Castes and Tribes of Southern India. Vol. 4 of 7

by Edgar Thurston

In April 1896, I paid a visit to the picturesquely situated village of Kiliūr, not far distant from the town of Yercaud, on the occasion of a religious festival. The villagers were discovered, early in the morning, painting pseudo-sect-marks on their foreheads with blue and pink coal-tar dyes, with the assistance of hand looking-glasses of European manufacture purchased at the weekly market, and decorating their turbans and ears with the leafy stems of Artemisia austriaca, var. orientalis, and hedge-roses. The scene of the ceremonial was in a neighbouring sacred grove of lofty forest trees, wherein were two hut temples, of which one contained images of the goddess Draupadi and eight minor deities, the other images of Perumāl and his wife. All the gods and goddesses were represented by human figures of brass and clay. Two processional cars were gaily decorated with plantain leaves and flags, some made in Germany. As the villagers arrived, they prostrated themselves before the temples, and whiled away the time, till the serious business of the day began, in gossiping with their friends, and partaking of light refreshment purchased from the fruit and sweetmeat sellers, who were doing a brisk trade. At 10 A.M. the proceedings were enlivened by a band of music, which played at intervals throughout the performance, and the gods were decorated with flowers and jewelry. An hour later, pūja was done to the stone image of the god Vignēswara, within a small shrine built of slabs of rock. Before this idol cooked rice was offered, and camphor burnt. The plantain stems, with leaves, were tied to a tree in the vicinity of the temples, and cooked rice and cocoanuts placed beneath the tree. A man holding a sword, issued forth, and, in unison with the collected assemblage, screamed out “Gōvinda, Gōvinda” (the name of their god). The plantain stems were next removed from the tree, carried in procession with musical honours, and placed before the threshold of one of the temples. Then some men appeared on the scene to the cry of “Gōvinda,” bearing in one hand a light, and ringing a bell held in the other. Holy water was sprinkled over the plantain stems, and pūja done to the god Perumāl by offering sāmai (grain) and burning camphor. Outside one of the temples a cloth was spread on the ground, and the images of Draupadi and other deities placed therein. From the other temple Perumāl and his wife were brought forth in state, and placed on two cars. A yellow powder was distributed among the crowd, and smeared over the face. A cocoanut was broken, and camphor burnt before Perumāl. Then all the gods, followed by the spectators, were carried in procession round the grove, and a man, becoming inspired and seized with a fine religious frenzy, waved a sword wildly around him, but with due respect for his own bodily safety, and pointed it in a threatening manner at the crowd. Asked, as an oracle, whether the omens were propitious to the village, he gave vent to the oracular (and true) response that for three years there would be a scarcity of rain, and that there would be famine in the land, and consequent suffering. This performance concluded, a bamboo pole was erected, bearing a pulley at the top, with which cocoanuts and plantains were connected by a string. By means of this string, the fruits were alternately raised and lowered, and men, armed with sticks, tried to hit them, while turmeric water was dashed in their faces just as they were on the point of striking. The fruits, being at last successfully hit, were received as a prize by the winner. The gods were then taken back to their temple, and three men, overcome by a mock convulsive seizure, were brought to their senses by stripes on the back administered with a rope by the pūjari (officiating priest). A sheep being produced, mantrams (prayers) were recited over it. The pūjāri, going to a pool close by, bathed, and smeared turmeric powder over his face. A pretence was made to cut the sheep’s throat, and blood drawn with a knife. The pūjāri, after sucking the blood, returned to the pool, and indulged in a ceremonial ablution, while the unhappy sheep was escorted to the village, and eventually eaten at a banquet by the villagers and their guests.

