Tamil Dalits in Sear

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2002 22: 21South Asia ResearchM. Kannan and Francois Gros

Tamil Dalits in Search of a Literature

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TAMIL DALITS IN SEARCH OF A LITERATURE

Kannan M. and François Gros

However many gather to pull it,What of it?

The temple car still hasn’t come into the ceri

Atalaracan

Kajam putitu (August-October 1993)

Paraiyar IIf he remains Paraiyan they will bumhim alive,

If, as warrior, he uprootsThey will worship him with joined hands.

Palamalai‘Paravirar~’

Nirappirikai (November 1994)

Dalits in and out of Tamil Nadu

The untouchable sells abroad but does less well in India. Is an ’alternative literature’

of the downtrodden and ’oppressed’ thinkable in the land of the Laws of Manu?In Tamil, the phenomenon has only just come into being. The monsoon of dalitliterary inspiration that gathered in the west of India during the 1960s has barelycrossed the Western Ghats. It was in 1982 that the first reference appeared andthat was only a very casual one, in Patikal, a magazine published in Bangalore by

Note: Some of the material herein was referred to by Frangois Gros in a seminar on ’Some Aspectsof Contemporary Tamil Literature’ at Uppsala University, Sweden, 19 May 1995, and we thank the

participants for their feedback. This article originally appeared in French as ’Les dalit tamouls en

quete d’une litterature’, Bulletin de I ’£cole Français D’Extrême-Orient, No. 83, 1996, pp. 125-53.it has been updated and rewritten in English with help from M. P. Boseman. There was much goingon in the field at the time of completion of this article in October 2000 which we were unable toknow, and such developments continue. Social anthropological works on the subject of untouch-ability are numerous, as evident from the bibliographical data collected by Eleanor Zelliot, FromUntouchable to Dalit: Essays on the Ambedkar Movement, Delhi, 1992 to Oliver Mendelsohn and

Marika Vicziany, The Cntouchables, Cambridge, 1998. Susan Bayly, Ca.ste, Society and Politics in

India_from the Eighteercth Centcsry to the Modern Age, Cambridge, 1999, provides a good backgroundstudy. The emphasis in this article is on Tamil sources. It should be noted that dates accompanying gthe titles of Tamil books are of the commercially determined library distribution date, when in factthe actual publication is often several months later.



22

a small group around Tamilavan.’ At the beginning of the 1990s the word ’dalit’was in widespread use in Tamil, but not without reservations, since even in itslocal orthography of talit, the term is of Sanskrit origin and Tamil intellectualsare nothing if not linguistically touchy. Moreover, acceptance of the word vaguelyimplies consciousness of participating in a movement that concerns India as awhole.

From various perspectives, Tamil ideologues set to work to examine the politicalequation of religious minorities with those rejected by the caste system;’ theyreferred back to Ambedkar, champion of the cause of the untouchable, whosecentenary in 1991 had opportunely brought his writings to mind.3 The outbreakof dalit literary inspiration is thus very recent and its promulgation through themedia even more so; further, it is in a state of ideological confusion which can beclarified only by attention to the emergence of the phenomenon and the limitationspeculiar to it. The current tendency towards drowning specific aspects of it inwhat might be called dalit sensitivity (taken here to mean modish, and conformingto the concept of political correctness or self-censorship as it appears in journalismand anthropological discourse) is appropriate to the Tamil literary temperamentwhich is naturally sober and tends to half-tones. If a writer, dalit by sympathy andorigin, turns away from the ideological free-for-all because of his or her humanisticvalues, fashion forces and official literary circles will elevate the writer in thename of the uncompromised values he or she espouses, thus paradoxically com-promising them.

In 1994 Pumani, a writer belonging to an untouchable caste, a dalit by birththough not always eager to be so identified, received a literary price awarded byAGNI (Awakened Group for National Integration, a Tamil organisation in Madraswith a national network of Congress orientation run by the authors Malan andSivasankari, AGNI also means ’fire’). On that occasion he read a text, later pub-lished in Putiya Parvcai (a now defunct bi-monthly literary magazine managed byM. Natarajan, who was closely involved with local politics at that time), a signific-ant satirical allegory, Ellämë përfccampalattirkuttäll (’All for the Dates...’).’

In a village of the karical (black soil) country, on the verandah of his house, aman of some culture is waiting for the rains. He strikes up conversations withpassers-by, first a salt merchant who is also a Sangam poet whom he admires.

’ A Dalit Action Committee, which became the Dalit Sahitya Akademi, had existed in Bangaloresince 1977, led by V. T. Rajshekhar Shetty, archivist, journalist and author of Dalit Movement inKarnataka, Madras, 1978.2 ’On the whole we could define Dalits as people belonging to castes which, in one way or theother, are subjected to untouchability and are sidelined by the dominant castes.’ Dalit Politics: ADraft Manifesto, Pondicherry, 1994, p. 24.3 This was also the occasion for the publication of a Tamil version of his works; from 1991, morethan 15 volumes at the end of 2000. We note that in 1992, it was on 6 December, the day on whichthe memory of B. R. Ambedkar has been celebrated for years, that Hindu fundamentalist groups(BJP, RSS, VHP) demolished the Babri Masjid in Ayodhya thus adding, for minorities, a doublesignificance to the date.4 Putiya P&amacr;rvai, 1-15 March 1995, pp. 9-11.



23

’What an amount of knowledge!’ ’Knowledge...where can one buy that...?’ repliesthe poet as he goes his way. He then meets the Alvar poetess Andal of pure Vaish-navite lineage: ’How does she know so much about the cowherd women and theirwork?’ ’Mayn’t I write about other people? Who said I am nothing but an Alvar?’She leaves him dumbfounded. Face to face with Subrahmanya Bharati and hisdonkey, he questions the relevance of an image in one of the Tamil poet laureate’sprose poems. The reply is, ’You are too big-headed; it’s the heart that ought to bebig....’ The rain comes and with it the croaking of frogs, an image of our societyfamiliar since Socrates. They croak in Tamil, discreetly ’Brahmanism’; more force-fully ’Dravidianism’; even more strongly ’feminism’, ’territorialism’ (regionalism,chauvinism of the birthplace reserved for the ’sons of the soil’), ’structuralism’;in a hoarse voice ’traditionalism’; in a more confused tone, ’dalitism’, with manyvariations, a veritable cacophony: ’tatalittu’, the dalits on themselves; ’atalittu’,non-dalits on the dalits; ’pitalittu’, the ’backward castes’ on the dalits; ’mutalittu’,the ’forward castes’ on the dalits.... A date-seller comes along who, according tocustom, trades his fruit for old utensils. The villager is possessed with a ’littlehumanism’ which he doesn’t want to exchange but would prefer to have enhanced.The merchant knows nothing about this and grumbles about such an unreasonableindividual. Left to himself the man confesses :all his life he has tried to learn and

understand but everyone has repeatedly told him that he knows nothing. An oldschool teacher reassures him, quoting from Ecclesiastes and putting Candide intopractice: Qui auget scientiam auget dolorein (He who increases knowledge in-creases sorrow). ’I’ll go back to my garden.’ He proclaims categorically when thedate-seller comes back, ’The truth is, I know nothing. Are you satisfied?’

Faced with this caricature, the scepticism of the writer, whether feigned or dis-illusioned, acting as a perfunctory anti-intellectualism, sets up a barrier behindwhich he can take refuge and disrobe with an appearance either of modesty or ofhaving been wounded. What can be concluded from this? Is there, will there everbe, a Tamil dalit literature?A comparison with other dalit literatures is unavoidable but the numerous works

about these make for brevity.’ It was Marathi literature which first drew attentionto the term ’dalit’ and to the literary genres which, towards the end of the 1960s,were expressing its essence, with Eleanor Zelliot, Gail Omvedt and other Ameri-cans calling themselves ’Concerned Asian Scholars’. If the first dalit literary con-ference, which passed almost unnoticed, took place only in 1958, the movementdid not lack antecedents to vindicate it, from the Buddha himself and, more mod-

estly, the medieval devotee mahar Chokhamela, to more modern exponents ofsocial reform such as Jotirao Phule (1829-90) and to those authors, often linkedto the ’peasant’ literary renaissance, who drew their inspiration and language5 Bibliographical details in Eleanor Zelliot, From Untouchable to Dalit: Essays on the AmbedkarMovement, Delhi, 1992; Gail Omvedt, Dulits and the Democratic Revolution: Dr Ambedkar andthe Dalit Movement in Colonial India, New Delhi, 1994; also, two anthologies, Mulk Raj Anandand Eleanor Zelliot, An Anthology of Dalit Literature, New Delhi, 1992, and Arjun Dangle, ed.,Poisoned Bread: Translations from Modern Marathi Dalit Literature, Madras, 1992.



24

from the land, such as S.M. Mate (1886-1957). The Maharashtrians also had beforethem the prestigious example of one of their own people, B.R. Ambedkar, whohelped to engender an ’untouchable’ consciousness in response to the Gandhiancampaign of 1933-34 in favour of ’Harijan’, and who attempted to popularise alarge-scale political ideology through the Republican Party whose fragmentedpan-Indian vision never managed to evolve into a genuinely unifying reality (vari-ous factions may gather for the sake of elections only to split up again immediatelyafterwards) but which, with great difficulty, made some inroads into Maharashtrain 1966.

It is therefore not surprising that the brilliant young generation of Marathi dalitsin the 1960s took the American Blacks as their model, gave a literary turn to theircommitment and founded the ’Dalit Panthers’ in Bombay in 1972. Their pro-vocative language often lacked grace, but never intensity.6 Gujarati literature fol-lowed suit’ with some difficult debuts before beginning the exploration of a patternwhich was often to be copied: a rearrangement of poetic forms linked to song andfolklore and a foray into subaltern mythology, chosen as an alternative to theweight of classical Hinduism. Several English translations from Marathi appearedin Tamil Nadu well before the Tamil translations based on them. Like some other

texts also translated from Marathi but into French (by Guy Poitevin) they weretestimonies rather than works of imagination, chronicles rather than artisticallyconceived texts, lived experience rather than poetic experimentation, and a supply-ing of material for the study of anthropology rather than a renewal of the literature.A politically aware public drawn from universities in India and abroad kept themovement at arm’s length though without hesitating to overvalue it; its linguisticimpact is incontestable but current trends in academic studies of dialects do notseem to have taken this into account. Beautiful poems and some blasphemousoutbursts appeared in Marathi although the prose cannot be compared with thatof certain Bengali texts, such as those by Mahasweta Devi

6 ’The language of these writers is one of lament, doubt and scorching rage. And the body of thework is of immense value since it is only now that the Dalits have begun to express, thanks toindividual talent and education, for the first time in history what none but they could have everknown. To that extent, this literature takes its pride of place on the literary scene.’ Latika Padgaonkar,’Profiles in Shadow’, The Book Review, No. 18, 10 October 1994, p. 35.7 For easy reference, see ’Gujarati Dalit Literature’, Indian Literature, No. 159, January-February1994, and ’Punjabi Dalit Literature’, Indian Literature, No. 185, May-June 1998.8 From Arjun Dangle, Dalit ilakkiyam: Pökkum varal&amacr;rum, trans. Ti. Cu. Satasivam, Madras, 1992,to Pinuttai eritt&emacr; veliccam, an anthology of Gujarati, Marathi and Tamil writings chosen and trans-lated by Indiran, Madras, 1995, a brilliant ’all-rounder’ and officer of the Indian Bank, quick toreclaim his dalit identity when that became fashionable. Sahitya Akademi published two Englishtranslations of Marathi dalit autobiographies: Laxman Mane, Upara: Outsider, trans. A. K. Kamat,New Delhi, 1997 and Laxman Gaikwad, Uchalya: The Branded, trans. P. A. Kolharkar, New Delhi,1998.9 In English see Kalpana Bardhan. Of Women, Outcastes, Peasants and Rebels, Berkeley, 1990.Since she received the Jnanpith Award in 1996, at the end of 2000, 11 books by Mahasweta Devihave been available in English.



25

In Dravidian languages, writers in Kannada seem to be the most prolific, withDevenuru Mahadeva, Govindayya, Chandrashekhara Patila, Baraguru Rama-candrappa, Sara Abubakkara’° and, above all, Siddhalingayya, who appears tokeep a distance and to denounce certain ambiguities.&dquo; More balanced of late,Siddhalingayya has discovered that being a revolutionary involves more thanwishful thinking and that works by writers ’in revolt’ fall flat, being limited by alanguage of class struggle, which is international, homogeneous and entirely anti-septic, and by a narrow imagery. This is the international poetics of poverty andof the proletariat, additionally boxed in by a mainstream that has come to becapable of absorbing various degrees of rage. The political statement of the dalitsmay be represented today, at least in north India, by the Bahujan Samaj Party(BSP) of Kanshi Ram, but where is its cultural statement? If the dalits lack thecapacity and the necessity to create their own myths there is nothing to distinguishMarxist poetry from dalit poetry. For this creation to take place, two pitfalls haveto be avoided: that of becoming closed up in the aesthetic structures of folklorealone and the complete adherence to stereotypes of dalit imagination, both ofwhich are equally ineffective in terms of political realism.&dquo; The aura of myth,resorted to for the sake of its prestige, is thus a common leitmotif in dalit literature.In Telugu also, an ideal prescription for a perfect dalit, written by a militant intel-lectual of the movement, Katti Padma Rao,’~ draws its inspiration from the bloodof the victims of Karamchedu,14 certainly, but also from the Indian materialist-philosophical tradition of Charvaka, perceived as egalitarian, as well as from popu-lar art and culture, from songs of fishermen, shepherds, launderers and barbers,and from burrakatho, jakkcslakatha, jcamulakatha theatre, but apparently, neverfrom any particular genre of modem literature. This is all the more surprising inthat this literature demonstrates a high level of social and political consciousness

10 Her novel Cantirakiri &Amacr;rrankaraiyil, Tamil trans. Ti. Cu. Satasivam, Madras, 1994, with anintroduction by Toppil Muhamed Miran, the most ’representative’ Tamil Muslim writer — thoughnot one who was involved in the Dalit Movement. Since 1996 more translations of Kannada dalit

literature have appeared in Tamil: Putainta k&amacr;rru, Coimbatore, 1996; Siddalingayya, Ürum C&emacr;riyum,Coimbatore, 1996; Arvinta Malakathy, Government Pir&amacr;manan, Coimbatore, 1998; DevanuruMahadeva, Pacittavarkal, New Delhi, 1999. All the texts have been translated by Pavannan.11’One should not reduce the word dalit to signify only a caste. "Dalit" should symbolise sufferingand pain rather than becoming a symbol of exploitation. It should bloom as a symbol which functionsagainst exploitation, cruelty and atrocities. The meaning emphasized by the word dalit ought to beinsult, shame, insecurity, rebellion. There are some progressive literary intellectuals and elitistsamong dalits. They must use the word without any real dalit consciousness; neither do they haveany dream for or about dalits. The real dalit issues and problems are quite removed from them.’Nirappirikai, No. 2, October 1994. pp. 30-31.12 See D. R. Nagaraj, ’From Political Rage to Cultural Affirmation: Notes on the Kannada DalitPoet-Activist Siddhalingaiah’, India International Centre Quarterly, Vol. 21, No. 4, pp. 16--26 andidem, The Flaming Feet: A Study of the Dalit Movement, Bangalore, 1993.13 Katti Padma Rao, Caste and Alternative Culture, trans. D. Anjaneyalu, Madras, 1995.14 A village in the south coastal district of Andhra Pradesh where, on 17 July 1985, six dalit Christianswere killed by members of the upper caste Kamma community. This incident provided a rallyingpoint for the dalit movement in Andhra Pradesh.



26

and a great deal of receptivity to dialect. Any development in the situation inKerala would be complicated by the intrusion of the important reformist movementinitiated in favour of the Izhava, within the framework of Hindu society, byNarayana Guru well before Independence and by the presence of an original brandof communism as well as of numerous and active Christian and Muslim minorities.

Today, there is no hesitation in seeing in the Synod of Diamper (Lldayamperur),the beginning of an anti-caste movement in 1599 amongst the Indian clergy while,in fact, it tried to resolve the conflict between a new wave of conversions made

by the Portuguese and the old Syrian Christian church which had itself assimilatedwith the caste system. It is a family belonging to that very tradition that is portrayedin The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy who, by giving the proceeds of theMalayalam rights of her novel to the promotion of Kerala dalit literature in February1999, has shared her limelight with the obscure Kerala Dalit Sahitya Akademi.Yet, in Kerala, as everywhere else, the best writings to be claimed by dalits are theworks of non-dalits, from Kumaran Asan to Katammanitta Ramakrishnan, or aretranslations from Marathi or Oriya. Mention was made in 1998 to a dalit novel bya dalit writer, Kocharayathi by Narayana.

These invariables are not lacking in Tamil: a quest for ideological roots andexalted ancestors, a fascination with ’subaltern’ 15 folklore (as an alternative toclassical mythology and literature), attempts made by the best to go beyond realismand the sordid and to find, beyond self-pity, pity for others, invective and insult,the authentic cry which would take them beyond simple documentary witnessingand would fulfil hitherto frustrated expectations.

