Patronage and 'Community': The Role of a Tamil 'Village' Festival in the Integration of a Town

 Patronage and 'Community': The Role of a Tamil 'Village' Festival in the

Integration of a Town

Geert De Neve

The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, Vol. 6, No. 3. (Sep., 2000), pp. 501-519.

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http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=1359-0987%28200009%296%3A3%3C501%3APA%27TRO%3E2.0.CO%3B2-8

The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute is currently published by Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland.

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PATRONAGE AND 'COMMUNITY':

THE ROLE OF A TAMIL 'VILLAGE' FESTIVAL

IN THE INTEGRATION OF A TOWN

GEERTDE NEVE

School ofAfvican and Asian Studies, University of Sussex

 Focusing on the festival of 'village' goddesses in two snlall towns in Tadnadu, South India, the article investigates how the urban organization of tenlples and festivals reflects characteristics of the organization of s i d a r festivals in villages, whilst at the same time the 'acts of patronage' of wealthy local industrialists increasingly shape the nature of the 'conlmunity' generated at festival and other times. Building on idioms of village cotnrnunity and precolonial kingship models, industrialists are central to the fornlation of a sense of conlnlunity which transcends the borders of caste and class. It is argued that the formation of community boundaries cannot be understood outside the context of the wider social and econonlic relationships and, in this case, the labour relations which lie at the heart of South Indian textile industries.

 

The study of South Indian temples, deities, and festivals has focused on temples and festivals in villages or on the role and organization of worship in large urban centres (Appadurai 1981 ;Appadurai & Breckenridge 1976; Beck 1972; 1981; Breckenridge 1976; 1978; Fuller 1984; 1985; 1988; 1996; Good 1985; Hiltebeitel 1991; Mines 1994; Nishimura 1987; Reiniche 1979; 1987). Smaller towns spread across the Tamil countryside, however, have received far less attention than the traditional village or the royal capital in anthropological research. Good's study (1987) of a 1Vluvugan temple in a small town of Sulamalai (Tirunelveli District, Tamilnadu) is one of the few exceptions.

 

However, these small towns are growing and their temples are often pivotal centres of worship.  This article is based on field work in two medium-sized textile towns, Bhavani and Kumarapalayam, situated at the River Cauvery in Tamilnadu. It will first be argued that the organization of the temples and religious festivals in these urban localities tends to reflect both the traditional social structure of the town and the impact of increasing competition for authority among the wealthiest textile industrialists.' I will then indicate how these festivals  contribute to the integration of the locality into a town-wide  community' which stretches beyond the boundaries of caste and class. In line with the argument put forward by Dirks (1987), Inden (1990), Price (1989; 1996), and others that 'caste was not the single dominant metonym and trope of social difference in pre-colonial India' (Dirks 1987: xxii), I will maintain that neither is it today. Idioms of pre-colonial kingship resurface at the core of the ritual, economic, and political relationships which currently shape life in the small industrial centres of Tamilnadu. Focused around the dominance of locally powerful textile industrialists, the shared wish for a peaceful integration of a town-wide community reflects both the big men's search for constituencies and economic interests, and their workers' sense of belonging to a community which is not merely that of their caste, but of a locality formed around a protective goddess, her temple and her festival. What I will describe therefore is not in itself new nor is it my intention to trace continuities from the pre- to the post-colonial era. What I am suggesting is that emic cultural idioms of kingship and 'community', which alongside caste were constitutive of precolonial society, continue to shape local South Indian social  relations today, even though the setting is no longer a lungdom, but a small and industrialized urban locality.In a discussion of the recent history of the Sourashtras in Madurai,  Tirthankar Roy describes how the Sourashtras continue to form a tightly organized community with a 'sense of a secluded collective. As upwardly mobile artisan-capitalists, the Sourashtras cemented their community ties with the investment of private profits in common assets, and particularly in education. Anlong Madurai Sourashtras, therefore, the community consciously reproduced over time is that of a single caste. However, this need not necessarily be the case. In Bhavani as in Kumarapalayam, the community created encompasses almost the entire town and is not generated through the consolidation of a particular caste. I suggest, therefore, that whilst the nature of the community generated may vary between localities, the formation of its boundaries cannot be understood outside the context of the wider social and economic relationships and, in this case, the labour relations which lie at the heart of these textile communities.  While in Madurai the Sourashtras handloom weavers worked virtually like a guild and a closed industry (Roy 1997: 459), in Bhavani and Kumarapalayam, the handloom and powerloom industries have been opened up to a heterogeneous group of workers and manufacturers from different backgrounds. Here, the hybrid social composition of the industry has contributed to the formation of a community beyond the confines of caste or class.

 

At the risk of overgeneralizing, it can be argued that two major, but morphologically related models have been developed of the relation between temple and society in South India, one which captures the form of this relationship in the village and another in the great city. In what follows I will first briefly outline these two models, which are by now widely accepted. Then, I will continue by showing that the form of the relation between temple organization and local sociopolitical structure in these two small towns is a dynamic combination of the 'village' and the 'lungly' models. I will demonstrate how this relation is particularly affected by the competition between local 'big men' and wealthy industrialists to gain authority and to build constituencies, by their interest in fashioning a peaceful town 'community' and maintaining labour discipline, and by contemporary government politics related to temple control and endowment.

 

In many South Indian villages, the tutelary deity of the locality is a god who is celebrated in an annual festival which usually brings the various socialsegments of the village together. The central role of these village goddesses and their annual festivals in the creation of a symbolic village unity has been emphasized by various scholars. In Fuller's summary, 'it is through the division of ritual labour that an "organic solidarity" ... is generated among the

various castes and families within the village, as focused on and organized by the headmen' (1992: 135).

 

Moreover, the generation of village unity in temple festivals seems to follow a specific pattern. First, it centres around a ritual division of labour in which all caste groups fulfil a particular task, usually on a hereditary basis and in a hierarchically complementary way (Beck 1972; Dumont 1970). Second, sponsorship of the festival is often met by collecting money or provisions from the various participating groups (usually castes). Third, each group also enjoys certain 'rights' and 'honours', such as receiving the holy ashes (vibutt] or the right to pull the car of the goddess through the village streets (see Beck 1981;

Good 1985; 1987; Reiniche 1979). Finally, the festival is usually presided over by a local chieftain or village headman, whose role and authority is modelled on that of the great king.

