THE KING OF THE MATANGAS
If the Madigas were once a tribe, with their tribal chief at the head, renowned in legendary and poetical stories, it would seem probable that somewhere in authentic historical records there should be some mention of them. But not a trace of them is to be found anywhere that could be called historically beyond a doubt.
This, however, is not surprising. The Dravidians had no literature previous to the time when Aryan hermits settled among them and reduced their languages to writing. Had the learned sages taken an interest in writing chronicles, and putting on record their experiences in dealing with the tribes among whom they had settled, ancient Indian history would not to-day offer so large a field to conjectures and suppositions. The learning of the Aryans was expended on religious and metaphysical writings, on their law-books and the two great Sanscrit epics. Much of historical information may be gleaned from these sources, but it must be accepted with some reserve, for religious motive and poetical license are not conducive to an impartial statement of events.
Yet the ancient inhabitants of India were not without the very human desire to be remembered by their descendants. They sought a way which seemed to them the most permanent to hand down to posterity a record of their deeds. On stone tablets and copper plates, on monumental stones, the pedestals of idols, and on the walls and pillars of temples they engraved their names their victories, and the defeat of their enemies. The student gleans from this source a history of dynasties and other bare facts of history which are, to a degree, trustworthy.
If a record of the Madigas, as a tribe among other tribes, could be found in an inscription, it would at once take their history out of the region of the merely conjectural and legendary and place it on a somewhat firm foundation. I thought I had found a record of this kind. It dates back to the year 634 A.D., when Mangalisa, a king of the Chalukya dynasty, conquered the Katachchuris, one of the early Dravidian dynasties.
The inscription is engraved on a stone tablet let into the outside of the wall of a temple at Aihole in the Canarese country, and contains the following sentence: “His younger brother Mangalisa, whose horses were picketed on the shores of the oceans of the east and the west, and who covered all the points of the compass with a canopy through the dust of his armies, became king. Having with hundreds of scintillating torches, which were swords, dispelled the darkness, which was the race of the Matangas, in the bridal pavilion of the field of battle, he obtained as his wife the lovely woman who was the goddess of the fortunes of the Katachchuris.”
As to whether there is a reference to the ancestors of the Madigas in the above sentence depends on the interpretation of the word Matanga. The word has several meanings. It may signify a “tribe of the lowest caste.” Scholars agree that the term Madiga is derived from the ancient term Matanga. Moreover, there is a large sub-division of the Madigas called Matangi. And the Madigas of the Canarese country call themselves Matangi-Makkalu, which means “children of Matangi.”
But the word may also signify “an elephant.” Eighteen years ago Mr. Fleet, who found the inscription and deciphered it, interpreted it as “some aboriginal family of but little real power.” In a revision of his work, a few years ago, he says, “Examining the verse again, I consider that the components of it are connected in such a way that the word Matanga must be taken to denote ’the elephants of the Katachchuris.’” Thus the supposition that the Madigas were meant in the inscription is rendered very doubtful.
There is nothing left to do but to turn to traditions, to prize the legends that afford some clue to the understanding of social and political developments. In India, where memory is trained to an unusual degree of retentiveness, and fathers pass on to their sons what they, in turn, had heard from their fathers, legendary accounts are trusted to a greater degree than elsewhere. Professional singers, too, go about among the people and entertain them with poetical accounts of the happenings of bygone days. And thus the past reaches over into the present, and is kept from being utterly forgotten.
Some highly poetical accounts are to be found in Sanscrit stories concerning a king of the Matangas. They give a glimpse of the attitude of the Aryans toward the aborigines. And though the descriptions are in the exaggerated language of the East, they give the leading characteristics of an uncultured, aboriginal tribe.
Thus a Sanscrit author, Banabhatta, who lived about the year 606 A.D., describes in the story of Kadambari, the leader of the Cabaras, Matanga by name, as follows: “He was yet in early youth; from his great hardness he seemed made of iron; he had thick locks curled at the ends and hanging on his shoulders; his brow was broad; his nose was stern and aquiline; he had the heat warded off by a swarm of bees, like a peacock-feather parasol.”