An annual festival, in honour of the god Sērvarāyan, is held at the shrine on the summit of the Shēvarāyan hill, past which a stream flows. At this festival, in 1904, “on one side of the temple, two long rows of fruit, flower, and grain stalls were erected. Supported on two posts was a merry-go-round with wooden seats instead of boats, the cost of a ride thereon being a quarter of an anna. Women carried their children to a pool of water beside the temple, known as the wishing well, and, after sprinkling some of the holy fluid on themselves and their offspring, spoke their wishes aloud, fully believing that they would be granted. Suddenly there was a beating of drums, and blowing of trumpets, and horns, which announced the time when the god was to be brought out, and shown to the people, who made a rush to the temple, to obtain a good view. The god was carried by two priests robed in white, with garlands of jasmine round their necks. Then followed two other priests, clothed in the same manner, who bore the goddess on their shoulders. Another carried the holy water and fire in silver vessels from the temple, sprinkling the former in front of the deities, and the latter they passed before them. These services being completed, each deity was placed on a wooden horse with gay trappings, and carried to the top of the hill, where they were met with shouts from the people. The deities were placed in a palanquin, and carried to the four points of the hill, and, at each point, the men put their burden down, and cocoanuts were broken in front of them, and fruit, grain, and even copper coins were scattered. Those who wished to take the vow to be faithful to their god had to receive fifteen lashes on their bare backs with a stout leather thong, administered by the chief priest. When questioned about the pain, they answered, ‘Oh, it is nothing. It is just like being scratched by an ant.’ The god and goddess were then carried back into the temple.”[41]

Of this festival, as celebrated in May, 1908, the following account has been given.[42] “The annual Malayāli festival was held on the top of Shēvarāyan. It was the occasion of the marriage anniversary of the god Sērvarāyan, after whom the Shevaroy Hills have been named, to a goddess, the presiding deity of the Cauvery river. This hill is believed by the Malayālis to be the place where their god Sērvarāyan lived, died, and was buried. On one side of the hill, the temple of the god nestles in the midst of a sacred grove of trees. Some say that there is a secret tunnel leading from the shrine to another part of the hill, and a second one opening lower down into Bear’s Cave. It was an interesting sight to watch visitors and devotees as they came from the four quarters of the Shevaroys. A few hill-men danced a serpentine dance, stepping to the music supplied by village drums, and occasional shrill blasts from the horns. Huge cauldrons were sending up blue wreaths of smoke into the sky, which, it was explained to us, contained food to be dispensed as charity to the poor. The temple yard was hung with flowers and leaves, with which also the rude structure known as the temple gate was decorated. On the summit of the hill, wares of all sorts and conditions were displayed to tempt purchasers. The articles for sale consisted of fruits, palm sugar, cocoanuts, monkey nuts, and other nuts, mirrors which proved very popular among the fair sex, fancy boxes, coloured powder for caste marks, cloth bags, strings of sweet-scented flowers, rattles for children, etc.... We were startled by hearing the noise of loud drums and shrill trumpets, and were told that the god was about to be brought forth. This was accompanied by shouting, clapping, and the beating of drums. The god and goddess were placed in two chariots, bedecked with flowers, jewels and tapestries, and umbrellas and fans also figured prominently. The procession passed up to the left of the temple, the deities being supported on the shoulders of sturdy Malayālis. As the people met it, they threw fruit, nuts, and cocoanut water after the cars. The god was next placed by the temple pūjāri (priest) in the triumphal car, and was led with the goddess to that part of the hill from which the Cauvery can best be seen. Here the procession halted while the priest recited some incantations. Then it marched down the hill, sometimes resting the god on cairns specially built for the purpose, from where a view of the outlying villages is obtained. The belief is that, as the god glances at these villages, he invokes blessings on them, and the villagers will always live in prosperity.”