 

In Medieval South India, the relationship between temple and society

reflected the nature of South Indian lungship. Stein (1978: 7) introduced the

concept of 'shared sovereignty' between rulers and deities to describe how the

deity shared royal attributes, while the lung shared in the divine powers.2

Pivotal to the royal duty of protection of the kingdom and its inhabitants was

the protection of the temples, which was largely constitutive of the king's

political role. To be a true lung is to stand in a proper relationship with the

gods (Fuller 1988: 59). In practice, this protective mandate resulted in the

direct involvement of the lung in the affairs of the temples (Appadurai 1981;

Dirks 1987; Fuller 1984; 1988), above all reflected in the large endowments

the kings made to the maintenance of temples, the staging of rituals and

festivals, and the rewarding of priests and other temple staff. The resources

donated were in turn redistributed as 'shares', in the form of 'honours' to

the donor, the temple staff, and the community of worshipers at large

(Appadurai 1981: 20-62; Appadurai & Breckenridge 1979: 196-200).

Competition for honours was rife, as the legitimacy of one ruler was always

open to challenge by another. During the late pre-colonial period, the rise of

new warrior leaders and lineages, each aspiring to regional rule, led to

ritualized competition, investment in temples, and endowments of festivals on

a scale never before achieved (Dirks 1987: 22-57; Price 1996: 9-34). Dirks

reminds us that 'the growing importance of temples can be seen as a reflection

of and a stimulus to the elaboration and consolidation of local commtrnities,

malung their rules sufficiently honorable (or powerful) to make possible (or

necessitate) their incorporation into royal relationships in hitherto unprecedented

ways' (1987: 30, emphasis added; see also Price 1996: 34).

Under British rule, the government began to act as donor and protector of

temples in an attempt to extend the indigenous model of royal patronage into

the colonial era (Appadurai 1981: 105-64; Dirks 1987: 358-83; Rudner 1994:

504 GEERT DE NEVE

146). At the same time, groups of wealthy zaurzindavs, bankers, and merchants

began to compete for the control of temples by providing large endowments

in important merchant towns, so that political authority, religious honours,

and econoinic investment appeared in~eparable.A~ number of fascinating

accounts of these changing processes are available to us (e.g. Mines 1994;

Rudner 1994).

In what follows I will briefly introduce the main celebrations of the goddess

festival, annually celebrated in the towns of Bhavani and Kumarapalayam. It

will be argued that the festival and its organization show important similarities

with what I have called the 'village' model above, while the substantial

involvement of local big men and wealthy textile industrialists as patrons and

protectors also reflects characteristics of the 'lungly' model, at least in its more

recent, dynamic and competitive form. This morphological symbiosis can only

be understood in relation to the big men's continued search for constituencies,

authority, and power within a competitive and dynamic economic environment,

in which the controlling and disciplining of labour forms a constant

concern.

Celliyaantiyanzfnan and Kaliyarnrnan: a festival of town goddesses

Only a brief description of the annual goddess festivals will be provided, because

my concern here is with the wider context of the festivals. Three festivals are

celebrated simultaneously: that of Celliyaantiyamman and Mariyamman in

Bhavani and that of Kaliyamman in K~marapalayamM.~y main focus is on the

festival of Celliyaantiyamman in Bhavani."

These three goddesses are worshipped for their protective powers (sakti) to

ward off diseases and to cure those who have been afflicted by illnesses of all

sorts. The goddesses are believed to be 'pious' deities and devotees approach

them to ask for favours or to find out their fortune concerning marriage,

health, family problems, and business. In return, the devotees offer money

to the goddess or make vows to participate in the fire-wallung and spearpiercing

rites which take place during her annual festival.

The beginning of the Maci Tiruvila or the Maci Festival, a name which

refers to the Tamil month of Maci (February-March) during which the festival

is held, is marked by the Puchaatudal or flower ceremony, during which

the goddess's permission is asked to start the festival. The hereditary rights to

perform this initial ceremony and, thus, to initiate the festival are held by

Ananda Murthi, a Vellalar Gounder from a nearby village Tottipalayam, whose

family - and, by extension, community - has enjoyed these rights for generation~.

E~very year he leads this opening procession and receives the holy

ashes (vibutt) and other honours first. The procession then proceeds to a smaller

Mariyarnnlan temple where the headmen and members of the Arasan Padaiyatchi

(Vanniyar) community have gathered and are waiting to be invited by

the Vellalar Gounders to take part in the festival and to join the procession.

This invitation is a significant ritual reproduction of the traditional hierarchy

which exists locally between the dominant Vellalar Gounders and the Padaiyatchi,

who used to work as agricultural labourers for the former. With the

permission of the goddess, the festival can then begin, but it is not until a

GEERT DE NEVE 505

week later, when the Kotiyetrum or flag-raising ceremony takes place that the

actual festivities start. The hereditary right to hoist the flag is held by the Sengundar

Mudaliyars, while the right to wash the flag-post is that of thevaanika

Chettiyars.

From then onwards, the goddess is carried around the town each night for

twenty-four nights on a richly decorated tlzer (car) and every night the right

'to pull the car' is given to another community. Thus, twenty-four communities

'have their day' in the festival on which they are fully in command of

the pujas and abisheknms (bathing ceremony) in the temple, and during which

their leaders receive the honours.

The festival gradually grows towards its climax with three main ceremonies

standing out on the fifteenth and sixteenth days. On the fifteenth day the

TirttakutamYetuttal Abishekam (Waterpot-Raising Abishekam) is held. This is

a particularly unconventional abislzekam during which all devotees are allowed

inside the most sacred part of the Celliyaantiyamman temple and are invited

to 'bathe' the goddess by pouring water from the Cauvery River over the

idol. This ceremony has a particularly powerful meaning for the devotees

themselves. What the devotees stress above all is that on this day they themselves

can perform the abislzekatn for the goddess and that everyone, including

the untouchable Paraiyar and Chekkliyar, is allowed inside the sanctuary

on equal terms. Indeed, the goddess is said to be the 'Mother of all', and for

her all are equal. Thus, for those who participate in it, this ceremony acts as

a particularly powerful ritual that symbolically integrates the town into a

'community of equals'.

