CHAPTER XXI
CASTE AND THE LEGEND OF THE ARTISANS
However learned one may be, there is always something more to be learnt ; however much in favour one may be with kings, there is always something to fear ; however affectionate women may be, it is always necessary to be wary of them.–Sloka.
Caste is a puzzling subject to the new arrival in India who has not made a study of it. Everyone has heard of caste, and knows the use of the word in England, where it can only be applied to class. It has, however, a very different meaning in the East, and has no counterpart in Europe. It is founded on religion, and so intimately connected with it that someone has said ‘Caste is Hinduism, and Hinduism is caste.’
From ancient times there have been four divisions the Brahmin, or priestly ; the Kshattriya, or soldier ; the Vaisya, or merchant ; and the Sudra, or server. The impression conveyed by these divisions on the uninformed mind is that all men attached to the temples and ministering there are Brahmins, that all sepoys are Kshattriyas, shopkeepers are Vaisyas, and Sudras servants. This is not so, although originally it might have been the case in the dim past, when the caste distinctions were made to indicate the trades and professions. The Brahmin is certainly to be found in numbers in all the big temples built for the worship of Siva and the incarnations of Vishnu ; but there are thousands of small temples dedicated to demons where the pujari is not a Brahmin. On the other hand, Brahmins may be found cultivating the land in villages where none but the twice-born live. They are clerks in offices, shopkeepers, postmasters, telegraph clerks, soldiers, stationmasters, and beggars. Rich or poor, educated or ignorant, the caste is always respected, and nobody presumes to outrage it because the Brahmin is poor and ignorant.
The Kshattriya is not represented in the south of India. The Vaisyas also have no representatives in the south.
The greater part of the Hindus of the Madras Presidency are of Sudra and Pariab origin. They are divided and subdivided, and divided again. It is doubtful if they have ever been completely tabulated and numbered. The higher divisions of the Sudra, in the absence of the two intervening castes, rank next to the Brahmins, and they consider themselves of high caste; but the Aryan of the north looks down with contempt upon the Dravidian of the south, upon whom Hinduism was forced by Aryan conquerors. There is a proverb, Beware of the dark Brahmin and the fair Pariah; both are shams.' In the opinion of the Brahmin of the north the characteristics should be reversed, the outcaste black and the twice-born fair.
Although the term Pariah indicates an outcaste, the class in the present day is split up into many divisions, each jealously maintaining certain caste rules to which they really have no right. The Pariah servants of the European's house will not eat with the horsekeepers and grass-cutters, and the horsekeepers will not eat with the sweepers. As to which is superior or inferior, it is impossible to say. All are outcastes, and the least honourable calling is that of the sweeper.
Caste had its origin in trade. Men learned their trade from their fathers, and taught it to their sons, and then made a trades' union of it. In these days the educational advantages offered by England has tempted men to forsake the calling of their ancestors and seek appointments in the merchant's office and under Government. The artisans, who think highly of themselves, whatever may be the opinion of those outside their castes, are known as the Panchalar. Panch is Sanskrit for five. The five Panchalar are the goldsmith, carpenter, blacksmith, brassworker, and mason. A romantic story is told of how they were all well-nigh exterminated through the inherent arrogance which is said to cling to their descendants still.
Long ago they lived in a fort by themselves. Trade came to them, and they prospered. With prosperity came pride and independence, till at last they cast off their allegiance to the King of the country and refused to contribute any longer to his revenues. The King determined to attack them and bring them into subjection. He gathered his army together and encamped before the fort. The walls were built of loadstone; as soon as the troops approached to assault the fortifications, their weapons were drawn from their hands and became unmanageable. The Rajah made a second and a third attempt, but always with the same result.
Foiled and angry he retired to his capital, and issued a proclamation, offering a large reward to anyone who would reduce the fort and humble the pride of the inhabitants. Many attempts were made by force of arms, but through the power of the loadstone they all ended disastrously.
