the wash. Bishambarnath put the matter thus: ‘If a man returns home after a visit of long duration to Srinagar or some other place, (p.119A) his return will cause excitement and joy in his home. When he enters the yard, men, women and children of his chulah will flock around him. Men and women will embrace him and kiss his forehead; women will weep with joy; and children will run about and shout. Even neighbours, Pandits and Muslims, will join in welcoming him. But there is one woman who will remain unaffected, and continue to do whatever she was doing when the commotion began. Or, she may run into the

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation kitchen apparently to work there. But she will take no notice of the man who has come back. Nor will he bestow a glance on her. She is his wife!’ There are two reasons for this attitude. The growth of an exclusive loyalty between any two members of a household is disruptive of the ideal of joint living. Since a daughter-in-law is a relative stranger, the development of such a loyalty between her and her husband is looked upon with particular disfavour. Therefore, the only exclusive interest which a young couple may take in one another is as sexual mates, and this also they are expected to do only at night and in the privacy of their bedroom. The Pandits' attitude towards sexual desire, and their general sexual morality, also preclude spouses from openly showing any interest in each other. Moreover, the human genitals are regarded with a certain degree of disgust in view of their excretory functions, and the attitude towards them is extended to sexual intercourse. Consequently, there is a sense of shame which surrounds the wife-husband relationship for many years after marriage when sexual desire is held to be the main interest which a man and his wife have in one another. The sexual relationship between husband and wife, though shameful, is also justified because it leads to the highly desired status of parenthood. Further, sexual gratification is regarded as an essential feature of a successful marriage. The Pandits strongly believe that a woman who gets proper sexual gratification in her union with her husband will never be unfaithful to him. Sexual lapses on the part of men are not held as a sign of an unsuccessful marriage. Even some of my old women informants held this view, and two of them almost boasted of their husbands' sexual exploits. When children are born of a union, the husband-wife relationship acquires its raison d'être, not so much for the couple themselves, as in the eyes of the husband's natal household. But even afterwards, the husband-wife relationship between the junior members of the household continues to be subordinated to the parent-child and sibling relationships. Nevertheless, there is an (p.120A) obvious difference between the apparent mutual non-recognition of a newlywedded couple, and the avoidance between a man and his wife who have been long married and have children, but are younger than some other members of the household. When a man's parents die, and he becomes the head of the household, he assumes the economic and ritual responsibilities for his wife and children. By the time a household is in this phase of development, the conflicting pulls of a man's ties with his parents and siblings on the one hand, and his wife and children on the other, will have been resolved through the death of his parents, the marriage of his sisters, and separation (through partition) between him and

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation his brothers. Consequently, he is able to devote himself to the interests of his wife and children without restraint. A man has, in this phase of life, many interests in common with his wife. She is his garavajeni (housekeeper) and counseller, and has the sole responsibility for rearing young children, if they have any. She cooks and distributes food, works in the kitchen garden, looks after cattle, and does all other work incidental to domestic life. On his part, the husband regards himself as his wife's provider and protector; she is his ward as his children are. He is expected to wield authority over her: the Pandits do not subscribe to the notion of marriage as companionship between equals. An over-lenient and over-fond husband is likely to be dominated openly by his wife, and if that happens he is much ridiculed. Close observation of husband-wife relations among the Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri reveals that the formal domination of husbands over wives, though true, conceals the fact that women are able to exert a far greater influence over their husbands than even they themselves care to admit. The power of a wife over her husband must not become blatantly open and aggressive if it is to succeed, as no man wants to be publicly known as a hen-pecked husband. Instead the man who is able to dominate his wife and, if need be, beat her, thinks much of himself and is similarly regarded by others. Nevertheless, the phrase shandagand-tota (the parrot of the pillow), which Pandits employ to designate wives, is an expressive one; the wife is supposed to influence her husband's attitudes when they have both retired to bed. In Pandit society marriage is neither a single act nor a static relationship. It grows with the growing couple and means different things at different stages. Beginning with an exclusively sexual connotation, other interests, rights and obligations are added to it over the years, so that the Pandits maintain that an old man's wife (p.121A) is like a mother to him. There is considerable truth in this saying. A man with adult children is a rather lonely figure in the chulah. His authoritarian position as the head of the household tends to separate him from his adult children who are, therefore, much closer to their mother. The dictates of etiquette and sexual morality preclude intimacy between a father and his adult daughters; moreover the latter live in their own respective conjugal households and visit their parents only occasionally. A man's sons are his potential rivals; he has economic interests in common with them, and though they are his coparceners in the event of partition, yet they are subordinate to him while the joint household lasts. In the circumstances, a Pandit son is normally very deferential towards his father, but has freer relations with his mother. Consequently, a woman is able to shift easily in her old age her interests from her husband to her sons and daughters, but the older a man grows the greater his dependence upon his wife, since his children arc no longer young enough for him to play with them and be on familiar terms with them. An old Page 27 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation man, therefore, feels the loss of his wife much more than an old woman feels the loss of her husband. A Man and his Affines

The relations of a man with his affines are very different from those of a woman with her husband's family. There are two main reasons for this: firstly, it is unusual for a man to leave his natal home and take up residence with his wife; and secondly, a man does not acquire any ritual and jural rights or obligations towards his wife's kin. Thus, he neither offers nor receives oblations from them, nor does he inherit property from them. The relations between a man and his affines are characterized by great reserve in the early years of the relationship. He never visits his howur (wife's natal household) unless he is invited to do so. When he is on such a visit, he is treated as an honoured guest, and receives gifts when he departs from there. For a man his wife's kin are ‘strangers’—non-kin—and he is a stranger to them. Moreover, they ever remain so; they have no interests in common with each other. But with the passage of years intimacies develop and mutual relations become less restrained though never familiar. In the Pandits' estimation there is hardly anything more unseemly than a quarrel between a man and his howur. His affines are his well-wishers and sympathizers. Thus, when either of a man's parents dies, his mother-in-law or, in her (p.122A) absence, his wife's sister or her brother's wife, visits him to stitch his gown (pheran) which he formally tears to express grief. On the eleventh day after the death of his father or mother, he is presented with new clothes by his wife's natal household. Fresh bonds and interests emerge with the growth of a new generation. A man's relatives-in-law become the matrikin (matamal) of his children, and he becomes the pofuv (father's sister's husband) of his wife's brother's children, and the masuv (mother's sister's husband) of her sister's children. The pofuv may be called upon to perform the ceremonial function of tying his nephew's turban on the occasion of the latter's initiation or marriage. Relations between Affinally Related Households

It now remains for us to consider the interrelations between affinally related households. Just as the wife-husband relationship changes and develops over time so does the relationship between two affinally related chulahs. It has already been pointed out that after two households enter into an affinal alliance, the first phase of their relationship is ideally characterized by an unequal and irreversible relationship. Although the two households call each other sonya reciprocally, they do not treat each other equally. The members of the girl-giving chulah are expected to be humble and respectful in their dealings with the other chulah. Whereas the members of the latter deal directly with their daughter-inlaw, and the members of her natal household, the latter do not establish any Page 28 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation direct contact with their son-in-law, or their daughter while she is in her conjugal home. All their dealings are with their daughter's mother-or parents-inlaw. They have to accept as inevitable the harsh treatment of their daughter in her conjugal home, as also complaints from the chulah that enough gifts are not being sent. The sending of prestations by a girl's natal household to her conjugal chulah is an important aspect of the sonya relationship. These gifts (consisting of clothes, jewellery, cash money, dry fruits and other victuals) are both for the daughter of the gift-giving chulah as also her relatives-in-law. The gifts sent in her name are clothes and jewellery and are usually given to her by her mother-in-law, though she may keep some of these for her own daughters. Gifts of clothes, money, food, etc. are for the relatives-in-law and the mother-in-law receives these and distributes them according to certain well-established conventions. A girl-giving household generally communicates to its future sonya, before the marriage, the teth or scale on which all future gifts (p.123A) will be based. This is done to prevent later misunderstandings; if the teth is known, the right amount of prestations can be determined according to the importance of each occasion. The gifts sent may exceed the requirements of the teth, but should not fall below it; if they do, the gift-receiving household may demand that the deficiency be made good, resulting in strained relations between the two chulahs. The unit in the teth is given a value usually ranging from one to five rupees. The negotiations which precede marriage often involve bargaining over the fixation of this value. But, so far as I could find out, the negotiations never fail over this issue. It seems that misunderstandings over prestations develop even in those cases where they are based upon a scale, so that many Pandits do not regard negotiations over them of much use. These prestations may be seen as serving three purposes. Firstly, they are a means of indirectly compensating the daughter for her loss of rights of inheritance. These gifts are, therefore, at least partly motivated by love and kinship sentiments. Secondly, the parents of every girl hope that if they send enough gifts to her parents-in-law, the latter will treat their daughter-in-law well. The large quantity and the superior quality of gifts received from a daughter-inlaw's natal chulah helps to give her prestige in her conjugal household, and make her the better loved of daughters-in-law. However, no amount of gifts can achieve what a daughter-in-law's temperament and conduct can. Thirdly, prestations enhance the social status of the household that sends them and gives it fame and prestige in its own village and in the village of its sonya. The second phase of the relationship between affinally related chulahs commences with the birth of children to the couple through whom the two Page 29 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation households are united. This is an important development, representing the beginning of the process whereby the assimilation of affinal ties with those of kinship takes place. After the birth of a woman's children her natal family assumes the position of matamal vis-à-vis these children. Henceforward it is also as the matamal of their grandchildren that the parents of a woman deal with her parents-in-law, and thus acquire a new status in the latter's eyes. Although, after she becomes a mother, a woman visits her natal chulah less often than she did formerly, her parents now come to visit her oftener, and her children go to visit their matamal frequently. But a woman's parents will not eat anything in her conjugal home until the initiation ceremony of her eldest son has (p.124A) taken place. If invited to eat they either refuse, or place money in the cup or plate from which they eat. The idea is not to accept anything back from a daughter who has been given away as a gift, nor from the chulah who accepted her as a gift. The Pandits say that when a daughter's son reaches the age of initiation, it may be presumed that he will soon begin to make a contribution to the household income; it is, therefore, his food that his maternal grandparents may be said to accept. When a couple, through whom two households are united in affinity are dead, and their elders also, the relationship of affinity dies with them. The children of a woman and the children of her siblings are consanguineous kin with common grandparents. Thus affinal ties in one generation become cognatic ties in the next. (A fuller analysis of a person's relations with his matamal will be given in Chapter 10.) [Also see Appendix I.]

III Incorporation In Table VI four persons are shown as being members of Utrassu-Umanagri households by virtue of what I have called ‘incorporation’. In one of these households the incorporated member is the step-daughter of a man. She took up residence in his house when her widowed mother married him. Therefore, this case of incorporation is a direct consequence of remarriage by a widow. The frequency of such instances of incorporation may be expected to increase in future as widow remarriage becomes more common. There are three other former widows, with a child or children by their deceased husbands, who have married into Utrassu-Umanagri households. One of these widows left her adult son, his wife and children in her first conjugal household to join her second husband. In the other two cases, the widow married a member of her deceased husband's natal household, and her child (a son in one case and a daughter in the other) did not change residence. Thus, a step-child may live in his step-father's household and yet be a natal member of it. Nevertheless, a person's being a natal member of his step-father's household does not equate the former's jural and ritual statuses, in relation to the latter, with those of a natural child. Jankinath's step-son is by birth his step-father's deceased elder brother's son, and, in the event of partition, will be entitled to get one-half of the Page 30 of 33

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation estate as his father's sole heir. As Jankinath has no other brothers, he and his sons will receive the (p.125A) other half as their share. When Jankinath dies he will be cremated by the eldest of his natural sons, and not his step-son who is the eldest of his children. In other words, the relationship of step-father and step-child has as yet no jural or ritual recognition. The remaining three cases of incorporation are different in nature. When Goondram's parents-in-law died, they were survived by two daughters: his wife and her unmarried younger sister. The latter was brought up by Goondram and his wife in their house, and treated as though she were their own daughter. She was later married into another village, but died after she had given birth to a son and a daughter. Goondram brought the two infants to his home and here they have grown up. The boy is now 13 years old and attends the village school. Both the children visit their father occasionally and he returns the visits quite often. A few years ago he took the boy to his natal home for his initiation ceremony. It may also be expected that it will be the children's own natal household which will arrange for their marriage, and that ultimately the boy will go to live with his own father. The last case of incorporation is of Radhakrishan (17), both of whose parents are dead, and who lives in the home of his father's mother's brother's adoptive son. The latter is by birth Radhakrishan's deceased father's brother. It is obvious from the foregoing instances of incorporation that the usual and traditionally recognized modes of recruitment to the Pandit household are birth, adoption and marriage. Notes:

(1) Only one of these men belongs to Utrassu-Umanagri but does not live there anymore. (2) Lawrence (1895, p. 304) mentions 18 levite and 103 karkun gotra groups. Koul (1924) writes that there are 199 such groups (p. 20) but the list he gives (pp. 86–92) contains only 189 names. In Utrassu-Umanagri there are 16 gotra several of which are not to be found in Kout's list. (3) Cf. ‘According to the relevant text of Yajnavalkya, the bride must not be descended from one whose gotra … (is) the same as the bridegroom's’ (Mayne, 1953, p. 160). (4) Brahman law givers have variously interpreted the rule of sapinda exogamy. For details, sec Karandikar (1929, Chaps. IX and X) and Kapadia (1947, Chaps. II and VIII). The rule as stated above is based upon the Mitakshara (Vijnaneshwar's commentary upon Yajnavalkya's texts) (see Mayne 1953, pp. 146f.), which is the family law applicable to the Pandits. The Hindu Marriages Act (No. XXV) of 1955 lays down the legal position as follows:

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation ‘3(f) (i) Sapinda relationship with reference to any person extends as far as the third generation (inclusive) in the line of ascent through the mother, and the fifth (inclusive) in the line of ascent through the father, the line being traced upwards in each case from the person concerned, who is to be counted as the first generation…’ (5) In this respect gotra names are functionally similar to the spear names of the Nuer (see Evans-Pritchard 1951a, p. 30). (6) Since a new household is not set up following marriage, the word ‘dowry’ is employed in this book to designate the property which a woman brings to her husband's parental household (of which he is a member). (7) Writing about eastern Uttar Pradesh; where he says village exogamy is ‘virtually automatic’, Gould lists the following as causes: ‘caste endogamy’, ‘territorial stabilization of kin groups’, ‘gotra exogamy’, and ‘the tendency to regard affinal and consan-guineal kinship ties as mutually exclusive’ (1960, pp. 476–91 and 1961, pp. 297–300). See also Berreman (1962a, pp. 55–8) for an instance of the absence of village exogamy. (8) In 1961, 48, 922, or 55 per cent of the 89,102 Hindus of Kashmir were males. In Utrassu-Umanagri, the proportion of the Pandit males to the females in 1941 at the time of the census was 51.3 per cent which had by March 1957 changed to 54.75 percent. (9) The differential in the age of first marriage (see above, pp. 99f.) must, however, offset to some extent the effect of the above two factors. Assuming equal mortality, women are marriageable for eight years longer than men. (10) In its essential details the Pandit marriage ritual conforms to Sanskritic injunctions. For details of the Sanskritic ritual, see Prabhu (1954, pp. 165–75). For the rites accepted in Hindu law as essential to a legally valid marriage, see Mayne (1953, pp. 160–62). (11) Cf. ‘The establishment of a new equilibrium after a marriage requires that in certain types of kinship or family structure there is a need felt for emphasizing the separateness of the two connected families.… In the Nguni tribes the personal name that a woman has in her own family, as a daughter, may not be used by her husband's family, who have to provide her with a new name, which again will not be used by her own relatives. She is a different person in the two groups’ (Radcliffe-Brown 1950, p. 58). The Pandit practice is exactly similar to the Nguni custom. (12) Cf. Srinivas (1952, pp. 125f.) for similar rights of Coorg women.

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Recruitment to the Household: (2) Marriage and Incorporation

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The Economic Aspect of the Household

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

The Economic Aspect of the Household T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0009

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses the economic situation of the Pandit household. Topics covered include the traditional sources of household income; recent changes in the pattern of economic pursuits; present-day sources of collective and individual incomes; household income, patterns of spending, and levels of living; joint ownership of property; and rights of inheritance. Keywords:   Pandits, household income, economic situation, spending, property ownership, inheritance

IN THE preceding three chapters we have examined the compositional aspect of the Pandit household; the nature of its membership was considered in Chapter 4, and the modes of recruitment to household membership in Chapters 5 and 6. It was shown that the interrelations between the members of a household are governed by jural and ritual norms, but that in practice general or ‘normal’ behaviour does not always conform to the normative pattern. Among various factors responsible for this discrepancy, the personal interest of individuals, or groups of individuals, within the household is pre-eminently important. In the event of a clash between jural norms and a man's rights over goods and services, or his sexual prerogatives in his wife, the expectation in Pandit society is that, in the long run, the latter will govern his behaviour. Not only is this clear to the outside observer, but the Pandits themselves are also acutely aware of it; they admit that such a discrepancy between norm and action does occur, but stress that it is unusual and attribute it to extraordinary circumstances or human frailty, or both. They are deeply concerned about the desirability of general adherence to the dictates of kinship morality, and hence seek to underestimate the frequency with which it is violated. In fact, on the basis of observed Page 1 of 19

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The Economic Aspect of the Household behaviour, one may well say of the Pandits that, ‘the constraints of economics are prior to the constraints of morality and law’ (Leach 1961b, p. 9). Factual evidence in support of this assertion will be presented in the following chapter when we will discuss fission in the household. In the present chapter we will confine our attention to a consideration of the economic situation of the Pandit household with reference to (i) chulah income, and (ii) the ownership and the transmission of property within the chulah.

I Traditional Sources of Household Income THE PANDITS of rural Kashmir have traditionally depended upon (p.127A) land, salaried employment, and trade for their livelihood. The freehold ownership of agricultural land as a form of property has been possible only since 1932. ‘It is clear enough that under successive dynasties of Pathans, Moghuls, Sikhs and the first Dogra Rulers the cultivator in Kashmir was little more than a mere agricultural machine, possessing neither proprietary rights nor in theory any description whatever of even occupancy rights: it appears, however, that some form of hereditary right, though never admitted by the State authorities, was maintained and recognized by the people themselves, and in certain cases sales of land, though illegal and therefore unenforceable, actually took place’ (Report [of the Glancy Commission] 1932, p. 27). ‘Besides the ordinary assami, or occupant of village land, there were many privileged holders of land variously known as chakdar or mukraridar—men who had acquired landed property under deeds granted by the State’ (Lawrence 1895, p. 426). It seems that the Pandits held land both as ordinary occupants and hereditary owners when Lawrence commenced a survey for revenue settlement in 1890, for he makes particular mention of the official classes and the Pandits who held land on privileged terms’ as the interests opposed to his reforms (1895, p. 6). Under the reforms introduced at the recommendation of Lawrence at the end of the last century, permanent hereditary occupancy rights, but not proprietary rights, were bestowed upon every person who agreed to pay the assessment on the fields he was already cultivating at the time of the settlement (see Lawrence 1895, p. 429f.). At the turn of the century two Pandit families of Utrassu-Umanagri owned agricultural land in the village received as revenue-free grants from the State (see above, p. 33f.). All other families possessed occupancy rights. The landowners employed other villagers, Pandits as well as Muslims, as tenants. In fact, it seems that even occupancy right holders sometimes employed subtenants. As already stated, proprietary rights in agricultural land were granted in 1932 (see Report 1932, p. 27f. and Orders 1932, p. 4). More than ever before, land ownership now became a symbol of prestige, as also highly advantageous as Page 2 of 19

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The Economic Aspect of the Household investment. Consequently, all the Pandit households of Utrassu-Umanagri acquired proprietary rights in the land in their possession. Subsequently as land prices began to rise, several households, Pandit as well as Muslim, sold their land when in need of cash money. (p.128A) Their land was purchased by their, co-villagers. Some Pandit households bought land in other villages also. Salaried employment has been another major traditional source of household income among the Pandits. Lawrence observed: ‘In recent times there were few Pandits who were not in receipt of pay from the State and the number of offices was legion’ (1895, p. 401). It is of interest to note that ‘state service’ is recorded as the traditional occupation of the Pandits in various census reports (see e.g. Ram and Raina 1933). But so far as the Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri are concerned, not many of them have been in past times employed by the State. This was partly due to their preoccupation with agriculture and partly because of a high incidence of illiteracy. It is quite certain that more Pandits are at present government employees than ever before, the number of such persons being 73 (about 14 per cent of the total population of 522). Many rural Pandits have, however, traditionally worked for wages, in cash and kind, as domestic servants and cooks in the houses of the Pandits of Srinagar. Such service has been one of the factors which has led to the growth of a class distinction among the rural Pandits. Nobody who has worked, or works, as a menial is able to claim aristocratic status, or equality with the rural landlords. The third major traditional source of household income has been trade. Surplus cash, obtained either from the sale of surplus agricultural produce or saved from cash earnings, was often invested in retail trade in groceries, or in wholesale trade in wool, handloom blankets and clarified butter. Buying wool and butter from the Gujar and the Bakarwal (Muslim herdsmen), the Pandits have traditionally sought the services of their Muslim co-villagers to make blankets for sale in the towns. Similarly, butter bought of the herdsmen was clarified at home and then sold to urban dealers. There have been several such grocers and wholesale traders in Utrassu-Umanagri for at least the last 50 years. Between the turn of the century and 1948 the only major changes which occurred in the economic situation of the Pandit household in the countryside were: (i) the grant of proprietary rights in land, and (ii) the gradual increase in the number of salaried persons, mainly as a consequence of an increase in the number of literate Pandits. Recent Changes in the Pattern of Economic Pursuits

Far-reaching, though peaceful, political and economic changes (p.129A) have recently occurred in Kashmir, and these have deprived Pandits of their privileged economic position (see Madan 1961a). The Hindu monarchy came to an end and a ‘national government’ consisting of Hindus as well as Muslims was Page 3 of 19

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The Economic Aspect of the Household installed in the State of Jammu and Kashmir in 1948. This government soon introduced radical reforms for the advancement of the tenancy in the villages. In the first year of its office the government abolished privileged forms of land tenure, deferred by one year the realization of debts, reduced the rent for tenancies, distributed free of cost state-owned land to the landless labourers, and prohibited the ejection of tenants by landlords. In 1950 the Distressed Debtors' Relief Act was passed (see Brecher 1953, p. 158). Later in the same year the government enacted the Abolition of Big Landed Estates Act, under which ceilings were placed on the ownership of land—20 acres were allowed for agriculture, an acre and a half for residence, and an acre and a quarter for raising fruit trees. In 1952 the government decided that compensation, which was to have been paid under the 1950 Act, would not be paid to the landowners, part of whose land had been expropriated, as the tenants who had received the land were too poor to pay the requisite tax. ‘The land reforms changed drastically the agricultural and social structure of Kashmir. The feudal system was abolished, landlordism disappeared, and thousands of peasants living in virtual slavery became landholders’ (Korbel 1954, p. 211; also see Brecher 1953, pp. 155–62). In the Valley these reforms inevitably favoured the Muslim majority; compared to them a greater percentage of Pandits were big landowners, and a very much smaller percentage the tenants of other landlords. In Utrassu-Umanagri only four households—including the mahant's—lost land as a result of the reforms. The mahant owned two landed estates, both in excess of the newly imposed ceiling of 23 acres, one in his personal capacity and the other as the ‘representative’ of the goddess Uma. The ceiling was imposed on both the estates. The new rates of tenancies provided that whereas the tenants of landowners owning less than 12½ acres of land will receive only one-half of the produce, the tenants of those landowners who own more than that will receive two-thirds to three-fourths of the produce. This law adversely affected 14 Pandit and two Muslim households of the village. No Muslim household of the village lost land under the new law, (p.130A) but many of them who were the tenants of Pandit landowners received the excess land confiscated from the latter. Several Pandit households, resident in Umanagri, also received land, formerly belonging to the mahant, in their capacity as his tenants. The maximum land thus acquired by a household was about two and a half acres.1 More than the material consequences of the land reforms, which adversely affected only 14 households, it was the manner in which they were enacted and enforced—swiftly and without compensation of any sort—that has created a Page 4 of 19

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The Economic Aspect of the Household sense of insecurity and fear among the Pandits. They believe that the government will, in accordance with the declared policy of the ruling party, gradually confiscate land from every owner who does not till his own holding. From being the most prized of possessions, land has thus suddenly become devalued as a form of property. With a government representative of all communities in power, and literacy among the Muslims rapidly increasing, the Pandits' entry into the civil services, the police and the militia have been subjected to severe competition by the majority community. The Pandits' traditional reliance upon ‘state service’ has thus broken down. The Muslims are also increasingly participating in retail and wholesale trade as their economic condition is improving. Consequently, the Pandits today feel the pressing need to explore other possible sources of income in order to relieve their feeling of insecurity. About the same time as these drastic reforms were being introduced, the Indian army established an ammunition depot at the village of Khundur, four miles west of Utrassu-Umanagri. The depot offered handsome monthly wages of a hundred rupees and rations for unskilled labour. Several Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri and nearby villages, upset by the political and economic changes, defied timehonoured tradition and enrolled as labourers at the depot. Although only nine Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri are at present working at the depot, yet the significance of a Pandit working as a wage-earning labourer is immense, particularly when two of these men belong to the aristocratic families of the village; one of them also owns (along with his elder step-brother) over 12½ acres of land. (p.131A) Another significant indicator of the changed times is that five men of the village have gone out of Kashmir to various north Indian cities, such as Jullunder and Simla, and taken up employment there. Another 19 have joined the armed forces, and several of them also are posted outside Kashmir. Never before 1947 had any Pandit of Utrassu-Umanagri taken up employment outside the State. All of them have, however, retained social and economic ties with the village.2 Present-day Sources of Household Income

Seventy-nine of the 87 Pandit households of Utrassu-Umanagri own land; ownership of land is thus the most common source of household income. But only 22 land-owning households do not derive income from any other source. The major sources of household income are shown in Table VIII.

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The Economic Aspect of the Household

TABLE VIII Sources of Household Income Sources of income

Ownership of land

Nature of income

Number of households

Number of individual earners

Kind:

Grain and fruits

79

—

Cask:

Sale of surplus produce

Salaried service, civil and military (including pensioners)

Salary or pension

54

80

Wages (domestic servants Kind: and labourers) Cask:

Rations

14

15

Shop-keepinga

Profit on sales;

15

17b

Wages

(a) It has not been possible to determine with any certainty the number of households who carry on trade without shop-keeping. (b) Shop-keeping is not regarded as the exclusive responsibility of any one male member of the household. At times even children may sit at the shop while an older member of the household is otherwise engaged. However, it was in the case of only two shops that more than one adult member of the household spent considerable time at it, having nothing else to do.

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The Economic Aspect of the Household (p.132A) Besides the above, four households (the mahant's and of the sons of Keshavanand) (see above, p. 52) receive pensions from a religious trust for the performance of devotions. In 1957 five households earned a monthly cash income in the form of rental of houehold accommodation; in three houses the tenants were school teachers, in one a government employee, and in another my wife and I were resident in one half of the house. Cultivation of land belonging to others is practised by only two households on a share-in-the-crop basis. The relative incidence of the various sources of household income is shown in Table IX. For the purpose of this table, income from cultivation and household accommodation have been excluded because of their temporary nature.

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The Economic Aspect of the Household

TABLE IX Incidence of the Sources of Household Income Source of income

Land Only

Frequency 22

Land and Salary

Land and wages

Land and shopkeeping

Land, Land, wages and shopsalary keeping and salary

Land, shopkeeping and salary

Salary only Wages only Total number of households

32

4

3

6

3

7

9

1

87

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The Economic Aspect of the Household As already stated, only 14 Pandit households own more than 12½ acres of agricultural land, and of these only three own 23 or more (but less than 46) acres of land. The size of the holding thus is very small in most cases. Nonetheless, the Pandits' dependence upon agricultural land is still considerable. As shown in Tables VIII and IX, not only do more Pandit households (79 out of 87) of the village depend upon the ownership of land as a means of livelihood than on any other source, but 22 of them also have no other means of livelihood. Further, in 1956, a year of average harvest, 36 (40 per cent) of the land-owning households were able to obtain eight to twelve months’ requirements of grain from their own land. Twenty-one of these households obtained grain for a full one year's consumption, and six others were able to sell surplus (p.133A) produce. Rice is the staple of Kashmiri diet, but only a few households of Utrassu-Umanagri are able to raise all the paddy they need, as only wheat and maize can be grown in the upper parts of the village (the pati of Umanagri). The Umanagri households, however, own wet paddy lands in Utrassu and several other villages within a radius of about ten miles. The most significant recent trend in the economic situation of the Pandit households of Utrassu-Umanagri, however, has been towards a greater reliance on individual effort and cash income. Thus 92 out of 192 adult males (48 per cent) are actively engaged in earning cash incomes.3 It seems that the number of such active earners was only about 60 in 1947. The proportion of adult males to the total Pandit population of the village, as well as the total population itself, have not altered significantly during these nine years. The rise by 32 in the number of active earners cannot be, therefore, explained away by invoking demographic factors. Collective and Individual Incomes

The Pandits regard all income from any source whatever as the joint income of the household. Income from the ownership and/or cultivation of land, trade, and shop-keeping usually is not the outcome of any individual member's sole efforts, but wage or salary earnings are, of course, by an individual. To the extent to which individual earnings are not an important part of the household income, the solidarity of the joint household is maintained without much difficulty. The individual earner may not be coresident with other members of his household, but working away from home. Thus, 69 of the total number of wageearning and salaried men of Utrassu-Umanagri are absent from home for most of the year. Therefore, they provide for their individual requirements before they send any money home. Absentee earners usually send money home willingly, both out of a sense of duty and kinship sentiment, as also in justification of their own retention of rights in the joint estate.

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The Economic Aspect of the Household A member with a personal income who stays at home gives all his earnings to the head of the household. If the extent of his income is known, as is usually the case, it is not possible for him to retain part of it. He is not expected to have any needs which the paterfamilias does not know of. Contributions and needs are (p. 134A) standardized in the Pandit household; every adult male member is expected to contribute to the chulah income to the best of his ability, and what he receives is determined by his needs and the available resources. His contribution to the household income does not by itself entitle him to any special consideration. The system discourages individual initiative by refusing to recognize and reward it. An earning member of a joint household may sooner or later decide that the extent of his contribution to the household income outweighs his obligation towards other members of the household, other than his own wife and children, and the benefits he derives from its membership. Such dissatisfaction with joint housekeeping usually arises when a chulah is in the developmental phase of a fraternal-extended family. A feeling of economic injustice, supplemented by other grievances and structural strains, leads to fission in the household and partition of the joint estate. Partitions are not a recent phenomenon though the Pandits often talk as if they were. Nevertheless, the changed economic conditions have made it inevitable that individuals earn at different rates. Consequently, partitions between brothers may be expected to take place sooner in the future than has been usual in the past.4 An interim consequence of the recent economic changes has been, curiously enough, the retarding of partition in some cases. An individual earner who does not live at home with his wife and children, nor is able to take them away with him, is obliged to continue his membership of a joint household. Radhakrishan, a police sergeant, is one such man, and there are over a dozen others like him. If he obtains his share of the joint estate from his elder brother, he will have several problems to face. Thus, he will have to depend upon the honesty and good-will of his tenants for his rightful share of the agricultural produce as he will not be able to supervise their operations. Besides, he will have to leave his wife and young children in the village without the help and protection of an adult male. Both tradition and the nature of his official duties preclude him from taking them away with him. If he does manage to do so, the level of his income and the absence of suitable (p.135A) residential facilities in the village or town in which he is posted will make the move uneconomical. With land no longer the valued possession it was, interest in ancestral landed estates may be expected to wane in the future as they decline in value by

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The Economic Aspect of the Household successive partitions. This may in turn encourage mobility and the preference for smaller households. Household Income, Patterns of Spending, and Levels of Living

As will be seen in Table X, the variation in yearly household income among the Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri is considerable. For the purpose of calculating the value of paddy, which was not sold, I have employed the rates fixed by the government in autumn 1956 for the acquisition of grain from farmers. The values of other agricultural produce, such as wheat and oil-seeds, also not sold, are based upon market rates which were current in the town of Anantnag at the same time. The lowest income of about Rs 160 accrued to a two-member household from land (in kind) and from the rent of part of its house let out to an outsider living in the village. The highest income of about Rs 4,000 was earned by a threegeneration household of 18 members. Its sources of income were land, trade, shopkeeping, and the salaries of two members. TABLE X Differences in Household Income for 1956 Approximate income

Number of households

Size of household Range Average (approx.)

Rs 100–500

17

1–7

4

Rs 501–1,000

28

3–8

5

Rs 1,001–1,500

24

2–8

5

Rs 1,501–2,000

8

4–12

7

Rs 2,001–2,500

4

7–11

9

Rs 2,501–3,000

2

8–13

10

Rs 3,001–3,500

1

14

14

Rs 3,501–4,000

3

9–18

13

Of the 10 households which earned more than Rs 2,000, eight were extended families and only two nuclear families. In the past the large size of a household did not necessarily guarantee a high income, as it does now, because of the notion that it is humiliating, and indicative of dire poverty, for the members of a household to seek to earn cash incomes. Nowadays, not only are the villagers (p.136A) able to obtain better-paid jobs, in view of their higher standards of education, but the old attitude towards manual labour and the concealment of economic need also is changing. But as already stated, large households, consisting of extended families, are less likely to survive long when several

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The Economic Aspect of the Household members are earning cash incomes at different rates. Thus, the 18-member household mentioned above was partitioned in 1958. The above-given range in household income is not reflected in a proportionate variety in the patterns of spending. There are two reasons for this: firstly the money value of grain does not indicate the utility of an adequate food supply in a peasant economy; and secondly, a high income is not so much reflected in the pattern of spending as in the level of living. The principal items of household expenditure are the same for all households. They are: (1) Food (rice, wheat, maize, vegetables, mustard oil, salt, tea, sugar, spices, milk, yoghurt, ghee, meat, fish, etc.). (2) Firewood and kerosene (for lamps). (3) Clothing and bedding. (4) Domestic utensils, matting and furniture. (5) Payments in kind and/or cash to the providers of ‘specialist’ services (barber, potter, washerman, blacksmith, basket-weaver, etc.). (6) Gifts to married female agnates and their relatives-in-law. (7) Domestic rituals (births and birthdays, initiations and marriages, deaths and death anniversaries). (8) Medicines, and physician's and midwife's fees. (9) Travel to the town and other villages. (10) Land revenue, house tax and other payments to the government. (11) House repairs. Besides the above, the only major items on which a rich household may spend money are fodder for cattle, domestic servants, and entertainment. The only luxuries (regarded as such by the villagers) found in the village are a batteryoperated radio set (one household), newspapers (three households), bicycles (nine households), and time pieces (over a dozen households). The amount spent on the various items varies from household to household according to the availability of surplus grain and cash money. To illustrate the differences in the levels of living, we may take the example of food. The winter months of 1957–58 were of acute (p.137A) food shortage all over rural Kashmir. In Utrassu-Umanagri the richer households were able to draw upon their stocks of paddy, and even buy rice in the town of Anantnag at exorbitant prices. The poorer households resorted to eating wheat and maize which are not normally eaten for the main meals, but only at breakfast and with the afternoon tea. During the previous summer, which was not a period of hardship, the household with the lowest income, consisting of a widow and her son, did not buy meat or fish even once, whereas the richer households spent on it almost every fortnight, if not every week. The latter use ghee as well as mustard oil in cooking, and consume milk every day, buying it from milkmen if they do not have milch cows of their own. The widow uses only mustard oil, and Page 12 of 19

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The Economic Aspect of the Household buys a little milk occasionally for her afternoon tea. But an average meal in her home, as also in the homes of the richest households, consists of rice and vegetables cooked in mustard oil. Similarly, the clothes she and her son wear exactly resemble the clothes worn by the women and boys of the richer households, though the materials in the case of the former are often of poorer quality. In short, the spending patterns of the rich and the poor are considerably similar, but they spend at different rates. Income differences are most clearly reflected in the property owned by a house. In fact, the size of the income of a household is partly a consequence of the property it owns; and the extent of property it owns is partly determined by the size of its total income.

II Joint Ownership of Property THE HOUSEHOLD estate is known as jadad among the Pandits, and generally consists of corporeal property only. The only incorporeal rights that are regarded as part of the jadad are the hereditary rights of a gor household to officiate as priests to their client chulahs, and receive in return payments in cash and kind. These rights can be transferred, partitioned, or abandoned just like any other corporeal possessions. Possessive rights in human beings (see Radclifle-Brown 1950, p. 12) are also recognized. The best example is the rights of a man in his wife as his mate and housekeeper. Although such rights are economically non-productive, yet they have an economic value. They are usually individually owned, and cannot be inherited, transferred, or partitioned. (p.138A) The Pandits classify jadad as immovable or movable. The main types of immovable property are land, fruit trees, and the messuage excluding the granary which is so constructed (on four wooden posts and of wooden planks) that it can be easily dismantled and re-erected at another place. The main types of movable property are the granary, grain, domestic furniture and utensils, clothing, bedding, gold and silver ornaments, jewellery, cattle, and cash. The jadad is usually composed of an ancestral portion, inherited from a previous generation, as also of a portion which has been acquired by the living members of the household. Household property is jointly owned by the natal (agnatically related) male members of the chulah. Female members, whether agnates or spouses, do not have the rights of ownership and disposal in such property, nor are they usually expected to contribute or add to it. The only right they have is that of maintenance. Before her marriage, a woman's right of maintenance is exactly identical with that of her brothers, but her marriage alters her jural position. In case she is not sent away from her natal home, and her husband comes to live with her, she is, in effect, being treated as if she were a son, for, as we already know, the normal rule of post-marital residence in Pandit society is patrivirilocal. Page 13 of 19

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The Economic Aspect of the Household The consequence of this reversal of the normal rule of residence is that a woman acquires the rights of ownership and disposal in the jadad of the natal household similar to those of a male agnate; she inherits property from her father and transmits it to her sons (not daughters also). Her rights are not, however, identical with those of a male agnate, because her altered status in her own natal household does not alter her jural status as a female agnate so far as other households in her natal family are concerned. When Maheshwarnath's parents-in-law invited him to live with them, they had only one infant son. After his marriage another son was, born to them. Subsequently, after their death a partition took place between the three siblings, and Maheshwarnath's wife received one-third of her parental estate. She and her husband, however, abandoned her claim to a share in the house when they built one of their own. In fact, the main reason why the parents of a man agree to a patriuxorilocal marriage for him is their calculation that his wife will eventually inherit from her father and transmit the property to her sons. One of the single member households of Utrassu-Umanagri consists of a middle-aged widow who has given her son away in marriage in the hope that he will return to her, after the death of his parents-in-law, a richer man. (p.139A) If a woman is married patrivirilocally, as is usual, she loses the right of maintenance in the natal home except in certain contingencies, viz. if she becomes a widow, or if her husband deserts her. But she acquires the same right in her conjugal home. Moreover, she also retains the right to periodically visit and receive gifts from her natal household. Most important of all, she receives a marriage portion, known as stridhan (‘woman's wealth’), which she carries with her to her new home. It consists of such personal possessions as clothes, ornaments, domestic utensils, bedding, etc. The rich parents of a girl may even give her cattle and land. The stridhan is, jurally speaking, a woman's exclusive property, and may be regarded as a substitute for the right of inheritance. Her husband and relatives-in-law acquire no interest in it, and her daughters are expected to inherit it after her death. In practice her parents-in-law show immense interest in her stridhan, and may take away the best of her personal possessions to give to their own daughters. The domestic utensils and other household effects which she brings with her are, in any case, put into household use and treated as joint property. It is also usual for a daughter-in-law to receive some of the personal possessions of her mother-in-law when the latter dies.5 The jural right of exclusive ownership may, however, be asserted in certain cases. Kashinath's first wife had been dead several years, and he had already remarried, when he and his brothers partitioned their joint estate. Kashinath insisted that whatever of his second wife's stridhan was still in existence should be restored to her, and whatever remained of his first wife's stridhan should be made over to him for use at the time of the marriage of his daughter by his first

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The Economic Aspect of the Household wife. He was able to obtain most of the clothing and ornaments that he claimed but only some of the domestic utensils. The male members acquire an interest in the joint property of their household from the moment of their birth,6 though only adults may claim partition. Further, so long as the estate is jointly held, no member can lay exclusive claim to any part of it, except what is the product of his own individual efforts and unconnected with the joint estate. In practice this distinction between a man's (p.140A) joint and self-acquired property is nearly impossible to establish. He must be able to prove that he neither used any part of the joint estate, nor exploited his privileges as a member of the joint household, in acquiring what he claims to be his exclusive income or property. So long as the joint estate remains undivided, all male members of the household are regarded as coparceners with equal rights. The household estate is managed by the eldest male coparcener who is known as the karta (organizer). He is usually related as father or grandfather, or as brother or uncle, to the other coparceners. He may have all the four types of genealogical connection with them, or only one. It may be stressed here that any household consisting of only two natal male members, howsoever related (whether as father and son, brother and brother, uncle and nephew, or in any other manner), but owning an estate in common, constitutes a coparcenary. It is obvious that, contrary to general belief, such a joint household need not be an extended family. In Kashmir it often is a nuclear family (see Madan 1962b and 1962c). The karta has the sole responsibility for all the decisions about household matters, including the allocation of economic resources and tasks, but in practice he usually consults his wife and other adult male members of the chulah, who may persuade or coerce him to take decisions against his own judgement. Thus, in a dispute over ancestral residential land, Kailas was willing to make an allowance for the fact that unless his younger brother received a little more than the latter's full share of land he could not possibly build a house, but the former's wife and son opposed such a concession de-layinga settlement by several years. Nevertheless, a karta may wield considerable powers of direction and decision over the other members. He does so, not so much by virtue of being the head of the household, as by virtue of his structural position as a lineal ascendant of the other coparceners. As father (or grandfather), he claims a personal loyalty from his sons (or grandsons), which he generally is not able to claim from his brothers and nephews. As we will see in the next chapter, household property is usually partitioned when the karta's management of it is disapproved of by his collateral agnates and their wives. In extreme cases, a man's own son may also challenge his authority, and press for the partition of the estate. But such occurrences are rare. Though a father has no jural right to prevent his son from claiming his Page 15 of 19

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The Economic Aspect of the Household share in the estate, a man is usually able to exercise considerable power over his sons because Pandit kinship (p.141A) morality, with its strong accent upon filial piety, favours him. Rights of Inheritance

So long as a household continues to exist as a corporation, the problem of succession does not arise. A coparcener's death enlarges the beneficial interest of the survivors, just as the birth or adoption of a new male member diminishes it. Since a coparcener has no exclusive share in the joint estate, he has no heirs but only survivors. When the joint household breaks up, and the estate is divided, the problem of the apportionment of shares crops up. So far as the rules of inheritance are concerned, shares are parcelled out on the pir stirpes basis (see Black 1951). Similarly, when a person dies without leaving lineal heirs behind him, his estate is divided among his collateral agnates on the same basis. Lassaram, Nilakanth and Jagannath were three brothers. After Lassaram's death his sons Shamlal and Zanardhan obtained one-third of the estate from their uncles through partition. In course of time Nilakanth, Jagannath, Shamlal and Zanardhan also died. Later Nilakanth's only son Gopinath died without leaving behind any lineal heirs. Consequently, Mohanlal (son of Shamlal) received onefourth of Gopinath's estate, Pyarelal and Makhanlal (sons of Zanardhan) another one-fourth, and Radhakrishan (son of Jagannath) the remaining one-half (see Fig. XI). Although women have no right to shares, their position is considered at the time of partition. A childless widow is usually given her husband's share for the rest of her life but she does not have the right to Fig. XI sell it or gift it away. After her death her share reverts to her husband's collateral heirs. A share may be set apart for the maintenance and marriage of an unmarried sister and given to the brother with whom the sister stays. If such a share is not given to him, he has the right to claim financial help from his former coparceners at the time of her marriage. (p.142A) In contrast to the rights of inheritance of lineal heirs are the rights of collateral agnatic heirs. These rights are contingent upon a man dying without any lineal heirs. The rights of a collateral heir are ‘obstructed’ by the rights of a lineal heir, and the rights of a relatively distant collateral heir by those of a closer one. When a man is survived by a married daughter, who lives patriuxorilocally, his estate is inherited by her; but the collateral agnate (brother, nephew or cousin) who performs his obsequies is also given a small, often Page 16 of 19

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The Economic Aspect of the Household nominal, share from the estate of the deceased as indemnification for the expenses he incurs, as reward for his services, and above all as a reciprocal gesture symbolic of kinship rights and obligations which obtain between patrilineal kinsmen. When shares are distributed, both debts as well as assets are divided. Veshin had died a debtor, leaving behind two sons Ramnath and Jialal. His house also was in need of repairs. While Ramnath repaid the debt and repaired the house, using his personal cash income for these purposes, Jialal, who also earned a cash income, did not give any of it to Ramnath, and also remained absent from home for long periods of time. In 1957 Jialal wanted to set up a household of his own, and asked Ramnath to give him possession of half of the house. The latter refused to do so until Jialal paid him a sum of money equivalent to half of the amount of the debt repaid by him and also half of the amount of expenditure incurred by him on the repairs of the house. Although Jialal was contemplating to take the case to a court of law, hoping for a favourable judgment, the opinion in the village was generally in favour of Ramnath. The apportionment of shares does not always strictly follow the jural rules; nonjural considerations—such as a coparcener's long or frequent absence from home, his personal income, the number of his children, his seniority or juniority in age, or his offer to support a widow—may be invoked by each party in an attempt to raise the size of its share, and reduce the size of the shares of other claimants. Most Pandits complain how they failed to receive their due share of the joint estate because of the dishonesty of other coparceners. Although the grievance may be more imagined than real in most cases, because everybody bargains hard for any concessions that he may get, yet I have been able to record several instances where the head of the household was able to manipulate the division of assets and liabilities in his own favour. The reverse also may happen in some cases. When Shankar pressed his father Thakur to partition the household estate, the latter gave one-fourth of the estate to the former, and retained only (p.143A) three-fourths of it on behalf of his three younger sons. He could have divided the estate into five shares, and retained four to himself, as he also was entitled to a share as a coparcener. Disputes concerning the division of household property are common but are. usually settled by mutual agreement, though it may take years before it is reached. Common friends and relatives also are called upon to mediate or arbitrate between the disputants. The last resort of an aggrieved or bellicose person is to appeal to a court of law. But, generally speaking, the Pandits regard litigation as extremely unseemly when it takes place between closely related kinsmen, such as siblings, and try to avoid it. Moreover, there is the realization that once a case becomes sub judice it is not easy to manipulate the subsequent events in. one's own favour. Two strikingly contrasting views upon the Page 17 of 19

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The Economic Aspect of the Household uncertainty involved in litigation were put forward by my informants. While Sarwanand felt that ‘the judges are bound by their law books and therefore their justice is often unjust’, Bishambarnath asked, ‘Is the judge my maternal uncle that he will favour me?’ and added: ‘He will decide on the merits of the case’ (sec Appendix V). The Pandits believe that a maternal uncle always will be partial to his nephews (see below, Chapter 10). Nevertheless, people do occasionally approach courts of law to seek redress. In 1956 a widow successfully sought the intervention of the revenue court at Anantnag alleging that her son did not adequately provide for her medical treatment. The villagers thought of this as a very unusual case, and criticized both the mother and the son. It is a matter of considerable import in Pandit society if a parent, particularly a mother, has to seek outside aid against a son who is remiss in his duty; it is a violation of the dictates of kinship morality of the part of the son, and the villagers look at him with disapproval. But when a man fights with his brother, or cousin, for his economic interests, the Pandits regret it and yet accept it as being unfortunately inevitable. As the bonds of kinship become less close, the compulsions of kinship morality also become less binding in the face of economic and other interests; so much so indeed that even the children of the same parents prefer to break up their home and partition their estate rather than sacrifice any of these interests. Such fraternal discord is the theme of the following chapter. Notes:

(1) ‘According to Kashmir government sources, by the end of March 1953, 188,775 acres of land were transferred to 153,399 tillers. This would indicate that each peasant received an average of 1.23 acres of land under this program’ (Korbel 1954, p. 212). (2) According to unofficial reports, circulating in Srinagar in 1956–7, nearly 5,000 Pandits, mostly belonging to urban areas, had gone out of Kashmir to various parts of India since 1947 in search of employment. According to some of these migrants whom I was able to interview in Srinagar, New Delhi and Lucknow the main reasons for the exodus are ‘uncertainty about the political future of Kashmir’, and ‘better economic prospects outside Kashmir’. Most of these migrants have not as yet severed their ties with their kith and kin in Kashmir; in fact; many of them retain economic ties with their natal households. (3) Three of the 80 salaried persons shown in Table VIII are not active earners but retired pensioners. The figure of 92 active earners has been obtained by adding the number of salaried persons (77) to that of wage earners (15). (4) Lewis has several pertinent observations on how the family concept of a community narrows as the standard of income rises, and ‘greater difference in

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The Economic Aspect of the Household wealth and income between the various members of the family’ emerges (1955, p. 113). Also cf. ‘… if a cash crop is introduced into a society of subsistence farmers holding estates on the basis of joint families, the conversion of the subsistence into a cash economy will necessarily produce competition between the component families and lead to the breaking of wider kinship ties’ (Epstein 1962, p. 178) (5) ‘Stridhana or women's estate with a specific devolution counterbalancing the exclusion of women from coparcenary succession is another feature of Hindu Law …’ (Alexandrovicz, ed., 1958, p. 6, quoted in Dumont 1961a, p. 95). (6) It seems that under Hindu Law a male coparcener acquires his right of ownership from the moment of conception. See Maync 1953, p. 521.

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Partition of the Household

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Partition of the Household T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0010

Abstract and Keywords So long as adult men are living together, with their wives and children, under the tutelage of their father, the Pandit ideal of the joint chulah is easy to maintain. But the situation in the household changes drastically when the father dies. Each brother seeks to protect the interests of his own wife and children, and in doing so comes into conflict with the others. Joint living is still the ideal, but the divergence of interests between the brothers usually becomes so large that it is beyond compromise. Partition is, therefore, a normal occurrence in Pandit society though it lacks cultural approval. This chapter discusses partition in relation to household structure; structural conditions of partition; causes of partition; the process of partition; and reunion of households. Keywords:   Pandits, partition, household structure, reunion, brothers, chulah

SO LONG as adult men are living together, with their wives and children, under the tutelage of their father, the Pandit ideal of the joint chulah is easy to maintain. Not only is the moral and jural authority of a man over his sons responsible for this, but the general expectation that a man will not discriminate between his sons is also conducive to it. If he does favour one son against another, dissension is bound to arise, and the chances of cleavage in the household become real though they may not be realized in his lifetime. The father may remedy the situation before it becomes too explosive for the survival of the household. More often the aggrieved son bides his time, unwilling to come into open conflict with his father and thereby risk general disapproval of his behaviour. His mother also may act as a sobering influence.

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Partition of the Household But the situation in the household changes drastically when the father dies. Each brother seeks to protect the interests of his own wife and children, and in doing so comes into conflict with the others. The mother, if alive, still tries to keep her sons together, but generally without much success as she lacks the jural authority over them which her husband had enjoyed as the head of the household. Moreover, her own conflicts with her daughters-in-law may dispose her to take sides between them, and thereby accentuate domestic strife. Joint living is still the ideal, but the divergence of interests between the brothers usually becomes so large as to be beyond compromise. Partition1 is, therefore, a normal occurrence in Pandit society though it lacks cultural approval. However, should economic and other interests so dictate, a man composes his differences with one or more of his brothers, and a reunion of households takes place. (p.145A) Partition in Relation to Household Structure

We saw in Chapter 4 that the 87 households of Utrassu-Umanagri are in different phases of development, and that no household contains more than three generations, or kin more distantly related than first cousins (if we exclude the solitary instance of second cousins living in a single household owing to its exceptional nature) (see above, p. 61). Enquiries in several other villages reveal some instances of four-generation chulahs, but none of second cousins living in the same household. In fact, the number of households which attain the maximum extension of three or four generations and first degree cousinship is generally small; there are only four such cases in Utrassu-Umanagri. The question which arises here is: What prevents further expansion of the household? As the following analysis will show, death and partition are the crucial events which are responsible for arresting the extension of the composition of the household. During 1957 no partition took place in the village, although several were incipient. Nevertheless, I was able to obtain fairly full details of 50 partitions from Utrassu-Umanagri and the nearby villages of Kreri and Naogam. Thirty-six of these partitions had occurred in the previous 25 years. In 40 or four-fifths of these cases, partition occurred between brothers; in two cases between a widow and her deceased husband's brothers; and in one case between first cousins. The remaining seven were inter-generation partitions. In 38 of the 40 partitions between brothers, the seceding brother, or at least one of the group of seceding brothers, was married and had children. Similarly, of the brothers of whom partition was demanded, at least one was married and had children. Only in three cases did a childless couple secede from the joint household consisting of two or more couples. In all cases of partition which involved, among others, unmarried brothers, each single man sided with one, or a group of his married brothers. No case of an Page 2 of 14

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Partition of the Household unmarried man separating from his natal household to set up his own independent chulah was reported lo me. In six of the 40 partitions under consideration, the mother was alive when her sons separated. Two of these widows are still alive, each living with one of her sons. When a woman's sons finally decide to separate in spite of her exhortations to stay together, she has no option but to choose to live with one of them, though this does not mean that she has strained relations with the other(s). (p.146A) It is of interest to note that in 33 of these 40 households, the maximum degree of extension that may be encountered in a Pandit household— represented by three or four generations and first degree cousins—had not been reached by the time of partition. The two cases of partition between a widow and her deceased husband's brothers also are, in fact, instances of partition in fraternal-extended and joint households. One of these widows had a young son and married daughters, and the other had only married daughters. The daughters were living patrivirilocally in both cases. Of the seven inter-generation partitions, one occurred between a man and his deceased brother's son, and another between a man and his son on the one hand, and his deceased son's son on the other. In both these cases, a man whose father had died young obtained his share of the joint estate after he had been married. The remaining five inter-generation partitions took place between a man and his son(s) in four cases, and between a man and his patriuxorilocally married daughter in one case. The earliest of these five partitions occurred in 1910 (and the latest in 1955), disproving the assertion of many villagers that partitions between fathers and sons are a recent phenomenon. In two of these cases, including the earliest, a relatively older man's remarriage after his wife's death provoked his married son(s) by the earlier marriage to press for partition. Strained relations between the newly-arrived step-mother and her married step-son(s) and his (their) wife (wives) were the immediate cause of partition in both the cases. But it seems that the real reason was the desire of each seceding son to safeguard his interest in the joint estate in the face of a possible reduction in the size of the shares following the likely birth of sons to his step-mother. The third case of partition between father and son is recent, and illustrates the importance which the cash income of individual members of the household has come to acquire nowadays. Nilakanth has five adult sons, but only the eldest of these, Tarachand, was earning a cash income, being a government employee. Three of the brothers, including Tarachand, were married and had children. In Page 3 of 14

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Partition of the Household fact, Tarachand's eldest son also was a government employee. Desirous of getting the full benefit of his own and his son's cash incomes, Tarachand obtained his share from his old father and set up an independent household, consisting of himself, his wife, three sons and the eldest son's wife. The fourth case of partition between a man and his sons was an (p.147A) unusual one involving charges of adultery by the sons, one of them married, against their widowed father. The only instance of partition between a man and his daughter is remarkable for the complete lack of acrimony and conflict. It seems that Maheshwarnath agreed to live patriuxorilocally because his parents-in-law had only one young son, Dayaram. When the latter grew up to be a young man, Maheshwarnath approached his father-in-law to be allowed to set up a household of his own. He had no jural right to make such a request except as his wife's guardian and spokesman. But his relations with his parents-in-law were cordial, and he had for several years made a contribution to the income of his wife's natal household. He was, therefore, allowed to secede and his wife received a one-third share in her father's estate as by then her mother had given birth to a second son. On the basis of the foregoing analysis, we may conclude that whereas the average age expectancy and the average age at marriage usually prevent a household from extending into a fourth or fifth generation, it is partition which breaks up a fraternal-extended joint household. It is also obvious that whereas partition between a man and his son(s) is rare, joint living between married brothers is, in the long run, even more rare because of the conflict between the fraternal bond on the one hand and the conjugal and the parental bonds on the other. Partition: Structural Conditions

The right to demand partition is acquired in Pandit society by a man at his birth, but in most cases a son does not enforce his rights as a coparcener against his father. Instead he behaves as if his father were the sole owner of the estate, and his own rights in it contingent upon his father's death. Besides his father's moral and jural authority and the demands of filal piety already referred to above, self interest also may preclude a man from demanding his share from his father. The latter is entitled to retain a share for himself in his individual capacity as a coparcener, thus reducing the size of the share which a seceding son of his can get. Moreover, his sons have no claim to his self-acquired property during his lifetime. In view of these jural, moral and economic considerations, it is not surprising that a man rarely revolts against his father, but generally does so against his brother. Therefore, we may conclude that the first structural condition for the occurrence of partition between brothers is that their father should be dead.

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Partition of the Household (p.148A) A Pandit is unable to take advantage of his right to secede from his joint household unless he is able to set up a household of his own, and this he can do only if he is married. In rare cases a man may depend upon his mother or sister (unmarried, or married but widowed) to run his home for him, but it is usually the wife who does this. His mother, if too old, would not be expected to live long. If his unmarried sister is grown up enough to keep house for him, then she is also of marriageable age and will have to be married off before long. I was able to record only one instance of an unmarried man setting up a household with the aid of his unmarried sister from the village of Naogam. Further, an unmarried man is not subject to the same contrary pulls which a married man is. Marriage creates new bonds for a man—between him and his wife and children —which do not harmonize with his old bonds—between him and his brothers— and also places him in a situation which enables him to set up an independent household when doing so seems to be to his best advantage. It is, however, only rarely that marriage immediately results in partition. In only one of the 42 cases of partition in fraternal-extended joint households, discussed above, did a man separate from his elder brother immediately after his own marriage. Whenever a Pandit couple have two or more sons, the basic precondition for a future partition (between the brothers) may be said to obtain. But it is not till their father is dead, and at least two of the brothers are married, that a partition is likely to take place. Partition: Causes

The structural conditions within which partition is usually achieved are in no way the causative conditions which actually bring it about. Let us now examine what these causes are. Conflicts arise out of the fundamental situation that prevails in the fraternal-extended household. It consists of several nuclear families which are related through the sibling bond. Between these brothers there is a feeling of uneasiness. As sons of the same parents, and as coparceners, they are equals. But according to the Pandit norms, age differences give rise to differential status: the older men, by virtue of their being older, have authority over their younger brothers, who are expected to be deferential and respectful towards them. Moreover, the eldest brother customarily succeeds to his father's position as head of the household when the father dies. As paterfamilias the eldest brother is elevated to the position of the father himself— a fact which his younger brothers, (p.149A) particularly those close to him in age, do not always like. The eldest brother himself is under strain due to his personal loyalty towards his own wife and children, and his moral obligation to treat all members of the household equally without discrimination. Conflicts between the brothers usually arise over the running of the household, the distribution of food, clothes and other rewards to chulah members, and the rearing of children. Underlying these disagreements is a deeper feeling of antagonism and heartburning. Estrangement between adult siblings is a salient Page 5 of 14

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Partition of the Household feature of the Pandit family system. As children, siblings who are close to each other in age grow up together and there is much friendliness and devotion between them. When on attaining adulthood a man is married, new interests enter his life, and he even starts thinking of the day when he will have a household of his own. He develops an attachment to his wife and children and indicates his interest in their welfare. Such interest often brings him into conflict with his siblings. The aggrieved siblings retaliate. On other occasions he is similarly hurt by the devotion which his brothers show to their wives and children in preference to him. Their relations thus become strained. So far as sisters are concerned, they are not deeply involved, in these conflicts. Before relations between a man and his sister become very strained, she is married out of the household. Not only is she removed physically from her natal home, her rights as an agnate are also limited. She is not a coparcener, unless married patriuxorilocally, and does not pose any threat to the interests of her brothers. But no such resolution of conflict is possible between brothers, and their dissensions proceed invariably towards partition. The Pandits greatly emphasize the part which the wives of brothers play in these dissensions.2 Sisters-in-law are in almost all cases unrelated before their marriage. After their marriage and during the lifetime of their mother-in-law, they are all under her supervision and control. But when she dies they come under the (p.150A) control of the wife of the eldest brother; though it is unusual, she may not be also the eldest of them all in age. The other sisters-inlaw do not like the elevation of one of them to the status of the mistress of the house, and always try to assert their equality with her in status, and even their personal superiority over her as housewives. When there are more than two sisters-in-law in a household they have disagreements with each other, though they do also form temporary alliances. They quarrel over their own relative importance in terms of the contribution their husbands make to the upkeep of the household and the management of the estate. They disagree over whose natal household is of higher standing and more prosperous, and who among them receives more and better gifts from her parents. They also quarrel over their children, each accusing the other of discrimination in favour of her own children, and telling her that her children are misbehaved and spoilt. There are also conflicts over the distribution of work. In short, sisters-in-law seem to be always disagreeing with each other, so much so that if two particular sisters-in-law do not have any disputes, the Pandits regard it as rather unusual. The main reason for these bickerings between sisters-in-law is that they constantly find themselves in situations within the household in which their rights and duties are not clearly defined, and in which each appears as a competitor of the others. Moreover, sisters-in-law are not inhibited in their Page 6 of 14

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Partition of the Household relations with each other to the same extent by considerations of morality and kinship sentiment as are their husbands. Whereas a man may be willing to work under his brother, and partially subordinate his personal interests for the sake of his brothers, nephews and nieces, his wife generally does not like to do this. Her husband's agnates are no kin of hers. She wants independence and seeks the fulfilment which a woman finds only when she is the mistress of her own household. Again, the attitude of a woman towards her sisters-in-law is sometimes influenced by her parents who exhort her to exercise her rights and not to be submissive. The quarrels between sisters-in-law would neither be so frequent nor so important as to lead to partition, were not the brothers indirect participants in them and interested in their development. Such quarrels are contributory factors towards the partition of the household, but they become of decisive importance only after the solidarity of brothers has been greatly weakened. The brothers in a fraternal-extended household are in a dilemma. (p.151A) There is a conflict in their minds betwen the ideal of fraternal amity and co-operation on the one hand, and immediate and long-term personal advantage on the other. According to Pandit kinship morality, quarrels between brothers are of much greater significance, than are the bickerings between their wives, as they lead directly to partition. When two brothers desire to partition the household and the estate, they also desire to avoid social disapproval, and try to blame each other for intransigence. They also invariably blame their wives for alienating brother from brother, but connive at their bickerings and even encourage them. When I asked Sudarshan why he allowed his wife to force him to separate from his brother, he pleaded that he felt it was his duty to defend her although he knew she was wrong. He argued that she had no one else except him to call her own in her conjugal home, as their only child, a son, was quite young. Pandit men thus measure out moral sentiment against personal feelings and advantage, and avoid facing the problem of conflict between these two frontally. Instead they try to resolve it indirectly by quarrelling through their wives, as it were. And when the end has been achieved—the household and the estate partitioned —they tend to put the blame on their wives. It is likely that this rationalization is partly unconscious, but it is a rationalization nonetheless.3 In some cases, a man is less circumspect than others, and readily comes to blows with his brothers. But the Pandits most emphatically disapprove of such conduct, particularly if it is the elder brother who is induced into physically fighting his younger brothers. Partition, though a normal feature of Pandit kinship, is deprecated, particularly if prior to its achievement (to quote one of my informants) ‘brothers fought as if they were strangers, forgetting their common origin’. In the nature of things the achievement of partition is in most cases accompanied by tensions and conflict; hence the Pandit brothers' dilemma.

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Partition of the Household That they usually decide to partition the household and the estate is due to both their personal interest and the attitude of their wives. Sometimes a fraternal-extended household of two brothers may weather these early storms and not break up till their sons grow up into adults. Even a third (junior) generation may be added to the household. There are two such cases in Utrassu-Umanagri. When (p.152A) tensions arisè in this phase of development, the forces working for partition are very strong. As will be shown in the next chapter, fraternal conflicts are strongly reflected in the relations between paternal uncles and nephews, and find almost unmitigated expression in hostility between cousins. The feelings of kinship sentiment and the considerations of morality and social disapproval, which suppress open expression of hostility between brothers, are less compulsive in inter-cousin relations. Paternal cousins usually quarrel without the qualms which inhibit their fathers, and tend to support their mothers in their desire for partition. Howsoever the Pandits may deprecate it, the fraternal bond always breaks down in the face of conflict with the conjugal and parental bonds and self-interest. There are no households in Utrassu-Umanagri in which the senior generation includes first paternal cousins, nor have any such chulahs been there in the last 25 years or so. The Pandits maintain that disputes between brothers were less common in the past. It may be conjectured that they were not less common, but did not in all cases inevitably lead to partition. This is quite likely considering the economic and social advantages that accrued to households with bigger land holdings, although the partition of bigger estates must also have been economically less disadvantageous than the partition of smaller land holdings. Moreover, very few Pandits earned personal incomes in past days. Nevertheless, cases of large joint and extended households, including cousins in the senior generation, must have been rare. I was not able to record any such instance, although (as already stated above) I was able to get details of two cases of partition between a man and his deceased brother's adult son. Commenting on partitions between brothers, Bisham-bharnath said to me: ‘Don't believe those old men who tell you they were born in better times than ours; brothers have quarrelled since the time of Abel and Cain and longer’4 Nowadays, with more Pandits earning personal incomes than ever before, and at unequal rates, the ideal of the individual estate is gaining ground. It seems that in future, partition between brothers will occur as often as it does now, but considerations of economic advantage will play a greater and more decisive part in bringing them about than at present. (p.153A) A Case History

As an illustration of the kind of data on which the foregoing analysis is based, we may now present a brief description of two cases of partition. Kailas was the only son of his parents, and inherited from his father a three-storeyed house (built in 1899), a walnut tree, several cows and calves, and occupancy rights in Page 8 of 14

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Partition of the Household about 26 acres of land. He died in 1916, and was survived by his widow, two sons, and their wives and childern. (For the sake of convenience no mention will be made of dead children and married daughters in (his case history.) Kailas's widow died in 1924. A year later Raghu celebrated the marriages of his second son and eldest daughter with considerable pomp and show. It seems that Ram wanted the initiation rites of his five-yearold son to be performed on the Fig. XII(a) same occasion, but Raghu suggested that the same could take place a couple of years later. Ram was much annoyed by what he regarded as his elder brother's selfishness, highhandedness and extravagance. He started grumbling about the manner in which Raghu was spending cash savings of the household which had been accumulated from the sale of surplus grain. A few months after the marriage Ram's wife quarrelled with Raghu's wife, telling the latter that the household would become impoverished by the time all her daughters were married. It may be noted here that Ram had only two daughters, the elder of whom had been married in. 1920, whereas Raghu had four daughters. Raghu's wife reported this to her husband who felt that his honesty was being doubted and his children had been counted. The Pandits believe that counting children brings illness and even death to (p.154A) them; therefore, if a person mentions the large number of another's children, the latter takes it ill. Accordingly Raghu asked Ram to reprimand his wife, but the latter asserted that his wife had done no wrong. He also told several villagers that he was making a sacrifice in not demanding partition, pointing out that he had only four children as against Raghu's six children, one daughter-in-law, and one grandchild. Raghu, on hearing of this, complained that his children had been counted again; therefore, he suggested that they divide the household and their joint estate, and Ram readily agreed to this. The partition was achieved fairly smoothly. Raghu took possession of the left half of their house, and Ram of the right half. All other property (occupancy rights in land, grain, domestic utensils, bedding, etc.) were also divided without much difficulty. There was some disagreement over cattle, but Ram finally agreed to accept only one milch cow and two calves, leaving two cows and three calves to his elder brother. The cowshed, the granary, and two walnut trees (of unequal age) were not divided. It was decided that the total number of walnuts would be divided equally each year. The use of the courtyard also was unaffected by the partition, but the kitchen garden was divided into two equal parts.

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Partition of the Household By 1954, when Ram died, his household had grown into a three generation 15member paternal-extended family. Besides 13 acres of land which the household owned, Ram had been also running a grocery shop since 1929, and had constructed a new house in 1944 after selling his share in the ancestral house to Raghu's sons. His. youngest son Janki was employed as a school teacher and his grandson Gopi as a land revenue record-keeper. The relations between Ram's sons had been somewhat strained since Janki's marriage; his wife came of a rich household from a neighbouring town, and her behaviour annoyed her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law who regarded her as an upstart. The fact of Janki's being posted in another village, however, kept the conflict under check. But Dina's differences with his elder brother Sri, who was now the head of the household, kept widening. He did not like to be subservient to Sri who, he thought, was concealing the full extent of his son Gopi's income. The amount of Gopi's meagre salary was, of course, known to everybody, but he is a clever young man believed to earn a sizeable additional income by the distribution of favours. In 1956 Dina persuaded Janki to join him in demanding partition from Sri. The former was keen on enlisting the latter's support, (p.155A) probably because if the two stayed together the blame would in all likelihood fall upon Sri. It is, moreover, probable that Janki's salary also entered into Dina's calculations. Janki did not need much persuasion as he was Fig. XII(b) already under pressure from his wife to seek a division. But he felt that he had to join one of his elder brothers' households as his wife and child would be otherwise left alone; if he were to take them away with him his interests, above all in land, would suffer by default.

Ram's old widow was much distressed by the happenings, and chose to live with her eldest son. Her dislike of her youngest daughter-in-law was the major factor in her choice. She also probably realized that Dina was the main force behind the move to partition the household and the estate. The division of assets turned out to be a very complicated and protracted process. The shop proved to be the main problem, and Sri ultimately succeeded in getting sole possession of it by buying out his brother's interest in it. However, he had to be content with only four rooms out of a total of 13 in their house. The division of assets took several months to settle, but nobody seemed to be satisfied with what had been agreed upon even a year after the partition had taken place.

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Partition of the Household The Process of Partition

Among the members of a household only coparceners can demand partition. Legally only ‘majors’ may do so, but it seems that in practice any adult (in the physical sense of the term) is able to bring it about. While I was in UtrassuUmanagri, a partition occurred in the nearby village of Naogam when a boy, aged 17, and legally a ‘minor’, obtained shares on behalf of himself and his 12year-old sister from his father, alleging maltreatment by their step-mother and step-brothers. A patriuxorilocally married female (p.156A) agnate also candemand partition, but an unmarried or a patrivirilocally married female agnate (even if the latter may have returned to her natal home after her widowhood), does not have the jural right to ask for division. The position of a wife is intermediate. She may ask for partition, in the name of her deceased husband, on her own behalf, or on behalf of her children.5 But she does not acquire a vested right in her share of the estate, and cannot alienate it. If she is childless, the estate reverts to her husband's collateral heirs after her death. If she has children, they hold vested rights in it. The Pandit wife can ask for maintenance but has no rights of inheritance in her conjugal household. When demanding partition, a coparcener need not advance any reason for his action, as it is his ‘birth-right’ to make such a claim. Therefore, partition is a traditional expectation of the Pandit family system. The timing of partition is, however, based, not on the caprice of individuals, but on predictable crucial events and structural and economic strains. When a man asks for partition, his coparceners may try to avoid it, but cannot refuse him if he insists on it. A man loses the right to demand partition only if he is insane; he loses the right of inheritance also if he becomes a convert to Islam, or deserts the village of his birth. But if a man becomes a Muslim, or deserts his village, after obtaining partition, he retains his individually owned estate. There is only one former Pandit in Utrassu-Umanagri who is now living there as a Muslim. He is a homeless beggar and owns no property. If a coparcener is temporarily absent, his rights are not affected in any way, although if he is unable to be present at the time of the apportionment of shares, he may receive less than is his due. In most cases it is one of the younger brothers who asks for partition. This, as may be expected, is because of the privileged position of the eldest brother and his wife, as also his moral obligation towards his younger siblings. Older people are expected to have patience and forgive the young for their misbehaviour. For an elder brother to force partition on his younger brother amounts to the abandonment of the former's kinship and moral responsibilities, and this is sure to provoke criticism from their common kin and other villagers. After partition has been agreed upon, the coparceners take a decision regarding the extent and form of partition. In some cases the disputing brothers decide that the source of conflict lies in the (p.157A) working out of domestic relations and the distribution of consumer's goods at home and, therefore, only Page 11 of 14

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Partition of the Household the partition of the chulah as a residential and consumption unit is called for. The chulah is a multifunctional group, and can be broken up with reference to only some of its functions. Thus, a. partial partition takes place; the chulah as a residential and consumption unit is broken up, but its members continue to hold immovable property in common. To take an example, Maheshwarnath and his brother's son Choonilal live in two households, in two different houses, but own their land in common, and divide the total produce into two shares. Similarly Mahadev, his brother Vasadev, and their father's brother's sons, Srikanth and Premnath, joihtly own walnut trees. Amamath and his father's brother's sons own walnut trees and a cowshed in common. Even when the parties to a dispute decide on a complete severence of residential and economic ties, this may not be possible because of the impartibility of some kinds of property, like the dwelling house, cattle and fruit trees as also sacred household pottery and icons. Therefore, partition between brothers is usually partial, and they continue to hold some property in common. Partition of the household is not a single act, but a continuing process which may go on for two, or even three, generations. When impartible property becomes relatively valueless by intrinsic loss of value (like dead cattle, or old fruit trees which bear little or no fruit), or by the diminished value of potential shares, some coparceners may abandon their claims to such property, or transfer it to others, either with or without some consideration in return. It is only then that complete partition is achieved (see Chapter 9). Reunion of Households

Once a partition has been agreed upon, and its details worked out, it is usually final although the working out of these details may take several years. The reunion of households, or the amalgamation of separate estates, is very rare; it has happened only thrice in Utrassu-Umanagri in the past 25 years. In two of these cases two brothers joined their separate households after having earlier broken away from a bigger fraternal-extended household. One of these reunions has been already described (see above, pp. 53f). There is reason to anticipate that when these smaller fraternal-extended households develop further, the union will be again dissolved. The third case was rather unusual. Jialal obtained his share of the joint estate from his father's brother's sons, Mahtabram and (p.158A) Makundram, who were much older than him. Later he died and was survived by his mother, wife and daughter. Subsequently his wife married one of Mahtabram's sons and the two households reunited. This is incidentally the only household in the village in which second cousins are living together (see above, p. 61). In Pandit society partition is the solution of the conflict between the fraternal bond on the one hand, and the conjugal and the parental bonds on the other. This conflict is regarded as regrettable but inevitable; in the general manner of its resolution—partition—may be seen the dominance of personal considerations, such as economic gain and the happiness of one's wife, over the kinship morality Page 12 of 14

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Partition of the Household which should bind brothers together. In recognition of this tragic inevitability, brothers sometimes decide upon a partition before their relations become very strained. Three of the 42 Cases of partition in fraternal-extended households, and one of the seven inter-generation partitions described above, were amicable settlements of this kind. Partition partly removes the sources of exacerbation between brothers and usually restores to some extent peaceful relations between them, their wives and adult children. But it also usually separates them for ever into groups, and the bitterness generated during and just before the partition never completely disappears. ‘Human relations are like a jar of pickles’, said Sarwanand; ‘once the rot sets in, it can never be eradicated, no matter how much you are willing to throw out of the jar.’ Partition is thus a crucial event in the developmental cycle of the Pandit household, and the last episode in the history of a chulah as that particular chulah. Partition enables emerging sub-groups within a household to realize ambitions incompatible with the continued membership of a single household. After partition the members of the emergent household deal with one another far more on a group-to-group basis than on a person-to-person basis. The bonds that bind together the households of brothers and patrilineally related cousins is that of agnatic kinship and territorial proximity. In the absence of the latter agnation stands out as the surviving link. The emphasis upon agnation, already prominent in intra-household relations, becomes very pronounced in inter-household relations. We will now proceed to a consideration of the inter-household grouping called the kotamb (family), and the wider category of agnatic kin known as the kol (lineage). Notes:

(1) Throughout the following discussion, ‘partition’ is used to mean both the division of the estate between co-owners, so that they may hold it in severalty, as also the break-up of the household as a residential unit into two or more such units. See Black (1951). (2) Quarrels among women in the Hindu domestic family seem to be a widespread phenomenon. Cf.: (i) ‘The relationship between the various women in the joint family is frequently one of conflict…. The conflicts between the women in the patrilocal okka (joint family) strike at its solidarity’ (Srinivas 1952, pp. 54f.). (ii) ‘The intrigues and jealousies among the womenfolk in a joint family are the despair of men’ (Dube 1955, p. 155). (iii) ‘Partitions … are usually the result of quarrels between the men or women of the joint household’ (Mayer 1960, p. 241). Also see Mayer 1961, p. 170. Writing more generally, Majumdar observes that ‘the quarrels of the wives may act as the catalytic factor in family dissension’ (1958a, p. 168).

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Partition of the Household (3) Cf. ‘Division of the joint family may thus be brought about by disputes among brothers or cousins, though for the sake of appearance it may be attributed to friction among wives’ (Berreman 1963, p. 175). (4) This statement was made in Kashmiri, but the informant can read and speak English and, though a Hindu himself, is familiar with several biblical stories (see Appendix V). (5) A joint letter from some of my informants, dated Utrassu-Umanagri, 26 January 1959, informs me of a partition which a woman achieved on behalf of herself (and her children?) from her husband. I do not have the details of this very unusual and interesting case.

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The Family and the Patrilineage

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

The Family and the Patrilineage T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0011

Abstract and Keywords This chapter examines the ‘external order’ of the household, that is, the interrelations between households constituting a wider grouping. A Pandit household does not commonly live in isolation in a village. In most cases its natal members have patrilineal kin living with them in the same village, albeit in another or other households. All such agnatically related households taken together constitute a kotamb (derived from the Sanskrit kutumba, meaning ‘family’ or ‘household’). The chapter discusses the compound and the neighbourhood; dispersed ‘kotamb’; inter-household relations within the ‘kotamb’; hostility between cousins; and the patrilineage. Keywords:   Pandit households, external relations, patrilineal kin, kotamb, inter-household relations

1 The Family IN THE five preceding chapters I have focussed attention on the chulah which is the smallest unit within the Pandit kinship system. If some readers have got the impression that the household is here sought to be portrayed as a self-sufficient group, or that my account of it is intended to exhaust the Pandit kinship system, it is time to correct the misconception. The hitherto exclusive preoccupation with the chulah has been a deliberate heuristic device to bring out clearly the functional significance of the household in the domestic life of the Pandits. Having discussed at quite some length the ‘internal order’ of the household, I now turn to an examination of its ‘external order’, i.e. the interrelations between households constituting a wider grouping.

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The Family and the Patrilineage A Pandit household does not commonly live in isolation in a village. In most cases its natal members have patrilineal kin living with them in the same village, albeit in another or other households. All such agnatically related households taken together constitute a kotamb (derived from the Sanskrit kutumba, meaning ‘family’ or ‘household’). The Hindi term parivar (family) also is used but relatively rarely. In casual conversation the Pandits sometimes use the terms chulah and kotamb interchangeably, but when clarification is sought, they explain that the kotamb is larger than a small group of (primary) kin, and usually consists of a grouping of chulahs. For the sake of clarity I have consistently avoided the use of the word kotamb in connection with the chulah. Another, more important, reason has been that, a Pandit's devotion to his own household notwithstanding, his conception of the kotamb is in terms of a large extended family consisting of several chulahs. The sociologist will undoubtedly point out the importance of the nuclear family in Pandit domestic life, and the Pandits will agree. But when they call a chulah also a kotamb, it is almost invariably because it happens to be an extended family.1 (p.160A) A kotamb is an on-going concern, as it were. A new chulah is added to it whenever a constituent household breaks up into two. In the rare event of a chulah's extinction the kotamb suffers depletion. When a household migrates, only the local integrity of the kotamb is affected. That is to say, the kotamb is usually unilocal but in certain cases it may be dispersed over two or more villages. The Compound and the Neighbourhood

At the time it occurs, partition seldom entails the complete separation of the resultant groups, which commonly stay together in the same house of which they have divided use. At a later stage, one or more of the chulahs may move out into a new house. After partition has taken place, two (or more) brothers may not only continue to own their dwelling-house in common, but also such property as is impartible, over the apportionment of which there has been disagreement, and/or the joint ownership of which is economically advantageous. Thus, the chulahs of brothers living in the same house usually own the outbuildings, the yard and the kitchen-garden jointly. Whereas they have divided use of the cattleshed and the garden, none of them is given the exclusive use of any part of the granary or the yard. The chulahs that result from a partition thus constitute, in these respects, an estate-owning group. Their separate shares of the common estate while clearly defined may vary in proportion. Partitions occur generation after generation, and with the gradual rise in the number of households of closely related agnatic kinsmen, new houses are built near the ancestral house, around the same yard or in adjacent yards. Such

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The Family and the Patrilineage clusters of houses (ranging in Utrassu-Umanagri from two to four in number) may be called compound groupings or, briefly, Compounds. To illustrate the growth of a Compound, I will now cite a case history. About 80 years ago a Pandit, Thokar Marhatta, came from Raipur (a pati of the village since abandoned) to reside in Umanagri as a tenant of the mahant. He built a house on a piece of land given to him by the latter, who was an agnate of his. After Thokar's death, the eldest of his sons, Nanda, accompanied by his wife and children, seceded from the parental chulah. He left to his brothers his share in the house, and built a new dwelling adjoining the older one. Neither of the two chulahs owned any land of its own and all five brothers earned their living by cultivating the mahant's land. Nanda's chulah owned the yard and the garden jointly with his brothers’ household. (p.161A) By 1936 the four younger brothers, Gana, Haldar, Parma and Veshin, also had set up independent chulahs in the older house. They, however, continued to own jointly their house, cattleshed, granary, garden, and two walnut trees. They also owned jointly with Nanda's sons the yard in front of their houses. Nanda himself was already dead, and his son, Mahi, had married. Later Mahi's younger brother, Gobind, and Gana's son, Amar, married. Still later Haldar's only son, Daya, also married but patriuxorilocally. By 1942 Gana and Haldar were dead, and Nanda's sons, Mahi and Gobind, had partitioned their chulah. They, however, continued to own jointly their house, some land they had purchased, and a walnut tree Nanda had planted. In that year Mahi built a house on an adjacent piece of land purchasing half of it from his brother, Gobind, in exchange for his (Mahi's) share in their father's house. This third house and the land on which it was built thus became Mahi's exclusive property, and he fenced it off from all sides. By 1956 Parma and Veshin were dead, and Parma's son Prithvi had married patriuxorilocally. In that year Gana's son Amar built a house, adjoining the first house in which he had been coresiding with the two chulahs of his widowed aunts. Early in 1957 Amar put a fence across the yard, separating that part of it which lay in front of his house, for the ostensible reason that stray cattle caused damage to his garden. His action was resented by the other chulahs living in the yard, and although they appealed to an elderly villager (who is an agnate of the heads of these households) for intervention, they finally acquiesced in the partition of the yard. Where there was originally (about 1880) the single chulah and house of Thokar, there is now a Compound of three adjacent yards, consisting of four houses and five chulahs of patrilineal kinsmen. The Compound as a whole owns nothing in common. But Mahi owns some land and walnut trees jointly with Gobind's widow and son; Amar owns jointly with Prithvi and Veshin's widow and children the first Page 3 of 23

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The Family and the Patrilineage house, and the cattleshed, the granary and the walnut trees attached to it. Prithvi and Veshin's widow and children own the yard jointly with Gobind's widow and son. Daya's position is rather indeterminate. He continues to live with his wife's natal chulah, his wife having inherited considerable property from her father, and visits his natal village very rarely. But Prithvi and his wife come to visit his mother quite frequently. Unlike Daya, he has thus kept alive his interest in his estate. But the former has not abandoned or sold off his share in his ancestral (p.162A) property. His rooms in the first house (at Umanagri) are not in use, but his cousins cultivate his part of the garden.

The foregoing account of the growth and composition of a Compound is typical, but the regularities it illustrates must be qualified if they are to be more widely applied. In rare cases a Compound consists of two or three groupings of unrelated patrilineal kinsmen. This usually happens when a female agnate is married patriuxorilocally, and her husband does not return to his natal home with his family of

Fig. XIII

procreation after the death of his parents-in-law. Very rarely the houses of unrelated chulahs may be built in contiguous yards and constitute a Compound. On the other hand, a household may build a new home some distance away from its (p.163A) ancestral house. This is done out of necessity because of the lack of building space adjoining the ancestral house, or voluntarily in order to achieve privacy and freedom from interference. The new homestead may be separated from the older one(s) by a pathway, garden, brook or stretch of land, but may be close enough to constitute along with the other homestead(s), what I have called, a Neighbourhood, though not a Compound (i.e. houses with a common or contiguous yards). If the new house is further away it may form a unit within another Neighbourhood, or exist independently. A Neighbourhood may thus consist of two or more Compounds, and may also include separate and independent homesteads. It usually includes two or more groupings of unrelated patrilineal kinsmen. Muslim houses are never found in a Pandit Compound, but may be found in a Neighbourhood. There are six Pandit Neighbourhoods, six Compounds,2 and two relatively isolated homesteads in Page 4 of 23

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The Family and the Patrilineage Utrassu-Umanagri. The composition of the Neighbourhoods and Compounds is shown in Figure XIV (a) and (b), and Table XI. One of the Pandit homesteads and two of the Compounds are situated within Neighbourhoods, all the other homesteads in which are those of Muslims and not to be considered in the analysis that follows. It will be noticed in Table XI that families with the kotamb name of Marhatta, Zar, Pandit and Krad occur in more than one local grouping. Whereas all the Marhatta households belong to the same kotamb, and so do the Krad chulahs, there are two patrilineally unrelated groupings of the Zar and the Pandit. They have been referred to as Zar (a) and (b), and Pandit (a) and (b). It will be observed in the Figures and the Table that five of the six Neighbourhoods, and one of the six Compounds include households of more than one kotamb. It will also be observed that in two cases two unrelated groups of patrilineal kinsmen (Koul and Zar in one case, and Chatta and Gupan in the other) live in the same house (Koul and Zar), or in separate houses (Chatta and Gupan) but in the same yard. Both these cases have been discussed earlier. (p. 164A) (p.165A)

Fig. XIV(a)

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The Family and the Patrilineage (p.166A)

Fig. XIV(b)

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The Family and the Patrilineage

TABLE XI Territorial Groupings of Chulahs into Compounds and Neighbourhoods The Kotamb name of the chulah(s)

Number of patrilineages represented in the grouping

Nature of grouping

Chulahs (C) and houses (H) per yard

Location (pati)

Marhatta

1

Homestead

IC in lH

Utrassu

Zar(a)

1

„

2C in lH

Umanagri

Bagati

1

Compound

3C in 2H

Utrassu

Krad

1

”

2C in lH;

”

1C in lH Pandit (a)

1

„

2C in 2H

Umanagri

Pandit (a)

1

„

7C in4H

”

Marhatta

1

”

3C in2H;

”

1C in lH; 1C in lH; Bhan

3

”

Bhan: 1C in lH

Kala

Kala: 1C in 1H

Marhatta

Marhatta: 2C in 1H

”

Gosani

1

Neighbourhood

3C in lH; 1C in lH

”

Marhatta

2

”

Marhatta:

Utrassu

Ganju

4C in 3H; 1C in lH

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The Family and the Patrilineage

The Kotamb name of the chulah(s)

Number of patrilineages represented in the grouping

Nature of grouping

Chulahs (C) and houses (H) per yard

Location (pati)

1C in IH Ganju: 2C in 2H Krad

3

”

Krad:2C in 2H;

Guzarwan

4C in 2H

Bath

Guzarwan:

”

4C in 4H Bath: 1C in 1H Koul Zar(b)

Koul: 2C in lH; 3

„

Patwari

Utrassu

1C in lH; 1C in lH Koul-Zar: 1 Koul C in lH;1 Koul C & 1 Zar C in 1H Patwari: 1C in IH

Band

3

„

Band: 1C in lH;

Rawal

4Cin 3H;

Pandit (b)

Rawal: 1C in 1H;

Umanagri

2C in lH

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The Family and the Patrilineage

The Kotamb name of the chulah(s)

Number of patrilineages represented in the grouping

Nature of grouping

Chulahs (C) and houses (H) per yard

Location (pati)

Pandit: 5C in 3H Chatta

3

Neighbourhood

Chatta-Gupan:

Gupan

2 Chatta C in 1H and

Khar

1 Gupan C in 1H

Umanagri

Gupan: 7C in 3H; 4C in 2H Khar:2C in 1H Totals

20

2 homesteads 6 compounds

87 chulahs a

6 neighbourhoods

60 houses

a

( ) There are only 59 Pandit houses in the village. The discrepancy in the number of houses is due to the fact that three houses gutted by fire in 1947 have been included in this table and two hospices, at present temporarily in use as dwelling houses, have been excluded from it.

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The Family and the Patrilineage (p.167A) We may, however, recapitulate here that one Raghav Zar, of the town of Anantnag, lost his house in a fire some 20 years ago, and came to Utrassu, with his wife and children, to live in the house of his father-in-law, Mak Koul. Both Mak and Raghav are now dead, and Raghav's widow and sons are living in the same house as Mak's brother's chulah, though as a separate household. Mak had no sons and his widow died in 1958. In the other case a man of the Chatta family, who has migrated out of the village, sold his house to an unrelated co-villager in 1957. Consequently the latter's chulah and the former's cousins' two chulahs are living in two houses in the same yard.

As shown in Figure XIV (a) and (b) and Table XI, several related chulahs with the kotamb names Marhatta, Pandit (a) and Krad are scattered in two or more Compounds or Neighbourhoods. There are 14 Marhatta households in the village; six of these form a Neighbourhood in Utrassu, and one lives in a homestead in the same pati. Another five constitute a Compound in (p.168A) Umanagri; and two more live in another Compound in the same pati. The Pandit (a) of Umanagri live in two separate Compounds, and the Krad of Utrassu in a Neighbourhood and a Compound. Finally, it will be noted that one kotamb of two chulahs of first cousins lives in a homestead and each of the remaining 11 kotamb (out of 15) lives in a Compound or a Neighbourhood. The Pandits refer to these local groupings as tola, pather, mahala or pur (see above, p. 31). All the terms refer to the fact of aggregation and denote local groupings of varying size. On the basis of the foregoing analysis we may conclude that in UtrassuUmanagri: (i) Compounds in all but one case (that of the Marhatta, the Bhan and the Kala houses) consist of the chulahs of patrilineally related kinsmen; (ii) Neighbourhoods in all but one case (that of the Gosani Neighbourhood) consist of two to three unrelated kotamb; and (iii) The kotamb exists in all but three cases (those of the Pandit (a), the Marhatta and the Krad) as a Compound or Neighbourhood within the village. In other words, the kotamb as a local grouping is derived from the Pandit descent system. But before taking up consideration of the latter, I will discuss the dispersal of kotamb. Dispersed ‘Kotamb’

We may now turn attention to what happens when a family is dispersed in (a) more than one locality in the same village (three cases in Utrassu-Umanagri), or (b) two or more villages. In the former case a chulah takes up residence in a new locality by choice or by necessity. But if the related households live in nearby localities (as in the case of the Krad and the Pandit (a)), a drastic change in their interrelations usually does not take place, although constant face-to-face Page 10 of 23

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The Family and the Patrilineage association is precluded, and consequently the possibilities of co-operation or conflict in daily intercourse are considerably diminished. But if the groupings are widely scattered in the village (as in the case of the Marhatta), the resultant dimunition in interaction is pronounced. During 1957 there was no casual visiting between the Marhatta of Utrassu and Umanagri, although all the Marhatta chulahs were represented when the mother of Amar Marhatta, a resident of Umanagri, died. The dispersal of a kotamb in two or more villages may be the result of patriuxorilocal marriage or migration; in the former case it is often only temporary. The Pandits are emphatic that a man (p.169A) and his children belong to the same kotamb as his brothers and their children, even if the former do not live in the same village as the latter. These separated groups of kin usually have many rights and interests in common and often act together as the members of the same kotamb. When Lakhim died her son was not in Kashmir, and she was cremated by her husband's brother's son who lives patriuxorilocally in a nearby village, and came to Utrassu-Umanagri for this purpose. Brothers, and usually first cousins also, act together as the members of the same extended family whenever a contingency arises even though they are living in different villages. In such cases we may, therefore, speak of the dispersed households of an extended family. Six kotamb and five chulahs of the village have agnatic ties with households in other villages. The position with regard to second cousins is rather variable, and changes from case to case, depending upon the existing relations in each case. The Pandits are, however, agreed that when an extended family becomes dispersed in two or more villages, the kotamb relationship generally ceases after two ter (degrees of collaterally) intervene between kinsmen. In sociological terms we could say that relations of command of one person over another, and joint property rights and obligations, are confined within the limits of second degree cousinship. This is, in fact, the case as I was not able to record any instances of joint rights and obligations, or of co-operative group behaviour, between the households of third cousins who are resident in different villages. Two related questions arise here: First, are there any similar genealogically defined limits on co-operation between the households constituting a kotamb within a village? And, second, what happens to the ties of kinship when the kotamb withers away? In theory, degrees of cousinship are irrelevant in the interrelations between the households of a unilocal extended family; no matter how distantly related, the chulahs of agnatically related kin residing in a single village constitute one single kotamb. The second question—what happens to the ties of kinship when the kotamb withers away?—does not, therefore, arise. Page 11 of 23

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The Family and the Patrilineage In practice, however, a gradual weakening of coactivity is noticeable. Thus, there are no instances of joint ownership in the village between the chulahs of third cousins. Sustained co-operation and conflict continue, but remain confined to the trivialities of daily routine until an occasion of importance—birth, initiation, marriage, or death—arises. (p.170A) The conclusion that we must draw is that when the patrilineagc, which constitutes the core of a kotamb, has a wide span, vicinage acquires decisive importance in maintaining the kotamb in existence. In other words, the fact that kin live together overrides to some extent the significance of how they are related. When bonds of agnation become weak in themselves, the bonds of vicinage strengthen them by creating common interests and opportunities for coactivity (co-operation as well as conflict). But what happens when the dispersal of households into different villages leads to the withering away of the kotamb relationship between some of them? The bonds of patrilineal descent survive such a cessation of regular interaction within the framework of domestic kinship; the household, torn apart from its matrix—the extended family—still remains linked to the patrilineage (kol); but more about that below. Inter-Household Relations within the ‘Kotamb’

The kotamb, as we have shown, grows out of the chulah and is structurally, and also functionally, comparable to it. It is a segmentary grouping created by a partition or a series of partitions. However, partition does not sever all ties between the family of a man and his natal household. In terms of economic assets and interests, jural position and domestic organization, partition involves a fundamental division of rights of ownership and other interests, as also a change of status. Nevertheless, the partitive households continue to have common interests arising from the common ownership or use of such property as is not parcelled out at the time of partition. There are six kotamb (out of 15) in Utrassu-Umanagri which jointly own some property. In four out of these six cases, there are only two chulahs in the kotamb, in one there are three, and in another, four. The chulah heads are related either as brothers, or first or second cousins. Common property consists of the homestead (house, granary and yard) and walnut trees in three cases, and the yard and walnut trees in the three other cases. In the remaining nine kotamb, although the family as a whole does not own any property in common, segments within it do. These property owning segments include in all cases the households of brothers, and also in some cases of first and second cousins. No cases of joint ownership between the chulahs of more distant cousins were recorded in the village. All natal members of a segment, or of the whole kotamb, if it consists of brothers and their (p.171A) households only, have a joint contingent interest in each other's property. Should

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The Family and the Patrilineage any one of them die without a lineal heir, his estate will be divided among the others on per stirpes basis. During the early phases in the growth of a kotamb, partition between the chulahs of brothers, or first (even second) cousins may involve the whole kotamb; but after its collateral spread has extended further, such partitions affect only a certain segment of it. Full partitions are usually not achieved between the households of brothers; they are made complete through ‘residual partitions’ between the chulahs of cousins. Assets may be divided, exchanged, or interests in them reconciled in some other way. Nila, who bought a new house in the village in 1957, sold his portion of the ancestral house to his two brothers and first cousin, who reallocated rooms in it between themselves. Raghu and Kashi, second cousins cut down the old walnut tree they owned jointly, and divided the sale proceeds. Maha agreed to surrender his claim to a share in a plot of land in favour of his father's first cousin who has built a house on it, in exchange for the latter's kitchen garden. Veshi abandoned his ownership of half of his ancestral home, in favour of his father's brother, in exchange for the exclusive ownership of a nearby plot of land on which he built his own house. Daya owns jointly, with the chulahs of his first cousins, a house, a catdeshed and a garden. He is living patriuxorilocally in another village, and although he retains possession of three rooms in the house, he has permitted his cousins' households to use his portion of the garden and the cattleshed. If he does not return to his natal village, as seems to be very likely, his sons may be expected to abandon any claim to the cattleshed and the garden (rights of ownership in which will then be vested in the male members of the other households on the basis of descent), if not also to the rooms in the house. There are also other bonds which unite the chulahs of brothers closely even after partition. Prominent among these are common, identically related kin (such as sisters, mother's natal family, and father's siblings), and joint or identical responsibilities and obligations towards them. Moreover, there are ritual or ceremonial occasions (like births, deaths, birthdays, death anniversaries and marriages) which bring them together. Thus, the households of brothers are expected to contribute equally towards the periodical gifts to be sent to their married sister and her parents-in-law if she was married before the partition. As has been stated earlier, if there is an unmarried sister in a chulah at the time of partition, the brother with whom she stays receives an additional share on her (p.172A) behalf, and all responsibility for her marriage expenses and later gifts rests with him, although the other brother (or brothers) may willingly contribute towards these expenses. The position of a widow is different. Usually she receives no share at the time of partition, but she may, if she explicitly asks for it, receive a maintenance share. But when she dies all her sons are expected to contribute to her cremation expenses, particularly the eldest son, who cremates her. This may not, however, Page 13 of 23

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The Family and the Patrilineage happen in all cases. When Sondar died she was living with her own son, Dama, who was living separately from his elder step-brother. Dama cremated his mother and bore all the expenses. The position is different in the case of the full brothers Lambu and Veshi who are living separately in the village. When their old mother, who is at present living with Veshi, dies, it will be Lambu who will cremate her, being her first-born son. Both the brothers will contribute towards the funeral expenses, Lambu more than Veshi, because it will be the former, as the elder son, who will be in charge of the rites. But when their youngest brother Sham, also living with Veshi, is married, Lambu will not be expected to contribute towards the marriage, as Veshi and Sham both retained their shares when Lambu seceded from the chulah. Besides, partition between brothers rarely affects their relations with more distant common kin, like their maternal and paternal cousins, because of the absence of common interests. As for ritual and ceremonial occasions: Maha and Vasa, two step-brothers (sons of the same father), are living in two different houses, Maha in his wife's natal home and Vasa in the mahant's hospice. On the yearly death anniversary of their father, Maha, the elder brother, goes to Vasa's house to perform the shraddha, although the two brothers are not on very good terms with one another. It is customarily the elder brother only who performs the shraddha. (Incidentally, the incompatibility between the ties of patrilineal descent and affinity are well illustrated in this case. The Pandits say that when a man is performing shraddha, none of his wife's natal kin should be present. It is because of this that Maha goes to Vasa's house to offer the pinda to his manes). Similarly, Maha is invited by Vasa on his birthday to a meal, and the latter does not refuse the invitation as doing so would amount to wishing ill to Vasa. When Maha's daughter was married (in 1956) Vasa, his wife and younger brother shouldered more responsibility for management of the ceremonies than any cousin of Maha's. They also presented a gold necklace to the bride as a gift. (p.173A) To take another example, Dina and Arjan, two brothers, live in the same house but as the heads of two households. Dina is the elder of the two men, and it is in his kitchen that the indivisible sacred pots of the house3 are kept, although Arjan's wife also puts boiled rice in them occasionally. It is again Dina who performs the yearly domestic ritual in honour of god Shiva to which the Pandits attach great importance (see Madan 1961b). Only one household in a house performs this ritual. Arjan and Dina share the expenses and all the members of the two households partake of the ritual meal together. Besides the ties mentioned above, the sibling bond between brothers holds them closer together than cousins. We have already pointed out how Maha depended more upon the help of his step-brothers, than that of his uncles and cousins, at the time of his daughter's marriage. Thus partition does not involve complete severence of ties; it is partly a satisfactory reorganization of relations. In interkin relations, the most significant change is the general replacement of personPage 14 of 23

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The Family and the Patrilineage to-person relations by group-to-group relations between the chulahs on all formal occasions.4 The process of the gradual loosening of bonds, privileges and obligations between the households of patrilineal kinsmen, as generation after generation separates them from their common ancestor, is also expressed in the daily and periodical interaction that takes place between them. Let us now examine the form and content of this interaction. The households constituting a kotamb are bound together by the fact that they are patrilineally interrelated, through their natal members, and that they are usually unilocal (living in one village and often as one Compound or Neighbourhood). The former is the fundamental bond, and vicinage goes with it. The bonds of patrilineal kinship are associated with various obligations. The most important of these is kol exogamy (see (p.174A) above, p. 94), Again, birth and death within the kotamb cause pollution to all its ritually initiated members. Although, strictly speaking, pollution does not last equally long for those persons who are related within the limits of second degree cousinship to the man who has died, or whose wife has borne him a child, and those who are outside these limits, all the ritually initiated members in a kotamb usually regard themselves as being polluted for the maximum period applicable in a case of pollution.5 More significant is the manner in which formal mourning, following the death of an adult, is observed. Unlike pollution, formal mourning is voluntary. It involves abstention from bathing, shaving, and changing clothes, as also from non-vegetarian and stale food for three to ten days. Close kin of the deceased also usually give up koj (the midday meal). If a man's cousins are not living in the same village with him, they may not observe any formal mourning for him on his death, particularly if he is more distant than a first cousin. But within the kotamb, mourning for at least three days is usually regarded as obligatory, and may be observed for seven or ten days. In observing it a person is not necessarily influenced by grief, kinship sentiment, or any notion of moral duty. Formal mourning for a close relative is a social expectation among the Pandits, and may be observed for the sake of social approval, or out of the fear of social disapproval. When Lakhim died, her husband's brother's sons' chulahs observed only three days' formal mourning. There was some adverse comment in the village on their having been in an unseemly hurry to come out of mourning. Through observing formal mourning, the households in a kotamb express solidarity with each other. At the same time differentiation between close and remote kin is also recognized by observing a longer or shorter period of mourning. Similarly, during the ceremonies associated with birth, death and marriage, solidarity and differentiation between households in a kotamb come into prominence in inter-chulah relations. The members of the households of Page 15 of 23

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The Family and the Patrilineage brothers, constituting the segment of the lowest order of differentiation, help one another and co-operate on such occasions much more than the segments with wider spans; and there is greater co-operation between the households (p. 175A) of first, than of second, cousins, and so on. Thus the wives of close male agnates help each other in the non-Sanskritic ceremonies that are performed during the eleven days after a child's birth. They also look after the comfort of the baby and the mother, and help in the kitchen. The wives of remoter agnates will often come only to offer congratulations and partake of ‘the eleventh day feast’. At marriages and deaths, the closer agnates in the kotamb, and their spouses, provide much needed help in domestic and other work specific to these occasions, like cooking, distribution of food, entertaining of guests, ceremonial singing, and the performance of rituals. All the costs are borne by the chulah in which the event {birth, marriage, or death) occurs. However, close agnates of the head of the household concerned, like his brothers and uncles, may make presents as a contribution towards the marriage-portion and dowry of a female agnate on her marriage: The family head's married sisters, daughters and aunts (father's sisters) usually return to their natal home on these occasions and so do closely related males who have been married patriuxorilocally, or who are away from home on work. When Lakhim died, it was her husband's two younger brothers' widows and children who figured more prominently in all activities, ranging from cremation to cooking and washing, for ten days after her death. They also observed ten days' mourning for her. But the two households of her husband's elder brother's sons observed only three days' mourning for her, and did not work in her son's house as his other close relatives did. Lakhim's son was not in Kashmir when she died, and she was cremated by her husband's brother's son. Agnation is emphasized by making it the duty of any male agnate of a deceased man, or of a deceased woman's husband, to cremate him or her. But a son is preferred to a brother (or husband's brother), and he to a cousin or nephew. Bishambarnath graphically put it to me thus: ‘A man may cremate all his male agnates and their wives, and carry them to the land of manes as does the omnibus that carries the villagers to town. But having a son of one's own is like having a horse for exclusive use!’ A man who cremates an uncle or an aunt may receive a share from the deceased man's estate, if the only lineal heir to the estate is a patriuxorilocally married daughter. If a man dies without any lineal heir, his estate is inherited in the first instance by his collateral agnates of the same segment of the kotamb on per stirpes basis. (p.176A) We have already pointed out that there is usually more than one kotamb in a Neighbourhood. The daily interrelations between the households of related or unrelated partrilineal kinsmen in a Neighbourhood have wide scope. They range from working together on identical tasks in the yard, in the case of a Page 16 of 23

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The Family and the Patrilineage Compound, to informal mutual visiting, lending and borrowing of articles of domestic use, and helping each other in various kinds of domestic work in the case of a Compound or a Neighbourhood. Although, on a superficial view, there may seem to be no differentiation between kin and non-kin in these daily activities, closer study reveals that such a differentiation exists. Thus, the members of a household may not ask unrelated chulahs for help without offending the related households; and a chulah does not find it easy to refuse a request for help if it comes from a neighbouring household of related patrilineal kinsmen. It would be a far more serious thing to do than to refuse help to an unrelated chulah. Moreover, the related households in a Neighbourhood have many joint interests and rights which they do not share with the unrelated chulahs. Thus they, or some of them, may own the messuage or part of it in common. Any event of importance in any one of the households like a birth, initiation, marriage or death has significance and is of interest for only the related chulahs. All agnatically related households in a Compound or a Neighbourhood do not, however, usually engage in any economic, religious (pertaining to gods and not manes or members of the kotamb), or political activity together as a group. Economic and religious activities (of this kind) are among the Pandits usually associated with the household. So far as political activities (such as voting in panchayat elections) are concerned, they may be influenced by considerations of kinship, but kin groups do not make any political decisions, nor do they engage in any joint political activity. Thus, whereas the unilocal kotamb functions as a whole in certain periodical situations and contingencies, segments within a kotamb emerge as units of action more often. Hostility between Cousins

In a kotamb with a wide span, a chulah head has more cousins than brothers. The kotamb is sometimes referred to as the ‘group of cousins (piter tola)’ by the Pandits. In the chulah individual behaviour is guided by mutual affection and is influenced by a strongly developed ethic which exalts self-sacrifice, filial duty and fraternal amity. We have also shown that when a household, in the course (p.177A) of its development, enters the phase of a fraternal-extended family, an incompatibility develops between the brothers' individual self-interest on the one hand, and their mutual affection and loyalty on the other. Sibling rivalry in the household generally leads to partition. After partition the supremacy of selfinterest is openly recognized, and the chulahs of brothers deal with each other in terms of it and on a reciprocal basis. The chulahs in a kotamb are always watching each others' behaviour. Every act of kindness, help or hostility is noted and returned when opportunity arises. There is both co-operation as well as conflict between them, one alternating with the other. Consequently, an increasing differentiation in their mutual relations results from cumulative interaction between them. Conflict between the chulahs of cousins is a prominent feature of Pandit kinship. The sibling rivalry which leads to partition Page 17 of 23

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The Family and the Patrilineage of the household is later revealed in a more intense form in the relations between cousins. Although brothers may have their conflicts, they also have many joint interests, rights and obligations. They feel more strongly the compulsiveness of the ethic of fraternal amity. Above all, their close relationship as siblings is an immutable bond. Between cousins, joint interests become diffuse as the genealogical connection becomes remoter. They feel freer to quarrel and are not greatly restrained by the morality of kinship solidarity. Conflict between the households of cousins has no serious consequences in terms of the kotamb as a whole. It may lead to the achievement of complete partition, and a household may gain residential and economic independence, but these happenings are only a continuation of the process of fission initiated in the chulah. The relations between the households of cousins usually become strained by situations which are unlikely to arise between brothers because a Pandit is not only more likely to tolerate an injustice or affront from a brother than a cousin or cousin's wife, but also because he is less likely to be so offended by a brother. To take an example: Dina and Sarwa are first paternal cousins, and on very good relations with one another, and so are the other members of the two households. Sarwa and the members of his chulah are living in half of the ancestral house in which Dina also has a share, but he has built himself a new house adjoining the old house, and is living in it with his wife and children. That half of the ancestral house which belongs to Dina is in a bad state of repair. The roof is leaking and the floor of the third storey has dropped into the second. He keeps his cows in the room on the ground floor, and does not let (p.178A) Sarwa have possession of the whole house, nor does he repair his rooms in it. Sarwa says he is helpless although he realizes that the whole house may face collapse in a few years' time. Other Pandits discussing the situation with me said that it fell within the bounds of permitted behaviour between cousins, and that Sarwa and Dina were on much better terms than cousins usually are. Hostility between collaterally related agnates may not be expressed through acts of commission only but also through acts of omission. Deva is a poor widow's only son and is studying at the village school. He raised money to pay his fees in 1956 by requesting for donations from several villagers. Deva's father's brother who is a prosperous man did not offer to pay the boy's fees. The persons who had given money to Deva expressed condemnation of his uncle's behaviour but also assured me that the latter's behaviour was not very unusual. The relationship between paternal cousins is called piteruth by the Pandits. It is derived from the term of reference for father's brother which is peter. Pitur (masculine) and piter (feminine) are also derived from peter and mean collateral agnates. Since the relations between cousins, uncles and nephews are regarded by the Pandits to be traditionally characterized by mutual hostility, piteruth has come to mean cousinly hostility, or more generally unmotivated hostility. Thus if Page 18 of 23

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The Family and the Patrilineage a person treats another person with undeserved hostility, the latter may object by asking, ‘Am I your pitur?’ On the basis of the foregoing discussion, we may conclude that the kotamb is a segmentary grouping of patrilineal kinsmen and their wives, and may be (i) local and property owning, (ii) local and non-property owning, and (iii) non-local and non-property owning. A local kotamb may include even distantly related patrilineal kinsmen, but dispersed kotambs are limited to the households of brothers, first cousins, and/or second cousins. In a local kotamb with a wide span, vicinage is of importance in so far it gives rise to joint interests and activity and maintains interaction within the kotamb. The kotamb is, broadly speaking, a corporate group; at lower levels of segmentation property is jointly owned between brothers and cousins and they also have common interests and obligations. In its widest span the kinsmen in a kotamb share a common family name and constitute the exogamous, pollution-cummourning group.