The day following this ceremony (Wednesday 6 March in 1996) is uncontestably

the main festival day. From before sunrise till late at night a succession

of rituals and sacrifices is performed and both towns are fully immersed

in the worship of their goddesses. Two rituals stand out and need mentioning.

The first is agni kuntam or fire-walking, staged for Kaliyamman in Kumarapalayam,

but devotees from Bhavani and beyond also participate. Initiated by

RRS Manithan and Muniyappan - who both belong to one of the wealthiest

textile families in town - the devotees start to run over a fire-line of

burning coals in front of the temple.' As they are possessed by the goddess,

they are referred to as satnis (god) and because of a strict viratam (fast) and

their strong bhakti (faith, devotion), they claim not to feel any pain when

running over the kuntarn (fire-line). These rituals form a crucial part of the

unmediated, direct, and personal exchanges between the devotee and the deity,

so characteristic of the ethos of personal devotion or blzakti in South Indian

Hinduism (Fuller 1992: 185; Gombrich & Obeyesekere 1988: 189-90;

Hiltebeitel 1991: 440-2; Kapadia 1995: 124-5).

The second major ritual takes place following a main procession in which

the goddess, referred to as sakti, is brought inside the town from the north

and installed in her temple. The horse representing the goddess, the umbrella

protecting her, and the way in which she crosses, like a queen, the territory

under her protection all contain explicit royal symbolism. The right to bring

sakti inside the town is again held by the community ofvellalar Gounders

who also opened the festival. As soon as sakti has been installed in the temple,

a final and most dramatic alagu (spear-piercing) procession, leading to the

climax of the festival, is started during late afternoon. Some men pierce their

506 GEERT DE NEVE

sides with spears, while others pierce long iron bars through their cheeks and

walk in this way from the centre of town to the temple. A number of women

also pierce their cheeks with long bars, but most women pierce their tongues

with a thin needle with which they walk towards the temple. Apart from

alagu, also agni-sakti (fire-energy) or 'the carrying of fire-pots' is performed.

In this way, the sixteenth day comes to an end. During the coming two

weeks the night processions continue and also during these last days, several

communities stdl hold important rights in the concluding rituals. Ultimately,

however, the festival draws to a close, only to be reenacted eleven months

later.

Representation of the festival

It is endlessly repeated that the Maci festival is the festival of the town, its

inhabitants and their goddess, that Celliyaantiyamman is the 'goddess of

everyone' (yellaruku amman) and that nobody can be excluded from active

participation. To convince me of the integrative aspect of the festival, people

constantly referred to the ritual in which everyone is allowed to bathe

the goddess in the temple. Anybody can join the queue and most families

will be represented by at least one member. Moreover, participation in the

fire-walking and spear-piercing rites is actively encouraged, and people from

all communities, including untouchables, join these devotional expressions.

What is emphasized by everyone is that every jati or samukam (caste,

community; except for the untouchables, see below) will equally be allocated

one particular day to 'pull the car' and to receive the first ashes and honours.

The presence of strong competition between the communities is plain.

Although the community of Vanniyars, for example, is locally known as a

lower caste and is largely made up of labourers (low class), their sheer numbers

allowed them to collect a substantial amount of money and to stage one

of the most admired and elaborate car processions. This participation on

equal terms clearly transcends the inequalities inherent in the division of

labour and the distribution of specific hereditary rights at particular stages of

the festival.

This emphasis on the unity of the town and the equality of all is especially

important within the context of a burgeoning local textile industry in which

intense competition has been thriving during recent decades, competition

which has enhanced the local divisions of class and amplified fissures within

castes and lineages, particularly those of the traditional weaving communities.

While in Bhavani, for example, unionized handloom workers have been

fervently fighting for higher bonuses and better wages since the 1960s, the

powerloom operators of Kumarapalayam are devising more individualized

strategies to undermine their employers' recruitment and disciplining practices

(De Neve 1999a: 119-78; 19996). However, as exemplified by the festival,

within this urban and increasingly industrialized context, the workers' old

sense of belonging to a community beyond that of their own caste or subcaste

has not withered. In the past this community was the lungdom or the

village; now it is a village-turned-town with which all the inhabitants are

eager to identi@. It is during the festival of its tutelary deities that this eagerGEERT

DE NEVE 507

ness is most unambiguously voiced. As for the employers and industrialists,

whose expressed concern is the controlling and disciplining of a heterogeneous

labour force, it is not difficult to see that their active encouragement

of a sense of unity and equality among all makes perfect business sense. I will

return to this issue below.

Division of labouv: vitual continuity

Let us now relate the festival's representations of equality and village unity to

the ritual division of labour, rights and honours among the participants. In

1996, twenty-four communities were allocated one day each to pull the car,

starting on Wednesday 22 February (16 Maci) and lasting till 16 March (3

Panguni) in the order as displayed in Table 1.

Here, I want to draw attention to several points of similarity with the

organization of comparable festivals in villages. First, the Brahmans have been

allocated a day in the festival and thus take active part in the celebrations of

TABLE 1. Chronological allocation of the right to pull the festival car to various

communities (Celliyaantiyamman, Bhavani, 1996)*

[Day] Community Celebrations Specific rights

1 Flower Ceremony (Puchaatudal) Vellalar Gounder

8 Vaniya Chettiyar Flag-Raising Ceremony Sengunthar Mudaliyar

(Kotiyetrum)

9 Maniyakarar

10 Komati Chettiyar

11 Naidu

12 Karuneegar

13 Sengunthar Mudaliyar**

14 Vellalar Gounder

15 Twenty-Four Manai

Telugu Chettiyar

16 Jangamar Deppa Utchavam Jangamar

17 Tiruneelakandar (potter) Waterpot-Raising Abishekam Vellalar Gounder

18 Brahman Fire-Walking, Spear-Piercing; Vellalar Gounder

Goddess Procession

19 Vellan Chettiyar Car Festival Vellalar Gounder

20 Manottar

21 Devangar Chettiyar

22 Flower Merchants

23 Sound System Providers

24 Gumastagal (clerks)

25 Mukkulattor

26 Barbers

27 Dhobi

28 Betel Leaf Merchants

29 Srinivasapuram Nagar

30 Malayalees

31 Viswakarma

*Source: Celliyaantiyamman temple administration, Bhavani.