The Lure of the Dravidian Movement

The first problem is, naturally, the historical relationship of the Tamil dalits withthe Dravidian movement that occupies such an important position in the sensibility

15 The term needs clarification. The series called ’Subaltern Studies’ (in the English language)which treats subjects as diverse as colonialism, feminism, tribal societies and the anthropology oflow castes certainly constitutes an essential contribution to the history of India and is read by theideologues of the dalit movement, but such studies have no impact on the subaltern consciousnesswhose cultural baggage is exclusively vernacular in its expression. It should be added that, howevereminent the position of the Sudras may be in the Tamil Vaishnavite Bhakti movement and howevermany harijans may have been canonised and represented by statues in the temples in south India,the academic dialogue exists between the Brahmin and the dominant non-Brahmin castes, thedalits most often being excluded. See Friedhelm Hardy, ’The Tamil Veda of a Sudra Saint (TheSrivaisnava Interpretation of Nammalvar)’, Contributions to South Asian Studies. Delhi, 1979, pp.29-87; and compare two approaches, the orthodox Shaivite inspiration of M. Arunachalam, HarijanSaints of Tamilnadu, Tiruchitrambalam, 1977, and the militant dalit approach of S. Manickam,Nandanar the Dalit Martyr: A Historical Reconstruction of his Time, Madras, 1990, which concurswith the criticism of Periya Pur&amacr;nam by Raj Gautaman in Dalit Panp&amacr;tu (’Essays on Dalit Culture’),Pondicherry, 1993, pp. 46-87. The epigraph heading our article bitterly makes the claim that thesole problem is no longer the right of entry into the temples but is the integration of the ceri (areain which untouchables live in a village), into the ritual circuit of the procession.



27

and the political life of Tamil Nadu. 11 Appearing towards the end of the nineteenthcentury, the movement first reflected the progressive values of Congress policiesand had, at the same time, a strong regional background: Periyar, a Congress dis-sident, was the hero of the Self-Respect Movement. During the 1930s, however,it was less Gandhian values that counted and more the ancient southern gapbetween the Brahmins and the non-Brahmin high castes,&dquo; that is, Sudras, as distinctfrom Harijans. Local and peripheral, the Dravidian movement of protest andopposition, of alternative and counter-culture, hostile to the centre, to Sanskritand to Brahmins certainly has qualities that give it a resemblance to the Dalitmovement, but only by analogy. This is confirmed by two tracts very recentlyrediscovered by Tamilnadan who projects them as forerunners of Tamil dalitliterature. The first, Shanmugam Pillai’s Päppättikkum Par.aicdkkum natantaalankdraccantai (6’The Ornamented Fight between a Brahmin woman and aParaiyar Woman’ )18 is in the form of an ornate dialogue, between a Brahminwoman and a paraiyar woman in which the latter exposes the hypocrisy of theformer’s values and attitude, in the same mode as that of Aritasar’s well-known

Irucamaya vilakkam between two women as to the relative merits of Shaivismand Vaishnavism. The second tract (Wn61a vicittira parci tõ((i, t6tticci paraiyanpclttu (’The Paraiyan Song of Totti and Totticci in the Strange and WonderfulParsi Style’)19 is a song in which a paraiyar remonstrates with the upper castesabout their ignoring of his noble origins in their mistreatment of him. Withouthaving any significant direct impact upon serious literature, the Dravidian move-ment was nevertheless to exercise considerable influence upon the language byoffering a neutral, standard and syncretic idiom as an alternative to the Brahman

16 Classical: Eugene Irschick, Political and Social Conflict in South India, Berkeley, 1969; andidem, Tamil Revivalism in the 1930s, Madras, 1986. Accessible: Anita Diehl, Periyar E. V. Rama-swami, Bombay, 1977. Close to texts: S. Saraswati, Towards Self-Respect: Periyar EVR on a NewWorld, Madras, 1994. See also a review of S. Theodore Baskaran, The Message Bearers, Madras,1981 by François Gros, Bulletin de l’École Français D’Extrême-Orient (hereafter BEFEO), No.70, 1981, pp. 291-303. In Tamil see S. V. Rajadurai and V. Geetha, Periyar: Cuya mariy&amacr;taicamatarmam (’Periyar: Self-respect and Equal Justice’), Coimbatore, 1996; and idem, Periyar:August 15, Coimbatore, 1998. For a good, short summary of Rajadurai’s thesis in English, see V.Geetha and S. V. Rajadurai, ’Neo-Brahmanism: An International Fallacy?’, Economic and PoliticalWeekly (hereafter EPW), Vol. XXIII, No. 3-4, 1993, January 16-23, pp. 129-36; and for an elabor-ation of the same see idem, Towards a Non-Brahmin Millennium: From Iyothee Dass to Periyar,Calcutta, 1998.

17Essentially the ’caiva v&emacr;l&amacr;lar’ which may be translated roughly as small landowners (pillai), andsecondly mutaliy&amacr;r, of the regions of Tondaimandalam, Thanjavur, Tirucci and Tirunelveli, attachedequally to Tamil and to vegetarian diet (caivam). For an apologia of their role, and implicit responseto the works of Irschick, see A. R. Venkatachalapathy, Tir&amacr;vita iyakkamum v&emacr;l&amacr;larum, cuyamariy&amacr;taiiyakkakkattam 1927-1944 (’Dravidian Movement and the Velalar during the Self-respect Movement,1927-1944’), Madras. 1994, and a review by T. Paramasivan in K&amacr;laccuvatu, No. 12, 1995, pp.51-52.18 Cf., Tamilnadan, Kavikk&omacr;, Chennai, 1999: Shanmugam Pillai, P&amacr;pp&amacr;ttikkum Paraccikum natantaalank&amacr;raccantai, Thanjavur, 1929.19 Vin&omacr;ta vicittira parci t&omacr;tti, t&omacr;tticci paraiyan p&amacr;ttu, Thanjavur, 1929.



28

dialect, not identifiable with any caste, and tending to reduce the percentage ofSanskrit vocabulary from approximately 60-70 per cent to 20-30 per cent without,however, sharing the exclusiveness of the ’Pure Tamil’ movement. It rather pro-vides, through cinema and political propaganda, a fluid language, capable ofemotion and, indeed, of sentimentality, a dramatic spoken language, forged forand by dialogue (films, novels, theatre) and debate. Even though satirised latterly,this language, an instrument in the conquest of power, the language of the writer-politicians Annadurai and Karunanidhi, will not fade out any more than will myth-ical references to the past and to its literature. It is forceful enough to affect theimagination but insufficiently profound to have lasting significance.The coming to power of the Dravidian movement and the uncontrollable caste-

ism of the upwardly mobile ’backward castes’, who benefit from quota and resei-vation policies prejudicial to the interests of the dalits, can only induce the latterto seek an identity independent of the Dravidian establishment, if not actuallyorganised against it.The recent and very powerful Hindu revival, which confirmed its triumph with

the election of the Bharatiya Janata Party in 1999, is substituting for the historicalmyth of the antique Dravidian culture faced by an Aryan invasion, a new myth ofHindutva, a unique entity which regroups several millennia within a single com-munity of language and culture including all Hindus from Brahmins to Dravidians,leaving out only the tribals and dalits who have never been integrated, and the

’

dissidents who are converts to Islam or Christianity. As in the case of the earliermyth, the Hindutva one is based on unproven archaeological and linguistic argu-mentation - the Sarasvati river archaeology, and Sanskrit-oriented reading ofIndus seals.2° The myth will, nevertheless, function as long as Sanskritisationcontinues to be identified with the social promotion of lower castes. It provides aperfect ideological cover for the unificatory obsession of the majority because itleaves the minorities with no alternative to integration into Hinduism other thanthe violence, which it is the duty of the political majority to prevent.

Slogans have more impact than poems, yet the emergence of a dalit Tamilliterature is perceptible. It is a literature with an unfurnished memory; it is subaltemand it lacks the prophetic charisma of established cultures. It employs a morecolloquial and popular language, which it uses even in narrative prose. Mattersare further complicated by the fragility that fringe groups are prey to, the ephemeralnature of reviews and magazines, the uncertain agendas of ideologues, the exces-sive place given to poorly assimilated foreign references and, lastly, the far fromnegligible creative impact of the Tamil writers of Sri Lanka, traumatised by theirinternal conflicts and forced emigration. 21

20 See Michael Witzel and Steve Farmer, ’Horseplay in Harappa’, Frontline, 13 October 2000, pp.4-14.21 Little is said about the importance of the caste of the Tamil militant nationalists of Sri Lanka,perhaps because the ’Tigers’ of the ’Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam’ (LTTE), the dominantmovement, bastion of v&emacr;l&amacr;la (the majority population in Jaffna since the era of Arumuka Navalar,before 1900), and of karaiy&amacr;lar (caste of the famous leader Prabhakaran) have practically eliminated



29

In Quest of Ancestors: Ayotti Das Kaviraja Pantitar,A Neo-Buddhism before Ambedkar

The dalit is without influence and is defined by his nakedness, standing as hedoes as the last and interchangeable link in the chain of social organisation. Thedalit has insufficient cultural weight to interact with the Indian cultural renaissanceof the twentieth century which is Hindu in essence and functions by negating,silencing or assimilating any attempt at alternatives or dissidence. The dalits havethus been tempted to create ancestors for themselves as well as an ideologicalpast. In Tamil Nadu the contribution of the paiicamar (the ’fifth caste’, the out-castes, strangers to the four uarna}, through the construction of a militant non-Brahmanism within the reformist nationalism of the final decades of the nineteenth

century, is today revivified by dalit ideology as the foremost expression of theirconsciousness of caste. Although now forgotten, tlie path and the theses of AyottiDas Kaviraja Pantitar (hereafter ADKP) have had a distinct impact.&dquo;

all other caste divisions in their ranks. For more details see Dagmar Hellmann-Rajanayagam, TheTamil Tigers’Armed Struggle for Identity, London, 1993. Caste feeling remains strong, however, tosuch a point that Sri Lankan emigrants regroup according to that criterion. There are, increasingly,incidents between the LTTE on the one hand, and the Muslims and the Tamils of the interior (calledt&omacr;ttatamilar) who are always inclined to try and gain recognition of their rights by means otherthan armed rebellion. These last were represented in the present coalition government by the ministerThondaman (d. 1999). Further, the approach to the problem is changing:

(i) Dalit awareness inspires an intense effort amongst Sri Lankan Tamils to chronicle the move-ment against untouchability with a more critical evaluation of popular Tamil leaders; see thearticles by Paranthaman, Sarinihar, No. 168, March 1999, No. 169; April 1999, No. 170;May 1999, and Tamilarasan, Exil, No. 5, January-February 1999, and No.6, March-April1999. Further, now the Tigers are forced to recruit from the dalit castes still remaining in SriLanka; this change in the composition of forces fighting for Eelam is reflected in their ideo-logical views. Lastly, abroad it is Hindu culture and the caste system which prevails in thename of Tamil culture, thus maintaining the traditional religious dominance of Jaffna (BrianPfaffenberger, Caste in Tamil Culture: The Religious Foundations of Sudra Domination inTamil Sri Lanka, New York, 1982) against which dalit awareness and protest may even belabelled a betrayal of the Tamil cause.

(ii) The present situation of Tamil Muslims, when they are forced by the LTTE to evacuate theirhome areas, puts them in a quandary between continuing to play an undefined role in thestruggle for Eelam and moving towards a separate territory for themselves. This furthertaints the image of the Tamil independence movement as being responsible for a persecu-tion of a minority within a minority. See Muhammed Salim, Oru Cirup&amacr;nmai cam&umacr;kattinpiraccinaikal (Problems of a Minority Community), 4 vols, Colombo, 1997-98.

(iii) The aruntatiyar, the lowest among the untouchables who migrated in the recent past, facethe problem of their caste not yet being registered in Sri Lanka. Discussions are currentlygoing on about their position vis-à-vis the Tamil independence movement. See the fortnightlycolumns by Aruntatiyan, ’Talittiyak kurippukal’ in Sarinihar, 1998; and A. Marx, interviewwith Aruntatiyan, Elucci talit muracu, September 1999.

22 V. Geetha and S. V. Rajadurai, ’Dalits and Non-Brahmin Consciousness in Colonial Tamil Nadu’,EPW, Vol. 28, No. 39, 25 September 1993, pp. 2091-98. We thank S. V. Rajadurai for lending us all



30

ADKP, a paiicamar, was born in 1845 in a village in Coimbatore district andspent his youth in the Nilgiris. Nothing is known of his formative years, althoughthere must have been some contact with British residents and it is known that hecame under the influence of a guru whose name he adopted as his own pseudonym,the only name by which he is known. ADKP had a glimmering of Indian andwestern philosophies in Sanskrit, Pali and English. Midway between being a panditand an autodidact, he quotes indifferently from classical Tamil texts in the besteditions, in those days quite new, and from compilations that are apocryphal andvery little criticised. He was married and his son, Pattabiraman, followed in his

footsteps. His brother-in-law Rettamalai Srinivasan, was a well-known figure inpolitics and participated in the famous Round Table Conference in London in1930. He may have known and even influenced Ambedkar. ADKP, adhering toAdvaita Vedanta, founded an Advaitananda Sabha in the Nilgiris in 1870 with theaim of thwarting the noisy proselytising of Christian missionaries; then, in 1881,he founded the Dravida Mahajana Sangam whose first conference on December1881 proclaimed a positive charter along the lines of the Self-Respect Movement,in favour of the rights and social status of the paraiyan- to be called thereafterPfirva Tamilar (the ancient Tamils). Its conclusions, addressed to Congress andMuslim leaders, produced no echo in spite of the creation, in 1886, of a journal,Tiriivitap pantiyan.ADKP was closely involved with the Theosophical Society and, along with

Annie Besant and Colonel Olcott, founded a school for paficamar in Madras; heaccompanied Olcott to Ceylon in 1898, discovered Buddhism and in 1902 afterhis return to Madras, founded the Chakya Buddhist Sangam in Royappettah, anactive instrument of propaganda. The National Congress of Surat, in 1906, put anend to his remaining illusions about mainstream politics; in 1907 he started aweekly magazine, Oru Paica Tamilan, ’One 1’aisa Tamilan’, later Tamilan (at thedemand of its readers). After his death in 1914. his son managed the magazine fora year, after which it was started again by G. Appaduraier at Kolar Gold Fields,at least between December 1926 and June 1934. A trust, Sri Siddharta Puttakacalai,continued to publish as low-priced booklets his texts, and texts of the Self-RespectMovement right up to the end of the 1950s. The influence of ADKP is even moremarked in a brochure by Maduraiyar which reaffirms the connection between thebattle for self-respect and a Buddhist past.21 In other cases, such as M. MacilamaniMutaliyar’s Varuna pata vilakkam (’Explication of the Differences betweenCastes’),24 the original reference to Buddhism vanished and was replaced by the

~-~--

.

the primary source material of his own study, which was otherwise inaccessible to us. V. Revathyalso kindly allowed us to consult her M.Phil dissertation, ’The Emergence of Dalits in Tamil Nadu:A Study of Leadership and Ideology’, Department of History, Pondicherry University, 1994,published (in Tamil) as Tamilakattin talit araciyal mun notikal, Pondicherry, 1997.23 Aka-Pura camayankal (’Interior-Exterior Religions’), Kolar Gold Fields (hereafter KGF), 1935.24 This is a text from the late nineteenth century, but was first published in Tamil in 1925 by KGF.



31

conflict between Shudra and Brahmin. The references to E.V. Ramasami Periyarand to the Self-Respect Movement are obligatory.

In order to appropriate Indian history, ADKP begins with a radical and sub-versive deconstruction of Hinduism: for the paraiyar no compromise is possible,neither historically, with the Brahmins, nor politically, with the reformist nation-alism of the Congress, and not with the Muslims either. Moreover, neither Islamnor Christianity can profit from this alienation. The hypothesis of secularism inthe western sense is not even envisaged. Buddhism remains the only form of pro-test and dissidence that allows the paraiyan both to affirm and to light up hissubjectivity. All that remains is to accumulate arguments for the pa_raiyar beingthe first dwellers on Indian soil and for Buddhism as their natural ideology: Indiais the land of Buddha, whose names it bears - Indirar, he who has mastered thefive senses (iraliriyam) and Varada, from which are drawn ’India’ and ’Bharat’.The Brahmins of today are nothing but false Brahmins, arya mleccha, barbarianinvaders, appearing late on the scene and substituting themselves for the ’genuineones’ whom they then reduced to the condition of paraiyan; these perfidious im-posters are all in disguise. It was the naivety of the Orientalists themselves, startingwith Max Muller, that caused them to accept the texts and myths as given, therebyconfirming the occlusion of the authentic Hindu religion. Such, in substance, isthe content of Intirar 18ca carittiram (’The History of Indirar Desam’),25 and ofYatärttapirämafla vitantavivaram (’The History of the Real Brahmin’),’6 and ofVësapirämafla vëtantavivaram (’History of the False Brahmin’ ),:0 presented inthe form of brief question-and-answer catechisms,28 and of an indigestible scientificcompilation, Purvattamilo!iyäm puttaratu ativctam (’The Original Veda of theBuddha, Light of Ancient Tamil’), first published during his lifetime as tracts insupplements to his journal.&dquo; The other half of what we have been able to consultof the works of ADKP reinterpret or reclaim on behalf of his primitive Buddhisma certain number of the glories of Tamil, tacitly annexed by Brahmanism. Hestarts with Tiruvalluvar, the author of Tirukkur.a!, ,0 and continues wth the Tirukkuralkatavul välttu;31 (read tiri [three] kural in conformity with the tri-pitaka); he addsthe popular poetess Auvaiyar, whose poems bear witness in favour of the Buddha,texts with gloss by ADPK’32 and then goes on to tackle Sh~va-Kapalishvara in thesanctuary of the temple at Mylapore, who is interpreted as being the Buddha with

25 Intirar t&emacr;ca caritt&imacr;ram, 2nd edn. KGF, 1957.26 Yat&amacr;rttapir&amacr;mana v&emacr;tantavivaram, 2nd edn, KGF, 1932.27 V&emacr;sapir&amacr;mana v&emacr;tantavivaram, 2nd edn, KGF, 1932.28 Puttam&amacr;rkka vin&amacr;vitai (Questions and Answers on Buddhism) 5th edn, KGF, 1955; Viv&amacr;ka vilakkam(Explanation of Marriage), 4th edn, KGF, 1926.29 P&umacr;rvattamiloliy&amacr;m puttaratu &amacr;tiv&emacr;tam (’The Original Veda of the Buddha, Light of Ancient Tamil’),Madras, 1922.