(p.179A) II The Patrilineage IN THE foregoing discussion the kotamb was considered as a grouping of households. Being warranted by facts, such a procedure is legitimate. It does not, however, fully reveal the exact significance of patrilineal descent in Pandit society. Marriage, filiation and vicinage by themselves do not provide the priniciples for the formation of a kotamb; agnation also is of equal, and in certain respects greater, importance. It is the core of patrilineal kinsmen which provides the kinship-link between the constituent households in a kotamb. Again, it is the patrilineage which accounts for continuity in family life, as it lasts longer than any individual, household, or segment within a kotamb. The Pandits themselves often see the patrilineage, referred to as kol (derived from the Sanskrit kula, meaning, inter alia, ‘lineage’) or khandan (Persian) by them, as an attribute of the kotamb; thus a family of distinguished ancestry is usually referred to as being khandani or kolin (of noble lineage). The Pandits generally use the word kol to designate the most extensive category of patrilineal kin. But kol ties are invoked with only those agnates who are not included within one's own chulah or kotamb. Although it is not wrong to say that a man and his sons or brothers are of the same kol, yet such a statement would sound not merely superfluous but also absurd to a Pandit. As far as kin more distantly related than as first or second cousins are concerned, they tend to keep the notion of kol ties in the background, as it were, so long as they live in the same village—unless of course a person is keen on stressing the lack of proximity of his kin ties with somebody else. Even an inadvertant slip in observing the correct form of verbal behaviour can cause offence as is illustrated by the following incident. I was writing down the genealogy of one of the lineages of Utrassu-Umanagri and my informants were Mahi and Shri; the latter is the former's second cousin Page 19 of 23

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The Family and the Patrilineage once removed (FaFaBrSoSoSo). Their households are located in the same pati but not in the same Neighbourhood. Mahi said that they were of the same kol, but Shri took great offence at this demanding to know the names of the manes to whom Mahi offered oblations every morning. Mahi named his father, grandfather and great-grand-father. Shri then asked him further, ‘Am I not a descendant of that great-grandfather of yours?’ I have chosen this example in preference to (p. 180A) others because it represents the sort of situation in which uncertainty prevails. I do not think Mahi would have taken the stand if his second cousin (Shri's father) were alive; and I doubt if after Mahi's death Shri will object should Mahi's son tell him that the bond between them is of a common kol rather than of a common kotamb. The kol never emerges in action as an exclusive group, although its members have mutual rights and obligations in all matters which affect the lineage. Some members may also own property in common. This happens when a man, who holds some property jointly with his cousins, migrates or marries patriuxorilocally without disposing of his claims. The instances are few and, the property thus owned is in no case of much value. The morality of agnatic kinship which binds together patrilineal kin is clearly expressed through the observance of birth and death pollution (see above, p. 70), kol exogamy (see above, p. 94), and water and food offerings to the manes (see above, pp. 79f.). The symbolic value of the shraddha as a binder of agnatic kinsmen becomes clear when we note that (i) it is usually only the eldest brother of a group of siblings who performs this biannual rite, even after they have set up separate households; and (ii) a man and his first cousins offer pinda to the same ancestors, grandfather upwards; he and his second cousins to the same ancestors, great-grandfather upwards; and so on. At the outside limit, fifth cousins offer pinda to their common sixth lineal male ascendant (FaFaFaFaFaFa). The Pandit patrilineage thus has a fixed outer boundary, and is an internally segmented grouping (see Fig. XV). Each segment is called a land (branch; plural, lanji). In this connection it is of great interest that, as shown in Table XII, none of the Utrassu-Umanagri lineages has a wider collateral spread than fifth degree cousinship, although the maximum depth of genealogies recorded is eight in two cases and nine in one. In the case of the Umanagri lineages the narrow range is easily explicable in view of the fact that the hamlet is only about 180 years old, but I am unable to explain why the Utrassu lineages also fail to show a wider span. It is, of course, an easy guess that migration and, though to a much lesser extent, patriuxorilocal marriage are two obvious causes. Unfortunately I realized

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The Family and the Patrilineage the importance comparative data from other villages would have in this context only after I had left Kashmir. The Pandits thus recognize kol ties with known kin only, and the limits of genealogical knowledge arc often within the limits of fifth (p.181A) degree cousinship. They are very indifferent to the preservation of the kol genealogy, and freely confess their ignorance of its higher orders. This attitude is understandable; agnates who are distantly related, and do not live in the same or adjoining villages, find themselves in a situation in which no individual has any positive role to play vis-à-vis the others. All common interests exist at lower levels of segmentation, and all important events occur, Fig. XV and decisions about them are made, in the domestic domain (of the chulah and the kotamb). There are no jural and political functions attached to the kol.

In terms of interkin relationship, kol membership involves the observance of the rules of exogamy and ritual pollution. The fact that agnates usually bear the same kotamb name, and always the same gotra name, is enough protection against an unwitting breach of kol exogamy. And so far as pollution is concerned, the Pandits rationalize that unless one hears of the event (birth or death) there is no pollution. Agnatic kinship ceases with the kol, and beyond it lies the gotra, or the domain of mythical descent [see Madan 1962a]. But persons who are not patrilineal kinsmen may yet be kin. We have so far examined at length the place of agnates and afiines in the Pandit kinship system. I will now briefly consider the relations between non-agnatic cognates who do not share a common domestic life. (p. 182A)

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The Family and the Patrilineage

TABLE XII Collateral Spread of the Patrilineages Localized in Utrassu-Umanagri The widest collateral spread of agnatic kinship as represented by the relationship between the heads of patrilineally related households.a Degree of cousinship First cousins

Second cousins

Third cousins

Fourth cousins

Fifth cousins Gupan (Um)

Kram

Khar (Um)b

Bagti (Ut)

Band (Um)

Koul (Ut)

(kotamb name)

Zar (a) (Um)

Ganju (Ut)

Gosani (Um)

Krad (Ut)

Chatta (Um)

Guzarwan (Ut)

Pandit (b)(Um)

Marhatta (Um & Ut) Pandit (a) (Um) Rawal (Um)

(a) The Bath, Bhan, Kala, Patwari and Zar (b) families consist of only one household in each case. (b) (Um) after a kotamb name indicates that the family is resident in the pati of Umanagri and (Ut) that it is resident in Utrassu.

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The Family and the Patrilineage

Notes:

(1) Cf. ‘Kutumb … is a word used to denote the family, and is as flexible as its English translation. Thus, one can call the elementary or extended family kutumb, in the English sense of a noble family’ (Mayer I960, p. 167). (2) For the purpose of this discussion, the temporary dispersal of a Compound (of three houses and five chulahs) from a Neighbourhood, following the loss of the houses in a fire, has not been taken into consideration. The five households involved (consisting of patrilineal kinsmen and their wives) are already rebuilding houses on the old site. At present four of these chulahs are living in two dharmashata (hospices) belonging to the mahant. The members of the fifth household are residing in the family head's wife's natal home. (3) In each Pandit house are lodged two small sanctified pots; they are kept in the kitchen. After food has been cooked, but before it is served to any member of the house, some cooked rice is put in these pots. They are emptied the next morning and the rice is thrown out to birds. The process is repeated every morning. The two pots symbolize protective deities (see Madan 1959, p. 88). (4) The change-over from person-to-person relations within the family to relations on a group-to-group basis in the context of the wider kinship organization is a widespread phenomenon. To give but two examples, it was noticed among the Australian aborigines by Malinowski (1913, p. 303) and among the Nuer by Evans-Pritchard (1951a, pp.4f). (5) Within the limits of second degree cousinship (inclusive), a boy's or a girl's birth causes pollution for ten days. The death of a toothless infant or of a married female agnate causes no pollution. The period of pollution in other cases of death is: uninitiated boy or unmarried female agnate, five days; married male agnate, ten days; and the wife of a male agnate, ten days.

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The Wider Kinship Structure: Non-Agnatic Kin

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

The Wider Kinship Structure: Non-Agnatic Kin T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0012

Abstract and Keywords This chapter focuses on non-agnatic kinship, which is an intrinsic part of the Pandit kinship system. Marriage brings together two agnatically unrelated chulahs (and families). The woman-giving and the woman-receiving families stand to each other in the mutual relationship of sonya. A ckulah also stands in the secondary position of howur (or variw) to the husband (or wife) of each of its female (or male) natal members. But the members of two households will generally not act in either capacity as sonya and as howur/variw if the woman who binds them in affinity dies without leaving behind any children. On the other hand, when a child is born of a union, the bond between the two families concerned acquires a new dimension. It is assimilated into kinship; the sonyahowur chulah acquires a new function as the matamal of the child. Keywords:   Pandit kinship system, non-agnatic kinship, matamal, sonya, howur/variw, chulah

Bilateral Filiation

RADCLIFFE-BROWN has written: ‘Since kinship results from the family, and in the family every child has a father and a mother and is therefore connected with both the father's and the mother's family, it would seem to be the normal thing in any human society that social recognition should be given to both paternal and maternal kinship, and this is what we do find universally’ (1929, p. 52). But, as Fortes has pointed out, bilateral filiation ‘does not imply equality of social weighting for the two sides of kin connexion’ (1953, p. 33). This is true of the Pandits. We have so far discussed the Pandit household, the extended family and the patrilineage. But agnation provides only one of the foundations of Pandit kinship; affinity, and cognatic kinship between non-agnatic kin are also of Page 1 of 9

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The Wider Kinship Structure: Non-Agnatic Kin fundamental, though not equal, importance. As was pointed out earlier, marriage is the usual precondition for the continuation of a patrilineage. Although agnation is the ruling principle of Pandit social organization, the importance of non-agnatic kinship should not be underestimated; along with agnation it is an intrinsic part of the Pandit kinship system. Marriage brings together two agnatically unrelated chulahs (and families). The woman-giving and the woman-receiving families stand to each other in the mutual relationship of sonya. A ckulah also stands in the secondary position of howur (or variw) to the husband (or wife) of each of its female (or male) natal members. But the members of two households will generally not act in either capacity as sonya and as howur/variw if the woman who binds them in affinity dies. without leaving behind any children. On the other hand, when a child is born of a union, the bond between the two families concerned acquires a new dimension. It is assimilated into kinship; the sonya-howur chulah acquires a new function as the matamal of the child.’1 (p.184A) The ‘Matamal’

The Pandits use the term matamal in three different but closely related senses: (a) In its widest sense, it refers to all of ego's matrikin. (b) Within this broad category of kin, ego's relations are mostly with the natal kotamb of his mother. Matamal is thus used to refer to ego's mother's natal family, (c) In general usage when a person speaks of his matamal he usually means his mother's natal chulah as it is with the members of that household that he associates most closely. Among the Pandits, kinship as a field within which social activities take place is a triangular one, as it were, bounded by ego's affines on the one side, his agnates on the second, and his matamal and other cognates on the third. The three relationships should ideally never coalesce. Pandit rules of exogamy, and other preferences in the selection of spouses, are intended to prevent this from happening. Reciprocal marriages, however, upset this balance. Whether they are born in the natal home of their father or mother, all of a Pandit woman's children belong by descent to her husband's patrilineage. Although in the case of uxorilocal residence they are the coresidential members of their mother's chulah, yet they retain their rights by birth in their father's family. In the case of virilocal residence, the children do not have any right to membership of their mother's natal family. Except in rare cases of patriuxorilocal marriage, the obligation of rearing children, and giving them informal instruction and formal education rests almost exclusively with their agnates. It is only from agnates that a person usually inherits property. From the ritual point of view, the relationship between a Pandit and his patrilineal kinsmen is immutable and uxorilocal residence does not break it. It is only a person's agnates who may perform various rituals for him. The ‘pollution group’ is a patronymic grouping of agnates, and the mode of residence does not affect it. Page 2 of 9

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The Wider Kinship Structure: Non-Agnatic Kin Thus, jurally and ritually the ties between a person and his father's natal family (which is also his own natal family) are closer and of greater importance, in terms of interaction, than his ties with his mother's natal family. But when we consider the social consequences which patrivirilocal residence and patrilineal descent, fortified by ritual notions, usually have in a society, the part which a Pandit's matamal plays in his upbringing, and generally in his later life, is indeed considerable. It is customary for a household occasionally (p. 185A) to present clothes and toys to the young children of its female agnates, and thus assist in meeting the costs of child rearing, although this is not the motive behind its action. It sends these gifts more out of love than any other reason. If a woman's parents are better off than her parents-in-law, then these gifts are often a welcome relief in times of need. Nevertheless, it is a child's father's natal family which has the main obligation of rearing him, and in fact does so. In some cases children, whose mother or both parents are dead, may be brought up by their matamal, though this is very rare if some close agnates of the children are alive. There have been only two such cases in UtrassuUmanagri in recent times. Prithvi was brought up by his mother's brother in another village after the death of his parents, although he could have lived with his first cousins. In another case Goond Ram's deceased adoptive daughter's children have been staying with his chulah since their mother's death, although their father is alive and resident in another village. The matamal is, in fact, a second home for the Pandit, although he is not a member of it in any jural or ritual sense. Infants go to stay with their matrikin whenever their mother goes there. Children sometimes accompany their mother, and on other occasions visit the matamal on their own. If a child's matamal is in the same village as his own, he may go there several times a week, and sometimes even several times in a day. His best playmates may be his cousins related to him through his mother. But a child stays overnight with his matamal only when accompanied by his mother. If their matrikin are in a village other than their own, the children of a household will go there infrequently, but when they go they usually stay for a week or so. Pandit children await visits to their matamal with considerable anticipation. Such visits afford them an opportunity to escape from the monotony of living with the same people and playing with the same playmates every day. More important, while staying with their matrikin they are not subject to the sort of discipline they are used to at home. By contrast with daily life at home, visits to matamal are like vacations, when many restraints are removed and punishments for pranks are rare and mild. Pandit grandparents, particularly the grandmother, are proverbially and actually indulgent towards. their daughter's children. This attitude is not difficult to understand. Maternal grandparents are not placed in the same position in the Pandit family system as the paternal grandparents. The latter have the primary responsibility (p.186A) for instructing and disciplining Page 3 of 9

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The Wider Kinship Structure: Non-Agnatic Kin children, and therefore have to be more strict with them. Not only do the maternal grandparents of a child generally make no serious attempt to discipline him, but if they do so, their attitude is often resented by tho child's paternal grandparents who regard it as presumptuous interference. Although the children of a daughter are as closely related to their mother's parents as the children of a son are to their father's parents, yet the daughter's children live apart from their maternal grandparents, removed from the latter's daily love and care, and do not inherit from their matamal. Since a woman's children spend only brief spells of time with their mother's natal home, such visits are characterized by an intensity of emotional expression on the part of their mother's parents and siblings which would not have been evoked, nor easily sustained at that high level, had the children in question been permanently resident with their matamal. The Pandits explain the indulgent attitude towards a daughter's children by saying that they are guests and should be so treated; ‘after all they will soon return to their home’. A grandmother's discriminatively favourable treatment of her daughter's children, as against her son's children, if it occurs, is usually a reflection of the personal friendliness and attachment which exists between mother and daughter. By contrast the relations of a Pandit mother-in-law and her son's wife are very often charged with tension and bitterness, and the relations between a son and his parents also may be strained. These tensions and strains may temporarily influence the conduct of a couple into indifference towards their son's children. Radha's relations with her daughter-in-law, Tol, were very unpleasant for several years after the latter's marriage. When Tol became a mother, Radha and her husband, particularly Radha, were rather indifferent towards their son's (and Tol's) children, and did not show much interest in them, as grandparents normally do, nor did they exercise much control over them. Although she denies it, Radha is more fond of her daughter's children, and discriminates against Tol's children, whenever the former are on a visit to their matamal. She takes greater notice of the pranks of Tol's children and is partial towards her daughter's children in the distribution of food and the expression of love. In this connection it is of interest to note that paternal grandparents do not favour frequent visits by their sons’ children to their respective matamal. They complain that children are spoilt during such visits, and by the time they return home they usually become (p.187A) undisciplined. This often is true as the foregoing analysis would lead one to expect. Moreover, the strained relations between woman-giving and woman-receiving households also find expression in such complaints.

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The Wider Kinship Structure: Non-Agnatic Kin In the foregoing discussion I have emphasized the relations between children and their matrikin because it is with regard to children that the position of a kotamb as matamal is most important. As they grow up, the boys go to school and the girls are brought under stricter control and required to work at home. Consequently their relations with their matamal begin to diminish in terms of frequency, though not in intimacy, of contacts. After marriage, a person's spouse's natal chulah comes to occupy an important place in his or her life, often at the cost of loosening of bonds with the matamal. This is particularly true of a married woman, whose variw is her second home. The loosening of bonds between a man and his matamal is gradual. As he grows up, is married, and assumes various duties and responsibilities of adult life, a Pandit finds himself engaging less and less in informal relations with his matamal. An important event in this process of the lessening of interaction, and one which hastens it, is the death of a person's mother. A Pandit's relationship with his matrikin is a mediated one, and after the mediating person (the mother) is dead, the tone and frequency of interaction suffer a definite change. The Pandits themselves emphasize that a person's matamal are his solicitous and helpful kin because they are the members of his mother's natal kotamb. Spouse's ‘Matamal’

For a Pandit woman, her husband's matamal is her badavariw, or the ‘greater conjugal home’. She visits her badavariw for the first time a few weeks after her marriage. It is a formal occasion, and she carries with her gifts in cash and kind for her grandparents-in-law. At least during the year after her marriage, a woman's natal chulah sends gifts to her badavariw on occasions like birthdays. Similarly, a woman's own matamal sends gifts to her parents-in-law on her marriage, and all other important occasions in her life, like the birth of her first child and first son, the mekhal of her sons, and the marriage of her children. The gifts that a man's matamal receives from his wife's natal household and also the gifts which his natal chulah receives from her matamal, are a social recognition of the ties of sentiment and affection which exist between a person and his or her matrikin. (p.188A) A man's relations with his wife's matamal, or the badahoumr (‘greater conjugal family’) are very formal. He goes there only when invited, and he is invited there for the first time a few weeks after his marriage to attend a formal dinner in his honour. Thereafter he visits his badahoumr rarely, usually only on occasions like marriages and deaths. When he goes to offer condolences, he goes uninvited and is treated like any other visitor, and not like an honoured guest, as on other happier occasions.

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The Wider Kinship Structure: Non-Agnatic Kin Mother's Siblings

The members of a household in their capacity as the matamal of their grandchildren, or nephews and nieces, have special roles to play on certain ritual and ceremonial occasions in the lives of the latter. Prominent among these are the roles of mas (mother's sister) and mam (mother's brother) (see pp. 81f,). We may briefly recapitulate here that at the time of a boy's mekhal, it is his mas from whom he ceremonially begs money (as a part of the ritual) first of all. She also distributes milk and sweet cakes among all the persons present on the occasion. Through these usages is expressed the affection that is expected to exist between a woman on the one hand, and her sister and sister's children on the other. If a woman has several sisters, all of them give their nephew gifts of money, and may also distribute milk and cakes. When a person has to beg, he is apt to begin with someone of whose help he is certain. By making the boy beg from his parents only after he has done so from his mother's sister, the mas-nephew relationship is, as it were, dramatized. This relationship is further thrown into relief by the roles assigned to the pof (father's sister) and her husband on this occasion, which are all authoritative. As in the relationship of mas and nephew, love and tenderness are also emphasized in the mam-nephew/niece relationship. On the occasion of his mekhal, the boy's mam carries him in his lap for his ritual bath, which is the last of the rites. This act not only emphasizes the affection that exists between the two; it may also be seen as symbolizing the support that a man generally expects throughout his life from his mam. Similarly at the time of marriage, the mam of the bride and the bridegroom, act as personal advisers and attendants of the couple while the marriage rites are being performed. At the end of the marriage ritual, when the bridegroom's party make ready to return home, the bride is formally handed over to her husband's mam, who carries her away in his lap, just as her own mam earlier carries her to the place where the marriage is solemnized. (p.189A) The mam is regarded as a friend with whom a person may deal on familiar terms, though there is no customary joking relationship. The Pandits do not attach as great an importance to generation differences as they do to age differences. Consequently a mam and nephew who are not separated by more than a few years tend to be more familiar with one another than those who are separated by a greater number of years. In view of the Pandits' general attitude to relations between adult members of the two sexes, a woman is rarely so intimate with her mother's brother as a man is. The mam has the privilege of having an active role to play in most of the affairs concerning his sister's children. Thus he is usually consulted before the marriages of his nephews and nieces are settled by their parents. His advice is sought though it may not always be accepted. We have earlier pointed out that a Page 6 of 9

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The Wider Kinship Structure: Non-Agnatic Kin man is on more friendly terms with his wife's brother than with any other relative-in-Iaw. We have also shown that sibling rivalry between brother and sister never becomes so pronounced as it does between brothers, and that brothers are customarily expected to be kind and courteous to their sisters. The mam-nephew/niece relationship is based on these relations between siblings and brothers-in-law. There are many Pandit folktales, songs and sayings about the ‘affectionate mam’2 one of the stereotypes of Pandit kinship, which may be contrasted with the other stereotype of the pitur. The Pandits apply the term mam sarcastically to a man who tries to take an undue interest in the well-being and affairs of other people. The implication is twofold: firstly that a mam is expected to take a great interest in the affairs of his niece and nephew, particularly the latter, and secondly that the kind of interest which a man may expect, solicit and welcome in his own affairs from his mam will be resented as interference if it comes from another person. In this connection it is of interest to note that the only kin whom a Pandit may address by using terms of reference are mas and mam. This usage is associated with the expression of intimacy and friendliness. It is a liberty that one is permitted to take with one's mother's siblings and with them alone. Generally speaking, the use of terms of reference as terms of address is regarded by the Pandits as a breach of etiquette (see Appendix III). The privileged position of the mas and the mam notwithstanding, the Pandits maintain that there is usually greater love between children and their maternal grandparents. The question then (p.190A) arises as to why there are no special roles for maternal grandparents in the various ritual and ceremonial occasions in the lives of their grandchildren. One reason may be that owing to the wide age difference, the grandparents of a person may not be alive when his mekhal and marriage take place. Again, a person is likely to have several mas and mam, so that if the eldest is dead another can take his or her place, but there is, of course, only one pair of maternal grandparents. Although maternal grandparents have no specific roles to play vis-à-vis their grandchildren, a daughter's son has several such obligatory roles in relation to the members of his matamal. One of the rites during the twelve days after a person's death may be performed by his or her daughter's son. A deceased person's daughter's son's presence is regarded as highly desirable when the biannual shraddha for him is being performed. A man is expected to pour daily ritual libations for his mother's deceased parents, brothers and brother's wives. He may also offer them pinda at centres of pilgrimage, or on various auspicious occasions. ‘Wora-Matamal’

If a person's own mother is dead and his father has married again, or if his father had an earlier wife, now deceased, then he also has, besides his own matamal, a wora (step)-matamal—the natal family of his step-mother.

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The Wider Kinship Structure: Non-Agnatic Kin If a person's own mother is alive, he does not usually have any relations with, or attachment for, his wora-matamal. The presence of a step-mother may considerably loosen the ties between a person and his matamal, but they are never completely severed. This is particularly so if a person's mother's brother's wife also happens to be his father's sister (as a consequence of marriage by exchange). Rattan (14) visits his step-mother's natal home (which is in the village itself) oftener than his own deceased mother's natal home (which is also in the village), but when his mother's brother, who is also his father's sister's husband, went away from the village in the winter of 1956–57, he wrote to Rattan but not to his father. Similarly, on the occasion of Rattan's ritual initiation it was his own mas and mam, and not the siblings of his step-mother, who were called upon to play the various customary roles. In exceptional cases, however, a man's relations with his first deceased wife's siblings may be so cordial, and/or his relations with his present wife's natal family may be so strained, that he calls upon the former to perform the ceremonial tasks. I was able to record only one such instance. The attitude of the natural matamal in this case was, as may be expected, one of extreme annoyance, and the opinion of the villagers was that it was exceptional to the extent of being aberrant. (p.191A) Parental ‘Matamal’

The importance of the parental matamal is not great in a Pandit's life in terms of interaction and mutual obligation. They are given verbal recognition, being called the bada (‘greater’ or ‘older’)-matamal in view of the importance which a person's parents' matamal have, or have had, in their lives. After a person's parents' death, hardly any interaction survives between him and his badamatamal. Like the relationship with one's own matamal, a person's relationship with his parental matamal is a mediated one; it is also more remote and, therefore, interaction withers away after the death of the mediating kin. To adapt Mayer's terminology to our needs, the badamatamal may be said to fall within the ‘kinship area of recognition’, and one's own matamal within the ‘kinship area of co-operation’ (see Mayer 1960, p.4). Non-agnatic Kinship

A Pandit distinguishes between three types of relatives: (i) agnates are subsumed under the kol, the kotamb and the chulah; (ii) the howur of a man and the variw of a woman are their personal affines; (iii) all the non-agnatic cognates are referred to as ashnav. Ashnavi (non-agnatic kinship) constitutes a ‘kinship area’ of secondary importance (as compared to the kol and the kotamb) in which a person acts on various occasions and for specified purposes. Among the ashnav one's closest ties are with the matamal and the families of procreation of one's daughter, sister, mother's sister, and father's sister. A striking characteristic of a Pandit's relations with non-agnatic kin is that it is broadly unaffected by his or her sex, and is sustained more by kinship sentiment, affection and interaction than by jural, economic and ritual factors. Hence there Page 8 of 9

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The Wider Kinship Structure: Non-Agnatic Kin is considerable variation from case to case in the intensity of interaction between a person and his or her ashnav. Genealogical position is irrelevant in the Pandits' eyes when they judge (as they do) the ashnav to be somehow ‘lesser’ kin than the agnates. In fact, there is no generic term for the latter; there is no need for one. The emphasis upon agnation is thus most forcefully brought out. If a person is neither of a Pandit's kol, kotamb or chulah, nor of his (or her) howur (or variw), nor indeed an ashnav, then what is he? A stranger, for in the Pandit scheme of life, kinship is (to adapt Firth's famous phrase) the only genuine ‘rod on which one leans throughout life’. Notes:

(1) Nadel comments thus on the dynamic character of affinal alliances:‘… in-law relationships in one generation become agnatic and cognatic relationships in the next, and no picture of kinship can be complete without the perspective of successive generations’ (1947, p. 12). (2) I heard a little boy of the village singing one day at the beginning of the winter, ‘sheena pyato pyato; mama yito yito’ (how I wish it would snow; how I wish my mam would come)!

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Household and the Family among the Pandits of Rural Kashmir: Concluding Review

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Household and the Family among the Pandits of Rural Kashmir: Concluding Review T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0013

Abstract and Keywords This chapter summarizes the preceding discussions. In a study of Pandit kinship in rural Kashmir, the relations of the Pandits with the Muslims are not of any direct relevance. Not only are there differences of religion between them, but also of social organization and culture. The Pandits and the Muslims retain their separate identities by following their own customs and practices. The only significant groups found among the Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri are based on kinship. The bonds of kinship divide the Pandits of a village into agnatic and nonagnatic kin. The smallest and most discrete kin group in Pandit society is the chulah, or the household. It is also functionally the most important group. In the structure and functioning of the chulah the importance of the bond of agnation, and the ‘patrilineal ideology’, is clearly indicated. Keywords:   Pandits, households, Muslims, Kashmir, kinship, chulah, agnation, patrilineal ideology, Utrassu-Umanagri

I A STUDY of the Pandits of rural Kashmir must reckon with the fact that the typical Kashmiri village is not culturally homogeneous; both Muslims and Pandits live in it. Co-residence in the same village entails mutual intercourse between them. In several domains of social life the Pandits and the Muslims of a village have common interests, and act together in pursuance of common or complementary aims. Their relations are, however, mainly characterized by economic interdependence. The Pandits are more dependent upon the Muslims, than vice versa, as many of the essential services which the Muslims provide to Page 1 of 8

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Household and the Family among the Pandits of Rural Kashmir: Concluding Review the Pandits (see Table XIII) are available only from the former. Either the norms of caste ethics preclude the Pandits from engaging in an occupation (such as that of a barber, an oil presser, or a washerman) because it is polluting, or tradition links a calling (such as that of a blacksmith, a potter, or a weaver) with low status, so that the Pandits have customarily avoided it. But in a discussion of Pandit kinship in rural Kashmir, the relations of the Pandits with the Muslims are not of any direct relevance. Not only are there differences of religion between them, but also of social organization and culture. The Pandits and the Muslims retain their separate identities by following their own customs and practices.1 They do not intermarry, nor do they interdine. For our present purpose, the Muslims may, therefore, be treated as part of the external system, and their inclusion in our inquiry is not necessary. [For a fuller discussion see Madan 1972.] (p.193A) TABLE XIII Economic Relations between the Pandits and the Muslims Pandits

Muslims

(a) Landowner

(a.1) Sharecropper (a.2) Hired labourer

(b) Wholesale trader who

(b) Supplier of goods (butter, blankets, etc.)

buys to sell (c) Retailer (shopkeeper, grocer)

(c) Buyer of goods for consumption

(d) Buyer of goods and

(d.1) Retailer

services Butcher Cotton carder Milkman Mill owner/miller Oil presser Tailor Hired labourer (d.2) Artisans: basket weaver, blanket weaver, blacksmith, cobbler, potter and rug maker

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Household and the Family among the Pandits of Rural Kashmir: Concluding Review

Pandits

Muslims (d.3) Village servants: barber, carpenter, builder, cattle tender, midwife and washerman

(e) Mill owner

(e) Buyer of service

(f) Hakeem (Physician)

(f) Patient

(g) Patient

(g) Hakeem

(h) Moneylender

(h) Borrower

(i) Tutor

(i) Pupil

(j) Master

(j) Domestic servant

(p.194A) II APART FROM kin groupings, there are no formal social groups or associations among the Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri and the other villages I visited. Many Pandits are members of political parties but these parties are organized on the state level, and in at least two cases they cut across religious barriers. The failure to maintain groups of any kind, other than kinship groups, is a social failing of which the Pandits themselves are keenly conscious. In the summer of 1955 several Pandits of the pati of Umanagri joined to form a hymn-singing group. Contributions were collected, a ‘president’, a ‘treasurer’, and a ‘secretary’ elected, and some musical instruments purchased. The group decided to meet once a week near the holy springs to recite scriptures and sing hymns and devotional songs. Within a few months it broke up, and when I arrived in the village early in 1957, the members of the group sometimes talked about it and blamed each other and the non-co-operative mahant for its breakup. Lack of solidarity among the Pandits on the village level is correlated with territorial divisions (into two pati) and a tenuous class division. It seems to be a feature of rural life all over India that the Brahmans do not act as a group within the village, as lower castes usually do. Gough's comment on the Brahmans of Tanjore also holds for the Pandits of Kashmir: ‘A … lack of solidarity and organized action among peers is found in relationships between men of the wider community; for personal status is of such importance to Brahmans that in all contexts they find it difficult to act as co-equals in a group’ (1956, p. 840). The only significant groups found among the Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri are, as already stated, based on kinship. Except in rare cases, when there are only a few patrilineally interrelated Pandit households in a hamlet or village, there are generally two or more patrilineal groupings of kin, some of whom may be related by ties of affinity or cognatic kinship. However, affinally related households or Page 3 of 8

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Household and the Family among the Pandits of Rural Kashmir: Concluding Review non-agnatic cognates do not constitute groups in the same sense (defined by joint ownership, common interests, and persistent daily intercourse) as groups of patrilineal kin. Thus, bonds of kinship divide the Pandits of a village into agnatic and non-agnatic kin. Moreover, kinship is associated with only ‘parallel institutions’, and there are no ‘associative institutions’ of any importance among them. In the absence of other lasting social relationships, kinship provides (p.195A) most of the ideals of social conduct and is, therefore, of basic importance in the ordering of social organization. The Pandits themselves clearly recognize this when they say that the only important and lasting social relations are those between relatives. All other intercourse is based on self-interest, and varies as a person's evaluation of this self-interest changes. Kinship among the Pandits does not, however, have a wide range of application. It has no politico-jural functions. Economic activity by males is becoming increasingly dissociated from kinship in so far as the Pandits are beginning to rely more on cash rather than agricultrual income, and cash income is not usually earned in conjunction with one's kinsmen. On the contrary, the general presumption is that a man working in an office, or earning wages, will not be associating with his kin in pursuance of his duties. Kinship institutions ‘as a mechanism of organizing social activities and co-ordinating social relations’ (Fortes 1949a, p. 339) are of direct relevance only in a limited sector of Pandit social life, viz. the domain of domestic relations. Let us now examine Pandit kinship institutions in this domestic setting.

III THE SMALLEST and most discrete kin group in Pandit society is the chulah, or the household. It is also functionally the most important group. In the structure and functioning of the chulah the importance of the bond of agnation, and the ‘patrilineal ideology’, is clearly indicated. The chulah may vary in its composition from a nuclear to a paternal-extended, or fraternal-extended, family, depending upon the phase of development through which it is passing at any particular time. It is usually characterized by patrivirilocal residence, and is always a patronymic group based on patrilineal inheritance. The patri potestas is vested in a man, usually the oldest male member of the household. As an economic unit the chulah is characterized by a division of labour based on differences of sex and age. The principal responsibility for providing the household with all the necessities of life rests with men. Women work at home, in the kitchen and the garden, cook and distribute food, rear children, and look after the upkeep of the house. As an estate-holding group, the household is a joint family, but only its natal male members enjoy permanent and vested coparcenary rights.

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Household and the Family among the Pandits of Rural Kashmir: Concluding Review (p.196A) Associated with the chulah is a domestic cult. Daily and periodical worship is offered to gods; also daily and periodical oblations are offered to the male ancestors of the natal members of the chulah by the paterfamilias, who also offers oblations to his mother and the mothers of his male ancestors. Whereas a woman may, when not in her menstrual period, take part with her husband in the worship offered to gods, it is men who play the part of principals in the rites. Women are, in fact, explicitly prohibited from taking part in some of them.2 So far as the ritual offerings of water and food to the manes are concerned, only ritually initiated males are entitled to make these. From the foregoing remarks, we may conclude that not only does agnation play an all-important part in the ordering of intra-chulah relations, women also occupy only a secondary position (in jural, economic and ritual terms) in the household. These two features of domestic life are, of course, closely correlated. The position of a woman is subject to a major change in the course of her life in every descent system based on agnation. The Pandits treat female kin as agnates of a special kind with limited rights Till her marriage a woman does not have the status of a ritual adult, just as a boy does not have it, till his mekhal. But, whereas the Pandit boy becomes a ritual adult in his own natal family acquiring consequent rights and obligations as its member, a woman acquires that status only after her marriage and in relation to the members of her conjugal family. This important change in the ritual position of a woman also transfers her permanently into her husband's natal family. Marriage is a sacrament and, therefore, inviolable. There is no provision for divorce. Traditionally widows were not permitted to remarry, but there have been some instances of widow remarriage in recent years. So far as the right of inheritance is concerned, a woman is treated as a coparcener till her marriage. If she marries patrivirilocally, as is most likely, she receives a mariage portion and dowry, but thereafter loses all coparcenary rights in her natal chulah. She, however, retains certain residual and contingent rights. Thus, she is entitled to receive prestations from her natal (p.197A) chulah all her life. A female agnate may also, in the exceptional circumstance of widowhood before motherhood, return to her natal home. Such a return does not entitle her to coparcenary rights in her natal estate, but only to maintenance. Again, the act of returning to her natal chulah does not sever such a woman's ritual and jural ties with her conjugal family. In other words, once a Pandit woman becomes a wife she cannot claim jural or ritual membership of her natal family (i.e., in her capacity as a daughter or a sister) though she may become a resident member of it with certain limited economic rights'. The influence which a woman may exert in the affairs of her natal family may not in every case reflect her jural and ritual positions, but instead, ties of sentiment between her and her parents and siblings.

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Household and the Family among the Pandits of Rural Kashmir: Concluding Review Even in her conjugal chulah, a woman enjoys only limited rights. The Pandits clearly distinguish between the wives and the natal members, male and female, of a household. We have mentioned earlier that one of the basic distinctions in the Pandit family system is between the zamati (natal members) and the amati (in-married members). The distinction between kinship and affinity is also strongly expressed in the basic Pandit rule of exogamy, viz. that ideally no consanguineous kin should ever intermarry, and that a man should under no circumstances take an agnate of his own as his spouse. Although a woman enjoys a ritual status in her conjugal family which she does not have in her natal group, yet she has no coparcenary rights; her only economic right is that of maintenance. But the part which a woman plays in the affairs of her conjugal chulah usually exceeds what may be expected in view of her inferior jural position. Pandit women exercise a marked personal influence over their husbands and the latter's actions and decisions. Moreover, they also acquire considerable influence and prestige as mothers. Devotion to one's mother, and respectfulness and obedience towards her, are among the basic moral axioms of Pandit kinship. By the stress which the Pandits lay on it, the personal relationship between mother and child is given special recognition. Bilateral filiation in successive generations leads to the recognition of kinship with both a person's father's and his mother's kin, and this is what we find in Pandit society. A person's matamal plays a considerable part in his life informally, as well as formally, on various ritual and ceremonial occasions. However, it is only the bonds of marriage and agnation on the basis of which kin groups are recruited. As we have already (p.198A) pointed out, the chulah is the most important of these groups. The members of a chulah are also members of a wider, segmentary grouping of patrilineally related kinsmen and their wives called the kotamb, or the extended family. Compared to the chulah, the kotamb is a functionally less important grouping. The kotamb as a whole, unless of a low order of segmentation, does not have common ownership rights, or ritual and economic obligations towards its individual members or outsiders. It is usually a segment within a kotamb, consisting of the households of brothers and sometimes also of closely related cousins, which has such rights and obligations. Most of them are of a residual kind in so far as they stem from partition at the chulah level having been incomplete. Some material possessions are indivisible and others may willingly not be divided. Similarly many rights and obligations continue to be held in common even after partition. As the genealogical relationship between the heads of the chulah becomes remoter, their common interests become diffuse or extinguished. Nevertheless, coresidence in the same village holds the households of patrilineal kinsmen together, arid their unity is expressed in such ritual notions as pollution (if one man is ritually polluted by a birth or death, Page 6 of 8

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Household and the Family among the Pandits of Rural Kashmir: Concluding Review then all his patrilineal kinsmen and their wives also are polluted) and in shraddha (ritual offerings of food to manes). When a kotamb is dispersed in two or more villages, active interaction is usually limited to the households of brother and first cousins. More distantly related kinsmen lose active contact with each other and regard themselves as belonging to the same kol rather than the same kotamb. The kol is the widest exogamous category of patrilineal kin, and never emerges in action as a grouping. The chulahs of all or most known patrilineal kinsmen of the same kol may, however, be represented at a wedding or a funeral. Such an ad hoc gathering, recruited from the kol, is an ‘organizational group’.3 There are no politico-jural functions attached to the kotamb or the kol, and, as already stated, all the important economic and ritual activities within the domain of domestic life are centred in the chulah. Therefore, we conclude that, whereas patrilineal descent plays a very (p.199A) important part in the ordering of domestic relations in Pandit society, it fails to give rise to wider descent groupings with important economic, ritual or politico-jural functions. Many studies of patrilineal societies in other parts of the world, particularly Africa, have indicated that whereas kinship may be of primary importance in the ordering of interpersonal relations at the person-to-person level, the agnatic lineage emerges as the important grouping at the level of group-to-group relations defined in ritual and politico-jural terms. The wider groupings of patrilineal kin, viz. the lineages of various orders of segmentation, are of considerable importance outside the domain of domestic life. According to Fortes, ‘The most important feature of unilineal descent groups in Africa … is their corporate organization.’ He further writes, ‘In societies of this type the lineage is not only a corporate unit in the legal or jural sense but is also the primary political association … or to put it in another way, all legal and political relations in the society take place in the context of the lineage system’ (Fortes 1953, pp. 25f). By contrast the kotamb and the kol do not have these characteristics, and consequently seem functionally much less significant when compared to the chulah. The politico-jural functions which might have been exercised by the kotamb and the kol are vested in the state. Ties of descent are of no direct relevance in such a political system. The modern state not only precludes descent groups from exercising these functions but has also encroached on the functions of the domestic family. The chulah and the kotamb taken together constitute a complex institution, characterized by a web of interrelations—jural, ritual, economic, moral and affective—through and in which the Pandits live their domestic life. Considering the fact that public activity and public interests do not engage the interest of the Page 7 of 8

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Household and the Family among the Pandits of Rural Kashmir: Concluding Review typical Pandit in rural Kashmir, it is not surprising that a Pandit's interests should centre so exclusively in his own kotamb and, even more so, his household, as they do. The chulah, as a group, lives and functions for its members; and every Pandit lives and works for his or her chulah. (p.200A) Notes:

(1) Thus, to give but two examples of the distinctiveness of Muslim usages: (i) Marriage among them is a social contract which cannot be legalized without the consent of the bride and the bridegroom, and such consent may be refused by a man or woman, albeit very rarely, in defiance of the wishes of their elders. Being a contract, a marital union can be terminated by divorce, although it is easier for a man to discard his wife than for a woman to obtain release from her husband. In the selection of spouses a wide choice is permitted, and even first cousins are permitted to marry each other, (ii) The emphasis upon agnation, so pronounced among the Pandits, is not a typical characteristic of the Muslim kinship system. In fact, close affinal ties are accorded greater social importance than distant kinship ties. The permissibility of marriage between kin may be seen as a social device to strengthen those bonds of kinship which may otherwise become weakened. (2) To take an example: in daily puja two gods of the Hindu trinity, viz. Vishnu, the preserver, and Shiva, the destroyer, are worshipped. Vishnu is represented by the shaligram (black ammonite) and Shiva by the lingam (a phallus of stone or marble). Women are prohibited to worship the former and a mythological story is told of a chaste woman's curse on Vishnu because he had tried to lure her into infidelity. She lay the curse that if any woman should worship him. bad luck would befall her. (3) Firth in writing of western society has commented: ‘The kin groups outside the elementary family are not structural but organizational groups. They are assemblages ad hoc from among the total kin of members of the elementary family that would normally come together in virtue ofa special occasion such as Christmas, or personal occasion such as a wedding or funeral’ (1956, p. 14).

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers*

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.201A) Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* …and thus by placing the same thing in various relationships, we are able to deduce new relationships and new truths. KARL MARX

The Problem A considerable body of ethnographical material on the nature of affinity in societies characterized by descent-based groups was insightfully summed up by Radcliffe-Brown when he described marriage as ‘essentially a rearrangement of social structure’ (1950, p. 43). The implications of this proposition will of course vary from one society to another depending upon a variety of circumstances, including whether marriage is expected to take place between persons belonging to unrelated groups or to groups linked through previous marital unions. It is now generally recognized that in the past, prior to the important work of the so-called alliance theorists, anthropologists’ preoccupation with descent systems resulted in a grievous neglect of the structural implications of marriage. The particular significance of marriage in societies with a positive rule of marriage has now been amply demonstrated, so much so that even a special term, alliance or marriage alliance, has come to be used (see, for example, Dumont 1957a and 1968). However, the tendency to assimilate marriage to kinshsip, and to treat it as a mere episode in the history of families and lineage groups in societies where the choice of spouse is defined only negatively—in terms of proscription rather than prescription—continues to remain entrenched in our work. The manner in which the relationship between mother's brother and sister's son is generally (p.202A) dealt with is perhaps the best illustration of the persistence of this tendency.

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* My own earlier discussion of marriage among the Pandits of rural Kashmir (see above, pp. 89–125), whose kinship system is based on an explicit patrilineal ideology, was largely confined by conscious design to the domain of domestic relations. Marriage in this context was described by me as a mode of recruitment to the household. I also presented a diachronic analysis of the relations between the members of the household, bringing out the successive roles of a woman (as daughter, sister and sister-in-law in her parental home and as daughter-in-law, wife, mother and mother-in-law in her husband's home) and of a man (as son, brother, husband and father). Relatively little was said about women as the links between wife-giving and wife-receiving households (122–5).1 It is my intention in the present re-analysis to focus attention on this aspect of the external order of the Pandit household, determined as it is by marriage no less than by descent. In this connection I may recall that I had tried to show that a household is connected with others in three distinct types of relationship. These are: first, agnatic kinship; second, non-agnatic kinship arising through the intermediacy of in-coming wives and out-going female agnates; and third, affinity. To quote: ‘Among the Pandits, kinship as a field within which social activities take place is a triangular one, as it were, bounded by ego's affines on the one side, his agnates on the second, and his matamal [mother's natal family] and other [nonagnatic] cognates on the third. The three relationships should ideally never coalesce’ (184). The foregoing statement faithfully reflects the Pandits’ own view of the web of kinship; I have not come across any new empirical evidence since my original fieldwork to warrant any drastic revision of it. What I propose to do here is to undertake further analysis of the data with a view to deepening our understanding of the structural implications of marriage and of the nature of the category of non-agnatic cognates among the Pandits. Hopefully, this exercise in local ethnography will take us forward towards an understanding of the nature of marriage among Hindus in north India generally. Such an understanding at the regional level is essential for a better appreciation of the nature and significance of north-south differences and resemblances, a major issue to which Dumont has drawn our pointed attention (Dumont 1961a, 1964, (p.203A) and 1966a). This is the right approach, it seems to me, for the task of sociological analysis is to penetrate the richness and diversity of ethnographical data by seeking to unravel the general principles underlying them.

Women: Wives and Mothers The Pandits of rural Kashmir, who call themselves Saraswat Brahmans, live almost without exception in villages composed of themselves and Muslims, and sometimes others too; they do not, however, intermarry with these others. No Pandit could ever marry a Muslim and yet retain his or her identity as a Pandit (see Madan 1972). Till the early years of the present century, non-Pandit Hindus, Page 2 of 26

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* including Brahmans, were similarly excluded from the Pandits' universe of kin and affines, though of course not for the same reasons as applied to the exclusion of Muslims.2 In any case, the problem is of relatively remote interest to them as only a small number of non-Pandit Kashmiri-speaking Hindu families were and are found in Kashmir, and that too mainly in urban areas. Whereas the Pandits refer to these excluded communities by name (for example, the Musalman), they use the term baradari or Bhatta baradari (brotherhood of the Bhatta, that is of the Pandits) for themselves. Outside the domain of kinship, a Pandit does of course often align himself with the non-Pandits, including Muslims, of his own village as against ‘the others’ of other villages, or the representatives of the government, in the context of interests affecting all villagers. Within his own baradari, a Pandit distinguishes between those with whom he already has ties of kinship or marriage and those others who are not his kin or affines but who could become so related to him, unless they belong to the subcaste other than his (p.204A) own. As described above and elsewhere (Madan 1972), there are two endogamous subcastes among the Pandits, namely the Gor (priests) and the Karkun (secular workers, non-priests). The latter constitute the great bulk of the Pandit population, and it is mainly with them that I am concerned here. It may be added though that, in regard to these matters, the differences between the Gor and the Karkun are negligible—more of detail than of principle. Among the kin and affines there are further distinctions along the same lines. The principle focus of a man's sentiments and activities is his gara (household or home), also called parivar (domestic family) or chulah (hearth group). One's own household is seen in opposition to the households of one's brother and other remoter agnatic kinsmen, but it is a grouping of such households that constitutes a kotamb (extended family). Within the household and the encompassing family there is a subtle but crucial distinction between the agnatic core of kinsfolk, called sakula (belonging to the same lineage as oneself) or, simply, zamati (those who have been born into the group) on the one hand, and amati (those who have come into the group) on the other. It is important to note that a person classifies his mother along with his own wife and the wives of other agnates as falling in the category of those who have been-recruited into the group through marriage—that is the category of the amati. It has been suggested by Dumont (1966b, p. 343) that the foregoing fact about the classification of ego's mother is best regarded as a reflection of the patrilineal ideology of the Pandits. Elsewhere, he has argued in the context of such situations that the basic datum is that a woman is considered as an affine by her husband's kin belonging to her own generation and as a consanguine by

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* people of the lower generations (Dumont 1964, p. 79). I am only in partial agreement with this viewpoint (see Madan 1966b, pp.339–40). It seems to be fairly certain that, among the Pandits, a person docs not consider the characterization of his mother as an affine or kinswoman as a matter of unequivocal choice: he refers to her as the one or the other—as one among the many amati or as his mother—depending upon the context. In the setting of the daily routine of the household she is of course a kinswoman par excellence, even though she is not one of the zamati, and is much loved and venerated; in the context of wider ritual and economic matters affecting the extended family, and its agnatic core in particular. (p.205A) she is an affine, an outsider. I would like to argue that the initial role of a woman as a wife in her conjugal family, far from being eroded by the passage of time, is not wholly superseded even by her later role as mother. She simply takes on additional roles as mother, mother-in-law, aunt, grandmother, and so on. The stand I take here is that the analysis of kinship as a process, or eventstructure, reveals more to us than our treatment of it as a static structure of statuses, and that an incremental view of role is heuristically more useful in this context than a serial view. An individual in the course of a lifetime may occupy successively a series of status positions with reference to a particular category of persons without giving up any one of them: an involution of roles occurs. One particular position, out of the whole series, may, however, stand out as the most characteristic. Among the Pandits, a woman's identity as wife overrides her other identities as daughter and sister and even as mother. An unmarried female agnate is always referred to as amanat, that is as someone held in trust on behalf of her lawful ‘owners’. A young girl's upbringing is completely overshadowed by the fact that she is to be married and sent away to five with her husband and parents-in-law. Before marriage a girl refers to her natal household as her gara, just as her brothers do. Then, literally in the span of a few hours, what was her gara becomes her malyun as she enters her husband's home, her variw, where she is a stranger among strangers. In course of time, particularly after she becomes a mother, a woman learns to call her variw her gara; the former term is dropped altogether once her parents-in-law die. She now participates as the mistress of the house in all domestic chores and in the rituals of her gara, and her jural rights of maintenance acquire more substance than was earlier possible. Despite the several new roles as mother, mother-in-law, grandmother and mistress of the house that she plays in her later adult life, a woman's initial status as an incoming wife, however, never quite disappears: it is only overlain by other statuses. Taking an overall view of the composite status of a woman in the Pandit kinship system, the social primacy of the role of wife stands out. Significantly,

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* the Kashmiri word for woman—zanana—is also the commonly used term for wife: the others are garawajin (mistress of the house), triy (woman) and kolai. The foregoing view of a woman's composite status also helps us to understand why, according to the Pandit scheme of values, the loss of a woman's husband is regarded as a greater misfortune for her than the death of a son. The grief of a lost son—or of barrenness— (p.206A) is no doubt intensely felt, but it is personal. Widowhood, however, dramatically alters a woman's social, jural and ritual statuses. A widow is called a ‘lost’ (ravmach) woman, and becoming a widow is referred to as ‘getting lost’ (ravun). She is debarred from participation in many rituals and her presence is not exactly welcome on auspicious occasions, for she is regarded as ominous. The change in her position is proclaimed in a variety of ways including visible signs, such as obligatory changes in the style of her clothing and in the use of personal ornaments. She can no longer wear the coloured ribbon-like sleeve bands (nariwar) on her gown (pheran), nor gold round her neck. She may not wear the very visible golden earpendants (dejahur) which all married women do. ‘Sons are the light of a woman's eyes’, says the Pandit women's mutual blessing; ‘her husband is her fortune and glory’ (potra gash ta deka bad).

Ashnav: Affines and Non-agnatic Cognates The supreme importance of women qua wives lies in that they serve as links between households and families which are separated from one another by descent from unrelated ancestors and ultimately from different gotrakara (founders of gotra) (Madan 1962a). From a global view of the Pandit kinship system, it is these intergroup relations and the part that individuals, notably women, play in them that are more important than the internal order of a household. A household is thus related to others as wife-taker or as wife-giver. Several categories of such relatives are recognized and terminologically differentiated. The situation is somewhat confusing, however, because of the apparently inconsistent use of two synonymous category names, ashnav (nonstrangers) and rishtadar (those with whom one is related by marriage).3 Moreover marriage in a particular generation gives rise to ties of (p.207A) non-agnatic kinship in the next, resulting in a lumping together of affines and kin. The situation requires careful examination. Now, three classes of wife-givers and wife-takers may be differentiated from the perspective of a household. First, those who give it wives and those who take wives from it. Second, those who give wives to and those who take wives from its wife-givers. Third, those who give wives to and those who take wives from its wife-takers. The three categories may be represented diagrammatically (see Fig. XVI).

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* The position in respect of the first of these classes of relatives is quite clear: they are directly related to the household of reference and include nonagnatic cognates as well as affines of its members. (Ego's sister and daughter, and his father's sister, though residentially included among the category of wife-takers are genealogically and essentially his agnates.) These relatives are Fig. XVI Configuration of Wife-givers and designated by a variety of Wife-takers names (see Table XIV) and are also collectively called ashnav or rishtadar. One's father's sister's husband and his children are ashnav par excellence. (p.208A) The other two categories of relatives (classes 2 and 3 of the figure) are recognized as being more heterogenous and therefore a certain ambiguity surrounds them, arising out of the nature and the degree of proximity (or distance) of the genealogical linkage. Thus, ego considers the members of his mother's mother's natal family his relatives but not the members of his mother's brother's wife's or his mother's brother's son's wife's natal family. He regards his mother's sister and her husband and children as his ashnav but not other members of her conjugal family. The same is true of his female first cousins on his mother's side. On the other side—that is, wife-givers to and wife-takers from wife-takers of ego's family—we find that, while they are generally regarded as ‘strangers’, a special relationship is maintained with two types of family: gifts will be sent to the conjugal family of a daughter's (or sister's) daughter and will be received from the natal family of a daughter's (or sister's) daughter-in-law. For the rest, all persons and families falling in class 3 are non-relatives with whom ego's family could enter into a marital relationship. A well-known and permissible form of marriage among the Pandits is trikwat (‘three joints’) under which a man marries a sister or daughter of his own sister's husband's sister's husband. This does not happen too often, however, and that for reasons of propriety: relations between wife-givers and wife-takers are marked by tensions and it is considered advisable not to further complicate this situation by establishing marriage ties with the affines of one's own affines. The Pandits look askance at the confusion of roles which results from the exchange of women, direct or indirect (100–104).

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* Wife-givers and wife-takers must not be mixed up together. This is more easily said than done, but more about that below. The different categories of affines and non-agnatic cognates mentioned above (in the text and in the figure) are described in greater detail in Table XIV. Classes of relatives for whom no terms of designation, general or specific, are employed but who are referred to indirectly (for example, teknonymously) have not been included in the table. It will be seen in the table that ashnav is the general term for ego's relatives by marriage and also for those kin one of whose parents is related to him by marriage: for example, father's sister's children and mother's brother's children. There are, however, three subcategories of relatives—namely, matamal, howur and sonya for whom a Pandit is reluctant to use the general term ashnav: his personal relationship with his matamal and his howur are too intimate. (p. 209A) TABLE XIV Terms for Main Categrories of Affines and Nonagnatic Cognates 1.1 Wife-givers to ego's family Term for kinsman

Terms for wife

Terms for wife's natal family

F (mol)

M (maj)

matamal

FB (peter)

FBW (pechani)

ashnav

ego (pana,male)

W (zanana)

howur

B (boi)

BW (baikakin)

ashnav

FBS (pitur-boi)

FBSW (piterbaikakin)

ashnav

S (nechur)

SW (nosh)

sonya

BS (babther)

BSW

ashuar

1.2 Wife-takers from ego's family Terms for kinswoman

Terms for husband

Terms for husband's natal family

FZ (paph)

FZH (pophuv)

ashuav

ego (pana,female)

H (run)

rariw

Z (beni)

ZH (bema)

ashnav

FBD (piter-beni)

FBDH (piter-bema)

ashnav

D (kur)

DH (zamtur)

sonya

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers*

BD (bawza)

BDH

ashnav

2.1 Wife-gives to wife-givers to ego's family Terms for kinsman

Terms for wife

Terms for wife's natal family

MF (budbad)

MFW (nani)

ashnav; badamalamal

WF (hihur)

WM (hash)

ashnav: badahowur

2.2 Wife-takers from wife-givers to ego's family Terms for kinswoman

Terms for husband

Terms for husband's natal family

MFZ (pophanani)

MFZH

ashnaw

MZ (mas)

MZH (masuv)

ashnaw

and with his sonya too formal, for such casualness or vagueness. Moreover, the Pandits employ terms like nazdikik (close) or durik (distant) to make distinctions among ashnav when reckoning rights and obligations or giving expression to emotional involvement. The special case of women in relation to their variw (conjugal family), which indeed becomes their home, has already been discussed above. What stands out clearly, then; is that ashnavi is, first and foremost, the relationship between wife-givers and wifetakers, and derivatively, between non-agnatic cognates.

The crucial problem that arises here concerns the status of non-agnatic cognates among the ashnav—such as father's sister's children or mother's brother's children—as against the pure affines—such as father's sister's husband or mother's brother's wife. The former are not assimilated to the category of affines and (p.210A) are terminologically likened to one's agnatic kin. The term for siblings, which are boi (brother) and beni (sister), are consistently employed to designate all four sets of one's cousins. Thus, not only is father's brother's son called pitur-boi but mother's sister's son also is called mastur-boi. It would seem that boi and beni are the narrowest expression of a particular kind of relationship between persons of the same generation. Moreover, marriage with one's non-agnatic cousins is as unthinkable as with one's agnatic cousins. But—and this is a most important qualification—the prohibition is relaxed in theory, and occasionally in practice too, in respect of ego's non-agnatic cognates separated from him by more than two degrees of cousinship. It is not a decent thing to do to marry a known kinswoman; but if there are compelling circumstances a man may marry a non-agnatic cousin descended from a common ancestor of a remoter than the third ascendent generation. The requirements of sapinda exogamy are not violated by such unions. Significantly, ego would not use any specific and direct term of reference for such a cousin (Madan 1963a). So far as agnatic kin are concerned, however, they can never intermarry within the prohibited degrees (six ascendant generations) defined by the rule of sapinda exogamy. In fact, they may not intermarry even when genealogical ties have been forgotten: the rule of gotra Page 8 of 26

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* exogamy takes care of this situation. Though all bearers of the same gotra-name may conceivably not be kin, all agnatic kin invariably have the same gotra-name. The gotra prohibition may, however, be overcome in various ways; I have described this above (91–4) and elsewhere (Madan 1962a). In other words, non-agnatic kinship fades away with the passage of time and may even be terminated. Persons whose parents were relatives become strangers and therefore eligible for marriage. The course of events runs thus: strangers become affines; kinship ties develop in the next generation and persist for another generation; and then the relationship lapses. The Pandits themselves have a pithy saving on this subject: A daughter grown into a sister becomes an aunt, a grandaunt, and then a stranger (yami garich kur tai tami garich beni taipoph tai pophanani tamipata kostani).

Mother's Brother and Father's Sister's Husband Having discussed the changing roles of women, and the rise of non-agnatic kinship from ties of affinity, we now need to consider the roles, obligations and privileges of a man towards his affines (p.211A) related to him through his wife and through his sister. Taking the wife's brother first, he occupies a very special place in a Pandit's life, particularly if he is younger than ego. Whereas a man observes a considerable degree of restraint in his relations with his wife's parents, and with other members of her family who are older than him, he is on terms of asymmetrical familiarity with her brother, his hahar, of whom he is expected to be especially fond. ‘As cherished as fried rice is the wife's brother [bata manz talk tahar, howuri manza toth hahar]’—so runs a proverb. The wife's brother is placed in a subordinate position in relation to the sister's husband: this is the true spirit of the relationship. He is expected all his life to be an ally, supporter and well-wisher of the other man. Thus alone, it is said, does he give expression to his genuine concern for the well-being of his sister. After his father dies, and he assumes the role of the head (karta) of his household, he also becomes the gift-giver to his sister and her household. To quote a Kashmiri proverb again: A brother though but seven years old must give gifts to his sixtyyear-old sister (sata vukur boi ta shetha varish beni). Gift-giving, as I shall show below, is a most crucial cultural performance indicative of the existence of affinal links between households. A new situation, more complex than before, develops when a man's sister becomes a mother, for he now has ties of kinship with a household which formerly had been related to him through the occurrence of a marriage. It is tempting to simplify this situation by asserting that when a man becomes a maternal uncle (mam), he ceases to be a relative by marriage, but this is so patently untrue so far as his sister's husband is concerned. What is more, it is also not the whole of the truth so far as his sister's children are concerned.

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* Genealogically (that is, culturally), it is as valid to trace one's relationship with one's maternal uncle through one's father as through one's mother. The patrilineal ideology that underlies Pandit kinship is the warrant for treating one's father's wife's brother as an affine just as one's mother is classified with the wives of one's agnates. Moreover, the maternal uncle's role of friend, ally, well-wisher, adviser, gift-giver, etc. is a continuation of his earlier role as wife's brother. There is no conflict in the attitudes of father and son towards the man they call hahar and mam respectively. The only difference is that, instead of being in an obviously subordinate position, the wife's brother in his new role as maternal uncle has an easy relationship with his nephew, such as would befit two equals. (p.212A) A dramatic expression of this relationship is the fact that, although Pandits do not usually use terms of reference to address kinsfolk, a person may address his or her mother's brother as mam. The mother's sister also is similarly addressed, as mas (Appendix III). The mother's brother is a truly beloved relative among the Pandits, celebrated in story and song. As stated above, a man is on terms of familiarity with his wife's brother without, however, giving up his deference entitlement. A man is also on terms of familiarity with but one of his four types of uncle—the mother's brother. But since the nephew is a junior, this familiarity is, it seems to me, an expression of the uncle's subordinate position. The deference a man shows towards his sister's husband is explicit; towards his sister's son it is latent and disguised, or one should perhaps say, it is leavened by love. I had suggested in my earlier analysis (183–91) that the nature of a mother's brother and a sisters son relationship reflects the importance of the kinship link between them and that the Pandits group the maternal uncle with the mother. This was written under the influence of Radcliffe-Brown. It will be recalled that, illustrating his principle of the unity of the sibling group, he had written: ‘… the mother's brother is a relative of the same kind as the mother and her sister’ (1950, p. 25). I am not now suggesting that this way of looking at the relationship is wrong. In fact, I could point to the common initial phonetic segment ma- in terms of reference for mother (maj), mother's sister (mas) and mother's brother (mam) in support of such an explanation. Correspondingly, the terms for sister's son (benther) and sister's daughter (benza) are obviously derived from the term for sister (beni). Further, one could argue that the Pandits themselves would concur with this view of the relationship between a person and his maternal uncle. An oft-quoted proverb says: Mother, my maternal-uncle has come; son, he is my brother (maji mam hai av, potra myon gav boi). Whereas this proverb does stress, as I have said below (269), that the brother-sister relationship is closer than that between maternal uncle and nephew, it also points to the mother as the link between the two men.

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* What I am now suggesting is that the terminology, and also the conscious conceptualization of the relationship, recognize only the manifest elements comprising it. The latent linkage—ego-ego's father-ego's father's wife's brother— is equally justifiable in terms of (i) the basic similarity in the status of a man visa-vis his sister's husband and his sister's husband's son and in the roles he plays towards them, and (ii) the patrilineal ideology of the Pandits. It (p.213A) follows that it is misleading to focus exclusively on a man's identity as mother's brother: his basic or encompassing identity vis-à-vis his sister's conjugal family is of an affine. The distinction between wife-givers and wife-takers is thus maintained without denying the personal relationship between mother's brother and sister's son. Our effort throughout has to be directed to the search for a model which explains economically all the facts on the ground. Hence my preference for the foregoing interpretation as against the more obvious but narrower one adopted earlier. In support of my contention that the wife's brother/mother's brother is a ‘layered’ role, but that the basic element in the composite identity is that of an affine, I might mention the association of some derogation with the use of the term mam in abnormal situations, but this must be done with great caution. As far as I know, Dumont is the only scholar who has drawn attention to the importance of this clue (Dumont 1966a, p. 102). He has written of the Hindi term sala as being clearly abusive when applied to a person other than the speaker's actual wife's brother. Dumont significantly adds that the term mam also is ‘tinged’ with a ‘trace’ of abu-siveness, pointing to the two statuses being viewed as belonging together in the category of affines.4 Now, among the Pandits, hahar (WB) and hihur (W/HF) are not abusive terms as such. Their use as terms of reference by men and women is both common and courteous. They are not used as terms of address, however, for the Pandits generally avoid doing so uniformly with the possible though not common exception of the terms for mother's brother and mother's sister. To address a persons (p.214A) son by the term of reference is considered undesirable and too familiar to be decent, obviously because such a practice would explicitly bring out the relative closeness or distance between two persons and thus threaten the solidarity of the group or the relationship under reference. But when a man employs the terms hahar or hihur to refer to or to address strangers, the intention clearly is to revile, abuse and provoke, for men are the protectors of the honour of their kinswomen and wives. So far as the term mam (MB) is concerned, it refers to privileged position. A man acts out his ceremonial role on various occasions, such as his nephew's ritual initiation and his nephew's and niece's marriages (188–90 et passim). As already mentioned above, he provides advice and help in a routine manner. Should an unrelated person try to usurp this privilege by unduly interfering in other people's affairs he is mocked at by being called mam, or even mama-toth Page 11 of 26

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* (maternal uncle darling)! He is sought to be shamed and rebuked by being asked not to pretend to be the mam (mamagi ma hav); or, more forcefully, he is asked to stop interfering: ‘Are you the mam [cha chhukha mam]?’ ‘Maternal uncle of the whole land [mulka mam]’ is hurled at an offender with the explicit intention of abusing him. The point about all this is, I suggest, that there is a striking similarity in the manner in which hahar, hihur and mam arc used in certain abnormal situations. As one may like to put it, there is a family resemblance between these terms established by the manner of their usage. The composite status of mother's brother, apparently a kinsman, but, in fact, also an affine, is thus confirmed. My contention that the mother's brother is primarily an affine in relation to his sister's conjugal family, including her children, may be checked against the position of the father's sister's husband. I have described earlier that he is a respected relative who is called upon to perform ceremonial roles quite different from those of the maternal uncle, and who is ever entitled to gifts. The explanation for his status that I suggested was in terms of his association with ego's father's sister and, ultimately, ego's father: these are all authoritative statuses vis-à-vis ego (82, 111, 122, 188 267 et passim). Once, again, the conceptualization was derived from Radcliffe-Brown's work. Following the same line of argument which I now have adopted in the case of a mother's brother, it is clear that a father's sisters husband is in a deference-entitlement position visà-vis ego, and before him, ego's father, because they both fall in the category of wife-givers in relation to him. That this (p.215A) is indeed the basic fact, which later events cannot obliterate, is easily proven in the case of the Pandits. I must here refer to some of the Pandits’ practices regarding secondary marriages. As stated earlier in this book, the Pandits ideally try to keep apart the ties of kinship and affinity. There is one apparent exception to this rule: a girl may be given in marriage to the husband of her father's deceased sister. Age difference and the presence of cousins born of the dead aunt are seen as the complicating factors that normally preclude such marriages. The one case that I was able to record during my fieldwork involved a childless widower. My informants told me that such marriages were rare, awkward and embarrassing, and even undesirable: ‘Marry someone young enough to be one's daughter? Better to set one's face on fire!’ It was said that only the commoners among the Pandits, and not people of distinguished descent, would ever contemplate such a union. But—and this is very important—marriage with a fathers sister's husband does not violate any specific rule. It is, I suggest, strictly comparable to marriage with the husband of a deceased sister. This latter type of secondary union is generally acceptable among the Pandits, though families of high standing will avoid it also for the sake of decency. In the substitution of a girl for her sister or father's sister we have a clear illustration of the diachronic dimension of affinity in the north Indian kinship system (see Dumont 1966a, pp. 94 et passim). Marriage is not a transient episode in north India, though its structural Page 12 of 26

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* significance, expression and overall emphasis are quite different from those of marriage alliance in south India.5 Implicit in the foregoing discussion is the suggestion that the trichotomous categorization of the domain of kinship among the Pandits—into agnates, nonagnatic cognates and affines—may also be conceptualized, from a global perspective of the system, in terms of a dyadic model based on the mutually exclusive categories of wife-givers and wife-takers. In such an approach nonagnatic cognates are grouped with wife-givers, if related to ego (p.216A) through his mother's siblings, and with wife-takers if related to him through his father's sister. They are not pure kinsfolk like one's agnates, and must be sharply distinguished from them. This, I am afraid, the literature on kinship in north India has so far failed to do. An immediate objection that will be raised, however, is that such a conceptualization fails to account for marriages by exchange which apparently account for a rather high proportion of marriages among the Pandits of rural Kashmir (101). It seems to me that the significance of the occurrence of marriage by exchange is to be understood not in terms of some as yet undetected underlying structural principle—the disapproval of such marriages is unequivocal—but in terms of the constraints of economics and demography (101f.). I see no reason to reject the Pandits’ own explanation of the discrepancy between norm and fact in this regard. Merely identifying the two categories of wife-givers and wife-takers is not, however, enough. We must also examine the manner in which the relationship finds expression. I have already stated above that wife-takers arc entitled to receiving deference from their wife-givers: the relationship is asymmetrical. Apart from numerous behavioural expressions of this inequality, the unidirectional flow of gifts from wife-givers to wife-takers is a very visible material expression of their relationship. Unfortunately, as Dumont (1966a) has pointed out, this is a subject which students bf north Indian kinship have in the past generally ignored.6 It is not surprising, therefore, that our understanding of the nature and significance of marriage gifts in the region is as yet very fuzzy. In what follows, I will present some data on the Pandits and try to relate these to some issues of general significance raised by various students of the subject.

Affinal Gifts: Wife-givers and Wife-takers Once the negotiations for a marriage have been successfully completed, it normally is in the home of the chosen wife-givers that the decision to establish a union is formally and publicly taken by the (p.217A) two parties (99–105). The ceremony, called ‘promise-giving’ (tak dyun), or ‘the oath’ (driya-kasam), may however also take place in the wife-takers’ house. The brief proceedings follow a set pattern: The principal spokesman of the wife-takers (usually the prospective husband's father, father's father, father's elder brother, or own elder brother) Page 13 of 26

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* humbly requests his counterpart from the other side to promise that the girl will be given in marriage to them. The request is accepted but a great deal of verbal finery is employed to stress that the customary marriage gifts will be modest. Thus:'We are a poor household. We have but a vessel of pure water. If that is what you want, you may have it. Expect no more.’ An exchange of flowers and some small gifts, such as fruit, follows. Invariably, the wife-givers add money in cash to the symbolic gifts. The most striking feature of the ceremony is that the wife-takers appear in the role of supplicants and, when the gifts are exchanged, their spokesman spreads the hem of his gown wide, bows and stretches his arms, all in the manner of a recipient, to accept the gifts. This is the beginning: ever afterwards the gifts flow unidirectionally from wife-givers to wife-takers. When the marriage takes place, the girl is bedecked with fine clothes and ornaments, and given as a gift to her husband. The kanyadan (gift of the maiden) is one of the central rites in the marriage ritual. Contrary to what is said at the promise-giving ceremony, many gifts of various kinds, accompany the bride to her conjugal household (105–7, 122–4). Those who give gifts also give deference to those who receive them. Unlike other receivers of gifts who become demeaned by the act (this is true of, for instance, Pandit priests vis-à-vis their patrons), wife-takers assume the higher status in relation to wife-givers after the promise-giving ceremony. The idiom of ‘charity’ and ‘gift’ is unequivocally replaced by that of ‘tribute’. Differences in the economic Condition and social standing of the two families are important variables in the fixing of matrimonial alliances. A household always desires to marry its daughters into families of more distinguished descent (khandani) than its own. If it happens to be rich, it hopes that its wealth will be of help in this quest. It is a kind of a dilemma that a Pandit household faces: giving daughters above one's socio-economic standing is prestigious; the heavier prestations that will have to be given in such an eventuality bring social prestige and fame (yash); but in the process the household may ruin itself economically. This could be particularly injurious if there are several daughters to be married. The fact of (p.218A) the equal ritual status of wife-givers and wife-takers notwithstanding, the milieu in which marriages take place is hypergamous. This appears to be generally true of Brahman communities in north India (see Dumont 1959 and 1966a, p. 94). The relationship between wife-givers and wife-takers is, then, essentially and unalterably unequal, being grounded in a structural principle rather than in sentiment, personal morality or expediency. Having described the cultural setting within which gifts flow in the Pandit kinship system, I now turn to these gifts themselves. The ‘promise-giving’ ceremony has already been mentioned. It may be followed by a more elaborate Page 14 of 26

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* betrothal (gandun, binding). On this occasion the two parties do not meet; only gifts are exchanged. The girl's household sends fruit, wheat cakes, sweets, money in cash, and perhaps some personal gifts for the prospective husband, such as a piece of cloth and a golden ring. The girl's mother's natal household invariably contributes a portion of the money gift, and so may her father's sister, mother's sister, own elder married sister, and brother's wife's natal household. The recipients retain the personal gifts meant for the prospective husband and most of the money in cash, but distribute some of the money, fruit, sweets, etc. among their kith and kin. The prospective wife-takers also send some personal gifts for their future daughter-in-law but these are limited both in range and value compared to what they receive. Then follows the wedding. It begins with some payments from the wife-takers to certain functionaries who work for the girl's family on the occasion. First of all, her family priest visits the home of her prospective husband to formally inform them about the date and the exact auspicious time set for the wedding ritual. He is received with due ceremony, served tea and cakes, and given small gifts in cash and kind (usually fruit and wheat cakes). He keeps these for himself. The next important event is the visit of the bridegroom and his party to the bride's house for the wedding. It is said that traditionally the bride's father gave the bridegroom's father a list of the people who had rendered services to his household on the occasion’—such as the priest, the potter, the water-carrier, the barber and the cook. The bridegroom's father would then pay in full for their services. This custom seems to have died out and only the priest who conducts the ritual and the barber, incidentally always a Muslim (see Madan 1972, pp. 125f), receive payments in cash; the latter provides the mirror which is needed during the marriage (p.219A) ritual for the bride and the groom to see their faces together. Finally, it is customary to give small gifts in cash to the bride's brother's son (layi-boi) and to a girl from her mother's natal household (gangavyas). These are perhaps symbolic compensation-payments from the wife-takers to the wife-givers and to the latter's wife-givers. Another custom which seems to have changed its function is that of bringing lankaran to the bride's house. It used to be a basket containing some clothes and the most essential ornaments for the bride (from the ritual point of view), and also some salt and loaves of bread. The stated purpose was to express solidarity within the baradari and to emphasize the ideal, mutually supportive role of affinally related households. Such at any rate is the tradition, the memory of good old times. Nowadays, too, the bridegroom's party brings gifts of clothes and ornaments for the bride but the intention is not to help her parents, but to proclaim its own good intentions and high standing.

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* After the completion of the wedding the girl is taken away to her husband's home. She carries with her a dowry, which is mainly contributed by her natal household with contributions from her matamal and, to a lesser extent, from other close relatives such as the bride's own and her father's married sisters, and the wife-givers to her brothers. It must be noted here that the contributing female agnates and their households do not receive any gifts in return, nor do any of the other contributors. The dowry consists of three kinds of gifts. First, there are the personal clothes and the ornaments for the bride, the latter being carried on her person. Secondly, there are the gifts for the bridegroom (clothes, a ring, a watch), for all the members of his household, and for all of his other close kin including his matamal. There are specially designated gifts for his mother's brother, called mama-nabad (‘maternal uncle's candy’, though what is actually given is clothes), and for his sister, called zamabrand (‘sister-in-law's portico’). The latter shuts the door rather dramatically in the face of the bride when she is about to enter her husband's house. The bride's maternal uncle, who chaperons her on the occasion, gives the obstructing sister-in-law (zam) a small gift of money and she then opens the door. Thirdly, there is the satarath consisting of articles of household use, including notably cooking and eating utensils which are formally gifted away to the bridegroom's household. Nowadays, furniture, a radio, a sewing machine, a pressing iron and other such goods are also given. Since the bride and her (p.220A) husband do not set up a new home, the satarath is absorbed into her conjugal household's possessions. The first of the types of gifts mentioned above, and the gifts that the bride receives from her husband's parents, constitute her stridhana (woman's estate). Her mother-in-law may take away anything she likes, including what the bride's household has given her, to give to her own daughter on the latter's marriage. Under no circumstances, however, can she take away those ornaments, such as the ear-pendants called the dejahur, or the necklace, which have a ritual significance, being tokens of a woman's husband being alive. She may, however, replace them by similar ornaments of inferior quality. The Pandits disapprove of greedy mothers-in-law, and the more a woman takes, the blacker her notoriety, but there, hardly ever is a Panditain who does not take her pick. Before I proceed to discuss the gifts that follow during the twelve months after marriage and thereafter, it is important to clarify the nature of what is given on the occasion of the wedding itself. These prestations may be seen as serving three purposes. Firstly, they are a means of directly compensating the daughter for her lack of rights of inheritance (123), but this surely needs clarification. What one does not posses in the first place cannot be lost. Secondly, the parents of every girl hope that if they send enough gifts to her parents-in-law, the latter will treat her well. Thirdly, the richer the prestations that a household is able to send to its daughter's conjugal family, the greater its fame and prestige (yash) in Page 16 of 26

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* the baradari, and the better its chances of marrying other daughters into families of high standing. It is noteworthy in this connection that all that a bride brings with her is publicly displayed to the assembled kin and kith in her husband's home. The curious try to evaluate even the gold on her body, assessing its weight by holding each ornament in the hand. Public demonstration of the gifts given is no less a consideration with both the parties than is the private benefaction which guides a girl's parents.7 The lack of rights of inheritance mentioned above needs to be explained as some doubts have been raised about it by Tambiah (1973). My understanding of the Pandit practice in this regard has (p.221A) been, and continues to be, that women do not have rights of inheritance comparable to that of men; they have only the rights of maintenance. It is only when a daughter stays at her father's house after her marriage, and her husband comes to live with her, that she is treated for purposes of inheritance of ancestral property as if she were a son (141–2) Moreover a woman cannot sell any pan of her stridhana, which is regarded as her exclusive property, though she certainly may give it to her daughters and daughters-in-law. Lucy Mair rightly points out that I have not interpreted the dowry payment among the Pandits as an anticipated inheritance: ‘This interpretation could not be accepted in a system where women have no formal inheritance rights’ (1971, p. 67). She, however, finds my notion of compensation ‘rather difficult’ for marriage with all its consequences is ‘an event that, far from being abnormal, is expected and desired’ (ibid., 68). The explanation of what I have said lies (after the clarification regarding the lack rather than the loss of rights of inheritance is made) is the fact that formal rights and obligations alone are not the determinants of what people do. In the relations between such intimate kin as parents and daughters, our reliance on a narrowly formal view is bound lo result in a distorted view of why people behave as they do; an overweening accent upon behaviour without reference to structural requirements of the system is equally distorting. Now, I would not deny that daughters are not deemed to have rights of inheritance; at the same time it would be totally misleading to deny the parents desire as much to give things to their daughters as to their sons, out of love and in recognition of a strong, culturally recognized, sentiment that marriage is a traumatic experience for the girls, who are wrenched away from their parents and handed over to strangers. The desire to load her with gifts does partly stem from these feelings of commiseration. Hence my suggestion that dowry is some sort of a compensation for a daughter's lack of rights of inheritance and for her obligation to go to live with strangers. Tambiah does not, however, seem to agree with such a view. His principal concern is with ‘(he property rights of men and women [in South Asian countries], their transaction at marriage and their (p.222A) transmission between generations’ (1973, p. 59). In this context dowry obviously is the central Page 17 of 26

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* institution, and it is, he writes, ‘technically’ the woman's property, though her husband usually controls and manages it. He adds: ‘There are of course deviations from this norm in both India and Ceylon whereby a daughter-in-law's dowry may in full or part be used by her husband's parents to dowry their own daughters. That these occurrences are a violation of the spirit of the system is evidenced by the fact that they are done sub-rosa, are not publicized and considered somewhat contemptible’ (ibid., p. 62). Arguing from these premises, he concludes that the notions of female property (stridhanam) and female rights to property are ‘a sort of premortem inheritance’ (ibid., p. 64). Drawing upon the dharmashastra, Tambiah then argues that the notion of female property is ‘complementary to the more heavily accented notion of male property rights’ (ibid., p. 67). He cites evidence in support including the relevant practices among the Pandits (ibid., p. 70f.) as described by me. The situation is somewhat more complex than Tambiah allows. First of all, if we go strictly by principle, the bride and whatever she carries with her to her husband's home, belong to him and his family for he receives them as a gift. The notion of kanyadan is comprehensive and includes the goods as well as the girl. It is only if we allow recognition of the actions that tamper with this stern principle that any further questions may be raised. Second, the dowry that a bride carries with her consists, as I have already stated above, of two components: things that are for her and things that are for her conjugal household and its relatives. The Pandit position would be that the things that are for her are so in practice by the consent of her parents-in-law. I had written: ‘The stridhana is, jurally speaking, a woman's exclusive property, and may be regarded as a substitute for the rights of inheritance. Her husband and relatives-in-law acquire no interest in it, and her daughters are expected to inherit it after her death. In practice her parents-in-law show immense interest in her stridhana, and may take away the best of her personal possessions to give to their own daughters’ (139). Tambiah's gloss on this last sentence reads: ‘But this is certainly not customary or publicly condoned’ (1973, p. 161, fn. 6). He is clearly in error here: such a practice is customary and public disapproval applies to excessive appropriation of the daughter-in-law's possessions rather than to an expected taking away of some of her ornaments and clothes. Third, what a daughter receives at marriage reflects her natal (p.223A) household's economic situation and is conditioned by the particular circumstances under which the marriage is arranged. (There is a stipulation sometimes that the dowry will be of a certain value and no less.) It is not, however, a carefully calculated share and two sisters married a few years apart may not receive dowries of exactly the same value. The Pandits tend to philosophize about these matters in terms of karma-lekha (‘the written word of

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* karma’). Moreover, the dowry that a girl is given has no relation to the shares in the ancestral family estate which her brother can claim in the event of partition. Fourth, stridhana is evidence that the Pandits entertain a notion of ownership of property by women. We cannot jump from this to the conclusion that it is inherited from parents. It includes gifts that a woman receives from her husband and parents-in-law, and also some share derived from her mother-in-law's stridhana (139).8 Fifth, the legal position regarding the composition of a woman's stridhana, the nature of her ownership and control of it, and the precise manner of its devolution, under both the Mitakshara (which applies to the Pandits) and Dayabhaga schools of law is extremely complex and poses problems which do not directly concern the anthropologist. He must take his stand on the facts on the ground. In view of the above considerations, the only interpretation of what I have called ‘dowry’ that the Pandit data permit is to regard it as being a sine qua non of marriage and a substitute for women's lack of rights of inheritance equivalent to those of men. As the jurist Alexandrovicz has pointed out, stridhana ‘with a specific devolution counter-balance [es] the exclusion of women from coparcenary succession’ (quoted in Dumont 1961a, p. 95). Sons inherit determinate shares by right. Daughters receive gifts at marriage and afterwards partly because it is a structural requirement—for without such gifts there can be no marriage— and partly as a token of love (cp. the Sanskrit pritidatta). Transmission of property thus occurs, as Dumont (1957a, p. 29) has rightly pointed out, according to two distinct modalities; we only confuse our understanding of the issues in question by reducing the one (p.224A) form to the other, describing inheritance as premortem in the case of daughters. Tambiah himself notes the two dimensions of stridhana mentioned above (1973, pp. 64 and 85) but chooses to stress the notion of premortem inheritence. I find myself in complete agreement with him, however, when he writes: … a daughter and her dowry become vehicles for setting up a relation of affinity between the bride's family and the husband's family—between the bride's parents and her husband's, between the husband and his wife's brother, and so on. This relationship of affinity is accompanied by gift-giving which persists long after the marriage rite …’ (ibid., p. 64). Let us turn to these postnuptial prestations in Pandit society. The occasions for them in the twelve months after marriage arc many, including most notably the birthdays of the bride, her husband and her father-in-law, seasonal ritual occasions such as the new year's day, Herath (the winter feast in honour of Shiva), and finally the first wedding anniversary. In the following years, the husband's birthday and Herath survive as occasions for sending prestations Page 19 of 26

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* while others are added to the list. The daughter's first three pregnancies, each confinement, ritual initiation of her sons, and marriage of her children arc some such major occasions. My present concern, however, is not to list or describe them in any detail (on Herath sec Madan 1916b) but rather to answer two related questions: who receives these gifts and why? The gifts are received by the mother-in-law (or her mother-in-law if she is alive) acting on behalf of the wife-takers. Some of these gifts, namely clothes and ornaments, are worn by the daughter-in-law on her person when she returns from her natal home; even these arc first of all seen by the mother-in-law as the daughter-in-law formally presents herself to the former before she communicates with anybody else. The older woman takes cognizance of whatever—clothes, ornaments—is new on her daughter-in-law's person. One may say that these arc symbolically presented to the mother-in-law. Other gifts— usually yoghurt, wheat cakes, money in cash—are of course handed over to the mother-in-law. The clear implication for the aforementioned proceedings is that whatever the younger woman keeps she does with the consent and approval of her mother-inlaw. The latter acts not on her own behalf but as the mistress of the house. She distributes the food articles among the kith and kin of the family and retains the money and other durable goods. On major occasions, such as a ritual initiation ceremony or a wedding, the latter too are distributed. In (p.225A) short, the prestation that are sent by wife-givers to wife-takers are affinal gifts. Every such gift may be seen to re-enact the original archetypical gift—the kanyadan itself. Now, there is no warrant to argue that, among the Pandits, the daughter is the primary recipient of these gifts and her conjugal household becomes entitled to them through her. If two households related through marriage happen to be on good terms with each other, it is not unusual for the wife-givers to hasten gilts on their passage to the wife-takers, to enable the latter to meet their own obligations as wife-givers. My repealed question why this was done always produced the same answer: for the sake of baradari, for mutual support. That the wile-takers rather than the daughter are the recipient of such gifts might, however, not be as clearly stressed among other Brahman communities of north India, as is suggested by Sylvia Valuk in her paper on the Gaur Brahmans of western Uttar Pradesh (Vatuk 1975, pp. 155–96). The situation among the Pandits in this regard is more comparable to that of the Saryuparin Brahmans of eastern Uttar Pradesh as described by Dumont (1966a, p. 99 et passim). It is obvious that the sub-regional variations among the Brahman communities of north India need to be carefully recorded so that the elements of a general model may be distinguished from local variations. The structural requirements as opposed to personal sentiments that I have earlier written about relate to this general regional model.

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* To probe a little further, it would he instructive to ask three more questions. First, arc there occasions when either only the daughter or only her conjugal household are sent gilts by her parents.’ I have not been able to find any evidence whatsoever that the daughter alone is ever sent a gift. Even after her mother-in-law dies, and she becomes the mistress of her home, she receives gifts —usually loud articles and money in cash—which cannot but be for the whole of the household. On the contrary, whenever a death occurs in her household—for example, the passing away of her parents-in-law —mourning gifts (clothes for her husband and food for the family) are sent with nothing specially designated for her.9 (p.226A) Second, what happens when a daughter is widowed? If she has no children she may return to live with her parents or brothers: she has the contingent right to do so (110f.). Even the gifts will have to be sent to her conjugal household at least on Herath. If she has children, and continues to stay in her deceased husband's home, then there will be other occasions also on which gifts will have to be sent to the wife-takers. Third, should the daughter die before becoming a mother, what happens to the affinal gifts They are discontinued. If she is survived by any children, then the relationship between wife-givers and wife-takers survives and so does the flow of gifts. The occasions for them are mainly connected with events in the lives of the children. The general expression which the Pandits use for the various kinds of prestation, including the dowry, discussed above is hyot-dyot (‘taking-giving’); it is invariably interpreted as a relationship between the two households of the wife-givers and the wife-takers. The relationship is fraught with conflict (122–4), of which the principal cause usually is the grievance of wife-takers that enough hyot-dyot is not being sent to them. It should be emphasized that the complaint is voiced in respect of the totality of the prestations including those implicitly intended for the gift-givers’ daughter. What is more, if sufficient prestations are not forthcoming, the wife is often insulted and ill-treated; in some cases she may even be sent back to her parents’ home, but this is rare and always a temporary thing, for the Pandits do not approve of such a ‘throwing out’ of the wife, which is how the action is described. Resort to calculated delays in recalling a daughter-in-law from her parents’ home once she has gone there—according to custom she may not return unless her mother-in-law sends for her—is the most potent weapon in the hands of wife-takers: it is considered the ultimate disgrace in Pandit society to have one's daughter turned out of her conjugal home. The ostensible excuse for such action may be given to be the young woman's deficiency in the performance of household chores, her lack of manners, or her bad temper. Whatever the reasons given for the harsh action, it is the grievance

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* of insufficient prestations which usually lies at the root of it. It is a form of extortion, generally understood to be so, and therefore disapproved. The Pandits have evolved some procedures for dealing with such unseemly bargaining for affinal gifts. The most respectable of these is the fixation of scale, called teth (122f), for the giving of prestations. This is communicated by the bride-givers to the wife-takers at the time of the handing over of the portion of wedding (p.227A) gifts called satarath. The scale determines the minima for various occasions which may, of course, be exceeded. Another widespread but much less desirable procedure is to arrange marriage by exchange. The two principal reasons that are given by the Pandits to explain the occurrence of such marriages are, first, the economic burden of prestations and, second, the shortage of women among Pandits in the rural areas (100–4). The frequency of such marriages in a sample of 148 unions in the village of Utrassu-Umanagri was 67, or 45 per cent. My informants did not consider this an unusually high proportion and, in the light of inquiries made by me in some other villages, I am inclined to agree with them. Nevertheless, there is no doubt that marriage by exchange of siblings or patrilineal cousins, or surrogates for them, is explicitly disapproved in Pandit society. I have discussed the reasons for such disapproval in my book (101–4). Recapitulating briefly, it is improper to receive any consideration in return for a gift. For one thing, the haggling that characterizes the negotiations for such an exchange is considered unseemly by the Pandits. But, above all other considerations against such marriages is the fact that ‘social norms are breached when the daughter-giving and wife-receiving households are equated, as happens when they exchange women…a confusion of roles takes place, through their involution in such situations’ (102). In other words, wife-givers and wife-takers must be strictly distinguished from each other, with hierarchy rather than reciprocity as the basis of their relationship. In Pandit society marriage invariably ranks households vis-à-vis each other (in direct contrast to descent which equates all adult men in a lineage in the context of ritual and property but that is another matter altogether). The third and the most disapproved form of marriage is that which is accompanied by the payment of money by the wife-takers (usually by the prospective husband himself) to wife-givers (101–4). The transaction is sought to be kept secret and at least part of the money returns to those who give it in the form of dowry that the bride brings with her. The rest of the money is used by her parents on marriage expenses. It is extreme poverty and the presence of several unmarried nubile daughters in the household which compel a girl's parents to resort to an arrangement of this nature.

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* The norm, then, is quite clear: wife-givers and wife-takers must stay apart and not get mixed together. The preference-for village exogamy is related to this norm. The Pandits are fearful of (p.228A) the tension that arises from the requirement that those who are spatially close should be socially distant. As covillagers the sonya are equals; as wife-givers and wife-takers they are respectively inferiors and superiors. The former must give deference and prestations to the latter who receive these as their rightful tribute. Not only do the dowry and postnuptial prestations go in the same direction as the wife, but also her offspring. The latter belong, ritually and jurally, to the wife-takers. The Pandits do not usually choose a daughter's or sister's son when looking for a boy to adopt (73–5). It is very rare for a woman's parents and older siblings (and their spouses) to visit her in her conjugal home, except on special occasions, the first of which normally is her son's ritual initiation. They bring gifts with them and make a token payment for the food they eat, just as they would were they to eat on a similar festive occasion in the house of their family priest. The similarity between wife-takers and priests as the receivers of gifts is obvious. In short, nothing should flow backwards to the wife-givers. I have described above how a bride is handed out of a window of her parents’ house, when she leaves on her first visit to her conjugal home, so that she may be able to return there later on for visits: not having been sent away through the main door, she can re-enter through it (107). Gifts do come to the wife-givers, however, from other wife-givers to their wifetakers. A man's matamal are his wife's bada (‘larger’) variw and they are entitled to gifts on his wedding and subsequently on special occasions. This development makes no difference to their own obligation to send gifts to the intermediate household of their wife-takers. Once again we have evidence here of the persistence of certain modes of behaviour between affines even when these are in course of time overlain by other seemingly contradictory roles.

Concluding Remarks I have tried to show in this analysis how a diachronic view of the structural implications of marriage among the Pandits of rural Kashmir reveals its nonepisodic character and the non-transient nature of affinal roles and affinal gifts. It follows that non-agnatic kinship is perhaps more appropriately defined in positive terms as marriage-based kinship, and contrasted with descent-based kinship. In Pandit society descent and affinity arc thus recognized as two distinct but complementary organizing principles underlying (p.229A) the total kinship system. Descent is more significant in the context of the ‘internal order’ of kin gioups (the family and the household) and marriage in the context of intcrkingroup relations. Within the setting of the household, marriage does indeed appear as episodic but this is only a partial view of it. The durable aspect of marriage which can be located in the ‘external order’ of kin groups is equally important in order to arrive at a rounded appreciation of the significance of marriage in Pandit society. It must be made clear, however, that marriage does Page 23 of 26

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* not here come anywhere near playing the role it does in south India, nor does it emerge as a principle the importance of which is quite on par with that of descent. At the same time, it is not subsumed under kinship or caste as would seem to be the case perhaps in some other parts of north India. At the heart of the Pandit kinship system lies the relationship between wifegivers and wife-takers. It is hierarchical and non-reciprocal and is symbolized by the unidirectional flow of gifts. These gifts point to certain crucial relationships in the Pandit kinship system in the absence of which it would be structurally a different kind of a system. To maintain the structural form of intergroup relations imposes severe strains on the actors as these contradict certain intragroup relations and deny the compulsions of affection and sentiment. In the nucleus of primary kin parents would fain treat daughters and sons as being of equivalent status, but in the context of intermarrying families they are not so. Parents therefore try to compensate daughters in various ways, and it is important to distinguish these compensations from what they do out of intergroup obligations. It is lo the unravelling of some of this complexity that, I hope, the foregoing discussion makes a contribution. Moreover, what is true of the Pandits may be true of other Brahman communities of India, or may reveal in bold relief alternative patterns of marriage and kinship structure. Ultimately, it should be our aim to distinguish between a general north Indian model and its local variants and to assess the significance of these variations. Contradictions in data will have to be reconciled, perhaps in the light of the dharmashastra rather than wished away. When this is done, then alone may the larger question of the relationship of north and south Indian kinship and marriage systems be adequately faced. Notes:

(*) This is a revised and extended version of a paper presented at a colloquium on kinship organized by Professor Louis Dumont in Paris in July 1973 on the occasion of the 29th International Congress of Orientalists. I am grateful to André Bétcille, Veena Das, Louis Dumont, Jit Singh Uberoi and Sylvia Vatuk for their helpful criticism of earlier drafts of the paper. It is reproduced here with minor changes from Contributions to Indian Sociology, NS, 9 (1975). (1) Numerals in brackets without further specification refer to page numbers in this book. (2) Kashmiri-speaking non-Pandit Hindus of the valley of Kashmir are called the Bohra and the Purbi, and are generally confined to urban areas. Both groups arc, it is said, descended from immigrants (16). The Pandits do not intermarry with them. The Pandits have during the last 50 years or so obtained wives, though very sparingly, from among the Brahmans of Kishtwar outside the valley. Page 24 of 26

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* It is believed that the Pandits and the Kishtwari Brahmans are cognate groups. The latter speak a dialect of Kashmiri. The first Kishtwari wife in UtrassuUmanagri arrived there about 1905 and is now dead. However, one more such woman has been brought in since then, by a widower just as the other woman had been. I have not been able to record any instance of marriage between a Pandit of rural Kashmir and a non-Kashmiri-speaking Hindu of any caste whatsoever (91). (3) Both the words—ashnav and rishtadar—are of Persain origin. Ashna in Persain means one who is known or close to ego or, in other words, one who is not a stranger. Rishta means ‘bond’ or ‘connection’ and a rishtadar would be one with whom one is allied, for instance, through marriage. The absence of words derived from Sanskrit for the categories under reference is rather puzzling, particularly because the vocabulary of kinship among the Pandits is very largely so derived. In fact, there is no other major notion in the field of kinship for which a term of Sanskrit derivation is not available. Could one argue that under the influence of Islam affinity has acquired a greater salience than it earlier had— that formerly marriage ties were subsumed under kinship ties and were therefore of much less significance than now, and the principle of descent was dominant? All this is, of course, speculation. (4) Nicholas (1965, p. 33) also notes that ‘In Bengali the most common term of abuse is sala.’ His contention that in much of north India, including Bengal, ‘the relation between a man and his wife's brother is formally distant and frequently hostile’, however, requires closer scrutiny: it simply does not hold good in the case of Kashmiri Pandits (see fn. 10 below). Also, Nicholas seems to think that people use abusive terms in relation to each other only in order to express hostility. My familiarity with the general use of the term sala in Uttar Pradesh convinces me that the word is often used in a lighthearted manner to express familiarity and affection among friends. It may be used along with the term beta for son—beta-sala—in conversation among pals. Between real brothers-in-law the use of the term is more suggestive of banter than of hostility. When involved in a dispute or fight, men do, of course, hurl the word sala at each other in hostility. A man (or even a woman) may use the term in good humoured selfdeprecation. For example, ham sale budht ho gaye, phit bhi turn ko aa samjhe (I, sala, have grown old and yet not been able to understand you!) One final use of the term may be noted; any material object which is a source of annoyance, like a torn sandle or a broken tool, may be also referred to as sala. Thus: sala cycle bar-bar toot jata hai (the sala cycle breaks down too often). (5) As far as I was able to find out, the Pandits do not regard marriage with the husband of a deceased mother's sister as being at all possible. This is, 1 think, highly significant. I tried to argue with my informants that if a girl may marry her father's sister's husband then, surely she should be able to marry the corresponding relative on the mother's side. Though a few of them thought that Page 25 of 26

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Appendix I Structural Implications of Marriage: Wife-givers and Wife-takers* my argument was reasonable, most of them had no use for it. One's mother's sister is even like one's mother, they argued, and one certainly cannot be a substitute-wife for one's own mother. All this supports my contention that wifetakers may not become wife-givers to their own wife-givers. (6) After Dumont's pioneering and very important essay (1966a) and Mayer's account of kinship obligations in Malwa (1960), Vatuk's paper (1975, pp. 155–76) is the most detailed ethnographic account of affinal gifts in north India yet published. For south India there is Dumont's monograph (1957a) and for western India, van der Veen's book (1972). (7) Writing of China, Freedman (1966, p. 55) observe; ‘[A girl's natal family make an endowment on her at considerable economic cost] not because the girl has any specific economic claims on them [she is not a member of the propertyowning unit] but because their own status is at stake; a bride-giving family must, in order to assert itself against the family to which it has lost a woman, send her offin the greatest manner they can afford. And it is no accident, therefore, that dowry and trousseau are put on open display: they arc not private ‘benefaction’ to the girl but a public demonstration of the means and standing of her natal family’ (quoted in Tambiah 1973, p. 59) Tambiah comnii'iiis: In India as we have seen the use of dowry to express a status relation between wife-giver and taker does not contradict but meshes with the notion of female property-rights' (ibid.). As I have already stated, dowry among the Pandits is a ‘public demonstration’ as well as a ‘private benefaction’. (8) A brief reference may be made here to the very occasional gift of a piece of land by an affluent household to a daughter. This is called chocha daj, the ‘satchelled bread’. It is a once-for all-time gift as an expression of love and given in lieu of the prestations that ought to be made to a daughter as long as she lives whether her parents arc dead or alive. It may be erroneously thought that, for all practical purposes, this amounts to premortem inheritance but, if one may say so, all that glitters is not gold. The desire to present the chocha daj to the daughter arises out of the fact that she has no inheritance rights. (9) Among these, particularly noteworthy is the giving of new clothes to a man by his wife's natal family following the death of his father or mother. These arc presented to him in public at the end of twellth day rites which are performed on a river bank or at a spring. After the mourner has been shaved and has washed, he wears the new clothes to signify his return to normal ritual status.

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder*

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.230A) Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* Why should we renounce the lovely world? Our love of God is our austerity … KRISHNA RAZDAN Deliiverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight. RABINDRANATH TAGORE

Introductory In an insightful and justly influential essay on renunciation in Indian religions, Louis Dumont suggested that ‘the secret of Hinduism may be found in the dialogue between the renouncer and the man-in-the-world’ (1960, pp.37f.). Dumont was not, of course, the first person to draw attention to these two ‘human types’ in the Hindu universe: his contribution lay rather in his insistence that the renouncer and the man-in-the-world are best understood in terms of their relationship of opposition and complementarity. In this analysis (based on an essay written in honour of Dumont) I make an effort to pursue his significant observation about ‘the dialogue’ by examining the place of the grihastha (householder) among the native Brahmans of the Kashmir Valley, known generally as the Pandits.1 I have described at length, earlier in this book, that the householder occupies the central place in everyday life in Pandit society: in fact, he is the typical Pandit. Here I try to delineate some crucial elements in the Pandit ideology of the householder.

