On South Indian Bandits and Kings

Peasants are extremely over-burdened with the heavy taxation; the luxury and livelihood of the state and its officials is totally depended on these peasantry class. The state machinery use maximum nuzzle or suppression to get the revenue and the share of state; which was very high and was unbearable for peasants to pay. After facing of all theseextremities, the common peasants arose and stand up rebellious and shows their opposition as well as dissent against the concealing nature of state. Banditry might be considered as a partof such protest which is against the state. Banditry can be defined as 'socially constructed category' and an instrument for 'social boundary formation' in which people from society came together as a last resort to support their subsistence . In the article ‘The Ideology of Banditry’ Carlo Giuseppe Rossetti highlighted about the origins of the ‘ideology of banditry’ in Sardinia, and cited that banditry came from the mechanism of negative reciprocity inbuilt in livestock-rustling. Slowly this group, called themselves as 'bandits' in the adjacent region of Sardinia and further, it also follows the suit of robbing the villages and trading routes in and around . The definition of bandits can also be taken from the archival documents which shows that bandit was all those who refused to abide by the law of the state, went around armed 'in bands' and might had 'the support of the local population’ to make sound against state and poverty. In simpler terms, Banditry can be defined as an act of robbery, which especially held this task by a group or with the help of gang or marauding band. Bandits were mainly involved in damage to enclosed property and in rustling of livestock belonging to elite gentry class of the various villages or looting the trade routes.

This paper challenges the broad consensus in current historiography that holds the Indian stereotype of criminal tribe to be a myth of colonial making. Drawing on a selection of precolonial descriptions of robber castes—ancient legal texts and folktales; Jain, Buddhist and Brahminical narratives; Mughal sources; and Early Modern European travel accounts—I show that the idea of castes of congenital robbers was not a British import, but instead a label of much older vintage on the subcontinent. Enjoying pride of place in the postcolonial critics’ pageant of “colonial stereotypes,” the case of criminal tribes is representative and it bears on broader questions about colonial knowledge and its relation to power. The study contributes to the literature that challenges the still widespread tendency to view colonial social categories, and indeed the bulk of colonial knowledge, as the imaginative residue of imperial politics. I argue that while colonial uses of the idea of a criminal tribe comprises a lurid history of violence against communities branded as born criminals in British law, the stereotype itself has indigenous roots. The case is representative and it bears on larger problems of method and analysis in “post-Orientalist” historiography.

The aim of this paper is to present the way the bravery of brigands is depicted, and how this peculiar type of historical figure from the Śekhāvaṭī region is memorialised in regional, oral literature. Such analysis is based on texts known as Chāvaḷī, oral works from the 19th century, composed in Śekhāvaṭī, the dialect of Rājasthānī, in order to commemorate the deeds of the local gang of dacoits. They were active and became famous in the first half of the 19th century in the region of Mārvāṛ known as Śekhāvaṭī. The word chāvaḷī is also translated as ‘glory’ or ‘fame’. Such a title also indicates that the deeds of the highwaymen were remembered as good and brave. This is contrary to the popular opinion that brigands are wicked people disobeying the law. The chief of the gang, ḍākū Ḍūṅgar Siṅgh, is a pious, noble man who not only gives orders to plunder the cantonment of British officers of the East India Company, but also carries out the looting of local rich people (seṭh) and distributes the plunder to the poor. Those dacoits are thus, heroes of the Śekhāvaṭī region, good villains. The analysis of certain techniques used in the text to depict a hero’s bravery, such as using particular verbs while introducing indirect speech or a stock of epithets, can confirm that a dacoit can be considered a great hero and, moreover, the figure of a bandit can be further transformed into a patriot, a freedom fighter, due only to the fact that he dared to sack British outposts. A bandit (generally a dacoit or, a Thug) is a well-known figure regularly depicted in European literature on Indian culture and its peculiarities. In this paper, however, I would like to focus on the image of the highwaymen presented in Indian literature, i.e. from the perspective of Indian indigenous culture and not from a European point of view. British perception of Indian dacoits is another especially interesting subject of research in terms of colonial, post-colonial and subaltern studies; nevertheless this is not the main purpose of this paper. The analysis of the figure of a brigand presented here is based on three texts generally known as Chāvaḷī (Nāhṭā 2013) or Ḍūṅgjī – Javārjī (Sahal 1995: 45-51) composed in order to commemorate the deeds of the local gang of dacoits.

On South Indian Bandits and Kings* DAVID SHULMAN Department of Indian Studies Hebrew University the Robin Hoods of Southern India? This is the question which itself to the Tamilist reading through E.J. Hobsbawm’s excellent study presents of bandits’ Hobsbawm himself notes the difficulty in fitting India’s bandits into his typology of noble robbers (the Robin Hoods), haiduks (the bands of primitive guerilla fighters), and the pathologically cruel &dquo;avengers. 112 Hobsbawm is concerned with what he calls &dquo;social banditry&dquo;-the peasant heroes regarded by their rural hinterland as champions, and by the state as outlaws and criminals-and he suggests that social banditry was inhibited in India &dquo;by the tendency of robbers, like all other sections of society, to form self-contained castes and communities.&dquo;3 Here is our problem: on the one hand, Southern India clearly has its examples of what might be called bandits; indeed here, as in the rest of India, the striking innovation lies in the institutionalization of this field of activity by recognizing jdtis of thieves and dacoits. In South India, a bandit is thus not &dquo;made&dquo; but rather born as such, and highway robbery becomes a traditional, socially recognized occupation of specific castes with its own symbolic legitimation. On the other hand, the &dquo;noble bandits,&dquo; so beloved in other cultures (England and Scotland, China, Italy, Brazil), hardly emerges with any prominence in Tamil folk poetry. A recent study of Tamil folk ballads has analyzed the social basis of this literature, and the author notes the existence of ballads on &dquo;social banditry&dquo; themes;-1 there is, indeed, a well-known literature of social protest (largely anti-Brahmin in tone) in medieval Tami 1.5 Nevertheless, the most popular of Where are *An earlier version of this paper was presented at the annual meeting of the Israel AnthroMarch1980. E.J. Hobsbawm, Bandits (London, 1969). 1 Ibid., p. 15n. 2 Ibid. 3 Stuart H. Blackburn, "The Folk Hero and Class Interests in Tamil Heroic Ballads," 4 Asian Folklore Studies, 37 (1978), p. 137. See also N. Vanamamalai, "Dacoits and Robbers in Tamil Ballads," Folklore (Calcutta), 12 (1971), pp. 66-72 (unfortunately not available to pological Association, Jerusalem, me). E.g. the famous akaval attributed 5 to Tamil siddhas. See the discussion in D. Kapilar; also the antinomian poems of some of the Within: Idealism and Dissent Shulman, "The Enemy 284 the Tamil bandit-ballads portray heroes who, while they may be glorified and even deified, are very far from noble. In fact, so scandalous are these stories that one modern authority on the literature can complain about one composition : &dquo;Ballad poetry would certainly have been better without this story!&dquo;’ He is, moreover, quite right in seeing an identifiable type of hero in these poems. How, then, are we to understand the role of the South Indian bandit’? The is rendered more interesting by the profound symbolic links between banditry and poetry, divinity and worship. Without denying the social bias of the literature as shown by Blackburn, especially the tendency of the ballads to glorify the localized, low-caste hero in opposition to higher classes, we may still pursue the wider implications of the views expressed through these stories. The intrinsic importance of the folk ballads lies in the clues they offer to a widespread world view. The following pages seek to explore the symbolism of the bandit in South India, and to look beyond it toward the social reality from which it springs. We shall concentrate on one of the ballads, the Maturaivïracuvámikatai, clearly one of the most popular of its kind; but we begin with some general remarks on bandits and thieves. problem Coranátha, Karuppappacuvffiii, and the Kallar The local tradition of the Vaisnava shrine in Srivaikuntam tells of a thief named Kaladusaka, the leader of a band of thieves dwelling in the wilderness near the shrine. Kaladusaka used to spend half his ill-gotten gains on prostitutes and gambling, but the other half he reserved for the god, Vaikunthanatha. Eventually the local king closed in on the thief, who sought refuge in Vaikunthanatha’s shrine. The god granted him protection and then, taking the form of a robber, appeared to the king; admonished and instructed by the god, the king forgave Kaladusaka and begged Visnu to remain as Coraliatha (Tamil Kallappiran, &dquo;lord of thieves&dquo;) at Srivaikuntam. The king and the robber then collaborated in a ritual celebration: in the month of Caitra, the king and the robber decorated the town and distributed presents, especially to the Brahmins. Visnu-&dquo;Lord of the Universe and Leader of Robbers&dquo;--was pleased, and he gave release to both the king and the robber. The king and in South Indian Hinduism," paper delivered at the Seminar on Heterodoxy and Dissent in India, Jerusalem, June 1979; to appear in the volume of seminar papers. One of the Tamil poems on K&amacr;ttavar&amacr;yan may well belong in this class: see M. Arunachalam, Ballad Poetry (Tiruchitrambalam, Tanjavur District, 1976), p. 189. Ibid. It should be noted that the use of the term "ballad" for these popular Tamil poems 6 is somewhat problematic; no systematic classification of the genres represented in these compositions has yet been undertaken. 