Another curious element in the corruption of caste is the growth of the tyranny of respectability. Among certain sections—mainly I imagine the merchant and trading castes—some of the members becoming rich form themselves into little coteries which take to themselves the government of the caste, and while not altogether denying their communal fellowship with, do not also altogether conceal their contempt for, the poorer members, and the divergence of their own interests and standards from those of the masses. Of course with this high-flying respectability goes very often (as with us) a pharisaical observance of religious ordinances, and a good deal of so-called philanthropy.
I have before me a little book called “The Story of a Widow Re-marriage,” written by a member of the Bunya caste, and printed (for private circulation) at Bombay in 1890. The author of this book some years ago married—in defiance of all the proprieties of high-caste Hinduism—a lady who was already a widow; and he tells the story of this simple act and the consequent caste-persecution which he had to endure in a style so genuine and at once naïve and shrewd that the book is really most interesting. The poor girl whom he married had lost her husband some years before: he in fact was a mere boy and she a child at the time of his death. Now she was an “unlucky woman,” a widow—one of those destined to spend all her life under a ban, to wear black, to keep away from any festivity lest she should mar it by her presence. “What happiness in the world have I,” said she, when the author at their first meeting condoled with her on her fate; “nothing but death can relieve me of all my woes. I have abjured food for the last twelve months; I live only on a pice-worth of curd from day to day. I starve myself, in order that any how my end may come as soon as possible. I have often thought,” she continued, “of committing suicide by drowning myself in the sea or in the neighboring tank of Walkeshwar, or by taking opium. But there are many considerations which hold me back. According to our Brahmans the Shastras say that those who commit suicide are doomed to die a similar death seven times over in their future existence. Moreover I myself believe that taking one’s own life is as sinful as taking the life of any other person. This gives me pause, and I do not do what I would do. I have however forsaken all food, in order that the happy deliverance may come to me in a short time. I have nothing in this life to live for. If I had a child of my own, I would have had some cause for hope.”
Moved by the sufferings of the unhappy Dhunkore, as well as by her youth and beauty, Madhowdas fell genuinely in love with her; and she, in return, with him; and ere long they determined—notwithstanding the relentless persecution of the more influential members of the caste, which they knew would follow—to get married. Madhowdas was in business, and there was the utmost danger that he would be boycotted and ruined. To Dhunkore her chief trouble was the thought of the grief this step would occasion to her mother (with whom she lived). She might be intimate with Madhowdas “under the rose”—that would be venial; she might if there were any serious consequences go a “pilgrimage,” as so many widows do, to some quiet place where a delivery would not attract attention; but to be publicly married—that could never be forgiven. Not only her wealthy relations, but even her mother, would never see her again. So inexcusable would be the act, so dire its consequences.
Nevertheless the pair decided to go through with it. With the utmost secrecy they made their preparations, knowing well that if any rumors got abroad the arrangements would likely be interfered with by mercenary violence; the young woman might even be kidnapped—as had happened in a similar case before. Only sympathisers and a few witnesses were invited to the actual ceremony, which however was safely performed—partly owing to the presence of a European officer and a body of police! The next morning the Times of India, the Gazette, and other Bombay papers were out with an account of the widow re-marriage, and the native city was convulsed with excitement—the community being immediately divided (though very unequally) into two hostile camps over their views of it.
The mother’s alarm at the mysterious disappearance of Dhunkore was only partly allayed when she found among her daughter’s trinkets a little note: “Be it known to my dear mother that not being able to bear the cruel pangs of widowhood, I forsook all kinds of food, and ate only a piece of curd every day. The consequence was that I became very weak, but did not die, as I hoped.... My dear mother, it is not at all likely that we shall meet again hereafter. You may therefore take me for dead. But I shall be very happy if I ever hear from the lips of any one that you are all doing well. I have not done this thing at the instigation of any one, but have resolved upon it of my own free will; so you will not blame anybody for it. I have taken away nothing from your house, and you will kindly see for yourself that your property is quite safe....” And the alarm was changed into dismay when the news came of what had really happened. A meeting of wealthy relations and influential members of the caste was called; everything was done to damage the credit and ruin the business of Madhowdas; and finally he and his wife were solemnly excommunicated!