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* It should be clarified here that, underlying the earlier account in this book, there was an implicit assumption of social relations as (p.231A) the basic phenomenon, which resulted in inadequate attention being paid to the cultural aspect of social reality. The corrective does not lie, of course, in replacing one parochialism, as it were, by another but rather in adopting a multidimensional approach to the interpretation of the data about everyday life. The study of ideas and beliefs must take place in the context of observable behaviour and vice versa. Following Dumont (see Dumont and Pocock 1957, p. 12), the kind of ideas I am interested in here are those that the Pandits themselves employ to bring out the purposiveness and meaningfulness of their institutions: ideas that embody norms and values, stating what is axiomatic and not to be questioned, but also enabling people to make choices in respect of both the purposes of human pursuits and the appropriate procedures for their fulfilment within the overall framework of dharma. Social relations may thus be seen as animated—whether sustained or altered—by such ideas. There is need for caution, however, for as Dumont {1980, pp. 36f.) has pointed out, ideas and values are not everything and they do not by themselves comprise socio-cultural reality, just as externally observable behaviour alone does not do so. While ideas provide the framework for the- interpretation of behaviour, behaviour—that which actually happens—provides what Dumont (1977, p. 27) calls ‘control’, preventing the misunderstandings that an overweening emphasis on ideas alone might generate. In short, I am not selling up a mutually exclusive dichotomy of culture and society but insisting that we recognize that social action is suffused with meaning and that intentionality is central to it. Purposes are not causes, however, nor do I want to explain anything in confident ideological terms. This is an interpretative analysis concerned with what Schutz (1967) calls ‘constructs of typicalities’. Now, people's ideas are difficult to get at and analyse. They are not there for the ethnographer to pick up, as it were, he has to look for them and, indeed, ferret them out through intensive fieldwork. The ethnographic text is not a ‘faithful’ account of what has been seen and heard, but involves reconstruction and redescription— some scholars prefer to call it ‘translation’—of what has been seen and heard, in the light of, first, the people's own concepts of everyday life and its larger purposes and, second, the ethnographer's theoretical presuppositions about the nature of social life and the significance of people's ideas. (p.232A) What is important is that one must seek a fusion between the view from within (ideas, meanings) and the view from without (behaviour, rules), for anthropology is, as Dumont (1966c, p. 23) has rightly pointed out, understanding born of the tension of these two perspectives. ‘In this task’, Dumont writes, ‘it is Page 2 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* not sufficient to translate the indigenous words, for it frequently happens that the ideas which they express are related to each other by more fundamental ideas even though they are unexpressed. Fundamental ideas literally “go without saying” and have no need to be distinct, that is tradition. Only their corollaries are explicit’ (see Dumont and Pocock, 1957, p. 12).2 It is obvious that to achieve the foregoing objective, the ethnographer has to seek the companionship of informants in a joint endeavour of exploration of meaning in the minutiae of everyday life. Informants are not always forthcoming with general formulations. As Weber pointed out, ‘actual action goes on in a state of inarticulate half-consciousness or actual unconsciousness of its subjective meaning’ (1947, pp. 111 f.). The reasonable assumption that one makes in this regard is that it is inconceivable that a person does not have a view of life and its purposes—a weltanschauung—even if he has not explicitly formulated it. The point really is that he may be expected to formulate it. The ethnographer, therefore, invites the informants to reflect on their everyday life, discuss their behaviour, examine its purposes (not only the specific intentions that prompt particular actions but, and more importantly, general purposes also), evaluate procedures, and assign meanings. This may be done retrospectively as Schutz (1976) suggests. In short, the ethnographer tries to formulate explicitly what the informants know implicitly and vaguely, perhaps only confusedly. His task is to connect and then redescribe what he observes and what he is told, without loss of meaning, and to interpret what is given in the informants’ beliefs and their ready or coherent and not-so-coherent knowledge of their culture. Belief, knowledge and understanding are, of course, not one and the same thing. Needless to emphasize, the ethnographer is not able to engage in and sustain such productive interaction with every informant. Fortunately there are reflective individuals everywhere who are (p.233A) curious about their own culture and think about it.3 But almost everyone—including children— contributes to the ethnographer's knowledge and understanding of the way of life he is attempting to understand. In the final synthesis that he endeavours to construct, the ethnographer assigns different kinds and degrees of significance to the various contributions, including his own, and establishes connections between them. This, then, is the manner in which the data embodied in this discussion were generated. It might be added that what I am dealing with here is, by and large, the Pandit oral tradition.4

Sociocultural Identity: ‘Bhattil’ and ‘Garhasthya’ Selfhood and Personhood

To give a systematic account of the Pandit ideology of the householder, it seems appropriate to begin with the Pandit conception of socio-cultural identity—of ‘personhood’—for even those who may not be householders are yet Pandits, Page 3 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* members of the community (p.234A) (baradari, the ‘fraternity’).5 Some Pandits among the many I have talked with about the presuppositions of their culture have emphasized the importance of going deeper than the level of personhood (man-in-society) and attending to what they consider the most fundamental notion of all, namely ‘selfhood’, expressed in the ancient question, ‘Who am I?’ According to the Pandits, what distinguishes human beings from other sentient beings is their capacity for introspection (chintan) and self-realization (atmagyana). Although most Pandits are only dimly aware of the monistic teaching of Kashmir Shaivism (see Chatterji 1914), many of them affirm identity with Shiva—Shivoham, I am Shiva!—as the true goal of the seeker and, therefore, the only valid answer to the question of selfhood. This is, however, by no means a general concern and occupies only the cognoscenti. The majority of the Pandits I have talked with, when confronted by me with the foregoing formulation, averred that such knowledge (gyana) is beyond the comprehension of the common man and of not much avail to him, enmeshed as he is in ‘the veil of illusion’ (maya-jal) of everyday life. This is stated more in a matter-of-fact way than in a self-deprecatory tone. They assert that the inwardlooking emphasis on selfhood is not the common man's problem: his concern is the proper performance of social roles (duniya-dari, ‘world-maintenance’) in consonance with dharma. In other words, it is the pressing if not paramount reality of everyday life, demanding constant attention and action, which is the primary concern of most Pandits and, they believe, of most human beings. (Whether this is fortunate or unfortunate, the Pandits maintain, is another question.) And the householder is the duniya-dar (man-in-the-world) par excellence. In the context of such an involvement in everyday life, answering the question ‘Who am I?’ still remains important but from the perspective of social interaction or personhood rather than withdrawal from society and selfhood. Apropos personhood, two initial questions may now be posed. First, how does one know a person to be a Pandit? Second, how do the Pandits themselves define their socio-cultural identity and (p.235A) communicate it to others when the need for doing so arises? External Signs of Pandit Identity

The Pandits refer to themselves, and are referred to by other Kashmiri-speaking people, as the Bhatta. The word is of Sanskrit origin and means a learned person and one who is concerned with communicating or telling of what there is to know.6 Needless to say, not every Pandit is a scholar, or in possession of esoteric knowledge, and the etymology of the word bhatta is of no practical significance. It is simply used to designate those Kashmiris who are not Muslims or Sikhs. There are many outward signs of recognition of a Pandit and of places and events associated with him. The traditional clothing of Pandit men, women and children is different from that of their Muslim co-villagers. Though a nonPage 4 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* Kashmiri might not easily recognize these differences in the case of men and children—there can be no mistaking of a married Pandit woman's traditional or contemporary sartorial style for that of anyone else's (see, e.g., Plates X and XII) —the Kashmiris themselves perceive them readily. Also, many Pandits, particularly women, wear the very visible tyok on their forehead—a rrlark made with sandalwood or rosewood paste, saffron, or sindur (vermillion), or mixtures of these. When bare-headed, a Pandit man or boy may be recognized by his tuft of head-top hair (chhog), but this is now less commonly found than it was a couple of generations ago. An adult Pandit male, who has stripped himself to the waist for a wash, or some other purpose, will always be recognized by the holy cord of three cotton strands (yonya or yagnopavita)—characteristic of the twiceborn castes all over India—worn round the neck, or round the neck and under the right arm. Pandit houses look different from those of other Kashmiris both from inside and outside (see above, pp. 40–8 and Plate VIII). Their places of worship also are distinctive in appearance as are their religious, wedding and funeral gatherings. The sight of flowers (particularly marigolds) and the sound of conch shells are characteristic of these events. Though they speak Kashmiri, like the others, the Pandits' speech is more laden with Sanskrit than (p.236A) that of the Muslims. Personal and family names, with a few exceptions, are also different.7 Most Pandit households earn their livelihood from land, service of various types (including domestic and government service), and/or trade. Such Pandits are called Karkun (‘those who work for profit’). A small minority carve out their living as priests (Gor) and arc also referred to as the Bhasha (language, i.e. Sanskrit) Bhatta. The Karkun and the Gor do not intermarry. The Pandits do not perform any of the functions associated with artisan or service castes in other parts of India: it is the Kashmiri Muslims who perform all these tasks. The Pandits and the Muslims are linked by co-residence in villages (or urban neighbourhoods) and by economic transactions. There are no marriage and commensal relations between them and physical contact is severely restricted. Agreement between the communities is built upon an explicit recognition of differences between them (see Madan 1972). For the Pandits, the Muslims are the ‘others’ or ‘outsiders’ (mlechchha) but not strangers (vopar), and vice versa. Pandit Identity: Self-ascription

By themselves the Pandits constitute not merely a single breed (bija or byol, meaning ‘seed’) but, more significantly, one zat. The notion of zat is subtler than that of the community of kith and kin and common customary behaviour. In fact, the word is used in two senses. Generally and rather loosely, it connotes the family name or the name of an occupational group. It is also used to convey the particular idea that a people (quom, the anthropologists' ethnic group), whether the Pandits or any other, ultimately are what they are and do what they do because of their essential and inborn, but alterable, nature. Soils, plants, Page 5 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* animals, human beings, gods—all have their zat or essence. Among human beings it is considered to be a product of physical and moral elements: in fact, it may well be understood as the hierarchical relation between the two, with the moral element encompassing the physical. One's zat may become refined through appropriate effort—what (p.237A) Marriott (1977) calls the process of maturation—or it may become corrupted through the neglect of moral duties. As an informant once put it to me, ‘a Pandit is not the fruit of the pursuit of pleasure (kama) but of moral duty (dharma)’. The reference is to the paramount duty of the householder to beget children—particularly sons—so that the lineage (kula) is continued and the manes are assured offerings of water (tresh, tarpana: ‘quenching of thirst’, ‘satiating’) and food (pinda) and their perdition is averted. In the process, the Pandit community also survives. A Pandit is thus born a Pandit and there is no other way of acquiring this identity. One loses it by totally abandoning the traditional way of life, or the crucial elements of it, as when one eats and lives with Muslims or marries among them. Such actions result in a crucial alteration (deterioration) of one's zat. A Pandit must, therefore, guard it always. I once asked a Pandit of UtrassuUmanagri, who had become a Muslim, why he had done so. His answer was that it was a flaw in his karma (karma khandit) that blinded him and made him go astray. I do not mean to suggest that every Pandit converted to Islam has such regrets: such conversions are, in any case, extremely rare. The point rather is that one who is repentant should think about it in terms of a moral lapse, a falling away from dharma, and, I might add, the consequent deterioration of one's zat. Despite his regrets, this man never mentioned the hope of a restoration of his lost status. He knew this loss to be irrevocable. And the Pandits of his village saw in him a fallen man—a very pitiable creature. The significant relation between moral and physical elements in the make-up of a person does not mean the denial of importance to the physical foundation of personhood. On the contrary, it is dramatized at the beginning of all major rituals when the person performing a rite summons himself into existence, as it were, by pointing to and naming different parts of his body, beginning with his feet and culminating in his head, and purifying them by sprinkling water on them with blades of the purifying darbha grass (Poa cynosuroides) Parenthood: Biology and Morality

According to the Pandits, conception cannot occur among sentient beings without sexual intercourse, which does not, however, guarantee it. There may be something wrong with the body and the physiological processes of the wife or the husband. Barrenness is recognized as a physical incapacity, which may however have (p.238A) karmic causes. A childless wife may be jokingly advised by her friends to change her ‘cover’ or quilt (uurun)—that is sleep with a man other than her husband—but this would, of course, be a reprehensible breach of moral conduct. Barrenness among women and infertility among men may be Page 6 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* produced by disease, sorcery or the curse of people endowed with supernatural powers. But, ultimately, whether a couple will or will not be blessed with children, the much sought after sons in particular, is a question of fate (prarabdha), of karma-lekka (the ‘written’, or the preordained, results of one's actions in the previous life). In the normal course of events, there is no escape from the consequences of one's actions; only divine grace (anugraha) can come to one's rescue but this is hard to obtain. It is generally maintained that conception occurs when husband and wife reach orgasm simultaneously. Female orgasm is believed to result in the discharge of vital fluids into the womb which also receives the male ‘seed’. Not only were my informants uncertain about the nature of the supposed female discharge, some of them also considered it to be of no consequence. The male seed is believed to contain in it all the requirements for the making of the complete human being: bones, flesh, blood, all internal and external organs, hair, nails, intellect, knowledge, ignorance, health, disease, etc. It has the capacity to provide for the nurture of the foetus and subsequently of the new-born child. The mother's menstrual blood provides the ‘soil’ or ‘bed’ for the seed to grow in when it ceases to flow out and solidifies into the fleshy ‘sack’ which envelopes and nourishes the foetus. It is because of this fact, some informants said, that Hindus have adopted the black stone shalagrama, which resembles the womb in shape, as the iconic representation of Visnu, the preserver. The growth of the child's body, which is already in the seed, depends upon the mother and her physical and moral condition. The original planting of the seed in the womb sets in process the milk-producing capacity of the mother who then suckles the child when it is born. In short, as one informant put it, the human seed is very much like the walnut which contains in itself the full-grown tree—incidently the largest fruit-bearing tree in Kashmir. Despite the potency of the male seed, the father's role is seen as rather accidental and episodic compared to the mother's sustained and intimate involvement with the child during both the prenatal and postnatal stages. A Kashmiri proverb proclaims this intimacy rather bluntly: ‘illegitimate or legitimate, I carried the child for (p.239A) nine months in my own womb’. In other words, while the physical bond between father and child may never be proven, there can be little doubt about it in the case of mother and child. Human life, the Pandits aver, consists of the obligation to repay debts (rina) incurred in the course of numerous lives: debts to gods, ancestors (including one's father), teachers, and fellow human beings. There is one debt, however, which never gets repaid because it cannot be repaid: this is the debt one owes one's mother (matri-rina). There is no one—not to speak of one's father, not even God— obedience to whom is enjoined more on human beings than to one's mother. All one's kith and kin, including the father, may turn wicked, but the bad mother (kumata) is unknown.8 The bond between Page 7 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* mother and child is the moral bond of love par excellence— Fortes's axiom of amity (Fortes 1969, pp. 219ff.)—unsullied by the kinds of mundane considerations that enter into the father-son relationship. The Kashmiri woman is said to be a child-worshipper (bachaparast). The reverence for human mothers is paralleled by the Pandits' veneration for mother goddesses, particularly their patron goddesses Sharika and Ragnya, both addressed as jaga-damba, ‘universal mother’, whom they accord a higher place in the divine hierarchy than their consorts. Mothers thus pervade both the human and the divine spheres. Fathers also are obviously important: ‘the seed flows clearing the way for the flow of property’ is how an informant summed up the biological and social significance of the father-son bond. When I suggested to him (and other informants) that the way that the flow of ‘seed’ clears is not only for the downward transmission of property but also for the upward flow of food offerings (pinda), they agreed with me. But there is a problem in respect of the father-child relationship, The mother has milk and she gives it all to her children. A woman may even die in childbirth, sacrificing her life for the sake of the child. The father has property and he shares it with his sons; in fact, he may try to deny this obligation. The (p.240A) mother gives absolutely of what she has, but the father does so only partially or conditionally: it is here that the seeds of household conflict often lie (see Chapter 8). The father-child relationship is moral, even as the mother-child bond is, but it also has a material dimension: not only do sons share ancestral property with their father and inherit his share in it, daughters also receive a dowry and postnuptial prestations from their natal family (see above, pp. 216–28). Inheritance by sons and gifts to daughters (and their conjugal families) are governed by law and custom, and these may often be manipulated by particular individuals to suit their own advantage. The Pandits often justify the actions of a son who fights his father over property, blaming the older man for such vices as covetousness or intolerance of others' points of view. They never condone the neglect by a son of the material needs of his mother, even if she is a step-mother. Leach's contention (1961, p. 9) that the constraints of economics are prior to the constraints of kinship morality does not hold good of the mother-child relationship among the Pandits; it applies to the father-son relationship but only at the level of behaviour and not in terms of kinship ideology in which filial piety is extolled as an imperative of dharma. Property endures, as Leach (1961b, p. 11) has pointed out, but so do the moral bonds between parents and children. An adult Pandit's first action in the morning, after he has performed ablutions and before he eats any solid food— the pious will not even drink anything—is to offer water to quench the ‘thirst’ (tresh) of his manes, beginning with his own deceased parents. Moreover, twice a year he performs the shraddha ritual for his parents on their respective death anniversaries (according to the Hindu lunar calendar) and on the Page 8 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* appropriate days during the annual fortnight-long ‘feeding’ of manes (kambarpaccha). Pinda (conically shaped lumps of cooked rice) are offered to them symbolically and thrown into flowing waters or fed to birds after the ritual. Invited priests are then fed the favourite dishes of the deceased parents. Other ancestors also receive pinda: five lineal male ascendants beginning with one's father's father, on the occasion of the father's shraddha, and father's mother, father's father's mother and so on up to father's fourth lineal male ascendant's mother (FaFaFaFaFaMo), on the occasion of the mother's shraddha. Still other ancestors, notably mother's father also may be offered pinda, or—this is more likely—dry, uncooked rice, salt and fruits (called siddha) may be given to the family priest in the name of the dead (p.241A) person. Those to whom one normally offers pinda or siddha. and their descendants are one's sapinda: one is related to them through the ritual food offering, and one must not take one's wife from among them, or give one's daughter or sister in marriage to them, within the limits defined by the food offering.9 It is obvious that the Pandits disapprove of the mixing together or confusion of categories, the basic distinction in this context being between wife-givers and wife-takers (see above 92; also see Appendix I above), with others derived from it. The nature of the parent-child relationship is thus given in dharma which declares its moral basis and defines what its contents should be. The Pandits are down-to-earth pragmatists and acknowledge that the dictates of dharma are often violated by people. Why should this be so? Why should considerations of economic gain emerge blatantly as prior to the dictates of morality in some cases? The Pandit answer is, ‘havalayat’ that is the notion that you may receive from your children what you gave unto them (to keep in ‘safe custody’, as it were) in the previous life. In short, it is karma. Fate (prarabdha) informs the parent-child relationship at every step: from the initial step of kanyadana (the gift of a maiden by her father to her chosen husband), through the intermediate step of garbhadhana (the receiving of the seed by the wife from the husband), to the ultimate step of pindadana (the postmortuary gift of food by a son to his parents and other ancestors). This threefold pattern of gifts, given and received, is the defining characteristic of the domain of kinship and domesticity among the Pandits, forming the basis of a person's relations with (to borrow Schutz's terminology once again) his predecessors, consociates and successors. More generally, it is the very basis of the Pandit way of life and of the definition of cultural identity. Birth and death are physiological events found among all sentient beings. It is the specific cultural expression of these events, and what precedes, accompanies and follows them, that defines a Pandit and distinguishes him not only from all living beings but also and specifically from the non- (p.242A) Pandits. Ethnophysiology, morality, ritual,

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* custom and law—all these are elements in the definition of identity and of the cultural idiom in which it is expressed. ‘Bhattil’: Traditional Purposes of Life

The Pandits' conception of socio-cultural identity is given explicit expression in their notion of ‘bhattil’, the Bhatta way of life. Needless to emphasize, they consider bhattil the best, that is morally the most superior way of life. It is constituted of a range of fundamental purposes of life—purushartha or abhipraya —largely centred in domestic life, and of appropriate procedures for their fulfilment. These purposes and procedures have their basis in tradition. When children—the great questioners in every society —and even curious adults ask of those who might know why something should be done in a particular manner, or done at all, the Pandit answer usually given is: ‘it is bhattil; it is our way of life’. If the questioner persists and demands a fuller answer, he is sought to be silenced by the utterance of the single exclamatory word ‘ada!’. As an affirmatory exclamation ‘ada’ would mean, ‘that is the way it is’, implying that ‘this is the way it should be’. Put negatively, the connotation would be: ‘there is no reason’, implying that ‘no reason need be given’. ‘Ada’ could also be interpreted as a counter-question: ‘What else is the way?’ or ‘why should I tell you?’ The foregoing gloss, I must clarify, is my attempt to decode this powerful verbal symbol on the basis of careful attention to the contexts and manner of its use. My informants never explained the term to me but left me in no doubt about its significance. It stands for the virtue (not merely an attitude) of unquestioning acceptance of the moral imperative. It is not employed, I may add parenthetically, in connection with the inevitability of natural or physiological processes, such as the change of seasons or death. There were many among my informants—the inevitable sceptics—who considered the notion of ‘ada’ an expression of ignorance and/or irrationality; as they sarcastically put it, ‘there is no higher shastra among the Bhatta than the ada-shastra’. It is obvious that we are here confronted with axiomatic truths which are the foundation of tradition everywhere. These truths have never been stated to me in any systematic form by my informants. Certain overarching notions have, nevertheless, emerged quite clearly in the course of my conversations with individual Pandits and through group discussions. I now turn to some of these notions relevant to my present concern. (p.243A) A Pandit's most precious possession, I have been repeatedly told, is his self. One's self is, of course, more than one's body (sharira). The physical self or the body by itself is really of little significance. It is fragile, subject to deterioration, and readily perishable: it is kshana bhangur—that which may disintegrate any moment. It is when the body is joined to the inner.self (antaratma) that it becomes the vehicle of dharma. It is, therefore, not the body but the network of dharmic relations that really matters. Thus the backbone of Page 10 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* the family and the lineage is the relationship between ascendants and descendants in the male line affirmed in the. shraddha. He who neglects this first principle of treating the body as a means in the achievement of purposes beyond the body, and not an end in itself, turns out to be, in the words of an informant (who switched from Kashmiri to Hindi), tin janama ka bhukha, that is one who remains spiritually starved through three lives—the previous, the present and the future. One's present life's difficulties indicate the neglect of dharma in the previous one; one's present failures ensure the difficulties of the next one. How does one meet this primary obligation of spiritual advancement? Through steadfast adherence to bhattil in whatever one does and in the manner one does it. The demands of nature, while the body lasts, are not to be denied but fulfilled in accordance with bhattil. When this is done, one acquires fame (yash) for righteous conduct in this world (ihaloka) and merit for the next (paraloka). The body is thus the meeting ground, as it were, of the past, the present and the future; to put it differently, the present is the link between the past and the future. What one does with one's body and how the present is filled are then, obviously, matters of great import. In the context of this concern, it is important to note that the Pandits' whole way of life is pervaded by a sense of auspiciousness (shubha) and purity (shuddha, shaucha) and, consequently, by the fear of inauspiciousness and a concern with impurity.10 While inauspiciousness (signified by such happenings as deaths, eclipses, the hooting of owls, etc.) is generally considered to be beyond human control, the threat of contamination by impurity is seen to lie primarily in the manner in which a Pandit may be tempted to attend to the needs arising from his physical nature, from the fact of his being a sentient being (jiva). Hence the obsessive emphasis on the questioning attitude, the exercise of doubt (shanka). The Pandit is a doubter because he is a believer. I have (p.244A) heard many Pandits say in good-humoured self-deprecation that their hesitations in relation to the pursuit of worldly pleasures are the result of doubt or uncertainty about the consequences of indulging the senses for one's higher pursuits. The Pandit is enjoined to exercise patience and restraint (ched), and to be ever prepared to resist the compulsions of bodily appetites until assured of their proper satisfaction as defined in bhattil. Thus it is ched that marks one out as a Pandit: this is his obligation as also his privilege. Man is endowed with chitta (moral consciousness) and must cultivate it to resolve his doubts, or else he will lose it and become jada (one lacking in the capacity for discrimination) or even an unamatta (one distorted in intellect). Their chequered history11 has, however, taught the Pandits that there are exceptional circumstances when the need for compromise arises and one is constrained to violate the requirements of bhattil. As stated above, and elsewhere in detail (see Madan 1972), there are no Hindu artisan and service Page 11 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* castes in rural Kashmir and the Pandits are obliged to accept the help of Muslims —not only of butchers, cobblers and cultivators but also of washermen, barbers, milkmen and others. Contact with Muslims who are called mlechchha (‘outsiders’) is a threat to the Pandits' state of personal and domestic purity. Though the Pandits avoid intimate physical contact of all kinds with the Muslims, indirect contact is either unavoidable (for example the services of a barber or of the attendant at the cremation ground) or is tolerated (for example, acceptance of milk from a Muslim cowherd or having one's house cleaned by a Muslim servant). There is no solution to this problem and the Pandits say: ‘yath na push, tath na dusk,’ that is whereof one is helpless there of one is blameless. The same is true of all unwitting breaches of proper conduct. Minor lapses, such as unavoidability of physical contact with Muslims in certain situations, can be taken care of by the performance of routine corrective actions, such as washing of one's hands (shuddhi). In more serious cases (such as the inadvertent eating of strictly forbidden foods), one must perform prayashchita (a ritual of atonement), though I have never withnessed one. Purificatory rites are, however, quite common. (p.245A) The questioning attitude (shanka), the exercise of restraint (ched), and the cultivation of the moral consciousness (chitta), then, provide the framework within which a Pandit has to order his life: thoughtful discrimination (vichara) must be the basis of conduct (ackara). The pursuit of dharma is not a call to an exercise in abstraction: it is in the everyday life of economic pursuits (artha) and bodily appetites (kama) that dharma has to prevail. This is what bhattil is all about. In Dumont's terms, dharma must encompass artha and kama.12 This hierarchical balance of purushartha can be achieved only in the life of the householder, which is, therefore, the most highly valued identity of a human being in the Pandit scheme of life and values. The Pandits' attitude to worldly concerns and rewards is one of joyful acceptance. They do not seek immediate release (moksha) from them in the present life, but try to accumulate merit for the future. Karma is the chain of bondage but it is not for this reason alone unwelcome. What is important, many informants said, is the attitude of surrender to God (sharanabhava) and the elimination of ego (ahamkara). Here and now the Pandits strive for health, wealth and progeny, and pray for divine blessing in the fulfilment of these wishes. When a man kneels with folded hands before a priest to have his forehead marked with vermillion or saffron, the latter pronounces a blessing (in Sanskrit): May you be long-lived, may you be blessed with sons, may you be wealthy, may you be renowned, may you be wise, may you be greatly prosperous, may you be possessed with full faith in mercy and charity, may you be glorious, may you be one who lowers the pride of his enemies, may you be Page 12 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* ingenious in trade, may you always be devoted to worshipping the feet of God, may you be doing good to all! Similarly, a married woman receives her blessing: ‘May you be blessed with money and sons, may you be devoted and faithful to your husband, may you always be dearly loved by your husband, may you be insightful, may you have correct understanding, may you live a hundred years!’ Those who have their wishes fulfilled in good measure see in that the sign of previous good karma and also (p.246A) of divine grace: the two always go together. The purposes of life are, then, well established in tradition. The emphasis is upon dharmic striving for worldly goals. ‘Woman (stri) and wealth (dhana)’, said an informant, ‘are the means by which the householder is able to perform virtuous actions (dharma-kaj); but a man's undoing also are woman as kamini, that is as the object of lust, and greed for gold (kanchan). It is, indeed, like walking on the razor's edge of which the rishis (seers) have spoken.’ Plenitude is to be rejoiced in but only within the bounds defined in bhattil. To quote the same informant again, ‘where indulgence is bhattil is not’. ‘Bhattil’: Traditional Procedures

The most comprehensive concept of social action is that of ordered conduct. It consists of such general notions as customs and conventions (riti), procedures (vidhi) and daily routine (niyam or nityakarma). Then there are the specialized technical acts (kriya), that help one to awaken one's dormant power (shakti), but these are only for the adepts. A very important component of such ordered conduct is the cycle of rituals (samskara)—the so-called rites de passage—which must be performed in respect of each individual, in a prescribed sequence, beginning before birth and ending only after death. The proper locus for all these actions is the home where ‘the three fires of domestic life’ burn: these are the fire in the hearth, the fire lit periodically to perform rituals, and ‘the fire that is (or should be) always alight in one's own body (deha)—the fire of righteous actions’. To mention the main life-cycle rituals, there are the childhood rituals of purification (kaha nethar, performed on the eleventh day after birth), the feeding of the first solid meal (annaprashana), the first tonsure (zarakasai, for boys only), piercing of earlobes (kanchombani, nowadays for girls only), and the investiture of boys with the holy girdle (mekhala) and the holy neck cord (yagnopavita).13 Marriage (nethar, that which cannot be changed or (p.247A) undone) is the principal samskara of adult life. The ultimate rite is that of cremation (dahasamskara) which is followed by postmor-tuary rites. The general purpose of these rituals is to invest the person with the ritual status of a Brahman to enlarge the repertoire of the roles that men or women may perform while alive and to ensure their well-being as manes after their death. This is the so-called process of maturation. Marriage stands out as the central ritual and Page 13 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* social event in the life of every individual enabling him or her to take on the highly valued role of a householder. In the performance of all these rituals, the householder is helped by his family priest who is an adept in the procedures. In fact, his presence at these rituals is absolutely essential. Samskara are dramatic events which involve all or most adult members and also some children of a household in different roles. By contrast, the routine chores and rites of everyday life—the so-called nityakarma—are the abiding concern of the individual Pandit and constitute an important and ever-present element of his bhattil. Limitations of space preclude a detailed account of these and I will mention only the main types of these activities. It is with the proper performance of ablutions (shauchachara) and the offering of water for the satisfaction of the manes (tarpana) that every day should begin. Prayers and offerings to gods and goddesses—especially to one's ‘favourites’, the ishtadeva or ishtadevi— may take place at home or at sacred places outside, such as beside flowing water or in a temple. There is much individual and day-today variation in this regard. One may only read or recite from memory some sacred texts (such as the Shivamahimnastotram, in praise of Shiva the Bhavamsahsranama, in praise of Devi, or the Bhagavadgita)—this is called path; or one may also perform a ritual of adoration (puja) of the traditional iconic representations of Visnu, Shiva and Devi, namely the shalagrama, linga and shriyantra respectively. Nityakarma also includes the observance of birth and death anniversaries (the shraddha is attached very great importance by the Pandits), the eating of proper foods cooked properly (though the Pandits do not observe vegetarianism, the dietary restrictions they observe are numerous), the discharge of social obligations (such as visiting kith and kin to offer felicitations or condolences), etc. As in the case of samskara, the concern in nityakarma is with the protection of one's personal moral and physical well-being and the establishment and maintenance of the right kinds of relationships between kith and kin, the living and the dead, and human beings (p.248A) and deities. The cycle of daily activities is assessed in the context of transmigration: does it add to the burden of the karma of previous lives or lighten it? The heavier the load of sins (papa), which alone could make the curses (shapa) pronounced by others effective, the greater the chances of suffering as retribution. The Pandit view of life is moralistic: whatever the immediate agency that brings about good fortune or misfortune, ultimately it is the inexorable law of karma that is believed to govern human life. One must not blame one's woes on God for, as an informant put it, ‘God does not discriminate between human beings and hand out joy to some and sorrow to others.’ It is, therefore, imperative to follow the straight path of dharma in its various expressions. One can do nothing better about the future than mind the present, for it is the dialectic of the past and the present karma that determines the future. The content of accumulated karma is, therefore, of utmost importance: Page 14 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* there is scope for choices made in the light of a cultivated moral consciousness so that a person's actions may be such as to render him deserving of divine grace. It is in this sense that a human being may aspire to be a ‘doer’ (karmavan), a moral agent. Otherwise he remains tied to the wheel of karma interminably, ‘born again, to die again, to be conceived once again’. Human beings attain release from their sins only very gradually through the performance of their duties in full consciousness and in the attitude of submission to the divinity.14 Meanwhile, one seeks selfless joy in the proper pursuit of the legitimate purposes of life. In the words of the nineteenth century poet-saint, Parmananda, which have often been quoted and sung to me, let the performance of karma be firmly grounded in dharma: sow the seed of contentment (santosha) and reap the harvest of joy (ananda)’.

Alternative Orientations I have tried to show above that implicit in the Pandit ideology of bhattil is the belief that, while all sentient beings are subject to (p.249A) natural law (‘they are born and they die’), human beings are additionally constrained by moral imperatives which are not, however, equally developed among all people. According to the Pandits, among the best of these moralities—if not the only one —is bhattil. As we have seen, bhattil finds its most elaborate expression in the life of the householder. This does not, however, mean that the Pandits do not recognize any alternatives to the householder's way of life: they acknowledge the virtue of virakti (detachment) or sannyasa (reunuciation) but notionally rather than in practice. It is, however, neither considered necessary nor a better path to become worthy of receiving divine blessing, nor is it, in fact, a commonly chosen way of life. More about this below. What must be emphasized here is that the Pandits maintain that good karma and divine grace, rather than austerity, are what matter ultimately. Bhakti

The Pandit is content to live the life of a householder and seek virtue and salvation through doing so properly. The householder's life is, as we have seen, defined (that is bounded) by moral imperatives and procedures of various kinds. The danger of lapses and the fear of their consequences is, therefore, always present. Hence the Pandit notions of garhasthya as an ordeal (tapa) and the supreme sacrifice (mahayajna). The only way to lighten this burdensomeness of bhattil, the Pandits say, is through bhakti. Bhakti is a complex notion involving love of and deep devotion to the divinity and the seeking of refuge through the abolition of egotism. Bhakti is not an alternative way of life but a particular orientation of the householder's life, ‘away from the love of the world towards the love of God’. The Pandits consider bhakti as a value in itself. ‘Filling one's self with the love of divinity’, ‘like a vessel may be filled with nectar’, is an act which is its own reward. Of course, if the divinity grants it, the devotee (bhakta) will be bestowed Page 15 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* with the capacity for right thought and conduct and thus liberated. The expression used for liberation in this context is ‘moklavun’, which literally means ‘terminating’ or ‘freeing’, the reference being to the ending of the cycle of birth, death and rebirth. Such is the nature of divine blessing (anugraha). The Pandits say that the special characteristic of kaliyuga among the four aeons of cosmic time is that a devotee does not have to engage in severe and long drawn-out austerities (tapasya) to win divine favour. They maintain that ‘if the devotee's heart breaks from the pangs of separation from the divinity for just as long as a hailstone will stay on the tip of a bull's (p.250A) horn’, divine grace will be assured. But such is the wickedness of human beings in the kaliyuga that only rarely is one so filled with love of God as to become a fit receptacle for divine favour, which is thus hard to obtain (durlabka) rather than easy (sulabha).15 But one must not cease one's endeavour and prayer. Dumont has called bhakti ‘a revolutionary doctrine since it transcends both caste and renunciation, and opens for all without distinction an easy road to salvation’ (Dumont 1960, p. 57). It is interesting to note how the Pandits have retained the idea of bhakti as an ‘easy road’ and yet managed to emphasize that it is hard to reach and tread it. Failure is necessarily that of the seeker not of the ‘path’. Now, the longing for divine love and grace does not require one to abandon one's family and become a renouncer. It simply so transforms and enlarges one's affections as to make them all partake of divine love. The love of God is not exclusive and does not require withdrawal. As many informants put it, ‘bhakti does not drain the heart but fills it evermore with love’. That is, bhakti requires that the love of one's kith and kin should be encompassed by and not independent of the love of God. The devotee does not fall into the snare of rituals either, for divine love is an attitude of life. Rituals have their place in one's life, for they help to maintain bhattil, but rituals are only a means to the end. The devotee learns to be detached in the midst of involvement, concentrating on the only true attachment, that to the divinity. He knows himself to be alone or isolated keval, though he has a family, and seeks perfection through union with the unique (kaivalaya), that is the divinity. His attitude is one of utter humility and submission to God. In the course of my fieldwork I have met a few people of whom others said that they were men of God and led ‘pure lives’, though they were householders with wives and children.16 (p.251A) Shakti

Kashmir has another celebrated tradition, namely that of the quest for inner illumination (prakasha) through the pursuit of occult power (shakti) (see, e.g., Woodroffe 1978). This is the domain of tantra, a body of sophisticated technical knowledge, and ordinary householders of the kind I have worked with have only vague or confused ideas about it. Over the years I have met only one Pandit who described himself to me as a novitiate shakta (one in pursuit of shakti), but have been told of a few others, dead or alive, who were or are adepts. According to popular belief, the shakta seeks, through kriya—consisting of study, discussion, Page 16 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* reflection, ritual and yoga—the arousal of shakti, which resides in every human being, but lies dormant, coiled like a somnolent snake (kundalini) at the bottom of the spine. It can be aroused, however, and raised to the head and enable the seeker to realize his own divinity, his oneness with Shiva. I have heard stories of the miraculous powers of the shakta, of how they can even control the processes of nature, such as seasons and earthquakes. 1 have also been told that the ordinary rules of bhattil do not bind a shakta; thus he may eat meat in places and on occasions when the ordinary Pandit dare not do so and also transgress other norms of the householder's life. Though some tan trie texts speak of the panchatattva (the sacramental consumption of mutton, fish and alcohol, sexual intercourse, and the employment of bodily postures) for the attainment of shakti, my informants denied that sexuality had any special place whatsoever in a shakta's life. According to my informants, there can be no personal family for a shakta but he may live in an exclusive household of his own, consisting of his family members. Preferably he may live with his preceptor (guru) and fellow-seekers, and at a later stage have his own disciples (shishya) minister to his needs. One of these may be adopted as a son so that funeral and post-mortuary riles can he performed. The shakta is thus not exactly a man without a household though he is different from ordinary householders. His way of life is certainly more than a mere re-orientation; it is an alternative way of life though defined in relation to a householder. In fact, most of his disciples are householders who seek light from him and his blessings, without themselves abandoning their families and other worldly pursuits. The shakta looms on the horizon of the Pandits’ cultural universe. That the Brahmans of Kashmir were (p.252A) once renowned Shaivites and Shaktins who made outstanding contributions to the philosophy and practice of tantra is now only a very dim memory in the lives of the villagers I have lived with. Virakti

I have mentioned above the Pandit attitude to renunciation. In the course of my inquiries I encountered no renouncers, strictly defined, among the Pandits: such sannyasis as one does encounter in Kashmir are usually non-Kashmiris. Some individuals, mostly men, may live away from home but they do not go through formal initiation into a sannyasi order. There is also no emphasis at all upon the termination of the grihastha ashrama (the stage of the householder) in one's life. As one grows older, one is expected to become increasingly God-centred, but no one is expected to live away from home. In this sense, formal renunciation is not merely postponed, as Dumont (1960, p. 45) points out, but its place in the life of the Pandit is denied. There are only two stages of life: that of the child who lives with his parents, and that of the adult who has his children living with him. Both stages are phases in the life of the householder. The grihastha sustains the

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* world: to recall, he is the duniya-dar.17 If he succeeds in cultivating virakti, i.e. detachment from the passions that should be enough but even this is not easy. The attitude of the Pandits towards those who make claims of detachment, and particularly of renunciation, is generally one of scepticism. Individual men and women may command respect, and even a following, but most of them are dismissed as charlatans. The general term of reference for such persons is sadh (from the Sanskrit sadhu) and it is related to and rhymed with bad, flatus (from the Persian word for air), in lighthearted banter. In similar vein, an old saying warns the Pandit against the company of renouncers as they will make him give up his wife (and household) and never make him privy to their esoteric secrets! In view of their almost total absence among them, why is it that the Pandits distrust and ridicule self-styled renouncers? I do not think that the answer lies in the Pandits' having a higher standard than other Hindu communities by which to judge such claims; it lies rather in their commitment to the ideology of the householder. (p.253A) Apparently they are cynical about those who leave home because most such people never had families of their own (either because they were unable to get married or because they became widowed before becoming fathers), or their relations with their kin have been strained. At a deeper level, however, one might detect a fear of the renouncer, for he poses a threat to the ideology of the householder and plenitude. Unlike the former, he not only seeks release from the web of kinship and other worldly ties but also denigrates these as a trap and an illusion. The renouncer is too powerful an adversary to be contemplated with equanimity. Individual renouncers are usually accorded respect in face-to-face encounters; they are fed and offered gifts. When talking about them generally, however, they are ridiculed and even reviled and their genuineness is generally doubted. Dumont (1960, p. 45) is quite right in speaking of ‘subdued hostility’ towards renunciation. In fact, the Pandits reduce the renouncer to a caricature of his ideal self; that the caricature is only too often an accurate enough portrait of the ‘holy men’ one actually meets is another matter but not totally irrelevant. The real point seems to be that it is only when the renouncer is thus portrayed may he be convincingly employed as a foil to highlight the virtues of the life of the householder: these are said to flow from ‘detachment in enjoyment’ which is the essence of renunciation.18 An informant once went into the details of the way of life of the mythological Janaka to emphasize that Janaka was not only the king of Mithila but also a great householder, and, at the same time, the supreme renouncer.

Concluding Remarks The Pandit ideology of the householder is, in fact, much more than just that: it is their ideology of humanity. While all sentient beings are born (and die), human beings are ‘made’ or constructed (p.254A) through the samskara and achieve different degrees of perfection by their conduct. A boy attains the full ritual and Page 18 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* moral status of a Pandit when he receives the girdle and the holy neck cord. In the case of girls, it is marriage which bestows such status. Marriage is crucial for men as well as women for then alone do they become true householders. Bachelors, widowers and widows are members of households but not grihastha themselves and, are therefore, regarded as unfortunate. The greatest ambition of a Pandit is to become a householder along with his own wife and children. Children and Women

The ideology is, however, almost silent on children and. women: they come in only indirectly—in relation to men. This is, perhaps, partly because as a man I have not had the same free access to women informants in the course of my fieldwork as to men, but the main reason lies deeper—in the ideology itself, in Pandit culture. As I have described earlier in this book, the Pandits greatly desire and value children, particularly sons. In fact, to be a grihastha is to be a parent and this is why the bachelor and the childless widow are pitied much more than a widower or widow who does have children. Children, of course, have a most important place in the emotional lives of adults but they acquire a structural significance only when they themselves become adults. In fact, it is not children or adults who are important but bhattil. Children acquire Pandit identity initially by the fact of being born to Pandit parents. Their conduct is regulated under the guidance of adults till they are sufficiently grown up to act independently. Many concessions are made in their favour and lapses from proper conduct condoned but once a boy has gone through his ritual initiation, and a girl has been married, the full range of the expectations and constraints that constitute bhattil becomes applicable. Prior to these events boys and girls do not have the ritual status of adults. This fact is dramatized in their being neither entitled to full cremation rites and postmortuary food offerings nor susceptible to ritual pollution by births and deaths in the circle of kinsfolk. The absence of children in the ideology is, therefore, not an absence at all: it is an anticipation of adulthood. The child is the adult in making. The absence of a well-articulated place for women in the ideology is a more complex matter and calls for clarification, particularly because every Pandit woman is a married householder and (p.255A) even the idea of a woman renouncer is absent.19 There is a sense in which Pandit women—they are called Bhattani—are a ‘muted group’ seen in the light of a dominant male system of perception (Ardener 1977). The men recognize that in the reality of everyday life women are very important: ‘What is a home without the gharavajin (mistress)?’ they ask.20 A married woman is also called a ‘grikastkadarin’, the bearer of the burden of garkasthya. A man works out his destiny as a human being and a Pandit in the company of the domestic ‘others’ who include women, notably his

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* mother and wife. In his ritual performances—a major puja, a life cycle ritual, a shraddha—the presence of the wife is essential. If all this be so, why do women remain ‘muted’ in the ideology? An answer to this question formulated by my male informants was that bhattil is as much a concern of women as it is of men, but in the domain of domestic activity, women's work is in the kitchen— which is their specific responsibility—and their participation in rituals is moderately or severely restricted during the duration of menstruation. A menstruating woman must particularly exclude herself completely from rituals for the dead or else they lose all their efficacy. Similarly, a woman polluted by menses may not enter the puja room in the house or a temple and in no case make offerings to the deities. She may, however, say her prayers and even circumambulate a sacred place. Apart from the limitation which is seen to arise from the physical-moral nature (zat) of the women, there are other conventions which establish the superiority of men. Thus a woman does not offer water or food to manes; she does not have the authority to invest her son with the girdle and the holy neck cord: if his father is not available, the proper surrogate for the absentee parent is an agnatic kinsman; nor, indeed, does a woman give her daughter away in marriage. And yet (as stated above) she is present by her husband's side on all such major occasions: she is defined in relation to him. It is a hierarchical relation and proclaims their unity which is, however, complex in the sense that man encompasses and is superior to woman. The most concrete, expression of the foregoing fact is that, from (p.256A) the day of his marriage, a man wears a holy neck cord of six instead of three strands of cotton, each set of three symbolizing his responsibility to discharge the debts (rina) towards gods, gurus and ancestors—one on his own behalf and the other on behalf of his wife. But as Dumont (on whose work the foregoing formulation is based) has rightly pointed out: The same hierarchical principle that in some way subordinates one level to another at the same time introduces a multiplicity of levels, letting the situation reverse itself. The mother of the family (in Indian family, for example) inferior though she may be made by her sex [I would like to say sex and gender or physiology and ideology] in some respects nonetheless dominates the relationships within the family (1980, p. 241). In short, the ideology places different values on men and women and thus generates an idiom which includes reference to women when men are spoken of. The relative position of men and women is given in their relationship. Needless to add, the reality of everyday life does not wholly follow the ideology in its full detail: to assert this would amount to suggesting the false and suppressing the ethnographic truth. Page 20 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* The Man-in-the-world

The ideology of everyday life, then, clearly establishes the Pandit as the grihastha. The householder is the man-in-world. The house he lives in is, in fact, the microcosm of the earth and its presiding deity (gharadevata) is none other than vastoshpati, the protector of the earth. Such a person's prime concern is with the maturation of his self (person), which is ensured if he organizes his life in strict conformity with traditional purposes, employing appropriate procedures for their achievement. Release from the chain of transmigration is frankly admitted to be a very distant goal, and, therefore, one concentrates in the meanwhile on the slow but steady accumulation of merit by the conscious effort to lead a disciplined life. As a householder, a Pandit may legitimately seek plenitude and joy but only if this endeavour is controlled by dharma. As a sensitive informant once put it to me, ‘to lead the life of a householder is like seeking to warm oneself by fire—one might also get burnt by it’. In other words, while the life of the householder is the source of joy, it also brings sorrow and, if one deviates from the path of dharma, it could also lead the way to perdition. To quote further from the same informant: ‘The home is the place neither for the indulgence (p.257A) of one's physical appetites (bhogashala) nor for the performance of austerities (yogashala).’ It is the narrow middle ground, the ‘razor's edge’: ‘Like the sharp edge of a razor is the path, narrow and difficult to tread’ (Katha Upanishada I iii. 14). The Pandit seeks meritorious fulfilment in life through the affirmation of family and wider kinship obligations and through the willing acceptance of other social bonds which result from the pursuit of generally accepted worldly goals (purushartha). These bonds include his relations with the non-Pandits also. He wants success in the work he does, and cares for being thought of well in his village as much as he wants to lead a happy domestic life. There is thus a continuity in the Pandit's life between the domestic and the extra-domestic domains and between what may be called the religious and secular spheres, just as there is a continuity between the home and the earth itself. Bhattil is a total view of life which excludes nothing: but it is a hierarchical view of both the ultimate purposes of life and the tasks of everyday existence. Discrimination rather than withdrawal is the watchword of the Pandit's life. He is, however, expected to remain always mindful that there is something higher than good karma and this is divine grace. The path of occult power or renunciation is for the selected few. For the common Pandit, the life of the manin-the-world—epitomized in the role of the householder —though arduous, is the moral and good life. It is a life worth living.21

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* Notes:

(*) I owe thanks tojohn Barnes, Vcena Das, Lina Fruzzetti, Ron Inden, Akos Ostor, Kailas Sharma, and Jit Ubcroi for their criticism of an earlier draft of this essay. It is reproduced here, with minor changes, from Contributions to Indian Sociology, NS, 15 (1981). (1) The word Pandit is, of course, the Sanskrit pandita for scholars. The Pandits I know best are of the rural areas in the south-eastern part of the Kashmir Valley. Inquiries made over 20 odd years have convinced me that there is an impressive homogeneity in Pandit culture. Though the Pandits arc divided into two subcastes (priests and the others), and differences of socio-economic status and regional subculture also are found among them, these differences are not relevant in the context of the issues dealt with in this essay which are of the nature of the principles underlying social action rather than its details as observed in everyday life. (2) Cf.: ‘To be sure, the more standardised the prevailing action pattern is, the more anonymous it is, the greater is the subjective chance of conformity and, therewith, of the success of intersubjective behaviour’ (Schutz 1967, p. 33). (3) Schutz (1967, p. 61) refers to this phenomenon as the ‘social distribution of knowledge’: ‘each individual knowing merely a sector of the world and common knowledge of the same sector varying individually as to its degree of distinctness, clarity, acquaintanceship, or mere belief’. In this connection I might add that my informants in the village of UtrassuUmanagari, where most of my fieidwork has been done, accept without demur the fact that some of them know more than the others about certain matters. One docs not question what one does not know but seeks clarifications about it from others. I have, for instance, written elsewhere about the general lack of interest in genealogical materials among the Pandits combined with a deep interest in them on the part of some (see Appendix VI below). (4) I would like to explain that though nearly all the adult male Pandits or Utrassu-Umanagri during the late 1950s were literate, not more than a dozen of them could claim proficiency in Sanskrit or scholarship in traditional literature dealing with metaphysical problems or ritual performances. The priests, of course, had reading knowledge of Sanskrit, particularly in the sarada script, but the few true pandita who lived in the village were from among the non-priestly families. Not many households possessed any books other than almanacs and school books of the children. The most commonly lound ‘religious’ texts were the Bhagavad Gita and books of prayers and hymns. A few thousands owned astrological books. The epics—the Mahabharata and the Ramacharitamanas also were found by me in some homes but not always in the original Sanskrit or Avadhi but in Urdu prose translation. Centuries of persecution at the hands of Page 22 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* Muslim rulers had already brought the Pandits of Kashmir to this sad pass by the middle of the nineteenth century when Hindu rule was re-established. This is why I have chosen to describe the Pandit tradition as ‘oral’. A lament on the decline of the Pandit literary tradition remains to be written. (5) ‘Baradari’ is a Persian word. Most Kashmiri words are of either Sanskrit or Persian derivation but the difference of pronunciation between the original and the derivative words is often considerable. Thus Kashmiris hardly ever use aspirated consonant sounds. For the sake of comparability of the linguistic material, I have used the original Sanskrit or Persian words whenever I could identify these (see Kachru 1973). (6) Bhatta is the Prakrit form of the Sanskrit bkartri, the honorific designation of learned Brahmans—it is a synonym of pandita. It may be noted here that Kashmiri has been classified as a Prakrita. (7) While no Pandit would have a personal name of Islamic origin, a secular word like the Persian afiab (sun) or mahtab (moon) was used in the past: chert was a Mahtab Kaul in Utrassu-Umanagari in 1957–8. This points to Muslim (Persian and Afghan) cultural elements in Pandit culture of which there is evidence in domestic architecture, music, food, clothing, speech, etc. Similarly, Kashmiri Muslims preserve many relics of their Hindu ancestry in their culture, the most interesting, or perhaps ironical, being the fact that a common family name among them is Bhat; there are some Muslim ‘Pandit’ families also. (8) Step-mothers are, however, different. They are generally said to be cruel to the children of their husband's deceased wife, particularly when they have children of their own. I even heard stories about the attempts of some women to poison their step-children. Adoptive mothers are unpredictable. If a child has been foisted upon the issueless woman by her husband's relatives she may not feel very attached to it, but mothers do often treat their adopted children with the same love and care as natural mothers do. Between the ‘pangs of bearing’ (zenadod) and ‘the toils of rearing’ (racchandod), the Pandits aver, it is hard to arbitrate, but in the ultimate analysis ‘blood simmers in one's veins’. (9) Legal texts translate the word sapinda to mean those ‘connected by particles of one body’ (sec, e.g., Mayne 1953, p. 146); in doing so they follow Vijnancshvara's twelfth century text known as the Mitakshara. It would seem that this usage is also commonly employed by Hindus in Bengal in defining the category of ‘one's own people’ who are seen related to oneself as eka-shart̄ra or sapinda, that is by the ‘same body’ (Inden and Nicholas 1977, p. 3). The literal meanings of the word pinda, it must be noted, include not only ‘body’ but also ‘balls of cooked rice’ offered to manes. (10) Cf. Madan 1987, chap. 2, for a discussion of these concepts.

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* (11) Since the coming of Islam in the fourteenth century, Kashmiri Hindus have had to live on their wits and on compromises. It is remarkable that they should have survived at all. For an account of the vicissitudes through which they have passed, sec Bamzai (1962). (12) ‘There are three “human ends”, dharma, artha, and kama, duty, profit, and pleasure. All three arc (necessary and) lawful, but they arc so graded in a hierarchy that an inferior ideal may be pursued only as far as a superior one does not intervene: dharma, conformity to the world order, is more important than artha, power and wealth, which in turn is above kama, immediate enjoyment’ (Dumont 1960, p. 41). (13) What is called the upanayana ceremony elsewhere in north india is called mekhala, or yagnopavita, among the Pandits and very great importance is attached to it both as a ritual and as a social event. It takes place usually in the seventh or ninth year of a boy's life. In all 24 rites are performed on the occasion, beginning with bijvapanam, for ensuring the fertility of the parents of the boy, which may not have been performed, as it should have been, in the father's twenty-fifth and the mother's sixteenth year. AH other rites, which should have been but may not have been peformed, are also performed, culminating in the investiture of the girdle (mekhala) and the holy neck cord (yagnopivta). (14) Cf. ‘The knowledge of the Absolute, parā vidyā, which secures immediate liberation (sadyo-mukti) is possible only for those who are able to withdraw their thoughts from worldly objects and concentrate on the ultimate fact of the universe. The knowledge of Ishvara (the Supreme as God), aparā vidyā, puts one on the pathway that leads to deliverance eventually (karma-mukti). The worshipping soul gradually acquires the higher wisdom which results in the consciousness of the identity with the Supreme’ (Radhakrishnan 1953, p. 579). (15) Cf. ‘Viewed from man's side, Ramanuja holds, the attainment of God is anything but easy, for it implies the very difficult achievement of perfectly disciplined meditation on God. Even more important is the fact that this intimate communion with God is not something that man can gain: not even the advanced devotee who yearns desperately for this communion can gain it by his own effort. Salvation is God's election and God's gift’ (Carman 1974, p. 85). The emergence of strong Vaishnava influences among the Shaivite Kashmiri Brahmans is another important development in the cultural history of Kashmir that awaits careful research. (16) There is a category of exceptional people who should be mentioned here. To all intents and purposes they arc mad or deranged people found among the Pandits as well as the Muslims. The Kashmiris, however, consider them as people ‘touched by God’ (to quote an informant) for they are said to be Page 24 of 25

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Appendix II The Ideology of the Householder* clairvoyant and gifted with the capacity to bless and curse. They do not acknowledge family ties or observe the rules of social intercourse. It is interesting how such persons, irrespective of their Pandit or Muslim birth, serve as a link between the two communities. (17) Cf. Manusmriti (III. 78): ‘Because men of the three other orders are daily supported by the householder with (gifts of) sacred knowledge and food, therefore, (the order of) householders is the most excellent order’ (Buhler 1964, p. 89). (18) At a Pandit wedding observed by me in 1983 (after this essay had been first published), the priest explained to the bridegroom the significance of the kanyadan thus: ‘The maiden is gifted to you by her father for the purpose of dharma, artha, kama, and moksha. Now, dharma is not putting the tyok mark on one's forehead: it consists of discharging one's debts to gods, gurus, and ancestors. Artha is the making of money and kama the pursuit of luxuries [sic]. The ideal is not renunciation but householdership. Having done all this one must seek refuge in God: that is moksha.’ I later checked the text of the marriage ritual (according to Laugaksha) that the priest had been following: it did not mention moksha at all. (19) There is, of course, the celebrated fourteenth century Shaivite mystic Lalla (or Lal Ded) who abandoned home and became a wanderer and whose sayings (vakya) are a living part of the Pandit oral tradition. She, however, represents the proverbial exception that proves the rule for Lalla was no ordinary woman (see Kaul 1973). (20) Cf. Rig Veda III.53.4: ‘the wife herself is the home’. (21) After this book had gone to the printer, I came across an essay on Kashmiri Brahmans based on Sanskrit texts of the medieval period (9th–13th centuries). What I find remarkable are the continuities between the ideas of those times and of the present-day Pandits, (he intervening centuries and the disruptions resulting from the Muslim incursion notwithstanding. Thus, we read: ‘The Brahmanism of the middle ground … offered the Brahman householder a monism for the ritual agent which admitted renunciation but tended to confine it to the last quarter of a man's life (after the payment of the three debts), and at the same time made it an unnecessary option by propagating a doctrine of gnostic liberation within the pursuit of conformity to the householder's dharma’ (Sanderson 1985: 197). The householder ‘was to perfect himself through disinterested conformity to God's will manifest as his dharma’ (ibid.: 198).

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Appendix III The Language of Kinship: (1) Kinship Terminology

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.258A) Appendix III The Language of Kinship: (1) Kinship Terminology KASHMIRI PANDITS, irrespective of where they live (whether in Srinagar, the towns, or the villages), use the same kinship terminology. In the discussion that follows an attempt will be made to examine briefly the extent to which terminological classification in the Pandit kinship system is consistent with the behaviour of relatives towards one another.1 The Pandits distinguish clearly between the terms of reference and address. The former are more in number, each term having an established denotation. The terms of address are fewer, and their application is partly determined by the usages peculiar to individual families.

Terms of Reference Ego's Generation

IN EGO'S generation, the most important kin are, of course, the siblings. There is no general term for siblings. Boi stands for Br and beni for Si. Both these terms are elementary (i.e. irreducible in their linguistic structure), and denotative.2 Each term specifies the sex and generation of the person referred to as also his or her genealogical relationship with ego. Neither of the two terms is reciprocally used between siblings of opposite sex. Specification between kin in the same kinship category is made possible by using relative age as an index of identification. But neither of these terms specifies the (p.259A) speaker's sex. The clear terminological distinction between brother and sister is in consonance with the importance of patrilineal descent in the Pandit social system. The Pandits distinguish sakh (‘firm’), or natural siblings from wora, or step-siblings. Formerly ego's step-siblings would always be his agnates but recent widow remarriages have given rise to cases of uterine siblings who have different fathers. Page 1 of 8

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Appendix III The Language of Kinship: (1) Kinship Terminology Ego's wife is called kolai and husband run. BrWi is called baikakin and SiHu bema. The terms baikakin and bema are derived from boi and beni respectively.3 No specific terms are used to designate other affines of ego's siblings with whom ego has no direct relationship. The terms for cousins are again derivative; pitur-boi (FaBrSo) and piter-beni (FaBrDa) being derived from peter (FaBr); poftur-boi (FaSiSo) and pofter-beni (FaSiDa) from pof (FaSi); mamtur-boi (MoBrSo) and mamter-beni (MoBrDa) from mam (MoBr); and mastur-boi (MoSiSo) and master-beni (MoSiDa) from mas (MoSi). All the terms are denotative. The terminological distinction between the four types of cousins is warranted by the socially distinct relations ego has with them.4 The spouses of cousins arc distinguished as cousins are, and designated by derivative terms like pitur-bema (FaBrDaHu) and master-baikakin (MoSiSoWi). Derivative terms are used for second cousins also. Thus ego's FaFaBrSoSo is pitur-pitur-boi and FaFaSiSoSo is poftur-pitur-boi. A theoretically unlimited number of such derivative terms can be employed to designate even the most distant cousins, but in practice a Pandit resorts to stating the genealogical relationship when referring to kin who are more distantly related to him than as second cousins. This is consistent with the fact that in practice there seldom is any sustained interaction between ego and his non-agnatic cousins separated from-him by more than two ter (degrees of collaterality). But ego's relations with his agnatic cousins usually extend beyond second degree cousinship, particularly if they are living in the same village. A collective term piter (paternal cousins (p. 260A) or collaterals) is used for all of ego's paternal cousins, but a similar term is not used for any of the other three types of cousins. First Ascending Generation

Elementary, denotative terms are used to distinguish mol (Fa) from peter (FaBr) and mam (MoBr). Similarly maj (Mo) is distinguished from mas (MoSi) and pof (FaSi). Derivative, denotative terms are used to designate the spouses of ego's two uncles and two aunts. FaBrWi is called pecheni; MoBrWi, mamin; FaSiHu, pofuv and MoSiHu, masuv. The distinction between the father's siblings and the mother's siblings is consistent with the different roles they play in ego's life. Considering that relations of conflict often develop between ego and his FaBr, it is not surprising that Fa is distinguished from FaBr. Moreover, the term peter, for FaBr, also denotes collaterality. The Pandits use wora (step)-maj (mother) for FaWi, but wora (step)-mol (father) has not yet gained currency. In this case linguistic change is lagging behind social change. (Widow marriages have now been taking place sporadically for 20 years or so).

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Appendix III The Language of Kinship: (1) Kinship Terminology Second and Third Ascending Generations

Ego's FaFa and MoFa are both called budbab, a term meaning ‘old’ or ‘big’ father, and FaMo and MoMo are both designated by the elementary term nani. This is an instance of terminological classification which is not wholly consistent with social classification. However, the Pandits use specification as an index of identification in these cases: thus FaFa is called garyuk (of home) budbab, FaMo garich (of home) nani, MoFa matamaluk (of matamal) budbab and MoMo matamalich (of matamal) nani. The siblings of the two grandfathers and the two grandmothers are designated by two sets of derivative, classificatory terms. Thus FaFaBr and MoFaBr are both petra-budbab. Their being grouped together is the consequence of the two sets of grandparents being grouped together. Considering that ego's jural and ritual relationships with his father's parents are quite distinct from his relationship with his mother's parents, one would have expected the two sets of grandparents to be terminologically distinguished. The fact that few adults get the chance to have significant relations with their two sets of grandparents for any appreciable length of time may explain why they are lumped together. By contrast, a couple's distinct obligations towards their sons' children and their daughters' children entail active behaviour on their behalf as soon as a grandchild is born. Either great-grandfather is called badabudbab (great old father), (p.261A) and either great-grandmother badanani (great or old nani). As in the case of the siblings of grandparents, the siblings of great-grandparents are grouped together terminologically. The use of descriptive terms also is common. Beyond the third ascending generation from ego only descriptive terms are usually used. First and Second Descending Generations

Children are collectively called shuri. A So is called nechuv by his parents, and a Da, kur. Panin (own) children are distinguished from wora (step)-children. The children of ego's siblings and cousins are terminologically distinguished by derivative terms which specify sex, generation and genealogical connection. Ego's BrSo is babther; BrDa, bawza; SiSo, benther and SiDa, benza. Ego's FaBrSoSo is pitur-babther, and MoBrSoSo is mamtur-babther. Other nephews and nieces are likewise designated. Similarly, the spouses of ego's own children and of the children of ego's siblings and cousins are terminologically distinguished. These distinctions are consistent with kinship usages; thus, as we know, ego's relations with his brother's children are different from his relations with his sister's children. No specific terms are used for more distant nephews and nieces. In the second generation below ego there are only four denotative terms: putur for SoSo, puter for SoDa, zur for DaSo and zuri for DaDa. The different kinds of personal relations which exist between a couple and their two sets of grandchildren, and the different rights and obligations the former have towards the latter are recognized in this terminological distinction. A Pandit takes little Page 3 of 8

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Appendix III The Language of Kinship: (1) Kinship Terminology interest in the grandchildren of his or her siblings, and by the time his or her own grandchildren are married he or she is usually dead. There are no terms for any of these cognates or their spouses. Ego's Affines

There are two sets of terms for personal affines, one for the affines of a male ego, and the other for the affines of a female ego. The only terms for affines which are common for a male and a female ego are hihur for HuFa/WiFa and hash for HuMo/WiMo, and all those terms for the siblings and parents of ego's parents-in-law which are derived from hihur and hash. This is not as might have been expected, because if, for example, hahar (WiBr) is distinguished from druy (HuBr), sal (WiSi) from zam (HuSi), and even haharther (WiBrSo) and haharza (WiBrDa) from dyarther (HuBrSo) and dyarza (HuBrDa), there is no reason why WiFa and WiMo should (p.262A) not be distinguished from HuFa and HuMo. The relations between a man and his parents-in-law are not identical to those between a woman and her parents-in-law. Derivative denotative terms also distinguish between the first and second cousins, and their spouses and children, of a male ego's wife or a female ego's husband.

Terms of Address As already stated, the Pandits make a distinction between the terms of reference and address. The former are generally not used to address a person. For a speaker to exactly specify his relationship to the persons spoken to through a term of address is regarded as a breach of etiquette. If it is not done deliberately it is regarded as indicative of bad manners; if deliberate it may be intended as a complaint against neglect of duty, or as an insult, and taken as such by the addressee. If a person addresses an unrelated person by a kinship term of reference, the purpose may be to express friendliness or to give offence. The best examples are the terms of reference boi (Br), beni (Si), hahar (WiBr) and hihur (WiFa). To call an unrelated person boi or beni is the Pandits' customary way of expressing friendliness, goodwill and affection. But to persist in publicly calling a brother boi may only convey the speaker's feeling that the person addressed to is not behaving (i.e. is not doing his duty) as a brother. When Parma joined in a quarrel against his brother Mak, and I asked the latter why Parma had done so, Mak replied in the presence of several people including Parma, ‘Is he not my brother?’ The Pandits say that to address an unrelated person as hihur (or hahar) amounts to saying, ‘I wish to violate your daughter (or sister).’ In the Pandits' estimation this is the worst type of abuse. It is maintained that to address a hihur as hihur, or a hahar as hahar amounts to insulting behaviour. However, to refer to one's hihur or hahar by the term of reference in polite conversation causes no offence. The only exceptions to the foregoing rule are the terms of reference mam (MoBr) and mas (MoSi), which are sometimes also used as terms of address, to convey the friendliness and affection that generally exists between ego and his mother's Page 4 of 8

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Appendix III The Language of Kinship: (1) Kinship Terminology siblings. Nevertheless, it is by no means the general practice to address mam as mam, or mas as mas. Many Pandits regard it as unwarranted familiarity. The Pandits usually use terms conveying affection and/or respect as terms of address. They also use teknonymous names. The terms of (p.263A) address always recognize sex and age differences, but do not reflect generation differences or genealogical ties as terms of reference always do. To illustrate: the most commonly used terms of address for ego's father are lala, bab, kakh and tathya. None of these terms is used to address a woman, nor usually a person younger than ego. But any of these terms may be used to address ego's elder Br, FaFa, FaBr, MoFa or WiFa. No term of address is used in an identical form to address more than one person in a household, and therefore there is no confusion as regards the particular person to whom it is applied. The manner in which the practice of each household is established may be illustrated by an example. When Nanda's first child was born, he was the only person younger than Nanda and Nanda's wife in the family. The child was taught to call Nanda bab. In course of time two more sons and a daughter were born to Nanda's wife. They called their father bab and their eldest brother bai-raja (‘brother-king’). When this eldest son of Nanda became a father, his children also called him bai-raja, and called their grandfather bab. Nanda's daughter's children also called him bab and addressed their mother's eldest brother as bairaja. Conclusion

The foregoing examination of the Pandit kinship terminology shows that terminological classification is not consistent in every case with the social classification of kin. However, when the terms are taken together, as a system, two important features of the terminology emerge, which are not only consistent with the social classification of kin, but also reflect two important emphases in Pandit kinship and descent. These two features are: (1) Ego's relatives of his own generation, and of the first ascending and the first descending generations, related to him through his father, and through his mother, are not only terminologically distinguished, but they are also, along with ego's two sets of grandparents and their siblings, given equal recognition within the limits of second degree cousinship (inclusive). This is consistent with the recognition of complementary filiation at the level of the nuclear (parental) family among the Pandits. (2) Kin beyond second degree cousinship are given terminological recognition only in the case of patrilineally related collaterals, who are collectively called piter (derived from peter for FaBr), irrespective of whether they are first degree or remoter cousins. The emphasis upon agnation, which is a marked characteristic of (p.264A)

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Appendix III The Language of Kinship: (1) Kinship Terminology

TABLE XV List of Elementary Terms Generation

Term of reference

Referent

Male or female ego Second ascending

nani

FaMo, MoMo

First ascending

mol, bab

Fa

peter a

FaBr

pof

FaSi

maj, ded

Mo

mam b

MoBr

boi

Br.

beni

Si

nechuu c

So

nosh

SoWi

kur

Da

zamatur d

DaHu

putur

SoSo

puter e

SoDa

zur

DaSo

zuri

DaDa

Ego's

First descending

Second descending

PERSONAL AFFINES Male or female ego First ascending

Ego's

hihur

WiFa, HuFa

hash

WiMo, HuMo

Male Ego Kolai

Wi

hahar

WiBr

sal

WiSi

Female Ego run

Hu

drui

HuBr

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Appendix III The Language of Kinship: (1) Kinship Terminology

Generation

Term of reference

Referent

zam

HuSi

(a) This term is derived from Sanskrit pitravya which is related to pitra for Fa. The Pandits do not use the latter term, though peta (cp. Hindi pita) is sometimes used. (b) The opening phoneme ma- may be noted in the three terms maj, mas, and mam. The way Pandits pronounce them makes ma-sound different in maj from what it sounds in mas and mam. The spelling adopted here for Kashmiri words is not phonetic. (c) This term is the Kashmiri form of Sanskrit putra for So. However, Sanskrit pulri or putrika for Da does not seem to bear any resemblance to Kashmiri kur for Da. (d) The Sanskrit origin of this is obvious, jamata or jamatra being the corres ponding terms. (e) The Sanskrit words for SoSo and SoDa are pautra and pautri respectively. Since nechuu and kur are the most widely used terms for So and Da respectively, putur and puter are here included in the list of elementary terms. (p.265A) Pandit kinship, is reflected in this usage. The Pandit terminology is thus, by and large, consistent with the attitude and behaviour of kin to each other. Notes:

(1) C.f. ‘… we can expect to find in the majority of human societies, a fairly close correlation between the terminological classification of kindred or relatives and the social classification. The former is revealed in kinship terminology, the latter in social usages of all kinds, not only in institutions such as clans or special forms of marriage, but specifically in the attitudes and behaviour of relatives to one another’ (Radcuffe-Brown 1935, p. 531). (2) The terms ‘elementary’, ‘derivative’ and ‘descriptive’ with reference to the linguistic structure of the terms, and the terms ‘denotative’ and ‘classificatory’ with respect to their range of application, are used here in the sense in which Murdock uses them (1949, pp.98f.). (3) I have elsewhere distinguished between single and compound derivative terms, and analysed the principles underlying their derivation from elementary terms (see Madan 1963a, pp. 268–74). (4) According to the types listed by Murdock (1949, pp. 224 and 238), the Pandit terminology for cousins is of the Sudanese type. He calls the type Sudanese because it ‘mainly occurs in a band across central Africa …’ (p. 238). It seems also to be widely distributed in northern India. See Karve 1953, passim.

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Appendix III The Language of Kinship: (1) Kinship Terminology

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Appendix IV The Language of Kinship: (2) Proverbs

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.266A) Appendix IV The Language of Kinship: (2) Proverbs IN THE course of fieldwork I was able to collect about eighty Kashmiri proverbs concerning various aspects of nature, society and human life. Kashmiris are much given to interposing proverbs and sayings into conversation, and regard them as an effective and attractive manner of embellishing speech. These proverbs are usually pithy, poetic and unambiguous, though often metaphoric, uttcrences (see Madan 1963b, p. 93). Given below arc 30 classified proverbs pertaining to the field of kinship. The reader who has already gone through this book will, I trust, find the selection of some interest. The translation is not completely literal.

I Birth and Childhood 1. Nosh pyayi athi ayi. ‘A daughter-in-law wins recognition (proves her worth) when she gives birth to a child.’ 2. Nechuv zena noor pyav maka-madinas, kur zena nun pyav Noordians. ‘A son's birth made Mecca-Medina radiant, but a daughter's birth pained even Noordin.’ Mecca and Medina are the famous places of Muslim pilgrimage. Noordin was a saint and mystic poet and is renowned all over Kashmir for his philosophic sayings. The purpose, it seems, is to stress that even a detached, wise man is likely to be upset by the birth of a female child. 3. Lair khyon shehjar, air khyon chok nar; nechuv zyon shubidar, kur zeni tabardar. ‘A cucumber cools but a plum sours the mouth; similarly a son's birth is a becoming and radiant event, but a daughter's birth is like the arrival of a woodcutter.’ Just as the woodcutter denudes a tree, a daughter's marriage deprives her parents of their savings. 4. Navihond palan ponberi dashan tal, prani hand pashan baran tal. ‘The new wife's child is reared with a silver spoon in its mouth while the old Page 1 of 4

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Appendix IV The Language of Kinship: (2) Proverbs (deceased) wife's child sorrows near the door.’ The Pandits are very distrustful of step-mothers and resent the influence they wield over their husbands. (p.267A) 5. Hunis neti kus, kur mangith rati kus. ‘Whoshears a dog (for wool)? And who adopts a daughter?’ In view of the emphasis upon agnatic kinship, the adoption of daughters is regarded as useless. 6. Boi pyam baputh zam malyun am navant, buda vayren baman am bati baneyas yezmanbai. ‘My natal home has been revived by the birth of a son to my brother. Buds have appeared on old branches and I too will preside over ceremonies.’ 7. Goda zai ba ta maj ada zav bab, doh panshi dab log ada budbab. ‘First to be born were I and mother, and then was born father; a few days later, grandfather.’ The child's growing awareness of the people around him is here given succinct expression.

II Marriage 8. Vari andar vani, anganas andar kani ta gamas andar sonya. ‘A flood in the kitchen-garden, a boulder in the yard, and one's son's or daughter's parents-in-law in the same village as one's own (are all equally annoying).’ 9. Doonis doon, na doon na hoon, tas chchu mal hyun. ‘A walnut for a walnut (in exchange); he who has no walnuts will not get even a (pariah) dog; so he must buy (a wife).’ The reference is to reciprocal marriages and the purchase of a wife. 10. Hivis hyuh nyamat, besum kayamat. ‘A well-matched spouse is a blessing; an ill-matched spouse, the doom.’

III Interpersonal Relations between Kin and Affines 11. Halaluk ya haramuk, panani dambik nav reth. ‘Legitimate or illegitimate, nine months of one's own womb.’ The intimacy of the mother-child bond, and its raison d'être, are stressed in this saying. 12. Kori rach maj gayi khori rack nav, nani ros shur gav pani ros dani. ‘A mother without a daughter is an oarless boat; a child without his grandmother is paddy without water.’ 13. Kur zena malis kenhti chchuna nafa, kur chchai maji hanz rafakar. ‘A daughter's birth avails a father naught, but she is her mother's helper.’ 14. Yami garich kur tai tami garich beni lai pof tai pofanani, tami pata kostani. ‘I began as a daughter, became a sister, an aunt (FaSi), a grandaunt (FaFaSi), and then—I was a stranger.’ The importance (p. 268A) of the closeness of kinship ties and the change of roles in a person's lifetime are stressed in this proverb. Among non-agnatic kin the Pandits regard only first and second cousins as relatives (marriage with whom is not permissible). 15. Me dop noshehna anim orai, nechuv hyath chajim yorai. ‘I thought I had got myself a daughter-in-law; she has stolen my son.’ Page 2 of 4

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Appendix IV The Language of Kinship: (2) Proverbs 16. Noskah anim posh zan, angan chanim mash zan, hat hai ayam ta layam ma, badyam ta kadyam ma. ‘I got a daughter-in-law who looked like a flower. She already seemed like a buffalo when she entered my compound. There she comes! There she comes!! Grow up she will and turn me out (of my home).’ 17. Maj gay radpat, beni gay kachchavat, zanana gay bokavat. ‘The mother (one seeks) for protection, the sister for support, but it is the wife whom one loves.’ 18. Loktis kolai dutvani, badis kolai lalvani. ‘A young husband cares little (need care little) for his wife; an old one must.’ 19. Godnich zanana gay prazlvun shama, doyim zonana gay bagachi hi, treyim zanana gay narajosh magas, choorim zonana gay dragas zi. ‘The first wife is like a lamp alight to her husband (and keeps his passions aflame); the second is like the hi flowers in the garden (which one admires from a distance); the third is like a firepot in the cold month of mag (a provider of comforts); and the fourth may even supplement the household income in times of need (go astray).’ Both these proverbs (Nos. 18 and 19) express disapproval of secondary marriages. 20. Gara pyath zamtur bar pyath hun. ‘A man who lives with his wife's parents is like a pariah dog.’ 21. Bata manz tath tahar, ashnavan mahz hahar. ‘The most liked among cooked rice dishes is tahar (rice cooked with turmeric, salt and ghee), and the best loved among one's relatives is the wife's brother’. 22. Garas manz son jan to zam na. ‘Better have a co-wife living with you than your husband's sister.’ 23. Hash na zam tikas gam. ‘A woman without a mother-in-law and a sister-in-law is bound to be undisciplined.’ 24. Maj karan kuri kuri, kur karan rani rani. ‘The mother loves the daughter, the latter her husband.’ 25. Che kyoho mangyo malinyo, nari pan alvay variwyo. ‘What (more) shall I ask of you, O my natal home? What more shall I offer you, O my conjugal home?’ 26. Sata vuhur boi ta shetha varish beni. ‘Seven years old brother and sixty years old sister.’ A man in his capacity as the representative (p. 269A) of his parents must continue to give gifts to his sister after their death even if he is much younger than her. 27. Sag bash baradare khordna bash. ‘Be a dog but not the younger brother.’ The proverb is in Persian. 28. Maji mam hai av, potra myon gav boi. ‘Mother, (my) maternal uncle has come. Son, he is my brother.’ (1) The bonds of affection are closer between primary than secondary kin, and between agnates than between non-agnatic cognates. (2) People who are closely related also know each other more intimately—for better or for worse.

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Appendix IV The Language of Kinship: (2) Proverbs 29. Sonta gurus pottos, harda gurus katras, vanda gurus shatras. ‘The spring buttermilk for the son, the autumn buttermilk for the son-in-law, and the winter buttermilk for the foe.’ Buttermilk is regarded as being of the best quality in autumn and likely to cause illness in winter. The Pandit woman is generally alleged to be partial to her daughter's husband. 30. Pitur gav michir kond achna varai rozina, pitreni gay marcha-pipani nachna varai rozina. ‘A (paternal) uncle or cousin is like a michir thorn and pierce the. foot he must; his wife is like a top and dance (fly into outbursts of temper) she will.’

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Appendix V The ‘Convoy’: A Note on Five Informants

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.270A) Appendix V The ‘Convoy’: A Note on Five Informants CASAGRANDE WRITES: ‘In the course of his work, as he sorts out individuals and his reactions to them, the anthropologist will inevitably form closer tics with some persons than with others.… One or a few individuals, by virtue of their special knowledge or skills, their authority or qualities of intellect and temperament, may become his particular mentors and close associates’ (1960, p. xi). I regard myself as fortunate in having been able to develop particularly intimate and friendly relations with five men in the village of Utrassu-Umanagri. As I have written in the Preface, they gave me liberally of their time and help and generously of their affection. But for them my fieldwork would have been a less rewarding undertaking and an even less enjoyable experience. It was of these men, and their help and deveotion to me, that the mahant of the village said: ‘They gave up their homes and wives and lost their night's sleep for his [i.e. my] sake.’ He also nicknamed them the ‘Convoy’1 because they used to move about in the village together with me as often as their own work permitted.

Sarwanand Pandit OF THESE five men the most unusual person is Sarwanand Pandit. Born c. 1906 in an aristocratic family of Umanagri, he was the only one of two sons to survive and grow up into adulthood. He was much pampered till his mother died and his father remarried. Thereafter, it seems, he withdrew into a shell. When his father died, Sarwanand was already in his late twenties but still unmarried; he still is. At present he is the head of a household consisting of himself, his step-mother, her son, and the latter's wife and daughter. He owns sufficient land to have never worked for a living. He studied at the village school for a few years when

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Appendix V The ‘Convoy’: A Note on Five Informants he was a boy, and later at a technical (art) school in Srinagar. He has been out of Kashmir only once when he went to Jammu. (p.271A) When I took up residence in the village, and tried to explain to various persons the purpose of my visit, they all gave me the same advice: ‘Sarwanand Pandit is the man for you.’ I had to seek him, for he is a shy person. Finally, when I met him, I discovered that he is a born ethnographer. He has an irrepresible but healthy curiosity about social happenings in the village, and an amazingly prodigious memory. He one day surprised a fellow villager by showing greater knowlege of the latter's genealogy than the latter himself possessed. He is a man of orthodox views and is well informed about the Sanskritic tradition. But he is most unorthodox in his appearance, being the only man of his age who does not wear any headgear, nor the traditional gown of the Pandits. He dresses in a shirt and trousers in summer, and in winter protects himself against the cold with a blanket. I once heard him call himself the kali kamliwala (one with a black blanket, a renouncer). Possessed of a sense of humour, and yet a sad man, he feels he has had a raw deal in his life. I think I met my rara avis in him. I have quoted in this book more often from his statements than from anybody else's, with the possible exception of Bishambar Nath Koul.

Bishambar Nath Koul BISHAMBAR NATH KOUL was born c. 1908 in the village of Vernag. He was later adopted by his maternal uncle who belonged to Utrassu. Bishambar Nath received education at the village school and later in a school in the town of Anantnag. He was the third person in the village to obtain the School Leaving Certificate after ten years schooling, and can read, write and speak English. He is an inspector in the Excise Department (Government of Jammu and Kashmir), and has the responsibility of supervising and controlling the production of hemp and other narcotics in Utrassu-Umanagri and the surrounding villages. He has visited many parts of the State of jammu and Kashmir in the course of his official duties, and has also been outside Kashmir several times. He owns a battery-operated radio set, a time piece and a bicycle. He lives contentedly in a house, built by him, along with his wife and four small children. He is not well informed about his own village, but is otherwise a very intelligent and witty person with a penchant for argument. He is the opposite type to Sarwanand Pandit in many ways, as will be clear if his views are compared (p.272A) with those of the latter.2 But, like Sarwanand, he is a very friendly and curious man, though very cautious. In fact, his broader interests would make him excellent company in any situation. On various occasions he

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Appendix V The ‘Convoy’: A Note on Five Informants talked to me about such varied topics as Hindu philosophy and ‘the peculiar situation in the British royal family where the wife is the ruler!’

Shambhu Nath Tikoo SHAMBHU NATH TIKOO (born c. 1916) belongs to Srinagar but has been in Utrassu-Umanagri since 1954 as the second master of the village school. He is a graduate and a trained teacher. He lives in the rented portion of a house with his wife, three daughters and a son. There was hardly an evening in the course of my stay in Utrassu-Umanagri when he did not call on me. His comments on comparative customs and practices of the Pandits of Srinagar were of immense use to me in my work.

Vasadev Pandit VASADEV PANDIT (born c. 1925) is the son of a former landlord and trader of Umanagri. He is the head of a household consisting of himself, his widowed mother, wife, children, two younger brothers, and the wife and children of one of these brothers. He also holds the School Leaving Certificate and was a government employee for some years. At present he is a ‘worker’ of one of the political parties (DNC) in the Opposition. He is greatly in favour of changing many old customs and practices, and is a forward-looking person. He is an avid reader of Urdu fiction and is a suave man fond of good company. He paid us a rare compliment when he named his infant daughter after my wife.3 His own wife is a charming and dignified lady; her natal family, in the village of Chchatargul, is well known.

Srikanth Pandit THE YOUNGEST of my friends was Srikanth Pandit (born c. 1927), also of Umanagri. The son of an astrologer, he himself believes in and practises astrology. He is a landowner, and his household consists of himself, his wife and their young daughter (p.273A) (see Plate X). He is a conservative and religiousminded man, well versed in the Sanskritic tradition which he learnt from his father. An affectionate and informal man, Srikanth was always willing to put at my disposal whatever help or information I needed, and his home was always open to me. I am grateful to these five men (see Plate VI) for thier help and friendship. Notes:

(1) The mahant is a literate man but does not know English. The word ‘convoy’ is, however, fairly widely used in Kashmir in the sense of a train of motor vehicles moving together. (2) All statements by these two informants quoted in this book have been indexed under their names. (3) The village bard, Rama Joo Koul, was kind enough to compose two poems to commemorate my stay in the village. Page 3 of 4

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Appendix V The ‘Convoy’: A Note on Five Informants

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers*

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.274A) Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* And, indeed, the field research with which every anthropological career begins is the mother and wet-nurse of doubt, the philosophical attitude par excellence. This “anthropological doubt” does not only consist of knowing that one knows nothing, but of resolutely exposing what one thought one knew, and indeed one's very own ignorance, to the bulletins and denials which are directed at one's most cherished ideas and habits by other ideas and habits which must needs contradict them to the highest degree. CLAUDE LEVI-STRAUSS (1967, p. 43) THIS ESSAY is intentionally personal in mood. Drawing on my own experience, I hope to be able to demonstrate the importance of the element of subjectivity in social anthropological research in general and in Fieldwork in particular. The choice of a theme or problem, of a theoretical framework, and of a strategy of data collection, all are influenced by the prejudices and predilections—some of them subliminal—of the individual researcher and of his peers and mentors. The influence of one's fellow researchers can be particularly overpowering if one is placed with a group of scholars who have come to constitute a ‘school’, or if one's adviser happens to be a person of towering stature. Thus, the development of anthropological research along different lines at some major universities in England and in the USA is too well known to need more than a mention here. In other words, themes for social anthropological and sociological research are not naturally given, in the manner of the structures and processes which are the subject matter of natural and physical sciences; nor are the methods of social research as precisely laid down as those that one practices in the aseptic atmosphere of a laboratory. The problems of social science are, I suggest, Page 1 of 20

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* constituted in part by ourselves: our personality enters in (p.275A) a big way into what we choose to study, and, even more so, into the course that our fieldwork runs and the results that flow from it. The contrasting pictures of the village of Tepoztlan in Mexico given us by Redfield (1930) and by Lewis (1951) are well known. Whereas some of the differences between these two accounts must be attributed to the time interval between the two spells of fieldwork, and to the more sophisticated techniques Lewis was able to employ, it is reasonable to conclude that the personality differences of the two anthropologists, widely known to their colleagues, also played a crucial role. Both of them thought so too (Lewis 1951, p. 428f. and Redfield 1955, pp. 133–35). It is not my intention to deny the existence of intersubjectivity in social research. Surely, no researcher would fail to encounter the element of hierachy in a Hindu village anywhere in India. The theoretical constructs he employs to interpret hard ethnographical data on caste are, however, a different matter: compare, for example, the contrasting frameworks outlined in Dumont (1961b) and in Bailey (1963). It may also not be denied that anthropologists have at their command a well developed and sophisticated repertoire of fieldwork methods, discussed in, for example, the excellent volumes edited by Epstein (1967) and Freilich (1970). Besides, there are handbooks, such as the well known (though old fashioned and at places misleading) Notes and Queries on Anthropology (see R.A.I. 1951), ‘check lists’ of topics (Murdock et al. 1950), and gadgets like the camera, the tape recorder, and—the latest of the wonders— the videotape. All these aids make fieldwork today very much more of an objective ‘scientific’ enterprise than it probably was fifty years ago. The point I am trying to make is that, no matter how thorough an anthropologist's formal training and preparation for research, it is his encounter with the fieldwork situation and his handling of it that ultimately determines the outcome of his research. Fieldwork at times unfolds problems which are either not genuine or which the anthropologist is not prepared to tackle because of their being totally unanticipated. Such situations must be squarely faced, and the temptation to brush them off resisted, for some of them may well be crucial to one's preconceived categories being unmasked and, finally, to one's understanding of the society and culture under study. The researcher must devise, if necessary, on-the-spot strategies to come to grips with such unforeseen challenges of fieldwork. In the measure of his success in doing so lies (p.276A) the intellectual fascination and joy of field research.

Ethnographers and Natives My first impressions of the nature of social anthropological fieldwork were formed through contact with the anthropologist D.N. Majumdar and the sociologist D.P. Mukerji at Lucknow University, where I read for my master's Page 2 of 20

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* degree in 1949–51. Majumdar was a functionalist, an admirer of Malinowski, whose famous seminar he had attended in the mid-thirties, and of Ruth Benedict. To introduce anthropology to us, he gave a course of lectures on ‘primitive societies’. His own fieldwork till then had been among the so-called tribal peoples of Bihar and Uttar Pradesh. It was obvious from his teaching and research that anthropology was for him the study of cultures other than one's own: it was concerned with the remote and the unfamiliar. Fieldwork was no picnic but an exacting task, judged by its precious fruit: knowledge and understanding of the diversity of human culture, of the many ways in which people affirm their humanity (see Madan 1968). D.P. Mukerji, a powerful influence on the thinking of many of his students, held out to us a somewhat different image of anthropology: a kind of foil to display the riches of sociology. He deplored the narrowness of anthropologists’ concerns and the preoccupation in their fieldwork with ‘the minutiae of a people's daily life. He hailed anthropology as a ‘shock absorber’, and pleaded for the recognition of its higher relevance to cultural reconstruction. It followed, DP taught us, that anthropologists must study history and philosophy and give up their wrongheaded posture of value neutrality. He maintained that the promise of anthropology had been glimpsed in the work of Boas, Benedict, Malinowski— the only book by an anthropologist that he discussed with us at length was Malinowski's Freedom and Civilization (1947)—and above all Kroeber, but that it had remained largely unrealized (see Mukerji 1958, pp. 258–69). Majumdar's view of anthropology as a ‘field science’ was supplemented by Mukerji's humanistic vision of it, and though the latter attracted me more, I was also fascinated, notionally, by the study of the strange and the exotic. [Also sec Madan 1978.] In 1951 Majumdar offered me a scholarship for research. Acutely conscious of my awkwardness in dealing with strangers, and attracted by Mukerji's plea for ‘theoretical concerns’, I inquired of Majumdar if fieldwork in a tribal area would be an (p.277A) essential requirement. He said that it was not for the limited purpose of a doctoral dissertation, but that I could not hope to make a professional career out of anthropology without it. There was no escape, but the difficult day of fieldwork had been postponed. Accordingly, I registered as a Ph.D. student with Majumdar and commenced work on the problem of ‘rehabilitation of Indian tribes’. The data were to be drawn from published sources. About a year later, I joined a group of M.A. students who were being taken to Ranchi for a two-week field trip as part of their studies. It was a depressing, and even traumatic, experience. Not that the Oraons turned out to be culturally very different from the Hindu villagers of the same area, or that we encountered any savagery at their hands; what upset me was our own behaviour. Everybody was asking the people questions about their most intimate relationships and fondest Page 3 of 20

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* beliefs, without any regard for their feelings or convenience. My shyness crippled me, and the only thing I could do adequately was to photograph an Oraon cremation, without first seeking anybody's permission to do so. As we came away, I had the uncomfortable feeling that there was something indecent about such field trips. A year-long stay in the field by a single anthropologist would be, I thought, far from the kind of ‘assault’ in which we had been engaged. Nevertheless, a strong feeling that anthropological fieldwork was in a certain sense degrading to the unwilling subject of observation by a stranger took firm hold of me. This feeling was, most probably, a kind of cover for my own fear of strangers and temperamental inadequacy as a fieldworker. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, it occurred to me that a solution to the problem perhaps lay in studying my own community, the Kashmiri Pandits, though not my own kindred or the neighbourhood where I had grown up in the city of Srinagar (in Kashmir). It is clear to me now, though it was not then, that I was transforming the familiar into the unfamiliar by the decision to relate to it as an anthropologist. During the following summer (1953), I collected some information on the Pandit kinship terminology, and gave a paper based on it to Majumdar, suggesting to him that I might eventually study a village in Kashmir. He published the essay in The Eastern Anthropologist (Madan 1953), but did not particularly discuss with me my proposal about fieldwork. Early in 1954, S.F. Nadel visited Lucknow. I took the opportunity to discuss my problem with him. He told me that he could see no objection to an Indian studying aspects of his caste or community of (p.278A) birth. He stressed the importance of training in formal anthropological research which, he thought, should help one to overcome the limitations of subjective bias. He also emphasized the importance and advantages of a good command over the ‘native tongue’ to anthropological research, particularly in the study of kinship and religion, and pointed out that being a native speaker would give one a headstart in fieldwork.1 Soon after I discontinued work on my dissertation on the problems of Indian tribes. Majumdar, who had by then himself initiated a research project in a village near Lucknow (Majumdar 1958b), agreed that I should make a study of Kashmiri Pandits when a suitable opportunity arose. On his and Nadel's advice I submitted a research proposal to the Australian National University (ANU) for the study of ‘kinship values’ among the Pandits of rural Kashmir, and was awarded a research scholarship. I could never find out what exactly Nadel thought of my proposal, for he died early in 1956, before my arrival in Canberra. I had been apprehensive that he might not approve of the theme I had suggested: there was no evidence in his own published work of such an interest. My confidence had been somewhat shaken by another teacher, A.K. Saran, a

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* stern critic of empiricism, who summarily rejected the idea of a study of values through fieldwork. I was, however, optimistic that he could be answered.

Beliefs and Rituals After my arrival in Canberra, the first person to discuss my proposal with me at considerable length was Edmund Leach, who was on a short visit to ANU. He told me that, given his structural-functional approach, my proposal worried him. He thought that it would be a serious mistake for me to get involved in such a vague and difficult-to-handle theme as ‘values’. What mattered most in peasant kinship systems in South Asia, he said, was the ownership and inheritance of property, the disputes that arose over it between the children of different mothers in an extended family, and the manner in which they were resolved. He advised me to collect (p.279A) case studies and subject them to analysis—so that the existence of norms may be demonstrated—and to avoid getting bogged down in an ideal, value-governed, mythical state of existence. Leach thus raised doubts about the study of kinship values, as had Saran before him, but for almost the opposite reasons. His advice, as I understood it, was to lay aside the people's notions of ideal behaviour and to adopt a statistical concept of customary or normative behaviour: to study people's behaviour itself rather than their ideas about it. One could trace this distrust in what people say or affirm to the many excellent demonstrations of gap between word and deed that exist in ethnographical literature, beginning with Malinowski's monographs on the Trobriand islanders. He had emphasized that the all important ‘imponderablia of actual life’ cannot be grasped except through its intensive observation (1922, pp. 18–22). In other words, Leach exhorted me to concentrate on what one might call (invoking Robertson Smith's celebrated distinction) ‘rituals’ rather than ‘beliefs’. Though rather depressed by his almost total rejection of the proposed focus of my research, I was much relieved that he had not objected to my studying the Pandit kinship system. In fact, he advised me to write down whatever I thought I knew about the subject, and then proceed to check it against field data and thus develop my research. I decided to accept his advice and not insist on a primary focus on values.2 Looking back today at the course of my studies, I think Leach's advice was of help to me in my fieldwork, though his distrust of the study of values underlying interkin relations was exaggerated. A primary concern with values was something I was not equipped to study at that time. It was, therefore, the right thing to have done to concentrate on observable behaviour. I do not mean to suggest that values and ideas were thus eliminated; they never are, at least in the study of kinship, as I was to realize later. But more about this in the last section of this essay.

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* During the next six months I was engaged in preparing for (p.280A) fieldwork. Of my two advisers, Derek Freeman strongly reinforced Leach's advice, stressing the importance of studying the structure of social relationships in terms of concrete rights and obligations. His own exemplary researches on the Iban had been characterized by a wealth of quantitative and qualitative data (Freeman 1970). W.E.H. Stanner drew my attention to the human aspects of fieldwork, and insisted that, in the end, it could really never be learnt; it could only be experienced. At that time (1956) no major fieldwork-based study of Hindu kinship, other than Iravati Karve's general work (1953), was available. Inevitably, I fell back upon the many excellent books on kinship among the peoples of Africa, South-East Asia, and the Pacific. I also read several works on fieldwork methods. A conclusion which I drew from my studies was that, in my proposed study of kinship among Kashmiri Pandits, the sociological census and the genealogical method were going to be of great help and importance to me.3 I saw Freeman's sociological census of the Iban and also several genealogies he had made: I was much impressed by the rich information, spanning generations and embracing several longhouses and settlements, that had been neatly compressed into each such chart. It was then that I decided that one of my major fieldwork tasks would be the collection and interpretation of genealogies as charters for social action and as a record of events that had actually occurred. The process of my adulthood socialization into social science research which had begun at Lucknow University was, in a sense, completed at ANU. I left Canberra fairly clear in my mind— or so I thought—regarding the scope of my research among the Pandits and the manner in which it was to be conducted. That kinship was a major framework in terms of which they organized their social life had been a well-grounded impression. My own experience had been limited, however, by the fact that I had grown up in an urban neighbourhood in which only one other household was related to ours but did not belong to the same family as we did. When I look back today on the choice of kinship as my principal concern, I think religion would have provided an equally valuable point of entry into the culture and society of the Pandits. It would have perhaps led me more directly to the study of values. I am, however, unable now to explain my early decision in this regard.

(p.281A) The Private and the Public My arrival in the village of Utrassu-Umanagri did not create a commotion, and this was precisely what I had hoped for. I was not a total stranger in as much as I was a Kashmiri. There were several outsiders already resident in the village; two Pandit teachers (one of them, like me, belonged to Srinagar), one Pandit patwari (keeper of landownership and revenue records), and a few Muslims. They were living in different houses, each as a tenant or as a guest. Some had their families

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* with them. I too rented half of a house belonging to a Pandit widow and took up residence in it. Apart from my landlady and half a dozen Pandit and Muslim men, no adults took much notice of me during the first few days. My statement that I wanted to live for a year in the village to collect authentic materials for a book about the Pandits was readily accepted by them. The Muslims thought of me as just another Pandit who would need goods and services from them. In fact, the first two persons in the village with whom I entered into a long-term formal relationship were my Pandit landlady and a Muslim milkman who agreed to supply me milk and yoghurt and to work for me as my water-carrier.4 During the first couple of weeks of fieldwork my only fruitful contacts were with teenage children, mostly boys, who were lured by my battery-operated radio set. There was only one other such radio in the village but none in the hamlet of Umanagri where ‘my’ house was located. (The transistor had yet to make its appearance.) My young informants were very enthusiastic and co-operative and greatly appreciated my confidence in them. It took me time to realize the full import of this relationship: in Pandit society the cleavage between age-groups is quite sharp, and it is unusual for children to be taken seriously by adults, even when they are entrusted certain chores. This is why they were appreciative of my attitude towards them and, in return, helpful to me. With their assistance I prepared the list of households. This was the beginning of my census of the village. I found these young informants invariably truthful and maintained my contacts with them throughout my stay in the field. (p.282A) My next step was to make calls and to explain to the people my research interests in some detail. It soon became clear to me that though the people themselves are very intimately involved and interested in their own kinship sysyem—in the ideals and moral values they affirm as well as in the daily events of domestic life— there was a hiatus between their interests and mine. For them these events, and the relations between kinsfolk, carried a heavy emotional load and clearly belonged to the realm of private life. It was obvious to them, and to me, that my inquiries would destroy the prized privacy of domestic life by rendering it public. I tried to overcome this problem by pointing out to them that my interest—in particular events and relationships—was solely for the purpose of writing a general account of the Pandit kinship system, and that I could solemnly promise not to embarrass any household or family by exposing their privacy and secrets. Somewhat reassured, they still declined to answer specific questions. I found myself constrained to dwell on the general, such as rules of behaviour, customary obligations and rights, and so on. This bothered me: my decision had

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* been to arrive at general statements through the collection of concrete data about specific events. This was the first of the many trials of my fieldwork. Fortunately for me the problem solved itself. I found that the Pandits soon tired of discussing general rules, and themselves brought in concrete illustrative material from their own and each other's families. I took my cue and carefully avoided direct questions of a delicate nature about an informant's own family or household, and let him lead me to them. It was thus that the data I so badly needed started coming in, meagrely at first, with the informant exercising a fair degree of control over what he was revealing, but in ample measure and more freely as time passed. A Pandit has the most intense relations of love and hatred with his own kinsfolk. His life is inextricably involved in the affairs of his household: a ritual for the manes, his son's initiation, his daughter's wedding. As already stated, my informants found my interest in such events in general less irksome than my curiosity about particular households; they also found it less understandable. Why should one spend one's time inquiring about the domestic life of others when the responsibilities to one's own family would teach one everything that there was to know? My interests must have seemed rather idle, if not odd, to them. Quite early during my fieldwork I was advised by some of the people I had come to know (p.283A) to get in touch with a particular villager, Sarwanand Pandit by name; the implication, perhaps, was that I should leave the others alone. As I have said above (pp. 270–1) I met my rara avis in him. Sarwanand turned out to be a bachelor in his early fifties, a scion of one of the most respected and rich families of the village. He was literate, like most other Pandit men, and had also attended a commercial-art school at Srinagar for some time. He had never worked for a living, however. He did not have to as he was a landowner. Being unmarried, he had no family of his own, but his step-mother, step-brother, and the latter's wife and child, were living with him. Sarwanand was an intelligent but a lonely and shy man. He had the natural gift of a prodigious memory and had applied it to an interest in the domestic affairs of the Pandits of the village, some of them constituting his own kindred. He was well informed about the 200-year-old history of the hamlet of Umanagri and of the origins of the different Pandit families in the village. He had even kept a written record of some particularly notable events in the village during his own lifetime. His fellow villagers thought Sarwanand a rather eccentric person: not having a family of his own, he yet was almost obsessively interested in other people's domestic affairs. Denied the opportunity of involvement in intimate relationships and events, he had developed, it seemed to me, an interest in them generally.

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* It was obvious to me that Sarwanand was some kind of a born ethnographer. Inevitably, we became friends. For him, his discovery of the role of ethnographer was a deeply appreciated vindication of a lifelong interest. For me, my meeting with him was one of the real satisfactions and joys of my fieldwork in Kashmir. I had found in him the key informant that the ethnographer invariably seeks and cultivates (Casagrande 1960). The opposition between the public and the private, the general and the particular, got resolved in his person. He was a source of information about the private and appreciated the legitimacy of making it public. Our dialogues soon developed into group discussions as more and more Pandits assumed the role of informant. The way to this satisfactory situation had led, as I have described, through a period of trial, which had luckily been short. The Pandits’ reluctance to talk about their family lives was gradually overcome. Sarwanand remained a principal informant throughout my fieldwork, for he knew so much; but even he did not have the answers to all my (p.284A) questions. Limitations of space preclude my giving many examples; I will discuss just one major problem to which I had to find my own solution.

Kinsfolk and Strangers By the time I completed my census of the village, I had talked with practically all the adult men among the 522 Pandits, with many children, and with some women. I never was able to meet with all the women but only with young girls and relatively old women. Pandit etiquette ruled out any but the most restricted contact between nubile girls and young married women on the one hand and an adult male stranger on the other. This limitation was never overcome and undoubtedly affected the quality of the materials I was able to obtain, but imposed no limitations on the quantitative dimensions of the census I had taken.5 In about three months after the commencement of fieldwork, I was ready to employ the genealogical method of investigation to the Pandit kinship system (see Rivers 1900 and 1910). As stated above, I had great expectations of its potentialities. My enthusiasm suffered an immediate set-back when I found that the Pandits were singularly lacking in an interest in the subject of pedigrees.6 This came to me as a surprise for two reasons. I had already become aware of the strong patrilineal ideology in Pandit society and this had made me expect that pedigrees would be an important item in its cultural kit-bag. Moreover, given the facts that the Pandits have a tradition of literary achievement—that is why they are so called—and almost all men are literate, I had expected that some families might even be in possession of written pedigrees. I was, however, mistaken: there was not a single household which had such records. The only written material bearing upon pedigrees that were mentioned to me were the registers (bahi) of the ritual functionaries, Pandas, at the nearby pilgrim town of Mattan, (p.285A) about thirteen kilometres from UtrassuUmanagri. Two households of the village had marriage ties with these Pandas,7 Page 9 of 20

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* and through their help I was able to examine some registers. These interesting documents, the valued possessions of Panda households, contain the record of their clientele (yajaman). Every three years, during the Brahmanical leap year, Hindu pilgrims from all over Kashmir and north India, and from even remoter areas, flock to the holy springs and streams of Mattan to offer oblations to their manes. To perform the ritual (shraddka); a man needs the services of a Panda, who also looks after the visitor's requirements of food and shelter, all in exchange for the traditional ‘fee’ (dakshina). As soon as a pilgrim arrives, he is subjected to a volley of questions regarding his family and gotra names, places of ancestral and present residence, and so on. Each register establishes the claim of a particular Panda household to all the patron-clients from certain specified areas. Employing a method of indices, the register is read at a particular page, which gives the dates and other details of earlier visits by the same pilgrim or his agnatic kinsmen, dead or alive. The claim established, the details of the present visit are entered in the register, including the names of the visitor's close kin, for future reference. Distinguished visitors are accorded the privilege of making the entries in their own hand. The registers in the possession of the Panda households contain information about others, including non-Kashmiris, but not about themselves. Moreover, they do not contain enough data for the construction of genealogies. Women are rarely mentioned, and even the records about men are scattered as the registers are divided at the time of a household partition, the clientele being treated as property. Duplicate or incomplete entries, similarity of names, and other sources of confusion are not rare. I saw the Pandas fight among themselves, brandishing the long registers covered in crimson cloth, seeking to establish claim over a visitor, while he helplessly awaited the outcome of the wrangle! In the circumstances it seemed as though I would have to assume the role and responsibility of a genealogist, and write down on paper what surely the Pandits had stored in their memories. I was again disappointed: they seemed to remember very little. Even with goading from the well-informed Sarwanand, few Pandits (p.286A) remembered much about their kinsfolk and affines beyond three ascendant generations and two degrees of cousinship, unless the relatives were their co-villagers. Few informants remembered the names of even their lineal ancestors beyond about four or five generations. The information about collateral kin was very difficult to obtain. Informants would quickly lose interest in the subject and plead their ignorance. The most detailed genealogy that I was able to construct had a depth of seven ascendant generations but it was very inadequate in its collateral spread even at lower levels. Female agnates often constitute full stops: one might call them the chopped off branches of the lanky genealogical tree.8 Information about the natal relatives of in-coming wives turns out to be even more limited.

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* In view of the importance that had been placed on the ‘genealogical method’ in the course of my preparatory studies at Canberra, I was much harassed by the situation unfolded by fieldwork. I was fairly confident that information was not being held back from me, but that only increased my puzzlement.9 The problem that faced me was this. The Pandits seemingly were aware that written pedigrees were useful documents, but their utility obviously lay in their being concerned, not with one's kinsfolk, but with strangers, namely the pilgrims who came to perform rituals for their manes. For a Panda the pedigrees in his possession were his guarantee of legitimate income. My own expectation had been that it would be one's own pedigree that would be judged as a valuable document. Once again, there was a lack of consonance between my definition of the situation and the people's conception of it. And my informants certainly could not help me in my predicament for they would not acknowledge its validity. I was on my own. If the Pandits are lacking in an interest in pedigrees, I argued, how do they find their way about in matters in which such knowledge would have served as a guide?10 It seemed to me that the principal (p.287A) utility of pedigrees for the people themselves would lie in the location of one's kinsfolk in social space, and in their categorization for various purposes, notably: (1) avoidance of breaches of the rule prohibiting marriage between people related by blood; and (2) observation of a period of pollution, and the attendant restraints, following births and deaths among one's patrilineal kin. Less importantly, perhaps, pedigrees would guide one's conduct in cases of conflict among one's kinsfolk, some of whom might be more distant than others and, therefore, less deserving of support. A relatively easy clue to the situation seemed to be offered by the nature and significance of gotra names among the Pandits. As I have discussed elsewhere (Madan 1962a), though not all persons bearing the same gotra name are agnatically related, patrilineal kin invariably have the same gotra name. Their patrilineal ideology makes the Pandits very anxious about even an unwitting breach of the rule prohibiting marriage between agnates with a common ancestor in the sixth or a lower generation. The rule of gotra exogamy takes care of this proscription with economy of effort and with certainty. Obviously, it is so much easier to remember one's gotra name even when it is a mouthful, such as Deva-Vatsa-Upamanya-Laugakhya, than to memorize or keep a record of one's pedigree. Gotra exogamy, then, takes care of one's agnates, negatively, in respect of marriages that must not take place. How about the obligation to avoid marriage with non-agnatic cognates? Though the prohibited degrees in respect of them, according to the Dharmashastra, are narrower than in the case of agnates by two ascendant generations, even so a large number of people scattered over Page 11 of 20

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* many villages are involved. In practice, the Pandits seem to follow a simple procedure: ideally, a man should not take a known kinswoman as his wife. All his female relatives in his own and adjacent villages are thus excluded from the category of potential spouses. The closeness or otherwise of cousinship is simply not reckoned. A man may however take as his wife any woman, resident in a distant village, who is separated from him by more than two degrees of cousinship, though he really ought not to do so. Half a dozen such cases of marriage were cited to me. Pandit practice in this respect accords well with their kinship terminology in which specification is abandoned after two degrees of cousinship and the blanket terms of piter (agnates) and ashnav (non-agnatic cognates) are employed. In other words, beyond two degrees of cousinship, it (p.288A) is vicinage rather than genealogical connection which emerges as the deciding factor in settling marriages. I believe this to be a most important underlying principle of the Pandit kinship system (see above, pp. 168–70). In respect of the observation of pollution, my inquiries of actual practice as against the rules, once again revealed the importance of vicinage. It is obligatory that, in the event of a birth or death, all one's agnates falling within the innermost circles of brothers and of first and second cousins must be informed, wherever they are at the time. For the recipient of the message, pollution begins from the moment he hears of it. In case of remoter agnates, no messages may be sent if they are not one's co-villagers nor living in an adjacent village. My bewilderment and anxiety about the Pandits’ indifference to pedigrees led me to appreciate fully the importance of vicinage in their kinship system. It became clear to me that, beyond certain limits, kinship is territorially validated. One might say that, what the Pandits do not store in memory, they mark on the ground. By compressing and coding a substantial part of knowledge about kinship ties in territorial terms, the Pandits have devised a cultural means of easy and efficient information management. The conflict between the Pandits’ conception of pedigrees and mine was resolved through my discovery of the definition and importance of social space in their culture. I had arrived at this conclusion by imputing to pedigrees certain functions which I thought they ought to perform. In other words, I was trying to step completely outside the culture, as it were, and look upon it with the uncomprehending eyes of an observer. This act of ‘desocialization’ became a fruitful heuristic device for me to attain understanding of Pandit culture; in a way, to achieve ‘resocialization’ into the society of my birth.

Conclusion—Outsiders and Insiders The purpose of social anthropological research is generally defined as the study and understanding of social behaviour in diverse ecological and cultural settings. Traditionally, such research has been a pursuit of Western scholars outside their own ‘natural habitat’ and has understandably been defined as the Page 12 of 20

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* study of ‘other cultures’, ‘natives’, or ‘alien peoples’. Twentieth century anthropology has prided itself on its emancipation from (p.289A) the ethnocentrism of earlier days; it has sworn by different degrees and shades of cultural relativism and functionalism. Its chosen task has been to make sense of ‘strange’ ways of thought and living by laying bare their underlying rationality or situational logic (Gellner 1963 and Jarvie 1964). The only recognized and trusted procedure adequate to the above task has been fieldwork; the intensive observation and recording of the flow of events ‘out there’ in the field, be it the Amazonian jungles, African deserts, New Guinea highlands, or wherever. Fieldwork has been now accepted as an indispensable rite de passage in the making of a modern anthropologist for whom the rich book-lined study of an English home, or the comfortable sun-shaded deck chair of an expeditionary boat in the tropics, is no longer good enough as a vantage point. Observations made in the field are supplemented by intensive, though generally informal, questioning of the people under study as regards the purpose and meaning of what they do. The medium of communication is ideally the native tongue. A well-defined theme, arid probably a set of hypotheses, are expected to provide the crystallizing points round which data collection will be organized. A theory of social behaviour or action, derived from the corpus of social science, finally guides the interpretation of the data when the fieldworker is back home (Evans-Pritchard 1951b, pp. 64–85). Fieldwork as described above may well be called the act, or the feat, of living intimately with strangers. It is the dualism inherent in this situation which yields understanding. The anthropologist is an outsider trying to become enough of an insider to understand what the insiders do and how they make sense of it. As Pehrson put it to his informants, ‘I want to become a Lapp so that my people may learn something of your people’ (1957, p. iv): a statement hard to improve upon. In more formal terminology, the anthropologist looks upon his subjects, and their actions and beliefs, ‘from without’ and ‘from within’ (Dumont and Pocock 1960, p. 84). The balance between the two competing yet complementary points of view must be maintained: the researcher must steer clear of the Scylla of ignoring the native point of view and the Charybdis of ‘going native’. Disregard of the native point of view seems to me to be the greater of the two dangers. The number of scholars who gave up anthropology to mingle with the natives must be very small. The best known case is, probably, of the German scholar who went to (p.290A) study Indians in the Amazonian jungles and never returned. He took the partly native name of Curt Nimuendaju. Even he did not, however, completely forsake his earlier life-style. Frank Cushing, the celebrated student of the Zuni Indians has left behind his fieldwork data which he would not publish because of his emotional identification with the people; but Page 13 of 20

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* he never became a Zuni (Paul 1953, p. 435 and Baldus 1946). In India, Verrier Elwin became very close indeed to the tribal people, married among them, and became an Indian citizen. He too never quite ceased to be the Englishman that he was (Elwin 1964). The phrase ‘participant observation’, generally applied to anthropological fieldwork, creates a misleading impression about the researcher's capacity for a special effort of empathy. Many scholars have, I think, overrated both its desirability and possibility (Evans-Pritchard 1951b pp. 75–85 and, for a more detailed discussion, Whyte 1953, pp. 279–360). The fear about the danger of being swallowed up by the ‘native’ culture—at least being misled by indigenous categories of thought—is a result of the foregoing misconception. In fact, participant observation poses challenges of a different genre: it involves deliberate role playing and what has been called ‘impression management’. The parties involved in the encounter know this, judging by the manner in which roles arc adjusted and altered on either side (Berreman 1962b). If full participant observation is neither necessary nor possible, so is a wholly external point of view a chimera. An overweening emphasis on externally observable behaviour, to the neglect of the ideas of the people, their beliefs and avowed purposes, is a fieldwork recommendation that no one could ever follow and yet succeed in his task. The relationship between beliefs and actions is pragmatic and not contingent. The statistical regularities, or deviations from them, are social facts (‘things’), but they become meaningful to actors only in terms of their value system. At the same time, the validity of certain valueimperatives in a society could be said to be independent of the frequency with which they might be shown to inform different spheres of social life. Filial piety is a value in Kashmiri Pandit society, not because most of the sons can be shown to observe its implications most of the time, and despite the fact that some sons maltreat their parents. We must distinguish between essential and general truths and try to apprehend the relationship between them. The opposition between ‘beliefs’ and ‘rituals’ is, I suggest, false: (p.291A) their true relationship is one of complementarity. If the evasion of people's ideas is to be justified in terms of the notion of ‘false consciousness’, one is obliged to follow this theoretical stance to its logical conclusion: examine such consciousness to expose what it covers. In short, one simply cannot just brush aside the ideas of the people: the alternatives are either to consciously confront them or to let them enter surreptitiously into one's work. In my own fieldwork, the ideas of people assumed an increasingly compelling character as my research, developed beyond the quantitative aspects of the household census. It is in this sense, I think, that the anthropologist's view ‘from without’ is not equivalent to the external vantage point of the natural scientist: it is incomplete (Dumont and Pocock 1960, p. 84 and Madan 1966a, p. 12; also see Dumont

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* 1966c). This is, in fact, the bane of sociological functioualism: it teaches us to rest content with incomplete descriptions. The foregoing considerations do not enter in quite the same way into the making of the perspectives of a researcher who chooses to study his own society.11 He is placed in a particularly difficult position: he is an insider who takes up the posture of an outsider, by virtue of his training as an anthropologist or a sociologist, and looks at his. own culture, hoping to be surprised. If he is, only then may he achieve new understandings. The insider-outsider dichotomy can never be a stark opposition in his case, nor indeed must it be allowed to break down. The encounter between anthropology and a culture in the person of the ‘native’ researcher is a dialectical, and therefore, productive one. I completely agree with Dumont (1966c, p. 23): ‘Duality, or tension, is here the condition sine qua non of social anthropology or, if one likes, of sociology of a deeper kind.’ Lévi-Strauss (1963, p. 58) evocatively calls the anthropologist ‘an amputated man’. If one may persist with this metaphor, the attempt to study one's own culture and society is the act of simultaneous amputation and restoration. Indeed, one might say that a person becomes truly whole, or wholly human, only through the study of his own society. In anthropological research great value (at times bordering on a kind of mystique) has come to be attached to the study of ‘other cultures’; only such an undertaking has been deemed to be enough (p.292A) of an intellectual and physical challenge. The virtues of cultivated empathy are, therefore, extolled; so overwhelming is this point of view that even anthropologists who have studied their own society have come to subscribe to it, at least in some measure (Srinivas 1966, pp. 155–7). The study of a society other than one's own is, undoubtedly, important in itself; it could also be heuristically useful in refining one's conceptual tools which might later be employed in the study of one's own society. To maintain that the study of ‘foreign’ societies advances sociological understanding more than the study of one's own society (Dumont 1966c, p. 23), or to suggest that the former is a prerequisite for the latter (Srinivas 1966c, p. 155), seem to me overstated positions. The starting point of one's studies may well be one's own society, and empathy is not the only or the principal methodological precept in the understanding of social life everywhere. It is not so much empathy as detachment—Dumont would call it ‘distantiation’ (1966c, p.23)—that is the ability to step outside and look back, sharp and deep, at one's own culture which a scholar studying his own society has unremittingly to cultivate. And it is not easy. Malinowski wrote about the Trobriand Islanders, perhaps in a fit of depression: ‘I see the life of the natives as utterly devoid of interest or importance, something as remote from me as the life of a dog’ (1967, p. 167). Needless to say, my own attitude towards the Pandits, even on the most luckless of days, was very different: I felt personally involved, no matter how slightly, in their affairs and fortunes. This naturally Page 15 of 20

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* worried me, watchful as I had been advised to be of the dangers of subjective bias. Matters were made more difficult by the fact that, as was plain to me from quite early in my fieldwork, the people among whom I lived expected me to abide by the basic rules of social, moral, and ritual conduct prevalent among them. Once it was accepted by most villagers that there must be good reasons for a person to spend a year among them, obviously at considerable expense, to study their way of life in order to be able to write about it, they also accepted the new role of informant for themselves. The degree of the acceptance of this situation varied considerably from person to person. There were Pandits, fortunately a small minority, who never went beyond the exchange of politely restricted salutations with me. What is important is that even those who accepted the ethnographer-informant relationship willingly or enthusiastically, implied that Pandit culture and society had to be the overall setting for our relationship. (p.293A) Such a definition of their relationship with me imposed two kinds of restraint on my inquiries. Early during the fieldwork, my inquiries about the basic norms of social intercourse caused puzzlement among my informants: ‘Surely you must know?’ would be the usual query. I had to plead that, given my upbringing in an urban area, and my prolonged studies outside Kashmir (my desocialization), I did not always know what I ought to know. This produced a positive response, I think, mainly because they believed me but, probably, also because some of them saw in the situation their opportunity to reclaim (resocialize) me. Consequently, I was expected to observe even more faithfully the fundamental rules of social intercourse prevalent among them. The situation became more difficult with the passage of time: improving rapport with the villagers only meant that more insistent, though not always deliberate, efforts were made to absorb me, and my wife, into village life. I will very briefly give just two examples of the kind of situations that developed. (1) I was asked on a few occasions during the later part of my stay in the village to intervene in some family disputes about property. In the process I was given access to materials about conflict among kinsfolk that I had found very difficult to obtain in the course of my inquiries. This raised for me the ethical problem of what use 1 might make of what I had come to know. It was obvious that at least some households had taken me into the domain of their privacy, and thus bound me to secrecy. (2) Significantly, on the day of my wife's final departure from the village, a few days before my own, one of my best informants, Vasadev Pandit, took us to his home and solemnly announced in the presence of his household members that, from that day, he would regard my wife as his sister.12 To seal this bond, he requested her to name his infant daughter after herself. It is clear that, by this act, he was seeking to establish a new and permanent (p.294A) bond between Page 16 of 20

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* me and himself (and the Pandit community of the village), overriding the temporary and, in the eyes of a Kashmiri villager, the less valued relationship between ethnographer and informant. The tension between the two roles was thus being symbolically overcome, at least so far as Vasadev was concerned. In the process, the other oppositions mentioned by me in the course of this essay were also being placed in their proper perspective. I realized this only later, by hindsight. I was, after all had been said and done, not living intimately with strangers (the original anthropological situation) but as a stranger among intimates. Tension was the essence of this situation too. In the 1930s an African tribal chief and a Chinese mandarin became anthropologists and wrote monographs about their own respective societies. They knew they were doing something unusual, and so did their mentor, Bronislaw Malinowski. Introducing Jomo Kenyatta's Facing Mount Kenya (1938), he asked why it should be necessary to justify the claims of an African to write about his own tribe, when a European's competence to observe his own society is not questioned. The dictum that anthropology begins at home must apply to everybody, he admonished. Soon afterwards, Malinowski wrote even more forcefully in his Foreword to Fei Hsiao-Tung's Peasant Life in China (1939): ‘If it is true that self-knowledge is the most difficult to gain, then undoubtedly an anthropology of one's own people is the most arduous, but also the most valuable achievement of a fieldworker’ (xiii)13 (p.295A) The value of the fruits of one's fieldwork must, surely, be left to others to judge; in my own personal experience its joys have more than compensated the trials14 (p.296A) Notes:

(*) I owe warm thanks to Leela and S. C. Dube, Satish Saberwal, and Jit Singh Uberoi for their comments on an earlier draft of this paper. It is reproduced here from André Bétéille and T. N. Madan, eds., 1975, Encounter and Experience: Personal Accounts of Fieldwork, New Delhi and Honolulu. (1) For his views on the importance of language competence in fieldwork, see Nadel (1951, pp. 39–48). This impressive book had come into our hands a couple of years earlier and seemed to me to do some of the things that d. P. Mukerji used to ask for in his lectures. I had not found it an easy book to read, particularly its later portion; there was something cloying about its prolixity and forbidding about its psychology—at least for me. I was, nevertheless, much influenced by it. (2) It may be of interest to recall here that Leach was at this time doing fieldwork in Ceylon (now Sri Lanka). In the hook based on it (1961b) he was to write later on; ((i) ‘It is my thesis that jural rules and statistical norms should be treated as separate frames of reference, but the former should always bt Page 17 of 20

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* considered secondary to the latter’ (p. 9, emphasis added). (ii) ‘… I want to insist that kinship systems have no reality at all except in relation to land and property. What social anthropologists call kinship structure is just a way of talking about property relations which can also be talked about in other ways’ (p. 305, emphasis added). (3) Cf. Rivers (1924, p. 53): ‘I define kinship … as relationship which is determined, and can be described, by means of genealogies’. (4) For an analysis of traditional Pandit-Muslim relations in rural Kashmir, see Madan (1972). It may be noted here that my interest in the Muslims was aroused only after several months of stay in the village. (5) The problem seems to be both general and persistent. Vatuk, who did fieldwork in two city wards in north India in 1966–67, writes: ‘Because I was in a society where considerable segregation of the sexes is customary I obtained most of my data from talking to women and observing their activites’ (1972, p. 203). (6) I have followed here the useful distinction between pedigrees and genealogies made by Barnes (1967, p. 103). ‘I propose to extend the practice of many genealogists ‥ by using the word “pedigree” for a genealogical statement made orally, diagramatically, or in writing by an actor or informant.… By “genealogy”, in the concrete sense, I mean a genealogical statement made by an ethnographer as a part of his field record or of its analysis.’ (7) The Pandas are a small specialist group, distinct from family priests, and attached to a place of pilgrimage. (8) A Kashmiri proverb says: ‘Born a daughter in the family, I grew up to become a stranger.’ (9) Later publications (Mayer 1960, p. 203 and Dumont 1966c, pp. 104f.) attest to the widespread lack of interest in pedigrees among the Hindus of north India, other than Rajputs perhaps. (10) See Barnes (1967, p. 103): ‘The genealogy conforms to the logic of the system, and in analysis we use genealogies collected in the field along with other evidence to infer the properties of the kinship system generating them. In this sense the genealogy is an analytical idol used by those who study kinship. But in another sense it is a tool used by the actors who operate, and not merely observe, kinship systems.’ (11) This is, of course, the minority, if not the heretical, tradition in anthropology as it has been practised in Europe, Britain and the USA. It is obvious, however, that in most of the world today the study of one's own society by social anthropologists is emerging as a primary concern no less than it is among Page 18 of 20

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* sociologists. It is in this sense, among others, that the distinction between social anthropology and sociology is obsolete. (12) I interrupted my fieldwork after it had been in progress for five months to get married to, as it happened, a non-Kashmiri Pandit. Those of the villagers who had by then come to know me fairly well did not conceal their pleasure when they learned that my wife was a Brahman. Their disapproval of her not being a Kashmiri was never voiced: restraint in such matters is a basic principle of social intercourse among the Pandits. She was treated with considerable courtesy though she aroused much curiosity on account of ‘her inability to speak Kashmiri and (to quote the village school second master, a Pandit) her ‘sixteen years of education as compared to my fourteen’! My wife and i were soon able to settle down to a pattern of domestic life which was largely indistinguishable from that of other Pandits in the village. (13) I do not mean to suggest that the tradition of studying one's own society is unknown outside contemporary social anthropology. The point I am trying to make by referring to the books by Kenyatta and Fei is that social anthropology took very long to realize the potential of such studies. The worldwide acclaim with which Chie Nakane's Japanese Society (1970) has been justly received is, therefore, heartening. The current interest in indigenous categories of thought and the so-called ‘cultural analysis’ among anthropologists at Oxford, Chicago, and elsewhere is also welcome, but I am not really able to evaluate it yet. The term ‘ethnosociology’ that has been used in this connection makes me uncomfortable. The danger of reinforcing the opposition between the views from within and from without lurks behind such a notion. (Also see fn. 11 above). (14) I read Leach's essay ‘Ourselves and the Others’ (1973) only after this paper had been completed. I find his remarks about participant observation most interesting. He writes that Malinowski substituted the ‘illusion’ of ‘complete subjective understanding’ through ‘participant observation’ in place of ‘the illusion of objectivity’. He however found ‘to his chagrin’ that ‘the others remained obstinately other’. He discovered an ‘incompatibility’ between doing ethnography and participating in ‘Trobriand daily life as a human being. It is an incompatibility which all of Malinowski's successors, when fully honest with themselves, have had to recognize’ (772). It is a pity that Leach's discussion of the relationship of anthropologists (‘ourselves’) to ‘the others’ they study had to (it into a symposium on British social anthropology. It is obvious that, within this tradition, the opposition implied in Leach's title must remain unresolved. He does mention non-British ‘members of the profession’ from Africa and Asia, but does not examine their significance for the sociology of their own societies, or for social anthropology. The methodological problems that a Trobriand Islander wanting to study his own people would face can hardly be lacking in interest to Malinowski's successors. Page 19 of 20

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Appendix VI On Living Intimately with Strangers* Nor, surprisingly, does Leach discuss the implications of Levi-Strauss's fundamental position that, in the ultimate analysis, no cultures arc alien or ‘the other’ to any human being for we are all united in the common structure of the mind: ‘Myself is no more opposed to others than man is opposed to the world: the truths learnt through man are “of the world”, and they are important for this reason. This explains why I regard anthropology as the principle of all research …’ (1966, p. 248).

