SHSS 1999

STUDIES IN
HUMANITIES AND
SOCIAL SCIENCES
Journal of the Inter-University Centre
for Humanities and Social Sciences
VOLUME VI NUMBER 1 1999
Editor CRETAN SINGH
INTER-UNIVERSITY CENTRE FOR HUMANITIES

AND SOCIAL SCIENCES
INDIAN INSTITUTE OF ADVANCED STUDY
SHIM LA
Contents
Spatial Expressions of Socio-Political Relations:

An Investigation of the Palace and Stupa
in Early Historical India 1
KUMKUM Rov
Socio-Political Change in Nineteenth Century Orissa

and the Rise ofMahima Dharma 19
FANJNDAM DEO
Tribal Village Organisation and Mobilisation in the Tribal
Protest Movements in Eastern India, 1820-1922 33
B.B. CHAUDHURI
Culture of Christianity and Colonialism in Chhattisgarh 61
SAURABH DUBE
Universality and Sri Ramakrishna: An Historical and

Philosophical Reappraisal 79
AMIYA P. SEN
Nyaya System of Philosophy: A Significant Aspect

of Indian Culture 101
JoHN VATIANKY
Nissim Ezekiel's 'Background, Casually': Travails of

Cultural Marginality 111
SURYA NATH p ANDEY
Caste and Gender Issues in the Myths of South Indian
Untouchable Castes 119
N. SuoHAKAR RAo
Socio-Cultural Context of Modernisation and Development:

Japan and India 143
ANUNODAY BAJPAI
Agricultural Modernisation and Education:

Contours of a Point of Departure 159
KRISHNA KUMAR
Studies in Humanities and Social Sciences, Vol. VI, No. 1 1999, pp. 1-18
Spatial Expressions of Socio-Political Relations:

An Investigation of the Palace and Stupa
in Early Historical India
KUMKUMROY
Delhi University
Delhi
I·
The Mauryan empire is widely recognized as one of the first documented
attempts to establish a polity encompassing considerable parts of the
Indian subcontinent and beyond. The distribution of Asokan
inscriptions, which has been examined by a number of scholars, has
often been used to demarcate the spatial extent of the empire, and this
in turn has been extended to argue that it included a number of regions
with disparate social formations, economies cultures, languages, religious
beliefs etc. (e.g., Thapar, 1987). The degree to which the empire was
centralized, and the nature of centralization have been viewed as
problematic in this context. In other words, there has been a growing
focus on the nature of the Mauryan state from perspectives which do
not view centralization as a natural outcome of evolutionist tendencies.
There have also been attempts to explore the connection between the
Mauryan and the post-Mauryan phases not simply in terms of a decline
or collapse of centralization or 'downfall' but in terms of a more complex
process of political transformation.
If one accepts that the Mauryas both attempted to create and
presided over a relatively complex polity one can then ask questions
about the extent to which they may have attempted to deliberately
impress their pre~ence on the landscape, to render the imperial agenda
visible. That empires deploy a variety of strategies of representation is
widely recognized. Also recognized is the fact that such representations
are, for a number of reasons, idealized. As important, as has been pointed
out by Root ( 1979) in the context of the Achaemenid empire, such
representations are only superficially borrowings from contemporary
or earlier traditions: the imperial agenda is realized in weaving together
a range of cultural traditions. It is also conditioned by the nature of
representative units available or recognized, immediate political issues,
2 KUMKUM ROY
dynastic interests, and possibilities of physical execution.

At one level, the ASokan inscriptions, on rocks and pillars located at
strategic points, provide an obvious visible representation of the empire.
Yet, these remain unique_:.while the pillars may have been part of a
wider symbolism (e.g., Irwin 1973), by and largeASokan inscriptions do
not seem to have been imitated in form or content subsequently.
At another level, the inscriptions themselves provide information
on construction-of rest houses and wells, and of the planting of trees,
and the enlargement of a stupa (e.g., Major Pillar Edict VII, Major Rock
Edict II, Nigalisagar Pillar Inscription). We will return to the stupa later,
but apart from this, the other activities were not necessarily an imperial
monopoly.
It is in this context that I explore, first the way palaces were envisaged
in the early historical context, and juxtapose this with notions of the
stupa.
II
For the present, the discussion on the palace is based on three kinds of
evidence; that derived from prescriptive texts, in this case exemplified
by the Arthasiistra, the description of Mauryan royal practices ascribed
to Megasthenes, and the evidence provided by ASokan inscriptions. I
focus in particular on the extent to which the palace is viewed as part of
a public or private domain. It has been suggested that in early monarchies
this distinction is often blurred, and that this then provides one means
of identifying the king (who is regarded as a super householder) with
male heads of households, creating an impression of common, shared
interests. In the early Indian situation, while the notion of the king as
householder was assiduously cultivated, the space of the palace was
conceived to be relatively distinct.
The Artha$iistra (Bk II) incorporates some of the earliest detailed
· prescriptions regarding the construction of forts and palaces. The term
used for forts, durga, is significant, literally meaning difficult to approach.
In other words, that defined a monument as a fort was its inaccessibility.
The very existence of such a structure which could be seen from outside
but to which access was strictly regulated if not well-nigh impossible for
most people, would have defined those who routinely resided in it in
identical terms. However, it is not the isolated, remote fort on which
the Artha$iistra concentrates, but on royal structures which are defined
as intrinsic to the larger settlement.
This is evident in the attempt to locate the palace, referred to as the
The Palace and Stitpa in Early Historical India 3
antal}pura, in terms of the city consisting of eighty-one squares (fig 1).

The antal}pura was to be located to the north of what was defined as the
viistuhrdaya, literally the heart of the settlement, which in turn, was to
be occupied by a variety of shrines.
The antal}pura itself seems to have been conceived of as a microcosm,
consisting of nine squares (fig. 2), with the squares surrounding the
nucleus being designated for a variety of functions. Within the antal}pura,
the enumeration begins from the north-east and proceeds clockwise.
The antal}pura was to be surrounded by other settlements, which are
enumerated in the same order.
A number of features are significant about this construction. Each
square was conceived as the site of certain specific, specialized activities
or as the location for specific resources. On another level, almost none
of the squares was constructed as a self-sufficient unit. For instance, if
one considers an activity such as the manufacture of weapons, this would
have required access (minimally) to squares 3, 4 and 5; revenue
transactions would have involved squares 3 and 8, and so on. In other
words, the central blank square is in fact envisaged as dominant,
controlling access to and regulating activities along its entire periphery.
The antal}pura thus emerges as the locus for specific kinds of production,
for the accumulation of a variety of resources, as administrative and
ritual centre, as well as the royal residence.
At least some structures such as the store-house are envisaged as
being constructed of stone, baked brick and ljimber, and these would
probably have distinguished the antal}pura from other dwelling places,
as would the fact that it would have had a very complicated lay out.
What is also interesting is that within the framework of the antal}pura
would have provided visibility for the edifice, but not for its inhabitantS'.
Another model for the palace is offered in the first book of the
Artha$astra (1.20). While this is less detailed, it emphasizes the need to
delimit the precinct by erecting a wall (priikara) or digging a most
(parikhii). Access to the residential area, the vasagrha, was to be concealed,
through labyrinths, for instance.
Three zones are envisaged within this structure-at the rear, and
first in order of enumeration are the women's quarters (the stiinivesa),
an area for childbirth and the sick (the garbhavyiidhi sarhsthii), and a
garden, including a source o(water (vr~odakasthiina). Beyond was the
area reserved for the kanyii and the kumiira (i.e., the princess and the
prince) and in the foreground were areas designated for alarhkiira,
probably the royal toilet, mantra or consultation, the upasthiina or the
assembly, and the kumiiriidhya~asthiinafor ministers or officials in change
4 KUMKUM ROY
of princes (fig. 3). While I have represented these zones as concentric

circles, they can be envisaged as squares as well.
It is possible to view this scheme as providing us with the contents of
the blank square of the anta}J,pura, moving from the private to the more
public areas. The most private zone would have been open only to the
king and his kinswomen or womenfolk, while even in the third zone
public access would have probably been restricted to the upasthiina, the
assembly where the king was supposed to meet those who had come on
business. Once again, there is no explicit provision for the display of
the royal person or the royal residence, or even parts of it.
Another exclusively royal monument envisaged was a kind of zoo
( mrgavana). This combined the preoccupation with the safety of the
royal person with an attempt to locate the king vis-a-vis nature-what is
suggested is a forest which is regulated if not regimented. The only
trees which were to be permitted to grow were tliose which bore sweet
fruit, the only bushes were to be thornless ones, wild animals were to be
permitted once their teeth and claws had been broken. Apart from this,
there were to be shallow pools (presumably to prevent the king from
drowning) and tame animals. While this can be viewed on one level as
a safe pleasure garden for the king, it could also represent an attempt
to construct an understanding of kingship as being intrinsic to the taming
of the wild, of domesticating the undomesticated or even
undomesticable. As a complement to this, the king was also expected to
establish another mrgavana on the frontiers or outskirts of his realm,
where all animals were welcome. Presumably, the king was expected to
establish rather than enter it.
Turning to Megasthenes' account, we have more information on
the lifestyle of the king than on the palace. This may be due to the
accidental survival of some fragments of his text as opposed to others,
but it may also have been due to the fact that the Seleucid ambassador
may not have had access to the anta}J,pura. What we have then is probably
a combination of observation and hearsay.
According to Megasthenes, the king was surrounded by women
guards within his residence, while male soldiers were posted outside
the gates. To an extent, this conoborates the provision in the Arthasiistra
for the women's quarter at the core of the royal residence. At the same
time, Megasthenes perceived this core to be fraught with tension. The
king could apparently be killed by his female guards. While he was
expected to spend his days in wakefulness, his nights were only slightly
more restful, as he had to keep changing his bedrooms in order to
The Palace and Stupa in Early Historical India 5
forestall conspiracies. It seems as if eternal vigilance was the price of

kingship.
On another level, Megasthenes provides information on the
occasions when the king appeared in public. These appearances are
located outside the context of the palace, and include going to battle,
going to deliver judgment or hear cases, going to sacrifice and going
on the hunt. What we find is an emphasis on the personal visibility of
the king in distinctive situations when he would have been fulfilling
unique roles. Besides, the act of showing/seeing the king was carefully
structured. The hunt, for instance, was clearly stage-managed-the king
was apparently surrounded by female and male guards, and shot at his
targets from a platform. The pressures to be visible must have been
particularly strong on the king, as any prolonged period of invisibility
would have probably generated suspicions that he had succumbed to
the snares of the antaiJ,pura.
To some extent at least? the agenda of the .ASokan inscriptions needs
to be located within this context-the physical presence of the inscrip-
tions was meant to represent and render visible the emperor, and in so
far as they were read or heard, the voice of the emperor would be audible
as well. In other words, apart from their content, the form of the
inscriptions seems to have been devised as a strategy to circumvent the
problem of visibility and accessibility. What is interesting is that although
the ruler attempts to appear before his subjects, the subjects were not
expected to take any initiative in establishing such contact-the only
people permitted to reach him, whether he was in his orodhanaor harem,
gabhagara or inner apartment, vaca or pasture, being transported or in
the garden (vinita, uyana) were his reporters, the pativedakas (Major
Rock Edict VI). Thus, while the presence of the king was extended in a
variety of ways, access to him continued to be regulated.
Ruins of what appears to have been a pillared hall were recovered
from Pataliputra. While this was probably part of a palace structure, it
would not necessarily have been accessible to ordinary subjects, and
was probably meant for an exclusive audience.
One of the reasons why the Mauryan royal residence may have been
deliberately inaccessible probably had to do with the specialized kinds
of production, including the production of weapons, which may have
taken place there. One can then view the early historical palace as a
structure where access to specific areas was open to a range of
specialists-administrative, professional, including crafts-persons. But
both the number of such personnel, and their roles within the palace
6 KUMKUM ROY
were probably strictly regulated. The spatial complexity of the palace

probably reflected the complex but at the same time carefully
coordinated relationship between the king on the one hand and such
specialists on the other.
For people with no specific business, however, (who would have
constituted the vast majority of the population) access to the palace
would have been virtually impossible. It is in this situation that the
development of other forms of representing royalty and establishing
relationships between the ruler and ruled assumed importance, which
was evidently worked into the understanding of the Asokan stupa,
explored below.
There is another dimension to the palace as a socio-political unit.
The regulation of the king's public dealings, and the restrictions on
members of his household achieving direct contact with the public may
have been a device to contain intra-familial tensions, which are
recognized as routine, for instance in the Artha$iistra. The project of
rendering the king (and the king alone) visible in contexts.outside the
domestic may have been a means of preventing other members of his
household including recalcitrant queens and princes from gaining access
to at least some of the channels of communication. Yet this had its
limitations, especially in a situation where princes were frequently
deployed as provincial governors and where royal marriages were viewed
as occasions for establishing strategic alliances. As such, the king could
neither claim nor achieve a total disjuncture from his household.
To some extent, this ambivalence towards the royal lineage is
reflected in Asokan inscriptions as well. While the ideology and
terminology of the inscriptions require detailed analysis, even on a
superficial level, it is significant that the king portrays himself as almost
sui generis, mentioning no ancestors. Yet, at the same time, he leaves
instructions for his descendants, who are, in many cases, expected to
maintain his dhamma in perpetuity (e.g., Major Rock Edict IV).
III
It is in this context that the construction of stupas acquires significance.
The evidence on funerary mounds which one can recover from the
surviving fragments of Megasthenes' account is, as often, somewhat
ambivalent. One fragment states that the Indians did not erect funerary
monuments, depending on other, verbal forms to memorialize the dead.
In another fragment, Megasthenes is quoted as stating that 'the tombs
are plain and the mounds raised over the dead lowly.' What one can
suggest, tentatively, is that the pre-ASokan Mauryan state does not seem
to have been involved in raising monuments to the dead in general and
erecting stupas in particular, a viewpoint which is corroborated, to an
extent, by the negative evidence of the Arthasiistra.
The ascription of the construction of stupas to ASoka is a common
theme in some sections of the Buddhist tradition, and at least some of
these ascriptions are evidently corroborated by the archaeological
record. For the present, I will focus on Hiuen Tsang's accounts of ASokan
stupas, which are possibly the most detailed and specific, and explore
the implications of stupa construction. not in terms of their rich and
complex philosophical symbolism, but in terms of possible architectural/
artistic representations of socio-political configurations.
Hiuen Tsang's account of his travels through the subcontinent have
provided the basis for a number of attempts to locate the specific
settlements he mentions as well as the details of the architectural
structures he mentions. Such attempts have constantly run into problems
of identifying sites, working out the equations between Chinese and
Sanskrit/Indian names, the distances traversed by the monk, etc. For
the moment I would like to set these aside and examine the descriptions
of stupas, ASokan and other, provided, grouping such references into
four broad zones, (a) encompassing the north-western part of the
subcontinent, (b) the north-western Gangetic valley, (c) the north-
eastern Gangetic valley, and (d) other Buddhist sites, mainly in the
southern and western areas of the subcontinent.
There are obvious problems in the enterprise. Counting stupas, which
is a necessary preliminary, is hazardous, as very often the pilgrim is vague;
there are some, a few, hundreds, or even thousands of stupas attributed
to different sites. I have somewhat ruthlessly restricted the count to stupas
which are individually described or located, even though this has its
limitations.
One can identify references to approximately seventy-six stupas in
the north-western zone, extending from the Oxus valley to the Punjab
and Sind. Of these, as many as thirty-one, i.e., more than a third, were
attributed by the pilgrim to ASoka. Other rulers connected with stupa
building include Kani~ka, who figures only in this zone, with three stupas,
the builders being unspecified in thirty-three instances, and identified
with a range of human and supernatural categories in others. Thus,
slightly less than half the stupasin this area were ascribed to royal patrons.
The second noteworthy feature is the location of stupas vis-l-vis
settlements. As many as fifty-eight stupas in this area are located outside
or on the outskirts of sites; only two being placed within the settlement,
8 KUMKUM ROY
the location being unspecified in nine cases. Almost all the A.Sokan stitpas
are located outside settlements. Related to this, stupas tend to be clustered
around settlements-there are very few references to single, isolated
stitpas, although here counting becomes more hazardous and
impressionistic, as distinctions between regions and individual
settlements are not always clearly drawn.
Hiuen Tsang appears to have been only concerned with the external
appearance ofthe stitpa. This is specified, more often than not, in terms
of height, mentioned in twenty-one of the seventy-six cases. Of these,
thirteen are identified as A.Sokan stitpas, ranging from fifty to three
hundred feet, is ascribed to Kani~ka and the cowherd, and located at
Purushapura. Other features occasionally mentioned include stone and/
or wood carving, and supernatural attributes including lights, fragrance
etc. These are mentioned in connection with only four A.Sokan stitpas.
In other words, while stitpas identified as Asokan may have imposing
physically, they were not necessarily the most potent in terms of sacral
symbolism.
This possibility is strengthened if we turn to what evidently provided
Hiuen Tsang and the tradition within which his work is embedded with
the key element for defining stitpas-i.e., whether or riot they contained
relics, and/or whether they were otherwise associated with 'events' in
Buddhist history-either drawn from the Jatakas or from the lives of
various past and future Buddhas. While both relics and past associations
were literally invisible in the context of the stitpas, it was their actual or
attributed presence which evidently distinguished stitpas from other
monuments, and also provided a basis for distinguishing amongst stitpas.
In other words, stupas were a means of bringing the imperceptible within
the realm of perception. Interestingly, of the sixteen stitpas which are
distinguished as containing the bodily relics of the Buddha and/ or his
disciples, only six are identified asA.Sokan. MostA.Sokan sites are defined
as commemorating sites where various events described in Buddhist
legendary stories were enacted, whereas such identities remain
unspecified in two cases. This does suggest that stitpas identified as
A.Sokan were probably viewed as combining sacral and political meanings
somewhat differently from those which were not so identified, in which
sacral connotations predominated.
In the ~econd zone, ranging from Mathura to Sravasti, one can
identify fifty-eight stitpas. As in the previous area, only two stitpas
(including one A.Sokan), are located within settlements. In all, eighteen
stitpas are identified as ASokan, four are attributed to others, and the
makers are unspecified in as many as thirty-six cases. In other words,
there is a shift, although not a drastic one, in proportions, with specifi-

cally royal monuments dropping to less than a third, and identifying
stupas in terms of builders is in itself viewed as less significant.
What is more, the outer appearance of the stupas seems to command
even less attention. Only two stupas (both ASokan) are identified in terms
of height, both two hundred feet, and are thus less monumental than
the structures referred to earlier. Physical descriptions are confined to
adjectives like small, large, ruined, old, etc., and are only provided for
thirteen stupas.
At another level, while the proportion of stupas supposedly
containing relics increases (nineteen in all, about a third), the
proportion of ASokan stupas associated with such attributes decreases
(three out of eighteen, i.e., one-sixth as opposed to one-fifth in the
previous zone). Once again, most of the ASokan stupas (fourteen out of
eighteen) tend to be associated with 'events' from Buddhist history rather
than with the corporal remains of the Buddha or his disciples.
Turning to the third zone, which corresponds to an extent with the
heartland of Buddhism, we find references to approximately one
hundred and fifty stupas. Here, the proportion of stupas located within
settlements evidently increases slightly (twelve references). This is not
surprising, given that some sites such as Bodh Gaya, Kusinara or Lumbini
derived their importance primarily from associations with what was
understood to be the biography of the Buddha. What is also probably
not surprising is the relative decline in the number of stupas attributed
to ASoka and/ or other royal patrons or individual or specific patrons. A
total of thirty-two stupas are attributed to ASoka (approximately a fifth)
with two more being ascribed to other kings. Thus, most of the stupas in
this area evidently derived their significance from sacral rather than
secular associations.
Approximately a fifth of the stupas (thirty) attract attention on
grounds of physical appearance, including height, size, ruined condition,
etc. These include eleven ASokan stupas. In terms of proportions, we
encounter a decline in the number of stupas thus designated in
comparison with those of the north-west zone, for instance. In other
words, external features are viewed as less significant than in the north-
western zone and are clearly not regarded as central in defining the
monument as a stupa.
Sixteen stupas in this area were thought to contain relics. Of these,
only five were recognized as ASokan. Most other ASokan stupas were
conceived of as associated with Buddhist history in less tangible forms.
The proportion of ASokan stupasincreases dramatically in the fourth
10 KUMKUM ROY
zone, although there is a sharp decline in the number of stupas. Here,

as many as eleven out of twenty-two of the stupas are ascribed to the
emperor. Except for one case, all the others seem to be located on the
outskirts of settlements. Physical details are provided for eight stupas,
including three A.Sokan ones, which include the standard reference to
a hundred feet high structure. What is interesting is that at least two
other stupas, one in Kalinga, and the other in Andhra, are identified as
being a hundred feet high and of stone. Only one stupa (not A.Sokan),
is associated with the relics of a disciple of the Buddha, the rest being
identified in terms of associations with Buddhist history. In other words,
we seem to have here a region where stupaswere envisaged, once again
in terms of relatively secular associations, as in the north-western area,
and where religious connotations were relatively weak.
It is obvious that Hiuen Tsang's account was not meant to provide
us with a detailed survey of all the stupas in existence in the subcontinent
during his visit. Nevertheless, it is probably useful insofar as it yields a
general understanding of the material and/ or intangible significance
attached to stupas. However, there is a problem in contextualizing this
understanding. Were stupas perceived only in the terms which run
through Hiuen Tsang's description or were other perceptions possible?
There is also the problem oflocating such understandings in spatial
and chronological terms, i.e. of historicizing them. It is unlikely that all
the stupas Hiuen Tsang identified as A.Sokan were actually erected by
the emperor. Archaeological evidence suggests that Mauryan stupas were
relatively simple structures, certainly not distinguished by their height.
However, the attribution of stupas to A.Soka may have had to do with an
implicit recognition of such structures as owing their origin and
continued existence to a conjunction of political and religious concerns.
As we have seen A.Sokan stupaswere represented, more often than non-
A.Sokan ones, in terms of external attributes such as height. While this
may not have been literally accurate, it was probably a commentary on
the kind of power which could be represented by such symbols.
At another level, the fact that most stupas, ASokan and other, were
seen as being located on the outskirts of settlements, is significant. Except
f9r a few cases, these were not perceived as dominating settlements,
although they were connected to them. In other words, stupas seem to
be monuments which could qualify the nature of the settlement without
being overtly integrated within it, and as such could be multivalent in
ways in which more obviously central monuments were not. This, and
the fact that stupas were seen as clustered together would have
distinguished them from other monuments. While Hiuen Tsang
evidently envisaged and understood this clustering in terms of a density

of Buddhist associations, the archaeological record of sites such as Sanchi
would suggest a more complex combination of secular and overtly
religious factors as resulting in a conglomeration of stupas.
At another level, it is interesting that.ASokan stupaswere more often
than not identified as commemorative rather than as containing relics.
Thus while Hiuen Tsang was familiar with the story according to which
ASoka had collected all the relics of the Buddha and redistributed them
in eighty-four thousand stupas throughout his realm, he implicitly did
not believe it to be literally true. For him, while ASokan stupaswere seen
as connected with Buddhist history, they were not seen as literally
embodying that history to the same extent as some other stupas.
Almost all Hiuen Tsang's ASokan stupas lie within what would be
recognized as parts of the Mauryan empire, often in areas which can be
thus identified through the spatial distribution of inscriptions. However,
what is perhaps more significant is the proportion of ASokan stupaswhich
are attributed to the north-western zone and the areas of the
subcontinent south of the Gangetic valley. While many of these may
not have been ASokan (conversely Asoka may have constructed or
refurbished some of the anonymous monuments of the Ganga valley)
their attribution to the emperor may have been due to a tacit recognition
of such monuments as symbols of political power and aspirations,
combined with religious zeal. What is also noteworthy is that both were
areas where strong, though not identical, regional polities emerged in
the post-Mauryan period.
IV
Sanchi (not visited by our pilgrim) provides an interesting example of a

Mauryan/post-Mauryan stupa. Its location was strategic, given the
proximity to the thriving city of Vidisha, at the junction of important
routes running from western to northern India. However, it does not
seem to have been explicitly sacred or Buddhist. In fact, as is well-known,
Buddhist tradition associates ASoka with the region in a romantic story,
linked with a local woman whom the king evidently married, and who
was regarded as the mother of the royal offspring, traditionally
recognized as the missionaries sent to Sri Lanka. If anything, this
represents the weaving together of regional, imperial, and Buddhist
sacral traditions, and these seem to be evident in the monumental
representations as well. Here, as elsewhere, while the co_re of the stupa
may be Mauryan, the stupa and adjoining areas were evidently rebuilt
12 KUMKUM ROY
time and again over centuries. We have here the typical clustering of
structures: a massive central stupa and ASokan pillar surrounded by
subsidiary stupas, remains of monasteries and other structures, and
evidence for the relics of some of the chief disciples of the Buddha, if
not of the Buddha himself. Obviously, such a monument could be viewed
as an emblem of the power of the rulers who had contributed to its
construction and implicitly or explicitly left their mark on it. At the
same time, it would have had sacral associations as well, and the rich
sculptural motifs which adorned it could have conveyed a range of
meanings to the pilgrim/visitor.
If one looks at the archaeological record, one of the most striking
features, at one level, is the constant rebuilding and embellishment of
stupas. Thus, atAmaravati, for instance, the core of the stupais allegedly
Mauryan, while the more visible remains were associated with the
Satavahanas and the Ik1?vakus.
The socio-political configuration implicit or possibly explicit in and
around any stupa was complex. At the core were the relics consisting of
a mixture of literal and symbolic precious substances, representing
somewhat paradoxically the Buddha or his disciples, and their
transcendence over death, impermanence and temporality. In other
words, although located in space and time, the stupa derived at least
part of its power from its symbolic representation of transcendence over
both dimensions.
Yet this core was carefully concealed within a structure, the dome-
shaped stupa, more often than not allegedly constructed by kings, and
topped with obvious symbols of royalty such as the chatra. What would
have been visible was a monument which was associated, rightly or
wrongly, with a king. Thus, kings would be regarded as preservers and
perpetuato.rs of the sacred, and consequently intrinsically linked with
it.
At another level, the encompassing or enlargement of an existing
stupa would probably have meant an appropriation and/ or supersession
of pre-existing associations. This seems to be typical of stupas associated
with the dhammariija (Taxila and Sarnath, for example). As suggested
by Marshall (1951), both the Buddha and A.Soka could be viewed as
archetypal dhammariijiis. Thus, at one level, one can view the construction
of stupas by A.Soka as signalling this connection. At the same time, the
very appropriation of the space and structure purportedly connected
with the Buddha would had been a means of presenting an under-
standing of his power as subject to appropriation and reworking. While
A.Sokan stupas may have marked the initiation of this process, later rulers
who avowedly or implicitly imitated him would in turn have been literally
and symbolically annexing both the models of the dhammaraja and
probably modifying it in other ways as well.
While stupas were clearly envisaged as monuments which were meant
to be visible, they were also monuments which were to be visited. Such
visits would not have been haphazard or random. It is likely that they
would have been structured in time, focusing on especially sacred days,
and the visit would have been spatially structured along the pradak$ir;a
patha as well. Thus, a visit to a stupa would have been carefully con-
textualized. In the absence of a regular tradition of courtly appearances
(the darbar), such monuments would have rendered the royal presence
visible in implicit and occasionally explicit ways.
Part of the reason why stupas were evidently regarded as powerful
symbols which were subjected to constant reworking was their funerary
character, freezing a moment of what was, at one level, an elaborately
constructed rite of passage, in this case associated with an immeasurably
venerable personage, the Buddha. At the same time, stupa building lent
itself to reworking, as it involved a number of more or less inter-related
decisions or actions-choosing where a stupawas to be located, justifying
the choice, deciding what it was to be made of, and how large or small,
what kinds of railings, stairs, gateway, embellishments etc. were to be
employed. As such a range of interventions was possible.
While the major initiative in constructing the central mound of the
stupa appears to have been royal, non-royal persons could and evidently
did inscribe their presence in the environs of the stupa if not in or on
the stupa itself. This is evident in railings, pillars, coping stones,
occasional gateways, with their inscriptions and decorations drawn from
a range of motifs, symbols, and traditional lore. While these were visually
and physically less imposing than the stupa itself, they would have
provided a commentary on it, offering scope for reinterpreting or
reinforcing its symbolism. Insofar as such imagery and representations
were generated by categories other than royalty, they could be viewed
either as supportive of the royal enterprise or as encroachments on the
space marked out as royal or sacral, or more commonly perhaps, as
ambivalent and a bit of both. In any case, they would have complicated
understandings and appreciations of the space of the stupas in a variety
of ways.
At least some stupas would have marked the creation of new ritual
sites or centres, insofar as their location could not be directly justified
in terms of the geography associated with the life of the Buddha. Such
location may have permitted innovation, but may have lacked the
14 KUMKUM ROY
resonance associated with the traditional centres of Buddhist biography.

Nevertheless, as the examples of Sanchi and Amaravati suggest, these
could be developed and could survive for centuries.
I would suggest that this element of survival has to do with the stupas
providing a unique and valuable space for specific kinds of socio-politi~al
interaction. It provided a space where the royal presence was perceptible
if not obviously visible. As such, people visiting or even seeing a stupa
from the distance, as they passed in and out of settlements, would have
been reminded about the presence of a powerful state, capable of
erecting a structure, which was imposing if not awe-inspiring.
At the same time, the rich associations of the stupa, evoking notions
of sacrality, transcendence, Buddhist history, would have enriched
notions of royalty with such connotations. At another level, the fact that
stupascould be constantly revoked and reinscribed, often literally, meant
that such structures, and the meanings read into them could both
continue and change. In other words, the stupa provided a medium of
expression which was both powerful and flexible. From this perspective,
locating specific stupas and tracing their histories through the
archaeological record from the Mauryan to the post-Mauryan period
can provide us with insights into the emergence of regional polities
which can then be viewed in terms of a shift in levels of centralization
rather than as indices of disintegration.
Most stupas (e.g. Sanchi and Sarnath) were surrounded by
monasteries and/ or nunneries. This conjoint location and its social
implication require investigations. The relationship between renouncers
(the typical inhabitants of such institutions) and the laity on whose
support they relied was obviously complex. Working out the details of
such relationships can enrich our understanding of the socio-political
realm of the stupa.
If the spatial organization of the palace represented certain crucial
socio-political connections and disjunctures, that of the stupa, with its
focus on a multi-vocal sacred symbol, permitted a more diffuse definition
of such relations. Here, while an attempt was made to infuse political
bonds with an element of sacrality, these were, at the same time,
structured along different lines. What is more, the very reworking of
the architecture of the stupa provided scope for expressing alternative
political possibilities. In that sense, stupasfunction as loci for representing
changing socio-political relations during the transition from the Mauryan
empire to the subsequent emergence of regional polities.
FIG. 1: SCHEMATIC LAYOUT OF A ROYAL SETTLEMENT

(The antahpura or palace is almost but not exactly central)
ANTAH-
PURA
VASTU-
HRDAYA
16 KUMKUM ROY
FIG. II: THE ANTAHPURA AND ADJOINING SETTLEMENTS
4
DEITIES OF THE CITY AND KING,
BLACKSMITHS, JEWELLERS,
BRAHMANAS
3 7 8 1 1
TREASURY, PRECEPTOR,
WAREHOUSE, STALLS FOR CHIEF PRIEST,
MEDICINE STORE CATTLE, SACRIFICE,
HORSES MINISTER
WORKERS IN 6 9 2 PERFUMERS,
WOOL,. FLOWER
THREAD, SELLERS,
KITCHEN,
BAMBOO, VEHICLES,
ELEPHANT-
SELLERS OF
LEATHER, CHARIOTS ARTICLES OF
STALLS,
ARMOURERS, STORE-ROOM, TOILET,
GRANARY
SUDRAS KSATRIYAS
5 4 3
STALLS FOR STORE FOR STORE HOUSE,

ASSES AND FOREST RECORD ROOM,
CAMELS, PRODUCE, WORKER'S
WORKSHOPS ARMOURY QUARTERS
2
GRAIN DEALERS, CRAFTSPERSONS,
MILITARY CHIEFS, SELLERS OF FOOD AND
DRINK,
PROSTITUTES, MUSICIANS,
VAISYAS
FIG. Ill: THE ROYAL RESIDENCE

(Numbers within brackets indicate order of enumeration within text)
(1)
SPACE FOR ADORNMENT
SPACE FOR THE PRINCESS

AND PRINCE
(1)
(4) WOMEN'S QUARTERS (2)
SPACE FOR SPACE
OFFICIALS (2) FOR
DEALING SPACE FOR CHILDBIRTH, DISCUSSION
WITH THE FOR THE SICK
PRINCE
(3)
GARDEN, WATER
3
(3)
SPACE
FOR
ASSEMBLY
18 KUMKUM'ROY
REFERENCES
Hutzsch, E. (ed. and tr.), 1969, Inscriptions of Asoka, Corpus lnscriptionum Indicarum,
Vol. I. Delhi: Indological Book House (rep. 1922).
Irwin, John, 1973-76, 'Asokan' pillars: a reassessment of the evidence. The Burlington
Magazine, 115-18, pp. 702-20, 712-27, 631-43, 734-53.
Kangle, R.P. (ed. and tr.), 1960-65, The Kautiliya Arthasastra (3 vols.), Bombay: Univer-
sity of Bombay Press.
Marshall,John, et al., 1940, Monuments oJSanchi, Calcutta.
--.1951, Taxila, (3 vols.), Cambridge.
McCrindle,J. (tr), 1877, Ancient India as Described by Megasthenes and Arrian. Calcutta.
Root, Margaret Cool, 1979, The King and Kingship in Achaemenid Art. Leiden: EJ. Brill.
Thapar, R., 1987, The Mauryas Revisited. Calcutta: K.P. Bagchi.
Watters, T., 1904-05, On Yuan Chwang's Travels in India. (2 vols.). London.
StudiesinHumanitiesandSocialSciences, Vol. VI, No.1, 1999, pp.l9-31.
Socio-Political Change in Nineteenth Century

Orissa and the Rise of Mahima Dharma
FANINDAM DEO
Khadar College
Khaliar
Mahima Dharma emerged in central and west Orissa during the 19th
century. This dharma has so far received very little attention from
scholars. The argument in the following pages suggests that through
a proper analysis of Mahima Dharma a more elaborate understanding
of the evolution of the social milieu of Orissa can be arrived at.
The study of this dharma becomes particularly important in view
of its links with socio-political unrest in Orissa through the 19th century.
Having ousted the Marathas, the British were engaged in consolidating
their position during this period. As a part of this process they gave
recognition to the local rajas, maharajas and petty chiefs of different
estates as feudatory chiefs and zamindars of different estates.
On their part these rulers, while claiming independent status, were
also trying to consolidate and legitimize their position. Towards achiev-
ing this end an important strategy was the propagation of 'Hinduism'-
particularly of the Jagannath cult. Besides buildingJagannath temples
in their capitals, land grants were given for the purpose of building
temples and also to Brahmanas and non-tribal services holders. These
practices of the local rulers accelerated by the 18th and 19th centuries.
Predictably the sufferers were the local tribals and lower sections of
jati society who were as a result either displaced or exploited.
However, the socio-cultural environment of 19th century Orissa
and many of the social and cultural processes emerging therein-
such as tribal interaction with non-tribal, intra and inter tribal
interaction, changing religious milieu, the emerging patterns of social
stratification etc.-all encompass substantial trends rooted in pre-
colonial times. Accordingly, any comprehensive analysis of the historical
processes behind this movement has to extend to a period preceding
colonialism.
I
With the disintegration of the Gupta empire, there arose numerous
kingships at the local, sub-regional and regional levels throughout
20 FANINDAM DEO
northern and central India. 1 In Orissa this period saw the emergence
of a rural convergence of political power, led by autochthonous chiefs
and in some cases by chiefs of obscure origin. 2 Local chiefs formed
small kingdoms in the riverine basins and became champions of
'Hinduism' .3 To gain spiritual authority and thus to strengthen their
claim to be rulers, the local rulers welcomed Brahmanas to their courts.
On their part the Brahmanas prepared myths and genealogies
purporting to legitimise the authority of the new chieftains. 4
However while seeking such legitimacy, most among such chieftains
who originated from one or the other local aboriginal group,
simultaneously sought to maintain their links with the autochthons
and integrate them into their kingdoms. To sustain their rule they
needed at least the co-operation, if not loyalty, of the aboriginals who
constituted the bulk of the population. Clearly the rulers could not
displace the pastoral hunting society as perhaps happened in South
India. 5 This, incidentally, is a special feature of the formation of
kingdoms in this area. Rather than 'sustained displacement' the local
formation was 'marked by the local acculturation of tribes' which were
increasingly brought into the Brahmanic society and transformed
mostly into peasants and other occupational castes. 6
In many ways the history of the area is conspicuous in terms of its
synthesis of aboriginal and Brahmanic elements which culminated in
the Jagannath culture of Orissa. As part of establishing their hegemony,
local rulers assimilated aboriginal deities into their beliefs. The
aboriginal stone objects could be easily identified with the Shiva linga.
A good example of this process is available in the Lingaraja temple at
Bhubaneshwar where even today both Badus (aboriginals) as well as
Brahmans are priests. 7
Furthermore, royal patronage of aboriginal deities served to
consolidate the legitimisation of the rulers and the political power
they exercised over the newly acquired territories. In this process,
Vaisnavism was important: illustrated again by Lordjagannath ofPuri,
an aboriginal deity Hinduised as an incarnation (avatar) ofVishnu. 8
The political development of Orissa in the post-Gupta period was
marked by the emergence of small kingdoms and the gradual
integration of these small kingdoms, first into sub-regional and later
regional kingdoms. For instance, in the upper Mahanadi Valley-
present western Orissa and eastern Madhya Pradesh-a chief of
obscure origin could establish a small kingdom called Sarabhapuria
kingdom around 6th century AD. 9 The upper Mahanadi valley
provided him with fertile land in which to establish a kingdom. There
was an attempt to improve the irrigation facilities also. 10 Subsequently
Socio-Political Change in Nineteenth Century Orissa 21
Brahmanas were invited and deliberately settled in the interior.