The pair however struggled on, contending against many difficulties and trials, and supported by a few friends, both among their own caste and the resident English, for some years. Though crippled, their worldly prospects were not ruined. Gradually Madhowdas established himself and his business, drew round him a small circle of the more advanced spirits, settled in a roomy house at Girgaon, and snapped his fingers at his enemies. Indeed his house became a centre of propaganda on the subject of widows’ wrongs, and an asylum for other couples situated as he and his wife had been; meetings, of both English and native speakers, were held there; quite a number of marriages were celebrated there; and it appears that the house, to confirm its mission, now goes by the name of “Widow Re-marriage Hall!”
But what I set out to note in telling this story was the curious way in which wealth asserts itself even in the caste system of India to form a tyranny of so-called respectability and of orthodoxy—dividing the caste, in some cases at any rate, into distinct parties not unlike those which exist in our society at home. “The real opponents of widow re-marriage,” says Madhowdas in his book, “are not generally the simple and poor members of a caste, but its Shetthias. They pose before the public as the most enlightened members of their caste. In their conversation with European or Parsi acquaintances they declare themselves to be ardent advocates of social reform, and they pretend to deplore the folly, the stupidity, and the ignorance of their caste-fellows. But as a matter of fact it is these same Shetthias, these leading citizens, these enlightened members of society, who are really the bitterest and most uncompromising enemies of social progress.... Can the reformer turn to the educated classes for help? I am grieved to say, yet the truth must be told, that their moral fibre is capable of a great deal of strengthening; and as to their active faculties, they still lie perfectly dormant. They have indeed the intelligence to perceive social evils. But their moral indignation on the tyranny and barbarism of custom evaporates in words.... A race of idle babblers these. They will speak brave words from the political platform about their country’s wrongs and their countrymen’s rights. But talk to them of something to be done, some little sacrifice to be made, they will shrink away, each one making his own excuse for his backsliding.... The world generally believes them; and if they occasionally give a few thousand rupees towards some charity, their reputation for liberality and large-mindedness is confirmed still more, and their fame is trumpeted forth by newspapers as men of munificence and enlightenment.”
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It must not be thought however, because the caste-system is in many ways corrupt and effete, that it is without its better and more enduring features—even in the present day. Within the caste there is a certain communal feeling, which draws or tends to draw all the members together, as forming a corporate body for common ends and fellowship, and giving every member a claim on the rest in cases of distress or disability. Moreover a great many of the castes, being founded on hereditary occupation, form trade societies, having their own committees of management, and rules and regulations, fines, feasts and mutual benefit arrangements, almost quite similar to our old trade-guilds and modern unions. Thus there are the goldsmiths (a powerful caste which in South India, says Hunter, for centuries resisted the rule of the Brahmans, and claimed to be the religious teachers, and wore the sacred thread), the brass-workers, the weavers, the fishers, and scores of others—each divided into numerous sub-sections. The caste-guild in these cases regulates wages, checks competition, and punishes delinquents; the decisions of the guild being enforced by fines, by causing the offender to entertain all his fellows at a feast, and by other sanctions. The guild itself derives its funds not only from fines, but also from entrance fees paid by those beginning to practise the craft, and from other sources. In any case whether trade-guild or not, the caste—while it assures its members against starvation—exercises a continual surveillance over them, as we have seen in the case of Madhowdas—extending to excommunication and even expulsion. Excommunication being of three kinds: (1) from eating with other members of the caste, (2) from marriage with them, and (3) from use of the local barber, washerman, and priest. Expulsion is rare; and it is said that it seldom takes place unless the offender is a real bad lot.
As an instance of trade-unionism in caste, Hunter mentions the case of the bricklayers at Ahmedabad in 1873. Some of the bricklayers were working overtime, and thus were getting a few pence a day extra, while at the same time others of them were unemployed. The guild therefore held a meeting, and decided to forbid the overtime—the result of which was that employment was found for all.