Kannada.—Kannada (Kanarese) has, at recent times of census, been returned as a linguistic or territorial division of various classes, e.g., Agasa, Bēdar, Dēvānga, Holeya, Koracha, Kumbāra, Sāmagāra, Rāchewar, and Uppiliyan.
Kanna Pulayan.—Described by the Rev. W. J. Richards[99] as Pulayans of Travancore, who wear rather better and more artistically made aprons than the Thanda Pulayan women.
Kannaku.—A prefix to the name of Nanchinat Vellālas in Travancore.
Kannān.—A sub-division of Kammālans, the members of which do braziers’ work.
Kannadiyan.—The Kannadiyans have been summed up[100] as “immigrants from the province of Mysore. Their traditional occupation is said to have been military service, although they follow, at the present day, different pursuits in different districts. They are usually cattle-breeders and cultivators in North and South Arcot and Chingleput, and traders in the southern districts. Most of them are Lingāyats, but a few are Vaishnavites.” “They are,” it is stated,[101] “in the Mysore State known as Gaulis. At their weddings, five married women are selected, who are required to bathe as each of the most important of the marriage ceremonies is performed, and are alone allowed to cook for, or to touch the happy couple. Weddings last eight days, during which time the bride and bridegroom must not sit on anything but woollen blankets.” Some Kannadiyans in the Tanjore district are said to be weavers. For the following account of the Kannadiyans of the Chingleput district I am indebted to Mr. C. Hayavadana Rao.
About twenty miles from the city of Madras is a big tank (lake) named after the village of Chembrambākam, which is close by. The fertile land surrounding this tank is occupied, among others, by a colony of Lingāyats, of whom each household, as a rule, owns several acres of land. With the cultivation thereof, they have the further occupation of cattle grazing. They utilize the products of the cow in various ways, and it supplies them with milk, butter and curds, in the last two of which they carry on a lucrative trade in the city of Madras. The curds sold by them are very highly appreciated by Madras Brāhmans, as they have a sour taste caused by keeping them till fermentation has set in. So great is the demand for their curds that advances of money are made to them, and regular delivery is thus secured. Their price is higher than that of the local Madras curds, and if a Lingāyat buys the latter and sells them at the higher rate, he is decisively stigmatised as being a “local.” They will not even touch sheep and goats, and believe that even the smell of these animals will make cows and buffaloes barren.
Though the chief settlement of the Lingāyats is at Chembrambākam, they are also to be found in the adjacent villages and in the Conjeeveram tāluk, and, in all, they number, in the Chingleput district, about four thousand.
The Lingāyats have no idea how their forefathers came to the Chingleput district. Questioned whether they have any relatives in Mysore, many answered in the affirmative, and one even pointed to one in a high official position as a close relation. Another said that the Gurukkal or Jangam (priest) is one and the same man for the Mysore Lingāyats and themselves. A third told me of his grandfather’s wanderings in Mysore, Bellary, and other places of importance to the Lingāyats. I have also heard the story that, on the Chembrambākam Lingāyats being divided into two factions through disputes among the local caste-men, a Lingāyat priest came from Mysore, and brought about their union. These few facts suffice to show that the Lingāyats are emigrants from Mysore, and not converts from the indigenous populations of the district. But what as to the date of their immigration? The earliest date which can, with any show of reason, be ascribed thereto seems to be towards the end of the seventeenth century, when Chikka Dēva Rāja ruled over Mysore. He adopted violent repressive measures against the Lingāyats for quelling a widespread insurrection, which they had fomented against him throughout the State. His measures of financial reform deprived the Lingāyat priesthood of its local leadership and much of its pecuniary profit. What followed may best be stated in the words of Colonel Wilks,[102] the Mysore historian. “Everywhere the inverted plough, suspended from the tree at the gate of the village, whose shade forms a place of assembly for its inhabitants, announced a state of insurrection. Having determined not to till the land, the husbandmen deserted their villages, and assembled in some places like fugitives seeking a distant settlement; in others as rebels breathing revenge. Chikka Dēva Rāja, however, was too prompt in his measures to admit of any very formidable combination. Before proceeding to measures of open violence, he adopted a plan of perfidy and horror, yielding to nothing which we find recorded in the annals of the most sanguinary people. An invitation was sent to all the Jangam priests to meet the Rāja at the great temple of Nunjengōd, ostensibly to converse with him on the subject of the refractory conduct of their followers. Treachery was apprehended, and the number which assembled was estimated at about four hundred only. A large pit had been previously prepared in a walled enclosure, connected by a series of squares composed of tent walls with the canopy of audience, at which they were received one at a time, and, after making their obeisance, were desired to retire to a place where, according to custom, they expected to find refreshments prepared at the expense of the Rāja. Expert executioners were in waiting in the square, and every individual in succession was so skilfully beheaded and tumbled into the pit as to give no alarm to those who followed, and the business of the public audience went on without interruption or suspicion. Circular orders had been sent for the destruction on the same day of all the Jangam Mutts (places of residence and worship) in his dominions, and the number reported to have been destroyed was upwards of seven hundred.... This notable achievement was followed by the operations of the troops, chiefly cavalry. The orders were distinct and simple—to charge without parley into the midst of the mob; to cut down every man wearing an orange-coloured robe (the peculiar garb of the Jangam priests).”
How far the husbandmen carried out their threat of seeking a distant settlement it is impossible, at this distance of time, to determine. If the theory of religious persecution as the cause of their emigration has not an air of certainty about it, it is at least plausible.
If the beginning of the eighteenth century is the earliest, the end of that century is the latest date that can be set down for the Lingāyat emigration. That century was perhaps the most troublous one in the modern history of India. Armies were passing and repassing the ghāts, and I have heard from some old gentlemen that the Chingleput Lingāyats, who are mostly shepherds, accompanied the troops in the humble capacity of purveyors of milk and butter.