Anbe Sivam
Dear relatives*
As a conservationist,
I have requested President Chinnadurai to forward my paper to you electronically and print copies for only those of you who are not so connected. This way you may also have a little more time to read it before the conference.
I look forward to meeting you all.
Arun Senkuttuvan
Restricted
A discussion paper for circulation strictly among Nagarathar
Prepared for the International Convention of Nagarathar organized by the Malaysian Thanavaisya Association 08 December 07
* Ukkandhu pesinaa yellorum sondhamthaan, my grandfather (an old Malayan hand) used to say.
Nagarathar's culture, tradition and values: Are they headed for extinction?
Arun Senkuttuvan
Probably. Unless some serious efforts are made now to reverse a few trends. That is my(i) short answer.
Culture
A conveniently short definition of culture would be the universal human capacity to codify and communicate communities experiences symbolically. As a rule, archaeologists focus on material culture whereas social anthropologists focus on social interactions, status and institutions, and cultural anthropologists on norms and values. While the different approaches reflect the practical need to focus research, they do not necessarily represent a theory of culture that conceptually distinguishes the material, the social or the normative.
Nagarathar's material culture is perhaps the most easily identified. The houses where most of them lived until recently, the town planning of the 96 villages where they lived, the temples they built or preserved and adorned, and the artifacts they possess stand testimony to an ancient and rich heritage.
Most of the temples built by them are still in their control and are likely to survive longer than many other aspects of their culture provided four very recent trends are reversed. These are:
The temples that Nagarathar adorned and helped to preserve, like Madurai Meenatchi Amman Temple, are in greater danger as they have no control over their management. Even in instances where they presumed to have some influence, they have not been able to remove the numerous shops that have encroached considerable spaces, often with temporary–in- name–but–permanent–in–reality structures thereby causing havoc to the original structures and vandalizing some sumptuous sculptures, or to prevent socially unconscious padayatrigarkal from urinating on or close to the temple walls, or to keep heavy truck traffic away from the walls of the temple. I shall dwell a little more on the example of Meenatchi Amman Temple as I believe its significance for Nagarathar is more than just religious. When the Vainagaram family decided to undertake the major renovation, erection of a main gopuram and a most intensely decorated mandapam, at least one senior member of the family might have said to himself "Since one of our ancestors over–reacted to the injustice done to her husband and burnt this city down, let's build some parts of the temple to reflect the best of Tamil architecture and sculpture as no great Pandiyan king is left to undertake that task." What the Vainagaram family accomplished is nothing less than the best of its kind in the world. However, when you enter the mandapam today, your aesthetic sensibilities will be shattered to no end. Hundreds of disturbed devotees who are desperate to commit any absurd act suggested to them in a temple will be throwing little balls of butter at immaculately and intricately sculptured pillars. No thakkar of nagarathar origin has been able to throw out the clever vendor of butter sitting there relishing the desecration. If you move to the nearby potramarai kulam you will be assaulted further by the sight of a water supply or treatment plant that looks more like a sewerage plant. It carries a prominent advertisement as to which bank installed it. The bank was founded by a Chettiar and his grandson was still in control of it when the monstrosity was erected.
Habitat
The Chettinadu House, with a capital H, deserves a place in any textbook on human habitat. The core design was ideally suited to the environment it was built on (with its thick walls and air wells that kept the rooms almost air- conditioned in the modern sense throughout the year) and entirely environment–friendly (with built–in rainwater harvesting long before the phrase was coined in the English language, and a kitchen garden). They were, of course, built to suit the culture of the community at its zenith joint or extended families that needed some privacy and at the same time preferred to share with and protect each other, both culturally and physically. My impression is that more than half of these houses have disappeared in the last 50 years or are about to collapse. Hardly one per cent of the original units are likely to survive the youngest participant today. Some of the remaining classics could be saved through counseling and real estate investment trusts (REITs) or co–operatives or some other innovative financing scheme. Such effort would require only a couple of the numerous financial wizards in the community to spare some time in consultation with architects and town planners like Datuk P Kasi, who is also an extraordinarily successful entrepreneur, and Kamalahasan Ramasamy of Shanmuganathapuram who has researched the subject.
I do not share the optimism of some members of the community in Tamil Nadu that some of the larger houses would be saved through tourism with government support. A few might well be. However, those few are likely to belong to the very wealthy and well–connected who could preserve them by themselves if they really wished to. The environmental and social costs of promoting tourism in Chettinadu for this or any other reason will be so enormous that any such marginal gains will certainly not be worth it.(ii)
No German or Japanese tourist, especially if he is staying in a boutique hotel, which is now the promoted mode to save some of our houses, is going to visit Chettinadu looking for Thai or French girls and children. He would want the authentic indigenous stuff. How many of them should we press into service? Some hard–headed men among us who have more intimate knowledge of Thailand than I do might point out that almost all brothels in Thailand are owned by Teochews but no worker in any of them beyond the cash desk. is Teochew and ask why can't we do the same thing. While it would be possible for receptionists in Delhi or Mumbai to: promote tourism to a country of vast diversity and offer the tourist on arrival that variety save their sisters and daughters, such branding will not work for small areas like Chettinadu. If you take someone to Gucci–land you have offer him Gucci.
The cruelty of the unthinking promotion of Chettinadu tourism can be felt only if you see the social context. Most of the Nagarathar girls and children now living in Chettinadu are not entirely Gucci in the economic sense and they are the most vulnerable. With notable exceptions, they are there because their ancestral villages are the cheapest places for them to live. However, every one of them is constantly exposed to the dumbing down effects of the popular Tamil media to which all of them seem to have constant access without exception. They know well that the virtues that their grandmothers talked about have nothing to do with the main characters in Sun or Jaya TV serials and for sure, no girl has been proclaimed to have won a place on the cover of any popular Tamil weekly by virtue of such old–fashioned hang–ups. The Tamil culture that these media promote and of which every other politician boasts on a daily basis comfortably coexists with the reality that Tamil Nadu has reported more cases of HIV/Aids than any other state in India, in fact nearly 42 percent of the national total.
Or, if you believe as the media owners certainly do that the cash earned from selling the dog does not bark, you must know that the ecology and layout of Chettinadu villages simply cannot sustain such a water- and transport- intensive industry on a long–term basis.
To rely on any government in India – central or state preserve a house would be rather unwise. Look at the sad state that the Taj Mahal and its environs are in. The Taj is the most publicized icon of India. It is not that the government does not have the money. The government and its airline spend millions of dollars every week advertising it in the most expensive media in the world. Not a tiny fraction of the sum is spent actually maintaining the Taj and its surrounding area. A substantial number of the Indian Administrative Service officers have a sentimental attachment to the Ranganathar Temple in Srirangam, which was once held up as an example of the superior town planning skills of ancient Tamils. The well–connected even secured Unesco funding to restore it. No one entering the temple today would suspect any such connections. Neither can anyone accuse the present generation of municipal administrators of the island of any knowledge of town planning.
The original town planning of Chettinadu villages even extensions up to 1950's like Subramaniapuram of Karaikudi deserves a book of its own. We were a creative class before Richard Florida was born. Our ancestors chose to live in places that were not conducive to making money. The chose to be in places where they liked to be, places that afforded them a unique quality of life, which again is not just about making money but more about the quality of experiences. Bhutan is the land that is credited with the concept of Gross National Happiness. It is possible to argue that our ancestors invented it, as that is what is implied in the design physical and social of Chettinadu. Several hundred years ago, without any subsidy from any government municipal or state the villages were planned entirely by Nagarathar with all the amenities, including separate tanks (oorani) to serve the different needs of the whole village (not just themselves) with well-connected aqueducts from supervised catchment areas, macadamized streets and drains. Every village had a school and a temple, entirely funded by Nagarathar. Every temple had an aghraharam with living quarters for the teacher/s, the priests and temple musicians and some even for whores who were euphemistically and poetically called devaradiyaar. Each village had a kudiyiruppu where the cooks, the drivers (of carts and then cars), the dhoby, the cleaners, the vaidyar (doctor), the mason, the carpenter and the farmers lived. Each village was surrounded by a green belt of gardens or farms. Largely self–contained villages comparable to the luckiest in Italy or Japan. In terms of the extensive planning and construction undertaken to conserve and distribute water (in what must be the driest area of Tamil Nadu with no significant river anywhere in sight) each is a mini–Rome. The structure and tranquility of these villages are now at risk. The causes and possible remedies can be discussed in a separate seminar. Suffice to note here that two of the reasons are indifference on the part of able and honest men and women of our community and complicity of some others in the corruption and incompetence that are enveloping their administration.
