WHEN in olden days rules were framed for the proper management of Indian village con- stitutions, and particular duties were assigned to particular individuals, there were no easy means of communication in the country. It was there- fore found necessary to have a separate class. of men—the Panisivas—to carry to friends and relatives invitations to weddings, funerals, and special festival occasions, which, as I said in one of my previous papers, are of almost daily occurrence in Hindu families. The word Panisiva means literally one who serves ; and Kanthan, the Panisiva of Kélambakam, is a hardworking, faithful, and willing servant of the villagers. He is required to blow the conch-shell during funerals, to serve betel and nut during marriages and festivals, to go even to distant villages to invite friends and relations to take part in those celebrations, and to do what- ever other work is allotted to him on those occasions. By hard work and by the good- will of the people of the village, he managed till very recently to live a happy life and even to save some money, The Brahmin Appa- lacharri very cleverly brought about an un- necessary quarrel between Kanthan, the Panisiva, and Kuppusami, the potter, they being neighbours, and by his scheming kept up the quarrel for some time. The result was that both of them figured many a time in the law courts, and learnt some very wholesome lessons after the expenditure of a good deal of money.
This is how the dispute arose. One day when Appalacharri was sorely in need of money, he went to the potter, who was toiling at his wheel, and very cleverly drew him into a con- versation, in the course of which he said : " You know, Kuppusami, that there are two palmyra trees standing in the hedge, which separates your backyard from that of Kanthan. He enjoys their tender nuts and fruits. I do not see why you should not enjoy them also. Those trees stand in a common hedge, and in fact it is my strong conviction that they belong exclusively to you, and that the Panisiva has no right whatever to them." To this the potter said: “Yes, Swami! I also am entitled to enjoy the produce of the trees. I am sure to succeed if I can secure the assistance of one like you.” “Do not be afraid,” said the Brahmin, “the trees and the hedge will be yours.” He then ask the potter to assist him with some money, which was willingly given.
The next day, Appalacharri sent for the Panisiva, and with the skill and tact so peculiar to him spoke about the hedge and the palmyra trees. “I know,” he said, “the village head- man Kothundarama Mudelly knows, and every one in the village also knows, that your father planted the two palmyra trees in your backyard, and who is there but you entitled to enjoy them? But the potter complained to me yesterday that you unjustly enjoy the tender nuts and the fruits. He says that he is entitled to a portion, if not the whole of the produce. I know that his demand is very unjust. But let me, as one that takes a deep interest in your welfare, tell you in all sincerity that he means some mischief ; and before he does anything of that sort, see that you at once enclose the trees. with prickly pear. If after that he tries to. annoy you, come and tell me without a moment’s delay.” The Panisiva answered : Great Swami! I have no one else but you to. assist me. I implore you on my feet to save me from the misdoings of my neighbour Kuppusami.” “ You can count upon my assist- ance,” said the Brahmin. He then took some money from the poor Panisiva and sent him away with all sorts of assurances.
On the third day, the potter came running to. Appalacharri and said: “My great Guru ; you assured me the day before yesterday that I am the sole owner of the trees in the backyard, and that I alone am entitled to their produce. But last evening Kanthan fenced them round with prickly pear. You promised to use all your influence to secure for me the ownership of the trees as also the hedge. Here, my saviour, is some money for your gracious acceptance ; please advise me what further I am to do.” The Brahmin took the money, and advised him to go at once and pull down the fence. This was done, and immediately the Panisiva ran to Appalacharri with some money and told him that the potter had pulled down the fence; he then fell at Appalacharri’s feet, cried like a child, and begged of him to do all that could be done. To this the Brahmin angrily said : “You are a fool; you cry like a child. You should have manfully kicked the potter, when he removed the fencing. Here I will write a complaint for you; go and lodge it at once before the magistrate.” The complaint was thrown out, as the dispute was said to be of a civil nature. The Panisiva then filed a civil suit. During the progress of the suit the court had to appoint a commissioner to inspect the spot and submit a report, and during all this time Appalacharri exacted as much money as possible from both. In the end, after the lapse of two years of anxious care and toil and after the expenditure of a large sum of money, the Panisiva’s just title to the trees was recognized by the court, and the foolish potter, who was unwillingly dragged into the quarrel, learnt a dearly bought lesson. Thus were two simple villagers nearly ruined by unnecessary litigation cleverly brought about by the wily machinations of an unscrupulous Brahmin.
The person next claiming our attention is Muthusami Chetty, the Shylock of Kélam- bakam, and he is not one whit better than the leech-like village usurer, about whom one hears so much nowadays. This man, who belongs to the trading class, lives in a strong, well-built house to which is attached a spacious granary. He owns the only bazaar in Kélambakam, and it is located in the pial of his house. He makes periodical visits to the nearest town, and buys whatever articles of consumption are required for his village. These he sells either for money or for grain. The system of paying revenue to Government in money and by monthly instalments, from December to May, is very favourable to the money-lending classes of the community, and it has been and still is the means of easily enriching them and making them more prosperous than the rest of the people. The villager who is in need of say a hundred rupees for paying Government revenue, has simply to go to our Chetty friend, who gives the required amount, on the condition that it is repaid in grain at the harvesting season.