Perhaps this was in order to initiate a process of acculturation and
thereby sedenterise the hunting, gathering and shifting cultivation
communities as settled agriculturists. 11 Fortuitously, after the decline
of the Gupta empire, the Brahmanas of North India were in search of
patrons 12 and the newly emerging chiefs, on the other hand, wanted
these Brahmanas' services for legitimising their claims. 13 The political
articulation of Orissa was marked by local, sub-regional and .regional,
lateral integration from below. This process extended over centuries,
ending when the regional entity broke up, particularly with the advent
of the sultan of Bengal.
The disintegration of the Gupta empire helped the indigenous
chiefs of the locality to extend their political authority in their respective
areas. Over a period of time this resulted in the emergence of powerful
kingdoms led by Amaryakula of Saravapura, Panduvansis of Mekela,
Sailodbhavas ofKongada Mandala, Bhaumakaras ofTosali, Somavansis
of Kosala and Gangavansis of Kalinga. Between the 5th and the 14th
century the impulses of political fragmentation and decentralisation
were caused from below and not from above. Aboriginal chiefs and
those of obscure origin, taking advantage of a weak central authority
rose to power and formed separate small kingdoms. Here we come
across the interesting conjunction of an emerging ruler and immigrant
Brahamanas: the ambitious chiefs laying claim to political authority
had the patron-searching Brahmanas serving them for justifying their
claims.
In Orissa during the 15th and 16th centuries, a process can be
obsetved similar to what has been obsetved elsewhere in north India. 14
The disintegration of Ganga and Somavansi kingdoms resulted in
decentralisation and political fragmentation. This resulted partly from
partitions in the ruling family and partly from the widespread practice
of granting big and small territories to vassals who entrenched
themselves territorially and finally became independent potentates.
Another important aspect of political development of Orissa was
the tendency of rulers of sub-regional kingdoms to shift their capital
towards coastal Orissa. Besides other factors the prime motive seems
to have been a desire to control the fertile coastal plains and thereby
sustain a larger regional kingdom which needed elaborate
administration. The hinterlands of Orissa with its hills, forests,
preponderant presence of hunter-gatherers and a few pockets of
settled agriculture could sustain the demands of small kingdoms only.
So when the srriall kingdoms expanded into regional kingdoms they
shifted to the more fertile plains which could generate the necessary
22 FANINDAM DEO
surplus. Accordingly we find that the geographical boundaries of these

kingdoms were never fixed. The rulers of regional kingdoms also had.
to adopt different strategies and incorporate different ideologies to
bring small kingdoms under their hegemony while simultaneously
legitimising their claims to new constantly changing boundaries.
II
The sixteenth century history of Orissa is marked by the growth of
Brahmanic dominance, discontent amongst the masses, disintegration
of the regional empir~, rise of Samanta rajas and their bid for power
and independent states, attack by the sultan of Bengal, and finally in
the last decade, capture by the Mugha1s.
Between the 12th and 16th centuries,Jagannath had been mono-
polised by the Brahmanas and the regional emperor. Jagannath
temples were confined to Cuttack and Puri until the 16th century.
But after the 16th century the rajas of Sambalpur, Keonjhar, and
Mayurbhanj constructedjagannath temples in their respective capitals.
According to Kulke, Jagannath had grown into a symbol of Hindu
kingship and royal authority. He considers the construction of
Jagannath temples as a symbolic declaration of independence. 15
By the 16th century, we also notice a range of intermediaries
between the ruler and the peasant; the emergence of younger
branches of the ruling family controlling separately the territories
inherited by them throughout Orissa. The practice of granting small
territories to the younger branches of the ruling family, along with
fiscal and administrative rights over them, and also fresh conquests by
younger branches for their own consolidation, resulted in political
fragmentation. These younger branches of older ruling families
entrenched themselves territorially and ultimately emerged as
independent rajas.
These r::yas, emulating the elder branch, tried to augment their
own resources and estate. First they needed an agricultural surplus
for maintaining the state machinery. They accelerated the clearing of
forests, inviting the non-tribal peasants to settle in their respective
rajyas. Digging of ponds and the construction of embankments by the
peasants followed thereafter. In many places in the hinterland though
the"' forests were cleared, the local deities of the forest people were
now worshipped even by the new settlers. In many places the tribal
priests (jhankar) were retained. The rulers patronised the local deities
and elevated them to the position of their Esta Devi or tutelary deity:
Sambaleswari at Sambalpur, Pataneswari at Patnagath, Raktambari at
Khariar, Bhatarika at Baramba, Maninageswari at Ranpur, Manikeswari

at Bhuwanipatna. Consequently, in Orissa we find tribal priests
performing pooja in temples. In the Devi and Siva temples of Orissa,
besides the tribal priests, it is from the unusual jatis like mali, thanapatis,
paiks that villages inhabited by both tribals and non-tribals get their
priests. Till the 16th century Jagannath ideology was not used by the
chiefs of hinterland of Orissa for their legitimisation in their respective
area rather the thakurani or devi of the aboriginals was utilised.
The Samanta rajas, thei~ relatives and service-holders might have
encroached upon lands which the aborigines had held communally
during this phase of expansion. The lands and villages were granted,
to such relatives of the rulers family as the pattayats (the second son),
lalu (the third son), baboo (the sons of a concubine/mistress); to the
rani, the queen, as khorak-posak (maintenance estate); to the Brahman
as brahmottar and sasana, and to the dalabehera and nayak (military
chiefs both tribal and non-tribals). Custom required this upper stratum
of society not to wield the plough. Therefore these people, in turn,
rented land to cultivators. Immediately below the privileged class were
the e<:onomically superior aboriginals who aspired to Kshatriya status.
Their superiority was recognised by the local rulers who gave them a
higher position in the kingdom. This recognition by the ruler combined
with their economic superiority secured for them a higher social status.
This left the vast majority of the aboriginal community and low ranking
service jatis at the bottom of the social structure.
The sultan of Bengal attacked Orissa in AD 1568. 16 His deputy
Kalapahad destroyed images of the Jagannath temple of Puri and the
Sun temple of Konark. Taking advantage of the internal dissension of
the Samanta rcyas-perhaps some of the rajas even invited the sultan
of Bengal-the latter captured Orissa easily. Then came the Mughals
in 1580s who captured Orissa from the sultan. Man Singh was
appointed as the governor and a new bandobast or settlement was
introduced in Orissa in 1582. 17 According to this settlement the fertile
coastal region was taken under direct management, Purl w'as declared
as crown land and the hinterland of Orissa was given to twenty four
local ruler according to a their respective zones of influence. They
were recognised as Garhjat chiefs or semi-autonomous chief in return
for an annual payment. The raja of Khurdha was recognised as the
Gajapati but he was given Puri-Khurdha and thirty one small zamindars
only. 18
In the changed circumstances the Gajapati of Puri lost political
power, his resource base and was confined to a limited area. There
were bitter contests between local rajas, the sultan of Bengal and the
24 FANINDAM DEO
Mughal governor of Orissa for control over the temple city. Obviously
the wealth and pilgrim tax of the Puri temple were the main attractions.
For nearly' 150 years uncertainty prevailed. Between 1600 and 1750
A.D. thejagannath temple was attacked not less than 12 times by Hindu
chiefs, Muslim sultans and Mughal governors. The Mughals recognised
the intermediaries who had appeared during the earlier period; some
of whom came to be called zamindars. The small local uya's territory
was called Garhjat, and the raja Garhjatr~a. Though the above terms
were used, in reality none of them actually owned land in the sense of
having private property rights. The land in the fertile coastal plain of
Orissa was divided by the Mughals into two; the best lands they kept
under their direct management while the rest were given to the service
holders for their maintenance but not with property rights.
The Marathas got coastal Orissa in 1751 and western Orissa in 1755.
They captured Puri in 1751 and reduced the Khurdha raja to being a
mere zamindar of a few estates. They, furthermore, divided Orissa
into two major political divisions: Mughalbandi and Garhjats. Twenty
four Garhjat chiefs of the hilly and forest tracts in the interior of Orissa
were recognised and required to pay a fixed annual tribute. There
was, however, no definite rule for fixing this tribute and they were,
therefore, almost autonomous. The Mughalbandi area was divided
into four chaklas or divisions and was under the direct management
of the Marathas. 19 They further divided chaklas to into parganas which
were managed by thirty two amils. At the lowest level the mukaddams
and talukadars were appointed to collect revenue. The Marathas
granted rent free lands to temples, Brahmanas and maths.
Both the Mughals and the Marathas did not bring the Garhjats
under their direct administration. They were satisfied with collecting
an annual tribute so long as the loyalty to the uyas was assured. Rather
than dealing with people at large, they preferred to pressurise the
chiefs. In other words, the Mughals and Marathas did not have any
significant direct impact on the manner in which the social milieu was
evolving in the Garhjats. But in the coastal plains the reduction of the
position of the G~apati of Orissa and the appointment of zamindars,
jagirdars had its impact in entire Orissa. The zamindars, jagirdars and
the Garhjat chiefs exercised control over the cultivators but they were
not given hereditary rights over land. During the time of Mughal and
Maratha rule the Gari:Uat r~as consolidated their position in a slow
and long process. The r~as recognised the tribal chiefs as gahatia,
dalabehera, muthahid and gartia etc. The latter also obtained areas over
which they exercised power on the basis of a military tenure. For this
they were obliged to perform military service upon demand. Some
Soci(}-Political Change in Nineteenth Century Orissa 25
powerlul tribal chiefs who did not submit to such a tenure were won
over by matrimonial alliances. The rajas also depended upon the tribals,
who were in a majority, for recruiting his paiks (soldiery).
The recognition of the gahatia, muthahid, gartia helped to establish
a range of intermediaries between the Garhjat raja and the peasant.
These rajas also invited non-tribals with their experience of developed
agriculture to generate more surplus. Possibly, these non-tribals were
invited from outside not to introduce intensive agriculture on the
lands of tribals but to clear forests for extending cultivation or perhaps
to settle in the land vacated in the process of shifting cultivation. These
rulers seldom transgressed limits that were acceptable to tribals or
rather they dared not do so. The availability of considerable fallow
land and forest might have enabled them to expand agriculture
without encroaching upon tribal land and villages. Nonetheless, during
this phase the tribal chiefs faced various pressures from the rajas, their
relatives, Brahmanas, service holders, the Mughals, and Marathas. Yet
they remained dominant in their own area. Moreover, this kind of
pressure was exerted mainly on the tribal chiefs but there was little
pressure on the general tribal population.
At this stage perhaps the Garhjat chiefs felt the need to authenti-
cate their status and the exercise of political authority over their
territory. They had to legitimise not only their superior position but
also the rapid growth of social differentiation. There was also a need
to account for the increasing power of the ruler. Therefore, in support
of their position, they sponsored the composition of myths of their
origin and rajapuranas. 20 With the end of the regional empire of Orissa,
furthermore, there was a shortage of patrons for Brahmanas in coastal
Orissa. Perhaps during this period the Brahmanas of U tkala migrated
to the Garhjat estates in search of patrons, as had happened in
northem India after the disintegration of the Gupta empire (supra).
These myths and rajapuranas placed the rajas as superior beings, Rajar
Mahapuru or God sent person, sent to preserve the rajya. It was
contended that his absence would lead to anarchy. This helped both
horizontal and vertical legitimisation of the Garhjat chiefs. These
rajapuranas were utilized at the Puri darbar when the Jagannath temple
was reopened in 18th century. 21 It also legitimised the uya as being a
Raja-Mahapuru amongst the tribals and ethnic groups.
So we see by the 18th century the rulers had absorbed some
territories for themselves (bhogra), their relatives (khorak-posak), their
God and goddesses ( debottar}, for Brahmanas ( brahmottar) and for
service holders. The rajas demanded the nominal allegiance of the
tribal chiefs but, beyond that, the vast majority of the tribals were left
26 FANINDAM DEO
more or less undisturbed. However, the very recognition of these tribal

chiefs led to an elevation in their status. This intensified the process
of social stratification which had quite early beginnings. Various levels
of intermediaries appeared and the ssocio-political system became
increasingly complex. The r~as recognised these intermediaries by
receiving even a nominal allegiance or tribute, in which, the
hierarchical arrangement was acted out.
III
The British occupied south Orissa in 1768, north and coastal Orissa in
1808 and western Orissa in 1818. The above areas were placed under
the Madras, Bengal, and Central provinces respectively. British colonial
rulers realised the special importance that these Garhjat rulers had
for administrative purposes in the relatively unproductive and
inaccessible hill and forest regions of Orissa. These rulers were retained
under the all India colonial policy of 'protection of ancient families
and continuation of their dignity and representation. ' 22 This policy
was a political necessity, for the colonial state, and it later proved helpful
e.g., during the paik revolt of Khurda, in 1817, tribal movements of
Chumsar and Sambalpur, in the 1830's and during the revolt of 1857,
these feudatory chiefs and zamindars co-operated with the British and
helped them in capturing some of the leaders of these rebellions and
protest movement. 23
This policy of colonial rulers also had other far reaching conse-
quences. In the 19th century the British defeated the Marathas in
Orissa. In the changed circumstances the local rajas realised that the
colonial rulers were powerful enough to protect them against both
internal and external dangers. The British on their part wanted an
alliance with the local rajas for their own reasons. So the alliance was
struck between colonial rulers and local rajas. The rajas agreed to pay
a certain annual tribute, and the former agreed to provide assistance
as and when required so long as the rajas' loyalty to British crown was
assured.
In the emerging situation, a four-tier stratification followed: ( 1)
the elder branches of Raj families as feudatory chiefs (2) the younger
branches and a few tribal chiefs as rajas and zamindars, (3) umrao,
majhi, gahatia, muthahid as gaotia/thekedar of the villages, and (4) the
general mass, both tribal and non-tribal as peasants and landless
labourers. Secondly, the rajas and zamindars enjoyed police and
· magisterial powers under the protection of the colonial regime. 24 This
upset the earlier social and political balance with the tribals. Previously
the rajas had not dared to antagonise the tribals; they had avoided the
displacement of tribals and had never transgressed the limit to
acceptability. With the rajas now no more dependent on the support
of the tribals skilled cultivators from outside were invited and
settled in tribal villages. The regular collection of revenue from each
village was started and for this purpose villages were given on thika
(auctioned). Feeling more secure and protected, these rajas even
took repressive measures wherever the tribals opposed them. Not only
the zamindars but even their officials exploited them.
The gradual transformation of what had been gift (given by tribals
to the raja) into dues (as revenue demand) by the Garhjat chiefs
under British protection, and the establishment of a zamindar and
raiyat relationship, alienated the tribal headman from his fellow
tribesmen. In the 19th century the thekedari system further eroded
tribal agrarian relations. Under the new system the tribal headmen
were forced to collect more revenue from their territory to compete
with the non-tribal thekedars who had entered these parts as horse-
traders, distillers and moneylenders. Monetisation spread with the
introduction of the new system of taxation and commutation of feudal
dues and services in to cash. 25 The colonial rulers' bureaucratic
capabilities had an unprecedented and long reach. The system's
administrative fingers spread to the heart of many formerly
unadministered areas. All this had its direct impact on the society
thereby affecting its social structure, economic and agrarian institutions
and political system. Tribal society was losing grip over resources and
environment as the encroachment of the land and forest by outsiders
increased.
Under this kind of multi-dimensional pressure different groups
responded in different ways at different times. Some of them accepted
a low position in some places; others aspired for high rank and became
part of the Garhjat state. Yet other groups could not cope with the
external pressures and withdrew to the inaccessible areas and there
were times when they revolted against exploitation. 26 As a result the
people came to be divided into four groups (i) the vast majority of
small and marginal farmers and landless labourers (ii) a few zamindars
Garhjat rajas (iii) a groups of gaotia/thekedars, protected and
unprotected and (iv) those who chose to withdraw themselves to the
interior.
In the 19th century there were movements against the system. In
some places the tribal aristocracy actively participated with the non-
tribal aristocracy, seeking a better political dispensation for themselves
but able to use their traditional ties to bring the dissatisfied tribals,
28 FANINDAM DEO
peasants and other groups also to the movement. At other times and
places a particular tribal group would revolt under its own leader who
may not necessarily have been a chief. Such revolts could be against
the emerging social system in which the lowly placed jatis actively
participated and in which the paiks gave tacit support. The alienation
of land, the breakdown of mutuality, the imposition of restrictions
and cesses affected the community as a whole and prompted it to rise
against the sarkar-raja-thekedar nexus.
Prior to colonial rule local deities guaranteed and represented
'vertical solidarity' which was the most important condition of
legitimacy in tribal society. Under British protection it was discarded
and a rigid caste society emerged around the Garhjat which (caste
society) itself was the necessity for establishing a 'horizontal solidarity' _27
The Garhjat rajas, in order to enhance their status and independent
position, started constructing palaces and temples. Each Garhjat chief,
zamindarand even some goatiasstarted building temples and buildings.
The people had to bear an additional burden beth-begar or forced
labour. Up to the 17th century there were only five Jagannath temples
in Orissa but by the 19th century hundreds ofjagannath temples were
built by the Garhjat rajas. For that they needed Brahmanas. As the
Brahmanas of the Garhjats were looked down upon as halua (cultivator
Brahmanas) and jhadua (from the forest), the Utkali Brahmans were
invited to western Orissa. Land was granted to the Brahmanas and to
temples by the rulers at the expense of tribals. 28
In the 19th century thejagannath cult was under the iron grip of
Raja-Brahman nexus. The Savara-devatas (Jagannath) had been
hijacked by the ruling classes of Orissa from the tribals and used as
tool to exercise their authority over the latter. Dinabandhu (the friend
of the downtrodden)-another name of Jagannath-had been
Brahmanised as Badathakura (the great God) beyond the reach of
the downtrodden. Some of the tribal groups were not even allowed to
enter the temple dedicated to their God.
The tribal-peasant saw the·orthodox Jagannath cult and the
Brahmanas as being responsible for the loss of their traditional cultivable
area. This antagonism was· hardened by the cultural differences
between the tribal-peasant and Brahmanas, which was accentuated by
the latter's ideas of purity, pollution, dietary restrictionS and rigid caste
distinctions. However, it would be wrong to assume that under such
an emerging order and social pressure all tribal groups revolted en
masse against the exploiter. As a matter of fact, we find that the reaction
of each group in Orissa arose out of its own historical context. The
meaning a people give to an entity or an event are out of a range of
meanings and options available to them at the time of their particular

experience of that entity or event.
The lower strata of the society were thus chafing under the emerg-
ing unequal system. One of the tribal poets, Bhima Bhoi, came out
with his work. He preached that 'the final deliverer' had already
appeared in Orissa in the form of Mahima Swamy. God Jagannath of
Puri, he said, had left His temple and become a disciple of Mahima
Swamy. He saw the inequalities of the system as being responsible for
the miseries of the low caste people and Adivasis. The followers of
Mahima Dharma were, therefore, forbidden to accept anything from
raja-brahman-barber-washerman and prostitutes. The followers of
Mahima Dharma were also prohibited from worshipping idols, and
from taking part in traditional rituals. They preached the equality of
human beings because they believed in the uniform presence of
formless God in every human being. Therefore, they rejected caste
differences. They saw the raja-brahman combine and their associates
as the cause of their miseries, and the Lord Jagannath as their
protector. In order to counteract this situation, they turned the weapon
of the Brahmanas around: i.e. they declared the raja-brahmana and
their associates to be untouchables. To take matters further the
followers of Mahima Dharma are forbidden from taking Jagannath
prasada. Some of the followers even made an attempt to burn the idol
ofjagannath in 1881. The dharma seems to have adopted a position of
open attack on the orthodox tradition of Brahmanical restriction upon
the entry of tribals and some other low-caste groups into the Jagannath
temple. It appears also to be an attack on idol worship. The beliefs
and practices of Mahima Dharma merit separate and more detailed
treatment which space here does not permit. For the present it is
sufficient to say that the intricate socio-political changes taking place
in 19th century Orissa lay at the base of the emerging Mahima Dharma.
NOTES AND REFERENCES
1. Singh, 1984: 317; Kulke, 1982:245

2. Kulke, 1978, 104-114;Banerjee 1931,Appendix;Wills, 1919,196-262.
3. Kulke, 1978, 106; Tiwari, 1985, 35
4. Deo, 1990,86.
5. Stein, 1969, 179-185, talks about 'sustained displacement' of tribal society in the
'nuclear areas' of South India. Contrasted with the South Indian process of
'sustained displacement' of tribals, there are processes of integration and
acculturation in Orissa; Kulke, 1978, 104-114.
6. Sahu, 1983, 133-144; 1984, 148-160.
30 FANINDAM DEO
7. Eschamann, 1978,97.
8. Kulke, 1986, 139-155.
9. Sahu, 1971, 95; Sah, 1976, 125-129; Tiwari, 1985,35 suggested the tribal origin of
this dynasty. Cl/, III, 190ff; I, xi 185ff.
10. Cll, III, 199, lines 25-26.
11. IA, VII, 250 fn. 26; EJIX, 284, fn. 10. There was a division in Saravapura kingdom
called Sabarabhogika. El, XXXIV, 28ff. Perhaps rulers had special administrative
division (bhoga) where aboriginals lived. In one source a Brahmana was given a
village and allowed to enjoy the bhoga but was to contribute dhanya and hiranya
to the ruler i.e. it is liable for dues. EI, XXXI, 263 ff.
12. Nandi, 1979,70-100.
13. Tiwari, 1985,35.
14. Sharma, 1965, 159.
15. Kulke, 1976,6.
16. Panigrahi, 1981,38.
17. Sahu,1980,254.
18. ibid, 256.
19. Toynbee, 1960,24.
20. Deo, 1990,64-65.
21. ibid.
22. Foreign Department Proceedings, (Political), 13 September, 1833, no. 56-57;July 1881
letter no. 1778/90 dt. 18-5-1880, and 1777/90 dt. 18-5-1881. National Archives of
India, New Delhi.
23. FareignDepartmentProceedings, (Political), 6 February, 1834, no. 102-103, National
Archives oflndia, New Delhi; ChhattisgarhDiviswnalRecard, IX, 49, SI. no. 50, 9th
July 1856, Madhya Pradesh Record Room, Nagpur.
24. Aitchesan, 1929, I and V.
25. Officially a new sikka or coin was introduced in Orissa in 1819, and the cowrie was
withdrawn.
26. Deo, op. cit., 155.
27. Kulke, 1976,11.
28. De, 1971,55-60.
BIBUOGRAPHY
Aitchesan, C.V., 1983, Collection of Treaties, engagements and Sanads, I. V. Mittal

Publication Delhi (First edition, Delhi, 1929).
Banerjee, R.D., 1931, History ofOrissa, II, R. Chatteiji, Calcutta.
De. S.C., 1971, 'Study of some Maufi Grants and Interesting Facts Gleaned from
them', New Aspects ofHistory ofOrissa, Samba! pur University, pp. 55-60.
Corpuslnscriptionumlndicarum (CII), II, III.
Deo, F., 1990, 'History oflnteraction Between Tribal peoples and Their Socio-
Cultural Environment in Chhatisgarh Region' Unpublished Ph.D. Thesis,
Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi.
Ephigraphia Indica, IX, XXXI, XXXIV, XXXVI.
Eschmann, A., 1986, 'Hinduization of Tribal Deities of Orissa: The Formative
Phase', in A. Eschmann, H.K Kulke, G. Tripathi (eds.), The Cult of]agannath
and the Regional Tradition ofOrissa, Manohar, Delhi, pp. 79-98 (First edition,
South Asia Institute, 1978)

1986, 'Mahima Dharma: An Autochthonous Hindu Reform Movement'
in A. Eschmann, H. Kulke and G. Tripathy (eds.), The Cult of]agannath and
theRegionalTraditionofOrissa,Manohar, Delhi, pp. 375-410.
Indian Antiquary, (IA), VII.
Kulke, H., 1976, 'Kshatriyaisation and Social Change: A Study of Changing India',
in S.D. Pillai (ed.), Aspect of Changing India, Popular Prakashan, Bombay, pp.
398-409.
1978, 'Early State Formation and Royal Legitimisation in Ancient Orissa',
in M. Das. ( ed.) Side Lights on History and Culture of Orissa, Vidyapuri, Cuttack,
pp. 104-114.
1982, 'Fragmentation and Segmentation Versus Integration? Reflections
on the concept oflndian Feudalism', Studies in History, IV, 2, pp. 237-263.
Nandi, R., 1981, 'Client, Ritual and Conflict in Early Brahmanical Order', Indian
Historical Review, Kitab Mahal, Cuttack.
Sah, AP., 1976, Life in Medieval Orissa, Chaukhamba Orientalia, Varanasi.
Sahu, B.P., 1983, 'Social Morphology and Physiology of Early Medieval Orissa
( C.A.D. 400-1 000) ', Proceedings ofthe Indian History Congress, pp. 133-144.
1984, 'Ancient Orissa: The Dynamics oflnternal transformation of the
Tribal Society', Pfoceedings oft;h:e Indian History Congress, pp. 148-160.
Sahu, N.K.,1971, 'A Survey of the History of Orissa', NewAspectsofHistory of Orissa,
Sambalpur University, pp. 9-24.
1980, History of Orissa, Nalanda, Cuttack.
SharmaR.S. ,1965, Indian Feudalism: C. 300-1200, UniversityofCalcutta, Calcutta.
Singh, K.S., 1984, 'A Study of State Formation Among Tribal Communities' in
· R.S. Sharma and V. Jha (eds.) Indian Society: Historical Probings in Memory of
D.D. Kosambi, Peoples Publishing House, New Delhi, 3"1 ed., pp. 317-326.
Stein, B., 1969, 'Integration of Agrarian System of South India', in RE. Frykenberg
(ed.) Land Control and Social Structure in Indian History, The University of
Wisconsin Press, Madison, pp. 176-216.
Tiwari, S.P ., 1985, Comprehensive History ofOrissa, DakisanaKosala under Saravapurias,
Punthi Pustak, Calcutta.
Toynbee, G., 1960, 'A Sketch of the History of Orissa from 1803-1828', Orissa
Historical ResearchJournal, (First printed in Calcutta, 1878).
Wills, C.U_., 1919, 'Territorial System of Rajput Kingdoms of Medieval
Chhatisgarh' ,Journal ofAsiatic Society ofBenga~ XV, pp. 196-262.
Studies inHumanities and Social Sciences, Vol. VI, No.1, 1999, pp. 33-60.
Tribal Village Organisation and Mobilisation

in the Tribal Protest Movements in
Eastern India, 1820-1922
B. B. CHAUDHURI
University of Calcutta
Calcutta
I
This paper examines the complex interaction of the tribal village
organisation and the tribal protest movements in Bengal and Bihar
during the period 1820-1922. Some distinctive features of the village
organisation had much to do with the origins and organisation of the
movements. Requirements of the movements, as tribal leaders
perceived them, also necessitated measures towards a reconstruction
of their society and culture. These vitally effected the progress of
mobilisation in the movements. An attempt is made here to analyse
how all this happened. The roots of the ideology which contributed
to the gradual transformation of the tribal movements over the years
were mostly religious beliefs.
The non-stratified tribal village society greatly helped the formation
of sentiments of solidarity. However, large-scale tribal movements
involving numerous villages could not properly be built upon their
basis, because the tribal social organisation was characteristically a
village-based one and the institutional basis of supra-village solidarity
was generally lacking. Notions of an wider ethnic identity transcending
a village did exist. They, however, only marginally influenced the day-
tway village life, because they were primarily embedded in the tribal
religion, folklore and myths, and tribals came to know of their existence,
only occasionally, from the rituals performed during various communal
festivals and ceremonious.
The growing awareness of this wider identity had much to do with
the tribal encounters with the assorted alien intruders, including the
elaborate apparatus of power of the colonial state, whose activities
tended to impinge on man and village at the same time. This awareness
deepened with the increasing insistence by the leaders of tribal
movements on the need to reconstruct their society and culture as a
prerequisite for the success of the movements. While reconstruction
34 B.B. CHAUDHURI
involved jettisoning of certain aspects of the tribal culture, its ideology

came to be built on the revival, redefinition and reinterpretation of
certain elements of the tribal belief system, derived from religion or
linked with it. The success of their movements was generally limited.
Partial too was the realization of the vision _of a reconstituted society.
However, the force of the ideology inspiring the vision is evident from
its reappearance, in its essential features, in most later movements.
This study is restricted to three major tribal groups: the Munda,
the Oraon and the Santa!. An important consideration behind this
choice is that their social organisation and protest movements both
had striking similarities. Inclusion in our analysis of some aspects of
the social organisation of the Ho tribe of Singbhum is intended as an
illustration of the argument that significant changes in the tribal village
organisation in the three areas of our choice had much to do with the
gradual consolidation of alien domination there, with the colonial state
playing a crucial role in the process. In Singbhum aliens other than
the State had only a marginal control.
The period covered here is 1820-1922. 1820 was the year of a
notable Munda movement in the Temar pargana, in the organisation
of which certain religious beliefs and practices had an _important role.
The year 1922 saw the collapse of the large-scale Oraon movement
which had in it pronounced millenarian elements.
II
We need to analyse some characteristic features of the social

organisation of the chosen tribal groups and then their implications
for the organisation of the recurring tribal movements. The phrase
'social organisation' may be defined as the totality of the arrangements
toward the achievement of some common ends. Naturally, the
'common ends' widely varied from case to case. So did the devices
and institutions designed to attain them. The aspects of the organisation
emphasised here are as follows: 1
a) 'settled agriculture' as a crucial determinant of it;
b) The village (hatu in Mundari) as the basic unit of this
organisation;
c) composition ofthe group controlling access to 'village resources'
and the nature of its status in the organisation;
d) composition of the 'later settlers', quite of few of whom, despite
their vital role in the village economy, had a much inferior claim to
village resources and often only tenuous links with the formal village
organisation;
Tribal Protest Movements in Eastern India 35
e) developments over the years adversely affecting the status and
position of the group controlling access to village resources;
f) magico-religious beliefs of the tribals as one of the major
influences on the social organisation.
The tribal social organisation was largely predicated on the primacy
of settled agriculture, based on plough-cultivation and a certain
amount of artificial irrigation, in the tribal economy. However,
considerable dependence on forest resources continued till access to
them came to be severely restricted. A Munda saying quoted by
Hoffmann is revealing: 'We Mundas do not like a country where there
are no forests. ' 2 The sentiment had much to do with the importance
of forests for the tribal subsistence, though it also had cultural roots. 3
Settled- agriculture did not necessarily mean stable agriculture.
Ecological constraints, occasionally compounded by the social
relationship of production, particularly during the colonial period,4
made organisation of cultivation often insecure, necessitating a sort of
shifting cultivation. However, from the point of view of generation of
surplus, settled agriculture was superior to swidden cultivation and
pastoralism as modes of tribal subsistence. It is notable that the tribal
economy had a far weaker base where the latter modes of subsistence
persisted largely because of the failure of tribals there to adopt superior
techniques of agriculture, such as artificial irrigation and plough. 5
To the extent that settled agriculture was located in a more or less
fixed geographical space (known as village) over a considerable length
of time and was capable of producing a bigger surplus than swidden
cultivation or pastoral economy, it significantly determined the nature
of the social organisation which its practitioners gradually built up. As
we have said later, this social organisation was partly designed to secure
the control of the original settlers over the resources of their village.
Their long stay in a particular village created strong feelings of attach-
ment to it, sentiments deeply influencing their social organisation.
Where tribals practiced the other two modes of subsistence mentioned
above, the social organisation, in the absence of a well defined area of
stable agricultural settlements, lacked stability. However, as Sarat
Chandra Roy observes in his study of the Oraon, the festivals and
ceremonies prevalent in the areas of settled agriculture show the
persistence of the memories associated with the earlier modes of
subsistence. 6
The tribal social organisation was essentially a village-based
organisation. A Munda village (hatu), observed Hoffmann, 'stands for
what we would call civilization, although the range of what the Munda
36 B.B. CHAUDHURI
understands by civilization is ... a very small circle indeed as compared

to the vastness and complexity of our modern material civilization'.'
Culshaw, a Christian missionary located in the Bankura district of
Bengal, had an identical experience to record: 'The community life
of the Santal centres in his village, and is so organised as to make
common action inevitable in social, economic and religious a:ffairs'. 8
Difficult as we may find to define the concept 'village', the tribals
had a clear idea of its meaning. The constitution of a village had much
to do with the original tribal agricultural settlements, With the various
settling groups dividing among themselves a tract of wasteland. A village
here meant a certain area, capable of immediate cultivation and also
a considerable forest area, which these groups claimed as their
respective area of control. New villages could also come into existence
with the multiplying number of the members of the founder's family
necessitating search for new cultivation in the neighbourhood.
Whatever the origins, tribals well understood the boundaries of
different villages. In fact villages had their own flags, clearly
distinguishable one from the others. Defending the 'honour' of the
flags caused quite a few inter-village clashes. In general village
boundaries were scrupulously respected. Indeed, tribals believed some
bongas (gods, spirits, called simana bongas) constantly looked after the
maintenance of the boundaries. Incantations on occasions of communal
festivals and ceremonies invoked their intervention for the preservation
of the boundaries. Moral sanctions against their violations reinforced
the injunctions of religious rituals.
Clan ties had once evidently an important role to play in the village
organisation. However, clan sentiments, i.e., beliefs deeply rooted in
tribal myths that tribals had descended from different totemistic clans
(called kikis in Mundari),9 gradually ceased to be a decisive influence
on the regulation of inter-village relations centering around exercise
of control over the material resources of villages and other related
issues. Clan ties remained effective primarily in the regulation of
marriage. 1° For instance, clans continued to be exogamous i.e.,
marrying within a clan was strictly prohibited.
The village organisation was partly designed to ensure control of
the tribal group founding the village over the village resources. The
control was a vital concern for this organisation, particularly because
the resources were only apparently abundant. In a real sense they
were scarce. In the context of the prevailing agricultural technology,
the ecological framework of the tribal agriculture, and the limited
availability of inputs other than land, the mere availability of land, the
only apparently abundant factor of production, did not necessarily

mean an effective access to it. Who actually controlled the village
resources? The general impression about it seems erroneous. For
instance, in his study of the San tal, Archer has characterised the control
as 'communal ownership' . 11 It has also been described as being
essentially egalitarian.
The typical control did not mean the same thing as 'communal
ownership'. The unit of agricultural organisation was an individual
family. The family also 'owned', within certain well-recognised limits,
the holding it operated. The control was not egalitarian either. Not
all the villagers were owners. Contrary to the general impression about
the so-called egalitarianism of the tribal society-which is generally
contrasted with the inequality characterising a stratified peasant
society-control over village resources (the reclaimed area, the
wasteland the forest products) was for long restricted to the group
associated with the foundation of the village and to the patrilineally
descended members. This core group had also an exclusive claim to
the use of the village graveyard (sasan). Having a right to this use was
a vital matter for villagers. In general tribals were too deeply attached
to their ancestral village to brook the idea that after their death they
would be buried elsewhere. In the event of their death elsewhere
their bones would invariably be brought back to the village and buried
there following a communal ceremony.
This core group zealously guarded their claim of first access to
village resources. The idea of the sacrosanctity of the claim was so
deeply embedded in the tribal consciousness that descendants of the
village founders (called Khutkathidare in the Munda country and
Bhuinhars in the Oraon) considered any contrary practices as violation
of almost a natural law. This was the reason why they deeply resented
the appropriation by the Munda state 12 of their product beyond the
limit to which they had agreed at the time of institution of kingship
among them.
However, tribal egalitarianism is a valid concept if it is applied solely
to this core group, despite the inequality among its members in respect
of landholding or of possession of other resources. Since the unit of
the organisation of cultivation was the individual family, the size of the
landholding of individual families could widely vary because of the
possible differences in their industry and enterprise and in other
relevant factors. The tribal social order was egalitarian in the sense
that this inequality did not derive from any institutional devices and
was not enforced through them. This inequality alone in respect of
38 B.B. CHAUDHURI
the size of landholding did not necessarily create an inegalitarian,

stratified society. Stratification essentially means a relationship of
domination and subordination, where, the domination was associated
with certain circumstances en~bling a few persons to exercise control
on others, because of the dependence of the latter on the dominant
group for supply of some essential inputs of agriculture. As we see
later, certain village functionaries (such as the village headman and
the village priest) enjoyed a special position in respect of landholding.
This, however, had no implication whatsoever in terms of control over
the rest of the tribal community. Hoffmann, Culshaw, Sarat Chandra
Roy and others have also concluded, on the basis of their analysis of
the words used by tribals in addressing each other, that theirs was a
non-hierarchical culture. 13
Apart from the priority of the claim of the restricted 'descent'
group (the patrilineally descended members of the village founder's
family) to village resources, its superior status was institutionalized in
the fact that the two most important village functionaries, the headman
and the priest, invariably belonged to it. In fact they represented,
respectively, the two branches of the Munda family: the Munda Khunt
and the Pahan Khunt. (The term 'Munda' in this specific sense may
easily be confused with the generic name Munda which Hindus gave
to the entire Munda tribe, though the Mundas called themselves horoko.
Hindus called them Munda after the village functionary, munda,
probably because it was he who represented to the neighbouring Hindu
community the Munda world.)
In general the munda looked after the 'civil' business of the village
and the pahan its 'spiritual' matters. A Munda would rarely make such
a clean distinction between the two. In his perceptions the one easily
shaded off into the other. In a Santal village the line of demarcation
between the two was indistinct even in a formal sense. The headman
( manjhz) here performed functions which in a Munda village were
normally assigned to the priest (called Naika in San tali).
The august status of the headman and the priest in the village was
primarily due to the cruciality of their roles in the preservation of the
tribal 'social order' as the community understood it. For instance, the
Munda pahan was generally called ' the maker of the village', because
of his indispensable role in the rituals connected with the foundation
of a new village and with the numerous communally-organised festivals
and ceremonies, which villagers considered vital for its secure existence.
Hoffmann suggests that as the key figure in the Munda village
organisation the pahan was initially in charge also of the village's civil
Tribal Protest Movements in J:.:astern India 39
concerns losing the control gradually to the munda,

A notable change in this respect was the delegation of part of the
responsibilities of the headman and the priest to 'assistants' of their
choice, where they found their job much too burdensome to cope
with. The assistants, similarly choosing others to share their work, were
generally tribals, though not invariably connected with the village
founder's family.
Population in the tribal village included settlers other than the
'descent' group we have described above. The position of such 'later
settlers' in regard to landholding and in the village organisation would
illustrate the elements ofinegalitarianism in the tribal society. We may
take the Munda village as an instance. Except the official representatives
of the Munda raj and its dependents, most outsiders settled in the
village had an important role to play in the tribal economy. The latter
group, including non-tribals, was composed of settlers who came to
be partly involved in the local agriculture and of assorted 'service
groups'. While the tribal village's dependence on outsiders in
connection with agriculture was partial, it could scarcely survive without
the service groups.
Tribals, who formed part of the agricultural work force included
descendants on the mother's side. Where they chose to stay on in the
village their livelihood largely depended on the cultivation of the
holdings they were permitted to operate. Others, too, settled in the
village, sometimes on their own, and sometimes because the tribal
village wanted them to come. The usual occasions for this were the
depletion of the local labour for some reasons, or the need for
additional labour in connection with same urgent agricultural
operations.
The role of outsiders in the local agriculture as hired labourers
was peripheral. Agriculture was essentially a 'family_farm' in the sense
that tribal households relied almost exclusively on the labour of family
members. Moreover, unlike in the Hindu caste society, there was no
cultural constraint on the employment of female labour in agriculture.
Hiring of labour was, therefore, exceptional. Sarat Chandra Roy came
to know of the practice in a few cases. However, the labour hired here
was only partially used in cultivation. Generally, labour was hired on
an annual basis. Roy found that 'contracts' for labour (called Dhangar
labour in the Oraon country) were usually renewed, with elaborate
rituals, at some annual festivals, each as Magi.
Various service groups, mostly outsiders, provided services which
were vital for the maintenance of the village economy. For instance,
40 B.B. CHAUDHURI
the village depended on blacksmiths for agricultural implements, on

weavers for cloths, on potters for the supply of earthen pots and on
cowherds in connection with the grazing of the village cattle.
Since the tribal agriculture was mostly based on settled cultivation,
the implements needed for this were far more varied and sophisticated
than those which practitioners of swidden cultivation generally used.
They were usually made of iron. Though familiar with the art of iron-
smelting where iron ores were abundantly available, they had yet to
learn well the skill of making iron implements. Where iron ores were
not available at all, dependence on non-tribal craftsman was still greater.
Dependence on non-tribal weavers was often unavoidable too. The
tribal village produced mostly a course variety of cloths, and even this
production was generally unequal to the demand.
The service groups were, typically, non-tribal outsiders. Sarat
Chandra Roy calls them 'low-caste Hindus or rather Hinduised
castes' . 14 Evidently, tribals themselves had once provided part of the
services. However, their role become increasingly marginal, and the
supply of the services came to be nominated by the outsiders. Hoffmann
found that the craft of the tribal blacksmiths (bareas), based on an
inferior technique, and use of a different sort of implements, 15 did
survive in isolated pockets, the competition it faced from the wares of
non-tribal blacksmiths ( lohars). However, by the time he was writing
(the 1920s), the number of the tribal blacksmith families had dwindled
to insignificance. As for the tribal weaver families, Hoffmann found
them to be the least numerous of the surviving tribal service groups.
It is striking that Hoffmann, who was particularly convinced of the
flourishing state of the tribal blacksmith's craft once upon a time, had
not explained its decline. Both Sarat Chandra Roy and Hoffmann
noted a strong feeling among the Munda and Oraon cultivators against
any active association with the craft; indeed, the tribals regarded this
association as being 'degrading'. It is suggestive that the tribal families,
which continued to be engaged in the craft, gradually and completely
separated from the main tribal stock and come to form a distinct cultural
group. 16 In fact this 'exterior' group was not allowed to participate in
the communally organised festivals and ceremonies of the Mundas
and the Oraons. Whether this exclusion had anything to do with the
influence of the Hindu caste system, particularly its norms regarding
purity and pollution, is not known.
The decline of the tribal craft was perhaps partly due to economic
reasons. It is probable that the local business thrived as long as the
relative economic isolation of the tribal village continued. The gradual
opening of the tribal world and the increases in cultivation necessitating
Tribal Protest Movements in l:!.astern India 41
a larger supply of agricultural tools land implements exposed the local

craftsmen to the competition of their better-equipped counterparts
elsewhere. The local products were thus probably priced out of the
market. The cultural factor mentioned above did matter to the extent
that association with the craft resulted in the lowering of the social
position of the craftsmen. However, why should they not continue
their production, assuming a constant demand for their products?
The composition of the other outsiders in the Munda country was
distinctive. They mostly belonged to the civil and military personnel
of the Munda raj, apart from the host of dependents living off the
income from the villages granted in parts by the royal family.
The attitude of the tribal village to the outsiders-descendants on
the mother's side and other tribals involved in the agricultural process,
the assorted service groups and the representatives of the Munda raj
and other beneficiaries of its favours in other ways-was reflected in
its characterization of them as eta haturanko (men of other villages),
while the tribals perceived themselves a hatu horoko (men of the
village). This was partly institutionalized in the inferior economic and
social status of some of the former.
For instance, descendants from the mother's side could not claim
all the rights enjoyed by hatu horoko. Tribals settling in the village on
their own (donam horo) had lesser rights than those who were asked by
the Munda village to come (aunam horo). 17 The usual term for both,
pmja horoko (subject population; parja meaning subject), suggests that
the hatu horoko regarded them ('almost invariably Mundaris', according
to Hoffmann) as a subordinate community. When with the increasing
consolidation of the political authority of the Munda royal family the
obligation on the part of the tribal village to provide unpaid labour
service (bet begari) to the raj representatives came to be systematically
enforced, the parja horoko, initially, bore the greatest burdens.
The tribal village was generally tolerant of the service groups. The
obvious reasons was the indispensability of their role in the village
economy. 'Diku', the general terms of denunciation for a section of ·
the outsiders they distrusted, was not meant for them. Tribals ceased
to be friendly with precisely those service groups whose activities they
came to regard as being prejudicial to their welfare-for instance,
the Ghasis, traditionally music-players at tribal festivals, whom during
British rule outsiders such as coolie recruiters for the plantations in
Bengal and Assam used as an instrument of coercion.
The fact that some of the service groups were culturally different
did not matter much. In fact the cultural gap narrowed where their
long stay in the tribal village resulted in considerable cultural
t.
42 B.B. CHAUDHURI
exchanges. It has been argued that the 'Hindu traits' which tribals
slowly emulated were, till the arrival ofVaishnava gurus, mainly derived
from the material and non-material culture of such service groups.
Where tribals themselves, though separated from their old tribal stock,
continued to provide some services (the blacksmith's services, for
instance), the cultural distance was negligible. Hoffmann observed
striking similarities between the traditional Mundas and the Baraes
(tribal blacksmiths) in respect of clan names, methods of worship and
the rituals performed at festivals. However, he has also written of a
slow change in this regard over the years: 'Some of these socially
separated branches of the race', living mainly by their handicrafts,
were more exposed to Hindu influences. 18
The cordiality between the tribal villages and their service groups
led some observers (H. Risley, for instance 19 ) to conclude that they
formally belonged, to the tribal social organisation. They did not. They
were not the usual functionaries of the village community, though it
could not do without their services. They were excluded from the
ceremonial sacrifices. Marriage relations with them were not
permissible. They were required to take prior consent of the village
community for them to have their own graveyards in the village.
In contrast, attitude to the outsiders whom tribals called dikus was
throughout marked by bitterness. The strongest of the diatribes of
tribals were applied to them. A Mundari proverb says: 'The eye of a
Sadan (~lien) in like the eye of a dog'. 20 Bitterness with rent-farmers
(ijaradars), mostly Muslims, is reflected in the Mundari saying: 'If a
Mussulman gets a footing in a village, it spells ruin to the Mundas as
surely as an axe used by a woman will soon get spoiled' .21 A Mundari
prayer to their supreme God Sing Bonga, on occasions of any deadly
epidemic, thus invoked his intervention against the 'spirit causing the
diseases' (baram bonga): 'Drive him away to the country of the dikus'. 22
This feeling of alienation was as pronounced at the level of culture.
Hoffmann came to know that Mundas rarely allowed singing of Sadani
songs in their festivals, particularly in those where dances had an
important place: 'Up till now no Sadani songs were made for these
dances'. 23
III
Significant changes gradually occurred in the arrangement designed

to secure the tribal village's control over its resources, which, as we
have noted above, determined to a considerable extent the nature of
the village organisation. They had partly to do with the consolidation
of the process of state formation, i.e. the rise and growth of a central
political authority within the tribal world itself. The more important
factor was the increasing penetration of British political control and
the associated economic change.
This may be illustrated with reference to the Munda history. The
maintenance of the Munda royal authority negotiated diversion of
part of the rural surplus. There was not much of an effective
intervention in any other way in the village organisation. The Munda
raj recognised the status and role of the village functionaries, and
seldom interfered in the sphere of arbitration of internal disputes
and conflict. The royal family, despite its increasing inclination towards
Hinduism, did not take any initiative at all to make it popular with the
Munda.
However, two broad developments occurring then had crucial
implications later for the Munda village organisation. The consolidation
of the apparatus of the royal power meant growing strength of certain
groups, including members of the royal family. Their activities had a
decisive role in undermining this organisation during British rule.
Secondly, the growth of the royal authority also obliged tribal villages
to work within the framework of a larger supra-village administrative
network. The village headman had now to accept the authority of
persons called mankis. Tribals themselves, they were placed in charge
of a group of villages in connection with the collection of tribute from
them. However, they gradually developed interests wh:ich conflicted
with the collective well-being of villages even. in pre-British times.
Some developments during British rule affected the tribal village
organisation far more adversely.
(a) In the Munda world, control of the 'core' group, Khutkathidars
and Bhuinhars, over village resources increasingly weakened. By about
the beginning of the 20th century they survived only in small, isolated
pockets.
(b) A more direct assault on the tribal village organisation was the
removal, nearly everywhere, of village headmen by aliens as a device
to ensure success of their plans of maximizing their rental income.
(c) Where the headmen stayed on, presumably agreeing to do ·
what the alien land-controllers had asked them, their role in regard
to the tribal village became substantially altered. They ceased to be
vital functionaries of the village community and turned into a
component of the coercive authority of the aliens.
(d) Distortion of the manki's traditional role was far greater. The
fact that he had only a tenuous link with the village organisation, had
much to do with this. A manki did not have any vital ritual functions of
44 B.B. CHAUDHURI
the kind which a headman ( munda) usually carried out. Numerous

reports of British officials have described the role of mankis in assisting
the aliens (including moneylenders) in expropriating the original
Munda settlers from their villages.
(e) Contemporaries have also pointed out how, with the increasing
integration of the village headman into the apparatus of the colonial
state and the consequent elevation of his status, the relative positions
of the priest (pahan) and the headman ( munda) gradually changed.
The pahan, once even performing part of the role of the munda, did
not quite accept the change with good grace. A result was the
appearance of tension and conflict in the village society of a kind rarely
found earlier.
Such change in the village organisation, however, only marginally
affected the non-material Munda culture, rooted in magico-religious
beliefs and practices. The study of such beliefs is worthwhile because
the structures and function of the tribal village organisation is not
intelligible solely in terms of secular concerns-such as the nature of
the control of a particular descent group over village resources and
the organisation of the village economy within this framework. The
role ofmagico-religious beliefs and practices was crucial. This is evident
in different ways:
(a) The magico-religious beliefs and practices were essentially
rooted in the purely material concerns of the tribal village.
(b) They were communally organised and were not just left to the
choice of isolated individuals.
(c) They affected the utilization of at least part of the village
resources.
Both religion and magic were here predicated on the belief in
the supernatural. A basic assumption here was that natural phenomena
occurred in the way they did primarily because some outside forces
beyond nature i.e. some supernatural forces willed it that way. However,
religion here was not quite the same thing as magic. 24
This belief in the active role of the supernatural in causing develop-
ments directly affecting tribal material existence and the origin of the
tribal religion and magic needs to be stressed. A school of
anthropological thought argues differently and rules out any such role
of the supernatural as the basis of religious belief. Durkheim, for
instance, interpreted religion as something originating in the collective
crowd behaviour on some special occasions. Collective performance
of some rituals, he argues, creates in the participants a sense of awe
and mystery, transcending social limits. This awe and mystery of a sacred
nature he calls religion. Religion, according to him, is thus man-God