One day the queen of the nautch-girls craved an audience with the King. It was granted. She offered to bring about the destruction of the rebellious artisans if the Rajah would give her his assistance and allow sufficient time. Both her requests were complied with ; but a condition was attached. She and her troupe of nautch-girls were required to swear that they would succeed or die. They took the oath, without hesitation, on betel-leaf and areca-nut. Then the King inquired how he was to help them.
'Build us a house exactly opposite to the enemy's fort, so that we may take up our residence close to it,' was her reply.
The house was built, and the queen with a number of beautiful girls occupied it. It had a broad terraced roof level with the fort walls. Upon this roof the queen assembled her girls every evening to dance and sing. At first the men looked on with curiosity and wonder. The older ones shook their heads at such folly, while the younger men laughed and chaffed the girls on their method of warfare.
A strange kind of Rajah is your ruler to send out a band of dancing-girls against us !' they cried from the walls.
The chaff was received good-naturedly. The girls laughed and showed their white teeth between lips that were full and tempting. Each evening, when the day's work was over, the inhabitants of the fort gathered upon the walls before the palace of the nautch-queen. Each day the girls, decked in fresh jasmin and oleander flowers, posed and swayed and showed their supple limbs in the dance. With their songs was wafted the intoxicating scent of sandalwood and attar of rose as their silken draperies floated upon the evening breeze; and the young men were filled with madness. The older wiseheads, however, looked on with grave apprehension, and would have driven the women away or killed them; but the young men were infatuated, and cried :
‘Let them be! What harm can a parcel of women do? Their singing and dancing serve to pass the hours of the evening. It would be more fitting if we invited them to come into the fort instead of driving them away.’ So they remained, and the dances continued with much laughter and banter until all enmity was forgotten.
One day the nautch-queen asked for a private interview with the King. When she came from the audience-chamber she was wearing a magnificent diamond necklace which was not upon her neck when she went in. Bright as were the gems, they did not sparkle more than her eyes at the thought of what her reward was to be. This was nothing less than marriage with the King.
Among the people of the fort was a handsome young goldsmith, who had lost his head and his heart over the charms of the nautch-queen. She did not appear to be indifferent, and had favoured him to the extent of meeting him under the walls of the fort. Often he had entreated her to return with him and take up her residence in his zenana. There was nothing that he did not promise, and no secret that he withheld. He was as wax in her hands. At length she promised that he should have his desire; but she told him that she wished to give an entertainment upon the roof of her house before leaving her palace that should exceed all others of the kind. The dancing should be superb. As it was necessary that they should prepare properly for the tamasha, the dance must be sometime during the next moon.
Meanwhile the King was not idle. His people, with their carts and cattle, were busy night and day. At the end of four weeks the nautch-queen announced that she was ready. She sent word to the inhabitants of the fort that if they would all assemble on the walls, they should see a nautch that would exceed anything they had ever witnessed before. Decked in flowers and jewels, silks and embroidery of gold, the nautch-girls sang and posed, while the queen addressed herself to the young goldsmith in words and actions that maddened and intoxicated all alike.
In the midst of the revelry there arose an ominous sound, and a pale light played around the base of the walls. Even as the occupants of the fort turned their affrighted eyes from the nautch-girls to seek the cause, flames leaped into the air on all sides and a dense smoke enveloped them. Under cover of the darkness, and while the attention was centred upon the crafty queen and her girls, the King's men had brought straw and firewood, with which they had built up a circle under the walls. At a given signal the pile was simultaneously fired, and the fort was enveloped in flames.
Madly and triumphantly danced the queen and her troupe, while the crackling of the fire rose above their shrill song. In mocking tones the queen bade her lover come and claim her. The young chief advanced to the very edge of the parapet, and stood in the clear yellow light of the burning straw. With fierce words he cursed his betrayer, declaring that the reward of her treachery should be nothing less than death. He cursed the King, who had instigated the evil deed, and the people of the country who had assisted in the destruction of the fort, saying that the hour would arrive when they would be glad in their dire necessity to rebuild the fort with walls of gold if they could only recall the inhabitants. Then leaping into the fire below he was the first to perish.