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Glossary

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.297A) Glossary A number of words and phrases of Pandit speech have been used in the book, either as actually spoken or as they occur in Sanskrit or Persian which are major lexical sources of Kashmiri. Given below is a glossary of the more important of such words. The meanings given have been provided by Pandit informants or inferred from everyday usage. It may be noted that K stands for Kashmiri, S for Sanskrit and P for Persian. Each entry, or each first entry, is reproduced from the text. If necessary, the word or phrase is repeated with diacritical marks. If it is not a Kashmiri word, and the same is available, the latter follows the former. In transcribing Sanskrit and Persian words, the usual method is followed. In the case of Kashmiri words, the following may be noted (1) There is only one ‘sh’ sound, shown as ŝ, between ‘ś’ (श) and ‘ṣ’ (ष). (2) ‘ts’ is a soft c (च). (3) A final consonant with a raised ‘i’ following it (ri, ni) indicates declension, not a short ‘i’ (इ). (4) ‘a’ is a weak ‘ă’ (भ) sound. (5) ‘ə’ has a value close to ‘e’ in the English word ‘her’ or to ‘u’ in ‘closure’. The long ‘ə̄’ is like ‘e’ in ‘pert’ or ‘u’ in ‘curt’. I should emphasize that these diacritical marks or conventions prividc only approximations of some of the sounds peculiar to spoken Kashmiri. abhipray (S), abhiprāya Purpose, goal, intention achara (S), ācāra ātsār (K) Rule-governed behaviour ada (K), adă An exclamation to stress the axiomatic character of a statement. ‘What else?’ ‘No reason need be given’ ahamkara (S), akaṁkāra ahankār (K) Ego, egoism amati (K), āmati Page 1 of 9

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Glossary Those who have arrived: in-marrying spouses, usually wives ananda (S), ānanda ānand (K) Joy, spiritual bliss (p.298A) andyuth (K), also andpyaṭh (K) Marriage without involving exchange of women between wife-givers and wife-takers annaprashana (S), annaprāśana anaprāŝan The ritual of a child's first feeding of cereals antaratma (s), antāratmā Inner (true) self anugraha (S) anugreh (K) Divine-blessing or grace artha (S) Wealth, material possessions, as one of the four goals of life. See puruṣārtha ashnav (K), ə̄ŝhnāv cf. āshnā (P) Non-agnatic kin; hence asnavi, non-agnatic kinship atmagyana (K), ātmagyān cf. atmajñāna (S) Higher knowledge of the self babther (K), babtṅər Brother's son bachaparast (P) Worshipper of children. The reference is to Pandit women baikakin (K), baikākani Brother's wife baradari (P), barādarī Brotherhood, community bawza (K), bāwza Brother's daughter beni (K) Sister benther (K), benthər Sister's son benza (K), benza Sister's daughter Bhatta (S), Bhaṭṭa Baṭṭa, Baṭa (K) Ethonym of Kashmiri Pandits Bhattani (K) Baṭṭan i Kashmiri Pandit woman Bhattil (K) Bhaṭṭil The Pandit way of life bija (S), bīja bīz (K) Seed, semen boi (K) Page 2 of 9

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Glossary Brother budbab (K), buḍibab Father's/mother's father byol (K), byōl Seed, semen chakdar (P) chakdār Owner of agricultural land; absentee landowner (p.299A) ched (K), ced Patience, self-control chintan (S), cintan centan (K) Introspection chitta (S), citta ceth (K) Consciousness, memory chhog (K), tshōg Head-top tuft of hair worn by ritually initiated Pandit males ḍahasarnskar (S), dāhasarnskāra The ritual of burning the dead body dakshina (S), dakṣinā dakhinā (K) Money given to a priest for helping to perform rituals dana (S), dāna dān (K) Gift-giving as part of a ritual, e.g. kanyādāna (q.v.) dejahur (K), dejahor Gold ear-pendants worn by married Pandit women derkakin (K) derkākani Husband's brother's wife dharma (S) dharam (K) Moral duty, righteous conduct; one of the four goals of life driyakasam (K), drəykasam Oath; ceremonial promise-giving between households prior to marriage drui (K) Husband's brother duniya-dar (P), duniyā-dār Worldly preson; upholder of social norms. Hence duniyā-dārī, behaviour appropriate to such a person gandun (K),ganḍun Binding, betrothal garbadhana (S), garbādhāna Internalization, i.e. receiving, of semen; ritual to protect the foetus gara (K), gara cf. ghara (S) House, home garavajin (K), garavājeni Householder woman, householder's wife garhasthya (S), gārhasthya Page 3 of 9

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Glossary Householder's way of life gari-pyath (K), gari-pyaṭh ‘At home’: a marriage under which the husband goes to live with his wife's parents (p.300A) Gor (K), Gōr Priest grihastha (S), gṛhastha grehasth (K) Householder's way of life; involvement in and burden of domestic affairs hahar (K) Wife's Brother hash (K), haŝ Mother-in-law hawalyat (K), hawə̄yat Preordained relations, particularly between parents and children hihur (K) Father-in-Law howur (K), howur Wife's natal family hyol-dyol (K) ‘Taking-giving’; prestations from a wife-giving to a wife-taking household ihaloka (S) yahilūkh (K) This world; this life (in contrast to the life hereafter) jada (S), jaḍa zaḍ (K) Dull-witted, unintelligent jadad (K), jādād cf. jāidād (P) Immovable property jiva (S), jīva zīv (K) Sentient being kahanethar (K), kaharuthər Ritual of purification of child soon after birth kama (S), kāma Desire, sexuality, as one of the four goals of life kamini (S), kāmini Woman, as an object of desire kanyadana (S), kanyādāna The giving of a maiden in marriage as a gift karkun (P), kārkun ‘Worker’; Pandit subcaste karma (S) karam (K) Worldly action, ritual action, fate karta (S), kartā Manager of household owning property Page 4 of 9

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Glossary khandan (P), khañdān Family. The adjective khāndānī stands for noble family, one having a distinguished lineage (p.301A) kol (K) cf. kula (S) Lineage kolai (K) Wife kotamb (K) cf. kutumba (s) Family kshanabhangur (S),kṣnabhangur khyanabangur (K) That which may dissolve momentarily—for example human body kriya (S), kryā kreyā (K) Ritual performance, e.g. funeral rites or tantric rites kur (K), kūr Daughter lankaran (K) Gifts for bride and her parents from the bridegroom's family at the time of the wedding—symbolic of support mahant (S) Manager of an estate attached to a shrine maj (K), mə̄j Mother malyun (K), mālyun A woman's natal family mam (K), mām Mother's brother mama nabad (K), māma nābad ‘Maternal uncle's candy’: gift for bridegroom's maternal uncle from the bride's family mamin (K), māmăni Mother's brother's wife mantra (S) manthar (K) Incantation mas (K), mās Mother's sister masuv (K),māsuv Mother's sister's husband matamal (K), mātāmāl Mother's natal family matri-rin (S), mātṛ ṛṇa matri-ren (K) The debt a man owes his mother for giving him birth. Term used more by male than female speakers maya (S) māyā Illusion, irreality Page 5 of 9

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Glossary mekhal (K) cf. mekhālā (S) Girdle worn by ritually initiated men. The ritual of investing a boy with the mekhalā and the yajñopavīta (p.302A) mlechchha (S), mleccha maletsh (K) Impure outsider or non-Pandit, Muslim moksha (S), moksṣa mūkhi (K) Liberation from the cycle of birth, death and rebirth; the fourth goal of life mol (K), mōl Father nani (K), nāni Father's/mother's mother nechuv (K), necuv Son nethar (K), nēthər Marriage nityakarma (S) netyakaram (K) Daily routine of ritual performances papa (S), pāpa paph (K) Morally reprehensible conduct, evil, sin paraloka (S) paralūkh (K) The world hereafter path (S), pāṭh Recitation of sacred texts pati (P) păti (K) Hamlet, sub-village peter (K), petər Father's brother pechani (K), pecani Father's brother's wife pinda (S), piṇḍa penḍ (K) Ball of rice; hence piṇḍadāna, gift of food to manes pof (K) Father's sister pofakar (K), pofăkăr Ceremonial roles of father's sister pofuv (K) Father's sister's husband prarabdha (S), prārabdha prārabad, prālabad (K) Predestination puja (S) pūjā pūzā (K) Ritual of adoration; prayer punya (S) punya poni (K) Meritorious action Page 6 of 9

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Glossary pur (S) pūr (K) Residential area inside a village purushartha (S), puruṣārtha poraŝārth (K) Goals oflife according to the Brahmanical ideology, viz. dharma (q.v.), artha (q.v.), kāma (q.v.), and mokṣa (q.v.) (p.303A) puruzanmuk lenden (K) The give-and-take of the previous life; karma rachan-dod (K), rachan-dōd The ‘pangs’ or emotional stronghold of rearing chldren, in contrast to the pangs of bearing, zena-dōd (q.v.) rina (S), ṛṇa ren (K) Debt, particularly the notion of ritual debts to ancestors, as, for example, māṭṛ-ṛṇa (q.v.) run (K), rūn Husband sadh (K), sād cf. sādhū (S) Holy person, renouncer sal (K), sāl Wife's sister samsara (S), saṁsāra saṁsār (K) Flow of worldly events; the tyranny of worldly life santosh (K) santoŝ cf. santoṣa (S) Contentment, spiritual peace shanka (S), śankā śēnkh (K) Doubt, moral dilemma, perplexity shapa (S), śāpa ŝāph (K) Curse (usually curse pronounced by a person with supernatural powers) sharir-samskar (S), śarīra-saṁskara ŝarīr-saṁaskâr (K) Rituals for the good (moral refinement) of the body, e.g. mekhalā (q.v.) shaucha (S), śauca ŝrūc (K) Purity shubha (S), śubha ŝobh (K) Auspicious shuddha (S), śuddha ŝodh (K) Pure shuri (K) ŝuri Children (sing, ŝur) shraddha (S), śrāddha ŝrād (K) Biannual ritual of feeding the manes shran-sondar (K), ŝrān-sondar Purificatory bath of a woman after childbirth (p.304A) siddha (S), sīddha sīda (K) Cereals, fruits and salt given to a priest along with dakṣinā (q.v.) Page 7 of 9

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Glossary sonya (K), soni or sonya Natal family of one's son's wife or daughter's husband; bride-givers/ bride-takers stridhana (S), stnīhana Marriage portion given to a woman by her parents tapasya (S), tapasyā Austerities practised as part of spiritual discipline tarpan (S), tarpaṇa Oblational offering of water to manes ter (K), tər Degree of collaterality in cousinship teth (K), tēth Scale fixed for determining the quantum of gifts sent by wife-giving household to wife-taking household tresh (K), trēŝ ‘Thirst’ of the manes in the context of tarpaṇa (q.v.) trikwat (K), trikawat Marriage under which exchange of women as wives is circular involving ihree families (‘a’ gives to ‘b’, ‘b’ to ‘c’ and V to ‘a’) unmatta (S) vonamath (K) Dull-witted person, one of perverted intelligence variw (K), və̄riw Woman's conjugal family vopar (K) Stranger, non-kin virakti (S) verakhtī (K) Detachment, abandonment of worldly ties vicara (S), vicāra vecār (K) Thought, deliberation vidhi (S) ved, vyad (K) Procedure, method, with special reference to ritual performances yagnopvita (S) yajñopavāta yoni (K) The holy thread or neck cord of Brahmans (p.305A) yash (S), yaś Fame, public esteem, ‘good name’ zam (K), zām Husband's sister za mati (K), zāməti Those born into a family, in contrast āməti (q.v.) zami (K), zə̄mī Husband's sister's husband zamtur (K), zāmtur Son-in-law zanana (P), zanāna Page 8 of 9

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Glossary Woman, wife zarakasai (K), zarakāsai First tonsure of a child zat(P), zāt zāth (K) Genus, essence, inborn nature zyana-dod (K), zena-dōd Pangs of bearing (see rachan-dōd) (p.306A)

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References

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.307A) References Bibliography references: ABBOT, J., 1932, The Keys of Power: A Study of Indian Ritual and Belief, London (1974 reprint, Secaucus, N.J., University Books). ALEXANDROVICZ, A., ed., 1958, Bibliography of Indian Law, London, Oxford University Press. ARDENER, SHIRLEY, 1977, ‘Introduction’, in S. Ardener, ed., Perceiving Women, pp. vii–xxiii, London, J. M. Dent. BADEN-POWELL, B. H., 1896, The Indian Village Community, London, Longmans, Green & Co. ———, 1899, The Origin and Growth of Village Communities in India, London, Swan Sonnenschien. BAILEY, F. G., 1963, ‘Closed Social Stratification in India’, European Journal of Sociology, 4: 107–24. BALDUS, H., 1946, ‘Curt Nimuendaju, 1883–1945’, American Anthropologist, 48: 238–43. BAMZAI, P. N. K., 1962, A History of Kashmir, Delhi, Metropolitan. BARNES, J. A., 1954, ‘Class and Committee in a Norwegian Island Parish’, Human Relations, 7: 39–58. ———, 1955, ‘Kinship’, Encyclopaedia Britannica, vol. 13, London.

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References ———, 1967, ‘Genealogies’, in A. L. Epstein, ed., The Craft of Social Anthropology, pp. 101–27, London, Tavistock. BASHAM, A. L., 1954, The Wonder that was India, London, Sidgwick and Jackson. BATESON. G., 1958 (reprint), Naven, Stanford University Press. BAZAZ, P. N., 1941, Inside Kashmir, Srinagar, Kashmir Publishers. ———, 1959, Daughters of the Vitasta: A History of Kashmiri Women, New Delhi, Kashmir Book Co. BEAN, SUSAN, S., 1978, Symbolic and Pragmatic Semantics: A Kannada System of Address, University of Chicago Press. BERREMAN, G. D., 1962a, ‘Village Exogamy in Northernmost India’, Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, 18: 55–59. ———, 1962b, Behind Many Masks, Ithaca, Cornell University Press. ———, 1963, Hindus of the Himalayas, Bombay, Oxford University Press. BLACK, H. C, 1951, Law Dictionary, London. BRECHER, MICHAEL, 1953, The Struggle for Kashmir, Toronto, Oxford University Press. BUHLER, G. tr., 1964 (reprint) The Laws of Manu, Delhi, Motilal Banarsidass. CARMAN, JOHN B., 1974, The Theology of Ramanuja, New Haven, Yale University Press. CARTER, ANTHONY T., 1984, ‘Household Histories’, in R. M. Netting et al., eds., Households: Comparative and Historical Studies of the Domestic Group, pp. 44– 83, Berkeley, University of California Press. (p.308A) CASAGRANDE, J. B., ed., 1960, In the Company of Man, New York, Harper and Row. Census of India, 1931, See Ram and Raina. Census of India, 1941, see Wreford. Census of India, Paper No. 1 of 1963: 1961 Census, Religion, 1961, New Delhi, Registrar General of India. Chambers's Twentieth Century Dictionary.

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References CHATTERJI, J. C.,1914, Kashmir Skaivism, Srinagar, Research Dept., Kashmir State. Chitrapur Saraswat 1956 Census Report and Directory, The, n.d., Bombay, Chitrapur Saraswat Association. COLEBROOK, H. T., 1873, Miscellaneous Essays, 2 vols., London. COULANGES, FUSTEL DE, n.d. (orig. 1864), The Ancient City, New York, Doubleday. DERRETT, J. D. M., 1962, ‘The History of the Juridical Framework of the Joint Hindu Family’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 6: 17–47. DOWSON, JOHN, 1950, Classical Dictionary of Hindu Mythology and Religion, Geography, History and Literature, London, Routledge and Kegan Paul. DUBE, LEELA, 1974, Sociology of Kinship, Bombay, Popular Prakashan. DUBE, S. C., 1955, Indian Village, London, Routledge and Kegan Paul. DUBOIS, ABBE J. A., 1906, Hindu Manners, Customs and Ceremonies, tr. by H. K. Beauchamp, 3rd ed., Oxford, Clarendon Press. DUMONT, LOUIS, 1950, ‘Kinship and Alliance among the Pramalai Kallar’, The Eastern Anthropologist, 4: 3–26. ———, 1953, ‘The Dravidian Kinship Terminology as an Expression of Marriage’, Man, 53: 34–39. ———, 1957a, Hierarchy and Marriage Alliance in South Indian Kinship, London. ———, 1957b, Une Sous-Caste de l'lnde du Sud, Paris, Mouton. ———, 1957c, ‘Kinship’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 1: 43–64. ———, 1959, ‘Dowry in Hindu Marriage as a Social Scientist sees it’, The Economic Weekly, 11: 519–20. ———, 1960, ‘World Renunciation in World Religions’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 4: 67–89. ———, 1961a, ‘Marriage in India: the Present State of the Question’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 5: 75–95. ———, 1961b, ‘Caste, Racism and “Stratification”’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 5: 20–43.

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References ———, 1964, ‘Marriage in India: the Present State of the Question. Postscript to Parts I–II: Nayar and Newar’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 7: 77–98. ———, 1966a, ‘Marriage in India: the Present State of the Question, III. North India in Relation to South India’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 9: 90–114. ———, 1966b, Review of Symposium on ‘Hierarchy and Marriage Alliance in South Indian Kinship’, Current Anthropology, 7: 339–40. ———, 1966c, ‘A Fundamental Problem in the Sociology of Caste’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 9: 17–32. (p.309A) ———, 1968 ‘Marriage Alliance’, in D. Sills, ed., International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, vol. 10: 19–23, New York, Macmillan. ———, 1977, From Mandeville to Marx: the Genesis and Triumph of Economic Ideology, University of Chicago Press. ———, 1980, Homo Hierarchies: The Caste System and its Implications, University of Chicago Press. ———, 1983, Affinity as a Value: Marriage and Alliance in South India, with Comparative Essays on Australia, University of Chicago Press. DUMONT, LOUIS and D. F. POCOCK, 1957, ‘For a Sociology of India’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 1:7–22. ———, 1960, ‘For a Sociology of India: A Reply’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 4: 82–89. ELWIN, VERRIER, 1964, The Tribal World of Verrier Elwin, Bombay, Oxford University Press. Encyclopaedia Britannica, 1910, 11th ed., vol. 15, London. EPSTEIN, A. L., ED., 1967, The Craft of Social Anthropology, London, Tavistock. EPSTEIN, T. SCARLETT, 1962, Economic Development and Social Change in South India, Manchester University Press. EVANS-PRITCHARD, E. E., 1951a, Kinship and Marriage among the Nuer, Oxford, Clarendon Press. ———, 1951b, Social Anthropology, London, Cohen and West. FEI, HSIAO-TUNG, 1939, Peasant Life in China, London, Kegan Paul, Trench Trubner & Co. FIRTH, RAYMOND, 1936, We, the Tikopia, London, Allen and Unwin. Page 4 of 14

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References ———, 1954, ‘Social Organization and Social Change’, Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 84: 1–20. ———, 1956, ‘Introduction’, in Firth, ed., Two Studies of Kinship in London, London, Athlone Press. FORTES, MEYER, 1949a, The Web of Kinship among the Tallensi, London, Oxford University Press. ———, 1949b, ‘Preface’, M. Fortes, ed., Social Structure, Oxford, Clarendon Press. ———, 1953, ‘The Social Structure of Unilineal Descent Groups’, American Anthropologist, 55: 17–41. ———, 1958, ‘Introduction’, in J. Goody, ed., The Developmental Cycle in Domestic Groups, pp. 1–14, Cambridge University Press. ———, 1969, Kinship and the Social Order: the Legacy of Louis Henry Morgan, Chicago, Aldine. FREEDMAN, MAURICE, 1966, Chinese Lineage and Society: Fukien and Kwantung, London, Athlone Press. FREEMAN, J. D., 1970 (new ed.), Report on the Iban, London, Athlone Press. FREILICH, M., ed., 1970, Marginal Natives: Anthropologists at Work, New York, Harper and Row. FRUZZETTI, LINA M., 1982, The Gift of a Virgin: Women, Marriage and Ritual in a Bengali Society, New Brunswick, N.J., Rutgers University Press. FYZEE, A. A. A., 1955, Outlines of Mohammedan Law, Bombay, Oxford University Press. (p.310A) GAIT, E. A., 1911, ‘Caste’, in J. Hastings and J. A. Selbie, eds., Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics, New York, Charles Scribner & Sons. GELLNER, ERNEST A., 1963, ‘Concepts and Society’, Proceedings of the Fifth World Congress of Sociology, Washington, D. C, pp. 161–69. GHOSHAL, U. N., 1957, Studies in Indian History and Culture, Bombay, Orient Longmans. GORE, M. S., 1968, Urbanization and Family Change, Bombay, Popular Prakashan.

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References GOUGH, E. KATHLEEN, 1952a, ‘Changing Kinship Usages in the Setting of Political and Economic Change among the Nayars of Malabar’, Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 82(1): 71–87. ———, 1952b, ‘Incest Prohibitions and Rules of Exogamy in Three Matrilineal Groups of the Malabar Coast’, International Archives of Anthropology, 46, 1: 82– 105. ———, 1955, ‘Female Initiation Rites on the Malabar Coast’, Journal of the Anthropological Institute, 85 (I): 45–80. ———, 1956, ‘Brahman Kinship in a Tamil Village’, American Anthropologist, 58: 826–35. ———, 1958, ‘Cults of the Dead among the Nayars’, Journal of American Folklore, 71: 240–72. ———, 1959, ‘The Nayars and the Definition of Marriage’, Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 89(1): 23–34. ———, 1961, Chapters 6, 7 et passim in D. M. Schneider and E. K. Gough, Matrilineal Kinship, Berkeley, University of California Press. GOULD, HAROLD A., 1960, ‘The Micro-Demography of Marriages in a North Indian Area’, Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, 16: 476–91. ———, 1961, ‘A Further Note on Village Exogamy in North India’, Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, 17: 297–301. HERSHMAN, PAUL, 1981, Punjabi Kinship and Marriage, Delhi, Hindustan. Hindu Marriage Act, The, No. XXV of 1955. HUTTON, J. H., 1951, Caste in India, Bombay, Oxford University Press. HUXLEY, ALDOUS, 1926, Jesting Pilate, London, Chatto and Windus. INDEN, RONALD B. and RALPH W. NICHOLAS, 1977, Kinship in Bengali Culture, University of Chicago Press. JARVIE, I. C, 1964, Revolution in Anthropology, London, Routledge and Kegan Paul. KACHRU, BRAJ B., 1973, An Introduction to Spoken Kashmiri, Urbana, University of Illinois. KAK, RAM CHANDRA, 1936, Ancient Monuments of Kashmir, London, Royal Asiatic Society.

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References KAPADIA, K. M., 1947, Hindu Kinship, Bombay. ———, 1958, Marriage and Family in India, Bombay, Oxford University Press. KARANDIKAR, S. V., Hindu Exogamy, Bombay, Taraporevala. KARVE, IRAWATI, 1953, Kinship Organization in India, Poona, Deccan College. ———, 1956, ‘Caste in Modern Times’, Report of the Seminar on Casteism, pp. 54–59, Bombay Indian Conference of Social Work. (p.311A) KAUL, GWASHA LAL, 1954, Kashmir through the Ages, Srinagar, Chronicle Publishing House. KAUL, JAYALAL, 1973, Lal Ded, New Delhi, Sahitya Akademi. KENYATTA, J., 1938, Facing Mount Kenya: The Tribal Life of the Gikuyu, London, Secker and Warburg. KILAM, JIA LAL, 1955, A History of Kashmiri Pandits, Srinagar, G. M. College. KLUCKHOHN, CLYDE, 1953, ‘Universal Categories of Culture’, in A. L. Kroeber, ed., Anthropology Today, pp. 507–23, University of Chicago Press. KOLENDA, PAULINE, 1968, ‘Region, Caste, and Family Structure: A Comparative Study of the Indian “Joint Family”’, in M. Singer and B. S. Cohn, eds., Structure and Change in Indian Society, pp. 339–96, Chicago, Aldine. KORBEL, JOSEF, 1954, Danger in Kashmir, Princeton. KOUL, ANAND, 1924, The Kashmiri Pandit, Calcutta, Thacker Spink &. Co. LAWRENCE, WALTER R., 1895, The Valley of Kashmir, London, Oxford University press. ———, 1909, Imperial Gazetteer of India: Jammu and Kashmir, Calcutta, Government Press. LEACH, E. R., 1961a, Rethinking Anthropology, London, Athlone Press. ———, 1961b, Pul Eliya, A Village in Ceylon, Cambridge University Press. ———, 1973, ‘Ourselves and Others’, Times Literary Supplement, no. 3722:770– 74. LEVI-STRAUSS, CLAUDE, 1963, Tristes Tropiques. New York, Atheneum. ———, 1966, The Savage Mind, London, Widenfeld and Nicholson. ———, 1967, The Scope of Anthropology, London, Jonathan Cape. Page 7 of 14

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References LEWIS, OSCAR, 1951, Tepoztlan: Life in a Mexican Village, Urbana, University of Illinois Press. LEWIS, W. ARTHUR, 1955, The Theory of Economic Growth, London, Allen and Unwin. MACDONNEL, A. A., 1924, A Practical Sanskrit Dictionary, London, Oxford University Press. MADAN, T. N., 1953, ‘Kinship Terms used by the Pandits of Kashmir’, The Eastern Anthropologist, 7: 37–46. ———, 1959, ‘Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir’ (typescript), Ph.D. dissertation in the library of the Australian National University, Canberra. ———, 1961a, ‘Politico-economic Change and Organizational Adjustment in a Kashmiri Village’ (cyclostyled), National Institute of Community Development, Mussoorie. (Subsequently published in the Journal of Karnatak University (Social Sciences), 2 (1966): 20–34.) ———, 1961b, ‘Herath: A Religious Ritual and its Secular Aspect’ in L. P. Vidyarthi, ed., Aspects of Religion in Indian Society, pp. 129–39, Meerut, Kedar Nath Ram Nath. ———, 1962a, ‘Is the Brahmanic.Gotra a Grouping of Kin?’ Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, 18: 59–77. ———, 1962b, ‘The Hindu Joint Family’, Man, 62: 88–89. (p.312A) ———, 1962c, ‘The Joint Family: A Terminological Clarification’, International Journal of Comparative Sociology, 3: 7–16. ———, 1963a, ‘A Further Note on Pandit Kinship Terminology’, in L. K. Balaratnam, ed., Anthropology on the March, pp. 268–74, Madras, Book Centre. ———, 1963b, ‘Proverbs: The “Single-Meaning” Category’, Man, 63: 93. ———, 1965, ‘Social Organization’, in V. B. Singh, ed., Economic History of India 1857–1956, pp. 59–87, Bombay, Allied. ———, 1966a, ‘For a Sociology of India’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 9: 9– 16. ———, 1966b, ‘Comment’ [on Louis Dumont's Hierarchy and Marriage Alliance in South Indian Kinship], Current Anthropology, 7: 39–40.

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References ———, 1968, ‘D. N. Majumdar’, in D. Sills, ed., International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, vol. 9: 540–41, New York, Macmillan. ———, 1972, ‘Religious Ideology in a Plural Society: The Muslims and Hindus of Kashmir’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, NS, 6: 106–41. ———, 1975a, ‘Structural Implications of Marriage in North India: Wife-givers and Wife-takers among the Pandits of Kashmir’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, NS, 9: 217–43. ———, 1975b, ‘On Living Intimately with Strangers’ in André Béteille and T. N. Madan, eds., Encounter and Experience: Personal Accounts of Fieldwork, pp. 131–56, New Delhi, Vikas. ———, 1978, ‘The Dialectic of Tradition and Modernity in the Sociology of D. P. Mukerji, Social Science Information, 17, 6: 777–99. ———, 1981, ‘The Ideology of the Householder among the Pandits of Kashmir’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, NS, 15: 223–49. ———, 1987, Non-Renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture, New Delhi, Oxford University Press. MAIR, LUCY, 1971, Marriage, Harmondsworth, Penguin Books. MAJUMDAR, D. N., 1958a, Races and Cultures of India, Bombay, Asia. ———, 1958b, Caste and Communication in a North Indian Village, Bombay, Asia. MALINOWSKI, BRONISLAW, 1913, The Family among the Australian Aborigines, The University of London Press. ———, 1922, Argonauts of the Western Pacific, London, Kegan Paul, Trench and Trubner. ———, 1938, ‘Foreword’, in J. Kenyatta (1938), pp. vii-xiv. ———, 1939, ‘Foreword’, in Fei Hsiao-Tung (1939), pp. xiii-xx. ———, 1947, Freedom and Civilization, London, Allen and Unwin. ———, 1967, A Diary in the Strict Sense of the Term, London, Routledge and Kegan Paul. Mandelbaum, David G., 1970, Society in India, 2 vols., University of California Press. Manu, The Laws of, see Buhler 1964. Page 9 of 14

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References MARRIOTT, MCKIM, 1977, ‘Hindu Transactions: Diversity without Dualism’, in Bruce Kapferer, ed., Transactions and Meaning: Directions in the Anthropology of Exchange and Symbolic Behaviour, pp. 109–42. Philadelphia, Institute for the Study of Human Issues. (p.313A) MAYER, ADRIAN C, 1960, Caste and Kinship in Central India, London. ———, 1961, Peasants in the Pacific, London, Routledge and Kegan Paul. MAYNE, J. D., 1953, Treatise on Hindu Law and Usage, 11th ed. by N. Chandrasekhara Aiyar, Madras, Higginbotham. MISRA, GOVIND NARAIN, n.d. (c. 1900), Sarasvat Sarvasav (in Hindi), Calcutta. MISRI, URVASHI, 1985, ‘Child and Childhood: A Conceptual Construction’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, NS, 19: 115–32. MUKERJI, D. P., 1958, Diversities, New Delhi, People's Publishing House. MUKHERJEE, RAMKRISHNA, 1977, Family Structures in Bengal, 1946–66, Delhi, Macmillan. MURDOCK, G. P., 1949, Social Structure, New York, Macmillan. ———, et al., 1950, Outline of Cultural Materials, New Haven, Yale University Press. NADEL, S. F., 1947, The Nuba, London, Oxford University Press. ———, 1951, The Foundations of Social Anthropology, London, Cohen and West. ———, 1957, The Theory of Social Structure, London, Cohen and West. NAKANE, CHIE, 1970, Japanese Society, London, Widenfeld and Nicholson. NICHOLAS, RALPH W., 1965, ‘Factions: A Comparative Analysis’, in M. Banton, ed., Political System and the Distribution of Power, pp. 21–61, London, Tavistock. OPPERT, GUSTAV, 1894, The Original Inhabitants of Bharatvarsha or India, London, Archibald Constable. Orders on the Recommendations contained in the Glancy Commission's Report, 1932. Jammu. OSTOR, AKOS, LINA FRUZZETTI AND STEVE BARNETT, eds., 1982, Concepts of Person: Kinship, Caste and Marriage in India, Cambridge, Mass, Harvard University Press.

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References PANIKKAR K. M., 1955, Hindu Society at the Cross Roads, Bombay, Asia. PARRY, JONATHAN P., 1979, Caste and Kinship in Kangra, London, Routledge and Kegan Paul. PAUL, BENJAMIN D., 1953, ‘Interview Techniques and Field Relationships’, in A. L. Kroeber, ed., Anthropology Today, pp. 430–51, Chicago University Press. PEHRSON. R. C, 1957, The Bilateral Network of Social Relations in Konkama Lapp District, Bloomington, Indiana University. PLATH, DAVID W., 1980, Long Engagements: Maturity in Modern Japan, Stanford University Press. POCOCK, D. F., 1961, Social Anthropology, London, Sheed and Ward. ———, 1972, Kanbi and Patidar: A Study of the Patidar Community of Gujarat, Oxford, Clarendon Press. PRABHU, P. H., 1954, Hindu Social Organization, Bombay, Popular Prakashan. R. A. I. (Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland), 1951, Notes and Queries on Anthropology, 6th ed., London, Routledge and Kegan Paul. (p.314A) RADCLIFFE-BROWN, A. R., 1924, ‘The Mother's Brother in South Africa’, South African Journal of Science, 21: 542–55. ———, 1929, ‘A Further Note on Ambrym’, Man, 29: 50–53. ———, 1935, ‘Kinship Terminologies in California’, American Anthropologist 37: 530–35. ———, 1950, ‘Introduction’, in A. R. Radcliffe-Brown and D. Forde, eds., African Systems of Kinship and Marriage, pp. 1–85. London, Oxford University Press. RADHAKRISHNAN, S., 1953, The Principal Upanisads, London, Allen and Unwin. RAM, ANANT AND HIRANAND RAINA, 1933, Census of India, Vol. XXlV, Jammu and Kashmir State, Part 2, Jammu, J & K Government. REDFIELD, ROBERT, 1930, Tepoztlan: A Mexican Village, Chicago University Press. ———, 1955, The Little Community, Chicago University Press. ———, 1956, Peasant Society and Culture, Chicago University Press. Report of the Commission appointed under the Orders of His Highness the Maharaja Bahadur, 1932, Jammu, J & K Government. Page 11 of 14

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References RIVERS, W. H. R., 1900, ‘A Genealogical Method of collecting Social and Vital Statistics’, Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 30: 74–82. ———, 1910, ‘The Genealogical Method of Anthropological Enquiry’, Sociological Review, 33: 1–12 , Reprinted in

W. H. R. Rivers, Kinship and Social Organization, 1968, pp. 97–109, London, Athlone Press. ———, 1914, Kinship and Social Organization, London, Constable. ———, 1924, Social Organization, New York, Alfred Knopf. ROSE, H. A., 1911, A Glossary of the Tribes and Castes of the Punjab and NorthWestern Frontier Province, vol. 2, Lahore (1970 reprint, Patiala, Languages Dept.). ROSS, AILEEN D., 1961, The Hindu Family in its Urban Setting, Bombay, Oxford University Press. SANDERSON, ALEXIS, ‘Purity and Power among the Brahmans of Kashmir’, in M. Carrithers et al., eds., The Category of the Person, pp. 190–216, Cambridge University Press. SAPRU (née Madan), KAMALA, 1956, ‘Life Cycle of Kashmiri Pandit Women’ (typescript), M. A. dissertation in the library of the University of Lucknow. SCHUTZ, ALFRED, 1967, Collected Papers: I, The Problems of Social Reality, The Hague, Nijhoff. ———, 1976, The Phenomenology of the Social World, London, Heinemann. SCHWARTZBERG, JOSEPH E., ed., 1978, A Historical Atlas of South Asia, University of Chicago Press. SENDER, HENNY, 1988, The Kashmiri Pandits: A Study of Cultural Choice in North India, Delhi, Oxford University Press. SHAH, A. M., 1973, the Household Dimension of the Family in India, New Delhi, Orient Longman. SJOBERG, GIDEON, 1960, the Preindustrial City, Glencoe, Ill., The Free Press. Sociological Bulletin, 1954, 1955, 1956, and 1959. (p.315A) SPATE, O. H. K., 1954, India and Pakistan: A General and Regional Geography, London, Methuen. Page 12 of 14

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References SRINIVAS, M. N., 1942, Marriage and Family in Mysore, Bombay, New Book Co. ———, 1952, Religion and Society among the Coorgs of South India, Oxford, Clarendon Press. ———, 1962, Caste in Modern India and other Essays, Bombay, Asia. ———, 1966, Social Change in Modern India, Berkeley, University of California Press. STEIN M. AUREL, 1961 (reprint), A Chronicle of the Kings of Kashmir, 2 vols. Delhi, Motilal Banarsidass. SUFI, G. M. D., 1949, Kashmir, 2 vols., Lahore, University of Punjab (1974 reprint. New Delhi, Light and Life). TAMBIAH, S.J. 1973, ‘Dowry and Bridewealth and the Property Rights of Women in South Asia’, in J. Goody and S.J. Tambiah, Bridewealth and Dowry, pp. 59–169, Cambridge University Press. TRAUTMAN, THOMAS R., 1981, Darvidian Kinship, Cambridge University Press. TYLER, STEPHEN A., 1967, Review of Family and Kinship, American Anthropologist, 69: 524–25. ———, 1973, India: An Anthropological Perspective, Pacific Palisades, Calif., Goodyear. VAN DER VEEN, KLASS, 1972. I Give Thee My Daughter: A Study of Marriage and Hierarchy among the Anavil Brahmans of South Gujarat, Assen, Van Gorcum. VATUK, SYLVIA, 1972, Kinship and Urbanization, Berkeley, University of California Press. ———, 1975, ‘Gifts and Affines’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, NS, 9; 155– 96. WARNER, W. L., 1937, A Black Civilization, New York, Harper. WEBER, MAX, 1947, The Theory of Economic and Social Organization, Glencoe, III., The Free Press. WHYTE, W. F., 1953, Strtet Corner Society, Chicago University Press. WOODROFFE, SIR JOHN, 1978, Shakti and Shakta, 5th ed., 1959, New York, Dover.

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References WREFORD, R. G., 1943, Census of India, Vol. XXII, Jammu and Kashmir, Parts 1, 2 and 3, Jammu. YUEH-HWA, LIN, 1947, The Golden Wing, London, Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co. ZAEHNER, R. C, 1962, Hinduism, London, Oxford University Press. ZIMMER, H. R., 1948, Hindu Medicine, Baltimore, The Johns Hopkins University Press. (p.316A)

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Index

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.317A) Index Abbot, J., 43 n, 296 Abdullah, S.M., xxvi , xxviii Abolition of big landed estates, 129 Abortion, 66 Abstinence, 89 Achchiwal (village in Kashmir), 28 Adoption, age at, 73 ; by bachelors, 72 ; by widows, 72 , 73 ; ceremony of, 74 ; consequences of, 72 ; of agnates, 73 ; of girls, 73 ; proof of, 74 , reasons for giving one's child in, 75 ; registration of, 74 ; rules of, 73–5 , 90 Affines, 73 , 110 , 111 , 121–4 , 206–8 , 261 , 267–9 Affinity, 94 , 99 , 124 , 172 , 183 (also see Marriage) Afghan conquest of Kashmir, 18 , 33 Afghanistan, 18 Africa, 39 n, 199 , 276 , 295 n; Central, 259 n Agnates, 20 , 24 , 25 , 70 , 71 , 73 , 74 , 79 , 81 , 92 , 94 , 111 , 138 , 140–2 , 149 , 150 , 156 , 160 , 174 n, 175 , 178 , 181 , 184 , 185 , 191 , 193 n, 207 , 211 , 215 , 216 , 259 , 269 , 287 , 288 (also see patrilineal kin); female, 82 , 97 , 111 , 136 , 138 , 156 , 162 , 174 n, 175 , 185 , 197 , 202 , 205 , 219 , 286 Agnation, 25 , 50 , 67 , 70 , 94 , 158 , 179 , 193 n, 196 (also see patrilineal descent) Agra, 15 Aiyar, N. Chandrasekhara, 313 Page 1 of 14

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Index Akbar, 27 Alexandrovicz, A., 139 n, 223 , 307 All India Kashmiri Pandit Samaj, xix Allahabad, 15 Amarnath cave, xvii Amati, 94 , 197 , 204 Anantnag (district in Kashmir), 7 , 28 , 28 n; town of, 6 , 7 , 7 n, 28 , 31 n, 70 , 74 , 83 , 99 , 135 , 137 , 143 , 167 Ardener, Shirley, 307 Artha, 245 , 245 n, 255 n Ashnav, 191 , 206–10 , 287 Aurangzeb, 18 Australian aborigines, 173 n Australian National University, xxxvii , 5 , 8 n, 278 , 280 Ayodhya, xxv Baden-Powell, B.H., 27 , 27 n, 307 Bailey, F.G., 275 , 307 Bakarwal (Muslims), 128 Balaratnam, L.K., 312 Baldus, H., 289 , 307 Banton, M., 313 Baradari, 219 , 220 , 225 , 234 , 234 n Baramula (district in Kashmir), 28 n Barnes, J.A., xv , xxxv , xxxvii , 58 n, 99 , 284 n, 286 n, 307 Barnett, Steve, 313 Basham A.L., 92 , 307 Bateson, G., 87 n, 307 Bazaz, P.N., 19 , 114 , 307 Bean, Susan S., xxix , 307 Beauchamp, H.K., 308 Benaras, 15 Benedict, Ruth, 276 Bengal, 213 n, 241 n Berreman, G.D., 2 n, 97 n, 151 , 290 , 307 (p.318A) Béteilie, André 274 n, 312 Betrothal ceremony, 104 , 105 Bhagavad Gita, 233 n, 247 Bhakti, 249 , 250 Bhatta, 203 , 235 , 235 n, 236 , 242 Bhattani, 255 Bhattil, 233 , 242–9 , 250 , 251 , 254 , 255 , 257 Bihar, 276 Bilateral filiation, 183–91 , 197 Birth, 47 , 51 , 54 , 55 , 64–88 , 105 , 123 , 125 , 136 , 139 , 141 , 156 , 169 , 171 , 174–6 , 174 n, 180 , 181 , 184 , 187 , 198 , 241 , 246 , 247 , 278 , 283 , 286 ; cultural and physical factors in, 64–7 ; cycle of, 249 ; rituals and ceremonies connected with, 69–72 ; ritual pollution by, 254 ; Page 2 of 14

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Index still birth, 64 , 66 , 71 ; twin birth, 68 Black, H.C., 141 , 144 , 307 Bohra (Buher), 14 , 203 n Brahma, 81 Brahmans, Dravida, 13 ; Gauda, 13 ; of Jhelum Valley, 18 ; of Kishtwar, 91 , 203 n; of Mysore, 69 n; Saraswat, xiv , 13 , 14 , 14 n, 203 ; Saryuparin, 225 ; subcastes of, 4 , 7 ; under early Muslim rule in Kashmir, 16–19 (also see Pandits) Brecher, Michael, 129 , 307 Britain, 291 n Buddhists, 14 n Buhler, G., 252 n, 307 , 312 Canberra, 5 , 8 n, 278 , 280 , 286 Carman, John B., 250 n, 307 Carter, Anthony, xxx , 307 Casagrande, J.B., 270 , 283 , 308 Caste(s), xiv , 1–4 , 13 , 14 , 16 ; internal constitution of, 3 ; internal structure of, 1 , 229 ; twice-born, 81 , 235 Celibacy, 89 Ceremonies, non-sanskritic, 11 , 69 , 69 n, 71 , 72 , 105 Ceylon, 222 , 279 n Chamba Valley, 14 Chatterji, J.C, 234 , 308 Chchatargul (village in Kashmir), 272 Chicago, 294 n China, 39 n, 220 n Chintan, 234 Christians, 14 n, 198 n Chulah (hearth group), see household Cognates, non-agnatic, 93 , 181 , 202 , 207–9 , 215 , 283 Cohn, B.S., 311 Colebrook, H.T., 13 , 81 , 308 Comparative method, 11 , 12 Compounds (compound groupings), 11 , 12 Compounds (compound groupings), 160–2 , 165 , 165 n, 167 , 168 , 173 , 176 Coorgs, 1 Coparcener, 109 , 110 , 116 , 121 , 139 n, 140–3 , 147–9 , 155–7 , 196 Coulanges, Fustel de, 39 n, 308 Cousins, 74 , 93 , 142 , 145 , 146 , 151 n, 152 , 158 , 162 , 167 , 169–75 , 179 , 180 , 185 , 193 n, 208 , 210 , 259 , 261 , 268 , 269 ; hostility between, 176–8 Page 3 of 14

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Index Cousinship, 145 , 169 , 174 , 174 n, 180 , 181 , 259 , 263 , 285 , 287 Custom, local, 11 , 98 , 99 , 108 , 116 , 218 , 219 , 240 , 242 Daughters, attitude towards, 67–9 Death, 47 , 49 , 51 , 54–7 , 60 , 64 , 71 , 79 , 80 , 113 , 117 , 118 , 122 , 136 , 138 , 139 , 141 , 145 , 154 , 162 , 169 , 171 , 174–6 , 174 n, 180 , 181 , 185 , 187 , 191 , 198 , 202 , 222 , 225 , 241–3 , 246 , 247 , 254 , 269 , 286 , 287 ; (p.319A) cycle of, 249 Debt, 239 , 256 ; ritual, 81 , 106 Delhi, 15 , 131 n Derrett, J.D.M., 113 , 308 Desai, I.P., 2 Dharma, 78 , 78 n, 104 , 110 , 231 , 234 , 237 , 240 , 241 , 243 , 245 , 245 n, 248 , 254 , 255 n, 256 Dharmashastra, 222 , 229 , 287 Division of labour, 195 Dogra rule in Kashmir, 19 , 127 Dowry, 96 n, 219 , 220 n, 221–4 , 221 n, 226 Dowson, John, 13 , 81 , 308 Dube, Leela, xxix , 308 Dube, S.C., 2 , 149 n, 308 Dubois, Abbe J A., 46 , 308 Dumont, Louis, xxix , 1 , 2 , 3 , 8 n, 139 n, 201 , 202 , 204 , 213 , 215 , 216 , 218 , 223 , 225 , 230 , 231 , 232 , 243 n, 245 , 245 n, 250 , 252 , 253 , 256 , 275 , 286 n, 289 , 291 , 292 , 308 , 309 Elwin, Verrier, 225 , 290 , 309 Endogamy, 15 , 19 , 20 ; caste, 97 n; patrilineal, 19 ; the rule of, 91 England, 15 Epstein, A.L., 271 , 307 , 309 Epstein, T. Scarlett, 134 n, 309 Europe, 291 n Evans-Pritchard, E.E., 12 , 12 n, 39 n, 94 n, 173 n, 289 , 290 , 309 Evil, eye, 66 ; magic, 66 ; planets, 96 ; spirit, 66 , 105 Exogamy, 25 , 91–3 , 97 , 97 n, 180 , 184 ; gotra, 92 , 94 , 97 n, 210 ; rules of, 181 , 197 ; sapinda, 92 , 92 n, 93 , 210 ; village, 97–9 , 227 Family, among the Brahmans of Kashmir, study of, 4 , 6 , 7 , 9 ; among Hindus, study of, 1–3 ; conjugal, 90 , 109–12 , 188 , 197 , 208 , 220 ; disputes in, 289 ; extended, xiv , xv , 59 , 59 n, 61 , 135 , 136 , 140 , 205 , 278 ; Page 4 of 14

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Index fraternal extended, 53 . 59–63 , 59 n, 177 , 195 ; joint, 3 , 11 , 134 n, 149 n, 151 n, 195 ; literature on, xxix ; nuclear, 58 n, 61 , 63 , 135 , 140 , 148 , 159 , 195 , 263 ; of orientation and procreation, 56 n; paternal extended, 59 , 59 n, 61 , 154 , 195 ; priest of, 46 , 228 , 247 ; Sanskrit literature on, 4 (also see household and kotamb) Fei, Hsiao-Tung, 294 , 309 , 312 Fieldwork, 6–10 Filial piety, 115 , 118 , 141 , 147 (also see kinship morality) Firth, Raymond, 8–10 , 191 , 198 n, 309 Forde, D., 314 Fortes, Meyer, xv , 7–9 , 11 , 11 n, 12 , 51 , 183 , 195 , 199 , 239 , 309 Freedman, Maurice, 220 n, 309 Freeman, J. Derek, xxxi , xxxvii , 280 , 309 Freilich, M., 275 , 309 Fruzzetti, Lina M., 309 , 313 Fyzee, A.A.A., 90 , 309 Gait, E.A., 34 , 310 Ganga, 13 Ganguly, S., xxiv , xxviii Gauhar, G.N., xxiv n, xxviii Gayatri, 81 Gellner, Ernest A., 289 , 310 Genealogies, xxxviii , 24 , 51 , 57 , 68 , 93 , 101 , 180 Ghoshal, U.N., 16 , 310 Gifts, see prestations Glancy Commission, Report of, 127 (p.320A) Goa, 13 Goody, J., 309 Gor (subcaste of priests), 19 , 20 , 23 , 35 , 90 , 91 , 96 , 137 , 204 , 236 Gore, M.S., xxiii , 310 Gotra, 91 , 92 , 92 n, 94 n, 106 , 111 , 181 , 287 ; exogamy, 94 , 287 ; karkun group, 91 n; levite group, 91 n Gough, E. Kathleen, 1 , 2 , 194 , 310 Gould, Harold, A., 97 n, 310 Gujarat, 13 Hari Parbat, xviii Hasan, Mushirul, xxvi , xxviii Herath, xx Hershman, Paul, xxxiv n, 310 Hierarchy, 227 ; divine, 239 Hikmat, 83 , 83 n Hindus(s), family among, 1 , 2 , 4 ; of Kashmir, xxiii , 2 , 3 , 4 , 13 , 14 n, 17 , 18 , 21 , 90 , 101 ; Page 5 of 14

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Index law among, 11 , 107 n, 139 n; lunar calendar among, 18 , 240 ; monarchy of, 129 , (also see Brahmans of Kashmir and Pandits) Hindu Marriages Act, 92 n Hizbul Mujahideen xviii Hokur (village in Kashmir), 68 Homestead of Pandit, 39–48 , 165 , 167 , 170 ; architecture of, 40–4 ; construction of 44–6 ; distinguishing features of, 46 ; sentiments associated with, 47 , 48 Horoscope, 65 , 96 Household(s) amalgamation of, 145 , 157 ; conjugal, 110 , 112–18 , 123 , 124 , 139 , 151 , 228 , 268 ; developmental cycle of, 109–12 , 152 ; economy of, 126–43 ; ideal of, 62 , 63 ; and land, 127–32 , 135 ; and levels of living, 135–7 ; and present day sources of income, 131–3 ; recent changes in,.128; reunion of, 157 ; structure of, 145–7 ; and salaried employment, 127 , 128 , 130 , 131 ; and trade, 127 , 128 , 130 , 131 ; and wage earners, 128 , 130 Householder, ideology of, 230–57 Howur, 25 , 121 , 191 , 208 Hutton, J.R, 14 , 310 Huxley, Aldous, 21 , 310 Incorporation, 124 , 125 Inden, Ronald B., xxiii , 241 n, 310 Inheritance, law of, 92 , 223 , 241 n; of property, 73 , 74 , 84 , 121 , 141–3 , 147 , 148 , 161 , 175 , 184 , 196 ; patrilineal, 67 , 195 ; rights of, 141–3 Initiation, see mekhal Islam, 14 , 16 , 17 , 83 n, 90 , 156 , 237 , 244 n; conversion to, 17 Jains, 14 n Jaipur, 15 Jajmani relationship, 4 , 14 n, 20 (also see yajaman) Jammu, xix , xxiii , xxiv , 14 , 15 , 270 Jammu and Kashmir, 15 , 18 , 19 , 129 , 293 Janaka (King of Mithila), 253 Jarvie, I.C., 288 , 310 Joint estates, 133 , 134 , 137–40 (also see property) Joshi, M., xxv , xxviii Jullunder, 131 Page 6 of 14

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Index Kabul, 18 Kachru, Braj B., 234 n, 310 Kak, R.C., 16 n, 17 , 310 Kalhana, 16 n, 32 Kaliyuga, 249 , 250 (p.321A) Kama, 237 , 245 , 245 n, 254 , 255 n Kanyadan, 106 , 217 , 222 , 225 Kapadia, K.M., 2 , 4 , 81 n, 92 n, 310 Karandikar, S.V., 92 n, 310 Karkun (subcaste of Pandits), 20–3 , 90 , 91 , 204 , 236 of Utrassu-Umanagri, 35–8 ; territorial and status division among, 21–3 Karma, 65 , 67 , 77 , 237 , 241 , 245 , 245 n, 248 , 257 Karta, 140 , 211 Karve, Irawati, 2 , 3 , 259 n, 280 , 310 Kashmir, politicization of xxiii ; valley of, 2 , 4 , 4 n, 6 , 10 , 13–18 , 14 n, 16 n, 21 , 26–8 , 28 n, 30 , 31 , 33 , 34 , 36 Kashmiri Association of Europe, 15 Kashmiri language, xx Kashmiri Muslims, xiv , xvii , xviii , xxxi , 236 , 236 n; kinship system of, 193 n Kashmiri Pandits, as refugees/migrants, xvii–xx Katha Upanishad, 257 Kaul, Gwashalal, 16 , 311 kaul, Jayalal, 253 n, 311 Khatri, 14 , 14 n Khirbhawani spring, xvii , xviii Khrev (village in Kashmir), 103 Khundur (village in Kashmir), 33 Kinship, agnatic, 25 , 158 , 202 , 267 ; domain of, 215 , 241 ; domestic, 170 ; Dravidian, xxvi , 2 ; Hindu, 276 ; ideology of, 240 ; language of, 258–69 ; literature on, 216 , morality of, 126 , 140 , 141 , 150 , 151 , 158 , 177 , 180 , 240 ; Muslim, 7 ; proverbs relating to, 266–9 ; recognition of, 191 ; as a structure, 183–91 , 229 ; terms of, 2 , 213 , 256–65 , 277 , 287 ; ties of, xiv , 75 , 80 , 90 , 94 , 97 n, 99 , 134 n, 169 , 206 n, 211 , 214 , 268 , 287 ; values of, 278 , 279 ; web of, 202 , 253 Kishtwar (district in Kashmir), 91 Kluckhohm.C, 12 , 311 Kol 24 , 25 , 173 , 179–81 , 191–9 ; Page 7 of 14

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Index exogamy, 25 , 173 , 181 (also see lineage and patrilineage) Kolenda, Pauline, xxix , xxxi n, xxxv , 311 Koran, 90 Korbel, Josef, 130 n, 311 Kotamb, 24 , 35 , 158–82 , 184 , 187 , 191 , 198 , 199 , 204 ; as a segmentary grouping, 170 , 176 , 178 , 198 ; constitution of, 159–68 ; degree of cousinship within, 169 ; dispersal of, 165 n, 168–70 , 198 ; inter household-relation in, 170–6 Kothar valley, 32 Koul, Anand, 4 , 50 , 91 n, 311 Koyil (village in Kashmir), 68 Kreri (village in Kashmir), 7 , 35 , 145 Kroeber.A.L. 276 , 311 , 313 Lahore, 15 , 18 Land reforms in Kashmir, 127 , 129 , 130 Lawrence, W.R., 14 , 15 , 17 , 18 , 21 , 26 , 27 , 30 , 34 , 49 n, 91 n, 127 , 128 , 311 Leach, E.R., 7 , 12 , 12 n, 39 n, 126 , 240 , 278–80 , 279 n, 294 n, 295 n, 311 Lévi-Strauss, Claude, 274 , 291 , 311 Lewis, Oscar, 275 , 311 Lewis, W.A., 134 n, 300 Lineage, 78 , 80 , 93–5 , 158 , 201 , 204 , 227 , 237 , 243 ; ties of, 24 Macdonnel, A.A., 13 , 311 Madan, T.N., xiii–xv, xxvi , xxviii , xxxi , 4 , 59 n, 91 , 93 , 97 , 129 , 140 , 173 n, 203 , 204 , 206 , 210 , 212 , 218 , 236 , 244 , 259 n, 266 , 274 n, 276 , 277 , 281 n, 287 , 291 , 311–12 (p.322A) Mahabharata, 233 n Mahant, 35 , 50 n, 52 , 72 , 129 , 132 , 165 n, 172 , 194 , 270 , 270 n; the past, 33 , 35 , 160 Maharashtra, 13 Mair, Lucy, 221 , 312 Majumdar, D.N., 2 , 149 n, 276–8 , 312 Malabar, 1 Malinowski, Bronislaw, 7 , 9 , 173 n, 276 , 279 , 292 , 294 , 294 n, 295 n, 312 Malwa, 1 , 216 n Mam (MoBr), 188–90 , 211–14 , 259–61 , 264 n, 269 Mandelbaum, D.G., xxix Manes, see oblation, shraddha and tarpan Manu, 78 n Manusmriti, 252 n Marriage, 1 , 3 , 6 , 20 , 22 , 23 , 36 , 37 , 40 , 41 , 45 , 46 , 51 , 52 , 54 , 55 , 60 , 68–70 , 73 , 79 , 83 , 84 , 99 , 106 , 136 , 138 , 139 , 141 , 147–9 , 154 , 169 , 171–6 , 179 , 183 , 186– 90 , 192 n, 193 n, 196 , 205 , 206 n, 208 , 210 , 214 , 215–18 , 215 n, 220–3 , 227–9 , 236 , 237 , 241 , 246 , 247 , 253 , 256 , 258 n, 266–8 , 282 , 286 , 287 ; age at, 99 ; by exchange (reciprocal marriage), 98 , 100–3 , 184 , 216 , 227 , 267 ; by purchase, 100 , 103 , 104 ; cross-cousin, 2 ; Page 8 of 14

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Index economic considerations in, 95 , 96 ; gifts of, 216 ; importance and nature of, 89 , 90 ; negotiation for, 96 , 99 , 100 ; political consideration in, 97 ; preferences and prescriptions of, 90–7 ; rites of, 224 ; structural consequences of, 108–24 , 201–9 ; ties of, 284 ; types of, 100–4 ; with dowry, 100 Marriott, McKim, 237 , 312 Marx, Karl, 201 Mas (Mosi), 188–90 , 212 , 259–61 , 264 n Matamal, 103 , 122–4 , 183–91 , 202 , 208 , 219 , 228 Matri-rin, 76 Mattan (town in Kashmir), 96 , 284 , 285 Mayer, A.C., 1 , 3 , 149 n, 159 n, 191 , 216 n, 286 n, 313 Mayne, J.D., 92 , 92 n, 107 n, 139 n, 241 n, 313 Mekhal, mekhala, xx , 80–3 , 92 , 106 , 110 , 111 , 113 , 123 , 125 , 136 , 153 , 169 , 176 , 187 , 188 , 190 , 214 , 224 , 228 , 246 , 246 n, 253 , 254 , 278 Menarche, 65 , 67 , 69 Menopause, 65 Mexico, 275 Miscarriage, 66 Misra, G.N., 13 , 14 n, 313 Moksha, 245 , 255 n Morgan, L.H., 2 Mughal rulers, introduction of the village system into Kashmir by, 27 Mukerji, D.P, 276 , 278 n, 313 Mukherjee, Ramkrishna, xxix , 313 Mulla, A.N., 15 Murdock, G.P., 258 n, 259 n, 275 , 313 Muslim(s) labour, 44 , 45 ; rule of, in Kashmir, 14–16 , 233 n; of Utrassu-Umanagri, 34 , 35 Mysore, 13 . Nadel, S.F., xxxvii , 38 , 51 , 64 , 277 , 278 , 278 n, 301 , 313 Nadimarg, village of, xvii Nakane, Chie, xxxi n, 294 , 313 (p.323A) Nanil (village in Kashmir), 145 , 148 , 155 Navreh, xx Nayars, 1 Nehru, Jawaharlal, 15 Nehru, Motilal, 15 Neighbourhoods, 160–8 , 179 nether (marriage), xx Naguni, 109 n Nicholas, Ralph W., xxix , 241 , 310 , 313 Page 9 of 14

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Index Nizami Mustafa, xxiv Nuer, 94 n Oblations, 25 , 121 , 179 , 196 , 240 , 285 Okka, 1 Opert, Gustav, 13 , 313 Ostor, Akos, xxix , 313 Oxford, 294 Paharais, 2 n Pakistan, xxiv Panda, 284 , 284 n, 285 , 286 Pandits, class division among, 36 , 37 ; domestic system of, xiv , xv , 192–9 ; history of, 15–19 ; kinship and marriage among, 23–5 , 77 , 258 ; oral tradition among, 253 n; population of, 14 , 15 ; status and territorial division among, 21–3 ; subcastes among, 19 , 20 , 91 Panikkar, K.M., 2 , 313 Parry, Jonathan, P., xxix , xxx , 313 Parsis, xx Parsons, T., 9 Partition, 51 , 54–7 , 60 , 76 , 87 , 120 , 121 , 124 , 134 , 137–58 , 160 , 161 , 170–2 , 177 , 198 , 223 ; as a normal feature of Pandit kinship, 144 , 151 ; as a reorganization of interkin relations, 173 ; causes of, 148–53 , 177 ; complete, 157 ; extent and form of, 156 ; inter-generation, 145 , 146 , 158 ; partial, 157 ; postponement of, xxxii ; process of, 155 ; in relation to household structure, 145–7 ; residual, 171 ; structural conditions of, 147 , 148 Pati (major division of a village), 28 , 30–3 , 133 , 179 , 194 Patrilineage, 49 , 57 , 107 , 112 , 179–84 (also see Kol) Patrilineal, descent, 24 , 170 , 179 , 184 , 198 (also see agnation); ideology, xxx , 195 , 202 , 211 , 212 , 284 , 287 ; kin, 31 , 36 , 73 , 76 , 162 , 165 , 165 n, 168 , 173 , 176 , 184 , 194 , 286 , 287 (also see agnates) Paul, Benjamin D., 10 n, 289 , 313 Pedigree, 284 , 284 n, 286–8 , 286 n Pehrson, R.C., 289 , 313 Pinda, 172 , 180 , 190 , 237 , 239–41 , 241 n Plath, David W., xxxiv n, 313 Pocock, D.F., xxix , 1 , 2 , 8 n, 12 , 231 , 232 , 285 , 291 , 309 , 313 Pof (Fasi), 71 , 81 , 111 . 112 , 188 , 259 , Page 10 of 14

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Index 260 Pofuv (FasiHu), 82 , 111 , 122 Pollution, xxxii , 110 , 111 , 174 , 174 n, 178 , 180 , 184 , 194 Popper, Karl, 8 n Prabhu, P.N., 107 n, 313 Prayag, 13 Prestation (s), 55 , 83 , 84 , 95 , 105 , 114 , 116 , 117 , 121–4 , 136 , 139 , 141 , 150 , 171 , 211 , 214 , 216–18 , 240 , 241 Property, division of, 170 , 171 ; impartible, 160 ; inheritance of, 73 , 74 , 84 , 121 , 141–3 , 147 , 148 , 161 , 175 , 184 , 196 ; ownership of, 126 , 137–40 , 223 ; (p.324A) rights of, 55 , 137–40 , 169 ; self-acquired, 147 Proverbs, 266–9 Punjab, 13 , 14 , 14 n Purib (Purbi) of Kashmir, 14 , 203 n Purushartha, 78 n, 242 , 245 Radcliffe-Brown, A.R., 7 , 11 , 12 , 82 n, 109 n, 137 , 183 , 201 , 258 , 314 Radhakrishnan, S., 248 n, 314 Raina, Hiranand, 21 , 128 , 314 Raiyatwari, 27 , 27 n Rajasthan, 13 Rajatarangini, 16 , 16 n, 32 Ram, Anant, 21 , 128 , 314 Ramacharitamanasa, 233 n Razdan, Krishna, 230 Redfield, Robert, 11 , 271 , 314 Renouncer, xxx , 230 , 250 , 252 , 253 , 271 Renunciation, 90 , 230 , 252 , 253 , 257 Residence, patriuxorilocal, 24 , 55 , 57 , 84 , 109 , 113 , 138–146 , 147 , 149 , 156 , 161 , 162 , 168 , 175 , 180 , 184 ; patrivirilocal, 50 , 55–7 , 109 , 138 , 156 (also see marriage) Rigveda, 255 n Ritual(s), 3 , 11 , 14 , 22 , 25 , 37 , 47 , 55 , 75 , 81 , 101 , 103 , 106 , 107 , 110 , 111 , 114 , 121 , 171 , 172 , 173 , 175 , 184 , 188 , 190 , 191 , 196 , 197–9 , 205 , 206 , 219 , 220 , 223 , 224 , 227 , 241 , 242 , 247 , 250 , 278 , 284–6 , 290 ; atonement, 244 ; bathing, 40 , 72 ; conduct of, 292 ; cycle of xxxii , 246 , 255 ; domestic, 90 , 110 , 136 , 173 ; family, 19 ; initiation, 40 , 46 , 73 , 74 , 79 ; for manes, 282 ; marriage, 79 , 105 , 107 n, 108 , 217–19 , 255 n; pollution, xxxii , 70 , 70 n, 71 , 181 , 254 ; purification by, xxxii , 70 n Rivers, W.H.R, 1 , 2 , 280 , 284 , 314 Page 11 of 14

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Index Rose, H.A, 14 n, 314 Ross, A.D., 1 , 314 Sacrifice, 17 Saligrama, 238 Samskara, 78 , 79 , 246 , 247 , 255 Sannyasa, 249 , 250 Sannyasi, 31 , 33 , 252 Sapinda, 241 , 241 n Sapru, Kamala, 4 , 314 Sapru, Tej Bahadur, 15 Saran, A.K., 278 , 279 Sarasvati, goddess of learning, 13 ; river, 13 Sarshar, Rattan Nath Dhar, 15 Schutz, Alfred, 231 , 232 , 232 n, 233 n, 241 , 314 Schwartzberg, J.E., xxxi n Selbie.J.A., 310 Self-realization, 234 Sender, H., xxvii , xxxv Sethi, S., xxvii n, xxviii Sexual intercourse, 64 , 71 n, 83 , 106 , 119 , 237 , 250 ; attitude towards, 119 , 121 ; taboo on, 83 Shah, A.M., xxix , 314 Shakta, 251 Shakti, 251 Shangas (village in Kashmir), 28 , 30 Shastra, 242 Shiva, 33 , 173 , 196 n, 224 , 234 , 247 , 251 Shraddha, 25 , 79 , 112 , 172 , 180 , 190 , 198 , 240 , 243 , 247 , 255 (also see Manes, Oblation and Tarpan) Siblings, 113 , 114 , 116 , 117 , 119 , 120 , 124 , 138 , 143 , 156 , 171 , 172 , 177 , 180 , 186–90 , 197 , 209 , 212 , 216 , 227 , 228 , 258–63 Sikh rule in Kashmir, 18 Sikhs, 14 n, 18 ; 235 (p.325A) Sills, D., 309 Simla, 131 Singer, Milton, 311 Singh, R., 18 Singh, V.B., 312 Sjoberg, Gideon, 21 n, 314 Smith, Roberston, 225 Sons, attitude towards, 67–9 Sonya, 95 , 98 , 102 , 122 , 123 , 183 , 208 , 228 Spate, O.H.K., 26 , 315 Srinagar, xxiv , 4 , 6 , 7 n, 14 n, 15 , 18 , 21–3 , 28 n, 33 , 35 , 46 , 49 , 91 , 99 , 101 , 107 , 118 , 128 , 131 n, 258 , 270 , 272 , 277 , 281 , 283 Srinivas, M.N., 1 , 3 n, 69 n, 110 n, 149 n, 291 , 292 , 315 Stanner, W.E.H., xxxvii , 280 Page 12 of 14

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Index Stein, M. Aurel, 16 n, 26 n, 32 , 315 Stridhan, 139 , 139 n, 220–4 Sufi, G.M.D., 16 n, 26 n, 315 Taboo, 22 , 66 n, 83 Tagore, Rabindranath, 230 , 315 Tambiah, S.J., 220–2 , 221 n, 224 , 315 Tanjore, 194 Tarpan, 25 , 79 , 237 (also see Oblation and Manes) Teknonymy, 262 Tepoztlan (village in Mexico), 271 Terms of address, 213 , 258 , 262 , 263 ; of reference, 212–14 , 258–62 Tradition, conservative, xxvii ; Great and Little, 11 ; Pandit oral, 233 , 233 n; sanskritic, 69 Trautman, Thomas R., xxix , 315 Tyler, Stephen A., xxix , 315 Uma (patron goddess of Utrassu-Umanagri), 33 , 52 , 76 , 129 U.S.A., xxxii , 287 n Utrassu-Umanagri (village in Kashmir), xxiv , xxv , xxvii , xxx ff; agriculture in, 29 ; choice for field work in, 6 , 7 ; influence of geographical environment on life in, 28 , 29 ; legend and history concerning, 32–4 ; location of, 28 , 29 ; Muslims of, 34 , 35 ; Pandits of, 35–8 ; pattern of land use in, 30–2 ; seasons and soil of, 29 ; territorial divisions in, 31 , 32 , 194 Uttar Pradesh, 13 , 97 n, 213 n, 225 , 276 , 281 van der Veen, Klass, xxix , 216 n, 315 Vangam (village in Kashmir), 65 , 96 Variw, 114 , 187 , 191 , 205 , 228 Varna, 13 , 81 Vatuk, Sylvia, xxix , 216 n, 225 , 284 n, 315 Vernag (Village in Kashmir), 271 Vidyarthi, L.P., 315 Vijnaneshvara, 92 n, 241 n Virakti, 249 , 252 , 253 Vishnu, 33 , 196 n, 238 , 247 Wandhama, village of, xvii , xxv Warner, W.L., 56 n, 315 Weaning, 83 Weber, Max, 232 , 315 Whyte, W.F., 290 , 315 Widowhood, 206 ; remarriage, 196 , 259 , 260 Page 13 of 14

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Index Witzel, M., xxvii Women, as wives, 111–21 ; exchange of, 208 ; home and, 195–9 ; patrilineal ideology and, 254–6 ; in urban areas, 22 ; influence of, over husband, 120 ; property rights of, 139 ; quarrels among, 149 , 149 n, 150 , 151 , 151 n; (p.326A) as renauncers, 254 ; residual rights of, 55 , 84 , 110 , 111 , 196 ; role of, in marriage negotiations, 100 Woodroffe, J., 251 Wreford, R.G., 15 , 315 Yajaman, 20 , 285 Yajnavalkya, 92 n Yamuna, 13 Yuch-Hwa, Lin, 39 n, 315 Zaehner, R.C., 77 , 78 n, 315 Zain-ul-Abidin, 17 , 19 Zamati, 94 , 197 , 204 Zimmer, H., 83 n, 315 (p.327A) (p.328A)

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Non-Renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.iB) Non-Renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.011.0003 Keywords:   householder, worldly life, good life, Hindu society, caste, renunciation Keywords:   Pandits, identity, households, parenthood, good life, plenitude, detachment, ideology, householder Keywords:   householders, auspiciousness, purity, Hindu, Brahmanical culture Keywords:   householder, moral dilemmas, renouncer, renunciation, enjoyer, enjoyment, perdition Keywords:   moral choices, moral awareness, self-improvement, Hindu culture, suffering, death, views of Buddhists, Jains, and Hindus Keywords:   types of death, significance of death, dying, suffering, Hindu culture, karma, good life Keywords:   Hindus, cultural traditions, fragmented consciousness, Christianity, secularism, modernization, West

T. N. Madan (p.iiB) (p.iiiB)

(p.ivB) Praise for Non-Renunciation ‘Evans-Pritchard once wrote that there are certain concepts which when adequately translated provided the ways to the understanding of a culture. This book by Triloki Madan contains an entire corpus of such concepts for Hindu culture. He comments on them from an unrivalled and privileged intellectual position as a discerning anthropologist who can stand both inside and outside the tradition. His is also an attractive humanist position… Non-Renunciation provides in many ways the most satisfactory recent theory on critical features of the high tradition of India. It will be essential reading for those interested in

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Non-Renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture Indian civilization.’ — Nur Yalman, Professor of Anthropology, Harvard University ‘Non-Renunciation reminds all of us who are involved in the study of Indian cultural systems of the center of gravity of Hindu life—the household and the householder. Infusing, as he does, the fruits of detailed research among the Pandits of Kashmir with a wealth of textual and broad civilizational insights, Profesor Madan has done a service both to professional scholars concerned with Hinduism and, by the elegance of his style and the directness of his expression, to the intelligent layman.’ — Arjun Appadurai, Professor of Anthropology, University of Chicago ‘Written with grace and great erudition, this work is an important and convincing statement about how Hindu civilization ought to be understood. The ethnography is significant and sensitively observed and analyzed. The use of fiction is innovative and exemplary of how anthropological understanding can be brought to bear on materials not normally studied by anthropologists. It is a work that will provoke debate.’ — Lawrence A. Babb, Professor of Anthropology, Amherst College ‘[Madan] is a truly literate scholar, equally at home in the ethnographic present of his Kashmiri material, the literary present of the novels he uses, the historical past of the many classical, Sanskrit texts he employs, and the intellectual present of a wide range of theoretical material. It is this depth and breadth of relevant material which he can bring to bear on the subject at hand that makes this book so insightful and stimulating.’—John Cort, Associate Professor of Religion, Denison University (p.vB) For UMA, VIBHAS, and VANDANA ihalokaḥ eva paralokaḥ (p.viB)

(p.viiB) Contents PREFACE ix ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS xi A NOTE ON TRANSLITERATION xiii INTRODUCTION: INTIMATIONS OF THE GOOD LIFE 1 1 DOMESTICITY AND DETACHMENT 17 2 AUSPICIOUSNESS AND PURITY 48 3 ASCETICISM AND EROTICISM 72 4 THE DESIRED AND THE GOOD 101

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Non-Renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture 5 LIVING AND DYING 118 EPILOGUE: THE QUEST FOR HINDUISM 142 APPENDIX: A NOTE ON THE EPIGRAPHS 169 REFERENCES 171 INDEX 179 (p.viiiB)

(p.ixB) Preface to the Paperback Edition The essays comprising this book were written over a number of years. In preparing the book, the essays, all but one of which had been published already, were subjected to different degrees of revision and rewriting. I did not eliminate entirely the overlapping of the chapters. While this resulted in some looseness of the structure, it also preserved the possibility of the book being read piecemeal, a chapter at a time. I should like to add, however that what is offered here is a book with a unifying theme, namely, the ideal of the life of the householder as the good life. My interpretations of the various sub-themes will become clear to the reader only if the book is read in the sequence in which the chapters and the argument are laid out. I have written about the theme and the sub-themes and my interpretations of them at some length in the Introduction I will not therefore write about them here. There are two points, however, which I should clarify. First, the word ‘Hindu’ in the subtitle. Strictly speaking this book is about the Brahmanical tradition, but it does not deny the existence of non-Brahmanical traditions in Hindu society. To the extent that each of these traditions is Hindu as well as Brahmanical or Shudra, or even non-sectarian, it may be legitimately seen as illuminating the complex multivocal Hindu tradition. To say that the Brahmanical element by itself does not constitute the Hindu tradition is true; but to assert that it has not been of critical importance in the making of this tradition would be obviously false. Secondly, I would like to point out that the tides of the different chapters are not intended to signify simple-minded binary oppositions: they rather stress the fact that the idea of the ‘whole’ in Hindu culture is a transcendental concept which encompasses contraries but belongs to a higher level than them. There is a sense in which the contraries are complementary. Thus the ideal of householdership is to seek detachment in the midst of the joys of (p.xB) domesticity, not outside them. I trust this will become clear to the reader fairly early in his or her reading of the book. I may mention here that the book was received well by readers and reviewers, and was reprinted a little over a year after its first publication in 1987. Subsequently, thanks to the initiative of Mr Clemens Heller, and the support of Professor Louis Dumont, Non-Renunciation was translated into French by two Page 3 of 5

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Non-Renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture well-known anthropologists, Madame Denise Paulme-Schaeffner and Dr Bernard Juillerat. It was published in 1990 under the tide of A l'opposé du renoncement: Perplexitiés de la vie quotidienne hindoue (Editions de la Maison des Sciences de I'Homme, Paris). It is good now to see Non-Renunciation reappear in an Oxford India Paperback (OIP) edition. T. N. MADAN 10 May 1995

(p.xiB) Acknowledgements I am obliged to the editors and publishers of various books and journals for their permission to include in this book materials published by them earlier in more or less the same form. Chapters 1, 2 and 3 respectively appeared originally in Contributions to Indian Sociology (Institute of Economic Growth, Delhi, 1981), Purity and auspiciousness, edited by John B. Carman and Frédérique A. Marglin (E. J. Brill, Leiden, 1985), and Culture and morality, edited by Adrian C. Mayer (Oxford University Press, Delhi, 1981). The Epilogue is based on an essay of the same title published in International Social Science Journal (Unesco, Paris, 1977) and a lecture (now under publication) delivered at Marlboro College (USA) in 1984. An earlier draft of Chapter 5 was presented to a seminar on ‘Order and anomie’, organized by the Social Science Research Council, New York, in New Delhi in 1982. I am grateful to the Council and to its Research Associate, David Szanton, for the invitation to write the paper and for their subsequent consent to making my own arrangement for publication. Besides Chapter 5, Chapter 4 and the Introduction are being published here for the first time. I owe a deep debt of gratitude to the following friends and colleagues for reading one or more chapters and giving me their advice: John Barnes, Brenda Beck, G. S. Bhatt, John Carman, Veena Das, Louis Dumont, Shrivatsa Goswami, Ron Inden, R. S. Khare, Bh. Krishnamurthy, F. K. Lehman, Frédérique Marglin, Ashis Nandy, Jonathan Parry, A. K. Ramanujan, Kanti Shah, Baidyanath Saraswati, Kailas Sharma, M. N. Srinivas, Meenakshi Thapan, and Jit Singh Uberoi. I am additionally indebted to Kris Lehman for suggesting the title of the book. I should not forget to mention here the anthropology and religion students of Harvard University who heard this book in the form of lectures (under the title of ‘Perplexities in everyday life’) during the Fall Term of 1984 in John Carman's class on Hindu ethics. Their keen interest and John Carman's (p.xiiB) gentle questioning are responsible in no small way for encouraging me to get the book ready for publication. I am grateful to all of them.

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Non-Renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture I must place on record once again my indebtedness to the Institute of Economic Growth, Delhi, where I have had the freedom to pursue my studies in directions chosen by myself and where this book was written. Finally, I would like to thank the Oxford University Press for their confidence in the prospects for this book.

(p.xiiiB) A Note on Transliteration Well-established conventions have been followed in rendering Sanskrit and Hindi words in Roman. Long vowels are shown thus: ā(आ) as in father, ī (ई) as in machine, ū (ऊ) as in rule. Among consonants, attention may be drawn to the following: g (ग) as in goat, ṅ (ङ) as in ink, c (च) as in church, ñ (ञ) as in Spanish señor, ś (स) as in sugar, ṣ (ष) as in shun. Besides, there is the distinction between dental and cerebral consonants: t (त), th (थ), d (द), dh (ध), n (न), and ṭ (ट),ṭh (ठ),ḍ (ड),ḍh (ढ),ṇ (ण). S (स) as in sun is also a dental consonant. Aspirated consonants have the letter h added to them: kh (ख), gh (घ), ch (छ), jh (झ), th (थ), dh (ध),ṭh (ठ)ḍh (ढ), ph (फ), bh (भ). The use of ṁ nasalizes the preceding vowel (as in saṁskāra) and ḥ indicates a preceding breathing vowel (as in śatruḥ). Kashmiri words (in Chapters 1, 2 and 5) pose special problems. For simplicity and comparability, original Sanskrit words have been used whenever it has been possible to trace these from their spoken Kashmiri form. All common nouns from Sanskrit and other Indian languages which are not to be found in the Oxford English Dictionary have been italicized and provided with diacritical marks. Personal and place names, names of rivers and mythological figures, and the titles of traditional ‘texts’ have been printed in Roman without diacritical marks, which have been, however, added to them in the Index. Titles of authored texts (ancient as well as modern) have been italicized without diacritical marks, which are, again, provided in the Index.

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Domesticity and Detachment

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Domesticity and Detachment T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0015

Abstract and Keywords This chapter presents an account of the Pandit ideology of the householder in which the purposes and procedures of the good life, lived in affirmation of the values of plenitude and detachment, are spelled out. The Pandits' ideology of the householder is, in fact, much more than just that: it is their ideology of humanity. While all sentient beings are born (and die), human beings are ‘made’ or constructed and achieve different degrees of perfection by their conduct. The greatest ambition of a male Pandit is to become a householder along with his own wife and children. Keywords:   Pandits, identity, households, parenthood, good life, plenitude, detachment, ideology, householder

Why should we renounce the lovely world? Our love of Him is our austerity … Krishna Razdan Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight. Rabindranath Tagore

Introductory In a justly influential essay on renunciation in Indian religions, Louis Dumont suggested that ‘the secret of Hinduism may be found in the dialogue between the renouncer and the man-in-the-world’ (1960: 37f). Dumont was not, of course, the first person to draw attention to these two ‘human types’ in the Hindu Page 1 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment universe: his contribution lay, rather, in his insistence that the renouncer and the man-in-the-world are best understood in terms of their relationship of opposition and complementarity. In this chapter (based on an essay written in honour of Louis Dumont) I make an effort to pursue his significant observation about ‘the dialogue’ by examining the place of the gṛhastha (householder) among the native Brahmans of Kashmir Valley, known generally as the Pandits.1 I have described else- (p.18B) where at length (see Madan 1965) that the householder occupies the central place in everyday life in Pandit society: in fact, he is the typical Pandit. Here I try to delineate some crucial elements in the Pandit ideology of the householder. It should be clarified here that, underlying the earlier account (Madan 1965), there was an implicit assumption of social relations as the basic phenomenon, which resulted in inadequate attention being paid to the cultural aspect of social reality. The corrective does not lie, of course, in replacing one parochialism, as it were, by another but, rather, in adopting a multidimensional approach to the interpretation of the data about everyday life. The study of ideas and beliefs must take place in the context of observable behaviour and vice versa. Following Dumont (1957: 12), the kind of ideas I am interested in here are those that the Pandits themselves employ to bring out the purposiveness and meaningfulness of their institutions: ideas that embody norms and values, stating what is axiomatic and not to be questioned, but also enabling people to make choices in respect of both the purposes of human pursuits and the appropriate procedures for their fulfilment within the overall framework of dharma. Social relations may thus be seen as animated—whether sustained or altered—by such ideas. There is need for caution, however, for, as Dumont (1980: 36f) has pointed out, ideas and values are not everything and they do not by themselves comprise socio-cultural reality, just as externally observable behaviour alone does not do so. While ideas provide the framework for the interpretation of behaviour, behaviour—that which actually happens—provides what Dumont (1977: 27) calls ‘control’, preventing the misunderstandings that an overweening emphasis on ideas alone might generate. In short, I am not setting up a mutually exclusive dichotomy of culture and society, but insisting that we recognize that social action is suffused with meaning and that intentions are central to it. Purposes are not causes, however, nor do I want to explain anything in confident ideological terms. This is an interpretive essay concerned with what Schutz (1976) calls ‘constructs of typicalities’. People's ideas are difficult to get at and analyse. They are not there for the ethnographer to pick up, as it were; he has to (p.19B) look for them and, indeed, ferret them out through intensive fieldwork. The ethnographic text is not ‘faithful’ account of what has been seen and heard, but involves reconstruction Page 2 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment and redescription— some scholars prefer to call it ‘translation’—of what has been seen and heard, in the light of, first, people's own concepts of everyday life and its larger purposes and, second, the ethnographer's theoretical presuppositions about the nature of social life and the significance of people's ideas. It is important that one seeks a fusion between the view from within (ideas, meanings) and the view from without (behaviour, rules), for anthropology is, as Dumont (1970: 157) has rightly pointed out, understanding born of the tension of these two perspectives. ‘In this task’, Dumont writes, ‘it is not sufficient to translate the indigenous words, for it frequently happens that the ideas which they express are related to each other by more fundamental ideas even though they are unexpressed. Fundamental ideas literally “go without saying” and have no need to be distinct, that is tradition. Only their corollaries are explicit’ (1957: 12).2 It is obvious that to achieve the foregoing objective, the ethnographer has to seek the companionship of informants in a joint endeavour of exploration of meaning in the minutiae of everyday Life. Informants are not always forthcoming with general formulations. As Weber pointed out, ‘actual action goes on in a state of inarticulate half-consciousness or actual unconsciousness of its subjective meaning’ (1947: 111f). The reasonable assumption that one makes in this regard is that it is inconceivable that a person does not have a view of life and its purposes—a Weltanschauung—even if he has not explicitly formulated it. The point really is that he may be expected to formulate it. The ethnographer, therefore, invites the informants to reflect on their everyday life, discuss their behaviour, examine its purposes (not only the specific intentions that prompt particular actions but, and more importantly, general purposes also), evaluate procedures, and assign meanings. This may be done retrospectively as Schutz (1976) suggests. In short, the ethnographer tries formulate explicitly what (p.20B) the informants know implicitly and vaguely, perhaps only confusedly. His task is to connect and then redescribe what he observes and what he is told, without loss of meaning, and to interpret what is given in the informants' beliefs and their ready or coherent and not-so-coherent knowledge of their culture. Belief, knowledge and understanding are, of course, not one and the same thing. Needless to emphasize, the ethnographer is not able to engage in and sustain such productive interaction with every informant. Fortunately, there are reflective individuals everywhere who are curious about their own culture and think about it.3 But almost everyone—including children—contributes to the ethnographer's knowledge and understanding of the way of life he is attempting to understand. In the final synthesis that he endeavours to construct, the ethnographer assigns different kinds and degrees of significance to the various Page 3 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment contributions, including his own, and establishes connection between them. This, then, is the manner in which the data embodied in this chapter were generated. It might be added that what I am dealing with here is, by and large, the Pandit oral tradition.4

(p.21B) Socio-Cultural Identity: ‘Bhaṭṭl’ And ‘Gārhasthya’ Selfhood and personhood

To give a systematic account of the Pandit ideology of the householder, it seems appropriate to begin with the Pandit conception of socio-cultural identity—of ‘personhood’—for even those who may not be householders are yet Pandits, members of the community (barādarī, the ‘fraternity’).5 Some Pandits among the many I have talked with about the presuppositions of their culture have emphasized the importance of going deeper than the level of personhood (manin-society) and attending to what they consider the most fundamental notion of all, namely ‘selfhood’, expressed in the ancient question, ‘Who am I?’ According to the Pandits, what distinguishes human beings from other sentient beings is their capacity for introspection (cintan) and self-realization (ātmajṅana). Though most Pandits are only dimly aware of the monistic teaching of Kashmir Shaivism (see Chatterji 1914), many affirm identity with Shiva—Sivoham, I am Shiva!—as the true goal of the seeker and, therefore, the only valid answer to the question of selfhood. This is, however, by no means a general concern and occupies only the cognoscenti. When confronted by me with the foregoing formulation, the majority of the Pandits I have talked with averred that such knowledge (jn̄āna) is beyond the comprehension of the common man and of not much avail to him, enmeshed as he is in ‘the veil of illusion’ (māyā-jāl) of everyday life. This is stated more in a matter-of-fact way than in a self-deprecatory tone. They assert that the inwardlooking emphasis on selfhood is not the common man's problem: his concern is the proper performance (p.22B) of social roles (duniyā-dāri, ‘worldmaintenance’) in consonance with dharma. In other words, it is the pressing, if not the paramount, reality of everyday life, demanding constant attention and action, which is the primary concern of most Pandits and, they believe, of most human beings. (Whether this is fortunate or unfortunate, the Pandits maintain, is another question.) And the householder is the duniyā-dār (man-in-the-world) par excellence. In the context of such an involvement in everyday life, answering the question ‘Who am I?’ still remains important, but from the perspective of social interaction or personhood rather than withdrawal from society and selfhood. Apropos personhood, two initial questions may now be posed. First, how does one know a person to be a Pandit? Second, how do the Pandits themselves define their socio-cultural identity and communicate it to others when the need for doing so arises?

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Domesticity and Detachment External signs of pandit identity

The Pandits refer to themselves, and are referred to by other Kashmiri-speaking people, as the Bhaṭṭa. The word is of Sanskrit origin and means a learned person and one who is concerned with communicating or the telling of what there is to know.6 Needless to say, not every Pandit is a scholar, or in possession of esoteric knowledge, and the etymology of the word bhaṭṭa is of no practical significance. It is simply used to designate those Kashmiris who are not Muslims or Sikhs. There are many outward signs of recognition of a Pandit and of places and events associated with him. The traditional clothing of Pandit men, women and children is different from that of their Muslim co-villagers. Though a nonKashmiri might not easily recognize these differences in the case of men and children—there can be no mistaking a married Pandit woman's traditional or contemporary sartorial style for that of anyone else's—the Kashmiris themselves perceive them readily. Also, many Pandits, particularly women, wear the very visible tyok on their forehead—a mark made with sandalwood or rosewood paste, saffron, or sindūr (vermilion), or mixtures of these. (p.23B) When bare-headed, a Pandit man or boy may be recognized by his tuft of head-top hair (chog), but this is now less commonly found than it was a couple of generations ago. An adult Pandit male, who has stripped himself to the waist for a wash, or some other purpose, will always be recognized by the holy cord of three cotton strands (yonya or yajn̄opavita)—characteristic of the twice-born castes all over India— worn round the neck, or round the neck and under the right arm. Pandit houses look different from those of other Kashmiris, both inside and from outside. Their places of worship also are distinctive in appearance, as are their religious, wedding and funeral gatherings. The sight of flowers (particularly marigolds) and the sound of conch shells are characteristic of these events. Though they speak Kashmiri like the others, the Pandits' speech is more laden with Sanskrit than that of Muslims. Personal and family names, with a few exceptions, are also different.7 Most Pandit households earn their livelihood from land, service of various types (including domesric and government service), and/or trade. Such Pandits are called Kārkun (‘those who work for profit’). A small minority carve out their living as priests (Gor) and are also referred to as the Bhāṣā (language, i.e., Sanskrit) Bhaṭṭa. The Kārkun and the Gor do not intermarry. The Pandits do not perform any of the functions associated with artisan or service castes in other parts of India: it is the Kashmiri Muslims who perform all these tasks. The Pandits and the Muslims are linked by co-residence in villages (or in urban neighbourhoods) and by economic transactions. There are no marriage and commensal relations between them and physical contact is severely restricted. Agreement between the communities is built upon an explicit recognition of

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Domesticity and Detachment differences between them (see Madan 1972). For the Pandits, the Muslims are the ‘others’ or ‘outsiders’ (mleccha) but not strangers (vopar), and vice versa. (p.24B) Pandit identity: self-ascription

By themselves the Pandits constitute not merely a single breed (bīja or byol, ‘seed’) but, more significantly, one zāt. The notion of zāt is subtler than that of the community of kith and kin and common customary behaviour. In fact, the word is used in two senses. Generally and rather loosely, it connotes the family name or the name of an occupational group. It is also used to convey the particular idea that a people (quom, the anthropologists' ethnic group), whether Pandits or any other, ultimately are what they are and do what they do because of their essential and inborn, but alterable, nature. Soils, plants, animals, human beings, gods—all have their zāt or essence. Among human beings it is considered to be a product of physical and moral elements: in fact, it may well be understood as the hierarchical relation between the two, with the moral element encompassing the physical. One's zāt may become refined through appropriate effort—what Marriott (1977) calls the process of maturation—or it may become corrupted through the neglect of moral duties. As an informant once put it to me, ‘a Pandit is not the fruit of the pursuit of pleasure (kāma) but of moral duty (dharma)’. The reference is to the paramount duty of the householder to beget children—particularly sons—so that the lineage (kula) is continued and the manes are assured offerings of water (tres, tarpaṇa ‘quenching of thirst’, ‘satiating’) and food (piṇda) and their perdition is averted. In the process, the Pandit community also survives. A Pandit is thus born a Pandit and there is no other way of acquiring this identity. One loses it by totally abandoning the traditional way of life, or the crucial elements of it, as when one eats and lives with Muslims or marries among them. Such actions result in a crucial alteration (deterioration) of one's zāt. A Pandit must, therefore, guard it always. I once asked a Pandit who had become a Muslim why he had done so. His answer was that it was a flaw in his karma that blinded him and made him go astray. I do not mean to suggest that every Pandit converted to Islam has such regrets: such conversions are, in any case, extremely rare. The point, rather, is that one who is repentant should think about it in terms of a moral (p.25B) lapse, a falling away from dharma, and, I might add, the consequent deterioration of one's zāt. Despite his regret, this man never mentioned the hope of a restoration of his lost status. He knew this loss, to be irrevocable. And the Pandits of his village saw in him a fallen man—a very pitiable creature. The significant relation between moral and physical elements in the make-up of a person does not mean the denial of importance to the physical foundation of personhood. On the contrary, it is dramatized at the beginning of all major rituals when the person performing a rite summons himself into existence, as it were, by pointing to and naming different parts of his body, beginning with his Page 6 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment feet and culminating in his head, and purifying them by sprinkling water on them with blades of the purifying darbha grass (Poa cynosuroides). Parenthood biology and morality

According to the Pandits, the fact that sexual intercourse does not always lead to conception may be because of some bodily deficiency of the wife or husband. Barrenness is recognized as a physical incapacity, which may, however, have karmic causes. A childless wife may be jokingly advised by her friends to change her ‘cover’ or quilt (vurun)—that is, sleep with a man other than her husband— but this would, of course, be a reprehensible breach of moral conduct. Barrenness among women and infertility among men may be produced by disease, sorcery or the curse of people endowed with supernatural powers. But, ultimately, whether a couple will or will not be blessed with children, the much sought after sons in particular, is a question of fate (prārabdha), of karma-lekhā (the ‘written’, or the preordained, results of one's actions in the previous life). In the normal course of events, there is no escape from the consequences of one's actions; only divine grace (anugraba) can come to one's rescue, but this is hard to obtain. It is generally maintained that conception occurs when husband and wife reach orgasm simultaneously. Female orgasm is believed to result in the discharge of vital fluids into the womb which also receives the male ‘seed’. Not only were my informants uncertain about the nature of the supposed female discharge, some of them also considered it to be of no consequence. The male seed is believed to contain in it all the (p.26B) requirements for the making of the complete human being: flesh, blood, all internal and external organs, hair, nails, intellect, knowledge, ignorance, health, disease, etc. It has the capacity to provide for the nurture of the foetus and subsequently of the new born child. The mother's menstrual blood provides the ‘soil’ or ‘bed’ for the seed to grow in when it ceases to flow out and solidifies into the fleshy ‘sack’ which envelops and nourishes the foetus. It is because of this fact, some informants said, that Hindus have adopted the black stone śālagrāma, which resembles the womb in shape, as the iconic representation of Vishnu, the preserver. The growth of the child's body, which is already in the seed, depends upon the mother and her physical and moral condition. The original planting of the seed in the womb sets in process the milk-producing capacity of the mother who then suckles the child when it is born. In short, as one informant put it, the human seed is very much like the walnut which contains in itself the full-grown tree—incidentally the largest fruit-bearing tree in Kashmir. Despite the potency of the male seed, the father's role is seen as rather accidental and episodic compared to the mother's sustained and intimate involvement with the child during both the prenatal and postnatal stages. A Kashmiri proverb bluntly proclaims this intimacy: ‘illegitimate or legitimate, I carried the child for nine months in my own womb’. In other words, while the Page 7 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment physical bond between father and child may never be proven, there can be little doubt about it in the case of mother and child. Human life, the Pandits aver, consists of the obligation to repay debts (ṛṇa) incurred in the course of numerous lives: debts to gods, ancestors (including one's father), teachers, fellow human beings. There is one debt, however, which never gets repaid because it cannot be repaid: this is the debt one owes one's mother (mātṛ-ṛṇd). There is no one—not excepting one's father, not even God—obedience to whom is enjoined more strictly on human beings than to one's mother. All one's kith and kin, including the father, may turn wicked, but the bad mother (kumātā) is unknown.8 The bond between mother and child (p.27B) is the moral bond of love par excellence— Fortes's axiom of amity (Fortes 1969: 219ff)—unsullied by the kinds of mundane considerations that enter into the father-son relationship. The Kashmiri woman is said to be a child-worshipper (baca-parast). The reverence for human mothers is paralleled by the Pandits' veneration for mother goddesses, particularly their patron goddesses Sharika and Ragnya, both addressed as jagaaambā ‘universal mother’, whom they accord a higher place in the divine hierarchy than their divine consorts. Mothers thus pervade both the human and the divine spheres. Fathers also are obviously important: ‘the seed flows clearing the way for the flow of property’ is how an informant summed up the biological and social significance of the father—son bond. When I suggested to him (and other informants) that the way that the flow of ‘seed’ clears is not only for the downward transmission of property but also for the upward flow of food offerings (piṇḍa), they agreed with me. But there is a problem in respect of the father—child relationship. The mother has milk and she gives it all to her children. A woman may even die in childbirth, sacrificing her life for the sake of the child. The father has property and he shares it with his sons; in fact, he may try to deny this obligation. The mother gives absolutely of what she has, but the father does so only partially or conditionally: it is here that the seeds of household conflict often lie (see Madan 1965: chap. 8). The father—child relationship is moral, even as the mother—child bond is, but it also has a material dimension: not only do sons share ancestral property with their father and inherit his share in it, daughters also receive a dowry and post– nuptial prestations from their natal family (see Madan 1975a: 231–41). Inheritance by sons and gifts to daughters (and their conjugal families) are governed by law and custom, and these may often be manipulated by particular individuals to suit their own (p.28B) advantage. The Pandits often justify the actions of a son who fights his father over property, blaming the older man for such vices as covetousness or intolerance of others' points of view. They never condone the neglect by a son of the material needs of his mother, even if she is a step-mother. Leach's contention (see Leach 1961: 9) that economic constraints are prior to the constraints of kinship morality does not hold good of the mother Page 8 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment —child relationship among the Pandits; it applies to the father-son relationship but only at the level of behaviour and not in terms of kinship ideology, in which filial piety is extolled as an imperative of dharma. Property endures, as Leach (1961: 11) has pointed out, but so do the moral bonds between parents and children. An adult Pandit's first action in the morning, after he has performed ablutions and before he eats any solid food— the pious will not even drink anything—is to offer water to quench the ‘thirst’ (treś) of his manes, beginning with his own deceased parents. Moreover, twice a year he performs the śrāddha ritual for his parents on their respective death anniversaries (according to the Hindu lunar calender) and on the appropriate days during the annual fortnight-long ‘feeding’ of manes (kāmbarpaccha). Piṇḍa (conically shaped lumps of cooked rice) are offered to them symbolically and thrown into flowing waters or fed to birds after the ritual. Invited priests are then fed the favourite dishes of the deceased parents. Other ancestors also receive piṇḍa: five lineal male ascendants beginning with one's father's father, on the occasion of the father's śrāddha, and father's mother, father's fathers mother and so on up to the father's fourth lineal male ascendant's mother (FaFaFaFaFaMo), on the occasion of the mother's śrāddha. Still other ancestors, notably the mother's father, may also be offered piṇḍa, or— this is more likely—dry, uncooked rice, salt and fruits (called sīiddha) may be given to the family priest in the name of the dead person. Those to whom one normally offers piṇḍa or sīddha, and their descendants, are One's sapiṇḍa one is related to them through the ritual food offering, and a man must not take a wife from among them, or give a daughter or sister in marriage to them, within the limits defined by the food offering.9 It is obvious that the Pandits disapprove (p. 29B) of the mixing together or confusion of categories, the basic distinction in this context being between wife-givers and wife-takers (see Madan 1965: 105; 1975a), with others derived from it. The nature of the parent-child relationship is thus specified in dharma, which declares the moral basis of the relationship and defines what its content should he. The Pandits are down-to-earth pragmatists and acknowledge that the dictates of dharma are often violated by people. Why should this be so? Why should considerations of economic gain emerge blatantly as prior to the dictates of morality in some cases? The Pandit answer is, ‘havālayat’ that is, the notion that you may receive from your children what you gave unto them (to keep in ‘safe custody’, as it were) in the previous life. In short, it is karma. Fate (prārabdha) informs the parent—child relationship at every step: from the initial step of kanyādāna (the gift of a maiden by her rather to her chosen husband), through the intermediate step of garbhādāna (the receiving of the seed by the wife from the husband), to the ultimate step of piṇḍadāna (the postmortuary gift of food by a son to his parents and other ancestors). This threefold Page 9 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment pattern of gifts, given and received, is the defining characteristic of the domain of kinship and domesticity among the Pandits, forming the basis of a person's relations with (to borrow Schutz's terminology once again) his predecessors, consociates and successors. More generally, it is the very basis of the Pandit way of life and of the definition of cultural identity. Birth and death are physiological events found among all sentient beings. It is the specific cultural expression of these events, and what precedes, accompanies and follows them, that defines a Pandit and distinguishes him not only from all living beings but also and specifically from non-Pandits. Ethnophysiology, morality, ritual, custom (p.30B) and law—all these are elements in the definition of identity and of the cultural idiom in which it is expressed. ‘Bhaṭṭil’: traditional purposes of life

The Pandits' conception of socio-cultural identity is given explicit expression in their notion of ‘bhaṭṭil’, the Bhaṭṭa way of life. Needless to emphasize, they consider bhaṭṭil the best, that is, morally the most superior, way of life. It is constituted of a range of fundamental purposes of life (puruṣārtha or abhiprāya) largely centred in domestic life, and of appropriate procedures for their fulfilment. These purposes and procedures have their basis in tradition. When children—the great questioners in every society—and even curious adults ask of those who might know why something should be done in a particular manner, or done at all, the Pandit answer usually is: ‘it is bhaṭṭil; it is our way of life’. If the questioner persists and demands a fuller answer, he is sought to be silenced by the utterance of the single exclamatory word ‘ada!’. As an affirmatory exclamation, ‘ada’ would mean, ‘that is the way it is’, implying that ‘this is the way it should be’. Put negatively, the connotation would be: ‘there is no reason’, implying that ‘no reason need be given’. ‘Ada’ could also be interpreted as a counter-question: ‘What else is the way?’ or ‘why should I tell you?’ The foregoing gloss, I must clarify, is my attempt to decode this powerful verbal symbol on the basis of careful attention to the contexts and manner of its use. My informants never explained the term to me but left me in no doubt about its significance. It stands for the virtue (not merely an attitude) of unquestioning acceptance of the moral imperative. It is not employed in connection with the inevitability of natural or physiological processes, such as the change of seasons or death. There were many among my informants— the inevitable sceptics—who considered the notion of ‘ada’ an expression of ignorance and/or irrationality, as they sarcastically put it, ‘there is no higher śāstra among the Bhaṭṭa than the adaśāstra’. It is obvious that we are here confronted with axiomatic truths which are the foundation of tradition everywhere. These truths were never stated to me in any systematic form by my informants. Certain overarching notions have, nevertheless, emerged (p.31B) quite dearly in the course of my conversations with individual Pandits and through group discussions. I now turn to some of these notions relevant to my present concern.

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Domesticity and Detachment A Pandit's most precious possession, I have been repeatedly told, is his self. One's self is, of course, more than one's body (śarira). The physical self or the body by itself is really of little significance. It is fragile, subject to deterioration, and readily perishable: it is kṣaṇabhaṅgur—that which may disintegrate any moment. It is when the body is joined to the inner self (antarātmd) that it becomes the vehicle of dharma. It is, therefore, not the body but the network of dharmic relations that really matters. Thus the backbone of the family and the lineage is the relationship between ascendants and descendants in the male line affirmed in the śrāddha. He who neglects this first principle of treating the body as a means in the achievement of purposes beyond the body, and not an end in itself, turns out to be, in the words of an informant (who switched from Kashmiri to Hindi), ‘tin janama kā bhūkhā’ that is, one who remains spiritually starved through three lives—the previous, the present and the future. One's present life's difficulties indicate the neglect of dharma in the previous one; one's present failures ensure the difficulties of the next one. How does one meet this primary obligation of spiritual advancement? Through steadfast adherence to bhaṭṭil in whatever one does and in the manner one does it. The demands of nature, while the body lasts, are not to be denied but fulfilled in accordance with bhaṭṭil When this is done, one acquires fame (yaś) for righteous conduct in this world (ihaloka) and merit for the next (paraloka). The body is thus the meeting ground of the past, the present and the future; to put it differently, the present is the link between the past and the future. What one does with one's body and how the present is filled are then, obviously, matters of great import. In the context of this concern, it is important to note that the Pandits' whole way of life is pervaded by a sense of auspiciousness (śubha) and purity (śuddha, śauca) and, consequently, by the fear of inauspiciousness and a concern with impurity.10 While inauspiciousness (signified by such happenings as deaths, eclipses, the hooting of owls, etc.) is generally considered to be (p.32B) beyond human control, the threat of contamination by impurity is seen to lie primarily in the manner in which a Pandit may be tempted to attend to the needs arising from his physical nature, from the fact of his being a sentient being (jīva). Hence the obsessive emphasis on the questioning attitude, the exercise of doubt (śańkā). The Pandit is a doubter because he is a believer. I have heard many Pandits say in good-humoured self-deprecation that their hesitations in relation to the pursuit of worldly pleasures are the result of doubt or uncertainty about the consequences of indulging the senses for one's higher pursuits. The Pandit is enjoined to exercise patience and restraint (ced), and to be ever prepared to resist the compulsions of bodily appetites until assured of their proper satisfaction as defined in bhaṭṭil. Thus, it is ‘ced’ that marks one out as a Pandit: this is his obligation as also his privilege. Man is endowed with citta (moral consciousness) and must cultivate it to resolve his doubts, or else he will lose it

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Domesticity and Detachment and become jaḍa (one lacking in the capacity for discrimination) or even an unamatta (one distorted in intellect). Their chequered history11 has, however, taught the Pandits that there are exceptional circumstances when the need for compromise arises and one is constrained to violate the requirements of bhaṭṭil As stated above, and elsewhere in detail (see Madan 1972), there are no Hindu artisan and service castes in rural Kashmir and the Pandits are obliged to accept the help of Muslims—not only of butchers, cobblers and cultivators but also of washermen, barbers, milkmen and others. Contact with Muslims is a threat to the Pandits' state of personal and domestic purity. Though the Pandits avoid intimate physical contact of all kinds with Muslims, indirect contact is cither unavoidable (for example, the services of a barber or of the attendant at the cremation ground) or is tolerated (for example, acceptance of milk from a Muslim cowherd or having one's house cleaned by a Muslim servant). There is no solution to this problem and the Pandits say: ‘yath na puś, tath na duś’,‘thereof one is helpless, thereof one is blameless’. (p.33B) The same is true of all unwitting breaches of proper conduct. Minor lapses, such as unavoidable physical contact with Muslims in certain situations, can be taken care of by the performance of routine corrective actions, such as washing of One's hands (śuddhi). In more serious cases (such as the inadvertent eating of strictly forbidden foods), one must perform prāyaścitta (a ritual of atonement), though I have never witnessed one. Purificatory rites are, however, quite common. The questioning attitude (śaṅkā), the exercise of restraint (ced), and the cultivation of the moral consciousness (citta), then, provide the framework within which a Pandit has to order his life: thoughtful discrimination (vicāra) must be the basis of conduct (ācāra). The pursuit of dharma is not a call to an exercise in abstraction: it is in the everyday life of economic pursuits (artha) and bodily appetites (kāma) that dharma has to prevail. This is what bhaṭṭil is all about. In Dumont's terms, dharma must encompass artha and kāma. 12 This hierarchical balance of puruṣārtha can be achieved only in the life of the householder, which is, therefore, the most highly valued identity of a human being in the Pandit scheme of life and values. The Pandits' attitude to worldly concerns and rewards is one of joyful acceptance. They do not seek immediate release (mokṣa) from them, in the present life, but try to accumulate merit for the future. Karma is the chain of bondage, but it is not for this reason alone unwelcome. What is important, many informants said, is the attitude of surrender to God (śaraṇabhāva) and the elimination of ego (ahaṁkāra). Here and now the Pandits strive for health, wealth and progeny, and pray for divine blessing in the fulfilment of these wishes. When a man kneels with folded hands before a priest to have his Page 12 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment forehead marked with vermilion or saffron, the latter pronounces a blessing (in Sanskrit): May you be long lived, may you be blessed with sons, may you be wealthy, may you be renowned, may you be wise, may you be greatly (p.34B) prosperous, may you be possessed with full faith in mercy and charity, may you be glorious, may you be one who lowers the pride of his enemies, may you be ingenious in trade, may you always be devoted to worshipping the feet of God, may you do good to all! Similarly, a married woman receives her blessing: ‘May you be blessed with money and sons, may you be devoted and faithful to your husband, may you always be dearly loved by your husband, may you be insightful, may you have correct understanding, may you live a hundred years!’ Those who have their wishes fulfilled in good measure see in that the sign of previous good karma and also of divine grace: the two always go together. The purposes of life are, then, well established in tradition. The emphasis is upon dharmic striving for worldly goals. ‘Woman (strī) and wealth (dhana)’, said an informant, ‘are the means by which the householder is able to perform virtuous actions (dharma-kāj); but a mans undoing also are woman (as kāminī, that is, as the object of lust) and greed for gold (kāncan). It is, indeed, like walking on the razors edge of which the seers (ṛṣi) have spoken.’ Plenitude is to be rejoiced in, but only within the bounds defined in bhaṭṭil. To quote the same informant again, ‘where indulgence is, bhaṭṭil is not’. ‘Bhaṭṭil’: traditional procedures

The most comprehensive concept of social action is that of ordered conduct. It consists of such general notions as customs and conventions (rīti), procedures (vidhi) and daily routine (niyam or nityakarma). Then there are the specialized technical acts (kriyā) that help one to awaken one's dormant power (śakti), but these are only for the adepts. A very important component of such ordered conduct is the cycle of rituals (saṁskāra)—the so-called rites de passage—which must be performed in respect of each individual, in a prescribed sequence, beginning before birth and ending only after death. The proper locus for all these actions is the home, where ‘the three fires of domestic life’ burn: these are the fire in the hearth, the fire lit periodically to perform rituals, and ‘the fire that is (or should be) always alight in one's own body (deha)—the fire of righteous actions’. To mention the main life-cycle rituals, there are the (p.35B) childhood rituals of purification (kaha nethar, performed on the eleventh day after birth), the feeding of the first solid meal (anna-prāśana), the first tonsure (zarakāsai, for boys only), the piercing of earlobes (kancombani, nowadays for girls only), and the investiture of boys with the holy girdle (mekhalā) and the holy neck cord Page 13 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment (yajńopavīta).13 Marriage (nethar, that which cannot be changed or undone) is the principal saṁskāra of adult life. The ultimate rite is that of cremation (dāhasaṁskāra), which is followed by post-mortuary rites. The general purpose of these rituals is to invest the person with the ritual status of a Brahman, to enlarge the repertoire of the roles that men or women may perform while alive, and to ensure their well-being as manes after their death. This is the so-called process of maturation. Marriage stands out as the central ritual and social event in the life of every individual, enabling him or her to take on the highly valued role of a householder. In the performance of all these rituals, the householder is helped by his family priest, who is an adept in the procedures. In fact, his presence at these rituals is absolutely essential. Saṁskāras are dramatic events which involve all or most adult members and also some children of a household in different roles. By contrast, the routine chores and rites of everyday life—the so-called nityakarma—are the abiding concerns of the individual Pandit and constitute an important and ever-present element of his bhaṭṭil. Limitations of space preclude a detailed account of these and I will mention only the main types of these activities. It is with the proper performance of ablutions (śaucācāra) and the offering of water for the satisfaction of the manes (tarpaṇa) that every day should begin. Prayers and offerings to gods and goddesses—especially to one's ‘favourites’, the iṣṭadeva or iṣṭadevi—may take place at home or at a sacred place outside, such as beside flowing water or in a (p.36B) temple. There is much individual and day-to-day variation in this regard. One may only read or recite from memory some sacred texts (such as the Shivamahimnastotram, in praise of Shiva, the Bhavanisahasranama, in praise of Devi, or the Bhagavad Gita)—this is called pāṭh; or one may also perform a ritual of adoration (pūjā) of the traditional iconic representations of Vishnu, Shiva and Devi, namely the śālagrāma, liṅga and śriyantra respectively. Nityakarma also includes the observance of birth and death anniversaries (the śrāddha is of very great importance to the Pandits), the eating of proper foods cooked properly (though the Pandits do not observe vegetarianism, the dietary restrictions they observe are numerous), the discharge of social obligations (such as visiting kith and kin to offer felicitations or condolences), etc. As in the case of saṁskāra, the concern in nityakarma is with the protection of one's personal moral and physical well-being and the establishment and maintenance of the right kinds of relationships between kith and kin, the living and the dead, and human beings and deities. The cycle of daily activities is assessed in the context of transmigration: does it add to the burden of the karma of previous lives or lighten it? The heavier the load of sins (pāpa), which alone could make the curses (śāpa) pronounced by others effective, the greater the chances of suffering as retribution. The Pandit view of life is moralistic: whatever the immediate agency that brings about good fortune or misfortune, ultimately it is the inexorable law of karma that is believed to govern human life. Page 14 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment A person must not blame his woes on God, for, as an informant put it, ‘God does not discriminate between human beings and hand out joy to some and sorrow to others.’ It is, therefore, imperative to follow the straight path of dharma in its various expressions. One can do nothing better about the future than mind the present, for it is the dialectic of the past and the present karma that determines one's future. The content of one's accumulated karma is, therefore, of utmost importance: there is scope for choices made in the light of a cultivated moral consciousness so that a person's actions may be such as to render him deserving of divine grace. It is in this sense that a person may aspire to be a ‘doer’ (karmavān), a moral agent. Otherwise, he remains tied to the wheel of (p. 37B) karma interminably, ‘born again, to die again, to be conceived once again’. A person attains release from his sins only very gradually through the performance of duties in full consciousness and in the attitude of submission to the divinity.14 Meanwhile, one seeks selfless joy in the proper pursuit of the legitimate purposes of life. In the words of the nineteenth-century poet-saint, Parmananda, which have often been quoted and sung to me, ‘let the performance of karma be firmly grounded in dharma: sow the seed of contentment (santoṣa) and reap the harvest of joy (ānanda)’.