**These include all subcastes of Mudaliyar, usudy referred to as Sengunthar.

508 GEERT DE NEVE

the goddess, even though the latter is a non-vegetarian deity for whom various

sorts of sacrifices are made. The Brahmans also perform an essential role at

the beginning of the festival when they tie the kappu (tumeric sacred thread)

to the wrists of the Aanti Pantaram temple priests to protect them against the

aroused, and potentially dangerous, powers of the goddess during the festival.

Although they withdraw when animal sacrifices are made, the Brahmans are

present to witness the various forms of devotional rites, processions, and car

decorations of other communities.

Second, although the local untouchable communities of Paraiyars and

Chekkliyars do not enjoy the right to decorate the goddess or to pull her car

on any particular day, this does not mean that they are entirely excluded from

active participation. They continue to be essential as druinmers during the

various processions since the beat they provide is crucial to arouse the sakti

of the goddess and to stimulate a state of trance necessary for possession to

occur.8 They are also allowed to enter the temple to bathe the goddess and

participate in the rites of fire-walking, spear-piercing, and agni-sakti. However,

even though their hereditary tasks and active participation integrates them in

the festival and, consequently, in the wider community, their low status prevents

them from acquiring full and equal rights in the celebrations of the

goddess.9

The ritual division of labour also reflects how certain rights and honours

have been ascribed to particular communities and persons on a hereditary

basis. Whilst today the right-hand/left-hand division, as described by Beck

(1972) for the Coiinbatore district, has lost much of its social meaning,

the right-hand Vellalar Gounders continue to play a crucial role in the

festival and their ritual dominance over the left-hand caste of Vanniyars is

particularly pronounced. As described above, it is a Vellalar Gounder family

which holds the rights to open the festival and to 'invite' the Vanniyars to

participate. Moreover, the Vellalar Gounders have the crucial right to invite

sakti into the town on the sixteenth day of the festival and only they are

entitled to pull the large wooden temple car during the Car Festival on

the following day. The most important rituals of the festival are thus still

in the hands of the ritually and socially dominant right-hand caste of

Vellalar Gounder. Other communities, which have become increasingly

important in the town today, have also been allocated specific tasks. Thus,

locally dominant left-hand weaving castes perform essential roles in the contemporary

festival: the Mudaliyar have the right to hoist the flag (Kotiyetrum),

the Jangainar will entertain the goddess on the river (Deppa Utchavam), and

in Kuinarapalayam the Devangar Chettiyars open the fire-walhng ritual.

Although the festival primarily integrates the various communities in town,

traditional social hierarchies find continued ritual expression throughout the

celebrations.

I hope to have shown that this urban festival contains unmistakable features

of the 'village' model. The ways in which ritual labour is divided, contributions

are made, rights distributed, and traditional headmen honoured

reveal remarkable continuities with village-type festival organization. I will

now discuss how the festival has been transformed in an urban context

and how big men have come to play pivotal roles as donors, patrons, and

organizers beyond the traditional division of labour and honours.

GEERT DE NEVE

Changes in the oyga~ization Of the festival

Despite significant village similarities, the festival has undergone important

transformations in the urban context and over the last years. First, there is the

sheer size of the festival. Rather than slowly disappearing from the scene, the

urban goddess festival is every year celebrated in an increasingly grand manner

with a growing number of devotees.'' In Bhavani and Kumarapalayam, I was

told, during the early 1990s a few hundred devotees walked over the fire; in

1995 three thousand participated; in 1996 five thousand participants were

expected, while the local newspaper reported after the event that more than

ten thousand people had walked the fire under a vow. More revealing than

mere numbers is the fact that participation is no longer reserved for a few

satniyadi (god-men) who have the inherited ability to be possessed by a particular

deity (see e.g. Biardeau 1989; Kapadia 1995), but open to all who have

taken a VOW. Moreover, the assertion that their exclusion from possession provides

clear evidence that a strong bias exists against women in the religious

sphere (Caldwell 1996: 207-16; Kapadia 1995: 124-30) does not seem to hold

in the context of these urban celebrations (see also Beck 1981; Reiniche

1979). In 1996, as many women as men were participating in the fire-walking

and spear-piercing ceremonies, and women were equally possessed by Celliyaantiyamman

and Kaliyamman. I would argue, in fact, that it is mainly

women who make a vow to the goddess, as they are the ones primarily preoccupied

with the health and well-being of the family.

The festival has been getting longer and more spectacular every year. While

the core of the festival is structured around a standard pattern of sixteen days,

the car processions took place during a period of twenty-four days in 1996.

The priest of the Celliyaantiyamman temple informed me that, apart from the

Vellalar Gounder, only six communities had the right to pull the car as

recently as ten to fifteen years ago; these were the socially, ritually, and economically

dominant caste groups in the area. In recent years, two major

changes have shaped the elaboration of the festival. Gradually, more communities

have been given the right to one day in the festival on which they have

the responsibility to take care of the abishekams and the honour of decorating

the goddess and tahng her in procession. Second, this right is now given to

communities other than caste groups, such as the flower merchants, betel leaf

merchants, and Malayalees, as well as to individual donors, usually rich merchants

and manufacturers. In the Mariyamman temple, for example, two days

of the festival were endowed (kattalai) by individual factory owners. The

Kaliyamman festival has been dominated by the members of the RRS family

(Devangar Chettiyars), who today act as generous patrons of the temple and

the festival as a whole. And three new groups were added in 1996: the

mechanics and electricians (that is, those who provide the sound and light

systems during the festival), the gumastagal (clerks in textile and other shops),

and the Srinivasapuram neighbourhood. The auto-rickshaw drivers were

equally eager to have their day in the festival. Good's study of recent changes

in the festival of a small town, Sulamalai, in Tamilnadu comes closest to my

observations in Bhavani and Kumarapalayam:

Special Abisekams ... are often performed on festival days, and are frequently sponsored by

private groups or individuals. Mandapam rotas at the big festivals are virtually immutable,

510 GEERT DE NEVE

but there is scope for more 'modern' groups, recruited according to achieved rather than

ascribed criteria, to come forward as Abisekam sponsors. The local police, the Trader's Association,

the Businessman's Association, the Mother's Committee, as well as wealthy individuals

from Sulamalai and elsewhere, all financed elaborate and expensive Abisekams during

1983-84 (1987: 9).