Artifacts
Many of the household artifacts produced or commissioned by the community are still around, though not always in the hands of community members. Dealers in second–hand goods. are thriving in Chettinadu. "Chettinadu–origin" is a branding exercise in Chennai and Madurai. I believe that jewelry designed for and by our ancestors are likely to be the longest surviving of our artifacts – however inelegant some of them might be. For the hoarders are unlikely to let go of them. The ease with which they could be protected and monetized will save them.
Some kottans, kadakams (baskets made of palm leaves, often dyed), bags, and pillowcases made with embroidery work, and glassbead curtains still exist. I remember at least six kinds of kottans and of varying sizes and designs. They were all lovingly made by our own young girls and women most of the time to be given away to relatives and guests at functions like vidyarambam (iii), pudumais (celebration of children, both boys and girls) and weddings. In some families, the womenfolk will sit around as a group in the valavu or rendamkattu once or twice a week and design and weave the kottans from leaves they would have dyed themselves or do embroidery work. They would all be seated with their legs together and spine straight yet relaxed, like the all Southeast Asian women sit on the floor (never cross–legged). They would be gossiping and cracking jokes at everyone else's expense, yet seeking solutions or at least consolation from their peers and elders for their emotional problems. The host will keep up a flow of snacks at appropriate intervals and some days lunch as well if the wedding or the occasion is imminent. The wedding planner or event organizer will be present as well. But none of the gossip or planning will distract the women from their creativity or diligent execution of agreed designs. I believe the skills the girls acquired during these sessions greatly enhanced their power of concentration, control of nerves, ability to have a conversation and understanding of our customs and above all human nature. The mirth these groups permeated would spread to the whole household. While they all strived for some uniform standards, creativity was celebrated as well. When I was very young there was a kottan in my house made by a friend of my mother. It had the caricature of a face on the sides, somewhat like the modern Smiley. I always felt the face was mocking at me. I understand that a lady from Kanadukathan with a shop in Chennai is trying to revive this art. Some years ago, the ladies of A M family in Pallathur commissioned some miniature kottans from a talented silversmith and gave them away as gifts to friends. Almost all others have abandoned this community handicraft effort and now disburse stainless steel utensils of indifferent design and quality to every guest on all occasions. Every family must now have a collection of at least a hundred of these utensils of various sizes. If any of them is of any value, it only reflects the wealth of the family that gave it and not its warmth or creativity. And there is nothing particularly Nagarathar about any of them.
Nagarathar's contribution to the art of silver miniatures is also likely to survive in the form of kopikottum thattu and kilikki.
God forms
The most important artifacts commissioned by our community, with some of them still remaining in our custody are, of course, the moolavar and urchavar forms of God. The moolavars are made from a particular kind of granite, specially chosen by knowledgeable sculptors and temple architects, the best of whom in the south of India were patronized by our community. The moolavars in most of the nine main temples, especially Irani Koil, Mathur and Vairavanpatti, and several villages like Athangudi and Chockalingampudur are exquisite and are comparable to be the best in the most celebrated (paadal petra) sthalams or holy places anywhere in India. Unfortunately, most of them are in dimly lit sanctum sanctorum and mostly clothed or covered in armour (kavacham) (iv) with the result that we get little opportunity to see and soak in their vibrant beauty. Even when the forms are bathed (abishegam) most priests have the unholy habit of throwing some dirty cloth on them as if they are naked which they are not. Urchavars are statues usually made from an alloy of five metals, commonly known as bronzes in western parlance. The urchavars in our temples within Chettinadu are not known to the outside world. Perhaps it is best that way. Not that there is much risk of us losing them as we, as a rule, keep them under lock and key. No urchavar is known to have escaped. Since the urchavars are either behind bars in dimly lit areas, often with a dirty and oily piece of cloth perfunctorily wrapped around their groin, or bedecked with silk, jewels and garlands, seldom do we get to appreciate them in all their glory. They are among the best of their kind in the world. Many are superior to what you see in museums in Boston or London. Thank God, our ancestors did not invite the British Collectors, some of whom were collectors in more than one sense, into the inner sanctums of our temples to demonstrate their loyalty!
Silver and brass utensils commissioned by us for use in temple rituals are still in use all over India and abroad.
All the best
Having mentioned the artifacts created or commissioned by our community I will be doing great injustice to our heritage if I do not mention what is perhaps the most important cultural attribute of Nagarathar. That is, their approach to cultural diversity in the world. Since I cannot readily find a quotation from a Nagarathar, I shall resort to Rabindranath Tagore(v) who said in a letter to a friend: "Whatever we understand and enjoy in human products instantly becomes ours, wherever they might have their origin… Let me feel with unalloyed gladness that all the great glories of man are mine." There were few Nagarathar households that were without gems from Golkonda or Ceylon or the finest lacquerware from Burma or Vietnam. While Vietnam has rehabilitated its lacquer industry to its former glory, the best specimens of Burmese lacquerware might still be locked up in some rooms in Chettinadu. If you can imagine how strenuous it must have been to transport fine pottery in un–containerized sailboats, you must know that there are still a few 100–year–old Wedgewoods in Chettinadu. When Nagarathar needed some not- so–easy–to–transport material in large quantities, they did not hesitate to produce it themselves. Having first imported some wall and floor tiles from Italy, France and Vietnam, Nagarathar created a completely new industry to produce what is now called "Athangudi tiles"(vi)
Society
The social culture of Nagarathar seems to be in jeopardy. Interactions among themselves are becoming less wholesome and more fleeting and superficial. There are, of course, genuine friendships formed and relationships cemented over padayathrai, padaippu and other religious festivals. There are also some friendships formed to gain and retain control over some temples and associations that tend to last. These friendships sometimes lead to partnerships in buying land or, on occasions, other businesses. They do not seem to lead to the formation of large–scale partnerships and business alliances such as the ones formed until the First World War. Splits in partnerships seem to have outnumbered new formations since WW1. More on this later.
In terms of social interactions, they seem to have intensified up to the fifties and then declined. A number of badminton and tennis clubs sprouted all over Chettinadu. There were a number of district level Nagarathar champions in badminton. Soccer became popular with the construction of large modern schools in villages like Devakottai, Kadiyapatti, Kandanur, Karaikudi and Pallathur. Almost all these sports clubs died after the fifties. In most villages, clubs formed to play card games survived well into the seventies. Even these seem to be on the decline now. All these clubs were men's. It would be fair to say that sports clubs in the British sense were not a very successful experiment in Chettinadu.
A couple of Kamala clubs, named after Jawaharlal Nehru's wife, were formed by women in the forties but did not blossom.
Political clubs were very few in number. The most notable two were perhaps the ones established in Shanmuganathapuram and Karaikudi. The Shanmuganathapuram Sangam, founded by Saigon Nagappa Chettiar, played an active role in propagating the independence movement. Nagappa Chettiar was at it earlier in Vietnam. He was so successful in mobilizing support for Ho Chih Minh to liberate Vietnam that the French colonial government banished him without warning and confiscated his properties in Vietnam. (vii) Though all his assets were in Vietnam and inaccessible, on return to his native village he managed to form a sangam and organize, in collaboration with Vai Su Shanmugam Chettiar of Kanadukathan, the Chettinadu tours of Mahathma Gandhi, Mahakavi Subramania Bharathiar and Congress leaders like Periyar E V Ramaswamy. His sangam died with him. The most famous of the political clubs is the Hindu Manithabimana Sangam of Karaikudi, which still survives. There might have been a few more political clubs, especially in Athangudi, Kanadukathan, Kilasivalpatti and Nemathanpatti where several Nagarathar were active in the independence movement, some following Mahathma Gandhi and others Nethaji Subash Chandra Bose. This is a subject yet to be well researched. Likewise, requiring good documentation is Nagarathar's involvement in the Indian National Army in Southeast Asia. Several were trained as officers at the Imperial Academy in Tokyo. Not much is recorded of their careers since. Neither is anything known of their efforts, if any, to save any of the 40,000 Malayan Tamil lives sacrificed by the Japanese in building a railway in Thailand. Nagarathar's involvement in the political development of independent Malaya is slightly better known. Chettiar Wedding Hall in Sentul, Kuala Lumpur, was where Malayan Indian Congress, now a partner in the ruling National Front, was formally inaugurated. Its third president was K Ramanathan Chettiar of Pallathur and Nagarathar stalwarts built up the party in Penang, Perak and Selangor. The point I am trying to make is that numerous Nagarathar youngmen were politically active some to the extent of laying their lives at risk in India, Ceylon, Burma, Malaya, Singapore, and Vietnam – for about three decades up to 1960. S Muthiah of Kanadukathan, the best Nagarather writer and historian in the English language today and son of the first Mayor of Colombo, might well have written about Nagarathar's involvement in the development of media and politics in what is now called Sri Lanka. But the stories of lots of others wait to be recorded. The number of Nagarathar attracted to politics has certainly dwindled since then and the motivation for some of them seems not entirely altruism.
