I HAVE in the preceding papers described the various classes of people in the village of Kélambakam. It will be seen that this village is a little world in itself, having a government of its own and preserving intact the traditions of the past in spite of the influences of a foreign government and a foreign civilization. Every member of the little state of Kélam- bakam regularly performs the duties allotted to him, and everything works like a machine. Those that render service for the upkeep of the village constitution are either paid in grain or have some lands allotted to them to be cultivated and enjoyed free of rent. Those that are paid in grain present themselves during the harvest time at the threshing-floor ; and when the villager gathers his corn and is ready to remove it to his house, he distributes a portion to each of the village servants, according to the nature and importance of the service rendered to him throughout the whole year. And these simple, honest villagers earn their livelihood year after year by toiling hard from early morning till the close of day, leading a peaceful and contented life, living happily with their wives and children in their humble cottage homes and caring for nothing that goes on beyond their own little village. Well has it been observed by Professor Max Müller— “To the ordinary Hindu, I mean to ninety-nine in every hundred, the village is his world, and the sphere of public opinion with its beneficial influences seldom extends beyond the horizon of his village.” The doings of those who govern them and things political are nothing to them. It is enough for them if Providence blesses them with periodical rains, if their lands bring forth plenty to sustain them and their children and to preserve unruffled the quiet even tenor of their lives. This policy of non-interference and indifference to what passes outside his own sphere has been the main characteristic and, in fact, the guiding principle of the Indian villager from time immemorial, and hence arose the very familiar saying which every Hindu knows to quote, and to quote with gushing acceptance of the idea conveyed by it—“What does it matter to us, whether Rama administers the country or the Rakshasas (giants)?”
Life in Kélambakam, with its fifty or sixty dwellings inhabited by a few hundreds of people, is full of interest. The villagers get up various kinds of amusements, which bring them often together. In civilized countries, public amusements are authorized on a very grand scale ; they often cost a great deal, and the best talent available is secured to please the people. But the amusements indulged in by the Indian villagers entail little or no expense, though their enjoyment derived from them is none the less keen. I shall in the following papers describe the various sports and pastimes got up by the people of Kélambakam, which now and then relieve the dull monotony of their life. But before doing so, I wish to say a few words regarding the women of the village.
In eastern countries women are said to hold a subordinate position. The charge has often been made that in India they are bartered as slaves, that they are useful to man only in so far as they minister to his comforts, and that they are simply child-bearing machines. But European countries owe their proud position to the fact that women are honoured and respected and are accorded a superior position. There what is called love is not mere bestial passion, but something more. Such are the views thrust upon us in season and out of season by certain writers who pretend to know intimately the manners and customs of the Hindus. But the keen observer of the inner life of Hindu society will have no difficulty in discovering that the above picture is overdrawn, and that the poorest Indian villager loves his wife as tenderly and as affectionately as the most refined mortal on earth, and that in his obscure cottage, “unseen by man’s disturbing eye,” love shines,
“ Curtained from the sight Of the gross world, illumining One only mansion with her light.”
True it is that our women do not freely mingle with the other sex, but they congregate together almost daily near such places as public wells and tanks. There they enjoy the pleasures of society as keenly as their sisters of the West and indulge in all sorts of idle talk, invariably commenting on the latest scandal of the village. The women of Kélam- bakam rise very early in the morning, clean their teeth, wash their faces, sweep the whole house, including even the cattle-shed, sprinkle cowdung water, ornament the floor with white powder, and then go to the temple tank to bathe. There every morning most of the females of the village meet. The temple tank in Kélambakam is a large one, and separate places for bathing are assigned to the men and the women. The women come one after another and take their accustomed places, and, during the time they wash their clothes, bathe, and attend to the usual toilette, such as putting on the red powder called Kunkumam and smearing the body with saffron, they freely enter into conversation, in which intelligence and wit are combined, and which will at once convince even the most superficial observer that they are not so stupid as they are some- times represented to be. For the benefit of such of my readers as may wish to form some idea of their conversation, I shall here re- produce a conversation which took place between a number of the women of the village, and which I myself had the pleasure of over- hearing.