As the young leader, Matanga, approaches with his followers, who, as the poet says, numbered many thousands, they seemed “like a grove of darkness disturbed by sunbeams; like the followers of death roaming; like the demon world that had burst open hell and risen up; like a crowd of evil deeds come together; like a caravan of curses of the many hermits dwelling in the Dandaka Forest.” Such, to the Brahmin poet, was the terrible aspect of the wild throng.
And then in his exhaustive description he characterizes them much as a proud Brahmin today, with a shrug of the shoulder, might give his opinion concerning the outcaste Madiga: “Their meat, mead, and so forth, is a meal loathed by the good; their exercise is the chase; their Shastra is the cry of the jackal; their bosom friends are dogs.” A wild, aboriginal tribe these followers of Matanga were! Beyond this the poet discloses nothing.
Again we come upon a king of the Matangas in a volume of Sanscrit tales. They were compiled by Somadeva Bhatta, who lived about the year 1125 A.D. He states that he used an older and larger collection of tales in writing his Ocean of the Streams of Story, thus placing the date of the action of the tales centuries previous to his compilation.
He tells the marvellous tale of Durgapisacha, “the demon of the stronghold,” whose aid is sought by a noble king and his ministers in accomplishing a certain quest. This chief of the Matangas is of terrible valour. Kings cannot conquer him. He commands a hundred thousand bowmen of that tribe, every one of whom is followed by five hundred warriors. When King Migrankadatta looked upon the country of the Matangas, he said to his ministers: “See! these men live a wild forest-life like animals, and yet, strange to say, they recognise Durgapisacha as their king. There is no race in the world without a king; I do believe the gods introduced this magical name among men in their alarm, fearing that otherwise the strong would devour the weak, as great fishes eat the little.”
Now when the King of the Matangas heard the wish of King Migrankadatta, he assured him that it was a small matter to accomplish, and politely adds, “Our lives were originally created for your sake.” The stranger was a man of high caste, yet he sought to please the chiefs who were willing to serve him. “He even went so far as to make the King of the Matangas eat in his presence, though at a little distance from him.” Thus, though powerful, and in a position to render valuable aid, there was a very definite line of division between the noble Aryan Rajah and the head of this aboriginal tribe.
As the tales proceed we are told of a Chandala maiden, “who surpassed with the loveliness of her face the moon, its enemy.” A noble prince beholds her as she charms into submissiveness an elephant, that was roaming at large and killing many men. He goes home to his palace, “his bosom empty, his heart having been stolen from it by her.” His parents inquire for the maiden, and learn that she is the daughter of Matanga, King of the Chandalas. The queen, his mother, asks, “How comes it that our son, though born in a royal family, has fallen in love with a girl of the lowest caste?” She is told that the maiden is probably of a higher caste, and for some reason has fallen among the Matangas. Several stories follow to support this theory.
A messenger is sent to the King of the Matangas, who approves, but demands that eighteen thousand Brahmins must first eat in his house. The god Siva had pronounced a curse on him that his lot should be cast among the Matangas until eighteen thousand Brahmins had been fed in his house, when he should again be restored to his former position in a higher caste. The Brahmins were persuaded in a dream to go and eat. They expressed their willingness to do so, but demanded that the food be cooked outside the quarter of the Chandalas, for then only could they eat. The curse of Siva was removed, and the prince married the maiden, now of high degree.
Weighed down by Brahminical inventions and exaggerations as these stories are, they are not without touches that seem true to life. King Migrankadatta, as he reflects on the desire of men, though they live like the animals of the forest, to recognise some one as king, does not seem to distinguish between the Aryan conception of a king and the tribal chieftainship of the aborigines. King Durgapisacha had not the power of the Aryan Rajah to levy taxes, to decide matters of life and death, and to live in isolated splendour. As chief of the tribe of the Matangas he probably had the best and largest holding of land, with servants and a suitable retinue. He lead his tribe in warfare. On matters of administration he consulted the heads of families.
King Durgapisacha, rendered somewhat stilted and unnatural by Brahminical interpretation, yet bears resemblance to Adijambuvu, the grandfather of the Madigas.