From time immemorial, every Chettiar boy could read and count. Every village in Chettinadu had its own school, funded entirely by Nagarathar. It was no surprise that Tamil Tatha U V Swaminatha Iyer found many of the 3,000–odd Tamil manuscripts he collected through his Nagarathar contacts and patrons. Nagarathar were the most substantial supporters of Yarlpanam Arumuga Navalar's efforts to print the Thirumurai texts and related works. A Chettiar was among the founders of Saiva Siddhantha Noorpathippu Kazhagam. With the arrival of printed books, excellent libraries were established in Karaikudi, Kandanur, Kothamangalam Lakshmipuram, Kottaiyur and Singapore. The Singapore library, located in a building next to the Thandayuthapani and Sivan Temples Complex, had what was probably the second best public collection(viii) in Southeast Asia of books on Saivism and Tamil culture, built up on the advice of scholars like Kribanandha Variyar and Embar Vijayaraghavachariar. What was left of the collection when it was moved to the new temple complex in 1984 was catalogued by Narayanan Chettiar of Karaikudi who had just retired from Indian Overseas Bank. The whereabouts of this rare collection is now a mystery. The Roja Muthiah Library of Kottaiyur met with a better fate. It had the best collection of Tamil periodicals in the world and is now in Taramani, Chennai, under the patronage of the University of Chicago. In his later years, Mr Muthiah started collecting correspondence and publications of Chettiars. Those are still there. It is now called the Roja Muthiah Research. Library and its collection has gone beyond those of Mr Muthiah. M V Subbiah, the most dynamic member of the A M family of Pallathur, and S Muthiah, the historian, are on its board of trustees. It has agreed to be the initial depository of Chettinadu Heritage Trust's collection.
The community's interest in the written word is also relfected in the number of highly successful Nagarathar publishers and printers in Tamil Nadu. The first Tamil books in Burma, Malaya and Singapore were published with Nagarathar patronage. Their presence as publishers or printers is now non–existent in Sri Lanka, Burma or Singapore and marginal in Malaysia.
Nagarathar nurtured in their young an interest in reading and literature. Almost every village had a students‘ club (sangam). Each club's patrons would pay for subscriptions to magazines like Kalkandu, Kannan, Nalvazhi, Ambulimama (whose editor and writers were the forerunners of J K Rowling) and Manjari (modelled after Reader's Digest) and purchase of some books. Unused garages invariably served as homes to these clubs. None of them seems to exist now. Two literary clubs formed by grown–ups became well–known throughout the Tamil speaking lands: Kamban Kazhagam and Tirukkural Kazhagam, both of Karaikudi. Only Kamban Kazhagam, with an offshoot in Chennai, retains any semblance of its former glory.
It is a great pity that even with such moorings the quality political journals started by members of the community So Murugappa's Kumaran, Kottaiyur A K Chettiar's Kumari Malar, Athangudi AR Periyannan's Ponni (of which Murugu Subramaniam of Konapet was the editor before he migrated to Singapore and later Kuala Lumpur where be built up Tamil Nesan, then owned by Malayandi Chettiar, to be the leading Tamil daily in Malaysia), Kavingar Kannadhasan's Thendral and Kannadhasan and Karumuthu Sundaram Chettiar's Tamil Nadu daily all failed commercially.
A K Chettiar, who studied photography in Tokyo and New York, was the greatest documentary producer of India in his lifetime. Several members of the community enjoyed great success as producers and directors of movies. But none made the leap into launching a television channel.
Relationships
Mingling among relatives is rather meager these days. Up to the sixties, it was common for young boys and girls to spend their school vacation in the homes of grandparents, uncles or aunts, especially if such holidays coincided with temple festivals of their relatives‘ villages. Stay during festivals usually lasted 10 days and padaippu three days. Weddings lasted several days, especially for relatives who arrived earlier to help with the preparations. Their arrival itself was celebrated with koodi aaki unnudhal. The wedding was followed by three rounds of maru veedu, that is, the bride and groom, accompanied by relatives especially the uncles, eating at each other's parent's places. In additon, there were the obligatory visits to and stays at uncles‘ and aunts‘ homes. This was to make the newly weds and their close relatives comfortable with each other so that any subsequent problems could be sensed early and sorted out amicably. It is not that many married total strangers. Alliances involving two vattais (areas) were uncommon and certainly unheard of if there was no close relative or friend deeply involved from the very early stages. Birth of a child brought the relatives together again, first to celebrate the birth, then to bring toys to the child (vilayattu petti vevu), and yet again for pudumai. On every one of these occasions, relatives participated with whole families except the ones who were away on business or studies. Pillaiyar Nonbu meant taking ezhai not only in your own house but also in your grandfather's and all his brothers‘ or cousins‘ houses.(ix). All this meant that relatives got to know each other from a very young age in a rested and relaxed manner. There was no question of one man or woman traveling by bus or train for 10 hours and upon arrival at the village spending three or four hours at the house of the celebration, tired, bleary- eyed and disoriented, saying hallo to five hundred people and rushing out to catch the transport back to their place. of residence. No wonder emotional separation of man and wife was rare and formal separations unheard of. Death usually warranted a month–long stay of close relatives and continued presence of a couple of them, taking turns, for a year. Widows seldom stayed by themselves and young widows were certainly afforded the comfort of living with her parents. No psychiatrist is known to have lived in Chettinadu.
Jet–setters might ask the question whether such leisurely socialization is still practical. They just have to look at the practice of the best companies and universities in the world. They all offer their senior staff six weeks of annual leave to be availed preferably in one go and often allowed to be carried over to the following year so that the employees could forget their work pressures for one long stretch and concentrate on their personal lives. This is what our ancestors did without exception. If they spent two or three years away from home on business, they would spend a year at home during which time they would strengthen all their social relationships. The hazardous conditions of transport and the weeks the travel took forced them to make infrequent trips.
The community was never divorced from farming. Its involvement in agriculture in Thanjavur district was very substantial(x) (as it was in Burma, Ceylon and Vietnam) and significant in Tiruchirappalli and Karur districts (and Cambodia). Some Chettiars engaged largely in farming in those inland areas might have lived there with family as access to Chettinadu would not have been problematic. I have yet to study their history in Bengal, the trading posts along the Kerala (originally called Chera Nadu) coast and later Visakapattinam(xi), now part of Andhra Pradesh, and to investigate whether they were ever in Quanzhou (in the Fujian province of China) where there was a Tamil temple in the 12th century. But it is most unlikely that these men, trading in commodities and money, had their wives with them. The 2/3–years–away–and–one–year–at–home pattern was established largely by the latter and larger group. With families accompanying almost all the men wherever they go now, this tradition becomes irrelevant.
The trick now is to be selective and not spend the same amount of time at functions of your siblings, uncles, aunts and in–laws as you would at those of distant relatives and not–very–close friends. It would be mutually beneficial to arrive at the homes of those you really care about a few days earlier and help out in the preparations though contractors are taking care of more and more of them and to stay back for a few days to help wind up the affairs. It is particularly important for uncles or uncles' or aunts' children to accompany the newly weds when they go for maruveedu and for feasts at close relatives‘ homes. It would be useful if the newly weds, and their companions, could spend the night at their hosts‘. Relaxed communication in the early stages could prevent many misperceptions and clear any that exists. Bridges built during the first few weeks could serve as crucial conduits should problems arise later.