30Tiruvalluvar varal&amacr;ru (’History of Tiruvalluvar’), 4th edn, KGF, 1950.31Tirikkural katavul välttu (’Tirukkural, Invocation to God’), 3rd edn, KGF, 1950.32 Sr&imacr; Ampikaiyamman aruliya tiriv&amacr;cakam (’Tirivacakam given by Sri Ampikaiamman’), 1st edn,KGF. 1927, completed in Sr&imacr; Ampikaiyamman varal&amacr;ru (’History of Sri Ampikaiamman’), 4th edn,KGF, 1929.



32

his begging bowl;33 next, the sacred ash,34 as well as the symbols of worship andthe figures popular in Tamil devotion and imagination, such as the guardian ofthe cremation grounds, the King Harishchandra and the god Murukan whom heturns into a monk.35An evaluation of ADPK is difficult. Aside from his magazine, nothing of his

that was published during his lifetime was available from the time of his deathuntil the 1990s; yet the posthumous and continuing success of his works is remark-able. Numerous booklets were reprinted, often in as many as five editions, upuntil the 1960s. From 1993, his works have been exhumed and interest is againfocused on him from two complementary points of view: as the conscience of theTamil dalit and as a precursor of the neo-Buddhism of Ambedkar. In 1999, twocollections of his works have been published, one by the Dalit Sahitya Akademi,Madras, and another by the folklore unit of St Xavier’s College, Tirunelveli underthe titles Ayotti täeap papjitar ciratc~n_aikcal and Ayõtti tacar cintanaikaJ respectively,two volumes each so far. His struggle remained ineffective, however, since henever really abandoned the ideological sphere for that of politics, notwithstandinghis contacts with that world and especially with two politicians, - R. Srinivasan(1860-1945) and M.C. Rajah (1883-1947) - both members of the Madras Legis-lative Council whose roles in the promotion of the untouchables are known

’

throughout India.A general study by G. Al®yslus36 throws some light on the history of this Tamil

Buddhist movement between Madras and Kolar Gold Fields, and traces the linkwith Ambedkar through a book by P. Lakshmi l~arasu, The Essence of Buddhism,for the third edition of which Ambedkar wrote the Preface.37 Aloysius consistentlyomits the name of R. Srinivasan, though he quotes from his short autobiography38probably because of Srinivasan’s well-argued opposition to conversion to Buddh-ism initiated by Olcott and ADKP and proposed, later, by Ambedkar. Althoughwell documented, Aloysius’ book loses itself in verbose ideology of ’programmaticpartnership’ between Tamil Buddhism and the Dravidian movement. The authorlacks the distance which alone could provide a pan-Indian perspective, as foundin an early article by Adele Fiske .39 That perspective is the only one by whichmay be measured the incompatibilities between traditional, renunciatory Buddhistorganisations with roles for the clergy, Indian and otherwise, and the republicantrend. Much as these two groups may work together in, for instance, certain social

33 Kap&amacr;l&imacr;can carttira &amacr;r&amacr;ycci (’The Enquiry of the Skull-Bearer’s Story’), 3rd edn, KGF, 1932.14 Vip&umacr;ti &amacr;r&amacr;ycci (’The Enquiry of the Holy Ash’), 3rd edn, KGF, 1932.35 Ariccantiranpoykal (’Harishchandra Lies’), 5th edn, KGF, 1950; Sr&imacr; Murukakkatavul varal&amacr;ru(’The Birth of Monk Murugan’), 3rd edn, KGF, 1930.36 G. Aloysius, Religion as Emancipatory Identity: A Buddhist Movement Among the Tamils underColonialism, New Delhi, 1998.37 Madras, 1907; Ambedkar wrote a preface for the third edn, Bombay, 1948.38 One of its undeniable practical points is the exhortation of the untouchables to stick to theirvalues in order to keep intact the privileges given by the colonial government.39 A. Fiske, ’Scheduled Caste Buddhist Organisations’ in J. Michael Mahar, ed., The Untouchablesin Contemporary India, New Delhi, 1998.



33

welfare programmes, the republican viewpoint continues to see Buddhism as anideology, whether politically oriented or not, which may be effectively opposedto Hinduism, in the form into which the latter has been welded by the uppercastes in their own interests. Moreover, in today’s Tamil Nadu ADI~P’s vision hasbecome inadequate; the dalit Christians are no longer a model nor an object ofenvy to others, and Buddhism is excluded since it too has become a stigma, notforgetting that Sri Lankan Buddhism has its own caste system. The most recenttemptation has been Islam and conversions of dalit villages have been frequent,from Meenakshipuram in 1981 to Kootharampakkam, 90 kilometers from Chennai,very recently. In the light of the incidents in Coimbatore in 1998, fresh suspicionis cast on any such conversions while it is debatable whether the Muslims are

really eager to join forces with the dalits.Dalits today, however, still manifest a disrespect for, and questioning of, the

Hindu gods that was a hallmark of ADKP.40 We note the most sensational formsof this in the ostentatious blasphemies of Periyar, who belongs to the same intel-lectual family as those who edited ADKP after his death, and in the more subtleform of the discreet negativism touched with the humour of Putumaippittan, thegrand master of modern Tamil in whom there is a resurgence of interest lately. Tocredit the Kannada author Siddhalingayya with having introduced dialogues ofdown-to-earth and rational intimacy with the supernatural world of gods and god-desses, in his Avataragalu in 198 1, is to forget that at the meeting in Madras 40years earlier, between God and Kandasami Pillai over ’two cups of coffee’, in thecelebrated short story by Putumaippittan, the Creator was accused of total inabilityto adapt himself to the world in which his host was struggling. Already, gods andgoddesses were having to fight for survival. The political tone is certainly differentbut in the long term the like-minded draw together, and it may be that some typeof secular humanism will attract sympathy, especially outside India, from thosewho support the fight against intolerance, but probably still without producing aworkable solution for the dalits.

A 1)etonator with a Long Fuse: The Massacre of I~ilvenrnani, 1968

In 1933 Henri Michaux believed that the caste system would not survive Indian

Independence; yet, 20 years on from 1947, in the east of Thanjavur (today NagaiDistrict), the revolt of the 90 per cent dalit farm workers against their mirasdartook a violent turn at the approach of the monsoon: with strikes, reprisals with thecomplicity of the police, and three murders of communist cadres CPI (M), theNaxalite menace was seen descending from Bengal and Telengana onto the fertiledelta of Thanjavur. On the night of 25 December 1968, a punitive expedition was

40 See the theoretical works of Raj Gautaman, or his humourous piece ’... p&amacr;v&amacr;tai avat&amacr;ram’ (’Incar-nation as Pavatai’), Tinamani cutar, Special Issue on Dalit Literature, 31 December 1994, an amusingand original caricature of a popular heroic ballad but also an example of the artificial creation in-spired by ’subaltern’ ideology.



34

sent out by a big landowner, the president of the association of rice farmer of thedistrict, Gopala Krishna Naidu, against Kilvenmani, a village of pallar and paraiycardalits. The men fled; 16 women, five old people and 23 children, terrified, shutthemselves in a hut. They were surrounded and burned alive, all 44 of them.Twenty-three people were charged. In 1976 the Supreme Court of India upheldeight convictions; only four were eventually effective. Gopala Krishna Naiduwas assassinated in December 1980. The ’progressive’ Dravidian governmentand the press maintained discretion. The searching enquiry by the American anthro-pologist Kathleen Gough was published in India 20 years later. 41 Incidents of thisnature still happen; skirmishes on a lesser scale are frequent enough to hold theattention of the more sober sections of the press.42 The extent of the deliberatemassacre of Kilvenmani is an example the memory of which is still in evidence:a memorial on the site; a theme for reflection and motivation for leftist militants°3and, lastly, a literary theme whose treatment is of direct interest because of theperspective it provides on the preoccupations of Tamil writers at the time whenthe ’Dalit Panthers’ of Maharashtra were springing up and making their literaturehappen.What is most striking is the absence of immediate reaction to the massacre at

the very moment when all extreme forms of Nlarxist-Leninist-li~aoists were vyingwith each other vociferously in intellectual circles, and when the image of theangry young man, personified by the Hindi film actor Amitabh Bachchan wasbursting onto the Hindi cinema screen. Numerous communist poets versified onthe class struggle; others, more refined, disputed over poetry (cf. the eight numbersof the literary journal Nafai). It was left to a Brahmin, Gnanakkuttan (bom 1938),living in Madras, deeply rooted in his Vaishnavite cultural tradition as well as inthe metre_ of formal poetry, yet disturbed by innovation and critical to the point ofsarcasm of the heavy sentimentality of progressive Dravidian politics, to write ashort poem in 1969,&dquo; in 13 edgy lines which build towards a calculated effect in

41 Kathleen Gough, Rural Change in South-East India: 1950s to 1980s, New Delhi, 1989, pp.186-89, 446-62; and idem, Rural Society in Southeast Asia, New Delhi, 1981.42 Sandhya Rao, S. Viswanathan, T. S. Subramanian, ’Dalits and the Politics of Caste’, 2 parts.Frontline, 1 December 1995, pp. 106-11, and 15 December 1995, pp. 75-80, a detailed enquirywhich concludes that ’... it would take more than a stringent law such as the Protection of CivilRights Act to alter attitudes nurtured over centuries ... casteism and prejudice against Dalits werenot just alive but practically rule everyday life’. The memory of Kilvenmani is evoked by one ofthe interviewees, the local secretary of the CPI(M). It was reawakened by the massacre of dalits bythe police on the banks of the river Tamraparani in Tirunelveli in July 1999, and which was equatedby the public and the press with the infamous massacre at Jallianwala Bagh; cf., S. Viswanathan,’Police in the Dock’, Frontline, 24 September 1999. Kilvenmani is again used as a plot in the docu-mentary novel by Solai Suntara Perumal, Cennel (’Red Paddy’), Tiruvarur, 1999, written in theThanjavur (Tamil) dialect and from the classic Marxist perspective of class struggle rather thanfrom a dalit point view.43 W. R. Varadharajan, Venmani, Madras, 1978, 3rd edn, Madras, 1989.44 Reprinted in Anru v&emacr;ru Kilamai (’That was Another Day’), Sivagangai, 1976, and in M&imacr;ntumavarkal (’Them Again’), Madras, 1994, p. 6.



35

the last one. It airily skims over an anonymous area without apparent emotionand with a feigned detachment; only the title gives the key to understand, and animpetus to become indignant, to whomsoever might take the trouble. Is this thensimply a mechanical and dispassionate stylistic exercise?

Kilvenmani

Huts of plaited palm leaves,Which seemed to be the pregnant wombOf the supine earth,Were turned into a forest of ashes.

When the dawn came in smoke,The people of the village came and gathered,They said: these were sparrows. -

They said: these were children.They said: were these women?And these were the cows of the herd.

Of all that burned that nightThey found the remains,Except of one thing: civilisation.(our translation)

Nobody any longer feels like being grateful to a Brahmin for having looked beyondhis agraharam or the office where he works in Madras. Even the choice of theTamil term näkarikam (civilisation), which expresses not so much fundamentalhumanity as cultural refinement, was seen here as a contrived understatementinappropriate to the situation. Nowadays, people are less aware of the mastery ofthe author than they are of his apparent coldness. A rather constrained poet,Gnanakkuttan did not have the necessary gift of communication.Where was the event to find its Zola? In 1975, while the guilty verdict quashed

by the Madras High Court was in abeyance in the Supreme Court, there appeareda novel, Kurutippunal (Streams of Blood), by Indra Parthasarathy, the pen nameof Ranganathan Parthasarathi, again a Brahmin, who had been writing for 15years and was a lecturer in Tamil at the University of Delhi. He was known inprogressive literary circles for short stories and novels severe towards the hypocrisyof the bourgeoisie, Tamil and otherwise, who reigned in Delhi, and also for hismastery of the art of tracing, through tortuous and introspective dialogues, theintimate innermost secrets of his protagonists. In 1977, one year after the SupremeCourt decision, the novel was honoured by the Sahitya Akademi. A seventh editioncame out in 1992. Kilvenmani is not named, but the story is the same:

Gopal, born in Delhi of an inter-caste marriage, his father a Naidu and his mother a Brahmin,teaches sociology in Delhi. Frustrated hy the atmosphere in the capital, he goes back to his an-cestral village near Thanjavur. A friend, Shiva, a man of science, comes to spend his leave withhim. The two intellectuals-in-exile lodge with a communist school-teacher Ramaiyya and havetheir meals in the eating house of Vativelu. Vativelu is the illegitimate child of a concubine ofthe father of Kannaiya Naidu, the big landowner who wants to knock down the eating house, a



36

haunt of communists of bad reputation. The confrontation between the feudal oppression of theNaidu and the Harijans who are fighting for their dues forms the core of the conversationsbetween the two men. They involve themselves in the struggle to the extent of talking to theappropriate officials and to a minister; they are shocked by the apathy of these people. Gopalattempts to intervene with the Naidu on behalf of Vativelu, but the interview turns into an

exchange of insults on their respective births. Gopal is found beaten unconscious behind thehut of a pallcar prostitute called Pappatti; it is a frame-up, guaranteed to lose him his reputation.He complains in vain to the police. The eating house is demolished and Vativelu and Pappattidisappear. Further complaints are ineffective; even the minister, titillated by the story of Pappatti,will do nothing. The Naidu makes an accusation: a communist plot, masterminded from outside,has incited these day labourer riff-raff against him, a good citizen. It emerges, however, that theNaidu is an impotent voyeur who is forcing Vativelu and Pappatti to couple while he watches.In the action mounted to free them, a guard is killed and the police arrest the schoolteacher. Hisfriends try to take charge of the agricultural workers’ cause but Naidu breaks the strike. lets

Pappatti be savagely killed by his henchmen and accuses Gopal of the murder (a recurringtheme in morality scandals: men of higher castes are always supposed to be fascinated by womenof lower castes). Shiva is arrested as an accomplice when Gopal and Vativelu flee to Nagappat-tinam. They return too late to circumvent the plans of the Naidu who has already attacked thevillage. But they are in time to see his men throwing back into the filames the women and chil-dren who have taken refuge in a hut then set on fire by the Naidu’s men under the indifferenteyes of the police. Gopal, laughed at triumphantly and contemptuously by the Naidu, vomitsinto the canal whose clear waters enchanted him when he had arrived and in which, today, hesees a stream of blood reflected, wide enough to swallow the whole village....

The massacre occupies one page out of 231: the streams of blood, designated inmore popular terms by iratta vejJam (’flood of blood’ perhaps not literary enoughto serve as a title but certainly direct) which swallow up the village are themselvesdrowned in the waves of intellectual rhetoric on the subject of class struggle andthe role of the Communist Party. The actual protagonists are host the bonded agri-cultural workers wanting to break their chains but, first, the boss who oppressesthem to compensate (on a Freudian model, quite derisory and devoid of socialdimension) for his physiological impotence, and then the idealists who attempt toorganise the workers and in so doing ’discover’ them, as they ’discover’ theaesthetic charms of the village after the sophistication of Delhi (without, however,sharing their language, their labours or their limitations). Every subtlety of sub-jective analysis is given to these intellectuals. Cut off from the rural world, theylose their illusions because they happen to be there at that time. Though theyreceive a number of blows, they remain strangers to the reality over which theypore searchingly while it remains impenetrable to them. This point of view, thatof the outside observer, subtle, sympathetic, doctrinaire and ultimately passive, iswithout a doubt the most common stereotype and persistent curse in contemporaryimaginative Tamil fiction, issuing mostly from the urbanised middle-class withwhich it shares its language, ideas and myopic vision.

Legitimate emotion and revolt can be felt to vibrate in quite another register.77kkuJiyal (’The Firebath’ ) is an anonymous ballad in the form of the Tamil heroicpoetry of the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries, which has the untouchables as

protagonists. The language is modern, the style sentimental and romantic and the



37

declamation geared to moving the listening public to tears and to putting across adirect revolutionary message, as this brief excerpt shows:

On that day, the enslaved people were crammed together, crunched up in corners and clad in thecold wind. On that night the earth was like an immense burning ground, the mountains toweredlike funeral pyres, the electric and telegraph poles stood like crosses. The sky, which had takenfrom her forehead the beneficient sign of the moon, was as empty as the heart of a widow. Thetrucks of the bosses, crueller than Yama (the god of death) and their henchmen, charging like aherd of buffalo, were advancing as if the darkness had legs; the bicycle chains were like thelasso of death around this abandoned hamlet, helpless and without hope. Beneath the hooves ofthese crazed buffaloes, the population of Venmani, precious and dear as the pupils of our eyes,scattered like grains of rice and ran and crammed themselves into a hut, full to the brim like asack of jute. The dwelling, gigantic and demonic, opened its mouth, offered its lips and satthere, indistinguishable from the shadows that rejoiced at having swallowed their prey. Petrolcame down in a heavy rain and the hut was plunged into a sea of gas. The henchmen all aroundlike a wall of flesh, firebrands everywhere, were there to dance their cruel dance of ghouls. Onthe look-out round the hut, the brands hissed in their poisonous fury and threw themselves uponit, beating at it. Then the snake bit the hut with his tongues of flame and the roof took fire andcrackled. Masters, bosses, mad dogs, you who chop up the body of Venmani like firewood, whobuild a pyre and set light to it, in years to come, if indeed the years continue to roll on, this firewill bum and will become the pyre you have yourselves built for your own funerals.