285 the robber performed this festival together every year.’ Some versions of this story make Kaladusaka into a Robin-Hood-like hero: he never oppressed the righteous but would seek out evildoers and rob them; after giving half his gains to the god and satisfying his own needs, he would distribute the rest among the poor.’ This portrayal of the thief, which seems to be missing in the older versions, clearly helps to justify Visnu’s intervention on his behalf. But the true basis for the rapprochement of king and robber seems to be stated by the god in his sermon to the king: &dquo;Things not given as dharma will perish; kings seize them, and robbers steal them.&dquo;9 In the perspective of this story, kings and thieves can apparently be classed together; the original opposition between the two gives way to a collaboration clearly felt to be quite fitting. This relation between king and robber, which, as we shall see, recurs in many stories, deserves close study. F. Hardy, who has summarized and discussed the myth from ~rivaikuntam, interprets it in the light of local politics and society: Srivaikuntam is situated in an area inhabited by members of the Kallar caste (the name means &dquo;thieves&dquo;), and the chief trustee of the temple is a Kallar. The story thus describes the modus vivendi achieved by the Kallar, the Brahmins, and the local ruler, as symbolized by the festival managed jointly by the king and the head of the Kallar community. In other words, we have here &dquo;the legitimization of a particular power-structure.&dquo;’° This analysis is undoubtedly correct. For our purposes, it is important to note that the Kallar fit into the category of institutionalized bandits mentioned earlier. The Kallar, a colourful community concentrated chiefly in Madura and Tanjore districts of Tamil Nadu, have a well-established reputation as thieves-although they are for the most part settled agriculturist. As Dumont states in his comprehensive study of one branch of this community: De nos jours le Kallar apparait avant tout comme un paysan, peut-6tre mediocre agriculteur, mais quelqu’un qui est plus ou moins fix6 au sol et en tire une partie au moins de sa subsistance. 1 1 a, ou il avait, deux sources de revenus additionnels: d’une part, le vol, et d’autrc part, la surveillance contre le vol, la fonction de gardien.ll ... un Vaikunthan 7 & h tham &amacr; tmya amacr; 5.48-52, summarized by Friedhelm Hardy, "Ideology and Cultural Contexts of the Srivaisnava Temple" in Burton Stein (ed.), South Indian Temples: An Analytic Reconsideration (New Delhi, 1978, Vol. XIV, n. 1 of The Indian Economic and Social History Review ), pp. 147-48. To. Mu. P&amacr;skarat Tontaim&amacr;n, Venkatam mutal kumari varai. IV: Porunait turaiyile 8 (Tirunelveli, 1971), pp. 200-201; R.K. Das, Temples of Tamilnad (Bombay, 1964), pp. 30-31. P&amacr;skarat Tontaim&amacr;n, p. 201. The god says that he has created Kaladusaka in order to 9 teach this truth. Hardy, op. cit., p. 148. 10 Louis Dumont, Une sous-caste de I’ Inde du sud 11 : organisation saciale et religion des Prama- 286 The thief becomes a watchman, the guardian steals from his master: the Kallar belong in this respect in the universal category of dangerous watchmen. As Hobsbawm notes, the ideal is the &dquo;formal conversion of poachers into gatekeepers.... In India as in Sicily the professions of village and field, or cattlewatchmen, were often interchangeable with that of bandit.&dquo;1~’ This role of the Kallar is bound up with the institution of pdtikaval, the village police system; traditionally, the Kallar have been kävalkärar in their areas. 13 In Chola times, when Velala agriculturists were sent to settle new lands, the Kallar were sent with them as watchmen.’4 But the guardian or gatekeeper is by nature a highly ambivalent figure, whether he stands in the village fields or at the threshold of a shrine. One sees this clearly in the cult of Karuppan (Karuppannacuv5mi, Karuppucami), who is one of the Kallar’s favoured deities This god stands as guardian at the entrance to the great shrine of Alakar-Visnu (who is also known as Kalialakar because of his relation with the Kallar) at Tirumaliruncolai near Maturai. The symbolism of the threshold is unmistakable here, for Karuppan has no image in this shrine; he is worshipped in the form of the massive doors to the temple, and offerings are brought to the famous Eighteen Steps beneath these doors.l6 Karuppan is a violent deity: his name means &dquo;the Black,&dquo; and he demands blood sacrifices-indeed, one myth current among the Pramalai Kallar explains his absence from the temple of lai Kallar (Paris, 1957), p. 7. For further information on the Kallar, see E. Thurston, Castes and Tribes of Southern India (Madras), 1909, 3: 53-91. Hobsbawm, op. cit., p. 78. 12 On tik 13 &amacr; see T.V. Mahalingam, South Indian Polity (2nd ed., Madras, 1967), pp. p val, &amacr; 246-53. Cf. the role of the Bedar in Karnataka, as described in J. Duncan M. Derrett, The Hoysalas, AMedieval Indian Royal Family (Madras, 1957), pp. 7-9. Stuart H. Blackburn, "The Kallars: A Tamil ’Criminal Tribe’ Reconsidered," South Asia, 14 n.s. 1 (1978), p. 45. On Karuppan see Dumont, op. cit., pp. 368-71; idem, "A Structural Definition of a Folk 15 Deity of Tamil Nad: Aiyanar, the Lord," in L. Dumont, Religion/Politics and History in India (Paris, 1970), pp. 20-32; D. Hudson, "Two Citra Festivals in Madurai" in G R. Welbon and Glenn E. Yocum (ed.), Interludes: Religious Festivals in South India and Ceylon (New Delhi, 1977); Henry Whitehead, The Village Gods of South India (2nd ed., Calcutta, 1921), pp. 113-15, mistakenly identifying Karuppan with MaturaivIran; K.N. Radha Krishna, ThirSri Alagar Kovil malirunjolaimalai ( ) Stala Purana ( =Vrsabh&amacr;drim&amacr;h&amacr;tmya ), (Maturai, 1942), pp. 210-15; C.G. Diehl, Instrument and Purpose: Studies on Rites and Rituals in South India (Lund, 1956), p. 237; Alakar varnippu (Madras, 1950), p. 6. Census of India, 1961, Vol. IX, Part XI-D: Temples of Madras State. VI. Madurai and 16 Ramanathapuram (Madras, 1969), p. 107. The myth told about the Eighteen Steps—under which are said to be buried eighteen magicians from Malabar who came to steal the divinity of this shrine is given in Whitehead, loc. cit.; Radha Krishna, loc. cit. There exists a custom Census of swearing oaths to prove one’s innocence at this site, before the doors of Karuppan ( ; Whitehead, p. 115) —an interesting association of truthfulness with an of India, loc. cit inherently ambivalent, somewhat menacing guardian-deity. Cf. the theme of the Kallar’s perjury before Karuppan (redeemed by the mental offering of a sheep): Thurston, op. cit., pp. 83-84, 88. 287 Alakar (i.e. the absence of an image of him there?) by his dissatisfaction with the vegetarian cuisine offered in the shrine.&dquo; As the gatekeeper of Alakar (and, in other contexts, of the vegetarian god Aiyanar), Karuppan may be said to represent the higher deity; as his protector, Karuppan (still invisible, i.e. not represented iconically) accompanies Alakar on his annual journey, in the month of Citra, to the boundary of Maturai.18 (During this latter festival, crowds of Kallar also accompany the god, supposedly in order to guard the great money chests (kopparai untiyal) which are filled with the devotees’ gifts -and thus we see again the persistent paradox of the thieves made into guardians.)19 Finally, Karuppan is by virtue of his violent tendencies, carnivorous tastes, dark colour, and general personality no different from the demons (pev) against whom he must fight. 20 In much the same way, his worshippers, the Kallar, reveal a collective ambiguity in their character-part peasant, part watchman, part bandit or cattle-thief. Recently a spirited defense of the Kallar has been published by Stuart Blackburn, who convincingly shows how external pressures, especially those connected to the extension of British colonial rule, may have reduced the Kallar to the &dquo;wild Collerie&dquo; image popular in British writings and, ultimately, to the status of a Criminal Tribe .2 Blackburn emphasizes the settled role of the Kallar peasants, although he admits that in the medieval period some Kallar were &dquo;undoubtedly involved in cattle raids and possibly formed a reservoir of warriors for local military chieftains.&dquo; 2Yet this diversification would appear to be a matter of principle; the ambivalent nature of the Kallar, as indicated by their very name, is clearly mentioned in the pre-colonial literature.~3 Moreover, the Kallar’s own traditions indicate something of this conception. The Kallar share with the Maravar the story of their descent from the union of Indra and Ahalyd: according to this version of the classical myth, Indra seduced Ahalya, the wife of the Brahmin sage Gautama, and four sons were born-Kallan, Maravan, Akampatiyan, and Veldlan .21 This story ex- Dumont, Sous-caste, 17 For details 18 p. 369. Hudson, op. cit. .; cf. Alakar Varnippu, pp. 6-7: here Ibid 19 see we learn of the initial subjugation of the Kallar by the god, after which they become his guardians. Their protection is, apparently, no longer felt to be suffcient, since today policemen also accompany the god on his journey! Kallalakar appears dressed as a Kallar during this festival, and the Kallars are said to have the right to pull his car: Thurston, pp. 84-85, citing J. Sharrock. See Dumont, "Aiyanar," p. 29. 