Whenever possible, younger relatives should join in these journeys. How many young Nagarathar now have spent time in their relatives‘ homes? When I was a student, spending a week each in my chithappa's, uncle's and aunt's homes and a month in my grandmother's every year was the norm. All my Nagarathar schoolmates seemed to be enjoying similar holidays. I never heard of the phrase children feeling socially awkward in the presence of relatives.
With many families living overseas such annual immersions may not be feasible. However, I do know of Nagarathar families that send their children to far away lands on exchange programmes to stay with families with different cultures – which, by the way, is equally important but never with relatives. The result is the children do not come into the living room to greet you when you visit them, and seldom sit down for a chat.
Conversation at the dinner table, an integral part of western and other eastern cultures, was never a strength of Nagarathar. Perhaps it should be, especially in the absence of interaction with relatives of intermediate age groups, like children of aunts and uncles. An efficient and agreeable method of passing down tradition and values needs to be established. Otherwise, there is the risk of the younger generation accepting alien cults as their own. Some young Vairavan Koil Nagarathar in Singapore are growing up believing they are Bhairavas. They will have no clue to the concept of our Vairavar but soon they might see annual demonstrations of tantric techniques by some jet–setting Bhairava guru.
Nagarathar children seem to be free to make friends with non–Nagarathar children easily without constant parental supervision. Any contact with fellow Nagarathar children is required to be reported to parents immediately and from that moment onwards, it is subject to their management. Nagarathar couples visiting Nagarathar families with teenage daughters never seem to take their teenage sons along and vice versa. A succession of committees preparing Nagarathar addressbooks in Singapore have rejected my suggestion that they should include the names and dates of birth of the children. A couple of years ago a committee of the Nagarathar Association of Singapore rejected an offer from one of my brothers and one of my sons–in–law to pay for an annual lunch at the Chettiar Wedding Hall for Nagarathar aged between 13 and 30 without being chaperoned by any of their parents. Yet, one hears a constant complaint that more and more Nagarathar youth are marrying outside the community.
Members of four temples Ilayathangudi, Mathoor, Pillaiyarpatti and Vairavanpatti are still unable to grapple with a problem created by the leader of 104 families in eight villages in Uruthikkottai Vattagai in 1823. The man, very popular and charitable, and his followers were "set aside" (ostracized) as a punishment for their disrespectful behaviour at a meeting. All 104 of them and their children and grandchildren are dead. Their great grandchildren and their descendents, who include a number of most accomplished people by any Nagarathar norm, wish to return to the fold and have been making representations for some time. Their ancestors had kept certain ties alive all along. They continue to participate in the Naachaathaal Padaippu in Puduvayal, pay pulli vari (head tax) to the Annadhaana Madam in Kundrakkudi, take initiation from our gurus in Padarakkudi and Thulaavoor. They follow our culture and traditions, often more steadfastly than ourselves. In 1989, the Aiyykya Nagarathar Sangam met in Chennai under the chairmanship of M A M Ramasamy Chettiar and recommended that the group should be accepted back into the fold. It was noted that it was illegal to continue the practice of "setting them aside". Yet, due to resistance from a couple of individuals in each of the four temples the reunification is on hold. The temple leaderships now face legal proceedings.
Buddha would have been happy with our original governance methods (read Jataka Tales). Our community affairs are supposed to be governed by a judicious mixture of principles of direct democracy and representative democracy with no one supreme leader. The first consideration for each rule/decision was: Is it right? Is it fair to everyone concerned? Will it gain us the trust and goodwill of the community we live in, our business associates? But the way we have been making decisions at our meetings for some time now leaves a lot to be desired. Even an extremely capable and decent chief trustee can sometimes be crippled by one ill–informed and irrational activist. They need to be reviewed soberly, first by people who have the necessary background in public affairs.
Superstitions
Unfounded beliefs are part and parcel of any culture. However, we seem to have a predilection to create new superstitions as we go along. One such is that Thandayuthapani will not let any Nagarathar bride live well if she gets married in the temple dedicated to him in Singapore. If you ask to know the basis for such a belief, you will be told that the two who got married there in the fifties did not have a good life. Which is a lie, I found out. The first bride had four children. How could she have had four children if she did not enjoy life? The second bride was mentally challenged before she was married off under false pretences. She did not bear any child. Was it not a good thing that a woman of unsound mind did not have any child? I met a couple of the men who had opposed the conducting of the weddings at the Singapore temple. Their justification was that if such important ceremonies are held outside their ancestral homes in Chettinadu, younger generation will have no incentive to maintain those houses and will eventually be rootless. When I pointed out that the four families who had decided to get their sons and daughters married in Singapore were obviously poor and could not afford to travel to India just for the purpose and perhaps did not have houses in Chettinadu worth maintaining, their response was that if you allow such events on that basis then there would be no end. Half way through the argument, one of them surprisingly volunteered the information that a couple of their associates did attend A C Muthaiah's wedding in Chennai a few years later, and concluded that perhaps it was not that bad after all. That, however, did not stop his other former allies from spreading the rumour that Thandayuthapani does not like it.
Business culture
My interviews on the subject and reading of all available material suggest four outstanding features of our business culture.
Our ancestors were adventurers and great risk takers. You just have to look at the geography of the distant lands they traded in and turned from virgin forests to fertile paddy fields and plantations to understand their guts.
Their ability to move in groups helped them in their ventures. Each Nagarathar principal left his village with a cook and a clerk (who may or may not be a Chettiar) and often traveled in groups. Each major group had a pandaram (non–Brahmin priest) with it.
Very early on in their history, they earned a reputation for their honesty and reliability.
Mutual help was the hallmark of the community. Each principal soon took in and trained young relatives in his trade, groomed each one for a leadership role and eventually financed his own venture either by taking an equity stake in that enterprise or by lending to it. Such training, partnership and financing were extended to non- relatives as well after a length of service. This approach, in turn, prompted budding entrepreneurs to invite former bosses and associates into partnerships to attempt new ventures to share both risk and reward. A virtuous circle. Every new arrival was welcomed wholeheartedly and accepted as a full member of this circle. Centre of this circle was the koil veedu (a house or a part of a business premise set aside for worship) and later the temple. Every Nagarathar in each business district met at the koil veedu or temple every Karthigai. The first order of business after prayer was fixing the interest rates one rate to be applied among themselves and the other, higher, to be the prime rate to be charged to borrowers or business associates. The temple acted as the central bank as well as a development bank. Surplus funds were lent to Nagarathar at favourable rates. Each Chettiar lent to other Nagarathar as a matter of routine. Altogether, they acted as a cartel setting the norms for financial transactions with the wider community. The unwritten rule was that no Nagarathar would poach a client or business from another Nagarathar. If there were external borrowings they would guarantee them collectively. All these practices over the centuries gave them a formidable reputation. When the colonial banks arrived with the imperial powers, they extended credit to any Chettiar on the basis of introduction from two other Nagarathar with no collateral. Prime rates in Chennai, Colombo, Rangoon, Penang, Singapore and Kuala Lumpur were fixed by the dominant colonial bank/s in consultation with the leader of the Nagarathar community in each city.
The virtuous circle was broken sometime between the First and Second World Wars. In Singapore, it was probably soon after WW1. By 1940, the amount of monies paid into the courts as settlements between Nagarathar but left unclaimed was equal to the cost of constructing the Supreme Court Building. Litigation had replaced communal mediation, called panchayathu. Scholar Somalay estimated that by 1980 about one fifth of the wealth of Nagarathar had been spent as fees to lawyers and courts on intra–community litigation (between brothers, between cousins or nephews, between partners).
Values
The values that unite us with honorable human beings all over the world are far more significant than the rituals that separate us. As traders, our ancestors realized that all values were universal. They made millions of connections, but only a few of those delivered profit, long–term relationships and happiness. In the end, it was connections initiated on a foundation of care with some sense of greater good that offered the greatest potential for success. The values they emphasized within the community were honesty and mutual help. For women, chastity was the most important virtue. Writer Rama Kannappan, a long–time assistant of Kavingar Kannadhasan and now an editor of Poocharam magazine, is a keen observer of society. He said that there was no doubt that most women. remained Kannakis while most men would like to be Kovalans if they had the means. Mutual help in business is becoming rare. But I could be wrong. I just heard that Malaysian Nagarathar are about to form a co–operative. Mutual help in arbitration and arranging marriages is becoming problematic. But those are topics for other sessions. As for honesty, I may not be a good judge. My experience might make my observation prejudiced.