It was a fine morning in the month of May. There was at the tank Lakshmi, the wife of the village headman Kothundarama Mudelly, usually considered the prettiest woman of the village. Though she is the happy mother of a number of children, she looked as fresh as a girl of sixteen, and it seemed as if youth and beauty were permanently settled upon her finely moulded face. There was also present. Sundaram, the black ugly-looking wife of the Kurnam, Ramasami Pillai, but withal a good woman and a loving wife. The venerable looking old lady Seshammal, the wife of the Purohita, Ramanujacharri, was there, being the first to arrive at the tank. Her wrinkled face and silvery hair are doubtless the results of old age, but she was as sprightly and energetic as a young girl. She never would shrink from bathing in the tank early in the morning, even in the cold month of December.
AT THE BATH. 103
There also were Amirtham, the wife of the schoolmaster Nalla Pillai, and the garrulous Andal, the wife of the temple Archaka, Varadayyangar, fat and burly looking, with thick massive features and heavy hanging arms, and ever ready to talk all sorts of scandals, especially against the good-natured Perundévi, the wife of Appalacharri, her husband’s brother. There was also to be seen Thayammah, the wife of the village physician, Appasamy Vathiyar, a hard-working lady, who often took up the cudgels on behalf of Perundévi against the vexatious attacks of the scandal-loving Andal ; and there were besides these a number of other females, whose names at this distant date I do not remember. These freely entered into a conversation which lasted for some time. Perundévi, Appalacharri’s wife, happened to be absent on that day for reasons which will appear from the following.
Lakshmi.—Where is that good girl Perun-dévi to-day ? We miss her very much.
Thayammah.—There was a good deal of noise in the Brahmin street last night, and I asked Vathiyar about it. He told me that the people in Appalacharri’s house were quarrelling.
Andal.—Yes, I know all about it, but you chide me whenever I speak the truth against Perundévi.
Seshammal.—It is true there was some quarrel and the people actually came to blows. Andal knows all about it, as she takes a good deal of interest in the matter. I do not know how the dispute came about. I was then busy cooking.
Andal.—You know, Lakshmi, I told you last Monday that Appalacharri severely beat his wife, and forcibly took away from her that fine earring set with rubies which she was wearing and which we all were wont to admire. He gave the earring to his concubine Minakshi. News of this was carried to Perundévi’s father’s house in Conjeveram, and last night her old father, his two sons, and a number of their companions, came and questioned Appalacharri about the earring.
Amirtham.—To whom does the jewel belong ?
Andal.—It was made for Perundévi by her father. She was the pet child of the family, and when she was married to Appalacharri, her people made a number of jewels for her, but none of them is so valuable as this ruby earring. Appalacharri was very badly used, but the mean fellow patiently bore all the contumely. His mother, his widowed sister, and others also came in for a good share of abuse. This, too, he quietly bore. But when one of his brothers-in-law abused Minakshi, his concubine, as being the cause of all these troubles to their beloved sister, he sprang upon the poor fellow like a tiger and severely assaulted him, saying that he would tamely submit to anything else but would never allow his dear concubine to be abused. Thereupon a free fight ensued, and Appala- charri was severely belaboured.
Sundaram.—But where is poor Perundévi now?
Andal.—They took her away to Conjeveram last night, saying that they gave away their beloved child to Appalacharri, just as a parrot, which is tenderly nursed, is given away to a cat. They swore that they would not send Perundévi back, and it is likely we shall never again enjoy her company.
Seshammal.—Oh sad fate! why should she thus suffer?
Lakshmi.—Ayyo, poor girl ! Are we no more to see your beautiful face ? But why is it that Appalacharri should prefer that ugly-looking concubine to the beautiful Perundévi ?
Thayammah.—My husband says that Minak- shi somehow administered a love potion to Appalacharri, and that is doing all the mischief. The Vathiyar is advising him every day to take medicine which will make him vomit the whole thing ; then, he says, he will be all right and return to the bosom of his wife. But he will have none of it.
Lakshmi.—Stop ! There comes the sinner with a face full of grief. Evidently he feels the last night’s affair. Let us not speak about it.