equation.
However, the tribal conception of religion lacked proper systemat-
ization. Organisation and systematization mark what is called the 'Great
Tradition' in religion, and this was the work of a group of specialists
having ample leisure for the purpose. Tribals better understood the
elaborate rituals to be obligatorily performed, so that the collective
well-being could be ensured, and also the similarly elaborate code of
prescription against their violations. Incantations and prayers of tribals
at religious ceremonies revealed their overriding concerns: good
harvests, absence of epidemics and the security and happiness of their
progeny.
The material roots of the magico-religious beliefs of tribals are also
evident from the way the different gods and spirits were worshipped.
There was no specific form of worship for the Supreme God (Sing
Bonga in Mundari). He was invoked in times of particularly severe
calamities. His blessings were sought too on nearly all important
religious ceremonies. On the other hand, worship of village gods and
house gods was more organised and well-defined. Appropriate rituals
were minutely prescribed. They had to be as scrupulously performed,
since these gods mercifully ensured the success of their agricultural
operations and hunting expeditions (failure in which was regarded
by tribals as a bad omen for their crops). They were worshipped at
fixed times at the village sacred grove, with the village priest invariably
presiding over the function; Worship of house gods was partly a
replication of worship of village gods and was often a preparation for
the latter. The house-based religious ceremony had a distinctive
feature: worship of the 'spirits' of dead ancestors in the sacred
tabernacle of the house. 25
Worship of the Supreme God and the village gods was not left to
individual options but communally organised. The communal
organisation of religious beliefs and practices, symbolised by collective
participation in them and the central role here of the village priest,
rested on a consistent reasoning. This is as follows. Prosperity and
welfare (generally identified with abundant harvests and freedom from
deadly diseases) would mean preservation of the village order.
Continuity of the prosperity was regarded as a natural order and a
break in it, therefore, as a symptom of a grave disturbance of this
order. The break was blamed on supernatural agencies, intervention
of ill-natured bongas, and artifices of malevolent witches. All this could,
however, be countered by collective rituals properly performed by
the village community as a whole. 26
46 B.B. CHAUDHURI
The communal organisation of the religious practices of tribals

was naturally based on their perception of a basic difference between
their practices and those not communally organised. Tribals did
emulate over the years certain non-tribal religious beliefs and festivals.
However, this emulation remained outside the framework of the
distinctive tribal village organisation. This is evident from the non-
participation in any form whatsoever of the village priest in such rituals
and festivals, since they were not based on the distinctive tribal belief
system. 27 To this category also belonged witchcraft. Hoffmann argues
that the ideological basis of the craft, as he found it, and the language
in which witches and the 'witch doctor' said their incantations and
cryptic formulas, suggest their derivation from the neighbouring
Hindu culture. 28 Whatever the origins, the craft, though widely
practiced, was never integrated into the communally binding code of
religious practices. Indeed, tribals viewed it as being utterly disruptive
of their village order, so that measures toward eradicating the evil
were mostly communally devised.
Religious beliefs are of relevance to our study of the tribal village
organisation also because they affected the utilization of at least a
portion of village resources. The village sacred grove, the central place
of public worship in the village, was regarded as being sacrosanct and
inviolable. Even during the worst of famines it was kept out of the
village society's enterprise in adding to cultivation through reclamation.
Use of old sal trees (jacar) also a site of public worship, was prohibited
till the village priest sacrificed a fowl by way of his approval of felling
the trees. Bhutkheta-lands allotted to persons looking after the
propitiation of malevolent bhutas (spirits)-and constituting a sizable
portion of the village cultivation, were wholly non-alienable. Tribals
believed bhuts, in the event of transfer of control over such lands to
non-tribals or aliens, would not be properly worshipped and the bhut's
wrath would cause calamities to the village. Grants ofland to the village
headman and the village priest were by way of remuneration of certain
services of a religious nature. The San tal headman ( manjhi) had a
particularly important role in the communal religious ceremonies.
The village sacred grove, called manjhistan, was in fact located near
the headman's abode.
We have emphasised above two major determinants of tribal.village
organisation: arrangements towards securing the control of a particular
descent group over the village resources, and the magico-religious
beliefs and practices of tribals. The tribal village had also to adopt
devices to counter what it perceived as threats to the village social
'order'. Threats from diku activities formed a class apart. To the question
of the tribal response to them in the form of collective resistance we
would turn later. One specific kind of threat, tribals believed, was
lapses from the norms of 'right' behaviour, and preservation of the
social order considerably depended on adoption of devices to
prevalent or correct such behavioural deviancies.
Witchcraft, as we have mentioned above, constituted one of the
severest forms of threat to the tribal social order. The universal
impression in Munda society about its dreadfulness was reinforced by
the conviction of its alienness to the traditional belief system of the
Mundas.
Tribals were particularly careful about right marriage relations,
since marriages, creating more or less stable social relationship, had
relatively enduring effects on the social organisation. The tribal society,
therefore, strictly enforced its injunctions to prevent trartsgressions of
the norms of tribal endogamy, clan exogamy and sanctity of marriages.
It is notable that the nature of the punishments prescribed by the
village community for offences was wholly determined by the tribal
perception of the degree of the disruption that such offences caused
to village 'order' and solidarity. The contrast in this respect with British
law is striking. The criteria for judging whether an activity constituted
an offence and the assumption about the appropriateness of the
punishment provided in the legal code for the offence applied to all
regions. Whether a region was tribal or not hardly mattered.
Punishments prescribed by tribal village panchayati!9 ranged from
simple fines to 'outcasting'-one of the severest forms of punishments,
involving termination of membership of the offender in the village
brotherhood. A particularly strong form of disapproval in the Santal
society of certain forms of deviancies from standards of right behaviour
was known as bitlaha~0 , a kind of collective defilement of the offender's
house. Outcastes could, however, be readmitted into the tribal society
under certain conditions.
Our analysis of the tribal village organisation and of the village's
collective devices to counter threats to this organisation enables us· to
explain a phenomenon which struck contemporary observers: the
strong sentiments of village solidarity. The principal roots of the
sentiments could be thus summed up.
(a) The 'core' group of village settlers was bound by 'descent'
and 'kinship' ties. The group was closely related to the village founder's
family. This association is also evident from the social composition of
the two most important functionaries of the village community: the
headman and the priest.
(b) Certain aspects of the tribal egalitarianism-the non-stratified
48 B.B. CHAUDHURI
nature of the tribal society and its non-hierarchical culture-reinforced

the sentiments and cohesion.
(c) The 'later settlers', though not part of the inner core of the
village organisation, were closely integrated into the village economic
organisation. Their constant cultural exchanges with the tribals
cemented such ties .
. (d) Communally organised festivals, religious ceremonies,
including the magico-religious practices, contributed to the perception
of a communal identity.
(e) The communal activity included occasional hunting
expeditions too. Such expeditions were communal not just because
they involved the participation of the entire village (often of a cluster
of villages). They constituted a communal activity also because success
in them was universally regarded as a good omen for their primary
economic activity of the village: agriculture.
(f) Ancestor worship, a vital component of the religious belief
system of the tribals, constantly revived and reinforced emotional ties
of villagers with the village where the ancestors lived. Bones of villagers
dying and buried elsewhere were invariably brought to the village of
their ancestor, and buried there again. The 'bone burial ceremony'
was far from a family affair. It was a communal event, a collective ritual,
symbolising the union of a separated villager with the wider moral
entity to which he had belonged-his ancestral village.
It was in the village that such sentiments of cohesion were generally
centered. Institutional expression of sentiments of supra-village
solidarity was usually lacking. 31 This, however, did not preclude the
existence of a set of shared beliefs and values among tribals of different
villages. Contemporary observes 32 (such as E.G. Man, Hoffmann,
Culshaw and Archer) noticed remarkable similarity in the attitudes
and the belief system of tribals scattered over a large area. There was
a clear idea about the larger identity of a tribe. This was partly evident
from the strictest possible enforcement of the principle of tribal
endogamy. Marrying outsides the tribe constituted a serious offence,
rendering the guilty liable to outcasting by the tribal society. This sense
of belonging to a larger self, 'tribe', was strengthened by the growing
consciousness of an exclusiveness produced by the increasingly hostile
encounters with aliens. Moreover, despite the multiplicity oflocal gods
and related practices, a close similarity in religious beliefs and
organisation existed in the villages by a common tribal group. Festivals
and ceremonies, though village-based, also contributed to the
awareness of a wider tribal identity. On nearly all cases the Supreme
God (Sing Bonga in the Munda country) was invoked, and the tribal
cosmogonic legends and myths were recited. Hunting, which had the
form of an annual festival, had a role too in the creation of this
awareness. It normally involved a cluster of villages and the 'Hunt
Council' meeting then discussed matters of common interest.
Reports of Christian missionaries particularly noted the role of
'learned gurus' in the preservation of the tribal tradition, invariablf3
an oral tradition, and in their transmission from generation to
generation. The point of view that exposure of tribal society to alien
cultural influence, particularly Hinduism, tended to weaken the
consciousness of a separate identity is only partially valid. Tribals did
emulate some Hindu beliefs and practice. However, this seldom meant
assimilation of their culture into the wider hierarchical Hindu culture.
Indeed, emulation of Hindu cultural traits, where it followed the
insistence by tribal leaders on a reconstruction of their society and
culture as a precondition of success in their struggle against aliens,
reinforced the assertion of their tribal identity. This insistence did
lead to the formation of sects in tribal society which did not closely
follow all the cultural mores of their ancestors and thus produced
tensions and even rifts in it. However, the influence of the sects
remained peripheral to the village organisation, particularly during
times of a temporary cessation of large-scale protest movement.
IV
We now turn to the second part of this study: the implications of the
tribal village organisation for the process of mobilisation in the protest
movements of tribals. The broad question examined here is the extent
to which some specific features of the movements are explicable in
terms of this organisation. The features are: their recurrence,
involvement in them of the village society as whole; the rapidity of
their spread and the largeness of their scale; appearance of radicalism
at a certain phase of their developments and the rise of millenarianism
as an aspect of this radicalism.
A notable thing about the village organisation, to the extent that it
affected the process of mobilisation in the protest movement, was its
changing nature over the years. While the village organisation did
impinge on the shape of the movement, the movement itself gradually
led to a rethinking on the part of tribal leaders about the ideal social
organisation they should have in order to be better equipped in their
encounters with adversaries. The reconstructed social organisation they
came to have in the. process was not just a temporary arrangement,
50 B.B. CHAUDHURI
disappearing with the end of a phase of a movement. Based on new

ethical notions, and religious beliefs, awareness of a wider ethnic
identity and a clearer understanding of the goals of the movement, it
inevitably reacted on the mobilisation of rebel tribals.
We should particularly note the following aspects of the
relationship of the tribal village organisation and the process of
mobilisation in the tribal movements.
(a) The particular manner in which alien intrusion affected the
communally organised tribal society partly explains why the tribal
reaction to this intrusion tended to be a communal one.
(b) Radicalism was a specific form of this reaction under particular
historical circumstances. The rebels then aimed at the rejection
altogether of alien domination.
(c) Radicalism was at times articulated in the form of
millenarianism.
(d) The rise of a movement and the manner of mobilisation in it
are dosely related. However, the determinants in each case are
different. The shape of the mobilisation in the tribal movements had
much to with certain features of the tribal village organisation we have
analysed above, such as: village solidarity in its various institutional forms;
sentiments of supra-village identity and tribal religious beliefs, practices
and cultural values in general.
Tribal movements tended to involve the entire village society,
because it was so structured that alien intrusion immediately and
directly hit the community as a whole, and not just a few isolated
individuals. As we have said above, practices of alien land-controllers
included assaults on village communal institutions and thus made the
village react collectively. The growing tribal consciousness of the
alienness of the antagonists reinforced the sense of this collectivity.
Movements initially having only limited aims, such as removal of
specific local grievances, developed radical tendencies, generally with
a growing conviction among tribals of the utter futility of relying on
the existing political authority for riddance from alien domination.
Millenarianism is, typically, a product of such a growing mood.
However, the mood by itself did not lead to millenarianism. The
transition usually occurred with the appearance of prophetic and
charismatic leaders enunciating ideas and plans for an ideal society
and polity. The rebels were particularly receptive to this message at
the time when they had become suddenly exposed to severe pressures
and thus feared disruption of their economy and culture.
The process of mobilisation in the tribal movements, particularly
in their radical and millenarian phase, had much to do with the tribal
religious belief system, from which the awareness of an ethnic identity

largely derived. Such a linkage was not noticeable in all tribal move-
ments. Even where it existed its form was .not identical everywhere.
Much depended on how the leadership conceived the aim of a move-
ment. As we have observed above, the critical role of religious beliefs
in the mobilisation process was particularly pronounced where the
movement was inspired by radical aims. The leadership here was also,
notably, provided by a single person, possessing a charismatic
personality, associated with a religious status, and making optimistic
prophecies about the future of a tribe as a whole and not of a small
aggrieved segment of it.
Where the nature of the leadership and of the movement's aims
were different, the implications of religious beliefs for the movement
differed too. As instances of movements of this type we may take the
Tamar revolt (1819-20), the first 'Kol' rebellion (1831-32) and the
Bhumij revolt (1832). The Santal movement from 1855 onwards and
the Munda/Oraon movements (1894-1922) are examples of the other
type.
In the Tamar revolt 34 magico-religious rituals were essentially
devices for establishing the identity of persons whom they had
suspected of bearing ~vil designs against them. To the extent that the
rituals confirmed their suspicion they strengthened the tribal resolve
to strike back at the enemies.
The background to the revolt was a drought of an unprecedented
severity. The desolate tribals blamed this natural phenomenon on some
humans capable of causing the disaster through the 'black' art of magic.
They now tried the traditional device for finding out miscreants in
the village. Tribals shot arrows at a mark on a piece of wood placed at
a distance, while they were uttering the names of persons they
suspected of doing them harm. The person whose name had been
uttered precisely at the time an arrow pierced the mark was judged
responsible for causing the drought. 35 Tribals were convinced the
drought would not end till the persons causing it were removed from
the village. The ritual only established a foregone conclusion. The
suspects were not arbitrary choices of tribals. Involved in 'rent farming'
and grain trade, they, all aliens, had already antagonised the tribal
village by their extortions and unfair trade practices. Tribals believed
these materially resourceful aliens also possessed magical powers of
stopping any rainfall whatsoever.
Magico-religious practices had little to do with the organisation of
the 'Kol' rebellion of 1831-32. Sentiments ofethnic affinity did, how-
ever, have a role in its rapid spread. The core leadership, a small group
52 B.B. CHAUDHURI
of mankis, set itself an extremely limited aim: their restoration to

position of power and control as mankis, from which they were
dispossessed by a member of the Munda royal family. Purely personal
interest motivated their initiative in violently opposing the intruders-
who had replaced them and also their patron, a section of the royal
family-and in persuading the villagers to join them. They were not
the spokesmen for the tribe as a whole. The villagers eagerly responded
to the initiative, largely because some recent administrative and
economic measure of the colonial state had hit them. The Hos (Larkha
Kols) of neighbouring Singbhum could also be won over, at least partly
because of their ethnic links with Chotanagpur Kols. 36 The decisive
reason was the Ho antipathy towards the British caused by the way the
latter's intervention in favour of the local ruling clique resulted in an
abrupt increase in their obligatory payments to the group.
During the Bhumij revolt the leader Ganganarayan did occasionally
tell his followers how his magical power would neutralise the British
military might and thus make them invulnerable to it. It seems
Ganganarayan borrowed the idea from the near contemporary
movement led by Titu Mir. 37 The idea did influence his followers, but
the movement as it developed came to have tendencies which
prevented the idea from remaining an enduring influence on the
movement. Ganganarayan was not a tribal leader at all. A member of a
rival faction in the royal family he had only his personal interests to
promote through the rebellion, and the cause of his anti-British
offensive was his conviction of the consistent partisanship of British
policy in the form of support to his inveterate enemies in the royal
family.
Equally opportunistic were the motivations of a sizable segment of
the rebels: owners ofjungle estates ( mahals), generally an impoverished
lot, heavily indebted to alien merchant financiers, who had taken full
advantage of the British laws and law courts in driving a hard bargain
with them. The jungle zamindars enthusiastically responded to
Ganganarayan's overture to them to join the revolt, regarding it as a
possible means of getting rid of the wily creditors. In general, the
local tribals, a mixed group unlike the Munda/Oraon and the Santal,
widely participated in the revolt, without having any independent
initiative of their own in the formulation of its aims and strategy. 38
Critical, in contrast, was the role of religious beliefs in the process
of mobilisation in the movements of the Santals, the Munda and the
Oraon during the period 1855-1922. In the first Santal revolt (1855)
this rol~ is evident in various ways.
(a) The rumours widely circulating in the Santal country for
Tribal Protest Movements in bastern India 53
sometime preceding and following the outbreak of the revolt (July

1855) and contributing to the creation of a sense of solidarity among
the Santals were all rooted in San tal religious beliefs and myths. 39
(b) The decisive event in this regard was the emergence of a
religiously-inspired leadership40 perceiving the Santal as a chosen
community of God and proclaiming, far and wide, the message
allegedly cpmmunicated directly by God to the leader that the rebel
victory in the imminent encounter with the enemies was inevitable.
(c) The rituals connected with the message of the God-ordained
Hul (rebellion), on which the leader insisted, were all of a religious
natureY
(d) The legends, myths and symbols, which the leader repeatedly
used for the purpose of creating in his followers a faith in their
invincibility in the coming batde, were all part of the Santal religious
belief system: for instance, the 'fire myth' predicting the destruction
of a 'sinful world' by fire sent by the Thakur (God). A similar Munda
myth was used by Birsa during the rebellion led by him (1899-1900).
(e) The widespread anti-witchcraft movement at the time was a
conscious device of the leadership toward ensuring unity in the revolt.
Witchcraft, Santal's believed, was utterly disruptive of cohesion in the
village and distrusting of its peace.
(f) One means adopted by the leadership for mobilizing the Santals,
spread over a vast area, was circulating branches of the sal tree, each
having three leaves. The sal had an important place in the Santal
religious worship, and circulation of its branches was the traditional
practice when Santals of a cluster of villages had to be informed of the
timing of annual hunting expeditions.
Two trends are noticeable in the Santal thinking on the general
question of resistance to enemies in the period following the collapse
of the Hul of 1855. A section of the Santals, disillusioped and
demoralized by the falsification of the leader's prophecy proclaiming
the invulnerability of Santals to the superior British military might,
tended to lose faith in their leader and to turn away from any active
resistance. 42 The more typical thinking did not at all blame the
movement's failure on the leadership and related it to the moral
inadequacies and lapses of the Santals themselves. The leader did
insist, it was argued, on the moral purity: of his followers as a pre-
condition of success in carrying out the divine mission entrusted to
him; the non-fulfilment of the mission was evidence that the morality
of the Santals had not been of the required standard. Hence the
reassertion of trust in the infallibility of the leadership and the
realization of the need for moral regeneration.
54 B.B. CHAUDHURI
Recurrence of the Santa! movement strengthened the second

trend. The post-1855 movements were increasingly marked by a
stronger perception of the Santa! identity. Kherwar, the old Santa!
tribal name, was now revived. This consciousness formed an integral
part of the faith in the possible restoration of the old glory of the
tribe. While collective action was still regarded as a prerequisite for
this restoration, the Santals, with the memory of the army's
relentlessness in suppressing the Hul still fresh, realised the folly of
seeking achievement of their aims through violence. They now avoided,
as far as possible, a violent encounter with the enemy. There was,
therefore, an increasing emphasis on the need to revitalize the Santa!
society and a corresponding decline in the belief in the supernatural
powers of the leader. However, this shift scarcely precluded reliance
on the leader's role. The revitalization programme, all laid down by
the leader, included a redefinition of the Santa! religious faith,
consisting in the revival of the monotheistic trend in this belief system,
which normally only marginally influenced the day-to-day Santal
religious practices. The revitalization process, however, remained
incomplete, because it proved much too demanding for some
Santals. 43 Tension between old and new faiths consequently grew.
Reversions to the old faith generally occurred when the Santa! protest
movement itself had lost its vigour.
The Munda/Oraon movements (1894-1922), largely similar to the
Santal agitation, developed some new features. By the time the
movements started, the old Munda/Oraon village organisation
considerably weakened. As we have noted above, the core descent
group which had for long controlled access to village resources shrunk
to insignificance. On the other hand, ideas of radical protests
increasingly emerged; the recurring Santal movements constituting
an impor_tant source of them. Hence the emphasis on the creation of
a new basis for the organisation of the movements. The latent
sentiments of supra-village solidarity now came out into the open and
influenced this organisation. The 'religious revitalization' programme
here was far more comprehensive. For instance, the idea was now
being systematically developed that some of their present religious
practices, such as worship of a multiplicity of gods, worship of 'spirits',
including the malevolent ones and. the widespread practice of
witchcraft were all later accretions and foreign to the traditional
religious faith. The revitalization, the leaders now insisted, was
predicated on the complete eradication of such practices. Birsa, the
Munda leader, also sought to create in his followers an awareness of
the past history of the tribe, and consistently used the old Munda
myths for the purpose.

The Oraon movement, organisationally part of the wider movement
led by Birsa (after 1894), came to be dissociated from the Munda
movement and tended to be ideologically autonomous. The Oraon
leaders now-after its collapse (1900)-stressed the need for reviving
the distinctively Oraon tradition, now called Kuruk Dharm (true
religion). However, there was not much of a difference in respect of
organisation of the movement. 44 The striking difference was
renouncement of violence as far as possible. The preaching of the
ideas of Kuruk Dharm and of the goals of the movement had also nothing
secretive about it.
The emphasis of Birsa, and later of Oraon leaders, on the need to
create an awareness of the past history of the tribes, all enshrined in
oral tradition, did not just mean 'invention of tradition'. The leaders
were reviving a tradition, though it involved considerable redefinition
and reinterpretation. Whatever the change, the growth and
organisation of the tribal resistance movement at a certain point of
time was unintelligible without this reconstituted belief system.
NOTES
1. While identifying the distinctive elements of the tribal village organisation we do

not suggest that they were universally valid attributes applicable to 'tribes'
everywhere. We merely mean to say that in a particular historical setting this sort
of social organisation was associated with the leading tribes included in this
study.
2. Hoffmann, E.ncyclopaediaMundarica (hereafter Enc. Mund.) Vol. 2. p. 555.
3. Since a close integration of cultivation with forest and pasture characterised the
tribal economy, forests had an important place in the religious practices of
tribals. The cultural values that grew out of this integration even survived the
sharp decline in the role of forests in the tribal economy.
4. 'The difficulties which ecology created in the way of artificial irrigation were
reinforced by the negligible investment of landlords, tribals and government.'
Landlords preferred to invest only where they were certain of proper rewards
for their efforts. The cultivators' means were too small for costly irrigation
devices. The 'land improvement loans' provided by the government were normally
negligible. B.B. Chaudhuri, 'Tribal Society in Transition: Eastern India, 1757-
1920', in M. Hasan & N. Gupta (eds.), India's Colonial Encounter, p. 76.
5. The transition to settled cultivation was partial in the cases of some Chotanagpur
tribes, such as the Birhors and the Kharias.
6. S.G. Roy has argued that Sarhul, 'the principal religious festival' of the Oraons,
was 'in origin a festival of the food-gathering stage of the economic history of the
tribe'. The traditional rites connected with the festival were 'overlaid by other
rites connected with a more advanced economic life and elaborated by gradual
56 B.B. CHAUDHURI
accessions and additions of centuries through which the tribe progressed from
mere food-gatherers and hunters to settled agriculturists' . S.G. Roy, Oraon Religion
and Customs (1972 edn.) pp.139-140.
7. Enc. Mund., Vol. VI, p. 1663.
8. Culshaw, Tribal Heritage, p. 7.
9. Culshaw thus writes of the San tal clan organisation: 'Many of the social activities
of the Santals are based on myths, and the strength of their clan organisation is
due in no small measure to its foundations in mythology'. Tribal Heritage, p. 64.
10. Roy observed how with the growth of population 'the solidarity of the totemic
clan was gradually impaired' and how the clan eventually became a 'marriage-
regulating agency'. As a result, 'Necessarily, the local group of the village came in
time to be practically all in all'. Roy, The Oraons of Chotanagpur, p. 388.
11. Archer ignores the fact of clan ownership: 'The first aspect of San tal socialism is
the public ownership ofland'. Tribal Law andjustice, Vol. 1, p. 25.
12. It is generally agreed that the Nagbanshi royal family, which gradually came to
exercise political control over the Munda/Oraon country, was itself a Munda
family, in fact a munki family in charge of a cluster of villages. The royal family
consistently claimed non-Munda origins, boasting ofits Rajput Kshatriya lineage.
13. E.G. Man noted the absence of an 'honorific or inferior pronoun' in the San tali
spoken language. Man, Sonthalia and the Santhals (First edn. 1867; reprint 1983),
pp. 7, 74. So did Hoffmann in Mundari: 'All ages and ranks are addressed by the
simple am, thou'. Enc. Mund., Vol. 1, p. 101.
14. Roy, The Oraons ofChotanagpur, p. 68.
15. Hoffmann, Enc. Mund., Vol. 2, pp. 760-762.
16. This was what Skrefsrud, a Norwegian missionary working amongst the Santals,
came to know from a Santa! guru, Kolean. Bodding, Traditions and Institutions of
the Santals, p. 21. Bodding translated into English the original text in San tali.
Kolean particularly emphasised the role of emigration of some San tal groups in
this formation. The emigration created a physical distance between the emigrants
and those who had not moved out. It was the latter who, according to Kolean,
came under the influence of the neighbouring culture.
17. The distinction ceased where members of the kinship group were admitted into
the village society through 'ceremonial public adoptions'.
18. Hoffmann concludes: 'These socially separated landless branches of the race,
who had to live mainly by their handicrafts, were exposed more to alien influences
than the conservative and exclusive cultivating Mundas'. Enc. Mund., Vol. 2, p.
428.
19. Risley, The Tribes and Castes ofBenga~ Vol. 2, p. 105.
20. Hoffmann, Enc. Mund., Vol. 13, p. 3934.
21. ibid., Vol. 14, p. 4530.
22. ibid., Vol. 2, p. 421.
23. ibid., Vol. 13, p. 4129. It is striking that inter-tribal clashes, arising in various ways,
did not normally have similar cultural implications. For instance, Oraon migrants,
who pushed out the original Munda settlers fi·om many a village, continued to
employ Munda pahans in their religious cer~monies, feeling that Mundas, being
the earlier settlers, were better skilled in driving out 'spirits' and the Munda
pahans accepted the offer with good grace.
24. Anthropologist tend to distinguish magic from religion. However, they do not
quite agree as to the precise nature of this distinction. Tylor (Primitive Culture),
for instance, did not consider magic in the context of religion. Magic to him was
a pseudo-science which had become obsolete with the development of science,
but had left its 'traces in superstitious practices of various kinds'. Frazer, too,
thought of magic as a pseudo-science (Golden Bough). However, unlike Tylor, he
linked magic with religion. 'He held that magical beliefs preceded religious
ones ...As Frazer reconstructed the inaccessible past, man looked for a way to
control his environment, and thought these principles were the answer. But
when they failed to give results, he concluded that there must be a personified
being somewhere who had to be propitiated: thus was religion born'. Mair, An
Introduction to Social Anthropology, Ch. 13. Tribal thought tended to associate
magic with 'black magic', its practices being designed to harm individuals.
25. This was based on the deeply rooted belief among tribals that death, meaning
merely the end of material existence, actually marked the beginning of a new
existence, a disembodied one-a spirit living on in his former home as the family's
protector. It was this indissoluble link with the ancestors that bound their progeny
to the ancestral village.
26. Archer, TribalLawand.fuslice, pp. 466,473-75.
27. For instance, as Hoffmann argues, in the Munda world they were not based on
the Munda asuralegend. Enc. Mund., Vol. 2, pp. 241-250.
28. Hoffmann, Enc. Mund., Vol. 2, p. 372. S.C. Roy points to the usual 'long-winded
incantations, mostly in the local Hindi dialect' and 'invocations to Hindu deities
as well as l0cal spirits' as evidence that the practices of the witch doctors did not
form part of the communally organised religious practices of the Oraons. Roy,
Oraon Religion and Custom, pp. 185-86.
29. Panchayat literally meant a council of five. However, the number varied from
village to village.
30. Archer thus describes 'the ritual of the ceremony' connected with bitlaha: 'It is
performed by an enormous crowd. It is done to the thunder and roll of drums.
The crowd advances on the house in long surging lines. Finally, a ceremony of
symbolic defilement is performed in the heart of the courtyard. In its disciplined
expression of revolted disgust, its intense assertion of tribal values, its savage
dignity, the ceremony is unique in tribal India'. Archer, Tribal Law and.Justice. p.
549.
31. Parkin, The Munda of Centrallndia: An Account ofthem Social Organisation, Chs. 1-5.
32. E.G. Man was particularly struck by the San tal consciousness of art identity despite
their dispersion over a wide geographical area. Initially, he doubted whether his
observations on the Santals of Son thalia (a particular portion of the new district
of San tal Parganas formed in 1836) applied to the Santals of other areas. He was
eventually convinced that they did. Man, Sonthalia and the Santals, pp. 2-3. Culshaw,
a Christian missionary working in the village of Saronga of Bankura district,
reached a similar conclusion: 'Much of what is said is true of the Santals wherever
they are found. The uniformity of San tal culture over a wide area raises questions
of great interest to students ... '. Culshaw, Tribal Heritage, 'Preface', VII.
33. The exalted position of a guru in the San tal society was wholly due to his superior
knowledge of the San tal oral traditioll. There is also evidence that some of them
tried from tiine to time to create among the Santals a consciousness of the San tal
race. Sodding, translatorofSkrefsrud's Santali work Traditions and Institutions of
the Santalsinto English thus writes about the Santal Guru: 'A Santal Guru is a man
who is supposed to know certain things, e.g. what should be recited at some
58 B.B. CHAUDHURI
ceremonial functions, and who is able to act as a reciter when called upon to do
so. Any Santa! can become a Guru, by attaching himself to an older Guru and
gradually learning from him'. (Foreword, p. 2).
34. Judicial Criminal Proceedings, GovernmentofBengal, 4Feb.l820. Nos. 38-39.
35. Tribhuvan Manjhi, who was judged guilty, was then in charge of the royal granary
and could thus manipulate the grain prices in the local market.
36. According to Dalton the Hos 'generally admit that they are of the same family as
the Mundas, and that they came from Chutia Nagpur'. Dalton, Descriptive Ethnology
ofBengal, Group VII, Section 4. The social and religious organisation of the Hos
and the Mundas was strikingly similar. See Section 5.
37. Jha has analysed the nature of the movement led by Ganganarayan in The Bhumij
Revolt ( 1932-33 ), Chs. 11-IV.
38. Dalton thus concludes: 'I do not know that on any occasion they rose like the
Mundaris simply to redress their own wrongs. It was sometimes in support of a
turbulent chief ambitious of obtaining power to which according to the courts
oflaw he was not entitled, and it was sometimes to oppose the government in a
policy that they did not approve, though they may have had very little personal
interest in the matter'. Dalton, Descriptive Ethnology ofBengal, ( 1960 edn. Calcutta),
p.l72.
39. Rumours circulating at the time mostly stressed the paramount need of the
hour: preservation of solidarity among the rebel Santals. One rumour was that
Lag Lagin snakes were moving around and swallowing men. To remove this evil,
people of five villages met together and, after fasting, went at night to another
group of five villages. Another rumour had it that 'a buffalo cow is moving in the
country. Whenever it finds grass at someone's outer door, it halts and grazes,
and until all the members of that household died it does not move away'. The
Santals started digging up all the grass in the village streets. Another rumour
warned the Santals against the suspicious movements of outsiders in San tal villages,
asking the Santals to take care that they could be easily identified, so that anti-
diku measures of the time did not harm them. One rumour related to the birth
of a Subah Thakur at a remote place called Lao fort. Bodding, Traditions and
Institutions of the Santals.
40. According to the San tal oral tradition, God appeared before two Santa! brothers,
Sidhu and Kanu, with a message asking them to lead a movement aiming at
destruction of the enemies of Santals and the establishment of a San tal IO,j. As
some village headmen told the Burdwan Commissioner, 'the sole cause of the
outbreak is the extraordinary spell which the idea of a soobah (sovereign authority)
of their own has cast over them'.
41. The two brothers, Sidhu and Kanu, who claimed to have received a message
direct from God, insisted on the presence of Santals at the spot where God had
appeared before them and where the brothers had been worshipping God for
days. The obvious purpose was to convince the San tal congregation of the veracity
of their claim about the transmission of a divine message to them. Things used in
the rituals in connection with offerings to the brothers by the Santals present
there were traditionally all part of San tal religious rituals: du~ai grass, sun-dried
rice, sindur (vermilion), mustard oil and turmeric. The brothers insisted
throughout that the rituals be observed with 'purity of heart'. Their messages to
followers consistently cited San tal cosmogonic legends, such as destruction of a
sinful world by the Thakur (God) through a rain of fire raging continuously for
seven days and seven nights, and escape from this pervasive calamity for only
those who fled to a remote mountain.
42. Some disillusioned Santals went as for as to call the leader's prophecies and plans
of resistance 'dacoits', 'guiles' and 'deceitful promises'. Bodding, Traditions and
Institutions of the Santals, p. 192.
43. Contemporary reports on the Kherwar movement often referred to the growing
social distance between the Kherwar converts and other Santals. Part of the
reason for the limited appeal of the Kherwar ideology, except when a movement
was on, was the economic implications of acceptance of the Kherwar lifestyle.
For instance, a Kherwar San tal could not any longer rear pigs and fowls, because
they were thought to be polluting objects. This sacrifice was too much for relatively
poor Santals to bear.
44. For details see B.B. Chaudhuri, 'The Story of a Tribal Revolt: The Religion and
Politics of the Oraons, 1900-1920.'
BIBLIOGRAPHY
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report was written in 1946).
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(Manchester, 1950).
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1949).
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translation ofL.D. Skrefsrud's Santali book Horkoren Mare Haprarnlw reaA Katha,
1887).
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Calcutta 1949).
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Cutshaw, W.J., Tribal Heritage. A Study of the Santals (London, 1949).
Dalton, E.T., Descriptive Ethnology ofBengal (Calcutta, Ist edn.,1872).
60 B.B. CHAUDHURI
Datta-Mazumdar, N., The Santals: A Study of Culture Change (Calcutta, 1956).

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Studies inHumanities and Social Sciences, Vol. VI, No.1, 1999, pp. 61-78.
Cultures of Christianity and Colonialism

in Chhattisgarh
SAURABH DUBE
This paper addresses the master theme of social dimensions of religious

movements by raising questions and highlighting issues in the study of
the evangelical encounter in colonial Chhattisgarh. 1 The encounter
was located at a critical intersection of meaning and power: the
engagement of the mission project with colonial cultures of rule; and
the interface and mutual imbrication of Protestant theology,
evangelical beliefs and practices of missionaries with the principles of
caste and sect and the institutions and dynamics of village life. The
missionaries, indigenous catechists and helpers, native converts and
congregations and members of the local population were protagonists
and players in dramas of divergent perceptions and contradictory
practices. The small particulars and little details and the sharp lines
and broad contours of a specific historical and ethnographic case reveal
the wider implications of the evangelical encounter: the mutual
fashioning of cultures of colonialism and Christianity in Chhattisgarh.
A large number of studies of the mission project, missionaries and
Christianity in South Asia have been produced by church historians.
This literature provide us with detailed chronicles of actions ahd
events. 2 Several other exercises in the field have once again been
guided by the rather simplistic assumption that Christian converts in
India tended to replicate a modernised social order-with the
exception of caste-in the image of the missionaries. 3 It is only in
recent years that historians have begun to explore the meanings of
conversion and the articulation of missionaries, converts and Christianity
with indigenous schemes of rank and honour, caste and sect. 4 At the
same time, this work has focused on Orthodox Churches in south
India. The evangelical encounter in the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries and its engagement with the colonial enterprise remains a
relatively neglected area' 'of study. 5 The significance of the issues
embedded in the theme is suggested to us by studies in the
anthropology of colonialism .and Christianity and of 'radical culture
contact'. 6 Clearly these issues need to be incorporated in the agendas
of South Asian historiography and ethnography.
In 1868 Oscar Lohr, the first missionary of the Derman Evangelical
62 SAURABH DUBE
Mission Society, initiated mission work in Chhattisgarh, a large region

bound through linguistic ties in south eastern Madhya Pradesh. The
pioneer missionary had been drawn to the region by the Satnamis.
The Satnamis, Lohr's preliminary enquiries had revealed, were
heathens with a difference: they were a monotheistic group whose
'creed' opposed idolatry and caste. 7 To the missionary this was a
providential connection. It was willed by the Lord. Would the flock
not be delivered once it witnessed the Saviour? The Satnamis did not
see the coming of the millennium. The group declined its 'destiny'
and proved elusive. The missionaries continued to toil the field. The
halting enterprise of conversion grew through ties of kinship and the
prospects of a better life under the paternalist economy of mission
stations. Over the next few decades the missionary enterprise in the
region expanded. Members of the German Evangelical Mission Society
were joined by missionaries of other denominations-the American
and General Conference Mennonites, the Disciples of Christ, the
Methodists, the Pentecostal Bands of the World-and there was a move
to work with other communities. The converts continued to receive
missionary regulations through the grid oflocal cultures. The 'harvest',
never bountiful, was indeed more than a little curious. The
missionaries tended. The missionaries reaped. If they made headway,
they also had to retrace their steps.
We have in recent years had forceful reminders that the white
man did not always command the initiative in processes of cultural
encounter. 8 In 1868 the missionary Oscar Lohr visited the Satnami
guru at his home in Bhandar on the occasion of the community's
'annual festival'. The missionary described in detail how he was seated
next to the guru and served refreshments. He made the triumphant
revelation to a 'great mass' of Satnamis that the real satyanam (true
name) was Jesus Christ. Lohr was elated by the warm welcome. He
inadvertently ventured into the realm of ethnographic representation
and the pursuit of indigenous meanings when he stated that the
Satnamis had stroked his beard to show him great honour and affection
in their 'traditional way.' 9 The encounter was indeed seized by
missionary legend-history and ordered as an event of monumental
significance. But was the stroking of Lohr's·.long flowing beard really
the enactment of a timeless, mysterious and customary ritual? Or was
it a mere display of Satnami curiosi.ty? Was the serving of refreshments
by the guru the extension of hospitality to a white saheb, a western
master? Or had the missionary lost the initiative? We need to consider
the possibility that Lohr's visit to Bhandar on the day of gurupuja, along
Cultures of Christianity and Colonialism 63
with thousands of Satnamis, had unwittingly signified his acceptance

of the guru's authority. Had the missionary, perhaps, been incorporated
as an affiliate in the domain of the guru? Three months later the
missionary went on to challenge a principle of faith within Satnam-
panth. The curiosity did not translate itself into conversions, the
hospitality was replaced by hostility. The millenarian hopes of Lohr lay
in ruins. 10 This is one tale. There are other stories.
What we_re the links between the mission project and colonialism?
The question can all too easily translate itself into a rigid polemical
divide: the rival caricatures of the crafty agent of imperialism and the
philanthropic apostle to the natives become the principal protagonists
of competing shadow plays. The debate,Jean and John Comaroffhave
pointed out, gets confined to the issue of 'Whose side was the
missionary really on?' and by extension 'Whose ends did he serve?': a
complex historical problem is turned into a crude question of cause
and effect. 11 Th.e way out of this narrow and constricting impasse of
competing instrumentalities, it seems to me, lies in a close analysis of
the mutual imbrication of the cultural, basis and political implication
of the mission project.
It was not often that evangelical missionaries in Chhattisgarh
intervened in the arena that is conventionally designated as 'political',
the domain of institutionalised power relations between the colonial
state and its subjects. At the same time, the links between the mission
project and colonialism could lie elsewhere. First, we need to examine
the missionary participation in the aggressive fashioning of authoritative
discursive practices. An insidious and pernicious commonplace among
historians and theorists of colonial discourse holds that the figurative
construction of powerful images of the non-western Other was carried
out by a unified conquering colonial elite with a ;uniform Western
mentality. Missionary writing, in fact, had a more contradictory location
within the field of colonial representations. In what ways did the stock
and evocative metaphors and routine and emotive images with
structured missionary thought and inscription constitute a part of and
reinforce the powerful cultural idioms of domination that were
invested in by western communities? Moreover, the rhetoric of
missionaries often reveals a tacit support for British rule. This was,
once again, not the function of a seamless community of colonial
interests made up of metropole policy makers, provincial practitioners,
local administrators, members of the armed forces and missionaries.
We need to tum instead to the tangled web of relations between the
principles of missiology, the structure of Protestant beliefs, and the
64 SAURABH DUBE
policies of British administrators. In brief, there seems to have been a

tie up between two sets of processes: the missionaries stated commit-
ment to the complementarity of the Church and the state, of spiritual
and temporal power, and the post-mutiny policy of British adminis-
tration to effect a separation between religion and politics which
critically augmented colonial power. Finally, the missionaries invoked
the precept of individual self-determination and the spiritually
spectacular moment of the witnessing of Christ to argue for the religious
freedom of the convert. At the same time, these converts were childlike
and struggling to grasp rational objective thought. They had to be
guided, nurtured and controlled within a paternalist enterprise. The
missionaries, seem to have participated, wittingly and unwittingly, in
the construction of colonial mythologies of racial supremacy, the
establishment of structures of paternalist authority and the reinforce-
ment of the legitimacy of colonial rule. All this came about without
their formal entry into the manifest processes of institutionalised power
relations centering on the colonial state. It is indeed the realms of the
cultural, the ideological and the discursive which reveal the political
implications and colonial connections of the mission project.
The missionaries along with other white settlers were agents in
the creations of colonial cultures of rule. These cultures, Ann Stoler
has argued, were not direct translations of European society planted
in the colonies, but 'unique cultural configurations, home spun
creations in which European food, dress, housing and morality were
given new political meanings in the particular social order of colonial
rule.' 12 A close attention to the cultural forms .borne and initiated by
the mission project allows an exploration of two simultaneous processes.
The missionaries participated in the new constructions of 'wester-
nness', embedded in distinct lifestyles, within the colonial order. 13
This involved the conscious creation and fashioning of the boundaries
of the 'community' of white settlers, which served simultaneously to
overcome their internal economic and social differences and dispari-
ties. At the same time, the missionary was also committed, as a part of
the evangelical deal, to civilise the converts through the initiation of a
set of key practices revolving around building, clothes, writing and
the printed word. Similarly, the spatial organisation of activities in the
mission station, governed by western divisions and notations of time
was, perhaps, a part of the attempt of early evangelists to rationalise
the indigenous groups through the geometric grid of civilization. 14 It
was arguably within the interstices of these contradictory movement-
the constitution of distinct life styles in a new context as a measure of
66 SAURABH DUBE
What was the nature of convert communities that developed in

