THE INITIATION OF A MATANGI
As I stepped out upon the verandah one morning, I was greeted by the salaam of my old friend, Konikaluri Yelliah. The dazzling whiteness of his turban emphasized the dark hue of the face beneath, which beamed in expectation of the things that were to come.
“Did you come walking all these sixty miles?”
“How could I walk? Am I not an old man? By your leave I came by bullock-bandy.”
“And what have you to tell me now?”
“Whatever you give leave, that will I tell.”
This was the polite reply which I had heard many a time. It had happened repeatedly that my questions, far from bringing to light valuable material, only revealed the fact that there was nothing to draw forth. I regarded Yelliah, as he sat facing me, as an experiment.
“Tell me,” I said, “about the old days.”
“My mother, Ammah, was a Matangi.”
“And what is that?” I asked.
“A Matangi is a Madiga woman, who is possessed by Ellama.”
“And who is Ellama?”
“She is Adimata, the mother who was from the beginning.”
By this time I had straitened myself. I dipped my pen into the ink with an air of business. I took my note-book, and I said, “Now, Yelliah, begin at the very beginning.”
And Yelliah began far back with his great-grandmother, who was a Matangi. His grandmother was not invested with the power. He was his mother’s eldest child, and when he was about three years old something strange happened to her. She was well, and had been going to her work as usual, when, one Adivaramu, being the first day of the week, after the offering of food had been placed in the Ellama idol-house, she began to act in a peculiar way.
She sat apart at meal-time, and refused to eat. It was harvest-time, and for two weeks she went to the fields as usual, but aside from the grain, which she ate as she worked, she would not partake of food. The Sudras, for whom the family worked, noticed this. The whole village began to watch her closely, for she looked this way and that, and laughed to herself. They said, “What does it all mean?”
It soon became a matter of discussion in the community, for there were many who worshipped Ellama. No matter whether any one was a Sivite or a Vishnuite, he yet thought it well to worship Ellama. When it was decided, therefore, that a council should be called to investigate whether this woman was really invested with the power of Ellama, a very general interest was shown. Sudras and Brahmins came, but the man who was head of the council was the headman of the Madiga village, who, as such, had the function of entering the Ellama idol-house once a week with offerings of milk, butter, and fruit.
The test agreed upon was that the Bainurdu, who is the minstrel in the Ellama sect, should recite the story of Ellama in the presence of the woman. If Ellama’s power had come upon her, she would dance, inspired by the goddess; if it was an evil spirit that possessed her, the story would not affect her. Without loss of time the test was made; and as soon as the minstrel began the young woman danced, and not only she, but her husband and other members of the family also danced, and thus it was evident that Ellama’s power possessed the family.
All were now convinced that they had a new Matangi in this woman. It was considered an event, for Matangis were rare, only one or two in a Taluk. It was decided that an old Matangi from an adjoining Taluk should be called to initiate the new Matangi into the rites of the office. The family had to bear the expense of the initiation, about sixteen rupees, which necessitated a debt; but they did not hesitate, for they knew that afterwards there would be great gain. An atmosphere of expectancy and anticipation was abroad in the community.
There lived a Reddi in the place, who was chief of the Reddis, one of the branches of the Sudra caste. Years before he had had a serpent made life-size, of silver, gold, copper, and various metals, and then he, and a number of villagers as witnesses, had gone to Sulvesanama Kona, where the Gundlacumma River flows through a cave, and where there is a famous place of worship. Here the Reddi fulfilled certain conditions, and went through initiatory rites, for which he received a certificate from the officiating priests. His wife had gone with him, and had also met all conditions, so that she, too, could take a prominent part in the worship of the snake, when, after their return home, they were asked here and there with the serpent.
The great day came when the old Matangi arrived. The Madiga headman went into the little thatch-roof house, sacred to Ellama, and took out the pot, hung to the roof, that contained coins and shells and other articles emblematical of Ellama and her sons. The pot was taken to the village-tank in the morning, and left in the water all day, a man remaining near by as guard. In the evening all went to take it out of the water, worship it, and take it back to the village. One goat was killed near the water, another half-way to the house, and a third after reaching the house, where the blood was painted over the door-frame. The Reddi had brought his serpent and placed it, with its hood spread, where the offerings of rice could be piled up around it.