Sundaram.—What did you prepare, Lakshmi, for your last night’s meals ?
Lakshmi.—A friend of my husband in Chingle- put sent us a few days ago some dried brinjals of the north, and I cooked them with some dhol. The dish was so good that my husband was extremely pleased with my culinary skill. I took advantage of the occasion and reminded him of his promise to make for me a flower in gold, just like the one that Amirtham is wear- ing on the tuft of her hair. He promised to buy some gold immediately and send it to Conjeveram to a skilled goldsmith.
Sundaram.—Let me have some dried brinjals. I will make a nice preparation and try to please my husband.
Lakshmi.—You know they are going to read the tale called Aniyátham in my house this midday. I ask you all to come and hear the interesting story, and then, Sundaram, you will have some of the brinjals.
Andal.—What is the story ?
Lakshmi.—It is the story of that vile wretch Duriyodana, who, not content with depriving the Pandus of their kingdom, tried to seduce the chaste Subathira, the wife of Arjuna. For this he was very severely punished by Alli, the Queen of Madura.
Seshammal.—The worst sin of all is to cast a sensual eye upon another man’s wife. There is a stanza in the Tamil Prabanda which my husband recites every day. It says that he who loves his neighbour’s wife will be for ever goaded on with sharp instruments by fiends in hell to embrace the figure of a female made of red-hot iron.
Lakshmi.—That is Duriyodana’s fate and he will now be suffering for his sins. I ask you all to come to-day to my house to hear that good story.
By this time the bathing and toilet were finished, and they all returned to their homes. According to the invitation, they again met at about one o’clock to hear the story of Aniyátham read. The author of the poem, which is in Tamil, is Pugazhenthi, a well-known poet who lived in Madura about the tenth or eleventh century, when the Pandyan kings were the rulers of the country. When the daughter of his king was married to a Chola king, the poet accompanied the bride to the Chola court as a part of her dowry. The poets there grew envious of the new-comer and got him im- prisoned. It was while in prison that our poet composed the tale called Aniyátham and many other similar works. The story runs that he used to recite his tales to the women of the town, who had to pass by the prison to a neigh- bouring tank for water, and that they in turn made his prison life comfortable by throwing fruits and cakes into his cell. The works of Pugazhenthi are even to this day very popular with the women of the country. The following is a brief outline of the story called Ani- yátham.
When the Pandus lost their kingdom and in fact their everything in gambling, it was stipu- lated that they should live in the wilderness for a number of years. This they did, and Duriyo- dana, their half-brother, who had long wished to seduce Subathira, the wife of Arjuna, wanted to take advantage of their absence in the wilderness and go to Madura, where the fair lady was living. Duriyodana first laid the matter before his own minister, who was quite against the proposal. Then he went to his own wife and said—“ My dear wife, lands and riches I have, and this fair world encompassed by the vast ocean is at my feet. But there is one thing wanting to complete my joy. I have set my heart upon brave Arjuna’s wife. She now lives with Alli, the Queen of Madura. Permit me, therefore, to go to the banks of the Vaigai to effect my purpose.” His wife advised him not to take such a serious step, and implored him to stay. But heedless of the good advice of his wife and his wise minister, he went to Madura and submitted his proposal to the Queen of that place. But that brave
Queen, wishing to punish the man who made such a nefarious request, sent word to say that Subathira would be sent with him if he would come again in a few days. In the meantime the Queen of Madura sent for some carpenters and got a curious ladder made. It was so con- structed that any one ascending it would neces- sarily get nailed to it, and both man and ladder would straightway fly in the air. Duriyodana returned to Madura in a few days as directed, and requested the Queen to send Subathira with him. The Queen replied that his request would be complied with on his ascending a ladder which was in her possession. To this he consented, and such was his love for the beautiful wife of Arjuna that he immediately began to ascend the ladder. And what was the result? He and the ladder were both seen flying in the air by Athisesha, by Indra, by the five Pandus, and by all the world. The people laughed at him, and he was reduced to such extremities that he requested the Queen of Madura to extricate him from his perilous position. He was at last set free, and was thus taught not to love his neighbour’s wife.