20 Blackburn, "Kallars," 21 passim. Ibid., 22 p. 44. For example, in the Maturaiviran cycle: 23 see below. See also Sathyanatha Aiyar, History of the Nayaks of Madura (Oxford, 1924), pp. 253, 289, 252, 305; Hudson, op. cit. The story is given by Thurston, op. cit., 3: 62-63, 5: 23; Dumont, Sous-caste, p. 5, with 24 popular etymologies for the names of the four sons. The story is based on yana R & m amacr; 1.47.1532 (which of course knows nothing of any progeny from the illicit union); cf. the Tamil version of Kampan vat &amacr; (Tiruv&amacr;nmiyur, 1967), 1.543-550. m Ir ram &amacr; 288 presses the link between the Kallar and the equally martial Maravar and Akampatiyar; these three castes, sometimes referred to as muvehtira kulam (&dquo;the three families of Indra&dquo;), can claim an original royal status on the basis of their alleged descent from Indra. Again we see king and robber confronted. The relatively low status of these castes can then be explained as the result of the hypogamous (pratiloma) union of a king (Indra) and a Brahmin woman (Ahalyd). But the story also reveals the Kallar’s sense of closeness to the Velalar; a Tamil proverb even speaks of the Kallar slow ly turning into the Velalar. The tradition taken as a whole thus nicely embodies the conflicting pulls of Kallar social history. - Cattle-Thieves and Heroes Perhaps the defense of the Kallar could be undertaken from a different angle. There is every reason to suppose that the pattern of quasi-sedentary, quasipredatory existence, or of a regular alternation between the two styles, is an ancient one in India. J.C. Heesterman has explained the enigmatic rites of the Vratyas as connected to just such a pattern, which may be preserved in the tradition that the Kuru-Pancalas would set out during the cold season on a digi,ijaj,a: they would seize the barley crop, forage for food, and return home before the rains in order to work their own fields. 25 If we limit ourselves to the Tamil area, we find an ancient conception of heroism as somehow linked to the raider, robber, and cattle-rustler. There is, in fact, a striking fluctuation in the meanings of the basic terms. Take, for example, maravan, defined in the Dravidian Etymological Dictionary as &dquo;inhabitant of desert tract, of hilly tract, one belonging to the caste of warriors, person of Marava caste, warrior, hero, commander, military chief, cruel, wicked person.&dquo;&dquo; We have just met the Maravar as a war-like caste claiming, like the Kallar, descent from Indra and Ahalyä.:?7 But in the Purapporu! v’~rzpdnadlai, maravar is a generalized term for the ancient class (mütla ku!i) of heroes who appeared with swords in their hands after the universal deluge-when only the mountains were visible, and the earth was still submerged. 2-1 In this sense the word is sometimes used by the &dquo;Caùkam&dquo; poets of the early centuries A.D., while maram can mean &dquo;heroism, bravery&dquo; (usually with the added connotation of fierceness or J.C. Heesterman, "Vr&amacr;tya and Sacrifice," Indo-Iranian Journal 6 (1962), pp. 1-37. 25 26 T. Burrow and M.B. Emeneau, A Dravidian Etymological Dictionary (Oxford, 1961), n. 3900, quoting the Tamil Lexicon. See Thurston, op. cit., 5: 22-48; Carol Appadurai Breckenridge, "From Protector to 27 Litigant—Changing Relations between Hindu Temples and the Raja of Ramnad" in Stein (n. 7 above), pp. 57-77. karantai. 13-14; cf. the somewhat different ( Purapporul lai 28 &amacr; of Aiyan&amacr;ritan&amacr;r, 2, ), m &amacr; venp translation of G.U. Pope, Tamil Heroic Poems (Madras, 1973), p. 23. 289 . cruelty).?9 But the classical poets also know a distinction between the marakkuti, the wild, predatory communities, and the aralckuti or settled agriculturalists. Thus in Cilappatikäram 12 (a canto devoted to the Vettuvar or Eyinar hunters), Cdlini, a young girl possessed by the goddess, cries out: even In the great villages, the rich herds are flouri.shing, but the meeting-places of the Eyinar of the strong bows are desolate. The inherited path of the heroes gives forth nothing now; like settled folk, the Eyinar have become cowed, their spirit snuffed out.&dquo;’ We also find the Maravar and Eyinar as the highway robbers who are the proper residents of the wilderness (pälai) tract, according to the textbooks of rhetoric. These Maravar are famous for their cruelty; the pdlai region is a mournful way deserted even by the birds, where dwell the fierce-eyed Maravar with their robust bodies, terrible strength, tiger’s look, bound bows, curled hair, just waiting to do evil: they will take the life of wayfarers even when there is nothing to steal, just to see their bodies twist in dying.31 . We thus find two related notions. On the one hand, bandits and robbers are given their place within the conventional scheme of the Tamil universe; they belong in the wilderness and present a contrast to settled peasant life. On the other hand, the very concept of the hero incorporates something of the marauder. One sees this in the classification of the cattle-raid (in vetcittiyai) as the normal preliminary to war. We may thus look back to a period when cattle-raiding was a standard feature of the relations between neighbouring &dquo;kingdoms,&dquo; even allowing foi the somewhat artificial schemaMaravar as In later times mararra becomes equivalent to adharma, but positive connotations linger 29 on—hence the problem presented, for example, by Kampan’s anti-hero R&amacr;vana, the embodiment of maram. Kampan has been accused of preferring R&amacr;vana to the dharmic hero R&amacr;ma. ram 12.12-15. &amacr; Cilappatik 30 Kalittokai 1.4.1-6. 31 290 tization apparent in the Cankam conventions.32 The hero shades off into the cattle-thief. Something of this idea survives throughout the medieval period in Tamil Nadu, as does the practice of worshipping a fallen hero by erecting a hero-stone; inscriptions on these memorial stones often point to the hero’s death in the course of a cattle-raid-usually while the hero was defending the village cattle from thieves.33 The hero-stone, it must be stressed, is perceived as the abode of a divine presence. It is in this light that we may regard the Maravar cattle-raiders and hunters of medieval times,34 and, perhaps, the traditions linking the Kallar to highway robbery. The Kallar appear for the most part as settled peasants, but they stand outside the right-left division of Tamil society. They are not, apparently, seen as wholly rooted in their agricultural pursuits. But, whether as peasants or as raiders, they have a recognized role in society. Moreover, their seemingly anti-social characteristics are precisely what relates them to heroism and even kingship. Endowed with the symbolism of the watchman-thief, they share the image of the &dquo;outsider&dquo; whose relative freedom is translated into anomalous status. Usually ranked as low, they are in some ways remarkably close to prestigious figures in the social hierarchy. Their &dquo;outsider&dquo; quality, far from implying any real form of exclusion, seems rather to connect them with central symbols of the social order. Divine Thieves and Bandit-Poets We have by no means exhausted the symbolism of the bandit or of his alter ego, the guardian. In particular, we need to clarify the transition from bandithero to divinity. Perhaps we may approach the problem the other way round: if the hero who is half bandit can be deified and worshipped, we need not be surprised to find a deity dressed up as a bandit. Indeed, we have already noted one instance of this possibility in the myth of Coranatha from Srivaikuntam. South India, in fact, offers a considerable theology of thieving. One can observe this in both Vaisnava and Saiva variants. To begin with the latter: Siva, the antinomian deity par excellence, is at his best not far removed from a bandit. South Indian Saivas have made valiant efforts to For comparative evidence, see Bruce Lincoln, "The Indo-European Cattle-Raiding 32 Myth," History of Religions 16 (1976), pp. 42-65; Peter Walcot, "Cattle Raiding, Heroic Tradition, and Ritual: The Greek Evidence," History of Religions 18 (1979), pp. 326-51; see also J.C. Heesterman, The Ancient Indian Royal Consecration (The Hague, 1957), Chapter 16. This motif also occurs in the folk ballads: see Blackburn, "Folk Hero," p. 135. On the 33 hero-stones, see George L. Hart, III, The Poems of Ancient Tamil, Their Milieu and Their Sanshrit Counterparts (Berkeley, 1975), pp. 25-26, 42; K.K.N. Kurup, The Cult of Teyyam and Hero Worship in Kerala (Calcutta, 1973), pp. 18-20; Derrett, op. cit, pp. 9-10. G.A. Deleury, The Cult of Vithob &amacr; (Poona, 1960), p. 198, argues that the famous Vithob&amacr; of Pandharpur is a "later development of a primitive hero-stone." See Periya Pur 31 nam of Cekkilar, 3.3.5-7, 65. &amacr; 291 reform this recalcitrant god, and thus we find that many of his most antisocial traits have been either toned down or reinterpreted;35 for all that, Siva remains unpredictable, delightfully mischievous, entirely unbound by conventions or properties. In this character he may represent the divine force underlying the world of dharmic order and transcending its limits.36 He is thus quite capable of robbing his own devotee, Cuntaramurttinayanar, by sending his troops of bhütas dressed as hunters (vetar) or by appearing himself as a veçan.37 This story, which appears in Cekkailar’s p‘~riya Puriinan7 in connection with Cuntarar’s visit to the town of Tirumurukanpunti, may well have been developed by the tradition on the basis of Cuntarar’s Tevdram-hymn 49; this poem describes Tirumurukanpunti as infested by bandits of the type discussed earlier with reference to the Caftkam pdlai-poems. If such was the development of the tradition, we may note a fascinating transition: the god who is worshipped in the Tevfrani poem as somehow opposed to the bandits (he dwells defenseless in their town, where he seeks alms, rides the bull, unites with Uma, etc.) appears in the later tradition as a local bandit-chief himself! This development is, of course, quite reasonable, given Siva’s essential nature; and one is reminded of another classic role of this god, that of Arjuna’s Kirdta- antagonist. 