The heated stones snapped asunder and split from end to end, and the fort crumbled beneath the only power that could destroy it. The place was reduced to a mass of ruins, and the magic spell of the loadstone was gone. The King with his troops effected an entrance unopposed; and what the fire failed to perform the sword completed. Nearly all were killed. The few who escaped fled in terror to the seashore and took ship to the Far East. They did not dare to land until they reached China. There they were kindly welcomed, and in return for the hospitality, they taught the Chinese their cunning crafts which knowledge is retained to the present day.
The King, jubilant at his success, proclaimed a general rejoicing. The nautch-girls were rewarded with munificent liberality, and the queen herself was honoured by the King with marriage with accompanying festivities that were usually accorded only to princesses of royal blood. All through the ceremonies she never once gave a thought to the unhappy man who in his great and trusting love had confided to her the secret of the walls of his fort. On the night when she was conducted to the palace of the King, when silence reigned and his Majesty slept, the spectre of the goldsmith appeared by the queen's side. What he said is not known. The following morning she was found dead by the attendants. She had been strangled with the diamond necklace which had been part of her reward. Time passed and the proud independent artisans were almost forgotten, when difficulties arose which had never troubled the people of that kingdom before. There was a scarcity of agricultural implements. Carts, axes, harrows, sickles, brass cooking-pots, and other indispensable articles for field and household use wore out and had to be renewed. The supply in the shops was exhausted, and the shopkeepers were unable to procure a fresh stock. Mats, furniture, the fittings for houses, even jewelry and personal ornaments became dear and well-nigh impossible to buy. The curse of the young chief was beginning to work. When the King's daughter was about to be married the King sent out in all directions for jewels; there were none to be had but those that were secondhand. Not a goldsmith, carpenter, or brassworker was to be found throughout the length and breadth of the land. All had fled to China or had perished.
The King was in great distress. His people blamed him for the calamity, and openly expressed their discontent. Alarmed for the consequences, he issued a proclamation and sent heralds round his kingdom in search of artificers. He offered money and land; but in vain. His subjects were all agriculturists, and knew nothing of the handling of chisel, saw, or forge. He persevered, his throne being at stake, and bethought himself of a device. He sent a crier out with a branch of scarlet coral. Running through the coral there was a tiny passage crooked and sinuous in its course. Anyone who could thread this piece of coral with a fine strand of silk should receive a large reward. Many tried, but they could only push the silk in a short way. They abandoned the task in despair, saying that their hands were accustomed to hold the plough and to milk the cattle; they were not suited for such delicate work.
A woman buying rice in the bazaar heard the proclamation. She asked the crier if she might take the piece of coral to her house. She had a son who was clever with his fingers; perhaps he might be able to accomplish it. The coral was given to her with the promise that if the boy succeeded he would certainly be rewarded. On her return home she called him and bade him thread the coral with a fine piece of silk which she gave him. For some time he tried to thrust the thread through the narrow, tortuous passage, but without success. Finally he gave it up, and sat silent and thoughtful with his eyes upon the warm sunlit sand, where the ants toiled ceaselessly at their self-imposed tasks. They lifted and dragged all kinds of objects always in one direction–towards the entrance of their nest. A tiny ant, so small as to be scarcely visible, fastened its nippers on to a fine shred of cocoanut fibre that had dropped from a sugar bag and was impregnated with saccharine. Gradually the strand was drawn to the hole of the nest, down which it slowly disappeared.
The boy started to his feet and ran indoors to the storeroom, where a pot of honey stood. He dipped the end of the silk into the sweet syrup and hurried back. With delicate touch he arranged the coral in the entrance of the ants' nest, stopping all other ways of egress with earth. He placed the silk close to it. In a short time the honeyed silk was discovered ; but the ants were perplexed by the altered appearance of their front door. Presently an ant came from below. There was an exchange of confidences, and the two tiny creatures set to work without further ado. Gradually the silk was withdrawn; inch by inch it vanished until only a short piece remained. The boy caught it and gently removed the coral. An exclamation of delight escaped his lips as he saw the other end of the thread hanging from the coral, the two ants still clinging tenaciously to their treasure.