This song has been circulated for 10 years or so among extremist groups, in

favour of an armed revolution, in order to help sensitise their recruits to the in-justices and cruelties of the system. It was published in 1985 as a simple pamphletof 18 pages of text and 20 pages of an introduction signed by Eritalal (’The Fire-brand’),45 telling the story of the agricultural workers of Thanjavur and callingfor vengeance for the massacre of Kilvenmani. It is not by chance that this sole,authentically dalit, inspirational text is also the one most directly modelled, andnot without talent, upon a genuine popular tradition with all the power of itsimages, refrains and rhythms.

Unidentified Dalits: Explorers and Marginal Figures

The literary failure to rise to the challenge of Kilvenmani, even more strikingtoday since the memory and the symbolic weight of the episode has been made soimmediate, emphasises the political immaturity of middle-class literature, con-ditioned by the limitations of its public and those of a cultural heritage that excludesthe dalits. At the same time, however, good writers are opening up avenues, theirtalent or their sensitivity inciting them to explore new subjects without their everdreaming of claiming the label of dalit. An example is Pumani (mentioned earlier),who belongs to the group of regional authors from the extreme south of TamilNadu called karical after its black soil. Without romanticism,or tragedy, Pumanihas described the confrontation of the poor with their poor soil due solely to the

45 Recently reprinted under the authorship of Navakavi, Venmani (’Venmani’), Sivagangai, December1993, for the 25th anniversary of the Kilvenmani massacre.



38

existence of a countryside without recourse or hope: dry land, haunted by povertyand scarcity, a land of cotton and millet, of herds without pasture, of fallow landswithout shade, denied irrigation, progress or education for the young. Prose asarid as the soil is used as a scalpel, starting with such titles as ’It Hurts’ and ’TheOrder of Things’. A first collection of short stories, Vayi[uka! (‘’I’he Stomachs’),46bypasses the Marxist formula of oppressors and oppressed with humour in whichthere is, however, little leniency. A first novel, Pa~-caku (‘L,ater On’),47 describeswith clinical precision and without pretension the life of a family of cobblers, thelowest of untouchables. The implacable rigidity of the system is suggested onlythrough the austere quest for a little love and humanity on the part of the outcastswhose protest limits them to living the inevitable without complaint while remain-ing unresigned. A second novel, Vekkai (‘VVaves of Heat’),48 tells of the inner con-flict of an adolescent in a family of small farmers, progressively driven to thebrink of violence when his elder brother is killed in the course of a long drawnout confrontation with the big landowners who want to take away the family’sland. The limits of Pumani’s narrative technique are apparent: mechanical plot

’

links substituted for real plotting, description, automatic and without individuality.The suffocating dryness of the observation quenches the passions and engendersmonotony. A dry author who writes very little, Pumani is unlikely to gain widepopularity, but he has been able to create his own style even at the risk of becomingtrapped in it. Free of all political allegiance and resistant to any affiliation, hewould have been insistently wooed by the dalits had not a third novel, in 1985,asserted his position as an independent writer. Naiv8jam (’Ritual Offerings9describes the degeneration and the sufferings of a Brahmin who survives in apoor agraharam by leasing his land to low-caste farmers who mercilessly exploit

. and despise him. This novel is the height of treason from a dalit point of view.Pumani however eschews self-criticism; his third collection of short stories

(1V®rurikcal, ‘Crushed’ ),5° and his recent works reaffirms his direction: with a littlehumanity and much disrespect, his peasants remain genuine and so does theirlanguage.

G. Nagarajan (1929-81) was the most marginal of contemporary writers. Hewas a Brahmin and an atheist, a militant Marxist who broke with the Communist

Party, a sensitive and brilliant professor of English (he left an unpublished novelin that language), an adulterer, smoker of ganja and other drugs, alcoholic andbohemian. He chose to live apart from his peers, whom he never ceased to defy,in order to be closer to the teeming crowds in city streets and slums, the migrantsfrom villages in search of work, those untouchables, whether genuine or not, who,as prostitutes and pimps, are constantly harassed by the police and who are withoutscope or future. His ghost still seduces authors whose short stories make of him a

46 Pumani, Vayirukal, Sivagangai, 1975.47 Pumani, Piraku, Sivagangai, 1979.48 Pumani, Vekkai, Madras, 1982.49 Pumani, Naiv&emacr;tyam, Madras, 1985.50 Pumani, Norunkal, Madras, 1990.



39

mythic figure of rebellion and catharsis in their imagined aspirations towardsrevolution.51 The theoreticians for their part compete in prattling about himaccording to a borrowed intellectual schema, non-linear and post-modem, and ofuntenable analogies between the man and his legend (as for instance, with JeanGen6t), but continue to ignore his works which, rare and somewhat inaccessible,deserve better. A recent reprint has not changed the situation in any noticeableway.52 He published several short stories in his lifetime but only one collection,Kantatum kittatum (’Seen and 1-leard’), two short novels Kurattirreutukku and Nä!aimarrum oru nale ( ‘Tomorrow is Another l~ay’ ),53 which the author presents likethis:

It is the life of an ordinary man. The base acts you would have committed had you dared, theboldness you would have shown had you been forced to it, the sicknesses you would have

caught had you been tempted and the infamy that would have marked you had you fallen: theseare what his life is made up of. You need not know what tomorrow will be like for him. For, forhim as for most of us, tomorrow is another day.

For the first time a troubling reality enters Tamil literature: a marginal societywhich is so close to the establishment that it sticks to its skin in an unsettling way.The two societies are linked by many synaesthetic correspondences and reflecteach other at deep levels of Tamil culture and tradition but are unable to help eachother. Nagarajan is there, listening for these liminal voices which speak of them-selves and dream among themselves, surviving on the edge of the abyss. He neithernarrates nor judges; invisible, he lends them his language, the language of Madurai,and his style which is direct, lucid, responsible and aware of bearing the derisionof the world. That insubstantial branch of humanity, dwelling on the edges withouthope, consecrated to death and nothingness, throws in the face of establishedorder, through the fraternal engagement of the writer and his revealing presence,a question which that order can no longer hide from.

Indian literature is full of the glamour of palaces and temples. It takes a strongcharacter to introduce therein the excitement of the fringes and the powerful imagesrequired to rivet attention on the distress of the humbled. Coming, like Pumani,from the black earth of Kovilpatti, Pa. Ceyappirakacam (who also writes underthe name of Suriyatipan), has succeeded in drawing from everyday local customsa telling image of discrimination: pallar women are not allowed to wear flowers

51 Asokamittiran, ’Viral’ in Muraippen (’finger’ in Muraippen — a kinship term for prospective orpotential bride/fiancé), Madas, 1984; Dilip Kumar, ’Aintu rupayum alukku cattaikk&amacr;rarum’ (FiveRupees and a Man with a Soiled Shirt), in M&umacr;nkil kuruttu (’Bamboo Shoot’), Madras, 1985; Konanki,’Mañcal &umacr;rru’ (’Yellow Spring’), in Pommaikal utaipatum nakaram (’Town Where Dolls Break’),Sivagangai, 1992; Pirapancan, ’Orunal’ (’One Day’) in Nacukkam (Crushing), Madras, 1993. Thelast was selected by Ilakkiya Cintanai, a literary forum, as the best collection of short stories for the

year 1992.52 G. Nagarjan, G. N&amacr;kar&amacr;can pataippukal (’Collected works of G. Nagarajun’), Nagarkovil, 1997.53 G. Nagarjan, Kantataum k&emacr;ttatum (’That which is seen and heard’), Madurai, 1971; idem,Kurattimutukku (’Kurattimutukku’), Madurai, 1963, 2 reprints in 1994; idem, N&amacr;lai marrum orun&amacr;l&emacr;, (’Tomorrow is Just Another Day’), Madurai,1974, 2nd edn, 1983.



40

in their hair, as is otherwise the custom throughout south India, including amongthe women of the local landowning reddiyar castes. The pallar wear the flowerssuspended from the marriage jewel, the tali, worn as a necklace. This makesthem, if anything, more desirable, and one story begins with the arrival in thevillage of a young bride and the animated evocation of a dance:

The ululation of the pallar women with flowers in their ttili rose up. The flowers, fastened to theend of the tali, danced on their chests and seemed to draw their perfume directly from theirbreasts. No women, except the reddiyar women, were allowed to wear flowers in their hair; the

simple fact of wearing them on the tali identified these women as low caste women....~4

As a very beautiful young bride, Taili comes to live in her husband’s village anddiscovers a world of oppression quite new to her. First, there is the most consistenttheme of village life: the higher caste men are obsessed by the physical attractionsof the untouchable women whom they invariably perceive as desirable and easy,so they harass them unceasingly until they yield. Thus Taili is followed and accostedeverywhere, from the lake to the grocery shop. The reddiyar come and fool aroundin front of her house the better to watch her. Her husband, furious but unable toconfront them, turns his impotent rage upon his wife. Taking advantage of thedifficult season when agricultural work is over and day labourers have no jobs, arich, married reddiyar offers Taili work in his house where she can earn the grainshe needs. She accepts, and he persecutes her with his advances at the same timeas she finds herself up against all the caste restrictions which the jealous reddiyarwomen throw at her. One day she dares to ask his permission to go directly alongthe village streets to bring water to his house. He hesitates, then is overcome bypassion and agrees. The next day brings scandal: an untouchable is walking alongthe village street and - even more scandalous - she is wearing sandals. Sheproudly claims to have her employer’s permission, but in vain. The village assemb-ly meets, the reddiyar wriggles out of it and refuses to back her up: she is con-demned to drive the village cows and buffaloes to pasture outside the village eachday and all alone.A last pathetic image contrasts violently with the first: the solitary, fragile figure

of a woman seen from behind, hair unbound, leaving the village at dawn with theherds. Once again, it is only by recourse to popular imagination, heavy with sym-bols and affectivity, that the laborious dreary poverty of sexual oppression andservitude is transcended. A writer who is not a dalit paves the way, perhaps acci-dentally, for a dalit literature whose expression takes up a more imaginative elementfrom dalit folklore. Unfortunately this remains to be rediscovered before it can beexploited.&dquo;

54 Pa. Ceyappirakacam, T&amacr;liyil p&umacr;cc&umacr;tiyavarkal (’Those Who Wear Flowers in the Tali’) in idem,Oru kir&amacr;mattu r&amacr;ttirikal (’Nights of a Village’), Madras, 1978, pp. 38-39.55 The academic study of folklore of the school of N. Vanamamalai has fixed its subject under thetwofold theoretical rigidity of Marxism and structuralism; aesthetic perception comes later, spon-taneously exploited by Sujata and, more systematically, by K. Rajanarayanan who was himself



41

A little-known writer, Ekbert Sachchidanandan born in Madurai and for 20

years a teacher in a public secondary school in Kanchipuram, in 15 stories writtenbetween 1986 and 1999 and as yet uncollected, also puts a style and language atthe service of a micro-community, a Protestant sect within the Christian minoritywhich, in terms of dalit politics, has a real importance. Set apart and having neitherliterary relationships nor involvement in social activism, Sachchidanandan, withdisillusioned but effective irony, denounces feudalism as it is maintained by thereligious system to which he belongs and in which he believes. His Christianvalues are in contradiction to the Christian intrigues he describes. His sympathiesare with those n,-,mbers of a religious hierarchy who are oppressed, moulded bybureaucracy and by the spirit of caste. The force and originality of his irony dependsupon his using the language of the executioner to speak of the victims, leaving tobiblical vocabulary and the phraseology of Christian charity, which always seemforeign and strange in Tamil, the job of denouncing, on his behalf, the travestythat has been made of an ethic and the cold hypocrisy associated with it. The

writer conceals himself behind his borrowed words and behind a certain narrative

skill which gives the impression, quite falsely, that nothing matters, even if inad-missible things are happening in the story. The misleading impression of confidenceand serenity creates both distance and contention, even though the author consist-ently maintains the constrained reserve and dignity of his heroes. The sacristan istreated as the lowest of domestic servants by everyone from the pastor, his familyand the church administration to the schoolmasters in the private school system,who are exploited and tyrannised by the corrupt and easily influenced administra-tion which is imposed upon them. In terms of experience and narrative technique,the world of Sachchidanandan is very much defined and limited and the author

does not seem to be moving forward: 1 1 stories out of 15 have the same theme,yet, in the Tamil and pan-Indian dalit configuration of today, he represents a veryactive and significant world. He is on the side of the oppressed and it is not im-

possible that he will one day turn his irony against the noisy, clamorous forms ofChristian militantism: the theology of liberation and the socio-religiousconsciousness-raising which tend to be in the forefront and which give more im-

portance to words than to acts. We should also bear in mind that the essential partof his message is certainly that the Christian idiolect, a markedly Tamil type,proves to be a formidable instrument of irony, ultimately against the church itself.To the extent that the diffused existence of a dalit consciousness gives place to

a social vision or to organised politics, we see a reduction of the distance that sep-arates an independent writer and an aligned one. On the borderline between worksof literature and political writings, a Sri Lankan Tamil novelist in the 1960s playedthe role of a significant catalyst despite being, then as now, a controversial figure.K. Daniel (1927-86) belongs to a family of varcoaur, launderers, who along with

made aware of the values of popular traditions by the great critic and essayist Ti. Ke. SitamparanataMudaliyar (1882-1954).



42

pallar, paraiyar, ampatfar (barbers) and nafavar (toddy-tappers) make up the’five’ groups of Tamil untouchables on the peninsula of Jaffna known as pancamcar.A political activist, won over to the Maoist faction of the Communist Party, hefought the discrimination against untouchables very actively in the 7-intiimai olippuvekujana iyakkam (’Popular Movement for the Eradication of Untouchability’).Dominic Jeeva (b. 1927), an orthodox Marxist writer of essays and short stories(he also publishes the journal Mallikai, formerly from Jaffna and now from Col-ombo), published the first volume of his autobiography in which he clearly revealshimself as a dalit writer, being an ampajjan (barber) by caste, and claims that allhis past writings have, in fact, been dalit literature.56 He also tells of his early dayswhen both he and his friend and colleague K. Daniel faced caste discriminationas writers and struggled against it. Such an image of two young Marxists, a barberand a launderer, both still carrying out their traditional caste activities (as Jeevacontinued to do for sometime) while playing an active role in politics and literature,was quite new and unexpected in Tamil Nadu, where they were valued as progres-sivists and not identified as dalits.11 K. Daniel found himself isolated in an untenable

position declaring, in the face of the Tamil struggle for a separate state, that sucha state would make no sense if the rights of the untouchables were not guaranteedfirst. He emphasised, in a manner pertinent but unpopular, that the call for a homo-genous Tamil identity and the fight for a separate state were occluding the funda-mental reality of the power of the dominant Tamil classes on the peninsula ofJaffna; he never yielded to pressure on this point. For reasons of health and safetyhe spent the final years of his life at Thanjavur in Tamil Nadu. His last works werepublished in India and it is there that they are currently, reissued. He remainsostracised by Sri Lankan Tamils because of what they call his bias towards caste,but they are, nevertheless, constrained to recognise his value as a writer. ~’ancarnarremains his most important novel, but a series of five others completes a picturewhich is still faithful to the struggle of the untouchables in the Tamil society ofthe island.5x The language alternates between the paficamar dialect and standard

56 Dominic Jeeva, Elutappat&amacr;ta kavitaikku varaiyappat&amacr;ta cittiram (’An Undrawn Painting for anUnwritten Poem’), Colombo, 1999.57 Cf., Dominic J&imacr;va Cirukataikal, Colombo, 1996. Similarly, Mu. Talaiya Cinkam (1935-73), whowas introduced by Sundara Ramasami in Tamil Nadu (cf., ’Talaiya cinkattin pirapañca yatarttam’[’Universal Reality of Talaiyacinkam’]), in Cuntara Ramasami Katturaikal (’Essays by CuntaraRamasami’), Madras, 1984, as a vague philosopher like himself in search of some spiritual truthplayed, in fact, an active role against untouchability in Sri Lanka and was even assaulted andarrested by the police when, in 1971, an attempt was made by untouchables to take water from thetemple well of Kannaki Amman on Ponkutu Island, but he has yet to be considered in that perspective.Cf., Ravikumar’s interview with Va. I. Ca. Jayabalan in ’Elucci talit muracu’, Chennai, 1999.According to the same source, Ponnudurai, an ’all-rounder’ of some sophistication and consideredas an important writer among Sri Lankan Tamils, has yet to identify himself as a dalit.58 K. Daniel, Pañcamar, 1972, 2nd edn, Thanjavur, 1983, rpt 1994. In order, and up to the eve of hisdeath in 1986, K&omacr;vintan, Atimaikal (’Slaves’), K&amacr;nal (’Mirage’), Pañcuk&omacr;nankal (’Five Perspec-tives’), and Tann&imacr;r (’Water’), the last with an Introduction which emphasises the book’s ethnograph-ical excellence, by the Japanese anthropologist Yasumasa Sekine.