38 Many other stories follow this pattern. Siva thinks nothing of making off with his devotee’s wife (this time with the husband’s consent).39 He similarly steals the bridegroom-once again, Cuntaramurttinayanar-at a Brahmin wedding;’O and, in the main Tamil version of the Daksa myth, Siva steals away his own bride, Uma, from her father’s house, just as the lovers in the Cankam love-poems conventionally elope.41 This conjunction of marriage and robbery is clearly a standard theme, which the bhakti poets use metaphorically to suggest the ravishing of the soul by the divine: God is &dquo;the thief I have discussed this development at some length in my book, Tamil Temple Myths: 35 aiva Tradition (Princeton, 1980). In the Sacrifice and Divine Marriage in the South Indian S North Indian tradition, Siva is a brahmahan, adulterer, Outcaste, etc. Siva’s antecedent, the Vedic Rudra, is also a robber and the lord of highwaymen ( VS 16.20-21). See D. Shulman, "The Crossing of the Wilderness: Landscape and Myth in the Tamil 36 of R&amacr;ma," Orientalia (in press); G.L. Hart, The Relation between Tamil and Story Acta Classical Sanskrit Literature, Vol. X Fasc. 2 of J. Gonda (ed.), A History of Indian Literature (Wiesbaden, 1976), pp. 350-51. nam 7.4.164-8; W. Francis, South Arcot District Gazeteer (Madras, 1906), &amacr; Periya Pur 37 p. 398; T.B. Krishnaswami, South Arcot in Sacred Song (Madras, 1937), p. 10. MBh 3.40.1-62. This story seems to be represented in the great frieze at Mah&amacr;balipuram 38 ("Arjuna’s Penance"). nam 2.3.1-36 (the story of Iyarpakaiy&amacr;r). &amacr; Periya Pur 39 Ibid., 1.4.1-74. 40 nam of Kacciyappaciv&amacr;c&amacr;riyar (Madras, 1907), 6.1-2, 5-11, 16-20; see discussion &amacr; Kantapur 41 in Tamil Temple Myths, pp. 337-46. 292 who steals my heart&dquo; enn ullan Icavar kalvan).42 Devotion to the deity is sometimes perceived in antinomian terms, even if the bhakti movements historically have tended rather to reinforce than to undermine social norms; thus Siva is seen as a wild bandit who preys upon the devotee, and the love which the latter feels for the god threatens to break through all of society’s barriers. The same term (ullail kavaY ka!va1J) is used pointedly to describe Visnu as Kallappiran-Coranatha,43 thus fusing the metaphorical and the mythic usages; the Vaisnava poet-saints are no less fond of referring to their god as a thief than are their Saiva counterparts.44 But it is, of course, Krsna-especially the young Krsna, the butter-thief and, slightly older, the cowherd who hides the goots; saris--who merits the title of robber or bandit.45 Here again one finds the notion of divinity as transcending order and as exemplifying the wild love ( preman) opposed to structure, sanity, and control. What is perhaps most striking in all this is the interesting possibility that emerges for imitatio Dei. If god is a bandit, to rob is divine-especially if one robs in the name or interests of the deity. Thus Manikkavacakar can spend his king’s funds on various pious purposes, and the treasurer of Krsnadevar5ya empties the king’s treasury to build a temple at Lepdk Si.46 More remarkable still is the story of Tirumailkaiyälvär as it appears in the later Vaisnava hagiographic literature (and as distinct from what may be deduced about the real biography of this poet).4; Tirumafikaiyalvar is said to have been a highwayman who robbed travellers in order to defray the expense of feeding 1008 Vaisnavas each day; who stole the golden image of the Buddha in Nqkapattinam ; and who even waylaid and despoiled the great god Visnu himself. Tirumailkaiyälvä is, of course, one of the great poets of South Indian Vaisnava bhalcti; we thus see in his case the convergence of three basic rolesbandit, poet, and devotee. ram 1.1-10. &amacr; 42 Tev Tiruñ&amacr;nacampantar, r irukkir n r: &amacr; ullan kavar kalvan ana parant 43 n kallappir ma &amacr; kavum ni &amacr;n&amacr; op. cit., m&amacr;n, P&amacr;skarat T&omacr;ntai- p. 201. See, e.g., the verse of Namm&amacr;lv&amacr;r cited by A.K. Ramanujan, "The Relevance of South 44 Asian Folklore," ms. 1979, p. 63. In the &amacr; vat & m Ir ram amacr; (1.611), R&amacr;ma is described by the lovesick Sit&amacr; as a thief who entered her by way of her eyes and robbed her of her feminine modesty. See J. Hawley, "Thief of Butter, Thief of Love," History of Religions 18 (1979), pp. 20345 Gujarati temple myth relates how Krsna helped his devotee Bodana steal his (Krsna’s) image from the temple in Dv&amacr;rak&amacr;: D.F. Pocock, Mind, Body and Wealth: A Study of Belief and Practice in an Indian Village (Oxford, 1973), pp. 106-107. This story is perfectly in harmony with Krsna’s character. aiytarpuranam of Parañcotimunivar, cantos, 58-60; N. Ramesan, Temples and l Tiruvi 46 Legends of Andhra Pradesh (Bombay, 1962), pp. 40-41. For the traditional account, see Alkondavilli Govindacarya, The Holy Lives of the Azhvars 47 or the Dravida Saints (Mysore, 1902), pp. 164ff; Cu. A. Ir&amacr;mac&amacr;mip Pulavar, Merkol vilakka akaravaricai (Madras, 1963), 2:595; and cf. F.E. Hardy, Emotional Krsna Bhakti, Diss., Oxford, 1976, pp. 320-21. 20. A 293 The association of banditry and poetry may derive in part from what might be called the &dquo;liminal&dquo; nature of both. The role of the bandit as an exemplar of disorder and of a rather violent freedom-these &dquo;outer&dquo; features which are nevertheless recognized and incorporated by the social order-may put him in touch with the mysterious forces seeking expression in poetry. Thus we find other poet-figures, among them the outstanding example of Vyasa, the supposed composer of the Mahäbhárata, defined as descendents or mixed unions and hence of anomalous status (like the Kallar claiming descent from Brahmin-Ksatriya hypogamy).48 In any case, the association is confirmed by the popular tradition which makes Valmiki-author of the Rämåyaua and, according to tradition, the very first poet (adikavi)--a hunter-bandit. Vdlmiki waylays hapless travellers in order to support his wife and children, until one day one of his victims (in some versions, the Seven Sages) proves to him that his family refuses to share any part of the burden of evil he is accumulating; shocked by this revelation, Valmiki allows himself to be given a malltra (the word mard, the name of a tree which figures in the Rqma story); as he r~:peats this mantra incessantly, over a period of many years, the word turns into &dquo;Rama,&dquo; and an anthill grows over the immobile bandit-devotee-whence his name, Valmiki (valmika, anthill) .49 This story stresses the poet’s transition from the violent life of a bandit to the saintly role of a sage; it remains significant that the tradition identifies its first poet as a bandit. The Hero of Maturai With these associations in mind, we may now turn to the MatLlYalVlraCZl1’Cljiilkatai and its hero, Maturaiviran. Although this hero lacks certain features we would expect from a South Indian bandit-he is not a member of a banditcaste, lives in towns rather than the wilderness, does not prey upon travellers -he does exemplify many of the traits we have been discussing: the identification as a hero connected to disorder and violent force; the tendency to See the discussion in Shulman, "The Enemy Within." On the concept of liminality: 48 Victor Turner, The Ritual Process (Chicago, 1969). The Suta and M&amacr;gadha—the "charioteers" and bards who are the keepers of tradition in ancient India—are also defined as descendents of hypogamous unions. A partial parallel to the idea of the bandit as liminal culture-carrier may be seen in the Talmudic sage Resh Lakish, who began his carrier as a bandit ): listim see ( Baba Metzi’a 84a. m a tmar &amacr; Adhy 49 & yana amacr; 2.6 64ff, cited by Helmuth von Glasenapp, "Zwei Philosophische Ramayanas," Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur in Mainz, Abhandlungen der Geistes- und Sozial-wissenschaftlichen Klasse, Wiesbaden, 1951, no. 6, p. 499; cf. Merkol vilakka akaravaricai, 2:993-5; for a delightful modern version, R.K. Narayan, Gods, Demons and Others (Mysore, 1973), pp. 126-135. A brief version, which makes V&amacr;lmiki a hunter nkntar valakkam, ed. T. Chann veta without referring to his bandit’s role, appears in Ceya ( n) drasekharan (Madras, 1955), verse 1 with commentary (p. 3). The story is absent from the &amacr; V k i lm yana. &amacr;m&amacr; ir cf. MBh. (SR) 13.24.6-8 (V&amacr;lmiki accused of Brahminicide). 