His mother carried the coral to the palace of the King. An order was sent out summoning her to his presence. He demanded her history. She confessed that she was one of the women of the fort. On the night of its destruction she happened to be on a visit to her sister, who was the wife of a merchant in the King's city, and so she escaped death. Her husband perished in the flames, and she remained in the house of the chetty. In due course her child was born, and it passed as the merchant's son. The King was delighted with his discovery. He loaded the widow with presents, and directed that the boy should apply himself to his father's trade under his mother's supervision. Materials were supplied, and the boy began to fashion swords and agricultural implements. When he became a man he married his cousin, the daughter of the chetty, and had five sons. They followed the five trades, and each became the founder of one of the castes or guilds. The King gave them the name of the Panchalar. As descendants of the chetty they adopted the thread worn by Brahmins, but the twice-born say that they have no right to it.
Another difficulty for the casual observer is religion. The castes differ with a strange bitterness and bigotry, and will not eat together nor intermarry. Yet they worship the same gods. The Brahmin and the higher Sudra castes are followers of Vishnu or Siva. The lower castes and Pariahs worship demons. The Brahmins profess to have a contempt for demonolatry and the blood sacrifices which accompany its ritual. They worship in large temples, where their offerings consist of fruit, grain, sugar, butter, and camphor, in addition to gold and silver and precious stones. The doctrine of the high caste Hindus is deistic and philosophical. Religious exercise lies more in the performance of domestic ceremonies than in a frequent attendance at the temple.
The Hindu woman, no matter what her caste may be, takes no active part in public worship. She may provide the gifts and carry them to the temple, but a male member of the family must present them. Her office is in the privacy of the house. Before eating the midday meal she rings a bell or strikes a gong to call the rest of her family, and she does pujah to the household god, whose image in brass or copper she keeps upon a shelf. A lamp is lighted and a small offering is made. Prayers are said with clasped hands and many genuflexions. It is a short ceremony, incumbent on every female head of the zenana.
The man performs his ablutions and orisons at stated times. Domestic ceremonies connected with births, deaths, marriages, and the attainment of certain ages are carried out with the assistance of the purohit, the domestic chaplain of the family. At intervals a visit is received from the guru, the superintending domestic chaplain and inquisitor. It is his duty to discover if caste rules have been broken, and if domestic rites have been properly performed. These visits are always a source of excitement and pleasure to the ladies of the household in all well-to-do Hindu families.
The temple feasts are attended periodically. The ritual takes place within the adytum, known to the Hindus as the mulasthanum. It is the innermost hall into which none but the Brahmins may enter. Its desecration entails a long series of expensive purificatory rites before the mantric essence or divine afflatus can be restored and the sacrilege atoned for.
An English official was once asked to enter the mulasthanum of a celebrated temple in South India. He hesitated to accept the invitation, knowing what it involved; but the head-man pressed him to enter, and assured him that his visit would be acceptable. He accordingly went, and was shown the idol in the inner sanctum. His guide pointed out certain engraved marks upon the figure which indicated the particular sect that worshipped there. He listened to the explanation with interest; and when he had thoroughly examined all that there was to be seen he was courteously conducted to the door. A little later the mystery of the special favour was explained. A case came into the law courts brought by a certain sect that claimed the temple and its rich revenues from the sect that was in possession. There was a great deal of hard swearing and conflicting evidence. The Englishman was summoned as a witness to testify to the kind of marks he had seen in the temple. His evidence was conclusive, and the impudent claimants lost their case. The cost of his evidence was great, as no festival could take place until the mantric essence had been restored; but the stake was a high one and well worth the expense.