Alternative Orientations I have tried to show above that implicit in the Pandit ideology of bhaṭṭil is the belief that, while all sentient beings are subject to natural law (‘they are born and they die’), human beings are additionally constrained by moral imperatives which are not, however, equally developed among all people. According to the Pandits, among the best of these moralities—if not the only one—is bhaṭṭil As we have seen, bhaṭṭil finds its most elaborate expression in the life of the householder. This does not, however, mean that the Pandits do not recognize any alternatives to the householder s way of life: they acknowledge the virtue of virakti (detachment) or sannyāsa (renunciation), but notionally rather than in practice. It is, however, neither considered necessary nor a better path to become worthy of receiving divine blessing, nor is it, in fact, a commonly chosen way of life. More about this below. What must be emphasized here is that the Pandits maintain that good karma and divine grace, rather than austerity, are what matter ultimately. Bhakti

The Pandit is content to live the life of a householder and seek virtue and salvation through doing so properly. The (p.38B) householder's life is, as we have seen, defined (that is, bounded) by moral imperatives and procedures of various kinds. The danger of lapses and the fear of their consequences is, therefore, always present. Hence the Pandit notions of gārhasthya as an ordeal (tapa) and the supreme sacrifice (mahāyajńa). The only way to lighten this burdensomeness of bhaṭṭil, the Pandits say, is through bhakti. Bhahti is a Page 15 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment complex notion involving love of, and deep devotion to, the divinity and the seeking of refuge through the abolition of egotism. Bhakti is not an alternative way of life but a particular orientation of the householder's life, ‘away from the love of the world towards the love of God’. The Pandits consider bhakti as a value in itself. ‘Filling one's self with the love of divinity’, ‘like a vessel may be filled with nectar’, is an act which is its own reward. Of course, if the divinity grants it, the devotee (bhakta) will be bestowed with the capacity for right thought and conduct and thus liberated. The expression used for liberation in this context is ‘moklāvun’, which literally means ‘terminating’ or ‘freeing’, the reference being to the ending of the cycle of birth, death and rebirth. Such is the nature of divine blessing (anugraha). The Pandits say that the special characteristic of kaliyuga among the four aeons of cosmic time is that a devotee does not have to engage in severe and long drawn-out austerities (tapasyā) to win divine favour. They maintain that ‘if the devotee's heart breaks from the pangs of separation from the divinity for just as long as a hailstone will stay on the tip of a bull's horn’, divine grace will be assured. But such is the wickedness of human beings in the kaliyuga that only rarely is one so filled with love of God as to become a fit receptacle for divine favour, which is thus hard to obtain (durlabha) rather than easy (sulabha).15 But a person must not give up endeavour and prayer. Dumont has called bhakti (p.39B) ‘a revolutionary doctrine since it transcends both caste and renunciation, and opens for all without distinction an easy road to salvation’ (1960: 57). It is interesting to note how the Pandits have retained the idea of bhakti as an ‘easy road’ and yet managed to emphasize that it is hard to reach and tread it. Failure is necessarily that of the seeker, not of the ‘path’. Now, the longing for divine love and grace does not require one to abandon one's family and become a renouncer. It so transforms and enlarges one's affections as to make them all partake of divine love. The love of God is not exclusive and does not require withdrawal. As many informants put it, ‘bhakti does not drain the heart but fills it evermore with love’. That is, bhakti requires that the love of one's kith and kin should be encompassed by and not independent of the love of God. The devotee does not fall into the snare of rituals either, for divine love is an attitude of life. Rituals have their place in a person's life, for they help to maintain bhaṭṭil, but rituals are only a means to the end. The devotee learns to be detached in the midst of involvement, concentrating on the only true attachment, that to the divinity. He knows himself to be alone or isolated (keval), though he has a family, and seeks perfection through union with the unique (kaivalya), that, is, the divinity. His attitude is one of utter humility and submission to God. In the course of my fieldwork I have met a few people of whom others said that they were men of God and led ‘pure lives’, though they were householders with wives and children.16

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Domesticity and Detachment Śakti

Kashmir has another celebrated tradition, namely that of the quest for inner illumination (prakāśa) through the pursuit of occult power (śakti) (see, e.g., Woodroffe 1978). This is the domain of tantra, a body of sophisticated technical knowledge, and ordinary householders of the kind I have worked with (p.40B) have only vague or confused ideas about it. Over the years I have met only one Pandit who described himself to me as a novitiate śākta (one in pursuit of śakti), but have been told of a few others, dead or alive, who were or are adepts. According to popular belief, the śākta seeks, through kriyā—consisting of study, discussion, reflection, ritual and yoga—the arousal of śakti, which resides in every human being, but lies dormant, coiled like a somnolent snake (kuṇdalinī) at the bottom of the spine. It can be aroused, however, and raised to the head and enable the seeker to realize his own divinity, his oneness with Shiva. I have heard stories of the miraculous powers of the śākta, of how they can even control the processes of nature, such as seasons and earthquakes. I have also been told that the ordinary rules of bhaṭṭil do not bind a śākta; thus he may eat meat in places and on occasions when the ordinary Pandit dare not do so and also transgress other norms of the householder's life. Though some tantric texts speak of the pańcatattva (the sacramental consumption of mutton, fish and alcohol, sexual intercourse, and the employment of bodily postures) for the attainment of śakti, my informants denied that sexuality had any special place whatsoever in a śākta's life. According to my informants, there can be no personal family for a śākta but he may live in an exclusive household of his own, consisting of his family members. Preferably he may live with his preceptor (guru) and fellow-seekers, and at a later stage have his own disciples (śisya) to minister to his needs. One of these may be adopted as a son so that funeral and post-mortuary rites can be performed. The śākta is thus not exactly a man without a household, though he is different from ordinary householders. His way of life is certainly more than a mere re-orientation: it is an alternative way of life, though defined in relation to a householder. In fact, most of his disciples are householders who seek light from him and his blessings, without themselves abandoning their families and other worldly pursuits. The śākta looms on the horizon of the Pandit's cultural universe. That the Brahmans of Kashmir were once renowned Shaivites and Shaktins who made outstanding contributions to the philosophy and practice of tantra is now only a very dim memory in the lives of the villagers I have lived with. (p.41B) Virakti

I have mentioned above the Pandit attitude to renunciation. In the course of my inquiries I encountered no renouncers, strictly defined, among the Pandits: such sannyasis as one does encounter in Kashmir are usually non-Kashmiris. Some individuals, mostly men, may live away from home but they do not go through Page 17 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment formal initiation into any sannyasi order. There is also no emphasis at all upon the termination of the gṛhastha āśrama (the stage of the householder) in one's life. As a person grows older, he is expected to become increasingly Godcentred, but no one is expected to live away from home. In this sense, formal renunciation is not merely postponed, as Dumont (1960: 45) points out, but its place in the life of the Pandit is denied. There are only two stages of life: that of the child who lives with his parents, and that of the adult who has his children living with him. Both stages are phases in the life of the householder. The gṛhastha sustains the world: to recall, he is the duniyā-dār 17 If he succeeds in cultivating detachment from the passions (virakti), that should be enough but even that is not easy. The attitude of Pandits towards those who make claims of detachment, and particularly of renunciation, is generally one of scepticism. Individual men and women may command respect, and even a following, but most of them are dismissed as charlatans. The general term of reference for such persons is sādh (from the Sanskrit sādbu) and it is related to and rhymed with bād, flatus (from the Persian word for air), in lighthearted banter. In a similar vein, an old saying warns the Pandit against the company of renouncers as they will make him give up his wife (and household) and never make him privy to their esoteric secrets! In view of their almost total absence among them, why is it that the Pandits distrust and ridicule self-styled renouncers? I do not think that the answer lies in the Pandits' having a higher standard than other Hindu communities by which to judge such claims; it lies rather in their commitment to the (p.42B) ideology of the householder. Apparently they arc cynical about those who leave home because most such people never had families of their own (either because they were unable to get married or because they became widowed before becoming fathers) or their relations with their kin have been strained. At a deeper level, however, one might detect a fear of the renouncer, for he poses a threat to the ideology of the householder and plenitude. Unlike the former, he not only seeks release from the web of kinship and other worldly ties but also denigrates these as a trap and an illusion. The renouncer is too powerful an adversary to be contemplated with equanimity. Individual renouncers are usually accorded respect in face-to-face encounters; they are fed and offered gifts. When talking about them generally, however, they are ridiculed and even reviled and their genuineness is generally doubted. Dumont (1960: 45) is quite right in speaking of ‘subdued hostility’ towards renunciation. In fact, the Pandits reduce the renouncer to a caricature of his ideal self; that the caricature is only too often an accurate enough portrait of the ‘holy men’ one actually meets is another matter but not totally irrelevant. The real point seems to be that only when the renouncer is thus portrayed may he be convincingly employed as a foil to highlight the virtues of the life of the householder: these are said to flow from ‘detachment in enjoyment’ which is the essence of Page 18 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment renunciation.18 An informant once went into the details of the way of life of the mythological Janaka to emphasize that Janaka was not only the king of Mithila but also a great householder, and, at the same time, the supreme renouncer.

Concluding Remarks The Pandits' ideology of the householder is, in fact, much more than just that: it is their ideology of humanity. While all sentient beings are born (and die), human beings are ‘made’ or (p.43B) constructed through the saṁskāra and achieve different degrees of perfection by their conduct. A boy attains the full ritual and moral status of a Pandit when he receives the girdle and the holy neck cord. In the case of girls, it is marriage which bestows such status. Marriage is crucial for men as well as women, for then alone do they become true householders. Bachelors, widowers and widows are members of households but not gṛhastha themselves and are, therefore, regarded as unfortunate. The greatest ambition of a male Pandit is to become a householder along with his own wife and children. Children and women

The ideology is, however, almost silent on children and women: they come in only indirectly—in relation to men. This is, perhaps, partly because as a man I have not had the same free access to women informants in the course of my fieldwork as to men, but the main reason lies deeper—in the ideology itself, in Pandit culture. As I have described elsewhere (1965), the Pandits greatly desire and value children, particularly sons. In fact, to be a gṛhastha is to be a parent and this is why the bachelor and the childless widow are pitied much more than a widower or a widow who does have children. Children, of course, have a most important place in the emotional lives of adults but they acquire a structural significance only when they themselves become adults. In fact, it is not children or adults who are important but bhaṭṭil. Children acquire the Pandit identity initially by the fact of being born to Pandit parents. Their conduct is regulated under the guidance of adults till they are sufficiently grown up to act independently. Many concessions are made in their favour and lapses from proper conduct condoned, but once a boy has gone through his ritual initiation, and a girl has been married, the full range of the expectations and constraints that constitute bhaṭṭil becomes applicable. Prior to these events boys and girls do not have the ritual status of adults. This fact is dramatized in their being neither entitled to full cremation rites and (p.44B) post-mortuary food offerings, nor susceptible to ritual pollution by births and deaths in the circle of kinsfolk. The absence of children in the ideology is, therefore, not an absence at all: it is an anticipation of adulthood. The child is the adult in making. The absence of a well-articulated place for women in the ideology is a more complex matter and calls for clarification, particularly because every Pandit Page 19 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment woman is a married householder and even the idea of a woman renouncer is absent.19 There is a sense in which the Pandit women—they are called Bhaṭṭani —are a ‘muted group’ seen in the light of a dominant male system of perception (Ardener 1977). The men recognize that in the reality of everyday life women are very important: ‘What is a home without the gharavājin (mistress)?’ they ask.20 A married woman is also called a ‘gṛhasthadārin’, the bearer of the burden of gārhasthya. A man works out his destiny as a human being and a Pandit in the company of the domestic ‘others’ who include women, notably his mother and wife. In his ritual performances—a major pūjā, a life cycle ritual, a śrāddha—the presence of the wife is essential. If all this be so, why do women remain ‘muted’ in the ideology? An answer to this question formulated by my male informants was that bhaṭṭil is as much a concern of women as it is of men, but in the domain of domestic activity, women's work is in the kitchen—which is their specific responsibility—and their participation in rituals is moderately or severely restricted during the duration of menstruation. A menstruating woman must particularly exclude herself completely from rituals for the dead or else they lose all their efficacy. Similarly, a woman polluted by menses may not enter the pūjā room in the house or a temple and in no case make offerings to the deities. She may, however, say her prayers and even circumambulate a sacred place. (p.45B) Apart from the limitation which is seen to arise from the physicalmoral nature (zāt) of the women, there are other conventions which establish the superiority of men. Thus a woman does not offer water or food to manes; she does not have the authority to invest her son with the girdle and the holy neck cord: if his father is not available, the proper surrogate for the absentee parent is an agnatic kinsman; nor, indeed, does a woman give her daughter away in marriage. And yet (as stated above) she is present by her husband's side on all such major occasions: she is defined in relation to him. It is a hierarchical relation and proclaims their unity which is, however, complex in the sense that man encompasses and is superior to woman. The most concrete expression of the foregoing fact is that, from the day of his marriage, a man wears a holy neck cord of six instead of three strands of cotton, each set of three symbolizing his responsibility to discharge the debts (ṛṇa) towards gods, gurus and ancestors—one on his own behalf and the the other on behalf of his wife. But as Dumont (on whose work the foregoing formulation is based) has rightly pointed out, The same hierarchical principle that in some way subordinates one level to another at the same time introduces a multiplicity of levels, letting the situation reverse itself. The mother of the family (an Indian family, for example) inferior though she may be made by her sex [I would like to say

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Domesticity and Detachment sex and gender or physiology and ideology] in some respects nonetheless dominates the relationships within the family (1980: 241). In short, the ideology places different values on men and women and thus generates an idiom which includes reference to women when men are spoken of. The relative position of men and women is given in their relationship. Needless to add, the reality of everyday life does not wholly follow the ideology in its full detail: to assert this would amount to suggesting the false and suppressing the ethnographic truth. The man-in-the-world

The ideology of everyday life, then, clearly establishes the Pandit as the gṛhastha. The householder is the man-in-world. (p.46B) The house he lives in is, in fact, the microcosm of the earth and its presiding deity (gharadevatā) is none other than Vastoshpati, the protector of the earth. Such a person's prime concern is with the maturation of his self (person), which is ensured if he organizes his life in strict conformity with traditional purposes, employing appropriate procedures for their achievement. Release from the chain of transmigration is frankly admitted to be a very distant goal, and, therefore, one concentrates in the meanwhile on the slow but steady accumulation of merit by the conscious effort to lead a disciplined life. As a householder, a Pandit may legitimately seek plenitude and joy but only if this endeavour is controlled by dharma. As a sensitive informant once put it to me, ‘to lead the life of a householder is like seeking to warm oneself by fire—one might also get burnt by it’. In other words, while the life of the householder is the source of joy, it also brings sorrow and, if one deviates from the path of dharma, it could also lead the way to perdition. To quote further from the same informant: ‘The home is the place neither for the indulgence of one's physical appetites (bhogaśālā) nor for the performance of austerities (yogaśālā)’ It is the narrow middle ground, the ‘razor's edge’: ‘Like the sharp edge of a razor is the path, narrow and difficult to tread’ (Katha Upanishad I.iii.14). The Pandit seeks meritorious fulfilment in life through the affirmation of family and wider kinship obligations and through the willing acceptance of other social bonds which result from the pursuits of generally accepted worldly goals (artha). These bonds include his relations with the non-Pandits also. He wants success in the work he does, and cares for being thought of well in his village as much as he wants to lead a happy domestic life. There is thus a continuity in the Pandit's life between the domestic and the extra-domestic domains and between what may be called the religious and secular spheres, just as there is a continuity between the home and the earth itself. Bhaṭṭil is a total view of life which excludes nothing but it is a hierarchical view of both the ultimate purposes of life and the tasks of everyday existence. Page 21 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment Discrimination rather than withdrawal is the watchword of the Pandit's life. He is, however, expected to remain always mindful that there is (p.47B) something higher than good karma and this is divine grace. The path of occult power or renunciation is for the selected few. For the common Pandit, the life of the manin-the-world—epitomized in the role of the householder—though arduous, is the moral and good life. It is a life worth living.21 Notes:

(1) The word Pandit is, of course, the Sanskrit pandita for scholar. The Pandits I know best are of the rural areas in the south-eastern pan of the Kashmir Valley. Inquiries made over twenty odd years have convinced me that there is an impressive homogeneity in Pandit culture. Though the Pandits are divided into two subcastes (priests and the others), and differences of socio-economic status and regional subculture also are found among them, these differences are not relevant in the context of the issues dealt with in this chapter, which arc of the nature of the principles underlying social action rather than its details as observed in everyday life. (2) Cf.: ‘To be sure, the more standardized the prevailing action pattern is, the more anonymous it is, the greater is the subjective chance of conformity and, therewith, of the success of intersubjective behaviour’ (Schutz 1967: 33) (3) Schurz (1967: 61) refers to this phenomenon as the ‘social distribution of knowledge’: ‘each individual knowing merely a sector of the world and common knowledge of the same sector varying individually as to its degree of distinctness, clarity, acquaintanceship, or mere belief’. In this connexion I might add that my informants in the village of UtrassuUmanagri, where mosi of my fieldwork has been done (see Madan 1965), accept without demur the fact that some of them know more than the others about certain matters. One does not question what one does not know but seeks clarifications about it from others. I have, for instance, written elsewhere about the general lack of interest in genealogical materials among the Pandits combined with a deep interest in them on the part of some (sec Madan 1975b: 141–6). (4) I would like to explain that, though nearly all the adult male Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri during the late 1950s were literate, not more than a dozen could claim proficiency in Sanskrit or scholarship in traditional literature dealing with metaphysical problems or ritual performances. The priests, of course, had a reading knowledge of Sanskrit, particularly in the iārādd script, but the few true paṇḍita who lived in the village were from among the non-priestly families. Not many households possessed any books other than almanacs and children's school books, The most commonly found ‘religious’ texts were the Bhagavad Gita and books of prayers and hymns. A few households owned astrological books. Page 22 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment The epics—the Mahabharata and the Ramacharitamanas—were also found in some homes, not always in the original Sanskrit or Avadhi but in Urdu prose translation Centuries of persecution at the hands of Muslim rulers had already brought the Pandits of Kashmir to this sad pass by the middle of the nineteenth century when Hindu rule was re-established. This is why I have chosen to describe the Pandit tradition as ‘oral’. A lament on the decline of the Pandit literary tradition remains to be written. (5) ‘Baradari’ is a Persian word. Most Kashmiri words are of either Sanskrit or Persian derivation, but the difference in pronunciation between the original and the derivative words is often considerable. Thus, Kashmiris hardly ever use aspirated consonant sounds. For the sake of comparability of the linguistic material, I have used the original Sanskrit or Persian words whenever I could identify these (sec Kachru 1973). (6) Bhaṭṭa is the Prakrit form of the Sanskrit bhartṛ, the honorific designation of learned Brahmans—it is a synonym of paṇḍta. It may be noted here that Kashmiri has been classified as a prākrita. (7) While no Pandit would have a personal name of Islamic origin, a secular word like the Persian āftāb (sun) or mahtāb (moon) was used in the past: there was a Mahtab Kaula in Utrassu-Umanagri in 1957–8. This points to Muslim (Persian and Afghan) cultural elements in Pandit culture, of which there is evidence in domesric architecture, music, food, clothing, speech, etc. Similarly, Kashmiri Muslims preserve many relics of their Hindu ancestry in their culture, the most interesting, or perhaps ironical, being the fact that a common family name among them is Bhat; there are some Muslim ‘Pandit’ families also. (8) Step-mothers are, however, different. They are generally said to be cruel to the children of their husband's deceased wife, particularly when they have children of their own. I even heard stories about the attempts of some women to poison their step-children. Adoptive mothers are unpredictable. If a child has been foisted upon the issueless woman by her husband's relatives, she may not feel very attached to it, but mothers do often treat their adopted children with the same love and care as natural mothers do. Between the ‘pangs of bearing’ (zenadod) and ‘the toils of rearing’ (racchattdod), the Pandits aver, it is hard to arbitrate, but in the ultimate analysis ‘blood simmers in one's veins’. (9) Legal texts translate the word sapiṇḍa to mean those ‘connected by particles of one body’ (see, e.g., Mayne 1950: 146); in doing so they follow Vijfiāneśvara's twelfth-century text, known as the Mitaksara. It would seem that this usage is also commonly employed by Hindus in Bengal in defining the category of ‘one's own people’, who are seen related to oneself as eka- śārim or sapiṇḍa, that is, by the ‘same body’ (Inden and Nicholas 1977: 3). The literal meanings of the word

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Domesticity and Detachment piṇḍa, it must be noted, include not only ‘body’ but also ‘balls of cooked rice’ offered to manes. (10) See chapter 2 below. (11) Since the coming of Islam in the fourteenth century, Kashmiri Hindus have had to live off their wits and on compromises. It is remarkable that they should have survived at all. For an account of the vicissitudes through which they have passed see Bamzai (1962). (12) ‘There arc three “human ends”, dharma, artha and kāma, duty, profit, and pleasure. All three are (necessary and) lawful, but they arc so graded in a hierarchy that an inferior ideal may be pursued only as far as a superior one does not intervene: dharma, conformity to the world order, is more important than artha, power and wealth, which in turn is above kāma, immediate enjoyment’ (Dumont 1960: 41). (13) What is called the upanayana ceremony elsewhere in north India is called mekhald, or yajńopavita, among the Pandits, and very great importance is attached to it both as a ritual and as a social event. It takes place usually in the seventh or ninth year of a boy's life. In all twenty-four rites are performed on the occasion, beginning with bijavdpānam, for ensuring the fertility of the parents of the boy, which may not have been performed, as it should have been, in the father's twenty-fifth and the mother's sixteenth year. All other rites, which should have been but may not have been performed, are also performed, culminating in the invesriture of the girdle (mekhald) and the holy neck cord (yajńopavita). (14) Cf. ‘The knowledge of the Absolute, parā vidyd, which secures immediate liberation (sadyo-mukti) is possible only for those who are able to withdraw their thoughts from worldly objects and concentrate on the ultimate fact of the universe. The knowledge of Iśvara (the Supreme as God), aparā vidyā, puts one on the pathway that leads to deliverance eventually (krama-mukti). The worshipping soul gradually acquires the higher wisdom which results in the consciousness of the identity with the Supreme’ (Radhakrishnan 1953: s79). (15) Cf.: ‘Viewed from man's side, Ramanuja holds, the attainment of God is anything but easy, for it implies the very difficult achievement of perfectly disciplined meditation on God. Even more important is the fact that this intimate communion with God is not something that man can gain: not even the advanced devotee who yearns desperately for this communion can gain it by his own effort. Salvation is God's election and God's gift’ (Carman 1974: 85). The emergence of strong Vaishnava influences among the Shaivite Kashmiri Brahmans is another important development in the cultural history of Kashmir that awaits careful research. Page 24 of 26

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Domesticity and Detachment (16) There is a category of exceptional people who should be mentioned here. To all intents and purposes they are mad or deranged and found among the Pandits as well as the Muslims. The Kashmiris, however, consider them as people ‘touched by God’ (to quote an informant), for they are said to be clairvoyant and gifted with the capacity to bless and curse. They do not acknowledge family ties or observe the rules of social intercourse It is interesting how such persons, irrespective of their Pandit or Muslim birth, serve as a link between the two communities. (17) Cf. Manusmriti (III.78): ‘Because men of the three other orders are daily supported by the householder with (gifts of) sacred knowledge and food, therefore, (the order of) householders is the most excellent order’ (Buhler 1964: 89). (18) At a Pandit wedding I observed in 1983 (after this essay had been first published), the priest explained to the bridegroom the significance of the kanyādāna thus: ‘The maiden is gifted to you by her father for the purpose of dharma, artha, kāma, and mokṣa. Now, dharma is not putting the tyok mark on one's forehead: it consists of discharging one's debts to gods, gurus, and ancestors. Artha is the making of money and kāma the pursuit of luxuries (sic). The ideal is not renunciation but householdership Having done all this one must seek refuge in God: chat is mokṣa’ I later checked the ten of the marriage ritual (according to Laugȧkṣa) that the priest had been following: it did nor mention mokṣa at all. (19) There is, of course, the celebrated fourteenth century Shaivite mystic Lalla (or Lal Ded) who abandoned home and became a wanderer and whose sayings (vākya) are a living part of the Pandir oral tradition. She, however, represents the proverbial exception that proves the rule, for Lalla was no ordinary woman (see Kaul 1973). (20) Cf. Rig Veda III.53.4: ‘the wife herself is the home’. (21) After this book had gone to the printer, I came across an essay on Kashmiri Brahmans based on Sanskrit texts of the medieval period (9th–13th centuries). What I find remarkable are the continuities between the ideas of those times and of the present-day Pandits, the intervening centuries and the disruptions resulting from the Muslim incursion notwithstanding. Thus, we read: ‘The Brahman ism of the middle ground … offered the Brahman householder a monism for the ritual agent which admitted renunciation but tended to confine it to the last quarter of a man's life (after the payment of the three debts), and at the same time made it an unnecessary option by propagating a doctrine of gnostic liberation within the pursuit of conformity to the householders dharma’ (Sanderson 1985: 197). The householder ‘was to perfect himself

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Domesticity and Detachment through disinterested conformity to God's will manifest as his dharma’ (ibid.: 198).

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Auspiciousness and Purity

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Auspiciousness and Purity T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0016

Abstract and Keywords This chapter further examines the householder's way of life in the light of the fundamental values of auspiciousness and purity. It attempts to clarify the notion of ‘auspiciousness’ and to examine its relation to ‘purity’ by exploring some of their meanings in Hindu or, more precisely, Brahmanical culture. Keywords:   householders, auspiciousness, purity, Hindu, Brahmanical culture

There are many auspicious and inauspicious moments in one's life, just as there are in a day. The most auspicious moment of the day is the rising of the sun. It fills the earth, the sky and the heavens with light and brings with it the promise of good works and wisdom for men. It is like the birth of a son—the most auspicious moment in a man's life—but while childbirth pollutes the very same people, namely the parents, whom it makes most happy, sunrise manifests the glory of God, enlivens our intelligence, and purifies the whole earth. A KASHMIRI PANDIT

Introductory During the last three decades or so the sociology of South Asian societies has been characterized by a deepening concern with the people's categories of thought over and above the attention that has long been given to the study of social organization. This is a welcome development inasmuch as people everywhere not only engage in social behaviour but also have ideas about the motivations and justifications of their actions. In other words, what they do is Page 1 of 21

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Auspiciousness and Purity meaningful to themselves and it is only proper that the sociologist should concern himself equally with rule-governed behaviour and with its significance to the actors. Thus, the work of many scholars, including Louis Dumont and M. N. Srinivas, has contributed significantly to the examination of certain ideas underlying characteristic forms of behaviour in Hindu society, notably the ideas of purity’ and ‘pollution’. There are other cognitive structures which await exploration in the context of the inter-relatedness of ideology and actual behaviour. In recent years the notion of ‘auspiciousness’ in the senses of benediction and well-being, enveloping (p.49B) the everyday life of ordinary people at the one end and of extraordinary personages such as the king at the other, has emerged as one such concern of central importance in the study of Hindu, Buddhist and Jaina cultures (see, for example, Carman and Marglin 1985). In fact, in traditional Indian thought one of the auspicious events in the life of common people was sight of the king—so much so, indeed, that the later Muslim kings of India, the great Moghuls, yielded to the popular demand of blessing people by allowing themselves to be seen by morning crowds gathered outside the royal fort, even though this was against the spirit of Islam. In this chapter I am concerned with an attempt to clarify the notion of ‘auspiciousness’ and to examine its relation to ‘purity’ by exploring some of their meanings in Hindu or, more precisely, Brahmanical culture.1 The published ethnographic studies on ‘auspiciousness’ are by no means as rich as those on ‘purity’ and they are certainly less clear even than those on the latter subject. The present exercise is, therefore (to borrow T. S. Eliot's words), ‘a raid on the inarticulate’ and that too ‘with shabby equipment’. I make the attempt, nevertheless; while doing so I use deliberately, but only as far as seems reasonable, the Sanskrit words śubha and śuddha instead of ‘auspiciousncss’ (p. 50B) and ‘purity’. The former two words or derivatives from the same are in use in most languages of India. My hesitation in using the two English words throughout the chapter arises from the fact that they have become omnibus words and conceal more than they reveal, and this might vitiate my attempt to clarify the significance of the Hindu concepts under consideration.2 Moreover, and more importantly, my approach to the problem makes it imperative that words actually employed in everyday speech be examined in the context of their use. Without entering into philosophical controversies or invoking the technical literature on semantics, I would like to maintain that we can learn a great deal about the meaning or meanings of a family of words by examining them in the contexts of other meanings (which is what ‘use’ really is). It seems to me permissible to do so for my limited purpose without going into the question of whether abstract meanings exist or not.

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Auspiciousness and Purity On the Categories of ‘Śbha’ and ‘Śuddha’: Notes on Everyday Usage3 The everyday (ordinary language) use of the word śubha refers most frequently and directly to time and to temporal events in (p.51B) relation to particular categories of people. Thus the word śubha—or its opposite aśubha—is prefixed to nouns such as samaya or kāla (time) for the performance of a particular significant act which is a joyous event in itself or is expected to have happy consequences. A time which may be considered auspicious for one kind of actions may not, however, be so for another; while the night is auspicious for the worship of Mahakali, it is not so for the worship of Vishnu. Similarly, śubha is used along with such words as avasara (occasion), utsava (festival), ṛtu (season), māsa (month), divasa (day), ghaḍi and kṣaṇa (a moment or measure of time). More specifically, śubha qualifies muhūrta (astrologically appropriate moment for doing something significant) and lagna (the moment of the sun's entry into a zodiacal space or sign). Contextually, people speak of ārambha (beginning), anta (ending), samāpana (completion), āgamana (coming), gamana (going), yātrā (pilgrimage), etc. as śubha, invoking benediction by doing so. Śubha is also employed to refer to happy events (for example, janma, birth, or vivāha, marriage) and information about them (sūcanā, samācāra), to signs (saṅketa), omens (śakuna), etc. Śubhakārya and śubhācāra respectively refer to any specific act or conduct generally which is conducive to well-being. To ensure such well-being through success and happy consequences in any kind of work, ranging from the routine to the extraordinary, people consult astrologers, priests or almanacs to find out the auspicious moment or time for—to give a few examples—wearing a new garment, buying provisions, starting on a journey, or performing a ritual. Negatively, when unfortunate events which it is feared might occur do not occur or, having occurred, do not result in major misfortune, auspiciousness is said to have prevailed. The agency which ensures this wellbeing may be divine grace, the configuration of circumstances and/or human effort. In all the foregoing uses of the prefix śubha, the focus is on the directional flow of time—on temporal sequences and critical points in them—rather than on time as such. The passage of (p.52B) time becomes significant through the conjunction or intersection of the trajectories of human lives and/or of such trajectories and the course of cosmic forces. The evidence of everyday speech indicates that the notion of auspiciousness is also associated with places, objects and persons connected with the kind of events or actions mentioned above. An altar set up or a place marked out for a ritual performance is called a śubha-sthali or sthāna. Once the ceremony is over the. altar may be demolished and the sacred area earlier set apart reverts to its daily routine uses. The kitchen (cauka) and the room reserved for daily worship (pūjā-kakṣa) are particularly auspicious places in a house so long as it is inhabited. A celestial śubha space which is much talked about is the nakṣatra (a constellation through which the moon passes at a particular time: a lunar Page 3 of 21

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Auspiciousness and Purity mansion). Certain directions (diśā) and cardinal points jn space are also regarded as śubha or aśubha. Thus, facing the east while performing a ritual is regarded as desirable through its association with sunrise, and facing the south is regarded as undesirable through its association with death. A tīrthasthāna, or place of pilgrimage, located on the bank of a river or a body of water, is regarded as holy and a pilgrimage (yātrā) to it is auspicious. The holiness of the place and the auspiciousness of the visit are greatly enhanced if two or more rivers merge there: it is then elevated to the status of saṅgama, that is, the place from where two or more streams flow together.4 One of India's most holy place of pilgrimage—the tīrtharāja, or the king of places of pilgrimage—is Prayag (in Uttar Pradesh) where the holy rivers Ganga and Yamuna and the subterranean Sarasvati meet and where the famous twelve-yearly bathing festival of kumbha is held whenever a particular astrological conjunction (yoga), namely Jupiter in aries, occurs. The focus is on movement, which is what yātrā denotes, and on ‘crossing over’, or ‘reaching forward’, from a less to a more desirable state of being, achieved by a ritual bathing in the holy waters, which is what tīrtha signifies: in the words of a Kashmiri Brahman informant, ‘more than the impurities of (p.53B) the outer body (tana), it is the impurities of the mind (mana) that are thus washed away’. As in the case of time, it is not a place as such but what can possibly happen there to certain categories of people that marks it out as auspicious: we are once again confronted with the notion of intersection of the trajectories of cosmic forces, symbolized by moving planets and flowing rivers, and human lives. Besides points in time and space, certain objects also are considered auspicious. The most notable example is the kalaśa, a metal (gold, silver, copper or brass) or earthen vessel containing water from a river (or rivers) and other auspicious substances such as dry fruits.5 The Kashmiri Brahmans treat it as a representation of Ganesha, the deity who removes obstacles (vighnahartā) and bestows success on the works of human beings (siddhiātā) and thus symbolizes auspiciousness. The kalaśa is associated with the commencement of a ritual, when it is consecrated and worshipped, and with its completion when its contents are distributed by sprinkling worshippers with the waṭer and, to cite the practice of Kashmiri Brahmans again, offering them the walnuts, earlier placed in the vessel, to eat: doing so is considered to be conducive to well-being. The adjective śubha is applied in everyday speech to actors (kartā) when they are seen performing actions which are conducive to joy and well-being (śubhakārya) or when they symbolize these states. For instance, and crucially, a śubhacintaka (well-wisher) is one who entertains good thoughts about another's influence on the course of the latter's life. One who conveys good news is called śubhasūcanī. A specific usage among the upper castes in the Hindi-speech areas worth mentioning here is the reference to prostitutes as maṅgalamukhī, that is, one whose face produces well-being when seen. The distinction between the Page 4 of 21

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Auspiciousness and Purity state of auspiciousness and the creative agent (maṅgatakāraka or kalyāṇakāraka) is most important, as is the relation between (p.54B) the two (the signification). The point to note about these usages and similar others is that it is not the person himself or herself who is auspicious, but rather his or her intentions, actions, or even merely the presence (and witnessing the same), which are so and are, therefore, expected to have happy consequences. The ultimate source of auspiciousness is, of course, the divinity (cf. Carman 1974: 172, 255). A crucial contribution to the explication of the significance of the category śubha comes from the speech of prīests and astrologers, which is an element in the conversation of those who consult these specialists. Such people believe that their lives are subject to the influence of the nine grahas, headed by sūrya (Sun) and including bṛhaspati, budha, candramā, ketu, maṅgala, rāhu, śanaiiśara and śukra (corresponding to Jupiter, Mercury, Moon, Dragon's Tail, Mars, Dragon's Head, Saturn and Venus). These grahas are classified into two categories, namely śubha (beneficent) and aśubha or krūra (cruel, fierce, formidable, maleficent). Only three of these—bṛhaspati, candramā, śukra—were described to me by my Kashmiri Brahman informants as being śubha; budha is considered ‘impotent’ or neutral and the rest fierce. It does not, however, really matter very much to a human being what the nature of a graha is, except in so far as any one of them, or any combination of them (yoga), comes to have a dominant influence on the course of his life trajectory as a result of the aspect of these heavenly beings. This fact of astral influence is called daśā, that is the condition and fate of a human being as affected by the movement of a graha. These planetary movements affect the lives of people variously, depending primarily upon the time (kāla) and place (sthāna) of their birth. Thus even a maleficent graha may bring joy, health and prosperity to an individual owing to its location in a particular place (gṛha) in his birth-time horoscope (janmakuṇḍalī) and/or the horoscope for the year (varṣakundalī) and the relation of this location to the graha's own position during a particular period of time; zodiacal spaces are classified in respect of each graha as his own, his friends’ or his enemies’ ‘homes’. In this regard, the critical datum of every individual horoscope is the lagna, that is, the zodiacal sign under which one is born: starting from there, the life trajectory of the individual can be charted, which is what the casting or writing of a horoscope (p.55B) involves. The auspiciousness or inauspiciousness of a life trajectory is stated in degrees rather than in absolute terms. An individual is thus conceptualized as a pātra (‘vessel’) to be filled. Now, childbirth, particularly the birth of a son, is normally an auspicious event, but it may not always be so. The configuration of graha and nakṣatra at the time of his birth may make a particular son a menace to the well-being of his parents and, therefore, his birth is considered to be an inauspicious event In other words, the influence of his life trajectory on those of his parents may turn out to be maleficent, reinforcing the unfortunate elements of their own trajectories and Page 5 of 21

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Auspiciousness and Purity weakening the beneficent ones. For example, a boy born on the mūla nakṣatra to a Kashmirí Brahman family is adjudged to be a potential parricide, not of course by a wilful act of future murder but by virtue of the subtle influence of one life's trajectory on the other. Nobody else would accept such a child in adoption. To avert the mortal threat, he may be abandoned near the entrance of a temple, or some such holy place, thus being entrusted to the care of gods. In fact, this act may be seen as one of symbolic destruction. The family priest then picks up the child—the whole act is of course pre-arranged—and exchanges him for money and grain with the child's own family with a member of which he has a ‘chance’ encounter. Such happenings are not common, but Hindus generally perform rituals regularly in an effort to ward off or at least minimize the dangers posed by inauspicious births or unfavourable daśā. These rituals are called upāya or ‘corrective’ actions. The most notable of these rituals that has come to my notice is tulābhāra, when the body of the endangered person is symbolically replaced by weighing him against grain, pulses and other prescribed substances which are then given away to the family priest.6 The body is reconstituted by means of a ritual bath, which involves its being washed with clays, herbs, water, etc. (p. 56B) from various places. Expectedly, the whole series of rites is regarded as highly hazardous to the subject, though their purpose is to stave off the ultimate danger of death. The extent to which such rituals succeed in warding off evil is not wholly predictable, for auspiciousness can neither be totally engineered nor inauspiciousness wholly averted, no matter what promotive or corrective steps may be taken. It was pointed out to me by a Chaturvedi Brahman informant that, though the marriage of Rama was performed at an auspicious time and the appointed time for his consecration as the king was similarly calculated, his married life was interrupted (because of the abduction of Sita by Ravana) and finally ended in sorrow (when Sita immolated herself); similarly his becoming king was postponed by his fourteen years' exile. Birth is normally a śubha event and death is aśubha. Yet the degree and nature of inauspiciousness of death also are determined by the time and place at which it occurs and by other related circumstances. There is a recurrent inauspicious period in every month of the lunar calendar called paṅcaka, when five nakṣatras are in conjunction, for the duration of which the performance of many actions is forbidden as far as possible. The cremation of a dead body during paṅcaka is considered very unfortunate but cannot be avoided. It was explained to me that the occurrence of death during such a period is replete with dangers for the journey of the dead or departed person (preta) into pitṛloka (the abode of the manes) and is also inauspicious for the survivors, five of whom may die in the ensuing year.

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Auspiciousness and Purity Death is inauspicious, but widowhood is an even more unfortunate event for an upper caste Hindu woman. It brings about a drastic change in her social identity and ritual status (see Madan 1975a). Among the Kashmiri Brahmans, when an old woman dies and her husband, older than her, accompanies the funeral party to the cremation ground, many women loudly express the wish that they too may die the same way, survived by the husband and sons. Let me now turn to a more complex set of usages which may not appear to be covered by the foregoing analysis. The example that comes most readily to mind is the widespread practice among Hindi-speaking people of using the expression śubhanāma (rendered as ‘good name’ in Indian English) when (p.57B) inquiring about each other's names.7 Similarly, a person's body or parts of it, for example the face or palms of the hands, may be said to bear śubhalakṣaṇa (auspicious signs or marks). While it would be appropriate to point out that the word śubha here refers to loveliness, grace, splendour, lustrousness, etc. (see Monier-Williams 1976), it must also be noted that these qualities are not so much values as signs indicative of the future course of events in an individual's life and his influence on the lives of others.8 Kashmiri Brahmans extol Shiva as the most benign and beneficent divinity, for (to quote from a popular hymn) ‘he is the one with all the śubhalakṣaṇa’. To highlight the proper usage of the word śubha, it may be pointed out finally that there are certain human actions which create well-being through the very fact of being performed, so that one does not have to await an auspicious time for their performance or for their consequences. The Kashmiri Brahmans, who do not normally undertake a journey away from home except at an auspicious moment, do not consider it equally necessary to time similarly the return home, which is always auspicious. Similarly, whatever is done daily, including pūjā, and the cooking of food, does not have to await an auspicious hour though it has to be done outside a particularly inauspicious time, such as the duration of an eclipse or the presence of a dead body in the house. Some informants from Uttar Pradesh pointed to a further distinction in this regard, namely, that between vyavahārika (conventional) and ādhyātmika or paramārthika (spiritual) actions: when an action is motivated spiritually and not undertaken merely as a matter of convention or routine, the constraint of an inauspicious period of time—such as eclipses, malamāsa or devaśayana—becomes inoperative.9 (p.58B) The foregoing selection from a thesaurus of usages (collected by me in Kashmir and Uttar Pradesh) points to the conclusion that the ‘family resemblance’ which obtains among them has its roots in the significance of the passage of time for human beings, which varies from one category of persons to another and even from one individual to another. What is crucial is not an abstract conception of time per se—which is neutral in character—but the intersection of cosmic and individual life trajectories which this flux entails. Auspiciousness, then, is an absolute value which manifests as a quality of events Page 7 of 21

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Auspiciousness and Purity in the lives of human actors (pātra) and involves the dimensions of time (kāia) and space (sthāna). The word śuddha, in contrast to śubha, is not generally used in everyday speech to refer to events.10 The connotation of this word is conveyed by invoking images of fulness or completeness in the specific sense of perfection. It thus refers to the most desired condition of the human body or, more comprehensively, the most desired state of being. Śuddha and its opposite aśuddha are attributes of animate beings, inanimate objects and places with which a human being comes into contact in the course of everyday life. For example, a prepubescent unmarried girl (kanyā), water from a holy river, unboiled milk, ghee and a temple are śuddha. On the other hand, contact with certain kinds of human beings (low-caste Hindus or non-Hindus), animals (dogs), objects (goods made of leather), foods. (beef or food cooked in impure utensils), substances (discharges from a human body), places (cremation ground), etc. causes Brahmans and other upper-caste Hindus to become polluted. The notion (p.59B) of perfection in the sense of freedom from error or fault is extended to certain actions also, as exemplified by such expressions as śuddha-vicāra (pure thoughts), śuddhauccāraṇa (correct pronunciation, which is highly valued in the r̀ecitation of sacred texts), and śuddha-svara (normal or natural notes in music). Human thoughts, words and musical notes are thus treated (evaluated) as objects are. Moreover, it is important to note that degrees of śuddha-ness are recognized. Gold is thus considered more śuddha than, say, copper, so that objects made of gold are always pure—‘purified by the movement of air’, say the Kashmiri Brahmans—while objects made of other metals require to be purified by washing with water or scrubbing with clay or cowdung and water. Even more significant is the notion that, while certain objects are śuddha, others—notably darbha grass (Poa cynosuroides), gold, food cooked on one's own hearth kept alive by fire originally lit at the time of one's marriage ritual, etc.—are not only pure in themselves but render pure whatever and whosoever comes in contact with them unless he or it is essentially impure (such as human excrement or a Shudra). A Kashmiri Brahman begins certain ritual performances by first putting on the middle finger of his right hand a ‘ring’ made by twisting together seven blades of darbha.11 This ‘ring’ is called pavitra, that is, something which is itself pure and also purifies the wearer. The most pavitra (paramapavitra) object for the Brahman is his yajñopavita, the three-stranded cotton neck cord that he wears from the time of his ritual initiation (upanayana) onwards and which symbolizes and protects his ritual status as a ‘twice-born’ (dvija) Hindu. At the time of the investiture of the neophyte with the neck cord, the Gāyatrī mantra 12 is whispered into his (p.60B) ear by the family priest and he is thus made śuddha, that is, a perfect actor for the performance of rituals and the discharge of the adulthood roles of the householder. Ethnography on the subject of purity and pollution is so detailed, though not always illuminating (see Dumont 1980),

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Auspiciousness and Purity that there is little that I can hope to contribute to the discussion beyond what I have written above. I would, however, like to suggest a relationship between the categories of śubha and śuddha in relation to the pâtra or actor. I take up again the event of childbirth. It is auspicious if it occurs under the right circumstances, defined by the qualities of time, space and the actors concerned, particularly the child and the mother. In actuality, the Tightness of circumstances is a matter of degree, for it rarely happens that every factor is without blemish to make the event perfectly auspicious. But even in the best of circumstances, the event renders the child's mother and agnatic kin ritually impure and causes pollution (aśauca, a specific expression of aśuddha) to them. The child itself is also impure. This pollution, however, pales into insignificance in the light of the joy of the auspicious character of childbirth, particularly the birth of a son, which is duly celebrated through ritual performances and social ceremonies during the following eleven days, culminating in the ritual of purification. In consonance with such an evaluation of the śubha but aśuddha aspects of childbirth is the fact that it is not the pollution that death causes which is the matter of deeper concern but the inauspiciousness of the event. My Kashmiri Brahman informants are absolutely unambiguous in their statement of this fact. The pollution wears off (through the passage of time) and is removed (through the performance of rituals) step by step. It is, however, only the occurrence of an auspicious event, most notably the birth of a male child, that finally removes the pall of inauspiciousness which hangs like a dark cloud on a family in which a death has occurred (see Khare 1976a: 185). Two other types of situation may now be briefly mentioned. First, the situation where both auspiciousness and purity are considered characteristic of an event. Brahmans regard ritual initiation and marriage (the former perhaps more than the latter) as the most notable examples. Second, the situation (p.61B) where inauspiciousness and purity may be found to coexist: but no such situation is acknowledged in practice, emphasizing the overriding quality of auspiciousness. Speaking specifically about the Kashmiri Brahmans, their attitude to pollution is a pragmatic one. One can avoid contact with many polluting things by the exercise of care or self-restraint. Prescribed procedures, fairly often quite simple (such as washing), are available to remove the consequences of contamination resulting from contact with such things. To be cleansed of pollution when it is unavoidable, one has not only to wash but to do so immediately, for example after evacuation, or after the lapse of a period of time, as following a birth or death in the family. Mere washing may not help restore ritual status and certain expiatory rites may have to be performed.13 Moreover, one is pure or impure in Page 9 of 21

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Auspiciousness and Purity relation to someone else or an object or the performance of a particular act in a certain degree. A menstruating woman is severely polluted for the purpose of participation in rituals (particularly the feeding of the manes), but she is not secluded nor required to eat or sleep outside the home. The daily life of the Kashmiri Brahmans is beset by śaṅkā, that is, doubt or perplexity: hesitations as to whether to do something or not, how to do it, when to do it, and so on. The burden of such uncertainty is heavier in the context of the inauspiciousness of certain events than in the context of the impure nature of some things, for the former are not as easily manageable as the latter.14 A person must watch out, when he (p.62B) sets out from his home on an important errand, lest somebody symbolizing obstruction or failure and, therefore, inauspiciousness be encountered or—if the encounter does take place —allowed to pass by one's right side coming from the opposite direction. Among the most dreaded of such encounters is that with a priest, including one's own family priest, without whose presence no ritual performance, including the auspicious ones, is possible.15 Similarly, in Uttar Pradesh, an encounter with a Mahabrahman (who assists at cremations and receives gifts from mourners after a death) is normally considered very inauspicious. However, if he is encountered by a party carrying a dead body for cremation, sighting him is believed to minimize the inauspiciousness of the death and is, therefore, welcome. The unexpected arrival of a sannyasi at a vidyārambha (beginning of the study of the sacred texts) ceremony is highly auspicious, but the encounter of a marriage party with him is equally highly inauspicious and, therefore, dreaded. To take a final example, the Brahmans of both Kashmir and Uttar Pradesh consider milk to be one of the purest drinks, to be consumed on auspicious occasions and also offered in worship to deities. It is, however, never consumed at the commencement of a journey, for which occasion yoghourt is the appropriate food, though yoghourt may not be offered to a deity. The nature of the priest, the Mahabrahman and the renouncer, or of milk and yoghourt, does not change but the significance of different events alters one's relationship to these persons and foods as the normal (not necessarily desirable) life trajectories of the actors involved in them are, as it were, reinforced or deflected and weakened. These examples point to the ‘heterogencousness of time’ (Eliade 1974: 147) and the consequent perplexties of the mind in the face of inauspiciousness. The anxiety, fear and emotional disturbance which ominous events give rise to are, according to my informants, much more intense than the doubts regarding correct conduct associated (p.63B) with contact with impure persons, objects and places: my own observation of people's behaviour in rural Kashmir confirms this asseveration.

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Auspiciousness and Purity Concerning the Categories ‘Śubha and ‘Śuddha’: Ethnographic Notes and Queries I now turn to ethnography to explore how the notion of auspiciousness has been handled by anthropologists. I will not undertake a comprehensive survey of literature but confine myself to three authors, namely M. N. Srinivas, R. S. Khare and Frédérique Marglin, each one of whom has devoted considerable attention to this subject, to point out some critical issues that seem to be worthy of clarification and further research. Besides, they provide, between themselves, illustrative material from southern, eastern and northern India.16 In his classic study of religion and society among the Coorgs of south India, Srinivas (1952) went into the details of purity and pollution with unprecedented care and also made an important contribution to our understanding of auspiciousness as an aspect of domestic life. It would seem that his earlier study of marriage and the family among various castes of Karnataka, based on his own fieldwork and on published works (see Srinivas 1942), had already sensitized him to this important cultural notion among Hindus. He had thus noted that purchases for a marriage are made and the marriage solemnized on an auspicious day and that married women—the so-called sumaṅg-ali—are particularly qualified to bless a bride (ibid.: 68–75). In his second book, Srinivas points out quite early that, according to Coorg belief, ‘Every important task must begin in an auspicious moment, or it will fail’ (1952: 39). He then dwells on the ritual of maṅgala or auspiciousness (ibid.: 70ff), which may be performed on certain happy occasions in the life of an individual but is specifically identified with marriage. (p.64B) Maṅgala is described by him as ‘an auspicious or good-sacred ceremony that has to be performed on an auspicious day’ (ibid.: 74); the central rite of mūrta (derived from the Sanskrit muhūrta) in the maṅgala complex is performed during a particularly auspicious part of the chosen day. Moreover, the ritual is performed in an ‘auspicious’ place, such as the ancestral home. Maṅgala results in a rearrangement of social structure dramatized by the change in the status of the nubile girl who now becomes a sumaṅgali, that is, one who has a beneficent influence on the lives of other people, obviously by virtue of being herself a blessed person (ibid.: 157).17 It follows that a widow, who must live alone and not in conjugal bliss,18 has lost her own blessedness as well as the power to bless. All this fits in well with the analysis in the previous section of this essay, but it has to be noted that Srinivas does not bring out as clearly as one would have wished the various nuances of meaning in the different uses of the word ‘auspicious’. His use of it as a general adjective which defines events, persons and places alike may conceal the fact that in its primary connotation the word refers to an event—to marriage—which produces general well-being (maṅgala in Sanskrit). What is perhaps even more regrettable is his decision to include Page 11 of 21

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Auspiciousness and Purity auspiciousness and purity together in the encompassing category of ‘goodsacred’ without clearly distinguishing between them. He also draws attention to certain formal similarities between actions characteristic of auspicious and inauspicious occasions without providing a discussion of the significance of this formal similarity and of the content of these actions. That ‘inversion’ occurs is, however, quite obvious. Commenting on Srinivas's handling of maṅgala, Dumont and Pocock (1959: 33) suggest a deeper structure by assimilating auspiciousness into what they consider to be the most fundamental (p.65B) of underlying ideas, namely, purity. I do not find this way of resolving the problem of the relationship between auspiciousness and purity quite satisfactory as it ignores the need to examine the independent character of the relations of auspiciousness. The crucial observation in this regard, it may be recalled from the previous section of this essay, is that there are no empirical examples available of the combination of the inauspicious and the pure in a single event, though the other three combinations are exemplified by birth (auspicious-impure), death (inauspicious-impure), and marriage (auspicious-pure)—a fact noted by these authors themselves (though not exactly in the same terms as employed here). Their position is, ultimately, derived from their premise that ‘the religion of caste is fundamental’ (ibid.: 34). I now turn to Khare's two books on the cultural significance of food among the Kanyakubja Brahmans of Uttar Pradesh (north India) in which he employs the words ‘auspicious’ and ‘inauspicious’ quite extensively. His most genera! definition of auspiciousness is in terms of those regular happenings which symbolize or seek to bring about a ‘pervasive, established domestic value’ of collective and comprehensive well-being (1976a: 109, 121n, 185, et passim). He clearly sees purity as a value encompassed by the value of auspiciousness. He writes: ‘All regular ritual techniques that help establish ritual purity ultimately result in a Hindu householder's constant concern with a morally desirable auspiciousness (for there is no other kind) which, for him, must pervade the ritual and social world if everything between him, his social group and his gods is proceeding properly’ (ibid.: 109). Elsewhere, he writes that irrespective of the states of purity and impurity, ‘the inauspicious (aśubha) should not be allowed to take over in one's household life’ (ibid.: 144). In view of the foregoing, it is surprising that Khare should not have maintained clearly and consistently the distinction between auspiciousness and purity— between events and things—and should have merely written of the ‘congruence’ between the two (1976b: 71f): the equation that he sets up (‘auspiciousness: pure: high:: unauspiciousness: impure: low’) breaks down, as—to repeat—birth is an auspicious event but causes pollution. A further blurring of heuristically important (p.66B) distinctions occurs when Khare (like many other scholars) prefixes the adjective ‘auspicious’ to foods, food areas, cooking utensils, food processing implements, cooking techniques, and even numbers, without Page 12 of 21

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Auspiciousness and Purity bringing out clearly the temporal context. It is, however, only fair to acknowledge that he does draw attention to the character of some objects (such as utensils) as ‘definite and dominant symbols of happiness and sorrow’ (ibid.: 55) and also points out that certain actions (for example, certain cooking techniques) arc similarly symbolic of ‘normalcy or auspiciousness or festivity’ (ibid.: 62). This is the familiar relation between the signifier and the signified and, one hopes, will be elaborated in future research on the subject. The third scholar whose work I discuss here is Frédérique Marglin. Her primary concern is with the role of the king and of the devadāsīs in the ritual complex associated with the Jagannatha temple at Puri. She pursues her studies along several thematic paths, including notably a richly documented and explicitly articulated discussion of the nature and significance of auspiciousness, purity and power (śakti). It is not possible here to undertake a detailed examination of her published and unpublished work (1977, 1985) and I will confine myself to drawing attention to the following aspects of it. (1) Marglin makes a clear distinction between auspiciousness and purity: the latter is said to pertain to the ordered, hierarchical domain of caste but the former is free flowing. This is best exemplified by the fact that, though the devadāsīs are associated with auspiciousness in diverse ways—they dance and sing in the temple every day and on various special occasions; they also sing the joyous songs of well-being (maṅglagita) in the homes of their patrons (the priests of the temple) on happy occasions connected with the life-cycle, most notably marriage—and though they are unfettered by caste regulations, they are yet not allowed to go into the inner sanctum of the temple because they are considered unchaste. Their auspiciousness arises from their being the wives of the god Jagannatha and his representative on earth, the king of Puri; they are ahya, ever-married, for the god transcends the mortal domain of birth and death. The devadāsīs' impurity results from their being permitted (in fact, expected) to live as concubines of the temple priests who are the servants (sebākār) of the (p.67B) temple god. Their body (deha) is, therefore, impure. This essential distinction between auspiciousness/inauspiciousness and purity/impurity (to which I have already drawn attention in the discussion of everyday usages earlier in this chapter) thus seems to be supported by empirical evidence from different domains of life and is also analytically illuminating. (2) Marglin also presents a list of the cultural meanings, embodiments and ‘representatives’—the signifiers—of auspiciousness. It is said to refer to a state of well-being, happiness and pleasure. It is associated with eating and the plentifulness of food; with sexual union, fertility and growth; with progeny and prosperity. It is embodied in, or-represented by, water jars, aquatic animals, flags, doors, erotic sculptures, sounds, etc., and, above all, the devadāsīs. They

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Auspiciousness and Purity are called by Marglin the ‘harbingers of auspiciousness’; she also designates them as ‘specialists in auspiciousness’. When Marglin refers to devadāsīs as specialists in auspiciousness (and the tribal daita as specialists in inauspiciousness), I take it to mean that, though what the devadāsīs/daitas do has happy consequences, because their works are ultimately conducive to well-being (maṅgalakāryd), yet there are elements in the situation in which the daitas are involved which are inauspicious, namely, the ‘illness’ and ‘death’ of the gods. However, the rejuvenation of the gods also begins at the hands of the daitas. The element of the passage of time is important here and, as Marglin illustrates richly, the Hindu conception of it may be more complex than what would be familiar from a Western perspective. Thus, while auspiciousness and the devadāsīs are said to symbolize the forward flow of time—the present in relation to the future—inauspiciousness and the daitas are related to the reversal -of time, that is, death and the past. The daitas seem to be of crucial significance as they dramatize the flux of time more sharply than do the devadāsīs, so much so that the demarcation between auspiciousness and inauspiciousness itself appears to be arbitrary or is resolved. Marglin does not, however, push her analysis in this direction. It would be useful to recall here two important distinctions mentioned by me earlier: first, between objects and persons as such, on the one hand, and these as symbols, on the other; second, between objects and persons, on the one hand, and (p.68B) events and performances, on the other. When the devadāsīs are called maṅgalanārī and the songs they sing maṅgalagīta, it is clear that two meanings are implied: first, and obviously (even superficially perhaps), these women and their songs contribute to an atmosphere of joy; second, they are associated with happy events whether these occur (births) or are arranged (weddings, pilgrimages). In the process they come to symbolize auspiciousness. Though the distinction between person or act, event and symbol, may be blurred in speech and in the minds of speakers, its validity must not be lost sight of by the analyst. When pilgrims come to Puri they are told by the priests that seeing and circumambulating devadāsīs are auspicious; that is, these actions produce wellbeing. In the same spirit, worshippers in the temple pick the dust from the feet of dancing devadāsīs, or roll on the ground where they have danced, in the hope of attaining well-being, of winning divine grace, for they are told that the devadāsīs are the embodiment of Lakshmi.19 We see here instances of the coalescence of the carrier or bearer of auspiciousness (the devadāsīs) and its ultimate source (Lakshmi) and this too should be borne in mind. (3) In her analysis of the consecration ritual within the famous Car Festival (ratha-yātrā) ritual complex, Marglin brings out clearly the inter-relatedness of time, place, and person or actor: the devadāsīs and the daitas are described as Page 14 of 21

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Auspiciousness and Purity doing different things in different parts of the temple on this very special occasion, all contributing to a single though complex task. An actor (pātra) in this context stands not merely for a neutral being but an adept, one worthy of receiving the responsibility for a certain role. The issue is that of establishing pātratā, that is, one's credentials for the performance of the role. The Brahmans and the daitas are born into their role categories; the devadāsīs are recruited from different castes for their roles by being dedicated to Jagannatha. Auspiciousness, then, refers in Marglin's analysis to a situation (p.69B) which enables us to see its constitutive elements in their inter-relatedness and thus in the right perspective. The actor or person (pātra), motivated by an explicit purpose (uddeśya), and specifically recruited to fulfil it, performs an act or role (kārya), in a prescribed manner (rīti), in a certain place (sthāna), at a specified time (kāla), which results in collective well-being (maṅgala). That is: the devadāsī, dedicated to god, imbued with divine devotion, sings and dances in the outer sanctum of the temple at various times of the day and year: this brings about well-being, just as me feeding of the temple god by the Brahmans does: and the feeding and the dancing take place simultaneously. Dancing, we are further told, symbolizes sexual union in this ritual context. If any one of the elements (purpose, properly accredited actor, the action, the time, and the place) is absent or imperfect, though nothing else is changed, the formal auspiciousness of the situation disappears. To illustrate, the most talented Odissi dancer could not be allowed to dance in the temple for she is not the right pātra, although she knows very well how to do it. Similarly, the devadāsī may not leave Puri to become a professional dancer and yet retain the right to participate in the ritual complex of the temple, for she would then violate the parameters of time and place and have abandoned the legitimate purpose of her work. Needless to add, what is true of the devadāsī is also applicable to the Brahman and the daitta. The ‘situation’, I may add, must be conceptualized in dynamic rather than static terms: it must be seen as an event, a point emphasized earlier in this chapter in the course of my examination of the everyday usage of the words śubha and śuddha. Time thus appears to, be the key element in the situation which illumines the others’ In this context the observations of two Uttar Pradeshi Brahman informants—both pundits of the traditional type—appear to be apposite. According to them, kāla is the ultimate cause of everything that happens. Its characteristic manifestation is pravāha (flow) or vartana (movement, circular movement). It is anādi (without beginning), ananta (without end) and sarvavyāpaka (all-pervading, encompassing). Deified as Kala, it is the guardian of life and the upholder of dharma (righteousness), and appropriately presides over death. It is not amenable to human control. Deśa (p.70B) or sthāna (place, location), the informants maintained, is vyāpya (permeable,

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Auspiciousness and Purity encompassed): it has been created and will be destroyed in time. Human beings realize their being within this framework, in the union of śakti and prakṛti.20

Concluding Remarks J. L. Austin once complained that the history of Western philosophy was littered with ‘tidy-looking dichotomies’, with the student being required to embrace one half or the other (1962: 3). It certainly has not been my intention to propose over-simplifications of this type in respect of the categories śubha and śuddha in Hindu culture. I have only tried to suggest that certain analytical distinctions are heuristically useful inasmuch as they enable us to understand better the relations and the principles of relationship between the categories under examination. If auspiciousness/inauspiciousness refers primarily to events—and ultimately to life itself as an event-structure—and if purity/impurity is basically an attribute of objects, why have anthropologists confused the categories by objectifying the events? It would seem that this happened because we have tended to follow too closely what the informants say. Though the informants are usually well aware of behavioural norms and everyday usages, they are not always aware of ambiguities in these. Moreover, they readily—almost unthinkingly—switch from literal to figurative language and back again. In other words, they speak in metaphors, carrying over aspects of events (or objects) to objects (or other objects), and also ignore the distinction between mental and physical concepts, between words and things. Auspicious married women and inauspicious widows are instances of the transferred epithet (see Lakoff and Johnson 1980). Our task as anthropologists would seem to lie in overcoming ambiguity and decoding figurative language and bringing (p.71B) out clearly what we receive through interrogation and observation confusedly. We seek to abstract certain concepts in a cross-cultural framework that hardly concern the people whose culture we study and, therefore, remain unarticulated and unexpressed in it. Auspiciousness is highly meaningful to people in their everyday life but the abstract concept of the passage of time is much less so. Our own hesitation to explicate such concepts perhaps leads us to draw conclusions too soon and at too low a level of generality to produce better understanding. The present discussion points to the need to explore more systematically than has been done so far the relatively neglected theme of auspiciousness/ inauspiciousness in Hindu culture. Of course, this should not be attempted independently of the notion of purity/ impurity—for then we would produce only distortions of reality—but in relation to it. The particular expressions and associations of the notion of auspiciousness may vary, but quite clearly it is of basic importance, at least in the scheme of values of upper castes, and is associated with the passage or flux of time and the significance of this fact for human life. If this notion is found closely interlinked with that of purity among Page 16 of 21

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Auspiciousness and Purity upper castes but less so as we move down the ladder, that itself would, far from downgrading the importance of studying it, underscore its potential for deepening our understanding of purity and of the basic elements of Hindu culture. Notes:

(1) R. S. Khare has raised the question as to whether the idea of auspiciousness is, like ritual purity, ‘a monopoly of the twice-born’ (1976a: 121n). Louis Dumont in a comment on an earlier draft of the present essay wrote that the Kallar of Tamilnadu, the subcaste of which he made an intensive study, are little concerned with astrological matters; he suggested that auspiciousness is a brahmanical idea, implying that it is not of the same general importance as purity and pollution. G. S. Bhatt, who has devoted many years to the study of Scheduled Castes, such as the Chamar in Uttar Pradesh, informs me that low castes do have beliefs regarding auspiciousness/inauspiciousness and consult astrologers on such matters as the performance of life-cycle rituals. This perhaps points to the deeper inroads of the ideas and behaviour of upper castes in the lives of lower castes in north India than in south India. Bh. Krishnamurthy, who also read an earlier draft of this essay, writes (in a personal communication): ‘Most of the practices and beliefs described in the article have counterparts in the Dravidian languages area. It would be interesting to sort out how many of these had their origin in the native (folk) cultures of India cutting across the caste system and how many are prevalent only in the higher castes. I am thinking of, for example, śubhanakstra, which is a part of the religious observances of upper castes as opposed to śubha śakuna, which is prevalent in many communities including tribals.’ It is obvious that we need more ethnographic data on this subject than we have now to answer these (and other) questions. (2) To elaborate this point, the Fathers at the Delhi Jesuit seminary Vidyajyoti assured me during a discussion (in 1980) that the word ‘auspiciousness’ has no standard use in their language other than in reference to the ‘superstitions’ of pre-Christian European peoples and of non-Christians generally. No comment is necessary. As for ‘purity’, I know from my field work in the Kashmir Valley that the brahmanical notion of śuddha and the Muslim idea of pdk, both rendered into English as ‘pure’ or ‘purity’, for no other appropriate words seem to be available, differ significantly in their connotation. Thus, pāk cooked food of the Muslim is totally unacceptable to the Brahman because it is incurably polluting. Similarly, no good Muslim eats food which has come out of a Hindu kitchen; it is simply harām, forbidden. A disclaimer is perhaps called for immediately, lest 1 should be misunderstood to be retreating behind a curtain of Sanskrit words (or words from other Indian languages) into a naïve cultural relativism. I remember Goethe's admonition Page 17 of 21

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Auspiciousness and Purity that, so long as we know no foreign language, we are in a sense ignorant of our own. Comparison is, indeed, the foundation on which anthropology—our knowledge, understanding and evaluation of human cultures through mutual interpretation—is based. In short, all I am trying to do is to argue that direct (surface) translation from one language to another, far from contributing to our general understanding of cultural constructs, in fact often hinders them. (3) The data for this paper are drawn from the following main sources: (i) My efforts, now extended over many years, to interpret various aspects of the way of life of Kashmiri Brahmans by interrogation and observation (including fieldwork in a village); (ii) recent conversations with several Uttar Pradesh! (Chaturvedi, Kanyakubja and Saryupari) Brahmans of Kanpur and Lucknow on the specific theme of this paper; (iii) a few selected ethnographic works. (4) It is worth noting here that one of the secondary meanings of the word sanṅgama is sexual union, which is thus regarded as being comparable to the merger of rivers and is similarly auspicious. (5) As is well known 10 students of classical texts, the contents of the kalaśa vary with the occasion. Thus, the contents of the vessel at the coronation ceremony of Hindu kings included the water of many rivers, earth from many places and dwellings, jewels, medicinal herbs, etc. ‘The pūrṅa kumbha (kalaśa, ghaṭa) is, minimally, a pot filled with water, with green leaves from fruit-bearing trees, especially mango leaves, covering its mouth, and a coconut placed on top. The pot, placed on white raw rice, is the most widely used sign of auspiciousness (maṅgala, śubha)’ (Marglin 1982: 161). (6) The fact that priests accept ‘ominous children’ and ‘dangerous goods’ from their patrons (yajamāna) testifies to the belief in their superior capacity to cope with dangerous situations. They thus come to symbolize danger itself. At the same time there is, at least among Kashmiri Brahmans, a barely concealed deprecation of priests for the same reasons and, hence, a sense of inauspiciousness is aroused on encountering them on particular occasions (when, for instance, their services are not required). (7) Bh. Krishnamurthy comments (in a personal communication): ‘Śubhanāma seems to be a recent innovation. There is no corresponding expression in the Southern languages; and there is no antonym, aśubhanāma’. (8) According to a Chaturvedi Brahman informant, applying the tilaka (a very visible mark of auspiciousness) on the forehead produces well-being, particularly if this is done with the thumb of the right hand (the Kashmiri Brahmans use the middle finger) and if the thumb has śubhalaksana on it.

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Auspiciousness and Purity (9) The distinction between ādhyātmika or paramārthika and vyavahārika was made by some Uttar Pradeshi informants, as also by R. S. Khare (in a personal communication) who has written extensively on the Kanyakubja Brahmans (see Khare 1976a and 1976b). (10) A Saryupari Brahman informant, who is a pundit and an astrologer, told me that he would not hesitate to speak of a śuddha moment of time from the point of view of the natural occurrence of an event or of a performance, Commenting on this, Baidyanath Saraswati writes (in a personal communication): ‘Based on astrological calculation, a particular period, ranging from five to ten days or so, is called śuddha when the famous “marriagé” mart” of the Maithil Brahmans takes place (in Bihar) and marriages are solemnized. Within that period there are, of course, specific moments of time that are considered śubha for the ceremony. The duration of the aśuddha period from the point of view of marriage —called aticara—could be very much longer, lasting two to three years.’ In this connection, one informant pointed out that the horoscope of the Buddha contained the perfect conjunction (yoga) of graha and thus the purity of his Being also embodied the auspiciousness of Time. (11) The seven blades of darbha are taken as representing the five senses (prdna), mind (mana) and intellect (buddhi). As the pavitra is put on the finger, a Sanskrit mantra is chanted: ‘You [Pavitra] are a hundred times purifier of the earth; you are a thousand times purifier of gods; you are health-bestowing: I associate you with progeny so that they become rich and abundant in wealth and prosperity.’ (12) Kashmiri Brahmans maintain that the highest knowledge, namely, the true understanding of Brahman (brahma-jn̅dna), has been distilled, as it were, in the Gayatrī mantra. It is a prayer to the all-pervading Supreme Deity to bless the devotee with dhī or higher intelligence for the attainment of such knowledge. The prayer occurs in the Rig Veda (III.62.10) as also in the Sama and Yajur Vedas. (13) It may be noted here that in âyurveda, śuddhi refers to the ‘purification’ of the insides of die body through the administration of enemas and of potions to induce vomkting, bloodletting, etc.; śuci refers to purification by ritual means (mantra, japa, etc.). (14) Apropos pollution by contact, cf.: ‘In this limited sense, impurity is more powerful than purity, but contact here loses something of its religious character: it does not bring misfortune or disease but only social degradation’ (Dumont and Pocock 1959: 30, emphasis added). I think this is precisely how Kashmiri Brahmans also interpret pollution. It should, however, be noted here that some scholars consider this a narrow interpretation: for instance Das (1982) considers the life/death framework more fundamental and inclusive than the pure/impure Page 19 of 21

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Auspiciousness and Purity or the good-sacred/bad-sacred frameworks. She observes: ‘the symbolism of impurity marks off situations which are liminal in the sense that the individual experiences his social world as separated from the cosmic. The paradigm for liminal-ity is provided by death’ (ibid.: 120). (15) See footnote 6 above. Other bad omens recognized by Kashmiri Brahmans include, besides death (particularly during the pan̄caka), unpleasant dreams, the hooting of owls (symbolizing death and destruction), etc. In Uttar Pradesh the sight of mating crows is considered a portent of many deaths, for crows are identified with ancestors. (16) I now find the absence of any discussion of the category of auspiciousness in my account of family and kinship among the Pandits of rural Kashmir (see Madan 1965) rather disconcerting, though not inexplicable. I mentioned auspiciousness and did not confuse it with purity, but did not distinguish between events (weddings) and persons (sons). I also failed to clarify that it was not in sons as such that auspiciousness resides but in what they do—most notably, feeding the manes, begetting sons and continuing the lineage. (17) In his account of marriages among Karnataka castes, Srinivas points out that the tāli, which the bridegroom ties round the brides neck, has knots in it made by het mother and other sumaṅgalī and is threaded by a prostitute who is referred to as nitya (ever)-sumangalī (Srinivas 1942: 75)-Writing on Tamil women, Reynolds says that cumaṅkali literally means an auspicious woman, but clarifies that this auspiciousness does not refer to her own being as a woman but to her relationship with certain significant ‘others’, notably, her husband and children (1980:38). (18) See footnote 4 above (p. 52). (19) On being told of this, one of my Kanyakubja Brahman informants recalled the myth of the crocodile who tried to drag an elephant into the river to devour him. Thinking its end had come, the elephant, who was a devotee of Vishnu, lifted a lotus with its trunk as a last offering to the god. Vishnu appeared on the scene and redeemed both the elephant and the crocodile: the former for his pure devotion and latter because it had touched the foot of a devotee—itself an act of piety. (20) Much attention has been devoted to the concepts of kāla and deśalstbāna in the Hindu tradition from the Vedas onwards thrọugh the brdhmaṇas, Upanishads, and Puranas and the two great epics (Mahabharata and Ramayana). The Nyàya-Vaiśeṣika (one of the six systems of Hindu metaphysics) is particularly concerned with these categories (see Bhaduri 1947).

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Auspiciousness and Purity

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Asceticism and Eroticism

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Asceticism and Eroticism T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0017

Abstract and Keywords This chapter develops further the notion of the tension of the two extremes of asceticism and eroticism which the life of the householder seeks to overcome. This is, of course, one of the fundamental moral dilemmas treated for very long in Hindu literary, philosophical, and mythological traditions. The renouncer and the enjoyer are both towering personalities; one proclaims self-control, and the other proclaims the power of enjoyment. The king is the ideal enjoyer. But, it is argued that the life of enjoyment, when apotheosized, leads to perdition, just as renunciation may turn out to be an empty gesture of self-mortification. Keywords:   householder, moral dilemmas, renouncer, renunciation, enjoyer, enjoyment, perdition

Should I sojourn in austerity on the sacred river's bank, or should I, in worldly fashion, court women of high grace? BHARTRIHARI

Free thine self from the threefold nature of things; rise above all opposites, abide always in purity—self-possessed and whole. BHAGAVAD GITA

Introduction In this chapter, based on an essay originally written in honour of Christoph von Fürer-Haimendorf, I follow in his footsteps and make an attempt to examine the problem of moral choices in South Asian societies. I do so in the limited context Page 1 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism of the nature—culture dichotomy, which occupies a central place in anthropological literature, and its transformations in Hindu culture. Fürer-Haimendorf's important study of values and mechanisms of social control in some South Asian societies, Morals and Merit (1967), is an invitation to South Asianists generally, and the anthropologists among them particularly, to examine moral concepts in different cultural settings and explore how these enter into the choices that people make. By moral concepts I understand those imperatives of conduct which proclaim what Iris Murdoch (1970) so felicitously calls ‘the sovereignty of good’, and to which men and women refer when they want to know what is right in a certain situation and what one ought to do in it—in short, when they are faced with the question, How best to live? Such considerations are especially relevant when people are called upon to make one of those crucial (p.73B) choices which are expected to alter the course of their lives and bestow a new character upon it. Calculations of prudence and utility are here ruled out in principle. If the central concern of anthropology is with man and woman in relation to culture, then it obviously cannot but be interested in cultural definitions of the problem of human fate and its contingent character. Such an interest entails the study of both the moral choices that people make in a society and the moral concepts or cultural values they invoke in support of their decisions. Fürer-Haimendorf's approach to the study of moral concepts is comparative in the classical anthropological tradition. He believes that ‘there is no society in which the individual is left without guidance and has to make moral choices without reference to social prescriptions’ (1967: 224). He also maintains that, ‘However divergent the moral systems of two given societies may be, the difference and consequently the mutual incomprehensibility seems to be never as complete as that between two unrelated languages’ (ibid.: 11), He sets out, therefore, to look for what he calls the ‘common elements’ of moral systems, such as ‘filial piety, charity, courtesy and truthfulness’, which ‘can be used in relation to a variety of moral systems’ (ibid.: 11–12). The metaphysical underpinning of the argument in Morals and Merit is recognizably and, perhaps, inevitably that of Western philosophy. Within this philosophical tradition there is a well-known argument, going back to Aristotle, according to which man is regarded as being moral by nature, but morality is said to be bestowed not by nature but by culture. In this context, Aristotle's distinction between the intellectual and moral strands of virtue, made in Book II of Nicomachean Ethics, may be recalled. According to it, moral virtue is the result of habit, as is obvious from its name ethike, which is derived by a slight variation from ethos, habit. It follows that specific moral virtues cannot be implanted in us by nature. In Durkheimian terms, this amounts to an affirmation of the categorical imperative of the collective consciousness which guides and Page 2 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism constrains individual actors in their pursuits. That such a point of view will greatly appeal to the student of culture, which Fürer-Haimendorf is, need hardly be emphasized here. (p.74B) There are other traditions that also locate morality—a code —in the actor's nature or substance, but do so in a manner which derives the content of ethical conduct from nature itself: they do not treat the latter as a vessel which may be filled in any way that one likes. The Hindu theory of guṇa, as enunciated in the Bhagavad Gita (chapter 14), for instance, is such an alternative viewpoint: put blandly, the moral person is said to be of sâttvik or ‘good’ nature while the evil person is of tāmasik or ‘dull’ nature. Whatever either does is determined by this primal fact.1 The other viewpoint deriving moral conduct from the pursuit of prescribed actions is also available in the Hindu tradition: while Upanisadic literature stresses innate moral nature, the dharmaśāstras emphasize behaviour: in so for as dharma is derived from smṛti, it is also habit.2 The data on which Morals and Merit is based are derived from the author's extensive fieldwork among several South Asian societies in central and eastern India and in Nepal, ‘ranging from the most primitive of nomadic food-gatherers to the highly civilized adherents of some of the world's great historic religions’, namely Buddhism and Hinduism (1967: 207). He almost insists that the anthropologist's data must come from direct observation of conduct and not from a society's ‘self-image presented by its own literati’. The danger he seems to have in mind is that of a distortion of the ethnographic narrative by subjective bias, but he is quick to acknowledge that ‘the anthropological method inevitably involves an element of subjectivity’, for the anthropologist has his or her own ‘ideological inclinations or unconscious prejudices’ (ibid.: 207). The foregoing acknowledgement of the inevitability of subjectivity in anthropological work encourages me to attempt in this chapter a discussion of moral choices in Hindu culture on the basis of three celebrated works of contemporary Indian fiction. Without at all implying any disagreement with Fürer-Haimendorf's legitimate emphasis on the importance of observed conduct, I am concerned here with a discussion of first order interpretations of the kind that the anthropologist's informants are so well known to provide. My informants in the present case happen to be three novelists, and their novels are fragments of (p.75B) the original discourse of contemporary Hindu intellectuals on modes of behaviour characteristic of their society. If a novel appeals to a wide variety of readers, it must tell them something that is of deep concern to them: the art of the narrator-novelist does not by itself explain such wide interest. In fact, Ferdinand de Saussure's dialectical distinction between langue and parole has been drawn upon by Roland Bardies and others who have suggested that the common cultural background of the author and his public is a

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Asceticism and Eroticism condition for the creation of a literary work, that the former is implied by the latter. Needless to emphasize here, works of fiction are not false though they certainly are a product of creative imagination: they are interpretations fashioned by an artist just as works of ethnography should be interpretations made by the anthropologist. A naive distinction between the ‘real’ world of the social scientist and the ‘imagined’ world of the novelist need not detain us here. In fact, it may well be argued that in dealing with human actions and their underlying motives at the most general level, the social scientist has not yet succeeded in going beyond the truly great novelist (see Berger 1977). What is more, in the specific context of the theme of the present essay, it has been suggested that ‘What especially the novel does is aid us in the imaginative recreation of moral complexities in the widest sense’ (Putnam 1977: 87). What follows, then, is my attempt to construct a discussion of moral choices in terms of the original discourse provided by the novelist. That my essay itself could be used by a non-Indian student of Indian societies and cultures to construct his own interpretation of Indian culture is another matter and acceptable to me as a legitimate project. It may be clarified that in the discussion that follows I eschew cross-cultural comparison, not because I consider it unimportant but because the many methodological problems that it raises—above all, that of the comparability of people's own categories of thought—seem very complex to me for adequate treatment in the available space. I therefore concentrate here on what has been called ‘thick description. This is best done by focusing on one culture at a time, and exploring it for the ‘structures of inference and implication’ (Geertz 1973: 7), of ‘signification’ (ibid.: 9), which are the object of ethnography. (p.76B) What one produces thus is an interpretation of patterns of culture in the light of the knowledge that other patterns exist, though not in direct and explicit confrontation with them. By the very nature of the enterprise, the discussion that follows is not comprehensive but only illustrative. It provides vignettes of moral situations of one type, namely, the clash between asceticism (tapas) and eroticism (kāmuktā), and seeks to bring out the implications of the choices that people involved in them usually make.

Three Moral Discourses The novels I have chosen for discussion are Bhagvaticharan Varma's Hindi novel Chitralekha, U. R. Anantha Murthy's Kannada novel Samskara, translated into English by A. K. Ramanujan (the famous Indo-Anglian poet), and Vishnu Sakharam Khandekar's Marathi novel Yayati, rendered into Hindi by Moreshvar Tapasvi. Needless to say, my discussion of the three novels is in no way concerned with their literary merit or aesthetic value—I am totally unqualified Page 4 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism for such an undertaking, nor is that my intention here. My effort is confined to sorting out the moral choices described and evaluated in them. The presentation of the characters, events and arguments from the novels is selective and interpretive. I have tried nor to distort the authors' intentions, though I have throughout paraphrased their language. I have added explanatory comments wherever doing so seemed useful in developing my argument about the natureculture dichotomy. Chitralekha was originally published in 1933 and was the work of a young novelist then in his thirties. It has by now acquired the status of a modern classic in Hindi literature. Two Hindi movie versions of it have been made. Samskara was published in 1965 and attracted wide attention, particularly after it was made into an award-winning Kannada film in 1970. Anantha Murthy, now in his fifties, teaches English literature at Mysore University. Ramanujan's English translation came out in 1976. Yayati was published in 1959 when Khandekar was sixty-one years old and already a renowned littérateur. The novel won him the acclaim of critics and finally, in 1976, a year before his death, the country's prestigious literary (p.77B) award, the Gyanpith Puraskar. It is a long work of almost 180,000 words and more than twice as long as Chitralekha or Samskara. The Hindi translation byTapasvi was published in 1977. Situational morality: a snare?

Chitralekha opens with a question which two disciples ask of their guru: they would like to know what pāpa is, it being presumed that they have already been instructed in the nature and significance of its binary opposite,puṇya. It is very difficult to translate these terms, but I will follow the general practice and render pāpa as ‘immoral’ or ‘wicked’ and puṇa as moral’ or ‘meritorious’ (Monier-Williams 1976). The guru says that he does not know what pāpa is, having no personal experience of it, suggesting that deductive reasoning will fail to provide an answer. He therefore decides to send the two young men to discover for themselves what pāpa is. One of them, a Brahman, is sent to become a disciple of a great yogi, Kumaragiri, and the other, a Kshatriya, is assigned as a servant to a feudal aristocrat, Bijagupta. The scene is laid in the capital city of Pataliputra and its environs during the days of the king Chandragupta Maurya (c. 310 B.C.). Kumaragiri and Bijagupta emerge as the two protagonists in the story and represent not merely two life-styles but, in fact, two apparently opposed moral choices. Kumaragiri, as already stated, is a yogi. Though youthful, he claims to have overcome all bodily desires and worldly attachments and found what he considers true happiness. Worldly life is to him the means to an end which is the life beyond corporeal existence. He is a scholar and an adept in ritualistic practices and has spiritual attainments to his credit. The peculiar combination of Page 5 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism youth and non-attachment has given him the unique distinction of possessing both an effulgent presence and moral power. Kumaragiri represents the principle of culture or refinement (samskṛti) as against that of untamed nature (prakṛti), of the spirit (ātmā) as against the material body (śarîra); he embodies in himself a moral choice which proclaims the superiority of asceticism over eroticism. Bijagupta is the opposite type: he is a young, handsome and wealthy feudal lord of high social status. Worldly attachments (p.78B) and joys, here and now, are the summum bonum of his life. Though unmarried, he has an apt companion in Chitralekha, the city's most gifted and celebrated dancer. She is an intelligent and cultured person, and shares with Bijagupta his world-view. Born a Brahman, widowed at an early age, involved subsequently in a love affair, mother of an illegitimate child, life's ironies have led her through several changes of fortune into the affection of Bijagupta. Though his mistress, she lives independently of him, in a style which matches his. Together, they aver the value of natural bodily appetites and their satisfaction as the supreme source of happiness. They consider the self-control and self-denial of the ascetic destructive not only of the human body but of the soul itself. In their own eyes, and in the eyes of many people, their life too represents a moral choice which proclaims the superiority of life-affirming eroticism (using the word in its broadest sense) over life-denying asceticism, of the bhogî over the yogi.3 The sequence of events which brings out the implications and significance of these choices is triggered off by a chance encounter between Kumaragiri and Bijagupta and Chitralekha when the latter two seek shelter in his hermitage one night. Kumaragiri is greatly upset by the presence of a woman in his hut. On Bijagupta's inquiry as to why an ascetic, who has acquired mastery over his senses, should be reluctant to give shelter to a woman, Kumaragiri answers that woman represents the darkness of attachment, desire and illusion and has no place in the world of knowledge. This leads to a discussion between him and Chitralekha over such metaphysical issues as appearance or the relativity of perception and reality or the-thing-in-itself. The encounter produces an unusual result: the yogi sees knowledge as the dancer's most outstanding attribute and she finds him an irresistibly handsome man. This encounter is followed by another in the royal court where Kautilya, the king's chief adviser, is expounding on the (p.79B) conflict between statecraft and justice (niti) on tẖe one hand, and religious and moral duty (dharma) on the other. Kautilya is a rationalist and a pragmatist and considers morality, religion and even God as cultural constructs and, therefore, subject to criticism and rational reformulation. Kumaragiri, also present in the court, is unable to match Kautilya's logic but demonstrates spiritual power by performing a miracle.4

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Asceticism and Eroticism Chitralekha, who is also the court dancer, engages the yogi in argument and succeeds in making him confess that he had resorted to the performance of a miracle because he could not establish by argument the existence of a divine being or the supremacy of dharma. Defending himself, he emphasizes the importance of faith and imagination for the seeker of the spirit. Chitralekha is, however, judged by the court to have won the argument. Kumaragiri also knows this to be true; his particular sense of defeat arises from the fact that he has been vanquished in a philosophical debate by a ‘fallen’ woman, a mere dancer. Defeated and dismayed, Kumaragiri retires to his hermitage but is visited there by Chitralekha. She tells him that she has come to receive spiritual instruction from him; but actually she is in love with him. The yogi finds the situation incomprehensible: how can one devoted to the body's pleasures possibly become a seeker of things spiritual? Chitralekha tries to silence his doubts, saying she has turned her back on her past. She knows, however, that she poses a threat to his whole being. This is, in fact, the threat that the realm of nature seemingly always poses to that of culture. While the human agent seeks puṇya, he is pursued by pāpa. Moreover, Chitralekha tries to teach Kumaragiri a view of the nature of woman contrary to that enunciated by him at their first meeting. Woman is spiritual power (śakti), she says, and the principle of creation. He who fears woman is unworthy of his humanity. Kumaragiri begins to experience, besides the power of her intellect, the attraction of her bodily beauty. He holds his ground, nevertheless, refusing to accept her as a disciple. He tells her that if he consents to impart spiritual instruction to her, he fears he will himself end by becoming her (p.80B) devotee, and that he is not prepared for such a reversal of roles. The vulnerability of his own moral choice is apparent to him. Chitralekha decides to leave Bijagupta. She informs him that she thinks she has become a burden on him and, therefore, ought to pull out of his life so that he can marry. However, she pledges eternal love for Bijagupta, love based on the union of souls rather than that of bodies. She thus recommends the transformation of the carnal relationship into a spiritual one. Seeing through Chitralekha's protestations, Bijagupta is greatly shaken by the turn of events. Without seeking it, he is thrown into the company of another feudal lord and his daughter, Yashodhara, while on a visit to Kashi. Yashodhara had earlier been offered to him in marriage but he had refused the offer, saying that, though he was formally unmarried, he considered Chitralekha his wife. For him this was a question of moral judgement rather than legal fact: marriage is not an event, he had said, but an everlasting physical-cum-spiritual bond between man and woman.

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Asceticism and Eroticism On one occasion an interesting conversation takes place between Bijagupta and Yashodhara about nature (prakṛti) and culture (saṁskṛti), which is directly relevant to the present essay. He is unmoved by her unbounded enthusiasm for nature and its beauty, and draws her attention to its harsh and ugly aspects. He also points out to her that, from the point of view of human beings, nature is incomplete. Human creations, without which life is impossible, have their origin in nature's imperfections. Bijagupta subsequently has an encounter with a sannyasi who tells him that, though the creations of culture are intended to lighten the burden of nature, they are artificial and must not be regarded as being constitutive of life: such an attitude amounts to a denial of life itself. Culture extends and refines nature but, in the process, sets up its own tyranny. On another occasion, Bijagupta expounds a monistic doctrine in a discussion with Yashodhara's father, describing renunciation as not the opposite of attachment but only a change of the ‘locus’ of love. These conversations bring out the untenability of conventional oppositions and point to the need for a transcendental view of nature and culture, of asceticism and eroticism, (p.81B) according to which the whole is a dialectical synthesis of apparently antithetical elements. Meanwhile, Chitralekha has gone to Kumaragir's hermitage. They undergo a transformation: she becomes genuinely interested in spiritual life and he falls in love with her: the erotic urge becomes the ascetic quest and vice versa. It is now Kumaragiri who propounds the doctrine of attachment and love of an embodied being. He who calls himself the renouncer or the unattached man (virāgi) is, in fact, attached to the divine (brahma). The love of the divine must include the love of all beings. He tells Chitralekha that for him she is now the goal of his life. She, in turn, extols the virtue of self-control and advises him to try to conquer himself and not her—to try to seek the spirit and not the body. Finally, overwhelmed by desire, Kumaragiri lies to Chitralekha that Bijagupta has married Yashodhara. This is a blow Chitralekha finds hard to bear and, in her shock, she gives herself up to Kumaragiri. Bijagupta is faced with his own moral choice. Considering himself free of any obligation to Chitralekha, who has left him of her own accord, he finds himself drawing emotionally closer to Yashodhara and contemplates marriage with her. He, however, learns from Shvetanka, his companion—the same person who has come to him to find out what pāpa is—that the latter is in love with Yashodhara. His first reaction is to ask Shevatanka to move out of his way, but then he changes his mind: he makes his choice guided by the value of self-sacrifice. He advises Yashodhara's father to marry her to Shvetanka. To make this possible, he transfers all his wealth and property to Shvetanka: in the process, he bestows the social rank of a feudal lord on the young man. Bijagupta thus becomes a renouncer himself. On learning of all this, and of Kumaragir's deception to her,

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Asceticism and Eroticism Chitralekha gives up Kumaragiri and her wealth, and joins Bijagupta in the quest of the spirit. A year has passed since the guru sent out his two disciples to discover through their experience the significance of pāpa. They now return to him, each affirming the virtues of his own master. The guru points out to them that human beings are not autonomous moral agents at all; they are not free but engulfed in situations in the making of which they play no part. People neither commit sins nor perform meritorious acts: (p.82B) they simply do what they have to do, they make the choice dictated by their situation (paristhiti). The notion of ‘situation’ obviously includes the actor's own self as moulded by his or her previous choices. To that extent, I would suggest, one's situation includes the element of freedom.5 The moral discourse in Chitralekha., it seems to me, denies the validity of the notion of untrammelled free will, though not of moral choices as such. It clearly emphasizes the virtue of the concern of a moral agent for the well-being of others. (In this respect, the novelist goes against the logic of his own argument when, in the end, he equates Bijagupta and Kumaragiri in the moral balance.) The novel questions a simplistic notion of moral choices which opposes wickedness to merit, body to soul, and eroticism to asceticism. In Samskara, too, the focus is on the problematic moral agent, but the treatment of the question takes place along a different line of argument. Authenticity as morality

The scene in Samskara is a Karnataka hamlet called Durvasapura; the time is, perhaps, the 1930s or’ 40s. It could have been any other time, any other century: Ramanujan, the translator, vividly calls it (in his Afterword) Indian Village Time. Legend links the village to the mythological figure Durvasa. It is well known because of this and because it is the home of two unusual Brahmans, Praneshacharya and Naranappa, the protagonists in the narrative. Praneshacharya had, even when only a boy, unusual ideals: he wanted to be free of all passions. At the age of sixteen he chose to marry a twelve-year old girl born an invalid. He hoped thus to earn merit through austerity and self-sacrifice. He studied scriptures and went to Kashi where he earned encomiums. Since then his life has been spent in the performance of rituals, in study, in giving instruction to others, and in serving his invalid wife—all this in the spirit of duty, without concern for immediate reward. He hoards ‘his penances like a (p.83B) miser his money’,6 hoping ultimately to ‘get ripe and ready’ for the highest spiritual attainments. He has so completely overcome bodily appetites that, though his public readings of erotic tales from Sanskrit literature sometimes drive young men into sexual frenzy, he himself is totally unaffected by them. He is truly an ascetic. His fellow Brahman villagers, even those older than him, respect and honour him. His word is to them as authoritative as sacred Page 9 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism scripture. He alone among them is the ācārya, teacher. The story opens with an occasion on which his advice is, indeed, very much needed. Naranappa, who represents in the novel the erotic-epicurean human type, has died of plague and the Brahmans must decide how to cremate the corpse. Though born a Brahman, he had done everything a Brahman should not do. He had deserted his wife and taken a beautiful low-caste woman, Chandri, daughter of a prostitute, as his mistress. He not only lived with her in the hamlet but also ate food cooked by her, and had thus lost his ritual purity. He consumed meat and drank liquor. He ridiculed the rituals of fellow-Brahmans, threw into the river the holy idol that his kinsfolk had worshipped for generations, and dynamited the fish in the sacred temple pond. He ‘corrupted’ Brahman youth, enticing them into drama, dance and music. Naranappa had Muslim friends whom he brought into his house, and subsequently dared the Brahmans to excommunicate him so that he might become a Muslim. He repeatedly challenged Praneshacharya: ‘Let's see who wins in the end—you or me.’ And Praneshacharya had always hoped to win Naranappa back to good brahmanical ways and thus earn merit for himself. While alive, Naranappa was an enemy of the Brahmans of Durvasapura. Now dead, he is a nuisance: till his body is cremated no adult in the hamlet may eat. He had never ceased to be a Brahman though he had not lived as one. Would it be all right for his kinsmen to cremate him? If not, who should (p.84B) do so? No non-Brahman could be allowed to touch a Brahman's dead body. This is the problem to which Pranesacharya is asked to find a solution. His task is complicated by the fact that if he decides to entrust the cremation to Naranappa's kinsmen, he must decide which of them is to do so: with the responsibility for cremation would go the right to the gold ornaments which Chandri, who received them from Naranappa, has offered to defray the funeral expenses. Praneshacharya retires to consult the texts for an answer but fails to find it by nightfall. Not only have the Brahmans waited for Praneshacharya's verdict; Chandri, too, has patiently done so. Unable to withstand hunger, she goes into a banana grove, eats some fruit and drinks from the flowing stream. She is, in fact, part of the same bountiful nature to which the bananas and the flowing waters belong. She has lived all her life outside the laws of Brahmans: she has been an exception to all rules, ever-auspicious, daily-wedded, without widowhood and, in a sense, without sin or blame like the flowing river in which people wash their impurities and out of which they emerge purified. Chandri awaits Praneshacharya's decision and thinks about his gentleness and kindness. She wonders whether this great teacher and ascetic has ever known anything about the body's pleasures. As yet childless, she recalls that her mother used to say that prostitutes should get pregnant by holy men such as Page 10 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism Praneshacharya, who Chandri knows is virtuous and handsome. But it was not easy to be so blessed by such a man. She is woken from her reveries by the ācārya himself who comes out to return to her the gold ornaments: her generosity had only complicated matters. He gently reminds her that, though Naranappa is dead, she has her life to live and provide for. The next day Praneshacharya decides to seek divine guidance in the Maruti temple. The Brahmans and Chandri wait, but there is no answer from the god, and the night falls a second time on the hamlet and on Naranappa's rotting body. Chandri has visited the banana grove again, to eat, but is now back outside the temple. Praneshacharya remembers his crippled wife and leaves the temple to minister to her needs. Chandri follows him in the forest, full of compassion and gratitude to him, distressed that he should suffer for her sake. She (p.85B) wants to touch his feet in reverence but ends up clutching his legs against her bosom. Praneshacharya, bewildered but full of pity for her, strokes her hair, but words fail him and he cannot utter the blessing. She rises to press him to herself. ‘Touching full breasts he had never touched, Praneshacharya felt faint. As in a dream, he pressed them. The strength in his legs ebbing, Chandri sat the ācārya down, holding him close. The ācārya's hunger, so far unconscious, suddenly raged, and he cried out like a child in distress, “O Amma!” Chandri leaned him against her breasts, took the plantains out of her lap, peeled them and fed them to him. Then she took off her sari, spread it on the ground, and lay on it hugging Praneshacharya close to her, weeping, flowing in helpless tears.’ They wake up from the experience with opposite feelings about it. Chandri hopes that she may have become pregnant and thus earned merit: ‘a natural in pleasure, unaccustomed to self-reproach’, she feels ‘a sense of worthwhileness, like the fragrance of flowers hidden’. As for Praneshacharya, he knows he is lost. All the rules of culture that he had so assiduously learnt lie in ruins, and nature, manifested through hunger for food and sexual desire, triumphs. The sad fragility of the ascetic choice is revealed. He had always believed that no one chooses to be good, that some people—such as himself—are born with the good nature that leads them to make the right choices. This belief in inborn guṇa, too, is taken away from him. Chandri goes home to the decomposing corpse. Unable to bear the situation any longer, she asks one of Naranappa's Muslim servants to cremate the body, which he does during the night without anybody else's knowledge. Chandri then leaves the village having fulfilled her roles, as it were, in the play. Praneshacharya also goes back to his home and his dependent wife and to the anxious Brahmans. He is filled with remorse but also experiences ‘a lightness in the thought’ that he is now ‘a free man, relieved by the prostitute of his Page 11 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism responsibility to lead the way, relieved of all authority’, of the burden of being the guru and the ācārya. A Sanskrit chant which he had learnt by heart and recited daily, rises in his mind: ‘I am sin, my work is sin, my soul is sin, my birth is in sin.’ But he then (p.86B) thinks: ‘No, no, even that is a lie. Must forget all words learned by heart, the heart must flow free like a child's.’ This represents a return to spontaneity, to nature, and a resolve to break with memory, with culture: it is a bid for escape from the tyranny of culture. ‘Even if he had left desire, desire had not left him.’7 The lives of Praneshacharya and Naranappa are strangely but significantly a mirror image of each other. Naranappa, too, had left his brahmanical culture, but brahmanical culture had not left him. The body in relation to culture is, the novelist implies, the source of the problem in both cases, the body pulsating with desire no less than the body rotting away; the one polluted and the other polluting. Praneshacharya's ties with the Brahman community are already snapped in his own eyes. He tells them, ‘I'm lost. I couldn't get Maruti to say anything. I know nothing. You do whatever your hearts say.’ The Brahmans decide to seek the advice of another ācārya elsewhere, and leave Praneshacharya to his memories and reflections. ‘So far he didn't even live; doing only what was done, chanting the same old mantra, he had remained inexperienced. Experience is risk, assault. A thing not done before, a joining in the dark of the jungle.… Just as he had received the touch of woman, did Naranappa receive the touch of God in the dark, unbidden?’ (This is comparable to the notion of ‘cloistered virtue’ in the Western tradition.) Had not Naranappa once taunted him that, if only Brahmans would be like the sages of their holy legends and eat food cooked by low-caste women and make love to them, they would experience God? Dualities must, then, be meaningless and all choices expressions of moral arrogance. Praneshacharya remembers his childhood fascination for alternately swimming in the river and drying himself on the hot sand. The long repressed body comes alive and his senses reawaken. He rushes to the spot where he and Chandri had united and smells the grass on which they had lain and made love. This is a most remarkable passage in the novel, in which an entire orchestra of senses are shown awakened in unison, (p.87B) rising to a crescendo. But the hold of culture is only loosened, not cast off: the ācārya again remembers his wife. He goes home to find her dead: plague has claimed her too, totally impartial between a sinner and a saint's blameless wife. Without more ado, he takes her body away for cremation. He does not return home, leaves everything behind and sets off from Durvasapura, going wherever his feet might take him, thinking he is now free, Page 12 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism without duties or debts. He does not even want to remember God, just stand alone. But can one do so? ‘Whatever his decision, his feet still walked him close to the habitations of men. This is the limit of his world, his freedom.’ Being free and alone is also self-deception, just as being chained to cultural rules and fellow human beings is. Is one totally helpless, then, at the mercy of circumstances? His ‘moment’ with Chandri had just happened, by God's will, as it were. ‘Even if I lost control, the responsibility to decide was still mine. Man's decision is valid because it is possible to lose control, not because it is easy. We shape ourselves through our choices, bring form and line to this thing we call our person. Naranappa became the person he chose to be. I chose to be something else and lived by it. But suddenly I turned at some turning. I'm to answer for it. What happened at that turning? Dualities, conflict, rushed into my life.… How did the ancient sages face such experiences? Without dualities, conflict? One wonders …’. One can, perhaps, remake oneself ‘in full wakefulness’, but what moral authority does one have to include another's life in one's decision? ‘O God, take from me the burden of decision’ is Praneshacharya's anguished prayer, uttered in total loneliness.8 Praneshacharya, at the end of the story, waits, ‘anxious, expectant’. Samskara ends on this note—the characteristic existentialist possibility or impasse. As Ramanujan puts it (in his Afterword), ‘the novel ends, but does not conclude’. (p.88B) Anantha Murthy suggests authenticity, rather than an opposition between body and spirit, between eroticism and asceticism, as the ultimate criterion of moral choices. He does not share Bhagvaticharan Varma's passive attitude towards situations. He also implies the virtue of transcendence as the way out of dualities, though he considers its realization highly problematic. Vishnu Sakharam Khandekar, however, asserts it confidently and at length in Yayati. Transcending moral choice-making through detachment

Yayati is based on an episode in the great epic poem Mahabharata which is also found in the Bhagavata and several other puranic texts. The locale is Hastinapur and the time mythological. Yayati is a king's son. When still a young boy, his mother had made him promise that he would never abandon his home. The reason for this rather curious request was that her elder son, Yati (yati actually means ‘ascetic’ or renouncer) had already done so. He had learnt of the curse, pronounced on his father by a sage whom he had insulted, to the effect that his children would never be happy. The prospect of an unhappy life had led Yati to decide to become a sannyasi, though he was then only a teenager. This had happened before Yayat's birth. Yayati had promised his mother that he would become a victorious warrior, never a renouncer. The boy had a romantic streak in him and might well have become a poet, but he strove hard to fulfil his royal destiny and his martial choice. The instruction he received from his elders on the Page 13 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism importance of temporal power and the worthwhileness of worldly life helped him in his endeavour. Yayati, now a brave and talented young man, well versed in everything a prince ought to know, persuades his father to perform aśvamedha, the horse sacrifice of ‘world’ conquest and victory. He follows the horse all over the country to protect it against capture. In the course of these wanderings he has an encounter in a forest with a recluse engaged in the mortification of his body. The recluse talks to Yayati about the unworthiness of princes for they are usually given to soulkilling sensual pleasures. This yogi turns out to be Yati. Yayati asks Yati what his quest is, why he is subjecting himself to the ordeal of haṭhayoga, eating only bitter fruit and (p.89B) roots and sleeping on thorns. Yati answers that the body is a human being's worst enemy, for he who devotes himself to the body's rapture never experiences spiritual joy. To vanquish the body and win control over one's senses is, however, far more difficult than killing one's enemies and winning royal victories. The implications of the ascetic as against the royal choices are thus apparent. Yayat's next encounter is with a gifted young man like himself, Kach, son of the great sage Brihaspati, guru of the gods. Kach teaches Yayati a different doctrine from that of Yati. The body's rapture is natural and no immorality attaches to it so long as the body is held subordinate to the spirit. Nature is not to be denied: it should be reshaped by culture. The goals of life (puruṣādrtha), Kach says, do not exclude rational worldly pursuits (artha), nor aesthetic and sensual pleasures (kāma) either, but these must be subsumed under righteous conduct (dharma). Encompassed in moral conduct, worldly pursuits are worthwhile and, indeed, moral. The dharma of the king, or of the ordinary householder is in no way morally inferior to renunciation. The ultimate human quest, whatever one's station in life, however, should be to rise above the body and sensual pleasures and strive for spiritual fulfilment and joy (ānanda). But Yayati is a prince and he soon learns to appreciate bodily pleasures. Wine and the experience of carnal love fill his life. And then, on his father's death, he becomes the king of Hastinapur. Meanwhile, Kach has become a pupil of the great sage Shukracharya, guru of the daemons. He has many virtues: knowledge, wisdom, confidence, humility, gendeness of disposition, and, above all, concern for others combined with non-attachment. Shukracharya's daughter, Devayani, falls in love with Kach. Though he is also attracted to her, he avoids her, for his quest is of the spirit. He also wins the affection and respect of Sharmishtha, daughter of the king of daemons. He tells her of his quest. He confesses to her his love for Devayani but adds that true ennobling love must make one look beyond one's own self. The fulfilment of

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Asceticism and Eroticism moral obligation is the highest virtue. Love is thus not to be opposed to duty but absorbed into it. Subsequently, Devayani meets Yayati by chance and asks (p.90B) him to marry her, which he does after some initial hesitance. Sharmishtha, who has been a friend of Devayani, is obliged to become the latter's maid in punishment for an impulsive act of defiance. The conjugal life of the royal couple has a troubled beginning because of differences in the life-styles of the Brahman wife and the Kshatriya husband. Yayati, nevertheless, finds much happiness in his physical relationship with Devayani, so much so that he cannot bear to think of giving it up. His quest for understanding and love, however, remains unfulfilled. The union of Yayati and Devayani is a meeting of two bodies but not of two souls. Finding the occasion for a ritual performance, Devayani invites Kach, whom she has never quite ceased to love nor forgiven for refusing to marry her, to her husbands court. He arrives with Yati, who behaves in a manner which others find difficult to understand and they judge him to be mad. For instance, he wants Sharmishtha to be given to him so that he transform her into a ‘man’. Later, some people claim they saw him walk across the flooded river at night and leave the city. Obviously, Yati has acquired the superhuman powers of a haṭhayogi but has failed to come to terms with human nature. Woman's very being appears a great threat to him. Kach provides an explanation for Yati's strange behaviour. Yati's view of life is unfortunately flawed inasmuch as it is mono-dimensional. His early decision to try to find God has resulted in the death of the human being in him. Human life is based on pairs of opposites or dvandva (which could be mutually reinforcing or destructive), and he who denies this fundamental principle is bound to come to grief. It is true that the sannyasi finds spiritual joy only when he succeeds in transcending dualities; even so, one must begin with the recognition that both the terms of a duality are equally important. The problem is not to separate them but to establish a proper relationship between them at a higher, transcendent level. The soul, after all, resides in the body and not independently of it. Yati's mistake is that he denies part of his own being, that which belongs to the domain of nature. Man acquires merit not by denying the existence of the body and its appetites, but by refining them and bringing them under the control of his will (saṁyama). The mature or (p.91B) cultured person is one who has distanced himself from nature but not broken away from it. Reason must always command the senses: it must encompass them. One who posits a sharp dichotomy between body and soul has a distorted view of life. Man is the very best, the finest, link between nature and culture. Dualities are not an attribute of the domain of nature, and god (brahma) and the domain of the spirit are beyond them. It follows that dualities are an attribute of human intelligence and, therefore, the basis for Page 15 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism moral judgement. The only viable view of human life is one based on a balanced and harmonized relationship (santulan) between the body, the mind and the soul. Kach's logic is lost on Yayati and Devayani. Their temperaments continue to be wide apart, though they live together. Yayati finds understanding from Sharmishtha and mutual love develops between them. They marry secretly— doing so being permissible (gandharva vivāha)—and Devayani knows nothing about their relationship. Both women give birth to sons. Devayani has her suspicions about Yayati's relationship with the other woman, and he senses this. Fearing that Devayani might have Sharmishtha and her son murdered, Yayati arranges to have them sent away from the city. There is complete estrangement between him and Devayani, who succeeds in finding out the truth about the relationship between the two lovers. She therefore forbids Yayati to touch her body. The bodies separated, their relationship loses its sole basis and is reduced to a mere arrangement. For the next eighteen years Yayati makes bodily pleasures the constitutive principle of his life. He lives by a simple hedonistic doctrine: there is no merit or sin in human life, only pleasure (sukha) or pain (dukha). He pursues pleasure but never finds happiness. Mṛgayā (hunting), madirā (wine) and, above all, madirākṣī (woman) become his principal preoccupations. The more he indulges in dissipation, the more insatiable his desires become. Yayati now becomes Yati's opposite and, like him, a deranged person, losing all sense of the supreme value of balance in human life and therefore unable to judge his own moral condition. ‘Am I in heaven—or am I in hell?’ is the question he asks himself. Reflecting on his condition he comes to formulate (p.92B) the distinction between worldly happiness and spiritual joy. He realizes that his mistake has been the unbridled pursuit of pleasure. He contrasts his life with that of Kach who, too, had been attracted to Devayani. But Kach had placed his moral obligation towards others above his personal happiness. Yayati's life is completely reshaped at this stage by a curse. Devayani's father, Shukracharya, emerges from meditation to find what Yayati has done to himself and his wife. He asks for an explanation and Yayati tells him that his has been the foolishness of youth, whereupon the sage curses him and Yayati suddenly becomes a very old man. The desires and hopes of a younger man, however, remain alive in his wizened frame. Shukracharya is, happily, persuaded to relent and he promises that Yayati can get back his youth if someone related to him by blood will exchange his own youthful body for the king's aged one. Shukracharya's coming to Hastinapur has coincided with the return of Devayani's son, the prince Yadu, from a battle in which he was taken prisoner but later released when the enemy was defeated by Sharmishtha's son, Puru. Puru, who lives outside Hastinapur, is aware of his parentage and blood ties with Page 16 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism Yadu, and has rushed to obtain his release from his enemies. Yadu brings Puru to the court without knowing who he is. Yayati asks Yadu if he will exchange his body with his own and succeed him immediately as king. Yadu refuses this favour, but Puru offers his body, declaring that he is Yayati's and Sharmishtha's son. The wish having been expressed and accepted, Yayati becomes young again and Puru is instantly transformed into an old man. Remorse now seizes Yayati. Kach's yogic powers, however, help to restore the original bodily condition of Puru. Kach reminds Yayati that culture, which has no place in the life of animals but seems so important in human life, in fact alters man only superficially. Man must therefore be ever vigilant to maintain the control of his will over the senses and realize the futility of a life ordered to an exclusive fulfilment of human desires.9 It is (p.93B) thus suggested by Vishnu Khandekar that the only true moral basis of worldly life can be self-sacrifice, which is what detachment (virakti) is really all about, and not self-seeking. It is through detachment rather than formal renunciation that all dualities are transcended.