294 plunder and steal (both money or goods and, especially, women); a social role which pits him in interesting ways against the king; the symbolism of the gatekeeper-guard; the attribution of divinity with all its accompanying ambivalence and tension. Maturaiviran belongs, moreover, in a category which includes other &dquo;disreputable&dquo; divinc heroes and thieves such as Kdttavardyan and Cutalaimdtan (the latter more localized in his fame). Maturaivlran is worshipped today in shrines throughout the Tamil area, often as an attendant or gatekeeper of the village goddess, sometimes in connection with another god. 50 His story is told in the quasi-literary poetic style of much popular narrative in Tamil, replete with colloquialisms, formulae, and other signs of an oral milieu; the version I have used5’ runs to approximately 2,200 lines. The poem purports to describe events which occurred in the seventeenth century, during the rule in Maturai of the famous Tirumalai Nayakkar (16231659). The story may be briefly summarized as follows: Tulacimakarajan, the righteous king of K~i~i, had no children. He worshipped Visvanatha (Siva in Kasi) and performed the pious acts recommended by his Brahmin advisers; Siva was pleased and granted him a son. But no sooner was the child born than the king’s astrologer predicted that, if the baby were allowed to remain in his home, the entire kingdom would perish. The griefstricken king reluctantly ordered his son to be carried on a golden platter, honoured by soldiers, musicians and dancers, to the forest and abandoned there. The child was deposited at the base of a tree. Soon a serpent was attracted by his cries; the serpent prophecied a great future for the child-at the age of 10 he would defeat an entire army; he would rule Maturai after routing the Kallar; he would reach a great station. because of women, and would be worshipped at the feet of the goddess MindksT. Each day this serpent brought amrta to sustain the baby, until one day he was found by a Cakkili woman (a member of the Untouchable caste of leather-workers and shoemakers). She took him home to her husband, who rejoiced with her at this gift of a child by Siva; they called a carpenter to make him a cradle, and they brought the child up according to the proper way. Eventually, however, word spread that the king’s son was growing up in the house of an Untouchable shoemaker. When the Cakkili foster-parents heard that the king had learned of this, they fled with the child to another land, were Pommana Näyakkan the Tottiyan52 was ruling. The father joined the See Whitehead, op. cit., pp. 25, 33, 89, 92, 113. To cite one example of his appearance in 50 other shrines: in the small shrine of Mannaticuvarar-&Sacute;iva at Tirumullaiv&amacr;yil (outside the main Brahminical shrine at this spot), one finds an image of &Sacute;iva, with Pillaiy&amacr;r on the right and the goddess and Natar&amacr;ja to the left; behind them is a portrait of Maturaiviran with a single bride. Published by &Amacr;r. Ji. Pati Kampeni (Madras, 1972). 51 The Tottiyar are Telugu-speaking agriculturists settled in the Tamil country; their caste 52 295 ranks of the king’s servant-guards. Meanwhile the child was growing up into a strong and fearless lad who roamed the forests hunting bears, tigers, lions, and elephants. One day his father was sent to guard the daughter of Pommana Nayakkan; the girl had just reached puberty and was secluded in a hut at the edge of the town during the period of her impurity. But Varuna sent a great storm which darkened the entire universe, and the old Cakkiliyan was reluctant to go to his post. His son volunteered to take his place. There he succeeded in seducing the girl, Po mmiyammal, after claimng her fears by revealing his original, royal birth; convinced that he was not, after all, an Untouchable, P6mmi embraced him as her husband and her god. Our hero, Maturaiviran, remained at his’post as P6mmi’s guardian. Secretly he brought her a wedding-chain (tdli) and married her in the presence of the gods. He also made her a pair of fine slippers (mitiyati) according to the craftsmanship standards of Maturai (maturaivelai). After thirty days, P6mmi’s father sent a procession to bring his daughter back to the palace. They burned her hut and took P6mmi home, while the Cakkiliyar blew horns and beat drums and servant-girls waved lights to ward off the evil eye. Pommanan gave a great feast in celebration of this occasion. But that night Maturaiviran longed for Pommi. Taking the form of a fly, he flew past the guards and entered the palace through the eaves under the roof. Once inside, he resumed his proper form and embraced his beloved. Taking a thousand gold coins, a tent (kü{äram), and the king’s horse, they evaded the guards and fled together into the night. In the morning, when Pommanan discovered that his daughter was missing, he gathered an army to pursue her. They encountered a shepherd (attitaiyan) who pointed the way, and thus they soon came upon the lovers encamped in the dry bed of the Kaveri River. P6mmi pleaded with Maturaiviran not to kill her father, but to no avail: the hero annihilated the entire army 13 and then, refusing to regard Pommanan as his father-in-law (mäl11aIJ), slew him with his sword. He returned smiling to the tent and informed P6mmi of her father’s death; together they burned the body and performed the proper rites. Maturaiviran and his bride then moved on to Tiruccirappalli, where they were welcomed by the king, Vijayarankacokkalinkam. The king took Maturaiviran into his service as a gatekeeper at the entrance to the palace, for a title is N&amacr;yakkan, and they may be descended from soldiers of the N&amacr;yak kings of Vijayanagar. See Thurston, op. cit., 7: 183-97. Thurston notes (p. 191) the custom whereby a Tottjyan girl upon attaining puberty is kept in a separate hut watched by a Cakkiliyan; see the summary of our text, below. Stein notes that Tottiyan is a generic term for Telugu-speaking groups in Tamil Nadu: Burton Stein, "Temples in Tamil Country, 1300-1750 A.D." in Stein (ed.), op. cit., p. 35 n. 5. m (p. 44). &amacr; The (Muslim?) soldiers of Pommanan die with the cry kip 33 &amacr; cal c 296 salary of a thousand gold coins a month. The hero lived happily in the city; he dressed well, rode elephants or horses, seduced chaste wives, and worshipped the god Srirankanatar. But one day the king was told of the depredations of the wild Kallar in his kin2,dom: they would rob pilgrims to the shrine of Alakar;54 they despoiled the peasants and brought agriculture and commerce to a standstill. The king sent Maturaiviran with 5000 troops to the south to subdue the unruly Kallar. Maturaiviran, the plundering hero (kollai honta viraiya1j), toured the districts south of Tiruccirappalli, exacting tribute and service from the various men of power (palaiyalclccerar).5J When he arrived at the banks of the Vaikai River, in the territory of Tirumalai Nayakkar, he was summoned to the court of the latter in Maturai. He discussed with Tirumalai Nayakkar his mission of subduing the Kallar; the ruler of Maturai kept him and his wife as honoured guests in the palace. One day the Kallar descended with their boomerang-like weapons (valai tati) upon the bazaar in Maturai; as they were in the midst of robbing the merchants, the alarm reached Maturaiviran. He hastened to the northern gate of the city, where he fellupon the thieves as a lion attacks a herd of elephants. The Kallars perished. Tirumalai Nayakkar was delighted by this victory. He sent a thousand dancing-girls (tdtiyar) to welcome back the hero; and Maturaiviran fell in love with one of them, Vellaiyammal. That night he attempted to steal her away from her station in front of the shrine of Minaksi. But the guards caught him at the gate: &dquo;A Kallar has come here in disguise,&dquo; they cried. Maturaiviran said nothing, for he was thinking: &dquo;The evil of stealing the chaste woman (pattilJJ) has borne fruit.&dquo; He was brought before Tirumalai Ndyakkar, who failed to recognize him because of his disguise; he ordered him punished by having him taken to the forest, where his arm and leg were amputated. The dancing-girl Vellaiyammal sought him out there and wept over him: since he had touched her, his sorrow was hers, and she would die with him. P6mmiyammal also heard the lamentations and rushed to the forest to behold her dying husband. By now the true identity of the &dquo;thief&dquo; was known; Tirumalai Nayakkar, stricken with remorse, prayed to the goddess Min-dksi to restore his hero to health. His prayer was granted; the arm and leg of Maturaiviran grew back by the command of the goddess. But Maturaiviran now ran to tell Tirumalai Nayakkar of his resolve to die: life was inconstant as a bubble; he would give up his life in accordance with the fate decreed by God. With the consent of the king, his two wives, P6mmiyammdl and Vellaiyammal, entered a fire-pit and were consumed. Then Maturaiviran bathed in the local landlords and Presumably, Kallalakar of Tirum&amacr;liruñcolai (mentioned earlier because of his affinity 54 with the Kallar). I delete the detailed description of his reception by these "poligars," though it may be 55 noted in passing that these pages are an excellent source for the system of collection and service of this period in Tamil Nadu. 297 P6rrdmarai Tank and, standing at the feet of the goddess Min5ksl, cut his throat with a little knife. His head fell at Mindksi’s feet. When, after three days, no worship had yet been offered to the dead hero, he complained to Minäkcï: &dquo;The people of the city are not supporting me.&dquo; At her suggestion, he appeared as an Untouchable (totti) in a dream to Tirumalai Nayakkar; he also prowled around the city during the night, causing havoc. In the morning, the king prostrated himself before C6kkar (Siva in Maturai) and Mindksi; they informed him that the trouble was due to the neglect of Maturaiviran’s worship. So Tirumalai Nayakkar built a nzandapa for the hero and devoted 500 gold coins for his daily worship. Maturaiviran took possession of one of the king’s servants and announced his satisfaction. Thus the worship of Maturaiviran was established in Maturai. When a son was born to Tirumalai Ndyakkar, he was given the name Animuttuviran in honour of the hero. . Remnant and Centre, Bandit and King Such is the story, in its barest outline; our summary fails to convey more than the simple narrative structure, while for a Tamil audience the power of the poem must derive largely from its texture-the richly colloquial language, the boldness and immediacy of the descriptions (including the unusually frank seduction-scenes, which are moments of high narrative tension), the stylistic devices which heighten the pathos, humour, and other affective elements in the story. Among the Tamil popular narrative poems, the Maturaiviracuvumikatai is one of the most deserving of translation and close annotation. Yet even in the absence of such a complete version, the above summary reveals several important themes. The following interpretation does not aim to be exhaustive but rather to suggest certain themes which are connected to our major concerns in this paper. (1) One sees, once again, the rooted ambivalence of the guardian. Maturaivir5n is a gatelceeper-watchman-first of Pommiyammal, in his father’s stead; then in the employ of the rulers of Tiruccirappalli and 1~~laturai; finally, of the goddess