That same night, after the serpent had been worshipped, the old Matangi and the Reddi’s wife sat down together on the back of a goat. It lay down with the weight, but was dragged three times around the spot where the serpent and all the offerings were. Instruments were played, and the bystanders danced the wild dance of possession. Whatever trouble or sickness there was among the people would, it was believed, fall upon the goat and die with it. It was half dead, after being dragged three times around the circle, and was then taken to one side and killed.
On the next day all the rice and other offerings that had been heaped around the serpent were cooked by Sudras; for Brahmins too were coming to eat, and if Sudras cooked it, the caste prejudices of all were respected. There was a feast, and then all returned to their own houses. The old Matangi also went home. The new Matangi had been passive throughout, had simply looked on. She and her family worshipped Ellama for one week, and then went to their work as usual. She showed no further signs of possession. Only when stories of Ellama were recited, she and others of the family began the dance.
During the year that followed the family and others of the Madigas worked and saved, and laid up grain, and contracted debts to meet the initiatory rites that were to follow. They could not accept help from the Sudras, or any one else, for the Matangi must come from the Madigas. It is a Madiga affair, and while other castes may share, they cannot have any initiative. A new pot was made for Ellama; shells and pebbles were brought from the sea; water from the Krishna River was brought to wash them.
Before the initiation could take place, however, a final test was ordained, to prove that the woman was really worthy of the office. On the floor of a house a figure in three parts was drawn, with white, red, and yellow powder. In one part the serpent had its place, in the second the Ellama-pot, and in the third the new Matangi was seated. A little earthenware pot was placed in each corner, painted with saffron and red dots, representing Ellama, and filled with buttermilk. Threads were then tied to the pots, brought to the roof and back again, crosswise, four times.
After these preparations had been completed, the Bainurdu began to recite Ellama stories, accompanying himself with his instrument. The possession came upon the woman, but she could not rise up and dance, she had to remain seated and contain it within herself. If she could not do this, she was not worthy. The strings tied across furnished the proof, for if she moved they would break, and the buttermilk in the pots would be spilled. In due time the Bainurdu said soothing words, and the possession slowly disappeared.
A crowd of people had stood by as witnesses, and great was the feeling of relief when the new Matangi had stood the test and proved that she would be able to carry her office with dignity. Again the old Matangi was called; this time to stand by and instruct her colleague in office.
First she was decked like the old Matangi, with new clothes, her face and arms were painted with saffron, rice was tied around her waist, and a wreath of margosa leaves was hung around her neck. As her insignia of office, a basket was placed in her left hand, a stick in her right hand, and two small plates, one containing yellow saffron, the other red powder, were held by a woman who was her female attendant. She stood in the middle of the crowd, took buttermilk into her mouth, passed it on a bunch of margosa leaves, and sprinkled it on all who stood near. It was believed that whoever was thus sprinkled would be cleansed from all defilement and pollution; for even the touch of a Matangi is thought to have power. In the night the Reddi’s wife and the new Matangi sat on the goat together; again the serpent was worshipped, and there was great feasting on the day following.
After this the new Matangi went about with her husband, performing the ceremonies of her office in the villages of the Taluk. Her husband was passive, for men can never assume the rôle of a Matangi.
Image: THE MATANGI, HER ATTE^•DANT, AND THE BAINUNDU. The followers of this Matangi were displeased because she allowed herself to be photographed, yielding to persuasion and a substantial present of money.
Such was the story of the initiation of a Matangi as told to me. I enquired for legends concerning the Matangi cult, and found one which is not without additional information.
There lived, once upon a time, a king whose name was Dundagheri Rajah. His wife was Jamila Devi. When the king was holding court one day, a beautiful maiden appeared before him. She was an incarnation of the goddess Parvati, the consort of Siva. The king extended his right hand to catch the maiden, but she moved away from him. He and his people followed in pursuit of her, but she receded, and finally disappeared into an ant-hill. The king sent for diggers, and ordered them to dig till they found the girl, and offered large rewards. They began to dig, but soon found that the ant-hill was hard as stone. The king then sent for stone-cutters, and the queen offered them still greater rewards. They too failed. Then the king grew angry, took his spear, and drove it into the ant-hill. The spear pierced the skull of the maiden, and as the king pulled out the spear, the brains of the girl began to ooze out and blood began to flow. The king and all his followers, at sight of this, fell into a swoon.