The incorporation of more diverse groups points out how the contemporary

festival integrates the entire town, while at the same time a number

of individual merchant-manufacturers increasingly stand out as 'patrons' and

'benefactors'. As a result, the generation of an 'organic solidarity' continues to

figure at the heart of the celebrations, but the traditional 'village' and caste

headmen are increasingly being superseded by wealthy industrialists. What

emerges is big-city endowment style orientated towards village-type community

integration.

Patrons and benefactors

The growing size and attraction of the festival, and the incorporation of an

increasing number of 'communities', cannot be understood without simultaneously

loohng at shifts in the wider politico-organizational features of the

festival. It is in the promotion, financing, and organization of the festival that

the role of local big men has become crucial. Leaving the hereditary honours

and rights to those customarily entitled to them, these men have entered the

festival scene through various backdoors. First of all, most of them play leading

roles as a member or president of the newly established temple committees

that were started over the last few decades.

Here I need to describe the role of the Tamilnadu state government in

temple politics during the last century. Following the expansion of British

rule, the new rulers of the South became involved in temple affairs on the

basis of their alleged duty to protect the temple, a task which was modelled

on the earlier royal protective mandate. Practically, the state government's

involvement in temple affairs took the form of interference with temple ritual,

control of day-to-day temple management and endowment, and intervention

in the case of temple conflicts or abuses (Appadurai 1981: 214-17; Fuller 1984:

112-34; 1996: 9; 15-22). Government involvement was channelled through

the Hindu Religious Endowments Board, established in 1926, which had

direct power over temple committees and was responsible for the appointment

of the temple Executive Off~cersT. his Board was replaced in 1951 with

the Hindu Religious and Charitable Endowments (HR&CE) Department,

which up to this day closely supervises temple management and affects religious

practice (Fuller 1996: 15-29). Over the last few decades, the HR&CE

Department has extended its impact by bringing an increasing number of

temples under its direct control. Consequently, the temple committees became

crucial loci of temple control where government involvement met local

patronage and organization. It is these committees which are now increasingly

dominated in Bhavani and Kumarapalayam by local big men.

The three temples under discussion all came under the control of the

HR&CE Department during the last twenty years. Their committees organize

the yearly festival and decide how many communities will be allowed to

GEERT DE NEVE 511

participate, the trajectories of the processions and when and where pujas and

abislzekams will be held. These committees are one of the main channels

through which the local big men are able to spread their influence and to

promote the temple, its festival, and their own patronage. For example, in

1983, the Celliyaantiyamman temple came under HR&CE Department

control and a temple committee was started with J.K. Tiagaraj, a Mudaliyar

and one of the most influential textile industrialists in Bhavani, as its president.

It was under his supervision that in the same year the temple was

completely renovated and a kumbabishekam held. A plate in the temple wall

mentions the names of J.K. Tiagaraj and other textile manufacturers as the

main contributors to the renovations. In 1995, another kumbabishekam was held

after a second renovation, entirely funded by the local devotees, had been

completed. The temple committee has now set up a Temple Renovation Fund

for which money is being collected to assure the continued maintenance of

the temple in the future as well as the organization of a kumbabishekam every

twelve years.

Moreover, these local developments arguably tie in with state-wide shifts

in temple politics. Fuller has described how under AIADMK government

(1991-6) a Chief Minister's Temple Renovation and Maintenance Fund was

set up under the direct authority of Jayalalitha to stimulate the renovation

and maintenance of temples in the state. He notes that 'money from the

Chief Minister's fund has helped to stimulate a dramatic rise in the number

of kumbabhishekams which have taken place recently, and although many

of these rituals have been wholly or mainly paid for by private donations,

the government's supportive attitude has also encouraged them' (Fuller

1996: 23).

The Mariyamman temple in Bhavani and the Kaliyamman temple in

Kumarapalayam have similarly been renovated, expanded, and placed under

government control over the last years, while their temple committees are

equally dominated by the leading local textile entrepreneurs. Through their

membership in these committees, these industrialists attempt to consolidate

their position as benefactors of the community at large. However, I hasten to

add that community unity is fragile, internally divided by competitive politics

between big men. As mentioned above, it was precisely the intensified competition

and warfare between various Tamil political centres which led to an

increase in temple endowment and ritual investment during the seventeenth

and eighteenth centuries (Dirks 1987; Price 1996). Similarly, during the nineteenth

century, enhanced disputes between local community leaders and settler

merchants further sustained competitive ritual investment (Dirks 1987; Mines

1994; Rudner 1994). I argue that the nature and extent of contemporary

community investment in Bhavani and Kumarapalayam has to be understood

in the same light.

One example is that of the long-standing business dispute between J.K.

Tiagaraj and S.T. Sundaram in Bhavani. Educated in the textile shops of the

leading textile manufacturer J.K. Tiagaraj, S.T. Sundaram managed to set up

his own shop and later became the biggest yarn merchant in town. The initial

friendship between the two men, who belong to the same caste of Kaikolar

Mudaliyar, soon broke down and turned into bitter animosity. Competition

between these industrialists has recently been projected onto the religious

512 GEERT DE NEVE

plane as both began to invest in different temples, to control different

funds and festivals, and to build different constituencies. J.K. Tiagaraj has been

promoting himself and his closest business ally, Annasami, as the principal

benefactors and patrons of the local Murugan temple. J.K. Tiagaraj is the president

of the temple's Renovation Committee, held a kumbabishekam in

1991 after major renovations and largely financed the newly constructed silver

temple car which is now daily pulled around the inner courtyard of the

temple. Similarly, he has been the leading figure behind the renovations and

activities in the Celliyaantiyamman temple. S.T. Sundaram, on the other hand,

has been investing heavily in the Mariyamman temple located in his own

neighbourhood, Srinivasapuram. As president of the temple and its committees,

he receives most honours and enjoys particular privileges during the festivals

staged in this temple. As such, the intensification of business rivalries is

directly related to the careful development of constituencies formed around

big men, their temples and festivals. However, although their endowments are

essentially competitive in nature, their donations are unmistakably directed

towards the consolidation of a wider community identity.