Mindksi, at whose feet he stands today. Maturaiviran is worshipped at the threshold of many Tamil shrines. But the full force of his ambivalence is clearly expressed in his actions: he seduces and steals the woman he is supposed to be guarding; and, as a disembodied spirit at the entrance to the Minaksi shrine, he preys upon the citizens of Maturai in order to extort offerings from them. This is a guardian who is innately dangerous: one is never sure on which side of the boundary he stands-in the realm of order or of disorder, as protector or plunderer. His identity includes both roles, which seem to alternate rather unpredictably. It appears that he can be held in place, so to speak, only by constant appeasement and worship, i.e. by voluntarily giving up to him the offerings (women, gold, food, honour) which he would 298 forcibly take for himself. By definition a boundary-figure, he knows boundary himself-although he does succumb to a paralyzing consciousness of his own transgressions when he is apprehended with the ravished dancing-girl at the gate of Minaksi’s shrine. All in all, he recalls the symbolism of his Kallar opponents and rivals, with whom Minaksi’s gatekeepers quite understandably identify him. (2) The link between divinity and outrageous heroism is again apparent. Maturaiviran is a quintessential Tamil hero (vira) endowed with a perilous plenitude of power which cannot but spill over the paltry limits set by society. Violence, freedom of action, a contempt for risks and dangerous consequences, a certain hardness of character, the abrogation of boundaries (including, in particular, sexual restrictions)-all these are part of the hero’s nature. They also appear to justify his claim to popular admiration and, ultimately, to divinity. As the poet Kampan says in another context-in describing the otherwise no real power of Rama’s opponent and victim, Valin-&dquo;Who does not love Maturaiviran draws on these connotations of heroism in making the transition from human &dquo;bandit&dquo; to ambivalent god .57 We may note a strikingly similar example in the case of the famous K5rtavirya-Arjuna, the king punished by Parasurama for making off with his father Jamadagni’s cow: Kdrtavirya, an outstanding example of the predatory robber-king, is eventually worshipped as a guardian-deity who offers protection against thieves .5 ’ Although some texts seek to show Kartavirya in a more positive light, as a righteous ruler and partial avatar of Visnu, his emergence as a deity seems more closely related to his inherent ambivalence as a hero and thief. (3) There is, however, another side to Maturaiviran’s divinity. It is not enormous a hero (virar)?&dquo;56 vat 56 & m ram &amacr; Ir amacr; 4.7.67. 57Cf. the cult of the hero-stones mentioned earlier. Many of the Teyyam stories recorded by Kurup follow a similar pattern: op. cit., pp. 59-60, 66-67, 71-72, etc. A narrative sequence nontitakam ("drama similar to that of the Maturaiviran story occurs in several of the Tamil of a cripple") compositions: the hero is apprehended while trying to steal (usually a horse) and is maimed in punishment; he regains the use of his limb by the grace of a deity. See, for takk i C takam. tinontin example, the nontintakam of Manaperum&amacr;l Pulavar, or the Muslim &amacr; Mah&amacr;bh&amacr;rata 3.116-117. See the discussion by Gaya-Charan Tripathi, "The Worship of 58 K&amacr;rtavirya-Arjuna: On the Deification of a Royal Personage in India," JRAS, 1979, no. 1, & K r i rtav yavijayacamp amacr; cf. Takkay kappa&amacr; pp. 37-52, and the sources cited there (including a u); ni of Ottakkuttar (Madras, 1945), comm. to v. 417. The K&amacr;rtavirya myths have been extenn ra sively studied by Madeleine Biardeau, who also suggests that the name of this king may underly that of the Tamil bandit-deity K&amacr;ttavar&amacr;yan (K&amacr;tt&amacr;n): see "Brahmanes combattants dans un mythe du sud de 1 ’Inde," Adyar Library Bulletin 31-32 (1967-68), p. 528; "La Decapinam (Festschrift Kuiper, the &amacr; tation de Renuk&amacr; dans le mythe de Parasur&amacr;ma" in Pratid na &amacr; Hague, 1968), pp. 563-72; "The Story of Arjuna K&amacr;rtavirya without Reconstruction," Pur rata, bh &amacr; 12, 2 (1970), pp. 286-303. See also J.A.B. van Buitenen in his introductions to the Mah Vol. II (Chicago, 1975), pp. 193-95; Vol. III (Chicago, 1978), pp. 142-50. A detailed study of the Tamil K&amacr;ttavar&amacr;yan myths, both in their own right and in the light of the K&amacr;rtavirya materials, is greatly needed. 299 altogether simple to ignore the breaking of a moral barrier, not even in a society which insists that banditry is divine. Hence the moralistic note which creeps into the denouement of our poem: Maturaiviran sees the evil of his ways and accepts his punishment in silence, even reimposes a punishment upon himself after his miraculous cure. But this theme probably goes much deeper. The hero’s transiation to divinity requires his death in a spectacularly selfsacrificing fashion. Indeed, the entire episode of the king’s intervention with the goddess and her response to his prayers seems designed to allow Maturaiviran the possibility of a total, consciously willed renunciation and death. Such self-sacrifice has a double edge to it: on the one hand, it aligns the bandit hero with other &dquo;renunciatory&dquo; figures (e.g. the king, as we shall see); on the other hand, it functions as yet another power ploy, a kind of last-ditch trump card in the hands of the antinomian tragic hero. For the act of self-sacrifice creates a controlled imbalance in the cosmic reckoning; it demands recompense on a higher level, in the form of a more permanent power to extract goods or worship.39 Like any sacrifice, it opens up a gap which must be filled from the other side-in the case of Maturaiviran, through the cooperation of the goddess Minaksi and her people. In this way, by choosing his death and dramatically achieving it, the hero realizes the divine potential which inheres in his human role. There is also a convergence here with the idea, widespread in South Indian village cults, that injustice-especially an injust or premature death-can create the conditions for the worship of the now divinely powerful victim. 60 (4) Note the focus on the woman as the source of conflict. The abduction of Pommiyammal leads to the battle between Pommanan and Maturaiviran and to the death of the former. The attempted rape of V6]laiyammdl brings about Maturaiviran’s punishment and eventual death. The erotic adventures of the hero both symbolize his freedom and pave the way to his ruin. The major theme of forbidden sexual union (between Untouchable male and high-caste female)-here softened by the admission of the hero’s royal birth-recurs in the Kattavarayan story and in many village myths.61 Here is disorder in its supreme affective symbol-the violation of ihe virgin by an untouchable male, at the height of her impurity (first menses). Small wonder that the hero must See Tamil Temple Myths, Chapter V. 59 60 the fine discussion by Richard Brubaker, The Ambivalent Mistress: A Study of South See Indian Village Goddesses and Their Religious Meaning, Diss., University of Chicago, 1978, pp. 86-90, 99-124. The Teyyam stories also include this type, e.g. Kurup, op. cit., pp. 62-64. mi katai (Madras, 1974), passim. &amacr; &amacr; curv K ya &amacr; Brubaker, op. cit., pp. 89-94, 331-59; ttavar 61 K&amacr;ttavar&amacr;yan lusts for &Amacr;riyam&amacr;lai, the daughter of a Brahmin temple-priest ); kurukkal his ( mother, the seductive goddess K&amacr;m&amacr;ksi, sets trials for her son before allowing him to win the girl. Like Maturaiviran, K&amacr;ttavar&amacr;yan undergoes a self-sacrificing death and becomes a gatekeeper-figure. Cf. G. Oppert, On the Original Inhabitants of Bharatavarsa or India (Westminster, 1893), pp. 482-83. For an interpretation of the forbidden sexual union, see Tamil Temple Myths, pp. 176-92. 300 pay with his life. The prominence of this theme fits well with the dominant role of the goddess in the Maturaiviran cult: he now guards the shrine which he violated by abducting the dancing-girl of M inaksi. The story fits into a pervasive in Tamil myths, in which a divine protagonist dies in embracing a virgin goddess or in breaking into her sanctuary. At the same time, however, the goddess is the source and guarantor of a transformation toward a higher unity or harmony. Minaksi-or her human representative (pattini), stolen by the hero-accepts his self-sacrifice and thereby effects his transition from the bandit-servant of the king to a divinity worshipped by the king. In other words, the conflict centered on the woman is also in some sense resolved or mediated by the woman, with the help, of course, of the main male figures (the king and Maturaiviran). Dennis Hudson has written cogently of this role of the woman in Tamil myths as the focal point of a unity or balance which is riddled with tension, antagonism, and rivalry. 