Chhattisgarh? The pattern of conversions in the region did not follow
the missionaries millenarian master plan of mass movements. A few
conversions came about as individuals survived prolonged illnesses
which had brought them close to death. The missionary accounts were
unambiguous: it was the healing powers of the Lord which had
compelled these people to convert to Christianity. It was, in fact, ties
of kinship that proved critical to the growth of the Christian
congregations in Chhattisgarh. The missionaries saw the process as
the internal growth of Christianity. Ties of kinship and bonds of affinity
were clearly natural. They were also seen as a check on the materialist
instincts of the converts.
The constraints of men and money of early missionary endeavour
meant that they were compelled to establish Christian villages. The
converts became a part of the paternalist economy which developed
around the missionary and the mission station. The mission employed
the converts as coolies and servants and each household, after it had
shown the necessary qualities of thrift, was granted four acres of land.
The converts who completed the course at the training schools run by
missionaries were employed as catechists, teachers in village schools
and as scripture readers. The missionaries trained the converts as
masons, smiths and carpenters and employed many of them at the
mission station. The women converts were engaged as servants and a
little later employed as bible-women. The situation of the converts at
these mission stations was much better than what they had faced as
cultivators in their villages. They received loans at low rates of interest
and the missionary, unlike other malguzars, did not exact begar (forced
labour) but paid them for labour on public works. The missionary was
the malguzar, the owner proprietor, of these Christian villages. The
master of the mission station combined the powers of the malguzar
and the pastor: the provision of employment and aid to converts was
accompanied by a drive to control and discipline the members of the
congregation. The division between state and church, temporal and
spiritual power, became blurred and got lost.
A series of questions crop up. I raise them as a first step to articulate
the themes embedded within the evangelical encounter. Were
individual conversions prompted by an apprehension that the
regenerative powers of missionary medicine and Christ-the-Saviour
embodied greater efficacy than the healing powers of Hindu deities
and local specialists? What were the links between principles of
kinship-agnatic ties and affinal values-the mechanisms of ostracism
the distance from local cultures and the use of many of the signs of
western culture to civilise the heathen-that the missionary
constructed a sense of belonging to a community of white settlers and
reinforced the schemes of power which anchored the familiar symbols
and signs of the cultural order of colonial rule.
The authority of the missionary was closely intertwined with the
'arts of civilisation' initiated by the mission project. !twas within the
matrix oflocal cultures that the missionaries were fashioned as sahebs. 15
The mission buildings and the spatial organisation of work were
imprecated in the everyday definition and reinforcement of missionary
authority, the saheb who owned and regulated the fields, the
(occasional) forest and the mission station that were placed at masterly
discretion within his well defined domain. The missionary healed
bodies through western medicine. Similarly, he controlled the
production of the printed word. This needs to be set in the context of
the importance which Protestantism attached to the convert self-
commitment to the 'word' and the 'book' as the signs of a true
Christian and of the power of writing within an oral tradition. The
ability to inscribe and to engender print then served to underwrite
missionary authority. Finally, the missionary stood centre stage in the
play of the normative discourse and practices about decency, modesty
and shame. Clothes became a distinctive sign of indigenous Christianity.
Contemporary missionary accounts and photographs of converts from
the late nineteenth century reveal men wearing par.jamas and shirts,
women clad in blouses and proper sarees-instead of lugdas (half
sarees)-and little girls in long dresses. The acquisition of canvas shoes
added to the dignity and bearing of catechists and school teachers.
The accent was on decency. Modesty covered bodies and countered
shame. The gains for the converts were simultaneously material and
symbolic and they constructed their own understanding of missionary
authority. A report from the early twentieth century; for instance,
pilloried a Chamar convert who refused to do a menial job in the
village on the grounds that as a Christian he had bece>me a saheb, a
member of the master race. This was of course only one of the several
ways in which the key social practices introduced by the mission project
were appropriated and deployed by the community of converts. We
need to explore the ways in which the Book and the Word, Christian
divinities and the 'holy family', saints and martyrs, western notations
of time and the spatial organisation ofwork, and clothes and buildings
were understood, refashioned and set to work in the modes of worship
and practices of convert communities.
of caste and sect and the growth in conversions? What were the frames
of reference through which the missionary participated, as hapless
victim and active agent, in the subversion of an inviolable principle of
Protestant theology? Did not this blurring of the distinction between
spiritual and temporal power fit well with the political sociology of the
converts which was, arguably, based upon a notion of indissoluble links
between religion and power? How was the missionary as malguzar and
pastor of a village located by converts and other members of the local
population within structures of authority in which the ritual hierarchy
of caste society-that emphasised the concerns of purity and
pollution-and the principles of a ritually and culturally constituted
dominant caste worked together and reinforced each other as mutually
defining aces of relations of power? How did all this tie in with the
colonial project of the separation of religion and politics? Ftnally, what
were the contours of convert deference-·which involved both necessary
self-preservation and an extraction of whatever was up for grabs-to
the missionary who they fashioned as ma-bap?
This pattern of differential perceptions and occasional double
binds extended to the converts and their communities. The missionary
in consultation with the local leaders among the converts often defined
regulations to order the life of the congregations. Under the new
rules the indigenous congregations retained the concern with norms
of purity and pollution and were expected to shun all substances and
practices which would be viewed with disfavour by the local population.
Moreover, the principles of endogamy-were reinforced through an
insistence on ritual feasts to the extended kin and affinal group and
members of the community to signify the sanctity of marriage. Finally,
the constitution of the church council was fashioned along the lines
of the jat panchayat with its sayan (old/wise men) and relied on the
mechanism of excommunication, which characteristically 'outcasted'
the members who transgressed the norms of the community. It is
necessary to explore in this context the continuities-particularly when
viewed through the filter of local cultures-between these new
regulations and the rules of caste and sect and the institutions of village
life; and, as a corollary, to examine the ways in which the rules and
institutions set up to govern the life of indigenous congregations came
to be rearranged and acquire new meanings in the relocated
communities. At the same time, the converts also subverted the
regulations laid down by the missionaries. In Protestant ideology
marriage, for instance, was a sacred contract between individuals and
the monogamous household was the basic unit for the conduct of a
68 SAURABH DUBE
Christian life. For civilisation to flourish 'the holy family of the Christian
cosmos' had to triumph over the moral murk, sloth and chaos of the
heathen world. 16 The missionaries concern with monogamy and their
fear of adultery, a snare and trap of Satan, meant that the converts
were forbidden the practice of churi or secondary marriages. 17 However,
this was a critical arena in which the converts exercised considerable
initiative and consistendy challenged missionary authority to form what
their masters designated as 'adulterous' relationships of secondary
marriages. They also drew upon i:rljunctions against adultery as sin
and the principles of boundary maintenance tied to rules of caste and
sect to turn the honour of women into an evocative metap}J.or for
order within the community and a symbol that constituted its boundary.
The converts defied missionary logic in fashioning their understanding
of marriage and sexual transgression. 18 They did not· replicate the
institutions and practices of a 'modernised' social order in the image
of missionary masters and had their own uses for the 'truth' offered
by the missionaryes. The missionaries, often unwittingly, participated
in the creation of indigenous Christianity.
The wresting of the initiative from the missionaries was also played
out in the ideas, presentation of arguments and practices of 'native'
catechists and mission workers. These are revealed to us with particular
clarity in the day-books of mission workers. The day-books were detailed
reports-,written by the catechists for the missionaries which recorded
their day to day trips to villages and bazaars. They exist in manuscript
form and roughly cover the period from 1908 to 1914. The catechists'
modes of argument, at first sight, seem overlaid by a strategy of closure.
Each time, at every step, the dedicated workers of the mission clinch
an argument from their religious-ideological adversaries in the name
and through the 'truth' of 'Christ'. At the same time, the day-books
also direct us towards three interrelated sets of issues. First, they allow
an exploration of the prosecution of itinerant practices of
proselytisation and the preaching of Christ as it traced its path and
wound its way within the everyday rhythms of life, of labour, of leisure
in village society in Chhattisgarh. Second, the catechists' modes of
argument-the what and the how of that which they said-as they
coped with familiar and ingenious queries and arguments reveal a
rearrangement, amounting at times to an alternative articulation, of
Christian doctrines which was closely bound to their novel constructions
of the divinities, beliefs and rituals of indigenous faiths. Finally, in the
day-books a distinct mode of writing-certain of 'truth', uncertain of
language, which closes in on itself-reveals the glimmers of a fluid
world of popular religious discourse in which the meaning of a new

faith were debated and contested through a reiteration and reinterpre-
tation of the familiar and the old.
The interplay between the old and the new was a critical compo-
nent of the cultural interface between orality and writing-often
interpenetrating but distinct modes of ordering the world-that lay
at the heart of the evangelical encounter. The missionaries and
converts participated in a play of different textualities, of oral narratives
and written texts, which reordered myths and legend-histories. The
converts worked upon their myths to forge connections between gurus
and gods and missionaries and Christ within their oral traditions; the
missionaries seized upon and reordered these myths to construct
alternative histories, contending pasts. The two processes fed each
other. In the 1930s the pooled resources of the convert and the
missionary were to result in an authoritative account of Satnampanth
situated on the axis of the inexorable logic of the truth of Christ: a
missionary's last bid to secure a metamorphosis and mass conversion
of the Satnamis through their witnessing of the Saviour. The authority
of the account, significantly, derived both from its engagement with
the forms and idiom of popular religious discourse, grounded in an
oral tradition, which provided evangelism with a creative force and its
inscription of myths, beliefs, and legends, the fixing and systematisation
of meaning which lent them authenticity. 19 The complex social
relationship between the written and the spoken word extended to
the cultural encounter between different modes of reading of texts. I
have raised the questions of the symbolic power of writing within an
oral tradition and the possible ways in which the scriptures were
apprehended and appropriated by convert communities. It is worth
asking if the missionary gift of writing to the converts allowed them to
construct a reading of the Bible in which the Protestant emphasis on
the convert self-commitment to-and the internalisation of-the
'word' entered a creative tension witl;t a contending notion, rooted
within indigenous schemes, of texts as magical, instrumental 'whose
reading had a purpose outside themselves because they [were]
efficacious. ' 20 These are only two examples from a larger process of
the retention, subversion and fashioning of meanings that lay at the
heart of the relationship between morality and writing and between
different modes of reading of texts embedded within the evangelical
encounter.
The convert refraction of the missionary message through the lens
of indigenous categories underlay their uses of Christianity and
70 SAURABH DUBE
interrogation of missionary authority. In the 1930s the converts of a

mission station, Bisrampur, responded to missionary efforts to foster a
self-dependent congregation infused with the ideas and principles of
Christian charity and brotherhood by defending the paternalist ties
which had bond them to the missionaries, asserting their self-
dependence and setting up an independent Churth. The converts
seized the Christian signs of civilisation and elements of missionary
rhetoric and reworked them into their practice: their questioning of
the missionaries-with its accent on truth and legality, faith and
civilization-was constructed in the idiom and language of evangelical
Christianity. The drama, was short-lived; the context persisted. 21 There
were of course other actors in different plays with varied contestatory
scripts.
In the period between 1920 and 1955 the missionaries and the
mission project were forced to engage with organisations and positions
articulated in the domain of institutionalised politics. What emerged
was a complex matrix of relationships between the missionaries, convert
communities, the Hindu proselytising venture of the Arya Samaj,
nationalist politics and reform initiatives sponsored by caste
organisations such as the Satnami Mahasabha and the Kanaujia Sabha.
The initiative of a lone mission worker, for instance, helped in the
creation of Satnam Path Pradarshak Sabha which sought to combine
principles of Christianity with a programme to reform the Satnamis
and went onto challenge the dominant leaders of the community. In
1936 a group of Satnamis in the village of Tumgaon in Raipur got
together with, M.D. Singh, a catechist of the American Evangelical
Mission, to set up the Shri Path Pradarshak Samaj (Society of the Light
of the True Path). 22 The authoritative presence of M.D. Singh, who
was accorded the title of acharya (teacher), meant that in its initial
stages the Shri Path Pradarshak Sabha worked closely with the ideas
and tenets of Christianity: the vows that members had to take included
the acceptance of 'only that Scripture which teaches the true name
Satnam' (the Bible) and a pledge against committing adultery; equally,
tl1e constitution of the Sabha opened with a Biblical verse, 'The bush
continues to burn but does not become consumed' (Exodus 3:2) .23
M.D. Singh soon lost the initiative. The overwhelming emphasis of
the initiative came to centre on a drive to get the Satnamis recognised
as Hindus. The efforts of the obscure catechist had, however, led to
the creation of a rival to the Satnami Mahasabha, the dominant
organisational initiative to reform the Satnamis and to negotiate the
emergent constitutional politics in the region whose working was cast
in the idiom of law and command. 24 Moreover, the period witnessed
the drawing up of new boundaries and changes in the relationship
between converts and castes and sects in an altered political context.
Finally, the friction, tension and conflict of these decades underlay a
dramatic episode. In 1956 an important missionary cultural centre
was burnt down in the city of Raipur: the detailed reports of the
incident reveal the contours of a nationalist project aligned to upper
caste Hinduism, its constructions of alienness and its uses of swaraj.
The Indian Church in Chhattisgarh ended as an unhappy paradox: its
indigenous features anathema to the missionaries; and its colonial
connections derided by the local Hindu population.
Conclusion
I will by way of a conclusion set out how this study of the evangelical
encounter engages with a range of key concerns in anthropology,
sociology and history. Recent studies of colonialism and Christianity
have focused on the construction of colonial cultures of rule, 25 the
relationship between colonial power and language and discursive
practices, 26 and the place of implicit meanings of everyday practices
and the symbols and metaphors of western civilization in. the articulation
of Christianity in colonial contexts. 27 The focus on the ambiguous and
often contradictory location of the missionaries and the mission project
in the making of the cultural order of colonial rule in Chhattisgarh
brings together these diverse but inter-linked emphases and sets them
to work in a new social and historical context.
A recognition of the shared past of the evangelical entanglement-
situated in a mutual dialogue between ethnography, history and
cultural studies-reveals a wide ranging play of differential perceptions
and multiple appropriations. This involved the joint energies of
missionaries and converts, of colonisers and colonised: the fashioning
of meanings of 'conversion' and the construction of identities and of
'indigenous Christianity' ;28 the cultural interface between orality and
writing and between different modes of reading of texts; 29 the complex
relationship between myth and history; 30 the making of traditions and
the uses of the past as a negotiable and remarkable resource; 31 and
the simultaneous constitution of anthropological objects and the
meanings and truths of colonised subjects. 32 The missionaries could
lose the initiative, their endeavou·rs tamed by native perceptions; 33
the agency of converts and indigenous groups could be inextricably
bound to relationships of domination, their practices and idioms of
72 SAURABH DUBE
context contingent upon symbols of power and the refraction of

authoritative messages through the filter of local categories. 34 Truly
the evangelical encounter in Chhattisgarh has wide implications.
Finally, the prism of Christianity in Chhattisgarh helps to re-
examine influential theories of religion and power in South Asia.
Anthropologists and historians ten:d to conceive of caste and sect as
binary categories. This is a legacy of a dominant model which is based
upon a Brahman householder's construction of renunciation and
asceticism. 35 It ignores the perspectives of the ascetic and the non-
twice-born caste and has little place for the permeable boundaries of
the householder and renouncer and the interpenetration, in practice,
of principles of caste and sect. 36 The focus on the continuities between
rules of caste and sect and the mechanisms of ostracism and
incorporation, the concerns of purity and pollution and the principles
of kinship, marriage and boundary maintenance within indigenous
congregations aids the reformulation of the relationship between the
two categories. Similarly a vastly influential statement of the nature of
caste society in South Asian encompasses power within the ritual
hierarchy of purity and pollution and renders it epiphenomenal. 37
More recent exercises open up possibilities for wider discussions of
dominance but tend to locate power, almost exclusively, in constructs
of ritually and culturally constituted kingship and dominant caste. 38
At the same time, the perspective of groups who embodied a low
ritual status and their exclusion from the web of relationships with
service castes suggests the ritual hierarchy of purity and pollution-
charged with meanings grounded in power-worked in tandem with
a culturally, ritually and ideologically constituted kingship and
dominant caste to secure the subordination of low caste and
untouchable communities. 39 A recognition of the tie up between these
axes of dominance within caste society and the symbols and metaphors
of colonial power has considerable significance for the discussion of
the articulation of Christianity and caste in Chhattisgarh because of
the overwhelming presence of untouchable groups and low castes
among Christian converts in the region. These are two examples. There
is much more to the picture. Can a story of the evangelical encounter
in colonial Chhattisgarh engage with and extend concepts of
personhood, identity, ritual and the body in South Asia? Perhaps.
Certainly? The interplay between meaning and power, a bit like John
Brown's soul, marches on.
NOTES
1. The arguments in this paper are based primarily on field work and the records of
the German Evangelical Mission Society-later the American Evangelical
Mission-which are housed in the Eden Archives and Library, Webster Groves,
Missouri. These records include: the annual reports of the missionaries by name
of station and missionary, 1868-83 (bound volume), 1883-1956; quarterly reports
of missionaries by name of station and missionary, 1905-56; Baptismal register,
Bisrampur, 1870-95; reports on the Malguzari of Christian villages; manuscript
histories of the mission and mission stations; manuscript biographies and
autobiographies of missionaries; catechist's diaries; collections of private papers
of missionaries; files on the burning of the Gass Memorial [cultural] Centre;
hymn books and pedagogic literature; three missionary periodicals and papers-
der Deutsche Missionsfreund ( 1866-1908), der l''riendensbote, the Evangelical Herald (St.
Louis)-and several tracts and histories written for the converts, the local
population and an audience in the United States. The records are in English,
German, Hindi and Chhattisgarhi. I thank Ishita Banerjee for translating the
German sources. All other translations from Hindi and Chhattisgarhi are mine.
The archival and field work on which this paper is based was made possible by
grants-in-aid of research from the Association of Commonwealth Universities,
London and from the Bethune-Baker Fund, the Cambridge Historical Society,
Churchill College, the Lighfoot Grant, the Smuts Memorial Fund and the Worts
Travelling Scholar's Fund, all at Cambridge.
2. Juhnke; Lapp; Lohr; Seybold; Tanner.
3. Forrester; Manor; Oddie; Whitehead.
4. Bayly; also see Stirrat.
5. There are indeed very few exceptions: Hudson; Eaton; Scott.
6. Asad; Beidelman; Comaroff; Comaroff and Comaroff; Mignolo; Nash; Prins;
Rosaldo; Roseberry; Sahlins; Scott, 1992; Stoler, 1985 and 1989; Taussig, 1980
and 1987; Thomas, 1991 and 1992.
7. Satnampanth was initiated in the early nineteenth century, around 1820, by
Ghasidas, a farm servant, primarily among the Chamars of Chhattisgarh. The
Chamars, who collectively embodied the stigma of death pollution of the sacred
cow, constituted a significant proportion-a little less than one sixth-of the
population of Chhattisgarh. They either owned land or were share-croppers
and farm servants. The Chamars and a few hundred members of other castes-
largely Telis (oil-pressers) and Rawats (graziers)-who joined Satnampanth
became Satnamis. They had to abstain from meat, liquor, tobacco, certain
vegetables-tomatoes, chillies, auberegines-and red pulses. Satnampanth
rejected the deities and idols of the Hindu pantheon and had no temples. The
members were asked to believe only in a formless god, satnam (true name).
There were to be no distinctions of caste within Satnampanth. With Ghasidas
began a guru parampara (tradition) which was hereditary. Satnampanth
developed a stock of myths, rituals and practices which were associated with the
gurus. I construct a history of the Satnamis in my 'Religion, Identity and Authority
among the Satnamis in Colonial Central India', Ph. D. dissertation, University of
Cambridge, 1992. The study locates the group within the changing relations of
power in the region, traces the different efforts to regulate the internally
differentiated community, and discusses the ways in which the Satnamis drew
74 SAURABH DUBE
upon symbols of authority to negotiate, question and context their subordination.

The account stands at the intersection of history and anthropology and combines
archival and field-work to address a range of key and inextricably bound
relationships-between myth and history, orality and writing, gender and order,
reform and authority, religion and power, contestatory practices and domination,
community and hegemony, and caste and sect-indexed by the Satnami past.
Dube,n.d.
8. Prins; Sahlins, 1985.
9. DerFriendensbote, 79, 20,1928, pp. 309-15.
10. Dube, forthcoming (b).
11. Comaroff and Comaroff.
12. Stoler, 1989.
13. For details see Dube, 1992 (b).
15. A longer treatment of the themes discussed in the next three paragraphs is
contained in Dube, forthcoming (b).
17. Churi has been widely prevalent form of remarriage among all but the highest
castes-Brahmans, Raj puts and Baniyas-in Chhattisgarh. Under the churi form
of marriage a married woman could marry another man if he gave her churis
(bangles). While the broad pattern was similar, specific customs regarding churi
varied across castes. In general the matter of churi was delib'erated by the jat
sayan or panchayat: they fixed a certain behatri (compensation) which the new
husband had to pay to the earlier husband and his family. The new husband also
had to give a feast to the other members of the caste-the number was decided
by the caste elders in the village-which symbolised the incorporation of the
woman into his home and the acceptance of the marriage by the community.
The earlier husband, on the other hand, had to feed fellow caste people within
the village in the form of a marti jeeti bhat which symbolised that the woman was
dead to him. Dube, 1993.
18. Dube, forthcoming (b).
19. A detailed discussion of these themes is contained in Dube, n.d., see also Dube,
1992 (a).
20. Ramanujan
21. An extended discussion of this case is contained in Dube, forthcoming (b).
22. M.P. Davis, 'A modern Satnami tragedy', (typescript), 1942, p. 1 Folder on
Satnamis, M.P. Davis Papers, Eden Archives and Library, Webster Groves,
Missouri.
23. ibid., p. 2.
24. Dube, forthcoming (a).
25. Callaway; Kennedy; Stoler, 1989.
26. Fabian; Mani; Scott, 1992; Stoler, 1985; Thomas, 1992.
27. Comaroff; Comaroff and Comaroff; Mignolo.
28. Comaroff; Comaroffand Comaroff; Nash; Taussing, 1980; Thomas, 1991.
29. Mignolo; Ong, 1977 and 1982; Ossio; Prakash, 1900 and 1991; Ramanujan, 1991;
Schaeffer; Taussig, 1987.
30. Dube, 1992 (a); Hill; Obeyesekere; Ossio.
31. Borofsky, 1987; Herzfeld, 1991.
32. Borofsky; Comaroff; Rosaldo; Scott, 1992; Taussig, 1980; Thomas, 1991.
33. Prins.
34. Dube, n.d.; Guha, 1982-89; Haynes and Prakash, 1991; Scott, 1985.
35. Dumont, 1970 (b).
36. Burghart; Dube, 1993; Dube, n.d.; Vander veer.
37. Dumont, 1970 (a).
38. Dirks, 1987 and 1989; Raheja, 1988.
39. Dube, 1993.
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Universality and Sri Ramakrishna:

An Historical and Philosophical Reappraisal*
AMIYAP.SEN
Indian Institute of Advanced Study
Shimla
I
Universality, catholicity, syncretism and religious tolerance are values
or strategies that have been consistently associated with the Bengali
1
mystic, Sri Ramakrishna Paramhansa ( 1836-86). In his own lifetime,
this was iconographically celebrated through the painting com-
missioned by one of his lay devotees, Suresh Mitra, that depicts the
saint from Dakshineswar depicting to the Brahmo leader Keshab
Chandra Sen, how all religious paths ultimately led to God. 2
Ironically enough, the substance of such claims was somewhat over-
shadowed by the debate that arose not long after about whether or
not, such pronouncements had been earlier made by Keshab
himself. 3 Whereas such debates, at one level, are no doubt rhetorical,
their very origin and subsequent development also points to the
very fragility of certain truth-claims. This, in tum, opens up the
possibility that terms such as 'universality' or 'tolerance' might have
been quite differently understood by various religious communities,
not excepting those theologically as close as Hindus and Brahmos
in late nineteenth century Bengal.
A suggestion to this effect in fact appeared as early as 1887 in
the orthodox Bengali joumal, Vedavyas. 4 Though its purpose here
was really polemical, the essay did nonetheless make a valid
distinction between the universality of Keshab, built around a
syncretic fusion of select religious symbols, ideas or practices taken
from several traditions and that of Ramakrishna, which in its respect
for traditional boundaries, appeared to do just the opposite. 5
This line of argument, however, has considerably weakened
since. Especially after Vivekananda's historic trips to the west, the
*This essay is one of the three essays that have gone into the making of a mono-
graph for the Indian Institute of Advanced Study, titled 'Three Essays on Sri
Ramakrishna and His Times'
80 AMIYA P. SEN
'universality' of Ramakrishna has increasingly been projected as a

spirit that homogenises (many quite mistakenly use the term
'harmonises'), rather than one that allowed the pluralist juxta-
position of multiple religious choices. Not surprisingly, this coincides
with a growing tendency to read Vedantic non-dualism, also deemed
to be strongly universalist in character, as the predominant
philosophical mood in Sri Ramakrishna. Some years back, Walter
G. Neevel Jr. wrote an excellent historiographical essay that amply
demonstrates how biographer after biographer (but typically the
monastic disciples of Ramakrishna such as the Swamis Saradananda
or Abhedananda) tried to drown the polyvocality of the saint's
teachings under the monistic voice of 'Vedanta'. 6 In this paper
however, I only address the problem of how terms such as 'univer-
sality' or 'tolerance' might have been understood or used by Rama-
krishna himself. In so doing, I hope I shall be able to demonstrate
that these were used in a specific, idiosyncratic way. Following this,
I shall also try to reiterate the older argument that syncretism or a
synthetic fusion is perhaps the farthest from what he actually
attempted.
n
The rich and varied influences that came upon his religious life
and his consistent tendency to borrow key religious ideas or practices
across traditions does make Ramakrishna something of an eclectic.
One cannot, however, overlook the fact that this eclecticism could
be quite arbitrary in its choices. Contrary to most hagiographic
claims, 7 Ramakrishna neither underwent training in all major
religious traditions (not to speak of the lesser known ones) nor did
he accept any tradition that he experimented with in its entirety.
His choices, I dare say, reveal no particular pattern. In some cases,
}:le tended to lean more on the metaphysical content than on the
ritual; in others, he seems to convey the idea that ritual conformity
could get to the heart of a religious tradition far better than mere
philosophical sp~culation. There are instances when he upholds
the idea of a synthesis ( samanvaya) even when he rarely attempted
this himself. 8 He does not display a cohesive structure of thought
and perhaps what he really desired to establish is a homology of
(theistic) faiths in which a commonly pursued aim was able to
accommodate a wide variety of methods.
This, he attempted to perform not through any institutionalized
Universality and Sri Ramakrishna 81
public deliberations as one finds in the successive Parliaments of

Religions after 1893, but through purely personal and practical
experiences. This is consistent with two important features of his
religious thought; one, regarding the individual as the sole
operational unit of all religious experimentation and the other,
privileging practical experiences in religious life over mere learning.
Two related points may be made here. Although he may have
unwillingly contributed to this, Ramakrishna's personal interest was
not in the comparative study of religions as was popular in both India
and the West during his time. For him, religions were comparable,
if at all, in their common objective of God-realization. This often
kd Ramakrishna to suggest an otherwise unlikely parallelism between
metaphysical constructs coming from diverse traditions or sub-
traditions. 9 But there is a further reason why a comparative analysis
of world-religions would have been something of an anathema for
him. In Ramakrishna's view, men manifested differences without
also being the ultimate cause of these differences. This followed
from his belief that human agency or authorship was, in every
instance, overridden by that of God. 10 Not even a stray leaf moved
without the will of God, maintained Ramakrishna. 11 By implication
therefore, the various religious paths were also the creation of God
Himself; theywere an integral part of the complex, inscrutable Divine
play on earth. 1"2 In explaining the pluralist world therefore,
Ramakrishna actually used two subtly different parables. The first
was that of several men each of whom claimed to have seen a
chameleon of different colours, when in reality, there was but one
chameleon which kept changing its colours. 13 The .moral of this
story is clear-it reminded men of their epistomological uncertain-
ties and warned them to be le~s dogmatic with their truth-claims.
But Ramakrishna also used alongside, the parable of the all-knowing
mother who varied her dishes in keeping with the particular
requirements of each of her children. 14 In this view, evidently, God
(mother) became the moral Governor of the universe, regulating
the continually unfolding karmic history of our lives. 15
It is important to remember then that Ramakrishna was
ultimately more interested in the objectives of religious life than its
substance. In a sense, this also explains his tolerance or catholicity.
It is precisely here that his life and work are also most misread. For
Ramakrishna himself, the pluralism of the phenomenal world could
collapse into the unitive experience of Reality only at some mystical
state of integration. 16 Perhaps more deliberately than otherwise,
82 AMNAP. SEN
the neo-Hindu discourse since his time turned this armmd and
somewhat tendentiously suggested that such a radical experience
could be replicated in our everyday social lives.
lll
Even a superlicial reading of the existing literature on Ramakrishna
will reveal four broad assumptions that have been made in respect
of his religious teachings:
a. that his religious experiments stretching over a period of
roughly eleven years (1855-66) not only encountered all religious
traditions but also reveal a comparable degree of intense experience
b. that no matter which tradition he experimented with, he
arrived at identical conclusions
c. that for this reason, his experiments with different religious
ideas/ practices was never a source of inner tension or inconsistency
and
d. that the universality and religious tolerance shown by Rama-
krishna reflected the older, accommodative spirit of 'Hinduism'
and yet carried an unique resonance for his times. 17
Allowing for hagiographic excesses, these claims do not appear
to be entirely baseless. Ramakrishna strongly derided sectarian
attitudes as he found them both in upper-class religious life and
the quotodian. 18 This itself proceeded from his belief that no single
religion could claim theological Truths exclusively for itself. There
is in fact a curious resonance of Rammohun in the argument that
all religions/religious scriptures carried elements of falsehood. 19
Although he did not strictly follow this himself, Ramakrishna non~
theless consistently warned his followers against speaking ill of any-
body, even the humblest of creatures. 20 Again, while barely conceal-
ing his revulsion for certain forms of worship, he did also concede
that in their own ways, these too were manifestations of God's will
on earth. 21 It might be useful to note though that barring few excep-
tions, Ramakrishna's dissatisfaction with or disavowal of certain
religious communities practically centred on their social or ritual
practices, not the purely theological. We shall return to this point
later.
It is only too obvious that Ramakrishna's sadhana did not traverse
all paths and for his educated, upper-class biographers who insisted
that it did, the ones practically eliminated, were apparently not
worthy of serious consideration. Within Indian religions alone,
Buddhism, Jainism and (only to an extent) Sikhism are important

exceptions . .It could of course be argued that his familiarity with
diverse religious traditions must have been practically conditioned
by the availability of religious teachers or experts at hand. Other
than what he might have learnt in his childhood days at Kamarpukur,
Ramakrishna's major encounter with holy men occurred during
his days at Dakshineswar. The area on which the temple-complex
had been built also happened to fall on an annual Hindu pilgrim-
route to Puri and Gangasagar22 and the Panchavati gardens, a part
of the same complex, was a favourite camping-ground for pilgrims
and holy men in transit. It is quite unlikely however, that any
Buddhists or Jains frequented this route in any good number. With
the views of Nanakpanthi sadhus that occasionally did, Ramakrishna
was somewhat familiar.
That apart, there could be the further argument that the
affirmation of the underlying unity of all religions as upheld by Rama-
krishna was not necessarily contingent on his having exhausted all
possible religious paths. I have, below, tried to argue that in his
religious sadhana Ramakrishna proceeded with certain a priori
assumptions, the most important of which was that notwithstanding
its palpable difference in methods, all religious paths ultimately
met in God. If therefore Ramakrishna did proceed with such a
postulate, the actual number of paths that he experimented with
could be quite immaterial. On the other hand, an overriding unity
of conclusions often glosses ov~r important nuances of perception.
Hence; what one needs to seriously examine here is not so much
his exclusions per se as how these came to be legitimated either by
Ramakrishna himself or in later hagiographic writings. Ramakrishna
once made an interesting remar~ about the Buddha, the substance
of which is that rather than be an theist, the Buddha could not
simply translate the beatitude of God-realization in human
language. 23 Apparently, such views have a connection with the
commonplace Hindu-Br~hminical theory about the ineffable nature
of the Absolute. This may explain the argument later appearing in
an apologist essay that Ramakrishna's experience of Buddhism had
been preempted in his 'Vedantic' experiences. 24 Both Ramakrishna
and his upper-class admirers also display a marked ambivalence
towards the world of Tantra -acknowledging its unique world-view
but also remaining sham~faced about certain esoteric aspects of
Tantric sadhana. Official biographies of the saint have also tended
to underplay his indebtedness to certain traditions within Indian
84 AMIYA P. SEN
religions. Some of Ramakrishna's key theological ideas seem to have

been endorsed in the company of Nanakpanthi sadhus25 and yet,
other than cite this as further example of his remarkable catholicity,
standard biographical sources contribute very little towards
understanding such associations.
Perhaps the most emphatic claim of Ramakrishna's having
accepted religions in their entirety appears in the writings of the
near-contemporary philosopher, Sir Brojendranath Seal. Speaking
before the World Parliament of Religions convened by the
Ramakrishna Order in Calcutta in 1936, Seal put down the
distinctiveness of the saint to two unique sets of belief:
a. that the practice of each religion with its attendant rituals
and disciplines gives its essence more really and vitally than its
theological dogma and
b. that it was in syncretism and whole-hearted acceptance of
religion not selective eclecticism, that its true worth could be
realized 26
Prima facie, it could be quite unreasonable to drive a wedge
between theological belief and ritual practices; more often than
not, a set of rites or rituals represent the practical, psychological
methods of realizing metaphysical truths. This is certainly true of
Tantra. But the point here really is that in any case, we are not sure
if Ramakrishna was always on the side of complete ritual conformity.
Ironically, the most well-known example of his refusal to be drawn
into the full gamut of ritual activity occurs in re:5pect ofTantra itself.
Jeffrey J. Kripal has very meticulously examined how his bhadralok
followers tried to rationalise the important exceptions Ramakrishna
made with respect to the Tantric Panchamakara ritual, refusing to
either consume liquor or engage in ritual copulation. 27 Whatever·
be the reasons thereof, it does emerge here that ultimately, Tantric
metaphysical speculation was more important to Ramakrishna. With
rituals, as we know, he was selective; with characteristic Tantric idea
much less so.
What is also often overlooked is that Ramakrishna's knowledge
of some major religious traditions outside the Hindu-Brahminical
viz. Islam or Christianity was actually too elementary or superficial
to uphold any genuine claims to religious universality. Far too often
his biographers have fallen back on the stock argument that the
essence of all religious traditions came to him through mystic visions,
far removed from the domain of textuality. 28 Mystical visions
however, can often be related to the particular cultural or social

roots of the mystic himself. Some sources on Ramakrishna on the
other hand, represent him as the modern embodiment of all the
world's prophets and holy men. 29
In truth, Ramakrishna's knowledge oflslam or Christianity came
about in specific ways and was circumscribed by the cultural and
historical boundaries in which these were placed. Instruction in
Islam, for example, came only through a local acquaintance, Govinda
Ray, whose relatively unorthodox Sufi leanings, I imagine, made
him a more acceptable religious teacher. 30 It is also quite obvious
that this training in Islam was neither a search for its philosophical
positions nor a strict conformity to what Seal called 'rituals and
discipline' .31 While undergoing such training, we are informed,
Ramakrishna scrupulously kept off the Kali-temple, 32 a good
example no doubt of the practical incompatibility of various religious
beliefs or practices, but also tried to understand Islam by emulating,
of all things, the Muslims' food-habits. 33 Here, evidently, Rama-
krishna shared the commonplace Hindu cultural equation of food
cooked in onion and garlic with the 'Muslim' identity. Ironically
however, his food during these days was cooked in the 'Muslim'
way but not by a Muslim. 34 According to one source, this was made
possible through the rare ingenuity of Mathura Nath Biswas,
Ramakrishna's greatest patron and temple-proprietor, who had a
Brahmin cook masquerade as a bawarchi. 35 Incidentally, there is
also the anecdote about Ramakrishna's determination to eat beef
but later giving up the idea after strong dissuasion from Mathura
Nath. 36
Of Islamic theology and even rites or rituals Ramakrishna knew
very little or perhaps it is safer to say that neither he nor his
biographers saw it fit to address the matter in a more serious way. 37
Not surprisingly, some of his visions regarding Islam appear quite
inexplicable. There is, for instance, the vision of an iconic
representation of ·the Islamic God merging into the Impersonal
Absolute. This, as Kripal has rightly pointed out, would have been a
blasphemy for a Muslim himself. 38 Interestingly enough, while
Ramakrishna made little or no comment on Islamic theology, the
rigorous structuring of .the individual's religious life in Islam, his
punctilious attention to daily prayer pleased him immensely. 39
Similar observations can also be made with regard to Christianity.
His association with the Bible and Christian precepts appears to
have come from one of his own benefactors, the philanthropist
86 AMIYA P. SEN
Sambhu Mallik, who reportedly had 'some knowledge' of these. 40

Actually, the lack of a more meaningful discussion of Christian
precepts is a trifle surprising considering that he often had Christian
missionaries visiting him at Dakshineswar41 (contrasted to the
singular absence of an. Islamic counterpart) and that after 1882, he
had in his own chronicler, Mahendranath Gupta (later made famous
by his five-volume work Sri Sri Ramakrishna Kathamrita), a man who
knew the Gospels quite thoroughly. 42 Evidently, social constraints
were at work even here. Ramakrishna once wanted to enter a
Calcutta cathedral but ultimately refrained from this for fear of
displeasing the Dakshineswar temple-authorities. 43 He had less
problems however, entertaining Christian visitors, whether European
or Indian. 44 This, no doubt, must have been facilitated by the fact
that rather than historically or culturally contextualize Christ,
Ramakrishna saw him as only a representation of the unending
sequence of Hindu avatars. 45 In different quarters, one suspects,
this may have also fed into the idea of a resurgent Hinduism
humbling 'alien' pretensions.
The catholiCity of Sri Ramakrishna did not also fully extend to
the 'lower', quotodian forms of religious life in his own regional
society. Actually, his attitude here is a mix of somewhat conflicting
perceptions. On the one hand, there is the romantic attachment to
the spontaneity and lyrical grace of 'popular' religious verse, perhaps
even an acknowledgment of its social and ritual freedom. On the
other hand, Ramakrishna strongly disapproved of the antinomian
tendencies in rural religious cults, their 'gross violation' of social
and ritual proprieties. 46 Once at a community-meal at Dakshineswar
he refused to allow a Baul visitor to sit beside his gentlemen-devotees
for fear that this would somehow mar the auspiciousness of the
occasion. 47 To reiterate a point made above therefore, Ramakrishna
would often accept radical religious principles but not their radical
application to everyday social life. The good and the wicked, the
pure and the impure, pleasant and the unpleasant, the attractive
and the horrific, he did accept metaphysically as the manifestations
of the same Reality. 48 The early Ramakrishna was indeed the God-
maddened sadhaka, who could not distinguish the stench coming
from the local burning-ghats from the aroma of appetizing food. 49
His practical advice to men of this world, however, was always to
adhere to the path of 'purity' .50 Obviously, the world was character-
ised not simply by plurality but by a differentiated order of things.
Talk of social egalitarianism frankly irritated RamakrishnaY God
was, indeed, present in every being, he granted, but you did not,
for that reason embrace the tiger! 52
The universality of Ramakrishna then, was tempered by a
transparently Brahminical social concern. This is not to take away
from the latent flexibility or radicalism of his messages. At the same
time, one must also recognize for what it is worth, the practical
social and moral resonance of the same. In defending his catholicity,
critics have often cited his well-known analogy of water which, even
when called by different names, remained intrinsically the same. 53
But Ramakrishna also used a different analogy, again using the
analogy of water but in this instance sharply differentiating its ritual
value in keeping with its various uses. Thus, water that was used for
washing was quite unfit for sacramental use. 54 Practically speaking,
therefore, the universality of Ramakrishna had to be consistent with
hierarchized, prescriptive boundaries of our social and spiritual lives.
IV
To a considerable extent, the idea of the underlying unity of
religions that Ramakrishna strongly put forth grew out of the fact
that he seldom subjected the idea to a deeper, analytical scrutiny. I
am aware that in making this argument, I am deviating from a
considerable amount of literature which sees Ramakrishna either
as the very embodiment of Indian philosophical wisdom or else as
the syncretic genius who reconciled traditionally contesting
philosophical claims. In truth, notwithstanding its syncretist,
accommodative tendencies, the Hindu-Brahminical world-view was
quite sensitive to inner tensions within itself. Ramakrishna's Tantrik
guru, the Bharavi Jogeswari warned him that pursuing Vedantic
non-duality (under the Punjabi Naga sanyasi Tota Puri) was
inconsistent with the theistic orientation of his Sakta-Tantrik
worship. 55 Ramakrishna himself seems to be no less aware of the
fact that various scriptural sources could be speaking in different
voices even when indicating a (higher) resolution. 56
Apparently, the tendency to simultaneously situate Ramakrishna
within a pre-existing, fairly continuous, tradition and also ascribe to
him, certain unique qualities, originated in two somewhat different
perceptions of his life and work. One of these, chronologically more
recent, is clearly the creation of hagiography and its best
representatives are Swamis Saradananda, Abhedananda and
Nikhilananda. 57 The other trend, though als() associated with
88 AMIYAP. SEN
western-educated, upper-class admirers, was born of somewhat

different intentions. In the latter, we may include some of
Ramakrishna's contemporaries who were deeply influenced by the
development of comparative studies in religion and philosophy and
were mistakenly led to believe tha~ his practical experimentation
with various religious traditions epitomised this progressive
intellectual trend. A case in point is that of Dr. Mahendra Lal Sarkar,
a founding-father of the Indian Science Association and Homeopath
physician attending on Ramakrishna during the latter's terminal
illness in 1886.58 Dr. Sarkar, together with the early Vivekananda,
was one of the consistent critics of avatarhood-theories in respect of
Ramakrishna and yet significantly, he saw in him an unique
storehouse of godliness and spiritual wisdom such as civilisation had
not seen in a long time. 59 In a sense however, Dr. Sarkar also shared
the larger, bhadralok sense of wonder at an unlettered man slighting
the virtuosity of the learned. The humbling of genteelity and
modern scholarship is perhaps best recorded in Mahendranath
Gupta's Kathamrita itself. On his first visit to Dakshineswar (22
February 1882) ,Gupta is stunned into silence by the revelation, quite
tellingly made by an illiterate female attendant, Brinde, that the
Thakur (Sri Ramakrishna) had all wisdom literally on his lips. 60
This reflexiveness and self-ridicule however, has since been
transformed into elaborate philosophical legitimation wherein the
Calcutta bhadralok, rather than be shocked by their own
ineffectualness are able to detect both divine will and historical logic
in such occurrences. The philosophically most intricate and
ambitious work in this regard is Satish Chandra Chateiji's Classical
lnd.ian Philosophies. Their synthesis in the philosophy of Ramakrishna.
(Calcutta, 1963). Such projects notwithstanding, there is ample
reason to believe that Ramakrishna's religious views were actually
too ambivalent and loosely structured to fit a cohesive philosophical
framework. On the contrary, it is this fluidity that may better explain
Ramakrishna as such an attractive figure-a religious polyglot who,
in the words of Dr. Mahendra Lal Sarkar meant 'all things to all
men'. 61
Ramakrishna, but perhaps more so his hagiographers, tried to
relate his 'universalist' visions to his conscious effort to transcend
mere scholasticism or immodest pedantry. In reality, the
dissatisfaction with formal learning62 as a possible road to God-
realization is not unique to Ramakrishna. This had been repeatedly
voiced in medieval bhakti cults, practically in all regions of India but
even in the highly textualised tradition of Vedanta which saw this,as