To Mr. W. Mahon Daly, I am indebted for the following account of a Malaiāli bull dance, at which he was present as an eye-witness. “It is the custom on the Shevaroy hills, as well as the plains, to have a bull dance after the Pongal festival, and I had the pleasure of witnessing one in a Malaiāli village. It was held in an open enclosure called the manthay, adjoining the village. It faces the Māriamma shrine, and is the place of resort on festive occasions. The village councils, marriages, and other ceremonies are held here. On our arrival, we were courteously invited to sit under a wide spreading fig-tree. The bull dance would literally mean a bull dancing, but I give the translation of the Tamil ‘yerothu-attum,’ the word attum meaning dance. This is a sport which is much in vogue among the Malaiālis, and is celebrated with much éclat immediately after Pongal, this being the principal festival observed by them. No doubt they have received the custom from those in the plains. A shooting excursion follows as the next sport, and, if they be so fortunate as to hunt down a wild boar or deer, or any big game, a second bull dance is got up. We were just in time to see the tamāsha (spectacle). The manthay was becoming crowded, a regular influx of spectators, mostly women arrayed in their best cloths, coming in from the neighbouring villages. These were marshalled in a circle round the manthay, all standing. I was told that they were not invited, but that it was customary for them to pour in of their own accord when any sports or ceremonial took place in a village; and the inhabitants of the particular village were prepared to expect a large company, whom they fed on such occasions. After the company had collected, drums were beaten, and the long brass bugles were blown; and, just at this juncture, we saw an elderly Malaiāli bring from his hut a coil of rope made of leather, and hand it over to the pūjāri or priest in charge of the temple. The latter placed it in front of the shrine, worshipped it thrice, some of the villagers following suit, and, after offering incense, delivered it to a few respectable village men, who in turn made it over to a lot of Malaiāli men, whose business it was to attach it to the bulls. This rope the oldest inhabitant of the village had the right to keep. The bulls had been previously selected, and penned alongside of the manthay, from which they were brought one by one, and tied with the rope, leaving an equal length on either side. The rope being fixed on, the bull was brought to the manthay, held on both sides by any number who were willing, or as many as the rope would permit. More than fifteen on either side held on to a bull, which was far too many, for the animal had not the slightest chance of making a dart or plunge at the man in front, who was trying to provoke it by using a long bamboo with a skin attached to the end. When the bull was timid, and avoided his persecutors, he was hissed and hooted by those behind, and, if these modes of provocation failed to rouse his anger, he was simply dragged to and fro by main force, and let loose when his strength was almost exhausted. A dozen or more bulls are taken up and down the manthay, and the tamāsha is over. When the manthay happens to have a slope, the Malaiālis have very little control over the bull, and, in some instances, I have seen them actually dragged headlong to the ground at the expense of a few damaged heads. The spectators, and all the estate coolies who were present, were fed that night, and slept in the village. If a death occurs in the village a few days before the festival, I am told that the dance is postponed for a week. This certainly, as far as I know, is not the custom in the plains.”

The man of highest rank is the guru, who is invited to settle disputes in villages, to which he comes, on pony-back or on foot, with an umbrella over him, and accompanied by music. The office of guru is hereditary, and, when he dies, his son succeeds him, unless he is a minor, in which case the brother of the deceased man steps into his shoes. If, in sweeping the hut, the broom touches any one, or when a Malaiāli has been kicked by a European or released from prison, he must be received back into his caste. For this purpose he goes to the guru, who takes him to the temple, where a screen is put up between the guru and the applicant for restoration of caste privileges. Holy water is dedicated to the swāmi(god), by the guru, and a portion thereof drunk by the man, who prostrates himself before the guru, and subsequently gives a feast of pork, mutton, and other delicacies. The Malaiālis, it may be noted, will eat sheep, pigs, fowls, various birds, and black monkeys.

Each village on the Shevaroys has its own headman, an honorary appointment, carrying with it the privilege of an extra share of the good things, when a feast is being held. A Kangāni is appointed to do duty under the headman, and receives annually from every hut two ballams of grain. When disputes occur, e.g., between two brothers regarding a woman or partition of property, the headman summons a panchāyat (village council), which has the power to inflict fines in money, sheep, etc., according to the gravity of the offence. For every group of ten villages there is a Pattakāran (head of a division), who is expected to attend on the occasion of marriages and car festivals. A bridegroom has to give him eight days before his marriage a rupee, a packet of betel leaves, and half a measure of nuts. Serving under the Pattakāran is the Maniakāran, whose duty it is to give notice of a marriage to the ten villages, and to summon the villagers thereto.