12 In order to appreciate this structure in our story, we must now return to one of the basic relations mentioned earlier. (5) This is the relation between bandit and king. Maturaiviran is royal by birth, but he is raised by Untouchables, while his career closely resembles that of a Kallar watchman-thief. Much depends here on the interpretation one gives to the theme of the exiled prince. To begin with, this is, of course, a common folklore motif (the prince brought up in humble surroundings, usually in ignorance of his true birth).63 The theme has even been adopted by Indian philosophical schools as a metaphor for the original, forgotten divinity of the soul: like the king’s son (räjaputravat) exiled from the capital and brought up among wild tribes and outcasts, the puiiisa lives in the exile of salJlsåra and is unaware of its true nature.6J. Th~re are other possibilities for interpreting the theme: Blackburn sees here a process of &dquo;puranization&dquo; by which an original Untouchable hero, popular among lower castes and expressing their protest, was made palatable to the Brahmins.6J Maturaiviran’s royal birth would then be a later addition grafted on to the original story and legitimizing it in the eyes of the higher castes, the central motif of the illicit sexual union having in this way been neatly emptied of its horror. Blackburn points out other &dquo;puranic&dquo; features of the text and cites parallel instances of popular texts &dquo;revised&dquo; according to high-caste pressures. Nevertheless, the relation which is established by our text through the use of this theme-the king’s son who acts for all the world like the Untouchables who reared him-is by Dennis Hudson, "&Sacute;iva, Min&amacr;ksi, Visnu—Reflections on a Popular Myth in Madurai" 62 in Stein (ed.), op. cit., pp. 107-18. Cf. J.C. Heesterman, "Kautalya and the Ancient Indian State," Wiener Zeitschrift fur die Kunde Les Süd-und Ostasiens 15 (1971), pp. 12-15. Stith Thompson, Motif-Index of Folk Literature (Copenhagen, 1955-58), motifs p. 31, 63 p. 35, H. 41.5. Cf. the Sippurei Maasiyot of Rabbi Nahman of Bratzlav, story 11. See H. Zimmer, Philosophies of India (Princeton, 1969), pp. 308-09. 64 Blackburn, "Folk Hero," pp. 143-44. 65 301 devoid of meaning. Rather, we seem to have here a structural relation no less &dquo;loaded&dquo; with significance than the celebrated conjuction of Brahmins and Untouchables. 66 Without seeking to be deliberately paradoxical, I suggest that we may formulate the relation King-Untouchable/bandit under three headings-opposition, identity, and complementarity. Let us take them one by one. Opposition is much the easiest and requires little comment. In India as in the West, the king opposes bandits as order struggles against disorder. Even if, as we have seen, the bandit has a recognized place in the social scheme, the king will attempt to contain him. Thus, in our text, we find the contest between the Kallar raiders and the forces or order embodied in Maturaiviran as representative of the rulers of Tiruccirappalli and Maturai. On the other hand, Maturaiviran is himself the bandit who attempts to steal a woman and is punished accordingly by the king. In caste terms, the king is high, the bandit low (even an Outcaste); there is a clear polarization between them. Identity simultaneously permeates their relationship. One can observe this in many ways-the royal birth of our bandit-hero; the royal titles which the text constantly gives him; the attributes he shares with the king, notably the role of protection which is the central task of the ruler67 and the basic reliance on brute force. Let us recall the comparison of kings and robbers as stated by Coranatha-Visnu in Srivaikuntam: both take money by force.s8 Kings and bandits share the use, and the misuse, of power. It is in this light that we see Maturaiviran high-handedly exacting tribute from the &dquo;poligars&dquo; south of Tiruccirappalli; theoretically, he represents that city’s king, but in reality he seems to be acting for himself. Is he king or bandit here? Both, it would seem, for the two are intertwined. There is something royal in the bandit- as one learns from the tradition of royal descent kept aiive by the Kallar, Maravar. and Akampatiyar. There is also a great deal of the bandit in the king. We might say that the bandit gives expression to the real ambivalence of power; he &dquo;lives through&dquo; the latent violence, the spontaneity and instability, the recurring impurity which theory attempts to deny the ideal king. Divinity also lurks in both figures: we have seen how it is attached to the bandit, while the king claims it by virtue of his role, irrespective of his original caste-uccvisnachprthil’zpati(z there is no king who is not divine.69 no means See the discussion in my "The Enemy Within." Note that 66 even after Maturaiviran’s death, he takes the form of an Untouchable when he appears in Tirumalai N&amacr;yakkar’s dream. 67 &amacr; 1.119; Manu 7.3. Y jñavalkya See n. 9 above. Tirukkural 552 equates the king who asks for money from his people with 68 the bandit who robs wayfarers. And cf. &amacr; akacint of Tiruttakatevar, v. 741, and the i C mani II (Madras, 1953), discussion of this verse by U. Ve. C&amacr;minataiyar, Ni aivu mañeari n pp. 106-113. V. 69 Raghavan, "Variety and Integration in the Pattern of Indian Culture,’’ Far Eastern Quarterly 15 (1956), p. 499; cf. J.C. Heesterman, "The Conundrum of the King’s Authority" in J.F. Richards (ed.), Kingship Authority in South Asia (Madison, 1978). 302 If so much is shared, in what ways arc the two figures distinct? The relations of opposition and identity issue into complementary symbolic roles. On a superficial level, one can see this complementarity in the professed relation of hierarchy and service: Maturaiviran claims to be the servant of the king (Pommanan, Vijayarankacokkalinkam, Tirumalai Ndyakkar), from whom he derives his authority; the king, for his part, receives the benefits of service (suppression of the Kallar; a share in the tribute exacted from local landlords). Yet we have seen how readily the servant merges with the rival; the hero’s subordination to the king is always problematic, always in danger of dissolving into equality and opposition. Complementarity is nevertheless affirmed in subtler ways. We might formulate this relation as expressive of two distinct notions of transcendence which reveal the higher and lower limits of the society. The king, who is so closely identified with the community that his freedom of action is seriously impaired,’° desperately seeks a transcendent source for his authority; he finds it, on the one hand, in his relation with the Brahmins, and, on the other, in imitating the renunciatory aspects of the Brahmins himself. This association of the king with renunciation is apparent already in Kautalya71 and may go back to the king’s identity as the d~Itsita committed to ascetic practices ;7.~ it reappears in the epic figures, e.g. Yudhisthira who longs for the freedom of release, and in the myths of the &dquo;first kings&dquo; who renounced the world and their kingdoms with it.’3 We should note that this aspect of the king has an echo in Maturaiviran’s self-sacrificing death, which is even framed by the language of nifyf and 177oksa; again the king and the bandit have coalesced. In general, however, the bandit represents the transcendence associated with disorder and impurity. His true home is the dangerous wilderness which threatens to engulf the settled world of city and village but which also imparts vitality to that world. The difficulty here is that these two kinds of transcendence tend to merge with one another; the upper and lower limits are uncannily close. 74 The freedom and wholeness of release are theoretically opposed to but in reality not far removed from the wild breaking down of barriers associated with the disorderly bandit or thief. The relation we are describing could be formulated in the language of Indian symbols as the classical tension between the centre and the remnant or remainder. The centre, basically pure, linked by the axis mundi with the transcendent worlds above and below, integrates the scattered segments into a unified whole; the centre contains the totality while it holds conflicting forces 70 see also J. C. Heesterman, "Power and Authority in Indian Tradition" ; Ibid. (cd.), Tradition and Politics in South Asia (Delhi, 1979), pp. 60-85. stra 1.6; cf. Heesterman, "Kautalya," p. 9; Manu 7.44-51. s&amacr; Artha 71 Heesterman, "Conundrum." 72 in R.J. Moore rata 12.59.87ff. One thinks also of Dasaratha’s eagerness for renunciation, bh &amacr; Mah 73 echoed by R&amacr;ma: Kampan, vataram &amacr; 2.1.16-31, 2.3.293-5. m &amacr; Ir See "The Enemy Within" for a fuller discussion of this fusion. 74 303 in balanced suspension. In Hindu mythology, this concept is often represented by the god Visnu. The remnant, on the other hand, is impure and dynamic; as leavings, it can only be dangerously impure, yet it constitutes the seed of a new birth. Siva, or his antecedent Rudra, the sacrificial butcher, is the god of the remnant. Centre and remnant stand apart, opposed, yet each partakes of the other’s nature-the centre is also, in a sense, left over or set apart from all other points, while the remnant has the essential wholeness of the centre, the possibility of generating an entire universe. Each can easily become the other.&dquo; The same logic underlies the close affinity between bandit and king. The king is identified with the center, the balancing-point of conflict and tension; as we have seen, he is equated with the whole community. The bandit is the remnant which is both excluded and somehow incorporated, even sought after and worshipped as divine. Both identities, moreover, interpenetrate and merge. One wonders if this kind of complexity is not, indeed, characteristic of symbolic identities in India generally. Opposite poles are joined in tense amalgams felt to constitute a unity, and the result is an unending oscillation, an alternation of contending phases, or a simultaneous multiplicity of meanings. One thinks, for example, of the cosmic Purusa, at once officiant, victim, and recipient of the sacrifice;&dquo;6 or of Siva, swinging madly from violent lust to violent asceticism; or of the Hindu androgyne, in which masculine and feminine identities are merged in creative conflict.&dquo; The concept of the king seems no less complex than these examples. We may also seek here an explanation of what could be called the &dquo;neurotic&dquo; side of South Indian kingship, i.e. the compulsive righteousness and responsibility demanded of the ideal king. The king bears a unique responsibility for the rule of dharma in his kingdom; any infraction of the rules-which may be revealed by an untimely death, disease, lack of rainfall, or a variety of other disasters which can hardly have been rare in any historical Indian kingdom-is immediately laid at his door. Hence the appallingly severe standards of personal conduct applied to the king. Rama stands out as the classic exemplar of this ideal carried to its farthest See D. Shulman, "The Green Goddess of Tirumullaiv&amacr;yil," East and West, in press. 