essentially a means to higher, transgressive freedom. 63 Stretching
this argument too far however, does lc;:ad to certain problems. While
a highly routinized study of scripture could blind an individual to
his highest purpose which was to come face to face with God, 64
doing away with this altogether could, on the other hand, produce
extremely reductionist readings. Ramakrishna, to cite an apt
example, maintained that the substance of the Gita could be
redeemed simply through a near-anagramatic inversion viz. 'Gita'
becoming 'Tagi'. 65 Here, 'Tagi' ( Tyaga/Tyagi) stood for world-
renunciation. Now, the Gita is known to be a hig~ly syncretic text
with multiple layers of meanings. It is, in other words, too complex
a text to be reduced to such unilateral categories. One has only to
recall that Ramakrishna's own disciple, Vivekananda and other
notable contemporaries like Tilak took an entirely different view of
the work when they emphasized its this-worldliness and activism. 66
In this context, it is only pertinent to examine Ramakrishna's
views regarding 'Vedanta' with which he is so persistently associated.
Here, interestingly, one finds both essentialization and a random
juxtaposition of ideas. In the Kathamrita, the discerning reader will
discover not only a conflation of Sankara's Mayavada (also known
as Vivartavada) with other non-dualist positions within Advaita
Vedanta but also the tendency to treat the very term 'Vedanta'
with Mayavada alone, 67 thus underscoring as it were, dualism and
other positions wi.thin Vedanta critical of Sankara. The text never
once mentions Madhva, Nimbarka or Vallabhacarya, outstanding
Vedantic figures of all-India importance, all of whom differed in
varying ways from the postulates of Sankara.
In fairness, one must grant that the practice of somehow
privileging Sankara Vedanta over other Vedantic schools or for that
matter, Vedanta itself within other Indian philosophical schools,
did not originate with Ramakrishna and in any case, its far greater
exponent in modern India was Vivekananda. Interestingly however,
the latter's preoccupation with Sankara and his school, albeit with a
more positive reading of both, also gave him greater philosophical
consistency. Ramakrishna, by comparison, appears to borrow ideas
or precepts from several Vedantic schools-a tendency clearly rooted
in his attempt to wed personal devotion to philosophical monism. It
is noticeable for instance, that notwithstanding his dissatisfaction
with the abstract qualities of Advaita Vedanta, 68 Ramakrishna uses
ideas that lie at the very heart of Sankarite epistemology. For both,
90 AMNAP. SEN
the Brahman (Absolute) was beyond both human language and the
cognitive powers of the mind. Both employ the Upanishadic category
of negation ('neti-neti') to denote the ineffable character of the
highest Reality. 69 At the same time, Ramakrishna never once used
the other well-known Upanishadic dictum of 'Tat Tvam Asi',
commonly used by non-dualists to indicate the ultimate inseparability
of ]iva (individual soul) and Brahman (the Cosmic). 70 Quite
paradoxically again, Ramakrishna treats the world both as unreal,
more or less in the same way as did Sankara, and also palpably real-
an idea that he borrowed from the more theistic schools ofVedanta,
Saiva-Sakta metaphysics and Tantra. 71 In the latter view, the world
was deemed to be real on two counts. In the first place, as a projection
of the Real, the world could not be unreal itself but more
importantly, the reality of the world followed from the fact that it
was filled with Divine presence. Ultimately therefore, ]iva, jagat
and Brahman together constituted a single order of Reality just as
the fruit was but the organic compound of all its individual
constituents: skin, seed, juice and pulp. 72 It occurs to me however,
that, strictly speaking, this is an unity perceived in metaphysical
terms, not phenomenal. Notwithstanding his empirical-experiential
view of the world, Ramakrishna also voiced the common, long-
standing Brahminical quest for a liberation from earthly ties. For
him, the realization of the highest Truth, it has to be further noted,
was possible only at the level of the transcendental. 73 The world
and its categories could not be transcended through the use of
such categories themselves. 74 Divine Grace, maintained Rama-
krishna, may produce exceptions in individual cases, 75 without
effecting a major structural alteration of categories. While in this
world, we were powerless, victims of our delusions and ignorance,
we could overcome this only by derecognizing the world and the
constraints it put on our spiritual lives. This, as one can see, pushed
him back to the trans-social position of Sankara.
In his attempt to project him as an uniquely syncretic figure,
Swami Saradananda in his Sri Sri Ramakrishna Lila Prosongo argued
that Ramakrishna preached the Vedantic ideas of Ramanuja and
Madhva alongside those of Sankara. 76 That this philosophically quite
untenable apparently escaped the Swami. In truth, there seems to
be very little meeting-ground between the acute monism of Sankara
and the dualism of Madhva for whom, Brahman and Jagat are
ontologically ever distinct. 77 Perhaps, the Lilaprosongo would have
been closer to the mark had it suggested instead that Sri Ramakrishna
borrowed ideas across Vedantic schools without being sensitive to

the problems of their reconciliation. There has been a tendency:,
both in critical scholarship and hagiographic writings, to unduly
give Ramakrishna's thoughts on Vedanta, a distinct philosophical
identity. Scholars of philosophy like Satish Chandra Chatteiji were
obviously aware of the inner incompatibility of such random
borrowing but chose the escapist route of phrasing an altogether
novel term 'Samanvaya (syncretist) Vedanta' to overcome this
problem. 78 More recently, Walter G. NeevelJr. identified him with
Shuddhadvaita of Vallabhacarya 79 and no doubt, such conclusions
have been influenced by Ramakrishna's penchant for grafting non-
dualist metaphysics upon the dualist structure of bhakti. Such
considerations however, might have also taken him closer to the
Vishishtadvaita of Ramanuja, as indeed has been argued by Sumit
Sarkar. 80 Apparently, within theistic Vedanta (more specifically,
those that produced Vedantic readings ofVaishnav devotionalism),
Ramakrishna used metaphors and concepts identified with
Ramanuja more freely than those identified with Vallabha. In either
case, however, it is important to explain how he might have gathered
these ideas. It is somewhat odd that of the several Vedantic or
Vaishnav figures personally known to Ramakrishna, none seem to
belong to either of these two schools. 81 Partly for this reason, one
cannot be certain whether, as Sumit Sarkar has argued, Ramakrishna
actually preferred the qualified non-dualism of Vishishtadvaita
of Ramanuja to the Dvaita (dualism) of Gaudiya (Bengal)
Vaishnavism,82 philosophically labelled as Acintya bhedabheda. I am
quite intrigued by Sarkar's identifying the Bengal school with
dualism, for this would be belied by the use of the term 'bhedabheda'
(unity-in-difference). In all probability, such readings emanate in
our inability to adequately separate philosophical imperatives from
the purely theological. In Indian traditions generally speaking, the
latter has enjoyed relatively greater flexibility and maneuverable
space. Historically, religious communities have often been defined
or demarcated on the basis of deep-seated philosophiCal differences,
particularly as they begin to acquire a trans-regional character. In
order that it gain an all-India standing, later day leaders of Gaudiya
Vaishnavism transformed the largely non-textual, highly emotive
Krishna-bhakti of (1486-1533) into a highly abstract body of belief
combining classical aesthetics and high philosophy. Significantly, it
was the exegetical reading of Vaishnavism in the light of core
Vedantic texts such as the Brahma Sutra, Upanishads or Gita that
92 AMIYA P. SEN
ultimately admitted the Gaudiyas into one of the four established

Vaishnav Sampradayas of all-India fame. 83 By the end of the 18th
century or the early 19th, Chaitanya himself and the spontaneity of
his bhakti were better known and celebrated in the numerous
'popular' cults that traversed the Bengal countryside.
It appears that Ramakrishna was never too far from the
fundamental theological constructs of Gaudiya Vaishnavism, though
here again, he may have been quite selective. His geographical and
cultural contiguities with the heartland of Bengali Vaishnav culture
does make this unlikely anyway. The Kathamrita reveals his use of
typically Gaudiya constructs such as raganuga (deritualized) bhakti,
of the power of ahetuki (unmotivated) self-surrender to God, his
great respect for Goswamis (Gaudiya religious leaders, mostly
Brahmin) and the interesting suggestion that Chaitanya's bhakti too
had an inner core of mystic non-dualism. 84 Many of his bhadralok
" followers, it may be significant to point out, considered him to be a
modern incarnation of Chaitanya. 85
From Vishishtadvaita, Ramakrishna borrowed the ideas of
Saranagati, willing surrender to Divine Grace and the power of Grace
itself without however. accepting its theistic ideals-Vishnu and his
consort, Sri. 86 His favourite deity within the Vaishnav pantheon itself
was the pastoral Krishna ofVraj country, the favourite of the Gaudiya
school and who in many ways, subverts the more ritually constructed
deity, Vishnu. His recurring feminization-dressing and behaving
like a female-is again closest to the erotic mysticism ( madhur-bhava)
of Bengali Vaishnavism. 87 Ramakrishna also seems to have differed
from Ramanuja but more particularly the Sri Sampradaya that grew
after him in a subtle way. The greater social heterogeneity of this
sampradaya when compared to the other Vaishnav-Vedantic schools
partly followed from its concept of Ubhay Vedanta, (twin Vedas) that
recognized as authorities, both the Sanskrit Vedic lore and sacred
Tamil verse that had been growing since the time of the Alavars.88
Ramakrishna, by comparison, used scriptural sources and the non-
scriptural in different ways. The latter usually comes at the end of
his discourse, representing the high point of personal ecstasy and
leading many a time to deep samadhi (mystic trance). Cryptic
summaries from Brahminical textual sources on the other hand,
constitute the backbone of his public discourse.
It is important not to oversee that within this structure of
thought, there is very little place for dualism, especially as identified
with Madhva. For Madhva, God was only the efficient cause ( nimitta)
of this world as the goldsmith was of all gold ornaments and not also
its material cause ( upadan) as gold was to gold ornaments. This is
perceptibly different from the position of Ramakrishna, which, as
we have noted above, saw the world not merely as a projection of
God but also as something filled with Divine presence. Dualism per
se came lowest in Ramakrishna's soteriology for the important reason
that this implied an independent status to the world, and greater
power and potentiality to human acts-something which would have
ill-fitted some of his other key theological ideas. The oddity here is
that Ramakrishna also seems to consider the world as an abode of
activity (karmabhumi) and maintained that it was in man's nature to
be constantly engaged in activity. 89 A closer reading of his message
will reveal however, that he used the term karma not in the sense of
free activity but the inexorable working out of our karmic fate. Here
his position is indeed very similar to advaitic thought of Sankara
which believed that true liberation came only after a cessation of all
mental activities and freedom from the chain of cause and effect
that all earthly activity implied. Ramakrishna fairly ridiculed the
idea of Free Will by calling it God's gift to man only so that he would
realize his powerlessness and tangible limits to his will. Not
surprisingly therefore, he also discouraged all efforts at philanthropy
and social 'improvement'. 90 No such effort, he felt, could override
the inevitable unfolding of divine designs. 91
v
Claims of 'universality' or 'tolerance' in respect of Sri Ramakrishna
have thus to be understood within a specific framework. The inner
tensions or conflicts in his teachings follow from his partial familiarity
with most religious traditions. In part, they also arise from the fact
that he simultaneously employed two different modes or methods-
the philosophical-discursive and the ecstatic-mystical. A purely
philosophical position would have been beyond him and given his
mental inclinations, of little interest anyway. On the other hand,
Ramakrishna did not remain transfixed at the level of intensely
personal mystic experiences but made a conscious effort to translate
these into socially and theologically useful messages. 92 Here, one
can see his significant transformation from an idiosyncratic religious
figure to the socially important Guru or spiritual counsellor. It is
thus that he was also forced to fall back on a random borrowing of
discursive thought, which however, at some point was bound to come
94 AMIYA P. SEN
into conflict with the relatively greater consistency within

philosophical schools.
His increasing association with the role of the Guru in respect
of respectable, urbane, upper-class householders created constraints
of a kind and may well explain the several dichotomies in his
religious thought. Perhaps this can be illustrated by an example.
Ramakrishna, as we know, consistently tempered philosophical non-
dualism in the light of theistic bhakti. This, nonetheless, did not
necessarily make him a bhakta in every respect. For quite uncharac-
teristically, Ramakrishna disallowed the transgressive qualities that
bhakti had historically acquired over the past several centuries. We
have noted above, his disenchantment with ritualized ( vaidhi) bhakti
and yet significantly, Ramakrishna felt that ritual transgression was
permissible not to the bhakta but the jnani (he who pursued gnosis) 93
Here we may recall that in effect, Ramakrishna was essentially the
Guru of ordinary householders who were obviously denied the trans-
social freedom of the renunciate. Whereas Chaitanya used bhakti to
create greater social and ritual space for the average man of the
world, the bhakti of Ramakrishna, shorn as it was of any transgressive
qualities, tended to reaffirm prescriptive social and ritual
boundaries. This is nowhere as clear as in the latter's statement that
while all may dutifully strive for God-realization, ultimately this could
come only to some. 94 Ramakrishna did seriously attend to the
spiritual needs of the grihastha (the domesticated) and did not
unduly stress the importance of world-renunciation. By symbiotically
relating non-radicalizing bhakti to the world of the domestic however,
he also put his spiritual panacea under some stresi>.
The operative limits of Ramakrishna's catholicity, universalism
or tolerance then are understandable in terms of his social
antecedents. As with most Brahminical figures, Ramakrishna allowed
greater flexibility to theological matters than the social. It is worth
noting that while he strongly disapproved of the relatively free
mixing of men and women in certain 'popular' cults like that of
the Kartabhajas, 95 he seems to have tacitly accepted the strong faith
in the instrumentality of the Guru, also associated with such cults. 96
Again, though generally respectful of upper-class religious
communities, Ramakrishna was quite· capable of an occasional
uncharitable comment. Given his long and fruitful association with
several leaders of the Brahmo Sam~, it is possible that Brahmo social
and religious ideals may well have left their impact on Ramakrishna. 97
Ironically however, the saint himself seems to have held a rather
poor opinion about Brahmos. 98 Theosophy, he rather unkindly

dismissed as mere miracle-work99 perhaps leading to Vivekananda's
stronger condemnation of the same. Of Dayanand Saraswati too,
whom he personally met at Calcutta, he speaks in no endearing
terms. 100 But above all, contrary to what official biographies have
suggested, Ramakrishna perceived religious precepts or practices
in a clearly hierarchicized framework and here, one has only to
recall his likening certain esoteric practices to entering ones house
through the latrine. 101
Although the bulk ofwritings since his time would contest this,
Ramakrishna's catholicity, in practical terms, did not offer a perfect
freedom of choice. Rather than be a matter of personal faith or
conviction, religious identities for him seem to be grounded in one's
birth and cultural situation. Ramakrishna reacted sharply to the
news of conversion (to Christianity) of both the Bengali poet
Madhusudan Dutt and the female scholar and social crusader,
Pandita Ramabai. 102 It is only fair to say that operatively, Rama-
krishna's interest in non-Brahminical traditions were only peripheral
to the Brahminical. He was, furthermore, a mystical figure who
sought the resolution of differentiation in a state of transcendence.
It is therefore entirely possible that he a priori proceeded from a
unitive postulate to its experiential ratification through plural
experiments. In other words, the idea of the underlying unity of all
religious faiths was a postulate that he claimed to have variously
tested out rather than a conclusion that he arrived at only at the
end of a long period of sadhana. From what Ramakrishna once told
a devotee it would appear as though this was a method well-
established in pre-existing tradition. 103 Its precise roots however,
are something that only a deeper knowledge of Indian religious
traditions can reveal.
Some of Ramakrishna's contemporaries or near-contemporaries
were evidently quick to gauge the ideological possibilities of his
message. The swadeshi figure, Brahmabandhab Upadhyay, who
incidentally, shifted his own interests from Catholicism to Vedanta,
once argued that the uniqueness of Ramakrishna lay in his ability to
remain rooted in his own tradition even while accommodating
diverse influences. 104 I am convinced that Ramakrishna himself
would have been incapable of the pronounced political tilt given to
this message. 105 The inner ambiguities of his life and message
however, lent themselves to such uses. 106
96 AMIYA P. SEN
1. Statements to this effect have been made since his time by his devotees as well
as academic critics. My purpose here however, is not to fully controvert these
claims but only subject them to more searching scrutiny. For purpose of
reference alone, I have cited below some representative statements.
Ramakrishna himself said, 'I have experimented with all possible paths.... I
also acknowledge the validity of each ... it is therefore that people of different
faiths come to me' Translated from 'M' (Mahendranath Gupta): Sri Sri
Ramakrishna Kathamrita (hereafter K) Kathamrita Bhawan. 17th ed. 6th
reprint. Calcutta. 1961: Vol: 242. All translations from this text are mine unless
otherwise stated. Mahendranath Gupta himself observed: 'People of all
religious persuasions find peace of mind and happiness in his company. It is
quite unlikely however, that one can fully comprehend his extraordinary
spiritual state'. Kl: 295. Sister Nivedita considered Ramakrishna to be the
'only truly universalist mind of his times'. See Sister Nivedita: 'Two saints of
Kali' in the collection Kali and Mother. London. 1900; reproduced in The
Compleu! Warns rifSister Nivedita. Nivedita Birth Centenary edition. Vol. 1. Calcutta.
1961:489.
2. K3:283.
3. For details of this controversy see G.C. Banerji: Keshab Chandra and
Ramakrishna. Navabidhan Publication .Committee. 2ed. Calcutta. 1942.
4. Bhudhar Chattopadhyay: 'Sri Ramakrishna Paramhamsa': Vedavyas 2/8 1294
B.S. (1887): 202. The writer incidentally was connected with the Calcutta
based orthodox Hindu body, the Dharma Mandali. For details on this see my
Hindu Revivalism in Bengal c./872-1905. 'Some Essays in Interpretation. Delhi.
1993.Ch.4.
5. ibid.
6. Walter G. Neeveljr.: 'The transformation of Sri Ramakrishna' in Bardwell L.
Smith (ed.) Hinduism. New Essays in the History ofReligion. London. 1976: 53-97
7. Typical examples of these can be found in Swami Saradananda: Sri Sri
Ramakrishna Lilaprosongo (hereafter Lila) 2Vols. Calcutta. 1976; Ram Chandra
Dutta: Sri RamakrishnaDeberjeebon Brittanta. Kankurgachi. 2ed. n.d.
8. Ramakrishna once pointed out to his devotees the syncretic nature of the
quasi-Vedantic text Adhyatma Ramayana which, he claimed had reconciled
]nan and bhakti long before Keshab. K4: 355: K2: 130.
9. See for example his equating the Vedic concept of 'Saptabhumi' with
'Shadchakra' of Yoga (K5: 76) or' BodM of the Buddhists with' Brahmajnan' of
Vedanta K5 172.
10. K4: 246; K5: 77
11. K5: 77
12. K4:246
13. K5: 119
14. SK2:159430;Kl:26;K3:126
15. 'God has already determined what is to befall each one of us in this world',
maintained Ramakrishna. K3: 87
16. Kl: 51; Kl: 93
17. The near-contemporary sociologist Benoy Kumar Sarkar writes ' ... .in the
synthesis of the transcendental and the positive, he is but the chip of the old
block, coming down from the Vedas and perhaps still older times'. Benoy
Kumar Sarkar: 'The social philosophy of Ramakrishna and Vivekananda' in
The Calcutta Review. Feb. 1936: 175. Compare this to the stat~ment claiming
that Ramakrishna was more universalistic than even Sankara. Swami
Chidbhavananda : Ramakrishna lives Vedanta. Tirupparai tharai. 1962: 468
18. K2: 132: K4: 195; Swami Nityatmananda: Sri Ma Darshan. Sri Ma Trust.
Chandigarh. Vol. 3. 3rd ed. Chandigarh. 1982: 149. There is also the more
irrational claim that Ramakrishna fought sectarianism ever since his childhood.
See Memoirs ofRamakrishna. Reprint of the American edition of the Gospel of
Sri Ramakrishna. Translated and published for the Vedanta Society of New
York by Swami Abhedananda.) 2 Indian ed. Ramakrishna Vedanta Math.
Calcutta. 1957: 3.
19. K5: 2, 22; K5 (Appendix):77
20. 1<5:251
21. K4: 195
22. See Life of Sri Ramakrishna. Compiled from various authentic souras (hereafter
Life) lOR Calcutta. 1977: 35f
23. K3:365
24. Swami Nirvedananda: 'Sri Ramakrishna and the spiritual Renaissance in India'
in Haridas Bhattacharya: The Cultural Heritage ofIndia. Ramakrishna Mission
Institute of Culture. Vol. 4. Calcutta. 1956: 674. Swami Saradananda too
found no distinction between Buddhism and 'VedicJnan Marg'. Lila. I.l:
374.
25. K4:350;K4:415
26. Sir Brojendranath Seal: Presidential Address before the World Parliament of
Religions. Reproduced in The Religions of the World. Ramakrishna Mission
Institute of Culture. Vol. 2 .Calcutta. 1938; Ramchandra Dutta. op. cit.: 43.
27. Lila. I .2: 204-6. The Pnacamakara ritual involving the ritual use of the five 'Ms',
viz. Matsya (fish), Madya (liquor), Mamsa (flesh), Mudra (parched grain) and
Maithuna copulation) is by general consensus the most radical and daunting
of sadhanas. See Aghenanada Bharati: The Tantric Tradition. Delhi. 1976; Atal
Behari Ghosh: 'The spirit and culture of the Tantras', Swami Pragyatmananda:
'Tantra as a way of realization'; P.C. Bagchi: Evolution of the Tantra' all in
The Cultural Heritage ofIndia: op. cit.
28. For a typical example see Swami Rignanada: 'The Gospel of Ramakrishna
and what it stands for' in Dharam Pal Gupta & D.K. Sengupta Eds. Sri Sri
Ramakrishna Kathamarita Centenary MemoriaL Sri Ma Trust. Chandigarh. 1982:
78.
29. This is suggested at one place by no less than Mahendranath Gupta himself,
the famous author of the Kathamrita. See Sri Ma Darshan. op.cit: Vol. 14. 2ed.
1985:80.
30. Liff!. 465-66; Lila: I.: 309. Ramakrishna apparently knew of the Sufi mystic poet
Hafez and his poetry. K4: 173.
31. Seal. op.cit.
32. Lila 1.1:307-10.
33. ibid.
34. ihid.l.3: 309.
98 AMIYA P. SEN
35. SriMaDarshan. op. cit.: Vol.11. 2R. Chandigarh. 1984:30.

36. See Notes 32-34 above.
37. Ramachandra Dutta for example, uses the 'syncretist' argument to rather
perverse effect when he writes: ' ... having practised Islamic sadhana, he
(Ramakrishna) tried to integrate it with the Hindu traditions of jnan and
bhakti' . .Ramchandra Dutta. op. cit.: 43 .Translation mine.
38. This is reported in K4:4; Lila I.1: 310;JeffreyJ. Kripal: Kali's Child. The Mystical
and the Erotic in the life and teachings of Ramakrishna. University of Chicago.
Chicago and London. 1995: 165.
39. K4:279.
40. Life: 184.
41. See Note 44 below.
42. This is fairly evident in all the five volumes in the Kathamrita. For a typical
example, see K4: 120 (Foot Note).
43. Kl: 18.
44. These are the European Missionary Rev. Cook who met Ramakrishna in the
company ofKeshab sometime in 1881; Rev. Hastie who suggested to his student
Narendranath (the future Vivekananda) that he call on the saint for a first-
hand experience of a mystical state and the Quaker from north India, Prabhu-
dayal Misra who met the saint in 1885. Interestingly, while at Dakshineswar
quite tellingly revealed his 'gerud (the sanyasi 's ochre robe) that he wore
underneath European garments. See Kl: 23; K4: 401-2.
45. Ramakrishna cited the Bhagavat Purana before a Christian visitor to argue
that Christ was but one of the numerous avataric manifestations indicated in
the work. See the reminiscences of Sibnath Sastri included in Nanda
Mookeijee (ed.), Sri Ramakrishna in the eyes of Brahmo and Christian admirers.
Calcutta. 1976:18.
46. K4: 117; K4: 211.
47. K2: 196.
48. Kl: 60; K5: 7.
49. K2: 168-9.
50. K5: 86.
51. IC3: 293.
52. Kl: 31.
53. K2: 132-3.
54. Kl: 32.
55. Lila. 1.1: 322.
56. K2: 269; K2: 122.
57. Neevel. op. cit.
58. For Dr. Sarkar's interest in comparative studies see K4: 387-8.
59. ibid.
60. Kl: 21.
61. K2: 296.
62. Kl: 243.
63. Consider for example the following passage from the well known Vedantic
text Vivekachudamani attributed to Sankara: 'The study of scripture is useless
as the highest Truth is unknown and it is equally useless as the highest Truth
has already been known.' Vivekachudamani of Sankara. Text with English
translation, notes and index by Swami Madhavananda. Advaita Ashram.

Calcutta. 14R. Verse 59.
64. K3:80.
65. K3:200.
66. This is endorsed by none other than Tilak himself who writes that like
Vivekananda, he did not believe the Gita to preach renunciation. Reminiscences
of Swami Vivekananda. By His Eastern and Western Admirrrrs. Advaita Ashram.
2E.1964.: 21. Significantly enough, Tilak's claims are contested by the editor
of the Reminiscences. See Preface.
67. 'I am not in the least unhappy', admits Ramakrishna, 'for not having studied
the Vedanta. I know that in essence it treats the Brahman alone as Real and
the World as false' K5: 191. This, of course, is gross essentialization. Many
more nuances are possible within Vedanta. The only Vedantic philosopher
other than Sankara whom Ramakrishna speaks of particularly is Ramanuja
whose views he somewhat cryptically explained to Mahendranath Gupta and
Vivekananda. See K4: 2; Kl: 251.
68. K4:414.
69. Kl: 115; K2: 123.
70. Notice on the other hand, his jestingly inverting the identical non-dualist
dictum' Soaham' (I am He) to 'Nahom' (I am not He) K4: 103.
71. For affinities with the Saivaganma school see Jaidev Singh: Vedanta and
Saivagama ofKashmir. A comparative study. Calcutta. 1985: 21f.. Affinities with
Tantra are evident in M.P. Pandit: Light on the Tantras. Madras. 1968: 54.
72. Jaidev Singh: op.cit:, Kl: 224, K4: 317; Kl: 115.
73. K4: 77; Kl: 243. Perceptions of plurality are but a form ofignorance. K4: 303.
Note also Ramakrishna's strong association of 'muktt' withjnan. K4: 272.
74. Kl: 151.
75. Ramakrishna believed that karmic cycles could be partly modified through
Grace; K4: 373.
76. Lila. 11.2: 241. This is perceptively different from the remark made elsewhere
in the Lila that dualism progressively ascended to non-dualism. Lila. 1.1: 378;
1.2:103.
77. Swami Hiranmayananda: 'Indian Theism' in The Cultural Heritage of India.
op. cit.: Vol. 3. 538-9.
78. Satish Chandra Chatteiji: Classical Indian Phiwsophies. Their Synthesis in the
Phiwsophy ofRamakrishna. University of Calcutta. 1963: 150-51.
79. Neevel: op. cit.: 87.
80. Sumit Sarkar: 'Kaliyuga, Chakri and Bhakti. Ramakrishna and his times' in
Sumit.Sarkar: Writing Social History. Delhi. 1997:317.
81. OfVaishnav figures personally known to Ramakrishna, Bhagavan Das Babaji,
Natabar Goswami and Nakur Vaishnav are obviously Gaudiya figures.
Vaishnavcharan a Gaudiya who also had connections with the Kartabhajas.
His guru, Jatadhari, is a Ramait figure.
82. Sarkar: op.cit. 16-17.
83. S.N. Dasgupta: A Histvry ofIndian Philosophy. Vol. 4. Cambridge. 1955: 438.
84. Sarkar: op.cit; K2: 247; K4: 173; Kl: 134; K4: 431, 241-42; K2: 22-23.
85. K4: 431, 305; Ram Chandra Dutta: op.cit., 176.
86. Kl: 29.
100 AMIYA P. SEN
87. K3: 262. The use of such constructs can be found in the 17th century Gaudiya
Vaishnav classic Chaitanya Charitamrita by Krishnada Kaviraj.
88. Dewan Bahadur K. Rangachari: The Sri Vaishnav Brahmins. Bulletin of the
Madras Govt. Museum. General Section. Vol. III. Part 2. Madras. 1931; P.
Srinivasachari: 'The Vishishtadvaita of Ramanuja' in The Cultural Heritage of
India., Vol. 3: 300.
89. Kl: 99: K5: 44, 7.
90. See for example, his advice to the philanthropist Sambhu Mallik and the
Brahmo Keshab Chandra Sen (Kl: 63-4), the Bengali public figure, Krishna
DasPal (K2: 196) and the novelistBankim Chandra (K4: 71).
91. See Note 15 above
92. A very important idea in Ramakrishna echoing the advaitic idea of Jivanmukta'
(liberated in life). Such ideas he also picked up from Nanakpanthi sadhus; see
K4: 350. Ramakrishna also tried to legitimise his position here by citing the
case of Sankara, who, he claimed, also did the same. K3: 12.
93. K2: 144, 168.
94. K3: 126;Kl: 153.
95. K4: 211. K4: 117. Mahendranath Gupta testifies to Ramakrishna's segregation
of male and female visitors to Dakshineswar. Sri Ma Darshan. op.cit. Vol. 14:
226.
96. This is worth comparing to the sharp ridicule of Guruvad from Bankim
Chandra in the presence of Ramakrishna. K5 (Appendix): 76.
97. Seal: op. cit.: 109.
98. There is, for instance, the rather unfair comment about the Brahmo Sam..Y
being frequented only by the worldly minded K4: 297; Ramakrishna also
thought that the Samaj would prove to be short-lived. K5: 151.
99. 1<5:30.
100. Ramakrishna met Dayanand sometime during 1872-73. His memories of this
famous scholar is confined to certain jocular remarks the latter made in
respect of the Bengali language and polytheistic worship. K2: 101,203.
101. K4: 195; K4 (Appendix): 42; K2: 181. Ramakrishna's comments here are not
on Tantra per se, as alleged by Kripal but on the use of esoteric Tantric
methods by some popular cults. Kripal: op. cit: 314.
102. K4: 123, 203; Memoirs ofRamakrishna. op. cit.: 193.
103. His advice to the Brahmo admirer Mani Mallik was that this was a 'Truth' that
had to practically tested out through as many alternatives as possible. K3: 4()..
1.
104. This appeared in the Bengali journal SwarajoflOth Chaitra, 1317 B.S. (1911).
Translated and reproduced in Br<.Yendranath Bandopadhyay and s..yani Kanta
Das (eds.): Sri Ramakrishna Paramhamsa. SorlWsama,yikDrishtite. Calcutta. 1952:
123.
105. Here I am reminded of the comment that his wife, Sarada Devi once made
the substance of which is that rather than attempt any synthesis of belief or
practice, Ramakrishna was essentially an intensely religious man who simply
reveled in the thought of God. Sri Sri Mayer Kotha. 2 Vols. Udbodhan. Vol. 2.
Calcutta.l958: 204.
106. Ramakrishna's own statement: 'Respect all faiths but set your heart on one'
(K5: 123) is capable of being so interpreted.
Studies in Humanities and Social Sciences, Vol. VI, No. 1, 1999, pp. 101-110
Nyaya System of Philosophy:

A Significant Aspect of Indian Culture
JOHN VATIANKY
De Nobili College
Pune
In the last decades interest in Indian philosophy and culture has been
steadily growing both in India and outside. In the wake of the discovery
of the heritage of India by the great orientalists of the western world,
especially from the beginning of this century and after the pioneering
works ofRadhakrishnan, Dasgupta and a host of others, various aspects
of Indian thought have been studied more and more deeply and
meticulously. However, Indian philosophy was pictured predominantly
in terms of Vedanta particularly in its advaita form found in Sankara
which was and is, perhaps, not entirely correctly interpreted as a monistic
system. This went along with a very spiritual interpretation of the whole
of Indian culture. In fact this is a one-sided presentation of the whole
of Indian philosophy, for Indian philosophy includes various systems
which command the attention of the scholar as well as the general
reader.
One such system is the Nyaya. In the extent of the literature it has
produced and in the depth of the philosophical problems it discusses,
it is of considerable interest and importance. However, the spirit of
pure rationality in which Nyaya discusses these problems and the
techniques it makes use of in handling them are quite different from
other systems of Indian thought and at once renders it a unique
achievement of the Indian mind. Nyaya has been sedulously cultivated
in restricted circles of traditional learning. Of late it has become the
object of intense research by various scholars, both in India and abroad.
Early scholars like Vidyabhusana and others with their pioneering
works on Nyaya have done much to create interest in the study of the
Nyaya system. The monumental translations of the Nyayasutras, the
Bha~a of Vatsyayana and the Varttika of Uddyotakara by Ganganatha
Jha greatly helped scholars like H.N. Randle to produce a consistent
account of early Nyaya. All these inspired various scholars to work on
102 JOHN VATTANKY
different aspects and different authors of the Nyaya system. Today,

however, the study of Nyiiya, particularly of what is usually called modern
( navya) Nyiiya has become a highly sophisticated field of study, as is
clear from the works of such scholars as Frauwallner, Matilal,
Bhattacharya and others. The purpose of this essay is not to give an
account of these conspicuously abstruse studies, but rather to give some
of my reflections on the significance of Nyiiya studies in order to gain
a full and comprehensive view of Indian culture in general and of
Indian philosophy in particular. For this purpose we shall preface these
thoughts with a few remarks on the Nyiiya system in general.
The beginnings of the Nyiiyasystem could be found in the Nyiiyasut:ras
of Gautama. Critical scholars, of course, will point out that the sutras
themselves had a long pre-history and they were the result of several
decades, if not centuries, of earlier developments. In fact the sutras
themselves are not a homogeneous work and it is very likely that several
thinkers contribued to the formation of the sutras as we have them
today. However, the main purpose here is not to give a critical estimate
of this work. We only want to point out that the source of the Nyiiya
system,both old and new, is the Nyiiyasutras and that they are traditionally
attributed to Gautama. The most important commentators on the
sutras are Vatsyayana, Uddyatkara and Vacaspati Misra who wrote their
Bh(4yam, Viirttikam and Tiitparyatika respectively. In the navya-nyiiya
period there developed an exclusive interest in the four means of valid
knowledge to the exclusion of all other considerations on metaphysics, ·
which was by and large borrowed from the sister system of Vaise~ika.
U dayana, one of the very greatest of Indian philosophers and certainly
one of the most important philosophers in the history of Nyiiya stands
between the time of the so-called old Nyiiya and the modern Nyiiya.
Udayana is also one of the few Naiyiiyikiiswho wrote independent works
on specific topics such as God and the souls and treated them elaborately
and profoundly. Navyanyiiya proper begins with the monumental work
of Tattvacintiima?Ji of Gangda in which he discusses in detail the four
means of valid knowledge viz. perception, inference, comparison and
verbal testimony. In fact in the course of time the main interest of
Navyanaiyiiyikascentered round the problems concerning inference.The
discussions on the definition of inference, the conditions of inference,
the fallacies of inference and allied problems occupied their minds.
This exclusive interest on inference was also the cause for winning a lot
of adverse criticism on the later Naiyiiyikiis. Thus we find in the early
part of this century scholars who gave out their opinion that later Nyiiya
is interested only in philosophical hair splitting. This criticism has
Nyaya System of Philosophy 103
unfortunately been reiterated subsequently by other scholars too. But
the fact is that such critics never made a thorough study of the basic
texts of the school, the works of the genuinely creative thinkers like
Udayana, Garigesa and Raghunathasiromani. Often they were
acquainted with Sanskrit works only of late scholars who were little
more than school masters who-composed primarily text books for the
use of their pupils. They were never able to draw the wider philosophical
implictions involved in the discussion of the various topics of Navyanyaya
and therefore, they failed to a large extent to grasp the profound
significance of certain problems which were discussed at length in the
treatises of Navyanyiiya.
From the early part of this century onwards, there is a revival of
interest in Navyanyaya studies with modern methods of research. Bengal
was, for centuries, the home of Nyiiya studies and so it can naturally be
expected that the revival of Nyiiya was, by and large, brought about by
the efforts of Bengali scholars in the early part of this century. 1 However,
Sileswar Sen may be the first scholar who wrote explicitly on the
Navyanyaya topic using modern critical methods. He published his
work, A Study of Mathuraniitha's Tattvacintiima'l)irahasya, in 1924 in
Holland. ' 2 The book dealt with what in Nyiiya is called vyiipti or invariable
concomitance. This is a central topic in Navyanyiiya and Saileswar Sen
made use of modern techniques to explain its nature. Obviously, Sen
was not much interested in comparative philosophy in general, much
less in the possibilities of Nyiiya studies for the revival oflndian thought.
Following his pioneering work, Professor D.H. Ingalls of Harvard
University, a distinguished Sanskritist, brought out a very significant
work on Navyanyiiya, after having studied the intricacies of Navyanyiiya
with some of the most authoritative pandits in Calcutta. His book
entitled, Materials for the Study of Navy-Nyiiya Logit! was a poineering
work, published in 1951. Though neither extensive nor exhaustive-
actually the work contains a translation and interpretation only of a few
sentences from the section on vyapti in the Tattvacintiima'l)i-the book
oflngalls played an important role in the reyival of interest in Nayanyiiya
in recent times. This was partly because the book came from the pen of
a renowned Sanskritist and partly because it was written in a lucid style
even when it treated altogether abstruse topics.
The tradition of the work of Ingalls was continued by Prof. B.K.
Matilal, who was probably the most outstanding contemporary scholar
in Nyiiya. He was the Spalding Professor of Eastern Religions and Ethics
at the University of Oxford and the editor of the Journal of Indian
Philosophy. His first major work deals with The Doctrine of Negation in
104 JOHN VATTANKY
Navyanyiiya, 4 in which he goes much further than Ingalls himself in

treating the basic concepts of Navyanyiiya along with a translation and
interpretation of the section of 'absence' in the Tattvacintiima1Ji by
Gatigesa. His other important works are Logic, Language and Realitj
where he discusses the important themes in Indian philosophy mostly
from an analytical point of view as developed by Nyiiya. His most recent
work on 'perception ' 6 is a penetrating study of this topic from the
Navyanyiiya perspective, taking into account the modern development,
particularly the Anglo-Saxon philosophical traditions.
A Dutch scholar by name C. Goekoop has done commendable work
in translating and commenting on the section of 'inference' in the
Tattavcintiima1Ji of Gatigesa. 7 His method has, however, limited value
since he does not take into account the earlier Naiyiiyikiis nor the
commentaries 9fGatigda. Fruwallner has done considerable service by
his few articles on Raghunatha§iromani drawing attention to the corpus
of writing in the form of commentaries on the Tattavcintiima1Ji of
Gatigda between the times of Gatigda and RahunathasiromaQ.i. 8 None
of these commentaries have been published and Frauwallner went
about the work in the typical German fashion, going to the manuscripts
themselves, studying them and drawing a picture of the actual
development of Nyiiya during this period. The present writer also has
translated and interpreted a significant section of Tattvacintiima1Ji,
namely the zsvaraviidadealing with the proofs for the existence ofGod. 9
It is also the longest single section of Tattavacintiima1Ji so far translated
and interpreted.
What is the central problem which Nyiiya sets out to tackle with all
the philosophical tools it has at its disposal? Nyiiya and in particular,
Navyanyiiya studies with unparalleled rigour and exactitude the nature,
the dimensions and conditions of human knowledge. And by common
consent the philosophical problem par excellence is the problem of
knowledge. With rare insights, both the old and modern Nyiiya examine
the problem connected with human knowledge and sets forth in detail
the exact conditions in which valid knowledge is possible. But in so
describing human knowledge Nyiiya does not forget itself in the details
of the questions. In fact, in and through the analysis of human
knowledge, Nyiiya presents us also with a self-understanding of the
human person which deserves attentive study and unqualified
appreciation. Thus its definition of vyiipti is not a sterile definition of
the concept involved but profound description of an aspect of human
knowledge itself and its true significance comes out when the Naiyiiyikiis
Nyiiya System of Philosophy 105
raise the question of the existence of a creator God and try to answer
it positively based on their analysis of human knowledge. Similarly, the
Nyiiya treatment of word and its meaning has a very long history and
development often in conflict with other schools-notably the system
of Grammar-and is therefore practically unsurpassed in philosophical
literature of all times. In this way one sees how the analysis of arguments
which Nyiiya presents on any topic is philosophical analysis in the
highest degree .
. This manner of philosophical analysis of knowledge is seen perhaps
at its best when the Naiyayikiis raised the question of the existence of
God. flere we find Naiyayikiis confronting themselves with the other
schools oflndian thought, particularly the Buddhists. In fact one of the
most fascinating phases in the development of Indian philosophical
thought is the prolonged and persistent polemics between the Buddhists
and the Naiyayikiis. The controversy extended over a wide variety of
topics such as the nature of reality, means of valid knowledge and so on.
The conflict, however, was most intense regarding the nature of inference
and as a consequence the arguments purporting to establish the
existence of God assumed great significance. While the Naiyayikiis tried
their best to marshal arguments with superb logical acumen to establish
the existence of God, the Buddhists sought every means that logic and
reason had to offer to disprove the same. The Naiyiiyikiis give many
arguments to establish the existence of a God who creates the universe
and providently directs it. However, the most important argument is
that from the causality of the world. As Gangesa puts it 'the earth and
so on have an agent because they are effects' (!eyityankuriidikam sakartrkam
kiivyatviit). But the true significance of this argument lies not so much
in each of the arguments taken in itself, but from the context of the·
accurate and profound analysis of human knowledge which the
Naiyayikiis undertake to present in their works. This context is nowhere
explicitly mentioned, but it forms the very presupposition of most of
the discussions on various topics and permeates them.
What is this context? Why does such a context necessarily raise the
question of the Absolute? Primarily the context is epistemological. The
Nyiiya proofs for the existence of God presupposes a theory ofknowledge
according to which it is possible to raise the question of God whereas
the Buddhists of the Dharmakirti school propose a theory of knowledge
according to which it is radically impossible not only to establish the
existence of God but even to conceive an idea of him. Thus the Nyiiya
system has as horizon a theory of knowledge which renders possible the
106 JOHN VATTANKY
proofs for the existence of God. That is why it could be validly asserted
that in the Nyiiya theory ofknowledge the Absolute becomes the horizon
of all knowledge and therefore, off all human activities. This aspect of
the Nyiiya theory ofknowledge in all its details is not developed explicitly
in the. Nyiiya treatises. In fact, to my mind, this aspect is more implied
than explained in detail in any of the books. But of course it does not
mean that such an interpretation is purely subjective. On the contrary,
such an interpretation is based on the very foundation of the system
itself.
In order to explain this it is necessary to speak about some of the
very basic theories in the Nyiiya epistemology. Intimately connected
with it is the fundamental Nyiiya theory about what is usually known as
invariable concomitance or vyiipti. In fact, a large part of the Nyaya
discussions on the theory of knowledge and inference in general, is all
about this concept of vyiipti. Further, this concept is of primary
importance in practically all the major systems of Indian thought. In
fact, prolonged and persistent controversies ranged among the different
ontological positions on the basis of this aspect of their theory of
knowledge. The controversy was most acute between the Buddhists,
expecially of the Dharmak1rti school, and the Naiyiiyikiis. And the main
point of difference between these two schools is that in Nyiiya it is
possible from what we have known we could assert also what we have
not known, whereas the Buddhists would tend to deny this. But this, of
course, is an oversimplified statement.
In slightly more technical terms the Buddhist position would be the
following: We can know a thing whose existence we have not directly
perceived only if that thing belongs to the class of things which could
be the object of direct experience. And the Naiyiiyikiis, on the contrary,
hold that we can, on the basis of the experience of those class of things
about which we have direct knowledge assert the existence of a thing
even if that thing does not strictly belong to the class of things that
could be perceived. This in fact, in simplified terms, is the crux of the
problem according to the Buddhist and Nyiiya theories. Consequently
the argumentations regarding the existence of God became the centre
of heated controversy. Nyiiya holds that it is possible for us to know the
unknown from what we have known. It also means that this unknown
need not necessarily belong to the class of those things which are
already known, but according to th~ Buddhist system, as represented in
the school of Dharmak1rti, it is necessary that this unknown thing
should belong to a class of things that are already known. Otherwise we
Nyaya System of Philosophy 107
cannot make any affirmation whatever about this unknown thing. Thus
the epistemological presupposition of Nyiiya theory ofinference involves
by implication, first of all the capacity of the human intelligence to rise
above what is of immediate experience. We could further draw the
important conclusion that this Nyiiya theory implies that human beings
cannot think except in the context of an Absolute. No theory of
knowledge is possible without implying, at the same time, the existence
of an Absolute and the inherent capacity of the human intellect somehow
to grasp this absolute. And such an interpretation of the basis of the
Nyaya theory of knowledge, particularly with reference to the concept
of invariable concomitance is quite legitimate because it is based on
sound philological and philosophical analysis of the texts concerned. 10
This implies, therefore, that the Nyaya theory· of knowledge can be
adequately explained and validated only against the background of the
basic and inherent capacity of the human intellect to rise above mere
phenomena or objects which are directly perceived by it.U
From this delineation of some of the central aspects of the Nyaya
system of philosophy it can easily be seen that it enjoys a unique
position in the history of Indian culture in general and that of Indian
philosophy in particular. Here we cannot go into the most interesting
question whether Nyaya contributes significantly to the problems of
pure formal logic itself. Such a discussion would lead us again into
quite technical and intricate analysis of argumentations. Suffice to say
that any proper account oflndian culture and philosophy can be given
only if we take into consideration the unique significance of the Nyaya
system of philolsophy. And such a presentation will naturally show also
how Nyiiya treatS concisely much of the problems that are treated in
contemporary Anglo-Saxon philosophy.
Further, systematic researches and interpretation of Nyaya can have
wider implications. In fact they can be of tremendous help in the
reconstructio_n and development of Indian philosophy and Indian
culture and even in furnishing solutions for our social problems. In this
way it contributes at least indirectly, to creating an India where there is
social justice and peace.
For the development oflndian philosophy in general, Nyaya studies
can be of immense help. This is because in global philosophy the
reflections connected with language and logic have been at the centre
of the stage for the last several decades. This is very much the case in the
Anglo-Saxon philosophical traditions lead by such seminal thinkers as
Wittgenstein, Chomsky, and others. But this is also the case even in.
106 JOHN VATTANKY
proofs for the existence of God. That is why it could be validly asserted
that in the Nyiiya theory of knowledge the Absolute becomes the horizon
of all knowledge and therefore, off all human activities. This aspect of
the Nyiiya theory of knowledge in all its details is not developed explicitly
in the. Nyaya treatises. In fact, to my mind, this aspect is more implied
than explained in detail in any of the books. But of course it does not
mean that such an interpretation is purely subjective. On the contrary,
such an interpretation is based on the very foundation of the system
itself.
In order to explain this it is necessary to speak about some of the
very basic theories in the Nyaya epistemology. Intimately connected
with it is the fundamental Nyaya theory about what is usually known as
invariable concomitance or vyapti. In fact, a large part of the Nyaya
discussions on the theory of knowledge and inference in general, is all
about this concept of vyiipti. Further, this concept is of primary
importance in practically all the major systems of Indian thought. In
fact, prolonged and persistent controversies ranged among the different
ontological positions on the basis of this aspect of their theory of
knowledge. The controversy was most acute between the Buddhists,
expecially of the Dharmakirti school, and the Naiyayikiis. And the main
point of difference between these two schools is that in Nyaya it is
possible from what we have known we could assert also what we have
not known, whereas the Buddhists would tend to deny this. But this, of
course, is an oversimplified statement.
In slightly more technical terms the Buddhist position would be the
following: We can know a thing whose existence we have not directly
perceived only if that thing belongs to the class of things which could
be the object of direct experience. And the Naiyayikiis, on the contrary,
hold that we can, on the basis of the experience of those class of things
about which we have direct knowledge assert the existence of a thing
even if that thing does not strictly belong to the class of things that
could be perceived. This in fact, in simplified terms, is the crux of the
problem according to the Buddhist and Nyiiya theories. Consequently
the argumentations regarding the existence of God became the centre
of heated controversy. Nyaya holds that it is possible for us to know the
unknown from what we have known. It also means that this unknown
need not necessarily belong to the class of those things which are
already known, but according to the;: Buddhist system, as represented in
the school of Dharmakirti, it is necessary that this unknown thing
should belong to a class of things that are already known. Otherwise we
Nyiiya System of Philosophy 109
But for all these, systematic researches into the Nyaya tradition and
enlightened interpretations of its thought pattern are absolutely
necessary. First of all there should be critical editions of the vast Nyiiya
literature that remains still to be edited and published. This is especially
the case with regard to the Nyiiya works written during the three
centuries that separate GaQ.gesa from RaghunathasiromaQ.i. Then there
should be translations and studies of these texts according to the
methods of the modern researches. Interested cultural organisations
and individuals should come forward to do the work. If such work is
systematically carried out in an enlightened manner then the results
can be of great help in the reconstruction of our cultural heritage and
the creation of a new India. Then we will realize that what Bloomfield
remarked about Panini's Grammar, that it is one of the greatest
monuments of human intelligence can be equally well applied to the
Nyiiya philosophical tadition.
1. Cf., for instance, the elaborate History of Indian Logic by Satischandra