The past in the future
What now? Values, traditions and culture are largely personal and molded only by family and friends. What those outside the two circles could do is to make the younger ones aware of certain aspects of the heritage and explain how valuable they were. It will not be easy. For, we are a tiny part of a large Tamil community that is being debauched by overwhelming media, which have no values except greed, and by ill–educated leaders who also have no values but self–aggrandizement. Yet, I would like to believe, not all is lost. We have long been a globalizing and globalized community. We have weathered some pretty strong tsunamis in the past by being open, adopting and adapting. There may be as many preferences as there are people, a Horace observed a long time ago. However, the collective choices we made were good for social welfare and did not earn us a divisive, belligerent identity. There is no sign that the inbreeding in such a small group has severely dented our individual drive to excel in whatever we set out to do. It is a question of focus, making our members realize, again, that personal pursuit of money alone will not be enough and, paradoxically, it is the simultaneous upholding of values and traditions, which at first sight seem altruistic, that brought our ancestors enormous wealth totally out of proportion to their numbers and made many of them great. This is the challenge that Chettinadu Heritage Trust(xii) has resolved to take up. You are all welcome to join the struggle for a glorious future.
Problems are massive. So are dreams. Chettinadu Heritage Trust is just one way to stop the rot. I would be pleased to hear of other ideas.
Vazhga vaiyagam!
Vazhga valamudan!
i. Not that of the Chettinadu Heritage Trust though I am described in the programme, correctly, as its Managing Trustee. Since I have drafted this paper deliberately to provoke discussion, I do not wish to commit all the trustees to some unconventional views expressed here.
ii. Believe me that I am not unfamiliar with tourism promotion and its impact. My first assignment in Bangkok in 1972 for The Economist was partly to report on tourism development in Thailand. Thai authorities had been promoting tourism for a decade by then. But as an industry it really took off when American soldiers on killing missions in Indochina and thereby causing Chettiars to flee from Vietnam and at least one from Konapet to disappear in Cambodia – started using Thailand for rest and recreation. They liked the Thai women providing the R&R. Many were saying that even when out of combat duty they would return to Thailand as tourists. The rentier class in Bangkok saw the opportunity and took it. My visit coincided with a UN- sponsored seminar on habitat. Why Bangkok, I asked. My interest was more than that of a fleeting foreign correspondent. I was a member of Singapore Planning and Urban Research Group. Bangkok was the most shining example of modern urban planning for other Asian cities to follow, the experts told me: Wide tree–lined major roads with lanes branching off to provide housing for the growing population and connecting with the numerous canals that will cater to less expensive and less polluting water transport. A modern Venice, except that this version was not sinking. Also, a little earlier experts had declared the traditional Thai House to be an ideal tropical residence to be emulated in other Southeast Asian countries – entirely comfortable, requiring little electricity to keep it functional. The country's most famous journalist, a renaissance man who later became prime minister, lived in an elegant Thai House. So did one of the most powerful generals. The country's most severe social critic lived in a puny version of it. Almost every other house that I was invited to for dinner was a Thai House. There must have been at least a few thousand of them in the city. The published version of my report for The Economist highlighted growing Japanese industrial investments. A couple of paragraphs I had devoted to the anticipated social implications of the service industry that was being promoted were cut because the story appeared in the business section.
Thailand is now the number one tourist destination in the world. Bangkok's population: Nine million. According to one reported estimate, half a million of them are working in the sex industry. A commentator with in–depth knowledge of the city has said that the figure is probably exaggerated, but not by much. The city is sinking. One reason: Too much ground water is being pumped out to serve the service industry. Water transport is confined to the Chao Phraya River. Bangkok's road traffic jams and pollution level are internationally known. His Majesty the King spends more and more time away from his capital. There are not more than a handful of Thai Houses where people actually live. Ayuthaya, the capital of some earlier kings, is at risk of losing its coveted United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization's World Heritage Site status because the hoards of tourists and the profitable establishments servicing them are causing nearly as much damage to the city as the invading Burmese army did in 1767.
iii. From time immemorial, every Nagarathar boy was literate and numerate. (Otherwise, he could not have traded in distant lands.) Every village had a school, right from the beginning of these settlements. On the day of vijayadasami every boy of four or five will not be sent but invited to go to school. All the students in the school will go to the new boy's home, make friends with him, sing songs and escort him to school. The new pupil's parents and relatives would give every student, and the teacher/s, a cute kottan full of rock sugar and other sweets. The young boy would be enchanted with the all round cheer created by the gesture and would want to go to school from that day onwards. No tears that most children now shed when they are sent to school for the first time.
iv. Which are mostly ill fitting but their glitter hides the sins. One of the exceptionally beautiful ones is the Vairavar's kavacham in Vairavanpatti, which was made with 1,000 sovereigns of gold donated by a Kandanur family. Adorning Moolavars with kavachams probably started as an effort to cover up dented or disfigured stone statues to which the congregation was attached. Dressing up a Murugan urchavar for Sooras amharam might have started the custom too. Covering up Moolavars with armour was originally opposed by the sthapathis (temple sculptors and architects) and priests. Moolavars are sculpted with great reverence and installed over yanthiram (engine), which is a sheet of metal that is capable of being energized with some sacred words and diagrams (manthiram and chakaram) inscribed on it and other manthiram chanted towards it, and sometimes mercury as well. The yanthiram is also a conductor of the earth's energy to the statue. Hence the careful preparation of a particular form of cement made of herbs to hold the statue to the base wherein lies the yanthiram. The herbal paste is adhesive enough to hold them together but at the same time not break the circuit of energy. During the consecration ritual, the priests chant manthiram towards the statue and the statue becomes God only when the sthapathi opens its eyes. The priests continue to chant manthiram in an exercise called uruvetruthal meaning energizing the form.
The main reason why we are advised to worship in a temple is for us to benefit from the vibrations generated from forms that have been so energized provided we concentrate quietly. Covering such energized forms with temporary metal armour would impede such vibrations. However, over a period of time the priests and sthapathis caved in – as they invariably seem to. They did not want to hinder the earnings of another group of tradesmen, the silversmiths. Yet, the sthapathis insisted on a compromise in most cases that is, the face of God should not be covered by the kavacham. A mask would cover the eyes that they had opened, they argued. In the case of the faceless God, the Lingam, they continued their resistance for a little longer because it didn't make any sense at all to decorate what is supposed to be a formless form, representing the core of a flame. Any embellishment, especially a kavacham with eyes, nose and lips and in some cases representations of sun and moon on its head a counterpoint to the conch and wheel of Perumal – would totally distract from the original conceptualization of Lingam. Again, they eventually succumbed. Worse, the sthapathis seem to have lost their battle even in temples that have no rich devotees. If the poor can't make full–fledged armour, they cover at least the graceful eyes of the God forms with some gruesome eyepieces, which they cruelly call kannmalar. Nagarathar seem to be in the forefront of making armour for all kinds of God forms in temples. all over the world. As noted by Western scholars in their studies of contributions of trading communities to Christian churches, this is understandable. It was an expression of their wealth and status. As were their donations of jewelry to various God forms in numerous temples as if the forms were without them and needed them. The fact that South Indian sculptors make sure that, except for the Lingam, all forms are fully adorned with as much jewelry as they are able to imagine did not matter. This practice, originally deemed undesirable, is now being taken to ridiculous. extremes. In the case of temples that are considered unsafe to store the armour overnight, for example the Vallilingam Temple in Thuvaar where there is a shrine for Adaikkaathaal, the armour is kept in the home of a Nagarathar of the village that made it. Nagarathar from another village who did not want to be seen to be obliged to the first village, made their own. I am not sure how many such sets of armour there are for that temple, but I expect that number to grow. There seems to be an undeclared contest going on in most temples as to who notches up the social ladder by making armour for whatever forms that were left out in earlier rounds. Once all forms are covered with silver armour, a new round starts to make gold armour. Some Pallathur Nagarathar are proud that they have recently made a gold armour for Solaiandavar while two of the schools in their village, including the main secondary school, are in a dilapidated condition. What Nagarathar engaged in this race, which seems to be gaining momentum again, seem to forget is what happened to earlier and grander expressions of wealth in such a manner. The mighty Cholas built great temples in Tamil Nadu and disappeared soon after. Their descendants built the greatest temples on earth in Cambodia and disappeared promptly thereafter. The story was the same in Persia, Egypt and Greece, and in Rome until the Popes took control. Why the Catholic Church has survived and prospered is because the Popes realized that service to the needy in the form of food, education and medical assistance is the best way to serve God and, incidentally, secure their own wealth and power.