Concluding Observations In the foregoing presentation of three moral discourses, I have made an attempt to present some related conceptualizations of an Indian view of moral choices. These formulations proceed characteristically and contrary to the Western sociological tradition, from personal-soteriological towards social-ethical concerns, rather than the other way round. According to this view, though criteria for such choices are available (for instance, self-sacrifice for the good of others), the ideal that human beings should ultimately strive for is the attainment of a level of self-consciousness (ātma-jn̄āna) which transcends the need for moral choices of the either/or kind. This is mokṣa, release from volition. Max Weber, Albert Schweitzer and many other Western scholars have dismissed this as moral quietism, but it does not appear as such to Hindus. Such a view of moral choices can be traced back to Upanishadic philosophy (see Radhakrishnan 1953: 15–145 et passim) and is also stated in the Bhagavad Gita, the most widely read Hindu scripture.10 I am, of course, not suggesting that the novels on which this essay is based are formal expositions of (p.94B) transcendentalism, or accurate ones, but only indicating that a major source of influence in the fragmented consciousness of contemporary Hindu intellectuals continues to be an ancient one. It is an influence which one also detects in Sanskrit poetry and drama, in which the moral life reflects the merger of earthly and heavenly loves (Hindery 1978: 157–76 et passim). The scope of this essay is, however, deliberately confined to the consideration of moral choices in some contemporary literary texts and in the specific context of the nature—culture dichotomy as manifested in the choice of an erotic or an ascetic mode of life. It is important to note here that in either case it is his or her Page 17 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism whole being which should be the actor's main concern. The human body is a key symbol which bridges nature and culture but does not by itself constitute the totality of being. Any effort to locate the body exclusively in either of these two domains is a bad choice, for it is bound to fail. But this bridge is no simple architectural concept. The close but complex relationship between eroticism and asceticism has long been recognized in Indian thought: it has characteristically found rich expression in Hindu mythology, particularly in the Shiva and Krishna myths.11 All there discourses, then, question a simplistic dualistic conception of the moral domain and, therefore, of the viability of choices which are based on a simpleminded opposition of pāpa and puṇya. It is shown that those who seek the latter are dogged by the former, and those who seem morally derelict turn out to be worthy of being the recipients of divine grace. Each novel opens with a categorization of characters and actions as immoral or otherwise but, as the narrative proceeds, reversals take (p.95B) place and each crucial character is transformed into the opposite type, with the very notable exception of Kach in Yayati, who is an embodiment of the wisdom of transcendentalism. Thus, the opposition between Kumaragiri and Bijagupta, between Praneshacharya and Naranappa, and somewhat less dramatically between Yati and Yayati, is sustained from the beginning to the bitter end through this process of inversion. The option for devotion to spiritual pursuits, that is, for asceticism, which may at first blush appear good and laudable, leads each seeker to his own particular experience of disastrous and painful failure. Kumaragiri, whose worst faults are his preoccupation with himself, his egotism (ahaṁkāra), falls so low indeed that he resorts to deceit to satisfy his aroused erotic desires. While his life lies in ruins, Bijagupta emerges as the true renouncer, because he has always been one through his concern for others. Similarly, Praneshacharya seeks merit and god through a well-regulated life— though a householder, he is an ascetic—only to discover its emptiness. This leads him to suspect, if not believe, that Naranappa, the voluptuary who flouted all rules, may after all have been the one to find god. Yati, too, sets out to discover god but all he finds is loneliness, thorns and bitter fruit, and ends up being a deranged person. Yayati, on the other hand, draws up the programme of his life in terms of the pursuit of pleasure and comes to grief. Both of them have to be taught the lesson of the importance of harmonization of opposites, and the moral arrogance (or stupidity) of either/or choices. The trap of binary oppositions is everybody's misfortune. While Kumaragiri and Bijagupta are Brahman and Kshatriya respectively, Praneshacharya and Naranappa are both Brahmans of the same sect, and Yati and Yayati are even closer, brothers sharing common substance. The victim carries no prior mark other than his humanity. By questioning commonly accepted moral judgements, such as the one which places high value on asceticism and denigrates eroticism, Page 18 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism the discourses create what may be called ‘moral suspense’ or ‘moral perplexity’. If the option which is obviously good is not in fact so, how then does one make one's moral choices? Three solutions to this problem are suggested in the novels. Chitralekha takes the stand that all choices are a snare, that (p.96B) dualities arc an illusion, and that one must therefore seek a state of consciousness in which one's vision is so enlarged that one is able to rise above the domain of choice-making. The situations in which human beings are placed in worldly life are far more powerful than they. This realization must not be allowed to lead to quietism or, worse, nihilism. The wise do not seek merit through moral choices of the either/or kind, but through transcendence, which is not the same as synthesis. Morality is not an external condition, a mere attribute of human conduct, but an inner wisdom, a mental state, from which all our acts should flow naturally without an effort of will.12 The second solution, which is perhaps better described as an anti-solution’, is provided in Samskara. The man who will follow where his bodily appetites lead him is no more a thing blown around in the wind than the man who lives by mechanically-learnt rules. Both deny that the essence of human life lies in its possibilities. It is therefore not the kind of life one leads that is so important to a person's moral stature as the consciousness of purpose and procedure that he or she is able to bring into it. As Jung would put it, the way to personal truth may lie only through an inferno of passions. This is why Naranappa may have been touched by God but Praneshacharya was not. The human being as a fully conscious or autonomous moral agent (a Soctateslike figure) is, then, the ideal Samskara puts forward; but it is an ideal difficult to realize, for no human being living in society may hope to make all his or her own choices without taking away from the autonomy of others. Moral choices thus generate moral dilemmas with no easy solutions. Perhaps exceptionally gifted persons such as the ancient sages, whom one may call moral heroes, were able to solve this problem by learning to transcend dualities, including the opposition between cultural determination and free will, but what about ordinary people? Like Praneshacharya, they may only wait—anxious, expectant. (p.97B) Yayati introduces into this discussion a third solution. It begins, with the idealist argument, namely that morality is tied up with one's station in life and its attendant duties. This is rather like the formulation about ‘situations’ in Chitralekha. Moral choices, according to this argument, are socially given and, therefore, known, They are summed up in the dharma appropriate to one's social group (varṇa), stage of life (āśrama), place (sthāna) and time (kāla). Thus the householder must live by the morality of puruṣārtha, as given in the three values (trivarga) of dharma, artha and kāma. A harmonious structuring in hierarchical complementarity of the activities that these values betoken, with dharma Page 19 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism encompassing artha and kāma, is the recommended moral choice for the man-inthe-world.13 Though none of the three novels is about the life of the householder (Praneshacharya with his world-view and the invalid, childless wife is and yet is not one), gārhasthya as a moral condition emerges at the centre of the discourses, though only by implication. The householder combines in himself, and mediates between, both the ascetic and the erotic ideals. In this lies his cultural significance. It is important to note that the foregoing solution of harmonization of opposites is not quite the same as Aristode's notion of the ‘golden mean’, nor is it an effort to arrive at a simple synthesis. Neither should it be confused with the various projects of the neo-Freudians to restore dignity to the human body (Brown 1959), to bring love and reason together (Bettelheim 1961), or to strive for autonomy, the assertion of individuality and the practice of the common good (Arieti 1972). Similarly, it should be distinguished from the contemporary anthropological effort to underscore the cultural construction of nature, including the human body (see, e.g., Schneider 1968). Important though these approaches to the resolution of the nature—culture opposition are, they arc meaningful primarily within Western philosophical traditions. The harmonization of opposites mentioned in Yayati is related, rather, to the (p.98B) other solution, namely transcendence, proposed for the sannyasi: the former is, in fact, a step leading to the latter, and it is important to emphasize this fact. Transcendence is a complex concept and, it seems to me, much misunderstood. Following the clues available in Yayati, and developing them, it could be said to refer to raising the level of being in order to free it from the conflict of dualities. This is the ancient goal (rather than object) of saṁskṛti, the bringing into being of the mature, refined person. Nothing is discarded or excluded in this process of refinement: everything is included, improved and carried forward into one integrated experience. In this experience eroticism exists no more nor less than does asceticism. The goal is to connect them, to establish a proper relationship between them. The relationship alone is real in the same sense in which the truth of the traders balance lies in the even beam and not in either of the two pans or their contents. Transcendence, then, bestows on one the holistic vision that sees all in terms of mutual relatedness in a framework of values. It thus frees the human being from the need to make choices. The duality between the householder and the renouncer, suggested in Yayati, is also dissolved, as, according to the notion of āśrama, every gṛhastha is ultimately expected to become a sannyasi. It is in this sense that renunciation is, as Dumont so aptly calls it, ‘a sort of universal language in India’ (1970: 52). Yayati thus upholds the notion of transcendence as the supreme value in the moral domain, and suggests a solution to the ethical

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Asceticism and Eroticism relativism of Chitralekha and the existentialist's agonizing, his trembling in the face of choice-making, so poignantly portrayed in Samskara.14 The three discourses discussed here contain a number of bipolar concepts which are all apparently transformations of the basic opposition between nature and culture. Thus, there are conceptualizations of biopsychological states (body— soul/spirit, youth—old age, woman—man, madness/folly—sanity/wisdom, pleasure—joy, pleasure—pain), of social types (householder/king—sannyasi, prostitute—wife, bhogi—yogī), of human conduct (eroticism—asceticism, (p. 99B) acceptance of worldly goals-renunciation, search for knowledge through experience-quest for intuitive knowledge), and of moral values (pāpa—punya, nīti-dharma, life affirmation-life denial). Whereas a correspondence between bio psychological states, social types and modes of conduct may be readily established, doing the same between these, on the one hand, and the moral value pairs, on the other, is problematic. Thus it is a woman, and significantly a woman living outside the rules of society, a Chitralekha or a Chandri, who becomes the instrument employed to reclaim ascetics like Kumaragiri and Praneshacharya for the domain of nature. Such a woman is supposed to live in sin but, judging by the turn of events in the novels, does she really? Yayati is, of course, a king and not a sannyasi: even in his spiritual evolution it is not his queen but ‘the other woman’, Sharmishtha, who plays the crucial positive role. Looked at in this way, the discourses, once again, point to the importance of transcendence, of perceiving nature and culture as a unity.15 The above discussion suggests, I think, that the anthropological study of moral choices in South Asian societies will be enriched if it is carried out in the light of native categories of thought. Such categories do not, of course, provide the anthropologist with readymade answers, but without them he himself may not give any that are significant. Moreover, such an approach will generate insights into peoples observable behaviour which may lead to conclusions about it that are significantly different from those flowing from a Eurocentric view of moral choices. Some students of comparative philosophy have already noted that the ultimate concern of the Hindu is not (p.100B) with choice, which is imprisonment, but with freedom (Potter 1963: 1–24 et passim).16 Far from implying a rejection of Western philosophical traditions as irrelevant because they are external, or an acceptance of Indian philosophical traditions as sufficient because they are internal, this essay is an effort to reaffirm the dialectical nature of anthropological knowledge. Notes:

(1) For a well-known discussion of the notion of guṇa, see Aurobindo 1950. (2) I owe this point to Kanti Shah.

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Asceticism and Eroticism (3) To introduce a cross-cultural reference from the Japanese literary tradition, the myth portions of Kojiki and Nihongi would seem to support a similar view: ‘Morality lies in the total sympathy of one person for another, in the desire to give, not humanitarian “rights”, but human fulfilment, even as he receives the same common and essential gift. In a real sense, morality derives from the forms of love’ (Pelzel 1974:13). (4) I am not sure whether the novelist's interpretation of Kautilya's view would be accepted by the scholars concerned with exegeses of the Arthashastra. This is not, however, important from my point of view. (5) Cf. the Upanishadic position as stated by Hiriyana (1949: 47): ‘Freedom should be regarded as consisting not in unrestricted licence, but in being determined by oneself.’ This is the same injunction as Matthew Arnold's call to be ‘self-govem'd, at the feet of Law’. (6) Whereas I have avoided direct quotation from Chitralekha and Yayati, I have done otherwise in the case of Samskara. The reason for this is not merely the fact that the language of this essay and Ramanujan's translation of the novel are the same; more importantly it is the fact that the most crucial portion of Samskara is a presentation not of events or characters but of Praneshacharya's dialogue with himself, and it seemed best to preserve its flavour as captured by a gifted translator who is equally at home in both Kannada and English. (7) Ron Inden and Kami Shah have drawn my attention to comparable notions In nineteenth-century European romanticism. (8) I have omitted mention of various incidents involving Praneshacharya during the day after his departure from Durvasapura; his thought process, as described in the novel, seemed more important to me for the purpose of this essay. It may be stated here, however, that these incidents sharpen Praneshacharya's consciousness of the oppressiveness of culture, of alienation, on the one hand, and of the impossibility of a retreat into himself, withdrawn from society, on the other. (9) The story of Yayati in the traditional texts has many ramifications (see, for example, O'Flaherty 1976: 137–43), with which I am not concerned here. Thus, according to a widely read popular presentation of the Mahabharata, Yayati does not suffer from any feeling of immediate remorse but spends many more years engrossed in worldly enjoyments. Later be goes to the splendorous garden of Kubera, the lord of wealth, and lives there in the company of a celestial courtesan. Finally, ‘wisdom’ dawns on him and he returns to his son and tells him: ‘Dear son, sensual desire is never quenched by indulgence any more than fire is by pouring ghee in it. I had heard and read this, but till now I had not realized it. No object of desire—corn, gold, cattle or women—nothing can ever satisfy the desire of man. We can reach peace only by a mental poise beyond Page 22 of 24

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Asceticism and Eroticism likes and dislikes. Such is the state of Brahman. Take back your youth and rule the kingdom wisely and well’ (Rajagopalachari 1968: 38). (10) Cf.: ‘The dualism between body and spirit is not radical. Without maltreating the body we can attain the freedom of the spirit…’ (Radhakrishnan 1940:98). Again: ‘We are not called upon to crush the natural impulses of human life.… ‘The aim of ascetic discipline is the sanctification of the entire personality’ (ibid.: 99). (11) Generalizing from the ascetic and erotic aspects of the mythology of Shiva, O'Flaherty (1975: 315) writes: ‘The ancient Indian knew well the Faustian lust for the full experience of the most diverse possibilities of human life; the Buddha saw this thirst as the cause of all human misery but the Hindus did not dismiss it so easily. They recognized a constant tension between the desire to sample every aspect of experience and the desire to exhaust at least one by plumbing its depths. Thus every human action involves a choice, and every choice implies a loss.’ I am struck by this authors attempt to oppose the Western tendency of forcing a choice between opposites to the Hindu's willingness to live with dualities; it seems to me that she underplays the problem of levels and the importance of transcendence, which of course is not synthesis, for the Hindu. This could hardly be explained adequately by citing her preoccupation with mythology rather than metaphysics, for the two are not unrelated in Hindu thought. (12) Such a ‘mental state’ may well appear as a regrettable condition in another cultural tradition. Thus: There is a kind of disease of thinking which always looks for (and finds) what would be called a mental state from which all our facts spring as from a reservoir (Wittgenstein 1964: 143). (13) Cf: ‘There are three “human ends”, dharma, artha and kāma, duty, profit and pleasure. All three are (necessary and) lawful, but they are so graded in a hierarchy that an inferior ideal may be pursued only as far as a superior one does not intervene: dharma … is more important than artha … which, in turn, is above kḍma …’ (Dumont 1960: 41). Also see above, fn. 12 on p. 33. (14) It is indeed puzzling that Carl Jung (1977: 306) should have thought that the condition of nirdvandva does not refer to moral perfection. This underscores the whole issue of the problems of cross-cultural communication. (15) Ramanujan rightly remarks in the Translator's Note that, ‘Samskara takes its tide seriously’; he translates it as ‘a rite for a dead man’ in the context of the novel. I would prefer to emphasize, in the context of this essay, that other first meaning of the word samskara which, quoting from the epigraph provided by Ramanujan, refers to the ‘forming well or thoroughly, making perfect’ of human

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Asceticism and Eroticism beings. Samskara goes with saṁṣkṛiti (culture) as opposed to prakṛiti (nature). It points to the process of maturation, of moral perfectibility. Some readers may wonder if Samskara is really comparable to Chitralekha and Yayati in view of the influence of Western philosophy and literature on Anantha Murthy. I am not too bothered about this because, for one thing, his novel is a modern Hindu iniellectual's work and, secondly, the experience of existentialist distress has not been unknown to Indian thinkers. (16) See the Introduction for the Indian philosopher J. Krishnamuru's statement of the notion of freedom from choice-making.

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The Desired and the Good

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

The Desired and the Good T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0018

Abstract and Keywords This chapter continues the discussion on the fragility of moral choices. A heightened moral awareness is the ideal, but the road to it is seen by ordinary people to lie in the consistent effort of self-improvement through attention to the proper (culturally defined) conduct of life. This is the process of maturation discussed in Chapter 1 in the context of the notion of the good life as Kashmiri Brahmans entertain it. While the pitfalls of making moral choices in a spirit of or hubris are recognized in Hindu culture, the importance of bringing what one desires under the control of what one ought to prefer is also stressed. In fact, the two perspectives are seen as mutually reinforcing rather than as contradictory. The moral effort involved is great, but failing to make the endeavour causes suffering. The theme of suffering, and of preparation for death, which are of central importance in Indian (Buddhist, Jaina, Hindu) worldviews, are introduced. Keywords:   moral choices, moral awareness, self-improvement, Hindu culture, suffering, death, views of Buddhists, Jains, and Hindus

… it is well for him who rakes hold of the ‘good’, but he who chooses the ‘desired’ fails in his aim. KATHA UPANISHAD As you would not like to change something very beautiful… so do not put obstacles in the way of suffering. Allow it to ripen, for with its flowering understanding comes.

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The Desired and the Good J. KBISHNAMURTI In the course of studying the Pandits of Kashmir I have detected among them an abiding concern with the problem of suffering (duḥkha). While suffering has a physical aspect, it is its mental and emotional aspects which are emphasized by them. Everyday speech is replete with references to the varieties of suffering which the Pandits consider to be the lot of humankind. Though they bemoan its wide prevalence, and express bewilderment in respect of particular cases, they do not consider suffering in general ununderstandable, for they subscribe to the notion of the ‘fruits of action’ (karma-phala): one deserves what one gets in life, no matter how deep the suffering. While there is much mutual sympathy, there is also the exhortation that one should submit to suffering in a spirit of resignation, seek to ensure a better future through righteousness of thought and action, and leave the rest to divine blessing (anugraba). Given the concern with human suffering, which the Pandits doubtless share with peoples everywhere, they also expatiate on the causes of it. These are seen as being multiple and, indeed, as belonging to different ontological levels. Generally speaking, suffering is considered to be the result of wrong actions which, in turn, may be traced to a moral infirmity of some kind. Ultimately, however, wrongdoing is believed to (p.102B) result from ignorance and delusion (moha-māyā) and egotism (aharfikāra). The individual sufferer is, therefore, always exhorted to improve his understanding of the true nature of things and happenings and, above all, of his own potential for goodness. The divine is immanent in the human, the Pandits aver; in fact, he who attains moral perfection knows that he is divine. It is not, however, given to everyone to attain such perfection. It requires ceaseless endeavour directed towards selfimprovement (maturation) and is ultimately a divine gift. The call to make choices in ordering one's life in terms of what are generally acknowledged in Pandit culture as moral imperatives is not an occasional challenge, therefore, but an everyday responsibility for most people. A wellknown guide to the making of the right choices is the Upanishadic dichotomy of the ‘desired’ (preyas) and the ‘good’ (śreyas). As the Pandits see it, the pursuit of worldly gains and pleasures—of artha and kāma—is perfectly legitimate provided it is carried out in accordance with righteousness (dharma). In other words, the ‘desired’ and the ‘good’ are not to be opposed to each other but integrated in an enlarged moral sensibility. Preyas must be brought under the sovereignty of śreyas, and śreyas may be realized through an affirmation of worldly goals and not necessarily through their denial. The Pandit ideology of the householder gives expression to such a view of the good life.1 At the highest level of moral discipline, or spiritual endeavour, there is the Brahmanical ideal of the final ending of ignorance (avidyā) through attaining the state of transcendence in life. One who attains such a level of human perfection Page 2 of 15

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The Desired and the Good does not suffer from the agony of having to face moral dilemmas; he is freed from having to make choices. For such a self-aware person, the goal is the joy (ānanda) of being good rather than seeking to become good. In the words of the well-known contemporary philosopher, J. Krishnamurti, such a person lives in ‘choiceless awareness’.2 But how many ordinary people, ask the Pandits, may hope to attain such perfection (siddhi)? They see most human lives as tales of moral infirmity, some more so than others. Those who are found wanting in moral virtue are not, however, left without hope. ‘Nobody goes astray for ever’: this maxim is (p. 103B) said to be one of the basic truths of human existence. A person can and should try to repair the damaged moral fabric of his life but the mode of atonement (prāyaścitta) varies from person to person. Cultural injunctions do not bind the moral agent absolutely, nor is there scope for full freedom or originality in a person's response to his predicament. These variations in modes of atonement tell us more about the ‘moral space’ available within one's culture than about individual idiosyncrasies. Wrongdoing does not, of course, take place in a social vacuum: interpersonal relations of the most intimate kind—such as those between wife and husband or parent and child—are their principal locus. In fact, it is in the context of such primal settings that the agony of choice-making comes out most explicitly and poignantly, for these relations are seen by the Pandits as being governed by moral imperatives rather than being subject to human choice. Moreover, different degrees of wrong'doing are recognized, ranging from the ordinarily faulty actions (aparādha, doṣa) to those which are judged as morally reprehensible and evil (pāpa). The nature and extent of the effort needed to restore the moral balance of one's life is understandably seen as being dependent upon the magnitude of one's lapse. What is true of the Pandits is likely to be broadly true of other Brahman communities also. In this chapter I explore further some of the ideas presented above very briefly, by drawing upon the insights provided by a contemporary Tamil novel about a south Indian Brahman community. I hasten to add that, apart from some very minor details, the Pandits would, in my judgement, find nothing in this novel—no incident and no moral judgement—lying outside the range of possibility in their own midst. I have chosen T. Janakiraman's The Sins of Appu's Mother' 3 rather than an ethnographic text, because it deals with certain kinds of moral issues which have not been (p.104B) taken up for study by sociologists or anthropologists in India. The reason for this lacuna in ethnographic literature may well be that such moral issues and the choices they entail are not readily available to the scrutiny of the student who would seek to understand them only from without—as behaviour, perhaps—independent of the cultural constructs of the people which embody thought and feeling. This is not to deny the existence and importance of cross-cultural moral imperatives, but to Page 3 of 15

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The Desired and the Good stress that such ‘universais’ must necessarily be experienced as ‘particulars’ by the actors. And the ethnographic method encourages us to concentrate on the moral acts of a people when we would seek to explicate the notion of morality in their culture. Turning to the novel, then, we learn that Appu is his mother's third and last legitimate child. Alankaram—for that is her name—has three other children, but their father is nor the same as Appu's, namely Dandapani, but a client of his called Shivasu. Dandapani is an astrologer and a scholar of ancient texts. He is a nondescript Brahman who makes a living as a proof-reader in a printing press and by teaching Sanskrit texts to elderly and retired city gentlemen. He lives a humdrum life with his wife and children in a tenement situated in a lane in Madras. Performing ablutions, offering prayers, eating, and working—these appear to be the activities that consume him, just as they constitute the everyday life of most Brahmans everywhere. In his youth he too had known conjugal pleasures, but these had later been taken away from him irrevocably by Alankaram, who preferred Shivasu; and Dandapani chose to put up with this liaison and the children born of it. She had made a culturally forbidden choice and he had acquiesced in it. Both acted stealthily and in bad conscience, for neither questioned the cultural norms in the light of which they were wrongdoers. Unlike her husband, Alankaram is a rather extraordinary character, aptly named Alankaram, for the word means ‘ornament’. Somehow, muses Dandapani on one occasion after discovering her perfidy, her parents had not given her the name of a Hindu goddess, which is the common practice among orthodox Brahmans, but one more like that of a courtesan. (p.105B) Alankaram is a tall, well-built, physically attractive woman, and, though not well-read, a person of imagination and a strong will. There is a touch of the arrogant and even the regal about her, and she dominates the scene wherever she is by her natural grace and poise. She sat majestically in her chair, in that tenement, in that cattleyard lane, like a queen on her throne. In her smile and speech and the way she turned and walked she was regal. She never pleaded and she never bargained. And she never spoke at needless length, (p. 102) She would look in wonder at the stars and see in their constellations shapes that he could never make out clearly, no matter how explicitly she pointed them out [to Dandapani, lying beside her on the terrace of their house]. There was something childlike in her wonder at the stars, the shapes she could see in them, even in the way she lay still on her back staring at them. … It was not only her stargazing; her dreams too were extraordinary; vivid, colourful and detailed. They were peopled by strange characters and beings and mythological figures

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The Desired and the Good with everything larger than life. His own dreams seemed so mundane and poverty-stricken by comparison … (p.72) Appu was Alankaram's favourite child and she paid special attention to his upbringing. When he was eight years old, and in school, Alankaram revealed to her husband her ‘deep wish to give him a real education’ (p. 75). Dandapani agreed and spoke of Appu going to the university and perhaps becoming a teacher or an engineer, but she dismissed such ideas as commonplace. He must learn the Vedas. He must study them intensely and shine with their effulgence. Like fire he should burn up all pettiness and dross that come near him and should stand like a god; like Brihaspati. (p. 76)4 Dandapani's pleas that a Vedic scholar cannot hope to make a decent living are brushed aside. Appu can acquire a more utilitarian education later on—but first the Vedas. Sixteen years later, Appu, an adept in Vedic scholarship, back from the village where he studied the sacred texts and looking for work to do, expresses his own doubts about the selfsufficiency of such knowledge. Alankaram admonishes him in reply: (p.106B) If one reads the Vedas one's mind and body are purified and acquire an effulgence. No illness or anxiety can touch such a person, for he becomes like a flower—an undying, ever fresh flower. … Nobody will let a [Vedic scholar become just a mean, beggarly priest]. Don't go grubbing for money and your study will look after you. (pp. 102–3) This high idealism and faith in the Vedas are, in fact, also a cover for a very personal motive. Having chosen the life of pleasure (kāma, preyas), outside the framework of righteous conduct (dharma)— there is no higher mode of righteousness for the Brahman wife than conjugal fidelity, for then she becomes a pativratā (‘sworn to her husband’), spiritually mightier than even the goddesses—Alankaram had obviously felt driven by her conscience to choose a way to atone for her sin: she had decided to make Appu a Vedic scholar. As she confesses to him when he prepares to return to the village on hearing that the old woman who had provided him both home and school during the sixteen years of his Vedic studies is ill (Alankaram is afraid Appu will not come back to her): You are someone very special to me, Appu. It is by my concern for you that I must atone for everything. You are my last son. [She repudiates the three illegitimate children.] I tortured myself thinking how I could find atonement. Violent suicide could only mean my death and the end of me. Finally I decided to put you into the pathshala [traditional Brahmanical school]. Those who learn the Vedas become rishis [singers of sacred hymns, sages]. They are ageless and pure as fire. I hoped you would return like that and I could fall at your feet… (p. 123)

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The Desired and the Good Alankaram had hoped to atone for her moral lapse by ensuring the moral perfection of her son and then serving him and thus become herself purified. She made her choices selfishly and, therefore, they were not wise: neither when she preferred Shivasu over Dandapani nor when she preferred Appu over her other children. Not that a parent in upper-caste Hindu society would be blamed for dedicating one of the sons to the study of the Vedas; but her choice of the life of a Vedic scholar for her son had been tainted by her primary concern with her own atonement. A son is by definition the saviour, putra, one who delivers his parents and ancestors from the tortures of (p.107B) hell.5 This obligation is an absolute value: the essence of sonship is filial piety. But when an errant mother (or father) looks upon the son as the instrument of her (or his) salvation, the relationship becomes perverted and the parental purpose defeated. Appu does indeed decide to stay on in the village. He is repelled by a morally amorphous city—‘I don't like anything about Madras’ (p. 147)—and from a home where he has suffered the most grievous emotional trauma that a son may have to experience—the painful discovery that both his mother and father must be judged by him to be morally infirm. Alankaram's arrogance and Daridapani's cowardice weigh the same ultimately in the scale of moral values. On his return from the village school after a sixteen-year absence, Appu's discovery of Alankaram's truth made him see her in a new. light. ‘Why could she not be ordinary, like other people's mothers? Why did she have this imperious bearing and form, this arrogance on her face? …’ (p. 109). As for Dandapani, ‘Why did he not leave the house and become a sanyasi? Why was he still eating the food she cooked and served, indifferent to disgrace?’ (p. 114). Appu had indeed wanted to tell his father: ‘I feel like crying when I look at you. Do you call yourself a man? … I feel you ought to be driven away from home’ (p. 117). In putting up with a wife who was unfaithful to him, Dandapani was unfaithful to his own truly begotten children. Realizing that Appu would not come home, Alankaram visits him in the village, only to have her fears confirmed; he is not going back, for there is no ‘home’ to go back to—just a house. The home is a moral place marked by conjugal fidelity and filial piety. She must now make her final choice, which she does, firmly as before, but this time wisely. She tells Appu she is going north, far from Madras, to the sacred city of Kashi, to await her death there. (p.108B) It is sound sense [she says]. A woman must die in front of her son— or in Kashi. I thought of you as my only son [she actually had three] and I thought you had become a rishi and at your feet I hoped to burn my soul; my all. But you have become a mother's son [the reference is to the benefactress of the village Vedic school]. … I am going to Kashi and live there. … There is no other way. Many old women go to Kashi to die. I, too, shall go there and wait. (P. 165)

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The Desired and the Good It may be pointed out here that, in conformity with traditional Hindu belief, Alankaram might have expressed the wish to die at the feet of her husband, but she treats him as if he were dead by proposing to act as Hindu widows do. She has wronged him but she will not seek his forgiveness. The novelist clearly suggests that she is a culturally abnormal person. Only widows go to die in Kashi: it is a common belief that a widow must have been guilty of some moral lapse and her widowhood is punishment for that. Dying in Kashi not only absolves one of all sins but—and this is so much more significant from the Hindu point of view—also ensures mokṣa, liberation from rebirth through union with the Absolute. This becomes possible as God grants knowledge to the devotee at the very moment of his or her death in Kashi, destroying the fruits of all past actions—good and bad (see Parry 1981). So Alankaram goes to Kashi: her pursuit of kāma (eros) entails for her the pursuit of kāla (thanatos). Or shall we say that she goes there to begin a new life, as an autonomous moral agent, cutting off all her worldly attachments, including the bond with her favourite son? It might be argued here that without worldly attachments there is nothing to be moral about, but the novelist seems more interested in highlighting yet another and more general strand in Hindu thought. Alankaram will now be her own saviour by her act of renunciation and through divine grace. When taking leave of the school benefactress (who had called Appu back to the village), Alankaram had sought her blessing so that she might gain ‘knowledge and enlightenment’. The old lady had assured her: ‘God will give everything. If one abandons oneself to Him, there is nothing he will not give’ (p. 164). Turning now to Appu, we find that he had met and known two women at the village Vedic school—its benefactress, Bhavaniammal, (p.109B) and her brother's daughter, Indu, who is a few months younger than Appu. Finding herself a childless widow at thirty, but in possession of an estate in land, Bhavaniammal had endowed most of it to establish the school. She had brought her brother there to teach and Indu was his daughter. His wife and he had died within a couple of years of each other, leaving the little Indu an orphan. Bhavaniammal arranged Indu's marriage, but her husband also died three years later. Appu had arrived at the school before Indu's marriage and Bhavaniammal had thus been a foster mother to both the boy and the girl. While Appu is grappling with the painful situation in his home, after having returned there on the completion of his studies—in acknowledgement of his familial obligation about which his father had kept reminding him— Bhavaniammal suffers a paralytic stroke. Informed about it, Appu rushes back to the village. Though Bhavaniammal is out of danger by the time he gets there, she is not sure of the future. Besides, the old teacher in the school, who had taken her brother's place, is also not well. Bhavaniammal had, in fact, asked Appu to stay on to teach when he finished his studies, but he declined, even Page 7 of 15

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The Desired and the Good though the village school had been like a home to him. She now repeats her invitation and Appu accepts, disillusioned as he is with his own home and parents. Bhavaniammal is a very humane and practical woman. Her ‘mind is like the Kaveri [which flows beside the village]. It rolls along broad and majestic, with affection and compassion in its swell’ (p. 153). She gets the land deed altered to ensure that Appu and Indu will be provided for, even if no more pupils come to learn the Vedas. She is afraid that many villagers will be jealous of Appu and that the orthodox among them will not approve of Appu living under the same roof as the young widow; Bhavaniammal surely knows that Indu and Appu have always been in love with each other. And yet she alters her will in their favour because, as she says, her affection for the two of them is greater than her reverence for the Vedas —a very bold confession for a Brahman woman to make. She recalls that she had endowed the school thirty years earlier to enable some people to learn the Vedas—and one hundred and four pupils had done so already. (p.110B) [But] why count the heads? Is that not mere pride? The Vedas will survive even without us. They are eternal. … If you [Appu] can, continue to teach the Vedas. And if you cannot, give food and shelter to a few boys, then send them to some Tamil or English school. Let them have a free choice. What does it matter whether one learns the Vedas or something else? A few boys who are destitute must be fed. But it is necessary to be aware of god and he is there in the shape of hunger. If you remember that for my sake, it shall be sufficient (pp. 148–9). Bhavaniammal's view of the world is a balanced one, neither thoughtlessly conventional nor sentimental. Her primary concern appears to be the good of others—be they Indu, Appu, or the village children. She is Appu's second mother, as it were, and Alankaram realizes this when she visits the village in the hope of claiming back her son, and learns of what Bhavaniammal has done. Alankaram's love for Appu and the choice she made on his behalf were rooted in concern for herself—her pursuit of pleasure and the wish to atone for her sins both stemmed from this preoccupation. There is, however, sarcasm as well as sorrow in Alankaram's speech when she tells Appu that he has become ‘a mother's son’ instead of a sage and seer (ṛṣi). The reference is to his supposed fall, for she implies that he has been ensnared by Bhavaniammal's will. Alankaram had hoped that he would be free of worldly entanglements—that, himself redeemed by the Vedas, he would deliver others from sin and the bitter fruits of sin. It seems to me that in this story Bhavaniammal alone emerges unsullied by any self-centred involvement with mundane affairs. She lives for others and uses her worldly possessions for their good and happiness. She cares for them for their own sake; she loves Appu for his own sake first and only then for the sake of the Vedas. She is the mother who gives and does not demand; she makes her choices Page 8 of 15

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The Desired and the Good wisely and is a true mother. Though a widow, she by no means betokens inauspiciousness. Like women-bhakta (devotees of god), she has cast away her human husband to devote herself to god's creatures and traversed half the way to divinity. The contrast with the casting away of Dandapani by Alankaram is striking, in both its manner and significance. Human mothers may be foolish or wise but motherhood remains (p.111B) a supreme value in Hindu thought. In the myths and symbols of Hindu civilization, bountiful, nourishing motherhood is represented by rivers; in Janakiraman's novel it is represented by the Kaveri.6 In fact, when Appu tells Indu that Bhavaniammal is affectionate and compassionate, he compares her to the Kaveri's broad and majestic roll. Significantly, the reader is introduced to the Kaveri even before he is introduced to Appu or anybody else in the opening paragraph of the novel, which speaks of his having become possessed by the river during his sixteen years in the village on its banks. Appu had been frightened by his first encounter with the Kaveri the morning after his arrival in the village, when his father took him to its banks for a bath. The river was in flood, turbulent, rolling by like ‘some great sighing snake’ (p. 6). On that very first encounter he had also had a sight of the bounty of the river: a kingfisher plunging for its prey and emerging with something in its beak. Ever afterwards, Appu had found a mother in the Kaveri in whom he could confide—to whom ‘he could speak his heart’ (p. 150), and then listen. While his Vedic teacher taught him to sing the hymns and recite the texts loud and clear, perhaps bending his ear to detect and correct any mispronunciation, the Kaveri taught him to listen and speak in silence: and it spoke to him of the same truth as the Vedas—of the Eternal and the Absolute. When Bhavaniammal tells Appu that she has altered her will and what she envisages the future might be like, he makes his way to. the Kaveri—whatever emotion moved him it was always, and only, to the river that he could speak his heart. … He remembered the evening he had come here just after finishing his studies, shortly before leaving for home. Today he felt just as he had that day—a sense of seeing the river anew and a strong reluctance to go away from it. (pp. 150–1) There is a kind of mysterious primary bond of attachment (p.112B) between Appu and the Kaveri—like that of a child to its mother, rooted in the depths of his being, but finding in culture the tongue with which to express it. It is noteworthy that not only do we take leave of Appu in the village on the bank of the Kaveri—the Ganga of the South, so called—we also remember that Alankaram is on her way to Kashi to live and die on the bank of the Ganga itself —the holiest of India's rivers. According to Hindu tradition, these holy rivers of India wash away not only human sins but also the imperfections of being and understanding that necessitate the making of chokes.7 Though an elemental part Page 9 of 15

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The Desired and the Good of nature, the river here emerges as a key symbol for culture, while Alankaram, by an interesting reversal, symbolizes nature in the form of rampant human appetites. Bhavaniammal bridges nature and culture and points to the human potential for moral perfection. Though human like Alankaram, she is more like the Kaveri in her bounteousness. Appu remains unfree—or so it seems to me—as his choices are made for him by others, though he does not abide by all of them. Alankaram's choice makes him a Vedic scholar, but he alone could have made himself a ṛṣi. His father's exhortations bring him home from the village—a father who, he comes to believe in the end, should himself have been driven away from home—but he alone could have chosen to become a householder (gṛhastka). Bhavaniammal recalls him to the village, involving him in an act of renunciation, but he alone may will it. He resists Indu's love, believing that he is expected by his culture and society to treat another man's wife or widow as his mother or sister, but this moral position also he finds difficult to sustain. He has to confess to himself that he has always been in love with Indu without having had the courage to admit it. In fact, he had rebuked Indu for declaring her love for him and beseeching him not to go away on the eve of his departure from the village, on completion of his studies. He had told her that her face reminded him of his mother's, (p.113B) that he hoped to go back to his mother ‘clean in body and clean in mind’—an adept in the Vedas—without ‘smearing’ himself with the ‘mud’ of an illegitimate erotic relationship. ‘When you return after a bath in the holy Kaveri you shouldn't drop into a roadside tavern’ (p. 42). His final, pathetic appeal to her had been: ‘Send me home safe’. And home he went as a dutiful son, only to discover the bitter truth about his mother and father, which turns him into a mildly rebellious son. Finally, on his return to the village, having yielded to Bhavaniammal's persuasion to stay on, Appu meekly accepts Indu's invitation to share his burdens with her— which is itself not a clear choice, only an acquiescence: ‘if ever anything bothers you, tell it to me whatever it is. You can't bear it alone …’ (p. 143). What could the sharing of burdens between them mean, for Brahman widows do not remarry? In this sense, though the novel ends, the moral discourse contained in it does not come to a satisfactory conclusion. Appu's moral dilemmas—arising out of his relations with the three women in his life—remain unresolved. In opting to live in the village with Indu, does he really surrender to Alankaram? Does his decision never to marry, conveyed to Alankaram during her fateful visit to the village, constitute a vow of celibacy? If so, will he have the moral courage to adhere to it in the presence of Indus searing passion for him? Already, before the story is brought to its end, Appu seems to have overcome his earlier resistance to being even touched by Indu. When she first declared her love for him, he had sought to silence her by pronouncing physical love between them as sinful. Her retort had been: ‘It doesn't seem to me. What is a sin? To do and say

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The Desired and the Good things against one's conscience’ (p. 40). Appu had no answer to that; obviously Indu's view of moral conduct is different from everybody else's in the novel. Indu appears to be the only character who repudiates cultural norms, not guiltily as Alankaram does, but innocently and even self-confidently. She appeals to a higher morality than that of culture—the morality of conscience. But this remains regrettably vague in the novel. I would not disagree with the novelist if he wants to suggest that honesty with one's own self (authenticity) is the cornerstone of morality; but there appears to be a crucial difference between the honesty of Bhavamammal (p.114B) and Indu. While the former judges what she feels in terms of the good of others, even if it is unconventional, the latter's stand seems to point to the idealization of the intensity of feeling—and this could turn out to be a perilous path, thin and sharp as the proverbial razor's edge.8 Appu perhaps never listened carefully enough to the Kaveri, which would have liberated him, but only to the human mothers who bind him to the wheel of karma. Bhavaniammal, the ‘good’ mother, does this no less than Alankaram, the ‘bad’ mother. In fact, the former binds him fast to this world in a three-stranded bond of attachment (like the three-stranded holy neck cord symbolizing a Brahman's worldly obligations) consisting of the land, the school, and Indu. The flowing river would have spoken to Appu of the Brahmanical quest for the dissolution of worldly attachments and obligations and the supreme value of transcendence in the context of moral choices. The ideal is to overcome the agony of making choices by attaining a level of self-awareness which enables one to act morally as a matter of course—spontaneously. To conclude: human beings live in socially constructed worlds, and everywhere the nomos is legitimated in terms of, among other values, certain moral imperatives. The social order thus becomes a cosmo-moral order. This fact does not, however, render it immune to the unsettling impact of human choices which question, seek to alter, or even repudiate its moral foundations. Not to speak of other social relationships, even the universally acknowledged ‘axiomaticamity’ (Fortes 1969) of the mother—son relationship may turn out to be fragile, as it indeed does in the case of Alankaram and Appu. Though one does not choose one's parents or, in traditional Brahman communities, one's spouse,9 a person may still be faced with situations involving choice between alternative modes of relating (p.115B) to them. If these choices are not made wisely, they result in suffering. The Sins ofAppu's Mother may be read as a discourse on the making of moral choices and the suffering or contentment (if not fulfilment) that they bring to the moral agent. This may be highlighted by recapitulating the choices that the major characters in the novel make, their individual experience of suffering, and the manner in which they cope with it.

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The Desired and the Good Shivasu is a shadowy figure and, from the little one is able to gather about him, he could well be the typical amoral person for whom the distinction between good and bad choices is meaningless. His sole concern is with the pursuit of pleasure, unmindful of any norms, so that the ‘desired’ (preyas) is judged to be good in itself without reference to a higher and encompassing notion of the ‘good’ (sreyas). Dandapani, in contrast, is a weak character who suffers, one presumes, from his wife's rejection of him as husband and mentor, from her fall from the ideal of chastity, as also, perhaps, from his own helplessness. ‘One must not try too hard to understand. Keep quiet, just looking on [he tells Appu]. That's what God has created us for’ (p. 118). He obviously keeps his suffering to himself, and finds consolation in the many mundane chores of his daily life. He may be mistaken for a renouncer but he seems to be only a compromiser who settles for life in a shrunken moral space.10 Both Shivasu and Dandapani are dominated by Alankaram. One gets the impression that she could have rejected Shivasu, just as she had discarded Dandapani, but that she chooses not to do so till the very end. When she calls Shivasu ‘the serpent that circled my feet’ (p. 124) in her last conversation with Appu before he finally leaves home, she basically covers up or mistakes her own pleasure-seeking self for her lover. Alankaram is an abnormally demanding person and the choices she makes bring suffering to her and to others, and lead her almost inevitably to seek a tryst with death—a choice beyond which there are no more choices to make in this life. Her suffering arises from a sense of moral rectitude, however. Unlike Shivasu, she seems to be aware of the distinction between the ‘desired’ (p.116B) and the ‘good’: only her path to the latter ideal lies for her through repentance for an exclusive pursuit of the former. The story of her life and the choices that constitute it, including the final renunciation, reveal her to be a morally infirm person trapped in dualities. It is obvious that at each critical step in her life she could have made other choices, bringing the pursuit of preyas under the control of śreyas and done so altruistically rather than egoistically. She would then have awaited death, one presumes, with a sense of contentment—a cherished Hindu ideal11—and not in sorrow and repentance. Appu is his mother's son in so far as he too is trapped in dualities—in the conflict between the ‘desired’ and the ‘good’—though he appears to be firmer in his affirmation of the primacy of śreyas over preyas. It is in terms of this guiding principle of his life that he seeks to regulate his relations with his parents, Bhavaniammal and Indu. The eternal verities of human existence are symbolized for him by the Vedas, just as they are for his father and mother, but it seems that he would like to live by them while Dandapani and Alankaram only use them in their different ways. Appu's suffering arises not from a sense of sin (like Alankaram's) or failure (like Dandapani's) but from the moral effort required in subordinating nature to culture. Since he regards righteous conduct as binding on all, his parents' failure is his own failure too, and he suffers deeply for this Page 12 of 15

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The Desired and the Good reason too. There are, from this perspective, no individuals, no moral agents as such, but only relations which constitute the moral space. The suffering which is the lot of Indu is of a different nature. She suffers from what seems to her to be the tyranny of dharma. She is married at a young age without her wishes being ascertained, for that is how Brahman girls get their husbands. She becomes a widow within three years and is expected to bear all the blame and burdens that widows do among Brahmans. If she does not bear the tell-tale mark of widowhood on her person—the shaven head—it is because her young husband specially made this request to Bhavaniammal when he had lost hope that he would live. Indu suffers for all this and more. She appeals to a higher dharma, that of ‘conscience’. She seems to question the social or external basis of the moral life and (p.117B) stresses ‘sincerity’ as the first moral principle. It is her sorrow that Appu does not understand her: they do not speak the same moral idiom. Her assertion that honesty such as hers (in acknowledging her love for Appu) is better than the deception Alankaram practises, and the ‘external’ adherence to morality which he himself seems to practise, leaves Appu speechless. His silence is not a heardess and mindless indifference, but born of sincere bewilderment—and this is the toot of his suffering. The moral struggles and agonies that are the stuff of life for Dandapani, Alankaram, Appu and Indu appear to have been overcome in Bhavaniammal's life. Not that she may not have suffered like the others; but, by the time we encounter her in the novel, she is sure of herself and has risen above such considerations as what other people may say about one's actions, such misfortunes as widowhood, and such virtues as a superficial reverence for the Vedas. Not for her the conflict between the ‘desired’ and the ‘good’, but her life is the very antithesis of Shivasu's, for she has endeavoured to absorb preyas into śreyas. Again, not for her the conflict between the culture and conscience—but then she is unlike both Indu and Alankaram. She is not like them because she seeks nothing for herself. Bhavaniammal points to the possibility of attaining transcendence in human life through right choices, till a stage is reached when one is no longer in need of having to choose. Through her own life—by being what she is—she redeems others. She is the life-nurturing mother. While the nature of Alankaram's suffering ‘provides the means by which death may be introduced or justified’ (O'Flaherty 1976: 212), Bhavaniammal's sorrows, in contrast, have cleansed her own life and bestowed on her the capacity to bring peace and meaning into the lives of others. Her suffering may be said to have ripened her life to the point where it flowers into love and understanding. She has come as close to becoming like the Kaveri as any human being might. And this, indeed, is

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The Desired and the Good the human ideal—to reach beyond self and suffering, and to merge preyas and śreyas in a single vision of life. Notes:

(1) See Chapter 1. (2) See above, p. 13. (3) The original title of the novel, Amma Vantal, would read ‘Mother came’ in English. It is noteworthy that it is not Janakiraman but the translator, M. Krishnan, who emphasizes the word ‘sin’ by putting it into the tide of the novel. I have been told by the novelist's daughter, Uma Shankari, that, as far as she knows, the novelist was on the whole satisfied with the translation. A. K. Ramanujan tells me, however, that the translation leaves much to be desired. (4) Brihaspati is the preceptor, counsellor, and chief priest of the Vedic gods. (5) Naraka, hell, is a place for the torture of sinners and for those whose postmortuary rites have not been performed properly. There are a number of narakas, and put is one of them. The deliverance of those consigned to hell for want of post-mortuary rites, and prevention of one's manes (pitṛ) being so condemned, is achieved through oblations, particularly the biannual food offerings called śrāddha. The person who makes these food offerings is ideally one's natural son, but there are others who are also eligible to do so. (6) After I had written this essay, I came across the following observation about the villagers of Kumbapettai in the Thanjavur district of Tamilnadu: ‘The river Kaveri and its irrigation channels were thought of as the villagers' mother. The muddy water in mid-July was her menstruation, the flood tide in early August her pregnancy, and the harvest her children’ (Gough 1981: 170; also see ibid.: 225– 6). A. K. Ramanujan tells me that T. janaldraman wrote a book on the Kaveri. (7) The rich symbolism of the redeeming rivers (and rain) is familiar to students of Hindu ritual, mythology, an and architecture. It has also found its way into contemporary fiction. A notable example is Herman Hesse's fine novel Siddbartha, which is not only about India but, more significantly, about ‘the quest and yearning of nature for new forms and new possibilities’. (8) The dash of dharmas and the opposition of culture and conscience is a perennial theme of Hindu culture. One of its most celebrated expressions is in the constant self-questioning of Yudhishthira, the very embodiment of dharma in the Mahabharata. In our own times, Gandhi's life is a similar notable example. (9) I do not have in mind only the prescriptive marriage (with a cousin) in south India, but also the widespread practice of parent-arranged marriage in Hindu society. Page 14 of 15

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The Desired and the Good (10) Uma Shankari (Janakiraman's daughter) holds that Dandapani's resignation is a form of renunciation and that he has in a sense come close to being a detached person. I do not quite see him in that light (personal communication). (11) See Chapter 5.

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Living and Dying

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Living and Dying T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0019

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses one kind of human suffering—that associated with death. A concern with longevity has long been present in Hindu culture. It is not, therefore, surprising that the rituals were mostly concerned with prolonging life. There was also the idea of the possibility of exchanging an old body for a new one. The notion of the good life lived in the light of ethical norms became salient later on, but never completely displaced the value placed upon plenitude. The notion of karma came to be recognized as the primary cause of birth and death. It also became the basis of the ethical doctrine of works and retribution. Keywords:   types of death, significance of death, dying, suffering, Hindu culture, karma, good life

Tell us that about which they doubt, O Death, What there is in the great passing-on … KATHA UPANISHAD Alike for me is life and death: Happy to live and happy to die, I mourn for none, none mourns for me. LAL DED

Introductory The attitudes of a people to death and dying should be viewed, it seems to me, in their totality, bringing out the inter-connectedness of belief, emotion and behaviour. This is not, however, what has been done generally by social anthropologists and sociologists writing on Hindu society. Beginning with Srinivas's classic study of the Coorgs (1952), through such detailed Page 1 of 19

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Living and Dying ethnographies of Indian villages as Berreman's (1963), down to such relatively recent monographs as those by Inden and Nicholas (1977) and Parry (1979), we have been provided more or less detailed analytical descriptions of mortuary rites and death pollution. But there has been very little (if any) discussion of the Hindu cognitive orientation to death. In this respect the ‘field view’ of death and dying seems to have turned out to be narrower than the ‘book view’.1 In fact, some recent innovative discussions of the theme have come from scholars whose work is based on textual analysis (see, for example, Malamoud 1975 and Das 1982). Parry (1982) is perhaps the first social anthropologist to have directed his inquiries in the (p.119B) field to this cognitive orientation, and he has obviously taken the texts seriously. One way the sociologist might try to capture death as a ‘total fact’, which it is in the subjective experience of the bereaved, would be through the conceptualization of its cognitive, affective and behavioural aspects in terms of the notion of hierarchy. So viewed, the cognitive level (rather than aspect) is concerned with the significance of death in an encompassing cosmo-moral scheme of life. The behavioural level incorporates all the practical consequences of death, including the performance of rituals, formal mourning, affirmation or termination of social ties, division and inheritance of property, and so on. Finally, the affective level refers to the emotional impact of death on individuals, the personal grief and sorrow that they feel as a result of their bereavement. I would like to suggest that we will be able to provide much richer interpretations of behavioural and emotional responses to death—bringing out the structures of meaning and significance—if we consider first the cognitive orientations of the people concerned. Such a holistic view places in proper perspective Hertz's profound observation that, since the ‘physical individual’ appears in society as a ‘social being’, his ‘destruction’ or death is a ‘sacrilege’ against society (Hertz 1960: 77). Taken by itself this observation and others in the same vein—for example, ‘death … posits the most terrifying threat to the taken-for-granted realities of everyday life’ (Berger and Luckmann 1967: 119)—may result in an overweening accent on the social significance of death at the cost of the personal or the subjective import. Our effort should be to connect them—the collective and personal perspectives—and consequently to make sense of living and dying as a single phenomenon or an integrated experience. Malinowski was quite right when he observed that ʻhe who is faced by death turns to the promise of life (1948: 47) and this, needless to emphasize, is ultimately possible only cognitively.2 Having affirmed the importance of the cognitive level within (p.120B) a holistic perspective on death, I would now like to focus on it as I have been able to understand it in the course of my studies of Kashmiri Pandit culture and society.3 There are a number of studies dealing with the behavioural entailments following immediately after death, based on texts (for example, Pandey 1969) or Page 2 of 19

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Living and Dying observation (for example, Stevenson 1920), which are broadly true of the Pandits also. I will mention very briefly some post-mortuary rituals, since these bear upon my main argument. Any merit that the discussion might have would lie in providing a perspective for the study of the literature on rituals connected with death and the manes, inheritance rules, post-mortem social rearrangements, etc. Unfortunately, the study of bereavement in Hindu society from the point of view of subjective experience remains a relatively neglected area, but the data and analysis presented here also bear upon that aspect of death.

Types of Death and Their Significance Death in a Kashmiri village is naturally not an everyday occurrence, but its possibility is ever present and so is the concern with it. Moreover, its familiarity does not make it trivial. It is considered essentially a family event, though not all members of the family, or the narrower domestic group within it, are equally affected by it, whether emotionally, ritually or materially. Thus the death of an infant, or even a newly born baby, causes some emotional hurt to the mother, and perhaps the father, but hardly affects anybody else. This is understandable since the involvement of a growing child in social life is a gradual process, duly marked by the kind of ‘rites of passage’ van Gennep (1960) wrote about. By contrast, the death of a man in the prime of his youth is judged as being calamitous and has considerable ritual and material implications, not to speak of the emotional traumas it entails. One often hears ‘the Pandits exclaim ‘marunai chu!’ (ah, (p.121B) one has to die!) in the course of everyday conversation. I would like to suggest that this utterance does not so much refer to a fear of finitude, or accountability, which some philosophies of death dwell upon,4 as to a concern with rectitude or morality in the conduct of everyday life. In the course of my discussions with the Pandits, I have often raised the question as to how one might know for sure that a particular person is morally upright, that he or she has led and continues to lead a ‘good’ life. Needless to emphasize, the word ‘good’ is not used here in any narrow sense of prudence or pragmatism but refers to moral imperatives as defined in Pandit culture. Not that worldly success is disdained: on the contrary, it is often argued by the Pandits that, if a man has done well by himself in a material or worldly sense—if he has health, wealth, sons and fame—then he has led a ‘blessed’ life, but that outward signs of this kind are not a true indication of his indeed having led a good life. The apparent success and good fortune that attends one in this, the present life (ihaloka) could well be the rich and deserved harvest of good actions (karma) in previous lives. Even while enjoying such good fortune, however, one may be sowing through bad deeds the seeds of suffering and sorrow for one's next life (paraloka). Given such a moral calculus, how else does one know for certain that a person is leading a good life? The Pandits aver that there are some simple though not certain answers to this significant and complex question, besides the one Page 3 of 19

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Living and Dying mentioned above, namely, in terms of apparent worldly success. Thus, it is suggested that we should examine what a man is actually doing in his relations with other human beings and explore the spirit that motivates him. Does he look after his dependents well, particularly helpless widows and aged parents? Does he engage in prescribed ritual performances? Is he of a righteous (dhāmika) frame of mind? A person may be seen to be doing what is right and good, devoting himself and his material resources— body (tana) and wealth (dhana)— to leading a good life, but how do we know for certain that he is involved in doing so (p.122B) spiritually, applying his mind or spirit (mana) to it? There can be no spiritual involvement without sincerity. As the Pandits put it, the good life must not be merely led outwardly but, first of all, inwardly, ‘by the truthful heart’ (pazidila). But a person's sincerity—the inward condition—is difficult to fathom. Is there, then, no way in which one can vouch for a person having led a good life? The Pandits maintain that the ultimate and critical sign of the good life may be available in the manner a person attains his death. I use the word ‘attain’ to emphasize that the ideal is to strive to die in a manner which underscores the active role of a person in his own death, as contrasted with the passivity conveyed by expressions like ‘passing away’ or ‘dying’; even the phrase ‘meet one's death’ does not appear to be adequate. The point is not that the Pandits do not use words and expressions signifying simply the ‘passing away’ or ‘passing beyond this life’, for they do so, but that they emphasize the possibility of attaining a good death through letting go of, or renouncing, the life-breath (prāṇatyāga) voluntarily, in full command: as the Isha Upanishad says, may the life-breath enter into the immortal breath (17). It is, then, the good death that bears true witness to the good life. The main elements of the notion of good death are the place (sthāna), the time (kāla), and the physical state of the person (pātra) at the time of his death. The best place to die in, according to the Pandits, is one's own home, the house in which one has lived. For most men this would also be the house where one was born,5 but in the case of women it would be the house where one has lived after marriage and borne children. The house is not a mere dwelling but the microcosm of the universe (as discussed in Chapter 1 above). It is in the house that the householder (gṛhastha) pursues his legitimate worldly goals (p.123B) (dharma-karma), and seeks to improve the moral quality of his person or self. It is, therefore, right and proper that he should die here. I will have more to say on this later. The only preferred alternative is to die in a holy place such as Hardwar or Kashi. This is, however, seen as an appropriate end to the life of an unattached person —one who has no immediate kin or one who has overcome worldly attachments — rather than that of a householder. Some elderly Pandits (mostly men) do go to holy places during the winter, but this is seen more as a purificatory ritual—the Page 4 of 19

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Living and Dying washing-off of one's evil or sins—in preparation for the good death rather than the wish or hope to die at such a place. So, one should die at home, but that is not enough to constitute a good death. One must die, besides, at an astrologically appropriate time, which would ensure a smooth transition from this world of human beings (ihaloka) to the worlds beyond, namely: the world of the death-god (yamaloka), where disembodied souls (preta) go after cremation until they attain the status of manes (pitṛ); the world of manes (pitṛioka); and, finally, back to this world or, best of all, to the world of gods (svarga), where one attains eternal bliss (ānanda) through the merger of the individual soul with the Brahman of which it is an emanation.6 Finally, there is the personal condition of the dying person: has he or she lived a long life marked by the fulfilment of legitimate worldly goals (puruṣārtha) of wealth, progeny (particularly sons), and fame among fellow human beings, as also by the pursuit of righteous conduct (dharma), the performance of rituals (kriyā-karma), and devotion (bhakti) to one's chosen deity (iṣṭadeva or iṣṭadevi)? Has death been attained peacefully and swiftly, in full command of one's physical and mental faculties? Do one's survivors include only those younger than (p. 124B) oneself, and, in the case of a woman, her husband, and are they well provided for?7 More such elements in the personal condition of the dying person could be listed, but the most crucial of them all, I may repeat, is that one should die in full consciousness of the event, with one's mind fixed upon the Supreme God (Bhagavān) or the Divine Spirit (Brahman). Thus alone may one be sure that, even if one does not attain release (mukti) from reincarnation (saṁsāra), at least the next life will be better than that coming to its end. A person who departs thus, having fulfilled obligations, enjoyed the joys of the householder's life (gārhasthya), and chosen' the exact moment of his death, is said to have attained the ‘good way of going’ (gat prāvin; cf. the Sanskrit sadgati or paramagati, ‘going the good or great way’, and hence the Upanishadic poser quoted in the epigraph). How many Pandits do, in fact, attain the good death as defined above? The answer to this question will have to be: very few. Quite understandably, therefore, the survivors always try to make claims, within the limits imposed by the actual circumstances of the death which has occurred, that some of the signs of the good death had, in fact, been present but that they had been unwise or blinded by excessive emotional attachment to the dying person not to take the cue and had, therefore, failed to understand what was being communicated to them. Some deaths—particularly of one's parents—are sought to be made into ‘myths’, not so much in some kind of perverse mendacity as in hopeful reaffirmation of some cardinal principles of the good life and in stressing that death, though painful, is not bad as such but that only a particular way of dying —denoting loss of self-control in life and in death—is so. In other words, what is said is true in the sense in which all myths are true, though it may not be a Page 5 of 19

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Living and Dying strictly factual description of the actual event. When the signs and indications that one looks for on such an occasion are more discernible than is common, grief and mourning among the survivors are mixed with thanksgiving. They may vie with one another in describing the last moments of the life of the departed person to visitors, kith and kin, who come to condole with them. Good deaths, and the last words spoken by those who attain (p.125B) it, are remembered and talked about for edification for years. They constitute Pandit society's commentary on human life. Narayan Das died when he was more than ninety years old and was survived by sons and daughters, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He had done well by himself as a businessman, acquired much property and built a big house. One of his sons was running successfully the business started by him, while another had acquired great fame in the Pandit community for his learning in Shaiva philosophy and for his saintly life. The old mans funeral was a celebration, complete with music, and the post-cremation community meals were indeed feasts. Similarly, when Gangamal died, her aged husband escorted the dead body to the cremation ground. Her son, who was then in his mid-forties and held an important position as a civil servant, used to recall, years after her death, that many Pandit women had come out of their homes to pay obeisance to the dead body on its way to the cremation ground, exclaiming that they too hoped to die the same splendid way, that is, survived by an aged husband and a worthy son. Such a death becomes an auspicious event. Now, this Pandit, an only son of his parents, had been deeply attached to his mother, and she had died a rather painful death. As the last moments of her life lingered on, the assembled kin and relatives had asked him to hold her feet in a gesture of pleading and ask her to give up her grip on life. The point about such advice is that the mother was believed to be clinging to life because she knew how grieved her son would be by her passing away. She had finally died with her son holding her feet and after he had expressed the wish for the end of the agony of her mortal frame.8 In this case, a lingering and painful death was not interpreted to mean that the old lady had not led a good life: the blame was placed upon the excessive attachment of her son to her and only partly on her love for him. In any case, the mother—son bond is the very model for (p.126B) virtuous human attachment. On his part, the son used to talk years later, till he himself died, of the special signs accompanying his mother's death to expound on her virtuous life. A community which entertains a notion of the good death may be expected to complement it with a notion of the bad death. All the conditions and signs mentioned above are reversed to construct the paradigm of such a death. Thus, I was told of a priest who had died a bad death, after a protracted illness and there were no close kinsfolk to look after him. His wife had died before him and Page 6 of 19

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Living and Dying none of the sons born to them had survived into adulthood. His only surviving child was a daughter who, being married, was living with her own husband and children and, therefore, unable to attend on him on a full-time basis. His lingering death in rather sordid surroundings was attributed by some informants to the stealthy involvement of the deceased in pretakriyā, that is, the rituals of invoking ghosts to assist in human affairs, for good or for bad. He was a priestsorcerer. It was recalled that when he walked about after nightfall dogs invariably barked at him. A bad death is more often explained in terms of the burden of the bad karma of the previous birth. There was the case of an old man paralysed for three years, unable to move a leg and arm, unable to eat properly, speechless, but with an alert mind and eyes that could see and ears that could hear. Among those looking after him were -a daughter, who had become a widow within days of her marriage at the age of sixteen, and a son who was a simpleton. To have such a daughter and also such a son living under one's roof is the worst misfortune that may befall a Pandit. The old man himself had been known to be a good man; the tortures he suffered as a father and his tragic last years were, therefore, seen by the people around him as the bitter fruit of bad karma in his previous life. A bad death certifies the existence of the cosmo-moral order just as the good death does. The question that may be raised at this point is whether death in certain circumstances points to moral chaos, the breakdown of the nomos. Now, the Pandits do indeed entertain the notion of what may be called ‘anomic’ death, that is, death which raises misgivings, even if only temporarily, regarding the fragility of the moral (p.127B) foundations of human life. When these foundations seem to be vulnerable to death, then death does, indeed, appear as a terrifying ‘onslaught of the nightmare’ (Berger and Luckman 1967: 119). The death of an old couples youthful son, married and with dependent children, is the prime example of what the Pandits call ‘untimely or premature death’, but this literal translation of the phrase akāla mṛtyu hardly captures the intensity of moral horror and personal sorrow which are sought to be conveyed when they use it. They also refer to such an event as pralaya, or the dissolution of the cosmo-moral order, for it upsets the natural—moral ordering of events—hence my characterization of it as anomic death. While the aged parent or parents lose the moral and perhaps the material mainstay of their old age, the young wife is stigmatized and even feared for the rest of her life and excluded from active participation in auspicious ceremonies. As for the children, orphans arouse as much sympathy in Pandit society as anywhere else. Ultimately such a death is also made bearable by invoking the notion of karma: even the unbearable is never really undeserved. The notion of pralaya is also invoked sometimes to interpret collective deaths. However, such cases are rare, being confined to road accidents and very occasionally drowning and house-fires. Malefic spirits are sometimes held Page 7 of 19

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Living and Dying responsible for such occurrences, but more typically they are considered mysterious instances of the convergence of individual karmic trajectories, and, therefore, extremely inauspicious. In 1957, when I first arrived in the village of Utrassu-Umanagri for fieldwork, the villagers still had fairly fresh memories of what they had heard about the widespread killings of Pandits in the northwestern parts of the Kashmir valley which had been raided by thousands of tribesmen from Pakistan ten years earlier. They had also heard or read about the communal riots in Panjab and Bengal in 1946–7. The older villagers remembered the Bihar and Quetta earthquakes of the mid-1930s. The consensus about these tragic events was, firstly, that the death of the victims had been ordained in this very manner—the notion of the convergencezzof individual karmic destinies in a collective catastrophe—and, secondly, that such events are indicative of a general decline of dharma: they are a foretaste, as it were, of (p.128B) the ultimate dissolution (pralaya) of the present degenerate age, the kaliyuga. There is yet another kind of death recognized by the Pandits which should be mentioned here. In 1957 Tatachand Pandit was one of the older men (then in his mid-sixties) of Utrassu-Umanagri. He belonged to an ‘aristocratic’ family and was much respected for his knowledge of traditional sacred lore. He was wellversed in Sanskrit and also known for his upright personal life. When he died a couple of years later, I was informed of the event by letter by a couple of informants who regretted his passing away as it marked the end of the days of learned men endowed with traditional knowledge. I believe what these informants were trying to convey to me was that the old man had been an exemplar of the social—moral order and piety; therefore, his life had been exceptionally meaningful, inasmuch as it illumined the meaningfulness of life for members of his community: it offered them guidelines for action. His death grievously deprived the community of these guidelines, of the knowledge of moral precepts and rules for social action. It too was, I would like to suggest, a case of the threat of anomie of an exceptional kind. This fear of a decline into normlessness, or into a society whose norms might be strange or even abhorrent, was not felt by all the Pandits of the village, nor in the same measure by those who apprehended it. In any case (and as pointed out above) the Pandits always talk of the increasing moral degeneration of the kaliyuga. For those among them who seriously entertain the notion of moral degeneration from satyayuga (the age of truth) to kaliyuga (the age of ignorance and untruth), the death of Tarachand had a deep though not unexpected significance. I should like to point out here that many deaths entail certain practical consequences and necessitate some social rearrangements, but it would be erroneous to consider them anomic for that reason. Let me illustrate by mentioning the cases of Somavati and Prabhavati, two widows of the village of Utrassu-Umanagri. In 1957 they were both in their early thirties. When they were widowed, each had an infant son. Though the terrible blow of widowhood abolishes all distinctions between one Pandit woman and another, it was Page 8 of 19

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Living and Dying apparent that with the passage of time the sympathy of the villagers had (p. 129B) come to lie mote with Prabhavati than Somavati. The latter belonged to a very prosperous land-owning household and everybody knew that she and her infant son had not suffered from want. She was the only adult literate woman of the village and was generally recognized as an intelligent person who had been able to manage her affairs quite well. In contrast, Prabhavati belonged to a poor household with only a small landholding. She was considered to be a simple woman, even simple-witted, and at the mercy of her deceased husbands elder brother (and his family) who was regarded as being a very selfish person. Many instances of his selfishness were cited and, in this context, the fact of his being a very prosperous person was underscored. Once, when I asked Prabhavati's son (then aged seventeen) what his feelings about his deceased father were, his reply was: ‘Curse the fellow! I don't even have a memory of him.’ These two cases bring out how two deaths, which have the same ritual significance, and may be expected to have similar emotional significance, are yet very different in terms of the practical consequences they have: so much so, indeed, that even the emotional reactions acquire a hue other than what may be normally expected, as is evident from Prabhavati's son's total indifference to his deceased father. Normally, the Pandits readily resort to paeans when talking of their fathers as a matter of conventional morality, if not of personal sentiment. The rearrangement of social relations that follows a death may also have variable significance. While widows may live on sufferance or may be looked after well (the latter is usual), widowers remarry if they can manage it (which is not always easy because of a shortage of women). Remarriage may create conflict along an expected though regrettable course of events. Ratanlal's mother died when he was about ten years old. His father, though in his late forties, married a young woman who soon bore him a daughter. The villagers maintained that Ratanlal's father was totally infatuated with his second wife who had no maternal feelings for the boy and contributed to the emergence of an emotional distance between father and son. The death of a mother is grievous enough, but the arrival of a step-mother, particularly if the paternal grandparents are dead, may amount to, in the words of an informant, ‘an invisible (p.130B) second death’—that is, as tar as the child is concerned, for he loses not only his mother (by death) but also his father (by estrangement). In the normal course of events, the inauspiciousness of a death in the family is finally and best removed by the auspiciousness of marriage and childbirth,9 but the practical consequences of a particular marriage may dictate a negative evaluation of it, as in the foregoing case.

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Living and Dying While we are dealing with the consequences of widowers remarrying, it is pertinent to mention the Pandit attitude to a wife's death. Widowers suffer from none of the ritual or social disabilities that widows do. When a widower seeks to remarry (or his elders desire him to do so), the tallying of horoscopes, which is a prerequisite of any marriage and is undertaken by the girl's family, will be carried out with great care. A potential ‘wife killer’ (in the sense that his horoscope contains a yoga, or conjunction of astral bodies called graha, which will result in his wife's death) makes a good match for a potential ‘husband killer’. On the whole, ‘husband killers’ are more feared than ‘wife killers’ and a man who has lost two wives may yet be able to marry a third time, though he may secretly pay a bride price (see Madan 1965: 118). The point I want to stress here is that, apart from the very limited ritual and social consequences of widowerhood, a man is expected to keep his emotional feelings on the death of his wife entirely to himself and give no public expression to his grief. A man grieving openly over his wife's death only invites ridicule, not sympathy. There is the case of Damodar, whose wife died when he was in his sixties and both his sons were living with him in the same household along with their wives and children. For a Pandit in this kind of situation, the death of his wife is expected to be hardly an occasion for grieving. But Damodar did grieve, chiding his sons and daughters-in-law for being happy in their conjugal bliss, while his own wife had, as he put it, deserted him. The reaction of his children and all those who learnt about his behaviour was one of disbelief and ridicule. While some deaths are regarded as having a manifold significance, others may be considered non-events or even welcomed. Still-births, or the death of a baby before it has cut teeth, are (p.131B) non-events in ritual and social terms. That the mother may suffer emotionally by such a death is another matter. As Hertz (1960) clearly pointed out, the death of a child may arouse no emotion, occasion no ritual, and go unnoticed since such collective responses are linked to the social status of the deceased. In these respects a child is indeed like a stranger. Moreover, the death of badly malformed babies is welcomed, not so much out of pity for the baby itself as out of fear that it may be ominous. The mother of such a child is also looked upon with suspicion as the original source of ill luck. It is difficult to tell how often such babies are born: I was told of only one instance and, apart from a blind boy, there were no Pandits in Utrassu-Umanagri who suffered from a serious physical handicap. Also, it should be stated here, I did not even hear any rumours of infanticide. Killing of any kind, whether of children, or adults, of one's own self (ātmahatyā) or of others (manusyahatyā), is totally disapproved of in Pandit culture.10 It is argued that since no individual is really responsible for his own or another's birth—this being the result of karma or of divine blessing—he has no moral right to end his own life or kill others. Suicide is a secretive act of self-punishment, giving expression to a sense of frustration, guilt or dishonour. But, the Pandits Page 10 of 19

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Living and Dying maintain, suicide transfers the individual s sense of dishonour to the family and may, therefore, never be regarded as an act of self-sacrifice, which must be oriented towards others. Killing another Pandit is a heinous sin, for it involves taking the life of a Brahman (brahmahatyā) which is equivalent to the killing of a cow (gauhatyā) in the scales of evil. There is an allotted life-span for each individual (calculable from the horoscope) and the end will come at the appointed time and in a (p. 132B) manner that may or may not appear just but always has its hidden justification. To try to interfere with this process is to incur sin of a magnitude which would wash away the merit of all the good deeds of a lifetime. There was no known case of suicide or homicide among the Pandits of Utrassu-Umanagri, but I was given details of two cases of suicide by poisoning from elsewhere. My informants did, however, maintain that should an unmarried girl or widow become pregnant she may commit suicide or may be poisoned by her parents. But even in such circumstances the moral wrongdoing of the girl concerned would perhaps be less heinous than the sinful act of her suicide or of killing her. To conclude this description of types of death, I should mention the death of a holy man, an adept in yoga, a renouncer, or one whom the Pandits call an ātmajnānῑ, that is, a person who has achieved a realization of his true nature as inseparable from the Supreme Spirit (Brahman). There are not many people of this kind to be found in Kashmir, but I was given accounts of some such deaths by several informants. In fact, such a person is not said to have died but attained mukti (release from the physical body) or samādhi, the state of non-dualistic union with the Brahman, in which the passage of time (kāla) loses all meaning and death (Kala) holds no fears. Besides, such a person does not join the category of manes and his post-mortuary rituals are different from those of ordinary householders. The entry of a person into samādhi is a very solemn occasion, for he is considered to have transcended birth and death, and calls for the paying of homage rather than the expression of personal grief, which is nevertheless experienced by those who were closely associated with the deceased. ‘They grieve’, an informant told me, ‘because they fail to understand their guru's teaching, though they may have served him well. The true disciple will not grieve, for life and death are of no significance compared to the craving of the individual soul to achieve union with the Brahman.’ A Kashmiri hymn says: I have wandered through the grooves of conception, Experienced childhood, youth and old age repeatedly; In many garbs have I played the actor (clown): Take me now unto yourself and free me from the bondage of duality. (p.133B) The refrain of the hymn is the exhortation: ‘End your isolation, O lonely one (kevala) through union with the unique (kaivalya).’ Page 11 of 19

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Living and Dying Having characterized deaths as good, bad or anomic, as expected, untimely or welcome, it is of some interest to note here that the Pandits also entertain the notion of what may be called the ‘averted’ death, that is a death that may have occurred but did not. The most common example is of people who recover from a very critical illness after hope of survival has been given up. The non-occurrence of death in such cases is attributed to the notion that the allotted life-span had not yet been completed. Also, divine grace (anugraha) is invariably mentioned as the saviour of human beings in all situations of distress and danger. A person's death may be anticipated on the basis of astrological calculation when he is reckoned to be under the influence of a conjunction of graha indicative of a ‘second birth’ (dvi-janama yoga). The danger to life is judged to be acute but the hope of survival (a second birth, as it were) is also entertained. Rituals of various kinds are performed to avert death, the most notable of these being tulābhār, that is, the weighing of the body against grain and giving away the grain to a priest or some other person willing to receive it. The body of the threatened person is thus symbolically discarded and replaced through an act of transfer or exchange. A third example of averted death is rather rare and involves cases where a person is believed to have actually died and come back to life. I met one such person, a man in his sixties, who told me of his ‘death’ following an illness. He found himself in a state of dreaming (svapna avasthā) and taken away by the messengers of death, who appeared to him as two beautiful women, to the abode of the dead (yamaloka). There they were told by some ‘functionary’, after he had consulted a ‘red-covered register’, that they had got the wrong man. He soon awoke and found his family members wailing over his ‘death’. His death had finally been averted, he said, because his time to ‘go’ had not yet arrived. Such incidents are referred to as cases of ‘mistaken identity’ (nāv badlῑ, ‘change of name’). I may mention one more and a different type of case in (p.134B) illustration of the notion of averted death. The first wife of Sudama, one of the old men of Utrassu-Umanagri, had borne him eleven children but they had all died in infancy. She too had then died. Sudama married again (at the age of forty-one) and his second wife began her motherhood by losing her firstborn child. A few years later she gave birth to a second child, a boy, who was sixteen years old in 1957, and who had been appropriately named Lassa (‘may you live!’). He had overcome what Sudama considered his own bad luck, the result of the wrong doings of his previous life or lives. The fact that his second wife bore him no more children, though she was only twenty-three years old at the time of Lassa's birth, was seen by Sudama as evidence of his bad luck. He told me that the survival of Lassa after the death of twelve children was the result of the blessings of the many saintly men whom he and his wife had visited and,

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Living and Dying ultimately, of divine grace. Lassa too might well have died (or not been born at all) but his death had been averted. The foregoing discussion of Pandit ideas about death and dying, though presented here piecemeal as a taxonomy, is derived from their discourse on these important themes, and this discourse springs from a unified consciousness. It also guides behavioural responses to death. I will now describe some of these responses.

The Day of Death and After Whatever the specific circumstances of the death of an adult (that is, a ritually intiated person rather than a person of a certain age), certain actions have to be performed following it which throw further light on the Pandit attitude to dying. The last moments of a Pandit's life are accompanied as long as possible by a reading of the Bhagavad Gita, particularly the verses (in chapter II) describing the imperishability of the soul. If time and other circumstances allow, the dying person may make the gift of a cow (gopradāna) to a priest: the decision to do so may not be his or her own, but that of the family. This absolves one of all the moral lapses that may have occurred during one's lifetime. In place of a cow an image of the animal cut out in gold, silver, or copper (obtained in advance, (p. 135B) perhaps by the person himself) may be given away. If water from the river Ganga is available (in one's own home or with some other family in the village), a few drops are poured into the mouth of the dying person. If Ganga water is not available, water in which a sālagrāma (the black stone representation of Vishnu) has been washed may be used. The purpose of such administration of holy water is to relieve the dying person of moral imperfections and to cleanse his or her body of physical impurities. As soon as death occurs, the event which is essentially domestic, and in that sense private and indoor, is made public through loud weeping and wailing by women and children. Men may shed tears but they are expected not to wail. Weeping by women occurs in other domestic situations also, but the stylized wailing associated with death is very distinctive and announces a death to the neighbourhood. Intense activity is thus generated: neighbours (kith and kin) rush in, messengers rush out to carry the news to all concerned and to perform other chores, the family priest arrives (or some other priest who may substitute for him in his absence), and preparations for the last life-cycle ritual begin. In short, it is a situation of much emotional stress, much movement and much talk. Wailing includes talk addressed to the dead person, to the survivors, or to oneself, recalling events, expressing grief and perhaps helplessness, and so on. The visitors who assemble offer consolation and try to control the mourners who tear their clothes and hair and slap and scratch their faces. They also make arrangements for the cremation and the feeding of the family, for no food will be cooked for three to twelve days by the first of kin of the deceased. Not only are the close kin in mourning, they are also in a state of pollution and food cooked Page 13 of 19

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Living and Dying by them would be unacceptable to more distant kin and relatives who are present in the house or arrive there. The latter suffer from pollution of a shorter duration or none at all. Soon the rituals begin, marked by the priests' recitations in Sanskrit. The body is removed from amidst the mourners for ritual bathing and other rites. I will not go into the details of these rites but only mention their special character. Cremation is called the ‘ritual of burning’ (dāhasaṁskāra) and is the culmination of the ‘last ritual’ (antim saṁskāra). As such, it marks (p.136B) the closure of the series of rituals concerning the human body, which begin with the rite for conception, and mark the step-by-step process of maturation. One's moral maturation is thus complete only when the body is cremated: in fact, cremation offers the opportunity for release from transmigration if one has reached a state of perfection—a most rare happening. The cremation, like all fire offerings, is intended to carry upwards (to the gods) that which is entrusted to Agni, the fire god. However, all post-cremation rites are of a distinctive character, being pitṛkriyā (rites for ancestors) and not devakriyā (rites for gods).11 After cremation, the disembodied dead person remains in the transitional condition of preta (ghost) for eleven days, during which time various rites are performed and food offerings made to sustain the preta as also placate it, for it is dangerous. The rituals on the eleventh day signal the entry or transformation of the preta into the category of pitṛ (manes). Thereafter, offerings of food (śrāddha) are normally made to them biannually—on the death anniversary and during the ‘fortnight of manes’ (kāmbarpacha) in autumn—and of water (tarpaṇa) every morning as an act of piety (śraddhā). ‘As we do for our ancestors so will our sons and grandsons do for us’: this was said to me repeatedly, stressing the continuity of the lineage and, I might add, producing a meaningful symbolic universe comprising the sapiṇḍa (see Dumont 1983). (p.137B) The post-cremation situation is complex for at least two reasons. Fitstly, not all who die are given the status of manes: for example a young man who dies before becoming a parent is not comparable to a married man survived by sons. Also, there is quite some ambiguity regarding what happens after the disembodied preta becomes the pitṛ. It would seem that in some symbolic sense, as an ‘image’ (ākarā), the pitṛ remains in the ‘land’ of the manes but is at the same time reincarnated here on the earth. Thus, in the relationship between the living and the dead, the notions of pitṛ (ancestor) and punarjanma (rebirth) negate the notion of death as a terminal event. It is an event of critical importance in the worldly life of an individual but of no consequence for his ‘inner self or soul (ātmā). A good life vouched by a good death does, however, take one a step further on the very long journey to freedom from the chain of birth—death—rebirth. To be worthy of grace (anugraha) would seem to be what the Pandits hope for in this quest for mukti. One of the most commonly recited Sanskrit prayers of the Pandits (which appears to be a mélange drawn from Page 14 of 19

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Living and Dying various sources) says: ‘Born again, to die again, and then be conceived again … fearful of terrifying hells, I tremble with fear, O lord of the lowly, take me across unto Yourself’.12 Death is, then, made bearable in Pandit culture by its being treated as an opportunity for the individual soul to realize union with ‘that’ from which it has got separated—the kaivalya-kevala reunion of the Kashmiri didactic song I quoted earlier, in both of which one hears reverberations of the Upanishads. The Pandits' preoccupation with this reunion is but an echo of the Kaivalya Upanishad's repeated exhortation, ‘kaivalyam padam aśnute, kaivalyam padam aśnute’, that is, ‘he merges with the unique, with the unique he merges’. Similarly, the Katha Upanishad says: ‘If one fails to attain Brahman before one's body falls away, one must then don a body again to return to the world of created things’ (11.3.4); but ‘the knowing self is never born and it never dies’ (11.2.18). It is not only through rituals and metaphysics that the Pandits (p.138B) attempt to cope with death but also through mythology. After a death has occurred, particularly of a parent, a learned priest is invited to read to the bereaved from the Garuda Purana, or some other suitable text, with a view to dilating upon the ephemeral nature of human life and thereby helping them to overcome their grief. The telling of such stories (kathā) in a formal manner is a mediating link between the abnormal speech forms that are triggered, as it were, by death, such as wailing (vilāpa) or withdrawal into silence (dam-phuti), and normal everyday speech forms. . Besides the strength derived from Puranic tales, an awareness of myths of various kinds, which is not unusual in a traditional Brahman community, also helps place life and death in a proper perspective. Let me illustrate this point. For the Pandits the family is indistinguishable from the house, which, as stated earlier, is not treated as a mere dwelling of economic value but also carries considerable emotional and cultural significance (see Madan 1965: 45–55). The same word gara (or ghara) is used to refer to both the family and the house and the latter is seen as symbolizing the cosmo-moral order. When the foundations of a new house are laid, rituals are performed to invoke the blessings of gods (notably Ganesha, the god who bestows auspiciousness and success on human actions) and to appease malevolent spirits. Among the benevolent deities invoked are the kśetrapāla, the guardians of the domain (space). When the construction of the house is completed, two small clay (or brass) pots are ceremonially installed in the kitchen which is a demarcated sacred space of critical importance in the Pandit home. These pots are brought in from the earlier house in which the family lived and are significantly called the sanivāri, ‘the eternal pots’, that is, the pots symbolizing perpetuity. Then the fire is lit ceremonially for the first time in the kitchen hearth and the primeval fire-god Agni is thus installed in the house. If the family have had any sacred icons (such Page 15 of 19

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Living and Dying as a lingam, a śalagrāma, or a śriyantra symbolizing -Shiva, Vishnu1 and Devi respectively) these too are ritually installed in the central room above the ground floor which is called the ṭhokur-huṭh, ‘the gods' room’. Besides the hearth, every traditional house has a fire altar for the performance of fire rituals (homa). Each house is also believed to have its own protective deity (p.139B) called the gharadevatā (the god of the house) who is identified with the Vedic god Vastoshpati at the time of the early winter feast in his honour. Vastoshpati is the god of the dwelling place (vāstu) and he is also the protector of the sacred or moral order, for he is the enforcer of divine law (vratapā). It is thus through the connection with this god that a Pandit house becomes the microcosm of the universe and the members of the family represent humanity. It may be recalled here that the Rig Veda (1.71) tells us that Vastoshpati himself arose from the seed spilled by the Divine Father when his sexual intercourse with his daughter Ushas (Dawn) was interrupted by Agni, who shot an arrow at him for committing violence against the undifferentiated whole, the ‘uncreated’. But Agni also warmed (cooked) the spilled seed into progeny, that is, into differentiated creation. Agni is thus a central figure in this myth of genesis as told to me by some informants. And Agni finds a place in the Pandit hearth where’ food (a handful of rice) is offered to him before cooking starts in the morning. He thus sustains life. Ritual offerings (homa) are made to Agni periodically (some families do this fortnightly, pakśāga) and he serves as the mediator between the family and the gods. The important life-cycle rituals of initiation (mekhalā) and marriage (nethar) are also performed in front of Agni, as is the biannual rite of feeding the manes (śrāddha). Finally, it is to Agni that the dead body of a Pandit is entrusted, though this is done at a cremation site (śmaśān) and not at home. The home where daily rituals, births, initiations, marriages and rituals for ancestors take place is conceptually the very opposite of the cremation site for the burning of dead bodies, but these places and these critical events of family life are united through Agni, who emerges as a mediator between gods and men, the cosmos and earthly dwelling, this world (ihaloka) and the next (paraloka). The manner in which the Pandits conceptualize death and dying is discernible in the post-mortuary rituals they perform, in their metaphysical traditions, and in the mythology which is always present in their minds as memory and is recalled in the didactic stories (kathā) which are told and listened to from time to time. What appears to be. critical to their attitude is that death is not associated with finitude, though the inevitability (p.140B) of death is acknowledged and, in fact, greatly emphasized. Moreover, death is not seen as a threat to or a sacrilege against the social order. The cultural ideology of the Pandits stresses the importance of placing death in its proper context, which is provided first by the imperishability of the soul and then by the perishable nature of the body (śarῑra) which is referred to as kṣṇabhaṅgur, ‘that which may dissolve any Page 16 of 19

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Living and Dying moment’. While the learned and the wise may conclude from such ideas that grieving over death is the result of ignorance and wordly attachments (māyājāl), common people do nevertheless grieve and express sorrow over death, and often see in it the need for certain social rearrangements, as, for example, when a young, childless widow returns to live in her natal home from where she had been ‘carried away’ (vivāha) as a bride. In the foregoing discussion I have focused on the Pandits' cognitive orientation to dying and death and tried to show how it provides the cultural setting for an interpretation of what people do and what they think and perhaps feel in the event of a death. In other words, it is because death causes both a rent in the social fabric (as Hertz would have it) and a personal bereavement that the importance of the cognitive stance that the wise do not sorrow over death should be stressed. And the wise are the exemplars of proper conduct. Pandit eschatology does not say that death is an insignificant event but that it is important enough for one to prepare for it; yet it is only an event in a chain to be followed by other events (births and deaths), just as it has been preceded by similar events. In the words of an informant, ‘Only the unwise try to find the last bead in a rosary or the starting point on the potter's wheel.’ The roots of Pandit eschatology lie in ancient Brahmanical traditions. I have already indicated the Upanishadic reverberations in it, as also its explicit reliance upon Puranic mythology. The epics, particularly the Ramacharitmanas of Tulsidasa, with its deep devotional fervour, are also cited to expound the style and content of the good life. It is important to note, however, that what we are dealing with here is in fact an oral tradition, for though almost all Pandit men in rural Kashmir are literate, only a small minority among them are proficient in Sanskrit or know the texts well. Many of my informants are (p.141B) hardly aware of the precise textual sources of the elements of their beliefs. Their cultural tradition in respect of the goals of life and their eschatology, however, belong beyond any doubt to the family of Brahmanical traditions, and it is this, among other things, that I have tried to bring out in this chapter. The Pandit world-view reflects the classical Indian doctrine of karma tempered by the later devotional Shaivism and Vaishnavism. Such a synthesis of early and medieval religious traditions is, of course, found in the lives of Hindus everywhere. ‘One is born, and one has to die’, said one of my informants, ‘but one must not forget one's proper conduct (dharma-karma) in between, nor forget God either, for one should know that though trivial in themselves, these events “enclose” a great opportunity to improve one's moral fibre and move forward slowly towards ultimate release from the grip of life and death.’ In sum, it is not birth or death, or the living and the dead, or gods and human beings, that matter, but the efforts to establish the proper relations between them. And that is what bhaṭṭil, the Pandit way of life, is all about.

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Living and Dying Notes:

(1) Reflecting on the relative neglect of the study of death in its various aspects by sociologists specializing on Hindu society, it is amusing to recall what Rivers wrote well over half a century ago to one of his correspondents who was then working on a book on Kenyan tribes: ‘Death is usually sufficiently important and rich in material to have a chapter to itself’ (quoted in Langham 1981: 302). (2) According 10 Hindu tradition the rituals described in the brāhmaṇa texts had for their principal aim the extension of life and the overcoming of death. The promise of physical immortality held out in these texts has given way to the philosophical attitude of the Upanishads which emphasize overcoming death through the termination of the cycle of birth, death and rebirth. The ‘promise of life’ is thus of more than one kind. (3) See Madan 1965 and Chapter 1 above. I may add that there are many other points in this chapter which tie up with the discussion in Chapter 1 and it would involve too many cross references to indicate all of them. (4) Kashmiri Muslims also use this expression (‘one has to die!’), but in their case the notion of final reckoning on the day of judgement is present. The Pandits of course repudiate any such notion of final accountability, though not of retribution. (5) Pandit houses are made of fired brick, timber and mud-plasrer or lime morar. There are several houses in the villages 1 have visited which arc more than a hundred years old. Every house is expected to last well beyond the life-span of its builders and the succeeding two generations. It is not surprising that people should develop a deep attachment to their homes. The idea that it is better to die away from home on the banks of a river, entertained by many Brahman communities, is not favoured by the Pandits, though they know about it as they do about the Rajput ideal of death on the battlefield. (6) There are two opinions prevalent among che Pandits regarding the precise nature of svarga (heaven) and naraka (hell). According to the one, these are places to which the disembodied person is taken after death and he spends as much time in each as is required by the calculus of retribution. Only thereafter is he reborn. According to the second, svarga and naraka are states of existence in this human world and the joys of the former and the tortures of the latter are experienced here itself. A disembodied person is reincarnated immediately after he makes the transition from the category of ghost to that of ancestor. (7) The Pandits say that the father who bequeaths debts to his sons is, in fact, a foe and not a friend: ṛṇā kṛtā pitā śatruḥ.

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Living and Dying (8) This seems to be a widely prevalent notion among Hindus. Thus, we read about the saint-mystic Ramakrishna, who, when suffering from painful throat cancer, whispered, ‘… I've gone on suffering like this because I am afraid you'll shed so many tears if I leave you. But if you will tell me, “That is enough suffering—let the body go”, then I may give it up’ (Isherwood 1965: 298). (9) See Chapter 2 above. (10) Though a distinction would be made between dying by fasting or by some violent means, suicide is clearly condemned. This attitude is not shared by all other Brahman and non-Brahman communities. Thus, there is the tradition of prāyopavesan, or fasting to death, in Maharashtra, and the most recent example of this which attracted national attention was the passing away in 1982 of Vinoba Bhave, after he had decided to abstain from all nourishment and medication following a heart attack. He was 88. The practice of fasting to death is, of course, positively affirmed among Jaina laymen (see Jaini 1979: 181). The Jaina influence among many Hindu communities, particularly in western India, is well known. (11) I should here mention my inability at present to state explicitly the Pandit position in respect of die assertion made by a number of scholars in recent years that cremation is a sacrificial act (see, for example, Das 1982; Parry 1981 and 1982). I have never heard any Pandit refer to cremation by any word other than dāhasaiṁkāra and the words used for lire sacrifice (havan) or animal sacrifice (balῑ) are not used. Nor have I heard the dead body referred to as āhuti, that which is offered in a fire sacrifice. But I have not had the opportunity to check all this thoroughly. Parry introduces a further complexity in the situation by maintaining that ‘the householder sacrifices himself on his funeral pyre in order that he may be reborn’ (1982: 74). I am quite sure that the Pandits consider the son of the deceased parent as the ‘performer’ who earns merit by performing the last rites. They quote the various smṛtis and Puranas on this point. Moreover, the prime concern in the proper performance of mortuary rites is to ensure the safe passage of the preta (disembodied spirit) into the category of pitṛ (manes). The manes are related to their descendants in a reciprocal relationship of dependence: without receiving food offerings they go to hell, but then their erring descendants also are accursed. (12) Punampi jananam punarapi maranam punampi garbhanivdsaml ghoram hara mama narakaripo keśava kahnaṣa bhdraml māmanukampaya dinamanātham kuru bhavasdgam pāram.

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The Quest for Hinduism

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

The Quest for Hinduism T. N. Madan

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.003.0020

Abstract and Keywords The translation of cultural traditions from one into another is, however, always problematic and the modern Hindu suffers from the strain of a fragmented consciousness. This chapter focuses on this predicament. It argues that since its encounter with Christianity early in the seventeenth century, Hinduism has never been disengaged from the West in the consciousness of ‘modern’ Hindus. Today the challenge that Hinduism faces does not come from an alien religion but from the Western ideals of secularism and modernization. Keywords:   Hindus, cultural traditions, fragmented consciousness, Christianity, secularism, modernization, West

There is no Hindu conception answering to the term ‘Hinduism’, and the question … ‘What is Hinduism?’ can only be answered by defining what it is that the foreigners who use the word mean by the term. BANKIMCHANDRA CHATTERJI One and indivisible at the root, it has grown into a vast tree with innumerable branches. The changes in the seasons affect it. It has its autumn and summer, its winter and spring. The rains nourish and fructify it too. Hinduism is like the Ganges, pure and unsullied at its source, but taking in its course the impurities in the way. MAHATMA GANDHI ANDRÉ MALRAUX: Page 1 of 22

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The Quest for Hinduism Life estranged from religion seems to me roughly contemporaneous with the machine age. … The new factor could be summed up as … the intoxication which enables action to ignore the legitimization of life …

JAWAHARLAL NEHRU: For how long?

Introductory If our quest for Hinduism in the modern world should take us to a home of the people called Hindus, or to one of their temples, we would be unlikely to find it there. We may receive some intimations of it in an Indian university; but it is in places such as the British Museum that we are sure to encounter it. I say so because the Hindus have not been particularly self-conscious about their religion as an isolable aspect of their world-view or of their way of life.1 It is outsiders, non-Indians, (p.143B) who have felt the need to give a name to these people and characterize their religion. In one of the ancient Hindu texts, the Vishnu Purana, they are described as ‘Bhāratī’, that is, the children of the land called Bhārat, which is itself defined geographically, as the country lying north of the ocean and south of the snow-clad mountains.2 The Persians and Greeks, too, characterized these people in terms of the westernmost of the many great rivers of their land, the river called Sindhu in Sanskrit, Hindu in Persian and Indos in Greek. Later, in the eighth century, the Arabs transformed Sindhu into al-Hind, and used the word to refer to the people of the country, which its Muslim rulers still later called Hindustan, or the land of the Hindus. But the name Hindu did not have a simple geographical referent: it became a value-loaded term of reference for those Indians who had not yet been converted to Islam. One of the finest and most detailed books about the philosophy, sciences, customs and attitudes of Hindus was written by an eleventh-century visiting Muslim scholar, Abu Raihan Muhammad al-Biruni. It came to be called Kitab-ul-Hind, the book of India. Similar books were to be written later by more distant visitors, namely, Western Christian missionaries, Western scholars, and imperial administrators. It was they who coined the term ‘Hinduism’ and its other European equivalents, such as Hinduismus, hindouisme and induismo, and wrote or spoke of the religion of the Hindus. One of the most perceptive of these commentators, Max Weber, noting that only recently had ‘the Indians themselves begun to designate their religious affiliation as Hinduism’, cautioned against reading into this usage meanings associated with the word religion in the West (see Weber 1958: 4). When an Indian has to use an Indian-language equivalent for Hinduism, the by now well established (p.144B) choice is hindū dharma or sanātana dharma, meaning the Hindu norms of life or the eternal and universal norms of life. It should be pointed out that a mere way of life is not meant but, explicitly, a way of life lived in the light of norms. ‘Dharma is, then, the “form” of things as they

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The Quest for Hinduism are and the power that keeps them as they are and not otherwise’ (Zaehner 1962: 3). It is thus clear that the concept of dharma refers to what people do and to the beliefs that urge them to do what they do in a particular manner. Both ‘purposes’ and ‘procedures’ are laid down, encompassing the entire range of human situations and activities appropriate to them. The distinction between the ‘religious’ and the ‘secular’, which is fundamental in Western thought, is not easily made here. Such a differentiation, and further elaborations of it (most notably, the sacred-profane dichotomy), are a characteristic of the outsiders effort to understand Hindu society and have also entered the consciousness of the ‘modern’ Indian, who is by definition an alienated person. The autonomy of the domain of religion in Hindu society is postulated from outside: it represents at best legitimate anthropological procedure, but, if one is not careful, may result in a thoughtless and injurious fragmentation of the integrality of actual experience. Contrary to what may be assumed, the Indian villager has even today a far more comprehensive and, therefore, complex view of the wholeness of life, though the manner in which he goes about the business of living hardly betrays any strains arising out of this complexity. The Hindu world-view when examined anthropologically—that is, from the outside but in the light of the principles that the people themselves enunciate (see Dumont 1970: 7)—is permeated by the notions of the divine and the sacred. This would seem to be not only the significance of, but also the warrant for Louis Dumont's exhortation that, in dealing with aspects of ‘change’ in contemporary India, the starting point should be the recognition of religion as constitutive of human society (ibid.: 94). The process of change will then be seen as being, among others, the process of the redefinition of the relationship of religion and society. All traditional societies today, and Indian society among them, are as much in quest of this redefinition as they are of development or modernization: in fact, the latter entails the former.

(p.145B) The Hindu Encounter With Christianity and the West In view of the foregoing remarks, it is imperative that we begin by going back to the impact of the West on India, for the contemporary ideals of secularism and economic development have arisen from it, though this combination of goals was not what the contact first intimated to Indians. The struggle for the European control of India began with the coming of traders, followed by the arrival of Roman Catholic missionaries in Goa on the western coast of India early in the sixteenth century. After some inept efforts by Franciscan and Dominican friars, it was really the Jesuits who established Christianity with some of its cultural accoutrements, first in south India, and then in the north, where their task was

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The Quest for Hinduism made relatively easy by the religious tolerance and syncretism advocated and practised by the great Mughal emperor Akbar during the sixteenth century. Roberto de Nobili came to the ancient and holy city of Madurai in 1606. He learned Sanskrit, the language of the sacred texts of Hinduism—old-time Hindus used to call it the language of the gods— and studied them carefully. He observed the customs of the people and took note of their rather peculiar system of social stratification based on hereditary caste groupings. He spoke and dressed like a Brahman, and even donned the ‘sacred thread’ (neck cord) symbolic of the ritual status of high-caste Hindus. In fact, he wanted to be acknowledged as some kind of Roman Brahman. He gave the Hindus a simple and straightforward but by no means insignificant message. He said to them that they would find in Christianity a nobler and more refined-version of their ancestral faith and should, therefore, embrace it. He claimed the allegiance of Brahmans whose ‘pure’ company he sought and kept, leaving it to later Christian missionaries to appear among the lower castes, as the theatrical sannyasi, or world renouncers, who have, among other achievements, transcended the restrictions on social contact between high and low groups that the caste system enjoins upon ordinary householders. The Jesuit missionary Baltazan da Costa was such a sannyasi, and he worked among the lower castes of Madurai even while de Nobili was still there. Between them (p.146B) they sought to save all the Hindu souls that were there. Given the prevailing circumstances, the success they achieved was remarkable. But the preaching of the Gospel in heathen lands has never been easy. A hundred years after Roberto de Nobili's arrival, two Lutherans arrived in the very same south-eastern part of India, in 1706, to carry on with the mission. One of them, Bartholomaeus Ziegenbalg, wrote a dozen years later, a few months before his death at the age of thirty-six: ‘And since I know that my work often does not attain the looked-for goal, at times such great sorrow and sadness overtake me that I cannot comfort myself and I experience many sleepless nights. Much patience is required in order to labour tirelessly for souls and not be frightened away when the work seems useless.’3 Christianity was, of course, not a new religion in India. It had arrived here a millennium and a half earlier with the apostle Thomas himself, who established the Syrian Christian Church in southwestern India at a time when there were no Christians in the homelands of the de Nobilis, da Costas and Zeigenbalgs. What these missionaries of the sixteenth and following centuries represented was, however, more than a religious faith: they represented a manifold expansion of Europe into Asia, Africa and Latin America, and the quest for Hinduism had many motives and many meanings depending upon who was seeking it.

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The Quest for Hinduism By the second half of the eighteenth century the British had succeeded in driving out their European rivals from the subcontinent of India and were engaged in consolidating and expanding their trading activities. The British East India Company found it prudent to take on the responsibility of political control in the promotion of its interest in commercial enterprise. To trade profitably it had to have political control; to stabilize its political control it had to govern well. The ideas of what constituted good government in those days (of Adam Smith, Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill) could be summed up as minimum interference in the life of the people. To achieve such a relationship with the governed, the governors had to systematically acquire knowledge about these ways of life. Ironically, this soon led them to negative judgements. Inspired by Warren Hastings, the Governor-General of (p.147B) Bengal, who showed considerable interest in the revival of ancient Indian learning, Sir William Jones, the rather of indology, set up the Asiatic Society at Calcutta in 1784. Under its auspices the study of ancient scriptural, legal and literary texts was inaugurated. Jones himself led with a translation of, among other texts, Kalidasa's Shakuntala (published in 1789) which, it has been asserted, made Indians ‘hold up their heads as civilized, cultured men’ (Cannon 1964: 166). Goethe's well-known paean, which he wrote on reading Jones's translation of the play, introduced German scholars to the treasure house of classical Sanskrit literature. These scholarly activities soon came to be supplemented by the careful collection of information about the prevalent customs and practices of the peoples of India by civil servants. However, the indologists and the civil servants, it seems, did not communicate much with one another; consequently, two British images of India came to be formed. While the India of the indologists could well be proud of her ancient literary, metaphysical and religious traditions, the India of civil-servant ethnographers could only be ashamed of her lack of civilization, her superstitions and magic, her barbarian customs such as ṭhagi (highway robbery and murder in the name of religion), sati (immolation of the Hindu widow on her deceased. husband's funeral pyre), and prostitution among the devadāsī (temple dancers) (see Carman 1983). One such civil servant, Charles Trevelyan, wrote in 1837: Almost every false religion has paid court to some of the bad passions of mankind. But neither in Greece, in Carthage, nor in Scandinavia, was superstition ever so diametrically opposed to morality as in India, at the present day. If we were to form a graduated scale of religions, that of Christ and that of Kalee (the patron goddess of the Thags) would be the opposite extremes. (Reeves 1971: 38)

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The Quest for Hinduism Such views were readily echoed by contemporary missionaries, who, abandoning the subtle approach of the early Jesuits noted above, openly condemned Hindu customs, religious practices and beliefs as stupid, barbarian, and even inherently depraved. They discounted the suggestion that things had, in any way, been better in the past. Even such a patient and meticulous observer of Hindu customs and practices as Abbé J. A. (p.148B) Dubois (he lived in south India during the closing years of the eighteenth and the first quarter of the nineteenth century), who tried to cultivate some degree of sympathy for the people he observed, could not resist announcing in the preface to his account of Hindu customs that the motive which above all others influenced his determination to publish the records of his researches was his hope ‘that a faithful picture of the wickedness and incongruities of polytheism and idolatory would by its ugliness help greatly to set off the beauties and perfections of Christianity’ (1906:9). In sharp contrast to the disgust that Hinduism generated in the hearts and minds of civil servants and missionaries was the unbounded enthusiasm of the indologists for the quality of ancient Hindu thought and literature. The most distinguished of these European indologists of the nineteenth century was Max Muller, who made the first ever translation of the Rig Veda (nth century b.c.) into a Western language, namely English. On the title-page of the translation he proclaimed his immense enthusiasm for India's ancient culture by presenting his own name, and those of his native country (Germany) and the university where he taught (Oxford), in quaint Sanskritized forms as mokṣa mula, Śarmaṇa deśa and uksatarana respectively. In one of his many panegyrics he wrote: If I were asked under what human sky the human mind has most fully developed some of its choicest gifts, has most deeply pondered on the greatest problems of life, and has found solutions of some of them which will deserve the attention even of those who have studied Plato and Kant—I should point to India. And if I were to ask myself from what literature we, here in Europe … may draw that corrective which is most wanted in order to make our inner life more perfect, more comprehensive, more universal, in fact more truly human, a life, not for this life only, but a transfigured and eternal life—again I should point to India (quoted in Chaudhuri 1974: 303). But even Max Müller believed that degradation and hideousness had assailed Hinduism in his day and that Brahmanism had ceased to live more than a thousand years ago. He too, and not Charles Trevelyan alone, was horrified by Kali. He never visited India. It should not be hard to imagine the anxieties and perplexities (p.149B) that the researches of indologists and ethnographers must have caused to Indians, who were being ‘modernized’ by English education. While they could brush aside the unqualified condemnation of civil servants and the ever-suspect Christian missionaries, they could not similarly dismiss the views and sorrows of Page 6 of 22

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The Quest for Hinduism a friend and scholar like Max Müller. The impact of Christianity on Hinduism, and more generally the encounter of European and Hindu cultures, produced acute tensions and, as often happens, out of these arose new cultural movements, predominantly reformist or revivalist, constituting the two faces of the so-called Hindu renaissance.

The Hindu Renaissance: Reformism, Revivalism The recovery of the Hindu and Buddhist religious philosophies and literatures was perhaps the best gift which the British bestowed on the new intellectuals they brought into being in India through the medium of modern education, but this realization had to await developments in the second half of the nineteenth century. So overwhelmed were these early middle and upper class intellectuals by the superiority of Western thought and English education that one of the bestknown among them, Rammohan Roy (1772–1833), protested to the GovernorGeneral, Lord Amherst, on learning of the governments decision in 1823 to establish in Calcutta a new college for Sanskrit studies: he feared that it would ‘load the minds of youth with grammatical niceties and metaphysical distinctions’ of doubtful value (de Barry 1969; Vol. II, 41–3). He maintained that in opposing such education and instead advocating the promotion of ‘a more liberal and enlightened system of instruction’, including mathematics, natural philosophy chemistry and ‘other useful sciences’, he was ‘discharging a solemn duty’ to his countrymen. A very learned man, well versed in his native Bengali and the Sanskrit, Persian, Arabic and English cultural and literary traditions, Rammohan had resigned from the East India Company to espouse the cause of social and moral regeneration of his people. Historians have called him the father of Indian recovery’ and ‘in fact the first modern man in India’ (Panikkar 1956: 216-17; also see Joshi 1975). (p.150B) He Favoured Westernization, using in his writings and speeches emotive words such as ‘enlightenment’, amelioration’, ‘improvement’, ‘benefit’, ‘happiness’ and so on to describe its expected results. Rammohan operated on two fronts. Convinced of the need for the purification of the religious life of Hindus in the direction of a syncretic theism, he founded the Brahmo Sabha (association of the worshippers of God) in 1828, with a view to synthesizing what he considered to be the most valuable elements in Vedic Hinduism and Protestant Christianity. He also launched or supported campaigns for the eradication of social abuses of various kinds in Hindu society, such as child marriage, restrictions on the remarriage of widows, caste taboos and, above all, the practice of sati. He proclaimed that he found ‘the doctrines of Christ more conducive to moral principles and better adapted for the use of rational beings’ (de Riencourt 1961: 213) than any other he knew of. In fact, he wrote a dissertation on the moral precepts of Jesus. He became one of the prominent unitarians of his time, recognized as such in Britain and America.