Vidyabhusana, Calcutta, 921.
2. Saileswar Sen, A Study of Mathuraniitha's Tattvacintiima?Jirahasya, Wageningen
February, 1924.
3. Ingalls, Daniel Henry Holmes, Materials for the study of Navya-Nyiiya Logic,
Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1951. Unfortunately, after the publication of this
work, Ingalls did not pursue his studies in Navyanyaya in any significant way. He
turned his attention, rather, to Sanskrit literature.
4. B.K. Matilal, The Navyanyiiya Doctrine of Negation, Cambridge, Massachusetts
Harvard University Press, 1968.
5. B.K. Matilal, Logic, Language and Reality: An Introduction to Indian Philosophical
Studies, Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi, 1985.
6. B.K. Matilal, Perception: An Essay on Classical Indian Theories ofKnowledge, Clarendon
Press, Oxford, 1986.
7. C. Goekoop, The Logic ofInvariable Concomitance in the Tattavcintiima?Ji, Gangesa's
Anumitinrnpana and Vyiiptiviida with Introduction {Lnd Commentary, Dordrecht,
Holland, 1967.
8. E. Frauwallner, 'Rghunatha Siromani,' Wiener Zeitschrift for die Kunde Sud und
Ostasiens, Vol. X, 1966, p. 86ff, Vol. XI, 1967, p. 140ff, Vol. XIV, 1970, p. 16ff.
9. John Vattanky, Gangesa's Philosophy of God: Analysis, Text, Translation and
Interpretation of lsvaraviida section of Gaitgesa 's Tattvacintiima'f,li with a Study on the
Development of Nyiiya Theism. The Adyar Library and Research Centre, Madras,
1984.
10. For further clarification: Cfr. J. Vattanky: 'Aspects of Early Nyaya Theism,'
journal of Indian Philosophy 6 (1978) pp. 393-404; Sasadhara's lsvaraviida: An
important source of Gangesa's lsvaraviida,' journal of Indian Philosphy 7 (1979)
110 JOHN VATTANKY
pp. 257-266, and 'The Inference of God to Establish the Existence of God'; Ibid
10 (1982) 37-50. More recently, in my book Gaitgeia's Philosophy of God, The
Adayar Library and Research Centre, Madras, 1984.
11. A further corroboration of my argument will find support in the way in which
the Naiyiiyikiis answer to the basic objections of the Buddhists. The objection is:
~ityankuriidikam na sakartrkam sanriijanyatviit. Implied here is the assumption
that the principle of causality holds good only within the realm of our experience.
Nyiiya denies this and asserts that the principle of causality is trans-empirical, i.e.
transcendental. This is the implied meaning of the assertion of the Naiyayikiis
that there is invariable concomitance between being produced and having an
agent.
12. In this context mention may be made of my recent book: Nyiiya Philosophy of
Language, Sri Satguru Publication, Delhi, 1995.
13. Cfr. A.K. Ramfumjan: 'Is there and Indian way of thinking?' An informal essay,
in Makim Marriott (ed.) India through Hindu Categories, p. 53. On this see also
the comments of Fred Dallmayr, 'Western Thought and Indian Thought:
Comments on Ramanujan,' Philosophy East & West, Vol. 44, No. 3,July 1994, p.
527ff.
StudiesinHurrumitiesandSocialSciences, Vol. VI, No.1, 1999, pp.lll-118.
Nissim Ezekiel's 'Background, Casually':

Travails of Cultural Marginality
SURYANATHPANDEY
Banaras Hindu University
Banaras
The year 1965 marks a significant milestone in Ezekiel's evolving

poetic sensibility because it witnessed the publication of his two
seminal writings, one critical and the other creative, besides his fifth
verse-volume The Exact Name. He reviewed V.S. Naipaul's much talked
about travelogue An Area ofDarkness under the title 'Naipaul's India
and Mine' for the Imprint in 1965. Later the same year, his magnum
opus, the exhaustively discussed 'Background, ~asually', invariably
treated as an encapsulated autobiography, was published in Verse
and Voice by the Poetry Book Society, London. These two pieces are
central to any serious discourse on Ezekiel's creative credentials
because they supplement each other in several respects. It will not
be a travesty of truth to regard 'Background, Casually' as a poetic
appropriation of the Naipaul-essay, which broadened the poet's
canvas by exposing him to the crude realities of his natiye country,
debunked by the Carribean novelist as 'an area of darkness'. It was
obviously left for Ezekiel to scale meticulously the depth of this
darkness or otherwise in creative terms and his poetic art acquires a
rare poignancy and sharpness hereafter. The present paper attempts
to demonstrate that the so-called 'background, casually' is quite
consequential as the poet would have us disbelieve.
Ezekiel, while reviewing An Area of Darkness, got an opportunity
to dilate on his situation vis-a-vis Naipaul's, including the
complexities. and amplitudes of such a predicament. He begins with
questioning the very foundations of the Caribbean writer's premise:
My quarrel is that Mr. Naipaul is often so uninvolved and un-
concerned. He writes exclusively from the point of view of his
own dilemma, his temperamental alienation from his mixed
background, his choice, and his escape (emphasis mine). 1
The 'mixed background' of the Trinidad born writer of Indian
112 SURYA NATH PANDEY
origin impels Ezekiel to look at his own grounding and racial history:
I am not a Hindu and my background makes me a natural outsider;
circumstances and decisions relate me to India. In other country,
I am a foreigner. In India I am an Indian (emphasis mine).
(S.P. p. 99)
Despite being 'a natural outsider', the poet realises the specificity
of locale in the creative process:
India is simply my environment. A man can do something for
and in his environment by being fully what he is, by not with-
drawing from it. I have not_withdrawn from India ... History is
behind me. I live on the frontiers of the future that is slowly
receding before me, content for background impresses me as
little as pride in background (emphasis mine).
(SP. p. 100)
The word 'background' occurs in each of these extracts in three

different contexts and one has reasons to believe that it is not a
mere coincidence that his substantial poem is christened 'Back-
ground, Casually.' Though written and published in 1965 this piece
remained uncollected until the publication of Ezekiel's next volume
Hymns in Darkness (1976).
That 'Background, Casually' is pivotal to Ezekiel's poetic oeuvre
is testified to even by one of the rather unfriendly critics, M.K Naik
when he remarks-'All issues/controversies have their roots here.' 2
Something of a portrait of the artist as a young man, this piece was
written for a Commonwealth Arts Festival as an explantion of his
return to India, a statement of something 'often thought of but
never so well expressed'. Apparently dismissive, as suggested by the
modifier 'casually', the title is a misnomer because its content is too
consequential to be easily wished away. The poet seems to imply
that it is an account of a meaningless past, with nothing to pride
over and as such he can afford to be casual about it. Comprising
three sections, the poem has a circular structure-it starts with a
Roman Catholic school of Bombay and terminates on the very island
which is Ezekiel's 'backward place' after a four years' sojourn at
London-and moves rather jerkily from one experience to another
connected only by the shreds of bitter memories. The opening line-
' A poet-rascal-down was born'-underlines the predicament of the
modern poet who walks through a variety of episodes in life and it is
his self that gives them some semblance of unity howsoever haphazard
Nissim Ezekeil's 'Background, Casually' 113
and confusing. Recollecting his childhood experiences and

emotions as it were 'in tranquility', Ezekiel begins with the long-
standing animosity between the Gentiles and the Jews and the
disquietening aspect of the characteristic communal frenzy:
I went to Roman Catholic school,
A mugging Jew among the wolves.
They told me I had killed the Christ,
That year I won the scripture prize.
A Muslim sportsman boxed my ears. 3
The context sensitive detail implies that for want of a Judaic
institution this 'mugging Jew' was admitted to a Christian school
and subjected to all sorts of physical, and emotional humiliations at
the hands of his Hindu, Muslim and Christian mates. Being hurled
into a den of wolves to be perpetually interrogated and singled out
as a murderer of Christ might have been a convulsive experience
for the sensitive author during the very formative years. However,
and ironically enough, Ezekiel bagged a trophy in a scripture contest
much to the amazement and annoyance of his classfellows. This
persecution complex kept burgeoning with the poet as a helpless
victim of religious discrimination;
I grew in terror of the strong
But undernourished Hindu lads,
Their prepositions always wrong,
Repelled me by passivity.
One noisy day I used ~ knife.
(CP, p. 179)
'Boxed' by a Muslim sportsman, hated by Christian fanatics and
maturing under the constant fear of 'Hindu lads', Ezekiel's might
have been a terribly trying proposition. That the poet's perceptive
eye tenaciously observes reality is attested to by the epithet
'undernourished', blatant comment on the physique of the Hindu
youths who derived strength to lord over microscopic miniorities
from their overwhelming majo~ty, rather than physical attributes.
Apprehensive of the robust,· he is nauseated by the lethargic and
chicken-hearted fellows. The early impressions of incorrect preposi-
tions-'Their prepositions always wrong'-resulted later in 'Very
Indian Poems in Indian English', a sense of contempt for the context
and also a sense of urgency for reconciliation with it. One can look
and not unjustly, for an arrogant rather than an apologetic tone in
these lines belying insolence towards natives. Gripped in a strange

religious fix the poet tried to identify his spiritual moorings by
exposing himself more intimately to his inherited faith Judaism
besides Yoga and Zen of Indian soil. At one stage he toyed with the
idea of becoming a rabbi-saint and experiencing spiritual illumina-
tion for himself. The consciousness of living in an imperfect and
unromantic India surfaces in the paradoxical line-'The more I
searched the less I found'. Torn by his personal dilemma the pro-
tagonist planned for his historic British trip financially helped by
Ebrahim Alkazi, his personal friend and admirer. The first section
ends with Ezekiel specifically cataloguing his obsessive preoccu-
pations-philosophy, poverty, poetry-in his London basement flat.
The second section narrates how the full-blooded youth in
Ezekiel living alone in the freezing winters of London was inter-
mittently taken over by biological urges. In his characteristic ironic
way the poet relates his experiences with biblical inputs for mock-
serious purposes: Imagining himself as the Son of Man of the Book
of Ecclesiasts, the literal Ezekiel, he attributes this infatuation for
lust to some Woman understandably Eve, deeply imprinted in his
monotheistic psyche as responsible for the Fall. The biblical
paradigm has been employed only to underline persona's weak-
nesses for sex while his counterpartJesus overcame all temptations.
Though planned with high hopes of enriching the personality, the
trip failed to deliver the expected goods- 'I knew that I had failed/
In everything, a bitter thought". The implied contrast between the
conventional benefits calculated in terms of the acquistion of
education and culture through such a stay abroad, and the tawdriness
of the outcome in the poet's particular case is upsetting indeed.
The anxiety condensed in the phrase 'bitter thought' was only an
external manifestation of the emotionl turmoil within caused by a
strong and persistent strain of alienation of multiple dimensions.
With options extremely limited for him, the protagonist decided to
return to India in a huff earning his passage by uyndertaking menial
work on an English cargo-ship. This meant simply to revive the bitter
memories of unhappy moments in a voluntary bid to 'laugh again
at home'.
How to feel at home, was the point.
Some reading had been done, but what
Had I observed, except my own
Exasperation? All Hindus are
Nissim &ekeil's 'Background, Casually' 115
Like that, my father used to say,

When someone talked too loudly, or
Knocked at the door like the Devil.
They hawked and spat. They sprawled around.
( CP. p.180)
In the face of spiritual differences of alarming proportions with

the mainstream culture, it was humanly impossible to feel at home
in the land of his birth. In the unfolding process of growth, an in built
prejudice against Hindus as symbolic of all roughness and
unsophistication had come to stay. In his Radio talk, 'The Heritage
of India: A Personal Statement' broadcast from the A.I.R. Bombay
on 12 June 1984, Ezekiel has explicated the 'home' metaphor
elaborately:
If you have a house of your own you may keep all the windows
open so that the winds of the world may play freely in it. But
what happens if your house has no character, no distinctive
quality ...what happens if your house is not really a home in the
full sense of the word, intellectually and culturally, but only a
stage for rehearsing a play that is never completed and may
never be performed?4
Howsoever despairing was the situation, Ezekiel prepared him-
self for the fait accompli, hoping that with the passage of time things
would get normalised. The process of cultural assimilation got off
to a new start with marrying Daisy Jacob in 1952 itself, the very year
of the prodigal son's return. The impatient urge to experience
some semblance of nativity and rootedness manifested itself in the
protagonist's frequent switch-over of jobs only to accentuate his
desolation. Unfortunately, the bitterness of the song of innocence
was infinitely multiplied and aggravated by the harrowing
experiences abroad with the prospects of still worse things in store
for him. Ezekiel for the first time outlines his pedigree and racial
connections towards the close of the section' which shifts the focus
from the quest for assimilation to an acceptance of the actualities
surrounding him:
My ancestors, among the castes,
Were aliens crushing seeds for bread
(The hooded bullock made his rounds).
( CP. p.180)
The image drawn in the last line is as much literal as meta-

phorical. It refers to the primitive or the traditional method of oil-
crushing in which the 'hooded bullock' tied to a machine, kolhu,
was driven in a circle by his master sitting on a chariot-like contrivance
just behind him. The two worked together to survive on an existential
plane. While the bullock, with his eyes and face covered, did not
realise the physical exhaustion, the master in full awareness of his
predicament allowed himself to obliterate his suffering. Ezekiel's
powerful image conveys the truth that the concern for 'bread'
outweighed every other consideration with his ancestors.
The opening stanza of the third and final section dwells on the
meagre contribution of the Ezekiels to the cultural and the historical
life of the Indian nation. Adopting a rather defensive posture, the
poet regrets that his family of oil-crushers could not add substantially
to the native ethos in social, literary and political terms despite their
domicile dating back to AD 378. In an interview with Eunice de
Souza in 1989, Ezekiel dwelt at length on his impoverishing ancestry:
The Jews in India had their historical weaknesses and the
community was not able to produce scholars, poets or musicians
-not even a theologian-all the figures one identifies with as
representing the vitality of a culture. Compare this with
American Jews. It can't be an accident. I'm not blaming the
community. The community existed at a peasant level in the
early years and must have found it necessary to be isolated for
survival. It was small, insignificant, and just about kept the rituals
going. 5
The only exception was one of his forebears who fought in the
Boer war on behalf of the British. Even this claim of having shared
a racial past has its own pricks of conscience because it was somebody
else's war fought bearing British arms, and to that extent a mercinary
enterprise. That the racial history cannot absolve him of a
reprehensible conscience-'! dreamed that/Fierce men had bound
my feet and hands'-compelled him to go in for other options by
way of ensuring his active involvement in the native scenario. Ezekiel
chose to appropriate his poetic creativity to forge spontaneous links
with the soil, howsoever personally unrewarding this proposition
might turn out to be. This determination 'to cash in on/The inner
and the outer storms'has left its own scars on Ezekiel's poetic
personality. This brings one to the celebrated stanza:
Nissim Ezekeil's 'Background, Casually' 117
The Indian landscape scars my eyes.

I have become a part of it
To be observed by foreigners.
They say that I am singular,
Their letters overstate the case.
( CP, p.181)
The poet asserts that he derives emotional strength from the

native landscape, both physical and psychic, because it is very much
part of his existence. Here 'foreigners' means the members of the
majority community for whom the poet has already employed the
third person plural 'they' in the first section-'They hawked and
spat. They sprawled around'. Those who allude to his singularity or
aloneness exaggerate ('overstate') something, the poet feels, which
is ignoble and marginal in his mental make-up. The love-hate
relationship takes on a new colour in the closing stanza with the
poet accepting his predicament:
I have made my commitment now.
This is one: to stay where I am,
As others choose to give themselves
In some remote and backward place.
My backward place is where I am.
( CP, p.181)
The adverb of time 'now' recalls all those moments of ambiva-
lence and indecisiveness-'No longer unresolved/But definite as
morning .. .' ('Something to Pursue', CP, p. 14); 'I must define
myself, the place/And time .. .'('December'58', CP, p.112); 'All I
want now/is the recognition/of dilemma/and the quickest means/
of resolving it/within my limits.' ('Transparently', CP, p. 150)-
which have been upsetting him terrifically. The well-calculated and
thoroughly debated upon decision-'This is one':-has been arrived
at after years of anguish and affliction and as such rules out the
possibility of fluctuation any more. In the full know of things shorn
of all illusions-'Home is where we have to earn our grace'.
('Enterprise', CP, p.118); 'It is home, /which I recognise at last/as
a kind of hell/to be made tolerable.' ('Mter Reading a Prediction',
CP, p. 155)- was the resolution adopted 'to stay where I am'. The
sense of urgency to adjust himself to a 'remote and backward place'
has an implicit nagging tinge but it stood the test of time and in
'Island' written after seven years, the poet reiterates:
I cannot leave the island,

I was born here and belong.
( CP, p. 182)
This 'unending series of adjustments and perceptions' has

created nothing short of a persecution complex in Ezekiel's creative
personality and times without number, its configurations are pro-
nounced in his poetry. The typical mindset with which he embarked
on his literary odyssey enabled him to view the native reality with a
dispassionate perspective, both his strength and weakness as an artist.
In fact, the poet turned his 'hereditary thinness' to best advantage
and restrained himself from parochial flamboyance as well as from
the sophistication of the rootless. The Bombayite in Ezekiel finally
develops into a humanist in his recent poetry-'to heal/myself and
others' ( CP, p. 274)- overcoming all bounds of colour, caste and
creed.
1. Ezekiel, Nissim, 'Naipaul's India and Mine', in Selected Prose (Delhi: Oxford,
1992) p. 86.
2. Naik, M.K, A Histary ofIndian English Literature (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademy,
1982, rptd. 1995).
3. Ezekiel, Nissim, Collected Poems (Delhi: Oxford, 1982) p. 179. Referred to as CP
in the text.
4. Setu, 1,3 (1985),pp. 71-2.
5. 'InterviewwithFourlndianEnglishPoets', TheBomba:yReuiew, 1 (1989) p. 72.
StudiesinHumanitiesandSocialSciences, Vol. VI, No.1, 1999, pp. 119-141
Caste and Gender Issues in the Myths

of South Indian Untouchable Castes
N. SUDHAKAR RAO
Assam Central University
Silchar
This paper examines and analyses some myths of South Indian

untouchable castes in a structuralist perspective. Though myths of
untouchables have been recorded extensively, for instance, in the
works of Aryookuzhiel (1983: 13-20, 170-7), Elmore (1915), Mishra
(1992: 27-8), Moffatt (1979: 10-125, 270), Ramanujam (1986: 58-
60), Rao (1998: 128-33, 209-10), Reddy (1952: 334-5, 363-4),
Thurston (1909: 296-7), Whitehead (1921: 118-19) and others, only
a few analysed them for drawing meaningful conclusions. Among
the above-mentioned works, those of Moffatt (1979) and Mosse
(1994) prominent. But they provide contradictory interpreta-tions;
while one argues that the untouchables accept an assigned inferior
status the other adopts a diametrically opposed theoretical viewpoint.
Moffatt analyses three myths to show that untouchables agree
on the point that their low position is due to their stupidity, greed
and impure duties. He writes: 'In their definition of their own identity
and its lowness in toRil and myth, then, the Harijans of Endavur are
in fundamental consensus with the higher castes. They define them-
selves as low for the same reasons as the higher castes do, and they
agree with the evaluation that persons with their characteristics
should be low' (Moffatt 1979: 129). Mosse, however, does not accept
Moffatt's theory of the consensus amongst untouchables regarding
the low status assigned to them. He also rejects the argument that
works towards 'cultural consensus'. In this regards he observes
that, 'Harijan myths of origin generally describe their position in
social order as undeserved, a consequence of misfortune, histori-
cal accident, and the deception and trickery of dominant groups,
and -implicitly or explicitly-legitimise attempts to actively
reject, abandon or withdraw form inferior service roles.' (Mosse
1994: 82-3)
The apparent problem in both the interpretations lies with the
120 N. SUDHAKAR RAO
view that myths are statements of the actors. Leach similarly finds
that myths validate rights of particular groups of people (1964: 264-
78). Against this view point, following Mauss (1967), I maintain that
one should consider myth as 'total social facts' (Debanath 1989:
321). Furthermore, myths do not always represent social facts, as
contended by Levi-Strauss, who states that, 'The myth is certainly
related to given facts, but not as a representation of them. The
relationship is of a dialectic kind, and the institutions described in
the myth can be the very opposite of the real institutions. This will
always be the case when the myth is trying to express a negative
twth.' (Levi-Strauss 1977: 172). He opines that there is an uncons-
cious meaning of myth; problem and solution both are embedded
in it. For Needham, however, myths serve as instruments of mediation
between contradictions in cultural values. The analysis should delve
into the elementary constituents of the culture and their polythetic
combination (Needham 1978: 55). From the perspectives of Levi-
Strauss and Needham, the myths of the untouchable castes need to
be viewed differently from the way Moffatt and Mosse did, in order
to grasp the meaning and function of the myths.
I argue that the myths should be analysed in a wider cultural
background without leaning towards any particular theoretical
position. In order to analyse the myths of untouchable castes
objectively and comprehensively, their scope should be extended
beyond the mere acceptance or rejection of a caste status or a
surface structure. These myths seem to address the problem of caste
and gender inequality in the dominators' construction of social
hierarchy. They also make the mysterious cosmos intelligible to
simple folk. Myths attempt to resolve this problem by bringing the
idea of 'social/biological necessity' to counterbalance the weight of
inequality. Against this background, the paper attempts to under-
stand deeper structures in the construction of hierarchy and
subordination, and articulation of power relations as exhibited in
popular Hindu culture and mythology which has been little
discussed in the sociological literature of myths.
Data for this paper comes from myths recorded by Moffatt (in
the village of Endavur in Chengalpat district of Tamilnadu) and
Reddy (in the southern districts of Andhra Pradesh) and from myths
collected by me in Anthatipuram and Chinnakomerla villages in
Nellore and Cuddapah districts of Andhra Pradesh. Mter presenting
the myths of untouchable castes and other related myths in the first
and second section, I shall analyse the myths in the third section
and conclude the paper with a summary of the arguments.
Caste and Gender in Myths 121
I
Myth 1
At the origin there was nothing in the world. There was no life.
There was nothing except for one woman, AaDi ['origin']. She was
all alone, and she wanted a husband. So she made a sacrificial fire
(yagam) and started meditating, fasting and not opening her eyes.
Lord Vinayagar [Ganesha] came out of the fire, and called to her,
'What, mother?' AaDi replied, 'No, no, I don't want you. I want a
husband, not a son.' Vinayagar disappeared and she continued her
meditation. Lord Vishnu came out of the fire and said to her, 'What
do you want, younger sister?' AaDi said to him, 'No, I don't want
you. I want a husband, not an elder brother.' Vishnu disappeared.
She again began to meditate. Finally a handsome man emerged
from the fire. According to her wish, he married her. He was none
other than Iswaran [Siva]. The couple lived happily.
Mter some time four children were born to AaDi. The gods
were satisfied that everything was complete, except for the creation
of the castes. So they planned for it. According to their plan, the
four children, who had become adults, were made to cook beef
one day. The eldest son offered to do the cooking. While the meat
was boiling, one piece fell from the pot. The eldest son saw it fall on
the ground, and thought that it would bring a bad name to his
cooking. So, meaning well, he hid it under the heap of ash.
Immediately the others accused him of theft, and scolded him for
stealing a big piece of meat for himself. They shouted at him,
'Paraiyaa, maraiyaadi!' ['Paraiyan, do not hide (that)']. Hence the
name 'Paraiyan'. Eventually the elder brother was forced to live
separately, and he was called 'Paraiyan'. (Moffatt 1979: 120-121)
Myth 2
The origin and development of the world had been a slow and
tedious process. Each of the eighteen ages marks a major step in
this long evolution. In the Ananta age (the beginning) the whole
world was filled with water. There was a small snail over which Adi-
Jambava took life. Jambava did penance for 1,80,000 years at the
end of which a drop of sweat fell from his body. Out of this grew
Adi-Sakti, the embodiment of all cosmological force. When she came
of age, her sexual urge was irresistible and she began making
amorous advances to Jambava. But the latter thought it improper
122 N. SUDHAKAR RAO
to mate with his own child· and, to avoid the awkward situation,
transformed the Adi-Sakti into a couple of birds. Mter a spell of
connubial life the female of the species was impregnated but, in
the process, the male was absorbed and assimilated, leaving behind
one and only Adi-Sakti in the form of a duck.
She laid three eggs which she kept folded in her wings and
incubated for 1,80,000 years. At last they were hatched. Out of the
first egg came Brahma and of its shell the lower part became the
earth and the upper the sky. Vishnu was born of the second one
and the parts of this shell constituted the sun and the moon. Out of
the third emerged Siva. The upper half of the third shell became
the stars and lower half all the living things on earth. When Brahma,
Vishnu and Siva came of age Adi-Sakti wanted to have them as her
consorts. They protested that they were her own sons and hence
could not commit that abhorrent incest. But as she insisted, the
perplexed Trinity approached Jambava for advice. The latter
suggested they should pretend acceptance of her proposal and
secure from her, as a prior condition, the trident and the book of
miracles, thus depriving her of her enormous powers. They followed
Jambava's suggestion and, with the aid of the new vestments that
had accrued to them, transformed Adi-Sakti into ashes. Dividing it
into five parts, they severally resuscitated the ashes. Thus sprang up
the three consorts of the Trinity, namely, Saraswati, Lakshmi and
Parvati. The fourth one was Chandramadevi who became the wife
ofjambava. The fifth constituted Adi-Sakti herself, not in her former
force and might but in a diminutive form. She became the guardian
deity of this world, reigning in various forms. The descendants of
Brahma became Brahmins, the sons of Siva, Kamsali or smiths those
of Vishnu, Sudras. (Reddy 1952: 334-335)
Myth 3
In Kruthayugam (the first epoch of the Hindu classical four-fold
cycle of periods) there was nothing in the world except water. Adi-
Sakti took the form of a swan, and built a nest in the middle of
water and laid three eggs. She brooded for three months and later
found that one egg was empty. This was thrown up to become the
sky; another egg which had an undeveloped embryo was thrown on
water to become land. The last egg contained three compartments,
out of which came the Trinity-Brahma, Vishnu and Maheswara.
Adi-Sakti became a beautiful woman and wanted to marry any one

of these three gods, for there was no one other than these three.
She first approached Brahma and proposed to marry him, but he
refused saying he could not marry his own mother who was
responsible for his birth. Then she came to Vishnu who likewise
refused her proposal. Then she came to Ishwara to fulfill her sexual
desire. Ishwara agreed to marry but on the condition that she give
him the third eye she possessed. He knew that this was his best
opportunity to possess the powerful third eye, and she would not
mind parting with it for she desperately needed to fulfill her sexual
desire. Adi-Sakti agreed to the condition and gave the eye to Ishwara,
who fixed it in his forehead. He then opened the third eye and
Adi-Sakti was immediately reduced to ashes. The three gods divided
the ashes into three portions and mixed magic water with them.
From that came forth three beautiful ladies, Saraswati, Lakshmi and
Parvati, who were married to the three gods.
Myth 4
Adi-Sakti burst· open the earth and came out, but there was no
creature with whom she could do anything. She was overcome by
sexual desire but there was no male person to satisfy her. She then
fell into the sea in order to cool down her heat (of body and sexual
desire). She came out and started drying her hair by bringing it on
her face and beating it with a cloth. The bottu (vermilion spot) from
her forehead fell down, from which rose a beautiful lady who laid
three eggs. She brooded three months and on the last day, she
opened the first egg only to find it empty, and the second egg
contained an undeveloped embryo. She heard three voices in the
third, and when she broke open the egg she found, the Trinity.
Then the woman, Adi-Sakti, approached the three gods to marry
her, but Brahma and Vishnu refused to marry her. lshwara agreed
to the proposal but on a condition that she should give him the
space of three feet. Adi-Sakti agreed to do so. lshwara put his first
leg on the sky, second on the land but there was no more space for
the third foot. Then Adi-Sakti offered her head. No sooner did
Ishwara put his leg on her head than she turned into a heap of
ashes. The Trinity divided the ashes into three portions, from which
came three goddesses, whom they later-married.
124 N. SUDHAKAR RAO
Myth 5
Vishwamithra, a rishi (sage), who was known for his short-temper,

had a kamadhenu (sacred mystical cow which provided all varieties
of foods instantly whenever asked for) presented by gods as a gift.
Two of his sishyas (disciples/apprentices) used to take the cow out
everyday from the hermitage for grazing.
One day they desired to taste the milk of the cow. So, one of
them held the cow, and the other milked her. When they tasted
the milk, it was unimaginably delicious. Then, they thought that
since the milk were so tasty the meat of the cow would be extremely
delicious. So, after some days, when they took the cow out, they
killed her and cooked the meat. While one of them was cooking
the meat, the other went out for some work. The person, who was
cooking the meat, wanted to find out if the meat was properly
cooked. So he scooped out a piece and began tasting it. At that
juncture the second disciple arrived on the scene and finding him
eating the meat, said that he was a thief and hence inferior to him.
Because the cow failed to return home in the evening, the rishi
discovered through his divine power what had happened. He was
furious and drove the two disciples out of the hermitage, cursing
them that they would be menials for other people. The descendants
of these cursed men are called Mala and Madiga. The Mala claims
superiority over the Madiga, because the latter had 'stolen the sacred
cow's meat'. ·
II
A cursory reading of all these myths together indicates that the

myth-makers are attempting to comprehend the mystery of the
origin and the process through which the universe (which includes
celestial, immortal and mortal beings who are divided into castes)
came into existence. More explicitly they appear to construct the
origin of untouchable castes from Brahmins or high castes who had
fallen from their high positon because of their bad deeds or
stupidity. The bone of contention between Moffatt and Mosse, as
mentioned before, pertains to this external feature. But the latent
meanings of the myths become evident only when the myths of the
creation of the universe-which includes untouchable castes-are
more closely examined. This can be done by comparing and
conjoining other related myths. So, let me present the other myths
as well. One is the widely known myth of creation of castes enshrined

in the Rigveda and the other is the story of Gone Katam Reddy
preserved in the oral tradition of untouchable castes. The latter
myth is rendered during village rituals of Andhra Pradesh by an
untouchable caste person called Asadi. In brief the myth explains
why the village goddess, Peddamma or Maremma -a transformed
deity of Adi-Sakti or Parvati, the consort of Siva- is worshipped in
the village.
The Rigveda myth quoted by Klass (1980: 35-36) runs thus:
Myth 6
Thousand-headed Purusha, thousand-eyed, thousand-footed-he,
having pervaded the earth on all sides, still extends ten fingers
beyond it.
Purusha alone is all this-whatever has been and whatever is
going to be. Further, he is the lord of immortality and also what
grows on account of food.
Such is his greatness; greater, indeed, than this is Purusha. All
creatures but one quarter of him, his three quarters are the immortal
in heaven ...
When the gods performed the sacrifice with Purusha as the
oblation, then the spring was its clarified butter, the summer the
sacrificial fuel, and the autumn the oblation.
The sacrificial victim, namely, Purusha, born at the very
beginning, they sprinkled with sacred water upon the sacrificial
grass. With him as the oblation the gods performed the sacrifice,
and also the Sadhyas ... and the rishis...
From it horses were born and also those animals who have double
rows ... of teeth; cows were born from it, from it were born goats and
sheep.
When they divided Purusha, in how many portions did they
arrange him? What became of his mouth, what of his two arms?
What were his two thighs and his two feet called?
His mouth became the Brahman; his two arms were made into
the Rajanya; his two thighs the Vaishyas; from his two feet the Shudra
was born.
The moon was born from the mind, from the eye the sun was
born; from the mouth Indra and Agni, from the breath (prana) the
wind (vayu) was born.
126 N. SUDHAKAR RAO
From the navel was the atmosphere created, from the head the
heaven issued forth; from the two feet was born the earth and the
quarters (the cardinal directions) from the ear.
Thus, did they fashion the worlds .. (de Bary 1958:14-15)
Myth 7
Gone Katam Reddy belonged to a Reddy sub-caste, the Motati Kapu
and lived during the Thretha yuga (the third epoch of the Hindu
classical four fold cycle of period). In his family was born Adi-Sakti
(the implication is birth of a daughter). She told Katam Reddy that
she would bless him abundantly with all the riches in the world, if
he worshipped her. Initially he agreed to do so. She gave him jewels,
pearls, gold, silver, numerous cattle, sixty-four pairs of bullocks, and
everything else. She herself built overnight a strong fort with a width
of 23 feet, and a height of 23 feet with only seven stones. Katam
Reddy's son, Raghava Reddy, and daughter-in-law Rajamma, and
his grandson became ardent devotees of Adi-Sakti, whereas he
himself refused to worship her. He became very proud of his riches
and said that he would not worship a female; instead he became a
devotee of Siva. Rajamma advised her father-in-law to worship Adi-
Sakti, who blessed him so much, and it was ungrateful on his part
not to worship her, but Katam Reddy did not care for this advice.
One day she told him that she had a dream in which she herself,
her husband and her son went to the heaven in their mortal bodies
(which was considered to be a great boon) whereas Katam Reddy
and others had been to hell. For this Katam Reddy, felt very sorry
and wondered how this could happen. Meanwhile his son-in-law,
Vema Reddy, on a visit found that his father-in-law was very sad.
When he asked him for the reason of his sadness, Katam Reddy told
him that Rajamma and her family were going to heaven with mortal
bodies and the rest of them were going to hell. At this, Vema Reddy
replied that what Rajamma had said was all false. Then Katam Reddy
called on Rajamma and beat her with his hand for telling lies. In
response to this,· Rajamma did not get angry, but expressed her
sympathy that perhaps her father-in law's palms got hurt. She further
said that he could call on the Veda Brahmins and find out if what
she said was true, or not. Katam Reddy called Veda Brahmins and
asked whether what Rajamma has said was true, and the latter
affirmed and supported Rajamma. Then Rajamma told Katam
Reddy that Adi-Sakti and her agents were going to destroy all his
property, and misfortune was to befall on him shortly. Even then
Katam Reddy refused to worship Adi-Sakti. Soon everything began
to die, one by one. Also there were no rains. Disease struck the
village, and people began to die of small pox and other diseases.
The entire village was filled with sobs and cries, yet Katam Reddy
did not worship Adi-Sakti.
Except for the family of Katam Reddy, only a mother and her
young son remained in the village. Vultures and birds were hovering
and feeding on the carcasses of cattle and corpses. Katam Reddy's
other sons and son-in-law took all the corpses on the bullock cart
and dumped them outside the village. The village was stinking and
became uninhabitable. The surviving mother, giving a handful of
jewels, told her son to leave the village and go elsewhere, lest he
should also die. So the boy started his journey on a bullock cart, but
no sooner had he reached the village gate that an old woman (the
disguised Adi-Sakti) appeared. The boy was terrified and stood
motionless. The old woman asked him where he was going and
begged him to take her to the next village. The boy replied that
everybody had died in the village, and his mother had advised him
to leave and live elsewhere. He pitied the old woman and asked
her to sit on the bullock cart. As they were going, the old woman
asked the boy to do her a favour. She said that the greatest merit
was to remove thorns from the feet, to give water to thirsty people
and to delouse a person suffering from lice. She requested him to
delouse her, for which, she said, he would get heavenly merits. The
old woman looked very ugly but the boy pitied her. He stopped the
cart and started to delouse her. When he touched her hair and
parted it he was shocked with the sparks of one thousand eyes on
her scalp. The old woman asked him what happened and why was
he shocked. The boy replied, 'Grandmother, you look so ugly, but
I see your scalp full of eyes and the sparks from them shocked me.'
Then the old woman revealed to him that she was Adi-Sakti who
was punishing Gone Katam Reddy for being ungrateful to her. The
boy had luckily escaped death by being kind to her. She had, in
fact, wanted to test the boy. If he had failed she would have killed
him too because ·she did not like anyone escaping death in that
village.Though he had escaped death, his mother would die.
The situation in the village became so grim that even the water
in the wells was polluted. Katam Reddy was then afflicted with
128 N. SUDHAKAR RAO
diarrhea, and no medicine could cure him. He asked his son-in-law

to bring fresh water from the well. The latter went to the well and
found that the water contained puss and blood. Then Rajamma
went to the well, and when she dFew water, it was as good as coconut
water. Katam Reddy then requested his son-in-law to find a female
soothsayer who would reveal to him the reasons for the misfortunes
in the village and for his ill-health. Vema Reddy replied that though
almost everyone on the village had died, he would still search for
his father-in-law's satisfaction. So he went in search of a soothsayer
but found none. As he was returning home disappointed, he found
an old soothsayer woman (the disguised Adi-Sakti) near the well.
He was surprised to find her so near their house, for he had searched
without success all over the village. He called out to her using a very
derogatory term and asked her to come to his house. But she
refused, saying that unless he humbled himself and requested her
with appropriate reverence, she would not go. Vema Reddy got
angry and said, 'Erikala lanjaku intha pogara!' ( Oh! this soothsayer
prostitute is so proud). He then went home, but Katam Reddy
insisted that she should be brought home. So Vema Reddy went
back and requested her politely to come to Katam Reddy's home.
To this she replied that she would go only if a palanquin was sent
for her and if she was offered siri chapa (a mat made of reeds used
for sitting on the floor) -an honour reserved for high caste people.
He went back home and told Katam Reddy, who ordered the
palanquin to be sent to the soothsayer. After coming to his home
she was offered siri chapa, but Katam Reddy said very arrogantly and
indecently, 'Emi Erikala munda pilesthe antha pogara. Ni tho avasaram
vachindi le gadde chepu' (What, Erikala widow, you are so proud. Now
we have work with you. What to do? Tell me the future or give a
forecast or reasons for the misfortunes). For this the soothsayer said
that unless he talked to her properly she would not say anything.
Katam Reddy could do nothing but accept all her demands. Then
she took his palm to examine his hand. The moment she touched
him, he felt shock and his eyes were opened and began to tremble.
She asked him if he was prepared to taste her blow and die instantly.
At this, Katam Reddy instantly fell on her feet, admitted his wrongs
and sought forgiveness. Then Adi-Sakti revealed her real persona
and ordered him to worship her and receive her blessing. As long
as he worshipped her he would not lack anything.
III
In order to unravel the hidden messages, let us start with careful