Our ancestors seem to have understood this rather well. Every village had a sathiram where at least two meals were served to anyone who turned up. I suspect the sathirams were established in most villages before the temples were built as certainly seems the case in the two villages that I have been able to investigate Athangudi and Kandanur. That assumption would be consistent with the impression you get from both Mahabaratham and Ramayanam and the puranas associated with them. None of them makes any reference to temples anywhere in the subcontinent, but to sathirams built by kings and nobles. Nagarathar were certainly noble. They built sathirams not only in their villages but also in pilgrimage centres like Thiruvannamalai, Kasi, Rameswaram, Vedaranyam, Thiruvanaikkaval and Srirangam. While the major sathirams continued to function with varying standards of hospitality, most sathirams within Chettinadu fell into disrepair.
There seems to have been two causes. With a succession of Mughal and European conquests, the hitherto Hindu rulers ceased to be the main supporters of most major temples. Nagarathar stepped into their shoes in most cases and sustained them until new elites could takeover. There was also a simultaneous temple building programme of their own in Chettinadu and in all the lands where they traded (except Cambodia where they just became caretakers of existing but neglected temples). The growing Brahmin and Sivachariyar influence among them had made them reorder their concept of charity: feeding the poor became less of a priority compared with pleasing the Brahmin or Sivachariyar. It even brought about a fundamental change in their offerings to God forms and ancestors. Padaiyal or padaippu where offerings to God or ancestors were subsequently distributed among all present and eaten with no wastage or damage to the environment gradually became less important in the towns of Chettinadu like Devakottai and the cities elsewhere, and homams or yagams performed by Brahmins where everything was sent up in flames polluting the skies came into fashion. The Brahmins sincerely believed that the fire carried the offerings to the elements they worshiped. Nagarathar, always open to external influences, adopted such practices as an insurance in case God or ancestors were not satisfied with the padaiyal. All these took up much of whatever savings they had set aside for charity. The younger generation of Nagarathar are now growing up in the belief that yagams are part of Nagarathar culture, which it is not. There is no record of any yagams/homams being conducted at the Thandayuthapani and Sivan Temples Complex or at the Sithivinayagar Temple in Singapore until the nineties, except during their consecration ceremonies when a number of Brahmins were invited and offered dhatchinai (donations in the form of money and goods). Now, hardly a week passes without some homam or other. There is a similar trend in temples managed by other Tamils in Singapore and elsewhere, especially in Tamil Nadu. This is partly a result of the successful Braminization of rituals at Tamil temples all over the world and nearly complete disenfranchisement of Tamil language in all these temples. This, in turn, is partly a function of the way the Tamil elite is being educated in Tamil Nadu. Without exception, they all attend English–medium schools where, without exception, learning Tamil hymns is banned. If the schools are owned by Hindus, learning some Sanskrit slokas is mandatory. The few poor Nagarathar children who attend Tamil–medium schools in their native villages too do not learn Tamil hymns as those schools are managed perhaps I should say mostly mismanaged the government and hymns are banned there in the name of secularism. The fact that one's ability to relate to God and spiritual development are greatly enhanced if you have your early religious education in your mother tongue is completely ignored in the all the schools that Nagarathar children attend. Hence the heavy reliance of our youth on the middlemen in temples to communicate with God by The Brahmin influence was taking its toll even on the previous generation. Sathirams suffered. Schools suffered. Socialized medicine in every village whereby the village doctor and midwife (invariably the wife of the barber) received annual compensation from every family and additional patronage from the better off collapsed. Nagarathar in some villages were so mesmerized by the Brahmin culture of hierarchical separateness that they lost their age–old sensitivity to the sensitivities of communities working for them and living with them. In the frenzy of preparing for the consecration of the new Athangudi Sivan Temple, the Nagarathar of the village lost track of the feelings of the neglected cooks and others. The riots resulted in the loss of a few lives, none Brahmin. Athangudi took more than half a century to recover from the trauma and gather enough courage to hold what should have been an annual chariot (thare) festival and the second consecration. Two years ago, I was pleased to see cook Perumal distributing prasadam after a Thirupalliyeluchi (group singing of hymns to wake the God as God is presumed to have the attributes of human beings in the bakthi culture) as upayatharar on the steps of the Sivan Temple, just a few yards away from the steps of the beautiful tank where his relatives bled to death at the hands of a brutal police force brought in by Nagarathar. Villages like Saendhani were not so lucky. When a few Nagarathar there lost their minds, all Nagarathar lost those villages forever. Villages like Kandanur, which had also built a grand new temple around the same time and was celebrating vairasevai – an evening of adorning the urchavars entirely with diamond jewelry brought from various Nagarathar homes were spared such fate by the farsightedness of noble revolutionaries like V T Veerappa Chettiar. V T VR was probably the richest man in his village and no doubt showed off a few pieces of exquisite diamond jewelry every year. But he was also acutely aware of the interdependence of all the people in his and neighbouring villages and concerned about letting that society disintegrate either through the divisiveness of the Brahminical culture or through colonial exploitation. His mother was, like most Achis, a devout lady and wanted him to build a temple near the present–day Poompuhar. A large plot of land had been levelled and blocks of stone had arrived. Then Veerappa Chettiar realized that there were enough temples in the vicinity of Poompuhar and also in Chettinadu. What was needed was a modern school that would build on the two years of education that Nagarathar and a few other boys were receiving at the yettupallikoodam (a primary school that taught pupils to read, write, count and memorize cantos that contained moral education). A school that would admit girls and pupils of all castes. Veerappa Chettiar was not the pioneer in educating Nagarathar girls. Quite a number of them had been well–educated in the wholesome meaning of the word education, though some of them did not know how to write or keep accounts. Their command of Tamil language was legendary, reflected in their lullabies and oppari (grief expressed in the form of poetry at the death of a loved one). Kavingar Kannadhasan attributed his rich vocabulary and musical sense to the opportunities he had to listen to Achis. Nagarathar collectively decided, long before anyone talked of women's lib in India, that their women too must receive initiation. Against very strong advice from the Brahmin scholars of the day and the refusal of their own religious guru to teach. manthiram to the women, they established a new madam (seat of a guru) for the purpose. They were encouraged in that effort by the fact that one of their ancestors, Punithavathy of Karaikkal, was accepted as a realized soul and declared a Nayanmar. If Punithavathy could do it, every girl was entitled to acquiring any and all of the means to attain that state.
By Veerappa Chettiar's time, a subgroup of Brahmins called Andyantha (I am not sure I have the spelling right) Bhattars in collaboration with Sivachariyars had gained a dominant role in Nagarathar temples in Chettinadu by brainwashing most Nagarathar into believing that God understood only Sanskrit and all prayers had to be offered in that language – through them, of course. Veerappa Chettiar decided that if Sanskrit was as divine a language as Tamil, everyone must have the opportunity to master that language too. With advice from Pandithamani Kathiresa Chettiar, he recruited a learned Brahmin to teach Sanskrit in his school on condition that any non–Brahmin could enroll in his class. Most of the teachers of other subjects in his school were Brahmins too as they were the best teachers then as now. Most of the pupils were non–Brahmins and non–Nagarathar. Every parent in Kandanur and nearby villages saw an opportunity for his children to learn to become what they wished to be. Athangudi Nagarathar failed to build such a social institution and paid the price of taking half a century to recover from a trauma. Nagarathar of Saendhani, including the very rich, paid a worse price. Pallathur was lucky in that it had an enlightened O A P RM, who built the main school. Now the strongest school, construction–wise, in Pallathur is the relatively new English–medium school where in rooms with low ceiling and poor ventilation children, clad in tight clothes of mixed fibres soaking in sweat with dirty neckties and stinking rubber shoes over nylon socks, are baked in preparation for service in the Nevada desert in the summer. Its students will no doubt grow up to believe that they could attain salvation not through service to fellow human beings but by making a platinum armour for Solaiandavar.