Two aspects are revealing in this respect. First, they are actively contributing

to the improvement and promotion of potu koils or common temples,

accessible to everyone, rather than to temples belonging to specific segments

of the society. Second, they also play a key role in promoting, financing, and

staging the festival by actively participating in the celebrations. Promotion of

the festival takes the form of printing and distributing informative leaflets. In

various local meetings they invite the people to participate in the fire-wallung

and spear-piercing ceremonies, which are often initiated by the big men themselves.

In 1996, for example, RRS Manithan announced that he had invited

the wife of the famous Tamil film actor Prabhu to take part in the fire-walking

ceremony in Kumarapalayam. On the morning of the fire-walking, the ceremony

was opened by Prabhu's wife walking over the fire as first devotee, followed

by RRS Manithan, his brothers and their wives. Their participation was

taken by the devotees as a crucial sign of the genuineness of their involvement

in the festival and of their attachment to the goddess, the town, and the

people of Kumarapalayam. In Bhavani, S.T. Sundaram was also present at the

main stages of the festival and was honoured at various points, while his sons

were also participating in the ur vilaiyatu (town game) during which mud and

dirt is thrown at everyone.

Although it was inlpossible to obtain exact figures of financial contributions,

it is plain that the big men invest heavily in what is on one level

a town festival but, on another, is the creation of a 'community' - and a

community identity - for which they present themselves as patrons. They

make great efforts to attract devotees to 'their' temples and festivals in an

attempt to consolidate their own constituency of followers. Moreover, they

are eager to present themselves as the providers of all sorts of social welfare.

An influential industrialist called it part of the 'culture' or the 'way of life' of

the wealthier men in Bhavani and Kumarapalayam to support the poorer

people in town 'beyond the employment and the wages they are giving them'.

Clearly, this talk of generosity and patronage acts as a justification for the

wealth of a few powerful individuals, a wealth which they feel morally obliged

to share.

GEERT DE NEVE 513

J.K. Tiagaraj provides a clear example of this widespread attitude. On his

seventieth birthday in 1996 Tiagaraj distributed large amounts of money to

the people of Bhavani in a spectacular birthday party. He opened a new hospital

for which he is providing all the funds, he organized a free mass wedding

for fifty-one couples for whom he bought the talis, and he financed free eye

treatment in a Madurai hospital for whoever needed it. The birthday party

turned out to be a tremendous success and he was widely praised by many

weavers as a generous and sympathetic man who invests not only in his own

future, but also in the welfare of the community.

Social weljafdre, patyonage and community fovmation

At the same time, this care for the welfare of the town has taken a more institutionalized

form in the establishment of hospitals, schools, colleges, and other

institutions of public welfare. In 1980, RRS Purushotam founded the RRS

Institute of Textile Technology in Kumarapalayam to promote the education

of youngsters from weaving backgrounds and to provide them with the technical

skills required to find employment in a modernizing textile industry.

Education has become the main focus of the capitalist-manufacturers and erudition

is seen as the crucial precondition for the advancement of the town.

Both the RRS and JTT families (this second family has been the major competitor

to the RRS family for many years; they are equally wealthy textile

industrialists in Kumarapalayam) have founded various schools and colleges

over the last twenty years in which seats have been primarily reserved for

students of the locality. Two medical colleges have been established in coordination

with various hospitals erected by the same families. The JTT

Engineering College has also become increasingly popular. While it is not

surprising that these institutions openly display the names of their founders,

they also reflect the latters' involvement in the welfare and uplift of the

locality.

In 1995, I participated in the opening of a first Child Labour School in

Kumarapalayam, which was an initiative of RRS Manithan. Although he recognizes

that children are still being employed in his own mills, he actively

tries to encourage parents and employers to send the children to school as

well.The inauguration of the school was given special attention in a mass procession

which was headed by the District Collector, the Municipality Officer,

and other prominent people. Although it would be na'ive to expect that such

initiatives will solve the problem of child labour at its roots, they do reflect

an awareness among the local industrialists that their prosperity cannot continue

to thrive on the unbridled exploitation of others. It is here that old

concepts of 'patronage and exploitation' acquire new contents in an urban and

industrialized context (Breman 1993).

Numerous other associations and institutions have become channels

through which local weaver-capitalists are fashioning themselves as patrons of

the workers. Two of these are the Rotary and Lion Clubs, whose explicit aim

is to provide services to the public. In 1995-6, the Rotary Club was actively

involved in a polio eradication project and campaigned to get people to send

their children for a free vaccination. One of the charter members and most

514 GEERT DE NEVE

influential persons in the club is Mallaya Raj Pandaram, the wealthiest textile

manufacturer of the local Jangamar community. The Chamber of Commerce

of Kumarapalayam is yet another association whch is increasingly involved in

the general improvement of the town and its inhabitants. Including the largest

powerloom manufacturers and businessmen in town, the Chamber is chaired

by RRS Manithan and meets on a monthly basis.