43

Sri Lankan Tamil with an overabundance of dialect words in the narration and

descriptions. This work may be seen as marking the beginning of documentaryand ethnographic literature in Tamil dalit literary history. And it is there that thelimitations of K. Daniel lie: his stories and novels are essentially documentaryand they lack real characters and evocative power. He does not deviate from aschematic formula in which characters embody his ideas and progress logicallyaccording to the reasoning of the author who purposely leaves the appropriateliterary preoccupations to the Art for Art’s sake school (Na~okku ilakkiyam). Hischronicles are, however, an honestly rendered account and are the, perhaps some-what unnolished, vehicle of an ideology which still has its echoes today. Theirreissue in the 1990s came about as a result of the impetus given by a group ofwriters and critics dedicated to the dalit cause, and in Cuddalore an organisationcalled Kuralkaj (’Voices’) even created a prize for dalit literature in his name.With K. Daniel we enter into mainstream Tamil literature and find, with regret,perhaps less originality than is to be found on its fringes and among its precursors.

Organised I)alitse Documents for a HistoryThe Power of WordsIn Tamil, paficamar is now outdated; it is the term adi-dravida (not piirvatamilar,i.e., original Tamilians, coined long ago) which today designates the ’Harijan’ inofficial vocabulary. From 1990, however, the word ’Dalit’ has been used in moreand more significant ways; today it is breaking in everywhere and its expansionreflects a concomitant transformation in those who employ it, whether to refer tothemselves or to others. The infiltration has been slow however. It seems that thefirst usages came in the 1980s. In 1982, the Tamil literary magazine Pa!ikaf, pub-lished in Bangalore, posed an entirely rhetorical question: is there a place for dalitliterature in Tamil? This was not, as was thought, an isolated occurrence. 59 AnotherBangalore publication, in 1983, was providing an answer. The bi-monthly DalitVoice,60 published in English, carried an insert for its Tamil version, Dalit Kural,based in Madras. This same magazine reported the repercussions of the inaugur-ation at Madurai of a Tamil Nadu Unit of the ’Dalit Panthers’ by the secretary ofthe all-India movement, Ramdas Athavale, in the presence of Mrs Ambedkar. Onthat day a huge procession frightened the shopkeepers, who closed their shops;the orthodox Hindus of the RSS and the dominant castes, natar and tevar, havenot felt at ease ever since.

After much hesitation the term ’Dalit’ has become the standard one to designatethe core of the three castes: pallar (agricultural workers and small farmers),paraiyar (originally players of the drum [parai] at funerals etc., and agriculturalworkers) and cakkiliyar (leather workers associated with the butchering of animals,

59 Nirappirikai, No. 2, Special Issue of Dalit Literature, November 1994, p. 116; contrast with

Vity&amacr;cam, No.1, 1994, p. 14.60 Dalit Voice, Vol. 2, No. 3, 1-15 February, 1983. The Tamil version, Dalit Kural, appears from thesame academy (Dalit Sahitya Akademi, Bangalore) although it is based in Madras.



44

the lowest of all); as well as another two castes not strictly speaking untouchable,vanniir (launderers and midwives) and ampattar (barbers and practitioners oftraditional medicine, bone-setters and mixers of herbal remedies) and, lastly, the’doubtful’ groups, communities socially assimilated into the dalits but more orless repudiating the identification: totli (sewage-tank emptiers), vettiyär (specialistsin cremation) and sometimes elavar and cempatavar (fishing commtanities); atthe very bottom there are also the kujivatlpfr (launderers for other untouchables).This list is neither exhaustive nor definitive, and the word ’Dalit’ does not yetserve to bring together all those it applies to, but it makes constant progress andsucceeds in asserting itself as an identifying category.Among negative reactions, we note the chauvinistic purism of the ’Young Dalit

Movement’ of Rajapalaiyam (near Madurai) which renamed itself, in contra-distinction, as ’Tamilnätu Paraiyar përavai grand Assembly of Paraiyar of TamilNadu). In fact, their gesture was motivated by a provocative pride which had itsprecedents. In 1930, the paraiyar Rettamalai Srinivasan, a member of the Legis-lative Council of Madras, added his caste to the badge he wore at the Round TableConference in London and refused, as a self-described untouchable, to shakehands with King George V. Recalling this anecdote, the Tamilaka Paraiyar Kural(’The Voice of Tamil Paraiyar’) in 1993 invited its readers to add the ‘title’ Paraiyarto their names, as is the custom with higher castes.61

Caste pride is often expressed in a contrary manner. The vanniyar, a ’backwardcaste’ f ercely hostile to the emancipation of the dalits, recently awarded themselvesthe degree of nobility, qualifying as Agni kula ksatriya, ’Royal descendants ofAgni’. Today, the Pallar prefer to be ’tev8ntira kula 1,8jfjar’ , ’Landed gentry ofthe race of Indra’, the god of cultivated land according to ancient Tamil literarytradition. They (the Pallar) justify - by all possible quotations from Tamil classicalliterature and folk-songs - a new ’historical’ perspective: that they are the trueagriculturists of Tamil Nadu, the heroes of numerous pallu poems which sincethe eighteenth century extol these activities, equating them, as ulavar (agri-culturists), with the non-Brahmin group of Tamilians most prominent throughouthistory, the Vilala. Moreover, as the word pallar gained currency only after thesixteenth century, it is considered to be a substitute for mallar, the warrior-

agriculturists of the ancient Sangam age. This convenient phonetic shift upgradesthe Pallar even more, putting them at par with their most violent opponents, thetëvar.62

61 This is a monthly publication edited by S. Samuvel Paraiyar from Madras; cf., Vol. 1, No. 1,September 1993.62 For example, Kurusami Cittan, Tamil ilakkiyattil Pallar (mallar) T&emacr;v&emacr;ntira kula V&emacr;l&amacr;lar (atippataicc&amacr;nrukal) (’Pallar [mallar] Teventira kula velalar in Tamil literature [Basic Evidences]’), Coimbatore,1993. See also A. Tirunakalingam, ’Pallar inakkulu varal&amacr;ru’ (’History of the Pallar Community’),unpublished paper presented at a seminar entitled ’Canankalum Varalarum’ (’People and History’),Pondicherry Institute of Linguistics and Culture (hereafter PILC), 23-24 September 1999. Theauthor provides profuse literary and cultural references but sticks to a Marxist vision of caste andclass.



45

The cakkiliyar go further and give us a unique opportunity to illustrate therecent developments of an etiological myth in the making. In 1994 they claimedas their ancestors the sage Vasistha and his virtuous wife Arundhati (who becamea star in the constellation of the Great Bear); then, in 1998 they relegated Vasisthato the Hindu pantheon in order to keep Arundhati by herself as the symbol of the(Tamil Sangam) chaste woman, thus asserting their high Tamil origin and dist-ancing themselves from their Kannada and Telugu ethnic past. While they havealready succeeded in imposing the usage of the word Aruntatiyar as a dignifiedsubstitute for the infamous cakkiliyar denomination, they now also insist on beingcalled mitiyax mftaiyar and pakatai in the dialects of southern Tamil Nadu. Thefirst nomination, read as mil (great) plus atiyar (’the foremost’, ’the king’,) linksthem with Atiyaman, prince of Takatur, an historical character celebrated in Sangamliterature; the second term links them to his son Pokuttu Elini, which had to bealtered to ‘Pakatai’, another term for grandeur found also in the folk ballad Muttu-pattan katai. 63 This grand artificial edifice comforts a proud and powerful con-sciousness whose assimilation or equation with a dominant non-Brahmin groupis always consistent, supported as it is by a pseudo-erudite literature and based onhistorical and mythological quotations after the style of Ayotti Das Pantitar.Remaining bookish and being, in any case, constructed by the urban intellectualsof the caste, it is in very sharp contrast to the traditional folk tales and songs of thegroup which normally acknowledge a subordination to the immediately superior

. groups; in such stories, as in all traditional myths about the origins of the paraiyar,we are always told why the paraiyar have become the losers and under what cir-cumstances their karma deteriorated, an approach leading to acceptance ratherthan rebellion.&dquo; Projection of higher lineages remains entirely cultural withoutthere being any question of rocking the boat when it comes to economic statusand the reservation policies established by successive governments. If the term’Dalit’, which is not, as ’Harijan’ was in past times, bestowed on them as a politicaleuphemism but rather implies free choice and commitment, is made banal inTamil, being applied both tardily and carelessly, it is because it comes at an oppor-tune moment to express a new dimension in the social and political conflict inherentin local history.

63 Elil Ilankovan, Aruntatiyar varal&amacr;ru (’History of Aruntatiyar’), Madras, 1995, a booklet whichtripled in its size to become Aruntatiyar varal&amacr;ru vin&amacr;vum vilakkamum (’History of Aruntatiy’ar,Questions and Answers’), Mumbai, 1998, as a question-and-answer catechism for the caste. Also,Marku, ’Aruntatiyar Torrakkataikal’ (’Origin Myths of Aruntatiyar’), also presented at the PILCseminar (n. 62 above) collected seven myths from the Virudhunagar area, all of which account forthe fall of the aruntatiyar from their status of Kampalattu Nayakar. A faint trace of a migrationlingers in these myths; other evidence suggests that they came from Andhra during the Nayakaperiod (seventeenth century). Details of another group of aruntatiyar are found in Arul Dass et al.,Kotaimalai m&amacr;tariy&amacr;r &omacr;r arimukam (’Kotaimalai matariyar: An Introduction’), Madurai, 1996. Yetanother aruntatiyar group from Coimbatore publishes the journal Dalit Urimai kural.64 See Robert Deliège, Les Intouchables en Inde, Des castes d’exclus, Paris, 1995, chap. 4. ’Lesmythes d’origine des intouchables’, pp. 115-40.



46

The Density of Associated NetworkSocial relationships in India are invariably of a particular density, the importanceof which, at the level of daily life, may be surprising to outsiders. In order to em-phasise the extent to which the dalit universe is criss-crossed by multiple networkswhich give it muscle and make it more sensitive to fresh perceptions, we present,as very brief examples seven different types which often interpenetrate oneanother.

Local Private Associations ,

These function within a street or area, a ceri or alan (’colony’). Interchangeableand numerous, these constitute the indispensable connective tissue in all politicalculture and are potentially available to support any cause. They are usually in thehands of young dalits, often those ineligible for the fan clubs of film stars. Theydeal with problems of comfort and hygiene in the area, with water and electricityand with education; they manage correspondence and various petitions, conducttemple festivals and arrange film-showings and sports meetings. Their identity isconfirmed by their names, often featuring the name of Ambedkar, whether or notassociated with the epithet ’Dalit’ and the name of the locality.

Associations based on Caste

Flattering to the caste pride already mentioned, these associations depend, at thelocal level, upon groups from the majority castes of the dalit world and betraywider political affiliations (at the regional level), the greater part of their mem-bership having no hesitation in entering into double allegiance - to their owncaste at the local level, and to the dominant one at the level of regional politics.Whilst occupying themselves with general problems and with political publicity(booklets and meetings), they are used in electoral manipulations and tend to berather lethargic once elections are over. The pallar, who refuse the stigma of un-touchability, have a large number of such associations throughout Tamil Nadu,notably around Madurai and Tirunelveli. It was their association at Coimbatore,led by Dr Kurusamy Cittan and Dr Gnanasekharan, which published work vin-dicating their identity as Teventira Kula Vojijar.66 Perhaps the most importantone of these associations, known throughout Tamil Nadu. is the Tyagi EmmanuelPeravai, named after a leader, a retired soldier who fought prodigiously against

65 See Unjai Rajan, ’Tamilakattil talit Iyakkankal’ (’Dalit Movements in Tamil Nadu’), &Amacr;yvarankam,September-October 1994, pp. 5-13. The author runs a small dalit magazine, Manucanka, whichappears irregularly.66 This group is still very active, publishing a journal called Mallar malar, other tracts, and alsocommissioning novels and other writings about their caste. To mention only a few: KurusamiCittan and G. Gnanasekaran, eds, Tamilar panp&amacr;ttu varal&amacr;ru (’History of Tamil Culture’), 2 vols,Coimbatore, 1996, 1999; Cu. Venkataraman, Pallu Ilakkiyankalil mallar marapukal (’Mallar Trad-itions in Pallu Literature’), Coimbatore, 1998; A. Arivunampi. Kampar k&amacr;ttum mallar m&amacr;npu (’Excel-lence of Mallars shown by Kampan’), Coimbatore, 1999; J. Gnanasekaran, Talit cintanai viv&amacr;tam(’Dalit Thoughts and Debate’), Coimbatore, 1999; Surya Kantan, Noyy&amacr;larrankarayinil&emacr; (On thebanks of Noyyal), Coimbatore, 1998; Vinoda, ’Vacanta mullai’, Coimbatore, 1998.



47

untouchability in the 1960s and was assassinated by a tevar. In contrast, thecaklciliyar, much less well orgat~ised, lack political influence. Although spreadthroughout Tamil Nadu (Coimbatore, Salem, Tirunelveli, Kovilpatti), they mostlyhave their origins in Andhra Pradesh; the Tamil dalits, far from encouraging theirintegration, would like to send them back home.

Associations connected with Political Movement

These are riding a wave, proliferating and functioning as political pseudo-partieswithout actually having any direct influenced in the corridors of power. Even thoughthey usually present themselves as pan-Indian movements, they are built on thecult of a local personality who brings together the voices of his caste and representsa crucial electoral force. They are essentially at the service of their leaders andhave no autonomous political programme, associating themselves with better or-ganised parties as a convenient logistic for mass demonstrations. They are certainlyeffective in the job market and in the trade unions. Seen as providers of employ-ment, they are often in the hands of those dalits who, through the policy of reser-vations, have been able to gain access to education, become officers and acquirepower. A good example is the /~’ya manita urimai katci (’Indian Party for HumanRights’) which, despite its name, has nothing to do with any association for humanrights. This is a paraiyar association, very strong in south Arcot and influential inthe Thanjavur region, led by Ilaiya Perumal,67 who was the president of the localCongress party and the author of an official report on ’Types of Untouchability inIndia and the Means of Eradicating Them’ (early 1970s). His report had no impactbut it served as a platform for his organisation after he left the Congress. Sincethen he has rallied to any party whatsoever in the interests of opportunism; upontheir election as members of legislative assemblies (MLA) his candidates veryspontaneously attached themselves to the AIADMK, the party in power at thattime.

Christian Non-governmental Organisations (NGOs)The caste problem has been present in the Church from the latter’s introductioninto India, that is from the time of St Thomas’ Christians up to the disputes overthe Malabar rites, and to the recent liberation theology and enculturation .61 Chris-tian organisations, strongly structured and without internal democracy, are proteanand effective in the short run, directing their efforts towards consciousness-raisingon the subjects of education, hygiene, health and environment. Although theirpolicies, whose objectives are immediate, force them to overlook the longer term

67 His (presumably taped) ’oral’ life history has been published as a booklet entitled Cittirai neruppu.L. Ilaiya Perum&amacr;l pativu ceyyuum v&amacr;y moli varal&amacr;ru (’Summer Fire: Oral History Recorded byL. Ilaiya Perumal’), Neyveli, 1998.68 The reference here is to the Italian Jesuit Robert de Nobili. Cf., Joseph Thekkedath, History ofChristianity in India, Vol 2: From the Middle of the Sixteenth to the End of the Seventeenth Century(1542-1700), Bangalore, 1982; E. R. Hambye, History of Christianity in India, Vol. 3: The EighteenthCentury, Bangalore, 1997.



48

aspirations of the population, they do concentrate upon the problem of dalitparticipation in the organisation of the church. For the fundamental paradoxremains that, even though the dalits represent the great majority of any Christiancongregation, they occupy no influential position. In a restrictive hierarchy domin-ated by upper-caste Christians, they are ’th- children of a lesser God’; this leadsto an ever-increasing temptation to turn the debate on liberation into more belliger-ent action.6g These ~dG®s, moreover, are often suspect because they are financedfrom abroad. They are accused of trying to convert dalits, accusations whichdevelop into violent actions against missionaries and churches. In spite of theirprotests, the dalit Christians have so far been excluded from the reservations whichbenefit the Scheduled Castes (in Tamil Nadu they are included in the list of Back-ward Castes) and they are currently trying to get this Hindu-inspired discriminationabolished. Christian associations are numerous, mobile and of varying structures.Founded in 1984, in Madurai, IDEAS (Institute of Development Education, Actionand Studies, Camiika Cintanai Ceyal dyvu Maiyam), a Christian NGO devoted todalit studies, has published texts by Pama and Marku and continues to bring outtexts of this kind.70 Since 1989, the Dalit Christian Liberation Movement hasbranched out from Madurai all over Tamil Nadu, led by the Jesuit Anthony Rajwho now runs a ’Doctor Ambedkar Cultural Academy’ focusing on a dalit Solid-arity Centre. Tamil Nadu Theological College in Madurai runs a documentationand research centre for dalit studies, is active in bringing out publications (12 sofar) and organises dalit festivals every year. Henry Thyagaraj of Madras, whoruns the journal Manita urimai Nluracu (’The Dra~m of Human Rights’), is activelyinvolved, through a signature campaign, in the submission to the United Nationsof a memorandum highlighting the plight of Tamil Nadu dalits as indigenouspeople. For some time his association was the patron of the dalit journal Kõtaflki,edited by Sivakami.