In April 1898, on receipt of news of a wedding at a distant village, I proceeded thither through coffee estates rich with white flowers bursting into flower under the grateful influence of a thunderstorm. En route, a view was obtained of the Golden Horn, an overhanging rock with a drop of a thousand feet, down which the Malaiālis swing themselves in search for honey. On the track through the jungle a rock, known from the fancied resemblance of the holes produced by weathering to hoof-marks as the kudre panji (horse’s footprints), was passed. Concerning this rock, the legend runs that a horse jumped on to it at one leap from the top of the Shēvarāyan hill, and at the next leap reached the plains at the foot of the hills. The village, which was the scene of the festivities, was, like other Malaiāli villages, made up of detached bee-hive huts of bamboo, thatched with palm-leaves and grass, and containing a central room surrounded by a verandah—the home of pigs, goats, and fowls. Other huts, of similar bee-hive shape, but smaller, were used as storehouses for the grain collected at the harvest-season. These grain-stores have no entrance, and the thatched roof has to be removed, to take out the grain for use. Tiled roofs, such as are common in the Badaga villages on the Nīlgiris, are forbidden, as their use would be an innovation, which would excite the anger of the Malaiāli gods. The Malaiālis have religious scruples against planing or smoothing with an adze the trees which they fell. The area of lands used to be ascertained by guesswork, not measurement, and much opposition was made to an attempt to introduce chain measurements, the Malaiālis expressing themselves willing to pay any rent imposed, if their lands were not measured. Huts built on piles contain the flocks, which, during the day, are herded in pens which are removable, and, by moving the pens, the villagers manage to get the different parts of their fields manured. Round the village a low wall usually runs, and, close by, are the coffee, tobacco, and other cultivated crops. Outside the village, beneath a lofty tree, was a small stone shrine, capped with a stone slab, wherein were stacked a number of neolithic celts, which the Malaiālis reverence as thunderbolts from heaven. I was introduced to the youthful and anxious bridegroom, clad in his wedding finery, who stripped before the assembled crowd, in order that I might record his jewelry and garments. On the first day, the bridegroom, accompanied by his relations, takes the modest dowry of grain and money (usually five rupees) to the bride’s village, and arranges for the performance of the nalangu ceremony on the following day. If the bride and bridegroom belong to the same village, this ceremony is performed by the pair seated on a cot. Otherwise it is performed by each separately. The elders of the village take a few drops of castor-oil, and rub it into the heads of the bride and bridegroom; afterwards washing the oil off with punac (Bassia oil-cake) and alum water. One of the elders then dips betel-leaves and arugum-pillu (Cynodon Dactylon) in milk, and with them describes a circle round the heads of the young couple, who do obeisance by bowing their heads. The proceedings wind up with a feast of pork and other luxuries. On the following day, the ceremony of tying the tāli (marriage emblem) round the bride’s neck is performed. The bride, escorted by her party, comes to the bridegroom’s village, and remains outside it, while the bridegroom brings a light, a new mat, and three bundles of betel leaves and half a measure of areca nuts, which are distributed among the crowd. The happy pair then enter the village, accompanied by music. Beneath a pandal (booth) there is a stone representing the god, marked with the nāmam, and decorated with burning lamps and painted earthen pots. Before this stone the bride and bridegroom seat themselves in the presence of the guru, who is seated on a raised dais. Flowers are distributed among the wedding guests, and the tāli, made of gold, is tied round the bride’s neck. This done, the feet of both bride and bridegroom are washed with alum water, and presents of small coin received. The contracting parties then walk three times round the stone, before which they prostrate themselves, and receive the blessing of the assembled elders. The ceremony concluded, they go round the village, riding on the same pony. The proceedings again terminate with a feast. I gather that the bride lives apart from her husband for eleven or fifteen days, during which time he is permitted to visit her at meal times, with the object, as my interpreter expressed it, of “finding out if the bride loves her husband or not. If she does not love him, she is advised by the guru and headman to do so, because there are many cases in which the girls, after marriage, if they are matured, go away with other Malaiālis. If this matter comes to the notice of the guru, she says that she does not like to live with him. After enquiry, the husband is permitted to marry another girl.”

A curious custom prevailing among the Malaiālis, which illustrates the Hindu love of offspring, is thus referred to by Mr. Le Fanu. “The sons, when mere children, are married to mature females, and the father-in-law of the bride assumes the performance of the procreative function, thus assuming for himself and his son a descendant to take them out of Put. When the putative father comes of age, and, in their turn, his wife’s male offspring are married, he performs for them the same office which his father did for him. Thus, not only is the religious idea involved in the words Putra and Kumāran carried out, but also the premature strain on the generative faculties, which this tradition entails, is avoided. The accommodation is reciprocal, and there is something on physiological grounds to recommend it.” Putra means literally one who saves from Put, a hell into which those who have not produced a son fall. Hindus believe that a son can, by the performance of certain rites, save the souls of his ancestors from this place of torture. Hence the anxiety of every Hindu to get married, and beget male offspring. Kumāran is the second stage in the life of an individual, which is divided into infancy, childhood, manhood, and old age. Writing to me recently, a Native official assures me that “the custom of linking a boy in marriage to a mature female, though still existing, has, with the advance of the times, undergone a slight yet decent change. The father-in-law of the bride has relieved himself of the awkward predicament into which the custom drove him, and now leaves the performance of the procreative function to others accepted by the bride.”