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The Quest for Hinduism Rammohan's religious philosophy was perhaps too austere and intellectual, and demanded what must have then appeared too sudden and major a break with Hinduism for it not to arouse the hostility of the orthodox Hindus or to have much widespread influẹnce. The remarkable thing, however, is how much of Hinduism he retained alongside Christian and Islamic elements in the new unitarian Sabha, later renamed the Brahmo Samaj in 1843 by Debendranath Tagore. Quite unintended by him, perhaps, Roy's efforts to found a new religion helped to rejuvenate the flagging spirit of Hindu intellectuals, and warded off the serious threat which Christianity posed to Hinduism in his day by making a compromise with it. The universal religion which Rammohan Roy had dreamt of really died with him. His successors were less broadminded and eclectic, leaning by turns one way or the other towards Hinduism or Christianity. However, they concerned themselves with his objectives of social reform with determination. This inevitably drew them back closer to Hindu society. Their opposition to the intrusion of Christian elements into their faith also became stronger with the passage of time. In 1865, however, (p.151B) the Samaj split as the younger members, led by Keshab Chandra Sen, felt disturbed by what they considered to be an excessive load of Brahmanical ritual and symbolism. Two years later, Debendranath Tagore, the principal second generation leader of the Samaj, warned his followers that they must not cut themselves off completely from ‘the great Hindu community’ and the ‘highest truths of Hindu Shastras’ (canonical texts), if they were to have any influence on other Indians. It is obvious that the battle for a new religion had been lost because it was never joined: the Brahmos never really broke away from Hinduism. It was too late in the day for Debendranath to proclaim (in the message mentioned above) ‘that we are Brahmos first, and Indians or Hindus afterwards’ (de Barry 1969: Vol. II, 58; also see Kopf 1979). Rammohan Roy and his immediate followers sought a religious response to the challenge of Christianity and the West. There were other intellectuals who opted for a secular world-view, drawing inspiration from both British utilitarians and French positivists. Instead of the worship of god, they advocated the deification of man in the name of secular humanism, and cultivated rationalism and scientism. In this struggle between theism and humanism, between faith and reason, it was religion which always retained the upper hand (see Kopf 1979). While the Brahmos split, with some of them led by Keshab Chandra Sen drawing closer to the teachings of Jesus and even striving for an Indian version of Christianity, and the positivists held their debates and the annual festival in honour of Auguste Comte, Hindu Bengal turned its gaze in admiration and reverence on Sri Ramakrishna (1836–86), a unique religious mystic who wanted to ‘find out everything himself, empirically’. Even Keshab Sen paid obeisance to him. A simple rustic priest at the temple of Kali at Dakshineshvar on the banks Page 8 of 22

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The Quest for Hinduism of the Ganga near Calcutta, he was not an intellectual but possessed of the intensest love and longing for the goddess whose worship was his appointed duty and natural inclination. In course of time, he flowered into a saint and mystic of incomparable quality. Ramakrishna was little concerned with society at large. Like Rammohan Roy, he too was interested in the synthesis of religions, not on the intellectual but the emotional (p.152B) plane. He lived during different phases of his spiritual quest as a Christian or a Muslim but always returned to Hinduism, emphasizing the unity of all religious experience. By all accounts he achieved his personal goal of ‘god-realization’ (see Isherwood 1965). The issue, from the point of view of Hindu society, was how to make people in the far-flung corners of the country share in this miracle. After the death of Keshab Sen in 1884 the Brahmo Samaj lay split and shattered. Ramakrishna's message of love of God and man was yet confined to his immediate circle of disciples and admirers. One of these, Swami Vivekananda (1863–1902), was a very unusual man. He came under the master's spell when he was eighteen years old and died at the age of thirty-nine. However, by then he had not only succeeded in spreading a new awareness of the need for purifying their religious and social life among Hindus all over India; he had also carried the message of Hinduism abroad, to the United States and to Great Britain. Vivekananda was a man with a mission and in a frantic hurry. He was always on the offensive, both at home and abroad. Contemporary accounts of the World Parliament of Religions, held in Chicago in 1893, reveal that he was its most impressive and eloquent participant. Vivekananda found much to criticize in Hindu society. He condemned the Hindus’ excessive ritualism, their indifference to human misery and poverty, and the constrictive and divisive influence of the caste system. To set things right, he advocated the cultivation of self-confidence and self-criticism: ‘No religion on earth preaches the dignity of humanity in such lofty strains as Hinduism, and no religion on earth treads upon the necks of the poor and the low in such a fashion as Hinduism’ (de Riencourt 1961: 245). Vivekananda was distressed by the uncritical admiration of everything of Western origin among the Indian educated classes. He reviled it as ‘base imitation’, slavish weakness’, ‘disgraceful cowardice’, and disdainfully asked if it was ‘with these provisions only’ that Indians hoped to ‘scale the highest pinnacle of civilization and greatness’. He exhorted his countrymen to seek, above all, ‘manliness’ (de Barry 1969: Vol. II, 103–7), thus playing the role of the counterplayer which colonialism generated wherever it creeped (see Nandy 1983). He (p.153B) advocated the supremacy of Upanishadic philosophy and dismissed the rest as dross, but gave an interesting twist to the argument:

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The Quest for Hinduism All our present-day religions, however crude some of them may appear to be, however inexplicable some of their purposes may seem, one who understands them and studies them can trace them back to the ideas of Upanishads. … Great spiritual and philosophical ideas in the Upanishads are today with us, converted into household worship in the form of symbols. (Panikkar 1963: 31) As a religious teacher Vivekananda was a puritanical reformer and a revivalist; he was an apologist, though an aggressive one, and inevitably a propagandist. He repeatedly emphasized that the West was the victim of its materialist outlook and India's spiritual ideas alone could save it. Therefore, the great ideal to which he asked Indians to dedicate themselves was ‘the conquest of the whole world by India—nothing less than that’. In India, he advocated the service and the uplift of the exploited and the poor in the spirit of sacrifice and love of mankind: ‘they alone live who live for others’ (de Barry 1969: Vol. II, 100, 103). This was practical Vedanta. Watching from distant Oxford, Max Muller, for whom Vivekananda had high admiration (he realized that the revival he was endeavouring to bring about had been greatly helped by the work of indologists), felt disturbed by the mixing up of Vedanta (the way of knowledge) and the devotional mysticism of Ramakrishna (the way of love). He wished the efforts of the Hindu reformer and his collaborators well so long as they kept true to Vedanta (Chaudhuri 1974: 329). Events took a different course, however. It is not Vivekananda's fiery rhetoric so much that survives today as his worldwide Ramakrishna Mission centres for devoted public service in the fields of education, medical relief and religious instruction (see Nikhilananda 1953). In India there are over a hundred such centres, symbolizing the reformulation of abstract Vedantic ideas into concrete moral practice. The transformation of an autological religion of personal salvation through world renunciation into a vehicle of altruistic service was Vivekananda's principal contribution to the social-cultural history of the India of his times. This transformation (p.154B) is not to be understood in terms of the Weberian concept of an expanding rationality, or merely as a response to the challenge of the West: it has deeper indigenous roots (Gupta 1974: 25–50). From Rammohan Roy to Vivekananda, it was Bengal which was in the forefront of the so-called Hindu renaissance. The rest of India was not, however, quiescent. In fact, Maharashtra contributed in a major way to Hindu social and religious reform. Mahadev Govind Ranade (1841–1901) was one more of those titans which nineteenth-century India produced. Assuming leadership of the Prarthana Samaj (‘Prayer Society’), which was established in 1867 at Poona, and echoing the aspirations of the Brahmo Samaj (Keshab Chander Sen visited the city in 1864), he tried to give its programme a broad scope. Firmly rooted in Hinduism, the Prarthana Samaj looked forward to reforming Hindu society (widow remarriage, intercaste marriage, abolition of infant marriage and of the Page 10 of 22

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The Quest for Hinduism practice of dowry-giving were notable activities in their programme) and giving a forward-looking orientation to Hinduism. Influenced by Herbert Spencers theory of social evolution, Ranade wrote in 1872 of his conviction that ‘a universal kingdom of God on earth below’ would replace ‘sectional churches’ (see Kellock 1926: 166), for all religions were evolving towards ‘pure theism’. In consonance with his ideas on religious evolution, his proposals for social reform were explicitly a repudiation of the notion that old was gold and that India needed to revive ancient traditions to move forward. He wrote: ‘It seems to be forgotten that in a living organism, as society is, no revival is possible. The dead and the buried or burnt are dead, buried and burnt once for all, and the dead past cannot, therefore, be revived except by a reformation of the old materials into new organized beings’ (de Barry 1969: Vol. II, 132). Though Ranade himself moved from success to success in his own wide-ranging, glittering career, the Prarthana Samaj failed to achieve any comparable successes. It was a yet another frankly revivalist Hindu movement, which Ranade did not approve of, that was to have a marked impact upon Hindus. Hindu revivalism found its most uncompromising exponent in the Gujarati scholar and sannyasi, Dayananda Sarasvati (1824–83). His call was for a return to the Vedas and a total (p.155B) rejection of all other religions. He published a vitriolic attack on Christianity, Islam and post-Buddhist Hinduism in a crudely fanciful but forceful book Satyartha Prakash (The light of truth). He attacked idol worship, excessive ritualism, untouchability, child marriage, the subjection of women and other evils that, in his view, had corrupted Hindu religion and society. He founded the Arya Samaj (the society of ‘noble men’) in 1875. He also made the cow a central unifying symbol of Hindu society, deriving its holiness from Hindu mythology. Dayananda stressed the importance of education and social service, and blessed the idea of conversion of non-Hindus to Hinduism. This and his other ideas gave him an immense following in western and northern India, particularly in Panjab (see Jordens 1978). These revivalist movements and the work of indologists found a distorted echo in the so-called Theosophical Movement of the Polish countess, Madame Blavatsky. Though obviously quite ignorant of Hindu and Buddhist religious literature, she became a self-appointed cultural ambassador, proclaiming the superiority of Indian thought over European philosophies. She had some temporary connection with Dayananda but he broke off with her. Her followers, notably Annie Besant, were perhaps better acquainted with Indian religions: at any rate, they were able to win a following among credulous educated Indians, mixing metaphysical ideas with occultism, much to the dismay of a true savant like Max Müller. The sociological significance of the movement, however, was that it helped restore among those Hindus who were influenced by it a respect for their own religious tradition.

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The Quest for Hinduism The militancy of Dayananda and the self-confidence of Vivekananda were soon to have implications outside the domain of social and cultural reformism and revivalism—in the arena of politics. Though the Arya Samaj and the Ramakrishna Mission disclaimed political interests, their impact on Hindu political leaders and the masses had been so widespread that a linkage between religious revivalism and nationalism was inevitable; and that is what actually happened, despite Vivekananda's warning that if India gave up the religious quest in favour of politics she would die (de Riencourt 1961: 250).

(p.156B) Hinduism, Nationalism and Communalism Rammohan Roy had great faith in the advantages of British rule and hoped for a socio-cultural and religious renaissance under its auspices, for he saw in it a civilizing force. ‘India needs many more years of British domination’, he wrote (de Riencourt 1961: 230). Little did he realize that, within a few decades of his death, a resurgent Hinduism would begin to sprout political ambitions and strive to oust the British from India. An important element in the political awakening of India was a growing liberalism in Europe itself. Education through the medium of English, modelled after British schools and colleges, became the principal vehicle of this influence. Understandably, it was in Indian literatures that the nationalist urges of the English-educated classes found their first utterance. In this connection, the name that comes to mind above all others is that of the Bengali litterateur, Bankimchandra Chatterji (1838–94). His famous novel Ananda Matha, published in 1876, gave pointed expression to the Hindu aversion to aliens (mleccha), whether Muslim or British, and the opposition to their cultural and political domination of India. It contained the famous Sanskrit poem Vande mātaram (I bow to thee, Mother!) (see Das 1984: 228–9 for the full text and English translation), which identified India with the supreme mother goddess—a hymn which not only became the national song during the freedom movement under the leadership of the Indian National Congress, but also initiated the use of Hindu religious symbolism in modern Indian politics. India became Bhārat Mātā, Mother India. The Indian National Congress was, as is well known, founded by, among others, a retired British civil servant, Allan Hume (in 1885), with moderate political goals; its membership had nothing to do with religion. Its president in 1887 was a Muslim, Badruddin Tyabji. The organization was, nevertheless, dominated by Hindus, and the number of Muslim delegates attending its annual sessions, which never exceeded 25 per cent of all delegates, fell from year to year. The attitude of Muslim Congressmen as well as that of their coreligionists who remained outside it was influenced by a factional power struggle (p.157B) within the Congress. The ‘moderates’, who, though not devoid of religious faith in their personal lives, maintained a secular stance in politics, finally lost to the ‘extremists’ led by the Bengali Aurobindo Ghose and the Maharashtrian Bal Page 12 of 22

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The Quest for Hinduism Gangadhar Tilak. Tilak combined the Western ideas of nationalism and patriotism with an activist interpretation of the religious philosphy of Hinduism. Ghose proclaimed: ‘Nationalism is not a mere political programme; nationalism is a religion that has come from God’ (de Barry 1969: Vol. II, 727). Bal Gangadhar Tilak (1856–1920) played a particularly notable part in weaving together Hindu nationalist and religious sentiments. He recruited the Hindu god Ganapati to the national movement by skilfully converting a popular ten-day annual religious festival in his honour into the occasion for intensified antiBritish propaganda in an atmosphere of fervid religious enthusiasm (see Cashman 1975). The ‘holy’ cow was even more deeply involved in politics than before by combining an anti-cow-killing agitation with the larger political goals. The seventeenth-century Maratha hero Shivaji, who had challenged the Mughal empire, was also honoured with a festival. Appeal to Hindu religious sentiment undoubtedly helped to draw Hindus together on an all-India level, but it also alienated the Muslims (Smith 1963: 87–94; Dumont 1970: 89–110). Originating in a complex historical situation, Muslim separatism was strengthened by the manner in which the Congress developed its campaign against British rule by emphasizing Hindu solidarity. Ultimately, coinciding with the growing assertiveness of the ‘extremist’ elements, a group of Muslim leaders founded the Muslim League in 1906 with the blessings of the British Government of India. The seal was placed on this act of separation by the British Parliament's India Councils Act of 1909, which provided for separate electorates (Smith 1963: 84– 7). The leadership of the Congress passed into the hands of M. K. Gandhi (1869– 1948) on the death of Tilak in 1920. In 1915, while the militant Tilak was still the dominant personality on the Indian scene, Gandhi said he wanted to spiritualize politics, which meant for him the re-establishment of an imperative link between moral values and secular interests. When Tilak wrote to him that politics was a game of worldly (p.158B) people, and not of sadhus, Gandhi replied: ‘For me there is no conflict. … I venture to say that it betrays mental laziness to think that the world is not for sadhus’ (Iyer 1973: 50). He explained further in his autobiography: ‘To see the universal and all-pervading spirit of Truth face to face … a man who aspires after that cannot afford to keep out of any field of life. That is why my devotion to Truth has drawn me into the field of politics; … those who say that religion has nothing to do with politics do not know what religion means’ (Gandhi 1927: 615, emphasis added). Again, late in his life when beginning to get into the thick of his last great campaign against British imperialism in India in 1940, he reaffirmed: T still hold the view that I cannot conceive of politics as divorced from religion. Indeed religion should pervade every one of our actions. Here religion does not mean sectarianism. … This religion transcends Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, etc. It

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The Quest for Hinduism does not supersede them. It harmonizes them and gives them reality’ (Gandhi 1984: 54). Mahatma Gandhi genuinely respected all religions and his outlook on life was influenced by Jainism and Christianity and Islam. Though he considered all religions to be equally true, and equally imperfect, the ‘centre of his being’, in the words of his admiring Christian friend Charles Andrews, ever remained firmly ‘fixed in Hinduism’ (Bondurant 1959: 121). Being so convinced, he considered religious conversion as an expression of lack of genuine religious faith, and was horrified by religious conflict. He said: ‘Religion is outraged when an outrage is perpetrated in its name’ (Gandhi 1961: 47). He set out not only to cleanse Hinduism of its ugly aspects (most strikingly the practice of untouchability) but also to build mutual goodwill and respect among the adherents of the many religions of India. To take the national movement out of the ‘drawing-rooms’ of the educated middle classes and make it a mass movement inevitably meant Hinduizing it too, given the predominance of Hindus in the country's population. He used such expressions as daridra-nārāyaṇa (God is the poor, or the poor are God),4 harijan (the people of God) to refer to Hindu untouchables, and rāmarājya (p.159B) (God's kingdom) to visualize the independent India of his dreams. On their part, the masses responded to Gandhi as a māhātmā, a man of religion, a holy person with spiritual attainments and even magical powers (see Amin 1984). Gandhi's effort to unite Hindus and Muslims in the pursuit of the national goal of independence railed in the end. Extremist elements among Hindus and Muslims alike repudiated his leadership: to the former he was a foe of Hinduism, to the latter, of their political aspiration for separation. The Congress continued to count Muslims among its followers, but the Muslim League demanded in 1940 a separate homeland for Indian Muslims to be carved out of the subcontinent. Hindu opposition to this demand was voiced under the leadership of the exclusive political party, the Hindu Mahasabha, and the militant socio-religious organization called the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (Smith 1963). Nationalism in India became polarized, with Hindus and Muslims generally pitted against each other, and, though most Hindus stayed with the Congress, the two turbulent streams of communalism flowed along their separate courses, as the subcontinent lurched forward towards independence. Communalism in the sense of the conduct of struggle for independence and power on the basis of religious identity rather than the principle of territory—the usual basis of nationalism—thus came to dominate the internal politics of India. Gandhi and the Congress could not stem the tide of communalism. India was partitioned in the middle of 1947 and the Islamic state of Pakistan was born in the midst of communal riots on an unprecedented scale, resulting in the killing of thousands of Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs in many parts of the subcontinent, but most of all in Bengal and Panjab. Millions became refugees and crossed the Page 14 of 22

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The Quest for Hinduism newly created international frontiers. Gandhi was in deep anguish; his life's work lay in a shambles. He did not have to suffer long as he was assassinated early in 1948 by a group of Hindu conspirators owing allegiance to the Hindu militant parties (see Nandy 1980). Instead of cleansing politics of its unsavoury aspects, as men of faith such as Mahatma Gandhi and his great contemporary, the littérateur, philosopher and Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941), had believed it would, religion, (p.160B) reduced in the political arena to a mere ‘sign of distinction between human groups, a ‘shadow’ of itself (Dumont 1970: 90–1), in the end fouled politics.

Independence, Secularism and Modernization Jawaharlal Nehru (1889–1964) committed independent India to the custody of a modern secular state with the principal task of modernizing the country through the application of science and technology for the removal of ignorance, ill health and poverty. Or so he hoped he could do. Nehru was a modernizer, but he was by no means against religion as such: he was, however, deeply conscious of the harm which religiosity had done in India. Confined to prison, he had written just three years before he became the Prime Minister of free India in 1947 that it was ‘with the temper and approach of science, allied to philosophy, and with reverence for all that lies beyond’ that Indians ‘must face life’. He had further stressed: India must therefore lessen her religiosity and turn to science. She must get rid of the exclusiveness in thought and social habit which has become like a prison to her, stunting her spirit and preventing her growth. … The day-to-day religion of the orthodox Hindu is more concerned with what to eat, who to eat with and from whom to keep away, than with spiritual values. … The Moslem … has his own narrow codes and ceremonials, a routine which he vigorously follows, forgetting the lesson of brotherhood which his religion taught him. (1961: 547) Nehru lost no time in having a very detailed constitution framed for free India and it was inaugurated in 1950. The ideal of secularism was clearly embodied in the document; the main relevant clause guaranteed ‘freedom of conscience and free profession, practice and propagation of religion’ (Article 28). Religion was not debarred from public life but dissociated from the state, which was required to treat followers of all religions equally, favouring or disfavouring no citizen on the ground of his faith. Secularization in India does not mean privatization of religion; nor does it mean that the state will have nothing to do with the religious life of the people. To take but one example, (p.161B) when upwards of ten million people converge at a place of pilgrimage, as they do at Prayag on the occasion of the kumbha (an astrological event of periodic occurrence), the government may not disown responsibility for running special trains, making Page 15 of 22

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The Quest for Hinduism appropriate arrangements for the protection of public health and the maintenance of law and order. Political-scientists seem to be generally agreed that, unfavourable circumstances notwithstanding, the governance of free India has been largely free of religious intolerance. They even venture the opinion that Hinduism is ‘on the whole favourable to the development of a secular state’ and draw attention to ‘its strong tradition of freedom of conscience and tolerance of religious diversity’ (Smith 1963: 493). It is also pointed out by some scholars, who believe that the dissociation of the secular from the spiritual components of Indian civilization took place a long time ago, that the temporal-eccelesiastical feuds characteristic of the history of the West did not occur here. On the contrary, there has been ‘a constant interplay and cross-cutting between these two polarities’ (Kothari 1970: 251). Other students of Indian history arrive at a similar conclusion about the contemporary situation but along different lines of argument. Thus, A. K, Saran, a contemporary Hindu social philosopher, writes: The step from religious fanaticism, corruption and persecution to science and technology which the West took, and which was unique and significant in being a solution not so much against as outside religion and faith, was a step not taken in India independently of the Western encounter and conquest. While in this sense it is external, it is internal in the sense that it is part of India's history, as also of the history of Hindu tradition. (1972: 32) Most analysts seem to concur, however, that the secular state in India cannot be taken for granted, and that the major threat it has faced since independence is from Hindu communalism. The situation has become complicated in recent years through the renewed salience of Muslim and Sikh communalism in national and regional politics. It is obvious that India's religious traditions do not provide the same congenial setting for a separation of the state and the church—Hinduism and Islam have no Church and Sikhism alone may be said to have in the (p. 162B) Gurudwara an institution comparable to the Church—which prevailed in the setting of the Christian tradition in Europe. In fact—and as already stated— the situation in India is so critically different that secularism here entails positive responsibilities for the state, to be discharged without discrimination in respect of the different religious communities. The ‘secular’ and ‘socialist’ state that has been established in India has, as its major goal, the removal of the poverty of the masses. The principal means to this end has been planning for economic and social development. Nehru, with his Fabian socialist ideas and admiration for the positive achievements of the Soviet Union, had prepared the Congress party and the country's elites for such a Page 16 of 22

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The Quest for Hinduism course of action years before he came to power. A debate that almost inevitably came to be raised in this connection was with regard to the role of Hinduism: would it impede economic and social development? Apologists of British rule as well as its critics had long argued that India had remained a backward country because of its religious values and constrictive social structure. The argument had been initiated by Western scholars of the nineteenth century including, notably, Karl Marx, who saw in Hinduism a religion of extremes, ‘of the Lingam, and of the Juggernaut; the religion of the Monk, and of the Bayadere’ (Marx 1853). His lament about the degradation of the Hindu who, forgetful of man's position at the apex of creation, worships the cow and the monkey, is too well known to be quoted here at length. In any case, religion, in his view, could not be the root cause of India's socio-economic backwardness: this had to be traced to a particular mode of production. It was Max Weber who presented the most detailed thesis on the subject in the early years of the twentieth century (see Weber 1958). Weber argued that the Hindu metaphysical notions of saṁsāra (transmigration of the soul) and karma (retribution in one's present incarnation for the good and bad deeds of the previous life) produced an other-worldly ethic of conduct which had not been conducive to the acquisitive drive essential for the accumulation and investment of capital. The non-innovative character of hereditary caste occupations combined with the religious doctrines to produce a traditionalistic and antirational culture and a social order in which there was (p.163B) no room for radical change. In fact, the highest merit came to be attached to a strict adherence to tradition, including caste-based duties, and any deviation from this was regarded as ritually degrading. The ‘“spirit” of the whole system was incapable of giving birth to economic and technical revolutions from within itself or even of facilitating the first germination of capitalism in its midst’ (Weber 1958: 112). But he thought it necessary to qualify this judgement by saying that such effects must be ‘inferred’ rather than ‘inductively assessed’. Also, unlike Marx, he did not ask India to see its future in the image of the West (about the future of which he had grave misgivings). Weber's thesis has been restated in one form or another by many scholars, a recent example being Myrdal's critique of traditional Hindu social structure (Myrdal 1968). He does not, however, pay much attention to religious values, asserting that, though religion has nowhere in southern Asia induced social change, the basic doctrines of Hinduism (and other religions of the region) are not necessarily inimical to modernization. Several other social scientists, most notably Milton Singer, have examined Weber's thesis in the light of empirical evidence regarding social change and found little support for it. Indeed, Singer (1972: 272–373) points out that Weber himself wrote about the adaptive nature of the caste system in the context of the industrialization of the country. His mistake obviously was that he confused ideal-types with empirical realities and Page 17 of 22

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The Quest for Hinduism took a thoroughly ethnocentric, and therefore misleading view of Hindu religion and society. He overemphasized the conservative effects of the religious ideology on Hindu society, and did not pay enough heed to the influence which a changing socio-economic order could have, and in fact has had, on Hindu religious belief. Singer proceeds to develop his notion of ‘compartmentalization’ of Hindu society, describing the empirical process of the separation of ‘spheres of conduct and belief that would otherwise collide’ (1972: 321), and the consequent ‘ritual neutralization of the work sphere’ (p. 325), and ‘vicarious ritualization’ (p. 331). The latter process involves the abridgement of rituals, or their performance by proxy, but not their total abandonment, on the part of the industrial entrepreneurs in Madras whose life-style Singer studied. (p.164B) These conclusions find support from researches carried out in other parts of the country. The obstructive role of Hinduism in the ‘modernization’ of India is not a live sociological issue any more. As Morris David Morris put it twenty-five years ago, ‘there is no precise definition of a “Hindu value system” that can be identified as a significant obstacle to economic growth or change’ (1960: 607). It may be argued, however, that contemporary Hinduism is but the ruins of a once-living religious faith, which was fundamentally averse to the kind of values subsumed under modernity (Saran 1963: 87–94).

Concluding Remarks: The Quest for Hinduism Since its encounter with Christianity early in the seventeenth century, Hinduism has never been disengaged from the West in the consciousness of ‘modern’ Hindus, and it is their predicament that I have tried to describe here. Today the challenge that Hinduism faces does not come from an alien religion but from the Western ideals of secularism and modernization. It is not suggested that prior to this encounter Hinduism had experienced no internal schisms and change or no external threat. Buddhism and Islam are writ too large on the pages of South and South-east Asian history for such a view to be entertained. This epilogue itself has been partly concerned with the political consequences in the twentieth century of the ideological cleavage which the coming of Islam produced among the the peoples of the subcontinent. The cultural synthesis between Hinduism and Islam, which the opponents of Partition eloquently wrote and spoke about, remained confined to frills—undoubtedly important as such but still frills—such as art and architecture (Mukerji 1947: 31–60). Muslim sufism (mysticism) and Sikhism did represent creative developments arising out of the prolonged coexistence of Hindus and Muslims in India. The sufi remained passive, however, dwelling on the outskirts of society, as it were; and the Sikhs, first persecuted by Muslim kings, later developed political ambitions, which made them the foes of Muslims. In short, implicit in the approach adopted here is the conviction that, at the macro-level, the history of Hinduism constitutes also its sociology.

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The Quest for Hinduism (p.165B) The historical approach has been advocated also by the propagandists of Hinduism, but more as an expression of hope than in an effort to understand what they themselves observed. If Hinduism lives today, it is due to [the central principles of the faith], but it lives so little. … Hinduism is a movement, not a position; a process, not a result; a growing tradition, not a fixed revelation. Its past history encourages us to believe that it will be found equal to any emergency that the future may throw up, whether on the field of thought or of history. (Radhakrishnan 1927: 128, 129–30) One would have thought that events since the above was written, more than half a century ago, had decisively disproved the everlasting viability of traditional Hinduism; but the apologists survive and are confident that Western science and technology do not pose any threat to their faith (see, for example, Devaraja 1975). This confidence is, in fact, only naivety, when it is not a posture, for modern science, as philosophy and as technology, is fundamentally opposed to all religions. It is not at all surprising, therefore, that ‘modern’ Hindus today live more on strategies than by faith—that Hinduism in the lives of its adherents increasingly incorporates compromises. This is understandably more true of urban-educated Hindus than of illiterate villagers. Leading Hindu scientists, who have become well known to newspaper readers thanks to their achievements in the fields of nuclear fission and space exploration, call for salvage operations, to rediscover what is precious in Hindu and Buddhist thought.5 There are others who would like to vindicate Hinduism by bringing out the compatibility of Hindu mythology with scientific knowledge.6 Such ‘ideological (p.166B) rigour’ is, however, invariably accompanied by ‘ritualistic tolerance’ among modern Hindus everywhere, in India and abroad (see Bharati 1976, and Pocock 1973 and 1976). The concern of the ‘modern’ Hindu with instant religious experience in the midst of his other activities makes him shy away from a slow-moving ritual-ridden life and its guardians, the priests, in the direction of the sadhu (saintly person) and the guru (religious preceptor), who may even perform miracles. It is thus that he reassures himself of his identity as a Hindu. It is important to note that his need for such reassurance is not to be confused with the guru-hunting of Western, particularly American, youth. Whereas the Hindu wants to cling to his past, to his tradition from which he is becoming alienated, American youth seek an alternative to its secular culture as well as to the established religions and antireligious philosophies associated with that culture. The Hare Krishna devotees, for example, are protesting as much against American culture as against such counter-culture movements as derive their inspiration from within Western culture itself (Judah 1974; Brent 1973).

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The Quest for Hinduism ‘Modern’ Hindus, though only a small fraction of the total Hindu population, provide leadership not only to their community in social and religious matters, but also in diverse fields of national concern. It is unlikely that they will do now what Mahatma Gandhi failed to persuade them do in his lifetime—turn away from the unthinking rush to modernization. They also hope somehow to retain their Hindu identity, appealing to a vaunted tradition of eclecticism, unmindful of the fact that it has been essentially sterile, a sign of doubt more than of anything else. In the circumstances they lead fragmented lives—the very denial of a mode of living having its roots in religion. The caste system, Hinduisms steel frame, is badly fractured, and not in urban areas only. The spheres in which the fundamental notions of ritual purity and impurity still apply are shrinking fast. Caste loyalties are put to new uses, such as winning elections. The Hindu conception of cyclical time has been overwhelmed by Western linear time, and the new watchword (p.167B) is, of course, progress. Hinduism seemingly survives, but not undisturbed, in the daily lives of millions of ordinary Indians (see, for example, Pocock 1973; Babb 1975; Wadley 1975). There is, however, something oppressively mechanical about it which colourful fairs and festivals, domestic rituals and distant pilgrimages, even the sadhu and the guru do not quite help to relieve except momentarily. The vital sources of thought and emotional experience seem to have presently dried up, and what survives is, perhaps, ruins, though this may not be the view offered to those who live in them. Mahatma Gandhi saw very clearly the conflict between Hindu tradition and Western civilization, and so did Jawaharlal Nehru, but from the opposite end. And Nehru was the typical ‘modern’ Indian. The wistfulness of his response to André Malraux's observation, quoted at the beginning of this epilogue, was an expression of the modern Hindu's anxiety and hope. India without Hinduism is inconceivable, but, given the present national commitment to secularism, science and technology, an infinite pause seems to have settled on Hinduism: but it is not dead. It seems to be like those rivers of Hindu mythology that flow underground but may yet rise again in full tide. Or, to borrow Mahatma Gandhi's metaphor, the Ganga may flow pure and clean again. Many Hindus, in fact, wait for such a happening. Like the Brahman anti-hero of the widely acclaimed Kannada novel Samskara (Anantha Murthy 1976), they wait—anxious and expectant. Others are less hopeful, for they fear that we live in a runaway world in which man has installed himself as his own god. Not that gods are all that essential in one's quest for Hinduism, but faith and understanding always were and are—even for our brave, new, modern world. (p.168B) Throughout the book certain quotations have been used as epigraphs at the beginning of each chapter and of the Introduction and the Epilogue. The sources of the quotations are given below.

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The Quest for Hinduism INTRODUCTION. The quotation from Kali das a (fifth century A.D.) is from the prologue to Act I of Abhijnanshakuntala. The translation is by Barbara Stoler Miller (1984: 89). The context is, of course, the staging of a play, but should also apply to the interpretation of cultures. The admonition by Horace (65–8 B.C) on the limitations of human knowledge is the well-known nec scire fas est omnia (Odes IV, iv. 22). The line from T. S. Eliot (1888–1965) occurs in East Coker. CHAPTER 1. Krishna Razdan (1850–1925), a Kashmiri Brahman, is remembered for his devotional poems which are sung to this day. The translation is by Nilla Cram Cook (1958: 137). The celebration of the ‘bonds of delight’ is by Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941) from song 73 of Gitanjali (see Tagore 1955: 34). CHAPTER 2. This statement by a learned Kashmiri Pandit was made in answer to a question of mine regarding the significance of auspiciousness. It is worth pointing out that he managed to weave ingeniously into his statement the meaning of the Gāyatrī mantra, one of the holiest incantations of the Hindus, found in the Rig, Sama and Yajur Vedas, hearing which is considered both auspicious and purifying. Every Hindu who goes through the rites of ritual initiation into the status of a ‘twice-born’ dvija hears this mantra for the first time on that occasion and is expected to recite it every morning, preferably facing the sun, thereafter. CHAPTER 3. The translation from a poem by Bhartrihari (fifth century A.D.) is by Barbara Staler Miller (1978: 91). The quotation from the Bhagavad Gita is from verse 45 of Chapter II. CHAPTER 4. The quotation from the Katha Upanishad is from verse 1, section 2, of Chapter 1 in Radhakrishnan's translation (see Radhakrishnan 1953: 607). Notes:

(1) See, for example, the following categorical statement by Bankimchandra Chatterji, one of the tallest Indians of the nineteenth century: ‘With other peoples, religion is only a part of life; there are dungs religious and things lay and secular. To the Hindu, his whole life was religion. … To the Hindu, his relations to God and his relations to man, his spiritual life and his temporal life, are incapable of being so distinguished. They form one compact and harmonious whole, to separate which into component parts is to break the entire fabric. All life to him was religion and religion never received a name from him, because it never had for him an existence apart from all char had received a name’ (quoted

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The Quest for Hinduism in Chaudhuri 1979: 11–12). This finds echoes in the writings of many twentiethcentury Hindu intellectuals, a recent example being Nirad Chaudhuri (1979). (2) Uttaram yat samudmtya / himàdreścaiva dakṣiṇm, / varśam tad Bhāraum nàma / Bhāratī yatra santatiḥ. Vishnu Purana III, 3.1. (3) I am graceful to D. Dennis Hudson (Smith College, USA) for this information. (4) Compare this with Gandhi's famous statement: ‘To a people famishing and idle, the only acceptable form in which god can dare appear is work and promise of food as wages’ (de Barry 1969: Vol. II, 268). (5) Dr Raja Ramanna. Director of the Bhabha Atomic Research Centre, Bombay, has said in public that he believes that much ‘scientific knowledge’ is to be found in Sanskrit works if only modern scientists correctly interpret them. ‘He suggested that higher mathematics and quantum mechanics raised the same questions which the Buddhist and Hindu mystical sciences tried to answer.’ The Times of India (New Delhi), 15 April 1976. (6) I heard a leading exponent of Indian classical dance explain the dance item daśa-avatāra (ten incarnations of god) to a mixed audience of Indians and foreigners at Delhi University in 197 5. She maintained that the notion of avatāra was in harmony with the theory of evolution. Some years earlier, I had heard a famous Indo-Anglian poet make the same point before an audience at an American University; in fact, he went further and said that the notion was in harmony with both the theory of evolution and the Marxist view of historical development; Bharati (1970) calls this the modern apologetic of the Hindu renaissance: the harnessing of ‘technological simile and parable to vindicate or exemplify ancient truths’ (p. 168).

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Non-Renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.iB) Non-Renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture (p.170B) The extract from J. Krishnamurti (1895–1986) has been taken from Vas (1973: 208). Chapter 5. The quotation from the Katha Upanishad is from verse 29, section 2, of Chapter 1 in Radhakrishnan's translation (1953:607). The second quotation is from the ‘sayings’ (vākya) of Lal Ded, a fourteenthcentury Shaivite mystic poetess of Kashmir. The translation is by Kaul (1973: 123). EPILOGUE. Bankimchandra Chatterji (1838–94) is quoted from Bagal (1969: 231); Mahatma Gandhi (1869–1948) from Bose (1948: 261); and Jawaharlal Nehru (1889–1964) from Malraux (1968: 245–6).

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References

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.171B) References Bibliography references: Amin, Shahid. 1984. ‘Gandhi as Mahatma’. In Ranajit Guha, ed., Subaltern studies III: Writings on south Asian history and society. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Anantha Murthy, U. R. 1976. Samskara: A rite for a dead man. Tr. into English from Kannada by A. K. Ramanujan. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Ardener, Shirley. 1977. Introduction. In Shirley Ardener, ed., Perceiving women, pp. vii–xxiii. London: Dent & Sons Ltd. Aricti, Silvano. 1972. The will to be human. New York: Quadrangle Books. Aurobindo, Sri. 1950. Essays on the Gita. New York: Sri Aurobindo Library. Austin, J. L. 1962. Sense and sensibilia. London: Oxford University Press. Babb, L. A. 1975. The divine hierarchy: Popular Hinduism in central India. New York: Columbia University Press. Bagal, J. C., ed. 1969. Bankim-rachanavali. Calcutta: Sahitya Samsad. Bamzai, P. N. K. 1962. A history of Kashmir. Delhi: Metropolitan Books. Bateson, Mary Catherine. 1984. With a daughter's eye: A memoir of Margaret Mead and Gregory Bateson. New York: Wm Morrow and Co. Berger, Morroe. 1977. Real and imagined worlds. The novel and social science. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press.

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References Berger, Peter L. and Thomas Luckman. 1967. The social construction of reality. London: Allen Lane. Berreman, G. D. 1963. Hindus of the Himalayas. Berkeley: University of California Press. Bettelheim, Bruno. 1961. The informed heart: The human condition in modern society. London: Thames and Hudson. Bhaduri, Sadananda. 1947. Studies in nydya-vaisheshika metaphysics. Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute. Bharati, Agehananda. 1970. ‘The Hindu renaissance and its apologetic patterns’. The Journal of Asian Studies, 29: 267–87. ——— 1976. ‘Ritualistic tolerance and ideological rigour: Paradigm of expatriate Hindus in East Africa’. Contributions to Indian Sociology (n.s.), 10: 293–316. Bondurant, J. A. 1959. Conquest of violence: The Gandhian philosophy of conflict. Bombay: Oxford University Press. Bose, N. K., ed. 1948. Selections from Gandhi. Ahmedabad: Navjivan. Brent, P. 1973. Godmen of India. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Brown, Norman O. 1959. Life against death: The psychoanalytical meaning of history. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Bühler, G. 1964. The laws of Manu. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Cannon, G. 1964. Oriental Jones. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. (p.172B) Carman, John Braisted. 1974. The theology of Ramanuja: An essay in interreli-gious understanding. New Haven: Yale University Press. ———. 1983. ‘The ethics of auspiciousness: Western encounter with Hindu values’. In Leroy S. Rouner, ed., Foundations of ethics, pp. 167–83. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. Carman, John B. and Frédérique A. Marglin, eds. 1985. Auspiciousness and purity. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Cashman, Richard I. 1975. The myth of the Lokamanya: Tilak and mass politics in Maharashtra. Berkeley: University of California Press. Chatterji, J. C. 1914. Kashmir Shaivaism. Srinagar: Research Department, Kashmir State.

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References Chaudhuri, N. C. 1974. Scholar extraordinary: The life of Professor the Rt. Hon. Friedrich Max Müller. Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 1979. Hinduism: A religion to live by. London: Chatto and Windus. Cook, Nilla Cram. 1958. The way of the swan: Poems of Kashmir. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Das, Sisir Kumar. 1984. The artist in chains: The life of Bankimchandra Chatterji. New Delhi: New Statesman Publishing Co. Das, Veena. 1982. Structure and cognition: Aspects of Hindu caste and ritual. Delhi: Oxford University Press. de Barry, W. T., ed. 1969. Sources of Indian tradition. Vol. II. (Compiled by Stephen N. Hay and I. H. Qureshi.) New York: Columbia University Press. de Riencourt, A. 1961. The soul of India. London: Jonathan Cape. Devaraja, N. K. 1975. Hinduism and the modern age. New Delhi: Islam and Modern Age Society. Dubois, J. A. 1906. Hindu manners, customs and ceremonies. (English translation by H. K. Beauchamp). Oxford: Clarendon Press. Dumont, Louis. 1957. ‘For a sociology of India’. Contributions to Indian Sociology, 1: 7–22. ———. 1960. ‘World renunciation in Indian religions’. Contributions to Indian Sociology, 9: 67–89. (Reprinted in Dumont 1970 and 1980.) ———. 1970. Religion, politics and history in India. Paris and Leiden: Mouton. ———. 1977. From Mandeville to Marx: The genesis and triumph of economic ideology. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ———. 1980. Homo hierarchicus: The caste system and its implications. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ———. 1982. On value. London: The British Academy. ———. 1983. ‘The debt to ancestors and the category of sapinda’. In Charles Malamoud, ed., Debt and debtors, pp. 1–20. New Delhi: Vikas. Dumont, Louis and David F. Pocock, 1959. ‘Pure and impure’. Contributions to Indian Sociology, 3: 9–34. Eliade, Mircca. 1974. Patterns in comparative religion. New York: New American Library. Page 3 of 10

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References Fortes, Meyer. 1969. Kinship and social order: The legacy of Lewis Henry Morgan. Chicago: Aldine Publishing Company. (p.173B) Fürer-Haimendorf, Christoph von. 1967. Morals and merit. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Gandhi, M. K. 1927. An autobiography. English translation by Mahadev Desai. Ahmedabad: Navjivan. ———. 1961. The way to communal harmony. Compiled and edited by U. R. Rao. Ahmedabad: Navjivan. ———. 1984. All men are brothers. Compiled and edited by Krishna Kripalani. New York: Continuum. Geertz, Clifford. 1973. The interpretation of cultures. New York: Basic Books. Goffman, Erving. 1961. Encounters. New York: Bobbs-Merrill. Gough, Kathleen. 1981. Rural society in south-east India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gupta, K. P. 1974. ‘Religious evolution and social change in India: A study of the Ramakrishna movement’. Contributions to Indian Sociology (n.s.), 8: 25–50. Heesterman, J. C. 1985. The inner conflict of tradition: Essays in Indian ritual, kingship, and society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hertz, R. 1960. Death and the right hand. Tr. from French by R. and C. Needham. London: Cohen and West. Hesse, Hermann. 1954. Siddhartha. Tr. from German by Hilda Rosner. London: Peter Owen. (Originally published in 1922.) Hindery, Roderick. 1978. Comparative ethics in Hindu and Buddhist traditions. New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Hiriyana, M. 1949. The essentials of Indian philosophy. London: Allen and Unwin. Inden, Ronald B. and Ralph W. Nicholas. 1977. Kinship in Bengali culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Isherwood, Christopher. 1965. Ramakrishna and his disciples. Calcutta: Advaita Ashrama. Iyer, Raghavan N. 1973. The moral and political thought of Mahatma Gandhi. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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References Jaini, Padmanabha S. 1979. The Jaina path of purification. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Janakiraman. T. 1972. The sins of Appu's mother. Tr. from Tamil by M. Krishnan. Delhi: Orient paperbacks. Jordens, J. T. F. 1978. Dayanand Sarasvati: His life and ideas. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Joshi, V. C., ed. 1975. Rammohan Roy and the process of modernization in India. New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House. Judah, F. S. 1974. Hare Krishna and the counter-culture. New York: John Wiley. Jung, C. G. 1977. Memories, dreams, reflections. London: Fontana Books. Kachru, Braj B. 1973. An introduction to spoken Kashmiri. Part 1 & 2. Urbana: Department of Linguistics, University of Illinois. Kakar, Sudhir. 1982. Shamans, mystics and doctors: A psychological inquiry into India and its healing traditions. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Kane, Pandurang Vaman. 1941. History of dharmaśāstra. Vol. II, Pt. 1. Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute. (p.174B) Kaul, Jayalal. 1973. Lal Ded. New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi. Kellock, James. 1926. Mahadev Govind Ranade: Patriot and social servant. Calcutta: Association Press. Khandekar, Vishnu Sakharam. 1977. Yayati. Translated into Hindi from Marathi by Moreshvar Tapasvi. New Delhi: Rajpal. Khare, R. S. 1976a. The Hindu hearth and home. New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House. ———. 1976b. Culture and reality: Essays on the Hindu system of managing foods. Simla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study. Kopf, David. 1979. The Brahmo Samaj and the shaping of the modern Indian mind. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Kothari, R. 1970. Politics in India. New Delhi: Orient Longman. Lakoff, George and Mark Johnson. 1980. Metaphors we live by. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Langham, Ian. 1981. The building of British social anthropology. Dordrecht, Holland: Reidel. Page 5 of 10

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References Leach, E. R. 1961. Pul Eliya, a village in Ceylon: A study of land tenure and kinship. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lutyens, Mary, ed. 1970. The Penguin Krishnamurti reader. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Madan, T. N. 1965. Family and kinship: A study of the Pandits of rural Kashmir. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. (Second edition,

1989, Delhi: Oxford University Press.) ———. 1972. ‘Religious ideology in a plural society: The Muslims and Hindus of Kashmir’. Contributions to Indian Sociology (n.s.), 6: 106–41. ———. 1975a. ‘Structural implications of marriage in north India: Wife-givers and wife-takers among the Pandits of Kashmir’. Contributions to Indian Sociology (n.s.), 9, 2: 217–43. ———. 1975b. ‘On living intimately with strangers’. In A. Betéille and T. N. Madan, eds., Encounter and experience: Personal accounts of fieldwork, pp. 131–56. New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House. ———. 1977. ‘The quest for Hinduism’. International Social Science Journal, 29, 2: 261–78. ———. 1981a. ‘Moral choices: An essay on the unity of asceticism and eroticism’. In A. C. Mayer, ed., Culture and morality, pp. 126–52. Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 1981b. ‘The ideology of the householder among the Pandits of Kashmir’. Contributions to Indian Sociology, 15: 223–49. (

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References (p.175B) Malraux, André. 1968. Antimemoirs. Translated from French by Terence Kilmartin. London: Hamish Hamilton. Marglin, Frédérique Appfel. 1977. ‘Power, purity and pollution: Aspects of the caste system reconsidered’. Contributions to Indian Sociology (n.s.), 11, 2: 245– 70. ———. 1982. Kings and wives. In T. N. Madan, ed., Way of life: King, householder, renouncer, pp. 155–81. New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House. ———. 1985. Wives of the god-king: Rituals of the devadasis of Puri. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Marriott, McKim. 1977. ‘Hindu transactions: Diversity without dualism’. In Bruce Kapferer, ed., Transactions and meaning: Directions in the anthropology of exchange and symbolic behaviour. Philadelphia: Institute for the Study of Human Issues. Marx, Karl. 1850. ‘The British rule in India’. New York Daily Tribune, 25 June. Mayne, J. D. 1953. Treatise on Hindu law and usage. 11th ed. by N. Chandrasekhara Aiyar. Madras: Higginbothams. Miller, Barbara Stoler (tr.). 1978. The hermit and the love thief: Sanskrit poems of Bhartrihari and Bilhana. New York: Columbia University Press. ———. (ed.). 1984. Theater of memory: The plays of Kalidasa. New York: Columbia University Press. Monier-Williams, M. A Sanskrit-English dictionary. 1976. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Morris, Morris David. 1960. ‘Caste and the evolution of industrial workforce in India’. Proceedings of the American Philosphical Society, 104, 2:124–33. Mukerji, D. P. 1947. Modern Indian culture. Bombay: Hind Kitabs. Murdoch, Iris. 1970. The sovereignty of good. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Myrdal, G. 1968. Asian drama: An inquiry into the poverty of nations. 3 Vols. New York: Pantheon Books. Nandy, Ashis. 1980. ‘Final encounter. The politics of the assassination of Gandhi’. In Ashis Nandy, At the edge of psychology, pp. 70–98. Delhi: Oxford University Press.

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References ———. 1983. The intimate enemy: Loss and recovery of self under colonialism. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Narayanan, Vasudha. 1985. ‘On two levels of suspiciousness’. In John Carman and Frédérique Marglin, eds., Auspiciousness and purity, pp. 55–64. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Nehru, J. 1961. The discovery of India. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Nikhilananda, Swami. 1953. Vivekananda. New York: Ramakrishna-Vivekananda Centre. O'Flaherty, Wendy Doniger. 1975. Asceticism and eroticism in the mythology of Siva. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 1976. The origins of evil in Hindu mythology. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Opler, Morris E. 1945. ‘Themes as dynamic forces in culture’. American Journal of Sociology, 51: 198–206. Pandey, Raj Bali. 1969. Hindu saṁskdras: Socio-religious study of the Hindu sacraments. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. (p.176B) Panikkar, K. M. 1956. A survey of Indian history. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. ———. 1963. The foundations of new India. London: George Allen and Unwin. Parry, J. P. 1979. Caste and kinship in Kangra. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. ———. 1981. ‘Death and cosmogony in Kashi’. Contributions to Indian Sociology, 15: 337–65. ———. 1982. ‘Sacrificial death and the necrophagous ascetic’. In Maurice Bloch and Jonathan Parry, eds., Death and the regeneration of life, pp. 74–110. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pelzel, John C. 1974. ‘Human nature in the Japanese myths’. In Japanese culture and behaviour, ed. T. S. Lebra and W. B. Lebra, pp. 3–26. Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii. Plath, David W. 1980. Long engagements. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Pocock, D. F. 1973. Mind, body and wealth: A study of belief and practice in an Indian village. Oxford: Blackwell Publications. ———. 1976. ‘Preservation of the religious life: Hindu immigrants in England’. Contributions to Indian Sociology (n.s.), 10: 343–65. Page 8 of 10

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References Potter, Karl. 1963. Presuppositions of India's philosophies. New Delhi: PrenticeHall of India. Putnam, Hilary. 1977. Meaning and the moral sciences. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Radhakrishnan, S. 1927. The Hindu view of life. London: George Allen and Unwin. ———. 1940. Eastern religions and Western thought. London: Oxford University Press. 2nd ed. ———. 1948. The Bhagavadgītā. With an introductory essay, Sanskrit text, English translation and notes. London: Allen and Unwin. ———. 1953. The principal Upanisads. With introduction, translation and notes. London: Allen and Unwin. Rajagopalachari, C. 1968. Mahabharata. Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhawan. Reeves, P. D. 1971. Introduction in Sleeman in Oudh: An abridgement of W. H. Sleeman's A journey through the kingdom of Oude, 1849–1850, pp. 1–40. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Reynolds, Holly Baker. 1980. ‘The auspicious married woman’. In The powers of Tamil women, ed. Susan S. Wadley, pp. 35–60. Syracuse: Syracuse University. Sanderson, Alexis. 1985. ‘Purity and power among the Brahmans of Kashmir’. In Michael Carrithers et al., eds., The category of the person, pp. 190–216. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Saran, A. K. 1963. ‘Hinduism and economic development in India’. Archives de Sociologie des Religions, 15: 87–94. ———. 1972. ‘The two contexts of secularization: Western and Indian’. Islam and the Modern Age, 2: 17–32. Schneider, David M. 1968. American kinship: A cultural account. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall. (p.177B) Schutz, A. 1967. Collected papers: I. The problems of social reality. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. ———. 1976. The phenomenology of the social world. London: Heinemann Educational Books. Siegel, Lee. 1983. Fires of love I waters of peace. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Page 9 of 10

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References Singer, M. 1972. When a great tradition modernizes. New York: Praeger. Smith, D. E. 1963. India as a secular state. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Srinivas, M. N. 1942. Marriage and family in Mysore. Bombay: New Book Co. ———. 1952. Religion and society among the Coorgs of south India. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ———. 1967. ‘The cohesive role of sanskritization’. In Philip Mason, ed., India and Ceylon: Unity and diversity, pp. 67–82. London: Oxford University Press. Stevenson, S. 1920. The rites of the twice-born. London: Oxford University Press. Tagore, Rabindranath. 1955. Collected poems and plays. London: Macmillan. Van Gennep, A. 1960. The rites of passage. (English translation by M. B. Vizedom and G. L. Caffee.) Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Varma, Bhagvaticharan. 1977. Chitralekha. (In Hindi.) Allahabad: Bharati Bhandar. Vas, Luis S. R., ed. 1973. The mind of J. Krishnamurti. Bombay: Jaico. Wadley, S. S. 1975. Shakti: Power in the conceptual structure of Karimpur religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Weber, Max. 1947. The theory of economic and social organisation. Glencoe: The Free Press. ———. 1958. The religion of India. Tr. from German by H. H. Gerth and D. Martindale. Glencoe: The Free Press. Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 1964. The blue and brown books. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Wollheim, Richard. 1984. The thread of life. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Woodroffe, Sir John. 1978. Shakti and shakta. 5th ed., 1959. New York: Dover Publications. Zaehner, R. C. 1962. Hinduism. London: Oxford University Press. (p.178B)

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Index

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.179B) Index ācarà 33 ada 30 f Africa 146 Agni 136 , 139 ahamkàra 13 , 33 , 95 , 102 Akbar 145 al-Bīrūnī, Abu Raihan Muhammad 143 America, American culture 15 , 150 Amherst, Lord 149 Amin, Shahid 159 , 171 Amma Vantal 103 n ānanda 37 , 102 , 123 Āranda Maṭha 156 Anantha Murthy, U. R. 76 , 88 , 99 n, 167 , 171 Andrews, C. F. 158 Anthropology, anthropological knowledge 6 , 72 , 100 anugraha 38 , 101 , 133 , 137 . Also see Divine grace Ardener, S. 44 , 171 Arieti, S. 97 , 171 Aristotle 73 Arnold, M. 82 n artha 33 , 33 n, 46 , 89 , 97 , 97 n, 102 Arthashastra (Arthaśãstra) 79 n Ārya Samāj 155 Ascetìcìsm 5 , 12 , 72–100 . Also see tapas Asia 146 Asiatic Society (Calcutta) 147 āśrama 2 , 41 , 97 atmajñàna 21 Aurobindo, Sri 74 n, 157 , 171 . Also see Ghose, Aurobindo Auspiciousness (śubha) 1 , 3 , 6 , 11 f, 12 n, 31 , 48–71 , 110 , 125 , 130 Page 1 of 10

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Index Austin, J. L. 70 , 171 Ãyurveda 61 n Babb, L. A. 167 , 171 Bagal, J. C. 170 , 171 Bamzai, P. N. K. 32 n, 171 Barthes, R. 75 Basava 9 Bateson, C. 15 n, 171 Bengal 127 , 147 , 154 Bentham, J. 146 Bereavement 120 Berger, M. 6 , 75 , 171 Berger, P. L. 119 , 127 , 171 Berreman, G. D. 118 , 171 Besant, A. 155 Bettelheim, B. 97 , 171 Bhaduri, S. 70 n, 171 Bhagavad Gītā 20 n, 36 , 72 , 74 , 93 , 134 , 169 bhakti 37–9 , 123 Bhārat 143 , 143 n Bharati, A. 166 , 166 n, 171 Bhartrihari (Bhartr hari) 72 , 169 Bhat, G. S. 49 n Bhaṭṭa 22 , 22 n, 23 bhaṭṭil 21 , 30 , 31 , 32 , 33 , 34 , 35 , 38 , 40 , 43 , 44 , 46 , 141 bhogī 10 , 98 Bihar 3 , 58 n, 127 Binary opposition 3 , 95 . Also see Dualitie Birth 29 , 55 , 66 , 120 n, 130 Blavatsky, Mme 155 Bombay 165 n Bondurant, J. 158 , 171 Bose, N. K. 170 , 171 Brahman, brahma 59 n, 81 , 123 , 132 Brahman, Brahmans 3 , 4 , 5 , 9 , 10 , 13 , 17 , 38 n, 40 , 51 n, 55 , 55 n, 56 , 57 , 58 , 59 , 60 , 61 , 62 n, 65 , 68 , 77 , 78 , 83 , 84 , 85 , 86 , 90 , 95 , 104 , 106 , 113 , 114 , 116 , 138 , 141 , 145 Brahmanical culture 49 brāhmaṇa 14 , 70 n, 119 n Brahmo Sabhā 150 Brahmo Samāj 150 , 152 , 154 Brent, P. 166 , 171 Brihaspati (Bŗhaspati) 54 , 89 , 105 , 105 n (p.180B) Brown, N. O. 97 , 171 Buddha, Gotama 58 , 94 n Buddhism 14 , 44 , 49 , 74 , 164 Bühler, G. 41 n, 171 Calcutta 147 , 151 Cannon, G. 147 , 171 Page 2 of 10

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Index Carman.J. B. 11 , 38 n, 49 , 54 , 147 , 172 , 175 Cashman, R. I. 157 , 172 Caste 1 , 4 , 11 , 12 , 17 n, 39 , 49 n, 58 , 64 n, 71 , 86 , 152 , 162 , 163 , 166 ced 32 , 33 Chaitanya (Caitanya) 9 Chamar (Camār) 49 n Chatterji, Bankimchandra 142 , 142 n, 156 , 170 Chatterji, J. C. 21 , 172 Chaudhuri, Nirad C. 148 , 153 , 172 Children 20 , 30 , 43 f, 131 Chitralekha (Citralekhā) 76 , 77–82 , 95 , 97 , 98 , 99 n, 177 Christ 150 . Also see Jesus Christianity 145 , 148 , 149 , 150 , 158 , 162 citta 33 Comte, A. 151 Congress, Indian National 156 , 157 , 162 Cook, N. C. 169 , 172 Coorgs 63 f, 118 da Costa, B. 145 daita 67–9 Das, S. 156 Das, Veena 11 , 61 n, 118 , 136 n, 172 Death, 6 , 14 , 15 , 15 n, 29 , 52 , 56 , 61 n, 65 , 67 , 69 , 115 , 116 , 118–41 de Barry, T. 149 , 151 , 153 , 154 , 157 , 158 n, 172 de Nobili, R. 145 f de Riencourt, A. 150 , 152 , 155 , 156 , 172 de Saussure, F. 75 Debt (ṛṇa) 26 , 45 , 47 Detachment 10 , 17–47 devadàsi 66–9 Devaraja, N. K. 165 , 172 Devī 36 , 138 dharma 18 , 24 , 25 , 28 , 33 , 33 n, 37 , 46 , 69 , 79 , 89 , 97 , 97 n, 99 , 102 , 106 , 114 n, 116 , 121 , 123 , 127 , 141 , 144 dharmaśàstra 2 , 9 , 74 Divine grace, gift, blessing 15 , 25 , 34 , 36 , 37 , 38 , 39 , 51 , 101 , 102 , 108 , 131 , 133 , 137 . Also see anugraha Domesticity 1 , 9 , 10 , 17–47 . Also see gārhasthya Dualities, dualism 86 , 87 , 91 , 93 , 93 n, 94 , 98 f, 116 . Also see Binary opposition Dubois, J. A. 148 , 172 Dumont, Louis in, 2 , 3 , 7 , 8 , 10 , 17 , 18 , 19 , 33 , 33 n, 38 , 41 , 42 , 45 , 48 , 60 , 61 n, 64 , 136 , 144 , 157 , 160 , 172 East Coker 169 East India Company 146 , 149 Eliade, M. 62 , 172 Eliot, T. S. 1 , 49 , 169 Eroticism 3 , 5 , 9 , 12 , 72–100 . Also see kāmuktā Ethike, ethics 73 Ethnographic text 19 f, 60 Page 3 of 10

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Index Fate, Human 25 , 29 , 73 Father, fatherhood 27 f Fieldwork 19 Filial piety 28 , 107 Fortes, M. 27 , 114 , 172 Freud, Sigmund 6 Fürer-Haimendorf, C. von 72–3 , 74 , 173 Gandhi, Mahatma 15 , 114 n, 142 , 157 f, 158 n, 159 , 166 , 167 , 170 , 173 Ganesha (Gaṇeśa) 53 , 138 Gaṅgā 52 , 112 , 135 , 151 gārhasthya 10 , 21 f, 97 , 124 . Also see Domesticity Gautama 2 gàyatrī mantra 59 Geertz, C. 7 Germany 148 (p.181B) Ghose, Aurobindo 157 . Also see Aurobindo Gītāńjali 169 Goa 145 God 26 , 36 , 37 n, 38 , 38 n, 39 , 43 n, 84 , 86 , 87 , 96 , 115 , 124 , 158 , 159 Goethe, 50 n, 147 Goffman, E. 6 , 173 Good life, notion of 3 , 8 , 9 , 13 , 47 , 102 , 121 , 122 Gough, E. K. 111 n, 173 graha 54 , 130 , 133 gṛhastha 2 , 17 , 41 , 43 , 45 , 98 , 112 , 122 Also see Householder guṇa 74 , 74 n, 85 Gupta, K. P. 154 , 173 Gurudwārā 162 Hardwar 123 Harmonization of opposites 13 . Also see Transcendence Harvard University 9 Hastinapur 89 , 92 Hastings, W. 146 Heesterman, J. C. 2 , 173 Hertz, R. 119 , 131 , 140 , 173 Hesse, H. 112 n, 173 Hierarchy 10 Hindery, R. 94 , 173 Hindu community, culture, society 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 9 , 14 , 71 , 118 , 118 n, 163 Hindu thought 94 , 108 , 111 , 148 Hinduism 4 , 15 , 17 , 74 , 142–67 Hiriyana, M. 82 n, 173 Horace 1 , 8 , 169 Horoscope 54 , 130 , 131 Householder 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 6 , 7 , 9 , 10 , 12 , 17–47 , 60 , 65 , 97 , 98 , 102 , 112 , 122 , 123 , 124 , 145 . Also see gṛhastha Hudson, D. 146 n Hume, A. O. 156 ihaloka 31 , 121 , 139 Page 4 of 10

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Index Inden, R. 7 , 14 , 29 n, 86 n, 118 , 173 India 4 , 50 , 160 , 162 Industrialization 163 Isherwood, C. 125 n, 173 Ishvara (Iśvara) 73 n Islam 23 n, 32 n, 143 , 150 , 155 , 158 , 161 , 164 Iyer, R.N. 158 , 173 Jagannātha 66 , 68 Jaina culture 14 , 49 , 131 n Jaini, Padmanabha 131 n, 173 Janaka 42 Janakiraman, T. 103 , 111 n, 115 n, 173 Jesuits 50 n, 145 , 147 Jesus 150 , Also see Christ jīva 32 Johnson, M. 70 , 174 Jordens, J. T. F. 155 , 173 Joshi.V. C. 149 , 173 Judah, F. S. 166 , 173 Jung, C. G. 96 , 98 n, 173 Kachru, Braj B. 21 n, 173 Kakar, Sudhir 16 , 173 kāla 51 , 54 , 58 , 69 , 97 , 108 , 122 , 132 Kāla 69 , 132 Kālī 147 , 148 , 151 Kālidāsa 1 , 147 , 169 kaliyuga 2 , 38 , 128 Kaḷḷar 49 n kāma 24 , 33 , 33 n, 42 n, 89 , 97 , 97 n, 102 , 106 , 108 kāmuktā 12 , 76 . Also see Eroticism Kane, P. V. 2 , 173 Kannada 76 , 83 n, 167 Kanpur 51 n Kant, I. 148 kanyādāna 29 karma 14 , 24 , 25 , 33 , 34 , 36 , 37 , 47 , 121 , 123 , 126 , 127 , 131 , 141 , 162 Karnataka 4 , 64 n, 82 Kashi 82 , 107 , 108 , 112 , 123 Kashmir 3 , 9 , 50 n, 58 , 63 Kashmiri language 23 Kashmiri Pandits (Brahmans) 3 , 9 , 13 , 17–47 , 48 , 51 n, 52 , 53 , 54 , 55 , 55 n, 56 , 57 , 59 , 60 , 61 , 63 n, 101–3 , 120–41 Kaul, J. 170 , 174 Kautilya 78 , 79 , 79 n Kāverī 111 , 111 n, 112 , 113 , 114 , 117 (p.182B) Kellock, J. 154 , 174 Khandekar, Vishnu Sakharam 76 , 88 , 93 , 174 Khare, R. S. 49 n, 57 n, 60 , 63 , 65 f, 174 Kinship 7 , 28 , 42 Page 5 of 10

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Index Kopf, David 151 , 174 Kothari, Rajni 161 , 174 Krishna (Kṛṣṇa) 94 , 166 Krishnamurti, J. 13 , 100 n, 101 , 102 , 170 Krishnamurthy, Bh. 49 n, 57 n Krishnan, M. 103 , 173 Kshatriya 77 , 90 , 95 Kubera 93 n kumbha 161 kuṇḍalinī 40 Lakoff, G. 70 , 174 Lakshmi (Lakṣmī) 68 Lal Ded (Lalla) 44 n, 118 Langham, I. 118 n, 174 Latin America 146 Laugaksha (Laugākṣa) 43 n Leach, E. R. 28 , 173 Lingāyāt 9 Lucknow 51 n Lutyens, M. 13 , 174 Madan, T. N. 9 , 12 , 16 , 18 , 20 n, 23 , 27 , 29 , 32 , 56 , 63 n 120 n, 130 , 138 , 174 Madras 104 , 107 Madurai 145 Mahābhārata 20 n, 70 n, 88 , 92 n Mahābrahman 62 Maharashtra 131 , 154 Malamoud, C. 118 , 174 Malinowski, B. 119 , 174 Malraux, A. 142 , 175 Manes (pitṛ) 107 n, 123 , 136 , 136 n, 137 maṅgala 53 n, 64 f, 68 , 69 Manusmriti (Manusmṛtí) 2 , 41 n Marglin, F. A. 11 f, 12 n, 49 , 53 n, 63 , 66–9 , 175 Marriage 35 , 43 , 65 , 114 n, 129 , 139 Marriott, McKim 24 , 175 Māruti 84 Marx, Karl 6 , 15 , 162 , 163 , 175 Max Müller, F. 148 , 149 , 153 , 155 Mayne, J. D. 29 n, 175 mekhalā 35 , 139 Mill, J. S. 146 Miller, Barbara S. 169 , 175 Missionaries, Christian 145 Mithila 42 Modernization 6 , 15 , 144 , 160 mokṣa 33 , 43 n, 93 , 108 Monier-Williams, M. 57 , 77 , 175 Morals and Merit 72 , 73 Moral bond 27 Page 6 of 10

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Index Moral choice(s) 13 , 72 , 73 , 74 , 75 , 76 , 77 , 78 , 80 , 82 , 88 , 93 , 94 , 95 , 96 , 97 , 99 , 100 , 114 , 115 Moral dilemma 6 , 12 , 13 , 96 , 102 , 113 Moral equipoise 1 Moral perplexity 5 , 95 Morality 29 , 78 , 79 , 82 , 96 , 97 , 104 , 113 , 117 , 121 , 129 Morris, M. D. 164 , 175 Motherhood 26 f, 26 n, 27 , 27 n, 110 Mourning 119 Mukerji, D. P. 164 , 175 mukti 124 Murdoch, Iris 72 , 175 Muslims 22 , 23 , 24 , 32 , 33 , 39 n, 49 , 50 n, 83 , 121 n, 159 , 160 , 164 Myrdal, G. 163 , 175 Nānak 9 Nandy, Ashis 15 n, 152 , 159 , 175 Narayanan, V. 11 , 175 Nationalism 157 , 158 , 159 Nature-culture dichotomy 94 , 98 Nehru, Jawaharlal 15 , 160 , 167 , 170 , 175 nethar 35 , 139 Nicholas, R. W. 7 , 14 , 29 n, 118 Nichomachean Ethics 73 Nikhilananda, Swami 153 , 175 O'Flaherty, W. D. 92 n, 94 n, 117 , 175 Opler, M. E. 4 n, 175 Orissa 4 Pakistan 127 Pandey, R. B. 120 , 175 (p.183B) Panikkar, K. M. 149 , 153 , 176 Panjab 155 pāpa 36 , 79 , 81 , 94 , 98 , 103 paraloka 31 , 121 , 139 Parmānanda 37 Parry, J. P. 118 , 136 n, 176 Pelzel, J. C. 78 , 176 Pilgrimage 52 f piṇḍa 24 , 27 , 28 , 29 Plath, D.W.6, 176 Plato 148 Plenitude 3 , 34 Pocock, D. F. 61 n, 64 , 176 Pollution 43 , 48 Potter, K. 100 , 176 prakṛti 70 , 80 , 99 n pralaya 127 f Prārthanā Samāj 154 Prayag 52 , 161 prāyaścitta 33 , 103 Page 7 of 10

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Index Prestations 27 preta 136 preyas 13 , 101–17 Prometheus 6 Property 28 pūjā 36 , 44 , 52 puṇya 79 , 94 , 98 Purāṇa 70 n, 136 n; Garuḍa 138 ; Viṣṇu 143 , 143 n Puri 66 , 68 , 69 Purity (śuddha) 1 , 3 , 6 , 11 , 12 , 31 , 48–71 puruṣārtha 30 , 33 , 97 Puṣṭi mārga 9 Putnam, H. 75 , 176 Quetta 127 Radhakrishnan, S. 37 n, 93 , 93 n, 165 , 170 , 176 Ragnya (Rājña) 27 Rajagopalachari, C. 93 n, 176 Rajput 122 n Rāma 56 Ramacharitmanas (Rāmacaritamànasa) 20 n, 140 Ramakrishna, Sri, 151 , 153 Ramakrishna Mission 155 Ramanna, Raja 165 n Rāmānuja 38 n Ramanujan, A. K. 76 , 82 , 83 n, 87 , 99 n, 103 n, 111 n Ranade, Mahadev Govind 154 Rashtriya Swayam Sevak Sangh 159 Rāvaṇa 56 Rāzdān, Krishna 17 , 169 Reeves, P. D. 147 , 176 Renaissance, Hindu 149–55 Renouncer 2 , 7 , 10 , 12 , 17 . Also see sannyāsī Renunciation 1 , 1 n, 10 , 12 , 17 , 37 Also see sonnyāsa, virakti Reynolds, H. B. 64 n, 176 Rituals 14 , 34 , 39 , 139 . Also see saṁskàra Roy, Rammohan 150 , 154 , 156 śakti, śàkta 39 f, 66 śālagràma 26 , 135 , 138 Samskara 76 , 82–8 , 96 , 98 , 99 saṁskāra 14 , 34 , 35 , 36 , 135 , 136 n saṁskṛti 80 , 98 Sanderson, A. 47 , 176 śaṅkà 32 , 33 , 61 sannyāsa 1 , 2 , 10 . Also see Renunciation sannyāsī 2 , 41 , 62 , 80 . Also see Renouncer śāpa 36 Saran.A. K. 161 , 164 , 176 Page 8 of 10

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Index Sarasvati, Dayananda I54f Saraswati, B. 58 n śarīra 31 , 140 Schneider, D. W. 97 , 176 Schutz, A. 18 , 19 n, 20 n, 29 , 177 Schweitzer, A. 93 Science and technology 165 , 167 Secularism, secularization 3 , 15 , 160 f, 164 Sen, Keshab Chandra 151 , 152 , 154 Shah, K. J. 86 n Shaivism 21 , 38 n, 40 , 125 , 141 Shaktism 40 Shakuntala ((Śakuntalā) 147 Shankari, U. 103 n, 115 n Sharika (Śārikā) 27 Shiva (Śiva) 21 , 40 , 94 n, 138 (p.184B) Shukracharya (Śukrācārya) 89 , 92 Siddhartha 112 Sicgel, L. 13 , 177 Sikhs, Sikhism 9 , 22 , 161 , 164 Singer, M. 163 , 177 Sins of Appu's Mother, The 103–17 Sītā 56 Smith, Adam 146 Smith D. E. 157 , 161 , 177 Spencer, Herbert 154 śrāddha 28 , 31 , 36 , 44 , 136 , 139 śreyas 14 , 102 , 115 , 116 Srinivas, M. N. 4 , 48 , 63 , 64 , 64 n, 119 , 177 Stevenson, S. 120 , 177 Suffering 14 , 101 Sufism 164 Tagore, Debendranath 150 , 151 Tagore, Rabindranath 17 , 159 , 169 , 177 Tamilnadu 4 , 49 n tapa, tapas, tapasyā 38 , 76 . Also see Asceticism tarpaṇa, treś 28 , 35 , 136 Themes 4 , 4 n Thomas, the Apostle 146 Tilak, Bal Gangadhar 157 Transcendence 88 , 96 , 98 Trevelyan, C. 147 , 148 Tulasidāsa 140 Tyabji, B. 156 Upanishad (Upaniṣad) 14 , 70 n, 119 n; Brihadaranyaka (Bṛhadāraṇyaka) 14 ; Isha (Iṡa) 122 ; Kaivalya 137 ; Kaṭha 46 , 101 , 119 , 169 , 170 Page 9 of 10

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Index Upanishadic philosophy 82 n, 140 Utrassū-Umānagrī 20 n, 23 n, 128 , 132 , 134 Uttar Pradesh 4 , 49 n, 52 , 57 n, 58 , 62 , 62 n Vaishnavism 38 n, 141 Vallabha 9 Vande Mātaram 156 Varma, Bhagvaticharan 76 , 177 Vas, L. S. R. 170 , 177 Vastoshpati (Vàstoṣpati) 139 Veda 70 n, 105 , 106 , 109 , 110 ; Rig (Ṛg) 44 n, 59 n, 139 , 148 , 169 ; Sāma 169 ; Yajur 169 Vedanta 153 Vedic knowledge, scholar 2 , 105 vicāra 33 Vijńāneśvara 29 n virakti, 10 , 37 , 41 f Vishnu (Viṣṇu) 26 , 51 , 68 n, 135 , 138 Vivekananda 152 , 153 , 154 Wadley, S. 167 , 176 , 177 Weber, Max 8 , 19 , 143 , 162 , 163 , 177 Western philosophy 97 , 99 n Wittgenstein, Ludwig 96 n, 177 Wollheim, R. 13 n, 177 Yayāti 76 , 88–93 , 95 , 98 Yudhishthira (Yudhiṣṭhira) 114 n Zaehner, R. C. 144 , 177 zāt 24 f, 45 Ziegenbalg, B. 146

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household *

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * T. N. Madan

The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction … … for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain-light of our day, Are yet a master-light of all our seeing … WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, THE IMMORTALITY ODE. Home is where one starts from. As we grow older, The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated … T.S. ELIOT, ‘EAST COKER’, FOUR QUARTETS

This essay is a dialogic narrative: the partners in the dialogue are a child between the ages of about five and 11 and his older self, a man in his mid-70s. The man remembers the engagements, joys, and fears of the child, but it can hardly be pure recollection; he chips in ever so readily with commentary. But, then, isn't memory just that, a dialogue between the past and the present, a stream of consciousness?

Things Seen and Heard Early childhood surely is made up as much of what is imagined as it is of what actually happens. There was that late winter afternoon, everything so quiet in the house, siesta time for my (p.24) mother and an outing for the servants, with my father and brother respectively at work and in school. My two sisters must have been around, but they were not in the same room with me. Suddenly, the calm of silence was broken by the unexpected braying of a donkey, perhaps a Page 1 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * pack animal carrying a load or just a loafer. Although uncommon, donkeys were not unseen in our mohalla. I looked out of the ground floor living room window, across the courtyard and garden in front of our house and the boundary wall, in the direction of the raucous noise. I did not see the animal—it would have had to be on a housetop or airborne for me to see it. What I saw was the up-and-down movement of the top ends of two wooden pestles. These, I knew, were used for husking paddy in large wooden or stone mortars; hired labourers did this for us in a side lane in our courtyard. Obviously, the huskers were at work in the compound of a Muslim household across the street (1 could see the modest house). Synchronising with the peals of braying, one pestle went up as the other came down, in rhythmic coordination. My imagination—I was perhaps in my fourth or fifth year—erased the donkey and the huskers (they would have been women, for men did not engage in such manual work in their own homes), and the mortar too, from the unseen scene, and merged the pattern of synchronized sound and sight into one magical moment of braying pestles! This, then, is one of my earliest childhood memories in a Kashmiri Pandit home in the city of Srinagar, some 70 years ago. Ours was a mixed neighbourhood in the heart of the city where Muslim and Hindu homes stood cheek by jowl. The Muslims outnumbered the Hindus, but the latter were no mean presence in Malik Angan, a locality with a fairly long history where important persons, including governors and poets, had once lived. The house nearest to ours was that of a family of maulvis, the head of which, Ali Peer Sab, led the Friday namaz at the neighbourhood mosque, and wrote talismans for the needy. He was also an akhund, teacher of the Qur'an and, of course, the Arabic alphabet. About a dozen or more young boys and girls would gather in the workroom every forenoon to be taught. Seated cross-legged on the mat-covered floor, they would memorize the scripture, loudly reading from copies of the holy book usually resting on their laps. Seated like them, but with a bolster (p.25) to lean back on, a low desk in front of him and a ruler in his hand to maintain order, Ali Sab often led the loud reading, as they repeated the words of the scripture after him. I could hear it all in my home. Thus it was that I could recite some verses of the Fatiha, the opening chapter of the Qur'an, a couple of years before I learnt the Gayatri mantra. And so, bismillah ul rahman ul rahim (in the name of the merciful and beneficent God) … Children were not the only visitors to Ali Sab's home: periodically, adults too came there by invitation for the Sufi practice of zikr (remembrance) through the repetition of the name of the founding pir of an order, in this case Sayyid Abdul Qadir Jilani, known among Kashmiri Muslims as Dastgir Sab. The ritual recitation lasted a couple of hours and was followed by kahva (sweet black tea) and varieties of baker's bread. I could hear and see all this from my own home.

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * Religious devotion was an important part of my awakening to social consciousness in early childhood. Kashmiri Hindus, widely known as Pandits, are Saraswat Brahmins. They follow the smartha mode of worship, which is believed to have been instituted by the Adi Shankaracharya. The puja involves the adoration of, and making floral and food offerings to five deities (Ganesha, Surya, Vishnu, Shiva, and Shakti). The daily morning puja may be occasionally supplemented by a havan, fire ritual. Traditionally, every Pandit home had a puja room on the second storey, and some also had a mud-plastered brick platform on the top (third or fourth) storey for havan. The puja room, thokur kuth, right in the middle between two sittingsleeping rooms, was considered the sacred centre of the house. It was ritually purer than the kitchen where meat could be cooked; food offerings in the puja room were strictly vegetarian, usually milk and dry fruit. The puja room was called thokur kuth even if no puja was performed there, as every family did not do so. In our house, my father and grandfather had established the practice of daily puja. As a child, I would watch Father at his three-hour long morning devotions (my grandfather had died before I was born). Looking in quietly from behind the door curtain, I was fascinated by the flowers, the ghee lamps, the incense, and the deep silence, for Father did his recitations silently. (p.26) The havans, performed at the beginning of summer on my elder brother's birthday and at the end of it on the occasion of Krishna Janmashtami, were grand 15-hour-long events, culminating in a feast for the family and priests. The presence of many priests sitting around the fire altar, loudly chanting mantras, while much activity was noticeable in the kitchen and elsewhere in the house, produced an atmosphere of solemnity combined with festivity. Sometimes, I would excitedly join the priests in saying ‘svaha’ (hail!) at the end of each offering as a thousand names of the deity were called one by one. In short, I remember a childhood suffused with religious performances at home and in the neighbourhood.

A Death, A Birth, and A Wedding Among my other early childhood memories, a death and a birth during my fifth year, and a wedding 18 months later, stand out Ours was a small family: Father, Mother, elder brother, two elder sisters and myself. Besides, there was a rather domineering elder, an adoptive son of my paternal grandmother, older than my father by about 10 years. He had virtually drifted into our house during a serious illness of my father, a teenager at that time, whom he had come to know during their clandestine visits to a shop near the school where they would go to smoke! He had been a concerned, courteous, and helpful visitor. After my father's recovery, my grandmother had gendy asked about his circumstances and found out that he came from a distinguished Pandit family, but was a school dropout and lived in mortal fear of his stepmother. Grandmother believed his tale of woe and told him that she would be happy to have him permanently in her home as a Page 3 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * second son. He readily accepted her invitation. There was no formal adoption ceremony and he retained his own family name. Gradually, he assumed the role of elder brother to my father, and ran the household for nearly thirty years. He never married. We called him Bub, Father. I have rather vague memories of Bub, but remember the day he died of complications arising from diabetes. I remember the days preceding his death, marked by daily visits by a paramedic, who dressed a festering carbuncle on his back. And then, one late forenoon, I found my mother crying; my father had come (p.27) downstairs from his puja room and was sitting solemn-faced by the side of Bub's body stretched on a mattress on the floor. Soon the room began to fill with people, neighbours and others. I was not sure why, but obviously something bad had happened. Shortly afterwards, Mother called me and the sister closer to me in age and told us that we would be taken to her paternal home to see a new baby. A servant escorted us there: it was only a 15-minute walk. The baby was a daughter recently born to Mother's younger sister. I had never before seen a baby so small and from so close, and yet I did not feel interested, except briefly, and wanted to return home. We were taken back late in the afternoon. Some outsiders were still in our house, but Bub was not there and everybody seemed unusually quiet. I knew something had changed but do not remember if I asked what it was and, if I did, whether I got any clear responses to my queries. In the days and months following these events, many post-mortuary rituals were performed for the peace of the dead man's soul by my elder brother under the direction of Father and the priests. These were first conducted in a neighbourhood Shiva temple because it would have been inauspicious to do so at home: Bub was not a member of our patrilineage. Subsequently, a major ritual to render annual food offerings (shradh) unnecessary was performed in the township of Mattan, some 40 miles south-east of Srinagar, which was the preferred place for such rituals among the Pandits. It was comparable in this respect to places like Hardwar and Gaya. I was also taken to Mattan with the others including family members, priests, cooks, and sundry helpers. It was my first experience of travelling out of Srinagar by bus and sleeping in a small tent. The tents were pitched near a stream, which was considered sacred and would be the site of the rituals. Unlike the large, muddy Jhelum near our home in Srinagar, the Chaka was a small, clear stream which flowed gently. We washed our faces, hands, and feet at it. I was fascinated by it as well as by the nearby meadows where cattle and horses browsed lazily, a sight that was wholly new to me and very pleasing. Fifteen months later, not long after my sixth birthday, the wedding of the older of my two sisters, aged 15, was performed with much show and ceremony. Page 4 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * Preparations began several months (p.28) before the main ceremonies, with the frequent visits to our home of the family goldsmiths who were Muslims, pashmina merchants who also were Muslims, and itinerant non-Kashmiri vendors of Benaras silk sarees. Then provisions of various kinds, including grains and spices, arrived in large quantities. For processing these, additional domestic help (including paddy huskers) was arranged, and women relatives too arrived. Gradually, our house with its many bedrooms, storerooms, and outhouses was filling up. Of these relatives, the one I came to adore was an old woman, my grandfather's sister. She had been married into a village (for which she bore a lifelong grudge), and told us many stories about village life—its streams, open spaces, animals, etc.,—and also regaled us with folktales. My favourite tale was about the tragedy of a mouse. She was asked by her husband to make khichree she made it so well that, morsel by morsel, she ate it all up. Home came the mouse, mouth salivating, to find his little wife resting. He looked everywhere in the kitchen she asked him to look-in the cooking pot, the frying pan, the mortar and even under the small pestle used for pounding spices—but found nothing. In anger, he threw the pestle at her and her ear lobe fell off. Bleeding, the detached piece of flesh in hand, she went crying to the tailor and asked him to stitch her ear whole. The tailor asked her to get him some thread from the thread-maker woman, who sent her to the cotton-carder man. And thus she went from one artisan to another, and even to the cotton tree that would yield the cotton and the bullock that would plough the field for the tree to flower. Finally, she reached a mound asking it for some earth, which she would take to the potter, who would make her a charcoal brazier and, step by step, back to the blacksmith who would provide her with a sickle with which she would cut some grass from a ridge to feed the bullock, and thus onward. With thread in her hand she would go to the tailor who would repair her ear. Then she would wear her gold earrings and leave her cruel husband to go back to her parental home. Alas, that was not to be. Giving of itself to her, the earth mound fell over her and crushed her to death. The story, told in a sing-song style, ended with a song of lamentation by the bereaved mouse. It made me sad but I wanted to hear it again and again, knowing all along that it was just a tale. (p.29) The wedding was now just days away, and the bustle built up. A long hearth was put up in the courtyard, as the kitchens inside were inadequate for large-scale, round-the-clock cooking. In the evenings, after the last meal, the women of the enlarged household were joined by neighbours for collective singing of devotional, merry-making, and romantic songs. The singing was accompanied by the beating of clay-jar with leather-top drums (called tumbakh nar), and clay and brass vessels, to build up a fast rhythm. 1 sat at these rather noisy gatherings, but would soon fall asleep right there on the floor. On the Page 5 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * manzirath, ‘henna night’, when my sister's hands and feet were dyed ceremonially, a professional male singer arrived with a harmonium and sang songs late into the night, with the women acting as a chorus. The barat came in the forenoon. A large crowd comprising visitors and hosts filled the house. Everything seemed utterly chaotic to me, and it was cold (it was November). The rituals consumed several hours. My sister sat there, richly dressed, wearing a lot of gold ornaments. The bridegroom was a solemn-faced young man, dressed in achkan, churidar, and turban; he looked older to me than he actually was—17. One memory connected with these events stands out. The small garden in front of our house, beyond the stone-paved courtyard, had been dug up and levelled, and a shamiana put up there, layers of carpets or durries on straw mats spread out, to feed family members and guests, who would sit in neat rows crosslegged, if men, or knees folded inwards, if women. In the middle of the garden was a row of yellow chrysanthemums in, full bloom. These had been spared: Father loved the flowers and used them in his puja. The flowers looked so very beautiful and symbolized for me, perhaps more than anything else, the joyous spirit of the occasion. The yellow chrysanthemum has ever since remained my favourite flower. A brother-in-law, a new person, had arrived in the family. He even talked with my second sister and me. But the big sister went away with him and his parents to live in another part of the city, a couple of miles away. She made frequent visits home, and I found her a changed person. She talked with my parents almost as an equal, offering opinions on all manner of things. Her parents-in-law gifted her a blue topcoat with a fur collar and fur-trimmed sleeves. She looked very special in it, I thought. My (p.30) elder brother (a teenager) used to collect pictures of Hindi film stars, and had a colour picture of Shanta Hublikar, a Bombay actress. I liked to imagine that the actress in the picture and my sister in her splendid coat were one and the same person. Maybe there was some resemblance of looks, but I do not really remember.

The Family Circle My sister's departure did not particularly affect me; I have no sharp memories of my association with her, except of her occasionally feeding me. For me, the significant, intimate circle comprised my father, mother, brother, and second sister. Mother was my father's second wife and much younger than him. His first had died without leaving behind any children. Father was a remote figure. He had a set routine: he would wake up late (he had sleep problems), and sit apart to smoke the hookah and glance at the local Urdu newspaper until the barber arrived to shave him. He would then bathe and head straight for the puja room. Unless ill and bed-ridden, he never missed the morning devotions, performed alone, away from the rest of the family. The Page 6 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * midday meal was taken together, but he sat apart from us, although in the same living room. Some conversation took place during meals, particularly in the smaller, winter living room. Sometimes he would call me to him and give me an additional piece of meat from his thali as an expression of affection. Father would leave home in the early afternoon to attend to his business and property affairs and fulfil his social engagements. A businessman and real estate owner, he was, in the 1940s, one of the pioneers in the field of private school and collegiate education as well as the consumer co-operative movement in Srinagar. In the evenings, some of his friends would show up and they would have free floating conversations over cups of tea, passing the hookah around. Sometimes they would read together, particularly Sanskrit texts as one of his friends was a scholar of the language. Father read on his own too, mostly English books, fiction and non-fiction. I have a clear memory of Jawaharlal Nehru's Autobiography arriving by post (in 1937?), and Father reading it with deep interest. (p.31) When King George V died (in 1936), Father and his friends talked a lot about it. He was a frank Anglophile and a loyalist, (having in his younger days as a civil servant worked with a number of British engineers, some of whom had become his friends). On the day of the burial, a 31-gun salute was fired from the city fort sometime in the afternoon. My second sister and I dug up a hole in the garden and ‘buried’ a potsherd representing for us the emperor's body! Later, there was much talk revolving around the abdication by Edward VIII. Mrs Simpson's photos appearing in newspapers were carefully scrutinized by the adults. The verdict, we children overheard, was that she was hardly beautiful and a divorcee to boot; certainly not one for whom to give up the throne! Under such circumstances, there was little time for intimacies between Father and me. Occasionally, he would use some term of endearment while talking with me. I also remember his concern for us when my sister or I fell ill, which unfortunately happened quite often. We were, of course, well cared for in terms of food, clothing, and other necessities. But there were hardly any toys or children's books or magazines, and no indulgences of any kind beyond an occasional outing. Pranks and misdemeanours elicited instant reprimands. My sister and I have no memories of being fondled by him. He was already in his 40s when we were born. Also, Pandit fathers generally, perhaps, did not do such things. They were care providers and disciplinarians; emotional attachments remained unexpressed. The aloofness was suddenly and temporarily abandoned in mid-winter, during the fortnight of Shiva Ratri (Herath), the single most important, yearly, ceremonial event among the Pandits. While the learned expound the significance of Shiva Ratri in terms of the conjoining of the abstract principles of Shiva and Shakti, matter and spiritual energy, lay Pandits simply consider it as the Page 7 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * commemoration of the marriage of Shiva and Parvati. Midway through the fortnight, my sister and I would wake up to find small cloth bagfuls of tiny cowrie shells (maybe about 50 of them in each bag) in our pheran (overall garment) pockets. It was time to play gambling games, using the cowries as stakes. Older siblings and others, including Mother, and sometimes Father also, joined in. Distances disappeared as all players were equals. Charges of cheating would fly to and fro (p.32) and there was much grumbling as also laughter, the sorrow of losing, and the joy of winning. And then, alas, too soon the cowrie bags disappeared as mysteriously as they had appeared, a few days after the end of the festival. On the 14th day, called ‘Greetings’ (Salam), many well wishers came visiting, some of them mendicants or itinerant, Muslim folk musicians (with their oboelike surnais and drums; one man had an accordion), who were given small sums of money. Father gave us, my sister and me, a silver rupee coin each, which we dutifully deposited with Mother. She would show us the pile of rupees accumulated over the years. The gift came twice a year, on Shiva Ratri and the New Year Day (Navreh). How rich we felt! Mother was often accused by my siblings of partiality towards me. My brother would taunt her: ‘Indulge him, he is your late/ last child (pot chhav)!’ I understand I was weaned rather late, at about three, but have no clear memory of the efforts that had to be made. I do remember some acts of discrimination between my sister and me. I always received a better cut of meat to eat than her, presumably because she was a girl. When we got into trouble together, often it was she who was blamed, perhaps because she was older than me. Mother was virtually in sole charge of our upbringing—our personal hygiene, changing of clothes, feeding, etc. —assisted at times by our elder sister. I felt very attached to my mother as she gave me in abundance that personal intimacy, through many physical and verbal acts of endearment, that Father never provided. Sometimes she would wake me up very early, because I would have asked her to do so, and take me with her on a two-hour circumambulation of the holy hillock of Hari Parbat, in the north of the city, about a mile's walk from our home. The Pandits worshipped Sharika, their favourite, and, indeed, founding goddess at me hillock, which was supposed to be home to all gods and goddesses and rishis too. Even Muslims had built a shrine to the memory of the Sufi saint, Mukhdoom Sab, on its southern slope, and the Sikhs, a gurdwara nearby at the foot of the hill. Mother and I would leave home before daybreak, the clear sky studded with stars and, on moonlit nights, overflowing with brightness. Some neighbourhood women would join her. I felt special for being an early riser and doing what adults did. I felt richly rewarded for such acts of bonding gifted to me.

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * (p.33) Mother was always busy running the affairs of the household. Her participatory or supervisory roles extended from the house to the outhouses, which included a cowshed and storehouses of various kinds. She ruled the kitchens, milked the cows when necessary, and churned the milk in large brass vessels. Working in the garden, participating in domestic rituals, and entertaining visitors, all formed part of her usual routine. She attended to every single comfort of our father, even laying out his clothes for him and keeping his papers in order. Mother never seemed to tire. When I was 10, she had a serious illness, and had to be hospitalized for a number of days. Both my sister and I were deeply fearful of losing her, but she came back home and, before long, was as active as ever. On one occasion, well before this threatening illness, she cut her thumb while dressing vegetables. I felt very concerned. Sensing my fear, Father decided to play the tease and told me that, since she had become ‘useless’, he would give her away to a gosoni, a mendicant. For days I remained very apprehensive, trying to stay close to her at all times, unable to sleep at night until she came to the bedroom we shared, and leaving my bed early in the morning to run down into the living room to make sure that she was still there. If Mother favoured me, my brother, 10 years older than me, favoured his kid sister. He would often scold me for mischief or, as I believed, just for the fun of it, and sometimes even hit me. I felt powerless and frustrated. Following one such encounter—I think I was six or seven—I decided to retaliate. While he was in the bathroom, I removed his wristwatch and kept it in my cowrie shell bag. Obviously it was around Herath time. The loss was discovered and all search proved fruitless. Father scolded Brother for carelessness, concluding he had lost it at school. Servants, too, must have come under suspicion. The days rolled by. And then there was another encounter over something. Crying copiously, I said to my brother: ‘That is why I stole your watch!’ Silence momentarily fell over the living room. Pointing an angry finger at Mother, he shouted, ‘Did you hear that?’ She calmly asked me, ‘Where is it?’ ‘In my cowrie shell bag,’ I said defiantly. This had been, of course, put away in the usual manner. Brother was obviously privy to the hiding place and he promptly (p.34) went upstairs to check. Soon he was back with us, angry, the watch in hand, its glass face broken and its hands damaged. I don't remember the punishment; it must have been mild. Not that all there was between Brother and me was tension. He used to tell me stories. I remember well the stories of Nala and Damayanti and Raja Harishchandra, which were in his high school textbooks. He also used to collect Kashmiri song books and recite poems from them to my sister and me. There were various children's games too that he played with us. And he was always

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * there in all our outings—to the Mughal gardens, to the watermills for the grinding of spices, or to the exhibition grounds for all the tamasha there. Of my siblings, it was my second sister, Kamala, with whom I really shared my childhood. I spent more time with her than with anyone else. Two and a half years older, she cared for me but also bullied me at times. We were inseparable; we bathed, ate, and played together and slept in the same bedroom. Together, we set up an imitation puja in a room not much used, and stole ghee, cotton for wicks, and match sticks for making and lighting lamps (ratnadeep). We were into mischief together, laughed and fought in unison, and got reprimanded together. We also often fell ill together. Kamala was a daredevil and would run around the viewing tower atop our five-level house, unmindful of the danger of slipping down to sure death. I tried to do the same but my rooftop outings were very modest. These adventures ended when some anxious neighbours, who saw the happenings, came around to warn Mother. Ours was a state of total togetherness. There was no other child our age in the house or in the larger family. Sometimes the younger of our two maternal uncles, about two years older than Kamala, came visiting for a few hours. He was always upto some mischief. Occasionally, I would go across the street to the house of our Muslim milkman and watch with fascination his niece, a child my age (about eight or nine), wearing silver earrings and performing small domestic chores like washing dishes. We would talk together, but I do not remember about what. We never went visiting relatives except on formal occasions for meals. The restriction, 1 believed, was imposed by Father. This was more or less true also of our visits to our maternal (p.35) grandparents' home. Only once, I remember (I may have been about eight), I refused to return home when a servant came to fetch me. He was sent back but returned with the message that a jalsa (political gathering) was in progress near our home, with all the gas lamps, loudspeakers, and fireworks, but I held my ground. The transgression was forgiven perhaps because I had claimed to belong to my maternal grandparents' kani (top floor of a house), but the servant had misheard me as saying kanya (lineage) and reported accordingly. This had caused, I later learnt, much amusement. Staying at home had become such a habit that, occasionally, when asked to go out, I felt an acute feeling of wanting to be left alone, of loving my loneliness. Apart from family members, we had servants living in the house, including a cook and a driver. Then there were the part-timers, most notably the milkman, a Muslim, who also acted as water-carrier, ferrying pitcher loads of water from the courtyard taps up to the kitchen door, and then pouring it into storage vessels without stepping inside. Rehman brought fodder for the cows, helped milk them and to deliver calves, and rendered other minor services. He used to sing for me and my sister, joyous as well as mournful songs in his nasal voice, marking the Page 10 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * rhythm with his hands on a clay pitcher, and entertain us with mimicry. He treated our mother almost like his own, or so I thought. The cooks were Pandits from poor village families, seeking some additional income. They generally did not stay very long, one reason being that they considered Mother a demanding taskmaster. It was one of these cooks who let me into the secret of how babies are made and born. I was about eight or nine at that time. He introduced me to the physiology and vocabulary of reproduction about which I knew nothing. He asked me not to tell anybody what he had told me, instilling a combination of interest, disgust, and fear in me. Having mentioned the milkman and the cooks at the lower end of domestic services, I should also bring in the family priest at the upper end. Every Pandit family is tied to a family of priests on a hereditary basis. Our family priest (gor from guru) was an elderly, genial, grey-moustached person, and a regular visitor. Apart from helping my father perform a short, fortnightly, Vedic, fire ritual, the pakhyag, he arrived on all birthdays (with the yearly horoscope), death anniversaries, special events (most importantly (p.36) Shiva Ratri), and for special pujas such as the one performed during an eclipse. Without him no wedding could have been completed nor my brother's and my ritual initiation ceremonies. He was adept in the behavioural details of rituals (karmakanda) but not very knowledgeable about their meaning and significance. While he was rather scared of Father, he had amiable relations with Mother and all of us.

The Cycle of Seasons In my memories of childhood, the cycle of seasons occupies a significant place. It began with spring (March–April), which was really winter by another name, but blessed with the first blooms and blossoms. By May it would be early summer, and the yearly move from the lower two floors of our house, with their low ceilings and double sets of windows, to the upper two, having larger, brighter, and more airy rooms, would take place. Each set of rooms was complete in itself, with kitchens, stores, bedrooms, and living rooms. I always looked forward to this move as release from the captivity of winter. It created the space and opportunity to look at the ring of high and low mountains around Srinagar, and at all the numerous trees, including the majestic chinars (the Oriental plane tree), tall poplars, and reclusive willows, budding into foliage. As the trees donned their clothes, as it were, we children shed layers of them. There was also the opportunity to play outdoors. The big event that marked this time of the year was my brother's birthday, mentioned earlier. As summer grew warmer (June–July), there was greenery everywhere, including on hillsides, which changed colour during the day with the changing position of the sun in the sky: greens, blues, and browns could be seen in all their magnificence. Besides the perennial sparrows, mynahs, pigeons, crows and kites, swallows, hoopoes, bulbuls, parrots, kingfishers, and the occasional golden Page 11 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * orioles could also all be seen around our house; swallows and bulbuls even nested inside it. Hidden in the leafy branches of trees, some insects raised choruses of chatter in alternating patterns of crescendos of different pitches; this delighted me enormously. At dusk, crows and mynahs fought noisily for space in the trees in the compound of an adjacent (p.37) house. When I asked why this happened, I was often told it was their evening prayer! Summer exploded with the scents and colours of numerous varieties of flowers, and seasonal fruits and vegetables brightened our meal times. Summer was also the time for occasional outings to the Mughal gardens on the banks of the Dal lake (usually by tonga, but sometimes in light oar boats called shikaras) and to places of worship too. As the day temperatures climbed (into the high 80s of the Farenheit scale), humidity levels became unbearable, and Father's imported table fan was brought out. Its high speed produced a deep drone that fascinated me. Another smaller fan was also available, but it looked rather miserable to me, and it amused me too as it would not stay in one place! Incidentally, I never saw fans in any house other than ours. Janmashtami, Krishna's birthday (in August or September), signalled the end of summer. At midnight, a 21-gun salute was fired from the fort atop Hari Parbat as soon as the gunmen saw the moon rise, which was a few minutes before we did, so that the Maharaja and his family could break their fast before ordinary devotees could do so. As we watched from our northern, fourth floor balcony, fiery flashes lit up the sky and then the sound waves of the gunboom broke the silence of the night-covered city. At that moment, we children were told, the first cool breeze arrives to drive the summer away. In our home Janmashtami was another two-day event, like the one on my brother's birthday. Nine days later, the day before the new moon, the family priest brought protective charms made of holy dharba grass (Poa cynosurides), tied into a magical knot, to hang on the frame of the main entrance to the house, an annual ritual. And the same day was my birthday by the lunar calendar. It was observed quietly. Being amavasya, the last phase of the waning moon, no meat dishes could be cooked, and no havan was performed, unlike on Brother's birthday. It was on my eighth birthday, if I remember right, that I concluded that the day was being treated as a non-event, and complained about the slight to Mother. What made it unbearable, I told her, was that there was no silver thali like my brother's to eat from on my birthday! Considerable amusement accompanied the retelling of my complaint, and a silver thali with my name engraved on it arrived a few days (p.38) later, much to my gratification. My wife now has the platter, a memento of my childhood. By September end, autumn would begin to gently descend on the Valley of Kashmir. As roses gave way to chrysanthemums in our little garden, trees began to change colour, the chinars (Oriental Plane) turning purple, the poplars yellow. Page 12 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * And then came the falling of leaves. Winter clothing gradually made its reappearance. After a low-key celebration of Diwali (Deepamala) which only some families celebrated, preparations to move down to the winter rooms began, even as provisions, spices, firewood, dried tobacco leaves, and fodder were being obtained, processed, and stored. A great deal of activity all around marked this time of the year as I watched and happily helped, deriving a sense of participation. Soon, cold nights and frosts arrived. I would linger, watching the mountains and notice fresh snow on the higher peaks with a mixture of delight and dismay. These sights would soon be unavailable, for winter would find us confined to the lower two floors. Life went into slow motion as we went ‘downstairs’. A particular memory I have of these seasonal relocations is of two Dutch wall clocks, one installed in the large, summer, master bedroom, and the other in the smaller, winter, master bedroom. In the former, the tall, ornamental, wooden clock frame, with its flowers and a bird with spread wings on the top, matched the joyous atmosphere created by stained glass windows, white guchch (special limestone mixture) walls, and the carved flowers, fruits, and dragons on movable, walnut wood, separator panels and cupboard doors. The clock's musical chime was high pitched. The winter clock was inside a rather plain rectangular brown wooden case, and the walls of the room were oil painted bottle green. Together, the shut windows, the colour of me walls, and the bass ding dong of the clock made for, I thought, a rather gloomy atmosphere. Winter's arrival brought with it the ritual feeding of the Yaksha, imagined denizen of the deep woods. One moonless night, food was kept out for him in the courtyard, and we were told that the Yaksha would come to eat it and yet remain unseen. A few weeks later, a thali filled with cooked rice, fish, and meat was placed on the fourth floor for the gharadevata, protective deity of the house, to eat and bless the house and the family. Stories (p.39) of the sightings of the deity by family members and visitors made me anxious. I never wanted to see him. I was told he was a rather awe-inspiring, bearded old patriarch, and carried a staff in his hand. How I longed for summer! Winter offered happier diversions too, most of all the snowfalls. The person who saw the white, fluffy stuff before anyone else, when it first came down in the season, could demand a gift from the others, usually the gift of one's favourite dish. Mother, who was invariably the first person to wake up, woke me up too some years, I remember, so that I could pretend I had been the first to see the new snow (navsheen) and demand the conventional gift. Snowfall in Srinagar was never heavy, but children liked to believe it was. A ‘yard’ of snow, the adults assured us, was the height of a domestic cat's foreleg. Kamala and I tried to protect the smooth, white blanket of snow in our Page 13 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * courtyard, but callous adults were our foes, trampling it under their muddy shoes. We used to play snowball matches (‘fights’) and occasionally made snowmen with the help of the adults, using pieces of charcoal for eyes and a red chilly pepper for the protruding tongue. One of the two ground floor sitting rooms was often heated, using a bukhari, but my sister and I tried to stay away from it, because, once inside, we were not allowed to come out for fear of ‘exposure’. Seventy days of the winter (beginning late December), called the Chill, ended early in March. Around this time Shiva Ratri (Herath) was celebrated with enormous enthusiasm and religious fervour. It began with house cleaning, followed by visits between closely related families, exchanging of gifts, etc. Then came the cowrie shell games I have already described. And, finally, the pujas and the feasting. The last ritual fascinated me. A pitcher containing water and walnuts represented Shiva in the main puja on the 13th day of the fortnight of celebrations. Late in the evening on the 15th day (amavasya), the pitcher was carried to the nearby ghat by a servant accompanying my brother and the family priest. I was allowed to join in once I was considered old enough. The ritual consisted of pouring out the water into the river to the accompaniment of some mantras, and taking the walnuts back as prasad (consecrated food). When we reached home, we would find the (p.40) entrance barred. We had to knock on the door; someone from inside would ask who we were and what we had got with us; we would reply according to formula that we were good people and had brought food, money, children, horses, and cows with us, and the neighbourhood deity was our witness. The door would then be opened. I thought the whole charade great fun. Herath over, spring was never far away. Soon daisies sprouted from the soil in our garden, narcissi and hyacinths bloomed, and other flowering shrubs and plants burst into foliage. The birds found their voices again and we began to shed layers of clothes. The new year, Navreh, was celebrated around early April. The first picnics of the year usually took us to almond orchards near Hari Parbat in the north of the city to enjoy the blossoms, which I thought were rather colourless; in any case, it was never warm enough there, not even with all the cups of Kashmiri kahva (tea) and the savouries.

Vidya Arambh, Tutors, and Textbooks About six months after my older sister's wedding, there was another big celebration in the house. I was now in my seventh year, regarded as auspicious for the ritual initiation of boys. Investiture with a three-stranded neck cord (yagnyopavit) and a girdle (mekhla) symbolized the attainment of the ritual status of a dvija—twice-born person—and the assumption of certain responsibilities. The most important of these were the observance of the rules of Page 14 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * purity and pollution and the commencement of studies, vidya arambh. The ritual began in the evening and lasted a whole night and half a day, but I was allowed to get my sleep; Father and the priests did whatever had to be done. Late in the morning, I was brought centre stage, as it were, and felt very important to be the focus of all activity, which began with a tonsure followed by a ritual bath and culminated in the investiture. I was -given an ochre robe to wear and a piece of deerskin hung from my waistband. A staff in the left hand and a begging bowl in the right, I was told to ask for bhikhya (alms) from all those assembled for the event; the money thus collected was for the guru, the family priest. At some point in the ritual, he made me trace two or three letters of the Devanagri alphabet on a wooden board, covered by a thin layer of fine, brown earth (p.41) from a sacred site, with my right index finger, which he held with his own right hand. Next, he uttered the holy Gayatri mantra into my ear: ‘Om bhur bhuvah svah…’ (Om, creator of the earth and heavens, hallowed be thy name …) My vidya had begun. I am sure I have got the sequence of events mixed up and, of course, forgotten quite a few of them, but this is what I remember. A couple of days later, my brother's wedding was celebrated, but I was still euphoric about my new status, under a spell as it were, and have no clear memory of any particular events connected with it, unlike my recall of events connected with my sister's marriage. I do remember, however, that as the barāt was being assembled, somebody managed to steal my new, round, greencoloured (‘babu’) cap; I was disconsolate. At the time of his marriage, my brother was 17 and in the-last year of high school; his bride was all of 13! The marriage was settled by the two fathers, who were friends, and the mothers' wishes did not count for much. This was, of course, characteristic of the patriarchal ethos of Pandit families. I suspect mother was not in favour of this match for my brother. Within a few months, she found enough behavioural deficiencies in her daughter-in-law, and convinced Father of the same, to insist that she be sent back to her parental home to learn good manners. It was only six years later, after she had graduated from a college, that my brother's wife came back. By then I was no longer a child; this is why she does not feature in my childhood memories. Incidentally, this family drama revealed the importance of the back stage in Pandit households where men appear sans their patria potentatus. Apart from the initiation ceremony, the only childhood experience that made me feel I had an importance all my own was the outcome of a chance encounter in a shop between Father (I was with him) and an astrologer-palmist, Vidyadhar (in around 1940). Teasingly, Father asked him to read his palm. Aware of the latter's poor opinion of his professional abilities, Vidyadhar cleverly offered to read my palm. A photograph was promptly taken at a nearby studio. A few days later, Page 15 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * Vidyadhar came home with the reading, typed in English and framed along with my horoscope and the photograph of my palm. Most of the things he predicted have, of course, not come true; what is intriguing is that a few of them have or almost have. Thus, Vidyadhar wrote (p.42) that I would pursue an academic career. No one in our family had done this. He also predicted that I would ‘travel by air’. This was bizarre: no ordinary Kashmiri had ever been known to have flown. And he said I would ‘marry a foreigner’! Such a thing had happened only once in our community; one of Mother's cousins had married an Englishwoman in 1931. As it turned out, I married outside my community but not outside the country. None of these predictions really meant anything to me at that time. What did was to see my name in bold letters on the top with ‘esq.’ (esquire) written after ‘Madan’, like I had seen on envelopes addressed to Father. Obviously I was somebody, although only a boy! Going back to the initiation and wedding ceremonies, the fun and festivities soon ended, and a tutor, books, and notebooks arrived. It had been decided that Kamala and I were to begin our studies at home, perhaps because Father considered 10 years at school rather too long. Games and pranks were largely replaced by a couple of hours of daily coaching by the tutor, followed by hours of drudgery, completing assignments of re-reading the texts, memorizing the meanings of words, practising handwriting, and doing sums. The tutor was a stem, sharp-eyed, turbaned man (perhaps in his 30s), with a broken front tooth and a peevish pout which he employed as a kind of a punishing rod that one had to be on the look out for! His last name was Vugra (rice porridge; such family names are common among the Pandits) but he maintained it was Ugra, which he told us was a name of Shiva. It also means ‘terrible’ but he never told us this. Nor did we know the homophonous word ‘ogre’! He embodied for me all the fear of gods, ghosts, goblins, and human bandits (the notorious Khokas), that had already been drilled into me to make me behave. Endless hours of ‘homework’, it seemed to me, consumed the day. Kamala, older and smarter than me, was a quick learner, while I was rather dull and she was not always willing to help me. So, on several occasions, I turned to Mother, pleading that I be freed from the torture of studies. She fondly explained to me that I could not expect to be a grown up man without studying. My efforts to convince her of the fallaciousness of this argument by citing the examples of such obviously successful, although illiterate, adults as an old Pandit domestic helper who (p.43) lived with us, the well-loved milkman, and the driver failed. One afternoon I cried when Vugra's silent pout turned into a torrent of angry words. Promptly, he pinned a label on my shirt on which he had written, Treyi beni, Sister Triloki. Boys were not supposed to cry; I cried some more! Vugra taught us for three consecutive summers, while a less formidable man took over the responsibility during winters because Vugra went away to the warmer Jammu. He left me with a rare gift, the love of calligraphy. He taught us Page 16 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * to write Devanagri (Hindi) and Nastaliq (Urdu) scripts with a thick Zed nib, Roman with a fine Waverly, and numerals with a medium Relief (all brand names). Another tutor followed, and carried us through the next two years. He came with a big reputation for both his excellence as a tutor and his sternness as a taskmaster. But he was very gentle with us. Surprisingly, he too had a missing front tooth. There were two-hour long teaching sessions and ‘homework’, but no examinations. He left me with an interest in history, drawing for us maps of military engagements such as Alexander's crossing of the Jhelum and the battles of Arcot and Plassey. The Second World War had broken out and he talked to us about it, full of admiration for Hider's military genius (‘Oh, how he chewed up France in eight days!’). From the sidelines, Father and Brother provided inputs. Father transmitted to me his respect for and love of the English language, which he himself had acquired at a school run by English missionaries. He would make me translate short Kashmiri sentences into English, and draw my attention to the importance and charm of choice among synonyms. Occasionally, he would intone stanzas from Gray's Elegy (‘The curfew tolls the knell of parting day …’), which he considered a literary gem and remembered by heart. Hearing him do so somehow embarrassed me: it did not, perhaps, fit in with my image of him as a formal person. Brother, as I have already said, told us stories from his textbooks; he also helped us with arithmetic and kept an eye on our progress. And the walls of the house, with framed religious paintings by Kashmiri artistes, Ravi Varma oleographs, and other prints hanging on them, spoke to us, as it were, of the Epics and the Puranas. Pictures of the British royal family proclaimed Father's political stance. (p.44) After five years of home-based education, Father, Brother, and our current tutor decided that I was ready to go to school. Kamala was shifted to Hindi (language and literature) studies with a new tutor. (She finally landed in Lucknow university, some years later, for an MA in anthropology; I was a lecturer there, one of her teachers!) I had sorely missed going to school over the years. I would stand at the windows of our house and wistfully watch school children pass by our house on their way to or from school. Walking together, sometimes arm in arm, carrying books tucked in satchels, they would chatter and laugh and fight. They seemed to be so cheerful together. And now I too was to go to school at long last! I was readied and presented before the Inspector of Schools in his big office at the central secretariat. He looked formidable, and I was trembling in my shoes; my cheeks burned, my palms were sweaty, and my dry tongue stuttered as I tried to answer his questions. The interview may have lasted 15 minutes. My escort, the tutor, did most of the answering. The verdict was that I would be Page 17 of 20

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * allowed to sit for the eighth standard examination, in about a month's time, at the Government High School for boys. If I passed it, I would be granted admission. On the way back, the tutor rebuked me for what he considered an unsatisfactory performance, and even called me a ‘dunce’. Did it hurt! I was packed off to school a month before the dreaded examination to get a feel of classroom teaching/learning. The school, less than half a mile from home, comprised a cluster of buildings, all but one of which had once been the residential complex of an Afghan grandee, Dilawar Khan. A large playground, which was also used for the daily drill, lawns, flower beds, and a few chinars made it a cheerful place. I was, however, oppressed by the fear of the upcoming examination. As it turned out, I passed the test and was placed in Standard 9, the first year of high school, and also made monitor, at the age of 11 years and seven months. Most of the boys in class were two to three years older than me, some even older, but no one was younger. The entry into school ended my childhood, bringing with it many anticipated joys, but also unknown fears, including the examination blues. But that is another story.

(p.45) The Home We Lost My memories of childhood are intimately woven into the many images of the house I was born and brought up in, our home. All of the first 18 years of my life were lived there. For me it was not merely a stone-brick-wood structure, it was, in some sense, alive. I was always fearful of our house getting gutted in an accidental fire; such fires were not uncommon. During my childhood days, there were two incidents in our mohalla. There was a sense in which I knew the house more fully than anyone living in it. I knew its moods that changed with events and seasons. And I was very attached to it as, I am sure, were the other members of the family. A photograph of the house, even without the courtyard, garden, and outhouses, could never be taken because of the absence of a suitable vantage point in a crowded neighbourhood. An architect produced a picture of the house from partial photographs in 1996. By then we had lost the house. Constructed over several years, the house was still incomplete when my parents were married in 1920. Showing some influence of Iranian domestic architecture, it was a five-level building with four floors, a mezzanine, and a viewing tower on top. Large, seasoned, tarred deodar tree trunks and carefully chosen stone had gone into its foundations. Stone, fired brick, and high-quality timber were the main building materials. No cement, concrete, or steel was used. Powdered limestone mixed with powdered brick (chuna-surkhi) held together the stones and bricks. It was one of the tallest residential houses of the city, and would have qualified as a heritage building at the turn of the century.