Leftist AssociationsStimulated by the centenary year of Ambedkar in 1991, the dalits, and especiallythose most emancipated by virtue of their education and work, are finding a partisandiscipline, a militant ethic and a debate on ideas in the inherited structures of thelong-term presence of the Communist Party of India (CPI). These are decentral-ised in comparison with the bureaucracy of the CPI but maintain unitary pre-occupations and the critical concern to propose, in a more or less explicitly Marxistcontext, a wide-ranging programme combining class struggle, ethnicity and casteconsciousness. These never-very-weighty groups spread and attract the young,

69 A good introduction to this problem is available in Felix Wilfred, From the Dusty Soil: ContextualReinterpretation of Christianity, Madras, 1995.70 Mokan Larbeer, ed., Talit vitutulaikk&amacr;na Araciyal (’Politics for Dalit Liberation’), Madurai, 1998;Fr Isaac Kathirvelu, ed., Talit p&amacr;rvaiyil Aruluraikal (’Sermons from a Dalit Perspective’), Madurai,1998; Anppukkaraci and Mokan Larbeer, eds, Talit penniyam (’Dalit Feminism’), Madurai, 1997;Marku, Kiristtavattil T&imacr;nt&amacr;mai (’Untouchability in Christianity’), Madurai, 1994; and Pani. PaulMike, T&amacr;ntavam, Madurai, 1999.



49

largely through their flexibility at the local level, which is linked with an ideologicalcontent to which only the Christians can offer an equally structured equivalent.As it would be natural to expect, an activist variant has recently turned into a pol-itical party (see below). In Tamil Nadu, both the communist movement in the1950s and the Naxalite Movement (Marxist-Leninist) in the 1970s, worked forthe cause of the untouchables but were brutally suppressed, later splitting intofactions; their roles in recent local social history is yet to be properly evaluated.A confusion of literary labelling must be cleared up. There exists a general

trend to take for granted that anything written on a dalit subject from a leftistpoint of view can be claimed as dalit writing, but this is definitely not the case:works such as those of D. Selvaraj, Chinnappa Bharati or Melannmai Ponnucami,all being members of the Tamil Nadu Progressive Writers Association (TamilniituMuLp5kku Eluttdlar Cafikam) (affiliated to Communist Party of India-MarxistCPI-M), as well as writers who belong to the Kalai Ilakkiyap Perumanram (af-filiated to the CPI), cannot be called dalit works and have not been considered inthis article.&dquo;

Dalit Organisations as Political PartiesThroughout the period 1995-97, in the northern districts of Tamil Nadu there wasan attempt to turn the attention of the dalits towards the concept and practice ofdouble electorate,’2 that is, a separate electorate - a concept and practice thatwas earlier argued over by Ambedkar and Gandhi and became the subject of thePoona Pact. A number of conferences were held in various places, but the attemptfailed to gather momentum and lost out in the fast-moving social and politicaldevelopments. Out of the severe clashes between tevars and dalits in the southerndistricts of Tamil Nadu,’3 there arose the political party Putiya Tamilakam ( ‘NewTamilakam’) led by Dr Krishnasamy and dominated by pallars of the southerndistricts. In 1999 the Vitutalaic Ciruttaikal, (Liberation Panthers Association),dominated by paralyars, inspired by the Tamil separatist movements of Sri Lankaand led by Tirumavalavan (a powerful orator and, like Dr Krishnasamy, a controv-ersial figure) also decided to take an active role in electoral politics. The elementswhich lie behind the forming of these two dalit parties are, first, the developmentof dalit votes into a single vote bank, separate from the Dravidian and Congressparties and second, an attempt to escape from the arms of the state which worksto suppress them by casting them as a violent threat to law and order. What thendoes the future hold for these two Tamil dalit parties? Will they go the way ofother such parties in different parts of India (BSP in UP, factions of the Republicanparty in Maharashtra), getting lost in the all-devouring electoral process?

71 D. Selvaraj, Malarum carukum (’Flowers and Dried Leaves’), Madras, 1966; Chinappa Bharati,Cankam, Sivagangai, 1985, Hindi trans Dalit Sangh.72 Ravikumar, ed., Talit En ra Tanittuvam (’Uniqueness of being Dalit’), Coimbatore, 1996.73 Broken People: Caste Violence Against India’s ’Untouchables’, Human Rights Watch, New York,March 1999.



50

Cultural Movement z

The Hindu world does not recognise the cultural identity of the dalits, and theythemselves are hardly conscious of possessing an identity even though anthro-pological observation makes it obvious that they do. Thus we see the birth ofshort-lived organisations such as the Talit paf;pättup p8ravai (Forum for DalitsCulture), who try to bring together, by way of cultural programmes progressivein inspiration, intellectuals, artists and writers capable of projecting a popularimage of dalit ’values’ and of putting across a message. Paradoxically, the Tamilakaotukkappatta rrcakkc~l munnani (’Front for the Oppressed Tamil 1’eople’) of 11~.Polilan unites dalit activists and the fanatics of ’pure’ Tamil. He publishes a monthlymagazine, and drew attention to himself at the time of the demolition of the mosqueat Ayodhya in 1992 by threatening to destroy the headquarters of the Shankara-charya of Kanchipuram. Booklets and ephemeral magazines accompany theseactivities.

Deployment of the MediaFrom Theory to TheatreThe dalits, originally without an ideology or a voice of their own, have naturallybeen accommodated, according to a multiplicity of contradictory recipes, by allthe literary groups who, whether with horror or with sympathy, see them becomingmore important on the social scene. In parallel, a so-called intellectual literaturehas been created by authors who, though eager for a wider public than for specialistresearch, are more qualified for abstract discussion than sensitive literary creativity.These intellectual creatures, nourished on ill-assimilated readings of westernwritings, make an odd masquerade of the dalits, ’a carnival of repressed bodiesand their desires’ (Bakhtin), of anarchists and rebels (Artaud and Burroughs), ofdenouncers of the inner circles of power (Foucault) and the dictatorship of dom-inant signs (Eco), who set out, as their non-linear writings show, to break up thestructure of language. A modest echo of these fantasies can be found in the the-oretical texts of a dalit who teaches Tamil at the Tagore Arts College ofPondicherry.Raj Gautaman aims for unidimensional historical analyses of how ethics and powerwere used by higher castes as attested to in Tamil literature&dquo; by way of a rigidstructure of binary opposites. Such writings, which may be called English in Tamilgarb, when uncritically evaluated and enriched with factual errors and socio-anthropological jargon by professional interpreters such as M.S.S. Pandian75 areput into a sort of disguise which blows out of all proportion their original genuine,if slender, content. To cater to a foreign readership with no knowledge ot theTamil language, these interpreters offer the Tamil reality tailor-made, in English

74 Talit Panp&amacr;tu, Pondicherry, 1993; Talit p&amacr;rvaiyil tamil panp&amacr;tu (cankam ’period’) (’Tamil Culturefrom a Dalit Perspective [cankam ’period’]’), Madurai, 1994; Poy + Appatam -> Unmai (’Lie +

Absurdity -> Truth’), Coimbatore, 1995; Aram Atik&amacr;ram (’Ethics and Power’), Coimbatore, 1997.75 M. S. S. Pandian, ’Stepping Outside History? New Dalit Writings from Tamil Nadu’ in ParthaChatterjee, ed., Wages of Freedom: Fifty Years of the Indian Nation-State, Delhi, 1998, pp. 292-309 ; idem, ’On a Dalit Woman’s Testimonio’, Seminar, No. 471, November 1998, pp. 53-56.



51

versions both over-reaching and out of focus which, viewed from inside, conjureup non-existent configurations.The numerous Marxist groups?6 are more sober and adopt a neutral attitude.

Rare are those who merge that ideology either with reflection on the heritage ofAmbedkar and E.V. Ramasami Nayakkar, or with a concrete involvement in thedefence of human rights and a dialogue with other minorities, or with genuineliterary projects. This was the ambition of Nirappirikai (‘I~iffraction’); whenit operated from Pondicherry. Now, from Thanjavur, under the editorship ofA. Marx, it has adopted the ideology of ’subaltern studies’, while its former co-editor IZavikumar&dquo; has launched Dalit in 1997, a quarterly issued from Neyvelifocusing on dalit literature and politics. The high-circulation magazines, moreinterested in circulation statistics than in ideas and run by brahmins or dominantcastes, speedily understand the interests of the market and are indistinguishablein their wish to offend no one. The Madras monthly Cirukataik katir (which seemsto have disappeared) published till 1996 a series of Kilani collum kataikal (Storiesfrom Dalit Colonies) devoted to the dalit world. Two more literary magazines, amonthly, Kayzaiyd_li (Madras) and a tri-monthly, Kälaccuvatu (Nagarkovil), inthe hands of conservative Brahmins, are keen to keep at an equal distance boththe (post-) modernist intellectuals who massacre the language and the ’vulgarcasteism’ of the dalits which erodes true values. Behind their discourses on artand ’good’ literature lies an affirmation of solid, traditional prejudice. They have,nevertheless, been the first to come forward to welcome and promote ‘good’ dalitsalways, provided that their experience be more universal than disturbing to theirsmall world; they appear to be more liberal than the caivappi!!aimiir,78 fierce anti-Brahmins, hostile to Sanskrit and condemned by that fact, in spite of a total lackof affinity, to join the crowd in projecting an image of themselves as favourableto the dalits whom everyone is talking about; this is ultimately the most effectivemethod of preventing those very dalits from speaking out.The oral thus remains the dalits’ most reliable vector, and festivals flourish, for

instance the Talit Kalai iravu (‘l~light of Dalit Arts’) in Madurai, Tiruvannamalaiand Pondicherry during the spring of 1995 alone, on the initiative of the groupsalready mentioned. Imitating numerous temple festivals and political speechesand processions, these shows are folkloric: songs, dances and percussion music(paraiyiiUam, tappiittam), theatrical and visual (painting and craft). They do havecultural content but are also socio-political, providing occasions for discourseand for the launching of pamphlets and books. Without being provocative, theycreate and spread awareness’9 and assert the genuine new phenomenon: the dalits76 See the journal Nikal, published from Coimbatore.77 Kank&amacr;nippin araciyal (’Watchdog Politics’), Coimbatore, 1995.78 Also responsible for journals like Kavit&amacr; caran and Mun ril in Madras, of which the latter isdefunct.79 For example, on the pañcami lands near Senkalpattu, earlier conceded by the British to theharijans, and since usurped by the higher castes. The dalit agitation (December 1994-February1995). then violent, was reawakened by the issuing (as part of a festival) of a documentary book onthe subject by Marku, Pañcami nilap p&omacr;r (’Struggle for Pancami Land’), Madurai, 1995.



52

are on the scene and from henceforth exist in the Tamil landscape despite, and asa challenge to, all repressive policies.The expectations of some kind of dalit theatre naturally arises, but is not fulfilled

even though a few attempts have been made by the Pondicherry University Schoolof Drama and Performing Arts: PaliCitukal (’Sacrificial Goats’), written and stagedby K.A. Kunasekaran and performed in several places in 1991-92; Viirttai Mirukam(’Word Animal’), written by Ravikumar based on the recorded testimony ofPadmini and staged in Pondicherry and Madurai in 1995; and Tannar (‘Water’) byA. Ramasamy, presented in Pondichery in 1995, in Madurai in 1997 and inTirunelveli in 1998.

The most popular and much dramatised confrontation of a genuine Dalit withthe orthodox Brahmanical ’great’ tradition remains the story of Nantanar, theonly paraiyaa (actually pulaiyan) of the 63 Saivite Nayanmar. The legend isnarrated in the thirteenth century Periya pura.1.lam and received a tremendousnew impetus in a drama with songs and music (NantanC7r carittirak kïrttallai) byGopalakrishna Bharati (1811-81);8° it was so successful that it remains popularthrough stage adaptations, flimsy’ recordings and Camatic music recitals.

Gopalakrishna Bharati with, as background, the paraiyar working as tillers inthe fields of the brahmins, introduces two new characters who challenge Nantanar.One is an old man from the cëri, faithful to the customs and duties of the paraiyar,who resists the missionary attempts of Nantanar to convert to orthodox Hinduism,and the other is an old Brahmin, the immediate landlord of Nantanar who, outragedby his espousal of orthodox Hinduism and his determination to go to Chidambaram,challenges him. Shiva himself responds to this challenge with a miracle: he sendshis bhiita gana to perform Nantanar’s duties in the fields in the true tradition ofTiruvilaiyätal Purufiarn and 1’allu. So much for the socio-theological conflict whichremains as dramatic and burning as ever.Coming back to modem times, Indra Parthasarathy, mentioned above in relation

to the Kilvenmani massacre, wrote a short play Nantan katai (published in 1978in a collection of his plays).g2 Although relying heavily on Gopalakrishna Bharati,he introduces an unimaginative love story between Nantan and Abhirami, a dev-dasi, thus enabling the conflict between the proselytising role of Nantan and theparaiyar whom he is trying to convert to take a new turn, both theatrical and cul-tural, with the staging of a contest between Bharatanatyam as danced by Abhiramiand the paraiyattarrz performed by the paraiyars, with Bharatanatyam as the winner.Shiva’s miracle is then played as a plot hatched by the Brahmins, the rnutaliyar

80 According to M. S. Ramaswamy Aiyar, Gopalakrishna Bharati: Author of Nantam Charitram,Madras, 1932, with two editions in 1861-62 and 1862-63 (according to U. Ve. Saminataiyer, Cank&imacr;tamummanikal [’Three Jewels of Music’], Madras, 1936, rpt 1987).81 Nantan&amacr;r (silent film), 1929; Nantanar (film), 1933, 1935, 1942; a satire against untouchabilityenacted as ’Kintanar’ by comedian N. S. Krishnan in the film ’Nalla Tampi’, 1949.82 Intira Partacarati, Aurankacip, Madras, 1976, 1993.



53

and utaiyiir to lure Nantan to Chidambaram where the pyre is waiting for him andAbhirami. After the double autodafé the mutaliyär invites the pa-raiyafv gatheredthere to come forward and become Brahmins through the same initiation; theporcaiyars panic and run away, ending the play. Once again it is non-I3alit, andeven Brahmin, writers who have made dalit subjects into literature. In three per-formances, directed by R. Rasu, the play took on nuances from the audience re-action beyond the author’s intentions and scope:

o Sponsored in Thanjavur in 1986 by the Sangeet Natak Akademi, it merely emphasised technicalaspects of staging, that is, adaptation of traditional arts to modern theatre, with accent onneither Bharatanatyam nor par.aiytittam;

o Staged in Vadalur in 1994 during a conference of Pattd,li Makkal Katci (a van niyar politicalparty), it provoked a very strong protest against the Brahman conspiracy, seen as a manipulationof a backward caste by a higher one. The key there was obviously caste conflict;

At Neyveli on 3 March 1996 during the Night of Dalit Arts, the contest between the twodances had the audience reacting overwhelmingly in favour of the paraiyattam, with dalitconsciousness raised against all higher caste conspiracies and moved to pity by Nantanar’svulnerability and innocence. The manner in which the dalits made this play their own bearswitness to a strong link with their roots and rhythms.R’

Who was not a Dalit by 1995?A very thick issue of lVirappirikcai (November 1994); the special edition of Tdn_a-manicutcar for 31 December 1994; a new quarterly, I~ota~iki for January-March1995; in April a special 40-page section in the annual literary edition of 1995 ofthe Tamil India Today:84 Tamil dalit literature is officially consecrated. Its pre-sentation by Raj Gautaman reveals all the compromises: there is a suppresseddalit inside every non-dalit (except of course for Brahmins) and it is to that dalitthat the literature is addressed. The literature, should not aim at realism, which isessentially capitalist and already appropriated by the higher castes, rather it ispost-modem and unites all those who are for the abolishment of the caste system.Jeyakantan, the very popular novelist and short story writer, hailed and adulated,had already understood this: ’We speak today of dalit literature: everything I havewritten has been dalit literature! I am absolutely unconcerned with differences ofcaste. I have gone beyond all that.’85 A little later, an elderly, orthodox Marxist

83 A. Ramasami, ’Putiya Arankam&amacr;? Marru Arankam&amacr;?’ (’New Theatre or Alternative Theatre?’),Nirappirikai, No. 1, January 1994, pp. 18-22; idem, ’Etir Arankattiliruntu Talit Arankirku — kaliy&amacr;t-tam&amacr;ka p&omacr;rrattamaka oru pirati’ (’From Anti-theatre to Dalit Theatre — A text as a carnival and

struggle’), Ütakam, No. 2, April-May 1994, pp. 40-44; idem, ’Navina Natakamum Talit Natakamum’(’Modern Theatre and Dalit Theatre’), in Talit Kalia Ilakkiyam Araciyal (’Dalit Art, Literature andPolitics’), Neyveli, 1996, pp. 70-83; idem, ’Nantan kataiyum Nanum’ (’Nantan’s Story and I’), inTamilil Nav&imacr;na N&amacr;takam (’Modern Theatre in Tamil’), Chennai. 1996, pp. 223--30. See also K. A.Kunasekaran, Talit Arankiyal (’Concepts of Dalit Theatre’), Chennai, 1995.84 We thank Mrs Vasanti, the then Brahmin Associate Editor of this issue, for her help.85 Extract from a lecture published in Cent&umacr;ram, March-May 1994, p. 17.



54

critic made the great Tamil poet Subrahmanya Bharati (1882-1921), into thefounding father of dalit literature.~6 Tolstoy’s Resurrection would then be theultimate dalit novel, and the first dalit novel would be Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’sLa chaumière indienne, presented and republished by officially recognised dalitsin a new ‘translation’ .87 It is about time we turn back to a more specific assessment.

Towards a Literary Assessment

PoetryThe first poet to emerge out of a hotch-potch of proclamations and empty rages is snot dalit but pataiyacci-van_niyar Palamalai, a teacher from Viluppurarn was bornin 1943. He managed to infuse a genuinely rural and oral tone into his poemswhich are midway between narrative and folk ballad. His four collections&dquo; between1989 and 1998 have, in poetic form, something of that thrill of folklore that Ki.Rajanarayanan brought to the short story and the novel, but they evince a growingtendency to reduce poetry to mere reporting of facts and news. Further, he iden-tifies, ideologically, more and more with his caste and its manifestations.