The maiden then came out of the ant-hill in great majesty and of divine proportions. She held the heavens in her left hand (the basket to-day represents this), in her right hand she held Adisesha, the great serpent (the stick is now substituted for this). She held the sun and moon as plates, in one of which she caught the spilt blood, in the other the scattered brain. Upon the foreheads of the people, that lay in a swoon, she made a mark with the brain and another with the blood. Therefore the Matangi to-day has two plates, one with yellow saffron, the other with red turmeric, with which she marks the foreheads of people. After all those who lay in a swoon had been thus marked, they recovered, and saw the goddess before them in the form of a maiden. The king and queen took her into their house. She was afterwards married to the sage Jamadagni, and had five sons.
To say that the Matangi cult is a species of Sakti-worship would be correct, but it would not touch upon its real significance. Saktism is the worship of the female energy in nature, and is multitudinous in its forms, though nearly all have their root in Parvati, the consort of Siva. It cannot be said that it is of simply Aryan origin, to be traced back to the union of Dyaus and Prithivi, Heaven and Earth, in the hymns of the Rig Veda. Nor can it be said that the worship of the female principle in nature is exclusively of Scythian origin. It is a form of worship that constitutes an integral part of nature-worship, as it appears among many of the races of antiquity. The Matangi cult has its root far back in ancient mother-worship, in the age of the Matriarchate. Some of the religious rites of that age find expression in the Saktism of to-day.
I would point out that in the Matangi cult some of the most ancient modes of worship of the human race converge.
As far back as the records of the race can be traced, serpent worship is found as a means with which the human intellect sought to propitiate the unknown powers. Whether invariably the serpent is so prominent a feature in Matangi worship as in the case related to me I doubt; but the two cults were evidently thought to blend harmoniously. In the legend of the Matangi the maiden disappears into an ant-hill, generally the home of serpents, coiled up in the passages which the ants have burrowed for themselves, feeding on the inmates. Moreover, the stick in the hand of the Matangi represents Adisesha, the primeval serpent, showing that the two cults are linked together.
Tree worship in ancient times went side by side with serpent worship. Traces of this also are found in the Matangi cult. When the power of Ellama descends upon an unmarried Madiga girl, the ceremony of marrying her to a tree is sometimes performed, leaving her free thereafter to do as she pleases. The wreath of margosa leaves around the neck of the Matangi, and the bunch of margosa leaves in her hand, with which she sprinkles the bystanders, may also be vestiges of a cult that has the same root as the groves of Baal and the sacred trees of the Teutons.
The rite of sacrificing a goat, after having dragged it three times around the hooded serpent, crushed by the weight of two women, one the representative of the Matangi cult, the other of serpent worship, is very significant. The practice of the Matangi to paint the foreheads of her worshippers with saffron and red, explained as being the brain and the blood of the Matangi, is equally significant. It points to human sacrifice, which has been intimately associated with serpent worship. The two existed side by side in India from the earliest time. Though the higher culture of the Aryan was opposed to the sacrifice of men, and the mild doctrines of the Buddhist were equally antagonistic to it, yet the British Government, even in our own times, has had to take steps to prohibit by law the vestiges of ancient rites of this kind that still existed among aboriginal tribes.
The Matangi cult illustrates the exceedingly complicated nature of modern Hinduism. Only the great antiquity of the cult can explain the fact that several other distinct cults have found a place in it. The desire to work out a scheme of salvation was the motive power that produced this readiness to adopt and assimilate other cults.
Though the Matangi cult is non-Aryan in character, the Brahmin has yet an interest in it. He, too, stands by to be sprinkled by the margosa branch of the Matangi, and be cleansed from evil. And in all the striving there is the hope that thus, perhaps, the soul may be saved.