Aurungzebe desecrated hundreds of temples by killing cows in the mulasthanums. When the Hindus had an opportunity of retaliating they killed pigs in the mosques. These pleasant little amenities would take place in the present day were it not for the strong arm of the English law.
The mulasthanum is a disappointing place when once its mysterious recesses have been penetrated. During my residence in India I had the opportunity of entering two. A cow had been slaughtered in each, and neither had been restored to virtue when I visited them. One was on the rock fortress at Dindigul. There were ruins of barracks, partly built of masonry and partly rock-hewn, which had once been occupied by British troops. A little higher up was a cool, clear pool which it was said had never been known to fail. At the extreme summit was the temple with its brown, wedge-shaped tower.
The view was beautiful. In the west the sun was sinking in a golden glory, turning the hills to a deep purple. Below lay the fertile land of the Madura district in a warm, transparent haze of heat. The great southern road that runs down the length of the Peninsula to Cape Comorin was easily distinguished by a line of avenue trees. The rock was deserted except for myself and my companion. She was sketching and I explored the temple, penetrating into the Hindu holy of holies. It was a small dark room, with a low ceiling of stone. The light entered by the doorway, the door being gone. A great part of the space was occupied by a raised platform of stone, on which was carved in outline the figure of a tortoise.
Upon this platform the idol formerly rested and then ceremonies were performed daily; the image was washed and anointed and decorated with flower-wreaths, while the devadasis (temple girls) danced and sang before it. Numbers of pilgrims came up the rock bearing their offerings and prostrating themselves outside the walls. Now it was deserted. Grass grew between the unmortared stones outside, and the dust of ages clung about the simple moulding of the interior. No wild-eyed fanatic barred my entrance, and I could wander where I chose. The place was abandoned to the bats, and from their unsavoury presence I quickly beat a retreat. The Indian bat has an appalling smell as well as a villainous appearance. It may be a timid creature, but its looks belie it, for it is nothing short of impish. A sailor in Captain Cook's service encountered one when he was taking a walk on shore at some tropical port. He swore that he had seen the devil. 'He was as large as a one-gallon keg and very like it; he had horns and wings, yet he crept so slowly through the grass that if I had not been afeared I might have touched him.'
The idol that rests on the dais in the mulasthanum is made of five metals—gold, silver, brass, copper, and lead. At the temple of Srirungam, near Trichinopoly, the image is said to be of stone and always sleeping. Pujah is performed every day, and the water used in the diurnal ablutions runs off into a tank, where it is reserved for the pilgrims. They receive the precious liquid as a sacred gift that is full of virtue and drink it.
When Clive took possession of the temple of Srirungam two thousand fierce Mahrattas stood before the door of the mulasthanum, declaring that the Europeans should only pass in over their dead bodies. Their superstition was respected, and Clive left them in undisturbed possession of the inner hall.
An image is brought out once a year at Srirungam and borne in procession through the streets. It is cased in gold and rests upon a silver car. In showing the vehicle the guide—a temple attendant— explained that it was the swami's dogcart.
There are no blood sacrifices at Srirungam. 'By sacrifices are the gods nourished,' says one of the Puranas. It is believed that the nourishment is received by the inhalation of the aroma or essence rising from the offerings. Manu states that creatures dying in this way are conveyed to abodes of bliss. The sacrifice is mystically identified with the victim ; it is regarded as the ransom for sin and the instrument of annulment. A third reason for sacrifice is the acquirement of superhuman power by means of which the gods may be compelled to grant their favours.
The killing of human beings was repugnant to the Aryan instinct, and the horse was substituted for man, the part of man that was suitable as an offering to the deity entering the horse. From the horse the same part passed into the ox, and from thence to the sheep and the goat. The horse and the ox are no longer used in sacrifice, but the sheep and goats—in some parts of the Presidency buffaloes and pigs also—are still in use. To the orthodox Brahmin, however, blood is abhorrent, and he is content to offer to his deity the inanimate products of the earth.