Exploiting the current trend, several collections use the word ’dalit’ to marketthemselves. Samples of self-proclaimed dalit poetry can be picked up fromKavignar Tamilanpan P. Muthusamy’s ®tukkap~attor urimaik kural which, underthe pretext of ’voicing the rights of the oppressed’ as the title has it, puts togetherheterogeneous translations from all over the world and the author’s poems; orfrom Raja Murku Pandiyan’s Cila talit kavatafkc~lum - in fact only five out ofthirty are dalit - introduced, not surprisingly, by Mira, an elderly writer of doubt-fully engaged, sentimental Marxist poetry as well as love poems.&dquo; However, anotable flow of first collections by poets in their early thirties clearly shows thatpassions and imagery are very much present though their poetry remains somehowelementary, along the lines of Erpu, (’Acceptance’), by Nagai Madhavan (firstpublished in Cirruli and republished in Putiya Pdrvai, February 1998):

Tear the flesh

Leak the blood

If it is sweet, tell us .

We’ll accept you as higher caste ’

86 Ti. Ka. Sivasankaran, Ilakku, August-December 1994, p. 49.87 Iravanan, Oru Kuticayiliruntu...! (’From a Hut’), Madurai, 1994, does not mention the versiontranslated from French by Ira. Tecikap Pillai, Intiyak kuticai (’An Indian Hut’), Madras, 1968, butwas obviously inspired by it.88 Canankalin katai (’Story of the People’), Kumbakonam, 1989; Krotonkal&omacr;tu koñca n&emacr;ram (’AWhile with Crotons’), Tirumutukunram, 1991; Ivarkal v&amacr;lntatu (Lives These People Lived), Madras,1994; In rum En rum (’Now and Forever’), Madras, 1998. The text which heads this article providesa good example of the tone of these ballads.89 P. Muthusamy. Otukkappatt&omacr;r urimak kural (’Voice of the Rights of the Oppressed’), Salem,1995; Raja Murku Pandiyan, Cila Talit kavitaikalum (’A Few Dalit Poems’), Sivagangai, 1994.



55

Two poets from southern Tamil Nadu make the maximum use of orality and theirown dialects in their verse: N.T. Rajkumar, a kanivin (more an untouchable tribethan a caste, and having the traditional occupations of sorcery, medicine, perform-ing arts and martial arts) writes poetry full of anger and romanticism, enriched bythe imagery and cultural details he brings to it from his background; and Nata.Sivakumar, a washerman from Kanyakumari district who shares the same charac-teristics while being more restrained and sharp in his works. Two other collections «originating from the northern districts (Virutthacalam area) are by A. VincentRaj, a more subdued and even dull poet (~alip«kka~, introduced by Sundara Rama-sami) and Arivalakan with poems full of anger merged with folklore -- he alsowrites songs - but sometimes reduced to punch lines or slogans. Two dalitactivists, Talaiyari, a ’Dalit Panther’, and Jeeva also write a poetry of anger withelements of imagery but which is yet to be considered as really fully fledged.&dquo;

Ka. Cuppaiya is likewise a genuine dalit, but his poems are less striking thanhis songs which have been given their full value in the musical interpretation ofK.A. Kunasekaran. It is, in fact, with the support of folk music and the paraidrum that the dalits most effectively express their anger and their anguish. Therepertoire of Kunasekaran,9~ acting head of the Sri Sankaradas Swamigal Schoolof Performing Arts at the University of Pondichery, at present commerciallyoriented towards dalit cultural programmes, was initially that of a communist en-gaged in class struggle, but he identifies himself as a dalit artist with his thirdaudio cassette ~l~lahuccarikata-Talit~atalkal which includes a ballad by Ravikumaron the murder of four dalits at Kurincakulam (Cankarankovil district) by naidusin 1992 - a good example of the link between the popular oral tradition andmilitant poetry. This is a field where dalits could attempt a really original break-through, linked to theatre, thus giving to a deficient contemporary Tamil poetrythe popular contact it has lacked since Bharati and the songs of Kannadasan.

Short Stories and Novels

We now introduce nine authors (along with one in a footnote); five are dalits, twoare not, and another two could not be labelled. This is a fairly comprehensivesample among overabundant and dispersed sources. Yet it remains easy to getbogged down because the authors never cease to riffle, with the frozen fingers of

90 N. T. Rajkumar, Teri (’Abuse’), Nagarkovil, 1997; idem, Otakku (’Tangle’), Tiruvannamalai,1999: N. Sivakumar, Uvar man (’Fuller’s Earth’), Nagarkovil, 1997; A. Vincent Raj, Valip&omacr;kkan(’Traveller’), Virutachalam, 1996: Arivalakan, Karuppu moli (’Black Language’), Virutachalam,1996; Talaiyari, Enk&emacr; ematu mukam? (’Where are Our Faces?’), Pondicherry, 1996; D. Jeeva, Ümacci(’Deaf-Mute Woman’), Tiruvallur. 1998.91 Born in 1955 in the east of Ramnad, singer, actor and theoretician: see also Kunasekaran,Aknisvarankal (’Notes of Fire’). Palaiyankottai, 4th edn, 1993; idem, Nakarc&amacr;r n&amacr;ttuppurapp&amacr;talkal(Urban Folk Songs), Sivagangai, 1987; idem, N&amacr;ttuppura natanankalum p&amacr;talkalum (’Folk Dancesand Songs’). Madras, 1992, among others.



56

passive observers, through an eternal dossier of conventional sorrows. This refersto the first three authors, the first of which is Vili. Pa. Itaya Ventan,92 a state govern-ment official, from a family of sewage workers, who is involved in a number ofsocial and political movements in his hometown of Viluppuram. Apimani, also adalit, employed in the port at Tuticorin, is most lively and colourful on the op-pression of the dalits by the castes immediately above them (’Backward’ and’Most Backward’);93 but in spite of having recourse to dialects, his language doesnot reach as high as his outrage. His second collection, however, reveals a senseof style and form. Unjai Rajan, a dalit activist and editor of the dalit j®urnal Manu-caitka, has also published a short story collection which describes the plight ofthe dalits with a note of protest. 94

Devi Bharati, from the region of Coimbatore, is not a dalit but has made himselfnoticed through the subject which gave its name to a single collection of shortstorles.95A young Brahmin woman who has been reduced to prostitution one day receives

as a client a young man from the family which, for generations, has cleaned thelatrines in her own household. He recognises her and possesses her, brutally andat length, recalling anew with each assault the sufferings of his ancestors underthe haughty contempt of the high castes. She has only one response: ’I am a

prostitute.’Instead of dramatic, intimate dialogues, however, the author gives us two degrees

of voyeurism, interposing first of all a third-person narrator and, in addition, arunning commentary on how the reading is to be used. Finding it convenient toemphasise the sensational side of his plot, he thereby reduces it to a puppet-playworked by a thick-headed showman, a failure to rise to possibility. Although hislater works deal with quite different topics, his sensationalism remains.96 Hereagain the general trend of producing literature with fashionable dalit themescontinues with anything on dalit subjects marketing itself under the dalit label, tothe confusion of genuinely inmrestcd readers.97 Such weeds flourish because there

9‘ Vili~ Pa. Itaya Ventan, Nantanar teru (’Nantanar Street’), Vilupurarn, 1991; idenx, Vatai patumvalvu (’Tortured Life’), Vilupurarn, 1994; idem, Tay man (’Motherland’), Coimbatore, 1996; idem,CinPkita~e (’Friend’), Chennai, 1999.93 ~nimani, Nokkatu (’Pain’), Madras, 1993; the title story describes the shame of an old woman-sweeper, ill and ignominiously thrown out by a status-conscious shrew, hardly superior to her,from a latrine which illness has forced her to use in an emergency whilst working in a backward-caste enclave. His second collection, Punui muni (’Godly Spirit of the Palm Tree’), was publishedin Madras, 1998.94 Unjai Rajan, Ekiru, Tulit cirukataikul (’Ekiru’, Dalit Short Stories), Madras, 1996.95 Devi Bharati, Pali (‘Sacrifice’/ ’Sacrificial Victim’), Erode, 1993.~ Devi Bharati, Kanvilitta marunal (’The Day After Awakening’), Sivagiri, 1994; idem, Mun_ravatuuila elumpum vilutukatarra älamaramum (’The Third Rib and the Banyan Tree without AerialRoots’), Sivagiri, 1996.97 A good example of this fashion is Nanaparatiyin- Talit C’i_rukatalkal (’Dalit Short Stories ofNanaparati’), Madras, 1996, a cheap collection of noisy portrayals of dalit struggle and protest,published with the blessings of half a dozen figures popular in politics and literature.



57

is still the same incapacity to draw anything really original from observationswhich cannot be detached from their purely documentary interest and are stuck indry, flat ideological polemics.

This severe verdict does not spare Pablo Arivukkuyil, a young agent of the LifeInsurance Corporation, from a village in Tirucci district, even though his secondshort novel, Poti (’Bundle of Linen on the Washerman’s I7onkey’ in I’utiya pärvai,December 1994), was awarded first prize by a literary jury in 1994 and his first,Kirämam nakaram (’Village Town’, in I~anaiydli, November 1993), telling thetribulations of a young dalit who has fled his village to find work in Pondicherry,expresses with some subtlety a young boy’s view of urban life while the boy’smemory is still completely rural. The few short stories published along with thesetwo novellas as his first volume Kilukki do not come up to expectations.&dquo;The exploration of the world through the eyes of an adolescent has been, since

Dickens, a stereotype which has been overemployed as much by the progressivistsas by the realists. This is again the plot of two novels by Perumal Murukan, anauthor from the Coimbatore region. The first, Eruveyil describes, in languagewhich borrows freely from the Kongunadu dialect, a sorrowful process of urban-isation : a young peasant of the Gounder family leaves the countryside with hisdependents for a semi-urban suburb where he suffers while watching his familydisintegrate as a result of the migration. The second, Nilal murram is a realisticpicture of the fight of a small group of adolescent vendors in a cinema, who campthere as well, to survive from day-to-day in poverty and amidst easy temptations.In the same vein he has also published a short story collectionThe use of dialect to increase realism also characterises Co. Taruman, a writer

who comes, like Pumani, from the Karical region of Kovilpatti and whose shortstory Nacukkam was selected in 1992-93 for the Katha selection of best Indianshort fiction of that year. He has produced two short-story collections (Iram,’Wetness’, Cõkava!1.am, ’Forest of Sorrow’) and a novel (Türvai, ’Sediment’),and it was only after that that he reportedly hinted at a dalit identity. 100The novels of Arivalakan are without special merit, and this inspector for the

Health Services was not bom a dalit. His first novel, Kalicatai almost literally,smells unbearably.’°’ It concerns the life of a municipal sewage worker, describedin terms of sewers and gutters, latrines and stenches, with an insistence on theroutine of the sordid and the abject which violates the feelings of readers by forc-ing them to perceive physically that this is the filthy, day-to-day lot of the prot-agonist. He soliloquises in rough and straightforward Tamil which rings true.This makes it all the more regrettable that the narration does not maintain this

98 Pablo Arivukkuyil, ’Kilukki’, Coimbatore, 1995.99 Perumal Murukan, &Emacr;ruveyil (’Mounting Heat’), Madras, 1991; idem, Nilal murram (’Courtyardof Shadows’), Madras, 1993; idem, ’Tiruccenk&omacr;tu’, Chennai, 1994.100 Co. Taruman, Nacukkam (’Crushing’), Madras, 1993; idem, &Imacr;ram (’Wetness’), Madras, 1994;idem, C&omacr;kavanam (’Forest of Sorrow’), Madras, 1999; idem, T&umacr;rvai (’Sediment’), Sivagangai, 1996.101 Arivalakan, Kalicatai (’Refuse’), Madras, 1992.



58

tone but tends to sink into artificiality because of the contrast in the device. Thesympathy the effort that has gone into this writing might have inspired is cut offand the impact of this murky irruption into our libraries is muffled.A young dalit, bom in 1967 and living in Neyveli, Sudhakar Ghathak, had

already published, in several small journals, seven short stories in different stylesadapted to those journals, when his short story Varaivu appeared in the secondissue of Dalit in July 1997. This particular story portrays the condition of a youngdalit woman who, finding herself abandoned in the urban world, resigns herselfto posing in the nude for artists. The style of minute, impressionistic reflectionmay betray the influences of the quality Tamil writers Mauni and Vannadasan,but we nevertheless see here for the first time a fusion of literary sensibility anddalit identity. Varaivu has been selected and translated into English as ’The Sketch’for the Katha annual collection of the best short fiction in Indian languages of1997-98.’°2 .

Women SpeakingWomen’s writing in India has a dalit division, of some weight. Thanks to patronage,Marathi offers, apart from narratives recorded for social research,

103 the biographiesof school-teachers who become principals at the end of their careers. In this cat-egory, in Tamil, there is the autobiography of Annai Virammal who was born intoa dalit family in 1924.104 After struggling through a career in All India Radio andan unhappy marriage, she founded, and still runs, a network of social work organis-ations based on the Gandhian ideas. The autobiography is in the third person andis very pedantic in style.

Sivakami is the mouthpiece of dalit aspirations - for men as well as women -in the media and in academic circles. A dalit from the arid lands of Tiruchi who

became a member of the IAS (Indian Administrative Service), she owes her pos-ition to her career as much as to her works, which consist of novels and collectionsof short stories and, increasingly, of articles in privately circulated magazines aswell as those with wide circulations, including Knta~aki and Putiya Kõtänki, editedby her. Her success lies in her life and in the clear, readable style of her fictionwhich follows closely everyday reality: the precarious life of the dalits (PalaiyanaKalitalum); and the oppression of women by omnipresent male dictators, fathers,husbands and heads of families (Ana~tayi).’°5 In her more recent works, two shortstory collections (Nilum totarum; Kataici ~a~ntar), and two novels (Pa ka ä ku;Kur-ukkuvettu) she obscures what is happening by psychologising it with a patina

102 ’The Sketch’, Katha Prize Stories, Vol. 8, New Delhi, 1998, pp. 159-68.103 Sumitra Bhave, Pan on Fire: Eight Dalit Women tell their Stories, trans. Gauri Deshpande, NewDelhi, 1998. This is part of a militant feminist programme which nevertheless claims for itself a’literary ear’.104 Annai Virammal, Itu en V&amacr;lkkaik katai (’This is the Story of My Life’), Tiruchi, 1996.105 Sivakami, Palaiyana Kalitalum (’The Old Fades Away’), Madras, 1991; idem, &Amacr;nant&amacr;yi(’Anantayi’), Madras, 1994.



59

of urban sophistic~tion.’o~, In her writing she passes smoothly from spoken dialogueto a more sustained hut natural descriptive language; to the triumph of standardTamil she adds the reassuring vision of the eternal dalit woman, strongly rootedin her land and resistant to change. It is, thus, a sure-fire and unsurprising way tobring the dalit world into the best company and to liven up university seminars.Two other authors have a less brilliant game plan: secularised nuns, they both

emphasise the limitations to the Christian solution to the dalit condition - whatis offered in place of education and employment is submission to the conventionaland prevalent system of castes and of tenacious prejudice against the ’bad’ poor.Strong personalities are broken by this or they leave the orders. Faustina, who isthe sister of the dalit academic writer and theoretician Raj Gautaman, was bom in1958 near Srivillipputtur. She was educated exclusively by nuns through boardingschool and college up to B.Sc and B.Ed. and, by a natural progression, became anassistant teacher, and then a junior teacher in a convent. In 1985, she took the veiland then spent six years in a convent before giving up her vows to return to teach-ing. Under the name of Pama, she has written two autobiographical novels whichproudly vindicate the name of dalit, Karukku (1992)107 in which she settles heraccount with the church, even though her six years of convent life take up onlysix out of a hundred pages, and Cafikati which goes further back into her child-

hood.108 Karukku was hailed as the first Tamil dalit autobiography and scored asuccès d’estime. Written entirely in standard spoken Tamil mixed with the dialectof Madurai region, the first-person story frequently sacrifices the ingenuity ofmemory to the adult voice of an educated and angry dalit who substitutes criticism

and rebellion for the stuff of real experience. Although the dangers of vindicationand of propaganda are not avoided, the documentary interest is evident and thejustifiable reproaches uttered in opposition to the hypocrisy of a corrupted churchgive a polemical and documentary dimension to the text which, nevertheless,does not have the style of her recent short stories. 109A more brilliant figure, Mary Stella, a dalit, was born in 1947 and went to

Rome to gain a bachelor’s degree in theology; she taught for 10 years in Madrasand then entered an order which sent her back to Rome as an envoy. After beingpromoted from the rank of Novice Mistress to that of Assistant Superior General,she left and later, with her Hindu husband, founded her own organisation forsocial development on behalf of dalits near Tambaram (Chengai district). Underthe name of Vitivelli, she published a testimony, Kalakkal.11o This first attempt in

106 Sivakami, Nalum totarum (’It Goes on Day by Day’), Madras, 1993; idem, Kataici m&amacr;ntar (’TheLast’), Madras, 1997; idem, Pa ka &amacr; ku (This is an acronym of her other novels), Madras, 1997;idem, Kurukku vettu (’Cross-section’), Madras, 1999.107 Karukku (Palmyra leaves, with serrated edges on both sides), English trans. Lakshmi Holmström,Chennai, 2000.108 Pama (Faustina), Cankati (’Happening’), Madurai, 1994.109 Pama (Faustina), Kicumpukk&amacr;ran (’The Joker’), Madurai, 1996.110 Vitivelli (Mary Stella), Kalakkal (’The Muddle’), Madurai, 1994.