Issues taken up in these meetings include the promotion of the Child

Labour School, the development of a Master Plan for town improvements

(new roads, underground drainage, improved drinking water, a park and a new

industrial site for the expansion of the export industries), the building of a

new post office, the expansion of the police department, and their demand

for their own fire brigade (at the moment there is only one fire brigade for

Bhavani and Kumarapalayam). The organization of the weekly market and the

improved bus access to the central bus stand were also debated. The Municipality

Officer apologized for a number of the Municipality's shortcomings

and praised the work of the Chamber. Indeed, the concerns of the Chamber

reflect how the local industrialists themselves have taken up a series of issues

of wider public interest which one would normally expect to fall under the

province of the Town Municipality or the District Collector. However, the

worlung arena of the local government is profoundly restricted by the priorities

and projects imposed by an industrialist elite eager to protect its

business interests, but also increasingly involved with concerns of public interest

and welfare. The parallel with the activities and roles of the Nagarattar

Chettiyars in Madras and other major cities is plain. The Nagarattars invested

heavily in temples, educational institutions, private clubs, and public charity

and these acts ' - far from constituting irrational expenditures for otherworldly

ends - were investments in the conditions that made worldly

commerce possible' (Rudner 1994: 158).

What is the strategic importance for the capitalist entrepreneur of these acts

of public patronage? Different interests are at stake. First of all, there is the

intense competition between the various manufacturers and merchants for a

share of trade and for the recruitment of factory labour. Being known as a

generous employer helps to attract skilled labourers and to keep one's looms

running day and night. Moreover, the industry itself greatly benefits from a

peaceful and unified labour community. Investing in smooth labour relations

is done in various ways, but tokens of generosity, especially at festival times,

are crucial to this goal. Indeed, local and state government support for the

industries can also be guaranteed when the locality is free of struggles, be they

of a class or caste nature.

Also, I suggest that the acts of patronage are essential to the creation of

new social roles for those weaver-capitalists who were able to benefit from

new forms of prosperity during the past decades and therefore to differentiate

themselves from fellow weavers. These weaver-capitalists remained

dependent for labour and co-operation upon their fellow caste members and

increasingly also upon workers from non-weaving backgrounds. In their

attempt to avoid possible pressures resulting from their new economic position

and to generate loyalty among their workers, they chose to act as patrons

of the latter. In their own words, they present themselves as town-wide benefactors

and emphasize how they take care of their workers 'beyond the

GEERT DE NEVE 515

generous wages they pay'. As one employer put it: 'generosity towards the

workers is part of the culture of this area'. They unfailingly refer to their

schools, colleges, and hospitals, which are accessible to anyone in town. They

systematically deny that caste identity or kinship links would impose selectivity

upon their acts of patronage.

Moreover, the disciplining and control of labour becomes a less problematic

process when situated within a framework of patron-client relationships.

After having distinguished themselves economically and socially from

their fellow townsmen, the wealthier industrialists felt the need to reintegrate

themselves into the 'community' and accomplished this by linlung their own

prosperity to the welfare of the town as a whole.'' This is expressed in the

generous distribution of food and clothes at special occasions, it is reflected

in the financing and promoting of temples, schools, colleges, and hospitals.

But it is most dramatically manifested in the ritual integration of the entire

community and the generation of a shared community identity during the

yearly celebrations of the local goddess.

Patrons and their constituencies

Discussing the nature of leadership and big men in a Madras city community,

Mines argues that a community is identified with its pre-eminent men,

its temples and its institutions in a highly personalized way (1994: 49-146).

He discusses how the rise and decline of the community of Beeri Chettiyars

in the Georgetown neighbourhood was closely related to changes in the

authority and power of its caste headmen. What Mines describes is 'a distinctive

form of traditional organization in which the paradigm of society is

not caste hierarchy, nor conceptualizations of purity and impurity, nor even

priestly versus kingly modes of behavior, but that of constituencies, which

form around dominant individuals and their patronage' (1994: 107). Moreover,

apart from a galaxy of 'charitable institutions', the Kandasami temple in

Madras and its processions constitute the 'key institutional symbol' not only

of the Beeri Chettiyar community as a whole, but also of its leaders and associations

(1994: 65). When, during the 1980s, a successful community leader

tried to rebuild the community, the temple was central to his attempt. He

aimed at malung the temple attractive again by maximizing the spectacular

(construction of a golden temple car, a kumbabishekam, etc.). Grand display and

ritual innovation were introduced to attract crowds and dramatize the leader's

patronage.

While the material presented here seems fully to support Mines's analysis

of the nature of leadership and the processes of community-building in

Madras, an important difference emerges, regarding the nature of the 'community'

at stake. Unlike the Beeri Chettiyar or Nagarattar merchants, the

'community' consciously promoted by the Bhavani and Kumarapalayam industrialists

is not that of a corporate caste group (e.g. among the Sourashtras in

Madurai; see Roy 1997) nor that of a group of castes (e.g. the right-hand

castes; see Beck 1972), but that of the entire urban centre. The temples they

renovate, the festivals they promote, and the institutions they found are

open to all the inhabitants of the locality and aim at the integration of a

516 GEERT DE NEVE

town-wide community, based on a community identity which largely results

from a shared identification with a temple, a festival, a leader, an industry, and

a locality.

This is not to argue that caste affiliations have lost their social meaning in

the urban environment. But, due to the multiple interrelations of caste and

business networks as well as to their enhanced dependence on workers from

various non-weaving backgrounds, local big men realize that an exclusive

focus on the advancement of a particular caste group is no longer feasible or

desirable. They therefore actively promote a sense of community which

encompasses the whole town. I suggest, therefore, that a comparison between

the identity of the modern big man and that of the former lung is still relevant.

As the lung's authority and legitimacy were predicated on his ability to

incorporate and protect all those under his realm, the big man's influence,

authority, and economic power depend on his capacity to integrate the entire

community, and not only the members of his own caste group. Rather than

the model of identification between lung and divinity, it is the idioms of royal

protection and patronage which are most forcefully at work in contemporary

Tamil society.12

Undeniably, the form and nature of constituencies in Tamil society has

undergone shifts over time which seem to reflect transformations of the wider

social and political environment. In the pre-colonial era, constituencies often

took the form of little lungdoms which arose out of warrior clans and lineages,

and which were ruled by regionally powerful chiefs (Dirks 1987; Price

1996). They included whoever lived within the boundaries of the royal

territory. Along with the centralization of administrative power and the consolidation

of caste under colonial rule, constituencies were increasingly built

around influential caste leaders, often belonging to major trading and merchant

castes, of which the Nagarattar Chettiyar and Kaikolar Mudaliyar leaders

have probably been most extensively documented (Mines 1984; 1994;

Nishimura 1998; Rudner 1994). The post-colonial era has again given rise to

more inclusive types of constituencies which are shaped more by commonalities

of locality and industry than by the boundaries of caste. The search for

a new identity by emerging urban industrialists who now operate within

increasingly broad social networks has led to the opening up of constituencies

and 'communities' to a wider clientele.13

In a study of four South Asian weaving communities during the late colonial

period, Haynes describes how new capitalist-weavers refashioned their

roles and social identities within their communities and towns. Apart from

converting some of their financial capital into symbolic capital by acts of philanthropy,

'they also engaged in high profile "social work" intended to provide

social upliftment among their fellow community members. ... The contours

of weaving communities themselves became redefined as networks of social

connection and increasingly became linked to educational institutions, cooperative

societies and municipal councils' (Haynes n.d.: 25).