examination of the myths 1 to 5 together and the Rigvedic myth. It
is clear that the untouchable caste myths appear as different versions
of a single myth. But the simultaneous comparison of these myths
with the Rigvedic myth reveals significant similarities which require
serious consideration. In both cases, first, the primeval force/power
or person brings out different elements of the universe. Second,
the elements of the universe are formed through the process of
transformation-sacred grass being transformed into horse,
different parts of Purusha into different varna, egg shell turning
into sky and earth, and Adi-Sakti being transformed into different
goddesses. Thirdly, in both, there is a divine basis or sanction for
caste categorisation. Owing to these similarities, it would not be
wrong to give historical precedence to the Rigvedic hymn over the
myths of the untouchable castes because the former is known to
have come from the oldest Hindu sacred text. It might, therefore,
be correct to assume that the untouchable caste myths are
transformations of the Rigvedic myth.
Once we credit the Rigvedic myth with being the primary
source, several questions follow. Who are the authors of the myths
of untouchable castes? Are these myths the constructions of the
high castes in order to justify subordination of untouchables? If one
believes that the Rigvedic myth justifies general Hindu social
categorisation, hierarchy and corresponding social inequality with
divine authority, it is not wrong to think that the myths of
untouchable castes function to sustain a similar objective and motive.
One may even ask, whether these are creations of untouchables in
order to carve out a place for themselves in the Hindu universe?
Are these part of constructions of subordination by the untouchables?
Perhaps, one way to answer these questions is to look at the way
these myths have been transformed from the original or Rigvedic
myth. To understand the nuances of transformation, the differences
between the Rigvedic myth and myths of the untouchable castes
need to be examined.
While the Rigvedic myth fixes the origin of castes in Purusha,
the male primeval being, the untouchable castes' myths place female
primeval power Adi-Sakti at the centre of creation. There is non-
sexual origin of beings in the former, but in the latter the sexual
relationship is the means of human reproduction. Incest,
130 N. SUDHAKAR RAO
uncontrolled sexuality and disorder as opposed to controlled

sexuality and order are the concern of the untouchable caste myths.
These are totally absent in the Rigvedic myth. While the trinity of
male gods and their consorts came into existence from the female
primeval power, the gods and rishis have no relationship with Purusha
except Indra who originated from the mouth of Purusha. The
untouchable caste myths have replaced the all-powerful male being
of the beginning, Purusha, by an all-powerful female being of the
beginning, Adi-Sakti. Sexuality takes a leading role wherein the
female assumes a dominant position, though she is ultimately
overpowered by male power. The transformation that occurs in the
sacrificial elements of the Rigvedic myth has been transposed to
egg shells in the untouchable caste myths. While varnas are the
transformed body parts of Purusha in the Rigvedic myth, gods and
goddesses are transformed energy derived from sacrifice or
meditation or power of primeval female power in untouchable caste
myths. Different castes in the untouchable caste myths enjoy mystical
parentage of gods and goddesses which is absent in case of the
Rigvedic myth. Finally, it can be said that the untouchable caste
myths have incorporated several social elements in the process of
their transformation from the Rigvedic myth. These elements in
the myths of untouchable castes belong to the human world rather
than the divine world. These include beef-eating, opposition
between high castes and untouchable castes, conflict between male
and female sexes, fulfillment of sexual urge and so on. Thus, these
myths are closely associated with the social order or human society.
In other words, they reflect the social universe along with certain
perplexing and unsolved social problems and issues. In them, we
shall find the complexity of Hindu society which is saddled with
gender inequalit}r, caste hierarchy, domination and exploitation by
the high castes, subordination of untouchable castes and the like.
I have summarized the entire analysis of the myths in the matrix
in terms of constituent elements, units of oppositions, parallels,
equations, derivations and transformations (See Appendix). A more
detailed analysis can certainly throw light on how each of the myths
has appropriated and transformed certain elements of the Rigvedic
myth, but it is not undertaken here for want of space. However, it
must be said that these myths are similar in their structures with a
couple of episodes which are in a syntegmatic relati~m. They are in
a paradigmatic association with each other. It can be noted from
the matrix that the opposing elements are firstly concerned with
male and female in relation to either forbidden incest or socially

approved sexual union. Secondly, there is opposition between castes,
between teacher and taught and between good and bad deeds. In
elements of parallels and equals, the following are important: sibling
equality; equation between sweat, incest, and untouchable; son equal
to male; mother equal to female; cow equal to Brahmin and embryo
equal to creation. The transformations deal with the refraction of
powerful Adi-Sakti into less powerful goddesses, the exclusion of a
brother who had stolen meat and pupils who killed the cow and
became untouchables, and the turning of egg shells into sky, land,
stars and so on~ The elements such as sacrifice, meditation, snail,
birds, swan and cow mediate between the abode of divine beings
and humans, land and water, land and sky, and rishi and his pupils.
The oppositions mentioned above, which are mainly based on
differences, inhere power relations, and in this case gender appears
to be a primary concern. Therefore, it is necessary to understand
the power relations between sexes. The feminine power, in these
myths is represented in two ways: as a human reproductive agent
and as a counter power to the male. As a reproductive agent, Adi-
Sakti brings humans into this world, and as a counter power to the
male, it is unruly and disorganised. Gender is a substantial issue of
controversy in Hindu society as noted by several scholars, notably
Bennett (1983), Daniel (1980), Reynolds (1980) and Wadley (1977,
1980). Briefly, we shall recall the gender issue. The axiom which
says 'the land is blessed where woman is worshipped' contradicts
the inferior social status assigned to a Hindu woman. Further, within
this inferior status there is a hierarchy where the status of a married
woman is superior to that of a widow. Again, a mother or mother-
in-law's status is higher than that of a married young woman. But
there is no status gradation in case of men. While the status of a
woman changes after marriage, the status of a man does not change.
A divorced or widowed man can remarry or can be polygamous, but
a widow cannot remarry and the question of polyandry does not
arise (apart from a few exceptions). A divorced woman is always
looked down upon and her remarriage raises eyebrows. Virginity is
highly valued only in the case of a woman but not in that of a man.
A woman's extra-marital relations are intolerable and punishable,
but in case of a man they are tolerated. These value-loaded
differences between a man and a woman's status and sexuality put
woman in a disadvantageous and defenseless position.
The myths of untouchable castes, in view of the above, raise the
132 N. SUDHAKAR RAO
issue of gender. They portray woman, as represented by Adi-Sakti,

as very powerful and possessing an uncontrollable sex drive. The
myth makers convey the message that the sexuality of woman
endangers the order of society, and should therefore, be brought
under control. The myths seem to suggest that woman is morally
weak or stupid, so much so that great power has been given up for
frivolous gains. But the male is depicted as having stronger will-
power to reject immoral sexual advances and as being intelligent
enough to benefit from the stupidity of the female. In these myths,
while woman is identified with social disorder, man is identified
with social order. Thus, the myths reflect the gender bias of Hindu
society in a symbolic form. But it must be mentioned here that there
is a reversal of the woman's status. Woman, though of an inferior
status in real life, has been elevated in these myths to the position
of a powerful being who is the creative force of the entire universe.
What necessitated such a change?
The elevation of woman's social status to that of a deity, is rooted
in Adi-Sakti, the primeval power of creating the universe. It signifies
the importance that woman has in Hindu society. Though men
and women participate equally in several activities, it is only women
who bring forth children and help in the continuation of human-
kind. Woman, who is the symbol offertility, is deified and worshipped
(Bennett 1983, Rao 1996a) but not man. Her presence is more
important because the perpetuation of patrilineal and patriarchal
society depends on the fertility of woman. A lineage ceases to exist
forever if women in the lineage fail to produce a male child. But
ironically, such a woman is relegated to a secondary status. This,
inferior status assigned to woman is the fundamental question raised
in the myth of Katam Reddy. The reason for conflict between Adi-
Sakti and Katam Reddy is the latter's ingratitude and recalcitrant
behaviour towards Adi-Sakti. Katam Reddy refused to bow down
and worship Adi-Sakti just because she was a female. When all
instructions and requests failed, Adi-Sakti resorted to coercive action
against the arrogant Katam Reddy and his son-in-law in order to
humble them and make them accept her superiority. At a deeper
level it recognises the importance of female reproductive power
and the belief that if there is no regeneration of species and
reproductive activity by females, there will be barrenness and
desolation. Thus, the myths of untouchable castes prominently
reflect the gender issue of the entire Hindu society regardless of
caste.
Similar to the gender issue, is the secondary concern of the

myths with caste inequality. The symbolic representations in the
myths indicate similarities between Adi-Sakti and the untouchables
which may be represented as in the following:
All powerful Adi-Sakti + Lust->Less Powerful Goddess->
Mortal Humans/ Castes
Children of Siva = Pupils of Rishi + cheating/killing cow->
untouchable castes
Adi-Jambava x Chandramadevi (degraded form of Adi-
Sakti-> untouchable caste/
Therefore owerful Goddess/High Castes + Lust/Misdeeds
->Subdued/Less Powerful goddess/untouchables
The myths seem to suggest that like Adi-Sakti, who lost her power
and form due to an uncontrollable sexual urge, the untouchables
who were of divine origin or high ranking Brahmins, lost their status
due to their misdeeds. However, they argue that their importance
in society cannot be undermined. The untouchables undertake
menial jobs such as scavenging, grave-digging or assisting at funerals,
and indulge in behavioural patterns detested by higher castes. The
high castes, require such services of untouchable castes, who also
constitute the body of farm servants and the main labour force. At
the same time, the latter also have to associate themselves with the
high castes for earning their living. The interdependence is such
that the untouchables cannot be totally excluded from the affairs
of the high castes. For example, no village-level ritual will be
complete without the participation of untouchables. In spite of their
importance in village life, the untouchables have been relegated to
an inferior status. Therefore, the issue of caste inequality along with
gender inequality has been addressed by the untouchable castes
through these myths.
Finally, the affective relationships that they evoke are also
important for understanding these myths. We shall now examine
how these relationships act as means through which women and
untouchables construct their subordination. In the case of woman,
as already stated, Adi-Sakti represents woman per se. The attribute
of power to Adi-Sakti refers to fecundity of woman in which she
takes pride. Therefore, the worship of Adi-Sakti in the form of village
goddesses-who may be Peddamma or Maremma-is in fact a
glorification of woman. The status of feminine power is elevated by
way of worshipping a fierce, unmarried female deity though it is
134 N. SUDHAKAR RAO
temporal and the entire ritual contains elements of an anti-structure

( cf. Turner 1969) which swings back to the structure of male
domination. Ideologically the implication is that of honouring all
women because of the metonymic association with the female deity.
Unruly feminine power is subdued in these myths in order to
indicate the idea of bringing unruly sexual power under control
through marriage. It is very much present in Hindu culture (cf.
Babb 1975: ll8, 230-1) and one such ritual is recorded by Moffatt
(1979: 270-79). A married woman attains the superior status of
motherhood. Therefore, a woman's subjugation through marriage
provides a new and higher status. A more powerful deity becomes a
less powerful goddess-a consort of the male deity worshipped by
all. Through these myths women construct their subordination by
means of an elevation of status which recognizes their capacity to
reproduce the human species. They are symbols of the regeneration
of plant and animal life on which survival of human society depends.
The untouchable castes construct their subordination out of
the intrinsic relationship that they establish between themselves and
the deity Adi-Sakti. Since both untouchables and Adi-Sakti are
subjected to the domination of superiors, the untouchables take
pride in the elevated status of feminine power, Adi-Sakti. In one of
their myths, they claim themselves as ardent and sincere devotees
of Adi-Sakti, unlike Katam Reddy who represents a dominant higher
caste (Rao 1998: 209-10). They narrate the myths of Adi-Sakti or
the village goddesses and their knowledge of the lore of Adi-Sakti
provides them with a privileged status in the village rituals wherein
the goddess is propitiated by the high castes. Their participation in
the village ritual is inevitable and viewed by them as a divinely
established norm. The myths are, therefore, necessary for asserting
their position in society, despite the low status assigned to them by
higher castes.
IV
In conclusion, it may be said that the interpretation of these myths

simply in terms of the acceptance or rejection of an ascribed status
by the untouchables is very superficial. Whether an individual
accepts or rejects the low status assigned to him depends on the
context. The precarious social and economic conditions and the
dominant position of the high castes under which the untouchables
live, normally prompt them to reconcile with their lowly status. They
tend to accept this lower position because they are not in a position
to confront the landlords' inferences for fear of antagonizing them.
( c.f. Manickam 1982; Raj 1987). They may even accept the given
status due to the hegemonic influence of the powerful high castes
(see Lorenzen 1988) and are, moreover, unable to organise them-
selves to protest against the domination of high castes. If, and when,
such protests do arise, they are unorganised and individual. (cf.
Oommen 1984, 1991; Mosse 1994; Rao 1996a) Similarly, it can be
argued that the Hindu woman's responses are ambivalent; she can
either accept or reject her inferior status. A woman enjoys a higher
position as a mother but occupies an inferior position as a wife.
Therefore, she can neither claim absolute superior position nor
accept an inferior position to mah.
The myths serve as mediating agents in establishing certain
relationships between and within social reality and abstract ideas.
This can be explained with the concepts of sign and symbol that
Leach explicates. While a sign has intrinsic prior relationship with
the object and conveys information when it is combined with other
signs or symbols, a symbol has no intrinsic prior relationship and it
asserts arbitrary similarity with the object. Sign relationships are
metonymic, while symbol relationships are metaphoric (Leach 1976:
13-14). In this perspective, humans, gods, actions, and several others
take either sign or symbolic value. The interpreters of the myth
decipher them from their own perspective and vantage point.
Therefore, the myths provide a metonymic relationship between
gods and high castes, and the same between untouchables and
disorder. Adi-Sakti and women are provided with the same
metonymic relationship. The creation of castes in the myths is a
symbolic representation of the social universe. Similarly the
behaviour of Adi-Sakti represents gender relationship and conflict.
By transposing the social reality through signs and symbols, the myths
mediate between abstract ideas and social reality. They raise social
issues to an abstract level and bring abstract ideas in.to social reality.
Interdependence of men and women is axiomatic in any human
society, but the Hindu ideology bestows a higher position on males
than on females, and using their privileged position men dominate
women in several ways. Thus, there is a conceptual problem of
integrating male and female; the superior male has to concede to
the significant role played seemingly by the inferior female in
reproduction. Here myths mediate between the reality of culturally
constructed reproduction and hierarchical gender relations. The
136 N. SUDHAKAR RAO
myths grant greater power to the female, but this power is shown as
destructive. Uncontrollable feminine power is brought under
control by male deities for apparent constructive use. But the myths
fail to grant absolute power to the male because superior males
may control anything but not reproduction which is carried out
only by female. Thus, the myths of the untouchable castes are
primarily concerned with contradictions of gender in Hindu society.
The caste inequality very subtly goes along gender inequality as a
secondary element in consonance with the feminine power in its
degradation.
Since the authors of myths are anonymous, it is difficult to
support the claim made by Moffatt and Mosse. It might well be
possible that their authors belong to the higher castes. The reasons
for such an assumption is that these myths are developed on the
themes found in the sanskritic texts which were in fact not accessible
to untouchable castes because of their illiteracy and the customary
proscription on their hearing or reading them. As Needham points
out, the interpretation of myths is difficult because of the freedom
exercised by myth-makers as well as myth-interpreters (Debanath
1989: 334). Therefore, the meaning of myth always remains
enigmatic and elusive.
APPENDIX
Matrix of Myth Analysis
Theme Contents Onoositions Parallels and Equals Transformations Mediation

Myth 1.
Origin of universe Adi children = brothers = fire/sacrifice/meditation -+ frre/sacrifice/meditation - earth
fire equal gods Hheaven
sacrifice
meditation fire = sacrifice =
Lord Vinayagar meditation
Lord Vishnu
Ishwaran
parental incest parent x child
Origin of untouchable children

incest x re!!ulated sex
gods x human children = brothers children I bad deed-+
~
~
castes cooking parents x children untouchable castes
stealing meat high castes x untouchable §
castes brothers = equality -+ ~
~
inequality
bad deed -+ expulsion

Myth2. water male x female penance - earth H heaven
Origin of universe snail Adi-Jambava x Adi-Sakti snail - land H water
;;;-
~
Adi-Jambava sweat =dirt=disorder=
sweat Adi-Sakti
Adi-Sakti
parental incest
~
I
birds Adi-Sakti -+ 2 birds -+ I bird - sky Hland I
eggs bird
earth egg shell -+ earth
sky -+sky I
sun -+ sun
moon -+moon
stars sage x gods -+stars
living beings
trident trident+ book of miracles life -+Joss of power -+ 1-'
(.)0
book of miracles Brahma x Saraswati - - =po~er _ ~- _ _ _ ashes _ _ _ _ ~-
-.J
Brahma Vishnu x Lakshmi ......
Vishnu Siva x Parvati power of Siva t.JO
Siva .j. 00
ashes ashes -+life
Saraswati
Lakshmi Adi-Sakti .... ashes ....
Parvati goddesses
Adi-Sakti
all powerful female power
-+ less powerful female
deity
Untouchable castes marriage father x daughter gods -+ high castes
Brahmin mother x sons
Kamsali sage -+ untouchables
Sudra
untouchables high castes x untouchable
castes
sweat =Adi-Sakti- incest=
untouchable
:z:
rn
Myth3. c:
I
Origin of universe Adi-Sakti mother mother = female swan - water H land
swan
eggs
sky egg shell .... sky
~
land -+land
Brahma sons sons= male
Vishnu
Maheswara
sexual urge male x female I
incest mother x sons
third eye third = powerful Adi
heap of ashes with out third eyes =
Saraswati Brahma x Saraswati powerless Adi power of Siva
Lakshmi Vishnu x Lakshmi .j.
Parvati Siva x Parvati powerful Adi > male gods ashes -+life
powerless Adi < male Adi-Sakti -+ ashes -+

gods goddesses
all powerful female power

-+ less powerful female
de it)'_
Myth4.
Origin of universe Adi-Sakti mother mother = female
lady male x female
eggs
space
undeveloped embryo undeveloped embryo =
mature embryo incomplete universe
Brahma sons mature embryo =
Vishnu complete universe
Maheswara
sexual urge
Incest
mother x sons = incest sons= male Adi-Sakti - ashes -
goddesses ~
~
space of three feet
sky all powerful female power §
land - less powerful female ~
~
head of Adi-Sakti male deity
heap of ashes
Saraswati
Lakshmi
Parvati ~-
MythS.
~
!
Origin of untouchable rishi rishi x apprentice cow = Brahmin apprentices Adi- - cow - rishi H apprentices
castes cow
taking care taking care x killing
untouchable
~
apprentices
milk
meat
cooking
stealing Brahmin x untouchable
curse untouchable = Brahmin - Untouchable
untouchable - -
M~a_l{_M~di~ ___ Mala/Ma<liga_ _ _ _ L______ _ _ _
-
......
~
1".0
140 N. SUDHAKAR RAO
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Socio-Cultural Context of Modernisation and

Development: Japan and India.*
ARUNODAY BAJPAI
Agra College
Agra
There is a general consensus amongst the scholars of social sciences

that the socio-cultural context plays an important role in the process
of development and modernisation. But the difficulty arises when they
ponder as to what constitutes the ideal socio-cultural context conducive
to the development process. The element of universalism inherent in
the western model of development and modernisation fails to explain
the traditional way in which modernisation was achieved in Japan. It
also perpetuates the false notion that the traditional socio-cultural
context obstructs the process of development in India. In fact, what
prevails in present day India is not a traditional cultural pattern but a
superimposed version of alien cultural traits, which is neither traditional
nor modern. First, with the establishment of Muslim domination and
second, under the onslaught of British imperialism the creative and
regenerative elements of India's ancient traditional culture gradually
receded to the background. Therefore, it is erroneous to compare
the traditional cultural context ofJapan with that oflndia, as traditional
cultural spirit in India is no longer guiding the economic activities
and behaviour of people.
It was Max Weber who, as a reaction to Karl Marx's economic deter-
minism, tried to analyse, with theoretical insight, the relationship
between cultural elements and economic growth. In his major work,
The Protestant Ethic and Spirit of Capitalism, Weber explained the role of
Protestant values in the growth of western capitalism. According to
Weber, many values and orientations of Protestant religion such as
pragmatism, work as a virtue, concept of calling, asceticism and spirit
of learning and inquiry led to the emergence of economic behaviour
among people that was conducive to the growth of capitalism. 1 By citing
examples from India and China, Weber supported the view that similar
elements conducive to economic growth may be found in other
religions and cultures.
*This article was written during the second spell of Associateship at the Indian Institute
of Advanced Study, Shimla.
144 ARUNODAY BAfPAI
The present day paradigms of modernisation and development,

propounded by the western scholars in the 1950's are extensions of
the Weberian argument. But, unlike the Weberian model, they
conclude that there is one universal cultural pattern, prevailing in
western societies, which is conducive to economic growth in all
societies. According to Henry Bernstien, development denotes the
achievement of social progress by transforming conditions of under-
development i.e. low production and poverty in Third world countries.
The developed countries are termed as modern and underdeveloped
countries as traditional. Modernisation theories view development as
a process of diffusion, adoption and adaptation from a benign
environment in western countries and explain underdevelopment in
terms of tradition prevailing in poor countries. 2 The core values of
these approaches are primarily derived from the development
experience of European countries beginning from the post-
Renaissance period. The individual is viewed as a rational being: one
who uses his rationality to achieve material prosperity. A capitalist path
of growth inspired by possessive individualism is viewed as the destiny
of human civilisation. Inspired by the scientific spirit of a behavioural
revolution in social sciences, these approaches 'renewed' the
dwindling faith in social engineering. They tried to universalise the
western development experience at the global level. For them, the
history of Europe was the history of mankind. These ethnocentric
paradigms explained the stagnation in developing countries in terms
of their traditional culture and archaic social structure. At the same
time, however, they fail to take into account the impact of these factors
while prescribing the direction of the modernisation process in
developing countries.
The fall of communist regimes in Soviet Russia and eastern Europe
seems to have encouraged the notion of universality of the western
path of development, as there is a renewed effort to illustrate the
virtues of capitalism and the free market. Alex Hadenius, on the basis
of his empirical study of 132 developing countries 'discovered' that a
capitalist path of development would lead to economic efficiency, a
reduction of the gap between rich and poor, higher living standards
for larger groups and a general economic and social modernisation.
What is more, he suggests that it would reduce the level of social conflict
and create conditions for harmony in political life. 3 But what really
happened in the developing countries? As the dynamics of modern-
isation and development gradually unfolded with the appearance of
modern ideas and institutions, there appeared contradictions, conflicts
and breakdowns in different aspects of individual and social life.
Socio-Cultural Context of Modernisation and Development 145
By the beginning of the 1970's, voices of disenchantment and

discontent surfaced from various quarters. Expectedly, the reaction
has come from scholars of the third world. This is now gradually crystal-
lising into a search for alternative models of development and modern-
isation. 4 These scholars agree that models and theories derived from
European developmental experience cannot, and should not, be
applied uncritically because socio-cultural contexts and development
problems are different in Third world countries. The sequences of,
and interlinkages between, various components of development are
ambiguous. Modernisation is presented as an end product of a process
on the assumption that what western countries have achieved in the
last three hundred years, would be achieved by developing countries
in a few years. However, this genre of criticism is directed less against
the core values of modernisation (i.e. its view of individual and society),
and more against the suitability of the concept itself.
Even before the effective onslaught of modernisation, leaders of
the Third world like Mahatma Gandhi and Mao-tse-Tung warned
against its evil impacts on traditional societies. Mahatma Gandhi decried
materialistic individualism, and suggested Indian solutions for Indian
problems. Mao-tse-Tung underplayed the universal appeal of Marxism
and claimed proudly that since Russian history has produced Russian
communism, Chinese history would produce Chinese communism.
He advocated, and effectively utilised, the strength of traditional
Chinese values-selflessness, asceticism, concern for collective welfare
rather than material incentives-in the process of modernisation of
China. 5 This kind of appeal to, and successful utilisation of, traditional
values and questioned the fundamentals of the western concept of
modernisation.
The champions of liberalism and capitalism may argue that
modernisation in China is now being pursued at the cost of democracy
and human rights. Let us see, how western countries have initiated
their own modernisation process? The modernisation of western society
is a post-Renaissance phenomena. The Renaissance redefined the goal
of man from that of 'salvation' to material prosperity , which was to be
realised with the help of human reason. The reason which moderated
the relationship between individual and society, became the instrument
of self-interest. But on the social plane, the rising middle class found
the feudal structure to be an obstacle to its growth. This obstacle was
removed with the help of absolute monarchical states, which were
anything but democratic. Distributive equality and social justice were
sacrificed at the altar of the economic prosperity of the few. 6 As wealth
accumulated in a few hands, the problem of its security also increased.
146 ARUNODAY BAJPAI
This gave rise to the central idea of liberal democracy incorporating

the sanctity of individual property rights. A.D. Lindsay rightly remarks,
'Capitalism first supported the 17th century totalitarian state, then
revolted against it. ...When he (capitalist) praised individualism and
freedom of enterprise, he was thinking of freedom of himself and his
kind ... ' 7
Thus, democracy and individualism did not precede but followed
the development process in European countries. If it is so, why should
one criticise China when it seeks to solve its developmental problems
in terms of its own constraints and tradition? The experience of
development can not be universal but has to be context specific. This
brings home the point that the socio-cultural context should be fully
appreciated in determining the goal, direction and strategy of
development. This is the way in which Japan has succeeded in
modernising herself.
japan: Modernisation through Tradition
The paradigms of modernisation and development have viewed

'Modern' and 'Traditional' as two dichotomous categories-one
replacing the other and ignoring the fact that they are continuous
processes: each compromising and adjusting with the other. Tradition
should not be taken simply as something which existed in olden days
but something which has been existing for a long period and continues
to define the present socio-cultural context. The example of Japan
demonstrates that its antiquity is not its weakness or backwardness,
but its strength and maturity.
The Japanese way of modernisation has baffled western theorists.
A leading American expert on Japanese society, R.P. Dare, finds the
studyofmodemJapan an increasingly 'whodunit' exercise. Injapanese
industrialisation, he is looking for lessons as to how the trick might be
repeated elsewhere. 8 American scholars, under the auspices of the
Association of Asian Studies, USA, have produced six volumes between
1967-71 on different aspects ofJapanese modemisation. 9 The general
tone of these studies illustrates two points. First, the focus seems to
have shifted from the question of how Japan developed economically
to the question: what is the impact of industrial progress on the politics
and society of Japan? The shift is a device to escape from the
inconvenience caused in answering the first question. Second, the
dissimilarities inherent in the process of development in Japan and
the west are glossed over and the formal similarities and extent of
western influence are exaggerated. Now they consider Japan to be a
Socio-Cultural Context of Modernisation and Development 14 7
'western' country rather than an Asian society.

This is the view held by most western scholars even now. But, if
one understands the role of traditional socio-cultural patterns in
Japanese development, the western view appears far from true. Japan
is an ancient society and throughout her social evolution, she has
experienced continuity and change alike without any serious
disruption from the past. She has successively transited through tribal,
monarchical, feudal and democratic political orders. Monarchy was
introduced in Japan in AD 604 on the pattern of the Confucian
monarchy of China with Confucian principles like centralised
administration, harmony, subordination of inferiors to superiors,
diligence and honesty and the tradition of public service. These
principles and values have gradually permeated into the culture and
society of Japan. 10 With the publication of two politico-religious
documents, 'Kojiki' (Record of Ancient Kings) and 'Nihongt(Record of
Japan) in AD 712 by the royal court, the monarchy received divine
trappings which lasted till the defeat ofJapan in World War II followed
by Allied occupation in 1945. But the centralised monarchy of Chinese
origin went against the native tradition of clan privileges and local
autonomy, which asserted themselves in the lOth century and led to
the growth of feudalism. The Fujiwara clan managed to monopolise
the royal court and by 1192 it emerged as the real ruling clan ofJapan.
The king became a nominal head. During the Fujiwara monopoly,
which lasted till the Meiji restoration in 1868, the feudal-military class
(samuraz) dominated politics and administration down to the lowest
level.
The Meiji restoration of1868, brought about by the threat of foreign
powers, eliminated feudal institutions and restored the monarchy to
power of its past glory and centralised administration. The Meiji rule
from 1868 to 1945 witnessed three dominant but complex tendencies
which, though apparently being contradictory to each other, did not
negate but instead reinforced each other. The first tendency was that
for the second time in her history (first being Confucian influence
from China), Japan came under the influence of alien western ideas,
institutions, industrial processes and technology. The difference
between the two external encounters was that the latter was in
contradiction (as modernisation theory would view it) to the Japanese
socio-cultural tradition. The second tendency was the revival and
reinforcement of Japanese nationalism, cultural values and tradition
with increased vigour. The third tendency was the beginning of the
process of development and modernisation which made Japan a
modern nation within a period of hundred years. Our purpose is to
148 ARUNODAY BAJPAI
understand the impact of western influence on the Japanese socio-

cultural context. It is precisely here that traditional societies, including
India, have to learn from Japanese experience.
The Japanese socio-cultural context consists of social institutions
and practices and their underlying values. We begin with Japanese
religion which is the result of a historical assimilation of Shinto,
Confucian and Buddhist religious traditions. Shinto is a polytheistic
religious tradition, which literally means the 'way of Kami' or God.
Confucianism was introduced inJapan from China in the 6th century
and its fundamental values like loyalty, duty, filial piety and harmony
were regenerated by the Imperial Rescript of Education, 1890-the
new education system of Japan introduced by Meiji rulers. Buddhism
was also introduced in Japan through China in the 7th century, and
has been so closely integrated with native religious tradition that in
every house, even today, Lord Buddha is worshipped along with Shinto
deities.
Religious unity along with linguistic homogeneity has enabled the
Japanese people to develop a sense of identity, patriotism and
nationalism. Japanese nationalism, primarily directed against the
western powers, is also manifested in the form of economic patriotism.
A reading of the prospectus of the first Japanese business company
'Maruya', written by Fukuzawa, the prominent economic thinker of
the 19th century, reveals that business and trade was not considered
merely an economic activity but a patriotic duty in order to achieve
the goal of an independent and prosperous Japan.u This duty and
patriotism proved crucial in achieving the goals and formulating a
coherent strategy of development. Loyalty to the monarch as a symbol
of the nation, even at the cost of individual self-interest, was further
strengthened during the Meiji period. M.E. Berry observes, 'Meiji
leaders focused on the creation and projection of a national
government ... and much of this labour was cult~ral in emphasis.' 12
The Japanese view of life can be explained by two words-' Makato
no Kororo' and 'Magokaro'. These translate respectively as 'sincerity'
and 'uprightness' or 'purity of heart'. Along with filial piety and
faithfulness, it generates an attitude of doing one's work with sincerity
and faithfulness, which is, no doubt, the most essential pre-requisite
for progress and development. The notion of 'yo', meaning human
life, denotes an individual's integration with society-vertically with
ancestors and horizontally with other individuals and groups. This
emphasises the primacy of social interest over individual self-interest.
Compare this view of individual and society with that of the European
view of self-seeking modern man. Again, the concept of 'Naka-ima'
(middle present) gives primacy to the present stage of life rather than
the past and the future. The idea of sin is conspicuously absent in
Japanese religion. 13 These elements of religion forge national solidarity
and promote the ethic of hard work and sincerity.
The institution of 'i.e', or family, plays a very important role in an
individual's life. The family is characterised by filial piety, cohesion,
respect for elders and the subordination of individual members to
the welfare of the family. The system of primogeniture in rural families
prevents the division of family land to uneconomical size. But, more
important is the extension of this familism to secondary groups-school,
workplace, factory or business organisations and finally to the nation.
The group consciousness or 'kaisha' generated by familism persists
in the form of group identities which are termed 'uchi', that is a
colloquial form of 'i.e' or family. This group consciousness, permeating
industrial and business organisations, facilitated the availability of a
committed and hardworking workforce. Chie Nikane comments, 'The
characteristics of Japanese enterprise as a social group are, first, that
the group is itself family-like and, second, that it pervades even the
private lives of its employees, for each family joins extensively in the
enterprise. These characteristics have been cautiously and consistently
encouraged by managers and administrators from the Meiji period. ' 14
Not only in Japan but also in China, the strong Confucian emphasis
on familism was the primary motivation behind economic growth and
development. The industrialisation of Japan through traditional
familism disapproved the western argument that strong family
obligation and modern economic activity cannot go together. Robert
Bellah terms it 'bourgeois Confucianism' and for S.L. Wong it is
'entrepreneurial familism' 15 ln fact, it is the Asian counterpart of what
Max Weber called the 'Protestant ethic' in Europe.
One of the many spin-off effects of familism has been the remark-
able level of harmony and co-operation between workers and
industrialists in Japan, which is quite different from the trade unionism
of the west or from Marxist 'class consciousness'. In Japan, trade unions
are organised on the basis of individual industrial concerns, and
employers and employees sort out their problems in a spirit of mutual
faith and understanding. Moreover, the workforce remains stable and
worker turnover is negligible due to a strong sense of loyalty. The
Japanese style of industrial management is becoming a world-wide
phenomena. 17
T. Fukutake, in his survey of Hitachi Ltd.-one of the pioneers in
the field of industrialisation-notes that within Hitachi the familistic
attitude that the company is one big family, is quite strong. If workers
150 ARUNODAY BA,JPAI
labour hard for the company, the latter in turn takes care of their
welfare. This kind of co-<>peration and familism is seen in every group
activity. In village communities or burakus, irrigation work and other
community work is done collectively. Even now, each family has to
contribute the labour of one person towards community work. 17
Japanese class structure is unique in the sense that the producing
class (peasants and industrialists) are placed above merchants and
businessmen in the social hierarchy. This encourages the development
of entrepreneurial activities. Furthermore, the Japanese are by nature
hardworking people and their leisure activities are rather restricted.
Their attitude towards leisure is-'work hard and enjoy your leisure
when it cannot be helped' .18 There are only eleven public holidays in
Japan.
Ichiro Nakayama finds three factors crucial in Japanese
industrialisation which were produced by the very nature of traditional
s~ciety. First, the value of thrift and austerity encouraged a high rate
of saving and ensured the much needed supply of capital; second,
familism and self-discipline provided a cheap and committed labour
force; and third, the traditional nature of society ensured the peaceful
co-existence of big modern industry alongside traditional, small
enterprises--each serving the needs of the other. 19
But, the moot question is, how Japanese tradition encountered
western ideas and institutions from the 19th century onwards? The
answer lies in the Japanese quality of innovation and adaptation which,
I think, is the most modern trait of their cultural tradition. Theodore
McNelly lists twelve characteristics which are present in, and nine traits
which are absent in Japanese culture. Accordingly, it is characterised
by the presence of an ability to adapt borrowed institutions to local
conditions and the absence of political and economic individualism
and the cult of material wellbeing. 20 In the field oftechnology,Japanese
innovation followed two paths-improving an indigenous system or
modifying a foreign device to suit native conditions. Besides industry,
the ability of innovation and experimentation can be seen also in the
agricultural sector: in the practice of using new seeds, new fertilisers
and new weeding methods. 21 The unique mode was to adopt alien
forms and introduce into them a Japanese spirit. How the Japanese
faced the paradox of modernisation amidst the traditional social
environment is best summed up by Masao Maruyan: 'There was but
one way to escape from this paradox: adopt only western industry,
technology and armaments-the material civilisation of the west-
and :restrict the various undesirable political influences such as
Christianity and liberal democracy. This solution was "differential
usages" classically expressed by Mashimoto Sanai (acquire material arts

from others, retain righteousness, sympathy and filial piety as our own)
and by Shakuna Shozan. (Eastern morality-Western technology)' .22
India: Modernisation Beyond Tradition
The foregoing discussion of Japan's modernisation suggests three

points. First, the universal application appeal of the modernisation
paradigm lacks validity. There are other ways of modernisation and
development than the western way. Second, individualism and
capitalistic democracy do not seem to be the pre-requisites of
development; rather they may be the product of economic
development. Japan is economically developed but individualism is
nearly absent and democracy is yet to take roost. Third, the socio-
cultural context imparts distinct characteristics to the development
process. The conceptual tendencies of post-modernism also support
this suggestion. The socio-cultural context and development process
display three patterns of interaction: reinforcing each other, going
parallel with each other in different arenas, and contradicting each
other. The third pattern undermines the development process and
leads to tensions and conflict between individuals, between groups
and between individual and society.
India falls in the third category. There are two popular notions
about the development experience in India. First, that traditional social
institutions and structures like caste, religion family and cultural values
resist modernisation and development. Second, that the process of
modernisation and development is eroding our traditional social
structures and social values. The first tries to explain the cause of failures
and the second tries to explain the impact of the success of
development. The underlying assumption of both is that traditional
and modern are incompatible. But both offer inadequate explanations
as they view Indian tradition in such a way that it becomes irrelevant in
defining the socio-cultural context of contemporary Indian society.
Do Indian traditional social forms embody that spirit which originally
marked their origin and development? Do such institutions and values
as the 'varnashrama' order, caste, religion, toleration, spirit of
renunciation and selfless duty really define contemporary Indian
society? Or, is it the case that these forms are traditional but the
underlying spirit is quite different? Otherwise, how have we failed
even in those modern endeavours whose ethos was compatible with
the basic elements of Indian culture and society? With a long tradition
of collectivism, selfless duty and religious tolerance how have we failed
152 ARUNODAY BAJPAI
in the cooperative movement, in the 'Bhoodan Andolan' and in forging

religious harmony? The answer is that when we needed these
endeavours to succeed, the spirit required for their success was no
more a part of our socio-cultural context.
Thus, traditional social forms and cultural values do not adequately
define the present socio-cultural context or the actions and behaviour
of individuals in India. The dominant elements of the present socio-
cultural context are: (i) individualism directed towards materialism,
thereby undermining collective efforts for the achievement of social
causes; (ii) escapism, lack of boldness and initiatives in the public
domain undermining entrepreneurship and innovation. The lack of
success on the development front is the combined effect of these two
factors. Both these factors are alien to the traditio~al culture of India
but have permeated down to all aspects of its socio-cultural context
due to the superimposition of external cultural patterns and values.
Take the example of caste and religion in India. Caste and religion
in India have become tools in the hands of a few to further individual
self-interest. The present polarisation on caste and communal lines
does not prove our affinity to them but demonstrates a desperate
attempt to obtain social, economic and political privileges. The spirit
of escapism and lack of initiative prompt us to take shelter behind
caste or religion. It is a common assumption that diversity on the lines
of language, region, caste or religion hampers the processes of
development and nation-building in India. This cultural diversity per
se is not the cause of lack of development. Recent studies have proved
that diverse societies develop as rapidly, and enjoy as much political
stability as homogeneous one. 23 In fact, nationalism in India has not
been able to break these forms and short-cut tools because of
underlying individual self-interest. Indian nationalism was a
'nationalism of crisis' and has now become a 'nationalism in crisis'.
The family is the only institution which, to some extent, moderates
the spirit of possessive individualism. The family, however, but it is not
merely a social product but a bio-social product.
How have these alien elements succeeded in replacing ancient
cultural values and in penetrating the present socio-cultural context?
The process, it has been suggested, started during the medieval period.
According to A.L. Basham, 'Hinduism was already very conservative,
when lieutenants of Mohammad of Ghor conquered the Ganga valley.
In the middle ages, for every tolerant and progressive teacher, there
must have been hundreds of orthodox Brahmins who looked upon
themselves as preservers of immemorial 'Arya Dharma' against
barbarians who overran the land of 'Bharat Varsha'. Under their
influence, the complex rule of Hindu way of life became if anything

stricter and more rigidly applied. ' 24
If Muslim rule was the consequence of this degeneration, it further
intensified the trend of conservatism . .India of the 18th century was, if
anything, more conservative than it has been in the days of first the
Muslim invasion. One positive reaction that served to rejuvenate Indian
culture was the bhakti movement led by Kabir, Nanak, Dadu, Tulsi
and others. Again, the appearance of Islam in opposition to the
conservative Hindu society of medieval times hampered the process
of assimilation between the two. 25 This was so different from the
manner in which Buddhism has been assimilated with Shintoism in
Japan.
As Indian society and culture felt the full impact of Islamic values,
several of its significant elements were pushed into the background.
The Islamic socio-cultural context was characterised by the spirit of
mysticism rather than rationalism, love for splendour and luxuries
among royal and noble classes, lack of a spirit of inquiry and
investigation, absence of a rising middle class, and the neglect of
scientific and technical education. By the end of the 17th century,
the combined impact of this cultural orientation stifled entrepre-
neurial activities and siphoned away capital for unproductive activities.
Meera Singh rightly concludes, 'since the ruling classes as also the
bureaucracy spent a substantial proportion of their income on the
purchase of consumer goods, often wasteful and superfluous, there
was no incentive for economic productivity. The economic stagnation,
with the rise in cost of prices widened the gap between rich and poor.
Consequently, India of the beginning of the 17th century comprised
of a small extravagant upper class, a small and frugal middle class and
a very numerous lower class on the whole worse off than now. ' 26 More
striking was the lack of scientific temper and spirit of investigation
which obstructed the emergence of capitalism and industrial
revolution, leaving India far behind European societies in terms of
economic growth and development.
On the other hand, the Renaissance in Europe altered the basic
parameters of development. Henceforth, material progress replaced
spiritual salvation as a goal of individual and social development. The
same spiritual excellence, for which India was known as a developed
country in the ancient period, was considered as a sign of backwardness.
It is this notion of individual and society which has been synthesised as
the basic element of the western concept of modernisation and
development. It was this idea of individual and society which was
introduced in India during the 19th century by the British as a part of
154 ARUNODAY BAJPAI
the modernisation mission in the background of the prevailing cultural

passivity. It was again, this cultural onslaught which brought about the
s<realled Indian renaissance in the 19th century. The message of the
Indian renaissance lacks coherence and unity. It ranges from support
western modernism to outright revival of the ancient tradition.
Modified Indian cultural forms came into contact with western
cultural patterns characterised by possessive individualism, materialism,
consumerism and concern for self instead of the community. These
values may have been conducive to economic growth in E!-lrope but
the same were not compatible with Indian conditions. The British
themselves ruled this country as a business class in their own self-
interest. In fact, the industrial revolution in England was in
considerable measure itself a consequences of the plundered wealth
of India. The British authorities not only failed take any steps to protect
the declining Indian industries but actually discouraged Indian
manufactures in order to protect those of England. The decay oflndian
trade and industry set in towards the close of 18th century and its ruin
was complete by the middle of the 19th century.27 The impact of
western culture was more pronounced on the indigenous business
class which resorted to short-cuts for personal benefits. In its essence,
the modem structure of the Indian state also evolved from the western
cultural roots, which was destined to play a dominant role in the
development process
Thus the western idea of materialistic individual and atomistic
society became a part of the Indian socio-cultural context. After
independence when the development process was launched in this
background, it resulted in the furtherance of individual self-interest
at the cost of social causes. 28 In fact, it is not the traditional culture of
India but the core idea of modernisation-materialistic individualism-
which obstructs collective and committed efforts for development.
The traditional Indian culture forged a harmony between material
and spiritual aspects of individual life on the one hand, and integrated
individual self-interest with social interest on the other. The very
absence of Indian cultural spirit of harmony and integration allows
individualistic self-interest to prevail upon the general welfare. The
social violence, conflict and corruption are just manifestations of this
tendency. Let us see how other nations have induced suitable individual
behaviour to achieve collective goals. At the initial stages of
development, Europe controlled individual self-interest with the help
of authoritarian rule, IfJapan has exploited strength of tradition, China
is using both-tradition and state authority.
Is there any alternative left for India? Indian scholars have criticised
the western idea of modernisation and development and have
suggested some alternative strategies, but so far the core of the western
concept about individual and society has not been challenged. Any
initiative for devising an alternative path of development should start
from an alternative definition of individual and society. 29 With a
growing population and scarcity of resources, material well-being would
continue to hold the central place. But that is not the end but the
beginning of development. Aggressive individualism has to be
converted into social commitment in order to bring about a prosperous
and egalitarian society. This calls for nothing short of a second cultural
renaissance. This involves not merely the reinterpretation of culture
but also its effective resurrection in a manner that would pervade the
thoughts and behaviour of the people. In this respect, the following
proposals may be considered: (i) protection and promotion of the
diverse cultural identities as they define the federal character of Indian
society. These cultural identities provide opportunity for the genuine
expression of our social self and commitments; (ii) ensure and
encourage the voluntary participation of individuals in various
movements/groups emerging in the fields of environment, women
liberation, literary etc., because they tend to orient individual efforts
towards collective goals; and (iii) the content, process and techniques
of education are to be restructured to suit our cultural requirements.
The prevailing intellectual passivism needs to be replaced by
intellectual activism in the form of continuous dialogues between
intellectuals and society.
REFERENCES
1. Bendix, Reinhard, 'Max Weber', in The International Encyclopaedia ofSocial Sciences