60

her mother-tongue is direct and courageous. It accuses the church especially ofalienating those who sincerely want to serve the oppressed by giving them thecomforts and pleasures of the middle class. She denounces the artificial side ofmonastic life, dealing freely with hetero- and homosexual exploitation. Thesetwo equally negative eye-witness accounts, whether literary or not, cast light uponthe controversial place of the church in the political and cultural life of Tamildalits.Two more women witnesses pose the question from another point of view. The

first testimony is known only through the French version by Josiane and Jean-Luc Racine, now available in English translation. It is the autobiography of Vir-amma, III a pariah woman for whom even a diffused revolt is absent, perhapsbecause rebellion has tended to implode into daily life for too long. If she has anideology, she is a Hindu, and even her son has no enthusiasm for the dalit cause.Does this then mean that such enthusiasm is essentially urban, that is to say, anintellectual utopia without autonomous rural roots? It is rare in Tamil literaturewith a dalit viewpoint to come across the elements which constitute the theme ofViramma: here is real sensitivity to objects and beings, a wanton sensuality alongwith folklore, healers’ formulae and the songs and legends of professional story-tellers. All this provides a framework for a particular life full of fears and ofspirits to be avoided. In brief, we find a consistency and density, the absence ofwhich makes previous literary efforts look feeble in comparison. Worse still, thelaughter of Viramma makes nonsense of the revolutionary and militant pathosdeployed up till now with little result. The second testimony adds meaning at justthis point despite its fragility and discreet distribution. This is the transcription ofa cassette tape, the story of Pad mini, I 12 a woman of the t5tti ~~y~kk~zr caste (sweep-ers, wage-workers of Andhra origin) who was molested and suffered multiplerape at the Annamalainagar police station, (near the University and next to thetemple of Chidambaram), in front of her husband who was suspected of havingstolen an electric fan and for that was beaten and tortured to death by the police.

111 Viramma, Josiane and Jean-Luc Racine, Une vie paria, Le rire des asservis, Paris, 1995, trans,Will Hobson, Viramma: Life of an Untouchable, London, 1997. Two reviews of this book — FrançoisGros, BEFEO, 1996, pp. 385-89 and M. Kannan, Nirappirikai, No. 8, May 1996, pp. 65-78, — ex-

press reservations about the soothing vision of Viramma as the smiling, wise paria, which theybelieve is a fusion of the Tamil story-telling tradition with French literary anthropology as flowingfrom Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, La Chaumière indiene (’The Indian Thatched Cottage’), Paris,1790, to Jean Malaurie, Les Derniers Rois de Thulé (’The Last Kings of ’Thule’), Paris, 1955, 5threv. and enlarged edn, Paris, 1989. Malaurie’s book has been translated into English several timesunder the title The Last Kings of Thule, London, 1956, to idem, New York, 1982. To quote from anEnglish translation is not quite relevant for a book which has been translated into more than 20languages, and continuously enlarged, from about 500 pages to 854 pages (with 190 drawings, 65photographs, 25 maps, and triple index).112 Federation of Human Rights pamphlet, Ann&amacr;malainakar Patminiyin v&amacr;kkum&umacr;lam (Testimony ofPadmini of ’Annamalainakar’), Pondicherry, 1992. The judgement in Padmini’s case was deliveredat Cuddalore District and Sessions Court on 4 September 1997; of the 11 policemen accused, fivewere released and the other six were sentenced to three or 10 years imprisonment and fined. Theirappeal is still pending in Chennai High Court.



61

It is almost unbearable to read and put more literary stories, with their quest for amoving effect, in the shade. The Tamil dalits, however, did not mobilise and neitherwas there any reaction from the policewomen involved nor, incidentally, fromSivagami, the recognised messenger of dalit women. Such an incident wouldnever fit into the repertoire of Viramma’s songs; and any young dalit from herown village who had - unlikely as that would be - succeeded in entering thepolice force could well have been one of Padmini’s torturers. In the face of suchan impenetrable situation, human rights associations and over-urbanised dalitintellectuals recover their effectiveness, and the literary mumblings in favour ofgreater social justice may at least serve to highlight the silences and timid euphem-isms of others.

At Stake: Dalit Literature

We end this overview of Tamil dalit literary production with two examples whichstand at opposite extremes from one another and which ideally illustrate what is,for us, the ultimate question. The first, because it deliberately holds dalit writingabove literature, and questions the very possibility of a dalit literature. With thesecond, by contrast, it is a laborious aesthetic vision of literature which underminesthe essence of dalit identity. To turn an experience into fiction successfully and tointegrate into that fiction a hard and burning ideological message without theimagination losing its wings to the force of conviction: this is the challenge facedby all engaged literature. It has not been met as far as the Tamil dalits are concerned,but our two examples demonstrate that it is indeed the major challenge.

There are three factors that challenge the very idea of dalit literature. The firstis the ideological, anthropological or political, trap which keeps literature out ofmost dalit writing. We may also seem to have been on the brink, several times, ofpolitical or anthropological commentary in this article. Because it is, in fact, themarginal and non-dalit writers who have given us the best of that literature, whilethe mass of actual dalit writing, in terms of authors or subjects, has only gratifiedus with such occasional rays of hope as Sudhakar Ghatak.The second factor is exemplified by Laxman Gaikwad, author of a dalit auto-

biography, which won an award in 1988 and was translated into English in thesame year and which is not without its merits. Gaikwad introduces himself in thePreface thus: ’These are the reflections of a non-Matric social worker. Let therebe a sociological evaluation rather than a literary one of this work. This is myhumble expectations If this request does not detract from the intrinsic qualitiesof that ’autobiographical novel’, it does challenge the very legitimacy of the presentarticle by refusing, reasonably or not, to figure in a literary framework. It is certainlyliterature, but the inadequate term ’subaltern’ lurks as a value judgement whichweighs heavily on the fate of the work as literature.

113 Gaikwad, Uchalya, p. ix.



62

The third factor is represented by our first example, a novel presented in thename of a cause and with didacticism and militant zeal which purposely decon-structs plot and makes an attempt at anti-literature into a process of counter-literature. Marku, a priest, very much committed to action on behalf of the dalits,is also a writer. His fourth novel, Yättirai, deals with a confrontation between thedalit Christians and the reddiyar minority who control the church at Piccur. 114 Thestory comes to a head with a proposal for a march of dalits against the church.The novel then stops abruptly and the author offers six possible outcomes in asort of postscript:

(1) The march reaches the village and there is a bloody confrontation. Disgusted and troubled,the two parties stop fighting and enter the church together, thereby inaugurating an era ofequality and fraternity.

(2) The dalits circumvent the ambush prepared by the reddiyar and victoriously enter the church:the march towards liberation has begun.

(3) Realising that confrontation leads nowhere, the dalits give up the march and build theirown church.

(4) At the edge of the village the front line of dalits are massacred and the rest flee, pursued bythe reddiyar. Will the dalits ever join together for a fresh fight?

(5) The bishop decides to lead the dalit procession. At the sight of him the reddiyar willy-nillyjoin the procession: the whole crowd goes back together into the church which claims themall equally.

(6) The reddiyar seek the help of the police who attack the dalits, killing and imprisoningthem. The dalits go on with their ’march’ from the police station to the hospital and to thecourt. &dquo; I

The author thus invites his readers to choose between three ideological options:(1) Dalits must be patient and opposition will disappear over time: this is theposition of the bishopric. (2) Discrimination will never end for it is of anotherorder, and religion and the caste system should never be linked: this is the positionof upper-caste Christians. (3) Victims of discrimination must fight to free thechurch from the caste system and from untouchability: this is the dalit position.From the reader’s point of view, the process used here is less original than didactic,but the aim is to force people to think; literature, if it still exists, becomes anti-literature - a simple tool in the service of a weighty, well thought out ideologicalcommitment, leaving almost no room for aesthetic exploration.Our second example is exactly the reverse of the first. The author, Imaiyam, is

a dalit born in 1966 into a family of farm workers in a small village in southArcot. He works in a school run by the Adi Dravidar Welfare Department of theTamil Nadu government. His brother was elected as a Member of Parliamentfrom Chidambaram, a reserved constituency for dalits. His literary ambitions,perhaps stronger than his political convictions, have been well served by hispublisher (cre-A). His first novel is called (K®ve~-aa Kalutaikafl [ &dquo;The I~ules’ ] mulescarry the washerman’s bundles of laundry but are also royal mounts). Painstakingly114 Marku, Y&amacr;ttirai (’The March’), Madurai, 1993.115 Ibid., pp. 258-64.



63

written and carefully edited, it is now included in the digitalisation project of theUniversity of Chicago and Columbia University, the first Tamil novel to be madeavailable via the Internet, at least at that address. The English translation has beencompleted and awaits publication, while his second novel is being published.&dquo;6His first novel has won him enthusiastic appreciation in Brahmin literary circlesotherwise not very favourable to dalits but here enchanted to have found one theycan raise above the crowd in the name of both literature and humanism (it receivedthe 1995 AGNI award given, as we mentioned at the beginning of this article, toPumani in 1994), while the dalits accused him of betraying his paraiyar caste bydepicting it, for a change, as inhuman and oppressive. &dquo;’ The popular weekly,Ananda Vikatall (31 October 1999 ) called it the best dalit novel and the TamilIndia Today (3 November 1999) said it was one of the best books to make an

impact in this decade, the first of which judgements may not please the authorand his publisher, whereas the second probably will. In fact, neither author norpublisher ever once use the word ’dalit’. Such an omission cannot be mere chanceand, indeed, is perpetuated in the second novel and in its afterword by Sivaramanin a panegyric on how realism becomes art, life literature, otc., conveniently for-getting earlier works which could better have served the theory, for example thoseof G. Nagarajan (reissued in 1983 by the same publisher and in 1997 by SundaraRamasami, Imaiyam’ most enthusiastic critic). This then is a case of art for art’ssake and for the sake of the happy few, far above the vanity and the hopes of en-gaged literature. This minor, local, Arundhati Roy-like operation calls for closerscrutiny because if it is well-founded then a climax is being reached. But what asad disappointment if it is not?

K5viru Kalutaikafl is the realistic chronicle of a family of pa_raiyavannan_launderers who wash the clothes of other untouchables, receiving grain and otherfood in return. But, in fact, the family is exploited by mean and insensitive peoplewho refuse to give them their due payment and who molest them to the point ofraping their daughter. The dramatic mainspring is the tragic absurdity of thesurvival of such an outdated economy. The hunger, anguish and powerlessness,the systematic exploitation of the most deprived, are repeated at all levels of society.These accumulated oppressions are expressed in long soliloquies, lamentations,and in questioning to which there are never answers; and, finally in the mother’slitanies of despair and the supplications of her daughter after she has been raped,all are hurled at a world where they strike no echo. This method is interesting atfirst, but when it turns into an idiomatic repertoire it ends up anaesthetising thereader who lets the words run on whilst the tortured faces of the mother and

daughter heavily imprint themselves. It is all very laboured and borrows from thetechniques of the popular Tamil cinema (for example that of Bharatiraja and Mani-ratnam), even including the songs obligatory in the cinematic medium.116 Imaiyam, K&omacr;v&emacr;ru Kalutaikal (’The Mules’), Madras, 1994; idem, &Amacr;rumukam (’Arumukam’),Madras, 1999.117 For appreciation from Brahmins, see Sundara Ramasami, K&amacr;laccuvatu, No. 9, December 1994;for the dalit perspective see Raj Gautaman, Ütakam, No, 4, September 1995.



64

The first novel’s weakest point, the ever-present influence of cheap cinema, iseven more to the fore in the second one where it arises from the plot itself whichconcerns the experience of a young boy, Arumukam, among prostitutes, pimps,rickshaw-pullers and homosexuals in urban slums. Arumukam runs away fromhis mother when he finds out about her affair vith a Dutchman and, at the end,comes across her by chance and by the light of a match, working as a prostitute,and he himself her client. She then commits suicide, leaving him to his lamen-tations. This reflects exactly the populist realism of the Indian cinema: brotherfinds sister, (or father/daughter, husband/wife) as a prostitute. Along with thescenario and chapter breaks, the dialogue too creates the feeling of a written accountof a film without there being any real understanding of the movement and visualstyle of cinema. All this leads to a sort of voyeurism suffused with derision andmoralism. It is striking to see the urban elite, who shun popular cinema, appre-ciating this projection as literature. ’I’his theme and the style exemplify the way inwhich the deracinated Tamil urban middle class surrenders itself before the visual

media. Disappointing as art, the novel also falls down in its realism, unlike thefirst novel which gets away with it because the time frame and geography are leftvague and because of its language, a measured dose of standard Tamil with thedialect of south Arcot. In Arumukam, the precise locations filled with real placenames - Pondicherry, Auroville, Cekkumetu - clash with contradictory andanachronistic time markers, not to speak of the inauthenticity of the language ofvarious characters. We are constrained to go into this detail by the implied realismof an actual place which develops leaks due to discrepancies in time-markers andidioms. Objectively speaking, this novel is over-rated; more descriptive thandenunciatory, more populist than realistic, the novel fails to turn life into art.Successful, such a metamorphosis would have given this article its crowning point.Aborted, it is nothing but a counter-example to the novel of Marku. Marku hasrejected literary aesthetics in favour of a more urgent need, the dalit cause, which,for him, is the most important struggle of our time. With Imaiyam, the quest for astyle dilutes dalit reality and through his stylistic devices dalit sensitivity is numbed.To see in his novel a reconciliation between dalit reality and literature, in whichthe first is erased by the triumph of the second, is not just an error of taste but isalso a blindness, voluntary or not - here Pierre Bourdieu’s approach to the literarymilieu would help&dquo;’ - into which plunges the author, his publisher and the

118 Cf., Venkat Swaminathan, Indian Literature, section entitled ’Facets of Dalit Life in RecentTamil Writings’, September-October 1999, pp. 15-30. The specificity of the dalit phenomenon hasbeen submerged in the general caste struggle throughout Indian history, and in the broader currentof south Indian literature from Shankara and the Periya Pur&amacr;nam to Putumaipittan, which covershalf the article. The critic appraises both dalit and non-dalit writers for their literary merits ratherthan for the criteria of the dalit ’ideologues’ who are supposed to decide wrongly on a purely pol-itical basis. All his arguments blindly ignore the crucial point raised by Pierre Bourdieu on thetransformation of the relations between the intellectual sphere and the sphere of power: ’Lorsqu’unnouveau groupe littéraire ou artistique s’impose dans le champ, tout l’espace des positions etl’espace des possibles correspondants, donc toute la problématique, s’en trouvent transformés;avec son accés à l’existence, c’est à dire à la différence, c’est l’univers des positions possibles qui



65

readership who have walled themselves up in fiction, seen as an end in itself, andremain immune to the most ineluctable changes. Once more, it is the long traditionof middle-class Tamil writers, usually Brahmins, looking down as passive observersrather than as militants, which prevails.

In patronising Imaiyam in the name of ’pure’ literature, the traditionalist eliteobscures the very immediate and shocking density of history behind the conven-tionally accepted universality of ’genuine experience’ and the intrinsic value ofart. Such tautological essentialism, painstaking in the afterword of Sivaraman,sterilises all efforts to create new norms or new myths, stifles every scream of de-fiance and, in brief, puts the dalits back in the ranks.

Tamil dalit literature indeed remains at stake. When are dalit aspirations goingto find their identity or explore a genuine subjectivity? As long as it remains

clouded by representations such as those of M.S.S. Pandian and Imaiyam, and ofViramma’s interpreters, the ’real’ may go unrecognised. Tamil dalits in quest of aliterature may be seen in terms of the Meidosem the imaginary beings created byHenri Michaux, who share with the dalits both the horrifying fragility of floatingectoplasms inscribed in the ’barbed wire polygon of a dead-end Present’ and theirextraordinary obstinacy, ’Yes, they will go far, bound to their weakness, thereforestrong in a way and even almost invincible....’ For what could show them more

clearly the traps attached to established literature and to alternative literature (notthat there is any real counter-literature) than this text which vanished after it was

published, evaporating as if in startled modesty:

He’s trusting you, paper like gossamer, wall of silk, a peeling off of others. He cries, ’Get meout of here’. ’Get me out of here’, he cries incessantly. But what one hears is, vaguely, ’lowersflowers’ or perhaps ’love’. But he’s only crying, ’Get me out of here, get me out of here.’Shaky wall which inscribes without listening, which listens without guessing, which guesses

without believing, which betrays him who implores saying, ’A little person would like a littlefreedom.’’ I9

se trouve modifié, les positions jusque là dominantes pouvant, par exemple, étre renvoyées austatut de produit déclassé ou classique.’ Cf. Pierre Bourdieu, Les règles de l’art. Genèse et structure

du champ littéraire, Paris, 1992, p. 326; English trans. Susan Emanuel, The Rules of Art: Genesisand Structure of the Literary Field, Stanford, 1995, p. 234: ’When a new literary or artistic groupimposes itself on the field, the whole space of positions and the space of corresponding possibilities.hence the whole problematic, find themselves transformed because of it: with its accession toexistence, that is, to difference, the universe of possible options finds itself modified, with formerlydominant productions, for example, being downgraded to the status of an outmoded or classicalproduct.’119 Meidosems, text facing lithograph #4 in the original edition with 13 lithographs, Le Point duJour, 1948. This passage was not reprinted in La vie dans les plis, Gallimard, 1949, rev edn 1972,but was retained in the English version by Elizabeth R. Jackson (Meidosems), California, 1992.

pp. 28, 44, 46. The translation here is revised by the authors.