What these new entrepreneurs did not do in this process, Haynes interestingly

adds, was to identify themselves with an entirely new social circle,

divorced from their own social origin and weavers' background, such as the

Brahmans or Banias (n.d.: 26). Also in Bhavani and Kumarapalayam, the new

'community' remains firmly rooted in the social identity of weaver-artisans,

GEERT DE NEVE 517

their temples and goddesses. Nevertheless, in a modernizing industrial context

this identity has been reshaped to incorporate a wider group of people who

can all recognize themselves as either textile workers or textile manufacturers,

and that community encompasses just about the entire town. This, I

argue, is a community manifestation of an inclusive kind, which contrasts with

expressioiis of community along the exclusive lines of caste or class. In this

context, the boundaries of exclusioii and inclusion are rather of an occupational

(i.e. textiles) and territorial (i.e. town) nature, while in other locations

the 'community' may well be built around strilungly different idionis of shared

identity.

NOTES

'Bhavani is famous for its handwoven carpets, while in Kumarapalayam powerloonls have

gradually replaced handlooms from the 1950s onwards. The traditional weaving castes in ihese

towns are the (Kaikolar) Mudaliyars. the Devangar Chettiyars, and the Jangamars. Other

conununities, hoxvever, such as the Vanniyars,Vellalar Gounders, and Nadars, have also entered

the textile industry as workers and factory owners, especially since the development of the

po~verloorn industry.

2Wl~ilethe king was closely idetzt$ed with the T.T-orldo f gods. he mas not divine himself (see

Appadurai 1981: 20-62;Appadurai & Breckenridge 1976: 188-95; Biardeau 1989: 13-14; 53-8;

Fuller 1981: 101-6; 1988: 55-8; 1992: 106-27; Good 1987: 3-4).

"ee, for example, Dirks's (1987: 370-4) account ofthe disputes over tcnlple honours between

the locally dominant iiattavs and the rising Nagarattar Chettiyars in 111anj7 temple towns of

Pudukkottai from the mid-nineteenth century onwards.

'I witnessed the festival in February-March 1996, and the description which is given here

is predoriinantly based on what I observed on that occasion and on what people told me

about the organization of the festival in previous years.

5Celliyaantiyam11an is a local form of Cellattamman, 'the Goddess of the Northern Gate',

who is kno~vn as the protector of the northern gate and as the guardian of the village against

danger and disease (Good 1985). In Bhavani, devotees worship Celliyaantiyalnlnan as their town

goddess and closely identify her with various fornls of the village goddess Mariyamman. In the

northern part of Bhal-ani, in the neighbourhood of Varnapuram, a new temple was built in

1982 and dedicated to Sanlayapuranl Mariyamman, a name which was nlost probably borrowed

from the tremendously popular cult of Mariyamman in the village of Samayapuram in

Pudukkottai (see Nishimura 1987).

"ere the word 'community' rather than 'caste' is used. While traditionally the groups who

held rights in the festival were caste-based, more recently other groups and even individuals have been given their day in the festival (see below). Given the fluid, segmentary organization of Tamil society, conununities s l f t in the nleaning of their constitution from context to context.

Therefore, I use co~nmunity to refer to a variety of group fornlations, and community in

quotation nlarks to refer to the town-community as a whole (see below). 'All names mentioned in this article are pseudonyms. "rununers are often brought in from outside. In Bhavani, however, they were nlenlbers of the local Paraiyar commununity 'This pattern of Harijan inclusion/complementarity and exclusion/replication in the context of village festivals is reminiscent of Moffatt's (1979) discussions and has further been cornmentedupon by Beck (1972; 1981), Delikge (1997), Fuller (1992), and Good (1985).

"Gornbrich and Obeyesekere have described the expansion of the Kataraganla cult of

Murugan in Sri Lanka and sinularly documented the sharp rise in devotional rites, and

especially kavadi dances and fire-walking, during the annual festival from the 1950s onwards.

Worship and patronage by wealthy Nattukottai Chettiyars gave a new fillip to the cult around

the mid-century (Gon~brich & Obeyesekere 1988: 177-90). We could hypothesize from these

examples that rapid social and economic change tends to encourage the nlore out& forms of

religious expression.

518 GEERT DE NEVE

"The Gounder Vellalar employers, who have entered the industry only over the last three

decades, do not invest in comnlunity festivals to the same extent as the factory owners belonging

to the traditional weaving castes.This is related both to their different social status and their

distinct ways of dealing with labour within the textile industry (see De Neve 19996).

12 This argument is not dissimilar from Price's (1989: 560-1; 1996: 1-7) explicit stress on the

need to consider the longue durPe of politics and the Lvays in which models and ideologies of

the pre-colonial and colonial periods have been carried on, even if transformed, in the twentieth

century.

"This can be compared with Breman's (1996: 257) argunlent that 'caste consciousness can

undergo scale elllargenlent in such a way that it approaches class consciousness: recognizing

members of other sub-castes as fello~v sufferers and feeling solidarity with them'. The scale

enlargement occurring here, however, extends to the town as a whole. That these widening

circles of identification need not emerge always and everywhere is apparent from Roy's case

study of the Madurai Sourashtras (1997). However, the main point raised here is that whether

a wider conlnlunity identification will take place or not crucially depends on the scale and

organization of the local industry and industrial/labour relations.

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