No interest is charged by the money-lender. Now the average price of paddy during the harvesting season, which commences in January and extends till March, is 27 measures for a rupee. Thus the villager, who borrowed one hundred rupees, has to give the money-lender 2,700 measures of paddy. This the latter stores in his granary, and sells in July, August, and September, when the average market price is 19 measures for a rupee; so that Muthusami Chetty’s one hundred rupees amount to nearly one hundred and fifty rupees in about six months. This arrangement tells very heavily upon the cultivating classes, but they cannot help it. Again, whenever they have to buy bullocks for ploughing, when they have to build houses, to marry their sons or daughters, or to perform funeral ceremonies in honour of de- parted relatives (and marriages and funeral cere- monies are very expensive in Hindu families), they must go to the village usurer and borrow money on the same rigid conditions. Here, indeed, is a splendid opportunity for Hindu capitalists. Instead of devising all sorts of means for investing their capital, they should start agricultural banks and lend money to the cultivating classes. By so doing they would not only get fair interest for their money, but would be the means of saving thousands of families from ruin, of making them more prosperous and happy, and of effacing a class of people who live upon the labour of others, and are draining the life-blood of the agricul- tural population of the land.
Our village usurer Muthusami Chetty is a cunning and clever man of business. He looks after his bazaar, keeps the accounts regularly, and does all the business himself without the assistance of a clerk. He is also a very safe man, and does not give offence to people even when they give him cause to do so. He aims at pleasing each and every one in the village, and the following story which I heard of him illustrates very well this characteristic. One day, two persons, who went to make purchases from his bazaar, unfortunately quarrelled. Hot words were exchanged, and, notwithstanding Muthusami’s remonstrances, words came to blows. In the end, both complained to the magistrate, and both cited the Chetty as their witness. He, to please both, addressed the magistrate thus: “Maharajah! I have been unnecessarily dragged here to give evidence. One day these two persons now standing before your august presence, came to my bazaar to buy certain articles. They quarrelled and each abused the other. They were about to come to blows, when I grew nervous and closed my eyes, and instantly I heard the sound of beat- ing. This is all that I know.”
Those who devote their time to a study of Hindu society and its institutions are very much puzzled to find Dévadasis, a class of women consecrated to God’s work, openly practising prostitution. These wretched people are required to sweep the temple, ornament the floor with quaint figures drawn in rice flour, hold before the idol the sacred light called Kumbharati, dance and sing when festivals are celebrated, fan the idol and do many other similar things. The word Dévadasi literally means servant of God, and it seems strange that a person dedicated to the service of God should lead a low and degraded life.
In Kélambakam there are two dancing girls, Kanakambujam (golden lotus) and Minakshi (fish-eyed). They are the Dévadasis of the temple of Kothundarama in the village, and they do service by turns, for which they receive an allowance from the temple endowment. Kanakambujam is the concubine of Rajaruthna Mudelliar, a burly, thick-necked zemindar of a neighbouring village, and Minakshi is in the keeping of our old friend Appalacharri, although at times the Brahmin has no scruples in acting the part of a go-between for some money consideration to those who may wish to buy his concubine’s smiles. There is a good deal of what is termed “professional jealousy” between the two dancing girls, and on this account constant disputes arose between the Mudelliar and the Brahmin, which at last culminated in their being carried to a criminal court for settlement. The Mudelliar lodged a complaint with the magistrate against Appalacharri for assault and abusive language; and the Brahmin, knowing that his opponent would be cowed and willing to buy peace at any price, wantonly cited as his witnesses the zemindar’s wife and aged daughter, who lived in a neighbouring village and who therefore knew nothing of the dispute. The magistrate was well aware that the action of Appalacharri was simply vexatious, and was therefore unwilling to order their appearance in court, but the clever Brahmin insisted on their being called to give evidence, as they were the only witnesses that could prove his innocence. The poor Mudelliar had in these circumstances no other alternative but to withdraw his complaint. Appalacharri is even to this day continually harassing his enemy, much to the delight of his concubine, but poor Mudelliar simply bears all this as meekly as possible.
During marriage occasions, when a number of people congregate together to witness the ceremony, Hindu females will not attend on the brides and look after them for fear of being gazed at by the people. Hence the dancing girls act the part of bridesmaids. Their duty is to dress the bride, adorn her with jewels, conduct her to the bridegroom and adjust her posture on the bridal seat. They are also required to dance and sing before the villagers on these occasions.
There is still another man in Kelambakam, who is, however, not a permanent resident of the village. He makes periodical visits to his house once a week or so, to see his wife and children. His name is Narayana Pillai, and he looks after his sheep in the plains. In my account of Gopala Pillai I gave a story illustrative of the proverbial dulness of the shepherd class. My readers will pardon me for introducing here another story to the same effect.
THE SHEPHERD AND HIS WIFE SEETA.
A shepherd youth, the dullest of his class, Was wedded to a lovely shepherd lass; And to her father’s house the bridegroom went To feast on all the good things for him meant.
His only cloth around his waist he wore, His stupid head a heavy turban bore ; For once, his flock forgot, his only care, He went to eat and to be merry there.
He thought of none but Seeta on the way, And reached her father’s house at close of day. He entered, but the door-posts kept in check Him and the staff that rested on his neck.
He moved, but still they kept him back, when lo ! There came, bending her head, a buffalo, With horns as long as his own faithful staff, And freely passed to feed upon the chaff.
Thus taught our shepherd entered in, and of A hearty meal partook ; then, heedless of his love, Retired, and till next morning soundly slept, While she all night her sad fate cursed, and wept.