A note to young Nagarathar of Malaysia: What I am talking about here is what Raja Nazrin Shah, Raja Muda of Perak, told the National Economic Outlook Conference on November 28th. Without bridging social institutions and the social capital, we are all doomed. I hope that the next time Hinduraf youth rush from Chetty Padang to offer prayers at Thandayuthapani Temple, Kelang Nagarathar are not caught celebrating a vairasevai.
In the fifties, Kuala Lumpur Nagarathar certainly had a sense of social obligation to the society in which they operated. They donated the land next to their Dhandayuthapani Temple to build a primary school. One view expressed at the time was that they should not have just handed over the school to the government but as the Christian groups in Malaysia were doing and as Nagarathar had done earlier in Burma and Singapore, they should have managed the school themselves especially because, unlike in Burma or Singapore earlier, there were plenty of Nagarathar teachers available in Malaysia and that they could have built it up to be a great institution. The decision makers among Nagarathar at the time were not so inclined. We can discuss the reasons for their inclinations and those of Nagarathar in control of temples elsewhere on another occasion
Back in Chettinadu, the concept of sathiram is being revived in a different form, called feeding the old. This trend was started by AR Murugappan, whom I am proud to announce as my cousin, in our village, Chockalingampudur. Our common sathiram had collapsed during WWII though the tank fronting it still exists. Murugappannan was a successful businessman in Chennai. When he reached the age of 60, when he was still in excellent health – he does yoga and while some business opportunities were available to him, he returned to our village and devoted all his time to charitable work. This is particularly noteworthy as he is not the richest man in our village. He and his wife hired a cook and an assistant and started serving three meals a day exactly the same fare he and his wife had to the elderly in the village irrespective of caste. The first problem he faced, as you might have anticipated, was that some Nagarathar who had no means of securing three hearty meals a day by themselves said they could not accept free food. He responded most graciously to their desire to keep their dignity. He allowed them to pay him a nominal monthly fee. Even now he keeps telling visitors that all the Nagarathar folk pay for their meals. However, I know that a few don't and a few others pay only sometimes. And the people being served at his house are not just the old and the infirm to whom he sends the meals in tiffin carriers. I am one of the freeloaders.
The other important charity of Nagarathar yezhutharivithal or educating the people has also been revived in some form, the most important being scholarships granted by individuals, families, family trusts and associations. The greatest effort in this regard has been taken by Seer Valar Seer Nachiappa Swamigal of Koviloor Madam. I guess Swamigal's and other initiatives will be discussed in the session on education. Here I shall confine myself to making an observation on the role of educational institutions in passing on culture, traditions and values, which I believe is not widely appreciated in the Nagarathar community.
Except for very poor Nagarathar children trapped in native villages, no Nagarathar child in Tamil Nadu seems to be in a Tamil–medium school – even in places where fairly good Tamil- medium schools exist. In Chennai, one couple – neither of whom could write a sentence in English without making at least one mistake – boasted to me that their daughters were in a convent where they would be fined if they spoke Tamil on campus. It is possible in many of these schools for children, especially girls who generally are supposed to be carriers of culture, traditions and values, to be trained in something or other all the way without learning a word of Tamil. This is a tragedy. Parents of such children are all totally unaware of what Mahathma Gandhi or any educationist in Japan, Korea, Germany of any of the Scandinavian countries had said but, without exception, are admirers of Lee Kuan Yew. What they do not know is that Lee has made it impossible for any Singaporean to be schooled without learning his mother tongue and that he sent both his sons to a school where special emphasis is laid on Chinese language and literature. Also, every year, a portion of the brightest children graduating from primary schools are streamed into such schools which emphasize Chinese language and literature, and again, a number of the best government scholarships at universities are reserved for students from such schools. A significant number of such scholars are absorbed into the civil service and the armed forces. The Cabinet always has a core of ministers from such schools. Malaysians, of course, know that most of the better schools in their country are Chinese–medium schools and that graduates of those schools excel in universities abroad.
Our family trust has been committed to educating every Chockalingampudur child, irrespective of caste, to the best of his or her abilities for the last two decades. We recently attached a condition to the scheme that scholarships would be offered only to children in Tamil–medium elementary and secondary schools while they will continue to be free to choose any medium when they reach university.
I have not been able to visit all the secondary schools founded by Nagarathar in Chettinadu. From what I understand, most of the founding families are now indifferent to the state of their schools or are no longer well–endowed to be able to spend more resources to develop their schools. The Chettinadu Heritage Trust plans to assist two of those schools to be developed into the Eton and Harrow of Chettinadu.
If every Nagarathar student aspires to be an information technology specialist, doctor, engineer, accountant or a pharmacist with no cultural ballast, all talk of traditions and values would tantamount to nothing within a generation. There must be a core of scholars steeped in Tamil language and literature, religion and philosophy, anthropology, history, cultural studies and political economy. Even one scholar in one of these disciplines per cohort would be good enough. Chettinadu Heritage Trust will lobby existing scholarship providers to earmark at least one of them for such disciplines to be availed at the best universities in the world.
v. It was no coincidence that several Nagarathar, including one from Thanichavoorani sent there not by his father but by his mother or grandmother, were among the early students at Tagore's Santiniketan, which was the first school (and university) in Asia to make cultural diversity a part of its curriculum.
vi. I am afraid we can no longer be proud of the regular Athangudi tiles now being manufactured there. However, hundreds of Chettinadu houses still standing bear testimony to the standard of the tiles in earlier times. It is, of course, possible to rehabilitate that industry as the Thais and Vietnamese have done.
vii. The two houses facing Thandayuthapani Temple in Ho Chi Minh City, now accommodating a restaurant called Temple Club, were part of his properties.
viii. The best is possibly the one at University of Malaya, which incidentally was partly funded by Nagarathar. Tamil was made the main language of instruction and research focus at the university's Indian Studies Department as a result of an appeal from the Nagarathar community and supported vigorously by Thamizhavel G Sarangapany, Founder and Editor of Tamil Murasu. Tamil's cause was championed first at a reception given by Nagarathar of Malaya in honour of Neelakanta Sastry, who was advising the university on the establishment of the department. Me Thirunavukkarasu of Singapore (and Venthanpatti) and MR PL Rethinam Chettiar of Muar (and Viraichilai) had learnt of Sastry's plans to make Sanskrit the focus of the department and used the reception to launch the appeal.
ix. Everyone present on the occasion, including employees, was given ezhai. When I was a student, I spent some years at my maternal grandfather's. As a member of one of the families that claim more than equal rights in the affairs of Pillaiyarpatti Temple, my grandfather took to any prayer associated with Pillaiyar with great enthusiasm. His non–Hindu shop assistant was given ezhai every year. Once a non–Nagarathar neighbour's naughty daughter who was 13 years younger to me put me to shame by eating the ezhai with the flame still alive, which I could never accomplish. In Kandanur, I learnt from a friend that his father's mistress who lived in the same house but at the end portion with a separate entrance was never invited to Pillaiyar Nonbu while his mother's maid was. But then mistresses were not invited to family weddings and pudumai either. They made themselves scarce on those occasions. The reason was that the culture, then as now, required that the virtuous and therefore stern wife and the not so virtuous and nevertheless pleasing mistress do not come face to face with each other. If servants in some homes were not given ezhai that was because they were not given any sweets or fruit on any day. I am mentioning this because there seems to be a new belief that Pillaiyar dictated that non–Nagarathar not be given ezhai. I would like to be the last person to come between man and his belief of what his God said or did. But we need not let an absurd belief undermine a fundamental principle of our temple culture. If any prayer is held at a temple, whether ordinary or special, the prasadam of any kind should be offered in as equal
I am a share as practical to everyone present irrespective of caste.aware that in some of our temples on certain days prasadam is taken to the office and then it never sees light of day. That practice should not be tolerated either. It is particularly repugnant when most of the community gathers for a formal prayer. We built temples so that believers other than ourselves could pray there and be fed. Annadhanam was a primary purpose of temples. If Pillaiyar Nonbu is celebrated in temples, ezhai must be offered to all devotees present. If a family seeks exclusive and private communion with Pillaiyar, it must do so in the narrow confines of its own house. Kopi kottuthal in my village was never an exclusively Nagarathar celebration because some non–Nagarathar girls will join in the kolattam though they may not be bedecked in diamond- or pearl–studded jewelry or bring along kopithattu made of silver. That's how it should be. Because the kolattam will be played not inside some house but beside the temple tank and therefore not governed by the idiosyncrasies of a particular family but by the deeply rooted norms of the community's inclusive culture. What is important is that we inform our children of the historical origins of our prayers and celebrations. How many of our children know the distinction between our ancient Maharnonbu and the relatively new Navarathiri or that until very recently Thirukkarthigai was a very much more important festival for us than Deepavali? What is even more important is to understand why we came to celebrate such occasions and what are the moral lessons we are supposed to learn from them.