(Collier Macmillan Company, NewYork,1968) pp. 496-97.
2. Bernstien, Henry, 'Development and Underdevelopment', in The Blackwell
Dictionary of 20'' Century Social Thought (Blackwell Publishers, Oxford, 1993) pp.
151-52.
3. Handenius, Axel, Democracy and Development (Cambridge University Press, 1992)
p.106.
4. Kothari, R:Yni, RethinkingDevelopment (t\janta Publications, New Delhi, 1988) .See
also S.C. Dube Modernisation and Development: The Search for Alternative Paradigms
(Vistar Publication, New Delhi, 1988) and A.H. Somjee, Political Capacity in
Developing Societies (The Macmillan Press Ltd. London, 1982).
5. Basily, Paul, 'Maoism', in The Blackwell Dictionary of 2(Jh Century Political Thought
(Blackwell Publishers, Oxford, 1993) p. 357.
156 ARUNODAY BAJPAI
6. Nathan, Rosenberg and L.E. Birdzell Jr., How the West Grew Rich (Popular
Prakashan, Bombay, 1986) p.128.
7. Lindsay, A.D., The Modern Democratic State (Oxford University Press, London,
1943) p. 81.
8. Dore, R.P., (ed.), Aspects of Social Change in Modern japan (Princeton University
Press, Princeton, 1967) p. 3.
9. Jansen, Marius B., (ed.), Changingjapanese Attitude towards Modernisation, 1965;
Lockwood, W.W., (ed.), The State and Economic Enterprise in japan, 1965; Ward,
R.E, (ed.), Political Development in Modern japan, 1967; Dore, R.P., (ed.), Aspects of
Social Change in Modern japan, 1967; Shively, Donald, (ed.), Tradition and
Modernisation in japanese Culture, 1971; and Morley, W., (ed.), Dilemmas of Growth
in pr~warjapan, 1971; (All published by Princeton University Press, Princeton).
10. McNelly, Theodore, Politics and Government injapan (Houghton Mifflin Company,
Boston, 1972) pp. 1-2.
11. Sugiyama Chuhei, Growth of Economic Thought in japan (Routledge Publishers,
London, 1994) p. 80.
12. ~erry, M.E., 'Was Early Modem Japan Culturally Integral', Modern Asian Studies,
Vol. 31, Part 3,July 1997, pp. 547-581. ·
13. Naofusa, Hirai, 'Shinto' in MerceaEliade, (ed.), Encyclopaedia ofReligion, Vol. 13,
(Macmillan Publishing Company, New York, 1987) pp. 280-294. See also
'Confucianism in Japan', Encyclopaedia of Religion, Vol. 4., pp. 7-10.
14. Nakane, Chic, japanese Society (University of California Press, Berkeley, 1970)
p.19.
15. Whyte, Martin King, 'The Chinese Families and Economic Development: Obstacles
or Engine', Economic Development and Cultural Change, Vol. 45, No.1, Oct. 1996,
pp.1-30.
16. Clark, R.C., 'Union-Management Conflict in aJapanese Company', in W.G.
Beasley, (ed.), Modern japan: Aspects ofHistory and Society (George Allen & Unwin
Ltd., London, 1975) pp. 209-226.
17. Fukutane, T., Man and Society in Japan (The University of Tokyo Press, Tokyo,
1962) pp. 105-145 and pp. 84-101.
18. Linhard, Sepp, The Use and Meaning of Leisure in Present Day Japan, in W.G.
Beasley (ed.), op. cit. pp. 198-208.
19. Nakayama, Ichiro, Industrialisation ofjapan (East-West Press, Honolulu, 1963) pp.
48-63.
20. McNelly, Theodore, op. cit., p. 7.
21. Ishino, Iwao, 'Social and Technological Change in Rural Japan: Continuities and
Discontinuities', in RJ. Smith and P.K. Bearsley, (eds.), japanese Culture: Its
Development and Characteristics (Metheun and Company Limited, London, 1963)
pp. 100-111. See also Dwijendra Tripathy, 'Colonialism and Technology Choice
in India', TheDeuelopingEconomics, Vol. XXXIV, No.1, March 1996, pp. 80-87.
22. Maruyama, Masao, Thought and Behaviour in Modern Japanese Politics (Oxford
University Press, London, 1963) p.140.
23. Lian, Bran andJohn R. O'Neal, 'Cultural Diversity and Economic Development:
A Cross National Study of98 Countries, 1960-85', Economic Development and Cultural
Change, Vol. 46, No.1, Oct. 1997, pp. 61-77.
24. Basham, A.L., The Wonder That Was India (Fontana Books, Fontana, 1967) pp.
481-82.
Socio-Cultural Context of Modernisation and Development 15 7
25. Liberman, Victor, 'Transcending East-West Dichotomies: State and Culture
Formation in Six Desperate States', Asian Studies, Vol. 31, Part3,July 1997, p. 541.
26. Singh, Meera, Medieval History ofIndia (Vikas Publishing House, New Delhi, 1978)
p.403.
27. M<Yumdar, R.C., N.C. Raychaudhari and K Dutta, An Advanced History of India
(Macmillan India Ltd., Madras, 1978) pp. 804-5.
28. Kurien, C.T., 'Development Policy: BookReviewvs. Field Review', IASSIQuarterly,
Vol..16, No.1,Jul.-Sep. 1997, p.l04.
29. Roy, Ramashray, The World of Development: A Theoretical Dead End (Ajanta
Publications, New Delhi, 1993) pp.16-34.
Studies inHumanities and Social Sciences, Vol. VI, No.1, 1999, pp. 159-175
Agricultural Modernisation and Education:

Contours of a Point of Departure
KRISHNA KUMAR
Delhi University
Delhi
The year 1966 was an unusually important year in the history of

independent India. As time goes by, it appears that 1966 might qualify
to be seen as a turning point in post-independence history, or at least
as a year when certain existing tendencies consolidated to bring about
a virtual end of the earlier era and its contradictions. The broader
contours of this year are familiar enough, but it may be useful to recall
them briefly for the sake of easy reference later. The year started with
the death of Prime Minister Lal Bahadur Shastri less than two years
after he had succeededJawaharlal Nehru. His death came as a sudden
end to the dramatic event of a war with Pakistan-a war which
influenced not only India's economic and social priorities for a long
time to come, but also her placement in the political geography of its
neighbourhood. Only three years earlier India had fought a war with
China. Though the ·outcome of the 1965 war was rather different
from the one fought in 1962, both wars contributed to the self-
perception of India as a country surrounded by hostile neighbours.
The war with Pakistan was fought at a time marked by the shortage of
staple food, mainly on account of the failure of the monsoon which
was to be repeated in 1966. The perception of food scarcity being just
as crucial a battle to be won as the war with Pakistan was reflected in
the slogan that Shastri gave to the nation in his brief tenure as Prime
Minister: 'jai jawan, jai kisan.'
This slogan served to give Shastri a sort of halo in the popular
mind which he otherwise would not have had, given the brevity of his
tenure and his unassuming personality. In both these aspects he
presented a contrast to Jawaharlal Nehru. Shastri's image, or rather
its contrast to Nehru's image, seems to have played a major role in
shaping the internal politics of the ruling Congress party and even
the general political landscape oflndia in the post-Nehru interregnum
which concluded with the choice of Indira Gandhi as Prime Minister
after Shastri's sudden death in early 1966. It has been said that Shastri's
period represents a weakening of decision-making mechanisms in the
160 KRISHNA KUMAR
Congress party. 1 If it is true, at least a part of the explanation lies in

the 'de-centring' that Nehru's demise implied, given his charismatic
personality and his record as a fighter for independence, particularly
in association with Gandhi. But 'weakening' is a word one sees repeated
in Shastri's period and then, after him, in the context of the social
fabric and the economy. One sphere in which the social fabric was
frequently reported to be showing signs of weakness throughout 1966
was that of youth-adult relationships. An upsurge of student agitations
seems to have taken the adult society by surprise. 2 Crisis of values,
decline of character, weakening of social control, and influence of
politics were the conceptual tools with the help of which commentators
of the period tried to explain why youth had become so restive and
indisciplined: And if politics was among the factors affecting the young,
it did not seem to be doing too well in its own world of organising state
policy. The biggest challenges in political life had to do with ongoing
resistance to land reforms and economic pressures of the World Bank
and the United States on an already indebted economy. 3
Large landowners constituted a major component of the social
forces which had been working for some time to undermine the weak
but significant moves made in the fifties towards making the distribution
of land less inequitable. These moves had had two main objectives:
social transformation and improvement of agricultural productivity.
While more than seventy per cent of the population was landless and
nearly half the people who owned land had less than an acre. Abolition
of the zamindari system and the imposition of land ceiling were the
major steps which had been taken under Nehru to ameliorate this
situation. The real value of these steps was greatly reduced by the
time taken to put them into effect and the legal loopholes left in
them which enabled the target groups to circumvent them. 4 These
groups had also succeeded in cornering the major share of the benefits
provided by the state under the Community Development programme
and the schemes launched to mobilise cooperative action and public
credit for the poor. Yet, despite their successes in manipulating the
state's attempts to equalise material opportunities, the rich landowners,
their political representatives, and many articulates groups in the urban
intelligentsia persisted in their perception of the government's
approach as one carrying signs of a 'communist' approach which
needed to be resisted.
In order to appreciate the authenticity of such an apprehension it
is necessary to step a little deeper into the atmosphere of ideas
prevailing in India in the mid-sixties. The Cold War had spread far
enough to form social territories of intellectual influenced wielded by
Agricultural Modernisation and Education 161
the two super-powers, the US and the USSR The former had a distinct
edge as far as the Indian intellectual territory was concerned. Free
enterprise and freedom of expression ('cultural freedom') were used
as signposts of protection against the onslaught of communism. The
contrary construction was struggle against American imperialism. With
its small but influential English-educated elite, India was attractively
placed to receive American influence in different spheres of its civic
life, particularly in the spheres ef higher education, administration,
and the media. Direct political influence was, of course, a matter of
constant effort, and for this economic pressure, especially in the context
of food scarcity and indebtedness, was a readily available instrument.
In the background of India's external policy choices, the application
of economic pressure, directly by America or through the World Bank,
took increasingly crude forms even as America's feeling of its loneliness
in its aggression against Vietnam grew. But cultural and intellectual
means of building a domestic hegemony in favour of America's long-
term interests was just as crucial as the relentless application of pressure
on the food front and on India's agricultural policy. The general
presence of American names, topics and textbooks-subsidised to
attract the Indian student and teacher-in the syllabi of Indian
universities was supplemented by the provision of scholarships for
research and professional work in America. The dominance enjoyed
by American media, especially its new agencies, and the popularity of
magazines like Time, Life and Reader's Digest, provided yet another layer
of support to the construction of an ethos favouring American
involvement in India's civic life. No Soviet media agency could perform
this function, given the nature of the Soviet press and the conditions
of its operation in the home country. Subsidised popular magazines
and children's books did slightly better, but the Soviet presence
remained marginal to the public space occupied by the English-
educated Indian intelligentsia. The same could be said of Soviet
textbooks and student exchange programmes.
Besides the creation of an intellectual ethos, specific efforts were
made to facilitate the penetration of India's fledgling industrial
economy especially the upcoming sector of industries involved in
agriculture. Devaluation of the Indian currency and concessions for
foreign fertilizer companies were the two major targets of American
pressure. These were manifest pressures; far less visible were sustained
research and promotion efforts to find the means of supplying technical
solutions to food scarcity involving the use of American agro-business
products. These attempts had began in the fifties, but up until the
early sixties, ideas of technical improvement in agriculture had to
162 KRISHNA KUMAR
compete with socio-political solutions, involving redistribution of land

and erosion of traditional structures of dominance. Wars with China
and Pakistan, two consecutive failures of monsoon, and Nehru's death
were among the factors which could be said to have accelerated the
pressures favouring technical solutions, but external conditions and
forces undoubtedly played an important role too. The sequential
structure of this drama in India was not very different from what had
happened in Mexico earlier. 5 What precipitated the pressure on
India-on her government, and especially its food minister-in the
mid-sixties to fully embrace technical remedies was a dramatic
development in the United States. The publication of Rachel Carson's
Silent Spring in 1962 had given rise to an unprecedented public debate
on the degradation of the environment due to the use of chemicals in
agriculture. The adverse publicity and legislative action generated by ·
the debate made American fertilizer and pesticide companies intensify
their search for foreign markets. The US Department of Agriculture-
a 'wholly owned subsidiary of the pesticide industry,' according to
Enrlich (1978)-and the World Bank were directly leading this search.
India offered a highly suitable environment for the combined
growth of American agro-business, including its interests in fertilizers,
pesticides, and hybrid seeds. Here was a country with a growing
population, prone to malaria, apprehensive of famines, and socially
led by a westward looking class of post-colonial elites. And it had a
huge body of professionally trained manpower in the sciences and
the social sciences, which had been socialised to view desirable change
and improvement in India in terms taught by western, especially
American, experts. Above all else, India had a vast farming sector waiting
to be penetrated by the countless meanings of the word 'modern-
isation'. Agricultural universities, set up after the model of American
land-grant colleges, had initiated the process of shaping Indian
expertise under American guidance. Although these universities were
not in a position to provide the kind of opportunities of close
interaction between industrialists, engineers and farmers as the land-
grant colleges in America had been opened to provide (Noble, 1977),
they had nevertheless begun to perform the simpler role of propagat-
ing the virtue and means of profit-seeking among the bigger farmers.
The inevitable image of the capitalist farmer as a model lay embedded
in the new knowledge and attitudes that agricultural universities and
research organizations in India were to provide with American help,
both in terms of training of experts and financial help.
Education Commission
The mid-sixties, and particularly the year 1966, are also important in
the history of post-independence education in India. The Education
Commission (EC), popularly known as the Kothari Commission after
the name of its scientist chairman, D.S. Kothari, was appointed in July
1964 and it submitted its report two years later in june 1966. No other
report has received as much attention in the context of education as
the Education Commission report (ECR) has over these thirty years
since its submission. Its voluminous size-it runs into some one thousand
printed pages-justified by its all-encompassing frame of reference
and its association with J.P. Naik who served as its member-secretary,
give it a unique place on the shelves of institutional and office libraries
concerned with the planning and study of education. It constitutes a
'whole' perspective on education, in the sense that just about every
stage and aspect of education is discussed by it (unlike the two major
commission reports preceding it and the two others written afterwards).
But what gives the ECR its distinctive place in social history is its
articulation of the agenda of modernisation. If one were to summarise
its thousand pages in one word, that word would surely be
'modernisation'. The title of the report, in fact, reveals this single
most important theme by linking 'education and national
development.' Modernisation meant nation-building through
development, and education was the prime instrument for this project
in the discourse of the sixties which the ECR signifies. Myrdal, an
admirer of the ECR, summarised it by saying that it envisaged a change
in the attitude and values of 'the whole people' under a socio-cultural
revolution oriented towards modernisation (1970).
The opening chapter of the ECR provides us with a hierarchy of
national problems for which 'national development' must provide a
remedy. Agricultural modernisation is the remedy for the first of these
four key problems: self-sufficiency in food; economic growth and full
employment; social and national integration and political develop-
ment. That this ordering is no coincidence or an editorial choice alone
is clarified in the first sentence of the discussion: 'The first and the
most important of these (problems) is food.' This is followed by a
quotation from Gandhi: 'If God were to appear to India. He will have
to take the form of a loaf of bread.' The paragraph then goes on to
establish the importance of self-sufficiency by referring to the rate of
increase in population. Using a twenty-year perspective, the ECR says
that even if the birth-rate is reduced to half, about 46 per cent of the
1966 population will be added by 1986. 'On the basis of present trends,'
164 KRISHNA KUMAR
the report says, 'in another 10-15 years no country is likely to have a
surplus of food to export.' Precisely what the rhetorical value of this
statement is indicated in the next sentence which says: 'even if such
surpluses existed, we would have no resources to import the huge
quantities of food required, or even to import the fertilizers needed.
The basis of giving top priority to food self-sufficiency thus stood
verified: it is not 'merely a desirable but a condition for survival'. (p.24).
The theme of self-sufficiency in food finds recurring mention
throughout the first chapter. It is emphasized time and again that
self-sufficiency in food can only be achieved by applying the principles
of science to agriculture. The concept of science is seen as being
synonymous with that of modernization. Science-based tec.hnology is
said to define the difference between traditional and modem societies.
'In a traditional society production is based largely on empirical
processes, experience, and trial and error, rather than on science; in
a modem society, it is basically rooted in science' (p. 12). 'Science' is
treated here as an institution rather than as an approach to knowledge,
or else it would be difficult to see why the empiricism-of the so-called
traditional societies, based on trial and error behaviour and
experience, does not qualify to be called science. In the structure of
meaning that the ECR builds for its argument, science is apparently a
symbol, or rather a synecdoche in which a symbol stands for something
much bigger of which it is a part. It is meant to remind us of a complex
set of values which together stand for 'modernisation.' These values
include a secular outlook, freedom from traditional ways of thinking,
and faith in change. The last item is recorded with reference to the
irreversibility of the steps taken towards the goal of modernisation.
The text says: 'if one tinkers with the problems involved or tries to
march with faltering steps, if one's commitments and convictions are
half-hearted and faith is lacking, the new situation (i.e. the situation
representing the outcome of our efforts to modernise) may turn out
to worse than the old one' (p. 32) (emphasis added). One can hardly
miss the threat embedded in these words and its use to counter all
doubts and debates that might be raised in the context of
modernisation. Today, thirty years later on, we can notice how the
discourse of scientific temper and modernisation was so dependent
on the tenacity of faith in them. It is also clear that the discourse was
unable to accommodate the critics of modernisation despite according
a place of honour to Mahatma Gandhi's words in the outset of the
discussion on national development.
The details of the EC's strategy for applying education towards
achieving the goal of agricultural modernisation appear in Chapter

XXIV which is titled 'Education for Agriculture'. Two major
recommendations made in this chapter stand out. One concerns the
promotion of specialised higher education in agriculture as a science
by the establishment of an agriculture university in each state and a
related ancillary institutional structure. The other major
recommendation is to reject the Basic Education (BE) approach in
favour of a general, academic elementary education programme. It is
easy to grasp the rationale for the first for it is consistent with the EC's
overall perspective on modernisation of agriculture. The ECR takes
pains to elaborate on the requirements of modernisation in agriculture
to the extent of projecting manpower requirements for trained
'agriculturists', i.e. graduate farmers, in the coming years. In this
context, the ECR comes closer than in any other chapter to mentioning
the ground t.:eality or the socio-economic conditions in which
educational development was to take place. As Malcolm· Adiseshiah
pointed out in his forward to Naik's Education Commission and After
( 1982), the EC avoided the danger of falling betwe~n normative and
positive positions by deliberately choosing the normative path. It is
interesting to note that while projecting the manpower .needs for
agricultural modernisation the EC saw fit to take the positive route by
noticing the prevalence of a highly inequitable distribution of land in
Indian society. It is another, and of course a highly significant matter
that the distribution does not disturb the EC. It recognises that 'at
present there are nearly 6 million farms of 15 acres or more (out of 50
million forms)' (p. 669.) This mild and brief acknowledgement is
made in order to explain the projected figure of farmers who might
become graduates in the next two decades; if we assume that ownership
will change at 3 per cent a year, this means nearly 200,000 new farmers
inheriting such farms every year. It seems reasonable to think that by
1986, 1 in 50 of these may be an agriculture graduate' (p. 669). This
statement should suffice to reveal what role the EC envisaged for
education in the context of the severely inequal access to land in rural
society. The role was to enable the bigger landowners to enhance
their material opportunities.
This was the vision embedded in the new strategy of agricultural
modernisation which was named a little later as the Green Revolution.
That the ECR should be so happily reconciled to the Green Revolution
strategy of rich landowners being given priority attention in order to
enable them to act as pace-setters is hardly surprising. Members of the
EC's agriculture education sub-committee included the representatives
166 KRISHNA KUMAR
ofjust about every section of the establishment of agricultural research.

The agricultural universities at Pant Nagar and Bangalore, Indian
Agricultural Research Institute, the Indian Council of Agricultural
Research and the Fertilizer Association of India were among the
organisations represented in the sub-committee. The Rockefeller
Foundation, which had been active in supporting agricultural
modernisation research in Latin America and Asia, was also represented
in the EC's sub-committee. Although the Indian agriculture research
apparatus as a whole had developed under American guidance, the
Rockefeller Foundation's own presence in India at the time needs to
be appreciated for its own sake. In collaboration with the Indian
Council for Agricultural Research, the Rockefeller Foundation had
been promoting research for the production of high-yielding varieties
of staple crops in India, particularly wheat. By the time the EC was
established, the Foundation had reported exciting breakthroughs in
similar programmes in Mexico and the Philippines. The central theme
of these success-stories was the new wheat plant's ability to guzzle
chemical fertilizer along with water without falling over. 6 Only very
resolutely neutral students of post-war economic history can doubt
that the edifice of the new knowledge and research in agriculture
was constructed at least partly to boost the interests of the American
fertilizer industry, and not just to protest the earth's poor from hunger.
The final thing worth noticing in the composition of the EC's sub-
committee on agriculture education was the complete absence of
anyone representing Gandhian rural institutions. A liberal approach
to framing the group on agriculture and education would surely have
taken the existence of these institutions into account, especially when
the group was going to deliberate on the fate of BE as a model for
elementary-level schooling. We can legitimately suspect that Gandhians
were kept out of the sub-committee in order to avoid any dilution
that might have occurred due to their presence in the course charted
for rural education in general and agriculture education in particular.
Basic Education
The EC's stand against BE is recorded in the sub-section entitled

'Agricultural Education in Schools (Classes I to X).' This sub-section
starts by taking note of the prevailing position of agriculture-related
instruction in primary schools as a craft in Uttar Pradesh, Gujarat and
Maharashtra. These three states are singled out as instances on the
ground that in the remaining states the number of schools offering
agriculture education as a 'craft'-an essential part of diction of BE-
is less than the proportion in Maharashtra. By choosing Maharashtra

as the lower cut-off point for portraying the limited achievement of
BE, measured in terms of the introduction of agriculture as a craft,
the EC is able to ignore all other states. Apparendy, the EC chose this
editorial device in order to make BE look a minor development. Also,
in the vocabulary associated with BE, all rural crafts were perceived as
being related to agriculture and rural life. The primary craft around
which a great deal of the basic school curriculum was structured was
weaving, which included spinnfng. By denying the relationship between
weaving with agriculture, the EC achieved two semantic purposes:
one, minimising the spread of BE in the context of agriculture-related
education; two, promoting the new, modem concept of agriculture
as a craft unrelated to the diverse traditional crafts associated with
village life.
Having demonstrated that the input made by BE into direct
training of children in agriculture as a craft was so limited, the sub-
section under discussion goes on to make its negative recommendation.
The words used for this purpose are so remarkably indirect and carefully
chosen that they deserve to be quoted in full. The quotation is. also
valuable for it records the thought-process involved in the withdrawal
of official support for what was the only major attempt made in our
country to move education away from its colonial legacy:
As has been made clear at several places in the chapter, massive
application of scientific knowledge and skills is basic to the
modernisation of our agriculture. We recommend, therefore,
that the period which can be spent in schools should be utilised
in imparting a sound general education, with particular
emphasis on mathematics and the science. This, we feel, would
be the ·best preparation for coping with the rapid changes that
are bound to characterise our agriculture in future. It is because
of these and other considerations that we have been unable to
endorse the organization of formal courses in the schools for
educating the primary producer (p.659).
Why did the EC choose such heavily cloaked words? Indeed, 'being
unable to endorse' is indirect enough, but 'the organization of formal
courses in the schools for educating the primary producer' takes the
cake for opacity in the history of official educational jargon. This long
phrase has been used in lieu of 'Basic Education.' As a scheme of
instruction, BE did indeed represent an organization of formal courses
aimed at training the child in a productive craft, but the point could
168 KRISHNA KUMAR
have been made more simply.

The reason for the EC's choice of an indirect, opaque reference
to BE too is easy to surmise. It is simply the need to be politically
acceptable. The association of Mahatma Gandhi's name with BE had
given it a halo and an extra-official status. It is not that progress in
introducing the Basic approach had achieved extraordinary speed
anywhere, but the effort had had consistent official support and access
to Plan funds. All of the first three Plan documents had discussed
Basic primary education with enthusiasm and a certain degree of
imagination. The Second Five Year Plan document (1956-61), for
instance, had mentioned the need to link Basic schools with
development activities taking place in the village. The Third Plan
document (1961-66) repeats this and records the intention of
converting teacher training institutions into the Basic approach. In
contrast to this enthusiasm, the draft outline of the Fourth Plan,
published in the August of 1966-that is, two months after the
submission ofECR-hasjust a one-line mention of BE: 'Basic education
will be strengthened by developing carefully selected schools and
introducing in other schools work-oriented curricula and citizenship
training' (p. 314). This mention is consistent with the line taken by
the ECR in another section which we will presently discuss, namely
that of replacing BE with 'work experience', suggesting that the two
are the same. But even this brief mention of BE disappeared in the
final Fourth Plan document.
The dispensability of Gandhi and his approach to education had a
wider context. By the mid-sixties the legitimacy of Gandhi's perspective
on development was reduced to the minimum. It is a well-grounded
popular belief that Nehru' per:spective on India's development was
antagonistic to that of Gandhi. In a recent review of Nehru's policies
Parekh ( 1995) has argued that in the later part of his Pritne
Ministership Nehru grew somewhat receptive towards the priorities
and institutions associated with Gandhi. If this reading has validity, 7
Nehru's death marked the end of whatever token presence Gandhi's
recalcitrant legacy had in the highest decision-making structures. In
any case, the war with China had given a strong impetus to these
structures for moving towards untrammeled modernisation of defence
and defence-related scientific-industrial infrastructure. Needless to
say, the urban intelligentsia, including the bureaucracy, agreed on
this matter with the leaders of industry and trade.
Many other changes took place in the early sixties, symbolising the
impending end of Gandhi's utility as a reference point for
determination of policy. In education, the setting up of the National

Council for Educational Research and Training (NCERT) in 1962
marked the closure of a period in which Gandhi's ideas in education
were held as being important. The opening of Central Schools to cater
to the needs of union government functionaries transferable
throughout the country, and the establishment of the Central Board
of Secondary Education (CBSE) were in harmony with the emerging
ethos. These steps had a functional rationale, but they also had symbolic
significance. They marked the consolidation of a national elite and
the grant of freedom to it to transcend the constraints of local or
provincial, socio-economic realities. Their existence made the problems
of decentralised planning in education-which had axiomatic
importance in Gandhi's approach-look irrelevant to progress. The
use of 'national' and 'central' in the naming of these organizations
permitted a disproportionate amount of funds to be spend on a
privileged section of society. The naming also allowed them to tighten
their hold over the symbolic inheritance of colonial rule. This process
of the final transfer of colonial symbolic assets to a national elite was
most visible in the context of language. Contrary to the
recommendation of every panel ever set by the government over the
question of medium of instruction, the NCERT, the Central Schools
and the CBSE were able to patronise English whose continuation as
an associate official language of the Union was ratified in 1967. The
use of English by these institutions had a functional justification, but
the symbolic underpinnings of this justification were far more
significant if seen against the background of the political and economic
forces vying to shape the Indian nation in the sixties.
Writing of the ECR was a part of this process of the creation of a
national discourse on development. Its common-sense value lay in the
fact that India needed a national system of education just as it had
national systems of railways, postal services, and so on. What made the
task in education somewhat inconvenient was the climate created by
Gandhi's idea of BE, although the Zakir Hussain Committee had tried
to give a 'national' label to it at the time of its inception. Both as an
ideology and as a scheme of instruction, BE was not compatible with
the demands that a nationally organized system might make.
Ideologically, it was supposed to be sustained by local communities,
local markets and the local environment. As a scheme of instruction,
it was rooted in the idea that learning arises out of children's interaction
with the real world in their immediate vicinity. This interaction was
supposed to be guided and enriched by the use of the local language,
170 KRISHNA KUMAR
locally available material, and the teaching of locally practised

productive skills. The teacher's active membership of the community
was assumed, and where it was not possible (as in the case of someone
brought in from elsewhere), a teacher wa.S expected to achieve it by
personal effort and participation. It was mainly due to this concem
that housing for the teacher was considered an essential part of the
school design. 8 Clearly, the concept of BE could not be an attractive
proposition for investment of scarce resources from the perspective
of the planners of 'national' development.
The phasing out of BE is explained with a little less brevity elsewhere
in the ECR. In Chapter VIII, which is about school curriculum, the
reason why BE needs to be substituted by the incorporation of work-
experience in a general academic curriculum is mentioned:
The programme of BE did involve work-experience for all
children in the primary schools, though the activities proposed
were concerned with the indigenous crafts and the village
employment patterns. If in practice basic education has become
largely frozen around certain crafts, there is no denying the
fact that it always stressed the vital principle of relating
education to productivity. 'What is now needed is a reorientation
of the basic education programme to the needs of a society
that has to be transformed with the help of science and
technology. In other words, work-experience must be forward-
looking in keeping with the character of the new social order.
(p. 351)
This commentary suggests that BE was deficient in two respects:
one, in getting confined to certain crafts; and two, in being incom-
patible with the promotion of science and technology. The list of work
experiences given by the EC is indeed long, consisting of some sixteen
activities for lower and upper primary stages alone. The last item of
this is 'work in the farm' (p. 364). The chapter on agriculture and
education, which we have discussed earlier, also mentions the need
to orient the school curriculum towards agriculture, even in urban
schools. This was supposed to be done not by introducing agriculture
as a subject, but rather by orienting the existing courses in general
science, biology, social studies and mathematics towards the rural
environment and the problems facing 'the Indian community'
(p. 660). These discussions do look a little incoherent, but the point
conveyed is clear: that a curriculum structured around the ideological
preferences of BE will be replaced by a general academic curriculum
in which the experience of productive work will be given a place of

sorts. The image of learners implied in this new alternative is that of
'forward looking and progressive farmers' whose prototype, as we noted
earlier, were to be found amongst 'the third of the cultivators who
now own more than half of the agriculture land' (p. 661). They were
to serve as the initial demonstrators of the many financial benefits of
the package known as 'improved farming practices' which included
chemical fertilizers, pesticides, hybrid seeds, and the new farming
machinery.
Our analysis implies that in the new climate of rural development
priorities which the EC anticipated, the idea of equal opportunity was
to be confined to education; in the material context the decision to
give greater opportunity to the richer farmers had been taken. Its
justification l<o/ in .the rhetoric which projected self-sufficiency in food
as an isolated objective, and the application of science and technology-
both in the form currently recognised by American agro-business
research apparatus-as the sole means of achieving it. Thus, a sharp
mismatch was enforced: planned depeening of inequalities in the
material opportunity structure, and the projection ofmeritocratic equal
opportunity in education. It is hardly surprising that the former plan
made the latter thoroughly invalid. The Green Revolution strategy
did indeed achieve self-sufficiency in one area of food supply, namely
cereal, but it exacerbated the stratification of rural society, most
glaringly in the parts of the country where it was applied most
intensively. It pauperized the middle-range peasant, and forced the
smaller peasant to become a land-less labourer, a likely migrant to an
urban slum. The trend was clear within the first few years of the
implementation of the agricultural modernisation strategy. By the time
the 1971 census was taken, the proportion of agricultural labourers in
the rural population had increased by as much as 11 per cent over the
last census: from 18.8 per cent to 29.9 per cent. As a commentary by
Mehta (1973) noted, India was witnessing a concentration of land
rather than its redistribution.
Destitution of the landless and small peasants, and prosperity of
the big landowners became the norm, leading to, and being reinforced
by the increasing dominance of the large landowners in politics. The
changes introduced in agricultural policies in the mid-sixties made a
critical difference to the means by which the richer farmers could
exercise their hegemony over the rest of the village population. The
changes that benefited them most included the provision of support
prices by the government for agricultural products, available of credit
172 KRISHNA KUMAR
for purchase of hybrid seeds, chemical fertilizers, and farm machinery,

and subsidies on the sale of fertilizers. The predse manner in which
the bigger landowners (in many parts of the country they were the
ex-zamindars and members of princely families) dominated the village
political scene so as to corner the lion's share of state benefits and
new commercial opportunities differed from state to state. The picture
in the Vindhya-Gangetic belt of the north was close to the one Srilal
Shukla portrayed in Raag Darbari (1908). The portrayal focuses on
the absolute hold of a single family on the village cooperative society,
the gram sabha, and the governing body of the local college. Drawing
on a case study of a village in the North Arcot district of Tamilnadu,
Kurien ( 1992) has depicted the emergence of new dependencies
even as old ones were getting eroded owing to the changes in
agricultural productivity. The new agriculture requires stable sources
of water. Commercial selling of water by well-<:>wners according to this
study, has sharply enhanced their power and status.
Another aspect of the ECR's support fo~ agricultural modern-
isation that was being intensified in the mid-sixties is relevant to this
discussion. In its opening chapter discussed earlier, the ECR had talked
about the goal of providing every citizen with a balanced diet without
specifying what a balanced diet might mean. It appears that the
concept of diet was changing in the sixties, mainly on account of
changes that were occurring in the culture of farming. Escobar ( 1995)
has cited nutrition and balanced diet as important items of the post-
war discourse of international development agencies, the World Bank,
and USAID. Lack of scientific knowledge about nutritional
requirements of the human body was projected as a major cultural
deficiency responsible for poor sociCK!conomic development in Third
World societies. A vast battery of adult education primers, school
textbooks, extension services and media programme was pressed into
service in order to tell people what they must do to make their diet
balanced. Inevitably, the exhortation revolved around the need to
include eggs, meat and milk so that the diet would have enough
protein. Conspicuous by its absence was the mention of pulses, and
we can guess why. Even as the new, scientific 'knowledge' of balanced
diet was spreading, the most important source of balance in the Indian
diet was diminishing under the auspices of the Green Revolution.
Bardhan (1984) has pointed out that in the post-Green Revolution
period the 'production of pulses, a major source of protein for the
poor, has largely been stagnant' (p. 11). Between the early sixties and
the early seventies the area under pulse cultivation declined by two a
half million acres, resulting in a drop in the per capita availability of

pulses. 9 To fully grasp the meaning of this phenomenon, we need to
recognise that pulses facilitate the absorption of cereal protein by
providing amino acids which compliment the ones found in cereals
such as wheat and rice. It is this combination that makes the protein
available in a cereal-pulse diet balanced. Palle and Collins (1978) have
called it 'usable' protein and have treated it as an indice of the quality
of protein. They say:
Thus, if Green Revolution displaces legumes in the traditional
diet, not only does the overall protein intake fall, since legumes
have two or four times the protein content of grain, but just as
critical, the balanced combination of grains and legumes that
improves the biological usability of protein is also undercut.
(p. 153)
From this perspective, we have not even begun to perceive the
nutritional impact of the agricultural modernisation strategy associated
with the Green Revolution. The reason why this strategy proved so
detrimental to pulse production was at least initially the simple fact of
farmers being coerced to devote their best lands to high-yielding
varieties of wheat and cash crops. With the increase of canal irrigation
seepage made a great number of pulse producing areas unfit for this
purpose.
Conclusion
The EC had talked about a 'larger way of life and a wider variety of
choices' (p. 33) as a major promise of modernisation. The changes
brought about in people's dietary options-we have examined just
one out of many-by the Green Revolution strategy of agricultural
modernisation can be seen in that manner too, and the nutritional
implications of these changes can be ignored or treated in a simplistic
manner. That would be in keeping with the style of analysis customarily
applied to India's agricultural modernisation in the context of the
use of chemical fertilizers, pesticides, and hybrid seeds which depend
on them and on heavy irrigation. Barring exceptions, 10 agricultural
economists have treated an increase in fertilizer use per acre, for
example, as an indicator of progress, completely ignoring the impact
of fertilizer-driven productivity on the natural fertility of the soil.
Nadkarni (1991) has noted the recent trend of decline in the rate at
which productivity of land had increased in the early phase of the
174 KRISHNA KUMAR
intensive use of chemical fertilizers. It is a disturbing fact that econo-

mists have generally failed to show interest in such obvious aspects of
agricultural and economic growth as depletion of the physical
environment, the misery caused by displacement of massive numbers
of people due to large-scale irrigation schemes involving big dams
and canal works, and migration to metropolitan slums as a result of
pauperization.
Given the narrow limits within which the process of India's
agricultural modernisation has been examined, it is hardly surprising
that its impact on children's lives has not been a subject of discussion
or debate. 11 This paper has made an attempt to show how the EC's
wholesale espousal of the modernisation package involved the
jettisoning of BE in favour of a return to general academic elementary
education. It can be argued that the EC was advocating a new type of
general elementary education for rural children, not a return to the
old colonial mode which BE had started to erode. It can also be argued
that EC's modernist version of an activity-centred academic education
for rural children did not materialise because of inadequate funds
and the lack of political will. A commitment to educational develop-
ment by the state and central governments was one of the assumptions
made by the EC; a stable political environment was another major
assumption. 12 If these assumptions proved false, we can hardly blame
history for that; rather, we must ask if the purely normative discourse
of educational planning, which the EC exemplified in such perfection,
is a valid preparation for change. In the absence of a realistic estimate
of what could be expected in the emerging socio-economic and
political scenario in the mid-sixties, the general and academic
elementary education programme recommended by the EC in place
of BE certainly proved detrimental to the spread of education in rural
India. The persistence of a high drop-out rate, with almost no change
in over three decades which have passed since the submission of the
EC, is a proof of this conclusion although its detailed verification must
wait for further research.
NOTES
1. See Frankel (1978) for a detailed discussion.

2. For reports on student agitation, see EPW, August 27, October 8 and October
15, 1966. For an editorial comment, see the issue of October 1, 1966.
3. According to K.N. Sharma's 'Self-reliance and Aid', (EPW, 2:50, 1967; pp. 2209-
11), the total PL 480 assistance to India up to March 1966 amounted to more
than one-third of the money supply with the public as a whole in India.
4. For a discussion providing a historical overview on post-independence Indian
economy, see Kurien ( 1992).
5. The reference is to the agrarian reforms attempted under Lazaro Cardenas
which were followed by a counter-revolution of sorts in the 1940s with the arrival
of American agro-research enterprise backing American agro-business.
6. An elaborate account is available in Frankel (1978).
7. G.K Arora provides a counter-view in his review in The Book Review, August 1995.
8. The only official committee to express anxiety about primary teachers' housing
in post-independence educational history was set up some time in the 1950s. Its
deliberations are documented in Report on Primary junior Basic Schools (National
Building Organization, Ministry of Works and Housing, New Delhi; undated).
9. See Lappe and Collins ( 1978).
10. Three exceptions are Narindar Singh, Economics and the Crisis of Survival (New
Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1976) and TheKeynesian}allout (New Delhi: Sage,
1966), M.V. Nadkami (1991), andB.M. Desarda (see his 'Towards an Alternative
Vision', paper presented at Indian Institute of Management Ahmedabad, in a
seminar on agricultural developmental perspectives. June 13-15, 1986.
11. For an early attempt, see my RaJ; Samaj aur Shiksha (1978; rev. ed. New Delhi:
Rajkamal, 1991).
12. Adiseshiah enumerates these and other assumptions in his foreword to Naik
(1982).
REFERENCES
Bardhan, Pranab, The Political Economy of Development in India (New Delhi: Oxford
University Press, 1984).
Ehrlich, Paul R., 'Preface' in Robert van den Bosch, The Pesticide Conspiracy, (Dorset:
Doubleday, 1978).
Escobar, Arturo, Encountering Development (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995).
Frankel, Francine R., India's Political&onomy, 1947-77 (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1978).
Kurien, C.T., The Economy (New Delhi: Sage, 1982).
Lappe, Frances Moore and Collins,Joseph, Food First (New York: Ballantine, 1978).
Mehta, Balraj, Crisis ofIndian&onomy (New Delhi: Sterling, 1973).
Myrdal, Gunnar, The Challenge of World Poverty (New York: 1970).
Nadkami, M.V. 'Economics and Ecological Concern', in Kurien C.T. Prabhakar, E.R.
and Gopal, S. (eds.), Economy, Society and Development (New Delhi: Sage: 1991) pp.
140-155.
Naik,J.P., J<.aucation Commission and After (New Delhi: Allied, 1982).
Noble, David F., America l7y Design (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977).
Baxi, U. and Parekh, B., Crisis and Change in Contemporary India (New Delhi: Sage, 1995).
Shukla, Srilal, Raag Darbari (New Delhi: Rajkamal, 1968).

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STUDIES IN

VOLUME VI NUMBER 1 1999

Editor CRETAN SINGH

INTER-UNIVERSITY CENTRE FOR HUMANITIES

Spatial Expressions of Socio-Political Relations:

Socio-Political Change in Nineteenth Century Orissa

Universality and Sri Ramakrishna: An Historical and

Nyaya System of Philosophy: A Significant Aspect

Nissim Ezekiel's 'Background, Casually': Travails of

Socio-Cultural Context of Modernisation and Development:

Agricultural Modernisation and Education:

Spatial Expressions of Socio-Political Relations:

dynastic interests, and possibilities of physical execution.

antal}pura, in terms of the city consisting of eighty-one squares (fig 1).

of princes (fig. 3). While I have represented these zones as concentric

forestall conspiracies. It seems as if eternal vigilance was the price of

were probably strictly regulated. The spatial complexity of the palace

there is a shift, although not a drastic one, in proportions, with specifi-

zone, although there is a sharp decline in the number of stupas. Here,

evidently envisaged and understood this clustering in terms of a density

Sanchi (not visited by our pilgrim) provides an interesting example of a

resonance associated with the traditional centres of Buddhist biography.

FIG. 1: SCHEMATIC LAYOUT OF A ROYAL SETTLEMENT

FIG. II: THE ANTAHPURA AND ADJOINING SETTLEMENTS

STALLS FOR STORE FOR STORE HOUSE,

FIG. Ill: THE ROYAL RESIDENCE

SPACE FOR THE PRINCESS

Socio-Political Change in Nineteenth Century

Brahmanas were invited and deliberately settled in the interior.

surplus. Accordingly we find that the geographical boundaries of these

Khariar, Bhatarika at Baramba, Maninageswari at Ranpur, Manikeswari

more or less undisturbed. However, the very recognition of these tribal

meanings and options available to them at the time of their particular

NOTES AND REFERENCES

1. Singh, 1984: 317; Kulke, 1982:245

Aitchesan, C.V., 1983, Collection of Treaties, engagements and Sanads, I. V. Mittal

South Asia Institute, 1978)

Tribal Village Organisation and Mobilisation

involved jettisoning of certain aspects of the tribal culture, its ideology

We need to analyse some characteristic features of the social

understands by civilization is ... a very small circle indeed as compared

only apparently abundant factor of production, did not necessarily

the size of landholding did not necessarily create an inegalitarian,

concerns losing the control gradually to the munda,

the village depended on blacksmiths for agricultural implements, on

a larger supply of agricultural tools land implements exposed the local

Significant changes gradually occurred in the arrangement designed

the kind which a headman ( munda) usually carried out. Numerous

nature he calls religion. Religion, according to him, is thus man-God

The communal organisation of the religious practices of tribals

nature of the tribal society and its non-hierarchical culture-reinforced

disappearing with the end of a phase of a movement. Based on new

religious belief system, from which the awareness of an ethnic identity

of mankis, set itself an extremely limited aim: their restoration to

sometime preceding and following the outbreak of the revolt (July

Recurrence of the Santa! movement strengthened the second

myths for the purpose.

1. While identifying the distinctive elements of the tribal village organisation we do

Datta-Mazumdar, N., The Santals: A Study of Culture Change (Calcutta, 1956).

Cultures of Christianity and Colonialism

This paper addresses the master theme of social dimensions of religious

Mission Society, initiated mission work in Chhattisgarh, a large region

with thousands of Satnamis, had unwittingly signified his acceptance