Widow remarriage among the Peria Malaiālis is, I am informed, forbidden, though widows are permitted to contract irregular alliances. But, writing concerning the Malaiālis of the Dharmapuri tāluk of the Salem district, Mr. Le Fanu states that “it is almost imperative on a widow to marry again. Even at eighty years of age, a widow is not exempted from this rule, which nothing but the most persistent obstinacy on her part can evade. It is said that, in case a widow be not remarried at once, the Pattakār sends for her to his own house, to avoid which the women consent to re-enter the state of bondage.” Of the marriage customs of the Malaiālis of the Javādi hills the same author writes that “these hills are inhabited by Malaiālis, who style themselves Vellālars and Pachai Vellālars, the latter being distinguished by the fact that their females are not allowed to tattoo themselves, or tie their hair in the knot called ‘kondai.’ The two classes do not intermarry. In their marriage ceremonies they dispense with the service of a Brāhman. Monday is the day chosen for the commencement of the ceremony, and the tāli is tied on the following Friday, the only essential being that the Monday and Friday concerned must not follow new-moon days. They are indifferent about choosing a ‘lakkinam’ (muhūrtham or auspicious day) for the commencement of the marriage, or for tying the tāli. Widows are allowed to remarry. When a virgin or a widow has to be married, the selection of a husband is not left to the woman concerned, or to her parents. It is the duty of the Ūrgoundan to inquire what marriageable women there may be in the village, and then to summon the Pāttan, or headman of the caste, to the spot. The latter, on his arrival, convenes a panchāyat of the residents, and, with their assistance, selects a bridegroom. The parents of the happy couple then fix the wedding day, and the ceremony is performed accordingly. The marriage of a virgin is called ‘kaliānam’ or ‘marriage proper’; that of a widow being styled ‘kattigiradu’ or ‘tying’ (cf. Anglice noose, nuptial knot). Adultery is regarded with different degrees of disfavour according to the social position of the co-respondents. If a married woman, virgin or widow, commits adultery with a man of another caste, or if a male Vellālan commits adultery with a woman of another caste, the penalty is expulsion from caste. Where, however, the paramour belongs to the Vellāla caste, a caste panchāyat is held, and the woman is fined Rs. 3–8–9, and the man Rs. 7. After the imposition of the fine, Brāhman supremacy is recognised, the guru having the privilege of administering the tirtam, or holy water, to the culprits for their purification. For the performance of this rite his fee varies from 4 annas to 12 rupees. The tirtam may either be administered by the guru in person, or may be sent by him to the Nāttān for the purpose. The fine imposed on the offenders is payable by their relatives, however distant; and, if there be no relatives, then the offenders are transported from their village to a distant place. Where the adulteress is a married woman, she is permitted to return to her husband, taking any issue she may have had by her paramour. In special cases a widow is permitted to marry her deceased husband’s brother. Should a widow remarry, her issue by her former husband belong to his relatives, and are not transferable to the second husband. The same rule holds good in successive remarriages. Where there may be no relatives of the deceased husband forthcoming to take charge of the children, the duty of caring for them devolves on the Ūrgoundan, who is bound to receive and protect them. The Vellalars generally bury their dead, except in cases where a woman quick with child, or a man afflicted with leprosy has died, the bodies in these cases being burnt. No ceremony is performed at child-birth; but the little stranger receives a name on the fifteenth day. When a girl attains puberty, she is relegated to a hut outside the village, where her food is brought to her, and she is forbidden to leave the hut either day or night. The same menstrual and death customs are observed by the Peria Malaiālis, who bury their dead in the equivalent of a cemetery, and mark the site by a mound of earth and stones. At the time of the funeral, guns are discharged by a firing party, and, at the grave, handfuls of earth are, as at a Christian burial service, thrown over the corpse.”

If a woman among the Malaiālis of the Javādi hills commits adultery, the young men of the tribe are said to be let loose on her, to work their wicked way, after which she is put in a pit filled with cow-dung and other filth. An old man naively remarked that adultery was very rare.