x. Recorded in an academic exercise at the University of Madras. Hence the enormous endowments established by the community for major temples throughout that and nearby districts and now mostly mismanaged or lost.
xi. From where Devakottai Saiva Siddhantha Kalanidhi Tan Sri M K PR M Somasundaram's grandfather and Sirukudalpatti AT K PL M Palaniappa Chettiar operated a regular cargo shipping service to Jaffna curiously at about the same time V O Chidambaram Pillai was having insurmountable difficulty establishing a shipping company in Tutucorin – carrying chilly in one direction and coconut oil in the other.
xii. Thamizhannal Dr RM Periakarrupan is the Chairman. Engineer Suba Annamalai of Puduppatti, cardiologist Dr S V Pethaperumal of Shanmuganathapuram and investment adviser N Narayanan of Karaikudi are fellow trustees. M Sundaresan of Devakottai, a man of integrity who will not go to sleep any night without accounting for every paise in his care, is the secretary/treasurer. Valli Muthiah of K V AL RM family in Kottaiyur and Kana Chitsabesan of Devakottai have agreed to be on the panel of advisers. Kamalahasan Ramasamy of Shanmuganathapuram will be a consultant. Peri Alagappan of Athangudi and Mani Sundaram Meyyappan of Devakottai are keen to help mobilize support in the United States. Dr KR Muthaiah, Co–Editor of Nagarathar Kalaikalanjiam and former Professor of Tamil, Sevugan Annamalai College, has agreed in principle to be the Research Director. Dr N Valli and Dr T Chockalingam have expressed interest in undertaking some research. We are looking for more volunteers to serve as trustees or advisers. In a few months we will be looking for curators, sociologists, multimedia production specialists and entertaining instructors to undertake paid work.
Seer Valar Seer Nachiappa Swamigal has kindly agreed to let a new dormitory block and other facilities at the Koviloor Madam to be used for summer camps (all of which, in fact, may not be held in summer) for Nagarathar students. The idea is to produce some material in the form of small booklets and compact discs and use them as the starting points for discussions at these camps. Young Nagarathar from the age of 13 will be invited in three different age groups to spend about 10 days in the camp, which will be. organized to suit the vacation breaks in different countries. In the mornings, the youth will be taken on a tour of the nine major temples, accompanied by an informed and entertaining English- speaking guide. Late in the afternoon, stimulating speakers like the ones you are going to listen to at this conference will be invited to talk to them about our culture, traditions and values. The participants will be encouraged to arrange their own programmes discussion, plays, music with resources and resource persons available. If there are weddings or other functions in Nagarathar families during the camps, with the permission of the families concerned, the young campers will be taken to those functions by an informed and entertaining guide who will explain to them the meaning of the various rituals. The guide would have done an earlier reconnaissance of the place of the function so that the campers will have access to clean toilet facilities so that they do not suffer the same inconveniences that relatives at the functions are subjected to. The idea is to make every journey during the 10 days and the whole experience an enjoyable one so that the campers will leave Chettinadu with pleasant memories.
The trust will also act as a resource centre for similar summer camps in other countries like the US and Malaysia.
Another trust team will offer to digitize all the records at the nine temples and at other Nagarathar temples and associations in India and elsewhere, and the private correspondence and accounts of families that care to preserve them. The archives so created will have various levels of accessibility depending on the preferences of the temples or individuals who provide the records. Indexing for retrieval will be a crucial task whether the collections are going to be allowed public access or not.
A number of family histories and case studies to illustrate our traditions and illuminate the need for the values that we talk about will emerge from this collection. Co–operating families and institutions can decide whether they wish their histories and case studies to be published.
A classic Chettinadu House will be leased, bought or accepted as a gift and restored to act as the centre of activities of the trust.
One of the first things the trust will undertake is a socio economic survey or census of the community to take the guesswork out of questions like are there really 47 divorces in Kandramanickam, which has probably not more than 250 pullis, and the true extent of poverty in the seemingly very prosperous community. Out of this survey will emerge programmes like an employment and opportunities exchange for the community. This exchange will function not just as a website as most of the poor will never have access or ability to use one. It will work through elders in each village to make the middle–aged and less- educated aware of opportunities for jobs and small–scale businesses. It will complement existing organizations like the Bangalore Nagarathar Association that alerts Nagarathar youth to job opportunities in the city and helps them to prepare for interviews for such jobs. Established Nagarathar businessmen always complain about not being able to find enough trustworthy employees so that they could expand their businesses. Retrenched staff of banks and other companies always grumble about not being able to find employers or business partners who will trust them with a challenge. The trust will have a matchmaker for work. Another cousin of mine, AL Subramaniam, has agreed to fund such an exchange. A Kabilan, a grandson of Dr V SP Manickam, and Muthaiah Sivalingam of Nerkuppai, both now in Singapore, are interested in developing a website for the trust.
The trust will act as a trustworthy managing agent of charities. Sometimes, one hears of a complaint that it is not a question of money but finding the right people with integrity and ability to undertake the charitable work in Tamil Nadu. Now, it is only a question of money.
You are welcome to suggest other areas where the trust could be of help. If you wish to be associated in any way with the trust, please write to arun_senkuttuvan@yahoo.com. Donations of money should be sent in the form of a cheque or draft drawn from resident accounts in India in favour of Chettinadu Heritage Trust to Mr M Sundaresan, 3052, Z Block, 4th Street, 13th Main Road, Chennai 600 040, with your Indian contact address written clearly on the envelope or an attached letter.
Arun Senkuttuvan has been a journalist most of his working life, with Southeast Asia as his beat. Publications he wrote for included the Singapore Herald, Far Eastern Economic Review, The Economist, Financial Times, Asia Times, The Times, Malayan Times, The Straits Times and The Nation (Bangkok). Political economy, education and business were his fields of specialization early in his career.
When he was forced out of journalism in Singapore, he went to the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies as a Research Fellow where he presented a seminar on the economic position of Indians in Singapore, which together with Dr A Veeramani's seminar on the educational position of Indians in Singapore resulted – though that was not the intention of the researchers in the creation of Singapore Indian Development Association (SINDA).
His disengagement from all–consuming full–time journalism for some years provided him with an opportunity to get to know Siddhantha Vithakar MR PL Rethinam Chettiar of Viraichelai and Batu Pahat, scholar Somalay of Nerkuppai, Dr V SP Manickam of MelaiSivapuri, Kavingar Kannadhasan, N S Sathappa Chettiar of Kandramanickam, M A M SP Vairavan of Rayavaram and M V Subbiah of the Ana Muna family of Pallathur, and through them the social concerns of Paduvaar Muthappa Chettiar, Pandithamani Kathiresa Chettiar, Barrister RM Alagappa Chettiar, KaruMuthu Thiyagaraja Chettiar, Rajah Sir Muthiah Chettiar, A K Chettiar, Saa Ganesan and Raaya So and the traditions of great families like Theeyanna Sona of Kadiyapatti. – To counter a powerful petition campaign in 1984 urging the Singapore Hindu Endowment Board (HEB) to take over the management for which there is provision in law of the two temples of the Chettiars‘ Temple Trust, he was requested by the then trustees to present a memorandum to the Singapore authorities as to why HEB need not act. Preparation of the memo provided him with an unusual opportunity to gain a fairly good understanding of the financial administration and common assets management practices of the community historic and recent.
His more recent conversations with Thamizhannal Dr RM Periyakaruppan, RM T Sambandam, the late Editor of Dinamani, Dr VR Muthukkaruppan, former Vice–Chancellor of Barathidhasan University, Engineer Suba Annamalai of Puduppatti and Petaling Jaya, Dr S V Pethaperumal of Shanmuganathapuram and N Narayanan who serves as secretary/treasurer of trusts established by Seer Valar Seer Nachiappa Swamigal of Koviloor, led to the formation the Chettinadu Heritage Trust to address some of the issues that are raised in this discussion paper.