75 Both centre and remnant have important corresponding elements in the Brahminical sacrificial system. Similarly, the common identification of &Sacute;iva and Visnu as aspects or representatives of one another in puranic texts is not always a result of sectarian "one-upmanship" but may reflect an underlying reality of shared identities. RV 10.90; cf. the verse which makes the gods both celebrants and recipients of the 76 sacrifice; RV 10.164.50; Heesterman, "Conundrum," at n. 19. Cf. D. Shulman, "Imperfect Paradise: Some Uses of the Androgyne," to appear in a 77 volume edited by R. Brubaker on sexuality and religion in India. On "correlative opposites" as "essential relationships" in Hindu mythology, see Wendy Doniger O’Flaherty, Asceticism and Eroticism in the Mythology of &Sacute; iva (Oxford, 1973), p. 34. Opposites may thus polarize precisely because of their inherent proximity and attraction—a principle systematically exploited by Hindu Tantric schools, 304 limits, for example in his banishment of Sitd in response to his citizens’ slanderous gossip about her. The Sanskrit poet Bhavabhuti shows, in a pathos- laden scene, Rama’s agony over what he knows to be Sita’s totally unmerited Rama has no real choice: he must preserve a state punishment.18 Apparently, of utter blamelessness, leaving no room for error or reproach. But it is perhaps significant that, having determined to exile Sit5, our ideal ruler falls into blame and self hatred-he calls himself a horrifying monspoisonous tree, a criminal, even an Untouchable Candala. In this rather startling scene, the ruler’s unflinching, self-abnegating righteousness ironically brings out his darker aspect or, perhaps, what may be seen as the tragic side of dharmic kingship; the personal cost of too much dlzarnaa is a kind of evil. More generally, one senses here a profound ambivalence based on the reality of kingship. Put somewhat differently, the king must hold relentlessly to a severe ideal of righteousness lest he stand revealed in his inner nature as a paroxysm of self ter, no a better than the bandit whom he knows to be his alter ego. The What infer about Kingdom of Disorder social order conceived along these lines? First, we incorporates disorder. The state may, in fact, be said to be founded on the principle of inherent internal conflict. Far from excluding violence and disruption, the state organizes itself around them. Disorder is an integral constituent of the existing order: we find castes of dacoits given a recognized place, both geographically and socially; the king’s servants-whether guards or tax-collectors, or combinations can we a must note the extent to which the South Indian state of such roles-are bandits. One is reminded here of Augustine’s famous description of the state as &dquo;a great robber-band--for robber-bands, what are they but little states?&dquo;19 What is striking about the South Indian case is the way this concept is integrated and expressed on the symbolic level, as it is in social reality. Thus the European description of the bandit as an &dquo;outlaw,&dquo; with both positive and negative connotations, seems hardly to apply to South India, where bandits are, if anything, &dquo;inlaws&dquo;&horbar;however troublesome or dangerous they may be for any given kingdom.10 Despite the threat he poses to settled life, the bandit is no less a part of the social order than is his mirror-image, the king. He can be controlled only to the extent that he is allowed to fulfil his normal role, which will bring him a tangible, but of course unspecified, portion of wealth. He is a representative of the chaotic &dquo;outside&dquo; brought macarita, &amacr; Uttarar 78 Act I (from verse 40 onwards). Cited by P. Spear, Twilight of the Mughuls: Studies in Late Mughul Delhi (Cambridge, 79 1951), p. 126. R.E. Frykenberg has applied the image of the robber-band to South Indian society generally: "Traditional Processes of Power in South India: An Historical Analysis of Local Influence," Indian Economic and Social History Review 1, n. 2 1963), pp. 122-42. J am indebted to Henry Abramowitz for this formulation. 80 305 into the heart of the traditional order as one of its defining elements; nor is he alone in his unruly role. Rather, the bandit takes his place in a wider series of seemingly antinomian social types, among whom we may even find, at times, the king, the central embodiment of &dquo;inner&dquo; order. Naturally, this makes for a highly fragmented, internally divided polity. This is, indeed, what one finds in analyses of various South Indian systems: thus Dennis Hudson describes Tamil kinship patterns in terms of a &dquo;tension-ridden unity&dquo; of rival, interdependent lineages;81 Peter Claus portrays Tulu society as organized around servitude, on the one hand, and fierce antagonisms and rivalry on the other;82 Richard Brubaker, discussing South Indian village cults, speaks of a &dquo;dialectic of attraction and repulsion&dquo; between the forces of order and disorder, in this case the goddess and the demons who show both an &dquo;extreme polarization&dquo; and a &dquo;hidden affinity.&dquo;83 Classical North Indian texts, from the Arthasåstra on, reveal a similar consciousness of the strife-ridden nature of the political order, as can be seen, for example, by the role given to the enemy or rival as one of the constituent elements of the polity-just as the South Indian bandit is seen as necessary to the kingdom’s structure. 84 Secondly, a rooted ambivalence attaches to central figures in the social order, notably the Brahmin, whom we cannot discuss here, but also, as we have seen, the king. From behind the mask of the perfect monarch, rigidly applying the dharmic rules, the bandit-rival stares out at us. Bandit and king are bound together in the kind of intimate conflict that seems to be a recurrent feature of symbolic identities in South India. This ambivalence within the individual persona corresponds to the basic ambivalence of the social order itself, which has incorporated its own antithesis.85 Finally, the functional equivalents of these views can be seen in the diffusion of power and the basic weakness of the centre. The king is less a source of compelling power and creative direction of affairs than the focus of a delicate balance, the embodiment of the community’s consensus, which finds expression in his powers of arbitration.86 This consensus is, moreover, primarily achieved Hudson, "&Sacute;iva, Visnu, Min&amacr;ksi," p. 115. 81 Peter J. Claus, "Oral Traditions, Royal Cults and Materials for a Reconsideration of the 82 Caste System in South India," Journal of Indian Folkloristics 1 (1979), pp. 18-21. Brubaker, op. cit., p. 292. 83 See s&amacr; 84 Artha 6.2.13-40. stra Brubaker, op. cit., discusses ambivalence as an inherent feature—perhaps an organizing 85 principle — of South Indian village cults; it would seem to be an essential characteristic of South Indian symbolic systems generally. See Heesterman, "Conundrum," Arjun Appadurai and Carol Appadurai Breckenridge, 86 "The South Indian Temple: Authority, Honour, and Redistribution," Contributions to Indian n.s. 10 (1976), pp. 187-211, where the king’s role, at least vis-a-vis the temple and the conflicts centred upon it, is shown to be not legislative but administrative. On the symbolic plane, one could go so far as to question the very existence of a single centre: each point can become in turn the centre in relation to other points; every ruler is a universal monarch, each &amacr; of Indra, every shrine a Kail&amacr;sa, But this is the subject of a separate study. court the sabh Sociology, 306 through conflict. The king’s role is inherently agonistic, in that it pits him against an endless series of potential rivals and replacements, each with his own claim to legitimacy and equal power. For his part, the king is forced to prove his own claim again and again, in various fields of activity-on the battlefield, in expeditions of plunder, in his court, in the temple, in the sacrificial arena; his &dquo;coronation&dquo; is always less of a defined moment marking a real beginning than a temporary, symbolic triumph over the forces arrayed against him, a triumph which, indeed, has to be periodically renewed. Even if a strong king manages to entrench his position enough to secure a steady flow of resources, either through conquest or collection, he seems compelled always to disperse these same resources (in gifts to Brahmins, shrines, sectarian leaders, and other figures,87 or in buying off his rivals) in order to enhance his own authority. The enormous corpus of South Indian inscriptions bears eloquent testimony to this presistent need of the ruler to divest himself of resources. The more general trend is, in any case, to leave collection of the king’s share in the hands of the king’s bandit-like servants and rivals-as in the case of Maturaiviran. In short, at no point does the centre seem capable of accumulating an enduring surplus and thus of shoring up its position vis-avis the web of interlocking rivalries within which the king is caught. Power is concentrated only in momentary spurts in the hands of the king; he himself often promotes its diffusion throughout the system. Why this should be so, or rather should have remained so, is a problem requiring further analysis; the relation of the king and the Brahmin is no doubt crucial here, as is, perhaps, the seemingly fundamental attack on the ruler’s legitimacy. The symbolism of the South Indian bandit is but one expression of this persistent pattern. See Arjun Appadurai, "Kings, Sects and Temples in South India, 1350-1700 A.D." in 87 (ed.), op. cit., pp. 47-73; George W. Spencer, "Religious Networks and Royal Influence Stein in Eleventh Century South India," JESHO 12, 1 (1969), pp. 42-56.

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On South Indian Bandits and Kings

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