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * The house had not required any major repairs until late 1991, when it had to be vacated and locked up following the outbreak of secessionist militancy in the Kashmir Valley two years earlier. At that time Mother, Brother, his wife, and some domestic staff were living there. Although we had all hoped that the vacation of the house would be temporary, we were never able to go back. The house was ruthlessly robbed, ripped, and vandalized by Kashmiri militants including, perhaps, some of our neighbours. They took away everything that could be moved; the rest was badly damaged. Eventually in 1999, after Brother's death in 1997, the family sold the house to a friendly Muslim family for a (p.46) nominal sum to enable them to occupy it legally. This was the only way to prevent its being further damaged. Among the many valuable things stolen, my severest sense of loss is about the books that filled several cupboards in various rooms of the house. These had fascinated me even before I could read any of them. One of the cupboards in the summer, master bedroom had beautifully carved walnut wood doors. It contained some of Father's books, including copies of the original (royal octavo size) edition of the first major work of Urdu prose, Sarshar's Fasana-i-Azad (Nawal Kishore Press, Lucknow); Tulsi Ramayana, the Persian Poet Hafiz's classic Divan; the Sanskrit classic Amar Kosha; first editions of Jawaharlal Nehru's Autobiography (The Bodley Head, London), The Discovery of India (Signet Press, Calcutta; jacket designed by Satyajit Ray), and India and the World, published in England; a rare work in English by Govinda Tirtha on Omar Khayyam's astronomical and poetical writings; English translations of Kalidasa's Shakuntala by William Jones and of the Bhagavad Gita and the Dhammapada by Edwin Arnold; collected plays of Shakespeare and Bernard Shaw, bound in coloured, calf leather; novels by Disraeli, Dumas, Scott, and others; many ‘romances’ by Marie Corelli, a popular English writer at the turn of the twentieth century. Also, there were some Sanskrit manuscripts and precious artefacts of cutglass and walnut wood. The robbers took them all away, including the doors of the cupboard and the embedded wall mirrors on either side. Other books and valuables in other rooms, along with those in my bedroom, which included an original, Royal Asiatic Society (London) edition of The Ancient Monuments of Kashmir by Ram Chandra Kak, a trained archaeologist (he was my Mother's first cousin and became Prime Minister of the state of Jammu and Kashmir in 1945) were also stolen. I wonder what the robbers’ reaction was when they found a copy of the Qur'an, respectfully placed inside a green cloth cover, in one of the cupboards. It surely did not stay their fell hand. All this thievery and vandalism in the name of azadi and Nizam-i-Mustafa (righteous rule)!

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Epilogue Growing up in a Kashmiri Hindu Household * Notes:

(*) I owe very warm thanks to Uma, my wife, Sudhir Chandra, and Malavika Karlekar for their patient and helpful reading of an earlier draft of this essay. It is reproduced here with minor changes from Remembered Childhood: Essays in Honour of Andre Beteilh, edited by Malavika Karlekar and Rudrangshu Mukherjee (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2010), where it appeared under the tide of ‘Between the Braying PesUes and The Examination Blues: The Childhood Years’.

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?*

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.47) Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* I. The Problem The purpose of this essay is to pose an important question: What should we mean by the Brahmanic gotra of contemporary times? It need hardly be added that the answer will have to be sought in careful fieldwork among Brahmans all over India. I became conscious of this problem in the course of fieldwork among the Brahmans of Kashmir (north India)1, and will present my findings among them in Part II below. My conclusions may serve as a hypothesis for studies elsewhere in India. The term gotra is used widely and often with varying connotations. Among scholars, Indologists, historians, sociologists, and anthropologists have discussed it. The anthropologists have had to reckon, not only with what Indologists and historians have written on the subject, but also with what the people under study aver and do. This makes for complications because the people themselves mean different things by the term gotra, reflecting caste and tribal differences and, perhaps, regional differences also. Moreover, Indologists, historians, and armchair sociologists have their own differences of viewpoint and interpretation. Some of them (for example, Brough 1953 and Basham 1954) concern themselves only with Brahmans since they regard the gotra as basically a Brahmanic institution. Others (for example, Prabhu 1954 and Kapadia 1958) write in general terms as if intercaste differences concerning the gotra are nonexistent or unimportant The anthropologist, on the other hand, has learned of the gotra, got or goti from non-Brahman castes (see Mayer 1960: 161). Hutton (1951: 121) writes of the gotra of a Muslim (p.48) caste; Roy (1915: 324, 351) and Elwin (1939: 172ff.) bring in the tribes. Writes Hutton (1951: 55):

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* … the gotras of the Brahman castes appear under the same name in other castes also, however humble, though many castes, of course, have many gotras the names of which are not common to the Brahmans and are often peculiar to themselves. Clearly the nomenclature of the gotra has often been borrowed from the Brahmanical system and has not by any means been applied to a similar exogamous unit by the borrower. Nowadays, the interdependence between Indology and the social anthropology of India is being rightly emphasized (see, for example, Dumont and Pocock 1957: 7). It is undoubtedly true that much of what the ethnographer observes among the Hindus, particularly the villagers, may not make sense unless seen in the light of the knowledge which Indology provides us. But it must be emphasized that there is a danger inherent in the use of this knowledge so long as the Indologists do not agree among themselves. The present discussion incidentally illustrates this point. A perusal of available literature reveals that a handicap of the fieldworker often has been his a priori notion about the gotra acquired from his reading of commentaries on Sanskrit texts and historico-sociological treatises. Many anthropologists when confronted with the gotra refer to the work of Indologists for definition. To take a single example, Harold Gould, who is a meticulous observer, adopts the viewpoint of S. V. Karandikar regarding the origin of gotra when he deals with it among the Brahmans of Sherupur (Uttar Pradesh, north India). He clearly distinguishes, as Karandikar does, between the Brahmanic gotra and the gotra among other castes, and observes (1960: 480): Gotras are agnatic kin groups and all Brahman gotras are supposed to be ultimately traceable to one of the great Rishis, or founders of schools of rituals. [A footnote to this point refers to Karandikar 1929.] Thus, they are in the ultimate conception sacrificial structures whose proper maintenance is an implicit condition of the maintenance of ritual purity itself. Unfortunately, however, Karandikar's view that the gotra were originally (to be more precise, at an intermediary stage) ritual colleges is criticized by Brough (1953: 3) and Ghurye (1955: 91). Such lack of unanimity among Indologists introduces an element of arbitrariness in the work of the anthropologist. Moreover, acquaintance with the work of these authorities may cloud one's perspective and even result in the ethnographer neglecting to make inquiries which he should. This means that the need for caution is (p.49) great if the losses are not to be prevented from canceling out the gains. In the light of the foregoing remarks, the problem at hand may be restated as follows: Is the Brahmanic gotra today in fact the kind of grouping it is generally supposed to be by the kinds of scholars referred to above? Page 2 of 19

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* The Brahmanic Gotra In Traditional Literature

‘Traditional literature’ is employed here to designate works by Indologists, historians, and armchair sociologists who have written of the gotra, not on the basis of first hand investigations among contemporary Brahman communities, but on the basis of ancient Sanskrit texts or later commentaries on them. I propose to discuss briefly the views of one Indologist (Brough), two historians (Basham and Kosambi), and two sociologists (Karandikar and Ghurye). It may be added that all these writers are Sanskrit scholars, but Ghurye has also engaged in fieldwork. However, his observations on the gotra are not based upon a first hand enquiry among present-day Brahmans. All five scholars are agreed that the gotra is an exogamous group of persons descended from a common ancestor. Although all of them do not specify it, the fact of patrilineality is implicit in their discussions. The exogamy of the Hindus has two sides—sept exogamy that prohibits marriage between members of the same sept or gotra who are all believed to have descended from one common ancestor … (Karandikar 1929: 2). The Brahmanical gotra, which persists with little modification to the present day, may be defined as an exogamous patrilineal sibship, whose members trace their descent back to a common ancestor (Brough 1953: 2). The original meaning of gotra is ‘a cowshed’ or ‘a herd of cows’; in the Athrava Veda, the word first appears with the meaning of ‘a clan,’ which it has retained with a special connotation (Basham 1954: 153). Since the time of the Sutras sept exogamy based on gotra, as designed in the scheme of Baudhayana linking up the actual families into ten large divisions on the basis of their spiritual affiliation, has been the rule among high castes (Ghurye 1955: 91).2 (p.50) There are innumerable gotras in seven main divisions of the brahmins, each of which must many outside its own gotra, which thus corresponds to the Latin gens.… In theory, each of the seven larger groups or any sub-group thereof betokens common descent from a rsi sage, whose name the gotra still bears (Kosambi 1956: 96–7). All these authors are in agreement in regarding the gotra as clan, sept, sib, or gens. Kosambi regards the gotra as analogous to the Latin gens. The grounds for the equation of the gotra with clan, sept, or sib are obviously descent from a common ancestor and exogamy. Are these two criteria sufficient for a group to be designated as clan? The answer to this question will have to be given in the negative.

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* There is another difficulty to which the statements quoted above give rise. Is the Brahmanic gotra today, in fact, what it was at the end of the Vedic period? Brough explicitly asserts that there has been but ‘little modification.’ A similar viewpoint is implicit in the works of the other authors. On the basis of fieldwork among the Brahmans of Kashmir, it seems that the answer to this second question also will have to be given in the negative. The origin of the gotra is of direct relevance in deciding whether the gotra may be called clan. Unfortunately, our authorities are not in agreement on this vital issue. Karandikar discusses the problem of origins at great length and concludes: … gotras originally did not signify anything more than family names or surnames, that pravaras were various schools of learning and rituals, that pravaras had no reference to descent, that pravaras had real meaning when Vedic rituals were living institutions, that gotras or family names were arranged on the basis of pravaras, and finally, this gana or group organization of gotras was in its early days a changeable factor, and the organization is not as ancient as it is popularly believed to be. The Brahmana period and the Sutra period are the two ends between which the organization was completed3 (Karandikar 1929: 90). He writes further: ‘… sept exogamy current among the Indo-Aryans … can be explained by the only possiblility that the Indro-Aryans grew exogamous in imitation of the non-Aryans who surrounded them’ (ibid.: 174). Karandikar's conclusions are strongly disputed by Brough who believes that ‘“the Hymn Families” of the Rigveda are the direct (p.51) ancestors of the main gotras in the Sutra accounts' (Brough 1953: xiii). He adds: ‘… his [Karandikar's] suggestion that the Brahmans transformed their ritual colleges into exogamous clans on the model of aboriginal exogamous societies with which they came in contact, would seem to go beyond all bounds of probability’ (ibid.: 3). Nor does Brough agree with Karandikar's view that originally the sacrifier had full freedom in the choice of his pravara (ibid.: 10–16). The discussion is, of course, based on the interpretation of various Sanskrit phrases and texts. Ghurye also finds it difficult to accept the view that the Brahmanic gotra were originally ritual colleges. He observes: ‘The standard gotras as analysed or fixed by Baudhayana might or might not have been all family names of proved biological descent. But clearly they were not all names of schools of religious lore or practice’ (Ghurye 1955: 74). Basham and Kosambi have their own views about the origins of the gotra. The former writer believes that the gotra may well be a survival of Indo-European origin. He writes: ‘Though the gotras perhaps evolved from local units within the Page 4 of 19

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* Aryan tribe they had quite lost their character by historical times, and brahmans from the farthest parts of India and of different caste groups [sic] might have the same gotra’ (Basham 1954: 154). Kosambi traces the Vedic Brahmans to ‘interaction between the Aryan ‘priesthood and the ritually superior priesthood of the Indus culture’ (Kosambi 1956: 96), and maintains that: ʻThe old vedic custom of adopting the brahmin into the Aryan tribe meant the creation of a new gotra, usually the same as that of the tribal chief at whose sacrifices the brahmin officiated (ibid.: 231; see also Kosambi 1950 quoted by Brough). Brough (1953: xiv–xv) argues that this view is an improbable one, and tries to show that it raises more questions than it answers. Kosambi (1956: 76–97) also refers to the gotra as a joint property-owning group in early Vedic times, and, therefore, regards the joint family as an ensuing group in later times.4 We are not in a position to choose between the various viewpoints presented in traditional works. Not only a lack of knowledge of Sanskrit, but also the anthropologist's proverbial lack of interest in speculation and conjectural history preclude us from undertaking (p.52) such a task. I drew attention to these traditional works to point out the dangers and difficulties which lie in the way of an anthropologist who seeks to interpret his field data in the light of the conclusions contained in any one or several of them. Where there is agreement there are assumptions, the nature of and the evidence for which are not clearly brought out. And where there is disagreement we are hardly in any position to decide and choose. The Brahamanic Gotra In Anthropological Literature

We may now consider some examples of the use of the term gotra, in connection with Brahman kinship, by anthropologists who have carried out field investigations in various parts of India. Karve writes with considerable authority on this subject since she has the advantage of both Sanskrit scholarship and firsthand field studies. She traces the history of the word gotra in much the same way as Karandikar does, and concludes: … among the ancient Aryans the rule of marriage was that one could marry a person who was not a near relation on the father's and mother's side…. The Brahmins starting from the same marriage regulations established in the end truly exogamous patri-clans independent of the locality in which they lived. These are called Gotras (1953: 65). Coming to present day usage, she observes: Among the Brahmins [of north India], who possess Gotras in the old Brahmanic sense, a man marries outside his own Gotra and also that of his mother's. Just as the taboo on the father's kin embraces the patri-clan so

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* the taboo on the mother's kin embraces the whole of the matri-clan (ibid.: 117). Pointing out the differences between the Brahmans of the south and the north, Karve says that although the south Indian Brahmans contract various types of preferential marriages between kin, and thus do not adhere to the bilateral sapinda rule (see p. 56 below for explanation) of the north Indian Brahmans, they do not marry within the gotra (ibid.: 63, 187–93). Srinivas (1942: 35–7) also makes similar observations about the Kannada Brahmans of Mysore (south India). He does not, however, refer to the gotra as clan, nor indeed does he offer any other comments on its nature as a group among the Brahmans. However, Gough (1956: 829), writing about the Brahmans of Tanjore, refers to the existence of ‘dispersed exogamous patrilineal clans’ called gotras. (p.53) Both Karve and Srinivas explicitly distinguish between Brahman and non-Brahman castes in these matters. Hutton, with his wide knowledge of the entire subcontinent, goes even farther. After having pointed out the Brahmanic origins of the gotra, and intercaste differences regarding it, he concludes: The gotra then, though normally the exogamous group within the endogamous caste or subcaste, is very far from being a stable institution, even among Brahman castes themselves, and the only safe generalization that can be made is that the endogamous caste is subdivided into exogamous groups, usually spoken of as gotra or got, and theoretically derived from the gotrakara rishis of early vedic times or from the gotra of the Brahman priest who has ministered to a non-Brahman caste.… (Hutton 1951: 57–8). Hutton also points our that the gotra among the Brahmans of Bihar is not always an exogamous unit. He cites the examples of the Sakaldwipi Brahmans there and the Saraswat Brahmans of Punjab among whom gotra exogamy is not obligatory (ibid.: 56). He hovers between calling the gotra a group ‘like the clan’ and ‘in fact a clan’ (ibid.: 55). His uncertainty is also reflected by his references to the gotra as both a group as well as an institution in the same sentence (quoted above). He is unable to clearly state whether the gotra is a structural or a cultural phenomenon. There are other anthropologists, however, who have treated the gotra without any reference to intercaste differences. Writing about the castes of the village of Shamirpet (Andhra), who include twice-born, clean, and untouchable castes, Dube observes:

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* Each independent endogamous division is divided into exogamous gotram; these in turn may be further subdivided into numerous vansham. The main function of these divisions is the regulation of marital unions. A person cannot marry in his own gotram.… Different gotram may have a number of common vansham, and … one must many not only outside one's gotram but in a different vansham also (1955: 42). The relations between the gotram and the vansham are difficult to comprehend because Dube writes that ‘gotram, for all practical purposes, are like exogamous clans’, and the vansham are lineages (ibid.: 43). For different clans to have common lineages is a contradiction in terms. Here are well illustrated the complications to which the identification of the gotra with clan can give rise. There are several other writers who have designated the gotra as clan, sib, or sept, and also regarded it as a social unit which usually occurs in all Hindus castes and in much the same form (since no intercaste differences are mentioned) (see, for example, Majumdar 1958: 360, (p.54) Kuper 1960: 32, Prabhu 1954: 157, and Kapadia 1958: 124, 127ff.). Gould's (1960) paper is an exception in this respect and of great interest. Not only does he distinguish between Brahmanic and non-Brahmanic gotra, but he also refrains from calling the gotra clan, and what is more, he explicitly points out that gotra-less castes exist within the fold of Hindu society (ibid.: 489). It is apparent from an examination of the anthropological works referred to in the foregoing paragraphs that, generally speaking, anthropologists have, no less than Indologists, identified the gotra with clan. What the implications of this identification are is the question which we must now examine. For my discussion of the gotra partly hinges on whether this structure corresponds with the anthropological definition of clan. Definition of Clan

Radcliff-Brown writes that the term clan should be used only for a group having unilineal descent in which all the members regard one another as in some specific sense kinsfolk. One way of giving recognition to the kinship is by the extensive use of the classificatory terminology…. Frequently, but not universally, the recognition of the kinship bond uniting the members of the clan takes the form of a rule of exogamy which forbids marriage between two members of the same clan (1950: 40). The clan has certain other features also. Membership is normally limited to those who are born into it, although in some societies adoption also is recognized as a means of recruitment. Membership is permanent and unaffected by marriage. The clan has a segmentary structure, and may be a corporate group with important social, ritual and political-jural functions. The members of Page 7 of 19

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* a clan may ‘come together occasionally to carry out some collective action—for example the performance of rites.’ The clan may have ‘a chief or council,’ and it may be a property owning group (ibid.: 41). There is general agreement among social anthropologists about the clan being such a group. Different terms may be used: thus Murdock (1949: 67) prefers to use ‘sib’ in place of ‘clan,’ using the latter term in a different sense, but the definition given above applies to his sib. Or, some modifications may be made to suit varying conditions. Thus, Fortes (1945: 62, 85) emphasizes the local character of the clan among the Tallensi. Among the Nuer, however, clans inhabit areas where they are dominant but they are also (p.55) scattered throughout Nuerland5 (see Evans-Pritchard 1940; see also Fortes 1953: 255). But broadly speaking there is a general consensus of opinion regarding the definition of the clan and the same is well brought out by Radcliffe-Brown. If we examine Radcliff-Brown's statement closely we find that descent and kinship are specified as two separate elements and exogamy is given only a secondary importance. A distinction has been made between kinship and descent since Rivers’ time and is now recognized to be of vital importance6 (see Rivers 1924: 86). Therefore, it becomes imperative that for a group to be called ‘clan’, it is not significant that the principle of unilineal descent is present; nor is it necessary that it should be exogamous. It must at least also be a grouping of kinsfolk in some specific sense. Excepting Gould, none of the writers, whose views on the gotra have been quoted above, claims the gotra to be more than an exogamous unilineal descent group. Karandikar and Fick specifically deny that the gotra are rooted in ties of kinship. Gould avoids the use of the term clan, but he alone refers to the gotra as an exogamous agnatic kin group based on unilineal descent. It seems to me that Gould is only partly right. The sagotra (= of the same gotra) Brahmans of a village may be an agnatic kin group with known genealogical ties, but the Brahmanic gotra are distributed all over India and are not kin groups in any specific sense. In fact, the sagotra Brahmans of a single village may not constitute an agnatic group. This is what my study of several Kashmiri villages has revealed. Among the Brahmans of Kashmir the gotra is explicitly recognized as not constituting a kin group, and it is to them that we will now turn for detailed examination.

II. The Gotra Among the Brahmans of Kashmir The Brahmans of Kashmir call themselves the B(h)atta and are known all over India as the Pandit Both words are of Sanskrit origin and mean ‘scholar’ or ‘learned man’. They describe themselves as being Saraswat Brahmans. In the performance of religious rituals they are the followers of the sage Laugaksha. (p.56) For social purposes Pandit families are identified by kram which are changeable family names. They usually refer to a personal quality (bravery,

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* stupidity, etc.), an incident in the ‘history’ of a family, its ritual affiliation, or traditional occupation. Besides his personal and family names, every Pandit male has a gotra-name. Lawrence, who studied the Pandits toward the end of the twentieth century, observes: ‘… although the name of gotra is repeated seven times by the Pandit as he performs his daily ablutions, the outside world rarely hears it mentioned, and the Pandits are known by their kram, or family appellation … In one gotra there may be many krams…’ (Lawrence 1895: 304). Lawrence is only partly correct. The main function of gotra in the daily life of a Pandit is only in connection with the performance of religious rituals. He begins any such performance by referring to himself, the performer, by his personal name and his gotra. The kram, a purely social appellation, is irrelevant in this context unless it itself is derived from the gotra name. The purpose of reciting the gotra name thus seems to be that of ritual identification of the performer. But once in every Pandit's life his gotra does acquire an extra-personal social importance: it is when he has to be married. Marriages are arranged by parents and it is the duty of a father to ensure that all the norms, ritual and social, are respected. The first thing to ensure is the following prescription of the Manava Dharma Shastra (code of righteous actions): asapindā ca yā mātur asogotrā ca yā pituh. That is, a man should marry a woman who is not a sapinda (lit., ‘connected by having in common particles of one body’ [see Mayne 1953: 147]) of his mother or father, or of the same gotra as his father. According to the injunction laid down by Yajnavalkya and incorporated in Vijnaneshvara's commentary known as the Mitakshara, (see ibid.: 146–8) one should count, in the male line, upward for six generations from ego's father, up to three generations from ego's mother's father upward, and up to six generations from ego's son downward to determine who ego's sapinda are. In actual practice, however, the Pandits do not remember all the genealogical ties within the limits required by this rule. Nor is the average Pandit able to state the rule, though the priests and astrologers know it. Moreover, they observe the rule of gotra exogamy, avoiding marriage with a sagotra of one's father and, ideally, also with a sagotra of one's mother's father. The rules of exogamy, as in fact observed, are: 1. Known cognates must not intermarry, no matter how distantly connected. (p.57) 2. A man should not marry the daughter of a sagotra man, though this may be done in very special circumstances, by resorting to some process of circumvention. 3. A man may also avoid marrying into his mother's father's gotra.7 It is an optional rule and is very rarely, if ever, observed. Many authorities, Page 9 of 19

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* including Brough (1953: 2), believe that the prohibition on marriage within the mother's gotra is a later extension of the other rule and attribute it to puritanical zeal. In the course of my intensive investigations in three villages of south-eastern Kashmir, I was unable to discover a single marriage in which the extended gotra rule had been observed. However, some informants mentioned the rule and Koul (1924: 21) also refers to it. We will now describe under what circumstances a Pandit may not observe the second rule mentioned above. The Pandits are divided into two hereditary endogamous subdivisions: the kārkun (lit, workers, mostly civil servants) and the gor (priests). In other words, those Pandits who are not hereditary priests and follow other occupations are the kārkun. Significantly, the gor do not avoid sagotra (p.58) marriage. The reason given is that the priests are neither many in number, nor do they have many gotra and, therefore, find it difficult arrange marriages if they try to avoid alliances within the gotra. However, they are Pandits good and true, and strictly adhere to the first rule listed above. Among the kārkun, if a match is considered eminently desirable from every other point of view, the gotra rule may then not be observed. This is done in two ways: (1) The more common procedure is for the bride to be given in marriage, not by her father, but by her mother's brother who calls her his daughter at the time of solemnization of the marriage. She is thus considered to belong to a gotra different from that of her own father and prospective husband. (2) In some cases propitiatory rites may be performed: the breach is not a breach of blood ties but of the rules of religious (righteous) conduct.8 The Pandits deny that sagotra marriages are, even in a remote sense, incestuous because, according to them, bearers of the same gotra name are not kin. Then what is the Pandits’ notion of the gotra? The Pandits say that the gotra are divisions ordained by and springing from ancient sages or divine personages known as the gotrakara. In the beginning, they say, there were only a few gotra, but today there are many.9 The gotrakāra is an ancestor but the bearers of the same gotra name are not kin in the normal sense of this term. The gotra among the Pandits refers to ritual status and ritual identification. A child has no gotra. A boy is initiated into (acquires) the gotra of his father at the time of his upanayan (investiture with the holy thread) ceremony, when he becomes an adult for the purpose of the performance of rituals. If a boy is adopted out of his gotra, and he has already gone through the upanayana ritual, his holy thread, symbolizing his ritual status, is removed, and he goes through (p.59) the ritual once again and acquires his adoptive father's gotra.10 Women

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* have no gotra until their marriage; thereafter they are absorbed into the gotra of their husband. When a boy dies before his upanayana, or a girl before her marriage, such a death causes pollution to no one except the parents. Moreover, such deceased children do not receive the regular (daily and periodical) ritual offerings of water and food which ‘ritually adult’ people do. However, a man may once in a while offer them pinda (rice balls) at certain specified holy places in Kashmir. When he does so, he names the dead child by his or her personal name, or simply as his son or daughter. By contrast, when a man pours libations or offers pinda to his deceased parents, or to a deceased brother or son, whose upanayan had taken place before death, he names the dead person by the personal as well as the gotra name. Moreover, a boy before his upanayan and a girl before her marriage are not polluted by births and deaths in their family. We may say they are not ‘ritual adults’ and have not yet qualified for these purposes. Karandikar sees in these special usages evidence of the fact ‘that gotra originally at least did not presuppose blood relationship; but … was connected with discipleship’ (1929: 79): We are not here concerned with the origins of these special usages, but in pointing out their existence and application to Brahmans all over India. The Pandits maintain that women are not directly concerned with the gotra because they are not required to perform rituals, such as the pouring of libations, although they participate alongside of their husbands in some rituals in their capacity as wives. A widow, having lost her husband, is like an unmarried girl in this respect. If she is to be remarried she will have to be taken as wife by a man who is not a sagotra of her father but who may be a sagotra of her deceased husband. Widow remarriage is not very common as yet; however, the preference seems to be for marrying a brother of the deceased man. (p.60) Moreover, when a married woman dies, her death causes general ritual pollution in her conjugal family; in her natal family only her parents are affected. Thus, whether an unmarried Pandit girl herself has gotra or not, her father's gotra is important in determining her marriage. On her marriage she acquire the gotra of her husband for some purposes though not for others. The view which the Pandits take of the relation between women and the gotra finds some support from Yajnavalkya, according to whom ‘the bride must not be descended from one whose gotra and pravara are the same as the bridegroom's’ (Mayne 1953: 160). According to the Pandits, it is not a girl's own gotra since she has none, but her father's which must not be the same as that of the prospective husband. It is this fact which allows circumvention of the prohibition on sagotra marriage. Finally, it may be pointed out that when one Pandit wants to enquire from another about his gotra, he does not ask what gotra the latter belongs to, as he may ask what village, family or household the latter belongs to. Instead the Page 11 of 19

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* questioner will ask, ‘Tohi kya chu gutur (what is your gotra)?’, just as he may ask, ‘What is your name?’ The gotra is, in fact, thought of as a name, and like all names its purpose is the identification of an individual for certain specified purposes. A woman's father's gotra name serves to identify her for the purpose of deciding whom she is eligible to marry or remarry. After her marriage she acquires a ritual status: she can now pollute and be polluted. She also has the right to participate in certain rituals as the grahni (householder's wife) and to receive a ritual funeral and post-cremation oblations and pinda. For these purposes she is identified by the gotra name of her husband. In a man's case it is his father's gotra name which serves all these purposes; in fact, he himself acquires this gotra name.

III. Interpretation We may now draw together the threads of this discussion and indicate what conclusions may be drawn from it. 1. Among the Pandits the bearers of the same gotra name explicitly regard themselves as having a common ancestor—a holy sage like Bharadvaja or a divine personage like Dattatreya. 2. Whether the sagotra are descendants of a common ancestor is a question about which the Pandits are ambiguous. When asked about it they generally reply in the affirmative, but at the same time, they themselves emphasize that a man acquires (p.61) gotra, the same as his father's, at the time of his upanayan, and a woman enters the gotra of her husband at the time of her marriage. The only possible resolution of these contradictions is to regard the sagotra as having a common ancestor but not being his descendants. This is not unusual: among the Orokaiva of New Guinea, individuals as well as clans regard plants as their ancestors but deny being their descendants (see Williams 1930: Chapter 8). 3. The sagotra do not regard themselves as being agnates or kin of any kind, using kin in the usual sense of the word. This is imperative, for how can a woman become a man's wife through marriage and, by the same act, his agnatic kinswoman? But if the sagotra are the patrilineally related descendants of a common ancestor, then a woman does become her husband's agnate when she acquires his gotra. Nothing is more repugnant to the Pandits than marriage between agnates, and if I have understood the working of the gotra rule among them, its purpose is to prevent even an unwitting breach of the rule prohibiting marriage between agnates. 4. Moreover, kinship is not a one-sided attitude or affirmation, but consists of dyadic and multiple-ended ties based upon genealogical connections and expressed through mutual rights and obligations. Mutual recognition as kin is an essential precondition for the operation of these rights and obligations. But if the bearers of the gotra name of, say, Dattatreya in one village of Kashmir do not acknowledge kinship with the Page 12 of 19

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* Dattatreyas in other parts of Kashmir, not to speak of other parts of India, then how can the Brahmanic gotra, Dattatreya in our example, be spoken of as a kin grouping? It may be added here that, among the Pandits, gotra are not localized groups but spread all over Kashmir. In fact, most of the gotra names found among the Pandits are found among Brahmans all over India, as is evident from a comparison of the lists of gotra names given by Koul (1924: 21) and Brough (1953). 5. The localized bearers of the same gotra name may be kin by virtue of actual genealogical connections. In the village of Utrassu-Umanagri (south-eastern Kashmir) there are three genealogically unconnected groups of families with the same gotra name of Dattatreya (see Madan 1965). However, in the village of Sherupur (Uttar Pradesh) all the Brahmans are, in fact, agnatically related (see Gould 1960). They are so not (p.62) because they belong to the same gotra, as Gould seems to imply, but because they are connected by known genealogical ties. It may here be added that other than their common gotra name, the three groups of Utrassu-Umanagri families share nothing in common. They never meet as a group by themselves for any social, economic, or ritual purposes. In other words, the fact of a common gotra makes their interrelations with each other different only in one way from their relations with other, unconnected, families: they may not enter into marital alliances. 6. The very important conclusion which we may draw from the foregoing is that among Brahmans agnates always have the same gotra name, but all sagotra are not recognized to be kin. The gotra tie thus does not betoken kinship. Bearing a common gotra name points to the possibility of agnation but does not create or prove it. Gotra names are in this respect, the opposite of surnames in south-eastern China,11 where a common surname does betoken agnation. 7. Not only are the gotra not based on kinship, they do not seem to be based on descent either. The acceptance of common ancestorship may be intended to be interpreted only in a vocative sense. It is true that it is not essential to demonstrate genealogical connection to claim descent from a common ancestor. But the fact of the individual acquisition of gotra at a stage after birth militates against the notion of descent as the basis of the gotra. Moreover, the principle of descent has, as pointed out by Fortes (1953, 1955, 1959) its major functions outside the domestic field, to wit, in the politico-jural domain. But gotra has the main function of regulating marriage; nobody has claimed more for it. Even if descent is accepted as being present in the gotra, in view of the notion of common ancestorship, nevertheless it does not make the gotra a descent group. Writes Fortes (1959: 208): Descent groups exist to unite persons for common social purposes and interests by identifying them exclusively and unequivocally with Page 13 of 19

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* one another. Descent operates where the total body of rights and duties, capacities and claims, through which society achieves its ends, is distributed among segments, or classes, which are required (p.63) to remain relatively fixed over a stretch of time in order that the social system shall be able to maintain itself. Empirically, descent groups are constituted by the fact that all the members of a group in a given society have the same form of pedigree and all their pedigrees converge in a single common ancestor or group of ancestors. Now, none of the criteria mentioned by Fortes are applicable to the Pandit gotra in more than a nominal sense. It does not unite the sagotras in any way except that they may not intermarry. They have no common social purposes and interest; no rights, duties, capacities, or claims of any importance are associated with their ‘membership’ (if it may be called so) of a common gotra. And the male members of a gotra have a different type of pedigree of the patrilineal pattern—from their female agnates who join their husband's gotra, at least for all practical purposes. Moreover, according to Fortes: ‘Kinship or descent may confer a title to membership of a political or cult or economic "group." It does not make that “group” into a kinship or descent “group” in any absolute sense’ (1959: 211). 8. In fact, the Brahmanic gotra is not a group at all. For one thing, its allIndia spread deprives it of any cohesion or unity. Secondly, as pointed out above, the only coactivity which the bearers of the same gotra name, resident in a region, enter into as sagotra is a negative one; they do not contract marital alliances. The birth or death of a person neither causes pollution nor bestows property or any other rights or obligations upon his sagotra (see Karandikar 1929: 79–81, Ghurye 1955: 91).12 9. The Brahmanic gotra, then, is not based on kinship or descent, and is not a grouping in its own right. For men it is at best a category of people, sharing a common name, who may be agnatically related and may not, therefore, intermarry. The position of women is different from that of men in so far as they belong to their father's gotra for the purpose of marriage and to their husband's gotra for ritual purposes. The Brahmanic (p.64) gotra is not, therefore, a clan or any other kind of kin grouping. The foregoing statement applies to the Brahmans of Kashmir and, I believe, Brahmans elsewhere. Whether what I anticipate about non-Kashmiri Brahmans is true or not, will have to be checked by further fieldwork all over India.13 10. What then is the function of the gotra name? As has already been pointed out, among the Pandits it serves two functions. First, it identifies an individual for ritual purposes, and second, it makes impossible even an unwitting breach of the prohibition on marriage between agnates within Page 14 of 19

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* the stipulated limits. There are other patrilineal communities which have parallel safeguards. To give but one example: Clan exogamy is stated by Nuer in terms of clan symbols. Each clan has one or more spear names, with which go honorific titles, and the spear names of the bride's clan and the bridegroom's clan are formally shouted out at weddings. They must not be exactly the same, for this would mean that marriage was a breach of the rule of exogamy (Evans-Pritchard 1951: 30). Why societies which are patrilineal, or have such a bias, should be so anxious to avoid marriages between agnates is a problem outside the scope of this paper, but one which can be resolved.

References Basham, A.L., 1954, The Wonder that was India, London: Sidgwick and Jackson. Brough, John, 1946–7, ‘The Early History of the Gotras’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society. ———, 1953, The Early Brahminical Sustem of Gotra and Pravara, London: Cambridge University Press. Dange, S.A., 1955, India from Primitive Communism to Slavery, New Delhi: People's Publishing House. Dube, S.C., 1955, The Indian Village, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Dumont, L. and D.F. Pocock, 1957, ‘For a Sociology of India’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 1: 7–22. (p.65) Elwin, Verrier, 1939, The Baiga, London: Murray. Evans-Pritchard, E.E., 1940, The Nuer, Oxford: Clarendon Press. ———, 1951, Kinship and Marriage among the Nuer, London: Clarendon Press. Fick, R., 1913, ‘Gotra’, in James Hastings, ed., Encyclopaedia of Religion and Ethics, Edinburgh and New York: T.T. Clark. Fortes, Meyer, 1945, The Dynamics of Clanship among the Tallensi, London: Oxford University Press. ———, 1953, ‘The Structure of Unilineal Descent Groups’, American Anthropologist, 55: 17–41. ———, 1955, ‘Radcliffe-Brown's Contributions to the Study of Social Organization’, British Journal of Sociology, 6: 16–30.

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* ———, 1959, ‘Descent, Filiation and Affinity’, Man, 59: 193–7, 206–12. Freedman, M., 1958, Lineage Organization in South-eastern China, London: Althone Press. Ghurye, G.S., 1955, Family and Kin, Bombay: Oxford, Indian Branch. Gould H.A., 1960, ‘The Micro-demography of Marriages in a North Indian Area’, Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, 16: 476–91. Hutton, J.H., 1951, Caste in India, Bombay: Oxford, Indian Branch. Kapadia, K.M., 1958, Marriage and Family in India, Bombay: Oxford, Indian Branch. Karandikar, S.V., 1929, Hindu Exogamy, Bombay: Taraporevala. Karve, Iravati, 1953, Kinship Organization in India, Poona: Deccan College. Khare, R.S., 1960, ‘The KanyaKubja Brahmins and their Caste Organization’, Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, 16: 348–67. Kosambi, D.D., 1950, ‘On the Origin of Brahmin Gotras’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, Bombay Branch. ———, 1956, An Introduction to the Study of Indian History, Bombay: Popular Book Depot. Koul, Anand, 1924, The Kashmiri Pandit, Calcutta: Thacker, Spink and Co. Kuper, Hilda, 1960, Indian People in Natal, Natal: University Press. Lawrence, W.R., 1895, The Valley of Kashmir, London: Oxford University Press. Madan, T.N., 1989 [1965], Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir, Second Enlarged Edition, New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Majumdar, D.N., 1958, Races and Cultures of India, Bombay: Asia. Majumdar, R.C. and A.D. Pusalker, eds, 1951, The Vedic Age, London: Allen and Unwin. Mayer, A.C., 1960, Caste and Kinship in Central India, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Mayne, J.D., 1953, Hindu Law and Usage, Eleventh Edition by N.C. Aiyar, Madras: Higginbothams. Murdock, G.P., 1949, Social Structure, New York: Macmillan Co. Page 16 of 19

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* Prabhu, P.H., 1954, Hindu Social Organization, Bombay: Popular Book Depot. (p.66) Radcliffe-Brown, A.R., 1950, ‘Introduction’, in A.R. Radcliffe-Brown and D. Forder, eds, African Systems of Kinship and Marriage, London: Oxford University Press. Rivers, W.H.R., 1924, Social Organization, New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Roy, S.C., 1915, The Oraons of Chota Nagpur, Ranchi: Man in India Office. Srinivas, M.N, 1942, Marriage and Family in Mysore, Bombay: New Book Co. Williams, F.E., 1930, Orokavia Society, London: Oxford University Press. Notes:

(*) Reproduced with permission from Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 18: 1 (1962): 59–77. (1) Fieldwork was done in the Valley of Kashmir, mainly in the countryside, from December 1956 to February 1957.1 am indebted to the Australian National University for a three-year scholarship (1956–59) which enabled me to undertake the fieldwork and subsequent analysis of the field data. (2) Ghurye refers to the Sutra and to Baudhayana's scheme. A brief explanation regarding these may be given here. (1) The Veda, dating back to about 1,000 BC are samhita, ‘collections’ (of hymns, magical spells, popular beliefs, etc.). They were followed by the Brahmana (ritual texts, not to be confused with the caste of that name) and these, in turn, by the Sutra, which contain rules of conduct The Sutra are assigned various dates ending with about 400 BC. The ‘Vedic Age’ ends here (Cf. Majumdar and Pusalker, 1915). (2) Baudhayana is said to have grouped innumerable gotra into ten main divisions in about the sixth century BC (Cf. Ghurye, 1955: 90). (3) For similar views, cf. Fick 1913: 354. The arrangement of the gotra on the basis of the pravara, to which Karandikar refers, is that made by Baudhayana (see Karandikar 1929, Brough 1953, and footnote 2 above). (4) Dange also regards the early Vedic gotra as a ‘collective,’ based ‘on the production of the main source of wealth and food, namely cattle (Sanskrit Go). While here again, it has the basic economic content, the Gotra organism and the relationship connoted by it survived among the Hindus mainly as a basis of sex or family relationship …’ (1955–72). (5) Here Fortes refers to clans as ‘dispersed divisions of society ordered to the notion of common—but not demonstrable and often mythological—ancestry’.

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* (6) Writes Murdock: ‘Science owes a debt to Rivers for pointing out that descent refers only to social allocation and has fundamentally nothing to do with genealogical relationships or the recognition thereof’ (1949: 15). (7) The pravara of which Indologists make so much in connection with the rules of exogamy among Brahmans (cf. for example, Brough, 1953: 2–37), is never mentioned by the Pandits; when asked, they profess ignorance of it. And it would seem that they are not alone in this. Srinivas (1942) does not mention its observance among the Brahmans of Mysore. Khare (1960) writes that among the Kanyakubja Brahmans of Uttar Pradesh pravara is ‘little known’. In personal communications to me, HA. Gould, K.N. Sharma, Uma T. Madan and K.S. Mathur, respectively, confirm that the pravara rule is not known to the ‘average’ Brahman (who is not a Sanskrit scholar or a priest) in eastern Uttar Pradesh, central Uttar Pradesh, western Uttar Pradesh, and Malwa. This is not difficult to explain because by the end of the Sutra period the gotra and pravara had coalesced. Writes Brough: The traditional views as given by Baudhayana is that the gotras are to be classified according to the eponymous rsis–the seven rsis, that is ‘Jamadagani’ Gautama. Bharadvaja, Atri, Visvamitra, Kasyapa and Vasistha’, with the additional gotra of Agatsya. On the other hand, the pravaras are classified under the names of Bhrgu, Angiras, Atri, Visvamitra, Kasyapa, Vasistha, and Agatsya, the Jamadaganis coming under the Bhrgus, and both the Gautamas and Bharadvajas under the Angirases. In general, however, the various ganas [groups] of Jamadaganis all have three out of the five names of their pravaras in common: … while the Gautamas, … and the Bharadvajas, … also form exogamous units. Thus, in spite of the pravaras being grouped under Bhrgu and Angiras, the exogamous groups resulting from the pravara rule are those of Jamadagani, Gautama and Bharadvaja (1953: 29). It is interesting to note that the list of the original gotra given by Hutton (1951: 551) is, in fact, the list of pravara mentioned by Baudhayana and quoted by Brough. Basham's list (1954: 154) mentions Bhrgu in place of Jamadagani. (8) K.N. Sharma writes in a personal communication to me: ‘Gotra is weakening among the Brahmans of villages around Kanpur, as also among city-dwelling Brahmans, in the sense that if a good match is available, marriage is settled without considering it.’ (9) Koul (1924) mentions the following as the six original gotra: Dattatreya, Bharadvaja, Paiadeva, Aupamanyava, Maudgala, and Dhaumyayana. He adds that there are 199 gotra at present which have arisen out of ‘intermarriage and intermixture with other Brahmins’ (ibid.: 20), but he gives a list of 189 names only (ibid.: 86–92). It may be noted that of the six names given here only one, Page 18 of 19

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Appendix I Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?* Bharadvaja, occurs in the traditional list of seven (or eight) original gotrakdra mentioned by Indologists. Of the remaining five only three, Dattatreya, Maudgala, and Dhaumyayana, occur in the lists quoted by Brough (1953). (10) Again the Pandits are not alone in this belief. Hutton writes: ‘Indeed strictly speaking gotra itself is not inherited but is acquired by the ‘twice-bom’ castes only at the initiation ceremony (upanayan) at which the sacred thread is assumed. In the case of an adapted son whose gotra is not that of his adopting father he will be regarded as belonging to two gotras for marriage purposes, unless that is, he is adopted in infancy before he has undergone the upanayana ceremony’ (1951: 57). In view of the foregoing statement by Hutton, it is clear that the Pandits seem to have evolved their own solution in the case of adopted sons who have had their upanayana prior to adoption. (11) ‘All people bearing one surname were by that fact agnates, for they were considered to be descendants of a common ancestor in, the male line. Bearing a common surname, people might not marry’ (Freedman 1958: 4). (12) Karandikar maintains that such rights or obligations come into being vis-àvis a person and his or her sagotra after his or her initiation and concludes that this proves ‘that gotra originally at least did not presuppose blood relationship’ (1929: 79). Ghurye disagrees with Karandikar by pointing out that Manu, the chief lawgiver, does not bring in sagotra kinship for any consideration in connection with pollution (caused by birth or death) or the devolution of property. Ghurye's position is confirmed by the Pandit usage in this matter. (13) Forty-eight years have passed since this paper was published (in 1962). Such authors as have taken note of it, and there have been quite a few, although not many (as far as I know) have agreed with my conclusion. However, my hope of half a century ago that further fieldwork-based investigations of the subject would be made has not materialized. Obviously, the subject of gotra, and even more so that of pravana, has ceased to be of interest

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development*

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.67) Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* 1. The Problem There is a well-established viewpoint which alleges that Hindu social institutions have had a blighting effect on India's social and economic development The socalled joint family is one such notable institution. Many Western observers, and under their influence many Indian scholars and social critics also, have written that India was almost completely a stagnant country, without true history, till she came into life-giving contact with Western civilization in the eighteenth century. They contend that the economy and society in this country, and indeed the Indian mind, had remained frozen for about 2,000 years till the British conquest of India introduced a vital element of dynamism into the ‘native’ society. Karl Marx was a passionate believer in this view of India's history, or lack of history, but it perhaps found its most deliberate expression in the writings of Henry Sumner Maine. Maine's interest in India was professional—as a jurist and as a member of the Viceroy's Executive Council—and his contacts with the country were first hand and personal. He viewed Hindu society from the vantage point of classical evolutionism and, inevitably, found it wanting in progressive social forces and indeed in the moral qualities so essential to social development. Just as Marx had pointed to the stagnant mode of production underlying the village communities, Maine drew attention to caste and the rigid contractual basis of social life, to the family and the related institutions of customary law, and to the crippling restrictions under which women had traditionally been forced to live in Hindu society. He compared the individual family of the West with the Hindu joint family to bring out the contrast between ‘true’ civilization and the lack of it (see Maine 1972).

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* (p.68) These scholars and their followers tried to identify what they regarded as the characteristics of economic, social and moral backwardness and traced the same to Hindu religious beliefs and attitudes and traditional socio-cultural institutions. Some of them suggested that India was in the grip of a vicious circle inasmuch as poverty and social backwardness on the one hand, and sociocultural institutions sanctified by religion on the other, mutually reinforced one another. As may well have been expected, the ethnocentric European view of India entailed a belief about the civilizing role of Western civilization in India. Rammohun Roy had expressed the hope, in the mid-nineteenth century, that Europeans would settle down in this country to help Indians get rid of superstitious beliefs and iniquitous institutions. Later Karl Marx, Max Weber and many others saw in British rule the hidden hand of destiny—the unconscious tool of history which would start Indian society on the path of historical development. In course of time, as nationalist forces gained ground and imperialism came under attack, the modernizing influence of the impact of the West was dissociated from British rule and instead linked to such processes as urbanization, industrialization and Westernization. This is the viewpoint that has now been in ascendance for more than half a century. Though the obstructive role of Hindu social institutions is reiterated, the superior power of the processes of modernization is invoked to hold out the hope that traditional beliefs and attitudes, caste, the joint family, etc., will all be sooner or later swept away. In assessing the role of the joint family in retarding social and economic development, the argument has generally been developed deductively; since family institutions in India are different from and, in some respects, even the very opposite of those in the West, it follows that the former are an obstacle to development and the latter a prerequisite of it. Thus, the allegedly intimate relationship between the nuclear family and modernization on the one hand, and between the joint family and socio-economic backwardness on the other, is stressed. This, I hope to show, is an example of the structuralist fallacy of viewing modernization everywhere in the world today as essentially a replication of what happened in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in Western Europe, Britain and North America. Enough has already happened in India, and in other countries too— most notably in Japan—to discredit this view. As for the assertion that industrialization and urbanization specifically will alter traditional family institutions, this too is based on (p.69) what are believed to have been the consequences of these processes in the West. The writings of certain scholars, notably Louis Wirth (see, for example, Wirth 1938), have long dominated studies of urbanization and urbanism and resulted in a perpetuation of the assumption that these phenomena are essentially the same everywhere Page 2 of 19

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* and entail identical, or at least very similar, structural changes. What is more, empirical evidence is said to indicate that the family in all modernizing societies is changing in the direction of the nuclear family (see Goode 1963a). An examination of the materials on India clearly shows that the nature of changes that are taking place is complex and hasty conclusions must not be drawn on the basis of a partial examination of the data, stressing size and structure to the exclusion of functional aspects. It is my intention in this essay to examine both the deductive argument and the empirical evidence, particularly the latter. It will be shown that comparisons with the West are misleading and that the empirical evidence in respect of the Western countries themselves is already being reinterpreted. So far as the Indian data on the nature of change in the family are concerned, these are seemingly contradictory. These contradictions can be readily resolved if we cleanse our concepts and attempt to evaluate the empirical evidence without theoretical preconceptions. The first and the most important of the concepts that needs to be defined is that of the joint family itself.

II. Terminological Clarification: The Hindu Joint Family The bewilderment that the Hindu joint family has caused among social scientists is the result of the incomprehension of the European scholars of an institution which is significantly different from what seems to be its counterpart in western societies. A number of essays by Indian scholars, published in the recent past, have largely succeeded in clearing the terminological confusion (see, for example, Madan 1962b and 1962c; Shah 1964 and 1968). An attempt will be made to sum up here what seem to be the definite conclusions in this regard reached so far. It is clear that a basic distinction that needs to be drawn in India (although it may be redundant to do so in respect of contemporary Western societies) is that between the family and the household. Most discussions about the family in India, whether of its structure or of changes affecting it, are in fact about households. It is these (p.70) discrete units that the census enumerators focus on and the fieldworker readily identifies as the smallest observable units of Hindu society. The notion of the family in India is generally of the kind that is identified as the extended family in sociological literature. It is not the family, however, but the household which is functionally the more important group. The household also may be structurally similar to the family, or it may be different. This has led to the household itself being designated as joint or extended or as a nuclear family. To avoid this confusion, Shah (1973) has suggested that households should be characterized as ‘simple’ or ‘complex’, complexity or its absence being strictly defined in terms of the structure of kinship composition. A further distinction that must be made in this regard is between complexity and largeness, between simplicity and smallness. Desai Page 3 of 19

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* (1955) was perhaps the first Indian sociologist to point out that numerical size gives us no clue to the relational structure of the household group. If these two points are kept in mind—the difference between the family and household and between the structure and the size of a household—a dense fog which has enveloped studies of the family in India will lift. This fog has been spread by census reports (and by much spurious sociology) ever since 1911 when the bogey about ‘a growing tendency’ of the ‘disintegration’ of the joint family was first raised by Census Commissioner E.A. Gait (see Goode 1963: 238). To drive home his point, he drew attention to the fact that the average number of persons [in the household] in India at 4.9 was ‘much the same as in European countries’ (see Shah 1973: 126). Besides size and structure, there is the functional aspect which must be taken into consideration if a proper evaluation of on-going changes is to be made. This entails the making of some further distinctions between different levels or dimensions of kin groups. The family, commonly known in north India by such term as parivar, kutumba, and khandan, is a grouping of households of agnatically related men, their wives and unmarried sisters and daughters. The property rights of the men and the women differ. Women enjoy the privilege of having to be maintained by the men, but they have only limited and provisional rights of ownership and inheritance. The component of males within a family constitutes a coparcenary, and this has been confusingly referred to as the joint family by many jurists and sociologists. One of the most outstanding authorities on Hindu Law, P.V. Kane has, however, explicitly stated that the coparcenary is a narrower group than the joint family: (p.71) Coparceners are the male descendants of a common, third ascendant generation ancestor. Incidentally, the three lineal ancestors for whom an upper caste Hindu performs the shrāddha (ritual offering of food to manes) are his father, father's father, and father's father's father. As Shah (1973: 125) has pointed out, the lawyers' and the indologists' conceptions of the joint family have tended to converge and the former have often sought justification for their own view point in indological literature. The coparcenary defines the limits within which ancestral property devolves through survivorship on death. Particular coparceners may, however, break away from the coparcenary, taking away their individual shares with them. We, therefore, need to distinguish between the coparcenary and the actual propertygroup. The latter may embrace several households yet not all the members of the coparcenary. The break-up through partition of a coparcenary which results in the setting up of additional property groups and households, does not, however, affect ritual ties between the kinsfolk; thus birth and death pollution and the obligation to perform shraddha are unaffected by such events.

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* In other words, the Hindu family generally operates at four different levels: (1) as a household; (2) as a grouping of households constituting a property-group; (3) as a still wider grouping of households incorporating the coparcenary which defines the outer limits for allodial and obligatory ritual purposes; and (4) as an all-encompassing, dispersed grouping denned genealogically rather than in terms of active interaction. In practice, there is much overlap between the four levels, but it is important for analytical purposes that these distinctions be borne in mind when we are examining data on socio-economic change affecting family life. Only the household, often designated as the hearth-group in north India (chulah or chulla), emerges as the commensal group. Two or more households may reside together in a house or in different houses but in the same locality (village, neighbourhood in a town). Property rights exist as between members of the household and often spill over household boundaries to include households of brothers and perhaps the closer (first and second) cousins. Ritual obligations embrace all those who perform the shrāddha for a common paternal greatgrandfather. Finally, mutual expectations of support and amity, and the associated affective dimension of kinship, which are most intensely experienced and explicitly acknowledged among primary kin, whether residing in the same household or not, become gradually (p.72) diluted with the stretching of degrees of kinship; but they never cease at the boundaries of the household. The cultural ideal of the large multi-generation joint family is more related to this pattern of affective ties than to any actually existent groups now or in the past Not to speak of cousins, brothers and their wives and children, all living together till they are parted by death, belong, as Shah (1973: 83) rightly points out, more to folklore and mythology than to real life. It has been wrongly suggested by some observers that the Hindu family does not break up in terms of any principle but only under the compulsion of circumstances. The Manusmriti itself (Chapter 17, verse 23) exhorts brothers who find living together problematic to divide and set up separate households, and thereby earn spiritual merit. The partition of a complex household with two or more brothers in the senior generation is as much a fact of Hindu society as the existence of the cultural ideal of the socalled large joint family (see Madan 1965: 164–80). The foregoing terminological excursion has one clear and important implication for any discussion of the nature and significance of familial change: we must be careful to precisely identify which particular level or what particular dimension is supposed to be affected by the processes of change under consideration.

III. The Deductive Argument The question of the relationship between the Hindu family and economic development may now be discussed. As stated above, the earlier argument used Page 5 of 19

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* to be that the family was an obstacle to development. It is obvious that the family that these writers had in mind was that of legal treatises and indological works rather than of ethnographical reality. One of the earliest statements on this problem was made by Rammohun Roy in a tract on ‘The Condition of India’ published in London in 1831. Exploring the causes of India's unsatisfactory social and economic conditions, he referred among other factors to two institutions associated with the Hindu family. First, he held early marriage and the stay-at-home males responsible for rapid population increase, though he, a contemporary of Malthus, seemed to repose some trust in the corrective mechanism of ‘natural checks’. Secondly, he drew pointed attention to the ‘disincentive effects’ of the Mitakshara Law of ownership and inheritance. As is well-known, under this law, a man may not dispose of any ancestral, real property without the consent of other coparceners, including his own sons (p.73) and grandsons. It not only curbed individual property rights but also made expansion and accumulation of assets difficult Roy regarded the expansion of credit beyond individual savings from personal income as essential for economic expansion through domestic and foreign commerce. Now, the base of credit in Bengal had been in land mortgage transactions since the Dayabhaga Law of ownership and inheritance, prevalent there, allowed a man the full rights of mortgage and sale in respect of all his property without any difference being made between ancestral and self-acquired assets. Roy complained that British judicial authorities introduced into Bengal the Mitakshara notion of inalienability of ancestral property by any individual coparcener, even if he was the manager (kartā). Roy foresaw ‘legal contests’, ‘confusion and misery’, a decline in the process of capital formation and in the growth of capitalist enterprise. From having been a mobile capital asset, real property was being frozen in the joint control of the property group. Later scholars have often held a view of British judicial decisions which is the very opposite of Roy's position. Radhakamal Mukerjee, for example, writing almost a century after Roy, complained that ‘our courts of justice, imbued with the spirit of individual proprietary right of free alienation of properties could not tolerate the strict anti-alienation rule of the Mitakshara’ (1922: 24). Other writers, too have held similar-views (see, for example, Kapadia 1966). In any case, it is quite clear that the principle of division into equal shares per stripes has not only not favoured accumulation of capital but has also resulted, in the long run, in much fragmentation of land. Since increase in the area of cultivable land has not been proportionate to the growth of population, the harmful effects of the inheritance laws have been particularly marked in the present century. The examples of nineteenth century Japan and Europe are cited to drive home

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* the advantages of single-heir family systems which prevent fragmentation, induce occupational mobility and restrict population growth. There are other elements in the old thesis regarding the inimical role of family institutions in the context of development which do not carry the same conviction. Thus, it is said that the pooling of resources and individual earnings within the household or the family, and their placement under the control of one decision maker, the kartā, kills individual initiative. A member's extraordinary efforts or better skills go unrewarded, if not also unrecognized. The incentive to achieve more, and do one's work better and more (p.74) efficiently, fails to be reinforced by the system. Conversely, the security which joint living affords make some members irresponsible and lazy drones. Earnings are limited but the mouths to be fed and the bodies to be clothed are many. Consequently, accumulation of capital does not occur, precluding investment and enterprise. It has also been asserted that the authority structure of the Hindu household discourages collective decision making on rational grounds. The head expects and usually receives obedience from the other members, even if only grudgingly at times. On his own part, he is often guided in his decision making (regarding resource and work-allocation, for instance) primarily by tradition. Innovativeness does not flourish in such a situation, for risk taking may result in failure, and consequently in dissensions, within the group. The emphasis upon hereditary occupation, a corollary of the foregoing argument, also is deleterious to economic development because it discourages the acquisition of new skills and the entry into new occupations and enterprises. The skills of one's trade and craft are learned at home from one's elders, through a kind of apprenticeship system, reinforcing tradition and parental authority. In such a situation spatial mobility also is discouraged (see Weber 1958: 111–23). Moreover, physical and mental development of children—particularly female children—is neglected. The preoccupation of women with child-bearing and child-rearing throughout their adult lives results not only in overpopulation but also precludes their participation in productive activity. Finally, wasteful expenditure on weddings, funerals, festivals and religious ceremonies is said to limit the accumulation of savings and even compel borrowing from money lenders and eventually the sale of land, a process which, once it begins, is hardly ever reversed (see Bailey 1957: 47–93). Many others, too, have put forward the views summarized above. The question that arises here is: What is the empirical basis for these conclusions? Since most of the authors do not mention any, at any rate, not for all the points they make, it would seem permissible to suggest that these are at best hypotheses calling for

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* research rather than a definitive conclusions. Some of these assumptions are examined below: 1. Individualism (individual decision making, recognition of individual contribution as the only just basis of reward, importance of individual reward to the continuation of productive effort, etc.) is regarded as essential to initiative and (p.75) enterprise everywhere and ought to be a value in India as it has been in the West. That this may not be so is no longer a heresy, considering what Japan has been able to achieve with her highly conformist culture which recognizes the individual even less than does the Hindu society. Moreover, an economist has recently suggested that if we acknowledge that a man may derive utility from the welfare of his own children, ‘so the member of an extended family may well identify his welfare with that of all members of his extended family’ (Bhagwati 1966: 94). Erikson remarks more assertively: I am inclined to indulge in the generalization that Indians want to give and get by fusing—actively and passively…. The fusion enforced and, no doubt, often enjoyed in the joint family and in crowded life in general results in a polarity. There is, no doubt, a deep recurring need to escape the multitude, and there is a remarkable capacity for being alone…. But aloneness, too, is often dominated by a deep nostalgia for fusing with another, and this in an exclusive and everlasting fashion … (1969: 40). One may also ask why it is supposed that decisions taken by an individual on behalf of a group are to be regarded as being invariably inferior in quality to decisions taken by an individual on behalf of a group are to be regarded as being invariably inferior in quality to decisions taken by an individual on his own behalf? Smelser (1959) has shown how authority in the English families involved in cotton cloth production in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, representing a transitional stage between home consumption and the factory system, continued to be vested in the father as among agricultural families.

2. The traditional household has an authoritarian structure and dissensions in it are therefore said to be rare: the head is believed to enjoy absolute authority. This seems to be more an expression of a cultural ideal and a legal fiction based on what the people say they do, rather than on observation of what they in fact do. Ethnographical literature brings out quite clearly the conflicts and consultations, the bargaining and the compromises, which characterize decision making within a household; and it is not only men who participate in it but also women, directly or through the influence they exert on their husbands and sons. In this connection, it must also be affirmed that the nonparticipation of women in (p.76) productive activity is a characteristic of upper castes and the upper middle classes rather than … of the whole of Page 8 of 19

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* Hindu society. In any case, there is no evidence to suggest that shortage of manpower, except in the highly skilled categories, has been a problem in India's recent economic history. On the contrary, unemployment and underemployment are the chronic ills afflicting the labour force. 3. Then, there is the dichotomy between traditional and rational decisions. Here I would like to argue that, whereas unquestioning adherence to tradition may result in irrational decisions, it is hardly defensible to maintain, implicitly or explicitly, that decisions based on tradition are ipso facto irrational. Thus, a farmer's action when he rotates crops to maintain or increase productivity does not become irrational simply because his ancestors did likewise. An appeal to Max Weber on this score can be misleading unless we take care to note his distinction between customary behaviour and rational usage. 4. While the deleterious effect of high fertility on the average level of living may not be denied, the desire for children, particularly sons, is not totally irrational, for the poor regard children as an investment in the form of addition to the supply of farm labour. This is the point of the much repeated statement of Mamdani (1972) that it is not overpopulation which produces poverty but poverty which generates relative overpopulation. 5. The arguments regarding the crippling effects of the laws of inheritance, the absence of occupational mobility, and improvident expenditure are more readily acceptable; but these too lose force if they are indiscriminately applied to all levels of economic development Having examined some of the underlying assumptions of the deductive argument, I would now like to consider the empirical evidence regarding the relationship between the Hindu family and large complex households on the one hand and industrialization and urbanization on the other.

IV. The Empirical Evidence An argument has been developed in Western sociology regarding ‘the “fit” between conjugal family and the modern industrial system’ (Goode 1963: 10–26). Industrialization, urbanism, occupational and (p.77) spatial mobility, a relatively open system of social stratification, narrow, effective kin-groups, and an emphasis on the individual as against the group and on the emotionalaffective nature of the wife-husband relationship—all are seen as a cluster. Goode is concerned with the feasibility of the argument as such, independent of the empirical support that may be found for it in different places and times. It is important to note, however, that Goode does not causally relate the conjugal family and the modem industrial system; he only draws pointed attention to their compatibility. Indeed, he speaks of ‘the independence of the two sets of variables, the familial and the industrial, as well as the presence of some “disharmonies” between the two’ (1963: 15).

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* That the conjugal or nuclear family may not always be the result of industrialization is borne out by the fact that it is found among many so-called primitive societies, too numerous to be mentioned here. What is more important, new historical evidence, accumulated of late, points to the prevalence of the nuclear family as the residential unit in England and in the United States before the industrial revolution. Members of the Cambridge Population Group have carried out a detailed examination of town records, parish registers and similar documents of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries to conclude that for the past four centuries, and perhaps longer, the predominant type of household in England has been the small nuclear family rather than the large extended family (see, for example, Laslett and Wall 1972). Similar conclusions have been reported in respect of the United States. What is more, Laslett has suggested that, in England, the size of the household grew larger rather than shrank with the coming of industrialization. Urbanization, mechanical communication, the growth of wealth and the increase in expectation of life may actually have strengthened the familial tie in some ways and widened the network of kinship (1965: 589). The general situation in respect of Western Europe had earlier been summed up by Greenfield: ‘…the specific social system that grew up around machine technology in Western civilization may result from the fact that the small nuclear family existed in Europe and the United States before the industrial revolution’ (1961: 312). The conclusion drawn by Nimkoff and Middleton (1960: 215–29), on the basis of their examination of 549 cultures, that the family in most industrial societies is organized along independent and not extended fines, may now be seen to yield a different kind of understanding than its authors intended. It is in the light of this reinterpretation of the data from the industrialized countries of the West (p.78) that our own examination of the empirical evidence from India should be undertaken. It is of interest to note that while the deductive argument centred round the obstructive role of the family and other social institutions in the social and economic development of India, recent (post-1950) empirical studies have concentrated on the impact of economic change generally, and of urbanization and industrialization in particular, on social structure. Some of these studies begin with the assumption that this impact is bound to be disruptive of traditional institutions. Thus Epstein (1962) asserts that the conversion from subsistence to a cash economy had led to the breakdown of complex households among the Mysore peasants she studied; and this was bound to happen, for ‘economic development will almost invariably result in the breaking up of joint family ties’ (ibid.: 322). Her evidence is meagre and her conclusions are vitiated by a reconstruction of family life in the past which is methodologically suspect and also very sketchy. Nevertheless, she boldly proclaims her conclusion, citing in support an earlier authority, Ralph Linton, who regarded it generally true of most societies that an increase in opportunities for profit weakens the ties of extended kinship. Page 10 of 19

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* Ross (1961) also takes it for granted that large complex households were typical of Hindu society in the past and that they are breaking up now under the impact of urbanization. She identifies geographical mobility and neolocal residence as the principal factors responsible for accelerating change. Ross writes at considerable length about what she thinks will happen to different aspects of family life; these predictions flow not so much from the data she has as from what are regarded as axiomatic truths by her and by others of similar persuasion. Besides theoretical preconceptions, terminological inexactitude also mars the work of both Epstein and Ross. The cumulative effect of socio-economic change on the Hindu family has most often been said to be in the direction of a reduction in the size of the household. The single most important source of social statistics in India is, of course, the decennial census. Ever since 1911, successive Census Commissioners have written about the ‘disintegration’ of ‘the joint family’ (by which they mean the complex household). The 1951 Census Commissioner wrote: ‘Such a large proportion of small households [33 per cent in rural areas and 38 per cent in urban centres] is a prima facie indication that families do not continue to be “joint” according to the traditional custom of the country and the habit of breaking away from the joint family (p.79) and setting up separate households is quite strong’ (Gropalaswami 1953: 50). The conclusion is not, however, as obvious as the census commissioners make it out to be. Apart from the confusion between the family and the household which need not pose any problems since we know that the census data are on households, there are two questions to settle. First, what are the data on size over time? Second, what light do they throw on household types? The variation in the average size of the household, as recorded in the censuses, turns out to be negligible. It was 4.6 in 1911, 4.6 in 1921, 4.8 in 1931, 5.0 in 1941, 5.0 in 1951 and 5.2 in 1961. Just over a hundred years ago, in 1868, it was 4.3. The trend is upwards. It must be noted, however, that the foregoing data are for all communities, and not for Hindus alone. Similarly, the many city surveys that have been conducted since 1950 contain materials on households in urban areas. Data from 10 cities (namely, Baroda, Bombay, Gorakhpur, Hubli, Hyderabad-Secunderabad, Jamshedpur, Kanpur, Lucknow, Poona and Surat) show that households with four to six members each from the highest percentage of the total, ranging from 36.3 per cent in Bombay to 42 per cent in Baroda. Besides, the number of households with seven to nine and even 10 members is quite considerable. In short, differences in household size over time and as between rural and urban areas do not warrant any assured conclusions regarding the decline in the incidence of large households.

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* Some writers would like to emphasize the stability in household size or, for that matter, the upward trend. Orenstein (1961) does so on the basis of census data and Kolenda (1970) on the basis of detailed data on a Maharashtra village spread over a century and a half. This itself is, however, a risky undertaking and that for two reasons. First, a mere breakdown of households into large or small, or into complex or simple, by itself provides only a partial insight into the phenomena under consideration. This information, as Shah (1973: 87) rightly points out, must be supplemented by data on what percentage of the total population lives in which type of household. Moreover, in so far as interpretation of the variation, or lack of variation, in household size is concerned, it is very important to find out whether a household is simple in composition by choice or under the compulsion of demographic factors. As Kessinger (1974) has demonstrated, many households in the past were of the simple type because people did not live as long as they do now. ‘And since the population increased substantially after 1920 and life expectancy has (p.80) continued to rise, the percentage of families nuclear “of necessity” has continually declined. The technique of studying domestic and family group structure through percentages of each type does not take this change into consideration’ (Kessinger 1974: 83– 4). Regarding the relationship of size to structure, this is dubious and hard to establish considering that the average size of households in India is around five. A kin group of five could turn out to be a simple household consisting of a couple and their three unmarried children, or a complex household of two brothers, their wives and a child of one of the couples, or a complex household composed of a man, his wife, son, daughter-in-law and grandchild. Needless to add, other possibilities also exist. In view of the foregoing discussion, it should be clear that the preoccupation with numbers has failed to yield much understanding of the processes of familial change in the absence of other qualitative data. Now, several research workers have concerned themselves directly with the problem of structure of the household in the context of rural-urban differences. They provide us with guarded conclusions which do not lend much support to the thesis of the breakdown of complex households in urban areas and their displacement by simple households. An early study by Mukherjee (1965) compared data from the cities of Calcutta and Howrah, four West Bengal towns, and 20 villages of the State to conclude: ‘the prevalence of the extended (nonnuclear) family type is of equal order for the cities, towns and villages’ (p. 25). What is more, he found the nuclear family type (or simple household) more frequent in villages than in towns and cities (in that order). Kinship composition of a particular kind becomes socially significant in terms of the interrelationships and activities that go with it Desai (1964) defines jointness in terms of joint activities—in respect of property relations, mutual obligations between kin, residence, etc. He maintains that traditionally there was a high Page 12 of 19

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* degree of congruence between these different dimensions of family life. His study of the town of Mahuva in Gujarat revealed that as many as 95 per cent of the 423 households examined by him fell into the category of joint family (that is, complex household) through only 21 per cent were joint in the traditional sense (Ibid.: 145). What is more significant is the fact that those families which have been living longer in the town also show the higher degree of jointness. The belief that urban residence does not favour joint living is thus not confirmed. Other writers also have reported from their research that complex households are perhaps more characteristic of town-dwelling upper castes (p.81) than of the rural population (see, for example, Shah 1973: 100). Whether rural migrants come from complex or simple households, it seems that the fact of migration itself, or of occupational change, does not result in any drastic change in the kind of residential kin group in which they live and in the relationships that they maintain with other relatives. In the best available study of the impact of urbanization on kinship, Vatuk (1972) maintains that her data do not support assumptions about ‘the rapid or radical change in the traditional Indian family system’. She adds: the changes in kinship organization [(for example, the growth of bilateral kinship connections] in … middle class neighbourhoods … do not result primarily from their being city neighbourhoods, but rather from an underlying chain of forces which begins with education and permits occupational mobility, consequent geographical mobility and neolocal residence patterns. Urban residence is intermediate in the casual chain leading towards changed kinship organization (ibid.: 190–1). In an earlier study Gore (1968) also had suggested that education and entry into new occupations and professions, rather than urban residence itself, produce a lack of satisfaction with old-style living in complex households. Households which maintain their traditional calling as businessmen uphold ‘joint family living in behaviour, role perception and attitudes’ (ibid.: 232). One perhaps would like to add a word of caution here. Some studies have questioned whether even entry into new occupations is by itself sufficient to bring about a change in familial organization. The danger, as I see it, lies in judging the consequences of new occupations, or of migration, too soon after the event.

Besides urbanization, and perhaps more than it, industrialization has been seen as a solvent of the traditional family and household ties. Once again, empirical evidence supports neither this view nor the thesis that traditional kinship organization is an obstacle to industrial development. Several studies of the behaviour of entrepreneurs, as also of industrial workers, have been published and their conclusions point in the same direction. While the impact of industrialization on family life is far from uniform, it does generally seem to be much less disruptive than has been expected. In his excellent study of factory workers in Poona, Lambert (1963) writes: Page 13 of 19

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* In much of the discussion of the impact of industrialization on countries such as India, the most common assumption seems to be that one of the (p.82) earliest influences of industrialism upon the traditional society is the disorganization of the traditional family. Many of the changes predicted are qualitative changes not easily subject to measurement, but in so far as enumerative data are indicative of change, the factory population in Poona does not seem to differ radically or in the predicted direction from the general Poona population (ibid.: 39). He adds: ‘The primary test of an hypothesis that the factory is producing fragmented families should be the occurrence of a high proportion of factory workers who live away from their kin. We do not find this.’ It has been suggested by Sheth (1968) that industrialism has not dissolved traditional institutions in India because, contrary to what is generally believed, it has been a natural growth rather than an implantation from outside. Be that as it may, the fact remains—and there is a lot more evidence than what I have cited— that industrialization has not drastically altered the family life of the working class.

The evidence in respect of entrepreneurs is even more clear. Writing of industrial entrepreneurs of Okhla (near Delhi), Srinivas et al. (1966) observe: Kinship links play an important part at every stage and in every aspect of entrepreneurial activity. They represent one of the most important sources of financial aid in starting an industry. Entrepreneurs tend to work in close association with their kinsmen, sharing responsibilities, power and income. It is usual for a man to recruit his partners, managers and technical experts from among his close kindred (ibid.: 83). The support that entrepreneurs derive from undivided family assets and from their close kinsmen has been discussed in many published works. In an authoritative statement Singer writes about industrial leaders in Madras city:

While there have been striking changes within three generations in residential, occupational, educational and social mobility, as well as in patterns of ritual observances, the changes have not transformed the traditional joint family structure into isolated nuclear families. On the contrary, the urban and industrial members of a family maintain numerous ties and obligations with the members of the family who have remained in the ancestral village or town or have moved elsewhere. And within the urban and industrial setting, modified joint family organization is emerging (1972: 296). So impressed is Singer by the compatibility between the traditional family organization and industrial management that he wonders how the idea of the incompatibility between the two ever got started.

(p.83) Having looked at the urban-industrial scene, it may be worthwhile to return to the rural setting for a quick look at the evidence emanating from there. Once again the overall picture is similar. A study conducted in a village near Page 14 of 19

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* Delhi revealed that the fact that an urban-oriented rather than a rural-oriented man as the head makes no difference to the type of household he and his family live in; caste and economic status would seem more important (Freed and Freed 1969). Further north, in a Punjab village, study of familial change over a period of more than a 100 years shows that the joint family continues to be the norm but the range of kinship within it has narrowed. New households in the 1960s came into existence oftener as a result of partition than of succession as in the past; but these households are not necessarily of the nuclear family type. A new type of joint family organization seems to be emerging (Kessinger 1974: 178– 201). This is precisely what Singer notes about the Madras industrial leaders. There is a contradiction between the expected and the actual relationship between economic development, urbanization and industrialization, on the one hand, and the Hindu family, on the other. The empirical evidence is, on the whole, clear and remarkably consistent if only it is properly interpreted. There are unmistakable signs of change, but this is not uniform. The relationship between the family and the so-called determining variables can usually be explained in terms of contextualized rational calculation rather than by any general theory of change. Moreover, different aspects of the family that were outlined earlier in this paper respond in different ways to the same changes. Thus the type of household (in terms of kinship structure) that people live in is often the result of their calculation of economic advantage; but what is judged to be economically rational differs from individual to individual and group to group. And, ‘industrialization is not a homogeneous process but rather one which creates a variety of opportunities which may be exploited by diverse strategies’ (Owens 1971: 247). Economic advantage is not, however, equally relevant in the context of aspects of family life other than household type and size. Mutual expectations of amity and aid, ritual obligations, verbal expressions of adherence to the cultural ideal of joint living may seem impervious to the compulsions of economic interests. It has been observed through attitude surveys conducted over many years, and in several different parts of the country, that the sentiment for joint family living has remained generally (p.84) undiminished irrespective of the kind of household the respondents themselves lived in. Given the existence of compartmentalized aspects of the family, the response of the institution to external forces impinging upon it turns out to be complex. Depending on what particular aspect one focuses on—domestic arrangements, property ownership, expectations of support, ritual obligations, cultural values, sentiments, etc.— the conclusions one draws regarding the role of state of the family differ. It is due to our failure to distinguish between these differential responses that we detect contradictions in evidence where, in fact, there are not any. This is also why terminological clarification to which I drew attention earlier

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* in this paper is important. The effort to seek simple solutions to complex problems is bound to create confusion. The conclusion that the above necessarily brief examination of the relevant literature leads to, then, is this: There is no substitute for empirical research in assessing the nature of on-going social change and the interplay between economic and non-economic forces in India. The experience of other countries may suggest areas of inquiry but cannot legitimately provide us with readymade answers. For our own research to be meaningful it is imperative that we operate with carefully chosen and refined conceptual tools. The need for vigilance against the distortion of research by preconceived notions and illegitimate comparisons is great. And, finally, our search for the institutional factors that impinge upon economic development should be released from a century-old preoccupation with Hinduism, caste and the joint family, and also related to modes of production, patterns of ownership, governmental policy, etc. Then alone may we expect to obtain a rounded perspective on the nature and problems of development.

References Bailey, F.G., 1957, Caste and the Economic Frontier, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Bhagwati, J., 1966, The Economics of Underdeveloped Countries, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Desai, I.P., 1955, ‘An Analysis (of the Joint Family)’, Sociological Bulletin, 4: 97– 117. ———, 1964, Some Aspects of Family in Mahuva, Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Epstein, T.S., 1962, Economic Development and Social Change in South India, Manchester: Manchester University Press. (p.85) Epstein, T.S., 1962, Economic Development and Social Change in South India, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Erikson, E., 1969, Gandhi's Truth: On the Origins of Militant Non-violence, New York: Norton. Freed, Stanley A. and Ruth S. Freed, 1969, ‘Urbanization and Family Types in a North Indian Village’, North-western Journal of Anthropology, 25(4): 342–59. Goode, W.J., 1963, World Revolution and Family Patterns, New York: The Free Press.

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* Gopalaswami, R.A., 1953, Census of India, 1951, Vol. 1, India, Part 1-A, Report, New Delhi: Government of India Press. Gore, M.S., 1968, Urbanization and Family Change, Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Greenfield, S.M., 1961, ‘Industrialization and the Family in Sociological Theory’, American Journal of Sociology, 67(3): 312–22. Kane, P.V., 1930–62, History of Dharmasastra, 5 vols, Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute. Kapadia, K.M., 1966–72, Marriage and Family in India, 3rd edn, London: Oxford University Press. Kessinger, Tom G., 1974, Vtlyatpur, 1848–1968: Social and Economic Change in a North Indian Village, Berkeley: University of California Press. Kolenda, Pauline, 1970, ‘Family Structure in Village Lonikand, India: 1819, 1958, and 1967’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, n.s., 4: 50–72. Lambert, R.D., 1963, Workers, Factories and Social Change in India, Bombay: Asia. Laslett, Peter, 1965, ‘The History of Population and Social Structure’, International Social Science Journal, 17(7): 582–93. Laslett, Peter and Richard Wall, eds., 1972, Household and Family in Past Time, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Madan, T.N., 1962a, Is the Brahmanic Gotra a Grouping of Kin?, Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, 18(1): 59–77. ———, 1962b, ‘The Joint Family: A Terminological Clarification’, Inter national Journal of Comparative Sociology, 3(1) 7–16. ———, 1962c, ‘The Hindu Joint Family’, Man, 62: 88–9. ———, 1965, Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural. Kashmir. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. [2nd rev. edn, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1989.] Maine, Henry, Sumner, 1895 [1871], Village Communities in the East and West, 3rd edn, London: John Murray. Mamdani, M., 1972, The Myth of Population Control: Family, Caste and Class in an Indian Village, New York: Monthly Review Press. Mukerjee, Radhakamal, 1922, Principles of Comparative Economics, Vol. 2, London: P.S. King. Page 17 of 19

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* Mukherjee, Ramkrishna, 1965, The Sociologist and Social Change in India Today, New Delhi: Prentice-Hall. (p.86) Nimkoff, M.F., ed., 1965, Comparative Family Systems, Boston: Houton Mifflin. Nimkoff, M.F. and R. Middleton, 1960, ‘Types of Family and Types of Economy’, American Journal of Sociology, 66(3): 215–25. Orenstein, Henry, 1961, ‘The Recent History of the Extended Family in India’, Social Problems, 8: 341–53. Owens, R., 1971, ‘Industrialization and the Joint Family’, Ethnology, 10(2): 223– 50. Ross, A.D., 1961–73, The Hindu Family in its Urban Setting, Toronto: Toronto University Press. Shah, A.M., 1964, ‘Basic Terms and Concepts in the Study of the Family in India’, The Indian Economic and Social History Review, 1(3): 1–36. ———, 1968, ‘Changes in the Indian Family: An Examination of Some Assumptions’, Economic and Political Weekly, Annual Number, pp. 127–34. ———, 1973–4, The Household Dimension of the Family in India, Berkeley: University of California Press/Delhi: Orient Longman. Sheth, N.R., 1968, The Social Framework of an Indian Factory, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Singer, Milton, 1968, ‘The Indian Joint Family in Modern Industry’, in Milton Singer and Bernard S. Cohn, eds., Structure and Change in Indian Society, pp. 423–52, New York: Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research. ——, 1972, When a Great Tradition Modernizes: An Anthropological Approach to Indian Civilization, New York: Praegar. Smelser, NJ., 1959, Social Change in the Industrial Revolution, London:. Roudedge and Kegan Paul. Srinivas, M.N. et al., 1966, ‘A Sociological Study of Okhla Industrial Estate’, in Small Industries and Social Change, New Delhi: UNESCO Research Centre. Vatuk, Sylvia, 1972, Kinship and Urbanization: White Collar Workers in North India, London: University of California Press. Weber, Max, 1958, The Religion of India: The Sociology of Hinduism and Budhism. Glencoe: The Free Press. Page 18 of 19

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Appendix II The Hindu Family and Development* Wirth, L., 1938, ‘Urbanism as a Way of Life’, American Journal of Sociobgy, 44: 1–24. Notes:

(*) Originally published under the same title in 1976 in the Journal of Social and Economic Studies, 4(2): 211–31. Reproduced here from Patricia Uberoi, ed., Family, Kinship and Marriage, Oxford in India Readings in Sociology and Social Anthropology, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1993.

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Appendix III Auspiciousness and Purity: Some Reconsiderations*

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.87) Appendix III Auspiciousness and Purity: Some Reconsiderations* In this short article originally written in 1991, I presented some clarifications and reconsiderations in response to certain critical observations by Jonathan Parry (1990, 1991). I reformulated some of my views and reaffirmed others. I chose to be brief; some of the questions that Parry had posed can be adequately answered only through further fieldwork. Unfortunately, fieldwork will never be possible again among the Pandits of rural Kashmir who were, off and on, the subject of my ethnographic studies for over three decades, because nearly all of them fled their homes during 1990–91 in the face of a violent, Muslim fundamentalist, secessionist movement that swept the Valley. Whether the refugees will ever be able to go back to their villages is very uncertain; that their traditional way of life (bhattil) with its typical values and institutions will never be the same again is regrettably certain (see Madan 2007, 2008). But the issues raised by Parry can be studied elsewhere in India and they should be for they are important. Parry's central question is whether it makes good sense to insist on ‘seeing purity and auspiciousness as two separate dimensions with an “independent character’” (1991: 275); whether it is not erroneous to postulate ‘clear-cut boundaries between concepts which, in fact, overlap and intersect in complex ways’ (ibid.: 281). He agrees that in earlier ethnographic accounts of Hindu society (accounts of the 1950s and 1960s), ‘a too-easy conflation’ of the values of auspiciousness and purity had occurred and the people's concern (particularly upper caste people's concern, I should think) with auspiciousness/ inauspiciousness had either been reduced to being an aspect of purity/impurity or simply ignored (ibid.: 268). Parry, however, thinks that the required corrective measures have swung too far in the opposite direction in the work of Veena Das (1982) and (p.88) Gloria Raheja (1988), and in my own work (1985). Page 1 of 9

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Appendix III Auspiciousness and Purity: Some Reconsiderations* Auspiciousness and purity, he writes, ‘cannot … be properly understood as entirely independent variables, and the complex nature of the interaction between them is obscured by exaggerating their degree of mutual discreteness and autonomy’ (ibid.: 268). Noting that I had disclaimed any intention of producing ‘tidy-looking dichotomies’, he comments that ‘it is not clear that [I have] avoided doing so’. Let me begin my response by recalling that at the 1982 Washington D.C. Conference on Religion in South India, organized by John Carman and Frédérique Apffel-Marglin, for which I wrote the paper Parry has commented on. In this paper, and in its revised version that appeared as Chapter 2 in Nonrenunciation (included in the present volume), I had repeatedly and emphatically argued that the task ahead of us was not to treat research on purity/impurity as in some sense completed, and to regard research on auspiciousness/ inauspiciousness as the next item on the agenda. The task rather was to move towards a comprehensive paradigm in which the values of auspiciousness and purity would be examined in their inter-relatedness. The emphasis ought to be, I had pleaded, not on these concepts as free floating ‘substances’ or ‘forces’, but as a configuration of values expressed in social relations. This remains my position until today, and I do not expect it to change. Having said this, let me clarify that, although I do not consider auspiciousness and purity as essentially or necessarily incommensurable, I do advocate the procedure of separating them for purposes of analysis. I consider it an inescapable part of the analytical-interpretative endeavour to disentangle what is sometimes but not always empirically interwoven. In doing so one must not, however, lose sight of the critical fact that each of the elements constituting a whole, a total configuration, is meaningful only in terms of that whole. We all agree, I suppose, that the event of birth is a critically important instance of the interweaving of the values of auspiciousness (+) and impurity (−). Incommensurability is, in a sense, built into this situation, while marriage and death represent situations of commensurability of values. In other words, the relationship between the two variables admits of complexity: in some situations they may carry the same values (+ +/− −) but in others, opposite values (+ −/− +). This, it seems to me, should be sufficient warrant for the analytical distinction that I have proposed. We should do so with a view not to palm off ideal types as replicas or mirror images of empirical reality, but only as interpretative or explanatory constructs. (p.89) The ethnographer's task, in my opinion, is not merely to reproduce what he hears or observes (if this is ever truly possible), but to represent it, and this often involves rearrangement of the elements comprising the social phenomenon/situation/event under study and their re-evaluation. This is legitimate so long as we remain aware of what we are doing. And this is what I Page 2 of 9

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Appendix III Auspiciousness and Purity: Some Reconsiderations* meant when I wrote that ‘our task as anthropologists would seem to lie in overcoming ambiguity and decoding figurative language and bringing out clearly what we receive through interrogation and observation confusedly’ (Madan 1985: 25). Parry is sceptical, even critical, of this recommendation. On reconsideration, I think my choice of words was, perhaps, not quite apt. It sounds rather patronizing to suggest that the people being studied can be confused about their culture and the anthropologist, a wise guy who understands them better than they understand themselves, must produce clarity out of confusion. This is not right, and what I wanted to say must obviously be stated differently, more modestly and more accurately. It is not a question of confusion but of complexity and condensation. A people's categories of thought, evolved over long periods of time, are nuanced in subtle ways and have contextually sensitive meanings. They are complex rather than simple. Although aware of them, not all the bearers of a culture are equally aware of all the nuances of meaning and signification of a word or concept. Even when one is so aware, one may not be able to readily articulate what one knows. In the flow and buzz of everyday life the occasions for such articulation are rare. Tradition and convention are the unseen foundations of the cultural edifice: one does not feel the need to lay them bare. This is, I guess, what Parry means when he says that ‘a concept may exist without people being able to name it’ (1991: 269). Moreover, I had pointed out that anthropologists ‘seek to abstract certain concepts in a cross-cultural framework that hardly concern the people whose culture we study and, therefore, remain unarticulated and unexpressed in it’ (1985: 25). I still adhere to this position. It is in this sense, then, that the anthropologist is an interpreter. He attempts to clarify what seems obscure to him. He attempts to render the empirical datum sociologically intelligible. He has his vantage point, and ‘All knowledge of cultural reality … is always knowledge from particular points of view’ (Weber 1949: 81). The ending of ambiguity that I wrote about had less to do with searching out the ‘real’ and fixed meanings of words like shubha and shuddha, in the manner of a lexicographer, and was more concerned with (p.90) understanding the uses of ambiguity in the life of a people by trying to penetrate the façade of words. This is why I had turned to contextualized everyday usage rather than dictionaries. People know what they are saying. It is his own puzzlement that the anthropologist has traditionally been concerned with ending, and he writes primarily for his colleagues. But when an anthropologist studies his own society, he hopes to contribute to a clearer and heightened cultural self-awareness among the people (see Madan 1994). I am not, therefore, at all embarrassed, contrary to what Parry thinks, by differences in my informants’ first-order interpretations offered to me and my interpretations of their interpretations. The distinctions I make need not Page 3 of 9

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Appendix III Auspiciousness and Purity: Some Reconsiderations* coincide with theirs’, and may yet be productive of understanding. Indeed, among the moments of satisfaction that I have experienced during my fieldwork among the Pandits, the most gratifying have been those when they told me that my questions led them to new formulations about their culture and society, and that they found these formulations valuable. But there were other occasions when they told me, even accusingly, that my questions gave rise to doubts in their minds in place of the calm certainly that had earlier prevailed. A caveat is, however, in order. In the light of Parry's criticism, it seems necessary to clarify that, by using the word shubha for events as well as persons, places and objects, not every individual may be said to be intentionally resorting to figurative language (employing transferred epithets). There is a certain ambiguity, a certain looseness of expression in everyday speech, which does not however obliterate conceptual distinctions. The distinction between auspiciousness/inauspiciousness and purity/impurity, in the manner in which I have suggested we make it, is a heuristic device on the anthropologist's part; but it is grounded in distinctions that, I have reason to believe, the people themselves are aware of. I suggest, therefore, that we persist with this distinction until we have reaped the full harvest of its possibilities. The first results have been, I think, encouraging. Parry, in his criticism of what he considers an excessive and, therefore, misleading emphasis on separation of the axes, focuses on one particular issue. He points out that by restricting the use of auspiciousness/inauspiciousness to temporal events (and excluding persons, places and objects from it), I artificially produce a vacuum that does not in fact exist. I had spoken of the combination of the values of auspiciousness and purity in some events (notably marriage), of inauspiciousness and impurity in others (death), and of (p.91) auspiciousness and impurity in still others (birth), but had maintained that there were no paradigmatic events clearly combining inauspiciousness of an event with the personal ritual purity of the actors concerned. In doing so I had inquiringly argued for the overarching pervasiveness of the value of auspiciousness: if auspiciousness is absent in an event, so must purity be absent in the ritual condition of the actors involved in it. Parry lists several instances of the combination of inauspiciousness and purity without differentiating the event from the actor. Thus, he mentions the inauspiciousness of meeting the high status, ritually pure, Brahman at the beginning of a journey (I had mentioned this too but interpreted it differently); more significantly, he comments on the inauspiciousness of the widow who must, however (therefore?), lead a life of heightened ritual purity (1991: 275). As Parry anticipates, there is an unresolved difference between us on the interpretation of the ethnography pertaining to such cases.

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Appendix III Auspiciousness and Purity: Some Reconsiderations* To me it is not the Brahman (the actor) who is inauspicious, but the encounter with him at a particular place and time (the event). The widow's case, unlike the Brahman's, points to a permanent association of inauspiciousness with a person, in all places and at all times, but particularly on auspicious occasions. The widow seemingly embodies inauspiciousness. The sharp distinction suggested by me, and questioned by Parry (auspiciousness: purity: event: person/ place/ object), runs into a difficulty here. I will not say that this is the proverbial exception that proves the rule, but it is clear that the significant difference between the Brahman and the widow (other examples should be found) has been highlighted rather than obscured by the analytical separation of auspiciousness/ inauspiciousness and purity/impurity. The method produces results. Moreover, the widow's case brings out interesting nuances of the notion of purity. Parry draws attention to the higher standards of personal ritual purity expected of a widow. But, as some of my learned Saryupari Brahman informants (from Uttar Pradesh) insist, a widow's purity is flawed: she is ‘fractured’, ‘incomplete without her husband’, and in that sense imperfect and impure. One of the important connotations of the word shuddha is completeness, the absence of any deficiency or flaw (dosha). In fact, these pundits maintained that what is perfect (for example, an auspicious moment or lagna for marriage) may be called not only shubha but also shuddha. It is clear that shuddha here is a much broader notion than is conveyed by the specific phrase ‘ritual purity’. Again, I think, my method of distinguishing between auspiciousness and purity in a (p. 92) particular manner highlights this specific meaning of the word shuddha, though in the process the distinction itself is questioned. Pursuing his search for instance of inauspiciousness and purity occurring together, Parry suggests that ‘a highly charged state of purity may in certain circumstances be dangerous and—I infer— inauspicious’. Thus, ‘Banarasis will never be shaved or have their nails or hair cut by the Barber’ on the inauspicious Saturday. Here ‘we seem to have some indication that by heightening purity one may also heighten inauspiciousness’ (1991: 277). I find this problematic. Let me go back to the Pandits who are like the Banarasis in this respect. I discussed the subject of shaving and tonsure with many of them on a number of occasions, and they stated their position clearly and simply, but not in the manner of Parry. According to them, if a purificatory act, or an act signifying well-being (a facial and/or head shave could be either or both) is performed on an inauspicious day, it is wasted effort: it does not purify and it cannot signify well-being as one is ‘under a cloud’, as it were. An inauspicious day is, I was repeatedly told, kind of ‘out of joint’, ‘ominous’, ‘fraught with danger’. Therefore, one should not shave, put on new clothes, travel, make purchases, settle a marriage, etc. The inauspiciousness of the day (an astral event) detracts from the auspiciousness of the act (a social event). The emphasis is explicitly on the overriding character of inauspiciousness itself and its impact on actors, rather Page 5 of 9

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Appendix III Auspiciousness and Purity: Some Reconsiderations* than on their personal purity and its impact on the flow of time. The limited sense in which Parry's observation would fit is that of counter-productiveness (instead of bringing joy the act may bring grief). The Pandits recognize this and are definitely fearful about it. Loss of efficacy, however, is, I think, the broader, even primary, consideration. We need more fieldwork on this subject. Although Parry mentions several kinds of persons who combine inauspiciousness with personal states of purity, he does not mention any temporal event characterized by such a combination. Veena Das, however, does so. She considers the propitiation of ancestors such an event (Das 1982: 143). Performing shrāddha is regarded as obligatory and meritorious by the Pandits (and the other north Indian Brahman communities among whom I have made inquiries). Feeding the ancestors is essential for their well-being; it also brings well-being (including children) into the family, and bestows social approval (yash, fame) on him who performs it with devotion and ceremony. Such an event can hardly be ashubha in the same sense in which, say, death is inauspicious. It must be distinguished from the rituals (p.93) associated with cremation and the following thirteen days when the deceased is a dangerous preta (disembodied spirit) on way to becoming a benign and even dependant pitri (ancestor). It is, however, true that joyous activities, or activities connected with well-being, are avoided on individual shrāddha days as also during the collective annual feeding of the manes (pitripaksha). If a birthday and a death anniversary fall on the same day, however, it is the latter that is played down (the rites are abridged). This is particularly so if the birthday is of an adult. Auspiciousness must here prevail over inauspiciousness. In short, the propitiation of ancestors does not seem to be quite as unambiguously a combination of inauspiciousness of the event with the ritual purity of the actors concerned (− +) as childbirth is of the opposite situation (+ −), or marriage (+ +) and death (− −) are. While Das does help us in a sort of way in completing the series of permutations, her example does not really jeopardize my argument about the pervasiveness of the event over the actor, or detract from my suggestion that auspiciousness/ inauspiciousness are best considered attributes of temporal events and purity/ impurity of persons (actors). Apropos the ritual feeding of the manes, I would like to express strong reservations about the over-generalised notion of ‘the poison in the gift’ put forward by Raheja: ‘All dān, villagers say, is given to remove sankat (“danger”), kasht (“afflictions”), and pāp (“evil”) from the donor’ (Raheja 1988: 134). The Pandits speak of three ‘great gifts’, namely, the gift and establishment of the ‘seed’ (garbhādhāna), the gift of die maiden (kanyādāna), and the gift of food (rice balls) to the ancestors (pindadāna). ‘This threefold pattern of gifts … is the very basis of the Pandit way of life and of the definition of cultural identity’ (Madan 1987: 29). While Raheja's contention that gift-giving is Page 6 of 9

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Appendix III Auspiciousness and Purity: Some Reconsiderations* auspicious, and contributes to the well-being of the donor, would be acceptable to the Pandits, the further contention that gift-giving involves the transfer of evil to the donee would simply not apply to these three critical cases. There are other gifts, however, which involve such transference.1 The general point to be (p.94) emphasized here is that, if gift-receiving is inauspicious in all cases, and if the gift is the basis of social life, the conclusion would then follow that social life is inauspicious in its very foundations. This obviously is unacceptable.2 To conclude: Empirically, the notions of auspiciousness/inauspiciousness do often, but not always (to use Parry's words) ‘shade seamlessly into each other’. Lying is a sin and, the Pandits maintain, pollutes the tongue; but this pollution is very different from the pollution incurred by defecation which is, of course, no sin. Pollution resulting from childbirth is, far from being sinful, auspicious. The killing of a cow or a Brahman would be heinous—at once polluting and sinful and inauspicious. The permutations and combinations are manifold. To disentangle the skeins of everyday happenings, with their aspects of auspiciousness/ inauspiciousness and purity and impurity, it is necessary that we make distinctions that the people being studied themselves do not, at least not explicitly or emphatically, using words and concepts for this purpose, provided that these ‘constructs’ are not given the status of empirical reality. Parry's queries highlight some dark areas in our understanding of the interrelated themes of auspiciousness and purity in Hindu culture. To answer them all satisfactorily we need more fine-grain data (‘thick descriptions’) and more finely-tuned interpretations. The aim should be to produce a comprehensive but uncluttered paradigm of Hindu society constructed from these crucial elements. Regrettably, however, as of 2010, not much further work on this subject seems to have come out; indeed interest in it has declined.

References Bailey, F.G., ed., 1971, Gifts and Poison: The Politics of Reputation, Oxford: Blackwell. Das, Veena, 1982, Structure and Cognition: Aspects of Hindu Caste and Ritual, Delhi: Oxford University Press. (p.95) Madan, T.N., 1985, ‘Concerning the Categories Skubha and Shuddha in Hindu Culture’, in John B. Carman and Frēderique A. Marglin, eds, Purity and Auspiciousness in Indian Society, Leiden: EJ. Brill. ———, 1987, Non-renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture, New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———, 1994, ‘Anthropology as Critical Self-awareness’, in T.N. Madan, Pathways: Approaches to the Study of Society in India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press.

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Appendix III Auspiciousness and Purity: Some Reconsiderations* ———, 2007, ‘Preface’, in Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir, Third impression of second enlarged edition, New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———, 2008, ‘Kashmir, Kashmiris, Kashmiriyat’, in Apama Rao, ed., The Valley of Kashmir: The Making and Unmaking of a Composite Culture, New Delhi: Manohar. Parry, Jonathan, 1990, ‘Review of Non-renunciation: Themes and Interpretations of Hindu Culture’, Man, 25: 169–70. ———, 1991, ‘The Hindu Lexicographer? A Note on Auspiciousness and Purity’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 25: 2. Raheja, Gloria Goodwin, 1988, The Poison in the Gift.: Ritual, Prestation, and the Dominant Caste in a North Indian Village, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Weber, Max, 1949, The Methodology of the Social Sciences (Trans., Edward Shils and Henry Finch), Glencoe: The Free Press. (p.96) Notes:

(*) Reproduced from Contributions to Indian Sociology (NS) 25, 2 (1991): 287– 94. (1) Raheja is wrong in saying that I make ‘no mention of the connection between the giving of dān and the removal of inauspiciousness’ (1988: 258, fn. 20). I do so in the very paper she cites (Madan 1985: 15), and elsewhere, particularly with reference to the ritual of tulābhār, or the symbolic transfer of the body of a person, who has come under the influence of an evil or malignant conjunction of astral forces, to a priest-donee. Actually the issue of transferability of evil is more complex than Raheja seems to think. Thus, it can hardly be considered isolated from the key notion of karma. And, if we follow the dharmashāstra, the fruits of karma wil! have to be regarded as non-transferable. The Mahabharata says the same. (2) Incidentally, in developing her notion of poison in the gift, Raheja makes no mention of a similar attempt by F.G. Bailey (see Bailey 1971). He and his collaborators based their argument on the more general notion of tension being an essential characteristic of all exchange relationships. Thus Bailey wrote: ‘This is the irony of man's existence in society. If you make no exchanges, you do not belong. If you make the exchanges … [doing so] may be interpreted as a challenge. The gift requires the counter-gift, and the inappropriate return constitutes a challenge. Gift, as Mauss points out, is a German word for poison … In short, it is not that some exchanges are co-operative and other competitive:

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Appendix III Auspiciousness and Purity: Some Reconsiderations* all exchanges have the seeds of both these opposed things within them’ (1971: 23–24).

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Supplementary Index

The Hindu Householder: The T.N. Madan Omnibus T. N. Madan

Print publication date: 2011 Print ISBN-13: 9780198069409 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2012 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198069409.001.0001

(p.97) Supplementary Index (Prologue, Epilogue, and Appendices) Adi Shankaracharya, 25 agnyādheya, 4 āhitāgni householder, 4 , 5 Amar Kosha, 46 anpu, notion of, 15 Apffel-Marglin, Frédérique, 88 Arcot, battle of, 43 ascetic renouncer, 6 āshramas, as stages of life, 6 , 9 Athrava Veda, gotra in, 49 auspiciousness, and purity, 20 , 87–94 autumn season, 38 Bailey, F.G., 74 , 94 n Basava, 19 Basham, A.L., 47 , 49 , 51 , 57 n Baudhayana, 49 , 50 n, 51 , 57 n Bengali Hindus, on bāri, 12–13 on bāsa, 12–13 Bhagwad Gita, 46 Bhagwati, J., 75 birth, as auspicious, 88 boys, Page 1 of 9

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Supplementary Index ritual initiations of, 40 brahmacharya (studentship), 6 Brahman, and non-Brahman castes, 47 , 53–4 Brahmanism, 17 British judicial decisions, 73 Brough, John, 47 , 48 , 49 , 50 , 51 , 57 , 58 n, 61 Bühler, G., 7 Carman, John, 88 caste, 3 , 18 , 20 , 67 , 68 , 83 , 84 and gotra, 47 , 48 gotra-less, 54 in Shamirpet, 53 system, 6 ‘twice born’, 59 n Chaitanya, 19 childhood, 23–4 memories of the house, 45–6 clan, definition of, 54–5 conjugal family, 76 , 77 Cook, Nilla Cram, 16 coparcenary, male descent and, 70–1 culture, 2 , 3 Dalits, 3 Dange, S.A., 51 n Daniel, Valentine, 12 Das, Veena, 87 , 92 , 93 Dayabhaga Law, of ownership and inheritance, 73 death in family, 26–7 debts, 5–6 Desai, LP., 70 , 80 Desai, ST., 10 n (p.98) descent, 62–3 and kinship, 55 Dhammapada, 46 Dharma literature, 5 Dharmashāstra, 7 , 18 Divan, 46 domestic rituals, 2 , 14 Doniger, Wendy, 7 , 14 Dube, S.C., 53 Dumont, Louis, 10 , 48 Elwin, Verrier, 48 entrepreneurs, and kinship ties, 82 Epstein, T. Scarlett, 78 Page 2 of 9

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Supplementary Index Erikson, E., 75 ethnography, householder in, 10–18 Evans-Pritchard, E.E., 55 , 64 exogamy, gotra and, 49 expiatory rites, 8 family, decision making in, 74 , 75 , 76 and household, 2 , 70 notion of, in India, 70 role in social and economic development in India, 78 Fasana-i-Azad, 46 Fick, R., 55 fire altars, Vedic Aryans and, 4 Flood, Gavin, 3 , 9 folk traditions, 3 Fortes, Meyer, 54 , 62 , 63 Freed, Stanley A., 83 Freed, Ruth S., 83 Freedman, M., 62 n gārhasthya (householdership), 4–10 , 9 , 17 , 20 Gaudiya movement, 19 Ghurye, G.S., 48 , 49 , 51 gift-giving, as auspicious, 93–4 Gold, Ann Grodzins, 18 n Goode, WJ., 77 Gopalaswami, R.A., 79 gor (priests), see also Kashmir Pandits Gore, M.S., 80 gotra, Brahmanic, 47–64 in anthropological literature, 52–4 definition of, 53–5 exogamous, 53 , 56 among Kashmiri Brahmans, 55–60 name, 60 , 61 , 62 , 64 origins of, 51 in traditional literature, 49–52 use of the term, 47 Gough, Kathleen, 52 Gould, Harold, 48 , 54 , 55 , 62 Greenfield, S.M., 77 Grey's Elegy, 43 grihastha, 5 , 10 , 16 , See also householder grihasthadhārini, Page 3 of 9

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Supplementary Index women as, 16 Gujarat, joint families in, 80 Gulati, I.S, 14 n Gulati, J.S., 14 n havans, performance in a Kashmiri house, 25–6 Heesterman, J.C., 5 , 10 hereditary occupation, 74 Hiltebeitel, Alf, 3 Hindu identity, 3 Hindu ‘joint’ family, 2 , 69–72 , 78 , 80 , 84 and development, 67–84 disintegration of, 78–9 Hindu social institutions, 67 , 68 Hindu society, auspiciousness and purity in, 87 identity in, 2 Hinduism, 3 , 84 (p.99) house (s), astrological significance of, 12 -householder relationship, 12 household, 1 , 18 , 71 , 78 complex, 72 , 76 , 78 , 79 , 80 , 81 and family, 70 functional and cultural aspects of, 2 joint, 82 , 83 in pre-industrial society, 1 size and structure of, 79 , 80 type of, 79 , 83 see also traditional household householder(s), life of a, 8–9 obligations of, 5 subsistence to, 8 tradition in Hindu society, 1 see also grihastha householder tradition, in Hindu society, 19 Hutton, J.H., 48 , 59 Ilaiah, Kancha, 3 inauspiciousness, 90 , 91 , 92 Inden, Ronald B., 13 , 14 , 15 individualism, 6 , 74–5 Indology, influence of, 9–10 and social anthropology, 48 industrialization, impact on family and household, 76 , 77 , 81–3 inheritance, Page 4 of 9

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Supplementary Index laws on, 76 Mitakshara Law on, 72 Janmashtami festival, 37 joint living, 13 Kak, Ram Chandra, The Ancient Monuments of Kashmir, 46 Kane, Pandurang Vaman, 18 , 70 kanyādāna, 17 Kapadia, K.M., 47 , 54 , 73 Karandikar, S.V., 47 , 48 , 49 , 50 , 51 , 52 , 54 , 55 , 59 kārkun, 57 , 58 Karve, Iravati, 52 , 53 Kahmiri Hindu household, growing up in, 23–46 Kashmiri Pandit(s), endogamous subdivision among, 57 family priest among, 35–6 gara and dera among, 13 gotra among, 55–60 household, 11 ideology of householder among, 16–18 marriage and gotra among, 57–8 position of women among, 59–60 as Saraswat Brahmins, 25 , 55 society, renouncers in, 17 Kashmir, Valley, cycle of seasons in, 36–40 militancy in, 45–6 , 87 Kessinger, Tom G., 79 Khare, R.S., 57 n kinship, descent and, 55 organizations, 81 ties, 1 , 54 , 61 , 63 , 71–2 , 77 , 80 Kolenda, Pauline, 79 Kosambi, D.D., 49 , 50 , 51 Koul, Anand, 57 kram, 56 Kuper, Hilda, 54 Lambert, R.D., 81 Laslett, Peter, 77 Laugaksha, sage, 55 love, ideology of, 14 Lawrence, W.R., 56 Linton, Ralph, 78 (p.100) Madan, T.N., 2 , 11 , 13 , 18 , 19 , 57 n, 61 , 69 , 72 , 87 , 89 , 90 , 93 and Brother, 26–7 , 30 , 32–4 , 39 , 41 , 43–5 and Father, 24–6 Page 5 of 9

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Supplementary Index Mother, 24 , 26–7 , 30–33 , 36 , 39 , 41 , 42 and Sister(s), 24 , 26 elder, 27 , 29–30 , 40 , 41 second, Kamala, 27 , 29 , 30–5 , 39 , 42 , 44 Madras, joint families in, 82 , 83 Māhābharata, 9 Maine, Henry Sumner, 67 Majumdar, D.N., 53–4 Majumdar, R.C., 49 Malthus, Thomas R., 72 Mamdani, M., 76 Mānava Dkarmashāstra, 7 , 8 , 9 , 14 , 56 Manusmriti, 6 , 7 , 72 on householder life, 9 Marriott, McKim, 3 marriage, 16 , 56–7 forms of, 7 rules, 51 sagotra, 58 , 60 Marx, Karl, 67 , 68 Mayer, A.C., 47 Mayne, J.D., 56 , 60 mekhala/mekhla, 16 , 40 Middleton, R., 76 migration, rural, 81 Mitakshara, 56 on ownership and inheritance, 72 , 73 moksha, 16 morality, 13 , 14 Mukhdoom Sab, shrine of, 32 Mukerjee, Radhakamal, 73 , 74 Mukherjee, Ramkrishna, 80 Murdock, G.F., 54 Muslim household, 24 Nehru, Jawaharlal, Autobiography, 30 , 46 India and the World, 46 The Discovery of India, 46 Nicholas, Ralph W, 13 , 14 , 15 Nimkoff, M.F., 77 nuclear family, 78 in Europe, 77 and modernization, 68 in US, 77 Nuer, 54 , 64 Olivelle, Patrick 5 , 6 , 7 , 9 Orienstein, Henry, 79 Page 6 of 9

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Supplementary Index overpopulation, and poverty, 76 Owens, R., 83 pakhyag, 36 parakkam, 14 Parry, Jonathan, 87 , 89 , 90 , 91 , 92 , 94 Plassey, battle of, 43 Pocock, D.F., 48 pollution, 94 post-mortuary rituals, 27 Prabhu, P.H., 47 , 54 Pravara(s), 50 , 51 , 57 n, 60 property, ownership, 72 rights, 70 , 71 , 73 puja room, in a Kashmiri home, 25 purity, auspiciousness and, 87–94 ritual, 93 purushārtha, notion of, 16 Pusalker, A.D., 49 Qur'an, recitation of, 24 , 25 Radcliffe-Brown, A.R., 54 , 55 Raheja, Gloria Goodwin, 87 , 93 (p.101) Razdan, Krishna, 16 renouncers, as a category, 17 , 19 see also ascetic renouncer renunciation, 5 Rigveda, 6 ‘Hymn, families’ of, 50 Rivers, W.H.R., 55 Ross, A.D., 78 Rowland, Benjamin, 10 Roy, Rammohun, 68 , 72 , 73 Roy, S.C, 48 Sab, Ali Peer, maulvi, 24 , 25 sacrifices, five, great, 7–8 sagotra, 55 , 60 , 61 marriages, 58 , 60 Sakaldwipi Brahmans, gotra exogamy among, 53 Sanderson, Alexis, 17 sannyāsa (renunciation), 4 , 18 Page 7 of 9

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Supplementary Index sannyāsi, 17 sanskāra, 14 sapinda rules, 52 Saraswat Brahmans, gotra exogamy among Punjabi, 53 see also Kashmiri Pandits Shah, A.M., 9 , 69 , 70 , 71 , 72 , 79 Shakuntala, 46 shālīna, 4 , 5 Sharika, worship of, among Kashmiri Pandits, 32 Sheth, N.R., 82 Shiva Ratri, celebration of, 31 , 39–40 shrāddha, sacrifice to ancestors, 8 , 14 , 27 , 71 , 92 , 93 shrauta sacrifices, among Vedic Aryans, 4 , 5 shubha, 91 see also auspiciousness shuddha, 91 , 92 see also purity Sikh Gurus, in Punjab, 19 Singer, Milton, 82 , 83 Smelser, N.J., 75 Smith, Brian K., 3 , 7 , 14 social change, 84 social and economic development, 68 social stratification, 76 , Srinivas, M.N. 52 , 53 , 57 n, 82 Srivastava, Vinay Kumar, 18 n svadharma, notion of, 7 Tallensi, character of clan among, 54 Tamil Nadu, conception of home in, 11–12 notion of love in, 15–16 Thapar, Romila, 3 tradition, 2 , 3 ; 89 traditional household, authoritarian structure in, 75 transmigration, 17 ‘twice born’ householder, 10 Trawick, Margaret, 15 Tulsi Ramayana, 46 upanayan ritual, among Kashmiri Pandits, 58–9 , 61 Upanishads, 11 urbanization, 68 , 81 Page 8 of 9

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Supplementary Index and urbanism, 69 , 77 Vallabha, 19 Vanāprastha, 7 , 18 vansham, as lineage, 53 Varma, Raja Ravi, oleographs of, 43 varna system 6 , 11 Varnāshrama dharma, notion of, 7 Vāslupati, 11 Vastu Purusha puja, 12 Vatuk, Sylvia, 81 Veda(s), 3 , 5–6 , 8 (p.102) Vedic age/times, fire rituals of, 36 householder tradition in, 2 gotra in, 51 Vedic architectural principles, of house-making, 11 Vedic Aryans, 4 Vedic sacrifices, 8 Vidya arambh, 40–45 ritual of, 40–1 Virashaiva (Lingayat) sect, in Karnataka, 19 Wall, Richard, 77 Weber, Max, 68 , 74 , 76 , 89 wedding, 27–9 manzirath ceremony, 29 West Bengal, family types in, 80 Western civilization, 77 Western household, 2 , 67 widow, and inauspiciousness, 91 remarriage, 59 Williams, F.E., 61 winter season, 38 , 39 Wirth, Louis, 69 Wiser, Charlotte V., 20 n women, and gotra, 59–60 non-participation in productive activity, 74 , 75 and pollution, 59 , 60 position of, 62 , 67 ritual status of, 17 work related rituals, 14 Yagnyopavit, 40 Yaksha, titual feding of, 38 Yajanavalkya, 56 Yāyāvara, 5 Zaehner, R.C., 9

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